I had my WTF appointment this morning. You know the one - talk about what went wrong, why Mother's Day is going to be a f'ing nightmare instead of a blissful holiday and try to figure out what to do next if only we had the money. I wasn't expecting much, especially considering this was only the 3rd time I'd ever met the doctor (including my embryo transfer). I'm pretty certain she didn't recognize me and quite likely had never really studied my chart. Such is life when you're part of a clinical study.
I got about as much satisfaction out of the appointment as I'd expected (i.e. little to none) but I did get one thing I never anticipated: an admission that they completely screwed up my protocol right from the start. Talking a mile a minute the doctor announced that they've been really busy with the study and didn't take the time to tailor the protocols of the early cases. But don't worry - they've straightened it all out. Girls cycling now are getting individual attention instead of just random stabs in the dark. (Or rather, in the gut.)
And I'm supposed to be happy about this why? I know I signed up to be part of a science experiment, but I foolishly expected I'd get as much attention as anyone else. I'm glad that my failed cycle won't be repeated on other desperate women, but what good does it do me? We all know I'm a generous, giving soul, always happy to sacrifice my own needs for the comfort and well being of others, but, um...WTF?
In other exciting news, our sperm count on the day of the retrieval was 0.0001 million. No, that is not a typo. His balls have been revolting for some time now, but that? That is outright mutiny. And yet a month and a half ago at his most recent analysis we had 8 million of the little buggers. And to think, I'd been fantasizing this week that just maybe we'd get pregnant by having S.E.X. Looks like the nutsack in charge has something to say about that little delusion.
Back to the drawing board.