Tween Sensation – Two Pink Lines; Married 30-something – One

Sixteen-year-old Jamie Lynn Spears, younger sister of Britney – hardly a finalist for mother of the year herself – just announced that she is pregnant. Which means that whatever shred of justice was left in the world has officially evaporated.

Someone wise once told me that I shouldn’t take other people’s pregnancies personally. The fact that other people are pregnant – as they will continue to be, assuming the world continues to turn – is not a personal affront; in fact, it has nothing to do with me at all. Despite the temptation to think so, people are not pregnant on purpose to piss me off. There’s no big, orchestrated scheme to make everyone pregnant except me. It’s just the way the world works.

Generally I find it freeing to think this way (I don’t have to be angry at that hugely pregnant person waddling down the street). Also it came from someone schooled in Eastern thought, so I figure it’s something I should heed, an idea that could make me wiser, more peaceful, more centered. But on days like today, in the face of such an absurdly unfair revelation, I am none of those things. I am just pissed.

At this point I should give you some context, let you know where I’m coming from when it comes to infertility. I was formally diagnosed with a problem about five years ago after a few months of trying. Yes, normally you try for a bit longer before bringing in the experts, but when I went off the pill and didn’t get a period for four months but did get just a single pink line on the pregnancy tests, I got the vague sense that something was awry. I went to a specialist who I think must be best buds with Lisa’s first doc – her cool demeanor elicited an anxiety attack every time I saw her.

The bottom line is that I have some form of polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), though it is not a classic case. I don’t have some of the hormonal elements of the condition and I’m a relatively normal weight (on a good day), but I do have the anovulation, the irregular (to say the least) cycle, the skin problems and the cystic ovaries. When I was first diagnosed a few years ago, we decided for a variety of reasons – a major move chief among them – to put treatment on hold. Now it’s time to give it a shot.

Like most people with PCOS, I have plenty of great looking eggs, but my body is a bit confused about how to release them. So the first course is to take Clomid, which theoretically forces you to ovulate. I say theoretically because I did my first-ever cycle last month to little avail. The five days of 50 mg pills gave me plenty of hot flashes, tons of moodswings and lots of little follicles – but no ovulation. This was the conclusion after two ultrasounds during the week after the pills. And let me tell you, if you’ve never started your morning with a vaginal ultrasound you really haven’t lived. Particularly when you’re lying there with the “wand” (unfortunate name) in your nether region while the nurse tells you she sees absolutely nothing of merit.

The next step is to double the dose to 100 mg – I start that tonight. I also have an hsg scheduled for – drumroll, please – Christmas Eve. Because, you know, what Christmas would be complete without the old catheter-injecting-dye-in-your-fallopian-tubes tradition?

-J