Pins and needles

6:15am - Beep… Beep… Beep…

6:20am - Kitchen counter covered with syringes, alcohol prep pads, hcg, diluting solution. I am like a crack fiend looking for their next high.

6:25am – Fertility monitor reads High. Omg, ute?! You decided to cooperate!?

6:30am – Boxer (See Below) looks at me quizzically, “What the h are you doing Ma?” Nothing to see here, move it along!

6:45am – The deed is done… with 1 casualty… Pain, tears, hysterics over accidentally sticking myself in the thumb. Holy hot mother of god, that shit hurts. But it made sticking myself in the stomach seem like a piece of cake.

Progesterone testing is next. Not sure when that will be since I have officially worn out my welcome at my doctors office. They are screening my calls and have a restraining order against me.

I recognize that I must wait the full 2 weeks to get an accurate test reading, which will be torturous. Since I am not just a member of the Early Test Club, I am also the President. I hope they don’t revoke my membership, and my title, because who am I kidding? We all know I will be testing from 8 dpo on out.

The waiting game

I like games. We had great fun playing games this past weekend; Gin Rummy, 21. Who doesn’t have fun playing some games with friends? Games generally have rules, participants, some type of contest, a strategy, a timeframe, fun“ness.”

This waiting game does not fit into that criteria whatsoever.

Who came up with this “game?” Some joker with a seriously messed up idea of fun. Let me clue you in on a key ingredient for games… they have to be FUN. So you can take you, yourself, and your messed up games and get the hells out of here.

I know what you’re thinking… “Kansas, you dummy, it’s a phrase! Stop being so literal!”

Thanks, I needed that pistol whip this morning. Really, because this game has been going on since Thursday. I went in for the injection, but lo and behold my follicle was not big enough. They checked estrodiol and told me to come back in my next lifetime when it would be at sufficient levels for the injection.

This morning, bright and peppy 8am, I went back in. The follicle is sooper doper perfect size, lining is lovely, but fertility monitor is still on low. Wah? How can dis be? My short bus ute failing me again? Fer realz kids.

I have been instructed to carry around my injection supplies with me at all times… you know, just in case my eckstra speshul ute decides to cooperate at a moments notice.

Imagine me… at an offsite work function… at the beach… out to dinner… hanging out with friends… and back at work. With my doggie bag, because I've been carrying it around since Thursday.

My coworkers can’t figure out why I won’t just throw away my seriously stale nachos from last week. I get separation anxiety, ok? Gahd.

So here I am at work. And I can’t decide, IF I get the greenlight today, where exactly I would like to look like a crackhead and shoot myself up. In our uber nasty bathroom? Kitchen that hasn’t been cleaned in the 2 years that I’ve been working here? Conference room that leaks toilet water from the upstairs bathrooms?

So many choices, I may just put them all in a hat and draw one out.

I should find out in an hour if the estridiol is good to go.