I’ve been feeling a little depressed lately about how much of this whole infertility struggle is on me.
Don’t get me wrong: my husband is supportive and as involved as he can be. Plus, you know, there’s the whole having to masturbate outside the privacy of his own home thing, which I imagine most men are carefully taught not to do, starting at a very young age.
But still, all of the medical risk and most of the aggravation are on my side. I realized that right at the start, of course, because I’d been trying to get pregnant for years, which naturally involves a lot of thinking that one might be pregnant, and scanning the ol’ body for signs of same. (And the signs are all gross: swelling, nausea, nipple changes, etc.)
But it really struck me how unfair all this is when we sat down with our reproductive endocrinologist to make a plan. Continue reading
I have eggs. Maybe even good ones. This is big news.
The hormone panels were a little inconclusive. My AMH levels were good … so good that my doctor was suspicious, especially when my FSH levels showed possibly diminished ovarian reserve.
The transvaginal ultrasound, which is like a regular ultrasound, only from the inside out, using a sort of robot dildo to take the pictures, showed healthy ovaries and several follicles, however, which means that we can’t count out the ol’ egg basket yet. Continue reading
Mr. ‘Face and I share a Google calendar. We do this because his job is shift-based, and mine is freelance, and otherwise, we’d never have any idea of what was coming up or where we were supposed to be. So it was with some amusement that I recently spotted the following entry in the calendar:
Tuesday: Dr. Whackit (call Monday to confirm)
Because I am a sensitive spouse, I immediately asked him about it. Continue reading