Why IF has made me such a selfish b*tch

I'm almost too embarrassed to post this, but I vowed for honesty here, so I need to tell you why I am the worlds WORST person.

Now, before your start commenting me "Oh, Jo, no you're not! Your kind, and beautiful, and (insert your own compliment here)", you have to hear me out.

Monday afternoon I headed home after school, longing only for my sweatpants and some Ny.Quil. With a horrendous cold coming on, and our MAJOR STATE-WIDE TESTING the next day, I was looking forward to an early night.

Instead, I was barricaded from my home by not one or two, but TWENTY-FIVE police cars. I made it past the first set of patrol cars by pointing down the street and mouthing "I live there!". They waved me on.

Not so with the double-barricade a few houses down. I got out of my car to see what in the world was going on. "Ma'am, get back in your car. You have to go behind the barricade."

I tried again. "But, I live there!" (pointing ridiculously behind the officers back).

He got more forceful. "Ma'am, you need to leave. Right now."

"But, my puppies. . . "

"Ma'am, I care a bit more about human life than some dog's."

Sighing (and a bit miffed), I got into my car and went back behind the barricade to find out from the neighbors (a bit more friendly source) what in the world was going on.

Turns out, two doors down from where I live, a man I had never met before had barricaded himself in his home with a rifle and a declaration to kill himself. He had called the suicide hotline earlier that day, and apparently didn't like what they had to say. He had a loaded rifle, and reportedly had had it in his mouth for quite some time. The police arrived about 3 p.m., while I was still blissfully dreaming of my comfy bed. They were currently in negotiations with the man and trying to end the standoff peacefully.

As dusk approached, and the neighbors and I watched, we saw SWAT arrive and park in my front yard. As it got closer to, and eventually past, 7 o'clock, I began to get worried. Would I even get into my house that night? We called a friend who works at the sheriff's office to see if we could get someone to let us in to get some clothes and my medicine.

Yes, that's right. A man's life was at stake, and what was I concerned about? My damn infertility drugs.

8:00 p.m. Injection time. No signs of the standoff ending. "Check back in an hour," they said. I was getting increasingly frustrated (okay, downright bitchy). "We have FCAT tomorrow!" I pleaded. The cops were nonplussed.

Our sheriff friend even asked SWAT if he, a uniformed police officer, could enter our home to get my meds. No dice. Apparently, a man's life takes precedence over my ovaries. Go figure.

Finally, at about 9:30 p.m., as I am desperately trying not to break down into tears and Mo and I are making arrangments for a hotel, our friend calls to let us know the man gave himself up. "It should be cleared by the time you get back home," he told us.

I felt like a drug addict as we rushed home and inside. I didn't even acknowledge my puppies as I ran for the refrigerator. All I could think of was making the "2-hour window" for my injection.

At 9:54 p.m., the sweet relief of Gonal-f coursing my veins reminded me of just what a self-centered person I really am.