What Fresh Hell.

E2 is only 43 after four days of stims.

They “would prefer something in the range of 100-200.” I would prefer to be at home right now, eating the better part of a pie, but we can’t have everything now, can we?

My Bravelle dose is hereby doubled to 150. Menopur will stay the same (75), still on 10iu of Lupron. Double the dose, double the fun money. I am thinking of making my own drugs. Any nuns in the audience?

It has been a very bad day.

The phlebotomist mauled my arm this morning, leaving a pool of blood under the skin, which is just as attractive as it sounds. There was really no excuse for this, as I have the easiest veins in the world. Trust me, those sluts will give it up for anyone with a needle. Give me a coffee stirrer and a tourniquet and I’ll draw the damn blood myself.
Nothing makes a positive impression on one’s coworkers like trackmarks.

I was pleasantly surprised when the phone rang while I was actually at my desk. In retrospect, I should have known then that it was bad news.
There was a lot of sighing when they gave me my E2 level, prompting me to say “But I won’t be canceled or anything.”
“We’ll see what the ultrasound looks like on Friday,” quoth the nurse darkly, shocking me into terrified silence.

I don’t know what to hope for. Too few follicles and I will be canceled; too many for my low E2 and…you guessed it.

I have been spotting this whole cycle so far—much like I was on my Letrozole cycle, the one with 11 follicles but only a 6mm lining. Hmmm.

Fuckity fuckity fuck.