Thursday, March 14, 2013

off to a very hot start, cycle 4, day 3

I woke up with a fever and thirty-six hours later I was suddenly on my fourth round of Clomid.

Or at least that’s how it feels. On Wednesday morning I woke up bright and early so that I could endure the indignity of a nurse-administered pregnancy (blood) test[1] when, hello-don’t-you-see-my-pockets-stuffed-full-of-tampons. Anyway, feeling a bit resentful woozy and what I would later realize was, what’s the word I’m looking for? feverish! I stumbled into the doctor's office in the pre-dawn hours, coughing all over anyone in my path. I dismissed the motherly words of the tech who told me I looked like hell said I looked like I “could use some sleep” and desperately tried to stop the exam room from spinning. Afterwards, thinking that maybe I should consider calling in sick, I went home, took my temperature and was sort of bewildered when it turned up at 102.

It was all downhill from there and the next 12-16 hours are a bit of daze. Having a fever basically makes me feel like I’m five years old and “adult fever” sounds like either a 60s throwback album or a sexually transmitted disease[2] offered at a discount through this service[3].

But where was I. At some point during my fitful, fevered coma, I dreamed I was a unicorn! my phone rang and I had the good sense to answer it. It was the nurse, who, without taking a breath, and like I was a box she was dying to check off, rattled off the following: you’re not pregnant, I’m sorry (feigned disappointment), you’re at baseline, that’s good (things are looking up!), you should start the Clomid, tomorrow <end scene>. I tried to sputter something about a fever, and antibiotics, and would this be a problem? – to which I got a conclusory no, a suddenly cheerful anything else? and then, without missing a beat, click.

Good people of the interwebs – or internet robots in the Ukraine, whichever – I was completely drunk with BieberFever! fever, sweating profusely through several layers of supposedly-sweat-wicking clothing, barely able to open my eyes and seriously contemplating sawing off my own head in the hope that it would bring some relief to my throbbing eyeballs and yet, and yet!, I was somehow trusted to make pretty profound medical decisions involving my ovaries. For the record[4], I actually didn’t remember the entirety of this conversation until hours later when I awoke, briefly, to ask C if he would pick up my now mounting pile of prescriptions (antibiotics, more cowbell, Clomid, an IV drip of vodka.)

But regardless of how it happened – and I’m pretty sure it actually did happen – here we are. Ready to begin beginning round four (now with IUI!); our final try before a brief hiatus in April/May for a long planned vacation (and, let’s be honest, a necessary respite for my mental health). 

On one hand – so excited/can’t happen fast enough/dear god let this just work already. And on the other hand – itsallhappeningsofast! I just got pulled from the game on Monday, here we are at Thursday and I’m already back in the running (and in the midst of a terrible mixed metaphor); with 24 hours lost to fever, I feel like I barely had time to grief eat an entire pizza blink. It’s almost got me jonesing for the usually-required-but-not-this-time 7-10 days of give-your-ovaries-a-break birth control pills. Well, almost.

[1] And also a wanding. During which I was “teased” about how my left ovary is always “hiding” which is why she has to jam the cold, plastic, mostly inflexible, probe so far up me it’s coming out my ear. Good morning to you, too.
[2] Or something you might catch from watching this too many times. Or, more classy, now. (So in case you haven't guessed, there are going to be a lot of terrible fever references in this post. You've been warned.)
[3] In case you missed it the first time.
[4] Speaking of which. Who has the record? Who is the official “keeper of records” and may I have a copy? I am very curious what I put on “the record” during oh, let’s say, college. There were a lot “substances” involved and I may wish to, ahem, retract some things from “the record.”


  1. The nurse at your clinic annoys me, and I'm not even feverish. Hope the bug clears up quickly, and that, however you got there, this fourth time's the charm.

  2. Fun fact...I was conceived on the sixth month of a six month trial (this was the 80s...I'm not a teenager!). I guess I just really liked to screw around with my parents. Good luck. :)

  3. IUI whoop whoop! I hope this is just what you need to crack this thing. I am so sorry you have been ill, we could have moaned at each other if only we had known. I am terrible at being ill.

  4. Hi Again Sarah,
    I followed the footprints from my blog to yours (thanks for the comment!) I am loving the humour and the snark. :-) Looking forward to reading more of your story.

    Siochana (from torthúil)