Who knew there was such a thing as a "beautiful endometrial lining"? It must be true, though, because the doctor told me that today, and a medical assistant told me almost the exact same thing last month, only with a little more pizazz ("Great lining, Sweetie").
What's more, who knew that hearing you have a great endometrial lining would make you feel good? As if you, yourself, did something to make it good, or knew what it meant, even.
But you temper the sense of accomplishment by hearing things aren't as good as you'd hoped, and believing that's your fault. Like today, I heard that even with 150 mg of Clomid, I only had one egg this month. Last month on the same dose I had two. What did I do wrong? I ask myself. But really, what can you do wrong when your only responsibility is to take a pill? Only so many ways you can mess that up.
These are the times that I must remind myself that I am a person greater than my infertility. Otherwise, these actually start to feel like accomplishments and failures.
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