In an auspicious start to the new year, my period began on January 1st.
We didn’t end up trying in December, because it would have cut dangerously close to our holiday travel plans. We might have been able to squeeze in the IUI before we left, but we might also have been doing it on the way to the airport. So December came and went. I consumed a lot of sugar and paid very little attention to my uterus. It was lovely.
And now, 2016 is here: a year that, for one reason or another, will likely involve paying a lot of attention to my uterus.
I spent the second morning of 2016 in the fertility clinic for cycle monitoring. Somewhere in 2012/early 2013, visits to the fertility clinic had become routine. I knew when I had to show up, and what to do. Now? Not so much. I spent the early morning of January 2nd scanning my blog archives to determine whether I was supposed to show up for cycle monitoring that day or the next. Somewhat grudgingly, I realized that it was, in fact, supposed to be that day. I dragged myself out of the house and headed to the clinic solo, leaving Sea and a sick Bingo in our warm living room.
The visit felt sort of like a dream. Not as in “living the dream”, but in that vaguely unsettling feeling of things being both familiar and strange. I knew I needed to sign in on multiple clipboards, but couldn’t remember which ones or in what order. When I finally managed to sign in (with much help from a sympathetic receptionist), I sat in the waiting room and watched a gaggle of children running around waiting room. Four of the kids seemed to belong to one family, and were wrestling each other dangerously close to the large fish tank. “Oh God,” said the childless couple behind me, “this is a deterrent. Why would they want more?” I waited. The technician who once asked when I would start wearing dresses drew my blood. More waiting. Diana performed my ultrasound. More waiting. A million names were called, none of them mine. More waiting. The family with four children were called in, and I wondered how they would all fit into the small clinic room. More waiting. I began to wonder if I would recognize my new doctor, realizing that I couldn’t remember what he looked like at all from our meeting in November. More waiting. Finally, a doctor (not my own) shuffled me into a clinic room. His tie was loose and he was carrying a stack of files: clearly he had somehow been suckered into covering all of the other doctors’ vacations. After about two hours of waiting, our conversation took all of three minutes:
-Yes, everything looks fine.
-Yes, my bloodwork is normal.
-Yes, January should be good to go.
-Here’s a prescription for Femara. (I’m on day 3 of 5 of Femara. It worked last time and, as my new doctor said, we might as well keep betting on a winning horse.)
-Thank you and goodbye.
So that’s that. I’ll be back in the clinic next Monday, likely with ovulation (triggered or untriggered) sometime next week.
I know we just met, 2016, but let’s make a baby.
Total Ultrasound Count: 2