Shoot me up, Scotty
This is not what I expected.
The day started off with a bang: neighbor hammering in garage, awakening us from our unemployed slumber at the crack of 10 a.m. It will almost surely end with a whimper. The whimper, however, will not be coming from the neighbor in his garage. No. Those little mewling sounds will also not be emanating from a kitten, or from Archimedes imitating a kitten. They will be coming directly from me--head turned, face pinched and eyes closed, as J. tries to hit the little ballpoint X with the bright, shiny needle. My first injection of Gonal-F.
My oft-cancelled consultation with Dr. Meow finally went off today and I feel like I've been knocked senseless. I was sure he'd say, Try a couple more unmedicated IUI's; or, Let's put you on Clomid this month and see what happens. Didn't quite work that way. Instead, he said, Hmmm, that unmedicated IUI didn't work, so let's go ahead and do the IUI with meds this month. And if it doesn't work this cycle--God forbid--we can do IVF with ICSI in April. Sound good?
Sound good? Sound good? How the hell am I supposed to know? Don't you realize that my brain stopped working when you said "IVF"? And already? We're already having this discussion?
All of this before I'd even asked one single question from my list. My beautiful list, typed up and double-spaced, with fourteen bullet points. Which are all now moot. We are no longer to care about temperatures, cervical fluid or OPKs. We no longer care about J's high PH or my varying luteal phase, nor the cramps and vagaries of my menstrual flow. And we most certainly don't care about sex, except that we're not to have it for three days before trigger.
I am having a hard time grasping this. Yes, I wanted to be aggressive with treatment: I am thirty-five and my miraculous COBRA fertility coverage will run out in January of next year. So, as Dr. Meow so succinctly put it, I "have to be pregnant by then." Yes, I hoped against hope that I could move on to the meds this month, feeling in my heart and soul that another plain vanilla IUI would be as useless as...as...what's something uselsss?...oh, I've got it! SEX! As useless as sex!
But I had no idea that I'd be walking out of his office with a Gonal-F pen and a plan to move on to my last line of treatment as the very next step.
So that's the bottom line: If this cycle fails, that's it--I will be on to my last, best hope. And that scares me cold.
Yep, there it is...do you hear it? The whimpering has started already.