Choosing a donor with my mother could be fun. She really enjoys the details and nuances. I, on the other hand, look for a basically well-adjusted, reasonable person with a decent health history. Mom would fuss about preferences and balance possible potential for the baby. She would pour over the personal history and medical history and try to make the perfect decision. I stopped believing that perfect exists a long time ago, but I think Mom still believes. She'd be delighted to help me over think this whole adventure. Maybe that's what scares me. I'm afraid she make the list of obstacles and err on the side of safety. No baby.
Mom may know because she and Dad talk about everything. He was sad about my childlessness, and I said, "It's not off the table. I might not do it with a partner." He sounded surprised but pleased. He said, "I could support that."
My sister said Dad mentioned it to her and was excited. And there is the situation in a nutshell: talking. My family loves to talk. They have opinions. They love each other. They want the best for each other, and they share all of the opinions with everyone they love. I could swear them to secrecy and they do their best. It might last a week, but eventually it would slip out. Someone would tell one of Mom's many siblings or Grandma. Within a month my aunts, uncles, twenty plus cousins, and anyone in the tri-state area would know. And I don't even know whether I ovulate. I'd rather invite them to the second act of the drama, and I'm looking forward seeing them there. I was very tempted to tell Mom and Dad this weekend, and I decided that it was best to stay quiet longer.
Communicating with the doctor, on the other hand, is a challenge. I want to tell her and her nurses important things like when I start my period. It is so challenging. I leave a message on the nurses' voicemail, and the message tells me that messages received prior to 3 pm will be returned on the same business day. They have faithfully returned my calls, and yet we don't quite understand each other. It began with my first visit to the clinic. The first visit was rescheduled to be an hour earlier in the day -- 1:00 pm instead of 2:00 pm. I arrived on time and was ushered into an exam room where I waited until 2:15 pm. After waiting 45 minutes, I inquired about the doctor and was told she was double booked. I wished I had brought my book.
But the doctor was so gracious and articulate and her nurse so sensitive and understanding that I immediately overlooked the waiting. They explained everything I would need to do. The doctor said I wouldn't need to see the counsellor because it wasn't an issue that involved a father. Using someone else's sperm introduces legal and emotional difficulties for couples . . . but that's not me. The nurse drew my blood to check for HIV, TB, CMV and some other scary abbreviations I don't recall. The doctor was certain that I needed to know the blood type to pick sperm. The Rh factor is a big deal. It took two veins to draw two vials, but it was no big deal because she was gentle with the needle. I was assured that blood type was on the testing. She said I could call late the next day to find out about the results.
The nurse who answered the phone that day didn't have the lab results. She said she'd call me. She didn't. Two days later, I called her. She said the lab results were great, but there was no blood type. Since I needed to have more blood work done in my home town, she faxed the orders to a local lab and said she'd include infectious diseases.
At this point, I was at work trying to communicate by whispering into my cellphone and leaving messages on the "calls received prior to 3" voicemail. Discussing artificial insemination and infectious disease labs discretely in a land of cubicles is impossible. The bathroom has a surprising number of visitors throughout the day although I resorted to making more calls from there. I spend lots of time in meetings so I was getting messages back on my telephone. The messages were proceeding like this:
Nurse: doctor's orders were faxed to the lab. We added infectious diseases. Doctor said you also need to see our psychosocial counsellor.
Me: Thank you for faxing the orders. Isn't infectious diseases for HIV, TB, etc? Because that was the lab work done in your office and you said it was ok. I really need to know my blood type for the selecting a donor. Can we get that? The doctor said I didn't need to see the counsellor.
Nurse: The infectious diseases are HIV, TB, Hepatitis, . . . that's the order that was faxed to the lab. No, we don't know your blood type. The doctor wants you to see the counsellor.
Me: The infectious diseases have been done. What has changed about the counsellor? Can I get a blood type?
Nurse: We won't know about your infectious diseases until you have the lab done. I can ask doctor about the counsellor, but I'm sure she wanted one. You could only have your blood type determined through a lab.
I gave up. I was tired. I was running out of discretion at work and dignity on the phone. The lab couldn't type my blood without an order from a doctor, and the man behind the counter tried his hardest to help me. He called the doctor and expressed frustration by the voicemail that would be returned if left prior to 3 pm. I smiled sympathetically. He even drew an extra vial of blood in case he got a belated order from the doctor. He called later to tell me the nurse didn't fax it. A friend said the Red Cross will tell give you your blood type when you donate, and I think that sounds like a good option. It may even help someone who needs blood.
I called the counsellor with all of the grace of a teenager who has been coerced into an unpleasant task. I didn't want to drive 3 hours and pay $250 to talk to someone about a decision I agonized over and read about for years. My teenage mind was pouting and screaming about going to a bar and finding some guy to do the job, but that wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be fair to me, the baby or the guy.
Last night, while I drifted off to sleep, I remembered college. I was a good college student. I got As and liked my professors. However, I wasn't receptive to my advisor's advice. She would have steered me toward the Rhodes scholarship and other opportunities. I was young and thought I knew everything. It wasn't that I did poorly without her, but I could have done better with her advice. I hope the counsellor will offer me useful advice, and the baby and I will fare better because of it.
More than ever, I hope I get pregnant on the first try and not just because I'm ready for a baby. I want return to my regular ob/gyn and his nurse. I understand them. The office is close, and I understand the system. I miss my doctors and their staff.
Thank goodness for friends. Two close friends went out to dinner with me on Saturday night. They said, "Tell us everything. We want to know. How do you feel? Are you excited?" I told them every last detail. They listened, asked questions, and understood. Then they gave me some good tips on the best deals for ovulation predictors.
