I went in for my lining check today, feeling really positive about it. I've had a lot of CM and I figured that was a really good sign: lots of estrogen = lots of CM = thick lining. Nope, my lining is doing EXACTLY what it did last summer. My clinic is more conservative than the Portland clinic. Portland requires a 7mm lining to go forward to transfer, but my clinic requires at least 8mm. Last summer, I was at 7mm for 2 weeks straight before finally "graduating" to 8mm. That 3 week delay killed me and all the estrogen I had to be on sucked.
This time? I'm on injectable estrogen for the first time and STILL my lining is only 7mm. I'm assuming I'll have to go back for another lining check sometime in the next week. Between now and then, I'll probably be told to either take the injectable more often (I'm taking it once every 3 days now) or my 3-day dosage will be increased. Either way, I suspect more estrogen is coming my way and more waiting and more hope / disappointment.
I was really feeling excited and strong and happy about this cycle. I saw my triple stripe on the ultrasound screen and I was happy. And then I heard "7mm" and I about fell apart inside. The tears didn't come for about 30 minutes because I had to deal with paying for today's bad news and then also dealing with a rather incompetent front desk person who gave me someone else's payment history. I now know that Kristen with a last name of G-something (I immediately made myself forget the name) is a patient there. Thanks, Portland clinic.
I walked my bike from the clinic to downtown, trying to delay the beginning of my work day. I called hubby to open up to him about feeling like I was falling apart. He semi-yelled at me about how I told him I was ready for this cycle and all outcomes, and how if this delay is setting me off, then maybe we shouldn't be doing the cycle at all. I know this was his response to fear and disappointment, but it broke my heart. He made good points, but I reminded him that there really is no way to prepare for (1) the sadness of delay and (2) another week-9 miscarriage (response to his point about being prepared for all outcomes). If I do manage to get prepared for that, it'll mean my heart has completely turned to stone, and I'm quite sure my hubby doesn't want that.
I stopped at a coffee shop and treated myself to a caffeinated latte (fuck it, right?!), a croissant AND an apple pocket. All hand-made from a local bakery, all totally delicious, all really bad for my body and all really good for my soul.
I'm waiting to hear from my Seattle nurse about what happens next.