A beautiful day for an IUI
Despite these symptoms, I still wasn't totally convinced I was ovulating, so yesterday morning, before we left for the clinic, I stuck a finger up my cha-cha for old time's sake. Never before has my cervix been so high, soft, and open. Also, I have never had so much EWCM in my life.
This was the first time my husband had produced a specimen at our new clinic, so naturally I was excited to hear what the collection room was like. Our former clinic had sent him to an outside andrology lab for his sperm analysis, where he'd had a nurse walk in on him while he was, uh, working on producing. ("Hey, I guess this place is full-service," he said to the flustered nurse before she speedily backed out of the room.) This lab, located in one of the poshest neighborhoods in Big City, had a vast collection of some of the most "disgusting" (his word, not mine) porn my husband had ever seen--and he's been on the Internet, so he knows whereof he speaks. (I shall not describe it, because I do not want those Google hits.) Apparently the collection room was wall-to-wall porn--literally; the very walls were hung with pornography.
The clinic's collection room was disappointing by contrast. My husband said there were just three magazines and a DVD, none of which he bothered looking at.
After the weeks of buildup, the IUI itself was something of an anticlimax. After telling us the "sample" looked good (23 million sperm post-wash, "moving nicely"), the doctor (not Dr. SF, but a nice doctor I'd had before for monitoring, so that was fine) was in and out of there in under a minute. I barely felt a thing. "That's it?" I said disbelievingly. "That's it!" he replied as he zoomed out the door. "Lie down for five minutes, no strenuous exercise today but otherwise go about your usual activities."
After I remained lying down for ten minutes (I'm an overachiever), we went about our Sunday. We took a walk (slowly, so as to minimize the jostling) through the park, where I was in such a good mood I didn't even say anything hateful under my breath when we found ourselves walking behind an expensive-looking couple with a Bugab0o and a Lou!s Vu!tton diaper bag. We went to brunch, at a restaurant where every couple with a baby and pregnant woman in the city had also apparently decided to go--and I didn't mind a bit. We strolled through a street fair, went to see the new X-M*en movie, had pizza for dinner. And I felt optimistic, for the first time in a very long time. We'll see how long it lasts.