Vampira Tales

Thanks to everyone for your lovely wishes on our anniversary and Big Red finally showing up. Only in this alternate universe of infertility would I be happy that my period showed up the day before my wedding anniversary. We had a wonderful dinner and talked about all of the wonderful times we have had together. Then we went home like the old married people we are and went to sleep at 10:30pm.

Yesterday, I had another date with Vampira at the blood lab to get my weekly HCG reading. The first time I went to the lab, the person was wonderfully efficient and I hardly felt a thing. The second time, I had Vampira - a different lady who was exceedingly nice (and dear Lord was she cheerful which is not compatible with me at 8am on a Monday) - but it was a terrible stick. My entire arm felt bruised for the rest of the week, and I swear I still had a slight bruise yesterday - a full week later.

Well, yesterday, when I went back for my weekly bloodletting, Vampira was there by herself, which meant I was at her mercy. I had her poke the right arm this time since the left one still hasn't completely healed and wouldn't you know, another terrible stick. I don't know what I'm going to do when I go back next week and she is still the only one there! Can you tell someone to poke you better next time? It seems like that would be like telling someone to brush their teeth differently after they had been brushing for 30 years.

Despite being poked to high heaven by Vampira and looking as if I am offically a junkie, there is good news. The quant is now in the triple, rather than quadruple digits. As of yesterday, it was 886 - a nice 63% drop from last week, in case you were wondering. It is 88% lower than my first post-D&C quant. I know, though, that it will probably take at least a full six weeks (or maybe even longer) like it did last time to get to the magic <5.>

I had the same flash of frustration that I had each prior Monday when I realized this and understood again that the frustration was due to my desire to feel like I was making some kind of progress in getting pregnant (rather than getting unpregnant). But, then I thought of the alternative. What if I was able to get pregnant next month? Frankly, that would suck. I would be wreck and would be pregnant in Paris. So, I will continue on my path to acceptance that a slow drop in the HCG means a long time to heal and actually be ready to try again.

We also haven't gotten the results from the karyotype. I looked back at my records from last year and saw that we had them at about 2.5 weeks after the D&C. It's now been 3 weeks. I mentioned it to the nurse and she is going to check. I'm not giving much thought as to what the results might show. This is one area where my predictions totally suck, so I'm just not going to waste my time.

Off to bed, and hopefully, tomorrow morning, I will not wake up freezing with a cat hogging the covers. This actually happened this morning. I haven't decided if I should forgive him.

Newsflash!

We interrupt this regularly scheduled broadcast to bring you this important announcement:

"Mrs. X has FINALLY gotten her period. Film at 11."

Yes, finally, I have been cursed and I haven't been this happy about it since I was in college.
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Thanks to everyone who chimed in on my friend John*. You are all absolutely right (as you were last time) that I should block his sorry ass to kingdom come. But, I have a confession: I am secretly hoping that he sees the errors of his ways and sends me a heartfelt email begging for forgiveness. This is probably as likely as a) hell freezing over; b) me winning the lottery; and, c) me winning Miss America - all at the same time. But, so far, it's what has held me back from blocking his email.

And, in the event he does send me another super-insensitive email after I asked him not to, I want to tell him point blank that I'm blocking him and why.
____________________________________________________________________ image: Sunfox
In other news, five years ago today, I went from being single to married. Yep, Sweetie and I tied the knot today five years ago in a beautiful ceremony with about 75 people. I'd post pics, but that would totally blow my cover. So, instead, I'll quote some language from the lovely note my mom sent us (which the Bad One just bit - little bastard!) which I think sums it up perfectly:

"Congratulations on the occasion of your 5th wedding anniversary! We're happy to know that yours is a good, strong marriage with lots of laughter in it. And our best wishes for happiness in the years to come. The first five have been adventuresome. What will the next five be like?"

We also treat our wedding anniversary as the kitties' birthday - since we got them eight weeks after our wedding and they were eight weeks old. So far, the Bad One is celebrating by being an extra nuisance. He has quite a knack for this.

I'm also happy to report that, on this auspicious day, I haven't really thought about how long we've been married and that we don't have children yet. I've just thought about what a wonderful time we've had with each other (and continue to have).

Little steps, always.

Encore!

Oh my. Does everyone remember my friend John*?

No? You should read this brief little post before going forward. Go ahead. Take your time. I'll wait.

[Mrs. X looks out the window. Ooh! There's that lady who always walks in the neighborhood who desperately needs to wear a sports bra. Honey, if you have B's or bigger, they shouldn't be swinging - and yours are definitely doing to the two-step. Buy a freakin' bra!]

Finished? Ok, so yesterday morning before I went on my walk, I checked my email. Usually, this is pretty anti-climactic. Yesterday? Not so much. There was an email from John. I had long ago lost hope that he was finally getting back to me on my last email in which I shared with him the news of our first loss and our struggle with infertility.

I wasn't disappointed. Not only was it not an email finally acknowledging that we had a loss, it was pictures of the kid's christening, with the harpie wife thrown in for good measure. To make matters worse, there was no message, it was just a generic, 'come see my on-line album that I'm sharing with you' bullshit. Needless to say, I didn't look at the pictures. All I could think was "you have got to be freakin' kidding me."

So I spent the first 1.5 miles of my walk pondering how I should respond. Actually, I should re-phrase that. I knew exactly how I wanted to respond - I'll spare you the expletives - but I needed to figure out how to do in a nice way while also edumacating him as to what an insensitive ass he was being.

I finally settled on this: I sent him a response email, congratulated him for the umpteenth time (I swear I've congratulated him on this kid more times than I've congratulated anyone else on the birth of a child) and then .... I asked him to stop sending me baby pictures. I told him about our second loss in a row - after IVF, no less - and told him how hard it was for me to see baby pictures right now.
image: idsfa
What I didn't say was how insensitive I thought he was being by continuing to send me this crap when I've been so honest with him about all that we have been through. I realize that he's a guy and therefore, he's not necessarily blessed with the sensitivity gene, but we were really good friends in graduate school and I would think that general rules of friendship would mean you would AT LEAST RESPOND WHEN YOUR FRIEND TELLS YOU THAT SHE'S HAD TWO MISCARRIAGES! A simple 'I'm sorry' will do the trick.

As expected, I haven't heard anything back from him and frankly, don't expect to. But, I make this solemn pledge - if he sends me anymore freakin' baby pictures - after I've specifically asked him not to - he's getting blocked. No more Mrs. Nice X.
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In other news, Spot Watch '08 continues. To paraphrase the immortal words of Rick Moranis as Dark Helmet in Spaceballs, "She's gone from brown to pink!" That's about as momentous as it gets. Still no flow. Thanks to everyone for their suggestions. If things continue on their current spotty trajectory, I will get serious about getting things moving.

I'm off to do more drunk quilting. Kids, don't try this at home.

With a Spot Spot Here and a Spot Spot There...

Sing with me, ladies (and gents):

Mrs. X still has no period
E-I-E-I-O
And she has been spotting
For what seems like an eternity
E-I-E-I-O

With a spot spot here
And a spot spot there
Here a spot, there a spot
Everywhere a spot spot
Mrs. X still has no period
E-I-E-I-O

I know, I know, my talent is just devastating, isn't it?

In case the metaphors in the song were too subtle, I'll say it plainly: I haven't gotten my freakin' period yet. I am the Queen of the Spot. I can't even do my best Lady Macbeth impression because that would just encourage the damn spotting. My kingdom for a period!

And, contrary to last week's intelligence from Dr. Uterus' nurse, she told me yesterday that getting my period would speed up the decline in the HCG. Whatever. I can't make my body do it - just one of many things I can't seem to make my body do - so I've decided not to worry about it. But, that certainly doesn't mean I'm not going to complain about it.

The good news is that the latest number is definitely lower: yesterday's count was 2,427. Still a far cry from <5, but better than the previous number of 7,445.

In better news, I am officially off "pelvic rest"- although Sweetie decided to celebrate this momentous occasion by playing World of Warcraft for four hours instead of molesting me. I sewed - which is not really that newsworthy in and of itself except that I did it after I had a beer and well, let's just say it's a good thing I'm doing the free-motion quilting right now, with emphasis on the free-motion. I do have to admit that I also really haven't been in the mood. Hopefully that will change as well. Incessant spotting doesn't exactly make a girl rowdy, if you know what I mean.

That's all the news that fit to print - and sing.

image: bardsart

My Path

I've never been one for the idea that each person has a destiny set out before them. How can someone be destined to be a prostitute or serial killer when someone else is destined to be a nun or social worker? It belies a certain amount of short-straw syndrome where some people are "destined" to have crappy luck while others get to live idyllic lives, and apparently the person with the crap luck has no say in it. At the same time, I don't buy into the idea that we make our own destiny. I had no hand in being born into an incredibly stable house with lots of opportunities for education, advancement and overall growth complete with loving and well-adjusted parents.
image: maverickapollo
I prefer to think of my life as a series of paths. I may follow the one tread by those before me, or I may veer off into other directions. I may have company on parts of the journey and others I go by myself. I may choose the direction sometimes and sometimes the direction may choose me, but there is always motion.

I've had to remind myself of this a lot lately, though, because I've been having a hard time with the fact that there are those who got pregnant around the same time that I did and they are still pregnant. I feel angry that I can't continue that journey, I feel embarrassed that I somehow failed the test, and I'm annoyed at that sneaking little voice that asks, "Why her and not me?"

I've answered this question before, but apparently I have forgotten the lesson because I still seem to be asking it. So, I'm trying a different tactic this time around. Whenever I feel that question coming on, I just remember that her path is not my path. I may not know where my path will take me, but I do know which one is mine.

And for better or worse, my path right now doesn't include being pregnant. It does include having a Diet Coke, eating bleu cheese at lunch, gardening this morning and looking forward to a glass of wine this evening. And, I'm getting better at enjoying these things for themselves and not dwelling on what being able to have them means. Because, dwelling on it doesn't change it and never will.

It also feels so good to give myself permission not to dwell on it either. It frees me up to think about other things, dream about other things, and actually enjoy life. And you know what I did today? I laughed, out loud. It seems like it's been so long since I did that - a genuine, joyful laugh.

And it felt really, really good.

Duly Noted

image: Joe Shlabotnik
After graduating from high school, I attended and graduated from a fairly well-known, private mid-sized university. At the time, this school was one of my "safeties". Now, this school would certainly not offer me admission if I showed up with the STA scores that I had then. The farthest I'd probably get would be the waiting list. What a difference 14 years makes!

It took me a while to love my school - it was in a part of the country that I had never spent a lot of time in outside of childhood and the culture shock was pretty shocking. It also wasn't my first choice school and so I had to go through the arduous process of changing my admittedly unrealistic expectations about the right school for me. Nevertheless, I learned to love and fully embrace my school and I can easily report that I had a truly great time in college (and yes, I did get an education).

So, as I looked in the mail box, I saw the familiar logo. It was the school's quarterly magazine that is sent out to alumni. In the early years after I had graduated, I coveted this quarterly dose of school pride. As the years have passed - in May, it will have been 10 years since I graduated (dear Lord, I can't believe it) - I have grown less and less excited about receiving this particular tome in the mail. First it was because I no longer recognized anyone in the pictures. Now, as you have probably guessed, it's a more pernicious reason.

Inevitably, the Class Notes for my year and those immediately preceeding and following it now contain the same announcement over and over again: so and so is pleased to announce the birth of their first, second, even third child. My years-range has moved past the marriage stage (that was a few years ago - what the early aughts are now peppering their announcements with) and we've now moved into baby-land.

What's amazing is that if you go maybe a decade back in the classes (so those who are 20 years out from graduation), there are very few birth announcements and its all about what that person is doing for their career. I am stuck in that time frame where my fellow alum's only accomplishment has apparently been the fact that they were either knocked up or got someone knocked up and they had a baby. Are people not advancing in their careers so that their only news is this? We're talking 10 years since graduation!

You have also probably ventured a guess that part of my hostility comes from the fact that I'm jealous as hell. You are absolutely right. But, what I have realized is that in wanting to place that special birth announcement, I would just be adding to the clutter of announcements that, at their minimum, herald and celebrate someone's fecundity - something I can't even come close to boasting about, so far. (Can I send in an announcement that I have endured two years of medical intervention to get pregnant and two miscarriages?)

So, I'm not going to wait to place my announcement when we have a child - however and whenever that blessed event may occur. I'm going to find some other recent achievement that highlights my accomplishments since graduation and send that in. Once again, I will change my expectations of what I should be doing and do what I was really meant to do.

I Got Lurved On

Well, kids, she's done it again. Shinejil has once again humbled me and made me blush at the same time. My eminently wise and sage friend has bestowed some love on me with a "less-than-three".
I must admit that I am a little behind the times when it comes to text abbreviations (I get stuck past about ROFLMAO) so I had to cheat and look it up on Urban Dictionary.com. I know, I know, I blog therefore I shouldn't be a luddite when it comes to other technological advances. But, I'll tell you I have texted fewer times than I've been pregnant. Such is the byproduct of having a Crackberry (yes, I know I can text from the Crackberry, but why when I can just send an email? And, have I mentioned how much I hate the damn thing?)

Anywho, with so much love, I have to share it with others. I choose one of my faves, Melanie who keeps me laughing with descriptions of llamas and other fashion tragedies while documenting her journey through the various rings of Hell that is infertility. I also choose a newer friend (who probably thinks that I stalk her daily, hence her name), Paranoid, who educates me daily on the difficulties of secondary infertility while also showing how to be a great parent. Mwah to you both.