January 6, 2012

In no way, shape or form am I in the mood for red-head/short jokes. So keep your obviously obvious comments about my physical appearance to yourself. You’re so funny. Hilarious. Shut up.

Today, Chris and I visited Dr. F. My fourth trip since the end of May. Goodie. The content of the visit was great, unexpected, overwhelming and stressful. I was prepared for her to write me a script for a double dosage to take for the next three months. But, after I explained how my first three months went on 50 mg of Clomid, she suggested we move on—on to the fertility clinic. She confessed—which I’m very grateful for—that in terms of her every-day doctoring activities, taking the next steps in infertility treatment aren’t really within the realm of what she does best. So, instead of just visiting the OB-GYN, I am now going to invest time, money, effort into a facility that focuses solely on fertility/infertility issues. I’m glad she advised me in that direction. I hoped my first three months of Clomid would have ended happier, but at least no one is “dilly-dallying.”

Eff. This week has been hard. I need to find ways to relax—not stress. I feel like no one understands how hard that is. I can’t control it! Maybe I can help control the physiological repercussions of stress by running, getting pedis or massages, etc., but the emotions and everyday triggers, sorrows, reality make it hard not to care—i.e. stress. Plus, now that we will be investing a lot more money than we can afford into this conception journey, the last thing I need to do is spend even more money on stress-relieving activities that I don’t partake in anyway. Oy, I need to go to church.

I wonder when I’ll have the courage to post these.

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