For my next trick ladies and gentlemen, I will fail - completely and utterly - to bleed. Or I should say rather, I HAVE failed. For the first time ever (excepting the nine weeks I spent harboring the blighted ovum). When the lovely nurse declared my mock cycle a triple-striped success and gave me the go-ahead to peel off the patches and stop with the shots, she told me I should expect to bleed within a week, two at most, and if I didn't bleed after two weeks to call in for further instruction.
Instruction, in this case, meant "Go to the lab and get lots of blood drawn. Immediately." Two hours later, I had my blood drawn while fully hydrated for the first time in my memory (read: after 8:00 am). Turns out that was a mistake, and my choice of a black sweater that morning was not. Yes, I had been hoping for a bleed. But not from a vein.
Another two hours (HOW did they get those results so fast, I ask you?!) and the nurse called to tell me that I am not pregnant and will not be bleeding without further assistance. Here's hoping seven days of Prov.era will get things going.
This is uncharted territory for me. Somehow, I feel more helpless now than I remember feeling in the whole of the last three and a half years. I can't even bleed right anymore. I can't feel like this is a good sign.