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Pretty uneventful second visit.  Right ovary is producing (17.5, 14.5, 14 & 12mm follies) and the Left is, well, being that usual cyst-ridden festering nightmare….one big, fat endometrioma which is not getting any bigger thank goodness, but is blocking the follies behind it!  They could only really measure one follie.  One 12mm, sad, little follie.  Ugh.

Lining: 9.6

Estrogen: 452

So, all in all, things are going as planned.  We are going back in tomorrow morning for another scan/draw to see how big these follies are getting and, if all looks good, may trigger on Saturday or Sunday.

Other than that, I am really moody and spoiling for an argument.  Horrible, I know, but there is little I can do but ride it out.

These shots are all so routine I find myself in the morning, half awake, chopping lettuce and ripping open an alcohol prep pad.  Slathering avocado on bread and drawing Lupron into a syringe.  Blending a smoothie with ice on my stomach.  It’s all running together. As long as I don’t inject my turkey I should be right as rain.

At the moment I am doing the “rah! rah! sis-boom-bah!” for more follies to pop up containing big, strong, healthy eggies ready to fertilize and make babies.  Crossing fingers….

Hulk Smash

Bleeding has ceased.  Insanity has begun.

It’s either the BCPs or I’m just slipping into the crazy place, but I feel off the wall.  So often throughout the ART processes, you end up injecting/ingesting a cocktail of hormonal, chemical, synthetically engineered meds that invariably turn you into a walking petri dish.   Since January I have either been injecting high/low doses of Lupron Acetate, or Menopur, or Follistim, or stopping/starting  extended packs of Reclipsen (BCP) skipping those little “inactive” sugar pills.  I think I have lost the “touchstone” of my balanced, normal self.

I threw a hair-clip at my husband last night….over laundry duties.  A Hair-clip got air over putting away socks and underwear. It’s just the start of this pressure cooker of emotion that wells up when things get off kilter.  It’s pressure enough being in this place, feeling lost or a mess.  But to add this unstable feeling to it all…it’s unnerving.  I feel like some twisted, big, pink, hormonal Hulk.  What is going on hormones??? I honestly don’t know where I end and this Pink nut-job begins.

It’s time to cash in that Spa Gift Certificate I got for my birthday.

*Update:  Got word from Dr.s office to reduce back to 1 BCP a day (thank goodness!)  until I finish the pack.  Then wait for AF and call.

Started my second vial of Follistim today.  We are expecting more Menopur to be delivered today as we used up the last two vials last night.  Oh, that burning, awful Menopur.  Blech. We are trying to limit what we spend on meds and order the doses in spurts.  This way, we hope, we won’t be left with six hundred bucks of meds sitting around if something goes wrong or our cycle gets cancelled.

So, my morning routine goes as follows for stims:

Wake up. Make spinach, chicken & red pepper salad for lunch.  Pack salad, eggs, blackberries & apple for lunch. Get out ice pack and slip under waistband to ice injection site.  Wash hands.  Prep Follstim shot.  Remove ice pack.  Swab injection site on tummy with Alcohol.  Allow to dry.  Dial dose on Follistim pen.  Administer shot.  Cap and remove needle & dispose in Sharps box.  Take Doxycycline with water.  Get dressed and off to work.

When I get to work, I eat my egg whites and take the prenatal.  It’s just non stop excitement.

Physically:  I am starting to feel the bloating side effect of these hormones.  Ugh, they just make you feel kind of full.  Like you ate a big dinner and it’s an hour later and you still feel full.

Mentally:  I. am. out. of. it.  There is no other way to put it.  Just in a fog.  Yesterday while driving home from work, I almost rear ended the car in front of me while I was changing lanes.  I can’t hold a decent conversation over 2 minutes because I just zone out.  It has to be the hormones.

anger1

Where shall I begin? 

My RE’s office has two women in it we deal with on a regular basis.  One, the quasi receptionist/admin and the other, the nurse; and after today’s runaround farce they put my poor husband through, are henceforth known as Tweedledee and Tweedledum. 

Yesterday -we had not received our IVF schedule for the upcoming cycle yet, so I asked Chris to follow up since I had spoken to Tweedledum.  See, Tweedledum insisted we start injectables on May 22nd.  This puts us needing retrevial smack in the middle of our trip east.  (I knew this because I am a nut who has done waaaay too much research on injectables & IVF cycles.)  I asked her, “are you sure about that?” said I. “Oh, Yes”  said Tweedledum.  “Ok, you guys are the professionals”.   Understand, they KNEW about our trip.  Dr. C DISCUSSED it with us.  We voiced our concerns and wanted to be sure that we would be ok doing either before or after.  So after this converstation I tried to convince myself that they had it allllll worked out for us and we would be doing the transfer right before we got on the plane or something.  Right.

The pit in my stomach only got worse when Tuesday came and went with no schedule (hence Chris calling to follow up). I just KNEW they dropped the ball on us.  I could FEEL it for shit’s sake. All I know is, if I was the one to call today instead of Chris…there would have been some furniture moving around this mofo.  And not in a good way.

Well, Chris got the full runaround, dipshit treatment today when we had to deal with both Tweedledee AND Tweedledum either both inisisting or “Thinking” they knew where we stood for our upcoming cycle. The conversations sound somewhat like this:

Chris: Are you sure this is the correct schedule?

Tweedleedee(dum): Oh, yes.  I think you should be fine.

Chris: I don’t want to know what you “think”, I want to know the facts from the doctor.

Tweedledee(dum): Oh, well, let me talk to Dr. C—-.

Chris: Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.

Only to have Tweedledum call him back with the news that we would be coming in first thing tomorrow to get started.   They were both wrong and Chris and I were correct.  I hate being right about others being wrong when it’s important shit like this.  And not even a fucking apology.  Not once a “sorry we misread your chart”, “my bad”, “that was our misreading”…NOTHING.  Goddammit, how hard is that?

I have been absolutely apoplectic this week because this is getting down to the wire with my Lupron wearing off.  I feel like a raw nerve. I feel like we are being ignored…and “I WILL NOT BE IGNORED!!”.  Sorry…ok ok..I am bat-shit off my rocker between the shots and the BC pills and me just being an emotional nut-job on a NORMAL day, so,  when shit goes down like this…lookout!  This is all I’m saying.

Long story short, we go in tomorrow for our baseline ultrasound and injectable teaching with Dr. C. 

FINALLY. FINALLY. Finally.

Cyclesista

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