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| I have found my bliss. |
| 03.30.04 (4:02 pm) [edit] |
Good things come to those who wait.
And wait we did. For one hour in the waiting room. It was hot, we were cranky. I began to develop a headache. And there were pregnant bellies around the room.
Then the little nurse in the white smock called our name.
We were taken into an exam room.
What? An exam room? Not a polished office with mahogany antique furniture? Where were the plaques boasting dozens of awards? The pretentious shelf of medical books? An uncomfortable yet expensive set of leather patient chairs?
Nowhere. A simple exam room. Modest by all standards. Kinda like Jesus's grail in that scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Modest.
A woman stepped into the room. She was a doctor. She was NOT the doctor with whom I had my appointment. She walked to me, shook my hand and said "Congratulations. I just had to shake the hand of the woman more anal retentive than I am!" and proceeded to tell me how beautiful she found my binder of color-coded, dated, alphabetized and highlighted medical records to be.
This pleased me.
We talked about the procedures and tests I have had. We talked about the tests I haven't had. We talked about procedures I will most likely have in the near future.
Then she stood and said that she would go and retrieve my doctor. This woman... this doctor... was my doctor's ASSISTANT. She was not an RN, not a PA, not a nurse. She was a DOCTOR and she was assisting my RE. Wow, holy shitamundo. Two doctors for the price of one. SCORE!!!
My RE and her DOCTOR ASSISTANT return.
My RE is a BAD ASS. A no-nonsense, straight-to-the-point woman of the world. She has been through the shit. She has had every one of the dreaded fertility tests and knows that many suck. Many aren't even necessary and they suck. She only administers the ones that she honestly feels are beneficial to EACH INDIVIDUAL CASE.
"Endometrial biopsy? Hell no. You don't need any more of those."
"HSG? Hell no. You don't need any more of that."
"Gajillion bazillion blood tests that provide absolutely no help whatsoever? HELL NO. You don't need any more of those."
What she did prescribe is this:
1) A Hysteroscopy. Saline-based. Little camera, goes in and checks everything out. Checks out the fibroids, sees what they are doing these days. Raps a little with the ute wall, makes sure it is cool. If there are any problems, they will be fixed at this time.
2) Embryo Toxic Factor. Alloimmunity factor. If the test comes back positive, it is treated with high doses of vaginal progesterone.
3) Glucose Tolerance Test. You know, it tastes like Orange! Mmm..
4) Brad's army gets their very own special test. A SCSA. Sperm Chromatin Structure Assay. Checks to see if any of his boys misfire with aneuploidy.
The best part of the day, though, was when I asked her take on IVF.
"We have the #1 highest success rate for IVF in the state. We have been accused of this being invalid because we don't do it as often. The reason? Because we don't overprescribe it. We aren't a private practice, we don't drive Jags. We are salaried physicians, we are professors, educators, researchers. We are here to learn, study, research and hopefully find answers and fix problems. If we think IVF will work for you, we highly recommend it. But for you? I would be scared to try it until we find more answers."
And when she left, she hugged me.
I swear, I nearly wept.
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| Vomit-Nerves |
| 03.30.04 (9:06 am) [edit] |
2 hours until the RE 2nd Opinion appointment.
Feeling the butterflies. The butterflies have started a mosh pit.
Yeah, lots of nervousness.
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| T Minus 1 Day |
| 03.29.04 (4:25 am) [edit] |
[i]Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time...[/i]
-William Shakespeare, [i]MacBeth[/i]
One more day. Then my life will change once again. Another day after that and my mother moves two states away so tomorrow better give good news or this week will just be a big fat wash.
In the meantime, how about more hubris?
I am phobic. What of?
[u]Airplanes[/u] (Terror in the sky--freaks me out.)
[u]Germs[/u] (Squirmy little disease mongers.)
[u]Bathroom doors[/u] (I release a paper towel first. Wash my hands. Dry them. Open the door with the towel and throw it away afterwards. When I come across an auto dryer, I wait until someone enters the room so I don't have to touch the door handle, or use my shirt tail--hate that though.)
[u]Heights[/u] (I froze once when Brad and I were hiking. I couldn't move. I knew if I so much as moved a muscle I would plunge to my death.)
[u]Traffic accidents[/u] (My paternal Grandfather and maternal Great Grandmother died in nasty auto accidents. I can think of few worse ways to go.)
[u]Strangers[/u] (I am afraid one will attack me or will intrude into the peacefulness of my home, as happened to my mother last year.)
[u]Childlessness[/u] (Nuff said.)
[u]Dying[/u] (I don't wanna, especially if I die childless.)
[u]GROTESQUELY large things[/u] (such as whales, Naval carriers/cruise ships, etc.--freaks me right out, the majesty of its size.. makes me remember what a tiny little girl I am.)
[u]Suspension bridges[/u] (Hate 'em. If reincarnation exists, I must have driven off of one because I can't STAND them.)
Here's more!
Strange non-sexual fetishes
[u]Peeling labels[/u] (I get a strangely euphoric titillation peeling a decal from its waxy paper counterpart. The sound of the adhesive friction as it separates gives me an enormous case of happy face.)
[u]Evian water[/u] (Accept no substitute! I can't bring myself to fully enjoy any other flavor of water, and YES there are flavors to water--mostly DIRT flavors in my humble opinion.)
[u]Cold fingers[/u] (My own, of course. I like to twist my fingers into "braids" and feel the coldness on the other parts of my hand.)
[u]Man arms[/u] (My favorite anatomical feature of the male species. I LOVE nothing more than strong forearms with just the right amount of arm hair. Freckles only add to the fun.)
[u]Clean angles[/u] (I can respect curves, but a room is best suited to my psychology when everything is at right angles, or if I am feeling kooky, 45 degree angles.)
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| T Minus 2 Days |
| 03.28.04 (4:45 am) [edit] |
The countdown until RE 2nd Opinion Appointment is nearing the end. I am sure once that date arrives, this blog will take an entirely fresh direction--I will once again be back in the sport of aggressively trying to conceive. I have been in TTC limbo for so damn long I am not sure I am going to know how to act.
So until that moment, I will clear my palate of trifles that are stirring about in my brain.
My real name is Melissa. I chose the name Olivia Drab in 1996 when I came thiiiiiis close to joining the US Army. I wanted to fly helicopters. Truly. Apache Helicopters, to be precise. I love the way they look, the sexy way they manuever. The way the men in the pilot corps look in jumpsuits. Yeah, I was in.
Olive drab is the color that is most common in the military palette. It adorns everything from clothing to machinery. I feel more patriotic seeing olive drab than I ever do seeing red, white and blue. It has been and always will remain my favorite hue. Email was a new toy, and one day in October 1996, my screen name became Olivia Drab. That day, my alter ego was born.
After I was deemed "night blind" at the recruiters office (where, incidentally, I passed every other test with flying colors, so to speak), I was told that Uncle Sam was a bit reluctant to turn over the controls of a multimillion dollar piece of machinery to someone who couldn't see at night. But, I was told, there was room for me in infantry! I thanked them for their time and returned to my small apartment and college-major roulette.
Shortly afterwards, I fell into graphic design. The architectural firm I worked for had need for someone to design a portfolio. I took on the task. They found me "quirky", as I was given to wearing combat boots with my georgette minidresses. Precious.
When I left Texas for Georgia and my future married life, I began my own freelance biz. I went through several incarnations before the obvious hit me in the face like a ton of bricks. Olivia Drab Design ("ODD"). It makes for good conversation, particularly with male clients who recognize the significance of olive drab.
Now, life as an Army pilot seems like ancient history. I have traded in the desire to pilot an assault helicopter for the ability to conceive. Instead of night blindness as a hindrance, I have recurrent miscarriages. The word "infantry" has new substitutions: adoption, childlessness, ART.
What I hope to hear on Tuesday, March 30, is encouragement and a chance for hope. I want to know that there is room for me in motherhood, in whatever form it takes. I want to know something definitive, bad or good.
I don't want to be in limbo anymore.
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| Laughing my ass off |
| 03.25.04 (2:07 pm) [edit] |
A friend who reads my blog from work (which is a public school, btw) sent me an email to inform me that the state's Dept of Education has banned my blog and journal as PORNOGRAPHY citing these reasons:
* adult-oriented material,
* extremist-militant material,
* racist or hate-oriented material, and
* incitement of resistance to or insurrection against lawful authority (seditious material).
I am rolling. This is such an honor.
First, I would like to thank the redneck family that lives across the street from me, eliciting "racist/hate-orientation" (I can only presume).
Second, I would like to thank the US Army, with whom I came close to joining in the mid-90's, as I dreamt of piloting an assault helicopter and shooting some rassin'frassin' two-timin' double crossin' damn dirty ape ASS!! *fires guns into floor in a sharp mix of Yosimite Sam/Chuck Heston* (Now is that extremist-military or hate-orientation? I can't keep that straight..)
Third, I would like to thank all the women of whom I have enticed to destroy a piece of corporate art as their first mission in Project Mahem of the Fertility Club handbook.
Fourth and most importantly, I would like to thank my vagina, uterus and pubic hair for giving me SO MUCH adult-oriented material to write about. You are truly sent from Heaven.
Thank you for this honor.. God bless you Dept of Education.
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| Here's a friggin' email for ya. |
| 03.22.04 (4:38 pm) [edit] |
[i]This one goes out to the person who sent me "You Know You Are From the 80's When..." for the 9 millionth time.[/i]
[b]You Know You Are a Recurrent Habitual Aborter When...[/b]
-You have shown your genitals to [i]at least [/i]three people other than your spouse in the last year (and he/she isn't the least bit jealous.)
-You think Kelly Ripa was put on Earth to mock you.
-You have a love-hate relationship with TLC's "A Baby Story".
-You get sentimental when you see plastic tubing.
-You watch [i]Sid and Nancy[/i] and pretend they are shooting Follistim.
-You and your spouse pretended you were Sid and Nancy while shooting up Follistim.
-You know who Toni Weschler is.
-"When are you having kids?" is reason to kill.
-You know what hCG stands for.
-You have applied human characteristics to your period at some point.
-Four words: "It takes only one".
-"Days 3-7 or 5-9?" actually makes sense.
-You have written or contemplated writing HATE mail to a television show that featured a main character's pregnancy or "fertility problems".
-You have written or contemplated writing PRAISE mail to a television show that featured a main character's pregnancy or "fertility problems".
-You don't understand how to have a drug-free menstrual cycle.
-"Heart-shaped uterus" isn't the least bit romantic.
-You send or contemplate sending your RE holiday greetings every year.
-You have an RE.
-You know what RE stands for.
-You know the proper drug cocktail to take before an endometrial biopsy or HSG.
-You know what a normal sperm should look like, swim like, and how many buddies he should have.
-You can recite the instructions to an HPT backwards and forwards but still read it every time.
-You have a favorite HPT brand.
-You have contemplated buying stock in your favorite HPT brand.
-"Beta" makes you want to throw up.
Care to add anything?
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| March.. as slow as molasses in winter. |
| 03.18.04 (7:19 pm) [edit] |
So the countdown continues... March 30 approacheth, the day when we get a hot date with 2nd Opinion RE. I hope that MY new RE is as hot as [url=http://chezmiscarriage.blogs....]getupgrrl's[/url].
I hope she likes me!! I have a steamer trunk of my medical history ready to plop down on her desk. That should impress her! Should I also bring flowers? Chocolates, perhaps? What do you get the doctor who will be staring into your cavernous womb?
I have already begun cutting out the Springtime Pubic Stencil collection. Perhaps a lovely daisy? Or a buttercup? I am saving the bunny for easter! *girlie giggle*
I digress.
I have run through the hypothetical visit several times and I think these are the top contenders for how I think it will go:
SCENARIO ONE:
RE: Welcome to Fertility Club.
Me: Thank you.
RE: You're welcome. But, I want you to do me one favor.
Me: What's that?
RE: I want you to hit me as hard as you can.
Me: WHAT?
Later, she tells me her plans for my fertility:
The first rule of Fertility Club is --
You don't talk about Fertility Club.
The second rule of Fertility Club is --
You don't talk about Fertility Club.
The third rule of Fertility Club is --
When someone says "stop" or goes limp, sex is over....
and so forth.
SCENARIO TWO:
RE: Hi! I am the Magic Fertility Fairy!
Me: *grinning*
RE: My what a beautiful steamer trunk of medical records you have! Let's just dump the contents into the sacred pond of super diagnostic happiness!
Me: *clapping*
[swirling wooshing sounds]
RE: Oh, yes, it is becoming clear now. I see the problem! Here, take this pink pill!
[one month later]
Me: Hooray!! TWINS!!!
I can't wait!!!
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| Step Right Up, Gamblers... |
| 03.17.04 (3:44 pm) [edit] |
Right this way, ladies and gents..
Behold the girl with the gerfertney reproductive system!
Witness that she and her lad spent a vacation in a sunny location.
Yes! She consumed many alchoholic beverages!
Yes! She flew on an airplane, which her acupuncturist and RE strictly forbade!!
Yes! She took hot showers and baths!
Yes! Ovulation occurred on this glorious weekend!!
Step right up, place your bets..
Will she have been impregnated? (chances 20 in 100)
Will it stick? (chances 1 in a million)
Will donkeys in pajamas fly on the backs of winged monkeys through downtown Atlanta? (chances slightly better than sticky pregnancy)
Any high rollers out there?
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| Our Awesome Vacation From Hell |
| 03.15.04 (6:50 pm) [edit] |
Well, it is 8:53pm EST Monday night and we JUST got back from our vacation in Florida.
Ok.
3pm EST Thursday: We leave work. Head to the airport. We get our boarding pass and proceed to the security line.
We got "picked" to be searched. They did a pretty thorough "dumping" of everything in my purse and our carry-on bags. That was "fun". But we saw the light and said "but hey, we avoided that huge line getting through security!"
We get to the gate and proceed to the counter to get our seating assignment.
"We overbooked this flight and are asking for volunteers to give up their seats in exchange for TWO free roundtrip tickets."
We decline. We want to go to the beach, now. Dammit.
Five minutes pass.
[intercom] "Ladies and Gentlemen.. We are asking for volunteers to give up their seats in exchange for THREE free roundtrip tickets and we will put you up in a hotel for the night OR pay for a rental if you wish to drive to your destination."
DING DING DING!!!! They named our price. We gave up our seats and were OFF to rent a car.
Meanwhile, our baggage did NOT give up their seats and were happily on their way to sunny Florida.
We arrive, haggard and bleary-eyed in Tampa at 1:30am EST Friday morning. We go to the baggage claim at the airport. The baggage claim office was closed.. with our luggage, toothbrushes, deodorant and spare undies, inside it.
So we drive to our temporary hotel (where we had reservations when thinking we were flying to Tampa)... an hour SOUTH of TAMPA (by now 3:30am EST Friday morning). Without our bags. The hotel owner tries to F with us saying that our room has been sold already because we didn't check in before 11pm. We protested (don't MESS with angry tired travelers).. and got a replacement room.
8am EST Friday... HAMMERING. LOUD HAMMERING. Right outside our hotel room. Construction!! RIGHT OUTSIDE OUR HOTEL ROOM. (Four and a half f'ing hours of sleep.)
We get up and enjoy a "Continental Breakfast" of a stale powdered donut and oj. Question: What continent, exactly, does "continental breakfast" come from? Because I think that continent really sucks ass.
We drive back to Tampa and retrieve our luggage and head to Sanibel.
12:30pm EST Friday: A huge hideous wreck stops freeway traffic entering Ft. Myers for an hour. We have the windows down. And remember, kids.. no deodorant, dirty undies and S. Florida heat. Smelled GREAT! Being resourceful, I use this time to do my beach pedicure.
2pm EST Friday: We arrive at the hotel in Sanibel. It is gorgeous. The beach.. gorgeous. We find food, our first "official" meal of the day (unless you count the stale donut as a meal).. Steamed peel & eat shrimp and key lime pie. Mmmmm....
3pm EST Friday: BEACH BEACH BEACH!! A (as in ONE) cocktail on the beach.
6pm EST Friday: We both pass out in our hotel room.
6am EST Saturday: We wake (that is 12 hours of sleep..)
All day Saturday.. Gorgeous. We rode bikes, we beached.. we sunburned! I realize I am allergic to the sun (rash.. itchy red rash.) We drink lots of alcoholic beverages to counter the sun's wrath on our bodies.
4pm EST Saturday: We both pass out in our hotel room.
6am EST Sunday: We wake. (Yeah.. that is 14 hours of sleep!) We stay in bed for a few hours to wait out the evil hangovers our previous day's activities cost us.
Sunday, overcast day. We tour the lighthouse, we visit the State Park beach.. nice day.
8pm EST Sunday: Our first actual DINNER since our vacation began. Italian--escargot, seafood, pasta, wine, dessert. Delicious. We were almost asleep in our plates.
10pm EST Sunday: We pass out in our hotel room.
8:30am EST Monday: We wake. We eat breakfast, we lounge in a hammock, great morning. We check out of our hotel. Visit Thomas Edison's Ft. Myers estate and laboratory. Very cool. Then we're off to the airport.
4pm EST Monday: We arrive at the airport. Proceed to the security gate... where we were "chosen" once again to be searched. This time we still had to go through the huge security line. Wee bloody fun. Out dumps all the contents of my purse and my carry-on bag. Plus I had to walk barefoot across the airport security lane, which grossed me out because I am a neurotic germphobic.
Our seats were in the very last row, with NO WINDOWS, and I am the center seat. My germphobia is my second biggest fear next to flying and fear of heights. No windows... center seat... Yeah, I was a nervous wreck the whole flight back. Thank GOD that Dean Koontz's latest book is actually interesting or I'd have been wrestled to the ground by pent-up angry 911phobics who thought my screaming "We're gonna die!" was a threat instead of a manically instinctive freakout.
Incidentally, I do have this freakish mantra I chant in my head that keeps me from screaming the aforementioned freakout while on a plane. It goes: "Safe Takeoff, Safe Flight, Safe Landing" over and over and over and over.. it has worked so far.
Ah, yes, into the minds of the insane.
All in all.. it was a hoot. Rash, airport searches, lost luggage.. all of it.
I am happy to be home, though.
Oh, right, and I ovulated while in Florida. Anyone want to place bets on if we "hit the nail on the head" from one of our heated moments inbetween our comas, and if we did, how long before my period arrives?
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| My latest brainchild |
| 03.09.04 (5:52 pm) [edit] |
I lay awake at night with a vision in my head.
A superheroine comic strip, "The Infertile and Hormona". Two women on a mission to wreak havoc and spread their dogma of bitterness on a fertile world.
I already have storylines in my head. Yes, I think I shall begin to author the tales very soon.
*rubs hands together conspiratorially*
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| Here it comes, that rainy day feeling again.. |
| 03.07.04 (6:49 am) [edit] |
It is beautiful outside. The sun is shining, it is warm. I got a little sunburned on my nose while working out in the yard yesterday...
But suddenly I feel very, very sad. It happens. Comes out of nowhere sometimes. It will pass quickly.
I allowed myself to be talked into the possibility that I have a chemical imbalance. That isn't the case at all. The fact is I am disappointed in my body, I am envious of people with pregnancies and I am sad for the little souls that have tried to be my children and my body wasn't prepared to create their bodies for them. I mourn them every single day.
I feel fine one minute. I think of all of my friends who are blissfully happy with babies or pregnancies, or with pregnancies that have finally happened after years of disappointments. I feel very happy for them and hopeful for myself that it will happen to me too.
Then I suddenly feel very alone and fearful that my immortality is fleeting. Fear that when I am gone, that is it. No one to remember me or tell stories of the eccentric Grandmother who had a hundred cats, always wore Chuck Taylor Converse lo-tops and wanted to fly helicopters when she was younger, or of the towering redheaded Grandfather who played video games with the kids and affectionately called his wife "Booby".
"What do you want, to be pregnant or to be a Mommy?"
I need both. And I am not ashamed to admit that.
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| Ladies & Gents, we have a term... |
| 03.06.04 (7:24 am) [edit] |
I, too, have an [url=http://uncommonmisconcep tion....]Infoholic Witch[/url] like Julia. I got mine at Crate & Barrel because it matched my bedroom suite.
My Infoholic Witch did a search this morning to learn any and everything I could about irregular menstrual cycles involving short menstrual flow. Seems my body is stuck in a rut and gives me very short (2-day), very painful (2-shots of liquor & a horse tranquilizer), and heavily clotted periods.
I discovered... "hypomenorrhea". Say it with me..
[b]Hi[/b] (How ya doin'?!)
[b]Po[/b] (Spent all my money on IF treatments)
[b]Men[/b] (People who don't know what passing clots through a small muscled opening feels like unless they have passed kidney stones the size of a marble recently)
[b]Or[/b] (I have an option?)
[b]He[/b] (Poor Brad who has to deal with my femininity)
[b]A[/b] (my blood type--which I spew profusely for two days a month)
Other terms that, during this hunt, decorated the browser like glitter at a drag show: premenopausal, hormonal imbalance, adhesions, stagnant blood chi, cancer, kidney disease, fibroids, pregnancy (HAHAHAHAHAHA!!), embolization, miscarriage, abnormal, hyperthyroidism and anovulation.
All sound fun. I am sure "pregnancy" was thrown in to carry the vote for the Optimist Club, but that's sort of like saying "Real Estate" to Bill Clinton.
Pregnancy. HAHAHAHA..
Countdown clock to RE 2nd Opinion so that I can bombard her with my fury of questions: 23 days : 20 hours : 30 minutes
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| My crappy job |
| 03.03.04 (4:53 am) [edit] |
Yesterday was orientation at my new job ("new" as in I have been contracting for them for a year and they just decided it was time to make me "permenent or hit the road", ruining my sweet work-from-home deal). I learned a lot, but one thing stuck out.
"Maternity leave is paid to employees with a minimum of one year employment with [our company]. If someone takes maternity leave before that one year is completed, employment will be terminated."
Yes, TERMINATED. As in FIRED. For giving birth before being an employee for one year.
So even if we were capable of sustaining a healthy pregnancy, I can't even TTC for at least three months unless I want to lose my income.
Can you say "Fascist"?
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| I met the Devil today |
| 03.01.04 (5:21 pm) [edit] |
My normal doctor called in sick today, and I was reassigned to her partner, an ancient old son of a bitch I will forever refer to as Dr. Devil. Here was a transcript of my meeting with Dr. Devil:
Dr. Devil: Hi, ([i]reading[/i]) Ollie! How are you feeling today?
Ollie: Terrible. My throat is sore, I have killer menstrual cramps, my acid reflux is out of control and I can't control my mood swings.
Dr. Devil: Easy now.. Let's take one thing at a time. Acid Reflux.. what do you want me to do?
Ollie: ([i]He's asking me? Which of us has the medical degree? WTF?[/i]) Prevacid, please?
Dr. Devil: Ok, great. Here's a prescription. You can check out at the front.
Ollie: Wait.. what about my other problems?
Dr. Devil: Other problems? Like what?
Ollie: Sore throat?
[i]Dr. Devil gets his nurse to administer a throat culture for strep, which takes forever before the results are returned. It comes back negative.[/i]
Dr. Devil: Ok, no strep. You may check out up front.
Ollie: ([i]at this point I am curled in fetal position on the exam table, with cold sweat and chills[/i]) I am dying from cramps! Please help me! *whimper*
Dr. Devil: Cramps? Well, those sound unfun! You should stop having cramps! *chortle*
Ollie: Pleeeeeeease! I have taken everything over-the-counter that I can think of, nothing helps. Is there anything you can recommend?
Dr. Devil: I recommend you get pregnant.
[i]This is when I set him ablaze with the giant balls of raging fire that shot from my eyes.[/i]
Ollie: Excuse me? GET PREGNANT? Have you not read my chart?
Dr. Devil: Your chart? What about it? ([i]reads[/i]) Says here that you are trying to have a baby! What a great decision, I fully support that. Good luck! You may check out up front.
Ollie: ([i]aghast[/i]) Let me summarize! I have been trying for two years and every time I get pregnant, I lose my baby! Telling me to get pregnant is not going to help me with my cramps right now!
Dr. Devil: Well it would help with them in the future.
[i]This is where the shocked young woman in my head became the shrieking banshee that only wanted to kill, kill, kill.[/i]
Ollie: How can you say something like that to me? Have you taken into consideration my mental state? How do you know I am not suicidal? I had also come here, INCIDENTALLY, to ask about my manic mood swings that range from unreasonably punchdrunk to feeling that life is utterly useless ([i]a minor exaggeration to try to cull a reaction from Dr. Devil[/i]).
Dr. Devil: Well, it is normal to feel down when something like that happens. I think that if you got pregnant, your emotions and hormones would correct themselves. Good luck! You may check out up front.
At this point, he walked out of the room. Yeah, he really did.
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