So my last post was on Monday. I said that I’d had some cramping starting the night before and a little nausea after taking the hCG shot and I was hoping that would be the end of it.
Ha.
I should have known nothing ever goes easy for me. Today is Wednesday and I have been nauseous pretty much constantly since then (which let me tell you, makes baby dancing feel like I’m lost at sea with 30 foot waves). My ovaries have been crampy and sore, and any quick movement causes them pain (so, double sucky for the baby dancing…not to mention when we were and I had a big O it was excruciating…worst orgasm of my life). Apparently it is common to “feel like someone kicked you in the ovaries,” as I read on so many blogs and forums, after clomid and especially with the hCG shot.
Joy to me.
Additionally, I had some major bloating (like my pants barely fit kind of bloating) and a general feeling of crap.
However, I woke up this morning with no pain. No ovary pain, no bloating, no crap feeling. I am still a tiny bit nauseous, I imagine from the hCG in my system, but nothing I can’t live with. So, I’m assuming that all of that means my doctor was right, and sometime last night my big beautiful follicle released.
And now we enter that hell period known as the two week wait. For those of you unfamiliar with the term (although I can’t imagine why you’d be neck deep in an infertility blog without knowing what the two week wait is) it is the two week period after you ovulate before you find out if you’re preggers. There’s about shit that can be done during that time because your egg has released and all the baby dancing in the world isn’t going to help.
So, now I’m stuck in limbo. And today is only day 1. For, potentially, the first time ever, I’m 1DPO (day past ovulation). It’s also the first time ever that my husband has felt the very real stress of trying to conceive. Friday night I had a break down (and he was a wonderful shoulder) and finally explained to him how awful the last 3 years has been. How broken I felt, how every month we didn’t get pregnant made me feel more distant and hurt, and how I had started resenting him, myself and our sex life as just a big clusterfuck of infertility. He listened and was sympathetic, but I don’t really think he understood.
This week, though, that changed. My husband has always wanted to be a father, and so now that we are going through fertility treatments, he is finally starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. However, all of the treatment so far has been for me, as our only infertility factor (that we know of) has been my PCOS. Other than coming to all of my appointments and holding my hand during the worst of it (like my HSG), his biggest involvement was his semen analysis.
But this week things changed. I pumped myself full of drugs, we dropped another $80 on a shot, and I endured yet another vaginal ultrasound which revealed one mature follicle. I had done largely everything I could to get us ready. Now, in his eyes, it was on his shoulders to impregnate me (I tried to explain to him that it wasn’t on his shoulders, but he got all boy-ish and brushed me off). He got very stressed out, to the point that he couldn’t even eat without feeling like he was going to throw up. Then, after dinner he took a shower (I think he was trying to work himself up—he was so worried he would mess everything up). When he got out, I laid down in bed with him and we just listened to music and made fun of R Kelly music videos (a midget? Wtf R Kelly?). I think he almost murdered me, haha. He finally told me that he’d been so stressed all day because the doctor told us we HAD to baby dance exactly 34-36 hours after I took the shot, and he was so worried that something would happen and we wouldn’t make it. So, because he was all in his own head, he couldn’t even think about getting into the mood. I told him that realistically, ovulation occurs 34-40 hours after the shot and that it is best to try and catch it early, but that if we don’t make it exactly in that 2 hour window, it will be okay.
It was like I could see the weight come off of his chest. He held me and we laughed and he calmed down significantly (and, amazingly, once he calmed down we were able to still get our baby dance in during the 34-36 hour period, much to his delight). I think it was the first time that he’s ever felt the stress I’ve been under for the last 3 years. And after we baby danced I explained it again to him, and this time I could see the empathy in his eyes, and I think a little bit of wonder, too. I think that, going forward, he might cut me a little more slack when I get all wound up about this baby making stuff.
It’s been a miserable 48 hours. But, now it’s behind us. Hopefully we’ll get pregnant this round (I hope these aren’t words that I will look back on years from now with amusement at their naivety) and we won’t have to go through this again anytime soon. And, even if we do, at least the two week wait exists as a buffer so we have time to gather ourselves before we go through it again.
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