Lucky me

Hot Mama

A guest of my next-door neighbor propositioned me this morning, as I was walking Alice. This is wrong on so many levels: from the fact that he seemed fairly inebriated for 7:30 on a Monday morning, to-- hello! married woman from next door, not fellow drunk girl at club--, to the fact that I'd forgotten that it's possible to feel utterly awful inside, and still look normal outside. I'm still physically wrung out from the miscarriage; I'm pretty sure that I've developed both an iron deficiency and a uterine infection. The way I feel about my body right now is crap, it has failed me again and again; the very essence of my feminity is trampled and defeated. My usually-more-than-generous sex drive is MIA. Plus, I'm still depressed as hell and kind of at an emotional loss. Essentially, I'm so far from my usual healthy self-image that the idea of someone else finding me attractive (even in the basest hey-you're-hot! kind of way) just seems incongruous. Everybody should be able to see the mess within, seemingly, and it's startling when they can't.

...

Last autumn, Don and I had a pumpkin on our front porch table; just for decoration (or possibly it was for pie but I just forgot to bring it inside). It sat there until it got kind of soft, and a windstorm blew the table over and sent the pumpkin sailing into the yard, where it burst pumpkiny guts all over. Apparently my clean-up job wasn't perfect, because right now we have a few enormous pumpkin plants taking over the yard-- anyone who's grown pumpkins, squash, or zucchini knows what I'm talking about; these vines could swallow a Volkswagon. We have huge orange blossoms but no pumpkins as yet, and Don has sworn to leave the plants until we get fruit, even though they're close enough to the sidewalk and porch to threaten passersby.

Note to self:

The next time (God forbid) the doctors offer you a d&c, for the love of all that is holy, TAKE IT. Remember this.

If you can't segue, then bullet point

-- My miscarriage is finally starting. One-half relief, one-half crushing disappointment. Plenty of pain and blood to go around. Once I know that a pregnancy isn't viable, then I just want it gone... knowing something that my body hasn't figured out yet is hard. I want it over with so that we can just get started on the next one. (I almost took the doctors up on getting the D&C, but my body is so good at miscarrying naturally that it seems a waste not to.) Except, there's always a tiny part of me that hoped that the doctors and their machines were wrong... that maybe there was a healthy embryo tucked away in there somewhere and we just couldn't see it-- maybe my uterus has a hidden corner or something. (Except that since I had the hsg done I know my uterus is exactly normal-shaped.) But still. I can't help but hold out a tiny bit of hope until my body gives up and the bleeding and cramping begin. Thank you, uterus, for recognizing the concept of weekend and holding out for me, and sparing me the trouble of miscarrying at work. I appreciate it, I do.

-- We've decided to do this just one more time. For anyone new to the game, this is my fourth miscarriage since last March-- what is that, sixteen months? It's hard physically, but mentally, (emotionally? sanity-wise?) I'm afraid it's pushing me over the edge. I'm losing the emotional stability and rational perspective that has always been one of my more advantageous traits. (Be honest-- you thought that stealing-a-baby-from-the-grocery-store thing was a joke, didn't you.) We can not just keep getting pregnant only to lose the pregnancy, ad nauseum, until we're both bitter, sad, shells of human beings. So we'll try to get pregnant again after the mandatory waiting period. We'll each take our amazing collection of supplements, the selenium and vitamin E and folic acid. I'll take my progesterone religiously, again. But if we lose the next pregnancy too, then that's it. That would be five, a nice round number to stop at.

-- At which point we'll start looking into adoption and etc. ("Etc" being fostering, theft, and those Law and Order: SVU episodes that start with a heavily pregnant woman getting kidnapped. Just kidding. Mostly.) But I've got a bone to pick with the general world about adoption. Don't get me wrong, I have no issue with the concept in general, but as soon as people find out about what Don and I have been going through re: trying to have a baby, they jump on the adoption train. Why don't we "just" adopt? Did we know there are lots of babies out there that need loving parents? Well you helpful people, did YOU adopt your children? Perhaps a better question is, why do you see adoption as the last resort of people that can't seem to have genetically related offspring? Don't stand there holding your self-birthed child and mouth cliches about adoption, as though we have no right to even try to have our own like you did. Because we are having fertility problems, suddenly those "unwanted" babies are much more our problem than yours. Why do I have to defend my right to want to get pregnant, when you didn't? Because we need help? Because our attempts at conception are so obviously intentional and can't be written off as thoughtless reproduction? As it happens, I have reasons for wanting "my own". Some of them are selfish. All of them are human. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not ruling out adoption. It may become our salvation. And of course we've thought about it. Find me a couple that's been through what we have that hasn't spent hours going over the idea. I just don't like the concept that us wanting to do what everyone else seems to do almost without thinking, is not okay. (Worst sentence ever, I know.)

-- Random reasons for wanting to conceive own offspring: I want to feel what it's like to have a baby move inside me. Want to waddle down the street, hugely pregnant. Want to give birth. Want to breastfeed-- maybe for a long time. I am a mammal, dammit. I want what every hamster, bat, blue whale and grizzly bear--as well as most female humans-- want, on the most instinctual, animalistic level imaginable. It's a primal hunger, a force. I want to send my own genetic material into the future, for unimaginable, untold generations. Every living creature lives to do that, from the E. coli in your colon, to those blind fish that live in caves, to the morning glories climbing over our front porch, who busily make flowers and seedpods every day. I want to see what my children would be like. Would any of them have my green eyes? Would we be able to trace traits to my parents, my grandparents? Perhaps I'd have a child that more closely resembles-- in looks, or personality-- my brother or sister than me. "You are so much like your uncle, did you know that?" Would they have our intelligences? Our stubbornness? Or perhaps they'd be completely different. Sometimes the apple does fall far away; we all know someone that is completely different than either parent. That would be cool, too.

--I play with Mendel, trying to figure out statistical likelihoods. My paternal grandfather, a Russian Jew, had blue eyes. (If you don't know, that's fairly unusual.) Because of that, even though my dad has the much more typical dark, dark eyes of his mother, he carries a gene for light eyes, so marrying my green-eyed mother made it possible for me to have her green eyes, and my brother to have (our grandfather's? Or something from our mother's side?) blue, and my sister to get his deep brown. Meanwhile, my dad's sister, who of course also had dark brown eyes but was carrying the recessive gene, married my uncle who has the standard dark eyes, and they had three brown-eyed offspring, my cousins. But any of them could be carrying an unexpressed blue-eyed gene, which has manifested again in my cousin Robin's baby; even though both she and her partner have brown eyes, this dark-eyed, dark haired couple has a baby with blue eyes and (so far) red hair. My long-deceased grandfather's blue eyes have shown up again, two generations later. Because I married someone with beautiful hazel eyes, it's certain that our children would have light eyes-- blue, green, or hazel. That stuff fascinates me, and I always assumed that one day I'd see it carried out into the next generation. Yeah, I know, it's a stupid reason to have kids. But tell me that you didn't spend hours wondering (when you were pregnant, when you were trying, or just whenever) about the same kinds of things. Hoping that some defining trait of a well-loved relative would manifest in your own offspring, wondering if the baby you carried would have your height or your husband's non-height. The first thing a family does upon seeing a new baby, is to start arguing over its features. Mothers will inform anyone who is listening that so-and-so (usually the dad) looked JUST like that as a newborn. It's a cliche, and yet the fact that it's a cliche demonstrates that it's not just me who has this selfish desire to see my own traits, my husbands, and my family's, be re-born.

So before you write me off as selfish for trying so, so hard to get pregnant (and stay that way), you had better have adopted your own children-- and not as a last resort when nothing else worked. Only then can you prove that you didn't have the exact same reasons-- or ones just as silly-- for having your babies the traditional way.

And Now for Something Completely Different

... in which I talk about work. Well not really about work, but about banking. Or banks. Or something. I know I bitch and complain about my job here occasionally, and (believe me), I am still annoyed by one million things about my position, my manager, my coworkers, etc. Right now, though, I'm kind of relieved that I work for this particular financial institution, which of course I can't name here but if you know me you know what it is. Let's just say that if banks were in high school, mine would be voted "Least Likely to Fail". If banks were a reality show, it'd be the Last Bank Standing. Finally, all that conservatism--the caution in making loans, the none-too-great interest rates-- is paying off, so that in a time when it really kind of sucks to be working in the financial industry, at least I don't have to worry about scandal, bad press, getting laid off, or the FDIC stepping in and taking over. Considering that I applied for jobs at a lot of banks and it was sheer chance that I work for this one, I consider it a lucky break.

In keeping with the "why me?" theme, also known as the "it never rains but it pours" motif, or perhaps the "universe is fucking with me" idea...

I am covered in poison ivy. Head to toe, mostly on my back. I realize that an itchy rash is hardly on par with losing another baby, but that combined with everything that happened last week (i.e. the whole truck-getting-towed, me-getting-stranded saga), added to the fact that I just spent over three hundred dollars getting the air conditioner in my car fixed only to have it NOT working any better than before, and I feel like throwing in the towel. Can't I just crawl into bed with my cortizone cream and my benedryl, and stay there a week or two?

When the going gets sad...

The sad bake cookies. Damn good cookies.

Some people use their whiteboards for grocery lists... mine is for vows.

Sigh.

OK, well, so I'm back. Yeah. Many things to write about now. I'll start with a confession, because those are always fun. When I announced that I was taking a break from posting, it was because I'd just found out that we were pregnant again. My plan to get knocked up on our first cycle of trying again was fairly successful, making it our second time for a first-try pregnancy. If that makes any sense. I lost the desire to discuss the pregnancy here, though, for a couple of reasons. For one thing, my parents and brother were coming to Virginia to visit us, and I wanted to wait and share the news in person, for once, rather than over the phone; somehow dishing about it here several weeks before telling them didn't seem right. The main issue, though, was just that we've been through this so many times now, that my thoughts and emotional patterns have become repetitive. I couldn't stomach posting daily about how I was scared. Excited. Scared again. Hopeful. Worried. It's the same every time.

My family came to town, we told them our news, and all was joyous. Our ultrasound was scheduled for Wednesday afternoon, and I decided that if it looked good, I'd come back here with the sonogram pictures and announce the pregnancy. If it was bad news, I'd come back to sob about another failure. Well, there are no sonogram pictures here today*. I am in that lovely span of time where I get to wonder whether I'll miscarry naturally again, or have to have a D & C. Did I mention that Don was on a business trip when I found out? And that I had to call him and tell him that we weren't having a baby after all? He had wanted me to put the ultrasound off for a week so that we could be together for it, and I demurred... I needed to see in there and see what was happening so badly that waiting another week seemed impossible.

Even though this is our fourth loss in a row, the doctors are adamant that it has nothing to do with the other three. Seriously. This one is random, couldn't have been helped by anything, just plain bad luck. You know how most women that have a miscarriage just have one, and it turns out that there's nothing wrong with them, and they have healthy pregnancies afterwards? This is that kind of miscarriage. It's hard for me to wrap my mind around the idea, that after three other losses, we get the "random bad luck" miscarriage that is an anembryonic pregnancy, more commonly called a blighted ovum. It seems like more than our fair share of bad luck, like the universe is fucking with us. But since when is life fair, right? Things could be worse. They can always be worse. We had a second ultrasound this morning, just to make absolutely sure there isn't anything in there-- no missed twin, nothing like that-- before making the decision to stop the hormone treatment, since doing that would end even a healthy pregnancy. I did ask the doctor about Don's side of the fertility equation**, given the substantial age difference between us and the decades of hard living, but he essentially pointed out that as Don's gotten me pregnant four times in sixteen months, his sperm is not really to be questioned. But he gave me a list of vitamin and mineral supplements for the man, so I just spent a week's pay at Whole Foods for things like selenium and Vitamins C and E. It's interesting what we do when we have no control over a situation, isn't it? Oh, and I'm still infatuated with this RE practice. After the feet-in-stirrups part of a visit, they have me get dressed and come into an office, so that we can talk across a (round) table as fully-dressed adults, rather than continuing to talk at me while I'm still on the table, naked from the waist down and wrapped in a sheet. The added dignity is nice. Plus, I was twenty minutes late for my appointment (remind me to tell you that story some time, it involved our new truck*** getting towed from the parking lot at work, leaving me stranded with no ride, no cash, no debit card) and they were very gracious about it. Then they made a special appointment for today, a Saturday, for the followup since it's so hard for me to get out of work. If we get pregnant again I wonder if I could stay with them the whole time (assuming that is longer than a few weeks) instead of transferring back to the obstetrician.

P.S. Oh yeah, and we bought the house. It is ours. Or more accurately, 20% of it is ours, and the other 80% we will slowly buy back from the bank over 20 or 30 years. So at least one definite, constructive thing has happened this year, which is nice. Before, I was joking with Don that in future years, we will look back and remember 2007 as the year we wed, 2008 as the year we became homeowners, and 2009 as the year of the first baby. It is not entirely too late for that, since this one would have been due in February, but I am having a hard time believing that we'll ever successfully sustain a pregnancy.

*Interestingly, they still *take* the pictures for a failed pregnancy, they just don't give you copies for your fridge. I think that's probably a good idea, because otherwise I might go around showing people, "...and here's where there should have been an embryo, and yet look! It's not there! That's called an anembryonic pregnancy! Isn't that an oxymoron? Because you'd think the definition of being pregnant would be that there's an embryo inside you!" Instead, the photos get stapled to something in your file. My file is starting to look impressively thick.

** The only test they've done on Don so far is a chromosomal analysis to make sure that he doesn't have any genetic abnormalities.

*** We bought a new truck a little while ago, I don't think I ever mentioned it here. Although it's half mine (I paid for half of it and my name's on the title too) I think of it as Don's truck because it's replacing his 1993 Ford Ranger. This one is *exactly* the same truck, except that it's a 2006 and a beautiful dark red color instead of silver.

Brief hiatus

I've decided to take a few days, maybe a few weeks, away from here. Partly because I'm tired of writing mini-updates confirming that nothing is happening, or that lots of things are happening too slowly to observe-- I'll come back when I can report real news. Partly also because everything else is hectic right now; at work we're moving into the busiest time of year, plus the home-buying stuff, the fertility stuff, the my-parents-are-coming-in-a-week-CLEAN-THE-HOUSE stuff. Much to do, little to write. Be back soon.

Dinner: 30 minutes, MY ASS

Here's the problem with "30 minute meals": it's easy to whip up dinner in half an hour if you're starting with a perfectly clean kitchen and a fully stocked pantry-- including lots of fresh goodies in the fridge. Ever notice that Rachel is always pulling fresh herbs and salad greens out of that cool retro refrigerator? That stuff only lasts a day or two. How do daily runs to the supermarket figure into the half-hour meal plan? It generally takes me 45 minutes to get to the store, get what I need, and get home, if I go there straight from work. (It takes that long because I work the typical 9-5, so I'm hitting both the roads and the grocery exactly at their busiest time if I do that.) I suppose dinner is the only daily meal created in that studio kitchen, but in real life, who doesn't come home to breakfast dishes, the remains of a smoothie, or a dishwasher still waiting to be run and unloaded? Nobody's perfect and we all have to get to work on time in the morning. Not to mention that I've rarely seen a kitchen in real life that is as large and well-laid-out as that one. Every time I see that show, I think-- yeah, dinner's easy when everything's ready to go. Try rushing to the store after work, then coming home to a kitchen that needs some TLC... and by the time it's time to cook, you're already exhausted and considering takeout. Actually cooking dinner-- not from a box, a bag, or the freezer-- is admirable, but doing it regularly requires a lot of behind-the-scenes labor: meal planning, shopping, cleaning, organizing. Rachel rarely admits to the rigorous planning-ahead that these apparently spontaneous meals require.

Recently, we've (I've) been trying to make more dinners at home, from scratch. Mostly to save money, but also because they're healthier--I tend to cook much healthier food than I order, plus portions are saner. I had a three-pronged plan last week that I'm carrying over to this week: eat dinner at home (scratch) every night but one, bring my lunch to work every day, and only go to the grocery store once in that time. We did pretty well, only derailed one night when we had to eat out with friends. Going grocery shopping just once per week should save me a lot of money, time, gas, and sanity. Impulse buys are a per-trip expense, so going just once means that whatever the impulse-- fresh berries, a magazine, a Heath bar-- it won't happen again until next time. The time and trouble of driving out to the store is a major discouragement to cooking at home, so it's great to have a week's worth of food already there. Gas is obvious... I spent $50 on Friday filling up my tank; I know that's nothing compared to some folks, but I want it to last as long as possible. One thing that's helping me immensely towards driving less is the fact that the AC in my car is broken-- amazing how little you'll drive when it's miserably hot and you have no air conditioning. Hence the sanity-savings.

Last week I saved about $30 in lunch money, and lost two pounds without any other effort. Not too bad for one week. I hit up Whole Foods and our farmers' market over the weekend, so... here's to Week 2!

Poultry at Large

Want to update, but nothing to report...AKA, the story of my life. The buying-a-house process seems to be moving agonizingly slowly, even though I know that everything is actually happening on or ahead of schedule. Termite inspection, house inspection, house appraisal. It's just that our landlord is pretty desperate for the sale, and as first-timers, Don and I are wee helpless babes calling our loan officer every day. Speaking of appraisal, does anyone know what we want the result to be? Seems to me that anything higher than what we're paying for the house is a bad thing, since property taxes are based on it, but my coworker is convinced otherwise; something about resale value. But I am pretty sure that resale value is completely market-based; nobody is going to pay more for a house than it's market value just because the bank says it's worth x. Yes? No? We seem to have a closing date, however, so unless something goes wrong we'll be in our house* by the 3rd. Which, incidentally, is the day my parents and brother are coming to visit us for the weekend. I really, really want to be able to say "Guess what WE just did!" I'd also like to be able to say,"... AND we're pregnant." But that won't happen for a couple of reasons, not the least of which being that if I get a positive pregnancy test, I tend to call my mom within hours or days, not weeks.

I tested this morning and got a negative, but it was too soon. Essentially I wasted a test knowing that even if I am, it's too soon to tell. At least it was the free test that came with the ovulation kit. I shall test my inner strength by not testing again for awhile; after all, I'm already doing everything I'd do if I knew I were pregnant, e.g. the progesterone, vitamins, aspirin, etc. It's not like last time when I had to find out as soon as possible... Unfortunately, I've always disappointed myself when it came to the inner-strength resolve of not testing early.

I have looked up the city regulations, and there is nothing keeping us from having a small flock of chickens in our yard, or beehives. We may not keep pigs or sheep, however, unless intended for immediate slaughter, and goats are never allowed. Additionally, no poultry can roam the city "at large", unless it is a trained carrier pigeon. I love The Law. (Alert, we have Poultry at Large at 14th and Main... that's right, a chicken right in the street. Ack, it can fly! I'm going to need backup!) Do people still keep homing pigeons? THAT would be a fun hobby, it's almost like owls and you could pretend Harry Potter.

*******************************************************
*In our house is a funny way to look at it, since we're buying the place we currently live in. No moving into a new home, no shiny new keys. I wonder if we should have some sort of ceremonial re-entry, as in 'we leave for the last time as renters, and reenter now as owners'? With sage?

...Part Two

I'm in that lovely period of anticipation known as the Two Week Wait, those days between when one might have gotten pregnant and the earliest one could find out if this is so. Doubtful that this is our month, due to an unscheduled reappearance of Don's Terrible Neck & Back Pain (those pesky discs). This leads to dialogue like this: "What do you mean, you're in incredible pain? Do I care? FERTILIZE ME NOW!"-- that is thankfully internal. My mouth actually said things like, "poor baby", and "I'll go get the Advil." Still, we have a chance. And every time that we've gotten pregnant, I was previously convinced that it wasn't going to be our month, so I don't put too much stock in that feeling now. I am popping the prenatals, the aspirin, and the progesterone-- or I would be were it an oral medication. I guess "gingerly placing the progesterone" would be more accurate. What's bad is that I've had constant headaches lately, possibly due to this insane heat/ humidity, or to the stress of applying for a home loan. No Advil allowed in the two week wait...

We are officially preapproved for the loan, and nothing on their list of requirements is out of our reach, so things are looking good on that end. The termite inspection went well. But there are a lot of things that could go wrong, so I'm not overly excited (with a 'c'!) so far. My brain hurts, so must go now.

If you want coherence, go read a novel

Project House: still waiting for loan application to be approved. Because THAT'S not a nerve-wracking few days, is it? Signed a bunch of paperwork with our landlord (aka the Seller, aka the Agent. He wears many hats.) that would usually not be signed until after he sees our pre-approval letter. Huh.

Project Baby: AM OVULATING TODAY. Got the simpering digital smiley face on Clear Blue Easy's ovulation kit this morning, backed it up with the more prosaic two-matching-lines kit from Accu-someting. They agree with each other. I've been so wrapped up with peeing in a cup every morning (I've gotten REALLY GOOD at that-- no splashing, no overflow!), testing with two different tests (what if one of them DOESN'T WORK?), taking my vitamins & etc, that I almost forgot that in order to get pregnant, we'd still have to have sex at some point. Thank goodness Don had the presence of mind (or something) to remember that bit.

Project Sister Coming to Virginia to Take Back the Dog We've Been Caring For for 9 Months: complete, amid much heartbreak and sadness. Our place is too quiet now. Alice seems a bit lost. Don may or may not have cried. We miss you, Cocomo! Come back any time!

Thoughts: that smiley face is pretty damn condescending. I mean, we are presumably intelligent, well-educated women. We do not require a flippin' smiley face to say, "yay! you're ovulating!". Seriously? Stop infantilizing the fertility-challenged.

It really sucks to realize that your zipper is down at the grocery store, where you've gone straight from work. And subsequently realize that you haven't used the bathroom in hours. How many people noticed that zipper? HOW MANY?

It is surreal to hand the rent check to the landlord and have him say, "If this works out, I'll be giving half of this back! Not to mention your damage deposit, the downstairs tenant's damage deposit, and half of her June rent!"

The bank has a website where you can check the process of your application any time. I hope they don't track how many times an applicant checks the site, or read too much into that. Every 2o minutes is normal, right?

It seems that Don doesn't really enjoy being woken up by having pee-soaked tests thrust towards his face. I can't see why-- I mean, smiley face! Right there! Exiting news.

Only the SCARIEST THING EVER

So. Don and I have an opportunity to buy the house we're living in from our landlord. I think we're going to try to do it. I am FREAKING OUT over here: so much stress and anxiety over this spur-of-the-moment decision. It is sort of a now-or-never deal because if we buy directly from him, we don't need to get real estate agents involved, and can save some money on both ends. He's selling either way, so if we don't (or can't) buy the place, he'll be listing with an agent: random people will be wandering through our apartment, and--eventually-- we'll have to move out and find a new place. Argh. So many different issues to address, I don't even know where to begin.

There are two apartments in this house; one that's the upper level (where we live), and a smaller apartment below. If we buy it, we'll become landlords ourselves, having this second unit to rent out. The current tenant (who's lived there for eight years), is moving soon, so we'll have to find new tenants and all that jazz.

Money. Money money money money. That's what it's all about, right? Hmm. Has anyone else ever noticed that it's impossible to figure out how much a house will cost per month? Sure, you can run mortgage estimates to get an idea of principle and interest, but that's assuming that you know what interest rate you can get: the difference between 6% and 7% for the figures we're looking at is almost one hundred dollars a month. It's hard to estimate the home owner's insurance and property taxes that are rolled into the monthly payments as well. From my rough estimates, I come up with these ideas:

The mortgage payment will be more than what we're currently paying in rent. What we're paying, though, is really low for the area, so if we have to move to another apartment, our cost of living will go up anyway. If, however, we can get (and keep) the lower apartment rented out, we'll actually be spending less on housing than we currently are. It is imperative that we be able to afford the entire mortgage, independent of tenant rent, but I think we can. The asking price of the house, incidentally, is exactly the highest figure we were willing to consider back when we were actively house-hunting. That was assuming, of course, that we'd be responsible for the entire mortgage. With me?

We know perfectly well that house prices are falling, and aren't likely to recover any time soon. If we buy this house, we have to be prepared to hang on to it for several years, or face losing our investment. So, if we still decide to move away from Charlottesville in the next few years, we'll be looking at renting out the upper apartment as well. Oy. This is a college town, with more houses occupied by renters than owners, but we're pretty far from the school-- not walking distance. I don't know how easy that will be.

The house doesn't seem to need any work for now. (We should know, having been living there for the past 18 months...) It's structurally sound, the roof is good, the foundation. Still, Don and I are both nuts for house projects, and I imagine our homey ambitions combined with years of frustrated desires will cost us a lot of money, that will probably never be recovered.

We could finally fence the yard. Paint. Garden. ARggh, I just don't know. Can we do this? Do we want to? Could the timing be any worse, what with trying (AGAIN) to start a baby? My study would make an adorable nursery... We're still walking-distance to down town, and Don's work. Why don't I own a Ouija board, or at least an 8-ball? Who can answer these questions for me?

Epic

If only I'd been able to live-blog the entire journey, to really give an idea of the crazy that is camping someplace twelve hours away, with the entire 'family', in a small car. My mind is so full and tired, that all I can offer is snippets...

Like getting pulled over on the interstate in New York, going through the whole license-and-registration rigamarole, and finally:

Officer: Do you know why I pulled you over?

Don: Honestly? No. No idea. (We weren't speeding, see, because the were police everywhere due to its being Memorial Day Weekend.)

Officer: Don't laugh, but I saw your dogs moving around in the back seat, and thought that they were kids that weren't buckled in. Now I see that I was mistaken. Sorry about that.

And so we were let back on the road, our "kids" still loose in the back. Too bad that the next time we were pulled over-- about four hours later, in Vermont-- it was because we were speeding, and resulted in a ticket.

There were lovely meals with friends we haven't seen in years... Friends that should come with a label: Do not be afraid of the vegans, they still eat pizza* and drink beer, and they don't sneer at your omelet! Friends that are coming down to visit us next month, at last!

"Camping" within the city on a holiday weekend was a new experience for us; we usually aim for off-peak times and out-of-the-way places, hoping to get a little peace, quiet, and privacy. This time, we were sort of treating the campsite and tent as a very cheap hotel room; not a 'getting away from it all' time so much as just a place to crash after being in town all day. Good thing, too, as it was pretty crowded and loud. The cat was wonderful; twelve straight hours in the car, two days in a tent, and another day back in the car doesn't phase her at all. She is the best road-trip cat imaginable**. Sometimes she's so quiet in the car that I have to check to make sure she hasn't slipped out somehow, but she's always just sleeping under the passenger seat. Alice loves it, too. We've taken so many trips (and moved cross-country) so many times in the eight years we've had her, that she seems to think spending days in the car is perfectly normal.

Cocomo, the sister's dog, was less relaxed. She is not a fan of the road trip, but that's one of the reasons why we took her; my sister is coming up in a few days to collect her and drive her back to Texas. We were hoping this trip would normalize the experience of being in the car, and I think it helped. Mainly, though, we just wanted to enjoy our last week with her:

Vermont is still awesome. We sort of spent the entire weekend saying, "Why did we leave this place, again? Why aren't we still here?" and reminding each other of the six-month winters. It just doesn't work, though, because who can think of snow, in the face of this:

Or this:

That picture encapsulates so many things that I love: my husband of one year, two days; my baby with the floppy ears; the neice-dog; and Speeder & Earl's mochas, of which I have been suffering withdrawal pains for four years. It's been too long.

*hummus, no cheese, tons of veggies. Looked yummy.

** I don't know anyone else that takes their cat on road trips, so I'm just guessing. But she handles it like a pro!

To think, for some people it's free

OK, so I was all exited and smug because a jumbo, nasty bill came from my infertility doc's office, but it had all been covered by insurance, (thank you!) leaving me only fifteen dollars left to pay. (Which really makes me wonder-- why? Do human people ever actually look at these bills? Why cover over nine hundred dollars' worth of procedures and etc, but leave the last 15? Anyways.) You know how you're supposed to read through those bills to make sure you're not getting charged for stuff that wasn't done to you? Nothing like seeing, "catheterizing" on that list and going, "yup, yup, sure do remember that catheter! At least my bill's correct!"

Right now I'm less exited, having been informed that the twice-daily progesterone supplement that is my future offspring's only chance for survival, is NOT covered, for the stupidest reason involving how it's billed or something. It's going to cost me sixty dollars a month until we conceive, then $120/ month for the first three months of the pregnancy. (Hopefully.) AND, I have to use ovulation-prediction kits every month to pinpoint exactly when to start the hormones; I thought those would cost about what a pregnancy test does, seeing that they do the same trick of analysing the chemical content of urine. They don't. So, a couple of those kits every month, also until we conceive again. Essentially, trying to concieve is going to cost over a hundred dollars a month until we get lucky. I ran all this by Don, with the inevitable conclusion: conceive ASAP, save $$! It's going to be a busy month...

But first, we get to go camping* with not one dog, not TWO dogs, but two dogs AND a cat**! This is going to be super, super fun. Or, at the very least, give us good vacation-from-hell stories for another few years.



* What, isn't that how everybody celebrates their one-year marriage anniversary?
** She gets LONELY if we leave her behind! I know I swore she'd never come camping with us again, but it will be different this time. Really.

When Bank Tellers PMS

Reasons why people come into the bank to do transactions that could be done at the ATM:

1. They need specific denominations: two fives, a roll of quarters for laundry, anything the machine can't handle.
2. Or too little, as in: I only have eight bucks in my account, can I take out five?
3. Or, conversely, too much: nobody wants eight hundred dollars in twenty dollar bills, it makes the wallet all fat and awkward.
4. They want the money from an account that isn't connected to their ATM card: not the primary account, in others words.

Those are really good reasons. Less-good reasons include:

5. They don't know about ATMs/ are afraid of the freaky technology embodied by this "cash machine". (Seriously.)
6. Variant: all plastic money is the devil, including ATM cards.
7. They crave human interaction, and don't have enough friends/ acquaintances/ bartenders/ barristas/ random people on the street, to fulfill said need.

It's not like it's my business, really. If you want to wait in line for ten minutes behind people doing cashier's checks and address changes, whatever. Personally, I'd use that shiny ATM by the front door... But then again, I'm an antisocial, PMSing, time-valuing technophile, so what do I know.



You know what's weird? I can never, ever spell "particularly" right on the first try. No other words give me such trouble.

Answers, Answers!

Apparently, my progesterone sucks! It should be at least 10 parts per whatever (and I've heard 25 is better); mine is 6.8. This is fantastic! Out of the sea of perfect test results, a Problem has reared its monstrous head and announced, "it is because of ME that you can't hold a pregnancy! Me! ME!" And not a hard-to-fix problem, either. What is also amazing is that the doctor himself called me the very next day after I took the test. I could get used to this kind of care... We had quite a long discussion about progesterone deficiency and treatment: using ovulation-prediction kits to know just when to start the supplements, and whether I'll stay with the suppositories or go for the intra-muscular injections. (Ewww.) On the bad side, I was (am, actually) at work, so this lively talk of periods, ovulation, and suppositories took place in the bank lobby. Hey, it's really slow and there were no customers. I think that the doctor's average patient is probably a bit older than me (seeing that he's an infertility specialist) and perhaps more mature. All I know is that I have a tendency to giggle, especially at things like this:

Doc: ... and so if it were me, I'd probably stick with the vaginal suppositories for now.

Me: that sounds really funny coming from a man. . .

I mean, it's not possible, you know? See? Anyways. Very happy, have answers, can get started baby-making again ASAP. The only nagging doubt right now is that I had been supplementing progesterone already for the last two pregnancies, but maybe it was just too little, too late? I hope so. I hope this will be the safety net I was searching for.

Netflix, Buffy, Harry, Doctor

A lot of nothing has been happening in these parts lately, hence the lack of updates. Perhaps the most exiting new development is this discovery: Seasons of television shows, on DVD, through Netflix! Oh, my. For someone with a slightly addictive personality, this is so dangerous. For example, Don was out of town most of last week (business trip), and I may or may not* have watched 12 hours of Gilmore Girls** within four evenings. Because you can get whole seasons! In order, from the very beginning, with no commercials... it's lovely. The difficulty is in remembering that you can pause the show, instead of subconsciously waiting for the commercial break to visit the bathroom or whatever, and finding yourself desperately having to go much later, not having realized that there are no commercials. It's like watching a PBS documentary-- you don't want to walk away, and yet there are no breaks! I'm working on adapting to this "DVD" concept.

Don and I are working our way through the first and second seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer too, a show that featured prominently in the early days of our friendship and thus has a nostalgia factor that's almost as appealing as the show itself. I think that any Harry Potter fan trying to come to grips with no more Harry, would do well to rediscover Buffy. Almost a year after the final book release, and I'm still saddened by the End of Harry Potter. Oh, sure, we can always re-read the books. There are movies still to come, but... whatever. To me, the movies were always a pleasant diversion, nothing more. Certainly not cannon. And yes, that encyclopedia sounds great, but it could be years more in the making. I miss that feeling of anticipation for the next book, the hours spent theorizing, analyzing details of plot and character, the heated discussions in person, on the phone, online. It's hard to close that chapter-- the chapter in which Harry Potter was this ongoing, alive thing-- even a year later. I have yet to find something that engages me the way it did.

Almost all of the lab results are back from the RE's office now. The doctor (!) called me this morning to let me know that Don's chromosome analysis was normal, and we had a chat in person about what's next. Which turns out to be... nothing. They have exhausted their battery of tests, and everything is normal. The only thing left is the progesterone, which they drew for this morning. I've been supplementing the stuff for the last two pregnancies, though, so it's probably not our issue. Especially considering that previous tests have showed it in normal range. Still, the doc said he'd write me a new prescription for it anyways, since it can't hurt. Either way, we're free to start trying again whenever we'd like. Since we have the daring to hope for a baby by next Mother's day, that means pretty soon.

You know, the weirdest part of the whole paragraph above is that the doctor called me. That has never happened before. Nurses call me. Receptionists call me. Doctors do not call me. And they do not say, "Well, if you're coming down for a blood test now, I'll rearrange some things so that we can sit down and talk for a few minutes while you're here." I finally find a doctor like this, and now I am essentially leaving his practice because they've done what they can. Ironic, yes?

Before, we had three completely unexplained miscarriages ... they could have been the result of any number of common problems. Now, we have the same three; completely unexplained, that are the result of anything except any of the usual causes of miscarriages. It's not my blood-- not a clotting disorder, nor bad antibodies. Not my genetic material, nor Don's. Not my uterus, not my tubes. And most likely, not my hormones. It's hard to wrap my mind around this bit of failure by modern medicine. Most definitely, a problem exists: three consecutive losses, no babies, it falls outside the probability of chance. And yet, the problem is undiagnosable. According to the doc's statistics, we have a 60% chance of carrying the next pregnancy to term without any kind of medical intervention. Considering that the chart lumps together everyone under 35, and combines those with 3 and those with 4 losses, it's probably a bit higher than that. He said, I can take a baby aspirin every day; even though all of the bloodwork came back normal, "It can't hurt and you never know". I can start supplementing progesterone even earlier, starting days after ovulation instead of waiting until we know we're pregnant.

I can just hold my breath, and hope that that "60%" actually applies to us.


************************************************
* I definitely did.
** Don likes this show too. I'll bet that a lot of men do but don't admit it.

They said it better.

Twenty years of schoolin' and they put you on the day shift.





Work sucks--

--I know.