Induction Schminduction...

You know how people say, "If you want to make God laugh, make a plan"?

Yeah. About that. 

We were getting really excited by 37 weeks. The doctor had already told us that at 36 weeks, we were dilated 1/2cm, and that anytime after 37 weeks, she wouldn't stop labor if it started on its own. She estimated her to weigh 7 lbs, 11 ozs at birth. Of course, every movement, every cramp, every contraction had us on edge. After all, since we were going to induce at 39 weeks, we only had two weeks to go! The bag was packed, the vet had been contacted about boarding our pup while we were in the hospital, the family was all on stand-by... 

Friday before the scheduled induction. When we went for our 38 week appointment, the last Ob/Gyn appointment of the pregnancy, my dilation had disappeared. Our daughter had squished herself back up into my belly. Dr. Ollar examined me, and the words came. "I don't think you're a good candidate for an induction right now." WHAT? I just cried and cried. Maybe it was emotional. Maybe it was me being impatient. Maybe I was already nervous and tired of being pregnant all summer and now we're talking about tacking that extra week back on. Ugh. But as she examined my belly, and felt around on our baby girl, she said, "I'd like to schedule an ultrasound." 

Instantly, I was worried. When I asked why we needed one, in my obviously panicked voice, she said that she thought the baby was getting quite large, and was worried that she would get stuck on the way out. Luckily for us, there was an ultrasound tech still there that afternoon, and she was able to do the measurements for us. As she scanned all over my belly with that cold wand, we watched her measure bones, head diameter, and torso size. As she plugged the numbers into the computer, a box popped up for just a few seconds and I thought my jaw would hit the floor. Those numbers had her weight estimated THAT DAY at 8 lbs, 12 ozs, +/- ONE POUND! The screen flipped off just after it flashed up there, so, of course, I say, "Did that just say 8 lbs, 12 ozs, +/- a pound??" Her response was, "Uhhh, I just give all the info to the doctor, and she'll fill you in." 

But I know what I saw. And I know that, that late in the pregnancy, she was gaining an ounce every day. 

We walked back out into the hall, and the tech handed Dr. Ollar the printout. Dr. Ollar looked at it for about 5 seconds, and looked up at Bobby and I and said, "So, how much do you like your vagina? Because I think we need to do a c-section."

I broke down in tears. This was not in the plan. I'm terrified of being cut open, especially while I'm awake. She said we could either induce and let me labor for 20 hours and then end up doing a c-section anyway, or we could just schedule it, and try to be relaxed about doing it in a non-emergency kind of situation. So we scheduled it for the following Tuesday, four days later. I cried all the way home. I went from ready to not ready in about 2.3 seconds. Bobby could hardly console me. I had not read any books or articles on c-section recovery. I hadn't bought any recovery supplies for a c-section. I felt so unprepared. 

All that evening, all I did was google "c-section" and "c-section recovery" and "c-section packing list for the hospital." At one point, I made the huge mistake of searching YouTube for "c-section", only to be greeted by some cell phone video of a traumatic c-section in some third world country. OMG. Huge mistake. All weekend, I tried to prepare my mind for what was coming. Looking back now, I know I overreacted, but I had a plan, and this was going to be a huge deviation from it. The night before the the big day, my sweet husband dropped our dog off at the vet to board, and took me to eat Pho. We sat and talked about how it was our last meal before becoming parents, what we thought she'd look like, and how excited we were to finally meet her. He was going to be in the room with me, holding my hand the whole time, and for the first time in days, I finally felt calm. 

The nurse had told us that I couldn't eat anything after midnight the night before, so after we had Pho that evening, we went home, packed the car, snuggled, and set our alarms for 11:50pm. We both got up and had a bowl of Cheerios together just before midnight. Alarm was set for 5:30am. No turning back now!

Time is flying by SO FAST now!

Let's talk about the glucose test(s). UGH. Some people say it's no big deal, and some have a terrible experience with it. So, here's the scoop. The shit you drink is nasty. It tastes like flat orange soda with three times the sugar. You can't eat before you drink it, so that's pretty much all you get for breakfast. And at 28 weeks, no breakfast kinda feels like a death trap. So, you get blood drawn, drink it, and then wait an hour to get blood drawn again. Supposedly, they are trying to see how your body metabolizes the sugar. Sounds good, right? WRONG. I failed. And when you fail, you have to take a more extensive test. Even though 50% of the people who fail the first test end up being fine. So, I went back two weeks later and signed in for the three hour test. Draw blood, drink more crap (this time, twice as much sugar as the last one), wait an hour, draw blood, wait an hour, draw blood, wait another hour, and draw blood again. That's FOUR different needle sticks in one day. I'm out on doing that again. Passed that one with flying colors, but it wasn't a good day. A half day with no food and nothing but a super sugary drink when you're 30 weeks pregnant is disgusting.

Hmmm... I just re-read all of that, and I know it sounds a little (or a lot) whiney. I know there are people who would kill for the opportunity to do a nasty glucose test, because that would mean they are pregnant. And believe me, I know how it feels to want to be pregnant more than anything else in the whole wide world. In the grand scheme of things, I would've done anything it took to make sure my pregnancy was a healthy one. :)

So, at 30 weeks pregnant, we found out that my glucose was fine. No gestational diabetes for me! Which was great, because I was eating everything I could get my hands on. The next few weeks were a blur. I planned to work for as long as I could, but it was definitely getting harder in the middle of summer. I can't wear shorts and flip flops to work, or I would have! It's funny... I always said I wanted to time it right and get pregnant at the end of summer, be pregnant all fall, winter and spring, and then have the kid right before summer so I could stay home with the baby during the heat. If you want to make God laugh, make a plan. He gave me the exact opposite!

I feel like the first trimester was so slow-going, not knowing if we were going to have a viable pregnancy, always worrying about miscarriage, etc. The middle trimester was just kinda normal, and as we entered the third and final trimester, time just seemed to fly by. In the grand scheme of things, the only hiccup we had after we knew we had a heart beating was the glucose test. And I know that's not even really a hiccup. I was blessed with a very healthy pregnancy. By 37 weeks, we talked to our doctor about inducing. She said she would induce at 39 weeks if we wanted to, and trust me.. in the heat of summer, that sounded AMAZING. I know some people have their own opinions about "letting the body do what it knows how to do", and "let the baby come out when it's ready", but we knew she was healthy, we knew she was BIG, and we knew we were READY! So, we planned an induction at 39 weeks. And waited.

27 WEEKS!

32 WEEKS!

 

ALMOST 37 WEEKS! 

Finding Someone to Pull This Baby Out

It's pretty amazing how many ups and downs come with being pregnant. It's literally an everyday occurrence, and since it started so early with us, I don't think we realized it until way later than normal. So, Dr. Reshef and his team made it very clear to us from the beginning that his job is to help us GET pregnant, not deliver the baby. We were told that we would go back to our original Ob/Gyn for those services after we reached about 8 weeks. So during this final visit with Dr. Reshef at nearly 9 weeks, we knew we'd be going on a hunt. My regular gynecologist doesn't deliver babies anymore, so I printed a list of Ob/Gyns in our insurance network and had him look it over. He made a few recommendations and we went hunting for a new doctor.

I had no idea the process of finding someone to pull this baby out would be so hard. Most of the doctors on the list I had were out of one office, Women's Healthcare of Norman, which I had heard wonderful things about. I called, and they told me to print, fill out, and fax back a HUGE packet of information. I damn near had to write an essay to get into this office. Turns out, there are 6 Ob/Gyns in this particular office, and the first 5 were "full" for September. I guess they only take so many patients? Thankfully, the last one they checked took us in, and were were no longer doctorless hobos. Great news for Bobby, since I know he didn't want to get stuck being in charge of boiling water and gathering towels for a home delivery in our bathroom. LOL

I made an appointment to see her as soon as possible, and our first visit was on March 5th. I was so excited to finally meet our doctor and get to know her a little, but alas, the first visit turned out to only be a medical history appointment with her nurse. Grrrr.... next appointment made for March 25th with the actual doctor. The nurse told us a few things about her, so we already knew that she loved doing ultrasounds (yay!), and was perfectly find inducing labor and not letting you go way past your due date (yay!). So, by the time we met the lady who would be yanking this kid out of me, we were already 13 weeks along. Talk about a stressful few weeks! After going through everything we had been through so far, we were kinda living in "no man's land" with no doctor. We just prayed that everything would be okay, and hoped for the best.

So, March 25th came along and we finally went down to the office to meet the mystery woman. When she came in, she was very nice, very up front, very to-the-point. Which I appreciate. We also found out that her family is quite religious, which I also appreciate, and that they had just adopted a little girl that SHE delivered, who was abandoned by the parents at the hospital. How amazing is that? Come to find out, she uses her job as an Ob/Gyn to fit people trying to have a baby (but can't) with people having a baby (but don't want to), and has arranged several private adoptions right through her office. I think that's remarkable.

Our next appointment was set for four weeks later. I found that going from seeing our fertility doctor every week or every other week to seeing our regular Ob was really hard. That's a long four weeks to not know what's going on or if everything is okay!

I should add that during this time, I was SO sick. And the term "morning sickness" is bullshit, because it's all day. I got sick first thing in the morning when I brushed my teeth, because I brush my tongue (don't you?) and even the tiniest bit of toothpaste slipping to the back of my throat made me gag so hard that I puked. EVERY DAY. And the puking lasted about 5-6 minutes. And since I hadn't eaten anything yet, it was those dry heaves, where all you're puking is stomach acid and bile. YUCK. I also got sick if I didn't eat at regular intervals. Even now, at almost 29 weeks, I have to eat something every two or three hours at least, or here come the voms. And, if I wait too long to eat, when I finally do eat, I usually puke that up too. The bright side of this is that I've lost weight. Maybe I'll be the only person in the history of forever to actually lose weight having a baby!? I'll just hope... :)

Bobby's Love at First Sight. :)

It was February 4th, a Monday, and we had just found out that there was a real live baby growing in my belly. We were almost 7 weeks along. Bobby and I met at the house after work, and I can't describe the feelings that come over you when you finally know everything is going well. We made dinner and discussed how long we wanted to wait to tell everyone. Most people I know wait until 12 weeks to make the big announcement, since most miscarriages happen before that time. I think that sucks, though. If a miscarriage was something we were destined to endure, I want the love and support of my friends and family! I don't want to hide it from the world, as many people end up doing. I can't imagine that being the healthy route to take, but every person handles situations differently. I just know that I consider myself to be very open about our situation, and I have nothing to hide.

We made dinner at the house that night, and sat down and discussed telling everyone. Obviously, my mom was at the ultrasound that day, so she knew. We had already called his mom and sister, so they knew. Tricia (my BFF) already knew. My brother and sister-in-law already knew. Really, it was only a matter of time before someone spilled the beans, and being the control freak I am, I really didn't want the news coming out without US being in control of the when and how. Plus, our families can't keep their mouths shut. :)

Now, for a little something that some people might find odd. In December 2012, Bobby and I had family pictures made with our dog, Elsa. I had emailed our photographer, Angel Porch (www.angelporchphotography.com), prior to our session to ask a strange question, and to no surprise of mine, she was very much on board with our idea. We wanted to shoot a few pictures announcing our pregnancy, even though we weren't pregnant yet. I thought she might think that was a little weird, or maybe bad luck, but she was so happy to do it! We bought/made a few props and our photos turned out GREAT. We just planned to keep them on the computer until we needed them, and two months later, we were discussing which one to use. FINALLY.

So we wrote up a Facebook post, with the picture we chose attached, announcing the baby. I couldn't wait any more. After everything we had been through to get to this point, the news was bursting out of me like a rainbow. I knew I wouldn't be able to go to work the next day without a big goofy grin on my face giving it all away, so we went ahead and announced it. And seriously, I don't know how I would've been able to wait 5 more weeks with that kind of new bottled up inside me. To all you ladies who can keep a secret like that, congratulations. That is not a talent I possess.

So, two weeks pass, and we go back for another ultrasound. It was February 18th... President's Day. EVERYONE knew we were pregnant by then, and I was SO excited that Bobby was finally able to come see our little peanut. It made me really sad that he missed the first one, so I knew he was super pumped about this one. I was just really hoping for the good news to keep coming.

He was SO excited. We were 8 weeks, 5 days on this day, and we could already see arms and legs wiggling around. What an amazing miracle. I also knew that I was SO attached already, and if something bad did happen, I'd be an absolute wreck. Getting pregnant and being pregnant is the biggest emotional roller coaster I've ever been on. Even now, at 25 weeks, I'm a nervous twit every day, just hoping something doesn't go wrong.

Pregnancy tests are a cruel joke.

I couldn't sleep that night after the positive test. Neither of us could. We stayed up and talked about how we wanted to tell everyone, when we wanted to tell them, fun ways to announce it on Facebook, and all kinds of things. We had already started our name list, so we talked about that more, too! I couldn't believe it at all. The more I thought about it, the scarier the reality became. I felt like we had been trying so long, focusing on finding that victory, and now I didn't know what to do with it. A whole new set of fears set in.

The next morning, after a tiny bit of sleep, I got up for work. It was Monday morning, and I was too excited to think about anything work-related. I got out of the shower, and peed on another stick just because I wanted to see that beautiful word again. It was 6:15am.

NOT PREGNANT

I panicked. I woke Bobby up and panicked to him, too. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't bleeding. Did that mean I miscarried sometime in the last 8 hours?? I didn't know what was going on. Bobby just told me to stay calm and call the doctor first thing. So, at 8:00am on the dot, I called and left a "frantic lady trying to speak as calmly as possible" message for the nurse. Like I said before, they were well-aware of our situation, so I knew she'd call me back as soon as she could. About an hour later, she called and asked me to come in for bloodwork. Forty-five minutes later, I was in the chair with a needle in my arm. The next few hours were agony, waiting for a phone call about the results. I just wanted to know, one way or the other. Just give me an answer. When you are going through all of this, (and if you are, you'll know what I'm talking about here), ALL you want is a definitive answer. Yes or no. So when Beverly called back, you can imagine my frustration when she said, "Well, Kelli, you're technically pregnant, but the levels are so low that Dr. Reshef is worried you might have a tubal pregnancy. He wants you to come back for more bloodwork in a week, and if your levels go up, we'll go from there." What the fuck does that mean?? Am I pregnant? Can I be excited yet? Now, all I'm doing is worrying, because I know an ectopic pregnancy can kill you. That's not an answer, Beverly. Not one that I wanted, anyway.

So, I went back a week later. And then again a few days after that. And then again the next week. The levels were rising, but still REALLY low. My progesterone was low, too, which I know can actually CAUSE a miscarriage, so I argued with them at each visit about putting me on a supplement, but Dr. Reshef kept saying no because he didn't want to encourage growth in a tubal pregnancy, if it was a tubal pregnancy. My thought was, "What if it's a viable baby and you are causing problems by not giving me the supplement!?!" I still got a "no". Ugh. And then, I had to tell them we were going on vacation that Saturday and would be out of town for a week and a half. I told them we were going to New Orleans, because I was afraid to tell them we were going on a 7-day cruise. I was a nervous wreck. What if I miscarried on a cruise ship?? Or in a foreign country?? We still didn't know if it was tubal or not, so I had a hard time debating whether or not to go at all.

But we went. We had a great time in New Orleans for a few days with family, and then headed to the Carnival Terminal to board. We got checked in, and were waiting in line to get on the ship. I had to pee, so I ran to the bathroom. BLOOD EVERYWHERE. I just sat there and cried. What do I do now?? My entire family is getting on this ship and I'm terrified to move. I sat there for about 10 minutes and composed myself and then walked back out. Everyone was still waiting in the holding area, and I knew Bobby and my mom saw my face and immediately knew something was really wrong. I told them I was bleeding, and that I was going to go ahead and get on the boat. That was a hard decision. I was a hot mess that whole first afternoon/evening. We got on the boat, got our luggage, got settled, and then the bleeding stopped. THANK YOU LORD. I still didn't know what had happened. Was that a miscarriage? I'd never had one, and I knew it was still early, so was that it? This vacation wasn't going to be a vacation at all, it seemed.

Luckily, the rest of the week was fine. We stopped in Roatan, Cozumel, and Belize, and I gotta tell you: skip Belize, go straight to Roatan. It's AMAZING.

We got back from New Orleans late that following Sunday, and I had made another appointment for an ultrasound for the following day. Dr. Reshef had told us that by then, the pregnancy would be big enough that we'd be able to see where it was. If it was in the tube, then we had a big problem. If it was in my uterus, then BAZINGA. Bobby was in training that whole next week, so my mom offered to go with me.

FINALLY, an answer. We had a baby growing, with a good heartbeat already, and were only technically a little over 6 weeks pregnant. I sent the video to Bobby's cell phone, and he stepped out of his training class to watch. I love happy news. I needed that happy news. I couldn't have been more excited.

The light at the end of the tunnel...

So, here we are. It was December 26th, a Wednesday, and we'd just be told that I was definitely the problem. Once again, I can't express how defeated those simple little words can make you feel. They gave us the option of waiting another month, but also said that if we wanted to try an IUI, that the following day would probably be the best day for it.

But what's an IUI, you say? Well, I'll tell you.

I had heard of IUI before. I have several friends who have had it done. IUI stands for intrauterine insemination, and it's generally the step you try before you go to in-vitro. We were in the perfect spot to try IUI, because I had gotten my first positive ovulation test that morning, prior to our post-coital test. That meant that I would be ovulating sometime in the next 12-48 hours. Now, swimmers can live in the kush, cozy, fallopian tubes for up to 5 or 6 days (crazy!), so if we were going to send them on up, then the next day was perfect for that. We also did an ultrasound and saw that the Clomid had actually developed THREE eggs that were ready to spit. MOMENT OF PANIC. Three? What if all three fertilized? Triplets?? Of course, we went ahead with everything, but imagine that small moment of uncertainty you'd feel knowing you were potentially volunteering to have triplets.

Now, the cost. Seeing how it was the day after Christmas, and the end of the month, needless to say the bank account of two people on cops' salaries was pretty slim. And remember, insurance didn't cover ANY of this. We had already talked to the doctor previously about private pay costs for those whose insurance didn't cover it, and we knew that the IUI would cost around $700... quite a bill for those who aren't expecting it at that moment! And get this, if the IUI didn't work, IVF was going to cost about $13,000! AND only has a 50% chance of working. We had already made the decision that if we had to move to IVF, that adoption would be the route we would take. Amazing that some people just have $13,000 laying around to gamble on getting pregnant. Wish I did!

So, we scheduled the IUI for the next day, December 27th. Our doctor was out of town that day, so his nurse practitioner asked us if we were comfortable with her doing it. Of course, we were. After all the time we'd spent in their office, we were practically comfortable with the records clerk doing it. LOL :)

Back to the IUI. There isn't anything glamorous or romantic about an IUI. We made an appointment for Bobby to go in and give a sample to the lab the next morning, and my appointment was scheduled for 30 minutes later. I'm pretty sure he was mortified at the idea of it. But the cool thing about it was that we got a semen analysis included with it, so at least we found out where we stood from that end. After all the "washing", "sorting", and analyzing, there were 62.1 MILLION swimmers in the sample we used. Remember that thing about only 4 still being alive I talked about earlier?? I knew there should've been millions. The Discovery Channel is good for all kinds of learning.

My part of the IUI isn't any more glamorous than his was. It's basically his sample, injected straight into my uterus, bypassing that "hostile cervical canal" I mentioned before. The uterus and fallopian tubes are much more comfortable for swimmers, so once they're up there, they just wait. And YOU wait. And wait and wait and wait. They told us not to take a pregnancy test until 10 days later, but after about 6 days, you get REALLY anxious. So, January 2nd, I took a test. Negative. I just cried and cried. And got the same result on January 3rd, 4th, 5th, and the morning of the 6th. Bobby told me to just stop and wait until 10 days had passed, but I'd already convince myself that it hadn't worked.

That evening of the 6th, which was a Sunday, we had just come home from dinner at my mom's house, and were watching a little TV in the living room. At about 9:45pm, I decided to go get ready for bed, leaving Bobby in the living room. And yes, you guessed it, I snuck in another pregnancy test. For any of you who have ever taken a pregnancy test before, you know that those three minutes are the LONGEST MINUTES OF YOUR LIFE, regardless of what you want the outcome to be. So, I set the test on the bathroom counter and went to fold laundry that was piled up on our bed. After about 5 minutes, I stood at the bathroom door, staring across the room at the test, terrified to go in because I knew that I was just setting myself up for disappointment again. I worked up the courage and went in.

PREGNANT

Am I being punked again? I actually looked, walked away, and then came back and looked again, which seems really dumb to think about now. And then the tears came. I just leaned against the wall and cried. I probably cried for 2-3 minutes before Bobby heard me and came in. When he came in the bedroom asking what was wrong, I just walked out of the bathroom and hugged him. I was crying so hard I couldn't even get any words out. You know when you cry so hard that snot and drool comes out and you just wipe it on whoever you're hugging at the time? Oh you don't? Well, I did that. He had pretty much gotten used to my emotional ups and downs, and since I'd been crying a lot of all of this, he just sadly said, "you took another test, didn't you...". To which, of course, I nodded yes and pointed into the bathroom. He walked in and looked and smiled the biggest smile I've ever seen and came back and hugged me until I thought my guts would explode out of my body. I can't remember ever feeling so relieved and scared and apprehensive and excited all at the same time before. After nearly 18 months of trying, I saw the test I'd been waiting to see.

All the excitement was welled up inside me like I've never felt before. I couldn't sleep all night, and I got up the next morning with the biggest smile on my face EVER. I thought to myself, "We're done. Finally. And I can't believe it."

Fertility drugs don't make you feel as good as real drugs (or so I've been told)...

So, our fertility doctor, Dr. Eli Reshef, is pretty amazing. I feel like I can say that now, since it all worked out in the end. And at the time I finally saw a period come back, I thought to myself, "NOW WE'RE COOKING!" I was so angry at my regular gynecologist for NEVER sending me for the blood work-up that Dr. Reshef did after our very first appointment. I got really angry at the 6+ months we had wasted on estrogen treatment, mood swings, weight fluctuation, and all that, when all I needed was bloodwork.

So, come to find out, the tumor in my pituitary gland was causing that gland to produce too much prolactin, which happens to be the hormone that causes women to produce breastmilk. Luckily for me, the tumor was small enough to be treated with medication. Some people get them so big that they can actually start lactating... EVEN DUDES. Seriously. Even dudes. And those big ones normally have to be taken out with surgery. So you can imagine my delight at finding out that our baby quest didn't lead us to brain surgery.

One thing to note here is that Oklahoma is not one of the few states that require insurance companies to cover infertility treatments. At the time I began seeing Dr. Reshef, my problem was still classified as "annovulation" (lack of ovulation, lack of period), but the moment that began, we were moved to "infertile", and the insurance stopped covering any of it. No meds, no ultrasounds, no office visits. Check with your insurance. If you have one of the few that cover this stuff, count yourself lucky and take advantage!

Dr. Reshef knew we were growing impatient, and with every year that passed, he knew our chances of getting pregnant got smaller and smaller. So at the first sign of that period, he gave me a prescription for Clomid. Now, I don't know how many of you have ever heard of this stuff, but it's pretty much the most popular fertility drug on the planet. What I learned is this: your ovaries normally spit only one egg every month. They alternate, left and right, every other month. This generally is supposed to happen on day 12-16 of your monthly cycle (with day 1 being the first day you start your period).

THIS IS WHERE IT GETS QUITE TECHNICAL. SERIOUSLY, I LEARNED SO MUCH.

So, Clomid is supposed to hyper-stimulate your ovaries into spitting more than one egg, giving you more opportunities for fertilization. It also ups your chances of having multiples! And to be completely honest, at this point in the game, multiples wouldn't have bothered us that much. They start you out on the lowest dose, and then monitor your ovulation. If it doesn't work, you go up in dosage the next month.

"But Kelli, how do you know if it worked?"

Here's where the giant pain in the ass begins. You chart. You take your temperature every morning before you get out of bed, otherwise known as your basal body temperature. Even if you aren't seeing a doctor for fertility issues yet, you can totally do this at home. There are blank charts you can print online, and even apps you can use. I used fertilityfriend.com for several months and loved it. I hated charting, but apparently, when you ovulate (or just before or after), your temperature spikes up. The problem is, you usually have to have already done the horizontal tango and have his little guys up there waiting for Madame Egg to show herself. So the doctor tells you, "Just go ahead and have sex everyday from day 12-24." And I promise you, nothing take the romance out of sex like treating it as homework.

So, we started out with 50mg of Clomid. I charted for 31 days. And we did our homework as assigned. And then nothing. No temperature spike, nothing. Nothing except a period. So we went back to the doctor for a higher dosage of Clomid, but found that the 50mg had, indeed, hyper-stimulated my ovaries, but not enough to spit eggs. Only enough to cause big, temporary cysts. So you have a take a month off. SUCK.

The month after that, we went back when my period showed up and got the prescription for 100mg Clomid. And there was the temp spike! It didn't happen until day 24 of my cycle, though, and that's a problem too! You see, after the egg spits, the days between ovulation and your next period's arrival is called a luteal phase. And a fertilized egg needs several days to implant before your period starts. So, as you can already imagine, I started my period on day 29, and 5 days isn't enough for implantation. Dr. Reshef said that a higher dose might help with sooner ovulation, so here we go with 150mg...

Keep in mind, this is 90 days into charting. 90 days since that first period showed up. 90 days of agonizing. And this was November 2012, so we were already well over a year since we started trying.

So, we do 150mg. Bingo! Ovulation on day 17... AMAZE-BALLS. So happy! Homework like crazy! And then a period. Mother fucker. What is the problem?? Maybe it's Bobby, too? That's a theory I don't think he liked much, but it was one we definitely had to think about it. But we tried another month anyway. Since we knew that 150mg worked, we did that again, but this time, Dr. Reshef scheduled us for a post-homework analysis. Get ready for the gross part! The day I got my positive ovulation test (which happened to be the day after Christmas 2012), we were told to do some "homework" and come in 4 hours later. The test they did was a swab to see how many swimmers survived. Our result: 4. Four out of how many million? I've been through sex-ed and I have the Discovery Channel. I know how many of those little dudes are supposed to be there. And 4 isn't going to cut it. The consensus was that I had a hostile cervical canal, and was most likely killing the swimmers before they even got going. ARE YOU FUCKING OUT OF YOUR MIND?? All this time, all those wasted homework assignments, all the wasted money on pregnancy tests.... and they weren't even getting there? How much harder is this going to be??

I'm getting pissed just typing it. I was now convinced that I was, in fact, the problem. And even though I knew it in my heart the whole time, having a doctor or nurse confirm it is really disheartening.