They say you shouldn't count your eggs before they've hatched, but today, I did. I do realize it's supposed to be chickens, but I'm not talking about chickens. Today is cycle day 12, the day of my first clomiphene cycle checkup ultrasound.
So around lunchtime Tim and I sat in a the teeniest possible ultrasound room waiting for Doc to give the prognosis. Doc and Nurse came in complaining of the heat in the microscopic room. I said I hadn't noticed, since I wasn't wearing pants. Nobody laughed. With four of us in the room, plus ultrasound equipment, a computer, three chairs, and the exam chaise-lounge (sounds so much better than table), I still didn't feel the mugginess. Ah, those sweet pantsless moments pass too quickly.
Except when you realize you definitely used the word "pantsless" in your last entry, and you're wondering if pantslessness is becoming a theme not only in your blog, but in your life.
Anyway, Doc takes what my mom so aptly named the "magic wand" apparatus from the ultrasound machine and does his thing. On the big telly they keep facing the exam chaise-lounge, I see a massive white blur that eventually resolves into my uterus—supersized. Boring. Then he starts poking toward my right ovary, and here come about one million huge black blobs. After measuring at least seven follicles, he switches to the other side and measures like ten more. I say, "Oh, so that's what's been hurting." He says, "Oh my . . . Geez . . . Wow . . ." and finishes with, "What to do . . . what to do . . ."
Apparently there weren't enough spots in the program to record the number of developing follicles that, as I type, continue to slowly expand into the places my intestines usually like to sit. Turns out my body reacted very strongly to the clomiphene—to the tune of approximately seven eggs that may be ready for release later this week. In case you missed basic reproductive biology, seven eggs releasing at once (with a little help from their male counterparts) have the potential to develop into seven babies. At the same time. Suddenly our chances of a pregnancy this month are much better. Suddenly our chances of having too many babies in nine months just got high enough to be somewhat sanity-threatening.
The natural solution is, of course, to wait three days, hope something good happens, and check again. So while we may want to wait on counting my eggs before they hatch, both you and I will be praying for one to three strong, healthy, gorgeous eggs to make their time. Because somebody has set up us the bomb.