I begin to feel like I'm the classic poster child
for anovulatory cycles: "This is your egg. This is your egg on
anovulatory..." I visit Crazy Town a few times and start to have out-loud
conversations with my ovaries, laying down the law and threatening them with
Clomid—a harsher Western hormone drug—as an ultimatum. But like unruly
children, they refuse to listen and taunt me with more anovulatory cycles. I
Jedi-mind-trick my own eggs: “Yeah, I don’t care anyway, I’ll just travel if
this baby thing doesn’t work out.” But I do care, and that’s the problem. I am
more emotionally invested in this journey than I dare to think, and refuse to
turn my back.
Every evening, I dedicate my time to the boring gym
at work. They say losing weight helps PCOS, even though I am not an overweight
PCOS’er. I don't run on the treadmill in my Luteal Phase so as not to jolt my
body too much. A strong embryo will probably implant even if I do backflips for
an hour, but I am always careful now and just go on the elliptical at a fairly
easy pace for my cardio. I also cut out the abdominal crunches on the ball to
minimize stress to that area.
At work, there is an annual health fair. I opt to
get some minor bloodwork done, and my numbers are perfect. The screener has to
double-check my age and says she wishes she has numbers remotely close to mine.
Must be all that gym time and cutting out booze and consciously cutting down
portions and eating better in general. I love the irony of seeming to be in
perfect health, but my reproductive health is completely screwed up for reasons
only it will understand.
I look to little pleasures and treats, like still
being able to eat sushi. Facebook is murder to the soul. Parents tend to use
it as a sounding board to jokingly complain about their children. I hope that
even in difficult times, they never lose sight of how truly miraculous their
children are, especially those babies that took a while to conceive, so wanted
and so loved. Posts of pregnancy announcements and pictures of newborns break me. Some friends and coworkers are on their second child. A former
co-worker is on her last vacation with just her and her husband before their
firstborn comes along. She's not even showing in her vacation photo, and the
kicker is that she got married the exact same day as I did, so I feel like I'm in
a time warp yet again.
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