Monday, December 30, 2013

A Clomiphene New Year

After a ridiculously stressful four day period of not getting a period, testing negative on HPTs and all-around freaking the fuck out that my Asherman's had reared its ugly head, I finally got my period yesterday.

Day 1 was marked by my complete inability to deal with my emotions. I was a basket-case yesterday, which began bright and early in the am, with my attempting to work out to a zumba DVD and learning that my knee is totally not healed. In fact, it's a mess and all of the movement that I used to rock so hard, all of my ability to dance and shake and jump that I took for granted is still elusive. So I moved on to a gentler ballet class video, finished it and sat down to cry for the loss of my former self. When I say cried I mean cried. It just hit me so hard that the molar pregnancy, the Asherman's, the second miscarriage, all of these events were survivable so long as I could get my endorphins up and dance.  But now that I can't, I am losing it.  Just falling apart physically and emotionally. 

Today, Day 2 was marked with the start of my first course of Clomid.

Clomid.  Wow.  In the world of fertility this is  no big deal.  While the follicle-stimulating drug has done wonders for many women, at my age it hardly produces miraculous results.  As per my usual reasoning, I wonder whether I will be in the fractional percentage for whom the drug produces some nasty side-effects.  Perhaps it won't impact me at all.  Alternatively, I could become a member of the small percentage who become impregnated with twins.  Frankly, it's all too much for my mind to wrap around. 

I also anticipate beginning an IUI cycle next week, and we are awaiting the results of Husband's semen analysis.  Statistics put the success rate of IUI for a woman my age at around 10%.  So I have nothing to warrant getting my hopes up.  We have some money tucked away for a few IUIs, but for the near future that will be the end of our road in the world of assisted reproduction. 

In 2013 I was a part-time dance teacher who could bounce around to latin dance music to shake the blues away.  I am entering 2014 a little pudgier, more stressed out, and on a course of fertility drugs. I feel like a poor facsimile of my former self.

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