So I have been in a frightful mood for days now.
Or, as BeBop would put it: I have been wearing my SUPER cranky pants lately.
I don’t know if it’s the fact that I have progesterone coming out of my ass (well, not literally. And I felt as though I should be clear on that point, because Lord knows we infertiles often do have various and sundry substances coming out of different orifices, and I didn’t want you to worry I was using the progesterone in a very wrong and disturbing way!).
(Speaking of orifices and wrong and disturbing, did y’all see those photos of Britney?! The ones where her vajayjay is flashing the camera? OMG, my little Brit-Brit, what has happened to you?! I seriously will not even link to those photos because you simply MUST exercise more self control than I did. You must not, whatever you do, view these pictures. I will never eat abalone again.) (What does THAT mean? I have no idea.)
Anyway, I’m in a bad mood partially because of the progesterone-fueled luteal phase hormonal picnic going on inside, partially because I chose – willingly – to burn the image of Brit’s naked (so, SO NAKED!) vagenie parts into my retinas, and partially because everything just bugs the ever living crap out of me these days.
Case in point:
I saw a close friend on Saturday for coffee. She’s actually the only friend I’ve talked to about our latest foray into the infertility circus of fun. As I was updating her on the latest, that we are trying the Metformin for a couple of months before moving on to IVF, I mentioned that this holding pattern was killing me.
Okay, maybe complained is a better word than mentioned.
Just month after month after month of waiting and trying and hoping and failing is just getting to me, I explained.
"Hmmmmm, " she started. "Well, since you’re choosing to try the medication, can’t you just think of it as a self-imposed wait. Would that make it easier?"
"Hmmmmmm…" I retorted. "If I chose to shove that scone up your left nostril would that make it any easier? Because, like, I’m choosing to do it?"
Okay, I did not really say that. But I wanted to. I know she was trying to help, attempting to get me to re-frame the issue. But JESUS H! Doesn’t she think I’ve tried everything imaginable to see this from a different perspective?
Yes, we are choosing to wait on IVF because the specialist suggested that we give the Met a chance.
But waiting is waiting, even if it is our choice to do so. It’s still hard. It still sucks.
It still feels like an interminable amount of time.
Stayed tuned for the next installment of My Life Blows, entitled:
Our Anniversary Dinner: A Disaster: Of Epic Proportions.
Subtitled:
How I Went Infertile Carnival Freak On Her Ass When My Meal Wasn’t Prepared Correctly
Eww…..I totally saw the Brit-vajayjay pics, and I’m scarred for life, really….
Sorry that the hormonal cocktail is not so fun right now…just remember, stupid people just suck large moose testicles.
Really really large moose testicles. Or Elk. Or whichever animal you choose…..
You may hate me for this, but you really should check this out:
http://galleryoftheabsurd.typepad.com/14/2006/12/britney_lindsay.html
Seriously, why she allowed to be fertile??? That just rubs the randomness of it in to anyone who is struggling.
Waiting sucks. It doesn’t matter if it is self imposed or not. It is the actual waiting that is pure torrure. I have spent more time waiting to try to get pregnant than trying to get pregnant. If that makes any sense.
As for the progesterone coming out of your ass, if you had my RE it would literally be coming out of your ass. Once I got past the initial shock of “you want me to put that where?” I quickly realized that it wasn’t such a bad option. See, when it isn’t stuck up your ass, it melts and drips. Not the case at all when you do shove it up your ass. It stays there until you choose for it to come out. Probably more info than you wanted, but entirely true!
Ugh, the waiting.
But now you’ve turned the tables, so to speak: I’m waiting to hear your next installment about the anniversary dinner. Something tells me this is going to be good.
Oh GOOD LORD Saras-P…WHY?!?!?
Why do you insist on torturing me like this??
I just threw up a little in my mouth.
[But seriously, that was pretty funny. At least it was an artist’s rendering, which takes a little of the shock value away, thank God.]
🙂
I’ll have you know that I was entirely innocent about the new Britney, er, revelations, until you helpfully pointed them out to me. And now I had to go look… *Fanning herself with hand* My my but I wish people didn’t always feel the need to find ever more elaborate answers to the question “How low can you sink?” (Answer: Pretty low. Move on.)
The thing about choice is all fine and good — we are empowered in our suffering, yay! — but in reality it just means that we should stop complaining already. At least, that’s how I always feel when someone offers helpful nuggets like that.
I’m sorry you’re wearing Crankypants. When you’re done with them, perhaps you could lend them to Madame Spears?
Oh, the waiting, it SUCKS. And there is just no way, while you’re going through it, to make it feel even an ounce better.
I have not seen these pictures of which you speak. In some ways I want to go find them, in others I think my virgin eyes might be better off without. I’ll let you know which part wins out!
Seriously, the waiting SUCKS. Even self-imposed waiting, it’s like the New Catholic form of flagellation. We hate the waiting.
Also? I too had to bleach my eyeballs after the Britney pics. That, and wonder when bush would be the new black.
Who is this ‘Britney’ of whom you speak? Wait – my gossip source is whispering to me… Oh, that Britney, the singing mousequeteer? I didn’t know she even had a va… *whisper whisper* Oh, I see. So she definitely does have a… oh, and an infant too. Well, dang.
I’m shocked.
Very with you on the advanced suckage of waiting.