40 days

That’s how long my last cycle was. I am now an emotional, hormonal, mess. I know I ovulated, I had a decent luteal phase. I let myself get hopeful. And I am 99% sure I was pregnant for about a day. 

I could do without bursting into tears for no apparent reason. Fishfinger sandwiches are not a reason to cry. 

We also had an epic pre-IVF appointment yesterday. N’s viral blood work was 2 weeks out of date, which precluded starting on this cycle. Which is just as well, as I just don’t have the emotional wherewithal right now. It also gives me time to organise myself. Acquire pj bottoms large enough to accommodate ovaries the size of oranges (usually, ovaries are the size of walnuts). Acquire a couple of loose dresses and some larger jeans – all from eBay. Clear the calendar for 2 injections a day, which have to be carefully timed. 

Yesterday I also got baby cuddles from the lovely Little N. And moral support from his Mummy. And cake with G. And then there was Rangers, and the 3 of them were awesome. As was leader C. 

It could be a hell of a lot worse. But it doesn’t stop it being sad. Having a bit of hope, then losing it, is horrible. Peeing on a stick to confirm it either way doesn’t really make any difference to how sad I feel. 


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