Don't be a jerk. Delurk! (And, Tootsie Rolls)

Ok, well, maybe jerk is a little strong. The problem is that my rhyming skillz are a bit lackluster, and what else rhymes with lurk that fits the sentence?

But Mrs. Higrens asked what everyone could do to make my two weeks go by more quickly. And I could think of a lot of things:

1. Send money. For shoes.
2. Send cookies. For nom nom nom, Cookie Monster Style.
3. Send nachos. For obvious reasons.
4. Send comments. Delurk. Make your self known, and whatnot.

It seems like # 4 is most realistic, no? (Now anyone compelled to comply with 1 - 3 should go for it.)

I know people are reading...but not posting comments. So leave me a comment! Tell me how you got here. Or what you're infertility situation is. Or hell, tell me you love me and want to marry me!

That would make me feel better.

Now, on to other things. (Other things being me, making an ass of myself and totally oversharing.)

I feel really shit-tay today. I was suffering through work, and I skipped class tonight because I couldn't see getting through it without falling asleep. Or without having my abdomen explode and covering everyone in follicle goo.

Back when I was still seeing Dr. Fabulous, I went to their required IVF informational meeting. It was...informational? Yes. It was.

The speaker at the meeting said something that didn't mean much to me at the time, but hit me like a ton of bricks today. Apparently, when you normally ovulate, your ovaries are the size of the tip of your thumb. And, apparently, when you're stimming for IVF, your ovaries become the size of your FISTS.

And really, that seems appropriate. Because before I remembered that, I was almost thinking that there was some sort of mini-hulk taking lodge in my abdomen. Making me bloated and punching me right in the ovaries (Right in the babymaker, if you will).

I keep wondering if it is the size of your own fists, or the size of, say...the fists of Arsenio Hall? Because my fists are not impressive because I have freakishly small hands. Carnie Hands. (Not! that there's anything wrong with being a carnie...)

Yesterday when I went for my super pleasant and painless ultrasound, my ovaries looked all cattywhompus. There were so many follicles, that instead of being round, they were kind of square? I guess they were more rectangular. Dr. Goldfarb called them oblong.

I think they looked like Tootsie Rolls.



I've never been a huge fan of Tootsie Rolls. I think they're a piss poor excuse for chocolate. Impostors! Plus, they make my jaw all hurty when I eat them.

But ever since yesterday, I've been really hungry for a damn Tootsie Roll.

Killing Me Softly…With the Wand…

Today I had another check-up and I got some very much fabulous news:

Trigger is TONIGHT! Egg Retrieval is TUESDAY!

Am EXCITED – EXCLAMATION POINT!

My estrogen level was 2909, I had tons of big follies, and so now I'm done with stims and moving on to the next phase of this madness.

There were no run-ins with Teeny McShortarms today, as Dr. Goldfarb, himself, in the flesh, did my bloodwork and ultrasound. And you know what? He was a little rough with the wand during the ultrasound!

First of all, I'm fairly certain he didn't use much lube on the wand. Not cool. It hurt really bad going in.

Second, he gets the wand in, and starts flinging it around like a fairy princess! He goes, "Here's your left ovary, uterus, right ovary." Moving the wand to all three just as quickly as he was saying the words. So I'm all "Uh huh" but in my mind I'm all "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I know where they are GAWD OUCH!"

I forgave him when he said my uterine lining was beautiful and my estrogen level was fantastic. What can I say? He knows how to cut to the heart of me.

Another exciting thing is that my new friend Katie will be doing her trigger tonight and her ER Tuesday. So I'll have company in my 2 week wait misery! YAY KATIE!

I would love to bore entertain you with more pointless details, but I've got a TON of school work to do.

More about my hairy legs and underwear.

Where on earth is this blog headed? I'm completely fixated on underwear and leg hair and pretty much ignoring the fact that I'M DOING IVF!

IVF = BIG DEAL

UNDERWEAR AND LEG HAIR = NOT SO MUCH

But still. Let me tell you about my leg hair and underwear.

Today I broke down and shaved my legs. I wasn't sure if they would be willing to do an ultrasound on a sasquatch, and I really wanted to get my ultrasound so I figured I would take one for the team and get up 15 minutes early (yep, that hairy). And guess what? It was the best decision I've ever made in my entire life. Because guess who was doing ultrasounds again today?

Yep: Teeny McShortarms.

Today, Teeny McShortarms got on my bad side a little bit, and I was kind of wishing that I had NOT shaved my legs, because that would've really shown her. First off, Teeny McShortarms took me back into the ultrasound room and made me go pee. I know to you it doesn't sound like that big of a deal, but to me it was because surprise! I find really stupid things to be a really big deal.

I hate peeing when people can hear me. HATE it. This means that I avoid peeing in public restrooms unless it is an emergency, and if I must, I find the stall that is the farthest away from anyone else peeing in the same bathroom. I am so lucky at work right now because our floor is empty except for our office, so we practically have a private bathroom. I even keep my tampons in my stall. Keeping my tampons in the bathroom is really convenient because: 1. I work in an office with 7 men, and 2. I have to leave the office and walk ALLLLLLL the way to the other end of the building to go to the restroom. Which means that I have to carry my tampon ALLLLLLL the way down the hall in plain sight of all of the men in the office. No thanks. I value my privacy whilst carrying my tampons and peeing.

(Yes, I realize that I am saying how much I value my privacy at the same time as I talk about my hairy legs, underwear, and vagina. Believe me, the irony is not lost. Am walking contradiction.)

Given my hate for public peeing, I always go to the restroom down the hall from the infertility suite before I check in so that I can pee in peace. (peece, if you will) About 10 minutes pass between my peece and my date with the ultrasound wand. Logically, 10 minutes is not long enough to make generate new pee. It's just not!

Teeny McShortarms was having none of this logic.

She made me go in the bathroom and go pee, and I literally peed one little drop and then had to wash my hands with the horrible soap that dries out my hands. Annoying. Followed by more annoying leg-rubbage due to the short arm sitch. At least it was Venus smooth for this appointment.

To make matters worse, I wore a dress with no pantyhose today. So I had to shove my underwear in my purse…I had no choice. Then I was weirded out all day that my underwear had touched all my stuff in my purse, and all the stuff in my purse touched my underwear. It was almost like I took everything out of my purse and rubbed it on my crotch. It's really an unattractive thought. Aren't you glad I've shared that thought? I know you are.

After my ultrasound, I went to the waiting room to wait for my consult with the nurse (Sally, my FAVORITE!) and to check Perez on my yummy iPhone. Guess who was in the waiting room? Jennifer A from last Friday's appointment!! Can you guess what happened in the waiting room today? Hmmm…can you?

Well, if you said, "Yes, Jen, you are sadly predictable and I bet you stood up like an asshole when they called Jennifer, and they had to say Jennifer A, and then you had to sit down and feel awkward just like last Friday," then you were right! That happened! Again!

The follies are growing nicely. I have lots and lots of them, average size is about 13mm, and I go back again on Sunday for another ultrasound and bloodwork. I'm really hoping to trigger on Sunday and have ER Tuesday and ET Friday. I think Mark is pretty nervous about the PIO shots. Just Mark, not me…

Don't worry – on Sunday, I will be able to wear jeans (good for underwear hiding) and will have Mark with me to be the safe keeper of the underwear. And I will be able to sleep in until 7 so shaving my legs won't shouldn't be a big deal.

My Ovaries: The Clown Car

Let this be the sequel to My Vagina: The Revolving Door.

I'm considering a trilogy. But I'm running out of orifices* and let's face it, people, I'm afraid of the direction in which we're heading here.

Since a bunch of people emailed me, complaining that I didn't update after my Wednesday bloodwork/ultrasound appointment** I am taking time from my busy, important life to update the Internet.***

Yesterday I had an ultrasound and another round of bloodwork. Lots of really interesting things happened (natch).

First: the important stuff… I went from 4 big follies on Monday, to TEN big follies and lots of small ones on Wednesday. I would make an excellent hen, bitches! You totally never know how many eggs are going to be in there! I bet I'll go back Friday and there will be 50!

 

I have no idea what my e2 level is because to tell you the truth? I'm kind of scared of the nurses. Here's how my follow-up phone call goes:

Me: YELLLLLLLOW?!

Nurse: Hi-this-is-Nurse-from-the-doctors-office-with-your-new-protocol.

Me: OK

Nurse: Do this and don't ask me any questions

Me: OK

Nurse: Do you have any questions?

Me: Um…no?

Nurse: Damn straight

 

I don't know why I am afraid of the nurses. I need to grow up. I mean, I can get blood drawn 4 times in one week, I can deal with Nurse Rushy-Rusherson, right?

Two other problematic things happened at my appointment. Both of them my fault (natch).

Problem #1:
The Underwear. Again.

I am so bloated that I have to wear dresses every day. So bloated, in fact, that I know there are people at work who literally think I am pregnant and are discussing it. I believe it goes something like this: "Boy, Jen has really tanked up lately." "Yea, what a hoss." "Do you think maybe she's been eating a lot of nachos?" "Maybe, I heard she loves nachos. Maybe she's pregnant, too! I mean, she has been married for two years now – she's not getting any younger! Tick tock!"

Back to my point. I am wearing dresses, which means that underneath I am only wearing underoos and pantyhose. This causes a dilemma in the whole underwear-hiding crusade. Pantyhose are see through, so they don't cover up my underwear to my comfort level like a nice pair of pants. I thought about getting a paper towel from above the sink in the ultrasound room to cover up my underwear. But really, isn't that sort of neurotic? Even just thinking about getting a paper towel to cover up your underwear when you will be showing YOUR VAGINA to the ultrasound tech is neurotic. Why do I care? I just do. I'm weird. It's kind of how I roll.

So, another day, another indecent exposure of underwear and vagina.

 

Problem #2: Hairy Legs and Short Arms.

I believe that Winter exists partly to provide me with an excuse to only shave my legs once a week (maybe) and partly to give me an excuse to wear my tall boots with dresses and skirts. So what the hell good is Winter when you have to shave your legs every other day for daily meetings with the dildo cam ultrasound wand? What good, I ask you?

In my ongoing quest to be a rebel without a cause, I did not shave my legs because hello?! I just shaved them Monday, and it is only Wednesday, and it is WINTER people! WINTER!

I figured it would not be a big deal, which should've been the trigger in my mind that it would be a big deal (in my mind anyway). Am a bad judge of what will and will not be a big deal, apparently.

The regular ultrasound lady is on vacation (In Paris. Am jealous) so there are a few different ladies filling in. I've seen a different one every visit, all of them are pretty nice. The lady I saw on Monday was slower than fucking Moses, and made me 15 minutes late for work. The lady yesterday was fast and I was out of there by 7:10 (my appointment was at 7). So, as you can imagine, I was about the ask the Wednesday lady to be my new best friend.

However, I have one slight complaint: her arms are short. NOT that there's anything wrong with that! I'm clocking in at 5 foot nothing, and my legs are as long as most people's arms, so I am down with the vertically challenged. So the problem with the short arms is that it interfered with my plan to get away with not shaving my legs.

My plan was foiled, Scooby Doo style.

Since her arms were short, she was rubbing against my HAIRY ASS leg while moving the wand around and looking at the ultrasound screen. I'm sure she came away with severe gashes on her right arm. Because seriously, I could've used a shave. Lesson learned (maybe. Unless I want to sleep in next time…).

 

I can't wait to see how my clowncar ovaries are looking tomorrow! It would be so fun if I got to trigger. But I seriously doubt it.

 

*Right? What the hell is the plural of orifice? Whatever.

**I made that up.

***I actually took time from sitting on my ass and watching Scrubs reruns. "Busy" and "Important" are relative terms, I think.

Easter Misunderstanding to Beat All Easter Misunderstandings.

Easter was pretty uneventful, save one thing.

(Unless you think that my eating so much that I gained 4 pounds in two days is eventful. Then a lot happened. A lot of eating. Not a lot of moving. Am fat glutton. Want cookie...send diet pills...)

Have you ever had someone say something to you that sounded inappropriate, but wasn't, but you thought it was because you weren't following their train of thought? I have had that happen a lot, probably because I have a strange thought pattern, but still. I had a doozie of a moment with my brother-in-law on Easter.

I'm going into the kitchen to throw away my plate, and my brother-in-law says:

"So Jen, all I really want to know is, has he gone down on you yet?"

And the room is quiet. You could hear a mouse fart at this point, so the sound of my jaw hitting the floor could be compared to the sound of a 400 pound man falling off the toilet. There is a random giggle from somewhere in the peanut gallery as I try to come up with an answer to this, this, this...question.

I mean seriously. Who says that? I don't even know what my face looked like, but all I was thinking was "ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod...what? ew... ohmygod ohmygod"

Then after what seemed like an eternity, he follows up with, "THE NEEDLES! THE NEEDLES!"

And finally I get what he's saying! He's not asking an inappropriate sexual question in front of my 80 year-old grandma-in-law! He's asking if Mark has gone down/passed out/bit the big one! *whew*

Of course Mark knew what his brother was saying, because they just had a phone conversation a few days before, and Mark was telling him that he thought he would pass out when giving me the PIO shot, blah blah blah.

And of course Mark was too busy eating cinnamon rolls and laughing his ass off during this whole scenario to end my pain and suffering, because look! My wife thinks my brother is asking her if I go down on her! So much hilariousness...and so much cinnamon goodness...!

So that was funny, and remained to be funny for the rest of the three hours we spent there. I'm quite positive it will go down in the "STORIES WE MUST TELL AT EVERY GATHERING" list.

In fertility news, I had another round of bloodwork and ultrasounds today. Things are progressing...fine, I guess? I can only assume, because I was herded through with the rest of the infertile cattle and told to keep taking 5 units of Lupron and 225 of Follistim and come back on Wednesday. Moo.

So begins the every-other-day bloodwork and ultrasound, I suppose! I just do what I'm told.

More unnecessary details about my ultrasound appointment.

So…I was the asshole who showed up at 6:45 a.m. while they were still turning on the lights. I mean, I don't want to get on anyone's bad side, but I figure they have so many patients that they won't even remember who I am. Right? Whatever – knock me up and I won't have to come early anymore! Impregnate me and you will have peace and quiet until 7 a.m.!

I'm glad I got there early, because I was the first one back. And when I came out to wait between bloodwork and ultrasound there were at least 10 couples waiting. I hope they don't catch on to the 6:45 trick (if you're reading, don't steal my early-morning thunder).

At my old RE, they would call the couple by the woman's name, so I'd be Jennifer K. Which seems stupid, but seriously, I think every woman who birthed a girl in the 80's was required to use the name JENNIFER, and now all of the infertile Jennifer's are all up in the waiting rooms at the same time as me! And at Goldfarb's office, they just call by first name. So Friday was the second time I went in, and they called Jennifer, and two of us stood up, then the nurse had to frantically flip the file around and say: Jennifer A. Which is funny, because my maiden name started with A and so I was THIS close to making the lady give out more info to the entire waiting room. But since I went and got married she didn't have to. I just stood up like an asshole when it wasn't my turn. No. Big. Deal.

I didn't pass out during bloodwork (I need to quit pointing that out, but still! Praise me! I didn't pass out and I want my props!) but the nurse did whatever it is that they do to make a big ass bruise immediately. And today the bruise is huge and black, and it HURTS like a mother.

I only had to wait about 5 minutes to go back again for the ultrasound. For some reason I was the Nervous-Chatty-Kathy version of Jen at the appointment, and couldn't stop talking! I think the nurse wanted to hoagie slap me with the ultrasound wand because nobody wants to talk to Nervous-Chatty-Kathy at 6:45 a.m. The problem was that I really wanted to start stims Friday, so I was really anxious about the results of the ultrasound.

So anxious, in fact, that I forgot to hide my underwear! Ack! I was scooting down on the table and already in the stirrups when I looked to my left and saw the horror of all horrors! Undies right on top of the clothing pile! This is the most ridiculous notion, and I know everyone does it – hiding your underwear from the gynecologist and/or RE. You're in the stirrups showing it ALL, but gawd forbid you don't hide your freaking underwear because that would be indecent. I wonder if they care? Like, if they mark on your chart: WHORE, FORGOT TO HIDE UNDERWEAR.

The ultrasound room was really cool. They have a screen for you to watch the ultrasound. It contributed to the chattyness problem I was having because I was all, "That is so cool even though I don't know what I'm looking at do I have any cysts please punch me so I'll stop talking." She pointed out all the follicles as she counted them and told me what each thing was, so it was really neat to be able to see it.

Don't get too excited, BUT! I go back for another bloodwork and ultrasound appointment tomorrow morning, and I'll surely have many pointless details to post and I will turn few words into way too many.

I can't wait to see how the follies are growing!!

Quickie Update

Had my suppression check today, and I'm officially growing my own Easter Eggs! (I prefer Reester Eggs, because peanutbutter.)

Lining was good, 16 antral follicles, no cysts, blodwork normal.

Lupron goes down from 10 units to 5, and starting 225 iu Follistim.

Next ultrasound is Monday.

More amusing post will follow...probably.

0 w 0 d

Using my "best case scenario" from the nurse, if ER is 4/2, then today, I am 0 weeks 0 days pregnant.*

Which means tomorrow, I will be 1 day pregnant.

Yes, I am accepting gifts. Thank you for asking.

*http://www.ivf.ca/calcu.htm

March 18, 2006

It was a good day.

Dear Tylenol,

Today I was really feeling like crap. I was feeling like crap not only because I'm giving myself daily injections of Lupron, but also because I got my period. I was crampy and exhausted and feeling the beginnings of a migraine. That's when I gave you the opportunity to be the hero and save the day but NO! You did not save the day.

Now, Tylenol, I would never normally buy you and waste my time with taking you. But apparently you are the only pain reliever that I can take during my month-long IVF party. So I gave you a try because I was in pain and was seduced by your promises of pain relief and fever reducing. You liar.

Let me share some of my thoughts on you, Tylenol, in list form:

• Acetaminophen? Hmph. More like Ashitaminophen.
  
• Tylenol, don't quit your day job.
  
• Hey Tylenol! You suck at life and your ass looks fat.
  
• Tylenol: I fart in your general direction.
  
• Suck it, Tylenol.
  
• I HATE TYLE..zzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
  

 

I'll have you know that I came home, looked at my dirty sexy bottle of Aleve, and cried giant crocodile tears for at least two minutes.

You are a disgrace.

Hate,

Jennifer Knepper

Mediocrity! Coming to a University near you...

As an undergraduate, I was an excellent student. There were very few classes in which I got less than an A.* I would fume and beat myself up over a 92 or 93 because if I didn’t get at least above a 95 then that was basically failure. When my friends in class did better than me, by even a point, I would be so pissed because I am clearly better than you! And I want it in writing on paper in the form of numbers!

I would be “that” person in a group project who would gladly volunteer to do the lion’s share of the work. Because if you wanted a job done right, you had to do it yourself. Will I edit your portion of the paper? Sure! Can I work all weekend on making some graphs to include? No problem! Will I go to your class and pretend I’m you and take your management test? Maybe, let me check my schedule!**

At graduation in 2002, a person in my marketing group came up to us and told my parents that I was the reason he graduated, because he had a D in our marketing class and the paper we (read: I) wrote earned us the 100% that bumped him up to a C and allowed him to graduate.***

Now it’s 2008, and I’m not the same person I used to be. Mediocrity is my BFF, and my motto is “B’s get Degrees!” I am “that” person in the group who is more than willing to let the overachiever revise my paper just as long as I can get by with the least amount of work possible.

Last night, I got my auditing test back and I got an 80. And you know what? I was THRILLED! Because I didn’t study (or even read) any of the four chapters on the test until the two days before. And also, I was feeling completely sick and exhaused from Lupron the day of the test. There were times during the test where I had to stop, rest my eyes, then restart. I had to read the long questions 2 or 3 times because I would get done and not remember what I read. It’s safe to say I was struggling to get through the test without turning it in covered in drool.

My graduate record started off stellar, but went seriously downhill in the past year.**** I just can’t bring myself to focus most of the time, which sucks because it makes me stressed out at test time because I have to cram like crazy to take a test. I try to read on my lunch breaks or after work and before class, but I find my mind wandering from Accounting and Auditing to Lupron and Follistim. (Sometimes I also think about Thin Mints and wonder why no Girl Scouts live near me.)

The good news is that I only have 8 more weeks of classes, 4 more tests, 1 term paper, and 9 assignments until summer break. Then two more classes in the fall, then GRADUATION!*****

On a side note, sometimes I write my posts at work then save them to disk and just copy and paste onto blogger. I just realized that I left my disk in the computer at school the last time I did that. Guess which post was the only file saved on the disk?

My Vagina: The Revolving Door. HA!


*Except for my sophomore year, in which I got zero A’s but did manage to make it to the bar 6 days a week. Totally worth it, and I wouldn’t trade that year for anything!
** I never did that.
***He was proof that ANYONE can get a college degree. Truly.
**** By downhill, I mean B’s with a few A’s. Am dramatic.
*****Then probably 2-3 more years in my same job because I N

Good Times Over the Weekend

Or: Lupron + PMS = The Perfect Storm

I don’t know where you all live, but in Ohio, we had a fucking blizzard. Not just a blizzard. A fucking blizzard. All told, I think we got about 12 – 15 inches, but I didn’t go out there with mah measurin’ stick or anything.

Now, in my part of Ohio, every weekend the weather forecast is something like, “2 – 20 inches of snow and mostly cloudy. Bend over.” And usually, we get about 3 inches and it’s totally not a big deal because WE LIVE IN OHIO! We are badass! We are used to crappy weather from October until May and we deal with it because it’s cheap to live in Ohio, so suck it, California!

I love snow, until about March, then I’m over it. I think snow is beautiful and I have no interest in living in an area where there is never snow. I also love weekends where I can lay on my ass and eat nonstop because I have no choice – it’s a fucking blizzard outside! So, Friday and Saturday were just peachy and I enjoyed the cabin feverishness of it all.

Sunday, the shit hit the fan.

I don’t know if it’s the Lupron, or just your run of the mill PMS (AF due Wednesdayish). But there was Rage, people. Pure, unadulterated RAGE (and Loathing, if you saw Wicked). Two particular Rage incidents occurred and I will share them with you, because I love to air my dirty laundry to the entire Internet.

Incident 1: Some asshole had a baby.

OK, not just some asshole, but my cousin. She went into labor with her second baby since we started trying. (You see where this is going, don’t you Internet?) Maybe it’s not fair to call my cousin an asshole. I could go back and delete, but meh. Too much work.

It gets a little sticky here because this blog is “public” and I’ve given the link to some of my family. As I’ve metioned before, they don’t read this blog often (if ever). So when my family pisses me off, do I post it? Do I not? The dramz.

The Rage made it’s first appearance when my mom called to follow up on the email she sent me to let me know that my cousin was in labor. Email? Fine. I can have my private reaction and nobody knows about the Rage. No problem. Phone call? Not so much fine, because: 1.) I am not at a place in my life where I can be expected to have an appropriate response to such news, and 2.) WTF?, and 3.) the Rage! Oh, the Rage!

Let me replay this for you:

*Sex and the City Ringtone*

Jen: Hello?

Mom: Hey! Did you get my email?

Jen: Yes, I did.

Mom: OK, good. I just wanted to let you know.

Jen: Yes, I now know.

Mom: Well, I just want to make sure you’re sending out good vibes to Cousin.

Jen: What? (seriously, I thought I didn’t hear her)

Mom: Good VIBES. You know, you always feel sorry for someone who has to give birth, so we need to send out good vibes.

Jen: I don’t feel sorry for people giving birth. She’ll get an epidural. She’ll live. She has two kids now, so no, I don’t feel sorry at all.

Mom: OK then. (probably wondered how she raised such a Raging bitch)

Jen: * head spins a full 360 degrees and mouth expels green, pea soup-like substance. Possibly begins to grow horns *


Incident 2: Trying to get some damn chicken at Wal-Mart almost leads to divorce.

Apparently I am a poor planner and also I think meterologists are LIARS because I planned to get groceries on Saturday even though we were supposed to get a fucking blizzard. We needed groceries hard core – we were out of every. thing. We did have toilet paper, so that was good.

Since we couldn’t get out of the driveway on Saturday, this had to wait until Sunday. The day of the Rage. Now I don’t have kids so I can only guess, but I think grocery shopping with Mark would be like grocery shopping with a 4 year old.

First: decision making is not Mark’s thing, so it takes him forever to pick between things. Granola bars? 5 minutes. Deodorant? Bring a snack, it’ll be a while. Etc. Second: while putting things on the belt at the check out, you see that Mark has thrown in about 10 items in some covert mission to fill our house with shit. Example: 97 cent chocolate bunny? Gotta have it. He would be a great contestant on Supermarket Sweep.

Mark is also a conisseur of chicken, particularly chicken fingers. A true, rare expert, especially in the fried or breaded niche. He loves the chicken at Wal-Mart, and in all fairness I love it too because YUM! It smells like heaven near the chicken counter.

Rage struck at the chicken counter.
I won’t put the conversation down for you, but it was ridiculous and I wanted to rip Mark’s face off. And I swear, the Wal-Mart chicken counter worker was giving me the finger. The finger that requires two arms, because you put your fist on your elbow of the hand giving the finger to emphasize the FUCK YOUness of the finger giving.

But there was much indecision and mind changing about the damn chicken. I striaght up walked away and let Mark finish ordering because I couldn’t stand there for one single additional second.

A few minutes later we were waiting to check out, because there were literally 3 lanes open. On a SUNDAY, after a fucking blizzard, at 2 in the afternoon. And I told Mark, “I wonder if it was the Lupron that made me want to rip your face off just now.” And Mark was all, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I told you exactly what I wanted, blah blah blah.”

And this additional conversation made me not only want to rip his face off, but throw it on the ground and maybe pee on it.

Then I changed the subject to Suri Cruise because talking about the Rage only makes the Rage worse, especially when your husband doesn’t understand the Rage. And why should he? I don’t expect him to understand. He’s good about it, too, he just ignores it. That’s the reason we get along so well – he’s just a nicer person than me.

So that was my weekend. I should also mention that my weekend included about 9 hours of studying because I have a test today, so I’m sure that made me irritated and maybe contributed to the Rage because SUCK! I hate school and I want it to be over now now now! Why must you, higher education, be such a bane to my very existence?

I'm off to take this damn test. Hopefully I don't fall into a Lupron induced coma while taking it, because I am all kinds of tired right now.

*edit*
DISCLAIMER: This post is me, making fun of myself for being a Raging hormonal bitch. I should point out three things:

1. No, I don't really think my cousin is an asshole. Of course it is great news that she had her baby.

2. No, I don't think it was wrong for my mom to call and let me know that my cousin was in labor.

3. No, I shouldn't have rushed Mark while he was picking out his chicken. It was a big big decision.

Carry on.

My Vagina: The Revolving Door

I went to my regular gynecologist today because I'm overdue for my pap (should've been in October) and wanted to get it over with before all the "real" poking and prodding begins. I could've done it at my previous RE, but the time he offered to do it, I had just had sex for fun the night before (can you believe it? Nonbabymaking sex!) and was unable to have a pap. Dr. Goldfarb won't do it because they just don't do that.

So there you have it, another doctor taking another look at my very public vagina.

And I know for these doctors, it's all "another day, another cooter," but I'm getting real sick of the stirrups. It used to be a once-a-year thing, and now it's a few-times-a-month-thing. Back in the good old days, I didn't even know that the internal ultrasound wand even existed. I was so innocent back then…

My gynecologist is really nice and I like him. And also, his name is Dr. Fish, which I find to be a perfect name for a person in his profession.

He does have one strike against him: when I was TTC for close to a year and brought up my concerns, he said, "have some wine, light some candles, and just let it happen." At that time, I didn't realize just how annoying that statement was because I really believed that the problem was mine. Maybe my ovaries were pruney? Maybe I just really needed to RELAX! I felt better knowing that Dr. Fish thought that wine and candles would get me knocked up. Solid proof that ignorance is truly bliss.

So when I called to make my appointment and could get in earlier with a nurse practitioner, I decided to just do that. Because I want Dr. Fish to be my OB/GYN if I ever find myself "in trouble" (or pregnant, 60's style), and I know that I would want to say something snarky to him about the wine and candles thing.

Example: "Hey, Dr. Fish, I am now an alcoholic and my house burned down one night while I was drunk and forgot to blow out those romantic baby-making candles. And also, am not pregnant! How on earth could that be?!"

I find it's best not to burn your bridges with the people who are looking at your vagina, you know? Which is kind of hard, being that I tend to be a bridge-burner, and everyone seems to be getting a good look at my vagina these days.

Oldie but Goodie, I think.

I was reading through my super secret bitching blog entries, and I found this one. It happened over the summer…here it is:

 

Nosy to Epic Proportions:

My neighbor thought it a great idea to ask me when we are planning to have kids. And she would. Not. Drop. It.

After her fifth inquiry (nope, not an exaggeration), clueless mc can'ttakeahintyson got a bitchy response from me.

Clueless: When are you guys going to start this drama (with a suggestive eye rolled toward her two adorable children who were playing in my yard and making my dog pee all over himself)?

Jen: Ohhh...heehee...I don't know! Also, did you guys get your property tax eval in the mail? Because if I can't change the subject right now I may have to hit you with my infertility knowledge which you will. not. like. Plus we have a dog, and he's our baby...

Clueless: Oh well you just can't imagine how great it is to have kids. It's so much more fulfilling than having a puppy! hahaha! Can we come in your house and see your new paint?

Jen: Sure! Blah blah blah, would like to get new carpet because the construction company must have used el cheapo carpet from the Goodwill.

Clueless: Ah, yes, but you will want to wait a few years after you have babies because they seriously mess up your carpet. When are you guys going to start trying?

Jen: What Mark? Oh, yes, sure, let's show them the basement. And we will probably finish this in like 5 years when our assholes heal from the raping we took on the deck and shed.

Clueless: You would love a finished basement when you have kids! Are you trying now, and also, should I just take this switchblade and shove it directly into your heart, or do you prefer eyeball stabs?

Jen: Ummm...uh...well, yes, we will probably need a second living room when we have a family. Shall we go upstairs?

Clueless: Ohhh, this bedroom will make the perfect nursery! When are you going to fill this room with a baby! wink, wink!

UberBitchJen: Well, actually Clueless, we've been trying for almost two years to get pregnant and we're actually having quite the struggle with infertility, so that whole baby thing isn't really going as planned, so....

Clueless: Oh. Well. Um, sorry. About that. So, we're probably going to head back over home now. And, we'll see you...tomorrow? Or sometime.

Jen: Unnnnncomfortable....

Clueless: KIDS! Let's go! We don't want to catch infertility! Ack!

Jen: That'll teach ya. Stupid fertile.

Assault by mail.

You know what's worse than your first IVF shot?

Getting a baby shower invitation on the day of your first IVF shot.

Be Prepared: this is an infertility-fueled rant that will make me seem like a baby and will probably make you not want to read this blog anymore. You've been warned.

So I got an email from this person on ChristmasfuckingEve to announce her pregnancy. From someone I haven't talked to in, oh, 13 months? And never got an email about anything else from this person, ever. But I am on the giant list of people on this email announcing a pregnancy on ChristmasfuckingEve!*

I emailed her back and gave my congratulations, and also asked how she was doing and what she's been up to (other than, you know, having sex and conceiving and just generally stealing my thunder). She never responded.

Fast forward to NewfuckingYearsEve: I get ULTRASOUND pictures and a poem or something. Christ Almighty! 2007 sucked until literally the last day! Again, I emailed my congratulations and never got a response. Whatever.

So I think it was almost like kismet that I receive the invitation to her shower on the day of my IVF shot. It would have only been better if I could have gotten it on my birthday or maybe our anniversary in two weeks. Maybe she can show up at my house on the day of my Beta and stick her tongue out at me right before I get my results?

*Please note that ChristmasfuckingEve sucked for me anyway. Because Mark's cousin just had her baby AND Mark's sister had a baby last year). And I was going to have to spend ChristmasfuckingEve with people with babies, who want to make me hold their babies, and who want to tell me how I should enjoy my sleep and my ability to do whatever I want (WTF?!). And also: when are you guys going to have babies you're not getting any younger have some girls please thankyou. Good times.

Lupron shot, totally not a big deal.

Mini update:

Not a big deal at all - I couldn't even feel it. And the only negative was that my skin broke out for about 15 mins from the alcohol swab! I am a freak of nature and have super sensitive skin.

I didn't make Mark watch. He was going to sit with me while I did it but not watch. However, I got out of class early and felt like I was having a mini panic attack from waiting until 9 to do the shot. So while Mark was in the bathroom, I just thought, "Screw it," and I got my kit out and gave myself the shot without taking time to even think about it.

I'm glad it's over! Because now I know that it's really just fine and not a big deal.

I'm on Lupron until the 21st, at which point I go in for an ultrasound to make sure I'm menopausal enough, then hopefully start stims that day.

Lupron Eve

Two big things are happening tomorrow: I'm going to take an Accounting Test for which I am under prepared, and I am going to come home and take my first shot of Lupron.

To celebrate Lupron Eve, I had a delicious Chicken Nugget Value Meal from Mc Donald's. Because YUM. With hot mustard, for extra yummy goodness. And then I am going to go to the vending machine before class and have some sort of disgusting candy-bar carb type thing. Preferably something I can eat in small pieces during Auditing class.

At risk of sounding overly dramatic, I can't help but feel like this is my last normal day for...how long? At least a month. Hopefully 9 months or so. Maybe just 6 weeks. Who knows?

Hopefully the next time I feel super bloated and eat McDonalds, it will be baby bloat and not annoying pointless Clomid bloat. But since false optimism isn't really my thing, I know there's a 50/50 chance I'll be eating Mc Donald's either way because I love grease and it is my goal to become a solid from eating grease.

I've been thinking about how this should all go down tomorrow night, and I can't decide. Do I make Mark watch. Am I all, "You stand right here, motherfucker, and watch me do this!" Or do I let him off the hook and do it myself? Then what, wait for quasi-menopause to begin? So weird, all of it.

I don't know. I'm sure it's something that will become very much routine to me and it won't matter after a while. I'll look back at this post and think, "silly infertile whore." Kind of like looking back at my writing while TTC, before finding out that it isn't just going to happen, ever. Or looking back at your middle school diary and being amazed at how much drama occurred because someone purposely bought the same Trapper Keeper and you wanted to be original, dammit!*

This is my last day before IVF. In one way or another, everything changes after today.

*For my wedding shower, my grandma gave me some letters I wrote to her when I was really young. One of them was all about how I got into a fight with another kid over a Berenstein Bear book. Another was how I was so pissed that we had to say the Pledge every morning before class and how I hated it so much it made me want to take a nap. I was a pain in the ass back then, just like now.

Gosh I’m Full!

From all the words I've had to eat lately!

"Bloated? Nooo…I don't get bloated on Clomid!!"

"Headaches? Nuh uh! I don't get headaches from Clomid."

"Hot Flashes? Nada! I don't get hot flashes on Clomid!"

"Exhausted? Not at all! I don't get exhausted on Clomid!"

 

NUM NUM NUM NUM NUM NUM NUM Cookie Monster Style!

Oh, the bloating. It would be cute if I was pregnant but guess what? I'm not. I'm just fat, really.

I have gained about 10 pounds since trying to get pregnant because I'm big on the comfort foods. Since December, I've lost 6 pounds because enough is enough. Every morning I weigh myself, but I can always guess (within a half pound) how much I will weigh just based on how I feel. Today I felt like I would get on the scale and see that I gained back 4 pounds. Nope! Just bloated. I haven't gained any weight back but all of my pants are too tight.

Mark keeps trying to convince me that muffin top is extremely sexy.