SCATTERGORIES - it’s harder than it looks! Play here or play on your blog. (note to those new to the game: these don’t have to be actual truths. If it helps- replace the word “you” in the questions & substitute it with “someone”.) Play on!

Take the first letter of your favorite beverage and use it to answer the following:

1) What is your favorite beverage?

2) Something you would grill?

3) Something you would wave?

4) Something you would fight for?

5) Something you would celebrate?

6) Something you would whisper to Ben Franklin?

7) Something your neighbors would bring to the party?

8 ) Something that makes you see fireworks?

9) Something that is located in Washington, D.C.?

10) Something red or white or blue?

This morning it seems as though flying lessons have begun. Several mornings Mama Duck will travel to the backyard and Baby will follow at lightening speeds. They paddle around the lake and do some fishing. However this morning Mama began taking off from the lake. She and Baby would swim out to the middle and then Mama would hoist herself up and take off. Baby FREAKED out peeping like a maniac. And then Mama came swooshing back in for a landing. She did it several more times and eventually Baby started trying to hoist herself up as well.

After the 6th or 7th lesson Mama Duck swam a circle or two around Baby and they came in closer to to the edge of the lake to eat. They are now resting back on the nest under the shrubs by my front door.

Things with GM have become more and more challenging these last several days. Things that I thought were blips of behavior are now seemingly the new norm. I try to keep a good routine for her, but even within that I can never predict what sort of day we will have. Usually she tries to dress herself, but now most days she can not. And it isn’t something as simple as not physically being able to dress. It is that she doesn’t understand what clothes actually are.

Once I hear her stirring I focus all of my energy in listening to the sounds from her room via the monitor. I can tell within a few minutes if she is having problems. Some days I will walk in and she is just having trouble getting her bra on. But more often then not I will walk in and she will have shoes on and everything else will be in a pile of confusion on the floor.

Her words are failing her now. Daily. It used to be just a symptom of fatigue when she would misuse a word or struggle to find a word. And now it happens 10-20 times a day. She will be sitting in her recliner and start to get agitated, lifting her warming blanket or looking inside her shirt. When asked what she needs she will say, “the flag”. And then I use my charade skills to figure out what “flag” is. Flag can be a glass of water or it can be information. Yesterday GM started looking all over her chair for something and it turned out that she was looking for the day of the week.

For five days in a row she has not known how to use a fork and thankfully she allowed me to feed her.

Last night was bath night and it was one of the most physically difficult for me. She couldn’t understand how to move her feet and get into the tub so I had to lift her (something I won’t do again as this morning my back is killing me). She enjoys the bath now. I give her a washcloth to fold or play with as I bathe her, but last night, in the middle of the bath, she forgot that we were in a bath. She sort of went faraway in her eyes and then when she came back she was surprised to be naked.

I feel like so much of my role as her caregiver now is to be a mind reader. And yet there is not much to read. The good days, the days where she can focus on watching a movie or having a conversation, are becoming farther and farther apart. I am touched by how soft and sweet she is on her bad days. A year or two ago a bad day would involve verbal attacks or hitting. Now there is this childlike tenderness to her. She trusts me completely. I am not used to seeing that look from someone. It is like seeing all of a person’s rawness and being responsible for it.

The times. They are a changing.

The elevated E2 wasn’t much of a wrinkle. It is going to change my med schedule a bit, but not much. In fact my med schedule (as far as the stepping up of the estrogen) will remain the same but now I have a bonus. And by bonus I mean I now have to take one estrogen pill up the hoo ha every night.

And because I find the whole thing amusing- you know, the business of sticking something up there- I totally laughed like a 7th grader when the IVF nurse said, “so take one pill via mouth and one pill via vagina”. Via Vagina is now the new title of my as yet to be written or conceptualized autobiography.

The increased level could indicate that I might ovulate earlier than they would like, but since my antral follicles are small they are not crazy concerned. Just via vagina concerned.

GM was very plugged in today about all of the clinic drama. She has been a bit altered the past week (a post for another day), so it was nice to have her very connected. Of course she didn’t really understand what was going on, but she sensed that I was phone twitchy and that it involved my health.

When I finally got the instructions from North East Clinic GM laughed so hard. Like me, the phrase of the day made her giggle.

I am totally exhaled right now. Big time. Totally relaxed and zen and in my mellow head space. I’ve had the crazy, had the fear, the stupid, the anxiety. I’m cranking up Mary J Blige and singing along with her, “No more drama.”

I gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which I must stop and look fear in the face…I say to myself, I’ve lived through this and can take the next thing that comes along.

-Eleanor Roosevelt

Now. Let’s talk about the labs. They are mostly fine. But something that happened in both my October and December IVF cycles is also here again: elevated estradiol. As in normal should be 25-75 and mine is 93. I remember that both in October & December out of town clinic was not pleased with my elevated E2. I am wondering if it will even matter now since I am not stimming.

The option to worry is being dangled in front of me and I am rejecting it. No more worrying. I’m done. I don’t think an elevated E2 will cancel this cycle. It certainly wasn’t an indicator of poor response in my other cycles. I am choosing to believe that my elevated number is in direct correlation to the fluffiness of my ass. Big girls simply have more estrogen. That is my story and I am sticking to it.

Will update later when North East clinic calls, but am exhaling all the chaotic and spastic energy from friday through 8:30am today. It is onward and upward from here on out.

Seriously.

I am starting to take this shit personally. Is this some sort of twisted payback for my firmness with billing bitch? I want to write a letter to Rip Off clinic- something constructive. But how do I begin?

Dear Rip Off Clinic,

You suck.

Not so Sincerely, Cali

Honestly, how are they able to screw things up so consistently? The fact that I paid these people $412 for a scan and blood work just enrages me. I want to ask for it back. I demand hazard pay!

I was going to bite my tongue on posting the insanity of this morning. But because I do want to chronicle everything I will briefly say that Rip Off Clinic never faxed out of town clinic my labs from Friday. North East Clinic is not amused and notified me that my cycle could be canceled. This forced me to do something that no one really wants to do: rouse the on call RE. I hate Rip Off Clinic in the sharpest of adjectives and fueled by that energy it was relatively easy to instruct the answering service to page the dude. He would never be near my vagina so I had nothing to lose. And yes. It IS a medical emergency.

So Dr. Annoyed returns the page and wants to know what the emergency is. I explain that his clinic, the one that wanted to charge me over $400 for the extremely hard task of FAXING, never actually faxed. I explained that if my out of town clinic did not get my lab results by monday at the LATEST that they would be canceling my cycle.

Dr. Annoyed was a bit of an ass, but whatever, I had zip qualms about his discomfort with my phone voice. He agreed to have an on-call nurse call me to “work this mess out”. And wouldn’t you know- the on call nurse swore up and down that the labs had indeed been faxed. And North East Clinic swore up and down that they never got said fax. And little ol’ me was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

Oh shit. I was supposed to be giving the short version.

Short version= Rip Off Clinic nurse will be going to Rip Off Clinic fax machine on Sunday and will refax labs. She will then call me once labs are faxed and I will then call NorthEast Clinic and tell them to go get the fax.

I will be extremely pissed off if my labs are wonky. Extremely. I know my ute is fine…but it’s anyone’s guess about the labs.

Northeast Clinic says that I may proceed in popping the estrodial and sweetly warns me that if my labs are fucked that my cycle will be canceled.

I am deciding right now that my labs will be fine. I’m just getting all the funky cycle drama over with now. Who has some good zen I can smoke?

Pictured below is my tribute to Sally Field, patron Saint of Female Freak Outs.

SCATTERGORIES - it’s harder than it looks! Play here or play on your blog. Saturday is game day!

Take the first letter of your favorite color and answer to the following:

1) What is your favorite color?

2) Something you would poke?

3) Something you would reheat?

4) Something you would carry in your purse?

5) Something you would recycle?

6) Something you would scream if being attacked?

7) Something you are wearing right now?

8 ) Something that would make you blush?

9) Something that would cure a bad day?

10) Something that you would photograph at the zoo?

Take this here FET cycle. Today should have been a simple pop in to a clinic for your simple, run of the mill, blood work and baseline ultrasound. Except it was anything but simple.

My day began at 6am with the obligatory shower and shave that I like to provide for all of my ultrasound technicians. I’m nice like that. I grabbed the directions to the local women’s clinic that had agreed to perform my transvag ultrasounds and a box of fancy breakfast muffins to thank the staff for willing to work with me. I had one crap conversation with an office worker a few weeks ago and I didn’t want to risk the chance that she would be playing pool up my hoo ha with the tran-stick. The best way to smooth over a bad phone conversation is high carb muffins and kindness. I had both when I walked in to the clinic at 8am.

My banana nut gift was a big hit and I felt all was going to go well. Soon the waiting room filled up with teenagers. Pregnant teenagers. With toddlers. And, no joke, every single one of them was squeezed into the smallest shirt I could imagine. Bottle tanned bellies with stretched out tribal tattoos peeked out from underneath Forever 21 animal print tanks. Shoeless toddlers ran around the room smacking into each other and falling down into a fit of screams.

But I was cool. I was the fucking Muffin girl. I smiled at every other patient waiting and genuinely felt ok with being not only twice the age of the other gals but also the only one with a purse full of tampons. Serenity Now.

My name was eventually called and I could tell by the apologetic wrinkle in the nurse’s forehead that something was up. She brought me back to an office and we sat down and she pushed the orders that had been faxed over from North East Clinic at me. And she began with, “Ma’am” (ouch) “Ma’am, I just don’t think I can do what you need me to do.” She pointed to numbers 3-6 on the fax and looked up at me with wide-eyed wonder and said, “I just don’t know what they mean by antral follicle. I’m really just used to working with pregnant women.”

So all of the weeks of banter to confirm that they had a transvag machine and someone skilled to use it for fertility purposes was a waste. The fucking banana muffins were a waste. I was told that someone that DID know how to use it “better” would be in the office next tuesday. Yeah. I don’t imagine a CD 6 scan will work for me.

Utterly dejected I knew I had to go back to the rip off clinic. Rip off clinic is the one that I used for my October & December cycles that charged me an extra $250 for EVERY visit just to fax the results to NEC. I mean I get charging me a monitoring fee or even a one time out of town hassle charge once, but $250 every visit? & that included if I just needed blood work.

But I figured I would have to bite the bullet this time. This one time I would find a way to come up with the $500 bucks. That’s right- $500. $250 for the b/w & u/s and $250 to fax it. Lovely clinic, right? When this is all over and done with I will gladly say the name of the clinic. They go on the BAD list that I have in the back of my fertility notebook. Right along with the clinics that won’t treat single women or same sex couples. shame, shame shame…but I digress. Because it really does get more shitty. It’s the LAW.

So I call rip off clinic and of course they are all sunshine and Ziggy cartoons on the phone with me and lure me into the trap of thinking that maybe they won’t rip me off. Since I last saw them in December they had moved offices and even had a donor egg program up and running.

I had to run back home and get GM to bring with me as it is now nearly 11am and Mother needed to go in to work. The rip off clinic’s new location was a block away from Mother’s office so at the last minute she decided to come in with me to keep GM amused in the waiting room. Very nice of her.

We show up, I have my blood work and u/s (which, by the way, seemed perfectly normal for CD2 [knocking wood], but am still waiting for NEC to call me back) and then I was pointed towards billing. Ah billing. Those bitches. Here is where I was told that my bill was $850.

Now I will confess that I argued my way out of the last bill from December that rip off clinic sent me, and for a moment I thought it had popped up again like a mythical creature that wouldn’t die. But no. It was $850 for blood work, ultrasound and “out of town clinic” charge. “Our rates have gone up since June 1st” the cock sucker at the computer informed me.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT, batman. $850. And so I lost it. Completely lost it in a messy and complete way. I had brought old invoices from rip off clinic showing what I SHOULD be charged, I had receipts in my wallet that I began to pull out like fancy origami. But my crane shaped receipt was no match for billing bitch. I was basically told that payment was due NOW and that if I had a problem with their fees that I should go to another clinic.

I cried and cried and CRIED. It was one of those discordant monologues where you just try and sell your entire lifer story to someone in the hope that they will suddenly go, “oh honey! Don’t you worry about a thing.” But instead the woman just held out her hand for my debit card.

And I wouldn’t give it to her.

This is where you are allowed to be proud of me. I was firm, even in my messy crying fit, I KNEW I was not fucking paying $850 bucks. No way. Nope. Not me. You can crawl up my vagina and look for the money yourself because you are NOT taking that out of my checking account. You can also be proud that I had my dear Julia Sugarbaker-esque Mother out in the lobby and I didn’t send her into the game. This fight I was going to win on the merit of my own stubbornness.

And that is how I finally was exited from the building by paying $412.

I am a bit fearful that billing bitch will fuck up my lap work or write, “cheap motherfucker” on my antral follicles photo. Whatever. I am just completely irate about the situation and hate that I couldn’t, just this once, have a smooth start to a cycle. I am very lucky that I was able to get a  photo shoot last weekend for a local company as that money will just about cover the rip off. So much for hoping to get extra acupuncture in the Northeast…

When I finally got home (after a quick trip to take GM to her weekly beauty salon appointment) I began a search for another clinic. Finally I just decided to call a place that I went to ages ago when I was looking into being an egg donor. The people that I dealt with in the egg donor division of the clinic were horrible and rude (there is actually an entire message board dedicated to their evilness- so it isn’t just me!) I sort of talked myself into the idea that I wouldn’t have to face or see the donor egg assholes. Just because 2 nurses were mean doesn’t mean EVERYONE at the clinic is. I mean even rip off clinic has some nice people in it…

I called. They totally do out of town cycle monitoring. And blood work and ultrasound is a flat $275. Not cheap. not at all. But certainly better than $850. AND they don’t charge a damn thing to fax the results to your out of town clinic. Because I was in a relieved state it rendered me hopeful, so I went ahead and booked my CD 15 scan with them.

What a damn day. See what I mean about the Law around these parts? I bet most of you have smooth and pretty CD2 clinic moments. But not me. Let’s just hope the universe is getting the shitty out of the way and everything from here on out will be fine and dandy. I have already decided that the FET will work, so all of this extra cycle stress and drama is annoying as hell.

And wow did I have a lot of bitching to do or what?! I can’t imagine that anyone is still reading at this point, but if you are can I just change the subject for a small moment and have a silly girly squeal over the fact that the writer of the book I just reviewed left me a comment on the review?! If you could see his handsome photo on the book jacket you would so squeal too.

So what are we all doing this weekend? Lord knows I wish all of you lived on my block so we could get together for some in real life bitching.

Darin Strauss’s latest book, More Than it Hurts You, is an outstanding novel that reads like what I imagine looking at a photo-mosaic feels like: characters that seem out of place up-close, but when you turn the page you step back and are blown away by the big picture.

The novel begins with Josh Goldin a popular everyman type at the top of his game. Successful in his career, his marriage, and his self-esteem, Josh is the cool guy in your carpool, the fun neighbor down the street. He brings you into his world simply and honestly and immediately you feel like this is the guy you would have voted best all around on class day.

Josh is a smooth operator at chit chat in his office’s break room and relaxed in a way that only the truly popular can achieve. And then his secretary runs into the break room with the news that Zack,  Josh’s son, is in the emergency room. His eight month old son.

At the hospital we meet Dori, Josh’s wife. An expert at all things with the temperament to back it up, Dori is clearly the driving force behind many things, including her marriage. We quickly find out that Zack has been brought in to the hospital after he threw up and Dori noticed that there was blood in the vomit. By the time Dori had reached the hospital with Zach he had coded.

Dori, a phlebotomist, indicates that she believes that the hospital has been negligent with the care and testing of baby Zach. However we soon discover that it is the hospital staff that is suspicious of Dori.

One of the most engaging and fascinating characters of this novel is Dr. Darlene Stokes. To give you an example of how Darin Strauss achieves this photo-mosaic effect with his writing this is the character to study. We are briefly introduced to Dr. Stokes early on in the original hospital scenes, the lengthy and riveting prologue of the novel. Part I then begins in an unfamiliar world, the back of a prison release bus. We are brought into the world of a just released prisoner, Intelligent Muhammad.

It feels jarring at first. The switching from such a tense and climactic moment at the hospital to a dark and grungy portrait of street life. Soon it is revealed how Intelligent is connected to Dr. Darlene Stokes and almost immediately your perspective begins to shift. We then go in depth into the childhood and life of Darlene. It is a submersion that is so powerful that you might find yourself actually feeling like you are inside Darlene’s head. When she banters with a parent hosting a play date we understand how much is left unsaid. We understand her as if we are her.

It is this kind of intense and breathtaking character immersion that makes this novel unique. It is crucial that you are connected to every player before the onion of the story can completely unfold. We are hooked into Josh and Dori Goldin. We are hooked into Dr. Darlene Stokes. We feel ready. And then the world explodes with three words: Munchausen by proxy.

This novel just blew me away.

Everything I know about Munchausen by proxy I have learned from television or movie plots. It is always such an obvious story line on tv and usually resolves in this tidy and absolute way. What this novel presents feels like a more authentic portrayal of this syndrome. Everything feels true. It is not tidy, nor is it absolute. It is a mosaic of characters all trying to do what’s best for a baby.

Author’s Website (really awesome insight into this author)

Publisher’s Site

Amazon Link to More Than it Hurts You

Welcome to The FET, a show produced and sponsored by the Uterus Brigade and The IVP.

Local clinic stuff was sorted out easily (thank goodness!) and my body responded by promptly beginning to bleed. This means that my baseline ultrasound and blood-work will happen tomorrow. And if all looks well I will begin estrogen pills tomorrow evening.

I can’t believe this cycle is finally here. So much anticipation. So much.

Your daily moment of cute: