Knocked Up... Then Knocked Down

Where Art Thou?

2007-01-25T18:48:00.000-08:00

For the few who still have this blog on your bloglines, you're probably wondering what the hell is going on that there's a new post. Thanks to blogger completely fucking up how one signs on, sometimes the profile brings people here. I figure it should be safe by now to link to my current home so some of you newer visitors don't get dumped here, which is equivalent to the Twilight Zone.

Anyway, you can find all the newer stuff here. However, I do have a third blog that I use to give the details of where we are as far as our infertility treatment (I have been dealing with snoopy co-workers for waaa-aa-y too long). For that, you do have to send me an email at dd_tko@yahoo.com so I can provide the password and site location.

If you are here because of that whole harness fiasco, please, just let it go, mmkay?

The End...?

2006-06-16T12:46:00.000-07:00

I will be making the typepad account my permanent home (if you still need the link, please email me at ddknockedup@yahoo.com ). Thank you to all of those who decided to follow me there. Your continued support during the next leg of my journey, where ever that may be, is more than heartily appreciated.

If you have however decided that since I am no longer part of the ART scene that it's either too painful or to boring to follow Mr. DD, X and myself onward and upward, I am still grateful you were here during the worst of times. May we meet again under the best.

Thank you.

Personal Factoid: If you are googling to find out where the term "Knocked Up" comes from, I've done the work for you:

"Knock up is 1663 in sense of "arouse by knocking at the door;" however it is little used in this sense in Amer.Eng., where the phrase means "get a woman pregnant" (1813), possibly ult. from knock "to copulate with" (1598; cf. slang knocking-shop "brothel," 1860).

Source: http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?l=k&p=3

No. 200 - Bicenblogentennial

2006-06-02T09:05:00.000-07:00

Woohoo! 200 posts! I'm so excited...

...then again, not so much.

Ah, who am I kidding? Yes, of course I'm excited to be here! I love the community. I love the sharing and dissemination of equal parts information, support, and snark.

And to celebrate this Momentous Occasion, I'm not going to talk about moi. I want to know about you. We're going to do something like a meme, but it'll be a youyou instead. All you have to do...

** Guess what? You now have to go to my new site for the rest of this post. You can email me at ddknockedup@yahoo.com for the address. **

No. 199 - Where I Say the Dirty 5-Letter "R" Word

2006-06-01T12:50:00.000-07:00

Well, it's officially been a year. A year since our doc referred us to the RE after he reviewed Mr. DD's SA with us, which to him was borderline. I took his word only and had nothing to research until recently. I had requested a copy of our chart from the RE and once in my grubby paws, I settled in to do some research on normal ranges for SA.

I quickly realized that Dr. Google's take on male infertility vs. female infertility is as different as...well, Mars and Venus. There are little to no variances on what research considers "normal" on SAs (and maybe not so much when it comes to the chemical/hormonal ranges for women) but holy crap! let me just state for the record, it's a good thing Men don't have...

** Forwarding link has been removed. Sorry for the inconvenience.**

No. 197 - Garbage Defined

2006-05-29T21:23:00.000-07:00

Tonite I was going through some a bag that had been stuffed in one of the dark corners of our garage. It was some clothes that my Mom had been holding onto since I had moved back to Nebraska in '91. Why she held onto all those clothes, I have no idea. But even more mind-boggling is my desire to take some of those items home with me 15 years later.

One of the items was a fringed, white leather jacket. I was some serious hot shit back in the '80's with my mall bangs and fringed jacket that I use to love wearing even when it was hot outside just because I loved the smell of leather. Admittedly, I was a freak.

The first time I met Mr. DD's family, I wore that jacket. I didn't remember that, but Mr. DD's sister (Nutbag) did. She also remembered me wearing it with black hot pants (never had any, but I think she meant the black knit "biker" shorts that were the thing back in the late '80's) with a pair of thigh-high boots (again, I had boots, but they only came up to the knee and they were flat heeled - NUTBAG!). Obviously I made an impression. I wondered what the rest of the family thought as the occasion that Mr. DD decided to take me to after only a couple weeks of dating was his father's surprise 70th birthday party to which Mr. DD's entire family, including his father's brothers flew in from the east coast to attend.

They probably weren't overly surprised. At the time Mr. DD had a look that was entirely outside of the Small Town, Nebraska norm consisting of very long rocker-hair. I probably seemed just his type to them.

After I pulled the jacket from the bag, ruined with mildew, I knew it was time to let it go. I mean, what the hell am I going to do with a musty old coat that is so ridiculous, even in it's own day, that it couldn't possibly come back into vogue? I pitched it into the trash can as Mr. DD watched. Are you sure you want to let it go, he asked. Yeah, I'm sure.

He cut off his hair a year or so after we got married, and I just recently threw the ponytail into the garbage as well during some spring cleaning. I've realized that our impending move will be very cathartic. It's time to get rid of a lot of things I haven't thought about or even seen in years. Even the not-so-far-in-the-distant-past items have met their fate at the bottom of the garbage can: my follistim case and extra needles (which I actually thought I threw out months ago) bit the dust, but not before I opened the case to look inside and noted that there was still a little bit of the drug still inside the delivery pen. After I threw it away, I cried.

I didn't cry when I threw away my coat. I didn't cry when I threw away Mr. DD's ponytail. I cried when I threw away the follistim. The former objects represented memories of the past. I still have those memories, though faded. But the follistim represented a potential future and throwing that away made me wonder if I was throwing away the hope of what I had envisioned my future to include.

No. 195 - Trial Separation

2006-05-25T20:13:00.000-07:00

I've been on the fence about my current relationship, and I think it's time for a trial separation. It's not that I'm terribly unhappy, but I just think I could do a little better. You've seen the writing on the wall, so there shouldn't be any mouths agape out there. Maybe I won't be happy and I will want to come back to what I'm accustomed to, but right now I need to know if there's something better. In fact, I've had something in the wings now for the past week and I have been dying to tell you all about it.

I told Mr. DD this weekend. He just shrugged his shoulders and went back to watching TV.

Oh, and I want you all to be a part of it. Really! I want to thank Beth at Prop Your Hips Up who really inspired me to take the leap.

...and in case you were worried, it's not my husband I'm leaving; it's Blogger. I have set up a fun-factory over at typepad and will see what I think at the end of the trial month. Now, for your viewing and reading pleasure (I use the word "pleasure" loosely), stop by my new site and let me know what you think. I'm already digging the much shorter URL address! And be honest, dammit. I'm not going to spend what I can on mochas in a month for a site you think sucks. I need my caffeine!

No. 194 - Fertiles Say the Darndest Things!

2006-05-25T13:23:00.000-07:00

We attended a BBQ Friday nite at the house of a couple Mr. DD and I met a couple years ago and became friends with. They are sickeningly sweet and wholesomely Christian: he is a podiatrist (Dr. SSWC) and she is a substitute teacher (Mrs. SSWC) and they have 4 children, with their youngest (Ooopsie) the age Vivienne would be (I remember going to a fund raiser in October 2004 where we both talked about how miserable we were in our pregnancies) and their 2nd youngest is a year younger than X.

Mr. DD and I have been quite frank to those who ask, including the SSWCs why we don’t have more children: his guys are lazy and my eggs are rotten and we’re seeking professional assistance. They also knew about our miscarriage fairly soon after it happened.

I wasn’t too surprised then when Mrs. SSWC asked me about how things were going. I gave her the synopsis of the past several months and said we were done with the RE in The Metro. She then of course asked the inevitable haveyouthoughtofadoption question, to which I explained Mr. DD’s concerns with adoption, which include potential medical conditions that wouldn’t become evident until later in life. She responded the same way I had to this concern and that is no baby comes with a guarantee, even if it’s biological. For example, if Vivienne had been born alive, she would have been severely handicapped and it would’ve not been because of something we had passed on, but due to a completely random genetic flaw. Does that make a difference in how one loves a child? It shouldn’t…and to me, it wouldn’t.

She then told me how before they had Ooopsie, they had also considered international adoption, preferably “oriental, because…oh, my god, those eyes are so cute!” She then went on to say how expensive it all is and that Dr. SSWC expressed that they shouldn’t then have to travel overseas for weeks at a time and that they should deliver the child to their home for that kind of money.

Yep. That’s what she said. To which I replied:

“This isn’t Pizza Hut!”

“Oh, (ha-ha) I know! And I guess it doesn’t matter since we got pregnant about that time with Ooopsie. (ha-ha).”

And, yes, I kept listening to her. I’ve heard of Fertiles saying stupid things, but I’ve never actually heard one saying it. It was like hearing the call of a legendary and extinct Do-Do bird.

Then she talked about her sister, who at the age of 32 gave birth to identical twin boys who have Downs and are currently 9 mos. old. Mrs. SSWC asked her sister if she was going to have more children. The sister explained that her doctor told her that her eggs were old and proceeded to educate her sister, Mrs. SSWC (the wife of a man who went to medical school) that you are born with all the eggs you have in your lifetime and that you cannot make more. Mrs. SSWC asked if had known that, and isn’t that crazy?!

Another woman, who was invited to the BBQ scoffed at the announcement and said if she’s only 32, her eggs should not be “old”. I injected with a brief explanation of FSH and atypical elevations can and do occur with women in their 30’s and even their 20’s (using my experience and powers of Google for Good, not Evil!).

Eventually the topic was changed and the words evaporated into the night air. I still very much like Mrs. SSWC and will foster the friendship. Do I think less of her? No, not really. She said some pretty ignorant things, but there was no malice in her comments. They were said under the illusion of how she thought things were. I’m glad she said something because if she goes away with just a little more understanding then I know that something good will come of it

No. 193 - Wordless Wednesday, 2nd Installation

2006-05-23T11:18:00.000-07:00

Evolution of Dance

(requires audio)

No. 192 - Adjusting

2006-05-22T08:56:00.000-07:00

Ever since X was able to talk he has known the word penis. It was one of the very first times I remember him asking “wa's dat” during one of his baths. I’m thankful that I was the one he asked. If it had been his Dad, I’m sure he would be calling his penis anything but (Johnson, Pee-Pee, Boy-Bits, Tallywacker, Junk, etc. all come to mind with a shudder). I’ve also never given X any reason to think of his penis just like he does with any other part of his body.

Up until recently, that is.

He seems to have developed the habit of adjusting his “Junk” during rather inopportune time. During the “graduation” ceremony from pre-school, I have recorded for all posterity the video image of him with his hands in his pants in front of his peers’ parents and family; in church – which isn’t so bad until he notices me giving him a dirty look to which he announces in his very un-church-like voice, “I’m fixing my penis!”; and more commonly, sitting on the sofa during an episode of Sponge Bob emanating this other TV character.

Now I’m trying to get him to understand that it’s OK for him to make adjustments, but to temper the procedure with discretion.

“X, that’s something you should do in privacy.”

“What’s Privacy?”

“You know how Mommy locks the door to the bathroom when I’m going potty? It’s because I want privacy.”

“But I don’t have to go potty. I have to fix my penis.”

“I mean that I want you to keep it to yourself.”

“But I do keep it to myself because I can’t share my penis. It doesn’t come off.”

Mr. DD jumps in with this: “We don’t want you to stick your hands in your pants. It’s dirty,” to which I nail him in the ribs with my elbow. I don’t want to attach a shame factor to this, but on the other hand, the moment his finger goes up his nose, I tap it away with a hushed and terse, “Dirty!” Will he now be embarrassed to show his nose in the future? Will he have issues with future girlfriends or even his wife who lean in and admire the faint freckling of his nose? Will he be unable to "smell" upon demand?

So, I have a dilemma. I don’t know what to tell him that will convey that it is OK to make the adjustments, but that they must be done in private. I mean, how do you reason with a child who when told it will take 30 minutes to get to Grandma’s house, responds with “Why?”

No. 191 - Where There Is Strength; There Can Be Solace

2006-05-19T12:27:00.000-07:00

Most of us have been there. You know, in the place where we feel all has been lost or is about to be. I was just there 25 days ago. I hate feeling lost; feeling hopeless. But I am scrambling up and brushing the dust off my ass and applying betadine to my scraped and bruised knees.

It's much harder now to read pregnancy blogs without feeling both happy and envious at the same time. Especially when some of the pregnancy blogs were started around our first IVF as they are now describing the wonders of feeling their baby move. I wish I had known of blogging when I had X so I could have written about that miracle. But I was ignorant and made assumptions. New mothers blogging about their baby's newest development catches at my heart and even as I smile in that "yep, been there, done that", I still am saddened that it all is part of the past.

However, it's been much harder for me to read the posts announcing BFNs and eminent losses. I don't know how many times I've said "I'm so sorry", but I know it's been many more times than "Congratulations!" especially in the past several months.

Beagle at Fortune Cookies Follies' second IVF resulted in a negative.
Dino D at Frozen Not Fossilized is going through her fifth loss.
Linda at I've Got Bad Plumbing second IVF resulted in a negative.
Soralis's beta is today, but her EPT was negative yesterday.
and Sunnie at The.Sunnie.Side.Up. also received a negative**Updated: See this post about surprising turn of events!

I know sometimes we just don't know what to say, but let me be honest here. Nothing you say will give these people the Miracle. That's not the point. Instead, when you offer words of strength or solace, you give strength and solace. That's what these women did for me when I posted our second IVF was over.

If you haven't yet, please stop by each of these beautiful women's sites and let them know that they are in your thoughts, even if you don't know what more to say than "I'm here thinking of you." I know there were infinitely more cycles that have recently failed that have not been mentioned. I hope they have someone they can lean on during this time as well.

No. 190 - In Homage...

2006-05-18T11:43:00.000-07:00

...to two of my favorite, non-girlybits blogs: The Peevery and M.I.L.D.E.W.:

SmallTown aired a “how to” on local television regarding our new traffic round-abouts. Go get a taped copy and watch it every day until you figure it out! And here’s a tip: YIELD does not mean STOP. That’s why Yield signs are yellow and not red just in case you are illiterate as well, dumbass.

Putting down the window of your car 3” while you smoke does NOT qualify as trying to be a good parent to your two small children sitting in the backseat.

See those lighted signs in the hallway with the letters E. X. I. T.? They indicate where the stairwells are…so stop bothering me while I am trying to work (blog) by asking me where the stupid stairs are.

In the same vein: my open window to the hallway is an imposition to me and not meant for your convenience as this was the only office space available to me. It is not for you to look into every time you go by; it’s not a drive-up window for supplies that belong to me; and if I ever see you look through and down to my desk again I will report you to the Compliance Officer for a HIPAA violation. Nosy bastard.

There really should be a warning on laxatives against combining a dose of said laxatives with 16 oz of white-chocolate mocha the following morning.

Your speech at the catholic school “mandatory” meeting (aka We Want Your Money) about how kindergarten enrollment is down and stating humorously to the crowd “you need to have more kids” was, unfortunately for you and your A/R department, the only part that burned itself into my memory.

I don't care if you are my son's grandfather and my husband's father. Using derogatory language because you are a close-minded, insensitve, loud-mouthed bigot in front of my son will be your problem until you go to your grave (and probably in the therinafter). It will never be my son's.

When you tried to throw this Mommy bear off your scent by saying, “We’ll be fine” after I called you at 8:30 at your friend’s house where you took X two hours earlier (who still hadn’t had supper), you really should have known better. But hopefully I made it abundantly clear when I responded with “It’s not YOU I’m worried about,” and won’t make that mistake again.

It’s no wonder it takes 6-10 hours for me to get my Blogger comments to finally show in my yahoo email account – but only seconds to go to my gmail account – as Blogger is a Google product. Blogger, your days are numbered, and this time I mean it. Suggestions for a new webserver are welcome.

Never have wiser words been spoken (compliments of The Peevery): Suck it.

No. 188 - Wordless Wednesday

2006-05-17T20:00:00.000-07:00

No. 189 - Ah, Hell

2006-05-16T06:22:00.000-07:00

Who wants the possibility of getting some good karma? You do? Well, then, it's your lucky day, my friend.

Guess who was the only one who did not get to watch the season ending of Grey's Anatomy?

Yep.

Me.

AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggghhhhhhhhh!

And I swear I couldn't sleep last night because I was letting Sunday's episode bounce around in my head trying to figure out how everyone's story's ended and dammit, I know that each character had their cliche' ending, but I GOTTA know!

So I would like to ask (no, BEG!) each of you to post about ONE of the characters and what happened on the final episode because I know that trying to cram two hours, even in summary, about the whole show would be rather tedious.

And no. I can't ask my office-mates. They don't watch. Savages.

And. AND! Regarding my last post? Stacy herself has worn those friggin' skinny jeans on Oprah's show when they did Jean Intervention. I still like watching What Not To Wear, but Stacy's credibility needs some work.

No. 187 - It's Square to be Hip

2006-05-15T08:39:00.000-07:00

I’ve always been a bit of a fashion victim. By that I mean I’m usually trying to keep up with the new trendy styles, but fall short due to funds; access to said trends (Nebraska has never been know for setting any trends unless you count the rage from a couple years ago for women to wear bandannas; a trend set by my mother 30+ years ago to cover her curlers when out milking cows); and thighs that don’t seem to want to fit into the latest and greatest slim-fitting jeans – tell me – is anyone wearing these? And loving it?

Then the news hit that it was fashionable to adopt Chinese babies. Or for that matter, international adoption, with China being a popular destination for the “rich and famous”. The pashmina’s seemingly casual appearance with strapless gowns was finally ousted by the Ultimate Baby Wrap, designed in fabrics reminiscent of the baby’s home country. Again, short of funds; access to said babies; and a husband who moaned that I had too many wraps already, put me at the short end of the fashion stick.

Then lo! What should be in Sunday’s paper from The Metro? An article about how being pregnant has usurped Manolo Blahnik with its fashion statement value (and may even be cheaper than a closet-full of Blahniks). Unfortunately, this is only a blip from the article, but the picture speaks a thousand words, doesn’t it? But I have a way around this one, and it doesn’t include me having to borrow my Asian neighbor’s baby for nights out on the town. Nope. I can actually create my own sympathy belly at home out of the now passé’ bandanas and pashminas. AND, best of all, inclement weather will no longer catch me off guard as I can always reduce my appearance to, say, 6 months gestation, if the wind picks up. I can’t wait to show off my new look tomorrow at work!

No. 186 - Freddy Kruger Lives Via Infertility

2006-05-11T15:38:00.000-07:00

You know the typical horror movie ending? The Good Guys kill off the Creepy Bad Guy...or so they think...only to find Creepy Bad Guy either has disappeared from where they left his bloody and mangled body or Creepy Bad Guy picks off one last victim (usually some ditz who should've been picked off an hour earlier) before he is finally vanquished...or IS he?

My point? My current focus on a baby is the Creepy Bad Guy (I say focus/you say obsession. And no, Tracy, I am not taking offense because you're right, and I want you to send me your email, purty-please?). I keep thinking that I have finally shaken the nightmare, but I can't wake up. A new vision appears and just as I think this time it's going to turn out, things turn black and ugly again. Maybe it's because I've been letting the emotional baggage pile up for so long that I feel like I can't dig out; but I have to believe that even if I sound as if I'm taking two steps forward and one step back, I'm making progress.

And yes, I am at times sabotaging my own progress. Some of you are still probably dumbfounded by my decision to find out the sex of the baby, but when I knew that because of the karyotyping done on the baby I could get that information, I made a promise long ago and I kept it. Do I regret it? I did yesterday. I don't today. Will I tomorrow? I don't know. But because it is done, I have to accept it and hope that it helps me to accept that my family will probably stay as it is. Right now I resent it because by having a miscarriage without being able to follow it with a successful pregnancy feels like I have something left undone. I finish what I start. It's part of my personality. In this context, what many consider an admirable trait becomes a flaw.

My appointment yesterday took me back to that horrible time. It was as fresh in my memory as if it had happened yesterday, especially after I reread my memoriam, which I haven't done since I wrote it. It became my one step back. I'm sure that I can now take the two steps forward. Part of that progression comes in the relief I feel knowing that Mr. DD has agreed to do another SA. We have talked and I realize my announcement sent him into shellshock. I was so blinded by my grief, I did not see his. I cannot express my gratitude enough to those of you who saw what I didn't.

No. 185 - Dante's Second Level of Hell

2006-05-11T08:41:00.000-07:00

You have come to a place mute of all light, where the wind bellows as the sea does in a tempest. This is the realm where the lustful spend eternity. Here, sinners are blown around endlessly by the unforgiving winds of unquenchable desire as punishment for their transgressions. The infernal hurricane that never rests hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine, whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them. You have betrayed reason at the behest of your appetite for pleasure, and so here you are doomed to remain. Cleopatra and Helen of Troy are two that share in your fate. Visions of 8-month pregnant crack-whores will be your company.

So as you might have guessed, I visited my OB/GYN yesterday. Above was how I felt as I sat in the waiting room knowing that if there was a hell and that I would be going, this is how it would be, based on the stupid quiz below. I am still questioning my sanity by asking what the sex of our baby was from 2004. I was only 37. My god, that seems like so long ago, but the pain is still unbelievably sharp as I had picked off the scab that was just starting to heal.

I had never invisiond that I would be asking during my pap appt, but when I was say, 7 or 8 months pregnant, instead. That was my initial plan. Realizing that will probably never happen prompted me to take the drastic action of asking yesterday. I imagined I would be heartbroken, but if my original plan had come to fruition, I would've had a new life to focus that energy to. I don't now.

Harder still was finding out it was a girl. I had always, always wanted a daughter.

I didn't tell Mr. DD until after X went to bed. I asked for his full attention and told him our baby was a girl. For a brief moment, tears welled up...and then they were gone. He said nothing. When it became apparent he was going to continue to say nothing, I walked away and went to bed.

How can strangers who don't know me except through their computer offer more compassion and understanding than the man I married; the man who also lost a daughter? I am thunderstruck. When he came to bed about a half hour later, he wished me goodnite, but I didn't respond. When he asked what was wrong, I said, "I can appreciate that you show your emotions differently than I do, but I wasn't expecting you to show no emotion." Those words hung in the air between us the rest of the night.

I am sure that my expectations from him over the news are too high. I fantasized that he would say we should do anything within our power to make this better, even if it means donor options or adoption. I don't know why I thought the news of finding out the fetus I lost a year and a half ago, was female, would open up the gates that are tightly locked up around his pride.

I love Mr. DD with all my heart. I have learn to accept that he and I are completely opposite when it comes to emotions. I probably have become less emotive since we married. Now with my heart bruised and broken, I need him to give a little on his end to me to help heal again.

Please, I ask that you not flame him. His heart was molded from the rock: chipped and hardened by a father whose only emotions stem from anger and disappointment. My heart is unfired clay: hardened now from exposure. Both of our hearts can be softened by tears. We just need to find the time to do that together.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Second Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Moderate
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Moderate
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Moderate
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Low

Take the Dante's" Divine Comedy Inferno Test

No. 184 - It's a Girl

2006-05-10T13:07:00.000-07:00

I had a daughter. I have a daughter.

A Daughter.

My little girl died November 2004. She would’ve just celebrated her 1st Birthday as her due date was Mother’s Day 2005.

Her name is Vivienne Elise.

I miss her with all my heart.

No. 183 - The Male Facts and Factors

2006-05-07T06:32:00.000-07:00

How many of you ladies categorize/define yourself as infertile when your conception woes are due to male factor (MFI)? How can a medical diagnosis for one individual spill out and entwine a second who on their own, or with a different partner, could be free of the heartache - and stigma - of infertility?

It was a couple of comments from my last post that reminded me that I should not be carrying this burden on my own, especially when so little of the initial load is mine. It wasn't my bloodwork or ultrasounds that sent us down the path of IVF, it was Mr. DD's SA. I don't have his exact numbers but his initial SA last summer was borderline on all counts, but above the levels that made both my GYN and RE feel that IUI was enough to get us pregnant. When the first IUI failed, I was informed that the sperm quality was not good. On the 2nd IUI, it was even worse. That's when we were told we should do IVF.

I actually didn't want to go to IVF. I thought it was overkill for what the problem was. When Mr. DD and I had our first consult with the RE, Mr. DD was not opposed to donor sperm, however he honestly thought it would never come to that. When it did, he backpedalled on me. No sperm donor and no adoption. Ironically it is the fact that we have X that solidifies Mr. DD's stand that there is hope and he will only consider another child that is 100% biologically ours. If we didn't have X, he would not take a 5% chance of getting pregnant on our own and consider that enough (I'm pulling that percentage out of my ass, as I don't know if it wouldn't even be that high).

So I subjected myself to the injectables; the mental torture of time; and the feelings of failure when my ovaries didn't respond as hoped while on the stims. But I did it because it was the only way I was going to have another baby and that's why I wasn't really surprised when IVF # 1 resulted in a positive. As far as we knew, the problem was never mine. The loss of Baby May was due to a genetic fluke for which we have both tested negative for, so if we could get a fertilized egg in my uterus, I figured the rest was a no-brainer.

The first nail in the ART coffin came when we ended up with a chemical pregnancy. Our RE told us that it was probably because something was wrong with the egg/embryo. And when none of the frozen embryos could get past blast stage, it became apparent that the problem did not solely lie in Mr. DD's sperm. The proof was in the pudding with IVF #2.

Why did we decide that the 2nd would be the last? I was very lucky to even get that far, as Mr. DD hated watching me go through the anguish and pain of another miscarriage as it left him powerless to change it. We really had convinced ourselves that IVF #1 was just a warm up and that # 2 would be proof that practice does make perfect. I would go again for # 3, but Mr. DD won't. He has joined the chorus of family and friends that unnecessarily remind me that I "should be happy that I have X," ...as if I'm not. X is probably the biggest reason I have for wanting another. He's a thorn in my side one moment and he is why I remind myself to keep breathing the next.

So I have decided before my next cycle starts he will definitely be getting another SA done. He needs to face the reality of what the odds really are and we can then discuss what his expectations are. Hell, right now maybe he's just trying to con me into more sex and dammit, he might just get his way for a while.

There is also the money issue. All of this has been out of pocket. Roughly $20,000 has been been literally pissed and bled away in 6 months. On my last beta day, I broke down in front of my carpet rep (who we barely know socially) and told her what hell we had been through. When I mentioned that the money should have been spent on X, do you know what she said? "You did. You did spend that money on X, just not in the traditional sense." And she's right. If X asks why he doesn't have a baby sister or brother, we will never have to look away and shuffle our feet in the dirt or try to change the subject to hide our guilt. We will honestly be able to tell him we really, really tried but it just didn't happen.

Right now I am trying hard not to be angry and disappointed about Mr. DD's stubbornness and pride especially when I think that the money we spent on IVF would've paid for 4 more IUI attempts with donor sperm and I can't help but think that it probably would've worked even if my eggs were borderline crap. But that's a "what if" question that will never be answered, much less ever asked.

No. 182 - I Married a Vulcan

2006-05-06T12:17:00.000-07:00

I have been reluctant over these past few days to discuss what lies ahead with Mr. DD. He is giving me breathing space, but almost too much. Yesterday after I got off work, I had to go see him where he worked to pick up the checkbook. I was mopey and had just finished crying and he wanted to know if I was OK. Of course, I answered no, but he let me get back into the car and drive away without asking why.

Not only is Mr. DD a Man and has all the faults and defects that men normally do; he is a man of Vulcan logic. There are no answers to "what if" or "what would you do" as they usually preface something fantasmic: what would you do if you won a million dollars. Until that happens, he would never think to try to answer as it doesn't exist; it doesn't matter what he says; and it's a waste of breath.

Last night I finally dared to say to him, "It upsets me that you have already accepted that we will have no more children. And if it's not acceptance I am reading, it is ambivalence." He replied that he has accepted that we will not have more children...through the RE clinic's assistance, but he said that there is nothing preventing us from trying on our own.

Then it was my turn to plunge into that logic and figure the odds of us conceiving without medical intervention are tragically and pathetically low, which I did not say aloud. We are dealing with unexplained infertility on my part and male factor on his. You may or may not remember that we tried to go down this road after the FET That Never Happened and I had really wanted him to get a physical and another SA. He has done neither. However, he has time to do this before we start entertaining the idea again as my ovaries shut down after a cycle of stims. The idea of charting and peeing on sticks makes me surprisingly angry.

But...I don't want to give up the fight either. Not yet.

So, I am giving myself more time to digest what to do next. I have an appointment with my GYN on Wednesday for my PAP. I will undoubtedly bawl my eyes out as I relay the past 10 months of hell, which he initially sent me to, and see what he recommends, if anything.

To me, it would seem the easiest to just stop worrying about it; stop trying; stop grieving over what wasn't meant to be and move on rather than try to be hopeful and worry that if by some strange and freakish act of nature I get pregnant, I then have to stress about the fact I hadn't been on prenatal vitamins or progesterone or miscarrying again.

For Mr. DD those thoughts are irrelevant. They are the what-ifs and what-would-you-dos that can't be answered.

No. 181 - Grey Street

2006-05-05T15:54:00.000-07:00

I'm not a DMB fan, but I heard this tonite on my way home and the lyrics struck me hard. I know I'm in this funk right now and I'm sorry it hasn't been much fun coming to play at my house. I promise that eventually, even though not soon enough for you and I, it will pass.

DAVE MATTHEWS BAND - Grey Street Lyrics

Oh look at how she listens
She says nothing of what she thinks
She just goes stumbling through her memories
Staring out on to Grey Street.
She thinks, "Hey, how did I come to this?"
I dream myself a thousand times around the world
But I can't get out of this place.
There's an emptiness inside her
And she'll do anything to fill it in
But all the colors mix together - to grey
And it breaks her heart

How she wishes it was different
She prays to God most every night
And though she swears it doesn't listen
There's still a hope in her it might
She says "I pray
But they fall on deaf ears, am I supposed to take it on myself?
To get out of this place?
"There's lonliness inside her
And she'll do anything to fill it in
And though it's red blood bleeding from her now
It feels like cold blue ice in her heart
When all the colors mix together - to grey
And it breaks her heart

There's a stranger speaks outside her door
Says take what you can from your dreams
Make them as real as anything
It'd take the work out of courage
But she says "Please
There's a crazy man that's creeping outside my door,
I live on the corner of Grey Street
And the end of the world."
There's an emptiness inside her
And she'll do anything to fill it in
And though it's red blood bleeding from her now
It's more like cold blue ice in her heart
She feels like kicking out all the windows
And setting fire to this life
She could change everything about her
Using colors bold and bright
But all the colors mix together - to grey
And it breaks her heart
It breaks her heart
To Grey

No. 180 - What Doesn't Kill You Just Makes You Bitter

2006-05-05T07:45:00.000-07:00

It’s been a week of ups and lots of downs. Evident by my recent posts. Let me just share a few ironies that I've noticed over these past few days with you. Some you may nod your head emphatically along with; and others that may leave you scratching it in confusion.

It was “Administrative Professional’s Day” last Wednesday. Even though my primary job and title have nothing to do with that, I have been on the receiving end of more requests to retrieve files, order supplies, and create folder tab labels in the past week than I had in the two years I WAS an Admin Pro. And I didn’t get any fucking flowers.

My body is getting a good laugh at its own expense. Apparently I don’t have the hormonal balance to create good quality eggs, but enough hormones to reenact fond experiences from high school by presenting me a beautiful case of “pizza face”.

Recent bumper sticker: “American by Birth; Biker by Choice”. Said sticker was on the back of a piece of shit car.

Recent car window sign: “I don’t need kids, I have a husband.” Fuck you, you bitch.

I saw my GP on Wednesday, who after hearing my ART fiasco, try to console me with how he and his wife went through several miscarriages and “only God knows what’s in your heart and what his plans are for you.” Later I found out that his wife just gave birth to baby no. 4 just two weeks ago. He also gave me a couple sample packs of antidepressants, but I haven’t taken any yet. I’m scared to.

I work in a healthcare setting. Yes, ironic in itself. Thankfully, I don’t have much interaction with the clinical or patient side. However, on rare occasions I have to field calls from peopel with stories like this: “It’s just been hell lately. I had a baby, then I got pregnant again right away, this time with twins, blah, blah, blah, woe is me,” and I force myself to smile into the phone and keep it civil until I can hang up and cry.

There’s this religious based children’s fund where 80 cents a day will sponsor a child. I figured over 18 years, that’s only $5,256. I’m trying to figure out how I can cut them a deal where they get the money, but I get to bring the child home and take care of him/her from here. This will then free up that $5,300 for a different child. They get two children taken care of with one sponsorship; and I get a 75% discount off the “legal” adoption fees.

In the building next to mine, there’s a clinic that provides free pregnancy tests to girls “in trouble”. I told Mr. DD that I was going to park in front one of these days and wait for some girl to come out, sobbing in despondency, and promise her a life of luxury while she waits out the pregnancy if she gives me her baby. Yes, I’m a Lifetime Movie story just waiting to happen.

No. 179 - The Tides a'Shiftin'

2006-05-03T07:47:00.000-07:00

It's officially been one week since our last attempt conceiving via clinical means, which explains in part my last post. Why did I torture myself by looking through X's baby clothes? I don't know. Probably to test the waters, as it were. Unfortunately, the water was not fine and Mr. DD found me in X's closet, wracked by sobs. I was able to make it through 2 of the 6 bins of clothes before he drug me out of the closet to lead me, loose-limbed and dazed, into the bedroom to lay down for a few minutes. I secretly wish he would say let's try again; let's go for the adoption; let's not give up. But I know he won't. That's why he's the rock. I'm the jellyfish throwing myself onto the rock. Guess who's going to win that skirmish.

I've noticed the slightest changes in my Bloglines. I watch a total of 97 feeds, which break down as follows:

4 adopting blogs
9 miscellaneous writers
10 secondary infertiles trying for baby No. ?
22 pregnancy blogs
26 infertiles trying for baby No. 1
26 Mom's - whether through ART, adoption or luck (which I recently threw myself into, so the total is really 27)

As Wavery noted, she also has me listed under Parenting, which I would loosely term what I'm currently doing with X, since planting his little butt on the couch to watch the same movie over and over again while Mommy sucks down a few concoctions (and make sure he doesn't sneak a sip from since it looks suspiciously like chocolate milk), is not going to win me brownie points with social services. I've got to come to the realization that my focus has to be on X and not Baby May (or Baby September; or Baby Whenever).

In fact, I found Tertia's recent posts on "spoiling" IF children rather intriguing. I want to hitchhike on her post, but I'm going to save that for another time as I'm waiting for all the comments to come in. Maybe the point will be made and I won't have to go there; maybe not.

Personal factoid: I love the beach, but am terrified of going in the ocean, especially when it gets so deep I can't see the bottom.

No. 178 - I drink I'm thunk...

2006-05-02T19:08:00.000-07:00

Hey, you.

Yeah, you.

If you have received a comment from me anytime after 8:30 pm CST, please bear with whatever the fuck I said as I am drinking.

Colorado Bulldog(s), in case you were wondering: equal mix vodka, baileys w/some Pepsi and milk ('cause there's no cream in this fridge or half and half or whatever).

Mr. DD has gone shopping and X is watching Robotz for the 3rd time today. It's after his bedtime (X's, not Mr. DD's) and I don't give a shit.

I had to go through some of X's clothes earlier today in prep to either put them on the garage sale or give them away to friends. And guess what? That kinda' sucked.

And I noticed I have a bunch of people who have added me to their bloglines. Oh, honey. You know that this is no longer an "infertility" blog, don't you? Sorry if you feel like you got a little bit of the ole' bait-n-switch there. I'm just a bitter old hag who won't have any more stories about "2WW" or "cootercams" or "my fertile friends and relatives suck". OK, probably more stories about the fertile friends and family sucking.

Personal factoid: I'm drunk, but I think everything looks like it's properly spelled and grammer appears to be within average. Everything's A-fucking-OK!

No. 177 - Myth Buster

2006-05-02T07:02:00.000-07:00

For several months, I have had the above tagline: Former Super Model, Mother to Boy-Genius, and Married to One of the 50 Sexiest Men Alive, just trying to live a normal life in spite of being beaten to the mat by Secondary Infertility.

Recently, I've received a rash of emails wanting to know if I really am a former super model. As much I wish I could say I was a former super model, I am not. I was once propositioned about 10 years ago to become a lingerie model by some guy hanging out at a hair show for which I had volunteered (it was the only way I could afford to get my hair to no longer be green from home-coloring kits). I even took his card and drove to The Metro to check out his "studio". Needless to say, it all turned out to be a little sketchy. Plus, no model - super or not - is going to locate her butt to Small Town, Nebraska.

And while I'm at it, my son is no boy-genius. At nearly 4 1/2 he refuses to try to read, but he can fool me each time I pull out a book as he usually has the story memorized so I believe he actually may be "reading". However, I am quite impressed with his ability to associate things into his memory. When he sees a Cola delivery truck, he can tell by the logo what kind it is. Same with beer. It could be a B*d, M1ller, He1n1ken, etc. and he will point and say, "Look, Mommy, that says 'Beer'. I don't like Beer." I should state for the record that we are not beer-drinkers. Our neighbors who have two girls that X goes and plays with? Well, their Mommy drinks enough beer for the whole neighborhood...but who am I to judge.

Lastly, Mr. DD is not by any stretch of the imagination one of the 50 sexiest men alive. Unless, you find Jay Len0 sexy, because he has been told he looks like him a dozen times. He was even stopped by some lady in a Vegas casino because in her drunken state, she was sure Mr. DD was Jay. However, I use to tease Mr. DD in his younger days that he looked like this guy. He didn't find that funny for two reasons: 1) the nature of his notoriaty; and 2) somewhere along the bloodline, they are related. And as I look at that picture, it's still rather uncanny the resemblance.

The myth has been busted. Ladies (and gentlemen?), you have nothing to be envious of. The only part of that tagline that's true is I'm just trying to live a normal life after being beaten to the mat by secondary infertility. Anyone got some smelling salts?

No. 176 - A.R.T.?! Bah! Who Needs It?

2006-05-01T11:28:00.000-07:00

As the reality of my fertile-now-infertile status soaks into my head (and heart), I have been struggling with finding the “bright side” of it all. I have actually found a few things to list:

1) No more deer-dodging on my early morning drives to The Metro for 10 minute dildocam dates.

2) I no longer pick up a Pepsi and have to convince myself I should have water instead.

3) We are considering trading our V8, enviro-unfriendly, soccer-mom SUV, which we bought in preparation of the Brood-That-Never-Will-Be a couple years ago, for something a little more practical for a modest family of three.

4) No more prenatal vitamins! Oh, but how my nails will suffer. *sigh*

5) We can finally plan a vacation without having to worry about flying while pregnant or being in the throes of a stimulated cycle.

6) The other medical attention I want no longer needs to be put off, which includes, but is not limited to:
--> Mild depression for which my GP suggested an AD for two years ago but I opted out since it wasn’t recommended “if you are pregnant, or intend to become pregnant”.
--> Lasix. Again, due to the all the changes that occur in pregnancy, my optometrist said to wait at least six months after a pregnancy.
--> As a last hurrah in the stirrups for the year, I have scheduled a PAP for next Wednesday. Thank you, RE Clinic, for reminding me I should get one scheduled.
--> Accutane. Ah, sweet accutane. I did a four month treatment the year I got married and was thrilled with the results. Eight years later and after riding great hormonal tidal waves, another round would be wholly appreciated. I still find it slightly ironic that my insurance will cover treatment of zits, depression and a routine screening, but not infertility.

7) And finally, some odd miscellanea like dropping acid and weekend hits from a home-made bong can be penciled back into my palm pilot.

Feel free to add your own ideas or suggestions, because quite frankly, this list doesn’t really make me feel much better.

No. 175 - Confabulous 2: The Drinkening (More Fab Than Drink)

2006-04-30T08:53:00.000-07:00

For over a week, you have caught snippets about the great Confab that was hosted most graciously by Alexa for the second time in a row last Sunday. I was so damn excited I almost got over the fear of meeting someone I really didn't know. Communications though emails, phone calls and blog posts just cannot prepare one for that. Especially me, as I knew I would finally be exposed as the wallflower I really am. I'm an observer not an instigator.

Considering how this past week as far as weather has gone in the Midwest (rainy and cold), we got incredibly lucky: Sunday shaped up to be one of the prettiest and warmest days of Spring we have had so far. I got a little lost on my way to Alexa's Mother's house, and only did so because I didn't read the directions Alexa had sent me. I pulled up to the house, called Mr. DD to let him know I had arrived safely, took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

Erin had given me a heads up on what to expect from Alexa so I wasn't surprised when this cute, girl with natural blonde hair, cut into a short, stylish pixi cut opened the door. I felt so stupid when I introduced myself as if I was entering an interview, realizing after the words were out of my mouth I would be no one else as Alexa had already met the other expected guests. I was the first to arrive so I didn't have a chance to blend into the woodwork to be the observer I had hoped.

Within a few minutes, Alexa's IRL friend Jennifer arrived, and while Alexa busied herself with some last minute kitchen prep, we stood on the enclosed porch overlooking a wooded backyard. I decided to uncharacteristically jump in with both feet and said to Jennifer, "You know, when I drive by big patches of overgrown woods or large deserted fields, I think to myself, 'That would be a good place to hide a body.'"

Brief pause...faint chirping of crickets.

"I do, too!" She exclaimed back. Thank god!

I liked her immediately. Jennifer has dark hair, cut into a shoulder length bob and wearing the type of stylish glasses that if I could find in Small Town, I would never have to wear contacts. Later I found out that she was gearing up for her second IVF in early summer, but as Alexa had mentioned in her own post, was a blogging virgin. I hope that she soon is up and posting before her IVF cycle so we ALL can share our own version of assvice and support with her.

As we were standing out on the porch, a beautiful petite, red-headed whirlwind came in and gave me a hug before I could even blink. It was Molly. I felt like an ogre standing next to her.

Even though Alexa had set and prepped the table in the dining room, we decided to enjoy the weather and planted ourselves in the eclectic group of chairs on the porch. Just as we had all settled in, the neighbors came home and caught Alexa's attention and asked her to see if she could keep her Mom's dog's barking down as their baby was sleeping. Now the thing is that the dog had initially barked her "hellos" when we each made our arrival, but by that time had settled down. The irony of four infertiles being told to keep it down because the baby was sleeping was not lost on us.

And when Alexa mentioned how sometimes the same neighbors partake in home-nudity and the nature of their relationship, we would instantly hush each time one of them would come out of the house to take out the garbage or walk their own dogs. I think we were picturing in our mind how they would look naked...and to be honest, it wasn't pretty.

We ate, we drank, we talked and laughed. Poor Jennifer would sit silently bemused each time we mentioned a blogger and we would try give her the condensed version of said blogger's status. And there were moments of comfortable silence as we transitioned from one topic to the other. I had one occassion where I realized I was "showing" my age when I voiced my opinion about how I thought Harrison Ford was attractive. The relationship Calista has with him doesn't seem so weird when one is close to her age (read: born in the '60's) unlike my younger counterparts. Whippersnappers.

We made a few attempts to reach Erin on her cell phone since by 2:00 she had not made an appearance. Our worry was turned to disappointment when we got the email that her family had turned up sick at the last minute. We "regrettably" had to split up her share of the food and drink between us. We did this until about 6:00 when we collectively agreed it was probably time to go.

True to her word, Alexa handed out goody-bags each with an aromatic candle, a facial and a tiny acorn charm, which symbolizes wisdom, truth, strength, birth and fruitfulness. I had taken the Lush soap that Oro had sent to me with her copy of Taking Control of Your Fertility book and divvied it up for everyone to enjoy. Erin, I was assured that Alexa would send you your bag. If you don't get it, I'm sure it's because of the USPS. Really.

Even though the subsequent days ended up being a heart-breaking time for me, I am ever so grateful that I had that weekend, which makes me smile whenever I think of it. The Confab weekend with fabulously beautiful and strong women. I hope that there are many more and that those times are part of celebrations and congratulations for what we each have been struggling for.

If too much time passes, I may throw out my own invite for a Nebraska Confab. Any of you who can make it are most certainly welcome.

No. 174 - What Has Sucked in the Past 24 Hours

2006-04-27T20:07:00.000-07:00

1.) Mr. DD finally accepts the fact that the IVF did not work and breaks down in tears when he picked me up for lunch yesterday.

2.) The picture of the 4 embryos fell off the fridge where I had it hidden from company the other day. It fell face up. I don't know what to do with the picture.

3.) I picked a few things out of the spare closet to give to a coworker who is 13 weeks pregnant. It was maternity clothes I've been holding onto for the past 4 years. I have loaned them out once before. This time I am giving them away for good.

4.) One of my favorite episodes of Seinfeld was on (the one where George pretends to be a marine biologist and pulls a golf ball out of a whale's blowhole), and my few moments of happiness were ruined when the episode from Friends comes on and it's where Chandler and Monica find out that they either need to go with a surrogate or sperm donor (which makes no fucking sense if the doctor is telling her she has a "hostile uterus") or adoption.

5.) I was in the flow of optimism exactly a week ago as I looked forward to a weekend away. I am now in the ebb of pessimism: my period started. CD1 use to give me an odd sense of relief as it usually meant we were advancing to our next cycle, our next chance. Now it's just the beginning of a period; the end of our ART.

Please tell me that someone has had something GOOD happen to them in the past 24 hours. What was it?

No. 173 - What Stage of Grief Would You Call It When One Completes a Meme?

2006-04-26T13:14:00.000-07:00

This post is going to have more links than a pitbull’s kennel. You have only yourselves to blame, though, as I am quite overwhelmed with the outpouring of compassion from so many people, most who may never stop by this way again but did because of their support for Mary Scarlet, Alexa, Thalia, Suzanne, Leggy or Pamplemousse (if I missed someone, please give me a shout).

But to those who routinely bear with my incoherent rants or low-brow viewpoints on life, I thank you. If I think about it too long, I get all verklempt and have to attempt typing with one hand while the other wipes the snot from my nose with a thoroughly used tissue. A special thank you to those you who said if I needed anything I just needed to let you know. I’ll just address those offers right now with the following list:

Ø Any used, but in good condition, follicles/egg/embryos that you have lying around.
Ø Any used, but in good condition, sperm that you have lying around. ...Oh, ewww. On second thought, scratch that.
Ø Any baby that you happen to find on the back shelf or attic can be sent to me. I’ll pay the postage. Will accept “As Is”.
Ø Cash and/or gift cards are always welcome.

Now what are the odds that I would be tagged by two different people, for the same dang meme? So I will dispose of the meme issue and I will in turn tag six people who I either know will (probably) not participate as they don’t know me from the man on the moon; or because they are relatively new and need to go through a meme-hazing.

Six Weird Things About Me

1.) I am fascinated with feet. My feet. My son’s feet. My husband’s feet. Everyone’s feet. If I was to select a subject for a photo project, I would pick feet and I would photograph them in black and white.
2.) I am a staunch defender of the noon meal being called “Dinner” and the evening meal, “Supper”. If you are the type who says “Lunch” and “Dinner” respectively, then I automatically assume you are an urbanite snob (which of course makes me a backwoods country bumpkin).
3.) I love cracking my knuckles, but I can only crack the joints on the first two fingers of each hand. It drives Mr. DD IN-sane.
4.) I don’t “do” oral sex.
5.) Those perfect eyebrows everyone seems to think I have? Weekly waxing leaves too much opportunity for the two to merge, so I pluck. Everyday.
6.) The song “You are My Sunshine” makes me cry. It always has. It’s especially true now. Sing the song to yourself and you’ll understand why and probably find your bottom lip quivers.

OK. Not so much weird but puzzling at the most.

Tagging the following six:

Suzanne at Palatial Squalor
Well-Heeled Mom at Stiletto
The Queen Mama at The Queen Mama
LaLa at LaLa Land
Schmutzie at Milk Money or Not
Susan at In A Holding Pattern

In my next highly anticipated post, I will dish on Confabulous II: The Drinkening.

And I expect each and every one of you to make sure you continue the generous displays of support for Nina who was brought down HARD by what happened with her first IVF. The slump continues in the Craptastic World of Infertility.

Personal factoid: See above numbered list.

No. 172 - When I Feel Like Crying, I Think of This:

2006-04-25T19:12:00.000-07:00

Today, as most of you know, was Not-the-Beta Day from IVF #2: the Finale. I had mentioned more than once in the past few posts that if the HPTs were negative, I was not going to torture myself by getting the beta done.

"Yep, DD. We have confirmed for you that indeed, you are not pregnant, but your beta looks like it might have reached as high as 7! Isn't that encouraging?"

So, I didn't go to the clinic. But imagine my surprise when one of the nurses called and left a message for me letting me know that they were expecting me for the beta. Awwww. They missed me. Warm fuzzy feelings abound.

I called them back and told Nurse Keri that I was not going in for my beta. It was a waste of my time. You know what she said? "You HAVE to come in for the beta. We have to have a blood test confirmation of the results. You do know that those urine tests are not a 100% accurate, don't you?"

No shit? Really? Let me take a lookeesee here on this box of HPTs: "up to 99% accurate". Hmmm. I would say the HPTs percentages look a whole lot better than my clinic's who ran me through two IUIs, two IVFs and 1/2 of a FET with a maximum beta of 68 to show amongst the 4 1/2 cycles I gave those bastards.

OK. So back to the phone call: "I don't think I need to do all the bloodwork. It's ridiculous that you even think I 'have' to!" I tell Keri. She pacifies me with, "We just need to get a beta. If the numbers are something you should know, we will call you back. Otherwise, if you don't hear from us, you'll know you were right."

Fine. My day was already pretty shitty. What's another $70 to let someone jab me for some blood after the kind of money we have pissed away already. Off I go to the Small Town hospital; wait in line in the lab; and then get the most incompetent phlebo they employ who not only fails to hit a vein, but then proceeds to D.I.G. for it. Over. And. Over. Again. My arm still hurts and that was 8 hours ago.

But when she finally removes the vial of blood, she taps me with a second. What the fuck? "I thought this was just for the HcG?"

"Oh, no. The orders are for the HcG, Estradial and Progesterone levels."

That fucking liar, Keri.

As soon as I leave the hospital I'm on my cell calling the clinic and talking to Keri. "You told me I just needed to do the beta!"

"Yeah. Well. Dr. Blinksalot wanted the complete work-up."

I'm crying (again) and furious. "Do you realize that's another $300 out of our pocket for a goddamn waste of time? It's insult to injury. Don't you think I would be the first to want to believe that maybe, just maybe, I might be pregnant?!"

"I'm really sorry, DD. I know this is very painful (insert snort from me here), but we also need you to call with Cycle Day 1."

"I'm not coming back to the clinic for another cycle. We are done."

"Either way, we will still need you to call on the first day of your period."

They can take their protocols; their stats; the CDC reporting requirements and shove them up their collective cooters. If they want to know when Cycle Day 1 shows up then they'll have to send someone up to check my trashcans because the last thing I'm going to do is call my clinic, who has sucked the last drop of hope from me, and tell them when the most expensive and painful period of my life shows up.

Fuckers.

Oh, by the way, the clinic has not called back. Guess I was right, eh?

No. 171 - When Is It REALLY Over?

2006-04-25T06:24:00.000-07:00

I had every expectation that this IVF would work. All the "signs and symptoms" of success were layed out before us from the moment we decided to go for it. If the first IVF led to, at the minimum, a chemical pregnancy, then the second IVF should get us through a viable pregnancy. For some stupid reason I looked at IVF #1 as a practice run, and anything subsequent should have a better result.

My cycle before IVF #2 was textbook and I felt my body had come back to me from the first IVF debacle.

We evenly spaced the repronex: 1/2 in the a.m.; 1/2 in the p.m.

Even though the number of eggs retrieved were marginal, I felt it was because my body was contributing to the quality, not the quantity. As you said, as I even said, it only takes one.

The transfer was smooth. The two 8-celled embryos looked "really good."

I had the acupuncture appointments, including the pre- and post-transfer treatments.

I had implantation cramps a day earlier than I did on my first IVF.

This was our last A.R.T. attempt, and everyone knows that when someone moves to their Last, they always get pregnant, right? Ha.

So when Saturday morning rolled around, even at only 7dp3dt, I had some expectation of what I would see on the EPT. When it wasn't there, I knew it would be there Sunday morning, and I would feel guilty showing up to the Confab in a newly pregnant status. I would be scared, but overjoyed.

But Sunday a.m. the test was negative...again. I cried the whole time I was in the shower at the realization that something bad was happening - or actually something good did not happen.

I managed to keep cool about the negative in front of the group and we all in some silent, wordless agreement, steered away from the topic.

When I got back to my hotel that evening, I tried to wash the worry from my brain by watching more TV in one sitting than I have seen in weeks, but by the time I knew I needed to get ready for bed, which included doing my PIO shot, my nerves were frayed and it all felt so fruitless. I almost did not do the shot, but did...just.in.case. I found it strangely ironic that there was only one prenatal vitamin left, and somehow I knew I would never have to refill it.

I called Mr. DD and told him how much I really missed him right then. My head was encased in doom and gloom and by the time I fell asleep, it ached from crying.

Monday morning around 5:00, I woke and shuffled into the bathroom thinking that if I finally get a 2nd line, it would not be a good indicator of a viable pregnancy as my initial beta had been so low on the first IVF and I had tested positive 12 hours earlier. Again, the test was negative. I called Alexa and left a message that I was going to go home as she had graciously extended her hospitality if I had needed it.

As I was getting ready to check out of my hotel, for some sick reason I decided to pull out the EPT from the trash and I was met with the evap line and I stupidly got a little bit hopeful again. On my way home, I stopped at a Target to pick up another 2-pack and became so impatient that at a gas station just outside of Small Town, I took one test in with me to the bathroom.

Negative.

When I got home, I was thwarted from posting when blogger ended up being down for maintenance and it was killing me to have what seemed like this stupid secret that I needed to get off my chest so I could begin to heal.

For those of you who remember my poll about SIF and how I could relate to any one of those answers? Well, right now there's only one answer: Infertility is Infertility and it fucking hurts no matter what and is capable of sucking your life and your soul into a vacuum.

The reproductive door has been shut to us for the last time. I will give the unused drugs I had left over to Suzanne, who I was supposed to meet today for lunch, which I postponed. I am in no shape to talk to anyone right now. Every recent comment and email has made me cry anew.

I will be closing some doors of my own over the next few weeks. Once we move, I will no longer have to look at X's room in it's baby decor. I am contributing some of X's best baby clothes to a fellow blogger. And finally, I will do what I have been putting off for almost 18 months: I will call my OB and find out the sex of Baby May and finally give my baby a real name, which will be one of the names we had been holding in our hearts since we tried getting pregnant again: "Mr. DD, IV" or "Vivienne Elise". I guess it doesn't matter anymore if someone "steals" the names for themselves.

No. 170 - Weekend Highlights & Lowlights

2006-04-24T16:39:00.000-07:00

This is just a brief post to give you a sampling of some things to come:

Confab was wonderful and Alexa ordered in the most delightful weather; but Erin and EJW were missed.

Peestick tally from the weekend:

Peestick = 4

DD = 0

I will not go take the beta. The bucket is empty and my heart is broken.

Sorry it took so long to post. Blogger was down.

It's time for me to move onto a new direction. Any suggestions?

No. 169 - Running Tally of Pee Sticks

2006-04-22T07:27:00.000-07:00

Pee stick = 1

DD = 0

Yes, I know. It's still early.

No. 168 - When Does a Positive Equal a Negative?

2006-04-21T12:53:00.000-07:00

As the days pass on my calendar bringing me closer to beta-day, my ultimate concern is really not what you think it would be, which would be a negative beta. Instead, my anxiety centers around the possibility that a 2nd line does in fact show on the HPT.

A negative means The End. No more shots; no more doctor visits; no more stressing through cycles and two week waits; no more hormonal rages. The outcome will be in stone and I will have some sense of relief that it is over. The baby’s room can be transitioned into the guest room and all of the baby furniture and clothing can be sold at the first opportunity and we will not have to bear the heartache of moving it with us to the new house, as a positive beta is obviously no guarantee that our worries will magically vaporize.

A positive will extend my concerns into Pregnancy Purgatory: Will my beta double in 48 hours? Will there be a heartbeat at 6 weeks? Will I make it past the 15 week mark at which point I lost Baby May? Can I really take another 8 months of “what ifs” even though that is what I have been fighting for during these last 15 months?

And my god, do you really want to listen to me moan and groan about DBTs for that long? That’s even if everyone sticks around as I know for some it has become their survival technique when a blogger announces a pregnancy to remove them from their bloglines post-haste. Even I have developed my own system: I move the blogs into a new category so I can safely read the pregnancy posts when I’m feeling particularly buoyed with hope and optimism.

So, I sit here on pins and needles with two possibilities in front of me: a) BFN and I continue to sustain the life I already have; or b) BFP and I try to continue to sustain a life that may never be, but could be everything I've have times two.

As hard as the second possibility may be to let myself wish for, it really is the one I want with all my heart.

I will begin with the HPT tomorrow morning before I leave for Minnesota. I’m not expecting much this early, but obviously I am trying to be optimistic. I will be 7dp3dt (7 days post 3 day transfer).

Personal factoid: I shamelessly plugged my blog on Tertia’s website today.

No. 167 - Pre-Confabulous 2: The Drinkening

2006-04-20T08:21:00.000-07:00

Some (many) days, I forget how really lucky I am. I mean for being a former super-model and being married to such a sexy guy, how could I just bemoan life’s curve balls that have been thrown my way? It’s easy to forget how wonderfully supportive I have found this community when for the majority of the day I am cocooned in my own thoughts, perpetuated by the prevailing doom and gloom that has rum amok lately.

I mean, where the fuck is everyone going? It’s like being at a great party and suddenly your friends start telling you one-by-one they are getting tired and want to go home. By no means am I calling what many of us have in common – infertility – a great party, but you know what I mean?

Speaking of great parties, I have a smokin’ weekend planned: Saturday I will be seeing my wonderful friend, Mel. She was the one who came to see me without a second thought when IVF #1 hit the crapper. I don’t know what we will do exactly, but our favorite pastime together is going to the mall and making snarky remarks about people who really should permanently wear the “Don’t” black bar across their eyes. Hopefully, we’ll have time to actually shop as well.

Sunday I will be basking in the Lights of Greatness at the Confabulous, which apparently isn’t scheduled annually, bi-annually or even semi-annually but based on when Alexa can get her mother out of town so she can have a party. Other guests of honor include Molly, Erin and possibly EJW (who will have to bring Julie's Infamous Quilt so we can all arm wrestle for it) and a friend of Alexa’s. There will be spirits, goodies and games. Oh, you didn’t know about the games, ladies? I’m thinking a round of Russian-HPT-Roulette where we all pee on a stick, quickly throw them in a bag and see if any of them get a 2nd line (I am selfishly hoping it’ll be me) as it appears Alexa has a penchant for pee-sticks and I will be less than 48 hours from beta.

I’m rather nervous and am frantically searching my closet for just the perfect evening gown for the soiree; plus I had a haircut recently and still haven’t figured out how to get it styled without it looking a lot like this.

I took Monday off as well since I don’t know if we will party until the wee hours (we start at noon) so I wasn’t going to head back to Nebraska until then. Plus, it will be one of the very rare opportunities I will have to sleep in, by myself, and not have to be anywhere by any time in particular. Bliss.

Then Tuesday, Beta Day. I still don’t think I will have the beta drawn if no 2nd line. It would just hurt too much to get that call that is was 15, or 8, or even 5. I will, however, still go to The Metro and have lunch with another blogger who couldn’t make it to the Confab. Some nonsense about a meeting Monday morning she can't get out of…yeah, yeah, whatever. She just didn’t want to get stuck doing my PIO over the weekend.

This brings me to my weekend dilemma. I have never done my own PIO. I honestly don’t know if I can. I will try really hard to do it tonight. If I just can’t do it, I may have one of my very dear friends do it for me instead. I leave it up to you on who should pick up that hint.

Personal factoid: I pierced my own ears.

No. 166 - The Bucket

2006-04-19T07:29:00.000-07:00

It started seemingly a million years ago, our journey down the road trying to conceive again. We carried with us a big metal pail which was filled to the brim with Hope. It would slosh around as we walked, sometimes splashing out of the bucket to drop to the dust below. We had one child already; there was another pregnancy – though lost – we knew that WE could get pregnant and this relationship with our RE’s clinic would be over before it barely had a chance to begin.

My husband and I had a spring to our step back in August when we did our first IUI. We fully expected it to work, chalking up the past months of failure to poor timing. Those bouncy, confident steps resulted in our bucket carelessly jostled and a great deal of our Hope was absorbed into the ground when the HPT was negative.

The second IUI, we still had high expectations. We followed the clinic’s instructions to the letter, we treaded more slowly, but still confident that we would now certainly get pregnant. Again, more Hope was lost out of our bucket, plus I noticed that in our carelessness, tiny cracks were appearing, it had a couple dents, and the rim was starting to rust. It wasn’t the shiny container we had started with.

I tried to patch the bucket with the thought that once we did IVF, we would address directly the problems that appeared to have plagued our attempts, specifically fertilization of the egg through ICSI, and whatever Hope that was left would see us through a positive test as well as a healthy pregnancy. The patch proved to be temporary and the cracks and rusted seams seeped like wounds. Our bucket of Hope was nearly empty.

In six days, my beta is scheduled. I have purchased, in a moment of masochism and insanity, two 2-pack HPTs. If there is no second line, I will not bother getting the beta. I do not want to hear from my doctor again that I was on the wrong side of the numbers; or what our next options are. If this IVF fails, not only will we have reached the end of the road my husband and I started back in July, but the last of our Hope will have leaked or evaporated. Our bucket will be dry. There is no FET to fall back on. There will be no adoption papers to complete. There will only be an empty bucket. And for a long time after, my heart will feel just as tarnished, cracked and empty as that bucket.

No. 165 - Keyword Analysis

2006-04-18T20:16:00.000-07:00

I just have no idea what to even think about my stats regarding keyword analysis, but check this out:

1) ivf 8 follicles

2) my cat is skiddish outside of the bathroom

3) day 5 embryo pictures ivf icsi good quality

4) how to plumb boob in golf

5) my eyes have the glory of the

6) tears in her eyes and an hpt lyrics

7) lost my marriage to

8) cysts with follistim

9) stirrups pregnant funnel

10) discontinued clinique eye shadow

No. 4 and No. 9 have me simultaneously scratching my head in confusion and laughing out loud at the complete idiocy. However, today is one of the very few days that "dd boobs" was NOT one of the keywords searched.

BTW: if you haven't yet, please make sure you go stop by Suzanne's (see post No. 164), who I am sure appreciates your support.

No. 164 - When It Shits, It Pours UPDATED

2006-04-18T13:39:00.000-07:00

Guess what news I got today from a friend of a friend of my Nutbag SIL, Ella? Her other Golden Child is 15 weeks pregnant. She announced it at the Easter lunch. You know? The one WE didn't go to because it is indeed a proven fact that Mr. DD's sister is a heartless bitch and could not, even to her brother, apologize or swallow her pride long enough to announce to him that his niece was now expecting.

** This news did NOT come from a "friend of a friend". Nutbag was actually on the phone with my friend/fellow co-worker, when Nutbag said so coyly, "Did you hear I'm going to be a grandma again?" She went out of her way to tell someone she hardly knows, but knew was a friend of mine and an office-mate before she even told her brother. I've already used the most derogatory word I can think of to describe the Nutbag after that news. Right now I despise her beyond words for her manipulative attempt to raise her brother's ire. All together now: What a C*nt! I do not hold the niece innocent of this as she has not made any attempts at this point either. My in-laws have reached a whole new level of psychotic. **

I am so repulsed by this news, I can barely keep myself from screaming. Actually, all I can think about is what will happen when X someday announces to us that he and his wife of 3 years are expecting their first child? I may be 65 when that happens, but I wonder, will I will cringe in horror and pain at the news? Will I enviously stare at her belly as she grows with the pregnancy? Or will I disown them on the spot?

That's how angry and unfair I feel about everyone and everything around me right now. Is it possible I will still remain this bitterly disappointed when my own child announces his own good fortune years into the future when I'm an old woman? God, I'm sick, I really am.

Then to top it off, Suzanne received a negative beta on her second IVF today. But damn, if that woman isn't a pillar of strength and fortitude! I wish she was my sister-in-law instead, I really do. So please make sure to drop in with some support as she already prepares herself for the next step.

Slip on your rubbers; it's getting knee deep around here and I don't see the clouds breaking anytime soon.

Personal factoid: Did I mention my SIL can be a real bitch?

No. 163 - A Nutbag Full of Bitch

2006-04-17T12:37:00.000-07:00

It’s official: my SIL, Ella* is a Nutbag. Of course, I think for many of us, “SIL” is synonymous with "Nutbag", but in my case it has been proven. The story that follows is rather convoluted and not only potentially, but probably, very boring. Feel free to move on at any time.

It was a year ago, just a week or so before Mother’s Day that Mr. DD and I were jumping through the paper hoops that the county and city call “building permits” for the new house. It was a Thursday night when the city was holding the conditional use permit hearing and we had asked Ella earlier in the week if she would watch X for a couple hours while we attended the hearing. She agreed without a second thought. Thursday night arrived and we were literally preparing to walk out the door to take X to her house when she called.

Ella: “I won’t be able to watch X tonight. I’m going to the bar with my friends to watch Survivor. Mr. Ella will be home, but don’t bring any of X’s movies because Mr. Ella wants to watch his own shows. OK? See ya.”

Mr. DD was livid! X was an active three year old and wasn’t going to take lightly to watching whatever shows Mr. Ella had set his sites on so I agreed to stay home with him while Mr. DD went to the hearing.

About 15 min later, Mr. Ella called wanting to know if X was coming and I just told him that I had decided to stay home with him so he wouldn’t have to worry about it. End of conversation. And ironically, Mr. DD came home shortly after as the hearing had been postponed as one of the members was ill. All before Survivor had even started.

The next day, Ella called Mr. DD and started in on him about how rude it was to not call and let Mr. Ella know as he had got out a “bunch” of toys for him to play with. I have no idea what qualifies as a “bunch” as their children are both grown, married and living in their own homes. Mr. DD explained that he thought it was rude of her to call us at the last minute because she wanted to go watch Survivor at a bar. She grew even more pissy and said, “Well! Don’t ever ask me to watch X again!” and hung up on Mr. DD.

Mr. DD was asked by his mother a few days later to apologize to Ella to which he basically responded with “Fuck that!” We were both insulted that somehow she had turned herself into the victim when the real victim was X himself who was very upset when I had to tell him that night that he wasn’t going to be able to go see Ella after all.

Things remained rather tense for weeks afterwards. Even on Mother’s Day when we went out for supper (which unfortunately happened to be my due date with Baby May, so I was in no mood), X was acting up at the table. Ella had the gall to hiss under her breath, “Maybe you should put him in the car,” to which I quite clearly shot back, “Maybe YOU should go sit in the car.” Only Mr. Ella kept me from leaping across the table and gouging her eyes out by speaking up for me and telling his wife to shut up.

Mr. DD had already profusely apologized to Mr. Ella by saying he should have known better in thinking that Mr. Ella would not have ignored X and that he was sure everything would have been fine. Our whole issue with the matter was her fucked-up priorities.

Fast forward a year. The relationship that we have had with Ella has remained strained but at least everyone was talking again, but we no longer dropped by; called them to see if they wanted to go to dinner; and certainly NEVER have asked her to watch X. So when this past Friday nite when she called Mr. DD as he headed up to my parent’s farm to drop off X so we could get an early start for our trip to The Metro, she had the audacity to ask why we never ask her to watch X.

Mr. DD was stunned into silence and enough time passed that she thought the call had been dropped. He asked her if she was serious about her question, and when she continued innocently unaware of the fury building in Mr. DD he recalled to her the exact words she had told him a year ago. And do you know what she did? “Fine. Be that way. Whatever (WHATEVER???!!!). Goodbye.” and once again, she hung up on him.

Mr. DD has been in a furor since. He hardly slept Friday night and in those hours before he finally was able to doze off before our alarm again went off at 4:00 a.m. he sent Ella an email that vented his frustration, his pain, and his sadness for losing the close relationship he once had with his sister from all this; but at the same time he was sick of her playing the victim and he was done making nice and it was time for her to apologize for letting him/us down, and he wanted the apology to be to his face.

Her final response? “What is your mission? Get over it.”

Needless to say, we were absent from Easter dinner at her house on Sunday. Someone from the house called, but we did not answer the phone and no other contact has been made since.

His family’s answer to any confrontation is Avoidance, and right now neither of us need the stress of a family feud. Mr. DD was so affronted by this whole incident that he refused to attend Easter Mass even when I begged him that right now we need any and all help we can get to induce the embryo(s) to stick around, whether that help is spiritual or mystical as we’ve already used up our scientific card. But he was not to be swayed and our Easter Sunday consisted of feeling forlorn; leftovers for lunch; and Big Kid Meals from BK for supper. Basically, the weekend proved to be the antithesis of a holiday.

Do you think Mr. DD is justified in his anger and disappointment in his sister? Am I missing something? Does anyone have a Nutbag in their family that is so manipulative that they become their own victims? My heart is broken knowing how sad Mr. DD is from all this. It sucks.

Personal factoid: There is 8 years difference between Mr. DD and Ella (*not her real name), and she is the closest in age to him.

No. 154-162 - Top 10 Reasons Where Valium is Better Than Drinking

2006-04-16T06:46:00.000-07:00

1. Valium won't give you a hangover.

2. Valium has no calories or carbs.

3. Valium is easier to sneak into your in-laws house.

4. Valium won't be detectable on your breath.

5. You'll never be accused of being a "mean drunk" on valium.

6. Valium gives one pretty erotic dreams (or maybe it's just me).

7. You only need one valium to catch a buzz.

8. Valium is recommended by the health community.

9. Valium doesn't take up a bunch of room in your liquor cabinet or fridge.

10. Valium won't get "skunky" six months after it's "Born On" date.

Personal factoid: I've decided to make my post counts equal what's in Blogger. That's why the weird title.

No. 153 - Goodbyes

2006-04-15T16:32:00.000-07:00

No, not from me, not just yet. I'll explain in a little bit. But first...

Transfer BlahBlah:

We had to get up again at 4:15 a.m. so I would have enough time for my acupuncture pre-transfer appt. I didn't sleep well last night as my asthma is preventing me from breathing comfortable without the rasping of air in and out of my lungs. Plus, Mr. DD had a confrontation with both my mother and his sister last night that left him (as well as myself) a little wound up with emotions. Sleep did not come easy for either of us. More on that in a separate post.

I didn't have enough time between the acu appt and the actual transfer to have a very full bladder. However, nothing that Dr. Samelastnameasme couldn't solve by pushing REALLY HARD on my bladder during the transabdominal ultrasound while Dr. Blinksalot transferred the four embryos. Two were 8-celled, grade 3. Two others were transferred that were still at the 4-cell stage (slackers!). Dr. Blinksalot thought the two 8-celled looked "great" and it just makes me wonder how come they were only a grade 3. That's why I mentioned the grading being such an arbitrary system.

The transfer was definitely not as painful as the one in December, which left me cramping for hours. I'm also trying to be more compliant about the bedrest, but still felt it was completely unnecessary for me to be taken to my car - not in a wheelchair - but laying on a gurney. I told the young man who trollied me to the exit that a good practical joke would be to cover me with a sheet like a corpse. He thought that would be funny, too, but not necessarily a good "career" move. Even the phlebo found me to be in such good attitude that he really wished for this IVF to work for me. It was odd to have a stranger, a man, telling me that he hoped I would get pregnant, but I figure it happens all the time in blogging and he was so sincere so I ate some more chocolate in his honor as well.

After my post transfer acu appt, we headed home. I slept through the valium until about 4:30 this afternoon. Since then I've been having to keep Mr. DD motivated about playing with X and not falling asleep next to me as I'm sure if he did I would find myself taking care of X, whether that was fixing him supper or going outside to play: neither conducive to my goal of staying in bed for 24 hours.

My beta is schedule for the 25th. If this doesn't work, I will have to seek resolution to this whole 2nd baby thing and move on. Which brings me to the Goodbyes.

I don't think I will necessarily stop blogging as my family angst around here will certainly provide another 6 months of fodder. But some very special bloggers made announcements in their recent posts that they are going to stop writing. One in particular is bittersweet: Suz over at Within the Woods is finding the joys of two wonderful pooping babies pleasantly occupying. She is why I am here; an inspiration and a powerful example of spirit and determination. Also, Chris at Barefoot And... is obviously hurting and has announced her need for a break. I can completely relate to her frustrations and pain of SIF, and I will miss her wonderfully snarky takes on the events around her.

I hope it's not "goodbye", but "see you later" for these two.

Personal factoid: I have a mole on my cheek that now looks like a beauty mark that I worry will someday sprout that one scary long hair.

No. 152 - Nomes, Nats and Pilgrims

2006-04-14T08:14:00.000-07:00

I’ve got the focus of a gnat right now. Or maybe a gnome. What is with that silent “g”? It’s these examples that I love giving to people who bitch about immigrants not learning the English language. It’s because it lacks consistency and it’s stupid. This coming from someone who is most certainly Unilingual.

Gnat
Gnome
Gname? Nope, Name. Drunken, witch-burning, illiterate Pilgrims (hey, I want to make sure to blame it on someone who isn’t going to threaten to kick my ass).

Speaking of drunk, witch-burners: I just got a call from the clinic. Miraculously the transfer is still on for tomorrow morning. All four embryos are currently at Grade 1, which is so totally arbitrary, but I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief anyway. If all four decide to hold out another 24 hours, we will transfer all. No chance for an IVF Lite (aka FET - frozen embryo transfer) if this doesn’t work, which it better, dammit, or I’m going to have to take up drinking and I hate hangovers.

I called Annod to let her know what time the transfer is so she will open her office early to do a pre-transfer acupuncture treatment. Later I will go back for a post-transfer treatment.

I brought a half-full (see: half-full, not half-empty!) bag of Dove chocolate eggs to work with me just in case the news wasn’t good. However, I think I will celebrate this surprisingly good news by eating one or two (dozen); or at least one for every wish of good luck and hope you all sent me from yesterday’s post as a tribute to a beautiful group of people. Especially those who take the time to wish the embryos well even when you are feeling your own pressures. I really wish I could take it all away for each of you.

Personal factoid: One of my favorite albums is Metallica's Black Album.

No. 151 - Fertilization Report

2006-04-13T07:35:00.000-07:00

7 Eggs retrieved.

6 qualified for ICSI.

5 fertilized.

4 look normal.

After only 1 day.

Fuck.

Personal factoid: My day has officially turned to shit.

No. 150 - . . . Or Is It No. 158?

2006-04-12T12:45:00.000-07:00

WTF? My blogger account tells me today I have 157 posts. That's not what it said when I posted No. 149. I either need to stop bitching about a free blog or get something that I can bitch about AND pay for...

~*~*~*~*

I had my retrieval today. My alarm didn't go off (oops, set for 4:00 PM) so when in a daze, I turned to see my clock said 4:35 a.m. I nearly fell on my face getting up so quickly. Do any of you get those headaches that come on from getting up too fast? They suck, but I was able to wash my face, brush my teeth and put on some clean underwear before we headed out the door 15 minutes later. I could go on and on about having to drive two hours to see our RE, but I believe I already have...

Once we got to the hospital and maneuvered our way through all the stupid construction, we caught an elevator to the L&D department with a couple who was obviously there to be induced (her, not him). I couldn't help but stare at them. They were young. He had his baseball cap turned backwards and pulled down past his eyebrows. I so badly wanted to knock the hat off his head and tell him it's time to grow the fuck up. Luckily, Mr. DD was holding my hand in a death grip that silently warned me to MYOB. The girl was Goth Nouveau: no heavy makeup but had more rivets in her eyebrows, cheek, nose and chin than the Golden Gate Bridge. Then there were the earrings and finger/toe rings. "Psst, honey, you really should have left all your precious metal at home. If you have to go in for a c-section, the baby could walk out with how long it would probably take to remove all your piercings. I'm just saying..." Again, more squeezing of my hand from Mr. DD.

Once we made it to the procedure room, Dr. Blinksalot was trying to get my legs situated in the stirrups and asked me if I was comfortable. I answered that I was so comfortable I may have to get a table like it in my own home. Nothing like having your bits splayed for the world while your legs are velcroed into stirrups. At least I could watch TV framed by my feet and not worry about falling out if I dozed off.

Mr. DD said things were not too easy for him, either. While in his room performing, two professionals were outside his door discussing an unrelated case rather loudly. I told him he should have opened the door, asked for a little privacy, and then inquired if either of them have ever heard of HIPAA. He thought that might be even more of a mood killer. He eventually got the deed done.

Dr. Samelastnameasme did not perform the aspiration. Whether or not she could have made any more follicles appear out of mid-air, like she did in December, will never be known. I was told 7 on Monday and 7 is what they got today by Dr. Blinksalot.

Remember No. 147 where I asked you to tell me funny stories? BTW, thanks everyone. I did smirk, smile and laugh out loud. One of the commenters I replied to; thanked her personally; and she replied back with this: "I always think of Nebraska as a fertile place, because it's where I was finally able to have my kids with assisted reproduction. And since we've moved from there, Nebraska's magic has stayed in Nebraska." I can't tell you how much I am holding on to that thought right now in this stage of the game.

Transfer, if all goes well, will be Saturday.

Personal factoid: I have been buying my pants one size too big for me for the past two years in anticipation I will be pregnant.

No. 149 - Guilt

2006-04-10T15:39:00.000-07:00

Until recently, I had been harboring these strange guilty feelings about having a blog that reaches into the depths of Infertility Hell, but at the same time shares snippets of my connection with my son, X. Someone asked me recently to explain why I feel guilty about this Secondary Infertility crap and I effectively side-stepped the question because I didn’t know why I felt guilty.

Per Wikipedia: “In psychology and ordinary language, guilt is an affective state in which one experiences conflict at having done something one believes one should not have done.” In the Thesaurus, these words are associated with Guilt: fault, blame, culpability, remorse, shame and self-reproach.

Now, let me say here for the records I have not for one moment ever felt my pregnancy and subsequent birth, not to mention these past 4+ years ever led me to believe that I had done something wrong by being fertile and having a child, so I firmly believe Guilt is a shitty word for my scenario.

If I was to dig a little further, I realized that this “guilt” didn’t really become a concern until I started blogging. I discovered that there were so many who were still waiting for the one child and here I was greedily seeking a second. Worse, I had my first without one OPK, thermometer or clomid within sight. I was a FREAK in Infertile Blogtopia. I think I still am as far as how my fertility issues have spanned the gamut: Fertility, Pregnancy, Miscarriages, and now Infertility.

So in an effort to not offend so many who are still seeking that first Baby, or first pregnancy, or hell – even that first positive HPT, I would keep my Motherhood low-keyed. I think that’s wherein the guilt stems. I don’t feel guilty I have one child. I feel guilty that I don’t feel comfortable sharing more about him since I don’t consider this a Mommy Blog and I’m trying to be a lurker-pleaser. So now the description of Guilt fits: I have affectively downplayed a very real and important part of my life when in fact I shouldn’t be ashamed. I’m a Mom, dammit, and I am quite proud of the fact.

Hence, the poll. If I had to make a selection, I could easily select all of them given the particular day I may have had. When I feel that this IVF is going to the crapper (or when X is being a real PITA) I try to convince myself No. 1 is true; however when I read about someone else’s struggle with SIF and feel deeply their pain and loss, I totally agree with No. 4. Depending on my mood du jour, any one of the statements is true to me.

I don’t know how much longer I’ll leave the poll up. I am fascinated with how it changes and would like to get a total of 100 votes before I take it down, but I’ve also got other fish to fry (ie: Do you think Fig is a totally fucked-up name to give to a baby, even if his sister is named Apple?), and I want to move on.

Also, I will try not to censure the amount or type of posts I have about X. You can tell me if you think that sucks, which I guess I will know when you stop showing up in my stats or you don’t comment or you tell me in an email or comment. You better make sure you make your opinions clear ‘cause quite frankly, if this IVF fails, I don’t foresee this site developing into a true Mommy Blog. It would be too depressing. Who knows, though? I might continue to find it therapeutic and go on and on about how X is going around the house singing Blondie’s, One Way or Another over and over again.

Now, if he could just get past the first two lyrics…

Personal factoid: I'm a very agressive driver.

No. 148 - Whatever

2006-04-08T15:25:00.000-07:00

Scene: Courtroom

Cast: Judge, prosecutor, Defense Attorney, Defendant, Assorted Characters

prosecutor: ...so in closing, I ask that the jury consider the physical evidence that places Defendant at the scene of the crime; the eye witnesses' accounts; and the written confession of Defendant and deliver a verdict of guilty. Thank you.

Judge: Defense Attorney, please deliver your closing argument.

Defense Attorney: ...uh, ...whatever.

Ridiculous, right? Well, that's me as the prosecutor in a "discussion" with the Defense Attorney, aka: Mr. DD this morning. What the hell? Did he just turn 12 or 42? That word should be banned from the English language as all I hear when someone says that in response to something I've said is, "Fuck you and I'm too stupid to come up with something intelligent in response."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

We have been fighting an infestation of drugstore beetles. For several weeks now I have been militant in cleaning the counter, the toaster, and storing the bread in the fridge. The number of beetles did not decrease. Today I was in the tiny kitchen cabinet above the TV (you know, the one you throw all your kitchen crap into) as I was packing stuff into boxes for our eventual move. For some odd reason, behind the koozies, the insulated coffee mugs, and Play-Doh (don't ask), there was a bag of flour. When I climbed up a chair to really get a good luck I nearly gagged. Let's just say I could have used the flour to make poppy seed muffins but wouldn't have had to add the poppy seeds to obtain the look...*shudder*

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

My appointment with the RE did not go as well as I had hoped. The number of potentially mature follicles is only 6. Of course, they may get more during the retrieval, but since it was Dr. Samelastnameasme, the RE who actually performs the procedure, I will defer to her expertise.

I haven't told Mr. DD yet as I may again change my mind, but if this doesn't work, I don't think I have the heart to go for No. 3. I just don't respond well to the stims. Sure, I know it's quality thing, and all my other numbers (estrogen, progesterone and lining thickness) look good, but it's hard not to correlate higher quantity of eggs with increased chances in a pregnancy. Especially when everyone is constantly pushing It's A Number Game statement on us.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thanks everyone for the smiles and telling me to suck it up. It's just what I needed. YOU are what keeps my head above water. *smooch, smooch*

Personal factoid: I feel down the stairs when I was around 12 and ended up with amnesia, a concussion and pneumonia. The anmesia which affected my memory of that day never resolved.

No. 147 - Cry Me A River

2006-04-07T11:46:00.000-07:00

I am a frazzled cluster-f*ck of nerves. I’m just now working myself up about this IVF, which I had been so proud of for not getting emotional about a several days ago. In the past week, I have cried to nearly every ballad on the radio. I can’t watch TV as it seems some asshole in marketing somewhere thought putting kids (especially baby-toddler combos) in commercials was a grand idea.

I’m having a harder time than “normal” with pregnancy blogs. It seems those who actually did get a pregnancy to stick around from November/December are now feeling their baby’s kicks. All I can feel is my heart clench up and I pretend the butterflies in my stomach to be those initial first movements of a 20 wk pregnancy. Even sitting down and playing with X makes me weepy.

Tomorrow I have another appointment which will probably result in getting my instructions for triggering and a schedule for the retrieval. Then again, maybe not. Uncertainty is certainly the worst aspect of all of this.

I am also stressing about the house. My goal was to have ours listed for sale by the end of March. It still has not happened. My husband has two areas of the house that until they have been cleared, makes it pointless to even have a realtor go through. In his efforts to move things out, he has created bigger messes in his wake.

A vacation seems like a fantasy. We were supposed to go to Las Vegas two weekends ago, but the seminar that was going to take place earlier in the week had been cancelled. We were going to piggyback our vacation on top of the business trip. We just didn’t see the point of shelling out a couple grand from our own pockets when this IVF and house are eating up our mental, physical and financial resources.

Please don’t tell me things will be OK. I don’t want to cry anymore as I know I’m just feeling sorry for myself. Instead, tell me to suck it up and that I will get through this IVF (a.k.a. HELL). Tell me something funny. You could even wish Mr. DD a Happy Birthday, which is April 8th. I do not have anything to give for his birthday and he insists he doesn’t want anything. If I push, he tells me that I gave him X four years ago and that is the best present he’s had. I only wish that I will be able to give him another.

Personal factoid: There were 40 people in my graduating class of 1985.

No. 146 - Poked and Prodded

2006-04-05T17:56:00.000-07:00

I can't believe how easily ya'all are amused! Wanting to know what job(s) I've been fired from? Now I have to start thinking about what they all were and why. I'm not sure how much detail I feel comfortable giving out as I'm sure you will lose some, if not all, respect (I use the word loosely) for me. I will have to give some deep thoughts to that under a separate post as it's time to move on to...

IVF #2 BlahBlah!

Today was CD7 and I had an early RE appt that included not one, but two gougings of my arm for blood. The one on my right is especially beautiful and reminds me of a desert sunset (insert "ooh" or "aah" here). The Wandwitch was in her full gory, er...excuse me, glory. I made it quite clear to her that my cervix has never, and will never, have a 45 degree angle in it. Therefore, an attempt to view my left ovary by digging into my nether regions with the cootercam only succeeded in me exclaiming, "That hurts!" Of course, there was no apology, just an excuse that she needed to see what was going on. I told her that I understand why she is doing it, but "I'm still entitled to bitch about it." Point made.

Lefty is being rather slovenly at this point: just two smallish follicles. Righty has been a little more productive and there's 3 notable follicles at 12mm and under, plus another 3 lollygagging around. Hardly remarkable, but considering where I was last time I consider this a slight improvement. Even my E2 (estrogen) levels are better. I'm sure I won't have the retrieval success Ms. Suzanne had (she's apparently been sandbagging), but I at least know we'll make it to that stage.

After seeing the RE, I went for a third acupuncture appointment. I got the needle between the eyes and on top of my head again, and I'm thinking I don't like those two very much. The next time I see her will be the day of the transfer. She better make an embryo stick or I'm coming back to put a needle between HER eyes. You'll be able to read about it in the paper.

I start the antagon Friday nite and return to the RE on Saturday a.m. (bright and early between 7 and 7:30. You try that with a 2 hour drive first!) for another US and bruising. I'm guessing our retrieval (and hopefully a subsequent transfer) will be early next week. So for those of you who are going to the Confab (details later...as soon as I get any...hint, hint, Alexa), you can experience the tail-end of my 2WW with me. At least I can go with the assurance I will be PUPO (see "How to Win Friends..." in my sidebar for acronym meanings).

Personal factoid: I would save tadpoles out of the nearby mudholes that were drying up by filling my plastic swimming pool with hundreds of them during the summer when I was a kid.

No. 145 - Rolling In Doh!

2006-04-04T05:50:00.000-07:00

Thanks, DinoD for letting me know about the pop-up ads that reveal themselves to those of you who access this blog directly. If you are reading this via Bloglines, you have the dubious honor of not having to click through Bravenet’s generous offer to allow pop-ups since I have pasted a MiniPoll to my site unless you decide to come in for a comment. They informed me that if I “upgrade” I will be able to shut off their pop-ups…because I’m sure that the amount of money I would be rolling in after my paltry take will certainly cover the upgrade. Pricks. So, no, I am not using the ad money to help pay for this upcoming IVF.

Mr. DD was having a momentary panic attack when he realized that not only were our monthly bills stacking up, but invoices in the 5 figures were showing up from all of the people who have completed their areas of expertise on the house. Do you know how hard it is to squeeze a written five-figure amount onto that little line of a blank check? I cannot write any smaller and my flourishes look a bit ridiculous in miniature. Instead of writing “twenty-five thousand, seven-hundred fifty-two”, I could write “you cock-sucker, roll-over shit and die” and no one could tell the difference. It would certainly give me more satisfaction.

In a week, we will need to come up with the cash for the retrieval and transfer, which was increased in 2006 by $400. There goes my dream for my fancy microwave. It’s all good, I suppose. Being around that kind of technology may turn any embryos into a mini Cerberus, and that can’t be good. I know I wanted to have another child, but one with that many mouths just means more lip I have to take when IT reaches preschooler age.

Personal factoid: The first time I got fired from a job, I was 18. The last time I was 25.

No. 144 - Apparently, I Suck

2006-04-03T07:23:00.000-07:00

Remember the niece who recently announced her pregnancy? Well, she (Mary*) and her husband (Joe*) decided to make a trip from their home on the East Coast to visit us here. Plus, the other niece who delivered her baby was coming up as well to Small Town. I was absolutely dreading this weekend. I envisioned sitting down for dinner with New Mommy to my right and Pregnant Woman to my left and silently willing for a stray bullet to take me out quickly and cleanly.

As much as I was dreading the encounter, I was looking forward to seeing Mary. She's a sweet gal who can be quite catty and snarky (you know, in a good way) and you would never know it when she delivers a zinger in her soft, southern draw. By Saturday afternoon, they still hadn't arrived in Small Town even though their flight came in Friday nite. I asked Mr. DD if he had heard from them yet or if his sister had decided to hoard them the entire weekend, as she is wont to do. That's when he told me that Mary miscarried her baby on the flight at 10 weeks exactly.

I feel like an asshole. I remember when we talked to Mary a few weeks ago on the phone and she excitedly told me she was 6 weeks pregnant, and I evilly thought, "don't go out and buy any baby furniture yet".

Bitter Cynic, table of one...

Saturday nite, when I finally got to talk to her alone, she later told me that she had been spotting and cramping for a while and just a week ago had an ultrasound where everything looked normal: growth - check, movement - check, heartrate normal - check. Her doctor gave her the OK to fly. On the flight she said the cramping was horrible, and she even timed the "contractions" to 5 minutes apart. They landed, she went into the airport bathroom soaking from the waist down in blood and passed the placenta/baby in whole. She had no way or means to salvage the "products of conception" and therefore had no choice but to flush it all away. She will never really know what had happened to her baby but has already taken the stand that it was genetically imperfect.

She is surprisingly calm. She and her husband held the new baby and not one tear slipped passed their cheeks. I don't know if she is in shock waiting to get back home before breaking; or if she's just that strong. She even told me she is "fine" as she had been "prepared" for this to happen.

How does one "prepare" for a miscarriage? I want to know that secret, please.

Personal factoid: I have to taken motion sickness medicine before I fly.

No. 143 - ...And We're Off Like a Herd of Turtles

2006-03-31T13:16:00.000-08:00

Question from Cricket: She wanted to know where else I’ve lived since being born and currently working in the same building leads one to believe I don’t get out much. I don’t, sad to say, but during the ballroom dancing stint I lived in Lincoln, Omaha, and Wichita, KS. Born in the Midwest, destined to die in the Midwest.

Question from Leggy: She asked where my best vacation was and where would my dream vacation be. I think the summer we went to one of my SIL’s beach house in S. Caroline in 2004 was the best, even though it was wrought with In-Law Politics and Bullshit (a semi-family reunion). Mr. DD, X and myself spent our time either at the beach or in the pool. X hadn’t yet turned 3 but that boy still talks about going to the beach. We really would like to go back this year -WITHOUT the family circus this time. My dream vacation? It would be anywhere that had a pool with a view of the ocean (no sandy crack for me, please), cabana boys, cheap shopping and no husband or child. Anyone know where that is?

...And it's time for the IVF # 2 BlahBlah!

My period started Wednesday night. I called the RE Thursday to let them know that it was CD1. I had my baseline ultrasound and lab work this morning. It sucks that I have to be there between 7 – 9:30 a.m. Today, I cut it close by leaving SmallTown a little after 7:00 a.m. and made it to the Metro just after 9:00. If the traffic had been crappy, I would’ve been screwed. I think I’ll leave a little earlier next time, because the last thing I need to do is end up in a fender bender or playing a little urban chicken during my IVF cycle.

I’ve been cleared for take off. I didn’t mention Nurse Robbi or any of the other crappy staff as I didn’t have to deal with any of them today. Dr. Blinksalot did my ultrasound. I took that opportunity to ask her what she thought about transferring all the embryos. Needless to say, she didn’t think much of it, but made a “compromise” and said we could look at transferring 4 instead of 3. Pfffffft. I tried to explain that it seemed like a waste to save any embryos for a FET. If they are going to make it, their best chance is fresh; plus why should I go through the expense of thawing them and then not being able to transfer them. Sure, they didn’t make it as embicycles before so they probably wouldn’t have made it fresh, but nothing sucks more than getting your hopes up only to have them float off like burning embers: all aglow in the night only cool off and crumble to soot.

We’ve changed our protocol just a little. Instead of taking 450IU of repronex 1x/daily, we are going to try 225 in the morning and 225 in the evening to see if a more evenly distribution will get me some more eggs. For those of you who didn’t keep track the last time (like, who would?), 10 were retrieved; 9 fertilized; 3 transferred; and 3 qualified for freezing.

My goal this time is not necessarily getting more eggs, and not even a positive beta. I’ve had that and apparently it actually doesn’t mean shit. This time I want a positive beta that I can completely stress about for 16 weeks, since that gets me past the stage I lost Baby May, and hope by that time any baby would figure they may as well stick around for at least another 16. That’s a lot of toilet paper to be compulsively checking…

Personal (by association) factoid: Mr. DD was born in Baltimore.

No. 142 - Finger Pointing

2006-03-29T14:19:00.000-08:00

Mr. DD and I had a little brouhaha last night. It neither involved Brew and most certainly no Ha-Ha. It started when he made some snippy remark about how much time I spend blogging. I responded with “as much time you spend sitting on your ass watching TV” and it didn’t get better from there.

After X was put to bed and I had calmed down, I asked him if he understood why I blog and what exactly does he think it means to “blog”. He got the first part right, which was to get emotional support, but I had to explain that blogging is more than creating a post and publishing. It’s reading other blogs. It’s supporting others with comments. I explained that not all the blogs I read are infertility related. Blogging satisfies my guilty pleasure of just reading. I don’t have time to get absorbed in a novel.

I then elaborated on the support, which is a HUGE deal to me. Here’s the example I gave him: earlier this week I told Mr. DD that a co-worker announced her pregnancy. I relayed the news in a most matter-of-fact manner. He berated me for sounding “vanilla” about the news. I told him that if I had posted that on my blog, I would be consoled by my Blogtopia friends who would say, “That sucks,” “I’m so sorry, that must really be hard,” or “I’m sure it will be your time soon.” No one is going to tell me, “Gee, you sound so ‘vanilla’. Why can’t you be happy for that person?” but that’s what he did.

When a pregnancy is announced, whether it’s IRL or via a blog post, I AM happy for that person. What a miracle, whether it was hard-won or easily obtained. But…here’s the “But”: I am UNhappy for me. Admittedly, this is a selfish aspect, but let’s just be clear here: I’m not trying to get pregnant to please my boss, my neighbor, my SIL, my church, etc. I’m trying to get pregnant to please ME* and MY* needs and wants. I want 9 months to be selfish. I have years to be altruistic. And seriously, I haven’t gone through two IUIs and soon two IVFs; the related bloodletting and cootercams; and put over 4,400 RE-related miles on my car this winter because I’m trying to improve my state’s economy.

I then went on a tear-filled rant: how guilty I feel for losing the baby; how every night for that first year I thought of Baby May; why do we have to go through all this treatment shit when it was so easy with X; why I’m expected to be happy for everyone and not have a moment to feel sorry for myself; and finally I asked him doesn’t he ever feel guilty that we’re not pregnant.

“Why would I feel guilty?” he asks.

You could’ve knocked me over with the breeze from a blink.

“Because of your sperm,” I answered without trying to sound accusatory or hysterical.

“I haven’t seen any proof that it’s me.”

How could he say that when with each IUI, Dr. Samelastnameasme would tell me, “Oooh, DD, Mr. DD’s sample’s not looking so hot.” Oh, that’s right. She was just telling me. Relaying that little bit of conversation to Mr. DD did not qualify as a tentative diagnosis. Not even when we met with Dr. Blinksalot prior to our first IVF who explained that the sperm samples had been so poor that we would have to do ICSI. No open-swim in the Petri dish for his little guys. To him, that was just small talk.

I was beyond livid. “Do you think all of this has been because of ME?” I asked. No, that’s not it at all. He just feels that if we have done everything we could and the RE has done everything she could, and the end result is a pile of shit, then no one is to blame.

“Well I think…” *blink blink*

“That’s just…” *blink blink*

I was speechless, spent. Because he’s right. No one is to blame, so there is nothing to feel guilty about. It’s not like I missed a stim dose one night, or he missed the cup, or the RE was drunk. We ALL did what we thought was best at that time.

He then went on to tell me that I am not the only one hurting through all this. The other day he had to go into the attic and he said there were all these little reminders of what was…and what could be: plastic tubs full of baby clothes, the changing table, bassinet, diaper pail, etc. He aches each time he walks into the new house and has to go by that front bedroom, recalling our plans. He catches himself each time I seemingly casually mention the “baby’s room.” He’s hurting, too, but he says sometimes I’m just so wrapped up in being sad and – ultimately – angry, that he just tries to get through the day without a confrontation.

Lastly, he pointed something out that I’ve always known in the back of my head. For all of us who are trying for that pregnancy and rooting each other on, it’s statistically impossible that it will happen for every single blogger who’s trying…and WE could very well be the ones it just doesn’t happen for.

If so, I will have to try really hard to remember no one is to blame.

*ME and MY also means US or OUR.

Personal factoid: X was conceived March 21, 2001.

No. 141 - Nurse Robbi

2006-03-28T08:56:00.000-08:00

Well, I called my clinic and spoke to a Nurse Robbi. Never have talked to her. Not sure I want to again.

I explained I took my last BCP Saturday p.m. and still no spotting/bleeding.

"We usually give it 4-5 days. If it hasn't started by Friday, you should probably come in."

'Scuze me? By tomorrow’s end it will have been 4 days. If it doesn't start tomorrow, I will be coming IN Friday, whether they want me to or not (I'd come in Thursday, but I have a ton of meetings that I can't miss).

Job requirement for any RE clinic’s staff is that they should have had to struggle with infertility at one time or another in their lives. The current staff acts as if we women are all a bunch of whiney ninnies and I will be sure to say so the next time I see Dr. Blinksalot. A little respect for my raw, frazzled, and fucked up nerves, thank you. That will keep me from spontaneously kicking you in the mouth at my next ultrasound or screaming uncontrollably while you try to draw my blood.

Bitch.

Personal factoid: I am petrified of crickets (no offense, Cricket). The big, black, crunchy crickets.

No. 140 - Nutshell

2006-03-27T19:00:00.000-08:00

Since I don't have anything terrribly interesting to write, I thought I would answer some of your questions, (which in many cases were related to my "Personal Factoids" and not the actual post linked) even if you thought you were asking them hypothetically. Plus, I asked for your help and assvice in some matters and nothing makes me crazier than someone who asks for your opinion and then never lets you know what was decided...

These are in no particular order:

I still have not found a replacement for the discontinued eye concealer. Clinique still makes the product, they just don't make that particular color any more. I'm still scraping what I can out of my little compact, but during a trip to the Metro I picked up a concealer from Darphin. The jury's still out.

The pumps I bought? I haven't had the occassion to wear them, with all the recent snow and everything, so they have sat in the box this past week. Just for shits and giggles I checked out B.R.'s website and the damn things are now on sale. Guess who is going to return them and get the difference credited back to my card? If they don't want to do that, I'll just return them for a full refund.

I never wore anything close to formal when playing pool. League and competitive pool is nothing like what you see at the pubs. It's call-pocket (aka gentleman's pool) and lots of potential for penalty shots: one being if anything other than the cue's tip touches any ball on the table it is a foul. Loose clothing, long sleeves, shirt tails, bracelets, long hair, etc., that could potentially touch the ball was a no-no. I stuck to bodysuits. Remember those? We're talking the 80's here, people.

I asked Mr. DD about what he thought about transferring any and all viable embryos fresh. I thought he might have a panic attack since he really thought we were going to have triplets when we transferred three the first time, but once I explained the "what's the point to freezing" theory to him, he was surprisingly receptive and quite agreeable. Now to convince Dr. Blinksalot.

It has been a full 48 hours since my last BCP. No bleeding. Not even a spot.

My grandmother's demise to ether poisoning was during a appendectomy. However, since that was 71 years ago, having that type of surgery was extremely dangerous (even now, general anesthesia is some serious shit). My mother became the proverbial step-child when her father (my grandfather) remarried. She is bitter about the loss of her mother and the addition of step-siblings to this day even though she doesn't have any tangible memories of her mother.

Thank you for easing my concerns over X's personality type. He is not Highly Sensitive per the web-test. It appears it really is due to him being 4. I now have to convince Mr. DD that his son is normal and counseling or assessment is not necessary...unless he's talking about for himself as he really can be quite impatient with X. He's an excellent father, don't get me wrong, but Mr. DD needs to realize that the way his father disciplined him is not going to cut it in this house. He's figuring this out, slowly but surely.

So...that's it in a nutshell. If there's something I missed, let me know right away because as soon as my period starts, you are going to have to deal with CD #blahblah and retrieval blahblah and transfer blahblah and beta blahblah for the next four weeks.

Personal Factoid: I was born in the very building I where I currently work almost 39 years ago.

No. 139 - Eggshells

2006-03-26T13:32:00.000-08:00

There are these moments - sometimes they flicker through my head like lightning bugs; other times they can last all weekend weighing me down like lead socks - where I worry about X and how his future will play out because of his disposition.

He was a great baby. Sure there was the colic during weeks 3-8 that would "inspire" me to call Mr. DD who was on a pool league during that time and demand that he play all his games and COME HOME AT ONCE! I cringe when I think how the other guys must have thought how terribly henpecked Mr. DD was as I'm sure he didn't give them the impression he was pussywhipped. Other than those few weeks, X was mellow, calm, observant - a perfect foil for two high-strung and worrisome first-time parents. I attributed this blooming personality to his father.

But as X went through his third year and most recently his 4th birthday, I began to worry. He is of "delicate nature," which is how I describe his particularly foul moods. We find ourselves tiptoeing around him when he is noticeably on edge, tired, crabby...I believe the technical term to describe this particular personality is "A Pill." For example, getting him a glass of milk is not as simple as getting a glass and pouring in milk. It has to be THE Glass. And, THE Glass may not be THE Glass that it was yesterday. Plus, there may be more than one of the same exact glass and so it became a crap shoot in which we must either guess which one is THE Glass or to not let X see where the glass was pulled from.

Now we have THE Glass. It's time to get out the milk. If for some reason we had purchased 1/2 gallon cartons of milk because of a sale, instead of selecting from only 2 1-gallon milk cartons, there may be 4 1/2-gallons in the fridge. Gd forbid you pick the wrong one. Again, the key was to not let him see which one he is getting.

Ok, now we have 1 glass? Check.
We have milk? Check.
We fill up the glass, right? Nope. There is a certain level that the milk must reach in THE Glass before it meets muster. And let's not even talk about what color or how many straws there must be for that particular glass of milk.

I think I have made my point.

I tell Mr. DD that this display is normal. It's part of being a 4 year old. It's him wanting to establish his autonomy, but in my heart I silently worry. It's exhausting. It's frustrating. I wonder what I did, what we did, to find our mellow baby replaced with a high-strung, high-maintenance preschooler. My initial assessment that he had acquired his father's temperament has been replaced by the concern he has taken after mine.

Personal factoid: My maternal Grandmother died of ether poisoning when my Mom was 3 years old.

No. 138 - Oh. My. G*d

2006-03-24T07:03:00.000-08:00

I am speechless.

I am repulsed.

“The ‘ideal’ model for Pro-Life”?

“…her decision of placing family before career.”?

“…’water retentive’ hands.”?

The figure has reference to her pole-dancing?

This has got to be your finest hour, Pro-Lifers. I think you are on to something here. In fact, I have a brilliant suggestion: instead of having 2 or 3 year old children lining the sides of busy streets and highways holding placards of dead fetuses, you should create several replicas of this and have those children straddle her back and parade this up and down the street.

Yes, it’s fucking brilliant…and I guess I wasn’t completed speechless, but am still greatly repulsed.

No. 137 - This Post Has Nothing To Do With Weight

2006-03-23T19:18:00.000-08:00

Hey! Guess what? Did ya'll know that I'm doing a 2nd IVF? Yep. No kidding. So I thought I'd give you an update.

I have TWO more BCP to take. It's nice not having PMS symptoms so my body doesn't know I'm planning a covert operation that will leave my uterus rocking in my upcoming period's wake.

I suddenly realized earlier this week that the hair cut and color I was putting off until sometime next month HAD TO BE DONE NOW! Ack! And my hairstylist is never available last minute. Double Ack! Minor miracle, she has an opening next Tuesday. I'll probably be on CD1 or 2 and not yet starting my stims.

I'm not on Lupron. My RE is into the Antagon, which is taken on approximately CD9 through 11.

My next acupuncture appointment is this Saturday. I'm hoping for some type of reaction to the treatment other than "eh".

At the earliest, we could do a transfer on April 8th, which happens to be Mr. DD's birthday. Of course there are some mixed feelings there. I've lost 6 unrelated months to miscarriages; due dates that never happened; and ART failure anniversaries. I really don't want his birthday to be trumped by The Transfer That Turned to Shit, II.

I've also been seriously contemplating transferring any and all viable embryos in lieu of just the 3 or 4 best and freezing any remaining. Based on our last IVF and subsequent (almost) FET, if there's one good embryo, why not give it the best chance and place it fresh? On the flip side, we miraculously get 5 good embryos that all decide to implant (oh, stop, you're killing me!), I am fully prepared to not only consider, but follow through with selective reduction. Think what you may because the likelihood of that happening is next to nil.

So, there you go. The crib notes for IVF #2. Nothing really exciting. In fact, I'm still waiting for the adrenaline to kick in. I occasionally catch myself fantasizing about this one not only working, which the last one "technically" did, but actually resulting in me bitching about how much it sucks to be pregnant for 8 more months. I'm hoping it's not just crazy talk this time.

Personal factoid: I have one brother and four sisters. I'm the 5th child.

No. 136 - Blog Housekeeping

2006-03-22T20:07:00.000-08:00

Oh, Blogger, you Royal Piece of Crap. Free that you are, you are causing me undo gray hairs and wrinkles. If only you could use your power for good instead of evil...*sigh*.

I had a nice (I can say "nice" as I am the only one who has seen it and therefore I really am entitled to my own opinion) post, but it is sitting in Draft form. The pictures I wanted to post with it just wouldn't load. *grumble, grumble, pieceofbloggercrap, grumble*

So, I set up one of those Fluckr accounts, just to see how much more computer jargon I can totally confuse my little self with. It's over there on the right, you just have to scroll down since this is a short post.

Any advice from anyone who has one of these accounts would be appreciated. And BTW, for you girls who visit often (or even those guys who just stumbled through by googling "DD Boobs" or "where does term knocked up come from") should go stick a pin in my map while you're perusing my Fo-Toes.

Personal factoid: I graduated with a BS without incurring any student loans or debt by going to a state college, getting scholarships and enrolling into work study programs.

No. 135 - Order Up!

2006-03-21T14:01:00.000-08:00

I have issues with food. No, not the kind that inspires one to feed their face and then expel the contents into the nearest toilet; nor that other thing that makes some not eat anything and exercise like a crazed fiend. Seriously, if you knew me really well, you would know that exercise is a dirty, dirty word and vomiting on purpose? I mean, really? Ugh.

My Mom told me that everyday before I went to Kindergarten (when kids actually only went half a day in the afternoons), I would have a hot dog for lunch. A hot dog! Everyday during the school year! Now, on the very rare occasion when nothing else is to be found in the house, I will stoop to eating a hot dog with X. I try not to think about it.

I also will not eat Jell-O. You know what is in Jell-O, don’t you? Gelatin. If you love Jell-O, don’t google this. To me, that’s worse than a hot dog.

I struggle with bacon. I will eat it at home if Mr. DD makes it because he knows that it has to be fried for so long that if he was to drop a slice on the floor, it would shatter like Waterford crystal. At restaurants, they don’t seem to understand that when I instruct that I would like my bacon to be crispy, that I really mean “burnt beyond recognition.”

Cheese is a tough one. I will never understand why anyone thinks shredded cheddar on a tossed salad is a good idea. Yes, I do love pizza, but not CHEESE pizza. If I can’t successfully pull a slice of melted cheese off a cheeseburger, I will still eat it, but begrudgingly. But, ooh! how I love queso dip with chips. And spinach or artichoke is only tolerable when encased in cheese. But, when X wants just a slice of that pre-wrapped cheese? I shudder with revulsion with first the cold sensation in my hands, then the smell? It’s nearly too much. I will hand over the slice to X’s outstretched and eager hands as if handing over a rat’s carcass.

Here’s a biggie: Nuts. Any kind of nut. They are a bane, and anyone who is willing to ruin a good pan of brownies, carrot cake, fudge, or any desert and sweet by adding nuts to the mix is…well…nuts. Why? A nut is just a tiny chunk of fat and protein. So is hamburger. You wouldn’t add browned hamburger to your brownies, now would you? Exactly. This aversion goes all the way back to my childhood. My Mom would have to create two batches for every type of Christmas candy she made: one with nuts; one without. And if I am particularly desperate for some chocolate, say for example a Hershey’s bar and the only kind left in the vending machine is the one with almonds? I pick out the almonds. I feel a little shorted as those almond pieces take up maybe 15% of the total bar, but for chocolate, I’d do just about anything.

It wasn’t until I met Mr. DD that I ever had steak. Sure, I grew up on a farm, but it was too expensive to have what was last week my pet steer now become our evening meal for the next few weeks. I don’t know at what point after meeting Mr. DD that I started eating steak (his family is a rabid bunch of beef-eaters: the bloodier the better), but I would have to have it so well done, that you could tell when our order had been turned in when you heard, “What the fuck is this!” come out of the kitchen. I’ve graduated to medium-well over the years.

I find some irony in my attitude towards beef when you take a look at the chicken. Innocuous little thing, eh? We raised chickens, too, on our farm. It was a family event to go out to the coop where Dad would wring the heads off 4 chickens, and the three youngest girls, which included me, would pluck the feathers off the headless bodies after Mom gave them a dipping in boiling water – to help loosen the quills, while the dogs would crunch away on the heads. Later that night, there would be a fight for the fourth heart with Mom usually trumping us all and popping it into her mouth with a smug look on her face. Today, my chicken has to be skinless, boneless and almost indistinguishable from which part it is in order for me to eat it. And don’t even think about including any “bits” or “pieces.”

My tastes have “matured” over the years as far as variety. As for the ability to not poke or grimace as I inspect every plate of food ever to be placed in front of me to determine its edibility? That’s pretty immature, don’t you think?

It’s your turn: now’s the time to share some of your food oddities.

Personal factoid: My Zodiac sign is Cancer.

No. 134 - Joie

2006-03-20T16:21:00.000-08:00

Some questionable symptoms have turned into crappy news over at Joie's. If you haven't been by, please take a moment to do so.

Personal factoid: I hate the events that lead to this kind of post. Not really a "factoid", but who would dispute it?

No. 133 - It Was a Good Day

2006-03-19T09:37:00.000-08:00

I don't get many "good" days. And I mean "good" in that the day stands out in contrast to my otherwise uneventful days, which may or may not be peppered with moments of shitiness. I was out of the house on time and my two hour drive literally became a blink as I spent an hour and a half of that on the phone speaking with a very lovely friend. We're very different, but have so much in common. You know the kind of friend I'm talking about, right?

I was only a couple minutes late for my acupuncture appt due to my unwillingness to get off the phone and call the clinic to get more specific directions. Thankfully, I only needed to be across the street from the parking lot I was circling. The appt itself was rather uneventful: she (Annod, her "name" for future reference) reviewed the paperwork I had miraculously remembered to bring with me; she asked detailed questions about my upcoming cycle; and then Annod asked me to take off my socks and shoes and get on the table, face up.

I have to admit, I had no idea what to expect. I assumed that I would have to strip down to my skivvies and be scrutinized mercilessly and then get turned into a human pincushion. Thankfully, no. Once on the table, she wanted to me to slip my jeans down past my hips so that there was access to my abdomen and then she cuffed my jeans to access my shins. Then, without any warning, one needle was popped into the area between my eyebrows (I'm hoping that was to prevent future unibrows). One to the very top of my head to which every facial movement was felt through; a needle in each hand, and several in the abdomen and feet. After placing a heat lamp over my stomach, "to help with blood flow" and one over my feet to keep from getting cold, she turned out the lights and said she would be back in about 25 minutes. Within a few minutes I had actually dozed off and woke up about 15 minutes later. A little after that she came back, removed the needles and basically sent me on my way.

Now I don't know what I expected to feel after my appt, but to feel...well...nothing, was not it. I guess since I didn't feel worse that everything was OK. I'll be back next Saturday.

I met up with another friend for lunch...a THREE HOUR lunch! We're both going through our 2nd IVF treatments and at the same clinic. We freely cut the bitchy nurses; rolled our eyes at the sometime conflicting info our REs would give us; and talked about babies' names. Unfortunately, we both had errands/shopping to get done so we went our separate ways.

I hit a couple of my fave shopping areas and I bought 4 pairs of shoes. ...Goodness, I heard your collective gasps from here! Give me some credit. 2 pair were mine, 2 were for X. I'll tell you that there is a huge advantage to having a boy over a girl, and that is the requisite shopping for clothing. In the winter he gets by on a pair of tennies and snow boots; in the summer, a new pair of tennies and sandals. What sucks is that to help balance out his big, honkin' melon head, he acquired very wide and high-arched feet. No PayLess shoes will be in his future, and we finally were able to graduate from Stride Rites to New Balance.

I was in such a good mood that I even screwed up the courage to go visit Mr. DD's niece and their new baby and bring a welcome-baby gift over. I was rather impressed with myself. When I held the baby to introduce myself, I didn't feel at all weepy and melancholy. That's when I realized it was her pregnancy that I was envious of. It's anyone's pregnancy I am envious of and I feel the saddest when I see a woman in an obvious state of being knocked up.

So my day was good. I learned something about myself, and it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. I got to laugh with some friends. And the snow that they had threatened? It didn't start until early this morning so the drive home was pleasantly uneventful. I'm just a little bummed that I've either gotten shorter or jeans have gotten longer. Damn, I hate trying on clothes.

Personal factoid: I never wear a watch.

No. 132 - Wrapping up the Week

2006-03-17T12:57:00.000-08:00

Just some points of interest in our current endeavors (because I know you were all just dieing to know!):

Project A: New House

Install porch and deck railing
Pick out shelf rock for façade
Order new plumbing fixtures (because stupid plumber allowed for the cheapest shit I have ever seen in my life)
Pick out and order lighting (without husband whining about every nickel and dime)
Pick exterior color (without offending X who desperately wants us to paint it purple AND green)
Install interior trim and doors
Install flooring
Install lighting
Install cabinets/counters
Install plumbing fixtures
Paint exterior
Install rock
Pour patio
Complete lane
Hold back urge to kill husband (who would install a round-a-bout, if I let him)

Project B: Old House

Move all crap out of garage to new shop building
Move all crap from basement to new shop building
Move all remaining miscellaneous crap to new shop building
Hire professional cleaners to clean the house as it’s never been cleaned before
Get house listed on market
Hold back urge to kill husband (who thinks he needs to paint the garage floor)

Project C: Baby

Order PIO
Open box of drugs that arrived two days ago to make sure it is indeed the Antagon and HCG
Enjoy acupuncture appointment Saturday (and hope that the 22” of snow that has been predicted doesn’t show until I get home from The Metro)
Wait patiently for Repronex to show from London
Take last BCP a week from Saturday
Remain mentally positive (and stop daydreaming about this IVF working and getting pregnant with a boy AND a girl)
Hold back urge to kill husband (who AGAIN asked me if I was sure I want to have another baby after a particularly nasty row with X)

Personal Factoid: My middle name is Lynn.

No. 131 - The Bottom Line

2006-03-16T07:44:00.000-08:00

I heard about this website this morning on my way to work. The average woman is worth $1.6M. I am worth a little over $1.4M. My diminished value appears to be due to my age; having a cup size less than DD; and being no more than “average” in most of the categories.

I can’t complain too much as it was through another website that I found out my blog is worth…well, it’s literally worth-LESS. Boo-hoo. I’m guessing it’s because I don’t have all the advertisements and what not. It appears the old adage “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure” applies to more than just estate auctions and garage sales, eh?

So fess up. What are YOU worth?

Factoid #3 – I grew up on a small, family-owned dairy farm.

No. 130 - Musical Taste...or Lack Thereof

2006-03-15T09:37:00.000-08:00

Should I be worried that there is something wrong with me when every time I hear James Blunt sing “You’re Beautiful”, I desperately wish to gouge out my eardrums with an ice pick?

And if you don’t think that makes me a freak, what if I told you I really am digging Prince’s new single off his 3121 album, “Black Sweat”?

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

As for the “glorious poops” from yesterday’s post, I was paraphrasing. It’s just that there were a ton of questions about bowel movements, menstrual flow, and other bodily functions. Because really, how would one define “stupid people” in the other question? On any given day, everyone around me fits that definition. No, I’m not that smart. I’m just that easily agitated.

Factoid #2 - I was State Champion in the Nebraska State Games for Women's Billiards in 1993.

No. 129 - Unintentional References to B.M.

2006-03-14T11:57:00.000-08:00

As I was placing my drug order for the Repronex (which is the stim we use since Gonal F and Follistim are cost-prohibitive) for the upcoming IVF#2, I realized I didn’t seem to be feeling the same mix of excitement and dread that I did back in December. I even went back to my archived posts and re-read all of December’s and January’s. Besides nearly passing out from boredom as I went through them, I got such a weird detached feeling from all of it…as if it happened years ago and to someone I barely knew. That girl was so ignorant. She really seemed to think that IVF#1 was going to be IT didn’t she?

My first appointment with the acupuncturist is Saturday. She sent me all the prelimary paperwork to complete and bring with me. It consisted of several pages of statements that you answered with to what degree you would agree or disagree. “I have wondrous and glorious poops.” (Strongly disagree) “I am easily irritated by stupid people” (strongly agree). I really don’t care about the paperwork, just please, lord, make her someone I can tolerate.

I’m feeling like a bad blogger. Not the posting part, necessarily, as I know there’s a whole set of issues there. It’s the commenting. I don’t know what to say anymore that I haven’t said before. It sucks that so many are feeling defeated or in a schlump. And for those who are excited that they are on a new cycle with new possibilities, I have to squelch my first instinct to post a turd-in-a-punchbowl comment, and I have to admit I don’t think I’ve been very successful. Let me say I’m sorry…you know who you are.

Speaking of Turds In A Punchbowl: Mr. DD’s niece had her baby. A girl. That’s not the “turd” part. I think SIL is now pissed because in trying to find out what they are going to call her for short, I used the wrong name. I told Mr. DD that I swear that was the name he told me. Long story, short, I used the name of his other sister’s daughter that she lost in infancy. Yep, feel free to cringe on my behalf.

I’m going to start something new, for me anyway, with my posts. As you saw from the title, I am now going to number them since somewhere along the way I posted #100 and didn’t even know it. Plus, to close, I will post some piece of trivia about me:

Factoid No. 1 – I’m 5’ 6 ½” tall, but I always tell people I’m 5’ 7”.

Walkies*

2006-03-11T19:13:00.000-08:00

Not by any stretch of the imagination would I ever be considered for Mother of the Year (or Month, Day, Hour, ad nauseum), nor would I want to. I mean, think of the pressure to outperform yourself the next time if you were considered the Wonderful now! I just don't have that kind of drive.

Aside from the times I like to either threaten X that I will nail his shoes to his feet if he "takes them off one.more.time" when we go on errands; or asking if he wants to take a Ho-Ho/Pepsi break with me at 10 minutes to bedtime, I think I'm doing an O-K job. And let's not consider the ten month period after he started walking where he was rarely seen in public without one, if not two, prominent bruises on his forehead due to the propensity he had in letting his big ole' melon head capsize him into the nearest solid surface, as I consider that my "gimme".

So when I saw this type of thing on a child during today's trip to a museum, I really had to wonder at the parenting competency level around me. I fervently wanted to give the care-giver the benefit of the doubt as my sister had to use one when she traveled Internationally with her 6 month and 2 year old...alone...with layovers in London, New York and Chicago. I made fun of her, but realized that she had to not only juggle her two children, but the carry-on luggage for herself and the kids (3 months stay in the States = lots of luggage), and an infant carrier.

When I first saw the girl wearing the harness, it appeared grandma was the one holding the leash. OK, so grandma is one of those overly protective type and the kid's mom figures what-the-heck since no one will know it was her kid on the leash. Wrong. Apparently, it was a family outing: grandma, mommy, and girl. OK...so maybe it's because bringing a stroller can be rather cumbersome and she doesn't want her traipsing off into Indian Artifact exhibit and tearing apart a head-dress or eating moon rocks. Oops. Nope. Museum lends out strollers...for free. And then get this! Along comes grandpa, pushing a double-stroller and holding a baby. So, now you're telling me that three physically-able adults (grandparents weren't much into their 50's) do not have the attention span and necessary coordination to take care of two small children, one of which could only escape by either rolling or even possibly army-crawling her way out of sight and the other just barely tottling? Can you imagine the chaos that ensues when just ONE of these people has to go to take a piss?

X did not seem to take much notice of the dog show (sans *Barbara Woodhouse). He was too busy trying to stick his finger in the pencil sharpener in the activity center or slurping the water that had pooled in the drinking fountain because the drain was clogged with sunflower seed husks...swear.to.god.

Heartache

2006-03-10T13:55:00.000-08:00

You know how you want so badly for someone to have a positive beta after an IVF that you obsessively check their website, just in case Bloglines (or whatever referral system you use), is defunk? And then when you see there is indeed a new post, your heart beats really hard and fast in anticipation (or even dread), and then you read that someone else heart’s been broken…again? It’s happened. Mary Scarlet’s 3rd IVF’s beta was negative.

I hate this. I hate how IVF, the ultimate in reproductive scientific technology, can crush us, our hearts, our hopes, our dreams, into dust. I hate that it makes me selfishly doubt my own chances. I hate how it makes my heart thump in my chest with dread.

I hate this.

My Eyes Have Not Seen The Glory

2006-03-09T08:21:00.000-08:00

I want to thank Clinique personally for discontinuing my fave undereye concealer, City Cover, Compact Concealer, SPF 15, 03 City Light Pink. I'd also like to thank Hereditary, Father Time, Mother Nature, and Insomnia (and a nod to poor skin-care regimen in my 20's) for taking the "dark, smoky eye" look just a little too far on me.

You bastards.

I am literally scraping out the last vestiges of creamy gold from the compact. My dear friend who lives up by St. Paul, MN even went to the outlet there and *gasp*, not even the stock taken from the department stores has been delegated to this last venue.

I would spend my last IVF nickel on finding a suitable replacement product that successfully covers the dark pigment under my eyes, but doesn't make me look like a raccoon in the negative. Any suggestions?

Support

2006-03-08T11:37:00.000-08:00

I’m taking some liberties here, but I would like you to all stop by Demeter’s Loss and wish her support on her decision, which has got to be as heartbreaking as hell, but no one ever needs to be harmed in anger – regardless of the severity. I just don't want her to feel alone in this situation. We all know the Power of Positive Comments.

“Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.”
Isaac Asimov, Salvor Hardin in "Foundation"US science fiction novelist & scholar (1920 - 1992)

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Bitchy

2006-03-07T07:33:00.000-08:00

I have turned into a stark raving lunatic bitch (more so than usual). Case(s) in point? I very nearly took X’s head off Sunday when trying to get him to get dressed for church. At 4 years old, he still gives us that, “I can’t do it…” whine when getting dressed that I, when in my Good Mom mood, try to turn into a game to how fast can we get dressed. Instead, X must have only noticed how my eyes had rolled into my head which may or may not have been spinning. In short, I think I freaked him out a bit.

My SIL’s 18 year old cat died this past weekend. When neither she nor her husband could bear the emotional toll to dispose of said kitty with the vet, my husband was made honorary coroner and had to keep said carcass in the back of his truck overnight. I was pissed because SIL and her husband did not have someone come in over the weekend while they were gone with their precious Golden Lab (a pussy if ever there was one in a dog) to give Dead Cat his thyroid medicine. If anything, the Lab should be taken out, Soprano style, for being no more than a waste of a good fur coat.

I have thrush. Only babies get thrush, you say? Oh no. Adults who use corticosteroids (Adv@ir) also get thrush if they are not diligent in rinsing. For those of you lucky enough not to know what thrush is, it’s a yeast infection of the mouth. Oh yeah, pucker up baby.

Then the icing on the cake is the prednis0ne that I had to start taking on Saturday for the URI. Only for 5 days mind you, but it has finalized the transformation that is the Mr. Hyde in me. I’m not sleeping due to the nervousness and restlessness. The thrush prevents me from getting that bitter pill washed down with the first swallow of water so I’m left with such a taste in my mouth I nearly gag.

So for the next week or so, make sure you lock up your puppies or kitties to ensure I don’t use them for Punt, Pass and Kick practice.

How I Measure Time

2006-03-04T16:22:00.000-08:00

There's always a certain amount of introspection that comes from being faced with life's little curveballs, which in my immediate case is infertility. We frequently find ourselves living with personal deadlines and anniversaries, whether it's from week to week, cycle to cycle, month to month and unfortunately, year to year. I myself have found myself at a different kind of "milestone," if you will, that signifies the time and emotion that we have poured out and into getting pregnant, (preferably for a whole 9 months this next time, please).

As most of us know, Suz courageously gave birth to two very special and healthy boys. While I couldn't be happier for her and George, for they went through Hell with almost every step: the defective HPTs; the shared placenta; the mandatory bed rest; and finally the Drop Foot, I can't help but feel some melancholy as well. You see I specifically remember this post, which was before I ever started my own blog. I was there when Suz got knocked up and I was there when she delivered the twins (obviously in a virtual sense in both events). Realizing the time that has passed for me as measured by someone's conception to birth, it forces me to face up to the fact I am in this for the long haul. I didn't want to be. I certainly never imagined I would be here, still not pregnant more than a year after losing Baby May, and certainly no closer to our goal in the time it took for a fellow well-deserving, and beautiful blogger to go through a (near) term pregnancy.

I am supposed to start my BCP tomorrow. Today I made sure that this is what Mr. DD really wanted to do as opposed to adoption. I figured since he had originally dreamed of having three children that maybe an international adoption of a sibling set would meet - and exceed - all of our dreams. We would have a full house. We could possibly not only have a baby, but a toddler as well that could neatly fit into the age-gap between X and a baby. I wouldn't have to feel little bits of my heart chip away like I do now when X sadly tells me that he has no one to play with when we pick him up from day care. But that's a fantasy that will never come to light. Mr. DD's male ego, and understandably so, is firmly entrenched into any children we have would be biological. There is no negotiation in this matter and I believe I can accept this.

We also discussed what would happen if IVF#2 failed. My gut response was that I would keep going until we had another baby, but I know that I could not mentally go more then 3 fresh-cycle tries. I told myself a year ago that I couldn't justify continuing to try after I turned 40, which will be next July. I can only hope, pray, beg that the whole issue of a third IVF will be moot.

To that end, I will make sure that I do what I can to improve our chances. I finally obtained some steroids and antibiotics so I can shake the pesky upper respiratory infection that wore out its welcome a week ago. I've scheduled some sessions with an acupuncturist, who will insure that I have the recommended sessions immediately before and after the transfer, regardless of any crazy-ass time that we get scheduled for. If I could, I would postpone the preparation our house needs to get listed for sale by the end of March, but that's not possible. Even though the contractor has not given us anything definite, I am guessing that we will have a move in date as soon as May. These particular details cannot be conducive to relieving outside stressors, but knowing they're there is half the battle.

I guess Time will indeed tell.

False Start

2006-03-02T07:33:00.000-08:00

I don't know why, but I don't know if I would be more disturbed seeing this on a baby or this on a pregnant woman.

Maybe I'm just jealous because right now I have no reason to buy either one. *sigh*

Remember how I thought Monday was CD1? Nope, TODAY is CD1. Yesterday I was beginning to think that maybe the spotting was implantation! G*d, I'm delusional. Since today has confirmed that indeed I am on a new cycle, I called my RE and requested our calendar for the next several weeks. Oh joy. Oh rapture. Oh shit...?

Besides, the Funnel Cakes are stale; I've got a Beer buzz; and Mr. DD was getting tired of not winning any of the Carnival's other booby prizes, so we will get back on our little Merry-Go-Round and take another stab at the Brass Ring...and cross our fingers that Hope won't screw up and throw us a set of Brass Knuckles instead.

Forward, sl-HO?

2006-03-01T11:07:00.000-08:00

I am home from work today due to sleep deprivation and an unrelenting migraine. I am still suffering through the bronchitis and have even taken several nebulizer treatments. The coughing gets so bad that I'm sure that my frontal lobe will shoot out my eyes. Never mind my abs and chest. They are now as taut as a 17 yr old volleyball player's. Plus X woke at 10:45pm from a nightmare and so I ended up with a sleeping mate whose movements could only be compared to a 40lb beached minnow.

I told Mr. DD last night that I wanted to talk about our plans. He replied he had something to tell me as well. "This does not bode well," I think to myself (as maestro starts playing the minor key off-stage...).

As most of you know, Mr. DD has a niece, J, who is about to give birth anyday to her first baby. This is the same niece whose Baby Shower's date coincided with the end of our IVF chemical pregnancy so I excused myself from attending. Side note: I never did receive a thank-you card for the gifts. I mentioned it to Mr. DD's sister, J's mother, to which she appropriately oozed dismay at the quality of our mail system. Yeah. Right.

It appears that Mr. DD's oldest niece, M, in her early 30's, has formally announced her pregnancy. I have more empathy for M and her husband's plight, as we had talked about getting pregnant after our beachhouse trip to S. Carolina August 2004. I was the one who got pregnant...with Baby May, so we all know how that went. They in turn did not. Based on my last conversation with her a couple months ago, it was also Male Factor. The one big "HOWEVER" in this bit of news is that they are due late summer. It appears I was good enough to provide a shoulder to cry on, but not good enough to relay the wonderful news to sooner, and not even directly to. Instead, I was informed by Mr. DD who had to hear it from his sister, M's aunt. Fan-fucking-tastic.

I did put on my happy face when Mr. DD relayed this news as I knew any other response from me would kill any chance for us to logically discuss our own options in the coming weeks. I only expresed my disappointment that his extended family now thinks I will go postal with every Baby-Related Event since the news had to be filtered through three other people. However, I must have made a good impression as he was almost near tears when I told him that I was so thrilled and happy for M.

Later, I approached The Subject regarding our baby pursuits. Using the advice from earlier's post, I addressed the time concern. I tried to stay calm. I tried not to cry. I tried not to argue why this "trying on our own" bullshit was for the birds. Even though I wasn't 100% successful with all of those intentions, he has agreed to move forward with IVF#2. I learned something very surprising and important from our conversation last night, and you may think I am a complete idiot when I tell you what they were as I had asked him something I have never asked before: does he want another baby.

How crazy is that?! I guess I have been the one pushing for this Baby from day 1. I didn't even know if he was truly part of that dream or if he had the desire. Sure he went to the appointments...when he HAD to. He gave me the shots, because he HAD to. But did he WANT to? It appears the answer is "yes". Not only does Mr. DD want to have another baby, but he was really hoping before our Fertility took a flying leap off the Empire State Building, that we would have TWO more babies.

You will have to imagine how happy, but then how deeply saddened I was by that confession. To know that having a second, healthy child will be difficult. But to have two more healthy children will be impossible (barring the chance of multiples, which is definitely what he does NOT want).

So we move forward. Slowly, because the spotting has stopped. Just...stopped. Sadly, because I now know that we cannot Hope to fulfill all of our dreams, but we are cautiously optimistic that we can at least have one more baby and appreciate that not every dream can come true.

Eloquence

2006-02-28T13:34:00.000-08:00

Shit.

Cycle Day 1.

Fuck.

Any suggestions on how to convice Mr. DD that by me wanting to move to IVF #2 does not, in any way, imply that I am giving up on him?

Damn.

Ka-BOOM!

2006-02-26T11:45:00.000-08:00

There have been posts too numerous to count that touch on the emotions that surround secondary infertility. I don't plan on tackling that quite yet, as that is the type of post that requires more drafting and editing than I normally do with my posts, which are usually typed and posted within the same sitting.

However, I really thought that one of the responses I would get with my last post, which asked (hypothetically) why we wanted more than one child, would be a dressing down by someone who is facing primary infertility. So far that has not happened, but that doesn't mean that one (or more) of you weren't thinking what a selfish hag I am. My response to that? You bet. I am selfish and if I could have it all, I would. I'd have the husband who prefers to be called Doctor DD; I'd have a summer and winter home in places that were always warm and pleasant; and I'd have the 2.5 kids spaced 2.5 years apart. My motto? "It's all about ME!" But that doesn't mean I'm insensitive to your fears, concerns or that I don't celebrate in your achievements. Thank you for doing the same for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Can you believe lately that my imagination is getting the best of me, AGAIN?! I've been pregnant three times (possibly four: positive HPT back in January 2005, but a week later, I tested negative at the OB's when I started bleeding - I didn't do the offered beta test - why bother if I was bleeding heavily?). I thought I learned not to look too early for signals based on my experience from the IVF. I didn't have any of pregnancy signs (nausea, tenderness, fatigue) until after the HPT came back positive. So why am I looking already for clues, especially with how this cycle was literally a shot in the dark? In fact, at the most I'm 10DPO, that's if I even did ovulate, but I have the breast tenderness and my asthma has gotten worse (which it has only done during the last two pregnancies). On the other hand, PMS and my recent bronchitis can account for both those tricks of the mind.

There is only one symptom lately that makes me fairly certain, at least 99% certain, that we could never have gotten so lucky on our first month out of the RE clinic to get pregnant, and that is my recent unabated craving for chocolate. As much as I L.O.V.E. chocolate, the recent desire to consume the bag of Nestle baking chips I have hidden in the pantry, which I've partly already accomplished, has been the tasty death knell of this cycle.

In a weird way, I was really hoping this would work only so Mr. DD and I don't have to sit down and argue each of our sides: his being we need to keep trying on our own; and mine being let's gear up for IVF#2 by starting a cycle of BCP as soon as my period starts next week. That conversation will have all the volatibility of a pack-mule carrying nitro down through the Grand Canyon.

Why Do We Want Two?

2006-02-24T19:18:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I have these thoughts that we shouldn't have another child. Times like the other night when I was trying to get some of the house chores done while Mr. DD worked late. Those are the moments when X literally demands my unwavering attention by pulling on the hem of my shirt and pleading, "Play with me...just for a little bit?" in that toddler whine that makes my ears bleed. I try to explain that I have Responsibilities and Chores, but at 8:00 at night, he is deaf only to the sound of cars crashing; trains chugging; or planes swooshing.

In moments of desperation, much like this recent episode, I try to bribe X with computer time or his V-Tech, just so I can finish cleaning the kitchen. I feel selfish and thoughtless by not being able to pitch the sponge into the sink, tear off the rubber gloves and go have fun on the living room floor. But, it's not always fun. I'm embarrassed and feel like a terrible Mommy, but I don't like to play. It's one of the reasons I "joke" about being lazy. There's truth to that. If he had said, "Mommy, come snuggle next to me on the couch and watch a movie," I would do so without hesitation.

That's why I get these feelings deep in the pit of my stomach that make me question the reasons we are trying so hard for Child #2. If I feel X is capable of making me want to escape to a tropical island, how is it that two children would have the opposite affect or even alleviate some of my urges to escape. Are we trying because outside influences have always expected us to have more than one child? Or are my reasons even more sinister: that I'm looking for a live-in playdate for X so I can get chores done or not hear, "I have no body to play with," for the bazillionth time?

I even think that our infertility woes have been Mother Nature's; God's; Karma's; Fate's way of saying, "We don't think you appreciate and love the one you have now. There's no way I think you could handle two!" Don't say I'm being too hard on myself, because I tell myself the same thing when I'm frustrated beyond fury with X's whining, bed-time delays, and endless streams of, "I can't...!" or "I really wanna...". I get so mad at Mr. X when he looks over the top of X's head during one of his fits to ask me if I'm sure I want another; but I think the reason I get angry is because he is verbally stating what's in the back of my mind, but I'm too chicken-shit to analyze it for fear of discovering something I honestly couldn't bear.

I realize that the stress and depression of the failed ART treatments make the external forces in my environment less tolerable, and I really hope (in a weird way) that Depression is impacting my ability to sweat the small stuff, or make me edgey and bitchy when X starts his bedtime whine (which apparently is when I start my bedtime whine as well, based on this post).

Maybe my biggest concern about having another baby is that I can't answer the question, "Why?" with an enthusiastic, "Because we LOVE babies!" Luckily no one has ever asked us why we want another baby, because I have no clear answers. I only know that for every moment I have with X like from the other night, there are a 100 more that nearly make me drop to me knees with love; like the times he yells "Mommy!" as he runs out the care-giver's door and jumps into my arms; when he laughs from the belly from sheer joy; and when he spontaneously says, "I love you, Mommy." Those are the moments I live for. It's those other, rarer and troubling moments that keep me awake at night.

The Muppet Personality Test

2006-02-24T11:45:00.000-08:00

You Are Dr. Bunsen Honeydew

You take the title "mad scientist" to the extreme -with very scary PINK things coming out of your blog.And you've invented some pretty cool things, from a banana sharpener to a robot politician as well as a link to Acronyms for Dummies.But while you're busy turning gold into cottage cheese, you need to watch out for poor little Beaker!"Oh, that's very naughty, Beaker! Now you eat these paper clips this minute...don't make me come over there and beat you."

The Muppet Personality Test

Thanks to DinoD.

Strip Search

2006-02-24T07:12:00.000-08:00

Not only do Germans apparently love David Hasselhoff, but see this link: http://search.jubii.dk/cgi-bin/pursuit?query=sex+uner+water+couple&cat=loc

Key word search brought my site up under # 5. Bring it on, David!

And be honest with me, I'm a big girl. Am I just boring overall, or are you just waiting to see what happens on the ART front before giving me some blog love. I need some stroking here, people!

Eureka!

2006-02-22T15:46:00.000-08:00

Warning: The Following Post is Fraught with Links

We all know that my incredible talent handling html codes and formatting my blog is BAR NONE! (You smell that? It's sarcasm), but I believe I've finally figured out a way to get one of the major goals I had set out to do accomplished. For those of you who offered their assistance to my plea, "Thank You" and I'm sorry I'm not a very good pupil.

Blogger has a ton of limitations and they are only compounded when you have someone like me looking at the template trying to figure out what I can totally fuck up next. Since I found the keeping up of all my favorite blogs out of my lazy-ass-league, I knew that the maintenance necessary to keep up on the Acronym list would never get beyond the two original links unless someone lit a serious fire under my butt.

So, when I thought about just using a link to bloglines instead of a long list of links to keep it simple (stupid), it suddenly occurred to me last night how I could link to the website that had all the acronyms. But some of the acronyms that need to be on there (PUPO, NBHHY, WTFF, etc.) would never make it past either of those sponsoring website's proper channels for approval. Inspired by some email chatter back and forth with Schmutzie, I created a test blog for a new banner I want to add to this blog, which may not be unveiled until about 2010, but damn it, I'm working on it! Anyhoo, I decided to turn my test blog into a blog that could have the list of all the acronyms we all see, use and do! Aren't you just giddy with excitement?!

Oh...it's just me...never mind.

But really, I know that there are alot of newbies out there who sometimes feel a little left out of the loop until they've made it around the block for a couple of months. I was. Maybe I still am.

Now you can just pop over via the link over to your left called "How to Win Friends and Influence Your RE" and enter my alter-ego blog of logic (har-har). AND, the best part? You can leave a comment with any new acronyms and I can easily update the post. The possibilities are endless.

It's brilliant, don't you see?

Are you picturing me wearing big, black insulated rubber gloves, wringing my hands in psychotic glee with my hair all frazzled out and electricity going through one of those sci-fi orbs in the background?

BTW, I do have comment moderation on at the "How To" site as I would just take the info you give me and add it to the post...unless you would prefer to see who was suggesting what? Just let me know.

Bodily Functions

2006-02-21T16:53:00.000-08:00

I promise, nothing too disgusting even if a title like that conjures up all sorts of ick.

I came down with a cold last week and Friday I stayed home from work. It has progressed into a mild case of bronchitis. This has totally screwed up my ability to sleep soundly if one could call my sleep habits "sound." Normally I would wake a couple times a night for potty breaks and go right back to sleep. But now I wake up at midnight, 3:30ish and again at 6:00, but not necessarily to make a dash to the bathroom. Now I just wake up in a sweat and unable to breath from all the gunk settling in my chest. Once I'm up, the coughing fits start and I get short of breath so then I have to take a couple hits from my inhaler (I'm asthmatic).

If you've never had the pleasure of an albuterol buzz, then I can only describe it to be much like the high you would get downing a gallon of espresso within 15 minutes - not too conduscive to a good night's sleep, but I can usually doze off after an hour or so.

That means any attempts of charting my temp have met the same fate of most of the sputum I have been able to relieve myself of - completely trashed. And the pain! OMG, the pain between the two upper lobes of my lungs when I cough makes me think of the spark or flash one gets when they strike two pieces of flint together. By the time I get over this thing, my abs should sport a 6-pack the Material Girl would be jealous of.

Then there's the other pain I've been having since Saturday. Lower left abdomen. The first time it hit, it took my breath away, and just as quickly the pain was gone. It woke me two different times that first night. Since then it's only struck about once a day. Guess what's going on in my head? I bet you can't. I mean what else would a woman who's taking her first month off from the fertility treatments and making a go of actual baby-making-sex think of when she has those kinds of pain? But they are too painful to be good signs. I'm already thinking "ectopic."

It's probably much too early for any of those thoughts anyway (right?). So, I'll chalk it up to some intestinal glitch and hope over the next few days the pain and the frequency diminish. At least it hasn't gotten worse.

I Sure Know How to Pick 'Em

2006-02-20T17:52:00.000-08:00

Check-out lines, that is.

I went to the grocery store for just a few things. I quickly made out with the "necessities"for breakfast: grapefruit, syrup, pancake mix, blueberry muffins, pudding and a magazine with the rumor of Tom and Kat splitting up (oh, how my heart aches for them...NOT!) and off I headed to the check-out.

I slipped in line with my mini-cart and noticed just a few things from the woman ahead of me still on the conveyor belt and settled in. Too late I noticed the store manager and another supervisor looking over the woman's receipt and at the register and at her check. Backing up and going one line over is not something I like to do. It just screams, "Impatient Bitch" to everyone so I hunkered down and looked through my magazine. I figured if it took long enough I wouldn't have to buy the magazine, right?

Even though management left the checker to his business shortly after I parked my cart, seconds later I catch this question from the customer to the 17 year pimply-faced checker, "Could you tell me what that check number was?" as she propped open her checkbook's ledger section. He stared blankly back at her and quite frankly so did I. Now the customer was not some 130 year old geriatric. Nope, she was probably in her late 40's, trendily dressed with a rather large coiffure.

Before I got top ledger checkbooks, I know I have asked - from time to time - what the amount was again so I wouldn't have to fumble over the receipt later, but she wanted the check number. I was trying to send her a telepathetic message by glaring at the side of her face that the check number would be ONE DOWN FROM THE CURRENT CHECK IN HER CHECKBOOK, STUPID! but she didn't get it. I think the hair had some blocking abilities. Instead, Pimply had to call the manager back over to unlock the register to pull out her check and show it to her.

And get this. She was writing a second check for the rest of the stuff that I had started thinking she didn't want because it was still on the conveyor, and the check was from the same checkbook!

I Am The Best Liar, EVER!

2006-02-19T10:07:00.000-08:00

So, that's all you've learned about me from 6 months of blogging? I'm a myopic, horny lush? Oh, ladies, how you wound me! But, before I get to that, I will mention that even though you think so "highly" of me, I would still split out the powerball winnings with my best be-otches: IVFs all 'round, bartender (to those who want but can't afford, and to the rest, we'll work out something)! Alas, it was not us who purchased the winning ticket(s), not for lack of forking out a couple of bucks over the past week, but just because we could never be that lucky.

Recap of Liar, Liar is as follows: 1. Barfing Blue-Berry; 2. Myopic, Horny Lush (I can't believe you went there!); 3. Cheapo Margo; 4. Private Dancer; and 5. Wee, Wee, Wee All the Way Home. Only one of you "guessed" correctly at the truth, and that was the lovely Suzanne, and that was ONLY because she knew! She slyly came in as the no. 10 commenter with her cleverly disguised guess. Indeed, I was a professional ballroom dancer and instructor.

During my sophomore year at the infamous Nebraska university, I became a disillusioned artist: the classes were too big and the teachers really didn't give a shit if you passed or failed. I flunked out the first semester and decided to find a job instead of going back to school. I was barely 19, but was able to BS my way into a job at a franchised dance studio and was trained in the basics. In the following 4 years (in which I spent more time in 3 1/2" heels than a Vegas cross-dressing hooker - standing on my feet - going backwards), I had moved through the ranks as an instructor for beginners to advanced. I was a supervisor in a couple different studios within the midwest and had the opportunity to compete professionally and in the pro-am (teacher-student) levels. Ironically, the main goal of the studios - for those of you who have never taken lessons - is sales in dance lessons. BIG sales. I had one student who purchased a package that not only included several hundred hours of lessons, but a competition package to Florida. He plunked down $37,000 that day. No shit. I will never forget that student. He had a dour-face, but he was the sweetest man I have ever had the privelage to meet.

In the above pix, I am the one in the pink dress with some of the other instructors and students. The one below is from a regional pro-am and am leading a student through one of our routines.

At 23, I decided that I was not getting any younger (bwahahahahaha!) and decided that being a ballroom instructor was never part of my retirement plan - actually who makes a retirement plan in their 20's? I quit, became a boomerang baby and moved back to Small Town, Nebraska and completed my degree closer to home.

I did entertain for quite a while the possibility of opening my own dance studio here, and was even pursued by an established jazz/ballet studio to provide lessons. The disadvantages were too many: no skilled - or even closely willing - dance partner (Mr. DD who has an excellent ear for music, does NOT have any rhythm) and certainly no time to train a partner; no extra funds; and at the time only a half-dozen or so interested couples.

Almost 20 years later, I still watch the USBC (United States Ballroom Championships) on the public TV channel and I look for familiar faces. Obviously no one I use to know is still competing professionally, but I see them as judges occassionally.

D&ncing with the St&rs? I hate it, but watch it because I like to point out the mistakes to Mr. DD who believes only a coke-head with AADD could move as "fast" as they do with the Cha-cha. I poo-poo it all. "Make them perform Mambo or Vienese Waltz!" is what I say to that noise because those rhythms are more difficult. Really though, I think I watch because I miss it. Every now and then a song comes on the radio and it has the perfect beat for a Rumba, Cha-cha, Foxtrot, etc., and I dance to the song in my head reciting "ticka-ticka", which was how we verbalized the hip-action; or "quick-quick-slo-ow" to remind myself of the timing of a Foxtrot.

Someday, if I ever do win the lottery, I have already decided I would like to become one of those students that any ballroom instructor only dreams about: one with LOTS of money and a little bit of ticka-ticka to make me dangerous.

I also think I've learned something about this particular meme. There are times when you just have to believe in what may seem unbelievable. I will try to keep that in my head (and heart) over the next couple of months.

"Liar, Liar" Meme

2006-02-18T09:13:00.000-08:00

I've only done one or two "memes", so I thought I would give this a try to pass some time. I've seen Liar, Liar before, but I was reminded again of it over at TB's.

The general gist is simple: one of the five statements below is true, the others are tall-tales. I want you to guess which one is true. I will need at least 10 guesses before I reveal the non-fiction statement and any of the details associated with it. I know a few of you that DO know the answer. You can play as long as you don't make it obvious that you really do know which one of these is true.

And guess what? It's really hard to come up with four semi-believable lies that aren't actually based on some truth. Don't believe me? Try it yourself.

When I was a teenager, I won a pie-eating contest at the state fair. As I was accepting my ribbon from the Rodeo Queen, I promptly lost my stomach contents on her fancy white Ropers. There's still a stain on the auditorium's stage floor...it was blueberry pie.
Before Mr. DD and I got married, we had a somewhat social life and would go to the bar on the weekends. One particular evening I had had one (OK, three) too many Colorado Bulldogs, and on a trip back from the ladies room I sat down at a table and started feeling up the guy next to me that I thought was Mr. DD. He was actually at the table one over.
I am very closely related to M&rg Helgen*berger (CSI Veg&s), and when she comes to visit her immediate family who still live in Nebraska, she always stops by our house to visit or take us out to dinner. It's fun, but she usually makes us split the bill.
I was a professional ballroom dancer in my early 20's and competed regionally and nationally. I like to watch D&ncing with the St&rs, but when Mr. DD watches he is just amazed at how intricate the steps are and he doesn't understand that most of it's just basic steps with a couple of kicks here and there.
I lost my pinkie toe in a water-skiing incident a couple of years ago. When I tried to climb up the boat from the back, my foot slipped off the step right into the propeller blades. It was a clean slice through the bone so there was no chance of grafting it back on. I now have a love/hate relationship with flip/flops.

Just Some More House Stuff

2006-02-17T07:57:00.000-08:00

This is where I plan on watching the child(ren-?) play once the deck on the back of the house is installed, which will run the entire length of that wall perpendicular to those 3 columns. The camera view is from the master bedroom and no, the location of the propane tank is not permanent. The house is actually a ranch with walk out basement (you have to have those here in the Midwest).

I also need to decide what color to have the house painted. I like neutrals, but I've seen some beautiful houses that were painted dark colors like blue-gray and spruce-green, so I'm really undecided.

This is the view we will have from said deck.

The GREAT mass-DEBATE-er

2006-02-16T12:09:00.000-08:00

My OB/GYN told us that there was this study done on some navy personnel in order to determine sperm count from day to day. Some of the men were to masturbate daily; others only every other day (poor bastards – must’ve got the short straws). At the end of the study, it was shown that the men who had daily release did not have significantly lower counts than the men who had to endure the torture of 48 hours.

Our RE wanted us to make sure that Mr. DD had complete abstinence for at least 2-4 days before each of our IUIs and the IVF because this helped build up sperm count.

Which of these two theories would you buy into if you were trying to conceive naturally? Since we are getting VERY close to the big O, your opinions would be greatly appreciated.

So…every day or every other day? Yes, I’m talking about S.E.X.

It's Too Early for a Good Title

2006-02-15T05:38:00.000-08:00

Isn’t it a lovely day? If it is then you are living either to the west or east of me…or quite possibly the north or south. And according to CNN, things are just going to be beautiful today compared to this weekend! I hate how they assume that the location of their station is the only place on earth getting weather that deserves air-time, as today is going to be cold and crappy here in Nebraska and we may see some snow before nightfall. Moving on…

If it wasn’t for your encouragement, I would’ve stopped using the OPKs several days ago. But fortified by your spirit, I kept testing; I bought a basal thermometer; I signed up on fertilityfriend.com; and may be the proud owner of a Taking Control book thanks to Oro. Better yet, yesterday a.m. there was a 2nd line on the OPK. Today, it’s much darker and I’m thinking I still may ovulate this cycle. I won’t let it bum me out much that it may be on CD16-18, which potentially sets me at a 35 day cycle, and that’s if I don’t have a short luteal phase. G*d! This is so much fun! Wheeee…just when I thought I’d miss the excitement of ART for a couple of months. I feel like twirling around like a little girl!

In other developments: the electrical work is complete in our house, and it has been dry walled and mudded. I have until next Tuesday to present our contractor the paint colors for the interior. The cabinets for the kitchen and baths have been ordered and the material and colors for the countertops finalized. Flooring is still up in the air. We have a bid for what we want but since we’ve gone over budget on just about everything else up to this point, we were hoping we wouldn’t on the flooring. Well, we are, and we’re waffling…and I’m still twirling.

Hey! Slappy! Wake up! I know things are boring over here right now. I also know that it’s hard to get into someone’s blog when they are not on the same page as you – and believe me – I feel as if I’m doing this whole baby-thing* in reverse. Normally, one starts out by temping and OPKs, then ART, then baby. Me? Baby, then ART, then OPKs…because I like working and thinking outside of the box; because I hate being “vanilla”; and because the next thing I’ll be talking about is losing my virginity.

~*~*~*~*~*

* I sent a Valentine email with the picture of X to my friend with a brief note that was cheery and non-threatening about how I haven’t heard from her and I missed getting pictures of her kids and that I hope to hear back from her soon. I did that Monday. Still no response. Mr. DD said at least I can say I tried.

The "Little" Love of My Life

2006-02-13T19:53:00.000-08:00

Because I want to share something fun, light-hearted and in the spirit of the season, which being Valentine's Week, it seems only appropriate to share a picture of my very special Valentine.

Can you make out the "L", "O", "V", "E"?

I especially *love* the "E".

(I had to republish this. How could I have this post NOT be the most recent for Valentine's Day?)

He's 'da Bomb

2006-02-13T07:11:00.000-08:00

Is anyone else upset that they killed off the bomb-squad hottie* on Grey’s Anatomy? I was sensing some chemistry there between himself and Meredith.

Another chance for her to fuckin' move on shot to shit...literally.

* Said "hottie" is Kyle Chandler. I checked out TV Watercooler, which I have linked over there on the right.

Silent Stupidity*

2006-02-11T13:49:00.000-08:00

My Blogging Bitches: You're always wrong.

DD: How am I always wrong?

My Blogging Bitches: Steely Dan is not one person. We get fringe benefits, not french benefits; it's not the Leaning Tower of Pizza; and James Dean was an actor - Jimmy Dean makes sausages; and you take your BBT orally, not vaginally!

DD: We don't get french benefits? ...I suppose you'll be telling me next that the stork doesn't deliver babies...
.
.
.
.
*homage to Queensryche...just in case you were wondering...

Jonesing for Assvice

2006-02-11T07:20:00.000-08:00

Because in my prior life, before infertility (B.I.), I was a complete ignorant asshole, I never had to bother with taking my temperature. So when Nico asked me via a comment in my prior post what my temp was doing since the OPKs were proving problematic, I had to admit that I have no clue. I did respond to her by saying if this morning's OPK was still representing the vast wastelands of the South Pole, I would look into learning more about BBTs.

I'm a woman of my word. I need info. I understand the basics, but I think you would want to make sure that I do not go out and buy any old thermometer (or worse yet, make the current thermometers in our house perform "double-duty"), and all advise in this newest endeavor would be greatly appreciated as I am representing YOU, my fellow future (and current) baby-makers, and I know you don't want me going to the nearest Tarjay or Walgroans and making an ass out of myself.

Nico alleviated my worry by telling me that I don't necessarity have to take my temp still laying in bed, with Mr. DD laying beside me all huzzed out because really...that's no different than inserting a tampon; but anyone else have any advise you would like to share? Any BBTs out there that are better than others?

Not According to Plan

2006-02-10T07:00:00.001-08:00

I am struggling right now with our decision to not jump right into another IVF cycle. Up until today, I was optimistic that we really could do this on our own. My appointment with Perfect PA was uplifting and the FSH levels for CD3 were still within normal range as well as the Estradiol. PA even agreed that the leaky boobs-thing was probably nothing more than hormones, but to call if the discharge turned black or bloody (AS IF I would “call”! I’d be in the office, braless, within 5 minutes of discovering anything black OR bloody coming out of my boobs!)

I had a nice, normal period, reminiscent of the months before I ever had my first stimulated cycle. I bought a package of OPK and put a new blade in my razor (my legs have taken on the characteristics of a giant tarantula), all in physical and mental preparation that we will not have a third person in the room assisting us in getting pregnant. I’ve even lost 8 lbs since October so now I am only a couple over my pre-pregnancy weight in 2001.

However, on Wednesday, which was CD8 I decided to use up one of the OPKs just to get a baseline reading of where I was. My prior cycles during our treatments had been shorter than normal, running about 26 days. Before stims, I was a normal 28-day-cycle-kind-of-girl. The second line on the OPK was visible, but barely. I decided not to test again until this morning, now CD10. No second line. I could almost imagine the second line, but really, there wasn’t one.

I called the clinic and asked if it was possible for me not to ovulate for the 2nd month in a row after the IVF. Nurse Bitch said most women go back to a normal cycle by this time, but some do not. She said it’s possible I already ovulated, or that I may not ovulate at all (can we say "waffle"?) If over the next couple of days, I don’t read a surge, I’m supposed to let them know as I may have to go back on some type of stim for next month…if I don’t end up convincing not only myself but Mr. DD that this whole business of trying on our own is just not going to work.

I’m more than just stressed. I’m feeling a little frantic as this new development comes when I was just pumping myself up mentally that we REALLY could get pregnant within the next couple of months and have a baby by year end. My little bubbles of Hope are bursting as fast as the little Infertility Bitch-Fairy can pop them.

Let’s all chant together: “It could still happen. It could still happen. It could still happen. It could still happen.”

It could still happen.........................right?

Don't Screw With Me, Daddy

2006-02-08T09:43:00.000-08:00

Yep, that’s what he said. My angel-faced 4 year old expressed himself quite clearly last night during supper to Mr. DD…or did he?

Actually it was my fault. Mr. DD was hounding X about eating his supper and removing his hot wheels from the table, “No toys allowed while we are eating.” I figured Mr. DD should cut some slack as he was sitting at the counter eating his supper while X and I were at the table. So in defense of X’s small heard of toy cars, I told Mr. DD to “stop screwing with X,” to which X repeated the magical phrase above.

Mr. DD was a little bent from the exchange, but I quickly diffused the issue by explaining to X that I shouldn’t have said that and it was my fault and I apologized. The problem Mr. DD doesn’t realize is that if he should have just laughed it off, (like I did because it really was pretty frickin funny, but I was cut short when Mr. DD’s face started turning red), or better yet, ignored it, because X obviously didn’t even know what he was saying, but just repeating what I had said.

This is only the second thing we have ever heard X say that we would consider inappropriate. The first was “Shut Up.” Considering how much we swear around him even though we try REALLY hard not to, this has been a minor miracle. Shut Up was met with immediate punishment so now when I am talking to a friend who may say something outrageous and I respond with, “Shut up!”, X is right there with a frightened and concerned look as he whispers, “Mommy, you said…shut up.” *Gasp* the horror! In turn, I must apologize to the recipient of my mock Shut Up and get approval from X to continue my adult play-date.

I recently saw a national news show do a brief spot on profanity. Why do we swear? I know why I swear. One side says it’s because we have lost the ability to communicate our expressions and opinions clearly and appropriately without offending another’s delicate sensibilities. However, I just don’t believe that someone can relay the immediate frustration and pain of stubbing their toe on the leg of a dining room chair with, “Oh my! I am in pain as I have just suddenly stubbed my toe oh-so-clumsily on this unobtrusive, yet hard wooden object!”

Nope. For me, nothing feels better than saying, “fuckingsonofabitch!” and then following that with some additional profanity directed at Mr. DD who stupidly didn’t push the chair back under the table where it belongs. I don’t think I could express myself any clearer than that.

A Tale of Two Boobs

2006-02-07T05:14:00.000-08:00

I have issues with my breasts. My first recollection of when “the girls” became something for me to obsess about was sometime around the age of 12. I was prepubescent and the only sex-education I had been exposed to was from the school sponsored programs where they separated the boys from the girls and we were addressed about the changes we would go through in medical speak-ease and adult jargon. So when I noticed the two small lumps on my chest during a personal exploration, I immediately freaked out. At the time, Google was just what boys did to girls, as in “making googlely eyes,” and my only source of info in the house I grew up in was an old set of encyclopedias, which I would actually page through for fun.

Without anything to research and/or rule out, I promptly diagnosed myself with breast c@ncer. I remember being in my room and stifling tears into my Rick Springfield pillow. I was going to be the youngest person to have ever died of breast c@ncer. I didn’t know how I was going to tell my parents the dire news without breaking their hearts. I eventually decided I would not want them to be burdened with the terrible diagnosis, so I told no one.

Obviously, my “c@ncer” resolved itself and the two little hard lumps turned into two small soft lumps that required nothing more than a t-shirt to keep hidden.

Fast forward 20+ years.

In 2000, I had a small windfall and made up my mind that I was going to have breast augmentation. I was tired of the only bras fitting me were the training bras out of the pre-teen section of the department stores. Mr. DD, who married me in spite of being a major boob-man, was surprisingly hesitant at my decision. The plastic surgeon was graphically clear that things can, and do, go wrong, as it is major surgery requiring general anesthesia. I was undeterred.

After a couple of consults and deciding on a rather conservative implant size, the procedure was done without any notable problems. I healed quickly and easily. I went from an A cup to a full B/small C. I thought my choice in size was almost too conservative until my pregnancy with X, which resulted in some very uncomfortably large boobs. By the time I finally finished breastfeeding, I was so thrilled I hadn’t gone larger. I find it ironic that my blog has been the found via searches with the following phrases: dd boobs; dd women; dd sex. I feel I should mention that my moniker “DD” has nothing to do with the size of my breasts…sorry, fellas.

I am not ashamed of my decision, but when I get asked about major surgeries during a medical history, I never include the augmentation amongst the tonsillectomy and caesarean section. I figure there’s enough info obtained from those two procedures that including the plastic surgery seems redundant.

I’m posting about my girls because last night I noticed a clear discharge from both nipples. It was right before going to bed, and even though I was a little freaked out, I just wasn’t up to consulting either the encyclopedia or Google, so I pushed it out of my mind until this morning. My gut tells me that it’s probably due to the past few months of homonal stims and stress, but Google is hinting at a fibrocystic condition, which appeals more to my paranoid and hypochondrial psyche. I have left a message with my Perfect PA to see what her recommendations are.

Plus I figured so many posts were dedicated to the girly bits of the nether region, that it was due time that The Girls upstairs get some recognition as well, especially since they were nearly as expensive as the two IUIs.

“This site has been brought to you by the letters A, R, and T, and by the proud sponsor of Bigger Boobies.”

Friends...Minus the Rachel 'Do

2006-02-05T12:32:00.000-08:00

Third time for this post...is a charm? We will see...

I have a friend that I haven't communicated with for several months. We live only a few hours apart from each other, but I think the growing separation between us is related more to emotional distance and not the physical. At one time we worked for the same employer and we even shared an apartment during a few months when Mr. DD and I were "on a break" (which actually led to our engagement). X and her first child were born within a few weeks of each other and a couple of years later she had her second.

It was after the birth of this 2nd child that things seem to have changed. I don't know if it's related to my discovered infertility or if we truly have just grown apart. In fact, we have not seen each other since right before my miscarriage over a year ago. We've talked only a couple of times in the past year and the last email I received from her that wasn't a FW:,FW:,FW: was late October. Actually it was a reply to an email we had sent about the progress of our house. In that email reply, she asked how the baby thing was coming. In response, I sent her my blog link. Based on my sitemeter, I know that she went to my blog once since then.

Let me be clear that this is not about me whining about a friend who doesn't read my blog. I already have a couple of other friends who do read this, and sometimes it's a little awkward having a conversation live about something they've already read on my blog. I feel like the elderly grandma who tells a story over and over because I can't remember that I told the same story the day before.

No, this is about someone who was once a close friend who read through a few posts back in November, and has not acknowledged me since. I received no Christmas card; no thank-you for the gifts I sent her children for Christmas; not a word - written or spoken.I can't help but wonder why. I mentioned to Mr. DD that I have a sneaking suspicion that in the time I haven't seen her, that she either has had another baby or is at the very least expecting her third and somehow, our own reproductive problems have created some type of rift in within our friendship.

My friends I see every day and who know about our problems are empathetic, and I try to not let it take over our conversations, even though I admit, it does. However, I have not felt as if our relationships have changed significantly from a year ago when the shit hit the proverbial fan.

Have any of you had friends who you felt in some ways, abandoned you when you went through some personal set-backs; or am I just experiencing the natural degeneration of a friendship not nurtured by frequent visits and phone calls? Should I make another attempt to contact her even though there was no reciprocation/acknowledgement of holiday cards and gifts; or is that petty? Maybe I sent her the wrong signal about where our friendship was by sending her my blog link instead of answering her personally. I just don't know anymore.

Testing Comments...

2006-02-04T13:52:00.000-08:00

Just a post to test if the comments will work on this post as they don't seem to be on my last post...

Small Miracles

2006-02-03T14:41:00.000-08:00

Just when I started wondering if miracles really do exist, I hear this story and just cry with relief, because it means that miracles can really happen for those who need it the most.

By the way, I am a strong believer in being a donor. If you are not one, please reconsider. Also, I hope to God you never have to make the choice of making that decision on a child's behalf, but if you do, I pray for the sake of another child, that you find that strenth inside of you to make the right choice.

Blogger is Pissing Me Off!

2006-02-01T20:13:00.000-08:00

OK, fine! Blogger/Blogspot won't let me post anything HMTL. I don't know why and I don't know when they decided to do that as I know I have posted such things before (Remember the "What kind of Freaky Mother are you?" from Quizilla?). I had no problem with that.

But recently I have tried posting things that were HMTL text and I get a big fat no-fucking-way from Blogger.

Also, I hate the pink. I thought it would appeal to the feminine side of my readers (sorry, early presumptions) so I went with it, but frankly I hate it and now I don't know how to change it without losing some of my other custom stuff.

One last problem: below my Guestmap I tried posting a minipoll. Instead, when you clicked on what one would think was the minipoll, because that's what the g-damn thing looked like, you were sent to my map. Notice the goofy asterisk uner "bloglines"? That was going to be my bloglines made public so I wouldn't have the links, which was where I was going to put my acronym list I have been amassing these past months. Well, click on that asterisk and see what happens....(I'll wait)...yep! The stupid map! AAaaagh! So if any of you are closet computer geeks, please come to my rescue before I go midieval on my blogger's ass!

Curse you, Blogger!

Oh, The Possibilities

2006-02-01T11:55:00.000-08:00

My appointment with the PA was anything BUT typical. What do you expect when you go to see your GYN? Yes, I said in an earlier post I was going to see my OB, but that’s rather presumptuous, don’t you think? And my OB is my GYN. And yes, there are actually still some of those about, especially here in the Midwest.

Normally, after making wee in a cup, nurse will weigh and measure, and do an abbreviated H&P (History & Physical) by taking bp, heart rate, sometimes even a temp. Then the Pro comes in, does a repeat of the preceding, and if he’s a GYN, perform a pelvic exam/PAP…right?

Uh…no. Everything up to the “Then the Pro comes in” was accurate. After that I received the Royal Treatment, and I mean that in the good way.

It was shortly after 4:00 pm when PA came in; after being informed that since it was the CD1 any smear taken from my pap would come back positive, we happily skipped that part. No speculum, no cold goo, and not one stirrup was exposed. Instead, she asked me how things were going and I just started bawling. “Not so good,” I was able to sniffle out. I proceeded to explain what Mr.DD and I had been doing over the past year with the help of my detailed Excel spreadsheet, which numbered my cycle days, the drugs/tests we had taken, and more impressively, was color coded (I may be lazy, but when I get a notion, I go full bore!). PA was duly impressed and exclaimed that she loved me.

I then explained that what we were really trying to do was decompress from the past few months’ exposure to infertility treatments, and hope that the luck I have had in the past with her might somehow see us through the next few months. I told her about the SA from the two IUIs and the IVF; I told her about the IVF and the chemical pregnancy that resulted; and I wanted to know what she thought we should do.

In a nutshell? She said to relax.

Now hold on. Keep your pitchforks on the wall, and snuff out your torches. She explained that when she did her rotation at the clinic we happen to be going to, she saw many times how couples would call and say they just need some time off and a couple months later they would call and say they weren’t coming back. They were pregnant. She qualified her statement by saying it didn’t happen all the time, but it does happen. And she has a point. We have had these recent examples of fellow bloggers get pregnant while between treatments. It happens to others. Is it probable for us? No. Is it possible? Sure, and right now it makes me happy to see the possibilities.

She said three or four months off should be enough for us, as she knows I am very stubborn determined. As for testing, she is fine with doing another FSH on CD3 if I want. Demeter also recommended I look into a CCCT (Clomephine Citrate {Clomid} Challenge Test). PA had heard of it, but would have to research it to recall the details. She also recommends that since Mr. DD hasn’t had a physical since…EVER, that he gets one soon as blood pressure and cholesterol can impact, though slightly, male fertility. She even hinted at how clomid can increase sperm count in some men, but it’s still controversial and hasn’t been proven to increase pregnancy rates.

Then…we talked. And talked. We talked about our jobs, our husbands, our boys (she has a little one who will be two in March), etc. My appointment was at 4:00. I left at 5:45. And it would’ve been later but I had a dinner date with Mr.DD and the in-laws. PA said to call or stop by anytime. And she meant it as she gave me hug before I stepped into the now dark lobby of the office since everyone else had left at 5:00.

This morning I called my RE and spoke to Dr. Blinksalot about a CCCT. She said if we were just starting out, and I hadn’t responded to any of the medication, she would do the test. But since they were testing my levels at different times of the cycle during the IUIs and IVF and that nothing appeared out of line, the CCCT wouldn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know. She also said something that almost made me start crying all over again: she would never ask us to go through another IVF, or even donor sperm, just to get us to go through a treatment. She wants us to have a baby, and if that wasn’t even a possibility, she would tell me.

Again, the possibilities are there…it’s just a matter of time.

How to Be An Asshat for Just 10 Cents!

2006-01-31T13:35:00.000-08:00

It’s the first day of my period. I don’t have to refer to “cycle days” for a while since I officially let my RE’s clinic know we will be taking some time off. So in a typical state of being unprepared, I have no tampons in my purse. In my defense, I did lay some out on the bathroom counter this morning, but they didn’t magically transport themselves into my purse (Why, Gene Roddenberry, why?!).

So with a couple of quarters in my pocket, I headed to the ONLY bathroom in the building, which is on the floor below me that has a dispenser of feminine products. Most of the time it is not only full, but the mechanism still works after all these years, but I came prepared (at least for this) knowing that it may take more than one quarter to get my prize.

I never even got a chance.

Some mouth-breathing moron put a dime in the coin slot. It says right there on the front Quarters Only! I can neither grapple the little shit out nor turn the handle. I tried hooking one pinky nail behind it and one in front in makeshift tweezers to no avail. In a MacGyver moment, I knew that either a pencil WITH an eraser might work, but better yet, some gum, gently used, would work much better.

Slight problem. I have two quarters. Gum is 35 cents from the vending machine. You do the math.

So I marched back upstairs and sat back down at my desk and out of stubbornness (and sheer laziness) decided I was not going to chew up some gum just to remove a dime so I can get a tampon! Instead I used my doctor’s appointment as an excuse to leave early, drive home, and take care of my biz.

A tampon! A tampon! My Queendom for a tampon!

Earworm: Ten Little Indians

2006-01-31T07:34:00.000-08:00

WARNING: The following may be contagious and should be read only under the condition that you can obtain immediate access to a radio to eliminate the chance this Earworm may infect your head for the next 24 hours as it did in the host.

“One little, two little, three little embryos.
Four little, five little, six little embryos.
Seven little, eight little, nine little embryos.
Ten little embies fertilized.

Ten little, nine little, eight little embryos.
Seven little, six little, five little embryos.
Four little, three little, two little embryos.
One little embie planted.”

Gone FSHing

2006-01-30T07:37:00.000-08:00

I’m jonesing for some time in the stirrups and some probing with something cold, so I have made an appointment tomorrow afternoon with my OB’s office. I requested my appointment not be with OB, but with his PA. PA is this very sweet, kind girl who I have discovered has some magic to her. Each time I have had an appointment with her, I get pregnant, except for the recent pregnancy via IVF.

I have made the appointment under the guise of an annual exam. I haven’t had one since August 2004, which was shortly before I conceived Baby May. But my motive has several levels. First: I’m just hoping for good luck to continue. Secondly: the RE clinic has only tested my FSH once and that was this past July. I think I would like to know what has happened to my levels since then, which were still within “normal” range at 9.6 on CD3 (under 11 is preferred). Thirdly: I suspect her little boy was a product of ART because I saw his picture at my RE’s clinic amongst all the other little miracles tucked in photo albums and pinned to the board. If so, I will see what she really thinks my chances are.

And just a short semi-related side note: I understand that being in my late 30’s does reduce our chances of pregnancy somewhat. It’s biology and there’s just no arguing with that. HOWEVER, what I want to know then is WHY the hell do I still have enough raging hormones to make my skin take on the appearance of a 15 year old??!! And NOOooo, I’m not talking about a smooth forehead and firm, plump cheekbones. I’m talking about zit-city! Man, this sucks. Makeup just doesn’t look good over a pimple that is nestled in a wrinkle, ya know? Especially since the effects of the botox have officially ran their course and it’s time for another treatment.

I just can’t seem to catch a break.

Knocked Up... Then Knocked Down

Where Art Thou?

The End...?

No. 200 - Bicenblogentennial

No. 199 - Where I Say the Dirty 5-Letter "R" Word

No. 197 - Garbage Defined

No. 195 - Trial Separation

No. 194 - Fertiles Say the Darndest Things!

No. 193 - Wordless Wednesday, 2nd Installation

No. 192 - Adjusting

No. 191 - Where There Is Strength; There Can Be Solace

No. 190 - In Homage...

No. 188 - Wordless Wednesday

No. 189 - Ah, Hell

No. 187 - It's Square to be Hip

No. 186 - Freddy Kruger Lives Via Infertility

No. 185 - Dante's Second Level of Hell

No. 184 - It's a Girl

No. 183 - The Male Facts and Factors

No. 182 - I Married a Vulcan

No. 181 - Grey Street

No. 180 - What Doesn't Kill You Just Makes You Bitter

No. 179 - The Tides a'Shiftin'

No. 178 - I drink I'm thunk...

No. 177 - Myth Buster

No. 176 - A.R.T.?! Bah! Who Needs It?

No. 175 - Confabulous 2: The Drinkening (More Fab Than Drink)

No. 174 - What Has Sucked in the Past 24 Hours

No. 173 - What Stage of Grief Would You Call It When One Completes a Meme?

No. 172 - When I Feel Like Crying, I Think of This:

No. 171 - When Is It REALLY Over?

No. 170 - Weekend Highlights & Lowlights

No. 169 - Running Tally of Pee Sticks

No. 168 - When Does a Positive Equal a Negative?

No. 167 - Pre-Confabulous 2: The Drinkening

No. 166 - The Bucket

No. 165 - Keyword Analysis

No. 164 - When It Shits, It Pours **UPDATED**

No. 163 - A Nutbag Full of Bitch

No. 154-162 - Top 10 Reasons Where Valium is Better Than Drinking

No. 153 - Goodbyes

No. 152 - Nomes, Nats and Pilgrims

No. 151 - Fertilization Report

No. 150 - . . . Or Is It No. 158?

No. 149 - Guilt

No. 148 - Whatever

No. 147 - Cry Me A River

No. 146 - Poked and Prodded

No. 145 - Rolling In Doh!

No. 144 - Apparently, I Suck

No. 143 - ...And We're Off Like a Herd of Turtles

No. 142 - Finger Pointing

No. 141 - Nurse Robbi

No. 140 - Nutshell

No. 139 - Eggshells

No. 138 - Oh. My. G*d

No. 137 - This Post Has Nothing To Do With Weight

No. 136 - Blog Housekeeping

No. 135 - Order Up!

No. 134 - Joie

No. 133 - It Was a Good Day

No. 132 - Wrapping up the Week

No. 131 - The Bottom Line

No. 130 - Musical Taste...or Lack Thereof

No. 129 - Unintentional References to B.M.

Walkies*

Heartache

My Eyes Have Not Seen The Glory

Support

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Bitchy

How I Measure Time

False Start

Forward, sl-HO?

Eloquence

Ka-BOOM!

Why Do We Want Two?

The Muppet Personality Test

Strip Search

Eureka!

Bodily Functions

No. 164 - When It Shits, It Pours UPDATED