Waiting for Godot...

Reading Julie's post re: getting to donor egg made me think about our own journey. B & I were married in 1993 and stopped using BC in 1995. I saw my first specialist in 1996. Unfortunately we did not aggresively seek treatment as life issues got in the way (not my issues but peripherally affected me so I will not discuss them in this forum...suffice it to say nasty business...lost lots of $$$ and time).

Began to actively try again in 1998. I went first to the Doctor Whose Name Shall Not Be Spoken In My Presence. Now I suppose Dr. WNSNBSIMP is a competent enough doctor. He diagnosed my horrible horrible horrible periods and took out the Dermoid Cyst that made me writhe on the floor in agony so I suppose he has that going for him...but his bedside manner. No.

Let me take a moment and say I had the worst migraine headaches you can imagine. No, don't tell me how bad yours were; you weren't in my head and I am not in yours so I will not make statements about how my headache could beat your headache and send it flying to the curb. I will not go there. They came complete with a Full Complement of Migraine Symptoms.

1. Severe, horrible throbbing pain over my right temple. Only the right one. Grab my head, wrench it off and replace it with Barbie's plastic head. Please.
2. Nausea - yup - many times had to pull off the road to throw up because of the nausea...and I didn't even get to have the fun of getting sloppy drunk and thrown out of the club.
3. Sensitivity to smells - oh, god. I love coffee; I love food, I love the smell of food. But when Mygraine came to visit. No. No coffee. No cologne. No. Nothing with any smell at all.
4. Sensitivity to light - lock me in a cave and roll a boulder in front of the door and I, too will rise in 3 (or maybe 4) days.
5. Sensitivity to noises - be vewwy vewwy qwiet...

And add to the Mygraine my horrible cramps as Dermoid was growing to encompass my abdomen. Laying on a bathroom floor at work because I didn't have the strength to walk out to the car.

Why didn't you go to a doctor, you idiot? Okay I was stupid. I had some really bad medical advice previously and I believed them moron that I am. Doctors tried prescribing things for my headaches for years, but nothing worked. One (idiot) nurse told me that her headaches cleared up when she went through menopause. Who says that to a 30-year old? Bitch.

Anyway, Dr. WNSNBSIMP delivered a by now tennis ball-sized Demoid in July 1999 along with one fully-involved and now totally useless ovary. Hey, I wasn't using it anyway. I asked him about having children. He said:

"You will never have children."

That's it. Nothing else. No hope at all.

I cried.

...to be continued...

Lordy How Things Can Change...

What we did on Saturday:

What we did on Sunday:

She's out!!

Paris Hilton has vowed that she will "no longer act dumb" because because that’s "not who I am." She says she’s worried about all the young girls who view her as a role model.

Ummm...'view her as a role model???' A role model? You've gotta be kidding. Oprah Winfrey is a role model. Grace Hopper is a role model. Condoleeza Rice and Sally Ride are role models.

Paris Hilton? So not a role model. She never finished high school. College? Yeah, right. She has no job skills; the only job she held for more than a year was a TV show where she acted stupid and stuck up. She gets arrested for driving drunk. Then she gets stopped twice for driving with a suspended license and spends 23 days in jail.

If your daughter is using her for a role model then she needs a serious walloping up the side of the head. And you probably need one too.

Andrew Carnegie was once asked what was the easiest way to become rich. He said 'Pick your parents wisely.'

Okay. That was one thing that Paris did correctly.

People are Stupid

Yes, they are. Sorry, cannot even imagine blowing that kind of money on a birthday party. So far, for E's birthdays, the most we have done is buy a cake at Kroger's.

When I was growing up, I think I remember having one birthday party. Yes. One. My brothers? None.

B's brother has dropped megabucks on his kid's birthdays with blowup bounce parties, clowns, etc. He is a real "keeping up with the Jones'" kind of person.

Personally I don't give a rat's ass about the Jones' or anyone else. I am so anti-competitive it is scary.

So far, my son has been to one birthday party. Much of the reason for that is because we have moved so much that E has not had the chance to make friends with any kids having birthdays. Maybe next year we will have something more than just cake with Mommy and Daddy.

But $50,000? Are you freaking kidding me?

Transitions

This is a week of contrasts. I was struck earlier by the fact that my little boy is growing up very fast. B brought E to my office on Tuesday. I took my wonderful son around and introduced him to some of the people that I work with and showed him my office.

“Whose picture is this, E?”

“That’s E!” he says, jubilantly.

“Yes, dear, it is." I point to a picture I have hanging in my cubicle, "Do you remember making this picture for mommy for Mother’s Day?”

A quick nod of his head. “I have to go pee-pee.”

We walked into the women’s restroom and I start to go in the stall with him.

“You wait out there, mommy.” I froze and backed out of the stall. That's when it struck me.

My little boy is growing up.

It will not be too long before he will refuse to go into the women’s restroom with Mommy. I will have to stand outside the door to the men's room and wait while my big boy ‘does his business’ alone.

My little boy is growing up.

I swore to myself that I would not be one of those mothers who falls apart when her children grow up. We raise our children to be independent; so they can function without us. Why do we despair when they succeed in what we taught them? I want my boy to be a strong, independent and successful young man. I want him to grow and develop and become a good man, husband, and father.

Just not too soon, I guess.

Last night, while brushing his teeth, he turns to me and says, “I want to be with you forever, mommy.”

My boy is still a little boy.

Thank God.

Good laugh

You simply cannot make this stuff up.

A toilet paper thief with the perfect last name.

Thank You

Today is Scott Adams' birthday. For his birthday he has implored his loyal readers to tell someone how much they mean to you.

Well, I am telling you, my loyal readers, whoever you are, wherever you are, however you got here (come on...you landed here looking for something else, didn't you?) that I appreciate you. I figure most of the hits I get are accidental because few ever comment but this gives me a place to bitch and moan.

Thank you.

(this is also my 200th post - yippee for me!)

Mmmmmm...

...chocolate...

Misunderstandings

I gave E a few 'surprises' when he got home. We would talk about his surprises on the phone when he was still with his grandparents.

E: What surprise do you have for me?
S: If I tell you it won't be a surprise
E (whining): But I can't hardly wait that long.

And I would invariably relent and tell him something that I had bought him.

One thing I bought was a Thomas the Train sticker/coloring book. He loves stickers and he likes to put them on his toys. I also bought him a Thomas the Train (do you sense a pattern here???) roundhouse to store his engines in. He calls it a shed.

This morning he took a sticker out of his book and was carrying it upstairs.

"What are you going to do?", I asked.

E: I am going to put my sticker on my shit.
S: WHAT DID YOU SAY??
E: I said I am going to put my sticker on my SHED.

Oh. That's what I thought you said.

Fourteen Years

Today I have been married to the same man for fourteen years. And the best present I received was seeing this perfect face sitting at my kitchen table eating cake and ice cream.

My son is home.

Unbelievable

Obviously DCF is used to getting what it wants.

The mediated settlement agreement THAT WE ALL SIGNED said that as soon as we went to one of their completed all of the conditions of the settlement then E would be returned forthwith.

We completed them.

Our Conclusion

We have done everything they have asked of us and we should have our son returned to us immediately.

Their Conclusion

They did not tell the doctor enough lies about us (i.e. he didn't reach the conclusion that they wanted) and they need time to make up more shit so he will say that B cannot live with his family.

Unbelievable.

What I did on my Lunch Hour

Mmmm...retail therapy...

Rant follows

I listened to this NPR story: "Pushing the Age Limits on Motherhood."

First let me rant on the fact that the story is "...Limits on Motherhood..." What about all those old men having children in their 70s and 80s. Are they 'pushing the limits"? Or are they just good ol' boys and getting slaps on the back for being so 'virile'?

Why are women in their 40s 'selfish' for wanting children and women in their 20s are not? Isn't it the same drive, the same wants and desires that is fueling the wish for children? I don't understand how I can be 'selfish' for wanting something that is so essential to the human condition. Am I selfish to want to breathe? To eat? To love and be loved? Stupid, stupid, stupid thinking.

That idiot woman who so resented the fact that her parents were older when she was born is such a twit. Would she rather not have been born?? My parents were 'older' too and I would not trade them for younger parents for anything. I don't know what I can't do now that I did when I was younger. No, I am not going to go skiing (didn't when I was younger either). No, I am not going to play football (ditto the younger me). Run a marathon? HAHAHAHA!!!

But as for not getting down on the floor and playing with my son??? Are you freaking kidding me? Try to stop me!!

Oh, yes...I am sooo tired at night I can barely crawl to my bedroom (*heavy sarcasm*).

*breathe* *breathe*

From my new toy

a picture of our little furry friend...

The RE's office

I am glad that I am not in the full throes of infertility hell right now because getting to my new RE's office is an every infertile's worst nightmare, truly a gauntlet of epic proportions.

To get there you first enter the hospital building and one of the first things you see is the sign for the Maternity Ward. Now for an infertile in the midst of infertility-hell even seeing the words "Maternity Ward" can make what is ordinarily a cool, calm professional woman turn into a red-eyed, slobbering puddle of bitterness and vileness.

Then you must pass the Gift Shop. The Gift Shop next to the MATERNITY WARD. This shop is not filled with cheery "Get Well Soon" cards or sappy "So You're In the Hospital..." cards. No. No. It is filled with little blue and pink teddy bears proclaiming "It's a Boy!" and "It's a Girl!", "Congratulations, Mom!" cards and flowers proclaiming, "Welcome to your Bundle of Joy!" All of that pastel pink, blue and yellow just makes me want to puke!

Holy crap, it can still turn me into a bitter infertile. You know her...she has put in a year of two of 'trying' (yeah, like SEX will get you pregnant - HAHAHAHA), four or five cycles of chlomid (every gal's first choice), mix in a couple of IUI cycles and throw in 2 or 3 failed IVF cycles and you can get one bitter, bitter woman.

After you pass the den of depression that is the Gift Shop, you enter the elevator. And never alone. No. You are always in there with some happy people carrying flowers and smiling about the new little family member. PAH! To a bitter, barren infertile all that smiling and pink and blue just makes her want to slug someone.

I am so glad I am over that.