Today is CD 19. The meds arrived on Thursday, and I start injections on Monday, immediately following the u/s and the injections lesson. I considered the start of the Lupron my deadline for finishing off my bucket list. I finished almost everything on that list; I’ll update more on that later.

In the meantime… I have a story from months ago that I’ve been eager to share, once I could find the time to write it up.

The first part of this story is to show you a picture of some lovely gold earrings my husband gave me for my birthday this year.

They’re a quarter-inch in diameter, maybe a half-inch. Not too big. Very pretty. I love them.

Here’s the second part of the story.

I pretty much adore my RE. We weren’t always with him, however. For our initial consult, we saw another doctor at the same clinic. Interesting guy: not exactly hot per se, but something about his attitude, the confidence, the scrubs (admit it, they’re dead sexy sometimes), the drawl, added up to what I now refer to with my girlfriends as “Hot Doctor.”

We were at the office for two and a half hours and spent maybe 15 minutes, tops, in his presence. We talked with Hot Doctor in his office briefly, then the nurse led us to the room with the ultrasound machine and told me to disrobe. My husband quietly flipped out and did a great imitation of this squirrel we once found perched on top of the frame of the front door to my bachelorette apartment: terrified and unable to decide whether he wanted in or out. I excused him, to relieve some of the tension in the room. (For the record, he’s gotten way better and has now managed to sit quietly by my side for the duration of one whole IUI. Good man.)

Another hour later, I was still sitting there on the table, in the gown, wondering what the hell was going on. Then in comes Hot Doctor.

Now, to that point in my life, I had never let a man near my privates unless I wanted him there for pleasurable aims. Hearing a male doctor – a hot male doctor, no less – say for the first time in my life, “Lie back and scoot down. Closer. There you go,” was, among other things, bizarre. But being a good girl, I did as I was told.

The doctor rolled on his stool over to the side where he manipulated the dildo cam with one hand and the computer with the other, snapping pictures and narrating while the nurse looked on, probably wondering why I do such a terrible job shaving the backs of my thighs.

“I’m seeing a follicle here that looks about ready to produce,” he said. Then he looked down at my face. “Say, those are nice earrings. Are those real gold?”

“What?” I said.

“Your earrings. They look like little gold sand dollars.” He looked closer. “Oh, I guess they’re not, they’re just flat circles. Hmm. Now let’s look at the other ovary.”

Other infertile ladies will appreciate the extent to which I was physically unable to recoil at that particular moment.

We switched to a different doctor. I actually think Hot Doctor’s not a bad doctor – and it’s a good thing, because if my retrieval or transfer falls on his watch, then there’s not a lot I can do about it – but I also think that we hit him on a serious off day. The wait was absurd, I barely understood what he was telling me, and the staff seemed a bit irritated with him.

Plus? That’s a really nice pair of 14k-gold earrings I’ll never be able to wear with a straight face again.

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