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.