Let Go My Eggos

Lights Out

2011-04-04T21:25:00.000-07:00

Anxiety is a funny thing. Even though I knew what to expect, walking into a pre-op room and putting on a hospital gown is stressful. Dad bailed on me and stayed in the waiting room for the most part. Thanks Dad.

I waited quietly until it was my turn to go into surgery. I sat by myself and worried that this entire things wouldn't work. What if the eggos don't become babies and the couple is all alone? The thought of disappointing the recipient parents was unbearable. I also have never had surgery in my entire life and started to become very anxious. The nurse asked me if I was nervous and I lied to him, saying I was just fine. He told me that my blood pressure and heart rate were betraying my calm appearance. He told me everything would be okay and he would be there to give me a cookie when it was over. Great. A cookie. Something to live for.

I didn't like being by myself at all. My dad is a big baby when it comes to hospital stuff so I understood him being in the waiting room. I also was being overwhelmed by how vulnerable I was feeling because I was doing this all alone. None of my friends or family could not related because this was not a shared experience. I am used to being compulsive and deciding to act on something no one else has.

A nurse came to get me and escorted me down the hallway to the operating room. I walked into the room and the doctor had me lay on the operating table and said, "Natalie, I slipped you a little something into your IV while you weren't looking. What are you called? What do you go by?"
"Natalie."
"No, what is your nickname?"
"My family calls me Nat."

With that, I looked up from the table at big, bright operating light and was out.

Tomorrow, Tomorrow.

2011-02-07T19:14:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is the big day. TUESDAY. TUESDAY. TUESDAY. Six well deserving eggos will be sucked out of me and hopefully brought to life by a fabulous mom and dad who will love it forever and ever. Right now the eggos are snuggled up inside of me, weighing down on my bladder, and making me need to pee at a ridiculously high rate.

The pre-op nurse called me and freaked me out for a bit today. I've never been put under anesthesia before. Made me a little nervous. Yes, yes I know everything would be okay but I scribbled down three numbers on a pad of paper for Dad-oh to call in case I need to go meet the spirit in the sky. He keeps looking at me like I'm crazy but I like to be prepared. :)

I will be knocked out for most of the day tomorrow. Drooling on my pillow. Dreaming trippy drug induced dreams. And the eggos will turn into embryos and be resting in someone else's womb.

Think positive thoughts.

Awkward

2011-02-06T09:29:00.000-08:00

I don't let my dad come with me to the infertility clinic. Mostly because...well...we don't want anyone to assume we are there together.

My sister thinks this is H I L A R I O U S by the way. She wants me to bring dad and call him big papa.

EWWWWWWW.

But it is still funny. And creepy. It's funeepy.

The Final Countdown

2011-02-06T09:23:00.000-08:00

The eggos are ready for their harvesting.

I take the shot that makes me ovulate (man, I hate that word) tonight at 8 PM. Woo. They come out of me on Tuesday, I fly home Wednesday and return to work on Thursday.

The parents get their eggo baby and I get my life back. Yesssss! I can almost taste the celebratory Jack Daniels or Tanqueray or Seagrams or Hefeweizen I will have on Friday evening.

Sicky Sniffly Icky

2011-02-06T09:16:00.000-08:00

Oh dear God. On Friday morning the eggos and I woke up and felt like D Y I N G. I was so sick. Flu style.

I went to the clinic and they gave me and the eggos a check up. Then they took my temperature 100.9. G R E A T. I was a little worried it would effect the eggos but they just wanted me to get some rest and feel better. The eggos and I passed the eff out at the hotel while my Dad and my uncle had a "bro-day". They drank Jack Daniels and ate oysters all day long while I was shaking and shivering and sweating and puking.

This is when the crazy hormones tapped in, too. I was sick and my sig o wasn't around to dote on my like he normally does. I also missed my bff and my friends baaaaaad. Being ill and hormonal at the same time takes such an unnecessary emotional toll.

I needed to man the eff up so I took a cold bath to get my temperature down (think House-style, only without the grumpy-yet-hot-asshole-doctor around). I also pounded popcicles and ice cubes like they were tic-tacs.

Soooo dreamy!
Luckily, Saturday I woke up all better. Only I sound like a frog. Ribbit.

The Story of McDrunky and McSaint.

2011-02-06T08:49:00.000-08:00

Dad and I got on the FLYING TUBE OF DEATH (aka an airplane) and headed east toward the sunshine.
There was a man (we shall call him McDrunky) who was "shit-housed"/"hammer drunk"/"fucking lit" sitting across the isle next to me. McDrunky got on the plane that drunk. McDrunky couldn't lift his carry-on above his head. McDrunky couldn't talk without sluring his speach. McDrunky couldn't function at all. McDrunky sits down and is quite for about 10 minutes before he turns to the guy next to him (We'll call him McSaint) and says, "Do you mind if I smoke?" The McSaint replies, "You can't smoke on an airplane." McDrunky replies, "If I can get arrested for smoking on an airplane, you should be arrested for chewing ice." If I were McSaint, at this time I would have punched McDrunky's lights out. However McSaint say, "Sir, if you could just ask me to stop chewing ice, I'd be happy to do it." McDrunky concedes and McSaint goes back to reading.

A while later, the drink cart comes around. I've given a delicious ginger ale and the Flight Attendant (aka Delta Ditzes henceforth) makes McDrunky a double Canadian Club & seven up. WHAT? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I AM PRACTICALLY DRUNK FROM THE FUMES RADIATING OFF OF THIS JACKASS AND YOU ARE GIVING HIM MORE LIQUOR? Thanks Delta Ditzes. You get a thumbs down in my book.
This is when things go sour for McDrunky. McDrunky stops making sense when he talks and starts talking to other passengers. He also starts harassing the guy next to him more. No bueno. McDrunky spills his double all over himself and his seat. McSaint goes and gets a paper towel for him to wipe down with and McDrunky spills all over McSaint's seat. McSaint starts wiping up again when McDrunky spills all of his drunk all over his own lap. Then McDrunky slowly leans forward and passes out with his head against the seat back in front of him. Classy.
The turbulance at this point starts picking up (picking up a little, teeny-tiny baby amount) and I, of course, start freaking out on the inside and begging God to let me live. McDrunky is startled awake and begins incoherently talking about taking care of his mother and dropping the F-bomb for about five minutes. A Delta Ditz walks over and tells him he has had too much to drink. WHAT? YOU JUST GAVE HIM A DOUBLE AN HOUR AGO WHEN HE WAS SHIT HOUSED. THIS IS COMPLETELY YOUR FAULT. McDrunky berates McSaint for about five minutes. McDrunky then settles down and passes out again.
When we land, McDrunky is still passed out and everyone around McSaint shakes his hand and calls him a saint and is super impressed by how he kept his cool. That guy deserves several free flights from Delta on his ability to keep his calm.
McDrunk wakes up and walks in front of my dad off the plane. McDrunk steps onto the get way and BOOOOOM! hits the floor. Dad just stands there while the Delta people help McDrunky up.
As McDrunky departed from us...I heard him say he was going to the bar...
Oi vey.

The Pre-Eggo Gifts

2011-01-30T23:32:00.000-08:00

i received two very important gifts this week.

one was my advance for traveling expenses. woooo. dad and i will eat like kings on our trip.

the other was this lovely shirt from my bff. be jealous.

i am totally wearing this on the retrival day. i dont just have eggos, i have balls too.

"I'm so bad with the cash, I dropped the whole bag." Diddy style.

2011-01-25T09:45:00.000-08:00

The best thing about letting the eggos go is the all expenses paid six day vacation in Florida. It is currently 76 degrees with a change of thundershowers in the afternoon. Life is so tough.

After all of this, what will I do with the eggo money? I have several ways in which I will drop this dough like it is hot.

1. Pay Bills

This is a stupid idea. I didn't go through all of this to end up not doing something fun with it. I shall designated a sixth of my total donation dollars to go to bills. Anymore than that would be ridiculous.

2. A grown-up sized iPod.

Long gone will the days of having to delete copious amount of music off my iPod nano in order to fit new music on. I shall have my entire library accessable. Yay!!! I have been waiting for this day since college started. I was just too cheap to sell out the $250 for it before.

3. Taking the Sig O out to dinner.

He had to have his blood drawn and has to take antibotics sooooo I promised I would take him wherever he wanted in Sea-town to eat one night. Knowing him, he'll pick chicken teryaki. Such a cheap date.

4. Vacation

I am going to visit one of my friend's who is currently living in Africa. I know. Africa. I've never really been anywhere interesting so I'm going to follow my, "Go Big or Go Home," philosophy. 24 hour flight? Check. No running water? Check. Dirty Peace Corp volunteers? Check. Looking up required vaccinations? Check. Wearing culturally appropriate clothing? Check. Making my amigo take me to the beach the last couple days I'm there? Check. Having a fucking awesome adventure? Priceless.

5. Savings

Yes, I'm boring. I dedicate another sixth of my moolah to savings.

6. What's left over...

I'm going to get it all in dollar bills and dance in a room with it. Diddy style.

Eggtraordinary!

Thinking Thinking Thinking

2011-01-24T22:22:00.000-08:00

I'm creating a family.

How lovely is that?

I love my family. I love the way my family loves me. I'm so glad that I get to make this happen for someone. I mean, I'm not a saint or anything like that. And by all means, it is really about the benjamins. I just like that there is a good side. I like that the eggs will grow up loved and cared for and really great at writing essays.

Awwww. Feel the love. Feel my soon-to-be-fatty bank account.

I spoke too soon...

2011-01-24T13:32:00.000-08:00

Okay...remember when I said I was breezy earlier? YEAH. BULL-FUCKING-SHIT. I can feel EVERYTHING. If I am a little sad or upset, I cry. If I am angry, I get really, really mad...and cry. If I am happy, I laugh really, really hard...and cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. I am a big fat emotional mess who has to hydrate constantly.

This has been a huge adjustment. I have to keep reminding myself to not be such a Sally. Normal me would silently mock hormonal me.

I think my sig o is a little put off by my reactions to everything. He doesn't tip toe around anything...which may get him into trouble. For example, just because I'm upset does not mean it is a good time to point out, "I think this is the hormones talking." IN FACT, THAT IS THE WRONG THING TO SAY. Yes, my love, I am aware it is the FREAKING HORMONES that are making me emotional but this is the WRONG TIME TO MENTION IT TO ME because the feelings are still real to me.

Whew. I feel so much better all of the sudden.

Alright, me and the "the crazy" are going to pack up for the day and try to get ahold of ourselves.

A week and a half til I'm across the country in a warm, sunny city. Two weeks til the retrieval. Woo hoo!

And the weirdest thing of all...

2011-01-18T20:41:00.000-08:00

I feel completely normal. Day two of shots and nada. No crazy. No bloating. No psycho. So far, everything is breezy and awesome.

I worry if someone comes over to visit my house, they'll think I'm a drug addict. My medicine cabinet is full of syringes, vials, alcohol wipes, Tylenol with codeine, gauze and a needle disposal unit. I feel a little like a one person pharmacy. "Holy shit. I looked in her medicine cabinet and she must be shooting up some stuff that will fuuuuuuuck her up!" Holy shit. No you moron. I'm trying to sell apart of myself for a sweet vacay and some spending cash. Get your facts straight, biatch.

Annnnnd today I got a note from my doctor. It's for the TSA. It basically says the following:
Dear Airport Security People, Please let this girl pass through with her vials of drugs and needles. She has some perfect eggos she is going to schlep onto a loving family who will make sure they go to law or medical school.
Love, The Eggos Doctor.

Yesssssss. I'm excited. The retrieval is getting closer everyday!

Like a B O S S

2011-01-12T23:03:00.000-08:00

I owned that injection appointment like a boss.

I didn't even feel the needle. Apparently, pretending that you are stabbing yourself with a dart DOES work.

While I'm biding my time before the injections begin, I am realizing that I am slowly starting to miss out. Want to go grab a coffee? No, because I can't have caffeine. Want to get a drink? Nope, if I due, the eggos future parentals will SUE MY PANTS OFF. Want to smoke some green? [Honestly, I would say no anyway] Nope, can't do it...there is a lot dinero on the line...and the eggos future parentals will SUE MY PANTS OFF.

You know who you should be feeling bad for? My significant other. He had to have his blood tested and he has to take antibiotics so I can give the eggos a good home. Oh, and some other dude is technically fathering a child of mine. You know what his compensation for all of this is? Nada. For his troubles, I'll take him out to some delicious chicken teriyaki after the eggos come out. I know what you all must be thinking: girl knows how to treat her man right...

Eggsellent.

That is one big FRICKIN needle amigo

2011-01-10T22:41:00.000-08:00

The GIGANTIC box of hormones arrived at my door last week.In seven days, the eggos and the hormones will take over. They may or may not be responsible for knocking down buildings, stepping on cars, destroying bridges and other sorts of general havoc that can be unleashed onto the city where I live. I'm only partially responsible for my actions and emotions. Consider yourself warned and stock up supplies in the event of a disaster.

The hormornes came with instructions, a DVD and my injection schedule. Finally, everything is clearly mapped out and I am ready to roll. Ugh. The DVD was a bit much though. I had to watch this woman inject herself over and over and over again in the abdomen and then I had to watch the woman get injected in the tush over and over and over again by her husband. I have to go for injection training this week and even though I wanted to avert my eyes, I couldn't. "Insert the needle quickly, like a dart" and then in one painful motion, the needle was JABBED INTO HER SKIN like it was nothing.

Then I realized I should not be this much of a Sally about injections. Buck up. It's for the benefit of a lovely couple and also a benefit of your pocket book.

I'll report back on Wednesday regarding my training. I'll try not to be such a little bitch about it. Time to man the fuck up.

You've Got Mail

2010-12-30T22:31:00.000-08:00

Walgreens Specialty Pharmacy Services gave me a friendly call today to confirm my shipment of hormones.

T-minus 19 days until I look and feel like this:

Sweet Jesus. I'm already excited. I love my eggos.

The Process [finally] Begins

2010-12-26T00:12:00.000-08:00

So I've left the eggo blog alone for a while because...well...frankly, nothing interesting or eventful has happened with the eggos. The eggos are just waiting to be someone else's bad ass baby.

Only today is Christmas day. I get to stop my birth control and restart it on January 2nd so that I'm all synced up with the recipient mommy. THE MAGIC BEGINS.

Important things to remember:
Starting today: No sex.
Starting January 2nd: No booze.
(At this point, you should realize that all the fun in my life has been forcibly removed. I plan on subsidizing it with copious amounts of chocolate and romantic comedies.)

Starting mid-January: I will be full of hormones that will make me emotionally unstable. Save yourself: if you see me calling just don't pick up. But if you do, please tell me that I am 1. Pretty. 2. Smart 3. Funny.
Starting February 3rd: I fly across the country (with Dad, he's my caretaker during this event so he can go golfing with my Uncle while I'm going to and from the clinic) and then have the retrieval.
On February 9th, I fly back home and begin the process of going back to normal.

Piece of cake....right? I could use a piece of cake right now.

Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T22:18:00.000-08:00

Hopefully by this time next year, the eggos will be a bambino and will make two very dedicated parents quite happy.

And the bambino will probably develop his or her obsession with potatoes at this time. Gobble, gobble.

Cuterous!

2010-11-15T00:15:00.000-08:00

The clinic was in a building that was a church in a past life. "God. Are you for serious? Jesus Christ. Literally. Halle-frickin-lujah." I said this out loud while sitting in my car like a crazy person.

Then I walked into the Holy Church of Familial Bliss (aka the waiting room) with all the preggos and their hubbies. I was very surreal, like a Dali painting. I'm probably the last person who should have been in their secret club. A voice out of no where called my name. All the preggos had vacated the lobby at this point and I was looking around for the source. There was no one. This place was empty. I began to think I was having a religious experience when around a corner a nurse appeared. Apparently, God was getting back at me for taking his son's name in vain in the parking lot.

When I was in my little exam room waiting for the ultrasound, I began to have five second panic attack.
Holy crap. This is real. Is this what they do when they want to confirm you're pregnant, too? What if they take the ultrasound AND I AM PREGNANT??? Can that happen?? What if I don't have ovaries??? Is that even possible?? What if one is missing or something??? Would someone have noticed that by now...a missing ovary??? This is what I get for having no medical insurance and relying on Planned Parenthood for all my reproductive needs.

The nurse came back in, started up the ultrasound machine and BOOM. I had a uterus and ovaries. I'd like to point out that I don't really consciously think of my uterus or my ovaries as being a part of me. I know they are there, I just am not conscience they exists. Like an ex-boyfriend or something. Every month I defeat them and venture on without an unplanned pregnancy. But seeing them on the little screen, I became attached. Really attached. I'm in love with them. I'm going to give out some quality eggos.

And that's when she said it, "You have beautiful ovaries. Normally when women come here, it is because they have reproductive issues. It's good to see ones that are working."

Hallelujah.

Waiting Room Chatter

2010-11-14T08:53:00.000-08:00

i am the only woman in this waiting room who is not pregnant and who doesnt have a man with her.

awkward.

my eggos have more potential than all their almost born babies. plus my eggos will live in florida, not tacoma.

i win.

Process. Process. Process.

2010-11-14T00:38:00.000-08:00

I start off my twenty-four our trip to Florida by closing my eyes, gripping the arm rests in my seat, breathing slowly and praying to God not to let the plane go down.The woman next to me tapped my shoulder and said, "It's okay sugar, we're just about to land." Thanks lady, I'm aware the plane is hurdling toward the earth. I'm trying to channel my Lord and Savior to save us all from a fiery and untimely death.

I got to the hotel, went up to my room and started jumping up and down on the king size bed. I felt like a baller. Then I took a bubble bath in my huge tub and got ready to meet my uncle for dinner. He and I had a lovely time. I told him about my life, my work, my friends, my relationships and, of course, about the eggos. My uncle is pretty much one of the coolest people I know. He and his wife never had kids. Save for my dad, I would have been happy to be his kid. And if letting the eggs go would give a man like my uncle a child, I'm so down. At dinner, I turned into a sleep deprived zombie girl. One beer and a meal later I was practically drooling on myself so back to the hotel I went. I proceeded to pass out like a giant baby in my giant king size bed.

The next morning I made my way over to the clinic. The receptionist saw me and complimented me on my new glasses. "Ummmm, thanks? I'm here for my 12:30 appointment?" They took me back into a room where they went over all of the legal information. I was told how the entire process will work from start to finish. I was told of the risks associated with the procedure. I was told of the side effects of all three hormones I was receiving. I was told both my ovaries will go from the size of a grape to the size of a fist. I was shown the needs and how I will inject myself. I was told what clinic to get in touch with who will monitor me near my home during the process. And I was told my sig o will have to get a blood test to test for HIV and Hepatitis (and he acted like a baby about it).

HOW COMPLETELY OVERWHELMING IS ALL OF THAT? And they only take FOUR eggos. My eggs will be this cool and this Jewish:

Mazel Tov. They'll rock and roll all night, and party everyday.

I managed to get up the cajones to ask the woman at the clinic the question I've really wanted to ask: "Out of all the people in the world, why did they pick me?" She smiled and said, "You look exactly like her, almost like a twin. The receptionist thought you were the recipient when you walked in. You're educated. Your profile was interesting. You were the closet to embodying her."

Yahtzee! And for the rest of their lives, they'll be thanking me. I like that karma.

I left the clinic with instructions to get an ultrasound at the clinic near my home on day 3 of my period. I hoped in a cab, headed my way to the airport and went right to the bar where I talked sports with the other patrons. And a very nice gentleman from New York was kind enough to pick up my tab. I promised him I would tell you all that. I caught the giant flying tube of death and rode with arm-rest-gripping anxiety all the way home.

In the morning (Yes, on a Sunday) I'm going to the clinic for my ultrasound. I expect them to find my ovaries in tip top shape and see my little eggos dancing around like superstars they are destined to be. Expect greatness to follow.

Packing packing packing

2010-11-07T23:19:00.000-08:00

I'm getting all my things together for my trip tomorrow. Got my iPod, got my hair straightener, got my flip flops, got my Dramamine.

T-minus nine hours til the eggos and I head eastward for our check up.

I do have something I'd like to ask the egg donation facilitators. I'd like to know what the couple looks like. They got to see a profile of me and my interests and my genetic history; all I want is a picture so I have some idea of what these people look like and how I am connected to them.

I do hope they love the eggos with all their hearts. I mean, I'd hate to go through this effort for them not to have a good life in a good home with a good family. Cross your fingers. The journey begins.

Jet Plane

2010-11-06T18:37:00.000-07:00

Next week the eggos and I are flying across the country for my medical eval. It will be sunny and eighty degrees. I'm excited.

Flying worries me the most. I understand how the plane gets it the air and how it lands but the five year-old kid inside of me is like, "HOW THE HELL ARE WE STAYING IN THE AIR? WHAT WAS THAT? TURBULENCE!? BULL SHIT. WE ARE GOING TO DIE IN THIS GIANT TUBE OF DEATH."

Yeah, giant tube of death? Thanks conscious. It isn't like I'm just afraid of flying, I'm also afraid of the unknown. Like what will happen during this interview? What is the actual medical evalution? Do I have to get any shots? What if my connection is late? Will my feet have to be in stirrups? Will I be able to find my way to the hotel from the airport? What should I wear? What if I'm not pretty enough (yeah, that's the inner seventh grader coming out)? What if I get lost? What if there is a volcano that erupts and causes all flights be be delayed like it did in Europe with the volcano in Iceland errupted?

This could also be me deflecting my fear of this whole process into flying. In the meantime, I'm trying to stay positive and stock up on Dramamine...and vodka.

Money talks

2010-10-27T23:48:00.000-07:00

There is a generous compensation for this process.

Basically a third of the compensation I'm receiving will go to a vacation, a third will go to bills and the last third will go to my savings account.

The biggest rule I have is that I am not allowed to spend any of this money on anyone but myself. I'm the one giving up the eggos, injecting myself everyday with needles, turning into a giant PMS monster; this process is all about me.

Or I could just go to Vegas and burn it all on gambling, hookers and blow like I'm a mother fucking rock star.

Booked

2010-10-25T22:59:00.000-07:00

In early November I shall start all the medical steps necessary to donate.

I'll fly across the country for my initial medical evaluation then being a schedule of 3 types hormone injections that I will have to administer to myself.

Some fun side effects will include:
-*Moodiness* (it's the first side effect of each hormone)
-Hot Flashes
-Headache
-Fatigue
-Bloating

So I'll be a giant ball of PMS for about 24 days. Get excited!!!

Legal

2010-10-21T23:01:00.000-07:00

I had to sign two contracts; one between myself and the company that facilitates egg donation and another contact between myself and the intended parents.

Basically, once I signed the dotted line and began my treatment I'd have to follow through with it. No backing out or I could be sued for breach of contract and for emotional distress. I don't like the idea of being sued, frankly, neither do the eggos. It's on like Donkey Kong.

I had some options. I chose to be notified if the intended parents get pregnant (MAZEL TOV!) and I chose to be contacted by the eggos when they grown up if they'd like to know about me. And I feel like that is a big if. The eggos clearly have parents that will go to the ends of the earth for them and have a great financial situation. Apparently, money can buy you love, a baby AND a fatty pimped out BMW on your sixteenth birthday.

Those lucky little bastards.

PSYCH! [exam]

2010-10-19T23:36:00.000-07:00

The first step of the process is a psychological exam. There is nothing more uncomfortable than having to sit in a room with someone you don't know and tell them every detail about yourself. The Shrink now knows things that even my best girl friend and best gay friend don't even know about me. Mazel tov.

I sat on the little couch with my little cup of water and began to be questioned.

Have you ever been molested? Have you ever been raped? Have you ever been pregnant or had an abortion? Have you ever been a victim of domestic violence? How many sexual partners have you had?

Clearly, she just dove right into the most uncomfortable questions ever.

No. No. No. No. Aaaaaand none of your business (I told her).

Every time after this lady asked me a question, I would second guess my own answers. She had on glasses and her eyebrows would arch with every response I gave. I had to double check myself. "No, I've never been arrested." And then she'd look at me over her glasses and my brain would go: REALLY?!?!?! ARE YOU SURE?!?! NOT ONCE?!?!? I went to church three nights a week in high school and studied for fun. Of course I've never been arrested.

Then she said, "I would like you to repeat these three words after me: rabbit, justice, blue."
Me: "Rabbit, justice, blue"
Shrink, "Remember those three words for later."

Balls. Of course you're going to play a memory game. I'm going to give you the most intimate details of my life and try to remember the most random set of words you just threw at me in the back of my mind.

Yes, I had a great childhood. RABBIT JUSTICE BLUE Yes, both my parents loved me. Yes, I was an excellent student. No, I don't hear voices. RABBIT JUSTICE BLUE. No, I don't have any special powers.Yes, I believe in God. I graduated from college. Yes, I understand the emotional impact of this procedure. RABBIT JUSTICE BLUE. No, I don't drink very often anymore. RABBIT JUSTICE....ERRR UMMMM.............BLUE!!!!!!! 26 + 17 = 43 (Yeah she threw in some 2nd grade math problems to fuck with me).Yes, there has been a death of someone close to me. No, I have never had a sexually transmitted disease. 32 - 9 = 23. Yes, I am okay with giving up my genetic material to someone else.

Shrink, "And what were those words I asked you to remember earlier?"
Me, "Rabbit. Justice. Blue."

VICTORY! :)