Okay, first things first.

Because I love the wonderful Bea over at Infertile Fantasies, and because she asked so nicely, I have included my SHOT-TASTIC video diaries ("An Idiot’s Guide to Injectibles") in her International Infertility Film Festival.

It’s on March 31st, so go on over and take a looksy.  I can assure you far more talented film makers (and I use that term loosely when applied to myself!) than I will be submitting their works of art, so enjoy!

http://infertilityfilmfestival.blogspot.com/

And secondly, on a totally different rant:

I might have spoken too soon.  It pains me to admit that, but it might be true.

Many of you know of my deep and abiding hatred of those cutesy, message-boardy ways of describing our TTC journeys.  I think Sarah over at For The Flavor shares this feeling. (Although she’s probably not half as bitchy as I am about it.)  And no offense to anyone who finds comfort or support in those things, but to say they’re not my cup of tea is an understatement.

("TTC" — See! I just did it myself. It’s insidious!  It just gets inside your cerebral cortex and you can’t help yourself. It’s like the plague.)

I cannot express my irritation, back in the bad old days before I found blogging, at the saccharin, infantile ways of describing things: The BD’ing with your DH.  Baby-dancing?!  BLECH.  Are we in the third grade for crissakes? And ‘dear husband’?  I call BeBop lots of things but dear husband is rarely one of them.  (It might stand for Dick Head but that’s an entirely different post.)

And I’ve mentioned in an earlier post how instead of calling it BD’ing, in our house it was more likely to be shortened to:  AYFKMIJAAHB.

(Are You Freaking Kidding Me I Just Ate A Huge Burrito. Which BeBop would mutter with dismay when I announced that according to TCYF, my BBT was about to rise and I was close to O’ing so we simply must make the sexy time and NOW.)

(See!  I sometimes can’t help myself. GAWD. Kill me now.)

And don’t even get me started on that damn baby dust or those frackin’ sticky vibes. Usually, I feel compelled to take that baby dust, attach it to a 2′ x 4′ with sticky vibes and then shove the entire thing up your A-ESS-ESS.

LOL  🙂 

[Insert sarcasm here]

The little smiley-face emoticons that people use throughout their posts make me want vomit.  And the animated boxes at the bottom, with messages like "think positive" with Eeyore blinking at me with purple eyes, or the cartoon with Belle reminding me that "A dream is a wish my heart makes…"

THANKS.  Thanks for reminding me, Belle, that a dream is a wish my heart makes. I must have fucking-a forgotten THAT little gem, what with all the TTC’ing and the BBT’ing and the BD’ing.

And excuse me while I throw up a little in my mouth.

But!

I may have made a grave error, and now I need your help.  With my Beta mere days away, I am now thinking that I need all the help I can get. So I am willing to go to the dark side (or the frilly pink side with some extra lace on it for good measure) if it will help me get some good news.

I have turned over a new, clover-shaped leaf. I am willing to ask for baby dust with a side of sticky vibes.  I would spice up this entry with a jumping, arm-waving smiley-face if I knew how to do it.

And I need your help.  (Because ruhhly, what’s a post from Watson without me asking for something??)

In the comments section, please send me the most outrageous, sickeningly sweet TTC help you can think of.

I’m looking for baby dust to come out of my cornhole, people. 

I’m going for rainbow-colored unicorns dancing on clouds of marshmallows. I’m going for teddy bears sitting next to a chocolate lake with cookies for rafts.  And puff pastry shells covered in sticky vibes and raspberry sauce.

Get the picture? Can you help me out??  Purty please with cinnamon sugar and gummy bears on top?

So, the transfer…what a CRAZY experience.

Soon after we arrived in Dr. Z’s office, I came back to the waiting room after using the restroom. I sat down next to BeBop and he practically shouted in my ear: "DO YOU KNOW THIS ONLY HAS A 20% CHANCE OF WORKING?" he shrieked, "DID YOU KNOW THIS??"

I swear it was almost an episode out of Homicide: Life in the Fertility Doctor’s Office.

"Why would you say that to me?" I shouted, but in a whisper, as only us girls can do. "Why would you SAY THAT to me NOW??" I demanded. BeBop had just read part of an article about Dr. Z posted on the wall, and apparently it freaked him out and turned him into The World’s Worst Husband.

"I SWEARTOFRICKINGGOD," I whisper/shouted through clenched teeth, "I will find something sharp and stab you to death if you continue with this." Moments later he apologized, claiming he had only read part of the article and how those stats did not pertain to me. Quick thinking on his part.

(Although I would have waited to kill him until after he’d given his sample.  I’m not a total idiot.)

                                                *** *** *** ***

[Note:  If for any reason you prefer not to read about the genetic testing and the results, please just skip this part. I talk about how many of the embryos were not viable and why, and I don’t want to upset anyone who’s suffered a loss and might not care to read about this stuff.]

After a long wait we were ushered in to Dr. Z’s office where we heard the results of our pre-implantation genetic testing, or PGD. To be perfectly honest, I was not a fan of the PGD to begin with. No moral or ethical issues, I just thought this whole IVF process is already so scientific, so medical. For me, there wasn’t much room left for fate, or faith, or whatever you want to call it. It seemed so science fiction-y to genetically test the embryos before transferring them. But once the doctor recommended that we do it, mostly because of my age (39), BeBop and I decided we had come this far, we might as well go all the way.

So, just to review: we had a total of 27 eggs retrieved. 22 matured and 19 fertilized. So we had 19 embryos that were tested using the PGD. Normally he would expect about 35% (or 6) of these to be ‘normal.’ Of the 19 that were tested, we had 9 that were normal, which Dr. Z said was great. Even better, 14 were Grade 1 and 5 were a Grade 2. On Day 5 (transfer day) we one 8-cell, 1 morula, 2 EBs, 3 blasts and 1 X-blast.

Here’s the amazing thing: As I said, we had 9 that were chromosomally normal. That means we had 10 that were not. (I know!  I like totally inherited some super awesome MATH GENE along the way!!) 

Had we not done the PGD, it would have been a total crap shoot deciding which ones to transfer, because they were all graded so highly. Of the ten that were designated abnormal, we had a couple with trisomy 15, a couple with monosomy (21,22,16,20, etc.) and a couple that were considered ‘complex abnormal.’ Three were in this category, actually. Keep in mind these abnormal embryos were all graded 1-2, and all were still growing as of that morning. Again, total crap shoot without the testing since we had so many to choose from.

Hearing the good news that we had 9 normal embies (that were now almost all blasts! — Dr. Z said it was in the 98th percentile! We were like the Valedictorians of Embryos!) we were faced with a really, really difficult decision: Did we want to put back two or three?

A voice in my head all morning had been saying, TWO. TWO. ONLY DO TWO. So it was with some dismay that I learned both the doctor and BeBop wanted to do three. Dr. Z left us to discuss the matter, and my bottom line was this: I did not want to use three. I did not want to hope that only two took and one didn’t. I just didn’t want that stress after everything we’ve already been through. I wanted to use two, and just spend the next ten days hoping and praying that both implant and stick around for the long haul.

Thankfully, BeBop respected how strongly I felt about this, and he agreed that transferring the two best would be a good plan. So one was a Grade 1 Blast, and one was a Grade 1 X-Blast. And we have four frozen, but here’s hoping we don’t need them (at least not anytime in the near future!).

                                          *** *** *** ***

Several of you asked about the infusion I had Thursday, the day before the transfer. Basically, my doctor is very into all things immunological, and how this can affect fertility. Before my cycle, my Natural Killer Cells were tested. Dr. Z wanted to make sure I didn’t have antibodies which would kill off a healthy embryo. (I’m no docta, but even I know that would be bad.) At first, my numbers were fine. After the stims, my numbers were slightly elevated, which is seen in a lot of patients.

I imagine it’s like my rather lazy killer cells have just been hanging around all these years, eating Hot Pockets and trying to sneak into R rated movies. 

HA!  They would scoff each month. Like THOSE ovaries are going to do much.  We can totally hang out.  Pass me a Tab?

And then all of a sudden with the stims and my follicles finally getting off their asses to produce some eggs, the killer cells were like bumping into each other Three Stooges-style and yelling, Holy Crap!  It’s getting hot in herrrrr.  Put down that Hot Pocket and look for any foreign invaders, STAT!

(And yes.  That concludes today’s After School Special entitled Your Maturing Body.)

So, just to be safe, he had me do an IV infusion of Immunoglobulin (or IVIG). This is a sterile protein preparation derived from human blood. You can imagine how thrilled I was to learn that a by-product of human blood was going to be injected directly into my veins… Yeah.

Not so much.

(I’ll swallow unidentifiable Chinese herbs by the bucket-full, gag down bottles of a mysterious, mud-like brown liquid a Haitian psychic gave to my Mother but SOMEONE ELSE’S BLOOD?? Good grief Charlie Brown.  Not my scene.)

Supposedly, the IVIG supplies blocking antibodies that can protect a pregnancy from rejection. And, it can act as a sponge to absorb and neutralize antibodies and some Natural Killer Cells (which? AWESOME name for a rock band, no??) that can attack the implanting placenta. So Dr. Z sent me to this office where they can do four of these IVIGs at one time. I sat in a comfy recliner, and was hooked up to an IV.

Three hours later, I was done. Two bottles of someone’s (hopefully) fully screened and given-a-clean-bill-of-health blood by-products were coursing through my veins. Still makes me a little faint to think about, to tell you the truth…

If I get a BFP, they will check the numbers again and I might have to continue going for the infusions. Some patients go monthly for much of their pregnancy.

So, there’s the story of my PGD and the IVIG infusion, as promised. 

Now, seriously:

WHEN CAN I PEE ON A FRICKIN’ STICK??

Thank you for your wonderful, supportive comments.

Things went very well on Friday:  we transferred two beautiful embryos, both Grade 1. 

One was a blast, the other was an X-Blast. 
And of course we forgot what the ‘X’ stood for and have been calling it the X-TREME Blast ever since.  Sounds more like a new treat at Dairy Queen than a possible future baby, but there you go!

I will post more about both the PGD (the pre-implantation genetic testing they did) and the infusion I had last week, because several of you have e-mailed me about it and in my last post I was sadly lacking in the details department.

(What? Friends don’t let friends blog after a four-hour infusion of somebody else’s immunoglobulin!!)

So here you go:

And BeBop worked a little of his magic on this one, which he sent to his parents. So, yes. Now my in-laws have been up close and personal with my uterus, my cervix and my VERY full bladder.  How nice.

(In case you can’t read it, he helpfully added:  Walker & Texas Ranger right here!)

Okay, I give.

I am not a natural blond. 

Man you guys are good, with all your "I pictured you with brown hair" comments.  I have very mousy, dishwatery brown hair naturally so I highlight it on a regular basis. So there. 

But on a serious note (and yes, from time to time I have those!) THANK YOU. 

Thank you, thank you.  A million times thank you.

For everyone who left me a comment (especially those of you who de-lurked for the first time) bless you.  I would say I owe you my first born — THAT’S how grateful I am — but since it’s so hard to frigging hard to achieve that, my enduring gratitude will probably have to suffice.

I was literally catatonic with fear about posting those videos to YouTube and even more nervous about including the links here and hitting publish. 

It’s scary as hell to ‘come out’ like that.

But your nice, sweet and very supportive comments made it all worth it.  And because I’m emboldened now with a false sense of self from all those nice words (think Sally Field:  "you like me…you really like me!"), I’m thinking of posting another video about the PIO shots.

I know, I can hear the response already:

Awwwwww…cripes, Watson!  We’re gonna get sick of you and your dyed blondish hair and your silly attempts at humor.  Enough already!

 

                                                                    ***   ***   ***  ***

Moving on.

Does this sound familiar?

Him:  Come on, let’s do it now!

Me:  Wha? No!  I wanna watch American Idol.  I want to see what that kid Sanjaya is doing with his hair tonight.

Him: Let’s just do it quickly, it will be over before you know it.

Me:  Okay.

[a few minutes later…]

Me:  IS IT IN?  Is it all the way in?  I can’t feel it!

Him:  It’s in, don’t worry.

Me:  I am worried!  Are you sure it’s all the way in?  Pull it out a little!

Him:  Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.

Me: You never know what you’re doing!  Hurry up already!  Is it out? Are you finished?  I couldn’t even really feel it!!

Him: Why are you crying?

Me: I’m not crying crying, I’m just so relieved it’s over.

 

                                                                    ***   ***   ***  ***

WHAT?  It’s what happened the other night when BeBop and I started the PIO shots. 

(What were you thinking of, you dirty birds?)

I iced my ass (and really, how often do you get to say that?!) for about 10 minutes, and then although we had to use a 1.5 " long needle, it was pretty thin.  It stung a little, but it was not that bad.  I also sat on a heating pad for about 30 minutes after the injection and although it does hurt a little today, it was not as bad as I imagined.

Of course that was first one, so check back in a few weeks and it might be an entirely different story…

 

                                                                     ***   ***   ***  ***

Today was my IVIG infusion, followed by an acupuncture session.  Three hours of an IV followed by an hour more of needles. Super fun!  Now I’m waiting for the final PGD report and tomorrow is The Big Day.

Let’s hope it’s actually another Big Day in a long line of Big Days to come.

And don’t say I didn’t warn you. 

But here it is. 

Go.  Look.  Laugh.

#1:  I wanted to have a clever sign-off like "Seacrest OUT!" but BeBop wouldn’t let me.  He said it was beyond lame.  "Too late. " I said, "that ship has clearly sailed…"

Entry #1

#2:  There goes my future Senate career.

Entry #2

#3:  Despite a chilling resemblance (in the eye socket area) I am NOT the Runaway Bride.  I swear.

Entry #3

And just added:  Entry #4

                                             ***   ***   ***  ***

In case the above links don’t work and why the fricking FRICK am I making this humiliation ANY EASIER??!

#1:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NkzSc9hyH2Q

#2:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tEVqR_Sx2aw

#3:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uDMHLgjWB4s

27

That’s how many eggs Dr. Z plucked from my follicles this morning.

But Watson!  You only had 24 freaking follies.  What the HELL?

I guess I had some ‘sleeper follicles’ that Dr. Z had not seen on the ultrasound.

(I’m hoping they’re not like sleeper ce.ll.s. And that’s all I’ll say about that.)

Everything went well, but I’m staying on fluid restriction for ten more days.  PIO starts Tuesday, which gives me two blissful, shot-free days.  Woo hoo.

I will post tomorrow with more details and the fert report when I hear back.  Keep your fingers crossed we get some good ones out of this batch!

And the video has been edited into three different chapters. Because I tend to do things full-ass, instead of half-ass, if you must know. And so the premier of The World’s Most Embarrassing Video is almost done, I should be able to post it tomorrow and I will include the link here, my pretties.

Thank you for your well-wishes, I know it helped!!

                     ***   ***   ***   ***

Dr. Z’s office just called: of the 27 eggs they got yesterday 22 matured, and 19 of those fertilized.  The nurse told me it was a good, solid 85% and I can live with that. 

So now it’s on to PGD and a day 5 transfer on Friday.

Things are going well!

My 24 follicles are freaking huge.

Or, FRIGGIN’ HUUUUUGE if you’re Mike Meyers doing that skit he used to do on Saturday Night Live about the store that sold only Scottish things ("Yessire, that switer comes in tree sizes:  wee, not so wee and FRIGGIN’ HUUUUUGE!!")

So, anyway.

I’m on fluid restriction since yesterday because apparently my follicles will absorb all of the liquid I drink and just EXPLODE in a big watery mess.  Okay, the doctor didn’t tell me that, I’m just assuming because when I drank too much the other day I felt swollen and bloated and like I was about to explode. But this is not a complaint. 

I’m happy to have the 24 monsters growing inside of me.  They’re getting to be big girls now, almost ready for training bras and a good sex ed book!

I’m just thirsty…and on St. Patty’s Day?  No green beer for moi. But I’ll live.

But seriously, they were all about 15 – 16 mm yesterday, so tonight is the trigger shot.

Retrieval is Sunday.  Transfer is next Friday. 

Sweet Lord in Heaven, this is really happening.

And as for the premier of My Big Fat White Tummy, I swear I will put it up this weekend.  It’s just not as simple as plugging the video camera into my computer and downloading the damn thing to You Tube.  Noooo. That would be too easy.

I actually have to edit out my sister’s damn dog (and her damn Donald Trump impression, which was funny at the time but now a total pain in the ass) and, if I’m lucky, some opening shots of the Great White Terror, aka my belly.

So if I can figure out how to do that in the next day or two, I’ll let you know.

Until then, I’m off to daintily sip a tiny bit of Gatorade, making the 1 liter bottle last me all day.

Okay peeps, here’s the dealio:

1.  Dr. Z said everything looks great at my scan today.  I have 11 follies on one side, and 13 on the other.  They are all measuring 11-12 mm, which he said is fine for this point in the cycle.  I have to go back on Thursday for another scan, and of course my appointment conflicts with a HUGE quarterly Board meeting I have, (that I facilitate) but what can you do? I’m trying to change the time or perhaps call in and do it over the phone, but my boss isn’t too thrilled about that idea.  I am trying not to stress out about this.

2.  I didn’t fall over in an embarrassing dead faint this time when they did the blood work!

3.  Speaking of bloodletting, you know you’ve been at this TTC business a little too long when you look at your friend’s arm and notice her big, beautiful VEINS.  Which you can easily see, right through her skin.  "Gosh, LUCKY!" you mutter in your best Napoleon Dynamite voice.

4. I will post the video, once I figure out how.  I will take one for the team, as many of you said in the comments.  Did I mention that it’s ELEVEN minutes long?  God, can I ever keep it short?  Evidently NOT. It might very well be the longest video ever downloaded to You Tube.

And finally…

5. The fabulous DD over at TKO found this for me, how FRICKING AWESOME is this?

So people.

I decided it was finally time for me to put my money where my big yapper is, so last night [drum roll please…] BeBop filmed me doing my shots!

As a quick little aside, (except these never seem to be asides, but more complete deviations from my point and they’re never short!) as we rewound the tape last night, I stumbled across a video my sister (let’s call her Grommy) and I made a few years ago when she was up for Christmas.  She and her husband brought their three dogs, all King Charles Cavalier Spaniels.  The one little tiny female is adorable, with white and red/orange colored fur.  She has these long, fluffy ears, and my sister would take one ear and fold it up over her head. It looked like a giant, wispy, orange-colored comb-over.  Can you see where I’m going with this?  Well, Grommy would make her this comb-over and then do her best Donald Trump impression:  she would poke the dog’s paw out in front of her and say, "It kills me to do this, but YOU’RE FIRED."  And oh my God, we would laugh and laugh and she would do it again, and we would laugh and laugh.  And the rest of our family thought we were being completely retarded, but we captured it all on film and until last night, I hadn’t seen it in a couple of years.  And yes, we did this recently, not when we were twelve.  And last night I laughed just as hard, while BeBop rolled his eyes at me, just like he always does when I’m being impossibly lame.

Anyhoodles, back to filming my injections. Well, he filmed the beginning and the end of the process, the actual insertion of the needle into my belly fat did not turn out to be camera-worthy or appropriate for public consumption.

It would have looked like some horrifying version of Jackass, but instead of a muscle-bound young man stapling his scrotum to his leg, it’s a middle-aged, fertility-challenged woman mixing medications and then stabbing herself in the abdomen with needles and good grief!  Who wants to see that??

(And I did not want to be personally responsible for people all over the world vomiting on their keyboards.  That just seems mean.)

I know some of you sickos out there would want to see the actual needle puncturing my actual skin and hear my little yelp, but that? 

NOT GONNA HAPPEN.

This was scary enough.

When I was on camera (I like totally have the lingo down, man!  Those years I lived in LA after college are totally paying off for me now.) (PS  What I really want to do is direct!) where was I? Oh yeah, while BeBop was filming me, I must have said fourteen frillion times:  you can’t see my belly, right?  You are not filming down here, are you? My stomach is NOT on camera, RIGHT?

And when you see the tape, what do you see in live, living color?  MY BIG WHITE BELLY.

That bastard My husband claimed that it was impossible to show me mixing the meds and drawing the fluid into the syringe without showing my mid-section.  Stupidly, I had hiked my shirt up and secured it with a binder clip. (I know!  So on the cutting edge of fashion too, when will it stop?) It was not, as they say, a good look for me.

Also?  I had the unfortunate idea to wear a black and white top yesterday. Which for brunch in San Francisco was pretty cute.  But later, as I hiked it up, secured it with a binder clip, and proceeded to display it on film?

NOT SO MUCH.

I looked like Orca breaching or coming up to release air out my blow hole or whatever the frick it is giant black and white killer whales do.

And it’s all captured on film.  So if (IF!) I actually grow the balls to post it on You Tube, please be kind.

Vanessa was kind enough to mention in her comment that she would not embark on this asinine plan for fear of hearing statements like: "Heh. Looks like some sit-ups wouldn’t hurt." Or "hey look-the Stay Pufft Marshmallow Man IS alive!" or "pinch an inch? More like a yard, babe."

Ahem.

I have to agree with her.  That does not seem like fun. So please do not leave comments like that for me.  And also while you’re at it, please do not locate my cell phone number and leave a voice mail for me saying, "Fatty fatty, two by four, can’t get through the kitchen door!"

Because in real life I can get through the kitchen door and THAT’S SORT OF THE PROBLEM.

So okay, if I can figure out how to get the video from our camera to my computer to frigging You Tube, I will probably most likely who fucking knows maybe post it.

And then I will tell you I’ve done it.  And then you will watch and laugh and laugh (AT me, not WITH me, most likely) and then perhaps, some poor schlub about to start this nightmarish process might do a search and see BeBop and me fumbling about with needles and medicine and maybe, just maybe, it will help give someone an idea of what this injection deal is all about.  And that while it’s not fun, it’s really not so bad.

So what’s the downside?  Public mockery? Strangers leaving nasty comments? Bringing shame to my family.  Bob Greene calling to see if I want to go on his Best Life Diet…

Hmmmmmmm. Maybe I better give this some more thought…

You know those moments when some ass hat makes a comment that just makes you want to jab THEM in the lower abdomen with your trigger shot?

Of course, we’ve all heard the "just relax" comment, the "once we stopped trying it finally happened" suggestion, or my personal fav, uttered by a very close friend of mine:  "why don’t you just start the adoption process and try to TRICK your body into getting pregnant?  I bet that would totally work!"

Errrr….okay.  Thanks.

Of course, I’ve been told countless times that I just need to re-align my chakras, process my own birth trauma, clear up any past life issues, warm up my uterus, use these particular crystals, or have sex for FOUR hours straight when I’m ovulating, and then it will surely happen for me. (‘YEAH RIGHT, Lady’ was my response to this last little gem. I have like a full time job, I’m not running a brothel for crissakes!)

Sometimes these people are well-meaning and are actually trying to help.  Let’s say most of the time they’re well-meaning, just to give folks the benefit of the doubt.

Like yesterday, for example, when I arrived at my acupuncturist’s office just in time to see a seriously HUGE, big-bellied pregnant woman checking out.  I tried to sneak in and take a seat, just not feeling up to dealing with that.

I thought I would just wait quietly until she was ready for me, but my acupuncturist had other ideas.  "Look, Watson!" She exclaimed, pointing at the woman’s belly.  "This will be YOU soon!"

"Ah, thanks?" I uttered, or maybe mumbled.  "Fingers crossed…" I added lamely. (Made way lamer by the fact that as I said this, I sort of crossed my fingers and flailed them up in the air in front of my face.  GAWD. Could I be any more pathetic?)  (Don’t answer that.)

WHY would she do that?  She knows my struggles better than most people, knows the specific details of our current IVF plan and I was, quite frankly, shocked that she put me on the spot like that. Can you say awkward??

But I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, knowing that she’s thrilled things are progressing nicely and, I guess, just excited for me to have the same outcome.

But still!

I never know quite what to say in response to comments like these, unless of course I’m in a red hot rage thanks to the BCP and then I’m quite comfortable hurling insults your way.

But the talent blogger, Jenny The Great, has decided to do something about this whole phenomenon of getting unwanted, inappropriate, annoying or even hurtful comments.

She’s come up with a new website, and I’ll let her explain it in her own words:

I’ve read so many times that someone has been hurt by something someone says without thinking, and I know that explaining your side of things is often a really hard thing to do, especially when you’re hurting. It’s extra hard
when we’re faced with infertility, miscarriage, or anything like that and we
just don’t want to keep having to explain what’s going on or how their
comment was really upsetting.

Once I get enough content, I plan to distribute business cards with
different URLs on them for each category. That way, when someone says
something insensitive to your situation, you can simply hand them the card
and turn around, never having to explain. If they have a desire to help, or
learn, they will go visit the URL listed.

She’s gathering material for her new site, Sensitive Subjects, so head on over there and take a looksy!

In other news:

Why hasn’t anyone put their IVF drama on You Tube?  I’m serious.  When I did a search, I found one woman’s story documented with a few short videos and lots of educational stuff.  And when I looked for injections, I had the misfortune of stumbling upon a video of Brit Brit (pre head-shaving freak out) and K-fed getting some kind of vitamin (?) injection in the ass.

I was sure some brave soul would be filming her shots every night, so I could see how it was done.  Then she would update us, her adoring fans, with test results and doctor’s visits and we would follow breathlessly along, until the fateful day when she would announce she was pregnant!  Hooray!

But I couldn’t find that.  Am I just looking in the wrong place?  I’m so distracted by the videos of people baking beet souffles (blech!), brides having nervous breakdowns and cutting their own hair off minutes before walking down the aisle, dogs humping various inanimate objects and God knows what else, and I can’t find anything that would benefit ME!

So who’s the brave soul willing to document her IVF journey on video and display it for the world to see on You Tube? For educational purposes!  To help a sistah out! To help remove some of the stigma that surrounds fertility treatments!  And hey! You might garner a trip to The Today Show, because they seem to ask anyone who’s ever put anything on You Tube to be on the show!

Any takers?

Hullo?

Bueller? 

Bueller….