Blurry Red Difficult

Hi. I'm (______) and I believe that one particular brand of pregnancy test is out to get me.

Just before Thanksgiving I took a home pregnancy test and it came back positive. POW! Within ten seconds the word "pregnant" showed up in the little window sending my heart soaring. It felt like a miracle . . . for a few hours . . . until I confirmed that it was wrong.

So. Damned. Wrong.

You'd think that I would have learned something from that little nightmare.

But nooooooooo . . .

I got my progesterone in oil shot 12 days ago and the promised mother of all periods has yet to materialize. Nothing - zip - nada. The NP said it could be 14 days so I'm not terribly worried yet. I'm getting there though.

So, for the first time today I thought "Hmmmmm, is it possible that I'm pregnant?" The logical answer is no. The timing doesn't work out at all. I was on CD2 when I had the progesterone shot 12 days ago. But, crazier things have happened.

A couple of hours ago I did a pregnancy test and again, right away, the word "pregnant" came up. (By the way, this is the same brand but a different box purchased at a different store.) My spirit did not soar. My response instead was to throw the test in the trash while yelling, "Liar!" Sure enough, the next test, a different brand, was negative.

I'm glad that I'm not pregnant. A massive dose of progesterone would most likely spell disaster for a growing fetus. But I am so very weary of being jerked around by the reproductive gods.

So if you see said reproductive gods, my Aunt Flo, or the makers of these pregnancy tests from hell, please feel free to give them a good kick in the kneecaps for me.

It's Candy Cane Pajama Bottoms Day

I feel so disconnected today. I can’t seem to set my mind towards anything. I just end up staring off into space for long periods of time. I haven’t even jumped in the shower yet. I’m still wearing the t-shirt I slept in, along with . . . wait for it . . . red and white candy cane pajama bottoms. Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.

(Cue the Jeopardy music)

Aunt Flo seems to have missed my exit off of Interstate 53 and may be headed down to the warm Gulf waters and even brighter, sunnier weather. Which pisses me off ‘cause I need her here.

(Insert sound of Jeopardy music abruptly ending as I jerk the needle across the record in aggravation.)

A couple of my fellow bloggers recently entertained the question, “Would you go back to being the person you were before IF touched your life if you could?”

My vote? In a heartbeat.

We have spent a lot of money on this process and don’t appear any closer to actually creating life. If anything, I feel like we’re further away from it as problem after problem seems to crop with my defective girly parts.


As much as I love my friends, I feel a distance from them. Experience has shown me that talking to them about infertility leaves me open to hurtful and inappropriate, if well-meaning comments. They simply don’t get it, and how can they be expected to? Even if I take the time to educate them, which I will do at some point, they’ll never be able to truly understand unless they go through it themselves.


O and I have always been extremely close so I don’t think we’ve drawn together even more as a result of this process.


The “pause button” has been pushed on many other aspects of my life as we wait to see what’s going to happen.


What in the world are these hormones and drugs going to do to my body 10, 20, 30 years down the road?


It seems that I am now walking through a world filled with what I’ve termed “baby bombs”. I’m minding my own business in Target and BAM, there’s a Dad with a newborn on his shoulder. I get online and POW, that stupid Bachelorette girl and her husband are expecting. I go to dinner with my husband and ZAP, there is an apple-cheeked toddler waving at me over his shoulder. I go to pick up a prescription and BOOM, there’s a pregnant belly-rubber ahead of me in line. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t get to me sometimes.


I am so tired of being constantly reminded that my body doesn’t work properly.


I feel as if I have let O down. He doesn’t feel that way, but I do.


Sometimes I think it’s easier to just let a dream be a dream. If you pursue it and fail, that dream is gone forever. But if you keep it and hold it close to your heart, there’s always a chance that it might come true . . . someday. (I do realize that as we age, we all run out of “somedays” in this process.)


For much of my life, I have believed that I could accomplish anything I set my mind to. Anything I’ve ever REALLY wanted, I’ve found a way to make happen. This process has shown me very clearly that that’s not always going to be the case. It’s shaken my confidence.

Here’s where I interject a big BUT, though . . . Historically I can look back in my life and see that the times I struggled the most are also the times I've learned and grown and changed the most. Just because I can't see it at this very moment doesn't mean that a lot of wonderful things won't come from this. In fact, Wednesday revealed not one but FOUR of them!

The day prior, I had written to ask “K.”, a fellow blogger, a question about her IF treatment in hopes that she could shed some light on my own. What I received in response on Wednesday morning was the most wonderful, most generous e-mail I think I’ve ever received. She just poured out her heart and her story to me, sharing things that even people closest to her didn’t know. It helped me immensely. In her I found a kindred spirit and a sister in this fight. For the first time in this whole process, I felt less alone. So thanks again, K.! You are truly the BEST and whenever your baby decides to make an appearance, it will be one lucky kid!

In the midst of writing this post, I did actually take a shower and change out of my lovely candy cane pajama bottoms. As I was walking through our den I happened to glance out at the trees in the front yard and stopped dead in my tracks. We have an old crabapple tree that O.’s grandmother planted probably 50 years ago, and overnight it has burst into hundreds of beautiful pale pink blossoms. It reminded me that no matter how dark and cold and barren things can seem, life can be created in just a moment. Maybe, just maybe, my moment to create life is coming too.

Well, I'd best scoot along and try to do something productive with my day. And if y'all see my old cranky Aunt Flo lounging around on the beaches of Gulf Shores, throw her ass in the car and send her over here where she belongs. I paid $12 for her this month!

That Kind of Beauty

To those of you who weren’t in my state today, all I can say is “I’m so sorry!” We’ve had the most exquisite spring day you can imagine; seventy degrees, a soft breeze blowing, not a cloud in the sky.

O had a slow work day so we took the opportunity to get out and commune with nature for a while. My in-laws own about 60 acres of land behind our home, complete with fields, ponds, streams, beautiful woods and a Civil War era road. On the far side, tucked in and among the trees is an old home site, or as we Southerners like to say, a home place. The house has been gone for fifty years or more. All that remains is a pile of bricks where the chimney fell long ago.

I’ve always had such a fascination with the past. I hold an antique in my hands and wonder who made it or owned it. I drive past old houses and try to imagine who might have lived there, whom they loved, how they lived, and why they left. So a trip back to the old home place was a wonderful way to share this beautiful day with my husband.

It was an afternoon I’ll never forget. Nothing remarkable happened. We held hands and walked along the old road bed, stopped for a while to listen to the stream bubbling along, and gathered up some of the old bricks for me to line a flower bed with. But there was just perfect happiness; no troubles, no cares, no concerns.

One of my favorite things about this time of year is driving through the country and seeing clumps of daffodils planted hundreds of years ago where homes once stood, still popping out of the soil to welcome each spring. So I was thrilled to walk through the trees and see a carpet of yellow in what would have been the old home’s front yard. I thought of the woman who probably planted just a few bulbs beside her little house in the woods so long ago. Could she ever have imagined what those few little flowers would become? Would she have believed that over a century later, though she and her home were gone, she would still make someone so happy with the beauty she left behind?

I hope I find a way to leave that kind of beauty behind when I'm gone. What a wonderful gift to give, and to receive.

Behind the Eggs

Before I begin today’s rant, I wanted to get some input from y’all. Some of my fellow bloggers and I are starting an IF support group for our area. The closest one is about two hours away so there is obviously a huge need for it. So I’m wondering, what would you look for in an IF support group? Any of your suggestions would be much appreciated.

Now on with the show . . .

Have I mentioned that I CAN'T STAND waiting? More than just about anything else? Except maybe having a hotel room comforter touch any part of me while I'm sleeping or the combination of fruit and meat on pizza? So perhaps that’s one of the lessons I’m supposed to learn from this whole IF roller coaster – how to be gracious in the face of waiting.

However, I am clear on two things at the moment. I do not feel particularly gracious and oh by the way I still CAN'T STAND WAITING!

I wish this period would just start already. Yes, they said it would be 2-14 days and yes, I only got the shot on Thursday but sheesh. I desperately want to be pregnant. It’s ridiculous to be anxiously awaiting a PERIOD!

It probably doesn’t help that I have $1000 worth of follis*tim staring me in the face every time I open the door of my fridge. Which was quite often this weekend, by the way. Perhaps I’ll just tuck it behind the egg carton. I’ll never see it there. (Only in re-reading this did I get the irony of storing the follis*tim behind the eggs! Isn’t infertility a hoot?)

We went to my in-laws house for my SIL’s birthday party yesterday. My MIL could give Paula Deen a run for her money. Chicken and dumplings, cornbread, green beans and corn from their garden, cheesecake and poundcake and calories oh my!

We all went outside for a few minutes after we ate. Our youngest nephew (6) was riding around on an old scooter in the driveway. It was clearly on its’ last legs, having been passed down from grandchild to grandchild for the last 13 years or so. Someone commented on that fact and my FIL said, “Well, it doesn’t have to last much longer.” It made me sad because there is a real possibility that no, there won’t be anymore grandchildren to ride that rickety thing around at Grandmother and Granddaddy’s house.

God I hate this. I hate that IF sneaks up and sucker punches you when you least expect it. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, huh?

And finally ladies, I know that infertility can be painful and emotionally draining but if we've learned nothing else from the last 48 hours, let us remember this:

Please do not take your frustrations out on your hair. Shaving your head is never an option. It's the middle of winter. It's cold. You lose most of your heat through your head. Step away from the razors.

Shots & Shots

I decided to go ahead and have the shot designed to bring on “the mother of all periods”. I thought, why wait till Monday, pay for another ultrasound, and then need the shot anyway? Let’s get this party started. The shot (progesterone and oil) is basically a chemical D&C, and I should start bleeding between 2 & 14 days. Once that happens, they’ll check the endometrial layer again and see where we are.

I am a little confused about something, though.

When my gyn decided to put me on Clo*mid in August, she did an ultrasound and my endometrial layer measured 1.6mm. I specifically asked about it because I have a history of hyperplasia (a thickening of the uterine layer caused by very light periods). She said that number was perfectly within normal limits for a woman my age still having a period, and I was fine to start the Clo*mid and make a baby.

My numbers yesterday were 1.6mm in one spot and 2mm in another. Yet they are talking about doing a D&C! I asked the NP about the discrepancy and she said their docs preferred the endometrium to measure between .4mm and .6mm. Well, that’s fine but one doc is saying “Go forth and multiply” and the other is saying, “You may need surgery”. I feel pretty strongly that I’d get a second opinion from the other RE in town before agreeing to a D&C, should it come to that. What do y’all think?

I picked up my folli*stim today, and took the opportunity to show our appreciation to the pharmacy tech who helped me so much yesterday. She went way beyond the call of duty and as a result saved us over $800. A $50 gift card from Dillard’s was the least we could do to thank her. She was so sweet, and told me she just knew that the medicines were going to work and that we were going to have a baby; that she’d be praying for us. I can’t really explain why, but her words meant more to me than anything even the people closest to us have said about our struggle to conceive. I’m not sure why.

The shooting in the mall in Salt Lake City a couple of days ago has shaken me up a bit. I lived in Utah for thirteen years and in SLC for five. Trolley Square was the closest mall to my home and I was there constantly. Today I saw the video taken by a mall employee during the rampage, filming out of his store and into the mall. I heard the shots, saw police race past my very favorite store, Tabula Rasa, and around the corner to exchange fire and ultimately kill the gunman. I don’t even really know what to say about it. I am chilled by it. I am sickened by it. I am saddened for the innocent people killed and injured while simply grabbing a bite of dinner or shopping for Valentine’s Day. I am baffled as to what possibly could have happened to an 18-year-old kid to fill him with such unimaginable hatred.

I know it’s a trite saying but really, what is this world coming to?

The Glamorous Life

Ladies,

Please try not to be jealous of my glamorous Valentine’s Day thus far. Let me give you the rundown.

1. Woke up at 3 AM after dreaming that the lab tech at my RE office couldn’t get blood out of my arm and had to stick me in the forehead to get it.

2. Couldn’t go back to sleep.

3. Had 9 AM appointment with nurse practitioner at RE office, including blood draw (thankfully not from forehead) and getting lucky with an ultrasound wand.

4. Felt like a dainty and delicate flower after being told, “You have an enormous uterus for someone who has never had a child.” Ummm, thanks. Can I put that on my resume?

5. Felt like a crappy dainty and delicate flower after being informed that I may not get to start injectables tomorrow because my uterine lining is about 2 times thicker than they’d like. Apparently the pro*metrium didn’t do its’ job very well. Options: a shot to increase bleeding or a D&C. SLIGHT chance we’ll go ahead with the cycle.

Why in the hell can’t I leave a gynecologist’s office just one time without another problem cropping up? (Insert curse word of your choice here. Mine begins with F.)
6. Took my prescriptions for this cycle to the pharmacy owned by the company O works for. I checked weeks ago and our $800+ worth of follis*tim was only going to be a $50 co-pay. Wahoo! Except that they couldn’t get it. They could get any other dosage but the one I needed.

7. Wonderful pharmacy tech spends 30 minutes with my insurance company trying to find out if there is another pharmacy in the area that would accept the insurance. Finds the name of one two hours away, which I am willing to drive to. When she calls them, she finds that they are now owned by my husband’s company, which means that they can’t get the drug either.

8. Call the insurance company to get additional information and expand the search area. I’m willing to drive a looonnnnggg way to save $800. They are unable to search by city or state name. They only search by zip code. How many of you have memorized the zip codes for your surrounding cities and counties? No? Me either!

10. Call the insurance company one final time and am told that they don’t work in conjunction with any other pharmacy. If they don’t have a medication and I have to go somewhere else to get it, I have to pay for all of it with no reimbursement. But they’re “really sorry”. Uh huh, bite me!

11. Call a mail order pharmacy recommended by my doctor and am told that it’s absolutely not too late to place an order for arrival tomorrow, EXCEPT they are having a huge snowstorm and can’t guarantee the meds will be here before Friday.

12. Have a “That’s it! I’ve had it!” moment and drive immediately to Hardees for a bacon and cheese biscuit. So on top of feeling emotionally horrible I then feel physically horrible.

13. Come home to make coconut cream pie for my dad’s birthday, including homemade crust. Forget that I’ve been cooking said crust in a 375 degree oven and pick up scalding hot pie plate. Please insert curse word from above here.

But, things are looking up slightly. I called my pharmacy back and talked to the tech who helped me. I asked her to call her supplier and find out if my dosage of foll*istim is just temporarily out of stock, or if they will no longer have it. Glory be, she called back and the supplier had just received a new shipment but hadn’t updated it in the computer system yet. So, it’s ordered and on its’ way for arrival tomorrow.

I really doubt I’ll need it though.

Now I’m just waiting to see if I need a shot to increase my period (which will mean racing BACK to the pharmacy, picking up the med and taking it to my SIL to give me the shot, all before my dad’s birthday party tonight) or if the doctor wants to do a D&C. (Insert curse word from above really loudly here.)

If I need a D&C, I might want my regular gyn to do it. She specializes in gyn surgery and is a bit closer to home. I also like and trust her whereas I only met with my RE for maybe 30 minutes. What do y’all think?

Shit. Shit shit shit!

On a happier note, my husband got me a beautiful bracelet and the sweetest card for Valentine’s Day, so it hasn’t been all bad.

More to follow, I’m sure. And please, try your hardest not to be jealous. Some of us are just born to live glamorous lives.

UPDATE*** No cycle this month. I'm glad they're not rushing me in for a D&C, though. They'll see how my period does for the rest of the week, recheck the ultrasound on Monday and if it's not a lot better, give me a shot that should make the next period "even bigger, even better". If that doesn't work, she recommends a hysteroscopy and probably a D&C before starting folli*stim. I'm disappointed but not devastated. I'm off to celebrate my daddy's 71st birthday.

Happy Valentine's Day to all!

Once Upon a Time

All of my fairy tale dreams came true the moment I met him. He is my knight in shining armor.

Happy Valentine's Day baby! I love you more than I have words to express.

Buttercups

I took this photo out in our backyard a few minutes ago. Aren’t the buttercups* beautiful, all bright and sunny and bursting with promise?

Me?

Not so bright, not so sunny, and definitely not bursting with promise of any kind. I am indeed the polar opposite of these hopeful little flowers at the moment.

I’m just so blue today.

I’m nervous that the Pro.metrium won’t work and my period won’t come.

I’m scared about my HSG, both the actual test and the results.

I’m lonely. I have wonderful girlfriends scattered all over the country, but only one friend locally who I can call and have some “girl time” with. I moved to O’s hometown when we got married and it’s a VERY close knit community (translated: "You're not from 'round these parts, are you?") so it’s hard to make friends. I’ve moved many times and I’ve never found it as hard to establish relationships as it is here.

I can’t seem to find a job. I have a degree in journalism but have spent most of my career managing doctor’s offices and clinics. I have to tell you, the thought of going back into management right now makes me want to crawl under my desk and stay there. It was an exhausting job. It often felt like raising other people’s poorly behaved children. I worked in the front office at a family practice just out of college and I loved it. That’s the type of position I’m looking for at the moment but they are few and far between and I am overqualified. I'm sure that not being from 'round these parts doesn't help either.

Even if I could find a job, I don’t know if I could accept it in good conscience. It would be unfair to a potential employer to commit to something and then start asking for time off immediately. I have more appointments than I can shake a stick at scheduled with the RE once this cycle gets rolling. That office is 2 hours away, which means taking a half day off for every appointment. Plus, if I get pregnant I wouldn’t work for long, and I KNOW I wouldn’t work for the first few years after our baby was born. I don’t want to commit to something that I have no intention of following through on.

For a couple of years, I’ve been thinking about going back to school and getting my x-ray tech/ ultrasound certification. But I can’t do that right now either. All of our extra money will be stuffed up my ha-ha for the foreseeable future.

I’m sad that we can’t have a dog because of my allergies. I want one. Badly. But I can’t start allergy shots in the midst of OVARYPALOOZA 2007.

I’m pissed that I can’t do what I usually do when I’m feeling blue – shop. Why? See “money stuffed up ha-ha”.

I’m also angry that I can’t partake of my other favorite stress relieving activity. Eating food. Massive quantities of food.

And of course, there is the ever-present refrain of “What the f*ck am I going to do if I can’t have a baby?” In today’s frame of mind my answer is somewhere along the lines of “Die old and alone with no one to love me.”

See, no bright, sunny, bursting with promise-ness here! No sir-eee!

You know what I think the real problem is? I feel so damned out of control. So many parts of my life are on hold for a situation that I can do NOTHING ABOUT!

NOTHING!

Sure, I can be a well-informed patient, seek the best medical care I can find, follow my doctor’s orders, and take good care of myself. But when it really boils down to it, I have absolutely no control over whether I will give birth to a baby.

Our buttercups were planted by O’s beloved grandmother about 50 years ago when they first built their home on this land. Each spring they are like a happy little gift to us, a reminder of how much his Meemaw loved her home and her family. Each spring I look at them popping up all over the yard and they make me happy. I hope that she can somehow see the pretty little house we’ve built here, and how happy O. and I are together.

But this year, looking at them makes me a little bit sad too. I can’t help but wonder if there will ever be a time, fifty years from now, when OUR grandchild will stand on that very spot and be able to say, “My great, great grandmother planted those flowers a hundred years ago.”

The thing that’s getting to me today is that I have no control over that whatsoever.

And it absolutely sucks.




(* Yes, I know they are technically daffodils, but we’re Southerners and they’re buttercups.)

Bravery

For some reason, I started reading IF blogs months before O and I ever threw the birth control away and started trying to make a baby. I believe there was some Divine intervention involved. I must have sensed on some level that we’d be walking down the very same path one day.

I spent a lot of this cold gray afternoon reading blogs – old favorites and a few new finds. In the midst of clicking from one story to another, I was struck by just how much these women have come to mean to me.

It sounds strange to some, I’d imagine. I have a fantastic group of girlfriends that I wouldn’t trade for the world, but the women who write these blogs – they are breathtaking. They are extraordinary.

They are teachers, willingly sharing their experiences and advice.

They are strong, continuing on after their hearts have been broken.

They are generous, with their lives and their stories.

They are real and raw with their anger and frustration and pain.

They are hopeful, always hopeful (well, ALMOST always!).

They are supportive and loving and kind.

And above, they are so damned brave.

I once read bravery defined as a quality of spirit that enables you to face danger or pain without showing fear. I couldn't disagree more.

If you want to see REAL bravery, look at these women whose lives have been touched by infertility. They are, in moments, absolutely scared to death and aren’t afraid to tell you about it.

Yet still they hope. Still they fight. And for those who choose to stop fighting, they find a way to go on.

THAT’S brave.

So I wanted to take a moment to thank all of the women who have touched my life by sharing their stories. I am humbled by their generosity and pray that one day each and every one will have someone to call them "mommy".

In the meantime, I am proud to call them "friend".

The Moment I Knew

One of my earliest memories is of the moment I knew I wanted to be a mommy.

I was 3 1/2 years old and we'd gone to visit my aunt and uncle who'd just had a new baby, my cousin Eric. Put simply, I thought he was SWELL!

I was allowed to look at him but not touch, though I was told that after dinner (Thanksgiving?) I could sit on the sofa and hold him!

Even as a little kid, patience was not my forte and I must have asked a hundred times if I could "hold the baby now". The answer was always the same. "Not until after we eat".

Never in the history of the world has it taken so long to prepare and consume meal. I'm still convinced of that.

But when he was finally in my arms, well, that was all it took. I was awed. I was fascinated. I wasn't quite sure what he WAS, exactly, but I knew he was magical and I wanted one.

I still feel that way.

Food. Mine. Now. Lots.

Be very glad that you haven’t spent the last few days inside my head, ‘cause it’s sounded a little something like this:

“Is 5 a.m. too early to bake those spicy Cajun french fries? I wonder if we have anymore popsicles. Mmmmm, rice krispies! How many donuts are in those small packs? I’ll have two packs. Look at those cute heart-shaped snack cakes. I’ll have two of those also. Steak steak steak. Eat eat eat. Would it be wrong to just get a bowl of ranch dressing, float a couple of pieces of lettuce in it, and call it a salad? I’d like a number one with everything including cheese and a sprite to drink. I’d like a number one with everything including cheese, no tomato or pickle, and a sprite to drink. Can I get some extra white sauce with that? Cheese popcorn and Whoppers – a winning combination. The people at Dominos Pizza are culinary geniuses. I know we haven’t had lunch yet but what’s for dinner? No, 30 degrees isn’t too cold to get a peanut buster parfait. A corndog would just hit the spot. Peanut butter cups are food of the gods. Where’s the turkey? Food food food. Mine mine mine. Now now now. Lots lots lots.”

Damned Prometrium.

I have never experienced anything like this, even taking Provera for 3 years. I feel actual constant physical hunger.

Seven days and TEN POUNDS later I clearly saw this morning that I had to get control. I didn’t work hard to lose 100+ pounds only to put it all back on now!

I’ve certainly been eating more often than “normal” today, but I’ve made healthier choices and worked out for the first time this week. I feel better, but still have the “food food food” chant running through my head.

Once I’m done with the Prometrium, and my period starts, things should kick into high gear – an appt. with the NP for a blood draw and ultrasound, a HSG a few days later, and starting the injectables somewhere in between (I think!). I’m ready to get this show on the road, but time just seems to drag. If it’s this bad now, I can’t imagine what I’ll do during the 2WW! Perhaps I need to take up a new hobby.

As long as it’s not cooking or baking, I should be fine.

Top Ten Reasons I Decided Not To Freak Out After “Googling” My RE

1. This whole unfortunate sponge-left-in-the-patient-after-surgery thing happened in 1995. I can find no mention of problems before or since.

2. I really want a female RE and the only other one in my area is in the same practice as my doctor (and assisted in that same surgery, by the way).

3. These doctors, in practice for 20+ years, have one of the highest success rates in the country.

4. Their clinic specifically hires a staff of people who (along with both doctors) have firsthand experience with IF. That can’t help but make them more understanding and empathetic.

5. Lots of current/former patients have posted rave “reviews” about my doctor on sites all over the internet.

6. It’s entirely possible that I won’t need surgery, or that if I do, it would be laparoscopic. No messy sponges!

7. Dr. H. has published a huge number of professional papers on various IF-related topics.

8. Though Dr. H. is the “quarterback” of this process, most of my actual visits and procedures will be with the nurse practitioners.

9. I’ve had several people tell me that they had friends/family who saw Dr. H., and had nothing but good things to say about her.

10. I’m thinking that since it cost her $350,000, she’s probably a MUCH better counter now.

And besides, there is always time to freak out about it later!

Top Ten Reasons Not To "Google" Your RE

1. You may find that he or she was successfully sued . . .

2. for LEAVING A SURGICAL SPONGE INSIDE A PATIENT . . .

3. for EIGHT AND A HALF MONTHS . . .

4. causing a massive infection . . .

5. when the sponge perforated the patient's bowel . . .

6. which ultimately caused the removal . . .

7. of SEVEN INCHES of the patient's bowel . . .

8. and a jury award . . .

9. of $350,000.

10. See items 1-9.

Let's hope I don't need surgery.

Cockatoos and Brand New Shoes

I realized the other day that our struggle to have a baby is taking more of an emotional toll on me than I’d thought.

O and I were sitting at our kitchen table one morning last week eating oatmeal for breakfast. I was watching him out the corner of my eye - he looked like a sleepy little boy. It made me happy. I couldn’t help but notice, though, that he had a serious case of bed head. His hair was kind of fluffed out and up on each side. I wish I’d had a camera to record it for posterity. Anyway, I looked over at him and in a deadpan voice said:

“Honey, you’d better fix your hair before you go out to feed the kitties. They might think you’re a cockatoo and try to wrestle you to the ground and kill you.”

I don’t know why that comment struck me so funny, but I threw my head back and laughed hysterically; one of those laughs that comes straight from the tips of your toes all the way up. At that moment I realized how long it had been since I’d laughed – really laughed like that. It felt good. I’m going to make it a point do that that more often, though perhaps not always at the expense of my poor husband’s hair.

Another thing that made me happy last week was an unexpected gift from O. With all the weight I’ve lost, my shoes are now way too big. It makes sense, I suppose, but I just wasn’t expecting it. I can still get away with boots and tennis shoes at the larger size, but I’m in danger of walking right out of anything else. I decided to just make do with the shoes I have for the moment, though. Every penny counts as we’re facing all these RE bills. So one afternoon O came home from work with a package hidden behind his back. Inside was a brand new pair of black shoes for me to wear with my favorite skirts. I was so touched. I can just imagine him wandering around a women’s shoe department, uncomfortably going from shoe to shoe and not having the first idea of what was fashionable or comfortable. But you know what? He did good!

(Just between you and me, though, I would have loved and worn whatever he brought home, even if it meant looking like I had just raided my grandmother’s closet.)

A fern can't love you back!

You'd think that since I am posting a photo of a dog on my blog, that it might actually be MY pet. But nooooo, you would be mistaken!

I love and adore dogs, was raised with dogs, and had dogs until I was about 25 years old. But somewhere in the last ten years or so, I have developed pet allergies so along with possibly not being able to have a child, I can't even have a DOG!

I need something to nurture, dammit! There is only so much satisfaction that can be derived from caring for house plants.

In the meantime, I have to make due with weekly visits to my parents' house to see their new puppy Buster. He was dumped on my neighbor's porch, skinny and with open sores on his neck from being tied up. The neighbors are great but unfortunately already had 5 dogs so they had to call the pound. Before animal control could arrive, I saw this little guy, fell in love with him, and immediately called my mom. She and my dad were in the car and on their way over to get him within ten minutes. It's truly a match made in Heaven. He is s-p-o-i-l-e-d and they are head over heels in love with him. We all are.

Gotta go - busy busy! I'm trying to teach my ficus to fetch.

P.S. I hope none of you ladies are hungry this evening, because I have eaten ALL the food. Every. Single. Bit. Of. It. Sorry!

I'm Hooooongry!

I’m not sure if it’s because of the Prometrium I’m taking, or because I’m emotional about our first steps into the world of ART, or simply because . . . well, who needs a reason . . . but I’ve been seriously hungry the last couple of days. And I’m not talking about run-of-the-mill snacking. I am talking about an oinkfest of monumental proportions.

You think I’m kidding?

Yesterday in the span of one hour - 60 short minutes - I ate a huge banana, a bowl of tomato soup with crackers, a 100-calorie bag of kettle corn, 5 Kraft caramels, and 2 bowls of Rice Krispies.

I’m guessing about 20 calories a minute.

Regardless of the reason for this insane need to eat the entire contents of my kitchen, I’ve got to get a hold of myself. Prometrium is just the beginning. We don’t even bring out the big guns (injectables) for several weeks.

Hey wait! I know! I’ll simply harness all this raw eating power and put it to work for me. I will become a member of the International Federation of Speed Eaters and be like that guy Kobayashi who eats massive quantities of food quickly and FOR MONEY! Sounds right up my alley.

After all, the cash for all these doctor’s bills has to come from somewhere.

Snow Days and Swing Sets

I’ve never been a woman who was obsessed with having a baby. Don’t get me wrong. I adore kids and have always wanted to have one someday, but that was about as far as it went.

I rarely felt jealous as my friends got pregnant through the years.

I wasn’t the girl who would swing through the kids’ department at the mall to look wistfully at the darling little clothes.

I didn’t read up on the latest Consumer Reports articles on car seats and strollers, just in case.

I could happily hold a baby without my stomach getting fluttery.

Well, as Bob Dylan wrote years ago, the times – they are a changin’! Baby thoughts are now running rampant through my head and seem to find me at the strangest moments.

For several days, our local meteorologists were forecasting a bit of snow and ice for our part of the state last night and this morning. You really have to have lived in the South to understand the frenzied excitement this possibility creates in us. We immediately make plans to close our businesses and our schools, and race to the grocery store for whole milk and white bread. It’s as if we are preparing for the coming of the second Ice Age. I don’t know why. We’re Southerners. It’s just what we do.

Anyway, I thought back to when I was a kid and there was the possibility of snow. I’d keep one ear on the radio and the other on the TV, just WILLING them to announce that our City Schools would not be open the next day. I remember getting increasingly wound up as each and every city and county school system surrounding ours posted their closings. Even as a little kid, patience was NOT my forte.

So as talk of winter precipitation began earlier in the week, I couldn’t help but wonder, will we ever have a child sitting transfixed in front of our TV, monitoring the weather reports out of Memphis (as O did when he was a little boy – generally Memphis’ weather heads right for us) and waiting for a snow day of his/her own?

This morning we awoke to a “dusting” of white. I stood looking out our kitchen window for a while and happened to glance at the old swing set in our backyard. It’s been here since my husband was little. We built our home on what was once his grandparents’ farm, so there are reminders of them, and of O’s childhood everywhere. I used to think that the swing set was just an eyesore. It’s a rusty green color and has clearly seen better days. I don’t even know if it’s safe anymore. Anyway, I’ve lived here with O for over three years now, and the swing is just one of those things that, over time, I don’t ever SEE anymore. It just blends into the background. But today I noticed – really noticed it, and the snow-covered blue seat barely moving back and forth in the breeze. My stomach just clenched. I wondered if I’d ever look out that window and see our child on that swing set, yelling for O to “Push me higher Daddy!”

I could fill pages with moments like that – the woman at the RE’s office floating on a happy little cloud through the waiting room with her ultrasound picture tightly clutched in her hand and a secret smile on her face, the pregnant tummy-rubber buying gingham fabric and bunny rabbits for her baby’s nursery, the harried but happy new mom who sat next to us at our favorite restaurant last weekend with her newborn nearby, all bundled up for his first family outing.

Those daydreams are always bittersweet - sweet for the possibility that they might just come true one day; bitter in remembering that for all the medical technology in the world, the odds are stacked against us.

And I can’t help but wonder, if this doesn’t work out for us, will I ever think of snow days and swing sets in quite the same way again?

I’m thinking no.