Two Good Eggs

Two cracked eggs find the sunnyside (and funny side) of trying to conceive

Blame it on the rain.

on September 18, 2012

   Gotta blame it on something

   Blame it on the rain

   Blame it on the stars

   Whatever you do, don’t put the blame on you

   Blame it on the rain, yeah yeah

I woke up this morning and it was pouring rain outside.  A dark, gloomy, sigh-worthy day.   And I was glad about it.  I didn’t want a sunny day with birds tweeting around me, with their heart-shaped music notes.  I didn’t want anyone else in a good mood trying to cheer me up, either.  Blame it on the rain, but I wanted to sulk.

It’s CD 17, and I have recorded another unimpressive temperature.  I have peed in another bathroom cup.  I have dipped another OPK strip and have gotten another non-egg reading on my monitor.   O is delayed.  My fluid is questionable.  And I’m pissed.

This month, I decided to try something new (without the “direct” advice of my doctor).  My doctor mentioned, in passing at our last appointment, the use of baby aspirin for treatment and/or prevention of chemical pregnancies.  He didn’t tell me to try it, nor did he tell me how he would prescribe it.  It was a passing comment.  I took it upon myself to research it and decide I should try it this month.  Super Mom to the rescue.

It dawned on me today when the monitor didn’t give me the egg that I should have gotten two days ago that the only thing I’ve done differently this month is take the baby aspirin.  Which led me to sleuth a little more and find mixed opinions on the use of the pill, some of which arguing that it could actually delay or prevent ovulation.

DAH!

That immediately set me into a tail spin.  A tail spin of blame.  For me, that’s the most logical defensive reaction (though I’m not proud of it).

First, I blamed myself (hey, at least I take some accountability before finding fault elsewhere!).

If I had not taken the aspirin.  If I had asked the doctor for more information.  If I had polled the girls on the message boards first.  If I had researched it more… This is all my fault.

Wait… researched it more?  Why do I have to do all the research?  Why didn’t DH help me look into this?  Why did he just say “Ok” when I said I was going to try something new this month?  Why didn’t he step up and check into whether this is healthy or not?  This is all his fault.

Well, hold on.  He knows that I’m a control freak.  He knows that I want to solve this riddle on my own, and wants to be supportive.  Why would he take over the research?  If only the doctor had been more explicit about what he meant when he brought it up.  If only he had told me how to use it, and why.  This is all his fault.

And, now that we’re talking about the doctor, why can’t he find anything wrong with me?  Every doctor has a patient that is an outlier; someone who doesn’t follow textbook treatment and symptoms.  Clearly that’s me.  Why can’t you figure out what’s wrong with me?  Am I that much of an anomaly?  It’s my genetic makeup that’s causing the problem.  I get it from my dad’s side of the family.  It’s all his fault.

Oh?  It’s completely unexplained?  Just one of those things?  I should just pray about it?  Maybe it’s God’s fault.

I know, I know.  It’s unhealthy to place blame; especially in a blameless situation.  But, it’s so hard not to want a finite reason WHY.  Some person or factor that is responsible so that it can be addressed.

Who do you blame for your fertility issues? 

Today, I’ll blame it on the rain.  For making me wake up in a pissy mood right from the start.


2 responses to “Blame it on the rain.

  1. Off Duty Mom says:

    I am searching for brave souls to share their fertility stories in a series I am producing this winter. Let me know if you’re interesting in participating. I’d love to have you join the team.

    http://offdutymom.wordpress.com/2012/09/16/it-wont-always-be-this-way/

    Let me know…

  2. ivfmale says:

    I put all the blame on Milli Vanilli. If it weren’t for those lip syncing lying bastards all my problems would go away.

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