Break Schmeak

So, in the end, I sucked it up kids. Marched my shaking, nervous, chickenshit little tattooed self into Dr All Business's office this very morning and presented my arm for a blood offering. I prayed to the Gods of Tattoo Mojo all the way. And, I'm happy to say, something must have clicked. FSH is normal. Normal they say. How about that?

Now, somewhere in the back of mind, I'm remembering that it doesn't really help much if your FSH is lower some other time--the key is the highest it has been. I don't know where this information came from, and I don't know if it's true. Nice Nurse said she'd never heard it before. I choose to believe that I made it up. (I am cringing here knowing that I probably didn't and one of you nice people can tell me exactly where it came from. Notice the uncharacteristic lack of Googling, eh? But I digress.)

So, in the end, I decided that I was as ready as I'm ever going to be and there is nothing to be done but go on. Head on up JJ's mountain and see what's on the other side.

Dildocam rides start up again Monday. I'm selling tickets to pay for it.

La La La La La (I can't hear you.......)

Well, getting the tattoo did not magically resolve my treatment avoidance issues, unfortunately. It is high time I got back on the train, especially since Dr All Business told me not to take more than two months off and it's now been FOUR already. I have to decide in the next 24 hours whether or not I am going to start temping, OPK-ing, Clomid-ing etc etc this month or I am going to take another month off. I am on the fence, but I don't have much time to dither.

It doesn't help that K is now starting to feel some urgency with all this. I think he sees his longed-for daughter beginning to slip away from him.

MUST. GET. IT. TOGETHER.

As Promised, the Proof

Up close and personal



It really wasn't bad. It hurt, yes. But it was strangely freely to mark myself with an emblem of this journey. It felt like I was taking my life back from the Fates, like I was showing Them in the fiercest way I could that they will not win. I will not be beaten.

Or maybe it's just a tattoo.

I Did It!

I know you can't believe it (and neither can I, honestly) but I did it! My very own Good Mojo symbol is now a part of my very own personal body. And it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Pictures to come......

Take That!

First, let me say thank you thank you thank you to all of you who went out of your way to send me a little hope and encouragement. It was overwhelming, especially considering that I've never met any of you. Thank you for picking me up when I really needed it.

On another note (I swear this is actually related), I am getting my very first tattoo tomorrow, at the ripe old age of 31. Why? you say. Why in the world would I make it unmarked through the teens and twenties to start this crap now? This is an idea that I've been kicking around for a month or two, fostered by the notion that I need some kind of amulet to protect me from the evil Infertility Bad Luck Trolls that seem to attack with frightening regularity. And hey, if something you wear could give you good juju, wouldn't a symbol that is actually part of you be even better?

So, about a month ago, I decided on the design that I felt would give me the highest possible resistance to Bad Luck Vibes--a celtic tree of life. I made two different appointment to get it done, but cancelled both. I just could not take the step unless and until I was in the "right" emotional place. As in, getting the tattoo when I was overwhelmed with negativity and sadness and failure and guilt would be worse than not having at all. It would be a talisman of meltdown rather than mojo.

And, thanks in no small part to all of you, I am now ready to get on with it. Well, with the tattoo, at least.

The Ugly Truth

I thought it was time I explained what I've been doing since I dropped off the face of the earth. After the 1-2-3 Smackdown of chemical pregnancies, a hideous HSG and surprisingly bad FSH results, I went into an infertility tailspin. I consciously recognized this and acknowledged it somewhere close to the beginning of the spin, and I figured that it was a necessary process. In other words, that it was just a matter of time until I got over it and moved on to the next step, as instructed.

But it didn't happen. After the FSH news, I said I'd take two months off to settle into the New Old Job and give my emotions a break, etc. etc. It's been nearly four cycles now and I still can't quite bring myself to start it up again. This, I knew.

But, what surprised me a little was my recent realization of just how much fear I've got bound up in this. After reading Bugs's typically beautiful post about not pushing for the results of her IVF cycle, to keep hope alive a little longer, I started thinking about my utter cowardice in facing up to this. I have been saying that I can't emotionally handle the ups and downs of treatments--the "daily death of hope" that some of us have talked about--but that's not really it. It is, but not the main part of it.

The real fear is more insidious, I think. It's that I don't know what to do with the emotions that will inevitably overwhelm me at the thought of going through this treatment and being unsuccessful at the end of it. All that pain and nothing to show for it except, theoretically, personal growth. What do you do with that? How can I start the process with the knowledge that it will likely fail? How can I let myself be that vulnerable?

I talked to my therapist about this today (infertility has driven you to therapy too, right?) and, in the course of our discussion, she wanted me to say aloud the sentence, "I want a baby," to see what kind of emotions were brought up by it. I couldn't do it. Literally, I could not. It was like my throat seized up and refused to let the words out. Like it would open a huge and hideous door to a whole roomful of emotional crap that I am just unable to process.

And, if you haven't noticed yet, I feel guilty about this. I feel like a chicken coward loser. Because so so many of you out there have taken on infertility challenges more akin to Mt. Everest than this little molehill I'm hiding from, and you're still standing. I can't even seem to get started. It's hard not to fault myself for this and say maybe I don't deserve to come out the other side with my very own baby, if I can't get up the gumption to even try.

So, enough already. I hope you will all forgive me for disappearing on you and hiding out from TTC-ing with my thousand excuses. Lord knows, I have a million of 'em. But, I'm trying to rejoin you, full steam ahead. I'm trying very hard. And all encouragement is much appreciated......

You Won't Believe This

I lost my Blogger password. I couldn't log into the damn thing. And thus, no posts. Although I haven't been feeling too very post-y here lately either. In fact, I'm struggling just to get through the day.