Monthly Archives: May 2012

lovely

Thank you, eighteenyears, for nominating me for this award! It really brightened my day.

Eighteenyears’s Blog (and her comments) are always written with such good humor, even when she’s in the middle of some really serious shit. She keeps on keepin’ on, and while it may sound like I’ve suddenly entered the lyrics of something from the 1970s I am totally serious.

Here’s the cut-n-paste part, with commentary because that’s how I roll:

Here’s the five-step process to follow after being given this award:

  • Share who gave it to you with a link back to their blog.  This I can do.
  • Write down seven random facts about yourself. My entire blog can be classified as “random facts about myself.”
  • Give this award to fifteen other bloggers.  Artistic license here. I pared down my reading list to people I really felt a connection with, and the smaller number of people I will nominate is a reflection of that.
  • Let them know they’ve won.  Can do!
  • Pop the award on your blog. Did I just do that, or am I missing something?

Random fact number one: I hate milk. Like, really hate it. I can’t stand to smell it, I can’t kiss my husband after he has had some, and it was one of the happiest days of my life as a kid when my mom finally gave up and stopped making me choke it down.

Random fact number two: I have never used a lawnmower. When I was a kid my parents thought I was too spacey to cut the grass without injuring myself, and from moving out of my parents’ house until 6 months ago I only lived in apartments. Now we rent a house and my husband cuts the grass. Maybe I should learn.

Random fact number three: I love me some Joss Whedon, and I get a weird joy out of spotting actors from old Joss Whedon shows in other things. I mean, Pete Campbell is Connor! Come on! And I swear I saw Maggie Walsh in an episode of Law and Order: SVU. And (Mad Men again), Danny is Jonathan! I could go on. Heaven help me, I could go on.

Random fact number four: I am apparently hugely forgettable. People usually have to be introduced to me three or more times. In college someone broke up with me because, and I quote, “You really don’t have anything interesting to say.” I have been described as “boring,” “lackluster,” and “like a ghost.” These things used to really bother me, but now they don’t so much and it actually makes me a little nervous to be paid attention to unless I’m performing. Yeah, socially awkward would have been a simpler way to explain that.

Random fact number five: I once sang “The House of the Rising Sun” at the top of my lungs at the request of a Bangkok taxi driver (his exact words were, “House of the Rising Sun. You sing.”), who accompanied me by humming the instrumental part and (terrifyingly) playing air guitar.

Random fact number six: I have very serious anxiety about dentists. I have even stopped reading blogs after the bloggers described dental procedures in detail. (Sorry!) Some of the anxiety is based on very, very bad past experiences (which I won’t share) and some of it is good ol’ irrational fear.

Random fact number seven: I just signed up to take an online class on writing a mystery novel. I think it will be fun.

My nominations:

  • Augusta, who is Waiting. And Waiting. And at this point has the patience of a saint.
  • Bunny, who generally doesn’t go in for blog awards but I am nominating her anyway because she is awesome.
  • Egghunt, who is juggling so much right now. I hope she’s doing OK.
  • Jackie, who just got some very, very good news.
  • Misfit, who is Almost There.
  • Port of Indecision, whose alien has landed.
  • Roccie, whose generous soul is looking for a way to give back.
  • S, who has her hands full with two lovely babies.
  • (There are others, but they’ve already got this award!)
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wait, what did i just agree to?

Before I say anything else, there is some thanking in order. Thank you, eighteenyears, for nominating me for that lovely award. Thank you, loribeth, for putting this post on Mel’s Friday Blog Roundup. Thank you to whoever put that same post on LFCA. And of course, and with all my heart, thank you to everyone who commented on that one.

We are almost through our “breather” month. (Expecting CD1 any day now — I ovulated a little later than usual so I’m not sure quite when.) We have talked and talked and talked about what to do next. We had a WTF-style appointment with our RE at which for the first time he invoked the Rule of Three.* We talked about doing an IUI cycle with injectibles, but he was of the opinion that the only benefit to that would be to see how I respond to the drugs. Not that it would actually get me pregnant. So what the hell is the point?

The plan he recommends is IVF, with or without ICSI. I asked why on earth we wouldn’t do ICSI, and he made the best argument against it that I’ve heard — apparently, they can’t always tell by looking which sperm have the genetic goods. Seemingly “perfect” sperm can fail to fertilize, and seemingly malformed sperm can result in … wait for it … babies. The whole process of ICSI is based on the clinic’s ability to pick the good ones and get them all up in there, but since they don’t really know which ones are the good ones, sometimes they get better results by just putting the eggs and sperm in a petri dish and letting them fight it out.** So, just like the number of IUIs, he is wanting us to think through the ICSI/no ICSI thing for ourselves. Damned self-determination! Presumably, just like with IUI, after we make a choice he will swoop back in and actually tell us what he thinks.

I had a long phone conversation with the clinic’s IVF coordinator, who didn’t bat an eye at the fact that I called her on her cell phone when she wasn’t even in the office (it was the number the RE gave me — I assumed it was her office phone).  Once I realized it I apologized four or five times, but she just stopped whatever she was doing and talked with me. I like her already — but I don’t want to take advantage. We are repeating some tests (yet another SA for him, CD3 bloodwork for me) and then we are going to come in for what they call The IVF Meeting. They want us to do this meeting even if we’re not sure we want IVF — apparently walking through the process can help people make a decision. Personally I love this because it means I can feel like I’m doing something without actually having to decide a thing. My usual practice of avoiding the hard things. Not so good in the long run, but it does keep us moving.

But apart from that, in the many many conversations with my husband, I think I may have agreed to do IVF. Once. I am so worried that if it fails he will blame me, resent me, start tallying up all the cups of coffee I’ve had over lo these many years, all the exercise I don’t get, all the fattening food I make,*** everything I’ve ever done wrong, and then I will not only not have a baby, I won’t have a marriage either. And we are back to the Life Plan of Living in My Mother’s Spare Room, which is always the endgame of my pessimistic thought patterns. I know he would never blame me — but still I keep asking him. “Will you still love me if it fails?” “Will you resent me if it fails?” “Will you blame me if it fails?”

So there is that.

But on the positive side, we have even come up with a plan to pay for it. The clinic wants us to pay them in full for the entire cycle up front (about $15,000). Needless to say, although we really are doing OK, we don’t just have that lying around in cash. So my husband told me that his parents had once offered to let us borrow from their HELOC if we needed help getting a down payment together for a house.**** We are thinking that if that offer still stands, we could probably borrow the money from there and make payments on it for a year or so. But that will mean telling his parents what is going on.

My husband has been very uncomfortable telling his family about our infertility. They know I had surgery, and they know the surgery was because we couldn’t get pregnant, and they can use a calendar so they do know that two more years have gone by with no sign of a grandbaby, but they never talk about it. He is going to have to tell them. I think for him, having this conversation with his parents is on the level of difficulty that agreeing to do IVF was for me. I need to let him do it in his own time — but I also need his own time to be kind of soon, since we want to try to do this during the summer (when he’s not in class and will have more time to hold my hand and shuttle me back and forth to the clinic and stick needles in my butt), which means we will need to come up with the money fairly soon, either from his parents’ HELOC or from some other (magic fairyland) source.

So saddle up, ladies*****, it looks like we are doing this. Holy shit.

*As in, if this IUI business hasn’t worked yet, it might be approaching cray-cray to keep beating that horse. Not that he called me a horse. Or crazy.

**The RE didn’t explain it in quite this way, of course, but I think I’m pretty close to his meaning.

***Holy shit, I made some bangin’ risotto last weekend. It’s amazing what lots and lots of olive oil can do.
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****Buying a house? It is to laugh.
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*****What’s with the horse images today?