It was a good day.
Monday, March 17, 2008
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
Thursday, March 13, 2008
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
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
Monday, March 10, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, March 7, 2008
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.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
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.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
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.
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.
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.
Monday, March 3, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
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.
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