Went to the doctor this morning for a new baseline ultrasound. I'm (not at all) pleased to announce that my abdomen has a new resident -- an ovarian cyst! I think I shall call him Stewart.
Seriously, at this point, I've gotta wonder if I'm on some cosmic version of Candid Camera. I have never had a problem with ovarian cysts before, but all of a sudden, here's one showing up at the worst possible time. We can't move forward with IVF until the cyst is gone, and for some reason I have to wait another two weeks even to consult with the doctor who would be removing (draining? I don't know) it. In the meantime, I get to stay on the pill, therefore ensuring there won't be any last-minute hail-mary baby.
I'm a little ashamed to say I did not take the news well. I started to cry, and was reduced to begging the doctor to tell me why so many things are going wrong with my body all of a sudden. I cannot believe that all of the stuff that has happened to me in the past year is just a string of unrelated coincidences, and I asked him at what point someone (besides me) would decide it's maybe time to find out exactly what's wrong with me. He basically hemmed and hawed and told me I need to speak to my primary doctor. Oh, so helpful. Apparently, his medical degree is merely ornamental?
And then, on to the oh-so-fun blood draw, now with 1000% less fun! I've always been kind of a difficult stick, but had never had someone need more than two tries to get my blood out. This time? SIX. I was there, in the blood room, for over two hours, first while they searched in vain (ha!) for my veins, then stuck me four times to see if they could find something with the needle that their fingers couldn't find. Then they brought me some soda (just in case my problem was dehydration and low blood sugar), and I waited 20 minutes. They tried again, no luck. More soda, this time a 30-minute wait, then finally they got the blood. It was truly a ghastly experience, especially since today was apparently pregnancy test day at the clinic, and I got to sit there while a parade of women came in to get the blood tests that would confirm what they already new from their clandestine stick-peeing.
The one bright note here is that my estradiol levels have come down in the last two weeks, from 248 (or 249, I forget) two weeks ago to 93 today. Still too high, and largely irrelevant because of the cyst, but at least things are moving in the right direction.
So, another bad night here in Paranoid land. I'm trying with all of my might to stay positive, but if it's this hard just to get to the point where we start IVF, what are the chances that things will get better once (or if) we actually start a cycle. In addition to trying positivity, I'm coaching myself to think of M as an only child, to cushion the blow if that happens to be our fate.