Dear Reilly...

The End

2009-10-27T10:13:00.000-07:00

OKAY.. so I started this post a LONG LONG time ago and then never finished. So needless to say that it's LONG OVER DUE and I apologize for the delay. What can I say? When I go for closure, I REALLY go for closure.

Drake and I sat down last night and finally had the conversation of what to do next.

We have unanimously decided that it's time to put this project and chapter in our lives to rest. Part of me wants to say that it is with regret, or even mixed emotions that I write this but the truth of it is that it's not! I'm honestly relieved, liberated... happy! I mean, sure, there might be a twinge of sadness that creeps in and chokes me in a few weeks or maybe months or years but I think that we both feel that we put forth a damn honest and good effort into this, we did most everything right and the Universe decided that it wasn't meant to happen. and that's perfectly okay! I, personally, have been feeling A LOT of doubt and well... I wouldn't even call it mixed emotions because my emotions were pretty adamantly screaming "NO DON'T DOOOOO IT!" over the past 3 or 4 months but I've been keeping my feelings and opinions quiet because I felt guilty roping Drake into this situation in the first place (and her 10 year "processing" phase) and then pulling a 180 on her. And no doubt that some basic fertility troubles which of course further complicated everything factored into it, but at the end of the day, I just wasn't that interested anymore and I desperately needed / NEED to put some closure on this. Turns out that Drake felt somewhat the same way and now we have our closure! And as the old saying goes... "When one door closes, somewhere a Window opens" and I believe that window is going to take the form of world travel and can just tell you that I am running stark naked at 110 miles a minute toward that window and intend to jump through it in a wild rage shouting... "THANK GOD ALMIGHTY I'M FREE AT LAST!!!!!!!" or something equally dramatic, I'm sure.

So, THANK YOU, kind readers... for your support... for your optimism and encouragement and mostly just for your company. Your presence was definitely not lost on me. These were no doubt 2-3 of the most emotionally challenging, enlightening, and in some part, rewarding years of my life and I have zero regrets what-so-ever about our decision to try, and our decision to stop. The fact that we got to try at all, that Drake came around and said "YES" that one day back in January, that we had the financial means to do so without too much of a strain, and the fact that we took this journey together and didn't kill each other speaks volumes. For all of those things, I am forever humble and grateful. I honestly couldn't be more in love with my wife and I can't wait to embark upon our next chapter together. For those of you who have kids (especially babies), this has NO AFFECT on my extradordinary talents at being the BABY WHISPERER. I still want to hold them, feed them, burp them, let them shit on my hands, projectile vomit into my hair... I love all that stuff! Bring it! All my energies will be focused on being a damn good Auntie and Baby Whisperer to all of my breeder friends and then when I'm satisfied, I can hand them back and jump on a plane to Spain or Portugal.

I will be resuming my blogging efforts at my trusty old travel blog location of www.grapes-n-grain.blogspot.com so visit me over there from time to time if you get the hankerin'. AGAIN... many thanks for everybody's support and encouragement. I feel like in so many many ways... I've won anyway.

Drake... my vampire wife

2009-09-18T13:49:00.000-07:00

Dearest Ladies and Gay Men -

Please take heed of the warning notice*** I would advise you to skip this post if you are at all turned off or morally insulted by reading vivid descriptors of my wife’s magical and somewhat destructive anatomical bits.

Miraculously, we have achieved two monthly inseminations in a row. This is a first! and even if we don't wind up with a baby out of it, I still consider it a wild and glorious accomplishment in the grand scheme of things. In fact, that's not the only celebratory accomplishment this month. You see, Drake had some family photos taken of her ovaries this week and if the baby jesus wazn't mistaken, those mother fuckers actually FOUND her left ovary! They found both ovaries, even!!! So, today I am drinking to progress. Fuck everything else. Anyway, I digress. We had some photos taken, and then she got a surge line on her piss stick and all was going quite swimmingly so we went in this AM for THE BIG INSEM and by golly if the saying is true that "the best things are the hardest to come by" well then not only will we get a child out of this, but our child will be nothing short of a prodigal genius with stunning good looks and super hero defenses. It will speak 14 languages and will have achieved a Nobel prize by the time it hits puberty. Gosh. Okay... so I may or may not have mentioned in prior posts about my wife's "double curved" cervix. What does that mean, you ask? Well, I don't honestly really know except that it makes it damn near impossible to get that catheter in there to inject the junk and what should be a 2 minute procedure winds up being a 30 minute workout complete with blood sweat and tears by both the patient, the doctor and the maybe overly sympathetic supporting wife. The positive of this? That shit NEVER FALLS OUT! EVER!!!!!!!!!!! As testimony to the challenges her curvy cervix creates, the
3rd catheter finally did the trick and when the good doc extracted it, her vajayjay had actually managed to curve that wire about 180 degrees... no shit! It was amazing. I immediately and loudly boasted, "HOLY SHIT STICKS, MY WIFE HAS A VAMPIRE TWAT!!! AMAZING!!" Good thing all the docs and US Techs know me and love me so much otherwise they might find me a tad offensive or at the very least peculiar. Hey... if you can't laugh in these situations, you'll cry you're eyes out so why not, right?

So... with Monty's essence safely and securely trapped inside of her twisty vampire twat, we now settle in for the wait. Tic... Toc... Tic... Toc...

it just keeps getting stranger

2009-09-02T09:36:00.000-07:00

Well... Drake received an unwelcomed visit from Aunt Flo earlier this week. Actually a full FOUR days earlier than anticipated which means one of two things. a) she's got a really damn short and inconsistent luteal phase or b) we somehow totally screwed up the timing on this. And Mr. Monty McSteamy had a whopping record breaking 22 MILLION sperm count this time so that's a whole lot of swimmers wasted on poor timing. Ugh. Not sure what to think. I definitely am going to encourage getting back to the basics; the Fertility Lessons 101. We need to start temping on a regular basis and determine some sort of pattern to when exactly she ovulates and what other signs are consistent with her ovulation because clearly the OPK's are not painting a very accurate picture. Anyway... another month, hopefully another try.

the all american sport

2009-08-19T09:25:00.000-07:00

Today we go in for an insem appt. I am excited. I'm not sure which of the many Hades Clinic minions will be administering to us today but if it's Dr. Evil, I swear to god I will run screaming to the door, dragging my half naked wife with me.

On a separate note, however, I wanted to comment on a very interesting (some would say tragic but I say opportunistic) event that took place in the Baseball world last Thursday. You see this 3rd baseman for the Seattle Mariners, Adrian Beltre, actually RIPPED his testicles open. No shit. This is not an Erin Rae exaggeration or outright lie of any sort, I swear. The mother fucking commando TORE HIS NUT SACK wide open and then kept on playing for another 5 innings. Now... my first thoughts upon hearing this news was... "huh? but isn't that where all the sperm is stored?" If I would have known that these kind of opportunities could arise from a stinkin' baseball game, well then hot damn, I would have bought me some season passes! I guess this sheds new light on Dr. Evil's suggestion that we at one point got our hands or nether regions in the way of some "stray sperm".
Anyway... I wasn't at the game. I am not a fan of baseball. But my lack of interest in baseball probably saved me from a rather embarrassing and news worthy arrest because I can totally imagine myself scrambling through the crowd, stage-dive style through the bleachers all the way down from the nose-bleed seats and tumbling onto the field shouting in a frenzied panic... "TURKEY BASTER!! SOMEBODY PASS ME A TURKEY BASTER!!!!!!"

a new kind of victory

2009-08-18T13:59:00.000-07:00

Today Drake got a mostly blue line on the OPK which translates directly to a mostly green light on the insemination train. I'll take it. Even if we don't get knocked up this try, at least we GOT TO TRY! a totally new kind of victory. one I didn't exactly expect but I'll take it. any positive forward moving news is ecstatic news to me!!!

CRACKING DOWN ON OVARIAN THEFT!

2009-08-17T15:05:00.000-07:00

Drake’s left ovary is missing. This is the 2nd time now that we’ve gone in for an ultrasound to measure the size of her eggs and we couldn’t find the left ovary. I’m convinced that it is hiding out somewhere with Saddam Hussain but I’ve also taken action to create some milk carton ads with a picture of Angelina Jolie’s (figured there was an accurate resemblance there and she was all to willing to Fed Ex me one) left ovary on it just in case it turns up somewhere around the neighborhood or on one of those America’s Most Wanted crime shows. OVARIAN THEFT. CRACKING DOWN ACROSS AMERICA! Should be one of Obama’s new initiatives.

Anyway… we went in BRIGHT AND EARLY (our favorite hour of any Saturday) for an ultrasound and the tech banged her wand around in there for a long while every which way, past the ass gas, past the uterus past some undigested pizza and and and… she just couldn’t find it. She finally got a little frustrated and I would imagine embarrassed and told drake to please move around the room (walk, run, etc.) for a little bit to see if it would lodge the damn thing back into place for proper viewing. The minute the US Tech left the room, drake launched into a wild series of calisthenics complete with jumping jacks, high kicks, lunges, and holy shit was I SWEATIN! And it was only 7:30 in the morning and all I was doing was sitting there watching her. So the lady comes back in and bangs her wand around for a 2nd try and unfortunately to no avail. $250 bucks – ka ching... for nothin’! The difference between her and Dr. Evil, however, is that when Dr. Evil couldn’t find her allusive left ovary – she simply told Drake that she had already ovulated and that her ovary was collapsed. We, of course, taking her professional word for it, stopped monitoring for the rest of that month only to find out much too late that she had, in fact, ovulated and that Dr. Evil is a bitch. But that’s nothing new. I was at least grateful for this gal admitting that she just can’t find the damn thing. This way we will continue on the traditional route of OPK’s and such and can hopefully, potentially still inseminate this month. We shall see.

been so long i practically forgot my password

2009-08-14T16:08:00.000-07:00

Dear Internet Peoples -

I am sorry. It's been a long time, I know. I have some reasons/excuses but none of them are really good so I'm not going to bother with them here.

The scoop? YOU HAVEN'T MISSED A DAMN THING! The last time we actually had any encounter with Monty McSteamy's umm... impregnating fluid? was back in early April. Yes, it is now August. We've been on "Operation Plan B - pass the Baton" since Jan of this year and we've inseminated oooooh... let me get out my fingers to count... oh wait, yes... that's it... JUST ONCE! bummer, huh? To recap - there was the Femura. Then the bleeding. The cramping. The shocking multitude of menstrual cycles packed into a few short months. and lastly the Ovarian Cysts that all collectively were a side affect of the Femura. We've kicked the Femura to the curb now, needless to say but surprisingly AGAINST their recommendation. Really? You think?

A month ago Drake came home from work and informed me that she had just peed on a stick and it was time but the clinic had already closed for the evening and so we needed to leave a voicemail for them that we wanted to come in for a squirt the next morning and to please call when they opened. and like good little fertility medical facilitators, they did call. they called at my most lively hour of 7:00AM on a Saturday morning and proceeded to argue with drake on the phone about why they wouldn't let us come in and get inseminated that day. First - Drake had had a minor and unrelated surgery about a week prior to this event. She claimed that she was perfectly fine and capable of lying on a metal plank with her feet in stirrups but they feared that there may still be traces of anaesthesia in her system. A week later? For reals??? Secondly - and this is our fault - we sort of blew off the appointment we were supposed to make to ensure that the cysts had gone away. It was a busy time. We had family in town, yada yada yada... big mistake there. And that brings us up to the present date. Drake's playing at fertile myrtl again and we're going in tomorrow at 8am to get an ultrasound and measure the eggs. We're already at day 16 or so so I'm really really really really just sorta kinda hoping that something is mature, that there is not another anovulatory cycle to contend with, and that we can get our little LH shot and inseminate on Sunday as if the world were suddenly back in balance and things went right for us. Wouldn't that be something! Gosh - I find myself humming Mary Poppins tunes just thinking about it! So... perhaps I'll have something to rant about here again in the coming days. If there are more issues, I may actually just jump off the internet cliff and shut up for a while again because nobody wants to read the word FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCKKKK over and over and over again but well... you see... I may have temporarily lost my positive attitude but I remain hopeful. just a smidge.

delinquent

2009-06-02T08:17:00.000-07:00

so sorry i've been delinquent. it's a combination of my irritation at this whole ordeal and the fact that there is truly nothing to speak of along this vein. the drugs that drake had every side effect under the sun to also managed to give her ovarian cysts, so we've been put on hold once again while her internal bits repair themselves. it's been nearly 4 months since we switched to Plan B, Second String Womb and we've gotten to actually inseminate ONCE. i'm peeved as hell and about damn ready to have this go our way for a change. as soon as we get back on track, i'll start more frequent updates again. should be in the next month or so.

drugs suck

2009-05-07T10:49:00.000-07:00

Drake is having wicked side affects from both the Femera (originally) and now the Prevera (progesterone) she was put on to kick start Aunt Flo again. I'm a bit worried about her and will push to continue this business sans drugs. She has an ultrasound appt. tomorrow to check for cysts, which are another crappy side affect of these drugs. Will update on what we find there. As par for the course, this isn't going exactly swimmingly thus far but I remain confident and hopeful. Takes a LOT more than a little fake-out pregnancies, nauseas and unhappy wife and some unnatural uterine growths to get this bitch down these days!! :)

Blame it on the Meds - a post by Drakey

2009-04-29T15:52:00.000-07:00

So, Dr. Wild Bill's office doesn't appear to be at all concerned about the unusual light period/obese spotting. In fact, they think it is related to the Femara that they prescribed for this last cycle. Interesting, no one told us about any potential side effects. A quick Google search only revealed one complaint about Femara and atypical bleeding but was chock full of side effects:

"The most common side effects associated with Femara are nausea, vomiting, fatigue, headache, muscle aches, diarrhea, constipation, chest pain, night sweats, and weight gain." There were also a fair number of posts about an increased urge to pee.

That explains the extreme nausea and stomach pain and why I have been such a frequent pee-er lately. It also clears up why, in Mexico, my bathing suit trunks didn't fit as well as they usually do.

Wild Bill has ordered a round of Provera which should kick start the period and then an ultrasound to check for cysts since that too may be an issue with Femara. Despite these less than savory side effects, Femara seems to be a fan favorite with the TTC crowd, and there are quite a few very positive testimonials. A little nausea, increased trips to the potty and a little chub seems bearable if there is a kid on the other end of the tunnel. Sounds like pregnancy training wheels if you ask me.

updates

2009-04-29T09:11:00.000-07:00

Sorry to keep people waiting on this. We were stuck in Mexico earlier this week and are finally coming around to real-world things again. Drake is not pregnant. I, personally, am dumbfounded but have more feelings of concern about what the hell is going on than feelings of sadness I guess. We have a call into the clinic to speak with Dr. Wild Bill and see if we can gain some insight into what has occurred over the past two very strange cycles. Will update you once that occurs. In the meantime, please be thinking good thoughts that our 48 hours spent attempting to get the hell OUT of Cancun did not infect us with the swine flu. Because THAT would just be the perfect ending to all of this. :O

because i'm never wrong and because i said so...

2009-04-21T15:27:00.001-07:00

We will be heading out to Cancun tomorrow and will be taking the HPT while we're out of the country. I will be bringing our ridiculously tiny laptop with us ("the mini", as we call it) so I may log on and blog but chances are I'll be inebriated and celebrating. Suffice it to say, however, that I have EVERY REASON IN THE WORLD to believe that my wife is pregnant right now. While Drake is "cautiously optimistic", I am balls-to-the-walls, knock-down-drag-out slap-my-knee and fry-mah-hyde dead convinced that she is knocked up. AND... my beliefs are not unfounded. You see, Sunday night, my perfectly nocturnal wife announced to me that she had a very bad stomach ache / nausea feeling and that she was going to bed. AT EIGHT O'CLOCK!! This has never happened. She can be sprawled out on the floor with the Black Plague and bleeding out of her eyeballs and she will STILL stay up until 2am watching TV and doing cross-word puzzles. This is no lie. Very shortly after she went to bed, she discovered that she was bleeding/spotting... a full week before her period was supposed to start and conveniently on DPO 8. She thinks that she may have started her period after 26 days, which also has NEVER EVER IN HER ENTIRE LIFE HAPPENED and that it's just a very strange, light period, but well... she's just wrong; frankly, and I know better. If it looks like implantation bleeding and walks and talks like implantation bleeding, then by god, it's implantation bleeding, WOMAN!!! Furthermore, we were almost somewhat diligently temping this month so I also know for a fact that there is no chance at all she could have ovulated earlier than she had so if this truly is an early and much unexpected visit from Aunt Flo, then she suddenly has a 7 day luteal phase and well... that's just not the case. I have been in a not-so-cautious state of euphoria ever since and despite of the fact that my wife lay sickly and pained in bed next to me Sunday night. If it is her period, well then things are REALLY fucked up and we'll have a lot to test for and figure out but I'm sincerely not worried. Not one damn bit. We WILL report back with a confirmation once we return from Mexico, but until then?... well, hope that baby likes Margaritas? Oh wait... that would be bad! and we shall name it... "Chimichanga".

and the lord sayeth... (toot)

2009-04-12T17:58:00.000-07:00

Technically... my beautiful wife, Drakey, could be pregnant right now. Well... at least in the process of BECOMING pregnant. We did it al-naturale this time by simply peeing on some sticks and forgoing the ultrasounds and shots and what-not. And her "fern day" conveniently occurred AFTER we returned from our D.C. trip (thank the baby jesus) and even more conveniently, fell on a Saturday, which is always preferable.

It went remarkably smoothly. We had a moment of near cardiac arrest when the usher to our baby-making room announced that a nurse practitioner would be joining our tawdry twosome shortly, but it turned out that Dr. Evil is not the only NP at the clinic. The new NP, who we shall call "She Who is Not the Epitome of Evil Because that Spot is Already Taken," got Drakey all harnessed up. After inserting the spreaders she asked Drake whether she had ever given birth or otherwise had a procedure done on her cervix. Apparently her cervix was open to an abnormally great extent. Well, anyone who knows Drake is well aware that she has not made it a practice of squirting living beings out of her nether regions. And isn't it just plain rude to talk about one's possible liposuction, collagen shots and cervical "procedures"? Drakey did spend an awful lot of time living in L.A. Well, perhaps this just means that the child will squirt out like a hot knife through butter.

"She Who is Not the Epitome of Evil Because that Spot is Already Taken" had a spot of trouble trying to get the catheter into Drakey's uterus because in addition to having a gaping black hole in her cervix, she also has a "double curve". She kept pushing on Drakey's lower abdomen in her efforts to get the tube properly inserted thus eliciting a number of breathy grunts. "She Who is Not the Epitome of Evil Because that Spot is Already Taken" was concerned that she was puncturing Drakey's insides, but it turns out that Drakey only needed to pee; badly. As did I. Then it was all over and we proceeded to wait out the obligatory 15 minutes with hips raised. Par for the course for us, we spent that time engaged in deeply philosophical discourse.

Drake: You're doing the pee dance and it's making me crazy. I can't look at you (turning head sharply away from me).

Erin Rae: Fine. I'll stop doing the pee dance. See. Totally still. Now look at me in the face and do it like you love it.

Drake: (turning head back around cautiously) NOW YOUR FACE IS DOING THE PEE DANCE!

Erin Rae: How on earth can my FACE do the pee dance??

Drake: It IS, I swear. Your cheeks are all twitching and quivering and stuff. Your FACE is doing the PEE DANCE! (erupt in belly laughs).

I then ended all belly laughing conversations as I typically do - with a loud, pronunced fart.

Drake: Do you know that when our child asks us about his/her moment of conception we can talk about the magic of Mama's face doing a pee dance. Then finish with "And then the Lord sayeth that Mama farted. That is the endeth, that's all I'm sayingeth."

April Fools Day

2009-04-01T14:45:00.001-07:00

I'm beginning to gain an appreciation for this ridiculous holiday. and as proof, I wreaked a little havoc in my coworker's cube this morning... for a little April Fools Day shits and giggles. and yes, they are ALL filled with water. It went over well. Here's a photo op of the scene. I ended up adding about an additional 50 cups to the floor after the picture was taken, making a grand total of about 200 dixie cups. Also notice that her chair is taped to the floor. Good times. now BRING ME MORE VICTIMS!! Mwwwuuuuha ha ha ha.

counting children

2009-03-29T17:59:00.000-07:00

You may recall my recent blog account citing that a clearly FLAWED Facebook application told me that I was meant to have 4-7 children. While I still think that Facebook is a lying sack of shit with serious AI challenges, I am now nearly a veteran, or shall I say “victim” of surviving the company of so MANY MANY many petites. All of yesterday, and particularly last night, I survived a grueling ordeal that involved hundreds of thousands of millions of children literally tripping over my feet. And more seriously, causing me to spill my wine!!!

Yesterday started off with a GPS maze exhibit at the Pacific Science Center which brought out the under 4 feet tall crowd in droves. The maze was filled with dead ends, blind corners, the threat of land mines and even worse - massive numbers of very excitable and very screamy children. After I regained consciousness, I drew up a floor plan to systematically apologize to all the folks whose strollers I barreled over in my effort to escape, and collect the scattered infants, of course, which I believe I accomplished with a relatively high success rate. It was a close one, but we made it out alive and without the threat of a call to CPS.

After only having an hour to decompress, we headed off to our dear friend’s birthday party. Let it be known that our friend works for a daycare center and his daughter just started kindergarten so this party was in part, a grand experiment to merge the parent crowd with the heavy drinking, smack talking, hedonistic crowd. You know… the close circle of friends. I should preface this by telling you that the actual evite to this party specifically encouraged people to bring their children. And I am not at all joking when I state, under no uncertain terms that ALL the breeders took that statement quite literally because not only did the party goers bring all of their children, I am pretty sure they went out and adopted, borrowed, or otherwise immaculately conceived some more for this occasion.

Kelly greeted us at the door with an urgent, and all too appropriate “Have you been drinking? If not, you should start right now. and I mean, RIGHT NOW!!!.” That’s never a good sign. I was feeling a little socially drained from my morning / afternoon outing so I spent the next six hours quietly attempting to count the children. After I ran out of fingers and toes, I moved on to my friend’s fingers and toes but that proved difficult because they were all wildly gesticulating in dramatic intoxication. My efforts were further complicated by the fact that these children seemed to be multiplying by the nano-second, which was interesting given that none of them were of pubescent age yet. Not only were they increasing dramatically in number, my work was made even harder by the fact that they were racing around like Pac Man’s ghosts on crack cocaine. I obviously didn’t think through the matter when I thought it’d be a little humorous to spike their Capri Suns and juice boxes with speed balls and espresso beans. That it would have this impressive of an effect?... well, hind sight is 20/20 they say. My bad. I was thinking to myself that this task would be so much easier if I could just whip out my tranquilizer gun and tag each of their ears and then release them back into the wild, but I was worried I would miss and accidentally take out an adult, which I have a hunch would not have gone over well. I was multi-tasking quite impressively with counting the children, mainlining Chardonnay and feigning interest and participation in adult conversations, so my science was slightly imperfect after all.

In short, it was intense. And amusing as all get out. At the end of the night while Drake and I were lying in bed commenting on our war wounds inflicted from the knees down, Drake turned to me and said very sweetly… “honey, when we have a child, it will only be allowed to have one friend. Okay?” I emphatically agreed without any hesitation and added….”yes; and it would be even better if that friend was imaginary!”

uno dos tres - arriba arriba andale!!!

2009-03-26T10:32:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Cycle Attempt Numeral Dos; Second String Womb Operation Knock Up: v. 2.2.

According to my very precise and 100% accurate calculations, Drake coulda shoulda woulda (and most likely DID) ovulate EXACTLY PRECISELY on the day we had expected her to. The day which non-coincidentally happen to be exactly 1 day after she went in for her second ultrasound when Dr. Evil couldn't find her left ovary. You see, I did some Math. I know... (insert dramatic pause here for affect). And I calculated the average growth (in nano-fuckin'-buckets) of her follicles (based on her first ultrasound visit) and they would have been mature enough to drop right on that day. So whether she has anovulatory cycles or not, at least my Math is rightyo-damn perfect. and let me tell you ladies and gay men... THAT is a small miracle in itself. I so totally deserve children for that. Multiple petites even. Speaking of multiples, small little side bar anecdote here. I took one of those stupid silly little quizzes on facebook the other day about how many children you are meant to have. My other friends who had taken it all came out 1, or 2 or so. Something perfectly reasonable, you know? I took it and the answer was 4-7. WTF? JUST... W T F??? Just because I don't mind a little bit of clutter and I wouldn't immediately hurl myself into a vat of boiling water if a little bit of baby vomit or tinkle got on my hands. Seriously? Facebook insults me. Whatever.

Anyway... back to matters of my favorite topic: the Hades Clinic and Dr. Evil. Drake received a bill from Hades for last months services. The ultrasounds which we fully expected to be charged for but then an EXTRA BONUS CHARGE for a "consultation" on the day of the 2nd ultrasound. Yah; that was the day that she changed her appointment 3 times in an effort to avoid Dr. Evil and ended up with her anyway! Guess what? Upon further investigation of this charge, it was revealed that Dr. Evil CHARGED her for her 10 minutes of time where she informed drake (wrongly, I suspect) that her ovary had already collapsed implying that she had already ovulated and missed this cycle. If an ultrasound tech would have done the deed as was intended, of course this charge would not exist. Ultimately a small price to pay in order to say once and for all, I DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE WANT DR. EVIL ON THIS CASE EVER AGAIN AND YOU NEED TO MAKE A BIG NOTATION ABOUT THAT IN MY FILE. Or else! I guess firing her the first time and taking her off the case just wasn't enough. Regardless, I think the situation is handled now. For a small fee, of course.

Anyway, I have promised Drake that I wouldn't dwell too much on the negative experiences this time around so from here on out... unless something collossally bad happens, I will only report on nice pleasant things like oooooooo... there were beautiful butterflies fluttering around above my head while I lay basking in the charming neon glow of the bright warm lights while my feet rested comfortably in fluffy pillowy stirrups. Dr. Angelina Jolie offered me wine and roses to accompany my insemination party and upon my departure, I was presented with a bright shiney new pair of shoes as a gesture of gratitude for my patronage and time. I will have everybody at the clinic autograph them so that I can always remember this heart warming experience. Ooooo... ooooooooo!

Off topic from the pleasantries of scientifically enhanced baby making, Drake and I are making a quickish trip to D.C. next week for the brother's wedding. I look forward to the time off, to 1:1 time with Drakey and to visiting with family. We should be approaching insem time the week we get back. Stay tuned. Oh... and I'm feeling very lonely out here in blog land with no commenters any more. Breaks my fragile little heart, don't you know?

Happy St. Paddy's Day!

2009-03-17T16:47:00.000-07:00

I’d like to take this opportunity to wish everybody a happy happy something on the Greatest Holiday of the Year. If you are likewise struggling with fertility, well then may the luck of the Irish be with you. And if you are not infertile and are instead littered with little wild children and such, growing at your feet like weeds, well… then may the luck of the Irish be with you as well. And if you fit neither of these categories, and are just a friend or perfect stranger lurking here because perhaps you enjoy casual reading with the word "fuck" and other such “black garden words” (as my mother would put it) interjected in copious amounts throughout nearly all of my sentences, well then… god bless ya and may the luck of the Irish be with you as well. But then again, I'd say there's a good chance you are already Irish… not unlike me.

Oh – and as for an update. Yah; right. Here's the update. The smooth sailing fertility boat with drakey came to a screeching halt last week when she went back in for her ultrasound and shot only to have Dr. Evil (who was NOT supposed to be there and in fact we changed our appt. 3 times in order to avoid her and the BITCH showed up anyway) inform us that her ovary must have collapsed (implying she had already ovulated) or she had an anovulatory cycle because she couldn’t find one of her ovaries. The truth of the matter is, Dr. Evil just wasn’t technical enough to be able to maneuver that wand through all of the ass gas to find her ovary that was hosting the big eggs this month. What a bitch. So we were forced to skip our first cycle. 2 days later, Drake is almost 100% SURE she ovulated based on well… many things that anybody who is doing this or has done this is all well aware of so I’ll spare you the nasty details. Sigh. Assuming we are in town (which is a 1:2 shot) next month, we’ll hit this again. But not before we formally fire Dr. Evil. AGAIN. Not that we ever hired her back in the first place but they keep sneaking her in to see us when we are supposed to have appointments with other people. She’s like that tic that you just can’t shake.

But let us not dwell on unpleasantries. It is, afterall, a VERY happy day. HAPPY St. PATTIES Day, all!

magic wands and ass gas

2009-03-04T11:22:00.000-08:00

This morning was Drake's first appointment at the Hades Clinic. We had scheduled a Day 13 ultrasound because we've decided to stack the odds straight out of the gates and just go for the ultrasounds and subsequent LH shots (which apparently I'm not supposed to call them LH shots cuz that's not what they are called but whatever... who the hell cares) and even though we figured she wouldn't be ready on Day 13, we thought it couldn't hurt to have an ultrasound and make sure that all of her girly bits were all there and situated in the right places and such. I'm sure you all can imagine my shock and horror when the wand slipped in and the dark screen in front of us revealed none other than a very large penis!!! No... no no. I'm just kidding. She has 100% girly parts... now pictographically documented. Jesus Tits... wouldn't that be awful! Anyway... I digress. Drake was a little nervous. Her first words to me this morning were that she didn't sleep well and in fact had strange anxiety dreams all night. She dreamt that my mother peed on her. That's right; my very lovely mother lifted her leg, aimed and squirted pee at her and then laughed her ass off about it afterwards. Love it! Anyway... so we get to the Hades Clinic bright and early for our 7:15am ultrasound and are told that the Ultrasound Tech is stuck in traffic and hasn't made it in yet. Of course. Naturally. Why would I expect anything less? So we waited. and we waited. and I tried really hard not to get all angst up and fire breathing and such which I think I mostly succeeded at but it wasn't easy let me tell ya! As it turns out, the Ultrasound Tech was the same lady who talked my goddamn ear off at 7am many many moons ago when I learned all about her family from the East Coast and her Thanks Giving Day traditions and her skeletons in the closet and how warm she takes her bath water and and and... She's still a talker. It wasn't a fluke. Unfortunately. She talked us through all the little bits and pieces and they all looked lovely I suppose but she had a hard time locating the ovaries because of the presence of "ass gas" (not quite what she termed it but this is me were dealing with) floating around in her pelvis. It appears that Drakey is not an early morning defecater. She explained that it was pretty normal and we just needed to wait for it to move on by. If Drake weren't so nervous and I wasn't already irritated I'm sure I would have barrelled over laughing at the concept of the ass gas in her ultrasound video but I made a silent note to myself to just shut it... and so that's what I did. I never had ass gas myself identified in my ultrasounds, but I'm a world class pooper so that part at least went well for me. Finally the ass gas floated on out of the way and as we expected, Drake's eggs were not quite ready yet. Not at all ready, actually. But she had 5 in there so clearly she's got some good and positive fertility capabilities, hopefully not to result in Quintuplets because if that's the case, my dear friend Kelly might actually get her tribe of children after all. and we'll never breath a word about why her 4 children bear a shocking resemblance our 1 child. Just one of those weird natural occurrences I guess. Anyway... we're going back on Monday to take more pictures of the eggs and hopefully do the shot then. Drake has a birthday coming up this Sunday so perhaps a small child conceived would make for a very nice late birthday season present. And even better... I won't have to actually go shopping to get it!

Wish us luck!

good omens

2009-02-19T11:26:00.000-08:00

In the past several weeks, we have gone back and forth between our top two choices of donors (lovingly dubbed Lance Armstrong and Monty McSteamy) to compliment Drakey in creating the perfect offspringy creation. This involved numerous and profound discussions about nurture vs. nature, interviews with parenting coworkers and of course, tireless hours of Internet research. Because let’s face it, the Internet is truly all-knowing and who would defy that simple fact? Al Gore did good when he invented it, I tell ya. Drake and I were at odds for a few days arguing over Lance and Monty McSteamy but ultimately the decision was made over a night of 10 drunk friends at my Winos party pouring through profiles and baby pictures, swilling wine, throwing bean dip at each other and naturally providing their most educated and logical assessments of the two donors. McSteamy had the vote… unanimously. Primarily because he has great hair and 100% my personality. I also have great hair, mind you, so this decision seemed an obvious one for me right out of the gates. We chose to forgo the super hot Lance Armstrong look-a-like with the genius IQ and perfect medical history because he was too much like Drake and god love her but what the hell would I do with two of those? Sweet Jesus! So Monty McSteamy it is, with the thick golden curled locks and Amazon-like ancestors.

Another thing that warrants mentioning and tangential to this topic is the Cryobank we chose. Becuz we switched that up too. We were actually going for a Cryobank that we had believed was local to us here in Seattle but turns out had recently relocated to NYC. They focus on Scandinavian swimmers which is exactly what we’re looking for to create the perfect mix of half-breed. I know that "half-breed" is an entirely rude and inappropriate term, and for those that don’t actually know me and cannot therefor logically make this assumption, I am kidding!! I am not as much as an insensitive ass as I come across as in writing and I would NEVER refer to my child as a “half-breed” to their face. Or to anybody else that didn't GET IT, so to speak. Anyway… not only is this Crybobank way cheaper than the California Cryobank, but what really impressed us was that Drake had called to get baby pics ordered and ended up in a 20 minute conversation with a guy that works there and knows both Lance Armstrong and Monty McSteamy quite well. He was freely telling her all sorts of things about their current appearance and personality, etc. They were having a candid and open dialogue about it. It was AWESOME and certainly never an option we had before. Point to be made is that we have truly had such a drastically improved experience thus far and we're just at the very beginning stages of this. I feel confident and good! Real good!

Lastly - I am making a commitment to be more attentive to this blog now that things are finally gearing back up. I will commit to blogging once a week if not more. If I got nothin' to say relevant to the fertility subject, you may just get to learn about things like my adorable girl dog and her new imaginary friend that she's been having troubles with lately resulting in a lot of loud growling and vicious fights with invisible things. We'll just have to wait and see.

Welcome back to Hades!

2009-02-18T11:25:00.001-08:00

Hades welcomes you! Please come again!

Let's start by noting that it is not in my nature to give things or people a second chance. Not, at least, without a formal written apology or staged speech and preferably overlooked and/or signed off on by the President of the United States or somebody of similar high rank and authority. I am not a cruel person, mind you, and actually not that stubborn either; but if you wrong me, I tend to hold a grudge; for a very long time… and in most cases, forever.

It is also not in my nature to do about-faces and suck things up while remaining quiet and complacent. No... not ever. Well... hardly ever.

There are many things about this situation that go completely against my nature, which make this difficult to explain why we are returning, once again, to the Hades Clinic, (residence of Dr. Evil), mere weeks from sending in our last and final big check for services rendered. Or in my case, not quite rendered. More like... for services "suffered".

So I’ll just relay the series of events and hope that people will agree. Or disagree… whichever you chose. But at least see the path of reason and logic I’ve chosen to follow in this case.

Per my previous blog, we had made an appointment at the other clinic which was supposed to take place today. That would have been our $350 consultation to tell us all the things we already know. And to be fair, maybe some stuff we knew at one point but have since blocked out of our memories for obvious reasons. Because of the time frame we were working within, I asked Drake to please call them back and explain our timeline and make sure that even though they wouldn’t see us until the 18th, that we would still be able to do her first insem in a couple of weeks. She did. And the answer was firmly “NO”. In fact… I think it was closer to “not a chance in hell, fool”. It was during this conversation/inquiry where we learned that the $350 consult was only 1 step in the initiation process at this clinic and to follow that would be a physical exam (makes sense but isn’t that INCLUDED in the consult?) and then an appointment with a social worker. Because I guess being lesbians is HARD or something and we need guidance counselling. ALL of these, mind you, would neccessitate separate appointments and accrue separate charges. Here's a thought: WTF??? That’s not at all how it worked at Hades. So after much deliberation, we broke down and called the one nurse that we always had a good experience with at Hades. Dr. Wild Bill’s nurse, to be precise. We explained that we were moving to option B and the "second string womb" and her response was simply and delightfully... “no problem. consider yourselves grand-fathered in. here’s a list of blood tests you can get handled by your private doc so it’s covered by insurance and just send in the results, call me when you want to LH shot and ultrasound and we’ll get it taken care of.” I’m sorry, did I just swallow my own tongue or did Hades actually just FREEZE THE FUCK OVER??? So back to Hades we go, sans consult, sans the expenses associated with consult and in plenty of time to make insem date # 1… in fact so much time that we can actually tail gate to it! Because that would be fun!!! We anticipate an ovulation day circa the first week in march but who really knows.

And because I've been so delinquent, I am going to populate a second blog post today (hopefully) on an entirely separate issue. Cuz I got a lot to say but they each deserve their own titles.

planning

2009-02-02T12:08:00.000-08:00

We're making some progress on prepping for "Op Knocked Up - Second String - Take 2." We've picked out a donor, for a start. A very very LARGE, blond and blue eyed donor. His "name" is Monty. He's a bit of a GIGANTAUR, weighing in at about 200 pounds and reaching grand heights of 6'3 or such. This is entirely appropriate for a boy; however, I am a bit concerned that his two sisters are also 6'3. Yikes! Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against tall people; I'm even friends with a few (shout out to Jenkins!) and I treat them no differently than my other non-freakishly tall friends. I mean, I may make bigoted jokes behind their backs occasionally but I am nothing but fair and unbiased to their faces. :) KIDDING. My larger concern is the image looming in my head of looking up to the clouds, pointing my finger sternly and yelling up at my 11 year old to "GET TO YOUR ROOM RIGHT NOW YOUNG LADY!" Drake and I are both a little height challenged, you see.

Anyway... we're currently researching clinics other than the Hades Clinic. We only really have one other choice and they cannot get us in for a consult until the 18th which is pushing it pretty close, but it's all we can do for now. I'm growing a tad bit excited again at the prospect of having a baby. It's been a nice and much needed break for the past few months but I'm ready to hit this again with optimism and energy and renewed hope. and I look forward to seeing the love of my life experience the magic of what may become...

Signing off,

Erin Rae

News Break: the iPhone solves fertility issues for all...

2009-01-27T13:36:00.000-08:00

Drake and I are a little behind the ball in prepping for Operation Get Knocked Up Take 2. We still haven't picked out a donor but I imagine that white guys will be in abundance and it won't be as difficult as finding a 6" tall Asian guy with a PhD who'd like to donate some frozen swimmers to us at a premium.

Drake did inform me that she downloaded the "iPeriod" application onto her iPhone for $4 whole dollars yesterday and she'll be tracking her fertility and cycles that way. I personally would like to see somebody create an "iGOT-KNOCKED-UP" application for the iPhone which magically fertilizes your eggs and then implants them into your uterus... for the groovy price of $4.00. I mean... the iPhone seems to take care of EVERYTHING else. I say GET TO IT, Steve Jobs!!!

I was also informed that she did a little math and figured out she has an average of a 33 day cycle. "How on earth do you know this?" I politely inquired. Well DUH -she's been calendaring Aunt Flo's visits dating back to 2002!! Gee... do you think this little offspring will be Type A, much? WOW!!!

We will likely be researching a donor in the next coming weeks along with a new clinic to visit because Drake is/was no more impressed with the Hades Clinic than I was and we'd like to start this off with a clean, fresh and unbittered state. More updates to come! Stay tuned!!!

Operation Knock-Up Plan B launch

2009-01-13T21:39:00.001-08:00

"Operation Knock-Up" Plan B has officially been launched. On Jan. 1rst Drakey started taking prenatal vitamins. It was circa Jan. 11th that I learned what a monumental occasion this was for her when she painstakingly revealed her fears and anxieties at this feat in the form of grilling me on the "side affects" of ingesting prenatals. Vitamins, Ladies and well... let's be honest, Ladies. V I T A M I N S!!!

D - "BUT HOW LONG WILL MY FINGER NAILS GROW???? WILL I HAVE TO MONITOR THEIR GROWTH DAILY?"

E - "um... no. prenatals are awesome. you'll never get sick again and you may notice that you have to clip your nails a little bit more often. no biggie, i swear. oh, but you'll have to use dog clippers instead of human nail clippers. it's just a thing. all breeders-in-the-making are doing it. and all future nail filling will neccesitate an ironing board and a rasp. you know... to be on the safe side."

D - "AND WHAT ABOUT MY HAIR???? WILL IT GROW? YOU KNOW... Like... EXCESSIVELY?"

E - "Yes Dear. Like Rapunzel. And I'll be down at the ground floor of the tower waiting to collect it for you. Good thing you're not inherently top heavy."

and so step 1 of MANY is launched semi-successfully. To Health, BABIES and Prenatal Vitamins!!!

All Systems A GO

2009-01-08T00:34:00.000-08:00

The baton has been tossed.

All systems are a go.

Due to work schedules (and the other logical Type A things that we work out in our lives that measure children over priorities, or are they both???? blah blah blah) we are targetting a Knock Up procedure on STBYPPN (Sucks To Be You Patient Plan B) around the March month-ish. Stay tuned for some updates on that. And JESUS TITS I can personally garauntee that the pregancy story on Drakey... aka "SHIT NO I DON'T EVER FEEL THE NEED TO REPRODCUCE" will be quite entertaining. And I intend to document it ALL... of course from the perspective of:

1: pride
2: more pride
3: respect (oh, and that fucking stinks; sorry...btw)
4: holy shit!
5: well, that's cool
6: SwEET Jesus I'm glad I didn't have to do that!
7: well... pride still... I guess.
8: sucks to be you!
9: what? you want me to pick that up??? HA HA HA!!!

We'll leave 10 as a mystery!

I've been with her for 14+ years and I can't imagine this being anything BUT the best gift she has ever ever ever ever ever ever ever given me in my entire life. for that matter, that ANYBODY has given me in my entire life. oh wait... I REALLY dug those hotwheels!!!! but shit... I digress. What an absolute blessing. I am grateful that we have two opportunities. I am sad that I didn't happen for me. But so what??? SWEET JESUS this WILL HAPPEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

explanation

2008-12-13T21:07:00.000-08:00

i owe people an explanation, i realize. i am not pregnant. in fact... not only am i not pregnant but i went out with a hell of a bang. not worth talking about here but what's important is that i'm done... and i'm pretty damn okay with it. drakey is going to pick up the project and try for another 6 times but not until march. we need to be cognicient of work schedules. i've been holding off waiting to write this blog until i could come up with something eloquent to say but the truth of the matter is... there's nothing beautiful or eloquent about any of this. it is what it is. i may have some words later as the emotions of everything travel their intended path but for now, i can honestly say that i am happy. i am relieved. i remain hopeful. and i am blessed... because i have a wife... with ovaries and a womb... and this is far from over. i tried, and i am now free.

if only they knew...

2008-11-15T18:37:00.000-08:00

I have just a small anecdote to report that amused the hell out of me so thought I would share here.

Today is/was sperm delivery day. FED EX says that they will deliver between 9am and 12pm. The last two times it arrived at 9:30 so I was hopeful. At 11:58am this morning, I was concerned. At 11:59am, I heard that delicate screeching of the brakes as the FED EX guy pulled up in front of my house. Well... my neighbor's house to be more accurate. My dogs were going ape shit, as is their common practice whenever somebody comes to the door... or near the door, so I stepped outside onto my front porch to spare the poor man's ear drums... and possibly ankles. He took a LONG time getting out of the car and when he did, he waved at me and flashed me a big smile and then proceeded to walk up the drive to my neighbor's house. And I was like... "Um no... hey... yoo hoo! that's for me! I'm not just standing out here in my pajamas for my health, you know!" and he waved at me again and continued to walk toward their door. And so I did what logically comes next and I burst into song. "THAT SPERM IS MINE! THE DOGGONE SPERM IS MINE!" to the tune of Michael Jackson's "The Girl is Mine". And in my best falsetto. This caught his attention and he looked over at me, busted the dolphin dive down into the centipede and eventually made it over to my porch with my giant box of sperm. He was apologetic and a little embarassed I think. and out of breath. So I signed for my sperm and wished him a good day.

That was not the anecdote. That was the lead up to the anecdote. THIS is the anectdote.

At 12:07pm I posted a status update to my facebook page saying this:

"Erin is finally getting out of the house.
Damn FED EX guy took FOREVER!"

When I got home at 4:30pm today I had many new comments in response to that status.

"That comment opens so many possibilities ;-)"

"well at least he isn't selfish?"

"Um, does Drake know about this?"

"Welcome to the innuendo cafe."

and so on. What I find hillarious about this is none of them have any idea what that FED EX guy was actually delivering. And I don't plan on telling them. But oh, I am laughing inside. If they only knew...

Last Call for Alcohol

2008-11-09T14:11:00.000-08:00

I have entered into the 2am (okay, 1:59am BAR TIME) last call for alcohol hour; the last ditch effort on this god forsaken journey into fertility. Or not. I am all at once heartbroken, relieved, tentative and free. I am all of the emotions that are embodied in a giant "sigh"... if you will.

So here's the long and full story of what's to come. Frankly, something I've been dreading putting into writing for a long time now... but the time has essentially arrived and it's probably best to embrace the truth of our future versus imbibe copious amounts of beer, wine and tequila and deny that this is all happening. Oh wait... I think I meant to say simply "deny that this is all happening". The wine and tequila can stay, in consideration of that "misery loves company" bit.

So remember that Second String Womb? offer? Well... we're most likely going there. Let's face it, we *are* going there. And if I may digress for a bit, let me attempt to put this into perspective. I do not want to consider this quitting. I am not a quitter. I am a practical, if not a little strange, person. I am a practical and strange person who has donated no less than 17K into this "project" over the past 1.8 years all the while gas prices are skyrocketing, companies are cutting millions of jobs nation wide, there are people who are struggling to feed their families and stay above water; suffering. To put a finer point on it, George W. Bush has made a heaping pile of steaming shit out of this country and it's affecting everybody around me and I'm nonchalantly spending a grand + a month to squirt some strangers sperm into my broken ovaries. Sure, call me a bleeding heart liberal (cuz I basically am), call me somebody who is transferring, etc. but the point is, I feel guilty as hell! Yes, we are incredibly lucky and blessed in that we can afford this, but at what point do you pull the plug? Cut your losses? Accept Plan B? After 2 years, I guess. At least that's the answer we've mutually come to. And while Drake is older than shit (well... okay, she's only got 9 months on me! :)), she is in the best shape of her life and she's a perfectionist who always gets the job done right... and usually on the first time. She's a fixer. and I need this fixed. So, it makes sense to pass the baton and get this fucking job done. The goal is to have a child between us who will be equally ours, so it doesn't / shouldn't / DOESN'T matter if it's not of my own body or gene pool. The truth is I will probably love it even more if it isn't! Because it will of course, be less fucked up. Hell, if genetics have anything to do with it, it will be perfect! A perfect little miniature offspring of the love of my life. Who wouldn't want two?

So that's the deal. I'm done with the mind-fuck, the perfectly timed and portioned pineapple consumption, the pills, the psycho-somatic waddle, the roller-coaster, and the tired excuses. I'm going to pee freely without sticks or checking toilet paper! Yes... I'm going to live and piss freely!!!

As for the future of this blog, well, I'm still undecided. I may continue to chronicle this journey through Drake's eyes or I may have her do it herself. She's an incredible writer although she uses a LOT of REALLY big words! :) I'll get back to you on all that.

update

2008-11-03T11:57:00.000-08:00

I am not pregnant. Again. What is perhaps more unnerving is that I am now officially entering into my very last cycle. Last try. My time's up. Will post more details on that later but wanted to update everybody.

good omens

2008-10-27T16:41:00.000-07:00

Day 9 DPO and no symptoms other than my overall IQ seemed to have dropped dramatically in the past few days resulting in a mindlessness so severe that I would feel desperately sorry for myself if I could actually muster up that much thought.

So... no real symptoms but I did receive a sign from the Universe, in case I wasn't sounding appealing enough from that first paragraph. You see, I don't recall if I blogged about this or not but the month that I did actually achieve pregnancy, I had lost about 300 eye lashes in the days leading up to my positive test result. No joke! Those suckers were dropping off of my face like crazy and I was catching most of them and making wish after wish after wish. Never mind that I looked like an android with no eyelashes afterwards... it was a much needed and important well of wishes that came my way so I took full advantage. Which leads me to my current day situation. Yesterday we were driving along in the lesbian soccer mom car and drake noticed a lady bug on the dash board above the passenger's seat. I screamed "MAKE A WISH, FAST!" and we did. THEN, (and this is the creepy part) about an hour later, we had to swing by home to pick up a gift before going to see our friend's newborn baby and drake ran into the house real quick to grab the present and came out saying... "holy shit, we have a lady bug infestation!" There were like 6 lady bugs all along the door panel to our front door. I shouted "SHUT UP AND MAKE A WISH!" ... and we did. I was ecstatic. Surely this is a VERY lucky and good sign from the universe. There is NO other explanation for it. Secondly, I got to hold and coo at and smell the head of a 2 day old baby which supposedly is always good for the fertility factor. Something about pheromones, maybe? Lastly, Doc Grumbles dressed up like The Fertility Fairy and sprinkled me with invisible fairy dust. I'll take it! Thanks for thinking of me!

it finally turned blue

2008-10-17T13:15:00.001-07:00

Today marks the end of the "peeing on stick" phase and the transition into "sit on my ass and wait" phase. My eggs didn't get swallowed up in my vile illness last week after all and I appear to be preparing to ovulate sometime in the next 24ish hours. As for my body, well, that's all cleansed out and pristine now; as if somebody came and pressure washed all of my organs, so perhaps my near death experience last week will be fortune-fated in the end. Yes? Tonight I plan on lighting some candles and then doing a head stand in between them and stay posed like that for an hour or so to let gravity do it's thing. I figure with all that blood rushing to my head, it will likely put me into a state of intoxified stupidity which is how many (many, NOT all) babies are conceived in the first place so why not simulate? Without getting into too much graphic detail, there is NOTHING else about my body that tells me that I am fertile today. NOTHING!!! So perhaps I may have to reconsider that egg trick I mentioned last month. I tell ya, after puking up scrambled eggs for 9 hours, I'm pretty confident that I won't be eating eggs ever again for my entire life, so why not put them to another use? ah - what the hell.

I will report back on any mishaps or tragically comical incidents that may occur during the @ Home Experiment - Take 2.

Wish me good luck.

i done peed my pants

2008-10-16T13:37:00.001-07:00

I peed my pants today at work.

Yup. Give that a little white space to let it sink in. Not in the traditional sense of how one might pee their pants, mind you. There was no instance of violent or urgent laughter that makes you squirt a little out nor was there any incident of being stuck in traffic with a full bladder and a piercing pain streaking through my groin. Nope, this was strictly a non-traditional, card-carrying attempted breeder only style of pissing one's pants. I'll explain why, but first it would be helpful to know a little history. You see, I've trisected my months into cute little blocks or stages all related to where I am in the fertility cycle at that time. That's just how pathetic this whole business has become. I have the AF and egg bloating stage when I take my little pills to make them grow big and fluffy. Then I have the pissing on sticks stage, which usually lends to the sit on your ass, freak out and wait stage once the junk has gone in. It's all very lovely and you, too, can improve your life drastically I'm sure by embracing this tri-cyclical sanity-smashing crap as I do. So... I'm currently in the pissing on stick stage and so I'm doing my business today and I was peeing so nice and neatly and straight in one line and it was all going surprisingly well and THEN i went to remove the stick from under my thingie and when I removed it, a large drop of pee accidentally dripped off and landed in my pants!!! right on the crotch! and I'm not a big fan of underwear generally so there was none of that to break the fall. so i was immediately like... "OH NO - FUCK SHIT DAMN! PEE IN MY PANTS! PEE IN MY PANTS!!!" which was immediately followed by a symphony of demons that leaped straight out of my head and started dancing circles around the bathroom stall, pointing and laughing at me, mocking my disaster. So I'm walking around with a blot of pee in my pants and I'm none to happy about it.

On another front, the big box of junk arrived this week and it's just sitting there waiting for my pee sticks to tell me that it's time. I'm hoping we didn't order it too early and end up having to send it back. Those fuckers cost $275 JUST FOR THE SHIPPING!!!!!!! which is obviously non-refundable. I'm a bit concerned because I was struck with a bout of poisoning this week which ultimately had me laid up in the clinic with an IV saline drip and anti-naseau meds after vomiting and spewing (from other parts) for 9 hours straight. I have NEVER in my LIFE been that ill before and it lasted roughly 4 days so I'm wondering if my eggs shrunk or spontaneously bursted in all of the commotion. Surely that kind of racking of the body and fasting for 72 hours couldn't be helpful in terms of maintaining a stable and consistent ovulation cycle. So we shall see.

the results

2008-10-06T14:01:00.000-07:00

Home Project Junky Science Experiment Attempt # 1 = FAILED!

Oat and A-Boat

2008-09-30T14:38:00.000-07:00

Drake and I are taking a road trip up to Vancouver, B.C. this weekend for a little weekend getaway. We’re bringing the canines, because like your American Express card, we never leave home without them, and we’re staying in a cute little B&B in the northern end of the city, out of the chaos and what-not. On the agenda: geocaching the nearby parks, grabbing some Dim Sum down in the famously awesome international district, lounging around, napping, taking long walks through the city and peeing on some sticks. Yes; Saturday will be DPO 15 and official Pee day. This will be our last little mini-exursion for a while due to work schedules and I’m really really hoping that Aunt Flo doesn’t show up and fuck it all up for us. Because as much as I'd like to think (or pretend) that I'm a perfectly emotionally stable person, circumstances (especially THESE circumstances) can really do a number on my moods. and I wouldn't want to rot the good pure soil of Canada with my salty and bitter tears.

Truth is that I've managed once again to convince myself that I'm pregnant. I'm not quite sure how I've fallen back into that routine, but I think it's perhaps better (or at least healthier) than the chronic pessimism and depression I've been experiencing in past recent cycles so I guess I'll take it. Now, as most of you know, I have been notoriously wrong when I've done this in the past, so take this to mean absolutely nothing. I'm either pregnant or I'm emotionally unsound. Or both. It sure would be nice to celebrate some positive news while on our little vacation, though. Just think - I could down a shot of maple syrup and toast to our success and make dramatic exclamations like... "well how aboot that!!! No offense to my northern neighbors, I really do love the Canadians and Vancouver is one of the most lovely cities I've been to.

We'll have our laptop with us so I will surely update you all with my good news on Saturday. If you don't hear from me, it's safe to assume that I've been arrested by the Canadian Mounties and thrown into prison for doing something terribly self-destructive and awful to honor menstruating women everywhere.

yah yah

2008-09-17T19:24:00.000-07:00

I owe everybody an update, I know. I'm terribly, inexcusably delinquent. But I'm going to offer up an excuse anyhow. I was quite sick all of last week and all of my creative juices along with the basic ability to spell simple words correctly were zapped from my cranium completely.

I'm still not 100% but here is an attempt at a bland update.

Well... we have officially made the switch to home insemination's (ie... "the turkey baster method") doing ICI vs. IUI. We have also switched donors. I'm not naming this guy because well... Gabe and Henry never really were all that close to me and and besides, I'm switching EVERYTHING up.

The junk arrived at our house via a Fed Ex man with nice legs (don't all Fed Ex'ers and UPS folks have nice legs? is that one of the official job requirements?) early Sat. morning in a giant box. It was like X-Mas morning in some sick, David Lynch kind of way where I got to open up my big giant box of bodily fluid. From a stranger, no less. :)

The "procedure" as my mom still prefers to call it took place both Wednesday evening and again Thursday EARLY morning. It was like conducting a science experiment only there were no animals injured or killed as a result of this project. For a portion of the time, YES folks, I was actually physically upside-down. I'm not sure if this is entirely necessary but you know... I like to do things as right as seems logically and appropriate in the moment. Drake had to put on gardening gloves when opening the tank because MAN THAT SHIT IS COLD in there! The half-page instruction manual says that you're not supposed to have any of the vials (except for the one you are immediately using) exposed to room temperature for more than 30 seconds so we were acting in haste and rather blindly I might add trying to get that crap out. It took a few tries. We selectively chose our "aspirator" thingie. The one we chose really wasn't probably as long as it needed to be but it was the smallest in circumference and that offered me some comfort, both physically and mentally. I read in a book that many women inject an egg white into there... well, you know... right before hand because it mimics the CM and helps move the sperm along and such. My reaction, once I was done laughing hysterically and making wild hand gestures was... "FOR GOD SAKE, I EAT EGGS!!!" and I wish to CONTINUE to eat eggs. So as much as women have supposedly sworn by this little trick of the trade, I chose to spare myself the embarrassing moment some days down the road when we go out for our usual weekend breakfast and I start gagging or hyperventilating as my plate of scrambled eggs arrive.

Overall, it was interesting. Now we shall just wait and see.

bountiful

2008-09-10T21:06:00.000-07:00

This scene appears in my kitchen about every three days. It's been happening for a while now. All other plants in my garden dwindled, dwarfed, wept and withered without giving it the old college try this summer but my squash plants? Well... they flourished. Holy zucchini did they flourish! Well... at least something in my life is in bountiful supply these days. :)

changing

2008-09-03T09:38:00.000-07:00

Waxing philisophic for a momment, I feel that my mind has never been more restless. Sleep (and plenty of it) has been my only escape from myself and my exhaustive efforts of trying to push back the negativity that naturally sneaks it's way in - through all of this. Drake and I have been playing at "Operation Get Erin Rae Knocked Up" fast approaching 2 years now. And in that time, we have made at minimum two trips to the clinic monthly, if not more. For nearly 2 years, my life has been dictated by these weekly cycles, focusing, scrutinizing the timing of all things - when to start my fert meds, when to start OPK's, when to start ultrasounds, when to do LH shot, when to pee, when to test? I am so so so fucking sick of counting out days on the god damn calendar. Every calendar I own both electronic and paper has secret symbols scribbled on certain days like "Day 1" or "O" or "Test". Additionally, I've found myself stumped and haulted to do anything productive during that two week wait in between ovulation and testing. I can't start working out until I know if I'm prego cuz you're not supposed to switch up your usual routine; I can't eat healthy or cut back on drinking because you just never know when it will be my last sip of wine or my last slice of nasty goodness before I'm forced to kick it into gear and actually eat a vegetable or god forbid, a peice of fruit! And then when it all fails in the end (and let's face it - it's only EVER failed), I'm too pissed off and depressed to kick start a healthy routine, and so instead I console myself with shitty things. It's my pattern and my crutch, and it's quite literally ruining me, mentally as well as physically. So... the big question mark in the sky is... what the hell now? I've fired my fertility clinic and firmly resolved that I am NEVER going back there as long as I shall live. My donor has suddenly stopped producing any sort of sperm count that is well... worth counting. and on a personal level, I am descending into a pessimistic mess of a beast which surely cannot be good for any sort of reproductive efforts.

Thinking about and researching the @home method. I'm pretty much resolved to kicking the negative influences and stigma's attached to this process out of our lives completely and that includes fertility clinics and sterile white rooms, and violent incompetent doctors weilding contraptions that really shouldn't be thought of or used as weapons. I want to get back to the basics; to temping and peeing on good ol' fashioned OPK's instead of taking pictures of my eggs every month. I have committed to Drake that I will do this just three more times if need be, although truthfully I'm not all that happy about it. Also researching a switch in donors. May even compromise on the race issue if we need to. I'm endeavoring to make some changes; hopefully very positive ones.

my vow

2008-08-27T15:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Reilly (or Aiden, or Bailey or Finn or...),

If you come, I promise I will not be this kind of mother to you. Even if and when you decide to be horribly rotten and I'd rather rip my own brain out of my skull than endure your rottenness for a minute longer. This is my solemn vow to you.

Love,

your mother to be

The Break Up

2008-08-19T18:05:00.001-07:00

Attn: Hades Clinic (a.k.a. "Pacific NW Fertility Clinic" because the time for coy flirtation is long over),

This has been perhaps the toughest and most frustrating relationship I have ever endured. The last 18 months of my life that I have spent courting you for the bride price of a baby have been fraught with bone-numbing amounts of stress due to your completely inflexible schedules, your blase attitudes at being at minimum thirty minutes late to any and all appointments without so much as a "Bummer dude, I had to sleep off that hangover", and the consistently INCONSISTENT advice (begrudgingly provided only if requested for on hands and knees, and after kowtowing exactly 35 times) given by all of your many minions, ALL of whom I have had the surprising opportunity to meet in person since you have all herded, poked or spread me at one point or another over the past 2 years. I RARELY get the luxury of seeing the same person twice. I am merely an SSN # and a file; and even then, sometimes proven to be unread by your grossly uninformed opinions of my bits and pieces. For instance, was it really necessary to grill me yesterday about my polyp for yet another 10 minutes of my life that I will never get back, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that you hadn't actually read my file which states in no uncertain terms that my magical disappearing and reappearing polyp has been tested and probed out a thousand times over and is a closed case? Or perhaps my favorite episode was when you, Jane, carelessly suggested that my polyp was the reason for my miscarriage when my file clearly stated that it was an anembryonic pregnancy which has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with implantation WHAT SO EVER! Oh - Dr. Evil (a.k.a. Jane P. ARNP) that was perhaps my most fond moment of you through all of this. Thank you thank you THANK you for that consoling sentiment. XOXOXO. Oh - and what is that magical thing that you all do when "washing" my ICI sperm that reduces it to a mere 5 million per vial versus the 17+ million I would get when the cryobank would wash the sperm themselves? Because paying an extra $280for your wonderful "prep" work really warms my heart. You should consider putting out a tip jar so we can reward your efforts for going that extra mile.

Pacific Northwest Fertility Clinic, you are a disappointment! And that is an understatement. There have been only two people who have provided me with pleasant experiences, Dr. Wild Bill (Dr. Hickok) and his medical assistant, Renee. They have both been a drink of fresh water in a pool of rancid bitterness. As for the rest of you, perhaps I might recommend some extra credit classes in bedside manner, or in How to Insert a Speculum Without Causing a Blood Bath 101? Or if graduate level courses seem too much to ask, how about focusing on some remedial courses like smiling, wishing a patient good luck, or knowing how many times your patient has stared pleadingly and desperately at your sterile white ceilings while you shine a very bright light between their legs? Those skills may sound unimportant, but they mean the world to someone who is tired of going through this, scared senseless that nothing may ever come of all of their efforts, and exhausted from the energy and emotions spent, well... hoping.

Anyway... I have given you my last attempt. My last cramped, frozen awkward pose in the lovely Raggedy Anne hair clad stirrups; my last painful and bloody $400 catheter insertion, and my last insincere smile, gritted teeth or attempt at politeness. And if I have to listen to another fucking Barry Manilow song playing on your 3rd class speakers while I wait hours upon hours in the lobby for your service, I may just never recover from it. Taking a look at the ledger that chronicles our relationship, you have on your plus side: the 15 pounds of stress induced fat that I have given you, six unreturned phone calls regarding our account (but only when we had a credit due to unexpected insurance payments, when we owed you money, you were Johnny on the spot), a fragmented mind, and a tired... so VERY tired and bitter angry and heartbroken soul. On my plus side, I have merely lessons learned in humanity; or a lack thereof.

If I chose to carry on with this insanity at all, I shall take my business elsewhere. Please take my $15,000.00+ in monetary compensation and spend it wisely. Thanks for nothing. Nothing at all.

pissy

2008-08-18T11:10:00.000-07:00

It’s been quite a day already and it’s just getting started. I went into the Hades Clinic for an O’Dark-Thirty ultrasound appointment and spent 30 minutes gritting my teeth and trying to be polite while the Ultrasound Tech talked my bloody ear off as if we were long lost friends. She’s from the East Coast. New Jersey to be exact. She comes from a large family. They shout a lot at the dinner table. Thanks Giving is her favorite holiday. Does anybody give a flying shit about this? Good... beacuse I didn't either! She also believes that relaying her entire life story while yielding a wand up my twat is an appropriate thing to do at 7’oclock in the morning. And it's relevant to note that in an effort to make my womb more fertile and pleasant, I gave up coffee long ago at the request of my acupuncturist and I’m still very bitter about this. Especially with glaring reminders such as these. Anyway… I’ve got a mature follicle. And guess what? I forgot my damn shot at home. Grrr... I told her that if I could get out of there soon enough, I could race home and get the shot and be back there with a minute or two to spare to make it to work at a reasonable hour without arising suspicion. I then waited an additional 30 minutes for “Dr. Crothety Old Ass Face” (she’s not new but I rarely have to see her, THANK GOD) to come in and tell me what I already knew. “Hi. Your follicle is mature. You forgot your shot. What are you going to do about it?” I was asking her for advice on the timing of things. Does it usually take 24 hours? 36 hours? What's my window here? She offered me nothing other than she was going to consult Dr. Evil and call me back later. I informed her that Dr. Evil was no longer my person; that I had switched to Dr. Wild Bill (because just the mere thought of Dr. Evil made me break out in a rash, but I didn’t share this because I had already spent an hour trying to be sweet and polite so why stop now?) and maybe she should consult him. “Okay – so as soon as I can reach Dr. Evil, I’ll give you a call” was her response. Whatever. I wanted to bite her ass-face right off. Idiot. So in between the many hours waiting for her to call me back, I am trying to come up with a number of alternatives. I have a good friend who happens to be a nurse who I happen to be seeing tonight at my Sizzlin' Chicken's Book Club meeting. Her name is "She Who Walks on Freakishly Small Feet - R.N.". I talked to her this morning and she was willing to do it but didn't neccessarily have all the tools needed and I still needed to get information like how much of the shot to stab into my butt, etc. Then there was a still a timing issue so I ultimately decided not to go that route even though I know how disappointed "She Who Walks on Freakishly Small Feet - R.N." must be to miss out on an opportunity to get a viewing of my butt.
So I ended up racing back to downtown Seattle this morning to get the shot. I will inseminate at 3pm tomorrow assuming that the Hades Clinic does not spontaenously catch fire and burn to the ground between now and then in a freak accident that can't be explained by even the keenest of investigators. and so it goes. I remain in a very rotten mood. If I don't get knocked up this time, heads are gonna roll!

my new routine

2008-08-13T22:38:00.001-07:00

PREFACE: In Junior High, we were required to run a mile during P.E. ("physical education" for those who don't know because I heard somewhere that P.E. was called something other than P.E. in certain parts of the country and I can't remember what it was called but it was just WEIRD, anyway...). Running the mile was usually the first thing we did during the first 10+ minutes of P.E. class and after that we got to do other normal and fun physical education type activities like jumping jacks or ultimate fighting and such. If I could count - at all - I would devote some time to counting up all of those 10 minute "running the mile" P.E. sessions in the 7th and 8th grade, add them all together and then file a law suit against John F. Kennedy Jr. High, Cupertino, California, U.S.A. for damages over those minutes and hours of my life that I will never get back. My bff, Camper Caro, and I would occassionally hide along the baseball backstop and skip 1 of the 2 laps around the field and those were the only times I cleared that stupid mile run in less than 9 minutes. What can I say? I'm not a runner. I was a tennis player; short, fast, quick and jerky movements were my forte. And a damn good water polo player which is a completely different venue. Anyway... this is all a very dramatic way of saying... I F**CKING HATE RUNNING! Jogging, Running, Walk-Jogging, etc. Always have, always will. I think.

So, the other night I was reading my Wired Magazine when I stumbled upon an ad for the best tennis shoes (not for the purpose of playing "tennis", mind you) of 2007/2008 according to the High Tech Industry. Anyway... there was a pair that was green. BRIGHT BRIGHT florescent green and there was some ad copy that said some crap about being great for narrow feet and all terrain trail running and ubber grip and light weight turbo power and well... I just HAD to have them! It seemed only logical. So I ripped out the page, grabbed the phone and a credit card, handed it all over to Drake in one neat little package, complemented with a shit-eating GRIN and said "yo - take care of it, will ya? I'll just DIE if I don't have these shoes!" and she gave me a look like I had just dropped my brain on the floor, rolled her eyes up into her head like a medium in the throes of a bodily invasion and said "fine". Because the truth of the matter is - I don't ask for much; by way of material possessions at least. So when I really have to have something and it's a life or death situation like this one, I usually get my way. A week later my florescent green magically powered high tech shoes arrived. In a cardboard box. On my doorstep. It was like x-mas morning. I was so happy I nearly wept. It was then that I decided that I would become a career jogger. I'm always busy and interrupted after work during the week, so I made a plan that I would wake up 1 hour earlier and go jogging every morning for the rest of my life, no exceptions permitted; period. So my plan started last Sunday night. It's been going quite swimmingly so far because I haven't had to suffer through actually doing it yet. Monday morning I was awoken by my alarm and decided that the 1rst days are always the hardest so I should just skip it and go back to bed. The next day my alarm woke me up and I promptly yanked out the cord and threw it across the room whilst shouting some sleepy profanities about the utter absurdity of JOGGING as a form of exercise. Wednesday morning I was dertermined. I woke up with the alarm, pitter pattered my way to the bathroom to relieve myself and then decided that my pee wasn't the right color and surely that could only be explained by a lack of ample sleep and that maybe an hour more of sleep or so would improve my urine quality as well as my overall health. and so I went back to bed. The rest of the week went pretty much the same. I plan to continue this new workout routine every morning because my shoes really are just too beautiful to let sit in a shoe rack, un-admired by all. I'll keep you posted on my progress.

Thanks in advance for your support.

crazy just for the sake of crazy

2008-08-13T19:41:00.000-07:00

Tonight I realized that you don't have to be pregnant to crave weird wacky and downright strange foods. It all started with my lying (no - let's be honest, SPRAWLED) on the couch in my usual luxurious and oh-so-sexy way, boxer short pajama underwear shining like a beacon in a bat cave and deeply engaged in the ever so important conversation with my wife on the subject of what on earth were we going to eat for dinner tonight. it was the usual routine.

the verbal conversational exchange that lead to my brilliant culinary invention follows:

e-rae: "it's too hot to cook. i just want a hot dog. i shall grill it."

interruptive note*** we hardly ever eat hot dogs. we buy them for the stray and feral children that turn up on our backyard porch from time to time, ravenous for hot dogs and begging to dance with me to the groovy tunes usually playing on my iPod outside on hot summer days. we're just humanitarian like that.

d-dog: "a hot dog? you can eat a hot dog. i'll go to the store and get a sammich."

e-rae: "fine. i'm not as fond of sammiches as you are. they are just so... so... peasant-like. i have standards."

d-dog: "um... hot dog?"

e-rae: "hot dogs are yummy, you sammich eating PEASANT."

d-dog: whatever, you hot dog eating, CHILD."

e-rae: "well, now i kinda want a kay-sar-dill-ya."

d-dog: "i thought you didn't want to cook?"

e-rae: "it's not cooking. it's merely melting and frying something to perfection. but... hmm.... hot dogs... ummmmm..."

d-dog: "whatever. i'm going to the store. you want anything?"

*** and here it comes. the momment of brilliance.

e-rae: "i WONDER what a kay-sar-dill-ya stuffed with hot dogs would taste like? hmm?"

d-dog: "i'd stick around for that. that actually sounds pretty good!"

e-rae: "seriously?"

d-dog: "why not? hot dogs = good. quesadilla = good. why not a hot dog quesadilla?"

*** and thus a miraculous culinary masterpeice was born!!!
next time i'm going to try different versions like kicked-up hot dog quesadillas with maybe ketchup or spicy mustard or baked beans or something. that shit is good. and i'm not even Pregnant OR Drunk!

RECIPE:

two flour tortillas
cheddar cheese (shredded)
hot dogs (1.5 per quesadilla)

Step 1: cut up hot dogs into really small pieces and fry them up so that they are just browned and crispy on both sides and smelling like burnt bologna. :) oh yah! set aside in a separate bowl. a purple bowl, if you can find one.

Step 2: assemble cheese uniformly on top of 1 tortilla.

Step 3: spread hot dogs (EVENLY PEOPLE) on top of cheese.

Step 4: more cheese. duh!

Step 5: place 2nd tortilla on top of cheese/hot dog mixture.

Step 6: fry in hot dog grease left over from the frying pan.

Step 7: flip and fry some more until cheese is melted and lovely little brown patches appear on each side of the tortilla (now officially a quesadilla).

Step 8: enjoy! because who doesn't love a HOT DOG QUESADILLA???

Lovingly Signed,

The Infertile Gourmet

no

2008-08-06T09:41:00.000-07:00

well... another failed cycle to add to my long and growing list of infertility trials. this is just becoming ridiculously stupid. and if there ever was a moment in the past 1.5 years that i wasn't before - now i'm officially really pissed off.

Mom

2008-07-29T11:43:00.001-07:00

Yesterday was my mother's birthday. I had every intention to blog this acutally on her birthday, but much like that birthday present and loving card I was planning to send, I was/am a little delinquent.

About 5 days after my insemination day, my Mom called me up on my cell phone while I was at work and announced with about as much authoratative confidence as if she were telling me firmly that no, I could not attend an after school coke party and have group sex with a bunch of recently released prison convicts at the age of 13, that I was indeed pregnant this cycle. She knew this because her other two friends, whose daughters have been struggling with infertility, just both got positive HPT's, so clearly I (well, "we" including my mother) must NOT be left in the dust on this regard. Because that would just be... well... embarassing! She also brought up the fine point that she's only ever been wrong once in her life before, so I should take her prediction as gospal. Done.

In all honesty, I fall just short of worshipping my mother. Next to Drakey, she is hands down my best friend and I aspire to be as funny and cool and classy (well, maybe not QUITE as classy) as her when / AS I grow up. She has her flaws, of course, and we've certainly hit a few bumps in the road along the parenting journey, but I can say with total confidence that much of my decision to have children myself is because I feel so blessed and grateful for the kind of comraderie and maternal relationship we share together, that I would be remiss not to take a stab at carrying that special bond down into future generations. And I'm not sure if I could do it quite as cool as my mother (being the most popular person among ALL my friends), but I'd sure as shit give it my best shot. and I'd likely have a damn fine time trying!

So... I'm pretty fearful that I got the timing all wrong on this cycle; and I didn't get a chance to pee on any sticks or take my basal temps (because the cycle happened so early and I never usually prepare for anything that early) that now I have no proof or way of telling if I did it in time or not. I think I was very early, actually. Maybe I should have taken Dr. Dumbass's initial suggestion of doing the shot and going back the next day. Anyway... I have some doubts, but I'm counting on my mother being all-knowing. Shouldn't Mother's always be all-knowing? C'mon Mommy Dearest - I'm counting on your maternal instincts here. And maybe as a belated birthday present, I can surprise her with an ultrasound photo of a little black sac in her only (and favorite, as she claims) child's womb.

Bigger than Chuck Norris' Testicles

2008-07-22T14:26:00.001-07:00

Today is CD 12. I went in for a scheduled ultrasound to measure my follicles at 7am (A.K.A. "the ass crack of dawn")this morning. Drake did not come with me like she usually does because how many times do you really need to see the same ole' picture, right? And it was 7am. Usually I do these Day 12 ultrasounds on Day 13 because well... who ovulates on Day 12 anyway?

Apparently I do.

I only had two eggs visible today. One on each side but that right side puppy was frickin' ENORMOUS! Bigger than Chuck Norris' balls, I swear it! and I should know'; you know...

So the egg/follicle measured 24 nano-buckets or some shit like that so they called Dr. Dumbass (yah; she's new, in case you haven't heard her name mentioned before in this blog) in to "consult" me on what I should do. So I'm waiting. and waiting. and I'm feeling a little bored so I pulled my underwear off which was a little uncomfortable from the recent invasion with the magic wand and I placed them over my head and started doing the chicken dance. With only my top on, mind you. Oh - and flip flops. And then Dr. Dumbass came in and rudely interrupted my routine and exclaimed brightly "Well well... YOU HAVE A MATURE FOLLICLE!" and I brightly shot back, "Well no shit Sherlock! I've got the MOTHER LOAD growing in there is what I've got!" Truth is, I thought I had been feeling a little tipsy turvy leaning to the right hand side every time I was upright lately. Walking a little funny and such. This explains it! I've got a gynormous egg throwing off my balance in that right ovary. Anyway... Dr. Dumbass then proceeds to ask me if I brought my LH shot with me. And I responded, politely mind you, "well, sure as shit I brought my shot but WTF? Isn't that bomb gonna drop today? Is there even time for a shot?? Shouldn't I just go and get jacked up with sperm now?" and Dr. Dumbass kinda looked at me like I just graduated Cum Laude from an Ivy League Medical School and then nodded her head in slow motion and said... well, yah, it is awfully mature. Maybe we should do that. Yah. Rocket Science, Ladies and Gentlemen.
R O C K E T S C I E N C E!!!

So, I went out to the lobby of the building feeling pretty shocked and proud of my over achieving egg follicles and made an appointment to come back at 9am to do my insemination. I was a little thrown off when I had to answer a lot of questions that apparently Drake always answers on my behalf about things like "what's your last name?" and "who is your insurance carrier and do they cover it?" and verifying date of birth and what not. It was pretty wild but I think I got through it without delivering too much false information.

So, SURPRISE Insem day! I went back home and fetched my wife and made us a plate of eggs and then headed back out to the clinic. Dr. Wild Bill performed the procedure. I *really* like Dr. Wild Bill. He's so nice. and NORMAL and wishes us good luck and all that stuff you'd think other doctors would do but don't. Alas, another round begins.

prego?

2008-07-15T15:04:00.001-07:00

nope.

whatever...

2008-07-11T10:21:00.000-07:00

16 DPO (I think). No sign of AF. A second definitively negative HPT down.

BALLS!

like Dali's dripping clocks

2008-07-10T12:42:00.000-07:00

Okay, so it's noon-thirty on what I believe to be 15 DPO and I'm in the midst of a distainfully cruel mind-fuck - with a negative HPT and still no sign of Aunt Flow. and I'm agitated. very, very agitated. Emotionally, I am not the same person I was 17 months ago when this whole "exciting and hopeful" journey got started. I can now be likened to a small fragile egg, and somebody has shot a buckshot right through the middle of it... and naturally, I shatter. I am so very tired of being shattered.

be wary... be very very wary!

2008-07-08T15:41:00.000-07:00

I'm down to the 48 hour mark before that horrid bitch, Aunt Flow, is due
to make her arrival. I can hear her skidding around the curves coming
straight at me with an evil, heinous cackling GAFFAW. I hope she gets
derailed off of a steep cliff somewhere and injured so badly that there's a minimum 10 month recovery period. Keep your distance, AUNT FLOW! You don't wanna mess with me cuz I have secret Ninja fighting skills, lady, and I'm not afraid to KICK YOUR ASS! YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE ANYMORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

See? Proof right here that I've gone to the pyschotic side. Clearly, this means something.

it better be

2008-07-07T13:37:00.001-07:00

it really, honest to god, just better be!

so i started out this cycle with a pretty apathetic attitude toward my
pending success or failure to come. i wasn't just pretending either, i
honestly didn't really give a crap, as i had no real positive expectations.
this made the first week of my 2ww quite bearable. pleasant, even.
right up until the extreme lethargy set in. and borderline psychotic behavior. and a wee touch of nausea (even though i know that it's technically WAY to early for that). bouts of intense lower back pain (but that often happens when my boobs accidentally swing the wrong way). oh, and the complete inability to stop eating. but that only started today.

so i once again find myself back in that all too familiar (and much dreaded)
boat of hope. ah - yes, navigating the high and wild seas without a life
jacket... in the quintessential Erin Rae way. What it boils down to is that I'm setting myself up to be utterly crushed. again. I am both excited about what could be potential symptoms of early pregnancy and scared senseless about what the hell could possibly be wrong with me if i am not, in fact, prego. Disease? Depression? ... or knocked up? I know for certain that it's not a question of baby versus anal fissures this time. and boy is THAT a relief!

i don't' have any other symptoms... and none that mimic the symptoms
i experienced this early on with my last pregnancy. no hyper-sensitivity
to smell, achy boobs, porn star nipples or belly bursting out of my fat pants. that could be explained by the fact that I have much bigger fat pants this go-around but well... let's not even delve into that heaping pile of bullshit. i haven't had any irrational homicidal feelings toward my perfect angel of a wife and i haven't felt any strong urges to hide in a cupboard cabinet to escape my needy dogs either. although i did get very upset and on the verge of mad tears last night when they kept staring at me. the little shits. who wants to be constantly stared at like that anyway??? i KNOW i ain't gettin' any prettier, so what gives?

so there it is. putting it out here publicly with arrant disregard for jinxing myself AND for having to come back here and publicly explain my craziness when this all goes south.

god help me.

holiday...

2008-07-02T14:40:00.000-07:00

I'm gearing up for a hedonistic holiday weekend complete with copious amounts of margarita drinking, eating horribly fattening greasy foods SANS the vegetables and overall partying and sleep deprivation. Oh and of course Wii Guitar Hero and Dance Dance Revolution will surely be played well into the vampire hours of the am/pm all weekend long. So listen here little embryo/fetus thingie... if you're in there? Show me a sign now or forever hold your peace!!!

I feel zapped of energy this week but I chalk that up to horrendous allergies. And my tits don't hurt except for when I give them each a swift knuckle punch every morning as part of my wakeup routine to see if it's any more painful than the day before. Nope. Same pain so far. The scars are growing though! :) Just kidding.

1 more week or so before I pee on some different kind of sticks and hope for two pink lines. Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc...

Let's HEAR FROM YOU PEOPLE! I'm getting a complex. Geez.

the squirt

2008-06-26T22:13:00.000-07:00

Well... low and behold, "the squirt" came early this cycle. I was originally scheduled for a Day 13 Ultrasound and the usual LH shot routine on Wed. but we executed a last minute switch of plans when I got a pretty little glowing blue line on my OPK sticks Tuesday morning. Day 14 ovulation? "But... sir... but but... it can't be! That's just so... TEXT BOOK!" That's right. With the introduction of my freaky little pills, I am now cultivating a text book perfect cycle. HOT DAMN! We happened to fall on a day when good ole' Dr. Evil was on the Sperm-Injecting Call of Duty and so we once again were threatened with a potentially very awkward moment, but you know... she was absolutely pleasant. She's been at her very best ever since we fired her sorry ass. I like it. I like it a lot. Anyway... that bastard donor whom we lovingly christened "Gabe" had a crazy low sperm count this time and I appeared to inhale it like a Dirt Devil because it was a very different and (hmmmm... less sloppy?) and less crampy experience than usual but I'm not complaining. In fact, I'm not complaining about anything. If it works this time, GREAT. If it doesn't... so what. Just gives me more opportunity to get back into shape hopefully in time to take on a mission to destroy my body. I'm okay with it no matter which way it goes. This little break has had a very positive affect, I believe. and for the first time since that EMPTY bullshit, I'm feeling pretty damn healthy and good about all of this.

I'm BAAAACCK

2008-06-23T17:09:00.001-07:00

It's probably unnecessary to state the obvious that I have been on another non-voluntary hiatus from TTC which has rendered me rather mute in the blogging world for the past many weeks. I had initially thought that I could amuse you all with “day in the life” anecdotes of Erin Rae, but even that proved to be a fruitless endeavor… not unlike my TTC actually, now that I think about it. So at least I'm consistent here. Ha! I very much appreciate those that commented on my being MIA because well… it just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and crap inside and so I’m now newly inspired (at least in this hour) to drool some overly detailed and hopefully entertaining dribblings about… well… nothing, I suppose.

But first - an update. I'm fixin' to jump back on that TTC wagon. I took my teeny weeny little egg-bloating pills this month and have commenced peeing on those damn little sticks again. Speaking of sticks - Really, could somebody please please come up with a better method for this? Like maybe make the fucking stick bigger than my fucking hand??? Or provide a little miniature funnel with the packaging? Seriously. Maybe it’s just me, but peeing on my own hand on a daily basis for a week is really not my idea of a libido polishing pre-func to the big stirrup day. I’m just sayin’. Anyway, where was I? Oh yah; so I’m scheduled for an ovarian photo shoot on Wed. of this week. I’m picking out my outfit and shoes for the occasion tonight! It’s been so long since I’ve visited my posse at the clinic I’m wondering if I secretly miss them, deep deep, WAY deep down inside. My groin, that is. Because that’s the part of me that gets the bulk of their attention after all. I think my posse at the clinic, once I’m finally rid of them, will end up being more like that friend you once had that you just never really liked all that much but you hung around with them anyway because they weren't doing anybody any harm and because you felt it was necessary for one reason or another and when you finally parted ways you didn’t really miss them until you like heard a specific song on the radio or got a whiff of something familiar causing a brief moment of “aw…”. I'm pretty sure that that is precisely how I’ll feel about the clinic and the people there anytime I hear the song “Copa Cabana.” Because they are so very similar, you know.

So, whilst on this TTC break, I’ve been relaxing. Well, in between partying like an 80's Butt Rock Hair Band Legend, at least. Work has been threatening to stress me out, but I’ve adopted and have been fiercely practicing my new “ID GAFF" AKA... "I Don’t Give a Flying Fuck” program and that has been helping to keep stress levels tolerable. Quite tolerable, in fact. I’m not making much commission these days and some might be leery of my new found attitude, but I’m so pleased with the program thus far that I'm considering bottling and patenting my attitude problem, in fact. Maybe selling it on EBay. It suits me. and it complements my perma-smirk.

As evidence of my relaxing, we went camping this weekend. Our first kick-off camping trip of the Summer. I adore camping. Every minute little aspect of it appeals to me in every sense of my being. The smell of campfire smoke lures me into an almost bliss-like trance. I'm not even bothered by the stinging burning sensation in my eyeballs when smoke gets in them because I merely remind myself that smoke follows beauty and I'm instantly flattered and feeling good about myself; not unlike spending a day at the gay Hair Stylists. I love the comforting, soft warm dirt between my toes. I would walk around barefoot in the dirt the entire time if I could. Camping, however, has taken a slight twist from the camping of my childhood days ever since I started toting Drakey along with me. She is mortified at how dirty my feet get; even WITH shoes (although open toed/open everything'd Merrill sandals) on. She quite literally cleans my feet off with Ponds wet wipes before going to bed and always makes me take my shoes off before going into the tent. I like to sit at the door of the tent and sneak one last quick dip back into the dirt before tucking in for the night just to spite her. This past weekend she caught me up to my tricks and declared loudly and angrily that she was going to have to label our god damn sleeping bags from now on and that I'm a filthy barbarian of a human being. This made me smile. Gosh, I love camping.

Okay... well, I can't make any huge promises but I'm thinking about getting back onto the blogging wagon as well. I'm feeling (as always) optimistic about this month. It's up the Universe now. We shall see...

delinquent

2008-06-06T11:46:00.000-07:00

I need to blog more. and I will. soon.

a little bit about nothing

2008-05-22T11:18:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-15T19:34:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-05-13T20:11:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-05-08T16:07:00.001-07:00

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

2008-05-03T20:57:00.000-07:00

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!

Dr. Evil's Angelic Twin

2008-04-27T19:00:00.001-07:00

Insemination Day on Thursday went swimmingly. We were a bit nervous about our reunion with Dr. Evil, as to be expected, but she must have sensed my psychotic and potentially violent tendencies because she sent her angelic Twin (Dr. WHO-THE-FUCK-ARE-YOU-AND-WHAT-HAVE-YOU-DONE-WITH-DR.-EVIL?)as her stand-in. She was like a regular Mary Frickin'-Frackin' Poppins... measuring practically perfect in every way. She was communicative, complimentary and down right delightful; complete with ear to ear smiles and genuine well-wishes. I dare confess that I actually felt a twinge of guilt for firing her. I mean... what kind of asshole fires Mary Poppins???

My two week wait will be spent largely relaxing on the beach in Oahu and Maui so I'm not frettin' that one teensy weensy bit. In fact... I don't know who drugged me but I'm feeling pretty darn delighted about this whole experience so far. Somebody pinch me. Or at least shoot me with a tranquilizer gun.

chubby eggs and awkward pauses

2008-04-22T19:04:00.001-07:00

I had a Day 13 ultrasound today and by god those teensy tiny little fiery Baptist pills appear to have been successful, as my follicles, though not quite mature enough yet, were significantly closer to maturity at Day 13 than ever before. They were not their usual mostly circular shape, but instead have morphed into these odd elongated amoeba like spindly thingies, but hey... whatever. Maybe the longer they are, the more surface area they cover to make themselves available for the swimmers. Maybe swimmers prefer imperfect eggs? Hey... whatever works - I'll take it. The unfortunate news is that my damned polyp is back. Or maybe another one has grown, but some sort of polyp is there anyway. fuck a duck! So the plan of attack is to proceed through this cycle with an HCG shot tomorrow morning and then do an insemination on Thursday. If I don't conceive this cycle then I have to go back on Day 3 of my next cycle, get my uterus filled up with saline (YUM!) to have a closer looksy at this thing, and likely have it surgically removed. In other words, anesthesia and crapping my pants is likely in my near future. Gee... I know I've said this before but I SURE DO hope I get pregnant this cycle!!!

When we made our appointment for the insem, we were informed that it would be Dr. Evil who would be performing the IUI, MUCH to our chagrin. But... but... "you fired her" you might exclaim in shocked disbelief. Yes, yes indeed we did. And apparently that doesn't fuckin' matter. The way this clinic works, we don't have a choice with regards to the inseminations because they just get whomever is available. Can you say "awkward???" Yes... let's all say it together, shall we? I just hope that bitch has the professionalism and desire for self-preservation to not do something vile and spit in my sperm or something otherwise cruel to me out of bitterness and revenge. What if she switched the sperm sample and I ended up with a wonderbread baby??? Can you imagine. It's not like I can shout across the delivery table... "umm... excuse me, Dr. Baby Catcher, but this one is the wrong color. I was expecting one in a palish shade of olive. Can you please take this back." Because that would REALLY shatter my plans for "cut the cord and bring me another lover!" as my planned first sentence upon seeing my newborn beloved addition to the family. and I hate it when things don't go according to plan.

could have been but isn't so...

2008-04-15T23:28:00.000-07:00

April 29th. Well… that makes me 34 and one quarters old. But there’s more (far less interesting though) significance to that date as well. Nine or so months ago I had signed up for the Baby Gaga site that was gracious enough to email me weekly updates about how my little fetus thingie was doing; what is was growing that week, what to expect to feel, etc. I distinctly remember celebrating “BRAINS” week. I was gulping my “ass powder” (don’t bother asking unless you really want to know) morning beverage in the kitchen at work when my coworker approached me and I excitedly declared…

“DUDE – CHECK IT OUT! Today, my pellet is growing BRAINS!!! It’s very important that you don’t fuck with me in any way shape or form today because I need to concentrate or Drakey will be VERY disappointed if the outcome isn’t what she paid for.”

She got it, I think; or perhaps was very afraid that Drakey would track her ass down and rip out her soul because she may have agitated her wife at such a fragile time with her statements, looks, demeanor or overall odor. Or at least she nodded and smiled and backed away slowly from the clearly insane pregnant lady. Whatever. She made good choices at the time.

But alas, that time and that dream passed. I’m not bitter. Ooooh okay, who the fuck am I kidding?… maybe just a little bit. But! Check it out. So, today I received my 38th weekly edition email from Baby Gaga saying… “YOUR PREGNANCY - WEEK 38” and I thought… well, maybe now would be a good time to unsubscribe to this god damn email since the baby ain’t comin’ and the number 38 now only refers to the number of inches I’ve gained around the belly in BEER and not babies over the past many months. I glanced at it more thoroughly before hitting the unsubscribe button and noticed that my due date would have been April 29th. Funny… you’d think that I would have known that but it’s one of those things that got pushed back into the crevasses of my ass-brain for probably some deeply psychological reasons that Sigmund Freud or Carl Jung would have spouted as text book “FUBAR”. Again… whatever. The psyche does what it needs to do. The somat gets fat just for good measure… and to honor the dead or what could have been, I suppose. I am sure I knew and remembered the due date at one point. And I was reminded again today. What struck me as interesting/ironic, however, is that it happens to coincide with the day we are leaving on our trip to Hawaii. You know… that trip to Hawaii that I’ve been growing so uncontrollably excited about over the past weeks that I can now barely stand to mention the word without peeing a little? Yah; *that* trip!

So… back to April 29th. Two scenarios. What could have been?
This feels like a bizarre twist on a Gweneth Paltrow movie about Sliding Doors. Hmm, let’s see… visions of primal screams, panic and rage, anxiety and hope, guts and glory, beauty and miracles and well… let’s be honest, blood guts and sterile metal stirrups with those clipper things that sever your chode from your chode from your whatever the hell you call it (maybe just “FUCKING OUCH!” to keep things simple and laymen-like). Oh, and of course there would be dancing, or at least the fist pumping version of it, from the peanut gallery; and many voices shouting “welcome to Earth” to the new mini-me.

Or… version TWO; dubbed “Reality”.
Greetings of “Aloha” in pleasant cultivated Hawaiian tones, the fragrance of fresh strung lei’s, maybe some hula dancing (but please god don’t let those penises flap around out of their grass skirts like that one dude’s did when my mother forced me to take hula dancing lessons when I was eight), MaiTai’s on the beach, Hawaiian massages, a little sunshine on my prego-imitation beer belly, adult beverages before noon, dancing wildly by a bonfire with only shells covering my nipples, and of course the primal pain of a hangover after a full day and night of sweet fruity alcoholic umbrella drinks. And for Christ's sake, dont' forget the plastic pink monkey's!!! Cuz those I'd be pulling out of my secret bra pockets the next day.

Honestly – if given the choice,I’d be knee deep in blood, nasty bits and primal screams if I could, but I’ve got to say that if I had to spend my “What-if” anniversary doing anything at all? I’ll take the Maui sunset. I'll take the reality of something to still look forward to. I'll accept the notion that the Universe will provide when the time is good and right. And you know what? I think I can find the strength to live with the compromise.

little pills

2008-04-13T17:15:00.000-07:00

I *finally* arrived... bloated, zit faced and mildly homicidal on Cycle Day 1 last Thursday. Thank God and about blasted time! So, this means that I start my first cycle technically on fertility meds. whoo-fuckin'-hoo! My prescription says that I take 1 pill daily for just 5 days between CD 3 and CD 7. Yesterday was my first dosage and I haven't gained 30 pounds or attempted to hump any inanimate objects yet so according to my calculations, so far so good with regards to unwelcome side affects. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I get through dosage # 2 unscathed as well. These pills are funny little things. They couldn't be 1/4 the size of my largest nostril but they are supposed to grow my follicles big and plump? Interesting. We'll see about that. I wonder how it all works; this biochemistry bit about western medicine? If I were a drug manufacturer I would probably do things a bit differently. First and foremost, I'd insist that everybody address me as "Thine Drug Lord" and secondly, instead of relying on years of medical research by well-educated PhD's and thousands of dollars spent on testing, love letters to the FDA, etc. I would likely try to come up with pills that worked through appealling to one's psyche or emotions versus one's body chemistry. For instance, wouldn't it be nice if that little pill served as like a highly affective lobbyist or maybe like a cross between an angry fitness trainer and a fiery babtist minister that got into my blood stream, made it's way into my ovaries and then just started hammering on my eggs, demanding them to do as they are told. "GROW EM' BIG BITCH, GROW 'EM BIG!!!!! Whose yo' Daddy??? Whose large and in charge here, yo?? C'Mon, puff up like you mean it! You can DOOOOOO ITTT!!!!!GRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!"

Clearly, I'm in the wrong profession and these talents and dreams, well... they remain unharvested.

moms malls and mervyns

2008-04-02T22:07:00.000-07:00

Drakey and i were watching tv tonight in our side by side lazy girl chairs when an Olive Garden commercial came on with this business about pasta with cheese and angus beef and all sorts of off the hook goodness and i looked over to her and said something to the tune of...

"jesus tits ! - that looks good!!! i want to go there. and because the Olive Garden is right next to the mall, we should plan on saturday to go eat that beef and cheese pasta business and then mall walk all afternoon and just buy a whole bunch of shit. like... whatever we see."

and Drakey paused for a moment, reflectively; bent over and picked her jaw back up off of the floor, turned to me and said in a very serious, concerned tone... "who are you and what the fuck have you done with my wife?"

you see... i don't go to malls. EVER. at least not since i was old enough to make logical decisions or be forcefully resistant (ie... use highly advanced kung fu moves to combat my mother). i would honestly rather be tied to a barbed wire fence, naked and upside down with blood rushing to my head and oozing out my eyeballs and forced to listen to Annette Funicello songs on repeat in the pouring down rain - or hell, let's make that SLEET, than hang out in a MALL! really, i would. but don't send this info to the FBI or the Taliban, please.

and then the story came drooling out... of my memory as well as my mouth. one that drake actually HADN'T heard before which is a real shocker considering how much i enjoy talking about myself and my childhood. the truth of the matter is that i have spent A LOT of time at malls. i could make the Minnesotan bitches that frequent the Mall of America look like amateurs. my mother was a stay at home mom in the
70's/80's and well... liked to shop!!! i had no choice in the matter. i was forced against my will to walk malls as a child. A LOT! multiple times a week. it's how i stayed fit.

true story: when adults used to ask me the typical adult to child get to know you questions that were still safe to ask in the 80's - "how old are you and where do you live, little girl?" - my response was "I'm 6 and I live at Westgate". The Mall. One of 3 malls, actually, that I probably thought that I lived at. I blurted out this seemingly truthful exclamation in front of my father one day, mistakenly, and there followed some apparently uncomfortable conversations between he and my mother. For the record, I believe they've gotten over it now. Anyway... it all came back to me tonight. After I reached an age where I was physically capable of running for safety my mother used mind trickery and psychological mind-fuck tactics to force me to the mall with her. Her favorite schtick was to bribe me with A&W hotdogs (plain; no relish or yellow mustard) and rootbeer floats if I'd agree to go to the mall afterwards with her. Funny, 25-30years later, Drakey has clued in to this same technique to get me to go shopping with HER! the nerve. anyway... every Tuesday we had to visit my grandmother... ALL the live long day/afternoon. It was just a thing and it wasn't negotiable. I would, of course, get awfully bored hanging out with a bunch of old ladies (some of whom could not speak in complete sentences, which was clearly offensive to a highly intelligent 6-10 year old) and so my mother would send me next door to Mervyns. Mervyns was attached to a mall (West Gate, actually) but apparently I never ventured out of the underoos section of Mervyns. I hung out with and conversed with fabric-bound superheros and probably curious shoppers inquiring about the quality and desirability of children's undergarments an hour or two every Tuesday until my mother or one of my aunts would come fetch me. They, of course, could always count on my being in the underoos section so it really wasn't a problem. My point to all this (and I DO have one) is simple. Amusement. Self-entertainment. Being an only child, I became a highly resourceful, imaginative, self-amused person. I cut paper dolls out of Mervyns (okay, so maybe I'm starting to think there was some sort of Mervyn's issue?) catalog children's ads, put them into schools and gave them all names (all 500+ of them). They lived in shoe boxes when they weren't in class learning about politics and Southeast Asia and underoos, of course! I chilled, happily, at Mervyns amongst masses of underwear for hours at a time. I am no longer that person. Now, I freak out if I find myself bored for more than 2 minutes. I actually start to melt down. I can't imagine being stuck in an underwear section of a store in a mall TODAY! God help me! I get pissy with my wife if she is not in the mood to entertain me in some way. What happened? What is it that kids have that adults don't? and can this shit be bottled and sold in pill form? Cuz I'd pay. I'd pay big fuckin' bucks for those Mervyn's mentality days. At what age does that disappear? or does it? is it just me? I may be conducting some experiments in the coming days.

What's your wacky bored childhood story?

thoughts; just because i have some

2008-03-27T19:29:00.000-07:00

This highly fascinating article was in the Seattle Times and in the Advocate this morning. In summary, a transgendered man (F2M) who started his life as a woman and who has been on hormones and living and passing as a man for the past 10 years, is 5 months pregnant. HOLY BAT SHIT, BATMAN! Wow! Awesome! A whole range of thoughts and emotions sprouted from my guts and bitch slapped me the face when I first read this; even beyond sputtering words of "holy shit" and "wow" because you know... I am highly evolved and multi-dimensional that way. Anyway... I wanted to share some thoughts and maybe solicit some thoughts and emotions of others on this topic. First of all, I will state clearly for the record that I have absolutely NO ethical issue with this what-so-ever. I am well aware of the number of people who will take this news in horror and what does this mean for society, blah blah shut-the-fuck-up-and-open-your-mind-blah; but ethics are not what I want to talk about here.

Here are my thoughts. In no particular order.

1) Selfish thoughts. Martyr syndrome kicks in. This article does not explicitly say how long it took him to conceive, only that it took him 4 months from when he stopped taking testosterone hormones to when he got his first menstrual cycle. First of all, 4 months after being on hormones for 10 YEARS is pretty damn impressive. It took me almost a year to get a period after I went off birth control pills ages and ages past. But whatever. I assumed that conception took place very shortly after. Conception, mind you, via the home-grown turkey baster method. I THOUGHT THAT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO WORK!!! shhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. This is where I start to get a little surly. Really? Did it work the first time? Essentially a dude on testosterone for 10 - TEN years and you can get knocked up? What does this say about me? A dude with ovaries but very little estrogen can get knocked up, and lest we not forget that they now are selling paternity tests over the counter at RiteAid because women can't seem to stop randomly and carelessly procreating and oh oh oh that freak Jerry Springer features a show at least once a month centered around the "Who's Your Baby-Daddy" question and and and JUST @(#(%&@)#%U@#(&)E%I%#!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Seriously. @()*%_)@U%U#RUR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Non-selfish sensitive me thoughts: You, Thomas Beatie, are an amazing person! I am so humbled by you. Truly and sincerely. Because of what you've done because your wife could not conceive herself. Now that's my definition of a self-sacrificing GIVER. This poor dude was born into the wrong gender and identity, no doubt struggled tremendously through his entire life, finally gets to the point where he's secure in his life and passing completely as a man, his friends, neighbors, colleagues, coworkers, grocery store baggers, etc. know him as a MAN and he goes and selflessly puts himself into a situation where he has to stop taking all hormones, live as a pregnant *person* for 10 months and give birth??? Wow. I can only begin to imagine the mental preparation and emotions that went into THAT decision. I am personally blessed to have had the experience of knowing a transgendered man. In college I had a friend who at the ripe age of 19 was going through this same thing. Since I first knew him he identified as a man, but he had not started any hormones and didn't exactly pass completely. When I moved to Seattle a few years later after I graduated he had just started taking hormones. I remember the first time he phoned me and his voice had changed. A total Peter Brady moment. It was nuts! But... not to digress too much. My point is, I have a friend who has gone through this and it's bigger than you and me and anybody could imagine. He was very open with his friends and so I was able to gain some insight on the subject. To effectively "reverse" all of this progress (if even for a bit) to conceive a child because your wife could not is nothing short of saintly. And also, dude, you've got BALLS! Big BIG balls! Gives new meaning to the term "grow a pair", yah? BALLS!!!!!!!

Fess up, YOU BASTARD!

2008-03-20T20:16:00.000-07:00

What I’d really like to know… and what I’ve been wondering about daily for the past 10-15 years of my life, is who on god's good earth, broke into my soul, dislodged and ran away with my self-discipline? Successfully, I might add.

Really… whoever you are, own up! Come out and confess. If you happen to be one of my few readers of this blog, come clean and post a note with your apologies and confessions you spineless, brazen shithead of a thief! Becuz I truly hate you AND your ass-face.

After I found out we had to skip yet another month of TTC, I decided to attempt (AGAIN) to get on a plan. A BIG PLAN. My plan was to stop drinking for a MONTH, work out EVERY DAY for 45 days until I go to Hawaii and eat nothing but protein and vegetables for well... the rest of my life. Maybe my problem is that I aim to high?

Here’s how it’s gone so far. Day 1 – worked out, did not drink alcohol, ate mostly healthy except for that one brief moment shortly before I went to bed when the giant bag of chips that has been sitting on the counter quite literally danced (it was the Mackarena, I’m fairly certain of) into the living room, shimmied up to the “lazy girl” chair where my fat ass had been firmly implanted for the past few hours and actually launched themselves into my mouth (amazing the aim those little f_ckers have) at the speed of sound before I could even think to shut it and shield myself from those monstrous attacking chips. I have since taken protective measures and wired my jaw shut, stationed armed guards in front of the door that leads from the kitchen to my ass-couch and have set fire to my bag of chips and watched them wither away in a blazing inferno whilst blasting Queen's "Bohemiam Rhapsody" at the number 10 dial to create appropriate ambiance and dramatic affect. It was a public execution, of sort, afterall. Safe - for Day 2.

Day 2 – worked out (but only on one side of my body because I couldn't physically move the other side), ate mostly healthy, had a 45 minute think tank discussion with Drakey on whether a 3/4 full bottle of wine that was sitting on our counter from Monday night’s St. Pattie’s Day festivities was going to keep until the weekend. The answer, CLEARLY, was absolutely not. And GOD SAVE THE WINE, people. Let's be serious here for a second. The decision couldn't’ be avoided. And we made the right one. We drank the wine. It went down beautifully.

Day 3 – Now I can’t move either side of my body. Tell me, how is a girl supposed to work out if she can’t move either side of her body? I went to ask.com but Jeeves had stepped out for a smoke and nobody offered up any suitable answers so I said 'f-ck it', plopped my ass down on the couch and ate some meatballs instead. Seemed like a logical substitution. Oh – and in honor of Good Friday and Easter, my chips have somehow resurrected themselves from the dead. 'Nuff said about that. Lastly – EVERYBODY knows that you can’t eat meatballs (or meat of any kind) without a nice rich, plump Syrah. Tonight we’re drinking the whole bottle because we definitely don’t want to be put in another dilemma like last night. Jesus Tits.

So… I ask myself and you, kind reader, and the spirits in the world hovering around listening in… or reading blogs… WHO THE F_CK RAN OFF WITH MY SELF-DISCIPLINE and may I please please please have it back. PLEASE.

an update: simple yet long winded anyway

2008-03-18T17:23:00.000-07:00

With Dr. Evil now out of the picture, Drakey and I signed up for a consult with our new doc (Dr. Wild Bill) today. My appointment was at 10:30am. We each left our respective offices and arrived promptly, as usual. At 11:15 we were ushered into another "private" waiting room. Around 11:30am, Dr. Wild Bill decided to grace us with his presence. But you know... I'm not going to get started off on the wrong foot with this guy because frankly, it saps my energy. So he's a little tardy. At least he has an excuse. He's probably REALLY REALLY popular. Yah. Anyway... after 13 months of TTC, we finally were offered some formal direction. It felt nice. It restored some hope. It rejuvenated my attitude...maybe a tiny little bit. We did ask him to put me on meds. He recommended something mild; Letrozole (Femara). It apparently cures breast cancer AND stimulates egg follicle production. Who knew? I say that's a pretty damn nifty drug to be aware of, in my very professional opinion. I only have to take it 5 days of each cycle and it renders very few side affects. It's also not FDA approved but the FDA probably doesn't know sh*t about f*ck and I've never been one to go by the book anyway. Dr. Wild Bill noted that I've had a consistent polyp that was of some concern and recommended we measure it and then have it surgically removed. For the record, I don't like surgery. It's a quick out patient surgery but you still have to go full under on anesthesia and the last time I had an anesthesia hang over, I quite literally crapped my pants in the middle of having a probably entirely serious and likely uncomfortable conversation with my dad because apparently anaesthesia takes away your ability to detect any sensation that tells you that your bowels are about to explode; so as much as I look back fondly on that moment, I'm not so keen on having a repeat incident... only this time in front of my wife. Sexy, eh? Anyway... so because I'm pulling out all the stops at this point, I reluctantly agreed that if my polyp was still there and maybe (or maybe not) f_cking shit up, then I would do it.

Given that our scheduled consult happened to fall on CD 14, we went ahead and scheduled an Ultrasound as well in hopes that my eggs would be mature enough to do the LH shot and inseminate tomorrow. I wasn't hopeful. I was right. My follicles measured a whoppin' 8 nano-buckets which is not quite HALF of where they need to be at to be considered "mature". It also told me that they probably couldn't get to the size they needed to be at in time to be considered a viable cycle. BUT!!! that Ultrasound did reveal something shocking. My persistent little polyp that showed up one day around insemination attempt #4 and has stuck around all this time to witness numerous sperm invasions, magic wands and catheters has suddenly disappeared! Wowzers! That rocks! No surgery and no crapping my pants in front of Drakey! There is a God! So the outcome is that we're going to skip this cycle. I make big tits but small eggs. I guess it's important for my body to find a nice yin and yang balance of femininity in that regard. Whatever. We will give it a rest for a month and let the drugs kick in and grow my eggs big and plump like my breasticles and then go in for the kill sometime in late April. It will give me yet another chance to exercise and detox a bit and try to pull my head back out from inside my ass a bit. I've failed at these three things on every attempt so far but they say if you try and try and try again then one day you just might succeed. Seems like sound advice to me, so OKAY!

We were happened upon an Infomercial on TV the other day and they were advertising for a workout routine called "The 30 Day Shred" by Jillian Michaels and the lady on the TV told me that I would drop 20 pounds in 30 days so I said... "well, that sounds peeerrrtty damn gooooood! Right in time for our Hawaii trip! And because the lady on the TV told me, I'm choosing to believe her. Of course, the last time I watched an Infomercial we ended up with that stupid Ab Lounger that I'm literally terrified of because I'm convinced it's going to snap and make an amputee out of me and so I won't go within 100 feet of it. And the Infomercial before that, we ended up with a Bowflex that doubles as a Coat Hanging device in our music room/workout room/library. Please note that I neither work out, read nor make much music in this room so that contraption has collected a fair amount of dust as well. AND... while I'm on the subject, the Infomercial before that, we bought the "Set it and Forget It" Rotisserie which is supposed to be a really awesome LEAN meat option because all the fat drips out. What the Infomercial DIDN'T tell us is that it comes with a giant injector device that we figured out right quick would be super nifty for sucking up all the fat that dripped out and injecting it right back into the meat! So much more YUMMY that way, you know? So that didn't work out as planned either. I'm really hoping the "SHREDDER" will have some different results.

Well, I warned you in the title that this would be long-winded. At least I've succeeded at this. Can't say I'm good for nothin', yah?

OB Office - voicemail

2008-03-14T19:20:00.000-07:00

This should be the voicemail answering machine at the Hades clinic. A little humor for all of us TTC girls who are all too familiar with the stirrup queen role.

drastic and tragic

2008-03-11T18:59:00.001-07:00

I have only 4 more tries left until we reach our 1 year or 12 attempts mark and am forced to revert to my "second string womb"... AKA Drakey. I am going to take the high road and not disclose 100% my true feelings about this publicly here because well... I don't want to start World War III; but needless to say, there's a fire under my ass and I'm a weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee little bit concerned. And by concerned I mean stressed-out-beyond-measure-don't-sleep-at night-near-panic-like-state, Concerned. Perfect recipe for priming myself for utmost fertility, I'm sure. It has nothing to do with Drakey - hell - she would do this 100% better than I ever could but it's MY thing and I want to do it. I have a clock. It ticks. A LOT. I want to experience pregnancy. And I don't want her to have to compromise herself by picking up the pieces of my failure. But I've already said too much. So I'll shut up.

So drastic times call for drastic measures and Step # 1 was firing Dr. Evil. That bitch has been formally fired in that red-headed comb-over of an arrogant bastard, spindly finger-pointing Donald Trump way - FIRED. We (we, meaning Drakey, cuz I'm a lover not a hater, and besides I'm kinda spineless when it comes to this stuff) called the clinic and requested our file be transferred to another Dr. That Dr. Evil wasn't working out for us and is not meeting our expectations in terms of proactive care and that she didn't share our ideas of how aggressive we should be. Drakey, you see, is all things diplomatic, tactful and polite. What I would have said was "that bitch has done NOTHING FOR US! NOTHING AT ALL but feed us excuses and bullshit and crappy bed side manner coupled with moments of such extraordinary social awkwardness you could cut the tension in the air with a dull butter knife. And besides, she's late. ALWAYS, without fail, late which gives me hypertension and probably makes my perfectly fertile ripe eggs explode on the scene moments before the sperm invasion. Anyway... so Dr. Evil has been "REMOVED FROM THE CASE" and we have been ever so fortunate to be assigned one of the most renown fertility specialist and endocrinologist in the Pacific Northwest. Yeehaw!!! I am going to refer to him here on out as "Dr. Wild Bill". It fits. And I'm hoping to shit that Dr. Wild Bill can help a sister out.

Step # 2 is to go on drugs. For those that know me well, you'll understand what a compromise this is for me. I hate hate hate hate hate meds, pills of any sort. I don't even take aspirin unless I'm literally bleeding out my eyeballs (or having a drug induced miscarriage that breaks my ovaries apart bit by bit and sends them colliding down my ........... oh fuck it - you get the idea). I don't like drugs one bit... and I especially don't like ones with enormous side effects that make you fatter than fuck... blown up like the Pilsburry Dough Dyke. Cuz I really need more of that right now!!! But I'm going to do it. Bring on the drugs. I repeat - drastic times call for drastic measures.

Lastly - I am going to find religion and start praying. If anybody can recommend a religion to me, I'm open to ideas. I studied Tibetan Buddhism once, but sadly found that I'm not all that peaceful. I prefer Eastern things, just as a tip. But I'm not ruling anything out. DT=DM!!!

a list... of sort

2008-03-04T15:50:00.001-08:00

Things that do NOT get you pregnant. In no particular order:

1) reverse psychology
2) mass pineapple consumption
3) praying to the baby jesus
4) wishing on falling eyelashes
5) threatening Aunt Flow with corporal punishment and foreign torture tactics
6) playing stirrup queen to Dr. Evil
7) stocking your purse with sanitary devices in hopes of irony playing a part in your life in just the right way
7) just because you want it and deserve it

Things that seem to get you pregnant but can't work for me:

1) dry martinis and mini skirts some drunk night in Vegas (but who really remembers?)
2) being 16, horny and dumber than a sack of rocks
3) having copious amounts of sex with men and a lucky star shining down on you
4) S&M swings?

Alas, another cycle of hope and failure commences.

out of left field...

2008-03-02T18:10:00.000-08:00

In consideration of "operation try not to get knocked up", I've decided to post a blog about something entirely unrelated to pregnancy, and my unprecedented fear and aversion to it.

I normally don't post other "funnies" here but I couldn't help myself. I've watched this about 6 times over many days and haven't stopped laughing yet. So, I had to spread the warmth. And yes, maybe I am referring to that warm tingling feeling in your pants after you've wet yourself from laughing so hard over this. Enjoy.

reverse-psychology

2008-02-26T19:06:00.000-08:00

I'm thinking hard about adopting a reverse psychology approach/attitude to this cycle's two week wait. It seems that my luck has been a bit off lately. And by lately I mean always, my whole life's existence, although I do consider myself extremely lucky in some regards... just not in matters such as these. Or winning the mega-millions and such. I'm unlucky in that regard too, in case anybody was wondering. So, I'm hoping that if I start approaching this pregnancy bit as something I desperately don't want to happen (like oh... 90% of teenagers and young adults who spend their lives preoccupied with finding ways to avoid pregnancy) then maybe I can trick my luck into dishing me what it thinks is a raw deal. Yah? Sara-SP - you're a psychology chica, what do you think? Can luck, personified, can be dooped?

So, I took a relaxing, much needed, bath tonight and I mapped out my approach. First, I'm going to attempt to ignore the fact that I may possibly be knocked up for the next week and a half, and then... on the day when I'm supposed to test - instead secretly sneaking sticks under my hoo-hoo whilst urinating for 3 days prior to the day I'm technically allowed to test, I'm going to drink a fair amount of tequila... saunter down to the quickie mart store (oh, who am I kidding, there is no quickie mart where I live... but I will saunter down, schnockered and such to the Whole Foods near where I work - cuz you know... I'll probably do it on business hours and such just to make it all the more inappropriate), and pick up a 6 pack of really nasty, cheap strong beer like Mickey's Big Mouth Malt liquor or maybe a bottle of Boon's Strawberry Hill, a pack of Lucky Strikes (no, I don't smoke, but I could start?) and a pregnancy test. And maybe some pork rhines (or is it rinds?). Just to finish off the ensemble, you know? And I'll pick out the most innocent looking check out person, stumble up to him or her, send my baggie of goods skidding fast and furiously across the checkout conveyor belt and give him/her a big sloppy grin and overly exaggerated wink and slur something to the tune of... "fuck, man... sure hope that little fucker's not positive again..."

cycles of hope

2008-02-19T14:45:00.001-08:00

Today we went in for insemenation attempt # 8; or attempt # 3 since the miscarriage (as our person put it). I guess that all depends on how you chose to do the math. This month also marks the 1 year point from when we first started trying to conceive. Part of me feels like..."Holy shit! - has it been that long?" and the other part of me is like...Jesus Gay, what an effed up year this business has put us all through; let's get on w/it for f_cks sake.

On a bright note - this apopintment was entirely and shockingly down right pleasant. Practically like going to Disney Land, I dare say. I have to wonder if they turned over their entire staff. Everybody was RIGHT ON TIME (that's a first) and we had a woman we had never seen before who must have been new because she was so nice and helpful and interested and courteous and and and... wow! I'm still in a state of shock and it's been over 6 hours. It was by far the easiest appt. we've had to date. I'm giving some serious thought to writing a letter to the clinic asking if they could clone her and fire everybody else.... and what the hell took them so long???

So, thus begins another cycle of hope. That's what these stints have come down to. Lunar months bisected between hope and dismay. And today, I find myself feeling decidedly hopeful. I have something to look forward to for the next two weeks.

For this cycle (cycle 8/3), I'm revisiting to the 3rd time's a charm approach. It didn't work the first time, but hell... no need to give up just yet, right?

and p.s. cuz i'm not done bitching...

2008-02-06T16:19:00.001-08:00

and the next time that whore Auntie Flow shows her bitch-ass face around these parts, I'm going to shoot her right between the eyeballs with this Hello Kitty assault rifle.

That should show her!

2008-02-06T15:25:00.000-08:00

I've been putting off writing this because I'm still too steaming pissed to form rational words or thoughts around this subject. But I figured I owed people an update so here it is.

I AM NOT PREGNANT... again. and on top of that, I am officially sub-fertile (a.k.a.) FUCKING BROKEN!

This past cycle screwed with me so badly it was ridiculous. First I had spotting on DPO 5. I thought I was knocked up. Then more spotting on DPO 11. Odd, but definitely knocked up and there was no way in hell that time was an anal fissure or a figment of my overly active imagination. No way. I got a little concerned but remained confident when my spotting continued through DPO 12 and then DPO 13 greeted me with a full blown period. WHAT THE FLYIN' FUCK??? A 12 day leutal phase? Are you frickin' kidding me? How is it that when I started this process a full mother-effin' YEAR ago I had a perfect little 14 day leutal phase, a clear uterus and text book perfect hormone levels. I was primed for fertility and damn excited about what the future held. 12 months later and what do I have to show for it? Well, let's see. I've got a frickin' polyp that seems to get in the way of everything, a wacked out leutal phase and a god-damn bad attitude? Oh... and lest we forget NO BABY! Just fond memories of dabilatating human avalanches made out of my ovaries, about 15K less in the bank account and a fucking clock that is running out of time on me!

If it wasn't painfully obvious, I'm a little pissed off about this situation.

hope floats eternal

2008-01-27T10:09:00.001-08:00

Ladies and Gentleman,

This cycle is really f_ckin' with my mind. I have a distinctly inconclusive BBT temp chart - having missed temping on what turns out to be the ONE SUPER CRITICAL day that would tell me if my egg made it within the 36 hour window of live sperm swimming inside of me. But, I don't know. I have concluded that I did, in fact, ovulate this month (that's good) but not sure if it was between CD 15-16 or CD 16-17. The latter would be too late considering I got jacked up on CD 14. Anyway... I've spent this first week resigned to the fact that we missed our window of opportunity and that I was not going to be pregnant this cycle. I would have rated myself about a 1 on the banana scale of 1 / 10. I was obviously very disappointed at first but made my peace with it and managed to not think about pregnancy or anything related this first few days. THEN... the events of yesterday came along and threw a total kink in my plan. I had spotting. Day 6 (or so) DPO and all of a sudden there's spotting. Holy COW PIE - JESUS MARIA JOSE - MOTHER OF ALL THINGS GOOD - CRAP SHIT WOW!!!!!!!!! spotting! As in, implantation spotting. After clogging up the toilet with so much toilet paper to reconfirm and reconfirm and reconfirm, I did some research and learned that implantation spotting happens in about 20% of women between DPO 6 and 10. Bingo. Of course - then the second guessing starts in. I couldn't reproduce it, although god help me I tried about every 10 minutes. It was such a minimal amount and not exactly the brownish color described on the Internet so now I'm wondering if god decided to bring me hemorrhoids or perhaps maybe a cute little anal fissure for my 34th birthday! Baby? or anal fissure? Therein lies the question. I know, people, you don't have to tell me that I'm too sexy for your love because well... I just already know, okay!!

So, now I'm feeling really cautiously optimistic about this and have bounced right up to about a 8/10 on my banana scale. Dare I?

So in the event that this is the real deal, I thought it would be important to jot down the chronology of events so that Reilly (and me) can lovingly reflect back onto the first few days of her (obviously it will be a girl because of the late ovulation - duh!) coming into this world.

Dear Reilly...

I got inseminated on a Sunday (Jan. 20th) on what was more than likely a bitterly cold rainy Seattle day. We were on time (which translates to early) for our appointment, naturally, and the doctor was not. We had been told by the receptionist that they were so busy that they had double booked all appointments. Good strategy... you know... cuz you people have it sooooo organized and rolling like a well-oiled machine already. Yah. Anyway... Dr. Evil was not there that day because she was off tending to her infernos in the depths of Hell, and so I got assigned a different doctor for the "procedure". Her name was Dr. Marquis de Sade and my god was she in a big hurry! I have included a picture of her in this blog because - well - this is clearly an important piece of documentation about your life and visual aids always always help. Especially at your youthful age. To get to right to the heart of the matter, this lady had some serious violent tendencies. A gentle-touch was NOT her M.O. She jammed that cold, un-lubed speculum into me with no warning what so ever and just as I was able to catch my breath and tell her "um... something ain't right - this hurts like a mother fucker - in went the catheter. I felt like I was the victim of a massive oil drilling. I honest to god couldn't speak or breath. I was clenched up in pain and squeezing the life blood out of Drake's hand. It was all over in about 45 seconds - very reminiscent of my heterosexual days - and thank god for that. She was so rough I actually honestly bled/spotted for the remainder of the afternoon. Gave serious thought to bringing my red poka-dotted underpanties in and demanding a refund.

Anyway...

DPO 5 - I needed a hamburger. Bad. I also had these crazy back spasms that would have had me doubled over in pain if I were physically capable of moving my torso, that is. Which I wasn't.

DPO 6 - Seriously f_cked up dreams. 3 of them in a row and all too shameful to put into words. Also, implantation spotting or an anal fissure. I've never had rhoids or an anal fissure or implantation spotting before so I honestly can't tell the difference.

Dearest Dearest Reilly - please please be you and not an anal fissure. If I were the praying type, I'd be writhing on the floor right now speaking in tongues, that's how serious I am about this. A baby - or an anal fissure. Another great mystery yet to be unveiled.

6 non-important things...

2008-01-22T11:48:00.000-08:00

SaraS-P did a mass tagging of her readers to list 6 non-important things about myself, and I must follow these rules.

To quote her, she said "seriously, if you read this, you must do the assignment. And I'll know who has read...because I am a powerful psychic after all." and well... I take those threats seriously, so... here goes.

The Rules:1) Link to the person that tagged you.2) Post the rules on your blog.3) Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.4) Tag at least three people at the end of your post and link to their blogs.5) Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.6) Let the fun begin!

1) Time. I'm obsessed with it. And I'm not referring to just a minor little quirk, but rather a major, colossally unhealthy and mildly irrational compulsion that dramatically affects my day to days. I sort of have it under control, but it's been a struggle. When I was in high school and early college days, I would sit on the kitchen counter, compulsively kicking my feet into the cabinets and staring at the clock on the microwave waiting until just the exact minute and second to leave for school. I couldn't have any interruptions and I absolutely HAD to get out the door at the exact moment; not a minute too soon or god forbid, too late. I would also dial POPCORN (the number with the operator that would tell you the time down to the second) about 4 times a day and make sure that all the clocks in my immediate vicinity were perfectly synced up. Later, the atomic clock was invented that syncs satellite to NASA or something and of course I own one of those which brings me great comfort.

2) I have a dimple in my chin. I've always had mixed feelings about it. When I was a kid, I hated it. I spent hours shoving pencils and sharp objects into the chins of my close friends so that they too would have a dimple and I would be less unusual. It didn't work. When I moved to Florida for a year, a guy on my bus used to ask if that was a 9-hole golf course in my chin and would call me "butt chin." He had bad acne and fucked up fly-away hair and I would try to smack him in the face but he was like a black belt in karate or some shit and would always manage to block my attacks. I hope he's fat and diseased now. Not like a deadly disease but maybe something that just makes him generally miserable because you know... karma's a bitch. Now I kind of like my dimple. Kids like to stick their little fingers in it and I pretend like there's a monster hiding in there that will come out and bite their fingers off. It's my thing and few others can offer that sort of play time for them, so that makes me feel special. My mother told me that I had a dimple because when I was first born, God came down and looked at all the little babies in the nursery and pointed his finger right down into my chin and said "I like YOU the best." I believe that to be truth to this day even though both my parents have dimples so genetically I didn't stand a chance. I hope Reilly has a dimple too.

3) I'm a compulsive liar about brushing my teeth. It's just about the only thing I ever lie about and I'm not honestly sure why I do it; but I really hate brushing my teeth at night and so when Drakey yells down at me - I just tell her I've done it. She knows that I tell lies. If she calls me on it, I'll confess that I've lied but I'll continue to do it. Probably forever. And no, I don't have fucked up nasty British teeth. My teeth are perfectly fine.

4) I can't do Math. I'm fairly certain I have a learning disability where this subject is concerned but that's never been tested nor confirmed. I can say with 100% certainty that if somebody were to hook me up to some stuff that monitored my pulse or heart beat that it would sky rocket when presented with any Math question, even of the simplest variety. Something physically triggers inside of me, I'm sure of that. It can be likened to a mad rage. On the flip side, I have a knack for remembering numbers. I know every body's birthday and phone number I've ever known my whole life dating back to the 1980's. I remember numbers like crazy - just don't ever ask me to add, subtract, multiply or divide them because I can't be held accountable for my actions.

5) I secretly wish I were a rock star. 'Nuf said.

6) I'm actually nice. Sincerely. This may come as a shock because well... I'm offensive and I speak my mind and am brutally honest and I throw insults here and there but I really am a very nice person when it comes down to it. I'm sensitive as hell and I care greatly for people and human kind. I never cried for the first 25 years of my life and then one day... the tears started coming and they haven't ever really stopped. I cry through commercials, reality TV shows, reading hallmark cards, the mention of weddings or new births, etc. It doesn't take much to bring me to tears. And to quote a line out of Steel Magnolias - "laughter through tears is my favorite emotion." I hold this as truth.

Now... I'm also going to cheat and just tag anybody and everybody who reads this. I know who you are and I *will* be checking. But just in case I don't check - post me a comment or send email and let me know that you did because that would just delight me senselessly. Hell... I'll probably cry.

Oh oh oh - two postings back to back in one week! on a roll!

Jesus goes green

2008-01-19T11:33:00.000-08:00

Drake and I were having one of our par for the course, extraordinary mensa-caliber conversations this past weekend over breakfast about the controversy surrounding Hybrid Vehicles and their carbon footprint, or lack thereof, on the planet. A friend of mine recently suggested that these hybrid vehicles are not nearly as "green" as they claim to be because there's supposedly something about the production and disposal of the actual battery that is the equivalent of the waste of producing 10 cars. The batteries REAL BIG, I guess. 10X big. Drake looked at me with one of her "Im revvin' up to think big thoughts that are gonna blow your mind" - exascerbated expressions and her first response was "is she a Republican?". and i said... well... "yes, as a matter of fact, but what the hell does that have to do with anything?" To which the all-wise Drakey replied "all Republicans find ways to spin things. Don't be stupid." Oh. well... okay. I'll take that and tuck it neatly away into my little asserted this-is-truth-no-research-needed pocket and never question it again. But that's not my point. And believe it or not, my point is not to rip on Republicans either in this blog entry (just this one), shocking as that may seem. My target today is something closely related and well... equally, if not more offensive. Uber Christians. Yes... (insert evil laugh here... something like Mwa ha ha) - you are the victim of my bitterly jaded, need to transfer my pain and anguish of challenged fertility (Mwwaahaha HA HA) humor tonight. I'm sure you can somehow find it in your good Christian hearts to forgive me, because honestly, I respsect everybody's beliefs and I mean no harm. But humor and sarcasm needs a place, doesn't it? Anyway... to the point of my story. So we had this brief, but highly enlightened conversation and 10 minutes later we went for a pleasant Sunday morning constitutional with the dogs around the neighborhood. And to what did my wandering eyes did appear? But a vision of hysterical irony parked ever so near. This is where I insert a note that says "See Photo Above". You see that giant, gas guzzling monster of a vehicle? The one with the giant carbon footprint and of course, only found in America? Well fear not hippies, vegans and radical environmentalist. That fucker's POWERED BY JESUS!!! No Shit, Sherlock; it's true! It even has a giant sticker on the back certifying that it truly is powered by Jesus. Now that's the ticket! Why oh why didn't we all think of that before? Here we are - all these years, burning through billions of gallons of fuel, throwing emissions into the air as carelessly as a pair of swinging tits at Mardi Gras and all this time... there was Jesus - willing to make our vehicles go to and fro all along. Wow. Jesus Pits - do I feel like a complete idiot!

So thanks, Jesus, for that. Now tell me... where can I get a car powerd by Jesus cuz I sure could use the extra cash I'd save on gas money what with all of these failed inseminations attempts and what not. Note to self. Look at ads on Craig's list this weekend. Vehicles - powered by Jesus.

Which brings me to my next point. I actually got inseminated this weekend. On CD 14. That's right. 1-4. FOURTEEN! As in - implying a 28 day cycle? Could it be? That's never happened to me before. Never. That's like... perfectly effin' normal. Ideal. But that blue line on the OPK was shining brilliantly Saturday morning on CD 13 and I thought for just a second - holy cow pie, Erae - this could be it. Like a sign from Jesus whom I hope will power the new ATV I plan on buying now that I know that they are so enviornmentally sound now. So I got inseminated on CD 14 and then you know what happened? Oh... I failed to ovulate the next day. Yep. No temp rise. So the 16.8 million sperm that my fragile uterus was playing host to these past 36 hours are probably all dead now and well... I forgot to drop of mother fucking egg!! awesome! I'm wondering if I should try to create some good karma and stop making fun of perfectly innocent people? Hmm.... nah. Mwuhahaha.

exercise and such...

2008-01-09T16:29:00.000-08:00

Greetings! Now that the new year has arrived and the failed attempt at my last cycle is behind me, I've decided to try something outrageous and different. This week I've replaced alcohol with exercise. Deplorable, I know!!!! You'd think that somebody bashed me over the head and all of my brain cells spilled out. But I've got to do something to make positively sure that 2008 is a vast improvement from 2007 (although frankly, that can't be too difficult) and since apparently this fertility business is sort of out of my control, I thought it might be productive to make a change that IS in my control. and I've always wanted to look like Linda Hamilton in Terminator. So I'm exercising like a crazy possessed mad woman. Morning and night. Me and that blasted elliptical machine are practically welded together, moving in unison with tiger-like grace... yah yah - that's it!! and I'm focused... dammit. Wish me luck. Generally these irrational episodes of mine only last about a week.

As for the fertility update - well, I guess pineapples aren't the miracle cure afterall. Whatever. I'm blaming it on the donor this time. His junk was probably too slow. It had been sitting around unfrozen for probably over an hour by the time Dr. Evil arrived 45 minutes late last time so maybe it all imploded and died or something. It was also the last of our vials and they always save the lowest sperm count for last. Now, of course, we're faced with a bit of a predicament because the Cryobank won't have any IUI-ready junk available and out of quarantine until late January which means that I'll probably have to miss the next cycle. I told Drakey to have them put some on layaway for us, but now I'm wondering if we should mix it up and try a few cycles with ICI. Does anyone have any or know of many success stories with ICI and the turkey baster... um... methodology, for lack of a better word? I would *LOVE* to not have to spend all that quality time in a sterile white room at the Hades clinic playing slutbag to Dr. Evil and be able to have a somewhat normal, dare I even say "intimate" experience at home with this, but... ugh. I just don't know. Do people really use a turkey baster? How do they even do it? Is there some sort of tool for that? Any advice is welcome because *obviously* I don't know shit about f*ck on this ICI topic.

Auntie Flow

2008-01-07T11:41:00.000-08:00

Dearest Auntie Flow,

Fuck off!

Sincerely (deeply and truly)

Erae

40 questions

2007-12-26T15:07:00.000-08:00

40 Questions - A meme.

I'm new to this stuff. But here we go. Oh - and I don't know how to tag anybody.

My uncle once: cracked and ate my perfectly painted Easter egg that I so generously offered to him when I was 5. I was horrified. I cried for days. I still occasionally cry now.
Never in my life: have I streaked naked through a shopping mall.
When I was five: I was 28 years younger and far more adorable than I am today.
High School was: a mind fuck. but a damn good one.
I will never forget: kindnesses bestowed upon me.
I once met: Charmian Carr, the actress who played Liesl von Trapp in the original “Sound of Music.” She had the most brilliant blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I was rendered speechless.
There's this girl I know who: just absolutely does it for me. I’ve been in love with her for 13 years. And she actually loves me back!!!
Once, at a bar: I danced Coyote-Ugly style on the bar top to an audience of rednecks.
By noon, I'm usually: wondering what’s for lunch? And while I'm at it -what’s for dinner?
Last night: I drank an exquisite Alexander Valley Meritage.

If I only had: a wee little child with a dimple in it’s chin.
Next time I go to church: I will likely burst into flames.
Terry Shiavo: fucking tragic.
What worries me most: Disease. Freak Accidents. George Bush.
When I turn my head left, I see: bright lights and… and… is that a UFO?
When I turn my head right, I see: Angelina Jolie. Oh wait… am I supposed to be awake for this?
You know I'm lying when: I swear that I’ve brushed my teeth before going to bed.
What I miss most about the eighties: knickerbockers, Gotcha shorts and River Pheonix.
If I was a character in Shakespeare, I'd be: Puck. Definitely.
By this time next year: I hope to have a baby attached to my breasticles. And a hair cut.
A better name for me would be: “Dances With Dykes”. It’s my American Indian name.
I have a hard time understanding: The Christian Right.
If I ever go back to school, I'll: study Viticulture.
You know I like you if: I make vicious fun of you. Or tell you that 'you're okay in my book.'
If I ever won an award, the first person I'd thank would be: the dude that handed me the award. duh.

Darwin, Mozart, Slim Pickens & Geraldine Ferraro: who the hell is Slim Pickens?
Take my advice, never: chose salad when you can have pizza.
My ideal breakfast is: sour-dough smothered in olive oil and grilled with just the right amount of grill marks and then stuffed with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, ham and melted cheese. And a Bloody Mary. Oh mamma!
A song I love, but do not own is: that white-trash christmas song about buying … “a box of tampons and some marboro reds. “
If you visit my hometown, I suggest: looking left and then right and marveling at the mountains. Throw a fish or two down at Pike’s Place and try a cask conditioned ale at any one of the numerous brew pubs.
Tulips, character flaws, microchips & track stars: Gerber Daisies, Slow Talkers, Honing Devices and Under-water ballet artists.
Why won't people: stop voting Republican?
If you spend the night at my house: I’ll send my dog Scarlett in to wake you up and lick your hair in the morning. Then I’ll make you a big breakfast and we’ll try to remember what happened the night before.
I'd stop my wedding for: a trip to the moon. But then I’d like to immediately reconvene once I’ve landed on the moon.
The world could do without: Bigotry. Organized religion (NOT to be mistaken for spirituality).
I'd rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: be trapped in a room with somebody wreaking of Patchouli Oil.
My favorite blonde is: Sharon Stone. I guess.
Paper clips are more useful than: a paper weight. Who the hell needs a paper weight at their desk? I mean, it’s not like a strong gust of wind is going to go sweeping through your cubicle and send all your precious papers flying. Paper weight’s are just dumb. Dumb dumb dumb.
If I do anything well, it's: I’ve been told I’m a really good kisser. Nah… make people laugh and smile.

And by the way: when in doubt – eat pizza.

Then and Now

2007-12-24T11:02:00.000-08:00

It's official. I am cycling again. After 3 rather expensive ultrasounds last week, and some painfully slow follicle growth, I finally reached that critical point where I could get my LH shot and inseminate and be on with this business. I actually managed to to slip in 1 day before the clinic closed for Christmas and Christmas Eve (the *only* two days of the entire year they are closed), so I take that as a pretty decent enough sign.

I hadn't realized how long it had been since I had an insemination (June or July, I think) so I actually found myself to be a little nervous all over again. I'm in real thick with the magic ultrasound wand but the whole speculum/catheter business is a distant ex-friend of mine - tossed to the side without so much as a "nice knowin' ya". Now I stick my foot in my mouth at our forced reacquaintence.

The major differences about then and now? Well... there are a lot, actually; but here are the highlights:

1) 2 week waiting period until I find out if I'm pregnant:
Then: Total agony. Time practically moving backwards, nightmares of Dali's dripping clocks. Now: I don't give a shit.

2) Doctor Evil again 45 minutes late for the appointment:
Then: Torture. The kind that makes your face twist and contort into freaky horror-flick moments also resulting in rise of blood pressure, violent feelings toward Doctors, God and all living creatures.
Now: I don't give a shit.

3) BBT's and Charting:
Then: Compulsively taking my BBT's to see if there's any rise or dip or any indication of implantation. Reading through thousands (no, millions) of other people's BBT charts that achieved pregnancy to see if mine had any of the same similarities or patterns as theirs.
Now: I don't give a shit. That thermometer is caked in dust shoved behind my alarm clock or something on the side table of the bed. It's probably growing a fungus, too.

4) Health:
Then: Cut out coffee, Alcohol (for the most part, shit; who am I kidding?), ate my vegetables, fruits, etc.
Now: I don't give a shit. I'm working on the coffee bit but still drinking like a fish and intend to continue until I see two pink lines. As for vegetables? There are pills for that, no?

5) Attitude:
Then: hopeful. Optimistic. Nervous. Terrified.
Now: Whatever...

Similarities: Because I'm soooooo dead convinced that it worked last time, I got my pineapple again. :) And glad to be cycling... at least.

books are for edumacation

2007-12-19T15:13:00.000-08:00

I know it's bad luck to get any baby things, be it toys, books, clothes, accessories etc. before you're out of the danger zone (ie... first trimester) but they didn't say anything about obtaining baby things before the baby is even conceived! So... I found this terrific book and well... I think it will come in handy later!

INJUSTICES

2007-12-18T13:10:00.000-08:00

The following injustices have been either done to me or presented to me in the past week. And because I have nothing else to talk about - I thought I'd share with you all so that you can sigh loudly, weep a little and generally feel sympathy.

Injustice # 1:

Scene of the Crime: Sacramento, California

Victim: One small white dog named "Lil' Sweetie Collard". (I KNOW!!!!)

Perpetrator: Unknown

Drake's sister called last week (well... she calls every day, multiple times a day actually but in this instance, it happened to be the phone call last week) and asked Drake to do some research for her. Seems that their wee little Sweetie Collard doggie has giant swollen nipples and when squeezed, they lactate. Dios Mio!!! Anyway... she wanted to know if that meant that she was pregnant. Um... I would certainly think so!!! Apparently Lil' Sweetie (the slut bag) has been sneaking out at night and paying visits to the neighbor's Golden Retriever. Now... aside from the obvious thoughts of "now, that's GOT to effin' hurt", I find this to be an interesting situation. Anyway... so we all agreed that Yes, if the dog is LACTATING for Christ's sake, then it surely must be knocked up with a bastard mutt puppy. Our expert professional recommendation was that she take her to the Vet asap. and... to make a long story less long - despite my initial twinge of a jealous rage that their DOG can get even knocked up without trying and I can't, we were both saddened by the news that Lil' Sweetie had what they referred to as basically the equivalent of a chemical pregnancy and was not, in fact, prego. The shittier part about it is that her body is telling her that she's pregnant so she's looking for places to nest and expecting little puppies that aren't going to ever come. :( Now how's that for injustice?

Injustice # 2

Scene of the Crime: Alaska

Victim: my bff from elementary and high school whom I've known for 26 years.

Perpetrator: Unknown Taxi Driver (but, I'll FIND YOU AND HUNT YOU DOWN, BASTARD!!)

Last week said bff IM's me and informs me that she's been in an accident. Apparently she was riding her bike to work and she got hit by a car. Now... she's not dead or anything and so it wouldn't be at all that interesting if I didn't tell you that she's 32 weeks pregnant. Why OH FUCKING WHY she's riding her bike while 32 weeks pregnant is a whole 'nother issue but it's just one of those things and you'd have to know her to understand. Anyway... so she's 32 weeks pregnant and gets hit dead on by a car, knocked off her bike and sent to the hospital via ambulance. Oh, and her husband was out of town and there's no family in Alaska. Anyway... she spent the night in the hospital by herself hooked up to a baby monitor of sort. All's well enough in the end. The baby's fine and she's on crutches with a crushed knee and such and will probably have to have surgery later. Sucks to be prego-fat, waddly and on crutches. She doesn't deserve this shit. Injustice indeed.

Injustice # 3

Scene of the Crime: Alaska and Seattle
Victim: ME, Erin Rae

Perpetrator: my ex-bff from elementary and high school whom I've known for 26 years.

First of all - they're leaving the baby's gender a surprise. So I don't know what it will be. And this makes me mad. Today, she informs me that they've picked out names but she won't tell me what they are either. This is just BULLSHIT. "I have rights", I told her. She doesn't appear to care.

Injustice # 4

Scene of the Crime: West Seattle Preschool

Victim: ME, Erin Rae

Perpetrator: K.F. (you know who you are!)

Drake and I have been invited to be "special people" to our dear friend Samantha's (she's 4 years old) "Special Person's Night" at her Pre-School. This, of course, is a tremendous honor and I am ever so excited about it but when I asked her mom how I was going to be featured at this event... she just stared at me and said... "you're not. she's just going to show you around. and maybe you have to do some crafts." Um... I HATE CRAFTS! I don't do crafts. Not at all. Never. No exceptions. So we've decided that Drakey will do the crafts with Samantha while I perform a slutty song and dance routine for the rest of the children. The last correspondence I got was "we've changed our minds. We don't think you are the right kind of special person." :( Injustice INDEED!

Injustice # 5

Scene of the Crime: Hades Clinic. Seattle, WA. Hour: Ass-crack of dawn.

Victim: ME, Erin Rae (and Drakey - by proxy I suppose)

Perpetrator: God

Another Day 12 ultrasound. Eggs still very small. I make wee small eggs, apparently. How is it that everything else on my fucking body can grow and grow and grow but my eggs remain runts? Another potential failed cycle ahead of us. INJUSTICE I SAY!!!!

Dear God, It's me, somebody...

2007-12-05T14:43:00.000-08:00

Dear God, It's me Margaret.

Oh wait. Shit! Okay, no, I'm not Margaret. Well... dear God, It's me, Erin Rae. and I'd like to thank you for finally starting my period. Really, sincerely; thanks. Cuz you know... it's been like a whoppin' 49 (yes; that's FORTY NINE, People!) days since my last cycle and I'd really like to get on with this baby-making business because the lack of trying is resulting in some pretty damn drab and uneventful blog entries. and because I'm one of those freaky people that stalk my own blog, I know for a fact that I'm losing readership and interest which makes me feel sad abandoned and I'd really like to just channel my angry energy back to the damn fertility clinic and Dr. Evil and blood guts and tears and all that jazz. So, came crashing into CD 1 today. Let the roller coaster ride commence.

Fiber Artists

2007-11-28T22:04:00.001-08:00

My wife has recently come to learn that knitters are now referring to themselves as "fiber artists". If you people don't see the humor in this well then you're just all sorts of wrong. But anyway; so my nerd, Drakey, has taken to calling herself a "fiber artist" because she knits, obsessively, during "knitting season" which is generally from about mid Nov through January. Now... it's important to note that her royal-"fiber artist"-ness, though immensely diverse and talented, chooses to only knit the same thing over and over and over again. The lucky beneficiaries of her fiber-artistry? Dogs. She knits dog sweaters. A new sweater for each dog, each season. She refers to them as the "Fall 07' season sweater collection". I mean, what respectable (lest we forget fashionable) canine doesn't need a new Fall season sweater each year, no? Surely no sane person would argue this fact. Which leads me to another totally mundane but appropriately tangential tidbit into my life. Once a week, every Sunday night all year long, Drakey and I host "knit club". We've been sticking to this tradition/club meeting for probably over a couple years now and rarely have we missed a Sunday. Knit club consists of our friend (just the one) coming over, sharing some dinner and some wine, watching a few token shows (Amazing Race and Brothers and Sisters; only during prime time season, mind you) and for a couple months out of the year, Drakey sits and knits. Sometimes we sit at dinner during the non-Drakey-knitting months and refer to "knit club" (cuz that's totally what it's called) and just crack up laughing. Cuz I mean really... we honestly don't do much of anything but the fiber artistry on these evenings is really, seriously lacking. But we think we're clever nonetheless and knit club will remain a greatly treasured tradition. Anyway... side track end.

Drakey surprised me the other night at knit club when she announced, unsolicited, that she couldn't wait to knit sweaters for baby Reilly. Me and undisclosed friend (to protect the identity of the innocent; so let's just refer to her here on out as "she who stands taller than I") shot her a look of profound confusion, both thinking...
"WTF?? but you knit dog sweaters! only dog sweaters!"
Currently she's knitting my formerly fat dog a sweater with a bright yellow lightening bolt on it in honor of her recently found lightening speed she's displayed now that we have her on the BARF diet and she's no longer as rotund. Anyway... I'm all over the place here but my point is - Drakey, the fiber-artist in the family, may actually branch out when we eventually have our half-breed midge. Surely this is important. Yes? So tonight I drink to fiber artists and daring to dream beyond dog sweaters! Yes.

white space

2007-11-26T16:49:00.001-08:00

Well... I managed to get through the Thanks Giving holiday without catching sight of a turkey baster.

On all other accounts, I'm just boring. Totally, senselessly, mind-numbingly boring.

This is me being cheesy

2007-11-20T19:51:00.000-08:00

My mother passed this letter along to me (via snail mail cuz she's still kinda cool like that) today. My dearest mother, who is kind and affectionate enough but not normally cheesy or overly sentimental at all (kinda like me) found a way to make me feel well... overly cheesy and sentimental too. So I'm passing this along to you people. Because I find it may be helpful. Or maybe just to be overly cheesy and sentimental. Just roll with me here. Or hell... don't read it if you don't want to. I don't care. I'll probably be embarrassed that I posted this after today. But from time to time, the occasion arises to justify overly cheesy and sentimental. And so here you are for no other reason other than I happened to find some meaning in this. and even if it's all bullshit, it still provokes thoughts. and who doesn't need thoughts?

To give proper credit where proper credit is due - this is a passage out of a book called "The Way of the Fertile Soul" authored by Randine Lewis, L.A.c., Ph.D.

and because I couldn't find this crap online... I'm retyping the ENTIRE thing here. Because that's how cheesy I'm feeling; and just how much I care.

Dear Mom and Dad, *** Blogger's Note: because I'm feeling overly cheesy and sentimental, I'm not even going to take offense at the all too presumptuous "dad" reference here. okay that's all from me. i promise.

Taking it from the top:

Dear Mom and Dad,

I know you're there. Sometimes, when you let go a bit, I can feel you. And yet, to you I feel like an unfulfilled wish, a memory that hasn't yet occurred.

I think you know I'm here, too. I know at some level you can feel my pull. Perhaps it's what keeps you going on this path that has been so hard for you. It doesn't have to be, you know.
You don't have to force me to come. The laws of the universe are not altered by struggling, groveling or prayers of desperation.

Remember, I am a miracle, and I'm looking for light.
I'm looking for an opening. Receptivity. Softness. The life force needs an opening to express itself.
Sometimes I see yours, but your struggle closes it off before I can reach you.
Relax your body and quiet your senses. Return to your deepest self. That's what I'm drawn to.

I don't care about your doctors, your BBT charts, lab results or your FSH levels. I don't care if you have a nursery for me, a job, or how much money we will have. I don't care how old you are.
I don't care how often you get acupuncture or massages.
I won't come because of your effort or your desire. And I won't come because you're doing everything right.

It doesn't matter to me if you think positive thoughts all the time. Be who you are. Be where you are, not where you think you should be. Honor yourself. When you are angry, stomp your feet. Yell. When you are sad, cry. When you are frightened, see beyond to the miracle. Clear the way.

Please don't force yourself to do anything that feels like it will hurt you in order to get me. I won't come that way. It doesn't matter that you nourish or care for yourself. Only you can be responsible for your well-being, and I want you to be here for me for a long time.
You won't be able to accept and love me fully and without conditions until you can first do this for yourself.

Pay attention to that still small voice inside of you that longs to experience unconditional love. And express that love where you are, now.
Don't wait for me to come before you live your life.
How can I love being a part of your life if you don't?
How can I love you if you don't?

Remember, I'm a miracle, and I'm looking for your light. I'm looking for an opening, for your receptivity.
There must be space in your lives, for you and for me.
If you scramble about in search of me, you will lose me.
Pay attention to your deepest self. That's where the light is. That's where the opening is.

I can see your light when you're laughing, when you're dancing, and even when you cry.
I see it when you're real.
Please stop listening to all the outside voices telling you what you should do.
Nobody out there has your answer.
Listen to the still, small voice inside that still knows that miracles occur.

I am a soul, and I'm drawn to your soul.
You don't know how or when I'm coming to you.
I may be coming through you.
I may be coming to you through another.
But I will come on my own time, in my own way, if you let me.

Loosen your grasp. Lower your expectations about how it's all supposed to look. Whatever your expectations, I'll never live up to them. I am not your image of me. I am so much more. Remember, I am a miracle. I am a whisper of possibility that arises out of the depths of nature's way.

Consider the possibility that I am orchestrating this entire journey so that you can learn to open up to me and to you.
Parenting is about loving and learning to let go.
Love and let go.
Hope. Trust. Open.
Remember, I am a miracle.
So are you.
I love your souls. Love my soul. Allow me to enter in my own time, in my way.
Stop fighting, forcing, pleading, yearning and praying for me. I come when you stop trying.
I come out of Grace.

The End.

*** Blogger's Note: So much for my theory on pineapple consumption.

The Tale of the Incredible Shrinking Egg(s)

2007-11-08T10:12:00.000-08:00

Sit back with a shot or three of tequila (and maybe a main line, depending on what your poison is) ladies and gents, and permit me to relay to you an enchanting tale of the incredible shrinking egg. This tale started one crappy rainy Seattle Sunday morning when delightfully sweet Erin Rae and her charming and oh-so-good-lookin' illegal lezbo wife companion woke up at the ass-crack of dawn on their day off to go play "stirrup queen" to Dr. Evil at the Hades clinic. This was Day 12 of Erae's cycle and even though she knew there was no way in Ikea her eggs would be large enough to warrant a successful ultrasound visit resulting in a LH shot and subsequent next day knock-up procedure, Erae occasionally just rolls with the punches and does what she's told and hell... who needed that $250.00 bucks anyway, right? So as predicted, her eggs measured a whoppin' 10 millimeters or nano-buckets or whatever the hell unit of measurement they are called which was quite drastically off from the 18 nano-buckets it needed to be at in order to proceed with the shot. "Come back on Wed." Dr. Evil said. Now those of you who know me know damn well that I'm a wee shy of being a mathematical genius but let's see here... you say that eggs grow at 1-2 nano-fuckin'-buckets a day and I'm currently at 10, needing to be at bare minimum 18. Today is Sunday... hmmm... look, genius, that ain't WED. So I insisted that Thurs would be the earliest I would come in and shell out another $250 for a g-d ultrasound. Thursday arrived and delightfully sweet (and did I mention ridiculously charming?) Erae and her painfully gorgeous illegally-wedded once again rose at the ass-crack of dawn to pay Dr. Evil a visit. She was her usual 30 minutes late and didn't whisper any sweet nothings into my ear before yielding that slimy wand at me and low and behold, what did that ultrasound reveal? could it be? my eggs are now 8.5 nano-buckets. Down from 10? WTF??? So I'm unsure if there's a medical term for this shrinking egg business or if Dr. Evil is just an incompetent asswipe but either way you spin it, the same crappy result persists. And that is: I am fucked 6 ways from Sunday and certainly not getting knocked up anytime soon. Yeah me! Way to over-achieve!

I'm starting to realize that I may be a little bitter. This isn't a total shock because I guess I've been known to experience bitterness before, on occasion, but well... I may have reached my personal best with this one.

So once again on a mandatory and much unwelcome hiatus from this endeavor. I'll have to come up with more B.S. to write about here I suppose.

back in the saddle again...

2007-10-25T17:08:00.000-07:00

Well boys and girls, I am officially cycling and back in the saddle again for this baby-breeding endeavor. I finally arrived at CD 1 on Wednesday of last week and have scheduled appointments for a pregnancy test (to confirm that my HCG levels have dropped appropriately), and a 12 day ultrasound because I'm just going straight for the LH shot this time and not fartin' around with temps and OPK's and all that mumbo jumbo. I'm taking the caaassuuuuuual route this time around 1) because I'm way too busy and stressed out with work to plummet head first deep into this roller coaster again (right now) and 2) well... just because I feel like it. Truth be told, I'm not sure if I'm mentally ready for all this to start again but at the same time, I'm not waiting. No way, man. I don't wait. It's not in my nature. I'm sure that once it all starts again, I'll ease back into the routine of freaking out on a daily basis, wondering if every creaking bone, aching muscle, twinge of stomach ache could mean something big, something wonderful. Or maybe not. We'll see.

So hopefully I can inseminate somewhere around Nov 5th or 6th. If it doesn't take this time
then we're fucked with a capital singing, twirling, big giant "F". You see the thing is, we only have 1 vial left of Gabe's magic junk and when Drake called the cryobank last week she learned that he wouldn't have any IUI ready junk until late January! JANUARY??? Piteous hemorrhaging Jesus, are you kidding me??? I'm not changing donors again. There are not an abundance of 6"+ tall, damn good looking Asian donors with PhD's banging down my door pleading to offer up their seed to me, and well... waiting until January will just suck. We haven't done too much research into ICI but I don't know how down I am with the turkey baster method of trying to conceive. Surely it would ruin Thanks Giving feasts for me forever. "Honey can you pass me the baster and a carving knife"...
"Oh sure dear. Oh oh YOU again! Ah... we've shared so many awkward and intimate memories together, this just totally killed my appetite."
Anyway... so once again, fingers crossed in a totally "could give a rats ass" kinda way that the little myth about increased fertility after a miscarriage rings true.

Dumbledore sighting at "The Cuff" last night!

2007-10-22T16:34:00.002-07:00

So I'm sure all you Potter fans have heard the news that J.K. Rowling outed Dumbledore at
Carnegie Hall on Friday night. Yes... our dear old beloved Wizard, Albus Dumbledore, is well... ooohhh... how you say... "riding the cockhorse?". Ha. I find this to be hysterically funny - on so many levels. First, this is so reminiscent of the Tinky Winky fiasco back in '99. If you thought a gay purple f_cking teletubby was bad, Jerry Falwell... eat your heart out on this one! But seriously - Ms. Rowling, don't you find it in poor etiquette to out people (okay, fictitious characters) post-mortem? Anyway... frankly, I think it's all a wee bit on the ridiculoso side, but I must confess I did get a sinister little twinge of total and utter amusement and glee at how distraught the Christian Right will be over such scandalous news. Can you just imagine - Heroes and good, well-liked people being sexual deviants? Say it isn't so!!! Cheers to you, J.K., way to stir up the pot!

the "baby whisperer"

2007-10-19T13:53:00.000-07:00

The "baby whisperer" - that's what they call me!!

I've got mad skills.

semi-legal

2007-10-10T20:50:00.000-07:00

We came home from our trip to CA. to this little jewel in the mail!

On March 1st of this year, a domestic partnership bill passed legislature in Washington state and went into affect I believe this past July or August but I could be mistaken. To quote this article:

"Among other things, the bill would allow domestic partners to:
• Inherit when there is no will.
• Give consent for health care if a partner isn't competent.
• Make funeral arrangements.
• Authorize organ and tissue donation."

Drake and I have been in a relationship since April of 1995. In Feb. of 2000, we decided among ourselves to basically "commit" to some sort of permanent relationship... under the caveat that we continued to enjoy each other's company, of course. ;) We exchanged rings and some cheesy pleasantries and from that day on, in our own minds - we were effectively married. From the very inception of our relationship and again when "marriage" or "permanence" conversations came to surface, we decided that we would not have any sort of wedding ceremony until it became legal. We love each other, and we love weddings and god knows we love a good party, but we see weddings as a vehicle for family and friends to publicly celebrate the relationship and as long as our union continued to be ignored by the govt. at City, State, or Federal levels, we didn't / don't really see the point. And please note that we by no means disrespect anybody who chooses a different path - I certainly admire all those who do take the opportunity to stick it to the govt. and take their situation into their own hands by doing something about it, but it was a personal decision for Drake and I to take this route instead; and in our own minds, we're fine where we're at. To tell the truth, I'm not exactly craving any formal validation or to be included among the masses of heterosexuals and the impressive 49% divorce rate in America. The addition of a child may ultimately change my stance on this, but for now, this is my opinion and I'm sticking to it.

BUT! HOWEVER... and you knew this was coming. The one thing that has loomed over my head like a nasty little cloud and continued to bother the hell out of me is the basic rights that we're denied by virtue of not being permitted to be in a legal marriage. Rights like domestic partner health care benefits (in 2007, still only 53 percent of Fortune 500 companies offer domestic partner benefits). Along the same tangent, but far worse than the benefits issue is the fact that if one of us were sick, unconscious, DYING in the hospital, we wouldn't have the "family" rights to visit each other!!! Drake and I come from different ethnic backgrounds. We cannot pass as sisters. It has always been a huge fear of mine that if something were to happen to one of us that we'd be denied the right to see each other - and we'd be alone. Both our of immediate families are in different states than us so we're honestly all we've got here by way of family. In short - we'd be fucked. This concept is/was absolutely infuriating. And lastly - we've had to take great measures to make sure that we are always listed as designated beneficiaries, to make sure that both our names are on the titles of all of our things of any significant value (house, cars, etc.) so that we'd be relatively safe if something happened to one of us. The domestic partner bill that passed will take care of ALL of the above. For the first time in 12.5 years together, Drake and I actually have some RIGHTS and protection as a couple, and I can't emphasize enough how important that will be now that we're trying to start a family. It's incredible. INCREDIBLE. We even got wallet sized cards along with this certificate. Hurray for somebody *finally* taking some sensible political action in this world. I drink tonight to rights!

the merger

2007-10-08T20:12:00.000-07:00

The tribal merger this past weekend went over swimmingly. Our visit was a total surprise to our 10 yr. old nephew who traipsed into the office/guest house unawares all sleepy-eyed Friday morning to find his two favorite aunties hanging around. His reaction was so totally sweet and adorable, it was like those credit card commercials where they say shit like *priceless*. The smaller midget, the 2 yr. old, didn't quite recall that in the not-so-distant past, he used to completely ADORE me more than life itself and that I was the perfect baby whisperer; so I worked my ass off trying to refresh his memory, but the little fucker wasn't giving it up this time. Children! I kept trying to get him to say my name (Tutu, as I'm called in auntie world) but he insisted on referring to me as "Elena" their Russian maid. Apparently he calls all white girls "Elena", so I shouldn't be insulted. Hmmphh. So much for making a unique impression. I was mentioning before that he is a passionate boy. He's passionate alright; his emotions are almost always at a level 10 on the banana scale, in love and in anger. It's awesome. I kept looking for triple 6's on his head but my investigations returned no positive results. He actually reminds me a lot of myself, right down to the throw-down tantrums in the middle of the floor. I was so impressed by his tantrums that I actually threw myself down on the living room floor next to him and proceeded to kick my legs and beat my arms and freak out screaming and pretend bawling within inches of his face in imitation of him at one point. and in slow motion, he stared at me... the tears stopped... a confused look appeared, then a smile... the metamorphosis had begun and within seconds all was kosher again. I fixed the baby. I've got mad skills. He pointed at me smiling and giggling and said... "Elena". Whatever.

Speaking of mad skills, my father is going to make an outstanding Grandfather. I seriously can't wait to see him with his own grandchild; especially if it's a boy. I always knew that he had an unnaturally inherent kinship with animals but apparently he has one with children as well. Both nephews took an instant liking to him, and he was incredible. Who knew?

And my mother..., well, while she may not be as natural a parent as my father, she's truthfully the funniest person on earth; and like me, all the children of the world who meet her will figure this out one day. and besides, she raised me just fine. RIGHT? and I know that she really meant well when she offered Jaime "lysol wipes" as a suitable substitute for baby wipes. Jaime was polite in her stunned response... "umm... they are for his bum." My mom responded... "hmm... oh. well then I guess that won't work, huh?" Yah! She's going to be a phenomenal grandmother too in her own way, I just know it!!!

Anyway... so the merger went very well. My parents agreed with me that the half-breeds are aesthetically superior to white wonder bread babies like myself and are excited that we'll be mixin' it up with my Asian donor. All in all... a weekend well spent. And if for some god-forsaken reason things don't work out and we fail to extend our immediate little family, at least I'm blessed with the greatest (extended) family in the world. I am so grateful.

The Greatest of the Great Mysteries of the Universe

2007-10-03T20:09:00.000-07:00

I’ve been doing a little undercover research and covert interviews of random parents I meet these past weeks, and my studies are indisputably showing that this being a parent business is a pretty enormous job; one that comes with great challenge, responsibility and pressure; expected to be all things at all times and lest we forget, all-knowing. So, I’ve decided that before I start a family and become a mother, there are a few key things I’d like to figure out first. You know… basic things like the mysteries of the universe: Black Holes, Missing Matter, Dark Energy, How the Universe Began (God? Big Bang? Alien 3rd Grade Science Experiment?– hot damn, I hope the little bugger got a gold star for THAT one!) and perhaps the most important and vexing of them all is the mystery of the missing sock on laundry day. Of course. That, perhaps, is the greatest of all the mysteries of the universe and one that frankly, really pisses me off.

Seriously, people - WTF? How do socks just disappear in the laundry? Repeatedly! Really! You *know* damn well that there’s no way they could have left the house and yet, do you ever ever find them again? NOOOOOOO. I’ve personally checked for demolished sock remains in both the washer and dryer machine in case there was like this top secret government implemented one sock fee for every ten loads, but nope – that ain’t it either. Bush could never be that clever and besides, he's too busy destroying the world to bother with maintaining secret laundry fees. And I have found no missing remains – no dangling microscopic pieces of white cotton thread tucked deep inside the bowls of the machine. Nope. That ain't it.

A friend of mine in college once proposed the most likely theory I’ve heard and one that I sort of adopted for a while but now that I’m older and my educated philosophical mind has escaped me, I beginning to have my doubts. This was the theory of the lost little things and the constantly expanding universe. She hypothesized that things like missing socks and keys never actually went missing, but just became REALLY REALLY small. That the universe was constantly expanding and every once in a while there would be like a rapid mad crazy growth spurt, unrecognizable because of the theory of relativity of course, and that we were, as humans, expanding with the universe. BUT! You see, in such growth spurts, there is always room for error, and occasionally a random house-hold item or two would get left behind – unexpanded and thus too small to be seen by the naked eye. Socks were obviously a common victim of the unexpanded items, rendering them incorrectly perceived as “lost”. It's possible. But I'm not wholly convinced. I want some more options. and now that I have the tremendous responsibility of motherhood looming over my head in hopefully the not-so-distant future, I’d really like to bring this thing to a head and get some frickin’ answers. I’m opening up the floor for theories. Help me help you make our children smarter, and safer and less confused and of course… with an abundance of matching socks. Cuz these things are important. Really, they are.

fertility gods lurk in my garden...

2007-10-02T20:04:00.000-07:00

I think I've mentioned before that I'm a highly superstitious and from some angles - irrational - person. I go gambling or play the lotto when shitty things happen to me because I'd like to think that my life is a perfect balance of yin and yang and that when one thing goes terribly wrong, something else should go tremendously right. I look for signs in everything and then my imagination takes over and I turn them into something exceptionally meaningful. I pay no mind to the 99.9% of the time my premonitions or actions result in nothing or prove me wrong because by then I'm chasing after some other random act that my supertitious mind told me to be wary of. In other words -most people don't know this about me - but I'm kinda fuckin' nuts.

So... this is why I was so so so so so elated when my garden, in it's final late season, last call for alcohol, plea for life, produced a SURE AS HELL NO DOUBT ABOUT IT sign that fertility is upon me. I mean, even the most rational person couldn't argue against this!!! I dare you to dispute me!

I've included a pic of my beautiful wife, Drakey, here instead of me because I am having a damn bad hair day.

a merging of the tribes

2007-09-30T20:46:00.000-07:00

In very much the style of Survivor, Drake and I are about to attempt a merging of the family tribes, of sort. I'd like to think that this is an important part of preparation for when there's a new addition to our own family and separate family visits will no longer be forgiveable. And well... then there's the innocuous facts that it's been 12.5 years that we've been a couple and yes our two immediate families do live a mere 90 minute drive from each other and yes we fly into the same airport to see either one, but you know... we're a little slow on the uptake, okay? And furthermore, Drake's issues aside, I come from a very small family (of three) and I'm frankly a little terrified of large families; organically grown or otherwise. Yes, I'm an only child, but I *am* a good sharer (as long as it's on my own terms) and I'd like to think that I defy many of the only child stereotypes, but the sad but true fact is that I'm comfortable in small numbers when it comes to family; I'm comfortable being able to say "yo, pass the peas" at the dinner table and have just one person grab the pot and hand it on over, and this merger, well... will add like a shit load of people to my immediate family and a shit load of hands on my peas and and I find this added complexity and probable chaos tremendously terrifying. Wow! there, I said it. And yet, all this aside - I can't reiterate how important I think this is; and for that, I couldn't be more happy.

So... to impart some clarification to this whole tribal merger - here's the scoop. We're heading down to Sacramento to hang with Drakey's family (well... her sister's family to be exact); AND... then we're ALL driving up to Nevada City (me, Drakey, little sis and two nephews - one quite small) to hang with my family for a couple days. All living and sleeping under one roof! Isn't it wild??? It'll be like summer camp - only - only - totally different and unescapable and hopefully HOPEFULLY a little less sober! But all joking aside, I actually think it will be pretty awesome. Drake's sis is super cool and my mom will be so thrilled to have a girly girl around and the boys are so damn delightful... who the hell couldn't be happy to spend time with them? I think it will be cool for my folks to hang with some midgets for a weekend too. The little one is a ripe 2 years old and should provide loads of fun and entertainment and "practice" for us all! Apparently he's oozes with passion and personality these days; a child after my own heart, for sure! To illustrate further for you , kind reader, his latest hobbies include the following: licking (people), shoving his fingers up butts (of other people), pulling his junk out of his diaper and trotting around swinging (his genitals) and randomly lifting up people's shirts and blowing/spitting on their bellies (other people's). I CANNOT wait to see the look on my mother's face when she's first molested by this little perv! I'm already pissing my pants laughing just thinking about it. But you know... this is all very good practice for her because any child of mine will be the farthest thing on earth from pristine. And as far as I'm concerned, the midget perv is quite hillarious.

Anyway... so I'll check back in after the merger and let you all know how it goes. Hopefully the peas will be within my reach and I won't have a nervous breakdown or nothin'.

the finale

2007-09-25T14:15:00.000-07:00

Well, it’s been over a week since I've opened my big mouth here and though there’s not much to tell, I felt that it was time for an update. The whole bloody process (yes; pun definitely deliberately intended) took over a week. They weren’t kiddin’, man and boy was I fooled when I thought things had come to a head last Sunday! Ha! The past week was filled with off-the-hook cramping and discomfort and 2am, 3am, and 4am scorching hot baths, but it’s finally over and I’m damn happy about that. My ultrasound revealed that the main sac had passed pretty early on in the week so basically what I got from day 3-8 was my uterus tumbling out of me bit by broken bit. Without going into too much sickeningly inappropriate and gory details (cuz you all know how I like to do that! J), I likened this process to an avalanche of sort; only it was my insides instead of rocks. Groovy, eh? So it’s over and now I just need to pull my shit together emotionally and get back on track. I was a little surprised at how I ended up dealing with this whole ordeal. I seemed to shake it off pretty quickly and pretty early on and was frankly quite proud of myself, but then once the whole physical piece started, it just broke me back down again and made me tired. Damn tired. But… I’m slowly crawling out of my bitter blanket and I think maybe I’ll skip the Patron tonight and maybe start taking my prenatals again and maybe exercise and maybe smile or crack a joke or dance like a grateful dead hippie in my living room and maybe just maybe do something productive for myself. maybe.

On a positive note, god I fuckin’ love my friends. Seriously. I am so honored and blessed to know some of the best “good people” people that walk this earth. The support and kindness and just all around all the right things that both Drake and I experienced through this was unprecedented and I honestly couldn’t be more grateful. And that extends to all you in blogland who don’t know me from a hobo on the street and yet managed to cheer me up and send well-timed, meaningful messages via cyberspace. I love all you people, and hell - I’m not even drunk writing this!!

So there’s the update. Will go back in for another blood test later next week to see how low my HGC levels have dropped and after a couple good cycles, will hit this thing again. In the meantime, since I won’t have any angry, raging ludicrous experiences with Dr. Evil and the Hades clinic or tearful, pour-my-heart-out dribblings of missed ovulations or negative piss sticks (lying or otherwise), I will just have to make some shit up. Stay tuned for taht.

the event

2007-09-16T09:43:00.000-07:00

Thirteen years ago I was involved in one of those freakish accidents of sort that resulted in 2nd and 3rd degree burns across most of my foot and up my right leg. I still have a clear as day memory of watching the skin from my foot quite literally melt off in front of my eyes, resembling one of those Dali paintings with the dripping clocks. I got a front row classroom view of the chemical reactions of fire and heat against human flesh before I passed out from the pain. The blisters were cut and scraped clean daily at the hospital for over a week until a "second opinion" suddenly decided that the burns on my foot were worse off than they had originally expected and that I would be sent immediately into surgery to have it patched back together with skin grafted from my ass. After that I was immobile in a cast for about a month and my dosages of Vicodin were doubled. Which brings me more to my point. Vicodin. oooh ooh lovely, mind numbing, constipating, ease-the-pain Vicodin. Being on ample dosages of Vicodin for about 2 months straight is rough living. I'm not kidding. Your whole world becomes muted, leaving you void of any passion or desire for anything, only really at ease lying on your ass in a dark bedroom listening to Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" on repeat and willing away the hours and the pain in between doses. Suffice it to say that coupled with some highly dramatic personal shit going on in my life - these were dark days. A month later, I was fresh off crutches and learning how to limp around on my ridiculously atrophied chicken leg wrapped thigh high in this awful thick nylon medical stocking, and off on my own for the first time in my life to another state (Oregon) to attend college. It was time to kick the pain killers too. Wow - was that a treat! To preface this, I'm not really into drugs. Never have been, never will be - just not really my thing. And... I guess I'd be exaggerating if I were to say that I was actually addicted to Vicodin, because that wasn't really the case either. There was never any cravings or jonesing (as they say) or anything like that; but instead just a really harsh, freaky, holy-shit reality beating me in the face about every half second. Voices were louder, colors were blindingly bright, people's smiles and laughter were overwhelming, their little faces all greasy and too close for my comfort. In short, it sucked. I wanted more than anything to crawl back into my dark hole, turn on my mixed tape I had compiled of suitably depressing music ( "Flys on the Windscreen", "Comfortably Numb", Blasphemous Rumors, etc.") and will it all away. But I didn't, of course; I pushed through. and I vowed to myself that I would never take any pain killers again for the rest of my natural born life with one exception - and that being child birth. HA! Oh oh oh the irony!! Can you hear the loud bellowing GAFFAW rippling through ciber space as you read this text??? In the past 13 years, I have endured multiple crushed bones in my hand, a severely sprained/slightly fractured ankle, a Tonsillectomy (at the ripe age of 29!) and several other less major injuries all SANS pain killers.

Saturday morning (yesterday) at 5am, I took the first 400 MGC of my 800 MGC prescription of Misoprostol for the purpose of inducing the miscarriage I failed to have of my own natural, and supposedly far less painful, abilities last week. I was told to expect 24 hours of severe cramping and bleeding, followed by potentially 7 days of spotting or bleeding. At first I declined the prescription for pain killers, as I always do, but after further conversation with Dr. Evil and phrases dropped like "in case you pass out or need to be rushed to the emergency room" Drake insisted I get the prescription filled JUST IN CASE. I smirked and said "sure fine, whatever... you know I won't take that shit. but I can sell it on the black market." Anyway... you all know where this is going, I'm sure. Exactly 4 hours later, at 9am, the cramping started. It came fast and furious and really there was no building up to it. I was lying in the fetal position, writhing in pain and retching over the side of the bed into a garbage can for about an hour before I finally acquiesced and asked Drake to go fetch the Vicodin. I choked it down with a half of a Triscuit that took me about 10 minutes to swallow because for some reason I couldn't manage to salivate. The mere taste of that shitty little pill on my tongue brought me instantly back, but I swallowed it anyway. Exactly 2 minutes later, I threw up again. and that taste - shit that taste! Bye Bye Vicodin! I should have known better. The intense cramping lasted only 3 hours. THANK GOD! I honestly wasn't sure how in the hell I was going to endure that for an anticipated 12-24 hours without being able to keep any pain killers down. I'm about 26 hours into it now and this is not at all what I had expected. I'm a little nervous that the meds didn't work correctly, and god forbid I have to do this all over again or worse, a D&C, but I'll call Dr. Evil tomorrow and relay to her in my most gory and dramatic details all of the events of the past 24 hours and see what her wise words of wisdom might be. I must admit I find it a bit weird that this thing takes as long as it does. 7 days of bleeding? I can picture the lunch time conversations now. "So... er... Erin, how did that... you know.... thing go this weekend. Did it all pass okay?" and my response will be (with a beaming smile, of course) "Oh my miscarriage, you mean? Well, funny you should ask! It's actually still happening as we speak. Imagine that! Can you pass the potatoes?" - followed by a deafening silence and somebody quickly summoning the server for the check.

Anyway... for those many of you (apparently 30% at my age) who have also had to endure this - for that I am truly truly sorry. I am sending you all virtual hugs as I write these words. I feel like we all deserve a pen or something - or like a blood red heart medal of honor. For those of you who will unfortunately have to be in these shoes in the future, may I reccommend letting your body try to do this naturally. Unless, of course, you are the massochistic, lunatic like myself whose perfectly convenient timing of all things supercedes all the pain in the world. In that case - take the suppository and hang on for the ride! Regardless - I know we all experience this in different ways; it's part of what makes women unique and wonderful. Honestly -I think I got off easy. And I hope and pray (oh - wait, no - me and God are in a fight! I gave that up) - I HOPE to hell that I and all you readers in blog land don't ever have to do this again.

nasty gram to God

2007-09-08T08:04:00.000-07:00

Dear God,

Look... you've got a lot of names. Jesus, God, Buddha, Allah, Great Father, Lord, etc. and frankly I'm not sure which you prefer to be addressed by, nor do I really give a rats ass right now, so I'm just gonna call you God, cuz it's short and I don't have to spell check it.

So listen, God, let me preface this by saying that I know I take a huge risk of you sending me straight to Ikea when I die for even writing this letter, but you know... I'm pissed; Im STEAMIN' PISSED and I need to get this off my chest and well... you're gonna do what you're gonna do and I'm learning quickly that there's not a god-damn thing I can do about it. So forgive my blasphemous diatribe, but it must be done.

So, about this business with my empty sac yesterday. seriously? SERIOUSLY??? WTF, MAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I thought WE TALKED ABOUT THIS!!! I thought we had a fuckin' understanding!!! Look, who am I kidding? I mean, I know we're not super tight and all and that I rarely reach out to you for advice or help or favors, but c'mon... aren't you supposed to be non-judgemental and shit? Aren't you supposed to love us all equally? It was just ONE LITTLE FAVOR, for Christ's sake! I don't ask for much. Did I need to be more specific with you when I requested that my baby be strong, and viable and safe and in the right place? Did I need to specify that it EXIST??? I mean, don't those other things assume the latter? Aren't you supposed to be all-knowing or something? seriously. Seriously!! I just wanna know why. Did I look to you like I needed yet more bad luck and misfortune this year? cuz you know... it's been going OH SO SMOOTHLY thus far! You know... I may cuss like a drunken sailor, and take your name in vain a little (okay, a lot) and occasionally think violent and mean thoughts about Sunday drivers but hell... I'm not at all a bad person. In fact, in the grand scheme of things, I'd say I rank right up there in the top 20% of damn good people! I mean, I would never call myself a Christian or anything, but I think one would say that I display pretty good "Christian-like" behavior for the most part. Shit... so I drink a little (okay a lot). I don't do any any recreational drugs, although frankly, I'm considering picking it up. I don't lie, cheat or steal. I would give the shirt off my back (as long as it wasn't my favorite red Target T-shirt or any of my titty-committee baby T's) to anybody who asked. I'd probably jump in front of a train to save a perfect stranger if the occasion was upon me. I'm ethical to a fault, I'm honest to the point of screwing myself out of things left and right, and I'm the most loyal friend, lover, person anybody could ask for. Isn't that enough? I've never harmed anybody physically or mentally (okay, well... at least not in the past 10 years and shit... I APOLOGIZED for that!), I believe in forgiveness (although I'm gonna have to do some hard thinkin' on this one), and treating people with respect and dignity. I'm not racist, or bigoted in any way. WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT? Look, I never got to formally apologize but you already know that I feel deep regret for covertly attempting to drown that chubby girl on my water polo team by doing a cannon-ball off the high dive and trying to land on her head in high school. Teenagers do that! and she was a real weak link for the team! Is this the reason you had to kill my baby?

Look... here's the deal, man. I'm obviously not too happy about this situation. But Ikea will FREEZE OVER before I give up so I just want to be clear that as soon as my body can get back on track, I'm trying this again. I still have a chunk of change in the savings account and I can do this for a long long time if necessary but I'd really like for you to show your good faith and give me a fuckin' break next time, will ya? Drake and I deserve a child in our lives as much as the next guy. Or certainly as much as the crack addict hookers on the street who get knocked up just by lookin' at 'em funny. We would make great parents and you know it! I'm even willing to stop swearing - at least in front of the child. So dude, God, whatever... help a sister out. This is the last time I'll ask nicely.

empty.

2007-09-07T12:46:00.001-07:00

no embryo. just an empty sac.

anembryonic pregnancy / blighted ovum...

just hormones and fat now waiting to discard.