Boy? Girl? Girl? Boy? I'm Not Telling.

Yesterday was our 18-week ultrasound and OB appointment. Uneventful, routine stuff for me; so much so that I forget sometimes how much it means to Mum and Dad. I hope that my old-hat way of going about things helps to put them at ease rather than making them feel that their experience is being minimized. Maybe I’ll ask.

My cravings this trimester have gone from jalapeno poppers (with no heartburn, believe it or not) to bananas. So of course Mum made me a huge batch of banana bread. She and Dad brought it to our appointment yesterday, and I’m not going to say I didn’t devour a healthy portion of it on my way home afterward. I shared a little bit with Hubs and Pooka, but it’s MINE!

Our nurse weighed me and brought us to our exam room where I chattered right through her taking my blood pressure and she very politely told me to shut up so she could get an accurate reading. The first one was kind of scary high. The second was actually a little below my usual, but still within the healthy range. While we waited for the doctor to come in and chat with us, Mum divulged that our previous visit turned out nicely, but that the doctor’s repeated references to friends of his who had undergone IVF and had twins was not well-received.

Dr. Firstname attended us this time and was just that – attentive. He’s more laid-back than most of the doctors with whom I’ve dealt at The Big Hospital except for perhaps Dr. Badass. He had no trouble finding Nugget’s heart beat with the Doppler, which seemed to please Mum greatly. He said my weight gain looks good, fundal height looks good, and Nugget’s heart rate was 144 beats per minute: well into the normal range. The normal range, for those of you who want to know, is 110-160 beats per minute. He told us that one of the next two visits was going to need to be two weeks from another, rather than four between each. We waffled a bit and decided to visit again two weeks from yesterday. Of course, we forgot to set up the appointment when we checked out, but I called this morning.

We got shuffled back out to the waiting room to cool our heels until we were called in for our ultrasound. We had a pleasant chat about my nerding habits, and discovered that we all share a fondness for the Game of Thrones TV show.  Mum made some comment about not letting me ask the ultrasound tech about the baby’s gender, and I couldn’t help myself. Dr. Goggles had VERY surreptitiously snuck it into our last visit, so I told her I know. I also told her that I wasn’t going to give it away. She started trying to reason it out but Dad and I both had to stop her, because her logic was moving in weird directions that weren’t making sense to us. So until Nugget is born, I’ll be dangling “he’s” and “she’s” and the occasional “it’s” in conversations, just to be a pain in the butt and make them laugh. Did I mention that I love their sense of humor? I think I may have, but I do.

According to the ultrasound Nugget is measuring a day ahead of her/his gestational age, and all of his/her bits look perfectly healthy. Mum and Dad got some great pictures AND a DVD of the whole shebang to take home with them. The ultrasound doctor came out to double check on the membranous septum in Nugget’s heart to make sure there weren’t any holes in it, and to check her/his upper lip to make sure it wasn’t cleft. Given that the last time this doctor came in to chat after an ultrasound it was to tell I.F. that Tempest had a slight abnormality in his brain, this visit was much more welcome.

We weren’t able to go grab lunch this visit because Mum had some work due for her job yesterday afternoon and it wasn’t stuff that could be done remotely. This worked out pretty well for me, as I had to pop off at Best Buy to pick up a Playstation 4 for Hubs’ birthday (which is today, by the way! Happy Birthday, Precious!). I dropped it off to him on my way back to the office, since he has to work through tomorrow and I wanted him to have some play time on it this week.

Except that there was a hardware fault with the power source. Hubs got this information after the PS4 crapped out and he called Sony support. They were able to diagnose the problem pretty quickly I guess, and Best Buy was marvelous about exchanging the bad unit for a new one. The guy at the customer service desk even tested it out for me to make sure that he didn’t send me home with another busted console.

And I got to have dinner with Pooka and an old friend of mine. We parted company quickly at the end of the night; my friend having decided to buy himself a Playstation 3 at the very, very last minute before Best Buy closed. Ha! Boys and their toys.

A Real Hair-Puller

Today started out as a real hair-puller. No joke. I woke up and had to remind Hubs that I needed him to drive me to work, then come back and pick up Pooka and drop her off at school (she broke the growth plate in her right ankle, having been instructed by the director of “Willy Wonka Junior” to jump off a five-foot-high stage in HEELS), then drive himself to a medical appointment at 8:30. After that, he had to pick me up at work for 12:30 so that I could drop him off at home and make it to the Big Hospital for a 2:00 OB appointment.

Several hiccups made themselves apparent very quickly. When I went in to kiss Pooka, as I do every day before I leave for work, she informed me that she had been selected to perform in the State Middle School Music Festival.  Today. This meant that she would be in rehearsals all day, rather than school, and that Hubs would have to drop her off at the high school, and be sure to acquire lunch for her and drop it off in time for her to eat it before coming to pick me up at 12:30. It also meant that I had to cancel the late lunch I was planning to have with Mum and Dad after our appointment, so that I could make sure that Hubs got to work on time and that Pooka had dinner delivered before the performance.

I had also planned to have tea with my local Sister-Surrogate (mentioned previously) at 6:30, which would have been scuppered, except that the choral portion of the Music Festival wasn’t to begin until close to 7:30.

Halfway through the day Miss Pooka contacted me to inform me that she couldn’t keep standing all day, with her broken ankle (understandably) and that she was feeling sick. At my instruction she went and spoke to the choral director who excused her, thus negating the possibility of her being excluded from future opportunities. Thankfully her besty’s mom was willing to pick her up early and give her a ride home.

 It also turned out that my Microsoft Outlook (work) calendar is syncing with my phone/Google calendars so that all of my appointments in the work calendar are showing the times an hour earlier than the events are actually scheduled to happen. So what I thought was a 2:00 appointment was actually 3:00. This particular hiccup worked out to my advantage, as it allowed me to escape an exceptionally frustrating work day early, and gave me the better part of an hour to snuggle with Hubs before taking off to the Big Hospital.

I arrived at the hospital, I thought, ahead of Mum and Dad. Turned out they had gone to wait in the GYN waiting room rather than the OB reception area. Big hugs were exchanged (I love that) and a few amusing anecdotes were shared until My Favorite Nurse came out to get us. Not much happened; she took my blood pressure and asked how I was feeling, and Dr. Goggles came in. We chatted for a few minutes – nothing major – and I told him that Mum and Dad were particularly anxious to hear Nugget’s heartbeat.

Much to everyone’s chagrin, Nugget would not make him/herself known via Doppler, so Dr. Goggles generously suggested an ultrasound. Poor Mum had been waiting on baited breath for this one appointment, and he was not about to let her down. I cannot say how much I appreciated this. Not only did he offer an ultrasound, but when the nurses told him it would be at least half an hour’s wait, he ordered us into an empty ultrasound room and did the scan right there, himself.

Mum was beside herself to finally see her baby moving, with a solid, healthy heartbeat. I’m not gonna lie: it was wholly satisfying to be able to be the method by which she’s really going to be a Mommy. So Nugget is healthy and growing and all is well.

I managed to get back into town and pick Hubs up in time to bring him to work, then hit the local co-op for healthy dinner things for Pooka, and rushed off to the local créperie to get tea with Surro-Sister. She’s a marvelous, intelligent, strong woman who I must admit I admire to no end, and am so excited for her to begin her first surrogacy journey! We shared birthing stories, of course, and hers were some of the most interesting I’ve heard!

If you remember, dear reader: I posted that Surro-Sister’s Intended Father #1 had accidentally called me, meaning to call her instead, and then I wound up sitting behind them at the same créperie, listening to them talk about how sweet and helpful I am.

Well.

Further to that story, it turns out that Surro-Sister’s Intended Parents had viewed my profile back when I was being matched two-and-a-half years ago, and were the couple who had decided I lived too far away. How weird is that? Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if we SHOULD all sit down and have lunch or something. Too funny.

I’m home now, trying to relax after several grueling weeks. I’ve taken four teenagers to an anime convention in Boston; cared for a poor Pooka with a broken ankle; made a hell of a stink to Pooka’s principal and the irresponsible director who instructed her to jump off the stage and didn’t think that perhaps doing so in heels might cause problems; attended Pooka’s play and was as ever, impressed by her prowess on stage, even in a wheelchair; finished an audit at work in just over a week; accompanied Desert Rose to a late night OB appointment to make sure that her contractions were not actually causing her baby to come out yet; consulted with the best glamour consultant I’ve ever met about a portrait session, and attended an OB appointment that made Mum happier than she’s been since we started this cycle.

Let’s hope the rest goes as smoothly. I don’t have all that much hair to pull.

"And Den?"

I cannot believe I forgot to mention this yesterday!

Tuesday night I was napping in my room between dinner and going out to pick Hubs up from work, when my cell phone rang. The voice on the other end of the line was a hesitant male, trying to be polite and pleasant – but it wasn’t anyone I recognized, and when he introduced himself, I knew he must have had the wrong number. When I tried to tell him so, however, he insisted that he had the right one. He said “they” had given him my number.

I asked him who he was looking for, and he spoke a name I didn’t know; then said something about her being a potential surrogate. This, of course, caught my attention. I asked him who he was dealing with, and he responded that he was working with The Agency. I asked him who, specifically, gave him my number and he informed me it had been the Carrier Coordinator. He reiterated that he was looking for this other girl, who reportedly lived in a town about 14 miles south of me.

I told this man that I would text the Carrier Coordinator and try to get this straightened out. He was obviously nervous, and had an initial matching call scheduled with this girl, so I wanted to make sure they connected. It’s nerve-wracking to go through the very first matching process – the surrogate worries that no one will like her profile, or that she won’t be a good match for anyone, or that potential Intended Parents won’t like her. So the sooner the Coordinator and I got them in touch, the better for both parties.

I texted the Coordinator and she triple-checked, then assured me that she had not given the Potential Intended Father (PIF) my number, but the other woman’s, and sent the correct number to me, as well. I forwarded the number on to PIF and must assume that he made the call immediately, because there was no answer when the Coordinator tried to call him. I texted him one last time to say, “Good luck,” and left it at that.

Out of curiosity, I hopped on Facebook and messaged a friend of mine, to whom Pooka and I refer as “Sexy J.” She and I had discussed surrogacy a while back, and I had given her The Agency’s information. I asked if, by chance, she knew of anybody in her town who had signed up. She responded by informing me that yes indeed, she knew just who I was talking about, and was visiting with that woman’s husband as we typed. Small world!

I wound up texting the woman (who I do not yet know well enough to give her a nickname) to wish her the best, and we wound up chatting for quite a while. We’ve tentatively decided to get together for dinner some evening to chat. It can be lonely sometimes, being the only person in your social circle who carries other people’s kids, so the idea of having a comrade in that way is very exciting!

We still have no idea how PIF got my number, but I wound up with a new friend, so I’ve got no complaints.

Net Gain For Justice

Wow, I’ve been slacking off. Bad Preggosaurus. Alright, now that I’ve been sufficiently chastised, I can proceed with updates. Also, there are links to those things with which you might not be familiar. Just hover over the words and they'll show you which ones are links.

Last Sunday morning (as many of my Facebook followers know) I totaled my 2007 Ford Focus – who I had named Jeannie MacFeegle. Turned left at the bottom of the northbound exit ramp two exits north of me on the interstate, and wound up tangoing with a Volvo Cross Country. Jeannie didn’t stand a chance. Volvos are absolute tanks. The Volvo needed a new passenger-side fender, headlight and front bumper. Jeannie lost everything forward of the radiator. Thankfully the insurance company checked everything out and turned over a check very quickly.

Last Monday I had another ultrasound, at Mum’s request, to ease her mind. Even though it wasn’t medically necessary, My Favorite Nurse managed to finagle it anyway. Between her and the Big Hospital’s billing department, we were able to make sure my insurance never even saw the charges, so everybody was happy, and of course Nugget is doing beautifully. Heartbeat was a solid 159, which is still well within normal for its gestational age.

Tuesday morning, I went out with “Auntie Badass” (my mother’s older sister) to go car shopping. I had done a bunch of research Monday after work and made some phone calls. Despite having only had auto credit with Ford, I started off at the local Toyota dealership. The salesman was solicitous without being pretentious or pushy, and didn’t ask me or Auntie where our husbands were, which scored big points with both of us. I test-drove an automatic transmission 2014 Scion XB (Did you know that Scion is just a badge of Toyota? Me either!). It was a good little beast, and was a lot of fun to drive, but Hubs and I had discussed our “must haves” for a new car, and manual transmission was a big one for me. The XB had four doors, which was a must, and storage space for things like cell phones and sun glasses up front, which was also a must. It also had plenty of space in the cargo area for a dog, which we will eventually acquire; and ample leg room in the back seat for the days when we transport Hubs’ coworker, the Gentle Giant. who is easily 6’5”.

After test driving the Scion, Auntie and I went down the hill to the Ford dealership. Up till that point, I had been emailing with the digital sales manager there, who had said to me more than once: “I won’t miss your business for price.” But I had bought Jeannie there, so I decided to go speak to the salesman I’ve known for years. He and another salesman both blew me off, asking me to come back the next day with an appointment. Well, Tuesday was Town Meeting Day, and I had the day off, so I wanted to get something rolling that day. They tried to push me back as far as Saturday. Now, Auntie had loaned me her car beginning Sunday night, and was generous enough to let me use it for up to two weeks. I don’t like taking advantage of people, so I wanted to be able to give her car back as soon as possible.

Needless to say: After the blow-off, once I got outside, I looked to Auntie and grumbled, “Screw this noise. Let’s go buy a Scion.” So we drove back up the hill and I told the salesman that if he could find me a 2014 Scion XB with a manual transmission, I’d buy it. He had one located before I left that day.

Once I did leave and dropped Auntie back at home, I scrambled back into town and met up with Mum at my local créperie. Truth be told, it’s one of my favorite restaurants, and I was pleased that Mum was impressed. She drove us up to the Big Hospital where I geeked out with the receptionist over Dr. Who and Torchwood, and got scathing glares from another receptionist for not being overly excited about Sherlock.

Dr. Mischief was our doctor-of-the-day, and he assured us both that I am once again, a low-risk pregnancy. I got the usual initial pelvic exam, along with blood pressure, heart and lungs checks, and the requisite question-and-answer session between Mum and Doctor. I think she felt confident by the end of the visit. At least, I hope so.

Friday, I picked up my new silver 2014 Scion XB, 5-door, 5-speed. Hubs and I have named her Gytha, and we love her. Hubs has been generous enough to let me do all the driving, because I’ve so missed having a stick-shift! He’s a good Hubs. I think I’ll keep him. The only complaint I’ve had about Gytha is small. We had a huge snowstorm yesterday, and dealership windshield wipers are absolute rubbish. I bought a new set yesterday, and I no longer have any complaints. She’s a bear in the snow, shifts like a dream and has more bells and whistles than I could have thought to ask for! I no longer have to talk on my cell phone by holding my phone – she came with Bluetooth built into her stereo system! So not only can I talk on my phone over the stereo, but Hubs and Pooka and I all have our phones programmed into the stereo so that we can touch the stereo screen and play our music without cables or USB plug-ins.

Monday this week, half of my agency started work in our new building in the Granite City. It’s a little farther away from my house, but by taking a different route, the amount of time my commute takes is no more than it was when I worked 3 miles closer. Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in almost ten years: I HAVE A WINDOW! This alone makes the whole move worth it for me. Everyone else can complain all they like about the building, the move, the location, whatever. I’m happy. I can turn my head and see outdoors.

All in all, I’m calling the last two weeks’ events (as Hubs puts it), “a net gain for justice.”

What A Week (And Weekend!)

Ladies and Gentlemen: What a week! Lots of changes, lots of work and a bit of good news to boot!

Friday was my last monitoring ultrasound and blood work for The IVF Clinic. Nugget looks to be growing nicely, and its heartbeat was 165 – a good, strong heart rate and well within the normal range. Poor Mum was pretty nervous waiting for the results of the ultrasound. Usually my appointments are in the morning, so she doesn’t have to wait long to hear news one way or the other. Friday’s appointment was at 12:45, so there was nothing to tell her till 1:00ish. But again: All was well

The second downside to taking a later appointment for monitoring is that even with ordering the results “STAT,” The IVF Clinic sometimes doesn’t get all of the results that day. This was the case on Friday. The blood work ordered was for Estradiol (estrogen) levels, progesterone levels and beta hCG (pregnancy hormone) levels. As of the end of the work day, only the ultrasound and progesterone results had come in. It’s the full workup that determines how well the pregnancy is going, so it’s entirely possible that, had The Big Hospital sent in all of the results by the end of the day, I might not have had to continue stabbing myself in the butt through the weekend. Oh well. It’s old hat now.

Thursday my office threw a huge bash for my boss’ boss who retired. Her last day was Friday. So our team took her out to lunch at the Chinese restaurant across the street from the office, then threw her a party in the big conference room at the office. People came from all over the state to wish her well, eat cake and snacks and drink punch. Hopefully the Big Boss left feeling appreciated. Frankly, I’m not sure how well the team will function without her, but the lady who’s rumored to be replacing her is brilliant and capable and if she’s hired, will fill Big Boss’ shoes easily.

This weekend I went down to my grandparents’ house to visit and take care of whatever chores they needed done around the house. I won’t go into the list of chores I did, but let’s just say I had to excuse myself and go to bed around 8:30 Saturday night.

I did get an hour nap in yesterday between arriving home after the two-hour drive from Gram’s, taking out the recycling that has been piling up in our store room, and having to take Pooka’s friend Vriska home, which is about a two-hour round trip in and of itself.

Pooka and I popped off at the grocery store to get some cranberry juice and seltzer for me (since I can’t drink de booze), apple juice for her and soda for our guests. Hubs ordered pizza and BAMF, The Ginge and Hubs’ coworker came over for the evening. They went home around 9:30 and Hubs and I brought back the rental car I had used for the trip to and from Gram’s, then dropped his coworker off at home.

One of the signs that I’m pregnant is that my dreams become weird, for me. Now, my dreams are always extremely bizarre. I dream about zombies and superheroes and magic and many other things you’d only see in sci-fi/fantasy. When I’m pregnant, my dreams become exceptionally mundane, and might have some occasional juxtaposition here and there. For example: Last night I dreamed that Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen were in town, and insistent on staying at my place. The problem was, my house was very messy, and I don’t like having company – except for very close friends – when my house isn’t pristine. I think there was something about a bet where they insisted that I hide my old teddy bear and if they could find it, they got to stay. Except that they didn’t know I had an attic, and so I offered to put them up in the bed and breakfast on the main street in town, which is a stone’s throw from my house.

Like I said: Weird.

Nugget Has A Heart!

Ladies and gents: Nugget is here to stay! Despite the fiasco of last weekend, it is growing beautifully and has a good, strong heartbeat. We confirmed that heartbeat at a rate of 130 this morning.

The ultrasound tech was kind enough to save a little clip of the heart beating for me and set it to loop when she left, so that I could take a video (below) to send to Mum and Dad via text message, since they couldn’t be here. Mum had asked me to tell her “as soon as humanly possible” what Nugget’s heart rate was. So I took the video and sent it to her with this text: “Heart rate is 130 and Nugget is growing perfectly! Believe me now? LOL <3” She responded tearfully but happily.

I am convinced, at this point, that every pregnancy comes with one big scare or significant inconvenience. With Pooka, I was hospitalized overnight and given intravenous antibiotics for a kidney infection. WiggleWorm’s umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck twice but she was fine. And with Tempest, I wound up with kidney stones. So the way I figure it is that last weekend’s scare was our big drama with Nugget, and the rest will be smooth sailing.

For those of you who are curious as to what a 7-week old embryo looks like: this is it. The bean-shaped blob is Nugget, and the little pulsing blob inside Nugget is its heart.

UPDATE 2/11/14: I have one more monitoring appointment scheduled for next week, and then I'll be released into the care of the obstetricians at The Big Hospital.

Mis-Adventures in Surrogacy

This past weekend was a complete and utter debacle. I’m still reeling from it, honestly. Just… Ugh.

Friday after work, Hubs and I went up to the general Queen City area to shop for a suit for him. He’s never had one, and we feel it will make a difference when interviewing for teaching jobs… Or any jobs, really. We found a very nice black one that shows off his assets and hide his very few liabilities. The staff at Men’s Wearhouse were very good to us, and helped us keep the whole package within budget, so that was nice. Plus, they’re tailoring it to fit him properly. We’re told it will be ready at 3:30pm on Saturday. After the suit, we popped over to a local Mexicali restaurant for dinner, which Hubs critiqued (much to my amusement) throughout the meal. Apparently it did not compare favorably to his current place of work, even though he did admit that the food wasn’t bad, “for the price versus the quantity.” Then we snuck over to BestBuy and picked up a CD and a movie for which Pooka had been begging since December.

Saturday Hubs went to work in the morning and I slept in late. Pooka decided to go with a friend (Curly-Q) to the Queen City to celebrate another friend’s birthday, so I sat around the house and marathon-watched “Merlin” on Netflix. I had agreed to pick her up at 8:00pm at the birthday girl’s house, so once Hubs got home from work I got dressed and headed out. I wound up waiting for a while, as teenagers will make their parents do, and of course two other girls needed rides home in other areas, so I dropped them off before heading home with Pooka and Curly-Q.

On the way home, I felt several significant gushes. Deciding not to panic, I pulled off the nearest exit and stopped at a gas station. Once in the bathroom, my fears were confirmed: The gushing was blood. And lots of it. I’m not a crier, as a rule, but I lost it. I burst into tears. Some poor woman waiting her turn outside the bathroom went and found Pooka elsewhere in the store. Pooka told her that I was pregnant, and probably just sick. After a few minutes, the woman went and found my daughter again and reported that she heard me crying. She had asked if I was alright through the door, but I had ignored her. Pooka and Curly-Q abandoned their intent to use the loo themselves and followed me quietly to the car, where I explained the situation. They’re good girls, and were sympathetic and as supportive as they could be, not knowing what to do in a situation like this one. I dropped Curly-Q off at her house and Pooka and I went home, where I burst into tears afresh as I made for the loo again. There was just so much blood!

I called The IVF Clinic, and was told to see if The Big Hospital could see me Sunday for blood work and an ultrasound. This was around 11:00pm. After several phone calls between myself, The Clinic and The Big Hospital, I had an appointment for blood work and ultrasound at 8:15 Sunday morning.

Sunday morning rolled around, and I made my way up to The Big Hospital. While waiting to be called in between other people’s IVF procedures, I emailed Mum and told her I was so very sorry; that I had wanted to get it right for her on the first go – and explained what had happened.

I shouldn’t have.

For lo and behold, the ultrasound showed Nugget, bigger than it was on Thursday, and looking perfectly normal. My estrogen and progesterone levels were fine, and my beta hCG levels were 16,499 – right on track. My bleeding had almost completely stopped and everything looked fine. If I had just kept my stupid fingers from sending that email, poor Mum wouldn’t have had to go through the emotional roller coaster on which I sent her this weekend.

Dr. Head-Honcho made a point to come in and see me again, as he was working Sunday, and reassured me that bleeding during the first trimester, especially with IVF procedures, is very common, and not always an indication of miscarriage. I was told to take it easy for the rest of the day and the following day – avoiding stress and trying to stay off my feet as much as possible.

So that was the weekend. Thank goodness for tenacious little embryos!

Yesterday was just as big a mess as the weekend. I called the mail-order Pharmacy that The Clinic chooses to distribute medications, to order more progesterone in oil. I’d have called on Sunday, but they’re not open on Sundays – unlike the other Pharmacy I used with the First IVF Clinic. Anyway, there’s a snow storm down there, so they wouldn’t guarantee next-day delivery. Now, I was REALLY low on progesterone. I’m not a doctor, and the boxes weren’t labeled as to how many days’ worth of medication was in each vial, so I wasn’t sure when to order more.

Needless to say, there was panicking done. I called The Big Hospital and asked if their Reproductive Endocrinology & Infertility (Dr. Head-Honcho’s division) could prescribe me one or two CCs of the stuff. No dice. I called my regular doctor to see if they could prescribe it. No dice. I called my local pharmacy to find out if they carried progesterone in oil, just in case I could find someone who was able to call in a prescription. No dice. I called The IVF Clinic again and they had no doctors on duty and are closed until Friday because of the snow. I could not believe it. Snow doesn’t close everything down in Vermont – not unless you get six feet of it in under five hours. So it was incomprehensible to me that The Clinic would be closed! I even emailed Dr. Head-Honcho personally to ask if he could help me. He responded fairly quickly, and had reached out to someone else on his team to try to make it happen for me.

Exasperated, desperate and tearful, I left a message with The Clinic’s answering service for the NURSE on call to ring me back. I was terrified that I wouldn’t have enough progesterone for that night’s dose, and would therefore surely miscarry.

Well, it turns out that nurses at The Clinic can call in prescriptions. The nurse who called me back had just phoned in another prescription for another surrogate at The Big Hospital’s pharmacy, and still had the number in front of her. She rang me back again shortly thereafter and said my progesterone would be ready in an hour – all I had to do was call them and give them my insurance information.

I emailed Dr. Head-Honcho back to thank him and let him know everything was sorted out; then I called my besty – Mama, who was happy to drive me up to The Queen City to pick up my scrip, and we chatted almost nonstop during the 40-minute drive.

But wait! There’s more!

Once at The Big Hospital’s pharmacy, I was informed that the only two vials they had in stock had walked out the door with the other surrogate, not half an hour previously. The staff called the in-patient pharmacy and double-checked all of their shelves to try to find even a partial vial of progesterone, but there was none to be found. The pharmacist was able to order four vials of it for today, and said it would be available at 9:00 am.

So Hubs, despite not having gotten much sleep, drove up to The Big Hospital early this morning to pick up my progesterone. Interestingly, FedEx just emailed a “delivery exception” to me. They had of course tried to deliver my meds (which require a signature) while Hubs was indisposed, so I called the main FedEx number to ask for help. They’ll be back at my house in five minutes with the package.

As I look back on the last few days, and all the drama and inconvenience I “suffered” though, I have to say that I was very lucky to have had so many contacts that were so willing to go out of their way to help me. Sure, there’s a lot of crap in this world; but there are also people out there who are willing to go to the mat for complete strangers. For that, I am exceptionally grateful.