My family isn't as close-knit as it used to be, but we do make an effort to get together on the major --and minor-- holidays. Since the main branches of the family are all here in the same town, it's rather easy. This year's Mother Day dinner was being held at cousin "Lisa's" house.
I was feeling like warmed-over ass that day, nauseous and tired from my trigger shot, so my mom volunteered to play chauffeur. It's only about a 15 minute drive to Lisa's house, and I fell deeply asleep in the car. We arrived, my mom poked me to rouse me, and I staggered just barely awake into the house and started on the greeting rounds. All of the women were in the kitchen (as usual), while all the men were either watching golf/football/whatever sport is on TV or shooting pool (as usual). Everything was normal and okay for all of about 10 minutes... then Lisa's sister, my cousin "Helen" spoke up.
Helen, who was busy putting roasted chickens on a serving platter, informed me laughingly that I should be helping with the food. I was completely taken by surprise, since all my offers to help over the years have been politely, but firmly, turned down. "Uhhh," I said intelligently, "I always offer, but end up watching golf. But sure, I can help."
"Well, today is Mother's Day, so all of the non-mothers are going to get everything together and serve the mothers," Helen chirped gaily.
I'd been fine all day, I swear. I hadn't had a single moment of self-pity or angst, nada. And one little sentence, one remark, blew through my cool. I walked over to the sink to wash my hands, and muttered to the third sister (my favorite), "It's not my fault that I'm not a mother, it's my uncooperative reproductive organs. And if everyone else is supposed to serve the mothers, then why aren't any of the men in here helping?"
Sister #3, Stella, quickly agreed with me and called on the testosterone posse to come help, so I felt slightly vindicated. I mean, getting the men in my family to help with dinner is an accomplishment as worthy as discovering penicillin. But as great as that felt, it didn't make up for the moment of anger and pain when it was implied that I was nothing more than Cinderella (pre-Bibbity Boppity Boo) because I don't have children.
The anger didn't last too long, though, because after I ate, I promptly found a love seat and passed out for about 3 hours until it was time to go home. The spiteful part of me hopes that they all thought I was really ill, and that they might get sick because I was handling food.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Today I am about 5 dpo. I have no idea if my trigger is out of my urine yet; I tested positive with a hpt 2 days past trigger (four days ago) but haven't tested since. Nothing to report other than cramps and broccoli-induced gas. I'm honestly not holding out much hope for this cycle, as my one follicle was on my "possibly partially blocked tube" side, the left side.
Of course, I'd be a liar if I said that that wasn't a worry factor. What if the egg fertilizes, and then gets stuck in my tube? Yep, I'm not so much stressing out over the TWW, as I am the possibility of a tubal pregnancy. Hey, I gotta have something to obsess about!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Random thoughts
I've had a lot of weird thoughts popping into my head lately. Here are a few of them:
1) I've been having lots of dreams that I'm pregnant. Several times I was pregnant with twins. Since I grew up with a Southern granny who insisted that dreams of pregnancy/birth were a sign of an impending death, I'm just waiting to see who croaks. Okay, sure, I'm obsessed with getting knocked up which is why I'm dreaming about it; but still, I can't just overcome years of dream-meaning training in one go.
2) Guilty secret: Ever since I was a kid, I've loved the Laura Ingalls Wilder books, the "Little House" series. Even though I'm in my 30's, I still pull them out and read them at least once every year or two.
For some reason this morning, an incident popped into my head from one of the later books, where Laura and Almanzo have gotten married and had a child, their daughter Rose. An older couple, family friends (the Boasts), actually offered to buy baby Rose, as they had never been able to have children. Mr. Boast tried to make the deal, saying that they were so young that they'd have more children, but that he and his wife desperately wanted a child and could never have one. All the while, Mrs. Boast sat outside in the wagon, waiting to find out what happened.
As a youngster, I just thought it was kinda sad and very weird that someone would offer to buy a baby. Now, as an adult who knows how heartbreaking infertility can be, I can truly feel for the Boasts.
3) I think it's funny, yet sad, that IFs will try just about anything if there's a chance it could help them conceive. For all that we're supposed so much more advanced than our forefathers, I can't help but think that we're not so much more advanced after all. I mean, what's the difference between Pliny's advice to barren women to eat a hyena's eye with food, licorice and dill to ensure conception, and the current fertility-fad to swallow mouthfuls of "Chinese fertility herbs" from a guy named Biff who claims to have been trained in eastern medicine? I'm tempted to start a rumour that eating three chocolate bars a day will improve your uterine lining, just to see how many women start doing it. They might not get pregnant, but their thighs will spread, and at least then I won't be alone in my gigantic thigh-ness.
4) I hate some of the cutesy abbreviations in the IF world. "Preggo" or "prego" for pregnant women is probably the one I hate the most. If I am lucky/blessed/etc. enough to get pregnant, I will bitch-slap the first person who refers to me as a jar of spaghetti sauce. I don't mind good old-fashioned, and somewhat derogatory, terms like "knocked up"; I'm weird enough to find that somewhat charming. But I am not chunky, garlic & mushroom, or traditionally flavored, thank you.
5) Sometimes I have far too much free time at work. Did you know that a lot of networks have full episodes of TV shows & TV movies online? For free? And of course there's Yo*T*be, with all kinds of video silliness. This week, I've watched Heroes (which I originally mistyped as Herpes), The Partridge Family, Richard Pryor stand-up, and Scrubs. I really shouldn't be left alone in the office so much.
1) I've been having lots of dreams that I'm pregnant. Several times I was pregnant with twins. Since I grew up with a Southern granny who insisted that dreams of pregnancy/birth were a sign of an impending death, I'm just waiting to see who croaks. Okay, sure, I'm obsessed with getting knocked up which is why I'm dreaming about it; but still, I can't just overcome years of dream-meaning training in one go.
2) Guilty secret: Ever since I was a kid, I've loved the Laura Ingalls Wilder books, the "Little House" series. Even though I'm in my 30's, I still pull them out and read them at least once every year or two.
For some reason this morning, an incident popped into my head from one of the later books, where Laura and Almanzo have gotten married and had a child, their daughter Rose. An older couple, family friends (the Boasts), actually offered to buy baby Rose, as they had never been able to have children. Mr. Boast tried to make the deal, saying that they were so young that they'd have more children, but that he and his wife desperately wanted a child and could never have one. All the while, Mrs. Boast sat outside in the wagon, waiting to find out what happened.
As a youngster, I just thought it was kinda sad and very weird that someone would offer to buy a baby. Now, as an adult who knows how heartbreaking infertility can be, I can truly feel for the Boasts.
3) I think it's funny, yet sad, that IFs will try just about anything if there's a chance it could help them conceive. For all that we're supposed so much more advanced than our forefathers, I can't help but think that we're not so much more advanced after all. I mean, what's the difference between Pliny's advice to barren women to eat a hyena's eye with food, licorice and dill to ensure conception, and the current fertility-fad to swallow mouthfuls of "Chinese fertility herbs" from a guy named Biff who claims to have been trained in eastern medicine? I'm tempted to start a rumour that eating three chocolate bars a day will improve your uterine lining, just to see how many women start doing it. They might not get pregnant, but their thighs will spread, and at least then I won't be alone in my gigantic thigh-ness.
4) I hate some of the cutesy abbreviations in the IF world. "Preggo" or "prego" for pregnant women is probably the one I hate the most. If I am lucky/blessed/etc. enough to get pregnant, I will bitch-slap the first person who refers to me as a jar of spaghetti sauce. I don't mind good old-fashioned, and somewhat derogatory, terms like "knocked up"; I'm weird enough to find that somewhat charming. But I am not chunky, garlic & mushroom, or traditionally flavored, thank you.
5) Sometimes I have far too much free time at work. Did you know that a lot of networks have full episodes of TV shows & TV movies online? For free? And of course there's Yo*T*be, with all kinds of video silliness. This week, I've watched Heroes (which I originally mistyped as Herpes), The Partridge Family, Richard Pryor stand-up, and Scrubs. I really shouldn't be left alone in the office so much.
CD 16: hcg trigger day!
Just 48 hours after my last u/s, my 16mm follicle has grown to a nice, plump 20mm. So I was told to trigger, and systems are go!
Despite the fact that I love watching the techs when they draw my blood, and that I have several body piercings, I have to admit that I was nervous about the trigger shot. Not because I'm afraid of needles--obviously I'm not!-- but because I had to give it to myself. There's something about sticking a needle into your stomach that just gives you the willies, at least the first time.
I worked myself into a tizzy over it, and it turned out to be as easy as pie. I didn't even feel it, the needle was so fine, and the medicine didn't burn or anything. So now it's on to insems, and then the NEXT wait: the dreaded two-week wait.
Despite the fact that I love watching the techs when they draw my blood, and that I have several body piercings, I have to admit that I was nervous about the trigger shot. Not because I'm afraid of needles--obviously I'm not!-- but because I had to give it to myself. There's something about sticking a needle into your stomach that just gives you the willies, at least the first time.
I worked myself into a tizzy over it, and it turned out to be as easy as pie. I didn't even feel it, the needle was so fine, and the medicine didn't burn or anything. So now it's on to insems, and then the NEXT wait: the dreaded two-week wait.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
CD 14 and counting
I feel like I've walked over an invisible line in the sand, like something has changed forever. I've gone from "trying for a long time, but somehow still managing to fool myself that things aren't so bad", straight to "Nothing short of a star in the east is going to get me pregnant."
Yep, last Thursday my skinny little FedEx guy came into my office and handed me a package that contained my hcg trigger shot. There was something about actually holding that ovidrel syringe that made something click in my head, and I'm not completely sure what it is was, honestly.
I'm cd14 and I had an u/s this morning to check my follicles. As I would expect, as a PCOSer, I had about 16 small follicles, but I didn't care about those. I wanted to see something fat and grand, a nice big, black blot on that screen to assure me that something was going on this cycle. And there it was, on my left ovary: one 16mm follicle.
I'd thought my doctor was crazy, wanting me to wait until cd14-15 to have a follicle check. But I have to admit, rather sheepishly, that yes Virginia, the reproductive endocrinologist knows more than I do! Since I'm typically a later O-er, around cd17-19, I'm really well on track with my body's natural rhythm. I guess I was just hoping that the meds might speed things along. But my doc knew better, and scheduled this first u/s just right.
Dr. McHottie wants my follicle to grow some more, so I go back in two days to check it again. By then, it should be large enough for me to trigger. I'm doing opks at home to make sure I don't surge before then.
And once I trigger, then I'll get to pee on a stick, and see what a positive pregnancy test looks like. Yes, I'm really that pathetic. I know it'll just be the trigger making it positive, but I've never had one, and I wanna see it, damn it.
Yep, last Thursday my skinny little FedEx guy came into my office and handed me a package that contained my hcg trigger shot. There was something about actually holding that ovidrel syringe that made something click in my head, and I'm not completely sure what it is was, honestly.
I'm cd14 and I had an u/s this morning to check my follicles. As I would expect, as a PCOSer, I had about 16 small follicles, but I didn't care about those. I wanted to see something fat and grand, a nice big, black blot on that screen to assure me that something was going on this cycle. And there it was, on my left ovary: one 16mm follicle.
I'd thought my doctor was crazy, wanting me to wait until cd14-15 to have a follicle check. But I have to admit, rather sheepishly, that yes Virginia, the reproductive endocrinologist knows more than I do! Since I'm typically a later O-er, around cd17-19, I'm really well on track with my body's natural rhythm. I guess I was just hoping that the meds might speed things along. But my doc knew better, and scheduled this first u/s just right.
Dr. McHottie wants my follicle to grow some more, so I go back in two days to check it again. By then, it should be large enough for me to trigger. I'm doing opks at home to make sure I don't surge before then.
And once I trigger, then I'll get to pee on a stick, and see what a positive pregnancy test looks like. Yes, I'm really that pathetic. I know it'll just be the trigger making it positive, but I've never had one, and I wanna see it, damn it.
Monday, April 30, 2007
What I did on my spring vacation
Okay, so people have been bugging the shit out of me, asking for pictures and details of my recent trip to Scotland & England. Well, here's the thing: sure, I took pictures, but they're either touristy stuff, or weird things I saw that were interesting to me. As far as the touristy pics go, do a search online for Big Ben, Wordsworth's grave, Anne Hathaway's cottage, Shakespeare's birthplace, etc. and you'll find far better pics than any I took. Really. I think it's far more interesting for me to tell you about things I experienced. So without further ado---
Things I Learned/Saw/Experienced in Scotland & England:
1) There are apparently only four hairstyles for men under the age of 40 in the UK: the fauxhawk, the shag (whether hobbit-curly or straight), shaved, or anything super-spiky that requires 4 tubes of gel each morning. I firmly believe that there must be a national advertising campaign encouraging young men to use styling products. I've never seen that much hair gel in my life. And I was a teenager in the 80s!
2) There are four words that are essential to your vocabulary. Just for fun, go out and annoy any English people you know by liberally sprinkling your speech with the following words.
--Sorry: A quick, all-purpose apology. Not "I'm sorry," just "sorry".
--Yeah: You know how stereotypes of Latin-language-speaking people always end questions (and sometimes just statements) in 'no'? Such as, Antonio Banderas saying, "It is a beautiful day, no?" Well, replace the 'no' with 'yeah', and you'll feel like you're in jolly ole England. Make sure to say 'yeah' at the end of every sentence, whether it's a question or not.
--Bloody: To Americans, saying bloody as a swear word seems like a stereotype, or something you only see in movies where Americans have really bad, fake British accents. Well, guess what? It's a stereotype for a reason. People use it. A lot.
--Cheers: 'Cheers' is like the Hawaiian 'aloha'; it can mean about a million different things. I heard people using it as hello, goodbye, thank you, excuse me, and of course, as an actual toast!
3) I have been successful in figuring out how NOT to look like a total tourist while on vacation. Having been stopped several time by people in Edinburgh who thought I lived there and were asking for directions, or asking if I wanted to sign local petitions and the like, I was quite pleased.
4) Everyone in the world knows that Elvis lived here. Whenever someone spoke to me, and then I answered them, they of course knew right away that I was an American. Inevitable question #1 would come: "Where are you from?" I'd tell them. Then inevitable question #2: "Oh, that's where Elvis was from!" I ended up in a 20 minute discussion with an old man that started with those two questions. I now know a lot about WWII and the British forces, racial issues in those days, and classist divisions as it pertained to music. Apparently the lower class people back then were really into rock & roll, while the hoity-toity folk were really into country music. Then again, that old guy may have been senile and just telling me a whopper. But he was funny and entertaining!
5) Dorks across the sea are just like dorks here. I found a Games Workshop store in Edinburgh. Just as in the dork shops here, my entrance into said shop caused a reverent silence that rivaled any cathedral. Girls are a rarity in those places, you see. There were many furtive, over the shoulder glances from guys putting together & painting models. Within 5 minutes, I had three different guys ask if they could help me, or if I knew what I was looking for. I smiled and answered politely to the first two, the classic, "Thanks, just looking."
By the time the third guy came up to me, I was just inwardly rolling my eyes. I mean, the store is only about 20x20, so I can't believe that he didn't know that I'd already been greeted! But oh, the third one hurt. He actually asked me, "Are you looking for something for a gift? For your nephew or son perhaps?" OUCH! When did I get old enough to look like someone's mom?!? So, I had to let loose on him. I turned with a sweet smile and said, "Oh, I'm just seeing what's new; I haven't been keeping up with GW in a while. I have Sisters of Battle." And he wandered away confused, because of COURSE girls don't play with toy soldiers, right? Right? Wrong!
6) I love Marks & Spencer food shops. And Pret A Manger.
7) Edinburgh is a fantastic place, and I'd love to go back. People were remarkably friendly, much more so than some folks I met in other cities. I had a wonderful time there, and it's really too much to try to describe. Edinburgh= heart it.
Things I Learned/Saw/Experienced in Scotland & England:
1) There are apparently only four hairstyles for men under the age of 40 in the UK: the fauxhawk, the shag (whether hobbit-curly or straight), shaved, or anything super-spiky that requires 4 tubes of gel each morning. I firmly believe that there must be a national advertising campaign encouraging young men to use styling products. I've never seen that much hair gel in my life. And I was a teenager in the 80s!
2) There are four words that are essential to your vocabulary. Just for fun, go out and annoy any English people you know by liberally sprinkling your speech with the following words.
--Sorry: A quick, all-purpose apology. Not "I'm sorry," just "sorry".
--Yeah: You know how stereotypes of Latin-language-speaking people always end questions (and sometimes just statements) in 'no'? Such as, Antonio Banderas saying, "It is a beautiful day, no?" Well, replace the 'no' with 'yeah', and you'll feel like you're in jolly ole England. Make sure to say 'yeah' at the end of every sentence, whether it's a question or not.
--Bloody: To Americans, saying bloody as a swear word seems like a stereotype, or something you only see in movies where Americans have really bad, fake British accents. Well, guess what? It's a stereotype for a reason. People use it. A lot.
--Cheers: 'Cheers' is like the Hawaiian 'aloha'; it can mean about a million different things. I heard people using it as hello, goodbye, thank you, excuse me, and of course, as an actual toast!
3) I have been successful in figuring out how NOT to look like a total tourist while on vacation. Having been stopped several time by people in Edinburgh who thought I lived there and were asking for directions, or asking if I wanted to sign local petitions and the like, I was quite pleased.
4) Everyone in the world knows that Elvis lived here. Whenever someone spoke to me, and then I answered them, they of course knew right away that I was an American. Inevitable question #1 would come: "Where are you from?" I'd tell them. Then inevitable question #2: "Oh, that's where Elvis was from!" I ended up in a 20 minute discussion with an old man that started with those two questions. I now know a lot about WWII and the British forces, racial issues in those days, and classist divisions as it pertained to music. Apparently the lower class people back then were really into rock & roll, while the hoity-toity folk were really into country music. Then again, that old guy may have been senile and just telling me a whopper. But he was funny and entertaining!
5) Dorks across the sea are just like dorks here. I found a Games Workshop store in Edinburgh. Just as in the dork shops here, my entrance into said shop caused a reverent silence that rivaled any cathedral. Girls are a rarity in those places, you see. There were many furtive, over the shoulder glances from guys putting together & painting models. Within 5 minutes, I had three different guys ask if they could help me, or if I knew what I was looking for. I smiled and answered politely to the first two, the classic, "Thanks, just looking."
By the time the third guy came up to me, I was just inwardly rolling my eyes. I mean, the store is only about 20x20, so I can't believe that he didn't know that I'd already been greeted! But oh, the third one hurt. He actually asked me, "Are you looking for something for a gift? For your nephew or son perhaps?" OUCH! When did I get old enough to look like someone's mom?!? So, I had to let loose on him. I turned with a sweet smile and said, "Oh, I'm just seeing what's new; I haven't been keeping up with GW in a while. I have Sisters of Battle." And he wandered away confused, because of COURSE girls don't play with toy soldiers, right? Right? Wrong!
6) I love Marks & Spencer food shops. And Pret A Manger.
7) Edinburgh is a fantastic place, and I'd love to go back. People were remarkably friendly, much more so than some folks I met in other cities. I had a wonderful time there, and it's really too much to try to describe. Edinburgh= heart it.
An apology
I don’t know if this is as much an apology, as it is an explanation. To all of my friends, both real life and online, who are not in the crazy world of TTC (trying to conceive), I just want to try to explain my life right now.
You see, I am a hostage to my ovaries. I am a walking life-support system for my reproductive organs. I probably talk more to my RE’s nurse than I do to many of you, and for that I am truly sorry. It’s not that I don’t think of you, or that I don’t care about you. It’s just that the desire to conceive is so strong and overwhelming, and the frustration so strong, that it is quite simply almost the only thing on my mind 90% of the time.
When I wake in the morning, the first thing I do every day (take my temperature) is related to TTC. Then I take medicines to help with TTC. I record data about my TTC online. I talk with other women around the world online about TTC. Everyday, I analyze my body, and any maladies or sensations, according to what it might mean in TTC terms. Before I go to bed at night, I’m mentally going over plans for the current cycle of TTC. If I meet you for a meal, a drink, or just to hang out, I really am paying attention to you. But believe me, in the back of my head, I’m thinking about TTC.
While we’re out eating, I’m wondering if these cramps I’m feeling are just follicles growing, or if I could be overstimulated, or if perhaps that was just a bad batch of shrimp. As I pay for my check at the bar, I’m wincing at how much the next cycle is going to cost if I have to get more aggressive. When we’re just shooting the breeze, and you tell me about something cute your child did, I’m wondering if I’ll ever experience that joy firsthand instead of secondhand.
You see, time is running out for me. I only have maybe 6 more cycles to try before I’ll call it quits. At that point, if I’ve not managed to conceive, then the only alternatives will be surgery and/or IVF, and I just can’t go that route. My financial resources can’t support it, and I cannot in good conscience go that deeply into debt in the quest to have a child.
So please believe me when I say that you are all loved, and that I think of you often. It’s just that right now, I am in a “me” phase. It is hard for me to be as interested in my usual hobbies and activities, when most of my attention is focused on this animalistic drive to reproduce. I don’t talk about it with you guys because I would sound like a broken record playing the same track over and over and over. Anyway, that’s my “deal” these days. All I can ask is that you bear with me, and try to understand how encompassing this can be.
There is a fantastic website out there, and probably everyone in the TTC world knows about it. I would ask my real life friends to take a look. It describes what I go through everyday far better than I ever could. It’s from the point of view of a couple struggling with infertility, and not a singleton like me, but it still rings true.
You see, I am a hostage to my ovaries. I am a walking life-support system for my reproductive organs. I probably talk more to my RE’s nurse than I do to many of you, and for that I am truly sorry. It’s not that I don’t think of you, or that I don’t care about you. It’s just that the desire to conceive is so strong and overwhelming, and the frustration so strong, that it is quite simply almost the only thing on my mind 90% of the time.
When I wake in the morning, the first thing I do every day (take my temperature) is related to TTC. Then I take medicines to help with TTC. I record data about my TTC online. I talk with other women around the world online about TTC. Everyday, I analyze my body, and any maladies or sensations, according to what it might mean in TTC terms. Before I go to bed at night, I’m mentally going over plans for the current cycle of TTC. If I meet you for a meal, a drink, or just to hang out, I really am paying attention to you. But believe me, in the back of my head, I’m thinking about TTC.
While we’re out eating, I’m wondering if these cramps I’m feeling are just follicles growing, or if I could be overstimulated, or if perhaps that was just a bad batch of shrimp. As I pay for my check at the bar, I’m wincing at how much the next cycle is going to cost if I have to get more aggressive. When we’re just shooting the breeze, and you tell me about something cute your child did, I’m wondering if I’ll ever experience that joy firsthand instead of secondhand.
You see, time is running out for me. I only have maybe 6 more cycles to try before I’ll call it quits. At that point, if I’ve not managed to conceive, then the only alternatives will be surgery and/or IVF, and I just can’t go that route. My financial resources can’t support it, and I cannot in good conscience go that deeply into debt in the quest to have a child.
So please believe me when I say that you are all loved, and that I think of you often. It’s just that right now, I am in a “me” phase. It is hard for me to be as interested in my usual hobbies and activities, when most of my attention is focused on this animalistic drive to reproduce. I don’t talk about it with you guys because I would sound like a broken record playing the same track over and over and over. Anyway, that’s my “deal” these days. All I can ask is that you bear with me, and try to understand how encompassing this can be.
There is a fantastic website out there, and probably everyone in the TTC world knows about it. I would ask my real life friends to take a look. It describes what I go through everyday far better than I ever could. It’s from the point of view of a couple struggling with infertility, and not a singleton like me, but it still rings true.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
CD1, RE visit, and The Plan
Today was cycle day 1 and also RE day, the visit with Dr. McHottie. And while I was really looking forward to the visit, I was not looking forward to the horrible traffic, the highway construction around the hospital campus that I swear has been going on for the last 5 years, and of course, the idiotic driving of my fellow motorists caused by the fact that it's raining. So even though the appt. is only about 10 minutes away--under normal circumstances-- I left about 45 minutes early just to be on the safe side. Geez, why can't I do that for work?!?
As soon as I walked in, I was astounded that there was another patient in the waiting room. You see, even though the waiting room is really swank (nice wallpaper and paint, pseudo-Oriental wooden panel screens, a water feature, etc.), it's almost always empty when I go in. They tend to very quickly work you up, and send you behind the hallowed doors to a more private waiting area (what I call the holding pen) in the rear of the clinic.
Anyway, the other patient in the waiting room was busy talking away on her mobile phone, arranging for someone else to handle a deposition. She was one of those women who're so put together that you feel ugly & awkward just from sitting too close to them. Yes, and there I was in my sensible business-casual black pants and cranberry top. Completing my look of total mediocrity were my nice and comfy black loafers, and the hoodie sweater I grabbed as I ran out of the door this morning because I needed something to wear between the door and the car. Oddly enough, I didn't feel as weird as I usually would, since I figured her ovaries probably sucked, too. Inadequate reproductive organs are a great equalizer.
Yeesh, but I'm rambling today! So I get into one of the consultation rooms, and Dr. McH comes in. He asks me, quite tentatively, if I'd mind if a resident came in to listen. I assure him that it's fine, and then when the resident came in, I assured him as well. I mean, once you've had 4-6 people in a room with you while you have dildocams shoved up your hoo-hah, you quickly lose your sense of modesty regarding doctor's offices. I mean, sure, I wouldn't just start stripping down while people were in the room, but once I'm under that glorious paper sheet, you can start collecting a $5 cover charge and let in the masses.
I gotta admit, though, that it has crossed my mind that this cycle will be the first one where people from Dr. McH's clinic will be all up in my southern exposure. All my other exams and procedures have been elsewhere, so this will be new. Maybe I should shave my pubes in the shape of a sperm just to get some laughs. I'm not sure exactly how that would work-- I mean, where would the tail go?-- but that's something to think about another day.
Dr. McH and I are in agreement on trying femara again for mild ovarian stimulation. And yes, we're doing u/s monitoring and a hcg trigger once I get a nice, juicy follicle ready. So, everything's on track. I have a new script for femara, and my first ever script for Ovidrel. Woot!
As soon as I walked in, I was astounded that there was another patient in the waiting room. You see, even though the waiting room is really swank (nice wallpaper and paint, pseudo-Oriental wooden panel screens, a water feature, etc.), it's almost always empty when I go in. They tend to very quickly work you up, and send you behind the hallowed doors to a more private waiting area (what I call the holding pen) in the rear of the clinic.
Anyway, the other patient in the waiting room was busy talking away on her mobile phone, arranging for someone else to handle a deposition. She was one of those women who're so put together that you feel ugly & awkward just from sitting too close to them. Yes, and there I was in my sensible business-casual black pants and cranberry top. Completing my look of total mediocrity were my nice and comfy black loafers, and the hoodie sweater I grabbed as I ran out of the door this morning because I needed something to wear between the door and the car. Oddly enough, I didn't feel as weird as I usually would, since I figured her ovaries probably sucked, too. Inadequate reproductive organs are a great equalizer.
Yeesh, but I'm rambling today! So I get into one of the consultation rooms, and Dr. McH comes in. He asks me, quite tentatively, if I'd mind if a resident came in to listen. I assure him that it's fine, and then when the resident came in, I assured him as well. I mean, once you've had 4-6 people in a room with you while you have dildocams shoved up your hoo-hah, you quickly lose your sense of modesty regarding doctor's offices. I mean, sure, I wouldn't just start stripping down while people were in the room, but once I'm under that glorious paper sheet, you can start collecting a $5 cover charge and let in the masses.
I gotta admit, though, that it has crossed my mind that this cycle will be the first one where people from Dr. McH's clinic will be all up in my southern exposure. All my other exams and procedures have been elsewhere, so this will be new. Maybe I should shave my pubes in the shape of a sperm just to get some laughs. I'm not sure exactly how that would work-- I mean, where would the tail go?-- but that's something to think about another day.
Dr. McH and I are in agreement on trying femara again for mild ovarian stimulation. And yes, we're doing u/s monitoring and a hcg trigger once I get a nice, juicy follicle ready. So, everything's on track. I have a new script for femara, and my first ever script for Ovidrel. Woot!
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