Underwater Clown Conspiracy

Update bookmarks

2008-08-05T00:07:00.002-04:00

For those of you that occasionally come back here, you can now follow me in my new life here.

A mother...

2008-05-07T01:06:00.003-04:00

After a long, difficult journey - I'm finally a mother.

Julian Randall was born on May 1, 2008 at 11:01 p.m. weighing 8 lbs. 8 oz. and 20 inches long.

My husband Patrick (I'm remarried now) and I are utterly in awe of our son, and I have never felt my heart so full of love.

I used to blog, now I take pictures...

2007-06-04T10:47:00.000-04:00

Testing - Testing - 1-2-3...

*clears throat*

I doubt anyone even checks in on this anymore. Nonetheless, here goes...

Things have been rough this past year, to say the least. After much heartache and soul searching M and I decided to split up last fall. The breakdown of the relationship was one of the hardest things I've ever dealt with (perhaps even more so because in a lot of ways it was my fault). After first moving to the second bedroom last year, I finally moved out of the house for good early this spring. I'm now living in Chicago. He kept the house and the cats. I took my bed, the china, my car, and my clothes. Both of us took five years of memories that can't be measured with monetary value. I certainly never expected our relationship to end this way. Such is life, I suppose. You'd think two legal people could get through the divorce quickly and efficiently, but that isn't nearly as easy as one would hope. It's pending, expected to be finalized this month I guess. It's a dreadfully painful experience, even when it's what both parties really want.

I miss him. But I firmly believe this is what's best for both of us. I'm starting over. Slowly. Some days are horrifically difficult. But you keep going.

Right now, what helps is my photography. I think I'd like to start blogging again, because I really do miss it. A lot of times the pictures are easier than the words though. This blog isn't the right place for me to pour out my heart and soul though. This chapter in my life is nearing its end, and I feel as if I somehow would be cheapening all that he and I went through together if I put it here. So I guess this is a formal goodbye from here.

Feel free to e-mail me if you'd like to know where the new blog will be.

Happy Holidays

2006-12-19T15:29:00.000-05:00

As this holiday season approaches and the new year dawns upon us... I just wanted to wish each of you a warm and merry holiday.

Good tidings to each of you, and may the next year be full of love, laughter, health and good fortune.

And may all your dreams come true, whatever they may be.

Drifting

2006-06-10T22:16:00.000-04:00

Thank you, each of you - who've stopped by to say hi. Who've e-mailed, called, IMed, texted - who've kept me in your thoughts.

I'm here. Somewhere, drifting along.

There's a lot going on in my life right now. A lot that I can't talk about, that I don't want to talk about, that I don't want to recognize the reality - the possible finality - of.

I'm spending a lot of time trying to figure things out. Trying to find my way, remembering how to believe. In love, in life, in myself.

My heart is simultaneously overflowing and breaking.

I have to admit that I have been extremely lax about checking in on most of you. I still think of all of you, but right now - I can't check in on you. It's too painful.

I'm sorry.

I will soon, I hope.

Right now, right now just trust you're in my thoughts, in my heart.

And I'm thankful for you.

The Medicine of My People

2006-05-14T22:35:00.000-04:00

I am tired of being sick.

I thought the fever was gone on Thursday, by Friday it had spiked up to over 103. I finally let Michael take me to the emergency clinic, and I'm now popping 2000 mg. antibiotic pills that I'm pretty sure were originally designed for ingestion by an animal of the size equivalent to at least a horse.

I'm also now reminded of why I could never be bulimic. I'm also having to down anti-nausea pills to keep the antibiotics down. Oh, and decongestants to break up the stuff in my chest - and I don't know - some other pills - and I'm starting to look like a little old lady with my purse full of pills.

I've slept probably 90% of the day for the last four days, and you know what, I'm tired of sleeping. Sleeping is making me exhausted.

Perhaps the reason I'm still sick is that I haven't had any Campbell's Chicken Soup, Dayquil or Sprite... the medicine of my people.

So, thanks for those of you who've emailed and such to check in on me - I'm here, I'm alive (barely) but I'm here.

Thanks for the input on the cell service. I now have a magenta Razr - with service through T-Mobile.

To Kill a Mockingbird.

2006-05-02T11:12:00.000-04:00

There is a mockingbird that has nested directly outside of my bedroom window. Mind you, I'm from Texas, where the mockingbird is revered as the official state bird since 1927. For those of you not from the U.S. or Southern Canada, click here to find out what they look like.

The song of the mockingbird is actually a medley of the calls of many other birds. Each imitation is repeated two or three times, then another song is started, all in rapid succession. It is common for an individual bird to have as many as 25-30 songs in its repertoire, though there are documented cases of a single bird with up to 200 different songs. Mockingbirds are known as fierce protectors of its nest and environment. They are sometimes seen swooping down on a dog, cat or predator that may be venturing too close to the bird's protected territory.

The mimus polyglottos, as the mockingbird is known scientifically, is about ten inches in length, including its relatively long tail. It has a light gray coat and a whitish underside. Its wings and tail are darker gray with white patches.

One of the interesting things about mockingbirds is that they also have the ability to pick up and mimic certain mechanical sounds. Therein lies the trouble. The other day my alarm clock went off, and after hitting the snooze button again and again it wouldn't turn off. Even unplugging it wouldn't make it stop going off. Apparently the mockingbird has picked up the sound of my alarm clock and added it to its playlist.

Male mockingbirds (especially unmated ones) are known to sing through the night, especially during the full moon. I hope whoever is in the tree outside has a female to tell him to shut it.

*sigh*

Wireless Plans

2006-04-26T21:56:00.000-04:00

Dear Sprint,

I am tired of you. Fed up with you more than I am at the seemingly endless fertility of K-Fed. I am tired of the fact that I can stand right outside your world headquarters and have no service. I am tired that I constantly have dropped calls, that I'm treated by your "customer service" department (and I use that term very loosely) like I am a burden to your company - although you've gotten about $100 a month from me since uh, 1998 or something. My loyalty to you - is GONE.

I am officially done with you. And I want a new camera phone with video capability anyway.

Please don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya on your way out.

xox,

A
----------------
So, who do you use for your cell service? What phone do you have?

Have you had a bad experience with your company? Or a previous company?

Give me the scoop.

How observant are you?

2006-04-10T23:07:00.000-04:00

I'm not big on forwards - but this little quiz intrigued me. It's based on U.S. info, and the average person only supposedly gets 7 correct. The questions are all based on average, ordinary things you see often, but demonstrates how little most of us really notice about life. I got more than seven, but missed a lot more than I expected.

How many can you get right? These simple questions are more difficult than you think (or at least they were to me). No cheating, no looking around, or using anything on or in your desk or computer. The answers are in the first comment.

1. On a standard traffic light, is the green on the top or bottom?

2. How many states are there in the USA? (This troubles me if you're a U.S. resident and you can't answer this...)

3. In which hand is the Statue of Liberty's torch?

4. What six colors are on the classic Campbell's soup label?

5. What two numbers on the telephone dial don't have letters by them?

6. When you walk does your left arm swing with your right or leftleg? (Don't you dare get up to see!)

7. How many matches are in a standard pack?

8. On the United States flag is the top stripe red or white?

9. What is the lowest number on the FM dial?

10 Which way does water go down the drain, counter or clockwise?(obviously this will be a different answer for those down under)

11. Which way does a "no smoking" sign's slash run? (i.e. toward the top of the circle from left to right or the bottom)

12. How many channels on a VHF TV dial? (I've never seen a t.v. with a VHF dial, so yeah.. I got it way wrong)

13 On which side of a women's blouse are the buttons? (Don't look down and check)

14. Which way do fans rotate?

15 How many sides does a stop sign have?

16. Do books have even-numbered pages on the right or left side?

17 How many lug nuts are on a standard car wheel?

18. How many sides are there on a standard pencil?

19. Sleepy, Happy, Sneezy, Grumpy, Dopey, Doc. Who's missing?

20. How many hot dog buns are in a standard package? (this has always irked me)

21 On which playing card is the card maker's trademark?

22 On which side of a Venetian blind is the device that adjusts theopening between the slats?

23. There are 12 buttons on a touch tone phone. What 2 symbols bear no digits?

24. How many curves are there in the standard paper clip?

25. Does a merry-go-round turn counter or clockwise?

Hired help

2006-04-08T01:06:00.000-04:00

As most of you know that have been reading for some time, I grew up poor. As in "I take it there will be no side items with our waffles tonight" poor. Which makes me nearly ashamed to say that I have a maid. He, yes he came today when I was at work for the first time in the new house... and I think - I think I am in love.

Oh sure, I had to leave a check on the table for more money than I've made in a week before, but when I got home everything was clean. Spotless. And I didn't have to do it. He even put away the clean dishes in the dishwasher. Where, I'm not really sure yet - but they're not there anymore. The grout in the tub was cleaned. The toilets scrubbed, the couches de-cat-furred. Fresh towels were in the bathroom, the furniture was waxed, the floors scrubbed.

I felt so silly all day for spending the money to have him clean, but I am so thankful to walk in to a clean house. Now, if he could only cook too ... then I'd surely keep him on the payroll.

A girl could get used to this. My best friend has started razzing me about this to no end, and has now deemed me a "JoCoHo w/maid" or "JCHWM." Hmpf.

It was one hundred degrees, as we sat beneath a willow tree

2006-04-05T21:15:00.000-04:00

Whose tears didn't care, they just hung in the air, and refused to fall, to fall.

I drive the same way to work everyday, but I usually take any number of backroads home at night. On the way into work there's a large heavily wooded plot that is currently being stripped and built up - some new development is likely going in I guess. Maybe a strip mall. Apartments, who knows.

In the midst of the lot, a huge 40 foot willow tree stood guard. Beautiful, sinewy limbs curled out from the trunk, sweeping across the ground, caressing the air. Over the last two weeks, I've watched as workmen in heavy machinery cut down and disposed of all the trees except that one. It stood proudly amongst the ruins, the fresh spring green leaves sprouting on its enormous canopy. It was an odd juxtaposition next to the shattered remains of its brethren... a breath of hope in a sea of destruction.

This morning, as I passed, I noticed it too was gone.

I think I'll drive home another way tonight.

Heartache

2006-04-04T22:41:00.000-04:00

I used to understand what faith meant. I used to believe that there was a divine plan, a reason for things that seemed unfair.

I don't anymore.

I refuse to believe in the God that my parents believed in because I refuse to believe that those who are good, that are wonderful - decent - loving - caring people deserve to be the ones who bear the brunt of pain. I refuse to believe that it's all part of a "bigger plan" and that "it'll work out." Why would someone so wonderful deserve to hurt? To have their hopes and dreams snatched from them? There are a lot of people I love that are hurting right so deeply right now. My heart is weary with sadness for them.

Please go and give Statia some love. She's perhaps one of the most beautiful, thoughtful, and amazing people I've ever been privileged to have in my life. She could use your thoughts right now.

I'd totally sleep with Jack Bauer, provided he didn't shoot me in the knee

2006-04-03T21:58:00.000-04:00

Holy Fucking Twist Batman!

I don't really watch t.v. - aside from the Discovery or History Channel, and CNN Headline News - well, and the occasional episode of Law & Order, but that's it. The thought of reality t.v. makes bile rise in the back of my throat, much to the chagrin of my best friend who is a reality t.v. junkie. I managed a season or two of Sex & the City, The Sopranos & Deadwood before I got bored.

However, I have been sucked in, unwittingly to 24 this season. I've watched every episode, something that is far more of an emotional investment than I've been willing to make before. Which leades me to the conclusion at the end of today's episode:

The FUCK?

I need an Old Speckled Hen to process this.

Storming

2006-04-02T03:24:00.000-04:00

Insomnia has set in again, and no amount of tossing and turning seems to lull me to sleep. I would give anything to fall into the soft embrace of slumber right now.

Thunder and lightning are keeping me company. I wish they weren't.

Spring Forward, Fall Back

2006-04-01T23:24:00.000-05:00

I don't really understand why we still use Daylight Savings Time, considering that we're not an agrarian economy dependent on the utilization of natural daylight. But, of course, no one asked for my opinion now did they?

I spent the day at the park today, feeding the ducks - throwing a football around, watching the first glimpses of Spring. Tulips have started blooming, the daffodils are out in force, and all the trees in town are aflame with blooms. Jeans were a bad choice today, as it was quite warm. I napped for a bit on a blanket underneath the sun (note to self- remember sunscreen, as I've now got my first burn of the year and will have hundreds of new freckles tomorrow).

As I was laying there, I was reminded of a particular memory back from when I was 18. It was early spring and my last "real" semester of college. [I actually graduated from college in August '98 - but that Spring was my last real semester, as I had only a few classes to finish over the summer]. I had just ended (sadly, only a temporary reprieve) an incredibly unhappy relationship and had skipped class to just be. I lived alone, in a tiny one bedroom apartment, and I spent the day not doing anything really in particular - but it was incredibly relaxing.

Fresh from the shower, I was laying on my bed nude (an oddity for a girl who was so insecure at that time about herself - and still am at times), the abutting window open to let in the spring air. My window looked out over a deep thicket of trees, and the melodious sound of sparrows chirping was the sweetest symphony I have ever heard. The wind was perfuming my apartment with the intoxicating scent of a pink hyacinth sitting on the windowsill in a hand-me-down crystal vase. I remember the lip of the vase was slightly chipped on one side, and the flower drooped slightly into the crevice created.

The wind was billowing the creamy lace curtains over my face, and as they gently brushed my cheeks I remember feeling so blissfully happy... so content. I laughed softly as I watched the shadows splayed over the ceiling - as they seemed to dance with each gust. I contemplated the irony of this lace veil against the one that I had (seemingly) discarded.

Never, perhaps, have I more tangibly believed in a world of limitless opportunity - of hope - of innocent pleasure and beauty than I did that afternoon. I cannot profess to know why our minds hold on to such moments - which are seemingly innocuous, unconnected to any other moment of deemed significance. But that doesn't mean I can't be thankful. I miss that taste of hopeful innocence. I miss that feeling of promise of a fruitful season to come.

I'm hoping that I can remember to not just set forward the clocks, but my life. That I can trust in my own strength, in my own heart to move forward.

I'm really not sure...

2006-03-31T17:03:00.000-05:00

how this day could possibly get any fucking worse, but I'm sure it will find a way.

Today you can piss right the fuck off.

xox,

A

Inked.

2006-03-30T18:08:00.000-05:00

My left hip.

Here's a pic of the new work. It's a redacted part of the "O" from the Swedish band Opeth. I loved the design, but only wanted this portion. It swells over my left hip and is about 6 or 7 inches long and about 3 inches high at the widest point. You can't really see the detailing in this pic because of the angle, but hey...

It itches like crazy now, but I love it. Absolutely love it.

Michael thinks I'm having a mid life crisis.

Not so much.

2006-03-30T00:49:00.000-05:00

45 minutes of sleep in two days is not working for me.

At all.

This doesn't hurt nearly as bad as shooting up...

2006-03-28T20:49:00.000-05:00

So, after work today I got a tattoo on my left hip (pics forthcoming) it's about 6-7 inches long and about 3 inches wide at the widest point. A guy named Steven is doing it for me, and as he's about to start, I'm nervous as hell. Shaking nervous. It's my first, and it's something I've been debating for nearly four years. My best friend is sitting with me, camera in hand, trying to calm me down. As I've just come from work... I'm still wearing work clothes - which as an attorney means I look a bit of an anomaly in the shop.

Steven (tattoo guy): You know, I won't like, this is going to hurt. If it's too much let me know, and I'll back off and we can do it a little at a time.

April: (nervous as hell - so imagine shaky voice) o.k. will do.

[twenty minutes into it]

Steven: O.k - am I hurting you too much?

[Thinking to myself, you know the Follistim and the HCG shot was a thousand times worse]

April: No. not at all. It's actually hurts a hell of a lot less than shooting up at home.

Steven: Um... Um... um...

The void

2006-03-27T15:23:00.000-05:00

Recently, a close friend sent me a snippet of a home video from their childhood. Their family sat together at the table, the children laughing, wiggling in their seats. The closeness and intimacy was palpable. I could have reached out and touched it, it was so real. And as moving as it was, I felt intrusive, as if I had no right to watch. I've never had that intimacy... that overwhelming love, that closeness. The tears stung hot and heavy.

Over dinner this weekend, I was engrossed into a conversation about why I want children. Why more than being a good attorney, being a good friend - or wife, I've always wanted at the very core of my being to be remembered as a good mom. Oh sure, there's the argument that it would be a pity not to pass my wickedly amazing good looks or bizarre sense of humor on to another generation. (And that's a joke, seriously - though I was a pretty cute kid if I do say so myself). And hey, with hips like these, it seems almost a waste not to use them to balance a child on. And true, I'd like for someone to take care of me in my old age, but I suppose I could afford to hire someone out for that if need be. But it's honestly, for the everyday small simple reasons. It's for the memories of kissed skinned knees, of crayon scrawled puppies on the 'frig. It's for the sound of a baby's laughter gurgling through the house. It's for first baths, first steps, first school days, first loves. It's for the sweet warm scent of a baby's head. The sight of a tiny hand reaching to me for comfort. It's about a need to feel as if I can make the world a better place, if only through my own children. It's about teaching someone about love, about life, about happiness. About living, loving with my heart outside of my body.

It's about passing down stories and pieces of my family. Of Granny's fiery redheaded temper. Of Emma (my other great grandmother's) broad Native American cheekbones and my father's quirky facial expressions. It's about my freakishly long toes, my laugh. It's about having a home... being willing to give up everything, including my own life for another. It's about all of that, and more.

Akeeyu posted something so moving back in November of 2004 that it has always remained with me, since... tugging at my heart. Go on, read it. I'll wait. That's why. Because I have a history, and my fear will be that there will be no one to listen. No one to pass it along to.

As of late, I am full of fear that this void will never be filled. That I will never have the chance to say any of this - the most heartwrenching post I've ever written, and the one that has always stayed with me. That I will always want for this intimacy that others have... and it's breaking my heart.

George MASON?

2006-03-26T17:11:00.000-05:00

You've got to be kidding me. George Mason just beat UConn? Billy Packer and Jim Nance were wrong I guess about GM not being "good enough" to be in...

What?!?!?!?!?!?!? An eleven seed is headed to the final four? An ELEVEN? This hasn't happened since LSU back in like '86.

Considering I had Duke and UConn picked for the final game, um. It's a good thing I guess that I'm not the big betting type.

(I'm a bit of a sports fan, in case you didn't know.)

Pretty soon I'll be wearing pink and bows in my hair...

2006-03-25T23:45:00.000-05:00

Upon first meeting me, most people assume that I'm a very high maintenance type of girl. This always puzzles me, as I'm much more the "let's grab a cooler of beer and some bait and just spend the day casting lines into the water" than I am the type to spend hours getting dolled up. I hated living in Miami's "seen and be seen" lifestyle. I don't care whose names you can drop - it doesn't impress me. I'm not a label whore, and would never be caught dead wearing one of the god awful (in my humble opinion) purses or bags or shoes emblazoned all over with a company's logo. I'm just as apt to shop a high end department store as I am in a thrift store (I'm quite partial to 1940s style clothes and shoes - as they actually fit women with real breasts and hips). I don't wear perfume. My jewelry usually consists of a pair of plain diamond or pearl stud earrings - and nothing more.

There are probably a lot of things about me that surprise people when we first meet. I'm terminally shy, for example. Being a redhead exacerbates this as I'm prone to full body blushes and am incredibly easily embarrassed. Once I feel comfortable with someone (which isn't typically a quick process) - I open up very slowly and let my reserved guard down. To be honest, while I've got a great circle of acquaintances, there are very few people that I truly call my friends. If you're one of them, you know it - and you understand why. It takes an enormous amount of courage for me to allow myself to be vulnerable, and it's not a risk I take with many.

I'm a pretty low key person, and I'm much more comfortable in a little local dive bar where everyone knows what you drink, who you're with and what's going on in your life without you even opening your mouth than I am in a club. I hate to go clothes shopping. I'm not a big fan of crowds. I wear my hair longish now because it's actually faster to get ready that when it was cropped short.

That's what makes days like today so bizarre. I spent the entire day with my best friend getting dolled up. I hot rolled my hair, and it was an enormous cascade of red curls. We went and got manicures and pedicures - with my toes now painted a fiery blazing red. We dallied at the perfume counter. We shopped for hours - and I bought two unbelievably beautiful feminine pairs of heels from Nordstroms. I sported an incredibly intricate beaded necklace and we ended up tinkering with makeup for hours. We went out to a fantastic Mediterranean dinner, and then went for drinks - both in incredibly crowded and loud places, and at my insistence.

And what surprises me, I had a wonderful time. And I can't wait to do it again.

Your day breaks, your mind aches...

2006-03-24T07:23:00.000-05:00

Sometimes the hardest part of the day is just getting out of bed. At times the prospect seems overwhelmingly difficult.

But I always do, eventually.

Easily Amused

2006-03-23T14:34:00.000-05:00

Right after New Years, I did some intellectual property work for a documentary filmmaker who was doing a piece in the NYC area. I had nearly forgotten about it, until I reached over to get a file - and realized that the office staff had labeled it:

"M. Fucker."

I am so easily amused sometimes.

She dreams in color, she dreams in red...

2006-03-22T15:12:00.000-05:00

(Not my normal stuff, I know. It’s for a writing project I’m contributing to. Feel free to skip it, it’s mostly rubbish.)

As the words poured forth my knees trembled with the realization that I had relinquished control over them. My lips formed around their heaviness as I waited with trepidation. Silence was deafening - the sound of my heart roaring in my ears, concentration impossible. My tongue slid them over my mouth - tasting the betrayal, savoring the forbidden undertones. Debating.

You can't speak in brackets.

At first it was just the faintest hint of a whisper. My heart stilled as I listened to them tumble softly over the precipice. Repeat it. Placating you. Again. Defiantly - louder and with more conviction - they reverberated against the quiet stillness, mingled with heavy breathing, filling the crevices left by your absence. They escaped before I had the ability to question their truth. Drawn to you as a moth to the flame - unaware of the impending certainty of demise. Passport in hand, the gentle realization of the finality of it all. The end looming before the beginning ever started.

The dawn of your morning, the dusk of your existence.

Everything that I've ever believed in, everything I've ever thought as truth - no actual Truth, as unquestionable reality was suddenly precarious. Threats of being brought before the inquisition and being deemed fraudulent. Branded as a heretic. My chest emblazoned with a crimson initial.

Your Spring, your Summer - Autumn and Winter.

Risks evaluated, dreams laid bare - the stretched canvases vulnerable to the salty spray of the sea. Inextricably entwined, circumstances and complexities be damned.

What would make you happy? Truly and completely happy?

The query surprised me, as I was suddenly doubtful. I don't know. I thought I did, before. Before, things were so much simpler. Sophomoric, perhaps. Comfortable. Assured. Predictable. You dared to question my belief in coincidences. Happiness teasingly - tantalizingly offered as tangible - accented and heavy with superfluous "u"s.

What would you say if ...

Hush. You’re drunk, and pandering dreams from miles away. I don’t believe you. I refuse to. Temptation to hear your voice overwhelming, crippling. I won’t fold.

The warmth of your breath against my neck as you sing me to sleep.

What would make me happy would be to have never spoken of it, to be able to simply erase the possibility... the doubt... the what ifs. To erase the very acknowledgement of existence. It never happened, not the way we remember it. I’ll deny that to the end.

To be your North, South, East and West.

Or, perhaps I'm telling stories and you shouldn't believe me. Perhaps I never have been capable of truth. Tribeca's not a cup of builder's tea.

Encircle me, draw me close to you.

Maybe I wanted to believe it was true. Not an anomaly. Not a random burst of a few seconds of brilliant sunshine on an overcast day. To trust that honeyed words spilled over transatlantic lines were viscerally honest. That the depth of your voice was not a manifestation of the guilt brought on by mendacity.

You wouldn't have to learn in a house upstate. We'd need the room...

To not be a token, an amusement, a fixated fantasy. To believe that the faintest hope for a future is worth taking risks for, to be believed in, trusted - to be the only.

Make the seconds meld into months, to years. Make it happen. Do it.

Sometimes I think that I've given up on myself. That I've forsaken what I believe in. That I've let go too soon and held on too long.

All of it - including the fuck ups.

Deep down, the answer is no. She said you’re a fucking coward. Cowardice assumes that something is wanted and you are crippled by fear. That's not the case. It's not fear that keeps you. Posh birds are not cheap, and don't deserve to be treated as such. A simple, firm refusal to be the idle fantasy that you resort to when all other distractions have bored you. I am not a convenience, a boost to the ego.

I nearly walked away from it all, just for a moment. Just for the chance. I think I would have.

Stitching together depth and touch with pictures before they've faded.

Autumn in New York.

I won't be washing the dishes, I'll be washing my hands.

To just be.

Self preservation. To believe, but in myself. A comfortable existence without regret. Absolution.

It could be different.

I hope.

Vacation memories

2006-03-21T13:19:00.000-05:00

I was flipping through gorgeous Vanessa's pictures of her vacation (er, holiday I suppose to her) in the Cook Islands, and I had to admit that I was feeling a tinge jealous. What with all the cotton candy sunsets and the crystal waters, it's no wonder really...

And then I realized it's been nearly a year since I've gone on a real vacation. I'm trying to plan a getaway or two for the near future - likely a long weekend trip and another trip of around 8-12 days or so in the next three months or so. My sister turns 21 four days before I turn 27 in July, and I've promised her a trip to Europe for her birthday - a worldwide coming of age gift if you will, as she's never been. We'll likely end up in Ireland or Belgium I think for that, though who's to say we could end up back in Amsterdam as well, which would suit me just fine. Ultimately, the destination is her choice.

To be honest though, I'm a bit overwhelmed with options. So, tell me about your favorite vacation. I don't care if it's just somewhere that was close, and local (I'm a bit spontaneous and have been known to just get in the car and drive with no destination at all, and just "end up" somewhere for the night) or whether it was a far flung affair.

I'm not particularly keen on tourist traps, and prefer more off the beaten path destinations. I've a special fondness for old architecture, just being outside, local music and food festivals and quirky little shops and restaurants. Though, as jaded as I am, I have to admit that I could spend hours pouring through art museums and just idly driving watching the countryside.

This is what I want to know:

1. Where'd you go and when (i.e. how long ago, what time of year)?
2. What was your favorite part(s) of the trip?
3. What did you wish had been different?
4. What are the 'insider' or 'local' places that you loved?

Feel free to be as verbose as you want, and yap on about anything else that you remember that you'd like to share.

Or, if you'd prefer - tell me about where you live. What's it like where you are - what are the things that you enjoy close to home?

And a broken boot, to boot.

2006-03-20T07:41:00.000-05:00

Damn it.

This morning I slipped on ice in the driveway and fell hard on my ass, just a little over a week after falling ass over teakettle down a flight of stairs. Grace, my name is not.

In the process of the fall, I didn't notice that I broke the heel of my favorite pair of boots, until I got to the office. I can walk on it, sort of, but it sounds like a creaky bedframe when I do. [I sound like this walking down the hall... creaaaaaaaaaak creeeak creaaaaaaaak creeeak....]

I've been violently sick all weekend, so I got up at 4:00 a.m. and went into work to wrap up some things I desperately needed to finish. But alas, my computer, she is dead. Or is playing possum, and I'm really not that happy with her right now. I'm techie enough to know how to run just some basic diagnostics, and the hardware is all fine... but the IT people this morning were like "have you tried..." Look, I'd try shaking a rubber chicken at it while chanting in a foreign tongue if it'd help. Apparently I tried things that they've not even contemplated, and they said I pretty much diagnosed the problem myself... the operating system is, in my rather terse explanation to them this morning "FUCKED." Bill Gates, you're on my shit list right now, as if you care.

Oh, and this weekend my home laptop decided it was having some impotence problems. The pin in the screen that holds it open decided that it was just too much effort to hold up the weight of my words and smashed my fingers to bits. Multiple times. I guess I'm not the forgiving sort, because instead of taking it to therapy to figure out what the hell it's problem is and why it can't keep it up - I got pissed and on a whim bought a new laptop that is being built as we speak. Er, as I type... whatever. Note: Don't screw with me, as you're easily replacable.

And I introduced myself to the neighbors this weekend ~ by uh, calling the cops on them, er animal control division at least. A man was out with an airgun shooting squirrels out of the tree, and while I realize they're rodents, dude - wtf? Is that *really* necessary? What's worse, is that he didn't finish them off and they were writhing in pain under the tree. I went over to give him a piece of my mind and he ran in to the house and refused to answer the door, pussy. If I was a gun toting member of society, I would have popped him in the knee a la Jack Bauer and watched him writhe for a bit. {I'm a frighteningly good shot too... and was the best marksperson in the corps in college}. I can't handle people that are cruel to animals like that.

Then, a few moments ago I checked the forecast:

Today
Rain...snow and light sleet likely in the morning...then rain...snow and sleet in the afternoon. Breezy. Snow and sleet accumulation up to 2 inches. Highs in the upper 30s. Temperatures steady or slowly falling in the afternoon. East winds 15 to 25 mph with gusts to around 45 mph. Chance of precipitation 100 percent.

Translation: Suck. Cold. Suck. (Sleeting like mad and hailing/ raining ice pellets now).

Tonight
Snow...breezy. Snow may be heavy at times in the evening. Snow accumulation of 3 to 6 inches. Storm total snow accumulation of 4 to 8 inches. Lows in the upper 20s. Northeast winds 15 to 25 mph. Chance of precipitation 100 percent.

Translation: Suck. Commute home will, well - suck. Snow. Suck. Sleet. Suck. Howling wind. Suck.

Tuesday
Cloudy. Chance of snow in the morning. Highs in the mid 30s. North winds 10 to 15 mph. Chance of precipitation 50 percent.

Tuesday Night
Partly cloudy. Colder. Lows around 18. North winds 5 to 10 mph.

Translation: More suckage. Plants you just put in will die a wintry frozen horrible death, if they've not already given up. Hahahahahahahaha. You thought Spring was here didn't you SUCKA!

Wednesday
Partly cloudy. Highs in the upper 30s. North winds 5 to 10 mph.

Wednesday Night
Cloudy with a 30 percent chance of more snow. Lows in the upper 20s.

Translation: Heh. Now Improved - with more Suck!

I hope my week doesn't match the forecast. Why again did I leave the sunny tropics?

Courage

2006-03-19T22:00:00.000-05:00

I wish I had the courage at times to believe...
to look beyond complexity and see a plan,
to believe it's possible, to believe there's a solution...
to know, that somehow it's going to work out, for the best
the way fate intended.

{Yes, the consummate cynic is starting to believe in fate, in hope}

I just wish I could hurry things along in that regard.

I'm tired of waiting.

*sigh*

Blessings and Toasts for you all.

2006-03-17T11:02:00.000-05:00

For St. Patrick's Day, a blessing for you all:

May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
May the rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

And if you don't fancy that, these are some of my favorite Irish blessings and toasts. So, pick yours, and I'll raise a pint to you in honour.

#1
May the light always find you on a dreary day.
When you need to be home, may you find your way.
May you always have courage to take a chance
And never find frogs in your underpants.
--------------
#2
Here's to lying, stealing, and cheating!
May you lie to save a friend;
May you steal the heart of the one you love;
and may you cheat death.
---------------
#3
As you slide down the banister of life, may the splinters never point in the wrong direction.

---------------
#4
May your blessings outnumber the shamrocks that grow,
And may trouble avoid you wherever you go.

---------------
#5
Walls for the wind
And a roof for the rain,
And drinks beside the fire.
Laughter to cheer you
And those you love near you.
And all that your heart may desire.

---------------
#6
May the sound of happy music
And the lilt of Irish laughter
Fill your heart with gladness
That stays forever after.

---------------
#7
May the grass grow long on the road to hell for want of use.

---------------
#8
May you work like you don't need the money,
Love like you've never been hurt, and
Dance like no one is watching.

----------------
#9
May the cool rain quench your flowers' thirst
Renew your spirit,
And wash your troubles away.

---------------
#10
God bless the corners of this house and all the lintel blessed,
And bless the hearth and bless the board and bless each place of rest,
And bless each door that opens wide to strangers as to kin,
And bless each crystal window pane that lets the starlight in,
And bless the rooftree overhead and every sturdy wall.
The peace of man. The peace of God. With peace and love for all.

---------------
#11
Here's to you and here's to me
I pray that friends we'll always be,
But if by chance we disagree,
The hell with you and here's to me!

---------------
#12
May you be buried in a casket made from the wood of a 100 year old oak
That I shall plant tomorrow.

---------------
#13
May you live forever
And may the last words you hear be mine!

---------------
#14
May the hinges of our friendship
Never grow rusty.

--------------
#15
May the Irish hills caress you.
May her lakes and rivers bless you.
May the luck of the Irish enfold you.
May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.

----------------
#16
May those who love us love us.
And those that don't love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn't turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we'll know them by their limping.

----------------
#17
May you live as long as you want,
And never want as long as you live.

----------------
#18
May you have warm words on a cold evening,
A full moon on a dark night,
And the road downhill all the way to your door.

---------------
#19
May there be a generation of children
On the children of your children.

---------------
#20
May the Lord keep you in His hand
And never close His fist too tight.

--------------
#21
May the saddest day of your future be no worse
Than the happiest day of your past.

--------------
#22
May there always be work for your hands to do,
May your purse always hold a coin or two.
May the sun always shine warm on your windowpane,
May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain.
May the hand of a friend always be near you,
And may God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.

-------------
#23
May your troubles be less
And your blessings be more.
And nothing but happiness
Come through your door.

---------------
#24
May your home always be too small to hold all your friends.

---------------
#25
May the most you wish for
Be the least you get.

---------------
#26
May your pockets be heavy and your heart be light.
May good luck pursue you each morning and night.

---------------
#27
May you always walk in sunshine.
May you never want for more.
May Irish angels rest their wings right beside your door.

---------------
#28
May I see you gray
And combing your grandchildren's hair.

--------------
#29
Wherever you go and whatever you do,
May the luck of the Irish be there with you.

--------------
#30
May you be poor in misfortune,
Rich in blessings,
Slow to make enemies,
And quick to make friends.
But rich or poor, quick or slow,
May you know nothing but happiness
From this day forward.

And remember,an Irishman is never drunk as long as he can hold onto one blade of grass to keep him from falling off the earth. And with raising that many pints, it's about what I'll be like I'm afraid.

And if you've got one that you'd prefer, leave it in the comments.

Ebb and Flow

2006-03-14T17:10:00.000-05:00

I talked to Granny this last weekend for a long time, and it was just like it used to be. She laughed, asking about how the cats were adapting to the new house - her voice warm and full of love and happiness. She said she was scared of her upcoming visit to the neurologist, but that she was going to put on her brave face and be "your iron horse." She sounded young, and chipper... and the woman I remember. With the soft arms and enormous bosom that she would smother you with hugs with. She was again the fiery Irish redhead who took no lip from anyone... She was her, if only for a brief hour.

[When I was 12, and PaPaw passed away, it was just the two of us - and it was hard. Really really hard emotionally. Shortly after his funeral she took me aside and told me that I was going to have to be very strong, and that although I was still young I was going to have to try to be "a little tin soldier." She promised me that she would be an iron horse, carrying the brunt of it, and pulling me through. From that time on, when things were rough, my divorce, her multiple heart attacks, we always referred to each other that way.]

Now, it's official. She's been diagnosed with severe Alzheimer's and there is no turning back of the clock. The parts of her we've lost, the doctor said will never be recovered. They've juggled her plethora of medicines around, and she's now on Aricept to help to try to stop the progression of the disease. Things will ebb and flow, and there will be moments that are better - but overall, it's not good.

The doctor said it's bad. Really bad. Bad in the way that my last conversation with her may be the last one in which she's really coherent. The flashes of lucidity are becoming so much rarer. The long term memory is stronger, but short term - she's basically got no memory at all. I feel so enormously guilty because I let her off the phone when I pulled in the driveway. I could have had a few more minutes with her. Just a few more words. Just to tell her I loved her. I want her to remember that.

I called her today from the office, and asked her about her hospital visit yesterday. She had no idea what I was talking about. She asked about work, and about a few things, and then it was all jibberish.

I can't stop the torrent of tears. I can't stop the feeling of hopelessness, of feeling so awful that I used to be irritated when she wouldn't stop talking and I just wanted to get off the phone, that I didn't call when I say I would - or chose to go on vacation instead of visiting her.

I should have done a better job. I should have told her I loved her more, taken better care of her, been there for her.

She told me that she wants to come home, so she can die in peace.

I am so afraid. I feel so small. So helpless.

Be fruitful....

2006-03-11T21:35:00.000-05:00

We bought 20 strawberry plants, 2 blueberry bushes and 2 blackberry bushes and planted them outside the back porch today - along with a zillion pansies and the daffodil, tulips, crocus and hyacinths that I took from our old house.

Our house is becoming our home, although I may never get the dirt out from under my nails.

Now, if we could just get a jump start on the "and multiply" part...

Thirty-six months ago, I started using Fertility Friend to track my charts. Three entire years ago. To think, I never got the "premier" membership, because I never thought I'd be sticking around long enough to use it.

What folly.

Lush-ious

2006-03-09T14:32:00.000-05:00

First, a sweet and heartfelt thanks to Vanessa for the lovely Lush gift set that arrived on my door step, it is heavenly.

After my first lush bath, I have to say it's a good thing that there isn't a brick and mortar store close to me, because I would surely be bankrupt. Although, it's a little disconcerting that I got a shipment two days ago and when I threw the box out into the recycling bin behind the MG and the entire garage now smells like bath products. Not a bad thing necessarily, but it's STRONG. I used the Christmas Kisses bubble bar, and greedily used the entire thing. Sarah, I should have listened to you - as I was in bubbles up to my ears, quite literally. A candlelit bath with mounds of bubbles and a glass of wine was amazing though.

I made another order yesterday of an ungodly amount, and I am actually shocked to say that someone from Lush just called to tell me that they noticed I was a new customer and that they're going to throw in some additional samples with the order over and above what they would normally to introduce me to some more of the products. If that's not fantastic customer service I don't know what is.

---------- edited to add -------------

I've been asked to let you know what I've ordered and/or tried from Lush.

In the last *ahem* two weeks, these are the 32 items that I've ordered. Those things that I've already tried are commented on:

Butterball bath bomb
Something Wicked This Way Comes Bath Melt (no glitter) (at first I was just kinda meh - but it made me very soft - I used about half in the tub and was pleasantly surprised by the softness as the cocoa butter split up and melted. Once in the tub the scent was much better, the water turned a light shade of lavender.
Turbo Bubble bubble bar (sparkly. not so sure about the glitter... haven't used it yet)
Christmas Kisses bath bomb (2) (I ordered one and got another one of these in the Big Frees promotion, and again while I didn't like how strongly it smelled in the package, but in the tub it made a crazy amount of bubbles - i overflowed the tub with them. The water was a beautiful shade of red and the bathroom smelled heavenly for days.
Creamy Candy bath melt (smells well, like candy)
Bada Bing Bada Boom Shower Jelly (very strong, thought pleasant smelling, intrigued by the jello like appearance, haven't tried it yet)
Honey Trap Lip Balm (makes my usually chapped lips quite soft. Not so sure about the "tastes like white chocolate and honey" claims, but very happy with it)
Creamed Almond & Coconut Smoothie soap - (tried it for the first time this morning, not so sure how I feel about it yet. My skin is incredibly soft but I couldn't get it to lather up much).
Sleepy Head Scalp Bar (this massage bar had me out cold in ten minutes both times - two rather sleepy thumbs up)
Letters to Santa Bath Bomb (also from the Big Frees)
Christmas massage bar (also from the Big Frees) (this smells wonderful... absolutely heavenly - wish it was available all year)
Snowcake soap (also from the Big Frees) (pretty, not so sure about the glitter - but smells nice)
Flying Fox shower gel (fantastic scent, great lather - love it)
Dreamtime bath melt
Waving Not Drowning Bath Bomb
Freeze bath gel (en route)
Angels on Bare Skin (en route)
Fresh Farmacy soap (en route)
Buffy (en route)
Blue Skies bubble bar (en route)
Sympathy for the Skin lotion/cream (en route)
Big Blue bath bomb (en route)
Bathos bubble bar (en route)
Youki-hi bath bomb (en route)
Golden moon soap (en route)
Eggsnog lip balm (en route)
Snow Fairy shower gel (en route)
Nude bath melt (en route)
I love juicy shampoo (en route)
Lip Service lip balm (en route)
Hard Water shampoo bar (en route)

And, as an FYI - if you're about to purchase anything there, wait a few days. They're turning the Big Frees promotion into the Big Thaw, which means that more full size freebies will be comped with an order, but the details aren't posted yet.

Blissful Bathing

2006-03-06T14:30:00.000-05:00

Thanks for all the wonderful ideas regarding the art situation. There are a lot of things I hadn't thought about - such as the framed textiles. I'll be taking "before" pictures later this week - and perhaps an "after" or two to show what we have done thus far. If nothing else, it'll give me the motivation to get off my ass and finish unpacking before the housecleaner comes on Friday.

Now, onto the next topic. See, you thought I'd drop off the face of the earth while not actively cycling didn't you?

Bathing... and bath & shower products.

For the last 2+ years (almost 3) we've been trying to conceive, I've basically shunned the occasional bath in favor of only showers. The reason being, when I take a bath - I like the water so hot that I come out of it scalded red. After being chastized by my old obgyn, I stopped taking baths because she claimed the elevated body temperature could potentially interfere with implantation. Ha! As if that was the problem...

After the move into the house, I decided to take a bath to ease some sore muscles, and oh - the bliss - the heaven... the wonderfulness of the hot water alleviating the pain radiating down my back. I stayed until my fingers pruned and I was pretty sure Michael was going to have to chisel me out because the water was so cold.

As I now have an enormous (well, to me anyway) amount of storage in my bathroom - I'm adding to my currently spartan bath/shower supplies. I used to be quite the maven when it came to bathroom supplies, but I purged a bunch of old stuff when we moved.

I'm going to buy a new shower head this week, because I just can't handle the wimpy water trickling right now. I have so much hair it takes a ridiculous amount of time to wash the shampoo out.

So, what are the bath/shower products that you swear by? For me, I love Benefit Bathina Sweet Satin Shave. It's in my opinion extravagantly priced for shaving cream, but it lasts forever as you only have to use a teensy little bit and makes my legs (and any other area that's shaved) heavenly soft. Cute packaging too. Their Body So Fine is also wonderful, and can be used to smooth errant tresses as well. The Sandal Scandal is fab for upkeep of pedicures between sessions, as is the Burt's Bees Coconut Foot Creme. I love the Burt's Bees Citrus Facial Scrub as an all over body exfoliator, but be careful, it's prone to mold if you accidentally get water in the container. I used to be an enormous fan of Philosophy's Falling in Love shower gel, but it's become a bit cloying for me. [Philosophy fans may want to check out the Power Shower program where you get 12 full-size bottles of 3 in 1 (shampoo, conditioner and body wash) shipped to you one a month with shipping for $165 - and available on the net only.] After just making my first large purchase from Lush, I'm afraid even I can't rationalize that just yet, and by "can't rationalize it" I mean I just bought the Good For You set - *ahem*

What are those that you use in your daily routine, and what are your "indulgences"? What did you spend money on that you wished you hadn't? I'm talking everything from shower gels, soaps, shampoos, bubbles, melts, bombs/fizzies, to shower heads and bath caddies... if you use it in the shower or bath and you love and or hate it, I want to hear about it. (Sarah, I know you have something to contribute here).

Awash in a sea of cardboard

2006-03-02T15:38:00.000-05:00

There are more boxes prominently displayed in the downstairs portion of my house than in Cum Guzzling Sluts XVII. Not that I have seen such a flick mind you... but I'm sure it exists.

We are officially moved into our new home. And after the moving experience which can only be described as a disaster of epic proportions, it's sort of surreal. [Seriously, the move was horrible. The movers we hired were so exhausted by the time they got to our house, they could barely stand. They had done two full houses before us that day, so they were beat to shit - and Michael and I ended up helping them move furniture as they were so slowwwwwwwwwwwwww. They left our house at around 1 a.m. - and we were supposed to pick up the U-Haul at 10 the next morning. Only, U-Haul had given away the truck we reserved, so we ended up not being able to move the boxes until Monday after work.]

We ended up cleaning the old house out yesterday morning and still need to pick up the lawn mower from the old house (although why - I'm not sure - as the Homeowner's Association has a contract with a yard service, so our HA fees cover all yard work).

But for the most part, we're in. It feels bizarre after years of renting to be so extremely cautious about trying not to bang into walls with the furniture... about feeling so responsible.

The cats are dealing with the move a lot better than either of us expected, well aside from when they get lost, and just sit there and meow loudly for someone to come and find them.

I need to get a lot of art work for the walls, as they're incredibly bare right now - as our wall space basically tripled. We've got a few small pieces that we picked up in Paris and in Amsterdam that will fill in some bare spots. I'm trying to find our box of photographs - as there are a few of Michael's B&W 35mm shots that I'd love to get blown up and framed. I've bought a few watercolors from an artist in the last few weeks that I'm sending out for framing, and one my dearest friends is contributing a piece that I'm so excited about that I can hardly breathe.

I want our house to be warm and inviting. A place that feels lived in, and loved.

Unfortunately, with the looming tax bill from the IRS - and the fact that we need to buy new furniture for the second guest room - my budget for art is somewhere around next to nothing.

So, what are your creative ideas for art on the cheap, or at least at low cost? What items do you have on display in your home that are special to you, or that are conversation starters?

I'd love to hear your ideas...

Frustration & lies

2006-02-24T13:08:00.000-05:00

Remember earlier when I said earlier this week was CD 1? Yeah, turns out I lied, and it was just brief spotting. This happened the last time after a failed IUI cycle too, back in November. The R.E.'s nurse said she was surprised that I didn't have an abnormally short cycle, but instead - it drug out to epic proportions - and lasted 36 days.

Today, is CD 35. THIRTY-FIVE! And I am frustrated. Frustrated with my body, with the move this weekend, with just everything. I am frustrated because I know I'm not pregnant and I hate that my previously normal 27-29 day cycles are apparently no more.

Oh, and my boss just told me I'm going to have to work both Saturday and Sunday because we have a client emergency.

Um. How am I going to do that, move my MIL out of her house and into her new one, and move us into our new house? And um - pack. Right I haven't really managed to do that either yet. Or deal with the Granny situation.

I'm a pretty good at multi-tasking, but even I have not managed to figure out how to be in two places at once. If I make it through this weekend without a mental breakdown it's going to be a miracle - second only perhaps to the Nun Bun - or maybe the Grilled Cheese Sandwich.

Blue

2006-02-23T13:30:00.000-05:00

I just wanted to let all of you that don't already know - Blue of Navy Blue Elephant Trunks, gave birth this week unexpectedly to her daughter, at a mere 24 weeks.

The strength and support she's given me over the last year has always been greatly appreciated. Blue and her husband and Baby Blue are going to need a lot of support and love from us. They've got a long road ahead of them right now.

Please drop in and let her know the three of them are in our thoughts.

Down the Rabbit Hole

2006-02-22T11:22:00.000-05:00

First, I fucking hate blogger. H.A.T.E. HATE. Despise even.

Blogger hungry. Eat loooooooooong post. Chomp chomp chomp.

*spits out post that took me 40 minutes to type out in garbled mess*

Burrrrrrrrrrp.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming - I hope.
------------

How do you reconcile breaking a promise to someone - one you have sworn to with your own life - with the fact that if you truly loved that person, you would have no choice but to break it?

When my Papaw died when I was 12, Granny was petrified of being alone. I lived with her in her little house on May Lane until I was 16 and left for college. For the first time in over fifty years, she was completely and utterly alone - aside from the dog. As much as she feared being alone, the fear of living in a nursing home at some point in the future petrified her. She begged me to promise that I would never force upon her the indignity of living anywhere other than under the roof of the humble home that she owned.

Granny is an incredibly strong woman. She's had over eight documented heart attacks (many more mild ones we're pretty sure of, she carries her nitroglycerin patches and pills religiously), and at least three strokes. She's outlived five siblings, three husbands, one child, and nearly every friend she's ever really had.

She loves to argue, which makes living with her - explosive at best. She knows just what buttons to push, how to make you fold - to give in, to surrender to her. Her rogue, redheaded irish temper could make Russell Crowe look like the posterchild of peaceful existence. We used to tease her that she was simply too mean to die.

Her love is equally as fierce. I can't even begin to tell you how many of my ex-boyfriends have gone back to visit her over the years, long after our own relationships ceased. Old friends in high school, that I haven't seen for nearly a decade still visit from time to time - their kids in tow to meet their "other" Granny. In fact, most people under a certain age only know her as Granny. Her given name, Mary Etta - sound foreign, rolling off my tongue awkwardly. The bank even cashes checks she signs with simply "Granny." Even her doctors call her Granny.

A few years ago after another stroke, it became apparent that she was becoming increasingly forgetful. She would forget to let the dog out to go to the bathroom, she would forget to eat - or to turn off the gas stove when she'd cooked, or to take one of the myriad of her pills. A decision was reached by the family that she could no longer really safely live alone. My mother was working on straightening out her own life, and it seemed to be mutually beneficial for them to move in together.

So, Mom moved into a back bedroom. She worked at first, leaving Granny alone during the day - and coming home to cook and clean for her at night. She gave up living alone to live in a back bedroom, caring for a cantankerous old woman who not only didn't appreciate her - but resented that she was there.

Fiercely independent, Granny lost her privacy - and was forced to share her home with someone else after years of living alone. But truth be told, she slept better at night. She ate regularly, and she didn't miss pills anymore.

It was incredibly difficult for both of them, but it seemed that it was the only way.

After her last stroke, we noticed things just weren't "right." She'd started forgetting little things again, like the difference between "our" and "are" when she was writing letters. Granted the majority of my childhood, I was convinced my name was "Bettye-Tonya-April" (my grandmother's, mother's and my name respectively - run together quickly with a deep Texas drawl). But after the last stroke, we noticed that she was getting confused. She was no longer calling me Tonya because she was just absentminded, she thought I was my mom.

About a month ago, I got a bizarre letter from her in the mail - addressed to "Her Loved Ones" that talked about me. It said that I was having trouble with my marriage (we're definitely not), I had quit school (I graduated law school long ago), had moved over the Thanksgiving without telling her (definitely not true) and I hadn't seen her in over three years (we had just been up at Thanksgiving). I panicked when I read it, and called her immediately. She was chipper, and completely lucid when I talked to her. I finally summoned the courage to ask her about the letter, and she got angry - said she had never written such nonsensical drivel, and why would I say something so hurtful? Yet, there I was, holding stationery that I had bought her, with her distinctive handwriting scrawled across the page.

Last night, I called Mom to check on them - and I knew within seconds that it had gotten much - much worse. Mom said that Granny often forgets who my mom is, instead calling her Faye, her sister that died over 40 years ago. She usually refers to my uncle at "Howard" - her husband's name - and he died in '92. She tries to use the remote control to turn on the stove, or the water in the bathroom. She can no longer shower alone, because she forgets to turn on the cold water, and will scald herself. If not carefully watched, she'll walk up the street - in her gown and no coat. If you ask her where she's going, she'll tell you she doesn't know. And she doesn't. She has no bloomin' idea where she's going or why.

She's become fiercely combative, trading her verbal barbs for physical ones. Granted, she's incredibly frail - and she's not actually inflicting pain - but she's taken to hitting my mother randomly - often with no reason or provocation. She doesn't eat, she stays up all night, and sleeps during the day. She's becoming increasingly paranoid, convinced that people are after her. She threatens to take off in her car, and just drive - and trust me, Granny was never a good driver to begin with.

She hides her pills, then takes them randomly. She talks to the walls. She refuses to bathe, and must be physically forced to shower. Eating is a battle. My mom said it's like living with a two-year old all over again, but one trapped in a woman's body.

She doesn't remember her own pets, and panics when the dog comes in the bedroom to sleep with her, like it has every night for the last five years.

In a tearful apology, mom whispered last night that she was close to a breakdown. "I don't know how to handle this", she sobbed, "I don't have the proper training to take care of her, and I feel like I'm letting everyone down."

Everyone in the family knows, to some degree about her illness. We don't know exactly what it is that's caused it. She's refusing to go to a neurologist, because she's afraid they're going to put her in a home.

My family is in disarray. I'm actually her oldest great-grandchild. Which means, that yes - she has three children, six grandchildren, and five other great-grandchildren who could be shouldering the responsibility. Instead, her care has been relegated to my mother, her oldest grandchild, and the decision making to me. But as I lived with her during my teenage years, she and I have a deep bond. I am to share equally in her meager estate with her three grown children. They don't know what to do, so the decision has come to me - the one who knows her in some ways better than all of them. The one with the most education, and thus the most responsibility.

I cried last night softly onto Michael's chest, and he stroked my hair, and said that perhaps this is what's best. It's not fair to my mother to continue this way. It's not safe for Granny to be alone anymore. She's a danger to herself, and to others. My mother can't work because if she leaves the house for even five minutes - Granny freaks out and starts calling the police, convinced that my mother is dead in a ditch.

Her mind is forsaking her. But her body is too. Her arms and legs jerk wildly, flailing out at people around her.

The one thing that she feared worse than death, the one thing that she begged me not to do - I have no choice but to do. I will be breaking my promise to her.

I feel as if I am an executioner, signing her death warrant.

My heart is utterly breaking.

Avoiding black cats, ladders and mirrors

2006-02-20T14:05:00.000-05:00

I did our income taxes this morning, all the while mulling over how I'd like to spend what I thought would be a modest refund - and was shocked to find that instead we will be forced to fork over a princely sum (in multiples of THOUSANDS of dollars) to the federal government this year. *Sigh* so much for running off to Belgium this spring for vacation. The irony of the lack of the pitter patter of little deductions is not lost on me.

Times like this make it so hard to be a good democrat. I have no idea how the hell this happened, especially considering that I apparently OVERPAID Social Security by close to $900 this year.

I haven't had the courage to do our state or local tax returns yet.

The stress apparently made my nose start gushing blood - which I didn't notice or feel until my pretty green turtleneck was thoroughly drenched. I felt the wetness, and looked down to see that my left breast in all its bloody carnage and realized I had no idea where the blood was coming from. Freaking out, I jumped up to grab the box of kleenex off the back of desk, and promptly upset my glass of tea into my lap - onto my suede skirt - and manage somehow to simultaneously snag my stockings on the underside of the desk - rendering an enormous runner.

My mother in law called to say that she hasn't started packing yet, and hasn't called a mover - even though we're supposed to be moving in less than a week. Less than seven days. Six even.

I hang up with her to rifle through the phone book to find a mover, and Michael calls to tell me that the cat has decided that he doesn't approve of the moving and has voiced his objections by crapping all over the boxes sitting in our living room floor. Yes. This is the same cat who gave us this lovely experience the last time we moved.

Oh, and CD1 - in case you're wondering.

Good times... good times.

I hope your day is shaping up better than mine.

Needs and Wants

2006-02-17T17:03:00.000-05:00

As the end of a cycle draws to a close (assumingly sometime this weekend) and a new one begins, I'm suddenly very happy that we decided to forego bothering with another IUI and just wait for the IVF in May.

This extra time on my hands means I get to direct my somewhat obsessive tendencies to the house... and in particular - the kitchen, and outfitting it. Michael and I eloped, so we didn't go the typical registry route when we got married. [He had FIVE coffee makers when we got married, so some things well, didn't need to be purchased]. The rest, we've managed to purchase here and there, or have been graciously gifted with over the years.

So, we've got the basics down. They're not all the most top of the line, or most expensive... but they're all items that do nicely for us.

Cookware - check. Calphalon Contemporary Nonstick (love this. LOVE LOVE LOVE it. We had a wonky stovetop that heated unevenly, and it miraculously cured it and made the food taste as if I was an expert chef. The stovetop to oven ability is also great.) I actually have the 12 piece set, which I think just this 10 piece set with an included steamer insert and a double boiler. I bought this little gem to go with it, and it is great for making pancakes.

Knives - check. Henckles Five Star. If you have small hands like me, you'll find that other brands, such as the Wustoff Classic (which I originally wanted) are too big to comfortably handle. I've bought a few more of the same line, but for some reason they're hard to find now.

Casual dishes - check. We've got I think 10 place settings of Fiestaware. I love the colors, and they're remarkably sturdy dishes. We have the peacock, plum, shamrock, cobalt, tangerine, sunflower, cinnabar, periwinkle, turquoise, scarlet and I can't remember if we have another set.

China - check. O.k. so this really belongs in "dining room" but whatever. Lenox Serpentine Platinum, 12 place settings and other assorted serving pieces. We're not overly formal people, so we don't have really formal china. I like the clean lines that don't take away from the food.

Crystal - working on slowly filling out 12 place settings of each of the Waterford Aurora. It's a bit large - and thus only fits on certain shelves of the china cabinet, but again, I like the clean lines. It's HEAVY too, a problem I found when I put too much of it onto a glass shelf in the cabinet and it collapsed under the weight.

We just got this blender for Christmas, and it ROCKS. I love it, although it's one heavy mo fo.

And of course, my most prized possession in the kitchen is just the plain, white Kitchen Aid mixer.

I love to cook... and am stoked that I now have the room to do more entertaining (although. sigh. my house does not have the warming oven that I covet so deeply right now). I also have an affinity for random kitchen gadgets (garlic crusher, little pans that make star shaped bread loaves, tartlet pans, vintage copper cookie cutters galore), etc. And these little custard cups? I use them so often that it amazes me. I also use a set of old cast iron skillets, and my great grandmother's dinged up biscuit cutter every time I make biscuits and gravy.

So share - what items do you have in your kitchen that you adore, and could not live without? I'm talking about everything from small appliances to the quirky little gadget that you find yourself reaching for time and time again...

And what are the items you wish you hadn't bothered to have spent the money on or been gifted with? Michael's mom bought us a quesadilla maker, and I think we've used it once. It's bulky and takes up a lot of room in the cabinet. And this griddle? Please. Unless you're feeding an army, it's a pain in the ass to use and store.

-------

updated to add -

Those of you looking for new knives - well, you could always use this little addition to the household.

Further Proof That She Ain't From Around Here

2006-02-16T12:43:00.000-05:00

The weather here is pissing me off.

Growing up in Dallas, we used to always joke that if you didn't like the weather, to hang on for a minute or two 'cause it would change; unless, of course, it was during the summer where the only change would be from "scorching" to "branding yourself with the seatbelt buckle" to possibly "seventh circle of hell hot."

So after I leave Texas I move to South Florida, where it is pretty much without fail 75 degrees - year round. New Years Day, on the beach, perhaps a chilly 72. Oh sure, we had hurricanes, and it rained EVERY SINGLE DAY my first summer there, but it was warm!

Here. Hah! Here, there is no way of knowing. Every day I wonder if I should pack a parka or a bikini.

The other day it was 65. Today - Severe Weather with "Ice Pellets" per the local paper - the hell? What are "Ice Pellets? Hail? I know what sleet is, and I know what snow is, and I know what hail is - but Ice Pellets are a new one for me.

Ahh, per the Weather Channel link in the comments, I now know what ice pellets are. Thanks!

Now, not to pat myself on the back too much, I scraped my windshield off before I left the house this morning as opposed to just sitting in the car and letting the defroster slowly well, defrost the ice. So I left the house with a clear windshield, but the sleet was coming down so fast that the defroster wasn't able to melt it. As I was driving to work I was boxed into pretty heavy traffic and the windshield suddenly turned into a giant sheet of ice. I couldn't see anything.

So, I did the first logical* thing I could think of. I leaned over and got the can of quick melting ice spray stuff out of the floorboard and OPENED THE DOOR and sprayed it with my left hand on the windshield while I was holding onto the steering wheel with the right and driving - quite fast I must sheepishly admit.

I can only imagine how much the locals laughed at my predicament. Why I didn't open the window I'm not sure, but at the time it seemed like a good idea.

A bottle of wine begs to be shared; I have never met a miserly wine lover.

2006-02-15T11:04:00.000-05:00

Last night we ended up going out for Chinese and I drank - perhaps far too much ginjo-sho sake based on the raging headache I have this morning. In short, delightful sake, delightful food, delightfully horrible headache. We had a wonderful time though, talked and just enjoyed each other and the night out - even if it meant ignoring the fact that we have to move in 12 days and we are no where near packed. And by no where near, uh - I have an enormous stack of boxes - that well, are not full of anything yet. When we moved here, we had somewhere close to 8,000 pounds of stuff moved - and NONE OF IT WAS FURNITURE (aside from the couch, loveseat and chair). All of the furniture we've purchased here. I'm just going to pretend that it's not a big deal and the boxes will somehow magically pack themselves. Good coping strategy, no?

A few minutes ago I got a delivery of the case of the late bottled vintage 1998 Rocha's port from the Duovo demarcated region of Portugal we ordered last weekend - as yes, a Valentines present of sorts. I am beyond delighted, and can't wait to get it home tonight. I'm not generally a port fan, but this is wonderful. Heavenly even. [For Cricket - here's where you can buy it online.]

In the last few days I've talked to three people I haven't seen since elementary school, middle school and high school respectively. It's amazing to me how easy it is to find someone via the internet.

Your stories on the last post brought happiness to my apparently bitter little heart.

Every Kiss Begins With...

2006-02-13T13:41:00.000-05:00

O.k. Please tell me I'm not the only person who's fed up beyond belief with the rash of jewelry store commercials right now. I was watching t.v. last night for maybe an hour and must have seen - no exaggeration - maybe 15 commercials. Maybe I'm just bitter about Valentines Day in general - as it's never been one of my favorite holidays. Why? Because it's basically become a mass-produced, overly commercialized holiday that is all about fulfilling unattainable expectations and little, or sadly nothing to do with demonstrating how you actually care about someone.

It seems that people get all verklempt around this time of year wringing their hands about the holiday desperately trying to find the "perfect" gift. A veritable flood of magazines {incidentally I don't read many "women's magazines" because their constant drone of "Be A New Woman, here are 15,702 ways to make him want you!" articles are a little offputting. Following their logic the only way that I can succeed as a woman is by being some guy's great lay? Um, no thank you. I'm not sure why or when Cosmo et al went from being an "empowering" magazine to "Fucking for Dummies *Now with Copious Advertisements Showing Emaciated Women That Are Beautiful Because We Said So!*" but I digress...}, t.v. shows and radio ads are stressing how important it is to give the "perfect" gift to your "special someone" for Valentines Day. And why is it that this day is so important? Shouldn't the way you treat each other the other 364 days a year be just as important?

And in doing so, they intone that if you (god forbid) don't have someone special to spend your day with you're a loser. [And Yes, I have been dumped on Valentines Day. Perhaps there is the source of my true bitterness toward it?] And if you don't buy diamonds, or chocolate, or lingerie, or flowers - well, you don't really care enough about the person you're with.

Maybe I'm the one who just doesn't "get it" - but thinking back to the most romantic things I've ever gotten in my life, none of them was flowers, candy or jewelry. About five years ago, a bunch of friends (a group of probably 20 males and females together) and I were sitting around in a bar after classes talking about the most romantic thing that someone could do for you. Not one of us listed jewelry, roses, candy, etc. Instead it was a homemade card, poetry, just listening, etc. I was single at the time, and I said I had always fantasized about someone throwing up little pebbles to my window - so I would open the window and have them tell me they loved me. Perhaps a little too Romeo and Juliet - but whatever.

A few weeks later, tied to my door (I lived on the 16th floor of a high rise) with a ribbon was a plastic sack of tiny pebbles. There was no note, no indication of who sent it. Obviously, I have no way to know if it was just random occurrence, or if it was someone making reference to what I had said. But I kept those pebbles in a glass vase on my nightstand for a very long time as a reminder that it is the small things in life that matter most.

I probably wear the diamond earrings that Michael bought me as a surprise a few years ago 6 out of 7 days a week. But the most romantic thing he did for me was mowing the yard. Seriously. We'd been married about 2 years, and I was in the kitchen washing dishes, and he was in the back yard mowing. He came in, hot and sweaty and yelling that there was something I had to come see. When I went out there, he had mowed I (heart) You in the grass. Now, you have to understand, Michael is not a mushy person. He's not the type to write gushy poetry or sing love songs, but more than anything else he's ever done - that touched me.

So anyway, I'm curious - what are your thoughts on Valentines' Day? How do you celebrate it, if you do? What's the most romantic thing someone could give you (or has, if you want to give us the details)?

Be as chatty as you want in the comments.

----------------------
And as to the last post, thank you for your kind thoughts. I didn't post that to have you shower me with praise, though... as shameful as it is to admit - far too often I look the other way when someone is in need. Too often I pretend that they aren't there, that I don't see them. Bobby touched me in a way that I didn't think possible, and I haven't stopped thinking about him. For the last week, I've been circling the neighborhood around the restaurant- trying to find him. When it snowed Saturday I cried, worried about him in the cold. I searched for him for close to 40 city blocks. But what I realized in doing so, is that it's not just him that needs help - that needs to be treated with respect and love. It's the woman carrying two kids and pushing another in a stroller. It's the 10 year old kid wearing clothes that don't fit. It's the attorney in the next office, the teller at the bank, the cranky neighbor who *still* has their christmas lights on when I get home at night. It's all of us.

Recognized.

2006-02-09T11:37:00.000-05:00

I packed for a few hours when I got home last night, wrapping up things that have lovingly become a part of our home - carefully wrapping the crysal, the china, the picture frames that held family photographs. At about nine o'clock - I realized we still hadn't eaten dinner and I didn't particularly feel like cooking. BBQ sounded good - and I asked Michael to drive with me, as the place I wanted to go was across town, and I didn't want to go by myself. The wind was blowing, and it was cold - maybe 20 degrees or so.

We walked in, and we were one of only maybe 15 people scattered in the restaurant, and incidentally the only white folks in the place. (I say that only because it surprises me how startled the employees look everytime we go there. There's around four of these restaurants in the metro area - and this one isn't in what I would consider really to be the ghetto, but it's in a relatively high-crime area, and for whatever reason while white folks go there during the day, there's some sort of unspoken rule that they rarely go there at night.

[Race discourse isn't really the point behind this post, and while I'd like to pretend that it doesn't matter - the undercurrents of "otherness" are defintiely palpable when you walk in and every single person stops what they're doing and turns to look at you and stare. To be the minority is uncomfortable, and I realize that my thirty minute foray into it doesn't begin to address how thousands of blacks deal with it on a daily basis. I wish it wasn't like that - and while I concede that great progress has been made, we've got a LONG way to go before it's no longer a "black and white" issue.]

"Hi, May I help you?" the woman behind the counter asked. We put in our orders, and I ended up getting $5 back through some promotion that they had going on. While we were standing at the register waiting to pay, the room became suddenly quiet. A large man, maybe 6'3" came in wearing sunglasses, a trench coat and a hood up over his head. I didn't see him at first, because he was standing directly behind me. But I could smell him. He reeked of stale urine and musty clothes. He was uncomfortably close, and the woman behind the counter stepped back from the register, her voice wavering and asked if he would please remove his hood and sunglasses. He did, his hands trembling, and asked if they had coffee. She said yes, that it was around the corner, and he asked how much it was, and she said he could have it for free. He thanked her, went and got a cup of coffee, said good evening to us as he passed, and sat in the dining room alone, humming softly.

He was kind, he wasn't bothering anyone, and to be honest, I forgot he was there. We ate our meal and as we walked out, Michael said, "Honey, you know. That five dollars that we got back at dinner would mean a lot more to him than it would to us. Why don't you run back in and give it to him with and let him get a hot meal."

At first I was hesitant. While it seemed that he was probably homeless, or at the very least very down on his luck, I didn't want to offend him. I didn't want him to think of me as some uppity white bitch taking pity on him. What if he got angry and caused a scene?

Michael reached into his pocket, pulled out all the cash he had and stuffed it crumpled into my hand. "Just go." I grabbed the money we'd gotten back from the register, and cursed wishing I had more cash in my wallet.

I turned around, and approached him. His eyes were closed, his hands resting on the top of the table and I was afraid he'd fallen asleep. "Um... sirr...." I stammered, and he opened his eyes. I quickly stuffed the wad of bills under his hand and whispered, "Please, have something to eat other than a cup of coffee. It isn't much, but please, have a bite to eat." He looked up at me, and he asked me my name. He smiled and said "I'm Bobby. It's a pleasure to meet you." He invited me to sit with him, and tears welled in his eyes.

"Thank you." He said. "Thank you for taking the time to care about someone else, for saying hello, for just recognizing me as a person. God Bless You." I squeezed his hand, and wished him well, and then ran out to the waiting car - where I promptly burst into giant racking sobs. It breaks my heart to see someone who is suffering, without a roof over their heads, without food, without the ability to even provide for the most basic needs. It breaks my heart because I know - it could've been me, or anyone that I love standing there instead of him.

What we did, in the grand scheme of things was really nothing. It was just a little money, and we live a very comfortable life. We could afford to give much more than we do, and we should. But last night, my heart was so full of love for someone I didn't even know that it devastated me.

A close friend of mine's wife went this year and walked, delivering holiday cards to the homeless in her hometown. It was a small gesture of love for humankind, cost her basically nothing, and brought a brief glimpse of normalcy and happiness to the lives of people that are often cast aside and ignored.

This may not make sense, but this is why I want children. I want a child so that I can teach them that everyone, no matter their physical or economic stature, no matter their race, their age, their sex is important. Each person deserves to be recognized as worthy, to be treated with grace and dignity.

Take a chance. Recognize someone that many find it easier to ignore.

No Time For Love Dr. Jones...

2006-02-05T18:37:00.000-05:00

Another low key weekend, but go-go-go-go the entire time. I'm not sure how that's possible really, but it is.

Friday I left work early with a tremendous backache - to the point that I was close to vomiting from pain. I have no idea what the hell I did to my back, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it was caused by something I'd rather not relate to the doctor. After taking um, seven or eight 500 mg. extra strength tylenols on Saturday I was still close to tears. Considering we were in the car for the majority of Saturday (going back and forth 2+ hours to a college basketball game) it was not a good time to have a backache. There's still an uncomfortable soreness that feels very similar to when I was overstimulated so I'm seriously hoping that this is not some ovarian cyst gone awry.

We spent hours yesterday discussing what we're going to do with the house to make it "our" space and planning out the basement renovations. Amazingly for a man who had little more than a black metal futon when we married, he actually has excellent taste. Unfortunately that means he's putting quite a bit of input into the decisions which I had not anticipated. The sage green that I had wanted to do the downstairs bathroom in, he now wants to do the kitchen in. Hmpf.

We went to FOUR lighting stores on Saturday, not counting the big home improvement box stores - and still are without a light fixture for the entryway.

The kitchen is a somewhat L-shaped eat-in kitchen. The custom made cabinets are all cream color (not something I would have picked necessarily), the countertops are similarly cream and the floor is large cream ceramic tiles. The appliances are also all cream. The wallpaper in there now is fairly non-offensive, and maybe four months old, but Michael has put the kibosh on the wallpaper, so we're debating paint colors now. The only thing that we've agreed on is no yellow, and no blue. When we moved into our home in Florida - the kitchen was painted somewhere between pumpkin and Tennessee orange. It sounds horrible, but we really grew to love it. We've decided to do something else though in this house.

The kitchen will have an oak farm-style table and chairs (which I personally dislike, but it was his before we were married and he is oddly attached to the table). I have an assorted collection of fiestaware that we'll use in this room, so I want something color wise that won't be garrish with those serving pieces. Any suggestions? He doesn't want "in your face" color - and I don't want boring boring neutrals.

I guess it would help if I'd upload pics of the house, huh?

Was it just me or were the Superbowl ads oddly boring this year? Aside from the "magic fridge" Bud ad, I don't think I even laughed. And how much older can Mick Jagger get? He could have at least endeared himself to me by calling it gridiron, but alas...

I tossed and turned until 2 last night, at which point I decided that I was either going to have to smother Michael with the pillow or go sleep in the guest room. I opted, rather reluctantly at the time for the cold guest bed. Unfortunately both cats thought that meant we were having a party in there - and I was trampled on by the monsters all night long.

I finally fell asleep at 5. The alarm went off at 5:15.

Bags under your eyes are the new black. At least that's what I'm trying to convince everyone of today...

Ow.

2006-01-31T17:52:00.000-05:00

Ear aches suck, in case you were wondering.

I have only had one in my entire life, when I was about 11, and it was awful. My grandmother swore that heated "sweet oil" dropped into my ear would make it better, and while it did temporarily relieve the pain, it didn't fix it.

Last night I noticed I had unbelievable sinus pressure, and my ear was throbbing. My equilibrium's been off and I've been pulling at my warm left ear since last night. Today I've gone through a half a box of kleenex blowing my nose to try to relieve the pressure.

This sucks.

Royally.

More effective than a rowing machine

2006-01-30T10:02:00.000-05:00

Want a sure fire way to make sure that you actually use EVERY SINGLE muscle in your body without going to the gym? Want a way that you can guarantee that you will find muscles you didn't know even existed could be sore (such as on top of your hands or your forearms)? Want to have that sexy, eau de bengay scent when you go to sleep?

Then do I have a solution for you!

I'm an impatient person. No surprise really, that considering we closed on the house at 9 a.m. on Friday, that I was ready by um, 9:05 to start moving in and decorating. The only problem with that, is well, it's my MIL's house, and she's completely gutting her new house, and until at least the flooring and cabinets are installed, she can't move into the new house.

So Michael and I volunteered (somewhat warily) to help out. By 6:00 p.m. yesterday the wallpaper was stripped out of every room but one, the carpet & carpet pad (and the staples and furring strips) were all ripped out of the entire house, the 15 feet of ceramic tile was chiseled out of the entryway, and some trees were cut down outside.

We are so sore that typing is inflicting more pain than I thought possible. Why didn't we just wait for the flooring people to do all this? Because we were antsy - that's why. And now the flooring people just have to come in and put down the new hardwood and tile. Huzzah.

Oh, and we have to help paint - but that's no problem as long as we do it before the new carpet comes in.

And for the record, should you happen to have recently slathered bengay on your hands - remember that when you decide to get frisky. I'm just saying.

Closing Time

2006-01-27T10:56:00.000-05:00

I know who I want to take me home
I know who I want to take me home
I know who I want to take me home
Take me home.....

Closing Time - every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.

Closing for the house got bumped up to 9 a.m. this morning, so after signing my name so many times that I actually ended up spelling it incorrectly I was so nervous... we are now the proud owners of a lovely two story home in one of the "best places to live" in the country according to Money Magazine.

Wow.

Yesterday, I got notification that I would be getting a bonus based on meeting my billable hour expectation, which I expected - but it is three times what I was told it would be.

Wow.

We just got word that some agricultural family farm land that Michael's father left him will likely be selling for nearly $5-$8,000 more an acre than we had expected. We're going to turn his interest in those proceeds over into investment in a lake house.

Wow.

I am so amazed that there simply aren't words.

Popcorn & Juniormints

2006-01-25T13:57:00.000-05:00

I didn't go to my appointment yesterday. I just decided that I wanted to have some time to rest, and to focus on getting the rest of our life in order right now. I need to be packing and picking out paint, and figuring out how to trick Spring into coming early so I can start puttering in the yard. [wow that last part made me sound like an octogenerarian. Heh. but not the fertile octogenerian (only the lawyerly types will get that bad joke). Puttering? pretty soon I'll be breaking out the geritol and having my hair dyed blue again* I suppose.]

And, I sincerely hope my last post didn't offend anyone. I wasn't trying to imply that I was more deserving or more worthy than any of my fellow infertiles in the trenches to get to the "other" side. I realize that this isn't a competition, and I don't want my pathetic little whiny attitude to detract from the amazing support system in the blogosphere. And trust me, I'm amazed. Absolutely amazed by the support of each of you.

Michael called to tell me that UPS left a package for me today. A package? I wasn't expecting any package. I thought it must have come to the wrong house so I did the most logical thing I could think of - let's OPEN it and find out if the neighbors got some kind of kinky sex toy! Er, I mean, it was addressed to me and since I'm ah, a little impatient, I made him open it with me on the phone and describe to me what the package was.

He said, it's like a CD or something. And I'm repeating "openitopenitopenit" and he said - FINE - it's that movie you were yammering on about the other day. [yammering? dear God we're ancient]. It's the Last Unicorn! (really there was an exclamation there).

So thank you Sarah. Thank you tremendously ... for reminding me that in the end, all the other unicorns who had been driven into the ocean were set free and came galloping onto the shore, knocking the evil wizard's castle into the sea. And the last unicorn wasn't the only unicorn anymore.

And thank you for giving me a tangible reminder of hope and for letting me blantantly steal your saying and use it here.

It's going to be ok in the end. And if it's not ok, then it's not the end.

Tonight we'll be eating popcorn and junior mints (together, you must put the junior mints IN the hot popcorn and mix it all up. I thought it was gross too until I tried it) and reminding ourselves, it's not the end. It's not the end.

*Actually it's never been blue, but it was bright lime green for awhile when I went through a rather staunch punk phase at 16 and I was hanging out in the music and arts dorm all the time.

The Last Unicorn

2006-01-23T13:51:00.000-05:00

Does anyone else remember the movie The Last Unicorn? It was out around '84 or so... and when I was a child I loved it. At least, I think that's the name of it. It was an animated movie sort of anime-esque about the last unicorn on earth. Of course, I don't remember more than mere fragments of the movie - a scary sequence with a lot of fire with the Red Bull charging - some bizarre music - the unicorn being captured and held at a carnival - and a Harpy attacking someone.

I think it was loosely based on a novel, but I haven't seen it in probably 20 years, so it's no surprise that while I was trying to explain it to Michael, that he gave me the same blank stare as when I tried to explain The Peanut Butter Solution, the Secret of Nimh and Labryinth to him. I guess thanks to our age difference he got to miss out on the substantial portion of 1980s children's movies. I forget sometimes that we don't have the same frames of reference.

I called the doctor's office today and they said that I could cycle again this month if I wanted to while waiting for the IVF. I scheduled an appointment for a baseline scan tomorrow, but to be honest, I'm not sure if I'm going to go through with it. I've been blogging now about our infertility since July 2004. We have never really used any form of contraception since we first starting sleeping together. Oh sure, there was the oh "pull and pray" for the first year we were married, and then there was the two months of birth control pills, and the one single occurrence that we tried a diaphragm. When Michael and I eloped, everyone assumed it was because I was "in the family way" and bets were placed on when we'd finally announce we were expecting. That was years ago, and there still have been no announcements forthcoming.

A lot of you who are fairly new to blogging may not remember the discussion a year or so ago that went through infertility bloglandia about hitting your "wall" when it comes to infertility. In essence the discussion focused on when you would decide that "enough was enough" and throw in the towel and try to cope with the fact that medical science may just not be able to bring all of us the "golden ticket"- or there may come a point where we choose, for a variety of reasons, not to rely any more on medicine and miracles. There are a few posts from that time that I still think about often, about what it will be for me, when I hit my wall. Will one IVF attempt be it? Two? Five? At what point do diminishing marginal returns set in? At what point is enough simply enough for your personal situation? At what point do the emotional costs outweigh the financial?

If I don't go through with another IUI or two while we wait, on one hand I feel like we are wasting time, wasting chances. Akin to Poe, the incessant sound of time ticking away keeps me up at night. I feel like I would always wonder if perhaps I didn't give it my all. And to be honest, as much as I admire those of you who have braved IVF, I am ashamed to say that I never thought it would come to that for us. I was young, his sperm morphology was phenomenal, we weren't going to need that kind of help.

How arrogant of me. How ignorant.

On the other hand, I know that the chances of us conceiving without IVF are very slim. Closer perhaps to the devil requesting to borrow my long johns. I think about these few months in front of us and am debating as to whether I want to spend them running back and forth to follicle scans and blood draws, or if I want to spend that time settling into our new house, and honestly - just getting to spend time alone with Michael without the pressure of prescribed sex, without injection bruises, without someone I'm not intimate with jamming a foreign object in me every other day.

Last night as we were laying in bed, he wrapped his arms around me and the tears finally flowed. He kissed my forehead and said he was sorry that I was putting myself through so much. The swelling, the bruising, the overstimulation, the indignity of having your bits on display to everyone and anyone.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do. Not for this cycle. Or any more in between now and May. I haven't reached my wall, but I think it's time that I start thinking about what it's going to be. I never thought I would get close enough to truly see it... it was an abstract, something that would never come to fruition. The hazy outline of it is now visible over the horizon and I have to figure out how much longer it's going to take to get there.

Over the time that I've been blogging I've seen most of the women I know move on. They've gotten pregnant, they've adopted, they've decided to focus on themselves and their partners. They've struggled, but they've moved on.

I think that's the most frustrating thing for me. I'm not moving on. I am stagnant. I am treading water but I'm not getting anywhere.

I have to say though, that all of you certainly make this rough time inbetween more bearable. It really, really helps.

So I feel ashamed to confess that sometimes I worry that I will be the infertile equivalent of The Last Unicorn. The last one left.

Well, I won't have to worry about the paint fumes...

2006-01-21T11:53:00.000-05:00

CD1.

Upping the progesterone did a whole lotta nothing. 10 days post IUI is as long as I lasted this time.

I'm honestly not upset. There comes a point where you sort of become numb to it all. There comes a point where it just seems like it's never going to happen. And in a way, I wish I had the ability to still cry about it. It would feel, in some ways more normal I think.

We're moving on to IVF in May. I'm not sure if we'll bother with another IUI. Since I can't get past a 10 day luteal phase on 600 mg. of prometrium, I'm worried the IVF will be for naught. What good is it to put in great embryos if they don't have the ability to implant before the endometrium dissolves around them? Maybe the PIO will finally be enough. Maybe next time it will be different.

I wish I didn't feel so broken. I wish that my body would just cooperate with the meds.

I just wish there weren't so many maybes. So many doubts.

You play the hand you're dealt I suppose.

I just wish the cards could have been shuffled a bit better this time.

Progesterone, paint swatches, and twiddling my thumbs

2006-01-20T10:17:00.000-05:00

I went in on Wed. to have my progesterone tested. It came back at a measly 20.9. TWENTY POINT NINE. I was on 600 mg. of prometrium a day, 200 in the morning orally, and 400 mg. in the evening vaginally. I'm now bumped up to 800 mg. of prometrium a day. 400 in the morning orally, 400 in the evening vaginally. Is it possible that administering the pills vaginally would decrease the serum levels of progesterone? I've not had near the symptoms I had last time I took it (when it was all administered orally), so I'm wondering if perhaps that could be the cause.
Last night I had highly placed, sharp cramps so painful that when I came home from work early I went to bed, and laid on the bed with a heating pad in tears. They weren't normal period cramps, but sharp - and stabbing and somewhat focused on my left side, with the occasional "fuck you!" from the right. I expected to wake in the middle of the night drenched in blood, but so far I still haven't started spotting. This morning there was a slight beige-ish tinge on the toilet paper, although I'm not sure if that's from the vaginal prometrium or what.

I love my clinic, and I'd have my R.E.'s babies I adore him so much - except for well, um I've not exactly got a great track record in that area. The thing that irritates me though about IVF is that they only do a limited number of IVFs a year. They're right in the middle of an IVF cycle now, so the next one isn't until May. I thought it was March for some reason, but it's not until May. May is so incredibly far away. The doctor said he didn't see the point in us wasting time and $$ with another IUI, but to be honest, I'm only going to be out the $70 for all of my medication and sharps (G-d bless my employers very generous coverage of IF meds) and 20% coinsurance for the IUI itself as I've already met my deductible for the year. All of the scans and bloodwork are covered - apparently without the deductible applying, as I just got my first Explanation of Benefits for the first two scans and bloodwork and the portion I was responsible for was $0. [I know, I know, you're all entitled to hate me now, but trust in your heart I'm beyond thankful].

In a way, I realize that cycling in February and early March would be a pain, what with the remodeling of the new house {the wallpaper is coming down if it kills me, I don't care if it's a few months old, Michael and I detest wallpaper} and moving, and unpacking and all that jazz, it's going to be a madhouse. So, perhaps it's best that I don't try to cycle then. We could always just try on our own without help.... bwahahahahahahahahaha. Now that's funny.

This weekend is going to be hopefully low key. It's snowing today again, which sort of puts a damper on my plans to rip up the tulips, daffodils, crocus {crocusi? crocuses?}, hyacinths, alliums, etc. that I planted. The reason that I'm ripping them all out is that we were actually renting while we were house hunting. We just didn't expect to fall into a house quite so suddenly (we've been here only a few months) so I thought I'd at least get to enjoy the flowers. Some of them were fairly inexpensive, so I may just leave them, but there were quite a few that I had imported from Holland that I want to at least try to move. It may be a bust, but at least I can say that I tried. That sort of seems to be my mantra right now. At least I can say that I tried...

As some of you know, I have a non-infertility related blog that I have become very lax at updating, and I've decided that having two blogs is just too much effort. So I'm combining them here. That means you may be called on to offer decorating advice, as we're going to be doing quite a bit of work in the next month on making the house "our" home. For your first task, I need advice for a paint color for the downstairs half bath. The cabinets and are a slight off-white, and the floor is a light maple hardwood and the pulls on the cabinet are going to be changed to a brushed nickle, or perhaps crystal. It will serve primarily as a guest bathroom, and will have large two, two-foot high silver candlesticks on the vanity. I'm looking for something that is elegant, but not too incredibly formal. I'll try to get over there and get pictures of the entire house this weekend, so we can start planning the changes - and you can laugh with me about the wallpaper, er I mean give me ideas. We're shooting to change a room a month, as we're going to be converting the roughly 1500 sq. foot basement as a long term project into a pub/entertainment room and additional family room.

This weekend looks as if it's going to be fairly low key. I'll be spending quite a bit of time cuddled up with Westlaw researching the minutia of COBRA, trying to start to pack (we have a MONTH before we need to be moved in!) and a college basketball game on Saturday evening. It's not exactly brimming with excitement, but you know - sometimes low key is best.

Counting the days.

2006-01-19T08:45:00.000-05:00

Thanks for all the very considerate and touching comments a lot of you made on the last post. I know Granny didn't mean to hurt me, she and I have had a very close relationship for a long time - as she raised me essentially on her own from the time I was 12 until I left for college a month after turning 16. Her home was my home until I married the first time. I know she's frustrated with how much this hurts me, and I know her illness prevents her from articulating those fears and anger in a way that I think is appropriate. I love her, which is part of what made the hurt so unbearable. It's nice to have people "get it" - and even for those that commented who couldn't exactly understand because they aren't in our particular predicament, thank you for your empathy. It helped ease the hurt quite a bit.

I forgot how irritating it is to be on progesterone, although I have to say that only taking half the dose orally has helped alleviate a lot of the rather unfortunate symptoms I had before. I finally managed to get in for my progesterone blood work yesterday - on cycle day 22. The fuck? How is it that time has gone by so quickly? Of course, by this time in the last injectible/IUI cycle I had already started to bleed for two days, so I'm not holding out much hope. But, I've been on progesterone for 9 days as of today, and so far not even spotting- so that's good, I guess.

I keep waking up in the middle of the night, often frightened from the whacked out crazy ass dreams I've been having. Usually a heavy sleeper, I wake up at least three to four times a night now - which is pretty damn irritating. Once I'm up, inevitably Michael starts to snore. It's like he's taunting me. And as of late, it's not been just a normal snore. Poor thing is still sick, and it's the kind of snore you need those giant earmuff looking protective earwear things that airline workers wear while they're guiding the planes on the ground during taxiing. [Is taxiing a word? It looks wrong, but if it's not a word, I just made it one.] It's so loud that he woke himself up two days ago and asked what in the world that awful noise was. *snicker* Or Alex (our 22 pound cat who sleeps on the bed) starts to snore, and to be honest, sometimes Alex is just as loud as Michael. And it's either get up and sleep in the other bedroom or strangle him, or the cat, or both... and well, orange jumpsuits don't really flatter my figure I'm afraid.

As a result, I've resorted to sleeping in the guest bedroom with the door closed.

I keep waking up without any clothes on, drenched with sweat. There was a time in my life that this meant I had likely had too much fun, of the variety you don't discuss with your parents. Unfortunately it's not the case now, I don't remember being this hot ever in my life... and all I can say is dear God it's going to be awful to be going through menopause. I guess I'm just getting so hot that I strip my clothes off in the middle of the night, as I usually find them in a damp heap on the floor next to my side of the bed.

And thankfully, the heating vent in the guest room is closed off, so the sheets there are cold.

I've had light cramps for the last two days, but not exactly like pms type cramps. Duller and more achy. It's difficult to explain. I'm not expecting to be pregnant, I don't think I'm pregnant, and I know that the progesterone is causing this crap... which makes it suck more I think.

Our mortgage was approved yesterday morning (sort of a surprise to me, as I didn't think that we'd be able to qualify for such a hefty chunk of change) and we signed all the loan paperwork today. It's nice to have that part done. We will close on the house the last day of this month. It's a little irritating because the house is actually in a different state than where we live now, even though it's maybe 10-15 minutes away, so we'll have to re-register the cars, get new driver's licenses, etc. etc.

Remember back last fall, when we planted close to 1,000 bulbs around our current abode? Yeah. About that. Not such a good move on my part. I'm leaving part of them, and I'm going to try to transplant some others this weekend into the new house's gardens. Who knows if it'll work, as it's supposed to be a record high today, and then snow tomorrow. As long as the ground isn't frozen, I'm going to give it a shot.

And of course, maybe a month ago I finally got rid of all the moving boxes from the basement.

Beta is on Tuesday, if I make it that long. A week from then, we close on the house.

It's no surprise that I've developed a nervous tick like Tweak from South Park.

The one where I vomit in my mouth a little...

2006-01-16T18:31:00.000-05:00

Today is my great-grandmother's eighty fifth birthday. Crazy huh? That I have a living (and relatively young) great grandmother? She's starting to become more easily confused, and it broke my heart to speak to Granny today - because she was convinced that I had forgotten her birthday.

She gets confused and tends to mix up my stories with my friends, my mom, her friends, etc. It's all so complicated for Granny now to sort out. But she remembered to ask if there was any baby news. Sigh. No... no Gran, there's no baby news. She remembers to ask EVERY SINGLE GOD FORSAKEN TIME I ever talk to her. Oh - but she said, "there is! Lots of wonderful baby news. Everyone's having a baby it seems but you."

Um. thanks. I have two cousins (a brother and sister), neither of whom I'm particularly close too - both of whom have been married around four or five years. I should have seen it coming, I guess. He's a few months younger than me, and he and his wife had been trying for awhile and had two early miscarriages. His sister is about two years younger than us, and has been married a little longer.

They are both pregnant and due within a few weeks of each other. I'm happy for them, honestly. I think they will both make great parents. I'm just devastated that yet another example has hit close to home to remind me that I'm fucked up. I'm broken. I can't have kids and it kills me.

If it wasn't for the fact that she was so incredibly old, and fragile I would have flipped out when she told me that at least they're finally having babies since it seems you're incapable of it. All sorts of women have babies all the time, I don't know what the problem is with you two.

Gah. I started bawling on the phone and told her that I didn't want to talk about it. I've explained to her that we can't. I've explained the treatments, the tests, the heartache of waiting for so long.

It'll be so nice, to finally have a baby around, she said. I've waited so long for you to have a baby, and you're never going to.

Yum, that was the delicious taste of bile rising in the back of my throat.

I tried to change the subject, and when that didn't work, I hung up.

Coming soon... and gratuitous usage of CAPS

2006-01-15T08:55:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning we drove over to the "new" neighborhood to try to get a feel for how it's structured, as to be quite honest, even though his mom's lived in that house since '92, we never really paid much attention to the neighborhood as somewhere we'd live ourselves.

One of the best elementary schools in the city is literally a block away. The yards are all tidy and people were out walking their dogs en masse. And - cleaning up after them! There are a number of highly rated hospitals within a five minute drive. And a really great coffee shop. And the highway is just minutes away... but it's secluded and no traffic at all in the actual neighborhood... and there's an enormous all organic vegetable garden a half block away.

We decided to drive to Nordstrom's (a less than 10 minute drive!) for me to look for a new pair of shoes and Michael wanted some more Zirh shaving cream (this stuff is heavenly good - the menfolk in your life need it trust me. Even my macho Texan republican father uses it - although he said it's a little "girly"). As we're making small talk with the cashier I said something to the effect of how surprised I was that they were so much cheaper than Sephora (where I *sigh* used to buy his Zirh stuff for him). She said, "oh well, you know they're opening a new Sephora in the mall."

I embarassed the hell out of myself and half-screamed, half-screeched:

What? What? WHAT? REALLY?!?!?!?!

If it wasn't for the vaginal progesterone pills, I would have sworn that well, um, that I had just made a rather indelicate mess in my knickers upon hearing the news.

I raced out of the store, with Michael roaring laughing on my heels to verify that it is indeed coming.

Halfway through the mall, there was the sign, in all it's glory.

Sephora. Coming soon.

(and the heavens opened, and angels sang, and there was much rejoicing).

[Begin random talk about my box - I was warned that using prometrium as a vaginal suppository could be a little er, messy. And with 600 mg. a day of it - all I can say is ew. The 200 mg. pill in the morning is going to have to be oral. The 400 mg at night I'm administering vaginally because it's supposed to be more readily absorbed where it's needed or something. All I can say is that there is justifiable reason for my husband to have nicknamed me Peanut Puss. And I'm really hoping that peanut oil comes out of my favorite flannel pjs - because, damn it - they have SMORES on them. And smores don't need added peanut oil.

And 600 mg a day of progeterone is making my boobs hurt. Achingly swollen and hurting, and it's only been 4 days of it. Of course, while on progesterone supplementation last time, I only made it 8 days before the bleeding started, so who knows how long this will last. End of box talk]
The Sephora news coupled with the fact that his alma mater beat their biggest rival in basketball yesterday for the first time in THIRTY-ONE match-ups and at an away game no less, well, we're just sort of floored - and not entirely sure that yesterday did in fact even occur.

We went out to have a beer to celebrate (a John Courage/Guinness half and half for me - quite tasty I highly suggest it) - and our waiter was the younger brother of someone in my graduating class in high school. Which wouldn't be a big deal, but I went to high school um, NINE HOURS away by car. What an incredibly small world.

Mom (my MIL) and David have made an offer on the house they want to buy, and are expecting a counter offer, which they will likely agree to. They're asking for an expedited closing date of Feb. 1. Which means that we'll be moving in March or April at the latest into the new house.

I'm headed off to look at paint samples and kitchen island specs for MY NEW HOUSE.

And the delurking bit? Um, WOW. I don't think I've ever had that many comments (and perhaps not in the first uh, six months I was blogging total). Thank you to the "repeat customers" and those of you who are a little more new and just popped in to say hi.

Wow. That was a lot of caps. Er, sorry about that.

Delurking, Pimping, Oversexed and a World without Sephora.

2006-01-11T11:23:00.000-05:00

First, courtesy of the brilliantly funny and ravishingly beautiful Statia*, let me remind you that it's delurking week.

If you come by often (or if this is even your first time) feel free to stop by in the comments and say hi. Tell me about yourself. What to say, you may ask. Who cares. Tell me what you like, what irritates you... prattle on about what you had for breakfast if there's nothing else to say. Or just say "hi."

I remember when I was first blogging that it was so wonderful when I would get the odd comment. It was a giant relief to know that someone "got it" or at least was taking time to read. I promise, I don't bite... well, not very hard, unless you're into that kind of thing.

*Ahem, where was I* oh. right.

Next item on the agenda: Pimping. If you've got a blog (and even if I know about it, please pimp yourself out in the comments). There are a lot of relative newcomers that I am just now getting to know, and I love to support as many people as I can. So your blog's not about infertility? Believe it or not, I do have interests other than trying to get knocked up. And, I am actually going to try to update my blogroll aside from just the link to the giant blogroll. I know, I know... the four horsemen can't be too far behind right?

And feel free to place your pin on the guestmap. Link is to the right.

Ahh, that brings me now to the delicate topic of ... oversexed. I am now officially tired of sex, which is sad. Michael's quite uh, adept at meeting my needs, but this every day sometimes mutliple times a day business this week has left me tired of the entire process. Exhausted even - and slightly chafed and bowlegged. This was fine and dandy when we were dating or even the first year we were married - but we've been together too long for it now and I have to say that this morning was while, um, fulfilling there were undercurrents of bitterness on both of our parts. Again? Do we have to? He told me that if I was expecting it anymore this week I'd better come home with an Rx from the RE.

*Now about Statia.

Aside from being sickeningly beautiful and sweet, and quite funny - she's one of the nicest people you'll ever meet (except that I haven't exactly, but anyway... trust me on this). We were chatting a few weeks ago and I was bitching that I had just dropped my compact and my pressed powder had shattered into well, powder and dusted my entryway with what looked like anthrax (yeah, I'm that ghostly white). The only place I've been able to find a powder that doesn't irritate my skin or make me look like a geisha is at Sephora, which I don't have access to anymore because I LIVE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WILDERNESS FAR FAR FROM CIVILIZATION (or at least from Sephora). The particular shade I have is of course discontinued, or "temporarily out of stock" as they like to cheekily say online. I was beyond delighted when a week later I opened my mail to find a package from her and inside the bubblewrap I found a brand new compact. She had to go to three Sephoras to find one...

She's a gem. An absolute gem.

Snowfall

2006-01-10T11:22:00.000-05:00

This morning I was late getting the *ahem* specimen into the doctor's office because my windshield was iced over. It's been so long since I've lived anywhere where the cold is a factor in the weather that to be honest, I didn't remember how to quickly defrost the window. In case you're wondering, using your windshield wiper fluid is NOT the way to do it. That caused the ice to not only cake on - but blister up in angry frozen cracks. I remembered that I bought a cheesy can of Ice-Off (or something to that effect) and ran in the house to get it.

I actually did the insemination alone today, because I was just going to drop off the specimen, and then Michael was going to meet me for my appointment at 10:15. Only, when I got there, they said that they were just going to go ahead and do it then.

So, it was just me, my Morgan Freeman look alike doc and my monkey socks (Michael picked me out a "good luck" pair the other day that have monkey waiters with skyscrapers and apples on them).

So if I get pregnant, my husband will have been half way across town at the time. Hmpf.

There was quite a bit of cramping this time, that I didn't have before.

The doctor said if it doesn't work this time that he doesn't see the point in wasting any more time and money on IUIs and that we should just proceed with IVF (and ICSI if necessary).

I thought it would be easier than this. I don't know that I'm ready for that.

I just wish that we could have an "oops" - or at least the possibility of it.

The skies are grey and it's supposed to snow 4 inches today. I wish I was more hopeful about this. I wish I didn't have to be.

Will you still need me, will you still feed me ...

2006-01-09T11:47:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was Liz's (Michael's mother) 64th birthday and we went over to her house to pick her up for dinner. When we got there she was positively giddy and told me to come into the bathroom with her for a second that she wanted to tell me something. I walked into the downstairs bathroom, and she shut the door, told me to turn away from her and close my eyes.

Oh god. I thought - she's going to show me that she's had some more "work" done. As I braced myself for the thought of seeing my MIL unclothed I felt her fiddling with my scarf, and started laughing - asking her what the hell she was doing.

She told me to open my eyes and turn around. Around my neck was a beautiful omega necklace with bezel set diamonds - the one piece of her jewelry that I actually liked. [She's quite the jewelry maven, and could easily put DeBeers out of business if she started parsing out what's in her jewelry cabinet - but her tastes and mine tend to diverge greatly when it comes to jewelry].

She started crying and said - "I want you to have this... I want you to know how happy I am that you're my daughter now." Tears welled up in my eyes. She smiled and said "Honey... this is babkes. You just wait.... I've got some big news for you."

She and David have just completed (within the last two months) refinishing their entire house from top to bottom. Brand new custom made cabinetry, landscaping, new hardwood floors, new ceramic tile, etc. The entire house is practically brand spanking new from windows to heating and cooling system to the fireplace being refinished.

Michael and I have been scrimping and saving for a downpayment for a house, and have been putting aside a lot of trips and other frivolous things because we wanted to put everything into a downpayment.

We don't have to anymore.

His mom is buying another house with a bedroom on the first floor (in this house the bedrooms are all upstairs) because her knees are bad and she's struggling getting up the stairs.

They want to sell us their house - no downpayment... just make the mortgage payments (and the mortgage is fixed at around 4% on a fifteen year note) and the homeowners association maintenance fees. The ungodly amount that they sunk into the house in improvements in the last year - they don't care about recouping. Essentially they would be transferring all of their equity in the house to us with no strings attached.

This is a much bigger house than we would qualify for right now mortgage wise. It's a 3-2 1/2 with a 2+ car garage, a formal dining room, enormous kitchen, and a full partially finished basement. The great room is two stories - and there is a small balcony from the master bedroom that overlooks the great room. The master bedroom has a dressing room attached, and there are walk in closets in every single room.

It's in a phenomenal school district and on a cul de sac. We love the floor plan, and it's something that honestly, we couldn't afford right now in that neighborhood. The room that now serves as David's office would be the perfect size for a nursery. The master bedroom is bigger than our entire upstairs right now.

I cried, because I simply didn't know what to say. It's obviously contingent upon her finding another house - but she's found one in the neighborhood that they're going to look at this afternoon, which is a little bigger and has a master bedroom on the first floor. And it's empty - and the sellers are hoping to make a deal quickly.

Last night after I triggered I felt such a sense of peace and excitement. (Well after I bent the first needle in my leg and had to remove it in a bloody mess that I think was my "residency" for Google School of Medicine)

And last night, I had a dream of a baby boy ambling up the stairs in that house to his room. His laughter reverberated off the walls and filled my heart with such joy. Our baby in our house.

The cycle that will never end....

2006-01-06T11:24:00.000-05:00

Well, I've been on shots now for eight days. Another day, another go with the wand monkey. After looking things over - she said, well - I guess I'll see you again on Monday.

She said "You just can't seem to get enough of us."

Bah!

Endometrial lining is at an 11 now. with a notation of "dlb" circled (which I have to admit that I don't know what means... I'm assuming it means "double"? the options were "dlb" "partial dlb" or "single." and the sonographer circled dlb) - Any info on that?

On the left, we have three follies at 14.

On the right, there's a follicle at 15 and another at 11.

My fasting insulin level was a 5.2. My fasting glucose level was a 91. I have no idea what either of those mean - so if you have any info or references to sites where I could check it - please let me know.

E2 today is a 357. What kind of mishigas is that?!?!?!

I'm to shoot up 150 ius tonight, 150 ius Sat. and then trigger on Sunday night at 10. Insemination will be Tuesday morning.

Assuming a 2mm a day growth pattern per follicle - that would leave on the left three at 20-22 and on the right - one at 21-23 and one at around 19. That's five. Five is good. Of course - knowing my whacked out body who knows what might pop in between now and then.

God I hope this works. I really hope this works.

Obstinate ovaries and other tricks of the trade

2006-01-05T10:55:00.000-05:00

Whenever I get very stressed out, I often find myself humming or occasionally belting out Amazing Grace. Perhaps it is a vestige of growing up in the Southern Baptist church - my offkey voice lilting up from the choir loft during Sunday church. [Seriously - I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it] While I no longer associate with any organized religion, I still find myself singing along with hymns from time to time.

Skirt, skivvies and shoes shed... I hopped up on the sonographer's table this morning and she searched for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time for my errant ovaries. Then as she was taking the first images, the damn printer ran out of paper - so she leaned forward to get another roll of the sonography image paper with her left hand - with her right shoving the dildocam up through my tonsils while I quietly hummed along to Amazing Grace under my breath. I didn't realize that deep thrusting was part of the package.

After she finagled the dildocam far enough back we have follicles as follows:

Left: 14, 12, and 11.
Right: 11, 8 and 8.

*lazy bastards! Grow will you?!?!?!*

Endometrial lining is at a 10.

E2 is at a measly 252. I'm going to have to head back in tomorrow a.m. for another round with the dildocam. FUCK.

I will definitely not be ready by tomorrow for an insemination - even given that I accidentally took 200 ius of follistim night before last instead of the 150 prescribed. Don't ask - it was just me being stupid and tired.

So now we wait, as such is my lot in life. Depending on my e2 levels today - we'll figure out what to do over the weekend.

Forty-two years ago today Liz and Don were in the hospital cradling their newborn son... examining tiny fingers - counting tiny toes. He is the greatest partner I could have ever hoped for, and the best friend I've ever had. He's been there for me through some of the roughest and hardest points in my life - always supportive, always loving. For the last four years, we have built a life together and have yearned to have a child for much of that time. I hope that we're soon able to cradle our child in our arms.

I still hope.

If I was kidding you I'd be wearing a fez and no pants.

2006-01-03T18:45:00.000-05:00

Well, the tinkering is not going so well.

(and edited because the medicinally "improved" April is not so good at math)

My day 3 levels were E2 at 53 and the FSH was at 5.8.

I've now taken 100iu of Follistim for five days, and my E2 levels this morning (day 8 if you're counting) were a whopping 94. That's right - a measly 94. Endo is at a 9 already, and the left ovary had two follicles - one 8 and 12. The right has two at 8.

The fasting glucose and insulin (they did both) came out "just fine" - so no metformin for now - just the .25 mg of dexamethasone.

The doctor wants me to increase the dosage to 150 iu a night tonight and I'm due to come in for a scan again on Thursday. I'm a little upset because they told me to bring the HCG in at that time - as I may end up triggering (depending obviously on what my body does between now and then) Thursday morning, and then have the IUI on Friday afternoon. As in three days from now.

The problem is, as much as I love the people at the clinic and my doctor, he doesn't do insems on the weekends. That's fine - except my body isn't on a 5 day workweek. I don't think that I'm going to be ready by then... and they're afraid if I continue to stim through the weekend that I'll end up like I did before - overstimmed and sitting out another cycle or two.

The doctor said that there appears that my body has a certain core level that it has to reach and then it skyrockets out of control.

Assuming a 2 mm growth pattern by Friday I'll be at (hypothetically speaking of course) one 18 mm and three at 14. By monday it would be one at 24 , and three at 20 - and who knows what else may end up hopping up between now and then.

Oh - and I have a nasty upper respiratory tract infection. The doctor gave me an emergency breathing treatment this afternoon and then I'm on 1500 mg. a day of amoxicillin to try to knock it out. They wanted to put me on Cipro - but said it wasn't safe for me to take if we were trying to conceive.

I was so sick I didn't even go into work today - and I'm not sure I'm going in tomorrow. Not being able to breathe is horrible.

I'm hoping they let me wait until Monday - because having just one will make this entire process basically irrelevant.

I'd like to exchange this Swiss Cheese please.

2005-12-29T13:54:00.000-05:00

This morning the RE himself did the wandmonkeying (and I had on little green socks with monkey faces on them for the occasion). He's a chatty man, and was blabbing on about his wife's fascination with her iPOD she got for Christmas during the scan, and I was trying not to focus on the fact that there was a foreign object in my vagina held there by a man who wasn't my husband.

Ovaries are miraculously free of large cysts this time - but there were close to 20 small cysts that were there. Definitely PCOS he said. Definitely - your ovaries look like swiss cheese.

I hate swiss cheese. Abhor even.

Oh - and a retroverted uterus. Seems all those hours spent with my butt propped up on pillows laying on my back when we were trying were apparently for naught. Why someone never told me about this before, I don't know... but it goes a long way to explaining the unbearable pain I have in my back with menstruation. Apparently my lovely ute is basically facing directly into my spine.

Given the overwhelming response last time - we're doing a bit of tinkering with the protocol to see if we can get fewer but better quality eggs.

I'll start dexamethasone tomorrow - .25mg a day. Not really sure what it does, other than the fact that it's a steroid and he said I'll stay on it through 20 weeks of pregnancy - every day. I'm also going in for a fasting insulin (thanks for the catch Jenn!) tomorrow to see if metformin is appropriate to add to the slew of other pills I'm taking. Hey, what's one more right?

Endometrium lining today at CD 3 was at 4.7. I'm waiting on the E2 levels.

He's slowed down the follistim quite a bit - 100 ius a day, whereas last month we were at 150 ius a day. He said he's still tinkering with what to do with the progesterone, given that I had a level of 33.9 and started bleeding the same day (7 days post IUI). Right now, he went ahead and prescribed prometrium again - only he changed it to 200 mg. in the morning, and 400 mg. at night. Hopefully that will help.

As he was leaving he patted my knee and said that 2006 will be better than '05.

I'm not sure I believe it, but I want to. I really want to.

**For those of you looking for information on PCOS - check out SoulCysters (and a special thank you to Tendaironi for the link) it is by far one of the most helpful and informative sources that I've found on the subject.

Date with the Dildo Cam

2005-12-27T17:13:00.000-05:00

Ahh... how I've missed the wandmonkey. Appointment on Thursday a.m.

Apparently it was a good thing that I skipped out on the appointment this a.m. as the test would have been a colossal waste of money.

CD 1, and I'm actually sort of happy about it. Bizarre.

At least I'll get my medication and the first scan & bloodwork in by the end of the year, even if I don't get my full cycle in.

Meh.

How much should I write the check for again?

2005-12-26T21:47:00.000-05:00

My family is much more a potluck and chinet type when it comes to holidays. We usually have around 30-40 in attendance for holiday meals, and to be honest, no one wants the hassle of cleaning up the dishes from that many people eating. Oh sure, there's the odd anomaly - such as last Thanksgiving, when my grandmother's silver is brought out along with an extra two dining tables with full leaves in my Aunt's house, but for the most part - we're very casual when it comes to holidays.

Michael's family is much different. Dinners at his mom's house are dressed up affairs - the King Richard silver and one of at least five different china and crystal options are put on the table. So I was a bit shocked when she called and told us that "jeans were fine this year."

When it comes to gifts, they're also much different. My family doesn't typically do much giftwise - but what is given is showered with love. This Christmas though, his mom went waaaay over the top.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying using my new Calphalon contemporary nonstick 12 piece set of pots, and the sweet Cuisinart heavy duty stainless steel blender. I'll love using the new additions to my Waterford Aurora stemware collection, and the Waterford Colleen perfume bottle will look lovely on my vanity. And yes, the thick plush Lauren sweaters were beautiful, and the new cashmere gloves and funky muffler will be quite warm, and I even like the black spangly purse - even though it's not my usual style. And the Empress Swaorvski crystal keychain and business card holder, and the set of four beautifully colored Waterford paisely ornaments... and the pearl and diamond earrings are all lovely - as well as the rest of the rest of the gifts that she showered on me.

And Michael's gifts... good lord. It was really obscene how much she spent on us. O-B-S-C-E-N-E.

But you know - the entire time, I just felt like she was trying to buy our love.

And as much as I honestly do appreciate the gifts, it doesn't mean a single bit more to me than the much more reasonable gifts my family sent. Love shouldn't be a competition.

If she spent half as much time as she does money on us, it would mean so much more. I feel badly for bitching about receiving such wonderful gifts, but it's not what the holiday is about. I wish she understood that. And considering she grew up poor, you would think she would - but no. It's as if she is overcompensating now...

-----------------------
Now for what you want to know: Still no real news on anything else. Today is now day 37. A tiny brownish spot two days ago, but nothing else to speak of... no cramps, no spotting... and no - I haven't tested at home. I don't see the point in wasting the $$, but at the same time I'm starting to freak out and wonder if I should start my prometrium again (as I haven't).

This is now officially by far the longest cycle I've had while not pregnant, but then again - I'm not expecting anything. And now I'm freaking out because I was so sure that I wasn't that I *imbibed* through the last two weeks (not to great excess, mind you - but I was perhaps a bit more festive than I would have been otherwise). I don't honestly feel like I am, as there are no symptoms to speak of. I'm just pissed now because I won't be able to cycle now before the end of the year (and my insurance deductible is finally met - and of course turns over next Mon.)

So ho hum. Nothing to see here, move along...

Updated: I'm cancelling the appointment today - as I just can't handle the negative phone call right now. The bottom line is my body loves to screw with me - end of story.

Advent

2005-12-23T11:57:00.000-05:00

I wish each of you a happy and joyous holiday season, whether you've already celebrated E'id, the Solstice or whether you're awaiting the beginning of Kwanzaa, Channukah, or Christmas, or even Festivus.

And even if you don't celebrate any particular holiday, I wish you happiness and love.

I hope your homes are full of warmth, love, laughter, health and good fortune and that you find peace in your heart.

As you know, I didn't cycle with medication this month because I was sidelined due to overstimulation after the IUI. I'm now onto day 34. Thirty-fucking-four. Considering that Michael was sick with a lung infection for the majority of this past month, we only had sex a handful of times, none of which were around the time of ovulation - if it occurred at all this cycle. I am desperately trying not to hold out hope for a Christmas miracle - as after all this time, I should know better. And to face the truth, the chances of me being knocked up are probably statistically somewhat less than the recurrence of immaculate conception. And let's be honest - immaculate conception is a *bit* doubtful in the first place (no offense to my devout Christian readers). And to say that is more credible than me being pregnant is well a bit telling, no?

I left a somewhat quizzical message on the R.E.'s answering service around thirty minutes ago about it being normal to be late the month after cycling with injectibles and the nurse called me back almost immediately. Our conversation went like this:

April: "Is it normal to be this late the month after cycling?
Nurse: "It's possible, but usually we see patients with a very short cycle after a failed medicated cycle. Have you used any form of birth control this month?"
April: "Well aside from our raging infertility, uh... no."
Nurse: "What day are you on?"
April: "At least day thirty-four - maybe up to day 36"
Nurse: "Don't you always spot before your period?"
April: "Yes, at least three to five days before. That's why I was on the progesterone supplementation"
Nurse: "Are you having any spotting or cramping?"
April: "No, to both."
Nurse: "Have you tested yet?"
April: "Two days before Christmas, are you crazy? No."
Nurse: "Are you taking progesterone?"
April: "No."
Nurse: "Test. And I'll schedule your HCG on Tues. a.m. so we can see where you are."
April: stunned silence
Nurse: "O.k. see you Tuesday morning at 10, and Merry Christmas!!!"

Now, I appreciate the excited enthusiasm of someone who is rooting for me. It feels good for someone to have hope when I find it so woefully excised from my own heart. But I'm a fairly intelligent woman and after nearly three years of trying, I'm not bitter, I'm realistic. I realize I'm probably late from my body being whacked out due to my hormones being a bit wonky still.

But there is still a very small part of me that keeps hoping I can put those little monkeyface booties under the tree this year.

And I hate myself for holding onto that sliver of hope. Hate - hate - hate it.

I hate waiting almost as badly.

"Later on in Brittany, I realized that they had only been seagulls."

2005-12-18T15:17:00.000-05:00

For me, they will always be glorious birds.

[and if you know what movie that's from without looking it up, I heart you.]
---------------------------------------------
I am precariously balancing on the ledge of uncertainty. It's not exciting per se, it just is what it is. Today is CD 28, and I know that in the next few days, decisions will have to be made.

I woke early this morning, and while the rest of the house slumbered in our lofty bed, I crept downstairs in the dark, my socked feet skating on the cold hardwood floors

{note to self - when you're tired from working late hours, and suddenly have the urge to clean the hardwood floors upstairs - do not use the pledge spray wood polish to mop the floors with, because you're just too lazy to go downstairs to fetch the real wood floor cleaner. You will spend the next four months gliding across the floors hoping to save yourself from falling flat on your ass. Michelle Kwan you are not, and that trip dowstairs to fetch the real cleaner would have been a lot better idea in hindsight.}

- my fingers trailing along the railing of the stairs. I turned the tree lights on, pulled up the blinds, and watched dawn break over a world that was quickly becoming cloaked in white finality of winter.

When I lived by the beach, I often would walk down to the shore in the middle of the night and just sit and work out my problems as the water ebbed to and fro. The continuous motion of the waves was a constant reminder of the perpetual nature of life. Curled up with my knees at my chin, I would sit barefoot in the sand, letting the waves lap up against my toes. Never in my life have I felt so tiny, so insignificant as when faced with the vast expanse of ocean - the moonlight glimmering against the waves infinitely into the distance.

Others perhaps would have found such thoughts depressing, and admittedly - they were at times. But to me, the harsh reality of knowing that my problems were small in the grand scheme of the universe actually helped me face them. To parse them apart, to find solutions. I've never been one to discuss issues with another person - but it was in moments like these that I learned to let go, to forgive (myself, and others), and to move on. It helped me grapple with the ideas of lost dreams, of hope, of love, and the question of "what are you going to do with your life" (although, I must admit - I still have no bloody clue exactly how that one's going to pan out yet).

The beach may have been shared by thousands of others, but in the solitude of the night, with the wind rustling through the palm fronds - it felt as if it was a secret haven known only to me. It was my refuge.

After last cycle failed, I was desperate to get back to treatment, immediately. I didn't want to pause to mourn what might have been, I didn't even want to contemplate the possibility of the fact that it may never work. Instead - I just wanted to push... faster... faster... faster... until the goal had been reached, or I had expended my soul in trying. I was afraid to take a break, afraid that if I took the time to actually face the enormity of the physical and psychological hell that faced me with month after month of injections and heartbreak that I would be simply too tired- or worse - too afraid to go forward.

In some ways I think that I've gotten so wrapped up in finding a "cure" for our infertility that I've stopped thinking of myself as anything more than a patient... a cycle day on a chart... a diagnosis. I have let this become such a part of my life for so long that it's difficult to remember what else was there before.

I want to be the woman with the laugh that sounds like a bee when she giggles, I want to be the woman who loves to read (not medical studies - but books with dogeared pages), who dances, and sings (admittedly off-key), who paints, and bakes enormous chocolate cakes and concocts the best lasagna you'll ever have in your life. I want to be the woman who entertains, who laughs, who loves and lives.

I am tired of living solely for one thing that may never happen.

I want to live a life that brings joy and beauty to other's lives. I want to be a good wife, daughter, friend. I want to remember the faint happiness of life as more than just seagulls.

I want to hold those everyday moments in my heart as memories of glorious birds soaring against a brilliant sky.

I want to be me again.

Morphine induced haze

2005-12-14T11:32:00.000-05:00

Dad's surgery lasted a little longer than they thought because of some complications that they found once they actually opened him up that wasn't evident on the myriad of MRIs he's had. Apparently one of his discs was completely shattered, and they had to remove it and install a metal cage that connects the vertebrae above and below it. There's probably some technical term for it, but hell if I know.

He was in a considerable amount of pain after they finished, and they ended up giving him six shots of something in his IV, and then put him on a morphine pump. The nurse said she was amazed that he wasn't "knocked out" because she gave him enough pain killers to put out a horse.

My sister called to talk to me about the surgery, and he heard her talking to me and wanted to say hello. Of course, considering the amount of morphine he was on - it was pretty hilarious to try to decipher exactly what he was mumbling - but we chatted for a few minutes before he was too tired to talk anymore.

So all in all, thanks for the kind thoughts. He'll be in the hospital for a week or so ... and while I realize that there are far worse things that could happen, it was still scary to us - having never gone through anything like this before.

It's all relative I suppose.

Nonetheless, thanks.

A prayer for DGD

2005-12-12T19:44:00.000-05:00

My father is a man of few words. No surprise really, with a wife and four daughters - he's lucky to ever get a word in edgewise. At 18 he married my mother, an interesting combination as they were so drastically different. Right before I was born around two years later, he started working for a factory in town, making military planes. They divorced when I was a few months, old - and I spent every other weekend, and two weeks in the summer at his house. He's now been on the same job nearly 26 years. He leaves for work every day at 4 a.m. and comes home tired, after fighting the hour long commute home (on a good day).

His mother died when he was eleven, and he was forced to become the sole caregiver to his two younger sisters, as his father picked up a second job (and rumor has it in the family a bottle) to ease the pain of his wife being gone. His father showed him little, if any affection - and my dad became less and less emotional with time. When I was a little girl, the only thing that mattered to me was making him happy. He was never emotionally giving, and he and I didn't see eye to eye in a lot of ways because I thought that it meant that he didn't love me.

My mother and he fought constantly over custody over me, to the point that I think the judges in the Family court knew me by sight. It was a horrible, ugly battle that now, looking back - made me realize that I would have been better off had I gone to live with him.

He missed out on my life from the time I was in sixth grade until I was seventeen (and already engaged at that point to my ex husband). Five years of my life he simply wasn't there. [I've found out later though, that he would attend my sporting events in high school - watching from the bleachers. I found a whole box of items he saved about me from the papers.] When I got into an early admissions program that allowed you to attend college full time at the beginning of your junior year in high school (yup - I called McConnell home too, Larisa), he said I wasn't ready. At sixteen, I thought I knew everything and thought that he resented the fact that I was starting college so early when he never had the opportunity. Besides, he hadn't been around so how would he know?

The summer after my first year in the program I got engaged, and he was livid - I wasn't in love with the man, and he knew it. I never told him what really happened between us, why I moved out and filed divorce.

When I decided to go to law school, he was concerned, I was leaving for another state, I was missing out on so much of my little sisters' lives. But we grew close, somehow despite what happened. We talk a lot now, long conversations that make my stepmother wonder what has gotten into him. We talk about politics, about love, about life. Things I imagined I would have talked to him about all this time that we lost if I had the opportunity.

When Michael and I eloped, Dad flipped out - not surprisingly considering that he's actually only around six or seven years older than my husband. But they too have established a relationship - largely built on sports, and fishing... and Dad calls to talk to him as much as he does to me.

A little over a year and a half ago, Daddy (I still call him that occasionally, although it's usually Dad) was in a bad car wreck and it messed up his back badly. He's fought the pain the last two years with a mix of prescription narcotics until he just simply couldn't go on any more. They're having surgery on his back tomorrow - it's going to last about five or six hours and I've never been so scared in my life. You see, my father has dealt with a lot in his lifetime, but he's never talked about it. He's never even acknowledged fear.

Night before last I asked him how he was feeling, and he said he was petrified. My father afraid? It would be as if admitting the world wasn't round, or the sky not blue. It was unspeakable.

And it made me love him more. It made me realize that this man I couldn't reach was beginning to open up little by little.

I can't be there tomorrow because of work obligations, and I'm afraid for him. Recovery will be anywhere up to six months long.

If you can, please say a prayer for our family or keep us in your thoughts.

Say a prayer for the man that I finally feel I'm getting to know.

For a little girl, who may be all grown up but is petrified of being unable to help her daddy.

Giving the gift of hope.

2005-12-06T12:11:00.000-05:00

While my mom was at the lowest point in her struggle with addiction, I went to live with my great-grandparents. My great grandfather ("Pa Paw") a mechanic, with a sixth grade education, owned a small mechanic's shop and gas station, and my great grandmother ("Granny") helped out there - her red hair and boisterous laugh greeting the customers from the neighborhood. They were poor, but they paid their bills on time... unfortunately there was just very little left over at the end of the month. They worked hard six days a week, often sixteen hour days or more. But they made room in their home for a cranky pre-teen, and gave me shelter, comfort and love.

[If you're wondering why I didn't live with my father - my dad was temporarily out of the picture here, but that's a story for a different day]

Late that summer, Pa Paw - a rather large man (probably 6'3" and close to 240 pounds) was walking to the bathroom in the middle of the night and fell. He called out for Granny and when she found him he was lying in a pool of blood in the narrow hallway.

When the ambulance reached the house he didn't have a pulse. Paramedics swarmed overhim with equipment and were finally able to revive him. During tests over the next few days, we found out that he had extremely advanced colon cancer and lymphoma. The doctor said that Pa Paw had to have known he was sick, but he distrusted doctors the same way he did bankers (years after he was gone we still found coffee cans full of money buried in the flower gardens).

They tried chemo, surgery... removing portions of his organs where the cancer had spread. He was swollen - his skin waxy and hard from fluid retention. He laughed, and said well, at least I still have my hair. As I was combing it for him that evening it fell out in silver clumps across the hospital pillow. He asked me how it looked and I whispered that I thought it was handsome.

I was in seventh grade and every day after school someone would drop me off at the hospital so I could tell him about my day. I ate out of vending machines and the hospital cafeteria most nights. The smell of the cancer ward permeated my clothes, filtered through my skin and became a part of me.

Every day he would ask how my grades were, if he was going to have to get a stick to keep the boys away... how my basketball practice was going.

He was always so proud of me... I left the hospital in his arms when I was born.

Days turned into weeks, then months - and to be honest I lost all track of time. On a Sunday, while watching a Dallas Cowboys game, he had a stroke. He struggled, fighting all afternoon- not wanting to give up. After many tears, Granny quietly whispered to him that she was strong enough, that if he needed to he could let go. He looked at her and smiled, and she held his hand as he departed.

After the funeral, we started trying to get on with our lives. Only, the finances were in much worse shape than we were aware. There were some outstanding liens on the shop, and he had let his life insurance lapse. The meager savings that the two of them had worked for their entire lives for was gone - as Pa Paw was forever forgiving of people who were on hard times and couldn't pay his bills. He had always done the books for the store, and there were outstanding taxes to be paid. Large ones. At twelve, I started my first negotiations with the Internal Revenue Service.

At first, people came by often - dropping off food and words of comfort. As their numbers slowly dwindled, so did the items in the pantry. A proud woman, Granny refused to go on to public assistance or to accept church handouts. So we made do with what we had - which meant a lot of red beans and cornbread. And then just pot after pot of plain red beans when the cornbread became too much of a luxury.

I found Granny crying in her bedroom, holding his picture and pulling out Christmas ornaments from the closet. She sighed and told me that we wouldn't have much of a Christmas that year, because there simply wasn't money to do so. She was worried because I had hit a growth spurt and desperately needed a new coat. I told her that I would wear one of hers. That we would get by, somehow. I didn't believe it, but I thought that if I said it enough it would be true.

That night, helping her to calculate the checkbook up, I realized we had only $157. The gas bill was late, the electricity needed to be paid, and the water department was threatening to shut off the water.

Friends at school were gossiping about what they hoped their parents would buy them, where they were going to vacation during winter break, and I was hoping that there would still be water on when I got home to shower with.

Someone from the neighborhood submitted our names to a charity organization, and right before Christmas two women showed up bearing bags of gifts and food. The brought me a beautiful new emerald green coat, clothes that hadn't been worn and handed down by someone else... and new tennis shoes. Someone even made me handbeaded earrings. Knowing my love for basketball, they brought a goal and a ball, I remember being so ecstatic that I had one. They brought in an enormous box of household items - feminine hygiene products, paper towels, toiletries, and food - canned goods, staples, fresh fruits and vegetables, and a turkey.

At first I was angry. I was twelve after all, and the thought of someone thinking that I was a charity case mortified me. But as I tentatively tried on the new clothes, I wept. People actually cared about someone who wasn't in their family. People actually cared about me. People actually cared... period.

Yes, I was grateful for the presents. Yes, I adored having clothes that didn't fit awkwardly, that hadn't been worn by someone else. Yes, I enjoyed the meal - and the many creative ways we had to make it stretch into many more.

But what I was most grateful for was the gift of hope. To know that there was good in the world.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sitting next to the tree last night, Michael and I were talking about what we were going to buy each other for Christmas. He's notoriously difficult to buy for, and I was getting frustrated because he wasn't forthcoming with any ideas.

Finally he looked at me, and said - "Look, I have everything that I want within these walls. I have you, the cats. I have warm clothes to wear, food in the pantry, and I don't want for anything. This year... what I want most is to help someone else. Please buy gifts for someone else who needs it, instead of getting something for me. That would mean more to me."

So this year there may be little or nothing under the tree for each other, but our hearts are brimming over. If we could bring just one breath of hope to a child, that is all the gift we need.

As you begin your holiday preparations, please -if you can- take time to remember those that may not be as fortunate this year. You never know how profoundly the smallest gesture of good will may shape a young person's life.

It's not about how much you spend, to a kid who isn't going to get anything for Christmas, Channukah or Kwanzaa - or even just because - a dollar store toy means just as much as FAO Schwartz.

It's about the feeling that you're not just another statistic - not just another elephant in the living room that no one wants to acknowledge. It's about the feeling that you're an actual living, breathing person whose dreams and hopes could potentially be a reality. And at the very least it's feeling less like a stigma - a person who is less. It's about feeling as close to "normal" as you can, if even if for just a little while. It's not about lavish gifts. What it's about is hope.

[And a special thanks to Cricket - for giving me the courage to talk about what it's like on the receiving end].

All the small things

2005-12-03T22:21:00.000-05:00

- Being woken up by him whispering "hello, beautiful" and a kiss that curls your toes instead of the alarm clock.

- Cinnamon rolls and coffee cuddled under the warmth of the down comforter.

- Having the entire downstairs decorated in sparkling white lights and garland.

- Finding out that the one place in the house the tree will actually fit allows it to be seen from all angles outside, and that its reflection in the china cabinet makes it visible in the entire downstairs.

- Finding your box of special Waterford ornaments were miraculously not destroyed in the move (His mother buys me one every year as part of my Christnakkah presents).

- Sex so mind numbingly fantastic that the entire neighborhood knows what you did this morning without a single thought as to ovulation, follicles, and endometrial thickness.

- Finding that the OHSS swelling is finally down enough that you are able to fit back into your regular clothes.

- A husband that will not only go shopping with you - but when you're in the dressing room for the upteenth time, he is combing the racks looking for more clothes for you to try on, and for once actually isn't complaining about how long you're taking.

- The scent of laundry softener filtering up through the basement, and realizing you weren't the one who put the laundry in the wash.

- Finding out that the jeans you are trying on are a size smaller than you expected, and they're on sale, and they look good.

- Laughing so hard your sides hurt.

- A cashmere sweater and muffler.

- Snow flurries.

- Compliments on your cooking and event planning in a public forum by someone you respect.

- Finding that the first present under the tree is for you.

- Coming in from the cold and having the cat who absolutely never pays attention to you jump up in your lap and fall asleep purring.

- Curling up in one of his sweaters.

- Great Belgian ales- Delirium Noel and Dubbel in heavy crystal glasses.

- Knowing that tomorrow I'll wake up next to him all over again.

Seethingly angry

2005-11-30T17:50:00.000-05:00

First, thank you for all who have contacted me via blog, e-mail, IM, etc. to check on me. I'm surprisingly o.k.

Anger is literally pouring out of every pore in my body right now - inextricably entwined with such overbearingly heavy sadness. I am honestly dumbfounded to find that such a vindictive, and simply evil person could exist. To find out that there are indeed two of you is even more pathetic. To find out that these people have the opportunity to corrupt and malign the minds of young people makes bile rise in the back of my throat. Perhaps it is naive, but I truly believe in the inherent goodness of the human race. To be confronted on such a personal level with such depravity and bitter vitrol, I am finding myself mystified - perplexed and saddened that such a person is given the privilege to breathe the same air as common criminals.

Perhaps this person is truly sick, and needs medical assistance and intervention. Perhaps it is a factor of immaturity and spite. Maybe they are truly just evil, the thick bubbling sludge left over at the very rock bottom of the gene pool. I don't know.

And in addition to the anger, I find myself oddly pitying them. Shaking my head, wondering what could possibly possess someone to create such havoc and inflict so much pain on not just one person - but an entire family of innocent bystanders. What causes a person to lash out like that? Is it a misfiring of neurons, being picked on too many times as a child, being uncomfortable and unhappy with their own existence to the extent that they feel compelled to pull down others to their same abysmally low level? Is jealousy truly personified as a green monster? I don't understand the psyche of what makes someone so off - so seriously emotionally unstable. I don't understand how someone like this could have a soul, a heart that beats like the rest of us.

Right now I'm focusing on mopping up the mess that has been caused, and trying to comfort those that I love. Right now, I'm trying to simply get through the day without breaking down, to simply keep going and try to be strong for those that need me. To be strong for myself.

And it's hard. It's really fucking hard. To be in the midst of the holidays makes it even harder.

But what I'm proudest of, is that the person who has been hurt by this the most isn't giving up. They aren't throwing in the towel and letting it go. They are fighting tooth and nail and I hope they know that I will be there, always beside them to support them and love them unconditionally. You see, the old cliche is true - evil does not triumph in the end.

This is the extent that I will elaborate upon it any further on my blog, as I do not feel comforable discussing something so wretchedly vile here. This is not a fight that should be conducted in cyberspace, but rather in the courts. And so there it will be.

I hope you're ready to face us there.

Oh the tangled web we weave, when first we decide to deceive.

2005-11-28T15:21:00.000-05:00

There are a number of things that I will let people do to me. You can hurt me in thousands of ways unimaginable, but when you start screwing with my family - when you start hurting the ones I love - you're in for a world of hell (all within the confines of the law of course).

I am quick to forgive those that have hurt me. Perhaps more so than they deserve. I have forgiven things that others have deemed simply unforgivable. I absolutely will not, however, forgive someone who maliciously and purposefully seeks to hurt those that I hold close to my heart. When this happens, any hope of forgiveness is replaced with vengeance. Raw, primal absolute vengeance.

Our paths have inadvertently crossed - much to my chagrin, and I know you read here often, so I'm giving you fair warning. You may appear to be a sheep to others, but I know who you truly are. And so will the proper law enforcement authorities, and so will the courts via the lovely defamation complaint that is currently being filed. The problem with telling lies, my dear, is that they come back to haunt you. The problem with making false allegations under oath is that you have committed a crime. I hope your pockets are as deep as your lies are false.

I would advise you to seek competent legal representation. You're going to need it, because I will exhaust all available legal options to ensure that the tangled web encloses you.

You have seriously fucked up this time.

Everybody Knows That a Burrow Owl Lives in a Hole in the Ground

2005-11-28T10:11:00.000-05:00

Sweet heaven am I glad to be sleeping back in my own bed, and in my own house.

Wow, I don't remember Dallas/Ft. Worth being so dirty... there was garbage all over the sides of the highway and it was just down right filthy. A lot of the old neighborhoods are starting to become less desirous locales, and it made me sad to see a lot of businesses we frequented when I was young were gone and replaced by chain establishments. Entire fields of mesquite trees and cattle pens were now Best Buys and other big box stores.

I got to spend a great deal of time bonding with my sisters, and got to see a few members of the family I haven't seen in years. We had an overabundance of pie, ham & turkey - and my middle sister (who just turned 17) had an overabundance of tequila - but that's a whole different story.

We spent time out at my aunt's farm, and with my cousin Breanne, who just turned 4. She greatly enjoyed spending time with "her Michael" and he was teaching her how to fish with "loooowwwlllooooooores" (as she pronounced lures). When he caught around a five pound bass she ran up and told everyone in the house that "Michael caught a fish for me, just for me - not for you."

My sister taught Breanne to dance to the Black Eyed Peas song "My humps" and it made me thankful that we're going to live too far away for them to corrupt our child.

We visited with my mom - and I found out that she had a fallopian tube removed when she was only 16, and they told her that she would probably never had children. She laughed and said that she was glad they were wrong, and then got religious on me. That things will work out when it's right, to trust in God, yada yada yada. For the most part, I was stunned - as my mother is not a religious person. She asked if we had considered adoption, but not in the "just adopt" type assvice most people give.

I found out my stepmother tried for five years to get pregnant with my oldest sister, and then the middle girl came easily and the baby was quite a surprise as she was still nursing the middle child.

Of course, everyone else had all sorts of advice to give us ranging from accupuncture and full-body detoxification and green tea to "have you used an ovulation predictor kit?" and "you know you should have sex 14 days after your period starts" and all sorts of other helpful information. The most popular advice of all was that it would happen "when it's time" and that "God will make it happen when it's supposed to."

For the most part, things went relatively smoothly, but I have to say that I'm thankful for the Flying Saucer in downtown Ft. Worth, as we escaped there for drinks when I reached the point that I just couldn't hear anymore about Aunt so and so's new surgery. And I had forgotten how much I treasured Maredsous 10 (and 8 too for that matter - although only the 8 was on tap).

Visiting with the extended family helped to give us a good conversational starting point as to how we would discipline our children, what we would do if our underage kid got shitfaced, etc. etc. And considering we had a ten hour drive back, well, we had plenty to talk about.

What next?

2005-11-23T10:38:00.000-05:00

I overanalyze everything. So when this cycle came to a rather abrupt and unexpected end (how rude!) at first I had a day to deny that this was the end. I was holding out for whatever hope I could. Then, I was overwhelmed with grief. The next day - furious that if it had worked, the embryo wouldn't have had time to implant before it's enviornment started dissolving around it. Anger seethed from every pore in my body.

Now, I'm just sort of here. And I will be for some time as I won't be cycling this month due to the hyperstimulation.

So, while I realize that every woman is different, and that every cycle can be different - I have questions. I want to know what it is that I should be asking the doctor when I go back. (That's your cue). I was supposed to be baking pies last night - and I made two burboun pecan pies and key lime bars before I burned my hand on the oven and decided to say screw it and delve into the wild world of medical journals.

During the last cycle, I started Follistim on day 3, and took 150 iu each day through day 10 (that's 8 days). The HCG trigger shot (day 11) was followed by an IUI 36 hours later (day 13) we had sex again on the next day (day 14) and there were around four- five follicles or so released at ovulation. I started the prometrium (200 mg. in the morning, 200 mg. at bedtime) on day 14 and kept using it until I started bleeding heavily on day 23. On day 23, 8 days post ovulation, my serum progesterone levels were 33.9. Now, that should be high enough to sustain a pregnancy - but for some reason I started spotting that same afternoon.

I knew I had a progesterone deficiency before we started this cycle, and I had begged and pleaded with doctors to put me on progesterone supplementation for over a year. They pooh-poohed my concern, saying that it's just normal to spot before your period. I showed them charts - that I was routinely spotting 3-5 days before my period started, and I generally have an 11-12 day luteal phase while unmedicated. My current R.E. agreed that I obviously have a luteal phase defect and said that he would put me on progesterone supplementation - and he did, in the normal dosage (or even a little higher) for someone undergoing IUI.

For his IVF patients, however, he prescribes PIO. Why? Based on the reading I've done - instead of merely raising serum levels of P4, it is more swiftly absorbed into the uterus, where it's needed (as is crinone as well). With high levels of E2 prior to ovulation, as is often the case in IVF, where the patient is intentionally overstimulated - or in cases where a patient has mild OHSS, as I did - higher levels of progesterone are needed to counterbalance the artificially elevated E2 levels.

Other studies that I have read indicate that if you have had OHSS in the past you are at a much higher likelihood of having it recur with subsequent cycles (check). Being young (check), PCOS (news to me - but check), also greatly increases your risk of OHSS in a cycle.

So, while I can hope it will not be the case, the likelihood is that I will probably overstim again on my next cycle. Which seems to me that merely being on the oral progesterone is not going to be enough again.

The nurse said she's never heard of someone starting already after only 8 days on the progesterone. My question is - why do they use this to help potentially sustain a pregnancy if they also use it for anovulatory women to bring on a period?

So, am I overanalyzing here? What other questions would you ask the doctor?

Why is the measure of love loss?

2005-11-22T11:04:00.000-05:00

(the title is a blatant plagarism from one of my favorite authors, Jeanette Winterson in case you were wondering)

I was in the lobby of my building yesterday at lunch and heard a little child cry out - "mama!" and I nearly crumpled into a heap on the floor. I wonder if I will ever have someone call me that? I wonder sometimes if I will ever hear my child's voice calling for me.

Given the amount of blood over the last two days, the R.E.'s nurse said that I can skip coming in for the beta tomorrow if I want. I know it may seem crazy, but I'm not going to go. I don't see the point in wasting the money to have a lab technician tell me something that my body is making quite painfully evident (both physically and emotionally). And if the result was positive - I think it would just upset me more to know that it worked, if only briefly. Last night I sat on the couch numbly watching Law & Order reruns and trying not to spill the giant Culver's root beer float on Michael's Ramones t-shirt that I stole out of his drawer. Michael was holding my hand, and he looked at me and just said "I don't know what to say to make it better. I don't know how to make the pain stop for you, but I wish I could. I just hope you know that I love you. No matter what, I will always love you."

Right now, I'm ready to move on to the next step. At first, I was furious that the R.E.'s office told me that I would be wasting my time to come in for a day 3 scan, as given the overstimulation that I'd be nearly guaranteed to be out for this cycle. But, in a way, I think that this little break may do me some good. It will give me the time to enjoy the holiday season without having to rush back and forth to doctor's appointments and being forced to be jovial while bloated with overstimmed ovaries.

So, instead of my usual bitter and grouchy self, I'd like to take a few minutes to be "moony" as Michael calls me when I'm acting this way - and tell you what I'm thankful for this year. Too often I get wrapped up in the sadness and despair of infertility and forget the abundance that I have to be thankful for.

I'm thankful for our two cats, Alex and Ashton - the 20 pound plus monsters that manage to wake me at three in the morning at least once a week while batting a catnip filled mouse under the highboy in the bedroom. I'm thankful for the love and support of my parents and the love of my siblings. I'm thankful for my new job, for living in a city that feels like "home." I'm thankful for the beauty of autumn. Aside from the reproductive challenges, and the occasional seizure, I'm thankful for generally being in good health. I'm thankful for my mother's sobriety, my father's mellowing, and my stepmother becoming a bigger part of my life. I'm thankful that I've recently been reconnecting with people that I've lost touch with, and for finally being comfortable in my own skin.

I'm thankful that I've found an outlet here to talk, to grow and to heal. I'm thankful for the outpouring of support I've been blessed with from each of you. I'm thankful for finding out that I'm not alone, and I'm even thankful for finding out that medical help is available, even if it's not helping me a lot right now. I'm thankful for being given the opportunity to get to know some of you - on different coasts, different countries, different continents.

I'm thankful for flowers, for hope, for the fact that I have a plant in my office that I have actually managed to not kill, for the simple joys of a good cup of coffee and a nice glass of red wine. I'm thankful for the sunrise and the heaviness of the down comforter, the feel of the smooth hardwood floors beneath my bare feet.

And most importantly, I'm thankful for having Michael in my life. He's the best friend I've ever had, and I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else. He is my home, and my family. Even if we are never given the opportunity to be parents, my life will be complete standing by his side. We've been through some incredibly difficult times in our short marriage, and I'm thankful that we've been strong enough to stand by each other through it all and make it work. When Michael and I were first getting to know each other and before we were even officially dating, one of the first gifts he gave me was a copy of Shel Silverstein's book The Giving Tree. Now, setting aside interpretations about how the book is arguably misogynistic and depressing, it represents to me what each of us have strived to do in our marriage. We have each attempted to give as much as we can of ourselves in order to provide the other with happiness and security. It seems in some ways that our marriage has been about one loss after another. But instead of letting it ensnare and consume us, we've fought back. Together. And I'm thankful he hasn't given up on me.

And, I'm thankful I haven't given up on myself.

I could go on and on forever, about the big and small things that I have to be thankful for, but I should probably work some today.

So, instead - tell me this year, what are you thankful for?

Today, in a nutshell.

2005-11-21T17:08:00.000-05:00

Yeah. This is about what I feel like telling today to do. You'll notice the eyes red from crying, the puffy face (although I did spare you from the Tammy Faye mascara).

So aside from your lovely comments. This is what today is reduced to in a nutshell.

A kick in the teeth and a reprieve

2005-11-21T10:25:00.000-05:00

First, thank you to each of you who commented on the last post. You have no idea how much it comforted me and gave me the strength to keep going and not burst into giant racking sobs.

What is more upsetting than starting to bleed again at 10 DPO while on progesterone supplementation to prevent this from happening? How about as soon as you walk downstairs from the bathroom to tell your crestfallen husband - he hands you the mail for the day, and in it you find an $800 bill from the R.E.'s office, and a letter from your insurance carrier saying that they will cover $9.00 of it? To be honest, in some ways I'd be less pissed if they had just decided not to pay for any of it.

On Friday, at first it was just light pinkish spotting, internal only. Then Saturday it progressed to red. Then it went away for awhile, then brown sludgy... then nothing. Then Saturday night it progressed to the point where I thought my period was here in full force. Sunday morning it had tapered off again. Sunday night, it was back to the point that I thought my period was here, so I gave up on panty liners and decided to finally use a tampon.

Poor Michael tried his best to comfort me. He kept telling me that he loved me no matter what, and that if we never had a child he would never love me less and stroked my face and held me tight while I cried. Poor thing, it just made me cry harder, but I know he was trying to help. I told him I was going to quit taking the progesterone and break out a bottle of the wine we bought in the Loire Valley, and he beseeched me not too - to keep going and not throw the towel in just yet.

So I decided to make some fudge to cheer me up (and by cheer me up I mean drown my sorrow in chocolate and sugar and butter), and the damn fudge never set up properly. It's too runny. Don't think that didn't stop me from eating it with a spoon this morning for breakfast though. Not the entire tray of it, but I must say I did a rather impressive job obliterating a huge corner of it.

This morning, I went to change out the tampon - and I'll be damned, but the bleeding had stopped. Completely. None at all. I was shaking when I crawled back into bed and Michael leaned over and asked if it was that bad. I don't know. I said. It's - well it's gone. It's stopped. Well, that's good he said. Isn't it?

I don't know. I said. I just don't know. I want closure.

I'm not hopeful, as it's just not in my nature. But I'm not sure that I'm not either.

It's a rather precarious position to be in.

The R.E.'s office just called, and my progesterone on Friday - the day that the bleeding first started was 33.9. The nurse said to keep up with the progesterone until the beta on Wed.

Wednesday is so incredibly far away.

Oh, and because I overstimmed this cycle, she told me that I'm basically guaranteed to sit out a cycle, so the fact that I've now reached my deductible for my insurance, and could cycle for free is kind of irrelevant.

Well, so much for that sliver of hope. Full flood.

Fucking fuck.

Hung in my throat.

2005-11-18T22:40:00.000-05:00

Trying so hard not to give up hope.

spotting. 8 DP IUI.

Trying so very hard.

updated - Well, last night I was just barely spotting - internally. Sort of a light pinkish color. This morning, it's red. Bright red.

I knew it would happen... that it wouldn't work. I knew it deep down in my heart. What devastates me is that it's only 8-9 days after the IUI and I'm on 400 mg. a day of fucking prometrium. I thought that was supposed to make this not happen? I thought that would help. After having all those eggs, after all the shots, after all the pills... I at least wanted something akin to a normal cycle for length. Granted, I usually have a short luteal phase (around 11-12 days) but 9? How is it possible that all this medical help just caused to make the situation worse? There are just no words to describe how incredibly broken and worthless I feel.

None.

None.

Woolen unitards and animal instincts

2005-11-18T10:15:00.000-05:00

Hope is a funny bitch eh? Not one of us want to welcome her into our lives on our own accord, but it's amazingly comforting when there are others who are wishing her on you.

So thank you. yous guys? yous girls? you women? you womyn? I would say thank y'all as I was brought up to say, but that just makes me think of Brintey Spe*ars which in turn makes me feel itchy. Sort of like wearing a woolen unitard. And taken from someone who's horribly allergic to wool, well - that would be really itchy. Damn, I'm breaking out into hives just thinking about it.

Nonetheless, a sincere thank you from the bottom of my shriveled up little bitter barren heart.

CD 21, 8 days past IUI. I went in this morning to have my progesterone levels tested. Given that I'm on 400 mg. a day of prometrium I have no idea what effect that will have on the test, or honestly what it matters.

Michael is convinced that I'm up the duff. He's fascinated with my boobs - and more than once I've caught him staring at them in amazement. While I would normally like the attention (I married an "ass" man, and well, apparently the good Lord decided to smack me in the rear with a 2x4 so instead of a nice round tush I have a nice wide flat space back there. Clear Channel may be leasing me out soon) the thought of him touching them is a big giant nono. I can't even shower facing the water right now they're so sore.

This is kinda strange, and I've never heard of it before, but he can usually tell when I'm about to start my period, about a day and a half before by how I smell when I first wake up. He says it's a very faint sort of a metallic chemically smell. Yesterday he asked me if I had implantation spotting - and I laughed and said "uh - no and where the hell did that come from?" He said "are you sure?" I confirmed that there was definitely nothing there. I was cramping badly - to the point that I thought my period may start gushing at any minute, but there was no blood.

This morning when I woke up he rolled over nuzzled into my hair and then looked at me and said I smelled strange. I got pissed and got up to go get in the shower thinking maybe it was smoky residue from the place we ate dinner at last night - and he said "no - not stinky... just different somehow. Your scent is "off" and has been for two days now."

My husband thinks he's a bloodhound. And my cats who normally have nothing to do with me have decided that they are now lap cats, and need to sleep on top of me. They hiss at anyone who comes close and they've been pulling my dirty clothes out of the hamper and sleeping in them. It's very bizarre. Not quite as bizarre as this show I remember watching in elementary school about spaceships and science and Russian invaders (yeah, that's about all I remember - but the cast all wore bitchin' metallic braided shoelace headbands) but still - pretty weird.

The doctor's office is having me come in for a beta Wed. morning.

In the meantime, I'm trying to convince Deputy Dawg and the guard cats that I'm just fine and that all this attention is for naught.

Resigned.... well, mostly.

2005-11-16T11:43:00.000-05:00

I have pretty much resigned myself to the fact that this cycle didn't work. And to tell you the truth, if it hasn't - I'm o.k. with that. Really. I just hate this not knowing. The wait is far harder for me than it would be to have negative results. We have been waiting for so long that another month - hell another year - is just another drop in the bucket.

Logically, I know that it's too soon to have symptoms (I'm on CD 19, 6 DPIUI) assuming the "hypothetical" happened. As of yesterday evening, the swelling was down quite a bit and I could bend and twist and - it didn't hurt! This morning however I woke up and felt like I had been run over by a semitruck.

The progesterone is having some not so nice side effects on me. Please god if you know me don't read any further. If you're the person who's reading (often) from Miami or Nashvegas - I would really appreciate it if you could drop an e-mail to let me know who you are. I'm starting to wig out a little that you're family who has unsuspectingly stumbled here. And I'd really like to not have to start self-editing. Or worse, to be forced to take the site down completely. But this is really not sanctioned for family friendly reading.

No really. If you know me, now is a good time to stop reading. Seriously.

My nipples are on constant alert now. Like most redheads, I have incredibly fair skin - and my breasts right now are a roadmap of blue veins more convoluted and criss crossed than the LAX or DC area highways. My breasts are hard and heavy and I've gone up nearly a cup size already. I shudder to think what it's going to be like by the time I finish the pills I have left to take.

My intestines are on strike. But sometimes they decide suddenly that they're not and they are cranky. Or maybe they are. They can't decide what to do. And we won't even speak of the issues with gas. I feel so horrible for people with IBS or Crohn's because this is the closest I have ever felt to hell.

And everything smells. I have an extremely sensitive sense of smell as it is, but now I can smell milk souring in the refrigerator two houses down.

My face has decided to break out in constellations of zits so painful that they woke me up in the middle of the night. I never really had bad skin as a teen, so this is somewhat new to me.

And I'm sleepy. Really really sleepy. I'm sleeping a good 8-13 hours a night. Hard. And everyday I'm tempted to shut the door to my office and take a cat nap each afternoon. But when I'm asleep, I have the most bizarre, vivid whacked out epic length dreams that I've ever had in my entire life. And um, they're often about sex. Really dirty sex.

Oh, and when I do belch (which is too often for my dainty self to admit) often bile rises in the back of my throat and I have that moment of - oh god - am I going to hurl?

I've suddenly developed an unexplainable affinity for beef jerky, or really any meat for that matter. And normally, I would be quite happy with vegetarian fare. Not so much anymore. Have I mentioned that beef jerky normally would make me ill to just contemplate?

So yeah, to sum it up the hormones have made a greasy, pimply, obscenely gassy, perverted fat truck driver with acid reflux and an affinity for slim jims. I know you're jealous.

So anyway, I'm resigned to the fact that this didn't work. Which is going to suck considering the joyous goings on of my body for the last week. All this for nothing.

Progesterone addled brain

2005-11-14T12:45:00.000-05:00

I had no idea that progesterone would make me so incredibly stupid and slow-thinking. I have said things in the last 48 hours that are so ridiculously stupid that I am left wondering why my own husband didn't just save me from myself and send me straight to bed. To stay. All day. With no interaction with anyone at all.

Even the cats are convinced that my brain has turned to mush. I went to put their food this morning in the freezer instead of the pantry. Ashton just looked at me and mewed quizzacly, something I am sure is catspeak for "what is wrong with you - you crazy bitch?!?!?."

Taking notes this morning in a meeting? Worthless. On a document this morning, I spelled my OWN name wrong people. My own damn name.

Yesterday, I thought I forgot my morning prometrium pill, and counted out the pills SIX times because I couldn't figure out how many were there, and how many should have been. People, I used to be a math major. Basic arithmatic should not be so complicated. Michael finally found me muttering over a pile of pills at the dining room table and counted them for me.

I'm still quite swollen from the OHSS, and incredibly thankful that it was just a rather mild case of it. Still hurts to bend or twist my torso at all, and it's quite painful to urinate (you really wanted to know that didn't you). I'm drinking like crazy trying to alleviate the swelling. Of course, considering how chock full of salt Gatorade is, I don't exactly see how that's supposed to help swelling, but I guess that's why I'm an attorney and not a doctor.

Speaking of progesterone - does anyone know what a "good" range is to see on a medicated cycle for a progesterone result 7-8 DPO? I'm taking 400 mg. (200 mg. pill 2x orally) daily of Prometrium. Does that change the result? Long ago, in a land far away, when I was on clomid they wanted to see a level of 10+ on a natural cycle, 15+ on a clomid cycle.

Ohh, and another question... how long does it take the HCG shot to be "out" of your system? I.e. when can I resurrect the peeing on a stick ritual I neglected some two years ago? I took 15,000 IU of HCG if I remember right - last Tuesday night.

And as for the butterflies and flowers and bluebirds bullshit that you've had to endure the last few days... I'm sorry. Forgive me. I'm already convinced that this cycle was a waste of emotion, energy and $$. I promise I am turning back into my snarky cynical realist self. Once I get through this medicated haze and remember how, anyway.

The "Hypothetical" and getting far too ahead of myself

2005-11-13T17:22:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I was craving fried chicken something fierce. We didn't have anything planned for the day, other than the excitement of cleaning house, so we decided to head to my favorite restaurant that specializes in chicken. Oh, and did I mention that the restaurant is 220 miles away, one way? And when we drove all the way down there we found out the damn restaurant had burned down? Thankfully for us, they had another restaurant a few miles away... so I was still able to imbibe in the goodness of panfried chicken, fried okra and homemade chunky mashed potatoes.

On the rather lengthy car ride down, Michael and I spoke in depth about the "Hypothetical" as we have taken to referring to the possibility. The doctor's office is having me come in a week from Wednesday to have a beta done before the Thanksgiving holiday. As soon as we leave the doctor's office, we will be driving down to Dallas to spend the holiday weekend with my family. We will have the results at some point on Wednesday before we get there.

If this works (and I realize that as naive as I am, that this is an incredibly big "if") it would be the first grandchild in the family, and since I rarely see my parents, I'd like to be able to tell them about it in person. I want them to be able to participate in it from the beginning. Then, there is the partof me that is so fraid. I have seen so many of you suffer such unspeakable heartache through miscarriage that I don't want the pain and burden of 'untelling' my parents if ncecssary.

What would you do? Assuming it is good news (an assumption I am nearly too afraid to even speak of) would you share it with those that you love? Even so soon? If so, how would you do it?

The Venetian

2005-11-11T11:08:00.000-05:00

Last night, we had sort of a surprise getaway. Michael had won a night stay in a themed hotel in the area at a charity auction, and the stipulation was that it had to be used before December 1st, and from Sunday - Thursday. The 33 rooms each had their own theme, ranging from a Colorado cabin, a Serengheti excursion, a Camelot themed room, and everything in between. We realized that we were coming up on the end of the time period, and thought - in all honesty that a follow up "personal reconnection" would not be an unwelcome afterthought after yesterday's stress.

So he picked me up last night from work and we drove out to the hotel, and as it turns out they gave us a complimentary upgrade to a much nicer suite, known as the Venetian. The room had fresh sparkling beverages and chocolates waiting for us when we arrived. My favorite part, however, was the enormous jetted tub with chromatherapy. I think I took three baths in the last night. We went out to dinner and dined on the most exquisite bison filets I've ever tasted with sides of creamed three cheese spinach and roasted asparagus and I had my last hurrah glass of a deep rich cabernet for a while. We laughed and held hands at the table, and it felt like it did when we first fell in love.

After returning to the hotel after dinner, we watched a movie and ordered two delicious desserts from room service, snuggled into the most enormous bed that I've ever seen that was covered in linens that felt like heaven. The bed was surrounded by 12 foot marble columns, and as I woke from a deep relaxing slumber I thought to myself, you know, I could get used to this.

This morning, we dined on breakfast in bed - cheese blintzes with berries, and ham and cheese omelets with sides of fresh melons and strawberries and the biggest cinnamon roll I've ever seen.

If you're ever in the area, I would highly suggest the hotel. It's not quite a hotel, not quite a bed and breakfast, but it was a great night.

I didn't realize how foggy my brain would be already on the progesterone. Before I even started my first pill I felt like I was in a haze and my breasts are so swollen and sensitive.

I am so thankful for our evening last night. It was like a fairy tale, and I'm delighted we had the opportunity to remember why we fell in love in the first place.

I feel like a million bucks today.

A City, a Village or Just One Baby.

2005-11-10T11:47:00.000-05:00

First, let me say how much I appreciate my husband's ability to perform on demand within a set time frame. If I was in his shoes - er, so to speak, all systems would be definitely not set for launch. I have a shy bladder, and cannot even perform that on demand. If I was a man, well - it would be more than just that to be shy. This man is a trooper - and a definite keeper.

He teased me that he was going to go fishing this morning instead of accompanying me to the clinic, and leave me at the doctor's office alone, because it'll make such a better story. You getting knocked up in a room with a man who looks like Morgan Freeman, and I'm out fishing somewhere across town when it happens.

We traded rather crude jokes about the fact that the specimen rode in my bra in the trip to the doctor's office, and tried to keep it as light hearted as we could. But, to be honest we were both really nervous. It reminded me a lot of our wedding day. The day we got married, I asked him if we were really going to go through with it, and he responded "yeah, well - what the hell. We're already here" and then he kissed me.

When the doctor first inserted the speculum in me, I looked over at Michael and asked if we couldn't just get a puppy instead - or if he really wanted to go through with it. He looked over at me, squeezed my hand and said, "yeah, well - what the hell. We're already here" and then he kissed me.

The doctor called me "the queen of ovulation" but said in all likelihood there were only four eggs that actually released. He said that it's quite possible we could end up with twins, and were running about a 8-12% chance of "triplets or more". Where that number comes from I have no clue. Then he asked if we had twins if we would be finished. I said I don't know - Michael just looked as if he would pass out. "Four eggs released?!?!" he asked incredulously...

The procedure itself went incredibly smoothly. To be honest, when the doctor stepped away from me, I asked him, "how long will it take? He laughed, and said - "I'm done - what did you want it to hurt? With good mucus it makes it easy." Do you hear that Internets - I have good cervical mucus! (never, ever in my life did I think that I would say that) .

We were holding hands, with my legs propped up on the table and the doctor came by and patted my tummy. He said - I bet the next time I see you we'll be scanning to see if you have a city, a village or just one baby in there.

Please, just one. Just one.

Gatorade, how I loathe thee, or freaking "right the fuck out"

2005-11-09T10:15:00.000-05:00

So, does anyone know what the difference is between "really overstimulated" and "hyperstimulation"? Is it a mild version of OHSS? Is it completely different? Is it

The R.E.'s nurse called yesterday afternoon and told me to start drinking Gatorade last night, and to drink as much as possible, and to stock up on extra strength tylenol. Apparently Aleeve, Advil and Ibuprofen (all of which I do have in the house) can interfere with ovulation, or something. Can I tell you how much I absolutely loathe gatorade? Seriously, I detest it. So, I relayed this information to Michael while we were out to dinner last night, and he freaked out - our conversation went something like - WE HAVE TO GO TO THE STORE RIGHT NOW! No, honey, seriously we can go tomorrow morning. GET THE CHECK - YOU'RE GOING TO DIE! No, seriously. I'm o.k. WE HAVE NO GATORADE AT HOME, HERE DRINK MY WATER! Ugh. Fine.

O.k., I admit it wasn't quite that dramatic, but the poor man is a *little* wigged out by this whole thing, and I'm trying to convince him that I do not have, and will not get OHSS, so anything you can tell me (or lie to me too - that's fine - as long as it's believable) to that effect would be great. We did however, go to the store after dinner and I am trying my best to choke down Gatorade "Frost" right now as we speak, or rather as I type I guess.

Last night, after I had gone to bed he came upstairs with a giant glass of water. Granted, I usually go to sleep every night with a small glass but this was enormous. I told him I couldn't drink it all - and he said just try, I'm really worried about you. You're really swollen already.

And indeed I am incredibly swollen. I could barely zip my "almost too lose to wear, without accidentally losing it on the street and having no clue that I am sashaying down the street with only panties on" skirt that I'm wearing today. This, my friends, is not good. How I'm going to get through the next few days, clothed - appropriately for work, is a mystery to me. I am not really in any pain, but I get full very fast, and I have a raging headache.

And I had horrible, unbelivable nightsweats last night. I soaked completely through the sheets - and this was after I ripped off my pjs.

And the trigger shot, yeah. I gave it to myself in the thigh. Hurt like a bitch this morning to walk downstairs. Michael was freaked out about it (he's skeeved out badly by needles - as if I'm not) but I decided that I'd much rather have the control of knowing what was going to happen, so I did it myself. Thinking about it is much worse than actually administering it.

Oh, and did you know that apparently follicles continue to grow 1-3 mm a day after your trigger and until ovulation (approximately 36 hours later)? I didn't. So, that means that assuming a 2 mm growth pattern, I've probably got on the left side: 23, 20, 15, 15, 14. On the right, I probably have 20, 20, 18, 17, 16, 14, 13. Do you know that eggs as small as 15mm could hypothetically contain fertilizable eggs? Um, and that could in theory mean NINE FUCKING EGGS? I haven't told you what my last name is, but I can guarandamntee you it's not McCaughey. I did read a scientific study this morning that said that typically HCG only will cause those follicles that are approximately the same size to release eggs. Which leads to my question - what is "approximately the same size"? Persephone was wonderful to calm me down and tell me that only those around 18mm or larger will go, but still, that's five.

Do you know how afraid I am? And how curious I am as to why I wasn't cancelled, or - as Thalia asked why I wasn't converted (or offered to be converted) to IVF? Because I am starting to freak right the fuck out [that's a technical term], in case you were wondering.

Last night at dinner, I told him, you know - maybe we just need a puppy instead. And for a brief moment, I was completely, dead on serious. And he looked at me, and said - well, you may end up with a litter.

And I came this close - (that's me showing you a very tiny space between my thumb and index finger) to projectile vomiting.

Oh, and I just realized that 14 days from the IUI is um, Thanksgiving Day. We're going to be in Dallas with my family, so I'm guessing that I won't have any bloodwork done - and will be relying on an HPT.

Folly update

2005-11-08T10:42:00.000-05:00

Just got back from the scan, waiting to hear from the lab. My how things have changed in a day. Remember, this is for IUI, not retrieval. Thus my panic about having too many.

Left: 21, 18, 13, 13, 12

Right: 18, 18, 16, 15, 14, 12, 11

Endo is at 15.

Trigger tonight at 9.

I am scared shitless. This may actually work.

-------updated

The nurse just called. Estradiol levels are in at 1108. She said to start drinking gatorade now, because I have already overstimmed and it's just going to get worse from here on out. Apparently there are tons of other small follies hanging out in addition to the 12 I listed. I am definitely bloated already, and feel achy and have a raging headache. She said in 24-48 hours I wouldn't need to ask about how I'll know. You'll know, she said. You'll know.

I really hope & pray this works, but I'm petrified of multiples. We want three children, but we'd like to have them one at a time thank you. Of course, I suppose that's getting ahead of myself a bit.

Oh, and I just found out that apparently I may be working onsite for one of our largest clients. Their headquarters are approximately a four hour drive one-way away from our house. This is a two month long project, which means - a) I will be staying in a hotel M-Th. away from home; b) it's a long way away; and c) I won't be able to have my cats with me, um, or my husband either. Oh, and did I mention that this may start on Monday? Let's just say that with a client of this size and importance, however, you don't say no. You never ever say no.

I promised...

2005-11-07T23:59:00.000-05:00

More pics will be forthcoming, unless I get too spooked. If you see this, and you know me - well, let's just keep this between us eh?

Granted, this was done by an "artistic" photographer who I am pretty sure was smoking crack. This picture has always sort of creeped me out, because it looks like I'm dead and lying in a casket. Nonetheless, this should show you at least a little of what I look like (although this picture is admittedly a little dated, so new ones will be up soon). My hair isn't as dark as in this picture, and my eye makeup is much less whorish in real life. And my eyes are much lighter blue, and I have (unfortunately) a lot more freckles.

It just happened to be one I could easily link to, and thus less work on my part was required. The scanner is still refusing to cooperate.

How many follicles did you say again?

2005-11-07T10:52:00.000-05:00

I swear, I'm working on the pictures. Things just were a little crazy around here this weekend, and I can't find the scanner software, and the batteries that I picked up for my digital camera are apparently bad, and need to be returned. Go figure right?

Another day, another scan. Oh, and did I mention that I nearly fell off the table? Mind you, no one has ever said that I have any indication of PCOS, and rebuffed me when I asked about it. So I was a little surprised today when the wandmonkey said that she was looking at a "classic PCOS presentation." Slow responding to meds, but apparently rather aggressive recruitment of follies. I'm waiting for the E2 levels from the lab to find out if I'm supposed to trigger tonight or tomorrow. The doctor wants me to potentially take another dose of Follistim tonight to help get the follies a little bigger, but I'm becoming petrified.

I have eleven measurable follicles right now. ELEVEN. There were more, but she basically hinted that those were all she had room to write on the form.

On the left, I have one at 18, 15, two at 11, and one at 10.

On the right, I have one at 16, 15, 13, two at 12, and one at 11.

Endometrial lining is at 13. I'm a little concerned, as it appears that this may be on the high end of normal, and I've seen that linings in excess of 15 can lead to problems with implantation. Needless to say, I'm not suffering from a thin lining though.

I was shaking when I was talking to the nurse. She assured me that this is fine, and that I'm not going to be cancelled. She did tell me that I'll be in a bit of pain afterward, as I will "definitely overstim." I freaked out and was asking questions about the risk of HOM, and she assured me that it will be o.k.

So now, I sit anxiously waiting for the call from the lab to see what I'm to do tonight.

Updated: The nurse just called, my estradiol level today is 709, on cycle day 10 - after 7 days of shots - the doctor gave me the go ahead to shoot another 150 IU of Follistim tonight. I know, I know - he's the doctor, but I'm just praying this is a good idea. Another round of labs & sono tomorrow a.m.

Monday, Monday...

2005-11-04T15:37:00.000-05:00

I tried to post some pictures this a.m., really - but it appears that my scanner (a 4 in 1 fax, copier, printer, *ahem* wannabe scanner that is) is indeed the spawn of Satan himself and doesn't *do* mornings. So I decided that I would post a picture of me in my "matronly" (as Michael grumpily calls it) light green chenille bathrobe using my digital camera. Did I mention I had hot rollers in my hair? And no makeup? And I was sitting in the dimly lit basement cussing up a blue streak? Well, apparently the fright skeeved the poor camera out, and it bitterly refused to force my horrible visage upon your poor unsuspecting eyes. Yeah, that or the damn batteries in it were dead, a.g.a.i.n. Seriously that camera eats batteries like they're those yummy little miniature Milky Way Midnight chocolates that are sitting in the foyer. Well, I'm blaming the camera anyway on both accords.

Nonetheless, I promise, pictures are forthcoming at some point this weekend after I have performed appropriate exorcism rites over the scanner (i.e. finding and reinstalling the *$%&ing software) or feeding my camera more candy, I mean batteries. And I've gotten a few cool e-mail requests for others so I'll try to cobble those together as well.

I went in for a scan this a.m. as my clinic does not apparently do scans or bloodwork over the weekend. At this point, this is what I'm dealing with:

Cycle Day 7
Taken 4 shots of Follistim 150 IU thus far, starting on CD 3. (technically tonight is day 5 of stims). I'm petrified of shots, but to be honest, they're really not bad at all. The pen is incredibly easy to use, and I've had some bruising - but I bruise really easily anyway.
E2 levels: 199 (the doctor said this is "right on target" based on follicular growth). Google U says that the level should be 100 or above after 4 days of recombinant FSH such as Follistim. At the time of trigger, it should be 150-250 pgm per 15 mm or greater follicle.

O.k. - begin mild deviation from topic. The R.E.'s office is thankfully devoid of round pregnant bellies although it is at the end of the hall next to a midwifery practice. Thankfully, there were a number of sweatpants rocking in the R.E.'s office this morning. However, while I'm waiting on the phlebotomist (a.k.a. leech, bloodletter) with my arm poised waiting for the needle, her 21 month old daughter comes barrelling up the hallway to see her. Her name, Emma - the name we've chosen for a daughter. I was trying really hard to hold my shit together, and hoping that it's a good omen or something.

Left Ovary: three total follicles at 14, 11 and 9. What happened to my 17 mm cyst?
Right Ovary: (the underachiever) two total follicles , one at 11 and one at 9. The follicles need to be at 15-16 mm to contain fertilizable eggs. For a gonadotropin cycle, mature follicle size is considered between 16-20 mm. Evidently, if you're on a clomid cycle, mature follicle size is considered between 18-30 mm, and those cycles are triggered when follicle size is 17-26 mm. Why the difference? Hell if I know. All I know for me personally is that clomid was so last year.

Another small deviation. I'm a little chatty today o.k.? I told Michael as we were driving to dinner last night that what happened would be dependent on what the dildocam saw today. He looked at me, and said dildo - what? He thought it was hilarious. "Wandmonkey" made him laugh so hard he nearly swerved into a parked car. O.k., back to topic.

The doctor wants, based on my age and results thus far, no more than 3-5 mature follicles at trigger. Considering that they grow approximately 2 mm a day, by Monday (the anticipated trigger date) assuming these follicles continue to grow - we'll have follicles at 20,17 and 15 on the left, and 17 and 15 on the right.
If there are more than six follicles at or greater than 15mm, or if my Estradiol levels are greater than 1500 pg/ml on Monday, then the cycle will likely be cancelled due to the likelihood of high order implantation.

The uterine lining should be between 7-12 mm in thickness on the day of trigger, with better results obtained if the lining is at least 9 mm thick and trilaminar (or "triple striped"). Implantation (oh that's funny) should take place 5-6 days after the IUI.

In short, three more nights of 150 IU Follistim shots (for a total of 7 shots, or 1050 IU) , and hope that everything grows, but stays within reason. IUI is tentatively scheduled for Wed., when of course - of course, the doctor will be in another office, and I can either travel there, or have yet another person up under my skirt. At this point, what's one more person having a hand in there really going to matter? And to think when Michael and I were first together, I refused to have sex with the lights on. Oh how things change.

The good part of today, three separate women have stopped me to tell me how beautiful my shoes are today. One older woman (maybe in her late 50s) said - "honey you must feel like a million bucks today with those shoes!" while I was in the elevator. You know, once she said that - I did. And I thanked her and told her so.

What do you want to see?

2005-11-03T14:48:00.000-05:00

Michael is a phenomenal photographer. The black & white pictures of me that he took on our wedding day with his trusty completely manual Nikon FM2 are hanging on the wall on the way up the stairs in our house. The ones from the photographer that we paid through the nose for - meh - those are in the basement in a rubbermaid tub next to the dryer.

I'm thoroughly enjoying the voyeuristic anticipation of "exposing" myself (g-d only knows what perverts I'm going to get with that statement, although it probably can't beat the "sadist bra training for men" or "first love tampon" searches I've gotten in the last few days, which I don't even *want* to contemplate). We're going on a photographic expedition this weekend, hopefully before the trees are completely stripped of leaves by the unbelievable wind that's been blowing for the last two days.

My photography skills are not so phenomenal, but it's a hobby that we can spend time together doing, so I'm learning. Slowly. Very sloooooooooooooooooowly. Thankfully, he's an incredibly patient man, and I do enjoy learning. For me - having my subject in focus or not overexposed is an accomplishment in itself. Something completely in the frame - call the Vatican - it's a miracle!

I could tell you about him trying to teach me how to tie my shoelaces (no, seriously. Before my 23rd birthday I had a B.B.A, an M.B.A. and a J.D. but I still don't know how to tie my own fucking shoelaces) but I'll just tell you about the photography lessons instead. He's patient, but even he has started suggesting I just stick to slip on shoes as I think he's given up hope for me on that one.

So, now that I've successfully disclaimed any photographic skill whatsoever, what else do you want to see about my life? I'm learning to use a new camera this weekend, so make me a list of things you'd like to see, and I'll try to get around to photographing all of them in the next week.

What do you see?

2005-11-02T10:40:00.000-05:00

Edited: This is absolutely hilarious. Some of you are nearly exactly on the mark... and some, well - not so much. It's really entertaining though, much more so than what I'm *supposed to be doing*. Is being scatter-brained and emotional a side effect of Follistim?

I've learned a lot about myself, my husband and our marriage through this battle with infertility. In some ways, I've willingly allowed infertility to define who I am to other people - such as here, on this blog. In other aspects of my life, it remains very much a stigma - the hidden secret we never talk about, the topic to be avoided at all cost. For that reason, I've been reluctant to post actual pictures of us on here, because I've been too afraid to lose the safety of the cloak of anonyminity. Maybe you do know me. Maybe you know my husband, or our families.

Like many of you, when we first realized that we were dealing with more than a little "trouble" I sought stories of other people online, hoping that I might learn something from them. I found Grrl, and Julie, and then all the rest of you and I realized that infertility affects so many people. I decided to post anonymously first, using the blog basically as my journal to catalog our fears and hopes. And hey, let's be honest, it was cheaper than therapy - and for me at least, it was a lot easier to "talk" here than it was to someone face to face.

But I've learned to accept the vulnerability inherent in posting about something so personal, one could even say that I've embraced it. I've opened up the most personal, painful aspects of our lives to a literal world of strangers. I've told you (and by "you" I mean the Internets) things my closest and dearest friends don't know about me. And you know what, my deepest fears didn't come true. Instead of having these hopes ridiculued, instead of having my personal failings mocked, I've received the love and support and friendship from people all over the globe. It's helped, tremendously. I know that I'm not alone - and the despair and burden of loneliness being lifted is simply indescribable.

I've also learned as indicated with my previous post, that other people have gone through many of the same nightmares. Perhaps the subtleties are different but we're all going through similar versions of the same hell. I've learned that I can count on you for support, and I hope I can offer the same reassurances.

And perhaps it sounds conceited - although it's certainly not meant to, but I feel that we are helping others by posting our stories, the vignettes from our daily lives. Every day I get a surprisingly tremendous number of hits on a post I had a few weeks ago about progesterone therapy where I was asking for help and advice. The advice you gave me in the comments is now helping, I hope, others who have questions about the treatment they're undergoing and don't have people they know in "real life" to turn to. [that phrase has always bothered me - because to me, this is as "real" as it gets, but I digress].

With the advent of technology, I think that in some ways we've lost a sense of community. The days of sitting on the front porch just talking with neighbors until the sunset are for the most part a thing of the past. Michael and I lived in the same house for three years and never knew the names of the majority of our neighbors, not that we didn't try to make an effort. But with blogging, I feel that we are in some ways creating another community. Like any community it has its cliques, there are times we don't agree, but for the most part, it's an open and embracing group of people. For those of you lurking, we're here - and we'd like you to be a part of it as well. {thinking to myself, wow - I sort of sound like I'm recruiting for a cult there. Very come on over, the kool-aid is tasty, no?}

A friend and I were talking yesterday about radio personalities and how you "picture" what they look like, and how surprising it can be when you see them in real life and they look nothing at all like what you expected. Or for that matter, the casting for characters in books that are remade into movies. For me, blogging is somewhat analagous. I "picture" some of you to look a certain way, and sometimes I'm surprised by how differently you look in your pictures. For others of you, your picture looks exactly how I imagined you would look.

A favorite pasttime of mine growing up was "people watching" - I'd sit on the fringe of activity and make up lives for the people who pass - wondering what they did for a living, if they were in a relationship, who they talked to, what made them laugh. This is in some ways the reverse of that, you know those things about me, and I'm learning them about you.

So, now, I'm curious. How do you picture me? Do you picture me as a certain race, body type, height, eye color? Who is it that you imagine is typing these words? Do you see me with glasses or without? If so, what kind? A perfectly coiffed newscaster hairstyle, or dreads? Something different? Do you picture piercings or pearls (or both)? Tattoos? Do you think I'm more Pottery Barn or crunchy? Is my wardrobe more traditional/preppy or thrift store chic?

And tomorrow or Friday (assuming I can remember how to link pictures) we'll see how close you come to the face behind the curtain.

Mothering, Forgiveness, and Thankfulness

2005-11-01T08:38:00.000-05:00

As much as I want to be a parent, I am inherently frightened by the enormity of the responsibility. My parents married exceedingly young (they were only 17 and 18 respectively) and had me two months before my mother turned 20). As they were merely children themselves when they got married, it was no surprise that their union dissolved when I was just an infant. I have no memories at all of my parents together. My mother never treated me as a "child", and when other children were first printing out letters in crayon, she had already taught me to write in cursive. When others were struggling to count to ten, by the first day of kindergarden, I could easily go beyond 1,000. She taught me at least a new word every day from the dictionary, and we did puzzles together in our one room apartment. My mother has only a high school education, but she instilled in me the desire to learn more - to experiment, to strive to be the best. She was funny, beautiful and vibrant.

And then, she began unravelling. Slowly - as if a part of her soul had been snagged, and then more quickly and violently. At about age two my father remarried. My mother was desperately afraid that he would get custody of me (as she was a single parent) so she married - literally within a week - to her boyfriend at the time. It was not a good move on her part. She was so afraid of losing me that she did the only thing that she thought would save "us". To be honest, it was really the beginning of the end. They fought - horribly. I remember after my brother Michael was born, my stepfather beating her in the face, holding her down and spraying windex in her eyes. I remember cowering over my baby brother protecting him from the shards of glass that exploded off the wall when he threw an ashtray at her. I remember him sugaring her gas tank, breaking into the apartment when we moved out. I remember him kicking in our apartment door and taking my brother (then age 3 or so) away. We were watching Circus of the Stars, and it was so cold that night. We were curled up on the couch beneath a scratchy blue blanket with satin edging.

My mother was struggling to support us, and I know two children on her minimum wage salary must have made it nearly impossible to make ends meet. During their divorce, when he requested custody - she was penniless. She was working two jobs and to be honest, I think in a way she was just too tired to fight anymore. My brother never really knew his mother. He didn't know how funny she could be... how the sun made her skin the color of bronze. He didn't know how comforting it was to curl into her arms - or how green her thumb was - she could make anything grow. He didn't know how creative she was, how much she loved to read. He didn't know how much she loved spicy food. He didn't know how tender she was - or what a skilled artist she was. He just didn't know her at all.

But, after about third grade I didn't really know her anymore myself. She remarried (round three if you're counting). She met him at work, and was forced to resign her job because of a nepotism policy. Her marriage lasted only a few months before he started hitting her. She was madly in love with him, and stayed - hoping that he would love her the way she loved him. I remember coming home from my dad's house one Sunday and all the furniture in the house was gone. He had gotten drunk and literally smashed it all to pieces with an aluminum bat. When he was done with the furniture, he turned to her and used the bat on her face shattering her cheekbone, and then he broke her arm. They never told me what happened. She lied and said they had decided to sell the furniture. The furniture we had just gotten not a month or two before. There were still shards of glass from the curio cabinets sunk deep into the plush carpet. I knew. The entire side of her face was black. I knew she didn't just fall. If there's one thing I didn't get from my mother it is my klutziness.

Her husband started having an affair with another woman - with the same name as my mother. He broke her down, and made her believe she was worthless. He flaunted the affair. He pointed out her failings. He made fun of her in public. In order to deal with the broken bones [literally] she turned to other outlets for her pain. She started having an affair with alcohol.

I would find empty vodka bottles hidden in my closet amongst my sweaters. He moved out, and she moved on to prescription painkillers and alcohol together. Then it got worse. She started blacking out. We had to move out of our house and were forced to jump around from apt. to apt. I became the parent. I walked to the store and bought groceries. I walked to school. I think we lived on cheetos, pickles and bologna for about a month one time. I did the laundry. I wrote the checks for the rent (I didn't realize you had to have money in the bank for them to clear). I forged her name on my report cards. She was usually drunk by 10:30 in the morning. If she didn't drink she would have horrible seizures and hallucinate.

My father tried to get custody of me. I was afraid to go live with him, afraid of what would happen if she didn't have anyone to take care of her. She checked into detox. We had to go to family meetings and the therapist told me it was my fault. Me. The chubby little ten year old. It was my fault.

She got out, and I went back to live with her. She was sober maybe two or three days. We were living in a run down apartment across the street from the hospital. She started hallucinating, and woke me up in the middle of the night and threw me out of the house, locking the deadbolt behind me. I was barefoot in my nightgown, and it was starting to snow. I begged and pleaded with her to let me in. She thought I was the police -coming to arrest her. I didn't know what to do. I was afraid to walk through the ghetto to find a phone and it was so icy. I fell asleep on the porch, exhausted from shaking. She let me back in the next morning. She thought God was talking to her. She drove me to school shaking so bad from d.t.s that she could barely keep in the lane and dropped me off and started driving to a mental institution. They wouldn't admit her. Over the next several months, she went back into treatment, and then out, and back in. This "program" was the most dysfunctional place she could have been. It's no wonder she didn't stop.

On her last stint in the treatment facility, she met a man there who was in trying to recover from a heavy duty narcotics addiction. They started up a flaming romatic relationship while still hospitalized. When they got out, he moved in with us. And so did another addiction - cocaine. His brother was a dealer, and soon she was selling everything we had to feed the desperate need she had for more.

Finally - I had enough. She was passed out, and I went through the house and took every vodka bottle she had and stacked them on the coffee table. They were hidden in the plants, the dishwasher, in the couch cushions, everywhere. I left a note - "this has to stop." When she finally came to, she was infuriated. She was screaming at me - and I snapped. I slapped her hard across the face. So hard that it knocked her down. I was so full of rage - her addiction had stolen my childhood. She retailiated. It's the only time in my life that my mother ever struck me. She never even spanked me as a child. My meager belongings had been packed for weeks in my closet. I told her I was moving in with my grandparents. She started throwing my boxes over the balcony into the parking lot below. She told me she didn't love me. That she never had.

I didn't talk to her for a long time. Without me to pay the bills on time, she was evicted. She lost her job, and bounced around sleeping on friend's couches, and then soon she had no one left to go to. Then she lived in her car. I didn't know if she was dead or alive. She finally cleaned up. She stopped using on my 13th birthday. She stopped drinking soon after that - and has been clean and sober ever since. Our relationship is still extremely strained. I love her - she is my mother after all. She honestly doesn't remember about three years of what we went through. I do. I remember - but I forgive her. In a lot of ways, I think it's made me stronger.

We rarely talk - at times it's just too painful for both of us, our conversations often peppered with awkward moments of silence. But I'm trying. And she's trying. It's just hard.

My mother has been sober for ten years, and given what she's gone through - to be honest, I'm not sure that I could have been that strong. She's now caring for my grandmother, also an alcoholic, and she broke down on the phone last night and told me that she was so sorry. So incredibly sorry for all she put me through. That she understood now, caring for my grandmother, how difficult it must have been for me.

We talked about my shots, about our failed dreams. About growth, and love, and forgiveness.

This morning, I had an e-mail waiting for me, and she said in part:

I am going to pray hard that your new round of shots work without causing you discomfort or worse, danger to your health. I know how desperately you must want a child to try this route again and as much as I would love to be a Grandmother, your health MUST come first. DO NOT put yourself in jeopardy for the sake of anything. You are everything to me, and no baby or anything else is worth the thought of harm coming to you. I also realize you are a grown, intellligent woman who has thought long and hard about this decision so I am, as always, in your corner and will be here in anyway for anything I can ever offer if you need me. I'm still your Mother and will always be here when needed. I love you more than I can describe and could never be prouder of you. Please be safe, happy, never give up on your true dreams and remember I love you.

She's far from perfect, but she is my mother - and I love her. I'm proud that she's tried so hard to stay sober, when it would have been so much easier not to. At times I'm still angry with her, but I'm learning to open my heart to forgiveness and let go of the hurt.

For a long time, I didn't want children. I was petrified I would make the same mistakes she did. And then I found Michael and he made me realize I had this longing ache in my heart for a child. Occasionally, I wonder if perhaps I want children to somehow make up for my own flawed childhood. I don't know.

What I do know is that I'm thankful that I believe things can be different. I'm thankful she's bee so strong. I'm thankful she and I are working to repair our relationship, and hopeful that my children will have the opportunity to see a grandmother who is the mother I remember from my early childhood. The one with the deep body shaking laugh, who can always be counted on to color and play dress up. The one that read stories and flew kites, made beautiful quilts and halloween costumes by hand, who gave fierce "horsey bites" on my knees and gentle butterfly kisses. This is the woman I want them to remember. This is the woman I want them to love.

I'm just thankful that I'm starting to get her back.

I hope that they learn to love her as much as I do.

Day 1 of Stims

2005-10-31T15:03:00.000-05:00

I have two shiny 600 IU ampules of Follistim AQ at home in the "utility" door of the refrigerator waiting for me to get home.

Today's bloodwork/scan on CD 3 revealed the following:

Estradiol level was 18.
FSH was 4.9.
Endometrial lining was 3 mm
17mm cyst on left ovary.

I have no idea what any of this means, what is "normal", etc. but nonetheless, I'm good to go for this evening. I'm to use 150 IU for the next five days. I go back in on Friday a.m. for a followup bloodwork and ultrasound. The IUI is projected to be Monday, but by Wed. at the latest. I had no idea it would be so fast.

The thing that I am the most grateful for - is that my insurance picked up the entire cost of the Follistim less only a $25 copay. (I also had a $25 copay for the Prometrium, and a whopping $1 cost for the syringes for the HCG - although I just realized I have no clue how much the HCG itself is costing me). I am incredibly thankful that the insurance is picking up nearly the entire tab for this.

The R.E.'s office gave me the Follistim from their stock, and the HCG and 30 tablets of 200mg. prometrium are being shipped to me from Schrafts tomorrow.

All day I kept expecting something to go wrong, and so far - it hasn't.

A-R-T Lifestyle

2005-10-28T18:39:00.000-04:00

Floor Cake*
Motorcade of Infertility (2005)
A-R-T Lifestyle

Well, Your Ampule Collection Looks Shiny and Costly
How Much Did you Pay for Your Bad Follitropins?
And How Much Did You Spend on Your IVF Packet?
Is It Your or Your R.E. In This Income Tax Bracket?

Now Repronex Injections and Progesterone Pills
Sometimes For Protocol You Haven't Even Heard Of.
And How Much Did You Pay For Your Follicular Scan?
That Proves You Were There,
That You Counted Them First?

How Do You Afford Your A-R-T Lifestyle?
How Do You Afford Your A-R-T Lifestyle?
How Do You Afford Your A-R-T Lifestyle?
Ahhhh, Tell Me.

How Much Did You Pay For the Painful HSG,
The One Ruthlessly Injected At The Beginning of the Cycle?
And How Much Will You Pay for a Rising HCG,
One Begged and Prayed For At The End Of Another Cycle?
And How Long Will the Nurses Keep Cycling You Again?
As Long as Your Credit Cards are Open, Free and Willing.
And How Long Will the R.E. Keep Cycling You Again?
As Long As Your Credit Cards are Open, Free and Willing

Aging Ute, Ovaries And Hospital Bills
Tube Removal and Dozens of Pills
Your Bits Pay Dearly Now For Youthful Magic Moments
But Conception is Possible Now With Extracted Components

How Do You Afford Your A-R-T Lifestyle?
How Do You Afford Your A-R-T Lifestyle?
How Do You Afford Your A-R-T Lifestyle?

Excess Ain't Rebellion.
You're Injecting What They're Selling.
Your Hyperstimulation Doesn't Hurt Them.
Your Barenness Won't Convert Them.
They're So Happy To Treat It.
You'll Never Really Cure It.
Yeah, Excess Ain't Rebellion
You're Injecting What They're Selling
Yeah, Excess Ain't Rebellion
You're Injecting
You're Injecting
You're Injecting What They're Selling.

* With sincere apologies to John McCrea and the real "Cake", a band I love dearly. Obviously, my mind is not on work, and I need to go home.

Hello Monkeyface

2005-10-28T08:02:00.000-04:00

Some of our closest moments have been snuggled on the couch under a big blanket watching old movies and eating popcorn and junior mints (and yes, you must eat them together - as in mix the junior mints into the hot popcorn. Trust me, I didn't believe it either, but it turns into a salty chocolately melty wonderful mess). For the holidays last year I bought him a big box set of old Hitchcock flicks, including Suspicion with Cary Grant and Joan Fontaine. Cary Grant's character has a line where he says "Hello monkeyface" to Joan Fontaine in the flick, and after hours of laughing and repeating the heavily accented phrase over and over and over, somehow I ended up with that nickname. I also use it for him upon occasion - although he is usually relegated to just "monkey." Our cats (and occasionally me) are known as "kittenface" and he is often "muffinface." It's a ridiculously sappy life we lead, I tell you. I could make you really ill and tell you the remainder of our nicknames for each other, but I'll spare gagging you.

This morning, I got a Land of Nod email in one of my typically unused mailboxes, and I have no idea what in the HELL possessed me to open it as I usually try to stay away from cutesy baby stuff somewhat like the bubonic plague. But I did open it. And I fell in love with an item, and -ohmygod- ordered it. I have been staunchly opposed to buying anything for as a yet unconceived child, because well, obviously I realize it may never happen. I used to shake my heads in wonder at women who had a secret stash of things hidden away in their closets, I wasn't that strong. I was too bitter, too jaded. It may never happen, I kept telling myself. And then what - how sad would you be when faced with these things that you've lovingly kept for so long? I was set to go with the Jewish tradition of waiting to buy anything for the baby until it was home safely from the hospital.

But I folded today and bought the cutest things on the planet.

Hello Monkeyface.

Hello hope.

-------- updated ----------------

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO (that's me wailing). The R.E.'s office just called, and the doctor absolutely does not want to set me up with injectibles until the CA-125 results are in (I had the blood drawn Wed. a.m.). My period decided to surprise me early, and for the last two days I've been debating - Is this it? Is this spotting? Today is arbitrarily going to be counted as CD 1, but they will only let me start on CD 4 at the lastest - which is Monday. And that won't happen unless they get the blood results in today and the levels are low enough.

Please, please, please, please let the results come in. I've now been charting for THIRTY-ONE cycles (admittedly we haven't been trying for all of them) but please. $*#@!

----------updated (again) ----------------

thankyouthankyouthankyou. I don't know what deity or fate or muse to thank - so I'll just thank them all. Ganesh, Jesus, Jehovah, G-d, Mohammed, Allah, the patchouli scented chick with dangly earrings who offered to read my palm for a mere $40, the guy who preached at us with a bullhorn in New Orleans, St. Anne - did I leave anyone out? If so, uh - it was unintended.

The nurse just called and she's been trying all day to get in touch with the lab. The antibody tests aren't in yet, but the CA-125 came back at a "6." A "6" is o.k.

I am set for 11:00 a.m. for labs and sonogram on Halloween. We are ready for lift-off.

Countdown may commence now.

They will tell you no, and you will tell them...

2005-10-26T10:39:00.000-04:00

When I got home yesterday, Michael had dug five new flower beds for tulips and daffodils around the house for me as a surprise. He said he wanted me to have something to look forward to after the barreness of the winter. He's not really into gardening, but he built terraced beds for the front yard, and worked the hard clay soil into something that held promise... he fertilized and supplemented and the soil was rich and loamy.

He said, I want you to have something to hope for. We sat side by side, our knees pressing into the newly turned earth, planting close to six hundred bulbs before the sun slipped below the horizon and our hands became numb. Today, we will plant around four hundred more.

Spring has always been my favorite season... cliched - yes, perhaps. But I adore that feeling of rebirth - of new opportunities - new beginnings. As each tulip, hyacinth, crocus and daffodil breaks free from the frozen earth, as each tree cloaks herself in bright hope of flowers - hinting at the promise of fruit, I feel my own sadness dissipate as the world slowly shrugs off the brisk touch of winter and moves on. Spring is a prelude, a constant seduction of growth and renewal.

The R.E.'s office called yesterday - and asked that I drop by this morning for more blood work. Lupus Anticoagulant (?), ANA, and some other test, I don't remember the name of in addition to the CA-125. The nurse asked me if I had ever miscarried. Yes, I said dismissively, but it was very early. It was a chemical pregnancy, it hardly counts. She sighed, and said - honey it counts. They all count as lost dreams. She then explained what all the tests were for, and I explained - I'm spotting, red - on CD 24 - five days early.

They had me code the lab sheet, and the insurance codes were submitted as ovarian endometriosis, female pelvic pain, and habitual aborter to have the insurance pick up as large as a portion of the cost as possible. We discussed whether to move forward with this cycle, given the extenuating health issues. The doctor told us it's up to us, but that he would advise a cautious approach.

This morning on the way to the lab, my windshield was frosted over. The landscape looked as if it had been cloaked in tiny diamonds, the frost sparkling in the first streaks of grey dawn.

I am not ready for the emptiness and the grey flannel skies of winter. I am simply not ready to acknowledge the slipping temperatures and the cold north wind blowing against the windows. I don't, logically - emotionally - spiritually - believe that this cycle would work. Everything seems stacked against it. Rationally, I realize that I am perhaps being irresponsible. I fully acknowledge it would be better to wait, to have concrete answers and plans.

We have been waiting so long, another few cycles really are not that important.

I remember a Nike ad that used to hang on the inside of my closet when I was thirteen. I don't remember the exact words, but it went something along the lines of:

All your life you are told the things you cannot do. All your life they will say you're not good enough or strong enough or talented enough; they will say you're the wrong height or the wrong weight or the wrong type to play this or be this or achieve this. THEY WILL TELL YOU NO, a thousand times no, until all the no's become meaningless. All your life they will tell you no, quite firmly and very quickly. AND YOU WILL TELL THEM YES.

We are moving forward. I will start this cycle, barring any blanket prohibition by the doctor.

In Sickness and in Health

2005-10-24T11:05:00.000-04:00

Remember the "clueless infertile" with season tickets next to us? Well, apparently she's given birth to a perfect baby boy after a completely uneventful and smooth birth. Michael was making small talk next to the new father at the game, and congratulated him on the birth of his son. The new father was absolutely beaming, and showing us pictures of his son. He asked if we had any children.

To which I quickly snipped, "No." and to which Michael said somewhat longingly "No, not yet" as he lovingly folded my small hands into his much larger ones and then brought them to his mouth and kissed them. Mucho mucho good husband points.

We went driving yesterday to look at some lake front acreage that we're thinking about buying. We need to sell some farm land we own first to do it, but I think it's an investment that - properly leveraged - will be quite beneficial for us. And, we could then have a vacation/lake house built on the land, and later subdivide a portion of it if we choose.

We were laughing, talking hopefully about baby names. We've had the two middle names for a boy picked (two middle names are a family tradition) for maybe three years and we had finally agreed to a first name for a boy. Michael says that for a boy I keep neglecting the "playground factor" as the names that I've picked out are too "sissy" and the child will end up in therapy because of the merciless taunting that will inevitably occur. So we agreed, finally, with a family name that is sufficiently masculine. We also finally reached a consensus about a girl's name that was not too "trendy."

We were just enjoying the scenery - the changing leaves blowing across the road as we took a detour through a particularly picturesque stretch of farmland and saw a flock (maybe 20 or so) of wild turkeys.

During the drive home, I had three seizures. I've had maybe 12 within the last two weeks or so, after a relatively calm period of six months or better. We don't know what's causing them.

In my last year of law school, I was driving to grab a bite to eat when I had a seizure - and blacked out. I hit my head against the steering wheel, and thankfully during the 'fit' I managed to slam the gear shift into park and halfway jumped a curb. Somehow during the madness, I bit my tongue rather forcefully - almost straight through it - and my mouth quickly filled with blood. Thankfully I was on a side street - and I managed to coast slowly into a gas station where I promptly fainted. I got a nice sized bump on the head from the fainting spell, but was otherwise o.k. When I finally made my way back to school, I walked in to Michael's office and told him what happened. He wanted to go to the hospital immediately, but I begged him not to take me. We went home instead, and I promptly fell asleep for about fifteen straight hours. I went to a cardiologist the next day - and was immediately whisked from specialist to specialist. The next few days were a blur of EKGs, EEGs, x-rays, MRIs, and a great deal of bloodletting to check on blood sugar imbalances, hormones, etc.

During the doctor's visits - I realized that I've always had these little "spells." Growing up, my great grandmother said someone was walking over my grave when I did it. Sometimes I could feel them coming on, but not always. When I did, they were preceded by a tightness and pain in my chest and back - and a feeling of pressure as if I was being crushed. My vision always tunnelled immediately before it happened and the sounds of life around me grew strangely quiet. I also had a completely indescrible feeling of great anxiety that something bad about to happen, but I could never place what it was, and words can't really do it justice.

Afterward, there was always a peculiar metal taste in my mouth - like sucking on a spoon - and an overwhelming desire to immediately go to sleep. Sometimes - when they are really bad - my arms flail out (sometimes one, sometimes both) and I will involuntarily strike out at someone. It can be quite embarassing at times - sort of a physical Tourettes. My back clenches up and people who have seen it say that it looks like I think I'm falling and am trying to instinctively brace myself. Milder versions cause me to just space out a little. I can hear people talking around me - but their voices sound very far away - like the muffled conversations of people living in the next apartment drifting through air vents when I was in college.

As I have had previous brain surgery (when I was two months old) to remove a cyst/tumor, the doctors thought it may be either a recurring tumor or possibly scarring of the brain tissue. During one of the trips to the neurologist, after yet another brain scan, the doctor told us that in all likelihood that it was epilepsy or multiple sclerosis. I sobbed. Michael cried. It was the one - and only time that I've ever seen him cry. No swimming, no bathing or showering without the door open and someone in the bathroom with me, no driving, no cooking, no being alone - period - under any circumstances for nearly four and a half months. I couldn't do anything. And I felt awful. I felt like a failure as a wife. I was only 23, and my husband was being forced to care for me around the clock like I was an old woman. It was heartbreaking. And then the doctor told us that we shouldn't try to have children. I needed to go back on the pill.

I was poked and prodded and sent to every specialist they could find. They ruled out epilepsy and we rejoiced. They ruled out m.s. and we cried with joy. But they never found out what the problem is. Stress, exhaustion and alcohol seemed to exacerbate the problem. Of course, since I was studying for the bar at the time, two of the three were a little difficult to control (and in fact I had a 'medium' seizure during the middle of the exam). I have never had another grand mal seizure like the one that finally spurned me to go to the doctor. I have had hundreds of other - small ones - but have accepted it as part of who I am. They seem to cluster at a time - and it's been a while since I've had one. I was told that I could slowly start incorporating my "regular" life back into my schedule.

You have no idea the bliss of being able to shower in privacy. Of just driving to work - even in traffic. I would never go into deep water alone. I would never drive extremely long distances alone. I stay away from excess alcohol and try to get plenty of sleep.

I have been basically symptom free for the last six months or so, but the last two weeks have been a nightmare. As an attorney, I realize the liability inherent in my driving, so I will have to give that up. I don't want to be like this again. We were supposed to start the injectibles on CD1. Now, I'm afraid to - afraid that until we have a better grasp of what we're dealing with - that perhaps it's not a good idea to move forward.

As he held me last night, he told me that he would be there. That he would help me through this, that he would take care of me and love me no matter what.

I woke up this morning and felt his hand stroking my cheek in his sleep. He has always been so giving, so incredibly strong, so loving. It isn't supposed to be like this. Given our age difference, I was the one that should be expected to spend time taking care of him.

I feel as if my body is failing me. I feel as if I am failing him.

I cried last night as I thought about giving up my independence, of not being able to drive, of not being able to bathe alone. Of him having to meld his schedule around mine to watch over me. Of our plans for a family - tentative at best - potentially sidelined for an indefinite period of time. I am so incredibly scared.

And for a change, it looks like I'll be spending a significant amount of time with doctors who won't ask for me to take my pants off.

Ask and ye shall receive

2005-10-24T08:35:00.000-04:00

First, thanks for those of you who came out of lurkdom to say hi. Second, thanks for those of you who have been commenting in the last few months. It helps to feel that I'm not alone. Third, thanks for those of you who keep coming back and supporting me through the rough spots - for Toni, for Dee, for the rest of you. It's people like you who make this so much more bearable.

Now... on to your questions.

The Lovely Pru asked whether I have "big hair." Growing up in Texas (and *gasp* I cannot even believe I'm admitting this) being an ex-pageant queen, you learn that a woman's hair is capable of enormous proportions with a little coaxing with hot rollers and hair spray. If you knew me in real life - that would be terribly funny, as I am about as far away from the typical "pageant" zombies as you can get. Unfortunately, I have a tremendous amount of hair - I have to get it significantly thinned every time I get it cut, and it's wavy/curly so it appears larger than it is. So, in a way, yes, I have big hair. I do not however own hairspray anymore, so my hair is pretty tame and is not purposefully large. It's sort of a running joke though, that when we go home to visit my family that my hair starts expanding in girth.

T also asked about the big hair, and asked if I'm an Astros fan. I grew up outside of Dallas, so I was raised a Rangers fan. I went to high school with one of the pitchers for the Cubs, and ended up married into a Cardinals' family. Living in Miami, we had season tickets to the Marlins - and went to a World Series game - which was very exciting. But I probably consider myself a Cardinals fan more than any other team.

T also asked if I was related to or affiliated with the Insane Clown Posse. No. Underwater Clown Conspiracy was just a name that Michael and I came up with.

Donna asked why we moved from TX to the midwest. I actually did so via a 5 year stint in Miami. Michael wasn't thrilled about moving to the midwest, but it was for family reasons and the opportunity to work for a great firm, and to buy a much larger house. Days like this though, where it's 36 degrees when I leave for work make it difficult to rationalize why we left living on the beach and 75 degree year round temperatures.

Sadly Nico, I am definitely not a golfer. If anything I am the "anti-golfer." I have never even so much as picked up a set of clubs. Michael would love it if I would pick it up, but then again, he would probably also love it if I hadn't sold his clubs! (I may redeem myself by buying him new ones for the holidays).

Sassy asked (1) what the happiest moment of my life is. Michael and I eloped, and were married in St. John barefoot on the beach at sunset. I had the big princess poufy dress and he wore a tuxedo, but we were all alone on this little cove in Hawksnest Beach. We told no one what we were doing, and it was wonderful. While we were saying our vows (which is sort of funny, because neither of us have any idea what we said because we were so nervous) a brilliant rainbow arched out over the water. At that time, I thought never in my entire life had I been so happy. But every single day, I find something else to fall in love with him for all over again. And nearly every day that I've known him - he asks me to marry him. And every time, my answer is yes. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Sassy also asked if I won a million dollars what would I spend it on. Definitely a house. We're still looking for the "right" house, and I'd love to be able to upgrade, or buy a vacation home. Or - buying a boat would also be nice.

VHM Princess made a comment about southern sweet tea - which reminded me to pass along this little tip. If you're trying to make sweet tea, make it with simple syrup - granulated sugar doesn't dissolve well into tea without a little coaxing and simple syrup makes it so much easier.

Erin, I didn't win the lottery either, after searching for 40 minutes for a gas station that had tickets. I hope whoever won it in Oregon enjoys it.

Blue asked if I enjoy John Grisham novels, or if I have trouble with suspension of disbelief. The Grisham novels tend to be stuff that is outside of my practice, so it's interesting to me because I know little to nothing about the area. If you like Grisham, I'd also suggest Scott Turow - he has a new book coming out this fall.

As far as legal t.v. shows, we're somewhat addicted to Law and Order. In fact, watching nearly back to back episodes of Law and Order is partially how Michael studied for the bar exam - and it worked, he passed (of course, being valedictorian of his class probably had a smidge to do with it too). The funny thing is, I had never seen Law and Order before maybe 2 years ago, but I think I've seen nearly all the episodes now. Every once in a while, both of us will yell - "that's not admissible" or "you can't do that" but for the most part, Law and Order tends to be pretty good as far as the actual law being portrayed accurately.

Cricket asked if I was born in April or how I got my name. Actually, no - I was born in July. My mother (and this is a really cheesy story) and father couldn't agree on a name for me. When I was born, I was very ruddy complexioned (still true - the joys of being a redhead) and my mother said that I reminded her of her favorite flower, which bloomed in April. And thus, my name. Growing up I lived on May Lane. (Yes, the next street was April)

Leggy asked if I am in a better place - and the answer to that is an undoubtedly yes. Don't get me wrong, there are times when it's incredibly hard to deal with infertility (and life in general for that matter) but I am much happier than I've been in a long long time. Leggy also asked how Michael and I met. I was a year ahead of him in law school, and met him there. I was a Dean's Fellow and was teaching classes twice a week to the class under me to prepare them for exams. He came to both sessions, every week - and with a 4.0 g.p.a. he certainly didn't need to. We were friendly - and then around March or so started talking more. At the time, I was dating someone else, but realized that I kept thinking more and more of him. I broke up with the guy I was dating after final exams, and we started dating in May. Less than a week later we were engaged. By August we were married. I feel in some ways that I've known him my entire life, and he's the best friend I've ever had. He's wickedly funny, the most brilliant man I've ever met, and just a genuinely good, honest person.

Millie asked what I like to read. As I scratch my head and realize she means something other than blogs, I guess I'd have to say my favorites are: The Unbearable Lightness of Being (Milan Kundera), Even Cowgirls Get the Blues (Tom Robbins), One Hundred Years of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez), Oranges are Not the Only Fruit (as well as Written on the Body and Sexing the Cherry) (Jeanette Winterson), hmmm.... also a big fan of poetry - e e cummings, Sylvia Plath, Amy Lowell, Rita Dove, etc. I love to read, but just haven't alloted much time to it lately.

Dee asked if I like my new midwestern locale better than my old one, and whether I will ever return to Texas for good. In some ways, yes. I do love where I'm at now better than Miami. The housing market is much more affordable, the people are genuinely nice (I've been here three months now and haven't had anything stolen, a definite improvement from Miami), the weather is seasonal (although the jury is still out on that one), and I am entralled right now with seeing the leaves change. The neighborhoods are full of charm and I'm also in love with having a basement. I horribly miss the beach though, and palm trees, and last night Michael had to bring in all the plants because there was a freeze warning. I also miss black beans and plantains and Too Jays' Killer Cake. And yes, I still obsessively check on those of you in Florida whenever a hurricane is near. I doubt that I'd ever move to Texas (all of my family is there) but I think I'm pretty content where we are right now. Of course, ask me that again in January, and I may have a different answer.

So there you have it. Ask and ye shall receive.

Temporary interruption to your reguarly scheduled snark

2005-10-20T09:50:00.000-04:00

We apologize for this temporary interruption to your regularly scheduled snark.

First, a few housekeeping note: 1) keep posting on the previous entry. I love getting to see who you all are. (Yes, yes, I admit I'm a comment whore.)

Second, I'm going to try to consolidate all the answers to your questions in my next "real" post.

However, I just had to interrupt with this breaking news story - apparently all the money we're spending on ART is a joke, and we need to just get a bunch of us together and pay David Copperfield to "magic" us pregnant. I mean, that sounds like a completely plausible plan, no?

http://www.ananova.com/news/story/sm_1577408.html

Getting to know you, getting to know all about you...

2005-10-19T11:18:00.000-04:00

Or me, as the case may be.

Given the amount of traffic I have on a daily basis, I'm surprised that I don't have more people commenting. Don't get me wrong, I love that you all visit, but I'd like to get to know you a little better, and find out what it is that brings you back. Maybe it's the Texas girl in me, but why don't you guys bring up a chair, and I'll pour some lemonade (or something stronger if you'd like).

So, as I routinely do from time to time, I'm going to ask (and no, if you don't want to - obviously you don't have to... you're still welcome to lurk) those of you who are occasional or frequent readers to just pop in and say hi. Tell me how you found me, what you enjoy reading, what you wish I would change... etc. etc.

And yes, taking that initial step from lurkdom to commentor seems kind of scary at first, but trust me - that's how I've been able to find such a wonderful support system via blogland. At first I worried, what if I say something stupid? What if I offend someone? What if they don't like me? The best relationships (friendship and romantic) are those built on long conversations I think. So rest assured, it's o.k. to disagree with me, provided you do so civilly of course.

And whether you're a frequent or occasional commentor or a lurker, if there's something you want to know about me feel free to ask away. The floor is yours, and I'll try to answer it all in my next post.

Not so much.

2005-10-18T14:50:00.000-04:00

Should I have a little girl, rest assured that she will not be receiving this.

http://www.poshtots.com/catalog/1355/927/product_detail.asp

$47,000, not including linens of course.

Now, don't get me wrong, it's beautiful. But somehow I think that buying your child a $47,000 bed may be setting expectations a wee bit high.