You’d think
there’d be nothing like a miscarriage to strip me of every last vestige of
humor – an event so deeply traumatizing that there’d be nothing to do but mouth cry. But instead, I
practically
live
blogged
that
shit. Every tormenting up and down of my record-breaking 72-hour pregnancy
was sent out into the ether, hyperlinks and strikethroughs aplenty. I couldn’t
help myself; basically hyperventilating at the keyboard in eagerly writer
blogger anticipation. And by all appearances, wink wink, I’ve emerged relatively unscathed (justbarely).
But
now, all of a sudden, weeks after the harrowing turn of events that left me
rather, ahem, bloody-oh-my-god-there’s-so-much-blood[1]
un-pregnant, I’m feeling stale and
humorless.
Third
Clomid cycle in – and almost at the one year mark of trying – and this
infertility business has become something of a humdrum existence. Truth is, I’m
in a bit of an infertility groove[2]
– an almost (but not quite) comforting rhythm in the midst of this
unpredictable madness that obscures the need for any modicum of thinking. It
goes like this (sing along with me now!): birth control, bleed, Clomid, wanding/blood letting/sporadic fainting,
Ovidrel, sex, sex, sex, wait, wait, wait, early miscarriage, rinse and
repeat. It’s sort of soothing, almost ethereal – you know, like sniffing
glue listening to a
hair dryer.
So,
having just gulped down the last two chalky tablets of Mother's-little-(fertility)-helper, I don’t feel much of anything. You know, except of course a burning desire to
have a stranger insert a (sort of flexible but very cold) wand inside me at 7
am on a Saturday. Thankfully, I have less than 24 hours to wait for that...[3]
Ed.
Note: the lovely lady at Lamenting the Lentil has said some crazy-nice things
about Fallopian Groove – and I’m not even paying her. But she’s got a pretty great
little blog going on herself – check her out: Lamenting
the Lentil.
[1] Too much?
[2] Or dare I say, fallopiangroove? (Forgive me – it was so easy.)
[3] For those of you who are really paying
attention, you may be counting on your fingers with a furrowed brow. Yes, today
is only day 8 of my cycle and tomorrow is day 9. Apparently after being unable
to ovulate on my own for so long, my body just can’t ovulate fast enough – I’m
an early ovulator (that’s a thing, right?), often around day 10. But on this
cycle’s day 10 I will be at a lovely wedding in New York, unable to oblige the
wanding gods. So, premature wanding though this may be – and more likely, first
of several wandings over the next several days – I am very ready to get moving.
