That's a wake up call

So I finally saw my doctor this morning.

Always a cheery way to start the day -- with a speculum in place.

Good morning to you too! Can I offer you a cup of coffee while you're here? No? A spot of tea, perhaps?

So she looked at my chart, and she agreed that I have not ovulated.

She also ordered FSH, LH and Prolactin tests and a thyroid test to see if my levels are off. I am hypothyroid, but it's been under control with .88mg Synthroid for six years.

Those four tests took three huge vials of blood out of my arm. Had I not known better, I would have guessed I was donating platelets.

I asked about Provera since I am on CD 33, and you know, I might like to actually get my period before the end of the year, and she said she would not prescribe it because she thinks I may still ovulate on my own. She said "Since you are actively trying to conceive, it might just make things worse."

Really? Because right now, what could be worse than not ovulating? Not getting my period? Because I am already doing that all on my own, thank you very much.

She was concerned about the long cycles, so she ordered the tests. But she also said i need to relax. They get concerned about women closer to 40, not closer to 30. So my little 31-and-five-twelveths self does not statistically fall into any special category.

But, with that said, we also talked about using Clomid to stimulate follicle production, starting with 50mg. She said you can then go to 100 or 150, but that there are studies out there showing going up to 200 has no better results than 150. She also said if we went that route, and it was unsuccessful, she would then refer me to an RE, who would do injectibles as those are a purer form of the hormone and they usually get good results.

And that would require the joy of regular vaginal ultrasounds. I have read about those little bundles of joy here and let me tell you, I just cannot wait until I can get me some of them.

Of course I relate the entire story to Josh (who does not like it when I blog about him, so I am trying to refrain) and after I tell him about the injectibles and the risk of multiples increasing, he astutely points out, "But that would be way in the future right?"

Way in the future. Like a mirage in the distance. The air gets hazy and I see a wavering image of a needle.

So I will get the test results mid-week next week because of the holiday weekend. I would say overall, and informative visit. I can dance to it, but the beat is not all that catchy, so I give it an 8. I am downgrading the performance because I would have really liked the Provera. Guess she'll decide on that next week when she gets the results

Rib spreaders!

When your husband looks at you and says, "I think I am having chest pains," you don't think twice about it. You kick it into caregiver mode and declare that he should go to the hospital.

And that's what happened to us on Monday afternoon.

Josh came home for lunch, as he usually does, and scarfed some pizza and a Sprite. I was about to head out to grab a salad from Panera, and as I grabbed a five-spot and the car keys from him, he mentioned the chest pain.

After he debated it for about 15 minutes, and then called his mom to see what she thought, we hopped in the car and went to the ER.

Apparently, the key to getting immediate care at the ER is to announce you are a 29-year-old man with chest pain. I have never seen such swift service. I swear, the next time I think I have broken a bone, I am going to declare that I have chest pain, oh and this nagging little bone sticking out of my arm too.

The tests were clear. It turned out to be just an inflammation of the lining of his chest wall.

But of course, this all comes back to me doesn't it?

It is my blog after all.

So we sat there for four hours. And I am using Ovulation Predictor Kits these days to see if I am actually going to ovulate.

Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

That was a good one. Ovulate. I kill myself sometimes.

Oh yes, sorry, back to the segue.

I had been trying not to pee for four hours so that the sample would not be diluted. So I had last peed at 9 a.m. It was now 4:45 and my bladder was bursting. So Josh asks can we stop at his office right quick to pick something up.

"There's no way I am going to make it, I really have to pee," I said.

"Amy, just go here. The bathroom is right there," Josh said.

"No. I can't. I have to pee at home."

"WHY? It's right there."

"BEACAUSE I have to take an ovulation test and it's at home. I have to make sure it's negative for the 12th day in a row."

Rolling of the eyes ensued.

So I went home and peed. It was negative. As it has been the last two days. I have spent hours looking at samples of OPKs online. (Who knew -- there's a site out there called peeonastick.com) Looooots of pictures. None look like mine.

I am convinced this is an annovulatory cycle. My temp chart looks like the Himalayas and I could fund a small African village for a year with the cost of these tests. Sigh. But you can bet your ass I am peeing on a stick again tomorrow!

These things really happen?

So today is CD 17. And no ovulation in sight. I have tested, I have temped, I have checked -- nothin. Nope. Nada. Negative.

So what's a girl to do? Of course, the answer is obsess about it.

I have read a lot. I mean A LOT about this subject. I feel equipped. I feel I can make a relatively informed case for my progress. I am doing everything right, my body just can't perform.

HELLO? OVARIES? ANYONE HOME?

You'd think they were in hiding for 14 years. Oh wait...

But I read the most depressing thing yesterday. Even if you do every single thing right in a given cycle, a woman between the ages of 30-35 only has a 15% chance of conceiving. On average, it takes that same age group nine cycles to achieve a pregnancy.

Wow.

I am not liking my odds. That would be .15 as in if I was a baseball player, I would be batting .150. I should be benched if that's the case. That's a horrendous average. And it's not like taking extra cuts in the cage makes me any better.

Maybe I could get some personal instruction. Some sort of Spring Training for the reproductive system. That would be nice -- six weeks of warmups in a sunny locale. But if I don't improve after those six weeks, they could send me down to the minors. That would suck.

I can't believe people this age get pregnant. I mean, obviously, it happens. I see pregnant women all over the place. But the odds are so stacked against you, it seems almost surreal that actual babies get born to actual women without heroic intervention.

Maybe this is a sign?

Who wants one?

Remember when I said I was going to be more diligent about my blogging? Yeah, I lied.

But today I was inspired.

Brooke Shields was on Oprah, discussing her post-partum depression. And it was fascinating. She talked about how hard she worked to get this baby, IVF and a miscarriage and yada yada, and then she didn't even want her. She said after she got home from the hospital, she didn't want the baby around. In fact, she thought to herself, "She can't live here. Let's start over."

I am terrified that this will be me.

I am really not all that into the idea of a baby as it is. I mean sure, I love the cats and sometimes I get a little teary when they're being so unbelievably cute (gag) but the idea of an actual baby scares the bejesus out of me.

I am scared I will go through the nine months and bring this thing home with me and I will want to return it. And while I have not researched it extensively, I am pretty sure there is no 90-day-money-back guarantee at the labor and delivery room.

You see, I am intrigued by the actual act of conception. I think I see it as a challenge, something I can accomplish. Like if I do enough research and we time it right, it should happen.

But then I might actually HAVE a baby. And I am still unsure about that part.

Josh says once I have a baby, I will of course love it. He pointed out that I didn't even want cats before and now I can't imagine it without them.

But I have this nagging feeling. I can't shake it. I have always had it.

When Josh and I talk about trying to get pregnant, we always say "trying." We never say "trying to have a baby." We have never once even called it a "baby" -- we always refer to it as "a kid."

As in, "Well we can't got to Asia if we have a kid." or "Well that would be perfect if we have a kid by then."

I am not sure everyone feels that way. And that's what's so scary.

Maybe there's such a thing as pre-partum depression? And if so, I think I might have it.