Is It Time To Go Home Yet?

Mrrggh. Today is my first day back at the office post-honeymoon. I had a whole glorious week off after the wedding, and it spoiled me a bit, I’m afraid. I can’t help but notice that I am no longer within ambling distance of wine, and even if I were, its consumption would likely be frowned upon. It is amazing how quickly one can become accustomed to a more genial, less productive, lifestyle. Before the wedding I had never, in all my working life, taken a week’s vacation. Never! What a fool I was.
Anyway, I am back now and subject to all the nuisances of working life—chief among them being work itself—and feeling cross about it. Adding to my annoyance (and embarrassment) is the fact that I am apparently a big, fat baby when it comes to fertility drugs.
Letrozole is the bunny slope of ovarian stimulation. It is the wispy hair on the lip of a preteen lothario compared to the bushy, Tom Selleck-esque flourish that is injectable gonadotropins. It is known to have virtually no side effects at all. And yet, it does not seem to agree with me. I have had an excruciating headache since Saturday morning. Saturday night I had a brief panic attack and two crying jags, one of which was prompted by the opening credits of Kate & Allie. I have never responded well to hormonal changes (extreme anxiety before periods and after miscarriages, a bout of birth control-induced hyperemesis as a youth), but I expected to handle fertility treatments, especially the kind that practically come with training wheels, with a bit more aplomb. A bit more aplomb and a bit less agonized head-clutching.

In an attempt to fool myself into thinking I am delighted to be back at work, headache and all, I brought a vase (read: milk bottle) of large, fluffy peonies into my office. They are the fattest, most-scrumptious-looking peonies I have ever seen. I was going to tell you that they are the size of softballs, but I just realized I am not sure I have ever seen a softball, so I can’t vouch for the applicability of that particular metaphor. But they are each easily bigger than a cat head, if that helps. Flowers do brighten this grim corporate cove just just a bit, though alas, they do nothing for my headache. Or to keep my linen pants from wrinkling. Or to cause the two woman loudly conversing outside my office to disperse, returning a moment later with a cool cloth for my forehead and a cookie. But perhaps I expect too much.

Does anyone know what I can expect to see at my ultrasound on Friday? (I am looking for a more detailed answer than “your insides,” you in the back). It will be day 10, and I am curious about what my follicles might be doing. Three of the four times that I have managed to ovulate naturally have been on day 18, and one was on day 21. Presumably the Letrozole will move that timeline up a bit. What size were your Letrozole-induced follicles on day 10, pray tell? My abdomen feels pinchy and clenchy, which I hope is a favorable sign. Though maybe it’s just gas. *Sigh.* Isn’t this fun?

I’m going to go get my own damn cookie.