A week and a half ago I started bleeding. I had had four AF's post-partum, all super light, but this was a ton of bleeding and by the third day I realized it probably wasn't typical. I called the doc who told me to come in right away for an ultrasound. They were worried I was miscarrying, or pregnant and having another SCH episode and I said, "That's not possible." To which they replied in an obnoxiously condescending tone, "It only takes one time," and I said, "Read my chart, it's NOT possible."
Anyway, long story short I went in and had the ultrasound, and of course was NOT pregnant, but they were concerned that my uterine lining was measuring at 14mm. They said they were going back and forth between ordering a D&C, and trying Provera. I asked why I couldn't just let it take care of itself (I was bleeding it out, wasn't I?) and they told me that it didn't work that way. I would likely start hemorrhaging within the next 24 hours if I didn't take some action to stop it. So we started the Provera, which the doc assured me, was "no big deal."
Okay, I don't know if it is all the changes my body went through with my pregnancy/IVF, or the hormones that are raging through me from extended breastfeeding of twins, but this last week of Provera has been hell, and remember, I am someone who has injected herself with hundreds of shots of hormones during my IVF cycles, but this is the worst of it.
My stomach hurts, I still (until today) was bleeding like crazy. I feel light headed. Depressed. Weepy. My legs are restless. I can't sleep. My chest feels constricted. My heart is out of whack. I developed mastitis in my left breast the second day I was on it, and last night just generally felt like I was crawling out of my skin. When I looked in the bottom of the bottle to see I was only half way there, it was overwhelming.
They say that when I stop taking it, a "normal" cycle should resume. Lucky me, this will just happen to fall on the day I go to the one writer's conference that I actually get to attend this year, a conference that I have looked forward to since last year when severe post-partum anemia made it impossible for me to go, and that I had planned to pitch the hell out of the novel I have spent the last three years writing at.
I don't really know what the point of this post is. To complain I guess. That I feel like crap and I am frustrated as hell with my body for never co-operating and just being "normal," and even though we weren't trying to get pregnant or anything, there was a split second of hope when they went to do the ultrasound that maybe there would be someone in there waving back at me (I bled my whole twin pregnancy as most of you will recall) and it was just a giant slap-in-my-infertile-face that no, you're not pregnant, you're uterus is just defective.
I turned to Dr. Google about having a thick uterine lining. DON'T EVER TURN TO DR. GOOGLE. Then I realized it was Friday the 13th when I was Dr. Googling and I freaked myself out even more thinking it was some grand sign that I was screwed. Anyway, this post is going nowhere, so I am going to just stop here.
I have a beautiful post to share with you all. It's about Peyton and a sign she sent me but I refuse to write it feeling this way.