Master/Slave

This meme is stolen from some non-IF blogs I read (or lurk on. But whatever!)

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions. Try not to repeat a song title. It’s harder than you think.
YOUR ARTIST: Pearl Jam
Are you male or female: Daughter
Describe yourself: Alive
How do you feel about yourself: Nothingman
Describe where you currently live: State of Love and Trust
The first thing you think of when you wake up: Go
If you could go anywhere, where would you go: Oceans
Your favorite form of transportation: Footsteps
What is the weather like where you are at: Bugs
Your best friend is: Dirty Frank
Your favorite color is: Black
If your life were a TV show, what would it be called: Life Wasted
What is life to you: Given to Fly
What is the best advice you have to give: Do the Evolution
If you could change your name, what would it be: Glorified G
Your favorite food is: Stupid Mop
How I would like to die: Worldwide Suicide
My soul’s present condition: Spin the Black Circle
What are you going to post this as: Master/Slave
Now it is your turn—

drought

So, I've read that clomid can cause some vaginal dryness. Apparently, I get to experience that lovely little side effect. Seriously, it's like the fucking sahara down there.

I keep expecting to see tumbleweeds blowing through when I drop trousers to pee.

It makes that actual baby making act more than a little difficult. We've been muddling through. Thank god for pre-seed.

Other side effects: I've been a little more emotional lately (okay, I cried reading the front page of the newspaper today. And nothing was even really on it!) but no crazy mood swings or rages. I have been sweating a ton. A ton. Thankfully, I have a rather physical job, so it's not unusual for me to sweat, but this is borderline ridiculous.

I haven't ovulated yet, so I'm sure more fun side effects will pop up as this cycle continues.....

I broke up with my dentist yesterday

I used to like my dentist. I have bad teeth - although they look nice, it's a mere facade. I've paid for enough dental work in my life to send several dentist's children to community college. That said, I've spent some time in my dentist's office. Lately, though, I've had this weird phobia about going in for anything other than a cleaning. When my dentist suggested getting a crown on one of my upper left back teeth, I resisted - after all, the thought of the torture and shelling out the big bucks insurance doesn't cover seemed pretty premature when the tooth wasn't even bothering me.

Big mistake.

It started with a bit of a toothache Thursday night. I wasn't too alarmed, and ibuprofen took care of it. I woke up Friday with the worst. toothache. ever. Nothing took the edge off. It felt like there were little daggers digging into all of the teeth on the left side of my mouth. I went into work, broke into tears from the pain more than once (which is really really unlike me - I once fractured my pelvis and thought it was a muscle strain for two weeks. I went snowboarding and running on it!). My dentist couldn't see me until early Monday morning. I agreed to the appointment, but kept feeling worse and worse.

So I called the dentist's office, and stumbled upon an interesting fact: half of the dentists in Des Moines close at noon on Fridays. And its not as if they have weekend hours either. Great.

I left my dentist a message on his emergency line (cell phone) that I was in extreme pain and needed suggestions on how to deal. He did not call back.

So I said "Fuck it" and started calling around until I found 1. a dentist that was open and 2. a dentist that could see me and 3. a dentist accepting new patients and 4. a dentist who accepts our insurance.

Luckily I ended up in a great office. I'm pretty sure I'm going to switch to this doctor. It could have been really sketchy. Once, years ago in a similar dental emergency (when will I ever learn?), I ended up in the office of a man who worked alone. As in, no assistant, no receptionist, nothing. Just him, and his combover. Oh, and opera music blaring. He also eschewed high tech equipment, like x ray viewers and computers. Interestingly, the root canal he gave me hurt less than any other I've had.

So that brings me back to yesterday. I had an emergency root canal. My tooth was majorly infected. I'll have to spring for the crown, too. I could have just had it yanked, and saved a thousand bucks, but to me, having a full set of teeth (even if they are troublesome and rotten)? Priceless.

Oh, and remember how I mentioned that I'm bad with pills? Well, now I get to take antibiotics and pain meds too! Yay!

jagged little pill

I've done it - swallowed my first clomid this morning. The fact that I got it down is a feat in and of itself - I am a notoriously bad pill taker, reduced to chopping my cramp fighting ibuprophen into teeny tiny bits and feeling the jagged edges scrape down my throat. I don't think it's just psychological - though it may be - because I make the attempt to swallow whole pills regularly and usually end up with them stuck. But I'll do anything to make spawn, including swallowing clomid and ten little folic acid pills every day.

I'm sitting here waiting for some kind of womanly epiphany to descend upon my body (I'm picturing an ethereal glow, magically bigger boobies and a uterus that suddenly decides it's tired of killing babies), but so far, nothing. I am, however, talking to my ovaries and uterus like I'm a high school basketball coach for the losing team at halftime. "Come on, girls! You can do it! Make a good, quality eggy. Uterus, you get in there and start growing a nice thick lining. We can win! It's not over till it's over!"

The insanity that this mess has brought into my life - I don't think I've ever had a conversation with an organ before.

In adoption news: our trip to get the ball rolling is in 2.5 weeks. Holy crap. I want to do the happy dance every time I think about it, but then reality smacks me in the face: We have a TON of work on the house to do, and we really don't know how we're going to finance this right now. Our original plan was to scrape together all of our savings, etc, and then ask Hubby's folks for a loan to cover the rest. I don't know if it's going to go down like that, because they've been tough to deal with lately. Hubby's dad has been okay - he's usually quite understanding and non judgemental about this shit. Hubby's mom - well, she's another story. When we told her a couple of weeks ago about our latest loss, she basically said that this is god's plan for us and we should accept it. I call bullshit - if there is a god, and he/she/it really wants us to adopt, I think there's a better way to go about it than to have us experience loss after loss, heartbreak after heartbreak. A vision or something, perhaps? A booming voice declaring that we should pursue adoption full force? What kind of god wants people to suffer like we have?

She also made a point of pulling Hubby aside at the party for his niece and saying that she "hopes we can get over this." Ugh.

Speaking of the party, Hubby has declared that it was a good thing I didn't go, because he was reduced to stifling the desire to punch family members in the face as they went around declaring PIG a "miracle baby" and other such crap. Had I been there, I'd have sat in the corner crying, or downing a bottle of wine. I did cry while he was gone, but alone in my house with the curtains drawn and shitty tv on, just the way it should be.

welcome...

if you're visiting from ICLW, a brief history of our semi-fertile madness can be found here.

Oh, and that last pregnancy? Another miscarriage. I get to start clomid tomorrow. I feel lucky :)

Overheard conversation

As I've said before, the thought of attending a party at my in-laws home to celebrate their LIVING grandchild fills me with the desire to poke my own eyes out and/or vomit (not necessarily in that order.)

Hubby has been super supportive; others in his fam, less so. I left it to him to explain my probable absence to his dad, and got to overhear this gem of a conversation (they were on the phone but Hubby's BB was loud enough for me to eavesdrop, just the way I like it):

Hubby: You know I'll be there, but Wifey might not make it.
FIL: Well, that'd be a shame.
Hubby: But you know why, right?
FIL: Well, yep, sure do.
Hubby: And we don't need to discuss it any further, right?
FIL: Right.
Hubby: Okay, great. Love you, Pop.
FIL: Love you too, son. Bye.


Short and to the point. No need for explanation, soul searching, etc. No lectures about how I should just give thanks to god for what I already have.

Sometimes I wish I were a man.

Show and Tell: Big John's Story

Thanks to Mel at Stirrup Queensfor hosting the Show and Tell. I am a Show and Tell first timer, so I hope I've done everything correctly :)

This is my big dog, Big John McCarthy. We just celebrated a year of having him in our home, so it's a wonderful time to tell his story.

One Saturday, just over a year ago, a client of the vet clinic I work at called, frantic, and said she had just picked up a stray and wanted to have him checked out. At the time, the Des Moines area was literally under water. The rivers were out of control. She had been on one of the bridges, watching the water rise, when she noticed a dog running from person to person, unleashed and uncollared. A group of men took an interest in the dog, so she (being the dog lover she is) went over to ask if he belonged to one of them, and why he was unleashed. She noticed that they were quite inebriated, and belligerent. They told her that no, he didn't belong to any of them, and that they could take care of him by tossing him into the raging river.

The client, who is a tiny little unassuming lady, told them where to go and then led the dog to her car and promptly to our clinic. I was working that day, and he immediately stole my heart with his beautiful eyes and serious face. His initial health check was fine, and the client took him home until she could get him neutered and find him a permanent place, since she had too many dogs to consider keeping him. I immediately went to work on Hubby, who wasn't sure that it was the right time to add another pooch to our family.

Fast forward to the scheduled day of his neuter: we ran all of his pre-anesthetic testing, and discovered that he was infected with heartworms. The neuter was cancelled, we were all devastated, but I knew then that I had to keep him. A fan of the underdog, I am. Hubby came to see him that day, and melted. We took him home and began his treatment shortly thereafter.

Treatment for heartworm disease is excruciatingly painful for the dog. Our hearts broke as we watched him writhe and moan in pain. It was clear that he had belonged to someone, as he knew basic commands, which made us so angry - heartworm preventative is cheap! There is no reason not to have your dog on heartworm meds - after all, if you can't afford the vet, you can't afford the pet.

He is a wonderful dog - naughty and mischievous, but sweet as can be. He is a mama's boy, and wakes me up with a cold nose to the ear every morning. He keeps us on our toes, and keeps our other dog entertained. Big John has taught us so much about unconditional love, and we are so grateful to have him in our lives. I love him so very much, it's scary.

Not surprisingly, he hates the rain. As you can see from the picture, though, he loves snow. Which is great, considering where we live.

ETA: While I was writing this post, he got into a trash bag Hubby left on the deck and had a feast. It's a good thing he's cute (that goes for both Hubby and Big John!)

Oh, and I obviously can't read, as I posted my name and not my blog name on the Show and Tell page. Sorry.

make sexy time

In my quest to deal with my less than prime fertility, I've uncovered a new personality. Okay, maybe not so new - I suspect she's always been lurking just under my surface of civility - but she's been beckoning more and more often, inviting me to leave my gang of insecurities behind.

Exit, barren old hag. Enter, sexy sex kitten. Purrrrrrr.

It goes something like this: if I can't be the kind of woman who makes babies for her hubby, I can be the kind of woman all his friends want to screw. I've grown my hair long again. It is full and shiny, and, if I do say so myself, quite lovely. I get a lot of compliments on it, even if I think I'm having a bad hair day.

Let's not forget the boobies, either. They too are quite lovely. They are my solace, at times. If I had completed a pregnancy and nursed an infant, they'd surely be less perky. In my childless state, they rarely require a bra (bonus, because I hate bras! Oh, the humanity!)

I've also been told I have a nice rear. Hubby likes to tell me, when I go to work out, "You can do sidebends or sit ups, but please don't lose that butt." Apparently, wifey got back.

And so, when sexy sex kitten makes an appearance, all self doubt regarding my appearance disappears. Nagging thoughts about my flabby arms, large thighs, fat ass, chin hair and the like - gone! and replaced in an instant by a desire to show my assets (for all too soon they will disappear into the wrinkly mess of old age). I wear flimsy shirts and tight jeans and vamp up the makeup, and get a little thrill when men (Hubby included, of course) can't take their eyes off of me. I know I should feel objectified, or less than, or whatever my Women's Studies prof would have said, but it makes me feel whole. It makes me feel more like a real woman, and less like an imposter with a bum uterus.

I'm just glad Hubby's not the jealous type.

little knives

Today, I feel like a barren old hag.

I've been on one hell of an emotional roller coaster lately, and really all I can do is observe and report. I feel like I have no control over inner workings - I am just a passenger here.

Yes, we are still thrilled to be finally moving forward with adoption. No, adoption is not some magical cure for my grief. We always planned on adding to our family through adoption, regardless of my failure as a woman. I'm still going to start clomid next cycle, but really I've lost all faith that we'll be able to produce our own spawn.

The final push to this long downward roll came when I learned last week that Hubby's brother, along with his wife and new baby (AKA PIG), will be visiting in two weeks. Hubby's parents are planning a big to-do, so the whole family can meet the baby, the first grandchild. Or, more accurately, the first grandchild to survive pregnancy, but whatever - it's not as if they ever acknowledge our losses.

Enter old hag.

I felt physically ill at the thought of having to spend time in the company of fertiles and young children and babies. My heart started racing. I started sweating and felt nauseous and immediately weighed down like someone had placed an iron yoke around my neck. It's been there ever since.

My mind ran to the crazy - how can I get out of showing up? Can I break my leg? Get hit by a car? Stick a pencil in my eye? Perhaps I can manage to get bit by an animal at work that day. I have to do something, though - I do think I might actually have a breakdown if I'm forced to go. I'm too raw right now. I can't bring myself to hear everyone ruminate on who the baby resembles, or to see Hubby holding his niece and being tender and sweet. Little knives, right to my heart. What kind of person reacts this way to such a wonderful family event? A fucking horrible barren old hag, to be sure.


The timing of the party will be horrendous in another way. My body - my crazy, crazy body - is getting ready to pop out an eggy already. I find it absolutely amazing that my lady parts are always ready to go so soon after a loss. It's been less than two weeks, for Christ's sake! So, do the math, my friends: yep, that's right, I'll be having a visit from Aunt Flo that weekend, or close enough. I'll also, possibly, be on clomid for the first time and discovering the wonders that little pill will inflict. Yay.


More little knives - this time around, nobody gets it. I think the two people closest to me - mom and Hubby - are frankly sick of dealing with mood swings and weird unexpected grief moments. They think I should just suck it up and deal with it, go to the party and keep my mouth shut about my own personal hell. Or better yet - mom thinks I should, if I can't go, write a letter to BIL and his wife explaining my absence. Sure, I'll just bare my own dark soul for people I hardly know to see.


I'm ready for the next up on this ride, although I know it'll be followed far too quickly by a down.

Operation No Regrets: revised

Yesterday was an absolutely incredible day. Out of the blue, we got a phone call that an attorney friend of the family, who happens to handle adoptions, had a 3 day old baby he needed to place. Hubby and I were ready to jump at the chance to be parents. We were thrilled, literally shaking with anticipation, at the thought that we might have a chance. Our minds ran to the gazillion things that needed to be done around the house. We knew, of course, that it was a long shot, since we haven't had a home study done yet. And, as it turns out, our anticipation was both premature and short lived.

This baby who needed a home actually had four couples interested in becoming parents. And of course, these four all had completed home studies. Once again, hopes dashed. Of course, it wasn't an unexpected turn of events, but the disappointment still stung. However, Hubby and I had any and all doubts/fears that we might have had about adoption completely erased: the excitement we felt at the prospect! the willingness to do whatever it might take to be approved! the feeling of wondering WHEN we could become parents, as opposed to IF!

We've decided to pursue adoption. As in, attending some meetings next month to get the home study ball rolling. Figuring out who we can beg, borrow and steal from to meet our expected expenses. We're going for it. I have not felt this upbeat for a long long time. We know the process might take longer than we'd like, and the road will be paved with frustrations, but we've become experts at dealing with frustrations.

We'll also be starting clomid next month. It seems a little crazy to be actively trying to conceive while starting the adoption process, but it feels right. It just feels right. I mean, me getting pregnant and staying pregnant is such a long shot at this point, but I feel like I should give the assisted ovulation aspect a try. Why should that stop me from trying another avenue toward parenthood as well? The agency we'd like to work with does not have any restrictions regarding ttc for infertiles, so why not?

Hubby and I have always discussed adding to our family through adoption, even before my many miscarriages and issues came to light. We just thought we'd have bio kids first. I'm okay with it not happening that way. I just want to be a mom.

So Operation No Regrets is in full effect, with a twist. And I'm beyond thrilled. I did, however, indulge in some wine last Saturday night, and I may this Saturday as well. If you can't indulge when your sixth dead baby like entity is slowly leaking out of you, when can you?