Condoms. Birth control pills. Morning-after pill. Spermicide. All my sidekicks during the years I spent focusing on preventing pregnancy. The years during which I thought alcohol was the leading cause of pregnancy. The years before I met a man who had it all, including a vasectomy.
No problem, right? A reversal will fix that. Hey, even the Army will pay for that. Until we found out that you get what ya pay for. No success. That was in '09.
Next step - IVF. Only first we've gotta get a sample from my husband, that means he's got to undergo yet another ball surgery. The MESA. Check - 2010.
Since my husband officially had frankenballs and we finally got the coverage for IVF, we began. First cycle was a bust. Big. Fat. Negative. Second cycle, cancelled.
Now, I’m starting our third cycle. Alone. My husband is deployed to Afghanistan and I'm here on the home front. The hormonal, crazy-lady home front.
At this point, I'm on the antagonist protocol. (I speak IVF) I'm on the Nuvaring - which is quite the experience by the way. It's this creepy little ring that just seemed to disappear inside of me. Couple that with the break-through bleeding that requires a tampon and the occasional dildo ultrasound and it's like a treasure hunt in my pants.
I've got my next appoint on the 10th. Dildo ultrasound, hopefully no cysts or signs of ovulation, and then I'll begin the stimulation meds. I'll give myself injections in my stomach for nearly 2 weeks and morph into Mr. Hyde...Mr. Hyde who cries...a lot.
But, the juice is worth the squeeze.
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