Onward

Well, Succotash, we're still in the game. Five follicles going, of which three are in the same ballpark, one is larger, and one is smaller. Another smaller one still which they aren't counting for some reason, but I see it there plain as day on the ultrasound. Yesterday when scanned by Dr. Big Guns I asked if they were sure to address every follicle. He promised me they would.

"Wring em out," I said.

It's been a week of strange coincidences. The acupuncturist standing in for my usual one remembers me from college. Then in the waiting room today a woman recognizes me from having met through a mutual friend. Then as the nurse draws targets on my haunches for the trigger shot I will likely have to give myself later, she tells me that another nurse recognized me from writing. I was her favorite author and she was star struck. This is gratifying information, I suppose, though a bit surreal to receive while one's pants are lowered and someone is drawing on one's rear end with a marker.

Almost certainly triggering tonight. Then egg retrieval Thursday. I am being very assiduous about my bowel movements Succotash, because last time the constipation wrought by egg retrieval surgery was both painful and horrifying. I'm heading it off at the pass this time. Stool softeners. Magnesium. I've even laid in a supply of prune juice.

Prune juice, Succotash. See what I'm willing to do for you?

Now your job is to grow. And then, if we get that far, to hang on.