The secret

Omg, quick somebody ask me what CD I'm on!!! ...because I have no idea! How can this be that every second of my life has not been devoted to CD's, minutes, seconds? Don't get me wrong, I still know the first day I can do an hpt.... (One week from today, ahem).... I guess it's because I have no hope, er... expectations for this month.

Note to reproductive self: like a knocked up high school drop out, you have screwed up so many times that I have ceased having any realistic expectations from you. You will not go to college and you will not marry your baby daddy.

So, there it is. The secret to mental bliss during the fight against if. Better yet, the secret to mental bliss during the 2WW. Try it out, maybe it'll work for you.

Okay, the truth is... I went in on CD11 for a follie check. There were 2 jumbo sized, ready to rock. Super.omg.getout. Much excitement over this cuz #1 the clomid worked, holy crickee. #2 it before day 20 (my "normal" ov day). #3 there were 2! Joy and joyness a Christmas miracle, double the chances!
That was a thurs, Dr. Poc said I'd ov that weekend...

That weekend came and went... No positive opk. For realz. Visualize balloon losing air.

On the Monday following I went in for blood work and did the trigger injection. This put ov to day 17. Less than stellar, but still acceptable.

Now... What day are we on? Who knows, who cares. I have a feeling it didn't work. That my hopped up on hormones self, hot flashes, and migraines were all for nothing. What's the plan for next month? I haven't the foggiest. Don't know, don't care.

Oh, and also, the onslaught of December has made me realize that I have ovulated a whopping grant total of 2 times all year.

Tell me, have you been through a Who Gives a Crap phase? And, how long can I look forward to it? Cause I am not minding the view from here.




Note: I do not think HS KU drop outs are worthless. If you are one, or are a recovering HS KU know that you are very worth-ful(?)... Example used for illustrative purposes only. Please don't send me hate mail. Kthxbye

Crazy is as crazy does

Things I google at work for which one day I will be fired:

Difference between progesterone cream, patches and suppositories
-because contrary to popular opinion, no I do not love shoving pea sized vagi-vitamins into my lady business, all the while trying not to poke myself in the ass with my other fingers. Tasty image, right?

Can progesterone suppositories cause constipation?
-because there’s nothing better than being bound up while on vagi-vitamins. Come to think if it… if I did “accidentally” poke myself in the ass it might get things moving in the bum department. Although, I am absolutely unwilling to experiment with this method.

Are stool softeners safe to take during pregnancy?
-because I am one of those dumb hopefuls that thinks she might… just might… be preggo every single 2WW. Although, I never am.


This brings to mind the definition of insanity. Repeating the same action and expecting a different result. This makes me, by definition, insane. As if I didn’t know this before, but I need Webster to point it out to me before I can commit to swallowing it whole.

We try month after month after month… expecting a different result.

We experience heartbreak month after month after month… expecting a different result.

We spend hundreds in treatments month after month after month… expecting a different result.

We have ultrasounds, injections and blood tests month after month after month… expecting a different result.

We search online for baby furniture month after month after month… expecting a different result.

We are disappointed month after month after month… expecting a different result.

Are we really crazy? Are we gluttons for hurt and disappointment? Why do we expect a different result when the past has been so reliable?

Flaunting it

I don’t even dare mention the last name of the people expecting their 18th, 19th, 20th , … whatever they’re up to, child. I really don’t give a flying crap what they choose to do, or how many lives they choose to populate their cult clan with. But they’ve been flaunting their fertility for 16 kids now. They are rubbing my nose in the turd of their fertility. Really, just rubbing it in. Then whacking me with a newspaper and throwing me out in the rain until I’ve learned my lesson.

With this in mind, I’ve decided to petition the D%**@!$ for their 18th, 19th, 20th, … whatever, child.

Here’s what I have so far:

Dear D%**@!$,

May I puhlease have your 18th, 19th, 20th, … whatever, child?

Thank you kindly, Kansas

What do you think? Too direct? As if they would even notice if one or two were missing from the herd.

Anyways…

As predicted I broke down and tested yesterday and today (day 8 & 9). I know this is bad for many reasons. But I wanted to see if the hcg was still in my system to give a false positive. I am happy (?) to report I got a bfn yesterday and today. But I won’t fully trust them until Tuesday of next week… So, my status at the Early Test Club has been restored.
Regardless, I’m in a bad place today. What exactly does that mean? Honestly, I’m a little fuzzy on the details. But my brother and SIL use it to define when my nephew is having a bad day. They say, he’s “in a bad place.” Is that like cutting a tooth? Or like picking blueberries on an island when your kayak floats away? Or like playing football at the beach and you lose your wedding ring? Either way, I don’t have a great feeling that the injection worked. Like when you get fried dough at the beach, even though you know what fried dough does to you, and the only bathroom around is a porter potty a half mile away. Or like when you start spotting on day 27 of your cycle even though you have your fingers, toes, legs, eyes crossed that this is the month for you. Yeah, it’s like that.

At any rate, progesterone testing is tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll have to feign some emergency on Friday to get the results. “Yes Dr. piece of cake, my ute is actually falling out right now, I think I need to come in.” I know all of you internets will be waiting with titillating anticipation.

Can someone wipe the turd off my nose?

Pins and needles

6:15am - Beep… Beep… Beep…

6:20am - Kitchen counter covered with syringes, alcohol prep pads, hcg, diluting solution. I am like a crack fiend looking for their next high.

6:25am – Fertility monitor reads High. Omg, ute?! You decided to cooperate!?

6:30am – Boxer (See Below) looks at me quizzically, “What the h are you doing Ma?” Nothing to see here, move it along!

6:45am – The deed is done… with 1 casualty… Pain, tears, hysterics over accidentally sticking myself in the thumb. Holy hot mother of god, that shit hurts. But it made sticking myself in the stomach seem like a piece of cake.

Progesterone testing is next. Not sure when that will be since I have officially worn out my welcome at my doctors office. They are screening my calls and have a restraining order against me.

I recognize that I must wait the full 2 weeks to get an accurate test reading, which will be torturous. Since I am not just a member of the Early Test Club, I am also the President. I hope they don’t revoke my membership, and my title, because who am I kidding? We all know I will be testing from 8 dpo on out.

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.

Does that blow your mind?

Someone on a message board (for ep’s trying to get pg) had some pretty bitch slap comments for me this morning that I feel the need to address in case some others feel that I am a pathetic, overanalyzing, obsessed, controlling piece of shit .

(which I am all of the above. But god, I feel the need to save face, mkay?!)

I was being my fun self (as if I could be any other kind of self) and asking the girls about what types of fertility monitors they’ve used (see post below).

We are laughing and discussing the contraptions I’ve discovered and seeing who’s tried what.

And I get a note from Mrs. Not Fun Wants to Spoil Everyone Else’s Fun (how on earth does she sign that? I’d shorten it to Mrs. NFWSEEF).

Anyways, Mrs. NFWSEEF says to stop drinking and eat right to prepare for another pregnancy. Thank GOD she has told me this because I have been drunk since 2007 eating burritos and chili dogs. Damn it, if I had only known.

Then she says you have to chill out, because it won’t happen if you try too hard. Guilty, but that is such a bull shit statement. AND what about the people that don’t try at all? What about those mother….. ? AND what about people with ACTUAL MEDICAL diagnoses contributing to their IF, what about that Mrs. Smartypants, I mean, Mrs. NFWSEEF?

She does not do OPK’s or anything of the nature because someone told her it adds too much pressure. Who is this “someone” and what the flying fuck do they know about anything? I wouldn’t trust where they think you should buy salami from, never mind take their dumb ass opinion on fertility. Cease and desist taking advice from this person. Immediately.

In summary, Mrs. NFWSEEF, thank you for bitch slapping me up one side and down the other because you clearly have so much experience and good luck with getting knocked up that I would obviously want to give a rip about your advice. And I find the suggestive nature of your comments to be really annoying.

(in reality, my note back to her said something along the lines of: You raise some very good points. I’m going to give them some strong consideration.) That’s BS, I will do no such thing. End of story. I don't think I need to elaborate anymore on this.

It ain't right. And you know who you are...

Can I have the floor for a minute (or maybe 60? You dirty wannabe therapist whore of a blog)? I am in a fit of psychosis today over the amount of products marketed to infertiles. These filthy two timing bitches know that the infertile community will buy hoards of their ridiculously overpriced products based on promises of conception. I’m sure you’ve seen them. They market everything from lubes and vitamins to microscopes and digital monitors. You can basically spend a fortune. But it’s worth it, right? I mean, if it works. That’s what we tell ourselves anyways to rationalize the expenditure.
Uhm yes Uncle Sam, I spent $10,327 last year trying to get knocked up and I cannot see why that is not a tax write off. Someone.give.me.something.to.work.with.here. Fer real.
Wait a tick… did you say microscope?! What am I a freaking scientist!? That’s right kids. For a lovely $49.99 you too can buy a fertility microscope (because you are not NEARLY obsessive enough as it is) so that you can overanalyze saliva. Believe it or not, the microscope has received excellent reviews. And this device does not require you to purchase test strips! It tests SALIVA, not blood, or urine or even delicious cervical mucus. I just threw up in my mouth with the image of sticking a microscope up into the lady business. We need to move on.
Just as I am considering spending the ridiculous $49.99 on the microscope (because let’s face it, if I get the microscope I have to dig out my pocket protector and my retainer and nobody wants that) I find something even more expensive to blow my hard earned dollars out the window on, a digital fertility monitor. This contraption is on SALE for $142.99. Non sale prices range from $185-$250. And these prices do not include the test strips which will run you $45 for a 30 day supply. Bend over and grab your ankles because you are about to take it in the heiny. But this genius of modern technology detects 2 forms of ov hormones (LH & estrodial), where others only detect 1 (LH). When I find myself actually considering spending this ghastly amount of money on my very own “Cadillac of fertility monitors” I know I have officially lost it. In an attempt for redemption I look on craigslist. Maybe I can find a used one for less? And I do!!! Oh my, it is my lucky day because I found a used contraption for $50!!! Then it strikes me that the thought of inserting MY pee stick into a device that someone else has put THEIR pee stick into is infinitely disgusting. And the vag microscope is suddenly looking more appealing. (okay okay, it’s not for the vag, but I like calling it that).
I will be proceeding myself directly to CVS after work to charge my Cadillac on my credit card, because it’s worth it, right? I mean, if it works;o)

Oh, you didn't get the memo?

You know that feeling when you have just taken a kung fu shot to the gut? Allow me to explain…
My brother calls last night. When I didn’t answer (I was in my garden) he called Keith’s phone. Didn’t leave messages on either phones. Weird. I call him back we catch up on weekend and general life goings on for about 20 minutes. Semi strange. He asks about my dr. appointment this week. We talked about that and fertility in general for about another 15 minutes. Also, strange. Finally, he says he called because he wanted to tell me something. Long pause. He gets emotional, starts crying. I’m thinking, aw, my brother wants to tell me how much he loves me and how he doesn’t say it often enough, but the things I’ve been through have made him think about how thankful he is for having such a wonderful sister. Right. Then… KAPOW (insert kung fu shot to the gut). My SIL is pregnant. He didn’t know how I’d react. (wait I’m still gasping for air). He hopes I’m not too upset. (clearly not what I was expecting). Obviously they didn’t get the memo that no one in the world is allowed to get pregnant until I finally am able to produce offspring. Inconsiderate jerks. As I’m choking back tears I tell him how deliriously happy I am for them, of course I’m not upset, I’m sure it won’t be easy for me, but I am certainly not upset. Next time read your memo and we can avoid a situation like this happening in the first place.

The reality is, of course I’m happy for them. I am so happy that they don’t have to go through what I’ve been though. I would never want that for anyone. No one should ever know what it’s like to have trouble conceiving, or to know what’s like to experience a loss. It’s indescribable. Because of our differing realities with conception I feel like it makes it harder and harder for me to relate to them. I feel like I roll my eyes at people a lot and think, if you felt an ounce of the hurt I feel, then you would have a glimpse into the heartbreak that I live every day.
When we hung up the phone I exploded into tears. I’m happy that they don’t know the pain that I know. But I’m sad that I don’t know the joy that they know.
It’s not about “ever” getting pregnant. I’m not worried about that. I’m confident that someday we’ll get to be parents too. It’s the excitement and happiness around that inevitable day that I’m already missing, even though it hasn’t come yet. I know it will be filled with stress and worry, and I wish it didn’t have to be that way. Once you feel that hurt the fear that you will feel it again lingers. I hope in time that fear can fade.

In other, brighter, news, I definitely ov’d this weekend! So glad to be done with those OPK’s for a while. I definitely pee’d on multiple sticks Thursday and Friday to compare the intensity and darkness of the test line to the reference line. I stopped short of getting my microscope out because, oh yeah, I don’t have one. Seriously, you need a Harvard MD to be able to interpret those things.
To put it blunt, we did it like teenagers this weekend. Seriously. I won’t go into any more detail than that. Sunday morning though I had the smallest amount of spotting with my first morning pee (yeah yeah, tmi, I know). If it had been a week later I would’ve been all excited thinking it was implantation spotting. But I know it’s way too soon for that. It worried me a little bit, so I tried to lay low for the rest of the day and I didn’t have any more.
Stay tuned the two week wait is on and it won’t be pretty.

Tales from the OR

Safe to say that I was, ahem, anxious about the surgery. Well, it went well. Way better than I expected. It was a walk in the park compared to the last surgery.
On a scale of 1 – 10 the first surgery was a 10 and the second was a 0. People kept saying to me, “oh but the emotional aspect of the first surgery is what made is so much worse.” Uh, no people, I don’t think you’re getting it. Yes, the “emotional aspect” of the first surgery was a nightmare. But physically, the first surgery was so much worse. I couldn’t shower by myself or go up and down the stairs in my house for the first 2 weeks after the first surgery. I couldn’t lift my legs onto the bed to lie down. I would sit on the edge and Keith would have to swing my legs around. The pain was ridiculous. It’s made me realize how close to dying I really was before that first surgery. Scary.
Anyways…. I made lots of new friends after this surgery. Particularly my friend nurse Joanne, you know who you are, never shy with the morphine, you hold a special place in my heart!
Speaking of morphine. Thank the LOHD that it’s not sold on the street, because I would be one happy addict if it was. Those few morphine induced euphoric hours were bliss, the best time of my life.
From what I hear I was a real riot. Keith said I kept saying “vag” and “lady business” in front of my mom. Wonderful. Thankfully, she hasn’t mentioned it.
At any rate, when I am president everyone will have access to as much morphine as they want whenever they want it. Period. I’ll make bumper stickers: Got Morphine?
In all seriousness, the surgery went well. The endo was removed, (I even got pictures!), and the dye test went pretty well. The left tube is clear as a bell, the dye flowed right through, no problems. The right tube was a little “windy.” as Dr. R put it. She said the dye flowed through, but not as well as the left side. She said the windyness was where the pregnancy was. She said there could be small amounts of endo there (too small for her to remove). This all makes me wonder if her original theory of the EP is wrong. She originally thought the left tube ovulated, egg was fertilized, then couldn’t implant in uterus because of too much endo, so it was sucked up into the right tube. After seeing pictures of the surgery, it really doesn’t look like there was a whole lot of endo in there. I wonder if it was fertilized in the right tube, but the little bugger never made it out of the windyness. I was too out of it to think of these obvious questions right after the surgery. But I’m going to ask on Wednesday when I have my 2 week follow up. She said the windyness (I hate that word) of the right tube is no cause for concern and she isn’t worried about it in the least bit. Basically, we can start doing it like animals.
I’ve stocked up on OPK’s (hella expensive), I’m on CD 14 and no ov yet. I’m trying to coax it along through meditation. Ha, we’ll see how that goes! I’ll try anything! Maybe acupuncture?
What a smorguesborgue of a post! Topic to topic to topic….
I got proactiv last week. I’ve been using for a little over a week and my skin is supah dry, but I think it’s working. I still have some breakouts on my jawline, but it’s getting better.

Mourning sickness

The surgery is officially in 23 days. I’ve gone through a gamut of feelings about it. I went from dreading it, to being excited about the possibility of ttc again, to now, where I am a mixture of the two.
On the one hand I feel excited about the future and ttc again. The possibility of getting pregnant again is exciting.
On the other hand I feel terrified. I feel terrified of another surgery possibly causing damage to my already defunct uterus. I feel terrified of feeling out of control about the future. I feel terrified of being pregnant and not being in control of my health and being a neurotic mess about doing things “right”. I feel terrified of not knowing when to trust my instincts. I feel terrified of the fertility decisions that lay ahead of us and the amount of time remaining to make those decisions.
The decision is how aggressively we want to pursue fertility intervention. Specifically, clomid (which isn't that "agressive" really). My gut says not to resort to it for at least a few months to give us time to try “naturally.” But I know that we will be most fertile in the first 6 months after the surgery. So the dilemma is to make the most of our most fertile time or not? My doctor is advising us to start clomid immediately after the surgery. I just don’t know. Keith and I haven’t talked about it yet. We still have a few weeks to make a decision and I don’t want to beat the topic to death with him. I’m thinking about it, but I don’t feel pressured to make a decision.
I’m leaning to having a consultation with a magic 8 ball.

The surgery consult is June 2nd, two weeks away. We’ll be able to ask some questions then.