You know you're having a weird day when you're sitting in a waiting room, reading Ok! magazine and waiting to be impregnated by somone...or something...other than your husband.
IUI stands for something rather technical that was pretty much developed for the purposes of barnyard animal reproduction.
Now, take that process, stick it in a doctor's office, add a white lab coat, some elevator music, one of those fun ob/gyn exam beds with the little foam-covered stirrups, and about $10,000 (more or less) in lab tests and copays, and you've got yourselves a baby-making party. Granted, your spouse isn't there, but guess what? You don't really need him for this part. His contribution to this little event took place approximately 60 minutes ago in a room down the hall. For now, you're just going to have to settle for an intimate momement between you, a catheter, and a very nice APN named Beth.
I don't like to talk much about my fertility woes. The whole process is highly embarassing and more than a little intrusive, both in the physical and emotional sense. But when you're spread-eagle in the stirrups and about to become (hopefully) impregnated while you chat with Beth about your weekend plans, sometimes....you just have to chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all.
Life is a funny thing. One minute you can be trying to make a baby the old fashioned way, and the next minute you're asking your old college roommate, who happend to stop by for dinner, if she will give you a shot in the ass because you're husband doesn't like needles and the doctor says it's time to ovulate.
I didn't ask for fertility issues. I've always eaten right, exercised, taken care of myself, all in the hopes that my body will repay me for doing everything that it's supposed to do for the next 80-some-odd years. But sometimes your body doesn't cooperate, and you're forced to make a choice:
Do I walk away from this, or do I submit myself to some very uncomfortable and humiliating means to get to a much desired end?
Clearly, I chose the latter. As a result, I've been poked, prodded, medicated, and tested. I've had more people in my hoo-hah in the past six months than I have in all of my years combined.
But you have to laugh, because what else can you do? Life sometimes sucks, and suddenly everything you imagined is tossed out the window and you're faced with the harsh, fluorescent-lit fact that the romance of this very moment is going to have to be limited to the saxaphone rendition of "Wind Beneath My Wings" playing on the sound system.
Some children are named after the places and situations in which they were concieved.
Maybe if we get I'll girl, I'll name her "Beth."
Hey, it'll raise a lot less eyebrows than "Exam Room 4," right?