It's the hap-happiest season of all

Me: Hi, how are you? I'm here to start my injectables.

Receptionist: Oh, hi Jacki. Great to see you! How are you?

Me: Good, thanks! I brought my drugs with me. (holds up bag of frozen peas with drugs resting on top)

Receptionist: Super. We'll bring you back shortly.....wait, what's that?

Me: What? (looking around)

Receptionist: That. Right there. (pointing)

Me: Where?

Receptionist: Right there. (still pointing)

Me: Oh, that's my dignity. It used to come in a bigger package but it's smaller now since this whole infertility thing started. (still smiling)

Receptionist: You can't bring it in with you.

Me: What? (starting to panic)

Receptionist: You can't bring it in with you.

Me: Why not? I need it. I'm keeping the little bit that I have left!

Receptionist: I'm sorry. You'll have to check it at the front counter. We'll give it back when you're done with your appointment, but it will definitely be in a much smaller package by then.

Me: (disappointed, begrudgingly hands over the dignity while mumbling damnit under my breath)


I chipped away at a little more of my dignity today. I had an ultrasound on cycle day 3. That's right, day 3. As in, still bleeding (I finally have a full flow). And I know they've done a day 3 ultrasound a million times in that office, and I know they'd reassure me if I appeared uncomfortable, and I know it's not as gross as delivering as child (but, in all fairness, you do get a kid at the end of that and I got nothing). Still, I'm sorry. It grosses me out. When I went back for the ultrasound, they had put the little pad down on the exam table to deal with messes. Ewww.

After bloodwork and the ultrasound, Mr. Jaguar and I received our injectables tutorial by new nurse Cathy. She was very nice and reassuring and nothing seems too complicated about the shots. And I had really read up on injectables prior to this visit, so I was well prepared. There were no surprises. But I had butterflies in my stomach the whole time. And when she finally took the cover off the needles, my eyes grew as big as saucers and her and Mr. Jaguar both laughed. In all actuality, the needle's really not that big.

So why do I feel so emotional about this?

I tried to articulate my answer to this question for a good chunk of the day and finally the right words put themselves in the right order. I'm letting go of another piece of the dream. In our quest to become parents, we're giving up elements of how we envisioned it would happen. First, admitting something was wrong, then going to the RE, then trying the Clomid, and now sticking a needle in my thigh. The ideas of how this was supposed to happen for us keep getting replaced with other stuff like meds...and tears.

And so I'm emotional. I'm moving on to one more intervention. And I'm scared because if the injectables don't work, I know what's next. And if I end up at what's next, there aren't many more options after that. So that whole line of thinking freaks me out, too. Each time we move up a rung on this infertility ladder, I know there's one less rung above me to reach for.

In brighter news, my husband has declared today, "Stick-it-to-the-wifey-Eve" and he has been serenading me with the chorus to "It's the most wonderful time of the year". So I guess he's handling things okay and frankly, the humor does me good.