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So I started off the week FANTASTIC. Bright and early yesterday morning, I got blood drawn AND an ultrasound. Which was good, because it showed that Clomid, that ear wax-tasting atrocity, worked incredibly well. Too well, I'm thinking, since then the physician's assistant AND the doctor had separate conversations with me where they stressed the importance that my husband and I be on board with selective reduction, on the off chance that more than 1 or 2 of the 8 follicles (WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK?!?!) decide to cooperate this cycle. (And for reference - I was on this exact dosage in February, and it only gave me 4 follicles. So thanks, body, for finally starting to overachieve. It's much appreciated. Pull it back a little. One baby is really all I want right now.)

Which, like. I am okay with that in theory. I am just praying so hard that it doesn't come to that. I specifically vetoed approaches to minimize the possibility of getting pregnant with a reality show. This was my best bet to not have that happen. But the doctor told me if I was NOT okay with that, they weren't comfortable continuing with this cycle. Which was sort of scary to hear, but is it weird that it made me more optimistic?

This is my 4th cycle. This is the first time that they were remotely concerned about multiples. I mean, obviously, it's always a possibility with stuff like this, but it was more of a, "hey, probably won't happen, let's cross that bridge when we come to it" kind of thing. Not "We will not continue to treat you this month if we are not all in agreement about protecting your health."


And that's obviously most important. I said to them both that I would qualify as a shitty mother if I put ALL of our health at risk when I didn't have to. And I do feel that way, truly. I've been pro-choice since I was a teenager. I just never really thought I would have to make that call myself. But nothing has stuck at all this far, so this really might not even be an issue. It's PROBABLY not worth stressing out about yet. I know what I'm going to do. It would just really suck if I had to actually do it.

This morning, I had another ultrasound (I hadn't ovulated yet, but it apparently looked like I was getting ready), drew more blood, and did the IUI. No resident this time (woohoo!), which was nice because both times I had a resident, they didn't know how to open a speculum. Which is a LOVELY feeling, btw, if you've never personally experienced that. I told the nurses I didn't mind if it was the PA, she's awesome, but I couldn't do residents again. My vagina can only take so much.

We go back tomorrow afternoon for another one, since I hadn't ovulated yet, to cover all of our bases. That will also be the doctor, so I don't even have to stress about having a second conversation about how/why I don't want residents. Plus, I sort of have a crush on him. Not a real one. He's just really good at making this whole situation feel less depressing and awkward than it actually is. My husband doesn't mind my infatuation, either, since the doctor lets him push the button so I can't tease him about some other guy getting me pregnant. Which were his exact words the first time when he handed Mr. Q the syringe.

Unrelated to all of this, I also have a gigantic bruise on my ass, and I have no idea where it came from. I thought I was sore from exercising, but my husband saw it this morning and actually gasped. I guess that's a mystery I can focus on instead of worrying about becoming Q&Mr.Q + 8.

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