So? How about that local Sports Team!? Thursday, Jul 23 2009 

…and my, my, isn’t this an awful lot of weather we’re having?

Karen, here, in for Barren.  I thought maybe I could distract you from the beta news with talk of the weather.  But the weather here sucks, which, unfortunately, goes along rather well with the suckitude that is the news that I got from Barren today regarding her (negative) beta.  I can only hope that the weather is better where she is, and that she’s busy drowning her sorrows in the bottom of a bottle of vodka or tequila or whatever strikes her fancy right now.

I went out with her last night and had a good time with her, as always.  I wish either of us had had more optimism about our own futures with regards to treatments, especially her.  She was a bundle of optimism for me, though, which was much appreciated, but punctuated by the heartwrenching knowledge that she didn’t hold out the same hope for herself.    I even had the opportunity to peer at her collection of pee sticks and I could have sworn there was a second line on one of them… but… then I remembered that I see double.

It was worth a shot, right?

Well, the silver lining is that I think I’ve stocked Barren with enough Follistim to get through her next cycle.  It’s the least I can do, because she’s been my lifeline the last few months.  I don’t know what I’d do without her.

Advertisements and pleather Wednesday, Jul 22 2009 

Long ago I used to derive pleasure from the items that came into contact with my lady parts. Now, I consider it a win if in exchange for dropping my pants and saying hello to the camera dildo I’m able to score an ultrasound showing a follicle for my refrigerator, and I think I deserve applause when I manage to get the tucked behind my fem.ring in such a way as to minimize leakage. I feel like my vagina is the no fun zone.  I’m worried I’m becoming the no fun zone.

Instead of thinking about sex, last night I had a dream about a chocolate donut. It started with fantasies of a perfect chocolate cupcake with white icing and baked in chocolate chips. The baked goods ideal evolved as I rested in bed watching the clock tick tock past 11, 12, 1 and too many other numbers. At somepoint during my eventual slumber the cupcake morphed into a Starb.ucks chocolate donut. Apparently even my pastry dreams go slummin’. This morning, unable to concentrate on briefing papers, phone calls, or plans for this evening, I took a donut recess from work and gleefully sauntered off to the ‘buck, sure that this donut would be the answer to my crappy outlook and cranky attitude. I bounced into the store eager to receive the treat.

No chocolate donuts. I asked the surly woman behind the counter. Perhaps there were stacks and piles of donuts secretly tucked in the back cooler just waiting for me?

No secret chocolate donuts.

I almost started crying, ordered a drink, and reversed my route- uphill this time, back to home, work obligations, a difficult boss, no HoneyBee (he’s still out of country), a probably unsuccessful cycle, and the weight of the world on my shoulders. And then I saw it….a non-descript luxury car with tinted windows parked illegally in a loading zone-the kind of vehicle often squiring diplomats or middle-aged CEO’s shuttled from very important meeting to more important meeting. The door opened and out stretched a pleather-clad leg, a pleather so tight it straddled the line between pants and  legging status. The head dipped into view, and the plastic pants creature unfolded to full size: a 6+ foot tall 30something  man who looked like a Brooks Brothers model from the waist up proceeded up the street.

And my mood changed. I may be a barren, childless, hormonal wreck, who misses her partner and is feeling quite sorry for herself today, but at least I didn’t lose the bet that man must have lost in order to require him to march up a busy metropolitan street decked out in skin-tight, shiny,  fake leather.

Cheers to you, Pleather Legging Man. Thanks for the laugh.

Ovulate this! Friday, Jul 17 2009 

Well, I ovulated: P4= 16.something. According to my enormous boobs I certainly did.

I’m already on the vag, so I’m covered as it isn’t the best level ever. I’m still not optimistic.

I’ve been a very naughty and selfish blogger. I try to follow; I suck at commenting. Thinking of all of you!

PS-I think most of my commenters have blogs, but not all of your names link back to a blog. If you comment, will you link to your blog so that I can give you some attention?

Stupid bubble fetus, why don’t you exist? Tuesday, Jul 14 2009 

Oh right, hcg is the pregnancy hormone. So, it makes you feel like you are pregnant…with about 250 iu of hcg. Huh. That’s about how barely  pregnant I was in 2008 when I had the chemical/very early mc/whateverthefuckitwas. This is awesome deja vu.

How did I not anticipate this? I’m a smart lady. I triggered a half a dozen times before the pregnant cycle. Infertility obviously made me stupid.

When will we be able to grow babies in actual test tubes like sci fi? I would visit my bubble fetus every day and sit with it for hours. I’d feed it through the umbilical beaker and talk to it. I’d even create an elaborate quiet womb room in what is now the office/guest bedroom.  I’d nurture it and love it and even do lamaze breathing when it was all cooked and ready to be “born”.

Thank you, ma’am Monday, Jul 13 2009 

HoneyBee was supposed to fly home on Wednesday. Thanks to travel delays of the most curious and original fashion he didn’t arrive until 11:00 Friday morning (I kept taking meds Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights).

He texted me at 6:00 am to say that he was making his connection and I should trigger. Due to magical cell phone forces, I did not receive the text. I figured he was still delayed; his phone was off again (as he was on the final leg of the travel nightmare) and after two days of wait and fly, I wasn’t triggering until he gave me the all clear. He called to say he was at Our City airport. I hung up on him, ran to the kitchen, tore off my pants, and triggered. I called him back. He came home, I tore off my pants again, and we had wild monkey sex repeatedly. Fine, I’ll admit it-I never bothered to put my pants back on. I’m lazy like that.

Five hours later he had to leave, as due to scheduling he couldn’t change his return flight. Next time, he has to buy me dinner first. After all of the drama, I even screwed (ha!) up the trigger shot timing. Awesome. This is the lamest excuse for a 2 ww ever.

I know that there is probably some woman somewhere out there that became pregnant under equally, if not more, ridiculous circumstances. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be that woman. I’ll be glad when I can put this behind me and start a new cycle.

Question for the peanut gallery-I don’t remember from my past cycles. When does the ovary pain go away? It is obnoxious and annoying.

Trigger this! Tuesday, Jul 7 2009 

Not looking great. Poor Follie-Only 14.8 this morning. I talked to the nurse and said that I’m happy to keep going if my RE thinks it would make a difference, but if it is time to cut our losses, trigger, and try again next month, I’m ready for that to be the plan. She said she’d talk to the RE and let me know. We played phone tag so I didn’t get my actual e2 reading or have a real conversation to relay his thoughts, but her message said that I’m cleared for Trigger as soon as HoneyBee gets home (hopefully tomorrow). I’ll take meds tonight (and tomorrow if for some reason he isn’t back until Thurs).

monkey tailI guess there is a wild chance in hell that it could mature enough before/due to the trigger shot, but I’m not hopeful. Besides, after  almost 4 weeks of stims and such slow growth, I’m afraid that any resulting baby might have 3 heads or  a prehensile tail. Not a Clown Car pointed out that a prehensile tail could actually be useful, especially since I’m short and need help reaching things, but I digress. I’m no fortune teller, but I predict a negative in approximately 2 weeks.

Is it a good or bad thing that after seeing dozens of photos of monkeys with prehensile tails dressed up in little outfits (with diaper covers,  people sell diaper cover for monkeys, with tail holes. I kid you not. goog.le it.) I sort of want one. Maybe if I stay barren I’ll just get a monkey and pretend it is a baby. That’s totally acceptable, right?

PS-This particular monkey is totally cracking me up. She (he?) looks so ashamed. Is it the outfit? The captivity? Come live with me monkey; I’ll dress you in style!

This is the cycle that never ends, it goes on and on my friends Sunday, Jul 5 2009 

I snarkily named this cycle 79740  for blog organization purposes; little did I know it would be approximately that many days to nurture this follicle to trigger size.   14.5 mm, my Dear Readers. That’s a .5 increase from Friday. The doctor originally did a quick swipe of my pancreas, errr ovaries, and he proclaimed it 11 mm. I sat up, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “It was 14 mm 2 days ago.”

He must deal with crazy, hormonal women for a living because he quickly measured the wider part of the follicle and said, “or, 14.5.”

Happier, but still not victorious, I walked home. I’ve stopped counting how many days of stims. 20? 21? 19? Too many. I’m ready, Follicle. Try for me. Just a few more mm’s. I’ve got an out-of-state good bye party next weekend and I need to get HoneyBee home for some lovin’ and for my sanity. Just 3 or 4 mm’s. Please? If you get a nice e2 rise, I’ll even settle for 2 mm. Your choice.

Sex rx Friday, Jul 3 2009 

ClipArtBigPlaneFreeHoneyBee  has been overseas for weeks on a project that seems to never end. He was supposed to be home more than 3 weeks ago. He consented to this cycle with excitement and many promises that he would be back in time because this project was, “just about to finish up!” Ha!

I sit here with a 14 mm follicle and the sperm is still an ocean away. Given the nature of this contract, he needs special permission to pick up and leave in the middle of the project to come home and attempt to impregnate his partner. The family medical emergency travel excuse  is in place waiting for me to tell him that I’m approved for trigger at which time he’ll fly back for a few days of carnal fun. At least that’s how it is supposed to work. I envision travel logistic hillarity will ensue. It always does.

Yesterday he informed me that I’ll need to get a note from my RE to substantiate his request for a leave.  He giggled as he told me I need to get a prescription for sex for his file. I accused him of making me do this purely for his own ammusement and not for documentation purposes.

I’m trying to find the right balance between protecting my privacy and making it clear that his appearance (errr that’s what the kids call it these days?) is essential.

My suggestion:

Dear HR Person I Don’t Know:

Barren is under my care and her medical condition necessitates that HoneyBee return home for days X-Y.

HoneyBee’s suggestion:

Dear HR Person I Don’t Know:

It is medically necessary that HoneyBee return home for days X-Y to have sex with Barren. A lot of sex. Repeatedly.

Do try this at home, but don’t tell your RE Tuesday, Jun 30 2009 

10 mm

10 mm

For those of you that want to hate on my photog skillz, what you are observing at left is a badly taken photograph of this morning’s sonogram featuring a 10 mm follicle on my left side. To the left of the follicle is what some may call a “flash” but what I would prefer to think of as a halo of light and truth.

In exchange for a copy of  this picture of the follicle, I agreed to share with the nurse  the details of my weekend stint as my very own self-prescribing, protocol-changing, google-educated RE . Apparently, they like to know when you dick around at home with your fertility drugs. Huh?

I was rather proud of my handiwork (see photo at left). She, to her credit, was cool, but she insisted that the information had to be shared with the RE. I reminded her of what Tony Soprano does to informants.

You see, after Saturday’s e2 drop and no-follicles-in-sight-sonogram, I decided, Fuck it. The cycle was as good as dead anyway, so I dropped my Luv.eris all together (fat lot of good that drug did me), and I amped up the Follis.tim by a liiiiiiiiiiiitle bit (and by little bit I mean I didn’t double it, but well, you know).  And volia: my follicle.

Are the two events related? Hard to know. Will this follicle grow and flourish? Ehhh, maybe. Maybe not. I’m not quite ready to crank up the Hope-O-Meter just yet, but if this sucker keeps growing, and if I, dare I say it, make it to trigger! I might just have to admit that theres a little bit of hope left in my cranky meter.

In other news, I’m thinking of starting a bruising contest for both abdomen shots  and blood draws. I think we’ll have to have several divisions. I don’t stand a chance against the blood thinner crew, but I’m sporting a pretty hard-core line on my stomach right now, and I’m getting worried that my coworkers are going to catch me mid-admiration one of these days. That would be super awkward as while I don’t remember it from the handbook, I’m pretty sure I’m expected to keep my pants on and my shirt pulled down while in my cubicle. Who’s in? Post them on your blog and link back, or whatever.

My soul hurts Monday, Jun 29 2009 

This is just so fucking hard.

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