Aaaand here’s my period, as expected. Alas, the delightful 14-day luteal phase of the last cycle appears to have been a fluke, as this one was only 12 days. Ah well.
Seven cycles since my last (chemical, minutes-long, gah) miscarriage. I am ovulating every damn month, earlier and earlier, I pretty much have ‘normal’ cycles these days, and H and I are having so much well-timed sex, and I’m not getting pregnant. Why? My age? Fried eggs? (a year ago my AMH levels were fabulous, six months ago my FSH was normal. They can’t be that friend, can they?). Tired sperm? (nine months ago, H’s SA was nicely normal. Again). Fallopian tube blocked by fibroid? Blocked by endometriosis? Ovary pulled out of range by scar tissue?
I keep reminding myself, I’m having a laparoscopy and dye in November and then we’ll know. However, I’m vapouring, because if it is the fibroids, they won’t be able to do anything about it there and then, and there’ll be months of hanging about waiting to see if I should or even can have a myomectomy. Or, there won’t be anything in particular blocking anything and it’ll be filed under ‘unexplained’ and I will run screaming through the streets, tearing my hair and clothing from me.
Meanwhile, I am in pain and nauseous, and though the drugs are helping a lot (to wit, I am writing this and not lying on the bathroom floor with my head on the toilet-seat), it has still been a rough day, and tomorrow is traditionally rougher. Heigh ho.
*Orchestra of three hundred teeny tiny violins playing the Symphony Pathétique*