Holy Toledo

Of course, after I wrote my obligatory, "You know what? I am fine!" post yesterday and signed off....there was the unmistakable rumble of thunder on the not-so distant horizon. The kind where you know that soon the music is going to start, and the funny guy (or the stupid girl, or both) is going to die.

By the end of the day, Hurricane Hormones was in full effect, and woe betide anyone who got in my way. Luckily, I recognized the signs, and forced myself to leave my cocoon/nest/fortress to get provisions before things got really, really bad.

I somehow managed to make it through without bludgeoning the Trader Joe's cashier to death with a can of coconut milk while screaming, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? ARE YOU HIGH!!!!!!!!?"

I seriously don't know how I did it, because generally, a. everyone around here IS high 75% of the time, and b. by the time I got home, I was apoplectic about the way my groceries were bagged. Something that I would typically roll my eyes over and maybe merit a sigh, became a SUPER HUGE DEAL.  The Man listened to me spew crazy profanity while I alternately vented, laughed about how insanely I was behaving, and then started venting again. I've turned into some kind of obsessive-compulsive bipolar lunatic, seemingly overnight. I think that KNOWING you're carrying on like a psycho, but being unable to help yourself, may be one of life's more frustrating experiences.

Mom called to ask how I was doing. I said, "I am getting a divorce and running away from home!" and then burst into hysterical laughter. I am sure she found it really reassuring.

God it's hot in here. Is anyone else hot? Just me? I am wearing pajama shorts and a tank top and the a/c is on and all the fans are maxed out. I look at The Man, and he is wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt- layered OVER another shirt. My face is all red, I am all sticky and gross. I am ready to strip down and run screaming through the streets, bludgeoning any potentially doobie-smoking members of the populace with my handbag, and spewing profanity at douchebag cyclists- identifiable by their spandex outfits- at random.

This can't be good. Luckily The Man has promised to restrain me if I get really wacky. At this point, I don't know if he can stop me. Demon hormones are more powerful than- really powerful stuff. Also, if I leave him, who can be relied upon to build me a bed of ice? Did I mention how effing hot it is?! RARGH!

That's another thing. I tend to rely on my wits somewhat, and they have completely deserted me. DAMN YOU HORMONES!!!!! You made me crazy, hot, AND stupid. I hate you! Unless you prove to actually work, in which case, hormones, I may forgive you. Eventually.

My doctor's appointment is tomorrow afternoon. I talked to Dr. Charming today, and he basically said that I am right- depending on what we see tomorrow, we will move forward. If there's still only one follicle, we can still do that, but the chances aren't great. Or we can cancel the cycle, and try again next month.

I was all good, until he mentioned donor eggs, and then I got all emo. (BECAUSE MY EGGS ARE OBVS ALL OLD AND REPTILIAN IN THEIR BARREN LEATHERINESS.) <----see that? Those are the hormones talking. Bastards!

Have I mentioned that I SUCK at waiting? Because that would not be an inaccurate statement.

Bite the bullet

The Christmas cards have begun to arrive.

The Man asked me if we were going to do one this year.

We sent out a happy, smiling picture of us last year, and it feels like everyone who sends cards has their kids all over it. I am not sure if there is a point to this or not.

In other news, I sent an e-mail to my father, letting him know which gifts I was getting for other family members, so there wouldn't be duplicating. At the end, I typed:

"Don't worry about The Man, the gift I got him isn't on his list."

The e-mail I got back from my dad read as follows:

"Hmm. Got something for The Man that is not on his list?"

Maybe I am paranoid, but to me, this suggests that he thinks I am miraculously expecting a 7lb. bundle of joy.

I almost replied, "I am making him something, and it's a surprise!" Which is true, but would probably dig me in even deeper.

Other things I considered saying, because I am evil:

1. Herpes! It's the gift that keeps on giving.
2. A sex swing and some leather restraints. They were on sale.
3. A vial of our combined blood to wear around his neck.
4. Penguins!
5. A lobotomy and some tights.

In the end, I just told dad that I had gotten The Man some books and was knitting him some slippers, which has the advantage of actually being true. There's some other stuff, sci-fi DVD's, etc, but I didn't bring that up.

So, no response. I have a feeling that my assessment was right on the money. Damn it.

Happy Monday

I have a week OFF! 1 week free of manic customers, devoid of Other People's Kids, one whole week were I can get the house back in shape after the year-long depression I suspect I have been in.

I have started exercising again. I actually enjoyed it. I know myself too well to make rules for me to follow- as in the Pirates of The Caribbean movies, the rules have to be "more like guidelines". Because otherwise I feel all constrained and then I want to rebel and just...well, you know. Do nothing.

As I sit here, my parrot is trying to get attention from me. So the following monologue is what I am listening to: "Bear!!! HI Bear!!! Good BOY!!!! (Bear is the name of one of our dogs)Kitty kitty kitty....c'mere! Helllooooooooooo......Hi! Whatcha doin'? Pretty Bird! Cluck cluck cluck...Huh? Quack quack quack...huh? Oh. Woooooooo! WoooOOooooOooooooooOOOoooo! Silly silly silly bird!!!"

He also calls for my husband by name in an increasingly loud and irascible voice (I wonder who he learned that from?), makes noises like creaking doors and car alarms, and warbles in operatic fashion whenever he hears Gwen Stefani on the radio.

It's like living with a very small cheerleader with mental issues. The most disturbing part is that he's adopted my tone of voice and a slightly higher pitch, and I know these are all things that I say. Of course (thankfully) I don't string them all together.

In other news of the weird, we are going to spend Thanksgiving with my family. The Man said, "You know, if they are making us crazy, we can just go to the beach." I guess he has a point.
And we can't stay too long, because of the pets, so it's the perfect excuse to get back home if we need to.

The Man asked me last night what I want for my birthday and for Christmas. Aside from the obvious but as yet unachievable (world peace, Ferrari, 7 lb. 6 oz. bundle of joy) I have no idea what to tell him...but I know that if I don't, I am probably not going to like what I get. Since I have spent a considerable amount of time hinting for things and he obviously has not picked up on any of the hints, and my birthday is on Thanksgiving....I don't know what he is going to do. I have an Amazon wishlist. for heaven's sake. Get it together, guy. I am NOT ordering my own gift for the third year in a row.

How are you guys doing?

The Aftermath

Regarding the advice from the psychic, you guys are right. It was a ridiculous amount of info to take in (and I actually spared you guys a lot of it!). I am still turning it over in my mind.

I think I have decided not to pursue IVF in January.

There are a couple of reasons for this, not just because (as my husband teased) "Some guy with a deck of cards told you not to."

I have not heard back from my parents re: helping out. My doctor's consult is this Friday. While I was in SF, my sister told me they had decided to help me, because "mom mentioned it when they talked on the phone last week."

Ok, back up...they haven't said one damn thing to me about it. My emotions connected with that are pretty complicated, but what should sum it up is a conversation I had with The Man after going out to dinner with my parents and my aunt last week.

First of all, the dinner was horrible. It started out with dad asking me if I had darkened my hair.
Me: Yes.

Silence.

Me: Do you have any objective commentary?

Dad: Um, no, not really.

The whole dinner was like that. To me, it just seemed to exemplify everything about my relationship with my parents and their relationship with each other that I can't stand. Plus the service was just...abysmal, which didn't help.

In the car on the way home, fueled by one really bad mixed drink, I just kind of exploded.

"You know what really bugs the crap out of me? " I spluttered. "Your parents? I don't always get along with them. But if we asked them for help with something like this, they would have gotten together, looked at their finances, and either said "Yes, we can help you," or "Sorry, we're broke," and I would have just been able to accept that and move on. My parents still haven't give me a straight answer, and they have just left us dangling for over a month now! And it's not because they don't want to help. I think it's because I asked for something, and by God ,they are going to hold this over my head, because they like the feeling of having power over us!!!!!"

Now that I am a little calmer, I have some more perspective on it, but seriously. They know how depressed, how upset, how frantic I have been. I wish they would just put me out my misery. The worst part? I suspect they want to make it a birthday surprise or something. Is there a Hallmark card for that occasion?

My sister and I had a great conversation about this. My parents like to give gifts, and then apply conditions to them. They think this is motivational. I think it is manipulative, and over time, it has made me paranoid. I have spent the last month envisioning, "If you lose 70 lbs, we will pay for IVF!" conversations.

I expressed this to my sister, and she kind of pooh poohed it. Then we both made each other laugh by making up ridiculous scenarios.

"If the IVF is successful, you have to turn the child over to us, so we can raise it as our own!"

"If you get pregnant, you will have to stay in Fresno FOREVER!"

"On her 16th birthday, the child will prick her finger on a spindle and fall into an enchanted sleep!"

Things like that.

So, with the financial thing being up in the air, the other factor is, I finally feel like myself again. For the first time in over a year. I don't have crazy hormones flooding my system, and I'm not so depressed that it's hard to get out of bed, and I have to admit that a lot of it is because some crazy guy with a deck of cards just told me that it WILL happen, and that is enough for me.

In other news:

AF was supposed to arrive on Halloween, and as of yesterday morning, she still had not shown up. I woke up, stumbled to the bathroom bleary eyed, to POAS. When my husband asked what was up, I told him, and added, "I know it will be negative, I am just doing it, because then my period will start."

So of course AF showed up yesterday afternoon, and now The Man is jokingly adamant that I am never POAS-ing again, so he can have "unrestricted access." (yes, he is a dork.)

Happy Tuesday ladies!

Intermission

I am stalled.

That's the news I got during the ultrasound today. I still have one dominant follicle on the right, one on the left, but they are still where they were on Monday. The two smaller follicles seem to have joined forces, so I actually can expect three follicles this cycle...but the IUI has been postponed.

I have to order some more pens of Gonal-f, and also Menopur on top of that.

I am feeling disillusioned, and also, am freaking out because this is costing a lot more than I was expecting.

When I said something to this effect, along with the fact that if it's just egg production that they want, Clomid seems to produce better results and is covered by my insurance, the tech said, "Well, would you like to see the doctor?"

Confession: I haven't seen the actual doctor since my laprascopic exploratory surgery checkup over a year ago. I have to get to work and order my new meds, so I'll expound on all of this tonight.

IUI is rescheduled for Monday.

Worried

I got nothing.

The ovarian pinging of last cycle is not happening, and it is freaking me out.

I am injecting 300 IU a day, here, ovaries. What gives?

Granted, I am a little bloated, and I don't think I ate anything that would account for that.

Ugh. This is torture!

I did have enough Gonal-f to inject last night. (Barely- but I made it!)

In the meantime, I am waiting for the package from the pharmacy to arrive, so I can get on with my Saturday. I am actually not working! I am still in shock.

I keep thinking of the fortune cookie I got yesterday. The fortune said something along the lines of, "Doubt is the seasoning of life."

As a seasoning, I definitely prefer lemon pepper. Because the doubt is really beginning to suck.

I look like who?

I consider this further evidence that computers are dumb.

Has anyone else tried this?



Of course, I would like it better if they were not all waaaaaaaaay more photogenic than I am. I will console myself with the knowledge that they all have stylists.

Hmmm....maybe I should try another picture.

OK, two of them are repeats..Amanda Peet and what's her face whose picture is chopped off. One more time.....

Ok, I am not quite this delusional. I would have showed all of them, buy evidently, I can only save one. Beyonce? Anna Kournicova? Halle Berry? Yeah. I wish! Computers are dumb.

I know this has absolutely nothing to do with infertility, but if you need some distraction, this is pretty much unbeatable. And oh yeah, I did do it again, and got Heath Ledger and David Duchovny. Hmmmmm......

I only *look* fertile.

I wrote the first part of this two weeks ago. I was just going to leave it as a draft (because it's on the rant-y side) but today...ugh. Well, we will get to it.
_______________________

Guys: You need to learn when to shut up.

I haven't experienced this with women to the degree that I have with men.

Male teachers, when I work in their classrooms, inevitably ask if I have kids. No? Why not? Do I want to have kids? Obviously I like kids, since I work with them. Am I planning to have them in the near future? And uh, how old are you, anyway? Because you know, none of us are getting any younger, haha!

I tend to use the word "Eventually." Or "Someday." If they're really aggressive about it, they'll get "Whenever it happens." Which is as much info as I think they deserve.

The kids in my classes want to know this about me too. Actually, they say things like "Why don't you have kids? Don't you like us?" Or "If you had kids, they would be so lucky! You could teach them science! They could make slime EVERY DAY!"

Yes, slime-making is a large part of my job. I know you're jealous.

The kids' questions don't bother me to the degree that the male questions do, although they tend to trigger more tears, upon reflection.

Seriously, though, where do these guys come from?

One of my former co-workers kept bugging me, "Why aren't you and your husband pregnant yet?"

One day, fed up (during my first bout with Clomid) I snapped,

"We think sex is icky."

The reaction was hilarious, but I have never had the guts to try using that one again. He did quit asking, after that.

The night before my IUI, I went to girls night out at my fave dive-y place, and for some stupid reason, I was mobbed. All night. I kept waving my wedding ring around, and either Gonal-F contains some serious pheremones, or drunk men are attracted to shiny things, because what started out as a fun night out disentigrated into testosterone-filled craziness.

My stock intro is, "Oh my name is Jenna. And I'm married." Because I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea.

Every. single. one. followed that up with, "Really? Got any kids?"

And reacted with amazement when I said no. And asked how long we had been married. Then offered to rectify that pesky childless situation. Or just kept saying, "But why not?" Like my childlessness was a sin against God.

One actually said, "I can fix that in about 15 minutes. Or you could just use my toothbrush? I think that works, too." Another one suggested that maybe my husband was "doing it wrong". (Ha! Mister 100 million? Ooookay dude.)

I don't understand it. Do men think that they can tell by looking at you if you're fertile or not? I know there's a bunch of stuff out there about waist/hip measurement, long hair, blah blah.

Is that it? I do have long hair, and was actually complimented on my "beautiful, shapely, natural nails" (down, boy!)the other night, although that probably owes more to prenatal vitamins than anything else. I'm thinking it's more about my cleavage. But then, I tend to be suspicious by nature.

I don't know.

And then, today!

I was at work at a home show, making slime for kids (yes, this really is part of my job. Wooo! Science!) and went looking around on my break. I was still wearing my lab coat and Converse sneakers. And my wedding ring.

I was looking at a place that sold pet stuff, and the guy at the booth next door kept looking over, and so I smiled at him. Mainly because there was nobody at his booth, and I felt bad! It was a public utility, so not the most popular destination.

He started asking me questions about the classes I teach and the birthday party packages that my workplace offers, because his kid is turning 5, and he and his wife are planning the party. He asked if I was married. (Yes.) He asked if I had kids.(No.)

"Why not?" he asked.

"I just don't." I kept being friendly, because I am wearing my lab coat with my company info on it, and he is a potential customer. We chit-chatted for awhile, and then he said, AGAIN,

"I just can't believe you don't have kids? How long have you been married?"

Questions like this make me want to look at my watch and say, "Oh, about 15 minutes."

Or, you know, "Eff you, you effing effer, it's none of your effing business."

I started to try to politely end the conversation, and...GET THIS!

"Do you live near ______?"

Completely astounded (and also really, really stupidly) I said yes.

"Here's my number. Why don't you give me a call sometime? I think I have seen you around- I am in your neighborhood a lot. We could go get a latte and hang out."

He handed me a card. While I started to panic. Oh crap, he's probably our meter reader. Note to self- don't forget to close the blinds.

"Um....I know my husband wouldn't be thrilled."

"Oh...really? My wife is cool with me having female friends."

My face must have been hilarious, because he just laughed, took the card from me, and dropped it into the bag he was giving me with the water conservation pamphlets and the squeezy stress thing shaped like a life preserver. And said, "Well, give me a call sometime!"

Holy crap.

Borderline (Come on! Sing Along!)

Feels like I'm goooooing to loooose my miiiiind!

Before I go into all that, welcome to all of the Stirrup Queens (and SPJ's) who found me via the Lost and Found Page. It's great to start a new blog and see actual traffic, and I am pleased to have finally bitten the bullet and joined the online infertility community and been made to feel so welcome so quickly. You guys rock.

I met with Mom for lunch today, and she seems to have assimilated the conversation of last night. I do count myself as being incredibly lucky- she and Dad are offering to subsidize my drug costs. Never underestimate the determination of Armenians who want to be grandparents.

Well, plus they probably don't want another Christmas Day when my aunt in Chicago calls to announce that my cousin is going to make her a grandmother for the fourth time, isn't it amazing! I'm a fourth time grandma! And your Dad doesn't have any grandkinds yet, and he just turned 59! You guys better get crackin'! I ended up choking back tears over the post-dinner Scrabble fiasco.

In my defense, it was exacerbated by the fact that my freshly married brother bought his new bride an SUV with third row seating, and I added one and one and made three, and then panic set in. I'm not the only one whose done this. Right? Right?

It turned out that no, they're not pregnant, they're just yuppies. (Actually, they want the room for their Jack Russell Terriers. Go know.)

So. Ultrasound. Otherwise known Chez Jenna as "My date with the all-seeing dildo."

Yes, I am that classy.

Evidently, my ovaries are happy little sacks of sunshine and rainbows. No cysts. They found Righty with a minimum of problems, so perhaps he has made up his mind to actually do some work this cycle, as opposed to resting on his laurels. Whatever the ovarian equivalent of laurels might be. Lefty (AKA Ol' Faithful) was as usual present and accounted for. When I finish this whole thing, I think I want to send him movie tickets and a gift certificate to Chili's.

As for my uterine disco lounge, it is open for business.

The ultrasound lady also told me the inspirational story of a woman with the same stats as me- three cycles with Clomid, luteal phase defect, got pregnant on her first cycle of Gonal-F.

So, everything was par for the course. I put my clothes on, went into room 5 (which whould have my name on the door, I feel like I live in there.)

I am going to be doing 225 IU for the first 5 days, 150 IU for two days after that, then bloodwork and ultrasound, then another IUI, followed by progesterone suppositories from hell.
(I had to call Freedom Pharmacy to order another 300 IU pen to make up my full dosage.) They showed me how to prime the Gonal-F pens, and the ghetto method of siphoning out the extra meds with a spare syringe. I was feeling pretty good, until I started to ask questions.

I waited until I had mastered the Gonal-F pen, and then made a squinchy face and said,

"So, what do we know, exactly? My husband and I are both basically fine, right?"

"Right."

"Except for the luteal phase thing."

"Right."

"Ok, so there's no way of testing if my eggs can actually be fertilized until an IVF procedure, right? Are we just going by the fact that I am under 35, as far as egg quality goes?

"Well, your FSH is borderline, so...."

Hold the phone. Because nobody has ever mentioned that any of my levels were anything but stellar, so this came as kind of a shock to me.

"What exactly do we mean by borderline?"

"We ideally want something under 8. You're just above, at 8.4. It's not a big deal. We just usually pursue more aggressive treatment if the FSH is up above the 9 range."

So, have they been wasting my time with the whole Clomid thing? Because that's how I feel. I am PISSED. Super pissed. Because if I had known all of this, I would have started injectables three freaking months ago.

I think I am going to look into my other options. I am not necessarily attached to Dr. Combover, and while I like his office staff, if we are going to be shelling out thousands of dollars out-of-pocket, we better get results.

According to my OB-Gyn (whom I love) this clinic is the best game in town. However, going out of town is an option. Luckily, we're three hours away from both L.A. and San Francisco, so if it gets to the point of IVF, I have a feeling we are going to go with another clinic...and realistically, I am going to have to get my name in there pretty soon if I want to stick to our timetable. I need to look at success percentages and see how the clincs statewide measure up.

Ok. Off to go prime my pen!

Edited to add: Ok, what was I worried about? After Ovidrel, this stuff is cake!