Tuesday, October 28, 2008

A Good Weekend Makes For A Lazy Cycle

I'm still floating cheerfully on my natural high from an astounding weekend, which has resulted in my being rather lazy with temping, checking cervical mucus and cervical position, and spitting on my tiny microscope. I know you must be wondering, "What could have happened that was so wonderful that August has managed to relax her neurotic grip on ttc?" Allow me to share!

Thursday was like any other day, except for the fantastic dodgeball match we had that evening. I played better than I have all season: I threw further and more accurately, I dodged more quickly, and I caught more balls. My team lost the match (as per usual) but played competitively and managed to win four of the games - and I ended one of those games. There were three of us and two of them left, and I hit one of them out and caught the last guy's ball (he threw it at me while I was distracted with the other guy) in short order. The other team was friendly, playful, and overall a joy to play with.

Friday was a whirlwind of activity. I went to work, ran around like a madwoman trying to do as much as I could in four hours, before leaving to pick up my bridesmaid's dress from the seamstress at David's Bridal. I had about fifteen minutes to breath before I had to shower and dress for the rehearsal. I met the brides and their families at the hotel where the reception was going to be held, we drove to the church and rehearsed the ceremony, went to the restaurant for dinner (one set of grandparents was accidentally left behind at the hotel - d'oh!), and had a grand ol' time with our friends. After dinner, Marcus and I spent the night in the brides' apartment caring for their dog, while they spent the night in their plush hotel suite.

On Saturday we woke up, let the dog out to pee, went to my mom's house to pick up the wedding gifts that she'd bought, then went home, where I promptly panicked when I realized that I couldn't find the shawl to my gown, tore the house apart for half an hour looking for it, then remembered that I'd left it at my mother's house for safekeeping two weeks ago. I showered, grabbed my gown and my shoes, went BACK to my mother's house to pick up the shawl, then went to the hotel for wedding pictures and more running around like a crazy person. The ceremony was beautiful, the brides were gorgeous, and afterwards I got properly smashed at the reception (oh, the joys of waiting to ovulate) and danced my ass off (but not before being reduced to tears while offering a toast to the lovely newlyweds). My husband, who in our three years together has neither seen me drunk nor seen me dance, was absolutely tickled by the sight.

On Sunday morning, a friend and I took a three hour course called "Learn to Curl," where we learned the ins and outs of sliders, grippers, skips, houses, and stones. I had a certain advantage and learned how to shoot the stone rather quickly, as it requires a honed sense of balance - and as a mountain unicyclist, I can say pretty confidently that I am a well-balanced person. I've got to say that I absolutely love curling, and Marcus and I will be returning on Saturday to participate in their breakfast game.

Today is Tuesday, and my abs and thighs are still incredibly sore from dogding, dancing, and curling. I've got another dodgeball game tomorrow night, so hopefully my muscles will feel a tiny bit better by then. Even after all these months and all the frustration, a part of me is very grateful that I got to experience this weekend with no limitations. If I were pregnant, I would not have drank; and if I hadn't drank, I would not have relaxed enough to dance at my sister's wedding, which felt wonderful, as I haven't really danced in about 8 years! It may be a strange thing to be grateful for, but grateful I am. It was a wonderful, heartwarming, amazing celebration, and I'm glad that I got to fully partake.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Our Child, Our Future

As the election draws near, and as droves of fearful closet racists have begun to act out, I find myself wondering about the culture in which Marcus and I will be raising our children. How do you raise a child to be sensitive and thoughtful towards other races and cultures in a nation that is so saturated with prejudice? Racism is a part of everyday life here; and I do mean that literally - I enounter it almost every single day.

Not all acts of prejudice are equal. Not every act is violent and not every act is hateful. Some are merely annoying or inconvenient. Some may be frightening while others may provoke a mere eyeroll. It's been years since I've actually been brought to tears over it, which means that I should probably count myself lucky.

This is the culture we live in:

At work: Just yesterday, one of my coworkers called another a "chink" and then quickly dismissed her as being oversensitive when she took offense. The day before, another coworker squinted his eyes at her and then told her that he was part Chinese. Last week yet another coworker (there is no shortage, I tell you!) went on a tirade about how interracial marriage is destroying the country.

Online: Ugh, there is no shortage. I frequently come upon psuedo-scholarly rants about how blacks are naturally inferior and less intelligent than whites in Youtube comments, web forums, comments sections in news articles - basically any medium in which anonymous users have the freedom to rant. It doesn't surprise me to see even the most foul and racially charged comments anywhere online, I suppose because I'm used to it.

Retail: While on vacation, Marcus and I went into a souvenir shop that had several t-shirt designs featuring the confederate flag and wonderful slogans such as "It's called the WHITE house for a reason."

Even our nation's holidays are no exception. The whole nation over, children are being taught that we celebrate Christopher Columbus every October because he "discovered" America. The fact that he was a bit of a murderous psychopath and the father of the TransAtlantic Slave Trade never seems worthy of mention. (Is it really progression to whitewash history and pretend that those things never happened, to celebrate a day that the indigenous people of this country rightfully mourn?)

I think about my childhood and I wonder if our children will endure anything like that. It wasn't awful, it certainly could have been worse...but it certainly could have been better. My brother and I were called nigger sometimes by our classmates. When i was 11, a couple of boys in our school threatened to stab me with a broken hula hoop (they swung it about an inch from my face) and then told my 8-year-old brother that they were going to cut off his penis. He was bullied constantly.

One incident that I don't think I'll ever forget happened to me in 7th grade. A black girl named Lynette joined our class (there were about 40 kids to a grade and 20 to a class - it was a very small school) and she was immensely liked by the popular kids. One of those popular girls, someone who had been my classmate for almost a decade, started talking to me at the start of the school year, which came as a surprise to me. She sought me out at lunchtime and talked to me about boys and makeup or some crap like that, and I just sort of tolerated her for a week or two, until the day she suddenly called me Lynette. Startled, I looked at her and stammered, "I'm not Lynette." This girl, who had known me since pre-K but apparently couldn't tell the difference between me and a complete stranger because of our skin color, just stared at me before saying, "Oh" and walking off, ignoring me ever after.

My brother and I never told anyone about the abuses we suffered in school due to our race, and now that I'm all grown up, I have to wonder why. I remember feeling like it was just the way things were and being certain that if I spoke up, I would not be taken seriously. The people that said these things were usually known as good or okay kids; would any of our teachers even believe us that they could be so hateful in secret? I knew that our parents would believe us, but honestly, I still don't know why I didn't tell them either. I hope that if our children are ever threatened or bullied (because of their skin color or any other reason) that they know that they'll be able talk to us about it.

I hope that my children know that I will always be their advocate.

I don't want to be "that" parent, the one that folks in the PTA hate for not being content with the status quo. Common practices that seem minor and harmless to lots of other people don't seem that way to me (for instance, many people would be horrified if their children brought home an assignment to "color the negro" or dressed up in blackface for a play at school - but it's perfectly acceptable to color a caricature of an Indian or to don a stereotypical costume?), and I'm going to raise my children according to my values. The woman in that link sent her son's assignment back uncompleted, which I think was appropriate. But what if he was punished by his teacher for it? I hate to think that my child could get caught in the middle of an ideological struggle because of me, that she may pay for something that she might not even totally understand.

But at the same time, I can't help my convictions. I can't help feeling that some things are worth fighting for even if it gets ugly, that comfort and approval from others is a small price to pay for doing what is right, that some unsavory truths must be dragged into the light if we're to ever achieve...harmony? I don't know. I don't know what I can realistically expect for our children's futures. I just know that I want my kids to be sensitive, to be aware of their privileges, to be grateful, and to be kind. And I want them to know that doing the right thing will sometimes mean pissing a lot of other people off, but that doesn't make it any less right.

Friday, October 17, 2008

TTC: Cycle 5

Verdict: Failure.
Future Prospects: Meh.

See that temperature spike just two days before the end of the cycle? Yeah, that's never happened before. My highest temp of every cycle has always been on the sixth day past ovulation (and in one case, the seventh). To see it on 12dpo caught me completely off guard, and I actually spent all of Wednesday thinking that I really just might be pregnant. I really did. I was surprised and disappointed on Wednesday night to see the negative test result, but still hopeful. I decided that if Thursday's temp remained high, I would test again, and if not - well, I knew what that meant.

As you can see, Thursday's temp was almost an entire degree lower than Wednesday's. My hopes were dashed and my day was ruined just 2 minutes after I woke up, and I remained in a bitter, tearful mood for most of it (as yesterday's post can tell you).

My consolation is that we get to approach the next cycle with a brand new tool - my microscope. I don't know if it will work, but it's comforting to have something to try.

Trying to Conceive: Chart 5

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Polaroid

Last year, I broke the rule and did what no spouse is supposed to do: I bought a birthday gift for my husband that was really for me. (Although to be fair, it wasn't nearly as egregious as the bowling ball that Homer Simpson bought for his wife.) I surprised him with a Polaroid camera and 4 packs of film. He was skeptical, but I insisted that it wasn't just a present for him or me, but that it was a gift for the family that we were going to have someday (I would conceive just a week later, but I didn't know that then of course). It was a gift for our children.

When I was a child and teen, I used to pore over our family albums. I loved going through them again and again. I loved looking at pictures of my baby brother (he was so adorable) and my dad with his Afro and my mom in her wedding gown. There was so much that I couldn't remember about the early days, but I had proof of them right in front of me, and that was FASCINATING to me. Looking at pictures depicting moments that I have no memory of just captivated me. It was like looking into an alternate universe.

Some of those pictures were taken by me when I got a little older. I loved to play with my mom's instant Polaroid. I loved blowing on the film in the hopes that it would make the photo develop more quickly. I loved changing the film cartridges and I loved the noise that a Polaroid camera makes as it expells a newly-taken picture. It was all so...tactile. And just real.

I thought when I got pregnant, that we would create an album for our son just like the one my parents made for me (it was for themselves, probably, but I just don't think that way about it). I thought that as he grew up and grew older that he would know what it feels like to grip such a huge, heavy, and clunky camera with tiny fingers and to peek through the viewfinder at someone that you love (and loves you - so much!), to press that button and to pull out the film and to wait in eager anticipation, surrounded by family, for it to reveal itself to you.

But no, I guess it will never be. The Polaroid instant line has been discontinued, and my son is dead. No, wait; he wasn't even born. No, wait! He wasn't even a son. Might not have even been a "he." It was only ever just a stupid pink plus sign and a lot of puking and sleeping and a very still shrimp-shaped blotch on the ultrasound.

I should be on maternal leave right now, I should be spending my days and my nights with my baby. I should be feeding him, bathing him, talking to him, dressing him, burping him, holding him. Smelling him. Seeing him. Hearing him. Touching him. I should know by now that he ever existed. But he didn't, and I don't. This family of mine is still just a daydream.

I should be loving him, and instead here I am in this stupid gray cubicle in this awful windowless room, weeping and alone. It's been months since I last cried over this. I'd hoped that I was finished.

This sucks, my friends. This fucking sucks.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Dr. D And Why I Think I Might Keep Her

My pre-conception appointment went much as I expected. She told me to relax, take my vitamins, and to call her if I wasn't pregnant by January (which is a mere 3 cycles away), or to call if I do get pregnant before January. I had blood drawn to test my immunity to Rubella and Toxo among other things, and to screen for sickle cell anemia.

The place was small, quiet, and pleasant. Classical music played softly from somewhere behind the receptionists' desk. The waiting room was full of pamplets and 90% of the magazines were child or parenting related, but there was also Time, so that was something. The nurse and receptionist were both very kind and easy to work with. The doctor was soft-spoken (in a gentle way; not in a nervous way like my primary care physician - he always seems like he's on the edge of a nervous breakdown) and took care to fully explain her professional opinion to me rather than just bossing me around.

This may sound kind of sad, but what I liked best about the whole experience was the exam room. There was a poster about BMI on the door, and a poster about eating healthy and another one about menopause on the wall next to the table. There were pamphlets everywhere about safe sex and menopause and all sorts of things relating to women's sexual health. There were no pictures of babies. There were no posters of developing fetuses. It was unlike any other OB/GYN exam room in that there was nothing there to remind me of my loss. It was a relief.

Dr. D invited me into her office before and after my exam, which happens to be where she keeps all of the pregnancy-related pamplets and information. I wondered if it was deliberate and what her reasons were. In any case, it was refreshing to visit an OB/GYN and not walk out of the office depressed, anxious, and let down.

Hopefully this is the start of a beautiful relationship.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

My First Pre-Conception Appointment, Or: That Thing I Should Have Done Six Months Ago

I'm seeing a new doctor today, which makes me nervous, as it always does. I've got a long history of dealing with doctors that do not take my concerns seriously, condescend to me, and just overall are professionals that I have been unable to trust. I've had some rather good doctors, certainly, but they're outnumbered by the ones I hated dealing with.

Sometimes the consequences of being completely dismissed by my doctor were minor. In high school I started getting rashes on my mouth that became increasingly bloodier and difficult to deal with. At one point my mouth was actually sealed almost completely shut by scabs for about a week, leaving me unable to speak. My dermatologist insisted relentlessly that it was the result of dry skin, and kept telling me to apply chapstick or Vaseline. As it got worse, it became his mantra: just keep moisturizing. After a couple months of hell, I realized that the rashes were an allergic reaction to all of the gunk I was putting on my mouth; once I stopped moisturizing, they went away. To this day I can't have ANYTHING on my mouth (not even the natural stuff like Burt's Bees), and I live with chronically chapped lips (sexy!).

Sometimes the consequences were not so minor: I spent almost an entire year in pain and vomiting almost daily because my GI doctor insisted that I'd simply become lactose intolerant, when the truth was I'd been living with an undiagnosed infection in my esophagus that was only getting more severe as time went on. I ended up dropping out of college (I had a full scholarship and everything!) because I was so ill. That was no minor consequence.

So yes, I have trust issues when it comes to doctors. I won't be seeing my last OB/GYN again, as she disappointed me in several respects with the way she dealt with me after my miscarriage. I'm seeing a new OB/GYN today and I found her just like I've found every other doctor I've ever seen: I picked her name randomly out of my insurance directory. I intend to talk to her about our efforts to conceive and to maybe get some bloodwork done, and while I don't expect her to work miracles or be able to answer my every paranoid question, I do hope that she is confident in her knowledge without being cocky, sensitive to my concerns instead of dismissive, and able to communicate her professional opinion without being pushy or condescending.

Wish me luck.

Monday, October 13, 2008

That's IT, We're Switching To Comcast

Verizon once again took it upon themselves to cancel today's service appointment, because they tested our line remotely (who knows when?!) and found everything to be in good working order. We had no Internet connection for six hours yesterday, and today they said that we should have called them then and complained. Um, WHY would I sit on hold for an hour to tell them that we're having the same problem we've been having for weeks, when we ALREADY had an appointment scheduled with them today?? If I'd known they were going to cancel our service request even after we explained the situation and specifically asked them not to, then yeah, I would have called.

Marcus was none too friendly with them this morning. The problem is that our Internet connection keeps going out and coming back randomly, and their response was essentially, "We can't come out unless the connection is out at the moment you make the complaint, the moment we check the line before your appointment (whenever THAT is), and the moment we arrive at your door." Since the problem is intermittent, can't be predicted, and often happens in the middle of the night (we frequently wake up to find that we have no Internet), what the hell are we supposed to do? Keep paying full price for a service that doesn't work half the time and that they refuse to fix?

So, yeah. Marcus is calling Comcast today to see if we can get the guy to come out on Friday. Verizon has been one long, ugly fail for far too long.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Just One More Day

The Verizon guy is due to come by tomorrow. Hopefully we'll get this Internet thing straightened out then and I can get back to blogging regularly (and so I can finally research the answers to my last Pregnant Lady Quiz!). Right now my only dependable online access is at work, which doesn't help much.

In the wonderful world of trying to conceive, I think that I'm going to concede to Fertility Friend; I don't think anymore that this was an anovulatory cycle. Perhaps it was just a less progesterone-y cycle. Despite the lack of post-ov symptoms, my usual luteal temperature pattern (temperature spike at 6 dpo, then a rocky downward trend leading inevitably to the premenstrual plunge) is spot on. I suppose I should be grateful for the fact that I can now recognize what a failed chart looks like a week before my period is due; I haven't tested even once and I don't think that I'm going to. My chart looks exactly like it always does.

On a sadder note (don't I always have one?), one of the women who lost her pregnancy last month managed to get pregnant again immediately, and just as quickly lost the second one. Two miscarriages in two months. The stuff of fucking nightmares.

I cleaned up cat puke three times today. How was everyone else's weekend?

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

My Baby's First Microscope

Despite Fertility Friend's insistence to the contrary, my husband and I are rather sure that I did not ovulate at all this cycle. My temps are strange and I've experienced precisely none of my usual pre- or post-ovulatory symptoms. As frustrating and disappointing as it is, the occasional anovulatory cycle is not considered a big deal in the world of young mommy hopefuls. It happens to every normal woman at some point, and can be a result of a range of things, from stress to diet to medication.

In order to clear up some of the confusion I've felt about my last few cycles, I finally broke down and invested in an ovulation predictor: a microscope.

When I first heard about fertility microscopes, I thought that they were a scam. Seriously, I thought it was bunk (of which there is no shortage) designed to target desperate mother-hopefuls. The idea of pinpointing ovulation by looking at your spit through a microscope seemed...well, like something that somebody made up.

But after doing a little bit of reading, I realized that these things are legit. Apparently, as a woman approaches ovulation and her estrogen levels rise, the salinity of her saliva increases as well. The salt actually starts to crystallize as her hormones peak, resulting in the appearance of fern-like structures, which can be viewed under a microscope. Check out the progression below:

Not fertile: Kinda fertile: Fertile!

There are many brands out there, and after perusing some websites and reviews, I chose the Maybe MOM Mini Ovulation Microscope. I chose it primarily because of the microscope's lifetime guarantee and because of their FDA approval. It just looks like a fat little stick of lipstick and is just as portable (not that I need to carry a microscope around with me - I just leave it in my bedstand - but whatever, the option is there, I guess).

Technically, this cycle is not over yet and I'm in the two week wait, but I'm positive that it's a bust. I am eager to see if the microscope lives up to the hype, so I'll just be waiting patiently until my next O day.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Verizon Hates Us

Forgive my recent absence. Our Internet access has been really iffy and Verizon doesn't seem to be as interested in fixing the problem as they are in charging us for a service that doesn't work. Hopefully we can get this taken care of soon. In the meantime, hang on, friends.

Friday, October 3, 2008

It Was A Dodgeball Massacre

If I had to describe last night's game using just one word, I would choose: Ow.

Ow, my jammed thumb.

Ow, my pulled shoulder.

Ow, my FACE (I took two ridiculously hard shots directly to the face, hard enough to send my glasses flying both times, within about 5 seconds of each other).

Ow, my pride.

My team didn't stand a chance. In the minutes before the game, while my teammates talked and stretched and bullshat each other, the other team ran around the court with knees high and practiced organized throwing drills with a few footballs. We watched them with interest (all right, more like fascination) and thought, "Hm. This doesn't bode well."

The other team picked us off the court as if they were shooting fish in a barrel. They had several intimidatingly strong throwers (two of which hit me in the face) and they sent the balls flying at us at honestly frightening speeds. It wasn't nearly as fun as last week's game, when we actually stood a competitive chance. We were entirely outranked, and plenty disheartened since our competitors obviously didn't belong in the social league.

It was fun enough, though, and it was better than sitting at home, not playing dodgeball, especially since our Internet connection went kaput (it's back today, obviously).

I'm currently waiting for the love of my life to rouse. Today is the 2nd anniversary of our elopement, but we don't have much planned other than seeing a couple movies and cleaning the house in preparation for tomorrow night's party. We've got the next few days off and I'm looking forward to a long weekend filled with love, friends, and sleeping in.

Here's a link to this month's Pregnant Lady Quiz (the twins edition!) in case you missed it..

Happy Friday, everyone. Any weekend plans?

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Go Egg, Go!

I have no idea what my temperatures are doing. I may have ovulated already (my temps indicate it somewhat), but I'm not really sure. I don't have any of my usual post-O symptoms, I haven't had any of the good CM yet, and really, I just have a hunch that it hasn't happened.

I wish that I could lay an egg and that my husband could just fertilize it with a syringe full of goo and then stick it back in my uterus for safekeeping. It's admittedly a creepy thing to daydream about, but I'm tired of this crap and I'd appreciate a more straightforward method even if it does resemble the reproductive cycle of some freaky ranine-marsupial hybrid.

In any case, I can't wait to go home tonight. After my dodgeball game, we're going to a VP debate party (drinking + politics = ????), and then tomorrow we are celebrating our second anniversay of wedded bliss. I can't wait.

Copyright 2007-2008.