Ask and you shall receive, Amy.
Yesterday she suggested that I live blog my IUI today, and while I wasn't planning on doing it (hard to hold the laptop whilst on your back in the stirrups), today's turn of events have made it possible.
My IUI was supposed to be happening right about now, but alas, some tool decided this morning, a morning cloaked in fog, that he would take his sesna up for a ride. At 8:00am. In zero visibility. A few miles from my fertility clinic. And he crashed. After hitting some power lines. And took out power to the entire city.
So my IUI may not come to be this month. I found this out after forty-five minutes of sitting in the traffic that is generated when every single traffic light in a city is out and rush-hour commuters are left to their own devices as they stare at the three dark circles suspended above the street that are supposed to tell them what to do. Lots of people get incredibly stupid when they don't have those little lights to tell them what to do.
Then, when I got close to the clinic, realizing that I had tons of time, I thought I'd hit up Starbucks. Ohdeargod, there is nothing more disconcerting than a dark and silent Starbucks, people. No whooshing of lattes being made, no mellow make-everybody-happy music wafting through the air. Just some woman asking in a heavy accent over and over, "Can you make a cinnamon latte?" while the poor sap behind the counter tried to explain to her why the place was dark and silent. NO power.
I thought, fine, I will just get a scone to sop of the anxiety-ridden acid tearing a hole in my stomach. They dont' have to make a scone. They can just reach into the pastry cabinet and get it. And I can pay for it. Um.
When the power goes out, credit cards are useless. Folks, this is Y2K-type armageddon I'm talking about here. No cash? No scone.
So I took my raging acid vat of a stomach over to the clinic. An hour early, but without the elevator working and it being pitch black inside the building, I thought it might take an hour to find the office. And maybe on my way over the lights would magically come back on.
Handwritten signs were taped all over the front door: "Building closed" and a variety of notes from various doctors offices. Nothing from mine that specifically said, "Abandon all hope ye who enter here," so I forged ahead, into the dimly-lit lobby and then to the stairwell that went pretty much pitch black when the door closed. And they are those G-d-awful stairs that have no backs to them, so you could conceivably (ha!) put your foot too far into on and fall right through to the staircase below. WHO invented those death-traps?!! Seriously.
So fine. I found my way to the clinic because they had the door open and the entire place lit with candles and camping lanterns. Kind of romantic, actually. And in a place where babies are made, even. But COME ON!!! Where is your generator?!!!
Oh, the generator is reserved for things like keeping sperm cold or embryos frozen. You know, little things like that. But seriously--can you PUT MY FUCKING OVARIES ON ICE???!!!
So I was told, "Can you come back at 1:40?" Um. Do I have a choice????!!!!
Fortunately Husband is home today, also due to the crash and power outage, as Big Fancy Tech Company is currently sans power as well. So he will be going to get Ethan after preschool so I can haul my ass & ovaries back up to the clinic at the newly appointed time.
IF the power comes back on....
Well, the power is still out. I am 1.5 hours away from when my rescheduled IUI should be taking place. At this point, I am not sure it's going to happen.
Giant black hole of the opposite of awesome here.
I went back for my 1:40 appointment to find the lights still off. Oh, the panic. I stumbled up the stairs o' broken ankles and made my way to the camplight lit doctor's office, fully expecting to be turned around and sent home.
Instead I was told to take a seat, that I'd be having my IUI shortly.
In the dark?! Okay.
But hey, while you're waiting, have a seat next to our camplight and have a cookie or two...
When they called me in and got everything set up, I have to tell you I've never been so happy to see a giant ice-old speculum in my life. The doctor apologized that they didn't have any of their "speculum warmers" up and working. It's okay, buddy. Just do your thing.
In the absence of flourescent lighting, we kicked it old-school and opened the exam room shades to let the sun light in. Let's all take a moment to be grateful that my doctor's office is on the 3rd floor, not the ground level. That, my friends, would have been an unpleasant show.
With the shades open and the must industrial-sized speculum the medical community has to offer, the doctor had an okay view of my cervix in all it's incompetent glory. He did tell me that having a cervix that is in the outer reaches of my reproductive system's stratosphere is that I'm unlikely to ever suffer from prolapsed uterus or bladder. This, I am guessing, is good news, as neither of those conditions sound pleasant. So hooray for my otherwise useless cervix!
As I said, he had an okay view, but needed just a bit more light. So the nurse went to find a flashlight. Yeah, that's what I said. Like they were going spelunking. A flashlight. She returned, flashlight in hand, turned it on and shed more light on the erm, subject.
And that was about it. A pinch here, a pull there, the doctor muttering "and that's perfect" a couple of times and voila! Old school fertility treatment complete. Thank goodness!
As an aside, I have to say that it is incredibly sad that the three people in the small airplane who crashed this morning and set off this chain of events did die. I cannot imagine what they were thinking to take off in zero visibility at a time when so many other planes in the area were grounded, but regardless of their questionable decision, they didn't deserve to die. I am infinitely grateful that no children were in the in-home day care that was destroyed by the plane upon it's crash, as clearly any loss of life is far more tragic than my missing an IUI. I realize that my tone at the beginning of this post perhaps didn't convey a sense of concern for anything or anyone but myself and my ovaries. Chalk it up to the two years of feeling potential life slipping through my fingers and feeling that potential slip away one more time and completely out of my control.
Hopefully tomorrow the lights will be back on--the 2nd IUI of our back-to-back cycle is in the morning.
And then we wait...