Discussions and repercussions

The Man and I were talking last night.

I somehow married someone who has very different political beliefs than I do: which means that, every election year, things get a little heated. Luckily, over time, we both have learned there are just some things neither of us will change our minds about, and there are some things that we are able to compromise about.Going through election season on top of an impending move, business craziness, and all this infertility stuff has been...stressful. And now the holidays are coming! I think our theme song should be "I Will Survive."

Prop 37 was an unexpected shared crusade in our home this year. I was surprised at The Man's vehemence about it, but he explained that he thinks messing with the food supply may be the root of some of our current struggles. Watching my ongoing battles with food sensitivities has convinced him that the Standard American Diet is hurting the U.S. as a country. It's true that undiagnosed gluten intolerance affects fertility. Who knows? Maybe if I had known sooner, we would have changed things up in enough time for me to prevent damage?

And if things as innocuous as wheat and sugar could have that effect, what could GMO's be capable of?

That is the reasoning. And really- why would you take that risk, to feed your family something that isn't absolutely known to be safe? Unless you didn't know it was there.Which most Americans don't.

Anyway. He's convinced, somehow, that all of this will work out. He was talking about how he wants me to teach any kids that we have how to knit, and cook, and sew- regardless of gender. That he wants to raise kids who are able to think for themselves, and are self-sufficient. How he's glad we have figured out how to live healthfully and sustainably- that it is important to him, and any kids we would have would benefit from that too. And this, folks, is why I married him. <3

The fact that he's still worrying about the self-sufficiency of kids we may never be able to have is so inspiring- and frustrating too. I wish I had his faith. All I can think about is my mother, filling our Christmas stockings for one more year: all three of my siblings, still childless in their thirties. I need to get past this, because as I have found in the past, having a meltdown on Christmas morning really freaks everyone out.  

Whew.

I am not kidding when I say that yesterday was awful. I should also clarify that last (horrible) post- While my feelings are valid, this is from my point of view. So all that horrible secret crap that generally lives in your head got spewed out. It is strangely cathartic, to be honest.

And reading it made me realize- I don't want to go through with this without some assurance that I am doing this for the right reasons. And the primary source of a lot of that stress was, of course, that conversation with my husband.

So I printed out the blog entry, and put it on his desk, and when he got home, I asked him to read it. And I asked him to give me an answer. And he said he couldn't. And I said, "Well, if you can't answer this question, then I will no longer be moving forward with starting a family with you."

Cue a long, fraught, awful discussion. The air is now clear. I know where he is coming from, he knows where I am coming from, and I think we both are clear about what sacrifices we are willing to make, and which ones we aren't. The big question: "What if we proceed with this? What if it doesn't work?"

His stance; this is his limit. He doesn't want to move forward with anonymous donor eggs, and doesn't want to adopt. Either we have his biological children, or he doesn't want to have any.

Well- fine. I am not happy with this, but I can hope that if our options run out, he may change his mind. and I do still have options.

Granted, I spoke with my sister last night, and she's now having second thoughts. Understandable, but frustrating. I don't underestimate what she offered.  She is worried that things will be weird (they might be, we would hopefully have a plan in place) and also that she would be jealous: she's not dating anyone, not married, and wouldn't have children outside of marriage. She's also worried that I would be jealous, if she wanted a relationship with any children we would have.

I've thought about it, and honestly, I don't think it would bother me. I expect my brother and my sister to have a close relationship with any children I would have- whether she helped us out or not. The Man and I agreed that we would name her as godmother at the baptism, if that were appropriate- honestly, the same (once again) as I would do if she wasn't involved.

If she takes awhile to make up her mind, we will just do another IVF cycle. Beyond that, if I can find an anonymous donor, maybe I can get The Man to consider it. We're not going to stop trying to have children, even if the donor cycle is successful.  We're lucky: as horrible as this situation is, we both have parents who are in a position to help us shoulder what is looking like an ever-growing financial burden.No it's not ideal, but it's still possible.  I'm 37, for heaven's sake. THIRTY SEVEN. It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings. Or you know, goes through "the change".

I spent most of the weekend grieving, and most of yesterday alternating between hysteria and anger. I feel strangely calm now- probably because there's now a plan, and I have accepted the terms. I didn't cry ONCE today- considering that I spend Thursday on pretty much in a vale of tears, that's definitely a good sign. I finally feel like myself again.

I just wish my sister hadn't offered to help before she thought about the potential repercussions. I certainly understand it: it's some seriously weird, sci-fi style stuff. If she were married and had children of her own, I am sure it would be a different story. All I can do is pray about it and hope for the best- a process that I honestly no longer have much faith in, but hey, I could get lucky.

Nope.

I finally got to sleep last night, and we went in early this morning.

While we were in the waiting room this morning, The Man was reading the paper, and there was a quote I could see from where I sat.

 “To share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable; to make yourself vulnerable is to show your strength.” -Criss Jami

The ultrasound looked good: the follicle was a. still there, and b. just over 18, so ready to go. We went in, there was a new anaesthesiologist. I had an entertaining conversation with him, the gist of which is that he could tell I wasn't from around here. He made me solemnly swear not to turn into some entitled Marin Mom in a silver SUV. Like I could! So we laughed about that. Insertion of the IV was effortless this time.

Then, BAM! I was awake. Probably before I was supposed to be. Awake, and coherent. They were confident, they had gotten the follicle. The Man came in to wait with me. We joked back and forth a little with the nurses.

Then Dr. C came in. They couldn't find an egg. He suspected the follicle had been empty- my low AMH would be an indicator, although it's also possible that they missed it or the retrieval was botched. (He didn't mention that possibility, however, Google let me know.) Evidently it happens more with women who are older, and in conjunction with fertility drugs. I've never heard of it before. It was almost worse: having that tiny space of hope- that 15 minutes of joy, before it was snatched away.

Dr. C wants me to move on to donor eggs. He also wanted to leave, but I had so many questions, and managed to get out 5 or six before I got overwhelmed. I am supposed to meet with him next week.

I swear, when he said "donor eggs"- I was still attached to the heart monitor, and I could hear the beat speed up appreciably as I struggled to control my emotions. Fuck! What a waste. What a fucking waste.  Those are the words that keep going through my head, in an endless shifting parade of emphasis and capitalization and exclamation points.

He left, and one of the nurses, Judy: she made sure I had Kleenex, helped me sit up, and released me from all my wires, and then she said, "I have been in this line of work for 25 years, and it's torture to see these things- the worst things- happen to the nicest people. Don't give up."

Then she left, and I got up. The Man grabbed me to help me off the bench onto the floor, and we just held each other. I could feel him shaking while I cried. He just patted my back and said he loved me, while I basically dissolved and saturated the front of his shirt.

I gave myself most of today to break down: to mourn the disappearing likelihood of having a child that is all our own. We simply cannot afford to do this over and over again: I am not referring to money- not to dismiss that either, but this process is breaking my heart. I know we have done everything possible, so far, to enhance our chances of success with this. The knowledge that crack whores get pregnant every day still rankles, but I have accepted that for me, this is just not going to be easy, and in fact, is pretty soul-shatteringly difficult.

I have two weeks, more or less, before day one.  So about a week for me to decide what the next move is.

And panic sets in

Today has been fairly uneventful. Well, you know. no shots, no doctors visit. I got the news from Dr. C that my lh surge had already started when I took the trigger shot. So- that's good, and yet not- I am worried that there will be nothing there tomorrow when they check.

I did get to have a long talk with an old friend. It's funny how life works to throw people together, especially in this age of Facebook! *waves*

Anyway. I was doing FINE, although not particularly hungry for dinner. I made myself eat my leftovers from lunch, because I won't be able to eat until tomorrow afternoon. I took my pills religiously. I cleaned the kitchen. I did my nails, applied a face mask and did a hot oil treatment, and  picked out some sassy "stirrup socks" to wear tomorrow. And then I sat down to drink tea and watch tv.

The Man came in, and sat in his chair beside me, and I couldn't even tell you what movie we were watching. I was just suddenly so overwhelmed, with fear and anxiety. The Man saw a tear roll down my face, and gestured to me to get into his lap, and I made a token protest: "I'm all oily and gross!" But he insisted, and held me close. And all I could say was, "I am so scared. What if it happens again? What if there's nothing?!" And I hung onto him for dear life while we both cried.

Everything I have ever done that scared the hell out of me has been more than worth it, in the end. I haven't done many of those things: I was disinterested, I was careful, I was ambivalent. This is something else. No risk, no reward.

I have to go to bed. We need to be at the office early tomorrow- I will have my answer at 8AM or so.

Reboot

Here we go again!

Another 28 day cycle. Another Saturday start. At least some things are predictable. ;)

I went in today for the baseline ultrasound. We saw a follicle getting started (on the left, of course) and then discussed the plan. This time, some Clomid, a small amount of Gonal-F the week prior to ovulation, and then the trigger shot- plus some kind of drug that is supposed to serve as "backup" in case my body doesn't want to wait until the appointed time. It locks the egg in the follicle somehow.

I was appalled to see that the drug that serves as "backup" was about $5 out of pocket at the pharmacy.  I realize that my situation is rare but knowing that a $5 prescription could have saved us thousands of dollars, a lot of blood sweat and tears, a month's time, and a few acres of frustration is...well. Infuriating. 

So- Clomid was a doozy for me last time. We will see what we get out of it. I got great results last time: tons of follicles, along with The Crazy. So I will be really careful to avoid any movies containing babies....actually, animals or babies, since both made me cry hysterically last time around. Do Not Want.

The fridge is stocked, the yoga DVD is out, I went to the RE, then acupuncture, then took my first dose of Clomid tonight...so it should be all systems go. Fingers crossed.

The Man said he was looking at SUV's online today, "just in case". It melted my stony, frozen heart. Granted, he was very excited about one that seats 9. I think he may be getting way ahead of me, here. He tried to make the excuse that it was because the back seats could fold down so we would have room for kids and dogs. Uh-huh. 

And the waiting begins.

I woke up promptly this morning. Someone down the street was screaming frantically and banging on something metal- over and over again. Our dogs both started going berserk.  

The Man leapt out of bed, threw on some pants and went charging out the door and down the sidewalk.

Unfortunately, it was a tourist from some Germanic place. She had somehow locked herself in the public bathroom down the street, and started panicking- screaming for her husband at the top of her lungs and banging on the metal door. The Man strode up to see her befuddled husband standing, gaping, outside the door.

I got the story when he returned- he evidently let her out, then went inside the bathroom, and easily opened the door twice.

As a female who has traveled extensively, you do dumb things occasionally. Granted- hopefully they are not at 6AM. At this point, my adrenaline levels were through the roof, thinking that someone had been assaulted, or was being eaten by a giant space whale. I will attribute that last theory to being groggy, and to having watched too much Dr. Who in the past week.

So The Man and I snuggled up for a bit, and then he went to work. I crashed again soon after he left. It's been a quiet day- I have been cooking and stuff, and at some point was reading a book, petting one of the dogs with my feet, until I realized that it was not in fact a dog. It was a furry black Ugg boot, which I left under the coffee table last night.

So yeah. I am still somewhat woozy. Back to taking my acupuncture herbs, and doing my best to stay upbeat and not worry.

The good, and bad, and the really crappy.

Today was- well, basically, horrible. Just an FYI.

I went in. I met my anesthesiologist, made polite small talk, and tried not to freak out when he couldn't get the IV into my hand- it hurt like a mo-fo. He ended up using the site I had initially suggested- The "magical blue dot" on the inside of my right elbow hasn't failed me yet.

That's basically the last thing I remember- getting the IV situated, Dr. Charming coming in...and then I woke up, to see The Man and Dr. C, and knowing from the facial expressions that something was wrong.

I ovulated early. I went through anesthesia and the whole crapload, only to have them go in, and my egg had already flown the coop. Follicles on the right were too small to retrieve. So it was all a bust.

Dr. C had immediate suggestions, because of course, tears.

We could wait this cycle out, I could do an IUI...because after all, my husband's sample was really good. At which point I blurted out, "Because the problem is ME. I am the weak link here, right? I have had six medicated IUI's- none of them worked!" The worst part was seeing my husband's face, while he tried to hold on to my left hand- which wasn't swathed in gauze. And Dr. C said, "Well, we discussed donor eggs too. Maybe we should talk about that. What do you want to do?

And I, tear streaked and groggy on the table, nasal cannula still in, just started repeating, "I just want to go home. I just want to go home. I can't talk about this right now."

And Dr. C left the room, and my husband's face was so full of sorrow, and it was awful. While I processed all the money that had been wasted, in the form of drugs that didn't do what they were supposed to do, and the anesthesia which I went through for absolutely no reason. Which we will also have to pay for. And I was filled with such- loss. And fury. And incredible frustration.

The nurse came in, detached my cannula,  and looked horrified when I ripped off the multiple layers of tape and bloody gauze from the initial IV site on my hand.  It was obvious that I was developing a big purple swelling which would turn into a bruise the diameter of a silver dollar. She suggested that The Man would need to help me get dressed, as I would be wobbly. I waited until she was gone until I hopped off the table, fueled with adrenaline, and managed to get dressed with no assistance. Yet another indicator that I'm an alien- coming out of anesthesia  like that is typical, for me.

I asked to speak with the doctor again. He said early ovulation is really rare. I asked why we hadn't done an ultrasound before surgery. I think he said that would be a good idea next time. We ended up deciding to just do an IUI, and hopefully catch the egg. I made a reference to sending in "Seal Team Six", which would mean that my uterus is Pakistan, and the egg is Osama Bin Laden, which really isn't as funny. And not accurate, as it is most likely "Seal Team 100 Million."

They told us that we should come back in 30 minutes for my IUI. All I could think of wanting to eat was a Chai Frappuccino- which isn't Paleo, but I think on a day like this, I am entitled.

So yeah. We got Frappuccinos and did our seventh medicated IUI. The Man held my hand. I have pretty much been ok and resting quietly in bed today, aside from a few bouts of teariness and the requisite update calls to Mom.  And my acupuncturist. I am taking herbs that should improve the likelihood of fertilization and implantation. We will see.

I did some online research. That trigger shot is supposed to work in 36-48 hours, but some women ovulate up to 12 hours earlier. I just got lucky, I guess.

So, against all our plans, the 2ww is upon me. I am trying to be hopeful, but the odds are definitely against me.

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.

Hope springs eternal

I got a call on Friday evening. It was Dr. Charming. Uh Oh.

Essentially he said my ovaries are lazy "sleepy", and that he wanted me to give them a little extra time. My estradiol was at a measly 15 when they checked it.  Instead of ramping up the drugs, they asked me to take a break. So I took a few days off of my Gonal-F/Menopur thrill ride. So I spent Friday and Saturday drug-free, then started up again last night.

Aside from getting some crazy rises and dips in my morning temps, I haven't felt much of a difference. The Man and I were out at lunch yesterday. I am trying not to get my hopes up. I know there's a very good chance this cycle might be cancelled. Still...I keep telling myself, it only takes one. I know I have one. 

Acupuncture was fairly routine today. I told my acupuncturist what was going on, and I think he is worried, but agreed that I can't afford to waste any more time. Next Monday is Labor day (OMG! 3-day weekend!) but he insisted that he will be there for me if I need a session post retrieval.  I talked to The Man about it, and he will drive me to Sonoma, if necessary.

It's strange. I feel like this is happening to someone else. I was so completely out of my mind last time around. This time- I am craving sweets a little- trying to address that with fruit and dark chocolate. And I am irritable at times, or occasionally inexplicably weepy for a minute or two. But no existential despair, no cookie binging, no psychotic outbursts. So, that's something. I feel strangely calm. Honestly, that is freaking me out more than anything else is.  

I asked The Man about it, and he agreed. "You're definitely not psycho," he said. "It's kind of a relief, except I am constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. But this far in, I don't think that it's going to." 

Wednesday, I go in for another ultrasound and blood draw. Hopefully, there is something percolating by then.

Needled

I don't know how much I have said about Dr. Charming, but I am a fan.

That's right! I have an R.E. that I LIKE! Which is...well, if someone's going to be all up in your business, liking them should be a prerequisite.

Cycle day one was Saturday, which was basically a timing disaster. Some of my meds needed to be refrigerated, so they couldn't be shipped for Monday Delivery, and I needed to start shots on Monday: and have my baseline ultrasound.

So I called the pharmacy and the doc's office. I was worried about the pharmacy, and I finally got them to agree (after much wrangling) to ship a partial order of just the drugs I would need for Monday- which didn't need to be refrigerated, thank goodness. The culprit (Bad Cetritide!)  will be arriving with the rest of the shipment today. Whew!

The doc's office: I figured I would get a call from a service, or a nurse. what I got was a phone call from my R.E. himself, at 7PM on a Saturday night, to set up my Monday appointment. He performs every procedure in the office. Color me impressed! In the old days, Dr. Combover never deigned to see me himself,  I would always get a nurse or a lackey. Which is probably a good thing (because I didn't like him anyway), but STILL. Dr. Charming also gave me the results of my Counsyl test: I tested negative for all genetic issues that could be passed on, which is amazing news. The Man is on notice that if any potential kid we have is weird, he is to blame. ;)

I spent Sunday napping, getting things in order, and planning how to spend the next month. Taking it easy, distracting myself, avoiding stress, and generally make this as likely as possible to work. I downloaded funny books for my Kindle. I put the scale away. I am considering getting a Netflix membership, so I can watch lots of comedies. The bedroom has been somewhat revamped. I have a plan for lots of fertility yoga, meditation, and knitting. My nails and toes are painted with sparkly polish, and I am doing my utmost to feel attractive, distract myself, stay positive, and stay active- all things that are challenging during IF treatment.
 
So yesterday was crazy. I needed to pay for my cycle. We have had the requisite dinero set aside in cash for a long time, and I had to go deposit it in my bank account.  I went in, thinking, "OK, this is going to be weird, I have a banded sheaf of $100 bills, the teller will look at me like I am a drug dealer."  However, it actually ended up being more awkward, because evidently, if it's quiet at the bank branch, security will usher you over to one of the cubicle guys who usually sets up new accounts or looks over loan docs.

And of course- guess what happened to me?

So I made polite small talk, and commented on the luscious  aroma wafting over from the guy's coffee (Peet's!) and finally just decided "The hell with it." And I whomped that wad of cash on his desk and said, "I need to deposit this."

He did a triple take and asked, "Did you just win in Vegas?" Which of course, reminded me of this. I am a gambler. Hopefully, a good one. 

The actual doctor's appointment went well. I wrote checks on about 90% of the money I had just deposited. I submitted all the paperwork and signatures. I got checked out and my blood was drawn. I was told to stop taking any supplements except for prenatals. Bye Bye, testosterone cream! I won't miss you, Hopefully, you did your job. They did a "mock retrieval" (Or was it a "mock insemination"? Something like that) and said it should be a piece of cake and I had drunk the correct amount of water. Two "venti" Starbucks cups worth, an hour before I showed up. Duly noted. I was pleased to note that I have less padding on my stomach area, as they could see what they needed to see with just a regular ultrasound. Everything was pronounced A-OK, and I am supposed to go in again on Friday for a look-see.

When I got home, my box from Freedom Pharmacy had arrived. I did a quick review of the contents, and then got ready for more adventure- acupuncture.  I am usually awful about relaxing while I am supposed to be, but this time, I forced myself to leave my phone in my pourse, so web surfing was not an option. I actually did fall asleep.

I took my first shots last night- 375 IU Gonal-F, 75 IU Menopur. Holy Mackerel. I forgot the stress of making sure you get the mix right, or you can waste 700 bucks with one wrong move. I seem to have a ridiculous amount of syringes. So there was a lot of fiddling before I finally got it right. And about an hour later, I swear, I was feeling strange effects: I was hot. HOT! And had a crazy heaviness through my pelvic region. Bam. 40 lb. ovaries are coming down the pipeline. I also kept sighing. The Man seems to be getting more and more nervous with each and every sigh. "Are you OK?!" he keeps asking me, anxiety in his eyes. Concern for my welfare? Terror that The Crazy is coming down the pipeline? I probably don't want to know!

My refrigerated box showed up today: a 12" cube stuffed solid with syringes, sharps containers, a plethora of drugs, and a refrigerated packet. So that's all set.

My parents and in-laws are on board. I am sending out texts and emails with updates- something I never thought I would find myself doing the last time around. I got another text last night from Dad that said, "Good Luck: fingers crossed. We are praying for you.  Mom says she will come if you need help. Tell The Man that if he needs help, he's on his own." Bhahaha!

Mom called this morning. She keeps offering to come and visit, which is lovely, but really, there's not a lot she can do! I told her we would keep it in mind, on the off chance that I go completely nuts and The Man needs help restraining me.

She has been very impressed with her realization that so many people are struggling with this. She saw something in the comics today about two tiny birds sitting on a nest with a dozen giant eggs in it, and the father bird was talking to a friend on a nearby branch. The caption said "Just say no to fertility drugs!" She was hesitant telling me about it, as she was afraid I wouldn't think it was funny, and was obviously relieved when I laughed. Then she said," We are so excited for you honey. Just don't turn into OctoMom." I was a little horrified, and tried to explain the difference between what I was doing, and what the limitations were, and she she explained that she was only kidding. (Thank God.)

So I am getting very literal. Also, zitty. Freaking hormones.

Mischief Managed

Would you believe that it took three stops to try to get my Counsyl test dropped off yesterday?

The first one was my fault, as I was convinced it was RiteAid that had the FedEx drop-off. Nope. It was CVS. So then I drove over there, and they evidently have not been taking FedEx packages since March- and Fed Ex had not seen fit to update their website. I was directed to go to the FedEx/Kinko's in San Rafael. "Right across from the KFC!"

Maybe it is a testament to my abdication from fast food that I had no freaking clue where the KFC was. I drove around lost for a little while (I had foolishly left my Phablet/The Precious at home, so had no GPS- which effectively made me helpless) and finally returned home to ask The Man.

"Oh, I know right where that is!" exclaimed my junk food devotee. "It's right by a KFC and Taco Bell Combo drive through." Hmph.

So he drove me over there, and I dropped my vial of saliva (inside a bag inside a box inside another bag) into the FedEx receptacle- albeit, after a temporary waffling on whether my spit could be considered "hazardous substances"- which are strictly prohibited by the signage on the drop-off box. Sadly, the conclusion was that I didn't care, and just wanted to be rid of the thing, but I did at least make the crucial distinction that nobody who has come into contact with my saliva has ever died (to my knowledge), and that I don't wear a green spandex outfit and call myself "Poison Ivy". So it would probably be fine.  

After being so close to forbidden food and not being allowed to acknowledge it, The Man decided that leftover roasted chicken at home wasn't going to be his thing, so we went to Max's. Ribeye (what else) for him, and salmon for me. They do have gluten-free cheesecake there, and The Man looked at me pleadingly, but I was just not in the mood. After wearing me down for a bit, I said I would order a scoop of ice cream and a gluten-free cookie. To keep him company. Yes, I am occasionally stupid.

When the scoop got there, it was in a giant sundae glass, and contained nearly a pint of actual ice cream. The cookie, it had been previously explained, was in a package of six. "But they're small!" said the waitress, reassuringly, making a round shape between her thumb and forefinger. "Roughly the size of a silver dollar." 

FYI: the cookies were at least twice that size- i.e., completely normal sized cookies. I ate one, and about 5 spoonfuls of ice cream- I couldn't even get down close to the top of the giant sundae glass. I had to take the rest home in a tupperware, along with the other 5 cookies. Never again.

I may be happy to have a stash, because things are percolating along. I finally got the second line on the OPK kit, which means I should be right on track for my usual Day 14. The Man is on notice, and I am trying to get the house cleaned up, as I was out of commission with excruciating back pain the entire last half of my last cycle- REALLY hoping that doesn't happen again!!

Let's do this thing! (playing catch-up)

So! I do have another blog- where I seem to be talking about everything EXCEPT infertility. If you're interested in that, it's over here.

General update: The Man and I just celebrated our 10th anniversary. Which means, 9 years of infertility. NINE years!!!! Ugh.

But- I am jumping back into the seemingly bottomless lake of infertility treatments, and frankly: this is the only place I can talk about that. People who deal with me day-to-day probably don't want to know about crazy shizz like "assisted hatching." Hell, _I_ don't even know what that is. Yet. But I probably will soon.

Because if infertility is a bottomless lake, I am finally going to do more than just stick the occasional toe in the water. As of a couple of weeks ago, I started paddling around in the shallow end, and am girding my loins (somewhat literally) to jump off the high dive in a few weeks. IVF, baby.

So we got started with one clinic, only to decide in the early stages that they were too far away- an hour and a half isn't a great drive to have to make. They also were really lackadaisical about doing things like answering my questions, leading to situations where I got test results back and FREAKED- and continued to freak over the 4th of July weekend, with no call back. It took six days to get my question answered, and of course, by then, I had whipped myself into a frenzy. No bueno.

So the question I needed answered was-My FSH is now around 12.1: not too terribly bad, as I am now an old-ish lady of 38. It's actually improved from 2009, when it was 14.9.  The AMH however, is pretty dismal: 0.16. The frantic calls about that were the ones that caused the meltdown. I was concerned that they would flat-out refuse to treat me. So after all the googling of "low AMH"  that I did- hopefully some other woman who is desperately googling at 2AM might run across this. Neither of the two clinics I was looking at said that my low AMH was a deal breaker. In fact, they seemed intrigued. And also flat out stated: "You need to hurry."

So, that's what we are doing. All the preliminary tests have been done. The Man still has his stellar numbers. I keep calling him "The Sperminator", which he seems alternately delighted and humiliated by. In all seriousness, I think the most awkward conversations I have had have been IF related, and having a lab tech wax rhapsodic about how great your husband's numbers are over the phone has to be experienced to be believed.  Luckily, after a saline sonogram and a pelvic exam, my uterus has been pronounced "beautiful." So per medical science, I am actually beautiful inside and out. ;) And we are still "unexplained".

I didn't want to do this. I have done my utmost to get as healthy as I can, but obviously, we still have some deeper issue which is not being addressed, because we don't know what it is. the thought of subjecting my body to this roller coaster again is not one I make lightly.Unfortunately, we are to the point where we simply can't afford to sit around and wait.  

I really like my new R.E.. He is young (by which I mean close to my age- LOL), earnest, and has disconcertingly beautiful eyes. He's also roughly 1000% nicer and more charismatic than Dr. Combover was- not being difficult to accomplish, as Dr. Combover had roughly the same bedside manner as a necrotic whelk.

 I automatically checked to see if he was married, as I have many awesome single lady friends, and I am always acting in their best interests-although I may have earmarked him for my sister as a matter of course- but alas, he was wearing a wedding ring.

Also, he has a great sense of humor. By which I mean, he laughs at my jokes. How to make your RE laugh: when he points out your right ovary on the monitor during a procedure, tell him it looks like "a high pressure system coming in from the north." Evidently, not many ladies tell jokes while they are in the stirrups. And when the R.E. tells them he'll see them in his office in a minute, they probably don't cheerfully say, "Sure, I'll be right there- just let me put on some pants."

Oh man, I am so jaded. This doesn't even seem weird anymore. Hopefully I can continue along this trajectory, and not the sad, cookie-eating, hormonally incapacitated and psychotic iteration of the past. 

Speaking of ovaries, Lazy Righty is evidently cooking up a follicle this month. I am going to send it some flowers.

In other news, my temps are great. I am still seeing an acupuncturist, and my temps have slowly crept up from being in the 95's and 96's to the 97's and 98's- AKA, normal human temperature ranges. Acupuncture is once a week, and I take about a bajillion herbal supplements twice a day.

My acupuncturist and I do argue occasionally- he says I am healthy enough to conceive on my own, but after 9 years of this, and two years with him, I am more than a little dubious. I am doing my best to make it clear that I can't afford to wait anymore. We were given "permission to try" this month and last month as well, so it is go time this week. He keeps insisting that IVF is not necessary, and I told him that I would be ecstatic if we managed to do it on our own, as we would use the money earmarked for the procedure to go on a fantastic European vacation instead, and I would send him a postcard from every country we visited lauding his acupuncturey prowess. I still don't think he agrees, but at least he shut up about it.

SO! Due to my super-low AMH, my RE told me that we were going to do something "A little unorthodox", and wrote me a prescription for testosterone gel. He also warned me that the pharmacy wasn't going to handle it well, as it is typically a male-only prescription, and just to brazen it out. Having done all my research during the Low-AMH meltdown of early July, I determined that he was trying to take a little bit of a shortcut- low AMH is typically addressed with DHEA supplementation- which bumps up your testosterone levels.

All I can say is, if there is any other way to get testosterone gel than walking into Rite Aid, I am all for it. Black market? Internet pharmacy? Muscular man in sunglasses lurking in the alley? Go for it (OK, maybe not the last one.)

The Pharmacist and the tech seriously freaked out. It doesn't help that the Pharmacist has a loud, booming Russian accent, and immediately blustered, "But- this is for men only!" in a voice that carried clear over into the cosmetics area. I quietly explained the issue, and he admitted that it was not that unheard of as he had "given it to one other lady in the past." I would like to thank you, other lady. If it was this much of a shell-shocker for me, I can only imagine how it was for you!

I now have two giant tubes of really expensive testosterone gel. The pharmacist helpfully said that I would have a lot left over, and told The Man that he should try it "If he ever wanted to take up the weightlifting."
He gave me a 20% discount, but even with that- since it is out-of-pocket, it was $360. #$%^!

So now, The Man is under orders to tell me if I start developing facial hair or my voice starts cracking. I have to rub this stuff into my shoulders every night, and am paranoid that I am going to grow some furry epaulettes. I was cautioned to avoid contact with anyone until the stuff dries, and am wearing a special t-shirt to bed. Like a chump. So it begins.

So the next Day One, my schedule and meds are set. I just need to call, and I will get my baseline ultrasound. It looks like Gonal-F, Menopur, Possibly an ovulation suppressant of some kind, and then the trigger shot, and then progesterone- seemingly forever. 

Oh God. I am really doing this. Sometime this month! 

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.

Call screening

Hooray for tree decorating! I am slowly filling in the bare spots on our blue spruce.

These guys didn't make the cut for the top of the tree- they'll go down firther, where kitties have a habit of playing pinata with them.
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"Jen! Grab your phone!"

I was scrambling to get ready, because we wanted to catch the matinee for The Golden Compass. I heard the ringer getting louder, which means that The Man has nabbed my phone.

"It says private caller."

I grabbed my keys and sunglasses, and started struggling with my jacket while the ringing stops.

"It's gotta be your parents, do you want to call them back?"

"Sweetie, I just want to have a good day. I can't see them saying anything that I want to hear. Besides, we're running late."

We headed out to the car, and I hopped in, managing to balance all the crap tht I take with me.

He gave me a narrow look, because we both know that ignoring things isn't really the way to go.

I sighed, and picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hi Mom."

"Hey Jen! That was fast."

After a few seconds of inconsequential chitchat, she brought it up, again. She and Dad must have had another talk. The gist of what she said was that they were in a position to help us, and the 50% idea was in case they needed to help on more than one cycle. I explained that we only wanted to do one cycle. If that didn't work, we would need to either explore other avenues to becoming parents, or we would hopefully be in a position to take care of costs ourselves.

There was a pause. "I don't want you guys to limit yourselves because of money. I feel like we got our wires crossed. I thought I told you that Dad and I wanted a little more info before we could give you a definite answer."

I did the verbal equivalent of shrugging, and politely changed the subject.

Maybe at some point, we will get desperate enough to take them up on it. For now, however, it's just not worth it to me. I am glad she called and clarified matters, but I am going to acknowledge that this road is just not going to be easy, and I think I would rather be in debt to a bank than to my parents when I am thinking reasonably about it.

Anyway. The Golden Compass fell a little flat, after that. I had a hard time watching some of the scene, since a lot of them involved children being kidnapped. But the special effects were great. I added the series of books to my endless wishlist on Amazon.

This was supposed to be a comment...

But it got way too freaking long!

Thanks guys- I need to do SOMETHING, not sure what yet. I do have a couple of ideas. If worse comes to worse, we can use plastic, but since we just paid our cards off, that option isn't particularly appealing! I just hate that place where infertility takes you, when you feel like suddenly, everything is hopeless. I was feeling that way in a big way last night. Thanks so much for all your words of support- It means the world to me.

I know I just need to be patient for now. I know this is not the time for me to become a mom. We'll be in a better place to do this on our own when (and if- that's a whole other story) we go through the move and The Man's job change. I just need to be patient, and stick to my guns...I knew my instincts about asking my parents for help were dead on, and I ignored the red flashing lights and sirens, because I was at the end of my rope, and did it anyway. The worst part is, I feel stupid for ignoring my gut feelings. I asked for help, knowing it would put me in a bad place. I went along with their plans for Thanksgiving, ignoring my feeling that it was going to be awful. Both were things that I had bad vibes about, but somehow, I thought, "This time, it will be different. You're just being overly sensitive."

Someone's blog that I read earlier today referred to a quote- the gist was that it was stupid to perform the same experiment the same way over and over and expect a different outcome.

I need to accept the fact that while they are my parents, and we love each other, they have always used money to control me, and my reproductive system and my emotions and their pockets are just something that should not mix.

The Man and I had a heart-to-heart today. We bought a Christmas tree, and spent the day decorating and tidying up the house, since we both had the day off- a rare occurance around here!

He was asleep when I talked to Mom and had my little breakdown last night. I explained what had happened, and when I said I couldn't ask them for help, he agreed with me. So at least we are on the same page about that.

"I don't know if it's worse to have hope or not," is what he said about it. "I feel like I am being punished for something."

Since this is an emotion I can fully relate to, we talked about that for awhile.

The conversation drifted from there into adoption and potentially, fostering. It's the first time he has ever even been willing to discuss one of those options. He says he is more open to adoption. This is a huge step for him.

We discussed where we would need to be to bring a child into our lives- whether someone else's, or our own. The Man has still not made a concrete decision as to where he is going to be in a year, and I put my foot down and said I didn't want to move forward with any more treatment until we had a set plan and a schedule that I could work with.

We accomplished a lot. I feel a lot more hopeful. It's so hard to sit and wait for what you want...but I know that I have done what I am capable of doing with my own resources so far, so waiting seems like the most sensible option that I have.

tea and sympathy

Thanks guys!

I do appreciate your desires to give The Man a talking to.

We had that conversation on Thanksgiving night. He agreed that he had, in his own words, "been crappy." And he apologized profusely.

The next night, when I reported that the lady at the jewelry store said that my husband had no idea about my taste in jewelry (true...coals of fire!) he was mortified.

As it turns out, he had over-analyzed things based on my wedding ring, which is a magnolia design, and is very vintage and a little asymmetrical.

"I just thought you liked those kind of swoopy shapes!" he said, pathetically.

So he is now doing research for Christmas. I agreed to look around ebay and give him examples of what I like, on the grounds that if he wants to get me jewelry, next time around he will have a better idea of what to do.

His Mom found out what had happened, and made sure to take me out and get me a dog-free birthday cake, which was really sweet of her. Go figure- it took 5 years, but I finally have a decent relationship with my M-I-L.

Talked to my Mom yesterday. As it turns out, they all stayed an extra night and talked about my "behavior". Ouch. They seem to be of the opinion that I was just in a bad mood from the get-go, and that no amount of effort on their part would have fixed that. I was just determined to be unhappy.

Oooookay.

I was pretty much speechless. Mom wanted to keep chitchatting, and I just cut her off with, "Sorry, I know you have stuff to do, so I had better let you go."

Christmas should just be a ball of fire. I am thinking that we are going to eschew my family altogether. I have had it with them. And I can't help thinking about the whole thing with the psychic going on about the "toxic environment." Ugh.
______________

The Man and I were watching The Daily 10 tonight.

He's never said a lot about being smacked repeatedly in the face with the whole baby thing. But one story was about Nicole Ritchie's pregnancy, and how Paris Hilton now wants a baby because then their kids can play together.

Then there was another story about Christina Aguilera talking about her Uber Eggs and her hubby's Super sperm, and showing the magazine cover of her splayed out and displaying her spray-tanned baby bump.

At this point, my husband yelled, "Oh F--K YOU!" and hurled an aptly named throw pillow at the TV set. Right before the report seguewayed into "5 hottest celebrity moms."

"Why are we watching this?" he asked, irritably. Then the commercial for the Zales Journey diamond pendant started- the one that shows the couple dating, getting married, and then proudly holding up a baby. The tagline is something about commemorating all your precious life experiences together.

He uttered some more profanity and then snatched the remote out of my hands and hit the power button.

"I can't believe it, it's everywhere," he said, disgustedly. "No wonder you get upset all the time."

Well, yeah.

In other news, Tiramisu, my feline stalker, has been Velcro Kitty all day today, after virtually ignoring me since my last medicated cycle. He keeps edging up onto my lap or my chest and gazing lovingly into my face, giving me kitty kisses on the nose, and generally acting like a completely different creature than the sulky little brat that he usually is.

I am trying not to get my hopes up.

We should have brought a tent

I feel so guilty. I have not been keeping up with blogs.

Mainly because I am not sure how to tell you guys about the disaster that was Thanksgiving/my birthday.

I feel incredibly ungrateful when I think about everything that went "wrong". And boy howdy, I am glad I am not in the middle of another infertility cycle on top of all of it, because that would have just been...well.

Here are a few things that may or may not have happened:

1. Hanging out with my sis and sis-in-law (who look like Angelina Jolie and Mandy Moore, respectively) made me feel like a beluga whale. An old, ugly beluga whale encrusted with moldy barnacles.

2. I bought and wrapped my own birthday gift from my husband, who didn't even bother to get me a card.

3. I showed up at the house, and realized that nobody else had bothered to get me anything, either.

4. Except for a birthday cake, which I was obscenely grateful for. Until my mom put it on a low shelf for a second when she was getting ready to serve it and my brothers dogs licked half the frosting off of it. Nobody really wanted it after that.

5. I mentioned the "couch-to-5K" program I am doing, and got to see the shifty looks that obviously meant, "Yeah right."

6. The phone call from my aunt who asked, "And how young are you today?" and when I said, "33" she sighed and said, "How time does fly!" In a way that was supposed to be consoling, but since my age doesn't bother me, I just wanted to reach through the phone and strangle her.

7. Mom said she would take me out shopping on the day after Thanksgiving. Black Friday. We stayed in town and avoided the mall. I didn't find anything I liked, and all the shopping was for other people. Dad showed up halfway through the day with a ring he bought for me as a surprise. It was the one nice thing that anyone had done, and I was almost teary.

8. Then Mom said, "Well, it's from both of us! Happy Birthday! Let's go home."

9. Then we got home, and Dad had bought identical rings for my sister and s-i-l.

10. My sister, who has a habit of wearing very thin pajamas and bending over and revealing half of her butt and all of her thong, decided to change clothes in the room that The Man and I stayed in. After dinner. Without locking the door, or utilizing the en-suite bathroom with a door that closes. The inevitable happened, and The Man walked in on her.

I should back this up by saying that The Man has commented on this before, and my sister just isn't modest on the same level that I am. In any event, I have discussed with my parents that my husband knows way too much about my sister's anatomy, and aside from saying, "Well, you know what she's like" and "we're in close quarters in that house"....yeah. I never knew how to bring it up.

I was furious. she kept protesting, "But he didn't see anything! I covered up!!" and I would just say, "What he saw is not the POINT. The POINT is that if you are changing in someone else's room, you make an effort to be respectful, and you tell them, or lock the door, or use the bathroom!"

It ended up with me leaving the house by myself at 9PM and walking down to the beach and staring sightlessly at the waves. The Man was watching movies with Dad and my brother, and I didn't want to make a scene, I just wanted to be gone.

I stayed gone for nearly an hour. As I was getting close to the house, I rounded the corner and saw my husband, who had been waiting for me.

He just kept repeating that he was sorry. Did I want to leave? Yes, I had every right to feel the way I did. He felt bad that he had screwed up my birthday.

We walked back to the house, and I stayed holed up in the room until bedtime. I eventually came out to try to have a sane conversation with my sister, which degraded into:

Her: "My blue pajamas are not see-through."

Me: "I assure you, they are."

Her: "They totally are not!"

Me: "Do you want me to give you the diameter of your nipples in centimeters? "

Her: "You're obviously just have a grudge and you're holding all this stuff against me. It's YOUR problem, not mine. How am I supposed to control what everyone sees?!"

Me: "That's an interesting perspective. Somehow, I manage to get through a family weekend without everyone seeing MY underwear. It's not rocket science."

Her:"You're just being unreasonable."

Me: "I don't feel that it's so unreasonable to ask that you not flash your crotch at my husband from across the room. Or to be respectful and lock the door when you're changing in our room."

Her: "I didn't know I was flashing! And he didn't see anything, tonight! I covered up with a towel."

It went around and around, and on, and on. I finally said, "Look, all I am asking you is to be a little more modest around my husband. That's it."

We said goodnight and went to bed. I made my point, and in the process, l think I killed my friendship with my sister.

I am so glad to be home. But that's really the only thing I am glad about right now.

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!

Ob la di, ob la da, life goes on....

I had a "throwaway day" today.

I seriously cannot tell you want I did. I got some stuff out of the way before noon, returned a few phone calls, and alternately read and slept the rest of the day away.

The Man got home, and we discussed what all of this is going to mean.

There's going to be a 14-month initiation period. The Man will be heading to SF on his days off for the first six months to train, then for the next 6 months as an employee. At the beginning of 2009, he will officially take over the business.

My agreement to moving was conditional. We will not be able to afford a place in the Bay Area, at least not right away, and I don't want to give up being a homeowner. A huge plus is that we will have a place to live, rent-free, as one of the perks of the job. So we are looking at "renting" the house to The Man's sister and her fiance, and discounting the rent in exchange for them taking care of the place, and maybe maintaining one of three bedrooms so we could stay here occasionally. The Man has to fulfill a few more years of military service as a weekender, so he will be in town one weekend a month.

It would also give us a chance to make sure we want to settle in the Bay Area before we take the big leap and buy property there.

Of course, my brain finally started working. I will be in San Francisco. Where there are plenty of doctors who are potentially not jerks like Dr. Combover. Where my sister lives, where there are practically acupuncture clinics on every corner, where I can walk down the street to get my groceries, where we can go out dancing every night if we want. Where any money I bank from my job can be devoted exclusively to travel or IF, as I see fit, depending on what happens.

I'm totally overwhelmed. I'm excited. And I am trying not to think about the drawbacks, of which there are several. Leaving my current employers is a big one. I love my job, and I want him to feel the same way about his. I am in the fortunate position to be able to do what I do just about anywhere. Living in a big city is going to make things more complicated, and I will have to get used to new people, but I think I can pull it off.

My favorite part of it is seeing The Man get so excited. He's been a military guy for 12 years now, and I think he loved it until we got married and he did that stint overseas and was so miserable the whole time. We have both been so afraid that he would get deployed again. I wanted to make sure he wasn't just taking this job as a way out.

When I questioned him, he said, "You know, I thought about it...I never went away to school, like you did. I've lived in this town since I can remember. I've been in my current job, with a few changes, since I was 18. It's time to switch things up. I have the opportunity to build a business, to be my own boss, to live in a big city. Why wouldn't I take it? "

When he puts it like that, the negatives seem very, very small.