The Un-Secret

By now my secret plans are not top-secret. Who knows? Several friends, my sister, and, oh yeah, the Internet. And the insemination hasn't even occurred. If my ovulation is similar to last month, I'll have my date with the turkey baster in a few days. I don't like to think about otherwise.

With all of the recession news, I fret about being a single parent. On the other hand, I'm in the middle of my career and make enough money to support myself and a child. I'm salting away as much savings as possible and hoping for job security. Time seems like a bigger luxury than money.

I think about making baby clothes and painting a nursery. I imagine which children's books we will read together. I contemplate whether the child will have any resemblance to my family or if we will just wonder. These are happy dreams. They're still very fragile, but they are happy dreams.

Reality seeps in through more than just the recession. A dear friend would very much like to be my labor coach. She's hinted and a mutual friend has mentioned it as well. Having so much love and support from my friends and sister make this far less scary. It lets me dream a little. If my mother is amenable to being a labor coach, she's the person I'd really like to have with me. I've also read that doulas are wonderful. They have experience and they focus on the patient's needs. I like the idea of having a person like that to assist. Some might mention including all important people, but I'm not wild about having a crowd at delivery. 

In the meantime, the weather is unseasonably warm and sunny. I go for walks in the evening and plan a garden for this summer. 

Waiting

This is a time of waiting. I'm getting accustomed to waiting. Back in the fall, when I first decided to do this, I thought, "Okay! Let's get the turkey baster out get inseminated." That was before I learned about doctors, waiting lists, requirements and tests. Oh my. The tests. 

But turkey baster day is arriving soon. Possibly even this month. Last month I didn't ovulate until very late in the cycle, so I'm crossing my fingers that eggs will be released at the proper time and voice mails will go to the proper people. Really, I don't have nearly as much control over this as I would like. Older, wiser people tell me this is a mere teaser when it comes to having children. I will look back on these as the days when I had perfect control in my life. But I can still dream, and I am.

In the mean time, the weather has been springlike and beautiful. I walk in the evenings and soak up the sun. Seeing beyond the gloom of winter gives me hope and optimism. The anxieties over whether this is a good decision, whether my nest egg is big enough, my job secure enough, my family supportive enough just melted away. This is right. 

Medical Communication

A friend warned me not to let the fertility specialists get under my skin. She said, "They're a little distant and impersonal." I should have written it down and kept it with me. Today was one of the days I spent on the phone with a nurse for the specialist. They wanted to remind me to get an HSG and to get my progesterone test. They also wanted me to get my infectious disease blood work (which they've taken several times since mid-January).

Finally, I was able to speak to a nurse on the phone -- not just voicemail. She said that they didn't really know which lab work had been done because they didn't have my charts. "Your charts are with Doctor." They're going to check. I have my fingers crossed. Since this nurse was fairly forth-coming about the communications problems in her office, I asked whether I really need to meet with the psycho-social specialist. "Doctor," as her staff calls her, specifically said she didn't see any reason for me to have that appointment. I've got my fingers crossed that I'm off the hook for that too. 

In the meantime, I've got to figure out a way to communicate with the staff that doesn't involve eight phone calls a day. My stress increases with each phone call. Plus, "psycho-social" and "infectious diseases lab" aren't things I like to say once let alone repeatedly in the office. For my Valentine's Day gift to myself, I'm not going to procrastinate one minute longer. I'm filling out the paperwork for the specialist who works in town. If it isn't better than this office, at least I'll feel as if I had a choice. 

Thank goodness I can dream of knitting baby booties. It makes it all better somehow.

Finding Daddy

One of the donors stood out from the others. Aside from being healthy, having a good family medical history and sharing my blood type, he's a got math skills. My math skills are functional: the checkbook balances and simple interest is not insurmountable. Mathematical brilliance is another subject entirely. It would be a good balance to my language skills. The description was of a kind, reserved, goal-oriented person who got a 32 on his ACT math score. 

Early in the process, I decided not to read the donor essay. They were kind, clumsy and sometimes a little judgemental. They read as if they were written by 19-year-olds who were away at college, which, come to think of it, they are. The grammar and punctuation weren't precise, and I can get riled up about apostrophes. Realistically, apostrophes don't correlate to genetic material.

This donor seemed so right, and I took a chance with some insight into his personality. His answers to the form questions were appropriate and reasonable. He even used a semi-colon correctly. I decided to overlook the improperly inserted comma. He's only human, right?

Whoa! Details.

It feels like some progress is being made. After waiting for an appointment and waiting for the next cycle, tests are being done. The blood draws aren't too bad. The HSG was supposed to be a "go to work" afterwards test. It hurt. I hurt. I spent the day curled up in bed feeling like a wuss. One of my friends who is normally has beautiful manners and wouldn't dream of hurting another person's feelings says she told the doctor, "Fuck you." after her procedure. I didn't say much. I just wanted to go home and hide. 

Sperm ordered. Check.

Sperm shipped. Check.

I'm waiting for a few more tests. If they go well, I start trying next month! The HSG did give me reason to Google "artificial insemination pain." The sites report the same mild cramping and discomfort that is expected with the HSG. I plan to loaf on those days. 

The Uncommunicator

I once saw a card at a baby shower that said, "Congratulations! (And thanks for not telling us you were trying.)" Some people just don't want to know the details. They still love you, but they don't want to know. I've been thinking about this with my parents. In someways they would love to be included. 

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. 

Got Eggs?

On Thursday morning, I set out driving across miles and miles of grasslands. It was bitterly cold, snowing, and the sky was gray. Not too much snow fell, but the wind blew it in swirls across the road. I didn't see any accidents but the radio kept talking about accidents to avoid. I was tense and wondering how my appointment would be, and then after the first hundred miles, the sun broke through and the snow stopped. I started to feel as if I were making my own decisions about my life, and it felt good.

The doctor was pleasant and professional. She thought that everything looked good. Apparently I ovulated last month and she admired the number of eggs that I had. No one mentioned my weight. Perhaps that will concern the ob/gyn who oversees the pregnancy. The next month is going to be comprised of monitoring. A checklist encourages me to call when I get my period. Then the nurses remind me to get the first of three tests. 

I was very relieved to learn that these tests can be done by local doctors. Even the local doctors who are unwilling to perform single woman inseminations for moral/ethical reasons would be willing to help with some of the testing that leads up to the insemination. If these go well, I'll be ready for insemination in the next cycle. 

The timing is tight. I need to let the doctor know when I ovulate by three pm. Then I need to be in her office at 7:30 am the next morning. The three-hour drive is a complication, and I dread explaining it to my supervisor late in the day. "Um, I just got worked in for some, um medical testing. I'll be out tomorrow." He's a fifty year-old man and is tremendously supportive of me at work. He even identifies issues I've had as sexism before I'm willing to put them in that category. However, I try to keep it strictly professional. This gets pretty personal. Eggs? Ovaries? Artificial insemination? If all goes well, I will eventually tell him, but he won't need or want all of the details. 

In the meantime, I've got a list of sperm banks to peruse.The California Cryobank and Xytex are the top recommended banks from nurses I've spoken to, but I'm sure some other good ones are available. So much to think about. . . I'm actually starting to feel like I can imagine a baby. Just a little.