September 28th, 2011. CD29, 13DPO.
Fair warning, friends — this post is a huge word-dump, but hey–sometimes you just have to take one.
…What a week… And it’s only Wednesday.
So, not only did I start taking the Prometrium after Dr. Fran called last week to inform me of my slightly concerning progesterone levels, I now have a fancy new side effect to deal with.
Even though I am taking this versatile medication orally rather than the convenient vaginal route (gross, dude), I still managed to acquire a poorly timed yeast infection. I’m sure you wanted to know…
Anyway, I’ve only ever had one, and it was mild.
Not this one, however. This one is a rager, and my downstairs is a hot mess. Seriously. Do not enter. Danger!
I also feel like crap. The progesterone is making me super bloated, and I feel like I have to hide my belly under layers of clothes like a pregnant teenager in Catholic school. And for the past couple of days, I’ve felt hungry and empty at the same time, similar to the way I feel the first couple days of taking Femara. Weird, I know. Ugh.
Oh, and one of the other fun side effects of Prometrium?
Making Tracy bat-shit crazy.
I know there may be one or two of you reading who know me in real life, and perhaps a few of you even remember as far back as Birth-Control Tracy. I mean, that was a long time ago, but Birth-Control Tracy was a crazy bitch. A crying, yelling, Dashboard-Confessional-listening, walking basketcase.
Progesterone Tracy is making Birth-Control Tracy look like a church mouse.
(I have never seen a mouse at church, but I’m assuming they are quiet and well-behaved and generally refrain from nearly reducing their husband to tears for merely leaving his wallet on the table instead of putting it in the specially designated wallet bowl.)
So knowing that I am a powder keg full of crazy has been a good time. Please do not light matches near me. Or leave your wallets lying about.
I have been trying to take my mind off of the complications and setbacks of this cycle by putting more time into cooking dinner for the husband and I. I have made a couple of homemade soups, and from-scratch chicken enchiladas in the past week, and they’ve all turned out to be successes. As in, none of the leftovers made it to the freezer because they were consumed for lunch the next day. I call that a good turnout.
I wish I’d planned a meal for tonight, because I could really use a distraction… My beta is tomorrow, and Aunt Flo isn’t here. This is a longer luteal phase than I usually have, and while I understand that introducing the progesterone probably has a lot to do with it, that fact doesn’t make my hormone-addled crazy-factory work at a less feverish rate producing all sorts of situations in which I could end up pregnant this cycle.
My logic says that I shouldn’t believe it. The timing wasn’t amazing this month, we weren’t able to use the Ovidrel or have ultrasound monitoring, and my temps have been low and sad. Plus, said temp also dipped below the coverline today suggesting that I should probably abandon the shreds of hope I have left.
But I keep having crazy-vivid dreams about pregnancy… And not the Clomid-type dreams where I feel like I just snorted a Sheen-sized pile of hallucination-dust, but the type of dreams that feel like memories. The type that you are so sure are real, that it takes you a few minutes to come back to your bleak reality when your alarm jolts you awake. They are almost so real that it hurts to accept the truth every morning.
Oh, and here’s a little more…
Yesterday I said something out loud that I have really been avoiding thinking too hard about. I was in the kitchen with the husband, scrolling through Facebook on my phone. I noticed that someone close to us had begun shopping for a new house, and my immediate thought was “Oh God. They’re pregnant.”
I said as much to the husband, and he reassured me that if they were, we would surely have heard by now. Unless they purposely didn’t tell us because they were afraid to hurt my feelings. And then he realized what I feel every day. It was sad seeing him lose that sense of innocence that we all go into baby-making with.
I said to him, “I know that babies aren’t the solution to anything… Except pregnancy, I guess… But I feel like if I could just get pregnant, every other problem in my life would seem so much less important. I could stop flinching every time someone calls me that I haven’t heard from in a while, and stop wondering if people are house-hunting because they’re having a baby when in reality they just need more space for their crap.”
…And he didn’t know what to say either. At least we have each other in this.
It was a sad moment.
Oh, and in depressing entertainment news, my favorite soap opera went off the air last week, and I have officially run out of dvr-ed episodes to keep me company. Also, someone who I assume is out to ruin my life took on the monumental task of remaking one of my favorite movies of all time, Footloose.
I can’t imagine Kevin Bacon is happy about this. And you wouldn’t like angry Bacon.
Oh who am I kidding… I love all bacon.
…Dammit. I wish I had some bacon.