A woman has the right to change her mind right?
Fortunately my husband is a firm believer in that first statement, because boy have I done a 180. Before this last cycle started I was firmly in the we'll give it one more shot with the big guns then do it on our own. Well after talking to Dr. Y... I changed my mind. D was listening while I was talking with Dr. Y. That helps tremendously because then I don't have to go back and say well he said this, that and the other thing. He understood. Dr. Y felt that we could do either another injectable cycle or take a break. If we were to do another injectable cycle he'd be aiming for a better response. Meaning those ovaries better shoot out more than one... preferably 2-3. Okay I can go with that rationale. In other words... more drugs. I was on pretty wimpy doses of gonal-f so I'm sure extra gonal-f will give the old ovaries a jolt into reality. So... we're signed up for another cycle.
I know it's not the be all, end all... but damn it'd be nice if the third time was a charm rather than a booby prize. I think we won the booby prize the last two cycles. So cd 1... will most likely be Wednesday. I'll get an u/s on Thursday and start shooting up on Friday. Let the games begin.
On uninspiring/crappy news Tuesday I also learned that I did not get a position I had applied for. I figure God works in mysterious ways... he knows what I can and can't handle... maybe I can just deal with the stress of my regular job rather than adding to it by going someplace new? I don't know. I truly don't have any answers in regards to this thought. I know I'll come up with a game plan. Most likely soon. It stinks that they keep throwing more money at you to stay... makes it difficult to leave. Almost impossible. Fortunately most days I love what I do. On those rare occasions that I don't. I just count the days until I'm off.
Oh yes and more crappy news... my mom's septic field is okay... however the drain pipe (the pipe that takes the refuse to the septic tank/field is not so good. D spent hours down there on Monday and then again today trying to get the thing to work. He also spent hours yelling at my father in heaven... I believe there was some muttering of "Sure you find this so funny... the least you could have done was given me a heads up I'd have to deal with this crap and tell me how to fix it rather than let me figure it out on my own." Drain tile is something my dad did a lot of things with. Some drainage tile has slits or holes in it... others don't. D didn't know that. I knew that, but D didn't ask me or tell me what he had planned. D found out the hard way. Lets just leave it at he picked the one with slats and a mess was made. D spent the better part of Tuesday afternoon cleaning up the mess he made in the hopes my mother wouldn't find out. She came home, she found out and she cackled like a loon before going upstairs to take a "nerve" pill (code word for xanax). She also muttered something along the lines "I'm so giving your father a piece of my mind when I get out to that cemetery this weekend." I can only feel pity for the poor folk who go to the cemetery to visit their loved ones and find my mom bitching at my father. I'm sure they'd think he died just to get away from all her yelling. I think it's therapeutic for her. She never had to take care of household problems before he died... and now she has D to take care of them. She can't yell at D... so she yells at my dad.
So back to work starting tomorrow... let the games begin is my thought.