Just One Small Moment

I've been thinking about my friends itc who are pregnant right now. I also happen to have more than a few friends in the flesh that are pregnant too. (I won't say, "irl" because I happen to think you friends in the computer are real life too.)

My first good friend who got pregnant was Lynne. She called me right before she left for Jerusalem and told me her news. I can still remember the morning-- I was lounging about in Partner's apartment on the bed. The morning was very sunny and bright, and I thought Lynne had left already for the airport. I was reading a book. After she told me, I kept walking around thinking about her being pregnant and being in Jerusalem, and it felt somehow meaningful to me. And probably to Lynne. I imagined being her and being a Modern Orthodox Jewish woman and visiting Jerusalem when you knew you were just pregnant with your first baby. I tried writing about it, and what came out ultimately, is below. This poem is a good three to four years old now. (Wait-- I could figure this out with one phone call to Lynne-- how old is darling first born now??) When I wrote the poem, I never thought we'd still be waiting to have babies around here. My friend is having her third baby now, and I am so excited for her. Every birth we talked about whether or not I'll be there. For this one, we are both really hoping I can be in the room. For her second, I got there a few hours after the baby was born. It was very powerful. I remember Lynne asking me to pick up the baby and utter fear I got when I looked in the bassinet and thought about picking up such a new fragile life.

I'm arching up on the hope quotient this week. I'm feeling like maybe it might happen. I'm scared to death about it happening and I'm scared to death about it not happening. Ultrasound and blood tests tomorrow. We'll see.

But for now, for all my pregnant friends and especially Lynne, my poem:


Lynne, in August, Ten Weeks Pregnant
(V’Etchanan)

Everyday a seamless series of remembrances:
no coffee in the morning,
no glass of wine with Shabbos lunch,
don’t wear those pants too tight,
rest in the humid afternoons.
Each moment, another thought—
an instant of attention—becomes true Judaism.

Her womb the perfect Siddur,
the magnification of prayer.

When she lies down at night, she thinks
of the translucent skin, the fish-like creature living
inside, the tender buds that will expand into arms,
extend long fingers, lengthen kicking thighs.
how the mikvah waters
are inside now, holding life.

The sound of a baby crying in the supermarket stills her
from two aisles over. She presses a hand into her stomach

and she knows
everything is holy.

Estrogen Meltdown.

Downstairs right now are Partner, her sister, and her sister's new girlfriend. I am upstairs, trying to regain control of myself.

Ten minutes before they arrived, I had a melt down, crying over my Szechwan style noodles. Today we are having a Chinese New Year family party. I've made spring rolls, Lion's Head meatballs, the noodles mentioned above, General Tsao's chicken, potstickers, and (whew) coconut ice cream. I made all of it, except the potstickers, which I bought frozen at the grocery.

I thought I was having just my family here around 3:30 or 4:00. But one brother and one brother-fiance work until 5:00, so the day got later, until Partner's sister asked if she could come at 2:00 since she has a hockey game. This, as you can imagine, throws off the cooking schedule just a little. Grr.

And then at 1:30, I officially started an estrogen meltdown. I got into the shower sobbing. I got out of the shower sobbing. And now I need to go downstairs and entertain.

Pray for me. Hard. Because the hormones are officially raging.

Dr. Pangloss

I don't know about you, but when I actually get to see my RE I have a plan to ask him a slew of questions. For example, a smattering of today's queries that enquiring minds wanted to know were as follows: "What does it mean that Partner and I both have follicles galore after suppression drugs?" "How do you actually determine the E2 levels in the blood?" "Are you canceling this cycle or what??" and finally "Why did you fire your nurse?"

I have real Panglossian intentions, and then the doctor steps into the room.

Today we had a choice regarding who got to go first, so I picked Partner. Yes, I picked. We didn't get all lesbian about it and confer with each other and discuss and emote and feel-- I just picked. I figured that perhaps if she went first, I wouldn't have to bare my cooter.

Dr. BusyBusyBusy rushed into the room in his very cute little navy blue cordurory jacket. Can I just reiterate how adorable I think our RE is? But today he had not only one minion with him, but two. Two minions. The minions are alright, and I know they have to be out there to create more REs, but these minions will never ever be like Dr. BBB. They just didn't have his savoir faire.

A word on the minions. We are barely IVF veterns being only on cycle number two, but don't you just love when you feel like you know more than the sycophants? I do. I admit, I show off a little and use all sorts of IVF medical terminology. It doesn't hurt that I am taking RHC 101 (that's Really Hard Class 101), which helps me out a little more. I also am quite close to completing my fellowship with Dr. Google in Reproductive Endocrinology. Who needs that bs medical degree?!

Anyway, back to the exam room where the riveting ultrasound show was in progress. It was real entertainment! Two ultrasound screens, and lots of ooohing and ahing. The follicles, those bee-uuts, were still there-- more than a few. And another word in praise of Dr. BBB: No one, and I mean no one, can wield the wand like him. He's the best at it. Once we saw his associate, who was good, but not nearly as adept as him.

Now one thing about Dr. BBB is that after being his patient for awhile, you get suspect that perhaps he once went to Bobby McFerrin bootcamp because he likes to tell us a lot not to worry. He doesn't exactly say "be happy" in conjunction with that advice, but he gets close. It's not a bad thing to hear from the RE, but... I do have to say something that is not exactly in high praise of the lovely cheery Dr. BBB-- He doesn't exactly shut the door to questions. If we ask, he answers. Intelligently. He doesn't try to dumb anything down, which I love. In fact, if I say, "Can I ask you a question?" his response is either a.) "Absolutely." b.) "Anything you want." c.) "What can I do for you?" All of which I think most would agree are very friendly responses to my query. He's very gentle in his bedside manner too. (I so heartily wish here you could hear my impression of him.) But the fact is that he is so very very busy, and somehow I get caught up in the frenetic energy and all my questions zing right out of my head.

The long and short of this: I don't know why the nurse was fired. What an eejit-- I totally forgot to ask. I must have been preoccupied with whether or not our cycle is going to go forward.

Dr. BusyBusyBusy did not seem to worried about Partner's follicles since the biggest was only 8.5. This result had the desired conclusion for me: I didn't even need an ultrasound! He said we'd wait until the blood results came back, and then when we were paying he came out to tell us her E2 was down to 47.

But what about me? "You," he said to me, "are always very well behaved." I couldn't help but glow in the approval. The fact that Partner didn't respond to the Lupron could be a blessing in disguise, he said. He seemed pretty optimistic. Partner is optimistic too. She feels like she's ready. I'm in a literal and figurative holding pattern. I don't really have much to do now other than swallow some estradiol and put on a patch. After crying pretty much all day yesterday convinced we were never going to have babies, I'm trying for a more steady approach today. (Fat chance this will last very long, but who's to say a girl can't try.) Anyway it seems like the optimism on Partner's part is more pertinent now anyway. I'll work on getting mine up in a slow arc. I'm certainly in a much better place than yesterday.

We start stimming tonight at 9:00 pm. A rather late happy hour of Good ole Repronex and cocktails.

Advice Solicited

Okay, really fast because I need to do some major reading for RHC 101 tonight, but tomorrow we get to see Dr. BusyBusyBusy and in the middle of all this crap, I'm still very curious about why our previous nurse got fired.

It's all probably really old news in that office, and as Pollyanna, uh sorry, Partner says, why should I be so curious about something that was probably really horrible and awful for the office and the previous nurse. She thinks it's focusing too much on the bad.

But fuck that shit! Remember my inner gossip monger!

Now what I need is advice on how to bring up the question to Dr. BBB-- or quite rightly, you could just think I should drop it, like my beautiful girl advised.

(FYI-- MFA Mama-- I told Partner what you said Pollyanna's tombstone said, and to her credit, she gave a good guffaw at that.)

Grey= Somewhere Between Black and White

We're still grey over here. Good news: We have follicles. Bad news: No one is stimming yet. Ha ha ha ha! It's such a good joke!!

Nurse Gentle called: My E2 levels are fine, despite the many large follicles.

Partner's E2 is 97.7.

No one is cancelling anything yet. Dr. BusyBusyBusy wants to see us both again on Thursday, and do the ultrasounds himself. (Personally I think he just wants to see our cute little lesbian faces and tell us himself we're cancelled) Also, no one is to start any drugs at all. Dr. BusyBusyBusy also wants us to have more blood tests, so Thursday, we get not only ONE, but TWO glorious trips across town to the RE. Why, you might ask? Because blood tests need to be done before noon so they can get the lab. But the doctor doesn't come into the office until 1:00. And he leaves before 4:00. Nice work, if you can get it. (And apparently you can, in spades!)

Personally, for me, it's almost impossible to get any work done on days like this. Or Thursday. Or face the facts, for the whole cycle.

Grey Tuesday

If yesterday was Black Monday here in the Detroit area, then today is grey Tuesday. It really is grey-- light grey, which means the weather will do nothing other than stay light grey all day. I'd far prefer dark grey, which means it might actually do something.

Because doing nothing actually seems like what we're gonna be doing a lot of.

Today was ultrasound and blood test day-- for the baseline stuff. You know the drill: check the uterus, check the ovaries and make sure everything is good and still and quiet from the Lupron. Apparently we have to do FDA blood tests and cultures too, since we aren't "sexually intimate." (Um, what?) But that's the government definition, but they don't think we're married either, so whatever-- After four vials of blood each, and few swabs of the old cervix, the magic wand came out of hiding.

Now, let me say that both Partner and I have been feeling twinges down there-- This morning Partner told me she felt like her girls were ready to go. Personally, I've been feeling I've been having some ovulation cramps, but mostly if I think something bad is coming I try not to talk about it aloud too much. It's old superstitious me, but I worry that talking about it attracts it to me.

I guess I could have been talking about it all along, because the bad came anyway. Freaking unannounced house guests! What is UP with them?

I have some freaking big follicles on both ovaries. After, my friends, a full dose of Depot Lupron. One follicle was an 11. Partner had a bunch too. At least two at 9. She had even more than me! A lot-- and hers were after a half dose of Depot Lupron. Both of us were confused by this, because last time after stimming for four days, she didn't even have as many follicles as she had today.

I don't even know what any of this means. How can we both be growing follicles after suppression? Same dosage of Lupron as last time.

We're in holding pattern again, waiting for blood tests. If the estrogen levels come back over normal, that's probably kaput for cycle two. We'll know around four o'clock.

My head is hurting so badly-- when I sneezed, I thought my eyeballs might pop out. Do you think I should just go into the bathroom and cry already? Or try to wait until I get the definitive word?

Country Boys

Before we left for our business/pleasure trip to a state where the sun actually shines in the winter, we were busy girls. One of the things you might remember that was on the agenda was to take down the Christmas tree, which actually did get done. While dismantling the holiday home, we put on the boob tube, and watched the Frontline documentary, Country Boys. Apparently the whole thing is available to watch online, and if you missed it on the television, I highly recommend it.

The story of the two boys, Cody and Chris, profiled in the documentary has stayed with me. I didn't get to watch the conclusion of this documentary until last night, and there were a lot of tears. I ended up feeling more connected to Chris than Cody, but both boys have had an enormous amount of struggle in their young lives. Something about Chris though touched me. He lived in a mobile home on some land with his mother, two siblings, grandmother, and alcoholic father. No one seemed particularly invested in his education-- other than to keep him in school so they would continue to get his SSI check. But Chris was/is smart. He had a real spirit about him that I was just drawn to. A little awkward, sure, but I found myself just wanting to go get him, take him into our home, and give him a little love. Help him out in school by pushing him a little.

I read some of the comments on the Frontline website that people had sent to Chris, and more than one person identified with him because their own life stories were so similar. Mine couldn't be more different. He grew up in rural poverty in Appalachia. I grew up in suburban splendor in one of the wealthiest suburbs in the country (which also has its perils-- Over here, Melissa has actually written about this before.) My parents were very invested in the education of their children. I mostly let them down, not caring particularly about grades until I was in college. But my parents did every thing within their power to try and get me to succeed in school. Any amount of money would be outlaid in their (thwarted) attempts to get me to care about school. If I had been in Chris's situation, at that age, I am not sure I would have persevered as he did.

At least once a year, we have an argument at a family function that is rooted in our very different opinions about socio-economics. My father (and mother, truth be told) are very much people who believe in "pulling yourself up by your bootstraps." I suppose to some degree, I agree with that, but what we usually fight about is the fact that for some people it's just harder than for others. My father put himself through school, and certainly my family struggled when I was a young child. But the fact is, my father was the child of a PhD in chemistry. Even if his parents were disinterested at points, there was a certain privilege in his upbringing that someone like Chris just did not have. (This argument usually segues into a discussion regarding "the garbageman" which no one in my family seems to appreciate as much as Partner and me. Somehow my family, who I love very much, esteems the doctor and lawyer [well, maybe not lawyer] more than the garbageman and Partner and I are always arguing that every one of the people doing jobs like that are essential for the functioning of society. Education does not in and of itself make you an inherently better person than the uneducated. To think otherwise is academic snobbery. Do I think education helps people? Enriches lives? Of course I do! I am a teacher, for fucks sake! But I don't think my almost PhD makes me "better" than Chris with his GED.)

When we were watching this show, I just kept thinking of how I wanted to drive down to Kentucky and find Chris and bring home with us-- I just wanted to get this boy and show him how he could be loved. And tell him he was smart. And even though we're feeling pretty close to the bone monetarily lately, I can't help thinking I want to do something to help him out. This kid needs to be in college.

The very real and endemic poverty present in this country-- how can people ignore it so blatantly? It's in front of us every where. Wednesday night when Partner and I were driving home from our really hard class (known after this as RHC 101) I mentioned that I would really like if we were more flush and could just go out and order dinner in instead of cooking something at 10:00 at night. She agreed. Mind you, we had dinner out the night before from expensive-but-yummy local deli. Before that we had a series of pricey Orlando dinners (is anything cheap in that town?). We aren't poor like this kid, his family, and those living around him. We don't even know anything remotely like it. And our families wouldn't let us know that either. I am struck that one of the major differences between us is the family involvement in our lives. Beyond the monetary poverty, the poverty in family that this young man had deeply saddens me. I've long known that while my family can be incredibly overwhelming at times, they are the biggest blessing in my life. I wish I could give Chris some of that love and support because he so desperately wants that in his life.

Who's poor? Not me. Not me at all-- in any sense of the word. I have an amazingly supportive family. My brothers, my parents, even Partner's family-- it's quite a network. I have some pretty incredible friends too. After watching this documentary, it made me refocus on these positive things and get some perspective. It also made me really start to evaluate what I am doing about poverty in this country-- the monetary poverty and otherwise alike. I don't want to discount the prayers, but I think I need to do something more than that. I'm not sure what it is yet, and I'm not sure if ultimately our RHC 101 will help me do something more, but there has to be something, and I'm going to find it.

Differences

What we left: Sun, sun, sun. Warmth, warmth, warmth. Windows down in the car while speeding across the beeline to the beach. Drinks on the beach when we decided we would go the Hilton beachfront. A bottle of wine as the sun went down, a little chevre on crackers. Feet buried in the sand as the day cooled off, and sweatshirts on. We thought we were freezing. It was 65 degrees. Palm trees-- who knew I loved them so much?

What we returned to: Ice covered roads and driveway that necessitated a slow shuffle walk all the way down the drive to take the trash out. Boots-- heavy laced up boots and slush inches deep in the gutters of Detroit. Trees covered by white layers of snow. The heavy white noise of the heater blasting in the car. Coughs aggravated by the cold air, deep racking coughs.

My response to Michigan upon our return: I hate this. I fucking hate this. I hate the winter and can't even pretend. Okay-- I like it for the first two weeks of deep snuggling under blankets with cats curled up on laps. But mostly I said, "Isn't this awful?"

Partner's response to Michigan upon our return: "Isn't it beautiful?"

(She's really too good. Sometimes I think I live with Pollyanna.)

(I missed you all!)

Things That Do Not Involve Stimming

If the Lupron doesn't kill me, this sickness will. I've lovingly contracted the sickness that Partner has had since before Christmas. She assures me she's on the mend now, but she also woke me up all last night with her cough-cough-coughing. Do I believe the beautiful love of my life? No. I do love her, very much, but admit that I don't like her very much at the various wee hours of the morning as she hacks or snores through her poor congested nose. This morning she awoke very early for a very early meeting. As she was leaving, she instructed me to stay in bed for as long as I needed (What, all day?) and I should just come into the office whenever. Was she being loving life Partner or loving business partner, or both? (Knowing my partner, she was being both.) Beyond all the regular sickness blahs, I wonder if I don't get over this soon, if it's potentially cycle concealing? I have nearly a month before I have to worry about doing anything other than sticking Partner with some needles, but then again, if this is the same sickness she's had, I could be sick for nearly that long...

Classes started yesterday, and although I know nothing about my students yet other than how shiny and eager their faces looked on the first day, I feel good so far. I love the material I am teaching, and told them so. However, when going over the calendar for the term, I noted to them that they might have at least one, at the most two days of class cancelled in the first few weeks of February. As I said that I realized I know nothing yet, other than the fact that we've been suppressed by Lupron. We don't know how Partner will respond this time around to stims, how many follicles, how many eggs, how many fertilized, how many get to blast stage-- none of those things are sure things at this point. And to tell you the truth, I'm not sure how suppressed one of us is (not me) since there has been an entire (warning tmi coming) full and heavy period already. It doesn't seem quite right to me. When we called the clinic, they didn't sound too concerned, but then again, it's a new nurse, and we're struggling all over again with the nurse trying to tell us apart.

Last night we had a mega-shopping trip at one of my favorite stores, Costco. I love Costco, although lately they've dramatically cut down their book table, and I haven't found anything there I want to read or haven't read already. There's a Costco ritual-- come into the store, get a soda, meander around aisles and look at stuff we have no intention of buying. Then, I'll look at the books, Partner will look at the computer programs. Next, enter the food section and debate about whether or not we need more salmon, will I cook the pork tenderloin, do we really need that much cheese? And no, we've bought toilet paper the last three times we were at Costco, and we've got enough toilet paper to see us through retirement. ("But you never know" I say.) And then we'll look at the flowers and always, always, we both comment on how beautiful they are (and we both adore cut flowers in the house) but we also lament how Costco flowers seem to wilt and die within mere days of getting them home, and so even though we want that amazing bouquet, we won't buy it. And then, finally, we look at the baby/kid clothes. Sometimes they are horrible, but a lot of the time, they are adorable and such a good deal, and we'll hold outfits up for each other and comment on where the babe might wear such an outfit. ("Out to dinner when we're in Charleston." "At a summer bbq birthday at your aunt and uncles." "To dinner at the club.") Yesterday, I saw a woman holding up a sleeper and Partner said, "Wanna go look?" and I said no and kept pushing our cart. Interestingly, this felt very powerful and I don't regret it for a minute.

Finally, we are leaving this week for Florida. At ass crack dawn on Thursday, and there is still so fucking much to do, I dread the trip because of that. The Christmas tree is almost down-- that means that everything, including the lights, is off the tree, but the behemoth still stands in the family room. Ideally I'd like for the entire house to be de-Christmasfied before we leave and all Christmas ornamentation packed up and in the basement. It's looking highly unlikely, but at least the fire hazard will be leaving the house before we do. I am also fairly anal about having the house clean before we leave for a trip. There's nothing better than coming home to a clean as a whistle house. But here is where the taking down of the Christmas decor is a double edged sword: It means tramping up and down the basement stairs, which means dragging a lot of dust up and down, and even more cleaning. I have no idea when this will get done. I need to go to work eventually, and also have to leave that workplace by 5:00, to get to a 6:00 class which Partner and I are both taking. Tomorrow equals driving downtown Detroit again to teach, hopefully finding time to go to Borders because I am without a book and that, my friends, is a true Katie emergency, iron summerish clothes for the trip, take down the lights outside, do 500 things I am forgetting about right now, pack, go to the class again, which means from 6-10, and then come home, hit the hay so we can wake up at ass crack dawn in order to get to the plane. But don't be deceived by the word, "Florida." We aren't going for R & R, we're going for the International Builders Show, where we will find a myriad of new and interesting products to help us build homes. (And also, perhaps a few fun ideas for our new house I am pretty sure we are going to build across the street from my current home. ) We're there for a few days after the show ends, and we've finally and definitively decided not to do any Disney because neither of us has much interest and instead, sitting at the beach near the ocean with some good books and wine sounds far better. Hopefully the weather will cooperate. But even if it doesn't, we've sat at the beach in the rain before. We're both in love with the ocean.

And then we come home and still have a week left before stims (hopefully) start...

What Bird Wants

After interviewing several segments of the local avian population, we found that 62% of birds are looking for a new home that is “different” and beyond the ordinary. “If I’m not going to live in a nest,” said one local blue jay, “I’d like to go really avant-garde, something that reflects my personality” The birdhouse offered by [Our Building Company]Building will please the most persnickety of birds in their attempt to live in home that’s out of the box.


(This is the completed birdhouse that Partner and brother K. were building. We won the competition, and our bird house raked in twice as much as the other ones. I didn't do much to help here other than trace the templates and paint the house-- this prize is mostly done to bro K and Partner.)

Lupron Squared

Depot Lupron shot? Check.
Partner's Depot Lupron shot? Check.
Feeling that the roller coaster has left the gate? Check.

Our appointments were good and early today, and unlike the first time around, this time when both of our respective alarms went off, we hit snooze. And snooze again. And snooze once more. Then we lounged about in bed and listened to the uplifting strains of NPR. Finally, with t-minus 35 minutes until departure time, we got up and in the shower.

We made it out the door in plenty of time actually. The RE office is across town and I've made it there in fifteen minutes before, so theoretically, I should have been able to make it again too. Usually I zip on the expressway and scoot the town that way, but in my addled brain today, I thought perhaps the street route might be faster, and I announced to my unwitting Partner as we were pulling down the driveway that I was going to try a new route today. "Okay," she said, somewhat reluctantly.

"I think it will be faster," I said.

Silence in the car reigned for a few minutes. Then she said to me, "Are you ready for this again?" Whish-whoosh went the wipers, somewhat like my thoughts. One minute full of raindrops, the next moment clear. "Yeah," I said. "No," I said. The windshield wipers took up their refrain in the quiet car. Down a hill. Up a hill. And then she said, "You're like this, you know."

"What does that mean?"

"Like when you think something might not work, you don't give it 100% so then you can think it isn't your fault if it fails."

Flashback: I'm thirteen, in high school algebra. It's challenging to me-- I was never good at math until I discovered calculus in college. And it's also true that I didn't have a very strong math background before high school. I can diagram the shit out of a sentence, but throw me an x+y=z and I'm all a-flutter. I try for awhile, do okay, but as soon as I start to flounder in a more serious way, I just stop. All out stop. I don't do any homework in the class whatsoever. I write long notes to my friend Jenny. I might even sleep in class occasionally. I fail the class and have to spend three weeks in summer school with people who wonder what the hell I am doing there since I have a "rep" as one of the smart girls. But you see, I didn't fail that class because I was too stupid. I failed that class because I didn't try...

"I am going to give it 100%," I say to Partner, forcing a smile.

"I'm just saying--" She looked out the window of the car. "It's just something you do."

I'm seventeen-- a senior in high school and it is my last swim season. I have had a varsity letter since I was a freshman. I have been swimming year round since I was twelve, competing in all levels of competition: state, regional, even national. I even practice with the boys team on the off season so I can have a workout before school. I'm a butterflier. Once when I was a sophomore, I overheard two guys, friends of the guy I was dating, talking about me. "She's a real jock," one said. I was mortified and pleased beyond belief. When I was a freshman, I took the varsity spot of a senior. Now I'm a senior and there's a new hotshot freshman on the team. She's going to challenge my lane three spot in the 100 fly. What do I do? Get the fire under my ass and work out extra hard? Push myself in the weightroom and show that little twirp? No. I skip practice, twice. Which means I have to sit out a swim meet. I watch the freshman take my spot, but not because she's better-- but because I skipped practice.

At five minutes after nine, we're still not at Dr. BusyBusyBusy's office. I slam my hands on the steering wheel at every red light. I sigh at every pokey car on the road. Partner comments that my new route sure did seem to have a lot turns. I feel pricks on my eyes, like I am going to cry. "I'm so sorry," I say to her. "I really made a mistake in getting us here."

"It's okay," she says back. "But let's just let it go now. Talk about something else."

But what else do we talk about? Nothing. We turn up the story on the radio. The Lupron shot and our next cycle is the elephant in the middle of room no one is talking about. I'm scared to be excited again and scared to not be excited again. How do I give this my all when it's so much less tangible an algebra class, a varsity swim spot, an unfinished dissertation? It's not like I'll skip a shot or anything. What's missing this time around that Partner is feeling like I am sabotaging this cycle before it even starts? I am... excited. But it's true, it's not the same as last time. Last time I blithely felt I would get pregnant with no problem. This time total uncertainty about this whole process seems much more real.

But I am ready to start again-- no doubt-- and in my heart of hearts, I am excited, but I think this time it will be mounting excitement, not like last time when it was instant. When I can see the little follicles a-growing on Partner's ovaries, that will help. When we go for the retrieval, that will help. When we see the photos of the little blasts, that will help. When I'm on that table for the transfer, that will help. For now, we just have to live together for the next few weeks-- two little lesbians looped up on Lupron.

Text Twist

No kidding, yesterday the letters I got were:

S H I T S E

These are the words I made:

Shit
Shits
Shite
Shites

-- but every time I entered them, the stupid game said, "Sorry, that's not one of the listed words."

How can those not be listed words? So incredibly appropos for yesterday's day.

Stinky Candle Causes Crabbiness

Everybody has these days, but when you're having one of them, why do you feel like the only one in the world who has ever felt this way?

To wit: Is it wrong to want to throttle the woman in the office across the hall who must have a really stinky candle burning? And its been burning all day? I sound a little crazy, but my head and stomach are sensitive to those sickly sweet candles that some people love. I hate them. This same woman likes to put Glade air fresheners in the bathroom, and I've held my peace about these. But the candle. I am literally sick with the smell.

I work with my partner-- on Tuesday and Thursday only-- mostly this is a fine work environment, but every now and then it gets tense. Today, knowing I am having a hard day, she has been very kind to me. This has still not stopped me from going into the bathroom and crying like a thirteen year old girl. And like a thirteen year old girl, I can't quite pinpoint what the problem is. It's grey outside and has been for awhile? That I'm unsure if the sun exists any more? Seems too easy. I hate doing the books for the company? Well, kinda. But these explanations don't even ring true to myself.

When you're thirteen and feel like this, often you might find yourself thinking, "I have no friends." Ah, yes, and when you're 33, feeling like a moody 13 year old, you will also think this. Like me today. Never mind my house was full to the brim a few weeks ago with friends galore, I still have been whingey about this today too.

Partner told me, "Why don't you go home early today?" and that made me cry more. The house, while not dirty, feels messy to me. Realistically, it's not messy at all. Okay, I didn't make the bed today, and there's a stack of catalogues and magazines next to the tub from a New Year's Eve bath. Every once in awhile, when my life is feeling haywire, these are the complaints about my life I drag out of the closet. The house is messy. I have no friends. Michigan is depressing. Rarely are these the real issue.

When Partner pointed this out to me moments ago, she asked if I was nervous about the Lupron shot tomorrow. Nervous?! Why on earth would I be nervous? How totally crazy of her to suggest such a thing. But when she asked me, I found myself bawling even louder. I don't know if that's the reason for my moodiness today, but that uncontrolled reaction to Partner's question might be a clue.

And I've also found myself scared of pregnancy in a way I wasn't last time around. I really feel not fit enough to have a baby right now. I feel like we should postpone for six months and go on a Biggest Loser type of get-fit program. I'm worried that being overweight is going to cause all sorts of problems from miscarriage to very early pre-term labor. And then the kid or kids will be blind or won't be able to breathe on their own or something. And it will be my fault for being so freaking fat.

Pretty much I think I should just have a drink and calm down about everything. I wasn't going to drink this cycle, trying to wind down the cocktail hour before the transfer, but that plan is right out the fucking window. I could be nervous about the Lupron shot tomorrow. Or that I won't get pregnant again. Or that I will.

Or it could just be that fucking candle...