Sunday, September 19, 2010

Totally unrelated

For some reason, I can never seem to remember how many ounces are in a cup, cups are in a pint, quart, gallon, and so on. So I'm going to write them down here, secure in the knowledge that I can always search my own damned web site next time I need them.

3 teaspoons is 1 tablespoon
8 ounces is 1 cup
16 ounces is 2 cups which is 1 pint
32 ounces is 4 cups which is 2 pints which is 1 quart
128 ounces is 16 cups which is 8 pints which is 4 quarts which is 1 gallon

**stolen in its entirety from
Even though it's stolen, it's proven true for me, as well.

Sunday, August 29, 2010


So, polyp #2 will be removed the day after tomorrow.

What's funny about this month (and I'm going to get specific, so if you can't handle it, RUN) is how odd it has been.

First, I spotted for a solid week. On day seven, I called the doctor and told him. "Oh, hai, I've been spotting for seven days, am I broken?" and the doctor was all, "Hrm. Well, no, but we probably should schedule your surgery STAT."

Then, the next morning (when the nurse called back to schedule the surgery) I was forced to inform her that, in fact, the real bleeding and cramping had started that morning. Yeah. I get to have a period all over again. Yay! She said, "no biggie, you're actually late in your cycle now, so we'll go ahead and do this on Monday".

Monday comes. I call again. "Are you suuuuure? I don't think the doctor wants to be all up in my bleeding hoo-ha, especially since he'll have trouble seeing around in my uterus with all the goo." And the doctor's office agreed. Of course, I have to tell them this while I'm in my office at work, which I share with several other people. There is no place for privacy on a school campus.

I called them again, four days later, when Aunt Flo decided to move on. We rescheduled for this coming week.

Since the last time hurt like...well, like they're sticking big metal spiky things in my vag, I'm not particularly looking forward to this. Except, of course, that once it's out we'll be able to try again (Round 3!!) for a baby. *sparkles and ribbons wands out, people*

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Wow, IKEA, you really are nosey as shit.

I was just filling out a form to get a friggin catalog. I love IKEA, so that thought made me a little happy.

Then, I get to the question - Do you have the pitter patter of little feet?

No, no I don't. But I say "yes" because I like kids' stuff, and I have lots of friends with kids. Then, "How many do you have?" I don't have any, unless my dog and cat count, thanks for the reminder.

This question is followed by, "Are you expecting?"

No. No, I'm not. Thanks for asking. For some perverse reason, I marked yes. "When are you due?" TEARS. I'm NOT due, you motherfucker, I just want to look at baby stuff!! ASSHOLE. Leave me alone! *sobs*

They really should know better than to mess with the hormonal. Which, from my experience, is just about everyone.

Thursday, August 5, 2010


Just a short time ago, I stated my belief that I was not infertile. The world decided to prove me wrong with this second polyp in just three months. Since this was to only be my third IUI round, I'm more than a little upset.

I didn't realize how upset I was until another friend announced that she had a positive pregnancy test. In spite of the fact that she has not had those results a second time, that hit me like a ton of bricks.

This week, I've been, in quick succession: depressed, sobbing, indifferent, highly anxious, crabby and then back again. My nose has that crusty feeling you get when you've had a nasty cold for a week. I didn't know that could happen in less than two days, but it can.

The dishes are piled in the sink, I haven't vacuumed in a week, and I desperately need to change my cat's litter box (I can still do that since I'm still not pregnant). Isn't it fun how everything is a reminder?

Everything is, you know. My friends talk of little else - although I can't blame them. The upstairs bedroom where we've been forced to sleep all week because our downstairs a/c unit is broken - again - is the room where our baby would/will sleep someday. The rocking chair I've already bought and I'm planning to paint is in there, along with the paint chips for "baby" colors.

Surgery to remove polyps isn't really that bad, as surgeries go. It's more the disappointment and frustration of feeling ... like I'm missing out? Like I'll never have children? Like I'm getting older everyday and I'm getting that much closer to missing my chance? Some of all of them, I suppose.

Monday, August 2, 2010


For the second time in three months, I have a polyp in my uterus. Am I broken? What the hell?

The presence of a polyp doesn't end my chances of having a baby by any means. I will have to wait until my next cycle begins, and then I'll go in, have another hysteroscopy, where water will be put into my uterus to make certain that it is, in fact, a polyp again. After that, the doctor will give me a relaxant and some lortab, and, while awake, will go digging up in my uterus. Apparently, to some, it's not painful. For me, at least the last time, with enough meds in me to normally make me pass out and snore and wheeze like dying cow, it was like being scraped on the insides with a massive knife. Sccraaaaaaaaaaaaaaape! In there! IN THERE! In the place that supposed to feel good! My husband has to go there next! You can't scrape it up!

So, as one might imagine, I'm not looking forward to this again. Not to mention it puts off my hopes of having a child another couple of months. That's not a big deal. Maybe if I weren't a massive drama queen, whose hopes were once again pinned on another insemination tomorrow to finally get pregnant, I wouldn't have sobbed until my entire couch and three boxes of tissues were thoroughly soaked, but no luck. I couldn't quite convince my dear darling husband that the world was ending. I'll make it through yet another set back. On the bright side, I'll have another month to save a few bucks for the next round or two. Right? There's always a bright side. Right?

*kicks rocks*

Saturday, July 24, 2010


I'm not infertile, but I may as well be. My husband has a condition that would cause great harm to any children we may have, and therefore we have made the choice to use infertility treatments to avoid it. We are using donor sperm and in utero insemination.

We are now on our third cycle. Our insurance covers none of the fertility treatments, and we're already beginning to struggle. We are using the absolute cheapest form of fertility treatments available to us, and it still costs around $1500 every cycle. That may not sound like much, but in less than five months, we've spent nearly $5000 trying to get pregnant, unsuccesfully.

I feel like a failure. I look around, and I've lost count of how many women, friends, loved ones, and acquaintes have announced their pregnancies and brought babies into the world since I started lobbying to try for a baby, and now, when we are finally in a place to do that, I have failed. There was a polyp in my uterus, which acts like a natural IUD - it's almost impossible to get pregnant with that kind of obstruction. It was removed, painfully, but my doctor. Then, during the second cycle, the lining in my uterus was too thin, and there was no success there.

This evening, I will take a new medicine (the doctor believes that it's likely the Clomid, the fertility medicine I was on, might have caused the thinness of my uterine lining, so he changed the medicine) and try for the third time.

I have it easy. Many of my friends have had to do In vitro feritilization, which costs many times what my fertility treatments cost. Some of them have tried for years, not months, to get pregnant, and with no support from any insurance companies.

One of those friends found this video laying out the pain and struggle and calling for a change in the healthcare system, which provides medicine for free to men who want to get an erection, but won't support families struggling to have a child. The video is choppy, but emotional.

A link to an article from Self Magazine:

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Dear Baby (1):

Dear Baby,

No. You have not been conceived yet, as far as I know. You have been in my thoughts for so long, and I have pictured you in so many ways and places that I have long since lost track of when I first started hoping for you.

Everything in my current life has been chosen in hopes of meeting you: my dog - extra friendly and non-territorial; my home - extra bedrooms for me to paint the walls with anything your heart desires; my car: with an extra big back seat, in hopes I would need the space for you.

I have bought items for you, and then given them away - only because I despaired of ever meeting you at all, and so many others around me have welcomed their babies already. Two years ago it was a baby blanket. Last year it was a full crib set (on sale!). This summer it was a book of murals for painting your walls.

I can see you. I have seen you in every possibility - a girl with my sister's giggle, a boy with your daddy's eyes, even twins. I have names chosen - all kinds of possibilities in case the one we had picked just doesn't fit. Colin, for the wide eyed one - Tyson, for the independant - Lily for the shy girl - Rosalie if I can get Daddy to consent.

I'll teach you to be polite even when you don't want to be, and to be thoughtful even when the person you are thinking of doesn't deserve it. I'll make sure to teach you all that I wish I had been taught. I'll play with you and rock you and sing to you, even though I'm a horrible singer.

I already love you. I can only hope you won't resist being loved as much as I did.


Monday, March 29, 2010

Paint chips

Not long ago, my best friend and I picked out paint chips. Although this was nearly a month ago, we have not painted one iota of our house since then. While my friend has nearly impeccable taste, I fear that my laziness probably out does even her good taste. I have forgotten many of her best recommendations, and the tape holding each one to the wall is started to fall off. The kitchen will be the first victim, I fear. There are some truly horrendous shades combinations of blue and orange, which eventually we will come to a concensus upon, and then promptly paint in the most frightening color combination in existence. I'm sure of it. Which is, of course, why we have not yet painted the kitchen.

The real purpose behind picking paint colors was self indulgence. Here, I can indulge in my childish dreams of babies in the house, giggling and running, up and down the hallway. We indulged in pinks, and greens, and yellows. I will build my baby a little playhouse, perhaps from . While this might be dreadfully, terribly sad, this dream is far bigger than even my wedding day could have been. I dreamed of a having a baby in my arms since the first time I read a gut-wrenching story of a premie baby who almost didn't make it from Reader's Digest when I was twelve years old. Is that weird? I don't care; I've waited until I am quite a respectable age. My own mother even implied, not long ago, that I was "old" for having babies. Come now! If bloody Jennifer Lopez can have TWINS at 38, then I can certainly have a baby. I'm not even 32!

So, blog world, I'm picking colors for the nursery. I'm not buying anything, not to worry. I wouldn't want to jinx my future eggs or anything.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Saving the trees.

It's been a fascinating day. Yesterday I was so ill I just lay on the couch and practiced my moaning skills. So pitiful was I, in fact, that I could not pick up my brand new Kindle to read. (An item I have been coveting for over a year.)

Shall I tell you about the Kindle? I love it. I love that I can read all these books, many of them for free, and not have to worry about hunting it down, or lugging out boxes to find them, or the space it'll take up. We already have eleventy billion books, and about forty bookshelves to hold them, so I'll take it. We have so many bookshelves, in fact, that the books are actually piling themselves out onto the floor in protest. There are boxes of books, also, and books that keep inexplicably showing up in the mail like lost friends. "Oh hai. We're your old childhood books. We found you! hahahaha!" Mocking me.

Therefore, the Kindle is lovely. They mock me from a list, rather than in piles on my floor. I can take the list mocking. They do mock me, friends. Because the one draw back to my new toy is that I have so many books, I don't feel the need to finish the current one. Very often I will skip from book to book, and forget I had the other one to read, except for the nagging little voices, reminding me that I am, in fact, not finishing my books. Oh, the horror! I will be poorly educated if I don't finish my books! Oh, wait. Yeah, I have a Master's degree. But! unfinished books! But...BUT UNFINISHED BOOKS.

So yes, I do keep going back and reading a few pages of A Confederacy of Dunces out of simple guilt - I don't really like it - but by God, I will read it!

A further caveat to the joys of the Kindle is the fact that it cost so damn much. So much, in fact, that I coveted for over two years without buying it, and hid it from my poor husband for over a week after I did buy it. I would have hid it for longer, but he caught me trying to plug it in. Oh, the horror of spending $300 for an item that holds books! As if I don't have far more than 30 books in there already, and I didn't pay no damn $10 a piece for them, but I digress. Think of all the space I'm saving! And trees!