In It's Splendid Glory...

I've done it. I've made the move. I am still unpacking boxes and hanging pictures, but here it is.. my new TYPEPAD BLOG ADDRESS.

http://www.oliviadrab.typepad.com/blog

What's pissing me off now?

Plenty of things.

1) People who don't close their mouth when they eat--you sound like a PIG and I want to throw something at you ever time I hear you "SMACK SMACK SLURP SMACK".

2) Trying to find something that ISN'T green to wear on St. Patricks Day and inevitably wearing green anyhow.

3) Blogger.

4) Itchy nose.

5) Having my IVF date moved up a month and having zero control over it.

6) Ants. Fuck them.

7) The bitch at McDonalds who was cheerful and chirpy as she was handing me my bag of fat and sugar.

8) Not understanding enough about Typepad to actually get the damn thing to look right.

9) Being pissed.

10) Waking up ten million times at night for no reason at all.

At least I got to scream (and I mean scream) in the car on the way to work. I almost shorted out my voice because I was screaming. And when I say "scream" I don't just mean "singing loudly" or yelling at traffic. I mean my mouth was wide open and I was practicing my "oh dear god there's an axe murderer coming at me" voice. It was unusual, I've never used it as a stress mechanism before, but dammit it felt good. I may go back out and do it again at lunch.

Shit, maybe I am crazy after all.

The Big Switch

I'm currently looking into switching into Typepad.. because I am a big fat copycat. Please bear with me. Transition is never pretty.

They gave my body an ultimatum!!

Aw crap.

The IVF clinic closes down three times a year so they can take down all the equipment and boil it or whatever fuck they do to them to make sure they aren't dizzyingly contaminated. And when they do this, no one (and I mean NO ONE) starts IVF proceedings. At all.

So when do YOU think it is closed?

If you guessed anything other than "now" you'd be wrong. They are closed NOW and won't re-open until April 10.

So here's the ultimatum. If my period starts ANY DAY before April 10, I am canceled until the next month.

"But what if I start on the 9th?" NOPE.
"What if we delay it with birth control pills or progesterone?" NOPE.
"What if I cry on the phone and make you feel REALLY guilty?" NOPE.
"Ok, then, what if you bite my ass?" *pause* NOPE.

So even though my last stupid fucking period (for evermore known as SFP) started on March 4 and has been known to be clockwork 32 days (to spare you the math, that would pit my start date at approximately April 5), I have to beg this body to hold off until April 10.

It's not going to happen. You know why? Because my uterus HATES MY GUTS. That's why.

(And it sucks too because it is going to totally ruin my number geek streak. Dammit.)

Oh, food happiness!

I love culinary discoveries.

Today, the discovery was the new breed lower-carbohydrate potato by SunFresh. We saw, we bought, we made some KICKASS mashed potatoes.

Yum Yum Yum.

The day ahead (with update)

For Christmas, Brad got me a very generous gift card to a spa. Today is the day I cash in that gift card. I will have a manicure, pedicure, back massage, scalp massage and facial. Boy, do I need it.

I was hoping for a soul massage, but scalp massage will do I suppose.

I keep asking myself what happened to me. I have never thought of myself as high-maintenance, but damn. The last few years, I feel like my maintenance level has increased.

Why is that?

Is it just that my self-esteem took a major hit when I realized that I lack the ability to do what women are supposed to be able to do. Yeah, I knew that. But what else contributed?

I don't feel very pretty these days. The years of fertility drugs, false-start pregnancies, comfort binging and ensuing vegetative state make me feel "soft". Soft, as in squishy and FAR from the hardbody I'd prefer to be. I can't explain why, but I need adoration. Adoration that tells me that my self-induced image of myself is wrong. That I AM beautiful and desirable. Because I honestly don't feel it. I feel like a dopey dork.

The high school nerd comes back to haunt me sometimes. I didn't have many boyfriends and so I had to rely on myself for esteem. Unfortunately NOW, I can't rely on myself anymore because I just don't believe my own compliments. It's a bad frame of mind, but it isn't something I am going to punish myself for. It just IS.

I think this is a common situation for women, maybe men too. But the label of "maintenance" is unfair. Women have complex wiring. Beside the fact that we are a cacophony of hormones 24/7, we also have social expectations that we have to live up to. We are constantly comparing and being compared to idealized and unrealistic goals. I'm not just referring to physique expectations, but in so many aspects of life. Reproductive expectations, professional expectations, domestic expectations. We are expected to be champion mothers, ambitious professionals, and whirlwind housekeepers. That's a lot of shit to keep up with. I can't seem to become a mother, I do what is expected of me at work, and my house is a wreck.

I'm not crazy because I sit in the dark and cry over a million little things that add up. I'm not a whiner because I just want a hug. I'm not a bitch because I get angry at someone for making an insensitive and under-educated comment. And most importantly, I'm not a horrible person because I can't objectively listen to a new mother's stories. I am just doing these things as a means to cope. Because there's a lot in my head and I have to first be able to help ME before I can tackle society.

But hugs and love help out a lot.

-----------------
Update:

The spa ROCKED. They did a scalp treatment that originated in India. It was used to treat schizophrenics. Perfect!

Then I had a Chantico from Starbucks. Damn, whomever the individual who thought of drinkable chocolate--bravo!

Then we rode bikes to our new friendly neighborhood Target. Target. In my neighborhood. Oh the joy!

Then we had tapas. Duck, fish cakes, shrimp, Spanish cheese, plantains and bread with vinegar and oil. Oh so heavenly.

Then we came home, spread a blanket and pillows out in our yard and laid back to stare at the stars. Bliss.

But then... I came inside and read the messages from all of you. And that was the best. Thank you, every one of you. You are all awesome and beautiful. I don't just mean that "generally". I know who each one of you are and I completely mean that to each one of you. Thank you. So much.

The latest breakdown

Tonight was the big breakdown that has been building for a while. It was a culmination of anxieties, sorrow and frustration. We were supposed to go to a friend's birthday party but social anxiety, and the fact that one of the guests would be a woman whose accidental pregnancy is due any day now, broke the camel. I snapped about having to bundle up warm to walk to the party and so Brad canceled our outing. I put on my pajamas and crept up into the dark recesses of the attic office to cry.

I stared out the window at the hillbillies across the street. They are prolific that bunch. Teenage girl #1 just gave birth to her second child while teenage girl #2 is expecting twins. They make it seem so easy. But then I thought about it and realized that they don't make it seem easy, they make it seem normal. Normal, as in their female bodies do what a normal female body does when a normal male body has unprotected sex with it. It gets pregnant.

I close my eyes sometimes and imagine a little girl. She is around four years old and has an infectious giggle. Her little nose crinkles up. She has her father's dark copper hair and huge blue eyes, but she also looks like my father's baby pictures. Big round curls frame a perfectly round little face. It's who I imagine she would have been. It's who I've imagined ever since the day of the ultrasound. I have a male version too, but she sticks in my head, simply because she was a she.

But the normalcy my body lacks is what prevents her from coming back to me. I have lost the ability to have faith in my body. I no longer believe that it can do what it needs to do to bring her giggling little face back into the world. IVF is the unknown that will hopefully work, but it may not. It simply may not.

And that sucks and it pisses me off.

What makes you afraid?

When I was younger the movie Poltergeist freaked me out. Hell, who am I kidding, it still gives me the creeps when the clown disappears from the chair. It spoke to the fears that I had at the time:

Ghosts.
Possessed dolls.
Haunted closets.
Intangible fears.

It was based on stuff I saw on a screen happening to someone else. The lasting effect was that there was no way I'd ever own a clown doll, I wouldn't have the room with the view of the big freaking tree, and no way in HELL that closet door would even be cracked open. NO way NO how.

Here I find myself on my leather sofa, an adult, freaking out about things. But now there are tangible fears. Experiences that I've already faced. Fears that I've seen others go through, but this time could actually happen to me. There may not be a haunted closet to be sucked into, but there are equally horrific plot twists.

Follistim works too hard, I hyperstimulate, cycle canceled.
Follistim may not be sufficient, I underproduce follicles.
They retrieve follicles, and few fertilize.
Many fertilize, but what few make it to day 3 arrest during biopsy.
We have a couple blasts at day 5 but none implant.
A blast implants, but betas do not double.
Betas double, but no heartbeat.
We see a heartbeat one time, then it disappears again like the last time.

...and so on.

I think I prefer the possessed clown in the haunted closet.

The Book of Fertility

Prologue: As we're approaching IVF, I have reflected back on the chapters of this book that is "Life, From a Conception Perspective". It took a long time to compose and conceive, so to speak. This is the story of my adventure.

Chapter One: Dating and "Bringing up baby". You found the person you want to marry. You've discussed everything from music to politics, but have yet to mention the "B" word. Does he want children? Do you?

Chapter Two: Just married! You have your lives ahead of you. Everything is marvelous and you can't imagine being happier than right now. Children? We are young, from a statistical standpoint. It doesn't matter on this day. Your family is heavily procreative anyhow, I'm sure you are fertile by proxy. So don't sweat it! Think about it later.

Chapter Three: Birth control pills and the married lady. Who wants kids? You've been married a year and things are great. You have your home, your Playstation, your late mornings and impromptu vacations. What could a child possibly bring to this?

Chapter Four: The Ob/Gyn. She's a funny one. "Are you considering children?" she asks from an impartial perspective. It's just that she found a couple of trifle fibroids. Nothing to worry about. You're fine. Everything's fine. Go back to life, as you know it.

Chapter Five: Menstrual flow is... off. Umm.. Doctor says, "Probably just the birth control. Come off of it for a couple months and see if it returns to normal. But first, go buy a pregnancy test, just to be sure." Your first pregnancy test purchase. Peeing on a stick is kinda.. What? Who said that? Peeing on sticks isn't FUN, so don't even think about it. It's negative. You have an XBox to think about now, anyhow.

Chapter Six: You're thirty! Oh the jokes, "over the hill" and black balloons. You always said children at thirty would be ideal. Dare you broach the topic with hubbie? What would his reaction be? When he turned thirty he did mention something about mortality and children. Did he mean it?

Chapter Seven: Children and your mortality. You don't even sleep late, really. 7am and you're wide awake. You hardly ever play XBox anymore. Kids would be fun. At least your stepsister makes it seem that way. She keeps having them. They are kinda cute. You've noticed lately you've been dressing up your cats in costumes. Is that telling you something?

Chapter Eight: Anniversary dinners. It's a time to talk and share and reminisce. Over martinis, you bring up the topic. You both drink more martinis and decide the idea is frightening, but exciting. This will be your last drink. That night, you toss out the birth control. Your stomach lurches and the butterflies begin building a roller coaster from hell in your belly. Your life is going to change after tonight. You just know it will take one time and you'll be pregnant! Motherhood, here you come!

Chapter Nine: Your period? What? But we did what health class said to do. Hm. No matter, one month is a minor setback. Sometimes there are bumps in the road. The message board even mentioned it could take as much as THREE MONTHS.

Chapter Ten: Another period. This is scary. What if you're infertile. Shhhh, don't say that! Turn that frown upside down! It just means more trying, and the trying is the fun part!

Chapter Eleven: BFP!!! You see two lines on the stick. Holy cow! You're p-p-p-preg-nant. Oh dear. It's 3am. Should you wake hubbie and share the happy *gulp* news? Wait, what were some of the suggestions at cutewaystotellhubbieyouarepregnant.com? Oh yeah, put the stick on the back of the commode and he will see it and you will both be jubilant! And you will call everyone you know and tell them.. tomorrow!! We will keep this to ourselves for one day just to let it sink in.

Chapter Twelve: Period??! What. Does. This. Mean?

Chapter Thirteen: Don't let it get you down. According to the statistics, your mom, your Ob/Gyn, the girls at the pregnancy message board, the lady on the transit train, and the pharmacist, miscarriages are common. After one your chances of another one are low. Your next one will be IT. Now is a good time to investigate taking morning temperatures, charting, and learn more about this thing called "cervical mucous". After all it took you three months last time.

Chapter Fourteen: Pregnant! It took four months this time, but that's ok. Because there are two lines on the stick. Sorta. It is only ten days after the OPK stick told you that you ovulated, so it's normal to get light lines this early. Now is when you learn about "betas".

Chapter Fifteen: Betas suck. It didn't make you feel better when you got your period and the next day the nurse called to say your betas didn't double. "Sounds like you're miscarrying!" she chirps matter-of-factly. You have never cried so much in your entire life. She called while you were at work, no less. Your boss needed to be screamed at that day anyhow.

Chapter Sixteen: Internet Salvation. You officially belong to a group called "Recurrent Miscarriers". You later learn the professional term is "Recurrent Habitual Aborters". You condemn the term and try to make light of the situation with "Friday Fun" posts. Thank God for the other women on the board. You would pretty much be in your closet with a box of Kleenex and thoughts of hopelessness without them.

Chapter Seventeen: Reproductive Endocrinologist. You are aquainted with the phrase, "Don't wait for three to see an RE." This is when you know you are officially a reproductive mess. The list of tests that will be conducted on you is staggering. You feel faint. And they haven't even started the blood draws yet. Get ready. You're going to LOVE endometrial biopsies. Yes I spoke plural.

Chapter Eighteen: "I suck." No one knows what's wrong with me. Doctor So-And-So said IVF may be your answer. Don't take that!! They just want your money to buy a yacht. Try again. Use all the meds they offer. It doesn't matter you get pregnant again. But then you're not. Again. And this time, your coworkers are all pregnant and mocking you.

Chapter Nineteen: IUI. Welcome to the catheter. Romance is subtracted from the equation and you get a first taste of what it means to have plastic love. But hubbie is there, so at least you can hold hands while the sperm is injected into your uterus through a long thin plastic tube.

Chapter Twenty: Second Opinions. You've had it with RE. Time to get another RE who will actually listen and find out what is wrong. The other one obviously didn't care enough. The new one will care. Ha, see! You're pregnant already.

Chapter Twenty-One: Heartbeat. You've finally seen a heartbeat. Now you know what being a parent is all about. You fall in love with a flicker on a screen. Everyone smiles when you cry, happily. You and hubbie are elated. At seven weeks, you are declared safe and in the clear. This one will be your child. You finally feel safe to tell everyone.

Chapter Twenty-Two: The D&C. No one ever prepared you for the deafening anguish you can feel. No one told you that your soul can be ripped out and sent through a shredder, then put back into your body with parts missing. The only salvation is the drugs that they will give you when you go through the surgery. Sweet bliss as the drugs flow through your system, bringing lack of consciousness. Your hubby has to sit in the waiting room, mourning your lost child and terrified of losing you that day. It's the worst day.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Fuck this. That's your new mantra. You don't want to go through anything like that ever again, and you don't want to put hubbie through this either. Something has to give.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Insult to Injury. Ever since the d&c, your body isn't your own anymore. Everything hurts worse. Drugs don't take away the pain of the cramps. Cramps. That's not the word. Evil demons that live inside your body cavity that try to rip and claw their way out of your body through your cervix. You've gone back to your first RE with shame and she tells you it is time to look for endometriosis.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Laparoscopy and the Little Bugs. Surgery finds the inside of your body to look like a bomb went off, except there's no shrapnel. You are cleaned up but a tourist is left behind--ecoli. After a month of drugs, you feel normal again. You still have an ugly scar on the belly button to show off though.

Chapter Twenty-Six: IVF. It's the next step. The last miscarriage turned out to be a genetic problem. Your doctor once again broaches the topic of IVF and this time you realize she was right all along. Maybe. Will this be the last chapter? Will the next chapter be "Children", "Adoption" or "Learning to Live Child-Free"?

It's a work in progress.

What am I doing right now?

It's 6:45 am. I have been awake for an hour. Why? Because Brad is sick. I came home from work last night with a migraine (big shocker)and went straight to bed. So I had gotten roughly 12 hours of sleep last night. And yet this morning I feel groggy. Hmm.

So this is what is going through my head:

1) I am plotting the next episode of The Infertile and Hormona. Expect more Ripapod, all I'm saying...

2) I am thinking of what I can eat for breakfast that doesn't involve "breakfast foods". I hate "breakfast foods". If Thai restaurants were open for breakfast I would be there in a flash. And damn you Taco Bell for not having a 24-hour business. Anyone have any ideas?

3) I'm wondering if that blasted email that contained "Grandma's Secrets" was correct about corn oil in a cat's ear to rid them of ear mites. Because Effie and Tweaker have them again.

4) I'm wondering if my pending trip to Minneapolis for a press check will interfere with my IVF schedule.
5) C is for Cookie, that's good enough for me.

------------

The last bastion of breakfast salvation: The taquito. Fortunately I work for a company that has bar none the best, most badass taquitos that you can buy. At least by "fast food" taquito standards anyhow. Happy tummy.

------------

I must clarify. I hate breakfast foods at breakfast. But I do like them at OTHER meals. Nothing tastes better than a pecan waffle at 10pm. But sweet food and foods designated for breakfast at breakfast time, I just have little interest.

The consultation

It was good. A few factors:

1. No suppression cycle.
2. I will be using Follistim Pens.
3. Cycle beginning around April 1, drugs begin.
4. My insurance (aforementioned CRAPPY insurance) is actually a good thing. They are offering a discount program that reduces single cycle cost by nearly $5000.
5. Drugs and PGD financially covered by a study, minus ~$100-200 out of our pocket.
6. Financing available.
7. She called me young.
8. She feels VERY confident.
9. Cycle works like this:
Days 1-10, drugs + monitoring
Retrieval: On day 1, half of total embryos are separated and frozen.
The other half are biopsied at day 3.
On day 5, two are replaced.
Day 10 after transfer, beta. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.
If this cycle doesn't take, we can work with the remaining half of embies.
Assuming there are any. (Who let my inner demon in on this conversation? BAD INNER DEMON! GET OUT!)
10. The total of the IVF includes frozen storage for embies for two years. If within that time, we want to use the other half to try again, we have them. If we use them before the second year, that is refunded to us.

I may know more after I've processed the data. There's a lot to think about.

--------------------------------------
Suzinalexa asks:
What's a follitism pen by the way?
That's a great question, Suzinalexa! This is a Follistim pen:

It is a neato method of administering injectible drugs without the messy junkie antics of a syringe and needle! Everything is pre-measured into a handy dandy spring-loaded WHAMMY! pen that you point and click. It's very exciting. It's very much cheating.

Never fear, the progesterone-in-oil-in-the-ass-cheek will be the old-fashioned way.

Award shows are funny.

Hey Jude,
Don't be sad,
Chris Rock was kidding 'cause
He's a comedian.
The minute
You let him under your skin,
That's when Sean Penn
Will make it better.
(nah nah nah-nah nah, nah-nah-nah, heeey Jude.)