Two ovaries in swimsuits are circling the boxing ring, holding up two boards with the number 17 on them.
Round 17. Cycle 17.
What can we say about this one that hasn't been said before?
Er...not a whole lot.
This cycle is going to be 'monitored'. Which as far as I can understand is the second clinic's fancy way of saying they'll run some tests that have already been run by the first clinic.
Tomorrow, Friday, on cycle day 10, ET will have an ultrasound.
I presume this will be to check follicle development in anticipation of ovulation.
Whether she likes it or not, I'm going to be there, camera in hand.
This has already been done by the first clinic and everything was in ship shape.
11 days later on CD21, ET will have bloods checked, especially for progesterone levels, to check that the result of ovulation are high levels of the hormone.
This has also been checked by the first clinic, and is also in ship shape.
Somewhere in between having her innards gawked at, and having the blood sucked out of her, she'll have the ever joyous experience of my manhood attempting to perform it's own form of internal examination on her.
So while I grunt and pant and drool my way to ecstasy, she gets to horizontally mentally plan her next purchase from Amazon.
In a nutshell, this cycle is like a sandwich for ET, the poor old bird, stale tests early on and near the end, but with lashings of stuffing in the middle.
What more could a girl want from a month?
Now, I want a clean fight, no holding, no grabbing, nothing below the belt. At the bell, come out fighting.
Round 17. Ding Ding.