Still. Here.

I’m here.  I wish I had something profound or interesting to say.  I didn’t realize it had been so long since I last posted.  This month has sort of flown by. 

I’m quiet, and waiting.  Feeling like there’s a very delicate balance right now and afraid to upset it.  So I’m here.  Still. 

6 of one, half dozen of the other

Tags

Infertility, ttc

Cycle Day three appointments hold such promise. You walk in the door wondering how many antral follicles the doctor will count, wondering if he/she will change your protocol this month, and think maybe this is the beginning of the cycle that’s going to work.

And then the doctor shoves the ultrasound wand in and counts 6 large cysts, declaring your cycle cancelled before it even started.

6. One about 30mm in size. We talked about the hows and whys and the protocols for next time. And then he sent me on my way.

I’m crushed. It’s the crappy one-two punch: a big fat negative cycle becomes the gift that keeps on giving by screwing up my next cycle.

Looks like there may be a lot of running this month.

It’s Ok Not to be Ok

Tags

bfn, Infertility, iui, ttc

Everything around me feels too loud. Like the sounds are amplified and everyone is yelling. It’s too bright outside and my sunglasses aren’t enough to tone it down. The wind blows my hair into my eyes and I don’t bother moving it. It doesn’t matter anyway; all I have to do is keep my eyes focused on the sidewalk beneath my feet. I don’t want to accidentally catch someone’s eye who might expect me to talk to them, because then I’d have to feign being in a decent enough space to make petty conversation about the weather or some other issue.

I’m 10dpiui today. With my last miscarriage, 10 days is when I first got a positive test. I’ve tried to think positively. I’ve been cramping since the IUI, had really strong symptoms, and in general just felt like maybe this was it. Especially since everything was so screwy this month. Since the perfect cycles don’t seem to work, maybe the month that everything was just slightly off would be the one that worked.

No such luck I guess. Three or four tests later, starting yesterday, all stark white. Without going into gory details, my symptoms point to cycle day one being tomorrow or Wednesday, right on schedule.

It’s so hard not to let the cracks I’ve slowly glued back together over the past year come apart again. You can glue the handle back on the mug, but it will never be as strong as it was before it broke. I know I want to be here, and it’s hard to complain knowing I was fully aware of how this all plays out before going forward. But my heart is breaking, because every month is one month closer to going through this all for nothing.

I don’t know what to say. I wanted to be eloquent and come up with a post that adequately conveys how hard it is to walk through this process. To know that a text to my wife saying “I’m struggling emotionally” [because of this] is as hard for her to read as it is for me to write. To explain that it’s easier to imagine boring holes in a pregnancy test with my eyes than it is to imagine a second line on that test. To pray that nobody decides they need me at work because if someone actually opens the door I’ll have to explain why I’m crying. To wonder if my “real life” friends who’ve never been through infertility read here and question my stability (I’m fine, just infertile thankyouverymuch).

I haven’t been running. First I was hurt, and then I was afraid to run during the two week wait. I know people run and do all sorts of things while actively trying to conceive, but with as much money as we’re spending it seems like I should just keep everything as still as possible. I’ve gained the requisite 5 pounds that you get simply from shooting stim meds into your abdomen. I’ve been eating like I’m entering The Hunger Games tomorrow. I feel so far from the person who managed to finish a half marathon a month ago I’m not sure I actually ran it. The only good thing about waiting for CD 1 is that I’ll get two weeks to run again.

As I type this, I’m listening to the music from Smash, and the song playing is called “Who You Are.”

“Seeing is deceiving, dreaming is believing,
It’s okay not to be okay…
Sometimes it’s hard to follow your heart.
Tears don’t mean you’re losing, everybody’s bruising,
Just be true to who you are.”

Today, I’m not ok. And that’s as true as it gets.

4dpiui

Tags

Infertility, naiw, ttc

I’m currently in the TWW. For the non-infertility types around here, that stands for Two Week Wait, the two weeks after you ovulate during which you obsessively analyze every twinge and potential symptom for signs of pregnancy despite knowing full well that symptoms are meaningless.

I have been relatively quiet about this cycle. It’s a new protocol for me, and my monitoring appointment didn’t quite go as I had hoped. But, they say it only takes one, and so that’s what I’ve got. We did our IUI on Friday the 19^th. So I’m now 4dpiui (4 days past IUI) obsessing over trying not to obsess.

It’s only mildly ironic that my TWW falls squarely into National Infertility Awareness Week. The roller coaster that is infertility completely takes over your life. You’re either researching protocols, analyzing symptoms, or envying every pregnant belly and new baby you come into a 50 mile radius of. A day doesn’t go by that infertility doesn’t creep into my consciousness, even when I’m not cycling.

About six months ago, J and N were out running errands with H and they’d stopped for lunch. Now, let me preface this by saying we never talk about TTC in front of the kids. Which makes J’s comment I’m about to tell you about that much weirder. Anyway, out of the blue, J says to H, “When are we going to have another baby so there will be three of us?” I wish there were some way to explain to her how hard we’re trying to make that happen.

It doesn’t help that it seems like friends and acquaintances are popping up pregnant left and right. I know of five off the top of my head without even thinking hard. And it’s not the infertile friends triumphing over their diagnoses that are hard to take, it’s the oops’s and the “gosh after three months we thought we’d NEVER get pregnant”.

I’m currently extremely restless. I want to know the outcome of this cycle so I can make decisions. It’s not news that I don’t do well with the unknown and the lack of control (those of you that know my in real life can shaddup with the giggling). I’m restless about everything right now – my job, the state of the house, my aging computer, my running (or lack thereof recently). My job is honestly a major source of my issues currently. I’m bored, I’m not interested in the work anymore, and I’m really regretting not taking the transfer I had the opportunity for a year ago. And now that I’m at the level I’m at, leaving becomes more difficult because there are fewer positions that would allow me the opportunity to make a change and stay at my current salary level.

So, I’m basically just sitting. Waiting. Going to work, doing the things I normally do, trying to pretend there isn’t this big thing hanging over me. Being out of the game for a while, you almost forget how hard it is to get through the waiting and uncertainty.

Almost.

Brothers in Baseball

My son is a sports nut. As I write this, he’s literally watching college softball and watching the ESPN ticker announcing the results of each MLB game that pops up. He’s been known to watch college cricket, simply because it’s on ESPN.

He started Little League when he was 3. We lived one town over and their Little League program had a t-ball age group for the 4 year olds called “Mites.” And because N turned 4 before the end of April (barely), he was eligible. He played two seasons while we lived there, and then we moved. I was bummed that he was going to have to start over with kids he didn’t know, but he makes friends easily so we didn’t think he’d have much trouble.

Last year, he started in what’s called Single A “coach pitch” which is really coach loading the machine and hitting the button for the machine to pitch to the kids. We didn’t know anyone around here on his team, but he quickly made friends with a little guy, R. Just as quickly, we made friends with R’s parents and J and R’s little sister would hang out during games. R and N are a grade apart (R’s a second grader) but they’re pretty much inseparable at baseball.

This year, our two families requested that the boys be on the same team, and as luck would have it, last year’s coach got to keep about half of last year’s team together as many of us kept our kids in Single A for another year. So you can imagine how thrilled they were when they found themselves as “Ironbirds” again.

About a third of the way into the season, we’re discovering that N and R not only are really good friends, but they work really well together on the ball field. They have made some pretty great outs, whether they’re playing shortstop and second base, or in today’s case, third base and catcher. They both have an instinct for the game – knowing where the ball should go even if they haven’t quite gotten the execution down. I hope they will be able to stay on the same team as the years go on, because I’d hate to see what happens if they have to compete AGAINST each other rather than with each other.

At last night’s game, N had a rough at-bat. Our friend said he thought maybe N’s bat was too heavy, so I went around to the dugout to see if he had a lighter one in his bag. R’s mom said R’s bat was lighter, and he could try using it. He got up to bat, and launched the first pitch he got clear into the outfield. Now, R isn’t a fan of the other kids using his bat, because kids tend not to take care of things that aren’t theirs as well as they should, but he had no problem with N using his bat. And today, after N slid into home, R came from the far end of the dugout to high “10” N on the field. They never fail to be there for each other, whether it’s to cheer each other on or to give a pat on the back after a rough out.

I’m loving watching N grow as a baseball player, but I’m also loving watching him create what I hope will be lasting friendships bound by a love of the game. It’s humbling to watch my child create relationships outside of our family, because I see them as reflections of the things we’ve hopefully instilled in him all this time.

This morning, as we were talking about last night’s game, and N using R’s bat again, N said, “Me and R, we’re like brothers in baseball.”

Brothers in baseball. I’m not sure there’s any cooler thing for a kid to be.

The Roller Coaster is making it’s way up the first hill

Well, here we are at the start of another cycle.  After a 42 day cycle that required supplemental progesterone to jump start it, I had a typical 24 day cycle.  I called in and made my CD 3 appointment, completely uncertain as to what things would look like.

I made sure to make my appointment with my favorite doctor in the practice, the one that actually pays attention to me.  Ultrasound showed not a whole lot of activity, which doesn’t provide a whole ton of hope.  But he admitted that antral follicles aren’t always easily visible.  He’s a bit confused by me, because I’ve had test results indicative of diminished ovarian reserve followed by test results that look fantastic.  Based on my last cycle, it looks like the positive results are more accurate, but based on today’s ultrasound, it looks like the crappier results are more accurate.  Which left him a bit stumped on protocol.  It also pissed me off to discover that if HE had been the doc who saw me for my monitoring appointment on my cancelled cycle, he wouldn’t have cancelled me.  I felt SO good about that cycle and really thought it was “the one” and to find out this after the hell I went through to get my cycle going again after that was more than upsetting.

But, it is what it is, and if that cycle had worked I never would have been able to prove to myself I could run a half marathon.  I’m really trying to find the positive.  It’s almost working.

So in order to avoid being cancelled but also being sensitive to the fact that my ultrasound wasn’t the most positive this morning, he took a middle road and we will start with the same dose we started off with before, and back off after a few days to 2/3 of the starting dose. 

Next monitoring appointment?  The twins’ birthday.  Maybe that will bring some luck.

Almost 7

Dear N.

You’re going to be 7. In exactly a week. I don’t understand how any of this happened. One second you were starting mini little league at 3 and now you’re taking batting lessons and reciting baseball stats.

You’re quite an amazing little boy, in my opinion. You’re so sweet and sensitive and such a kind-hearted boy. You are so smart, too smart, that we don’t know quite what to do with you. Your teacher is doing a great job trying to keep you engaged but you have me worried how we’re going to keep up with you here pretty soon. You’re doing multiplication and reading well beyond grade level, and you continually surprise me with your grasp of things that you really shouldn’t be yet.

You’re current obsession (other than sports of course) is Harry Potter. We are in the middle of the third book and almost every other comment you make is repeating something from one of the books and a lot of your “what if” scenarios are HP related, as in “What if I was a wizard?” It’s so much fun to have something that you and your sister are both excited about and I love reliving the books through your eyes.

You just finished your second season of basketball where you had an absolute blast. You struggled a little emotionally with the times when things didn’t go the way you wanted, but after a little mid-season pep talk between you and I, things got so much better. Now you’re in the first half of your 5th little league season (if you count the summer ball league you played) and it’s incredible how much your skills have improved. You’re hitting off the pitching machine fairly regularly, and you’ve made some great plays on defense. You still like to initiate the ESPN replay after every play you make, which probably will stop being funny at some point but right now it’s hysterical.

I’m so proud of you my little man. You’re growing into such a good kid. This year you had your first bout with teasing at school as well as a little girl asking for you to give her the answers on a math test. You handled both very well, and I probably was more upset by these episodes than you seemed to be. Your sister can be sort of relentless with you, and you’ve hit your limit with her more than once this year, but for the most part even she can’t force you not to be the sweet kid that you are. The other day we were sitting down to read another chapter of Harry Potter and while we were waiting for Sissy you said to me, “Mommy, everybody loves you. Even the dogs love you.” And my heart melted. This morning I wrapped my arms around you after I’d walked you to class and you looked up at me with your lips pursed for a kiss. I know you wanting me to kiss you in front of your classmates will abruptly end sooner than I’d like it to, so I just want you to know for the record that it makes me feel really good that you don’t care yet that mommy kisses you goodbye.

We got some really good news for you at your last parent-teacher conference. Your teacher has been selected to pilot a program called “looping” which means that you and all your classmates will be with her in the same room for 2nd grade next year. Since we love your teacher and you have a great set of classmates, this was in and of itself fantastic news. But given the intense amount of anxiety you experienced the last three weeks of summer last year worrying about who your teacher would be and who your classmates would be and where your class would be, this new plan means we won’t be worrying about ANY of that come the new school year.

It’s really difficult for me to explain how much I love you. Watching you play baseball or basketball, listening to you talk about Harry Potter or whatever else you’re reading, having “what if” conversations with you, listening to you sing at the top of your lungs to Justin Bieber or One Direction or Glee, everything you are and are becoming just makes me so happy to be your mommy.

It blows my mind that you’ve gone from this:

…to this:

Thank you for choosing us. I love you more and more every day, and I’m so excited to know what comes next for you. Never ever doubt that we love you more than words and that no matter what you do, who you love, or where you go, you will always be our baby boy.

Happy almost 7th.

*********************

Dear J,
One day I was holding a 5 ½ pound baby in my arms and the next you were yelling “watch me!” as you swung from the monkey bars on the playground. One day you were barely saying your ABC’s and the next you were reading Harry Potter aloud all by yourself.

You’re a pistol, little one. You’re going to be keeping us on our toes for many years to come. You push all the limits you can, and then you turn around and yell “Mama!” and jump up in my arms and snuggle me so hard I can barely breathe.

You played your first season of soccer this year – your first sport ever. And even though you could really care less about sports, you seemed to have a fantastic time. And near the end of the season you all of a sudden exploded with understanding of what was expected of you, and had an amazing last game. You can’t seem to really decide what sort of activities you want to be in, hemming and hawing at everything. You love to sing and act, but the thought of being on stage seems to make you freeze. I think we’re going to try gymnastics again, since you seem to love doing cartwheels and handstands all over the house.

You seem to love Harry Potter almost as much as your brother, although you are content to read other things like Judy Blume. You love to draw and color and just about everything “girly.” Your room in the new house is as pink as pink can be, and you asked for “fairies and unicorns” and got exactly what you asked for.

You’ve struggled a bit with figuring out this crazy world of girl friendships. You often come across as a stubborn, strong girl but dealing with other girls can be so hard. I was so proud of you when we sat down and talked to you about treating other girls with respect, even if you aren’t friends with them, and you really seemed to take it to heart. Navigating those waters is going to be hard for a long time, babygirl, and I hope you always know you can talk to us about it.

You’re so bright and vibrant and full of life. I have to admit I’m loving your current phase of being overly attached to me, because I know it won’t last long. This year you’ve lost a bunch of teeth, and even though I worry your faith in the magic things of childhood is waning, you’re on board for the tooth fairy.

Little J, I have a hard time explaining to you the hold you have on my heart. You can drive me insane and bring me great joy all in the matter of 15 seconds. One of my favorite things to do is surprise you by picking you up from school, and watching you come flying out of the classroom into my arms makes me so happy just to have the privilege of being your mom.

From this:

Though she be but little…

To This:

…she is fierce!

I love you, J. You’re my mini-me and best girl. I adore every fun and infuriating minute with you.

Happy soon-to-be 7th.

Race Report

Holy cow it’s been a busy couple of days! I promised a race report, and here we go.

The race started and finished at the local Triple A ballpark. Luckily, it’s very close by my house. Unluckily for H, she had to work the night before, so she got drafted to drive me to the starting point after her 10 hour shift (at 6am mind you). She pulled up to the stadium only for us to find a huge line of cars. I told her to let me go ahead and walk the rest of the way so she could go home and get some rest.

I made my way to the stadium gates as the sun was just beginning to come up. It was cold (for this California girl anway), and I hung out on the concourse waiting to hear from my friend and former boss. She was running the race with her daughter. I made small talk with another woman waiting alone and we discovered that we had friends in common. While this wouldn’t normally be unusual in our town, we actually discovered we had friends in common from 500 miles away where we both went to high school and college! Crazy small world.

My friend and her daughter arrived and we made our way to the outside of the stadium where the actual starting line was. They were beginning in an earlier wave than I was, so we only got to hang out for about 15 minutes before their wave was getting set to go. I was alone again with my nerves and fears.

I’d checked my running jacket at the sweat check because I knew it was going to warm up and I didn’t want to run with it around my waist. But it was still really chilly. They called the last wave to the corral and we all started to push forward. I had my headphone (I only wear it in one ear so I can hear what’s going on around me) and my GPS watch ready to go as we watched the timer countdown. The first wave of racers had been on the course now for 45 minutes. 10 minutes almost to the minute before my wave was set to go, I received a text from my friend J, who had completed her first half marathon across the country. “Tag, you’re it” she said.

The first leg of the course was crowded. We all had to go over the bridge before we really could spread out and separate from one another. I was running 2/1 intervals and on every running interval I was fighting with my capris. I’d committed the cardinal sin of racing – wearing something new on race day. But I’d had good reason. I’d originally intended to wear my running skirt. But after three weeks of waiting and waiting for the period that never came after the cycle that never was, I had started literally less than 12 hours before race time. I was certain that wearing my skirt or even any of my shorts would be a recipe for a potentially embarrassing incident so I opted for my new capris. For almost 3 miles I spent every walk interval tugging at my waistband, willing my pants to stay put. Finally I think I sweat enough that they just stuck where they were.

At about mile 4 I was starting to feel like this was do-able. I was settling in. From behind me another runner about my height and pace approached me on one of my walking intervals and said “Are you running intervals?” I said I was, and she told me how her training partner had gone off in one of the earlier waves and she hadn’t realized how strict they were going to be about not letting you switch waves on race day. So she’d been left to her own devices after training with someone for the last 8 weeks. She asked what intervals I was running and I said 2/1. “Oh,” she said, “I’m running 1/1’s.” I’m not normally one who likes to run with someone else, but for some reason, I said, “I’ll run 1/1 with you for a bit.” She looked surprised and said “Are you sure?” “Yes,” I said, and we took off on the next beep of her timer.

By this point I was ignoring my interval cues but still had my running playlist on in my right ear while she ran on my left side and we chatted off and on. We talked about why we’d started running and our careers and our families. I’m not used to talking when I train, so the extra exertion was really starting to tire me out sooner than I expected. We both agreed to stop talking for a bit, especially since around mile 6 both of our knees started to give us trouble. I’d never really had many issues with my knees in training but for some reason I recognized the pain as what I’d read IT band pain was like. It started to get to a point on the running intervals where I was limping while I ran and I was becoming scared I wouldn’t finish. We stopped to stretch for a minute, and stretched out a couple of our walk intervals to rest things. The “mostly flat” course was really not, and some of the bigger inclines really caused pain.

At about mile 8 we were both lamenting our knees but celebrating being over halfway finished. I told her about my brother’s friend’s wife – a 27 year old young woman battling advanced melanoma. I said, “If she can get up every morning with a smile on her face, we can finish this.” She agreed. “We got this,” I said. “Ready?” And off we ran again, through Old Town, by a crowd of supporters cheering us on.

Midway through mile 11, I could feel my hands swelling. This had never happened to me before. I’d been fueling along the way with Gu, and was getting close to being out of water, but I didn’t really feel dehydrated. My new friend told me this happened to her on her longer runs. As we approached the mile 11’s mile marker, I told her, “I think I’m going to walk for a bit, you go ahead.” She asked if I was sure, and I said I was. As I wiped my hand across my mouth, I tasted salt. I could tell I was getting dehydrated, despite continually drinking and fueling. As she ran, I thought I may be able to catch up to her, but I watched her get further and further away from me. As I hit mile 12, I texted H to let her know I was close, but that I was walking. (Mind you, I was still walking fast – in the 14 minute per mile pace). She responded but I was struggling with the extra effort it was taking to text and focus on finishing, plus my battery on my phone was dying.

I looked at my GPS watch, and I calculated my pace plus the amount of distance I had left and figured out I could still make my goal of finishing in under three hours. As I rounded the last corner before going into the stadium, I saw my best friend and her daughter. I half smiled, and silently cursed myself for not having been running when I saw them. But I knew I was spent, and I wanted to run across the finish line. As I came around the corner onto the track on the field I started scanning the seats for H and the kids. As I got closer to the finish I could see H holding N waving at me. I started running and I caught sight of J (who I later learned was feeling really under the weather) who half smiled and half waved at me.

I’m in the gray shirt (and the time on the clock is from the official start of wave 1, not my wave).

I realized as I crossed the finish that they were corralling all the runners up an aisle in the stands, which meant a decent flight of stairs before meeting up with my family and friends. I joked to whoever was around me that having to walk stairs after finishing 13.1 seemed like cruel and unusual punishment. I looked for my running buddy, but she was nowhere to be found.

I bought my silver finisher’s necklace (the one I promised I’d buy if I finished the race, but not before as I didn’t want to jinx it) and met up with my group outside the gate. Then I finally sat down and started to cry. All the pain started to catch up with me, and my feet and my knee and my hip all started to scream. I realized, in that moment, I’d done it. I’d actually gone from non-runner to half marathoner in less than a year. 355 miles of training and racing in 9 months had led me across that finish line. And my official time?

2 hours, 56 minutes, 34 seconds.

I wasn’t last, not even in my age group.

As the next couple of days settled down, I did admit to being disappointed with having to walk the last two miles. I felt like I should have been able to keep my pace better. But I finished, and under my time goal, and I managed to do something I’d never done before and was so far outside my comfort zone I am not sure I’m really able to process it yet.

Will I do another? Maybe. Right now I’m glad it’s behind me and that I can focus on some of the other things going on in our life right now. But I have to say I’m so incredibly grateful for the support of my family and friends, and everyone in this space. The texts I got on race day made me feel so loved. My family and best friend being there to cheer me on meant more than I could ever express.

Postscript: I found the woman I ran with on face.book and thanked her for getting me through the race. We’ve promised to stay in touch and hopefully run together once in awhile.

Seven Snippets Race Weekend Edition

— 1 —

It’s been a really long time since I did a Seven Snippets post, and given how insane my life is right now, this seemed to be a good way to get a post out there. The craziness includes buying a house, getting ready for my first half marathon, work transitions and uncertainty, baseball season starting, and, oh, actually MOVING.

— 2 —

So yes, we did buy a house. I’d alluded to it previously, but was afraid to jinx the process. The house is closer to the kids’ school, which is great. The house needs a bunch of work, all cosmetic mind you, but work just the same. H has been at the house for the last 24+ hours putting in a bunch of manual labor doing things like ripping out flooring and prepping for paint. The house was filthy. Beyond. And there was a stripper pole in what will be J’s room. No joke. Apparently the neighbors knew said stripper pole was in the house because (get this) you can see it from the street, and that she had parties all the time. Somehow I think us moving in is going to make the neighbors really happy.

— 3 —

Little league starts Saturday. N is very excited. He’s with the same coach as last year which makes us very happy, and he’s with one of his best buddies which makes him very happy. As much as I love baseball season with my son, our baseball schedule is pretty packed game-wise and I’d really like a bit of a breather since we just finished basketball. Oh well, it will all be worth it for the smile on my kid’s face.

— 4 —

Wednesday night we drove 2 hours to see Maroon 5 in concert. I may not have said it here before, but I’m completely smitten with Adam Levine. Beyond. My poor wife is so confused by my Adam obsession. Seriously though, how can you not love this man?

Swoon.

Oh, and he performed flawlessly.

— 5 —

If you’re not reading my friend Amy’s blog over at Very Culinary why aren’t you? I don’t care if you don’t cook, Amy has some great recipes for us non-chefs and she and her husband Paul are hysterical to boot. You absolutely must check out their parody of the new Justin Timberlake song “Suit and Tie.”

— 6 —

I picked up my race number yesterday. My half marathon is Sunday. I’m still talking about in terms such as “if I finish.” I’m very anxious about it and very afraid it’s going to be a disaster, so I’d love for any of you who’ve been there to offer up any sage wisdom.

— 7 —

On Sunday, I’m in wave 4, which means I’m in the slowest group. I’m totally fine with this, but it also means that while I have to be at the starting area by 6:15am for parking purposes, I won’t actually hit the road until 8:30. I have a time goal but ultimately I just want to finish. I promise a race report sometime next week. See you all on the flip side!

For more Seven Snippets, visit Bringing the Sunshine!

Reason 4,078 why I Hate My Clinic

So, no IUI. Old news. Except there’s also been no period. I’m now a week late. Which could be interesting except unless you’re really late to this party, my spouse is a woman.

I decided to let things go a few days before emailing my doctor to find out what to do. I’ve never had this happen before. The only times my period has ever been late is when I’ve been pregnant. I’m now 8 days late. My assumption is whatever cysts are leftover from the cycle that wasn’t are fucking with my body.

I emailed my doctor yesterday.

His reply:

“I ordered a blood pregnancy test…if negative I ordered progesterone where you take it for 10 days and then stop. That should bring on your menstrual cycle.”

I’ll wait for that to sink in.

I’m not going to explain the sheer amount of frustration I felt in the moment I read his reply. My reply was simple. We didn’t do an IUI. There’s ZERO CHANCE I could be pregnant. Translation: I’M NOT GOING FOR A PREGNANCY TEST YOU ASSHOLE.

He relented (probably actually read my chart and realized his screw up) and ordered the progesterone.

We were already planning on skipping a cycle to let the leftover cysts (yes we were assuming I had at least one) go away and because we are in the midst of trying to buy a house. Now, another 10 days of progesterone plus skipping a cycle puts us squarely into April. Sigh.

Any lottery winners out there want to help me out so I can go to a different clinic?