a little bit about nothing

I went in for a Day 12 ultrasound yesterday (on day 13 because I'm just
a little rebellious like that) and though what we found was generally
positive, it still didn't cut the mustard to achieve my goals this month. It
comes down to a case of bad timing. It seems that the Femura cancer
drugs are working at blowing my eggs up big, but not quite in time. Instead of having a bunch of small eggs and maybe one that looks like it could go eventually, I have a WHOLE uteran-load of big eggs that just aren't quite ready to go. There must be about 7 that are sized between 8.5-11 nanobuckets and unfortunately they need to 18 nanobuckets but hey... at least they are all growing. Sounds like more than one will mature this time which means that if I were to inseminate, I could end up with sextuplets. No good. No good at all. But my fear of birthing and raising a villiage of babies is not the reason why I'm skipping this cycle. I'm skipping this cycle because I'm leaving town. Today; on CD 14. I'll be out of town from CD 14 to CD 20. Dr. Wild Bill is apparently not a travelling Endocrinologist like they had back in the good old days when docs would actually make house-calls to those in need. Because I think I'd qualify for somebody in need. I'm in desperate need of a sperm injection sometime between day CD 14 and CD 20 and now I can't get one. We're going to CA. for the "Geowoodstock" (but more on that later)and to visit drake's and my families. I've already proposed to drake the idea of humping one of her cousins or at least hitting him up for a bathroom break and a cuppa, but she frowned on that idea. Well... if frowns included curse words and mumblings of "sick crazy whore" then that's what she did. She "frowned" upon the idea of my humping her cousin in an effort to steal his sperm. I personally don't see what the problem is, but I've always deferred to her wisdom over my own. Something about Mensa and Doctorate degrees and shit. Whatever. It's the life I chose.

So once again, for an ENTIRE month, I will not have the luxury of speaking about or writing about babies or bodily fluids or conception or speculums or catheters. It breaks my heart - really it does. and what's even more devastating is that you, kind readers, will be forced into a position of reading about my strange day to day occurrences. Like... for instance, this morning in the bathroom. We have a plumbing issue in my office restrooms. I'm not sure how to describe it other than sometimes when somebody runs the water, some gurgling and weird noises occur in the pipes in the toilets which are a good 50 feet away from the sink. Usually it's a mild and unalarming sound; just kinda like a lulla-bye-ish humm whilst you do your business. Today, however, was a totally different story. I was quite literally startled out of my seat. And that seat was a toilet. I sat down to relieve myself and the minute ass-skin made contact with porcelain, there was a LOUD crazy GROWLING sound that was coming out from under the toilet seat. It was like a monster on a murderous blaze of fury. It scared the shit right back into me. I leaped off the toilet and let out an incredibly girlly like scream that I'm sure could be heard from down the hall and especially from the "humming girl" (more on that later too) who was out in the next area washing her hands. If she wasn't so absolutely nutty coo coo already, I'd be a little bit concerned and embarassed about what she thought about all that, but the girl is certifiable so I'm actually okay with it. So this humming girl is this little 90 pound east indian woman who works in the offices next to ours but we share a communal bathroom. She's in the bathroom A LOT and she's ALWAYS ALWAYS humming. It's just barely audible, but it's there. And I honestly have never had an encounter with her when she wasn't humming. She won't look at you... it's not like she's just a really happy melodic person, it's one of those things I think where it's like a nervous hum. or something. the minute she sees you she starts to hum. I don't get it but I do find it quite fascinating. So the humming girl heard my scream and I don't care because she's crazy. and apparently so am I a little bit to be so startled by a toilet monster. anyway... see. See how awful it is that I'm not inseminating this month and can't write about LOGICAL THINGS!

301,139,947

I've been a bit stunned these past couple of weeks at the news rolling in from China and Myanmar; the state of the world and the tragedies abound. This week has brought quite a dichotomy of emotions for me. I was depressed as shit earlier thinking about a loss of 98,000+ (death tolls surpassed 20,000 in Central China and 78,000 in Myanmar)in this world from natural disasters and then multiply that number a gajillion times to account for the countless families utterly destroyed over this. I can't imagine there are many (if any) families that didn't suffer the loss of a family member or loved one in those areas of the world. It's unbelievable. It's terrifying.

And then today's news rolled in and the headlines were about the California Supreme Court rejecting the ban on gay marriage. Waahoooo!!! Way to go, Arnold - Terminator Man! Can't say that I ever thought you had it in ya. And that news made me feel all warm and tingly inside. Almost like I had wet myself, but not quite; I was just smiling all over my insides. It's a similar sensation but I don't recommend trying it at home without the guidance of a professional. Anyway... there is progress being made, slowly but surely in America. A friend of mine, along this same conversational tangent, noted today that we have a damn good possibility of having either a WOMAN or a Black guy elected President. THAT's PROGRESS!!! That's awesome! We have limitless possibilities. Hell, maybe one day we'll have a black woman LEZBO running for President. Maybe I should run for President? I match two of the three! I mean sure, I know almost nothing about politics and my jaw twitches when I tell lies and I don't belong to mensa or have a Juris Doctorate (although my wife does... does that count?), I wouldn't be caught dead in a skirt suit and high heels, and my only compelling campaign agenda would be to instate a 4 day work week and mandatory happy hour at the office at least 3 of those 4 days a week, but hey... I could do it! I can be charming and I was cute for a brief period at one point in my life circa 1993-1999, so that should count for something. I mean... isn't that how so many other president's have made it to Pennsyvania Ave.? Counting on the flippancy, shallowness and utter stupidity of a sad many Americans? I could make big posters and hang them all over the streets of D.C. that said something like... "ERAE FOR PREZ... SHE'S A DAMN GOOD LEZ" or... "ELECT ERAE. SHE'S KINDA GAY AND SHE'LL MAKE YOUR DAY!" and pass out lollipops and stale peeps to star-struck passerbys. Drakey probably wouldn't vote for me unless I agreed to let her make all of the important decisions, but I understand that there are 301,139,947 people in the United States and you gotta figure that oh about 70% of those folks are over the age of 18 so that leaves approximately... shit... my calculator doesn't go up that high (and neither does my brain)... let's just say "a few" votes to get. I could get a few votes. 4 day work week, people! Who wouldn't vote for that? and SCREW everything else. My stance will be about priorities of the every day, regular People. The PEOPLE, YO!

Yah. Anyway. If you're the praying type, I hope you have the poor citizens of Myanmar and Central China in your prayers. and you should probably pray that I don't run for president while you're at it. and also if you're the sane and rational type, at all, do me a favor and raise a toast tonight to the California Supreme Court!

don't read this... it's too depressing.

I had my saline infused ultrasound (a.k.a. sonohysterography) today to measure my polyp and determine whether a surgical procedure was necessary to remove it. It wasn't. My polyp has once again, disappeared. It's magical, that thing. Many people have strange talents like curving their tongues into animal-like figurines or making their elbow joints/bones pop out like puppeteers, but me? Well... my super secret talent is a disappearing and reappearing uterine polyp. That's right. Don't all rush to aspire to be me. It's just too fanciful!

It may show up again. Apparently I'm one of those people whose hormones are so ruthless that they cause polyps to grow out of sheer rebellion. But as Dr. Wild Bill put it, I'm also one of those people that can pass them. Sexy thought, ain't it? Would it be TMI if I told you that I actually know and KNEW (at the time) the exact moment when my polyp was making it's exit? Yah; gross, huh? Just pretend that I'm kidding. for everybody's sake.

So this is all good news and such. Strange how I couldn't bring myself to feel happy or relieved today. It does mean that this whole polyp business (threat) should be over. If I get them in the future (which I'm sure I will) it will be casually dismissed. Oh THAT girl... she just sort of grows those from time to time. Don't mind her. She'll pass it with her next menstrual cycle.

But I don't feel happy. I barely feel relieved, although logically I know that I should be. Truth be told, I feel spent. Absolutely, resolutely, SPENT. I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of making excuses and bailing out of work to show up at that god-forsaken clinic once, twice, three times a month and waiting like a useless loafer in the lobby while the good doctors of Seattle Fertility Hades clinic take their sweet ass time to get to me. I'm tired of asking Drake to do it as well, because as angelic and patient as she is, her time is no less sacred than my own. I'm tired of stripping down to my black work socks and button downed shirt with my big white ass hanging out all over the place, lying open and exposed with my blasted feet in god-damn oven mitts waiting on god knows who to come in and thrust a cold speculum and catheter up my twat. I'm tired of cringing. and I'm tired of cramping. I'm tired of hearing the word "specimen" or "sperm" and not reactively flinching like any good human (or at least lezbo) should. and if I hear some asshole say "you're gonna feel me touch" or "this might be a little cold" one more time I can't help it, but I am liable to shoot somebody. and lastly, I'm tired of getting my hopes up only to be let down every two weeks for the past FIFTEEN FUCKING months. I'm tired. I'm spent. I certainly don't intend to minimize or disrespect all the folks who have fertility issues but I can't help but being jealous of those who at least get to just have sex or make love to their "person" on their own time, and in their own bed and hope that they can create a baby out of that love. But to factor in appontments and trips to the clinic and speculums and anonymous "donor sperm" and let's not forget the fucking BILLS AND BILLS AND BILLS that no insurance company will pay but they manage to give us just enough play so that Drake spends hours every month battling with them, fifteen months feels like a LONG time for this bullshit. and I'm tired. I'm spent. I want another game.

But I can't quit this. I can't give up on the hope of having a BABY... a family! Drakey and I would make good, and if not that, then at least comical, parents. We deserve this. and a child would be lucky to have us.

I've just returned from tropical paradise to my shitty job and neon-lit office in rainy cold Seattle to realize another failed cycle not barely a day after getting back and it's all sort of driven me into a pretty damn low funk. I feel utterly defeated. and I need to catch a fucking break.

kind sir, have you seen my ankle bones?

I'm in the process of penning a letter to the FBI, CIA, President
"Shit-For-Brains" and various private detectives requesting that they aid
me in my search to find my recently missing ankle bones. I'm guessing the
first place they should look is on the Boeing aircraft that hosted
Flight # 207 from Honoloulu to Seattle last night. Because it was in
baggage claim, shortly after this flight, when I first noticed they had gone missing. I dismissed it casually at the time, because i was lethargic from a 6 hour flight and i figured the 3rd degree sunburns on my legs coupled with cabin pressure delight might be partially the problem. But this afternoon, sitting at my computer,
already back at work like the oh-so-loyal employee that I am, I noticed that not only had my ankle bones not reappeared, but that they have sunk further into oblivion and now my entire leg is swollen as well. So, I'm officially on red alert. I've already bought the milk cartons and I'll be searching for old photos of my skinny ankles tonight to assemble the production and plaster missing ankle posters all over town. This is a serious matter, people, and I'm not laughing.

Truth is, I've never seen anything so hideous in my life.

Secondly - I would be much more inclined to accept the mystery of my missing
ankle bones if i were oh... say... super pregnant or something. But I'm not that either. In fact, I peed on a stick this morning and it told me "absolutely NOT." BFN as we call it in this world. and frankly, I just don't have the energy or will this week to declare mutiny on my pee sticks, as I've done in the past; successfully I might add. Nope - no mutiny this time. I don't feel remotely pregnant. I just feel like a bitter ole' bitch, making the transition from paradise to neon office lights with nothing to look forward to other than finding her ankle bones and having her uterus operated on in a few short weeks. Becuz polyp surgery, now, will surely be in order. WAAHHOO!!!

Thank god for copious amounts of alcohol. That's all I've got to say about that.

Bun Baking in the Maui Sun

Aloha! This blog is brought to you from the 5th floor balcony of our rented condo resort dealy-bobby over-looking the breathtaking view of the South Pacific ocean on the precipice of a Maui sunset. Whew! That's a mouthful. And this blog entry is entitled... "I'm NOT EVER EVER going back home to Seattle and YOU CAN'T FUCKING MAKE ME!!!" Oh... and the mood, just to bring you there with me, is perfectly tranquil. The good kind of tranquil. The iPod is enhancing the experience with the sound track to "Little Orphan Annie" - no just kidding. A little Keb'Mo, some Jazzanova and of course, my beloved, Erasure, occasionally breaks up the tranquility and forces me to dance wildly and barbaric like, flinging my shell-clad breasticles over the balcony in tribal-like cadence for all to see - even those from distant islands... because you know... have you seen my breasts? They are far reaching, to say the least! :)

Tomorrow we plan to do a whirlwind circle island tour, geocaching along the way. Should lend to some terrific hikes, lesser known beaches, and hopefully some down home Hawaiian history, culture and lore. I can't wait!!!

If I had half a brain on me (no comment, please), I'd say that this kind of environment can lead to some ideal conditions for nurturing a little fetus. Or implanting an egg? and the Umbrella drinks should provide a little bit of pleasure through it's hard work. :) I wouldn't mind a baby with a little bit of the Aloha spirit in it's soul!