so today is day what, 7 of stims, day 2 of antagon... egg white cervical mucus this morning (sorry dad)-- um, ?
So, my next ultrasound is tomorrow morning, evilly early. I need to get up at 5, and I am not a morning person. But sunrise sure is pretty to watch, and steam will be rising from the river, and there should be fog on the fields. (See? I'm trying to think of something positive)... I'm hoping we did not miss my natural inclination to ovulate early. Hoping I have enough follicles to convert. Hoping above all else that whatever the hell we end up doing works.
I want to send some extra love to Michele who had her twins 3 days ago (just shy of 28 weeks) after weeks and weeks and weeks of hospital bedrest and prayer and they are doing great in NICU. Scary and miraculous and beautiful.
Murgdan had some friggin scary bleeding but it seems to have quit. But not before she had a reassuring ultrasound showing one beautiful sac.
And sweet Elizabeth, gosh darn, she is going through a really hard time: her darlin' is fighting hard against organ rejection from his many years ago lung transplant, and what the hell do you say about that?
I am lucky and I know it. No matter what fresh hell this feels like, I am lucky. I am lucky I am lucky.
I hiked today after sleeping long and waking tired. It rained yesterday, so sun this morning meant steaminess. I hiked quickly, reveled in feeling my heart beating really hard and really fast. I just did my short hike, my "fitness hike" not my nice long sanity-recovery hike, the trail was just too busy, with waaaay too many cars parked at the trailhead.
I moved one big slug off a rock in the middle of the path, but saw (and heard) none of my usual crows, turkeys, snakes, chipmunks. I saw one tawny poodle/cocker spaniel mix with the silliest foofytopped haircut hiking with a big soft sweaty guy who kept up his side of their dialog as if he was talking to a person, completely unembarrassed by me. "Look at that view, fella", he said, "Are you looking? Do you see that? Wow"... I left them to it.
And I came back home with a handful of broken glass and one perfectly breathtaking miniature harbinger of fall. Which, really, pretty much says it.