here is a stick. come beat this dead horse with me.

Oh, well, hello there!

Are you even still here? Did you think I’d given up on having a baby? Yeah, me, too. But no!  I didn’t!  Why give up when I can torture myself more?  Woo and hoo!

So a week or so ago, after a big, long break, I had a “counseling” session with my re, who was his usual great self.  He wanted to recheck my thyroid* and was cool with my plan to put off the mega-pricey battery of auto-immune tests.  If I hit the magic number of three miscarriages, my insurance will shell out mega-bucks.  As I’m just one blood-bath short, I think I’ll wait.  If this next try works, score! No need for testing!  If it fails, well, at least I get the million mega-pricey battery of tests for free.  See?  Win, win.

Anyway.  My thyroid checked out just fine, thank you very much.  (Now, let us sing the praises of the lab people.  Who not only remembered my name after all this time, but also remembered that I like a bit of gauze and a piece of tape rather than the big, stupid colored wrap that is the norm these days.)  And so I was cleared for take off.  Note the metaphor.  It’s a Journey, y’all.

Here’s how it’s all going to shake out:  oral estrogen starting on CD 2 (Have I missed counting cycle days?  No, I have not.) and then prog (By vagina!  Because that’s how we roll.) and some wandings and one blood draw and then off I toddle to Richmond to get one of my ten – yes, that’s 10 – embryos popped back up in there.  There being my uterus.

So let’s beat this motherfucker into the ground this time.  Hand me my stick.

*What? You didn’t know there’d been thyroid trouble? Well, that’s a story….from the Fall When Everything Fell Apart And Then My Cat Died. But we are living in the now, y’all. The. Now.