Long ago, my father and I were in a foreign country and he had sinusitis. He sent me to a drugstore to get him a syringe, which he intended to use, as he explained, to shot up warm water into his sinuses and clean them up. Now, I'd never heard of such a revolutionary idea but well, he was my father, he knew best.
So there I was, babbling in a foreign tongue at the drugstore, making a saleslady laugh with my awkward explanations and gestures to explain what I wanted a syringe for. In our defense, where we come from, anyone can buy a syringe at any drugstore.
I failed. They would not sell me a syringe, not even one without a needle. My father had to make do with the antihistamines I got for him instead. I now know that in civilized countries people use a Neti pot for that same purpose.
Well, I don't have a Neti pot. But I have a few extra syringes from my last cycle. I also happened to have a bad combination of a really bad cold and opera tickets that we could not exchange.
So I trusted that memory and injected warm water through my nostrils. I immediately felt better. At the opera, I discreetly blew my nose whenever there was a round of applause and I made it through the night.
You know what people of faith say, I had to hear it over and over through each diagnosis, failed cycle and failed pregnancy: everything happens for a reason. Does that mean that I went through two unsuccessful FSH cycles just so that I would be able to clean up my sinuses and not miss Renée Fleming?
Still not convinced.