IUI #3 was all good.
Dr L was in great form. She opened with “Let’s go for two”, referring to the two lead follicles. Apparently, there has been only one case of IUI triplets at the clinic. I’m not sure if that was meant to be reassuring.
The sperm was also in fine fettle: 10 million of the little blighters with a motility of 75%. And again I got to check that it was the right donor, reassuring.
As with the second IUI, Dr L, the nurse and I chatted through most of the procedure about topics ranging from smokers to women who don’t realise they are pregnant until they give birth, Dr L’s roots (hair, not origins) and the TV series “The New Normal” (one of the gay male characters describes vaginas as looking like “tarantula faces”).
This is not a PC comment, but I love the fact that the doctors and nurses I’ve encountered at the clinic have generally been women. As much as an assisted reproduction practitioner might know his trade and have a fabulous bedside manner, a man doesn’t really know what any of this stuff feels like for a girl. I know I am being sexist here and I also know you could say the same about oncologists who haven’t had cancer, young geriatricians etc.
What I’m trying to say is that there was a feeling of “all girls in this together” yesterday. Dr L and the nurse both have children and, even if that wasn’t as a result of fertility treatment, I feel they understand. It’s probably stating the obvious to say I generally find it slightly less undignified having my legs splayed in stirrups in front of a female doctor too.
Also, this might be my issue, but I often feel slightly patronised by “women’s doctors” when they’re male. Maybe this stems from my first visit to a family planning clinic to ask what my contraception options were, way back when. I still remember the male doctor’s incredulity and extremely condescending response when I said I’d rather not go on the pill and take chemicals if at all possible. “Well, have you had a child before, have you? I don’t believe a coil is an option for you then, is it?” His “little lady” routine left me feeling small and stupid.
Anyway, I imagine most men aren’t as comfortable with female urologists poking around at their undercarriages as they are with male ones.
Yesterday, I could feel the love in the room and the good vibes directed towards me. Even the embryologist who appeared at the magical hatch in the wall to pass over the sample wished me luck and used my first name. The procedure passed painlessly and quickly. And, this time, afterwards, Dr L came back with the nurse and me to the waiting/changing area, touched me on the shoulder and said she really hoped this one works.
So the two week wait begins again. Now, I need to stop thinking about this trying to conceive business, focus on other things and keep busy until the blood test on 5 February.
I was out for dinner last night and drove there to provide an excuse for laying off the Italian wine. Plus no mussels starter for me.
And, after three Aran cushion covers and three chunky scarves, I have a new Knock yourself up knits project to keep my mind occupied. Although I am not allowed to use a hot-water bottle during the two week wait, I am knitting, drum roll:
this lovely hot-water bottle cover from Ideas magazine in South Africa.
Single motherhood by choice 