cocklebur

A cocklebur is a desert shrub that grows in a "disturbed, moist area..." My little cocklebur is not a particularly problematic development. The nurse who found it on the ultrasound did not seem at all bothered by its presence and said that its size and location should not impair my fertility. ("should not" ha!) Not ever having a fibroid before, I was a little blindsided by this. That's silly, of course; why not a fibroid? why not me? But the appointment was not about that, and I was more focused on the fact that she said I hadn't ovulated yet but that I was doing a nice job growing a follicle. I wanted to remember my questions about their injections protocols. So when she was telling me about this fibroid, and even when she was showing it to me, I don't think it was registering. I also did not realize that there were different kinds of fibroids based on location. I'll need to ask more questions.

Anyway. The problem isn't with the little weed itself. It's psychological. Something is growing in there. Not a baby, but a tumor. A fibroid is a tumor. There's a tumor growing in my ute. Nothing grows in my uterus! When I was on my way back home I lost it a little. The tears came and I refused to talk to P and I took my pants back off and curled up in bed with my book. Sometimes you just gotta pretend you're not there. Later I told him (though I think I was cruel about it, telling him first that it was a tumor and second that it was not the cancerous, scary kind) and he gave me a hug and said that he was sorry that he hadn't been at the appointment with me.

All in all, I did not sleep well. Visions of bombs and tumors and creepy things growing inside of me did not make for a restful night. I'm pretty sure this is not a big deal and that I just need to get out of my head.

***

They're coming to install central air today. Money well spent.

irony, thy name is fibroid

and we thought nothing could grow in there!

I'm happy for them, naturally, but...

I was reading new blogs this morning looking for more good "still trying" ones.
I clicked on four in a row with positive betas being the first post.

And there's a fucking first response commercial on right now. Caress your flat stomach all you want, bitch, I hope you miss the stick and pee all over your hand.

Wrong side of the bed anyone?

feeling pretty is so hard

My SIL is serving my little brother with divorce papers. He hardly gets to see my nephew because he can't afford the gas. I haven't seen them since Christmas (which is understandable, since we live in different states, but my mom lives there and she doesn't get to see them either.) The whole situation just sucks.

Friends of ours just had their baby. The ones who I suspect had problems. I'm happy for them, but jealous and sad for me.

There's a chance I may not get to start injects again next month after all. Timing issue. We'll see. I've been looking forward to starting again, but I'm having a hard time getting excited. I hope getting pregnant does not require positive thinking or I'm screwed.

I gained 10lbs between the time we left our old house and when we got here. I'm getting tired of the constant struggle to get back to normal. I told P I was going to call about a job I saw advertised on Sunday. I never did. I never finished fixing my resume either.

Just having a down day.

In which I say, "right?" a lot.

Now, why do I have concerns about my new doctor? Well, the biggest, reddest flag is that he "knows" SatanInASmock the doctor who runs the program at BastardClinicFromHell my last clinic. (see, I can let go of the past!) I mention that I'm coming from OutOfState and he says he knows a guy out there. "It's not Satan?" I ask him, knowing that it is. Sure enough. It was all I could do not to jump up out of the chair and run for the stairs. That abruptly ended my monologue on "why I'm here and where I came from" and made everyone a little uncomfortable. He tried to make me feel better by noting that he and Satan do not exchange Christmas cards.

Just because he knows the guy is no big deal, right? I mean, I know there are a lot of REs, but it's not an enormous community or anything, right? It's probably just a coincidence, and of course he wouldn't violate patient confidentiality by talking to the other doctor about me without my permission, right?

Sigh. So much for my fresh start.

The good things:

1. No more clomid. He agreed that I'd done enough.
2. He did not say I was crazy because I said that dex made me psycho. He acknowledged that the "erratic mood swings" are rare, but entirely possible when taking steroids.
3. He is known for being the more aggressive Dr. in the group (according to the nurse.)
4. He seems willing to work with/around insurance issues. So far.
5. They are open on weekends and do blood draws on the proper days.

The questionable (aside from the unfortunate satan association):

1. He asked me if I was doctor or a nurse. At first it felt like a compliment, but now that I've had time to over-analyze it, I wonder if I'm setting myself up to be labeled a pushy patient again. Oh well.
2. He's not ready to schedule me for a lap. Though he "likes to cut people open," he wants to do a couple rounds of injects for now and gave me that "tsk, tsk, little lady, no sense worrying about what could be nothing" look when I began talking about endo.
3. The nurse instructed me to stop taking my big motrin. Um, ok, but you know my ute laughs at tylenol, right? You know that motrin is only the first line of defense and that I only left tequila off as a pain reliever because I didn't want to look like both a lush and a headcase, right? She okayed my tylenol with codeine though, and I got a lecture about NSAIDs.

It's really about me finding my way home

P likes to sleep late on the weekends and I don't. I prefer to keep a similar schedule all week. Why do you care? Because I had to go for day 3 bloodwork this morning (they only do blood draws until 9 on the weekends) and I had to go all by myself.

I woke up, detangled my legs from kitty-sleep, got out of my warm bed, and I made it there in plenty of time (I was shooting for 8-830)

She did not miss my vein.

She was nice to me.

She did not require ten vials of blood like the last clinic's intake required.

I made it home without looking up the directions, without using the GPS, and without getting lost! (um, until I drove past my house on my own street. But let's pretend that didn't happen.) When you suck at directions as much as I do, you celebrate the small victories. One of the hardest things about moving for me is finding my way around a new place.

Two hours later, P is still sound asleep.

And so, even though I have some concerns about my new doctor, my diagnostic cycle begins.

Walkin' up a tightrope

I was reading Katie's last entry and I thought, "yeah, me too." I lingered in the comments section and realized that I had more to say.

I tell myself that I'm indifferent, that the pain and sadness that comes with infertility and childlessness is tolerable, that I'm used to it, that it doesn't effect my day to day existence. Then something happens to prove that I'm delusional.

I have things put away in the main living areas of my house, but the den is a disaster with office stuff everywhere. The "guest" bedroom is a mess where the movers piled clothes, books, and miscellaneous items into a corner. There are many things I can't find yet, but I know they're here, so I don't worry. P asks me for his large CD case and I can't find it anywhere. I tell him that it'll turn up and I stop looking when I have to actually move heavy things.

Then I realize that I can't locate my brown bag of clothes. This bag has a long history of meaning for me. When I was little, my mom used it to put treats in when we went to Disneyland. We had no money and I don't know how long it took my mom to save the money to take us on that adventure, but I bet it was awhile. She had things all planned out. We couldn't afford to eat there, so she packed bread, peanut butter, jelly, fruit, etc., and we went back to our hotel for meals. She couldn't afford souvenirs, so she packed the brown bag full of little toys, candies, and books that she could dole out as necessary. The blue bag was prettiest, but it was full of clothes. The brown bag is just special.

Sometime during a clean-out, years later, I come across the brown bag in my mom's donate pile. No way is this bag being donated, so I rescue it. For the longest time it held my baby pillow and blanket. Then it held t-shirts from school plays and events. Then it held nothing but a ticket from my first concert (The Village People, in 1997, to my chagrin) and a spot in the back of various closets. Still, it's the brown bag and I can't get rid of it.

The people who lived in our last house before us must have had a baby because they were on the Huggies diaper mailing list. I passed along as many diapers as possible to friends, but there were many inappropriately sized diapers that I tucked into a closet. I do have the packrat gene. Somehow this stash grew without me buying a thing and I began to store these little diapers in the brown bag.

P and I had begun trying for a baby, but were not buying any baby items. He was against it, and I went along. Eventually, he okayed an outfit that was on sale at baby gap and it was lovingly added to the brown treat bag. Every now and then, when I'm feeling hopeful, I'll give in to the impulse to buy something sweet for a child who may be. The diapers eventually came out of the bag as the bag filled up with tiny clothes. There was one cycle that I had "a feeling" about as I bought a tiny onesie and I put it in my dresser drawer, away from the items that were just hope items. I don't know if that makes any sense, but this blue striped onesie was special. That baby was real. Of course, I was wrong, and there was no baby, and the onesie made it into the bag. There are little things like that in there.

The bag lived in the spare bedroom for the years we lived in the old house up on a shelf in a closet. I didn't spend much time in that room. I only ever had one guest, my mom, and the room didn't get much use. It housed "the big dog" that my friend's daughter played with when she came over, and it stored a ton of books, blankets, and a TV in the same closet that held the brown bag. It got tucked away on a high shelf and I really didn't spend much time thinking about it. I don't take the clothes out and look at them. I don't think about them being up there, packed away and waiting. I don't long to put them on a real baby. I just have them. It's all abstract.

Yet when I can't locate this bag in our new house, I panic. I mean really panic. Everything that I've squirreled away since we started trying is missing, and I lose it. It's as if having that brown bag was a sort of safety that allowed me not to think about things that hurt to think about. It was there in the background like a life preserver on the side of the pool. You like to see it there, but you don't count on using it.

I see things that were in the same closet spread out among the den, the guest room, and the treadmill room. I look under piles and inside closets. I check the basement even though I know the only stuff down there is plastic containers that hold my teaching things and Christmas things. My heart begins to pound a little harder, and I go back upstairs. My life preserver is gone and the babies who do not exist are destined for nakedness and now I have to think about it.

I do finally locate the bag and I exhale a little harder than normal. It may have been in a pile of clothes, in with the shoes, under the fax machine, by the books I haven't read yet; it doesn't matter where it was or which closet becomes it's new home. It's here. It made the move, and my world, (though in a state of moving disarray,) is intact.

Some things

I feel like I'm always behind; I just can't catch up.

1. We moved into our new house.
2. We did get our utilities.
3. I do not have TiVo hooked up yet.
4. One of my boys cried for a whole day (I think he wanted to know where the heck our stuff was. It's here now and the crying has stopped.)
5. I had my first appointment at NewClinic. I'm not sure what I think of them yet.
6. I gained some weight on my trip and I don't like how I feel. I was more embarrassed than usual to be weighed at the doctor's office.
   
7. I never made a decision about grad school and now it's too late to apply this year.
8. Having a GPS is really awesome when you're in a new area. I am much more confident when I go out with it so I go out more (I suck at directions.)
9. I woke up last night screaming that there was a chicken in the bathtub.

Moving courtesy, FYI

When you move out of a house, the new owners usually can't set up utilities unless you cancel your service to that house.

You can set your cancellation to happen on a day in the future (say, the closing date) and use your utilities throughout the time you own the property.

But you really piss "people" off when you refuse to put the order through so that the new owners can't establish service starting on say, tomorrow the closing date.

Having to call my lawer about this is a real pisser.

.

So, I'm not crying anymore (I wish I knew what made this cry-when-frustrated thing began, and why, because it's annoying) and I rescheduled my appointment. I waited this long, what's a little longer, right?

This doc better be good.

This house better be good too.

Our bank, however, is about to lose our business.

complications

Of course, as soon as I actually get an appointment with the RE, I find out that our house is closing at that very same hour and I have not yet acquired the power to be in two places at once.

Having many problems today. Today sucks.

I'm glad I'm not a businessperson. Do they laugh and point when you cry because things aren't going your way? I'm frustrated. Everyone I need to talk to is out to lunch and no one will call me back.

I did it!

I put my big-girl pants on and made the appointment.

I feel better but also nervous. Not the doctor thing so much as the new doctor thing.

I never run out of things to worry about!

Fly by Night

We made it to NewCity.

It's all in which label is able to persist...

I've been researching fertility options in NewCity pretty much since I found out we were moving there. It was a huge relief to discontinue treatment where we were, but who really wants to wait? All of us still waiting want success, and we want it now. Or yesterday. Or two weeks ago so we can see a second line. Still, it was good to let go of the ClinicFromHell even if it meant a long pre-move break. Now that we're in transit (wheeee!!!!!!) I'm feeling the need to get going on things again. I don't want a long wait once we arrive, so I need to start setting up appointments now.

So what's the problem? Well, the problem is I'm scared. I had such a bad experience, I'm having trouble making decisions, phone calls, etc. I got my records from the last place and I just want to throw them in the garbage because that's what they are. They're full of crap that shouldn't be in there (rude doctors' commentary calling me difficult and non-compliant, etc.) that I don't want clouding my new doc's opinions/decisions. Not to mention the fact that there are places where they have things in there that are flat-out incorrect.

I asked for an endo consult no fewer than five times and it isn't noted once. It was, however, noted that I declined to participate in a study where you give clomid to patients with cysts to see if it really was a problem. HELLO! I have a history of ruptured cysts and that very cycle I ended up bleeding into my pelvis!

The records are just part of it though. I've never really been comfortable with doctors. I feel like I never say all that I want to and I can never accurately describe whatever the problem is. I detest that whole pain scale thing. I hate the smiley face chart.

I had really bad asthma as a teenager (my small airways only functioned at 53%) and was highly sensitive to cigarette smoke. I was taken to the ER via ambulance once and one of the techs accused me of faking it. Yeah, I'm faking an inability to take full breaths because I like the pretty lights on your van.

So what has infertility done for me? Well, it's sucked all my confidence away for one thing. P and I are both well-educated, intelligent individuals and I think that by not being treated that way for the last couple of years, I've forgotten how to be that person. Is that completely bizarre? I mean, I've never been super self-confident, but it's been years since I was a doormat.

Anyway, I truly believe that things can be different somewhere else, and I know that in the end I'm gonna make the calls.

I've done the research for myself, and I'm getting some outside opinions, and I'm ready... I'm still scared though.

guest blogger.

Sometimes living in a hotel is booooring. BUT, there are ways to liven it up. See, during the night it gets really dark here, not like at home, which is fabulous for hunting. You know where a great place to hunt is? In mommy's water glass (ignore daddy's--- it's no fun if you can't wake up your human.) Bonus points if you can knock it over and get her book and everything else wet. Double bonus if you do it two nights in a row.

There's plenty more to do.
I think I've decided never to sleep at night again. What I really want to do is get inside the drawers (these new drawers are awesome! you can totally open them up with NO thumbs!) and then jump out and listen to them slam shut. Then you can hop up onto the bed and get some attention. Oh, boy, mommy looks a little mad. Did she just call me a heathen and threaten me with going in the dumpster? She's all talk. But to be safe, maybe jump down anyway.


Chasing your big brother in a circle around the room, through the chairs up and down over the bed, on the people as fast as you can go is a great time killer. Watch out though, because if he stops, you will overrun him and you may hit a wall with a nice furry thud. No matter, you just shake it off and keep running. If he won't play, just practice jumping up onto the high armoire (with the desk next to it you have great access!) Knocking things off the desk is acceptable if it's nighttime. Plus, you might set something like, say, and advil bottle that makes an amazing noise as you bap it around the room.



You'll be pretty thirsty by then, so you might want to stop for a drink. If you've already knocked over the water glasses you'll have to settle for your own bowl. This is no big deal though, since it is 3am and you still have plenty of ways to make this irritating to your sleeping human parents. First, push the bowl with your nose or paw across the tile floor. This makes a fabulous scraping sound. You want to leave it in a walkway so that someone with human feet might just kick it or step in/on it and get water everywhere. Water tastes even better when licked from the floor. Trust me, humans like wet feet and a slick surface in the wee morning hours. It makes their feet feel clean and their giant human asses a little sore, but who doesn't appreciate that?

Speaking of asses, anytime you're in a confined space and your litter box has to share air with the humans' living space, you want to make sure you show them how you feel about it. I'm used to quite a bit of privacy myself, and this whole exposed, in-the-bathroom thing is seriously lacking in defined territory. I like to make the smelliest poops possible as many times per day as possible. If you don't have to go, that's ok, but make a good show if it by getting in and out of the box whenever you think of it. Just digging around in there is good fun and you get the added pleasure of tracking the crystals out onto the tile. If your mom likes things clean like mine does, she'll appreciate the opportunity to practice using the broom and dustpan several times each day. If someone objects to your smell and cleans your box, feel free to get right back in and go some more. There's nothing like a clean box at 4am, and there's nothing your person wants to do more than clean up your smelly crap when it invades the room.

My dad has gotten wise to my night games and now locks me out of the bathroom.

I guess there's just too much fun to be had in there. Truth be told, it's also a tad dangerous here because there's no lid on the toilet. I've only had one accident so far, so I think I'm doing pretty well.



Sometimes I think I'm ready to be a good cat like my big brother, but extending my kittenhood is just so much fun I'm not sure I'm ready to give it up yet. Plus, I know I have done mommy a favor by getting her up so early. She got to get a load of laundry done while it was still kind of dark out (daddy needed socks again and I do love to play with a good pair of balled up socks!) I'm pretty sure she mentioned something about death, but I don't think she was talking to me because she was having pretty bad back cramps this morning. I think that made her enjoy me being up with her even more.

She can repay me by giving up her spot on the bed so I can take a nice long morning nap with my dad. I think I've earned it.

"Aunt Twirl" is different

My two year old "niece" asked me the other day,

"any news on your baby?" (Someone in her family is adopting from Guatemala and I guess she's heard adults talk about "baby news" a lot lately.)

"No, sweetie, I don't have a baby," I explain, with broken glass in my throat.

"My mommy has three babies. I'm two years old and my big sister is five years old and my new baby is no years old. That's three babies."

"Yes, I know, your mommy is very lucky to have you."

"My new baby is very little so you have to be careful. I have ice cream pajamas and I'm a princess with my Cinderella. You are coming to visit us soon and you send us presents in the mail. Are you bringing your kitties and your baby?"


I love talking to the girls, but sometimes they break my heart a little.

Dear Sandman,

Since I can't have a baby, it would be great if you'd stop making me dream that I have one. Waking up this morning without my daughter was excruciating.

(also, is there a reason you made Avril Lavigne my realtor? Because she did a pretty damn good job. And I'm not interested in joining the swim team, even with my verybestfriend. )

Thanks,

Twirl

Calling all pet owners!

If you have indoor-only pets, do you vaccinate them? Against everything, or just some things?

If not, do you get grief from vets who push vaccinations?

(This is mostly curiosity because with air travel, decisions on this subject aren't mine to make.)

It's Moving Day!

On the edge of your seat, right?

In case you were wondering about my house-hunt (and let's face it, it's all you can think about, right?) we did pick a house. We began to negotiate on it, but House#14 (suburban paradise) was not meant for us. We had some problems with the jackasses sellers and walked away from the table. I'm glad. I wanted the house, it was our first choice, but it was so difficult to pick in the first place that I don't feel at all bad about moving on.

So now we have an accepted contract on our second choice (House #3) and I can't wait to live there. Should something go wrong, I feel pretty good about our third and fourth choices too, which is a great feeling! It's nice to know you have options and that none of them suck. It's also a plus that my preview trip was not a waste. I did, however, feel like I was in an episode of House Hunters and Suzanne Whang spent a lot of time narrating in my head ("will it be the new build with the great master suite farthest from the office, the house in the suburban neighborhood that needs just a few repairs, or will it be the home at the top of their budget that's just minutes from P's office...")

Our current house may close late, but everything looks good and we're moving out THIS week! After that it's hotel time, move time, drive across country time, a little more time, and then in May we ought to be in NewCity for good.