100 Days... A Post About The Dog

Today marks 100 days until my due date.  We're starting to get things ready and that means... the dog.

When I adopted Scout over 6 years ago, she came with some serious luggage.  With a lot of hard work, she's come from this sick little goober who would hide and refuse to come out...

to this super happy dog who still has some struggles...

I thought she was a Corgi mix.  What I didn't know was that she might not even be a Corgi, but she is for sure Chow and who knows what else.  She's just short... like me.  Her herding instinct is huge as is the Chow protectiveness in her.  She is still rather fearful and since I have become pregnant, she's gotten even more protective of me.  On top of that, she's eight now.  Her vision isn't what it used to be and she has a touch of arthritis.

Over the July 4th holiday, she snapped at my brother-in-law out of the blue and got him on the nose.  Cue panic.

I take our adoption of Scout seriously.  I made a commitment to take care of her for life.  We thought that with the baby coming it might be time to find her a new home, but knowing my dog, that would be very traumatic for her.  She's a smart dog and is good with her commands.  She even has some rally and advanced obedience skills, but it doesn't matter how good she is at sit and stay when she gives no warning and nips someone in the face.  Of course the Chipmunk's safety comes first.  So we made an appointment with our vet to see what our options might be.

Our amazing vet spent about an hour and a half with us.  She did a full workup on Scout and didn't find anything physically that could explain her recent uptick in aggression.  She agreed that we had time to safely gauge the situation with the baby and work with a behaviorist to address her fears.  I'd always known that Scout was tuned in to my pregnancy, but I just thought she knew something was different.  Apparently, my vet says dogs really do know that you are pregnant and that there will be a new pack member.  The problem is, that completely freaks my dog out.

The vet knows our girl well and she thinks that she will see Chipmunk as a member of our pack.  We are going to work with a behaviorist one-on-one in our home to address some specific things she does (like going buck wild at the door when anyone walks by).  We aren't stupid, though.  Scout will be in her crate when the baby is awake.  They will not hang out together... period.  Since James works from home and Chipmunk will be at daycare during the week, this seems completely doable for us.  Scout will still get people time outside her kennel for the vast majority of the day.

After she nipped my BIL, I was a mess until we met with the vet.  I really didn't see much of an option aside from re-homing her.  My mama bear instinct was in high gear and I forgot about the fact that she loves her crate and might even like being in there when the baby is around.  When Chipmunk starts moving around and hits toddlerdom, we'll have to reassess the situation, but for now we're feeling pretty okay about Scout and the baby.

Photo Challenge Catch Up

There is so much going on in the blog world right now and of course I have brilliant insight (HA!), but taking photos is way more fun for me right now. I'll get back to talking about my empty uterus another day.  Just bare with me!

Commute:

This is an overpass on our way to work (I carpool with J).  I don't know how it's been kept up but for YEARS kids have gone up there and moved cups around to spell out messages.  Usually it's a profession of love or a prom date proposal.  It's always surprisingly PG.  Today, in the aftermath of a UNC/Duke game, it spelled out UNC in front of a lovely Carolina Blue sky.

Challenge:


Scout challenges anyone who dares ring our doorbell.  Seriously.  She turns into psycho dog.

Purple:

The beautiful orchids I got for Valentine's Day.  They're still alive!  Hooray!

I can't tell you how awesome this photo challenge is during this 2WW.  I'm so thankful to Belle and her creativeness!

Me, Feet, and My Ute

How do these things all go together, you may ask?

Well, the first two are related to my participation in Belle's March Photo Challenge.  I'm really excited about this.  I used to to photography all the time and I got kind of burnt out on it.  It's one of those hobbies you shouldn't tell people about because the next thing you know, you're taking pictures of every random event under the sun for people... for no monies.  So yesterday was a self-portrait.  Since I'm anonymous, all you get is my eye.

 Today's assignment was feet.  I HATE feet.  I don't like to look at them, I don't like to touch them, I don't want them on me.  Eww.  They give me the heebie jeebies in ways I can't describe.  So I decided that I would take a photo using the one set of feet I can stand... my dog's!  When she was a puppy, she had one pink pad on this foot.  It was so cute.  You can still see a little bit of pink on it, but it's pretty much black at this point.

This is so fun!  Thanks, Belle, for putting this together!

IUI was this morning.  Everything went fine.  MUCH better than last time.  After J did his thing we went and had a nice breakfast together.  He was in such a good mood and it was contagious.  We had a great time in spite of our circumstances.  Dr. Ultrasound did the deed this time and he offered to let J "pull the trigger" on the syringe.  He declined, but I thought it was really sweet.  I don't know if we've been around the clinic so much now that the staff feels familiar with us or if they're starting some new initiative, but everyone kept wishing us luck.  It felt good.  I liked it.  I'm bringing hope back. :)

Why I Hate Valentine's Day

First of all let me say that one of my biggest pet peeves in the whole world is when people say "Valentimes."  Don't do it, people.  Don't do it.

Valentine's day has so many negative things attached to it for me that I purposefully adopted my dog on Valentine's day.  I needed a happy thought.  Now I get to celebrate Scout's "birthday" instead of thinking about the yuckies.

No, I didn't have too many lonely nights or a few too many broken hearts.  Perhaps the easiest reason that I hate V-Day is that we buried my grandmother on Valentine's Day.  Yeah.  The real reason I hate V-Day is actually worse than that.

I grew up in an abusive household.  My father would make a big stink out of V-Day.  He would do "special" things for my sister and I.  Send us each a pink rose to school, have balloons for us in the morning, make a special breakfast.  You would think this would be an awesome dad way to behave, right?  Well, he made V-Day as grandiose as he could for us in order to point out the things he wasn't doing for his wife... my mother.  He would do nothing for her and make sure we were all aware of it.  We would end up feeling guilty about the gifts we got, but if we expressed that we were ungrateful and spoiled and in big trouble.  So every year, we put up with the gifts we didn't want and swallowed the guilt and the pity.  Well, I did at least.  My father managed to convince my sister that my mother deserved it.

As I got older, I tried to get ballsier.  When I moved out, I would refuse delivery of any flowers or anything, but he found a way around that.  The worst V-Day came when I was in graduate school.  My father came to my apartment to hand deliver his annual ridiculous gift.  He then sat at my kitchen table and told me he had something to talk to me about.  He started sobbing, telling me a story about his time in Vietnam.  He told me he saved a man's life and watched him die.  He told me he had shrapnel in his knee and his butt from the attack.  He told me he earned a purple heart.

I never knew my father was in Vietnam.  In fact, I thought he was in high school at the time.  Our understanding was always that he got kicked out of boot camp and never actually joined the Marines.  My first thought when I heard this story?  I wondered how he got through metal detectors if he had shrapnel in his ass.  So I guess you could say that I knew right off the bat that it was a big lie.

The purple heart?  My brother has seen it, but I don't know how he managed to get his hands on one.  A private investigator heard our story and offered to pull his military history for us.  He really did get kicked out of boot camp.  There was no active duty for him, although he says it's a military cover up... and my sister believes him.

That V-Day was the day my life started to unravel.  We learned about 20 years of affairs, years of unemployment he somehow managed to fake, multiple mortgages my mother's signature was forged on... the list goes on.  That was when I started to realize that not everyone's mom gets yelled at constantly and that most girls aren't afraid of their fathers.  It's the day my father stopped being dad.

J tries really hard to make V-Day special and I could not be luckier to have him as a full time Valentine.  I can play along with the day now, but deep down, I'm still scarred by V-Day's past.  I feel like it's a day where people are primed to be disappointed and hurt.  I don't like days like that.

The Child I Do Have

Yes friends, I have kept a secret from you.  I do have a child.  She is furry and four legged.

Pathetic and irresistible

Since I can't get myself in a halfway decent mood, I figured I'd blog about my awesome doggie.  Her name is Scout. She's named after the character in "To Kill A Mockingbird" so if you thought I had a Demi Moore thing, I say to you "read a book."  I named her Scout because I was hoping she would embrace some of the trusting characteristics of our beloved Jean Louise, but alas, she's a freak show.  A freak show that I love very much.

When I was feeling that I would be single forever, I figured I should hurry up and get myself a dog before I found myself turning into the crazy single cat lady on the corner.  I really wanted a Corgi and I searched Petfinder.com for weeks to find one.  I finally saw my Scoutie at a shelter in SC.  So I drove down one Valentine's Day to get her.  I saw her in that cage and I could not wait to take her home.  She would run up to me and let me pet her for a nano second and then she would run and hide.  She'd work up the courage to come near me again and then she'd go hide again.  My heartstrings done been pulled.  I brought her home.  The only thing I knew about her was that she was in a hoarding situation.  I also knew that when they went to spay her, they found puppies.  My poor little girl had an abortion against her will.


Super Scout!

She was so fearful.  She used to hide in the corner and shake whenever anyone would come over for at least 6 months.  When we went on walks, she would literally stop in her tracks and refuse to move if someone was walking on the other side of the street.  I took her to training and she was a rock star.  She earned her Canine Good Citizen Award and stopped with the shaking.  Then the freak show came out.

She is so super protective of me it isn't even funny.  When anyone comes relatively close to the house, she barks her fool head off.  God forbid someone actually comes in the house!  That causes a complete freak out.  Barking her fool head off, blocking the guest's way in.  No one likes my poor puppy except for us.  When J and I started dating, it took a lot of work to get them to be friends.  They are inseparable now, but it took a lot of table scraps to get there (J giving them to Scout, not the other way around). 

One of these things just doesn't belong!
Scout at the Corgi picnic.

When I first got her, I was told she was a Corgi.  Then I took her to a Corgi picnic.  She stood out like a sore paw!  My mom got her one of those DNA tests so we could see what she was mixed with.  It came back Chow and Lab... no Corgi at all!  The vet thinks she's probably Chow and Australian Shepard and she's just short.  Shortness fits in well in this family!

For as big a freak show as she is, she's the light of our lives.  Every night she runs around the house and plays with her blue racket ball.  Her short little legs bat at that thing like it's a pinata full of the best goodies you've ever seen.  It's so dang cute.  When one of us is upset, she is not having it.  She isn't the kind of dog who sits in your lap with the sad doggie face and warms your heart.  My dog jumps allover you and licks off your tears.  She's more of a "cut that crap out!" kind of dog than an enabler. 

I have to admit, infertility is easier to face when you have a dog to throw all of your maternal energy at.  I highly recommend it.

They've Found Us!



Maybe the one on the right contains a Korean fertility secret!

I was cleaning the bathroom like a good little wife when I heard the doorbell ring.  Mr. Right answered it and I figured he was at the door for awhile because the dog was going buck wild.  He comes upstairs and looks bewildered.  He is carrying religious tracts... in Korean.  Apparently, there was an evangelist type at the door from the local Korean church.  Now, we don't live in a huge Korean community or anything, so the fact that this man turned up at our door with religious tracts IN KOREAN freaks me out a bit. I mean, is he hitting up all the households with Korean last names?  Did my in-laws send him?

*Sigh* We have no idea what this says.

Apparently he was very kind (I've yet to meet a Korean who isn't) and Mr. Right had a nice conversation with him... in Korean.  What was curious was that he saw Mr. Right's ring and said "Oh, I see that you're married.  On page blah blah blah is some great advice on child rearing."  I think that was the part where hubby should have said "My wife is a white, barren, Catholic heathen" but apparently he didn't think of that.

Oh, and Mr. Right does not read Korean.  He told the gentleman that, but he still left us with the tracts.

Christmas Cards

As the forever single girl, I never sent out Christmas cards.  It just seemed weird.  I contemplated sending one of my dog one year.  I figured it was a step up from a gaggle of cats, but I decided against it.  Since I didn't send out cards, the amount of cards I received quickly dwindled.  So this year, I'm super excited to send out married Christmas cards for the first time!

Even though people are probably sick of us, we're going to use our wedding photo because we can.  And come on - that's what we did this year.  If I have to read about Sally's 83rd dance recital, you can look at me in my fantastic dress.  Anywho, when you are using a wedding photo the text on the card gets kind of hairy. 

Since we met and married in our mid 30s, "Joyful and Triumphant" seemed pretty fantastic to me.  "Unto us a child is born" would be way inappropriate.  "Naughty and Nice" would be rather descriptive since "Naughty" would fall under Mr. Right and "Nice" would be under me. 

My favorite, however, is for sure the thought of looking at a photo of Mr. Right and me in all of our white garb of purity above the words "Oh Holy Night."

Mr. Right would rather do something like this:

I married an adolescent, I swear.  Good thing he's cute!

Got any fun ideas?  Ever notice how glaringly white the people are on the cards on the Shutterfly site?  And where can I get these things for less than one arm and half a leg?

The White Girl

When Mr. Right and I started dating, his mom was less than keen on the possibility of him settling down with a white chick.  In fact, she dubbed me "The White Girl."

Traditional Asian parents tend to like the idea of their kids ending up with other Asians.  This really bothered me at first.  I saw it as a small minded, biggoted thought, but it's really not.  It goes back to the whole legacy thing I was talking about the other day.  When I got to know MIL Right better, she grew to like me (I mean come one, what's not to like), but then the problem wasn't that I was white - it was that I was Catholic.  I couldn't win!  Over time, our relationship helped me figure it out.

It wasn't the color of my skin or shape of my eyes, it was the culture I practiced.  She needed to know that her culture would be passed down to her grandchildren and that my Catholic self wasn't going to deny her that legacy.  I would never dream of keeping that from my children and ever since she learned that, we've gotten along swimmingly.

That brings us to the infertility issue.  She doesn't know.  My mom knows every excruciating detail,  but when MIL Right says "Why you no have baby?!"  All we say is, "We'll let you know when it happens.  Promise."  Mostly it's because of the language gap.  I mean, it's not like reproductive terminology is part of Mr. Right's Korean vocabulary.  He says that her knowing would be more stressful because she would worry a lot since she wouldn't totally understand what's going on.  I understand and respect that.  The thing is, I wonder how it looks culturally that we aren't popping out grandkids.  Could the White Girl end up bringing some shame to the family?  I worry about that.

Why don't you just adopt?

I'll admit it.  I was one of those people.  I thought that if you couldn't get pregnant, you should just adopt.  If there's one thing I've learned loud and clear from this process, it's that you can't guess what your reactions will be at any particular stage of the game.

When someone says "you should just adopt," they are implying that you are not fit to procreate and you should just stop.  They are saying that adoption is some sort of consolation prize rather than the amazing thing it is on its own.  They are saying that because you badly want something that came so easily to them, you are somehow selfish.  Usually in life, we celebrate those that struggle to reach a milestone.  Why isn't the same true for starting a family?

When we started this process, my Type A self felt like we needed to prepare for all possible worst case scenarios.  That meant browsing the smorgasbord of reproductive options.  When I brought up the possibility of adoption, Mr. Right was not gung ho.  He wants to be sure we exhaust all possibilities for biological children and take some time before we decide to think about adoption.  I had a hard time understanding this at first, but now that we're looking our first medicated cycle in the eye, I get it. 

It's nice to think that having a baby is all about doing your part to make the world a better place, but it really isn't.  I mean, how well equipped are any of us to be able to form a small person into someone who can change the world?  When it comes down to it - procreating IS a little bit selfish.  Having children is about establishing your legacy... what you leave behind when you meet your maker so to speak.  It would be nice to say that our careers establish our legacy and having a family is just what we are all meant to do, but when you have a child, there is for real and for true a piece of you to stick around on earth for as long as it keeps spinning.  This is a basic psychological need and one that we are all entitled too.  To imply that it is the job of all infertile people to save the world's orphans is dumping a giant moral burden on the shoulders of grieving people.  People who have a right to grieve their loss of what they thought they would leave behind.  That's a burden to be shared with ALL people, regardless of the state of their reproductive organs.  Caring for our fellow humans, especially the littlest ones, is just human responsibility.  I don't believe it is God's wish for infertiles.  But no one would look at a pregnant woman and say "Why didn't you adopt?"

If the time comes when we decide to end our reproductive travels, we will take the time to mourn the loss of the family we thought we would have.  We will mourn the adorable little half Asian baby we have pictured in our minds.  Some day, we may decide that we want to adopt, but that will be a decision we come to apart from our infertility.  I think all families who choose to adopt feel a calling to do so.  They certainly don't feel like they are moving on to their consolation prize.

Being Appreciative

I dated a lot in my day.  And when I say a lot, I mean A LOT!  I was the queen of online dating.  A walking match.com ad.  I can't even tell you how many men I met and fretted over.  Do they like me?  How do I make them like me?  Do I care if this one likes me? Will he call?  Why didn't he call?  Will I ever meet the right guy?  Being lonely sucks!  When I would complain about being lonely, my married friends would chime in and tell me that marriage isn't all that it's cracked up to be.  They would complain about their husbands being unavailable, or too available.  They complained about toothpaste in sinks and clothes left on the floor.  As if those sorts of problems would make my date nights with Ben and Jerry much less sad and much more triumphant.  I never understood what my married friends were trying to do and I still don't.  I'm glad to see dishes in the sink and not the dishwasher.  The fact that there are little crappies left on every flat surface of this house is just another reminder that there is someone in my house that I am happily sharing my life with.  Don't get me wrong, there are little habits that annoy the crap out of me, but it certainly isn't worth being all too bothered over.  The pros for sure outweigh the cons.  I guess working so hard to find Mr. Right helps me appreciate him more.

I am confident that I will have the same appreciation for my child.  I know that it will never be an easy road, but this child is so severely wanted that we will always appreciate the gift of a child.

Today I heard a father complain about his deaf child's speech being embarrassing to him.  He said he could have better conversations with his dog and that the speech therapy he'd paid for was not turning out to be a good investment.  My heart broke for this beautiful, snugly, smart, charming little munchkin.  I can't imagine how you wouldn't be so thankful for a beautiful gift.  They chose to adopt her knowing of her hearing loss and yet they call her an embarrassment.  I fail to even remotely comprehend that.

"It's Not Fair!"

I remember a kid I used to work with who always said "It's not fair!"  Her teacher, a dear friend of mine, used to try to teach her what it really meant for something to be fair or not fair.  I was thinking of her today when I actually told my mom, at the ripe old age of 33, "It's not fair!"

I dated a LOT before I met Mr. Right and it sucked.  I hated dating.  I hated being single. As long as my single friends are hoping to find a mate, I will do my best not to be condescending to them because good Lord was that not fun.  But when I finally met the right guy, it was the right time in my life.  We had careers, stable employment, home(s), and a dog.  We were happy and ready.  We started trying before the wedding, just in case it didn't go too smoothly, but it seemed like all of our friends were getting pregnant really easily - even in their 30s.  That's what I think isn't fair.  We did all the right things.   Mr. Right and I will make great parents.  I know it, dang it!  And I see all of these people with too many kids, who are unemployed, who are next to divorce, popping out kids like freakin' pez dispensers!  Why isn't it easy for us?  It's not fair, I tell you!

My mom told me to get over it.  It is what it is.  I know she's right, but I want to wallow in my "It's not fair" for a minute.

At least she told me she was proud of me for being brave.  It might not be fair, but at least I'm being brave.

Can Kimchi Make Me Pregnant?

I've been craving Korean, something I never even thought about eating until I met Mr. Right.  Good thing I married a guy from a tradition that has great food!  Once we actually have a child, he or she will be well fed between our two heritages, that's for sure. At any rate, while we were eating our yummy Korean dinner, I had a crazy thought.  Maybe, just maybe, Mr. Right's swimmers consider my uterus to be a hostile environment because I don't eat enough Kimchi.  Yes, infertility has fried my brain.

But I ate up anyway and at least now I have clear sinuses if nothing else.

Things I'm Learning

This process is teaching me a lot.  It's not an easy or fun way to learn, but it is teaching me things that I hope are making me better at my job.  When I sit in the waiting room with a lump in my throat, I realize that my patients must be feeling much the same way.  It's petrifying to put your life and trust into a total stranger's hands.  When my doctor does the "Choose your Own Adventure" method, I want to punch him in the nose, but then I remember that I do the same thing to my patients!  And I really only give them options that would be okay for them to choose from.  But I'm sure the families I work with want to punch me in the nose too.

Maybe I should invest in a face mask.

Mostly I'm learning that having an intense medical issue to deal with is incredibly stressful.  On my end as a medical provider, it's just another day of work.  I'm learning that I need to step back and remember that they are stressed, worried, and navigating a whole myriad of medical care, financial strain, and uncertainties for a child's future.  It can't just be another day of work for me.  I have to be in their moment, not mine.

Choose Your Own Adventure!

We met with the RE again today.  This visit was for an ultrasound and to look at all the test results and make a plan.  I like plans.  I'm Type A.

Ultrasound was with... um... different instrumentation than I'm used to.  It was also Mr. Right's first time in a room involving stirrups.  He was as giddy with excitement.  Anywho, the ultrasound didn't show anything.  He tried to see if he could make me wince - he was successful. 

All of our tests have come back normal so far.   Is it bad that I wish we had an actual identified problem with an actual identified treatment? 

About 10 years ago, I was told I probably had endometriosis.  The only way to really diagnose it was surgery, and since I wasn't planning on a baby at that time and birth control pills could handle the symptoms, I was put on the pill and stayed that way.  Now, the thought is that I probably have endometriosis and it's affecting my fertility. 

So he gave us options.  Infertility is apparently of the "Choose Your Own Adventure" variety.  We could have the diagnostic surgery or just go to drugs.  My first thought was, "Why the heck would I want to pump myself up with drugs and release more eggs if we don't know that things in the southern hemisphere are status quo?"  Well, turns out that even if they do identify endo, the treatment options wouldn't be much different in the end.  If there were able to remove some of the endo, there is no guarantee that it would help with fertility.  And it's a bigger surgery than I thought.  A whole freakin' week out of work.  That does not sound like a good time.   So the other option was to do a test to make sure everything is structurally clear (an HSG - which I'm none too excited about, but one day of pain sounds better than 6) and then do injectable medications.  Not sure why we're skipping oral meds and going straight to shots, but that's what was presented to us.  We decided to go for option B - the HSG and drugs.  Mr. Right will have to shoot me in the ass on a regular basis. 

On to figuring out how it will all get paid for.  Hmmmm.

I Just Screened A Phone Call From My Best Friend

When I told my BFF that we were going to start fertility testing and treatment, she was surprisingly un-supportive.  She actually said "Oh my God!  You are over reacting.  It's just going to take time.  It takes a lot of people a long time."  Mind you - she got knocked up with both of her kids right after she got off the pill.  I haven't talked to her since.  I tried to explain my feelings, but she just kept playing it down.  I just don't know what to say to her since this is such a major part of my life right now and I don't want my feelings to be marginalized.  So she called,  I saw it was her, and I didn't answer.  I checked the message.  She called to tell me that someone we went to college with is pregnant with her 5th kid.

Swell.

I can't even log into Facebook anymore because I can't handle the barrage of pregnancy announcements and sonogram profile pictures.  Now my BFF can deliver the same anguish,  live and unsolicited.

Swell.

The First Visit to the RE

When we were getting ready to go to the RE for the first time, I googled and googled and googled "what to expect at the first appointment."  I'm the kind of person who likes, no NEEDS, to be prepared for all situations.  I picture all the worst case scenarios and try to come up with a "just in case" plan.  I know - not the healthiest way to be, but right now, that's who I am.  Anywho, all I could find were things like "you'll fill out paperwork, bring your charts, you'll talk..." duh!  I wanted to know what I would feel.  What might he say?  Will they do tests right then?  Should I schedule it for a certain cycle day?  No one could tell me... so I'm putting it in my own darned blog.

I wasn't sure if they would want to do tests or anything, so I just scheduled it on a day Mr. Right and I could both go.  That was fine.  I was in the middle of my cycle so they scheduled testing from there.  I didn't have to wait until a new cycle started or anything.

The day before the appointment, I felt like I had something stuck in my throat.  You know that feeling you get when you're trying not to cry?  Just like that.  I couldn't decide if I was coming down with something or if it was nerves.  I'm thinking it was nerves since I didn't get sick and it went away after the appointment.  Big dork right here.  We got there and checked in, the people at the check in counter were very friendly, but since I'm in the south it would be weird if they weren't.  There was another couple there... we didn't make eye contact.  It's a "What are you in for" kind of feeling.

We didn't wait long at all and they came back and took my vitals.  My pulse and BP were high and I usually have low BP so I'm pretty sure my emotions had literally gotten the best of me.  They took Mr. Right and I in another room and told us the doc would be in.  We didn't wait long at all.  We were sitting at a table, not like an exam room or anything.  He took histories from both of us and looked my charts.  It was funny because I use fertilityfriend and chart every little symptom, every time we have sex (which says "BD" for Baby Dance on the chart - the most ludicrous euphemism ever), I put it all on there.  He didn't even care where the software called ovulation.  He said "These things are always so damned complicated.  Show me where your first positive ovulation predictor kit result was.  I just need that and your temps."  I liked that.  To the point.  He was friendly enough, but to the point and didn't molly-coddle.  I need that.

From there, he had a suspicion of what the problem might be and told us what we'd need to do.  Progesterone on CD 21, a bunch of blood tests stuff on CD 3, tests for Mr. Right, and then we'd get back together and decide what to do from there.  There was no talk of treatment, just figuring out what was up.  I thought that was good.  I'd be worried if they started throwing IVF at us on day one.

So the tests are done, we're waiting for the rest of the results, and then we meet again.  That was it!  It was nothing to get my blood pressure up over.

Oh!  Except for the part where we were on our way out through the lobby and I recognized someone.  I saw the look of horror on her face and I pretended that I didn't see her.  She did the same.  I have yet to understand the shame attached to infertility, but maybe that will be part of this journey as well.

Mr. Right is SO alright!

When we had our first SA things didn't go so well... let's just say a do over was necessary.  The do over has been done and the results are in.  My man is a serious stud.  He has an all clear on the fertility front.  I'm so relieved.  I didn't want this to be a "male factor" issue.  I know Mr. Right and I don't want him to carry that around.  So we are happy as pigs in slop tonight.  It's been a good day!

Onward and upward!

So much for all that time not making a baby

Imagine you are me.  A short, generally happy girl from the midwest.  You went to Catholic school and in Catholic school you get "Family Life" in the 5th grade.  That's your sex ed.  "Family Life."  You watch a movie about making pancakes that somehow teaches you about your period and mimes on a filmstrip tell you about puberty.  You and your friends giggle your way through the textbook and at the end, you are as educated as you're gunna get... until you get to high school.  You ended up in public high school.  The putting condoms on bananas with the pregnant girl sitting next to you kind of public high school.  In high school, you're told that it only takes one time and it only takes one sperm.  By the end of high school, you're pretty sure that looking at a boy might get you pregnant. 

You go to college and dutifully take your pills.  You go to graduate school, not worried about your fertility.  After all, according to US Weekly, women get pregnant in their 30s and 40s all the time.  You've got a career to build.  Might as well get your doctorate and keep popping those pills.  You get your career on track and keep trying to find Mr. Right in your spare time.  Your friends are popping out babies like it's going out of style so when you do find Mr. Oh So Right, you assume it will be just as easy for you.  But for some reason, it's not.  After a lot more than one try and plenty more than one sperm, you still don't have a baby.

You start trying to time things.  Then you buy the basal thermometer and miscellaneous things to pee on.  Your uber-fertile friends are handing out advice like "just relax" and telling you that you're over reacting, but you know something is wrong.  So you call that Reproductive Endocrinologist Dr. Google told you to go see.  That guy takes one look at your meticulously kept temperature charts and says that you probably suck at ovulating.  Well, not in so many words, but that's what you hear.  Next thing you know, you're asking your boss if you can sneak out of the office for blood draws on very specific days of the month and trying to support your husband in his own humiliation.  All because you have a primal, indescribable urge to make a baby with that man you love so much and hate to see in pain.  It all makes you examine life in a way you never really thought about.  So what do you do between humiliating tests and more waiting?  You write a blog.  You know - become one of those weird blog writing people.

Welcome to our life.