I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

Several weeksmonths ago when we had word that a donor match had been found, I sent out a call for lupron and/or PIO. I found myself very fortunate to have received not one, but three bottles of PIO.

Mary Ellen, who is currently gestating her own Trio, sent me two bottles, including one in a medium of olive oil, which I had never seen before. The glass is an umber color and reminds me of something you would get from a apothecary.

A third bottle came from Jitters.

I still have yet to thank them properly.

Now while I certainly appreciated the substances, it was the packaging of Jitter’s PIO that had me laughing outright. Not only that, she included a ceramic angel and the note included with it stated:

…she was given to me as part of a string of women who have dealt with infertility. I believe I was number 9. Every woman held onto her as long as needed and all have gone on to have children or find happiness in their life as it stands. Do with her as you wish – yes, you can throw her against a wall.

What’s so funny about it is that this ceramic angel obviously has been face-planted more than once into a wall already as her wings were effectively snapped right off her back. I forgot to take a picture, but right now she is in my cabinet overlooking several bottles of pills (I still must take for the hives) and the PIO.

If that angel screws me over, I have have to snap her head, including the smug smile she’s projecting, clean off (so, uh, yeah, anyone want dibs on her at that point?)

Here are the pictures of the box Jitters sent me:


And here is the picture of the very stunning pendant that was sent to me from Beagle. The Pomegranate Pendant (hopefully she’ll have some more available soon). I will wear it every day and whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed, I will gently rub my finger across it’s design and remember the good things.


Documenting A Dream

I never posted pictures of my other embryos and after each cycle failed I would take the black and white glossy film off the hallowed surface of the fridge and throw it away.

I use to refer to them as “embies”. I don’t anymore and when I see someone refer to embies, I know that they have a bit of their soul still clean and shiny and unmarred by the soot of bitterness.

Not me.

At least I thought so.

But I can’t help but look at that picture and feel some hope. If I didn’t, would I have even bothered going through with it? Of course not.

I go through these tiny spurts of where I feel as if I’m Danny Noonan from Caddyshack and Ty is whispering, “Just be the ball, be the ball, be the ball…” but instead of “ball”, my annoying optimistic self is saying, “Just be the pregnant lady, be the pregnant lady, be the pregnant lady…”

The best my pessimistic self can do is replace “lady” with “bitch”, just so I don’t start the well known crazy daydreaming antics of farting butterflies while being followed through a field of wildflowers by a heard of bunnies sniffing wondrously at my ass.

I also talk myself out of feeling good about this by remembering we did use Mr. DD’s sperm. His highly fragmented sperm. Plus I was in prep for this cycle for what I think is an inordinate amount of time. We all know what happens to a nice flaky pastry that’s been sitting in the window display case well past it’s prime, don’t we?

I refuse to discuss the “what ifs” with Mr. DD for fear of jinxing it even though I would love nothing more than to cuddle up to him at night and make jokes about how old we’ll be when the baby goes to Kindergarten; or how XBoy will act; or how our families will be so surprised.

These are simple little thoughts that go well beyond picking out baby names and nursery furniture. Those are necessities and material items that don’t even cross my mind. It’s the dreams and potential that are the hardest to not just let in, but to let go of. And yet somehow, the intangible has been caught, and presented to me on a bit of paper that fits nicely into my pocketbook to pull out and stare and dare I say, dream of?