Tag Archives: estradiol

It’s the %@*$# drugs

We're done with the injectables, but these two seem to pack a more emotional punch. The Mr. finds it funny; he's allowed. Everyone else, look out.

It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs. It’s the drugs.

At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself as a result of reaching the highest levels of pissivity. (That’s an original derivative of a word I hate to use and wouldn’t, well, if not for the drugs.) I was warned of the side effects of estradiol and progesterone, but I wasn’t expecting the same work-related poop storm from a few weeks ago to keep spinning. I don’t have the time, the patience nor the willingness to address it, but here it is, and here I am, nine kinds of ticked off.

Soooo, maybe it’s not the drugs.

However, the fear and resulting paranoia that pressure from this clusterfox will hurt my chances of housing the Wonder Twins long term might be drug manufactured. It would make sense to think that every significant upset would have a negative effect, but honestly, it doesn’t. Medically anyway, no one thinks so.

In addition to preparing me for mood swings, fatigue, and general haziness, the RE-mandated psychologist addressed stress and how I’d deal with it. Her focus was specifically now, the time between the transfer and the first blood test determing whether the in-vitro cycle was successful. Even though she encouraged a coping strategy — because, obviously alcohol is out of the question — she insisted that everyday wanna-throw-a-shoe, to-Hades-with-everybody, dare-you-to-walk-in-front-of my-car varieties wouldn’t be enough to derail pregnancy. What would have an effect is stress related to fear for my life, of being evicted and otherwise homeless or of not having food. Anything less than that would be implantation gravy.

I was relieved to leave aside the pressure of always trying to relax. In trying for so long to conceive, I’ve heard “Just relax” enough times to consider the phrase profane. And telling me that never works anyway. So rather than “Keep Calm and Carry On” like the book says, I’m doing just fine aligning myself with its companion piece, “Screw Calm and Get Angry.”

And if you don’t like me when I’m angry, well, let’s go with that idea that it’s the blankety-blank drugs.

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