A Good Omen?

It took over 2.5 hours to get to the office where they do the transfers. This office is exactly 41 miles away from my house. This is absurd. I do realize, however, that I should be thankful because the office where I do my monitoring is only about 20 minutes away and that's not too shabby.

Thankfully it only took 50 minutes to get home. Anyway, we got home and I was just settling into the blissful heaven that is our bed when the phone rang. I checked the Caller ID and saw that it was my REs office. My heart sunk. I just left their office an hour ago. Why are they calling me already? Did they put the wrong friggin embryos in me or something? They've never called after a procedure, I wonder what's up. (Yes, I am capable of having this entire conversation in my head whilst the phone was ringing -- I talk really fast in my head.)

It was my RE. Not a nurse, but the actual Doctor. Not the one who did the procedure (you get whoever is doing clinic duty that day), but the one I meet with over the desk who has rarely ever seen me naked. I'm okay with that, it's a really big practice and I don't expect special treatment. I assume that my RE is paying attention to my case, and has my best interests at heart.

Usually, when we do meet with him (these days mostly for failed cycle follow-up appointments), I go in with a list of questions a mile long. I question his protocol choices, his drug choices, his interpretation of my results, everything. I'm just that way. I do it nicely so I don't come off looking like some sort of ogre, but I simply cannot help myself. The last time we went to see him, he told me two things: 1) That I should get a job there because I know more than some of the nursing staff; and 2) That I need to stop researching on the Web. Ha ha ha, that last one was funny. Obviously he has no idea what kind of relationship I've got with Dr. Google. We're on a first name basis, Dr. Google is my crack.

My RE has got a pretty good handle on our case, but often he misses details. I'm a take-charge kind of patient so I make sure nothing funny happens. He's got a good beside manor, but I've never gotten the impression that he laid awake at night pondering why I *personally* am not getting pregnant. I do have to admit to some flagrant ass kissing when I baked him cookies at Christmas, so perhaps he had a few warm, fuzzy feelings about me for a day or two. A desperate infertile will try every little thing, you know?

Basically, he's nice to us and good at his job and that's enough for me. Imagine my surprise when this is the phone conversation that transpired just as we walked in the door from the transfer:

Me: Hello?

Dr: Hi Leah, It's Dr. RE. (sounding chipper like we are best buds who talk every day)

Me: Uh, hi. (sounding like a complete moron with no phone manners)

Dr: I just wanted to call and wish you much luck.

Me: Oh. Um. Thank you. (waiting to make sure he's not really calling to tell me that they accidentally put someone else's embryos in there, or that they've had a terrible outbreak of a flesh-eating disease in the office or something)

Dr: Everything looked great this morning, I hope you are as pleased as I am.

Me: Uh, yeah! (I swear I really did sound this stupid -- what with all the ums and uhs and yeahs he probably thinks I dropped out of school in the 3rd grade)

Dr: Do you have any questions?

Me: Um, no. (shit, what was I thinking? I had at least 4 questions I would have liked to have asked him. Now if I call and ask, I look like an even bigger jackass that I've already convinced him that I am.)

Dr: Well, I just wanted to let you know my thoughts are with you guys.

Me: Okay, thank you.

Dr: Bye.

Me: Bye. (semi-confused, hanging up and looking at the phone like it just grew 6 heads)

This is our 6th cycle. He's never called after any of the others. In the absence of any other explanation, I'm going to take it as a Good Omen. Of course, this morning I managed to sail through a particular traffic light that has NEVER EVER before been green when I approached it, so I think that's a good omen too. Clearly, I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to decipering events that qualify as good omens but I'll take what I can get...