Depression is a beastly motherfucker.
This morning I had my first appointment with my new doctor. The first doctor I’ve ever had who immediately wanted to treat my PCOS in spite of me not wanting to try to conceive.
I came in for a referral to an endocrinologist, a prescription for spironolactone, and maybe something to help my increasingly frequent migraines since I’m allergic to the number one migraine med.
I left for hours later, my pee in a cup, my blood in some tubes, and my chest on an X-ray. I carried one prescription for metformin, one for spironolactone, and one for Topamax. Within an hour I had an email with an appointment with an endocrinologist.
That part went well.
Bullshit #1: I’ll tell you, I was super pissed that I couldn’t get into the endocrinology clinic any time within the next year with a referral from the family practice clinic in the same hospital, but let them take one phone call from a different clinic and it’s see you in November, Mrs. April.
We dropped our prescriptions off and were told an hour. We went home. I got the text that mine was ready. Even though Ian hadn’t, it had been nearly two hours, so we went to pick them up.
After a bunch of back-and-forth about names and can’t-find-yours-sir and insurance, we left the drive thru missing one of mine and one of his, and one that he got only had half the number of pills it was supposed to. I said park it, and went inside with righteous fury.
Bullshit #2: The only prescription I really cared about, the spironolactone, wasn’t in the bag because they thought the dosage said 2/5mg and the pills come in 25mg. And nobody answered at the doctor’s office. And no one called them back from the doctor’s office. And they sent the it’s ready text anyway because the three prescriptions that were on the same single sheet of paper were entered at different times today.
I’m sure. I’ve been using this pharmacy for eleven years without problems. You had two hours to call them. And then you sent me a text that all of my prescriptions were ready. And you weren’t even going to tell me anything about this? Because we were just handed the bag in the drive thru with a thank you. No explanation. Nothing.
I wanted to scream at her. Look at my face, lady. Do you see this fucking beard? I didn’t shave it today because I wanted the doctor to see its fucking luxuriousness. Do you think I like walking around looking like this? I have an appointment next week for my first round of laser hair removal. I can’t do anything to this bastard but shave it right now and it’s making me fucking crazy. I have to look in the mirror every day at this black reminder of how I have shit ovaries that ruined the one thing I wanted to do with my life. Every fucking day. And I hate it, and it makes me hate myself. So go fill the 25mg pills. I’ll wait right here.
I wanted to make her cry so she could feel one tiny fraction of everything that I was feeling, because I knew she was lying with her tedious explanation. I do it to customers all the time. I bullshit them just like she was bullshitting me.
But I didn’t. I took the other half of his prescription and I took her explanation that they were out of his blood pressure meds until tomorrow and I left. Because I knew if I started in on her I wouldn’t be able to stop.
I’ve spent the past two hours in bed being alternately angry and sad. Crying and playing a stupid coin push game on my phone and shutting out the world with extra loud dubstep in my headphones. Because on top of all this I had to unpack a bottle of metformin to put on my counter and look at every day, just like the fucking beard, and it brought back all those years of miserably failing to conceive. All at once, on top of me.
And then I got up and I fucking shaved and I came to tell you about this.
I’m so sick of hating my body for letting me down, but I don’t know how to stop.
CD7. Today I took my last dose of clomid. Forever? Boy, do I hope so. This treatment cycle has been the worst I’ve had. Although, now that I think about it, I haven’t had any hot flashes yet, and those usually start on CD5.
This was my first cycle with metformin and clomid together. I tried metformin for almost a year with my gyn, then stopped, then six (one successful ovulation!) rounds of clomid with my RE. Since I can’t see my RE again until December, I’m doing the combo with another gyn.
On to the details of this week.
First dose of clomid was Sunday. Pretty much the normal first day, maybe even a little better. I felt good, and I felt good about myself. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Monday, not so good. Not so bad, but not so good. I felt a little sadder than usual, and that doesn’t usually start until the fourth dose. A couple tears in the evening.
Tuesday morning is when it slapped me in the face. Just once though, and not too hard. I got up to finish the work I didn’t finish Monday, and started crying in the car before I was out of the driveway. I’m glad it was one of the good customers instead of a mean one. When I got home, I went straight to the bed and flopped down to cry and cry. My husband ended up staying home from work because he was worried about me. It is such a blessing for his job to be so flexible. Most of the afternoon was okay, but I started crying again in the evening.
Yesterday was hell. I don’t remember the last time I felt so horrible so consistently. I cried through writing yesterday’s post, I cried through fixing breakfast, I cried through everything. My husband and I had a talk about some things, but that wasn’t what I was unhappy about, they were just things that needed to be discussed. I cried while he was at his appointment, I cried when he got home, you know the drill. I cried on the phone with my mom because I tried to tell her about the crying. I have never found a need to use the phrase ‘abject misery,’ but that was me yesterday. Bonus! Yesterday also brought the news that I may be lactose intolerant.
Last night I was terribly afraid I would wake up this morning and be utterly unable to get out of bed. I dreaded today like I have few days in my life. But it’s okay. I am okay. I was so scared that today would be the most horrible day there ever was, and it’s not. It’s not a good day, but not a bad one. Even though I do have to give up milk.
I greatly appreciate everyone who commented on yesterday’s post. Thank you so much for the comfort. I think that’s what made all the difference.