Following a particularly lovely comment from Sarah on my last blog entry, I’m feeling fraudulent and undeserving!
I am a nutcase. There are no two ways around it. Poor Ducks lives in this volatile environment where one minute I’m sweetness and light and the next minute I’m in tears. I cried the whole way through The L Word last night, despite the fact that it wasn’t a sad, nor bad episode. I cried on the tram on the way home yesterday too but fortunately Ducks wasn’t there to bear witness.
2 days earlier, as we drove home along the magnificent Great Ocean Road, I was a beacon of hope and light. Our 3 nights away were rejuvenating and hope replenishing. I felt calm and sure that I had the strength for whatever the next chapter of our TTC journey would bring. I was totally fine about the lack of potential for pregnancy after this 2ww and I was excited about seeing guru naturopath woman.
That was before the news of yesterday afternoon. Yesterday afternoon I skipped off to the doctor to collect my blood test results fully expecting low progesterone to be among the findings. Nope. Progesterone 36.5 on CD 21. Perfect! Prolactin perfect, LH perfect, FSH perfect…everything fucking perfect… So I cried. Because I’d based all my hope and sanity on progesterone being the problem – a problem that, if I reached desperation point, could be easily fixed by western meds.
Now, sitting here, at 9dpo, with perfect progesterone and crazy temps, I am fixated on the possibility that maybe I am pregnant. Because if my progesterone is fine, then I should just get pregnant. Because that’s what I made myself believe. And to worry that the problem may be greater, more complex, is too much for me to bear.
My appointment with guru naturopath is in 3 hours. Heaven help us all if she can’t restore some hope and faith.