Cycle 3 crashed and burned on day 23. One of three things happened.
- I ovulated around day 13 as usual, but the luteal phase was extremely short (i.e., 9 days) and thus, not so viable.
- I ovulated 12-14 days before I started my period, which means we inseminated after I ovulated. I wasn't temping in an effort to not stress myself out again. Clearly backfired.
- I didn't ovulate at all.
None of these is especially wonderful, but I'm gunning for #2 because, while it demonstrates my own haplessness, it doesn't suggest something that requires medical attention. The absolute last thing I need right now is evidence that my reproductive malformations are more substantial than I already know them to be. Of course, it's possible that it was a short cycle but I ovulated close to normal but early enough to make a fine luteal phase and we caught the ovulation, barely, but I just didn't get pregnant. Somehow that doesn't seem too likely.
And can I just say? Google University, while very informative, is not my friend. The other day I found out the current theories for why endometriosis causes infertility even when there's no obvious physical barrier: the lack of a particular protein/enzyme/small-but-necessary-thing that allows the zygote to attach itself to the uterine wall and/or an overabundance of scavenger cells in the peritoneal fluid that eat the sperm right up before they can do any good. Now I have information I can do absolutely nothing about and that only reinforces my fear that I'm screwed.
I would like to think I'd be less of a complete stress-monkey but for our overachieving friends. J&N are not only knocked up, they're a month further along than they thought they were. So, 12 weeks, some odd days today. We started at the same time.
We were initially excited that they were trying too--we could do it together! We'd have support! We never really thought through what it would feel like if one couple got knocked up and the other, well, didn't. I'm not saying it's not going to happen, but it is really hard, right now, for me to not compare myself to N and panic. Average is six months, I know, but they've just thrown the curve, and I'm not happy to be on the other end of it.
Also, and this is not the prettiest side of me, I can't help but resent how essentially easy it was for them. This is not true of all opposite-sex couples, but they could just have sex every other or every third day, not bother temping or peeing on sticks or charting, not have to align schedules and wash jars and project an inherently irregular thing into the future so people can plan vacations. I hate that it's so complicated and hard, even as I know how much harder and more complicated it would be without R, who is so wonderfully flexible and relaxed about the whole thing. We could be having to pay hundreds of dollars every month for a very small fraction of what we get in one swim team. We could have to try to pinpoint ovulation exactly because we have one or at most two opportunities. It could be much, much worse, but I'm angry it isn't easier, especially so early in the process.
It would be nice to be able to blame all of my crying jags (and there have been many) on J&N, but the truth is that I was told ten years ago to hurry up if I wanted children, and ten years of holding that fear at bay is crumbling next to irregular cycles and random physical events that only seem meaningful.
This month we're trying a new strategy--four insems, as usual, but every other day, beginning last night. We're hoping this covers the range of possible ovulation dates without making any of us--and particularly R--insane. And for the first time, I'm peeing on sticks to see if I get a positive OPK at any point. I'm trying not to think about what happens if I don't.
Ms. P keeps telling me I'm panicking prematurely, that we're only on cycle 4, that the average is six months to a year. I know that, and I also know my own history and my own body. The longer it takes, the longer the endo has to grow, the longer the ovarian cysts have to return, the more pain I'm likely to be in. I wish I didn't know everything I know about my body, but I do. I wish I didn't have someone else's history of trying to compare myself to, but I do. I wish my Managing Director weren't pregnant, but she is. I wish I didn't have endo, but I do. I wish I were pregnant, but I'm not.