Layin' blame.

We infertiles, we are a powerful people.

It takes a lot of mental fortitude and physical self-control to get us through every single day. Birth announcements, newborns, intrusive questions, and anonymous pregnant bellies loom like icebergs on our horizon. Add to that the bloating, hormonal overload, and anxiety about whatever treatments we are doing, and well.....it's amazing. We are seriously tough cookies.

The first IUI cycle I had...I was so convinced it was going to work. When it didn't, I grieved for almost a week. A well-meaning friend finally coaxed me out of the house and out to a restaurant. When I got out of my car, the first thing I saw was a couple- the woman was about 7 months along, holding the hand of a toddler, while her husband carried another baby.

They sat next to us at lunch.

It's hard not to think that the whole world is against you.

It takes awhile to develop survival skills. To not be visibly upset when your best friend gets pregnant and doesn't tell you until she begins to show. Because she doesn't want to hurt your feelings.

You learn to avoid movies like "Knocked Up". You shop for baby shower gifts online, because the sheer presence of the tiny socks and mobiles on the baby aisles at Target is more than you can take.

I am guilty of most of these. In fact, when a long-lost friend contacted me, I pulled the pink polka-dotted missive from my mailbox and stuck it in a drawer. I was certain that it was a birth announcement- "It's a Girl!!!"

As it turns out, when I finally had the guts to open it, it was a note saying that she was getting a divorce, and was moving back to town. Oops.

The suspicion, superstition, resentment, and straight-up jealousy that go along with being in this situation are freakish, unpredictable, and hard to deal with. The desire to be a parent is so overwhelming. Then when your head clears, you try to atone, either to yourself or the universe, for the poisonous thoughts inside your head.

That's the worst part. I blame myself. I blame myself for having some nameless thing wrong with me, for possibly depriving my husband for the chance to have children, for being weird and cranky and devoid of energy, for causing us to blow our budget every month.

I think back to some of the stupid things I have done in my life. Maybe it's some kind of karmic payback? Is it because I stopped going to church? Maybe it's my diet, or that I am overweight.
Maybe I would be a crappy parent. Maybe I am doing penance for something.

I desperately want a reason. And the truth is, there is no reason. There's nothing to blame it on, I am doing everything I can to rectify the situation, but still, there is that feeling.

It just is.

I know it's not just me who feels this way. One of my dearest friends had multiple miscarriages, and she was convinced that they were caused by her love of Diet Coke. (The fact that she is Mormon might have something to do with it.)

When she finally confessed her theory to me, I blurted out, "Sweetie...crack whores have babies every day!"

I need to remember to say that to myself.

Your Honor, I plead my uterus.

I had jury duty today.

Booooo! Hiss!

I have gone in to perform my civic duty exactly once, mainly because when you're in college and living in apartments, your address changes quite a bit. Buy now those roots I have put down are enabling THEM to find me.

Anyway, the last time I went in was a year ago. Everyone said, "Oh, they won't pick you".

I ended up being Juror Number One. %&$#!

So we are all waiting in the jury room like a herd of cattle, and our official minder mentions that one of the trials is expected to go for 15 court days.

Maybe I should blame it on the progesterone, but somehow that went through my head and came out as "Oh! Two weeks!" I did the math and said to myself, "Well, this will while away the 2ww for me, give me something else to think about."

It wasn't until I actually got called to go into the court room that I realized, "Wait- 15 court days is THREE weeks. OMFG! What if they pick me?!(*If I'm not pregnant)I am going to miss the next cycle and it will be the END OF THE WORLD!!!!"

Then the judge started talking, and mentioned that there are holidays, such as Rosh Hashanah and Labor Day when the court isn't in session, and with this and that or the other, we're looking at a month.

I managed to keep from hyper-ventilating. People raising their hands to claim hardship right and left. Saying things like, "I am self employed, so a month on 15 bucks a day would constitute financial hardship for me." Or "Well, I have a weak bladder," as well as incredibly fraudulent things along the lines of,"My liver fell out last week, and I am holding it in place with Velcro and chewing gum."

There was no way I was comfortable announcing to the room at large that I needed to have an open schedule in order to take drugs and have ultrasounds in order to eventually be artificially inseminated. (*maybe)

They finally got to me and I said I that the length of the trial would interfere with my "Cyclical medical treatment, and the doctor's appointments associated with it." When the judge asked, I just said that no, they could not be rescheduled.

All of this is true, but I feel a little guilty about it, although I am assuming they all think I am dealing with some obscure form of female trouble.

Or that I am a werewolf.

In any case, it worked. I got released to go back into the jury pool, and at the end of the day, there were only three of us left in the room, and they released us back into the wild.

* The Maybe's and the If's? Did not even occur to me at the time. It's like the next cycle is written in stone inside my pointy little head- uh-oh.

So THAT'S why I married him.

We overslept this morning, and while I called the RE's office, The Man threw himself into the shower, then locked himself in the office with his laptop.

I performed the important task of keeping things incubated while he hopped around looking for a clean pair of boxers and made other preparations for the drive across town.

When I went in (alone- I'll explain) the nurses were positively beaming. BEAMING. I found out why when the RN came in with the syringe.

"Tell him he did a fantastic job...again!"

I suspect that this is a big part of the reason The Man doesn't particularly enjoy coming along for the IUI's.

He is evidently some kind of sperm-creating prodigy, but he's also very shy....and the nurses have been known to stop him in the hallway and congratulate him on his plethora of little swimmers, which really freaks him out.

I can't really blame him, because the way they talk about him in there, I get the idea that they might kidnap him and chain him to the radiator along with a supply of porn and sample vials.

"I'll let him know."

"100 million! 95 % motility!" She beams at me. "It's always such a pleasant experience to wash your sample. You're getting-" (she motions at the loaded syringe) 30 million, 100% motility."

Holy crap. The idea of getting injected with 30 million of anything is...a little daunting.

Also, the fact that his numbers are so good leads to my brain working overtime, trying to figure out just what the hell is wrong with ME. Let's face it. 100 million sperm can't be wrong!

Splayed out with my feet in the stirrups, it occurs to me that every time we have sex, it's like committing a mass genocide.

Shut up, brain, shut up!

Ahem.

Anyway, the IUI went off without incident. I came home and informed The Man about his counts for the day. And he said, without missing a beat:

"Yeah, there's 100 million of them. But they're all stupid."

Yeah, I love him.

Romance is in the air!

Ah, the conversations that go along with infertility.

As a couple, I am sure they bring us closer. To an outsider, I am sure we sound insane.

The Man: Is tonight ok?

Me: I don't know, they say two days. But it's been two days already.

The Man: So, four days. But they say not more than 5 days?

Me: Uh huh.

The Man: By the way, I took my vitamins. And I took a shower. Amd brushed my teeth.

Me: Really? I am so hot for you right now.

The Man: Seriously?!!!

Me: Well, no, but I think it can be arranged.

The Man: I should get something for taking the vitamins, at least. I hate them.

Me: After jabbing myself in the abdomen with needles, taking my vitamins and a baby aspirin every day, and preparing myself to go though the progesterone coma again....I really don't feel sorry for you.

The Man: So, is it like two days, or 48 hours?

Me: My clinic says two days. Which knowing them, could mean anything. I vote for two days. Which technically, it's two days. It's still Wednesday.

The Man: Good enough for me. Prepare to throw caution to the wind!

Follicle Follies

I did manage to make it to the lab this morning without incident (on one hour of sleep.)

The ultrasound was scheduled at 11:15, and I was at the office at 11, wearing my most expansive pair of Hanes For Her cotton Gramma panties. At my RE's office, they are all about the lube. They like to pile it up in the receptacle like it's a soft-serv ice cream dispenser. I am beginning to think that they all moonlight at TCBY.

I did get my favorite ultrasound tech. She's very bubbly and we have a similar sense of style. She always comments on my pedicure, which I suppose is one of the most acceptable things you can comment on, seeing as she is up close and personal with my nether regions under a flimsy paper tablecloth.

So, the competency of Righty was greatly exaggerated. It took awhile to even find the little chickenshit, which is literally hiding behind my uterus as we speak, having given up the ghost sometime between Monday and today. Those follicles which were measuring at 12 and 14 are now a sad 10 and a 5. OK, Righty, you get points for at least making an effort this cycle. I was afraid that you had run off and joined the circus.

Lefty did come through for me, though- I have a 16.5 and a big fat 19! I'm totally sending the fruit basket.

Once again, must think positive. So I trigger tonight, as planned, and the IUI is scheduled for Friday AM.

I am exhausted, and feeling distinctly un-witty...so I think I am going to go crawl under a rock and snooze for awhile. Right after I devour a metric ton of peach cobbler.

The Power Of Positive Thinking

"Positive", get it?

Yeah, I know I am lame. Once again, I am awake at 1 AM, and we all know what that means....blood draw and ultrasound this morning.

I have looked up the location in Google Maps AND Mapquest. I have laid out my clothing. I have stocked my purse with Target Brand Hoo-Ha Wipes. It doesn't get any more prepared than this.

Yes, I was a Girl Scout.

Hmmm....if there was an infertility merit badge, what would it have on it? A syringe? A stork? A petri dish? A straitjacket?

Perhaps a maniacally grinning sperm carrying a rose in its teeth?

So, I am trying to do the follicular math. Meds were about $1000 this cycle, so that means we paid about $250 per follicle, not counting the cost of three ultrasounds and the IUI.

I know, I know. This way lies madness.

After doing some reading, I feel a lot better about my four follicles and their measurements. As far as I can tell, average growth is 2mm per day, which will (theoretically)put me smack in the 17-18 mm category for all but one come tomorrow.

I mentioned in the previous post that my Right (Prodigal) Ovary was identified as being "heavy" during the last ultrasound. So heavy that it has actually dropped into the place in my pelvic region where it is technically supposed to be. (Where does it normally hang out? My esophagus?) Maybe my threats to send it to the glue factory are working! Left, AKA "Ol' Faithful", is still going strong, and my uterus is "right on target." All great news.

So, continuing in the positive thinking vein, hopefully they'll do the ultrasound and see the uterine equivalent of the HOT NOW neon doughnut sign, so we should trigger tomorrow, and the IUI would be Friday...which would be ideal, because The Man has the day off, so he would actually be able to be in the room with me during the procedure.

Fingers crossed.

That ache in your throat

You guys all know that feeling right? Your face gets hot, and your throat does that hurty thing, and your eyes water, and you can feel that vein in your eyebrow throbbing like an angry, angry tribal drum. Sometimes it culminates in the tear explosion.

I experienced all of these this morning. In addition, I wanted to punch someone. Perhaps several someones. Please allow me to explain!

Frustration, she is a beeyotch.

I woke up this morning, threw on my clothes, and headed to Quest Diagnostics. There are at least five of them right by my house, but I was told to go to the First & Shields location, and get my blood drawn NO LATER THAN 7:30. Yes, in the morning. Sadistic bastards. There was no explanation for the timing or the location. I figured that maybe the timing was some carefully orchestrated chemical thing, and the location would be the only one open at that ungodly hour.

For those of you who don't live in Fresno, First and Shields is a pretty major intersection. Two strip malls, adjacent to each other. As a veteran of many Quest Lab visits, I assumed the lab would be in one of them.

I was wrong. I circled and circled like a hungry shark, then finally called 411. They had two addresses for me, and neither was the prescribed location. I called them anyway, and got the eternally ringing phone.

I looked again at my instructions. No phone number for the lab, no address, just FIRST/SHIELDS scrawled under DRINK WATER/LIMIT SALT.

I looked at the clock. 7:15.

Shit.

I called the doctor's office, and got forwarded to their exchange. I listened to the "Thank you for your patience" shpiel several times before I lost patience. I looked at the lab slip and called the Quest headquarters in Sacramento. I pressed "1" for "patient care" and it basically said, "We don't give out results over the phone! Thank You for calling! Have a Super Day!" *click*

Now it's 7:20. I know because I looked up after wedging my head between my knees and screaming profanities loud enough to startle the seagulls in the Food For Less parking lot.

I called the clinic again, was put on hold for the exchange, and got Barbara, who is an angel disguised as a mere mortal walking the earth. The woman heard the impending tears and sprang into action.

Barbara tried desperately to reach my doctor's office, to no avail. She finally checked the phone book, verified that there is no Quest Diagnostics listed on First or Shields, but mentioned that she found a location which had opened at 7AM, and was 5 minutes from my house. (But 15 from where I was now.)

At this point, it's 7:35, and I would have cheerfully walked up to a box in an alley staffed entirely by feral cats in order to allow them to claw my blood out of my arm. I thanked Barbara profusely, threw my phone across the car, and threw myself on the mercy of the nice ladies at the lab. They got me in and out of there in 5 minutes. No claws.
(Love. Them.)

Then I went into my ultrasound at 9:45 and explained, and they looked at me like I was a moron.

"It's right behind the Target! They are the only location that has the means to read the sample ASAP!"

I said (rather tartly) that if they hadn't seen fit to supply me with that info, how could I be expected to know which directive was more important? Time, or location?

In any case, it doesn't matter. My ovaries evidently do weigh about 8 lbs each (Righty is SINKING due to the extra weight, which is a little daunting) But he came through for me on this cycle...sort of. Two follicles on each side, 13 & 14 mm on the left, 12 and 13mm on the right.

I have to order another freaking pen of Gonal-F though. And do a new blood draw and ultrasound on Wednesday.

I have concrete plans...so why am I feeling so disappointed? Maybe I just need to have a good cry. I am so frustrated with this doctor's office.

This time, they gave me a pre-printed sheet explaining that it's actually 7:30 AM or at least two hours before your appointment. Oh, and it has an actual address and contact info for the lab. Why the hell didn't I get this last time?

At least I am not taking Clomid, so I know that I am not the insane person in this scenario.

So anyway, thanks for making it this far, and if you get a spare minute please send some happy "Miracle-Gro" type thoughts in the direction of our 4 follicles. And to my mother'ssmoking credit card (5 pens of Gonal-F! Aiiiigh!)

Edited to add: Here (because I CANNOT let it go) is the First/Shields Map:


View Larger Map

And here is the map for where the lab actually is:


View Larger Map

No wonder I couldn't freaking find it!

The only time MTV still plays actual music is 1AM

Although, they're constantly interrupted by those stupid "Text WASH to blah blah blah, and we'll send you SEXY girls to SQUEEGEE your DIRTY cell phone!!!!!"

I must be getting old. The stuff on VH-1 is infinitely better. I better makes some notes on videos where it actually might be worth it to buy the CD.
Oh! For those of you who want a concert update, you can read about it here.

So, the reason I am awake at 1AM is infertility-related.

Although, what isn't infertility related? Are there actually people who don't plan their lives around pharmaceutical deliveries and ultrasounds and blood draws and intimate encounters with a modified turkey baster?

Really???

My blood draw has to be done before 7:30 this morning. For some reason, I have gotten myself all worked up about it, and I can't sleep.

This morning was the last Ghetto Gonal-F Syringe transfer, and it happily went by without incident. My sharps container is developing a sort of "Collect the whole set!!" ambience, what with the ghetto syringes, the Gonal-F needle tips, and the Ovidrel syringes from previous cycles.

Ok, I need to get the KT Tunstall and the Rooney CD's. However, I am going to pass on Spoon.

I am concerned about my next dance with Ovidrel. I am freaked out that I may actually have ovaries the size of grapefruits, and that the trigger shot will couse them to explode within me like two much-abused little time bombs.

Why is it that I never feel positive about anything when it's 1AM and I can't sleep?

Not a squirt gun.

Today is day 5 of my Gonal-F injections, and the last day of my 225 IU dosage.

I ordered four 300 IU pens from the online pharmacy, which means today was "ghetto medication retrieval day."

It was going OK until, OF COURSE, I squeezed the plunger on the syringe just a wee bit too firmly when tapping out the air bubbles, and basically sent 50 bucks hurtling through the air to splatter against my bathroom mirror. Such was my horror that I immediately fumbled the syringe, and I somehow managed a spectacular mid-air grab without stabbing myself anywhere or contaminating the needle.

Infertility definitely gives you the opportunity to explore talents that you would otherwise never realized that you posessed.

I read about the "heavy ovaries" side effect of this medication, and as of today, I am experiencing it. I suppose the male equivalent is calling the bowling alley to ask the guy if he has eight pound balls. If I was a guy, I could say, "Actually, they're both weighing in at about ten right now. Thank you for your concern."

Eight pound ovaries? Not as funny. Madame Ovary still is good for a giggle, but hey, it's been done.

Anyway, I am amusing myself by picturing Lefty and Righty as Easter baskets full of eggs right now. Husbandly commentary: "If anyone has brightly colored sparkly eggs, sweetheart, it would be you." Thanks sweetie!

D-Day for bloodwork and my second ultrasound is Monday the 20th, so I'll know in a few days (ohmigod, on Monday!) if this is anywhere near accurate.

How are you all doing? It's the weekend!

My concert buddy and I are planning a jaunt this December to see Social Distortion at the House Of Blues in Anaheim- The fact that we could go to Disneyland is just a bonus. We make this trek every year or so to celebrate our joint birthdays. So it will be a good time, even if I may not be able to swing the Tower Of Terror.

I am going to a show tonight (with the same concert buddy, natch) and it should be a blast. We're pretty much all about The Pretenders and The Stray Cats (ZZ Top...kinda meh.)

Anyone else have fun stuff planned?

We are now approaching 98% normalcy

The worst part of taking Clomid wasn't that it made me nuts. It was that underneath it all, there was a rational part of my mind monitoring every crazy moment and cataloguing it, then triggering a tiny little voice which just said, "You're being psycho....you're being psycho...."over and over again. And being unable to control my reactions or emotions, regardless of what my rational voice said.

It was a truly horrible feeling. Like the rational part of you is locked up in a tiny little cage, surrounded by your hormones, which are surrounding it and jeering and poking it with pointy sticks.

Which is why this cycle has been such a pleasant surprise so far. I finally feel like I am off the crazy train. After three months of manic-depressive weepiness, this is like being on vacation. Of course, the Clomid was covered by insurance. Of course, the fact that I have finally returned to normal is making me wonder if the drugs are working. However, I am feeling distinct twinges from good ol' Lefty, and it may not be time to send Righty to the glue factory yet...there's a distant pinging that bodes well.

Let's see:

Clomid: Pros- free, and you can just take a pill. Cons: hot flashes, random weeping, and screaming one-sided arguments about the way my husband folds underwear.

vs.

Gonal-F: Cons: $1000 a month and lack of psychotic side effects makes me wonder if it's working. Potential for track marks on my tummy. Pros: getting to keep my sanity.

Tough call.

I went out with the girls last night, and we had a blast and didn't discuss the current fertility situation with me. I even got hit on a couple of times. I totally needed that! Going through all this medical treatment sort of makes me feel like a lab experiment. Like I am ovulation robot or an under performing baby factory. I have been feeling puffy and unattractive, so the ego boost was a nice bonus.

It was actually kind of a nice reminder that I can leave the house and focus on other things besides my current cycle. I actually lived dangerously and had a couple of drinks!

I haven't felt this good in a long time. Hopefully,I can ditch Moaning Myrtle by the wayside, at least for a couple of weeks.

By the way readers, thanks for all your well-wishes, commiserations, and advice. I am so new to this, and so clueless in a lot of ways (although, I am learning fast!) and I greatly appreciate all of your input.

Borderline (Come on! Sing Along!)

Feels like I'm goooooing to loooose my miiiiind!

Before I go into all that, welcome to all of the Stirrup Queens (and SPJ's) who found me via the Lost and Found Page. It's great to start a new blog and see actual traffic, and I am pleased to have finally bitten the bullet and joined the online infertility community and been made to feel so welcome so quickly. You guys rock.

I met with Mom for lunch today, and she seems to have assimilated the conversation of last night. I do count myself as being incredibly lucky- she and Dad are offering to subsidize my drug costs. Never underestimate the determination of Armenians who want to be grandparents.

Well, plus they probably don't want another Christmas Day when my aunt in Chicago calls to announce that my cousin is going to make her a grandmother for the fourth time, isn't it amazing! I'm a fourth time grandma! And your Dad doesn't have any grandkinds yet, and he just turned 59! You guys better get crackin'! I ended up choking back tears over the post-dinner Scrabble fiasco.

In my defense, it was exacerbated by the fact that my freshly married brother bought his new bride an SUV with third row seating, and I added one and one and made three, and then panic set in. I'm not the only one whose done this. Right? Right?

It turned out that no, they're not pregnant, they're just yuppies. (Actually, they want the room for their Jack Russell Terriers. Go know.)

So. Ultrasound. Otherwise known Chez Jenna as "My date with the all-seeing dildo."

Yes, I am that classy.

Evidently, my ovaries are happy little sacks of sunshine and rainbows. No cysts. They found Righty with a minimum of problems, so perhaps he has made up his mind to actually do some work this cycle, as opposed to resting on his laurels. Whatever the ovarian equivalent of laurels might be. Lefty (AKA Ol' Faithful) was as usual present and accounted for. When I finish this whole thing, I think I want to send him movie tickets and a gift certificate to Chili's.

As for my uterine disco lounge, it is open for business.

The ultrasound lady also told me the inspirational story of a woman with the same stats as me- three cycles with Clomid, luteal phase defect, got pregnant on her first cycle of Gonal-F.

So, everything was par for the course. I put my clothes on, went into room 5 (which whould have my name on the door, I feel like I live in there.)

I am going to be doing 225 IU for the first 5 days, 150 IU for two days after that, then bloodwork and ultrasound, then another IUI, followed by progesterone suppositories from hell.
(I had to call Freedom Pharmacy to order another 300 IU pen to make up my full dosage.) They showed me how to prime the Gonal-F pens, and the ghetto method of siphoning out the extra meds with a spare syringe. I was feeling pretty good, until I started to ask questions.

I waited until I had mastered the Gonal-F pen, and then made a squinchy face and said,

"So, what do we know, exactly? My husband and I are both basically fine, right?"

"Right."

"Except for the luteal phase thing."

"Right."

"Ok, so there's no way of testing if my eggs can actually be fertilized until an IVF procedure, right? Are we just going by the fact that I am under 35, as far as egg quality goes?

"Well, your FSH is borderline, so...."

Hold the phone. Because nobody has ever mentioned that any of my levels were anything but stellar, so this came as kind of a shock to me.

"What exactly do we mean by borderline?"

"We ideally want something under 8. You're just above, at 8.4. It's not a big deal. We just usually pursue more aggressive treatment if the FSH is up above the 9 range."

So, have they been wasting my time with the whole Clomid thing? Because that's how I feel. I am PISSED. Super pissed. Because if I had known all of this, I would have started injectables three freaking months ago.

I think I am going to look into my other options. I am not necessarily attached to Dr. Combover, and while I like his office staff, if we are going to be shelling out thousands of dollars out-of-pocket, we better get results.

According to my OB-Gyn (whom I love) this clinic is the best game in town. However, going out of town is an option. Luckily, we're three hours away from both L.A. and San Francisco, so if it gets to the point of IVF, I have a feeling we are going to go with another clinic...and realistically, I am going to have to get my name in there pretty soon if I want to stick to our timetable. I need to look at success percentages and see how the clincs statewide measure up.

Ok. Off to go prime my pen!

Edited to add: Ok, what was I worried about? After Ovidrel, this stuff is cake!

Fragile

Three couples of our acquaintance are expecting right now.

They're all at the 4-5 months mark. Two of them openly admit that it was an accident. The third is a first child, and the couple is substantially younger than my husband (who is younger than me.) Normally I wouldn't enumerate that among things that bother me, but it transpires that everyone else knew about the pregnancies(including my husband) but were afraid to tell me.

God, I hate that. I would much rather know ahead of time so I can steel myself for the belly band and the aversion of alcohol and raw fish. It's really better than if I hop out of the car and am confronted with suddenly-six-months-pregnant lady.

One of the accidental pregnant couples has a ten year old and a five year old, and got pregnant while on the pill. The other couple has a two year old who was supposed to be an only child, but they evidently had a latex malfunction.

Sometimes, it's just really hard to have a sense of humor.

I had this conversation with my mom today:

"So how is this different than the Clomid?"

"Clomid is 8%. With the IUI, it's around 12%."

"Those aren't such good odds. How is this new medicine better?"

"The percentages increase to around 20-25%."

"That doesn't sound so hot."

"Those are pretty much the odds for people with regular fertility, actually." (Defensive tone? Yeah, that's me.)

"And they still don't know what the problem is?"

"No Mom. Except for the luteal phase thing. They can't figure it out. His counts are great, and my body is doing everything it's supposed to do, as far as we can tell."

"Why don't you just move on to the thing with the petri dish?"

"IVF is really expensive, and insurance doesn't cover any of it. We don't want to go there until we have to."

"So how long are you going to do this new thing? How expensive is IVF? Can they do more tests? Do you want me to go with you to your appointment tomorrow?"

It went like that....on, and on, and on. I know it's because she cares. But for some reason, all the informed decisions we made regarding treatment now seem completely ridiculous, and I am wallowing in massive swamps of self-doubt.

All Hail the Mylar Envelope

Aaaaaaand, my drugs have arrived!

I exhaustively read the enclosed information, and I am feeling a lot more confident about the shots, mainly because I can just inject myself in the stomach, like with the Ovidrel. Hallelujah!

Not to mention, I have been researching online, and it looks like I may no longer be insane, now that I have bid farewell to Clomid. The most common cited issues were "heavy feeling in ovaries" and ....wait for it..."tiredness". Uh oh. Maybe that will react with the tiredness from the progesterone and make me super-energetic?

Why are you laughing? It could happen.

So I may be comatose, but at least I won't be sobbing uncontrollably at pictues of baby penguins or dog food commercials.

Freedom!

Well, it's Freedom Fertility Pharmacy for the win!

My Gonal-F (GonalF? Gonal F? Gonal Eff? Whatever) will be arriving tomorrow along with my Ovidrel shot...presumably chilling in its usual mylar envelope.

In the meantime, I called the FC about it being Day One and all. Because they wanted a "day three" ultrasound. A nurse was supposed to call me back. I waited until 1PM, then stupidly called back and got shunted into Dr.'s Office Phone Exchange Limbo, where they told me to call back at two.

Called back at two. "We'll have a nurse call you!"

OK. You want a day three ultra sound. Today is Day One. It's now 2PM. You're open until 4PM. I am doing the math, and something does not compute. Maybe I am stupid, but by Day Three ultrasound, I was under the impression that it was supposed to be done on day 1, 2, or 3?

After some more thinking, I realized that I would need to get my meds ordered ASAP, and due to the weekend, if they didn't get ordered by 5, we would probably have to skip the cycle.

I started semi-panicking. I finally called back at 3:50 PM and got...the exchange.

$@#&!!!!

I actually used the exchange to leave a message this time. The RN called me back a little after 4, set up an appointment for Monday, said she'd call Freedom Pharmacy, and to her credit, I had my order placed and ready to ship out for Saturday delivery by 5PM.
Thank Heaven for small favors.

And for the record, Freedom Pharmacy is awesome.

Now I am just sort of dreading my nightly shots. The Man informs me that he is comfortable with giving them to me, since military training evidently covers giving shots. Also, my practical side says that he would probably appreciate being a little more involved in what's going on with us than his usual 7:30 AM scramble to make "the deposit" into a vial.

The irrational side of me is somewhat preoccupied with my lily white skin, and that scene in Pulp Fiction where John Travolta is administering the shot of adrenaline after Uma overdoses.

I've slated this week for getting caught up on laundry and pulling the house out of chaos, in preparation for my inevitable decline once the progesterone coma falls back upon me. I am at least enjoying being able to work outside and lift heavy objects without the niggling fear in the back of my mind that I may be screwing things up.

Well...

We're officially entering the world of injectables. Part of me is a little upset that I am not more upset about not getting pregnant this month. Is that weird?

The test yesterday morning seemed ridiculously anti-climactic. I called the clinic to report my negative.

They told me to discontinue my progesterone (Yes! Yes!) and call back on Day One.

So I went out and had sushi and an alcoholic beverage. Because hey, that is my silver lining. Well, that and not having to load up the progesterone suppositories every night.

I questioned the RN over the phone re: dollar amounts, because of course, our insurance doesn't cover injectables.

Evidently we have two choices- one online pharmacy offers a discount price each month, and the other has a "buy two months, get one free" plan.

I forced myself not to say, "So...one plan for the optimist, one for the pessimist!" because these people already think I am a little nuts.

Possibly because last time, when they were explaining about my endometrial lining, I interrupted them to say, "So basically, it's like a happy little waterbed in there."

You know, as opposed to the Gobi Desert. Or the Louvre.

And now I am picturing my interior regions furnished with a round red velvet bed, a white sheepskin rug, a leopard chaise longue, and a disco ball. And also a really large stereo system. Because hey, my uterus likes to party like it's 1979.

Oh, and when they gave me my last ultrasound, and found that my left ovary had three follicles and the right NONE for the second month in a row, the ultrasound tech may have heard me accuse my right ovary of "not earning its keep". I also may have threatened to have it evicted, although I did not verbalize the "It's my body, and I make the rules" lecture that was brewing inside my head.

Oh God, they must think I'm insane.

So now I am agonizing over which plan to choose. The Man just wanted dollar amounts, and he was obviously not helping, so I called my best friend for her take on things.

"Well, here's what I think. If you go with the 'buy two months get one free' plan...."

"Yes?" I prompted.

"Well, you would probably get pregnant on the first cycle. I think you should go with that one."

Yes, this is why she is my friend. She just gets me.

Ok, I am now officially up and around. I have a huge to-do list, and since I seem to have finally trancended my progesterone coma, I have to get to the gym and work off the results of a month of obsessive ice cream and chocolate consumption.

Keep on keepin' on

Tomorrow (well, technically today) is pregnancy test day.

I know I haven't been around..things have been better this cycle with regards to my emtional stability, but that may be because I seem to be asleep 90% of the time.

Seriously. It's like I have progesterone-induced narcolepsy. I will sit down to watch TV and read a book, and that's all she wrote. The Man keeps discovering me curled up in what he calls my "nests" throughout the house.

So if you have been wondering, that's where I have been. Sleeping. And eating ice cream.

I wish I could say I have high hopes for this cycle, but last month's emotional smackdown is evidently still in effect. I haven't even googled "early pregnancy symptoms" yet.

Plus, I don't "feel pregnant", not that I know what pregnant feels like.

I just have that feeling that my period is going to start, and I am dreading it, mainly because last month's was absolutely horrific, to the point that I was hyper-ventilating in the bathroom, because I seriously thought I was having a miscarriage.

I asked the RN at the RE's office about it, and she basically said it was thanks to my three follicles. Maybe I should be happy that my left ovary does all the work every cycle, and my right ovary is just phoning it in?

Huh. Alright...test tomorrow! Here's hoping that I flunk with flying colors (preferably double pink lines.)