Specifically, is there any point? Dr. Big Guns says he can't prescribe it off-label. Original RE says she will "definitely not" prescribe it. Some girl on the internet has offered to get me some where she lives in Mexico, and for those of you watching at home, that means I am at present contemplating black market off-label use of a controlled substance in order to improve my chances of conception with unproven rumor.
In other words, I have lost my fucking mind.
Is it worth it? Will it give me cancer? Does anyone even know?
I was all set to do it, but now I'm just like, fuck this noise. For real. I'm finally getting my body back under control. I'm finally getting my sexuality back. I don't even understand what the risks are. Why am I even considering this?
Why am I doing another round of IVF at all?
I should just call Dr. Big Guns, though a fifteen minute conversation with him will probably cost me three hundred fucking dollars. Fuck's sake.
Tuesday, August 14, 2018
Wednesday, August 8, 2018
Nope
Just late, for no reason.
Fun.
This is so much fun.
I'm really, really glad I'm having this experience. It's definitely not bad for my mental health.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Fun.
This is so much fun.
I'm really, really glad I'm having this experience. It's definitely not bad for my mental health.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Sunday, August 5, 2018
Saturday, August 4, 2018
A Day Late
But not a dollar short.
I'm sure it will come tomorrow.
Right?
Of course it will.
Because DHEA and CoQ10 and whatever that powder shit is and vitamin D is all a scam, and I am kidding myself that "egg quality" is even a thing, and certainly that it is a thing that is even remotely in the control of a 41 year old woman who has spent the summer living her live and sailing and drinking rum and not even really doing much at her job, just like fucking around and relaxing and sleeping and being more active to try to lose some of that IVF midriff squish she's got going on.
I bet it comes tomorrow.
I'm sure it will come tomorrow.
Right?
Of course it will.
Because DHEA and CoQ10 and whatever that powder shit is and vitamin D is all a scam, and I am kidding myself that "egg quality" is even a thing, and certainly that it is a thing that is even remotely in the control of a 41 year old woman who has spent the summer living her live and sailing and drinking rum and not even really doing much at her job, just like fucking around and relaxing and sleeping and being more active to try to lose some of that IVF midriff squish she's got going on.
I bet it comes tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 25, 2018
And yet more sadness
Only now, with rose wine.
Also, I've been sailing constantly.
And I've ordered some nonsense supplements online. Because I'm a chump.
That's all.
Also, I've been sailing constantly.
And I've ordered some nonsense supplements online. Because I'm a chump.
That's all.
Thursday, July 12, 2018
Sadness Continues
It waxes and wanes. These days it's waxing. I don't know why. Hormones? Time? I don't know.
My sister in law was here for an entire week, which is about a week and a half too long. The first night she was here, I was exhausted after a stressful day of houseguest tending, and I was loading the dishwasher for the second of what felt like two dozen times over the course of the week, and she was going on and on about the baby shower for the third in their assortment of four siblings, a well-meaning doofus with no college education or professional aspirations that I know of. They're having a baby in a matter of months.
I was invited to the shower. The invitation arrived either on or around the day I found out one of - which one? Who knows? - my IVF cycles failed.
I threw it away. I told my husband he had to deal with it. He said okay, and promptly forgot.
Of course, if any of them knew even the slightest thing about me, they might understand. But they don't know me.
So sister in law was talking about all the cool stuff that she sent to them for presents, because presents is how sister in law shows love for people, and shopping is how she makes herself feel better about her own spin-heavy life, and I was loading the dishwasher, and I was exhausted, and I felt the sadness rising up, and I said "SIL, I can't talk about this right now," and drew my finger in a line across my throat in the no-I-really-mean-it gesture, and she backtracked and said she was sorry, but it was too late.
I started weeping over the dishwasher.
I cried so hard I had to go to bed. I didn't even say goodnight to anyone. I just got in bed and sobbed.
Everyone finally left on Saturday, after a full week here, a full week of dishwashers, and I am still coming down from it. Like I'm in an emotional hangover.
Yesterday I went out for a sail with a friend and his new girlfriend, not new I guess, it's been over a year, but God damn is she boring. She's one of those people with nothing to say except prattle about her kids. Normally I don't care, beyond being bored out of my fucking mind. Yesterday on the launch I found myself swallowing salt water and weighing whether or not to tell her hey, so, I cannot fucking listen to this shit right now, I just can't, and while you're complaining about your sullen teenage daughter at home, you need to understand that I will never have a sullen teenage daughter to complain about. Never.
So shut up.
I am telling myself that I won't always feel this way.
I hope I'm not a liar.
My sister in law was here for an entire week, which is about a week and a half too long. The first night she was here, I was exhausted after a stressful day of houseguest tending, and I was loading the dishwasher for the second of what felt like two dozen times over the course of the week, and she was going on and on about the baby shower for the third in their assortment of four siblings, a well-meaning doofus with no college education or professional aspirations that I know of. They're having a baby in a matter of months.
I was invited to the shower. The invitation arrived either on or around the day I found out one of - which one? Who knows? - my IVF cycles failed.
I threw it away. I told my husband he had to deal with it. He said okay, and promptly forgot.
Of course, if any of them knew even the slightest thing about me, they might understand. But they don't know me.
So sister in law was talking about all the cool stuff that she sent to them for presents, because presents is how sister in law shows love for people, and shopping is how she makes herself feel better about her own spin-heavy life, and I was loading the dishwasher, and I was exhausted, and I felt the sadness rising up, and I said "SIL, I can't talk about this right now," and drew my finger in a line across my throat in the no-I-really-mean-it gesture, and she backtracked and said she was sorry, but it was too late.
I started weeping over the dishwasher.
I cried so hard I had to go to bed. I didn't even say goodnight to anyone. I just got in bed and sobbed.
Everyone finally left on Saturday, after a full week here, a full week of dishwashers, and I am still coming down from it. Like I'm in an emotional hangover.
Yesterday I went out for a sail with a friend and his new girlfriend, not new I guess, it's been over a year, but God damn is she boring. She's one of those people with nothing to say except prattle about her kids. Normally I don't care, beyond being bored out of my fucking mind. Yesterday on the launch I found myself swallowing salt water and weighing whether or not to tell her hey, so, I cannot fucking listen to this shit right now, I just can't, and while you're complaining about your sullen teenage daughter at home, you need to understand that I will never have a sullen teenage daughter to complain about. Never.
So shut up.
I am telling myself that I won't always feel this way.
I hope I'm not a liar.
Thursday, June 14, 2018
Still Sad
That's not much of a report, but it's true.
Also, DHEA makes me a monster. I'm taking 1/3 the suggested dose, because anything higher than that and I'm concerned I might go to prison for assault. I tell myself that it probably doesn't work anyway, but if it does, surely something is better than nothing, as I cannot withstand the rest.
I'm not, like, crushingly sad. I'm trucking along. I'm working, I'm sleeping, I'm doing hobby-related things. There are moments when I am able to forget myself, and to immerse myself in my life and not think about No Baby.
But, you know, it sneaks up on me. A wrangle with the billing department at the hospital. At dinner, discussing gender politics, a friend confesses that she loves being a woman because when she was pregnant she felt superior, because of this special thing she could do. But then, I meet one of the children of a successful person I know, who is self-made and ambitious and canny, and his kids - all older than me - to a person seem sort of pathetic and beaten down and are clearly a disappointment. What if Succotash were a disappointment? That would be hard, wouldn't it? Harder than no Succotash? I don't know.
Right now I'm still thinking we'll take another stab at it in the fall. But then, sometimes I think, maybe I won't. Why bother? Why put myself through that again if I don't have to? I've been given a 15% chance of success. That's an 85% chance of failure. That's a solid B. I've accomplished things that were less likely to happen, it's true, but not very many of them. If I had cancer, and were given an 85% chance of death, I would probably be putting my affairs in order.
So that's what I'm considering doing.
Don't know. We'll see.
Also, DHEA makes me a monster. I'm taking 1/3 the suggested dose, because anything higher than that and I'm concerned I might go to prison for assault. I tell myself that it probably doesn't work anyway, but if it does, surely something is better than nothing, as I cannot withstand the rest.
I'm not, like, crushingly sad. I'm trucking along. I'm working, I'm sleeping, I'm doing hobby-related things. There are moments when I am able to forget myself, and to immerse myself in my life and not think about No Baby.
But, you know, it sneaks up on me. A wrangle with the billing department at the hospital. At dinner, discussing gender politics, a friend confesses that she loves being a woman because when she was pregnant she felt superior, because of this special thing she could do. But then, I meet one of the children of a successful person I know, who is self-made and ambitious and canny, and his kids - all older than me - to a person seem sort of pathetic and beaten down and are clearly a disappointment. What if Succotash were a disappointment? That would be hard, wouldn't it? Harder than no Succotash? I don't know.
Right now I'm still thinking we'll take another stab at it in the fall. But then, sometimes I think, maybe I won't. Why bother? Why put myself through that again if I don't have to? I've been given a 15% chance of success. That's an 85% chance of failure. That's a solid B. I've accomplished things that were less likely to happen, it's true, but not very many of them. If I had cancer, and were given an 85% chance of death, I would probably be putting my affairs in order.
So that's what I'm considering doing.
Don't know. We'll see.
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