The Ball

…is not just rolling, it is suddenly spinning at a mind-boggling rpm.

Tonight is the first night in 38 days that I will not have to give myself an injection.

No alcohol wipes, which are drying out my index finger and thumb to the point I can snag my nylons.

No need to remember just which thigh did I inject last night and then thinking oh shit!after I realize after I gave myself the Lupron that it was the same thigh.

No need to use a freckle or mole as my target area.

Unfortunately, tonight is my only reprieve from the needle.

Tomorrow night I start the PIO.

Friday morning Mr. DD goes in to provide the sample for spinning and washing and fertilization of our donors eggs.

I will then be contacted on Saturday regarding fertilization status. I’ve forgotten just how stressful those three days between retrieval and transfer can be.

Transfer will be Monday, if there’s anything worth a crap to transfer, which I’m pretty sure there will be but the pessimistic side of me also knows that it’s within the realm of possibility that there won’t.

The realm of possibility…


Today I moved my 23rd bloglines’ feed from “Infertility Sucks” to “Pregnant and Hating It” category on bloglines. It marks the first time since I started blogging over two years ago that the pregnant have outnumbered the waiting.

For those who have made it to that next category, forgive me if I don’t stop by much, if at all, these next few weeks. It’s too hard for me to do. I can blame the timing, or my hormones, or my busy schedule, but it’s none of these.

I just can’t bear to be the one to break the streak that seems to be running rampant lately and maybe by distancing myself a little before that possibility, it won’t be so noticeable if I stop coming by indefinitely.

no. 552 – It’s Time

I’m giving kudos to Niobe for what I have decided to do next:

In honor of National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo), which begins November 1st, I have decided to take a break from blogging during this month.

Here, anyway.

I’ll keep the updates coming on the password protected site, TKO, but I just can’t be here right now.

This blog has seen me through the beginnings and endings of three pregnancies. It obviously is not doing the trick so I’m distancing myself for now.

I have also decided for sake of sanity to give myself some space from reading as well. As I mentioned on my new post over at TKO, I just moved the 23rd bloglines’ feed from “Infertility Sucks” to “Pregnant and Hating It.” The number of feeds now pregnant outnumber the waiting for the first time I’ve subscribed to Bloglines.

While that is great news, especially if you are one who is pregnant, I have decided to internalize that energy for my own needs.

I have to.

Call it self-preservation if you like, but remember that I once said that if this next last cycle fails, I wouldn’t need this space anyway. So I’ll try weaning myself now.

It seems right to do it in deference to November and everything it has meant for me in the past and for everything it could mean about my future.

Since I can never say never, here’s a little something I’d like to credit The Bloggess for as well. I really hope with all my heart I get to see everyone on the flip side.


no. 550 – I’ve Almost Forgotten How To Have Fun

Mr. DD did not surprise me at the fund-raiser Saturday night by showing up unexpectedly like he did two years ago. Instead he did something that I could never show enough appreciation for:

  1. He provided free babysitting service to XBoy and I didn’t have to worry about him spending the whole time on his cell phone talking to his friends
  2. He let me sleep in Sunday morning
  3. He took XBoy grocery shopping so I could take an afternoon cat-nap

I think I could get use to the arrangement. Plus, I made him very happy, too: I didn’t spend one nickel.

I enjoyed the six watered down raspberry martinis, one glass of wine and the shot of liquor for my coffee. I did not enjoy my over-done steak or the cheesecake desert. For the record, I loathe cheesecake of any kind. What’s wrong with a really moist chocolate cake anyway?

I also enjoyed meeting the couple my friends invited along as the fifth duo for our table. I wasn’t sure what to think of her after I pointed out that I had already met her husband at my office because he hadn’t recognized me and she responded by saying, "If you had been wearing that dress, I’m sure he would have remembered you."

I found that funny since the dress I wore this year covered considerably more skin that last year’s number, but it’s one outstanding feature was its plunging neckline. While this bra is less than comfortable, it does do the job it was designed to do, almost a good of job as my spanx did in disguising my saddle bags.

The wife ended up being quite a hoot, though, as she liquored loosened up. Once she realized the dress was just for "show" and I had no intent in being the event’s token cougar, we bonded and giggled openly about the woman who showed up looking like a FemBot (unintentionally) and another one who stumbled her way into the ladies room looking quite green in the gills. Yes, I’m an evil, snark-filled bitch.

As the evening was wearing down, she started asking personal questions first about what Mr. DD was like; then about my son; and of course, why we had just one child. Another friend of ours who was there with us just smiled knowingly at me. I asked this woman if she really wanted to know and her face scrunched up with embarrassment and she apologized for being nosy. I just smiled and told her the "high" points of the past three years.

Here’s the weird thing, as I have never been shy about our infertility so breaking it down by numbers comes easily: after I told her what we were getting ready to do now, she smiled broadly and said, "Oh! That sounds so exciting!" and you know what? It really is kind of exciting.

no. 548 – Dumbo

I knew that there was something I didn’t like about these and below is a classic example of why.

Uh_ohbumbo Now I’m not saying I wouldn’t use one (they didn’t have ’em back in my day), but on the counter? No, wait. I know I would also set them on the counter, so I’m going to not be a hypocrite here, but never, ever, would I put it right on the flippin edge! I still get nervous when my son climbs up onto the kitchen stool, and he’s almost 6!

It’s one thing for a baby to tip over and donk its head on the counter. It takes a completely different horse’s ass to set it on the edge with a baby who could basically crawl right out of it.

And if this is your baby and you read this blog, I’m sorry if I called you a horse’s ass . . .but you are.

no. 547 – Squash

Speaking of making out under the bleachers, did I tell you all about how I got felt up a couple weeks ago by another woman? A very attractive woman with warm hands?

Oh, yes, I did.

I finally got my mammogram done, and to avoid you jumping to the end and missing my glorious synopsis of the event, it came back clear. So my uterus has been given the stamp of approval for co-habitation and my money-makers will continue to shake.

What I wanted to point out is that for all the times I have had to throw myself into the stirrups these past couple of years to share with Tom, Dick and Speculum all that I hold sacred, I was utterly embarrassed to have my boobs bared. The fear I had seriously made me wonder which was worse: the stirrups or the squasher.

We fear what we don’t know.

The tech was marvelous. A very sweet and personable young woman who has been performing mammograms for over eight years. She gave me a lovely peach poncho to throw over whatever shoulder was not holding up the exposed breast and as I mentioned earlier, had soft, warm hands. She was by no means timid with how she wanted the flesh to sit on the machine, a new kind that provide "soft" comfort, which reduced the tickle-factor.

The bonus for me (unfortunately?) is that since I have implants I have to have double the images taken: four of the breast in it’s complete state and four with the implant pushed back and only breast tissue compressed. A tip from me to you? If you are ever thinking about getting implants, make sure you go under the muscle. Imagine if you will, if you had your implant just under your skin. Now imagine you have to push the implant back to the chest wall to just get tissue. What do you have left? That’s right. A nipple and some skin attaching it to your chest. Now put just that part into a mammography machine. Good luck with all that, and you have my sympathies.

By the time I walked out, I was relieved that it went so smoothly and without any discomfort, whatsoever (beside the fact I was prancing around topless but for the fugly cape). The experience definitely did not live up to the horror stories I have heard.

So if you haven’t had your boobs squeezed recently by someone you have to pay, then it’s high time you get off your cute butts and get it done. And guys? You don’t even want to imagine how your bits looked pressed under plexi-glass so be thankful for the small wonder that is the DRE and take care of yourselves.

no. 545 – I Need A Date

This Saturday is the school’s fund-raiser, which I will be attending on the generous dime of my in-laws.

Notice I said, "I".

Mr. DD told me he doesn’t want to go this year because he doesn’t enjoy it. Way to make your wife feel all warm, fuzzy and attractive, you putz.

So, there will be an empty chair at my table. Anyone care to join me? I’ll buy your ticket and I promise you’ll have fun. Just don’t expect me to make out with you under the bleachers (while sober).

It’s all you can drink, and yes, I shall for so many different reasons, including the fact that it was the morning of last year’s gala that I found out I was pregnant with Wolf. I spent my evening looking at a full glass of wine and sipping city water.

Not this year, my friends. I wonder if that cute, new dentist will be there…