Optimism and sticky icky baby dust

Today has been mostly pretty awesome.  I was bummed yesterday that we might never get an appointment to qualify Heather for monitoring in town, yet, lo and behold, Heather arrived at my desk this morning bearing her phone and a missed call.  Cancellation.  Two o'clock appointment.  Go!

There was a little tension over the last-minute announcement that Heather had to leave work to see another set of doctors.  Still, fuck it.  My sympathies were limited.  How often do we have a surprise administrative success?  This was, for me, like the time my friend dropped a $20 bill in the street and it was still there the next day.  Small miracles, you know?  So I did some quick paperwork for Heather and packed her off like a kid to kindergarten.  "Have fun, sweetie!"

She called me after her appointment.  "It wasn't as bad as I expected."  For Heather-- where doctors are concerned-- this was an endorsement only surpassed by "I'm glad you made me do that.  She was a straight shooter" when she saw Dr. C.

What's interesting/frustrating/puzzling/irritating/reassuring about this place is that, much as I've resented them for banishing us and our potential embryos to Nashville with their hospital-affiliated discrimination, they're really nice.  The receptionist who confirmed that they couldn't treat us, months ago, was super-nice, and the nurse Therapist Michele recommended was super-nice, and the other receptionist who took Heather's information over the phone was super-nice.  Heather said that everyone she met was nice, too.

We were profoundly anxious-- and by that I mean that I was profoundly anxious-- about how they would address the gay thing.  We agreed that lying was the best approach, so Heather's line was that she was single and had no partner.  The doctor was puzzled, inquiring about her sex life.

"Yes, I've had sex in the past year, but I told you I don't have a partner, so I wasn't looking to get pregnant from anybody.  I'm doing this myself, with donor sperm."

That seemed to be just fine, and they gave her a pager number for the IVF nurse.  (Because, yes, it turns out there are still pagers in the world.  Pagers, for heaven's sake.)  All they needed was the orders to be faxed from the Nashville clinic and we'd be set.

To get all our ducks in a row, we ordered the extra folic acid the NFC recommended (2000 mcg/day, beyond what was in the prenatal vitamins), and I went to find the forms to allow the sperm bank to ship our vial to Nashville.  Because I am stupid, I clicked on the "Family Forum" link, immediately retreating when someone wished another wannabe ART mom "sticky baby dust."  Whoa.  Uh-uh.