Here's a nice soothing picture of water lilies to look at as we explore the grisly aftermath of my one attempt at Artificial Insemination in November of 1997.If you recall, before Christmas, you were gripped with suspense as I described the ticking time bomb in my ovaries--after my ovaries were stimulated with powerful fertility drugs in order to produce eggs and ovulate.
A meeting was held, attended by my womanly parts.
"She wants some eggs to drop," said the uterus. "Anybody wanna step up to the plate?"
"Naw", said Egg 1, reading the National Enquirer and munching on nachos.
"F*** off and die," snarled Egg 2. Egg 3 heard this, took it personally, and committed suicide.
"Someone's gotta at least make an appearance," worried the uterus. "Let's give it a half hearted try, and maybe she'll get discouraged."
"I'll drop," sighed Egg 4, dusting herself off and applying makeup to her aged visage.
In the meantime, a malevolent creature was growing on Ovarian Lane. "Why did she make me grow to the size of Anna Nicole Smith before Trimspa?" snarled the ovary. "I'll show her--I'm gonna grow a cyst. Then I'll make it explode!"
And that is what happened. Egg 4 dropped, thought the sperm knocking at the door were Jehovah's Witnesses, and refused to let them in. She eventually retired to Florida, where she holds Pampered Chef parties and entertains cabana boys.
Meanwhile, my ovarian cyst exploded after a few days "Am I pregnant?" post insemination torture.
No, I didn't take any pregnancy tests. This was 1997, people! I don't know what the state of tests were in 1997, but I vividly remember what they were in the early 80s. You had to have the dexterity of a chemist to mix the little tests up, none of the pee on a stick nonsense. Plus, in 1997, the sticks weren't advertising that they could reveal any interesting information within the first two weeks of insemination. Plus, in those days, they cost $19.95 per box.
About 4 days after the insemination I casually observed that either somebody was carving away at my parts with a rusty knife or I was just plain dying. I was rushed to the hospital and diagnosed with an exploding ovarian cyst.
Ten days later, I started my period.
I was absolutely horrified. I wasn't even disappointed as much as I was personally pissed off at my body. I had been told since I was in diapers that if a boy even "looked" at me that I would start growing triplets. I simply could not believe that the strongest drugs known to modern medicine would not produce pregnancy.
I was really mad.
Keep in mind that I had always enjoyed a felicitous relationship with my body. I've never been horribly sick, I've always been able to maintain a decent weight without half trying (cough) vegetarian (cough) , and really, we have always gotten along just fine. Yeah, I even have a fairly decent body image. Not perfect, but pretty good.
So here's this happy little relationship shot to hell by rogue womanly parts. Boy, did I give them a lecture.
"I'm trying again in January and you'd better straighten up and fly right, Missy!" I lectured my womanly parts.
"You mean Ms. don't you?" yawned my ovary. "You lost the Miss part long ago."
"Bite me," I snarled.
"You want another cyst?" she hissed.
"Sorry!" I exclaimed apologetically.
In January of 1998 I went online and typed in "China Adoption."
Ten minutes later I walked out to the den and casually informed Roger that we were adopting a kid from China.
"Ok!" he agreed cheerfully.
And
that
was
that.
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