Category Archives: TWW
We are at my mom’s house for the holidays, so I just have time for a quick Christmas Eve update. It’s cold here, and we hope it will snow, but that is unlikely.
There is no news on the TWW front at all. Honestly, I’ve forgotten most days. We’re about a week past insemination, so I suppose pseudo symptoms are on their way. I’m chalking everything up to PMS this time, whatever I may experience. J and I exchanged stockings on Winter Solstice, and she gave me some digital pregnancy tests. Scary! I would like to think somehow that they are good luck. If anything, they’ll keep me from testing too early.
Well, I’m off to enjoy some Christams Eve cheer. Happy holidays to you all. I hope you’re enjoying time with the people you love!
J and I have been in a grading frenzy, and I don’t yet see an end in sight. I am so tired of bad student writing.
So I’m 4dpo today. The TWW is eeking by, and I’m ready to be on the other side of it, whatever the outcome. I forgot much time slows down during these weeks. I’m hoping that by the time I bring my head up from grading, it will be time to test.
Speaking of testing, we may test on election day. We’re hoping for a trifecta of good news. If it’s a trifecta of bad news, I’m crawling into a cave and not coming out.
Oh, where do I begin?
After yesterday’s post, we waited throughout the day, our anticipation building. I was distracted as I taught. J couldn’t get any work done at home. It was just one of those days when we had a singular focus and it didn’t have anything to do with our students. We were both so excited and hopeful that our new plan was finally going into action.
Our midwife, C, told us in the morning that she would call after her last appointment of the night to let us know what she was able to find as far as catheters go. We waited and waited. I had a beer. We had dinner. We watched some television. I started to fall asleep on the sofa with a cat or two. Then the phone finally rang. At 9:45. C was on the other end, and she was telling me in my groggy state that there was no catheter.
She then related to me advice from her OB friend:
1. We just needed to get the sperm on the cervix.
2. We could use a turkey baster.
I nearly dropped the phone. C was going to come to our house with some kind of modified turkey baster to do an IVI–and too late at that. As any TTCer knows, turkey basters are wasteful and problematic even when you’re working with fresh sperm, but when you’ve got half a teaspoon of frozen that cost hundreds of dollars? Let’s just say it would have been laughable had tears not been streaming down my face. I thanked her for her efforts, let her know that with the frozen sperm and IVI, we needed to act much more quickly, and worked on stifling my tears. She wished us well, told us she would have the supplies should we need her next time, but that she hoped our baby spirit was on its way to us. She’s lovely; she really is. She’s just not prepared.
When I got off the phone, J was furious, and I was starting to cry. Because we weren’t doing IUI anymore, we needed to get this done now, and we were completely unprepared. We both calmed down, and I began rummaging through our bathroom trying to find a needle-less syringe that didn’t exist. By now, it was after 10:00pm. No pharmacies/drug stores were open. Think, T. Think! I remembered Safe.way had a pharmacy, so we piled into the car and wandered the aisles of the grocery store until finally we found the syringe. We also found a bottle of wine.
It took awhile for me to get into a place where we could do this. I just wasn’t prepared mentally or emotionally for the old fashioned inseminations. This time was supposed to be so much better; we were supposed to be increasing our chances. Oh, I was in a bad space. I wavered between crying and thinking–trying to figure out if there was anything else we could do to up our odds.
Finally, we got out some gloves, snipped the zip tie holding the top on the dewar, and pulled out our vial of sperm. I knew there wouldn’t be nearly as much as we had in the past, but neither of us was prepared for the teeny-tiny amount. J was particularly surprised and forlorn.
We went to bed with our glasses of wine, tried to get the syringe as close to my cervix as possible and depressed the plunger the centimeter it needed to go to get the stuff where it needed to go. In the past, we always made sure that this was done amidst some intimacy so that I could have an orgasm. Last night that wasn’t working though, even with our very best vibrator. All I could do was cry and lie there with my hips propped up while J tried to comfort me. And I rotated (rotisserie chicken style). I was able to rotate. But the orgasm eluded me.
And that is how our long, long break ended. Today we both woke up feeling like it didn’t even happen. It was all so weird and surreal and so unlike what we had planned. But we did do it, and we had two really great things going for us: viable sperm and timing. During Reproducing Genius Phase 1, one of those crucial items was always missing, and more often than not, both were (hence the lack of baby after a year of trying). I’d say our chances have increased dramatically, despite our loss of plans, despite our disappointments and the strangely sad insemination. Still, I’m not sure where that giddiness and hope went.
But here we are, rubbing our eyes and stumbling into our first two week wait in half a year. I’m sure it will hit me soon, right?
I tested again this morning, and it was so very negative. There may as well have been a neon-flashing, “Not this time, sucker!” I don’t think it could have been more negative. I stared at the test for the longest time just waiting and waiting. But nothing. I still don’t have my period, but I think I know why: I believe I ovulated a couple of days later than FF is suggesting, which means I’m most likely 12dpo and should be starting to spot today. This would account for why I wasn’t getting positive OPKs and would also mean that our inseminations were way too early. My still low temperature, erratic emotions, vice-grip headache, and crampiness today would indicate that my theory is correct. I expect Auntie F to be knocking on my door with her overstuffed suitcases any moment.
Naturally, I’ve not been doing my best today, and I pity my poor wife. I made some poached eggs this morning and upon asking her how they were, she replied innocently and honestly that they were fresh and good, but maybe a little dry (and they were). I lost it and started crying, but clearly not because the eggs were dry. Hell, I know J likes my cooking, that this was unusual, that I hadn’t been paying attention to how long I was cooking them, and that, frankly, she wasn’t saying anything negative about me, but rather stating a simple fact–about eggs, no less. And still, I cried. This was not one of my finer moments, but my reaction was clearly not about eggs, and she called me on it. So, like the wonderful wife that she is, she called me over next to her, and wrapped her arms around me while I proceeded to curl into a ball and sob. She smoothed my hair, and we mourned the loss of hope once again, and she made me breathe.
However, my sobfest took place at an unfortunate time, for we had been watching something on one of the cable news stations while eating breakfast. When the program ended, I was still crying, and J was still comforting me, so neither of us knew what was going to come on next. Suddenly, we both saw and heard this young woman talking about having her baby and insisting that her baby live on the streets with her. She was a whore, living on the streets, and she had a brand new baby, and this just set me off even more. I felt very sorry for myself as I thought about this completely irresponsible girl who was saturated in this drug culture and was determined to expose her child to it. Why must the universe throw these things in my face nearly every time we face the end of an unsuccessful cycle? How is this fair? The answer, of course, is that it’s not fair, but damn, what unfortunate timing!
Since this morning’s breakdown, I have finally found a slightly more comfortable headspace. I won’t call it zen, but I’m not sobbing into J’s shoulder nor pounding my fists into pillows (that’s always pretty). Now, I’m eager for my period to begin so that we can just move on with this last cycle with Mr. G. It’s raining here, which makes for a perfect day to sit inside with my sweetheart watching movies and eating popcorn. I’m glad it’s raining, glad we’ll soon have another fresh start, and while my baser self wants to wallow in self-pity, I’m determined to pick back up and move forward.
We’re still holding out over here. I’m on CD26 at 11dpo. Temps went up today. Still have aching, painful breasts. I want to test, but I’m forcing myself to wait. Friday will be the day. But the waiting, oh, the waiting!
I find that every time I’ve not peed for awhile, I am so very tempted to test, so I’ve been making myself empty my bladder each time that box of HPTs starts to seduce me. If I have an empty bladder, there’s nothing left to splash onto a stick and, therefore, no chance that I’ll be let down by the big white strip.
I’m just ready for the wait to be over. Whether it ends with a second pink line or streak of red, I’m ready.
I’ve not disappeared entirely, and I’ve not sunken into a pit of despair. I suppose I just don’t have much to write about in the last few days.
We’re trying to wait until Friday to test. It’s 10dpo today. My period is due to arrive in a couple of days, so I’m just waiting it out without any expectations.
J and I have been doing our part to stimulate the economy by purchasing some summer clothes. Having lived in a climate with temperatures that never were above 75 for so many years, neither of us had proper clothing to face the heat wave we had last week. Therefore, we’ve been finding a few gems here and there. I still won’t wear shorts, so this leaves me to skirts. Skirts make me feel more feminine, which I’ve needed lately. I rather like them. I’m even growing my hair out a bit to compound the girliness.
It’s not that I’ve ever been masculine or butch or even much of a tomboy. I have had short, cropped hair for awhile, but even that I always tried to maintain in a somewhat femmish style. Lately, though, when I’ve seen photos of myself, I haven’t liked how I looked. In fact, on more than one occasion, I did find myself looking more masculine than I’m used to, and perhaps this has sparked my interest in growing the hair and wearing the skirts. Who knows? I’ve never really been into the butch/femme labels because I’ve got a little bit of both in me. In fact, J and I both do, although crass straight folks still ask if I’m “the girl.” Whatever. We’re both the girls. There are no men in our relationship. That’s the way we like it.
So I suppose I’m playing a little with my outward expression of my identity again, and that’s fun. As I do this, I’m struggling also to avoid that gravitational pull toward the soccer mom look. You know, the high-wasted, pleated jeans and white sneakers and all the rest of the comfortable ugliness. J will tell you that I have an irrational fear of the soccer mom image. I think I just don’t want to look matronly. As someone who used to love nothing more than challenging the fashion status quo (oh how I loved my sequins, my safety pins, and my knee-high docs), the idea of taking on that oh-so-boring image frightens me. And yet, I know I’ve succumbed to it on many occasions. In fact, I’ve noticed lately that I dress a lot like my mom (not that my mom looks bad because she’s really lovely, but she’s also in her fifties, and I’m, well, not). Perhaps this is what happened when I started teaching and felt I needed to look more conservative. Perhaps it was a result of my body type and having to wear ugly plus-sized clothes for so many years. I don’t know, but sometime in the last ten years, I became a little dowdy, realizing some of my worst fashion phobias.
In the past few years, I’ve lost some weight, and with that has come multiple stages of image redefinition. Through all of this, I keep trying to look more my age–because I was starting to look much older than I am, and that’s no good. I still wish that I could get back a little of that edge I had in my early twenties, but I’m beginning to wonder if that will happen or if now that I’m in my thirties I’m just doomed to look like I should be piloting a minivan. Perhaps it’s just time for a new, highly visible tattoo.
People are always remarking that I never look the same from one year to the next. I used to have professors who, while I had taken their classes regularly, didn’t recognize me when classes started up again in August. I’ve always reveled in that a bit, and maybe my problem is that I just need to shed my skin of the last few years and grow a new one. Who knows–it might even be a little pink–but it certainly won’t involve white sneakers.
I know I said I wouldn’t talk about symptoms, and technically, I’m not. I’ve got super sore boobs. It’s about the same time they showed up last cycle–a week before my period. Considering my history, this probably means I’m not pregnant; of course, there’s always the chance that this time, they’re sore for another reason, but I just can’t go there again.
I would like a short vacation from my body, please. A week will do. Is that too much to ask? I’ll be happy to return once the insanity of the coming week subsides. Thanks.
Before I launch into a very self-centered post, I’d like to draw your attention elsewhere:
First, please send your love and support to Mrs. Bluemont.
Second, send your congratulations and warm wishes to j.k-c., who’s finally gotten knocked up! Congratulations!
And now, on to topics of the more self-centered variety.
It’s funny how we can go along with our lives feeling and thinking things, not paying much attention to them, while also never realizing that such feelings and thoughts aren’t so normal or useful. I honestly hadn’t noticed that I was so negative about this journey until I wrote that post the other day, so when I started reading all of your amazing and supportive comments, I was initially surprised. I wanted to say, “Oh, it’s really not that bad. I’m fine! Really!” And then J read it, and I came home from buying groceries, and she said, “I read your post. I didn’t know you were feeling so down. Let’s talk about this.” I burst into tears and realized that I did feel the things that I wrote, and those feelings were just as strong as they sounded, and I’ve been minimizing them. Blogging certainly does make for good therapy.
Over the last couple of days, I’m feeling better. This is due, in no small part, to the comments of some very dear people in blogland and the support of my beloved J. I’m very lucky to have this community, and it’s comforting to know that so long as I keep writing, people will be here. I like that. So thank you to those of you who responded with words of comfort and wisdom and to those who read and supported me in silence. It means a lot. I promise not to put my feelings into a garbage compactor anymore.
Moving along to better things (I know, nice transition): The California Supreme Court ruling has J and I in tears of joy every time we mention it. We’ve been domestic partners here for about four years ago. We had a commitment ceremony in 2001. Now we’re going to be able to get married. We don’t know yet how we’ll do it or when, but we will, and that’s exciting. Whatever it takes, we’ll finally be legally married. Our child(ren) will have married parents–unless of course, the fundamentalist freaks get their way and California voters pass a constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage. But we’re not going to let that happen.
As for this TTC business, I’m taking each day as it comes. I’m only 6dpo, so no symptoms of the fake or real variety to report, and I don’t think I’ll be reporting them. I’m tired of psyching myself out with super-sore boobs only to find that I’m just having one hell of a period. I am, however, eating tons of pineapple, although I realized I’ve got a whole bottle of bromelain capusules that would do the same thing. However, the pineapple right now is so sweet and delicious, I wouldn’t dare replace it with pills.
And that’s all for me this lovely Friday. The sun is already scorching, and we’re expected to reach over 100 degrees today. I’ll be expending most of my energy trying not to melt.
I tested a few minutes ago, and it was a negative–a large white expanse of test strip staring back at me (okay, so it wasn’t exactly large, but it sure seemed big).
We’re off to go for a hike this afternoon. My guess is AF will be here by this evening. If not, I’ll be surprised, but I’m not holding out much hope. It is 12dpo after all–not exactly early.
Two more rounds to go before we have to figure everything out all over again.