Countdown to the Worst Day of My Life

Today I had the opportunity to visit my doctor's office again, for a fabulous blood test that cost me Lord knows how much money, plus some, because I had to pick up whatever it was they were injecting me with at the specialty pharmacy myself.  It was super fabulous.

On my way out, I had to schedule a few more awesome tests and such that are cycle sensitive. 

Well, since, they are cycle sensitive, I OBVIOUSLY have to have these tests done on certain days.  If a test is scheduled for cycle day 15, it HAS to be done on CD15.  There is no ifs, ands, or buts about that.  The doctors are looking for things, and unless they say it's OK to move it, I don't mess with it.  It's a shame to waste another cycle (money spent on visits and medication, emotional investments, etc.) for a work trip that's easily rearranged or personal travel, especially after FAILING for so many. 

So, Dr. Suave, my specialist, had ordered some tests for CD15.  I haven't been able to make any of these appointments because CD1 was elusive.  Well, CD1 came and went, along with many ridiculous mood swings (ask the Hubs), plenty of emotional breakdowns (again, ask the Hubs), and cramping that almost convinced me my internal organs were literally trying to jump out my my body (which went over brilliantly with all my athletic activity this weekend - ugh!).

I stroll into the office today and get my baseline blood draw.  I get injected with my super expensive drug (that seriously looked like crack-cocaine in a legit medical vial), then have to leave the office for an hour.  After meandering around Target (and leaving without buying anything - a MAJOR accomplishment), I return to the office for another blood draw.  I stop at the appointment desk to schedule my CD15 visit.

I tell the receptionist I have to schedule some CD15 tests.  She asks which tests.  I tell her a regular moitoring ultrasound (yay, vag cam), and of course, this awesome and humiliating test.  She then asks which day CD15 is.  I pull out the calendar on my phone, and I tell her that CD15 is actually a SUNDAY.  Sunday, November 22, actually.  I then ask if this was a date set in stone, or if the doctor would be ok with me coming in on Monday, CD16, hoping that this was one of those rare times where the doctor would be willing to work with me (it's a SUNDAY, don't you want a day off?)

WELL, AS IT TURNS OUT, the doctor (who is on call that Sunday), would still like me to come in that Sunday for the Party Down in Ladytown.  UGH. 

As I am looking at my calendar, I realize that this is ALSO the day I have to go to CRAZYTOWN for Faux Thanksgiving with my in-laws. 

Shoot me. 

In the face.

This, my friends, is proof that God hates me.

Either He hates me, or I am being repaid for all the awful things I have done in my life.  Being forced to have a Party Down in Ladytown and THEN having to spend the day in Crazytown is too much fun for one person.  We are T-minus 10 days until this wonderful occasion.

I can not wait. (Sarcasm)