I saw my GP today for a pap smear, and she complimented my cervix. Okay, so she didn’t exactly use the word beautiful. But she did say it was a good cervix. The most normal-looking cervix she’s seen in a long time, actually. (Which struck me as rather odd, because something can really only be called ‘normal’ if it falls in the ‘normal range’ which by definition means it is also common… which left wondering why most of her patients have abnormal-looking cervixes – or is it cervii? Cervices?…but I digress). She also mentioned that it sits quite posteriorly, and for this reason she suggested spending some time with my legs up after sex – ya know, just in case H’s little guys can’t read a map. I reassured her that all our purposeful sex ends the same way… me with a pillow shoved under my backside and my legs propped up on the wall, for at least 20 minutes.
In more pertinent news, I am still getting negative OPKs. I truly thought it would be positive today because I could swear my right ovary was twingeing a bit… but it must have been something else, like gas, appendicitis, or perhaps if I’m really lucky I’ve developed a huge Clomid cyst. On a more serious note, I’m ambivalent about the negative OPK. Part of me is glad that it is negative because I didn’t want to disrupt H’s mini-break and even with him driving home to do the deed, we would have still missed the preceding 36 hours which isn’t ideal. But conversely, I’m bummed that it is negative because at least if it was positive the waiting game would be over and I could feel confident that this cycle has a shot at success.
After yesterday’s negative OPK, and knowing that H would be gone by the time I got home from work, I had a little melt-down. I had to find a vacant room at work, lock myself in, and then call H on my mobile only to sob incoherently down the phone to him. Poor fellow, I think he thought he might have to cancel his trip after all! Thankfully after a brief, oh, I don’t know – 15 or 20 minutes, I was able to calm down enough to reassure him that no, I hadn’t (totally) lost my mind, and no, he wouldn’t return home in 3 days’ time to find me dressed in tinfoil and cradling a baby made out of a potato sack.
Of course, before I could return to work I had to spend the next 15 minutes holding cold wet hand-towels to my face to treat the blotchy, puffy eyes I had developed.
To avert the inevitable cry-fest that would have occurred when I returned to an empty house, after work I called a friend who was also husband-less for the night and went around to her place for a cup of tea. Which turned into dinner. And dessert. And two hours watching the first episode of this season’s Grey’s Anatomy. (During which we of course criticised every medical inaccuracy – that’s half the fun really).
I chose my friend well. Not only is she my only friend who is also TTC, she is also not having much success. We agreed that although we would never have wished this problem on each other, it was really nice to have someone to share the pain with; and since neither of us have conceived yet we are still hoping to produce babies within a few months of each other so we can share the experience – and the cost of childcare.
So, that’s the last 48 hours in the life of Tio. What’s happening in your world?