Phone calls

I had my HSG scheduled for this morning. Funny how some things happen. My test was at 9 a.m. in east jabib New Jersey (not a real place btw) so I needed an hour to get there. I set my alarm for 7:30 a.m.....why this would make sense to me I have no idea. So here I am this morning cutting up Tessa's food (It comes in a block, don't ask), and I look at the clock and it says 7:45 a.m. and I think to myself...what the fuck? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?! was I thinking. I put down her food and water, hightail it to the shower (hello it's not like I'm going somewhere where skipping would even be an option), scrub myself all over, scrub again, rinse, brush the teeth, thank God that I had set out all my clothes, underclothes et cetera the night before, jump in it, throw some makeup on and I'm out of the house at 8a.m. ..shit. I get there with 10 minutes to spare and finally a male attendant calls me in (.....huh) and they explain he's helping as the other chick's not in but will wait outside while anything is going on and come in when he has to shoot the pics...fine. She puts the shit in, it HURTSSSSS like a motherfucker...more pain than I think I can withstand and I lay there whimpering because it's that painful. I turn, I turn the other way, I'm done. She says it all looks clear though there is some scalloping though she doesn't think this is significant in any way. I think, what the fuck is scalloping? I think of roof shingles, clothing hems and potatoes...I don't know what she's talking about but in true Gem stupidity, I don't ask...I can only think of one thing which is getting out of there, taking some advils and relieving the stress and pain...I get my films and I'm out. Okay cool beans. I leave, program my GPS to go to my doctor's office to see how far and figure out it's only 15-20 away and off I go. Drop the shit off, go grocery shopping and I'm home.

I'm putting the stuff away and my cell rings...restricted call...The chick says she's Sandra and so and so gave her my number regarding international adoption. I think to myself, "shit, really". I'm not ready. I'm not ready for this yet, I don't know. She tells me all about the process, explains it's pricey and takes about a year. She has a connection that could save me $10K...I do have to go to Haiti (UGH!!)...I get the information, thank her, call her the wrong name of course because it wouldn't be me if I didn't fuck up your name, and we hang up.

I fall asleep on the couch and wake up 2 hours later. Dr. B calls. She says the top of the uterus looks perfect however the middle appears as if there is some constriction, perhaps the fibroid is pressing on the uterus though she thinks the space is "adequate enough to carry a pregnancy". Fuck, I think, adequate is not perfect....adequate is code for maybe. Okay, where do we go from here. She asks me what I've decided and says she can't remember my choices clearly. Shit, she can't remember...I thought I was special...*sigh*..alas it appears I'm just average. Moving on from my sarcastic thoughts, I tell her I thought we were moving in the direction of donor egg with my uterus. She asks if I've made a wish list. Wish list? She says she has one donor in mind that matches my ethnicity that she's thinking of...hmmm...okay...the rest of the conversation is just basic bullshit...bullshit that still hurts but only because of what we're talking about, not because of how it's delivered. She'll have Allison the person in charge of donors call me. I thank her. I want to cry as all I can do is picture her sitting there pregnant talking to me about using one particular chicks donor eggs that she has in mind because she is my same race and I wonder if she even knows what race I am. I'm upset obviously but it's not the conversation...it's really just about a million different things, a million different difficult and painful reasons.

 I don't care what race I get which is something that someone else might care about.. but me, not so much. So it's not matchy matchy...don't care. I need the chick to have gone to college, have not done drugs, not have been a total slut or loser or unable to concentrate or given her mother hell. I want her to be smart, gentle, and sweet as I'm not fully convinced that these attributes are all gathered through nurture rather than nature. I want to know why she's giving up her eggs for 8 thousand dollars because you couldn't give me a million dollars for one itty bitty one of mine even if they are no good just because there is a possibility that my baby may be going home with you. But if it wasn't for the fact that she didn't think like me, didn't look at her eggs as too precious to give away, I'd have no chance at all. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, and shit. I guess I still haven't fully absorbed the idea of using someone else's eggs. I can't explain it really but I imagine that everyone feels this way, that this decision isn't an easy one for anybody, and that this idea, as sickening as it is, and I'm sorry to say that it is, is easier to digest than the thought of travelling to Haiti to adopt someone else's baby. That sentence, as horrible as it is in content and probably in grammar, is too true...painful, selfish, perhaps egomaniacal but true. It's how I feel, right or wrong. And I can't help but wonder, am I just grasping at straws here. Is this some bone they throw you when you want something that's never going to happen? I don't know..I don't know. I'm scared....I'm scared it's over..and I'm scared it won't work.

I wait for Allison's phone call and we'll see what that brings. Can't wait.