Bloody Valentine

The cycle wasn’t a success. Obviously.

The doctor called with the results on Tuesday and was genuinely sorry for me. She seemed surprised I wasn’t more upset (gnashing of teeth, rending of garments, etc) but I confessed I had been testing at home so I knew what she was calling to say. We review the options and decided to give my bitsĀ one more “low tech” shot with IUI. Then we’re pulling out the big guns and moving on to IVF. She also said that she wants to see if my follicles can get a little bigger (over 20mm) before triggering, as some people’s eggs aren’t mature if the follicle is below 20. Can’t hurt to try, right? We’re also switching donors and will be doing back to back IUIs.

In other news, I seem to be surrounded by people announcing pregnancies, finding out the sex of their future child, gearing up for birth (anytime now!) or actually giving birth. Tammy and I had a good talk last night about my jealousy, and I came away from it with a newfound resolve to ignore the green-eyed monster*. Naturally, this resolve was shattered this morning upon the adorable toddler wearing a T-shirt proclaiming “I’m a Big Sister!” and the 50 odd comments of “congratulations!” in my news feed. Fuck facebook. That’s all I’m saying.

My friend and former co-worker’s wife gave birth yesterday to their second, the one conceived in an “oops” moment. My close friend who started trying to conceive shortly before we did will be going into labor any time. My boss just found out the sex of his second. A facebook friend (another lesbian) just announced that she’s pregnant with their second (this is the one that killed me this morning). And three of my (facebook) friends from high school all announced their pregnancies in the last month. Those high school friends hurt the most, actually, because if I hadn’t miscarried I would have been announcing my own pregnancy at the same time.

Jealousy is such a mindfuck. I fully acknowledge that while I desperately, sickeningly want what so many people have (a continuing pregnancy, a baby) I don’t in any way want the rest of their lives. And a lot of the people in the above examples have serious problems in their life right now, which I won’t go into (protect the innocent, protect my job, etc.).

I go in for day 3 baseline tomorrow and then will start injections tomorrow night, if given the all clear.

Just to tie in the Valentine’s theme a little bit, I’ll leave you with this, and the take-away quote:

“From Feb. 13 to 15, the Romans celebrated the feast of Lupercalia. The men sacrificed a goat and a dog, then whipped women with the hides of the animals they had just slain. The Roman romantics “were drunk. They were naked,” says Noel Lenski, a historian at the University of Colorado at Boulder. Young women would actually line up for the men to hit them, Lenski says. They believed this would make them fertile.”

So that’s what I’ve been missing! Whippings with animal hides! I must make a note to call my nurse and suggest an addition to my protocol.

*while focusing on the other monster, the Hope Monster. C’mmmmonn, Hope Monster. Don’t abandon me now.

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