Christmas: A Recap

So I drove home for Christmas (about two hours from where I live now).  And I forgot to bring my Clomid.

I FORGOT TO BRING MY CLOMID.

Sooooo here is how my Christmas morning went down.

I got up early and called my gynecologist.  Turns out he does not work on Christmas.  Wonderful.

I called the office and asked for the on-call nurse.  She did not want to help me.  She also clearly did not want to be working on Christmas.  I am not her biggest fan.

I called again and asked for a different on-call nurse.  She was very helpful and told me that she could tell a local pharmacy to page my gynecologist and ask him to authorize filling my prescription there.  I said, "Excellent.  How long will that take?"  She said (basically), "I dunno.  Some amount of time.  Have fun not being able to do anything with your Christmas while you wait!"

I called the pharmacy, and I got put on hold.  FOR HALF AN HOUR.  Finally, someone answered and I quickly explained my situation and asked whether they had been able to page Dr. Angry Eyebrows yet.  Silence.  Turns out the call was dropped as soon as someone answered.

I broke some things.

I called the pharmacy again, and the cheery automated voice let me know that there were about six callers in front of me.  Last time I called there were only three.

I rage-screamed, "SCREW THIS!" and drove to the store to give them a piece of my mind in person.

It is very important to me at this time that you know that I looked like this:

I didn't get to have any Christmas spirit the entire month of December thanks to finals, so when it was actually Christmas Day I may have overcompensated a bit.

But anyway, I'm waiting in line, looking like that, FOR AN HOUR, and I finally get to the front.  I explain my story for about the sixteenth time that day to the nice man behind the counter, and he looked up my information for me.  They did not have my Clomid ready yet.  Not even close.  Also I am fairly sure that he looked at me and thought, "Really?  YOU want to procreate?  You look like you are 14.  Also an insane person."  I tried to act as mature and child-ready as possible, but in pigtails and an ugly Christmas sweater it's pretty tricky.  He told me to come back in an hour.  I told him to go die.

No, I did not.  He was very nice.

But I did get right back in line again and wait for another hour.  When I finally got to the front for Will You Give Me Drugs Now: The Sequel, I was rather grumpy.  But I was not as grumpy as Miss I'd-rather-be-home-drinking-eggnog-than-anywhere-near-this-waiting-hoard-of-sick-people behind the counter.  She gave me attitude.  But she also gave me drugs.

Hooray!  Crisis averted!  And it only took me about four and a half hours to get it sorted!  I could have driven home and back in that time, and I would have had an extra half hour.  Additionally, I had to pay full price because the store didn't have my insurance information and I didn't have it on me.  AND thanks to the time-consuming nature of all the hassle, I had to take it like three hours later than I was supposed to.  I hear that taking it at inconsistent times increases your side effects.  So.  I'm looking forward to that.

Merry Christmas!!

Merry Christmas!

So I got a package from Kentucky Cousin a couple nights ago, and when I opened it there was just a pile of cat figurines.  I immediately started laughing and setting them up on display, and each one I set up only made me laugh harder.  Because cat figurines.  I didn't even need the attached note to explain what the gift meant, but I still wanted to frame it when I saw it because it just said "Merry Fucking Christmas! <3 Aunt Flo".  If you don't get it, read this and then realize how great this present is and then come back.

It's a great present, right!?

And I really needed this gift right now because sometimes I forget why I started this blog and what the title really means to me.  Infertility sucks.  It's the worst.  It's full of pain and heartache and disappointment and mood swings and well-meaning but incredibly insensitive questions and embarrassing symptoms and inopportune crying fits and invasive doctor visits and scheduled sexytimes and jealousy and insecurity and bitter aliens from the planet Clomid who take over your body and make you furious for no reason.

But it's also funny!  Or at least, it can be.  And I want this blog to be a place where I can look PCOS in its ugly face and tell it a knock-knock joke.

For example:

Knock knock.

Who's there?

A pregnant woman.

A pregnant woman who?

A pregnant woman who has five seconds to get off my lawn before I strap her down and blow up her Facebook feed with pictures of MY stomach all day for the next nine months.  Enjoy, fatty!  You'll never be this skinny again!

So anyway that's why I'm here.  Turning infertility into WINfertility since 2014.  And I hope I can make you smile in the process.

Here's a picture of the new display in my living room:

Is There An Escape Button?

Sometimes I really wish that I didn't have to deal with this.  With anything, actually.

Normally, I don't consider myself a quitter.  In fact, anyone who knows me will tell you that my stubbornness and my fight are two of my defining characteristics.  The first time I went rock climbing, the instructor pointed out three paths to the top, saying, "This one is nice and easy with a lot of foot holds.  This one will require some creativity, but it's not too difficult.  This one over here is basically impossible, even for experienced mountain climbers."  And I started on the last one.  Without hesitation.  I didn't make it to the top, of course.  I fell.  But I fell trying.  And as I screamed and plummeted through empty air before my rope went taut and I could feel the support of my harness, I had no regrets.  I was ready to try again.  Because that is just who I am.

But something about this is starting to kill that in me.  And since that's one of my defining characteristics, it feels like it's just killing me.

Lately, I've been fantasizing about dropping out of law school, quitting my job, throwing out the drugs and deciding that I'll figure out children later, and then moving to some small town where no one knows me and starting over.  Taking a month or so off before just getting some boring retail job that doesn't suck my soul out of my nose and dangle it mockingly in front of me.  Or, I don't know.  Just something random.  Be a lion tamer.  Or a robber barren.  Or maybe just like a really nosy neighbor.  Something, anything, completely different from my life now.

Because right now, I can't catch a break.

My boss is such a stickler for attendance that he actually got mad at my husband for missing a total of three days last year.  He missed them in order to attend two weddings and a funeral.  But apparently we should have chosen two of those three events and said "Sorry!  Can't come!" to the third.  So no break there.

Law school has "breaks", but the work is so brutal that both Thanksgiving and Spring Break are NECESSARILY spent studying, Winter Break is only a couple of weeks and full of holidays and other such non-break events, and you can forget about taking summer off because you're expected to work AT LEAST full time, and probably with a commute that's about an hour to avoid competing directly with everyone in your entire class.  So no breaks there either.

And obviously, taking a break from infertility isn't a real thing.  I wish it were.  I wish that I could just turn my feelings off, put the effort on hold, and happily carry on with my life for a while without thinking about how badly I want a child and how completely ineffective my efforts in that regard have been so far.  But I can't do that.  It's basically all I think about these days no matter how hard I try not to, and despite the fact that there is exactly NOTHING new to think about because this process is the same freaking thing month after month.  Waiting and then trying to control things and then waiting and then starting to hope and then waiting and then planning even though you tell yourself not to and then waiting and then total, utter despair.

And then waiting.

Two Days Early

Brother and CSIL visited this last weekend.  They only just left yesterday.  And... it was draining.  I was not at my best.  She's really starting to show now, and she's got a lot of rather noticeable symptoms.  So I feel like I can't hide from her pregnancy at all anymore.  Even if we're not talking about it (which is infrequent), it's just so visibly present that I can't think about anything else when she's nearby.

At one point on the trip, CSIL got so nauseated that we had to pull over so she could throw up in a parking lot.  And as I watched her dab at the mess with napkins as the rest of us scrambled to get ginger ale and saltines and hand sanitizer, I actually felt jealous of her.  Jealous.  I wished so fiercely that I were vomiting in a parking lot, too.  And that made me feel pathetic, you guys.  Just absolutely pathetic.

But it still wasn't as awful as the way I felt when I got my period today.  Two days early.  I didn't even get a chance to hope.

And it hurts, you know?  It just hurts.

Because I wasn't even looking for it yet.  AF never comes early.  Only recently has "on time" even been a thing.  It's like I was waiting for Christmas to open my presents and then someone opened them for me two days early and everyone in the world who got me a present decided that cat figurines was the way to go.  I don't like cat figurines.  What would I do with them?  What about me made people look at me and think, "That woman must love her some tiny statues of fluffy things"?  And not only do I not get to wait for Christmas anymore and not only do I get these terrible gifts instead of gifts I want and not only do I have to try and figure out why no one in my life understands me, but now, even though I never wanted them in the first place, I have a whole freaking collection of cat figurines that I have to display in my house.  So people are going to come over and see my collection and think, "Oh, she must like those."  And then they will buy me more.  Cat figurines will be my whole life.  I will be the crazy cat lady even though I am married and have, like, one cat.  Tops.  Meanwhile, I get to watch everyone else get the presents that I actually wanted and talk about how cool they are and how wonderful life is and how special this whole wonderful holiday season has been and I will have to be happy for them.  Or everyone will think I'm horrible.

Clomid v. Finals: the Clash of the Titans

Whose freaking idea was it for me to start Clomid the month of finals?  WHOSE?  I would like to have some words with that person.

Because finals are stressful.  And a law school final is a very special kind of stressful that requires full attention, full commitment, full dedication, and approximately half of your soul.  Per final.  If you have more than two finals (as most people do) then you are beyond soulless.  I am very sorry.

It's nice to not be a 1L anymore (meaning in my first year of law school), because 1L finals take like 150% of your soul and also all of your joy and your tears and your will to live.  I am not exaggerating when I tell you that every single day I went to the law school last year during finals I walked in on someone crying.  In the bathroom.  In an empty classroom.  In the middle of the hallway.  Crying everywhere!  Dreams shattering!  Sanity crumbling to bits!

Due to support from Husband and family and my own willpower, I was not one of The Criers and I did pretty well through the process mentally, emotionally, and academically.  So I didn't really think much about taking Clomid right before finals, because if I can handle 1L year, I can basically handle anything.  It did not even occur to me that there would be an issue.

But even if I had thought about it, I might have taken it anyway because I was completely sure that I would fall in the weepy camp of Clomid takers, and then worst case scenario I could just pretend to be a 1L again and not a single person would question my tears.

But I do not fall into the weepy camp.  I am firmly in Camp Rage, and if I cry they are tears of fury mixed with blood and I drown you with them while I laugh.

So when you take finals, which are already very stressful and frustrating and soul-killing, and you add in my new habit of reacting to every little thing that annoys me with PURE AND UNADULTERATED FURY, what you get is me on a month-long wrathful rampage.

So yesterday, my boss said something very disrespectful to me, my clinic didn't come through for me on something my client NEEDED, and I didn't have time to address either of them because I had to start studying for Evidence which I am not at all prepared for and which I need to GET prepared for in, oh, two days (one of which has 7 hours of church commitments already carved out of it).  I can't even tell you how many times I punched my pillow or screamed or angry cried.  Husband literally backed away from me slowly at one point.

Basically, I am a fire-breathing Godzilla and I am barely leashed and at the slightest provocation I WILL BURN THIS ENTIRE CITY DOWN SO THAT NO ONE HAS TO TAKE FINALS.  NO ONE.  Heaven help me if I'm still this rage-y when my period comes.  Who knows what I'll do.

Guess what!?

So I've learned that I can't start conversations with the words, "Guess what?" anymore.

We had our last Appellate Advocacy class last night, and they revealed the final rankings for the competition.  I was surprised and really pleased to find out that I ranked ninth.  And it's a class of 77, which means that I did better in the four weeks of competition than 68 of my peers did, even dealing with everything else I'm dealing with.  It was very exciting!  They called my name, I walked down to the front, they gave me a certificate, the President of the Moot Court Board shook my hand (which was pretty funny because he's actually a friend of mine and I'm not used to being so formal with him), and then I went back to my seat all proud and pleased with myself.  In my excitement I fired off a Facebook chat "Guess what?" to friends and family members that I had talked about the competition with and who had indicated that they wanted to know the results when I found out.

Freaking all of them were like, "ARE YOU PREGNANT!?"

Ugh.  As if I would tell them via Facebook chat if I were.  I mean, really?  And who starts a life-changing conversation like that with "guess what"?  Also most of them know or should know that I only just had my period a couple weeks ago.  So.  Get it together, friends and family.

But it really brought me down.  I went from really happy to ready to cry in like two seconds, and this time it wasn't the Clomid's fault.  Because not only was it really crushing to be reminded of my infertility when I had managed to think about something else for a full two minutes, but also it was really awkward to then be like, "No... still pretty barren down there.  I actually just wanted to tell you that I did pretty well in this class I'm taking...  You know what?  Never mind.  Sorry for the false alarm.  My news sucks."

So... lesson learned.  I'm never going to ask anyone to guess anything about my life ever again.  Not ever.

On the plus side, if I ever do get pregnant, at least I now know that it will not be difficult to segue into the announcement at all.

Symptoms Part 2

So now my symptoms have just gotten weird.  Mood swings I was prepared for.  Even hot flashes.  But today I just got a bunch of random things.

Nausea/vomiting!

Cramps in my lady parts!

A really weird and intense pain on half of my face that extends from just below my jaw to my brain bits!

That last one doesn't even make sense, but I Googled it and a bunch of people have jawline pain on Clomid.  WHY!?  What reason could there possibly be?  Is jaw pain hormonal?  Does making me feel like my brains are going to burst out of my skull somehow prepare my uterus for fertility?

But whatever.  I'll take whatever I have to take, because the ol' ovulation kit says today is a flashing smiley face day, and that means that I ovulate soon.  So husband and I are having our scheduled sexytimes and hoping to make a baby in this weirdo, symptomatic, drugged-out body of mine.  Wish us luck.

'Cuz it's going to take some willpower to down these pills next month if they don't work now.

Thanksgiving

Oy.  My Thanksgiving.

Right off the bat it was bad.  I showed up, and within five minutes found myself in conversation with my dad's girlfriend.  That's neeeeeever a good idea.  But it was especially not a great idea this particular day because the previous day my dad and I went on a walk and I finally told him about my PCOS and my struggle.  He responded very appropriately with lots of compassion and no advice, and then he asked if he was allowed to share this with his girlfriend.  And I said yes.  LIKE A FOOL.

This is how the conversation went.  The things in quotes are things that were actually said.  The things in parenthesis are things I thought in my brain parts while smiling innocently.

"SecondVoice!  Hi!  Hey, I wanted to talk to you.  Your dad told me about your.... you know, the thing."

"Oh.  Ok."  (Yeah, it has a name.  Don't be weird.)

"I just wanted to tell you not to worry.  You're still so young.  So you'll definitely get pregnant eventually."

"Yeah... it's just that I have a medical condition..."  (Also, did you think that maybe I didn't know that I was young?  That you would tell me and I would be like, "ARE YOU SERIOUS!?  WELL, THANK GOODNESS; I'LL JUST RELAX!")

"Oh, no, I know.  But I know a lot of people who had trouble trying and they eventually got pregnant.  So."

"Uh...huh..." (That has literally no effect on my own chances of achieving pregnancy.  Like, none at all.)

"Yeah, so you shouldn't be taking medication.  Don't do that."

"...yeah.  I just don't want to regret not doing everything I could when I had the best chances."  (NOT THAT IT IS ANY OF YOUR BUSINESS.  AT ALL.)

"But while you're in school, though?"

"...Yyyyyup."  (This may surprise you, but we were actually already aware of the fact that I am still in school when we made the decision, and we made it anyway.  So obviously reminding me that I'm in school is not going to make me toss out my last dose of Clomid and stay away from sex.  You are not telling me ANYTHING new.)

"Ok, but think about this.  If Brother and CSIL... if they, you know... if something happens.  You would get the twins, right?"

"Um... I don't know.  That's their decision."  (WHAT!?  What are you saying!?  What is happening!?  Are you telling me not to worry about kids because my sibling and his wife might just DIE and then I would get free kids, anyway?  REALLY?  IS THIS REALLY WHAT YOU ARE SAYING TO ME!?)

"Yeah, so don't worry.  You always have that."

(THAT REALLY IS WHAT SHE IS SAYING TO ME.  I CANNOT.)  "I have to go to the bathroom."

I left and immediately texted KC the entire conversation while trying to lock in a calm expression so that I would neither laugh nor cry in her face when next I saw her.  Several minutes later, as in definitely way longer than anyone should ever be in the bathroom, I re-emerged and tried to integrate myself into a new conversation.

But I still was not safe!  She literally chased me down!  And when I tried to pretend I didn't realize she was talking to me, she snapped her fingers in my face to get my attention.

"One more thing, I just remembered the Chinese medicine cure.  You just need to not drink cold liquids and eat more ginger."

My calm face did not work.  I literally did laugh in her face.  Just right in her face.  Hysterical, incredulous laughter.

I was holding a cold drink when she told me this!  And she eyed it, like she expected me to just fling it away immediately.

Fortunately, the family's attention was at that point called to something else.  Unfortunately, the something else was a baby announcement.  CSIL and Brother are having twins!  Surprise!  Everyone was very excited.  Lots of oohing and aahing.

And then we got dinner, and I tried very hard to end up in a group of people that would not discuss babies.  Men on all sides.  So dinner was fine.  I was mostly silent.

But after dinner the women pounced on me.  And they wanted to talk about babies.  Babies babies babies babies babies.  My smile got reeeeally strained.

One such conversation was particularly hard.  CSIL was just going on and on about how proud Brother was and how excited he was to be a father and how cool it was that she could give that to him.  She talked about keeping track of the size of the babies, how one week they were the size of a poppy seed and the next they were the size of a sesame seed and right now they're the size of grapes.  I kept track of that, too, when I thought I was pregnant.  I got the diagnosis around sesame seed.

It was just painful.  Painful to hear how happy she was and how easy it was and all the things they get to plan and do now.  I felt horribly insufficient and sad, and the more she talked the quieter and smaller I got.

Then Grandmother turned to me and asked how my life was.  And I told her about law school and working at the church and stuff... but I almost started crying as I was talking, because I didn't care about anything I was saying.  Law school's fine.  Church is fine.  I'm broken inside.  At one point, I literally couldn't think of anything else to say and I was starting to tear up and I thought, "This is it.  My blog prediction is going to come true.  I really am going to start crying out of the blue in front of everyone."

But then CSIL chimed in and said she was feeling exhausted and might head home because growing two humans is tough work and I immediately offered to drive her.  She said goodbye to everyone and I told people that I would come back.

But I did not.  I did not go back.  Instead I cried on CSIL's couch and we talked about life and then we watched a movie.

I've never in my life left Thanksgiving so early.  I'm usually one of the last ones to leave.  But I just couldn't stay.  Not one second longer.  All I could do was think about what a marker holidays are.  If by Thanksgiving next year I have a baby, then I will look back on this year and wish that I could have told me that it would be OK.  But if another year goes by and I am still trying by the time this holiday rolls around again, it's going to be so freaking hard.  Because the twins will be there.  And I will remember this year and realize that it's been hundreds of days since then and nothing has worked and I will want to be alone and cry all day.  And at this point in time I don't know which of the two outcomes it will be.

Holidays are just... hard.

Symptoms

Goodness gracious.  For the first few days of Clomid I had basically no symptoms at all.  Kind of a headache but that's really it.  And then, all of a sudden, last night I had ALL THE SYMPTOMS.

Let me narrate for you what went down.

I came back from dinner, wrote out my blog post, and then settled in to relax for a bit before I went to bed.  Only instead of doing that I just started crying.  All of a sudden I was totally overwhelmed with the things I'd been through that evening and my own infertility and the amount of work I have to do this week and all the people I have to see and how little time there is to do everything.  It all just hit me at once and I started crying.  Not interested in crying alone, I called my husband and asked him to come up and snuggle.  He asked me what was wrong and as I was telling him, instead of sad I started to feel mad.  Why did I have to deal with all these things!?  It wasn't fair!  I just suddenly got randomly furious at nothing.

And then I got my first ever hot flash.  It was soooo weird.  Kentucky Cousin ("KC") told me that the first time she had a hot flash she initially thought it was a panic attack.  I can now totally see why.  Because at first is just felt like overwhelming pressure in my chest.  It was heavy the way that guilt is heavy.  Or panic.  But I didn't have anything to feel guilty or panicked about.  And then all of a sudden my entire body was just really freaking hot.

And, you guys, listen.  It is FREEZING in my mom's house (where I am currently staying).  All year.  No matter what.  She refuses to ever use heat and her house just traps cold air inside of it like an arctic tomb.  She walks around in multiple coats and considers such an action to be totally normal, even though she lives in California.  So I KNOW that I was not hot because it was actually hot.

So at that point I realized that all the things happening were hormonal and I calmed down.

But then I got hit with another fun Clomid side effect - insomnia.  I usually fall asleep almost immediately, and I was really, really tired.  And yet I couldn't fall asleep for hours.  I was just tossing and turning, never comfortable.  My cat (who likes to sleep on me) got pissed that I wouldn't stay still and gave up on me.  I think she slept on my husband, who was totally out for most of this.

When I finally did fall asleep, I had weird and scary dreams/hallucinations that creatures that looked like the Minotaur were in my bedroom and on my balcony.  Just screeching at me.  I say hallucinations because I actually sat up in bed and looked over my husband's sleeping body to try to speak to one of them.  He was right there.  But as I stared at him he gradually disappeared.

IT WAS SO WEIRD.

I did a quick Google search this morning and apparently out of a study of 656 people on Clomid, 4 had the side effect of hallucinations.  So it's really rare.  Lucky me!

I felt fine this morning, but man.  Last night was a trial.  And now I feel like any of those things could just hit me at any time.  Hopefully tomorrow I see a Minotaur passing me the gravy and I freak out.  That would be the perfect way to give people something other than babies to discuss.

No More, Please.

My dad's not great at taking hints sometimes.  So when Brother and CSIL tried to schedule a dinner with him prior to Thanksgiving so that they could tell him their pregnancy news before they tell the whole family, he absolutely refused to even entertain the idea if Husband and I weren't coming, too.  Because we are in town!  And he likes us very much!  So he wants to spend all the time with us!  And Brother and CSIL could not very well tell him that they did not want us to come because that would be weird!

That is how I ended up eating a calamari platter at The Cheesecake Factory and trying very hard not to show how impatient I was for Brother and CSIL to just say the thing already because I knew the thing was coming and I wanted to get past the thing and onto other things.  I'm unsure how effective my attempts to hide my impatience ended up being, but I deserve an A for effort.

When they finally said it, it was a relief.  Dad expressed happiness.  Dad's Girlfriend asked repeatedly, "Is this a joke!?  Seriously!?  No, really; twins!?  I'm just still not sure whether you're joking or not.  Are you pranking me!?"  (I know how you feel, Dad's Girlfriend.)

And then it was all over and the conversation moved on and the rest of my evening was lovely.  I gave myself a pat on the back for getting through it, and I felt stronger and more peaceful for hours, just basking in the glow of my accomplishment.

HAHA.  JUST KIDDING.  THAT DID NOT HAPPEN AND I DO NOT KNOW WHY I THOUGHT IT WOULD BECAUSE OF COURSE IT DIDN'T HAPPEN.  WHEN BABIES ARE BROUGHT UP THE TOPIC STAYS ON BABIES FOREVER.

I maintained a smile for the actual announcement, but then came The Questions.  How far along?  What genders?  What names?  Who knows so far?  Could she tell already which twin was her favorite and which would be the disappointment?  As it became clearer and clearer that I was trapped in this conversation, I had to start asking myself questions of my own.  Is this how my face is supposed to go?  How do normal people put their faces when they are present for a double baby announcement?  Am I talking too loudly?  Saying too many jokes?  Is the twinge of desperation apparent in my voice/expression/eyes/aura?  How many times is too many times to escape to the bathroom in one dinner?  How hard would it be to strangle myself with calamari?  Is there a way to get Dad's steak knife out of his hand and through my heart before he notices?

The dinner took almost three hours.  So that was fun.

But don't worry.  As soon as it was over I got to go home and relax.  In fact, I treated myself and spent the rest of the evening recuperating.

LOL, NOPE.  JUST KIDDING AGAIN.

CSIL's sister was in town, so when the dinner was over CSIL insisted that we come up to their apartment and say hi to her.  I backed away in panic.  Because CSIL cannot trick me!  Nobody is saying hi in that apartment.  CSIL is pregnant, and her sister just had a baby, so I know exactly what will be discussed if I go up to that apartment and I know exactly how long it will take.  The answer is forever.  It will take forever because people can talk about babies FOREVER.

But I was at a disadvantage in the discussion of whether to go up because I had to go to the bathroom (because I drank so much water at the restaurant so that I could go to the bathroom there, but my stupid bladder did not understand its job at all) so eventually I had to go up, if only to relieve myself.

And that is how I now know that CSIL's nephew is standing up sometimes, and that he cries a lot, and that he can pick up really heavy things, and that he's very cute but not a great listener, and that he torments the cat, and that he wakes up at seven, and all kinds of other things that I was not in the mood to learn.

Now I really am home and it's late and I'm emotionally exhausted.  I feel like I need a week to recover my good humor.  And yet I know that Thanksgiving will be even worse than what I've just gone through and I also know that it is in two short days.  So... yaaaay.  I can't wait.

It Has Begun

Today is CD 5, which means it's Clomid time.

I decided that I didn't want to pop a new drug with unknown side effects right before teaching Sunday School, so I didn't take it this morning.  Also I forgot to bring it with me when I left for church.  So there was that.

Actually, I was a little disappointed that I didn't bring it.  I wanted to carry it on me all day, nice and close, like a pirate always keeps poison on their person in case they are captured.  I thought that I would carry it around and then somehow spontaneously know the exact right moment to take it.  Instead I just took when I got home from church / hanging out with California Cousin ("CC").

It was weird taking it.  Because I anticipated the whole thing being a lot more dramatic than it actually turned out to be.  In my mind, I guess I thought there would be an instantaneous Jekyll/Hyde transformation.  I'd put the pill in my mouth and the second it touched my tongue I would double over in pain as it coursed through my veins, rapidly turning me into a monster.  Suddenly, I'd be a crazed banshee, shrieking and clawing the faces off of any pregnant women I saw.  Instead, when I put it on my tongue, all that happened was that the pill was really bitter and I had to choke it down and then eat a bunch of grapes to get the taste out of my mouth.  And since then I've just been chilling on my bed.  I haven't clawed anyone's face off at all.

Although, to be fair, I haven't seen any pregnant women yet.  So we'll see how I handle it in the next week's worth of baby announcements and family gatherings.  Potentially not as well as I am handling it while laying on my bed doing nothing.

Drag it out, will you?

The last couple of days have been really frustrating.  I know I said I got AF two days ago, but what I really got two days ago was gross-o brown gunky stuff that led me to believe that my period was coming imminently because sometimes I get that before my actual period starts.  As in, like, an hour before.  But then I got it for like a day and a half before it just stopped completely, which has never happened.  So I was like "Whaaaat is going on?"  I even tested again (negative, because obviously).  And then I asked Dr. Angry Eyebrows, who was just as unhelpful as ever.  And then I screamed at the skies, "WHY CAN'T MY BODY BE NORMAL!?"

Well today my body said, "YOU WANT A PERIOD!?  FINE.  HERE.  BLOOD FOR DAYS AND CRAMPS SO BAD YOU WILL FEEL LIKE YOU ARE DYING."  Freaking ow, body.  Why are you doing this?  I have an oral argument today!  You can't ever just give me the blood without the pain?  It always has to come with a giant "screw you; I want you to feel how not pregnant you are"?  Uuuugggghhhhh, I hate you so much.

The good news is now that actual AF took her sweet freaking time showing up after her gross and unwelcome entourage, I will be taking my last day of Clomid on freaking Thanksgiving.  Hooraaay!  I'll be sneaking pills in the bathroom like a REAL druggie!  Who here would like to take bets that Crying Clomid causes me to have a meltdown right in the middle of the holiday?  I can see it now.  Someone will ask me to pass the gravy and I will just start sobbing.  And it will be hilarious.  Because, you guys, my family is SUPER NICE.  We've got our problems and whatever, but they are all hidden and unnoticeable.  Like my struggle with infertility.  A good chunk of my family probably still doesn't know about it, or if they do it has been discussed in soft whispers with a lot of compassionate head nodding in the dark of night.  At holidays such things are never discussed.  No one fights.  Everyone is agreeable.  If there is a disagreement at all, it is probably regarding whose pie is better, and both pie-makers will insist that the pie they did not make was far superior than their own.  That's the kind of environment I'm talking about here.  So if in the midst of the smiles and the compliments and the small talk and the copious hugging I start sobbing, one of two things will happen.  Either everyone will be so shocked that they don't know how to cope and will shut down so that the only sound in the room is my wailing, OR every single person in the room and, before long, the adjoining rooms will immediately flock to the trouble and I will be smothered by affection and compassion.  And those closest to the sobbing will give a play-by-play to those on the outskirts so that they do not feel left out.  "Yes, she's still crying.  Apparently there is no baby in her.  Even now.  Oh, when I said the word baby it got much worse.  Now she is sinking to the floor and making squeaking noises.  Do you think she needs water?  Could you get her some?  I'll catch you up on what you miss; don't worry.  Please hurry!  For some reason now she is getting enraged!"

There's just going to be SO MUCH to be thankful for.

Aunt Flo

Aunt Flo came to visit today.  She's the worst.  She is EASILY my least favorite aunt.  And I have an aunt that threw a hissy fit at her son's wedding when he didn't make the day all about her.  So.

Something about actually seeing the blood made me mad.  Just really angry.  It's so not fair.  Everyone in the world is pregnant, CSIL's having twins, and I've been trying for nine months, and I still get nothing.  I've dieted.  Exercised.  Lost 20 pounds.  Researched.  Put up with Dr. Angry Eyebrows.  Had sexytimes even when I didn't feel like having sexytimes and even when I was so busy that I had to work right through the sexytimes.  I've prayed.  I've cried.  Arizona Sister-in-Law ("ASIL") is almost in her third trimester already and we were SUPPOSED to be pregnant together.  What if she freaking gives birth, makes an ENTIRE baby, and I'm still not pregnant?  All of it just hit me and I was furious.

I was also mad because I was out of pads.  I bought some while I was visiting family last weekend but then left them there, as if my pregnant sister-in-law or menopausal mother had any use for them at all.  And I hate driving to the store!  Errands are annoying!

But I went.  And I got my pads.  And while I was there, I figured I should get my Clomid, too.  I waited in line all grumpy and mad that I had to be there at all and I tried not to cry as she handed me my first batch of drugs, making my own body's failure official.  I tried not to bite the head off of the pretty blonde pharmacist who walked me through how to take pills and then asked if I had any questions (You said put them in my mouth and then swallow?  Can I swallow and then put them in my nose, or does that not work?  I'm so confused.)

And on my way out I grabbed a six pack and put it on the conveyor belt because that is my new favorite way to deal with my problems apparently.  The check-out lady asked me how my day was going and I said, "I'm buying alcohol and it isn't even noon yet, so... what do you think?"  She laughed.

AND THEN I WENT CRAZY.  I BOUGHT A LARGE PIZZA.  AND I ATE IT.  AND I DRANK THE ALCOHOL (One bottle.  Calm down.  I didn't have the whole six pack.  And if we're really being honest, I only had two slices of the pizza.).  AND THEN I DUG UP THE COFFEE ICE CREAM THAT'S BEEN IN THE FREEZER FOR THE LAST THREE MONTHS BECAUSE I COULDN'T EAT DAIRY AND HUSBAND DOESN'T LIKE COFFEE AND I ATE THAT, TOO.

Because forget my diet.  It's making me miserable.  And it's not even working.  I lost weight but who even cares if I don't get a baby.  Drugs are my solution now.  I mean, I'll still try to eat healthy and whatever, but I'm not going to get all guilty every time I have something with milk or sugar in it.  That's exhausting.  So... Chapter Two: Can Drugs Save Us All starts now.  Fingers crossed, you guys.

Friendsgiving

I got ready for the event like I was getting ready for war.  My make-up was war paint.  My clothes were armor.  I took a lot of deep breaths and stalled strategically until I knew that other people would be there already so that I could blend into a crowd, but not so long that she would notice my absence and wonder.

By the way, to those friends who remembered that yesterday would be hard for me and reached out in the morning to let me know they were thinking about me and lending mental support: thank you so much.  It really helped.  I appreciate you guys more than I can say.

When I got there, there were only about five people, several of whom were friends I hadn't seen in a while.  I immediately got into a conversation with one of them which was lovely except that she had recently had a baby and started telling me how tough they are and how I should wait a very long time before I have one.  I put on a tight smile.

Then another friend who had recently had a baby walked in holding her baby.  So the two of them starting talking about labor and epidurals and I subtly backed away in panic.  Someone opened champagne around that point and I pounced on it.  Comments were made about my eagerness.  I ignored them and downed that golden elixir of relaxation like I was running a marathon and it was life-giving water.  And then I transitioned to a conversation with a single friend that I had just recently gotten to meet up with in England.  Hooray!  England!  What a safe topic!

The food was served and I surrounded myself with people of the male variety, which soon made me sincerely contemplate whether conversations about sports were TRULY better than baby talks.  But it was a good move because it got me invited to play a board game that takes about an hour to explain and several more hours to play.  I eyed the females congregating and giggling around the new baby and accepted immediately, even though I have failed miserably at this game before and had a terrible time (it was the Game of Thrones board game, if you're wondering.  Picture Risk, but in Westeros).

Thankfully, we played for the rest of the event.  I got to focus on deploying armies and bidding for the Iron Throne while catching only snatches of the baby talk around me.  I heard the word uterus several times, though.  Each time, it reaffirmed my excellent decision.

All was well as Brother claimed his seventh castle and won the game.  Husband and I announced that we had to go, since a two hour drive was waiting for us, and we said our goodbyes.  I could taste freedom.

But then, of course, CSIL decided to walk us to the car.

I'm very torn about what followed.  We chatted for a bit and she shared some of her struggles.  One of them was weight gain and she called me a skinny bitch, which made me a lot happier than I ever thought that phrase possibly could.  And it was nice to hear a bit about what she's going through and realize that this isn't all sunshine and roses for her either.

But at the same time, a part of me could only hear her saying, "Ugh, you know what sucks?  Being pregnant.  And you know what double sucks?  Being DOUBLE pregnant.  You have noooo idea."  That part of me wanted to scream or slap her and say, "OBVIOUSLY I WOULD TRADE MY SKINNY BODY AND MY LACK OF NAUSEA AND ALL MY MONEY AND BASICALLY ANYTHING ELSE TO HAVE EVEN HALF OF WHAT YOU HAVE.  STOP COMPLAINING."

But it was ok.  Because then I got to leave.  And leaving brought me such intense relief.  I really like feeling of not dreading anything.  It's a rush like no other.  And now I'm free!  Freeeeeee!

...until freaking Thanksgiving. :/

Another Negative

Tested this morning.  Negative.  Because of course it's negative.  Why would I get to visit Brother and CSIL with good news?  Much better to drive down there and hear them talk some more about how excited they are to have twins KNOWING that I am not pregnant.

I feel like my body is broken.  It doesn't work like other women's bodies do.  Some piece of me inside is missing, and it's the piece that produces the baby dust.  And it's hard not to feel like I'm somehow just not good enough to be a mother.  Like maybe if I were just a better person then I'd get knocked up right away.  Which is unfoortunate because I often feel that this struggle is making me a worse person, so if it really is based on how worthy I am then I'll probably get less and less qualified as the months march on.

And I'm so tired.  Because I stayed up way too late last night all anxious about the results, and then I woke up way too early this morning and had to pee so I took the test and then couldn't get back to sleep.  Even though that's all I want to do.  I just want to sleep.  I just want to sleep forever and not feel.

I didn't cry this time.  I just felt empty.  Now I hope that AF comes ASAP so that I can just move on to next month.

Because this month sucked.

(UPDATE: Cross out the part about me not crying.  I did cry.  A lot.)

Haha. I Need To Calm Down.

Ok, you guys.  Before you call suicide watch or anything, I would like to assure you that the Dark Times of yesterday were not evidence of my descent into madness and depression as I first assumed.  In fact, this morning I feel pretty OK.  I didn't walk into any doors.  I'm not on the verge of crying.  I even actually put effort into my appearance today for probably the first time this entire semester.  I'm wearing a black, lacy skirt and a little yellow sweater!  I look adorable!

I think most of my initial strong reaction was the shock of it.  I mean... twins.  Even now it's hard to wrap my head around, but I'm warming up to the idea.  I love twins.  Granted I wanted them for myself and even though it doesn't make any logical sense I feel like she stole this generation's twins and now I can't have them because she called dibs first, but at least I'll get to hang out with these ones all the time.  We will be friends.  I will be their aunt.  Forever.

It's weird to picture what they'll be like.  Weird and creative like my brother?  Red-headed and responsible like CSIL?  Identical?  Girls?  Boys?  Fraternal twins of opposite genders?  Thinking about it makes me happy and sad at the same time.  Happy because I am excited to meet them.  Sad because I feel like I can't fantasize about my own kids because the less I think about them the less it hurts.

I'm sure that if the ol' pregnancy test is negative tomorrow, I will still cry.  A lot.  But I'm at least not feeling as hopeless as I did yesterday.

Anyway, I just wanted to give y'all an update in case anyone was worried about me.  The main conclusion of this post is that I am pretty OK.

And I'm Back In The Pit.

I tried so hard to stay out of it, you guys.  I was able to be positive for like a month.  And it felt so nice.  So freaking good.  But even as I enjoyed it, I knew it couldn't last.  After receiving The News, I've been sucked right back into the negative, depressed vortex that I tried so hard to fight.

The feeling of constantly being on the edge of tears is familiar, but this time I also feel... bruised.  There's no other way to describe it.  I just feel like I've been sucker punched.

Part of that might be the fact that I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of my cat scratching at a door, and in my sleepy stupor I assumed it was the bathroom door and stumbled over to grant her access to her litter box, only it turned out that it was my bedroom door that was closed and I walked straight into it.  My nose hurts very badly.

And what a freaking metaphor for my life right now.  For this whole process.  I just keep slamming into closed doors and getting hurt.

My progesterone level looked pretty good.  It was a 12.1.  That's high enough that I ovulated but it's still low for a pregnancy.  Not impossibly low, but low.  Dr. Angry Eyebrows thinks I should test on Friday if I haven't gotten my period yet, because that will be CD30 and 10dpo.  But I'm so freaking pessimistic right now that I'm just sure that the test will be as negative as I am.  So I'm going to take it, and then I'm going to wait impatiently, and then my fears will be confirmed and I'm going to cry, and then I'm going to hop into the car and drive down to spend the weekend with CSIL and her tiny baby twin fetuses and every minute of it will suck me deeper and deeper into The Pit until I can never get out again.

That's how I'm feeling right now.

Is This Real Life?

So, recently, my cousin (Kentucky Cousin, or "KC" for short) told me that she was pregnant.  And I was really, reeeeeally, really happy for her.  She has PCOS, too, you see.  And she's been trying for two and a half years.  And she's come really close to giving up recently.  So this was a miracle out of the blue and it was uplifting because it gave me hope that people like us can succeed even after so much difficulty and heartache.  Yes, it was maybe a little sad that now I'm the only one struggling with PCOS and failing to conceive in our family, but the vast majority of my feelings were happiness.

Well, that and sympathetic terror because miscarriage is the horrible looming ghost over all PCOS pregnancies and it would be The Worst Thing Ever if that happened to her after all of this.  But aside from that, sparkles and happiness and joy.  Because, for real, she deserves this.

And... ok, I'll admit it.  I was just a little bit smug and vicariously victorious that she managed to beat out the healthier competition for next Family Baby.  Particularly my California sister-in-law.  You remember CSIL.  I have written angsty extended metaphors about what it feels like to race her for parenthood before.  And since she just skipped onto the TTC scene a month or so ago, I thought it only fair that KC, with her five year lead, managed to bring it home first.

BUT THAT IS NOT HOW LIFE WORKS FOR US.  NOT EVER.

Because CSIL is pregnant.  She got pregnant in her second month of trying.  And she is due THE DAY BEFORE KC.

AND.  AND!!

SHE IS HAVING TWINS.

I could not make this up.  How is this real life?  How is this fair, like, AT ALL?  I had to wait to post this until CSIL told KC about the pregnancy because KC reads my blog (she's the only one I know irl that I allow to because we cysters gotta stick together).  But great news, guys, CSIL told her today.

ON HER EFFING BIRTHDAY.

I just... I'm feeling a lot of angst and incredulity right now.  It's like a big cosmic joke.  It's so freaking unfair.

And look.  I love my brother.  And I really do love CSIL as well.  And I will love their children.  I will.  So much.  But would it have killed them to conceive in like another couple months or so to at least give the illusion that they worked for it even a little bit?  It would just be so nice to believe that perfect cherubs DON'T just sprout in her womb every time she so much as giggles.  And even if they couldn't have struggled for a couple of months, is it so much to ask that they could have somehow just waited an extra TWO DAYS so that at least KC's due date was first?  I mean, come on!

I'm so relieved that I told her to let me know about her pregnancy in text form and not in person, because that was a great call.  When I got the text I just started laughing.  Like, hysterical crazy person laughing.  It would have been really awkward if she were standing in front of me while I did that.

And I was laughing because it's so ridiculous.  Not just all of the things I've already said, but also the fact that now I have no one to talk to about trying because she is LITERALLY the last person that I know outside of the internet who decided she wanted kids and didn't have them yet.  Every single freaking friend and family member who has ever said to me, "Hey, I'm thinking about the possibility of kids soon" is now knocked up or in possession of an infant or toddler that looks a lot like them.

I'm glad I have all of you faceless voices on the internet, because here in the real world... I am now completely freaking alone.  ...Awesome.

Needles

Uuuuggghhh.  Needles.

Nothing makes me feel more like a child then getting a shot or having my blood drawn.  Because no matter how stoic I seem, or how little I flinch, or how casually I allow a medical professional to stab me in the arm, I hate hate hate it on the inside.  On the inside, I just want to whine that I don't wanna.  No thank you.  Hard pass.

If you can't tell, I got my progesterone checked today.  I've had it checked before, but this time was a little different, because this time I know that monthly progesterone checks are just my life now.  Another fun perk of my monthly drug trips.  And knowing that just made every single part of it seem way more significant, because I knew that I'd be doing them over and over and freaking over.

As I filled out the forms they gave me, I thought, "I bet I'll memorize this sucker before long."

As I waited in an uncomfortable chair for them to call my name, I thought "Why do I have to sit among all these pregnant women?  I am in a flock of pregnant women.  Will the same pregnant women be here every time?  Will I get to watch them get bigger while I remain stubbornly flat?  That will be fun."

As I sat down and offered my veins up for needle-shanking, I thought, "Maybe I will get used to this since I will have to do it so often."

As the needle bit into my vein, I thought, "Probably not if I can't even look or breathe properly.  Can't wait to do this again."

And when the nurse called me out on the not-breathing situation and laughed at me, I thought, "YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH; YOU DON'T KNOW MY LIFE.", but also, "Be nice.  You might see her every time and you don't want her to not like you considering that she wields the stabby needles.  It's probably best to laugh with her.  Do it.  LAUGH."  I faintly chuckled.

And then I got a fun cotton ball and tape badge of honor in the crook of my elbow that I never quite know how long I am supposed to leave on.

In a day or so, they will tell me if I ovulated this month.  They're either going to call any say, "Nope, you're still screwed up!  Chug those drugs, sucker, because they are your only hope!", or they will say, "Yeah, you ovulated.  But it just wasn't good enough, was it?  You can't even get knocked up when your body IS working.  Maybe you just shouldn't be a mother?", OR they will say, "A miracle may have happened.  Stand by."

I'm not putting a lot of hope in that last one.

I'm Basically Schizophrenic

So I was waiting in line at the grocery store.  It came to be my turn.  I smiled at the girl behind the counter and said, "Hey, how are you?"  Because I like to be nice to people in customer service jobs!  They deal with a lot.

And I swear, you guys.  I swear that she answered, "I'm pregnant."

My head snapped up and I was like, "What!?" in what must have been a shocked and startled tone because she gave me a weird look and answered, "I asked how you were?"

Of course she did.  Because that is a normal thing to say.  Why did my mind change her normal thing into a crazy baby thing?  Why does my mind not want to give me a break?

Babies have come up a lot today.  Husband, who rarely dreams, woke up this morning from a dream that I've been pregnant for the last nine months and we just had no idea because I'm not showing at all.  So in the dream we had a son and we named him Collin (for some reason).  When Husband woke up he was mad for a couple minutes that he didn't really get to have a baby.  Which I found very sweet, actually. Because, as I've mentioned before, sometimes I feel like I'm the only one with emotions about all this.  So it's nice to see him get a little mad about not having the son that for a few unconscious minutes he thought he did have.

Aside from that, my Facebook has been blowing up with baby pictures all day because Canada Cousin is still camera-happy with her newborn and Church Friend finally went into labor and Law School Acquaintance's baby just hit seven months and College Friend is pregnant now, too, and Person I Don't Remember Befriending has decided to do a sweater vest fashion show with their baby and basically there are just so many babies.

But I'm doing fine!  Still fine!  Not depressed or freaking out!  Everything is great through sheer force of will.  Because now that I've come out of my hole of depression, I am terrified of getting thrown back in.  I don't like who I am when I'm in there.  At all.  I don't like living that way.  But I know that this process is hard and I know that I'll have more low points in the future and that scares me.  It's like there's a whole other me lurking inside and sometimes she takes possession of my body and just spews venom at everything and cries, like, all the freaking time.  Right now she's in a cage... but I feel her there.  She could come and possess me again whenever she feels like it.  She's just biding her time right now.  Pacing inside of me and waiting for the right moment to snatch my free will and sunny attitude away again.  It's her that whispered in my ear that some random cashier was confessing her pregnancy to me.  And it's her that scoffs in my mind that other people's babies aren't even that cute.  I want her to go away, but she's just there.  All the time.  And I don't know if she'll ever leave.

The Day the Drug Deal Went Down

I made a drug deal today, you guys.  That is the only thing that I will ever call fertility treatments, because the three or four times today that I said the word "drugs" my ob-gyn corrected me and said, "Call them medications, please" with increasing annoyance.  And that amuses me.  Because he was really upset by the end.  And he has really big eyebrows, and I think that they were upset, too.  They were quivering.  So henceforth I will call my prescriptions "drug deals" and I will call my ob-gyn "Dr. Angry Eyebrows".

Because screw him.  He's a nice guy and whatever, but he does not have time for me and he made that very clear every time I asked a question and he literally threw his hands up in the air instead of answering.  Or made really vague comments about how "well, some diets say one thing and other diets say another and they all think they're right".  Yes, but you are a medical professional.  And I am asking YOU.

He gave me basically no information about drugs.  (THAT'S RIGHT, I CALLED THEM DRUGS AGAIN, YOU DRUG DEALER.)  I was like, "Listen, everyone I know who has used Metformin has been successful and everyone who uses Clomid is still trying, but I understand that my sample size is small, so, in your experience, which is more likely to yield results?  And do you have any hard data on the average amount of months it takes to achieve pregnancy for your patients on each drug, or anything like that?  Or just a general idea?"

And he was like, "I read an article a couple months ago that said they're pretty much the same."  And he thought that answered my question.  No, it did not.  You read a freaking article?  I can read articles.  You have actual patients.  I was asking about them.  Did you not understand the question, or can you really just not remember whether or not these drugs (YES, DRUGS) have worked for any of the people who come into your office and pay a couple hundred dollars so that you can not answer any of their questions?

Then he printed out a three page article about what PCOS is for me as if I don't know how to use Google and haven't spent months reading ALL the articles in the universe on the myriad of problems with the disappointment machine I keep where my baby-grower should be.

And then he was like, "So are we done here?  I'm done."  Thanks, Dr. Angry Eyebrows.  You have a nice day, too.

And, look.  I get it.  This is the thirty-millionth time he has had this conversation and written this prescription.  But it's the first time that I have had this conversation, and it is his freaking job to answer my freaking questions about it!

Whatever.  It's fine.  I got a prescription for Clomid because the one and only thing that he actually told me was that Clomid is better if you don't need to lose weight and Metformin is better if you do.  Thanks to my 20 pound weight loss extravaganza, my weight is not at all an issue.  Soooo Clomid.

And on the 10th I'm going to get my progesterone checked to see if I ovulated this month.

And sometime in the next couple weeks, Husband is going to get his sperm checked.  Which he has feelings about.  But maybe I'll talk about that in another post.  Just know for now that his feelings amuse me, because I have been having feelings for, like, ever.  Your turn, sucker!  Mwahaha.

The Chaos Weeks Have Ended

Oh my gosh, you guys.  I made it.  These last two weeks have been busy.  As in BUSY.  So busy that I could not even take a break from all the things that I was doing to have ovulation sex.

I don't want you to misinterpret what I have just said.  I am NOT telling you that we didn't have sex.  I'm telling you I did not take a break for it.  That's right, friends.  I was re-arranging the exhibits on my memorandum and doing the baby dance simultaneously.  And I regret nothing.

Because it's over now!  And I did it!  I miraculously did not let anything important fall through the cracks.  As I mentioned in a previous post, my first oral argument went so well that only two people in the 77 person class did better than I did (the results for my second oral argument have not yet been posted).  And I won my hearing, which is great.  Although I did accidentally ask a leading question.  But it was ok.  Everyone was nice about it.  And the Halloween event I planned for the kids at my church (and also a bunch of kids from neighboring churches that NO ONE TOLD ME ABOUT) was a success and everyone had fun!  And despite the fact that stress has probably made my vagina a pressure cooker this month, I did manage to fulfill my ovulation obligations as well.

So basically, I am a winner.  And I'm feeling great about life because of all the success I'm having and the fact that the most stressful part of my semester is OVER.

But... in a weird way... I almost wish it weren't?  Because when I'm stressed and I don't have time to think about anything then I do not cry for an hour or so about not having a baby.  No time for crying.  No time for baby thoughts.  Just normal life like other people have all the time.  In a way, honestly, it was nice.  Like a break.  While simultaneously not being anything close to a break.  Why can't I take a break from babies and from life at the same time?  Why must my failure to grow a person inside of me lurk on the edge of my thoughts, just waiting for some downtime to ruin?

At least now I don't have much longer to wait before we take The Next Step.  T-minus four days until my gyno appointment.  You can expect to hear from me again then.  In the meantime, I'm going to try my hardest to keep the dont-think-about-babies train going.  Choo choo!

I Succeeded at a Thing!

I'm in a rare good mood tonight.  Rare since diagnosis, anyway.

Last week, which was Week One of the dreaded Chaos Weeks, I presented a ten minute oral argument in front of members of the moot court board and an actual practitioner.  I was terrified.  I was sure I would fail.  I almost had a panic attack in the stacks of the library (and no, I wasn't just out of breath because I was climbing a lot of stairs and I am very out of shape YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH).

But I readied myself for battle, I went in there, and I did my best.  And I thought it went OK!  Pretty good, even!

False.

It went awesome.  Because they posted the results today and out of the seventy-seven people in the class, only two did better than I did.

Honestly, I can only remember a few times in my life that I have been this proud of a thing I did.  And I think it's because I really needed this right now.  PCOS feels like one big, boiling pot of failure that I occasionally cry into or burn the bottom of because I cannot even make failure soup correctly.  Succeeding at something in the middle of all that suckiness feels good.  Like, REALLY good.

Of course, I might also be in such a good mood because now that I have a definite start time for drugs, I'm not trying as hard to get pregnant this cycle.  I feel like help is around the corner, so it's maybe ok if I just take a tiny break this month.  And that's really freeing.  And it's nice to feel free for, like, a second.  If I thought I could feel so unburdened all the time I would consider giving up trying, but I know that me feeling this way has more to do with drugs in my future than lack of trying in my present.  If I actually quit, I'd be devastated, not elated.

But the point is, it's really nice right now.  I'm in the eye of the storm, with the awfulness of trying naturally behind me and the awfulness of drugs ahead.  But right here it's calm.  And while I'm in this calmness I accomplished a thing that I'm really proud of.  And it feels awesome.  So... yeah.  Good day.

Changed Friendships

Sometimes I really hate what PCOS has done to my relationships with other people.

Brother and California Sister-in-law (CSIL) are spontaneously coming to visit tomorrow and I'm not excited.  I used to be excited.  Whenever I got to spend time with them it was my favorite.  Their apartment was like a haven for me where I could relax and be myself.  And if things had gone a different way and I were pregnant now or at least trying without a death sentence hanging over my head, I think our relationship would still be joyful and full of excitement.  Instead, I feel like there's bitterness between us.

She's bitter that I have to be struggling while she's trying because if she does get pregnant she just wants to be happy about it.  She'd really rather not deal with my pain.

And if I'm honest, I am bitter, too.  I'm bitter that she doesn't have to go through what I have to go through.  That she might actually get pregnant.  And if she does, I know that the first thing she will feel is joy.  You know what I will feel if I get pregnant?  Terror.  Because a little pink line on a stick isn't the end game for me.  I want a child.  And PCOS doesn't stop ruining my life after implantation.  My risk of miscarriage is so much higher than everyone else's.  So I know that if I'm ever blessed enough to get a positive pregnancy test, I will immediately be terrified that I will mess it up, that the positive isn't real, that I will lose the child, that I will never be whole again once I do.  Meanwhile, CSIL would just be blissfully counting days and getting ready for her little miracle to bounce out of her youthful and fresh uterus and into her waiting arms.

And it's worse because she's such a private person.  So private.  So she might not tell me right away if she does get that positive.  But not knowing only makes it more painful for me so I keep having to ask in sneaky ways.  And I want to hear about how the process is going for her but she keeps not wanting to talk about it, even though I will understand the process of trying better than anyone!  So that makes me feel like I can't talk about my own process.  But when I try not to talk about it, it just swells in me, fighting to get out and I can't think of anything else in my life remotely worth mentioning.

I hate walking on eggshells.  I hate dreading the thought of seeing someone I love.  I hate that I'm finding it really hard to forgive her for telling me how much it sucks for HER that I am struggling right now.  I hate talking about it and I hate not talking about it.  I just hate the whole situation, and I hate that it is the way it is because of the thing that's wrong with ME.  It's always me and my stupid body that make everything terrible.

And I hate that I have all these horrible thoughts and feelings over a simple lunch.  Just lunch.  That's all.

I hope that the restaurant we go to seats us at a table made of beheaded children and puppy tears so that I will have a legitimate reason for having a terrible time.  I honestly do.

IComLeavWe and Stress and Other Ramblings

Happy International Comment Leaving Week!  I got lots of comments on my Chocolate post yesterday, which was very exciting but also amusing.  It was amusing because I didn't really think about how all the new people reading my blog would probably just read the most recent post because scrolling and clicking are hard (no judgement; I did the exact same thing on all of their blogs), and it didn't occur to me to try to tailor that post to reflect the kind of person I want new people to see me as.

As a result, I believe that everyone now pictures me somewhat like Gollum, only clutching chocolate bars instead of The One Ring.

Eh.  It's not inaccurate.

Anyway.  Right now I am stressed.  I'm in the middle of those chaos weeks I told you about earlier in "Apparently I am a child now" (That's the one where I was crying over a bike.  Remember that?  Good times.).  And to make things worse, I tried to dabble in a bit of escapism by playing Dragon Age: Origins and my game boyfriend broke up with me because I fought a freaking army to make him king and he now feels like he needs to marry someone of royal blood.  CLASSIST PIG.  I MADE YOU WHAT YOU ARE.

Oh, dear, this post is not making me look much better.

It's hard to focus on school and all the Very Important things that I need to do when I just keep thinking about my appointment on November 6.  The one where I start taking drugs.  I have so many thoughts and feelings about the drugs.  For example, should I tell people that I am taking them?  If so, all of the people or just some?  I don't want anyone to try to talk me out of it.  Everyone is still hung up on the fact that I am in law school, but I'm like sixteen steps beyond worrying about that.

Besides, at this point NOT being pregnant is as stressful and time-consuming as being pregnant would be.  So if y'all are worried about taking my attention away from my studies you are TOO LATE.  And it's killing me to just keep doing nothing besides waiting and crying and researching nursery themes online.  It's been over eight months of that, yo.  That's plenty.

At the same time, fertility drugs are just so not how I pictured my life.  I hate drugs.  I used to refuse to even take pain killers (not because I'm a hippie, just because the idea of something changing my body chemistry used to freak me out.  Don't worry; once I started getting super painful periods I reconsidered that stance real quick).  Am I about to put things in my body that will make me absolutely insane and give me all kinds of side effects and then not even work when all is said and done?  In a year will I be broker and crazier and still completely childless?

Yeah, possibly.  That's one of the potential outcomes here.  But I have to try.  I really do believe that.  I just wish I knew how best to mentally prepare.

Chocolate

I have declared a nemesis today, my friends.  And the name of my nemesis is Chocolate.

I am growing more and more certain that when I die and look back in cosmic wisdom on my life and all the small decisions that formed it, I will see with perfect clarity that it was chocolate, and not PCOS, that deprived me from ever having children.  Because most of the diet things I can handle.  I can live without white flour, even though it is inconvenient.  I can live without milk.  I can even live without cheese, as much as I thought I wouldn't be able to.

But then Chocolate comes along with its delicious, flavorful goodness, and I am lost.

Especially because it is always offered to me as a treat that people want to give me to make me happy.  I can see the joy and expectation in their eyes.  They KNOW that I will love what they are presenting.  I don't want to disappoint them!  I don't want to spit on their gift!  It would be rude!  Plus, then I wouldn't get to eat chocolate.

Three days ago, it was the flourless chocolate cakes  at Brother's birthday dinner.  I mean... they were shaped like Daleks.  I'm not sure what I was really supposed to do.  But they were my downfall.  Because when I once again tasted the sweet heaven of chocolate, my resistance to it was destroyed.

Thus I was utterly unequipped to refuse the giant platter of chocolate passed around at the end of the meal at a dinner party yesterday.  I ate the first one so as not to be rude.  I ate the second one because someone thought it was a good idea to put the platter in front of me and just LEAVE IT THERE.  I ate the third one because.... ugh, because chocolate is delicious!

Today I thought I was safe.  No dinner parties today.  Just law school.  But I was wrong to relax!  CURSE my kind and considerate Friend Who Does Not Know for buying me a frosted, chocolate cake donut on her way to school to show her affection for me!  CURSE HER.

Whatever.  Who cares what happens this month.  I don't even care if I don't ovulate at all.  Because next month it shall begin, my friends.  My journey into the land of drugs.  I made an appointment for November 6 so that I can start next cycle.  I'm nervous and excited and optimistic and pessimistic all at the same time.  It's confusing.

I'll race ya!

So as I mentioned last post, I was visiting Brother and California Sister-In-Law (I'm gonna call her "CSIL" because typing is hard) this weekend.

(For those who are wondering: no, I have not quite recovered from the Dairy Debacle of 2014.  Getting there.  But this post is not about that.)

CSIL just started trying to conceive and after subtly testing the waters ("CSIL, would you like a drink?  Yes, you would?  Aaaaaalllllright then.") and then feeling like a jerk for being relieved that she is not yet doing the prongo congo, I struck up a conversation about baby names.

Because baby names are fun!  And we have talked about them before!  And Husband and I, in our obsession (ok, fine, my obsession), came up with a second name we love for each gender in case of twins (when it rains, it pours, right?).  So I thought it would be a fun, "Hey, look, we can totally talk about some baby things together without me being a super-downer all the time!"

Nope.

Even though she has told me her baby names in the past, apparently since she started trying For Serious she no longer wants to discuss it.  She doesn't want to hear mine and she won't tell me hers.

Why not?

Because if they're the same, "it'll be awkward" (her words) because they're not changing their minds and they don't want us to be mad at them when the baby pops out and they give him or her a name that we  wanted.  So, basically, when it comes to names she thinks I might want, she's prepared to race me for them.

Well, FREAKING GREAT.  I would love to race you, CSIL.  Your period comes like freaking clockwork and your uterus had never flipped you off with any kind of weird symptoms.  Let's totally race.  Oh, what's that, you got pregnant in the middle of that sentence and it's quadruplets and you're going to use all of my names?  I'm thrilled.

Seriously, though.  She could have just told me her names.  I am not a danger to her.  In fact, if we were thinking of the same name, I would have withdrawn immediately.  I wasn't even going to TRY to fight her, because I know what a gimp I am.

This is what a race between us would look like:  The gun goes off.  I shoot out of the gate, immediately trip on my own feet, and fall flat on my face.  Embarrassed, I get up, run really fast, smack into something, realize that it's the starting gate and that I'm running in the exact opposite direction that I'm supposed to be, and then collapse on the ground and sob for a while.  CSIL takes a casual drink of water.  I finally push my emotions down, start staggering down the track again, and then suddenly go blind.  As I get down on all fours and try to feel my way towards the finish line (spoiler alert: I am not even close), CSIL finally enters the race.  She jogs easily past me, crosses the finish line, and then wipes her brow even though her forehead is not even so much as GLISTENING from exertion.  She gets a trophy.  I am crying again.  All of her children get beautiful names and I am stuck with the names Toiletface and Trashchild.  They are not even real children; just some sticks I found and decided to love.  Some people wonder whether I think they are real children on account of the fact that I am STILL BLIND, but no one feels comfortable asking.  Gradually I lose all of my friends and acquaintances, flunk out of law school, and get really smelly.

That's how I feel right now.

But since she won't tell me her names, I'm going to stick with mine.  And if she gets pregnant and gives birth and bestows upon the fruit of her loins one of MY names, then I will consider that my child.  Win-win.  Free child.  That's what I call problem solved.

What a crappy day.

So this morning I woke up slowly and luxuriously, curled up in my nice warm blankets and totally rested because I don't have classes on Friday mornings and I got to sleep in.  I got up slowly, took my time getting ready for the day, and felt awesome.

Oh, no, wait.  That was how I WANTED my day to start.

Instead, it started with my uterus screaming at me.

"WAKE UP!  YOU ARE IN PAIN!  YOU ARE IN PAIN BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT PREGNANT!  WHAT A FAILURE YOU ARE!  WRITHE AROUND IN YOUR FAILURE FOR A WHILE!  BUT DON'T WAKE UP YOUR HUSBAND BECAUSE IT IS ONLY 7 AM AND THAT WOULD BE SUPER RUDE!"

Uuuugghhhhh cramps are the worst!  So I wallowed in pain and cried for a while and then I got up and took some Advil and stumbled around in a sleepy, pained stupor trying to find my heating pad and I could not find it no matter how hard I tried and so I went back to bed for Wallowing and Crying  II: The Pain Continues (sequels suck) until I finally realized that the heating pad was under the bed.  Got it.  Plugged it in.  Had to get up a couple hours later, still in pain, still exhausted, and decidedly grumpy.  THAT is how my day started.

Then I drove down to my mom's house (about two hours away) to join her for my brother and sister-in-law's birthday dinner (this is California Sister-In-Law - the one who is trying, not the one who is pregnant).  Usually such things are super fun because my mom has a rule that she will make us whatever we want for our birthday dinners, and we consistently take full advantage of that.  Brother chooses to use the privilege to make riddles for Mom about what to make.  This year's was:

1.  A food item from my (as in SecondVoice's) favorite movie.
2.  A food item from Mom's least favorite movie.
3.  An alcohol Mom would be embarrassed purchasing.
4.  Fig ice cream.
5.  Something that is an unnatural color.
6.  A food item from Doctor Who.
7.  A food item from Avatar (as in the air bender, not the blue Native Americans)

I look forward to these dinners every year.  They are so fun.  And planning them is so fun.  And so I decided to go off-diet for just this one day.  I mean... I have lost 16 pounds already.  That's a big accomplishment.  So I figured, you know, what is the worst thing that could happen if I go off-diet for just one day?

Well, I will tell you.

The meal was full of dairy.  Cheese, whipped cream cheese, heavy whipping cream, milk, chocolate... basically all the forms of dairy that can reasonably be included in a meal.  All the things I have been staying away from for months.  And I ate it all.  Every last morsel that was put in front of me.

And then I spent the rest of the evening on the toilet with explosive diarrhea.

THAT'S RIGHT, FRIENDS.  THE TITLE OF THIS POST IS A PUN.

I cannot even tell you how embarrassing that was.  Or how much it sucks that I missed out on a ton of great conversation.  Or how unfair it is that I have to deal with my body doing stupid crap (whoops!  there's another one) like this to me because I'm trying to control it and eat the right things so that it will stop throwing a hissy fit every time I try to put a baby in it.  It isn't fair.  Why can't my body just be normal?  Why can't I have those light, kinda achey cramps that other girls get that do not prevent them from doing anything with their day?  Why can't I eat or not eat dairy at my own discretion and not have my body flip out?  Why can't I just grow a freaking human inside of me like all the other women?  HUH?

I'm going to bed now because I would like this day to be over.  Good night, readers.  I hope your days were better than mine.

How am I? Umm...

I never thought the questions "how are you?" and "what's new?" would be such challenges for me.

There are two categories of askers, and I shall address them each individually.

Those Who Do Not Know:

Last night, an old friend got back in touch with me (am I old enough to have old friends?  I guess so.  Seems weird, though.) and asked what's new in my life.  This is a guy that I was very close to in high school, saw occasionally on breaks and things during college, and then lost touch with a few years ago.  This person asked me what was new.  It is an innocent question borne of genuine ignorance and equally genuine interest.  Several responses flitted through my mind:

The "Everything's Fine":

"Oh, not much!  Just loving life!  School is great; marriage is great; I'm basically living a fairy tale all day and every day!  I just wish I could share this joy with the world and especially with those in need!"

Pros:

• does not make anyone uncomfortable
• is not too much information in response to a casual question

Cons:

• makes me feel like a big fat liar

The "Sob Story":

"I just want babies and I don't have any and everyone else gets them and it isn't fair so I cry all of the time and nothing else in my life seems to have any meaning at all.  I have contemplated stealing babies.  I might have even actually stolen one briefly.  Don't worry about it.  Also, please don't tell the cops.  They don't understand my life."

Pros:

• it is accurate (well... not the baby stealing part.  I did not do that.  *shifty eyes*)
• it encourages a deeper level of communication

Cons:

• now he is trapped in a conversation about my problems
• I don't want PCOS to be the only thing that I ever, EVER freaking talk about 
• he might say one of those things I hate it when people say (see previous post, and/or imagine some well-meaning but unhelpful gobbledygook)

Those Who Know

This is equally tricky.  Because what do they mean?  Why are they asking?  How much are they asking?  Some responses:

The "Status Update":

"Pretty good.  My cervical mucus was slippery a few days ago so that's good news.  I had a lot of sexytimes and now I'm perma-crossing my fingers for two weeks.  They are super sore and it makes everyday chores harder.  Thanks for asking!"

Pros:

• This might legitimately be what they are asking
• Again, it is an honest description of what I am going through

Cons:

• This may not have been what they were asking AT ALL and now you've doomed them to more boring details and they want to slit their wrists but are forced instead to nod slowly
• Makes it seem like PCOS is the only thing going on in my life.  Sometimes I do feel like it is, but that doesn't mean I want to broadcast that to others.  I want others to think I'm cool and have, like, hobbies.  Or whatever.  Things I think about that don't rhyme with schmabies or schminfertility.

The "Grasping For Straws":

"I... went grocery shopping yesterday?  Still going to school... pretty much every day, now.... Uuuuhhhh.... oh!  Did you hear that the guy from High School Musical proposed to his girlfriend at Disneyland?  So that's a pretty big deal."

Pros:

• Probably less repetitive and more interesting than CM updates
• Might help me remember what else IS in my life right now and that's probably a good exercise for me
• If they were not asking for a PCOS update, I have responded in a socially appropriate way.  If they were, then they can clarify.

Cons:

• Even though I KNOW there are lots of things going on in my life, I can never think of them on the spot because my mind just keeps screaming unhelpful suggestions like, "Tell her about your comparison shopping of ovulation kits!  I'm sure she's interested in that!  Did you cover insurance questions yet?"
• Keeps the conversation more surface level.
• Once again just makes me feel like I'm not really answering honestly.

There are other options, but those are the main ones that immediately pop into my head when confronted with friendly, normal questions that people respond to all the time without having to make pro/con lists.  Can anyone think of any others?

(P.S.  In case any of YOU want to know how I'm doing...  I got my period today.  So.  Yeah.  At least 31 days is still pretty normal-like, right?  Come on, uterus.  Get it together.)

Get out of my sexytimes, PCOS!

You know what I hate?  I hate that I always, always know exactly where I am in my cycle.  And I hate that whenever Husband comes at me all sexy-like (and, guys, he is super sexy when he comes at me all sexy-like), I do the math and I either think "YES.  LET'S DO THIS.  SEXYTIME A BABY INTO ME." or I think "We are wasting some perfectly good sexytimes not making a baby."

Every time.  I can't not have those thoughts.  If I'm into it, I have those thoughts.  If I'm not in the mood, I still have those thoughts.  And they affect whether I decide to get in the mood or not.  Not definitively, but they are a factor.  

And the time of month affects where I want to have sexytimes, too, because I am sure as heck not going to be stuck in the shower with my legs up in the air for half an hour post-sexytimes.  Because even if that is a silly superstition and doesn't have any effect on anything, I am taking no chances.  If it's fertile times, those legs are going up.  And I want to be on a comfy bed or couch when they do.

And I just really hate that.  I hate how it has invaded that intimate area of my life.  I wish sexytimes could just be sexytimes and not be about anything else ever.

I hate having to schedule it, too.  Ovulation is the least romantic time of the month.  There's no surprise or excitement because I know it's coming and I'm almost dreading it because of the pervasive feeling that it's just going to fail again and my own natural inclination to not even try if I think I'm going to fail.

By the way, if anyone wants to throw a "just relax and it will happen" my way in the comments, I WILL MURDER YOU.  AND I AM IN LAW SCHOOL, SO I WILL KNOW HOW NOT TO GET CONVICTED.  TRY ME.  JUST YOU TRY IT.

Still no period, by the way.  Good news or bad news?  If I were a betting woman, I know where I'd put my money...

Apparently I am a child now.

So, Day 29 of this cycle.  Still no period.  But I would bet money that it will come tomorrow, because I am PMSing hardcore.

Basically, I just cried all the way home because I hate my "new" bike.  In my defense, my new bike is stupid.

My old bike (which, quick refresher, was stolen from right outside of my apartment, even though it was locked) was a gift from my dad, and it was beautiful and sea-green with a black basket made to look like it had cool vines on it.  I named her Marine Cassidy and we were the best of friends.  My new bike is a Craigslist find that looked in the picture like a bike that could be owned by a fully grown woman, but that in fact was clearly made for a young girl.  Tweener, tops.  I named her Cyndi (the i is supposed to have a heart on it; that's mandatory) because she has a stupid butterfly tramp stamp and I hate it and I hate her and that is my story.  Also the basket is in the front which makes it impossible to attach a light to the front, which I did not realize, so I was biking some pretty pot-holey roads in pitch darkness.  Without my glasses.  And also while crying.

Ok, it wasn't just because of the bike.  I am also very stressed.  The Chaos Weeks are coming.  I have a hearing (meaning I have to write a memorandum and prep for oral argument and meet with my client several times to make sure he is ready) and a moot court competition (meaning I have to write a brief and then write and deliver two oral arguments) and a church event for the children that I am planning (meaning I have to plan all the activities and order all the things we need and recruit volunteers and tell them what to do, and plan/deliver a short sermon) all in the next two weeks and it is too many things.  Too many.  And that is on top of normal law school and editing the thesis that I volunteered to edit and dealing with infertility.  So in class when I found out about another surprise thing that is very big and due in two days I was rather unhappy about it.  I will be so glad when October is over.

Plus, again, I'm fairly sure I'm PMSing.  Or, whatever, maybe not.  Because PCOS can do whatever it wants to me at whatever time, so this really could just be a thing that's happening for no reason.  Or it could be pregnancy hormones.  Isn't it fun how the symptoms for all three are exactly the same?  I love being able to guess whether the craziness I'm going through is the first sign of my dreams come true or another bitter disappointment or pointless havoc.  It is my favorite game.