Thursday, April 19, 2012

The Least Romantic Conception Story in the History of Ever

So here comes another post plagued with vagina talk, and my quest to harvest small humans.  So if you don't want to hear about vaginal suppositories, insemination, and blue discharge - It would probably be in your best interest to just stop reading.  Like, seriously.

As you all know, my uterus decided to be cooperative for once - and I was able to start another cycle of hormones and melt downs.  My doctor said it was unnecessary for me to be on 200mg of Clomid (which is the highest dosage), and that I could go back to 150mg - which is still a hell of a lot of hormones, just not as bad.  So I took those, and boy are those side effects fun.  Aside from the really ridiculous melt downs I have and feeling like I have absolutely no control over my moods - the worst side effect is probably what it does to my vision.  Since when does a drug that is supposed to help with ovulation, start effing with a person's vision?  Everything that moves gets oddly blurry, and I see lights flashing if I move my eyes too fast.  It's the weirdest, and most annoying thing ever.  It gets really bad at night, and when I lay in bed, it literally feels like the entire room is spinning.  Fun, right?

Anyways, almost a week after my last pill of Clomid, I was scheduled to go in for an ultrasound where they'd check and see how many mature follicles I had.  Normally, women have one follicle on either side that will release an egg when it matures.  Thanks to the Clomid, I had three nice big juicy follicles. Which yes, means that there's a very slim possibility that I could end up with triplets - though, from what I've read, it isn't very likely.  And even though I secretly would love having twins - triplets might just do me over.

After measuring the follicles, my doctor mentioned that my uterine lining was a little bit thinner than she likes to see it - yet another side effect of the Clomid.  So she prescribed me some estrogen pills, that are usually swallowed, but she informed me that I'd be taking these suckers vaginally, twice a day.  Something I can't say I've ever done, but nodded my head like I had been swallowing pills with my vagina my whole life.

She told me that she wanted me to take the HCG trigger shot I had as soon as I got home.  The trigger shot essentially forces the mature follicles to release an egg, so you can be sure that you've ovulated.  I panicked a little, because I had been planning on having Shawn administer the shot, because, well, I've never given myself a shot before - and it kind of scared the hell out of me.  But Shawn was working - so I had to do it myself.  They gave me a quick tutorial on how to mix the liquid in one vial with the powder in the other vial with the biggest ass needle I've ever seen in my entire life.  They made sure to tell me that I had to switch the needle to the smaller one before I shoved it into my stomach - which was a gem of knowledge I'll be forever grateful for.

When I got home, I was sure I was going to eff up the entire shot and end up squirting HCG all over my bathroom.  But by the good grace of God, I managed to mix the two together, and get the stuff into the syringe.  And it took me about 10 minutes to switch the needle, because I'm pretty much a moron.  The fact that I was shaking so badly and really clammy, didn't help much.  I finally was ready to inject myself - and I just sat and stared into the mirror for at least 93 hours before I mustered the courage to do it.  I was surprised at how much it didn't hurt as I put the needle in my stomach, and just as surprised at how much it did hurt as I injected it.  I was feeling a mixture of pride and trauma afterwards and decided to go pick up the estrogen pills my doctor had prescribed.  They're these tiny little blue pills, which I didn't think much of, until I noticed patches of blue in my underwear and on toilet paper a few hours later.  Blue discharge?  Really?  Could infertility be any less glamorous?  Though, the look on Shawn's face when he saw blue on the toilet paper was pretty amusing, to say the least.

My IUI was scheduled for the next morning.  IUI is basically a glorified vagina turkey baster.  Basically they collect Shawn's "specimen", wash it (Right?  Who knew you could wash sperm?), get all the champion swimmers and then squirt them past my "hostile" cervix and straight into my uterus.  (When Shawn pictured the whole thing, he kept imagining all his sperm being washed, and dressed up in fancy suits - after all, it was a special occasion.)   As I sat on the table, without pants, waiting for them to come and inseminate me - I couldn't help but think that  between the fluorescent lighting, the paper covered table, the stirrups, and B98.7 playing in the background, it would be the most unromantic conception ever.  My doctor finally came in with her vagina baster, and let me know that they were able to pick out 16.4 million good swimmers.  Apparently they like to see at least 5 million, so needless to say, Shawn was feeling pretty good about himself.  Once my feet were in the stirrups, the whole thing went down in literally 3 minutes.  The doctor mentioned that it was the easiest IUI she had done in a really long time.  Thank you, vagina.  She left the room and told me to stay laying down for the next 10 minutes or so, and suggested I start pep talking the swimmers in the meantime.  I probably less pep talked them than I did threaten them.  16.4 million sperm with 3 big ass ol' targets.  C'mon, how hard can that be?

Afterwards they gave me a sheet of instructions...


Nothin' like a little prescribed sex, which admittedly, isn't nearly as fun as the non-prescribed kind.  I was to start taking vaginal progesterone suppositories the next day.  I had had these in my fridge for who knows how long, and wasn't really sure what to expect.  Would they just be pills like the stupid little blue things I was still shoving up my lady, or would it be like, a cream - which would have been a real treat.  Turns out it was neither.  They were these weird looking, bullet shaped white things that dissolved.  And since this entire post is TMI Central, can I just say that these did not help the blue discharge situation.  If anything, it was amplified.  Real sexy.

Which brings us today, where I continue to take the blue pills and vagina bullets, while I wait for what will probably be the two longest weeks of my entire life.  First time IUIs don't have a reputation for being overly successful, but it does happen.  I'm well aware that this cycle may fail - but I would be over the freakin' moon if it worked.  It's officially been over a year since we first started trying to grow a baby - 15 months, to be exact.  I always knew getting pregnant would be a bit of a hurdle, but it never really occurred to me that I'd still be trying at this point.  I don't know if it was a positive attitude, or complete ignorance - in any event, it's thrown me for a loop.  And even now, I tell myself that I'll for sure be pregnant by the end of this year - when in all reality, I could be writing a similar post another year from now.  The nice thing is that I've finally come to terms with the fact that it really isn't up to me when we get pregnant.  Whenever we do, will be the right time.  And if it's not now, or a year from now - it's okay.



SWIM!

Friday, April 13, 2012

Expensive Dinner, Easter Monsters, and Our Two Year Anniversary

So I've officially been married for two whole years.  It feels like it's been way longer than that.  I feel like we've been married for 10 years.  And I mean that in the best way possible.

We didn't really plan a whole lot of anything for our anniversary - mostly because I was working all weekend, and our options were fairly limited.  So when I got off work, I got in the shower.  Because I'm kind of gross, and don't shower until around 6pm, if at all.  I went into our bedroom to throw on some jeans and a big maternity-like shirt on, and saw Shawn putting a tie on.  He was in his fancy clothes.  I told him that if we're going to Texas Roadhouse (our special occasion go-to) - we are not getting fancy - while simultaneously complaining that I didn't want to wear a dress.  You know, instead of telling the man I love he looks dashing in his fancy clothes and being happy I'm married to a man that still tries.  Wife points.



Husband tells me we're going to the Cheesecake Factory, and I'm instadrooling at the thought of Tuxedo Cheesecake.  They tell us the wait will be 30 minutes.  And about 7 minutes later, we were in our seats.  Sitting really close, might I add, to the couples on either side of us.  I ordered a 5 dollar lemonade, because it was my anniversary, and I was wearing a dress, thus I felt justified.  We even got an appetizer. Watch out.  Fried Macaroni and Cheese.  If you haven't tried it - I highly recommend you do so.  I also highly recommend that if you do do so (do do, snort) you do not order anything else but cheesecake for dessert.  By the time our actual food came - we both kind of stared at each other, then at our food and grunted.

Shawn had ordered Shepherd's Pie, and I stuck with my usual Fetuccini Alfredo with chicken.  Because when you hand me a menu with 859 damn pages - not only does it take me about 9 hours to decide what I want to eat - but the thought of spending that much on a meal that I may or may not want to throw up later, is a little too stressful.  I am not an adventurous eater.  So when I saw Shawn's plate of Shepherd's Pie, that looked more like an enormous steaming pile of crap covered with potatoes - I was happy with my boring noodles and chicken.

We tried to eat what we could without exploding.  I kept feeling like I had to strike up a conversation with the couples on either side of us - because they were sitting no less than a foot away from our table.  But I didn't, because it was funner to eavesdrop.  Well, except for the couple to our right kept randomly switching to sign language mid-conversation.  Way to make a girl paranoid.  If someone is ever talking in a language I don't understand, even with their hands, I automatically assume they're making fun of me.  You know, like the Asians at nail places?  I digress.  The girl on our other side, who couldn't have been any older than 17, stared at us for pretty much the entire dinner.  I have no idea if her date was just super stale, or if she had never sat next to such fancy people before.  I'm guessing it was probably the second one.  Even though, from what I overheard, I was bored by their date.

I guess I'd stare too.  (Also, note the goatee.  His first ever.)

About 10 minutes after getting our food, we asked for boxes and ordered our cheesecake.  A $76 dollar check later, and we were out of there.  I was complaining about my feet hurting from my hooker heels, and Shawn half jokingly let me know that his part of the date was over, and it was my turn.  I hadn't planned anything other than getting naked later on... and that's as good as it was gonna get.  So we start driving and see a spotlight in the sky.  You know, like those spotlights they have for haunted houses.  So I informed Shawn that for my portion of the date, we would follow the spotlight.  Cop out?  Maybe.  But we did it anyways.  And as fate had it, we ended up at a haunted house.  In April.  We parked for a minute to see if people were actually going to a haunted house the day before Easter.  And that's when some big freaky guy in stilts started walking towards us.  And yes, I totally over did it with the drama.  And yes, my shrieky giggle is pretty much the most embarrassing thing ever.




Literally one second after I had stopped recording that video - another creepy guy in stilts jumped at my window.  And I'm pretty sure I peed a little, you know, after I screamed bloody murder and buried my head in Shawn's armpit.  He scared the bloody bejeezies out of me.  We decided that was enough, and we didn't need to actually go in and see what an Easter haunted house was like.

We went home and I immediately put on my cozies.  And Shawn surprised me with a dozen beautiful roses he had been hiding in the closet, and I was elated.  Roses used to be his thing.  When we dated in high school, he'd give me roses every month, that matched the amount of months we had been together.  At some point, I think he thought he was over-doing it, and stopped.  So it was fun to get roses for a real anniversary.  Not just a monthaversary.



Then he pulled out 2 dozen eggs he had boiled - and I'm sure you can guess where it went from there.

Check out those fancy little plastic cups.  Genius.

Maw.

Shawn painted one of these.  Betcha can't guess which one.




Those marbly, tie-dye looking ones were my favorite.  Vegetable oil in dye, who knew?  We started getting kind of slap happy, because it was after midnight - and we're old fogies.  I cracked some really ridiculous joke, and Shawn said, "Funny joke!"  Except he pronounced the j like a Mexican - and said yoke.  And we both kind of sat there, and 10 seconds later I was like HAHAHAHAHAHA FUNNY YOLK?!  GET IT?!  We were both practically in tears because we thought we were so damn funny.  And that's about the time we decided we should probably go to bed.

The next morning, Easter - and our actual anniversary - Shawn woke up and hid every single last hard boiled egg, and told me I had to go find them.  And he'll never admit to hiding them, because he kept telling me it was the Easter Bunny.  And turns out the Easter Bunny got me an Easter basket.  But not Shawn.  Kind of an ass move, if you ask me.  Luckily the Bunny put some of Shawn's favorite candy into my basket - so it all worked out.  

We ended up watching a bunch of our wedding video with my family.  And the very last part of the video, still makes me cry literally every time I watch it.  


I usually lose it right there at the end.  So sweet.  I loved our wedding.

Overall, it was a good anniversary/Easter.  I love spending time with Shawn - and even though I'm dramatic, and stubborn, and hormonal, and my jokes are lame - my man still loves me, even after 8 years of knowing me.  I can't wait to spend an eternity more with him - I can't imagine ever being this happy without him.






Thursday, April 5, 2012

Nasty Fur Carpet, Presents, and My Super Irritating Uterus.

So, it's been a good solid month since I've given you a real update and not just posted picture's of my husband's butt crack.  I keep meaning to blog - but when I'm this far behind, it seems a bit more daunting. Mostly because I have the memory of a 93 year old, and can't really ever remember anything.  But I'll do my best.


-Last weekend Shawn and I decided to be spontaneous and go to a Jazz game after it had already started.  We bought tickets from a scalper, and got probably the worst seats in the entire arena.  We played the Kings, and everyone around us would boo when Jimmer got the ball.  Not Shawn.  He'd cheer 'til he was red in the face.  We were on the very top row, so it's fairly needless to say that the entire section turned around and stared at both of us.  A little embarrassing?  Sure.  We lost by one point.  One.  I don't think I've ever been to a Jazz game where they've won.  It was still fun, in any event.

-We finally bought a new vacuum.  The vacuum we got when we got married has been worthless as far as picking up dog fur.  I could literally pull up handfuls of Toby fur in our carpet.  It was disgusting.  So it's safe to assume that I've never been more excited to vacuum in my entire life.



That was what came out of our carpet.  The first picture was just from my office.  The second one was from the rug in our living room.  Nasty, right?  I can't even begin to imagine how clean my house would be if we had never gotten a dog.  Or how many shoes I'd still own.  I digress.

-(Warning: About to talk about my period.  Run!)  Remember how I went on birth control to get rid of a cyst on my ovary?  Well, after about a week of stopping the birth control, I still hadn't gotten a period. She had me take a pregnancy test, which was obviously negative, and start 10 days of a pill called Provera, that's supposed to induce a period.  When I've taken the drug in the past, it's always done its job just fine.  The longest it should take to start is two weeks after the last pill.  Well, 15 days after the last pill, it still hadn't started.  So naturally I'm losing my mind at this point.  Obsessively peeing on sticks on the off chance that I somehow managed to achieve an immaculate conception.  I called my nurse and she told me I'd need to come in and get a shot of progesterone.  That was a nice fun surprise shot right in my butt cheek.  Luckily my ass is fat enough that it didn't really hurt much.  Oddly enough, I'm pleased to inform you that the shot did it's job.  And I don't think I've ever been more excited for one of the most annoying parts of being a woman to show up.

-For my birthday, my husband/family had gotten me something that wasn't ready on my actual birthday.  It was something I had been wanting to do for a while - and I loved that he remembered.  He got my wedding dress professionally sealed and stored.  Or whatever it's called.  This picture doesn't really do it justice, but it's awesome - and I'm really happy with it!  Not to mention, super impressed that they fit my entire dress into a box.


He also got me a corner desk for my office - because I kept whining about how small and dinky the one I already had was.



-Our anniversary is on Easter this year.  So in other words, I'll be working on my anniversary and Easter.  Which kind of bums me out, because I was kind of hoping to be able to fly somewhere, you know, because I can.  But it doesn't look like that's going to be happening.  Earlier this week I mentioned maybe we could go camping for a night, which is not something I suggest often, if ever.  Especially for an anniversary.  But then my period started, and ain't no way in hell I'm sleeping in a tent during those fun times.  So we'll think of something.  We're still waiting for our freakin' mattress we bought for our anniversary to show up.  We have our queen size mattress sitting on the floor in our king size bed frame.  Not only does it look ridiculous - but it's 100 times harder to get out of bed than you'd think.


-My Bob allergies are getting better.  I think a lot of that has to do with our new vacuum.  But I still get sniffles and sneezes every once in a while.  Him and Toby get along... alright, I guess?  They have their occasional squabbles, where we have to separate them.  But I'm thinking (and hoping) that it's all in good fun.  Observe:


I've realized that the last 5 or so pictures I've posted on Facebook, have all been of Bob.  And that's a little, if not totally, embarrassing.  Some day I'll have children to exploit on my blog and Facebook.  And by exploit, I obviously mean a much nicer word that I can't think of now.

-Speaking of Bob, he got neutered yesterday.  And usually when he's in our room at night, he swats at and bites our feet - but he cuddled with us the entire night last night.  Balls, who needs 'em?

-And speaking of exploiting people on the internet, I finally figured found out what my husband's limit is to what I can post of him on the internet.  I secretly recorded him bustin' out some Gloria Gaynor in the car, and it was priceless blog material.  And when I begged him for permission to put it on my blog - because yes, I ask him before I post incriminating pictures/videos/stories on the internet, much to probably everyone's surprise - he wouldn't budge.  He refused to let me post it.  I still have it though, even after he tried to delete it off my phone, and that's all that matters.  Leverage, baby. 

-I just watched the last episode of One Tree Hill ever.  And I'm a little bit depressed.  Nothing a few Coconut Dreams can't fix though.


After that last bullet, it's blatantly obvious that I've hit a wall.  I literally cannot think of anything blog-worthy that's happened since the last update.  And you know when I start blogging about TV, that I'm getting desperate.  I'm sure I'll think of stuff as soon as I hit 'Publish'...  You know, or I won't.  It's just whatever.



Happy Thursday, Internet.