Vacay before you go cray cray

Every woman struggling with infertility will tell you the same thing: this shit is stressful.

Well, every woman may not phrase is so eloquently vulgarly as I, but believe me, they feel it. One minute you're on top of the world, so convinced that this time is the time. And then the next day you wake up convinced you are destined to walk through this world with delicate layers of dust building up in your womb that could probably make a really cool looking sand castle.

Without a doubt, one of the best ways to quell the ups and downs of this whole process is to get out of your own head and take a vacation. I used to be that girl that sat in front of my computer, my cursor poised over the "book this vacation!" button for a solid 45 minutes. But I could never pull the trigger. Inevitably, the minute I decided to go ahead and book the cruise/all inclusive/beach getaway, my mind would get in the way. I would imagine scenarios like:

• Just watch. The minute I book this trip to San Francisco, I'm going to find out I'm pregnant, and we need that money for the medical bills! I'd better wait.

•  I could book this cruise in February. But if we get pregnant next month that means I'll be.....(*does math badly*)....5 months along when we're cruising. I don't want to cruise if I can't have wine and sushi! That's the whole point of a cruise. I'd better wait.

•  I'm pretty sure next month is going to be the month this all works out and I finally get knocked up. I don't know that I should be para-sailing/bicycling/swimming with dolphins/having amazing vacation sex/eating like a pig when I could be 7 weeks pregnant. I need to lay down and be still if I finally get pregnant. I'd better wait. 

You see the pattern, right? Do you do this, too? Well, let me give you some unasked for advice: just book the vacation. Seriously. Let me tell you why. 

Almost a year ago to the day, I was debating whether to book a May vacation to Cancun with Hubs. At the same time, my mother in law was wanting to book a November vacation for our entire family in Mexico, and I was dragging my feet on that offer as well. Why? I was convinced I was going to be pregnant for not one, but both of those trips.

Guess what? I'm still not pregnant. I went on both vacations, sans pregnancy. And I had a wonderful time. And even if I had been pregnant, they still would have been amazing trips to go on. Sometimes I just live in my head way too much.

Incidentally, the timing works out well. I begin the stims for my first IVF cycle on Thanksgiving (*squeal*). The best part is, I'm starting this cycle rested and relaxed as a result of that family vacation to Cancun that I mentioned a moment ago. Had I decided not to book the trips, I would have regretted it hard core.

Infertility is fecking hard and you need a break. I know you're spending every hard earned dollar you make trying to afford the next cycle or cutting edge medicine, but baby doll you have to remember to take care of you. Drink the champagne. Eat the chocolate. Have a Dr. Pepper. It's all okay. Giving yourself some time to forget everything is vital to success and sanity.

And if you can't afford a trip to Cancun or an all inclusive, romantic getaway, don't sweat it. Grab a cheap Groupon to a 3-star hotel nearby and have a weekend away from home. Don't even look at your doctor bills or IVF calendar or message boards. I even give you permission to stay away from this blog (but not for too long). 
 
So go...take care of you. And come back ready to do some baby makin'.


If you are interested in a fantabulous Mexican all-inclusive getaway, you have GOT to go to Live Aqua. Especially if you're a modern aesthetic snob like me and Hubs. No cheesy sombreros at dinner or screaming children with snot running down their nose begging for ice cream (you have plenty of time for that soon enough). Just brightly lit, clean lines, excellent service and a gorge ocean. This place was seriously DA BOMB. We booked our trip through Cheap Caribbean. And no, not a living soul is paying me to say this. It was just that great of an experience for us, and I'd love for you to have it, too.

 

I mean...I want to live here.

 

Perfect view of the perfect beach.

Til next time, my friends. 

 

A Hot Flash in the Pan

Hello, Infertility Friends!

I have been totally MIA. So sorry. No, it's nothing you did. I promise. I've just been in a funk of writer's block and haven't been able to pull myself out of it. But I think I'm finally emerging!

When I last left you, I had taken my first injection of Depot Lupron and was woefully dreading my next injection which would take place while on a business trip.

Translation: I'd have to give myself the injection rather than Hubs. Panic!

I am happy to report that I did give myself the injection. (Although my work colleague and friend actually had to plunge it. I just couldn't make myself do it!)

For those of you who have never had the pleasure of using Depot Lupron, allow me to give you a timeline of a typical day for me. It's super fun.

***

A Day in the Life of a Woman on Depot Lupron

6:30 AM: Wake up with the deluded belief that today is going to be tolerable on this blasted medication.

7:00 AM: Exit (cold) shower. Feel nice, feel good.

7:03 AM: Begin drying hair. Feel the tickle of a hot flash creeping in at the base of m neck

7:10 AM: Hair is dry but body is completely drenched in sweat from hot flash. Consider second shower but don't have time.

7:22 AM: Realize just the make-up on my upper lip has melted off. I look like a deranged clown.

8:30 AM: Opt for an iced coffee at the drive through instead of normal latte because of sweat dripping down my back. 

9:00 AM: My deodorant has already been used up and I've only had it on for 2 hours.

10:00 AM: Client meeting in super air-conditioned office. YAY! Salvation!

10:04 PM: The air conditioning doesn't matter. My boob sweat is now at a maximum level.

12:00 PM: Try to ignore the slow building of a migraine headache at the corner of my temples.

12:08 PM: OH MY GOD, the PAIN! I'm seeing stars. Am I dying? Why is everyone TALKING SO LOUDLY???!!

12:30-4:30 PM: Experience at least four more hot flashes. At least three people inquire, "Um, Kim? Why are you fanning yourself? It's cold in here!" 

5:45 PM: Lay on couch and be still. So still. Maybe the pounding in my head will stop.

6:30 PM: Dinner with Hubs. Super fast hot flash arrives. Walk to freezer and stick my head in it. Hubs asks, "Is it really necessary to be that dramatic, babe?" Throw frozen yogurt container at Hubs' head.

9:30 PM: Climb into bed. Hubs immediately covers up because, well, it's 65 degrees in the house. I don't blame him.

10:30 PM: I'm still not asleep.

11:15 PM: Doze off.

11:38 PM: Wake up from the most awful, terrible, disgusting nightmare ever. Whatever this drug is, it makes my dreams all kinds of whack-a-doodle.

12:15 AM: First hot flash of the night. It's mild. My pajama pants stay on. 

12:20 AM: Minor hot flash. Flip pillow over looking for "the cool side."

12:38 AM: Third hot flash of the night. All covers off. All clothes off. Lay naked on bed, wondering how far the sweat has reached into the mattress.

12:40 AM: Stumble to the thermostat. Is the air conditioner even WORKING?

1:38 AM: Hot flash. I don't even get up this time. Just lay there and deal with it.

2:15 AM: Awful dream #2. This one involves me cutting my own feet off because I painted my toenails badly. Awesome.

3:15, 3:45, 4:20 AM: Hot flash, hot flash, hot flash.

5:00 AM: Wide. Freaking. Awake.

6:00 AM: Fall into deep, wonderful sleep.

6:30 AM: Alarm goes off. 

Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

 

What about you, bloggies? Did you experience the same side effects with Lupron?

Oprah was right...

I'm not going to lie to you - I like Oprah.

Not the "You get a car! YOU get a car! EVERYBODY GETS A CAR!" Oprah. The other one. The introspective, somewhat deep, makeup free and often profound Oprah. Sure, she's annoying at times and a humongous narcissist (but really, what famous person isn't?), but the woman has a true thirst for knowledge and a desire to spread that knowledge to everyone she meets. And I dig that.

One of the biggest things that Oprah has taught me over the years is to ask myself, 'What's the Lesson?" when I encounter something in my life that gives me pause. 

Maybe it's a boyfriend who dumped me after two weeks for no reason. What's the lesson?

Perhaps it's the big sale that I didn't get when I was POSITIVE I had it in the bag? What's the lesson?

For the most part, I do a pretty good job of self-evaluating and trying to learn from my experiences. But infertility is different. I spend a great deal of time avoiding the thought of infertility at all costs. Kind of like when I avoid the mirror after eating at Cheesecake Factory. I just don't like to go there. Like eating at Cheesecake Factory, thinking about infertility is often overwhelming, painful, and gives me indigestion. 

Yesterday, as I had a particularly bad episode of "WHY THE FRICK IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?", I realized that I haven't been thinking about the lessons I'm learning from this disease. (Yes, naysayers, infertility is a disease.) And after a little thinking, here's what I've come up with.

Lessons Infertility Has Taught Me About Myself

1.  I am patient

If Hubs reads this, he'll probably laugh his ass off. But it's true. I really am. Maybe not in other areas of life (like weight loss, pay days, etc), but infertility has turned me into a truly patient gal. Four years. Four years of waiting for the thing I want the most. Months of medication that have seemed to work, then not worked. Months of waiting for two weeks, getting a negative, waiting four more weeks, then starting all over again with no end in sight. I don't care who you are, that is not an easy thing to do. And I should give myself credit for that.

2. I am sensitive

I've always been someone who has empathy for other people - it's just in my DNA. But infertility has made me...softer. I used to look at someone struggling with someone and think, "Man up! Walk it off! Keep on trucking!" Now, seeing someone hurting or fearing or feeling lost turns on this feeling of super-empathy within me. I want to understand them, to help them, to go through it with them. I want to comprehend what they are going through on a deeper level, not just on the surface.

3. I am prepared

I can be a scatter brain. I was never the kid in class whose desk was showcased at open house as the cleanest and most organized, complete with color-coded tabs and pencils and pens arranged alphabetically. But ever since infertility struck? Guuuurl, I can tell you exactly where the invoice is from my latest procedure and when I paid the bill for it and what check number I used. I can tell you that on my next appointment, I already have a list of 5 questions to ask the doctor, along with 3 follow up questions to verify I understand. Becoming more organized and prepared when it comes to this issue has become vital. I need to know where I am in my treatment and where I'm headed. It gives me something concrete to hold onto in those moments when I feel like I'm spinning out of control.

4. I am smart

It's easy to assume you're dumber than the doctors. After all, they have big, fancy degrees from big, expensive schools. They've done this for years; I'm just starting out. But I've learned that docs have a lot going on and they can make mistakes. I just have to trust in myself enough to call them on it. 

For example, last month when we finally got our IVF calendar, I noticed something weird. The nurse indicated I would start my stims (a fancy word for injections) a month earlier than originally projected. That put my transfer in the middle of a family trip to Cancun. WHAT? How had we miscalculated this? I went over it and over it in my head, and convinced myself something just must have changed that the doc didn't share. I didn't trust myself enough to ask because hey, the doctor is smarter than me. Thankfully, Hubs trusted his own gut and insisted I ask. Turns out, the doc made a boo boo after all. I learned after that day that I am truly smart, and I must believe in that. 

5. I am weak

As an infertile, I do everything I can to hold it together every hour of the day. I want the world to know that I'm going to be FINE. I can take it. I don't need help.

It's all a lie.

I'm a human beings, going through a very difficult, if not impossible to comprehend situation. I am allowed to be weak and sad and ridiculously over-sensitive about everything. I need to show that vulnerability to my family and my husband and my friends, or they will assume it's all under control. And it isn't.

Just a few weeks ago, my brother in law announced his wife's pregnancy to the family during a football tailgate. I put on a strong face for the moment, but inside I was falling apart. Of course I was happy for them, but it still stung. A little later, my husband put his arm around me and said, "It's okay. I know that was tough to hear. I'm here." That was all I needed. He was allowing me to splinter into a million pieces if I needed to. It was okay to feel what I was feeling. If you can't allow yourself to be weak occasionally, what the hell do you have a support system for to begin with?

You know what's great about these 5 lessons I've learned about myself? Every single one of them is a lesson I would will learn all over again when I become a mom.

As a mom, I need to be patient with my child, to wait for them to crawl when they're ready, say "mama" when they're ready, or eat avocados when they're ready. I will have waited so long to be a mom that I will want to be as patient and keep those moments as slow as they need to be.

As a mom, I'll need to be kind. I will need to look at life through the eyes of my child, and see all that is wonderful in a whole new way.

As a mom, I will need to be prepared for whatever comes. Sure, the medical part, but also the little things. Temper tantrums, potty training, first dates, makeups, breakups. All of it.

As a mom, I will need to be smart and trust my gut. With Pinterest, blogs, and un-asked for family advice pulling me every which way, I will have to be smart enough to trust in myself and my husband to make the right choices and ask the right questions. No second guessing.

As a mom, I will need to be weak sometimes. I will show my child (girl or boy) that vulnerability is a strength. We don't have to be perfect or even perceived as perfect. Flaws are what make us unique and special, and when we are vulnerable and let people in, it creates deeper and more robust relationships. For life.

And who wouldn't want that?

a shot in the dark

I am a humongous wimp. 

As in, I get a paper cut and want to take the rest of the day off to cry and nurse my wound. And maybe even consider stitches. I also get a hurt a lot; a by-product of being an extremely clumsy gal. Combine my frequent injuries with my lack of pain tolerance, and Hubs just about goes nuts every time I start a sentence with, "OMG, I just (verb) my (noun) on the (noun)!" To him, it's just code for, "I'm getting ready to cry."

As a somewhat tough man, he just doesn't understand how one person can find so many minor injuries severe enough to cry about. 

Examples: 

• Hitting my head on the door frame while exiting a car too quickly.
• Minutes Crying: 6

• Falling up the stairs, lighting bending ankle.
• Minutes Crying: 4

• Twisting neck while playing volleyball.
• Minutes Crying: 4 while in public, 10 later at home

• Endometrial biopsy.
• Minutes Crying: All. Damn. Day.

Being in a certain amount of pain or discomfort is all part of the territory when you're an infertile. You're poked, prodded, squeezed, smooshed and probed at pretty much every appointment you're unlucky enough to have to attend. Some things get easier to deal with, and others just never quite feel anything less than horrific.

For me, needles are the worst. Poke and prod and stick weird catheters all up in my vajay-jay all day long, but keep the needles far, far away in the evil land of Sharpville from whence they came. 

(And yes, I do have a tattoo. I cried the entire time.)

All of this is leading up to what happened last week. Aunt Flo arrived, which meant it was time for me to begin my Depot Lupron shots. Joy of joys. I'd been dreading the shot, and now...it was here.

The shot arrived on Thursday morning. I instantly texted Hubs.

Me: The Lupron shot is here. I think I'm going to puke.

Hubs: You'll be fine, babe. Really.

Me: Hold on, I'm going to open the box and see how bad the syringe looks. **** Okay, it doesn't seem that bad.

Hubs: Good.

Me: I'm being sarcastic. IT'S A GIANT 3" NEEDLE. And it has to go all the way into my skin.

As I went through my day, all I could think about were all the things that could potentially go wrong with this injection. I did Internet searches with the key words "Lupron shot given incorrectly." You don't even want to know the horrors I read. You will never go near a needle again.

When Hubs got home that evening, I told him I wanted to do it quickly and get it over with. My stepdaughters were home with us (they don't know about all of this stuff) so we put them in front of a movie and said we'd be right back.

Up in our bedroom, Hubs prepared the shot. The directions were about as clear as an IKEA construction manual...if it was in German. One of the notes said very clearly, "once the powder is mixed in with the liquid in the syringe, take the injection immediately to avoid any clumping in the solution."

Of course, we didn't read that little gem until we'd already mixed the powder in with the liquid...and we still needed to determine where exactly to put the needle and how to inject it properly. My panic began. 

"HURRY, HUBS!" I shouted. "The powder is going to clump. IT'S GOING TO CLUUUUMMMP!!!"

"Babe, seriously," he replied, sweat forming on his brow. "I have to read how to inject it. There's a whole thing in these instructions saying you have to be super careful to get it intramuscularly, or it's no good."

Turns out my doc wanted me to take the injection in the bum. Or, in other words, my ass cheek. Super fun.

I lay on the bed and awaited the pain. I bit down on our comforter and waited. And waited. I imagined the long, sharp needle burrowing further and further into my skin and I started to shake. There's no way I was going to get through this. What if I jerked when the needle went in and the whole thing BROKE OFF IN MY BEHIND? Would I have to go to the hospital and explain to them what happened and get it removed? How do you even get a needle out of your -

"Babe? What are you doing?" Hubs asked.

"I'm waiting for the pain. Can you hurry it up, please?" I replied, irritated.

"I've been done for like, 10 seconds,' he said patting my backside. "You can get up. I thought you were crying into the pillow, so I didn't want to bother you."

Wait, I was done?? Like, DONE? I hadn't felt a thing! Maybe a little pinch, but nothing compared to getting blood drawn or samples removed from my uterus.

Not one tear had escaped my cheek. 

I was officially a bad ass.

Hubs high-five'd me and of course I complimented him on his amazing nursing skills. Only one more shot of this in 28 days. It was all going to be okay.

"Now just remember," Hubs said as he put the used needle in the bio-hazard container. "You're going to be at your sales meeting in Veas when it's time for this next month, so you'll have to inject yourself. But I know you can do it!!!"

Cue the dramatic soap opera music...

XOXO,

famous last words

Earlier this week I complained on Twitter that my monthly friend was taking longer than usual to get here. For once, I needed her to arrive so I could begin my lovely Depot Lupron shots for two months prior to my retrieval and transfer. I was tired of waiting and pissed off that my period would decide that this was the month we'd enjoy a 34 day cycle.

I went to the bathroom each day and hoped and wished for AF to arrive. When she didn't, I would whine to Hubs and bitch about AF's failure to just GET HERE ALREADY. Poor Hubs. It was such a departure for him to hear me complaining about AF being late. For months on end, he's heard me hope for her late or non-existent arrival, and now I'd turned everything on its head and hoped for her arrival as soon as possible.

When finally my monthly friend showed up on Sunday, I immediately got excited, ready to start my injections and get this damn show on the road. But of course, AF wasn't going to go without a fight (my injections will make her disappear for two months). This has been one of the ickiest, crampiest, American Horror Story-esque periods of my entire existence. 

Naturally, I whined to Hubs about it.

"OWW!" I screamed from the bathroom. "Why does it HURT so much this month. And why is it so heavy this month? JESUS, I HATE HAVING A PERIOD!"

"Babe," replied Hubs, incredulous. "Two days ago you were begging for this, remember? You wanted your period to show up. You said you'd be excited when it did. I don't get it. YOU ASKED FOR IT."

Those four words: you asked for it. They haunt me. Mostly because they're true. I have been asking for my period for a week. But, it doesn't mean I really WANT it. I just needed it to get here so I could move on to the next step. There's a big difference between wanting something and needing it. I want to get pregnant. I needed Flo to show up in order to get what I want.

I feel like I need to warn Hubs to tread carefully in the next few months, because I'm going to get a lot of things that I've "asked for" in the name of getting knocked up. Injections, blood work, general anesthesia, cramping, bloating, pain, misery...they're all coming.

And guess what? It won't stop there. 

If I get pregnant, the list of things I've "asked for" is just beginning. If we're successful in IVF, I'm likely going to get a sundry of new discomforts: swollen ankles, weight gain, hemorrhoids, mood swings, back pain, withdrawl from my nightly glass of wine, etc. The list will go on and on.

But here's the thing. Just because I've technically "asked" for these things doesn't mean they are any less painful or annoying or upsetting. Injections are painful whether you ask for them or not. Hot flashes are annoying whether you ask for them or not. PREGNANCY is painful and difficult, even if you beg for it.

So all of this begs the question: does "asking for it" mean I don't get to hate it a little bit? 

Does the fact that, for the last four years, I have begged on my hands and knees for a pregnancy mean that if I get one, I'm not allowed to bitch when it's miserable?

That doesn't seem fair to me.

I worry that when I finally do have my retrieval and I'm laying in my hotel room, moaning to myself about it hurting or being uncomfortable, I'm going to have to hear, "Babe, this is what you wanted. You asked for it."

And he will be right. I will have asked for it. Is it selfish of me to want him to be sympathetic just a teeny weeny bit longer? Will it be selfish of me to want him to be sympathetic for the FULL 9 months that I am (hopefully) pregnant? I don't think so.

I realize it sounds like I'm dumping on Hubs and I promise I'm not. I can't imagine what it's been like for him, sharing his home with a living, breathing one-woman circus of emotions every day. But I need him to understand that even though I've asked for all of this, at the same time, I didn't ask for it.

I didn't ask to be infertile. I didn't ask for endometriosis. I didn't ask for ovaries that don't seem to work right. I didn't ask for a huge portion of our savings to go toward medical treatment that may not even work. I never asked for any of that.

All I'm asking for is a solution to it all. And the path that we're on is, hopefully, the solution. And that solution will make me crazy and ridiculous and nutso. Together, we're going to have to get through what we've both asked for...no matter how hard it gets.

Ultimately, we're going to get what we've asked and begged and hoped and done voo-doo dances for all along. And then, it will all be worth it.

cause and side effect

In a few days, Aunt Flo will arrive (the dumb beeotch), and I will begin taking Lupron injections. I don't even know if I spelled that right , but basically, I'll be going through menopause for two months in the hopes that my body will then produce some protein that helps my little eggs implant into my uterine lining.

Whee.

Hot flashes, weight gain, headaches, nausea. What a gas.

I was chatting about this very medication on Twitter the other day with @LoveYouPotato, and we agreed that for all we go through with infertility (that will hopefully result in us getting pregnant and miserable for 9 months), there should be a payoff on the front end.

In side effects. 

And so, without further ado, here are my list of preferred side effects for infertility drugs and procedures:

Progesterone:  WARNING: Progesterone is sometimes used with another medication (a type of estrogen) as combination hormone replacement therapy (HRT) in women after menopause. Progesterone can have a varying amount of side effects, including but not limited to:

• stomach firming
• gas that smells like a flower garden
• dizziness experienced when you've drank just the right amount of alcohol, and no hangover
• an increased IQ, sometimes by as much as 10 points in some patients
• breast firming, swelling and lifting; call your doctor if your breasts reach your chin.
• cough that produces rainbows
• increased hair growth and thickness on the head
• an increased sense of humor, allowing many patients to handle nosy friends and neighbors who don't understand what infertility actually is or why it's a legitimate medical issue.

Lupron Injection (leuprolide acetate): WARNING: Lupron Injection is used in men to treat symptoms of prostate cancer, and in women to treat symptoms of endometriosis (overgrowth of uterine lining outside of the uterus) or uterine fibroids. Common side effects include:

• numbness and inability to feel sad; particularly when you get bad news regarding fertility
• stunted facial, bikini area and underarm hair. Some patients experience 4-6 weeks without return trips to the salon
• dewey skin, similar to Jennifer Lopez.
• ass lifting, also similar to Jennifer Lopez and/or Beyonce.
• increased sex drive, with most patients resulting in a pregnancy
• insomnia that results in amazing advances in your personal life, such as writing the next, great American novel
• sporadic toning of muscle groups, such as triceps and the gluteus maximus
• shinier hair
• accepted insurance claims that were previously rejected. Some patients experience completely covered IVF cycles, though results vary. Contact your doctor if you experience three rounds of free IVF.

Follistim: WARNING: (FSH) Follistim is used to treat certain fertility problems in women and men. In women, it helps stimulate healthy ovaries to produce eggs. This medication is usually used in combination with another hormone (hCG) to bring about the growth and release of a mature egg (ovulation). In men, it helps stimulate healthy testes to produce sperm. It is also used in combination with hCG. Potential side effects include:

• easily achieved orgasm. Contact your doctor if you experience orgasms lasting three hours or later. Or just lay there and enjoy it.
• unbridled happiness for no reason. 
•  an unusual tendency to find joy in the 4,010th daily broadcast of Iggy Azalea's "Fancy."
• deposits of random, large amounts to your checking account, not seen by the IRS.
• many patients experience their clothes fitting looser, even after binge eating Taco Bell at 3 AM for 5 nights in a row.
• tenderness in husbands' actions. Many patients experience flowers delivered for no reason, a random back rug or a trip to a luxury hotel without being asked.
• unexpected promotions at work, complete with higher pay and corner offices with a view.

Ahhh, if only...

what a tangled interweb we weave

Three years ago when I finally came to grip with the fact that Hubs and I needed help in the baby making department, I became best friends with a horrible, nasty, awful bee-otch.

Her name is Internet.

Don't get me wrong. The web is good - maybe even great - for all sorts of things. If it weren't for the Internet, I wouldn't have this blog and access to all of you ladies and gents who can share in my reproductively challenged misery. After all, without the Internet, I would actually have to ask my doctor in person, "now where exactly are my ovaries again?" Thanks to the magic of Google (and not Bing. Never, ever Bing), I can just bring up a wonderfully explained and graphically colored diagram of my inside lady parts and figure it out on my own.

Too much of a good thing, though, is not so good. And after about three months into our fertility treatments, I found out just how not great the Interwebs can be for me and other ladies like me.

Take for example, my dive into Clomid. I knew Clomid helped me ovulate and therefore produce follicles, but the Internet opened me up to all kinds of things that could go wrong with Clomid.

Hot flashes (those turned out to be legit)
Weight gain
Decreased urination
Increased urination
Chest pain
Vision Changes
Insomnia
Nausea
etc. etc. etc.

As usual, reading the list completely freaked me out, but I knew that not all side affects will hit every person that uses the drug. So I did the logical thing and went to some infertility message boards on Clomid.

OH. MY. GOD.

I planned to be there only a few minutes, but got sucked into this huge thread where a girl used Clomid and it made her gain 20 pounds and bleed internally and she puked three times a day and her husband left her and her dog died.

Okay, it wasn't that dramatic, but her story was scary as hell. Which prompted me to call my husband at work and relay the entire story. It went something like this:

Hubs: Hello?
 
Me: Carrie gained 20 POUNDS on Clomid.

Hubs: (shuffling papers) I'm sorry, what? Who is Carrie?

Me: This girl on an infertility message board. She gained 20 POUNDS, babe. TWENTY! And she puked a lot.

Hubs: Is this someone that's being treated at our clinic?

Me: Um, no. She lives in Andover, I think.

Hubs: So you don't know her personally and she doesn't live anywhere near us?

Me: No.

Hubs: Is she the same height as you?

Me: No.

Hubs: Is she the same build? Are her circumstances anything like yours?

Me: No. Actually, she doesn't ovulate ever. And I think she has PCOS. Her dog's name is Gino.

Hubs: You don't even have PCOS, babe. And you ovulate every month. So she's nothing like you and you don't know her situation. (mumbles to his co-worker about where to eat for lunch) You're making yourself crazy. Stay off the Internet.

Me: BUT WHAT IF I GAIN 394394 POUNDS? Will you still love me?

Hubs: I'm hanging up now.


***

But I can't stay off the Internet. In the early days, before IUI's and potential IVF cycles, I would get online right around cycle day 27 to symptom spot for preganncy. And I always had them all.

Dizzy?   Check! (Although I did forget to eat lunch until 3:00 yesterday. That could have contributed.) Let's see what else there is.

Discharge?     YES! 

Sore boobs?    YES! But always yes with the sore boobs. Every damn month.

Metallic taste in mouth?     OMG I TOTALLY HAD THIS ON SUNDAY. I remember my Cheetos tasted like pennies. I am so pregs.

And then Flo would appear three days later and my heart would be crushed and I'd want to die. And Hubs would - once again - remind me to STAY OFF THE DAMN INTERNET.

The real issue is, the Internet gives me hope. I see all those flashing emoji's that say "BFN on 5-12!" and I think to myself, "that could be me next month!" I want to have a flashing emoji!

So I hope. I carry it with me every day.

My current fertility doctor encourages hope, but vehemently discourages going online because there is such a huge amount of misinformation out there. If every time I come to his office I have a list of all the reasons he's treating me incorrectly, then what the hell am I paying him for? I mean, we want our doctor's to be experts, but then we second guess them? And while there is nothing wrong with being your own advocate and researching options, at some point, we have to just 

LET. GO.

We have to try and trust in our doctors and believe they are doing all they can to get us knocked up, short of crawling up in our vaginas and implanting the damn egg themselves. 

So ladies, use the Internet. Use it for support, use it for laughs, use it to look at funny cat photos, use it to shop. But if you can, steer clear of using it to self-diagnose and second guess your doc. Your job is to lay back (literally), put your feet up (literally) and let the magic happen.

And try not to gain 20 pounds.