I just don’t have it in me to be witty. I worked until 10pm last night (the joys of keeping college student hours, I tell you!), and then had another monitoring appointment this morning. Up at 5, road by 6, work by 8:30. I’m beat.
I thought I owed ya’ll an update, though. My ovaries are cooking nicely. We’ve got half a dozen eggs in waiting. Less than I’d hoped for, but more than required. I’ve learned that any hurdle cleared is reason for celebration. So, I’m celebrating.
And, because I’m me and IF is the biggest mindfuck in the world, I’m also fretting. Fretting about the steroids the clinic nonchalantly has me on. Angry at the nurse who got snippy with me for asking to switch to a different steroid. (“You’re either doing this or nothing! You’ll just have to live with the risks!”) I’m disappointed that, despite the high doses of hormones, the cramps and twinges in my sides, and the PCOS diagnosis I carry, that my body’s only popping 6 (potential) eggs. I’m frustrated that my questions about the size differences between the right and left follicles were dismissed, and am worried that my hidey-go-seek right ovary and it’s two large (16mm and 17mm) follicles is going to mess with the well-behaving left ovary that is currently so jam-packed with follicles she could only measure the four biggest (9mm, 10mm, 11mm, and 13mm). I’m anxious about the timing of this all as more and more “You positively can’t miss this!” events start popping up on my and Mr. But IF’s work calendars in the next 2 weeks. Overall, I’m just wishing the days away, hoping for them to fly by and bring me my answers (whatever they are). And, then, I’m angry at wanting life to blur by. I’m mad that instead of cherishing precious moments with a little one, I’m wishing away the last gasp moments of my 20s.
In other words, I’m in the midst of IVF. I’m up, down, and all around. I’m exactly the same as anyone else that has ridden this roller coaster. I’m ready for the ride to end.