Grow Vibes

Perhaps I've been lucky enough to have had painfree experiences so far, but that changed today.

Uff! Ouch! Grrrrrr! Watch it with that wand, buddy!

I was squirming and grimacing all over that doggone table this morning. Which is ultimately a good thing, since it means there were enough follicles and that they were big enough to be bothered by the coochie-cam, but jeez, was that uncomfortable. I know, I know, it's nothing compared to what's coming, but allow me to wallow for just a bit.

I went out last night with friends, and as soon as I stood up after exiting my car, I could feel that jiggly-overstuffedness. It was kind of hard to keep myself totally upright, and found myself hunching occasionally to give those ovaries a break.

After my previous IUIs, where I tracked the size and shape of everything going on inside of me with scientific precision, I've taken a decidedly less obsessive route during all of my IVF ultrasounds.

I certainly pay attention to all fo the numbers and measurements, but I'm not writing them down while Dr. Pleasant is still wanding about. I will jot them down later, if I remember. I realize, now, that I can't control these numbers, and I can't control the success of this cycle.

I can contribute, but I cannot control. I can make sure I take my medicines on time. I can show up prepared and full of questions at my appointments. I can make healthy decisions about what I eat and drink. I can try to keep a positive attitude and think baby-making thoughts.

So, I can recall that, as of this morning, my lining was about 8, I think. On my left ovary were about three follicles, one at 17 ("This guy's jumped ahead of the pack!" exclaimed Dr. Pleasant, in a rare show of enthusiasm), and the others 8 to 10. My right side was chock full, with maybe 9 or so follicles. A few were up around 17, a few around 10 and the rest inbetween.

Dr. Pleasant seemed happy with it all, and thinks that we'll be well within his normal expected range of 5 to 15 at retrieval, which he is anticipating will occur on Monday.

My least favorite part of the post-wanding chat occurs when Dr. Pleasant asks when was the last time J. and I had "sexual relations" and I have to answer, meekly, "This morning." When I really want to shout "Two hours ago! But it wasn't really fun! It totally hurt! I swear, it wasn't fun!" Why I feel embarrased talking about sex with the man whose seen more of my VJ in the past week than J, I don't know. Wierd.

I have another appointment with Dr. Pleasant's partner tomorrow morning, and my guy said he'd let me know by 5 p.m. whether to go ahead with the HCG or to take one more night of Follistim and push the retrieval till Tuesday.

I'm crossing my fingers for Monday, since I've planned out my week based on that date. However, if those follicles need another day to get prepared for the big game, I can deal with that. God knows I can't control it.

So Bad It Was Good

"There is a waiting room full of desperate women out there, and I'm their Superman."

Now, I've thought of my RE as many things ... he's a father and husband, he's an Always Pleasant Person, he's Respected Community Member, he's a Coochie Violator, but never, let me repeat NEVER, have I thought of him as my SUPERMAN! Masked superhero wielding an ever-powerful wand and catheter, but Superman? No, ma'am.

We spent our Friday night babysitting our fun 2-year old nephew {you know, the one I would kidnap and move away to a far off land with}, and made it home just in time for the Inconceivable premiere on NBC.

It was pretty bad. In addition to the horrible line I quoted above, the other lowest point occured with the shunned lover/secretary manages to have a quickie with the RE in his office, collect his sperm in a sample cup {without him knowing, of course} and switch it with the sperm already labeled with another couple's info, located in the college-dorm-looking mini-fridge that hold all the precious goods. All with an evil grin on her face that says "You'll get yours, Superman."

Needless to say, I think it sucked.

Might I watch it again? I might.

Being that it's a show about infertility, and I'm obsessed with anything infertile-related, I'll assume you are, as well. So here's what some other ladies thought about it:

Limbo Party * Ambivalent Infertility * Her Very Own * One Egg, Two Egg * The Infertile Gourmet * Uncommon Misconception * Olivia Drab

***

I was up visiting my sister last night, and had to do my shots last night in the bathroom of this really cute home accents boutique.

I used to keep a mental list of all the fun places J. & I have had sex {no, you're not going to get a sneak peak into my sex life...so sorry}.

Guess I've started a new and improved list. Totally sad.

***

I'll be starting my day with Dr. Pleasant tomorrow, and looking forward to it! I can feel those eggs growing, and am curious to see how this dosage {compared to the stims with the IUIs} compares!

Just the Basics

Once the sacred ground of drunken frat boys, hard-core fans with large foam fingers, and enthusiastic alumni, the collegiate football game has morphed ... into a family free-for-all.

Now mind you, if I were the one with the family, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Oh no. I 'd be going on and on about how thrilled I am that little Jr. has the opportunity to be an {Insert Mascot}-In-Training by hanging out at the tailgates, having 50 yard line seats to learn the ins and outs of football, and loving parents & family who are only too happy to hang out after the game, trying to get autographs from the best players.

But alas, it's just me. Who, although I don't love football, always managed to have a good time at the tailgates by socializing, eating, and having a few drinks. But now, BUTNOW, we're playing a different game, folks.

All the football friends have families, and bring them on, all decked out in {Insert Mascot} cheerleading outfits and team colors. Bourbon and ginger has been replaced with sippie cups, and even if I wanted a drink, I couldn't have one due to the IVF drugs.

Tailgaiters on either side were resplendant with newborns and small babies, happily tucked away in their Baby Bjorns. Friends came to visit, double strollers in action, asking "Can I store this in your car during the game?" Random cute children threw football in the parking lot, chasing each other all about.

Good friend's New Girlfriend {just recently graduated, I think} couldn't fathom why J. and I weren't drinking, and re-enacted the Spanish Inquisition.

Other good friend's wife innocently enough, asked if we were still "thinking about one of those," pointing at her gorgeous baby whom I monopolized all evening. She knows not of our situation, but I do know she had to work pretty hard at getting baby #2, so I took her "relax"..."when you're least thinking about it" comments with a grain of salt and good intentions.

I had to leave the game a bit early to do the shots on time {I actually didn't mind leaving early, of course, as I had a pile of new magazines awaiting me in the car}, and wanted to make sure the parking lot wasn't full of people walking around.

After everyone returned to the tailgate, I managed to lighten up a bit and actually enjoy the company of all the little ones, sometimes choosing their drooling little smiles over conversations with their parents. Life is so simple for kids. Yes or no. This or that. Lollipop or candy bar. Susie or Sally. No crazy, life-altering decisions. Just the basics. Kind of refreshing, eh?

Heat Advisory

Yes, it is smotheringly hot in my sleepy southern city, as today's temperatures hoovered in the high 90s.

But the heat wave I'm talking about has taken over my body, full force. I knew that hot flashes were a side effect of Lupron, and I've had some very hot evenings lately (hot in temperature, mind you, not the nookie).

But it just hit me, right now {slap the forehead in a "Eureka!" moment}, why everyday, at around 5:00 or 5:30, I am overcome with insufferable warmth, and my skin turns all glow-y, dripping with sweat, positively glistening, as we ladies like to say.

It's time for my fix. My body is in withdrawl, craving, craving, craving the juicy goodness that is Lupron.

Fear not, chubster. You'll get the goods.

The Size of California, I Swear!

I was having a great morning, aside from being a bit late out the door, but did manage to squeeze in my decaf latte, so all was well in the world.

Arriving at my desk to the very large box marked REFRIGERATE IMMEDIATELY didn't even throw my pulse into high gear.

But when I opened up that first bag o' needles, and saw the big old honkers for the progesterone, my happy world came to a screetching halt. Slam on the brakes!

Those monsters are huge! And thick! What are they thinking? Well, I suppose it's nothing compared to the foot long needle they'll poke through my VJ to get at the eggs, but at least I can close my eyes for that one. I had a slight anxiety-ridden breakdown in front of my coworker, which was okay as she knows what's going on.

I'm tempted to pop the Valium. Right.This . Instant.

Screw the Facts. Emotions Rule the Roost

Do you know Hope? She is a close, dear friend of mine, and she's one of those women who just won't go away. She pops in at the most inopportune times, like in the middle of a business meeting, or while singing a hymn at church. She chirps, "Yoo hoo! You didn't forget about me, did you?? Lookie here!"

She is my biggest problem these days. I think if I didn't know Hope, I would be a happier person, a happier patient. If I didn't have a single iota of faith that this might work, I could settle for disappointment, and if this was a successful cycle, it would be 100% pure delight. Right now, I'm just afraid.

I'm afraid this won't work, and then what?? I have my 'backup plan,' and I know what we'll do in terms of treatment, but what will I do? How will I deal?

I'm jealous. Flat out green with envy. See the horns growing out my hair? (Yes, I know I need to get the highlights touched up, but yes, those are horns.) I'm jealous of all of the women and men picking up their kids at the elementary school near my job. I see them twice a day. I know many of them by site. I've seen them grow up ... from afar. I'm jealous of my friends. They are all wonderful mothers & fathers and deserve each and every bit of happiness, but grrrrrrrrrr! I'm jealous of my SIL and her gorgeous child, who I would wrap up in a blanket and abscond with if presented with the chance and a sure-fire alibi. And I'm mad because I think she's pregnant again.

I'm tired. I know my journey hasn't been the longest or the hardest, but it's exhausting to me. I know I'm lucky. I've had a good life. I've had a great life. This is the first thing I have wanted for this badly, and not been able to achieve under my own accord. Sure, I wanted a Cabbage Patch Kid. After years, Santa finally gave in, and Terri Lynn arrived (I know, bad bad bad name. But it was a stupid doll, wasn't it?) I wanted to get into a small, liberal arts college. I managed the grades and scores, and was happy. I knew I wanted to get married to the man I loved, and J. managed to pop the question before the idea was even fully formed in my mind.

But this, I just can't wrap myself around it. It's out of my control, and that exhausts me. The constant obsessing, thinking, planning, reading, writing about it drag me down. But in the same breath, I can't not {please excuse the double negative. It's one of my all-time top grammar peeves} do all of these above. Because then I'm not in control of it. Which I never was in the first place.

***

On a more business-related note, J & I have to decide if we want to do the pay-as-we-go IVF plan, or do the clinic's offered Shared Risk plan. After running the numbers, it won't pay off until after the 2nd fresh cycle. Our prognosis is good, but who the heck really knows. This whole thing is a crapshoot, basically. So how to we decide whether to hand over the credit card to Hope and pay as we go {while accruing miles and points all the merry way} or throw Hope to the lions and stroke one big fat check that may be lining Dr. Pleasants pockets with thousands of unearned dollars? Anyone? Thoughts? Experiences? Help!!!!!!!!

***

I began this blog as a way to start writing again, and to sort out my jumbled thoughts. I have numerous blank journals, pretty leather bound books in bright colors, subdued functional notebooks, for I am a paper freak. I love stationary, books, paper, all of it.

But this way just seemed more convenient, and more intune with the way I live. It's really only intended for me. None of my friends or family know about it. Or if they do, they're not telling.

Many thanks to the few of you who've made yourselves known, commenting or sending emails. I'm not really writing to an audience beyond myself, present and future, but it's reassuring to know that you are out there. Thank you.

Just the Facts, Ma'am

Sometimes it's hard to cut through all the detail and fact and get to the real issues. Facts are more comforting. They can give you an affirmative or a negative right away. They can be logged on a chart, that can measure a level, they can predict your next move.

But emotions can't. They hint at how you feel. They hint at elation, or fill you with despair. They make you question each decision, each choice.

Dealing in facts is so much easier. So I'm going to get through the facts and then move on to the emotions. Maybe later.

The appointment was good. My ovaries and uterus were nice and small, which is how Dr. Pleasant likes them. The blood draw hurt a bit, but apparently I'm a quick bleeder, so that's a positive!

My instructions are to cut the Lupron back to .05 beginning tonight. On Friday, I'll start the Follistim, at 225, which is double the dosage from the last IUI. I think about how sore and full I felt during that last IUI, and imagine it'll be much more sensitive this time.

I'll go in for ultrasound and bloodwork on Tuesday morning, to see how they're doing. Having been a voracious reader of many wonderful blogs out there, and an occasional visitor on some IVF sites, I was expecting more frequent monitoring. Perhaps when I go in on Tuesday, I'll be coming back Thursday, etc?

The remainder of my meds should be delivered to work tomorrow. Which brings me to my next fact/fear. That dreaded progesterone in oil shot. Dr. Pleasant likes to discuss just one thing at a time, and hasn't brought that subject up with me, but I know aaaalllll about it. And I saw the box checked on my pharmacy order form. I've heard such horror stories, and I'm so nervous about it. However, the box for Valium was checked too, so that makes me pretty happy.

Dr. Pleasant calls me "Mrs. Smith" (well, not Mrs. Smith, but you get the idea). My first reflex is to look around for my mother in law. I know it's respectful, professional, and an appropriate thing to do. But I still feel like, you've seen all my bits, can't you just call me by my first name? Not that I call him by his, but I don't really call him anything. It's pretty clear when I'm taking to him. He's a very even-keeled man. I've never seen any emotion on his part, very "just the facts" and smiles here and there. Actually, there was a bit of empathy in his voice after my last failed IUI. I'd called the office to report the appearance of my period, and totally broke down with the nurse. I guess she shared my precarious state with Dr. Pleasant, because he had a little bit of "oh, dear" in his voice. But that's it. Otherwise, all seems rosey for my Dr. Pleasant.

Conversations on other blogs recently have revolved around the dreaded waiting room, where noone makes eye contact, noone speaks. My practice is v. small, waiting times are pretty short, and I rarely encounter more than one or two people on a visit. I had the second appointment of the day, so the room was empty when I arrived. Another woman came in soon after, but wouldn't look up. So, as I exited the offices into the waiting room {with my goodie bag of assorted prenatal vitamin samples - what a treat!} I made a big smile at the couple sitting on the couch. Shot down! Oh well, what do we expect?

I feel good knowing the facts. We're planning for early October retrieval - we'll see how that goes.

Inside I'm hurting. I don't want to get into it now since I have to actually go out and be with other people tonight, but gosh, it's getting to be a scary place inside my heart.

GiddyUp!

Finally!

I got my period today, so a visit to the coochie-cam is in order for tomorrow morning, and we can get this show on the road. J is very pleased, as now he can {hopefully} finalize his football travel schedule. Yipee. {Can't you hear the enthusiasm in my voice? Can't you? It's not there, I promise!}

On a more negative side note {there's always one of those, isn't there?} I've got killer cramps, but Dr. says I can only take Tylenol, which doesn't seem to do a darn thing for me, AAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNDDDDDDDD I'm getting some bruising on my stomach from the shots. Which is not a suprise, in and of itself since I got them all over on my last cycle, but I really thought I was doing such a good job this time. No future in nursing for me!

Songs To Inject By

Sounds like one of those compilation CDs sold on late night TV, doesn't it? Songs for Making Love ... Sounds for a Rainy Night ... Jazz for Lovers

Many thanks to OvaGirl for the suggestion ... who doesn't need to party up the mood when injecting? My suggestions for fun-filled injections... feel free to add any you've found to be a personal favorite for setting up the mood!

• I'm Burning Up (Burning Up) For Your Love - quite appropriate when dealing with Lupron-induced hot flashes and itching
• Love Injection by Jodie Watley
• Hit Me With Your Best Shot (Fire Away!)
• Shot Through the Heart - Yes, injections do give love a bad name. And a bad chance at getting lucky that night.
• Shot From The Saddle (old 60s song) - perfect for injections in the old tucas!
• Hey Man Nice Shot - The angry sort of feeling in this song is perfect for shot time
• Bang Bang, My Baby Shot Me Down - Nancy Sinatra from Kill Bill 1. Just cause I kind of like it and think it sets a nice mood for the whole thing. Or Cher, she does a v. fancy version.

Party Tricks

Here's how it works. Follow closely, now...

1. Put on your favorite, but more recently, tighter, jeans
2. Tuck your cute orange top up into the bottom of your bra to expose your stomach
3. Using individually-wrapped alcohol swab, clean top of glass vial and exposed stomach
4. Remove syringe from packaging, and prepare Lupron injection
5. Hunch shoulders, bend slightly at waist. Note rolls of fat that pop out at attention.
6. Choose one fat roll, steady hand holding syringe, and Ready! Aim! Fire!

Look, Ma! One hand!

***

I took Julia's hint on making a double batch of cookies with the stand mixer, which is something I use quite rarely, and freezing some of the dough in little balls.

Man, that's a lot of dough. I never tire of chocolate chip cookie dough, but tonight, I was D-O-N-E. I'm feeling a bit puffy.

Don't imagine that has anything to do with my ability to perform the Party Trick above?

Why I'm Not Cheating on My Husband

We had yet another blowout last night about how "I just want to go out and get pregnant with some other guy's sperm," according to J.

This all started on our last visit with Dr. M. We were discussing the intricacies of IVF, and I asked a question about ICSI, which I knew we would probably have to do. I asked if we would do ICSI on some of the eggs, and and then see if the sperm could fertilize other eggs in the "regular" fashion. This is all assuming there are enough eggs to do these super-fun science experiments.

I asked, because J. has a genetic disease that, I think, plays into his low counts, but of course there is no evidence to support it. It's a disease that's been passed down through his family, mostly the men, and a number of them have had fertility issues. So I just want to know if the sperm can regularly fertilize an egg. Just for my own personal knowledge. Cause I'm a curious kind of girl.

Anyway, my inquiries were shot down by Dr. M, but he did {very casually, if I do say so myself} throw out the option of donor sperm. Which I had, of course, thought about, but I think that it's the first time J. even heard the term or thought about how it would apply to his life. I told Dr. M that we want to exhaust all measures to have our own genetic child, but thanks for the tip.

A few days later, I brought up the idea with J. I told him it certainly wasn't what I wanted to do, but that if we got to the point where IVF with my eggs and his sperm wasn't working, perhaps we might want to consider what our options would be. I simply asked him to keep it in the back of his mind, and think about how he would feel about it.

In his mind, it all comes down to the blame game. He feels like I blame him for our problems. He told me last night that he's had nightmares about me having an affair so that I can get pregnant, etc. etc. It breaks my heart.

I don't blame him. I do feel disappointment, but about the situation in general. I don't wish I'd married someone else, or that J. is any different than he is right now. I am , however, fairly resentful of the entire situation, and I told him so.

I'm resentful that the burden of these problems falls all on me. That I'm the one with the zillion doctor's visits. That I'm the one injecting myself day in and day out. I'm the one with strange men down in my crotch all the time. That I'm the one dealing with crazy hormones and emotions. That I am the one reminded, every time I get my period, of what we lost. And on and on. But I do know that life's just not fair. And I try to remind myself of this.

I reminded him that I also said earlier that if the problem were with my eggs, I would consider donor eggs. I spent a long time trying to explain to him that #1, having a child that is at least partially genetically ours {whether it's mine or his} is very important to me, and that #2, the experience of pregnancy and childbirth is also very important to me, and I don't want to give up on that dream when other options exist.

I often put ideas out there, so that J. has had time to think about them, instead of having to make rash decisions. He assumes that because I put an idea out there, that I'm full-steam-ahead set on that as a life decision. If I say, "Hey sweetie, I think that red rug is really pretty," it is interepreted by his sweet {and slightly hairy ears} as "We have to buy that rug right now, no matter the cost or inconvenience or even if we have a spot for it!"

We both know that we're going to exhaust our IVF options, if it comes to that. Within reason, we both know that we're comfortable with adoption. But J. wants a full game plan right now, and I can't make one. Who knows how I may feel after one failed IVF? Or four? But I sure do like to know about my options...

Babywatch: Day 3

If you were reading very quickly, you might have thought that today's title had something to do with a formerly-popular television show featuring red bathing-suit-clad beauties, rescuing the unfortunate from the scary ocean surf.

You would be incorrect.

It's about a sweaty infertile and her freaky attempts to stare other people's babies.

Yes, on Babywatch: Day 3, I learned that the best time for baby-scoping is definitely pre-lunchtime. And 11 a.m. walk was produced a park full of tempting toddlers and beautiful babies, all ripe for my oogleing.

*****

Today is Lupron: Day 7. It's getting kind of old. I'm ready for a new kick to my schedule. Come on, let's kick this IVF cycle into high gear! I'm ready for more drugs, more powerful drugs, some coochie-cam visits, blood draws, something!

*****

J was so cute last night. I know he's trying to understand this whole IVF cycle, but I think he's getting it a little confused with how we did the previous medicated IUIs, etc. He was frustrated that it takes so long to do one cycle of IVF, and so I had to explain it again last night. I explained the Lupron, that I'd probably get my period soon, to which he replied enthusiastically "Tomorrow? You think you'll get your period tomorrow?" Practically like a kid waiting for Santa.

What frustrates him the most is not knowing when each step {i.e. his v. important donation} will take place. J likes to have a schedule.

******

I seem to have a new rep as the "healthy one." While gathered at an outdoor concert series last night, everyone kept commenting on how I was drinking bottled water, and they were impressed at how "healthy" I was behaving. Because, I assume, my past behaviors were never interpreted so positivly!

If only they knew!

No Title Necessary. Ug.

Uggggg! Blech !! Argggggggguugggghhhhhhh splat splat!

Oh, sorry! That's just me retching over today's horrifying news. I knew it was coming - blech! - But perhaps thought it might just go away. -- Urrrggg! - Excuse me now.

Bleeeeeeeeeee! Ugh! Ugh! Double splat again!

**********************

Updated at 6:30 p.m.

Gosh, just as I'd gotten through the day, that horrible retching is back.

Elective C-section since the pain of childbirth is soooo bad: Blagh!
$20,000 a night hospital accomodations: Urgggblagh!
Private rooms, private chefs, private birth: GaaaaaaaaghBlech!
"Very low, very small" c-section scar: Buuuulglahhhhhhh Splat!

Babywatch: Day 2

Exercise Bribery. It's the only way I'll actually get out and go walking, or gosh-forbid, hit the gym.

The weather has finally cooled down from summer's hot humid heat, and I do enjoy strolling through my neighborhood, looking at all the beautiful houses. I live in a small southern city, and my neighborhood is an old Victorian area, so it's all row houses, triangle parks, eateries and bars, and a few shops, dotting the sidewalks. People watching is prime (I saw two young chaps sporting very bad Kevin Federline looks today), and there babies and dogs are always on leash or in stroller. Which brings me to my Bribery scheme.

Part One is entertainment. I get bored when I exercise, so I am addicted to books on tape, or more accurately, downloaded to the iPod. I usually get cheepy novels that I feel guilty wasting my time reading. But not so guilty listening to. Or non-fiction books that would typically bore me in print.

The lack of infertility-related Recorded Books is astonishing (you don't say), but I did manage to find one, and it's enough to keep me putting one foot in front of the other.

Part Two is babies. Of course it is! At an appropriately measured point a respectable distance from my house, one of the quaint triangle parks has been turned into a kiddie park. It's chock full of sand, play equipment, and scattered full of plastic trucks and toys. And the people-watching -- restrain me! Thus, it makes a perfect turn-around point for my walk. I can actually walk around all three sides of the park, admiring the babies and toddlers, without appearing to be a stalker. It's been my inspiration to change clothes after work, and hit the streets.

Yesterday's pickings were slim. A mom and dad eager to get their too-small baby on the swing, but full of new-parent enthusiasm, full of smiles and laughter. A dour looking Hispanic woman with a little girl who seemed to amuse herself quite well.

Today, I was sure that everyone would be out in full force. My legs moved in stride, purposeful towards my intended goal: baby oogling. Empty! No one in the house! However, I did adjust my course, as to walk by an acquaintances house, who has two children. I thought I could at least admire her little swing set, and perhaps even catch a glance! Voila - I did catch a glimpse as they approached their house, and got smiles and hellos from the little one.

Overall, a disappointing trip, but my mind went back to my crazy-ass book, and I managed to make it home with no increase in stalker-like tendencies, but certainly more knowledge on sperm donation techniques.

Come on people! Don't you know that a peek of baby smile, the giggle of a toddler, so impacts my exercise habits! So turn off the TV, stop making dinner, and put away the cardboard books! Head out to the park, so I can oogle your children!! I'm harmless, I promise !

Magazine Articles I Have absolutely No Need For Yet Felt The Need To Purchase

As a result of the dreaded Target trip:

• Your Nine Month Mood Predictor (if we continue on with IVF, I'm pretty sure I can predict my mood for you right now. No crystal ball necessary.
• The Hottest Celebrity Baby Names (okay, I guess this doesn't only apply to the pregnant, just to the pregnancy-obsessed)
• Make Room for Baby (now why in the world do I need instruction on this? I've got the books. Fabric swatches sit on the dresser in the would-be nursery. The page with the Jenny Lind crib is dog-eared in my Land of Nod catalog. Oh, now I remember why: because never-been, not-currently pregnant women don't usually have the nursery all planned out!)
• Coming Home: The Key to surviving Your First Weeks is To Be Prepared For Anything (the same could be said for infertility and IVF treatments ... boys scouts motto: be prepared. I've got it: Ampules of craze-inducing hormones: check. Blister packs of syringes, strung together like mini-candy-canes:Check. Sufficiently annoyed husband:check. Count me in, I'm prepared for anything!)

Of course, as soon as I got home and eagerly turned past the table of contents, the dreaded familiar feeling came to me. Yep, I'd already bought this magazine. At the end of last month when in was brand new on the stands.

Someone restrain me, for gosh sakes.

*********************

On a happier note, a local veterinary clinic is getting ready to head down to the Gulf Coast tomorrow to work on saving some of the pets and animals that have been abandoned, displaced, and injured by Katrina.

I hit the stores after work, and loaded up on some of their requested supplies: towels, iodine, rubbing alcohol, food dishes, litter boxes, leashes, collars, etc. I expected to drop it all off at the clinic, maybe people are loading up a few SUVS, nothing crazy.

Oh no...there are huge horse trailers in the parking lot, piles of organized supplies, volunteers forming a fireman-like line to pass all the heavy stuff on to the trailers. It was amazing. They were all so busy, I didn't have a chance to ask about their trip, but man, am I excited for them. I've been so worried about all of these innocent animals, left to their own survival or demise, with those that they've become dependent on, gone. I'm glad I can help in my own small way.

The Louisiana SPCA is of course, asking for donations and help. Some of the pictures on their site are heartbreaking. It hurts me to think about it right now.

Infertility = Obsession = #1 Hobby

Apologies to the blogger who wrote so well about this idea, and went into it in such detail … I can’t remember where I read it. But I’ve been thinking more and more about it, and how I’ve abandoned so many things I enjoy doing, in order to obsess about IF.

It’s become the focus, the center of my life. The things I once enjoyed doing are chores. I’ve been volunteering with a group for probably five years, and this year, I have no desire to participate. I believe in the organization, love the work, enjoy the people, but pffft…I’m done. Like a deflated balloon. Couldn’t care less. Work has lost its appeal. I used to be thrilled to be an entrepreneur, in charge of my future. Right now, I think I’d prefer a desk job where I can clock in and clock out with no expectations and no real responsibilities.

Life at home is in a rut. J & I are clearly sick of certain habits of the other (he with my IF obsession, me with all his cheerfulness and optimism). I’ve always been more of a homebody than J, but I can be a social butterfly when the mood hits me. These days, you wouldn’t recognize me … hiding in the bathtub with a pregnancy magazine or a long novel. Heck, there are so many friends and family that I don’t talk/correspond with on a regular basis anymore, that it scares me. I just don’t want to answer the questions.

Over at The Unachievable Double Lines, she makes such a good point about how IF is all you can think about … that it is always top of mind, highest priority. It is life. And how much does that suck?

I always think that when I am pregnant, when we have a child, life will be back to normal. I will re-emerge from my cocoon; wings spread wide, and set the world on fire. But then, I’ll be a pregnant lady with a whole new set of obsessions and concerns. And being a parent, that’s when you metamorphasize into a person I can’t even imagine.

So how to enjoy life as the person I once was, with the same enthusiasm. I’m taking small steps. Going to learn how to play tennis (unless, of course, I do get pregnant and/or continue with IVF and have exercise restrictions). I’ve picked a date to arrange a dinner party with friends. Thinking about joining up with a non-profit that I volunteered for in the past.

It’s tough to think about “life on the other side,” whether that means fertility treatments, or if it means life as a parent. But I know it’s worth the effort, and I’ve just got to take baby steps.

September Flashback

Clank clank clank.

You can hear it from far and away. The tall metal flagpole. The long rope with the metal fittings bangs against the pole, flailing in the wind.

Back to school time.

Song of Sirens

Target can usually provide me some feel good vibes. Instant gratification. Something I don't need, but makes me happy for just a few minutes.

Not on a Monday morning.

A new mom in the shoe aisle, trying on some high heels while tiny baby is balanced precariously on top of the cart.

A tired mom with two curious toddlers. She's desperately trying to finish her shopping here, and then head to the grocery store. "But mom, I think I'm hungry!" ... "But mom, I'm hungary now!"

The baby aisle, with its rows of teeny shirts, mini hats, baby monitors ...it lures me in, as if singing a sweet song. I wander down the row of carseats, making mental notes of which ones I will dismiss and which I'll choose.

Ahh ... The magazine section.....articles I don't need, but am drawn to.

I finish gathering my paper towels, spray starch, red toothpaste with the sparkles that J likes. I head home to plant pansies that I picked up earlier in the morning and distract myself from the lust that is consuming me.

A Special Blessing

I've always gone to church. As a child, it was required (not with crazy religious fervor), and as an adult, I've grown to enjoy it. It helps that J & I found a church that we both love, full of wonderful individuals, and a great music program, which is important to us.

During our service, the ministers invite anyone celebrating a birthday or anniversary to come down to the front for a special blessing. The first time I did it, years ago, it felt awkward. Now, it's something I look forward to doing.

We celebrated a special anniversary on Friday, and so when the time came, we marched down the aisle (the very same aisle we marched down to be married), hand in hand. And we were lucky enough to end up with the one minister that we know well, personally, and who knows the basics about our infertility.

We knelt in front of her as she placed her hands on our shoulders. She gave us the most wonderful blessing, wishing us even more years of happy marriage, asked for us to receive fertility, and to bring us a baby soon.

I had tears in my eyes, and had to wipe them away before getting up to walk back down the aisle, but I know I didn't do a very good job.

She said that same blessing over me on my birthday, four months ago.

I've never been a big prayer, but I'm trying, and I'm learning. I hope next year's birthday blessing is of a different sort.

Ouch!

I know it's not all that bad, but that needle was a little bit bigger than I expected. In comparison to the Follistim pen, this little needle for the Lupron was just wider. I actually poked at my stomach once, and it bounced back! Now it's all itchy!

I've been giving my kitty meds this week to try to get her spraying under control, so we struck a deal tonight ... if I can stick the needle in my belly, she'll let me stick the chewy shrimp pill down her throat. I held up my end of the bargain, but man did she fight me tooth & claw!

I'm happy to be finally moving along with this whole in vitro process. We'll see how long this newfound eagerness lasts.

* * *

Randomly came across this site ... kind of ironic given the sex-related topics.

G-Orgeous!

I drooled over this book yesterday. Good thing I caught the spittle before it hit the $200 cover of this spectacular volume.

Book: The Ice Queen

Oh, this was so interesting. It was recommended by my local independent bookstore, and I'd heard of the author before.

A sad woman, left alone by all whom she treasured. A woman with a mysterious ability to change the course of life. A life changed by an impulsive wish. A journey to find other like her. Making love in ice. Oranges. Red. Burning desire. Curiosity mixed with despair.

Loss of a relationship not treasured by both sides, until too late. The birth of a new attitude.

Attention in Aisle 4! Your Life is Good!

The Good Things

• Beautiful voices and melodious music
• The softest bristles on my new Aveda makeup brush. Honestly, it's heavenly
• Mail delivery full of magazines and catalogs
• Uncomplicated face of a baby
• Five wonderful years of marriage

The Not-So-Good Things

• Q-Tips that have been in your travel bag for too long and lose their nice, rounded shape
• Kitties that use your v. cool white shag as a litter box.
• Spiteful people aiming to hurt
• The waiting...

An Oldy, But Goody

There are times when good news is exactly the opposite. When good news makes you feel low, makes you resentful, when you allow someone's good news to get the best of you.

This is not one of those times.

I am thrilled and overjoyed that dear friend L. is pregnant with her first child.

I don't feel a bit of jealousy or a smidge of smite. I feel truly happy and thankful for her and for this wonderful gift.

L. is an OB nurse, working in delivery, and possesses a wonderful sense of calm. She has been a friend since age 14, and we have been in and out of each other's lives for the past 15 years.

And she has been one friend that asks how I am, how am I feeling, how my most recent appointment was. And she is a friend who expressed doubts as to if, and how, she should tell me this delightful news.

Sometimes old friends really are the best.

Genius or Jerk? Maybe Both.

Clearly, I watch too much television. This point is not to be disputed.

What is to be disputed is the crazy man I saw on a DHC show last week about a "genius sperm bank." He shared TMI about what a perfect physical and intelectual specimin he is and how he enjoys "spreading his seed" to "those who are worthy."

I'm not arguing the concept of a "genius sperm bank." I certainly think it has it's place. But man, the arrogance of this guy was unbelieveable. He'd already had a number of children intentionally, with various and assorted girlfriends, and truly believes he is doing the world a favor by making his sperm available to the masses.

At one point, there was a Nobel Prize Sperm Bank, too. I believe that when the founder died, so did the bank, as the family wasn't interested in carrying on his "vision." I've actually just ordered a book about it, called "The Genius Factory." It looks disturbingly interesting.

Plus, I've already read every book on IVF available. :-)

dream deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

Langston Hughes

Get in my Belly!

A reminder to myself ... this would be waaaay good for an easy dinner tonight. Many thanks, Chef Julia!

Pass it On

Pssssst. Susan's got a new job.

Hey, did you hear? She got fired because she's a slob.

What? Susan's husband is involved in the Mob?

* * *

Wife A was not pregnant. She was actually quite horrified at the thought of it, which was slightly reassuring, and had no idea where the origin of the crazy rumor came from.

I had a great time with The Buddies, and with Wife B. We had a great weekend, with little talk of babies, except for the good-natured ribbing of J by The Buddies about his man-duties, but all in all a great weekend.

There was a point, as we prepared for the much-revered football game, when I was completely surrounded by Mommies. Of whom I really only knew one, and they all wanted to talk about their babies. I've gotten really good at coming up with different ways to say "Your baby is so cute, really, one of the cutest I've ever seen!"

They spent much time analyzing the upcoming season's baby Halloween costumes, and what their little pumpkins will be dressed up as.

So jealous. Green, green, green with envy.

I got the call from Dr. M, and am scheduled to start Lupron injections next Saturday.

Put a Fork in Me, I'm Done

Color me pissed, and call it a day.

I just found out that Wife A, my only baby-free-female connection during the upcoming dreaded football weekend, is yes, you guessed it, pregnant.

And apparently, quite pregnant. With the cute belly and the incredibly hot 25 year old husband to prove it.

I hate football.

To Swill or Not to Swill

The big important question.

Since my reproductive system is holding a hide-and-seek tournament, the least I can do is spend copious time analyzing questions to which I already know the answers.

J & I {along with his best male Buddies, whom also consider my "Buddies", although one's been kind of an ass, which is a whole backward story I've promised myself I won't delve into as the details of the whole situation devastate me} are off for the inaugural football weekend. He and said buddies are rabid supporters of their college team, which is pretty well ranked and has had some incredible victories. Rabid athletic supporters. Funny one, huh?

J was recounting some of these victories to me, as we were both attending to our morning bathroom duties. He excitedly referred back to fabulous passes, near-miss wins, incredible championship games, and looked at me expectantly. To which I reply with a blank stare, a tight smile, and a shrug. He incredulously asks, "What, you don't remember that?"

I fell asleep during the opening game last season. In my seat, screaming fans all around. I kid you not.

Which pretty much sums up my enthusiasm for the sport. I go to the home games {although I have tapered off in recent years, coming up with all kinds of creative excuses}, enjoy the people watching, the Stairmaster-replicating workout necessary to get to our sky-high seats, and of course, the mini pizzas that are available at the food kiosks inside. Oh yea, and a few drinks at the tailgate usually suffice to put me in a good mood.

Anyway, this weekend is football + ! Oh joy! Football + what, you ask? It's +:

• A five hour drive to the beach on Friday evening
• A weekend with the boys AND two lovely wives, who aside from the circumstances following, I'm sure I could be friends with. (1) Wife A is a newlywed, model-gorgeous, and has one of those exotically interesting name that induces drool and fantasies upon it's very mention. (2) Wife B is very, very nice, and I've enjoyed hanging out with her on many previous occasions. But she's the new mom to Baby A, who will be joining us as well.
• So in reference to Part 1 above, I simply don't want to squeeze my bod into a bathing suit with her in the vicinity. I'm bloated, have random bruises all over my legs, and have been taking my doctor's casual advice of "No exercise for you, young lady, during this IVF cycle" with the utmost seriousness.
• And in reference to Part 2, I simply don't feel like cooing over an infant. I do it enough, and it's tiring. I thoroughly enjoy the cooing part, but the aftershocks of despair and sadness are exhausting. The questions directed to me from the Buddies and the unknowing men, due to the presence of a bebe, will all be innocent and well-intentioned, but unwelcome.

Which all, in it's roundabout way, comes back to the question: Would it kill me to have a drink or two in order to:

• Attempt to get in the spirits {oops, did I say that? I meant "spirit"} of the game?
• Come up with wittier and more memorable responses to the "When are you and J. finally going to catch up with the rest of us and have kids?" questions?
• Enjoy the taste of a real beer {no low-carb, lite stuff for this puppy}, which I really enjoy and have missed for so long?

For purposes of exercise, I have followed the formula that now = our first IVF cycle. But for purposes of this weekend, is okay for me to formulate now = the week immediately preceding our first IVF cycle ?

As per my previous post, I'm not really on any drug protocol right now, just antibiotics. And haven't we all had a drink while taking antibiotics? In fact, I think I remember a doctor telling me to take precautions, as antibiotics render some birth control useless.

Such a problem.

All Aboard!

I'm waiting, waiting waiting, to ovu - ovu - late! There's a singsongy thing going on in my head, as I repeat that over and over to myself.

Good gosh, this feels like it's been the longest first half of a cycle ever! I messed up with my Clearblue Easy Ovulation Monitor, and didn't try to set it until day 8, which you're not allowed to do, so I'm using the regular OPK. And two a day at that, just so I don't miss it.

And it's not like I'm even trying to catch the O so that J & I can have a romping good time on the waterbed, it's so that I can get the instructions to start the Lupron and get this big, bad IVF train off on it's journey.