Another day, another snotfest

I'm having a rough time.

I know, I totally disguised that fact with my cheery, sunshiney attitude. I'm so tricksy.

I've been trying to convince myself that because my life may never improve in the ways I want it to (i.e., dozens of roly poly baby bunnies, smashing...or really any kind of...career success), I need to find a way to live it instead of wishing for things I may never have, or experiencing endless anxiety about my job and my general degree of adequacy as a human being. And then I notice how tight my chest is and how tears are welling up in my eyes again, and all the studies I accidentally looked at dealing with links between infertility and stress and depression flash before my eyes and I feel my uterus shrivel up or grow ten foot spikes or something.

I know you can't help me with this particular problem.

So here's something you actually can advise on. I need to find a nice way to tell my best friend that she's going to have to FUCK OFF for a while because I can't stand thinking about her. (I know, you probably thought you'd never have to hear about this particular relationship again now that she's moved away. NOPE. Still gonna hear about it.) Though come to think of it, it's hard to do better than that phrasing. Who wouldn't react with compassionate in the face of such a request? Only a total monster. But feel free to see if you can do better.

Fifth verse, slightly different from the first

During previous IUIs, I didn't always obey the instructions on my clinic-provided sheet. For example, the sheet says:

1. NO ALCOHOL. Whatevs. I had a drink now and then up to the insemination day.
2. Decrease caffeine intake. Whatevs. I drink a latte in the morning. What am I supposed to do--drink half a latte?
3. No strenuous exercise. Whatevs. I continued my not particularly grueling workout routine until the insemination day. 

But now that IVF is becoming less of a distant possibility and more of a forthcoming reality, I find that I want to do what I can to give this procedure a shot. And it's not because I want to spare us the expense and the trauma of an IVF cycle. We've saved the money, and while I don't mean to downplay the physical and emotional stresses, I think I can handle it. It's the fear of reaching the point at which we've run out of options. IVF is still that comforting Big Gun right now. Though I know all too well that it's no miracle solution, it's still a major source of hope right now, and I don't know how to handle the prospect of looking forward and seeing nothing to cling to. All the impatience I used to feel is morphing into something else...something more like reluctance.

(Am I jumping the gun here a bit by contemplating this? Yes, but that's how I work. )

Anyway, I don't think the failure of IUIs 1-4 had anything to do with those bullet points from my clinic checklist. But, here's the plan for this cycle:

1. NO ALCOHOL. NO ALCOHOL.
2. Decrease caffeine intake. Half a latte.
3. No strenuous exercise. No strenuous exercise.  

At least I'll be feeling suuuuuuuuuper good when I get my negative result.

A little experiment

At my German conference, I decided to try a little experiment in openness about IF. There have been a number of conversations lately about how to be an advocate for IF when it's such a private issue and one that the general public seems pretty unsympathetic to or at least incapable of appreciating the seriousness of. (Take THAT, syntax! You are my BITCH!) I was thinking perhaps one place where I could help the cause was in discouraging people from asking about others' reproductive plans. This can be done by a combination of being an asshole and making people feel very uncomfortable, both things at which I excel. That is, when people ask about your plans, the nice thing to do is say something polite that pretends having a baby is just a question of deciding you want one. The assholeish awkwardness-creating thing to do (or AACTD, if you will) is to tell the truth. This will ideally make at least that one person think twice about asking next time. So I did a little AACTD. (That acronym is TOTALLY going to catch on. Eat it up, RESOLVE.) It happened fairly naturally because of the circumstances. The conference was attended by a lot of people who know me pretty well (my old grad school cohort and labmates), and many of them are or recently were pregnant. So of course they all asked me about my plans. In addition, for reasons that are mysterious to me, a lot of people seemed to think I was pregnant as well. Like, several people said, Didn't I hear good news about you? while starting at my stomach. In short, I had many opporunities for AACTD. When people asked me if we wanted kids or had plans to have kids, I said, We desperately want kids, but it's not just a question of wanting for some people. When they asked if I was pregnant, I said, Noooooooo, in a tear-choked voice that implied There's a world of pain here and aren't you sorry you brought it up?

I have to say, peoples, AACTD did the trick. People usually said, Oh, gosh, I'm sorry and backed off as though they'd just wandered up to a big pile of writhing vipers. I don't know that the people who got ACCTDed will be less likely to raise the issue with the next woman of reproductive age they encounter, but if the faintest whiff of the notion that infertility exists has entered their brains, I will have accomplished something. Sure, they may now think I'm extremely socially maladjusted, but that's the price you pay for advocacy.

So: Here's a call to arms. Join me in my asshole!

No, wait, that's not quite right...uh...never mind.

Nothing of any significance

First, a big I'm So Very Sorry in Andie's direction. She deserves a truckload of beautiful babies, and instead she gets heartbreak. You're really stupid, World.

Meanwhile, my husband has agreed to come home early if necessary so that we can do an IUI this month regardless of how the timing works out. I'm grateful, but also just hate hate hate having to be grateful. I wish...well, that we weren't even in this situation, but given that we are, that he'd somehow magically take more control. That I didn't have to feel like I'm asking for favors. Uggh. Anyway, my day 12 ultrasound is now set up, all the drugs are on hand, and I can at least feel like I'm killing time til IVF in the most productive fashion possible. Which brings me oodles of joy, as you can probably imagine.

Here are some trivial things that actually do bring me something mildly joy-ish. First, yesterday was Mr. Bunny's birthday so I made miniature eclairs...and they were hella NOM. And we went out to dinner so I got the chance to wear a super awesome new necklace.

Coffee icing, vanilla bean cream filling.

From Etsy. Enter "untamed" in a search by seller and you should find the shop.

One has to keep from despair somehow: stuffing one's face with sweets and wearing frilly frocks are not bad options.

Jetlag + bladder = FUCK YOU

I made the mistake of e-mailing Mr. Bunny (who is traveling) about how well I was doing getting back on Ohio time. Sure enough, I woke up (irreversibly) at 4:30 this morning. I know how important it is not to congratulate yourself on jetlag recovery, but I did it anyway. STUPID! Also, over the past year or so my stupid full bladder has started waking me up around 5 or 6. I hoped that maybe with the removal of my meatballs this would go away. Nope. Still waking up needing to pee. NOT A FAN! It would be fine if I were gestating a fetal human or some shit, but waking up just because I'm an old lady is laaaaaaame and depressing. I've tried not drinking anything after a certain time of night, but then I just get horribly thirsty and end up chugging water as though I've just crawled across a burning wasteland. And maybe if my life were filled with unicorns and rainbows I'd just go back to sleep, but as it is, the moment I become conscious, worries flood in with amazing velocity. OhmygodihavetoteachagainsoonandineedtofinishthatpaperSTATandi'llnevergetpregnantandi'maviodingmybestfriend'semailsbecauseihate thinkingaboutherstupidbabyandOWmybladderandwhydidisaythatthingtothatpersoanandihavesomuchironingtodoand, on this particular morning, please let cycle day one hold off until tomorrow, as that would make me pretty secure about actually having some sperm around on the day I'm likely to need it. Fucking timing. So sick of worrying about timing.

(Speaking of timing, yeah, my understanding is that I can't go straight to IVF because I need to heal a bit more before my ovaries get all inflated like balloons. I think my RE likes to do everything he can to protect his clinic's IVF success rates, and to the extent that this makes me more likely to be part of the lucky 50%, I'm on board. I think after this IUI I'll schedule a consult to get a timeline down.)

Journey into my psyche...

Let me start with something amusing, since the rest of this post will not be. And perhaps even this item will not be, particularly to those of you who are not into black humor. Although if you're not into black humor, you may not want to ever come back here.

In Berlin, Mr. Bunny and I were having lunch with one of my favorite grad school friends (male! not pregnant!) at an Italian place. Our pizzas were taking an incredibly long time. Grad school friend said, Maybe they have to fire up their special ovens. Mr Bunny (who is ethnically, though not religiously Jewish) said,  OH NOOOOOOOOO! My people have had enough of the special ovens!

Today I stopped by the pharmacy to put in an order for Ovidrel so that I'll be prepared to do an IUI this month. I have some Clomid left over from my last IUI, and I've looked at Mr. Bunny's travel schedule on our shared calendar and the timing should work out with respect to his Contribution. (You will not recall, because why should you? You have important things to going on in your own life! that I have to wait until November for IVF, but can do IUI in the meantime, provided travel doesn't get in the way.) The thing is, I haven't told my husband about my negative test yet.

Based on what I've gleaned from reading your stories, I'm a crazy person in this respect. I mean, those of you who test at all, don't you share the news right away? I don't know why I don't want to tell him. It's not just this month--I've always had a really hard time getting myself to do it. Many months I don't think I even DO. It just becomes obvious. And recall that I'm also the person who didn't tell her husband about her chemical pregnancy until SEVEN MONTHS later. I'm not sure what my deal is. So I figured I'd ask you, because what's more fun that psychoanalyzing someone else? And if you're like You're a psychologist, do it yourself, I repeat, I'm not that kind of psychologist.

So that you have complete information to work with, it's not that I'm hoping I'm pregnant despite the negative test, though it's true that when I tell him about a negative test, he sometimes asks if there's  a chance that I'm still pregnant, and I HATE IT when he does that. (HAAAAAAAAATE IT!) What it feels like inside my head is that I don't want to remind him of the whole fucking situation, 'cause he's told me he doesn't like thinking about it. And telling him requires us to talk about next steps, often, which he's said he hates. But there's got to be something more to it. Something DARK! DISTURBING!

So, how do you handle this particular moment in your lives? Why do you think I have such a hard time with it?

(Oh, and don't bother suggesting that I just stop testing. I have my specific reasons for doing so and you ain't gonna convert me.)

Ich bin ein Berliner

Except not any longer, as I'm home. I'm pleased to see that all some of you needed to get knocked up was for me to leave town; if I'd known I'd have left long ago. The trip did not have the same effect on my own personal uterus. I got a big fat NOT PREGNANT this morning. Oh yeah, I remember this feeling of devastation and despair and total non-surprise! Good to have it back.

I'd like to tell you that I had a wonderful trip and didn't think about babies for an instant, but while I had a good trip on the whole, I thought about babies a hell of a lot. I admire those of you who can put the topic out of your minds, though in my defense, there were a few things working against me. To begin with, babies was the unofficial theme of my conference. All my colleagues were either pregnant, showing me baby pictures, or not attending because of their impending deliveries. IT SUCKED. It made me feel really left behind, particularly because all these horrible women ALSO seemed to be extremely intellectually productive. It's almost like I just spent two years accomplishing nothing and being miserable while everyone else was having a normal life!

It also turns out that everyone in Berlin is pregnant. (Even the men.) This is stupid, but it was actually depressing to face the fact that it's not just the entire American population that can have loads of children, but the rest of the world as well. Except for us.

So yeah. That was a rather gloomy travelogue. But that's my style.

Less gloomy tidbits include discovering that my German is totally adequate. You know, not for elaborate conversation, but for basic interactions, I'm THE SHIT! We also had some tasty food, saw some lovely sights, and, because Mr. Bunny has been saving his miles for a million years, flew first class. Duuuuuuuuude! I've never done it before, and...I like it.

Now that I'm home, I'm facing year three of IF. I can't let it be as bad as year two. I have no idea, let alone any concrete plan, for how to make it better. But at least I have this super awesome resolution. Sweet. While I'm mulling it over, please enjoy these faceless travel pictures.

The view from our hotel in Frankfurt.

Frühstücksetagere! I'd tell you where I had it, but that neighborhood has the largest concentration of bellies ever seen.

The universal expression that goes with "This Flammkuchen is way too fucking large! Why is this happening to me?"