Two Pink Lines and you now what that means?

UPDATE June 8th, 5:34 MST : Thank you everyone! I am blown away with your well wishes and congratulations! You are helping me through the day, a day when I feel completely pukey


I am late to take the boys to swimming lessons, but I couldn’t keep you waiting any longer. After two scary ultra-sounds, blood tests for both Dave and myself and a roller coaster of improbability (as far as my dates go), it official: Dave impregnated me! Woohoo! IT IS ABOUT TIME!

(The long and detailed story is on its way)

Two Pink Lines
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Purple Flower (while I own it)

Flower

So much to say,
So much to say

I feel better about my fertility and I still have cramps. I am guessing my period will still start on time, which means I want to eat the entire house. But, this week I let myself own how sad I feel. I am not pretending that it is better than it is, because you and I both know that for me, this whole fertility thing has really sucked. That being said, I feel happy. Why? I am not sure. Well, maybe I am. I think I feel happy because I am owning it.

My personal owning experience for today: Earlier this afternoon, when I ran into a neighbor at Costco and I saw her new baby, I told her how we have been trying for three years and how old it is getting. Then, she empathetically asked me if I felt sad when I found out my good friend was pregnant.

Of course I felt sad, but I also felt happy for her. I knew how much she wanted this. And sure, when I did find out she was pregnant, I silently went through a whole lot of, ‘why me’s?’

Then she asked me,

Is it hard in general?

Instead of what I usually do: talk about how much harder it is for everyone else, I owned it.

Yes, it is hard and sometimes it really sucks. Sometimes, when I see a new baby, my heart stops, I lose my breath and . . . well, you know, it is completely sad. When I see a woman’s pregnant belly, I silently suffocate with sorrow and yearn to be where she is. Instead, I am here.

Ok, we said a lot more and because I’m learning how to own it properly, I probably gave her way too much information, and I think that is ok. This woman was sitting there with her three kids (one of them a brand new baby) and she too listed how she would like her life different. She continued,

Yeah, I am wishing that they weren’t so close together in age, you know what I mean? It is really hard right now.

What I did is let this woman, who I don’t know very well, see who I am. And I am thinking, because she felt comfortable with who I am, she also felt ok letting me see her struggle too (at least that is what I hope). Liberating! As we finished our conversation, she assured me that everyone would be there for me if I end up having twins because of the Clomid.

Slow down there!

I said, and then we both laughed. It was nice. It was nice just to be.

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The Problem with being a Glass-Half-Full person:

My Sexy Home Building Husband

 

I think I was born with a perspective that has often been referred to as my “gift.” As I get older, I have learned that this so-called gift has also been a gigantic curse — a curse that has taken me years of therapy to wrap my head around.

You see, like many people, I have always had the ability to see the positive in any situation. Beyond seeing the positive, I would always manage to see that there was someone out there who was struggling more than me. On those rainy days and stormy moments, I was quite good at steamrolling myself through the chaos until I forced myself into the sunny side of life. If I felt sad, I could always see that someone was more sad, and, consequently, I could see how lucky I was not to be so sad. If I felt freaky because I had to wear a rust-colored, hand-made sweat suit, which was fashioned out of fabric my mom purchased at the clearance table, I could always see that there was the kid who wore the same pair of red Toughskins every single day of the week. If I felt mad at my dad for not wanting me, I would always say, “well, at least I know who my father is.” When I felt fat and ugly, I would say, “at least I have plenty of yummy food to eat.” When unexpected things happened, like our power being shut off (yet again), I would take a deep breath and think to myself about the millions of people in the world who do not have power to shut off! How lucky I was!

When my parents fought or my sister went all crazy on drugs or when I was made fun of for not only being a Mormon, but being the Mormon whose parents were divorced (this was the 1970’s: blended families were less common then), I was grateful that I had two new sisters, a new dad and a brand new church. (I started out Catholic.)

Slowly as I dismissed my own sorrow, I detached from the inadequate feelings I was burying inside my soul. When life became uncomfortable, I became a master of my positive attitude. When my positive attitude failed me, I learned how to make people laugh. When laughing wasn’t cutting it, I let just enough truth bubble up through my wickedly real sarcasm. My quick and biting tongue would allow me to blow off just enough steam to make it through another day.

Let’s be honest, I wasn’t a sincerely positive person as much as I was a master stuffer. My stuffing method of choice: Seeing the glass half full.

The only problem was when I was a young teen, I think I had stuffed as many feelings as my young body could hold. Not only had I experienced a ton of first-hand pain, I had watched my entire family suffer from some pretty horrific stuff. At times, when I was about to burst, I would try to articulate the painful truth, and then I would fear embarrassing or drawing unneeded attention to my family. Often I could not find the right words and often my truth was put on hold by one of my sisters, who most definitely had more pain to bare than myself (or that is what I told myseld).

Recently I was talking on the phone to one of my step-sisters. When she was a girl, among other very traumatic things, she suffered from terrible asthma. Asthma which was so bad that it would often make her bedridden and eventually she would have to be hospitalized. We were on the phone talking about my milk and dairy allergies when she said, “Well, it is too bad you developed allergies as an adult.” I told her that actually, I also had allergies as a kid, but mine weren’t that bad, because they didn’t hospitalize me. I wanted to be empathetic and let her know that I understood how much she suffered. (PS My allergies were horrific. I just didn’t have asthma back then).

When we hung up and I did some thinking, I remembered that my sister and I went for two years together and then I went for another year after she moved out, for weekly allergy shots. She got one shot and I got two. Of course, I was disappointed that she didn’t remember that. But you know what, I had forgotten too. Because her struggles seemed so grand to me, her younger sister, I think it didn’t occur to me to share with her back then that every single day from March through October my eyes  swelled shut, and both my eyes and nose ran like a faucet. The worst and most embarrassing part for me was sitting in class. I would take a few kleenexes into class with me. Once they were completely saturated, I would try with all my might to keep the snot in my head. I would hold my breath in hopes of stopping those awful drips. When I couldn’t see a thing and my face was soaked, I finally asked the teacher if I could get more tissue and because I wasn’t better prepared, she would make me wait until the end of class. As an adult, I wonder why I had to suffer so long before getting treatment. Was it because we were poorish? Perhaps. Was it because there were so many bigger fires to put out? Probably. Was it because I didn’t speak up? Kind of. I tried. My step-sister didn’t have any idea that I had allergies, because her own life was so uncomfortable and it was not her responsibility to know. She, like me, was just a kid. That I understand. As an adult, however, I finally realize that even if her pain and suffering was worse, I should have been helped too.

Lately, I have been in a state of no-feeling. Life is not bad. It is not great either. I have been definitely checking out. Sometimes its just easier that way. Yet today, I feel a little guilty about all of my fertility issues. So many people have struggled way more than I have. A few weeks ago, on our last attempt to try naturally, Dave and I had sex like eight billion times. We even had a big talk before I ovulated and like the trooper he is, he was totally on-board for our baby-making-sex-a-thon. There were days when he would leave work early, just to make sure we could fit sex in just in case. My favorite day was when my mom was over and I asked her if she could watch the kids so Dave and I could have sex before we took the boys to soccer practice. “Mom, I am ovulating.” She understood, but wished I could have left the sex part out.

We have  given it our all. Next month, we try I.U.I. and then I think we are done. It has been very hard for me not to slip back into a glass-half-full-stuffing-my-feelings-way-down-deep mode, especially today when I am getting cramps. I am guessing that once again, I am not pregnant. I see that I have these two awesome kids, but today I am also trying to allow myself to feel how sad I am.

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Finally able to form complete sentences

Messing with our kids while they sleep.
Messing with our kids while they sleep.

Every time I tried posting this past week, my brain literally stalled out. It has been extremely hard translating the thoughts in my head onto these pages. I have tried many times over the last several days, but each time, I had to stop because my brain hurt.

Alas, I am feeling better. Nine days later, my head still hurts and if you give me your hand I will let you feel the indentation on my skull. Ask Kat, Alan, Dave and my mom (they all felt it) and yes, the depression in my skull is a kind of disconcerting, but what’s a little skull depression now that I am back (I think).

I have missed writing. I have missed reading. I have missed talking in complete and eloquent paragraphs. I pray I have a greater appreciation for neurological conditions. I hope there are no long-lasting affects of my concussion. There were moments when I felt truly sorry for myself and moments when I convinced myself that my concussion was not real, but all in my head [wink]. I am amazed at how much a bump to the noggin can humble a person. I have spent this past week feeling as though I was looking through someone else’s glasses (a little unerving I might add). Because I have two little boys who depend on me, I pushed myself into forming the words and laughing past the millions of times I unintentionally blended every word that came out of my mouth.

“I know I meant to say Urban Outfitters, but isn’t Burbonitters much cuter sounding than Urban Outfitters? Hey, and I bet Bourbon-Knitters would totally serve you booze while you knit, you think?”

Scary stuff.

Thank you everyone for your awesome birthday wishes. You made my year. For your compassionate thoughts regarding my brain trauma, I will always be grateful. I have so much to say and I will say it. I always feel badly when I promise you a story and then I don’t deliver, but I will. Tonight, because I am able to finally write, however, I simply needed to say how glad I am for my brain, how glad I am to be alright and how grateful I am for all of the support I have received. Thank You!

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Stuck on Pause: The Habitrail of my Life

Spring Buds. Salt Lake City, Utah -- Copyright CrazyUs.com
Spring Buds. Salt Lake City, Utah — Copyright CrazyUs.com

I read the best blog entry the other day and I have been thinking about it ever since. Alice’s thoughts are articulated much better than I could have expressed the same types of feelings, which I have also been having these days. Lucky for me, it is so nice to know that someone out there and a very eloquent someone, has similar thoughts and feelings just like I do.

So what’s racing through the Habitrail of my brain today? Let’s see.

[Forgive me while I go into rare List Mode — Listing helps me separate me see what is really bugging me]

  • I need to call the doctor, I mean, the Reproductive Endocrinologist, to schedule Dave’s special specimen retrieving appointment. But after my friend described in detail what we could and could not do to help Dave retrieve his sample, I have been paralyzed by my very own performance anxiety –“Can touch here, but not there. Hands must be clean. Must not touch the top . . . ”

    Street Sign. Salt Lake City, Utah
    Street Sign. Salt Lake City, Utah
  • OvulationWe had sex when I ovulated, at least three times. I was sure I was ovulating, I think? My C.M. seemed perfect. Was it perfect or was it in my brain? I think I had two full days of egg whites? Could it be a yeast infection? No, there was no itching? Can you have a yeast infection and not itch? Am I not going to ovulate because I am stressing out so much about ovulating? Wait, I already ovulated. How long should I wait to take a pregnancy test? Should I take a pregnancy test? Are those cramps or is it anxiety? Could I be pregnant? Should I be pregnant?
  • So if Dave’s swimmers are swimming well, then we will go for A.I. (In this case, I only wish A.I. stood for Artificial Intelligence). So, if Dave’s guys are doing what they need to, then next month we will go for Artificial Insemination. Fun Fun. My doctor says I have like a 5 – 15 % great chance of conceiving with A.I. Is it even worth it. Then again, I keep wondering if I am pregnant this month? Wouldn’t it be crazy? If I was pregnant, then we would have another Christmas baby,Which takes us to the next bullet point.
  • A Holiday BabyEli is our Thanksgiving Child and Kyle is our Winter Solstice, Christmas Boy. If I did, by some huge miracle, get pregnant this month, then number three would be born between Thanksgiving and Christmas. AHOY! OY! When Dave and I talked about this, we agreed that at least all three kids would be equally screwed by having birthdays over the holidays. And my mom suggested that maybe this is our fertility window and that we should just go with it. You see, I conceived both Kyle and Eli in the month of March. Maybe early spring is our time. Maybe this is the only time my body can get itself in the right rhythm. Maybe I my ovaries are like little flower buds, coming to bloom in early spring and dying by autumn. Maybe.
  • Ok, so if I can push my brain past my infertility, then my list goes on and on forever. Thank God I have Kyle and Eli. Taking care of them forces me out of my head and always stops me from focusing entirely on me, Me, ME.I am worried about our move. I am worried about new schools. Kyle has done so well in his program. It was a hard adjustment, but now he totally fits in. He absolutely LOVES school. In fact, each day, I have to coax him out of the classroom. I don’t want to pull him from this school. I am panicking at the thought of making him adjust one more time to a new environment. I don’t want to deal with all the work it takes to deprogram the teachers and other parents, hoping that they will give him a chance, be patient with him and see that sure he can have a rocky start, but once he gets it, he gets it. I think Kyle is like me. He has some social anxiety. In his case, until he feels safe, he is very exuberant and willful. When Kyle relaxes and adjusts to his new environment, he is one of the most well-behaved kids in class. When people see Kyle as bad, he tends to live up to their expectations. Damn people and their labels and inability to see beyond their short-sided judgments. And actually, I hope their is a special place in Hell for Narrow Minded folks.
  • I want to keep working on my list, but I need to pick my kids up from school.
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Uterine Dye Tests, Long Naps and Enemas, Oh My!

Kyle and I, Salt Lake City, Utah -- Copyright CrazyUs.com
Kyle and I, Salt Lake City, Utah — Copyright CrazyUs.com

It’s 10:38 PM MST and I just returned from the grocery store. I chose the grocery store up the hill instead of the one down the hill, because for some strange reason, it seems more safe this time of night. Dave is presently lying on the bathroom floor. He seems to have an intestinal blockage. I hope we don’t end up in the ER. An hour ago, while I was watching, Project Jay, Dave asked me if I would go to the store and buy him an enema. An enema? I immediately thought about the last time we took part in an enema buying procedure. We were in West Hollywood and the year was 1999. On that occasion, Dave was the one buying the enema. Sadly, tonight, he is the one in need of an enema. I can barely hear him. When I ask him how he is doing, he tells me,

“Well, I am in a lot of discomfort.”

As a person who knows constipation, I can completely imagine his pain. Ouch!

I am sitting at our kitchen table, wearing my puffy, black Northface Jacket (in honor of Anderson Cooper [wink]) and am drinking the Tazo Calm tea I made for Dave, (he thinks it is gross). As I sit here, I think about our day. It started very early and it started with me shaving me legs. I haven’t been waxed in some time and I was having my Uterine Dye Test, because we all now that we can’t let any health care professional see us unshaven or not waxed. Ew!

For those of you who don’t know, here is what the HSG test entails:

The Hysterosalpingogram Procedure
The HSG procedure is typically performed in the radiology department of you local hospital. It is an outpatient procedure, which means that you will be able to go home immediately following the test. The procedure itself is relatively quick – it only takes about five minutes to actually perform – however, you may be asked to answer some questions before the HSG test begins. The HSG procedure is performed as follows:

  • You lie on an examination table and bring your knees up to your chest. You allow your knees to fall outwards, towards the table.
  • A speculum is placed in your vagina, in order to expose your cervix.
  • A thin catheter is inserted through your cervix and into your uterus.
  • Dye is slowly released through the catheter into your uterine cavity.
  • X-rays are taken as the dye flows into the fallopian tubes and spills out into the abdominal cavity.
  • You will be asked to turn on to your side, so that further x-rays can be taken

 

My mom arrived early. She was going to go with me to the hospital. Just as we were about to leave, Dave said,

“I want to go with you. I want to be there with you.”

My mom happily agreed to take Eli to preschool instead and insisted she didn’t mind coming over so early,

“I will take him to preschool and then I will come back and take a nap.”

I loaded myself up with my antibiotic, my 800 milligrams of Ibuprofen and we were out the door.

At the hospital I was feeling all calm and loved. Dave was with me and everything was going to be alright. That was until I went to registration.

“Ma’am can you sign this paper?”

I noticed that it was The release form. You know, the one that releases the hospital of all liability just in case you happen to DIE! I had to specify if I had a living will and then I had to specify who could make all life-saving decisions for me. Would Dave really keep me alive or would he just tell them to pull the plug? Such decisions! While I was beginning to freak out the cute little registration guy, who had very stylish hair, I might add, continued,

“And will you sign this form, so I can bill the anesthesiologist?”

“Huh? Ok.”

I seriously began to sweat and then I played back the conversation I had with the nurse in radiology yesterday. She mentioned absolutely nothing about anesthesia. “No, this can’t be. Me and anesthesia, we don’t mix.” I tried to put anesthesia out of my mind while Dave and I made our way over to radiology.

In front of the Radiology Reception desk, I handed my papers to the receptionist. Have you ever noticed all the paperwork involved in having a procedure down at the hospital? It’s crazy. The receptionist blurted a very familiar,

“Hi.”

Both of us a little stunned, she continued,

“Don’t I know you?”

“I don’t think so.” I said.

She recovered splendidly and responded,

“Well, you seem so familiar and you have such a pretty face.”

Yes, that was absolutely the best thing for anyone to say while I was freaking out. And if for some bizarre reason, she recognizes me from this website, I want to say,

“Thank you. Your kind words and flattery made my morning.”

(I must break in this story. I can’t concentrate because Dave is sitting across the table from me slurping down some Cup-O-Noodles. Now he wants me to look at door designs. I am thinking the enema may have dislodged something. What? I do not know.)

Anyway, back to my story. I was just being flattered by the receptionist when they called me back and directed me to a little dressing area where I changed into my hospital gown. Thank goodness Dave was there to tie the back. And Thank Goodness I was there to remind him not to just leave my purse lying in the middle of the hall when he comes to tie my gown. He ran back to grab my purse and then we were on our way into the x-ray room. Thankfully, the tech allayed my fears when she told me that indeed I was right: there would be no anesthesia today. Woohoo!

Sitting up on the hospital bed and looking at the cushion I needed to position myself on while the doctor positioned the speculum, I did what any nervous person who is having a uterine x-ray might do: I tried to engage in hilarious small talk with the two med techs. I think it worked (actually, I think they were humoring me, especially at the moment we all burst into laughter when I suggested I join the Boy in the Plastic Bubble because I have so many allergies.

“You’re allergic to Kidney Beans too? Now that is just weird.” The one tech, wearing the pink smock, said.

Dave stood behind the protective barrier, the techs put on their shields and the great and handsome clog-wearing radiologist stepped into the room. Yes, it was uncomfortable, but to see my spine and hipbones on a big computer screen was fascinating. The doctor filled my uterus right up with dye and everything seems to be in order. The radiologist didn’t have much to say. In fact, I don’t think he enjoyed all my questions, that is, until he was leaving the room and gently touched my arm while assuring me that everything looked good.

I got dressed and we left. In the hospital parking lot Dave stopped me and said,

“You know. You are more important to me. I wanted to be here with you today.”

He earnestly kept talking while we got in the car. We drove home, (actually we went to Barnes and Noble first, but don’t tell my mom). I felt gross, cramp-y and invaded, so I climbed in bed and so did Dave. I had dreams of climbing in bed and writing a great post and answering my email; no such luck. Dave and I were wiped out. In bed, we did not have the energy to touch. We slept and we slept hard. I have no idea how many years it has been since Dave and I took a nap together during the middle of the day. It was terrific.

Update 8:50 AM The enema and castor oil seemed to work, except Dave was up all night moaning and groaning. (He is still in bed.) During the night his groans kept freaking me out until I couldn’t take them any longer and I climbed in bed with Eli. Eli was so delighted by our impromptu slumber party that he couldn’t sleep either. He kept poking me with his legs and asking my why I had turned off his night light.

“Daddy always lets me keep it on.”

Mean Mommy. Now that I am back from taking Kyle to school, I am off to eat my oatmeal.

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