(<--) Smiling face: The ovulation predictor stick this morning.
Miserable face: For my scan to check exactly how well the clomid had worked I had a doctor I had never seen before. She wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs. As she roughly shoved the stick up my cock-socket she said unencouraging things like, "Have you have surgery there?" and grumbled about my bladder being in the way.
Smiling face: I nearly got the giggles when the husband caught my eye, rolling his behind the grumpy Doctor's head.
Miserable face: My right ovary was hard to locate and has done nothing worth writing a blog about.
Smiling face: My left ovary has three follicles measuring 23mm, 17/18mm and 14/15mm. (They should be between 20 and 25mm and can grow by 2mm a day so the two largest ones are looking likely and the littlest, a slight possibility). So in fact, if my right ovary had risen to the clomid-challenge that would have put a halt to the whole thing, as there would have been far too high a risk of multiples.
Miserable face: Even after finding both ovaries, and measuring my uterus lining (all good,) the doctor still managed to spend another five minutes prodding my womb with her stick, (think of the google searches I'll get from that). She was particularly adept at a pincer movement, pushing my bladder from the inside with her dildo and from the outside with her hand. I got the message! Next time I will empty my bladder completely.
Smiling face: The nurse by comparison was lovely. No, not Eunice but someone else. Whilst the husband and I were a bit white-faced, pinched smiles and clammy handed from the violation I'd just suffered, she was giggling and excited. She told me I was "going to worry them" and, before I had a chance to get concerned, she explained it was because I had responded very well to the clomid and had a chance of multiples, and was that OK? I said I was a twin myself, which made her wriggle with delight. For someone who must come across couples like us every single day, she couldn't have made us feel more special or made our outcome seem any more important.
Miserable face: I screwed up. I thought as I was coming in anyway I didn't have to call the nurses to say that I got a positive ovulation test. But apparently I should have, so the husband wasn't booked in to the lab for his private viewing of the hospital's pornography.
Smiling face: They made an appointment for him at 2pm for his palm-time, and me at 3pm for the main event.
Miserable face: I then had to go to work for a few hours.
Smiling face: Whilst the quantity of his sperm has gone down slightly in number since last time (from 36 million to 30 million per millilitre – anything above 20 million is considered fine), its mobility has increased to a staggering 94%.
Miserable face: The husband is incredibly busy at work at the moment (he was quadruple booked this morning), so couldn't hang around for the IUI itself.
Smiling face: The IUI actually happened!!! (You've got to know it is good for me to allow a gratuitous three exclamation marks.)
Miserable face: I've now got two weeks to wait before I test to see if it has worked. (No, I'm not really complaining but I need to alternate back to a miserable face and at the moment I am so far from miserable it was hard to think of anything to complain about - unusual I know).
Oh, and I need your advice. Do you reckon I should go for the belts and braces approach with a spot of old fashioned bonking tomorrow night? You know, just to seal the deal.