Grief

I’ve been thinking.  Maybe I’m not an atheist.  I’ve been questioning the existence of God for a long time.  At one point I said, if there is a God, I think we are his long forgotten garden.  He’s probably moved on to something more interesting or whatever.  I guess what I mean to say is, if there is a God, I am pissed as fuck at him and I reject him.  I’m breaking up with him.  If I were with a man who treated me this badly, everyone would tell me to leave.  The trust is gone and I’m tired of looking over my shoulder wondering when the next blow is going to come.  The wounds inflicted will never heal, or if they do, it won’t be right. So, it’s over.  Buh-bye.

 

The grief I am experiencing is suffocating.  The first three days after the embryologist called, I didn’t get out of bed.  The times I cried far out weighed the times I didn’t.  Then I finally did get out of bed, and we went out to breakfast.  I cried at the table.  Here is what kills me.  After all that crying, that feels like a release, like you are purging poison from your body, it makes you wonder, how can I still be this toxic.  Shouldn’t I have been bled of all the venom?  It’s so bleak to realize that pain is still pumping shit into your system.

 

The man took vacation that week to “help” with the transfer and implanting.  I asked him if he wanted to do anything with the rest of the vacation and he decided we should go on a road trip.  For those two days, my goal was not to cry that deep, sobbing, snotty cry.  I didn’t.  The tears were silent and in private.  Stolen moments to bleed the venom.  Now it’s no longer I wonder if I will cry today, it’s how many times will I cry today.  I figure I’m doing pretty well if I can keep it under three.  I haven’t yet, but we all have to have a goal.

 

I understand the grief, the loss of so much.  Hope, biological child, what has defined our identities for so long.  Who will we be now?  My fear was how will I know when the grief has gone too far, when it is not longer healthy and healing.  I was told, if it gets worse.  My response, I can’t imagine it being any worse.  I think if it got worse, I would black out from the pain.  I can’t say for sure I’d cease to exist, but I can’t imagine being conscious.  I think I’d be a vegetable.  I already find myself wandering around the house and wonder, when did I get up or stop doing what I was doing and end up here.  Sometimes, I come to and find I’m standing.  Just standing in the middle of a room.  I don’t know how I got there, when I got there or how long I was there.  Not to mention locking myself out of the house.  What’s happening?  Has my mind fractured from the pain?  I don’t know.  Am I worried about it?  No.  Why?  Honestly, I can’t be bothered.  I can’t be bothered to do much of anything.  Getting out of bed is an act of heroic proportions.  Do I need antidepressants?  Maybe.  Will I use them?  No.  Why?  I don’t want to feel better.  I don’t want to feel anything.  That’s what I want.

 

I know logically this will pass, and that thought makes me rage inside.  Emotionally, I can’t see through it.  It is so raw and painful; I just can’t see how it will ever heal.  I am at a loss.  I don’t know what to do.  There are some moments I am for lack of a better word manic.  Feels like a rush of adrenaline and I HAVE to do something.  So, I do, and then comes the crash.  Curl up fetal and cry until it passes.  I try to regulate those moods with some learned techniques; sometimes I’m successful, most of the time not so much.  The rest of the time, I’m apathetic.  Those are my three emotions, Grief, Crazed and Apathetic.  My other goal is to do one “big” thing a day.  If I can do that, then, well I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s positive.

 

I’ve pretty much stopped talking to people.  I don’t answer emails, phones, or post.  I can’t face it.  It’s not that I have a problem with them; I have a problem with me.  I’m not strong or stable enough to face it.  I know this because every time I do answer the phone, I end up hanging up and crying.  It’s the same with any form of communication.  If I am this broken, and I fell apart while talking to someone, it would be…“uncomfortable”…for the other person.  I’m pretty sure no one is ready for that kind of responsibility.  You think you are but trust me, you are not.  I’m doing you a kindness.  If you don’t believe me, fine.  I’m doing me a kindness; I can’t take that kind of pain.

 

I’m not alone in my grief.  My dear, sweet husband is struggling too.  He is a stoic man, and I think many would be surprised at how sensitive he is.  I think that most people wouldn’t know he was having such a hard time.  I was such a freakin’ mess, I wasn’t seeing straight and I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure of how he was feeling until I flat out asked him.  “How do you feel about it?”  He said something like, “I don’t feel much.”

“Because it’s just oh well?  Or because it’s sad?”

“Because it’s so incredibly sad.”

At that moment, I saw the raw pain in his eyes and I knew I was not alone in the depth of grief I was feeling.  I was scared that my pain was far worse than his or worse than it should have been.  I mean I knew he was hurting because of other signs, such as not being able to make simple decisions.  Me: “What do you want on the pizza?”  Him: Look of complete terror at having to make that decision.  When he’s upset, he drives more aggressively and much faster.  This from the man who unfailingly drives in the slow lane.  That was a lot of fun on our mountainous road trip. (Not)  Then he called into work sick.  This is that guy at work who is forced to take vacation time or he will stop earning time.  Yeah, that guy.  He stayed in bed or on the couch all day.  I did my best to give him some space, because that’s who we are; we need a little space to process.  The next morning, I was still in bed as he got up and ready to go to work.  Before he left, he came and sat next to me, took my hand and said, “I’m sad.” And laid his head on my stomach.  My already shattered heart was ground into dust.  “I know.” I whispered, it was all the voice I had. “I’m sad, too.”  We talked about all the loss we are encountering, and the man that he is, kissed me good-bye and left to work, back straight, head almost held high.  I’m sure no one else would notice.  He’s my hero.

 

On top of all that, I struggle with his sadness.  I feel absolutely responsible.  If only my body worked properly, we could have a baby.  I can’t imagine how disappointed he must feel.  I know how bad I feel that I can’t give him something that he really wanted.  The guilt of my body failing at a critical moment is adding to the grieving pain.  Suffocating, inconsolable and crippling.

 

What ignites the anger is we think we finally figured it out.  We finally got to a place where we had a decent shot at it, and then to be canceled before it had a chance.  It’s such a blow I’m surprised I can breathe.  Sometimes I can’t.  Now, it all comes down to money and it’s killing me.  Since our insurance doesn’t cover treatment, we are shit out of luck.   Money offers you opportunity and freedom.

 

I think this will count as my “one big thing” today.  This was hard to write and I’m sure will take it’s toll.  Actually, it already has.  I’m tired and I’m going to go try to use my learned techniques and try not to go all fetal.  On the other hand, maybe not, since I can’t really be bothered.

The Birth of Atheism

Monday morning at 10.20 a.m. the embryologist called to inform us the embryos didn't survive the thaw.

About 10.22 a.m. I became an atheist.

No, I don't want to talk.

We are taking off for a couple days.

Thanks for all your well wishes.

Aileen Quinn, Ke$ha, Foreigner and the Beach Boys, with special guest Marky Mark

Tomorrow, tomorrow, I...just kidding.

Tomorrow is transfer day.  First big obstacle is our little Han Solos surviving the thaw.  (~fighting the urge to sing Cold as Ice~) Then the big plunge.  So here is the schedule.

Today:

Clean my house so I can chill in a tidy space.

Tomorrow:

Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy...sorry...let's try that again.

Today:

Clean my house so I can chill in a tidy space.

Tomorrow:

Wake.

Maybe try to get in to see the acupuncturist before my transfer.

Check in at RE's at 12.30 p.m.

Transfer at 1.00 p.m.

Go home and will the Han Duo to implant.

Tik Tok (I won't link again ;-) )

Two weeks later take a pregnancy test.

Will I pee on any sticks during that two week wait?  Dunno.  Depends on the time of day you catch me.

So here is where I ask for all well wishes, prayers, good vibes whatever you got! (~so wanting to break out in Good Vibrations both Beach Boys and Marky Mark style~ (I promise, I'll stop))

As always, I may post during the TWW but after the pregnancy test will be radio silence.  Don't be offended, it's nothing personal...towards you anyway :-) .

Telephone - featuring the Sheriff of Nottingham

*Ring, ring, ring*

Me: Hello?

Sheriff of Nottingham: Hello.  Is this MWB?

Me: Yes.

SON: Hi. This is the Sheriff of Nottingham from your RE's office.

Me: Hello.

SON: I just wanted to let you know that you did WAY more ultrasounds than was allowed in our decree so you have to pay us for those.

Me: Oh.  I see.

SON:  Yes, by proclamation of the King, you owe us 15 cows, 50 goats, 100 chickens and your horse.  Which is due tomorrow when you come in.  OK?

Me: That's a lot.

SON: Well maybe you should call Robbin Hood, but I think he's busy robbing the rich to give to you folk.  Guess he hasn't made his way to see you yet.  Tell him I said "Hi" and I'm looking for him. Bye! *click*

Me: ~sigh~

Randomness

OK.  Since the last post, I've had a number of pithy yet remarkably enlightening thoughts that I wanted to blog but, alas, I have forgotten them.  Trust me though, they were perfection.

The information:  Started pills, stopped pills, started pills again, started Lupron, started Estrogen, waiting for ultrasound that might be delayed a day becuase I might have started my three times a day estrogen cycle a day late becuase I was a day behind on the calendar in my head.

Never watch Oprah when you are jacked up on hormone drugs.  Trust me.  It's a great big ol' ugly cry snotfest.

Advice for the one man who may be reading this, if your wife is hopped up on hormones, keep your shit right.  Seriously, becuase if you make a mistake, baaaaaaaaaaby, she will unleash on you with all the power of all the hormonal women in history and THEN she'll cry.  You'll have no recourse.  Don't screw up.  Trust me.  It'll be easier for everyone involved.

Been a bad week for news.  My uncle had a mild heart attack.  He's doing fine will need some treatment, but he's ok.

My friend who I've known since the summer before third grade has to have brain surgery.  Prognosis is good, but still.  That sucks.  I crocheted her a hat today.  I'll make her a few more.

I forgot to schedule my Physical Therapy for Monday.  Why the PT?  I thought it would be a good idea to join a gym and the complimentary training session screwed my knee.  Here I thought this would be a socially acceptable outlet for my Lupron induced rage.  That'll teach me.  I guess I should have continued to take it out on the other drivers.

Here are some pictures from my Acupuncture.



My cat got an owie on her nose which resulted in antibiotics and the cone of shame.  We tried not to laugh becuase it really was sad, but it was also hilarious.

Well, that's all I got since I'm in a pissy, hormonal mood.

Uterus For Sale

For Sale

One used, middle aged uterus.  Original owner. Currently possess the inability to develop suitable lining on demand (even with outside drug help) to promote growth of impending embryo implantation.  Known issues include endometriosis, spotting for no apparent reason, and great emotional trauma.

If this item is for you, please call the number below.

1-800-GET SOME FUCKING THERAPY

All Sales Final.

In case you haven't figured it out, my lining decided this cycle to pull this crap.  Has this happened before?  No. So What the fuck?  I mean really.  Know how much my lining did grow?  It went from 5, to...wait for it...5.  Nothing.  It grew not at all.  So we are scrapping this cycle.  Back to the beginning we go.  Oh but wait, there's more!  Not only do we have to go back to the beginning, I have to get in the "Way Back Machine" and actually start out two weeks before the beginning.  Yes boys and girls, instead of going back to "1", I have to go back to "-14". First, I start on the pill for two weeks to bring on my cycle, then on some day after it starts ( I can't remember which day becuase frankly I can't care enough to lean over and look at the paper resting at my feet.)  I start the pill AGAIN and THAT'S the beginning.  It's birth control pill, the prequel.

To top it off  I come home to one of the cats puking on the carpet.  Yep.  That about sums up my morning.

Have a nice day!

SHE gets to have kids????

Seriously?  SERIOUSLY??!!  How many things are WRONG with this picture!  I lost count...

(I do have to admit to laughing at the comments though!)

http://failblog.org/2010/07/26/epic-fail-photos-parenting-fail-31-6/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+failblog+%28The+FAIL+Blog+-+Fail+Pictures+%26+Videos+at+Failblog.ORG%29&utm_content=Google+Reader

I Feel Week

The good news is the spotting seems to have stopped.  The bad news is, my lining is only at 5.  They want it to be at least 7.  Decision?  Give it another week.  I'll go back in on Wednesday and we'll check again.  If it doesn't work, then we'll scrap it and start all over again.  Tick toc. Tick toc.

...Life is but a dream.

Last night I had a dream.  My best friend is singing about the sadness and unfairness of life.  The tune is familiar but now I can't remember what it is.  I sang the first verse, something about in your twenties, how you think you have all the time in the world.  Then she continued eluding to a bunch other life disappointments.

Next I'm surprised by the news that 12 people are to descend on my house for dinner.  I was stressing out.  I go to the fridge and begin cleaning it out to make room for the food that will need to go in there for the guests.  I find cartons and cartons of old eggs.  So I  throw them out in the sink and watch them break one bye one and note the irony.

At the end of the dream when I wake the simple message from the song "Foolish Games" is played clearly in my head "You're breaking my heart".

It's  been stuck in my head all day.

~Sigh~

UPDATE!

Evidently the broken eggs represent my fear of wasting my embryos.   My unconscious mind sucks.  Why couldn't it give me dreams of star studded dinner parties or Wentworth Miller proclaiming his undying love for me.  No...instead it has to beat a dead horse.  What a bitch.

UPDATED, UPDATE!

We have decided that cleaning out the fridge means making a nice clean space for the embryos.  Yeah.  That's it!

Maybe I Just Need a KICK!

CON INCEPTION

And all will be well!

I am Estrogen's bitch.

Short story is, Dr. K is as concerned as I am about the spotting.  We are extending the drug protocol another week and adding an Estrogen patch because my lining was only 4 on CD15.  Too thin and we're hoping the spotting will subside.  The spotting seems to have stopped, but it tends to do that just before CD1.  So, I dunno.  We'll see on Wednesday.  If I still suck, we'll scrap the cycle.  I think at that point I'll start calling specialists and ask very demure and lady like, "WHAT THE FUCKING HELL????"

The heat has not helped my extra drug hormone fueled craziness.  So if you see me out on the street, I'd advise you either run, give me pretty things or a banana slurpee.  Just sayin'.

What if?

I tried to embed a video, but Word Press is a fucking bitch and won't is disinclined to cooperate.  Anyway, the link is below.  Watch it.

What IF? A Portrait of Infertility from Keiko Zoll on Vimeo.

Out, damn'd spot! out, I say! or Other Adventures Surrounding My Stupid Fucking Uterus

I like to think I'm a pretty reasonable person.  Not quick to emotion, fairly clear headed.  When I'm having trouble, I'm a solitary kind of creature.  When I'm having difficulty personally, emotionally, I crawl off like a hurt animal to suffer in silence until I can calm.  When I can't suffer in silence, I go further into the woods to howl in pain alone, again, until I calm.  My mother says I've done this since I was a kid.

If we go back a couple of weeks, when I was on the birth control pills, surprisingly my continued issue with spotting seemed to clear up.  I was obviously happy.  Then CD1 showed up and after the requisite week, the spotting continued, and still is.  Saturday, it seemed heavier than usual.  Now, I know one of the Estrace side effect is "Irregular vaginal bleeding or spotting", and that day I was scheduled to start taking it three times a day, but I hadn't yet.  So I was bummed.

Sunday morning I woke at 5:45 A.M., mind racing.  Thinking about the FET and the past six years of dealing with this shit.  It started with silent tears.  Then full-fledged crying.  So, I gave in to it.  I'll let it run its course.  Instead of running its self out, it got worse.  I sobbed and sobbed, then it got really bad.  I realized it wasn't stopping, and I had lost control.  Someone with control issues losing control is no small thing.  The Man had fallen asleep on the couch downstairs.  I gathered my convulsively crying self up and went downstairs bawling the way down, trying to rein it in.  As soon as I saw The Man I completely fell apart.  He was up like a shot and I crumpled.  He asked what was wrong, and after several strangled tries I finally choked out I was freaking out, and proceeded to do so, wailing about how I couldn't take another negative.  The crying fit didn't stop after my confession, inconceivably they got worse.  I was now dry heaving and hyperventilating.  It was frightening, I had no command over any of it, I couldn't breathe and my body was trying to expel whatever was evidently trying to kill me and I was terrified.  It just. wouldn't. stop.  I vaguely remember having visions of The Man racing me to the ER and them knocking my ass out.  Which, I would have really appreciated. After around an hour, I had finally gotten down to that hiccupy breathing, and was in a saner place.

Here are my questions.  What is causing the spotting?  Someone, somewhere KNOWS!  And someone somewhere KNOWS how to make it stop!  It doesn't make any fucking sense to put embryos into a uterus that is shedding lining all the fucking God Damn Time!  Does it? NO!  So why is no one else concerned but me?  WHY!! I do not want to waste those two precious, precious lives!  I will not!!

So here is how this is going down.  Wednesday when I go in for my ultrasound, I'm asking all those questions, AGAIN.  If I am the LEAST bit doubtful about the answers, I'm calling it off.  I will pull my feet out of the stirrups, get dressed and walk out of that office and start making phone calls to specialists.  All I will have lost is time and a bottle of Lupron.  I will get answers about the spotting and only when I am convinced about the situation or we have solved the spotting problem, will I do the FET.

How am I now?  Awful.  I'm a mess and in pain physically and emotionally, but I can put on a public face.  I can pretend that I'm a normal person and am not struggling.  Moment by moment is how I'll get through the next few days.  With any luck, no one will get hurt, including myself...well more hurt.

Check, please!

Drug induced rage?  Check.

Hot flashes?  Check.

Body aches?  Check.

Headaches? Check.

Next?

IDEK...

Can someone please tell me, how the spot band-aids I use to cover my injection sites end up in the oddest places?

Seriously.

Team Estrace

Today was a pretty good day.  The headaches were manageable and were easily handled with Tylenol.  That's awesome.  I even felt well enough to hit the movies today.  I have to say, it was better than I thought it would be.  I was pleasantly surprised.  I enjoyed it quite a lot.  In fact, I would actually pay to see it again.

So, since I feel so much better, of course it's time to start the Estrace.  I fully expect it to make me feel like shit becuase God forbid I should actually feel good while I'm on the drugs.

Maybe we could get Jasper in here to mellow me out.  I like it.  MAYBE he could hire himself out to women on Lupron.  I'm sure husbands around the world would pay big bucks to have Jasper calm their hormonal wives.  I'm so amused with the thought I can't even stand it.

Back to 1...CD1 that is.

OK.  We're in the final stretch.  CD1 didn't happen on the 28th like the nurse guessed.  (I could have told her that, but whatevs) Despite it starting two days later, the calendar doesn't need to be adjusted.  At least not until the 14th when I have to have the ultrasound.  Then we reevaluate from there.

Lupron + CD1 coming = MIGRAINE.  It knocked me flat yesterday.  Wooooooooooo.  I'll tell you.  I was ready to stick my head in a bucket of ice to try to numb it.   It's amazing how badly your head can hurt and not explode.  It amazes me.  It came back today, but not as potent, thank goodness.  Hopefully it will be dust tomorrow.  I'd like to sneak out and go see a movie... ~hangs head in shame~

Monday, it was too hot to walk outside, so I went to the gym I had joined a while ago.  Dude.  I think I'mma have to dump that dump.  I went in there and it was hot as a MF.  I was like is the A/C dead?  They had a bunch of ceiling fans running and the receptionist was busily fanning herself with a file.  Now, I'm not fitness freak, but I try to walk about around three miles which is about an hour for me.  I could only get through about 30 minutes.  My lungs were burning it was so hot.  When I left, it was cooler outside than inside that joint, and it was 85 outside!!!  I didn't say anything to anyone because I'm on the Bitch Juice and that's a can-o-worms that did not  need to be opened.  So I'll give them another shot.  But you betta believe, I'mma call their asses first.  "Excuse me, I was in there the other day and it was hot as hell.  Was your A/C on the fritz or is that S.O.P.?"  If they answer the latter, my next statement will be, "That's ri-damn-diculous cancel my damn membership!"  They gotta be out of their Got-Damn Minds!  Hell.

~Taking a moment to breathe and calm the hell down~

~Taking another moment to breathe and calm the hell down~

~And taking yet another moment to breathe and calm the hell down~

Ok.  Not working.  I'm all riled up again.  Fucking Lupron...

Until we meet again!  ;-)

Sunday

Surprisingly, it was an anger free day!  Since I'm not one to just let things be, I decided to replace it with anxiety.  Anxiety over the FET, anxiety over the past, anxiety over the present, anxiety over "Lonesome George".  It wasn't until a little while ago I figured out why poor old George was bothering me.  Yeah, I know.  I'm a slow study...

Luporn (Bitch Juice) Confessions

I really don't know what it is about this stuff.  Well I have my theories but since they are probably just fiction conceived in my Lupron saturated brain I won't bore you with it.  But I'll tell you, it feels like there is a river of rage flowing just beneath the surface.  I'm ready to fight for any reason.  No, in fact, I'm willing to fight for NO reason.  Probably the safest thing for me to do is not to leave the house, don't answer the phone.  Have no contact with any living being (other then my RE's office because they understand) until I'm done with this stuff.

Below I'm posting thoughts that run through my seething mind today.  Enjoy.

• While at the grocery store today, I thought about ramming my cart into the plants instead of the corral.

• Leaving the grocery store parking lot, there was a group of about eight people trying to J-Walk, I'm assuming, to the graveyard across the street.  I had to fight HARD not to yell profanities at them to get out of the way so I could see oncoming traffic and wasn't T-boned by a speeding SUV.

• On my way home, there was a little kid in glasses dressed as a kangaroo with a parasol.  WTF?

• The Man sitting on the couch watching the USA soccer game and not helping me drag in the groceries made me itch for the progesterone syringe.

• Doughnuts make me happy.  I bought a dozen hoping it would help.  I haven't had any yet, but knowing they are there in case of emergency is mildly comforting.

*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*Nap*

• Dream of fighting people on pirate ships.  Note to self:  Fall asleep watching Pirates of the Caribbean more often.

• Resent that the day heated up and I woke up becuase I was too hot.

I then went on to eat a sandwich and later one of the magic doughnuts.  I felt better.  I watched some TV, took a shower and unsuccessfully tried to sooth the river of anger and hate coursing under my skin.

All in all, not a bad day, eh?  (Might I suggest you agree with me...or else.)

Lupron. Bitch Juice. There you go.

Well, I got a mini-tripod, so I thought I'd film an episode of me doin' the Bitch Juice.  It's a lousy video.  I'm not a filmmaker.  I could edit it, I guess... but I'm also lazy and as you know on the Bitch Juice.  Can you see me trying to edit video on Bitch Juice?  Especially since I don't know how to use the editing software?  I'm not interested in destroying my MacBook thankyouverymuch.  This post was an exercise in how many times I could use the phrase Bitch Juice in one posting.  Why?

It's my blog,

I'm on Bitch Juice,

and it makes me happy, GODDAMNIT!

*Grin*

Anyway...on with the show!



Hope you all aren't psychologically damaged by any of the contents of that video.  I know it's disturbing on many levels.  Although, not nearly as disturbing as The Man coming in and asking, "Are you watching this?"

Me: "I guess not anymore."

The Man: Changes the channel to a bunch of men playing banjos, mandolins and fiddles to a crowd of people with mullets.

If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna have to go so I can leave the room before I find a leftover progesterone syringe and stab him in the eye with it.