Dr. B, aka the world's best doctor, doesn't want us to try this month. He wants my thyroid under better control before we try again, and he recommended that I see an endocrinologist. So that is that.
I have conflicting feelings about this. On one hand, I understand. And I certainly don't want to make the next pregnancy any riskier than it will already be. On the other, the only reason anyone knows what is up is because I pay attention. If I ignored the subtle signs last week we would still all be under the illusion of my thyroid leveling off last month and it being safe to try. And if we did get pregnant, Dr. B and company would then set to work managing my condition. And statistically, it would likely work out. But statistics are no comfort to me now. And I did pay attention, and we do know what is going on.
I feel like stomping my feet and banging my fists, and chugging a Cosmopolitan. Of course, given how sick I am, I would probably end up coughing up a lung way before I ever got to the cocktail. Damn!