I talked to my Mom today. She was telling me about my cousin's baby shower that she went to this past weekend. (BTW, said cousin is having twins.) She told them I came down with the flu, and that's why I couldn't make it.
Yeah right. Or I came down with a huge case of JEALOUSY AND ENVY! @*#^$&$%(@
Seriously though, I was grateful Mom didn't blast my infertility history over a loudspeaker at the shower. That's a first for her...usually she has no problem telling anyone who'll listen.
She likes to pretend that my IF is not a real problem. She's one of those "just relax" people. I loathe that statement. Especially coming from someone who could get pregnant just looking at my father. I love my mom, I really do. But dammit she can drive me into insanity like no one else can.
Yesterday Hubby and I went to the RE. And can I just go off on a tangent here and say that my RE was looking H-O-T yesterday? He's Italian (with a suave accent), and he had on this black turtleneck sweater and brown jeans. Plus he'd gotten a haircut since last time I saw him. Damn he looked fine. Anyway, back to our regularly scheduled program.
He said that we'd be moving to injectibles this cycle, since obviously doubling the Clomid dosage last time didn't work. He surprised me by saying that he thinks it's a good idea to start off with Timed Intercourse instead of the IUI. He thinks that if we can get my body to ovulate first, then everything else will fall into place. Luckily they had meds at the office, so I didn't have to pay for them since my insurance covers squat for IF.
After we met with him, we sat down with the nurse and went over the instructions for the injectibles. FWIW, I've determined that I am an IF retard. I had to ask the nurse to repeat the instructions 4 freaking times. It was like I had a huge mental block on the whole thing. I think I've got it now, but I have a couple of videos to watch for "homework."
I've also determined that I would never make a good crack whore. She had me do a practice shot with water, and I was shaking like I had Parkinson's or something. Finally she put her hand over mine and guided the needle into my stomach. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but it's kind of surreal to be staring at your body with a needle hanging out of it. I don't know how heroin addicts do it.
I told Hubby this was his only legal chance to stab me for all those times I've stolen the covers at night.