Cluck, Cluck, MOO!

Hot damn I'm behind on the whole blogging thing! My most sincere apologies. You see, I haven't really mastered the art of blogging while I sleep 23 hours a day. It's hard, because everything comes out like this:

f;adjna;iokjnerga;oekjgr'aszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I had my retrieval and already have had two fertilization reports! AND I do my transfer tomorrow! So get a beverage and a snack, this is going to be long.

First: The Retrieval

This? Is Xena Warrior Princess. She looks like the doctor who did my retrieval. I shall call her OLGA.



OLGA came in to introduce herself, and the only thing I understood through the thick, thick Arnold Schwarzeneggeresque accent was "I Dr. OLGA. I retrieve zee eggs."

So after much smiling and nodding and not understanding, I headed back to the retrieval room. This is an interesting experience, because you are put on a table with your arms straight out to the side like you're gearing up for a crucifiction. But for added pleasure, your legs are also strapped on to giant padded leg stirrups and your vagina is out there for the entire room of 10 to see. I'd like to think that's OK because I have a really nice vagina.

At my IVF #1 retrieval, I went into the room and was knocked out as soon as I was situated. I don't remember much, except saying that I couldn't focus because I didn't realize that they had started the IV. Then I woke up to Mark and my mom in the recovery room.

This time? Well. I was awake for a long, long time. Which means I was awake after Dr. OLGA said, "Now, I clean zee vaginal cavity."


If anyone thinks that cleaning zee vaginal cavity sounds a little bit like, oh I don't know, HELL? You'd be right.

OLGA takes a long, metal skewer (probably from her grilling kit at home) and attaches gauze soaked in cleanser. I need to ask you a question right now: have you ever seen a liposuction video? Where they jam that sucker thing in and out of the person's flesh and you're all "OW that looks really rough and horrible!" Have you ever seen that?

That is how OLGA cleans zee vaginal cavity. With 4 long skewers and sterile gauze, jammed in and out of zee vaginal cavity while she talked about the details of her son's graduation. It wasn't zee Xena Warrior Princess sword, but it felt like it!

I was so annoyed. By the time she took out the 4th skewer, I was yelling, "OH MY GOD CAN I JUST BE KNOCKED OUT FOR THIS?!!" OLGA's reply? "Iz almost finish." Of course, two seconds later, I was knocked out. Damn.

The end result was awesome: 21 eggs retrieved!!
Jennepper = Best Hen EVER!
So somewhat worth the pain of zee vaginal cleansing. And now my vagina is so clean you could eat out of it! You know, if you ever felt compelled to do so.


So maybe the Duggars have 18 kids, but I had 21 eggs! So suck it, Mrs. Fertile Duggar! (And if the Duggars cousin is reading? The one who left me a comment? I'm freaking kidding so take a joke. Damn.)

Next: 1st Fertilization Report

On Friday, I got the news that out of the 21 eggs retrieved, 17 of them were mature and 16 of them fertilized. This is great news!

For my first IVF, I had 13 eggs retrieved, and 11 that were mature and fertilized. So this time we're starting out with a lot more embryos to choose from.

What they do is just put them back into the fake uterus incubator thingamajigger until the next day.

Finally: The Second Fertilization Report
Today.

I found out that of the 16 that fertilized, 12 are on track at between 2 and 4 cell. Three more aren't quite there yet, but are looking hopeful and are still being monitored. They may or may not catch up, but I'm still thrilled with 12!

Transfer will be tomorrow (Sunday).

Right now, I'm feeling really sore and totally bloated. I look 4 months pregnant. People are going to start asking questions. I look and feel like a total cow.
I completely expect to grow udders any day now.
At least we'd save on milk...

List of the Mistakes I Made Today.

#1: I woke up.

Clearly, this was a mistake. I should have stayed in bed, put the covers over my head, and maybe taken a couple of my leftover Percocet from the laparoscopic surgery I had in October. Because the Percocet high? Would've easily been the highlight of my day.

 

#2: I popped a zit.

Because really, who doesn't love to pop a zit? It's satisfying – admit it.

I've had a gremlin growing under my skin all week – it was an invisible bump, it was itchy, it hurt like a bitch. It did not, however, have a big white head until today. Apparently. I am not sure. Because today was when Mark said, "Oh, you got a popper there." So who knows? Maybe it had a big head yesterday and neither of us noticed, because I've been quite the adolescent boy in the face department lately.

After I finished feeling incredibly vixenish and supremely sexy, I went to pop it.

MISTAKE! SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN BED AND NOT POPPED ZIT!

Now have giant red mark and scab! Am disgusting and look diseased!

 

#3: Went to Panera. At Noon. On a Sunday.

Any normal person knows better. But I was wild and crazy last night, and stayed up until 11:30 (the time of night when only hookers and thieves are awake). And then I slept in until 8:30. Which was stupid, because I have finals on Monday and Tuesday and have managed yet again to put off studying until the day before, and needed to be at Panera at 7 when they opened. Instead, I got there at noon, after I dicked around on the Internet for a few hours.

The problem with getting anywhere at noon on Sunday is the church crowd. Church people always go to lunch afterward, and apparently Panera is THE SPOT for post-church lunch. I would not know, because I don't go to church. Which is why we don't have kids – god hates us.

I had the pleasure of sitting beside three church people. An older couple, who I assume were a pastor (or whatever term you like) and his wife, and a younger guy who was interviewing for a position at their church. While I was trying my best to learn about auditing, all I could hear was this interview, and it was DRIVING ME CRAZY. The entire interview reminded me of what I imagine could be an interview for a marketing position: how will you lure people to follow the word? What music will you choose to keep people coming to service? How do you feel about discussing issues like * gasp * divorce and premarital sex, and pornography? How will you effectively manipulate the feeble minds of the masses?

And then they were making fun of the way people dressed. Because apparently, is bad to worship the lord in flip flops. Just stay home, for Christ's sake, if you are going to wear flip flops to worship.

#4: Was not specific enough about the quantity of beverage I need.

OR: Panera – it's no Saks.

After being there for about two hours, I was hungry and thirsty, so I decided to transition from loiterer to bona-fide customer and purchase a cup of broccoli cheddar soup and a beverage.

The typical, annoyed high school girl waited on me, and was sufficiently annoyed with my very existence and my sheer will to ruin her life by ordering food. At the restaurant where she comes to get paid to hang out. She gave me my total, and I didn't really pay attention to what she said and just handed over the debit card. But then, I looked up at the register screen and noticed my total: $23.98.

$23.98…for a cup of soup and a pop.

So I say, "Why is my total so much."

And she shoves my receipt in my face and says, "check your receipt." Translation: shut up and pay, you cheap asshole.

Now, I'm no accountant or anything. I don't work for NASA. And I'm no economist. I'm not a doctor. I don't belong to MENSA. So you'll forgive me for being smug when I ask why I am paying $23 for a cup of fucking soup and a drink. I mean, this girl is clearly from the well-to-do town where Panera is located, so she must routinely eat soup made of goddamned gold and unicorn piss, right?

And I have to point out to annoyed teenager that, while I am annoying, SHE CHARGED ME FOR 14 POPS! 14 sodas, if you prefer.

So I say, "Well, you charged me for 14 pops." And I offer the receipt as proof, since I am a lowlife and am probably lying and should just pay $23 and get out of her life forever, right?

Was she sorry, you ask? Did she apologize?

No.

She yanked the receipt out of my hand and walked to the back. A few seconds later, she's saying "She paid for 14 pops but only wanted one, I guess."

Stop the presses. Slow the bus down. Shut the fuck up.

This girl has the balls to act like this is my fault? Like it was perfectly plausible that I, alone in this Panera Bread, would order 14 carbonated beverage cups? All for my little self?

I laughed. Out loud. It wasn't really an I'm-a-jerk-and-am-pissed laugh. It was more of an I'm-nice-it's-no-biggie laugh.

The manager, who must have been a year older than the annoyed teenager and who was not finding my humor in the situation, comes out to the counter and says, "Give me your card." No: sorry, no let me credit you for the 13 extra pops, no: I'm sorry that I'm dissatisfied with my life but I will still be nice to you.

He credited my card and walked away, and annoyed teenager handed me my card and new receipt, saying "Here."

    And I said, thank you so much for being so very helpful. Because that's how you talk to assholes, right?

#5: Am not smart enough to use a bathroom stall lock.

After drinking my 14 pops, I had to pee. Natch.

So I go to the restroom and hover, like normal, because do you think that dissatisfied manager makes annoyed teenager clean the bathroom? I don't think so, either, so I don't sit on the seat because hell. I already have infertility, I don't want to catch poor, or ugly, or fat from the toilet seat. I already caught infertility that one time I sat on the toilet at a turnpike McDonalds.

About half way through a perfectly satisfying pee, the stall door flies open! AHHHHHHHH!

And who else is there, but the pastor's wife, who makes fun of people who wear flip flops when praising Jesus. Of course. The look of shock (and maybe terror) on her face was priceless. It almost made me wish that I had my iPhone at the ready while hovering just in case this very situation came up. (Maybe next time)

So I guess I didn't push the latch over all the way, and of course I had to spend the remainder of my studying time sitting by the lady who saw my cooter, because I am a high-hoverer.

It was awesome.

The longest post in the history of infertile whining.

So it seems I've gotten a little bit behind! My most sincere apologies.

I had my retrieval on Tuesday, and it went pretty well.

We started off by meeting with one of the nurses, who taught us how to do the Progesterone in Oil shot. Call me crazy, but this does not look like good times. Leave with my giant bag o' giant needles and head back to the operating area to get ready for the retrieval.

I get back to the room, get nekked under my lovely gown, and begin answering a million questions. While answering questions, a nice nurse comes over and says, "I'm going to get your IV in while you're finishing up with these questions."
I'm forever having problems with IVs. What can I say? I'm a delicate flower. Here is a recap:


Nice Nurse: OK, Jen, I'm just going to try to find a vein here. So let your arm hang down and make a tight fist.

Jen: You should know, I'm kind of a passer-outer.

Nice Nurse: No big deal. Keep making that fist...just don't punch me!

Jen: I'm not making any promises.

Nice Nurse: *laughs* (she was so innocent)

Nice Nurse: I'm going to try your hand here...

Jen: Oh, shit.

Nice Nurse: Hmm...this doesn't seem to be working. Hmm...OK, I'm wussing out.

Jen: Oh, shit.

Eventually it was all OK, and the anesthesiologist had to come and save the day.

After that it gets blurry. I went back into the OR, verified my name for the embryologist, and lay down on this crazy table where your arms are out to the sides and your legs are in these giant padded stirrup torture device things. The last thing I remember saying is, "I'm having trouble focusing." (No shit, dumbass, you're drugged.)

As you know, we got 13 eggs. If I'm being honest with you? I was kind of disappointed and thought it would be way more. But I suppose beggers can't be choosers, and I suppose I'm being a greedy whore. An honest greedy whore.

When I woke up I felt fine and was ready to get home and get some sleep. First I ate some Burger King, because yum.

The next two days, we found out that we made 9 embryos, and they looked great. On Thursday I got the call saying that we would be doing a day 3 transfer for Friday.

I was really excited about the transfer, until I started to mentally torture myself over why I wasn't doing a 5 day transfer. Were my embryos not strong enough to go to blast? Was this just a shot in hell at this point? Am I being set up for a major disappointment?

It really sucked, because since IVF started, I've felt good. I've not been focused on getting pregnant, which sounds crazy. I was taking shots, yes. But it just felt like something I was doing. I felt really disconnected from the entire process - going through the motions, doing what I had to do, suffering through the side effects. It was fine.

But after the retrieval when I knew we had embryos, it felt more real and I started to feel invested. So when I made the mistake of googling "Day 3 vs. Day 5 Transfer" I was in for a ton of unnecessary worrying and turmoil. And anxiety. And just general bitterness that I've been keeping tamped down and not showing anyone.

At the transfer, we found out that we had four perfect 8 cell embryos - two to transfer and two already in the cooler (our possible fututre babycicles). Five more are playing in the lab and if they reach blast, they will go to freeze.

The reasoning, according to the doctor, for the 3 day opposed to the 5 day - we had 4 that were clearly the strongest and didn't need to wait to go to blast because they were perfect. They already knew. The others were still developing well, but they were not the strongest and they needed to wait until day 5 to see if they were going to make it to freeze.

Day 3 does not = gloom and doom, apparently. I was assured by the doctor, the embryologist, and the nurse that the embryos looked great.

I got to see the embryos on a big screen, and got to watch the catheter place them in my uterus. It was so amazing. We got pictures of the embryos, and of the catheter. We also got the petri dish. But I don't know if I'm into the petri dish thing...it seems weird. "Hey kids! This was your first crib!"

After the transfer I was put in my room and told to wait 20 minutes then get up and go pee. Now, this was scary to me because I was hurting really bad, and the prospect of waiting 20 more minutes to pee made me want to pee my pants, but I couldn't pee my pants for obvious reasons.

I waited 15, then absolutely had to get up. I was having really bad stabbing pains in my bladder. My bladder was so full that I couldn't sit up, and Mark had to pull me up like Frankenstein. I ran down to the bathroom and sat on the toilet, expecting sweet relief.

Nothing....

I couldn't pee! I couldn't pee at all. I started to cry. It was embarrassing. Finally, a little bit came out and then I was completely nauseated and had to run back to the room and lay down. The nurse came in to scold me for getting up before my 20 minutes, and saw that I was crying and decided to take pity and get me some cool towels for my head.

A few minutes later, I tried to pee again. A little more, but mostly just pain. I kept telling the nurses, and I was getting looks. Looks like, "Welp, we've got a crybaby here who is nervous about the transfer."

Looks like they weren't realizing that FREDDY KRUGER was stabbing my bladder, and Edward Scissorhands had just left, and I couldn't give a shit about my embryos at this point because I would never pee again and would die from bladder-related complications. Fuck.

I was so pissed (heh...) that I went back to my room and started to get dressed, because if I had to be in pain and cry, I wanted to do it at my house. I couldn't stand up straight without having knife pains in my bladder while still feeling like my bladder was overfull.

I was half hunched over, walking down to the bathroom again when I think they finally realized that yes, I was in pain, and no, I wasn't just anxious or nervous. The doctor said that I was probably having bladder spasms, and that I needed to let them put in a catheter or I would end up in the ER.

10 minutes and one catheter later, I was lighter a few ounces of pee, but still in pain. Again, I decided to give up and go home. I was told to take two Tylenol 3 and relax.

I was in severe pain all night. I did feel better when I woke up this morning. And I didn't want to write about this, because it's all so negative. And the transfer is supposed to be positive and exciting! And it was, sort of.

Today I feel good. I'm definitely enjoying the bedrest!

More positive posts to come (probably)...I promise (sort of).

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.

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

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.