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.

You've Got Mail

Walgreens Specialty Pharmacy Services gave me a friendly call today to confirm my shipment of hormones.

T-minus 19 days until I look and feel like this:

 

Sweet Jesus. I'm already excited. I love my eggos.

The Process [finally] Begins

So I've left the eggo blog alone for a while because...well...frankly, nothing interesting or eventful has happened with the eggos. The eggos are just waiting to be someone else's bad ass baby.

Only today is Christmas day. I get to stop my birth control and restart it on January 2nd so that I'm all synced up with the recipient mommy. THE MAGIC BEGINS.

Important things to remember:
Starting today: No sex.
Starting January 2nd: No booze.
(At this point, you should realize that all the fun in my life has been forcibly removed. I plan on subsidizing it with copious amounts of chocolate and romantic comedies.)

Starting mid-January: I will be full of hormones that will make me emotionally unstable. Save yourself: if you see me calling just don't pick up. But if you do, please tell me that I am 1. Pretty. 2. Smart 3. Funny.
Starting February 3rd: I fly across the country (with Dad, he's my caretaker during this event so he can go golfing with my Uncle while I'm going to and from the clinic) and then have the retrieval.
On February 9th, I fly back home and begin the process of going back to normal.

Piece of cake....right? I could use a piece of cake right now.

Thanksgiving

Hopefully by this time next year, the eggos will be a bambino and will make two very dedicated parents quite happy.

And the bambino will probably develop his or her obsession with potatoes at this time. Gobble, gobble.

Cuterous!

 The clinic was in a building that was a church in a past life. "God. Are you for serious? Jesus Christ. Literally. Halle-frickin-lujah." I said this out loud while sitting in my car like a crazy person.

Then I walked into the Holy Church of Familial Bliss (aka the waiting room) with all the preggos and their hubbies. I was very surreal, like a Dali painting. I'm probably the last person who should have been in their secret club. A voice out of no where called my name. All the preggos had vacated the lobby at this point and I was looking around for the source. There was no one. This place was empty. I began to think I was having a religious experience when around a corner a nurse appeared. Apparently, God was getting back at me for taking his son's name in vain in the parking lot.

When I was in my little exam room waiting for the ultrasound, I began to have five second panic attack.
Holy crap. This is real. Is this what they do when they want to confirm you're pregnant, too? What if they take the ultrasound AND I AM PREGNANT??? Can that happen?? What if I don't have ovaries??? Is that even possible??  What if one is missing or something??? Would someone have noticed that by now...a missing ovary??? This is what I get for having no medical insurance and relying on Planned Parenthood for all my reproductive needs.

The nurse came back in, started up the ultrasound machine and BOOM. I had a uterus and ovaries. I'd like to point out that I don't really consciously think of my uterus or my ovaries as being a part of me. I know they are there, I just am not conscience they exists. Like an ex-boyfriend or something. Every month I defeat them and venture on without an unplanned pregnancy. But seeing them on the little screen, I became attached. Really attached. I'm in love with them. I'm going to give out some quality eggos.


And that's when she said it, "You have beautiful ovaries. Normally when women come here, it is because they have reproductive issues. It's good to see ones that are working."

Hallelujah.

Waiting Room Chatter

i am the only woman in this waiting room who is not pregnant and who doesnt have a man with her.

awkward.

my eggos have more potential than all their almost born babies. plus my eggos will live in florida, not tacoma.

i win.

Process. Process. Process.

I start off my twenty-four our trip to Florida by closing my eyes, gripping the arm rests in my seat, breathing slowly and praying to God not to let the plane go down.The woman next to me tapped my shoulder and said, "It's okay sugar, we're just about to land." Thanks lady, I'm aware the plane is hurdling toward the earth. I'm trying to channel my Lord and Savior to save us all from a fiery and untimely death.

I got to the hotel, went up to my room and started jumping up and down on the king size bed. I felt like a baller. Then I took a bubble bath in my huge tub and got ready to meet my uncle for dinner. He and I had a lovely time. I told him about my life, my work, my friends, my relationships and, of course, about the eggos. My uncle is pretty much one of the coolest people I know. He and his wife never had kids. Save for my dad, I would have been happy to be his kid. And if letting the eggs go would give a man like my uncle a child, I'm so down. At dinner, I turned into a sleep deprived zombie girl. One beer and a meal later I was practically drooling on myself so back to the hotel I went. I proceeded to pass out like a giant baby in my giant king size bed.


The next morning I made my way over to the clinic. The receptionist saw me and complimented me on my new glasses. "Ummmm, thanks? I'm here for my 12:30 appointment?" They took me back into a room where they went over all of the legal information. I was told how the entire process will work from start to finish. I was told of the risks associated with the procedure. I was told of the side effects of all three hormones I was receiving. I was told both my ovaries will go from the size of a grape to the size of a fist. I was shown the needs and how I will inject myself. I was told what clinic to get in touch with who will monitor me near my home during the process. And I was told my sig o will have to get a blood test to test for HIV and Hepatitis (and he acted like a baby about it).

HOW COMPLETELY OVERWHELMING IS ALL OF THAT? And they only take FOUR eggos. My eggs will be this cool and this Jewish:

Mazel Tov. They'll rock and roll all night, and party everyday.

I managed to get up the cajones to ask the woman at the clinic the question I've really wanted to ask: "Out of all the people in the world, why did they pick me?" She smiled and said, "You look exactly like her, almost like a twin. The receptionist thought you were the recipient when you walked in. You're educated. Your profile was interesting. You were the closet to embodying her."

Yahtzee! And for the rest of their lives, they'll be thanking me. I like that karma.

I left the clinic with instructions to get an ultrasound at the clinic near my home on day 3 of my period. I hoped in a cab, headed my way to the airport and went right to the bar where I talked sports with the other patrons. And a very nice gentleman from New York was kind enough to pick up my tab. I promised him I would tell you all that. I caught the giant flying tube of death and rode with arm-rest-gripping anxiety all the way home.

In the morning (Yes, on a Sunday) I'm going to the clinic for my ultrasound. I expect them to find my ovaries in tip top shape and see my little eggos dancing around like superstars they are destined to be. Expect greatness to follow.

Packing packing packing

I'm getting all my things together for my trip tomorrow. Got my iPod, got my hair straightener, got my flip flops, got my Dramamine.

T-minus nine hours til the eggos and I head eastward for our check up.

I do have something I'd like to ask the egg donation facilitators. I'd like to know what the couple looks like. They got to see a profile of me and my interests and my genetic history; all I want is a picture so I have some idea of what these people look like and how I am connected to them.

I do hope they love the eggos with all their hearts. I mean, I'd hate to go through this effort for them not to have a good life in a good home with a good family. Cross your fingers. The journey begins.