So I apologize to anyone (friends or strangers) reading this that doesn’t give a rat’s patootie about my Ute. I’m trying to be more creative and write about topics that I’ve been meaning to blog about like: cottage exteriors I love; buying land in foreign places; amazing, to.die.for, rugs like THIS one; all of the coastal inspirations I’ve collected for our home; my ideas for our summer landscaping projects; or photos and details on all the little house projects that have been going on behind the scenes.
But, my heart’s just not into it right now. We’re still going through tests and trying to figure out why our 3rd bedroom is still an office and not a nursery. And so, for now, I’m going to continue to write about my Ute, and my husband’s sperm, and the 478 vials of blood that are required to run tests (why do they need all of that blood anyway? and why didn’t I get a cookie after they were done? sheesh!)
I officially stopped charting 2 cycles ago. But this cycle decided to use OPK’s and track both them and my CM on my FF chart. I changed the tuning to monitor ovulation based on these indicators and was mighty surprised that the software is pinpointing an O date for me, although I’m sure it’s wrong, but whatever. For the first time ever I had three (yes THREE) straight days of +OPKs. Not that it matters because for we had to abstain because of Joe’s SA (the sample was dropped off this morning). So much to my surprise I woke up this morning and OPK’d again just for the hell of it (that and I like to pee on things) and got yet another +, this must be some kind of record. Maybe all this stress isn’t so bad?! Too bad the last thing on my mind right now is sex.
I was supposed to have a CD12 u/s yesterday to check my follie development, but the radiology tech went home sick. They tried to schedule me for next month, but based on my normal AF CD12 would be a Saturday and apparently CD11 is too early and CD14 is too late. So after 20 minutes of back and forth I was getting ridiculously twitterpated and suggested that we simply wait until AF comes and then I can call the office and they can just squeeze me in; twelve days’ notice should be adequate. They agreed, and I moved on with my morning.
Joe’s SA drop off was today (obvs) and initially they were going to make us wait 2 weeks to get the result, but Joe asked them if we could get the results earlier than that and it looks like we may know what’s going on with his swimmers as early as this Thursday.
He’s a mess, thinking the worst, saying horrible things like “if you’d have married someone else you’d be pregnant by now”. He’s really inconsolable, and the thing is, we don’t even know if there’s anything wrong with him.
The stress, ah the stress. He actually said to me today, if this is all I’m producing no wonder you aren’t getting pregnant. I tried to talk him up saying we don’t know his numbers and there could be millions of sperm in each batch, like “super sperm” or something.
What is it with IF and the stress? I’m not a drinker, but I’m thinking about becoming one.
So I did what any ridiculously overbearing wife would do. I called his parents, and told his mom to tell his dad to call their son. And he did, and found my husband sitting ALONE in a state park (contemplating life? death? jumping from the canyon in the middle of the park? who the fuck knows.) and his dad talked him down from the ledge (maybe literally) with lacrosse and war analogies and other things that make sense to boys. And all is better in the Russell household…for now.
I just remembered that we have a bottle of Prosecco left over from New Year’s (I told you I don’t drink). Dinner is served, dear.
