Monday was a bad day. It started the night before. We had finally gotten the green light on our kitchen renovation. That meant that we had to move every little thing in there, outta there. So we were up pretty late Sunday night moving and packing and organizing. At 3 am my sweet boy woke up. He went back to sleep. I did not. At 5 am I hauled my exhausted butt to Manhattan to visit Dr. Mug and his magic wand.
He looked all up in there and did not like what he saw. Apparently, my follies had not grown much since I saw him last. Not even more than 1/2 a mm. He said he’d check again on Wednesday, but we might not do the IUI this time because he didn’t want me to waste my vials of sperm. He gave me a sad smile and said, “Maybe it is just not a good batch of eggs.” It reminded me of one of Cakie’s books by Margaret Wise Brown, The Big Red Barn. “There was a Bantam Rooster and a little Bantam hen, with a big clutch of eggs. Count them. There are ten.” I didn’t have a big clutch of eggs. And my rooster was frozen.
So I raaaaaan to school and got there in time for my regular class to show up. I proceeded to re-screw-up my back which was messed up on my crazy TTC summer vacation by driving back and forth from Wildwood, NJ to NYC several times in one week to get IUI and ultrasounds and whatnot.
Right after school, I went to get a head start on my back-to-nature cycle. I hobbled to my first-ever acupuncture session. (Courtesy of my hopefully-soon-to-be-a-grandma-for-the-second-time mom. Thanks mom!) Ummmm. Have you heard that acupuncture doesn’t hurt? They’re putting needles all over your body for cripes sake! It did hurt. Some of them throbbed. One of them made me crazy dizzy like the table was spinning. Then after a while it stopped hurting. The acupuncturist said that the right side of my abdomen was really tense. This made sense, since it is my left side that actually seems to produce the most eggs. So we gave the right side a pep talk (and a few needle pokes.) Eventually I began to feel like a very relaxed pin cushion. She even burned mugwort on my shoulders as a detox, to rid me of the evil imbalance that the birth control caused in me. I liked the mugwort.
The next day they ripped apart my kitchen. It was actually far more thrilling than anxiety-provoking. I am pleased as punch with my contractor thus far. They even mopped the floors! But I was a physical wreck. I couldn’t help my honey with any more moving or even giving Cake his bath.
Dr. Mug had given me a choice between going to see Dr. Otherguy (who is very soon to be known as Dr. Hasacomplexandpissesmeoff) in the morning, or Dr. Mug after school. That was a no-brainer, so I hopped on the train after school. That’s when an amazing thing happened. I was visited by a wonderful spirit in the form of a baby. That’s right, folks. A baby. That’s what all this trouble is about. A man got on the train with a baby facing out in a bjorn. She wasn’t unusually cute or anything. She was just an amazing little soul. She watched with eyes that understood what was going on around her. She watched with curiosity and a calm sense of understanding. There were three women around her. Me, another woman my age, and a woman about 15 years my senior. I swear to you that child made all of our ovaries ache. It was weird. I really felt something going on down there. So I just watched that child take in the world. As I did, I imagined my follicles growing and big ripe happy eggs puffing up inside them. When I had to get off, I marched up to the dad and said, “Please, can I ask you her name?” “Maggie.” That name jumped way up on my mental names for girls list. It became a little mantra, Maggie Maggie Maggie Maggie. I said it all the rest of the way to the doctor. I tried to re-feel that feeling in my ovaries.
Guess who has SIX follicles over 10 mm? That would be me. The longest one is 19mm, the shortest is 10. Tomorrow morning I’m getting my first IUI. Another one the next day. Ovidrel tonight. Hopefully, it will be my last needle for a while. Maggie. Maggie, Maggie, Maggie.
It isn’t just a doggie’s name anymore.