So.

Many of you suggested, after reading my last post, something along the lines of:  for crissakes you freaking ass clown, why don’t you go to a normal SPA instead of this craziness with ‘massage therapists’ who leave giant bruises all over you??

Well, you all said it much nicer than that, but that’s probably what I would have said after reading someone’s post about the burly body worker from HELL.

So that’s what we did on Saturday. BeBop and I went to a real live, reputable, not-Mother-recommended Japanese-style spa in San Francisco.  (And at this point I will NOT be telling you that part of the traditional Japanese-style spa experience includes an all-nude bath house portion, where patrons loll about in their skin suits and partake in the steam room, sauna and jacuzzi tubs.  This will NOT be discussed because unfortunately for me, and my husband Saturday was men’s day which meant that BeBop had the opportunity to participate in the above-mentioned extras, which he did, following his massage.  And I’m sure you can imagine the atmosphere in an all-male bath house in the heart of San Francisco. Do I have to draw you a picture?  No?  Good.  Because I’m not sure I would know how to draw that.  Let’s just say it wasn’t exactly BeBop’s scene, in that he prefers women to men in a sexual sense and we’ll just leave it at that.  But like I said I cannot discuss this portion of the morning because he would never forgive me.) (He did not go into details, only to say it was ‘cruisey.’  Which sounds perf if you are a gay man, but for a straight married dude?  NOT SO MUCH.)

Now that I’m done NOT telling you how BeBop practically had his towel welded to his body in that bath house, I can share with you the treatment I had…it’s called a Lular body treatment, and I actually had the same one done at the same spa five years go, the day before we got married.

It’s a traditional Indonesian ritual used in the islands of Bali and Java to prepare a woman for her wedding.  Which is why when a friend offered to treat me to a Lular massage before my wedding, I happily accepted her most generous offer.

The sad funny part about the last time I had this treatment done, it was the day before my wedding.  So if you do the math, it was approximately ten weeks after my scheduled wedding which, as most of you already know, we had to cancel after September 11th. So, in those intervening ten weeks, I managed to successfully drink almost all of the wine we’d planned on serving our 125 guests in Yosemite. 

Cases and CASES of wine, people!  It seemed like each night after work and a grueling commute, I was opening yet another bottle. Bottle after bottle after BOTTLE.  And BeBop would just roll his eyes, knowing better than to say anything to me.

And the night before the night before our wedding, (which a NORMAL person would write as ‘two nights before…’) which was the night before my Lular, my stomach was so upset all I could do was shovel fistful after fistful of sour dough bread down my gullet.  Even though BeBop’s parents were in town for the ceremony and took us to a delicious seafood restaurant, the only food I could see was that bread in that YOU BETTER KEEP IT COMING MOTHER EFFER bread basket.

So, the following day when I disrobed in preparation for my relaxing and rejuvenating spa treatment, I gasped at the horrific vision that stared back at me in the mirror. 

Seriously.

In case you’re wondering, ten weeks of a Chardonnay and Merlot diet plus one night of a sour dough eating frenzy can make a girl bloat up like one of those air mattresses you keep in the closet for overnight guests.  Just FYI.

So annnyyyywayyyy….long story even LONGER, this time around–a little over five years later–I didn’t have exactly the same reaction when I disrobed. I’ve managed to shed some of that poor-me-I-had-to-cancel-my-wedding-and-proceeded-to-drink-the-next-two-and-a-half-months-away figure.

In addition to the slightly improved body image issues (although?  As a quick aside, I did recently share my photo with a reader and felt compelled to add a disclaimer saying I’d lost some of the extra poundage and mention that IF I could look like Nicole Richie and STILL be able to bear children and walk upright unassisted I would totally do it, so I guess all is NOT well on this issue…).

But this weekend, I felt like I was in a very different (read:  better) place than I was five years ago.  And I was anxious to experience this treatment again and this time, instead of focusing on how depressed I was and frick! I am getting married in a day and I will most certainly look like Free Willie in a veil, I focused my energy on starting our IVF cycle.  It was, in a weird way, sort of a full circle moment.

The Lular treatment begins with a luxurious massage with Jasmine Frangipani scented flower oil and continues with Lulur, a tumeric and rice skin scrub applied lightly to exfoliate and sweeten the skin. After the skin has been cleansed, your body is pampered with a traditional yogurt application and an exotic flower bath.

(And yes, I copied that from some spa’s website.)

But it’s a lovely and very relaxing process and the point is to prepare you for a major life transition, so I thought it was just the perfect way to spend a Saturday. No healers who belch on you, claiming to be releasing your toxins (YEAH RIGHT), no healers talking to angels and zapping you with mysterious machines, no 6′ 4" body workers pressing on you with all their strength, asking about your bowel movements and berating you for not expressing your emotions in a more positive way.

After the treatments (and BeBop had recovered from his I’m straight and very accepting of the gay lifestyle but would prefer not to spend time in a clothes free all male bath house environment, thankyouverymuch experience) we went to lunch.  He ordered his much-loved Pho, and when he discovered that his MUCH much-loved fish sauce was at the bottom of the bowl under the noodles and the lettuce and the veggies and the meat, he remarked that he had to toss his own salad.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA,"  he chortled. "I have to TOSS  MY OWN SALAD!" he said, cracking himself up.

I did not think this was appropriate given his experience earlier that morning.

And then, in typical BeBop fashion, he pointed his chopsticks at an egg roll and said [to the EGG ROLL], "You’re going downtown.  You’re going downtown to Chinatown," and shoved the entire thing in his mouth.

And that?  That’s a pretty typical day in the Watson/BeBop universe. (Except for the bath house part.)  (Except that I never mentioned THAT in the first place so just forget I said anything.)

Ahem.  Moving on…

Coming soon: 

Our First Lupron Shot:  Not Very Much Fun, But Not So Bad Either

Subtitled:

I Don’t Think I’m Experiencing Any Side Effects Yet But I Did Threaten That When I Discovered Who Took Today’s Chronicle From The Kitchen I Would Kick Them In The Balls

by Watson

And?

Screw you, John Mayer…with your silly songs that make me cry (I’m lookin’ at YOU Daughters) and your Jessica Simpson-dating and your bushy hair.

Can you tell I’m ultra cranky today?  Or as BeBop would say, "who’s wearing her extra tight cranky pants today?" with a silly grin on his face, making me want to smack him in the face with a pair of red hot kitchen tongs.

My body is having its very own nervous breakdown.  It’s just sort of falling apart, with a weird AF a week ago and insomnia and crazy emotions that run the gamut from pissed off to homicidal and back again, all within about a ten-minute span of time.

If I had to, say, name cartoon characters after my last period, they would be called Bright Red and Super Clotty.

Why in fuck’s name would you be naming cartoon characters after your last period, you ask?

That is a good question. Can I get back to you on that one? I’m still working out the details.  The overall idea is good, but I’m a little concerned about the back-end deal for merchandise.

I’m thinking Bright Red is an ironic name, so she’s the air headed character always running out of tampons even though SHE NEEDS THEM EVERY MONTH.  She has a kicky little cape that protects her from evil doers.

And Super Clotty is just a computer whiz who helps her partner solve crimes in the big, bad city.  She is yin to Bright Red’s yang, if you will.  But since I just had this brainstorm, I need a little more time to develop the characters and write a good story arc.  Hey!  If those Lost guys can get that nonsensical tripe on TV, why not this??

(If you have any bril ideas for story lines, feel free to send them my way. I’ll be sure to give you a co-executive producer credit when this thing takes off!!)

GAWD.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, complaining…what else is new??

I have so many medications to pick up, I keep forgetting what I’ve put in the prescription for and what still has to be gotten. (Awkward grammar, party of one!)

I went to the pharmacy today to pick up my next pack of pills, my new super strength Folic Acid and more Folgard.  And to drop off my prescription for Medrol. (Still don’t really know what in the h-e-double hockey sticks THAT does.)

The pharmacist made me have a consult, even though I mumbled that I already take all of this stuff, lying through my teeth. I think  when she looked at my list of meds she saw the fifty frillion different drugs I’ve ordered or refilled in the last few months.

The pharmacist looked at the Folgard and the folic acid and asked why I was taking them? 

Aren’t YOU the frigging expert? I snarled.  "Ummmm, well, I have this marker thing for something that, er, well, my doctor recommended the Folgard to help me, assimilate? Or, absorb maybe? more folic acid," I stammered.

"Oh, so you’re expecting?" she asked with a gleeful expression on her face.

Since there were fourteen people in line directly behind me, totally ignoring the privacy mat they are supposed to stay behind YOU STUPID ASSHATS, I whispered, "Well, I’m hoping to be expecting soon…"

"Oh! How lovely," she remarked. And then? 

AND THEN SHE SPOTTED THE PACK OF BIRTH CONTROL PILLS.

It was as if I had just asked her for a stool sample or something.  She practically keeled over.

"Oh," she said, her tenor totally changing from the other oh. "Then why are you…are you aware that these are oral contraceptives?" she asked like I was mistakenly let out of the halfway house on a special pass.

(In retrospect, I totally should have started screaming, "WHAT? You mean I’ve been trying to get knocked up for FOUR years and all I had to do was stop taking these pills?" and flung myself up over the counter and embraced her, doing a little victory dance of sorts.  But I’m just not that quick.)

So in front of the now 15 people standing behind me, I start stammering about how they are part of the protocol for the beginning stages of IVF and blah blah blah. 

So after I completed that little exercise in humiliation, I returned to work to discover that I am spotting. Spotting! (As in, I did not get the memo I would be needing the assistance of a panty liner today goddamn it.) And it’s only CD9 and when I called Dr. Z’s office the nurse said that with the low dose pill I’m on that’s totally normal.

Really?  Thanks for sharing.  Does this mean I will be bleeding for the next several weeks?

Not to put too fine a point on it (and I don’t even really know what that means) but THIS FUCKING BLOWS.

And in other news from the Watson/BeBop stronghold?  BeBop presented me with a blue Tiffany box last night. I almost peed myself!  I have never received the lovely blue box with the tasteful white ribbon in the classic blue bag.

And what, you may ask, was in the blue box tied with the white ribbon tucked into the blue bag?

A silver baby’s rattle. A sterling silver teething ring rattle, but not one you’d ever actually give the little brat. More of a keepsake, I guess.

Was I shocked?  Yes. Was I hoping for a pair of earrings or a bracelet?  I’m not gonna lie, I am a bitch and YES, I was hoping for some Valentine’s Day bling.

But it was a very sweet gesture and yes, it did creep me out a little, I’ll admit.  Like a sterling silver, engrave-able jinx, but I’m trying to get over that part and just see it as the thoughtful, optimistic and sweet gesture that it was.

And that is all, my friends.  That is all.  Until next time, when I finally pull my head out of my ass and finish the totally boring story of the body worker from hell, which is now SO totally over-hyped I’m afraid of even blogging about it!

Two quick things:

No! 

THREE, three quick things. 

And I’m working on the latest installment of Meet The Crazy Healer Guy/I Will Get You For This, Mom which I will post soon.  With photographic evidence, thanks to Reality, who is just sick enough to ask for photos of my bruises. God love her!

#1:  BeBop was freaking finally offered a permanent position at Super Dream Company!  They made him the offer last week and now he’s just waiting for the official paperwork. Said paperwork comes with…drum roll please…insurance with some IF coverage!  Amazing, really.

#2:  I went shopping for my IVF outfit.  Am I the only person who has done this?  Can’t be.  I used my upcoming procedures as an excuse to go here and buy a kicky pants/jacket matching ensemble and some cute t-shirts. Some t-shirts with inspiring messages scrawled across the front (like ‘breathe’) because Lord knows I will need all the help I can get when it comes to the retrieval and transfer.

#3:  I am proud to announce the winner of the Name That Category Contest.  But before I do, let me say AGAIN you people are frackin HI-larious!  Your suggestions had me cracking up, and it’s hard to bring levity to the subject of IVF but you all managed to do it, so thank you. It was a difficult decision, but the winner is…

the lovely and talented SERENITY! 

Her entry:  Leggo My Embryo just had me cracking up. It’s clever and kitschy and I’m totally stealing it, unless of course she’s decided that holy crap, it IS clever and kitschy and she wants it back. 

Serenity, as the grand prize winner, you have your choice of the following:

*  The half-used box of OPKs I promised.  (And by this I don’t mean half-peed- on, I mean I have 3-4 unused OPKs left over, just to be clear.  Since even between us bloggers, sharing bodily fluids is a little weird.) Although since I cannot imagine you needing these, I am generous enough to offer you two alternatives. 

[I know!  Sit down, my friend, or you may get dizzy from excitement.]

*   The super secret upside down Martini glass thingey I wrote about here. It is a small, laminated card with this crazy symbol on it (courtesy of my MOTHER, of course!) that is supposed to increase your fertility.  Please note it has not worked for me, obvi, but maybe it will do the trick for you!

*  A surprise gift of my choice (choose this one.  Definitely this one).

Now, winning this contest comes with a challenge, which is that if you decide to claim your prize, it means I will be sending you said prize, provided you feel comfortable sharing your mailing address with me. 

Granted, this is risky.  (But often high risk brings with it big reward, my young Padawan.)  I will know where you live or work (unless, of course, you determine this might be a good time to get yourself a P.O. box which is not a bad idea) but I promise you that I will not  1) share your address with anyone, especially my creepy neighbor who I suspect is just looking for someone to stalk; 2) sell it to some mail order company who will deluge you with Land’s End catalogs for the next seventeen years; or 3) show up unannounced at your home or place of business screaming "cyclesistah I AM HERE…let us embrace!"

(Although I would do this last one if invited and if you had wine.)

Okaaayyyy, moving on…either comment or e-mail me directly with your decision, I know it’s a toughie. 

And to everyone else, again, thank you thank you thank you — you people ROCK.

A:  Refuse to pay her.

BOOOOO.

That’s bad even for ME and I have frighteningly low standards. In case you haven’t noticed…

But seriously, how DO you make all of these hormones required for the IVF cycle??  My GAWD people, the drawing up of fluid and the powders and the vials and the syringes, OH MY.

I just about fell off my chair when I read through all of my instructions from Dr. Z.  Is this puzzling and overwhelming for everyone just starting her first cycle, or is it me?

If it’s me, you can tell me…

I am hoping that from the outset it all looks very scary and confusing and quite painful, but once you’re in full swing it all falls into place and starts making sense.

Is this what happens?  IS IT?!?!?  [shouted in quaky voice with veins bulging in neck.] [Not a pretty sight, I might add.]

I feel like crap today and I’ve only taken one birth control pill. ONE. I have taken one little teeny tiny baby step in this process and I already feel like my body can’t take it.

PA-THETIC.

I was whining and flailing around in the kitchen today at work, all flustered and pale and suffering from a migraine.  Always the drama queen, it was obvious to anyone within a five-mile radius I was ill.

But you know those people who just cannot let you be ill?  They just have to share in your misery and steal your thunder?  God I hate those people.

The annoying super nerd guy in my office  came into the kitchen, took one look at me and said, "Oh are you sick?? I feel terrible too. I think I have the SAME thing!"

"Really?" I snorted in response.  "So you recently grew a faulty uterus and a bunch of marginal-at-best eggs??  And even though you want more than ANYTHING to be pregnant you started the birth control pill last night?? Because if the answer to that is NO, then I highly doubt you have the same affliction I do!"

That shut him up.

So I am taking to my bed chamber…flouncy nightie and marabou-trimmed slippers and all, to wait out this headache.  And hope that this isn’t the start of a very, very long few weeks.

And coming soon…the winner of the Name This IVF Cycle Category Contest. 

You people crack me up. Thank you for bringing some levity to this whole thing.  What would I do without you?

Or:

Kotex:  I Wish I Could Quit You

And I know, one minute I’m complaining that my period isn’t here, the next I’m complaining that it is.

What can I say?  I’m fickle.  I am a total pain in the ass. Keep up people!

Today is most assuredly CD1.  Last Sunday – false alarm!  My bad.

I am sure because not too long ago I got that not so fresh feeling DOWN THERE and sprinted down the hall to the ladies room.  As I commandeered the wrapping and the stickers and the wings, I thought:  This bites.  And then?  Think positively!  Maybe this will be your last period for a LONG time!

For those of you who asked, yes, I do take the natural progesterone tablets to stave off my period and try to have a luteal phase of close to 14 days.  But usually after about 12 or 13 days, my AF stares deep into the eyes of those all-natural, hippy-dippy, Patchouli-wearing progesterone tabs and says:

Bitches, PLEASE!

I am AF and I come when I’m good and ready so back that ass up and get out of my way.

And the Battle of Plimbo ends shortly thereafter.  My period wins every time.

This whole progesterone deal stirred up a lot of interest, mostly because per usual I did a half-assed job of explaining what in the flingin’ flangin’ hell I was talking about in my last post.

I snorted Diet Pepsi out my nose when I read Faith’s comment:

When you say "cramming progesterone tabs down my gullet" I hope you mean you’re cramming them up your cookie. I actually know a women that swallowed them b/c no one told her where they belonged…

SERIOUSLY?!?

I shouldn’t laugh because that WOULD be something I would do, but thankfully that little pearl is not about me.  My acupuncturist recommends an all-natural form of progesterone, which comes in tiny little pills.  As soon as you ovulate, you take three of the pills three times a day.  You bite them in half (which is no easy task because they’re teeny tiny), let them sit under your tongue for a few minutes and then swallow them.

And even though they’re all natural, they actually do work.  Before I started taking them, my luteal phase was only 10 days long.  Now, I start spotting around 11 or 12DPO, but I can usually stay in Plimbo long enough to have a real, Big Girl luteal phase of 13 or 14 days. 

And speaking of the lovely Faith, head on over there to wish her luck — her transfer is tomorrow. Go Faith!

Her account of the PIO shots made me literally quake with fear, and I know in a few short weeks I’ll be screaming for my hippy alternative progesterone tabs and wishing I could just make do with them.

Is it wrong that I totally do not trust BeBop to administer my shots?  Because I. Do. Not. Trust. Him.

Even now, he grins with this evil little smile and makes stabbing motions towards me while laughing this hyena (or is it a jackal?)-type laugh when we talk about the injections.  It does not instill a lot of confidence in me.

I mean, we do share a sick sense of humor.  Last weekend Saturday Night Live had a sketch about a wife slowly poisoning her husband with Dioxin.  (They were in therapy, discussing it.)  At one point the husband remarked how his wife put ‘Dioxin’ on the shopping list, which was fairly passive aggressive, he told the therapist. (Since she was trying to KILL him and all…) And you sort of had to see the skit but the POINT IS

On Sunday I put a shopping list on the fridge for BeBop consisting of the following items:

1. Paper Towels

2. Eggs

3.  Dioxin

4.  Milk

Now I think it’s safe to say I have a sick sense of humor if I am putting a toxic poison on our shopping list,  just like the wife did in that sketch.

But my sense of humor fails me completely when it comes to him gleefully anticipating what it will be like to stab me in the ass with an inch and-a-half long needle filled with PIO!

But here we go anyway, despite my crazy anxiety and overall sense of freakoutedness.

I am IN CYCLE. TAA DAA.

And here’s where you come in, I need your help.

As I mentioned, I want to change the name of this category (IVF#1) to something a little more upbeat and positive.  I thought of IVF#1:  My One And Only but that makes me think of a sappy Marisa Tomei/Robert Downy, Jr. movie from the late 1980s and after that I’m fresh out of good ideas.

IVF#1:  Fo’ Shizzle

IVF#1:  Something To Pass The Time Until Britney Gets Pregnant Again

IVF#1:  Can Jack Bauer Be Called In To Help With This Mission?

IVF#1:  Tortuously Slow Countdown To The Infamous Baby File Of Doom

IVF#1:  Or As I Like To Call It, Hall Pass Excusing Me From Sex

See?!  OUT OF GOOD IDEAS.

So please send your suggestions.  The winner will receive a prize. A good one too!  In addition to the honor of knowing each time I write any worthless drivel over the next couple of months said drivel will bear your creative mark, I will also send the winner a leftover box of OPKs.  I think there are still 4-5 left in there and we all know in the IF business, a few free pee sticks is nothing to sneeze at.  Something more to pee on (YAY!  WE HEART THE STICK-PEEING!!)  but nothing to sneeze at.

So I have managed to screw up my very first IVF cycle before it has even begun.

And don’t you DARE steal my idea for the next new hot Christmas toy: 

My Very First IVF Cycle Dollie. 

She will be a slightly full figured gal (What?  It’s the PCOS) with hair growing out of her nipples that you can trim and then IT GROWS RIGHT BACK and legs that bend slightly back and OUT to fit perfectly onto the medical table with freezing cold metal stirrups that she comes with.  And a thin drape that cannot be tied closed.  And a speculum that comes in plastic or a heavy metal composite which is the super fancy one, the one you beg for on your birthday. And some pretend needles and vials and a super chic medical waste container and GOOD GRIEF, am I really the first person to have such a brainstorm?  Inconceivable!  OH!  Maybe that’s what her nickname will be!

I have had too much caffeine today. Where was I?

Oh yeah.  The fuckery that has already started…

My friends, I am plimbo again. You know, period limbo.  As in, even though I have been cramming progesterone tabs down my gullet like a crazy woman, I thought for sure AF was arriving yesterday.  So like a compliant IVF cycler (cyclist?  cyclee??) I called and set up my whole schedule for the next two months. I was supposed to start my BCPs tonight,  but my period still hasn’t really started, if catch my flow.  Which? If you do, please send it back this way because I don’t know what the hell is going on around here.

WHERE IS MY PERIOD?

WHY CAN’T I BE LIKE ALL THE OTHER GIRLS? ARE YOU THERE GOD, IT’S ME MARGARET.

I have a whole set up going now, with appointments in March for the estradiol and then later the prolactin and that other insidious battery of tests that made me keel over.  I have, like, a whole deal that is based on a CD1 being today and it’s just not working out. 

I even have BeBop’s appointment set up so he can deposit his Emergency Seed Popsicle.

"In case you have stage fright," I e-mailed him.

"Not likely," he huffed back and even though it’s hard to pick up huffiness over e-mail I totally know he was huffy about my insinuation that when the big moment arrives he’ll freeze up.

Now all of these appointments rest on the assumption that my period actually starts before the end of the day, or we’ll have to go back and rearrange everything.

Which is not the end of the world, it’s just disconcerting that I could be screwing things up before I even get started…bodes well? I think not.

I am also working on a post about the alleged body worker my Mother sent me to yesterday.  I literally have huge, thumb-sized bruises all over my body. I look like a friggin’ Dalmatian.

And that’s my Monday. 

How are you?

And PS, I think I am going to change the name of this category from IVF #1:  I’m Just Not That Into You because I feel like it sets a somewhat negative tone.  I wouldn’t want to piss off Cycle #1  and have it fail me, just to be a bitch. 

I think I will rename it:  IVF #1: It’s Hammer Time. 

Why this?  you ask.  Because I felt the lyric I need $50 to make you holler from Tone Loc’s ‘Wild Thing’ made that an inappropriate choice.  DUH.