- Physical pain
- Bad Test Results
Those are the top three answers on the board. The question that was asked of our survey takers (that’d be me) was what event would constitute a bad day.
Today was a difficult day. It didn’t start out that way, since I did get to sleep in until 9 o’clock. That felt fantastic, actually. I woke up feeling refreshed, but my body was trying to tell me something. I think it is saying that a period is right around the corner. That’s fine, I appreciate the warning, and I haven’t had one of those unassisted in a while, but I really wish my body would learn to communicate some other way than to cause me pain.
This past Saturday, I had my blood drawn. That was day 21 of my first cycle with Clomid, and my doctor wanted to check my progesterone levels to see if Clomid did its thing resulting in my body managing to talk my ovaries into releasing an egg. Today, the day after the holiday, I was to call for my results. So I called.
The nurse did not want to tell me the results. She told me my doctor would give me a call back to let me know what the labs showed. Of course this couldn’t be good news. Otherwise the nurse would have told me happily, I’m quite sure.
As I’m awaiting my phone call (dreading it, is more like it), I prepare things for my day and evening at work. The juicer sitting on the counter caught my eye and I realize, since it is all put together, that my husband must not have had time to wash it before he left for work this morning. I decided I will wash it, especially since I need to use it to prepare my breakfast and lunch. Unfortunately for me, I made a slight miscalculation. My husband woke up late, and he didn’t use the juicer today. The unwashed juicer has been sitting there, unwashed, since yesterday morning. I’m going to blame him for not washing it yesterday, even though I’m pretty sure it is my fault.
A juicer that has had fruit and vegetable remains sitting inside of it for twenty-four hours does not smell good. That is an extreme understatement, but I’m not sure how to convey the severity since smell isn’t an uploadable thing. Combine fermentation and mold, and that is what was happening inside my juicer. After opening the top, I immediately vomited on my kitchen floor. The smell was so overpowering, I was still smelling it six hours later. I was beginning to fear the smell was permanently affixed to the interior of my nose. I deal with things at work all the time that would make many people gag and cry uncle, but never me. Not I, strong-stomached, fair maiden that I am. Cue derisive snort. Of all things, the juicer made me vomit.
Off to work I went, though, and today I went juice free. I couldn’t bring myself to drink juice today after that.
Shortly after I was busily engaged at work, my doctor called. I knew I shouldn’t answer, I should just let it go to voicemail. However, I was still in pain and I really needed to take Ibuprofen, which I won’t do if there is any chance at all that I ovulated because then there is a chance I’m pregnant finally. I’m just cautious like that.
I answered and explained immediately I am at work. She laughed and said something about not asking me about my sex life then, and asked if I could at least give yes and no answers. I said yes, of course. She said my levels were lower than she would like them, and that chances are I didn’t ovulate this time. She was upbeat, and I could hear her fake-smiling through the phone. There are several things I’m supposed to do, like take a pregnancy test on cycle day 35 if I haven’t started a period, and call her if I do start a period, and call her if I don’t start a period, etc. She explained all of these while remaining upbeat. I should have just played along and kept to my yes and no answers. Of course, I didn’t.
“So, what were the levels?” I asked, interrupting another optimistic comment about next cycle. She paused, and I could almost hear the internal debate she was having.
“They were right at a one,” she said. It sounded like she wasn’t smiling anymore.
I laughed. She had said when she ordered the test, because I had asked, that we were aiming for a ten. And I got a one, with drug intervention.
She interrupted my laughing, which I had to make sure stayed laughing so I didn’t alarm anyone around me, saying that I should call her on cycle day one so she could call in another script for Clomid. My laughing intensified.
“I have decided that I won’t be trying that again,” I said. I needed to stay cryptic enough that those I was caring for today would not be able to take any guesses at the subject matter of the conversation, but clear enough that my doctor had no doubt what I meant.
“Oh? Why not? I thought you were excited about trying it. What happened?”
I asked her to check the notes in my file, for the sake of vagueness. She did, and she responded with a sigh. She said that it is possible that the Clomid had triggered a cyst.
She started to switch gears, I could hear her winding up to offer me a different medication.
“I just think the medication isn’t right for my body right now,” I said hurriedly, and quietly in an effort to draw a minimal audience. “I was in an intense amount of pain, and the bloating and discomfort still hasn’t fully dissipated yet.”
She offered more encouragement, telling me again how good it is that I have lost as much weight as I have and to keep going. She said she was interested to see if my body would start a period without drug intervention this time, and she told me how encouraging it would be if this did happen. I think she was trying to get me to look forward to a naturally occurring period, rather than dread it as a sign of another month without pregnancy. Unfortunately, I feel like that will just be one more thing that won’t happen like it is supposed to, sending a little more hope crashing into the inky depths of despair that follow every woman fighting infertility.
At least I know my body was telling me the truth about it not liking Clomid. That is my positive spin for today. Now, someone convince my heart that “better luck next time” is a perfectly valid sentiment used to inspire hope. It’s my new motto.