Maybe I'm not anovulatory after all. I got my crosshairs yesterday. Looks like my long awaited egg finally decided to come of out hiding. Of course, DH and I missed the mark because of my UTI. It's like my ovaries knew we couldn't have sex so they thought it would be fun to play a practical joke and release an egg now. Those ovaries...so damn funny. I bet they're having a great laugh at my expense as we speak. Oh, well. I'm not really that upset. I'm actually glad that I won't have to make the call for Provera and can just ride it out until the crimson witch appears.
Speaking of my lovely UTI, I finished my Macrobid on Sunday but was still pissing razorblades so back to the doctor I went. I still had WBC in my urine so they switched my antibiotic and told me to follow-up with a urologist. I am so tired of having fifty million different physicians. My PCP. My OB/GYN. My RE. And now a urologist? I already take enough time off of work for my fertility (or lack thereof) and now I'm expecting to do so for my pee hole. I figure I'll wait until DH's new insurance kicks in next month and then I'll look into it. But if they so much as mention putting a catheter in there, that's it. I can be violated by the dildo cam all day long but my vagina is like the Grand Canyon compared to my urethra, which is more like the pothole I drive over in the parking lot at work. Significantly smaller surface area to mess with. And besides, I'm used to having things come OUT of there - not IN. Yes, maybe I'm being a bit ornery about the whole thing and it is for the greater good and blah blah blah. But I can't not throw a fit about the tortuous possibilities I envision when I think of urology. As if I haven't been examined down there enough times? I think my private parts have been looked at by more strangers than Jen.na Jam.eson and frankly, the thrill is gone.
Anyway, I called DH on the way home from the doctor and it went a little something like this:
DH: So how did it go?
Me: Infection still there. On more antibiotics. They think I need to see a urologist. In case I have a microscopic tear or something.
DH: Do they do pregnancy tests while you're there?
Me: Ummm...no. You have to ovulate and have sex to get pregnant, remember?
DH: I know, I was just thinking, you know...maybe the two are connected.
Me: So are you suggesting an embryo somehow implanted in my pee tubes?
DH: You can't blame a guy for trying.
Men. Gotta love 'em.
That would be one for the record books.
Maybe I'm not anovulatory after all. I got my crosshairs yesterday. Looks like my long awaited egg finally decided to come of out hiding. Of course, DH and I missed the mark because of my UTI. It's like my ovaries knew we couldn't have sex so they thought it would be fun to play a practical joke and release an egg now. Those ovaries...so damn funny. I bet they're having a great laugh at my expense as we speak. Oh, well. I'm not really that upset. I'm actually glad that I won't have to make the call for Provera and can just ride it out until the crimson witch appears.
Speaking of my lovely UTI, I finished my Macrobid on Sunday but was still pissing razorblades so back to the doctor I went. I still had WBC in my urine so they switched my antibiotic and told me to follow-up with a urologist. I am so tired of having fifty million different physicians. My PCP. My OB/GYN. My RE. And now a urologist? I already take enough time off of work for my fertility (or lack thereof) and now I'm expecting to do so for my pee hole. I figure I'll wait until DH's new insurance kicks in next month and then I'll look into it. But if they so much as mention putting a catheter in there, that's it. I can be violated by the dildo cam all day long but my vagina is like the Grand Canyon compared to my urethra, which is more like the pothole I drive over in the parking lot at work. Significantly smaller surface area to mess with. And besides, I'm used to having things come OUT of there - not IN. Yes, maybe I'm being a bit ornery about the whole thing and it is for the greater good and blah blah blah. But I can't not throw a fit about the tortuous possibilities I envision when I think of urology. As if I haven't been examined down there enough times? I think my private parts have been looked at by more strangers than Jen.na Jam.eson and frankly, the thrill is gone.
Anyway, I called DH on the way home from the doctor and it went a little something like this:
DH: So how did it go?
Me: Infection still there. On more antibiotics. They think I need to see a urologist. In case I have a microscopic tear or something.
DH: Do they do pregnancy tests while you're there?
Me: Ummm...no. You have to ovulate and have sex to get pregnant, remember?
DH: I know, I was just thinking, you know...maybe the two are connected.
Me: So are you suggesting an embryo somehow implanted in my pee tubes?
DH: You can't blame a guy for trying.
Men. Gotta love 'em.
That would be one for the record books.