I parked in a fifteen minute zone.
Parking in a fifteen minute zone is tempting fate. STRAIGHT UP. But the whole premise of parking in a fifteen minute zone is a delicious indicator of how I seem to have approached the journey of IVF.
I’m fitting it in.
Twas the day before my first egg harvesting cycle was to begin, I had fifteen minutes to pick up my drugs and what better time to start tempting fate with a poorly thought out parking decision. But lets be clear – no one ever CHOOSES to park in a fifteen minute zone, even if you know you’re only going to be 5 mins, if option is there, if it’s a choice between 15 mins or longer, you pick longer. I pick longer. I’m not an animal.
And since my husband and I were in the thick of a bed bug infestation (a present he bought back following a European work trip; honestly, chlamydia would’ve been easier to treat) the plan was to get in and out, returning home triumphantly with my drugs and a newly acquired domestic steamer from Bunnings in tow – and not be quizzed about smelling like sausage, despite him recent embarking on an aip (auto immune protocol) elimination diet and me coming along in solidarity.
As you can see, we’ve got A LOT going on.
So I stumbled into the clinic reception looking disheveled (irrigation is dirty work) and indicative of struggling to look after myself let alone a small tiny human and I wait. I give the chemist my IVF number – which I’ve now memorised (and since forgotten) and she hands me a buzzer. A buzzer. Like the kind of buzzer you get when you order a chicken burrito in a food court. And I think, fuck me – I could really go a burrito right now. These drugs better come with a fucking burrito.
I also think about getting a parking ticket and if the single bed bug I found earlier burrowing into a cane washing basket was the culprit or just one of many sharks of the sheets I’ll need to cull.
The fertility nurse never expected to be asked about the consequences of having bed bugs and commencing IVF. I’ve googled some whacky shit in my time, but “bed bugs and IVF” takes the cake. And surprisingly, doesn’t end in cancer.
The drugs appear. In a sassy blue freezer bag with printed eggs on the front. They’re huge. Easter egg like and emu sized. They are, quite frankly, intimidating.
“I assume these aren’t to scale?” I ask the chemist.
She’s not having it. I hand over my buzzer – and know better than to ask about the burrito.
I head home, back to ground zero in an ironic mission to obliterate bed bug eggs and cultivate my own.
*I didn’t get a parking ticket. I AM INVINCIBLE.
Here’s an “Easter Egg” for you, cos if you’re anything like me, now you have a hankering for Mexican Eggs: http://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/eggs-recipes/mexican-breakfast/
IVeFfort 