Whenever I see someone apologize for being unavailable blog-wise it makes me want to roll my eyes. I’m not annoyed by apologies or unaware that some readers get used to a schedule, but it’s more like: yeah, life happens; don’t worry about it girl – you do you! I will say that I’ve been a bad blogger lately, and that’s because I was busy having another (fake) ectopic pregnancy. Turns out that the only thing slightly less-worse than having an ectopic pregnancy is thinking you’re having an ectopic pregnancy. To give you the my-size version of what was one of the more traumatic weekends of my life: I thought I was having another ectopic pregnancy because I was late, spotting, experiencing lower back pain, and had a negative pregnancy test (that’s right, I think I’m pregnant when they’re NEGATIVE). Needless to say, I didn’t handle the three days of “is this ectopic?!” very well, and I now have a scary looking credit card bill since retail therapy is the only therapy that I invest in. Besides buying all the shoes I could find, and a new iPad (seriously, WHY DID I THINK I NEEDED THIS?!), I began to make hysterical plans for this ectopic and decided we were going to St. Barts during the Twelve Week Wait (fuck Zika!) and that we were moving on to IVF as soon as possible (give me that 2% ectopic chance!). Even with a negative HCG test at Doctor Kate’s office (with no further explanation for my missing period), I didn’t feel like I was officially safe from an ectopic. On a pretend-optimist note: going through an ectopic scare really put all my not-pregnant months into perspective. Who cares that I didn’t get pregnant – still better than another ectopic (and that’s as positive as I’ll allow myself to get!) Apparently this post has turned into me seeing how many times I can say ‘ectopic’ before I annoy myself.
Ten. The answer is ten.
Anyway, I thankfully still kept my appointment with my new RE (even though I had already stopped taking my prenatals and discontinued working out because I was so sure I was going to be getting methorexated soon), because I had a bonus ultrasound as part of my consultation package. Turns out that my “ectopic” was actually a lovely little cyst courtesy of Clomid. Guys, it was FINALLY just a cyst! …I have the dumbest uterus ever.
Now that a few days have passed, my not-ectopic high is starting to wear off and I’m entering what-the-serious-fuck mode. How is there always SOMETHING!? I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet…ugh. I’m at least grateful that we’re allowed to try old school style (because that’s worked out for us so well in the past) – that’s better than the original three months I was preparing for, but this is still so ridiculous. My body is ridiculous. I’m actually being quite dramatic right now (shocker!) because I do have some pretty fabulous news: I do not have spoiled eggs! I almost feel like I owe Doctor Kate an apology, if she knew all the shit talking I’ve been doing lately. I mean, that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop being panicked about my higher than average FSH levels, but at least now I know that there are two medical professionals out there who aren’t too concerned about it (or, should that actually be concerning me?) All I know is that my RE’s eyes went wide when I brought up egg freezing, and another doctor literally gasped when I said, “So I don’t have rotting eggs?” (I’m all about making a solid impression), so that’s good enough for me at the moment.
The best way to describe moving from your OBGYN to an RE is: culture shock. When you have an IUI done at your OBGYN’s office, you get to pretend that you’re just a normal girl visiting with her doctor. When I met with my RE, there were twenty strangers who were immediately aware of my infertile secret, and all I had to do was walk through the door. This felt too serious, too real. We definitely weren’t in Kansas anymore, but in an anywhere-is-better-than-Kansas kind of way. A making-progress way. I finally got the feeling that I was with people who knew what they were doing – this is their bread and butter after all (a saying that I despise but continue to use in everyday conversations). Even their schedule was enough to make the transfer worth it. Ultrasounds between 6:45 and 7:45 AM?! Hell yeah! Open seven days a week?? YES! The entire IUI process happens in the same office? You betcha! It was an infertile’s dream. They even have an online portal that they use for the majority of their communication, so there’s no more playing phone tag, or trying to remember what was said, or me leaving awkward rambling messages because a coworker walked by me in the hall and I’m trying to describe spotting without using any real words. Infertility literally complicates everything.
After the ultrasound where it was just us girls standing (laying) around, casually chatting about my lining and plethora of follicles crowding on my left ovary, I was left with a final plan:
- HSG this week (YES, even though I already had the SHG/SIS in March, because apparently this is a better way to see if I have any type of tube damage due to the ectopic)
- Track ovulation (even though I haven’t dealt with anything as trivial as OPKs in months) and try naturally, or don’t try at all because it’s literally the same outcome (my words, not hers)
- Provided that my cyst cooperates, and by cooperates I mean gets the fuck out, start Femara next cycle since it’s less likely to cause cysts (but my uterus does love a challenge)
- Move onto IVF after two rounds of IUI with the RE (most recommend three, but I’ve already had one done…kind of)
Starting IVF after just two more IUIs sounds intimidating, until you factor in all the possible ways my body can rebel against me between now and those IUIs. In reality, that’ll probably bring us to IVF somewhere in December. Right now though, all I want is for my HSG to not throw any new surprises into the mix – “LOL, turns out your tubes ARE totally blocked, sorry about that – I guess saline just goes through anything!”