Life Family and the Pursuit of Sanity

or… adventures in infertility and babies and family drama!

I’m Baaaack! July 31, 2009

Filed under: Femara Round 1 — arminta @ 1:51 pm

I’m Baaaaack in the stirrups aga-i-n.

I’m Baaaack!

 

Right-o, gay attempt at converting ACDC to Blog’lish. Point, I kept my date with the dildo cam this morning. It is so nice to be wanded on ones way to work. I was starting to miss my weekly ultrasonographic dildo’ing. OK, that may be taking the joke too far.

 

So, the verdict?

Lining: Thick (but not Thicke), luscious, triple lined perfection

Mrs Right: 6-8 follibuds (that’s what I call them…)

Ms. Left: 4-6 follibuds

No cysts, no growths, no problems.

 

** Note: I do not know how one of my ovaries got married, or to whom/what she is married. This was news to me as well, but she does insist on her proper title, or she will punish me severely once stimulated.

 

So, we’re all systems go. Femara starts tomorrow and the Ovidrel is inbound from Freedom Fertility (way cheapest place for Ovidrel, BTW, literally they charge 1/2 of what the pharmacies in my area are charging).

 

So, yay? Kind of. I’m feeling rather ambivalent at this point. I mean, I dropped like $300 bucks today on this cycle (drugs, u/s, blood work, etc…) so should I be feeling more pumped? or something?

 

Mostly I feel scared. I’m scared of getting pregnant again, and scared of NOT getting pregnant again and scared of being the broad with six pregnancies and no babies. And scared of becoming a total infertility whore. (Or would it be infertility john? I’m the one paying $156 bucks for someone to stick a camera up my hoo-ha.) I’m scared that infertility will eventually destroy my marriage. I’m scared that this cycle will result in something other than a live baybee. And, I still have that insanely small (like .0000001%) normal part of me that is a little scared that it will.

 

Why couldn’t I have just gotten knocked up in high school, and… oh wait, I did. FUCK

 

This is so fucking hard.

 

I.am.drained.

 

That the goodness G and my Mom have a date tonight, so I can chillz by m’lonesome and get my rest on.

 

Obsession July 30, 2009

Filed under: Femara Round 1 — arminta @ 11:51 am

I am an obsessive planner/list maker. I’m much better at planning and list making than doing. Don’t get me wrong, now, once I have a list, I will do. I’m just better at making the list. I enjoy it more. If there were a job that involved planning and making lists, for other people to follow, that would be the job for me. OK, I’m sure there are many jobs that follow that basic premise, I haven’t really researched it. I love making grocery lists, and meal plans (but I hate shopping and while I LOVE to cook, I don’t like “meal prep”). I especially love making decision charts.

 

I.am.dork.

 

When we bought the pug known as Emma the Cover & Pillow hog I made all kinds of lists and decision charts to determine the best size, the best breed, the best <enter criteria here & I made a freaking chart> in order to make sure that this 15+ year commitment was being made with all the possible bases covered. I was not going to be hoodwinked by some cute puppy in the window, no ma’am (I’m assuming a largely female readership). I was going to get the best fit for our current and planned family. I was going to get a dog that was not only attractive and filled the “I need a baby now!” void, but also would be good with said children once they materialized, and would also play nice with Big C and his prospective sibs. I was looking for the holy grail of dogs and was going to research the shit out of the subject until I found it. I was a woman obsessed.

 

** Tangent Alert ** Fat lot of good it did me. I ended up with everything I wanted. She’s cute, she’s great with the kids, she’s cuddly. She’s a dominate little bitch that hogs my covies, barks at anything in her field of vision, chases the cat (for funsies, never to hurt her) and understands plain English but refuses to obey unless there is threat of loss of life or temptation of treat as a result. She does meet every criteria I researched. The flaw was my research. I thought a wanted a smart dog (she’s smart, just stubborn), but what I really wanted was an obidient dog. I thought I wanted a people lover, but I should have been looking for a people pleaser. You live you learn. My point was not to rant on the puggins. As I’ve said many times, she drives me nuts, but I wouldn’t be without her. Especially not at times like these. I wish I had a little more control over her, but I loves my pugs and can’t really complain.

 

My point before going off into tangent land… I obsess. A. Lot. And I’ve been obsessing a lot today. To cycle or not to cycle that is the question. Is it the right time? Have I waited long enough? Am I ready? Should I drop the cash on disappointment so close to vacation, or spend it on lakeside booze? So, I broke out my trusty decision chart.

 

In case you missed that earlier… I.Am.Dork.

 

My decision chart is leaning ever so slightly towards the cycle side of the argument. Which isn’t surprising, because it’s what I want. I guess I just wanted something logical to tell me it was OK to want it. So, to put an end to the back and forth in my head, I called and made the appointment for my baseline u/s and blood work.

 

Tomorrow at 8am, I am offcially back in the stirrups. Yikes! I hate when they sched the u’s for the heaviest day of flow (way TMI, and I’m sorry).

 

So, because I need to make lists and my anxiety is nowhere near quelled by making the appt:

 – This cycle I will not focus on the past. This is a new protocol, new hope, and hopefully new baby. The past does not apply

 – That said, I will not get too attached. If I do get pregnant, I will nickname, I will post updates here, I will keep up with devlopment. I will NOT send weekly updates to my RL friends/family, I will NOT buy anything until 24 weeks, I will NOT obsess over every symptom or lack there of, I will NOT obsess myself into a panic every other day, I will NOT allow myself to think past today.

 – I will focus on what I can do, and I WILL push out the rest. That may come in the form of list making.

 

All I can do is:

1) Take care of myself (nutrition, rest, relaxation, exercise)

2) Follow my protocol

3) Focus on things within my control.

 

Lastly, the MIL will not be a part of this cycle/pregnancy. I tried to make peace with her last time, and I still feel that the stress she provided was part of what killed my BB. I’m cutting her out like the cancer she is. Until my baby is safely in my arms, she does not exist.

 

But Grrr the Cramps

Filed under: Femara Round 1 — arminta @ 9:37 am

I am of the opinion that one should not have to face illness and a period at the same time. My body is of the opinion that it doesn’t give a shit what I think. So there you has it, I have the flu and cramps. And, I had to come into work today. (And, I know I shouldn’t start sentences with the word “and” but that is how I speak, as jacked up as it is.)

On the way to work this morning G and I set about finishing our discussion from Sunday (he picked me up on Monday, so my car was here), and decided to go ahead and make this a treatment cycle. Nothing like deciding at the last possible minute. I guess that’s one of the benefits of our relatively inexpensive (as these things go, I’ll still not call $500 a cycle “inexpensive” overall, but it kicks the shit out of $10k a cycle) treatment protocol.

** Tangent Alert ** When we first started trying way back whensies, I remember being appalled by the price of OPK’s & HPT’s. I thought $50 a month was big money “just to get pregnant.” It’s amazing what a little perspective does to the baby making budget.

Anyway, so we’re a stimming this cycle with Femara. I haven’t used it before. I hear the response is similar to Clomid, but without the damaged lining and reduced CM. Anyone else out there got a Femara story?

 

Fevers Are No Fun July 28, 2009

Filed under: Marriage — arminta @ 11:03 am

or… Flugate 2009 Update

I’m still sick. Obviously, right? It’s been less than 48 hours after all. I was hoping to miraculously wake feeling better. Instead, I awoke in a puddle of sweat, shivering and needing to make a quick run to the potty. Unfortunately, with RA there is no such thing as quick in the first hour after awaking, Boo! I made it to the potty in time, but just barely… Sorry for the TMI, but I figured someone needed to share in my embarrassment and misery.

Anyway… G did come get me from work yesterday. And it’s a good thing he did. I passed out in the truck before we even got to the freeway. He also apologized for being such a douche on Sunday, and got me some soup and OJ and took care of me all night. So that was sweet. I guess things are supposed to be better now. Don’t get me wrong, they are, but also I wish I had been able to express my feelings a little more clearly. Then again maybe it’s better that I couldn’t. Just ignore me, this is mostly the fever talking now.

Speaking of fevers and needing to sleep… who the H mows their lawn at 11am on a Tuesday? I’m trying to go back to bed here.

 

Flugate 2009 July 27, 2009

Filed under: Marriage — arminta @ 4:13 pm

I called. He’s coming. Neither of us sounds happy about it.

On the other hand… sleep is coming.

 

The Flu: I Haz It

Filed under: Blueberry Bean,Marriage,Miscarriage — arminta @ 2:33 pm

But for real, I’m sickers. For some reason I felt well enough in the shower to delude myself into thinking that I should come to work anyway. Bad plan. I am way too sick. I think when your fever gives you chills in an 80 degree office (don’t ask, cheap boss), you’re too sick to be at work. I really want to call G and have him come get me, but I can’t.

Not because he can’t or won’t. Because I’m to prideful. See we’ve been fighting again. Infertility is taking a toll on us. G is the hold it in and blow up about something else type and I’m the let’s talk it out type. On Sunday I wanted to talk, he wanted to blow up. The problem with that is that he doesn’t see this from my side AT ALL.

The specific argument was regarding surrogacy. At one point my Sister was going to carry for us, using her eggs & good ol’ fashioned turkey baster IUI’s. Obviously, NOT my first choice, but it would be as close to a biological child as we could get without IVF. I would be able to go to the pre-natal appointments and we would find a way to be OK with it. Of course, this was before my sister lost her f’ing mind and I found out how she treated her body while pregnant. So, anyway, flash forward five years, we’re back to talking about surrogacy. Because my body is failing him and failing our children. Because I am broken. He’s captain super sperm, there’s nothing stopping his gene pool from continuing, except his choice to remain married to me.

So, we’re discussing surrogacy, because another friend has offered to carry and donate eggs if needed. Very sweet girl. Very sweet offer. Just one, I’m not ready to consider. For the same reasons I’m not ready to consider adoption. I’m not ready to give up on me. But, my husband, it would seem, is.

He stated that in taking this friend up on her offer, “at least his part would be there.” Now, I’m sure he didn’t mean it the way I took it. I’m sure he wasn’t saying “because that’s the part that’s important.” I know he didn’t mean “just because you’re a genetic dead end, doesn’t mean I have to be.” But, that is what I heard. That is what broke my heart.

Naturally, I ran to my mother and cried for four hours and refused to take his calls. I saw no other option. She defended him endlessly, and reassured that of course he didn’t mean the things I was thinking, he was just a man and had no idea how badly he’d hurt me. (G & my Mother are in love with each other) 

So, back to today. I’m sick. Realistically, too sick to drive. With a spiking fever (alternating chills and sweats) and a sore throat. All I want is for my hubs to come rescue me. To love me enough to come take care of me, but my heart is broken, and I’m too prideful to call and ask.

 

This is not my real life July 24, 2009

Filed under: Blueberry Bean,Miscarriage — arminta @ 3:53 pm

There was a time when I enjoyed working 80 hours a week. I felt invigorated by my projects. Work was important to me. It wasn’t the most important thing to me, and it wasn’t something that I had planned on being important to me, but it was. I was happy it, then, too.

 

As time has progressed, though, work has become less important to me and I enjoy it less. My priorities have shifted. I have gone from loving work, to working because I have to, to hating work. There are many factors at play here. For starters when I was at my all time job happiest, I was severly underpaid (like 100%), but I was working on a project that I enjoyed and challenged me and with poeple that I enjoyed. I enjoyed them so much that we have remained friends long after the project was completed. I have made several moves since then, mostly for money. Some have been better than others. But one thing has remained consistent, each move has brought me a little closer to being ready to “retire.”

 

See, each time I moved jobs the plan was “just until I got pregnant” or “just until maternity leave.” These were never places I intended to stay long, just until my real life started. The quality of my work has shown this through the years as well. When I worked for me, for the challenge, my work was brilliant. Now, it is mediocre. I try to better, but it just isn’t in me. I really don’t care.

 

I care. I want to do well and have good references. I don’t want to be bad. But, at the end of the day, this is not my real life. This is not the life I’m living for. This is not where I’m meant to be. It’s just where I’m hanging out until my bus comes. My bus is just late.

 

Sometimes I miss her, though, the 23 year old girl who was going to streamline a manufacturing company. She was spunky and cool and smart. She drank too much, flirted way too much and partied too late, and still made it into the office on time. She was happy. She had so many options and paths. Every now and then I speak with someone who knew her and it dawns on me that I was her. And they think I still am. But, I’m not. She’s gone and she isn’t coming back. She’s been replaced by an unhealthy 30 year old (well, in *gasp* 5 months) bitter old bitch who just wishes that her bus would hurry up and fucking get here so she could quit her lousy job and be happy.