Well, I guess they’re not totally worthless – but they’re not really cooperating.
They’re like me when my mom needs help cleaning up the kitchen after we bake Christmas cookies. (I’m always like, “I have to pee!” and then I hide in the bathroom reading an Ikea catalog.)
I found out last week that our latest round of fertility drugs wasn’t working.
This was after six doctors appointments (and ultrasounds and blood draws) in seven days.
This was also after six weeks of avoiding caffeine, sugar, fake sugar, soy, beef, dairy and white flour.
So, what does that mean?
Well, for starters, it means I’m pissed, and I want a lovely cheese pizza, just for me.
After several months of eating crap AND responding to the medicine, I thought for sure giving up all that deliciousness would make a difference. Instead, it made everything worse. Sure, rationally I understand that being healthier didn’t cause this to happen. But I love food, and I missed it.
Treatment-wise, it means this cycle has to be skipped, so right now I’m on a different set of meds and will restart everything in a few weeks.
It’s a good news/bad news situation.
The bad news is, we spent a lot of money on a cycle that didn’t happen. I had more blood drawn in a week then I have in the last five years. I suffered through weeks of hot-flashes and sudden bursts of crying for nothing.
The good news? At least I have another two weeks before I have to start injecting myself with a new round of hormones. Yes, I said injecting. Apparently the Clomid ship has sailed since I’m not responding to it anymore, and from here on out it’s fsh-filled needles right into the stomach. I’m saying this is good news, because 1) hopefully it’ll work, 2) it’s something they can monitor and tweak really closely for better results, and 3) when I tell people I have to give myself shots, they feel bad for me, and might buy me presents.