Update: It is probably due in part to my lucky red socks and in part to all of your finger and toe crossing, but today went GREAT! I have a monster follicle from my left ovary at 22.5 mm (my largest to date) and a slightly smaller but still respectable 20 mm follicle from my right ovary. We trigged this morning and have to be at the clinic bright and early tomorrow morning for the IUI. In a fertility battle that holds so few days, this is a good one. I am grateful.
Ah, Cycle Day 10. Behold this day, as it shines and sparkles, with all the promise and allure of fertility. I can almost hear my ovaries, singing in happiness and anticipation. Perhaps not, but it's still a heck of an exciting day. My follicle check and (hopefully) trigger shot is scheduled for this morning and I couldn't be more happy about it.
I am a tiny bit nervous, however. This day hasn't always worked out exactly as planned. Rewind to Day 12 of our first assisted cycle in June. This was our first time having "help," so all the medications and appointments had a sort of newness to it, a feeling of proactiveness. When I say that we had never needed help with conception, realize that I don't say that without respect to those that do, and I always felt blessed that it was not an issue for us. So, I guess I had a sort of confidence going into that cycle. How could it not work? We had always gotten pregnant when we tried before, so I thought with the dating, the triggering, the medicating, the perfectly timed intercouse, how could we lose? Well, we lost. Two weeks after our carefully timed everything, I was frantically peeing on sticks to no avail. I cried in the bathroom with the last shreds of hope falling like so many HPT wrappers around me as I realized that it hadn't worked.
After a couple of days of self-pity, I had a stern talking to with myself. "Self," I reasoned, "You cannot expect to get pregnant every time that you try. You need to buck up. This is your cycle."
In June, although we had perfect timing, we were at my parents' house celebrating our birthdays. Not exactly the greatest of baby-making environments. So, for July's cycle, I was thrilled when trigger landed on a Friday. I told hubby "NO PLANS" for that weekend, unless they involved him, me, and a lotta sex.
So, cycle day 12 of our second cycle, I strolled into the follicle check ultrasound, armed with my trigger-shot-in-a-box and a renewed sense of hope. Imagine my surprise when the ultrasound technician aimed the dildo cam directly at my left ovary and said, "Huh."
Now, "huh" is not a word you want to hear when you are spreadeagled on an exam table with an ultrasound wand shoved up your Britney. And what "huh" meant that day is that I had already ovulated. We had missed ovulation. I was stunned more than anything, I didn't really understand. How could this have happened? I was a textbook ovulator, always day 14. How? How? How? The doctor came in and explained that it was a fluke, that it wouldn't happen again. She suggested timed intercourse for that evening, although she was pretty sure that ovulation had happened the day before, so it was too late. Since they recommend abstaining from relations the night before the follicle check, to build up the troops, we didn't have a chance. I was fine, until the very end, when she stood up and shook my hand and said, "I'm sorry, I know this is a disappointment."
When I had my last ultrasound with Gummy Bear, where we found out that there was no heartbeat, that is what the doctor said then, too. At the time, I fired back angrily that it was not a disappointment, it was devastating. The doctor later apologized and agreed with me. Now, obviously, this missing ovulation is a disappointment. It's not devastating. But I think it was the culmination of all that we had been through that really started to hit me as I sat there, faced with yet another disappointment.
I looked at the doctor, tears starting to form in my eyes, and said, "Well, I guess that I should be used to disappointment by now."
This wasn't my usual doctor, she actually has a little bedside manner, so she got me some tissue and suggested that I stay in the room for a few minutes. She patted my hand and said that she knew what a rollercoaster this could be and that she was sorry. This kindness helped me to pull myself together and I left, still sniffly, but trying to keep my chin up, proud of myself for not breaking down completely.
Then, I got into the elevator. I am not exaggerating. There were three extremely pregnant women and two women holding newborns. I had to look up to the ceiling to fight the tears that were threatening to fall, but I managed to keep myself in check.
I got to my car, still feeling pretty sorry for myself. I sat there for a minute, wondering why we continued to face so many obstacles in our course to become parents. As I drove away, I squared my shoulders. Okay, another obstacle, I could handle this. I decided to treat myself to something that I just love. It's a dirty little secret, but I just love McDonald's Bacon, Egg, & Cheese biscuit sandwiches. I take the egg off of it and put a hashbrown on instead and it's just heaven. For many reasons, my health being one of them, it's a rare treat, but I decided that I deserved a little pick-me-up. I pulled into the drivethru and ordered my regular. I grabbed my bag of goods and pulled away in eager anticipation. After navigating through a couple of busy intersections, I rustled through the bag for my treat and to my dismay, found that I got a Ham & Cheese muffin. I don't like ham, I don't like muffin, I wanted my Bacon & Cheese BISCUIT. If I can't have a baby, I should at least have the frickin' McSandwich.
Sadly, this was the straw that broke the camel's back. I turned into the nearest parking lot, laid my head down on the steering wheel, and sobbed so hard that I got hiccups. I cried for a good ten minutes. Finally, feeling that empty, washed out feeling you get after a hard cry, I picked up my cell phone and called my best friend. I said to her that at this point, I had two options. I could keep crying or I could see the humor in my situation. I told her the story, and ended it with a plaintive wail, "I can't even get a McSandwich."
She was quiet for a moment, then I heard her laughing. "You poor thing," she said. "I hate it when my breakfast gets f*cked up." And I started laughing, too.
It turned out that Femera just makes me ovulate early. The next month, I had already ovulated on cycle day 12 again. This time, I was more prepared and didn't take it so hard. We then decided to move my follicle scan to Cycle Day 10. That was three cycles ago and (knock on wood) we haven't missed ovulation since, but I always worry just a little.
Please keep your fingers crossed that today, I get what I ordered.