Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Social media pitfalls: learning more than you intend

Cruising the California Cryobank discussion board on Facebook, and some lady posted a link to this nifty article about free sperm:

... But sperm banks, though regulated by the Food and Drug Administration, carry risk. In recent years sperm with a host of serious diseases and disorders has been sold to hundreds of women, according to medical journals and other published reports. Earlier this year ABC News identified at least 24 donor-children whose father had a rare aorta defect that could potentially kill his offspring at any minute. And in September, The New York Times reported on sperm banks’ creating 100-kid clusters around a single donor, raising questions about not only disease, but accidental incest.

Further on, in discussing the Free Sperm Donor Registry, a craigslist for hopeful baby-mamas which handily allows folks to choose whether to go AI or conceive via the traditional park-the-car-in-her-garage method:

One donor, whom Carissa, a 38-year-old divorcĂ©e in Fargo, N.D., was about to invite over for a “natural insemination” session, spooked her. “He wanted me to yell, ‘Make me pregnant!’?” during sex, she says.

Blog comments, browbeating, and Giuliana Rancic's breasts

Last night I was trying to complete Practice #2 from The Self-Compassion Diet (we'll talk about that some other time) and, no matter how hard I tried to imagine a conversation with my erstwhile and beloved therapist, I found myself distracted.

First, I couldn't get the Avett Brothers' songs out of my head.  That album is so fucking good.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Inaction Plan

Dr. King's office called today, just as we were returning from our third-anniversary trip to the lake.  Heather was watching Sister Wives, wherein the fourth wife is now pregnant with the husband's seventeenth child.  Her belly is big and they've named the boy Solomon.

The nurse, who struck me as ethereally beautiful when we met her last week, said she'd called the fertility office to set up an appointment and learned, as we did, the Dr. Duddy was no longer in practice, and that we should talk to the office to set up a consultation.  I said, well, we heard they wouldn't work with us.  She confirmed: "No, they're affiliated with the Baptist hospital, so they can't do anything to get you pregnant.  However, they can talk to you about your options."

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Shot my arm full of love: of drugs, follicles, and friendly homophobia

In brief, what has been happening is that Heather and I argued about whether it was important for her to see the miraculous Dr. King; I made approximately 397 phone calls to check whether her insurance was accepted by Dr. King's office, then filled out 398 forms; we went to see Dr. King Tuesday; Dr. King told us to see a specialist; and that specialist's office won't treat lesbians.

Thursday, October 6, 2011


On the way to lunch today, Heather's phone rang.  She handed it to me and instructed, "Pretend to be me." 

Dr. C.

Dr. C's assistant, Ashley, said that they'd gotten the results back from Monday's blood test.  She said something about how ovulation levels weren't quite where they should be, and that maybe they'd tested too late...?  I hesitated, because I wanted to explain that, according to the fertility monitor, Heather hadn't ovulated this month, but Nurse Nina said that it's not unusual for a woman to skip ovulation once or twice a year.  It happened to us twice last fall, yet Heather has regular cycles with regular ovulation every other month, so we didn't take it as an indictment of Heather's fertility this month.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Insurance and Target Returns

I've had two major bureaucratic run-ins this week, and one netted me $60.

I super-love Target (although I'm getting a lot of mixed messages about their attitude towards the LGBT community, which I chose to resolve for myself when my mom said she met a lesbian who worked at Target HQ and who said that it was a tolerant and welcoming place to work), and there are few things I enjoy more than a meditative stroll through their handbag and jewelry departments.  Cadbury eggs, for one.