I'm special

It's time for an update on just how special I really am!

I met Dr. C in Burlington (at a practice that I had been to before with a different doctor- the one who performed surgery). I was skeptical. Very skeptical- I didn't not connect with the previous doctor - - some thing that I kinda think is a little important when you are relying on someone to deal with your hoo-ha. Two seconds into our meeting his phone goes crazy. Great, there goes my appointment. But, much to my delight, he asked the intruder on the phone to get someone else to come down to the OR, because he's busy. Ok, gotta admit- I'm now in love with my new Doc Man. My appointment was about 30 minutes long- we talked, he listened carefully & took notes. He asked a lot of questions (ones that I haven't actually been asked before, which is quite surprising, I might add!!) He gave me multiple choices on how to proceed, but with each choice he would add "I don't think this will be right for you, but we can try it if you'd like." Finally, we came up with a game plan that involved fewer hormones and more action (not that kind of action, pervert!)
The plan entails:
1) Getting Hubby tested. He gave me a nice little sanitary cup that needs to be brought to the lab at very specific times. Meaning, Hubby must schedule his "dispensing" (as they refer to it).
2) day three of next period I need to get some testing done at the hospital. All I need to do is walk in with my fancy requisition and they are required to do the testing as listed on the paperwork. No Matter What. They will be testing for FSH (follicle stimulating hormone) as well as basic genetic stuff like cystic fibrosis as well as stuff like rubella and chicken pox.
Based on those results, as well as hubby's results we move to the next step.
3) begin a low side effect (HAHAHA!) hormone to perk up the ovaries. On a specific date Hubby needs to give me an injection (with a NEEDLE!) and then, same day, give me another injection -- no needle required this time, wink ;) That shot will tell the ovaries to release the egg... which will hopefully meet up with the spermie-men and .... voila!

If this doesn't go as planned for whatever reason, we will repeat the process the following month, however we will have a little help. We will schedule an IUI (inter uterine insemination) for the day that I get the injection (with a needle). This procedure brings the sperm directly to the egg so they can do their thing. Hopefully.

This is all very exciting.

But I think my mother is kinda acting like I am already pregnant, we just don't know when the due date will be.

Uh, that would be a very, very looong pregnancy!

Hopefully, we will just a have a big ol' surprise without any intervention! But, at the very least- we are taking action.... not just pills :)

I'll keep you posted!

Steps

Doubling the hormones did indeed double (perhaps triple?) the hot flashes & mood swings. Not a pretty sight in the G household. After my third period in one month, I sent my chart to my doctor and a lovely note that read "I can't do this anymore, it's just not working out for me." My Doctor decided I needed to take the 'next step'. Time to see a special specialist.



Exactly how many steps are there?? Infertility feels like a never ending staircase. It swirls and loops and in some parts, I feel like steps are missing. Whole sections of stairs. Gone. How do I keep on climbing? I struggle daily. Often, I forget why I'm even climbing this staircase... Whats at the top? Is there a top? Can someone carry me there? I'm tired, I've run out of energy.

Just like any other tragedy... Part one

This is something I wrote about a year ago. I witnessed a terrible accident and was unable to 'get over it', like people told me I needed to do. Writing about it was very theraputic. I know it's not well written, but I wrote it in about 10 minutes.... just spilling words until I felt better.

2008

Just like any other tragedy, Friday started off like a perfectly normal day. I didn’t do anything special, just took my time getting ready for work. I had a little bit of over-time, so I was letting myself be ‘late’ to work. I showered, dressed, and grabbed my keys and purse before I began my 40 minute journey to work. I had that funny feeling in my chest that warned me I may be forgetting something. Not sure what that something was, I locked the door to the condo and drove away.

I cranked up my Sirius Satellite and sang along to each song, whether or not I knew the words. If I didn’t, I just made some up- I’m easily entertained and doing so certainly makes the drive go by more quickly. As I drive, I notice a truck driving rather erratically in the other lane- it’s swerving, slowing and suddenly pulling over. I slow, and as the truck fully passes my, I see a cloud of debris, dust and parts flying in every direction. I slam on my brakes to avoid hitting whatever it was that was so unexpectedly floating, flipping and skidding across the pavement. Suddenly, everything about the situation made my adrenaline rush through my chest, barely able to breathe, I realize there is a motorcycle next to a car that had hit, head on, the embankment to the side of the road. I pull up closer to the scene and realize there is a man, struggling to move and lift his head in the center of the road. I reach into my glove box and yank out the one latex glove I have, along with a CPR mask that was left over from a training we had at work a few months ago. I run towards the man, as I assess the situation- There is a woman and a girl, standing wide-eyed a short distance from the motorcyclist. There were a couple of by-standers who were pacing, in circles, while I kneeled down to the man. There was a pool of blood beneath his head. I spoke softly to him, told him I was going to help, but I needed him to lay very still for me. Weak, he tried to roll his body as he moaned in agony. I attempt to hold his head still and gently push his shoulders down, so he doesn’t cause more damage to his already battered body. As I do so, I hear him gagging and sputtering. Just as I lean down to see his face, a woman arrives. “I’m a nurse, can I help?” she asked. “Yes!” I say, grateful to see someone who really knows what to do in a situation like this. Like a seasoned pro, she immediately asks the bystanders to retrieve towels or blankets, or sweaters- anything absorbent. “He’s drowning in his blood. We have to remove his helmet” she tells me. Frightened, I pull the helmet away from his face to let him breathe. I notice his helmet is terribly scratched and the visor is no longer attached. Being the only one with a glove, I reached up and cleared his nose and face, as the nurse asked. We decided that taking the helmet off was the lesser or two evils- either he drowns in his own blood, or his injuries are more extensive because we moved his broken body. I support one side of his neck, as the nurse supports his other side and we remove the helmet together. He lets out a deep breath and begins to plead with us, “Please let me roll over!! Please!” Almost as if someone had designated me the spokesperson, or translator, I became the one who communicated with him. I told him I was reaching into his pocket to retrieve his wallet, I needed to know his name, and he was too disoriented at the time to inform me. After I learn his name is George White, of Chittenden, we attempt to get an emergency contact, so we can call his wife (he had a gold band on his left ring finger). He continuously asks us “what happened” and “where am I?” followed with “what time is it?” and “what day is it?”. By this time, another nurse has joined us and a man with an ‘Orkin’ suit on has arrived and is giving us all fresh latex gloves. The Orkin man informs us that he is an off duty firefighter from Ferrisburg. He asks when and if we called for help, but I was unsure- One of the important lessons in our First aid and CPR course is to specifically designate someone to call 911. I never did that. I answer “I’m not sure,” as he radios for help. I’m not sure what information he shared with the dispatcher, but I recall the dispatcher asking if the man was unconscious. “No,” the Firefighter responded. “Disoriented?” the Dispatcher asks? “Yes, times two!” the Firefighter informs. I try to ask George if he knows how to get ahold of his wife, and he replies “Rochester School”. Immediately, a young lady calls 411 in an attempt to locate Cindy White. Finally able to get through to the Rochester school, the secretary informs us that Cindy White has not worked at the school in years….I begin to inquire, “does she work with the big kids or the little kids? What’s her number at home? Do you have any family we can contact?

“Why isn’t she at the school?” I wonder, partly panicking

I don't want to be judgemental

A couple close to me (who have a 1.5 year old) just announced that they are going to start "trying" again.
*sigh* Super.

Don't get me wrong, I am thrilled for them, I know they are the best parents they know how to be, but I'm sooo JEALOUS. Big capital letters are necessary for this kinda jealous. I'm feel like such a judgemental jerk when I think about their circumstances- neither have jobs, or the prospect of one. There are so many other things that makes me want to scream- "What the eff are you thinking!?"

But, then I think about my own situation. I'm not working. Our health insurance is about $600 a month and it has a $5,000 deductible. We are not exactly in the 'right place' financially to bring a baby into this world. But we are so ready. Ready to take on the struggles. All of them.

Do my feelings hold any validity (other than the fact that feelings are valid!)? There are a lot of things in our situation that are unique. But, that's every couple's claim.

I guess I'll just mind my own business.

Miracles come in all shapes and sizes

I haven't been working.
I've always liked staying busy, and this is no exception. Whole areas of my house are suddenly organized and moved and labeled and .... But I'm soooo bored. My days are blending together. I actually slept until 11:15 the other morning. Who does that? Oh, right- lazy people who don't work. Ugh, am I turning into that?
I need something to consume my days with. I've turned into Martha-Freakin'-Stuart. I cook constantly (normally Husband's job). Laundry is all caught up, DVD's are alphabetized (I'm NOT kidding), my bookshelves are neatly lined with all of my books (sorted by author and size). My underwear is folded into neat little squares in my top drawer, and all socks are mated- lemme tell ya, for two people, we ought to have a record amount of socks under one roof. Somebody call Guinness Book Of World Records!!
No, not about the damn socks! Call them because Heather's house is clean! It's a miracle. And, it will be even more miraculous if it makes it to Saturday afternoon.

Alas, I still yearn for the day that I can't find the other teeny tiny sock that matches the cute outfit auntie got our baby, or find a dirty diaper in the laundry hamper because I was too tired to realize it wasn't the trash can. I even look forward to waddling and stretch marks. I'm certain that would all ease my boredom.

Yes, please.

I'm not the only one.... Right?

I'm not the only one that actually makes a list of things to talk to the doctor about, right?
Or the only female who, for the millionth time in a row thinks that it will finally happen this month. For certain. So certain, that I then check online to see when my due date will be, and then start to think about what size clothes my baby will be in the winter time, and then... really. C'mon, Heather!


I can't possibly be the only one who calls the doc so often that I am certain receptionist recognizes me by voice. Kinda like the ladies at the Dunkin' Donuts here in town (medium toasted almond with cream and one sweet n low, please),

I daydream about how I will break the news. I have names picked out. I already have car seats (and a toddler bed).

I feel like I've peed on a ten dollar bill every time I get a BFN (Big Fat Negative) on a pregnancy test. Let me tell you, that is one test that I am sick of failing.

And, as I sit here and wallow- I try to be grateful that I am able to finish a sentence without being interrupted by cries of hunger or a smell so foul it must be taken care of right this second. I am grateful that I do not need to worry about whether or not I have enough diaper wipes to get me thru the evening.

I am grateful. I really am. But, I'm not the only one who wants more.

Right?

It's none of your business, damnit!

Ok. Fine. I give up. I will just accept the fact that whenever there is a pregnant woman, an infant, a child or a crib or a stroller (whether it be on t.v., real life, or referred to) someone, without a doubt will say, "So when are guys going to have kids?". Well, gee- since it's a really personal thing, lets just go ahead and discuss it right here and now. In public. Since, it's NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, I'd be more than delighted to share the real reason we haven't had any yet!
I don't ovulate regularly.
I get cysts.
I have endometriosis.
I need to have surgery. Again.

With the news that I am for certain not ovulating, I have to take the 'next step' in the world of TTC (Trying To Conceive- you will learn a lot from this, I promise!). I have been charting my temperature daily, keeping track of intercourse, scrutinizing my cervical mucus every time I go pee and taking hormones to stimulate the ovaries. Hormones. Raging, crazy and angry hormones. The side effects include mood swings. blurred vision. increased risk of multiples (ie, twins). dizziness and mood swings. Oh, please don't forget the fact that I am breaking out all over my face. My cervical fluid is non-existent, and I get ridiculous hot flashes. Hot flashes that cause me to sweat like a cold cocktail in the hot sun. Hair soaked, dripping, clothes wet kind of hot flashes. Did I mention I get mood swings?

I wake up every morning, reach for the thermometer and try not to fall asleep with it in my mouth while I take my BBT (Basal Body Temperature) and then try to memorize the four digits until I have am able to get to the computer to chart it.

Every time my cycle begins (1st day of period) I have to send a copy of my chart to my doctor, who in turn calls me to discuss the 'phases' and determine when, and if, I am ovulating.
based on the chart, he calls in Clomid to my pharmacist- and I take a 50mg dose on days 5-9 of my cycle. Well, this week The Doc Man decided that it is time to take the next step- double dose of Clomid. Please tell me I will not get double the hot flashes. Please, please tell me I will not get twice as many zits. Please for the sake of my marriage, friendships and sanity tell me that my mood swings will not double.

Hopefully, I will soon be complaining about sleepless nights, drippy boobs and wet diapers.

Aren't you glad you asked?