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The Groups
Shrink Wrapped
Yes, I know it is Halloween & I should be writing something seasonally appropriate. But screw that. Halloween is really just the thing that causes me to pause the TiVo so I can answer the door & begrudgingly pass out candy that I wish I was eating.
If you are into the holiday - I salute you. Somebody should be. I won’t give you shit about dressing up like a hooker or Hillary Clinton if you don’t give me shit about my Easter Bunny obsession. We cool?
Now what I really want to vent about is my boiling fear of finally sitting down with a shrink on Wednesday. I went to see the movie Prime this weekend (enjoyed it!). I figured it would calm my mind and quiet my nerves. But as the day looms near I am all kinds of agitated.
Not to mention I am feeling PMS like nobody’s business! It is so weird that all those months I was waiting to see if I was pregnant I must have had PMS but it managed to manifest itself as “possible pregnancy symptoms”. & this month, a month that I was on break (ergo no possibility of pregnancy) I am not only aware of PMS but it is like the worst EVER!
Seriously, this morning I woke up & thought if I don’t hide the bags of candy I will consume them all before 9am. I satiated myself (is satiated a word?) with a bowl of peppermint icec ream & then (MISTAKE!) turned on CNN. There I watched in horror as the ‘prez’ nominated the whitest white conservative male for Supreme Court justice. The image of that, inter-spliced with the sad images of Rosa Parks in state just pushed me over the edge. Mom found me bawling in the den and I think I freaked her out a bit.
So wednesday. Shrinkage.
Fuck.
I know that I need this. I need to be able to vent and work things out. I need a safe place to grieve for all of the failed cycles. A place to process how fucked up my body is. A place to verify that I am making the right choice.
But what I am truly scared of is what if she doesn’t like me?
I have this horrible, nasty social habit: I am an overacheiver when it comes to a 1st impression.
I am the funniest, cutest, zaniest, wittiest person you have ever met. When you first meet me that is. I recognize that sounds incredibly vain, but you can poll my friends. Or better yet - poll their family. I do good family.
Usually I can maintain this front for quite a while. But the people that have known me longest know that it is a mask. In reality I am funny and sarcastic, but I am also sad and vulnerable. But this front is learned behavior. Something I mastered as a very young girl as Mom moved us around the country every year. I HAD to make insta friends or I was a wreck.
So how long do I keep the front going with the shrink? Part of me wants to write some sort of written disclaimer: You may find me amusing today, but it is all an act & I am just trying to please you.
How do you get to the nitty gritty?
Tagged/Prime
HD said if I don’t fill out this form that she will kick my ass. Ok, actually it was something like having to spend time with her 4th period students…still equally scary!
7 things I want to do before I die:
1. Fall in love
2. Return to Edinburgh castle / Witchery
3. Make peace with my sister
4. Raise a brood of brilliant children
5. Move to Grammercy Park
6. Publish a novel
7. drive across country at my own pace
7 things I cannot do:
1. loose 20 pounds
2. speak to Talula in her language (the language of cats)
3. Meet my Father
4. get pregnant (at least until the lap)
5. fix my Grandmother
6. vote republican
7. do over my life in NYC
7 things that I’m attracted to:
1. compassion
2. conviction
3. Consistency
4. cuddling
5. cooking skills
6. creativity
7. Liev Schrieber
7 things I say often:
1. shut up!
2. fucking amazing
3. did you take your pills?
4. is that the phone ringing?
5. time for Murder She Wrote
6. Seriously or let’s be real
7. damnit
7 Celebrity obsessions:
1. Liev (duh)
2. Vincent D’nofrio
3. Carol King
4. people I used to work with
5. J.D. Salinger
6. Judy Dench
7. Any of the muppets
People I want to do this:
1. Sherry
2. Joan
3. Kate
4. Katrina
5. Shelli
6. Tex & Blondie
7. Lorem
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Yesterday afternoon I went to see the new movie, Prime. I was expecting a fluffy, slap-stick comedy. In actuality it was a smart, heart-felt drama with humor. I loved Uma in the Kill Bill movies (how could you not?), loved her in Pulp Fiction & The Truth about Cats and Dogs. I wasn’t sure that I would be able to like her in this movie. I kind of thought it would just be a vehicle for her to be all pretty & windblown. But I was impressed. She was vulnerable, real and relatable.
Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t on par with Breaking the Waves (my favorite movie - ever), but it is better than you would normally give it credit for.
P.S. Don’t forget to change your clocks! (move ‘em back 1 hour)
Surgery Instructions
Yesterday I got a thick envelope from my RE’s office detailing specific before, during & after information regarding the upcoming laparoscopy.
I tell you it freaked me out!
Whoever wrote the instructions was certainly trying to be amusing & clever, cracking little jokes here & there. But when it comes to surgery instructions I prefer less fluff, more seriousness. When knives are involved don’t joke people!
One of the more bummer issues in the instructions is the ‘rule’ that I must walk as much as I can after the surgery. It actually says, “Rest, but do not lie down all the time…spending all day on the sofa and all night in bed will not help the body heal.”
WHAT?????
Ok, I have never ever ever had surgery before, but in the movies & on tv the post-op people are IN BED and ringing bells for help or kool aid. Now you are telling me that I can’t lounge? Lounge seems like a very important step to healing.
I am debating letting anybody else sees these instructions. At this stage they could only be used for bad & not good. I must use the force. There is no way I can milk getting waited on if anybody sees it.
& look- I am not a brat. I am a workoholic. I am up at 6:00am everyday cleaning house, paying bills, shopping, taking care of Grandmother. I am a stay at home Granddaughter. I hate asking for help & I hate needing people.
I was planning on letting go AS (after surgery). Trying to chill out & let others take care of me.
Now I have these instructions that tout, “YOU are in charge of your own healing.”
Bullshit. I will challenge this.
Sex Talk w/ the R.E.
There was just a quick, “how’ve you been?” before Dr. W went all Hardball on me.
W: So how sexually active are you?
Me: Negative 24
W: huh?
Me: It’s been two years since I last…um…did it.
W: OK. (he makes a note)
Me: Why? Do you know anybody for me?
W: huh? No I was asking just as routine. I need to make sure that the tumors on your tubes aren’t scars from a healed STD infection.
Of course now is when Mom slides into the exam room having taken 20 minutes to park the car.
Me: Well I had all the STD tests done before I started ttc & I was never diagnosed previously. W: Yes. But have you had a lot of partners?
DUDE! MY MOM IS IN THE ROOM!!
Me: Actually I haven’t. I am quite chaste.
W: Good.
Me: So what is the plan, Stan?
W: We should go ahead & schedule the laparoscopy.
He went on to explain that they were actually able to unclog (unblock?) the right tube pretty well during the HSG. The lap will let them examine why the left tube is not allowing dye to drain properly. If they find any lesions or whatnot they will fix or remove them on the spot.
However, if they don’t find anything to explain the not draining issue then I will get sewn back up & we will move on to injectables.
If they do find stuff, after it has been removed, we will try two more clomid cycles.
Are you following this? Here is the breakdown:
1) Getting a lap (in ~ 3 weeks)
2) If there is crud in my tubes it will get removed & I will proceed with clomid
3) If they can’t figure out what’s is wrong I will start injectable cycles.
The really shitty thing is that Dr. W wants to do the lap between cycle day 6-12. Then he wants me to take a month off after the lap.
Bottom line- Looks like I won’t get to have an insemination cycle until the end of December or beginning of January. That just blows.
Oh well…At least I know there is a plan of action. There’s a bit of comfort in that.
Counting Down
It feels like I am counting down to everything:
2.5 months & it’s 2006
2 months & then I am 30 (!)
1 month & I start cooking massive Thanksgiving feast
1.5 weeks until I meet with new shrink
1 week until I can read the new Astrology Zone horoscope
1 day until I meet with R.E. to go over my HSG results
20 minutes until the recycling guys show up
Just goes to show that I am certainly not ‘living in the moment’. Not sure how to make that transition.
Yesterday I got a sweet e-mail from J thanking me for coming to the wedding, etc. In the note she says that she “really wants to find a way to visit me in ______, Alabama.” My response to her was that in no way would I allow her to visit me here. That ______, Alabama is my waiting room.
Now that I think of it, that is kind of a sad way of looking at the present. As if there was no there there. True I am not happy living here. True I have never felt less like myself. True I feel like God has forgotten to unpause me. But shit, what if I die tomorrow? What if THIS is really it. I kind of owe it to myself to be a bit more active & present.
Just…how do I get started with that?
Loving You
Things I have done today:
1) gotten weepy over all the support & love from you guys.
2) Scrubbed out my bathroom & Tallulah’s bathroom
3) Made an amazingly strong batch of coffee
4) worked the crossword with GM
5) Called RE’s office to see if I can go ahead & get the lap on the books
6) Called the shrink’s office
one) I honestly feel the love. It is a beautiful, palpable thing emanating from the glow of my laptop. I feel stronger because of it. I feel encouraged. I don’t feel so alone. Thank you to all who posted here, on FF or directly via e-mail. Seriously, women should rule the world. Thank you, thank you.
two) Talula had made it clear that she was offended by the stinky box she craps in. It was long over due. It may sound nuts, but there is a certain therapeutic element to getting rid of shit.
three) I will confess: I am a coffee snob. One of the issues I had grappled with was the long standing decaf debate while trying to conceive. I actually (shockingly) was able to get caffeine free several months ago. Those first two months I was trying I actually abstained from all caffeine and alcohol. It was hell. Not in the withdrawal sense, but in the missing an old friend sense. I grind my own beans, flown in from San Francisco or a great importer in Georgia. I use an expensive and scary looking high tech machine for brewing. My coffee doesn’t drip into a glass pitcher that sits on a burner scalding it. Oh no, my coffee is pressed into a silver thermal carafe. It is a work of art. & this morning I made a damn fine brew. (sorry for the bragging, but there are few things that I take pride in doing these days…)
four) This was brief as GM’s ride to the hairdresser was early. We had just 20 minutes together. I told her that I was having some female problems and that I may need to have surgery. I doubt she will remember the conversation later. But it felt good to have her show concern. She may have just been mirroring my face, but I don’t care.
five) Am I an overly pushy broad for calling the RE’s office? I just know that it can take time to get on the books for a lap & I want to go ahead & sign up. I am already saddened by the realization that I will most likely have to sit out & heal until January. It upsets me b/c getting pregnant was something I set out to do in 2005. January is so 2006. I know in the long run it is nothing, just a couple of months. But I am fucking impatient.
six) Leaving a message at a shrink’s office is weird. Especially if you don’t know the office staff or the shrink. I felt like I was using a d.j. voice. I wanted to project, “I’m not very crazy. Just your normal, basic kind of crazy.” Within two minutes of leaving the message my call was returned by a scheduler. He asked, “how are you today?” I am sure it is a standard type of question. But I immediately imagined the shrinks all listening in already assessing me. So what does my wise ass mouth say? ‘Well I’m not on the roof looking down or anything.” Crickets. Silence. Ah…these are the people that know that my humor (or attempts at it) are a facade. I then say that I am fine. The schedule guy (who must be wearing one of those plantronic head phones b/c his breathing is like RIGHT IN MY EAR) then asks why I need to make an appointment. I get shy. I don’t know this guy. I do not feel comfy sharing with him. So I say that I need some help dealing with some medical issues. He then asks what kind of medical issues. FUCK. I don’t wanna say! So I reply, “female stuff.” That usually shuts a guy up. But not mouth breather. Oh no. He wants to get ALL in my business. ‘What KIND of female stuff.” I snapped. I apologized later. But what flew out of my mouth was, “The female stuff that involves a vagina, uterus, SPERM!” Whatever, I’m sure he put a star next to my name & in big block letters wrote: LUNATIC
The 1st appointment I could get was November 3rd. Doesn’t that seem so very far away? But I guess it isn’t. Two weeks. It is the day I am due for my next period. I’m sure I’ll be in a fine and dandy emotional state. ha!
It’s not good.
You know how we prepare ourself for the shoe to drop by imagining the worst case scenario, but deep down we know everything is going to be ok? We build an armor of protection with visualizing the far swing of the pendulum. But we never really think things will go that far. Surely, we think, since we have hypothesized the worst it won’t be that bad.
So here is the reality: Shit happens no matter what.
My worst case scenario was realized two hours ago. Broken. Me. On the inside. Fucked up. Possibly damaged.
We had to do the procedure twice. The 1st time the tech in training (it is a teaching hospital) did the honors of ripping me open with frozen, hard metal clamps. She fed the catheter into me and slowly injected the dye. (the dye that looked so friendly before - like a shot of tequila) “Can you please relax?” she implored. I tried. I fucking swear I tried, but it hurt so badly tears were rolling down my face. After 6 IUI’s you’d think this would be old hat. But I have never been opened in this manner before, held open with screws tightening and pushing me wider. It felt like such an invasion. It felt wrong. I called out for my Mother who was passing time in the waiting room reading my Entertainment Weekly.
By the time she made it through the maze of hallways the procedure room was full of people. Five doctors, at least that many technicians, students, radiologists, a team of people managing the X-Ray…no joke there was at least 25 people gathered between my exposed vagina and the X-Ray monitor. I was the afternoon show.
The tech in training was asked to step aside and one of the big shot R.E.’s ducked under the sheet spread across my knees. This is the R.E. that is first on the letterhead, the one that people come to from surrounding states. This was Big Poppa. he snapped at everyone to shut up. I felt my Mom squeeze my hand vibing me a, “It’ll be ok”.
Big Shot R.E. re-clamped me and again inserted the catheter with dye. The dye began to sting as I had been torn during the 1st attempt. I felt the Big Shot R.E.’s hand on the inside of my thigh & knew that it was a hand that had been there, done that. Not in a pervy way. I mean that I was oddly comforted by an expert holding the reins.
His first words directed at me were, “Well it isn’t want we want to see, honey.” I then began to wail, sob, moan, and weep — all in one hiccup. Because you see, deep down I knew. I knew it would be bad.
Right tube moderately blocked. Left tube significantly blocked with possible tumors.
All those tries. Six FUCKING tries and there is no way I could have gotten knocked up. Not a chance.
I meet with my R.E. next wednesday to discuss what next.
I’m calling the shrink tomorrow.
The Salieri Complex
In 5 hours I will leave to go to the clinic in Birmingham for my HSG procedure*. I am putting on a brave face, but inside I am scared shitless. Scared that a ton of stuff will be wrong or missing or damaged. Proof that I am broken & unfit. In other words, every woman’s worst nightmare.
When I was in high-school I named a specific disorder that I noticed brewing inside me: The Salieri Complex. For those of you non theatre nerds, Solieri was a character in the play (& movie) Amadeus. He was the jealous one, the one with all the passion & desire to make beautiful music but not the talent. Well certainly not the talent that Mozart had. I was convinced, a girl of 15 or 16, that anything I ever wanted, really & truly wanted, I would never attain.
This complex hovered over me, from small notions to large ones. If I really wanted a boy to like me I just knew he wouldn’t. If I really wanted to get into NYU I was convinced I wouldn’t.
Ah, you may say, that is just pessimism. But it is so beyond that. Pessimism is the idea that bad things will happen no matter what. The Solieri complex is not about bad things happening, it is about wanting something so deeply but knowing that simply because you want it you will never have it. Unrequited life.
Now I am faced with a massive outbreak of this complex. I want to have a child so badly. But I am now convinced that it is something that I will never have. Getting this procedure* today could prove me right.
You are probably thinking, “shit! This girl is fucked up, crazy! Does she have a twisted God complex?” Well rejoice in knowing that yesterday I got a delicious golden ticket: a phone number to a shrink in Birmingham.
My Mother had her yearly with our GP yesterday. I asked her to ask Dr. C (who I adore & who helped get me healthy enough to even begin the ttc journey) to recommend some shrinks that, if I really & truly lose it, I can call & work shit out with. He e-mailed me a name of a woman he called “like-minded” (oooooh! that could be dangerous!) and then said that getting my mental state in shape was just as important as all the physical health aspects. “The mind is a very powerful organ.” He wrote. So in other words, if I get my head healthy my poonani will follow.
Send good vibes for the best possible outcome for today. I am praying for either an all clear or an easy situation to remedy.
* HSGTest Explained
2%
Feeling quiet this morning. I woke up at 5:30 to put the recycling by the curb. It was such a lovely and misty morning that I just kept walking. In my paisley pajamas. And flip flops. I just took myself for a walk around the lake. I could hear Admiral barking the entire time. I don’t speak dog but it was something akin to, “Hey asshole! You forgot your dog!”
But I needed the solitary time. Even if it was just a 15 minute lake lap. One of the women on the boards I visit on line mentioned that she goes to a therapist that specializes in issues related to infertility. While I have mentioned & thought of going to a shrink to work some of this stuff out there is this fear that stops me. The fear is what if after pouring my soul to this therapist s/he sighs & says, “You shouldn’t be doing this.”
So obviously I am still scared shitless that I shouldn’t be trying to get pregnant on my own. Don’t freak out about that revelation. It only represents about 2% of me. 98% of me is so certain and positive and ready. But some days, like today, the 2% gets to me. (I also can’t digest 2% milk…coincidence?) I start to think very self absorbed thoughts like, “if it was meant to happen it would have happened by now.” Rationally I know that is bullshit. While I do believe in fate, I also think that we are very responsible for it. Fate seems like something that can only be proved in hindsight.
hmmmm…I’m talking in a circle. I guess what I am trying to say is that I know if I want to be a Mother I need to take control and do something about it. I’m too far gone to have a virgin birth. So I am, to some degree, in charge. I order the sperm. I chart my cycles. I make the appointments to see the doctors. But what is tripping me up is that it hasn’t worked. So that 2% starts to kick in and mess with me. The 2% says, “you aren’t pregnant because you have nutty genes.” or “you aren’t pregnant because you haven’t done anything in your life to deserve it.” The 2% makes me think it is MY fault.
UPDATE:
R.E. just called & said my u/s was clear. (good news) He then said that he would like me to get an HSG test. (I KNEW it.) Then, he said, it was up to me if I wanted to go for a try this cycle. I thought for like a nano second & replied, “No. Let’s wait to see what the HSG shows.” (very grown up response, right?)
He thought that was a smart choice & said that he would be doing the test himself & will know answers immediately. He will then be able to create a more informed plan: more of the same, a lap, or injectables.
The dye job is a week from thursday.
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