'Maters, Anyone?

So this high-FSH thing is kind of getting to me, in truth. But I don't really want to talk about that. Or the job thing. Or any other thing that's even approaching an ickiness factor over, say about 1.2 on the Ickter Scale. What's a girl to do? Talk tomatoes of course!

I adore tomatoes. I love eating them, smelling them, planting them, staking them, picking out new varieties from the catalog, imagining the summer's first tomato sandwich. Oh my. A few years ago, I was enticed by some lovely lovely heirloom varieties and lost my head. That year I ended up with 30 (yes, you read that right) tomato plants in a small to middling size urban backyard. It was tomato heaven. I had Cherokee Purple, Pink and Red Brandywines, lots of Arkansas Travelers, Marzano, German Striped, Bradley Pinks......it goes on and on. Veritable forests of tomatoes.

And then the fungus came. Calamity mid-season, just as it was really getting good. Despite hours on the internet looking at disease keys, various fungicides and pesticides and fertilizers and grandma's remedies, the decline was swift and total. Stupid stinkin' Southern humidity.

Those of you who have been there will understand that this was a tragedy of epic proportions, and I have been too afraid to get back up there in the plant double digits again. I have had small scale success with some plain vanilla hybrids that are more resistant to the ever-present fungal funk circulating around these parts. But that's just so boring. I am jonesing for the extravaganza, jittery for a forest fix--feeling the call to acid, so to speak.

Thanks to Soper's beneficence, I am in love with Southern Exposure's lineup. I just couldn't resist the vegetable porn, and we're off to the races.

Stay tuned. And send me your address if you want some.

New Doin's

Since we spoke last, there have been many new doin's in my little patch of the world. The summary: new job, new car, new hair, friend's new pregnancy, newly-bad FSH levels and new attitude. I shall elaborate:

As I mentioned in the last post, I will be switching back to the New Old Job in a couple of weeks. The reaction of Current Boss and Co-workers has been, to put it mildly, less than stellar. Shades of the Spanish Inquisition. No matter--I'm still leaving. And I am counting the milliseconds.

Leaving Current Job means also that Company Car and I must part ways. This is sad. But, I did get to blow three whole days at various dealerships test driving every vehicle I could get my hot little hands on. And I even drove one home. So, yay for driving fun! Boo to family finances!

And, in the midst of all this, I decided to whack off my hair. Lost about 8 inches actually, which felt surprisingly good. Light and easy and, dare I say it, SASSY. I love it. K. is not so easily convinced but he didn't have to blowdry the mass every day so he doesn't really get to vote.

That about sums up the good stuff. Onto the bad-----

K and I went to see Dr. All Business to discuss the Hideously Awful HSG. I was mentally prepared for all kinds of tube talk and attempts to get me back on that x-ray table (not bloody likely!). I was not prepared for a little sit down talk about my FSH levels. For the uninitiated (as I was until so very recently), FSH stands for Follicle Stimulating Hormone and the idea is that the higher your FSH is, the harder your body is having to work to make your ovaries cooperate. Apparently, this indicates possible trouble with egg quality and/or quality. AND, the kicker is that all my moaning and angst-y groaning about taking a break from TTC due to New Old Job was for naught. Dr. All Business says, in no uncertain terms, that the aforementioned crappy FSH means we are not to take a break of more than a month or two. Then, the New Plan is to do 2-3 clomid/prometrium cycles, then a diagnostic Lap/Tube Blow-out, then injectable IUIs. The fun begins in May. I am literally on the edge of my seat with excitement. (I know, I know--a bit heavy on the sarcasm. Sorry).

Then, that very same day, a good friend takes me to lunch to tell me that she is pregnant. And that it's amazing because they started trying LAST MONTH. Why oh why oh why did she feel the need to share that little tidbit? She knows what has been going on in my little TTC hell. She also knows what kind of hell our Third Friend--infertile also--has been living with for the last 18 months. She should have kept her damn trap shut and pretended like it at least took 6 months or something. I felt like I had a sign plastered to my forehead reading, "Broken".

I said at the beginning that I had a new attitude, didn't I? Well, it comes and goes. The old one is very tenacious.

Angst of a Slightly Different Flavor

Hey kids. Big doings to report. I have gotten an offer from Old Job and I am so out of here. This is a good thing, I promise.

But.

(You knew there was a but, right?)

What in the world am I going to do now about this baby thing? We going to see Dr. All Business this week to get the New Post-HSG Plan and, presumably, start on it. We skipped the Clomid/Prometrium this month because I was expecting The Offer to come, as it did. And, if we pretend like the C/P might have actually worked then I would be conceiving on one insurance and delivering on another. That sounds very messy. Not to mention the joy and elation that will no doubt ring through the halls at Old/New Job if I announce a pregnancy a month after starting there.

But then again, is it really wise to intentionally put off proceeding with the Plan? I mean, there is no guarantee that any of this will be successful (and that is the understatement of the year) and what will additional delay cost me?

Any words of advice out there? I could use them.

Important Things That I Remembered That I Forgot

1. A lot of coffee and no food is bad.
2. So are maxipads.
3. My husband is an absolute gem of a man.
4. That doesn't make his snoring any less annoying.
5. Big dramatic crying jags actually do help.
6. They also make your eyes really really puffy.
7. People don't notice new suits but they do notice puffy eyes.
8. You people are the best thing to happen to me in recent memory.

My Tubes Are Plotting Against Me

I was very reluctant to actually go through with the Tube Blowout. I almost cancelled it 42 separate times. I should have gone with instinct on this one.

I won't dwell on the details, which were of course, gorier and more drawn out than Dr. All Business had promised. Suffice it to say approximately a gallon of dye was shot up my nether regions, all because my right tube had a panic attack and absolutely refused to show up. Nothing there a'tall, despite the very determined efforts of a man and his catheter.

So, it's either totally blocked or "spasming" in reaction to the dye. Which of course means I'll have to do this again.

Bollocks.

Here There Be Dragons

I am mixed up, turned about, inside out and backwards. I don't know how I feel anymore about TTC-ing and I don't know how to talk about that. I don't know when I will feel "normal" again, will feel hopeful again. That is assuming that I will again ever.

I am burned out, I think, from the supreme effort of keeping this crap going for a year. There is only so many times to can be beat over the head by Hope in her seemingly infinite variations on that theme. The loss after loss after loss, in whatever form it takes that time, gets you feeling all strung out and wrung out and mildewy-dishrag-l.i.m.p.

I don't want to temp, I don't want to check CM, I don't want to take Clomid or Prometrium or various herbal combinations. I don't even want to have sex, for chrissakes. I just don't think any of it is going to work. I think the real problem here is some sort of mind-body death spiral that I just can't quite put my finger on yet. Something in there thinks that if I could just define the problem appropriately, it would vanish--poof--like a cloud of fairy dust. The rest of me just thinks the whole thing is an elaborate mind fuck.

And the kicker? I don't know where to go with this. I don't know who to talk to, who to vent to (grammar rules bedamned). My DH? Fuggedaboutit. He is the very soul of optimism and will brook no dissent. It feels like the worst kind of whining to vent to my online TTC friends, who are at their own difficult forks in the IF road. And, as we know, the "real life" friends are fortunate enough to have been spared this path and so have nothing but well-intentioned good wishes to add.

So, beyond the deep and wide blackness that is this hell, I am saddened that the very fact of being here isolates me from everyone. As the process drags on and on and on, I have found myself retreating to ever-more-tiny groups of people who "get it." Is this self-protection? Bitchiness? Both? I can't decide. I do know that many other of my fellow IF sloggers feel this pressure to both reach out to like-minded others and to constantly redefine who has the chops to be called "like-minded." I understand this and feel it myself and I think it's necessary and it makes me so very very sad.

Did I mention I get to have my tubes blown out today? There should be a warning label. Really.

Phlegm Phlegm Phlegm

I must have caught it from JJ. I have got the C-R-U-D and I have got it bad. I feel like I have wallpaper paste packed into my sinuses and cream gravy oozing in my lungs. I am off to medicate with whatever I can find and pray for mercy. Yuck.