So, how was YOUR weekend?

Friday was the start of a really strange weekend. I had to go in to the clinic so they could take a looksie at my fallopian tubes and see if any follicles were waiting in the wings. They weren't quite up to par yet. 18 mm is the magic number. Mine were just under. So, the PA sent me away with orders to come back on Sunday. Yes, Sunday.

It still seems so strange that a clinic would be open on the weekends. But then again, ovaries wait for no man. So, it was off to the fifteenth floor of 1101 Madison for an 8a.m. appointment. The ultrasound revealed two follicles that were ready to rumble. One a woppin' 20 mm, and the other just breaking the minimum at 18. We were in business.

The PA revealed that, lucky me, I had to have a shot of HSG (human chorionic gonadotropin hormone). This is the hormone that makes the follicle burst and shed its priceless little egg. I had to ask where they were going to give the shot to me - butt or arm? I don't think I've had a shot since I stepped on a rusty nail in college and the big health clinic nurse gave me a tetnus. Lucky me, this time my arse was the target. Then it occured to me that I had no idea what position I was supposed to be in for this little proceedure - when was the last time someone gave me a shot in my butt? When I was four? I'm sure at that time they strapped me down and hoped I didn't bite. I was instructed to bend over the exam table. I sure was glad I wore my fancy underwear. I feel so close to her now - maybe she'd like to be my friend.

Oh, yes, one more visit the next morning to Pill Hill. This time with hubby in tow. We had to be at the office at 7 am where DH gave his contribution to the affair to the gray-haired nurse who didn't bat an eye at the little cup filled with, um, junk. We went off for breakfast while we waited for my turn. A few hours later I got to hop up on the exam table for my first turkey-baster-slash-IUI experience. Seriously two minutes later it was over. I leaned over and asked Brian if it was as good for him as it was for me, oh, and did he have a cigarette.

It was seriously anti-climatic. I waited all weekend, drove 15 miles and fought traffic three times, got multiple ultrasounds with a big wand shoved up my wahoo, and then the moment that is supposed to be my infertile salvation was over in 60 seconds.

They shooed us out the door and told us to come back in two weeks. Either for a pregnancy test, or to start another round of clomid.