The Final Countdown and The Urine Cup

Today, I drank out of a sterile urine sample cup. Two years ago, this would have shocked me. Today, it’s pretty much on par with how my life is going.

Tomorrow, I will get the results of my first round of blood work. As you know, I’ve recently gone through the IVF (I’m Very Fertile) process and remarkably, my two-week wait will soon be coming to a close.

Throughout the past few weeks in particular, having a sense of humor has been key. Like drinking out of the urine cup this morning, for over a year, I’ve endured several humiliations and predicaments I did not know were possible.

Yes, there have been the standard pills, shots, blood tests, and those fun and fabulous medical procedures but there have also been other things such as having more conversations about sperm then I ever thought possible. The shape, the size, their sense of direction, how many of them there are and how they all look like they are abandoning a drowning ship under a microscope.

I’ve also had so many inter-vaginal sonograms that if I get one more, I get a free pap smear and an autographed headshot of Kathy Griffin.

In addition, I’ve peed on more items than ever before. For this, I can at least say that my aim has grown considerably. I’m looking forward to the coming winter as I could write my name in the snow, in script no less, with the best of them.

Plus, let’s not forget that more things have been going in and out of my hoo-ha than should be legally allowed. One of the highlights of my journey was at the egg transfer. I was lying down while Sam was sitting in a chair next to my head. From his perspective, he could see my legs up in stirrups with a sheet draped over me. When my doctor came in with a speculum, I thought Sam would pass out. He watched my doctor put the speculum in, put something else in to clean the area, and then he put the catheter in and took the speculum out. Sam looked as if he were watching some sort of magic trick and at any moment; the doctor was going to pull a rabbit out of my p*ssy.

And bless his heart, my dad and I have had conversations that I never thought possible. My father is a blunt, New York Italian and usually our talks consist of movies, television and his diabetes. To have him call me and ask questions like, “Have you been getting cramps?” or “Have you tried having sex every other day?” has helped my therapist buy a swimming pool for her home.

This morning, I woke up with one of the worst migraines in my migraine career. I tend to get them when I’m stressed, hormonal, hungry or the weather is changing. Today, it’s safe to say it was all of the above. I didn’t want to take my medication until I made sure it was ok with the doctor and since I was getting my blood work today, I figured I would just hang on till I saw him and got his approval. When I arrived at his office, I was in total agony. Believe it or not, I’m usually upbeat when I see my doctor so when I walked in looking like Nick Nolte’s mug shot, he immediately knew this was not good.

Mercifully, I was allowed to take my medication. That’s when the doctor found a sterile urine cup, handed it to me and told me to take my damn pill as I was scaring the other patients.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: No matter what the test results show, I’ll deal with it. I’ll keep writing, making jokes and finding a way to make this extremely long and difficult journey bearable. However, for the record, I am still desperately hoping for two things:

1. That this trying to conceive round of humiliation will end… and I can begin a whole new pregnancy humiliation going forward.

2. That I never use the sentences “I drank out of a sterile urine sample cup.” Or “No dad, I don’t think positions determine the sex of the baby.”