Whacking Day

We are now in the 2 week wait, having survived a weekend of double IUIs. Whacking Day, as it's affectionately known around here, is inevitably more stressful for hubby than it is for me. He has to enjoy it on some level, if only for a few minutes, in order to do the dirty deed. On the other hand, I am free from this particular pressure. I actually don't mind the IUI itself, having survived much more painful and invasive indignities along this road, but the stress of being in this situation at all always sets off a couple of day's worth of heart palpitations every time we make it to this critical juncture.

Post IUI #2, I drove home in an optimistic mood, which is rare for me as you may have noticed. The stats looked good. Two mature follicles. Two seemingly well-timed IUIs. 190 million sperm, which hubby managed to crank out despite being ill with a bad cold, proving once again (as if there were ever any doubt) that all of this infertility agony is my fault.

Since supposed ovulation, however, I'm despairing over two days of pain which have me wondering if I ever did actually ovulate at all. Hubby and the clinic have done their parts, but I never can seem to hold up my end of the deal. This was supposed to be a week of pain-free optimism typical of Week One. Week Two is always a different story, as you well know if you've been subjected to a great many ultimately fruitless two-week-waits. Ten days to go!