Okay, not literally.
Which is a really good thing because Arthur is pretty squeamish when it comes to that kind of stuff.
When I first prepared to start injections, I clearly remember Dr. D optimistically telling me that injections really don’t have side effects. Unlike Clomid (which plunges your estrogen levels in an effort to get the ovaries to produce more estrogen and in the process, develop follicles), injectables are “just putting in what’s already supposed to be there”.
I wanted to believe that. I really did.
Unfortunately, it’s simply not the case for me. After the first injection of Follistim back in March, I woke up the next morning with a grinding headache. I have a history of problems with headaches and migraines, so I chalked it up to those issues, took some ibuprofen, and moved on. Then, when the dose went up due to my protocol, I woke up again the next morning with a nasty headache. Again, I wrote it off to my history of headaches. Headaches proceeded to follow every dosage change, however, and I started to get suspicious.
I hadn’t thought about it when I prepared to start this cycle. I injected myself Saturday evening. Sunday morning I woke up with a splitting headache. Not cool. I have to admit though that this is a potentially interesting insight as to why I get headaches in the first place. Follistim also seems to make me mildly grouchy, although that could be linked to the headache since I tend to get grumpy when my head hurts. It’s the HCG trigger that really gets me feeling completely weepy and crappy for a couple of days.
The-Day-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named passed uneventfully. I had already had my major meltdown at church the week before. Somehow, I hadn’t realized that the preschool class was planning a performance during the service. So I was standing up on the stage singing with the worship team last week, when I heard a rustling at one side of the church and turned slightly to look at the noise, only to see the entire preschool class filing into the sanctuary.
As they took their places in the front pew, I caught sight of one little girl. She was twirling a little. Her dress had carefully been matched with a beautiful pair of tiny tights and petite patent leather shoes adorned her feet. Her hair was prettily dressed. Clearly, her mother had taken great care with her outfit that morning.
And just like that, I went from being mostly okay to completely not okay. We were in the middle of the song. I could feel the tears gathering in my eyes. I forced the largest grin I could onto my face and made it, barely, to the end of the song. I managed to make a semi-graceful exit from the sanctuary. As I walked down the ramp outside the sanctuary, I could feel the tears starting to run down my face. I headed into the darkened choir room. I could not go back in for the sermon. I just couldn’t.
Standing in the dark, I heard the pastor introducing the preschoolers who planned to sing for the congregation. That was it. Sobs exploded out, even as I tried to stop them. Arthur, who had followed, put his arms around me. When we left, I had to sneak out the side exit to the parking lot because I didn’t want to go back through the narthex where everyone was milling around after the service.
This week, I mostly tried not to think about what day it was. I called my mother and wished her a happy day (because she’s a really great mother), and we had done a low-key homemade meal earlier in the week for my mother-in-law (who is also awesome). Arthur let me order Chinese carry-out, so I got my favorite bad-for-me foods: crab Rangoon, General Tso’s chicken, and lo mein. Then, just to be a little healthy, I threw in some beef with broccoli. While it’s true that high salt food + fluid in my abdomen = not good, yesterday I gave myself a pass. And oh my goodness, it was fabulous and I don’t regret one bite.
Back to salads and veggies today, though…