August 7th, 2011. CD4.
Well, there are still many questions surrounding my unexplained infertility, but of one thing I am absolutely certain:
I cannot possibly have enough blood left in my body to survive one more blood-draw this week. Seriously.
As if I wasn’t already a bit too thin and prone to having lovely dark under-eye circles, having my arms bruised and full of puncture wounds really does pull together the whole “heroin-chic” look I’m going for these days. Maybe I will also stop combing my hair, which has reached the length I like to call “sister-wife”. Speaking of which, I wonder where the Olsen twins shop for their clothes…
Anyway, allow me to update you further…
After Aunt Flo arrived in style on Thursday, life-ruiner that she is, I called Dr. Fran’s office to cancel my beta (blood pregnancy test). Since I’m taking Femara, they asked me to come in for the beta anyway so they could be one-thousand percent sure I was not pregnant before allowing me to continue with any further fertility treatment. Apparently there can be complications with pregnancy if you take certain meds while pregnant, or so I was schooled over the phone.
…The nurse on the phone did not think that my accurate-yet-graphic description of “bleeding as if I’d been shot directly in the vagina” was enough to allow me to skip out on the blood work. Safety first, I guess.
So I worked all day Friday, which must have been the single busiest work day EVER. I mean, why wouldn’t it be? I’m just dragging my shell of a body around the sales floor, trying to keep a smile on my face for the happy new brides, and sneaking off to the office to cuddle with my heating pad and load up on Midol while the brides’ mothers argue with them about veil choices.
Is this not how your job also works?
Saturday morning, even though I was so nauseated I could barely move, I dragged my ass out of bed at 6am and got myself presentable for a trip to the doctor. The blood-draw took a grand total of about 3 minutes from door to check-out desk, and I was home before my husband even got out of bed.
And then we went to our niece’s birthday party. Which is a story worthy of its own post. Details to follow, I promise. But just so you know, there was a clown. Yeah.
During said party, I got the call from Dr. Fran’s office with the “unfortunate news” about my negative beta.
Yeah, yeah. Remember the vaginal gun-shot wound? I kinda knew I wasn’t knocked up, but thanks for the call, mmmkay. Aside from that sparkling little tidbit, the nurse relayed some info from Dr. Fran: she will not let me go quietly to another doctor in Toledo, because she feels that we are on exactly the right path right now, and to stop would be to lose momentum in what she feels is a short journey to pregnancy. She was practically yelling, she was so adamant.
I mean, how could I argue with that kind of enthusiasm?
And so, I will continue with the Femara and Ovidrel this cycle.
Oh, and get this–I will be able to have this month’s monitoring appointments in the back room of Dr. Fran’s husband’s optometry office that operates in a city closer to Toledo. Just me, that weird eye-exam chair, and a nurse with a portable ultrasound machine.
Creepy, or convenient? Only time will tell…
Now that you’re fully up to speed on the condition of my reproductive system, I’ll update you on the progress of our move.
The move is coming up more quickly than I can move my ass, and there is still much to be done. I should probably head off to do some of it…