Such is the Art of Turkey Basting - Part 5

On February 21, 2008, we put on our boxing gloves again. We felt lucky this time. Maybe it was because this day was shared by a wonderful friend's birthday and another dear, old friend's passing. Maybe we just knew this time.

We followed suit with the procedures of the second insemination which meant I was a walking, broiling hormone. And, though we were getting pretty good at the insemination process, we were both our usual bundle of nerves. Insemination just doesn't foster relaxation. Let us recall how painstakingly romantic and "medicine-like" it isn't.

Round three did not accommodate for much waiting time. I was sick about a week after the insemination. God, I was so incredibly nauseous and sick. And my boobs, well, let's just say that tender was an understatement. I vividly recall walking down the stairs one morning, within the week after insemination, thinking, "My period has never, EVER, caused my breasts to hurt this much. What in the hell is going on?" Duh, Sam. I know, but it was to soon to take even the early pregnancy test so I wasn't assuming anything. We didn't want our hopes crushed again.

Two or three weeks after the insemination we barricaded ourselves in our bathroom. This was our first private moment during the entire baby making extravaganza. It was a day or two after my cycle was supposed to have occurred and we were armed with a double pack of Clear Blue Easy pregnancy tests. I sat down. Sara leaned up against the bathroom counter. I don't think either of us were breathing. Okay...

I barely had time to pee on the pregnancy test and it was already spewing positive results. We were pregnant! We were pregnant! Holy shit. Sara was squealing and crying. I was was crying and in shock. We hugged and kissed. We stared at the little positive lines on the test. So now what?

Of course we did what any level headed, newly fruited couple would do. We painted the baby's room, or rather, just an accent wall. The room was already a beautiful yellow color, daffodil I think, and so we offset the brightness with a little Hershey brown. It was vunderbar. Our journey was finally in full flight.

Such is the Art of Turkey Basting - Part 4

The first insemination didn't take. It wasn't more than a couple weeks or so later that I was tortured with my monthly cycle. On to round two it was.

This time we brought out the big guns. We weren't messin' around! We bought the little "pee on a stick to see if you're ovulating" kit. Sara administered a hormone shots in my arm, and I orally ingested another hormone called Clomid. Finally, there was the ultrasound to see which of my ovaries the egg was going to release from.

Now, whizzing on a stick is a piece of cake. Even the ultrasound was a breeze. The challenge for me was the darn hormones. The automatic assumption here is that I probably have a fear of needles. WRONG! I actually now have a distinct and, very real I might add, fear of menopause. Odd, I know, but the hot flashes these hormones created caused me to rip my clothing from my body. If I was at home and one of these little episodes occurred, my clothes were coming off (wife cheers excitedly in background)! I didn't care. It literally felt as if I were boiling from the inside out; as if someone were trying to poach me.

Once I had a healthy dose of pregnancy sustaining hormones in my system, the pee stick indicated I was ovulating, and the ultrasound of my ovaries indicated the direction that the sperm needed to be directed, the insemination was scheduled.

Again, we were ready. On our mark, get set, repeat ALL awkward steps from round one, pray, and seal the deed with a kiss from my wife. That was it. Again we waited.

We waited a little longer this time than the last and, when my period was late, we decided that it was time to take a pregnancy test. Negative. The results were negative. How could that be? I am never late with my cycle. Maybe it was just too early in the pregnancy to tell. Hmmm.

At about two weeks late with my cycle, I couldn't stand it any longer. The anticipation was absolutely killing me; killing us. I scheduled an appointment at the women's health clinic for a blood draw; something to provide firm evidence of "pregnant or not." Inconclusive. You've got to be shitting me. The results were inconclusive. Great.

The nurse said it might just be to early to tell. "Your body might be accepting or rejecting a pregnancy," she suggested. A day or so after that, I started spotting, then full on bleeding and cramping. It was the longest, most uncomfortable cycle I had experienced. Or it may have been a miscarriage.

In either case, insemination round two was an epic fail.

Such is the Art of Turkey Basting - Part 3

So there I was in all my glory. Yes, having made the successful journey from the sperm thawing station to the insemination station at the hospital, I found myself lying flat on a table with Sara sitting anxiously by my side. My hips slightly were slightly elevated, and my legs stuck in stir-ups spread apart as far as they could possibly get.  I really don't think it could have been more romantic. Really.

The nurse entered the room just as I was getting comfortable with the idea that I half nude, shivering cold, on a table at a clinic waiting patiently with my wife to make our baby. Though she was pleasant and seemingly at ease with our entire situation (I'm sure she'd basted a million times before), her presence alone made Sara and I just that little bit more nervous.

Then the actual process began.

The nurse retrieved the vile of our swimmers from the steel table at the foot of the bed. Carefully, so very carefully, she opened it and proceeded to vacuum it's contents into the basting device. We were ready.

"Take a deep breath," our nurse suggested. "You may feel some cramping."

I don't think I breathed at all during the entire process, but I don't really remember. I do recall a pinching sensation, and I do remember my beautiful wife sitting next to me holding my hand. We watched each other. It was as close as we could be. Tears welled in our eyes.

"That's it," said the nurse pulling us out of our moment. She instructed us to wait for about ten minutes for "things to settle." This of course meant that I was still in a horizontal position.

Once our ten minutes was up, we escorted ourselves out of the hospital. We were on with our day, off to work I believe. It was as simple, probably simpler, than going to the dentist or getting a hair cut. Now all we had to do was wait.