It has been 11 months since my last round of Clomid. There is absolutely no way in hell there is any of it left in my system. Why (why why?) am I still crampy half the month? (And it’s not because of the double shot of crazy pills either – that’s new as of February)
In other navel gazing news, it just occurred to me that I should call Dr. P’s office to make an appointment for my (ugh) annual. Considering that that the last time I was in Dr. P’s office, I practically tap danced out of there, medical records in hand, shouting “And the next time I come here I will be pregnant!”, it’s a little depressing to have to go back there, tail tucked, for just another stupid pap. My records at Dr. P’s have the phrase “trying to conceive” written all over them, and having to admit failure…ugh.
I am actually considering seeing my regular doctor for this year’s annual. Dr. J (or Dr. Hottie as I have called him) always makes me laugh. He is a fun doctor and he never tells me I’m overweight and that I need to take more Metformin (which is to say, any). Then again, he also said I needed to take another stab at trying to talk to someone about IVF.
Sigh. Maybe I’ll go find a new doctor instead. “Babies?” I’ll scoff when asked. “No babies here, doc. I just hate ’em!”