False Hopes and Smiley Faces

I think I need to switch ovulation tests. The smiley faces just seem to piss me off. Last month, they blinked at me for weeks. This month, everything happened exactly how it should have. Clomid 150 days 3-7, tested high fertility (blinking smiley face) on days 12 and 13 and FINALLY a solid smiley face on day 14! It was perfect! My Temps even dipped and rose a bit. I knew I had ovulated! We went about our Baby Making business and I strolled into the lab 7 days later to get blood drawn to confirm ovulation. I just knew that the blood work would show that I ovulated. I waited 3 days for the call. It came on a Thursday night, the night before we went away for Valentine’s Day. In fact, the call came as we were opening our gifts to each other since we just could not wait another 24 hours. And the nurse nicely informed me that no—I had not ovulated. Super. I was to repeat the blood work in one week. And commence the tears. I could have sworn that I ovulated. I was positive that we finally had a shot at becoming pregnant this cycle. Fast forward 7 days which consisted of a weekend away where I just could not relax and analyzing every twinge and cramp thinking that I just ovulated late. This next round will show that I ovulated. Three days of waiting and again, the phone rang late on a Friday evening. The big guns made the call…it was my Doctor not her nurse. Crap.

And…I still have not ovulated. I asked if my levels increased at all. Please, just a glimmer of hope that my body is doing something, making even an inch of progress. Not a chance. My levels were below 1 and should be (don’t quote me as I was not paying 100 percent attention after she said no O) in the 20’s. So what, am I immune to Clomid? Is that even a thing? ( I found out later that yes, you can be resistant). How is it that I have such a sensitive system, getting any illness within a mile of me, having immediate stomach reactions when I have a spoonful too much ice cream and the drug that I desperately want to effect my body doesn’t. And then came that word that officially made me join this secret club of women struggling with infertility…Reproductive specialist. I couldn’t deny it anymore. Something is not working. On my current track, I will not get pregnant. Not without help. What do I get for joining this club? A Tshirt? A Friggin’ Magnet? Can I wear a certain color hat? Nope, this is one of those clubs, maybe the only one where you will not recognize other members when you pass them on the street. You have no day dedicated to you, no cake. This membership comes with embarrassment and secrecy. I can’t do what I was meant to do. I can’t give my husband a family (yet) and there is an internal sense of shame that comes with that. I can only say I’m sorry to him and of course, being the good husband he is is totally comforting and reassuring that it will happen when it is supposed to.

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