** update your links: moved to ddtko.wordpress.com **

no. 555 - Winding Down or Winding Up?

You all are just trying to mess with my head now, aren't you? I really did not make the Holiday Card Exchange confusing...

You send me your address. I send you my address.

You send me a card. I send you a card.

Ta-DA!!

You only have to add one more card to your pile; however I will have to add oodles. And I actually do write something in the card! Not just my name! It's awwwwwwesome, dude! Bring out the exclamation points!

Now send me your address. Quit stalling and being all nambypamby. You know I'm talking to YOU.

I think I'll set the cut-off date to get your address to me for November 30th since I would like to get the international cards sent out early December, which may reach those of you celebrating Hanukkah a bit late...(sorry about that).

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Rumor has it that I closed down this blog. Not so. I decided to devote the majority of my blogging energy to TKO during the month of November. It was important to me to keep myself from feeling too scattered at this time and while others went the route of NaBloPoMo, I went the opposite, since posting every day wasn't a challenge. The challenge was to leave this site for one month, and as you can see, I wasn't able to meet said challenge.

I'll be back in December. For how long after that still is yet to be seen.

no. 552 - It's Time

I'm giving kudos to Niobe for what I have decided to do next:

In honor of National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo), which begins November 1st, I have decided to take a break from blogging during this month.

Here, anyway.

I'll keep the updates coming on the password protected site, TKO, but I just can't be here right now.

This blog has seen me through the beginnings and endings of three pregnancies. It obviously is not doing the trick so I'm distancing myself for now.

I have also decided for sake of sanity to give myself some space from reading as well. As I mentioned on my new post over at TKO, I just moved the 23rd bloglines' feed from "Infertility Sucks" to "Pregnant and Hating It." The number of feeds now pregnant outnumber the waiting for the first time I've subscribed to Bloglines.

While that is great news, especially if you are one who is pregnant, I have decided to internalize that energy for my own needs.

I have to.

Call it self-preservation if you like, but remember that I once said that if this next last cycle fails, I wouldn't need this space anyway. So I'll try weaning myself now.

It seems right to do it in deference to November and everything it has meant for me in the past and for everything it could mean about my future.

Since I can never say never, here's a little something I'd like to credit The Bloggess for as well. I really hope with all my heart I get to see everyone on the flip side.

 

no. 541 - Tidbits

Today I get to spend my afternoon traveling an hour or so (one way) to a one year old's birthday party. We were told to make sure XBoy gets to come because "there will be tons of babies and little kids to play with!" as well as the birthday boy's pregnant aunt and her almost 18 month old.

Too bad I never caught the strep from my son.

I know. I'm going to hell.

Thought I'd give you an update on our cycle here cause I know some of you are too bashful to ask about the other site. Many of you know that we received notice of a match several weeks ago. My body has been forced into a menopausal state, including horrid mood changes (just ask my suffering husband) and a very rewarding muffin top (my son can use it for rock climbing with his truck). Yesterday's appointment confirmed this (not the muffin top - as my knit tops give that away). I'm guestimating that we will have a transfer within the next two weeks.

As I mentioned to a friend, now we hurry up and wait (and I can officially end this post with one of the highest parentheses count per word ever).

no. 528 - Google Searches Are Fun And Filling

"what if the dude doesnt know if he got sperm in me should i check to see if im pregnant cause my period was late"

The Dude? You knocked it out with Jeff Bridges? Just a tip (haha! get it?! just a "tip"), the key is to use search words, not search paragraphs.

"boobs picture prom studded halter top floral bottom falling out"

Is this an a attempt at a haiku? Remember 5-7-5. For example:

Boobs in studded top

Prom pictures halter bottom

Floral falling out

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ETA: I'm on my way to The Metro to give out autographs. My headshots never showed up in the mail. At least I get to do a little window shopping.

Yes,the above is code. Sheeeesh! You need to keep up!

no. 517 - I Could Have Had A Pool Instead

Priorities, priorities.

Why do priorities require huge chunks of change and the collateral equivalent to the "first born"?

Here goes $12,000 a whole lot of nothin':

I guess this makes it official.

Officially freaking out. Officially broke. Officially the very last time. Officially a reason to start plotting how to steal some crack-whore's baby. Officially official.

Anyone have any left over Lupron or PIO they want to make a few extra bucks from? I thought my autograph covered the rx part of this cycle, but I was mistaken.

The other fun little reminder I got from the clinic was a little sticky note attached to my folder that said, "Patient is 40. Mammogram due!" Gee, thanks. The nurse said I need to get it done before the start of my cycle because they want me to "get it done before I get pregnant."

Good times.

Email privately about the injectables at dd_tko@yahoo.com.

If you thought it was tacky for me to disclose the cost of this cycle, just wait until I tell you about my farting in public and nose-blowing in the shower.

no. 516 - Bloody Marys are Suppose to be Good for Hangovers

In the harsh light of the day, I have discovered that my Pity Party from last night turned out to be quite a bash...in more ways than one.

I can't say I'm surprised to see someone has bailed from my blog's subscription, but Dude? Why you hatin' on the T.K.O.? At least let yourself be known so I can make sure to not by stop by at your place and find the welcome mat has been pulled in under the door leaving me standing in the cold, hand raised at mid-knock.

Not like that will happen since they will never read this - because they unsubcribed! I'm just a little bummed, but will shake it off. I still have my closest friends and I take great comfort in what each of you have said. [warm fuzzies all around!]

This shit is hard and I am reminded repeatedly that this is hard for everyone. How many blogs are started because one's life is so perfect they feel they just got to share?! Not too many.

I promise that for every one of my pathetic whiny posts, I will have a half dozen that are not so depressing and will be back to my old snarky self in no time.

Here's my random thought for the day: I don't think it's any kind of phoenitic coincidence that "cycle" sounds suspiciously like "psycho".

I've got my bitch back on and I continue to rally my spirits with this (by the way, I'm the body double in the training scene - bwahahahaha!): (crank it up!)

no. 515 - Vaseline

Here's my problem: I am feeling sorry for myself.

Yes, I know you already knew that, but I just want you to know I'm not trying to fool anyone including myself.

I'll be frank. You are/were/will be pregnant/getting your referral and I am/will not.

There. I said it.

Do you know what the secret is to all those beauty pageant contestants' perpetual, yet slightly creepy, smiles? Vaseline smeared liberally on the upper gums. That way when they smile for that abnormal length of time, their mouth doesn't dry out. Instead a glop of grease and the taut muscles of the face, which are stretched to their max in nervous tension and anxiety, cause the lips to slip up past the teeth revealing what certainly appears to be a very toothy smile.

So now you know that when I read about what you had/have/will have turns me into a piteous pile of shit, I try to convince myself (and some of you have emailed me suggesting as well) that I need to take an extended break from blogging. And so you can understand why I brought up the vaseline thing, blogging is my vaseline.

Unfortunately even though you don't need to "listen" to me blahblahblah woe is me blah boohoo, I desperately need you and your supportive emails and comments. I feel like a complete putz having to put my hat in my hand and admit to you that I can't seem to function normally without hearing from you occasionally.

So I get stuck. If I don't stop and wish congratulations as befitting your good fortune, you may not feel so inclined to stop by and tell me to pick my chin off the ground, especially when I am being pissy and feeling sorry for myself.

I need to work out how to break away from all of this if things don't pan out. Some time ago I thought that even if we didn't end up pregnant again, I could keep blogging under the assumed identity of a mommy blogger. As much as I have come to admire several of the MBs, I know that I will be exposing myself to just as much heartache as they discuss getting pregnant again and having a new baby in their lives (and I would like to state for the record that is definitely NOT what MBs normally do on their posts, but it can and does happen).

On the other hand, I can't stay here amongst the infertility bloggers. For me that's salt on a never-healing wound. I'm realizing that a very important and almost integral part of my life for the past couple of years may come to a tragic end and I can't seem to make myself think of it any differently, which is that I might end up pregnant and blogging for another year.

It feels like the end of an era, albeit a short, tedious and wholly unremarkable era, it's something that is/was completely mine that I worked really hard for and in a matter of weeks it could just go *poof*.

no. 513 - If Biology Didn't Matter

. . . your fertile neighbors would stock up on BCP and adopt “all those babies that just need a home.”

. . . birth mothers would never mourn the decision to place their children for adoption.

. . . birth fathers would never have to be informed of an adoption intent.

. . . Open Adoption would become just a loose term used when someone’s under aged daughter’s baby is adopted by Aunt Jane.

. . . abortion wouldn’t be controversial.

. . . the discovery that your frozen embryos didn’t survive the thaw wouldn’t send you to your bed in tears.

. . . no one would care if left-over embryos were destroyed, used in medical research or adopted.

. . . you wouldn’t have to wonder if it’s worth $400 to store the frozen sperm of your cancer-surviving husband for just one more year.

. . . you wouldn’t budget to buy enough donor sperm to not only create one baby but to have enough to try for a sibling in the years to come.

. . . there wouldn't be the heartbreaking decision made by couples to chose a child-free life after years of failed treatments.

. . . there would be no such thing like a site that spews such claptrap as third-party reproduction is nothing more than high tech “baby trade”.

. . . there would be no need for artificial reproductive medicine or its technology and those advancements would never be realized.

. . . you wouldn't be here . . . if someone didn't care about biology.

For many of us who have had to face failed treatments, third-party ART, or adoption, we must somehow be allowed to mourn the loss of that biological link without guilt; yet celebrate the creation of something completely unexpected and foreign and beautiful, in our own way.

Understand that Biology and it's importance does not mean it has to be your own.

no. 503 - BeaUterus

The results of my saline HSG:

When I relayed in a text message to Mr. DD that my doctor said my uterus was beautiful, he replied with the Beauterus.

Sure, an offhanded compliment, but I'll take'em where I can get'em.

My donor is 31 and a veteran to the process. I really hope by the time we get to the stims that they won't just try to get the minimum, which is four eggs per recipient. I'm greedy. I want 10, dammit!

I was also able to give my doctor and the nurse an up-close view of my hives, which had been dormant for the past couple of days. They were in full bloom today, especially in their favorite location: the backs of my thighs. Both women were visibly impressed when they lifted the sheet covering my legs.

Side note. I am so used to de-pantsing that I usually forget to take the sheet into the changing room and make a quick, sloppy mess of trying to arrange it modestly when I hit the stirrups. Has that ever happened to you?

Even better, I had one big hive on my lower lip (face, people). Yep, I get the bee-stung look without any needles.  It's just too bad I can't get the hives to evenly attack my upper lip as well so I can try on the Angelina look. Instead I look like this kid:

In unrelated news, I'm going extreme with my hair. Most of you have seen it at one time or another and you will note that it is blondish. I'm going dark with a panel of red. Not auburn. RED. It's time to find that rock-n-roll girl that's been packed away since...lord I don't know when.

no. 502 - The Eagle Has Landed

In one of my former lives, I use to sell cars. Yes, I was one of those people with a perpetually cheesy smile on my face and a business card in my hand. You would drive up onto the lot and see a group of us clustered around the showroom looking out the window and guess what we would say when we'd see you show up? "Ducks on the pond!"

Ooooh, we were so covert.

Once you were in an office and negotiating a price, we would go to our Floor Manager for approval with an announcement, "Fish on!"

Then there were the moments when your loan application was pending approval from your bank, which we relayed quaintly, "Throw it on the wall and see if it sticks."

Today, I got a phone call from the clinic. The duck is on the pond.

I start BCP as soon as I pick them up from the pharmacy and I have a saline hysterosalpingogram tomorrow morning to make sure my uterus is not harboring anything deemed clinically funky.

Final coordination is still weeks away, but I'm all giddy with excitement mixed with a sense of impending doom. Definitely the right mixture to make me jump and down and then puke in my trashcan.