8 Days

I was 8 days late.  That’s 1 week and 1 day.  And that’s a long time to be ‘late’.  And that’s a very long time to have your hopes up.  And that’s a very, very hard thing to get over when reality hits you in the face.  Ouch!

The thought of a pee stick makes me sweat.  Seriously.  I can’t do one.  So, I scheduled an appointment with my family physician.  (Who I think is the greatest)  And peed in a cup instead.  I left the stick part up to her.  Then I waited in the little room with a big picture of an ear, children with rubella, rickets and tetnus and a naked guy with all his muscles in different colours.  (Note:  He must have been really sick, ’cause the left side of his ‘biggest muscle’ was bright red.  Poor guy)  So I prayed.  Not to force the outcome of my peeing, since I don’t believe you can ask to have was done to be undone, but for strength to accept the outcome. 

And nope.  Then Aunt Flo came.

And if that’s not enough, it messed up what was supposed to be my first IUI cycle!  I am to schedule an ultrasound on Day 11, to see what Clomid did.  Day 11 was Christmas Day.  Yup!  So I didn’t take the Clomid.

8 days late + Christmas Day + no Clomid + no ultrasound = 2 lost months

Is it normally this complicated?  Argh!

Well, I’m all better now.  I had some ‘retail therapy’  (shopping) and a very supportive hubby who let me lay on him and cry, while he whispered ‘It’s going to be ok’, over and over.  And I’m good.  It took me a while, and I couldn’t blog about it right away, but I’m good.  So here’s to a cycle in January, maybe!