Wednesday, August 11, 2004


Today is cycle day 6. I have another refill of clomid waiting for me at the pharmacy. I went on CD 2 to get it and ended up changing my mind in the parking lot. I can't really explain why I didn't pick it up. We've done two rounds of clomid so far, starting in May. The first cycle, at 50 mg. my projections levels were at 9.8 on CD 20. Granted, I think I evaluated on CD 17, so it wasn't truly a 7 DPO test. But regardless, no pregnancy was achieved, and we started over the next cycle with 100 mg.

So we started the next round. I felt like a psychopath with the horrible mood swings, and I would wake up every night literally sweat soaked, with the sheets plastered to my body like I was some sort of infertility pinata. But... an empty pinata... as that cycle also didn't end with a pregnancy.

I had a refill for the clomid left, but M was taking the bar, and I would have ovulated right about the day before the bar started. Not exactly the best timing considering that he was going to be staying about 5 hours away for the entire week. And as stressed out as he was, I didn't want to contribute to it - so I didn't take it in July. Well, the refill was still waiting for me, but when I went to pick it up the most bizarre thing happened. I couldn't bring myself to walk in the damn drugstore.

I'm a pretty contemplative person, but as much as I've mulled over my decision not to pick it up, I'm not sure that I have an explanation. Infertility for me has been a horrendous slap in the face. It was as if my worst fear - failure - had decided to infiltrate my mind, my soul - my very body. And somehow, on a medicated cycle, it was as if the failure was compounded. I felt as if G-d, the fates, what have you - was trying to make a statement...

thou are not worthy for pregnancy!

After two cycles of it, the failure of it seemed to crush me... bearing down with such force that I couldn't breathe.

I sat brooding at work today watching clouds roll in over the ocean, and I came upon a realization of sorts. Fertility is sort of like the weather. We have scientists who study it, and have tried to understand and dissect it from the dawn of time. But, even though we try to map out the causes, the effects, the probabilities - there are somethings which are just out of our grasp. We will never really understand why things happen the way they do. Sure we can make predictions and track developments, but we can't change the course.

Ever since I've lived in South Florida, people from "home" which we shall describe as a BIG state where people have BIG hair, drive BIG cars, and sound like the revival cast of Hee Haw - always ask me if "you seen wanna them hurricayyynnes yet?" Well, no. Technically I've come close, with a tropical storm, but no hurricane notched in my belt yet.

So stay with me here, I'm taking this weather analogy probably further than it needs to go.

I've decided that infertility treatments & a resulting pregnancy are sort of like a hurricane. You have a pretty good idea of timing, you have plenty of time to prepare, and you spend all the time leading up to it fervorishly making sure you have adequate provisions (insurance, support, etc.) and making appropriate contingency plans. You chart off the storm's course day by day with increasing stress as you realize HOW CLOSE YOU ARE to either being annihilated or spared from nature's wrath. You see, part of what makes a hurricane tolerable is that you have this ability to prepare for its arrival. You know with some degree of certainty when and if it is going to hit you - and if it does, you're o.k. Of course, you can't predict with perfect certainty, but you have a team of people watching, charting, waiting with you... everyone STAYING TUNED for the latest developments.

Hurricanes I don't have much experience with. The constant drone of information and tracking coordinates makes my eyes glaze over after a while. The adrenaline rush is missing, having been drawn out over the course of weeks.

Tornados are more like a surprise medically unassisted achievement of pregnancy for us infertile gals. Sure you know what the warning signs are that it could happen. But it happens with such randomness, that it's impossible to really predict. You can have a watch morph into a warning only to end with a night laying in the bathtub with a mattress over your head wondering how it missed you.

This may not make sense to anyone but me, but maybe... just maybe... I'm still hoping to be swept off a la Dorothy to be transported to "munchkin land". I don't want to feel like I am in control... it's much harder that way.


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