Today is the last day of taking the Clomid, although not the last day of it working or potentially making me feel like crud. I shouldn’t complain, really: I’ve been mostly OK, except for being super moody and having a headache that won’t go away. I know it could be worse. But yesterday, it occurred to me that if this doesn’t work, I’m in this for more cycles of Clomid and IUI, and/or potentially other drugs, and I sort of fell apart.
I can’t imagine having to do this for months and months, I’ll be honest. I think it’s the headache that’s doing me in. My brain feels kind of swollen and soggy. It’s hard to think clearly. Also, because of the moodiness factor, it’s sort of like I have my own little rain cloud following me around, like Eeyore.
I know being pregnant is no picnic either, and that women go through way worse than this to have a baby. It’s a lot, though.
The thing that cheered me up the most was something my husband said the other day, when I was apologizing for a sudden weeping fit.
“If I were you, I’d say ‘fuck it,'” he said. “Maybe it’s because men get off easy with this stuff, but I can’t imagine going through what you’re going through right now. I’d be furious if anyone even suggested it to me, honestly. It’s bullshit.”
Immediately, I cheered right up. The only other thing that’s been able to work that kind of magic during my Clomid fog is pictures of fat dachshunds on Facebook.
So, I guess what I’m saying is, if you got to this page because you were Googling “Clomid side effects,” don’t panic. Just surround yourself with empathetic people and pictures of fat dogs.
Image via JD Hancock at Flickr