Repetitive, Redundant...

So, in the dictionary under, “redundant” it says, “see redundant.” (Thank you, Robin Williams, for that little nugget. It’s one of my favorites.)

I called the social worker at the new IVF Clinic today. She asked me a bunch of questions about my home life, like: “You’re married, right? How long have you been married?” And “How many kids do you have? How old are they?” Then we moved on to the more pressing matters, like: “Do you have a history of drug or alcohol use?” And, “How do you think you’ll feel about relinquishing the child after it’s born?” The answers to these respective questions, by the way, are: Yes. Three years. One. Thirteen. I imbibed as teenagers do, but quit after my first semester of college. And as with the last two, I’m confident that I’ll be fine, since I can’t really relinquish a baby that isn’t mine.

It just seems like we could (and probably will) do this line of questioning at the all-day screening appointment; which by the way is confirmed for October 25^th.

The social worker seems very nice, to be fair, and I’m sure this is all just standard procedure; I’m just whiny because I’ve done all this before; I don’t see a need to do it all over again.

I Like Ta Move It, Move It!

At long last, my records have made their way down to the new IVF Clinic! Poor Mum has been anxious to get the process started, but it’s nothing but a game of hurry-up-and-wait at this point. I can’t be a preggosaurus again until late December/early January.

Even so, there are screenings to do, apparently both over the phone and in person. I have one with the social worker on the 25^th, presumably to discuss my previous experiences as a surrogate, and to make sure I’m mentally stable enough to handle a third gestational carrier cycle. Then on October 10, I have a short phone call with the IVF Doctor at the new clinic. I have no idea what we’ll discuss; I’ve gone over my medical history with his nurse, in triplicate. They probably just have to be really, REALLY sure that I’m healthy or something.

Then on the 24^th, Hubs and I will drive down to the new IVF Clinic’s area and crash overnight in a nearby hotel, so we can start the all-day screening process. If I’m being absolutely honest, I’m not excited about the screenings. The physical exams and blood work make sense; as does the review of medications I’m going to have to take. This clinic has a thing for intramuscular injections, whereas the previous one only did Leuprolide (dinosaur shots, as my friend BAMF calls them) via injection. And since Mum and Dad just had some embryos frozen, I don’t think I’ll need to do that. But I digress.

The part I don’t happily anticipate is the hours-long “personality test” they make me do – the MMPI2. Honestly, anyone with half a brain can tell what the test is trying to determine, based on each question. I could make them think I was absolutely batty if I wanted to mess with them. Plus, the social worker usually grills me and Hubs about what we expect from the experience, how we’d react in rhetorical situations, blah, blah, blah. It’s dull and pointless. I’ve proven twice now, that I don’t consider the immediate postpartum hand-off as “giving the baby up.” It’s not mine to begin with, so I can’t give it up. All I do is hand him/her off to his/her actual parents and get wheeled off to take a nap and get spoiled by the nurses for a couple of days.

Oh well. Part of the process, I guess. LOL.