If my Apps are correct, I am two days away from my period. Which feels about right. Or right-ish. Unlike the last few cycles where my PMS has been nightmarish, I didn’t really start feeling any symptoms until Saturday. And they are pretty low key. Some crampiness. Some sore boobage. But thankfully no fits of blind PMS rage and/or weeping, or nipples that feel as though they are on fire. ON FIRE.
It is around this time of every cycle that I begin to Google, as if by magic some new result will appear that explains everything I’m going through. Today I was reminded that A) I am old, and B) old ladies have a significantly harder time getting pregnant. But I started when I was 33- doesn’t that count for something? Can I get an extension? (Yes, I am trying to negotiate my way out of this. And no, it is not working.)
Also a third of infertility is “unexplained” which strikes me as remarkably high. Seriously? 33% of the time, we have no idea what’s going on? Come on, Modern Medicine. What are you good for if you can’t figure it out a third of the time.
I also read somewhere that couples who are trying for over 3 years have a less than 25% chance of ever conceiving. (I’m in month 23 or 15, depending on how you look at it. Long story…) With no end of this non-baby-making, I see no reason it won’t drag on forever. I blink and it is three years in. I blink again, and I’m old, alone, and eating cat food from a can.
Someone should really invent an app that actively blocks you from Googling fertility-related words during your two week wait. It does no one any good.
On top of all this, I’m visiting my family this weekend to spend time with my mom which always makes me apprehensive. Not seeing her mind you. It’s the circus of despair conducted by my brother and father that I’m not looking forward to. In good news (because I really could use some) my mom has successfully made it out of the ICU! In not so great news, she is having a tough time with the transition. In many ways, now is when the hard work begins. So I’m headed down to see what kind of help she can get in her recovery.
I’m staying with my dad, which I’m a bit worried about. He isn’t good with boundaries or respecting other people’s feelings. It is all him, all the time. If you tell him that he is talking about things that make you uncomfortable or upset, he will ignore you and keep talking. (This morning, he told my sister specifics about his… er… romantic preferences with my mother. File under: Things Children Should Never Know About Their Parents.) I made Mr. Ostrich promise me that if my dad repeatedly doesn’t respect my boundaries, we’ll leave. I’d rather stay at the Holiday Inn, thank you very much.
Next up for me in my battle in sub-fertility, Clomid Round Three. And no more Googling.
I am not a medical professional. I also believe that most of the stuff out there Googleverse is full of shit. So please do not read anything I’ve stated above as “fact” because it was probably found on “babyfairydustsprinkles.net.”