Well, I have quite a story to tell, if I might say so myself…which I may, this being my blog and all. Unfortunately, I am trying to get out of the office soon and my tale will have to wait for another day.
I don’t have any spectacular news from my doctor’s appointment on Friday. When I asked the nurse practitioner, "Ummmmm…when exactly do we start talking about what in the freaking hell to do when the IUIs don’t work?" and she answered, "about now," I almost started crying. But then, the doctor came in and said we should do a 4th IUI, and that I shouldn’t lose hope. I asked if they ever had patients who actually get pregnant after 4 or 5 IUIs, and she said yes. But I suspect she was lying. Regardless, it was nice to hear, the whole ‘hope’ part.
So, no, my story does not revolve around some miraculous panacea my doctor found last week curing all cases of unexplained infertility. DUH! I like, totally, would have e-mailed y’all by now if that was the case!
No, my story has to do with a ‘healing’ I had this weekend, at the hands of a Korean ‘healer’ my mother sent me to. (And it’s scary how many of my stories will start with a phrase just like that one.) Of course I went willingly because (not to promote any stereotypes or anything) in Northern California it’s quite common to spend a Saturday evening in a run-down office off the El Camino Real, being poked by a small Korean man who speaks precious little English. Totally normal, I tell you.
So tomorrow, I will regale you with the story that ends with…wait for it…me covered in small Korean man-sized bruises ALL OVER MY BODY. But am I HEALED, you ask frantically!?!?
I’ll let you be the judge of that.
You tease! Healing bruises… new one… your mother is starting to intrigue me!