Touché, it doesn’t work that way of course.
Metformin is a smelly drug. It is also packaged with such loving care that it makes you break a sweat and actively lose weight just trying to remove the smelly pill from it’s home. I started out on 500mg, the lowest dose. My cats and I created a love-hate relationship with each other over my daily ritual of drugging myself. The smell is so enticing to them that it brings all five of them rushing from their various cubby-holes, excited and salivating at the anticipation of treats. Imagine their surprise to see Mommy eating their “treats”! Never have I been held in such contempt as to see ten fully dilated sets of pupils glaring at me. I admit I was tempted on more than one occasion to see what Metformin would do to a cat, but figured curing hirsutism was not tops on their lists of things to do. So in the end, it was down the hatch with the fish-pill, disappointing all involved.
Again, the first cycle of Metformin I was not expecting any miracles. It was new to my system and I was skeptical to begin with. When AF showed up, I expected her and didn’t even waste any tests that cycle. I began my second cycle on Metformin in the middle of October 2005. It was more than two years after our wedding, and we had passed the one-year mark of actively
Towards the end of that cycle in the middle of November I had another appointment with my GP. I expressed my frustrations, and explained that I was not content to keep hoping every month. I wanted to try fertility drugs. I still was not positive that I was even ovulating, and my cycles were still irregular. Dr. suggested Clomid. I thought about it for 60 seconds and said yes. She asked if I thought I could be pregnant right now. I pondered that for a moment, thinking back to see if any of the trick symptoms had plagued me and realized that there weren’t even any trick symptoms. “No,” I said sadly, “I don’t think I am pregnant.” With that, Dr. wrote out a prescription for Clomid and gave me instructions on how to use it. I left her office feeling surprisingly down-hearted. I was disappointed in my body, and in my patience. I felt apprehensive about Clomid and reluctant to “give in” to fertility drugs. Most of all, I felt like God had abandoned me, and left me with no other choice than to depend on myself. My depression lasted all day, its sadness relieved only slightly by Ty’s understanding and comforting hugs. We were meeting some friends for dinner that night, so I tried to shrug it off and feel hopeful for my first cycle on Clomid.
Dinner didn’t go very well. They were fairly new friends that we’d met through church in our new Bible study and we were eager to make a good impression. My parents own the restaurant we were at, and the servers were all familiar with Ty and I. Our server greeted us and as she handed out our menus she said to me, “
I was shaky, as anyone who tried to replace their natural personality with alcohol would feel the next morning, and made my way to the bathroom. An unopened box of E.P.T.’s stared at me from the back of the toilet. I glared at them long and hard until I realized that I was on CD 38 or something absurd, and AF hadn’t shown up yet. I sighed, knowing the surest way to start a new cycle was to test. “Let’s get this over with” was my glum thought. With a practiced fingernail I deftly sliced through the shrink wrap and pulled out the test. Three minutes later I looked at the results, hope finding it’s way through my resignation. The test said +. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t remember suddenly what it was supposed to say. I set the test back down and reached for the instructions. Apparently a + sign equals pregnant. I picked the test back up. There was a definite positive sign in the window. As I sat there with my pajama pants still around my ankles I cried. The moment was too romantic and beautiful for the setting, but all I could think was…I’m PREGNANT!