Posts Tagged 'infertility'

Woah where the fuck have I been?

Wow. It’s been almost 2 years. A lot can happen in 2 years. Lives can change, people can grow, horrible tragedies can happen….

…yeah some of that happened but let’s not get crazy here. It’s really not all that exciting. In fact it’s kinda downright boring.

So last I posted I was moving to Seattle. Yay for me! Holy crap that was a long time ago. Sorry I just can’t get over that. Yeah I moved to Seattle for 10 months and decided that I would be insane to continue living there. Depressed infertile divorcing people should not move to Seattle. There should be a law about it. The sky is a unique shade of grey. Let’s just leave it at that because there is good and bad up there but overall I had a hard time. (And to be fair to the lovely residents of Seattle, I wasn’t in my right mind. Don’t hate me for hating Seattle during a crisis ok? I was getting a divorce after years of infertility. Remember? Yeah.)

Fuck I dont know where to begin here. Nothing is the same. Literally nothing. Will bullets help? Yeah let’s try that:

– moved to seattle
– started hanging out with old grunge rock stars
– hated seattle
– got a call/job offer to move back to Cali
– moved back to Cali and started over
– bought a house for me and the kids (Sandy and Monster)
– stayed in touch with Mark and had INSANE-reality-tv-show-style-drama-that-didn’t-really-effect-me-personally-but-woah-was-fucking-crazy-because-his-life-has-fallen-completely-apart
– got fired from new job (oh there will be a post about this…)
– started working for baby company. Ironic? Umm yes

-lost 57 pounds
– Sandy died
– world ended

…so we caught up now? Yeah I think we may have glossed over a few things but perhaps this list can serve as gigantic chapters haha.

One thing I’d like to point out to the world that really I should keep to myself is that I have been single this entire time. Yup. I’m lame. Total loser right over here. I might regret this post in the morning LOL.

So for now I guess all I can say is that I’m back. Not sure this blog makes sense for my life anymore, but maybe feedback? No. I’m not trying to have a baby anymore. For now. Or ever? God I dont know.

Anyway…I am considering reinventing the babybound blog. It’s not the same and I am certainly many phases backwards from said original goal, but could this be a playground for ridiculous banter about my completely ironic job choice? Maybe? Or maybe you can all laugh at my absolutely ridiculous life of singleton after infertility. That works for me. Thoughts?

Back me up here Muppets…its not just me right?

I recently got a comment that I absolutely must to respond to.  Not because it was bad.  Quite the opposite.  The commenter needs support, advice and to know that miscarriage isn’t like high school.  There aren’t a whole lot of mean girls behind her talkin trash and calling her fat.  While I’m kinda like the last person anyone should ever really listen to – which oddly seems to be exactly how everyone else feels as well – I’m going to dole out my best reply:

Dearest Emma,

Wow.  You have just gone through something gut wrenching.  It sucks ass.  The pain that you have experienced with years and years of trying to do something that so many people can do accidentally is only trumped by the pain of actually accomplishing it for a brief moment and failing to see it through.  I know.  I’m sorry.  While I know you have most likely been given all kinds of words of wisdom and advice about how you should feel, and how it will get better, and you’re not alone, and puppies and kittens and bla bla bla, I don’t really feel this is what you were asking me for.  Am I right?  We all know that nonsense and frankly, hearing it when we’re just a few weeks out from the death of our babies, we’d rather snap your head off your neck and pee in it just to get you to shut the fuck up.

When I lost Ashley, I was angry.  Nobody could make me not angry. All I wanted to do was hate everybody and make everybody around me go away.  This (kind of) included Mark.  While I didn’t blame him for our loss, I didn’t feel like he was doing a very good job of fixing it.  And after all, as my night in shining armor, damn it he should have fixed it.  It absolutely put a strain on our marriage and our communication went sour.

Part of me felt that I never ever ever wanted to intentionally put myself through that kind of pain again and didn’t think I’d ever see a future with a baby in it.  And yet, part of me was anxious to start the next cycle so that we could get this whole baby doin thing over with.  I only shared the former with Mark, but secretly wanted him to jump in and be Mr. Optimist pushing me to get right back on that horse.  He wasn’t.  We took a break.

It wasn’t long at all before I really really wanted to get started again and didn’t really see why we were waiting.  Seemed retarded actually.  And since Mark was going on his marry way waiting for me to say I was ready, I grew resentful of him.  Which, in turn, was retarded.

I’m not at all sure why, but for some reason I felt weird telling Mark I wanted to try again.  Like I was scared to even mention it.  I didn’t want him to be mad at me, not be ready and reject me, or judge me. (All while also resenting him for not figuring it out because…well frankly I’m complicated)  I kept it to myself for a long time.  I hinted, but would never flat out say:  WTF are we waiting for?

Here’s what I’ve since realized:

While you went through it together,

You: carried dead bodies inside yours.

He: watched his wife crumble in pain he never thought he’d witness and couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Its tragic for both of you.  You will never be able to understand each other.  The healing of each of these experiences isn’t going to be the same or happen at exactly the same time.  He doesn’t understand you and also doesn’t want to hurt you.  He basically doesn’t know what to do.  It takes time to get back to normal.  To not want to kill everyone.  To have optimism again and see that the world has an excellent plan for you.  While you are still physically healing, you’re mentally healing too.  And so is your husband.  Its ok.  And when you’re ready.  Tell him.

Why couldn’t I tell Mark I was ready?  Because I wasn’t (even though I totally thought I was).  But with time, I did tell him.  We started communicating again.  It didn’t seem weird to discuss an actual future with kids and spaghetti-o’s and everything.

I’m so sorry that you have to join our club.  Just reading your comment took me right back to where I was a few weeks after my MC.  I think (you know, from my awesome therapy couch here in virtual therapist land where I totally know everything about you and have every right to tell you what to you) you two just might not really be ready to talk about it.  Its ok.  You will be.

Now I’m just really hoping your not getting ready to pee in my head…cause I kinda need it.  Well.  I like to think I do…

You cut the phone and I’ll grab the baby. Not sure why we’re cutting the phone…

I’m kinda feelin like goin all Raisin Arizona on that octuplet chick.

I mean really?  Really?  There aren’t 14 other couples out there far more deserving of this blessing?  Take…o say ME for instance??  Have I not shown enough unnecessary weight gain desperation?

So yeah.  I’m totally bitter.  This bitch has 14 children she cannot support.  Lives at home with her Mother who lost her own house so therefore also cannot support her and her baseball team.  There is no father.  I mean this all sounds so fucking ridiculous that the only thing that would make this worse would be if we were to all find out that she was planning to purchase a couple of monkeys to help with the raisin.

Sorry.  I know I should understand the need to have children.  And I know I should be more supportive of her infertility wishes.  But I’m not.  I can’t.  14 children.  14 disappointed couples barely hanging on out there with no children.  14 babies with a mother that clearly has mental stability issues, wants money/attention/fame/a book deal/to film her own version of a dozen clowns coming out of her beetle uterus for shiggles.

OK I’m done.  Not really.  But I don’t feel like typing anymore.

She wouldn’t miss 1 or 2 right?  After 10 they all look the same?

Game over

I’m completely defeated at this point.  It went from fucking horrible to angels in the sky laughing their asses off at me while I cry and making bets on how long it will be before I snap/give up.  My money is on 12:30.

I guess I should explain.  Originally we were told that one of Mark’s recent medications was the cause of his sterility.  That we needed to consult with his doctor to hopefully put him on something else immediately.  That hopefully this would help to reverse things and in 3-4 months, we could test again and go from there.  Still horrible fucking news because as I sit here in the middle of crazyland, the last thing I wanted to hear was that there were even more things stacked against me.  And being put on hold when I finally got the courage to get back in the race is nothing short of devastating.

O no folks.  That totally wasn’t the end of it.  That is only the beginning.  Pull up a seat.

Turns out, Mark wasn’t on nearly a high enough dosage to cause any sort of problems.  That this new found spermless adventure that we’re on could be caused by something much greater.  Permanent.  What was once an issue that could be solely attributed to yours truly may have just grown up into a big girl version of craptastic fuckedness.

I can’t do this.  I can’t.  Years of pain and suffering only to be knocked out in the 800th round.  Then kicked.  Then stabbed repeatedly.  Then peed on by clowns.  While everyone laughs.  And people mock.  I can’t do it.  I give up.

I wish I could say something funny right now.  That’s kinda my thing.  But I can’t.  I’m not in that place.  I’m barely here.  My life basically flashing before my eyes.  Pathetically unable to function without tears.  Unable to get past this.  In the cave.

No babies for me

Cycle canceled indefinitely.

No children for me.

Husband’s medication made his swimmers all die unexpectedly.

Planning massive funeral for 100 million deaths.

Need  copeus amounts of alcohol.

Going into a cave….I’ll come out eventually….

Hold up…

I guess there is a part of me that feels bad for not accomplishing my list yet, but then again, I still have 2 days…I’m sure I could figure out crack baking in that amount of time right?   The rest should just fall into place from there.

Mark and I decided that we are going to hold off for 1 month to start our IVF cycle.  We’ll just continue for another 3 weeks  on bcp’s and wait it out.

There are actually a few logical, rational, well thought out reasons for this that aren’t limited to the fact that I’ve become a complete wackjob about the future (but of course that’s right up there at the top of the list).  Dr. Babymaker had suggested early on that we go through 2 months of bcp’s to help beat my womanly bits into submission.  She said one would be fine, but 2 would be better so as I’m not one to go against authority (stop laughing damn it), we’re going to go with her on this one.

This extra couple of weeks will also take the pressure off of all the tests that needed to be done.  We were cutting it kinda close and leaving no room for error – funny, I never do that (Brandi you just stop that laughing right now.  Stop it!) – now we’ll be able to handle any oddities that come our way.  Well, Mark can handle them.  I’ll just be over here freaking the fuck out.

So there you have it.  Its not a set back.  Its not sad.  Think of it as an extra little helping of BabyBounds insanity juice that we all get to enjoy for an extra month!  Nobody will appreciate it more than my coworkers and housemates that have to live with me get to enjoy it in person.  Perhaps I’ll try to save some of the good stuff for all my friends in the computer to endure.   After all, I’m a giver.  Don’t want to be holding on to all this madness for myself.  Its way more fun to share.

…now I’m off to work on that rock soup recipe for my crack baby.  Will a lighter get hot enough to boil the water without melting the cheese wrapper?

(PS.  Is it weird that Mark and I are texting right now while sitting right next to each other on the couch?  Its not right?  Good.  Talking is so overrated.)

Am I too emotional? Umm fuck you?

Let me just talk here.  My turn.

My cousin is pregnant.  Accidentally pregnant.  Wait let me start over.  My fuckwit of a cousin with not a sense in her head, no job, no responsibility, no accountability, and no sense of reality is pregnant with some dude twice her age’s kid.  Fair?  No.

I dont even know where to begin with this one.  My family has somehow convinced themselves that she is faking it to get money and attention.  Is she?  Perhaps.  I guess we wont ever really know will we?   I mean obviously if she’s faking there will be no birth.  I mean this isn’t Days of our Lives here.  She can’t call in a look alike that just so happens to look identical to her and just so happens to be pregnant the exact same amount of time and needs like a place to live and $10.

She’d obviously have to fake a miscarriage as well.  And well?  That is pretty much the worst thing I think anyone can do to me – indirectly of course as I am not so self centered as to believe that her financial misfortune and stupid decisions have anything to do with me.  Accept that they fucking do when you fake baby killing for a buck.  Fuck you Sarah.  Fuck. You.

But is it possible that she’s not faking it?  Well.  I guess so.  Although I saw her on Thanksgiving while she bathed in 2 bottles of wine and smoked her ciggies.  At what is now known as her being 6 weeks preggers.  I obviously know enough about the miracle of pregnancy to know that its possible she didn’t know then.  But its also not exactly a clear cut case. If she’s not faking, OMG how terrible that everyone thinks she’s faking?  Wow.

I am pretty sure I will never know either way.  Frankly, I don’t really want to.  I’m mad enough as it is.  Mad that she fucked a grandpa with sperm older than my dad and got one to stick.  Mad that someone I’m related to would even consider such a ridiculous scheme to get money.  Mad that everyone would rather assume she’s faking it then actually try to deal with how this is going to go down.  Mad that its not mine.  Mad I didn’t fuck the grandpa with supersperm.  Wait.  Do you think I still have a chance with him?

So there’s that…

I’m also freaking the fuck out.  Mark and I are fully invested into our IVF cycle and now that I’m nicely suited up with hormones for my special journey, I’m panicking.  Not because of the cycle.  Not because of the likelihood it will work.  No I’m panicking because of my job.  The economy is fucked y’all.  Anyone notice?  Doesn’t this seem like the worst time to plop all your savings down on a chance?  Even if this chance is literally what I want more than anything, if I lose my job, we’re completely screwed.  And what if Mark loses his job?  If it happened to either one of us, we’d be in some serious trouble.  And then where would that leave us?  Under a bridge that’s where.

Nobody is safe right now.  I don’t feel safe.  As much as I want to feel good about things, I can’t stop myself from planning for my inevitable layoff.    If we continue with this IVF, we’ll be ba-roke.  OMG if something happened to my job I’d be terrified.  And it doesn’t help to be plump full of crazy juice does it?  That’s not going to help a damn thing.  And stress isn’t going to keep me pregnant.  I certainly didn’t last time.

So there you have it.  BabyBound is a big ass stressball of crap.  Got a pregnant fuckwit cousin, a scary job, no babies, and stress to fill everyone’s stockings and then some.

Have I mentioned that I’m emotional?

O Merry Christmas.


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