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Day 5: Swear to God I'm fine.

I must be truly jaded — it's day 5 of stims and I'm still quite sane, quite sane. I'm not obsessive polling my ovaries to see what's going on. I'm not checking my underpants for interesting mucus. I'm not pulling up my shirt every hour to see if the welts have faded.

Really, I gotta tell you, I'm fine.

Operationally speaking, the Bravelle is no different from Follistim. It may sting a bit less, but because I am so very, very mighty, that was never a big issue for me. And in general, this cycle is a lot less fraught than the last one. Last time the injections were psychologically difficult for me. This time, I don't even worry about picking a good spot. While I still try to be careful about sucking every last drop of medication into the syringe, I'm remarkably cavalier about actually delivering it. Without standing on ceremony, I simply grab whatever fold happens to be convenient and stab with authority.

In general, I've gotten sloppy. I don't keep track of my weight in hopes of staving off OHSS — just doesn't seem likely, given my past performance. I don't give my injections at exactly the same time each day. I don't even use the alcohol swabs that came with the needles — the Lupron bottle gets a cursory swipe every now and again if I'm feeling fancy, but that's it. Sure, I suppose I could get an infection, but I'm thinking gangrene would be a goddamn cakewalk after all this.

I do the shots and I move on. I do care about the outcome, but somehow I don't much care about the process this time around. I am determined to believe this is progress.