I took Clomid the first time I was trying to get pregnant and was successful with it in the first month. I have been trying to conceive for eighteen months now, which shortly began after a miscarriage in December 2011. This month I will begin my third round of Clomid, and I have to be honest, with each passing cycle—heck, each passing day, even, and my hope drops. I can’t say why, exactly. The longer it takes to happen the more I believe that it never will.
Clomid makes me feel like crap, even on a good day. I didn’t remember this from the first time around, but then again, I wasn’t on it long enough and it was almost six years ago. I barely remember what kind of music I was into six years ago, you know? It makes me super tired all the time, which I remember from the progesterone I also took with my first pregnancy. It also makes me and my husband fight. It’s my fault, too, or the bloody Clomid’s. I feel like I am on an emotional roller coaster all the time.
The worst part is, it’s not working. Before I began taking Clomid I was told my progesterone should be between a 6 and a 12. When tested, mine showed up at 5.9. They put me on it anyway. The first cycle I was a 12 on the nose, so I thought we were good. Still, the doctor wanted to increase us to 100 milligrams. After cycle 2, I was a 0.9. Yes, you read that correctly. So, my Clomid for July is going to be 150 milligrams.
I feel like such a failure. I know that Clomid typically works within the first three months, so I feel like this is our last shot. I also know that increasing my dose is not going to do my marriage any favors. I have so much to be thankful for, and I am putting my body and my heart through physical and emotional hell. And for what? Nothing but a pale attempt to fill that hole in my heart where a baby should be.