It’s day three, which means I was up at 5 am. And not happy about it, I might add.
Five in the morning comes VERY early. As a rule, I generally ascribe to the theory that if you’re getting up when there’s a 5 in the number, it’s just rude. But up I was, hair in a ponytail, and out the door by 5:20 or so. It is very DARK at 5:20, in case you are one of the fortunate few who has not seen 5:20 am in some time. Also, this morning it was foggy. I did not realize it was foggy outside until I had driven a block or so. I thought it was just my eyeballs that were foggy. Nope. So I stopped, quite wisely given my lack of mental fortitude at, what was it? FIVE. FRICKING. TWENTY? to clear the windows of my car.
I headed to Tim Horton’s for a coffee. Because it was only a blood test, coffee is a-ok. On ultrasound days, I generally have nothing. Because, and I’m sure you’ll agree with me, nobody wants to partake of a large beverage which is ALSO a laxative a few hours before you’re going to bare your nether regions to a room full of people. I trust you follow the way I have drifted. And that is all I am going to say on THAT issue.
So, yes, Tim Hortons. I got my large with milk and sugar (the double-double days are long gone, thanks to Weight Watchers, those BASTARDS!) and I hit the road. Now, it’s been a while since I have been working, and so I have made coffee at home most mornings. On occasion, like test days, I will head to William’s for a dark mochaccino, but generally, I brew my own coffee. So I had forgotten just how vile Tim Horton’s coffee is when you are accustomed to lovely slow-brewed high-quality coffee. MAN. Those first few sips tasted like wet stewed death. But it was a necessary evil, to stop my eyes from spontaneously crossing on their own from tiredness. And I was off.
5:30 is actually not a bad time on the 401. Traffic is fairly light, especially headed away from the big city, and it’s quiet. Normally, I make the hour-and-a-half trip with BDH, who has faithfully been a part of every procedure he can. He’s part of this process too. But this morning, it was only a blood test, in and out, so I told him to sleep in and I would do it myself. I put on the radio to keep me company. I find singing VERY LOUDLY helps while away the time when I am alone, as well as keeping me from dozing off. It was foggy this morning, and I needed to be alert, between the fog and the possibility of wildlife wandering onto the highway and the construction limiting 401 traffic to a single lane. Radio is also necessary to keep you updated on the traffic situation, being that time is of the essence on blood test days. But morning radio is also very BAD in this area. And my car has no CD player, so you make do. I brought my iPod along for the trip back. And I pushed on.
I made it to the lab with 5 minutes to spare. The REI ladies are priority at the lab, and there were a few queued up outside already, waiting for the doors to be unlocked. It’s an odd dynamic, that queue. No one wants to talk. Everyone keeps their eyes averted. It’s like they are shy or embarrased about being part of the REI program. (More likely, it’s tiredness.) But not The Peevish Kitty. Oh no. She barges in like an excessively cheerful bull in a china shop, as always, cracking wise and chatting with the staff. Nothing gives me greater perverse pleasure than cracking infertility jokes very loudly in a waiting room full of quiet, patiently waiting people. BDH and I have always been of the mind that this process, these places, should be places of joy, not least because they are places where people are going to fix your broken, wounded self, and help you achieve your goal of having kids. But also, we’re also going through this embarassing, uncomfortable process together, so let’s make it as pleasant as we can. The staff have come to know us, and it makes things a lot more fun if you can laugh. And, it’s also fun to see, one by one, the nervous women and their spouses come to life, and smile, and relax. For a few moments, it’s all normal and okay.
So I got my blood taken. One of the lab techs periodically stuck her head in the door to stick her tongue out at me. We had a discussion about hair colour. And five minutes later, I was done and back on the road. Easy peasy. But still tired.
On my way back down to the 401, I stopped in at Williams for a dark mochaccino. It’s my reward for going through whatever indignity or annoyance I had to be present for that day. And since the drive back is far busier at 7:30 am, I can usually use the added caffeine. I put on my iPod and sang very loudly. I’ve been listening to the playlist I am preparing for my retrieval procedure recently, refining it, making it something that will work for me. BDH and I discussed what to put on it. The REI nurse recommended something relaxing and calming. But, as BDH says, when he thinks of me, “relaxing” and “calm” do not instantly spring to mind. Instead, he said, put on the music that makes you happiest, that transports you elsewhere. So my playlist will be full of my favourite songs, sonically interesting, full of pleasant memories, jangly, shimmering guitars, and interesting turns of phrase. And so, I took great pleasure in butchering several songs by Midnight Oil, the Cure, James, and Crowded House, all the way home.
And now, thanks to consuming great buckets of caffeinated beverage for 3 hours on an otherwise empty stomach, I have the traditional post-procedure gut rot. Ah, the complex world of infertility. Indignity AND indigestion. Who knew?