Last night, while rummaging through the mail looking for some stamps, my wife found our “Specimen Report Form.” Our what? you ask? Well, that’s the name of it, apparently, according to the top of the form. Moments before the IUI (and before we carried future Vegas from the lab to the office in our hands), the good folks at the lab filled out the California Cryobank’s (go ahead! index me, Google! take THAT!) form for us to send them in case that day was, indeed, our lucky day. We, of course, promptly lost it in the depths of the drawer of the hallway table. I can’t wait until we have report cards to lose under the microwave.
Anyhow, we figured we’d send it in, throwing ourselves at the mercy of statistics, telemarketers, cord banks, and the other awful things the internet tells you, just so that our donor, whom we are forever grateful for, will have one pregnancy reported. Our pregnancy. This very pregnancy kicking me in the groin right now. His profile now, though peppered with tons of useful information about him, has no pregnancies reported. And although there could be dozens of form-losing ladies everywhere just like us, none of them have come forth yet to claim that this guy is a pregnancy-maker. Not like he’s refreshing his profile every day (no whammy no whammy no whammy) hoping that someone said his junk works, or that the Cryobank (gasp, I did it again!) is obligated to tell him, by any means, but there could be another person out there considering his 23 chromosomes (my mother would be more proud if I hadn’t had to Google that) who might consider someone else out there more tried and true.
So Mr. Donor Man, this one’s for you. Two tries and kablam! Way to go, man! I’d high five you or fist bump you right now, too, even. I’d try a chest bump, but I’m certain that wouldn’t go well at this point. My wife and I, along with Vegas, never doubted you. Go pat yourself on the back and knock back a cold one on us. And really, thanks again.