Not that it's any cause for celebration at this point, but it appears as though my ovaries have finally heeded the call of the nightly nudge they get from the blast of hormones I've been injecting for the past three months. We are 24 hours away from IUI #4, which will be a two-act performance this time around, both Wednesday and Thursday this week.
My RE, who is new (the ultra-hip, always cool-shoe wearing one is swooshing down mountains right now on vacation), is a combination of shy and over-sharing, so clearly I adore him already. He talks quietly and hesitates before shaking your hand because you can tell he's not sure if you want to shake or just give a little "hi" wave while you sit there on the exam table covered in the hospital sheet du jour. But then once he's mid-exam, he can't seem to talk enough about your follicles and your uterine lining and you can be sure he's going to show you every last little place in your ovaries that MIGHT be receptive to turning into a baby at some point. Midway through my ultrasound (which is so uncomfortable because of where my ovaries have decided to set up shot after my c-section), he declared, "You must be SO bloated!" and I'll tell you, there's nothing I like so much as a health care provider who has a healthy admiration and respect for the discomfort of whatever they're putting you through.
My regular RE doesn't show me the monitor at all. She doesn't look at me much. She's smart and I trust her; she answers my questions and she always looks fabulous, but she doesn't necessarily make me feel like it matters to her one way or another if I actually get pregnant, or how I feel along the way. So it is nice to have this interlude with Dr Niceguy.
The deal is that each ovary is finally showing up, it seems, with three real contenders in each ovary as well as "several smaller ones". As a matter of fact, Dr. Niceguy said that if I were younger, he might consider canceling this cycle, because my response is "almost too good," and would raise red flags of higher order multiples in a younger woman. You know, Kate Gosselin and Octomom? Yeah, those spring chickens pop 'em out like pez when their ovaries look like mine do this week. But me? "At your age," he said, "we'll be lucky to have one take, so I'm not too worried."
So three cheers for old-lady ovaries. Let's just hope that one actually does take. Interwebs, I could use all your prayers, good energy, positive vibes, happy ju-ju this week. If this doesn't work, we head into the world of IVF and after all the reading up I've done on it, I am not sure I can do more than one cycle of it without completely losing my mind. So here's to one of those giant follicles turning into a healthy and happy baby. After all this time, it still amazes me how hope springs eternal, yet again.