Saturday the 24th was my original due date. For months after I lost the pregnancy, I wondered what it would be like to reach the date we'd once anticipated with such joy and have nothing but a normal day planned -- would I be a wreck, a recluse, or happy to be going out for dinner instead of needing an epidural?
The answer turned out to be that I was too busy to care. I had a full day at work Saturday; between that and the current round of fertility shots (not to mention the awesome pirate xBox game we rented), there wasn't time to think about what might have been. I'm too busy right now with what is and what might be, and with becoming a rogue and marrying the Governor's beautiful daughter.
Our doctor is on vacation this week. The nurse did the final ultrasound on Tuesday and explained how to give the trigger shot and when to time our other, erm, related activity. She asked how the shots were going, obviously expecting that I couldn't wait to be done with them. Truthfully, though, I'd take the shots over what's coming -- two weeks of nothing to do but wait for time to pass so we can learn the outcome of this round of treatment.
Then the bloodwork came back, and she called me on my cell phone in the rib joint we hit after the doctors to revise the instructions on when to do the deed. It was, I think, the funniest thing we've encountered in two years of fertility treatments -- nobody calls my cell, so we knew it was probably important, but both of us had barbecue sauce up to our wrists, and the phone was in a zipped compartment of my purse. Hijinks ensued. Ah, the laughs!
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