Entry 9: Champagne and . . . Follistim?


While I won’t need them for another few days, I’m not one to rush around last minute (I’m that annoying person who has to get to the airport 2 hours early). So I ordered my meds this morning and they arrived this evening via messenger.

It’s all a bit overwhelming – tons of boxes, different sets of needles, unhelpful directions, etc.; I’m exhausted tonight, so for now, I’ve just put them away. The ones that need to be refrigerated are oddly sitting next to all of the untouched bubbly and white wine in my fridge.  It’s a sad sight on so many levels, really.

Upon opening the refrigerator, most people think: ‘what should I eat?’ At most, there’s a little anxiety over whether or not they should have the leftover Chinese, or make a salad.

When I open my fridge,  my anxiety will have nothing to do with what to eat.  Instead, I’m reminded of three things:

  1. I’m not drinking for at least another 4 weeks (Over the holidays, I got lot’s of bad bubbly – don’t worry, I won’t mention names.  Bad or not, when I’m drinking, bottles don’t survive and accumulate. There’s usually one, sad, lonely, half empty bottle. I’m not a collector of wine, I’m a drinker of wine!).
  2. I’m $4400 poorer and I’ve barely started (more on that later, because all joking aside, the drugs are expensive and complicated).
  3. I’ve failed at the one thing I thought I would have easily accomplished by this age – instead of being a mom, I’m basically a laying hen this month!

This would all be very depressing if I didn’t find some humor in the image of my gonadotropin shots sitting next to the bubbly I can’t drink!


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