I started my second round of Clomid this morning. If you haven’t been following along: 50mg last cycle didn’t get me to ovulate, so it’s 100mg this time. I’m taking one pill in the morning and one at night.
Considering the humongous fit I threw upon taking the first round, it’s weird that I was sort of looking forward to starting round two this morning. I feel like finally I’ve got some forward motion. I guess there is a lingering feeling that if I conceive on Clomid, it will be less pure or admirable or something – but when I confront that feeling, it tends to disintegrate. The intended destination is still pregnancy, and there’s some difficult terrain to cross on the way. Taking Clomid is like taking that new freeway they just built to get there. Maybe there were some environmentally questionable construction shortcuts used when they cleared the way to lay down the asphalt, but it isn’t like they wiped out the last surviving population of ivory-billed woodpeckers. I mean, I guess I could still get there the old way, down a winding two-lane road, but it would take so much longer, and the service stations are few and far between, and it’s possible (dare I say likely?) that there was a rockslide and the road is totally blocked, and I just might get stranded and nobody knows I’m out there and I’ll probably starve to death.
What was I talking about? Oh. Right. The point is, why put myself through the extra effort if it may end up being wasted stress and time? And therefore, taking medication was exciting this morning. 65 MPH, baby.