Before turning Whitney into the 12-step poster child, Bobby Brown once gave his heart to progesteroni. Wait…that’s not right.
A trolley dings in the distance, and a cheerful chorus sings: “Progesteroni, the San Francisco treat!” No?
I’m a musician. I measure my life in song. I hear soundtracks in my head when everything is silent, and this whole ttc journey is no exception. I can’t help humming a lullaby when we’re out to dinner and the cute baby at the next table smiles at me, making my insides hurt. I hear percussion in the tip-tapping of an ultrasound machine as the doctor measures my follicles (annoying…it’s like rain man). So it should come as no surprise to those who know me that I hear 80’s hip-hop and rice jingles when someone says “progesterone.” Correction: I did hear music, right up until I was 8 hours into my first dose.
For those of you not in the know, women undergoing ART are urged to supplement each treatment cycle with a round of progesterone until it’s time for the blood test. This will help to prevent miscarriage in the event that the treatment cycle is successful. Sounds harmless, huh? Not so fast. The side effect list for progesterone is as follows: headache, breast tenderness, upset stomach, tiredness, and a host of other excellent pastimes you don’t even want to know about. The list of early pregnancy symptoms is as follows: headache, breast tenderness, upset stomach, tiredness…do you see a pattern developing? Me, too. As if the two-week wait wasn’t bad enough, now the doctors have added the delightful bonus of heightening the pregnancy paranoia. Awesome.
But possibly the worst side effect from the progesterone for me is the mood roller coaster. My wife really should be sainted. She has absorbed the brunt of my crap for the past 6 days, and still loves me enough to pray that I’m pregnant instead of wishing she’d awaken from her own personal nightmare. For instance, it probably wasn’t her fault that I got overheated the other day when drying my hair, causing it to curl, thereby reversing my blow-out efforts and prompting me to throw a round brush across the bathroom (did I mention this hormone also raises my body temperature by about 60 degrees? and it’s August? and I live in Atlanta!!). After my fit, I found her patiently riding out the storm with our dog peeking out from behind her legs. I was shocked when I returned home later and the house wasn’t boarded up in preparation for the next hurricane. I fully expected sandbags.
The bottom line is that, as with all other joys of IUI, this might help us become parents. Short of some twisted form of torture involving clowns and animals dressed as humans, I can withstand anything that results in a baby. Here’s hoping the same goes for wifey. So to echo the words of a formerly great musician: My heart belongs to progesteroni. She’s my only love! At least for the next week.