Bust.

Its been a helluva week.

Today is cycle day 22, still no positive OPK. After the almost-the-same test on Tuesday morning, I got almost no line at all on Tuesday evening. Wednesday morning I got another dark-but-not-positive and then . . .of course, no line Wednesday night. My cervical fluid has followed a similar, although opposite, pattern – with creamy fluid in the morning and stretchier, clearer fluid in the evening. My temperatures have stayed solidly in the pre-ovulatory range. This morning’s pee stick ritual yielded another dark but not positive. In other words, nothing to speak of.

I sent an e-mail to the Texas Ranger on Tuesday asking for an ultrasound to see what was going on, and mentioning that I would also like to talk more in depth about fertility medications. She responded telling me to come in for a blood draw to check progesterone and to schedule an appointment to talk about further interventions.

I’m a little perturbed about the progesterone check instead of an ultrasound. The progesterone test will show that I have not ovulated. Which I know, because I track my temperatures.  I’m not sure why I had to drive half way across the metro area and get stuck in the hand to prove what I already know. But I did.

The next available appointment for The Texas Ranger wasn’t until Oct 1st. Aside from this feeling like a lifetime away, I was also concerned with how it might work in terms of timing for the next cycle (assuming I ovulate in the next, you know, few weeks) and I was not willing to be patient to talk about something that I’d wanted to talk about a month ago. So, I am going to see a doctor at the same practice this coming Monday.

After a week of grief, anxiety, busy-ness and just general too-much-ness, La and I made the decision to cancel this cycle. Between the havoc that’s been wrecked on our lives with friends leaving and lives exploding in work and ovulation not coming, and the fact that we were advised an IUI wouldn’t be recommended with ovulation any later than day 24 (at this rate, we are almost past that cut-off as is), it seems like the best, most reasonable plan to forgo the IUI, take some time to breathe, figure out our next steps, and then move forward in September/October.

I’m terribly sad and also decidedly relieved. I have been exhausted by this process, wrung out with waiting, and blame filled (from myself, always only myself) when the OPK shows up negative. again. and again. And while there is loss – not getting to try is a particular kind of heartache I think – it feels quieter and more peace-filled.

The one sticking point from our conversation last night was whether to have BFF’s sperm analysis repeated before or after the IUI. Following the previously decided upon ‘plan’ would mean getting it done prior to the Sept/Oct IUI. La doesn’t want to do this. She wants to go forward and have the SA repeated after the IUI.

I have a lot of complex feelings about this. First and foremost, if we are upping our game so significantly, I’m not sure why we wouldn’t test the semen. Its been more than 8 weeks since BFF started acupuncture and supplements, and that was time time frame we were given to see some improvement. I think La’s desire to try is more about sticking her head in the sand and hoping for the best – a tactic I have often gone with when the emotional stakes are high. After all, no news is good news, right?

But it feels hard that in this instance, The Plan is being put aside in the service of BFF/La’s desire to use BFF as our donor. The Plan has been the primary sticking point whenever I wanted to bump the timeline up. Whenever I wanted to make an appointment or ask questions about interventions or see a naturopath or or or . . .The Plan has been the reason I didn’t do any of that. When I’d come home worried or wanting to try something, La would say, but we have The Plan. We have to stick with The Plan. and The Plan says we don’t try that until _____ (after 6 tries, August, if we get a bad test result.)

So I’m a little resentful. And I feel shitty that I feel resentful, but I do. We tabled the conversation and made an agreement to revisit after doing some more thinking and talking and uncovering. I certainly don’t want to make a decision based on my resentful feelings; I also want to give ourselves the best possible chance, because this shit is fucking hard.

 

Things. Some good. Some hard.

I had originally wanted to wait to update you all until AFTER my nephew made his arrival earth-side – which should have been by now. Unfortunately (for all of us, but mostly for his mama) the induction using pitocin did not encourage Liam to come out to this side of the belly. After 12 hours of not enough progress, she was sent home. She will go back tonight to try again. Nephew Wath 2013 has been delayed. Adorable baby photos will have to wait until another day.

Some things have happened this week, like this:

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aka the best salad ever aka direct from the garden at the estate.

And this:

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aka the first egg from the golden girls (there was another last night too. So exiting!)

Eating stuff from your backyard is THE BEST.

But then this also happened:

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Which I guess for some people isn’t that bad, but made me feel like this:

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I find it shocking that for some people with uteruses, the HSG is totally like, no biggie. This is the impression I got when I asked about it on the babycenter board and when I did some pre-procedure googling. I find this shocking because it was absolutely, hands down, the most exrutiating pain I have ever experienced. Granted, I (thankfully) have not had a lot of run ins with excessive pain. But I do have a fair number of tattoos and have undergone surgery and busted my ankle up so bad that doctors now don’t know what to do with it. So . . .I have some reference.

In any case, yesterday was miserable. After screaming through the HSG, I was informed that my ovaries looked poly cystic. I’m going back on Tuesday for another ultrasound for them to check and decide if this is actually the case.

I feel somewhat confused by this. I have very regular periods (with the exception of the last year when two cycles were longer than usual – one very long, 60 days) and appear to ovulate based on BBT signs. My metabolic panels have always been good – no signs of insulin resistance, blood pressure issues or high cholesterol. I’m a bigger girl, but my weight is much more packed into my thighs and booty vs. my belly. I don’t have acne or hair growth. Basically, this is coming as a bit of a surprise to me.

The doctor who did the HSG and subsequently informed me of the appearance of my ovaries was not the Texas Ranger, but the follow up is scheduled with her. So I’m hoping to get some answers then, and also from the fertility specialist acupuncturist I am seeing on Saturday.

I know the PCOS is not the end of the road when it comes to fertility stuff, and that it can definitely be treated in a variety of ways. But this is not the kind of news I want on the heels of BFF’s less-than-stellar semen analysis results. But, if it is in fact the case, we will just do the next best thing.

At least I don’t feel like I have a knife shoved up my cervix anymore. See, there is a bright side to everything!

Return from Paradise

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We are back.

If only everyone could spend a week in Cancun every time they have to wait to try again to make a baby. It really is an excellent way to stop thinking about the minutiae of getting pregnant and just really exist in the moment. I vote free beach vacays for all people TTC – every cycle you don’t get knocked up, you get to go away. Who’s with me?

Unfortunately, you can only suspend reality for so long before it comes crashing back down on your head. My usual M.O. is to have a mild-moderate panic attack on the flight home when I begin subconciously making the list of crap in my head. I staved it off until we were in customs this time.

But I have also managed to hold on to a teeny tiny bit of paradise. By this I don’t mean the white sand or water so blue you don’t remember its salt or a mojito whenever I ask for it. I mean bobbing in waves unaware of time, I mean moments without narrative or checklists or somethinganythingijustneedtothink, I mean seeing – actually seeing – all of the things around me, I mean looking at my girl’s face and feeling all of the big beautiful feelings bubble up.

So I’m going to try and float with these feelings, even in the midst of re-writing my work plan for the funder who it seems like I can never please, in the middle of managing money when an unforeseen expense or 30 pops up, and yes, right here smack dab in the center of trying to make a baby.

And we are smack dab in the middle of it, again. We arrived home on CD12 and I commenced peeing on things. I’m expecting to ovulate between now and Thursday and we did our first insemination last night.

BFF is currently living with us while he and BFFBF look for a new place to live. BFF got a new puppy (the biggest floppiest most adorable grand pyrenees named Yankee!) and the puppy is also living with us. Our house is kind of like Three’s Company on a farm right now, and yes its as ridiculous as it sounds. On the upside, we can do inseminations any old time we feel like it . . .which will probably be every other day until the positive OPK pops up, and then a few more tries.

ImageA few other notes . . .

On DOMA . . .Our Cancun resort didn’t have free wifi and pat of my vacation plan was to be as unplugged as possible. So, we didn’t find out about the Supreme Court decisions until we got home. And what a fuckin’ mixed bag, eh? I’m super psyched that DOMA was struck down and that same sex marriage will be federally recognized on some level. I’m also glad the shenanigans in California got addressed. I know that the DOMA ruling doesn’t entirely take care of the issues (I do happen to live in a state where a similar amendment has been enshrined in the state constitution) but I also think this is a sign that the BS is on its way out. Supreme Court precedent is a big f’ing deal, you know?

But OMG can we talk about the Voting Rights Act for a minute? That is BAD BAD BAD. The irony that this decision came at the same time as the Paula Deen scandal is just too much Americanism for me. Why are people not outraged about the VRA being dismantled in the same way they are ourtraged at Paula Deen saying the “N” word? For serious?!

And also . . .I really really really hope that now the marriage stuff is beginning to happen that the LGBTQ ‘community’ can start paying attention to the other million issues that really deeply impact queer folks. Like immigration reform, and health care, and homelessness. And I hope we care as much about those things as we do about the right to get married. I hope we give just as many shits about the way people of color just got totally disenfranchised as we do about the ability to file federal taxes jointly. Now that our relationships aren’t wedge issues, please let us keep standing on the right side of justice.

On Doctors  . . .

Tomorrow the triumverate goes to visit the OB/GYN. This appointment has been a long time coming. It was initially scheduled for three weeks ago, but has been rescheduled a million times (by both us and the doc) and it felt like it was never coming. Now that it is, I’m terrified. I’m scared of the possible homophobia (even though we have a referral from another queer couple using a known donor); I’m terrified of fatphobia (kind like this) and having to defend my body and my life; I’m terrified of finding things out that I don’t want to know about maybe why we aren’t pregnant yet.

But, I’m also hopeful. We have the opportunity to find out that everything is OK, or to fix things that might be getting in the way. We have a chance to ask a lot of questions. We have access to things that might support knowing, understanding, or making this happen.

One Down

Yesterday I was sitting in a meeting and my breasts were throbbing. As much as I have tried to stop paying attention to the minutia of my body, I couldn’t help from noticing the throbbing. And I got excited. Because that’s what we do, right? Look for throbbing breasts or extreme fatigue or maybe a touch of dizzy nausea and pray they will become worse or couple up with something else. Anything to tell me what I want to know without having to ask the question.

I came home and told La. She said, “isn’t it early?” Because my breasts always ache, but maybe this time they ached before they usually ache, or worse than they usually ache. But no. It was cycle day 24 and, if my prior record keeping is to be trusted, they always start hurting on cycle day 24. But maybe it was worse? More intense? Different?!

The truth is, I don’t know. The barometer of human feelings – never a very reliable instrument – has become increasingly fallible over the last 6 months. I’m not saying the throbbing *isn’t* different, I’m just not saying it is either. Because I honestly don’t know. I remember thinking, in the airport, at the tail end of the last wait, that my boobs hurt more than usual. But the thought is the only thing concrete. I can’t conjure up the feeling now. I can’t say with any accuracy that they actually hurt worse than the month before because the month before I was willing them to hurt too.

The reality that you just can’t know until you know just keeps crashing down on my head.

I said to La last night, when we were discussing when to take a test, that I just wanted *something* clear to happen this weekend so I would know without knowing. Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to – right? Its the same feeling that drives me to wait to the very last minute to take a pregnancy test. The same feeling that kept me from asking an ex girlfriend if she was cheating on me. Sometimes the world we make up is better than the one we know exists.

This wait has not been anxious. I’ve had a lot of feelings, sure. Just not anxiety. A few days after ovulation, I had a crystal clear dream of having a girl baby and naming her Dorothy. And that dream’s sweetness bouyed me with a feeling of just KNOWING this time worked, even though I also knew that was impossible to know. That lasted a few days before I resumed my general see-sawing and symptom spotting. One week down, one to go. Sometimes my calm is one of resignation. Sometimes it is one of serenity. Sometimes it is one of impossible knowing.

In the hope column for today: I almost fainted in the copy room an hour ago – had to catch myself on the table and squat down till my knees regained form and the dots dissipated. Since then I’ve felt near-nauseous. Not quite sick, just not quite well either.

Then again, it could just be allergies.

Holding out

I was planning not to post until after a full 14+ days had elapsed since ovulation. Why? Well, because there is nothing more obnoxious than listening to me try and spot symptoms when you and I both know that there are hardly ever symptoms to spot before an HPT is accurate. And now that I am becoming a somewhat old hat at this two week wait business, I’m so over telling anyone what’s going on with my ladybits in hope that they can magically predict what will become decidedly apparent in a few short (loooooong) days.

So, back up.
This past Monday I left Denver for Oakland, to participate in a training of trainers on a bad ass sexual health program called FLASH. As I may have mentioned, this made me nervous. Although maybe it shouldn’t. As it turns out, my bag never made it on the flight to Oakland, so I spent the first day wandering around Jack London square feeling sorry for myself and deciding if it was worth the BART ride out to target to get clean underwear or if I should just hold out for my bag. I are some BBQ and I enjoyed the magically Luke warm Bay Area weather and then I bought a toothbrush and went to bed. The next few days went quickly – full days of great training and dinner with colleagues and then with some friends who have moved to the bay.
Today was another day of training but this time it dragged. And now I’ve been sitting at the airport waiting for a flight ( my first was so delayed that I would have missed my connecting flight, so I was transferred to a later direct flight) and basically freaking out.

Today is 12DPO. For the last three tries, we have tested on this day, as the earliest day to get a pretty reliable result. This go around I decided I wanted to wait until the day my period was supposed to start, which is Sunday. I am quickly losing my resolve.

I have felt shockingly calm during this wait. I’ve also felt hopeful. I’m sure this is because we did new and different things and god knows how badly I want to be responsible for accomplishing this thing, even though I can’t be. Regardless, I’ve been hopeful. And it’s been really nice.

Today, I stuck my finger in my vag to check my cervical fluid and pulled out creamy type stuff tinged pink. To be clear, I rarely spot, although it has been known to happen. It’s usually really brown when it does, and it’s rare, like I said. So initially, I thought “maybe this is good news!”

However, subsequent trips to the loo have found me anxiously checking my fluid over and over and losing a little hope each time. And now, of course, I am feeling things that don’t feel hopeful – maybe some cramps, maybe some constipation, maybe feeling like I want to sob in the middle of terminal 1 because I’m so sad at how many babies there are everywhere and I have no ability to filter my feelings.

So now I don’t know if I can hold out. On the one hand, if I’m grasping at straws and this is “implantation bleeding” or some such nonsense, then tomorrow probably isn’t early enough to get a positive, right? On the other, omg I kind of need to have something substantial to hold on to right now and I don’t know if I can hold out. I figure I will have some clue tomorrow morning based on my temperature, which has always dropped the day before I bleed, in the year I have been tracking. If it doesn’t drop, I’m doing it. I’m peeing on a fucking stick.

I will happily take whatever advice, posi woo or general words of wisdom you have to impart. Sill hoping the fourth will be with us.

Off the cliff

We jumped off the precipice and landed in disappointment. In other words, another startlingly blank window on the pregnancy test – one solid pink line and white white white.

I have been a real mess this ‘wait.’ I’ve chalked it up to how hard life has been on all the other fronts. The huge grant that was sucking all of my time (which is done now, by the way), La’s events that were sucking all of her time and energy, being sick and not being able to actually take care of myself, the on-off shitty spring snowstorms . . .

But I also wonder if I knew. Last Wednesday I was miserable, yesterday we went shopping for baby gifts for two of the new wee ones to join us eathside and I lost in right in front of the fucking pampers at Target – not my style. No matter what symptoms I seemed to have – an ‘implantation dip,’ super high temps, sore boobs, copious cervical fluid – I never felt any real hope that I was pregnant emerge.

So, onward we go! No Christmas baby, maybe we will have a little capricorn. Or not. Who knows? Any tips for staying hopeful when precedent doesn’t give you much reason to be? I know three tries is nothing in the grand scheme of things, and I do think I believe that in the long run I’ll get pregnant . . .its the day to day mess that feels harder to handle.

On the upside, I worked about as gazillion more hours than I should have in the last few weeks and am still fighting a nasty chest cold and the only thing I *have* to finish is my budget for next year, so I’m taking the day off to watch shitty TV and take naps with the dogs. Sometimes getting to indulge your pity party for a very limited while is really, really nice.

Thanks so much for the many, many kind comments over the last few posts. Its really awesome to have all y’all out there. You have no idea how much your comments mean, and how much I truly enjoy living vicariously through your pregnancies/babies. La is getting sick of me saying, “so and so, my blog friend, . . . ”

heart!

al

Looking down.

The night before we take a pregnancy test is the most conflicted I ever feel in this process. The waves of hope and misery, doubt and possibility wash over me in a sickening torrent. It’s a precipice I simultaneously want to jump from immediately and stand on the edge of forever.

Bon chance.

Transmissions from the Field

Fertility Friend and I agree that today I am 6DPO. Other than a horrific stomach-something-or-other that made yesterday a comedy of painful errors and the beginning of a cold passed along to me by my dear wife, I am feeling very good. I mean, of course I am. Even supposing a little cluster of constantly expanding cells IS somewhere in my fallopian tube/urterus, it hasn’t implanted or started causing chaos yet.

My good friend had her baby on Saturday – another big gayby welcome to Marlow! The pictures that have already showed up prove what I always thought, that my friends are going to be totally smitten, absolutely brilliant parents. And the wave of babies keeps crashing in! (Another welcome to Baby E over at The Falco Project who looks like a chubby little doll!)

So Marlow is here, and I just got a dropbox file of photos of my BFFs baby, and despite the spring snowstorm that Colorado sprung on us, it is decidedly the time of the year when things start springing to life.

And here I am sad and sobby. Not jealous this time, just weepy over what I hope will be but am terrified will not. This wait has been harder than the last few, just emotionally draining. I am not nearly as obsessed with tracking every gas bubble and tummy rumble, but I am acutely aware of the deep feeling of longing. Of the heart-soreness of wanting something and simply not having the control to make it happen. Desire is such a difficult part of being human. Hope is not always roses and sunshine; sometimes you only feel the edges where it starts to bleed into grief, where desire meets despair and makes you one hell of a volatile cocktail.

I am grateful for this space, for the people who read this and maybe understand and maybe even say something kind. There aren’t so many people who know what we are doing, and those who do are tired of hearing about the details. I don’t begrudge them that; we’ve been talking about it so long. Besides, anonymous public feelings are the most satisfying, right?

Its so hard to feel like this isn’t fair. Its not fair! This has been my rallying cry for as long as I can remember – to my parents, to the world. Its not fair. And its not. This isn’t, and so many other things aren’t either. I’m really good at coming up with strategies to make the world more fair. But there isn’t a damn thing to make this one more fair. It just is. Some people get pregnant right away, without trying. Sometimes people we judge as not ‘good parents’ get pregnant easily. Sometimes people who are so good are never able to have a baby. And sometimes the good people have babies and the bad ones don’t. Its far more complicated than we would like to admit, but its never, ever just ‘fair.’ No matter who you are this, like so much in life, just really isn’t fair.

Thank you all for letting me feel my feelings . . .and for reading about them, too. One week down, one more to go.

 

An update to the great doctor saga – or, the day I talked to every department in the hospital that does anything with vaginas

Since our last episode . . .

1. Got a call on Friday from the maternal-fetal health dept (what?) telling me that they had received a referral for me to see Dr. B in their department. When I expressed confusion about who DR. B was and why I should be seeing her INSTEAD of Dr. C (‘the best we have’ doctor) the scheduling lady said “I don’t understand the clinical stuff but DR. B is the specialist, the super specialist, and you’re supposed to see her.” So, I cancelled with DR. C and made an appointment with Dr. B

2. Feeling confused and wanting to forgo any additional weirdness, I send an e-mail to my awesome GP (who is also on the advocacy committee for one of the LGBT orgs in town) and asked her to do a little informing to ensure the same shit didn’t happen. She said DR. B was great and of course she would send a head-up.

3. Today I get a call from maternal-fetal health telling me that, actually, Dr. B is not who I should see, that I should see a reproductive endocrinologist in advanced reproductive medicine because Dr. B only sees pregnant diabetic patients (what?!) so they can transfer me to ARM. Um. Ok. I guess.

4. Get transferred to ARM where I have to explain to the receptionist that I have done inseminations at home, approximately 10 times, before it was clear. (“Who did you IUI?” “No one. I did it at home.” “I’m sorry, WHO did you say did the IUI?” “NO ONE. My friend came over and jerked off in a cup and I put it in a syringe and put it in my vagina.” “Oh . . .”) I was finally allowed to make an appointment although the receptionist sounded confused.

5. Call the patient advocate people to complain. While I’m on the phone with them, ARM calls back and leaves a message saying that, actually, I shouldn’t see them, I should just go back to SA, the nurse practitioner who started this whole charade.

6. Call ARM back and explain that OB-GYN sent me to DR. B who sent me to ARM so can someone just fucking tell me who to talk to? Get a nurse on the line and she explains that absolutely! They can see me! They are totally the right department to see! But they don’t approve of known donor at home inseminations! Ok!? So then I spend a half an hour asking if they can still figure out what’s going on in the case of the missing menstrual period (or, really, the case of the delayed Ovulation, as its becoming clear is actually the case) and get treatment for that even though the way I am getting sperm into my uterus is not the way they want me to. Never get a very clear answer but determine that I am not likely to GET answers on the phone that day and decide to go see the ARM doc anyway. Where I will probably have to be very clear that I know the risks and that I just want them to determine if there is something going on with my lady parts that needs to be addressed in order for me to get knocked up.

The juxtaposition of this experience with the first half of my day is absurd, and disheartening. I continue to be unclear why in the world my BFF’s sperm needs to be quarantined when I have a more trusting and loving relationship with him than I did with many of the dudes I slept with during my wilder days (which is, apparently, the magic key to not having to go through the bullshit in ARM) unless its because some either a doctor or the government has to attach me to a man to legitimize my pregnancy. But more than that, I just want someone at the damn outpatient pavillion to listen to me long enough to know that I actually don’t even want their help getting pregnant right now – I just want to know why I went from having 30 day cycles all my life to suddenly not ovulating for 45 days.

The eternal wait

I’m not really sure what’s happening, but I feel like some sort of explanation is needed. For myself, more than anything . . .and because all of you have been so kind and I have maybe been a drama queen and I don’t want to take advantage of that kindness.

So here’s the latest:

After a hellish week at work (I LOVE my job, FYI, but I don’t like doing anything for 60 hours a week, into the wee hours of the night) and exhaustion from waiting and waiting and trying to get information, I had a particularly pitiful call with a nurse from my doctor’s office on Friday afternoon.

I’m lucky that I live in a pretty queer friendly world. My job, my family, and even my old timey neighborhood are all safe places for me to be out, and I am mostly met with a pretty high level of analysis and understanding about LGBTQ issues. And while my OB/GYN are certainly OK with queer stuff, they are also not very culturally informed – or, at least, not my doc and her nurses. Thus, my phone calls are usually infused with not only having to come out (over and over, everytime a new nurse calls) but also explain exactly what that means insofar as trying to get knocked up goes. I suppose the fact that we are going about this in a less than usual ‘artifical insemination’ fashion also makes things complicated.

So, while I am generally grateful that we have the ability to do this thing in a not-so-medicalized way, I am also longing to have a professional medical place that is somewhat cognizant of how our journey to conceive is unique from so many others. And I am especially tired of both explaining in depth everything I can and being patently ignored.

Reaching out for support from the medical profession has proved decidedly unfruitful. So I just keep tracking and temperature taking and peeing on sticks, hoping some sort of pattern will eventually emerge. As done as I have felt with looking at my cervical fluid (because it may very well mean nothing, and its hard to care when there is no discernable goal lurking ahead) I have kept doing it.

On Saturday morning,  stuck my fingers on up there and pulled out strands of clear slippery stuff. And I thought, “huh.” I looked at it so long that La half yelled “quit playing with your cervical fluid, I have to pee.” It was unusual, but nothing about the last few weeks has been usual.

Saturday afternoon, I came home from some errands and did my daily pee stick ritual. I have taken to peeing on both the ClearBlue easy smiley face digital OPKs and the cheap internet wondfo’s because the cost of amazon.com procured OPKs is worth having some sort of peace of mind. Even after the eggwhite cervical fluid, I wasn’t expecting anything. I happened to look down in the middle of cleaning my contact lenses and saw that big stupid grinning smiley face. And I thought, WTF? The wondfo was dark, not my usual positive, but dark enough to be considered a positive by internet OPK standards.

Apparently, my LH was surging.

I sent a text to both La and BFF and said, in effect, “um, sorry I have had no f’ing idea what is happening with my body but I think I’m ovulating? So maybe you can bring the swim team over tonight?” La called and was all like “um, what?!” and BFF sent back “Of course! I love you both!” And so, on Saturday night, we did our 6th insemination total, our first for this . . .uh . . .whatever it is.

Yesterday, even more eggwhite showed up, along with another smiley face (this is likely only because I had opened a new box of them) and an incredibly dark wondfo. Cue insemination #2.

And now, we wait. I wait to see if I get some sort of temperature rise (again?) to see what happens with my cervical fluid and the OPKs, to see if my period shows up . . .ever again, if a pregnancy test comes back positive. I’m not even sure what I am waiting for anymore. And that is oddly comforting.

I’m trying to retrace my data, look back at my chart, and figure out what’s going on. The first temperature shift was less significant than usual – although it was still there *and* corresponded to other fertility signs. The OPKs were never as clearly positive in February. All that cramping. All the nausea. The fact that this fertile patch is coming 28 days after the first . . .eerily ‘on time’ if I had gotten a period.

My best guess is that a cyst impeded ovulation, and this is my body’s second go at it. I certainly hope its an anomaly, anyway. Otherwise, I am currently on day 45, with ovulation likely to happen today – and that is a mighty long cycle, and probably not a good sign.

So . . .so. I wait. Like always. But now with no clear end in sight. A blessing and a curse.