Because you are all undoubtedly hanging on the edge of your seats with regards to the goings on in my life, I will update you on all the things.
Thing the first: Getting pregnant is not for the faint of heart, I will tell you what. I’ve had three ultrasounds, all looking at my wee ovaries, and more specifically, the follicles therein- which, for a time, were not growing as they should have been. And damn if that didn’t just completely throw me for a loop- I knew going in that we wouldn’t necessarily get preggo on the first try, but to not even have a first try because there wasn’t an egg- well. That wasn’t even on my radar. Just goes to show that worrying is worthless, because you end up spending all your energy worrying ABOUT THE WRONG THING. I then spent too much time googling random shit hoping to get a clear answer on when and if I was ovulating, as if it was something that quantifiable- you always ovulate on the third Tuesday of the month, just do the math!- and, on the other hand, sending positive, growing thoughts in the general direction of my midsection (look, no one knows if it works or not, so IT CAN’T HURT).
I doubt it was anything I consciously did, but this morning’s ultrasound revealed an enlarged follicle, so there is still a chance for this cycle, and I shed as many tears today as I did when the doctor told me the follicle wasn’t growing.
Aside Number One: I don’t think I had any real doubts about my desire to have a baby, but the up and down of this fucking follicle has made me feel it on a completely different level. I think I know now what people mean when they talk about wanting something so bad it hurts.
Aside Number Two: MOTHERFUCKER, is this thing getting expensive. Every time I so much as WALK INTO that clinic, it costs me $160, not to mention what it cost to get the raw material- purchased, shipped, and stored. I know it’s not going to get any less expensive from here on out, but I do admit I’m jealous of you straight people, with your at-home conception facilities.
Thing the second: I made a six day attempt at reducing the dose of my anti-depressant, taking three quarters of a pill instead of a whole one. Days 1-3 were pretty good, and, as I always do, I thought to myself that I totally had this in the bag (is anyone else sensing a theme in my life?). By day four though, things were starting to slide off the rails- even I could tell there was something amiss when I spotted myself in the mirror at yoga class and felt actual, physical repulsion. Apparently my anxiety manifests in major body issues- who knew?
Two days back on my regular dose and I feel more like a human being, and not a snarling, angry beast. As I mentioned on Twitter, I also tried to stay off caffeine for a couple days (during this same time period), as per the orders of the fertility doctor. Uh, NO. Not only no, but HELL NO. By the end of yesterday, I’d been dealing with a throbbing headache for two days, and I made the executive decision to hustle my ass to the Starbucks. Twenty minutes, problem solved.
Lesson learned: wean off ONLY ONE addictive substance at a time, for the love of GOD. Sometimes I don’t have the sense God gave a garden hose.
Thing the third: I have been quiet about my stupid fucking feet lately, mostly because there hasn’t been a damn thing to say about them, other than they still go numb/tingle/what have you, and they still prevent me from doing anything active save yoga, including WALKING AROUND THE FUCKING BLOCK.
HOWEVER. I have finally, FINALLY, secured a MRI of my lower back, thanks to a non-harried primary care physician and her referral pad. She sent me to the most Jewish of Jewish doctors, one David Rosenberg from New York, and GODDAMN, if stereotypes don’t exist for a reason. The fly-away hair, the glasses, the big honking schnozz- he had it all. He was also, of course, whip-smart and funny, and in possession of the almighty prescription pad, so I almost forgave him his (I shit you not) Hillary Clinton VOO-DOO DOLL. His nurse left me to sit in his office for a few minutes before he showed up, and that fucking voo-doo doll almost made me get up and walk out. Instead I stayed and BLESS HIM, Dr. Rosenberg agreed with me that the problem is not with my feet per se, as much as my back, and I finally think we are on the right track now.
GOOD GOD. Re-reading this you’d think I was a complete medical disaster area. I swear, I am a generally healthy specimen, I just play a mentally-deranged gimp on the innertubes.