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The Groups
My Muffins are exploding.
So did you know that little extra something that flops over the waist of your favorite pair of jeans has a name? It’s called the muffin. I’ve always had a bit of a muffin being a classic pear shaped female.
But this morning I realized I no longer have muffins. There is no cute name for what I have. The first thing that comes to mind is inner-tube. I have a large, fleshy inner-tube that now hangs over my jeans.
Easily I can point fingers:
the stress!
the emotional chaos!
the depression!
the injections!
the boredom!
But as my dear friend Marta always says, let’s be real.
The real culprit is that I am eating too much shit and not working out. Sure a couple stress pounds would be understandable. And I’ve read how other women have easily gained a pant size after just one injectable cycle. I’ve had three injectable cycles & I think it would be safe to assume that I have gained THREE pant sizes.
So the first step is to acknowledge that I have a problem.
(ah! Again! When will food STOP consuming my life??)
Now what do I do about it? Do I fast? Do I go nuts at the gym?
In a way it is paralyzing to know how out of shape I am in because I know how hard it is going to be to get on the road to healthy. & healthy is the goal here. It would be one thing if I looked in the mirror & saw the inner-tube but didn’t care because I was so blissfully happy. But I am not happy. I am annoyed and frustrated and sad and full of familiar hate for this jiggling porpoise that looks back at me.
That’s right I went from seeing I need to loose some weight to full scale body hating. & why shouldn’t I hate this body? What has it done for me lately?
So after admitting I have a problem what is the next step? What is the healthy step?
#4: The Chosen One
It is with great excitement and ridiculous enthusiasm that I announce that I have found lucky donor #4.
After days of searching banks all over the world (no joke) I found my ideal candidate sitting in a bank one state over. To my shock the people at the bank could actually tell me stuff about the donor. My previous bank kept the money & the vials separate so whenever I would coyly ask, “So his donor #___ handsome?” I would get this canned, “I wouldn’t know ma’am. We are not in the same building. Will that be paid with a Visa?” For many reasons I had started to not be a fan of my original bank. The free toaster had begun to loose its gleam and well, none of their guys seemed to work for me.
The new bank, so far, seems so eager to help. So invested in my success. Not only were they able to tell me detailed info about the donor (well detailed in my asking what part of the nation he was from) but they were able to give me so much more. I was told how many births (very different from how many pregnancies) and of those births how many were boys & how many were girls. I was told how sweet he was. & in a whisper I heard the words I really needed to hear, “We all think he is hot!”
Thank you very much, I will take 3 vials.
Without further ado I present Churchill, my new donor. So named because of #4’s expressed interest in Politics and journalism. & because as much as I wanted to name him Beaker, I just couldn’t.
Sperm Mate + Poll + Theme
When it comes to men I have eras of being extremely picky and times when I was pretty foolish. I will confess that I have never been in adult love. I have been infatuated, obsessed, turned on, & hopeful - but never the full on deal. I’ve never been swept off my feet. A few have tried, but I’m a big gal & it isn’t so easy to hoist me up. I am an Amazon female in all senses. Not only do I walk the earth six feet above the ground, not only do I have feet bigger than the average man, not only are my jeans larger than most men that I have dated, but I am loud, outspoken, opinionated. I was raised a feminist by a feminist and the man that will be my partner will be just that: a partner. Co in everything. I am only submissive when I want to be.
My dating resume includes, but is not limited to:
1) Making out with anonymous boys in the church parking lot
2) Making out with anonymous boys on road trips
3) Having awful crushes on ugly boys
4) Having intense crushes on gay boys
5) Having an affair with a woman
6) Having sex at the Turkish Bath house
7) Dating a semi-famous musician 
On-line dating
9) Googling an ex, contacting ex, having sex with ex
10) Things too embarrassing to mention
So to put it mildly- I am a bit of a dating disaster. When I had a great (but abused) body I lacked the self esteem to go on the prowl. Now I have self esteem but lack the body. But I still consider myself a sexual being. Even though it has been two years since I last had sex. (awful on-line dating disaster) I wish with all of my might that I was in a happy, healthy relationship. But I have this vague notion of the kind of love I want & it isn’t something you troll a bar for. It isn’t something that you rush.
I know you are wondering what all of this has to do with how I select a sperm donor, but I get so many e-mails from polite strangers asking why I have given up on men. Why I would want to start a family alone. Well I don’t. But I am, if nothing else, basically pragmatic. For all of my lofty ideas & silly talk - I am, to the core - realistic. The reality is that I don’t know where my mate is. I don’t know when I will find that person. I’m ready to have a family now.
I have used three different donors & am currently looking for lucky number four.
I started looking online for donors about two years ago. I approached it almost in the exact same way that I approached on-line dating. I went strictly by the notes in the staff impressions. If it was noted that the donor was attractive or had a specific attractive feature I wrote down his profile number. That first round I had a list of ten. From there I started weeding out by ethnic background. I am Irish, English & German & that first round it was very important to have a donor with that makeup. I figured if anything I would be able to paint a background of the donor that emulated mine. There was some sort of odd security in that.
So of the ten three made the 2nd cut. Then it was time to be very, very picky. I wanted a donor with my eye color, I wanted a donor with some height. In a sense - I wanted me.
In the end I wasn’t able to get the donor I first wanted. So I went with my second choice and convinced myself I was really excited about it. He didn’t have blue eyes, but he had red hair! I would have a red headed child for sure. & in his baby picture he looked just like GM!
Well donor #1 didn’t pan out. Three cycles later & I was ready to move on. & to be honest I never felt that enthused about him.
The selection for donor #2 was a lot easier. I maneuvered through the donor search engines with amazing speed. Give me height, give me blue eyes. No whammies! Immediately a donor attracted my attention & it was the first time I paid any attention to things other than physical characteristics. (shame, shame on me.) He had a science background but also expressed interest in the arts. His donor essay was clever and funny and he wrote well about his family. His baby picture was adorable & he got nicknamed Leif. Leif had rock-star numbers. Each IUI day the sperm techs would comment on how amazing his count was. I had a lot of faith in Leif. So much so that I used him for tries 4 through 8. Ironically the musician for which he was nicknamed after had a falling from grace around the same time as my affections with the donor waned.
Finding donor #3 was emotional. One of my best friends, after much soul searching, had offered to be my donor. This would have been my ideal. It was something that R. & I had joked about at University all the time. We fantasized sharing a townhouse in Park Slope. He would live on the first floor & I on the second. He would be free to date any boy he wished & I would be free to date anybody that offered. We would eventually use a doctor to have kids and raise them to be the most wonderful peace, love & harmony babies you could ever imagine. We were going to be Will & Grace before NBC had ever heard of them.
Unfortunately the dream of having R. be my donor ended with his HIV diagnosis several years ago. R was always stoic about how the disease had changed his life. But he mourned Fatherhood deeply. When I was just thinking about getting a new donor R called me with insane excitement. He had met a doctor that promised he could “wash the HIV from his sperm”. I was wary, but I will admit that my heart fluttered at the idea. I even called my RE to inquire about the process. (My poor RE who tries so hard to handle my outspoken ways had an audible gasp when I asked about the HIV wash.) Turns out such a wash is considered illegal in the states. It is only currently being performed in France but exclusively for straight, married couples. I then got the speech about how Gay Men were not allowed to be donors unless they were celibate. yadda, yadda, yadda
Breaking the news to R was devastating. But I know that it was the right thing. Even if we had been able to wash his sperm I don’t think I would have been ok with subjecting R to the emotional anguish of each new cycle. It is hard for me, a healthy woman, it would be cruel for him.
It was with R in mind that I went in search of donor #3. Instead of looking for someone like me I restarted my search looking for someone like him. R is of nordic decent with dimples and thick blonde hair. He also has an insane obsession with Game Shows. I found a donor that matched him physically & then almost peed in my pants when I read in his donor essay about how he was on the same game show that R was on when he was a child.
So #3 was a tribute donor. R and I nicknamed him Guy Smiley and talked about the future kid’s life of cash and prizes.
But I lost my love for Guy after his counts were consistently sub par. I felt that I had picked him for the wrong reasons. It would have been great if it worked, but each time it didn’t I questioned why I was using him.
Now I am on a quest for #4. I am employing all new search criteria. In other words I am going to look at the whole package. But first - I will only look at donors with my blood type. I know that may have nothing to do with compatibility: people with different blood types fuck & have babies every day. But I need to have something different to give me renewed hope. I’m also going to ease up on the height standards. Hell, I’ve got enough height to hook the kid up if it wants to be a super model or basketball champ.
One thing I find myself being adamant on is blue eyes. This is where my true narcissism shines. For my entire life I have gotten complements on my eyes. They are the exact same shade as my Grandfather’s. There was always something about being able to see myself in them & him in me. I really want that with my kid. I want her to be able to see herself in me so that there is no doubt that we belong together.
I have three donors in mind & I will decide within the week who the lucky champ will be. I need to look closely for that special ingredient that shines. The thing that whispers to me, “This is what the Universe was waiting for.”
& yes, I am quite guilty of romanticizing my sperm donors. Not in a pervy way. & not in a way that I imagine us together.
It is much like how I hope for a soul mate. I am also hoping for a sperm mate. The charmed one that will have all the right ingredients to help me create my child.
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Next week’s theme will be: reflections - could be literal reflections in mirrors or puddles or ponds or metaphoric - a photo that reflects on something
This theme is courtesy of last week’s winner, Art-Sweet.
grover is blue too
grover
Originally uploaded by Calliope1.
So I am still down in the doldrums, can’t put myself in a “happy place” to save my life. Whatever. You know sometimes you just have to feel it and live it to get through it.
Shit. I sound like a running shoe commercial.
But that makes sense, right? Forcing myself to cheer up and be positive would be dangerous and unfair. So I refuse to do it. I’ve got my cell phone turned off and the shades pulled down. Time for decompressing.
& For those of you hanging on the edge of your seat regarding this cycle, well you can take a break. My morning temperatures have taken a three day nose dive. [For all you nonchart types, you know the ones thinking, "huh? Temperature?" Allow me to translate: I am not preggers.]
It is time to switch donors. I wonder if this is why I never could keep a boyfriend - the moment the dude disappoints he is replaced. But I resent Guy Smiley donor for not coming through. I don’t care if it is my deviled eggs that are to blame, I’m still blaming him.
So now the hunt is on for a new donor. I have three in mind but no clear champ. This is way more nerve wracking than doing match dot com, but I am just as ruthless. Maybe tomorrow I will walk you through my process. Or maybe not.
In the meantime I will share with you something my Mother e-mailed me that has continuously made me laugh. Except when the clip is over I go back to being sad. Go figure.
There is a new link on the right that says ‘Grover says hello’. It is an audio link, but it isn’t pervy. (Grover could never, ever be pervy.) But it is Grover saying hello to you and I dare you not to smile. I double dog dare you.
it has started
That obsessive listening for something, anything that will reveal the answer to a question. THE question. You know, the, “am I knocked up or what?” question.
I’m trying to distract myself. I baked a fabulous loaf of banana bread. I created a photo book for Mom to take on her trip. I burned a road trip cd for her. I pledged every wood surface in the house.
But really, all that is rumbling around in my brain is that question.
That fucking question.
I have been hitting this site as if it was crack. Not that I smoke crack. Anymore. ok, ever. But you know what I mean. I have that restless leg syndrome, except it’s in my head. Restless head.
And I am having a bit of Sad Eve. The day before I get extremely, punch to the gut, ugly cry sad. Mom leaves tomorrow, people. In less than 24 hours I will be all alone in a house with a woman who tells the same four stories over and over. This is truly new & scary territory for me. No take backs on this, I will be a true, and full time care-giver. Me.
Where did my life go?
And am I pregnant?
Do you think one glass of wine (or two) would be ok?
My Anniversary
Yesterday, as I helped my Mother pack, she asked me how I was feeling. It took me a minute (literally, a full minute) to understand what she was asking. We’ve been so caught up with her move and related family drama that I hadn’t spent an enormous amount of time vocalizing a minute by minute account of every sensation in my uterus region.
I told her, in an all too familiar speech, that I didn’t think it had worked. That I didn’t feel any different. That my morning temperatures weren’t as pretty as they could be. & besides, didn’t she see me eat half a bag of ruffles? Clearly a PMS sign.
We continued packing for a while, a James Taylor cd crooning from her bedroom & ripped packing tape the only sound.
Then she said, “I hope you don’t give up.”
I said, ” Well there is nothing more I can do for this cycle & I figured I should call it quits for a while.” I then went into my prepared speech about how I was sick of my body looking the way it did. How I was hating feeling like a person who was only the sum of her female parts. How so many people had started being vocal about how my not getting pregnant must be some sort of sign.
She listened to me and nodded as if she was agreeing and maybe understanding. The she said, “That’s bull shit you know. You aren’t getting pregnant because you aren’t getting pregnant. That is all. There is no sign in that. Do you really want to quit? Because I don’t think you do.”
Damn that woman can see right through me.
I don’t want to quit. Fuck, I don’t even want to take a break. I just figured I would have to. I want to keep on trying until it happens. I want to be a Mom. & if I give up it’ll never happen.
I spent a good part of last evening looking over new potential donors. I’m not going to quit.
So bet you are wondering where the anniversary comes in to play. One year ago I had my first meeting with my 1st RE. I would have seen her sooner but I had to make sure this fancy water parasite I had picked up in Africa was really out of my system.
In honor of my anniversary I am going to share with you my journal entry from a year ago. This was a journal I had started with the idea that I would give it to my child when they got older. I stopped writing in it after my sixth failed cycle as no kid needs to see how angry and bitter their Mom is capable of getting. However, I am hoping to get some of that wide eyed enthusiasm that I had in those first few months back.
April 20, 2005
9:02am
I’m in an exam room waiting to meet Dr. D and begin this process. I am such a nervous wreck! But I am trying to look busy and nonchalant. You know, like I do this sort of thing every day.
8:35pm
I’m still processing the day so I better start writing it all down.
For starters I had no idea what to wear. I know it is a silly thing to dwell on, but I just didn’t know what sort of environment I was going to be entering & I wanted to project something (not sure what that is!). I considered my hot pink sundress, but then didn’t know if that would look too flippy. Jeans were ruled out as I didn’t want to look too casual. I finally settled on some navy gaberdine trousers and a white, short sleeved linen shirt. And of course my black Chucks. Wait, I must have had on my black trousers as I doubt I would have risked a navy pant/black shoe scenario. As for jewelry I had on the ruby cross, clip on earrings that belonged to M [great-grandmother] 0 the silver squares with turquoise bits. Yes your Mommy really does invest this much energy on how she looks. But I promise never to take so much time getting ready that you are late for school.
Your Grandmother (she is still debating what you should call her) dropped me off while she went to park. I was a bundle of nerves. After all of our family’s various health needs I had become familiar with every floor and almost every department of the clinic. But this department- the fertility one- was one I had never been in.
Now I will confess, and I am not exaggerating about this, as soon as I walked through the doors this beautiful sense of calm swept through me. My nerves were replaced with excitement. Then the seriousness of the moment overwhelmed me and I could barely steady my heart.
Your Grandmother finally joined me and she kept trying to make jokes to calm me down. Dr. D walked in and at first seemed so professional. We went through my cycles and my history. She looked at the many months I had been charting. We talked about starting immediately or waiting a month to run some blood work and genetic tests. Well I am NOT in a rush. I will take every test I need to. I just know when you are ready everything will fall into place.
I had a quick physical exam with a routine female exam then it was to the lab where I had 8 vials of blood drawn. And that was it for the appointment.
But I must tell you I was very afraid of being judged by the doctors today. But Dr. D. made me feel so normal and welcome. I even cried a little when we all talked about how tall you will be.
For the rest of the month I have to pee on these little sticks in the morning to see if I am ovulating. When I start to surge I will call a nurse and then I will go in for another exam.
Next May, if all my tests come back normal, then we will begin conception. I can’t wait for that. Just thinking about it makes me so happy. My brain is full thinking about all the things to come: thinking about your name, what you will look like, if you will be a boy or a girl. You will be born into such a great family. And do me a favor, don’t ever ever (EVER!) think that you were not wanted and planned, prayed for, and hoped for. There are so many people that are waiting to meet you.
People’s Choice & New Theme Announced
Time to vote on last week’s theme: Shadows
To view each entry go to the link on the right that says “Photo Friday”, then come back to this site & vote for your favorite. Winner gets to help come up with more themes. Isn’t that thrilling?? You can only vote once. We’ll close voting thursday night and announce the most kick ass (as selected by you) on Friday.
Leave nominations for honorable mentions in the comments section. I also just realized that I didn’t include Kiles1670 (sorry!). I can only use 20 names in the voting software. So if you wish to vote for Kiles please say so in the comments & I will add those votes to the tally.
(on a side note- woo hoo for having over 20 submissions!)
As for this week’s theme it is certain to make us hungry. I’m getting sick & tired of all of you guys writing about all the fancy schmancy meals you make. Time to SEE those meals.
So this week’s theme is: What did you have for dinner?
& if all you had was a bucket of KFC and a big gulp more power to you. (you may be able to convince some of the more culinary divas to fedex you some good eats!) If you are showcasing something ultra fancy please include a recipe so that we may try to emulate at home.
Photo Friday & the 11th IUI
The above photo was an attempt to take an arty farty picture of my dark eye shadows. They are naturally dark, but this look had some help from some left over eye makeup. So goth.
The deed is done. My 11th IUI. Now all I need to do is sit back, relax, and get knocked up.
ha!
Today’s RE visit was different. For starters it was the first time I had ever gone without my Mom. (today is a DAR day so somebody had to get GM ready and to the meeting on time.) I was feeling kind of blue about going alone, but then my phone rang & I had company!
[Thank you Sarah for sharing your good news with me, and for being a friendly voice on a day when I needed support.]
So I got to the clinic twenty minutes early and sat in the waiting room with a bunch of men. Weird. They all looked sheepish & uncomfortable. Poor dudes. I plopped down next to the least shrinking of the shrinking violets and dug into my latest Entertainment Weekly magazine. Suddenly the guy next to me says, “cool shirt.”
Well yes, I know that. My shirt does rock. I found the vintage Guy Smiley shirt on line last month & was saving it special for today. But I was getting a bit freaked by the idea of conversation with the random guy in the repro endo waiting room. After thanking him for liking my shirt he then scooted over so he could read what the magazine had to say about the new Superman.
um…this is my dance space & that is your dance space. back off.
I scooted further away from him hoping he would get the very clear, “I don’t want to talk to you” mojo I was sending out.
But no. He really wanted to chat.
“How long have you & your husband been coming to the clinic? My wife & I just started.”
I didn’t think he needed the “I’m a single gal” discussion, so I gave him just a simple answer: one year. (HOLY FUCK!)
I could tell he really wanted to talk but then (luckily) my name was called. Now I actually feel badly for the guy. I hadn’t put much thought into how taxing this process could be for a man.
But enough about the waiting room. You want to know about how the IUI went down. oh yes you do!
For starters the numbers were shit. My donors have never had anything below 25 million. Not that you really need more than that one sperm, but for cripes sake, I had really taken those high numbers for granted. Today’s vial had just 12 million. It was low enough that the nurse said if I had had another vial at the clinic that they would have added it to the mix.
Then there was the drama with my cervix. She SO did not want to be messed with today. When she finally did show herself she was in a tilted position. Silly cervix. After a change in speculum and a tilting of my hips into some sort of kinky yoga pose the catheter easily went in.
& while I appreciated the nurse going slowly I did not appreciate her saying, “we better make sure we get every last drop.” You just hush about Guy Smiley. He did the best he could.
Luckily I didn’t have an audience today. Thank you holiday weekend. & luckily I could stay in the room as long as I wanted without feeling guilty that I was hogging it from other people waiting for their IUI’s.
I tried really hard to focus on fertile thoughts but my mind kept wandering. Each time I would try to visualize my getting preggers some random thought like, “I wonder if Publix is selling hot cross buns today?” would pop into my head. I really missed not having my Mom with me holding my hand. I never had a problem keeping baby on the brain with Mom around. But leave me alone in a room & it might has well have been a dental appointment.
So please send whatever fertile vibes you have to spare to my female parts. I think I may really need them.
Shriners Club
So this morning’s ultra sound wasn’t quite as splendid as I had hoped. I’ve got one of those ovary hogging follicles on the right side and it hasn’t let the other kiddies grow much. I’m down with an aggressive 18mm whopper as long as it delivers. But one of the primmo reasons for doing injectables is more follicles. More follies = more chances of getting preggo.
Because of Mr. Monster follicle it looks like I will trigger tonight. That all depends on my estrodial # which I will learn after lunch. It didn’t go up much from Friday to Monday so in a way I am hoping that the # is low enough to give me a few more days before the IUI. A few more days to let my shy guys catch up.
But this has kicked into high gear a project that I have been working on: a fertility Shrine.
Now calm down all you heathen haters. This isn’t a “worshipping false idols” situation. This is a Cali needs to harness and focus on positive fertile energy thing. I’ve slowly been gathering little things that are meaningful to me in a baby kind of way and tonight I will start to assemble something pretty.
I’ll post a photo once it is more complete, but if you have any suggestions I am open to them.
I’m also digging deep into the astrological energy that is happening this weekend. Not to mention that whole Easter bit.
I’d love to hear any lore you’ve got to share about shrines, full moons, new moons, fertile energy…Spill it. I am working on feeling very Earth Mother this week. Haven’t shaved my armpits since Sunday. oh yeah, I am SO Mother Earth.
Plus I have been celebrating my Capricorn-ness by wearing shit loads of turquoise jewelry for the past couple of days. There has to be some sort of patron saint of Capricorns trying to conceive Capricorns.
You can laugh at my shift in focus all you want, but I know that this month, this try, will be my last for quite a while. And I want to feel good about every little bit. There is so much fucking science involved in getting knocked up by donor sperm that it can make a gal wonkers.
Afternoon Delight
GM has a new favorite tv channel. It is freaking me out.
Almost every afternoon we spend time in her room. She sits in an old antique chair by the windows and I sit at her desk. Ususally she busies herself by looking at mail order catalogues. (which I have had to black marker before giving her to remove any ordering info. Two years ago we discovered that GM was ordering triplicate everything. If a catalogue arrived three times she ordered the same things from each one. When the items arrived she would have no memory of ordering any of it. What fun!)
I work on my laptop or read a magazine or book.
GM likes to have her tv on when she is in her room “for the glow”. As she is so hard of hearing the volume is always turned down and if she wants to follow along she reads the closed caption. For months she was obsessed with HGTV. She adored mostly the Canadian produced shows and it didn’t bother her at all when the program reran over & over. It was always new to her.
Then an extra click of her remote transported her to VH-1. She wasn’t listening to the music, but she got a real kick out of what the musicians wore or how they styled their hair. It was like a circus for her & it made her giggle.
So yesterday, after a lunch of egg salad, we headed back to GM’s room for our afternoon rest. She assumed her throne and I took my familiar chair at the desk and dove back into a book.
GM clicked on the tv and then said, “You gotta hear this woman.” GM proceeded to tune the volume way up and I then heard a somewhat familiar sound of a woman screaming. It couldn’t be.
But it was.
GM has discovered afternoon programming on the Discovery Health channel. A channel that almost exclusively airs programs about birth and labor in three hour blocks. A channel that I watched with fervor nearly a year ago when I first started going to the fertility clinic. But have since stopped watching as it became an in my face reminder of what I wasn’t going through.
And now GM sat, on the edge of her seat, enraptured by the sight of a woman giving birth.
At the commercial I asked GM why she was so into the show. She said that birth was always a bit of a mystery for her since she never got to experience it. She being of the era where a woman was put to sleep and then woke up with a baby.
I had this quick intense flicker of extreme closeness with GM when she said that. She looked at those women the same way I did: with envy.
A part of me wanted to spill my guts about everything I had gone through this year. I wanted to have her sympathy.
The spell was broken an instant later when she asked what we would be having for lunch. As I was telling her, for the fifth time that hour, that we had already eaten lunch I knew that she wouldn’t be able to hold any information long enough to give the compassion that I so desperately craved.
I must find her a new channel to watch soon.
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