Jacki Jaguar....this is your life

I need to preface this post by saying that I am not the type of person who has to go on Jerry Springer to air my dirty laundry, figure out who my baby daddy is or tell my mother that I am sleeping with her new boyfriend. I'm just not. But apparently....some days it feels like I am.

I have since recovered nicely from the news that Tom and Kathy are pregnant. My bitterness and rage has mostly subsided and they are now yet another couple that I am in awe of because they are growing a baby. Tom is leaving Friday for a year in Iraq (I can't even process this it makes me so sad, I'm sure I'll blog about it later). Last night, they had a bunch of people over for a last get together.

So Kathy has a sister, Marilyn. Marilyn's a freak. There's no better way for me to sum that up. Marilyn and I were in Kathy's wedding party together and Marilyn was not only mostly useless, but a huge hindrance. Picture "I'm jealous my sister's getting married before me" plus "I'm outrageously irresponsible" plus "I only think of myself and alcohol" and you'll have: Marilyn, maid of honor extraordinaire. Now add me, blunt-responsible-planner-Jacki, into the mix of Marilyn's antics and you have outraged-disgusted-tantrum throwing-Marilyn because how dare I say that we need her help with something (which I said very respectfully, I swear). So, yeah, we're not exactly close.

Can you guess who was at the get together? Ding ding ding ding!!! Marilyn! Let the mayhem ensue!

Marilyn brought two of her three children with her. Her two girls, three and six years old, are beautiful, amazing kids. I've hung out with them a handful of times and am happy that they remember me. I am thrilled when the three year old, Liza, draws a picture for me. I think it was me back in my Mr. Potatohead phase. Boy, I'm glad I grew out of that.

Side note: You should know that this small get together included five children, two pregnant people and three moms. There was a lot of pregnancy and baby talk. But I was a trooper. Sure, I was a drinking trooper, but I was a trooper nonetheless.

I'm hanging out in the living room and Liza sits down next to me. A few minutes after that, without thinking, I'm scratching her back. (My niece loves when people scratch her back and now I often scratch kids' backs without even noticing I'm doing it.) Liza's little voice pipes up, "Can you scratch my back harder?" With a pang of sadness, I scratch harder and wonder when am I going to get to scratch my own kid's back. Then I giggle as I watch her wiggle the back of her shirt up a bit so that I'm directly scratching her skin.

Later, after the party has winded down some (meaning the kids have left except for, of course, Marilyn's because she keeps them at grownup, alcohol filled parties), I head out to sit on the front porch for a little. I was in some kind of drunk, philosophical mood and wanted a few minutes to myself. Marilyn comes out, sits down and we start chatting. Here's the thing, it was a good conversation. It was a conversation about how she's disappointed in herself because she keeps trying to quit smoking and failing. I was encouraging, telling her that most smokers make several attempts at quitting before succeeding and to just keep plugging away at it. Each failure is getting you one step closer to the time you'll be able to quit permanently. We talked a little about our families. It really was a good, normal talk.

Marilyn heads in and I reflect on the conversation and myself for a bit. Maybe I've been judging Marilyn too harshly. Maybe it's just that we're different. Maybe we're just two people trying to make our way through this crazy world. Maybe I need to be more understanding and accepting. My friend, Andy, comes out and I share these thoughts with him. He's drunk. I think he was kind of indifferent to my thoughts, but I can't remember because I was kind of drunk, too. Liza joins me on the porch and asks me to blow bubbles with her. My heart fills with bittersweet emotions again as I wonder when I'm going to blow bubbles with my own kids. She invites me to scratch her back. I oblige.

Eventually, everybody heads in except for me. I'm still philosophizing (copyright: 2008). Infertility does this to me I have found. It keeps me in my head a lot, trying to make sense of my new infertile self in this very fertile world.

Finally, I'm too cold to stay out any longer and head in. I join everybody else to watch a movie. I stretch out on the floor under a blanket to try to get warm again. Liza, who's sitting in front of me, turns around and says, "Jacki, I'm cold." She crawls under the blanket, puts her little head on the front of my pillow and nestles into me. I can't really describe it. It's not a lump in my throat. It's more like a heaviness in my heart.

As we're watching the movie, I hear sucky sounds behind me. What is that? Are you ready? Sit down if you're not already because this is going to be more than you can handle. Marilyn is sucking face with a guy while her children are in the room. I'll pause while you reread that and let that sink in......................are you good now? Not good, but okay, because there's no way you can be good after reading that. She is making out with someone while her children watch a movie less than ten feet away from her. I'm so digusted and freaked out I can barely stand it. How on Earth are you fertile and I'm not? How do you get to have these beautiful kids when you're making out with someone while I'm filling your role of chief cuddler to your daughter?

Eventually, Liza wanders off and I doze off on the floor. The party, now small, continues but I'm too tired to join in. The noise of the party rouses me at different points but that's about it. Until my husband kicks my pillow. What the hell?

"Jacki, get up! We have to go right now...get up. We have to leave now." What? Why? Is the house on fire? What happened to gently rubbing my back to wake me? What's the urgency? I stand up groggily rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"What happened? What's going on?"

"Marilyn just touched me. We have to go!" Whoa...what?! I can now vouch for the fact that nothing will wake you quite as quickly as hearing the news that a slut has touched your husband. Mr. Jaguar then explains that he was in the kitchen, Marilyn came in, threw her arms around him and herself up against him and her mouth headed for his mouth. At the time, he had a freezie pop in his hand (Thank God for the freezie pop!), which he jammed in his mouth while turning his head and pushing her back.

Her response: "What? I'm just falling." What the f%ck? He then tells me that he tried to leave the kitchen and she ran to the doorway, fell to her knees blocking the entrance while making more inappropriate remarks and I'm sure sticking her skanky, little chest out. Mr. Jaguar made his escape through the back door with her trailing behind. Oh.My.God.

I stand there processing all of this information. My poor husband actually looks traumatized. You could tell he felt violated. He was so flustered. What's funny is I know my husband has women talk to him at the bar when he goes out with the guys. I completely trust him and don't really care who he talks to because I know he won't cross any lines. So seeing him so upset about Marilyn made me very aware of the fact that she had just taken a flying leap over many, many lines.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? Do I hit her? I'm bigger than her and I guess maybe I could take her. I've never hit someone before. What if I do it wrong and hurt my hand? I do have nice hands. What if she hits me back? That would probably hurt. Also, this girl has clearly proven her white trash status. I'm pretty sure that all trashy people are squirrely fighters, like it's genetic. She may try to rip out my nonexistent weave or hit me with her shoe. It wouldn't be hygienic to be hit with someone's shoe. Decisions, decisions. I envision myself grabbing her from behind by her hair and threatening her through gritted teeth and then just leaving her there (picture Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing when he gets in a fight with that guy after leaving Penny's room after she had to get an abortion but then just says, "You're not worth it. You're not...worth it!" and throws him to the ground, yeah, that would be me). My optional variation of this plan is to push her face-first up against a wall and then threaten her through gritted teeth and then tell her she's not worth it.

I suddenly have a vision of her two children waking up in the middle of the madness. "Why is Jacki hurting Mommy?" or worse for me, "Why is Mommy hurting Jacki?" My decision is quickly made. I pass on my Swayze-crazy moment and just go home. For now, there will be no instance where good surpasses evil, where Super Jacki defeats her nemesis, where wholesomeness overcomes sluttiness.

As I'm falling asleep that night, I think back on the conversation I had with Marilyn earlier in the evening and my subsequent reflections. Maybe I've been judging Marilyn too harshly. Maybe it's just that we're different. Maybe we're just two people trying to make our way through this crazy world. Maybe I need to be more understanding and accepting. Or maybe you're just a whore who's trying to bang my husband. I laugh aloud and fall asleep next to my awesome yet now slightly scarred husband. Hopefully, he won't wake me up in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat, from a nightmare where he relives Marilyn trying to violate him.

Be sure to look for me next week on Jerry Springer's latest episode, "She's a ho, fo' sho". I promise to throw my shoe and hopefully, I'll have an opportunity to bear my breasts to the audience and all of America. Well, the people of America that actually watch Jerry Springer.

BFN and then....

So I got my blood test this morning to confirm my non-pregnant status. The nurse told me to expect a call confirming my negative result after 2:30 and then they'd call in my Provera prescription. My phone rang around three and the nurse says, "Well, you're not pregnant...however..."

Wait!! What??!! There's a however?! What could the however possibly be?

"You ovulated." What?! My cycle day 12 ultrasound revealed many, unfortunately tiny eggs. I humored the doctor with a cycle day 20 ultrasound just to be sure, only to find even more unfortunately tiny eggs. And now on cycle day 32, you're telling me that, lo and behold, 100 mg of Clomid actually worked but too late for any of us to actually notice?!

Motherf%cker.

"You have to wait another week to see if your period arrives naturally, come in for another pregnancy test and then we can give you the Provera." Arrggghh....hell! I flash back to the past week or so....could I even be pregnant? No. I got wicked sunburn last week, on my inner thighs no less, and so sex was so not happening. I don't have a shot at being pregnant. And now I just have to wait another stupid week to get the ball rolling (I know, I know, it's a lesson in patience, blah blah blah, I don't wanna hear it right now).

I don't actually say any of that. My response is more along the lines of "Okay, thanks."

Here's the weird thing. I'm actually annoyed that I ovulated. I know what you're thinking, I should be grateful. But this is my blog so I get to be honest. I'm annoyed. For a couple reasons. First, we missed the big O so I never got to have the IUI. That part makes me want to kick my ovaries for d!cking around for the first 20 days. Second, and I've been pondering this part for awhile, (insert my whispering voice here) I don't think the Clomid is my answer. I don't know why. It's just a gut thing. I don't think Clomid is what's meant to give me a baby. I have no real rationale for this nor medical expertise, it's just my big hunch. And so I'm kind of aggravated because this means I have to spend more time taking Clomid since it actually did its job and made me ovulate. I have to spend more time on the treatment that I don't believe is the answer for me. I had already changed my mindset to one more month of Clomid and then moving on to the next step. I had done all of my reading up on injectables and had my game face on.

Now, I don't need anyone to leave me comments about how I'm negative and I should be counting my blessings. I know and I'm counting. I know that the fact that the Clomid worked is medically a good thing. I know the risks of injectables, especially with PCOS. It's just that I had already processed and accepted the fact that the Clomid didn't work. I'm a planner and I had already made my plan. Planners are not impressed when they have to change their plans. I had moved on from this cycle. And now....I have to make sense of things again.

OK, God. I understand that I don't get to control everything. Point made. And I guess thank you for the pleasant surprise of ovulation. I'm sorry it's taking me awhile to appreciate it. I promise to be on board with your plan by next week.

Special days...meh

So today is not only Father's Day, but it is also my 11 month anniversary of trying to make a cub. Hmmm...how about that? Luckily, I did not know the date until about an hour ago so my day was relatively decent considering the holiday. Tomorrow, I will go to my RE's office before work to take a blood test, pay twenty dollars to confirm that I am in fact not pregnant (duh), and get a prescription for Provera. And then on to cycle seven and 150 mg of Clomid. I have one confirmed ovulation since I started trying to conceive and two likely ovulations from early on before I started temping. I last ovulated in late March on a sixty five day cycle.

With my 1 year anniversary lurking just around the corner, I would just like to say to it:
I see you out there and when you get here, I'm going to punch you in your stupid face. Seriously, I'm going to beat the crap out of you. And I'm probably going to be drunk when I do it, so I'm going to have all sorts of drunken adrenaline. I'm going to be like a ninja. So watch out.

With the school year busily winding down and preparing to start my Master's program later this month, I haven't paid much attention to the date. A few days ago, it hit me that Father's Day was in fact this weekend. And all I could think was, I wasn't able to make my husband a father.

Tag, I'm it! Woot!

So I've been tagged by Echloe who is one of my rockin' nestie friends. Echloe, forgive me for taking so long to do this. So for this game of tag I have to write a six word memoir... a Meme. From Echloe's blog... "The Meme originated over an idea that was prompted by the book written by Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser, Not Quite What I was planning: Six Word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure. It's a compilation based on the story that Hemingway once bet $10 that he could sum up his life in six words. His were- "For Sale: baby shoes, never worn."

And so here's my Meme:

Can you pause for awhile, please?

It basically sums up my feelings on everyone's lives around me moving forward while I feel frozen here in my infertility. Friends have gotten married and pregnant in the time that my husband and I have been trying to conceive. Sometimes I just wish everyone could freeze while I move forward for a bit so I can catch up.

I am supposed to tag 5 more people, and they will write a Meme, and then continue the game by tagging 5 more blogs, etc., etc. I am tagging Chrysallys because she rocks, Calhoun because she just started her blog and I'm so excited to read it, Sharra because she makes me laugh, Alli because she just got her BFP (woot!), and Jackiemac because I'm eager for the day when she gets her BFP.

grateful for grateful

This journey through infertility has left me frequently in a foul mood. Infertility is nearly constantly with me in a way that I can't describe to a fertile person. It's just always....there.

I am a grateful person by nature. My father worked hard to instill in me a sense of gratitude for the little things. I grew up happy to have a bottle of bubbles, a box of Lucky Charms, an animal to care for. As an adult, I'm still happy to have the bubbles, Lucky Charms and pets, but it's more stuff, too. When I'm stuck in traffic, I often remind myself how fortunate I am to have paved roads to drive on and a car to get to where I'm going. When I step outside, I'm happy for the warmth of the sun on my face. When I watch the news, I'm reminded how blessed I am to have been born in the United States. Despite our country's many issues, I realize there are devastating struggles going on in so many other nations. Watching my students play at recess brings me joy I can't express. The sound of crickets makes me close my eyes and sigh with contentment.

And so now I'm infertile. And things are just....different. I spend a lot of time in my head, thinking over this whole thing and trying to make sense of it. The way I view my world has changed. Things are cloudier. My outlook is hazy. Like I'm so wrapped up in what I don't have that I'm often failing to recognize what's right in front of me. The littlest things remind me of my infertility and it just hurts.

A couple of days ago, I was outside with my husband and two dogs. Joe was coaxing the dogs into enjoying the first time in their kiddie pool. Watching them, gratitude and contentment just washed over me. In that few minutes, life was good and I didn't feel infertile. And it struck me. I'm grateful to be grateful. My eyes welled and my chest ached. I'm just happy to have this moment where I feel grateful because the feeling is so much fewer and far between than I'm used to.

I don't entirely know yet what life lessons I'm supposed to get out of this whole infertility deal. Frankly, some days I'm not even interested in learning the lessons. But I think that recognizing that I should be grateful just for the moments when I actually feel grateful is a good start.

Why I'm going to Hell

She is pregnant. She as in the one person who was not supposed to get pregnant before me. She is 7 weeks pregnant.

Many of us have a she, the one person who is just going to send us into a blind rage of devastation if she gets pregnant before us. Mine is a friend, Kathy, who lately feels like more of an acquaintance. In another setting, I'm not sure we'd find each other to become friends since we don't have much in common. But here, we are, having discovered each other because our husbands are best friends. And so we muddle our way through a friendship that is sometimes awkward, but other times quite rewarding. She and I have lately had some issues in our friendship that we have just recently struggled through patching up, but that's a different topic entirely.

Let me start from the beginning.....

Friday was a great day overall. I was finally starting to feel more like myself after some rough infertility days (see my two previous posts). I had a fun day with my students. We had our annual tech meet. It's this day when the kids work in small groups to complete a project and, while it was a hectic day, it was fun. I drive home, feeling the warm sun on my face, grateful that is is finally the weekend. I chat on the phone with my friend, Annie, who is Kathy's sister-in-law. Annie even asks me what I am so happy about. My response: I dunno. I'm just in a good mood. It's so nice out. (Not that I'm usually miserable. I just had extra pep that day.)

My husband arrives homes from work and tells me we're invited to Tom and Kathy's to grill. Sounds great. More time to sit outside and appreciate the weather. Head right over. The husbands run out to grab some stuff at the convenience store. I make myself a drink. Kathy and I are chatting while I mindlessly flip through a gossip magazine, my back to her, as she folds laundry.

"I have something to tell you that I'm scared to tell you..." Oh f*ck me, you have got to be kidding me! F*uckity f*ck f*ck! She doesn't even have to keep talking. I know what's coming next. And it does, "I'm pregnant." She continues on and I think I even answer a few times but I don't know what I said. All I know is that my chest hurts and it's hard to breathe.

I am so grateful my back is to her so she doesn't catch my initial reaction of sheer horror. I muster up the strength to turn around and face her and mangle my way through a few minutes of conversation about her pregnancy. How she found out, how she can't believe it happened because she wasn't even trying (insert f*ck you here), how the baby looked on the ultrasound. I, meanwhile, am doing the world's worst job at faking enthusiasm while trying not to burst into tears. It is just awful. I make myself another, rather large drink. It's work to keep from running out of the house.

My husband walks in the door with Tom. I'm looking at him frantically. He's staring at me quizzically. Tom starts talking to my husband and the three of them get into a conversation. I make a beeline for the front door.

Once outside, I realize I'm not really sure what to do from here. I'm expected to sit and enjoy dinner with them when all I want to do is run away to lick my wounds in solitude, maybe while rocking back and forth. I don't have my keys. I'm not wearing any shoes. All I really have is my drink in my hand. Hey, at least I have this drink in my hand. That's something, right? I crumble on the curb in tears.

My husband follows me out. All I can manage through my sobbing is, "She's pregnant." Tom hadn't told him yet. My husband puts his arm around me and I continue to cry...and drink. I would give a million dollars to leave right now. I would give my right arm. I would give my first born...wait, no, take that part back. My husband stays with me for a while. We talk. Mostly I just cry and keep saying that I don't understand why God is letting this happen. I say some hateful stuff. Really hateful stuff that I'm too ashamed to even share. The whole thing really brings out the worst in me.

My huband eventually heads back in but I just can't. I"m not ready. The tears keep coming. My husband comes back out for a while. He heads back in again. I'm not ready. The tears keep coming. My husband comes back out to tell me it is time for dinner. He heads back in. I muster my strength and head in. I go to the bathroom first to wash up. After splashing water on my face, I am no longer splotchy and only have red, teary eyes. Great, I can't wait for dinner.

If you're ever looking to have a really awkward meal, I highly recommend having dinner with a couple immediately after you broke down sobbing in response to them sharing their joyous news. We spend about 10 minutes talking about pasta salad because it is the only thing that will fill the void.

After dinner, the boys go outside to smoke cigars. Kathy and I sit down to watch TV. Knocked Up is on. We watch it. I can't even comment on the fact that this was the movie we ended up viewing. It's too ridiculous. While watching the movie, I check my phone and see that I have a text. Are you ready for this? You won't even believe me. It's that ridiculous. It's from a coworker and says: Is that you on the curb? Are you ok? Oh.my.God. A teacher I work with drove by and saw me sobbing on the curb. That's f*cking awesome. I stare at the text, pondering the odds of her driving by when I realize that earlier Kathy mentioned that she already told my very good friend (and her sister-in-law), Annie, about her pregnancy and Annie talked to me today. She didn't tell me! Why wouldn't she tell me?! I'm instantly angry with her and fire off the following drunk text: You didnt tell me. She texts me back but I don't answer. She calls me but I don't answer. I'm surprised I sent the hostile text in the first place and am afraid that I will say angry, hateful things to her if I talk to her. I continued to stew over the fact that I'm watching Knocked Up during this whole debacle.

So you may be wondering, whatever happened to the drink that was in Jacki's hand earlier? Oh, don't you worry, my friend. It was guzzled down quite quickly. And refilled. And guzzled down quite quickly. And refilled again....and so on. Until, about halfway through the movie, when I get up to refill again and walk into a doorway. Not through a doorway. Into a doorway. It's time to go home.

I approach Mr. Jaguar to announce this news. Kathy interrupts to let me know that she can drive me home. She doesn't mind and the boys are still working on their cigars. Awesome. Let's get in a car for more awkwardness. I hand my husband my car keys to drive himself home later.

Thankfully, I only live a few miles away. About a mile from home, I realize my house key is attached to my car key which is now attached to my husband instead of me. Hmmm...we get to my house. Front and back doors are locked. There is no way I'm going back to Kathy's house. I'll sleep in my yard first. I find an open window. Kathy is begging me to let her help get in the house being as I am inebriated. Go away, pregnant girl. I got this. I balance myself on the armrests of two plastic chairs and climb in the window with what I'm pretty sure is the agility of a gazelle which, up until this very moment, I never knew I actually possessed. Kathy may be willing to argue this part of my story, but I'm sticking to it.

Inspiration...or maybe not

What seems impossible is not. Remember when your brother gave you his Rubik's cube with all the colors mixed, and you worked relentlessly for months to solve it to prove, without a doubt, you were the smartest one in the family? Were you really the smartest or the most tenacious? Pregnancy is the same way - it requires persistence. You just have to keep at it, twisting and turning and hoping that one month all the colors will align.
~ Conception Chronicles

There's only one problem...I've never actually managed to solve a Rubik's cube.


So my second cycle of Clomid appears to be a bust. At my cycle day 12 ultrasound, my largest follicle was 8 mm and my uterine lining was only 4 mm. The doctor is going to check me again on day 20 just to be sure, but he's not very hopeful and, frankly, neither am I. I guess this isn't the month when all my colors align. F*ck you, Rubik's cube.

Nothing to lose

I left out a part from my previous post about the retirement dinner and now I think I'm ready to write about it.

As I drove home from the party, I was so determined to cry. The tears had been building and I just needed that release, like a full blown sob session. Only it wouldn't come. Just a few tears hovering on the surface. I was actually irritated that I couldn't cry. Like it was unfair. I had been at a fun event with others and couldn't keep it together. And now I'm by myself and I can't lose it.

As my drive continued, I put on some Indigo Girls to sing along to and tried that for a bit. Singing is really cathartic for me. Halfway through a first song, my head is usually clear and my mind at ease. But even the singing wouldn't bring me any comfort.

I was just in my head. Stuck there...thinking about my infertility...a million thoughts racing around but never getting anywhere that I needed them to be, settled somewhere in coherence. And to tell you the truth, looking back, I can't even remember the first half of what I was thinking on that drive home. It was so jumbled yet scattered and I just can't recall.

Suddenly, I said aloud, "What am I doing here?" My own voice startled me in the silence of the car. And who am I talking to? Is it God? I mean I do talk to Him a lot, but this time I just wasn't sure this question was intended for Him. But then why not? Shouldn't all of my questions be intended for Him? And seriously, what in the hell am I doing here??! Dealing with medication and doctor's visits and bloodwork and an IUI that probably won't work (not because I'm negative but because I've seen the statistics so I'm just being realistic) and then the possibility of having to deal with it not working. What on Earth am I doing here? How did I get to this place where I feel like a failure as a woman because I'm not conceiving quickly and a failure as a friend because I sometimes avoid them when I'm sad and a failure as a wife because I'm supposed to be able to start a family with ease and....just a failure. What am I doing here? How did I get here? And why am I here?

I've thought a lot about the fact that God has a plan for me. This usually brings me comfort in most situations, but for the last few days, it's just not. I want it to, but it's not. I can't come to any conclusion as to why I am dealing with this. Usually I can figure stuff out. Find a reason that I am comfortable with and then make peace with it, at least for the time being. But lately, there's no peace. Just this pinball bouncing around inside me...trying to find a quiet, gentle place to settle.

3 strikes, I'm out!

I let infertility control my life again. I hate when I do that.

Let me preface this by saying that I'm almost done taking my 100 mg of Clomid. This is right around the time that my side effects started last cycle. Sure enough, last night the insomnia kicks in and today, I'm overly emotional and trying not to cry.

I went to a retirement dinner for two of my colleagues. It should've been a nice night for me to relax and enjoy myself with the other teachers.

Strike one: It's just been a long day. I worked, then tutored, then went straight to dinner and just throw the insomnia on top of that. I'm sleepy.

Strike two: I arrive early to ensure a good table with friends. My principal crashed our table...even when we told her it was full (she just took someone's spot!). My principal doesn't even like me! Why does she feel compelled to sit with me? Following the principal's lead, another administrator comes to steal a friend's spot at our table. This meal is going to feel like a day at work! Why don't you just make me come in on Saturday already?

Strike three: At the table in front of me, there is a veeeerrrrrrrry pregnant woman. Like, we may have to deliver her child on the dance floor pregnant. This means I will more than likely be fixated on her all night while contemplating my bitterness and extreme jealousy.

Three strikes, you're out the door. I should have just left. God was giving me clear signs to leave from the get go. Note to self: Next time, ignore peers and proper, social etiquette and instead listen to God. He is all-knowing, after all.

But I stay. I stay to stare at the pregnant woman, smile politely at my bosses and try not to nod off at the table. And then I start feeling like I'm going to cry again. Greeaat. I'm doing my best to suppress the tears and, big surprise, I end up needing to leave the table.

In the bathroom, I quickly compose myself. The verdict is good. My makeup is intact and I'm not splotchy. My game face back on, I head out to the table for round two.

As I sit back down, a woman I haven't seen in a while catches my attention. "Are you pregnant?" she asks. Night over. After saying my very quick goodbyes, I'm out.

Infertility's shadow

So I teach 4th grade. They're hillarious, annoying and awesome all rolled into one. May is a big month in 4th grade as it is time for....The Puberty Talk! I love the day of the puberty talk. The kids come in so energized and nervous, whispering the word "puberty" excitedly, giggling, asking me if it will be gross. They all deny wanting to go but the truth is, they wouldn't miss this window into their teen years for the world.

Normally, I don't attend the talk. The girls are dropped off in the music room, the boys in the cafeteria and I go on my merry way. But this year, I wanted to see the girls' presentation. I was curious to see how much 9 and 10 year olds would be told. However, I wasn't so sure that my girls would want me there. As I walked through the packed halls first thing in the morning, three of my girls join me and, sure enough, start chatting eagerly about the impending talk. So I ask what they think of me going along and explain that I didn't know if it would be weird for them if their teacher would be there. And you know what they said? "We'd be more comfortable if you went with us!" I am touched. How could I say no to that? Then they ask me if I will sit next to them. I explain that the grownups usually sit in the back in chairs while the kids sit on the rug. They are adamant that I join them on the floor.

As I enter homeroom, my co-teacher tells me that one of my students, Beth, is upset because her mom had to back out of coming to the talk at the last minute. I pull Beth aside, tell her how sorry I am that her mom can't make it and that, while I know it's not the same as having her mom there, I will be going to the talk and maybe that will help a tiny bit. Beth looks me in the eye and responds, "You're almost my mom." I bite my cheeks to keep from crying. Fourth graders rock.

After completing attendance and the lunch order, we all head down to attend the big talk. I join my girls, as promised, Indian style on the floor. The air is buzzing with excitement. All the 4th grade eyes are on the nurse, waiting for the mysteries of womanhood to be unlocked before their eyes.

Nurse Jean starts off the discussion by going over the most basic changes girls go through during puberty. The kids giggle nervously when she says the word period and their eyes widen in horror at the mere mention of pubic hair. Nurse Jean rolls with it like the seasoned pro that she is. The lights are snapped off to watch the video, "Just Around the Corner". A bad actress in her 20s pretending to be a teenaged big sister to all of us starts explaining about the amazing changes we are all about to experience. I look around the room and find every girl in the room engrossed, hanging on every word of the I'm-so-not-seventeen-like-I'm-pretending-to-be actress. And I feel happy. Happy that I can share in this moment with my kids. Happy that I am a teacher. Happy to spend a year with my great group of girls.

Refocusing my attention back on the video, I discover a naked cartoon drawing of a girl on the TV screen. Seconds later, I stifle my laughter as the cartoon girl simply "sprouts" boobs and pubic hair. The kids all chuckle at the sight of this as I wonder if they all realize that their bodies won't change quite that quickly since that little tidbit is never exactly clarified.

The video goes on to explain that your period is important because it prepares your body to have a child later in life. It doesn't talk about sex per se but it does mention that a sperm fertilizes an egg, the egg becomes an embryo and implants in the uterus where it continues to grow. Minus all of the logistics. The video wrapps up with inspiring words about growing up over some spirited, instrumental music.

Lights back on and the girls burst into a tizzy of giggles and hushed comments. While they all look slightly traumatized, this is overshadowed by sheer excitement. Welcome to the big time, girls.

Nurse Jean asks if there are any questions. All talking ceases and is quickly replaced by the sound of crickets chirping. Nothing. She expertly waits it out, coaxing them with reminders that this is a safe place to ask her anything. She continues to wait. Finally, the bravest 4th grader of them all raises her hand to ask the first question: "What if you get it in school?" Nurse Jean deftly fields the question with the assistance of a maxi-pad the size of a 5 subject notebook. I gawk at it in horror. I realize that, at 30 years old, I've never experienced wearing the mountainous-maxi-of-the-school-nurse and don't ever want to. And I am aghast at the thought of 10 year olds trying to fit it properly on their tiny bodies without looking as though they have multiple rolls of toilet paper shoved in their pants.

"Any other questions?" With one heroic soul having broken the ice, multiple hands shoot into the air. I listen to questions about where to keep your supplies, how often to change a pad and going swimming.

"Do you have to get a period?" a desperate voice inquires from the back. From her tone, you can hear that she's hoping for some kind of out, a get out of period free card.

"Everybody gets a period. Everybody, every month, gets a period. You have to." Nurse Jean's voice is gentle yet matter-of-fact. The infertile lion in my head stirs slightly. The girls groan, causing Nurse Jean to repeat her statement. My lion yawns, stretches and then rears her ugly head with the following testy thought: You don't get a period every month. Because you're broken. Remember that time you had to take progesterone to get a period and even that didn't work? See? I told you. Broken.

I try to tame the angry voice, reminding it that I'm in the middle of sharing a special lesson in growing up with my girls, so go away. The lion shuts up, but continues glaring at me.

"How often do you get a period?" a student's voice chimes in. Nurse Jean explains that a cycle lasts 28-35 days and goes into an explanation of how to keep track of your cycles on a calendar. The lion smirks, arms crossed. Coughbullsh!tcough. Remember the 85 day cycle? Not now, lion. I am sharing a moment. A very precious moment that is not about me. It's about 9 and 10 year olds who have no idea what you speak of.

"Why do you have to get a period?" a voice querries from the back. This one just sounds annoyed and grossed out by the idea. Who can blame her? Nurse Jean reviews the portion of the video that talked about how your body is preparing for when you're married and want to have babies. My inner lion steps forward, smoothes her fur down, shoves me out of the way and launches into her tirade that, thankfully, is only for me to hear. Guess what? Ten percent of you will be f*cked when that time comes! That's right...ten percent. That's about ten of you girls in this room. You'll want to have a kid, you'll be ready for it, trying for it and nothing will happen! You'll have blown over $2,000 on completely unnecessary birth control throughout the years preventing something that's not going to happen without doctors, medications that turn you into a sobbing lunatic, track marks up your arms from all the bloodwork and losing your entire sense of privacy! Nice, lion. Real nice. The lion takes a dramatic bow and nestles in to go back to sleep....another special moment jaded by my infertility.

The few versus the many

So, if you're reading this, you probably already know that I'm a nestie because you probably clicked on my blog link in one of my posts to arrive here. I reached a milestone in my nestiness a few weeks ago...I attended my first Nest get together or GTG since acronymns amuse me.

Someone posted about the get together on the TTC 6+ Months board which is where I usually spend my time. First off, the GTG was at Panera's which is my favorite. I love their tuna fish sandwich. It's so good it should be called some other word that means something way better than food. I would attend a meeting about how to properly file taxes or how to identify amoebae if it meant I could eat at Panera's. Second, it's a get together! What fun!

However.....

A few days before the get together, I have a horrible thought. What if I'm the token infertile girl? This is followed up with other equally awful questions. What if there are pregnant people there? Like, really pregnant people? Who all got pregnant on their first try or, even worse, when they weren't (whispers) even trying? What if someone tells me I should "just relax" or "take a vacation" and I'll get knocked up? What if I am rude to a nestie who tells me to "just get drunk" and I'll end up pregnant? What if, after an insensitive comment, I end up using the swear words and storm out (resulting in a bad nestie reputation!)? What was initially very exciting is now causing me major anxiety. For the next few days, I proceed to completely freak out.

Saturday rolls around. I put on a cute outfit and even do my makeup extra nice so that at least I'll look good when someone insults my infertility which I am now fairly certain will happen. I think about chickening out, but the tuna sandwich's allure is too strong. I get in the car and head to Panera's, my stomach in knots the whole way.

I'm the first one to get there. I circle the joint. Nobody's an obvious choice for being a nestie. Back out the door to hang out.

A few minutes later, a nestie approaches. I just know....my age-ish, alone, dressed cute, she's here for the GTG. We chat and wait for the other girls to arrive. Within a few minutes, all five of us are there.

After ordering, we spend a little time feeling each other out with casual chitchat. And then.....one of the girls mentions her RE! My ears perk, it is now impossible for me to be the token infertile. There's definitely at least two of us. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Within ten minutes, every girl there is talking about her infertility. Aaahhhhh! I'm dying from excitement! It's not that I find joy in my newfound friends' infertility struggles, it's just that I'm not alone. For the first time since this whole mess started, I'm sitting around, a group of five women, casually talking about our infertility. The feeling is something that I can't quite capture in words. It was beautiful. And it brought me so much comfort. A certain comfort that fertile women's words just can't provide me.

Couples go back and forth about who they should tell about their infertility. We struggle with privacy issues. It is afterall a pretty intimate topic. And we fear the insensitive comments that inevitably come, often from people who mean no harm and are just trying to help. I can't and don't want to tell anyone else how to deal with their infertility. I can only speak for myself. I never truly know how someone will react to my infertility until I tell them. People have and will continue to make stupid remarks about it. But, I will take the good with the bad. With the negative comments from a few has come love, support and sharing of stories from so many. Sometimes the people whose reactions most concern me are the very ones who surprise me with the most supportive comment. When I keep my infertility hidden, I inevitably feel an odd sense of shame, as though my unwillingness to throw it out in the open leads me to believe that I am a failure in some way. Infertility is one of the greatest challenges I have ever faced. As I walk this long, difficult journey, I want as many hands to hold along the way as possible.

Artifici-what?!

April 18th~ I went in for an CD 12 ultrasound to see if the Clomid was working. I had completed my first round of 50 mgs. The nurse calls me back into a room and chats with me about my side effects...a few hot flashes, some head rushes, a bit of teariness and a ton of imsomnia. Then she randomly says, "And are you going ahead with the artificial insemination?" in a very polite voice.

".....What?" is all I manage.

"Well, Dr. VanBabymaker suggested an artificial insemination. Are you going to go ahead with that?"

My brain quickly rewinds back a few days to my HSG. A different RE had done the procedure and had brought up artificial insemination. But....the way he had brought it up was more like, "Hey, do you think we should get pizza for lunch?" He said it so casually that I hadn't really given it much thought....like it was a possibility for further down the road but nothing more. Also, I'm still worried about step one. Did I ovulate? I haven't even really thought about a possible step two.

I explain to the nurse that mentally I haven't really gotten that far and just want to see if I'm even going to ovulate and then I'll talk with the doctor about artificial insemination.

My regular RE, Dr. PacMan comes in, performs the ultrasound and no ovulation. Disappointing, but not that surprising for only the first round of Clomid. One ovary has no follies. The other one has about 20 (!!) but they're all very small. He says to come back on CD 17 and we'll check again. Dr. PacMan asks about the artificial insemination. I want to say yes, I'm in, but I'm hesitant because I have to talk with my husband about this first. I mean, right? I'm not supposed to just decide that on my own, especially when my husband has to do his thing for the procedure. I tell them probably and that I'll let them know as soon as I talk with my husband.

Fast forward to April 23rd and my CD 17 ultrasound. Eight in the morning and I'm sitting in the waiting room. First off, I am hungry. I realized yesterday that we still hadn't done some insulin test that my doctor had wanted during my first consult. He couldn't do it back then because I hadn't fasted. I spoke with the RE office yesterday, who suggested I go ahead and fast so that if Dr. PacMan wants the test done, we can just do it that day. I know it's only 8 a.m. but I'm a creature of habit and so I'm already hungry. Second, I am freaking out because, for some reason, the office was reeeeally backed up with their appointments. Normally, I'm called back to a room within 5-10 minutes of my scheduled appointment. I wasn't called back until 8:25. I have to be to work at 8:40. Today, the nurse practitioner, Tracy, is going to see me. She introduces herself, tells me to get undressed and she'll be back in a couple minutes. I practically jump out of my clothes, hop up on the table, cover up with the drape and then sit there impatiently for the next ten minutes. Grrrrr...now it's almost 8:40.

Fiiiiinally, she comes back. I throw myself back on the table and put my legs up in the stirrups all in one fluid motion. I moved with the never-before-discovered-in-me grace of a gazelle. The ultrasound reveals well over 20 follies on one side and well over 20 follies on the other side!.....but they're all tiny. Sigh.

I get dressed and meet nurse practitioner Tracy in the hall. As we finish up our conversation and I'm about to leave, she says, "I see that you and your husband declined artificial insemination?" Declined? Not exactly. I tell her my husband and I are on board for artificial insemination...and a pizza.

HSGee whiz, my tubes are clear!

I got my HSG done last week. Everything looked good, thank God. Here goes....

I arrived at the hospital early as I was told with all of my proper paperwork. I was more nervous than I anticipated, not so much that I would have something wrong with me but that it would hurt. When I scheduled my appointment, the nurse explained that I would be brought in right away because I was the first HSG of the day. I waited for a while in my chair right next to the check-in counter.

Reading a magazine kept me busy for a bit but then I was just pretending to read. I was too nervous to focus. People-watching was an easier, less mentally challenging task. I wondered why each person was there and what they were getting x-rayed. Nobody seemed a logical choice to fall into my infertility category either because of their age or the fact that they were wearing a huge cast. Hmmm...another lonely IF adventure.

Until I spied a couple approaching the counter. I couldn't help but check them out. Are you infertile, too? How long have you been trying? Are you the only infertile person you know of? Do you cry as much as I do? Could we hold hands? (OK, maybe the last question would be awkward.) Sure enough, the woman explained to the receptionist behind the counter that she was here for her HSG! I'm not alone. I'm sitting 3 feet from another infertile couple!

I pretended to keep reading but I couldn't help but fixate on the couple now seated just a few seats away from me. He had his arm around her and they were reading a magazine together.

My watch showed that I had been waiting for 40 minutes. When the hell was I going to be taken back? Twenty seven students and one clock-watching principal were waiting on me. I approached the counter and asked if I would be seen soon and explained that my HSG was scheduled for 12:30. I was told that I would be taken back shortly.

"Are you nervous?" a voice urgently asked. It was the other woman. I told her that yes, I definitely was. She told me how anxious she was and how she was afraid it would hurt. We shared our concerns, validated each other's feelings and I offered her a kid's sticker from a roll on the counter. Hey, if some 10 year old gets a sticker for x-raying a broken arm, we absolutely deserve one for having a catheter shove dye through our fallopian tubes. I took two.

I was eventually called back for my procedure. The woman and I said goodbye and I assured that if she was here when I came out, I would let her know what it was like. The RE prepped me by explaining everything that would happen and talked me through the procedure as he did it. It hurt but it was a manageable amount of pain. There were 3 people in the room for the event which seemed like a lot of people to be hanging out with my vagina.

I was struck by how close the RE had to get to my vagina. He really had to lean in there to make sure the catheter and everything was placed correctly. My knees were bent about halfway and resting on the table. When I looked down at him, his head was so close to my knees. He looked like he was going to crawl in! Nobody but my husband has had their face that close to my crotch in a very long time. That was a little embarrassing, but the doctor was extremely professional. Also, when the x-ray tech was doing all of his stuff getting the equipment centered on my abdomen and all that, the RE had to hang out "down there" to make sure that everything stayed where it should. That was awkward, too...y'know, on account of my nudity from the waist down. I'm not gonna lie. He spent a lot of time down there for barely knowing me.

Everything looked good, I thanked the doctor and headed out. As I stepped through the doorway, the couple was sitting in the hallway to my right. The woman had her head in her hands and when I walked out she looked up at me expectantly. You know how, on TV and in the movies, when the doctor is in the room working on somebody, and the person's family is in the waiting room, and then the doctor comes out and they all look up expectantly, waiting for an answer that will offer some relief? You know the face they make when they see the doctor coming to talk to them? That's the face she was making. I swear it. Now I am not so naive or self-centered to think that she was that concerned about my personal fertility issues. I realize that her primary concern was the fact that she had to get her HSG done right after me. But it felt good nonetheless. It felt good to know she cared, even if it wasn't really towards me so much.

I assured her that it wasn't that bad and that the discomfort was tolerable. I wished her and her husband luck and headed back to work. As the door of the hospital closed behind me, I felt a pang of regret that I hadn't offered her my e-mail address, just in case she doesn't have anybody else to talk to who's going through this crazy adventure called infertility.

Sigh....

My dog and I went out in the backyard to play when I got home from work today. My dog was happy, the sun was warm on my face, I felt good. From two doors down, my 3rd grade neighbor began singing a Dora the Explorer song to her two year old little sister as she pushed her on the swing. She sang it over and over as the toddler squealed in delight. Can your uterus actually ache? Because I think it did. Listening to the two of them was so bittersweet.

A Day of Hope

March 21st- the best infertility day I’ve had yet…the day I went to my first RE appointment. I opted to go by myself. My husband doesn’t get tons of days off and I didn’t want him to use one on this visit when I knew I might need him with me for future appointments.

I didn’t realize how nervous I really was until I was waiting in the room for the doctor. My legs started jiggling and just wouldn’t stop. I read every poster in the room at least twice. I was practically rocking in my chair. A nurse popped her head in to say the doctor would be a little longer because someone just came in for an ultrasound. I asked her if I could get a magazine to distract myself. It turns out reading month old entertainment gossip isn’t all that distracting.

When the RE arrived, he reviewed all of my paperwork, examined my charts, explained the basics of both fertility and infertility and made a tentative plan with me right there on the spot. Then, he did my first ultrasound and before I left I had bloodwork done. I accomplished more in one hour then I had in the previous 8 months.

The ultrasound was interesting. Having what amounts to a sex toy with a condom on it put inside you by someone you’ve known for 45 minutes is an experience. He looked at my left ovary and said, “There’s a cyst. It looks like you very well may be ovulating.” He looked at my right ovary and said, “There are more cysts.”…….pause…….in my mind, the pause means I think he thinks polycystic ovarian syndrome.

“And…?” I ask. He mentioned the possibility of PCOS and said we’d talk more in his office. Then he was quiet again.

There’s such power in silence. So many muted words rushing through the air. Oh nos! were zipping back and forth across the room while the What ifs? circled lazily above my head. I stared at a ceiling tile as they all came to rest on the sheet draped across my legs.

We went back to the office and the doctor said that for now PCOS was probable and we’d be more certain when all my lab work was back. And, you know what? It was oddly comforting to know that something was wrong, even if it was just probable. Something with a name, that other women also dealt with and that had treatment options. Somehow it was reassuring. It had crossed my mind a few times in the prior weeks that the label (or non-label) of unexplained infertility made me uncomfortable. I'd had visions of a doctor shrugging his shoulders apologetically and announcing that he didn't know what the hell was wrong with me. That diagnosis wasn't tangible enough for me. PCOS felt more certain...something my inner control freak could address and make plans for.

As I left, the doctor told me I no longer had to temp. For a moment, I felt panic. No temping? How will I know if I ovulate? He reassured me that now it was his job to monitor and worry about that, and then he said,

"Every morning when you take your temperature, it's a reminder that your body is not doing what it should be. You start your day off with that message. You don't have to put yourself through that anymore." His tone was gentle, yet matter of fact. I loved him. A stranger, a man, understood what it was like to be in my shoes.

As I went to leave the office, I stopped at a bulletin board. Every possible inch of it was covered in birth announcements. Beautiful, tiny babies created with the help of the very office I was standing in. I was flooded with hope. Tears filled my eyes and I forced myself to walk away before I embarrassed myself by being that girl bawling in the hallway.

I was, and continue to be, overwhelmed that people take on the job of reproductive endocrinologist. This includes the nurses and office staff. I am in awe of them. I try to imagine being in their shoes, giving the news to a hopeful couple that a procedure has failed, taking the call from a pregnant woman who has begun bleeding, holding the hand of a woman trying again after yet another miscarriage. I bear the weight of only my own story while they shoulder the burden of so many women's heartbreaking journeys.

Without a doubt, they are doing God's work.

I'll take the antibiotics and a minor breakdown

Conclusions up to this point:

1. I refuse to go on anymore Valentine's Day dates with my gynecologist because he throws around dirty words like infertility on the most romantic day of the year.

2. I feel broken...most of the time.

3. I feel very alone...sometimes. Even when surrounded by the love and support of family and friends, I sometimes just feel so alone in this.

Moving on...
March 8th~ I blindsided my family doctor today. Looking back, it's a little funny. I was sick and I mean sick. It was just a sinus infection but it was one of those ones where you're bargaining with God....if you make me feel a little better, I'll be nicer to people who annoy me, if you bring me any relief at all, I will be less sarcastic and even try to swear less (that's right, I felt so bad I was willing to give up the swearing). On the way to my appointment, I decided that I would also ask my doctor if he could refer me to a counselor. I'd been having a hard time dealing with my problems trying to conceive, some issues at work and just feeling unhappy in general. I knew that when I went to ask him, I was probably going to get a little teary.

So, I'm in with the doctor, he's checking me out and diagnosing my sinus infection. He casually asks, "How are things going with trying to get pregnant?" and I proceed to lose my sh*t. I wasn't teary, I went straight to the ugly cry...y'know the one where your whole face gets red and puffy, tears are streaming down your cheeks, and you can't talk clearly. I was even making those little, pathetic, hiccup-type noises. Well, my poor, sweet doctor looked like he wanted to die. He's apologizing and trying to console me while I'm telling him that it's okay because I was going to cry today anyway and that it's not his fault. The whole situation was so ridiculous that I can't even write about it now without giggling. Ahh, the joys of infertility.

Olly Olly Oxen Free!

Mid-March~ second batch of progesterone is complete.... where are you, period? Hello? Can you hear me? Are you anywhere in the vicinity? This may be a good spot to insert a visual of me doubled over trying to talk up into my nanny hoo hoo...strictly for comedic purposes. Come out, come out, where ever you are, my monthly (actually not so much) friend! I've got 50 milligrams of Clomid waiting on you.

And nothing. No period. And it scared the crap out of me. I'm so broken that the medicine to fix me won't work?? And how the hell am I supposed to start the Clomid?

The 10% deep-down-keep-it-to-myself part of my brain that was worried something might be wrong with my body grew to inhabit about 40% of my brain. I finally asked myself the scary question. Is it time to call the reproductive endocrinologist?

To consider an RE is to admit there is a problem with my inner workings. Generally, women see an RE after a year of trying to conceive or if there's a problem before the one year mark. Was I ready to acknowledge the elephant standing in my living room? The elephant that hadn't ovulated since October?

With a deep sigh, I picked up the phone.

Clomid, will you be my Valentine?

I spent Valentine's Day with my gynecologist. If I can be completely honest, it wasn't as romantic a holiday as I was hoping for (I blame it on the speculum sitting on the counter beside me). My gyno had previously hoped the first batch of progesterone would get me right on track and then it would be clear sailing. But I was back in the office with my crappy chart on Valentine's. To celebrate, my doc had also brought my crappy bloodwork results. I hadn't ovulated.

The gyno was still positive. I'd take the progesterone again to start a new cycle, I'd start Clomid, we'd throw in some more bloodwork. Honestly, 90% of my brain was thinking, "I'm just having issues from being on the pill so long." The other 10%, the deep-down-keep-it-to-myself part, was starting to freak out. What if it's a real problem? What if it's not just from coming off the pill?

We wrapped up the appointment with a solid plan and I headed up to the front desk with my check out paper from the doctor in hand. I stopped dead in my tracks about halfway there. Under "Reason for Visit", my doctor had checked off "Infertility".

It actually took my breath away....like I was punched in the stomach. One little check in a teeny tiny box stopped my world on its axis for just a moment. Really??!! You're already calling it infertility?? We're already calling it infertility?? I'm not ready to call it that.

I got in my car and just sat there, the word infertile bouncing around in the empty silence. And then, I got angry at my gynecologist. Like I wanted to go back in that office and, in front of his patients, yell at him. The only words I could come up with were f*ck you with some c'mons and seriouslys thrown in. I decided that would not be a very wise choice. Instead I went home, feeling angry and sad about a little check in a teeny tiny box.

Well....here I am

Where I never really thought I'd be....creating a blog about trying to make a baby. It's actually surprising for two reasons. One, I am technologically impaired so I never even thought about creating a blog. Two, the husband and I are having a hard time creating a kid. I know, right? It's shocking. I never thought I'd be in this position.

This position started creeping up just this past holiday when I realized it had been a while since I had a period. I had gone off of the pill in July and was just "seeing what would happen". No charting, no temping, just seeing what would happen. A laissez-faire attitude seemed like the best way to approach this whole thing. So I got 2 periods, maybe the cycles were a little long but I wasn't concerned because I had just come off the pill. Things weren't necessarily supposed to just go right back to normal. But then right around the hecticness of getting ready for Christmas, it hit me that I hadn't had a period lately. When was the last one? Not in the past couple weeks...rewind...not at all in December...rewind...ummm, it was in the beginning of November. Hmmmmm.

The holidays wrap up, still nothing. I make an appointment with the gyno, he gives me the magic pills. Progesterone works and the 85 day cycle finally comes to a close. I bought the babymaking bible, Taking Charge of Your Fertility.

I took charge!...I studied my bible, I bought my basal body temp thermometer, I joined Fertility Friend and started charting, I bought my Mucinex/green tea/Evening Primrose Oil. And nothing. My body didn't seem to do any of the stuff that the bible said it would do because I am a beautiful, fertile woman blessed with the ability to create a child. Nope. Nothing. Damnit.