This post might as well be titled "Adventures in Fertility, Phase 2" because I feel like I just plunged headfirst into a whole new level.
I arrived at the doctor simply looking for confirmation via ultrasound that the fertility drugs had gotten my body prepped and ready for the (other) "big O," only to get the news that they were going to give me an injection to make sure I actually release the egg.
My stomach churned at the idea, but I'd come this far, I knew it could help, and well, I wasn't going to say no. And while shooting a needle straight into my stomach wasn't nearly as bad as I'd imagined, it was still an unpleasantry for someone like me who faints at the very thought of such a concept. And, something I hope not to repeat.
I'm now on the "36-hour Ovulation Watch" which, while convenient, really takes the surprise out of it. Yes, I suppose that's the idea, but it kind of blows my mind that they can actually do that.
I left the doctor's office with a big smile on my face and the promise of babies running through my head.
"Mark your calendar," I told my husband. "We're getting a sitter." It's on.
My expectations, despite knowing better, are sky-high and optimistic. Sure I've been counting on this for, let's see, god, almost two years now, but I've got modern medicine firmly on my side--odds must be good this time. Surely this will work, right? ...Right?
Meanwhile, my 4-year old, who has absorbed more than her fair share of ovulation talk, ultrasounds and readings aloud from "Taking Charge of Your Fertility," is now on the junior path to fertility specialist. She's fascinated by the reproductive charts on the wall of my doctor's office and can trace the path from ovary to uterus, if only in concept.
The funniest part is how she's deduced that a human egg must be similar to a chicken, and commented, "When you lay an egg, I hope it's a girl."
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