S*** that hurt! Apparently I’m going to need to get used to giving blood. Let’s back track a few days to last Friday. I went in for my doctor appointment as scheduled. After the horrible night I had, I spent my morning (here’s a shocker) crying and trying to pull myself together. I kept telling myself I wasn’t going to cry at my appointment. Well that didn’t happen. I held it together up until the minute I heard the knock on the door in my exam room and before my doctor could even get both feet in the room I was a hot mess of tears again. She assured me it was normal to be a blubbering lunatic emotional. I told her I would do my best to voice my questions and concerns, but that she might need to bring in some sort of an interpreter if she wasn’t fluent in “bat s*** crazy talk.”

So there we sat. I attempted to talk and my doctor listened. After I finally took a breath from my word vomit my doctor finally stepped in and started spewing her own word vomit: FSH, estradiol, progesterone and so on and so on. She talked for about 10 minutes in what I was sure was a different language. And after she was done she calmly asked, “Do you have any questions?” REALLY?! Do I have any questions? I replied with, “I’m not sure you have that much time.” She laughed and once again assured me that it was normal. She told me it might be a good idea to keep a journal of questions that I think of and then we can discuss at our next appointment. She also very emphatically encouraged me to STAY OFF OF GOOGLE. At least until we find out what our specific issue is.

So here we are, back to today and step one of this whole processes… bloodwork. I’m convinced that I’ve got some sort of secret “I hate giving blood” stamp on my forehead that is only visible to nurses. And when I enter they see it and immediately pass me off to the person with the least amount of experience to take my blood. Now I’m sure that’s not the case, but it really feels like it. After 3 tries and 3 very painful pricks later she finally got a vein. The hard part was over… or at least I thought. After I left and gave myself a pat on the back for not being an almost 30 year old who cried while getting her blood drawn I realized that wasn’t the hard part. Waiting for the results would be the hard part. Just like waiting every month to see if I would get my period is the hard part. And this is only the beginning. Nathan goes on Monday to “give his contribution” so we can find out if it might be him or rule him out. And then more waiting on those tests. I will go back for more bloodwork towards the end of the month after I have ovulated. And then more waiting. So that is what my life has become… a waiting game.

So today I’m getting my daily motivation from Cinderella… “No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dreams that you wish will come true.”



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