Category Archives: Fertile Fudgery (Herzn)

JUST TRY TO GUESS WHERE THE TRANSITIONS IN CONVERSATION ARE IN THIS POST

Everyone just needs to stop emailing me and begging for my next post. Here’s a list of those of you who were wondering if I was OK and inquiring as to my writing schedule:

  • ______

Yeeaahhhh.

OK, so three days doesn’t seem like an inordinate amount of time to some of you, but for me? I’m wondering if my keyboard has been laced with crank. No, not the crank I emote. The crank you snort, silly.

ZGirl is going to be 10 months old this week. She’s already been showing some early signs of toddlerhood (the pitching a shitfit kind) and I am so not ready to give up my BABEEEEE!

XBoy came home from school a couple Mondays ago and said, “We missed the school’s Spring Concert yesterday.” (insert pouty face and sad eyes). “Oh, no!” we replied. How could this have happened?? There was no note from the teacher. Nothing on the school’s website or the calendar. I emailed his teacher about it. She replied:

I did send home notes with the students on white paper, however while we were making stars to use as decoration for the concert XBoy told me that he wasn’t going to be able to come so when he wasn’t there, I didn’t think twice about it.

BUSTED. And like how.

He confessed that he didn’t want to go so I did what any mom would do in that situation. I made him feel like shit by saying that he only gets one Spring Concert a year and this was the only one he’d have as a 1st Grader and mom and dad and grandma are very sad that we didn’t get to see him sing with his class or see his artwork hanging (combo Spring Concert and Art Show). He was appropriately shamed.

The rabbit still lives.

Now that I’ve typed that I wonder how many of my readers will think I’m pregnant when someday I post, “The rabbit died.”

My friend’s ovaries have been bitch-slapped out of their coma and produced 3 follicles after her 3rd round of increasing dosage of clomid. The first two rounds were bust. I’m really, REALLY hoping for her.

I have had a post about secondary infertility in my drafts for a couple weeks now. I don’t know if it will ever come out of there as I’m struggling with my desire to work out some aggravation as opposed to my ever present sensitivity to my faithful readers. Yes, that was sarcasm. Gold star for you.

I am NOT writing a book. You can relax now.

This is an awesome response to a babysitter who was in serious need of a Nunya Smack.

I hate Period Poops, don’t you?

ASYMPTOMATIC

I couldn’t figure out how the National Infertility Awareness Week slip by me or how come I didn’t ever recall it being this close to Mother’s Day when that was the due date of my first miscarriage back in 2004….

Oh. They moved it. That was nice of them to tell me. So it’ll be a couple weeks of emotional schizophrenia. Thanks.

So, this is my post dedicated to NIAW. First review this post and come back to the picture below as I’m not sharing it with you to impress you with my obvious housekeeping skills. You’ll have to come up with your own poetic waxing as I’m too mentally fried to do so.

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SUNSHINE SALLY

Someone actually had the audacity – no, the unmitigated GALL – to call me, ME, a whiner (good thing I really, really like her AND her truncated posts).

[Looking back on posts: gift bags, truncated posts, work, spousal stupidity, blog pandering…]

Hmmm, she’s right. Griping comes easy when I’ve got no one to bitch to for nine hours of the day except you out there. I’ve tried just doing quick email exchanges, but for some reason after the third reply, the recipient bores of me and doesn’t respond back. Wait. Was that a complaint?

Here’s what’s going on lately that is most decidedly Good.

My nephew’s wife is going to have a baby this summer. Their first. A girl. Her initials were going to be DRAG, but they decided to condense the two middle names into one so not it’s just DRG. Personally, I think DRAG would be awesome. They’ve had their own struggles to get this far, so it’s good to hear her talk about how the baby is playing hopscotch on her bladder.

My friend from work, the one who has been trying to have a baby now for four years? She finally has taken a leap of faith and went to her OB for assistance. She’s on her second cycle of clomid. The first on just 50mg was their first indication that her ovaries are lazy. If there is anyone I will wish success for on just clomid and timed sex, it will be her.

My dad is home from the nursing home. He told the doctor, “Let me go home or I’ll run your ass over with a corn picker.” Not really, but he is home and technically, it’s possible as he’s nearly as blind as a bat and he could easily mistake a man walking in a field as a shock of corn – if a man, his doctor, was walking in a field that is.

XBoy had much improved marks for his third quarter at school. I credit the daytrana patch. While we resisted until the bitter end accepting he might be ADHD and need medication, it has been a godsend. He even lost five pounds, which moved him from “husky” territory back to “regular”.

Before this weekend’s snow storm, it looked as if all my trees survived another winter, including the sad-sack of a crabtree I planted last fall after it sat all summer in a pot in the drive way getting blown over and having most of its branches broke off. Creative pruning, I say.

The 20 loads of soil that had been sitting in our front yard for a year and a half, that made it look from the road that another basement had been dug next to our house, was FINALLY moved to the back yard where it belonged. Our Dirt Dude was suppose to move it last spring, but because of an abnormally wet season, he was unable to (the soil is actually clay; clay and big machinery fitted with tracks? Arch nemeses.). This means that maybe, just maybe, we might be able to plant a yard back there.

On the same line, we put in a sprinkler system in the front yard last fall. I can’t wait to use it! And mow! You know how I love to mow and this year I won’t be five, six or seven months pregnant. Woot!

Finally, ZGirl. My little, baby girl…at almost 9 months, she’s crawling. She claps. She raises both arms overhead when I say, “Yahoo!” She’s trying desperately to cruise. She is wearing 12 month sized clothes because she’s so long. Still not a big solids eater, but she’ll go through a box of cheerios if you let her. She makes my heart sigh contentedly.

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See? Sometimes a kick in the butt to remind me that things aren’t too bad benefits you as well as myself. You got a whole ‘nother post out of me. And it’s not truncated!

OH NO HE DIN’NT

It had to happen. A bill has been introduced by Georgian Senator Ralph Hudgens.

Section 19-7-67(a) reads: “Where a woman under age 40 is to receive treatment using her own eggs or embryos created using her own eggs, whether fresh or previously cryopreserved, at the time of transfer no person or entity shall transfer more than two embryos in any treatment cycle, regardless of the procedure used.” 

If a woman is over 40, and therefore stands a lower chance of a successful pregnancy in a given month, the bill raises the limit to three implanted embryos.

Hudgens? You’re an idiot. Did you even do any research or is this what you and one of your physician buddies talked about over lunch last week? A woman’s fertility actually begins to decline in her mid-30’s; significantly after 35. HOWEVER…that’s in women who are “normally” fertile, therefore the odds of them pursuing IVF at any point are rather slim (unless you are Angelina since she’s fertile but impatient).

Will you also amend your bill the first time a woman ends up pregnant with quads due to both embryos splitting and developing so that it states she MUST have selective reduction? Obviously she and her pesky babies will become a financial burden on the system as I can’t seem to recall an instance where quads were any less risky than quints, septs, or even…OCTUPLETS!

While you’re at it, Hudgens, maybe you should write more one-shoe-fits-all legislative bills on treatments for other medical conditions. Let me shoot you some ideas: since it’s expensive to go through chemotherapy or radiation for the treatment of breast cancer, you should write a bill that women are only allowed to get bilateral mastectomies. Just lop off those pesky boobs. I think that might even be a great idea for men with testicular cancer: just ‘snip-snip’ those baubles.

More medical restrictions? Let’s cut our Medicare costs by no longer covering hip and knee replacement surgeries in people over the age of 65. I mean, what the heck are they going to do with a new hip or knee anyway? Hit the Dancing with the Stars circuit? Those surgeries easily run $40,000 to $80,000, especially if you get one of those fancy hip components made of titanium. Again, why bother? Do the elderly really need a component that will last 100 years when they may actually only live for another 5, 10 or good grief, 20 years?? Why not just make the components out of cedar? It’s rot resistant, plus it’ll repel moths.

If we are talking about what doctors or entities are allowed to do, then they should propose a bill that requires DNR orders for patients over the age of 80, because it’s a fact that once a patient has coded and is resuscitated, their medical care expenses shoot through the roof! Any physician who resuscitates said patients should then be required to pay for the subsequent care, right?

By the way, did you know that Medicare will pay for penile implants? Oh, yes, they do, and those puppies aren’t cheap, either.

It’s a ridiculous proposition and most likely why AMA has only been able to come up with guidelines in ART. If the government is so bloody worried about who can or cannot afford to have children, then maybe they should require a credit application prior to a couple trying to conceive. And if the couple don’t have proof of being fiscally solvent after the birth of a child, said child should be whisked away and given to the couple who have proven they ARE fiscally sound but infertile.

See how stupid that all sounds? It’s just an echo of things to come down the old governmental poop chute under the clang and rattle of the outraged citizen penned in cages of ignorance.

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ETA: I swear, I did not know that Julie posted about this same issue. I created this posts after I read the news and have to forward a draft to my email since I don’t have access to anything blog related at work. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery after all, and in case there’s any confusion over that statement, I don’t believe anyone is imitating me.

DOMESTIC GODDESS, I AM NOT

Can of Worms? Opened, with a vengeance.

I found the first two pregnancy sticks from the donor cycle. The generic dollar brand, with the date of the tests written on them with a sharpie: 11/10 and 11/11. Guess where I had hidden them?

In the ironing board cabinet.

Now I’m starting to see just a bit of the humor behind my “logic” in hiding these things away. Places no one in our household would ever find them.

I remember when I took those tests.  I didn’t pee on them in the laundry room. That would be messy. Instead, like a “normal” person, I used them in the bathroom and then, to avoid being caught by my husband for testing waa-aaa-aaaay too early, I would take them into the laundry room to stare at them under full fluorescent lighting, heart in my throat.

I even marked each test with a little dot where I thought  I saw a second line. Even now, I can make out that line, still so incredibly faint that I was sure at the time I must have an optical malady that made me think  it was there.

After I blew the dust off the tests, guess what I did with them? Tucked them right back into the cabinet. One of these days, I’ll gather them all together (I still have the four 1st Response tests in my bathroom cabinet) in a container that will eventually be filled with all of ZGirl’s little treasures as she grows up.

I imagine her reaction when in a couple of decades as we are going through each object and telling her the story behind her first hat; the baptism candle; the home-from-the-hospital outfit; and finally the pee-soaked pregnancy tests.

Yeah, I’m sure the little smile she may have had on her face will be effectively replaced with a grimace, and maybe even a “gross!” uttered as she lets the test drop out of her hands.

Ah, the sweet memories yet to be made. *sighhhhh*