So remember when I said I was trying not to get too anxious about this whole IVF thing? Yeah, that worked real well.
Thursday night, after coming home from the lovely catch-up with my friend, I was informed by my husband that there was a message for me. It was from the pharmacy, saying they’d received the order for more meds. Of course, the person who called did so an hour before they closed, and by the time I got home, it was too late to reach an actual person. So I left a message, saying to go ahead and ship it and bill the credit card on file. Then I tossed and turned most of the night, worried the meds wouldn’t get here in time. It was one of the worst night’s sleep I’ve ever had.
By late yesterday morning, I had another message, saying they’d go ahead and ship it and I should have it today. So I worried for nothing.
But the anxiety stayed with me because last night and this morning, before my appointment, I had this feeling of dread, like I was preparing myself for bad news, even though I had no reason to believe that anything had gone wrong.
And this morning, Dr. C measured my follicles (the largest ones, anyway) and uttered the only two words I cared about: looking good. I had meant to ask what the actual count was. I had intended to find out if the lab did a semen analysis when they froze Hubby’s sperm. But all that went out the window when I heard those two beautiful words.
Plus, I’ll have a chance to ask my questions tomorrow, when I go in bright and early at 8 am.