Before we left for family vacation, I started my meds for our next round of IVF.
We’re doing a whole new cycle, as opposed to transferring one of our frozen embryos (we have four left we want to save for a rainy day), which means more lemon-sized ovaries for me.
The hot flashes were back with a vengeance as soon as I got to the beach. I kept checking the thermostat, convinced my skinny cousins were adjusting it when no one was looking — but it was a steady 72 degrees.
The fourth night was so bad, I woke up covered in sweat, and decided the best way to cool off would be to press my(naked)self against the plaster wall next to my bed, while obsessively flipping the pillow to the cold side and then sticking it on my back for 15 seconds, and then starting over again. Cold side, flip. Cold side, flip.
And then yesterday, the hysterical crying kicked in to add insult to injury. We’re used to it by now, I think. Mike knows I’m not actually sad, and I definitely know it’s something I have no control over. So every so often, I just cry, and laugh, and apologize.
Mike said, “You know, when you cry like that, you sound exactly like Miss Piggy.”
1) That might be the worst thing you could say to a hormonal woman, and 2) it it totally … accurate.
I’m sure a lesser woman would be horribly offended, but I took it as a compliment, as Miss Piggy is a badass.
Especially on rollerskates.