This will be short and sour. With a side of bitter.
My ultrasound this morning showed that my follicles have shrunk. I knew something was wrong before anything was said. The ultrasound took three times as long as it had. Then there was a lot of “pull that one, go to the next one, show me yesterday’s,” and a face that went from the Cheshire Cat monstrous grin to Peofessor Snape’s ever present frown. Did I mention that the new medical student that was observing is at least 5 months pregnant? That was a ______ site to see. You know me and my attitude well enough to fill in that blank accordingly.
They are SMALLER today then they were yesterday. Which means, I’ve already ovulated, and it literally happened within the last 24 hours from my 6:45am ultrasound yesterday. I’m informed that I am to go for bloodwork immediately, and that the labs would be rushed. I’m also informed that depending on the lab results, DH and I are on standby for a potential IUI…today. This potential IUI would have been dependent upon the bloodwork.
Everything this entire cycle was basically miscalculated, and my cycle is “not normal” according to my doctor, and my body “isn’t really responding the way it should be.” If I’m too far into ovulating, “this round is a bust,” a direct quote from my doctor who seemed stupefied that the two follicles were smaller. Funny how quickly his damn tune changed from Tuesday and Wednesday. Meanwhile I sit there on the table repeating my new mantra, “do not cry. Do not cry here. No crying. No crying in the office.” So I sat there with a tight smile and curtly said “ok” and “alright” to every statement that was made.
Has anyone ever pulled a nutty in the doctors office? I was maybe a second or two away from sobbing hysterically or screaming at him. Round two was a waste. A literal take your money and light a match to it waste. I took pills for no reason, had three ultrasounds for no reason, dropped $100 on an injection I now wont and can’t even use, and went POSTAL on people all day today. I begrudgingly went for the bloodwork. Cry the entire time I am driving to the lab. Compose myself to get pricked and drained all prior to 7:50am. Cry the entire drive to my office. Muddled my way through the day and my work. Currently, it’s 6:28pm and my doctor still doesn’t have my results. So much for that “rush” and the urgency to get me to a lab this morning. Great to know that this isn’t life or death situation.
Before I left his office to get my blood sucked, he was kind enough to let me know that next month when we are “back at it again,” everything will be changed. The medicine, the dosage, the timing of my ultrasounds, and I will be going for blood draws basically every other day. Also that once changes are made “it’s really a learning curve to see how you’ll respond, and it’s typically not successful the first time we change it up.” Well that’s an overwhelming amount of reassurance provided by the specialist in this field. Seriously buddy, just do not speak. Keep your mouth shut. Silence is golden, but someone missed that memo.
If I wanted someone to tell me “you’ll fail at this too,” I easily could have delivered the speech to myself. It’s only been years that I’ve had to perfect it, and it would have been much more eloquent than what you delivered. Between the lines that were spewed Tuesday and Wednesday and these beauties from this morning, I’m really starting to question everything.
You know when you just have a feeling, and it’s one you’d go to Vegas and bet your life savings on? (This is coming from someone who doesn’t even gamble.) Here’s that feeling which I’m betting is my reality: I will never have or carry my own child.
Boils down to this: infertility 2, us 0.
The Stork Has Been Detoured 