Looks like after 12 years of life in Houston I am about to experience my first hurricane. We've got chips and donuts, canned peaches and gatorade. We squeezed both cars in the garage and dragged in all our patio furniture. We're staying put as advised and hoping for the best. It's odd - watching TV we know what is to come, but it's bright and sunny and hot outside. Everything we're seeing tells us to hunker down, but there's just no need. Yet. Like 6 weeks of birth control before IVF, it's all anti-climactic waiting for now.
I felt guilty when I called the nurse yesterday, asking what the plan was. An enormous hurricane is heading right for us, no doubt people have bigger things on their plate than my vagina. But she was a step ahead of me; already figuring out with to do with her IVFers. Next thing I knew I was on the table, vag-cam firmly in place. The ol' ovaries looked good and so, assuming power has returned, I will start stims on Tuesday. My uterus waits for no storm!
I expect that we'll be just fine (although if winds are as forceful as predicted our roof might not be - I don't have much faith in the two old, dying trees in our backyard). We live pretty far inland. If things go as planned we'll be in the neighborhood bar tomorrow evening, drinking a lukewarm beer by flashlight. I don't doubt that power will be out, probably for days, but the neighbor has a generator and we've already got the ok to store our meds in his fridge. (Priorities, right?) I'll update when I can, but until then I'll be on the hunt for Anderson Cooper. I mean, I might be infertile (and married) but I'm not dead!