Alllrighty then.

I had another appointment with The Wand today.

It's kind of a set thing, now. I go in, have a seat, get summoned, disrobe from the waist down, enrobe my nether regions in a paper tablecloth, and perch gingerly on the table until Dr. Charming and a nurse come in.

Then there's a minute of smalltalk, and then I have to steel myself for the ultrasound.

I had one teeny antral follicle on the left today- not big enough to be worth measuring. The same as the ultrasound on Monday. I think we caught a glimpse of righty at one point, but not close enough to see follicles. Even that required a lot of jabbing and teeth gritting from me.

I just wish I were normal. With a right ovary that didn't wander off, and a life that didn't include getting 2-3 ultrasounds a week and, well, the ability to have children on my own. 

Dr. Charming assures me that it's still early, he has a few other ideas, and that I should come in on Monday. On Monday, it will be Day 10 of my cycle, and if I don't have any follicles worth noting, the cycle will be cancelled.

All I can think about is eating junk food. 
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Updated to add: I had a mini-meltdown instead. This post is evidently brought to you by Clomid, because BAM! Super emo came out of nowhere. I was sobbing uncontrollably, and then promptly got a hot flash: another Clomid side-effect I have experienced before. And then I was fine. I still want junk food, though, albeit the Paleo kind. I think I have earned it.

I take my last dose tonight. Not that it appears to have done much besides providing definitive proof that my new hippie mascara is definitely not waterproof. The Man noted that I was like this for the duration of my Clomid treatment several years ago- with the addition that I was unable to cope with anything and pretty much confined myself to my bed whenever possible, crying and eating cookies. We are hoping that this was just a one-shot deal.