So, I’m having my husband call the doctor’s office to try to get some information out of them. This makes me feel like a bad feminist and a bad adult, but I’m clearly not having much luck getting information out of people, and I don’t know how much longer I can maintain my weak grip on sanity if I don’t have some kind of blueprint.
The problem right now is that they’re monitoring me every other day — like really, every other day, as in I have to go in on Sunday to get a scan — and no one will give me an idea of how long that’s going to go on.
To be fair, I only really tried to ask once. I asked the nurse how long the monitoring phase — i.e., the transvaginal ultrasound phase — would last and she said, “Well, we’ll probably want to do a lot of monitoring.” Continue reading
So, I had my first monitoring appointment yesterday since the Clomid. I have two potential lead follicles that look good, and my hormones are heading in the right direction. All good news.
Not-so-good: the continuing need for frequent transvaginal ultrasounds. Man, do I hate these fuckers. They are the worst. I’d like to personally administer one to every Republican congressman who’s ever suggested making them mandatory for women seeking abortions. We’ll find a place for the wand, if they don’t have a vagina handy.
The worst, this last time, was that I got all situated on the table, sans pants and with my feet in the stirrups, modesty sheet in place, only for the doctor to announce that the system didn’t have my records queued up, so he’d need to go speak to the front desk. Continue reading
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. Continue reading
I’m just blaming everything on the Clomid. Tired? It’s not because I didn’t go to bed at a decent hour, it’s because of the Clomid. Cranky? It’s not just my personality, it’s the Clomid. Standing over the sink shoveling cookies into my mouth with a glazed, joyless, thousand-yard stare? Clomid. Continue reading
I have a headache, the kind that’s not quite bad enough to justify canceling all plans but bad enough so that you mightily resent said plans. That’s the kind of headache I have: not the kind that makes you think you’re having an aneurysm, just the kind that makes you a leetle crabby with everyone you run into.
This is less than ideal, because I’m already pretty darn crabby. If I make it through this cycle without permanently alienating anyone, I’m going to chalk it up as a win, regardless of the outcome, fertility-wise. Continue reading
I had really vivid dreams last night. The one I remember the most clearly was about a ghostly figure that kept sailing through the air from the apartment opposite, closer and closer to the apartment I was in.
Also, my sister was in the apartment, and I was trying to protect her. Also, the ghostly figure was really the Virgin Mary, and she had big, dark bags under her eyes that got deeper and darker and baggier every time she made the trip. Continue reading
Here’s how crazy I am: I felt nauseated and was almost certain I was seeing spots … before I took the Clomid. I’ve been so nervous about side effects, I started imagining them well before I took the first pill. Continue reading