Today is a day for remembering, for thinking about loss, for holding hands and sitting with grief. A day for a nod and a bit of a smile to the babies we don’t have. Now, as usual, I’m a smidge late, and I can’t claim to have suffered from much loss – I’ve got no dead babies hovering around me, flickering with Might Have Beens. I have only some mourning for the tries that came to nothing, that neither divided nor implanted nor came forth in anyway. But I bow with all compassion to those of you who know more loss than me. I hold your hands and your hearts in mine and I’ll sit with you, as I know you’d sit with me.
Cali put out the call and the chorus of the IVP answered with the resounding sound of – well, of hope, if you get right down to it. Here we all are in this ugly fucking boat that’s trimmed with Almost and Loss and Might Have Been. But this boat floats on hope and, god damn, the company is good.
It’s hard for me to write too much about loss today. Things started out well with coffee being delivered to school and then Sophie and a friend went skateboarding this afternoon, and I heard them through the open front door, laughing that way young girls do. It’s warm enough I let my kids at school go outside with their jackets undone. I saw the mountains from the playground. The crocus are up in my neighbor’s yard, the all-important sun is out and we are turning the corner to Spring. I feel it.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I ’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
From my girl Emily, of course.
(Picture credit to cho-girl, of course – you think I let just anybody see me this close to undressed?)
Originally uploaded by corey jo
So here at the coffee shop, things are fab. The internets were down at home so I took full advantage of my “snow” day and went out for coffee. Mmmmm….. coffee…..
Everyone in the IVP seems to be fucking sick to death of February, myself included, and so here are some plum blossoms to remind us that Spring Is Coming. Soon.
No ttc this cycle (CD 11 today), nor likely any next cycle (CD 0 today). Bummer.
After last week’s fab HSG, I put in a call to my RE and had the usual lovely chat with Martha, the keeper of all knowledge. Her offical title is something like receptionist or appointment maker, or something. But this woman holds me, and I’d bet many others, in the palm of her sweet, southern-accented hand. She is the gate keeper to the kingdom of fertility. Which is to say, she sets up your shit with the RE. Which is to say she has your charts at her fingertips and she’ll whip them out, saying all the while, “now, just hang on….” She’s sweet and knows my name and we will never see each other. She is in a totally different building than the RE and to me she is now and always will be a voice on the phone.
Anyway, I called Martha The Gate Keeper Friday and she said to call back Monday once the results from the dye-job had been sent over and so I called Monday and for some reason I cannot remember nothing happened and so she called me back Tuesday and we tried to figure if my next appointment with the RE was “time sensitive.” To me it is, of course, but not really to my RE. He’s big into not hurrying, gathering as much data as possible and then, finally, moving forward. So anyway, the upshot of it all is that he thinks I should go ahead and have old Polly the Polyp taken out and one of the nice, nice, nice doctors from Friday’s HSG party is his friend and has been given the heads up about me and my fabulousness and so he is all set to go after old Polly with whatever one uses to remove such things. So after a trip through the university hospital’s phone system – a trip riddled with blind allies and dead ends – I got a phone a call back from Dr. S’s receptionist/gate keeper and she set me up an appointment for next Thursday. Woo! Right? Sort of. Thursday’s appointment is for a pre-op meeting. Mostly paper signing, according to the receptionist/gate keeper. From there we’ll set up the real-deal get that fucker out of there appointment. Lord. Which will be well into the next cycle, so no insems.
I’m struggling to keep up with all the good-for-me ttc shit – the temping and the pre-natals and the positive attitude. This feels like a break, damn it, but I had not planned on a break now. I had not planned on any more breaks at all in fact. This was the hell-bent-for-leather, throw-caution-to-the-wind phase of ttc that was going to end with a baby. But now I seem to be on a break. Back to the tattoo parlor and liquor cabinet with me.
Sophie, my pretend child, has gotten a cell phone. It’s “sooo cool!” Heaven help us.
From the beginning, because you know I love a list:
* all clear HSG. Spill on both sides, warmed gown from the nicest nurse in the world, totally cheerful and nice and again with the nice folks in Radiology, comforting but totally unnecessary hand holding from cho-girl, pretty pictures of my insides, polyp confirmation (whew – known is better than unknown, yes?) and also did I mention how nice? Those folks in Radiology – Teh Best. There were a million of them and they all introduced themselves (“Hi, I’m Dr. So-and-so, you can call me Stphanie” – love her.) and shook hands and explained exactly what they were going to be doing and laughed my my jokes and they didn’t hurt me. Not a bit. The most amusing part was that Stephanie, my newest BFF, thought cho-girl was a Radiology tech, because she had on a lovely lead gown. And really, it was a lovely gown – flowered and with a nice embroidered “L” for lovely.
*breakfast at the diner after aforementioned hurt-free and all clear HSG. Out and about 10 am! Woo and Hoo! With bacon! And with a vastly entertaining Other Patron at the table next to us who drove up in his big maroon Cadi, walked in, ordered a whiskey on the rocks, chatted us up, realized he didn’t have his wallet, left his drink and drove off to get his wallet and came back only to be joined by his wife. He was charming except he said I talk like a yankee.
*love from the internets.
*tidying to prepare for the arrival by train of Hard Girl and company. Yay! It’s illness that brings them, but I’ll take it.
*warm and amazing sun and did I mention warm? Warm enough to have the front door open – it’s been since October since I’ve done that.
*walking downtown to the post office (I heart the USPS) with the Hard Girl Fam. So warm and lovely. Plus we got to hang with the post office guy because I was foolish enough to think that sending a package to Ireland would be a simple matter of a stamp. No, no – there’s customs, you see. Heh. I was sending off my full pack of Instead Cups to another IVP kid, but the post office guy seemed pretty nonplussed when he asked me what was in the box and I said “feminine supplies.” Perhaps he was too taken with Tiny Fruit Baby to be worried about what sort of things the IVP likes to put in it’s respective hoohas. Anyway, I think my home insem days are done, and so I gleefully send off my Insteads and welcome the world of western meds with open arms.
*bacon from the neighbors. Yes, that’s bacon from the neighbors. Pork belly from Polyface, some magic salt/brown sugar/spice thing plus curing in their shed equals bacon. From the neighbors. Damn. I’ve got a good half pound of it in the kitchen right now, waiting to be breakfast for the guests.
*errand running in the car. Not normally something I do, but there was the need for cat food, else I’d loose a limb. Plus, as the whole Hard Girl Extendo Fam is here, there is a grandma who needs a nightgown. So I went for cat food and debated Rose’s vs. Kmart for the nightgown for about 1 minute before picking Rose’s, which took me over the (small) mountain to the east of town, giving me the view to end all views – looking west to the other (larger) mountains as the sun set behind them. Holy fucking shit, y’all.
* CD release party not too far from home tonight. Out of the house is sometimes good for me
There were daffodils just blooming outside the hospital this morning and crocus by Main street. Two more weeks of February, kids. I think we’ll make it.
moar humorous pics
So I go tomorrow for the long awaited HSG, aka dye job, to illuminate my insides and confirm or deny Polyp the Possible. My transport and hand-holding will be courtesy of cho-girl, who will be treated to coffee after. I’m getting sort of psyched about seeing what my insides look like – the u/s doesn’t really cut it for me. How do they read that shit? It looks like a bunch of gray dots to me; the only thing I saw that looked like anything at my last u/s was my fab 17 mm follicle. Everything else the RE pointed out I was all, “uh huh, uh huh, how about that? Huh. Sure. Looks good to me.” So seeing my tubes and such will be fun. I’m less apprehensive than I was a few days ago (thanks for the comments, y’all – really, they were very reassuring and I’ve got my 800 mg of ibuprofen and my whiskey at the ready), and it will be nice to be doing *something*. As Jen pointed out, it sucks to be a regular at the RE’s and not actively trying to make a baby. So doing something more than getting a cheap lube saturated wang cam scan and sending vats of my blood to the lab sounds good to me. Even if it does, you know, involve dye up my hooha.
So me and cho-girl and Polyp the Possible will be down at the hospital tomorrow am, if you want to wave in our general direction. CD 6. Let’s get this party started.
With all due respect, photo courtesy of Billy Hunt.
It is not cool – read very, very impolite – to ask certain questions, no matter how well intentioned. Among them: When will you get married? Are you dating anyone? Are you planning on having a baby? How was your colonoscopy? Guess which one I’ve been asked twice in less than a week? Once on the playground at school, with parrot-like 3 and 4 year olds around, not to mention highly attentive 5 year olds. *sigh*
(Which doesn’t even begin to address the whole issue of professionalism – would you ask your doctor/lawyer/accountant a personal question while said professional was at his or her place of employ practicing his or her profession?)
Remember when I hit you up for pictures of your kids? Yes, you do. Well, here’s the result. If you want to know how the lobbying went down, Chicory has her usual dead-on take up for your perusal. There’s some folks over in Utah who are busting their collective asses to make things right for their kids. For all of our kids. See, even in February, you can hang onto some hope.
(Click the picture in Keri’s blog to enlarge and see if you can find kids you know. Sophie’s in there, sticking her tongue out, right under the W.)