Infertiles here, infertiles there, infertiles everywhere

You know the old term, misery loves company. It's terrible, but I get so excited when I meet another infertile.

It's happened twice at work in the last few weeks. The first was with a coworker I used to work with in another department 5 years ago. She saw that I was KU and mentioned that she had just found out that she was KU as well. I don't know how it came up but she said that they'd been trying for a few years and had to use Clomid to get their BFP. I was all like, Shut the front door! We shared war stories about losses, etc. I left our conversation feeling like I wasn't alone, I'd met another one in the Sisterhood. Warm and fuzzy, bunnies and puppies.

The second exchange was most unexpected. It was with an external partner of my company that I work with on a regular basis. He's called a couple times in the last few months to see how things are going with the bug. In this conversation he was telling me about his 3 year old daughter, his wife's pregnancy, labor, delivery, etc. I made the critical error of asking if they were going to have more children.

His response: It's in God's hands. My response: OH MY GOD! You're an INFERTILE?!
I could tell he clearly wasn't comfortable talking about the specifics of their situation, but suffice it to say that a kinship was formed.

Some win the battle sooner than others. But we've all cried the same tears and felt the same pain.

It's funny, misery does love company. It's comforting know that brothers and sisters have walked this path before us, and there will be many more after us.

Putting a face to the name

I hate infertility this much. :::insert arms open wide::: And I am such a juvenile imbecile that it helps me hate IF even more if I assign it an evil identity.

Like the Grim Reaper. Or Jason with his freaky hockey mask. Basically, someone’s ass I wouldn’t mind kicking.

But in my version of childish imagery IF doesn’t hide behind a cloak or a hockey mask.

In my mind, it looks something like the gigantic snot aiming to get people to purchase hoards of Muc.inex because they have gobs of snot and phlem running down their face.

You know who I mean. That sick SOB that wants to take up residence in your sinus cavity. Imagine him hunkering down for the long haul, duct taping his crap down, so that when you try to hock a lugey he will remain comfy and cozy.

Well, in my minds eye IF looks something like that, but instead of snot, it’s a shrively dried up ovary. She has hunkered down and downright refuses to blink first.

Yes, putting a face to it really helps my anger issues. Obviously.

A friend ever so gently, in a “dealing with a crazy person” kind of way, suggested I go back to my crazy doctor. I opted to go back to bikram yoga this weekend instead. Because I got on the scale on Saturday and it literally read, “FAT COW.” So. That always comes as a surprise.

Suffice it to say, the injection and progesterone supplements did not work. I had to wait 5… count them with me… 1.2.3.4.5. days for the blood test results. Because, really? Why isn’t that reasonable? To wait 5 days for results that take a maximum of 4 hours to obtain. Gah!

I actually called the Office Manager to complain. Little did I know the “Office Manager” is Dr. piece of cake’s husband.

You: You’re kidding me, right?

Me: I wouldn’t do it to ya.

Next round is TBD. That is, if I can get Mr. POC to call me back. Damn. Why do I get the feeling I will soon be shopping for a new dr.?

The waiting game

I like games. We had great fun playing games this past weekend; Gin Rummy, 21. Who doesn’t have fun playing some games with friends? Games generally have rules, participants, some type of contest, a strategy, a timeframe, fun“ness.”

This waiting game does not fit into that criteria whatsoever.

Who came up with this “game?” Some joker with a seriously messed up idea of fun. Let me clue you in on a key ingredient for games… they have to be FUN. So you can take you, yourself, and your messed up games and get the hells out of here.

I know what you’re thinking… “Kansas, you dummy, it’s a phrase! Stop being so literal!”

Thanks, I needed that pistol whip this morning. Really, because this game has been going on since Thursday. I went in for the injection, but lo and behold my follicle was not big enough. They checked estrodiol and told me to come back in my next lifetime when it would be at sufficient levels for the injection.

This morning, bright and peppy 8am, I went back in. The follicle is sooper doper perfect size, lining is lovely, but fertility monitor is still on low. Wah? How can dis be? My short bus ute failing me again? Fer realz kids.

I have been instructed to carry around my injection supplies with me at all times… you know, just in case my eckstra speshul ute decides to cooperate at a moments notice.

Imagine me… at an offsite work function… at the beach… out to dinner… hanging out with friends… and back at work. With my doggie bag, because I've been carrying it around since Thursday.

My coworkers can’t figure out why I won’t just throw away my seriously stale nachos from last week. I get separation anxiety, ok? Gahd.

So here I am at work. And I can’t decide, IF I get the greenlight today, where exactly I would like to look like a crackhead and shoot myself up. In our uber nasty bathroom? Kitchen that hasn’t been cleaned in the 2 years that I’ve been working here? Conference room that leaks toilet water from the upstairs bathrooms?

So many choices, I may just put them all in a hat and draw one out.

I should find out in an hour if the estridiol is good to go.

Prepare for the worst

What do cramming 7 drunks and 1 DD into a Chevy Blazer, jello shots, penis cakes, sore ass feet, and Pin the Macho on the Man have in common? I know, you could have guessed after the first clue. The festivus de Bachelorette!

I must say the bachelorette parties have thinned out in the last year. Mostly due to the fact that the majority (if not all) of my friends are married by now. This one was for my cousin, which was how I knew it was going to be a raving good time. My other cousins (one from out of state) also came, which made the trouble factor rise significantly. But it was so much fun to catch up, and party with them.

Chaz, our Pin the Macho on the Man sleazebag whore, was great fun. We hid his bizarrely decorated penises all around my house for my husband to find. It was great when I hear him shout from our room yesterday:

“Why is there a zebra print penis in my sock drawer?”

Me: “Huh, wah? Can’t hear you…”

It will be excellent this winter when he finds one in the fireplace.

The party was perfect in theory. Girls night out! What could go wrong?! But after an hour my incisions were throbbing and I thought my guts might fall out at any minute. I thought to myself: “Self, what the hell is your 27 year old going through IF treatments ass doing out here?” I sat on a bar stool for 15 minutes and rallied to finish out the night.

Despite my moment of weakness, it was a good night filled with bachelorette debauchery fun. Chaz, love you. Miss you. Hope you’re not getting salmonella on the bottom of my trash can.


In other wildly exciting news, my hcg injection is scheduled for the 20th at 9am. And we found out our insurance company is going to cover it.

Me: “What you’re going to cover a treatment for something that is medically wrong with me?”

I almost fell down the stairs ass over tea kettle when they told me. My motto with them is: Prepare for the worst. I think if I said, “Wait, let me get this straight…” one more time they would have shaken the Magic 8 ball again on me and changed their minds. So I let it go.

Internets: any advice on how to get my dh to produce his jizz sample would be hugely appreciated. I brought home a 1 pager of directions filled with "masterbation," "ejaculation," etc. They know how to turn a dude on, right? I offered to give a "hand" but how do I know when the time is right? The sample has to be provided between 8am and 3pm.

Me (from work): "Hey honey, how about we run home for lunch for a quick hand job?"

Him: "... ... ...."

Not so much.

Step right up please and get your tickets!

Omg, LPD, OPP, TGIF, HCG! WTF?! I wonder if I could write a post made up entirely of acronyms. I looove the acronyms. I hope acronyms take over the entire English language.
Moving on, as acronyms have nothing to do with anything at all, I just wanted to interrupt your regularly scheduled program to profess my love for dat crap.

I saw dr. ‘wonderful, everything is a piece of cake’ yesterday. She has always been this way; through my ep, both surgeries, getting pg in general, almost to the point of getting on my nerves. Everything seems so simple in her book. Maybe it is I who complicates everything? I’m not really going to ponder that, since I’ve stopped seeing my crazy dr., who knows what might send me hurling over the edge these days.

Moving on, again. ADHD, there’s an acronym for you. … After another ridiculously long wait in the waiting room (were talking 45 minutes here) I got in for my 15 minutes of fame. It was scheduled to be my annual, but I morphed it into another IF session. Listen, I’ll milk the woman for whatever I can after 45 minutes in the waiting room, mkay?

I told her how after last months sonogram & estrodial tests I never got a positive OPK (which I acknowledge in hindsight). And how I spent a retarded fortune on the Cadillac and it has said I’ve been on “high” fertility for the last 11 days (shocked? Mmm, me too). Through this new round of blessed information she was able to whittle the IF culprits down to 1! Now we know with complete certainty where the problem lies. OMG, GTFO! I know, it’s so exciting!

I prepare the follicle normally, estrodial rises normally… but… then… nothing. I’m not producing the LH surge to trigger ov. She has thought that I do not ov all along, but wasn’t sure why. Well now we know. Arentyousosmart.

We’re going to bypass Clomid altogether. There’s no point wasting months of that if we know if won’t work for. I’m thankful for the saved months of frustration. (I should deposit those into my frustration savings account, they might come in handy later.)

We’re going to have a sonogram on/around the 21st. If a good follicle is developing we’re going straight for the HCG injections. A few days later we will do a progesterone test, and do supplements as necessary. I must say I am a total dummy when it comes to this. And dr. piece of cake did not do the best job of explaining the steps. Like, how many injections are there? 1 per month? Does my insurance cover it? Clueless. Like Alicia Silverstone meets IF.

Ohyeah.btw.honey? you must haz your jizz tested. Did I forget to mention that? Mkay, cause you do. So.stepuptotheplate.makeithappen.

Must.stay.on.topic. I’m feeling really positive about the next steps now that we’ve finally narrowed down the problem. (which I must say explains a lot because I’ve had irregular cycles my entire life). But I am concerned about the odds of multiples (not bad though)/cost/insurance/side effects/etc. Any insights/experiences you fab internets have to share with my dirty whore blog would be very welcomed.