I took an OPK test last night and I barely, barely, barely had a test line. Fellow PCOSers know that we almost always have a nice looking line. Perhaps not positive, but almost always there. Not last night.
I didn’t fool myself. I knew that it didn’t portend of good Continue reading
Now that I’ve taken both drugs I wanted to write about my experience with both drugs, and to hear about other’s experiences, too. Without further ado:
Unfortunately, my friends, I’m off to Nebraska, again. My dear friend’s mother passed, ending her three year battle with Stage 4 colon cancer. I wish I could say that this is the only person I know that has died of cancer, other than my father, but I can’t. I know over 100 people that have died of cancer. Babies, old men, middle-aged women, teenage boys, breast, brain, blood, colon, skin, prostate, and others. The cancer rate in rural Nebraska, the Bread Basket of the World, is shocking. That’s why I will never entertain the notion of living there again.
Cancer is an evil and pernicious affliction.
In other news, tests at 10, 11, and 12 DPO were negative. I’m officially not pregnant. Now, the struggle is going to be the Day 3 ultrasound for the all-clear to take Clomid Round #3 for Cycle #15 during Month #20. I’m gone all week, and I’m not sure my doctor will collaborate with a local OBGYN on the ultrasound. If not, Cycle #15 will be sans the fertility drugs. After that? We are on to the IUIs.
I should have known better.
My new RE changed up the clomid routine, prescribing 100 mg daily from CD 5-9, as opposed to CD 3-7. I didn’t know how my body would react, so I started the OPK’s on CD 10 when my mucus became a bit less sticky and a bit more wet. As per our routine, and trust me, after 14 cycles of timed intercourse it has become a routine, we did the deed.
Our typical plan of attack is to have sex every other day until my OPKs turn positive. Or, in my case turn really-really-close-almost-as-dark-as-if-not-as-dark-as-the-test-line-positive. Well, to my surprise the test was super dark on CD 11. I got really excited and thought that perhaps the change in cycle days was going to result in a shorter follicular phase. So, we had sex again in anticipation of an early O. Sure enough, on CD 12 I got a positive. On this test the test line was as dark as the control line. For real. It isn’t an hpt. I have nothing to gain from misinterpreting an OPK. So, we had sex again.
It may not be a shock to learn that my temperature did not shift. Yet, my cervix was softening up and fluids were becoming more fertile. I was convinced I was going to ovulate on CD 13. A record for me! Through the evil veil of Clomid induced depression and anxiety I just KNEW that we needed to have sex or we would miss the O. Big Guy came home from work after working, I kid you not, a 17 hour day, and I promptly announced that we needed to have sex. He looked crestfallen and exhausted. And I began to sob uncontrollably.
I’m not an unusually emotional or irrational person. Except when I take Clomid. I told him that I needed him to look excited to have sex and not complain. I told him that this process was breaking me. I told him that I didn’t want to do this anymore. I told him that I wasn’t just breaking, but already broken. And then I cried myself to sleep.
So, we didn’t have sex. Fuck that drug.
I woke up the next morning filled with dread. Surely we missed it! But, alas, no thermal shift.
CD 14 through CD 18 went a bit like this: Negative OPK, fertile CM, Sex. Rinse. Repeat.
Finally, finally, FINALLY I got a nice positive OPK on CD 19. Right on track for a normal-to-me cycle. So, we had sex. I didn’t ovulate that day, so we had sex the next day. Rinse and repeat. It felt like we had sex eight million times, but really it was ten times in eleven days. It was a lot.
Four seasons are my favorite. I like four distinct seasons, none of which have to be so unruly that my health is in danger. Denver has four beautiful seasons. It gets cold, but not too cold. It gets hot, but not too hot. Spring and fall are both glorious in the Mile High City. Four beautiful seasons.
I miss the four temperate (to me) seasons. It was 115 degrees yesterday here in the desert. Today’s temperature is estimated to reach 120 degrees. That’s right: one hundred and twenty degrees. I woke up early yesterday to get a start to the day, hoping to run a 3.66 mile route through some local neighborhoods. Alas, I did not check the thermostat before I started and, as it turns out, at 7:45 it was already 90 something degrees. Suffice it to say I did not complete the run.
As we moved through June, I thought that 110 was the point at which I began to lose my shit, but I was wrong. Yesterday I officially lost my shit. It went something like this. 1) Run Errands. 2) Sweat profusely. 3) Run errands. 4) Sweat and chafe profusely. 5) Fail to find necessary items. 6) Sweat profusely and feel sick. 7) Pull up to our garage. 8) Garage won’t open. 9) Sit in air-conditioned car contemplating the need to enter the heat. Again. 8) Run around front and enter garage through alternate entry. 9) Grab remote opener and hurl it to the ground wherein it shatters in pieces. 10) Hurl some expletives and enter the safety of my house. For the record, the point at which I lose my shit is 115 degrees with almost zero humidity. However, I blame the Clomid.
In other news, I’m currently on CD 13 during Cycle #14. I started the OPKs on CD 10 and much to my surprise they started getting much, much darker on CD 11. Yesterday my test, if not positive, was damn near there. It would be super duper exciting to ovulate today or tomorrow. Unheard of really. So, I’m checking my expectations and acknowledging that I am probably just experiencing a stronger than usual mini-surge leading to my normal ovulation pattern where I ovulate between CD 17 and CD 19.
Did you know that extreme heat can affect sperm? My research is a bit spotty here (ie lazy) but I am going to interpret these research results broadly. As a result, since I may or may not ovulate today or tomorrow, I am not going to go outside. I would hate to harm the swimmers by getting too hot.
