On Friday night, I started my second ten-day Provera cycle. Yesterday, I got a horrible headache and spent the entire afternoon rolling around in a cotton robe (because when I’m home and it’s hot and I feel terrible, I refuse to wear clothes), moaning like Bertha (Mason) Rochester. Thanks, synthetic hormones!
I think it was only four short weeks ago when I proclaimed to the universe that I was not going to get paranoid or crazy or obsessive about conceiving. Oh, no. I was going to be the first person in the history of the world to not worry about what I was ingesting, when to have sex, when I was ovulating, why I wasn’t ovulating, where my period was, what these symptoms are, and whether or not I am having a hysterical pregnancy. My friend A, of brand new gorgeous baby boy fame, told me last fall that she was having a miserable time trying to conceive because the pressure to perform (on every level: eating good food, knowing your body, taking prenatals, tracking ovulation, actually getting pregnant) was too overwhelming. I thought she was a basket case. Oh, what a difference one month makes!
1) Studies have shown that Provera does not cause (a statistically significant larger number of) birth defects. This makes me feel much better about myself, because despite having five negative pregnancy tests in the last two weeks, I have been convinced that moving on with Provera was akin to eating tablespoons of mercury.
2) Taking Clomid is way more involved than I thought it was. I’ve done most (read: all) of my recent doctor consultations over the phone (I know that sounds horrible. Don’t judge me). I can’t get in to see her until October 1st and I just saw her at the beginning of July and had all my blood work done, so I don’t feel so hugely irresponsible just calling her up and demanding Clomid. Also, the office has a pretty standard operating procedure for handling this out of the office, so I’m assuming this happens a lot. However, as I am the kind of person who craves complete and total understanding of all things always, I haven’t been completely satisfied by the office’s assurances that they’ll simply call in my Clomid prescription when my period (finally) starts. That’s fabulous and I’m excited it’s relatively easy, but a lot of my anxiety has come from not knowing exactly what the plan is. Cut to yesterday, when I received this “Clomid therapy” timeline in the mail:
I’m going to have a buy a new calendar. There is no way I can do this without a very neatly written schedule.