"Our dreams went up in dreams, you stupid pothead."

So, it's not bad enough that I'm not pregnant yet.  No.  The whole thing is made infinitely worse by the fact that since starting clomid and ovidrel and progesterone, my periods have gotten un-fucking-bearable.

Seriously.  Clots the size of Yorkshire terriers are coming out of my body.  I guess this is what I get for bragging about my super thick lining.... I get to feel every last centimeter of it cleaving off my uterus.


And here's some more good news: I may not even have any eggs.  My wife is going to slaughter me for even bothering to entertain these thoughts but, honestly, it's a possibility.  My AMH level was like .3 or something like that.  It's supposed to be over 1.  In older women, .3 equals ovarian failure (menopause).  In people my age, it equals premature ovarian failure or, a wonky test.   What's weird is that my FSH is perfect.  I think it's around 4.  Usually, in cases of premature ovarian failure the FSH is in the 20's.   Also my antral follicle count is 24, which is awesome and I'm a mega-super-duper (not a technical term) responder to electron sized doses of clomid.  The RE said that she seriously doubts that I have premature ovarian failure... but she added that, normally, an AMH of .3 means no eggs.

In summary: No one knows what the hell is going on and I may not have any eggs which at this point wouldn't even be surprising because pretty much everything else in this process has gone totally fucking wrong.


I'm not pregnant.  Time to go smoke a bowl.

"Lets get together and feel alright."

And now we're here.  

IVF.

Really?  

Yep.

Dang.

$8K?

Yep.

*facepalm* Dang.

Stay tuned for the excitement of IVF #1.  

Yep.

Dang.

Fuck.


Just, fuck.

"She's got a ticket to riiide..."

12 DPO??

What the hell?  When did we get here?


I can't even begin to comment on the ups and downs of this cycle.  Instead, I'll wave my prescription of AstraZeneca around like a cute little flag...


Ok, I lied.  No AstraZeneca....


Am I pregnant or not?  Make up your fucking mind, peestick!


Can I still wave a cute little flag?

"When I was younger, so much younger than today..."

One score and 7 years ago:

I was ripped from my 27 year old mother's womb a full month after my due date.  I was bone dry, having outlasted my amniotic fluid and the umbilical cord was wrapped snugly around my neck.  Also, I was 9lbs and jaundiced as hell.  As Vivaldi's "The Four Seasons" played in the operating room, my mother laid on the gurney smiling the sweet smile of new motherhood and epidurals while the doctor stitched her guts back in from the c-section.  A day later, she developed a staph infection.

But, we all survived and now 27 years later, I find myself going through my own struggle to reach motherhood the only difference being whereas my mother couldn't get the baby out, I can't seem to get the baby in.

Today is like, I dunno, a buncha DPO.  More than 4, less than 8.  I tested today because I knew I would get a strong positive due to the HCG trigger and I wanted to see two pink lines on my birthday... even if they are fake.

"I've got something to put in you... at the gay bar, gay bar, gay bar!"

I am a lucky woman!  No, I'm not pregnant yet.... well maybe I am but it's only 5-6 DPO, so who knows??

I'm lucky because I have a wonderful wife who took me away for an early birthday trip to Atlantic City.  We touched the fertility idols at Ripleys, she tried to teach me how to play craps (not really my thing but I  had fun watching her get into it) and we walked on the boardwalk.  Definitely a really nice little getaway and the hotel was great.  We stayed at the Taj Mahal and had a perfect view of the atlantic ocean from our huge window on the 38th floor.  Lovely!

In other news, did I mention that we had IUI #4?  Well, we did.  It was last thursday and hopefully between my super thick lining (you could mud wrestle in it...), the fertility idols (which I rubbed and then secretly licked my palms), and the doctor's reassurance that he has a psychic connection with sperm... the will finally be it for us.  If not, there's a rubber room waiting for me at bellvue.  

So, now is when I start calling my wife at hourly intervals asking if I should be feeling pregnant yet.  I really need this to work.

Also, today at work, I taught my students the art of the practical joke.  Yes, we foiled the chair of one of the other teachers, who is away on vacation. It was awesome.  

Lastly, pleasegodletitworkthistimepleasepleasepleaseplease!

"Everybody dance now!"

I love American Fertility, so far.  My Own Fertility, I despise but that's clearly another story.

Today was CD 12 monitoring.  I'm going to brutally honest.  I am so sick of having cameras and various other equipment put in my vagina by people who have never even bought me a drink at the bar.  There was once a time, back when I was young, that I would be positively titillated by the prospect of having an older woman with a russian accent order me to undress and spread 'em while she lubed up phallic shaped instruments.  Now, after 9 months of failed cycles, the sexiest thing I can think of is going two whole weeks without having some part of my reproductive system photographed and measured.  Sigh.

Speaking of being measured, my lining is freakin' huge.  13 mm!  I gave myself a great big pat on the uterus when the tech told me that.  My follicles were massive as well.  Two follicles, both measuring over 20 mm each.  Tonight, we will do the ovidrel trigger and then, the IUI #4 is on thursday morning.

The best part?  We got to speak to the actual doctor to discuss the plan of action.  No waiting around for a phone call from a nurse, plenty of opportunities to express concerns and ask questions, no rude and dismissive answers.


The even bester part?  Next weekend, the Ripley's Believe It or Not fertility statues will be in Atlantic City!  Something like 2,000 women have gotten pregnant after touching those statues; many of whom were told they couldn't conceive.  June 6th I'll be all over that... literally!

PS-I'll be 27 next tuesday. I'm asking for two things.
1. A baby (duh)
2. That no loved ones (human or animal) be diagnosed with aggressive and fatal diseases on my birthday for the third year in a row.  Maybe this is selfish but, save it for June 9th, ok?  Thanks.