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.

Hey, it's cheaper than therapy.

I used to post on a super secret bitching blog. That blog was really different from this one because I posted some really emotional crap there, and I didn't tell anyone I was doing it. (Except one person, but she swore not to spill the beans and I don't think she ever did.)

When we started going to the RE a lot, I decided that I would make a new, public blog that I would use to update friends and family on the progress of our fertility treatments. However, it turns out that my friends and family don't read blogs! I think most of them don't really know what blog is or don't really "get" the concept.
For example:

Friend or Family So, what's going on with your fertility treatments? Any news on the baby front?

Me: Have you read the blog? I've posted tons of updates there.

F or F: Oh, I forgot about that blog-thingy. What is that address again? So, what? You just go there and write stuff? What's the Internet, now?

Me: * sigh * Forget it.

I've been trying to formulate a delicate way to tell people that I am just really sick of discussing our progress, because honestly? I'm so tired of my own complaints, negativit-ay, and having to explain things over and over and over. And over.

It is a hard thing to address with people, because let's face it: I do talk about it a lot. It is THE thing going on in my life right now. It consumes me. My thoughts and my plans and my entire life revolve around making a baby right now. And a lot of times, I need to vent and I have trouble doing that with some of the people in my life because they don't understand and don't know what to say, and usually they say or do the complete wrong thing (on accident) and end up upsetting me more. (And maybe they're sick of my run-on sentences! GAWD put a period in there somewhere, bitch!) Sometimes I don't want to talk about the specifics - especially when I've told you and you've forgotten!

The people in my life do care about what's going on, I think. For the most part. Some of the don't, and I couldn't care less about them either, so it works out. I do get tired of updating people over and over, and having to tell them the same things because they don't even remember what I've told them. It's like I never said it at all. It's like they are only asking to ask, because it would seem rude not to ask. Nobody ever just asks me how I'm doing (mostly shitty), or if I'm OK (not really), or if I've killed anyone and hid them under my bed (I haven't).

I get that IVF and all of infertility is confusing. I'm confused sometimes! It's a lot to remember and it's a lot to absorb, and I've had two years of research and learning to get it all straight. I've earned my Google M.D. I know that my FSH level, or my cycle day, or the number of days I have to take Lupron are all things that will not stick in the minds of people who have no idea what any of those things mean. I don't expect that. But I do get so discouraged when people, especially those people very close to me, don't take time to really listen to what I'm going through and keep track a little bit!

After all, I've kept track of pregnancy milestones, due dates, shower dates, birthdays, birthday parties, get-togethers, work-related news, vacations, etc. for the past two years. Even when they didn't even remotely apply to my life.

I saw a funny retro picture of a little girl praying, and above her head there is a bubble that says, "So where's my fucking pony?" And I can't help but feel like that! Because I've put myself out there for people, and done things for people, and now that my road is pretty rocky, I'm stuck here going it alone.

Do I hate that I feel like that? Yep, it's so lame, and pretty damn selfish. But it's how I feel. I could deny it, but why?

It's not one thing, person, incident, or time that has upset or offended me. It's two years of built up frustration. Basically, it's my problem, but this is my blog-thingy, and it's my outlet.

Answers to your burning questions.

I actually hate that saying. For some reason it reminds me of burning pee, which makes me think of STDs, which is yucky.

Here are the answers:

1. I have never been to Sea World.
True! I've always wanted to go, and used to live within an hour of Sea World, but never went. Boo-frickety-hoo.

2. I have a tattoo on my lower back of two little cherries. And have seriously considered getting a Pac-Man tattoo beside them, because COME ON! That would be so funny!
False! I don't have any tattoos, or piercings. Tats aren't really my thing. I can't think of one single thing I want to have on my body for the rest of my life. And I'm allergic to metal, or some crap like that, so I can't have piercings. Boo-frickety-hoo.

3. Growing up, I had a one-eyed, blind dog. His name was Winker.
True! He was the best dog ever! We paid $50 for him because he was the runt, and also had a deformity on one of his eyes. They were going to euthanize him because they thought he would only live a few months. We had to put him down last year...he was 14 years old.

4. I am an only child.
True! And I love it!

5. I played Rizzo in Grease in my high school musical.
False! I can't sing for crap. I was in Grease, but was just a dancer and part of the chorus. And of course I wouldn't play Rizzo, she who gets "into trouble." Who gets pregnant that easy?

6. Mark and I met on the Internet.
True! We met on Match.com. We're not weirdos, I promise.

What's going on with me: in photos

Some people are annoying assholes.



Cleaning is for weenies.



I really like shopping. I am a firm believer that it does buy happiness.



I'm pretty sure people think I'm crabby. (they are annoying assholes)



No coffee for over a week.

Four Truths, Two Lies

Kara tagged me for this two days ago, and I'm sort of going to do it.
I'm not going to tag anyone, because I still don't know how to put links in my posts, and I am too lazy to figure it out (and also, I have a giant accounting test on Tuesday for which I should be studying RIGHT NOW). And also because I think everyone has already done it, and I don't "know" that many bloggers.

Maybe you can do it, Katie? :)

Here we go:
1. I have never been to Sea World.
2. I have a tattoo on my lower back of two little cherries. And have seriously considered getting a Pac-Man tattoo beside them, because COME ON! That would be so funny!
3. Growing up, I had a one-eyed, blind dog. His name was Winker.
4. I am an only child.
5. I played Rizzo in Grease in my high school musical.
6. Mark and I met on the Internet.

This makes me laugh.

Except that squirrel at the end. That squirrel pisses me off.

Side effects? Yes. Fun? Not so much.

I've officially been knocked off my high horse. 100 mg Clomid = many side effects.

I was feeling really good until Thursday, when the shit apparently hit the fan. Here is a list:

1. Visual Disturbances: It is hard to describe, but my peripheral vision is all shaky. It's like it vibrates. Very strange.
   
2. Hot Flashes: Like being moved telepathically from Alaska to Africa in two seconds. "Feelin hot! Hot! Hot!" There were several times in the past few days that I looked like Dom Deluise.*
   
3. Exhaustion: Went to bed at 6:30 on Thursday, and 7 on Friday. Well, going to bed is an exaggeration, as I fell asleep sitting up like the elephant man** and Mark had to wake me up to go upstairs.
   
4. Night Sweats: Wet pillow. Yuck.
   

Overall it isn't horrible. I feel good enough to be working and going out and stuff, but it is still a little sucky. I'm not too bloated, but I've read that bloating comes later on closer to ovulation. So we'll see. I did manage to lose another pound this week so I was happy about that. Also, not really very bitchy or emotional. I'm generally bitchy, anyway, so it would blaming it on Clomid would be unfair. To Clomid. I don't want to piss Clomid off at all.

*From Knocked Up? Love that movie.***

**From Sex and the City? Love that show.***

***I wouldn't have anything to say if I couldn't quote movies and TV.****

****Wonder when I will stop thinking that these footnotes are a good way to compose entries? Probably not any time soon.

Cycle Day 10 Bloodwork: Donesky.

And holy crap! Dr. Goldfarb (the king himself) was there. On a Saturday. And drew my damn blood.

I might never wash this arm again.*

So anyway, I got the results of my CD 2 Bloodwork, and the doc said, "they couldn't be better." Well, good, because I like being all that I can be. (Not with the Army or anything, but just in general.)

My FSH was 5.9, and he threw out some other number that was really good, but I forget because HEY! MY FSH IS ALL THAT IT CAN BE! ***

I didn't pass out during the blood draw, but I was laying down so I don't think it is cause for back pats on my part. And Mark was smirking at me the whole time, like "you dumbass." However, he gets woozy too so next time he gets blood drawn I am going and I'm going to smirk at him the whole time, like "you dumbass."

I'm supposed to hear from Dr. Goldfarb today about my results, which I find amazing. One because it is SATURDAY. And two, because what the hell Dr. Goldfarb? Why are you so awesome that you would have time to call me? On a SATURDAY?!** I'm thinking the doctor switch was a little lucky on my part, since the other Dr. Fabulous wanted to bring me in for an appointment if he had to say one word to me about anything (read: $20 copay, $150 from my insurance company, Vacation in Maui for Dr. Fabulous). They blame it on HIPAA, but whatever.

Monday I have to use OPK's again. A friend of mine calls them a tool of the devil, and I agree. Evil, evil, evil. I can never tell if the lines are the same color because infertility has made me totally unable to read OPK's or Pregnancy tests. (Is the line the same color? Is that a second line, or an evaporation line? Did my Clearblue Easy Digital just tell me to fuck off? AHHHHHH!)

On a non-fertility-related note, I'm going to see Wicked tonight. It was my Christmas present, and I'm pretty excited. I love an excuse to get dressed up. Plus I've purchased, like, 7 dresses lately and it gives me the chance to say, "See? I needed this dress! Don't you want me to look pretty?" Musical theater isn't really Mark's thing, so I'll be enjoying it alone, I think. We saw Phantom of the Opera on the night we got engaged, and he didn't like it. However, I loved it! If I had an unlimited supply of money, I think I would want to see shows all the time.

 

*I really hope Dr. Goldfarb doesn't Google himself and find this post and think, "Ew, icky stalker patient!"**

**Just in case: Dr. Goldfarb – I love you, but not in THAT way. Don't worry.

***FSH = Follicle Stimulating Hormone. According to Taking Charge of Your Fertility: "the hormone produced by the pituitary gland that stimulates the ovaries to produce mature ova and the hormone estrogen." If your level is high, it indicates that your ovaries are failing, which means poor egg quality, which means suckage. They like to see the number under 12 in the beginning of the cycle, so 5.9 sounds pretty good.

COMMENTS! Me likey.

I have to say, I love the comments!

It is so fun to check my email and see that hey! I have 3 new blog comments!

Then I whip out my I-phone*, put on my cape**, and go to my bloggers because they need me! To publish their witty comments!

GAWD, am so important and fabulous.

 

 

*Yes, I have an I-phone. Yes, I do love it. Yes, it was really expensive. No, you cannot touch it.

**My cape has a big logo on it, kind of like Superman, but better. Instead of the S, there is a giant sperm wearing an eye patch.***

***A lot of people mistake it for a hammerhead shark, but it's not. It is a sperm with poor morphology.

Proof that I read something besides blogs.

I'm over half way done with When Nature's Not Enough: Personal Journeys through In Vitro Fertilization by Diana Olick.

It is the IVF book that Mark found in my car on Tuesday, and I'm glad he did. You know, because now I can read it. And also because I won't have to pay the library for it.

The author has gone through IVF, and she tells her own story and mixes it in with the stories of four other couples. She's not outright funny, but she has a light sense of humor. I don't think it's a book for the husband folk. She and the other couples tell about their experiences with the drugs, the doctors, and the overall ridiculousness that is IVF. I felt like I was reading a very well –articulated version of my life for the past two years.

One thing I hate so far is her need to call IUI…turkey basting. TURKEY BASTING! Yucka yuck yucko! WTF? Why?! Diana Olick you have ruined Thanksgiving for me (and my readers) forever. If you were a fertile, I would never forgive you.

I absolutely love the male parts of the interviews. You get to hear about how they felt, what they thought, and how hard it was to express it all.

It made me feel bad for being hard on Mark for not understanding and not showing his emotions. I know men are different – I get that.

Being half done reading, I don't know how it ends, but I'm sure they all end up as IVF Success stories, and that's OK.

I like this book very much. I started reading it at the perfect time because I've been (secretly) feeling really apprehensive about my upcoming IVF. I've been faking excitement over the beginning of the cycle, because to me it really feels like I'm on my tippie toes at the edge of a cliff and when I take that first shot of Lupron, I take the big leap. The big leap being IVF, and IVF being OUR LAST CHANCE.

When I first wandered into the world of infertility, I used to surf blogs and message boards trying to find people in worse situations that me. I would read the Trouble TTC board on the Nest and see signatures with "TTC 24 months, MFIF, 1% Kruger Morph" and think, "Shit, I'm glad that's not me."

Now that it's me, I feel an intense amount of pressure. Pressure to do this cycle while working and going to school. Pressure to be a mother. Pressure to provide my husband with a biological child that he could not have without science. Pressure to give my mom a grandchild because I am an only child. Pressure to make this life that I want to happen, happen.

Back in the beginning, I felt like there was a long line between myself and IVF. Temping, then OPK's with Temping, then 3 Clomid with IUI cycles, then IUI with injectibles for a few cycles, then if hell fucking froze over, IVF.

It's awfully cold here in hell.