I've learned from 21 cycles of charting that two days before my period starts I get a dramatic temp drop. That happened this morning, confirming my suspicion that our first IUI didn't work. Why should it have worked? We had less than a million motile sperm, giving us roughly a 1-5% chance. Still, I tried to cling to the belief that we might be in that lucky statistically improbable group. So, assuming tomorrow will be CD1, I will call the RE's office and set up the first appointment for IUI #2.
Which means, of course, that I move closer to IVF. Our doctor isn't optimistic about our chances with IUI, and I'm all about thinking ahead. The thought of IVF both thrills and terrifies me. I might have a chance...or I might end up in debt from a failed gamble.
This weekend I thought about a line from a poem I've always loved, T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." The line states, "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons" and when I thought of it, I reflected on the whole TTC mess. I feel like this whole TTC journey forces me to measure out my life in small two-week spoonfuls. There's the pre-ovulation phase, filled with OPK's and the anticipation of a new cycle. This last cycle introduced the wonders of vaginal ultrasounds and inseminations. Then there's the post-ovulation stage, where every twinge and pain means something significant and your morning temp gives you something to contemplate for the rest of the day. Then before you know it you're back in the first stage...living your life in small two week doses.
What I can't imagine is that this will ever end. Even if I am lucky enough to succeed through IUI or IVF, I can't imagine getting my previous self - optimistic, hopeful, cheerful - back. I don't want to measure out my life in miserly little doses. I want to measure it in gulps...better yet, not measure it at all. I'm just not sure how I will ever make that transition. And I'm tired of figuring out how it will happen.