For those who missed Volume 1, here’s the synopsis: screwing, screwing, screwing, cancer, screwing, screwing, and at the end of it all…no baby.
My regular gynecologist, Dr. Numb-Numb, wanted to run a few more tests before he started into any course of treatment. Ok, that’s fair enough. So, I went through the famous HSG, which did not hurt in the least for me, but I know this differs across the board. Then I had an endometrial biopsy, which hurt so bad they had to scrape me off of the ceiling. This is where the doctor’s name originated. For the EB, they inject Novocain into the cervix before inserting the device to grab some uterine lining. The injection wasn’t too bad, but I could still feel the tool. So, he added some more and I could STILL feel the tool. So, he kept adding it and adding it…every time saying “Let’s just put a bit more numb-numb in there.”
Based on those tests, my tubes were open, but my luteal phase was short. Next step was an unmedicated cycle with periodic scans and peeing on OPKs to track my cycle in more detail. One lovely follicle, completely normal cycle (no shortened LP), and a nice LH surge before ovulation. Ok, so the parts work. Great, now what?
Dr. Numb-Numb decided that Clomid was the way to go, assuming that my perfectly normal, unmedicated cycle was a fluke. So, I began the Clomid regimen excitedly, figuring that this must surely be the “magic pill” that I had been waiting for all this time. The first cycle I had hot flashes like I couldn’t believe, headaches, one follicle, and no baby. This continued for two more cycles. All the while, my moods were getting more and more erratic. My husband dubbed me “Super Bitch” and threatened to get me a cape to complete the persona.
By the end of the third medicated cycle, Dr. Numb-Numb referred me to the RE. Ok, then, I guess we needed to get more serious. Round one at the RE involved more Clomid. Oh, Joy. At least this time they were putting all the little soldiers right where they belonged, or at least giving them a much better road map. IUI plus Clomid continued, again, and again, for three cycles. The bitchiness intensified, fueled by a sense of inadequacy, anger, and disappointment. I was able to hide my mood from most of the people I worked with, but my poor husband got the brunt of it. Again.
At this point, we were still without answers. Prior to the IUI, we had wondered if it was a sperm thing, but for each insemination his sample was of such high quality, that the nurses always commented that he got an “A+” for his performance. Great. So that means that I must be getting a big, fat “F” for my performance. That’s just great.
A consult with the RE we were seeing revealed that we had two assistance options at that point, both of which required us to change REs within the practice because ours did not work with the injectables. Not sure why, but whatever. So, we discussed our options- injectables + IUI or go straight to IVF. We also discussed my intense dislike of needles. Fortunately for us, both procedures were covered by insurance (please don’t hate me) so we didn’t have to consider the financial portion of it. The emotional part still weighed heavily. I remembered back to almost a year prior, sitting in a rented beach house, crying, and telling my husband that I didn’t really want to go all the way to IVF. Now I was sitting here, weighing my final assistance options, and was actually considering IVF. Did this make me weak because I was reconsidering it? Was I ready to consider it? Was it even going to be worth all of the effort?
…to be continued in Volume 3