[Insert standard whinge here about heavy and excruciatingly painful periods, clotting in an -oh-my-God-is-that-my-liver? way, and being pretty-much stoned on a combination of sleep-deprivation and opiates].
Today I start Clomid again. Yipp-fucking-ee. It’s all about the sucky bad attitude chez May this week.
You see, the plan for this cycle is to do exactly what I did last cycle, same dose (50mg), same scans, same 7-days-post-ovulation blood test. Because I phoned them up 12 days post ovulation to announce the decided loss of my uterine lining, they are even more determined to monitor this cycle. The Wand-Monkey Nurse explained that my luteal phase was short because I ovulated late and pathetically, and that I may well respond better this cycle, lots of women do, but they need to check. I tried valiantly – in the middle of the work-place, with people peering round the door of the deserted office I was having a private conversation in, and it was obviously private or I wouldn’t be lurking in here, so go away – to explain that I always had short luteal phases. I am not entirely sure the nurse was listening nearly as hard as the occasional colleague. And I really don’t see the point; of same again, that is. I only get six cycles, why waste one on same-again? Why not up the dose of Clomid? Why not hand out the progesterone supplements?
So, this cycle is a barrel of shite from the get-go. Hurrah!
Forgive the foul temper. I spent yesterday holding it together at work despite the cramps and drugs (codeine works, but sheesh, it’s hard to concentrate through it), and then I went to the theatre with a friend in the evening, which was great fun, so I ought to be very cheery, but very hard work when all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball on the floor. Naturally, I slept very little last night and am so tired today I don’t know what to do with myself. Also, ow ow ow.