On Friday I started spotting and called the Clinic, fearing that we might miss our window if I actually waited for red blood flow like a normal person. Thus, Dr. A. wanted me to drive up for an ultrasound on Saturday.
Fortunately, my sister came into town on Friday afternoon and since L. was working, we made the drive together on Saturday morning.
I lost track of the speed limit somewhere between discussing her latest male conquest and the injustice of her friend who got a girl pregnant during their 2 month relationship which has subsequently ended in paternity testing and attorneys (EERRGGHH!! Stories like that drive me mad!!!).
When (20-something) Mr. Cop Jackass pulled us over, I began inwardly perseverating over how long he was going to detain us and whether or not I would make the appointment on time.
Mr. Cop Jackass: "Good Morning. Where are you ladies headed this morning?"
Me: "We're going to the Clinic."
Mr. Cop Jackass: "Oh, well, what takes you to the Clinic?"
Me (Seriously consider telling him it was none of his damn business, before my fear of a $200 ticket in addition to the $300+ for today's ultrasound overtook me, making me a bit of a pansy ass.): "Ummmm, infertility treatment."
Mr. Cop Jackass: "Oh, so nothing emergent."
Me (Uhhh, dude, I turn 35 less than 3 months, so it sure feels emergent to me): "Well...actually, it is pretty emergent."
Mr. Cop Jackass (with only the faintest flash of embarrassment): "Well, I'm going to let you off with a warning this time, but you need to slow it down."
I'm sure Mr. Cop Jackass was inwardly applauding his own virility, thinking IF would never happen to him and his super masculine sperm, but at least he found it in his heart to let me get to my appointment, without adding another $200 to the debt pile.
The ultrasound showed that my lining (12) is too thick for meds, and it needs to shed.
A.F. swooshed in around 11 p.m. last night.
I'll call for next steps today, but I'm sensing re-entry into the IVF Funhouse.