I had another post written. I just re-read it and it was an unbelievable mess, a huge mixed-up confusion, so instead, I threw it all away.
Back when the IUI was cancelled, somewhere in between them telling us everything is broken and ET pulling up her dignity, we were told that we had to arrange to speak to the doctor again in order to see what the next steps would be.
"Ok", you may say, "just do that then".
Well bless your wee heart and your cotton socks jokerman, but things don't work quite that straight forward here in Mozambique, sorry, the Netherlands. That takes time.
In the meantime, we had to decide whether to try ourselves or not. Eventually, I got my mind made up, and we went for it. Lay lady lay we did, and we delivered to those eggs many a shot of love.
Anyway, ET phoned the hospital in order to make an appointment to speak to the doctor. Calling to make an appointment, to make an appointment, if you will.
All went well and there was an opening to speak to the doctor by phone 10 days later. That appointment was just the other day.
The doctor proceeded to tell us a load of stuff we have been saying for months, but the long and short of it is we try another medicated IUI. Instead of the previous 100mg of Clomid, she offered 50mg, a fool such as I would have taken her up on that offer, but ET decided on 25mg. Just like a woman.
She had rarely seen such a case of hyper stimulation so she won't let us do it next cycle, but the one after that.
The times they are a-changin', this is already looking like stretching into June, again, and that makes my brain hurt.
Now, if you can't tell from this entry what concert we're going to in a couple of days, there really is no hope for you. If you can, and can pick out the 16 song titles of that artist in this post you win a prize. I want you to.
The prize is my respect and the contempt of everyone else.
The answer my friends, will be blowin' in the wind.