Rolling on

I went to the gyno last week, after a little frustration involving the need for a new referral and at least eleventy million blood tests requested by my GP (please understand I am not exaggerating here in the slightest; I think he's a not-so-secret vampire).


She didn't seem too concerned about my slowly-increasing cycle time - she said, in fact, when I mentioned that I was concerned, that she was really glad it wasn't as bad as I'd made it sound and it was nothing to worry about. I remain unconvinced. (From 21 days to 30 days to 36... we'll see what it blows out to this time).


So now she is sending me for more blood tests - maybe she is in league with my GP? They could be drinking my blood together! - to see if I'm ovulating. I have a request form to go get more blood taken on the 3rd of March, when she's hoping to see that lovely progesterone spike indicating that yes, yes, my ovaries have indeed been beaten into submission and I ovulated. 


If not, she's not wasting any time. Clomiphene, here I come.


Meanwhile, One is being sent for semen analysis. As a scientist, I admire the ruling out any possible variables approach. Why spend all this time and money treating me when all along it might wind up being him too? Sensible thinking. I like it.


--


I have had a bit of a hard week this week. I found out that one of my friends (we'd been really close from about 15 until our early 20's - we hadn't had much contact recently) passed away two months ago. Having no mutual friends and living on opposite sides of the country (plus no longer really being in touch any more), it made me incredibly sad. I only found out because I had a dream about him, went to share it with him on Facebook, and then wondered why all the posts on his wall for the last two months had been along the lines of "We miss you so much..."


I did manage to catch up with him for coffee (actually, tea, neither of us were big coffee drinkers) last time I was back home, and he seemed really happy. We cleared up a few things I'd always felt dreadful about, and I think I even apologised to him for assuming he'd always be there (I knew he'd always had a giant crush on me, and it makes me ashamed to admit it, but I played on that a bit, knowing he'd always come back).


So I spent most of Monday night in tears, and then of course, Tuesday was Valentine's Day. One of my workmates takes responsibility for creating playlists that we can all listen to in the lab (easier than agreeing on a radio station), and of course, created a themed playlist for the day... which happened to contain ten or so songs my friend had put on a mix tape he made me way back when.


That did not end well.


I am - not resigned, or accepting, but coping a little better now, I think. I miss him, and I always will, but I am also disappointed that I missed my chance to say goodbye.

Not quite the worst thing

My period is a week late. I tried not to get too excited initially; I've been disappointed before. 


But then I started feeling ill, my nipples were super tender and I was bloated for a week straight. So I took a pregnancy test this morning. This whole time I have been trying not to get my hopes up, telling myself that it doesn't mean anything - but secretly, some little part of me was already jumping up and down and waving her fists in the air.


Except I'm not pregnant.


Not only does this make me feel terrible for having dared to actually hope, it's not a good sign in terms of my periods establishing themselves into a regular cycle. My gyno and I were hoping that thanks to my weight loss (15 kilos as of this morning), it might kick start my body back into a regular cycle. That doesn't appear to be happening.


Next step? Make a gyno appointment. Pass her the baseball bat to beat my ovaries into shape.