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. 
 ________________________

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.

Needled

I don't know how much I have said about Dr. Charming, but I am a fan.

That's right! I have an R.E. that I LIKE! Which is...well, if someone's going to be all up in your business, liking them should be a prerequisite.

Cycle day one was Saturday, which was basically a timing disaster. Some of my meds needed to be refrigerated, so they couldn't be shipped for Monday Delivery, and I needed to start shots on Monday: and have my baseline ultrasound.

So I called the pharmacy and the doc's office. I was worried about the pharmacy, and I finally got them to agree (after much wrangling) to ship a partial order of just the drugs I would need for Monday- which didn't need to be refrigerated, thank goodness. The culprit (Bad Cetritide!)  will be arriving with the rest of the shipment today. Whew!

The doc's office: I figured I would get a call from a service, or a nurse. what I got was a phone call from my R.E. himself, at 7PM on a Saturday night, to set up my Monday appointment. He performs every procedure in the office. Color me impressed! In the old days, Dr. Combover never deigned to see me himself,  I would always get a nurse or a lackey. Which is probably a good thing (because I didn't like him anyway), but STILL. Dr. Charming also gave me the results of my Counsyl test: I tested negative for all genetic issues that could be passed on, which is amazing news. The Man is on notice that if any potential kid we have is weird, he is to blame. ;)

I spent Sunday napping, getting things in order, and planning how to spend the next month. Taking it easy, distracting myself, avoiding stress, and generally make this as likely as possible to work. I downloaded funny books for my Kindle. I put the scale away. I am considering getting a Netflix membership, so I can watch lots of comedies. The bedroom has been somewhat revamped. I have a plan for lots of fertility yoga, meditation, and knitting. My nails and toes are painted with sparkly polish, and I am doing my utmost to feel attractive, distract myself, stay positive, and stay active- all things that are challenging during IF treatment.
 
So yesterday was crazy. I needed to pay for my cycle. We have had the requisite dinero set aside in cash for a long time, and I had to go deposit it in my bank account.  I went in, thinking, "OK, this is going to be weird, I have a banded sheaf of $100 bills, the teller will look at me like I am a drug dealer."  However, it actually ended up being more awkward, because evidently, if it's quiet at the bank branch, security will usher you over to one of the cubicle guys who usually sets up new accounts or looks over loan docs.

And of course- guess what happened to me?

So I made polite small talk, and commented on the luscious  aroma wafting over from the guy's coffee (Peet's!) and finally just decided "The hell with it." And I whomped that wad of cash on his desk and said, "I need to deposit this."

He did a triple take and asked, "Did you just win in Vegas?" Which of course, reminded me of this. I am a gambler. Hopefully, a good one. 

The actual doctor's appointment went well. I wrote checks on about 90% of the money I had just deposited. I submitted all the paperwork and signatures. I got checked out and my blood was drawn. I was told to stop taking any supplements except for prenatals. Bye Bye, testosterone cream! I won't miss you, Hopefully, you did your job. They did a "mock retrieval" (Or was it a "mock insemination"? Something like that) and said it should be a piece of cake and I had drunk the correct amount of water. Two "venti" Starbucks cups worth, an hour before I showed up. Duly noted. I was pleased to note that I have less padding on my stomach area, as they could see what they needed to see with just a regular ultrasound. Everything was pronounced A-OK, and I am supposed to go in again on Friday for a look-see.

When I got home, my box from Freedom Pharmacy had arrived. I did a quick review of the contents, and then got ready for more adventure- acupuncture.  I am usually awful about relaxing while I am supposed to be, but this time, I forced myself to leave my phone in my pourse, so web surfing was not an option. I actually did fall asleep.

I took my first shots last night- 375 IU Gonal-F, 75 IU Menopur. Holy Mackerel. I forgot the stress of making sure you get the mix right, or you can waste 700 bucks with one wrong move. I seem to have a ridiculous amount of syringes. So there was a lot of fiddling before I finally got it right. And about an hour later, I swear, I was feeling strange effects: I was hot. HOT! And had a crazy heaviness through my pelvic region. Bam. 40 lb. ovaries are coming down the pipeline. I also kept sighing. The Man seems to be getting more and more nervous with each and every sigh. "Are you OK?!" he keeps asking me, anxiety in his eyes. Concern for my welfare? Terror that The Crazy is coming down the pipeline? I probably don't want to know!

My refrigerated box showed up today: a 12" cube stuffed solid with syringes, sharps containers, a plethora of drugs, and a refrigerated packet. So that's all set.

My parents and in-laws are on board. I am sending out texts and emails with updates- something I never thought I would find myself doing the last time around. I got another text last night from Dad that said, "Good Luck: fingers crossed. We are praying for you.  Mom says she will come if you need help. Tell The Man that if he needs help, he's on his own." Bhahaha!

Mom called this morning. She keeps offering to come and visit, which is lovely, but really, there's not a lot she can do! I told her we would keep it in mind, on the off chance that I go completely nuts and The Man needs help restraining me.

She has been very impressed with her realization that so many people are struggling with this. She saw something in the comics today about two tiny birds sitting on a nest with a dozen giant eggs in it, and the father bird was talking to a friend on a nearby branch. The caption said "Just say no to fertility drugs!" She was hesitant telling me about it, as she was afraid I wouldn't think it was funny, and was obviously relieved when I laughed. Then she said," We are so excited for you honey. Just don't turn into OctoMom." I was a little horrified, and tried to explain the difference between what I was doing, and what the limitations were, and she she explained that she was only kidding. (Thank God.)

So I am getting very literal. Also, zitty. Freaking hormones.

So hungry, so angry

After four hours of sleep, I leaped out of bed. This is most unlike me. I have often expressed my admiration for both of our cats, one of whom parks on a chair in the den, the other of whom likes our bed. They will reliably park in their spots, and I will arrive home six hours later to find them both still there.

Those lazy little freaks have a pretty sweet deal, if you ask me.

So, the hungry part is a lot easier to solve than the angry part.
(Hungry? Eat breakfast and stop your whining. Angry? Well.....)


The Man's workplace tends to frown upon taking days off at short notice. We were initially unworried, because he has Fridays off, but with the schedule change, he couldn't get this morning off. He has to be at work by 7:30, and it takes 20-30 minutes for me to drive to the clinic. It's technically do-able, if I do all the ferrying.

I don't know if I have mentioned that The Man is in the military, but he is. He has assured me that he can't find privacy at work to complete a sample, not that I would want him to have to do that, but hey.

The morning of the IUI is always a disaster. I end up upset and stressed out every time. Like last month, when it was his day off and he assured me that he would take care of everything, allegedly set his alarm, and then slept through it. Having been awake most of the previous night, and thinking I only had to be awake for my appointment at 10:45, I was in no condition to remind him. I ended up waking up to his swearing at around 9, and we ended up calling the clinic and bringing the sample in late. Then he refused to go to the clinic with me, because he had forgotten that it was the big day and made other plans.

Or the time before that, when we got in a huge fight the morning of- I had given him all the info, what time I needed to leave by, etc., and he didn't remember any of it, so he didn't allot enough time to get dressed for work and do the deed. Or the time before that....you get the picture.

I have adopted a policy of not getting visibly upset, because it just makes things worse, although I am sure that the "internally boiling with rage" reaction that is happening can't be a good thing.

A big part of me feels that his avoidance of going to the clinic with me and his attitude (which, if I am honest, is that of a pissy 14 year old) on "collection day" is some weird passive aggressive thing. I know he wants to have kids, because he is the one who wanted to start trying. Maybe he just can't accept that we need medical intervention?

The thing is, I am spending tons of money, time, and my sanity on this. I have rearranged my entire life for this, and a big part of me resents it that I go through doctor's visits, shots, surgery, ultrasounds, and suppositories, while he can't manage to get out of bed on time and be civil on what amounts to less than one day a month.

Last month, I finally confronted him, and asked, "Do you still want to do this?" And he got upset, offended, defensive (which is worrisome) and assured me that he did indeed want us to have a child together in this lifetime. I told him that if that was the case, he needed to step up, so I could see that he meant it.

So anyway, "collection day" has become a loaded experience...no pun intended. And it seems like we go through this every stinking time, and this time is no exception- with the added complication that the RE's note that I get each month has changed.

Every month we have brought in the sample at 8AM on the dot, and now that I look at this note- 8:30.

Which is totally impossible with our schedule, and I have not one freaking clue what I can do, other than stick a vial in my bra for almost an hour and hope that quality will not be affected. I have already googled "sperm longevity" and "How long do sperm live outside the body" while knowing that my clinic wants it there in 30 minutes, tops. Like Domino's pizza. And of course I can't call them, because even though they show up to the office around 8, they won't answer the phone until nine. Garrrrrrrgh!

My only other option is to show up at 8AM anyway and force them to let me in.

I just tried going to The Man with these options, and he totally snapped at me. And while I am not going to let myself explode, I am through making excuses for him.

Has anyone else gone through something like this? I'm pretty much at the end of my tether.

The Saga Of Dr. Combover (Part Two)

Anyone who wants to read The Saga (Part One) may do so here.

The surgery and recovery were really easy for me. Thank goodness! And there was that prevailing feeling that I was "fixed." The problem was taken care of!

Then I went back in for me follow-up, and well...I just wish they could have prepared me in some way.

I was informed that I didn't actually have a blocked tube. After going through all my adventures with Righty, I am guessing it was just orbiting Pluto on the day that I had my HSG, so the dye didn't pool like it was supposed to.

The surgery did serve a purpose- I had some "mild endometriosis" that they cleaned up. So, since the tube wasn't a problem, what did I want to do?

Then he started throwing facts and figures and percentages at me. Clomid, 8%, here's the cost, IUI, medicated, 25% chance, here's the cost....

At this point, I was pretty early in my infertility journey, and I hadn't researched any of this data. My hopes had just been dashed. I felt like he was trying to sell me a baby like it was a used car, if that makes any sense. I know now that any reasonable person would understand that this is a lot of info to take in and assimilate within five minutes, but he just wasn't bothering to take that into consideration.

Dr. Combover was looking at me like I was a specimen who was misbehaving in a culture dish, while he waited for me to come up with an answer and stop wasting his expensive time. I finally said that I would need to discuss my options with my husband and research everything on my own before jumping into a treatment plan, and he just shook his head at my with poorly-concealed irritation.

In reality, the way he was interacting with me was pissing me off so much, I vowed that I was going to find someone else to treat me. A phone call to Dr. Teddybear disabused me of that notion. Not only does he get great results, he's the only game in town. Crap.

In the meantime, I had already asked for a copy of my medical records from his office, and I made the mistake of reading them. When I got to the paragraph that included his comments about the copious amounts of fat in my abdominal region...well, that didn't make me feel more kindly disposed towards him. Especially since I had asked whether my weight was a factor, and he said it had nothing to do with anything.

So I have been continuing to go to the office, and haven't seen the man since...it's been two years. All my procedures have been done by nurses and techs, and (perhaps understandably)I have been OK with that.

Am I overreacting? I have spoken to another woman in town who has had dealings with him, and she desribed him as being a "cold fish." But is personality that important if I am just trying to get results?

I am trying to decide what the next step would be, and I am in the fortunate position to be close to both San Francisco and Los Angeles...so if I am willing to go through some additional inconvenience, my options could be increased exponentially if I decide to jump off the Dr. Combover ship.

A Shot In The Arm

We now interrupt the Saga of Dr. Combover to say...WOW.

Seriously, the people at Freedom Pharmacy are amazing. They have overnighted I-don't- know-how-many really expensive little vials to me over the last week or so, and per my clinic's instructions, more Gonal-f and the brand-new prescription for Menopur was supposed to arrive this morning.

I waited. And waited. I have never gotten a delivery later than 10:30, so when it got to be two PM, I began to panic and called the pharmacy. They reassured me that the shipment was in its way- evidently a FedEx plane had some technical difficulties. They gave me the tracking number and the FedEx toll-free line, and had FedEx flag the order with the driver as an urgent delivery.

It finally got here at around 3:30 PM.

So thank you, Freedom and FedEx!

I would also like to thank the nameless woman who donated her leftover meds to my doctor's office. I was panicking when they prescribed more drugs, to be taken that day, and I knew that the dregs in the Gonal-f syringe at home weren't even going to come close to what I needed. Nameless woman, you are a superhero, and I promise I will do the same thing if I ever have any leftover largesse.

Time has given me some perspective. I was so upset yesterday, because I planned ahead and my plans got changed. My cycle wasn't cancelled. I have three likely looking follicles. Hell, Righty even decided to toe the line and cough one up this month.

Is it going to be more difficult because things changed? You betcha. But as The Man said, "Anything worth working for is rarely easy." I may have responded with "Thanks, Yoda." Because that's how we roll.

But yeah, I can see his point. We've come a long way, and we have a long way to go. Now is not the time to freak out over trifles.

On another note....

Holy crap, those Menopur injections are scary. First of all, they switched things up on me at the RE's office, and I have to inject the Gonal-f and the Menopur into my upper arm. I had gotten really used to injecting into my belly, but the tech said that there's a better chance of getting serious absorption with the arm injection.

So I get my meds today, and I open the boxes, and HOLY CRAP!! I am not sure what gauge the needles are that come attached to the Menopur syringes. But compared to my happy little Gonal pens, they look two inches long and as big around as a pencil lead. Luckily, you switch to a finer gauge needle to actually inject the stuff, but I nearly had a heart attack just looking at those things.

OH! And I asked why my office prescribes the 300 IU syringes. I was right! You actually get more meds (because of the leftover meds in each syringe) than you do with the higher dosage pens...for the same cost. I estimate on this cycle, the leftovers made up about two full pens, which is around a $700 savings. Not too shabby. I figured it was too good a tip not to share.

How's everyone's week going? Anything fun planned for the weekend?

The Saga Of Dr. Combover (Part One)

Way, waaaay back, at least three years ago, when I was still young(ish) fresh and innocent, I had an HSG.

My OB/Gyn, Dr. Teddybear (because he is so lovable and huggable, which is both great and a total liability, because I often succumb to tears in front of the poor man)went over the results with me and said,

"Well, sweetie, your right tube is blocked. It doesn'tt look like scarring, probably a plug, but we are going to refer you to THE guys in town. There's Dr. Jet-Setter, and the guy he trained who is just as good, Dr. Combover. They'll do laprascopic on you, and you'll be good as new.

I waited the three-month wait and booked an appointment, ending up with Dr. Jet-setter, whom I really liked. However, it was a short appointment...less than 15 minutes. He started talking about eventual IUI's and IVF, and I just wasn't ready...in addition to which, The Man was stationed out of town for the next three months, so surgery or IUI's were going to be out of the question for awhile. I told him we would discuss it and get back to him.

We waited for a year, and Dr. Teddybear tested for PCOS, started me on my first bout with Clomid, and ended up telling me, "Well, we just can't find a problem. You may want to consider the surgery, which will increase the odds."

I went back to the specialist's office. Dr. Jet-setter travels between California and South America, because he is evidently that much of a hotshot, and he was gone, so they signed me up for surgery in three months with Dr. Combover, a man I had never met.

I wasn't too worried. I had an appointment booked the week before my surgery, and I assumed I would be meeting the doctor then.

To make a long story shot, I was wrong. I went into prep for surgery, met the anaesthesiologist, a jovial guy with a Russian accent, who asked if I was nervous.

When I explained that the only issue was that I hadn't met the doctor doing my surgery, and I didn't know if it was unreasonable to meet him before I went into the OR, he thumped me on the shoulder and said, with Slavic solemnity, "I do not think it unreasonable to meet the man who is going to cut on you. I will bring him. One moment."

I sat there, in those stupid slipper socks, trying to cover my ass with the hospital gown, and he brought Dr. Combover in.

The man was obviously not thrilled to see me, and irritated by the time he wasted to be brought into my prescence. He introduced himself (stiffly) and uttered the fateful words, "Well! Dr. Jetsetter has nothing but great things to say about you!"

Since I had met Dr. Jetsetter exactly once, for 15 minutes, this was obviously a big fat lie, and didn't put me at ease. In fact, it kinda made me hate his guts. Which is an unnerving feeling to have about someone who is about to get up close and personal with your reproductive organs.

I just remember focusing on the anesthesiologist (who was my kind of guy, and I wished HE was my doctor) thinking, "You don't have to like Dr. Combover. It's not his job to be likeable. Just think babies. Think babies...." as I was wheeled into the OR.

Intermission

I am stalled.

That's the news I got during the ultrasound today. I still have one dominant follicle on the right, one on the left, but they are still where they were on Monday. The two smaller follicles seem to have joined forces, so I actually can expect three follicles this cycle...but the IUI has been postponed.

I have to order some more pens of Gonal-f, and also Menopur on top of that.

I am feeling disillusioned, and also, am freaking out because this is costing a lot more than I was expecting.

When I said something to this effect, along with the fact that if it's just egg production that they want, Clomid seems to produce better results and is covered by my insurance, the tech said, "Well, would you like to see the doctor?"

Confession: I haven't seen the actual doctor since my laprascopic exploratory surgery checkup over a year ago. I have to get to work and order my new meds, so I'll expound on all of this tonight.

IUI is rescheduled for Monday.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Ok, I'll just get down to the brass tacks.

Well, and then I will waffle. We all know how I love waffles!

I was worried due to lack of twinging, but lo! something must be working. My first clue was this morning, when I had a protracted battle with the top button on my jeans. And then proceeded to need to pee every 10 minutes. But it's all worth it. Thank goodness.

Here are the stats for IUI cycle #5! (Holy crap. FIVE!)

Once again, I have four follicles: two big fat 14's, one each for Lefty and Righty, and then as usual, Lefty is the overachiever with two smaller follicles, eight and ten. My levels are at 290.

300 more IU of Gonal-f tonight, and again tomorrow. Then another ultrasound on Wednesday. If all goes well, I trigger Wednesday night, and the IUI is Friday morning. Righty, if you go south on me, you are getting evicted. I mean it. You gotta earn your keep around here.

On a more entertaining note, I got to hear my uterus described as "gorgeous", which is a new one for me. I also evidently have "perky" ovaries. Is it just me, or is that bizarre? Like being told that your spleen is charming.

Plus, the adjective "perky" always makes me think of Katie Couric. However, considering how many uterii and ovaries this woman has seen in her lifetime, I think I have to choose to believe her.

Somehow, I don't think this is what was meant by "pretty on the inside."

So yeah. My reproductive system is a 10! However, so far it has been purely decorative. Come on, girls. This is the month!

I ordered another stinking pen of Gonal-F. That's six 300 IU pens. I am wondering why my RE ordered this way, instead of two 900 IU pens. Could it have something to do with the "leftovers" inside each 300 IU syringe? When I do the math, there's only a $3 or so price difference, so it doesn't matter much either way (except that priming the pen each night is getting old, and that's a lot of packaging to clog up landfills each month.

Anyone know about this? I'm confuzzled.

They debated about prescribing Menopur as well. Anyone have experience with this? They didn't end up doing it- the consensus was that everything was coming along nicely and that it was unnecessary.

While I still have not seen Dr. Combover, which is another post in itself, the ultrasound tech did say that she will personally reviewing my case. I don't know her name, or her title, or anything else.

Ordinarily, I would be freaking out about this, but....this cycle is weird. I feel very zen, for lack of a better term. Like this is all happening to someone else, and I am taking a detatched and clinical interest in it.

Since I can't remember the last time I was ever detatched and/or clinical about- well, anything, this is one hell of a change. Huh.

Okay. Almost time for work. And since my pants don't fit anyway, I may as well extract myself from them (maybe the Jaws Of Life would work) and eat a boatload of chicken nachos.

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.

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!