Tuesday, June 5, 2012

"No, you didn't do anything wrong, but you get on my nerves, and I don't like that."

Today I have ordered what I hope is our last vial of sperm ever.

Today I have also been embarrassed talking to Marsha in Nashville because she totally knows, as does Therapist Michele, that it's me (again, if you want to say something about "it's I," you are probably ridiculous) and not Heather who's calling.  We have two phone numbers, and I have lied to both of them by saying that we trade phones around to be sure there's always someone to get these calls.  What really happens is that I babysit the phones and the calls, and Heather makes the physical appearances when blood or a uterus is needed.  "Oh, no, you're totally talking to Heather."

Anyway, the AMH test orders have been duly faxed from Nashville, the sperm should arrive in Nashville on Monday, and Heather is meanwhile tormenting me-- not, she claims, on purpose-- by saying that she really feels she's about to get her period.  I reply that it's too early and she'll just have to keep her knees together till next week.

The extra folic acid has arrived as of this afternoon, ticking off one more of the 937450348 elements in my to-do list.  Per my notes from the IVF course in Nashville, Heather is to take those twelve hours apart from her usual prenatal vitamins.  We refilled that prescription, too, so I get another check mark.  This afternoon, we're dropping off her scripts at Walgreens for antibiotics and birth control, and later this week I drop off mine (we have different pharmacies; the people at Kroger are out of the way, but just so nice). 

And we're going to see "What to Expect When You're Expecting" this afternoon, despite its tremendously grim reviews.  Heather says I've got to pay if she's got to sit through it.  Fair enough.

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