It’s a sunny Saturday and I can’t bring myself to go outside. CD 14, I occasionally ovulate this early. Post-miscarriages though, its more like CD 17-18. Lackluster and uninspired intercourse has already transpired, remaining fun shopping budget has already been blown. Geoff and I are drinking coffee (oh, the decadence!) and spinning records, talking shit about our former friends, and otherwise wishing our lives away.

Have I mentioned that I have the jitters about our appointment Monday? While most people’s OBs seem to hand out Clomid and Femara like candy, most people are not taking fistfuls of psychotropics and on disability for schizoaffective disorder. We’re coming up on last-ditch efforts–I really want this. My biggest fear is finally popping out a chromosomally normal egg, and missing it. Maybe if I could get a little help conceiving, my golden egg chances would improve (she says in desperation). Stranger things have happened, and I know I am strong. Us infertile women have to stick together…we are the warriors no one contemplates and if you’re out there, you have a friend in me.


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