Egads, I just wrote a whole looong post, and then accidentally closed the window before it was saved. Brilliant. I'll try to recreate some of its meanderings:
First, how incredible is it that Julie has had her Bat? Our beloved Julie, source of all things informative and funny, who has weathered so much with giddy humor and good grace. I'm so happy for her and Paul.
***
I gave myself a trigger shot on Thanksgiving afternoon. It was a slightly harrowing experience. First, mixing drugs in teeny tiny little vials with syringes is nothing like using the nifty Follistim pen. Thank heavens for that pen. I had a hell of a time getting the stuff out of the bottle and into the needle. The process was going so poorly that I was shaking and sweaty by the time I was ready to inject. I had sneaked (snuck?) up to the upstairs bathroom in my brother-in-law's house, because, although my in-laws know that we're seeking medical treatment for infertility, they don't know all the specifics. I was trying to be discreet, and wasn't about to announce shortly before dinner, "Okay, everyone, I'm going to the bathroom to inject myself with chorionic gonadtropin. Wish me luck!" The point is, by the time I had the hCG in the syringe, I'd been there a while, and the pressure of finishing the project before people starting wondering what the hell I was doing in there made me ancy and anxious. So before I thought clearly about it, I stuck the syringe in my thigh, pushed down on the plunger, and breathed a sigh of relief before realizing, "Shit! I forgot to get the bubbles out!" Not only had I not tapped the syringe, I hadn't even really looked at it to see how much air might be in there. It could have been 5 cc's for all I know.
When I got back to the living room, I was in the throes of a full-on panic attack, convinced that I was going to die any second of an embolism, or aneurism, or whatever it is you die from when you inject yourself full of air. So I slunk down in a corner of the sofa, where no one could see me, and cried for many minutes. I think the stress of the whole day was getting to me. It wasn't just that I'd nearly killed myself, but giving myself the shot was a lot more difficult than I thought it was going to be, plus I'd spent the entire day gazing obsessively, stalker-like, at my impossibly beautiful 6 month old niece. I finally managed to pull myself together, even though tears kept leaking out my eyes unexpectedly for the next hour or so, and was properly convivial at the dinner table. Ah yes, a near suicidal encounter with a syringe followed by forced holiday cheer and a cherubic little reminder of the gaping hole in my life. Good times, good times.
***
Friday I had my first IUI, which miraculously didn't hurt. Saturday, my second IUI, performed by the on-call doctor, brought the familiar, searing pain. Jesus gay, there are few physical things I detest more than the hurtful IUIs, with their special quality of torching my tender innards until tears come to my eyes. Ugh. On a good note, however, Saturday's sonogram showed that two follicles had released, and a third may have released later that day.
***
Hubby and I got in an enormous fight last night, the kind that only happens once in a great while. I won't go into details, but it was motivated by a few things, I think. He started the whole brawl, from a stressful anger born of the recent elections, his failure to understand why I get upset when he critiques my cooking rather than just appreciating that I'm putting food on the goddamn table, his blood-pressure raising situation at work, and the fact that he is finally feeling the emotional effects of our infertility. He has tried to be upbeat and positive throughout this process, with occasional flashes of frustration, but has never really doubted that it would work. I think the stress and fear of it all have finally gotten to him, which is pretty sad really. Now we're both a mess.
***
So, I realize that I am only two days past the second IUI, but hope has made an unlikely appearance, whispering in my ear and tugging at my sleeve. At today's acupuncture appointment, when I lay face down onto the table, I was startled to find that my boobs were very tender. Sort of towards the sides and near my armpits. When my chest made contact with the table, it was noticeably uncomfortable. It took me several attempts at repositioning myself to get where I could lay down without it smarting. And, as you well know, sore boobs can make someone like me think wild, irresponsible, hopeful thoughts.
But on top of that, when my acupuncturist took my pulse, she was quiet. I asked her what the pulse told her, and she said it was very different today. "Different how?" I asked. "Well, we'll just have to see, but it's different," she said meaningfully. Okay, okay, I know it's only 2 dpo, I know it's too early for symptoms. I'm not that crazy. But it does make a girl wonder. I'm just sayin', is all.