My Dear Watson

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….

I didn’t have to get an ultrasound yesterday when I went to see Dr. Z. YAY! 

(And I know you’ve just been sitting around, getting a repetitive stress injury hitting refresh, refresh, REFRESH just waiting for an answer to that age-old question:  Did Watson’s hoo-ha make an appearance on The Crotch Cam Show recently??  I know you were.)

But since I got my period a couple of days after taking my last BCP, my Cha Cha found herself fully clothed and protected from the evil PROBE.  YAY!

And my Estradiol came back at 17. YAY!  I am cleared to start the Bravelle and Menopur tonight, and lower the Lupron dose.  YAY!

But, I have had the headache from HELL since Saturday night.  BOO!  I felt so bad yesterday, I was in tears and made BeBop take a day off work to drive me to the doctor’s office, because I felt like absolute crap.  BOO!

(I think it’s stopping the BCPs, getting my period and having such a low estrogen level causing this migraine, and I will continue to think that because it means I should start feeling better asap. The alternative, that my migraine is caused by the injectible medications, just doesn’t work for me. For that would mean I might have this headache for the foreseeable future and that just doesn’t cut it for me, you dig?)

I started to feel better this morning. Until I took  my first dose of the Medrol, which is a corticosteroid.  I am currently shaking like I’ve had fourteen frillion cups of coffee and have taken on the unfortunate appearance of a small, hairless Chihuahua, all quivery and anxious.  BOO!  (Plus the barking is really bothering my co-workers, but what can you do?)

So, anyway, as far as an update, here you go:  I start the Medrol, the anti-biotics and the stims today.  I am like a little old lady, with prescription drugs coming out of my ass.  I need one of those pill cases that beeps every hour to remind me to take all these frigging pills. 

I have my thyroid, Folgard and Omega-3s in the morning, along with the Medrol.  And also the anti-biotics but not with these other meds and not with dairy but preferably with food.  And then in evening, another dose of the anti-biotics (but again on its own) plus my pre-natal, my Metformin and baby aspirin.  And I’m also taking pro-biotics to stave off any ill effects of the anti-biotics.  In case you’re keeping track.  And by GOD, why wouldn’t you be keeping track of this fascinating series of events?!?

In other news:

Just to make myself crazy (HA!  Like that’s a long trip!!) I broke
my no-Googling mandate and did a little looksy on Lupron, the substance
I am injecting directly into my fatty tissue each night.

I found a HI-LARIOUS article about the use of Lupron in avian medicine. YES!  You read that right…BIRDS!  Those feathered creatures with wings and beaks who fly around and sometimes crap on our newly-washed cars!

According to this article, people (and I’m assuming trained people of some sort, not just random infertiles who run from their homes, needles in hand, jabbing at the local bird population residing in their trees because that would be really disturbing…) use Lupron on birds for a variety of reasons.  Reasons including "chronic egg laying (usually seen in cockatiels, just FYI)
to feather destruction to behavioral issues such as biting and
aggressive behavior."

How’s that for irony?  Those damn birds get Lupron for chronic egg laying and we have to take it for the exact opposite reason.

Also?  I think it’s funny that the birds get treated by Lupron for feather destruction and biting and aggressive behavior, because I personally think the drug has CAUSED these side effects in me! (And sadly, I think BeBop would whole-heartedly agree!)

I also learned that in the avian world,  behaviors
such as aggression, regurgitation and inappropriate sexual activities
demonstrated improvement with Lupron…

Hmmmm…I don’t quite know what to make of that.  Again, I feel like the Lupron might be causing these side effects in me.  The aggression is just worse than usual, I simply cannot go into details about the inappropriate sexual activities here and BeBop would surely agree that lately, my regurgitation problem has gotten worse.  It’s really a nightmare to go out to dinner with me, I’ll tell you that.

Our feathered friends also seem to have it easier in the side effects department: The main side effect that has
been reported, states this article, is "mild, brief facial skin flushing in a Scarlet macaw."

Oh poor little Scarlet macaw, waaahhhh…cry, baby, cry!  Over a little skin flushing. 

Bird, PLEASE! 

I’m the one dealing with the migraine, the aggressive biting, the lack of egg laying and let us not forget the regurgitation issue.  I can’t wait to see what the next set of meds brings me.

Wish me luck?

My first Lupron shot was Sunday.

And honestly, it was fine. 

Was I nervous?  Yes. 

Did BeBop’s hovering and re-reading the instructions fifty million times make me want to jab HIM with the needle?  Yes. 

IN THE EYE?  Why, yes.  How did you know?

Did his recent and ill-timed tendency to constantly quote Borat ("nysseeee" and "high fyyyve" while extending his stupid palm into the air) make me REALLY want to jab him in the ear canal with a nearby chopstick?  Hell-to-the-yes.  And also?  Snark back at him, "late 2006 called and THEY WANT THEIR STUPID MOVIE BACK!"

But overall, it wasn’t too bad.

Except when I shouted at him, "Don’t look at my belly!"

"But I see your belly all the time," he responded.

"BUT NOT LIKE THIS," I screamed, becoming unhinged.  I mean, I was standing up, people.  With, like, gravity and shit.  Working against me, if you know what I mean. And I was pinching a giant area of said belly to prepare for the shot and it was, well…just, unappealing. 

It was a very bad angle.  And the light was just not flattering. [And there goes that so-called improvement with body image issues I bragged about in the last post!]

It totally reminded me of that ‘Seinfeld’ episode where Jerry muses over good naked vs. ugly naked.

You know the one?  Where he talks about how naked hair brushing is good; naked crouching,
bad.  Naked pickle-jar opening?  Very bad.  ("I’ve seen too much!")

And at the end of the episode he tries to show his nudist freak girlfriend what he means, by waxing his floors in the nude, or something?  That one totally cracks me up.

But back to ME.  I was suddenly very self conscious about the Naked Ugly and made BeBop immediately stop staring at my belly.

But other than all that, it was fine…

                                                         
                                                                     ***    ***    ***

Remember how I said I just wasn’t up to doing hours and hours of research on this whole IVF deal? 

REMEMBER?!??

Well, for the most part, that’s true.  I decided to ban myself from worshiping at the alter of  Google and just follow my doctor’s instructions and focus on a positive outcome, without scaring the bejeezus out of myself.  I was determined not to worry  myself into a hypochondriacal frenzy or obsess over all the various not-so-happy outcomes and the possible side effects of all these medications I am ingesting and injecting at an increasingly alarming rate.

But as you know, the statement ‘for the most part’ indicates to the careful reader that there have been exceptions to this rule.

"I THINK I’M HAVING A STROKE!" I screamed into BeBop’s ear yesterday when he called me at work.

"Wha?  You are not having a stroke.  What the hell are you talking about?"

"I swear I feel a numbness all down the right side of my body!!"

[Crickets]

"I SWEAR," I continued breathlessly. "I woke up and felt numb on the right side, going down my leg.  And then?  Then earlier in the bathroom I swear it looked like the right side of my mouth is frowning.  WITHOUT ME MAKING IT DO THAT!"

"Everyone gets that," he tried to reassure me.  "It’s like your body falls asleep and then you wake up."

When the FRICK did HE go to medical school? I wondered, totally unimpressed with his over-the-phone diagnosis.

"EVERYONE GETS THAT?" I yelled, totally unconvinced. "Yeah, people who end up on ventilators and in wheelchairs with attendants who accidentally leave them out in the sun for entire afternoons."

"SIGH. I’m sure you’re fine.  Just relax and I’m sure you’ll feel better soon," he said.  Like these sorts of histrionics are just routine when you’re married to me.

(Which, to be fair, THEY ARE.)

I just kept thinking of the birth control pills I’ve been taking and the risk of stroke or some kind of blood clot and how I really, really would not want to be confined to a wheelchair and possibly left out in the sun for an entire afternoon. 

That just did not sound like fun AT ALL.

By this morning, I was actually feeling much better.  Stroke and/or life-threatening blood clot averted.

PHEW.

Now I can go on to enjoy my weekend.

And I hope you all do the same.

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!