Let the cycle begin

Sunday was Day One of my cycle. For those of you who are either male, or simply not aware of the ins and outs of the female reproductive system, Day One of a cycle is the day a woman starts her period.

For me, Day One is otherwise known as the day a tiny, top-hat toting alien wants to escape my uterus, à la Spaceballs.

In between doses of Advil (which I hear shouldn’t be taken during pregnancy!), I made the required phone calls as previously instructed, and now have appointments saved in my calendar. Tomorrow I have a half hour IUI information session via telephone with one of the Nurse Coordinators from the clinic.

On Monday, Dr. V will perform the sonohysterogram and “blow my tubes open”. Sounds a lot more fun than it is. Anything that involves bringing a pad with you and taking some pain killers an hour beforehand isn’t my idea of a good time, but hey, I’m not judging. To each their own.

On Sunday – Day Eight – I start cycle monitoring. This requires going to the clinic every morning for an ultrasound and blood work, for anywhere between 2-8 days. Both the blood results and the ultrasound will show exactly where I’m at in regards to ovulation, by measuring my hormone levels and pinpointing the location of any follicles in my Fallopian tubes. A surge in luteinising hormone (LH) triggers the ovaries to release an egg, and said surge usually happens 36 hours before the egg is released.

Science. Pinpointing prime insemination time since, well… apparently the 1920s.

Can I just say, having learned everything I have over the past few months, I am shocked – SHOCKED – at how often people actually manage to conceive. So many factors have to line up so very perfectly, and maintain that state of perfection, for a baby to be born. Truly mind blowing, when you sit and think about it. And also quite a lesson in inequity, since some woman can get pregnant simply by being winked at, while others require every act of God and a hell of an amount of luck (and money) placed in a petri dish. My highest respect and admiration goes out to the latter.

Now, it’s a good thing PMS happens before being given consent forms to fill out, otherwise, I may have lost my mind bypassing the 10 – TEN – spots reserved for “Partner” among the 4 different documents.

“If applicable” some of the bright neon yellow spaces were labeled.

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Not. Not applicable. Not here, not on these forms. N/A. I put that in for a couple of them. Then I just left them blank.

Women in the SBMC (Single Mom By Choice) groups online refer to moments like this fairly often, usually beginning with the birth certificate: Father’s Name.

Mr. 5333, thanks. He couldn’t be here for the birth. Wasn’t there for the conception either, actually.

I’ll be honest, my anxiety spiked a tiny bit while reading through those consent forms. Scary words peppered throughout certainly catch your attention.

Miscarriage. Ectopic. Ovarian Torsion (which sounds about as painful as labor itself). Abnormalities. Multiples.

Multiples. Ooof.

Now there’s a really fucking scary word.

IUI has a greater chance of multiple birth vs IVF. A 10-15% greater chance, in fact. Add that to the fact that my mother is a twin, and = anxiety.

Please for the love of all that is good and holy, no more than one. Please.

Please.

If you could all cross your fingers, and your toes, and anything else you’re able to cross… maybe even pull out an old rabbit’s foot or something – and send all your hopes and prayers and good juju to the sperm, ovary, fertility, and pregnancy gods that not only does this work, but works for ONE baby, that would be great.

Nothing against twins, or triplets, or any other multiple number of babies (more power to you Octo-mom, Jon, Kate, the Duggars); it’s simply that the thought of having more than one on my own scares the Diva Cup right outta me.

Anyway, more education coming my way tomorrow, and this time next week I’ll be in the thick of cycle monitoring and perhaps nearing attempt #1.

Until then, my friends.

Oh! I almost forgot! For those of you who have been reading since the beginning, I found out my blood type! It’s A+, as is my donor’s. Because it turns out blood type does matter.