Nothing says "I deserve a giant bowl of peppermint stick ice cream"

like ovaries that just won't fucking behave. This morning I went for my ultrasound to see exactly what 75 ius of Follistim for 4 days will do to a couple of lazy ovaries. Turns out, not much. Those deadbeat bitches are still just kicking around, taking up space and thinking about maybe producing an egg or two. An egg or two, for our purposes, is not a really great response. I can do an egg all on my own, by my lonesome, without stabbing myself in the stomach every night and injecting myself with more hormones than my own body has ever created on its own.

Considering that the vast majority of my old lady eggs are unlikely to do anything but nod lazily at the sperm as it passes by, we need several eggs setting up shop at the time of the IUI, so that maybe, just perchance, one of my eggs will say, "you know what? I'm feeling feisty today," and tango with a sperm. You know those groups of older ladies who go places wearing red hats and talking about how when they're old, they'll wear purple? Yeah. I am looking for an egg with that kind of "can do!" attitude. That's the egg that's going to take. But she's not getting out of bed for 75 ius.

So perky RE and her entourage (it's a teaching hospital--my lady parts always have an audience. It's awesome) decided to up my dosage. From 75 ius to 150. I'm not mathematician, but I'm pretty sure that's a doubling my dose. Doubling the dose that already makes me queasy and sleepy and weepy. Are we ready for a full-on emotional shit storm? I hope so, because that's where we're headed people. Bring it.