We arrived to the stadium at 6:30pm. Everyone hopped out of the car and I scurried around to the other side so no one could see me, unzipped my pants, looked around in that shady, nervous, drug addict type of way, and quickly gave myself my last two shots. Once we got in the stadium, my husband and I missed the action of the first quarter because we were whispering back and forth about where we could do the trigger shot at 8pm. It is the only shot I needed him to help me with, and we just so happened to be in a place with absolutely no privacy and a strict no re-entry policy, so we couldn't even take a trip back to the car.
Starting at 7:30, my husband asked police officers and other staff if there was any place we could have some privacy to administer the shot. He stood in line at the concession stand and when the guy asked what my husband wanted, I saw my husband lean in and whisper to him...and then the man looked horrified and ran away to get a female worker. She walked over to my husband, who again leaned in an explained the situation. She gave the same look and walked away to check with someone else. The concession stand was swarming with people and those working the stand were flying around as fast as possible trying to serve people, and we were holding up the line. I was sure we were going to cause a riot. The woman very nicely offered to escort us to the woman's bathroom where we could use the handicapped stall. On the way in, a police officer confronted my husband, thinking he was a pervert trying to peek in the ladies room.
We rushed into the stall and immediately began fumbling with the materials. First we had to mix the shot. It wasn't so easy with no clean surfaces. We balanced on each other and tried to move as quickly as possible, but this was our first experience with this shot, and we wanted to get it right. Because the needle was so long, it took several tries to extract the liquid from the vial without getting mostly air. We were whispering to each other and scurrying about while women chattered on about lipstick and shouted about nothing important in the neighboring stalls; I couldn't help but feel like I had stumbled into the underbelly of some nightclub. Once the shot was ready, I had to disrobe enough for my husband to administer the shot, which was quite a feat given that I had on a dozen layers of clothing to keep warm, and again-no clean surfaces to put the discarded clothes. I clenched my jacket between my knees and fumbled with my pants, Under Armour tights, and underwear trying to expose the upper part of my backside.My husband never gave me a signal that he was ready to give the shot, he just plunged in. At first I flinched because I wasn't expecting it, but there was no pain and no burning. In just seconds, it was over. This isn't the usual way pregnancies are started in public bathroom stalls, but it felt momentous all the same. I wanted to have a toast, a long kiss, something to mark the occasion, but we had no time to waste celebrating because the poor woman was still sitting outside of the stall, waiting to escort us out of the bathroom. I zipped up quickly, panties twisted and bunched under my tights and made a quick escape. My poor husband had to endure the stares of horrified women as we left the stall. Seconds later, we were back on the sidelines watching the game as if nothing had happened. All in all, it was a fairly easy shot-no pain, no burning. I just hope we did it right.
Tomorrow we have to be at the fertility center at 6:30am for our 8:00am egg retrieval. Today I celebrated with sushi. I hope it is the last sushi I will have for many, many months.
No comments:
Post a Comment