“…you’re open 24-7-365, but there aren’t any doctors in today?”
Yes, friends, this is the gist of the conversation I had earlier today with the lead nurse at my fertility clinic. My OPK was vividly positive at 1:30 this afternoon; at 1:40 I called to set up my insemination appointment for later this evening, only to find that all the doctors had already left for the day. She scheuduled me for 10 a.m. tomorrow and assured me it would be fine, contrary to my hormone- and one-damn-crisis-after-another-induced panic. I’m entitled to panic: I WILL ovulate today; I always ovulate on the day of the positive OPK. Let’s hope Nurse No-Worries is right.
Now the customary two-week-wait (2WW as it’s called in Fertility Land) and all the neuroses it contains is being upstaged by the roller coaster ride known as “I Hope Tomorrow at 10 is Not Too Late.” I can only hope that my body and its new friend Clomid got together and produced at least two eggs, and I can only hope that they are strong, determined eggs who hang around as long as it takes the Joey the Sperm to get to where they are. I hope my eggs are a cross between Thelma and Louise and that other Geena Davis character from “The Long Kiss Goodnight” who refuses to die even after being shot, stabbed, set on fire, held under water for several minutes at a time, locked in a meat freezer, and blown up by an oil tanker. That’s the kind of energy I’m looking for today.