I'm Not feeling Hope Today

As teenagers and young women, we’re taught all about the responsibility of not getting pregnant. Don’t have sex, you’ll pregnant. Make sure you use birth control, you don’t want to get pregnant. (For the sake of this conversation, we’re going to assume that all bases of STD’s are covered.)

I can remember two instances – both wedding hook-ups incidentally – when I was late. And I freaked. Did I want to be pregnant? Pretty much since I was 16, I knew I was meant to be a mom. But at that moment in time, after my college roommate’s wedding, in my little apartment above my landlord’s mother, making $23,000 a year, did I really want to be pregnant? No. I wished and prayed with all my might that I was just late.

And I was.

It happened again in 2002. I was living in Baltimore but was back in NY for a wedding. I made an instant connection with the guy and ended up having the most amazing non-sex of my life. However, parts touched and I’m sure things leaked – and the Dear Abby column that terrified me when I was about 14 about how you can get pregnant without actual intercourse (slight as the chance might be) came rushing back.

I remember vividly, being at an after-work function behind the museum. I opted out of the baseball game and slightly tipsy, drove to Target for a pregnancy test. The test was negative and stayed on my bathroom sink counter for three hours. I checked it every 10 or 15minutes to make sure it didn’t change.

But again, would it have been so awful if I got pregnant? Not really. It wouldn’t have been the way I would have planned it, the way I imagined it, but it wouldn’t have been the end of the world.

And so now, fast forward to 2008. Still not the way I imagined it, still not the way I would have planned it, but by far, not the end of the world. Except now, I can’t get pregnant. Even with medical intervention, with the most careful planning of my cycles, the most optimum conditions of my ovaries and uterus, and nothing.

I wonder why I bothered to be so responsible, why I bothered to be so careful. I could have not worried about birth control and just had fun and gotten the baby I wanted. The first night that Chris and I hooked up, I wouldn’t have sex with him. He didn’t have a condom and at that point, I wasn’t on the pill. He practically begged and I said no.

As drunk as I was, the message that was instilled into my head at such a young age, and repeated over and over again through media and pop culture and peers, was stronger than my urge to have sex, my wish to be a mom.

If I had said yes, would I have a beautiful four-year-old right now? Who knows for sure? All I know is that I wasted hundreds and hundreds of eggs because I’m the good girl, I’m the responsible one.

The Wedding

So it's been a week since the wedding, and I'm still trying to get my head around it all. I guess the easiest way to report is in bullet points:

* My parents were miserable, didn't really speak to anyone at the reception, left after dinner without telling anyone or saying good-bye, and got out without doing any grandparent pictures with the bride and groom.
* I left the controversy at the door and had fun with my brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, and felt guilty the entire day for having fun when my brother and his family weren't invited.
* I talked to my sister-in-law that night and she said it bothered her more than she expected. She and my niece cried that day, and I found out the next day from my brother that she had cried herself to sleep.
* My brother is beyond hurt and has moved onto anger. He blames the bride but also her mother for not telling her to do the right thing, and that as far as he's concerned she is nothing more than a step-sister, a distant relative.

Needless to say, I spent a lot of time crying since the wedding. And as much as I want to try to fix it, everyone tells me that it's not my problem to fix, that I can't take on that responsibility.

It's hard, because that's not my personality. My whole thing is to take care of other people, to fix things, to make sure that all is right in the world.

Unfortunately, I think this might beyond my talent for fixing. Maybe time will heal the wounds, but I doubt it. The wounds are running too deep.

PS....last call for entries in my pay-it-forward and send fabulous gifts. So if you want in, comment on a story and let me know. I'll pull a name at the end of the week and get fun Finger Lakes presents in the mail next weekend.

Dried-Up Eggs

I thought I would be able to post today about my first self-injection of hormones last night, but alas, once again my body is not cooperating in my fertility attempts. I had blood work yesterday morning and what needed to be under 100 was actually at 134. So the doctor had the lab run another test on that blood and she is anticipating that it will be an indication that my ovarian reserve is failing.

I took a deep breath when she told me that I couldn't do the hormone therapy this month and then cried. About an hour later I called her back and asked about donor eggs. She said that we should really wait to see what the FSH numbers come back as, but yes, that's probably a good idea to start thinking that way.

I told her I don't want to waste any more time or money -- I'm not getting any younger, especially if we have to keep putting months off and each sperm donation is almost $800. The goal was for me to have a baby, ideally through my own pregnancy. I could care less is the eggs aren't mine. I just want to be a mom, I want a baby. And if this is the way it has to go, then this is the way to do it.

I thought too late yesterday to call the insurance company to inquire about my infertility coverage and whether it actually covers the cost of donor eggs, since this in fact (unlike my need to purchase sperm) a medical shortfall within my body. And if it's not, then it's still considerably less expensive than adoption, though I know that at some point, I may need to resign myself to that.

But not today. Today there is still hope for maternity clothes and feeling the baby kick. Today there is still hope for a little redhead baby growing inside me. Today there's hope. I just have to remember that when I feel like giving up, when I feel like feeling sorry for myself, and when I feel like it will never happen.

Bird by Bird

After an emotionally draining weekend and tiring weekend -- the family wedding, complete with drama (will write more when I can tell all stories without tears) and my great-nephew's first birthday party -- I was greeted by a box from Oklahoma. My present from Woodrow -- a book about writing.

And as promised, I am now paying it forward. I know I get regular readers from my site meter, but not a lot of comments. Now it's time. Comment that you want in on this giveaway, I'll draw three names at random and send you a fabulous present from the Finger Lakes.

Weakness

I called Chris the other day. I broke down and did it. It’s been over a year since we’ve hooked up, but I figured all I was doing was punishing myself by not calling him. And so it’s done. He was out of the office Thursday and Friday, but he promptly returned my message. (Nice to see I haven’t lost my touch.)

He said he would call on Monday to set up a time when he can come for a visit this week.

And so says the magnet on my fridge: “Waiting for the right guy. Meanwhile, having fun with the wrong ones.”

Surgery was a Success

I had my surgery last week and was pleasantly surprised at how little pain I was in. I had no abdominal pain, only shoulder and chest. Weird, I know, right? They told me to expect it, that they filled my belly with gas so they had room to move the instruments around and when the gas dissipates, it would move up my body and lodge in my shoulders. And that's what happened.

And the surgery was a success -- there was some endometriosis on my right tube and they were able to get all of it. I got my stitches out last week and the best news -- my Mickey Mouse tattoo survived with being cut. :)

It's all systems go with my next cycle. And mind over matter, I know this time it will work. I've done everything possible for it to take.

Here we go again.

Sports and the Single Girl

I don't usually write about sports, but a few things have happened in the past few days that need commenting on.

The Belmont and Big Brown's bust -- I don't usually subscribe to conspiracy theories at all. I believe, that for the most part, 99% of the time, sports are on the up and up, and games, matches, races, et al are not fixed. However....with no apparent injury to Big Brown, isn't it just possible that the trainer took a bribe to have Big Brown not win the Triple Crown?

The passing of Jim McKay -- before cable TV and ESPN, before the internet and instant access to ever imaginable sporting contest, I had two things that I looked forward to on Saturdays. The Saturday game of the week (baseball) with Vin Scully and Joe Garagiola, and ABC's Wide World of Sports. If you are a child of the '70s or earlier, how can you not hear in your head, "spanning the globe....the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat" and then see that skier totally wipe out at the bottom of the ramp?! It was this sports fan only way to get sports on a regular basis, other than reading my Sports Illustrated every week.

I had the opportunity to meet Jim McKay just once when I lived in Baltimore. It was at the Orioles press conference when they announced Mike Hargrove as their new manager. There were far more important people in the room than me, but he took the time to say hello, shake my hand, and ask me what was going on that Museum. He was a gentleman, through and through.

Ken Griffey Jr hitting his 600th home run -- Fifteen years ago, he was the heir apparent to breaking Hank Aaron's record. And then his career was injury ridden. He was on the DL for more games than he played in some seasons. But he never lost his sweet swing, he never lost his joy for the game, or that infectious smile. When other players were taking steroids to help them recovery from injury, "not to get an advantage over other players," they rationalize, there was Jr. Griffey sucking up his recovery, his rehab, and losing valuable games, at bats and youth.

Six hundred home runs over the span of his career. A career without steroids, without even the hint of scandal. The 600-home run club should only be Ruth, Aaron, Mays and Griffey. The names of Bonds and Sosa taint it, for sure.

But thinking about what Junior accomplished in his career -- drug-free -- only makes what Ruth, Aaron and Mays (things that most of us can only read about or see precious few highlights of) all the more amazing. If it were easy, there'd be more men in that club, and if it were easy, Sammy and Barry would have been able to do it without drugs. But we'll never know.

And so for me, the 600 home run club is about four men, not six. It's about when the game was pure, and when the game was fun. And when hitting 600 home runs was a milestone to be celebrated, not something that this generation of sports fans has already seen twice before last night's accomplishment.

Mickey Might Have to take a Bullet

I went for my pre-op appointments this morning. Blood work and lots of paperwork at the hospital, and then an exam with the doctor.

She was explaining where she will be making the incisions on my stomach -- along my belly button, and one, possibly two, small incisions on my lower abdomen, to the side. Which, one my right side, is the exact location where my Mickey Mouse tattoo is. Dr. M. said that if she only needs to make one cut, she'll do it from the left, but if she has to make two, then Mickey will have a little scar. she said she'll try to make him look tough.

I go from having waves of being nervous to being totally fine. Not nervous about what she'll find, or the pain I'll be in when I wake up, but more silly nervousness about the whole surgery thing itself.

Injectables Training

After going through injectable training yesterday, now I know why Jodi recommended the surgery first. Once the surgery is over (it is scheduled for June 11) and I'm clear to try again, I'm going to go through a lot.

On day three of my cycle, I'll begin daily blood work to measure my estrodial level and of course, the ever enjoyable internal ultrasound. And I'll speak to someone from the office each day and they'll tell me how much Gonal-F to inject in my stomach (not as bad as it sounds -- the needle is really small and thin). Every day. Until my levels get to where they need to be and then I'll go in for another internal ultrasound and if I have no more than four mature follicles, I will give myself a shot of hCG, which will induce ovulation, and then I will get inseminated the next day.

And I should be prepared for bloating beyond the bloat I have when I get the shot of hCG. I have to weigh myself every day and really watch my diet since I could possibly gain as much as 10 pounds from the medicine and that would be an indication of my ovaries going into hyper-stimulation and then shutting down. On the bright side, the belly fat (that I've gained from the Clomid) really is a side effect of the Clomid and hopefully it shouldn't be as bad with the Gonal-F.

And I should be prepared to not go on vacation since I will be the hospital lab's best patient and will need to be in daily contact with the doctor's office so I know what dosage to give myself with the Gonal-F pen.

My chances of multiples goes up (5% for triplets, 20-30% for twins), but with that, my chances of conceiving just one also goes up. It's about at 50-60% now. I can live with those odds.

Tie-Dye

I had the dye test done the other day -- or more officially a hysterosalpingogram. They told me there would be some discomfort. Who knew that pushing a little radioactive dye through a catheter, through my cervix and into my uterus could be so painful?! The worst cramps I have ever had, times 10. But as soon as it was over, I felt fine.

The test showed that, once they really pushed the dye through, my left fallopian tube opened right up. So there may have been some blockage and the dye swept it away. On the right side, the dye went through in a very thin line, indicating that there could be some blockage or that the tube had a spasm from the contractions and cramps.

My choices, as given to me then, were to go ahead with the injectable hormones and if, if three months, I'm not pregnant, I should go ahead and have the laparoscopy. I asked the doctor what she would recommend if I were her daughter, and she said she didn't know, that she could go either way, that it was a personal preference. I knew when she said to "go home and talk to your husband about it" that she wasn't going to help me make this decision.

So I talked to one of the nurse practitioners that I've been working with for the past year. And Jodi said if she were me, if I were her daughter, she would say have the surgery. Why spend the money, why go through the shots, the ultrasounds, the blood work, when we don't know if all conditions are optimal for getting pregnant? That's what I wanted to hear -- someone to give me an opinion. It was the way I was leaning and thinking, but I needed someone with a medical background to validate it.

I'm still waiting for the office to call me to schedule it, but it will be sometime in the middle of June. I go in for injectables training on Tuesday so that when we are ready to do the next IUI, I'll be prepared.

I met with the doctor again yesterday and she went over the procedure and the risks, and what they'll be looking for. When they go in, they'll either see that everything is okay or if it's not, they'll try to scrape off or blow out anything that's hanging onto the tube that shouldn't. And in the rare case that they can't unblock the tube, they'll take it out, and I'll only work with my left ovary and tube to get pregnant.

It's a lot to take in. Even though it's in and out surgery, it's still surgery. But hopefully it's one step closer to getting what I want.

Walking All my Problems Away

I walked tonight -- and it felt great. I've realized -- and it's very hard to admit -- that I've been using the fertility drugs and drama as a crutch to be unmotivated, to be the full blame of the weight gain.

Part of me hates myself for gaining it back, part of me wants to go back to the obsessive person I was (and really what's so bad about being obsessive about being healthy)...but then part of me knows that's not right.

So I've made a deal with myself, and I will use a full key people to hold me accountable (this blog included). The gym on campus that I go to during the year is closed for the summer, it reopens at the end of August.

I have no idea how many days it is between now and then -- I'll figure it out later. But between now and then, I will work out (whether at the fitness center with the students -- ewww, walking my hills at home, walking the track at school, or something else)....I will work out for at least 30 minutes, 100 times this summer. If that means I have to do two-a-days, I will.

I'm not going to kid myself into thinking I can get back to the physical shape I was in two years ago, that's too daunting of a task. But I can walk, I can use the elliptical -- and those are things that I can (and should) do if I get pregnant.

So...I'm going to count my walk on Saturday. Two down, 98 to go.

That Girl

I want to be this girl again. And I don't know how to find her. Not that I want to be reliant on Chris or his opinion. I want to be that girl, that beautiful girl, who felt so good about the way she looked.

I want to be that girl who worked out two hours a day -- and not only loved every minute of it, but couldn't wait to go to the gym the next day.

I even want to be that girl who weighed herself two, three times a day.

It makes me sad that I'm having such a hard time finding her, that I'd rather come home and hibernate, and think about not being that girl, or even a girl who's about to be a mom.

It's a gray rainy Monday -- and my mood reflects it. I'm hoping for a better Tuesday.

Dream Another Dream

I think I've mentioned this before, but it happened again last night. I had a dream about someone I went to high school with. It happens about three or four times a year. Kevin just shows up, as a guest star, in my dreams.

Last night, I was driving somewhere in Syracuse, and I saw him walking with Bruno (which in itself is bizarre, because Kevin was a high school friend and Bruno was college). Somehow we lost Bruno and I ended up giving Kevina ride home. I was four months pregnant and just starting to show. I remember having my hand on my stomach and him asking if I was expecting.

Then suddenly, we were at my current house in Ithaca and I had a six-month old daughter. And then the cat meowed and woke me up.

I wouldn't think it was so weird, if I didn't continually dream about him. Last I knew he was working in politics, dividing his time between Rochester and Albany. But that was when I lived in Rochester, which hasn't happened since 1999.

I looked him up on Linked In (sort of like Facebook or mySpace for professionals) but no luck. I even went so far as to google him, but struck out there as well.

I don't know what I'm hoping to accomplish -- it's not like if I found him, I would contact him and tell him I've been dreaming about him.

Part of me is wondering if there is some deeper meaning to this? Some sort of fate? Or if it's really just random?

Clear Sailing?

So an update on the baby news....I spoke with my nurse practitioner this afternoon. The doctor wants me to go in and have a dye test on my fallopian tubes, so I'll do that next Tuesday, and then take the day off. They said there would be cramping and that I should take 4 to 5 200 mg of Advil about an hour before the test. Great!

If the tubes are clear then we'll do a couple cycles of IUI (same as I've been doing) with the injectable hormones (which triples my baseline levels). I have injectable training scheduled for the day after Memorial Day. And I have a list of questions to go over with her when I do that -- side effects, disposal of needles, etc.

If the tubes aren't clear, I didn't ask, but I'm assuming that we just jump right to IVF. I have to go in and meet with the doctor on Thursday, so she'll go over everything with me. And I'll have a list of questions for her, too.

Stay tuned.

It only hurts now...

Last summer, when I told my nieces that I was about to embark on this baby project, I told Erica (the one who is getting married next month, the wedding that is the source of such family drama) that if this first attempt (last August) worked, that I would have a baby for her wedding.

Her response: "You better not steal my thunder."

I shrugged it off. She's a bride-to-be; of course she's thinking that way. However, as the months of negative tests progressed, that statement stuck in my head. Each month, it was as if her statement was like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

And so, on my last chance to be pregnant for her wedding (I've long given up on the dream of having a baby to show off to my out-of-town relatives), it has failed again. I found out on Friday that the test was negative.

It felt awful. Painful. Gloomy. I left work early. My eyes were so raw from crying so hard in my office, I just didn't have the strength to go to a web team meeting that afternoon. And so I went home, sat under a blanket and watched "Days of Our Lives" and "Law and Order." By 5:30 or so, I was feeling less like a hermit and actually got up and got some things accomplished.

It still hurts. It's still a painful, dull ache inside of me, but each day gets a little better. And I have to believe that I'm still moving forward, still working toward the goal of getting pregnant.

I Either Am or I'm Not

Tomorrow I go in for my blood work and by tomorrow afternoon, I'll know if this insemination worked. I told my mom that the test wasn't until Monday. Last month she knew the exact date of the test and drove me crazy in the days leading up to it. When I told her it was Monday, her response, "oh...I thought we'd have something to celebrate on Sunday."

I can't help her deal with her disappointment when I'm dealing with my own. And I don't know how to tell her that without hurting her feelings.

So tomorrow it will either be....

Oh my god, I'm pregnant. Finally. It worked. I'm going to have a baby. I'm going to be someone's mom. It was worth the frustration, the emotional roller coaster, the hormone shots, the weight gain, the drives to Horseheads every two weeks, the ultrasounds, the blood work....it was all worth it.

OR

I'm not pregnant. Again. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I know it takes time. I know that there are people out there who have tried to get pregnant for much longer than me, who are still trying to get pregnant. Two weeks ago, I was filled with hope, with the promise that this might take this time, and if it didn't, I can pursue the adoption angle a little more. Right now, there's no hope. It's all dark. It's frustrating and I want to know what I've done, so horrible, in my life, that I don't deserve to be this kind of happy.

I'm hoping for the first paragraph, but self-pity and crying on a Friday afternoon are just not my idea of fun.

Yes/No

Borrowing this from Nina because I can only say how nervous I am for my blood test so many times.

YES/NO GAME RULES ARE AS FOLLOWS:

You can only say yes or no. You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone messages you and asks!

Over 18? Yes
Danced in front of your mirror naked? No
Ever told a lie? Yes
Been arrested? No
Kissed a picture? Yes
Fallen asleep at work/school? Yes
Held an actual snake? Yes
Have YOU Ever run a red light? Yes
Ever drink and drive? Yes
Been suspended from school? No
Ever been fired from a job? No
Totaled a car/motorbike in an accident? Yes
Sang karaoke? No
Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? Yes
Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? Yes
Ever laughed until you wet yourself? Yes
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? Yes
Kissed in the rain? No
Sang in the shower? Yes
Sat on a rooftop? Yes
Thought about your past with regret? Yes
Been pushed in the pool with your clothes on? Yes
Shaved your head? No
Blacked out from drinking? Yes
Had a gym membership? Yes
Been in a band? No
Shot a gun? Yes
Liked someone with nobody else knowing about it? Yes
Played strip poker? No
Been to a strip joint? Yes
Donated Blood? Yes
Liked someone you shouldn't? Yes
Have a tattoo? Yes
Have or had any piercings besides ears? No
Made out with a complete stranger? Yes
Caught someone cheating on you? No
Skinny dipped? Yes
Regret any of your ex's? Yes
Been to a rodeo? No
Been to a NASCAR race? No
Been in Love? Yes

I'm off to the outlet mall. Have a good weekend.

Six Times and Plan B

I go in tomorrow for a follicle check. I can feel the pressure in my lower abdomen, so I know they're growing. Hopefully they've grown enough and the ultrasound will be good tomorrow.

If that's the case, I will go in Wednesday for my sixth IUI. I changed the baby daddy again. This will be my third different one. I used baby daddy 1 for the first two attempts, and they suggested I switch because maybe there was an incompatibility. He was the music student at Berkeley in Boston.

Then for attempts 3, 4 and 5, I used the marketing professor at Johnson and Wales. Before attempt 5, I was looking through the donor registry and noticed a new person on there. I liked his profile and held on to his donor number, but stayed with baby daddy 2 for my attempt in March.

And so for this one, I'm going with the criminal justice major at Northeastern, the one who wrote in the "statement to recipient": Tomorrow could be the greatest day of your life.

I've been tossing it around in my head, what I will do if this attempt doesn't work. Part of the time, I want to give up. I want to get my body back to a size 12 and be done with the hormones, the being tired, the spare tire around my waist. And then part of me isn't ready to give up on maternity clothes, and feeling my baby kick. So I'll keep going, and if that means IVF and giving myself daily shots, then that's what it is.

But what I don't want to happen is that I've been trying for a year, and then I'm suddenly 39 and I've got nothing, so I've pulled out the adoption paperwork. I've gone through it, I've talked to my friend's sister who works in the adoption field, and next Saturday, I'm going to Rochester to a conference on international adoption. I can start that process while I'm trying this way. And hopefully it won't come to that, but it may. And in the end, that will be okay, I think.

Family Drama, Part Deux

Again, I have to go back to the family drama -- it's all anyone can talk about or think about, and no one is saying anything to the person that should be spoken to about it.

And so I wrote this letter to my niece. Initially it made me feel worse, it was draining, but now I feel better. And maybe she'll never read it, and maybe, just maybe, I will mail it to her after her wedding.

Dear Erica,

I don’t know what happened that day that David asked you and Nathaniel about your plans as you were approaching the end of your two-week stay. But I do know what happened two weeks earlier when he invited you and Nathaniel into his home. And you know what happened, no matter how much you try to spin the story to your benefit. He told you that you were welcome to stay as long as you needed, and that Nathaniel was welcome to stay for two weeks.

Harsh? Maybe, but he was your boyfriend, not your husband, not even your fiancée, at that point. And it was their home, they could create any guidelines they chose – it was your choice to agree to them. And agree you did, as I witnessed that August day. You thanked them and said something to the effect of “that would be great.”

And whatever transpired that day, I’m sure there were things said on both sides that were immediately regretted. However, for you to paint yourself as the victim, for you to imply that David would throw you two out on the streets, is ridiculous.

But you know, what’s done is done. We had Grandma and Grandpa’s anniversary party a few months later, and David was the bigger person and came over to you and hugged you.

And we all thought – you know, it’s over. Whatever, water under the bridge.

And now, three years later, all the hurt feelings come back to the surface. And even more people get to be hurt by your actions. Your aunts and uncles, who should be feeling nothing but happiness on your wedding day for you, are upset that they won’t be seeing their brother. Your aunt and uncle, who helped you when your own boyfriend couldn’t be bothered to (remember the car accident?), are being slapped in the face for their generosity and your selfishness.

I can’t help but recall a conversation that I had with your sister a few weeks after the initial incident. She defended you, as only a good sister would, and said, “why can’t anyone give her the benefit of the doubt that she misunderstood what the arrangement was?” Okay, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, you misunderstood. He corrected the misunderstanding.

Why did you sneak away in the middle of the day while they were at work? Why did you never apologize or even thank them for what they’d done for you? Why have you not been able to forgive them for their part in the misunderstanding? No, your actions regarding your wedding and the invite list only shows me that you understood perfectly what the arrangement was, and you chose to handle it in the absolute wrong way.

You may not have handled that situation in 2005 correctly, but you had the opportunity to make it all right. And what did you do? You created an even larger chasm in the family. By not inviting Dave and Debbie to your wedding, it is not only mean, but cruel.

You may have youth on your side now, and maybe you can be forgiven for your foolishness because of that, but you will never be able to undo this. You will never be able to give your mother and her brother the relationship they once had.

A Yankee in Red Sox Nation

I turned 38 on Sunday -- most of my friends forgot. I'm starting to not like birthdays anymore.

I had an ultrasound on Sunday morning -- the cyst got smaller, so today is day 3 of the Clomid. I go in next Tuesday for a follicle check and then Wednesday for the insemination, if everything looks good on Tuesday.

I'm off to Boston for two days for work. Driving up today, back tomorrow.

Good Work if You Can Get It

Powered By Sexy Limousines


Thanks Nina -- I knew I was good, I didn't know I was that good!

Time Heals All Wounds

Or so they say. And I have to admit, they're kind of right. I'm back on the horse. I went to the doctor this morning for an ultrasound. I have two cysts, one is small enough to not worry about; the other is just 20cm. Anything over 20cm, and they have me rest that month.

I don't know if they normally do this, or it's because I'm such an emotional wreck the months they have me rest, but they're having me go back on Sunday, which would be day 5 of my cycle and see if the cyst has regressed any. Even 1cm and I would be allowed to try again this month.

So, on my 38th birthday, I will get my second ultrasound in five days, to find out if my little womb can try again this month.

Again

As I suspected, I'm not pregnant. It's getting harder, not easier, to do this each month. And I'm so torn about what to do. And so I went to the gym last night, and then went home and did what I do best. I made a spreadsheet.

I think I've decided that while I'm figuring out the best international program for me, I will try one more time. That way, I'm moving toward the goal down two different paths.

The adoption thing is tough. I feel like I'm shopping for a car. I have parameters about price, and how many trips and the length of those trips the government requires, and how long it takes to be matched with a baby -- and it feels tacky, like I'm looking at whether I want heated seats or a sun roof.

It shouldn't be this hard. But then again, maybe it should.

I Shouldn't Have

PS.....I took a pregnancy test when I got home tonight. It came out negative. And while the doctor told me that a urine test would be inaccurate, I think it's more that I could get a false positive. I don't think I could get a false negative.

I think I did it, because I wanted to prepare myself for the negative tomorrow, especially since I will be at work when I get the call.

sigh...it could be a long night and morning, until I get the call.

Not Long Now

I go for my blood test tomorrow. Unlike any other month, I'm not scared. Usually when I get to this point, I suddenly get scared. But this month, today, I'm not. Maybe it's because I have been pretty good at having a "whatever" attitude this month, or maybe because I'm resigned to the fact that this might be my last attempt.

I've decided that this is taking too much of a toll on me -- physically and emotionally. I have the adoption paperwork on my dining room table, and tonight, I'm going to make piles and read through things more thoroughly than I did when I received it all.

And maybe, just maybe, I can get back my -- while certainly not skinny -- my fit body back.

If it's even possible...

...."the girls" feel like they are getting bigger. (And that's saying a lot as they are 36DD.)

Am I imagining it, hopeful for any sign of a positive pregnancy test? Quite possibly. It stinks that PMS symptoms and pregnancy symptoms are pretty similar.

I've got five days to go. If I'm not, and it goes like last month, I will get my period on Saturday night. If I'm not, and it goes like two months ago, I won't get my period until after I stop taking the progesterone.

I go for my blood test on Monday, and will find out at work.

Sometimes Family Really Sucks

My niece is getting married in June, and I just found out that my brother and sister-in-law from Virginia will not be invited. It's upsetting, because no matter the hurt feelings over the situation that occurred in 2005, and no matter how justified my niece feels in not inviting them, it's the wrong thing to do. And for my sister to not step in and tell Erica that they should be invited is even more disturbing.

I don't think Erica realizes the consequences, realizes how petty or small she looks. This is family. At the end of the day, that's who you have. And to hear the hurt in my sister-in-law's voice all over again, three years after that awful situation, just tears me up, because more than anyone in my pretty big family, they are the ones who would -- and have -- go out of their way to help someone.

It's just really shitty. And while we'll all smile and play nice in June, the fact that there are three someones missing will put a damper, and a little bit of ugliness, on the day.

Happy Opening Night (and day, tomorrow)

Finally -- baseball. It'll be nice to lay in bed tonight and fall asleep to the sounds of a cracking bat, cheering fans, and Jon Miller and Joe Morgan's voices.

I feel like my weekend is just starting and it's already over. I had to work until about 8 on Friday night, and I was back on campus at 8:30 yesterday morning. I think I got home about 11 last night. We had an academic conference on the works of Rod Serling (he used to teach at the college).

It was very fun, but a lot of work, and a lot of standing on my feet all day, something I'm not used to doing for 10 and 11 hours at a time. I taught some of the professors my term for over-zealous fans -- foamers. We used that word a lot when I worked in Baltimore. Foamers, as in those who foam at the mouth for athletes, or as was the case this weekend, Rod Serling. More specifically, the Twilight Zone and to a lesser degree, Planet of the Apes.

They were interesting folks for sure, and then I wondered, oh my god, is that what I sound like when I talk about Babe Ruth. Maybe, but I hope not.

Uncle Henry

My dear sweet great-uncle, 93 years young, passed away on Easter Sunday. He held on a lot longer than any one of us thought he would. We got the first phone three weeks ago, that "it was time."

At the service yesterday, the deacon said that obviously he was waiting for something, holding on for some reason, known only to him. He was waiting for Easter, the deacon said, waiting for Jesus. It was a nice, comforting thought.

We didn't have him for very long (read My Mother's Family for the back story), but we loved and adored him as if he had been in our lives from the moment we were born.

I can still hear him call me "dear." And one of my friends from work gave me some scratch-off tickets in honor of Uncle Henry -- I also slipped a couple in the weekly cards I sent him.

I miss you already, Uncle Henry.

Strive for Five

I went in for my procedure on Friday. And while I hate seeing signs, because it automatically gets my hopes up, there were some signs and some differences than the previous times.

I shopped at Kohl's in the morning and saw a very pregnant woman. She was really the only person in the store that I paid attention to; I couldn't have told you about any other person in the store with me.

When I got to the doctor's office, it was a different nurse practitioner. For the previous four times, Jodi did the procedure; this time, it was Jan. And she had me lay on right side, to help the sperm go to the big eggs. I also didn't bring anything with me -- no Derek Jeter onesie, no good luck charm. I did stop at McDonald's and get a milk shake. Full fat dairy has a positive effect on conception, so I treated myself in the name of medicine!

And then on the drive home, while I was contemplating my chances of multiples (I had six total eggs!), I saw not one, but two sets of identical construction trucks on the highway. Had I not been thinking about twins, I wouldn't have thought anything of it. It was a little freaky.

My blood test would be on a Sunday (the same day that I will be in Syracuse for my great-nephew's birthday party) so I'll go on Monday. That will be the first time the blood test will be on a day I'll be at work. I've already started to feel like this is the one.

I hope I'm not disappointed again.

On a different note, as my Okie friend reminded me the other day as I was lamenting about snow on the first day of Spring, baseball is right around the corner. Eight days and counting until Opening Night.

I got so excited when I thought about it, I hung up my front door decoration -- a piece of slate, hand-painted, "Tis the Season" with a baseball, that I got in Cooperstown last summer.

So I'll watch basketball all day today and tomorrow between errands and preparing for Easter dinner, but know that next Sunday, I get to watch baseball.

Easter Eggs

Not the kind you color, but the kind you hope are over 20 cm. I went in for my ultrasound/follicle check this afternoon, and before she could even tell me, I knew they were big enough. Not only from the pain and pressure I've been feeling on my lower abdomen for the past few days, but from seeing (and knowing from my previous ultrasounds) what was on the screen.

I had three over 24 cm, and a couple on the left side, just under 20. So I got my shot of hCG, which will not only induce ovulation, but also bloat me up to the size of a roughly five-months pregnant woman in two days. Fortunately, that side effect goes away after a day.

I go in tomorrow at 12:30, so I opted for the whole day off. Wish me luck. Lucky number 5? I hope so.

What did I do before I learned how to text message?

Bubbles is convinced that, if not interested in something, men don't have a great attention span. So by that logic, J of Baltimore is still hot for me.

Saturday night I went to a gala for a local non-profit. There was a cut-out of Cal Ripken, so I got my picture with it and sent it to J on my cell phone. Nothing. So about an hour and two beers later, I sent him the following text:

"wow no comment?"

J: "On what Irish girl? You know I would always comment! I can't get photos on this thing! Hope you're drinking Jameson!"

Ellie: "Drinking beer, looking fab at a gala, there is a life-size Cal which is what I sent a pic of -- me and #8"

J: "wasn't what I was hoping for but ok"

Ellie: "I'd send u what u want if u could see it"

J: "good point. I am low tech I guess. My loss for sure!"

Ellie: "Your loss for now -- not forever. I can make it up to you at some point :)"

J: "I am counting on that. I will make it worth it."

And so it goes...as it has for the past four years. He confuses me. He knows the effect he has on me. The flirting, the innuendo, and sometimes, an outright proposition. And yet, when I get to Baltimore, and we meet up for a drink, it's as if it never happened.

Should I be more bold in person? Should I tell him to "shit or get off the pot" so to speak? Even in the midst of a great time with Chris, and even when I was totally loving life with BB, J was always on my mind, never far from my thoughts or my fantasies.

Almost four years after leaving Baltimore, he's still in my head.

And he knows it.

And there's not a god damn thing I can do about it.

Current Mood: Melancholy

So even though I said I was "over" the latest attempt, and even though I didn't have any cysts so, again, I get to try again immediately (already day 3 of Clomid), I'm still feeling a little sad. So much so that I'm not sure how to describe it.

So I'm going to check a couple of my favorite blogs, crack open a book, and hope for a good night's sleep.

Weekend Update

It's been a whirlwind -- I'll do my best to update since my last post.

Thursday, I stayed at work late to make and print signs for the benefit. I was there until 7. As I was carrying two boxes of stuff up the stairs, I needed to go to the bathroom, but I decided to wait until I got home so I didn't have to rebalance the boxes. When I got home, I was welcomed with the tell-tale signs that I was not pregnant. No need to go for the blood test tomorrow.

I walked around my house, not knowing what to do, now knowing if I wanted to talk to anyone or not. I cried a little, then laughed at myself for being a baby, and then cried again. I finally decided to call Wanda -- because no matter the situation, no matter the circumstance, she always knows what to say. And she made me feel a little better.

Friday morning, I hit the ground running. But first I had to deal with the doctor's office. I called, told them I got my period, and made an appointment for an ultrasound for Monday. Since my clomid was doubled last month, I fully expect there to be residual cysts, which will mean taking this month off from fertility treatments.

I went to the bank, the grocery store, the gas station, the dollar store and Wal-mart -- and home before noon. I finished making baskets, made last-minute changes to my spreadsheet, made signs, packed my car and picked up a sheet cake from the college, and then was on my way to Syracuse to spend the night at my niece's.

Saturday morning, I was at the legion by 9:30 -- and I needed all that time before the event started to get my raffle items (all 22 on the high-end table, and all 107 for the low-end!) labled and tagged, sorted by time slot (we turned the low-end table over every 45 minutes) and stored under the tables. I had color-coded tables, signs and raffle tickets. call me anal -- but it was a well-oiled machine.

the day went by so fast. I got to see people I hadn't seen in 20 years, people I used to work at Green Hills with. It was fun and constant and amazing. Every 20 minutes, i was skimming the cash box where my parents were selling raffle tickets, and taking wads of 20s, 50s and 100s to the cash room.

I had no idea how much we raised, but I don't know how we could have raised more. Everyone gave it their all, and the fact that we organized this in six weeks is all the more amazing.

And so, the take-away, is that the benefit couldn't have happened at a better time for me. Being so busy -- and being so busy at something that I love to do -- was the prefect medicine. I didn't think about the fact that I had another failed attempt, I didn't feel overly sad about it - and seeing the family we were helping, really put everything into perspective. so I'm not pregnant yet. Here's a 36-year-old man fighting for his life.

And so, I'll go to the doctor tomorrow. And I will probably pull that adoption paperwork out a little more. I don't know if I'll do anything with it yet, but that option is becoming stronger and stronger. And one that I'm becoming more comfortable with. And the comfort -- or lack of -- isn't about the adoption, it's about giving up the pregnancy dream

Negative

I'll write more after the weekend. The benefit is tomorrow -- something to keep me busy and my mind off of things here.

I'm Scared

It's nice and all to be hopeful for the 16 days between the insemination and the blood test, but the day before the blood test is terrifying. Everything little thing means something. This morning, my temperature dropped to 98.1.

Before the test, you can be hopeful, you can imagine, you can even rub your belly and pretend that there's really a baby in there. After the test, if it comes back negative, that's it. It's definitive. It's over. It's back to the drawing board.

I don't know if I can go back to the drawing board. And that scares me more than anything else.

Two Days to Go

It's hard to not think I'm pregnant, and hard to not be sensitive to every little thing that feels different. I've been really tired (but I had a busy weekend last week -- in Syracuse for two benefit meetings, my mom's uncle was not doing well, and I spent the night at my niece's with very active little boys).

I went to bed at 8:15 on Sunday and 8:30 on Monday. And both mornings, woke up feeling like I barely got enough sleep. My stomach has been, on and off, queasy after I eat. And this morning I woke up with a back-ache. And I still have it -- it's more than sleeping on it wrong.

My temps have been really good -- 98.2-98.4 consistently over the past week. And Dr. Wong felt my pulse and looked at my tongue (who knows?) yesterday at acupuncture, and said it looked very good. She thinks I am, fingers crossed.

I'm taking the day off on Friday, mostly because I have a lot to do for the benefit. I'm meeting the Herr Food rep tomorrow at Wegmans to pick up 800 individual bags of chips and pretzels. I've got signs to make, items still coming in for the raffle baskets, laundry to do. And, oh yea, I have to run up to the hospital to get my blood work done.

Saturday is the benefit. I'm excited about it -- I love events. And I'm sure there will be a ton of people there I know, but haven't seen in years and years. So I guess, the good thing is, if I'm not pregnant, I get to drink beer at the benefit, and I get to keep busy and not lay on my couch and feel sorry for myself. I can do that on Sunday, I guess.

Exhausted

Last night, I feel asleep before 9pm. Woke up to go the bathroom at 1:30 and then right back to sleep until my alarm went off at 6am. Is it a sign? Who knows?

And my temperature was 98.4 this morning, which for me is like a raging fever.

I've still got a week before my blood test. And I can't even cheat and take an at-home test because of the hCG shot and progesterone I'm taking now. So I'll wait until next Friday.

It's going to be a long week. And I can't even sleep in on Saturday, because I have to be in Syracuse at 9am to put raffle items together for the benefit I'm working on. Aaah, but Sunday....Sunday, I get to sleep in.

The Rise and Fall

So it's been almost a week since the insemination. I started the progesterone suppositories on Saturday. That will help with implantation -- the vital step my acupuncturist is convinced I am failing. And so is all of this extra information from her a good thing or a bad thing?

Yesterday I was thinking bad. I woke up, feeling really warm. But when I took my temperature, it was 97.8 -- down from 98.3 the day before. Now mind you, for me, 97.8 is still pretty high. But Dr. Wong has impressed upon me how important it is that my temperature stay high, that I stay as warm as possible. All day yesterday, I was bummed -- even though rationally I knew that it was too early in my cycle for the plummet to mean that I was about to get my period. I was thinking of it as my cold, little womb was not a good environment for my fertilized egg.

I had an acupuncture appointment yesterday afternoon, and she was still optimistic about my temperature, but pointed out, as if this is something I can truly control, that it needs to go back up the next day and stay up. OK, I'll do my best.

I've been trying not to look at signs. I haven't figured out what my due date would be, other than I know it would be sometime in November. I'm so concerned about the negative test, and then immediately try to put it out of my head so that I can stay positive. I'm trying not to talk about it too much with my friends who know.

But...the signs are there. At least things feel different from the previous three attempts. All weekend, whenever I ate, no matter how much or how little, I felt nauseated. Sunday, I drank a Sprite and that was the first time that any sort of caloric intake settled in my stomach. And I feel something inside, something I can't quite put my finger on. Maybe it's an inner peace since I've been praying to St. Gerard every night, or maybe it's my intuition telling me that this time it worked.

And then there's my temperature. 98.3 this morning. So there's still hope. And as my friend Hope says, "you gotta have hope." And so I'll stay hopeful, a little more optimistic than cautious this time around, and think the best.

It's Absolutely Ridiculous...

but it makes me laugh (and groove a little) every time I hear it. And it makes me smile and think of the good times in Baltimore.

Baby Jesus Trumps St. Gerard

The frustration of all of this finally got to me this week.

Monday, I had an ultrasound and found out that my egg follicles weren't quite mature. I was to go back on Wednesday. And that was fine -- I didn't really expect it, but the follicles were close in size, so I knew that come Wednesday, as long as I didn't ovulate prematurely, I would be okay and we would be able to do the procedure.

Wednesday, I went back to the doctor, hCG in tow so I could get my shot. I had three mature follicles on the right side, a few immature ones on the left. I was expecting to be able to have them give me my shot, but first I had to get blood work done. I hadn't had to have that done in a few months, but because my Clomid dosage was increased, they needed new estrodial levels.

And that's when I almost lost it. It was one more thing, one more thing that I wasn't expecting to have to do. But I got over it pretty quickly and drove north to Ithaca, and up the west side of the lake to the hospital, instead of up to south hill to go to work. In the lab, I think I got a newbie. After two sticks, and two blown out veins with no blood to show for it, she called in for help from another technician. One stick later, in the other arm and with a very large needles, there was blood. I couldn't wait to see what kind of bruises I would get from this trip to the lab.

I waited for the blood work results to come in, and for the doctor's office to call. At this point, I couldn't even get excited that I would have the IUI the next day. I just couldn't be sure until I heard from Jan or Jodi. Finally Jodi called, and was excited about my levels. Over 1,000! So I just needed to get my shot and be at the doctor's office the next afternoon.

I called the health center to see if they could give me my shot. They had in the past, but the person I talked to was giving me the run around about needing permission from the director and finding my chart. I told her I just needed to know, because if she couldn't do it, then I would need to drive back to Elmira to have it done. It had to be done that day. Even though she was very frustrating and couldn't give me an answer, she did call me back rather quickly and said I could come over any time and she would do it. *sigh*

And so, after a hectic day or running around and getting poked and prodded, I could take a deep breath and try to get rid of the stress. I was going to try again the next day. For the fourth time, but the first time in consecutive months, I was about to try again to get pregnant.

Jill couldn't go with me, so I went alone. I headed down to Horseheads early and went to Panera for lunch. I had some yummy soup and relaxed. I was trying not to read into anything, but everything was different about this time.

At the office, on the table and in the stirrups, Jodi had a hard time finding the end of my cervix. My uterus was tipped more than usual, and I knew exactly when she found it. She hit it with the catheter that she uses to put the sperm in with. I took a deep breath, she apologized profusely, and then the cramping started. Once she had the baby batter in, she left me to lay flat for 20 minutes.

I called Bubbles for a little support. And we prayed together. I said a prayer to St. Gerard -- my new best friend, as I just found out he is the patron saint of fertility and motherhood. And then Bubbles, in her heavier-than-usual West Virginia drawl, "Dear baby Jesus, please let Ellie get knocked up. Amen."

Nothing like going right to the source. I hope she has an open line to Him.

Current Mood: Wistful

I've been thinking about BB (my 20-years-older lover from Baltimore) a lot lately. I miss him, I even had a dream about him the other night. When we were together, he made me feel special and like I was the only one who mattered. What I knew -- and accepted -- was that when we weren't together, he was making someone else feel like that. He was just that type of person, would never be monogamous, could never be monogamous. And that didn't make him a bad person. He needed to feel special and wanted -- and women made him feel that way.

And like I said, I accepted it. I never wanted more from him. I knew that a real relationship -- for reasons beyond his commitment issues -- would never work. And when I left Baltimore, I kissed him good-bye, said thanks for the good times, and moved to Ithaca. With 350 miles between us, we were of no use to the other one. And so the relationship -- on every level -- was over.

And for the past three and a half years, I've thought about him occasionally. Brought stories about him out during a girls' night when liquor was plentiful. But beyond that, not so much.

Until lately. I'm not sure if I'm thinking of him because I'm restless, or horny. Or if I'm really missing him or the idea of him. As much as I want a relationship...if I can't, it would be nice to just have that kind of friend. The kind you can call for a quickie or an all-nighter. A nooner or a weekend away.

And because I've been thinking about BB, it has also made me want to call Chris. Not because I miss him, but because I miss what he can give me. I've even had "dates" set up with Chris in the past few months, but always cancel with some lame excuse. In the end, I know that he will disappoint, that he will not make me feel special, he will not make me feel like I'm the only who matters.

And so whenever I think about making that phone call, or actually following through with the Chris hook-up, I think about what my friend Jill said to me, "I don't care if you have sex with him. I just hate that he gets to have sex with you."

I may think I'm the type of girl who can have meaningless sex -- and I have, successfully, in the past -- but when it comes down to it, to have a booty call friend, I need there to be some level of caring, some level of mutual respect. And that's what I had with BB, and as much as I tried to fool myself, I never had that with Chris.

Baseball

I don't work in baseball anymore, haven't for almost four year, but I'm a fan. I love the game. And so, probably for both reasons, I've been asked by more than a few people my opinion on this whole congressional hearing mess that took place yesterday.

Plain and simple, I think both Clemens and McNamee were lying, one more than the other. And unfortunately, I think the one with the most to lose, was the one lying the most. I think that, like OJ, Clemens believes his own lies so emphatically that he doesn't know what it is real and what isn't.

I think Elijah Cummings said it best, when he addressed Clemens: "It's hard to believe you, sir. I hate to say that. You're one of my heroes, but it's hard to believe you."

Happy Valentine's Day

or Black Thursday, as I like to call it.

I went in for my ultrasound last week, and surprise, I only had one cyst and it was less than 17cm so it's okay to move forward. I started on 100mg of Clomid (double what I've previously taken, but no where near the maximum) on Saturday and took my last dose last night. This is the first time I've been able to try two consecutive months. I'm hoping my body will say, "oh yeah, sperm....that's what I'm supposed to do with it." I go in Monday morning for a follicle check and if all looks good, I'll try to get knocked up on Tuesday.

It was a nostalgic weekend for me last week. Saturday, I went to a baby shower (someone I used to work at Bath & Body with) in Syracuse. It was in the valley, right near where I spent many days and nights in high school. My friend Amy drove up with me, and I dragged her into Green Hills , the locally owned grocery store I worked at in high school. It really was a trip down memory lane, even though is much fancier than it used to be. I showed her the register that I used to always ring on, and the back room where DD and I used to hide when we were supposed to be taking down the salad bar. And the back room where he propositioned me (which resulted in my first BJ in the parking lot after work one night).

And then after Green Hills, I took Amy to the duck pond where I used to go when I was little (and still love!). Let me remind you that it's February. And Syracuse. Needless to say, the corn got dumped in the water pretty quickly. It was really cold. Driving up to Audrey's new house was even fun, because she lived behind my childhood church, and I had to drive on street's where high school friends used to live.

So I was already in that high school wistfulness when I drove back to Syracuse on Sunday. A friend of my parents' has been diagnosed with late-stage pancreatic cancer. He's 36, has two small kids and a third on the way. It sucks more and more every time I think about it. His wife is someone I went to high school with, though we didn't hang out. She was two years ahead of me. But I went to a relatively small high school, so I remember her. My parents became friends with her and husband within the past eight or nine years.

Anyway, Sunday. Family and friends are organizing a benefit. And I've never been one to let an event where I can remotely be in charge of organizing something get by me. So now I'm involved -- I'm actually in charge of the raffle and silent auction. And there was a committee meeting. So I drove up to Syracuse (for the second time in two days) in gusting winds and blowing and drifting snow because more than being at the meeting and talking special event, I knew that there were going to be three guys there that I had gone to high school with (had actually known since the 4th grade!).

When I first saw Matt (the cutest boy in the 4th grade), it was like everyone stopped talking and time stood still. OK, maybe that's a little dramatic. But still -- oh my god, Matt T., all grown up, balding, gray, but still that baby face. And so tall. We went to a school where for some reason, teachers did things by alphabetical order (seating, lining up for lunch, lockers next to each other), so Matt with his T and me with my W, we ended up next to each other a lot. And it was good to see Dave and Mike, too -- but I was closer to Matt than the other two.

Matt told me that I looked "great" and wondered how I haven't aged. That made me feel good, because at the moment, the wedding bands on all three of their hands was blinding, and I was just waiting for one of them to ask if I was married, had kids. And a little part of me felt inadequate. What do I have to show for my life?

I got over the pity party pretty quickly (no complaining, right?) and was just really glad to reconnect with these guys. We didn't get to talk much, but I'll be seeing them for the next few weeks for meetings and then the event on March 8.

And all of this is just leading up to, I'm sure, me planning our 20th high school reunion. We'll see.

Feeling Better

After a few weepy days, I'm feeling better. I got my period -- which while it took away the glimmer of a false negative, it also made me move on. That cycle is over and done with, and a new cycle means a new opportunity.

And so I'm going in tomorrow for an ultrasound to see if there are any residual cysts left over from last month's dose of clomid. I'm fully expecting there to be, given the trends of the last few months. But I'm okay with that, because I can take this month to get back into the swing of things at the gym.

I have my first really good work out in months last night. I have an adorable new trainer who dotes on me. It's a shame he's only 22. He even sent me an email tonight telling me he missed me and was bored without me there tonight (I had acupuncture). We did upper body and abs, and tomorrow he's going to work me hard with lower body.

I really haven't felt that good after a workout since I've started this whole fertility thing. I think between the hormones and my mind being focused on the baby thing, that I couldn't really focus on working out like I used to.

But if there is anything good that has come from my failed attempts, it has given me a sense of balance. Or at least reminded me that I need to have a better sense of balance -- and not focus (obsess, really) on just one thing. My life needs to be about more than just one thing.

My resolution for Lent -- to not complain, or should I say complain for the sake of complaining. For every complaint, I need to find a way to resolve it.

It will help me stay positive.

A happy mind means a happy body.

(PS....thanks Nina for your kind words).

Things Not to Say to Me

Some people have been incredibly supportive, and while they feel that they don't know what to say to me, they are not saying insensitive things to me. However....

"Look at so-and-so, it took her six months to get pregnant, and there's nothing wrong with her."
As if there is something wrong with me.

"I heard from so-and-so that you got your test results back, how come you didn't tell me?"
Why does it matter who you heard it from -- how about just telling me you know I'm disappointed and you're sorry.

I know I'm still cranky from the disappointment, and on top of that, I am now pre-menstrual. I just need one more day to feel sorry for myself.

The third time is not the charm

I got up yesterday and went to the hospital lab to get my blood work done. And as I waiting for the tech to draw blood, my heart was pounding. This was it -- this is as close as I've gotten since I started this last August to actually being pregnant. Once the blood was drawn and I had a Scooby-Doo band-aid on my arm, there was nothing more to do. But wait.

I spent the morning at Jill's house, helping her unpack books for her new book shelf. And she got in the mood for the Super Bowl, by watching the history of the Giants on DVD. She was a good sport and we watched the '58 championship game against the Colts (even though the Giants lost that game) and she had me tell her stories about all the Colts as they showed them on screen. It was fun -- it was a quick visit into my old life.

And then as it got past noon, I started to get anxious. "I need to go home." I didn't want to miss the phone call from Jodi. I didn't miss it -- she called about 1:30. "I'm afraid I don't have very good news for you." And so it began again.

I didn't know what to feel, I didn't know what to do. Do I call everyone in my phone book who knew today was the day? Or do I just wait for them to ask? I called the two people I specifically told I would call, and let anyone else who was interested call me. Other than my mom and my neighbor, there were no other calls.

By 6:30, I was feeling sorry for myself, and alone -- no one cares about me. Yes, it was a big of thinking only about myself, but I felt like everyone else was so wrapped up in their lives that they weren't even thinking about me today.

There's so much to think about now. Do I want to go through this again? I'll have to have a stronger dose of the Clomid next month, which will mean more weight gain and more emotions. I don't think this weekend is the time to make this decision. Should I just say fuck it? Should I seriously look into adoption? Do I really want to start someone's new life with their mommy $20,000 in debt with adoption costs?

I had a dream last night. I was holding a baby, my baby. He or she was about 9 months old, I think it was a boy. He said "momma" when I picked him up. I'm still too numb to read anything into the dream, but you know, and I know, that I'm not going to say fuck it. I'm too invested to give up.

Wanda said I just need to keep with my plan, and have the back-up plan if this plan doesn't work. And I told her last night, it never occurred to me that this wouldn't work. Never. Even with the ovarian failure diagnosis, there was always hope. My people have babies, my mom was pregnant 14 times for God's sake -- how could my body not be able to do this?

It just seems like a cruel joke the universe is playing on me.

I'm Scared

I woke up this morning, feeling scared. Like I wanted to cry scared. Wanted to crawl back into bed and stay there all day. And I cheated a little on my morning temperature. When I first woke up, it was 98.0 (it has been going down one-tenth of a degree for the past few days), so I laid there for a little while, listened to Sports Center, and then took it again about a half hour later. It was 98.2. I split the difference on my chart and put it at 98.1, same as yesterday.

I know that means nothing, but given my mood this morning, I really couldn't bare charting my temp lower again today. I'm sure I'll change it so it's more accurate tonight. The acupuncturist told me that I need 12 good days of high temps. I think today (whether it I count it as 98.0 or 98.1) is day 8 or 9.

*sigh* I've got only a few more days until I go to the hospital to get my blood test done. I feel like I should know if I'm pregnant, that I should feel something. And because I don't, and because I don't want to be disappointed again, and because I feel like I've somehow jinxed myself by having too many thoughts about being pregnant, I feel like I'm not.

Hope mentioned to me yesterday that I never second-guess myself. That never once since December 2006 when I said, "I'm doing this next summer" have I second-guessed myself. And for the most part that's true. There have been times when I've had thoughts about whether I can really afford to do this, but those are fleeting moments.

Can you want something too much? I don't know what I'll do on Saturday if I get bad news.

Suds and Duds

We had our office holiday party the other night -- an annual tradition to have it in January after the chaos of the holidays is over, to have it at a local bar (that's the suds part), and to have to bring the worst present you got for Christmas to exchange (that's the duds).

We took turns choosing a present from the beautifully wrapped pile, with the elaborate bows and shiny paper. When it was my turn, I did my usual shaking and feeling and fondling, looking for just the perfect present. Hoping to find a diamond in the rough.

I unwrapped my present and immediately turned pink -- it was a turkey baster. My friends from the office who are in the know, started cracking up. Our administrative assistant almost fell off her bar stool. And everyone else was oblivious to the fact that I was standing there, having been inseminated just eight days earlier, holding a turkey baster.

It was pretty funny. Nancy thinks it's a sign. When someone wanted to trade for my turkey baster, I though quickly about holding onto it, thinking it was some sort of good luck charm. But then I said, "sure....I don't need this."

Here's hoping that I don't need it -- and that I can handle my impatience all week, until I can get my blood test on Saturday.

Too Many Thoughts

I'm thinking about how I'm going to tell people I'm pregnant. And then I stop myself and wonder what I'm going to do next Saturday when Jodi calls me with my test results and tells me I'm not pregnant.

Is this what limbo feels like? Afraid of hell....but trying not to jinx your chances in heaven?

My Missing Fire

I went to the acupuncturist yesterday and she is concerned about my temperature. (Again with the no fire in my womb)

It's too low -- it needs to be high for this phase of my cycle in order to have good implantation. During the October attempt, my basal body temperature was consistently above 98 degrees, but only for seven days. It needs stay that high during the entire luteal phase for implantation to occur. Sometimes I wonder if too much knowledge is only going to make me obsess, worry, etc more than I would normally.

But I kept my heat up over 70 in my bedroom last night instead of turning it down when I went to sleep, put an extra blanket on the bed. My temp was higher this morning (up to 98.0 from 97.7 yesterday).

I'm going out at lunch to see if I can find an electric blanket or bed warmer, am wearing cuddleduds under my jeans. I had hot oatmeal for breakfast and hot cocoa with dinner last night

It's like disappointment already, even though it doesn't mean that it didn't work.

Sisters Showing the Solidarity

I had my IUI this afternoon, and I used a different donor than the previous two times. Let's switch things up and see if that makes a difference. The doctor did tell me that sometimes there is incompatibility between two people, on a biological level -- and they don't know why.

And I read in one of my books that a little self-gratification after the procedure helps. Nothing scientific behind -- pure anecdotal but what the hell. So between the IUI appointment and acupuncture, I came home for a little afternoon delight. And in a show of support, four girls at work promised to go home and have a little "self-service" themselves.

I think only girls could have these kinds of conversations. I can't imagine a guy needing to jack off for medicinal purposes -- and his close friends say, "Hey, we'll masturbate tonight and think of you." Yea, something tells me that would never happen. But it does show me how much my friends are also invested in this with me. They are experiencing the whole gamut of emotions as I do, so why not the orgasm too?

Anyway, I'm being cautiously optimistic about this procedure, but not hopeful. It's a precarious line between the two, but I'm managing so far to stay there.

My day in review

3am -- woke up with pain/pressure in my abdomen, like ovulation pain, but since I did an ovulation stick last night, I knew I wasn't ovulating

4:30am -- still awake, still feeling the pressure, watched "The Brady Bunch," the episode where Marcia falls for Harvey, the dork who likes bugs

5am -- remember that somewhere in the world it is daytime and they are playing tennis, turned to ESPN2 for the Australian Open

6:10am -- my alarm goes off and scares the shit out of me, I had finally fallen back asleep

6:19am -- think that I can have curly hair today and continue to hit snooze, change to the local news so I can hear the weather

7am -- hear the beginning of "The Today Show," having never heard the local weather; out of bed, realize my hair is too straight to wear it curly, but not straight enough that I don't have to use the hair straightener

7:30am -- out the door on my way to Horseheads for appointment

8:15am -- my second ultrasound in five days, my follicles have grown, but not big enough yet; and my lining looks good

8:30am -- schedule an ultrasound for 24 hours later

9:30am -- finally get to work, complete with $700 sperm in the back seat so I can get the liquid nitrogen tank refilled

10am -- discover that Elmira is the closest place to get liquid nitrogen

10:01am -- laugh at that irony (Elmira is only 10 minutes from my doctor's office, which is 35 minutes from my house and 45 minutes from work)

3pm -- leave work to head to Elmira

4pm -- liquid nitrogen tank filled and perfectly cold, drop it off at the doctor's office, where the receptionist cheerily says, "see you in the morning."

4:01am -- remember that I have to make the trip to Horseheads again the morning

5pm to present -- long, hot shower, watch my soap from today, talk to my niece, my mother and my friend, catch up on local and national news online, eat dinner, check work email

In the next few minutes -- contacts out, teeth brushed, in bed with my new issue of "Real Simple" and the first episode of "American Idol"

good night.

Baby Eggs

Baby, like little, not baby, like...well....baby.

I went in for my ultrasound this morning and I have two egg follicles on each side. Unfortunately, they are all two small to even think about doing the IUI tomorrow. One of the midwives did the ultrasound, which was actually very nice, because she explained everything in way more detail than the regular technicians.

She explained that my follicles are all about 10 or 11 (whatever unit they are measured in), but they really need to be at least 18-20. So there I lay, on the table, legs in stirrups, vaginal probe probing, trying not to cry. Trying not to think that my body is failing me, that something that billions of women's bodies have managed to figure out how to do, mine has not yet figured it out.

Of course, there were encouraging words from her and from my nurse practitioner, and this does not mean that this month is another off-month. Because the follicles only grow 1 to 2 each day, I'm scheduled to go back in on Tuesday for another ultrasound. If even one is in the 18-20 range, then on Wednesday, we'll try the IUI again.

I've thought again, how in the grand scheme of things, this process has not even been a year and I know couples struggle for years and years to try to have a baby. I know that there are people much worse off than I am. And tomorrow, I'll think about that and remember that I still have options and I still have hope and that I'm very lucky.

Today, I just want to feel sorry for myself and mope and cry. I did make it into work, though I'm not sure that I've accomplished a whole lot. I have a meeting at 2:00 and then I'm heading home to my couch for a nap.

In the words of Katie Scarlett O'Hara, "tomorrow is another day."

I Made the Call

I called DSS to find out more information about adoption through the foster care system. I can't say that I came away terribly encouraged. The average age of children in foster is 10 years old. If there are children under 3, they are more than likely in a sibling group with a brother or sister in their early teens.

I don't know what I was thinking, why I was optimistic that this might be a place for me to look for an infant. I guess because there is such a demand for infants, that most are placed through private adoption, which is also a possibility I need to explore. I know that international adoption is way out of my price range, but I have heard from friends that domestic adoption -- while still pricey -- may be something I can afford.

And of course, all of this is moot if the doctors and the specialists and the sperm and my eggs all do what they are supposed. Which of course means that I need to stop stressing and obsessing, because that's not doing my body any good, right?

Maybe I should make an appointment for a massage before the procedure this weekend. (I have acupuncture on Thursday -- they couldn't get me in on Friday.) But then do I really have an extra $100 to blow on a massage -- will I then stress about that as well?

This is what I do to myself, I over-analyze things, over think them to death. When what I really need to do is take a deep breath, close the computer, go upstairs and take a nice long, hot shower, and crawl into bed for will hopefully be a better night's sleep than last night.

*Sigh* ....it will all work out. I just need to keep repeating it and believing it.

Resolutions of some sort

Without even purposely meaning to, I reconnected with two old friends today -- one more than the other. Buffalo Dave called this morning to check on things. It was a bittersweet conversation, as it almost always is. I always get a wistful feeling when we talk, and a little part of me always wonders, "what if..."

We haven't spoken in more than a month, and somehow over the years, we have gotten out of the habit of talking every week, sometimes several times a week. He was calling to check on the baby process and where I was with things.

He was supportive and loving, and said all the right things when I started to convey my frustrations at my own body failing me. When I told him how I sometimes can't keep my emotions in check, like how I cried the other day when I heard the Billy Ray and Miley Cyrus song on the car radio. We promised each other that we would talk at least once a month, and I made a mental note to write it on my calendar, which I of course forgot to do. (sending myself an email at work right now)

My other friend -- Karen. We worked together when I lived in Rochester, my first job right out of college, and after she had a baby, I started babysitting for her a few Saturdays a month. When I moved to Baltimore, we stayed in touch for a little while, but as friends do, we drifted apart. I found her on LinkedIn and sent her an email this morning. The ironic thing -- as soon as I sent the email, I wrote down the date and realized today is her birthday, so I sent her another quick email withe birthday wishes.

We emailed back and forth with a quick synopsis of our lives, updates on the boys, my baby plans, etc. It felt so good to be in touch with her. She, her (now ex-) husband, and two boys were my extended family in Rochester. And I remember how sad I was to leave them when I moved to Baltimore.

And so, while it's not a concrete resolution with measurable outcomes, I will be a better friend this year, I will be better about staying in touch, and those I've lost touch with, I will drop "hello" notes. Being in touch with Karen today made me feel so happy -- why not continue this with more happy days and more happy re-connections.

Roger Clemens

The big interview on "60 Minutes" will be on tonight after the football game. I'll watch -- even though I don't think my mind will be changed. I truly believe that Roger Clemens took performing-enhancing drugs -- and not B-12 shots from his trainer. I thought it before the Mitchell Report came out and I still think it.

The fact that a lot of the people named in the Report have come forward to say it's true and offer their apologies and excuses only cements my belief. No professional athlete gets better in their 30s and 40s than they were in their 20s -- no matter how amazingly sick and disciplined they are with their workout regimes and conditioning.

I was listening to ESPN Radio the other day at work, and he host made an excellent point. Who is the greatest basketball player of our time? Are you telling me that Michael Jordan wasn't disciplined, wasn't serious about his workouts? And still....Michael Jordan in his 30s, compared to Michael Jordan in his 20s, sucked. He was still good, still able to compete on the professional level, but he was not the same caliber player he was with the Bulls. Not even close.

And so for Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens to say make us all think that they've legitimately (and drug-free) gotten better on their own, I just have to shake my head. I may have been born at night, but I wasn't born last night.

But what does it all mean? Can baseball fix itself? I think it can. It has in the past and it will again. Just as Babe Ruth saved baseball after the Black Sox scandal, just as Cal Ripken saved baseball after the 1994 strike, I think there will be someone else. Perhaps, Alex Rodriguez's chase to the top of the home run list, perhaps someone we haven't even heard of yet.

And hopefully whatever it is, it will be a drug-free celebration.

Happy new year

It's 2008 -- I'll be 38 this year. When I was little, that sounded so old. And now, not so much. The year has started off mostly positive, if not for the extreme cold weather, so far.

I had an ultrasound on Wednesday and was declared cyst free, at least for this month. So just as I started to come off of the hormone bloat and fit back into my skinny jeans, I started on the clomid again. Five days on, then five days off. Friday I'll go in for another ultrasound to make sure that my body reacted to the clomid the way it is supposed to -- growing big, healthy mature eggs -- and if that's the case, the next day I'll be inseminated again.

It's weird how two failed attempts, and all the months of needing to take off because of the cysts, but I'm not overly excited nor am I dreading it -- just sort of neutral. Maybe that will change as the week goes on, and perhaps, more likely, it will change once I have the second ultrasound Friday. While I have no reason to think that I won't have good egg follicles, there is always the chance. So maybe I am just protecting myself from another crushing blow of needing to wait.

It's a big hurry up and wait game, this fertility thing. To think that I started it all last summer, had my first insemination in August -- and here we are six months later, still doing the same thing we were doing in August. I guess this is the universe's way of teaching me patience -- something I've never had and something I will most certainly need when I have a baby.

When I was looking through my Christmas cards this year, I was struck by the.....I don't know if irony is the right word....of the card from someone I went to high school with. She has two kids in high school! Here I am about to have a baby, and in another year or two, she'll be sending her babies off to college. Once upon a time, that would have been how I thought my life would be, but I've come to accept that you can't totally create your own time line.

Merry Christmas Weekend!

I don't know how much writing I will do in the next week, so I'd thought I'd jump on quickly. I left Ithaca yesterday, stopped in Baltimore for the night and headed down to Richmond this morning. I've got a fire going in the fireplace, one dog in front of said fire and the other at the end of the recliner, resting his chin on my feet. My brother and sister-in-law should be home before too long -- and then let the festivities begin.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about the baby and my options. And I've decided to pursue foster to adopt, as a back-up plan. I'm certainly not ready to give up on having a biological child yet -- I think we (the doctors and me) still have a few more things to try before giving up. By I decided, why not learn all I can and be ready, just in case.

I would hate for it to be August (or whatever random month), and be out of options and then have to start a whole new process from scratch. I got the number of someone to talk at DSS, and will make that phone call after the holidays. While I definitely think this a good idea -- to learn, to find out, to have a back-up plan -- it is something that I need to digest for a little while.

I also found out from a friend at work, who hosts the adoption and foster support group at the College, the names of a few people who have specifically done foster to adopt. They will be a good resource for me, to hear about their experiences so I know a little better what to expect.

Six months ago, when I found out that my eggs might not work, that I may have to go donor eggs or IVF route, I was devastated. I wanted nothing more than to be able to carry a baby. Once that shock had worn off, the real goal was -- and always will be -- just to have a baby. No matter how it will happen.

And so I'm proud of myself for still thinking positively that a viable pregnancy could work, I am also thinking realistically, and having other options makes me think even more that there will be a little baby boy or girl in my future. Not someone who will calls me Auntie Ellie, but someone who will call me mommy.

shout out to Nina -- thanks for the messages, glad to have another reader who comments. Happy holidays. I hope the new baby -- whenever it gets here -- can get a pair of mittens :)

10 Shopping Days

I can't believe Christmas is 10 days away. I've started working at the mall for the holidays -- back at Bath & Body Works. One of those places that I would hate to shop in because of how overly attentive their salespeople are, but it's fun to go back once a year, get my discount and little extra money.

On the baby front, it's still a "resting" month, taking the higher level estrogen pills -- which have been delightful on my already fragile emotions. Take that and add in the fact that I'm literally retaining 5 pounds of water (according to the body comp at the nutritionist the other day) and my body is preparing to get pregnant. I've grown out of a few pairs of jeans because of the extra "padding" around my middle. Carolyn told me that there is really nothing she or I can do about this stage, that it may mean me gaining as much as 30 pounds during this process because of all the hormones. Once I get pregnant, she feels that we can have a better handle on the weight gain.

Getting dressed in the morning has not been fun. It usually takes two or three attempts at trying something on, deciding if I fell comfortable in how it fits and how it looks. For someone who just lost 50 pounds and was able to wear anything in her closet (whether is fell over my hips or fit fine), this is very frustrating. I just have to remember that it will be worth it in the end.

And I know that the added weight is only going to my middle, which makes me realize that it really is related to the hormones. My rings are still big and my tops all fit. Its just at the hips and waist.

So is it worth it?

It's a hard question to answer. Right now, not pregnant, six months into the process, who knows how many pounds added...in the moments when I'm most vulnerable, most emotional, feel the most alone -- yea, I want to give up. I want to say it's not worth it. And then the moment I admit that to myself, I know -- immediately -- that I'm wrong.

It's so worth it. And it will be when I have that baby growing inside of me. Who cares of much I weigh at that point (as long as I'm healthy)? And that's what I have to keep remembering. And so I went to Steve & Barry's and bought really cheap pants that fit me or are even a little big. And those will be my post-pregnancy, post-maternity pants.

Because in the end, it doesn't matter what number is on the inside tag of my jeans. A healthy baby, with 10 fingers and 10 toes, will be the only number I care about.

Which brings up another point....

Let's just continue on the Dr. Pervert theme. I can't believe I didn't write about this. I think I was so charged up, so spitting mad, that I couldn't. And then I had my peace with my mother and it was over.

In October, right after my last insemination, my mother and father had to go in to see Dr. Pervert for my dad's shoulder. And in the same breath, she tells me that not only did he say hello to me, but that he also lost my number and she gave it to him again and that she told him what I was doing. What?!

I completely forgot about the phone number issue (I've made it clear to her that she needs to not be handing out my cell phone number to her friends), and moved on the other, bigger issue. "That's none of his business!"

"Oh, he's got a niece who got pregnant with donor sperm, and she bought up all the sperm and ended up having two kids and their biologically full siblings....." I think she was talking so fast so I wouldn't interrupt her. I waited for her to come up for air.

"That is no one's business, that is family business....no one needs to no shit about my life, my decisions until I'm ready for them to know. I'm not pregnant yet, that is none of his business, and you shouldn't be telling people."

She, of course, couldn't understand the concept of why she can't share this news with people, especially people who (she thinks) have my best interest at heart. We hung up, I called my sister and bitched and vented at her. She was just at stunned as I was.

The next day, I was still upset with her, and felt I needed to make her see my point. Rather than calling her and raising my voice and losing my cool, I wrote her an email:

I just want to reiterate the point I tried to make to you last night on the phone, 
and I don't know if I did or not. I know you're excited about the prospect of me 
getting pregnant -- I am too. However, this is nobody's business until I am 
actually pregnant and well past my first trimester. Just as I wanted to be the one 
to tell my brothers and sisters -- and I appreciated that you honored my wishes 
with that -- I will decide when people outside of the family should know, and what 
they should know. There is nothing wrong with how I am getting pregnant, but again, 
it is nobody's business. The thing to say, when the time is right, is "Ellie's 
pregnant -- isn't that great?" The thing to say now when people ask how I am, is 
simply, "she's great."

I'm happy to say that I think she "got it." She wrote back and apologized and said, of course I was right, that this was not her news to share and she needs to respect my wishes.

Until the next time...

Biting My Tongue

I talked to my mom tonight and she was telling me that my sister-in-law is going to need knee surgery, and of course my mother thinks that Sally should go to Dr. Pervert. Sally, however, told her that she would be finding another orthopedic surgeon. I'm not sure if she knows what went on with me or she's got a dislike for him for another reason, but my mother went off, venting about it.

"He's our family doctor, he did your knee surgeries, he did your brother's surgery, he's helped your father's soldier. And he's a family friend. Not even what kind of a doctor he is, but just what type of a person he is....she should be going to him."

I bit my tongue, didn't even give inaudible head nods or grunts of faked agreement. What could I say? I certainly didn't want to get into this ancient history with her, but I also wasn't going to agree with her that Sally should go to him, or that he was a great person. Ugh.....

Which reminds me, he called me over Thanksgiving. I was in Richmond and the number came up as unrestricted, which is sometimes how my niece's number comes up so I answered. "Ellie, hi....Irv the Perv (well....he really said his full name, of course), how are you?"

I was stunned. I always am when he calls. He has got to have some balls to call me. Of course, I could be tougher and just hang up on him or tell him to fuck off. I'm not sure why I can't do that. I'm not nice to him, but I guess I could be ruder. He asked if I was busy and I said, "yes...on my way out the door."

"Well, I told your mom I would call and say hi."

"Hi...sorry, really have to run."

I hope he eventually gets the point. Seriously, why would he possible want to call me?

The Rabbit May Never Die

This month was supposed to be an IUI month. But I went in for my blood work on Monday and my estrodial level was high, but they said that they would wait to see if that meant anything when I got my ultrasound. This morning, I went in.

The good news -- the cyst from my right ovary last month is gone. The bad news -- there's an even bigger one on my left ovary. After talking to the doctor, the nurse practitioner called me this afternoon to say that they wanted to put me on birth control pills to clean out my ovaries. Another month down, without any real attempt. She mentioned things like ovarian failure and egg donor. I'm trying not to think about that, because I can't afford to do anything beyond IUI until the insurance kicks in. And that won't happen until after six failed attempts. Not six months, byt six failed attempts. So these past five months only count as two.

I picked up the BCP at Wegmans tonight and almost cried to the pharmacist when he asked me about the pills, if I was familiar with them. When I explained that I was only going on them for a month, he said, "oh you're trying out this kind to make sure you have no side effects."

"No, I'm trying to get pregnant and I have cysts, so I'm hoping the estrogen will clean out my ovaries." Bite lip.

"Oh, so you're using them for hormone therapy." Yes, that would have been another way to put it.

I skipped the gym, came home and laid on my couch, crying, while I watched Days of Our Lives from today. I couldn't really tell you what happened. It was sort of background noise.

My body is failing me -- again. And there is really nothing more I can do. I eat well, I exercise, I drink rarely (and when I do, it's moderately), I don't smoke (never have), don't do drugs (a couple of joints in college) -- and still.....my body is not only failing me, it's betraying me.

My Public Service Announcement of the Day

We all carry our cell phones with names & numbers stored in its memory but nobody, other than ourselves, knows which of these numbers belong to our closest family or friends.

If we were to be involved in an accident or were taken ill, the people attending us would have our mobile phone but wouldn't know who to call. Yes, there are hundreds of numbers stored but which one is the contact person in case of an emergency?

Hence this "ICE" (In Case of Emergency) Campaign -- The concept of "ICE" is catching on quickly. It is a method of contact during emergency situations. As cell phones are carried by the majority of the population, all you need to do is store the number of a contact person or persons who should be contacted during emergency under the name "ICE" ( In Case Of Emergency).

For more than one contact name simply enter ICE1, ICE2 and ICE3 etc -- or in my life, I have ICE -NY for my parents, and ICE-VA for my brother, since I travel to Maryland and Virgina a lot.

My sister is a 911 dispatcher in San Diego County and she confirmed this is something that the paramedics and first responders look for, even before they look for an emergency contact card in a wallet.

Hug a veteran today...

...or send them greetings.

There are many of our troops in the Walter Reed Army hospital recovering from injuries received in Iraq and Afghanistan. Many of these recovering troops will not be home for Christmas this year.

If you would like to bring a smile to an injured soldier, when making out your Christmas Card List this year, please add a Recovering American Soldier to your list, you may do so via the following address (and please forward this to anyone you think would send a soldier a Christmas card):

A Recovering American Soldier
c/o Walter Reed Army Medical Center
6900 George Avenue, NW
Washington, DC 20307-5001