Are You Tired of This, Yet?

Don's truck broke down a few weeks ago; the transmission is finally, completely, shot. It hasn't been that much of a problem, really, because we live so close to where he works; it's at most twenty minutes on foot. The coffee shop that is an inalienable part of Alice's and my morning walk is about three-quarters of the way to his work, so sometimes he walks with us that far, gets a mocha, and continues on his way while we return to the house. Sometimes he skips the walk and I drop him off on the way to my work. Either way, it's rather nice to have a few extra minutes together before work.


I like being a one-car household, even temporarily; it plays so well into my fantasy about living in a walkable place and not being as dependent on The Car, and all the walking is good for Don. Who wouldn't benefit from walking more every day, right? Don is less happy with the situation, as it makes him a little too dependent, but he's torn between fixing the truck and just buying a new vehicle. It's a complicated situation, financially and emotionally, and it's too easy to just put off making a real decision given the circumstances.

And speaking of infertility (for lack of better segue)...

This period of my life feels as though it would run better as a montage. I can picture it: flashes of waiting rooms and doctors' offices interspersed with late-night kitchen table conversations-- what if it's from my time in Iraq, they injected us with so much crap, there were news stories for years afterwards/ no honey, it's much more likely to be my hormones, you'll see-- all set to some meaningful background music as we telescope towards a solution. If only I were the director, rather than just one of the main players in my own little drama. Instead we have to go through it all in agonizingly slow real time, and nobody is selecting a sound track for me. Next week I have an appointment with the R.E. Exact time undetermined as of yet, as my managers nixed the slot assigned to me. The funny bit is that I'm not even sure what the appointment is for-- whether we'll just be talking and devising an "action plan", or whether this is for my (brace yourself) hysterosalpingogram-- a lovely test in which they will inject dye into my uterus and then x-ray it! I'm ever so excited about that one.

Actually, I am excited about it. Anything that could lead to a diagnosis and (more importantly) a cure is exciting to me. Now that I'm reading more about the test, it looks like they couldn't possibly do it next week because it's for a specific time within the cycle and they don't know where I am, cycle-wise. It's contraindicated during pregnancy and apparently requires that a home pregnancy test be taken before the exam, which strikes me as a little funny because it's an infertility test. Sorry, we can't run this infertility test on you-- you're pregnant! So you don't need it anyways, see? Then again, I guess there are plenty of women like me needing the test, too, as well as those that just aren't getting preggers.

I've been having phantom pregnancy feelings lately. Left over from last time? Who knows. It's really not possible given the timing, unless there's a way to get pregnant by talking on the phone; I guess it's just the final dissolution of my mind/body relationship, and I sign that I should give up trying to interpret anything my body does. Sometimes I really do think life is easier for the male half of the species.