This poem was written a few years ago by a very talented member of the Fertility Over 40 site....
TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE IUI
Twas the night before IUI and at the midnight chime;
Not a spermatozoa was stirring, it was not yet time;
The sterile cup was set out on the counter with care;
In the hopes that many contents soon would be there;
The eggs were curled up all snug in their follie-beds,
While visions of tube travel danced in their heads,
And me in my kerchief and DH in his cap;
Had just settled down for a pre-IUI nap;
When over on my dresser there arose such a clatter;
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter;
The alarm clock was howling, not a simple chime;
It was screeching and shouting, now it’s time, now it’s time;
Poor DH had stumbled to the bathroom and shower;
Not eager to perform at this dark, pre-dawn hour;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear;
My DH, jar in hand, with a grin ear to ear;
With DH as driver, so lively and quick;
We sped to the clinic on roads that were slick;
More rapid than eagles the lab techs became;
As they whistled and shouted and called out our names;
Mrs. Jones, Mr. Jones, your sample, your sample;
Is it labeled? Is it warm? Did you make the one-hour scramble?
Sign your names, leave your jar, please hurry but don’t fall;
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all;
Suddenly outside with no more reason to rush;
We noted the sunrise and the world was all hushed;
We looked at each other, no more fuss no more shock;
Let us now go eat breakfast, and I mean eat a lot;
Upon return to the clinic, so full we could burst;
We sat in a crowd, thinking "please, pick me first”;
Before I could blink I was disrobed and in bed;
With a sheet covering “things” and my knees overhead;
My doctor appeared dressed in white head to foot;
With my chart in his hand scribbling ink dark as soot;
As he flipped, read, and reread far more than he should;
My mind and heart raced, is it bad? Is it good?
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work;
Filling tubes, clicking instruments doing his best not to hurt;
Then, laying his finger aside of his nose;
And giving a nod, from his stool he arose;
He sprang to the door, to his nurses he called;
And away they all flew down the clean, shiny hall;
But I heard him exclaim as he rushed out of sight;
Will it work? Will it work? Well I think it just might!
Merry Christmas!
