…as it seemed this afternoon.  Ok, apologies for the earlier freak-out.  At about 3 or so, I finally got in touch with my doctor.  My real doctor.  The doctor who actually seems to care whether or not I lose my mind during this process.  Which still might happen.

He does not yet have the pathology report from my surgery.  I asked him to please make some inquiries and get it.  It’s been almost 2 months.  Surely it’s available by now, or a percentage of the surgery center’s biopsy patients would die while waiting for results.  I don’t care if everything looked fine to the naked eye.  If I pay $6000 for a surgery & pathology work-up, I want to get the results from said work-up.  No, I really do. 

Apparently, although Dr. Bigshot claimed that my doctor prescribed the Lovenox, my doctor claims that Dr. Bigshot prescribed it. 

(Sprogblogger throws hands up in the air in frustration.) 

Whatever. 

Regardless of who actually prescribed it, Lovenox is not being prescribed for a clotting disorder, but rather for a suspected immune disorder.  Not too surprising either, given my family history.  Good to know for sure, though.

Finally, and to my relief, my doctor looked into my file (the same file that was in Dr. Bigshot’s hand when I asked the question & received the ambiguous and upsetting answer,) and was able to tell me that at this point in my previous cycle, I only had 5 visible follicles even though he retrieved 12 eggs.  So, with that as evidence, my doctor said, “This is still very early days.  Your estradiol numbers are fine, you’re a low responder, but you’re definitely responding.  Therefore, given your documented history, we’re not worried at this point and you shouldn’t be either.” Which was the right answer to put my mind at ease.  (Instead of Dr. Bigshot’s response which was: “We do not cancel cycles at this clinic when patients are on the maximum allowed meds, like you are.”) Then he walked out of the room.  All the bedside manner of a Cossack, as my husband observed, (with apologies to Cossacks.)

*sigh*

Ok, I think I can safely say that the hormonal craziness has begun.  Don’t know whether it’s related to the mental breakdown or not, but I spent the day sweating through hot-flashes and fighting the urge to alternately weep and scream.  Plus my hands are shaky, which could just be the emotional upheaval.  I do not react well to frustration and fear.  Never have, and these days, it’s like I’m on a hair-trigger for panic-stations. 

I hate feeling so much at the mercy of my body and whatever chemical pool I’m swimming in at the moment.  In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that it’s what I hate the most out of this whole IVF nastiness.  Not the needles, nor the massive inconvenience, nor even the underlying uncertainty.  It’s the day-to-day battle with myself when I can’t be certain if the angst and terror I feel is justified, or if it’s hormonally induced.

I was very proud of myself, last cycle, when I refrained from handing my darling boy a letter (a screed)detailing all the ways I felt so very put upon.  I held onto just barely enough self-restraint to realize that it would be better, perhaps, to wait a few days to make certain I really wanted to say those things.  Turns out that was the right choice.  I really didn’t want to say those things, and I’m really glad I didn’t.  I think I need to apply that lesson to my dealings with people in general until this is all over. 

Deep breath.

Count to three million and thirty-three.

Stay away from Dr. Google.

Deep breath.