After a little more whining and wringing of the hands over this weekend’s dinner party, I am now looking forward to it. It helps that I made a cake. The haphazard frosting and unexpected tilt let people know that it was made with love and also verify that my small-motor skills continue to be lousy. You can’t tell by looking, but it consists of a frozen mocha mousse sandwiched between two layers of flourless chocolate cake. And the glaze that appears to have been slapped on by monkeys is actually a Kahlua-chocolate ganache. That plus the case of shiraz I just reserved should see us through nicely. Oh, and a Balsamic Rosemary Dijon chicken recipe that converts its own marinade into a delightful sauce. Maybe some couscous. A big-ass salad. We’ll have a good time. Something everyone should know about me is that I don’t like to eat once I start drinking. This causes all sorts of hilarious mishaps, none funnier than when you are a guest in my home. Imagine my consternation when someone timidly reminds me that we were going to have dinner, too, and here it is – eleven o’clock already and I’ve been kicking ass at euchre for almost an hour. Whoops!
I talked to my RE today. I can’t decide if my reproductive endocrinologist is a miracle of accessibility and reliability or if I have so effectively relegated this part of our lives to the murky margins that any contact at all is an unexpected delight. This was the second time he called this week. As you may recall, our next step with the RE was to have a FISH study done on Steve’s sperm. This will tell us, statistically at any rate, how bad our chances are in general and whether IVF with PGD could work for us in the future. My RE is in the process of changing to a new PGD lab and, to sum, we are in limbo. He called today to tell me that they will get something for us in the next few days and either the embryologist or the lab manager will call me before the end of next week. He seemed like he was on top of things, so fine… fine.
We have already decided (have I told you this?) to try again at least one more time without any intervention. One more roll of the dice, as it were. Provided that tomorrow’s HSG goes well (see below) I expect to be trying to have another baby (remind me to put up an Ebay link for this gross of condoms) shortly thereafter.
It’s funny. Well, not hilarious, but interesting to me at least. All of the sudden I realized that I can do this again. Not have a second child, we knew we were ready for that, but the strong likelihood of another miscarriage weighing against the slim possibility of another baby surprisingly seems ok. For months I thought “No way” and now, I like those odds just fine. Sixes? Double down!
I am having an HSG tomorrow at 1. This procedure checks for uterine scarring, which is a very real concern after one D&C let alone four. A more effective way to look for scar tissue is a hysteroscopy. I discussed both options with the Pillsbury DoughB (get it? OB? You should see him) but he is so certain that I have no problems that he convinced me to go the less invasive route. If anything looks weird then we can always go back.
I have two concerns about this procedure. The first is that it will hurt. They told me to take 800 mg of ibuprofen before coming in, and I have heard that some women found the whole thing excruciatingly painful. My best friend, for example, lost consciousness during hers, although the nurse said that had never happened before. And she always was a wuss, even as a child.
My major concern, though, is that the radiologist will actually come into the room. And that some scheduling nightmare will ordain that this radiologist will be the head of radiology for the hospital. And I will promptly die of embarrassment. For he, my crumpets, is our next door neighbor. I know we are all grown-ups and he is a professional etc., but the idea of lying in a dimly lit room while some wand monkey manipulates the dildo-cam and Mark (Mark!) nods and points at the screen…
“Hey! I see you guys got the pool open. Fabulous! Yeah, we are thinking about putting one in over past the driveway… yikes! that’s the cervix!… So, are you free for the vertical party in July?… Oh, three D&Cs and then there was the second-trimester abortion at the Minneapolis clinic… Kids doing well?…”
Please tell me a) if I should take something stronger than ibuprofen and whether I can drive myself home and b) if there is the smallest chance that I might actually see a radiologist because then I am DEFINITELY taking something stronger than ibuprofen and he can just drive me home.