Holiday

I started infertility treatments eight months ago. In the time that has passed since, I have: taken pills that didn't help me ovulate but did help me become a raving lunatic bitch; injected myself every night for weeks at a time; snuck out of a dinner on a Saturday night to give myself an HCG shot in my car like a desperate drug addict; nearly passed out twice at the shock of getting my period early; experienced the return of teenager-worthy acne thanks to PCOS; gotten intimate with the ultrasound wand too many times to count; had even more blood draws, several of which took many tries thanks to my thin veins and at least one inept medical assistant; nearly had my cycle canceled unnecessarily; found a new doctor (see previous item); and cried too many tears for one person.

The sum total of this? I. Need. A. Vacation. Seriously.

So, I'm taking one. On Sunday, my husband and I are headed for the first weeklong summer vacation we've had in forever. And it couldn't come at a better time. I hope I come back all rested up and ready for more of the above. Because the saga continues in a couple of weeks.