When the nurse called with the news, even she laughed. The damage: I am still, effing, pregnant. My HCG is almost down to zero. But not quite. I clock in at a breathtakingly-so-close-to-being-un-pregnant 1.45 (down from a high of 69).
On one hand, I’m not surprised – my pelvis has felt oddly busy the last 48 hours. On the other hand, umm, really?
The nurse at my usual weekday-clinic had casually said I could start on Clomid prior to my appointment with the doctor on Tuesday. But Saturday-other-clinic-nurse was cheery and breezy as she informed me of what she thought I already knew – Clomid? Yeah, sure. But not before 10 days of re-regulation birth control, sucker!
Because I’m an assertive, strong-willed, stand-up-for-myself lady, I made a short, but impassioned, plea to skip the birth control, quickly rattling off a list of (made up and probably not medically sound) reasons why birth control was wildly unnecessary, even medically contraindicated (possibly throwing around medical jargon I heard C use). After politely hearing me out, she, ahem, declined to entertain my “alternative treatment plan.”
the phone against the living room sofa with Herculean force hung up the phone,
I unraveled into a brief temper tantrum that culminated in both tears and an
urgent need to bake something. Wiping away the
tears-of-continuous-child-bearing-delay, I momentarily, but very
seriously, toyed with the idea of taking matters into my own hands, shoving two
Clomid down my throat and hoping for the best, medical instructions be damned!
regained my composure.
There was no way around it. I had to take ten agonizing days of “Apri” – a horrid little “rose-colored tablet” whose side effects – early morning nausea, bloating, crying through my mouth, not getting pregnant, etc. – were bonus symptoms I really could do without. A minor setback – like, exceedingly minor – which, for whatever reason, felt like a colossal blow. No matter. Getting pregnant now would really conflict with my totally-rational-plan that C and I hike the Pacific Crest Trail (Cheryl Strayed’s book, Wild and a certain lovely little blog are really toying with my emotions these days – despite how utterly untenable 5 months in the wilderness
may seem is
given the lawyer/medical residency/baby-making-thing we’ve got going on. <Insert over-wrought tirade about how/why women can/cannot "have it all." >.