I think he missed the point...

Was telling TH about aforementioned awesome website and mentioned with a sad face that my boobies aren't sore.

Being the man he is, always wanting to give me everything I want, he offered to smack them around a little bit.

I'm so lucky.

Best. Site. Ever.

Yes, yes, I know 9:30 is early for the second post of the day, but this is awesome.

www.countdowntopregnancy.com

It gives all the "symptoms" people reported feeling along with what DPO they reported feeling them on.

The top 10 pg symptoms:

1. overall fatigue/exhaustion (hmmm...now that you mention it, I AM a little tired. It could be that TH and I stayed up late battling it out over the new awesome Scrabble board I got for Christmas...or...)
   
2. tender breasts (nope, nada this time. Strike 1. Boo.)
   
3. mild/dull cramps/pressure in abdomen (I WAS feeling crampy yesterday! And I was like, WTF, it's too early for AF cramps. Hmmm...)
   
4. gassy (OMG, soooo gassy last night! I LOVE that I can blame my farting on being possibly pg. Too bad my sister doesn't have the same excuse...)
   
5. nauseated (no, but if I had eaten that baked potato yesterday, I might have been, and then I could have blamed it on the baby.)
   
6. bloated (Yes! It came with the gas last night! And maybe I like to think I'm just getting more and more permanently bloated all the time. Yes, that's why my clothes don't fit anymore. I'm just perma-bloated.)
   
7. leg/backache (not lately, but there was that time last week after doing the weight class. Can I have symptoms before ovulation?)
   
8. sensitive nipples (No. Strike 2. Booo!)
   
9. headache (Ha! I actually mentioned the headaches in my last post, before I even looked at this list. Yes!)
   
10. breasts feel heavy/full (My breasts are too small to ever feel heavy or full. Strike 3? Stupid List. Who cares? I had more hits than strikes! For sure KTFU!)

And just to make doubly sure, let's check the magic 8 ball:

Devil and Angel

So, here's pretty much the conversation in my head regarding any likelihood of being pg this month:

1: Don't get your hopes up! You didn't even feel any O pain this month, and you ALWAYS feel O pain.

2: But the doctor SAW that awesome egg just waiting to get out there. Surely I O'd right on time like all the other months. And I had that really strong + OPK.

1: You didn't have any EWCM this month. Not even one day's worth. Not a snowball's chance in hell.

2: But watery is good enough, right? Lots of women never get any EWCM, and they still get KU.

1: You're not having any phantom symptoms. No funny twinges, no weird tastes in your mouth, no sore boobs. You can't even trick yourself into thinking you're pg this month.

2: Maybe I just have learned to ignore them? Maybe my lack of symptoms is significant? Maybe I'm just not paying enough attention. There were those three days I had a headache. I don't ever get headaches.

1: Oh, you mean the headaches that started the day you went to your in-laws? Sure, there's no other POSSIBLE explanation for that!

2: But...

1: What? You're not. Start getting used to it now so that you're entire weekend isn't ruined.

So now the question is, which voice is the devil, and which is the angel?

A Better Way to Look at It

Oi, sorry for the super bummer post below. I had a cloud over me the last few days, and the best way I know of to get rid of it is to write about it. It's as if I take the filth from my mind and put it down "on paper" (on the interwebz) and it makes me feel so much better.

An email from a very good friend helped me think of things a different, better way. Yes, I'm the last one left in this stupid waiting room. Like it or not, once your name is called, you have no choice but to go through those doors and leave those of us behind who are still waiting. C'est la vie. But rather than thinking about the emptiness in the room with me, the emptiness where once thirteen other bodies filled the space, I found a much better way to approach this situation:

There are thirteen (at least!) women on the other side of that door who are waiting for me. Thirteen women who keep their eyes trained on the door, thirteen women who will all cheer and scream and clap and welcome me when it's my turn. Thirteen women who may have moved on but who are still thinking of me and looking forward to the day I get to join their ranks.

And that is a very comforting, wonderful feeling.

If you're one of those women, thank you for your friendship and your hope and your prayers and your patience. I hope I'm not too far behind!

Keeping Distracted

There's a giant gender-neutral-colored elephant in the room. I'm at 6 DPO today. And I'm the last one left.

Of all the girls in my world, the ones who are just good friends of mine, the ones who started out their TTC journeys around the time I did, the ones who started later, the ones who didn't intend to start at all...the last two got their BFPs last week. I'm not saying there are no other girls who are still out there, still trying, girls who have been trying for much longer than me. I'm saying in my immediate universe, I'm the last one. And not the last one out of like three or four. TH and I counted last night (ok, I counted for him)--13. Thirteen girls who were in my immediate circle of friends, regardless of how we met or whether we're family. And that's not even the count of tangential acquaintances who have gotten their BFPs in the last six months. I stopped counting that number at 24.

What's weighing so heavily on me about that is not that I begrudge any of them their BFPs, their golden tickets to move forward out of this purgatory, this waiting room. It's just that I'm left. Our weekly check-ins (bless you, Monkey, I know you're still there with me) will now be empty. Or at least partially filled with girls I have no connection to, no emotional investment in. And who am I going to drink with at FJHHs? That's right: TH. He volunteered to come drink with me. I guess fertility juice would do us both some good. How sad is that? My husband is stepping so that I don't have to drink alone.

I went out shopping with my mom the day after Christmas. We had to return a shirt my dad got that was the wrong size. We tried to find the counter that had the shortest line, a counter in an out-of-the-way nook of the store. We ended up at the baby section. For the first time in six months, I wasn't drawn to looking at those tiny, adorable little clothes. For the first time, it hurt me to look at them. It felt like my heart was a similarly charged magnet and it was being repelled from them. It actually felt like my heart was being pushed back, away from them. Or maybe not pushed. Maybe it was backing away from them on its own. Maybe it just didn't want to be surrounded by the reminder, a thousand tiny, adorable reminders, that I am left.

So yeah, there's this elephant in the room that follows me around everywhere I go. When I'm not thinking about it, when I find a way to be blessedly distracted, I'll suddenly remember that there's something going on, there's something big that is floating at the corner of my consciousness, some shadow I can see out of the corner of my eye, and I wonder what it was that I have going on, and then I remember, and the elephant returns to sit on me, and I remember why I feel so heavy. This happens a thousand times a day.

I know I shouldn't be so gloomy. I know I should be optimistic and upbeat and hopeful. But I'm just finding it pointless this time. Why get excited and hopeful when I can just wait and see what happens? Why risk the fall, the feeling of foolishness, the insanity of doing the same things we've been doing for six months and expecting a different outcome? TH told me last night he didn't want me lifting something heavy because I'm pregnant. Again, again, he's confident. Sure. Certain. I asked him how he does it, and why he wants me to NOT get my hopes up. He laughed and said it's because he's so used to being wrong, it doesn't crush him the way it crushes me. Silly man. Always protecting me.

So I've thrown myself into projects. Our cats ruined the carpet in the third bedroom, so we had it stripped out. I had the brilliant idea of painting it before we put the new carpet in. So we are. We are painting our nursery. Our future nursery. Maybe not the best project to keep me distracted from babies, but strangely enough it has helped. Given me something concrete to focus on. And we're having to do it in stages--first the top half, wait for that to dry. Then the bottom half, wait for that to dry. Then the stars on top of the bottom half, wait for that to dry. Then the chair rail. Then the new carpet. This should take me a while. Which is good.

We also bought new bookshelves for our office. Finally. We had been using the Walmart bookshelves I had gotten for my first apartment in college ten years ago. So we are going to put those together today.

And we have a lot of laundry to do. A lot of putting away presents. Planning of New Year's Eve festivities. Packing up of Christmas decorations.

So that's how I'm keeping distracted. From my temps (funny temp story: I wake up early to temp and then go back to sleep. After temping this morning, after a drop, I kept dreaming, hoping, it was tomorrow morning already so that I could temp again and see if it came back up, see if the pattern looked better than it looked today). From what DPO it is. From my lack of hope. From my knowledge that everyone else has moved on. From all these things that dance at the edge of my thoughts and threaten to drown me.

And when TH looks over and I'm staring into space, he knows the tide has come in and I'm staring at the world from the bottom of the sea.

Merry Christmas

Ignoring the fact that this entire holiday surrounds an un-wed mother who got KU without even having sex yet...

Merry Christmas!!

Hope your holiday is merry and bright.

With love,
K.

Eyes Up Here, Dude

So Thursday night we had TH's company Christmas party at a restaurant downtown. I hadn't eaten anything since noon, and we got down there just after 8. The first thing we were told was that the open bar only lasted until dinner was served, so we hightailed it to the bar for our free booze!

So was we were standing around making small talk, one of TH's coworkers we hung out with a fair amount at the last company gathering in Cancun but who has since quit the company to go back to school saw us across the "circle." Technically, because we were standing on the same side of the circle as him, he only saw our faces.

Now picture this: he actually stepped backwards, out of the circle, and quickly but obviously checked out my stomach.

W.T.F.

I could only think of two possibilities: (1) TH had told him about the baby-making plans and he was looking for a bump, or (2) he saw how round my face has gotten compared to the last time we hung out (which, for the record, was between an Olympic-distance and a half-ironman triathlon, so I was in...different...shape) and was looking to see how fat I've gotten.

Neither of those are good scenarios for my mental health. 10 minutes later, the entire shaker of Mexican martini (with the good tequila too, not the cheap stuff--hey it was free!) was gone and I was headed back to the bar for my second shaker full.

Let's recap. Haven't eaten in more than 8 hours. Not a big drinker anymore. Chugged a shaker full of top-shelf tequila in 10 minutes and got about half-way through a second.

Needless to say, I ended up shnockered. As for how the rest of the evening went, let's just say if we end up pregnant this cycle, we won't be telling junior where he or she was conceived.

Happy Holidays!

THAT is what I'm talking about!!

Doc appointment today = totally kick-ass awesome.

I didn't actually meet with the doctor--there's a 4-month waiting list for that for new patients. Instead, I met with his NP for a "fertility consult." The only bad part of the visit was the nurse who brought me back to the room and took my vitals kept saying things like "You're here to talk about infertility issues?" and I was like, "No, I'm here to talk about fertility issues." I said it in my head though. But then after a few jokes she said, "You're going to be my favorite infertility patient," and I did say (aloud), "haha, you're favorite fertility patient." She either didn't get it or chose to ignore it.

Anyway, then the NP came in and we talked about our history and TH's SA results. She said they were good, just a little under what they "like" to see. I then hit her with my list of questions and she answered each and every one like it was the most logical question in the world, even my "Ok, sex in the 2ww--ok to have an orgasm?" Seriously. I asked it. And she didn't even bat an eye. (BTW, for those of you secretly wondering the answer to that, yes, orgasms = ok in 2ww. You're welcome.) She made me feel like talking to me was the only thing she had to do that morning. It was amazing.

Then we started talking about next steps. She said it was totally up to us how proactive we wanted to be. Some people just decided that they NEED to be pregnant NOW, for whatever reason--their own mental sanity to a parent that is terminally ill and wants to meet their grandchild. The next test for me would be an HSG to make sure that my tubes aren't blocked by anything. We could have that whenever I wanted. Then she said the second best thing ever (the first best thing is coming a little after this): IUIs are easy to do, very common, and if we wanted to do one as early as this coming Monday (that's right--4 days from now), I could just call up the morning I got a + OPK and schedule it and we could do it. She said if we're going to get TH another SA (which she suggested doing based on his results and the lab he had it done, which apparently is like the Walmart of SA labs), then rather than throw it away we might as well just use it for an IUI. To be clear, I don't want an IUI 4 days from now. I'm not all itching to jump into medical intervention. But just the fact that she said we COULD if we WANTED to made all the difference in the world. These were doctors who are on my side, who will work with me and TH at our own pace without judging or dictating.

Then she said the BEST thing ever: "Let's do a vaginal ultrasound, just to make sure everything looks normal." What!?!? At a consultation!?!? YES!!!! 5 minutes later I had a condom-covered wand up my vj and was looking at my uterus on screen. She took some measurements. Normal. She showed me my ovaries, which were busy making eggs to release in 4 days. I actually saw the egg that is about to be released. It was measuring 14mm. The other side had one that was only 8mm, which she said probably had lost the duke-it-out battle to see which one would release. It was absolutely the coolest thing I've seen all year.

Other info for those it might interest:

--caffeine for TH is A-OK (and for me, too for that matter) (TH was super happy to hear this as I'd made him lay off the Dr Pepper for the last two weeks)
--NO (zip, zero, zilch) exercise from 7 DPO - 10DPO (not even biking/walking/swimming)
--they DO recommend you lay still after sex and put a pillow under your hips
--they do NOT recommend sex every other day. That is more for women who don't know when they ovulate. For me, who is very regular, she said sex whenever up to 4 days before O, then when I get a +OPK, sex for three days straight (TH was super happy about this one as well)

In the end, I left feeling elated, like a weight had been lifted from me. I felt hopeful again. I felt like we can do this at our own pace, that no doctor is going to rule my life perched on their high seat of "I don't really care about you or your fertility journey."

We aren't doing anything for now. Giving it another 2 months. My annual is due in February. She told me to try to schedule it for when I would be about on CD17 (one day before I typically O). If nothing by then, we'll see.

I am excited again.

What's My Problem?

I was filling out the new patient paperwork for my doc appt. on Thursday, and one of the first questions was, "If you have a problem, please describe it. What is it? How long have you had it?" I totally faltered. I didn't know how to answer that question. Or maybe rather, I didn't know how to answer that question in the one inch of space they gave me.

What I wanted to say is that I'm not pregnant. That is my problem. At the beginning of May, I took my last BCP. TH and I were fairly careful the next three months, per doctor's orders, with him begrudgingly using a condom (in reality, he fought me tooth and nail the entire three months about it...one of his finer moments). July hits and we're both excited to make a baby (and TH is double excited to be rid of the condom). I knew it didn't happen immediately for everyone. It didn't for us. I was disappointed. The next month we had sex every day for like 10 days. Another no. I started charting. I had a clear thermal shift. I am ovulating. TH got a SA (for past medical history reasons)--not outstanding numbers, but not low enough to "worry about." We figured we both worked fine. Another no. I used OPKs--two strong smiley faces coupled with beautiful thermal shift. Another no. Best thermal shift yet, and finally some EWCM. Another no.

My problem is that I called my doctor's nurse and she said I should start charting to make sure that I'm ovulating. I told her I was charting. I am ovulating. We have had perfect timing. I told her I wanted to come in to make sure that everything really was in working order. Why assume it is? Why suffer through months of heartbreak only to find out a year later something was wrong, something that could be addressed? She told me the doctor wouldn't see me. That if I wasn't pregnant by February (my annual), the doc would start infertility treatment. What? Why would you jump to that if we haven't even made sure everything is ok? Why wouldn't you talk to me about testing first? I found a new doctor.

My problem is that TH's urologist wants to put him on Clomid. Huh? I thought Clomid was for women? My problem is that I don't have a doctor I can talk to about this.

My problem is that it's been six months. Not six months of random sex with TH whenever we get the mood. Not six months of just pulling the goalie and seeing what happens. Six months of actively, aggressively TTC. Actually TRYING to conceive. Not just lucking into it. And everything I've read about it, including in TCOYF, the be-all-end-all of getting pregnant, has said if you are charting and ovulating and have perfect timing, etc., and you aren't pregnant in 4-6 months, go see a doctor.

My problem is that I need to know that my body is ready to get and be pregnant. That my body is doing everything it should to get and be pregnant. That TH's counts are high enough to get me pregnant. If that's the case, we'll go on our merry way (thank god baby-making is freaking awesomely fun, right?) and keep at it (literally). But I want to make sure. I want to know there's a hope of success on our own. If not, why the hell are we wasting our time?

Oh, and my problem is also that y'all are hella busy. I want this guy to be my doctor. I've heard he's the best there is, and right now, I need a doctor who I feel is in my corner, a doctor who will not brush me off, a doctor who will talk to me and support me and be an advocate for my journey. And he has a 4-month wait to get in to see him. So I took the first appointment with the NP that I could get so that I could make sure I could get in for my annual in Feb. My problem is that in order for y'all to be a part of this process, I have to get the ball rolling now.

My problem is that I don't know if there is a problem at all. That's what I want YOU to tell me.

Obviously I couldn't say all that. So I left it at:

"Trying to conceive 6 months. Actively charting, using OPKs, etc. Husband has borderline SA results."

On paper, it didn't look like all that much of a problem at all.

Remembering the Forest

Part of the reason I'm having such a hard time with not being successful at TTC yet is because I'm such a goal-oriented person. As explored in previous posts, any time I've identified a goal, I put 100% of my effort into achieving it, and I did. So having this new goal that I am trying 100% to achieve, and having it not happen is, well, driving me crazy.

But another aspect of being so goal oriented is that I tend to be very focused. I keep my "eyes on the prize" (I really do hate using such hackneyed expressions, but it's early, and it works, so let's roll with it) and don't waste attention on peripheral details. That means when I was studying for entrance exams I stopped watching TV; when I was teaching I worked every weekend to prepare something awesome for the upcoming week; and when I was training, I lost track of laundry, bills, traveling to see family, spending time with TH, etc. And now that the goal is getting KU, that's all I'm focusing on. My attention has become laser focused on one singular point: the success or failure of conceiving.

I have stopped thinking about the world of change that that singular point brings with it.

Once we get a positive test, our entire existence will never be the same. We slept 'til 10 a.m. yesterday just because we didn't have anything pressing to get up and do. No more of that. We were sitting around Friday night and decided last-second to go catch a movie. No more of that. We have a quiet house. A tidy house. A laid-back, calm house. We can spend money on whatever we want. We can travel wherever we want for as long as our jobs allow. When we leave the house, I only have to check to make sure I have my wallet and cell phone. We lead simple lives. Lives that will never be the same after that BFP.

We want to have our kids close in age, so once this baby train finally leaves the station, it ain't stopping again for a while. It's like we're poised at the top of a hill, and all I am thinking about is starting down the other side, not remembering that once we do, this point, this peak, this view, will never be reached again.

It's not that I think that our lives are the best that they'll ever be right now, pre-kid. Because I don't. I think that our lives will be more richly blessed when we have kids than I could ever even imagine right now.

I just know that I spend a lot of time focusing on the single goal: get pregnant. And I tend to forget that it comes, much like the Verizon network, with a whole lot more. What we are trying to do is not just get pregnant. We are trying to change our lives forever. It's a big deal. It's not as simple as just TTC. And it helps me to remember that, to remember to enjoy the view right now, because once we start down that other side, there's no coming back.

Two-Post Thursday

Because it's too cute not to share.

After TH forgetting about last Friday being "the" day, we got in a big fight and came to the resolution that I need for him to be more involved on his own, not just responsively involved by doing what I tell him. So I emailed him my chart for him to bookmark and gave him another little run-down of what the chart is/does/means.

I got this email from him this morning:

Wow, your temperature dropped a lot last night! Were you cold, or did I just not snuggle enough? Thanks for letting me be involved with this stuff. Love you,
TH

So. Freaking. Cute. Not just that he remembered (yay!), but that he said "letting me be involved" instead of something more along the lines of "getting me involved" or "making me be involved" or "shoving this crap down my throat."

I love that man.

A New Day, a Stoplight, and a Loss of Context

Things always look better in the morning. The sun is shining. It's starting to warm up a bit. It's, well, not yesterday.

I've discovered something. I do much better when I forget all context pertaining to our TTC journey. If I think to myself, "We are trying to get pregnant this month," I can feel that excitement that I felt in the beginning, that hope. Even now, at the beginning of my cycle, when usually I'm all gloom and doom. It's when I think "We've been trying to get pregnant for six months" that things go down hill for me. So, if I forget the context, refuse to think about the back story, it's much better! I also can't really think about the future, either. I don't daydream much about babies anymore. I don't even think much about my doctor's visit next week. When I think about the future, I feel this kind of generalized anxiety about what it will--or worse, what it won't--bring. So the key is, thinking about life in one-day increments. Focusing on today. That doesn't work out so well when you have a bad day, as seen yesterday. But the nice thing is, when you wake up in the morning, it's a new day. It's a chance to reset and face things fresh. Like Drew Barrymore's character in 50 First Dates. No context, no history, no baggage.

As I drove to work this morning, I pulled up in line at the light getting out of my neighborhood, and almost immediately the cars in front of me started going. What luck! I usually get stuck at that light, and it's a long one. Then I realized that that traffic light, and the power it wields over your morning commute, is a great metaphor (and 'cause I'm an English major, I'm all about finding the great metaphors in life). Some women hit the TTC green light without even having to slow down. They head down the road and just keep going with nary a pause. Some women have to wait for a little bit to get the green light. Some women hit the light just as it's turning red and have to wait a long time. But, and here's what I liked, do I get MAD at the traffic light when I get there and it's red and I have to wait? I don't. What would be the point in that? It's not a sentient being. It doesn't make value judgements about who waits at the red light and who goes straight through. It just is. You might as well enjoy the music while you're waiting.

My metaphor breaks down a bit when, say, you think about getting stuck at the red light when you're in a hurry. Then you do get mad. And you probably yell at the light. It also breaks down a bit if you believe that the light IS sentient, that it does make value judgements, that it does consciously decide when you get to go. And it breaks down if you focus on the fact that some cars will never make it through the light without outside help, without a tow-truck or something.

But for me, right now, this morning, the stoplight helped me remember that sometimes people get to go and sometimes people get stopped and that's just the way life is. C'est la vie.

I hate waiting

It seems like all I do anymore is wait. I wait to O, I wait to test, I wait to start my period. I wait. I wait for our new lives to start. I wait to stop feeling . . . sad. And envious.

And now I'm waiting again. Another trip to the dermatologist. Another check-up. Another two spots removed. Another wait. To find out if I'm still clear. Or if it's popped up again. I wait to find out if I can continue to work on waiting on the other stuff.

As usual, my doctor said it didn't look like it was anything to worry about. "Definitely doesn't jump out at me as cancerous." But this time he admitted that the spots didn't look normal. Great. TH told me my body is just exceptionally good at making abnormal cells. Great. That's exactly the skill I want to have. Can I showcase that at our company's talent show? He joked that of the 10 spots I've now had removed, only one has been cancer, so the odds are pretty good that these new ones aren't. I have to admit he has something there--if you have a 20% chance of getting pregnant, and that hasn't happened yet, surely something with a 10% chance would fall in my favor as well, right?

I made the mistake of reading the pregnant check-in on the board today. I only make that mistake once every two months or so. That's how long it takes me to forget how it makes me feel, to read all the happy posts from women who got exactly what they wanted. It probably wasn't the best day for me to make that mistake, considering my morning at the dermatologist, my fear that these spots will come back with results that I'll have to go back to the office "to discuss." But what's done is done and I read it and I spent the afternoon with a boulder on my chest.

Why does it have to be this hard? Why do some women get to skip through life, blithely think, "oh, let's have babies now, that will be fun!" and then get pregnant, like they are checking off a to-do list, pick up milk--check! get a haircut--check! buy birthday present for mom--check! get pregnant--check! It's not just one or two women in my life. I can list four, five, seven, ten off the top of my head. And I know everyone has their own struggles and that no one's life is as easy as it may appear from the outside. But I also know how hard my life is. I know the kinds of things I've had to deal with the past year, the kinds of things my husband has had to deal with, and some days, on the days I have to worry again about fighting cancer, on the days TH breaks down because his mom is not his mom anymore, on the days I read about everyone else who got exactly what they want . . . I just . . . I just . . . hate . . . the wait.

Two days from now, when I hear back from my dermatologist and find out everything's fine, I'll look back on how I'm feeling and laugh at myself. For not being more patient. For not trusting that everything would turn out ok.

And one day, when I'm pregnant, I'll look back on this whole process and laugh at myself. For not being more patient. For not trusting that everything would turn out ok.

But the reality is, in that moment, I will no longer understand this person. I will no longer understand the fear and the angst and the impatience. Knowing how things turn out changes the perspective.

Those who look back with wisdom will never truthfully remember what it felt like to look forward in ignorance.

And I hope I remember in that moment, that this person should not be laughed at for her impatience, for her fear. That is it all real. All justified. All understandable.

I hope I can look back on this person and know that she waited the best she could.

Onward

I didn't even make it to testing this morning. The bottom dropped out of my temp and I knew what that meant. AF was here just after lunch.

This time brought with it a lot of anger.

Much of it was directed at TH this morning--not out loud, but internally. He slept in. He didn't ask me about my temp. Or if I had tested. He still hasn't. He didn't remember that this morning was THE morning. I had girls all across the city praying for me and asking for updates the first thing in the morning, and my own husband didn't remember.

I feel like the longer this goes on, the more he just goes on with his life as usual, the more this whole TTC circus just fades into his background. He's not the one taking vitamins and temping and charting and feeling phantom symptoms and withholding from caffeine and alcohol and changing his life to make this thing happen. He has sex with me when he's supposed to (who are we kidding--that's not even an adjustment for him) and occasionally remembers to take his vitamins (a one month supply has now lasted more than two months) and his life goes on as usual aside from the occasional jealousy when he sees other men who have pregnant wives or other men who have cute kids. I was angry at him for not being equally involved in this as me, for leaving me to feel alone and hurt this morning, for not knowing that I was feeling lonely, that I was hurting.

I know that my anger is not really with him, but that's where this directionless anger is turning.

This has been the first month I've felt like crying. I cried two weeks ago, cried with frustration at my stupid doctor who said that she would neither see nor talk to me before my annual in February. But this is the first time I've felt like crying about the no.

I've been able to channel a little of that anger and frustration--I changed doctors to a man who is literally locally famous in the TTC circles. He's not a specialist, and I have several friends who see him as their regular GYN, and at this point I don't think I need a specialist. I need a doctor who will listen to my concerns and look at my charts and hear why I'm frustrated and have a conversation with me about what's going on. I need a doctor who is involved in the process.

So anyway, I have my first appointment with his NP in two weeks. So I have two weeks to sort through all the angry chatter in my head and heart and develop a list of questions.

As I ate lunch today, there was Christmas music playing. I was first struck with a wave of self-pity--I wanted so desperately to celebrate something special this Christmas. Christmas is a family holiday, and I truly believed we would be on our way to starting our own family by now.

And then, because I loathe feeling sorry for myself, I remembered that I was truly happy last Christmas. And in all honesty, nothing has changed. My life hasn't gotten worse. I have just as much to celebrate this year as I did last year.

So, I'm thinking that I'm glad that it's Christmas time--with all the shopping and parties and traveling and time off work, this month will fly by.

Right?

Eve

I. am. miserable.

I've held out this month, waiting to test until Friday morning, 14 dpo. They say it's good to do this, that you shouldn't test early to save money, to avoid the disappointment of the false negative or the chemical pregnancy.

I have made it thus far, and now, on the eve of testing again, I am miserable.

Half of me (who are we kidding . . . 95% of me) is so hopeful. Surely out timing was good this month. Surely the crazy intense O pain I felt on the left side on Thursday and on the right side on Friday of the day TH left meant that my body is working correctly. Surely the signs I've been feeling this week mean something. Surely the unusual temps indicate an unusual outcome. For the last 24 hours (5 days? week? two weeks? month?) I've envisioned seeing something different on that stupid stick. I can see me smile. I can feel the butterflies that would burst into my stomach. I can hear TH's incredulous response. I can imagine our lives changing, our to-do list suddenly exploding, our plans for telling our families at Christmas suddenly realized.

And then the other half, the strong 5%, laughs cruelly, makes me ask myself, "What the fuck are you thinking? Why would this month be any different than the others? Why would you get your hopes up? Why are you so naive, so stupid?" And I remember that I should be hoping for the best but preparing for the worst, and so I try to prepare myself for the same result I've seen since July, I try to remember what it feels like to see that single line, to remember how far my heart falls, to remember what it feels like to crawl into myself so far I don't even cry, I just hide and hurt, so much so that the only way to survive the pain is to wrap a hardened shell around me, a shell that won't let my pain overwhelm and drown me. It's this other half that tells me I'm a fool for hoping.

So here I am, on the eve of testing, again. And I am miserable. I fear tomorrow morning. I fear the tremble I know will be in my hands when unwrapping the stupid test. I fear the wait, the three minutes I can hear my heart beating in my ears. I fear what comes after the wait.

I'm on the eve of taking a test that I have failed four times already, despite every effort on my part to pass.

I'm on the eve of a twisted wedding ceremony where the bride doesn't know if the groom will show up until she's standing at the altar . . . an altar I've been left alone at four times already.

Why do I keep showing up to the stupid altar? Why do I keep believing this time will be different, that this time the groom will be there to meet me, that this time I'll pass the test?

And then, miserable, I remember that despite the outcome, it's better to hope. It feels better to allow yourself the pleasure of the "what if." It feels better to not wallow, to not accept another defeat before you know for sure one way or the other. It feels better to be happy and hopeful and optimistic. So I allow myself to go down that path again. And then I remember that path has brought me nothing but disappointment. And I talk myself out of it. And become miserable once again.

I will test tomorrow. I owe it to myself to hope. But I dread the testing as well. Because I can't imagine anything but another no.

Screw You, Google

Dear Google,

Screw you. When I google something totally obscure and add "+ pregnancy symptom" to it, I'm trying to justify to myself why I am insane. Why I am making shit up. Why what I'm feeling could not possibly have anything to do with maybe being KU. I am looking for sanity.

I am not looking for you to return pages that actually say that this obscure, insane thing could possibly in some cases be considered an actual pregnancy symptom. You comb through 1 bagillion pages--of course you're going to find SOMETHING that says that. I imagine there's at least one page on the internet that links any symptom you could possibly imagine to pregnancy.

So, Google, screw you. I needed a swift kick in the quite-making-shit-up pants, not a pat on the back and an encouragement to keep falling farther down the phantom-symptoms rabbit hole.

Now I have to find another way to keep sane. For another two whole days. Crap.

Sincerely,
Crazy