Saturday, February 23, 2008

Sperm Delivery

we placed a call to the doctor’s office to give them a heads-up. Our very nice nurse, however, questions the arrival date of “the goods,” and encourages us to expedite the order.

Our first moment of true PANIC! What if “the goods” aren’t here by the time ovulation occurs? What if we spend oodles of money just to miss the best day? A frantic phone call is placed to the cryobank, and the order is moved up for Saturday delivery. (This comes with a triple whammy, of course. One charge for move-up and another charge for Saturday delivery and another charge for overnight delivery.) The package is now scheduled to be delivered to our front door, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

Unfortunately, Friday afternoon brings no news of “goods” delivery. We turn our attentions on-line to track our order, which shows NO MOVEMENT from the Memphis hub of FedEx. (Why, why, why – I ask – does a shipment from California need to route through Memphis to get to Utah?!?!) A call is placed to the shipping company where they inform us that the plane has experienced technical difficulties. Not to worry, though, because “the goods” will be delivered on Monday.

Well, see previous mention that Monday delivery just won’t work. More intense, more pure PANIC sets in, and I lose it. I’m a sobbing wreck. I even develop a spontaneous bloody nose, which has never, ever, ever happened to me! We are, of course, going to miss our opportunity, and the world will crash down around us. Bubba steps up and gets involved with the shipping company. Let’s just say now that any sane person does not want to be on the other end of a phone conversation with her when she is angry.

After trying to calmly rationalize with the phone representative, Bubba's voice began to creep up the decibel chart culminating in “If my wife’s egg expires before that sperm arrives, there will be hell to pay!” Mr. Phone Representative quickly – and wisely – transfers the phone call to his supervisor.

“Oh, my goodness, Mrs. Christensen – er, Mrs. Beeny – er, Mrs. Christensen – er, Ma’am. This is quite a predicament. I fully understand your position and the crucial nature of this delivery. I will be sure that your package is delivered before 10am on Sunday at no additional cost to you!” (OK – really, lady? Do you think that you really understand what we’re going through? Are you a middle-aged lesbian with an expiration date on the DNA inside of an egg awaiting a no-guarantee romantic encounter with a frozen, anonymous bundle of DNA-with-tail? Do you REALLY understand what we’re going through, Little Miss Phone Supervisor? Thought not!)

But, hey! We’ve just been given the holy grail of the delivery world: A no-fee-added-Sunday delivery. (Reader, please insert angelic voices singing “Hallelujah” in unison.) Whew! Disaster averted. We celebrate by having me blow my snotty nose and practice calming, deep breathing exercises.

Sunday morning! We await the arrival of the coveted man-sicle. We wish god speed to the delivery representative in the blue suit. Please have a lead foot and sure driving skills as you hurry to our modest home!
“Hey, honey! What time is it?”
“What time is it now?”
“How ‘bout now?”
“For god’s sake, woman, get away from the window!”
9:00. 9:15. 9:45. 9:55. 9:56. 9:57. 9:58. 9:59. 10. 10:01.
“Call the shipper, NOW!”

“WHAT?!?!??!?!” What do you mean nothing is scheduled to come to our house today? What do you mean you don’t do Sunday deliveries? What do you fucking mean that Little Miss Phone Supervisor didn’t put any notes into the system? HEY!!! I’LL CURSE IF I WANT TO!!!!!”

Well, now that our crying, stomping, screaming, and phone receiver slamming has sufficiently scared the crap out of the dogs, we should probably get out of the house. Let’s take a breather. You know, relax. Unwind. Yeah, let’s go fishing! That always makes us feel better – especially since we cancelled a previously planned camping weekend to wait for sperm that may never arrive. We can surely find someplace relatively close as a relaxation destination.

We decided to travel north even though we never travel north to fish. It’s always south or east. That’s just what we do, and – let’s face it – we are creatures of habit. Surely, however, there will be some fantastic fishing spots for us to catch our limit and completely de-stress. We load up the dogs (since the fishing gear is always loaded), and we hit the road.

We have our favorite fishing holes. Who doesn’t? The challenge today is that they are all two or three hours away. We know that it’s just a day trip, and since the day is half over, we open up our trusty map to find something close-by.

I remember some fun fishing with friends in Farmington Canyon. The fishing day was about twelve years ago, but the state has certainly been stocking the pond all of this time. It sounds like a change of pace, so we decide to give it a whirl. Important information: in addition to the good times several years ago, I vaguely remember the drive to the pond being steep and the road a bit narrow.

Well, first, I fail to remember which road will take us to the canyon, so we meandered around the fair hamlet of Farmington for more minutes than Bubba appreciated. Next, the road twists and turns quite a bit. I had forgotten that part. Finally, when I say steep and a bit narrow I actually mean a goat trail on a K2 mountain! There are only a few places wide enough for two regular sized vehicles to pass each other. Thankfully, most of the people on the goat trail were riding ATVs!

After two hours of winding, cursing, stressing, and cursing some more, we ask a passing motorist where the ponds are. He informs us that at the rate of speed necessary to traverse the goat trail in a full sized vehicle (read: very slowly), we will arrive at our destination in two hours. TWO MORE HOURS?!?!? We finally found a place in the road wide enough to turn around and headed back down the canyon.

At the bottom of the canyon, we had to stop so that I could pee on a stick. Yep – it was time to test my hormone level so that ovulation could be predicted and insemination would be well timed (provided that the man-sicle actually arrived soon).

Now, I had peed on a few sticks in the months leading up to this day because I was trying to understand my body and my cycles. I was pretty good at this, so I hadn’t really thought much about today’s tests. Next challenge of the day: I’m not sitting on toilet seat. I’m squatting on the ground. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to know that I peed all over my hand. (Goddess bless the inventor of wet-wipes!) The test is positive. We now know that my timing is good even if the delivery company’s isn’t.

Thankfully, our map indicates that East Canyon reservoir isn’t far away if we just jump in I-84. Off we go only to find that this particular body of water is very popular with water skiers and personal watercraft enthusiasts. It’s loud and crowded. It’s also a Sunday. (Why aren’t all of these people in church?) Frankly, we should have known better.

Back to the map….. Our next attempt to fish is at Lost Creek Reservoir. Never even heard of this place. We turn off I-84 and follow a road for several miles. This place is definitely out of the way. Unfortunately, it is no longer lost. At least 50 other carloads of people have found this fishing hole, but we couldn’t drive any longer. The dogs were going crazy, and everyone but me needed to tinkle. We fished this spot for a couple of hours. I got skunked; Bubba caught one. The dogs had a blast swimming.

Now that we’re so stinking far from home, we figured that we might as well just hit one of our regular spots. Hell, it’s just across the mountain, anyway. We made our way to the Mirror Lake area and fished Lily Lake. I even waded into the water up to my knees which is a big deal for a person that hates cold water!

After catching nothing but bug bites at Lily, we decide to call it a day and go home for dinner. Luckily for us, we’re not far from I-80 and the ride home should be quick. Again, we should have known better because it’s “that” season in Utah. No, not the summer season, but the construction season! We found ourselves in stand-still traffic in Parley’s Canyon on a Sunday. By the time we got home, we were completely frazzled and ornery!

Regardless of the mood, I peed on another stick to confirm the positive result. This time, it was just the stick; I managed to spare the hand.

With Monday morning came renewed hope that everything would be OK. After all, my hormone surge didn’t occur until Sunday, so a Monday insemination was perfect timing. Now, if we only had some swimmers….. Then, the doorbell rang!

Ding-dong, the sperm is here! We practically danced a jig. Arrangements were made with the doctor’s office for a 3pm insemination. 3pm? What are we going to do all day? Well, fishing is out of the question. We decided to go to lunch and toodle around a bit.

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