I did it.
Was anyone paying attention when I promised the internets that I would call and make an appointment with an RE by the end of this week? No? Probably not. And yet, having made the commitment I had to follow through. I put it off until today, of course. Until 10:30 when the office I chose closes at noon on Fridays. And I forgot to write down the number and take it to work with me. So I had to track down an old-fashioned phone book to look it up (I was afraid to do an internet search on the off chance that anyone at work monitors internet usage . . . ). And with shaking hands I made the call. And . . .
I have an appointment on October the fifth. Bright and early in the morning. I don't know what I thought would happen when I called. I must have thought I would be put through some kind of test to see if I was worthy of aid in procreation. Instead, the kind receptionist asked for name, dob, SSN, address, phone #. That's it. I have an appointment. I have information coming in the mail. Paperwork to fill out and bring in. Records to collect from dear Dr. Clomid. I'm in. October fifth.