In Which I Write Frankly and Angrily About My Reproductive Bits And Related Subjects And Perhaps Am Just A Wee Cranky

So, you are forewarned.






Seriously, I'm going to launch into it now.






WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, OVARIES???

Against all odds, I started my period today, which means my last cycle was 35 days long.
This last month I started Clomid again, and followed up with estrogen. We had a doctor's appointment on the 22nd day of my cycle, and did a blood draw to see if I'd actually ovulated - Nope. Nothing. Zip.

When I went in 2 days later to go over my (not good) results with my doctor, we talked about upping my Clomid for the next month ({Awesome.}), and said that if I hadn't started a new cycle within 2 weeks (which would be this Wednesday), to come in for a pee test and for a scrip to induce a period.

I've been in a shitty mood for the past couple of days (which John can totally attest to), but I didn't attribute it to PMS because, well, I didn't think I was at that point, and also, sometimes long weekends can do weird, bad things to my brain (which I know makes no sense - you'd think it would be relaxing, but sometimes it just hits me the wrong way and throws me out of whack and I spend a good part of the time off brooding and picking fights with John).

Last night we had sex, and as happens sometimes when it is especially, uh, vigorous and wrecking but in that very satisfying way, I cried after. I'm not in pain, or sad, or upset - sometimes it's like, I don't know, I guess this sounds cheesy, but letting myself go like that kinda knocks things loose. Most times it's just a minute and a few tears and I'm fine - last night I laid there thinking, unhappily, for hours, making a most unattractive pool of snot and tears on my pillowcase.

(GOD, this post is depressing to read. Sex should be awesome and fun and not induce crying jags, but it just goes to show how a crazy, overthink-y person can fuck up [ha] even the best things.)

John tried to talk to me, but my thoughts were so jumbled - and well, pitiful - I couldn't put them into coherent sentences (nor did I really want to). So I stayed up into the wee hours, thinking and thinking and thinking, and crying, feeling pretty fucking pathetic.

So today, when I discovered that SURPRISE!, I was like, "GOD, this explains a whole fucking lot."

And you're probably wondering why I didn't put it all together - how could I *not* know I was PMS-ing? To which I answer, I really never know I'm PMSing until the "pre" part is over.

Sometimes I get cramps, sometimes not.
Sometimes my lower back hurts like a sonofabitch, sometimes not.
Sometimes my boobs hurt, sometimes not.
Sometimes I want to walk around punching people in the face for being ALIVE in my GENERAL VICINITY, but this happens pretty much every morning until I've been awake for about 2 hours.

And I should mention that all of these symptoms sometimes happen AT THE SAME TIME, out of nowhere, and they do not indicate a) ovulation, or its imminency, or b) menstruation, or its imminency.

So when, at my last appointment, my doctor asked if I *felt* like I was going to have a period, I opened my mouth to begin my lengthy diatribe, but we were interruped by a phone call about another patient (whose ovaries probably functioned beautifully! FUCK YOU AND YOUR PERFECT FUCKING GONADS.) in labor. He is lucky we never got to finish that conversation, because it likely would have gone something like this blog post - that is to say, hysterical, pitiful, and riddled with obscenities.

I am just SO FRUSTRATED.
WHAT THE FUCK, OVARIES????
WHAT THE FUCK, BODY?????

You women that are in tune with your bodies, with your cycles, with your MIND, I am jealous.
I'm jealous of your sense of control.
I'm jealous of your peace.
I'm irritated at the fact that you may take for granted that your body just DOES WHAT IT IS SUPPOSED TO.

I'm angry at myself for letting all of this factor into my sense of self.
I know it's not fair to judge myself so harshly because of this - my lazy ovaries and my infertility don't make me less female, less a woman. I KNOW THAT. And the rational part of me says that over and over and over, every day.

And yet.

There is still that small but painfully vocal part of me that feels like a failure for having such a hard fucking time doing the ONE THING I should be able to Just Do without thinking about it.