Delores Melon

Well,  let’s update some surrogacy business, shall we?  Apparently, the lawyer that handles the contract and getting us carefully tucked in at the clinic, thinks I’m psychic.  Why else would she assume I was applying for the health insurance policy when no one had said a word to me; and we had no contract in place, let alone a draft copy to review.

Wait, I forgot to mention, my Intended Parents (IP’s) are moving to CALIFORNIA.  While initially drama would get the better of me, it’s not that big of a deal.  They’ll fly back for all the big to-do’s, like ultrasounds and delivery of course.  Thanks to email and free unlimited phone calls in the U.S., there’s really little worry of losing contact.  They won’t be moving until March or so, and we’re working to get the transfer done prior to that.

Ok, back to the post.  Given that time is of the essence here, the health insurance needs to be rolling, like, yesterday. So the lawyer has brought in an insurance broker to help. By Monday evening I had an application emailed to me and I was dutifully filling it out. However, (there’s always a However, isn’t there?), I had a question on one of the application sections and I immediately emailed the insurance broker.  I’m still waiting for a response. *rolls eyes*

Then it came to my attention that the Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE), wanted to meet with me. While initially that sounds perfectly reasonable, unfortunately the RE is nearly FOUR hours away.  So I’d end up traveling roughly 8 hours for a “chat”.  Technically, they wanted to also schedule the blood work and another procedure for that same day, to make it worth my while. But in truth, I can have all those other things done at a closer office.  Plus, adding those to the visit would put me home late, making child care an issue. Not to mention leaving home at roughly 4:30 am.

What did confuse me though, is that when my IP’s visited with the RE a week prior, she said to them that while she would love to meet with me again, she understood about the travel issue.  Then to have it change a week later, well, it just confused me. Thankfully, and thanks to my IM and a nurse coordinator at the clinic, I was able to forgo the trip and will meet with a different doctor at a closer facility. YAY me! Not that I don’t wish to meet with the RE, (she handled our first surrogacy), I just don’t see why we can’t do it over the phone. *shrugs*

The procedure I’m being subjected to is called a mock embryo transfer.  What that entails is me suiting up in a darling sheet of paper and having a doctor invade my cervix with a turkey baster.  The idea is to determine that my cervix is willing to be on the receiving end of the “products of insemination”. Dude, I just totally made that up.  Getting ready for GO TIME.

I paused this post for several hours to do some domestic activities.  Let me share with you my bedroom antics. Oh you… YOU… get your mind out of the gutter.  I’m speaking of bedroom FURNITURE. Pervert.

We recently bought a new bed frame, thus leaving our old frame alone, unused, sad and depressed.   I rocked that personification.  So, my old frame is just sitting against the wall being absolutely useless unless you consider dust collecting useful.  This evening I had this magical epiphany to put the unloved frame under my new bed. A cruel irony for sure.

Now, my bedroom would never be mistaken for grand, lush, or cavernous.  My bedroom is, well, quaint.  Try to imagine a shoe box. Now imagine a hoagie in the shoe box. There.. there’s your imagery for the story. Oh, and did I forget to mention my mattress could take on a station wagon and win. It’s huge.  Apparently, so is the old headboard.

My first brilliant idea was to lay the headboard on the floor and simply slide it under the bed. Voila. That sounded so easy and cute;  I’m laughing now thinking back how naive I was.   The problem was my NEW bed. Curse you Murphy’s Law… CURSE YOU.  My bed is queen size.  When you buy from a reputable dealer, they will tell you when you go over a full size mattress, you really need a center support. So, there’s a metal leg attached to the middle frame slat to support the extra size, and reduce sagging in the middle.  Lovely idea, really. Until you try to shove a ginormous headboard under the bed. “KLINK”  This discovery led to a few curse words and the culmination of a new, improved plan.

Plan “Lift the Support” went into action at roughly fourteen hundred hours.  I had to remove the gargantuan mattress and the ever cumbersome box spring.  This in itself should have been carried out by two people. Yeah, two people were there all right. Me and my friend “STUPID ASS IDEA”.   The mattress is like a limp penis. Only it weighs a bazillion pounds. Paul Bunyons limp penor.  Lamps went flying, a soda almost hit the floor. I saved the soda first, then the lamp. Priorities people.

Next the box spring.  That’s when I encountered my first placement issue. I didn’t have the room to take the box spring off on the same side as the mattress, but I soon learned I didn’t technically have the room on the other side either. So the box spring sat sort of cockeyed on the opposite side of the bed, jammed against a dresser. I had a very, very small path with which to move around in.  At this point, it should have occurred to me there was a potential problem. I didn’t have enough room to turn around in, but I was going to flip this huge headboard around. Yeah… I’m laughing on the inside.

After twenty minutes of shifting, lifting and cussing, I somehow got the headboard on the floor, UNDER the mattress, (which was standing on its’ side).  I kept trying to simultaneously lift this Paul Bunyon penis of a mattress, while sliding the headboard with my foot. It wasn’t going well. I finally managed to get the mattress shoved off to the end of the bed and got to work sliding the headboard.

I gingerly lifted the middle support so I could slide the headboard and that’s when I realized the headboard was TOO BIG. There was no where to go to set the metal leg back down, without a part of the headboard sticking out. I slid, slided, and slode it around until I banged a dent into every damn leg of the new frame. I think I invented eight new cuss words during this debacle.

Defeated, tired and sore, I looked behind me and realized it would fit in the closet.  After another couple minutes of pushing and shoving and a VERY nasty finger pinch, I got it in the closet.  My next task was to tackle the slightly smaller foot board.  I naturally assumed given the smaller size, this would be a breeze to just slide under the bed.

“KLINK”