Today it turned out to be the NP, who proclaimed me ready for another Clomid cycle.
Me: But wait. Wasn’t I supposed to switch to letrazole this cycle?
Her: Well, the Clomid was successful, so we’ll use that again.
Her: Yes. You grew and ovulated an egg. I know it doesn’t seem like it worked, since you’re not pregnant, but from our perspective the treatment was successful.
Me: Well, it doesn’t feel like a success.
Her: I know. But we’ll try again!
Me: Okay, but Dr. L said if it didn’t work this time we’d switch to the letrazole.
Her: Yes, but it did work. You ovulated. She must have been planning for what to do if you didn’t ovulate on the Clomid.
Me: Well, I saw her for my last monitoring appointment. She did my last sono. She scheduled the trigger. It was at that appointment that she said we’d try letrazole next if need be.
Her: [Checks the file.]
Me: I just want to make sure I’m doing the right next step. I wouldn’t want to waste a cycle on the wrong medicine or something.
Her: There’s no note in here about that. We generally continue with the Clomid at the level that seems to be working. [She’s trying to be soothing, I think.]
Me: [Now I actually am crying on the exam table.] Okay, if that’s what to do then that’s what we’ll do.
I’m not particularly looking forward to another round of Clomid. Especially since my mom, MIL, and a great-aunt-type are all going to be visiting this weekend. (Should be a riotous good time for all involved.) But the crying had less to do with doing the Clomid again, not even with the frustration of the RE telling me something but not writing it down, so it’s as if I’ve made it up. [She definitely told me we’d switch to letrazole. She even spelled it for me. (I didn’t want to burst her bubble and point out that I’d already researched it, but it was progress for her to realize that I’d want to!)] No, the crying was about something else.
Clomid is hard on me, physically and especially emotionally. And at our last IUI, the post-wash count was about 10 million motile. Not great. And there’s nothing much they can do about that. No drugs to make him make more or prettier sperm. He’s seen a urologist, who didn’t think the minor varicoceles were worth treating. So we medicate me, and cross our fingers (but not his legs, because that would make things warm) for him.
I’m just so tired of this. And frustrated. And the idea that the last cycle was a success is so far from my reality. Oh sure, I knew it was a success under their terms. The idea that it just might have worked - that was Hope’s invitation to camp out for a while. I just don’t know how many more times I can do this.