Lights Out

Anxiety is a funny thing. Even though I knew what to expect, walking into a pre-op room and putting on a hospital gown is stressful. Dad bailed on me and stayed in the waiting room for the most part. Thanks Dad.

I waited quietly until it was my turn to go into surgery. I sat by myself and worried that this entire things wouldn't work. What if the eggos don't become babies and the couple is all alone? The thought of disappointing the recipient parents was unbearable. I also have never had surgery in my entire life and started to become very anxious. The nurse asked me if I was nervous and I lied to him, saying I was just fine. He told me that my blood pressure and heart rate were betraying my calm appearance. He told me everything would be okay and he would be there to give me a cookie when it was over. Great. A cookie. Something to live for.

I didn't like being by myself at all. My dad is a big baby when it comes to hospital stuff so I understood him being in the waiting room. I also was being overwhelmed by how vulnerable I was feeling because I was doing this all alone. None of my friends or family could not related because this was not a shared experience. I am used to being compulsive and deciding to act on something no one else has.

A nurse came to get me and escorted me down the hallway to the operating room. I walked into the room and the doctor had me lay on the operating table and said, "Natalie, I slipped you a little something into your IV while you weren't looking. What are you called? What do you go by?"
"Natalie."
"No, what is your nickname?"
"My family calls me Nat."

With that, I looked up from the table at big, bright operating light and was out.

Tomorrow, Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the big day. TUESDAY. TUESDAY. TUESDAY. Six well deserving eggos will be sucked out of me and hopefully brought to life by a fabulous mom and dad who will love it forever and ever. Right now the eggos are snuggled up inside of me, weighing down on my bladder, and making me need to pee at a ridiculously high rate.

The pre-op nurse called me and freaked me out for a bit today. I've never been put under anesthesia before. Made me a little nervous. Yes, yes I know everything would be okay but I scribbled down three numbers on a pad of paper for Dad-oh to call in case I need to go meet the spirit in the sky. He keeps looking at me like I'm crazy but I like to be prepared. :)

I will be knocked out for most of the day tomorrow. Drooling on my pillow. Dreaming trippy drug induced dreams. And the eggos will turn into embryos and be resting in someone else's womb.

Think positive thoughts.

Awkward

I don't let my dad come with me to the infertility clinic. Mostly because...well...we don't want anyone to assume we are there together.

My sister thinks this is H I L A R I O U S by the way. She wants me to bring dad and call him big papa.

EWWWWWWW.

But it is still funny. And creepy. It's funeepy.

The Final Countdown

The eggos are ready for their harvesting.

I take the shot that makes me ovulate (man, I hate that word) tonight at 8 PM. Woo. They come out of me on Tuesday, I fly home Wednesday and return to work on Thursday.

The parents get their eggo baby and I get my life back. Yesssss! I can almost taste the celebratory Jack Daniels or Tanqueray or Seagrams or Hefeweizen I will have on Friday evening.

Sicky Sniffly Icky

Oh dear God. On Friday morning the eggos and I woke up and felt like D Y I N G. I was so sick. Flu style.

I went to the clinic and they gave me and the eggos a check up. Then they took my temperature 100.9. G R E A T. I was a little worried it would effect the eggos but they just wanted me to get some rest and feel better. The eggos and I passed the eff out at the hotel while my Dad and my uncle had a "bro-day". They drank Jack Daniels and ate oysters all day long while I was shaking and shivering and sweating and puking.

This is when the crazy hormones tapped in, too. I was sick and my sig o wasn't around to dote on my like he normally does. I also missed my bff and my friends baaaaaad. Being ill and hormonal at the same time takes such an unnecessary emotional toll.

I needed to man the eff up so I took a cold bath to get my temperature down (think House-style, only without the grumpy-yet-hot-asshole-doctor around). I also pounded popcicles and ice cubes like they were tic-tacs.

Soooo dreamy!
Luckily, Saturday I woke up all better. Only I sound like a frog. Ribbit.

The Story of McDrunky and McSaint.

Dad and I got on the FLYING TUBE OF DEATH (aka an airplane) and headed east toward the sunshine.
There was a man (we shall call him McDrunky) who was "shit-housed"/"hammer drunk"/"fucking lit" sitting across the isle next to me. McDrunky got on the plane that drunk. McDrunky couldn't lift his carry-on above his head. McDrunky couldn't talk without sluring his speach. McDrunky couldn't function at all. McDrunky sits down and is quite for about 10 minutes before he turns to the guy next to him (We'll call him McSaint) and says, "Do you mind if I smoke?" The McSaint replies, "You can't smoke on an airplane." McDrunky replies, "If I can get arrested for smoking on an airplane, you should be arrested for chewing ice." If I were McSaint, at this time I would have punched McDrunky's lights out. However McSaint say, "Sir, if you could just ask me to stop chewing ice, I'd be happy to do it." McDrunky concedes and McSaint goes back to reading.

A while later, the drink cart comes around. I've given a delicious ginger ale and the Flight Attendant (aka Delta Ditzes henceforth) makes McDrunky a double Canadian Club & seven up. WHAT? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I AM PRACTICALLY DRUNK FROM THE FUMES RADIATING OFF OF THIS JACKASS AND YOU ARE GIVING HIM MORE LIQUOR? Thanks Delta Ditzes. You get a thumbs down in my book.
This is when things go sour for McDrunky. McDrunky stops making sense when he talks and starts talking to other passengers. He also starts harassing the guy next to him more. No bueno. McDrunky spills his double all over himself and his seat. McSaint goes and gets a paper towel for him to wipe down with and McDrunky spills all over McSaint's seat. McSaint starts wiping up again when McDrunky spills all of his drunk all over his own lap. Then McDrunky slowly leans forward and passes out with his head against the seat back in front of him. Classy.
The turbulance at this point starts picking up (picking up a little, teeny-tiny baby amount) and I, of course, start freaking out on the inside and begging God to let me live. McDrunky is startled awake and begins incoherently talking about taking care of his mother and dropping the F-bomb for about five minutes. A Delta Ditz walks over and tells him he has had too much to drink. WHAT? YOU JUST GAVE HIM A DOUBLE AN HOUR AGO WHEN HE WAS SHIT HOUSED. THIS IS COMPLETELY YOUR FAULT. McDrunky berates McSaint for about five minutes. McDrunky then settles down and passes out again.
When we land, McDrunky is still passed out and everyone around McSaint shakes his hand and calls him a saint and is super impressed by how he kept his cool. That guy deserves several free flights from Delta on his ability to keep his calm.
McDrunk wakes up and walks in front of my dad off the plane. McDrunk steps onto the get way and BOOOOOM! hits the floor. Dad just stands there while the Delta people help McDrunky up.
As McDrunky departed from us...I heard him say he was going to the bar...
Oi vey.

The Pre-Eggo Gifts

i received two very important gifts this week.

one was my advance for traveling expenses. woooo. dad and i will eat like kings on our trip.

the other was this lovely shirt from my bff. be jealous.

i am totally wearing this on the retrival day. i dont just have eggos, i have balls too.

"I'm so bad with the cash, I dropped the whole bag." Diddy style.

The best thing about letting the eggos go is the all expenses paid six day vacation in Florida. It is currently 76 degrees with a change of thundershowers in the afternoon. Life is so tough.

After all of this, what will I do with the eggo money? I have several ways in which I will drop this dough like it is hot.

1. Pay Bills

This is a stupid idea. I didn't go through all of this to end up not doing something fun with it. I shall designated a sixth of my total donation dollars to go to bills. Anymore than that would be ridiculous.

2. A grown-up sized iPod.

Long gone will the days of having to delete copious amount of music off my iPod nano in order to fit new music on. I shall have my entire library accessable. Yay!!! I have been waiting for this day since college started. I was just too cheap to sell out the $250 for it before. 

3. Taking the Sig O out to dinner.

He had to have his blood drawn and has to take antibotics sooooo I promised I would take him wherever he wanted in Sea-town to eat one night. Knowing him, he'll pick chicken teryaki. Such a cheap date.

4. Vacation

I am going to visit one of my friend's who is currently living in Africa. I know. Africa. I've never really been anywhere interesting so I'm going to follow my, "Go Big or Go Home," philosophy. 24 hour flight? Check. No running water? Check. Dirty Peace Corp volunteers? Check. Looking up required vaccinations? Check. Wearing culturally appropriate clothing? Check. Making my amigo take me to the beach the last couple days I'm there? Check. Having a fucking awesome adventure? Priceless.

5. Savings

Yes, I'm boring. I dedicate another sixth of my moolah to savings.

6. What's left over...

I'm going to get it all in dollar bills and dance in a room with it. Diddy style.

Eggtraordinary!

Thinking Thinking Thinking

I'm creating a family.

How lovely is that?

I love my family. I love the way my family loves me. I'm so glad that I get to make this happen for someone. I mean, I'm not a saint or anything like that. And by all means, it is really about the benjamins. I just like that there is a good side. I like that the eggs will grow up loved and cared for and really great at writing essays.

Awwww. Feel the love. Feel my soon-to-be-fatty bank account.

I spoke too soon...

Okay...remember when I said I was breezy earlier? YEAH. BULL-FUCKING-SHIT. I can feel EVERYTHING. If I am a little sad or upset, I cry. If I am angry, I get really, really mad...and cry. If I am happy, I laugh really, really hard...and cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. I am a big fat emotional mess who has to hydrate constantly.

This has been a huge adjustment. I have to keep reminding myself to not be such a Sally. Normal me would silently mock hormonal me.

I think my sig o is a little put off by my reactions to everything. He doesn't tip toe around anything...which may get him into trouble. For example, just because I'm upset does not mean it is a good time to point out, "I think this is the hormones talking." IN FACT, THAT IS THE WRONG THING TO SAY. Yes, my love, I am aware it is the FREAKING HORMONES that are making me emotional but this is the WRONG TIME TO MENTION IT TO ME because the feelings are still real to me.

Whew. I feel so much better all of the sudden.

Alright, me and the "the crazy" are going to pack up for the day and try to get ahold of ourselves.

A week and a half til I'm across the country in a warm, sunny city. Two weeks til the retrieval. Woo hoo!

And the weirdest thing of all...

I feel completely normal. Day two of shots and nada. No crazy. No bloating. No psycho. So far, everything is breezy and awesome.

 

I worry if someone comes over to visit my house, they'll think I'm a drug addict. My medicine cabinet is full of syringes, vials, alcohol wipes, Tylenol with codeine, gauze and a needle disposal unit. I feel a little like a one person pharmacy. "Holy shit. I looked in her medicine cabinet and she must be shooting up some stuff that will fuuuuuuuck her up!" Holy shit. No you moron. I'm trying to sell apart of myself for a sweet vacay and some spending cash. Get your facts straight, biatch.

Annnnnd today I got a note from my doctor. It's for the TSA. It basically says the following: 
Dear Airport Security People, Please let this girl pass through with her vials of drugs and needles. She has some perfect eggos she is going to schlep onto a loving family who will make sure they go to law or medical school.
Love, The Eggos Doctor.

Yesssssss. I'm excited. The retrieval is getting closer everyday!

Like a B O S S

I owned that injection appointment like a boss.

I didn't even feel the needle. Apparently, pretending that you are stabbing yourself with a dart DOES work.


While I'm biding my time before the injections begin, I am realizing that I am slowly starting to miss out. Want to go grab a coffee? No, because I can't have caffeine. Want to get a drink? Nope, if I due, the eggos future parentals will SUE MY PANTS OFF. Want to smoke some green? [Honestly, I would say no anyway] Nope, can't do it...there is a lot dinero on the line...and the eggos future parentals will SUE MY PANTS OFF.

You know who you should be feeling bad for? My significant other. He had to have his blood tested and he has to take antibiotics so I can give the eggos a good home. Oh, and some other dude is technically fathering a child of mine. You know what his compensation for all of this is? Nada. For his troubles, I'll take him out to some delicious chicken teriyaki after the eggos come out. I know what you all must be thinking: girl knows how to treat her man right...

Eggsellent.

That is one big FRICKIN needle amigo

The GIGANTIC box of hormones arrived at my door last week.In seven days, the eggos and the hormones will take over. They may or may not be responsible for knocking down buildings, stepping on cars, destroying bridges and other sorts of general havoc that can be unleashed onto the city where I live. I'm only partially responsible for my actions and emotions. Consider yourself warned and stock up supplies in the event of a disaster.

The hormornes came with instructions, a DVD and my injection schedule. Finally, everything is clearly mapped out and I am ready to roll. Ugh. The DVD was a bit much though. I had to watch this woman inject herself over and over and over again in the abdomen and then I had to watch the woman get injected in the tush over and over and over again by her husband. I have to go for injection training this week and even though I wanted to avert my eyes, I couldn't. "Insert the needle quickly, like a dart" and then in one painful motion, the needle was JABBED INTO HER SKIN like it was nothing.

Then I realized I should not be this much of a Sally about injections. Buck up. It's for the benefit of a lovely couple and also a benefit of your pocket book.

I'll report back on Wednesday regarding my training. I'll try not to be such a little bitch about it. Time to man the fuck up.