It started with a sneeze here and a sneeze there, then it progressed into a sore throat, and finally I knew I was without a doubt sick. However, trouble always comes as a trio…
It was supposed to be a happy day. My husband came back from this business trip to India. He brought chocolates — liquor and ones powdered in coconut — and other gifts from India.
I planned to be genki for him.
At first, everything was fine. He arrived when I was skyping with my family, but afterwards I came and joined him on the couch while he worked. I started to sneeze; it had been happening all morning. Then I swallowed and felt tightness there.
I grabbed my throat and, with widened eyes fixed on him, said, “Dammit, I’m sick…”
After donning my mask and realizing no kisses for us, I left to handle the paperwork that I had been putting off until today, the deadline. Later, my husband met me at the clinic where we found out I’m about to ovulate two days earlier than normal.
The LH surge is over a 100 and there is only a 50% chance that follicle will be there tomorrow. That’s disappointing. The doctor asked if we wanted to try anyway, and we said, “Yes”.
So now I’ll be getting up at the crack of dawn to drudge to the clinic on a 50% of an egg still being in my right ovary. Oh, and the best part (worst) is that it’s in the right ovary. The one that has slid back deep inside my body since there is no kidney to keep it in place. It’s way off past Pluto, orbiting near Planet X.
If the follicle is still there tomorrow, then I’m in for a world of pain. The procedure involves the doctor pressing down painfully on my stomach (to see the follicle on the ultrasound sonograph) while puncture a tiny needle through me to pop that ovary and maybe extract an egg.
I could pass on this, but… but… I have this hope. This hope that maybe that egg is the one. That maybe that egg is my future child, and that hope nags me to endure the pain again and try.
The third bad thing is that we likely can’t do a transfer due to bleeding. That was disappointing news. The doctor said if it’s stops maybe he’ll reverse his opinion, but it’s likely a pass.
So fingers crossed that the follicle waits 12 hours more to pop. Just twelve little hours. How hard can that be?