That's just how these few days have gone, pure chance and guesswork.
In this morning's game of reproductive cluedo, the culprit once again was humourless Janneke in the big brother room, with the withered face and the dildo-cam.
They really need a curtain in there. Seriously.
We'd met a few times before, so there was no small talk to make while ET was doing her graceful semi-naked hop dance. Clothes neatly arranged in a heap on the floor, she climbed up into the stirrups.
For the fourth time in a week.
Janneke guided her probe towards ground zero, and even from my vantage point I could tell that we had a big 'un. 18mm plus, sitting cosily alongside another of 15mm plus.
Stop me if you've heard this one before, but again we had two, where there had been three.
Off she went to the other side. Exactly how she knew where to look when it's supposedly in the wrong place is beyond me, but find it she did. Where there was one 14mm follicle last Friday, sat a shrunken old mass. Barely 10mm and out of the game.
Janneke, perhaps feeling she needed to compete with the tabloid headlines of 'your-ovary-is-in-the-wrong-place' nurse, declared that she thinks we have been seeing a few cysts left over from the over stimulated cycle.
Regardless, we are left with two follicles of good size and growing on one side. Bingo.
That's half the battle. The decision rested on the results of the bloods taken, which have since all come back good.
We go ahead with the insemination tomorrow, without the need for the trigger shot.
After all the hiccups of the last week, I'll believe this is actually going to happen when I see it.
Which will most probably be through white knuckled fingers.
Now all I have to do is figure out how to tell my customer I'm going to the hospital once again, for the fifth time in 8 days.
I'm sure they already think I'm dying.
As I present a sweaty pot filled with the juice of self-abuse to Janneke & Co tomorrow morning, I'll probably wish I was.