Show Time

We're awake, we're showered, and G is even in there shaving as I type. Today is the big day. The day we enter that room with the dimmed yellow lights, the lazy-boy-esque chair in Dr. version, and the lone chair for the Mr.'s of the world. The screen on the monitor is a snow-filled triangle, empty until they're ready.

I think the strangest part of the process is the dual door system. We enter and the Dr's enter from one door - the front door. The back door is passage for only one person - the embryologist. No one is allowed to go back there, and if the Dr. opens it, he/she is only allowed to open it a crack and yell a series of words - something sounding like a football play. Then, from deep within the music filled room (they play various types of music for all the embryos to enjoy) - we hear someone yell the same play back as a confirmation. Last time when we had a showroom of people, the intern opened the door more than a crack, started to step in - at which point both the ultrasound nurse and the Doctor began to panic and sputter out half-word commands to get her to come back inside.

Must. not. enter. Foot. Stay. No. Back. Yell.

I'm fighting the urge to wear sweatpants in public, as it's a chilly and rainy day out. I have them laid out for me when I get home. G and I will be back in no time to spend the rest of our day in bed watching movies. And, of course, me blogging some ridiculous thing that happened - most likely while they were in the middle of the work "down there."

It's like first scene of Act I. The Beginning. (Again).