Holy estrogen, batman. I am a freaking wreck. The world ping pong champion couldn’t keep up with the back and forth, up and down thing I seem to have going on.
As I waited for my RE to come in for my ultrasound this morning, I thought about how this could be it. This could be my last lining/ovary monitoring ultrasound ever. With a bit of luck, the next time I visit with the dildocam will be for our embryo transfer on Thursday. After that… well, I don’t really need to say what I’m hoping for after that. In the midst of all of those thoughts, I started to cry. Of course. Because if I’m past feeling any shame about waiting half naked to be penetrated by a latex-covered wand, I’d better find some new way to embarrass myself.
I regained my composure just in time for my RE to come into the room so I could complain about how the estrace is making me constipated beyond belief. (See above, re: no shame.)
I was a ball of anxiety until the doctor proclaimed that my lining is 10.1 and appropriately layered, and my ovaries are appropriately underachieving. This is the only time I will ever celebrate underachieving ovaries.
The only thing holding us back from an official green light is today’s blood work, and we won’t have those results until later this afternoon. If everything is on target in terms of hormone levels, we are officially clear to transfer our two best embryos on Thursday morning at 10:30. If that’s the case, I will start taking progesterone, doxycycline and Medrol tomorrow in addition to the estrace.
There have been a few pregnancy announcements on Facebook this week that really got to me. While I am not immune to the charm of the tiny pumpkin with the ultrasound photo stuck to it, I am also not immune to the punch to the gut that comes along with them. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t hyperventilate for a moment before I started to cry.
Sometimes I am strong. Sometimes I am not.
Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the unfairness of it all. Sometimes, I am just grateful to be able to walk on this path of fertility treatments at all.
Sometimes, I have hope. Sometimes, I forget that I have hope.
Back and forth. Up and down.
Don’t mind me—I’ll just be sitting over here feeling ALL of the feels. Gosh, I can’t wait to start progesterone tomorrow. I think I may have to be 50 Shades of Crazy for Halloween.