I have 50 followers. 50 women who I have never met, that know the most intimate details of my life, follow this blog. I know there are more that follow my page on Facebook. I just shake my head in disbelief. If you would have told me three months ago when I really started getting going with this blog, that I would have people actually care about this aspect of my life enough to read it, and offer me support, I would have laughed and then probably cried because I was hormonal and on Clomid.
So thank you, to all of you who are reading this. It is because of you that I can keep going. I imagine how lonely I would have been if I wasn’t blogging and putting my vagina on verbal display for the world. I feel like there is a purpose to all of this, besides the obvious. Blogging and baring my feelings has helped me keep my head an inch above the watery depression that continues to try to drown me every day. That being said, I enjoy commenting on all your blogs, even though school and work and life has been keeping me so busy. I wish I could comment more than I can right now, but hopefully once school is over I will be able to.
I went to my baseline U/S this morning (in a
shit snowstorm. Story of my life). 6 follies on the right and 7 on the left. I talked to the nurse about my progesterone. I have almost a full box of suppositories that I had to stop taking because of my… er… side effects from it. I felt weird asking to actually go back on the suppositories. Why yes, dear nurse, I absolutely love leaking constantly and always having to time sex to coincide with my nightly suppository! It gives timed intercourse a whole new meaning.
Why, in all that is fertile, would I want to go back to that when I can swallow the little pills instead?
It’s quite simple. Actually they have a t-shirt to illustrate it:
Yes, it is my utter cheapness that is making me want to take a chance making my vag raving mad again. Because, I have almost a full box of suppositories left! I’m sure I can find one person out there who is holding the economy size box of pantyliners up in the air, gleefully agreeing with me.
IUI cycle #3. If I also would have looked back a few months ago and thought I would be on my third scientific baby-making procedure, I would have also laughed. Hard.
“What? IUI may not work? Pah! How can it not? It’s science, for crying out loud!” I was so confident back then, hands down my pants holding a brewsky, sitting in the doctor’s office that first day, thinking that it was going to work.
What’s the deal? I’m starting to think I don’t even have eggs. I mean, there has been nothing so far, that they have found that would make me think: I have a problem getting pregnant. Sure, it’s been four years, 12 cycles of Clomid, 3 hGC trigger shots, and three IUIs. But, there’s been no problem. It’s frustrating.
My cousin had her baby the night we found out our last IUI cycle failed. I love my cousin dearly, and I am very happy for her, but I’m still frustrated. Of course not at her. At my body for failing to do what every other woman can. At my clinic, for still not giving me an answer. At the pregnancy announcements that keep popping up on Facebook. At my constant negativity that these IUIs are all a waste of time. At the fucking negative pregnancy tests when it seems like everyone around me is enjoying the miracle of life.
We are going into our fourth cycle, our third IUI. This next beta… well, it’s important. We are conferencing with our doctor in April to make our next game plan. I feel like I did when I first started at the CRM, scared, excited, nervous, depressed. Ugh. I just hope we get in back-to-back IUIs that we only got to do one out of three cycles. This is the big one people. This is the one that counts. I’m still not giving up my coffee though.