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Anyone who has ever tried to read a thermometer in the dark knows how much fun I've been having every morning for a month now. It's especially fun when you can't even focus your eyes at 6:00 a.m., and part of the challenge is reaching for and getting your glasses on without moving too many body parts. The slightest movement, I'm told, may effect my basal body temperature, which is the goal we're after here.
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Those three words -- basal body temperature -- are very significant in the world of infertility. My body will supposedly produce different temperature readings depending on which part of my cycle I'm in. The goal is to produce a chart of daily temps which will, at best, give me an indication of when I ovulate. This is all assuming, of course, that I am ovulating regularly. I'm guessing that if I'm not, the chart will show that, too.
So, why is it necessary to reach for my glasses when there are so many nifty new kinds of basal thermometers out there, with nice, bright digital read-outs? You know, the kind you can just pop in your mouth, pull out when it beeps, and read in the dark? Well, because I'm cheap.
One of the by-products of being a social worker (for me, anyway) is that of becoming miserly. Not only are you paid a pittance for your work, but you spend your day with people who live with dirt floors and whose dinner consists of a single box of macaroni-and-cheese to split among the family. Surrounded by all this poverty, I became a major tightwad; I choose to refer to it as "resourceful". If I already have something, I do not need another one (that has, at times, included bras). I can live without the extravagances of our consumer-culture (I inherited my first turn-table from my parents in 1989). Hence, I already have a perfectly good thermometer, why invest an additional $15.00 for another one?
Now, with a nice, new thermometer, it would not be necessary for me to reach for my glasses, thereby disrupting my basal temperature, because I wouldn't have to shake it down. (A refresher note: in the old days, one had to shake the thermometer by snapping the wrist briskly in order to bring the mercury below 98.6 degrees.) But, Frugal Fannie that I am, I'm reaching and shaking. What's the point of shaking if you can't then see the thermometer to confirm that it's at the right starting point? Now you understand why I must reach for the glasses...
To make up for the possible effects of reaching and shaking on my temperature, I've set up a tidy little nightstand that resembles that of many senior citizens'. Right next to my synthroid prescription (that's another Journal entry altogether) and prerequisite glass of water are my reading glasses, thermometer, trusty timekeeper, pen, and notepad. I must be careful not to take my synthroid before my temperature, as the water will have a definite effect on things. However, the synthroid must be taken an hour before eating, so I have this timed precisely in order to try and arrive somewhere near on-time at work.
If all goes well, and the cats don't destroy my tidy display in the middle of the night, my glasses are within an arm's reach without my having to lift myself up on my elbow. Once I get them on, I can actually now see and grasp the thermometer. The shaking is the easy part -- it's being able to focus on the reading in the dark that kills me. Did I fail to mention that my husband, who gets up an hour after me, grumbles loudly and incoherently if I turn the light on? Some days I can see in the dark, other days I listen to him grumble.
Once the thermometer is under my tongue, I wait the required four to five minutes to achieve an accurate reading. Problem is, during that wait, I inevitably fall asleep and wake up (miraculously, just in time) with the thermometer somewhere near my tongue, but not necessarily under it. Should I try again? No. That's not allowed. By that time, my "basal" temp is gone. Fine, I'll just jot down the reading. Later, when I can see in the light, I'll draw another tiny "x" on the graph which signals the beginning of another day in my cycle...
© Tracy Morris
