PIO Side Effects are the Worst of All

Last night I had a mini-meltdown. I’d been feeling irritable all day, especially after MIL’s million morning calls, and it only got worse as the day progressed. My hips have been killing me from the PIO shots. I find it hard to sleep on my side. I also find it hard to sleep on my stomach because it too is sore and so is my chest. Despite this, I took a really long afternoon nap and woke up feeling a tiny bit better, so I called my parents. Boy, that didn’t help. No matter how many times I gave one word answers and changed the subject, they kept asking me about my transfer and next steps. I had already given them the 5 minute recap of my transfer on Friday, which is all they needed to know. I had told them on Friday that I didn’t want to talk about it. Finally, I snapped and said—Look, I really don’t want to talk about this. I know nothing new and will tell you when I do. Stop asking!

I immediately felt bad for snapping, and there was a moment of silence before we awkwardly ended the conversation. After that, I burst into tears and the mini-meltdown was in full swing. H was a little freaked out that I was so emotional, and he blamed it on my parents asking all the questions. I said it wasn’t just that—it was the whole situation. I explained how one of his mother’s earlier calls had really hurt me. MIL had happily reported in preparing his grandmother’s obituary that grandma did indeed have a great-great grandson in addition to her billions of grandsons and great grandsons. (This has been a question for awhile because some of the sons no longer speak to certain parts of the family.) I explained to H that hearing about yet another example of uber-fertility in his family really hurt me when we may never have kids, grandkids, any of it. Can you imagine? Once an infertile gets past the pain of not having her own good news amongst all her friends’ pregnancies, she will have to go through it ALL OVER AGAIN when those friends start bragging about their grandkids. I’m sure it will hurt just as much as it does now.

H told me I was horrible for feeling this way, and that I needed to understand that not everything is about me. This was about his grandmother and how great it was to find out she had a great-great grandchild.

Of course—I know that. But you asked why I was depressed and emotional, and being depressed and emotional means that you make otherwise good things about your own misery. Excuse my bitterness--I’m with the only son who is infertile in a family of super fertile people, many of whom have gotten pregnant accidentally. And isn’t it a little messed up that his grandmother didn’t know about this kid because the family doesn’t talk? Oh for the luxury of having so many descendants that I can just loose touch with some of them after a few rifts.

Sigh. H and I didn’t really fight afterwards. He knew I was being irrational, and that it was perfectly rational for me to be that way. We talked about how worried we are that this won’t work, and he asked me how willing I would be to try again right away. I don’t know whether my clinic makes you skip a cycle in between tries, but I’m willing to start right back up again. We have $450 worth of meds leftover from this cycle because I stimmed so fast, so financially the next cycle won’t be as bad.

So hear I am, 3 days past a 3 day transfer (that’s 3dp3dt in IF blog speak???) and I’m looking at my calendar to see when I might try again. I’ve had a few bad period-like cramps this morning, my complexion is going downhill fast, and my chest is still sore (all PIO-related, surely). The good news is that I’ve lost 3 pounds since Friday and my stomach is completely flat again (is that really good news though?) and today, miraculously, neither of my hips hurt at all. I still feel prone to crying any moment.

Beta is set for Friday, September 22.