Every Day.

I was sitting in the patio area at Starbucks with my recently married friend, A.

We were sipping iced teas and catching up when the young man came up to us and asked for change.

Of course, he had a story, and whether his version was true or not- He said he needed $1.25 to catch the bus, and I will spare you the (long convoluted) back story, but he claimed that a friend had stolen $80 from his wallet, and he'd arrived at Starbucks to get a coffee and opened his wallet to find zero dinero. Since he had a bag containing a cable box from the Xfinity store, he could have been telling the truth.

I have implemented a policy where I will give out spare change. No folding money. If I have it, I have it, if I don't, sorry. Yeah, I have a policy, because it seems like I get asked for change everywhere I go, lately. 

As it turns out, I had $1.50 in quarters and dimes. I gave him the requested bus fare. He said, "Thank you so much! And I know it's early, but Happy Mother's Day!"

It was like a knife to the heart. I somehow forgot it was coming. All the dreams I had last fall, thinking this would be the year I finally get to celebrate, just rushed over me.  

Yesterday, I went to a function where a casual acquaintance was there with her two daughters. One has a child, but is divorced- the other is single. She was joking around, saying that she would take them out for lunch for Mother's Day, in the spirit of untapped potential, so maybe they would give her some more grandchildren. "Just think of how many eggs are in those ovaries! You need to use them before they all dry up!" The daughter with the child smiled and made a joke of it;  the unmarried daughter looked like she wanted to sink through the floor. And I just couldn't control the expression on my face. I don't even know what it was, just that it was like I was wearing a mask, and the acquaintance asked, "Jen? Are you OK?" And I don't even remember what I said to her. Probably something reassuring.

I managed to make reservations for lunch for my Mom today. We've become a lot closer since we moved back. I have honestly been a lot happier, which helps. My brother will hopefully show up to celebrate with my parents, and The Man and I, since he is in town for the weekend. I don't want to ruin this, Mom deserves her day unsullied by meltdowns, so hopefully I have gotten all my typical emo crap out of my system.

Last night, in the car on the way to dinner with friends, I was telling The Man about the episode with the mother and her two children. And he said, "I have been thinking. We need to move forward. I don't want to stop trying to have biological children, but I think it's time to start looking into adoption. I am still not thrilled with the idea, but we have been waiting long enough for this phase of our lives to start, and my main concern is that I might not bond with an adopted child- but maybe some research will make me feel better about it."

I am still shocked. And so, amazingly grateful. When he uttered those words, it was like a huge weight was lifted off of me.  I feel the same way- I don't want to stop trying, but I don't want to wake up at 42 and still be childless. That part of me that has been so angry and resentful with him for so long over the inequity of the situation was so deeply ingrained, and I just tried to bury it deeply enough so I could forget about it, but- looking over the last few years, and reading entries in this blog, I realized how it's just been poisoning me.

Whatever happens, I think I just received my first Mother's Day gift- a day early.  My road to motherhood may not be conventional, but I finally feel like I am on my way. I have definitely earned my stripes. 

 


 



  

Stayin' Alive

Evidently, I made it through Halloween, Election day, and a bunch of other stuff. It's been a strange, long, teary blur. I haven't had a lot to say about it. What on earth can I say, that hasn't been said already?

I called my sister, and said she should do this for herself, but I didn't feel comfortable putting her in the middle of this mess I am in.  All I want is to get off this roller coaster, and if my sister is involved, who knows if it will ever end? Maybe I will change my mind eventually. But right now, it's just how I feel.

I called the other clinic for a second opinion, and was told that Dr. Charming's diagnosis is correct- I would probably need donor eggs to get pregnant. Oh, and if I want a better chance, I might try losing some weight. Would weight loss lower my AMH or change any of my lab values? I asked. Well- no. But statistically, heavier ladies have a harder time getting pregnant. Maybe I should try eating less fast food.

Thanks, asshole. The last time I ate fast food was...over a year ago? Maybe? I have gotten to the point where I don't even bother trying to explain- it all sounds like lies and excuses to them.  Luckily it was a phone interview, or I would have had to set something on fire.

So now, I am basically stuck. My last hopes of doing this on my own are gone. I am out of options, at least any that I want to consider.  I suppose all I have in the world is time. Even women who are post-menopausal can get pregnant with donor eggs.

I am 37 right now, I'll be 38 in a little over a week, and I just feel like an empty husk.

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.

Blown away.

Today was also a big, fat goose egg. Nada. My body has pretty much closed up ship, as evidenced by zero follicular growth and blood work that showed no hormonal surge. I have to wonder if Clomid did this. Googling shows that it has this effect on some women.

To make matters much more irritating, my doc wants me to start gonaditropins from last time if I don't show any signs of follicle development on Monday. Because he is going out of town at a crucial point. So Dr. Charming's 3 day weekend may end up costing us a few thousand more dollars, on top of everything else.

The good news: I spoke with my sister yesterday, about freezing eggs. I have been worried about her- she's 35, not in a long-term relationship, I know she wants children. She called me to check in, and we ended up discussing what egg freezing would probably entail. I told her the truth: That I wouldn't want anyone- ANYONE to have to struggle with this. And to think of it like insurance- something she hopefully doesn't need, but a backup, just in case.

She called me back later that night, and said, "You know- I was thinking, but I don't want to offend you- if it turns out that you need donor eggs down the line and it's OK with you- you're welcome to use mine right? I know how hard this is for you, and if there's any way I can help, I will be happy to do whatever I can. I know how much you want this."

I cried. She cried. Mom called later that night, and I told her, and we both cried some more. All in all, it's been a pretty weepy week. 

Holding pattern

It looks like it is going to be a frustrating month.

Per wand and blood results, my cycle has stalled out. I am probably looking at a 40 day cycle- or more, as opposed to my usual 28. I am sure that the crazy drugs I took last month have something to do with this, since I am usually like clockwork.

I've been moody, and occasionally weepy, but not crazy- trying to get as organized as I can until we move.  Trying to ignore the babies everywhere. Someone brought their new bundle of joy into Dr. Charming's office for him to see- one of "his" babies. I walked into the waiting room and encountered them, right after I got the news that none of the drugs were working on me. My reaction was not good.

I am trying desperately not to panic. My time in the Bay Area- and thus with this doctor- is running out. The Man hasn't found a job, and is defensive and angry when the subject comes up. All can think is that hopefully there will be some kind of last-second miracle. This situation included. If I could afford to wait on IVF, I would, but it's clear that we can't afford to put it off any longer.

Evidently, stress can mess up your cycle too. Good to know.

I go in again on Thursday. Hopefully something will be percolating soon. Both in my interior regions and in other aspects of my life. 

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.

Another year

Yesterday was my birthday.

All in all, it was sort of underwhelming. 36 is hard, harder than 35 for whatever reason. I just sort of went about my business as usual, and then The Man and I went out to a nice dinner. He did get me a nice gift this year, which was much appreciated :)

I did get a little teary at one point. It's hard not to think about what you wanted to have accomplished by now when your birthday rolls around. I was "supposed" to have a few kids by now. I just console myself with the knowledge that I am working on it, that we're in a much better place to raise children, and that I will be a better parent because of what I have been through.

Thanksgiving is also stressful: due to my dietary restrictions, I suspect that staying with my family is going to be a test of my patience, as usual. Last weekend, The Man and I stayed with Mom and Dad. Dad went out "to pick up something for breakfast" and came back with croissants and bagels. And yes, he knows I have a wheat allergy. There's no kind explanation, really! I keep wondering if they will buy a birthday cake for me, and then eat it in front of me. ;) I may have to make a gluten-free version for myself.

Warm The Mansion seems to be working. The acupuncturist is very pleased with my progress, and has asked me to get an ovulation predictor kit, so we can verify that my charts are accurate.

The other thing that is going on: I have started CrossFit, which is literally kicking my butt. I can't complain too much though, because I LOVE it, and also because HOLY MUSCLE DEFINITION BATMAN! The man patted me on the leg last night and then gave my leg an experimental squeeze and said, "That's impressive." I am also noticing that my jeans are beginning to feel roomy, which is something to be thrilled about.

Bitter

After a minor crying jag, I popped over to I Can Has Cheezburger, and this was the first thing I saw. It doesn't get much more appropriate than this, boys and girls. It at least provoked a burst of semi-hysterical laughter, so maybe I am not that far gone.

I can't really explain why the crying was going on. It just happened. The Man is at work, and I just feel so frustrated and alone and so angry...and once again, there isn't much of an explanation for the angry part.

Chris wrote this post, and voiced the question, "When will something finally be easy?"

That's totally how I feel. Actually, I don't really ask anymore, I just assume that it's not going to be easy, end of story, Amen, Goodbye, Whatever. In fact, it's probably going to be impossible, and why try?

I wonder if so many things came to me so easily in my youth that this business of starting a family is payback for all the easy stuff I didn't appreciate then.

I know this is unreasonable, but it's there, swirling around in my brain with about two million other things.

I start back to work at my primary job on Monday, and I have a really full schedule. The lab coat is going into the laundry, and then it's back to five days of teaching other people's kids about the planets, about polymers, about burps, about fingerprints, and about the five senses. (You see the "other people's kids?" I really need to stop obsessing about that.)

My favorite sense to talk about is taste. The kids get excited about that, because besides yummy or yucky, taste isn't something they really think about a lot. We discuss that there are different areas on the tongue that taste the different flavors of the foods that you eat. We talk about sweet, salty, sour, and bitter, and how they are all different. I explain that bitter foods are usually the ones that kids don't like, because kids have more tastebuds than adults do, so they are more sensitive to strong flavors than grownups are.

Bitter is a flavor that I have never really gotten behind. Coffee is the example that we use in my class, and coffee is something that I drink with so much sweetener and so much milk that it basically doesn't even count as being coffee anymore.

But bitter seems to be talking over my life, somehow, and I hate it. I hate it. I feel bitter and like I am shriveling up inside. There is no Creme Brulee Coffeemate that I can add to make this better. No amount of foam or pumps of syrup or packets of Splenda is going to fix it.

I also feel sour. Sour, like the lemons that I just can't seem to make lemonade out of anymore. Sour, like milk that has curdled, and is only fit to be poured chunkily stinking down the drain, because it was tainting everything else in the fridge.

When I think of salty, I don't think of pretzels or potato chips. I think of tears.

Maybe all the sweetness is gone?

Maybe I caught my limit, and I can't just run out to the store to get more.

Somehow, my emotional taste buds are all effed up, and I have no clue how to fix them.

Where NOT to go

On Day 1 of your period:

JoAnn's Fabrics, 5 PM. I got into the line, the lady in front of me had three kids, the one in back of me had two little boys. The line snaked over 10 people long, I idly glanced around, and realized that I was the only female under the age of 50 who was there without a kid. It was one of those weird moments when someone else seems to be inhabiting your body.

The mom army looked tired, but cheerful, steadfastly denying multiple requests for candy and fielding phone calls and obviously trying to figure out just what the hell they were going to fix for dinner tonight.

I am thinking that this may be the rest of my life.

I talked to my mom. I have had one horrible conversation with her since Thanksgiving, haven't heard from anyone else, and so I figured I should call.

She asked if I had decided to continue with treatment or not.

"Well," I said, "Unless we move on to IVF, it's pretty pointless. I have kind of decided that I am not screwing over my body anymore for less than a 25% chance at something."

"Well, we never heard back from you," she said, "About whether you wanted help still. We were waiting to hear what the doctor had to say."

"Ok...." I trailed off kind of aimlessly. "You know Mom, I pretty much left the ball in the court with you guys. When I didn't hear back, I didn't want to be pushy."

"Well, we didn't want it to seem like we were being invasive."

ARRRRGH!!!!! ARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!

"Mom, I opened that door. It's not invasive to ask for info you need to know to make a decision." (Even though I have told them everything that could possibly have any bearing on this...and I made it clear that we were waiting on their decision so I could make mine!)

"Well, it sounds like you have changed your mind, but if you want our help, all you have to do is ask for it."

"I probably will reevaluate things after the first of the year. Thanks for offering."

This is when she starts to backpedal.

"Well, we may be able to help with part of it. Maybe half and half."

Which she knows perfectly well isn't a possibility for us. I wish it was, but the military isn't exactly overly generous, and the housing market in Cali has tanked, so a second is out of the question at this point. Add on college tuition, and we're getting by, but our savings is not what it should be.

I did my best to get off the phone without blowing up, and now I am sitting here, seething.

I can't ask for or expect help from these people any more. I need to accept that offering is only a gesture, not a reality with them, and that if it fails, I will never hear the end of it and my guilt will be crippling. It's just not worth it. If I am doing this, it is just going to have to happen on its own, or it is not happening at all. And I am just going to have to accept that.

At least, that's how it looks to me at 11:30 PM on a Wednesday night.crap. It's much too late to try to go watch Enchanted again.

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.

Hard decisions aka brain dump

There's a lot going on right now, and I can't really talk about most of it.

Operation Ten Percent is starting this week. I spent last night making soups to freeze, and plotting out my exercise schedule. I want to be as healthy as possible come January. Whether we will be getting ready for IVF or planning the eventual trip to Europe as a two-some is still up in the air, which is kind of...I don't know. I feel like I am waiting for the axe to fall. I have been considering other options in the meantime, and they haven't even been discussed with The Man yet.

Mom called the other night, and in the course of conversation, asked "When do you need to know by?" and I said, "Well, the appointment with the doctor is on November 9th," and she said, "OK! So, November."

It's gonna be a long wait.

In the meantime, I spent the weekend in Carmel with my bestest friend, S.S. We both were sort of semi-hysterical the entire time...she's trying to figure out if her current boyfriend of three months (who has suddenly been transferred to the East Coast for work) loves her enough to pursue a long distance relationship. Her analysis of the situation fluctuated a lot based on how deep into PMS she was, or how much wine she had.

Meanwhile, I was wrangling with...well, everything we are dealing with. We decided the best way to handle it was eat ridiculous foodstuffs, sip champagne, knit, and watch Joy Luck Club with the Kleenex handy so we could cry it out. At several points, S.S. and I looked at each other with tears on our faces, and the sheer ridiculousness of it all sent us both into hysterical laughter.

Yeah, that is why she's my best friend.

Neither of us wanted to leave, but I had a Sunday night meeting for work and she was leaving for Arizona early in the AM on Monday.

I felt so wonderful and refreshed when I got home.

S.S. and I talked about a lot of things, and she mentioned that she doesn't want to stay in Fresno for much longer. Granted, at the time she was considering moving back East if the relationship works out.

Some background info:
The Man has been offered a job. He has not accepted yet. We would have to move (him immediately, me eventually) to San Francisco. There are a ton of positives and negatives, and I am not sure how I feel about the idea. The cost of living there is astronomical. I am worried that he wouldn't like the job, and is only considering it because of how much he hates his current situation.

A huge part of the reason I didn't want to go is that I love my job here. I love being homeowners, and that is something that we would have to give up, unless we rent the place out.

My parents are here. I grew up here. But when my best friend talked about leaving, I realized that the biggest reason I didn't want to leave was simply that my friends are here.

Anyway, we were in the car, and S.S. was talking about leaving town, and I had a horrible epiphany. if she didn't stay, I really had no reason to stay, either. The most persuasive reason to stay would be for my parents. And in this weird moment of realization, I suddenly "got it."

My parents love me for being their kid, but I am never going to measure up to what they want. They want my sister, the lawyer, or my brother, who is some kind of real-estate wonderkind and has a wife who looks like Mandy Moore.

I have always been the fixer-upper. The underachiever. The one who had problems with her skin and needed to lose five pounds. I was smart, but didn't apply myself in school. I married a great guy, who didn't happen to be wealthy, and we struggle financially and they have to help us out when it comes to all the expensive IF stuff. I never did things the way they wanted. I frustrate the hell out of them, Dad especially. And while they do love me fiercely and worry about me constantly, and seem to have finally accepted who I am, I have not provided them with any grandchildren to spoil. I am not the one who they brag about to their friends.

Why the hell should I stay? And more importantly, I am kicking myself every day that I am left hanging because I have accepted their offer to help me out. I feel like there are going to be strings attached, like there are wth everything else.

I feel like I am poised on the edge of something. It could be great, or it could be horrible. And everyone is screaming at me to jump, and I am just left standing, frozen with terror and rage and confusion.

Edited to add

Well, The Man and I talked, and we are jumping. He's accepting this job. It's not actually immediate, which is good news...But there will be a 14 month period where he gets his feet wet, so we will have time to adjust, and I will be able to downsize and get used to the idea.

Hanging

Today has been a seriously awful day.

I am fighting a wretched cold, and I am losing. BOTH my best friends have called in tears because their relationships both ended this week. Also general cramping and nastiness. Thank God for the weekend away next week!!!!

I had work scheduled from 9AM to 10 PM tonight, with a few hours in between to make furtive grabs for meals and my sanity and some fresh lipstick. And as mentioned in the post before this, to make some phone calls. I had a narrow margin between when my RE's office re-opens for lunch (2PM) and the start of my next class (2:30).

In my experience, they always come back late from lunch anyway, and today was no exception. I didn't get through until 2:16.

The good news: I can use the free meds towards an IVF cycle. They agree that it's time to stop with the IUI's, because we are getting nowhere.

So I put myself on the list for January. In order to have caught the IVF boat that leaves in November, I would need to complete my protocols by...well, by today. And start BCP tomorrow. Not happening, because as I have mentioned before, my parents are helping us with this, and I really don't want to make the commitment until I have let them know what's going on.

I have never discussed IVF with my father- it has always been mom. She knows the costs, the odds, everything, and has always said that if push came to shove, they would help us out. But she wasn't home when I called the house, so I talked to Dad, and found out (to my serious dismay) that she hasn't discussed any of this with him.

He freaked out. In his defense. The talk of test tubes and petri dishes and injections is something that he has studiously avoided, and he has referred to IUI as "The turkey baster option" consistently throughout. There was a lot of, "WHAT percentage? HOW much?!!!!!"

I was shocked that mom hadn't discussed this with him, and on top of everything else, it was just too much. I managed to get home and basically had a teary breakdown of epic proportions. The Man petted me and cuddled me, told me not to be an idiot when I wailed that I was "a millstone around his neck", and tried to get me to call in sick for my evening shift at work. When that failed, he made me mac and cheese while I iced my puffy face.

I made it through work. Mom called and I called back and we had a rational chat during my drive home. I feel a lot more hopeful about things.

Then I got home and The Man played me this.

And then THIS:



"It made me think of you," he said. "I know you probably think it's cheesy." (I am more of a rock and roll kind of girl.) It didn't matter to me though. I was still crying, but happy tears.

I may be sad, but boy am I lucky.

Choose Your Own Adventure

Thank you so much ladies. Your helpful words, virtual hugs, and occasional outbursts of profanity helped me more than mere words can express. AF is officially here, and since beta was supposed to be on Monday...yeah. So much for the progesterone!

After a horrible, teary, discussion/meltdown with The Man, we have made a few tentative decisions.

Step one: Cut a hole in the box.

Sorry, wrong plan.

Plan A:
Call clinic tomorrow AM, and demand to speak to someone who is not mentally constipated and/or a beeyotch. My odds here are about 50/50.

Step two: Ascertain whether my free cycle of meds is usable for an IVF cycle, or if they want to switch me to something else. Which I am guessing they will, because last cycle my follicles pretty much laughed at the two tons of Gonal-f that I took and then gave me the finger.

If No, proceed with Plan B. Ask for a no-holds barred opinion of whether or not I should even bother with another IUI.

If they have a genuinely convincing pro-IUI argument, I might be swayed. In which case, I will order meds for Saturday delivery, and attempt to make my day three appointment within the two hour window I have free next Monday. Or, I might take a month off.

(The Man is pushing for time off, which is a switch, but what he said was, "Sweetie, you are way too wound up about this. Maybe you need to back off a little."
My response was such that I am ashamed to answer it here, but it involved lots of snarfling and murderous pillow thumping.)

If they say "Uhhhhhhhh....", see if I can get the meds anyway, in order to donate them to someone for whom they might actually work.

If yes, continue with Plan A. Call an acupuncturist. Get put on the list for the next "IVF Boat" which is leaving in January. Look at the wait time as an investment in getting as healthy as possible. Actually go to the gym and do the fertility yoga DVD (which I unwrapped this last month, but admittedly, did not actually use.)

Make a contingency plan to get through the holidays. My 33rd birthday is on Thanksgiving this year, which is going to make nosy relatives difficult to avoid. I am thinking a small vacation may be in order. My sister will just have to figure out how to make the effing pumpkin pie.

Plan C: eat cookies. Yeah, I caved. Oh, and look forward to Girls Weekend, which is coming up. At least I will be able to have martinis!

If you build it, they will come.

The ultrasound went well this morning. They found Righty(I am picturing it with glasses and a stripey hat, like Waldo)with a minimum of difficulty. No cysts. Lining where it should be for Day Three.

"And!" said the ultrasound tech, "We are going to get at least FOUR follicles out of you this time!!!"

I thought (but did not say) that there were four follicles last time, until Righty took a hike sometime between Day 10 and Day 14.

But damn. I am taking 300 of the Gonal-F for the next SEVEN DAYS.

You hear that Righty? You should be quaking in your boots. Or you would be, if ovaries had boots.

The credit card should also be quaking in its boots. Oy. I have to order two more vials!!!

The visit went as well as it could go, and I finally bit the bullet and asked about IVF.

They gave me a price sheet. And a pamphlet on financing options. And a small lecture about patience and waiting and seeing.

I know all these things. I am trying so hard to have faith in these procedures, and I am going to go out on a limb and let myself hope, this time.

I am going back to walking, and have actually cracked the cellophane on Yoga For Fertility, which I bought on Amazon about a year ago. I have all my meds together, and am making sure I get at least 8 hours of sleep a night.

The Man asked if there was anything he could do to help, and I am going to hit him up for massages. He has also promised to walk with me and to take his vitamins.

We're going to eat Chez Sais Quoi as much as possible, so we can eat more healthily.

The big leap, however, is the cleaning out of The Room.

We are very careful never to call it anything else. It's Jenna's Craft Room, The Third Bedroom...it's become kind of a catchall. And in the process of getting rid of the metric tons of clothing that I have managed to accumulate, and dispersing all my crafty stuff, The Third Bedroom is slowly becoming a blank slate.

This is my leap of faith. I'm putting it out there. And words cannot express how terrified I am. This is going to work. I am doing everything in my power to succeed this month, and the notion that it might not work (again) has paralyzed me and kept me from accomplishing this for two years.

I hope the universe doesn't smite me down.

And I did it to myself! Part Three (And thankfully, final)

That's right. I made it through the baby shower. But March Of The Penguins, on top of Clomid, on top of baby shower...

Not one of my brighter ideas.

This is right when it had come out, and there was lots of footage of cute, fluffy little penguin chicks and their devoted parents.

What I didn't realize is that the entire movie is about the lengths that penguins will go to to reproduce. That they travel for miles and miles, freeze their little penguin butts off, starve, lose 2/3 of their body weight, huddle in packs, endure long separations from their significant penguin others, and get eaten by leopard seals...just to produce a baby penguin.


If you have seen this cinematic classic, I can tell you the point where I became hysterical...It's the part when you see the father penguin fumble the egg after the mother penguin has left to go refuel, and Morgan Freeman's voice says, "The egg dies."

I wish I could say there were tears gently rolling down my cheeks, but I literally started sobbing. Heaving shoulders, gasping for air, strange horking sounds, the whole thing.

By some miracle, this occurred when my best friend went out to use the bathroom, and the rest of our party was sitting two rows ahead of us. Still the theatre was packed, and there were people turning to look at me and figure out just what the hell was going on.

I guess there was a line for the bathroom...another stroke of luck. By the time my friend got back, I at least appeared to be somewhat OK, although I pretty much wiped away tears for the duration of the movie.

When we got out, everyone did that thing where they don't look at you.

I have never been so relieved to get in a car and drive back home. And when I got back, I tried to explain to The Man what the issue with the movie was, and I couldn't get it out without becoming hysterical all over again.

I have since watched March of The Penguins several times, and while it's never affected me the same way. But the memory of how impossibly bleak my life seemed while I was sitting in that movie theatre is always with me.

And I did it to myself! Part Two

You can read about Part One here.

Fast forward a few months- My best friend and I get the invites done, do RSVP's, get the napkins and games and gifts together, you know the deal. Operation Baby Shower was now in full effect.

In the meantime, I had been prescribed my first-ever cycle of Clomid. I'd had another friend who had taken it, and got pregnant with twins on the first shot. I was totally unprepared for the hot flashes and mood swings that lingered on the horizon. (She didn't mention that part.)

We packed up and made the four-hour drive. We were going to stay overnight for two nights, then drive home early on Sunday morning. I had no idea that I was a ticking time bomb of The Crazy.

The first evening went fine, although our friend was in the final stages of pregnancy and was miserable about...well, everything. Although, If you still have morning sickness in your eighth month, I think you may be a little bit entitled. She kept joking that, "If he won't stop crying, I'll just leave him at the fire station."

OK, I could deal with that. It was a joke. Very funny!

Then her mother came from out of town the next morning, and she kept making the joke, and first-time Grandma freaked out every time she said it. In addition, we were helping to clean up and get things ready, and her mom was kind of making us all nuts. ("Doesn't it embarrass you that your friends have to clean your house for you?!" Arrrgh!)

Everything was fine. The guests showed up. I managed to discreetly sneak off at intervals and do some deep breathing whenever I got emotional. I was flushed and sweating thanks to the Clomid, but I held it together, at least publicly. We oohed and aahed over the baby gifts, and as soon as everyone left, I had a little private teary moment in the guest room, when I called The Man. I felt sick with jealousy, and I just wanted to come home.

When I cleaned myself up and emerged, it was still pretty early in the afternoon, and we were talking about going to see a movie. I was thrilled, because we were close to a large city, where they were pre-screening what looked like a really adorable movie, something you'd take your kids to go see. Nothing that could possibly upset me.

March of the Penguins!

To Be Continued...

And I did it to myself! Part One

Okay. My worst infertility trainwreck ever...not the breakdown in front of all my relatives at Christmas last year, although that runs a close second.

It all started when I was out at lunch having sushi, a little over two years ago, with my best friend. We know each other from college, so we also have a lot of mutual friends who go way back.

One of these mutual friends got married the same year The Man and I did, and she called my best friend, so I was sort of involuntarily stuck eavesdropping to a one-sided conversation.

When I heard the sentence, "Well, what kind of yoga will you be doing? Because there are some poses that wouldn't be safe for...um....things...." I pretty much knew what was up. So did my best friend, who saw the look on my face and apologized and apologized, and as soon as she got off the phone.

"I'm so sorry! We didn't want you to find out this way, but we didn't want to hurt your feelings, and she didn't know how to tell you. It just happened on their first try!"

In her defense, this was before I had said much beyond the fact that we were trying, and there hadn't been a lot of steps taken aside from initial testing and charting and OPK's. And due to really unfortunate timing, it was Day One for me that day.

I got out, "Oh! I am so happy for her!!!!" in a voice ringing with sincerity (because it was the truth). And then I burst into tears. I made several attempts to stop them, but it was impossible, and all that my brain kept saying to me was during those college days, this person had been vocal about never wanting kids.

Because, you know, nobody is ever allowed to change their minds about decisions that they made when they were twenty. I'm such a dork.

That was the first time my best friend had ever seen me cry in the twelve years she had known me, and of course it just made us more embarrassed, and we both felt even worse, and so for some incredibly stupid reason...no, let's face it, to try to atone to myself and to make my best friend feel less horrible for breaking the news like that, and to prove to my mutual friend that I was really exited for her...

I said I would help to co-throw a baby shower for the new arrival.

To be continued...

That ache in your throat

You guys all know that feeling right? Your face gets hot, and your throat does that hurty thing, and your eyes water, and you can feel that vein in your eyebrow throbbing like an angry, angry tribal drum. Sometimes it culminates in the tear explosion.

I experienced all of these this morning. In addition, I wanted to punch someone. Perhaps several someones. Please allow me to explain!

Frustration, she is a beeyotch.

I woke up this morning, threw on my clothes, and headed to Quest Diagnostics. There are at least five of them right by my house, but I was told to go to the First & Shields location, and get my blood drawn NO LATER THAN 7:30. Yes, in the morning. Sadistic bastards. There was no explanation for the timing or the location. I figured that maybe the timing was some carefully orchestrated chemical thing, and the location would be the only one open at that ungodly hour.

For those of you who don't live in Fresno, First and Shields is a pretty major intersection. Two strip malls, adjacent to each other. As a veteran of many Quest Lab visits, I assumed the lab would be in one of them.

I was wrong. I circled and circled like a hungry shark, then finally called 411. They had two addresses for me, and neither was the prescribed location. I called them anyway, and got the eternally ringing phone.

I looked again at my instructions. No phone number for the lab, no address, just FIRST/SHIELDS scrawled under DRINK WATER/LIMIT SALT.

I looked at the clock. 7:15.

Shit.

I called the doctor's office, and got forwarded to their exchange. I listened to the "Thank you for your patience" shpiel several times before I lost patience. I looked at the lab slip and called the Quest headquarters in Sacramento. I pressed "1" for "patient care" and it basically said, "We don't give out results over the phone! Thank You for calling! Have a Super Day!" *click*

Now it's 7:20. I know because I looked up after wedging my head between my knees and screaming profanities loud enough to startle the seagulls in the Food For Less parking lot.

I called the clinic again, was put on hold for the exchange, and got Barbara, who is an angel disguised as a mere mortal walking the earth. The woman heard the impending tears and sprang into action.

Barbara tried desperately to reach my doctor's office, to no avail. She finally checked the phone book, verified that there is no Quest Diagnostics listed on First or Shields, but mentioned that she found a location which had opened at 7AM, and was 5 minutes from my house. (But 15 from where I was now.)

At this point, it's 7:35, and I would have cheerfully walked up to a box in an alley staffed entirely by feral cats in order to allow them to claw my blood out of my arm. I thanked Barbara profusely, threw my phone across the car, and threw myself on the mercy of the nice ladies at the lab. They got me in and out of there in 5 minutes. No claws.
(Love. Them.)

Then I went into my ultrasound at 9:45 and explained, and they looked at me like I was a moron.

"It's right behind the Target! They are the only location that has the means to read the sample ASAP!"

I said (rather tartly) that if they hadn't seen fit to supply me with that info, how could I be expected to know which directive was more important? Time, or location?

In any case, it doesn't matter. My ovaries evidently do weigh about 8 lbs each (Righty is SINKING due to the extra weight, which is a little daunting) But he came through for me on this cycle...sort of. Two follicles on each side, 13 & 14 mm on the left, 12 and 13mm on the right.

I have to order another freaking pen of Gonal-F though. And do a new blood draw and ultrasound on Wednesday.

I have concrete plans...so why am I feeling so disappointed? Maybe I just need to have a good cry. I am so frustrated with this doctor's office.

This time, they gave me a pre-printed sheet explaining that it's actually 7:30 AM or at least two hours before your appointment. Oh, and it has an actual address and contact info for the lab. Why the hell didn't I get this last time?

At least I am not taking Clomid, so I know that I am not the insane person in this scenario.

So anyway, thanks for making it this far, and if you get a spare minute please send some happy "Miracle-Gro" type thoughts in the direction of our 4 follicles. And to my mother'ssmoking credit card (5 pens of Gonal-F! Aiiiigh!)

Edited to add: Here (because I CANNOT let it go) is the First/Shields Map:


View Larger Map

And here is the map for where the lab actually is:


View Larger Map

No wonder I couldn't freaking find it!