Ovarian Carpeting

My body is rebelling. I still haven't ovulated. It's CD 21. At the risk of offending my much-loved sistas with PCOS, I have to say that I *always* ALWAYS ovulate on CD15. It's the one thing I do well, my Claim to Fame. I suck at everything else related to babymaking, but you could set a train schedule by my ovulation. Shit lot of good it's done me over the years, but at least something -- ANYTHING -- in this crazy nightmarish situation was constant. Not anymore. What in the sam hill is going on?

Did my ovaries hear that I'm planning to attack them again? Are they hiding, shaking, quivering under little blankets in there? Mewling like kittens, pleading and begging for me to please, oh please, just leave them the hell alone? (I couldn't blame them, you know.) Regardless, too damn bad. Get out here and put up your dukes! We've got shit to do, babies to make, and you're burnin' daylight. Do you fools think that my eggs aren't jumping off the cliff at a rate of 2 zillion a day or something? Because they ARE! Shake a leg, will ya? Soon it's going to echo so badly in my ovaries that we'll need to put down carpeting to dampen the noise.

At first it was cute. I'd pee in a cup, then dip my nifty little OPK in there and wait for my lines to appear. After the first couple of days of vast whiteness where the second line is supposed to be, I'd cajole the LH surge like we were playing hide-and-seek: "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" That got old quick. Now I stamp my feet and ask just where in the hell everyone is, and why have they deserted me?

Is there a party that no one told me about? Probably. And it's most likely stocked with delicious food, skinny people, and lots of pregnant women who want to rub their bellies and laugh about delightful surprise conceptions. Please shoot me.

All I'm trying to do here is pull off a miracle -- the urban legend non-assisted-cycle conception. Is that too much to ask? Okay, that's pretty ridiculous, but a girl can dream, you know. Short of that lightning strike on top of a winning lottery ticket on top of a flying pig scenario, can I just get AF to show up? I need to get my Last Cycle on it's way. The big, bold, exciting sendoff known as the (never to be seen again) Leah Egg Cycle.

I've considered punching myself squarely in the abdomen. Maybe I'd pummel an ovary, maybe my uterus. They all suck at their jobs anyway, so it's not like I'm really going to make anything worse down there. I know I sound pretty glib about this, trying to make it amusing and all, but that's my coping mechanism. Otherwise, I'd be curled into a useless ball in the corner bemoaning my rapidly approaching Completely Barren status.

I didn't think that I could be more disappointed in my body, my reproductive tract, myself. But I am. Thank you, IF, for showing me new lows. Thanks a whole helluva lot. You suck.