Cervical Mucus Update

This Guaifenesin/Robitussin crap is intolerable.  100 mg in one tablespoon, and you're supposed to take 8 tablespoons a DAY to make your cervical mucus sperm-friendly?!  Screw it.  

After some brain work, I bought some Mucinex at the local Safeway.  400 mg a tablet and no gross syrup involved.  

I feel terribly smart to have figured this out...after drinking an entire bottle of crap Wal-Tussin in a 24 hour period already.  

Call me Einstein.  

Robitussin is Made Out of PEOPLE!

Ok, Robitussin is not really made out of people.  Soylent Green is.  But I know if people were made into a cough syrup, it would be Robitussin for sure.

However, Robitussin is what supposedly makes your valuable cervical mucus the perfect consistency for sperm to swim through.  This is what most of the fertility sites say, and if "Baby Dust Love Bunny Unicorn Hugs" dot com tells me to take some cough syrup, I'm taking that Goddamn cough syrup.

So I sent husband to the store to pick up a small container of the stuff.  "Get the kind that has GUIAFENESIN in the active ingredient.  And nothing else!  Everything else will cause all sorts of inhuman mutations!"

He returned with Wal-Tussin.  "THAT IS NOT ROBITUSSIN!  WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?  DO YOU NOT WANT CHILDREN?!"  I blurted in a panic.

"It's the same as Robitussin.  It has the same active ingredient.  Guiafenesin." He responded, annoyingly calm.

I accepted that response after inspecting the label, and then proceeded to open the child-proof top and pour out a mini-cup full of the foul smelling red syrup.  I smelled it and retched a little.  It smelled not unlike Oven-Off.  It had to be done, however horrible it smelled...I knocked it back like a Girls Gone Wild Jagermeister binge.

As my taste buds soaked in the taste of the Wal-Tussin, I recalled what the instructions said on the baby site I had researched...400-600 mg a day...one mini-cup was 100 milligrams.  That meant I had to ingest this fresh Hell four to six times...A DAY.

Blarg.  I could not imagine taking this crap four to six times a friggin' day.  It's beyond bad tasting, and slurping up that thick-ass red dye #40 syrup is one of the nastiest feelings on the planet.  I don't even take this stuff when I'm on-my-deathbed kind of sick.  Taking it while I'm healthy seems moronic.

I then had the most heinous, evil thought seep through my head as I gagged up a Guaifesen-flavored burp.  Hmmm...do I really need a baby this bad?  

I mean, they're really just a baby for a couple of years, and then BOOM...you get the awkward tweenager, after which you get the hateful full-blown teenager.  And then really it's just picking the one that hates you the least to pick your nursing home.

After eating a peanut butter jelly bar with the fat content of a Big Mac, the taste subsided and the only reminder of what horrors had just transpired was a warm sensation in my throat.  The "coating action," no doubt. 

The hateful teenager turned back into a chubby cherub in no time at all.

Reprimanded

I was reprimanded by my friend yesterday...my young, tall, thin, pretty, man-magnet friend.  I wanted to kill her, but then I remembered I loved her to pieces, so I didn't.  Also, I have no money for bail.

She read me the riot act about reading the infertility blogs.  "STOP IT.  You must stop reading all of them immediately.  They are making you crazy."

"That's what my husband said."  I retorted.  "And you can't side with him.  You are an Asian woman.  Therefore, you side with ME."

"No, I side with him.  Those blogs are making you insane."  She was defiant and in my face...and she was right.  I was already kind of insane before the baby game.  Now, I am officially beyond the pale cray-cray.  

So for now, precious infertility blogs, I bid you adieu.  Goodbye depressing...hel-lo optimistic and hopeful! 

Ugh.  I just threw up in my mouth a little.  

Oof

3 days into my cycle and I feel like a midget is punching me in the gut all the live long day.  It's such a gross feeling, and very unsatisfying as far as pain goes.  It's not like a paper cut, and it doesn't sear and burn.

The feeling is almost a numb pressure, like someone is giving me a bad pap smear.  But instead of beginning with a warning about a cold speculum and ending quickly with a snap of the glove, it's endless discomfort that travels through my stomach and even down my thighs, and all the way to my toes.  

If this was all pregnancy related, I'd be elated right now and celebrating every backache and twang of pain (cue Alanis Morrisette song), but a period deserves nothing but bitching and moaning and cursing.

Oh, and lots of cookies.  

Unwanted Visitor

I have this feeling of dread.  My boobs are big, my stomach feels tight and full of butterflies, my mood is swinging like Tarzan from a vine.  I'm expecting my period any day now.  It's coming, and it's going to be pathetic.  I'm preparing myself...but I just know I will be a miserable, sobbing, mess.  I'm also planning on cursing the Gods and praying for relief from this baby making Hell.  

I know I should have patience, but the fact of the matter is I can't.  I see my birthday as a dream-shattering landmark day.  I don't anticipate having many more months of trying, although people tell me to keep the faith.  If I am capable of getting pregnant, I will again be pregnant soon.

But I keep seeing the time slip away from me, and I wonder, how many eggs are in there, waiting to be released?  Harsh as it may seem, every period feels like a bloody mess of a sign that another one has passed me by.

Eeny Meeny Miney Moe

GLASS HALF FULL ME:  My breasts are big and tender!  I could be pregnant!

GLASS HALF EMPTY ME:  Or it could be your period.

GHF ME:  I'm bloated!  Pregnant!

GHE ME:  Or period.

GHF ME:  I'm feeling moody and pissed off!  I'm crying while watching the Olympics!  PREGNANT!

GHE ME:  Or your period is coming up.

GHF ME:  I'm tired...and pregnant!

GHE ME:  Or you're tired because the lining of your uterus is about to shed.

GHF ME:  White milky discharge is a sign of early pregnancy!

GHE ME:  Or your period coming.  Now stop molesting your boobs and shut up and eat this cookie.  

The Amazing Human Incubator

Ugh.  I feel like I'm crawling out of a hole, one handful of dirt at a time.  Waiting to find out all this bloat and big boobs is just another period is making me a mad woman.  

I can't be this person who exists only to bear children in my womb.  I'm more than just a studio apartment for a fetus, Goddammit.

And yes, I'm up at 2 in the morning.  The friggin' live broadcast of the Olympics is driving me INSANE.  

And China evicted how many people from the city to build that monstrosity of an Olympic village?  1.5 million?!  NO WONDER I CAN'T SLEEP!

(BTW, however politically indignant I am being right now because of sleep depravation, I'm still desperately hoping I'm pregnant. Gosh, I'm a loser.)

Under Pressure

David Bowie and Freddie Mercury came on the radio today just as I was turning onto Market Street.  I blasted the volume and started singing...badly.  My apologies to the pedestrians within a five block radius.  I know it was horrendous.

But it was good, minute-therapy.  I felt better, singing the lyrics, especially, "Insanity laughs, under pressure we're cracking."  I love that line...mostly because I feel like I'm a negative pregnancy test away from the Bell Jar.

I know everything I'm experiencing now may make me stronger in the end, baby or no baby.  I know that women have been through everything I'm feeling a million times over and then some.  I know I feel something coming in a week, be it a period or a pregnancy.  But knowing all of this simply is not enough.  Life is unfair, and we can only accept that fact with a grimace and a clenched jaw.  

I need to stay positive, but I feel weakened by the hopelessness of it all.  However, even through my worst crying fits and spoiled brat tantrums, I can see my husband, my friends, and my good fortune to have them around me.  Just as no (wo)man is an island, the Baby Game is not for the feeble hearted.  

"Love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves."

Heed

Yeah, I took a pregnancy test.  Yeah, it was only days after ovulation.  Yeah, it was negative.  Yeah, I got severely bummed out.  

Yeah, I'm stupid.  

Abdominal Bloating

I'm bloated.  And not the kind of bloated that just looks like a little water weight.  My stomach looks like an expanded life raft.

But I am hesitant about making the pregnancy diagnosis this early on, considering I ovulated just last week.  That would be silly and not a little bit depressing if it wasn't true.  So I decided to believe it's something else until either my period arrives or passes me by.

After doing some irresponsible Googling, I noted what it could be.  Here is a comprehensive list, complete with witty repartee.

1.  Gas...possible, since I am full of it.

2.  Gastric Distention...also known as overeating.  That's a given.  And so likely it's silly to even discuss it.

3.  Gastric Dumping Syndrome...sounds scary and very, very wrong.  I refuse to believe I have this, and even if I do end up having it, I will never, ever admit it.

4.  Malabsorption...some weird medical issue that probably involves some sort of tumor or inability to go #2, which I don't have a problem with.  THANK THE BABY JESUS.

5.  Aerophagia or Air Swallowing...could be.  I do like air.

6.  Irritable Bowel Syndrome...yeeee-ah, no.

7.  Visceral Fat...yup.  Next.

8.  PMS...this is the most likely culprit, although I don't want to admit it just yet.  

9.  Alvarez' Syndrome or Hysterical or Neurotic Abdominal Bloating...this is a symptom for crazy people.  And although I am all kinds of crazy, I ain't THAT crazy.  Yet.  Check in on me in a few months.

10.  Massive Infestation with intestinal Parasites...gross.  If this is what is making my stomach bloat, (having been infested with parasites), I will gladly accept my period in its place.  Please, God, don't let it be parasites.  No whammies!  No whammies!

Joy Kill

Having sex to make a baby when you're my age is no longer considered fun.  We were told by our doctor to try to do it several times over the course of a week or so.  I naively thought, "WOW.  Sex all the time!  AWESOME."  Alas, not so.

Sex some of the time = AWESOME

Spontaneous sex = AWESOME

Sex some of the time spontaneously = CRAZY AWESOME

Sex on cue for a week = Imagine being on the It's a Small World boat ride at Disneyworld.  The first time is fabulous, neat-o, fun, and entertaining.  The seventh time, however...you want to kill yourself and everyone on the boat with you (ie: your husband.)  

My poor sperm factory, er, I mean HUSBAND.  I love him so.  But sex when you're trying to conceive makes me murderous, and unbelievably sore.

On Schedule

Here's the schedule if you're trying to conceive.

1. You get your period and start counting.

2. On day 10 after the 1st day of your cycle, you start peeing on ovulation sticks (your hand) twice a day.

3. On day 12-14, you test positive, which means your LH is surging, which means your egg is getting ready to drop.

4. Knowing you will be ovulating within 12-48 hours, you start having sex like maniacs.

5. You are sore for the next three days after the blitzkrieg and watch television and eat cookies while waiting to pee on a pregnancy stick in a week or so.

6. On the first inkling of a sore boob, you take a pregnancy test and find out that you're either knocked up or clinically depressed.

7. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Surge

I'm surging like a mofo.  About freakin' time!  

I actually can't believe how stressed out this whole ovulation thing has made me.  For the last week, I've been anxious and nervous about it, thinking, "What if those Internet sites are right?  Anovulation!!  Maybe I'm barren!!  AHHHHHH!!"  I actually burst into tears the other day because the stupid test line was lighter than the stupid control line.  It was humiliating on so many different levels.  My husband thinks I'm a maniac.  

Damn ovulation tests.  I hate them and their stupid lines.  "Is it darker or lighter or the same?  Is that the same?  Does that look like it's similar?  No smiley face again!! What does that mean?!  AHHHHHHH!!"

The digital smiley face may be the most evil out of all of the ridiculously expensive tests I bought this month.  Everyone swears by the friggin' smiley face, saying it's so much easier to read than the lines.  However, I hate the smiley face...because when it doesn't show up, I feel like a jilted blind date.  "What did I do?  Am I not fertile enough?  WHY AM I BEING REJECTED!?"

And although I know better than to place all my self worth on the results of a pee stick, I STILL DO.  It's hard not to.  Despite everything your doctors and friends try to tell you to get you to relax, when you're a woman who has miscarried, you're hopes and fears are all dwelling on that one stupid test.  

It may seem pathetic, but when you feel like your body has failed you, you look for any little sign that you're still in good working order.  A period is good, but ovulating and dropping a new egg is even better.

So the digital smiley ovulation test finally showed its stupid grinning face today.  We've kissed and made up, and I've decided to forgive...but I'm requiring dinner and roses.  No Burger King and carnations, neither.  I'm not a cheap date...no matter what you've heard.

Conceivable

Does anyone remember this line from the awesome movie, "The Princess Bride?"  

(Vizzini has just cut the rope The Dread Pirate Roberts is climbing up, yet he doesn't plummet to his death.)

Vizzini:  HE DIDN'T FALL?!  INCONCEIVABLE!

Inigo Montoya:  You keep using that word.  I do not think it means what you think it means.

Babyville

I just ate dinner with ten pregnant women and two dozen children.  No kidding.  

Just so you know, I'm not one of those women trying to conceive who is so frustrated she can't get pregnant that she begins seeing babies and pregnant women everywhere, and it eventually drives her batsh$t crazy, and she loses her mind and starts ranting on her pregnancy blog.  THAT JUST AIN'T ME, PEOPLE!

But anyway, I actually did see a lot of pregnant women and babies at dinner.  And it was annoying, to say the least.  

When you're waiting for your LH to peak and peeing on a stick (and more accurately, you're hand) every day, you're just not in the mood for cute baby faces and goo goo talk.  And you get so pissy, you kind of want to spill stuff all over the pregnant women and tell them they're ugly.  You kind of want to tell everyone that, though, when  you're in a fertility roundy-round like me.  

So if you're even the slightest bit annoyed about your fertility issues right now, take my advice and avoid Pasta Pomodoro in Noe Valley on a Friday night.  At least until bedtime, around 8 or 9 p.m.  Otherwise, be prepared to sit with a gaggle of spitting up, screaming, crying, tantruming, crawling babies and women that look like they're about to burst.

I mean, Goddamn, even the hostess was 7 months along.