I am that urban legend...the woman who got pregnant (and so far has stayed that way, touch wood) naturally once she got referred to the RE. I am also a crazy cat lady. Don't hate me please, I am not a bad person. I promise.
I take only two pills a day. Folic acid and iodine. They are small pills, easy to swallow, and I have no problems popping them. I don't complain.
I wish the cats had a similar attitude towards pills.
Mid December is worming time for poor Toffs and Cleo. It happens every 3 months, and I generally do it myself, unless they happen to have a vet appointment lined up at the time they are due to be wormed. Typically, Toffs handles it well, and I can get a pill in her in one or two tries. Cleo, on the other hand...she finds super-feline strength and the ability to spit out what I think she must have swallowed.
But I made a mistake this time. I thought I would just pill Toffs after I had expressed her bladder. BAD IDEA. It is not easy to pill an already f*cked off cat. She squirmed, she bit, she frothed at the mouth until we were both soaked in spit. And the pill just kept coming out no matter what I did. So I gave up and went after Cleo. And for once, Cleo took it well.
Of course, Cleo proceeded to go out and get into a cat fight, and get herself bit on the leg, which means a round of antibiotics for her. And the Moose, who had to take her to the vet because I needed to be at work, was given the choice between an injection (more expensive) or pills (cheaper). Which did he choose? The pills. So for 5 days I have to pill Cleo twice a day. And I still need to give Toffs her worming pill (I will get her when she is sleeping today...a sleepy, surprised puss puts up less of a fight). If I make it out of this week alive it will be a miracle.
Would you want to get your hands anywhere near the fangs of this beastie? This is an old pic of Toffs being wild. Oddly enough I don't have any pics of Cleo looking crazy. I will have to remedy that.
Next worming will be March (about 22 weeks for me) and the one after will be June (35 weeks). Not looking forward to that last one...
I've read a few posts lately from ladies in their first trimester who are very weepy, crying over various things they wouldn't normally cry over.
I don't seem to have this problem. I have cried only once, over something I read that would have made me cry normally.
Instead of getting weepy I just get angry. Really, really angry. I might be the incredible hulk.
I am usually pretty chill. I don't get worked up often, or for very long when I do. Most things roll right off my back, or get internalized until I eventually explode (once or twice a year, tops). But pregnancy has made me irrationally angry. I can go from normal to totally f*cked off in 1.5 seconds now, and over things that would normally maybe annoy me at most. I am happy to report that the Moose has escaped my wrath thus far. He is such a good Moose. Various coworkers have been my intended targets, and I am happy to report that I have not yet said anything I regret to anyone. I have come very, very close.
So today, 9 weeks 1 day. Victims so far: 0 Well, maybe the 2 girls I yelled at last week at work. But I maintain they had it comin. Still queasy, still no puking. No weight gain. Still tired. It's hot here now and that makes it all worse. Some jobs in the heat make me dizzy. Boobs only a little sore, but nearly overflowing. And my fuse is short. I feel like I should come with a warning label, or a color code system. Green means I am fine (or queasy), yellow means shut up, orange means keep out of arms reach (or throwing distance) and red means start running. Now.
Cheeseburger pizza, with green pepper, onion, beef, and PICKLES, drizzled with mustard.
This one requires a bit more of an explanation. I wanted cheeseburger pizza for dinner instead of stir fry. So I sent the Moose to the grocery store to buy mince (ground beef), sauce, cheese, mustard and PICKLES while I got started on the base. He was taking a lot longer than he should have, but he doesn't do the shopping, so I figured he was having a hard time finding something. So I hopped in the shower, and missed a text from him. This is what the text said: "C nt find ur pickles".
He came home without pickles. Pickles are what make cheeseburger pizza AMAZING. Plus, you know, pregnant. Pickles. MUST EAT ALL THE PICKLES. For shame Moose, coming home without the pickles!! Why couldn't he find the pickles?? Because New Zealand calls the ones I wanted gherkins, and I call them pickles. Lost in translation (though I had shown him the empty jar of exactly what I wanted before he left, so no excuses). So I had to run to the store to get my beloved pickles. As a side note, I have always loved pickles, and have been known to eat a pickle after eating ice cream. As a palate cleanser. This is not a pregnancy thing. This is how I roll.
So the text. I chose to read that first word a bit differently, which sort of turned the sentence funny. So Moose, for shame missing the "a" in "can't" and allowing me to accuse you of calling me the c-word. And also, "ur"?? You are 53 years old. You know what grammar is, and yes I know you can't figure out predictive text and refuse to use it. Stop being lazy.
Now, I hate spiders. With a passion. They are evil and are out to take over the world. But I tolerate, TOLERATE, daddy long legs. They don't even look like real spiders. Now I don't want them on me, but I will let them live. Even in the house. Even in the very small bathroom. Even on my artwork from my time living in Japan. Until Mr. Daddy Long Legs shits on my artwork. That dark spot circled in black is spider shit. The other flecks are a part of the cardboard the painting is on, but this one is darker and noticeable. I did chase the spider away from the poo before I took the picture, but I couldn't get him off my painting, so I had to get the Moose to remove him.
Spiders, you are all on notice. I will set Cleo on you. This is what she does to the plastic spider Mom and I have been shipping back and forth for two years now.
That is a super fast motion mauling.
I might even forgive you for slipping me the tongue while I was mouth-breathing in my sleep.
If you maul the shit out of the spiders. You did well with the centipede the other day. Keep it up.
But seriously, don't ever lick me in the mouth again.
The Moose and I met with the midwife the other day, and I think we will like her a lot. She is the youngest in this area, but she has worked as a pediatrics nurse, and is very much about collaborating with doctors and such when she feels unsure about anything. Midwives in New Zealand are supposed to operate independently, and that can lead to some issues with complications. There was one here a few years ago who botched a birth and left the first time mum alone and bleeding badly. And she is still practicing. Needless to say I avoided her and her company. Anyway, my dutch midwife refuses to do home births due to the risk (thank god cuz I would never ever ever want to do that!), she doesn't put pressure on a new mum to breastfeed as she recognizes that some women simply can't, and she is willing to refer rather than tackle something herself which may be out of her league. And she has promised to be blunt, which I appreciate.
I will be getting a call soon to set up the next ultrasound to screen for Down's syndrome and the likes, and will be meeting with the midwife again in four weeks.
I also set up our xmas tree. It has been in the Moose's family for ages, and he reckons it could be 60 years old. I've found it a little sad looking, and have tried to hide the obviously cardboard tube with some tinsel, but once the ornaments are up it looks rather retro chic. But if this pregnancy results in a healthy bubs, we will be needed a bigger, stronger tree...one that is child proof. Because it is all I can do to gingerly decorate this tree without breaking it.
Of course, it never seems like xmas when it is summer out, and even though this summer has been rather cold, I have been caught off guard again. I haven't quite finished xmas shopping for my family, and to get presents to them in time, I probably should have sent them a week or two ago. Oops.
Which reminds me, I need to go down to the farmers market to buy some more fancy olive oil to send home. Best go now before I forget again.
My very spoiled cats of course think the world revolves around them. And it probably does a little more than it should. They know they are at the top of the pecking order around here. All they need to do is meow. Want in that closed door? Meow and it opens. Want in that closet that someone rudely shut you out of? Meow and done. Can't live without having a treat just now? Sit in the kitchen and Meow loudly for a few minutes and someone will cave (or sometimes, when not respecting the true position of the cat in the ranks, they will chase meowing cat from the kitchen). Want to play footie? Don't bother trying to Meow, just randomly attack a leg. Playing will happen to prevent more violence.
Want to get us out of the house? Sit outside and meow. So when Toffs did this the other morning, naturally (knowing my position in the food chain as SHE WHO OBEYS THE CATS OR ELSE) I went outside to see what they were up to. I hung out a bit with Toffs near the fence, and was aware of Cleo skulking around under the kitchen window. There was a rustle from the other end of the yard, and my first thought was "oh crap, here's one of the damned tom cats, now we'll have a fight" but neither Toffs nor Cleo seemed concerned, and then this little lump started working its way down the yard. Toffs and Cleo both sat perfectly still and watched as the hedgehog made its way past them (and about two inches past my heels), under the climbing hydrangea and under the fence into the neighbour's yard. No attempts were made to play with it, to intercept it or chase it away. If it had been a bird, it would've been dead. They did both follow the hedgehog into the neighbour's yard, but I think that was more because Toffs realized she needed to get away from me before I expressed her bladder, and Cleo was seized with a sudden burst of wild that needed her to climb the tree at the speed of light. But I can be left with only one conclusion.
Hedgehogs are higher up the food chain than cats. Or at least my cats.
*One night a couple of years ago I caught Toffs and a young hedgehog giving each other a bit of a sniff and smooch. It was pretty damn cute.
**The cats have got a little hedgehog toy that I can stuff with catnip, and they do maul the shit outta that.
I am a big fan of the bloggess Jenny Lawson. Love her book, love her blog, she is my kinda crazy.
The bloggess googled "Jenny meme", and challenged her readers to do the same. I was a bit hesitant, but in the end caved because I needed to kill a few minutes before Downton Abbey. Lots of stuff in other languages, but a few funny ones, the odd disturbing one...and this, which had me in stitches...
Hmm...Might be time to invest in a fire extinguisher. (the little girl looks a little like a straight-haired version of my niece).
I have always had vivid (and sometimes strange) dreams. And recurring dreams. In fact, I will dream nearly the same dream every night, with some sort of theme. I often dream of water (the beach, massive waves in the ocean, fishing, watching fish, travelling down a river or over bridges), of hiking, of work (ugh), and in the past few months, of shopping centres (sometimes I am shopping, sometimes just travelling from place to place or looking to meet someone somewhere). Some of the most annoying dreams I have had involve really really needing to pee, but not being able to find a toilet with adequate privacy that is actually clean! Seriously, the worst public loo is nothing to some of the ones in my nightmares! And I have nearly the same dream over and over and over with slight variations.
But these pregnancy dreams are beyond strange. They aren't recurring like my usual dreams, and they are quite detailed down to (gasp) logical conversations that I can remember upon waking. In general, the dreams are completely random. I've been dreaming of going to a hockey game (ice hockey of course). I've had a scary Doctor Who type dream (sadly David Tennant was missing...in fact, I don't think the Doctor was there, but plenty of scary aliens were!). Last night I was taking the cats for a walk through the woods (with Cleo running ahead with her tail stick straight in the air as she does), when a bear crossed our paths (but didn't seem to see us). And the strangest one so far...I dreamt not that I was being chased by a serial killer, but that I was a serial killer (I'm not, promise) and that I was interrupted destroying evidence by my coworkers. The details of these are very clear when I wake up, but by the end of the day it gets a bit foggy.
I've only dreamt twice of the baby. Once that it was the due date, but the bubs wasn't coming and we were waiting and waiting. The other time was about buying clothes but not knowing the sex of the baby, and all the clothes were either blue or pink and I wanted green or something more gender neutral!
Dreaming aside, sleeping is now just about my favourite thing to do. Sadly I haven't been able to devote as much time to this new hobby, but since I am meeting the midwife tomorrow morning, I decided to take the morning off so I could have a nice sleep-in! I am ridiculously excited about this (the sleep in). In fact, if I go to sleep now, I could get about 11 hours, minus at least 3 trips to the bathroom, one fuzzy alarm clock name Cleo wanting cuddles, and one Moose who must get up early. I had been getting about 7 hours of sleep, but I am making more of an effort to go to bed early (I have to be up at 5am every day). I don't nap very well (I get insanely grumpy when I am woken up), and lately I haven't had time to try!
I am about to be crude for a moment, but I love this phrase (heard off comedian Jan Maree "Fever Bitch") and I use it whenever I have the opportunity. You've been warned.
"Sluicing out the old juice box". Yup, getting ready for my scan and preparing just in case of an encounter with the dildo cam, figured I had best wash up, because you should always turn up with a freshly washed beaver anytime there is a possibility you will have to pull it out. So, home from work at lunch and into the shower. Even thought about swapping for a new razor to shave the legs with, but figured I could get a few more days out of the old one. Happily washing away when I looked down and OHMYGODBLOOD! Naturally I assume that the BADTHING is happening (because if it is going to, of course it will be just before an ultrasound), but there seemed to be no blood coming from there, and the amount on the floor of the shower was impressive. Turns out I cut my leg shaving. Never been so happy to cut myself! Me thinks time to toss the dull razor.
On to the ultrasound. There is a little heart beating away at 104 beats per minute, and a little tadpole measuring in almost exactly on time at 8mm. My left ovary looked questionable and the lady thought she could see a bleeding cyst on it, so off with the pants and in with the dildo cam (good thing I sluiced out the old juice box). No corner of my uterus was left unexplored. Because my ovary was being difficult. But she could find nothing, and doing a second external scan, there was nothing there. She mumbled something about a leaky bowel or fluid or something, but whatever she saw was gone after I emptied a very full bladder, and she wasn't concerned. Anyway, no cysts bleeding and no blood in the uterus. Things are looking good!
The Moose was there of course, and couldn't stop beaming. He is totally chuffed and over the moon. It is so touching and cute. I think the ultrasound finally made this real for him!
So, 7 weeks tomorrow. Still no puking, only the greasy feeling like I am hungover. Still exhausted much of the time, but coping better. Food cravings kicking in, but really, I have always had them (I have always believed pickles to be the perfect chaser to ice cream) but the other day I really wanted cherry jello and green olives. I really really want fruity things too. And tomatoes. And lemonade. Yum. I am 2 kilos down still and seem to lose and gain the same kilo every other day or so. Not sure how I am not gaining, but I am trying to pay attention to what I am eating. My sense of smell is maybe a little sharper than usual (I have an excellent snout), but there aren't too many things that I can't stand. My brain is still in pregnancy fog and oh my god, math, how do I do that?
Cat update: Toffs and Cleo were very naughty the other day. I have to express Toff's bladder twice a day to keep her alive (nerve damage after being hit by a car left her unable to pee on her own, though she can leak). Toffs has decided to change up the routine she has been holding to the last 2 years and not hang around the house in the morning. So I rushed home during lunch, and she still wasn't around. So she went about 20 hours without having her bladder emptied before I finally caught her. And she did it again the next day! So new plan: Locking the cat flap and barricading the door at night, because yes, she can open a locked cat flap. When she gets up and makes a lot of noise trying to get out, I will express her and let her go. I'll probably be up to pee anyway. And Cleo, well, she is always naughty, but left me two halves of a bird in the house at the door. Thanks, Cleo.
I've been meaning to write something in the past couple of days, but I keep putting it off. I'm feeling a bit lazy like that.
I've got a scan booked for Friday, which should be 6w5d I think. The Moose is going to come with me.
I still haven't puked, and generally only feel a little queasy a couple of times a day, and that usually lasts about half an hour. I'm still exhausted. I am a mass of incandescent gas. As in wow, gas baby bump (it deflated). And the dreams...well, that could be a whole post in and off itself!
I wasn't feeling so well at work yesterday. Very light-headed and extremely tired. The sun had finally come out and I was over dressed and hot, and it had been a long walk to the part of the vineyard we were working in and the walk nearly did me in! So I talked to the senior supervisor I work with (M) and told him I didn't think I could work on the hill block of the next vineyard we were to go to, told him I wasn't feeling well, etc.
He said that was fine, he was going to have the guys do the hill and keep the girls on the flats anyway. He asked if I needed to go home, I said I was fine and would try to stick it out. As I went into my own row to work, he commented that my face was very red (and I didn't look so good).
"I don't have sunscreen on," was my reply (I don't burn if it is cloudy, which it had been all day up to this point). "And I am not walking all the way back to the car to put some on and come all the way back over here."
M said that G, the boss and owner of the vineyard we were working in (who is known for being grumpy), would appreciate my dedication. Which I decided he should be informed of.
"Tell G I'm burning for him."
Five second delay to realise what I just said (and very near to G's house too), followed by "No! Not what I meant! SUNburning!" to a chorus of laughter from those with a good grasp of the English language.
The good news: G probably didn't hear, and the clouds came back and I didn't burn.
Nausea is back since yesterday. I am tired still. But I am overall feeling less like shit than I did last week. I hope that means I am adjusting to the hormones, and that those hormones are still multiplying. My boobs certainly think they are, because holy hell were they sore this morning.
My midwife called. She has a cute tiny squeaky voice. I told her about the spotting (and the cramping, because seriously I have had at least some cramping every day for like 3 weeks). She's going to get me in for a scan soon, so I should get a call in a day or so to schedule one. Might be too early for a heartbeat, but maybe not...I have no idea when I might get the appointment, guess it could be late next week or even the week after. But I think it will be nice to have a look and see what is going on in there regardless.
I have a midwife. My doctor recommended her when I asked which of the three that cover this area are scientific minded no-nonsense drill sergeant types. The doc said "She is great, even though she's Dutch." Which of course I thought was a hilarious thing to say. Dutch midwife has lots of good reviews online too. From her email, I don't think she will be the type to tell me its all rainbows and unicorn farts. Anyway, she will give me a call next week.
So tomorrow marks 5 weeks. I haven't vomited yet, but man I've come close. Everything is making me queasy today. I am pretty tired, but I've been sleeping well. The cramps are less and less frequent and don't seem to last very long when they happen. I am sore though, like I've been hiking or running or something, and I haven't been. Boobs are sore sometimes, mostly around the sides and really only noticeable if touched.
Since I spent the morning getting things I put off all week done, I think I may spend the rest of the afternoon slacking. I should clean the house, but I might put that off until tomorrow! And Toffs is sleeping on a pile of clothes on the floor, and I don't want to disturb her by cleaning up her new found bed.
That's about it. If I had anything else to say, I've forgotten it.
Got my second beta. 650. Doubling time is 24 hours, according to the betabase calculator. I am more than happy with that. I was hoping it would be above 100. I am blown away. Tomorrow I will make an appointment with one of the local midwives. This is starting to get a bit real now. The bbt thermometer is getting put away. Might keep the pre-seed handy...sexy times can be sexy times again...if I can stay up long enough.
Also, another odd number...I've lost 3 kilos. I am not vomiting. I am eating a bit more than I was before, but somehow, over the last 3 or so weeks, I have lost weight. According to the scales. According to my pants...not so much. Those 3 kilos were replaced with an equal volume of bloat.
I am really dealing with some pregnancy rage. Thankfully not directed towards the Moose (not yet anyway). I get murderous around some of my coworkers over stupid things. I hide it by trying to sound uber cheerful when needed, and spending the rest of the time brooding. So far I haven't shanked anyone...mostly because in every incident in which I have been driven to stabby-ness the person I want to stab is on the other end of the phone. Lucky them.
(I don't know why the 10dpo one turned yellow in the window...must have had a strong brew).
Should have beta results in a couple of days. But I got a nifty maternity pack full of brochures and booklets and stuff, and the Moose dug straight into it and proceeded to tell me all the things I am not supposed to eat. So helpful, my Moose.
This is my chart this cycle. I suspect it is quad-phasic (pre-o, and 3 post-o temp levels), which I think probably means I was abducted by aliens and it is their spawn rather than my own chilling out in my ute and waiting to explode violently through my tummy. I did have a waking dream the other night of Cleo telling me "They are watching you." Shudder. She didn't say who "they" were.
This is the first chemical from May/June. Beta was at a 6 two days before bleeding.
This is the second chemical from September/October. Beta was at 2 a whole day after the bleeding started.
My straight up bfn charts look pretty much like the miscarriage charts but with slightly lower temps post ovulation. This months chart is just a little weird and unlike any of my others. Maybe that's a good thing.
I've been debating whether or not to continue temping. For a little while I think I will. From these two charts my temp dropped sharp just before bleeding, so I think maybe I will just watch out for that. For a week or so. I know temps can vary, but a steep enough drop may at least give me a day to prepare for the worst.
Tomorrow morning, on 16dpo, I will pee on my last FRER, and hopefully the line will be darker. I already made an appointment with my doc, but if the line is faint (or fainter) I will cancel and wait to see what happens.
I've spent all day being insanely lazy, but I did get out for a walk before dinner (which was nearly the end of me). I've only felt sick when I drink water just after eating, or when I get hungry, and for the first time ever, I got hangry with the Moose. He was supposed to bring me lunch, but instead brought me a coffee. He has been offering me coffees all weekend, but I only can drink about half of one, which he would know if he listened! I nearly cried and couldn't bring myself to get off the couch to fix myself something. Poor Moose was given a little guilt trip. Boobs still sore off and on. I still feel pregnant anyway. I've had rather annoying cramping for about 5 days now. It is usually dull, sometimes sharp, and generally only lasts a short time. No spotting or bleeding, though I did spot just a tiny bit on 10dpo. Just waiting to see what tomorrow brings.
Also, sexy time does occur outside of the fertile window, I just don't tend to record it. I realize these charts totally look like I am just using the Moose for his body...which is totally a little true ;)
If anyone stumbling upon this post is in a not so fun place just now, don't bother reading ahead. Here are some cute pics of my cats tolerating each other. Seriously I have only caught them this close 4 times, and only been able to get the camera out 3 times. Here are two of the pics. (Yes, the bedroom walls are pink...they've always been that way...its a work in progress...don't judge. And yes, the curtains came with the house. Another work in progress).
Now, go find something else to read if you are feeling stabby. One last cat picture of THE CUTENESS:
That's the last pic. Read on at your own peril.
Ok. I am an awkward moron. Murphy's Law doesn't apply to me. Instead, this Law of Awkwardness rules my life. If events can combine to put me in an awkward situation, they will. Sometimes I put myself there. Mostly, I blame the universe. Patron saint of awkward, that's this girl. Guaranteed to open mouth and say the wrong thing.
I followed through with my Man-uptober challenge to get myself out there, and you know, talking to people and stuff. I started commenting on the blogs I follow rather than lurking, I emailed Mel over at Stirrup Queens and got myself on the blogroll. As a result the traffic to this blog has skyrocketed. But I was concerned, because when I emailed her, I was sitting at 7dpo. I was worried that if I managed to get a bfp this month I would not only make myself look like an ass, but would hurt people's feelings. I had just got my referral to visit the RE, and my doc, as I was leaving, commented that most people she refers get pregnant the month after she gives the referral. At the time I thought "huh, yeah, right, I may get pregnant, but I'll miscarry". But between getting the referral, and getting on the blogroll, I have inadvertently activated the Awkward Law and gotten myself pregnant.
At 9dpo, it was the squinty-est squinter ever (when Cleo used me as a scratching post). As in could that be an indent line? Maybe I was making myself go all cross eyed and was seeing things as a result. But I was feeling it. Sore boobs, a bit queasy. Of course I checked my charts, and well, those symptoms happen every month regardless at about this time. But...I was having a definite increase in creamy cm, and that doesn't happen except for when I am pregnant. And oh my god the smell of cooking beef nearly did it for me. So I was conflicted. Either something was up or it was all in my head.
At 10dpo, a slightly less squinty squinter. But I was really fighting some bouts of nausea. I went out and bought some FRERs and lo and behold, at 6pm, a faint line.
At 11dpo, peeing on multiple cheapies throughout the day, and comparing squinty lines. Are they getting darker? Unsure but oh my god I nearly puked a few times.
12dpo was my only chance to get to the doc for a blood draw, as I couldn't leave work once the senior supervisor was away and I had to work long (LONG) hours. As the FRER from 12dpo was darker than the first, I figured now was a good time. If I was going to miscarry this one, I was damn sure going to catch it! Especially since I didn't catch last month's (Beta was only at 2 after I had been bleeding for a day, so on my chart they wrote "early miscarriage unlikely" to which I would like to add bullshit). The nurse brought up my chart, so I got to peak at my progesterone results from my Day 21 draw. 72. Seriously. I googled it later and proceeded to freak out. Probably best to ask a real doc about that one. Because damn did I ovulate this month!!! I'm surprised my ovaries didn't explode!
13dpo. The oh-shit-this-is-going-to-custard-why-did-I-get-my-hopes-up-again day. The line is the same or fainter than yesterday's. And I get a call from a different nurse, an evil nurse, regarding the beta. She paused, then said "It doesn't look good, don't get your hopes up." To which I asked what the number was. She said 30, and unless it was really early, well... I told her it was only 12dpo, which totally put her out. She was all "normally we get people in with numbers in the 100s or 1000s" to which I wanted to punch her in the throat and tell her I am not normal!!! I am not some person who tossed out the pill and had no idea when the first day of their last period was, and oh, hmm...where's that period, maybe I'm pregnant? That is not me. I know exactly where I am in this cycle thank you and I am trying to catch these miscarriages and get them documented so I can save some time later!! Stupid cow. If she knew shit about this, she would know that for 12dpo a beta of 30 isn't all that bad. Not great, but not miscarriage territory. But I didn't know that until I got home and googled away, so I spent the entire day thinking oh shit well here we go again. So I ate a whole pizza. With chorizo and jalapenos and hot sauce. Comfort food. I'm not ashamed.
14dpo. Today. Another FRER. And a darker line. I've never had them get darker, and the past two miscarriages at 14dpo the lines were faint and getting fainter. So maybe I have a chance. Maybe this one will stick.
And that is why I am a moron. Getting hopes up again. One minute I feel puke-y and exhausted and just yuck with the burn-y stabby boobs and I am thinking nurseries and maternity clothes and announcements and oh my god baby! And the next, I feel fine, I have energy, my tum is reasonable, and the boobs are fine and don't really seem any bigger, and I think oh shit well this is it.
When I emailed Mel, expressing my concerns that I could still get pregnant, that maybe I didn't really belong here, she wrote something that really touched me. That even if I did get pregnant, it didn't take away from the past. It's taken over a year and a half to get here. It's taken 2 but probably 3 chemical pregnancies. It's taken work to lose weight to get my publicly funded referral. It's taken so many thoughts of why not me? Why isn't this working for us? What's wrong with us? So many negative tests and cd1's. This hasn't come easy.
I know there are so many others who go through so much more. I really thought that would be us. It still could be. It's early days yet and I am realistic. 17dpo is the longest I have made it in the past. Today is only 14dop. We'll see what a few days brings. Regardless I will still blog here. I have thousands more pictures of the cats to put up! And there will be stories of vineyard work (which will probably be pretty boring really), and other random thoughts. There will be updates on the state of my ute, however it goes. So...if you don't want to stab me in the forehead and you still want to come around, please do!
P.S. I just asked the Moose, who is watching snooker, what is so entertaining about watching it. His reply "They are trying to snooker each other!" Ha ha, DIRTY! I might try to snooker him later.
My fuzzy alarm clock is generally pretty good. About half an hour before the real alarm clock is set to go off, Cleo, who sleeps between my knees or feet, wanders up to the head of the bed and purrs. It is hard to get angry at such a cute alarm clock, and I feel no urge to smack her for a snooze button (my really alarm clock gets a beat down if it actually gets a chance to go off). So we have cuddles (and I take my bbt) until one minute before the real alarm clock is to go off, at which point I switch it off and get up, and Cleo gets up with me.
There are a few variations on this. Sometimes she wakes me up only 15 minutes before the alarm is set to go off. This is the best case scenario, and when she gets into this routine, she can be quite accurate. There is also the "there's no food in my dish and I'm starving" which involves being very, very insistent and a little bit violent in the cuddles. I get a few more love bites than usual. Or maybe she is taste testing me. Then there are the times when she gets her time off. As in she wakes me up closer to 4am (on occasion 3am) rather than 5:30am. Often when I stop the cuddles she goes back to bed, or decides she is brave enough to leave the room on her own. I may or may not get a second wake up.
Then there is the "my cat is a weirdo" which often happens if I am sleeping too deeply to be awoken by the purrs. This is when I get my eyeball licked. Or, if a foot is sticking out of the blankets, my toe sucked. Yes, Cleo will suck toes. She does fingers too, but having a cat sucking on your toes will wake you up like nothing else! And the fangs are sort of in her way so you get nibbled too. Pull your foot back under the blankets too quickly and you may get pounced upon. Sometimes alarm clocks are dangerous.
This morning I got the whole thing. Woken up at 4am, then again at 5:15 (alarm set for 5:45am), the second time by having my eyeball licked, and when I went to get up, she got my toe, and when I quickly pulled my foot back under the blanket, I got attacked. I figured the food bowls must be empty, but no. Plenty of food.
And then, when squinting at a pee stick (because by the time I went to bed last night I was convinced I must be pregnant, but at 9dpo, the hpt disagreed this morning), Cleo decided to use my right leg as a scratching post.
Clearly I exist solely for Cleo's entertainment.
I would question if she had a foot fetish, but there was a (big) beetle in my work boot. So maybe she just doesn't have much of a sense of smell.
I just saw this on the news and it made me angry. Like really, really angry. As in writing letters to the editor angry.
In the Auckland suburb of Remuera (and a couple other upscale ones), some residents are asking where the children trick or treating go to school. If the answer isn't a local school, these adults are telling the kids to go trick or treating in their own neighbourhood, that they aren't wanted here. If it is a local school, they get candy.
Now, Halloween isn't really much of a thing in New Zealand. Many people do not participate and have some good reasons for it. And that is fine. It is an individuals choice to participate, and I am not going to say that all New Zealand should adopt Halloween.
What I am saying is that I do not believe it is right to deny a child candy on Halloween because they come from a poor neighbourhood. Remuera is a wealthy suburb. Clearly a number of people there choose to hand out candy to children on Halloween. Some go all out too. I am sure most people participating there are happy to give candy to all kids who come to their doors, irrespective of where they live. But a few on the news tonight were not. They felt that Halloween was not a welfare activity and that these children from poor areas should stay on their side of the tracks. I am aghast. Seriously. Adults, probably well educated, from a wealthy suburb, telling children that they were not welcome in said wealthy suburb.
1. People living in a wealthy suburb can probably afford to buy a few more candy bars. If they can't, perhaps they should reconsider participating at all.
2. People have every right to go to another neighbourhood to trick or treat. There is no Halloween law stating that one must stay within ones school district. In fact, it may be safer to trick or treat in a wealthier suburb. A poorer neighbourhood may have fewer people able to participate, fewer people willing to spend money on candy (I spent $5 on 24 mini chocolate bars knowing I would get no more than half a dozen kids coming by...small town and all...but if you were expecting fifty kids, or a hundred kids...well...it all adds up when you haven't got a lot of cash). When I was a kid, we trick or treated in our (relatively) poorer neighbourhood then moved on the the wealthier area up the road. Guess where the better candy was? And no one ever, ever asked what street we lived on and told us to go back to where we came from.
3. These are kids. They may or may not be aware of their socio-economic status in life, and regardless, they are children. They were born to a family that is living in a poorer area. They are not to blame. Regardless of your opinion on whether or not to blame the parents, I would like to think that we can all agree that THE CHILDREN ARE NOT TO BLAME.
4. Again. These are kids. What are you doing to their self-esteem? Telling them they don't belong, that they are different to you and are unworthy of your candy bar because of where they live, because they don't have a big house in a wealthy suburb. Because their parents are shift-workers and factory workers and retail workers instead of executives and doctors and lawyers. You are telling them that they don't belong in your world, that they cannot hope to be anything more than the place in which they live, the school to which they go. You are giving them a label and telling them they must wear it for life. You are denying them admission to your world, to even a glimpse of it. You are treating them as less than equals. As sub-human. AND THEY ARE CHILDREN.
5. Race. I don't really know the demographics of the wealthy suburbs mentioned (Remuera, Sandringham, Otahuhu) nor of the poorer suburbs mentioned (not mentioned by name), but I would be very curious to find out. I think simply saying this is discrimination based solely upon which side of the tracks you live on is perhaps not looking at the whole picture.
I have no idea how long this link will work, as I think TV3 removes things after 20-odd days. I think the way the story is presented has contributed to my anger. To me, it sort of comes across as something they find "mildly amusing" rather than "infuriating that children are being treated differently based on where they come from on a trivial but child-focused holiday like Halloween".
It is blowing a gale outside. I was going to go shopping, do some gardening...now I think maybe I will stay inside. I'll have to hang the laundry in the house, or maybe under the carport, as I am pretty sure my portable laundry line, though very stable, will become airborne. And then I will have to go around town collecting lost knickers, because as I like my cotton granny-panties, I am sure they will make excellent kites. And it is supposed to be windier tomorrow. Ugh. Stupid Roaring 40s. Always windy this time of year.
I got two packages this morning! More pee sticks, which I am resisting using since I am only 7dpo and they will be negative regardless, and more knickers, which are in the washing machine now. I am still awaiting my mug from the podcast. I love getting packages. I am really excited about this mug too!!
Now, a confession. When I first moved to New Zealand, I sort of forgot about Halloween, because they don't really do it here. But of course, we had a small handful of kids come trick or treating, and I was caught out with no candy. I felt terrible. I am an American. I should be prepared for this, even if no one really does it here, I should be ready. So over the past few years, I have made a point of having candy on hand, and have handed it out to the four kids that go trick or treating. Maybe it was 6 kids. So this year I bought some candy, 24 mini chocolate bars (yes, I am prepared to give each kid about 4-5 of these...its not like there are many kids here that go trick or treating or make it to my door). And no kids have come. Which means I am eating all the chocolate.
But it doesn't stop there. I am eating ALL THE THINGS, and have been for the past week. I haven't gained a kilo yet, which is sort of miraculous really. I need to get this under control again, and get my ass back out running. Or at least walking.
But the wind. I hate hate HATE running in the wind. It isn't as bad as biking in the wind, but it still sucks. And it will probably be windy here for the next four weeks. Grumble grumble. So today, after the housework and the Gopher's hockey game (I am a rabid fan and listen online), I will pop a podcast on my ipod, grab my "noise-cancelling" headphones, and go for a nice long walk. In the wind. I am a week or two behind on most podcasts. Who knows, maybe I have won another coffee mug!
Yesterday I had a stupid day. At various times throughout the day I couldn't figure out what time it was (as in "have we already had lunch?" -we hadn't). Or what day it was (turns out it was Thursday not Friday). Or what I was doing, or which vineyard I was doing it in. It wasn't all the time, but it was a bit more frequent than usual. Yes, I often walk into a room and forget what I went in there for, but it isn't common for me to repeat that five times in a row before I figure it out or give up.
Today...well...today was a Friday for sure. We are shoot thinning at work (in the vineyards), which is pretty much just popping off some of the new growth so that the vines have a manageable amount of fruit on shoots well-spaced to prevent disease. It is a bit more complicated than that, but I generally find it easy. Not today. Today it was cock-up after cock-up. I needed to keep four shoots in the head of the vine (which is sort of the middle of it), and I would look at the four, count five, take one off, and end up with three. And it happened a few times. And I am supposed to be helping others and checking their work. But I can't even get it right today. My brain is fried.
I am exhausted. My allergies are on a serious rampage. Between the sneezing, the runny and stuffy nose, and the watery eyes, I am rather miserable. I haven't renewed my allergy med prescription because I don't want to dry up what little CM I manage to produce (seriously, all that EWCM is up my nose...I already told the Moose I think we might be doing this wrong, but I don't want to end up with large nostrils...I think I scared him with that).
So. 6dpo. Way too early for any of my "symptoms" to mean anything. My stupid brain is easily explained by work, the exhaustion as well (with the added allergies). I don't have any real positive feelings about this cycle. But I will no doubt be peeing on all the things by 10dpo. Ah well. Let the insanity begin. But maybe tomorrow...I am so tired I think I had best get to bed before I forget and end up staying up way too late.
I was going to make a dress for the local Trashion Show (which was this weekend), and had planned it out and collected rubbish and even snagged a model. I cut a few pieces of builder's paper to length and never did anything else, despite having something like 5 months to work on it.
I bought canvases and paints, and have spent a total of one morning painting. Almost a victory for me.
I once bought beads and all sorts of stuff for making jewelry, but stopped after a month or so.
Years and years ago, I got my hands on a second hand trumpet, and a bamboo flute, and a guitar. Because I would teach myself to play them, of course. Which I never did. I used to play the saxophone, but I am not naturally musical.
The biggest unfinished thing in my life, though, is writing. I have been writing since I was 12 or 13 years old, when I decided I wanted to be an author. Guess how many novels, short stories, essays, etc I have finished. 0. If I get close, I rip it up and start again. In all honesty though, I doubt a 12 or 13 year old could actually write a publishable novel. I certainly couldn't.
It doesn't seem to matter if I set deadlines for myself, if I have someone else to keep me on task, or if there is some concrete deadline. I just can't commit. Sometimes I get bored, sometimes I lose confidence in my abilities, sometimes I am just easily distracted. Maybe I try too many things at once and set out to fail immediately. Or perhaps my love is in the dreaming, that imagining doing something is somehow better than actually doing it. It is something that drives me a little bit crazy about myself.
Some months ago I decided I would run the local 10k in October. I started training. I ran a 5k, then a 6k. Then my running kept delaying my ovulation and throwing off our timing, and I cut back. Then I sort of stopped any sort of regular running. Getting in a family way seemed more important than that 10k goal. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. It is something I have been debating for quite some time. But instead of piking out, which I really, really wanted to do (and I had a few excuses on hand just ready to be used), today I walked the 10k. As in power walked. With no real training leading up to it. Yes, I was doing it with a friend, who was going to run with me, but her training sort of stopped when mine did, and she really wanted to do it. But I still could have backed out. Disappointing her probably wouldn't have stopped me. But I finished the 10k. I went down to the sports club, registered, walked as fast as I could for 10k with my friend, and finished at 1 hour 31 minutes (which is probably the same time I would have got had I jogged it).
I finished something. Not the way I had set out to finish it, but still. I finished it.
We having been trying to conceive now for a year and a half on our own. We've had two, probably three chemical pregnancies. I have been charting since May. My life has broken down into period week, ovulation week, and the two week wait. It is stressful. It eats up my free time. Well, maybe poor choices about google use and pregnancy/infertility topics eats up my free time. But it is unbelievably hard, and I am still in the minors. Even now, on the verge of being called up to the majors, well...it is hard. There are times when I want to quit. When I want to say screw it and just carry on with my life. When I wonder if this is really what I want. If I have to work so hard for it, will I appreciate it more, or will I resent it? Because I never in a million years thought that this would be something I would have to work hard for.
The first few kilometres are always the hardest as you adjust to what your body and mind have to do. I think the first few brush strokes, the first few notes, the first few steps of any new thing are hard. Self doubt creeps in. Distractions are everywhere. "I'll do it later." "I haven't got enough time right now." Insert excellent well thought out excuse.
I am going to finish things. No. "Going to" implies someday, maybe far into the future. So I will. I will finish things.
I will carry on with this blog.
I will be active, to improve my health. Running or walking. I will be flexible, but I will be consistent.
I will continue to try to lose weight. Kilojoules counting at least until my appointment with the dietitian, and then maybe I will have a new plan to follow.
I will finish this trying to conceive thing, one way or another, one day or another.
I will finish what I started as a kid, and I will write a novel/short story/essay/anything really, and I will try to get it published.
And next year, I will train, and I will run the 10k. Unless I am 9 months pregnant, or have just given birth or something. Which I think is a damned acceptable excuse.
My little sister is awesome. Don't tell her, she will get a big head. But she is amazing. Not only did she send me a nice email offering to listen if I wanted to talk (I resisted sending her a reply about cervical mucous since I think she was meaning more about the emotional side of this whole thing), but she also sent me this:
A replica of an ancient Roman fertility charm, circa 100-300 AD. It is supposed to improve your fertility and/or masculinity. Hopefully I will grow a baby not a mo. But the most awesome part is that I now have a cock and balls charm. I would wear it everyday, but I am afraid of losing it (it is a bit on the small side, no pun intended...ok, maybe pun intended). For xmas last year my Mom gave me a necklace with a locket that holds charms symbolizing the members of your family (me, hubbs, and our 2 cats), so I could put it in there. But I don't really get to wear jewelry all that often. I am too afraid of losing it at work, and after work...well...I am a bit of a homebody. Or recluse. Don't judge.
And if a Roman fertility charm isn't enough, I also won a coffee mug from the Life of Caesar podcast, which I reviewed on itunes. I am a history nerd, I love all things Roman, and now I get two things Roman!!!
It's been a good week. It's also sexy time week, as ovulation is impending. And during this week, Cleo does her best to cock block. She beats us to bed, and proceeds to take up a solid third of the bed, and then purrs and looks so cute we can't kick her out. And only on nights of scheduled bonking. Of course, she is so sleepy she doesn't mind if the bed is a-rockin', and we try to...um...work around her.
It is still Thursday somewhere, and since I put up some pics of Toffs as a kitten awhile back, it is Cleo's turn.
This is the very first photo we ever took of Cleo. We adopted her when she was about 5 months old and this picture, though not very graceful or lady-like, is definitely Cleo. She is quirky. And she does sit like that from time to time.
Cleo is a bit of a scrapper with the neighbourhood toms. Even though they are bigger than she is, she manages to kick some ass when she has to. When fighting the tom I call "big black and fluffy" she got a bite wound on her back, which grew into an abscess, which needed to be drained, and then lanced a second time. She was a wee conehead for about a week, but the cone was too big for her and she kept getting out of it, until I made a harness to secure it. In this pic she is napping and holding her Moose's hand. I saw "big black and fluffy" a few days later with a shaved tail so I am guessing she gave as good as she got.
The Mototapu kicked my ass. Seriously, I can barely walk. I am exhausted. I feel like crap. I just want to sleep all day.
Jack Hall's Saddle.
The first day started out well. We made good time through a grunty bit of forest, up above the treeline and up a reasonably easy climb up to Jack Hall's Saddle. From here it looked like a quick but easy descent down to the hut, which was somewhere down below. But it wasn't so easy as that. The track leading down was steep and after the first hundred meters or so my legs turned to jelly. That in and of itself makes it a challenge, but it is much more challenging when walking down a steep ridge on a knife edge. As in a fall to either side would mean death. And it was windy, but only in gusts.
Sometimes what you think will be easy and straight-forward enough turns out to be way more challenging that you could have imagined. I don't like heights all that much. There were a few places on that way down where I thought, oh my god how can I do that? But the hut was down below, and that was where we needed to go. So I put one foot in front of the other, and concentrated entirely on moving slowly and keeping my balance. My right calf cramped up several times, even once when crossing a really exposed section of track, but I had to keep moving. And so I did. And the scary bits were soon behind me.
When we reached the bottom, surprise, there were two ridges to climb up and down between us and the hut. They weren't so high, maybe only 100m or so, but they were steep, and we'd been tramping for about 8 hours at that point. But there was nothing to do but go up, and down, and up, and finally down to the hut on my jelly legs.
The plan the next day was to carry on to another hut, which would involve climbing 400m and descending 400m twice, on even steeper and more exposed terrain. Though my legs were already wobbly and weak, we started out. Early on part of the climb was so steep and exposed, I may as well have been climbing up a dodgy ladder with a heavy pack on my back. I nearly panicked. I wanted to cry. I thought for sure I would fall. I couldn't stop, because I knew that if I did, I would never start again. I made it, with my husband's help (he came back down and took my pack), but even as the climb evened out a little bit, I knew my body couldn't make it. Not safely. I told the Moose I couldn't do it, and we agreed to reach a small saddle above us where it would be safe to stop, and there we would make our decision. Thankfully he was so supportive. He has been yearning for this tramp for years now, but he knew I couldn't do it safely, and he agreed that the best course of action was to return to the hut. And here he helped me again by taking my pack down the really steep bit (and yes, I did go down this section on my bum). We spent the rest of the day lounging about the hut, resting up for the long walk back the way we had come.
The Moose is a speck of blue carrying his pack down after carrying mine.
The pain in my legs was terrible. I could barely get up and down the steps outside the hut. I was worried I wouldn't be able to make it back out the way we came. In tramping, especially in this kind of terrain, it is as much a mind set as a physical thing. You have to be prepared mentally as well as physically. You think you see the end (end of a climb, flat where a hut should be, whatever your goal is), but you have to be ready for it to not be the end, for the end to be just a little bit farther every time you think you are there. You need to be able to look at a difficult section of track, maybe with a steep drop to one or both sides, or a scramble up or down a massive rock, and to know you can do it, to trust in your tired sore body. You need to be able to work, hard, for 8 or 9 or even more hours to get to your goal. Sort of like long distance running, it is a bit of a mind game. If you start thinking "are we there yet?" and you have only been walking for a few hours...well...you are in for a long day.
That was the kind of day we had walking out. We made it along those two ridges near the hut. We made it up the long steep climb to the saddle, again in the wind, along sharp horrible drops to the sides. My legs were still sore, but they were stronger. I found, however, that in retracing our steps, I had forgotten many of the harder, more tricky sections. There were many surprises, things that hadn't seemed difficult on the first day, were very tricky on the third. We found that even though we had just been this way, we couldn't remember simple things. Was the bridge closer to one end of the forest, or the other? Wasn't this sidle between the other hut and the forest shorter than this? The day seemed long, the car seemed so very far away when we were expecting it to be closer.
Despite the difficulty of the track, and the pain in my legs, the land we were hiking through was beautiful, and I enjoyed every bit of it. Even as I sit here, so exhausted, so sore, the memories of the scary parts, the difficult parts, the pain, are already starting to fade.
Up a narrow ridge.
Tramping is much like any struggle in life. It is difficult, and frustrating, but rewarding. I am stronger for the journey.
Aunt Flo arrived last night, and I think now I am over the worst of it. Or at least I hope so, because tomorrow I am going tramping for a few days, and the first day is going to be the hardest. But the cramping is nearly gone (yay for good pain pills!), and while I am still bleeding a bit on the heavy side, I can't imagine there is much left in there. I hope.
The doctor took a blood test, but I think it may have been too late. My temp dropped Sunday morning and I was bleeding Sunday night, so I don't think getting my blood taken Monday at noon will prove too terribly informative. The nurse jabbed me pretty hard too. I might actually get a bruise.
And I got my referral today! My weight is down enough that with the signed approval of a dietitian I can get a subsidised consult and begin subsidised testing! Any costs out of pocket will be minimal, and will probably just be travel related (as in a 3 hour drive). I still have to lose about 5 kilos before they will do any treatments, but I am guessing the wait list to actually get the consult will give me enough time that by the end of testing I should be ready. And I bet I will lose about 2 kilos just from this tramp!
At 14dpo, 4pm, getting ready for a work party to mark the end of pruning, and anticipating beers I pull out my last FRER. I've had no symptoms (well, nothing strong enough and everything can be attributed to something else), but I don't really feel like my period is coming, though I have been spotting brown since the previous day. Negative internet cheapies on 10 and 12 dpo. But I want to have beers, so might as well get my negative and guarantee my period by peeing on the expensive stick.
Me: "...I think there's a line...here, look. Do you see it?"
Me: "I'm not crazy, there is a line there. It's just really really faint. Look at it in natural light. Now do you see it?"
Me: "Put your glasses on. I swear I am not crazy. Now?"
Me: "Look at this picture of it inverted on my phone. See? I'm not crazy."
Moose: "Sorry honey, I don't see anything."
Me (glaring at test): "Ah, fuck it, I'm crazy." (and in my head: "Totally getting drunk at the work party tonight")
At 15dpo, early in the am, hungover as buggery, wondering where the period is. Look at 14dpo stick in morning light, and guess what, that was a line. A nice pink line that is not an evap. Can I be happy about it? No, and not just because I drank enough beer to give this potential child flippers. Anxiety sets in. Another faint line. Like last time. Temp is back up, but that could be the beers (so much for Sober-tober). Guess I will have to go buy some more FRERs. Test in afternoon again. Maybe a line. Maybe. Even harder to see than the other was. Maybe it will darken later (it doesn't). Still no period, no cramps, just very little brown spotting. Great. I will either get to enjoy a very early miscarriage while tramping on a demanding track, or I will be maybe pregnant and fearing one hitting me while on said track, making it impossible for me to make it out on my own. I am not looking forward to reading that in the newspaper "Local Woman Airlifted by Helicopter From Difficult Track Due to Period" because I am sure that's how it would appear. Urgh. Nothing to do but wait and see and spend most of the day with Dr. Google.
Today, 16dpo, with first morning urine. I hadn't drank anything since 10pm the night before, because I drink water like it is going out of fashion (kidney stone when I was 18 and not going to EVER have another if I can help it). FRER is pretty stark white. There could be a line, but even I can't see it. On the bright side, the Moose concedes that the 14dpo stick does have a line that he can now see (if he holds it about five feet away...might be time to get his eyes checked again). Cramps are worse (longer than the five minutes they were lasting before), and spotting is still brown but there is more of it. And the biggest tell all, apart from the FRER, is the temp dive on my chart. But my boobs are sore now, and they weren't before. So...
I have spent most of this morning searching the internet for any sign that maybe this could turn out well, because hope is a terrible thing. I know what is going to happen here, as much as I think I kind of knew on 14dpo when I thought I saw that faint line but couldn't be sure it wasn't line eye. Everything was perfect this cycle. My chart was beautiful. Clear ovulation cd13, perfectly timed intercourse, temp dip 7dpo, higher temps after. But negative tests on 10 and 12dpo. A faint positive on 14dpo? There is no way this is ending well for me, and for every pregnancy chart on fertility friend with a drop at 15 or 16dpo that appeared to carry on as a pregnancy, there are probably ten that ended in miscarriage. For every low beta, late hpt, slow rise type of thing that ended well, there are lots that didn't. And I am not getting faint lines now. But also not really bleeding. Not red blood. Not yet. And so there is a part of me that hopes, even when I know all is lost and it ain't gonna happen.
I'm calling it. I need to. Chemical Pregnancy Number Two. I just hope the bleeding starts today so I know if I can handle it on this tramp (we will go on Tuesday), or if I will have to throw in the towel and spend the next four days on the toilet in terrible pain. I am thinking this one will be more like a "heavier period" with "heavier cramping" that the internet describes, rather than the full on explosion of lady parts that happened last time (because shit, that was only a little less worse than my kidney stone).
I'll go see the doctor in the morning. Maybe since I seem to be getting pregnant on my own, she can do some tests or something. I have about 4-5 kg to lose to get my public funded referral to the fertility clinic, but maybe there is something we can do in the meantime. If nothing else I can have a good whinge to someone who has to listen to me. The poor Moose hasn't said it, but he is getting sick of the fact that I can talk of nothing else. (He may murder me if I ask him to look at all my peesticks one more time...because he has looked at them many, many times at my request and seen nothing new)
"Aunt Flo must be back at the diner, because this period doesn't have any." A Woogism. He was the coach of the Minnesota Gophers hockey team, and later a radio/tv commentator for the Gopher games. And like the hockey game he was referring to, I've got no Flo. So please Aunt Flo come back from that diner soon so I can go tramping. Or stay away and let me be wrong about this pregnancy. There goes that damn hope again.
Considering very few people know about our TTC issues, I have still heard the usual things. "At least you know you can get pregnant" (...true, but I don't know if I can STAY that way), "It will happen eventually" (vague...but yes, I hope so), "Have you tried _?" (didn't work, or no. Just, no.), and "Have you considered adoption?" (...we are just starting out here, and hullo, free treatment if I can get my ass under 32 bmi). I am sure there have been others, but honestly, these have mostly come from people close to me, like my mom, my PCOS tube-lacking sister (yup, even her), and my hubby for the "It will happen eventually" (yes, Moose, but I don't want to have to change your diapers when changing a bub's!). No harm is meant by it, and I have brushed it off, or rather, ticked it off the list, like some exotic infertile bingo.
So last week a comment finally pissed me off. A coworker and sort-of friend commented on the miscarriage of her brother and sister-in-law. "That's what you get for announcing it too early."
She had complained at length when the announcement was made a few months ago, and last week didn't really know much about when the miscarriage occurred or how they were taking it, but assumed they found out at their first scan. "They should know better." "That's why you don't announce it so early." Etc etc.
Now she has got some personal issues, and is EXTREMELY jealous of her siblings and has some major issues with them and the roles they all play in the family unit, and I won't go into it here because while I doubt she will ever read this, I am not going to go about slagging her. She is not a bad person, and no doubt had no idea how offended I was (on behalf of the SIL, but also for myself).
I resisted the urge to ball her out publicly, and resisted the urge to have a word to her in private. She doesn't need to know about what happened to me last May. Am I glad I didn't announce that I was pregnant? Yes. But it was so soon. I was barely pregnant for 5 days. I was still thinking about how and when to announce, and to who, and all that. That BFP was a long time coming, and I was probably more aware than most about my chances for miscarriage. But it was MY decision. My choice. And the Moose's too.
Could we have hid it for 12 weeks?? From my family, yes. They are overseas. From his mum, yes, she lives about 4 hours away and we see her every other month or so. But I doubt we could have hid it from coworkers. We work together in the winter, and someone would have probably thought to themselves "hmm...why is Tiggy puking again? I didn't think she was that much of a drunk...", and word would have gone around. Probably on facebook too, which would bring my family into the loop in a manner in which they would probably resent. So, coworker, in this hypothetical world where I stayed pregnant, would I deserve a miscarriage if I had to announce before the 12 week mark??
My sister was lucky to get preggos straight off the pill with her first. She was diagnosed PCOS when trying for number 2, and put on clomid. She announced her pregnancy to the extended family at some family function or another (I don't remember what it was, but I was home for it and it must have been back around 2007 or so), and seriously, on the way home, had stomach pain so bad we took her straight to the hospital. She had an ectopic that had or was about to rupture in one tube, and another ectopic that hadn't yet reached that stage in the other. They had to take her tubes. Did it happen because she had just announced to the whole family?? Did the gods smite her womb for having the gall to announce a pregnancy so early? I don't think so.
I also had a cousin who got a surprise BFP and announced to the family and it ended up an early miscarriage too. Again, I don't think it "serves her right".
Because of these experiences, I will admit, I think making that big announcement is bloody scary. I have no idea when I would want to announce, were I to get a BFP again. If I could hide it all the way to 40 weeks, I would consider it. But I could announce early too. I have supportive family that would pass the word of any miscarriage along without me having to even mention it to distant cousins and aunties. So, let everyone know early and be happy/sad along with me, or try to minimize the risk of sharing that sadness should the bad thing happen again? Tough decision. But it is mine (and the Moose's).
It was/is/will always be coworker's SIL's choice. If she wanted to announce it the day that second line appeared, that is her choice. If she wanted to wait, it is her choice. As far as I am concerned, she doesn't need to defend it either. I only hope that if the brother and SIL are coming to New Zealand for xmas, that coworker can get it together and try to have a little empathy instead of just jealousy. And if not, then I hope she can keep her trap shut.
I think I just outed myself. If you just clicked over here cuz you noticed I have just followed you...hi. I have been lurking. Probably for a few months for most of you (and by a few I mean about 6). You gals all rock, and I have been following you around on my kindle, through bookmarks, not through my blog. Yes, I may have looked at your blog 2 or 3 times in a day, no I am not a stalker. I am a wee bit OCD with my routines, and I go through all my bookmarks on the kindle each morning before work, and usually again after work. And if I open up my interwebs, it may open back to your page. So the 30,000 page views from New Zealand...yeah...that was probably me. I want to follow through blogger now...I couldn't follow wordpress blogs before for some reason, but it let me today, and well...I am now following publicly, and it just occurred to me that you can probably see me now. My lurking days are done. So...hi...feel free to look around, ask nosy questions or tell me I am a loony who doesn't belong in the shitty club just yet.
Guess I had best see if I am following blogspot blogs publicly...
I haven't posted in a while. I suppose I have a number of reasons (excuses): I've been busy (well, sort of true), I've been tired (definitely true), I don't really participate in the community at all (I am a lurker though) and therefore no one is wondering where I am or why I am not blogging, and I always seem to think about blogging halfway through my two week wait. I have blogged in my head a time or two, and I am thinking more and more about starting to comment on other blogs and get out there. But. Two week wait. If I get a BFP in a week, I will kick myself in the ass for dropping myself into the infertility world. I don't want to seem like some indecisive fertile thing..."I'm infertile too! Let's be friends!...oh, wait, no, I got pregnant naturally...sorry..."<steps back slowly>. Now, I have been off the pill for, oh, 17 months. I have been charting for 5 months. I have had one chemical pregnancy. Am I infertile? Who knows. Five kilos to lose before I start my referral to the RE, and begin the round of diagnostic fun.
So...Am I infertile?
No. I've had a naturally occurring chemical pregnancy. "At least I can get pregnant". Right? Of the 17 months trying, most were probably mistimed. We had a flat mate I rescued from a coworker with us for 3 or 4 months, so those cycles probably had little chance. And the others...well, lets say enthusiasm may often wear out before O day...as in "I'm tired. Let's do it tomorrow." The cycle we got that chemical on, we had bonked three days before O day...and not again. Well, probably some time during the two week wait...I don't track recreational bonks. And maybe the number one reason I may not be infertile: I still think there is a chance it could happen naturally. Take right now. Excellent timing. Temp dip at 7dpo with otherwise very steady temps (not erratic like they were during the winter...I think the warmer weather is to blame). No real symptoms as sore boobs and slightly ucky tummy are pretty usual this time of the cycle, and anyway, I am only 8dpo so I guess I wouldn't be having many symptoms yet anyway. But I do think we have a good chance, and if I were truly infertile, I think I would still hope, but I don't think I could hope this much.
Yes. "Once you go off the pill, it happens so quick!" Maybe for you, fertile friends pregnant off the first attempt, but I call bullshit. BULL.SHIT. Seriously. 17 months. With regular periods. Even with less than perfect timing, someone starting out on this at 31.5 years old would have expected it to maybe, MAYBE take 8-12 months. I am still young(ish). So there is a sense that nature is failing us. And there are babies everywhere. I never noticed them before, so what the hell? Where did they all come from? Don't answer that, I know where they all came from because I have googled the shit out of everything related to reproducing. I won't say I have earned my medical degree yet, but I have researched. I know way more about fertility, infertility, treatments, etc than the average woman. Maybe more than the average med student. I am somewhat bitter. Not towards the preggos, but towards the universe. What's that? A's wife is due in February? (That's the month I would have been due, thanks universe). There is going to be another royal baby? (huh. Even stick insects get two it seems...thanks universe). J and S are both getting brand spanking new grandbabies? Of course they are!! Another A just had her baby? Skinny N with the runt of a hubby just birthed a 10 pound-er? (wow, actually, thanks universe...that one just about squares us up, since you made me giggle). P's wife must be due soon...lets all speculate on that at work all day. That will be fun. Sigh. Thank you, universe, for rubbing it in. That is not counting all the babies at the supermarket...though I usually shop Sunday mornings at 8 when the grocery store opens...then all I need to see are the scrawny turkey legs of the 80 year old nudist...yes he wears shorts to the store even in the winter, but no, they do not cover anything. One last thing, after that chemical pregnancy...I am not sure I will trust in any pregnancy continuing...I will need some dark lines on that test, some strong heartbeats...lots of symptoms...just to keep the anxiety away. Fertile women are probably a little anxious...I think it would be something any pregnant woman would feel. But I will raise that bar to a rather high level. Because I will be happy, but I will be SCARED SHITLESS. Is it possible to wait until after delivery to tell anyone you're pregnant? Don't want to jinx it.
So...after a long list of yeses and nos, am I infertile? eh, maybe. Time will tell. So...what does it all mean?
Well, I have named this month "Man Up-tober" (yes, I am a feminist and yes I do see what I did there. Sorry.). Mostly because I have gotten off track with my running. So, I will run every day this month (unless I go tramping, because...well, Mototapu track...it should count as the whole month of running really, but this depends on getting time off of work). I will try to eat better, but I am not calorie counting. I did it for a while, and was eating way too little for all the running I was doing! Probably why I got so tired. So I will pay attention and make healthier choices.
And...as relates to this blog and eventually winds up this whole long rant...IF I get my period next weekend, I will jump into the infertile community. I will come out of my infertile closet. I will start commenting instead of lurking. I will ask the stirrup queen to please add me to the blog roll, I will ICLW. I will blog the hell out of this craptastic journey. I will blog fearlessly. I will accept that if I get pregnant on my own so soon after jumping into this community...well...I may piss a few people off. And I will have to live with that.
IF I get a BFP instead...well...I will cross that bridge if I get to it.
And it may also be a Sober-tober. Depending on the results of my TWW.
And to those few stragglers who managed to find my little blog and any future ones...um...sorry. I think you were probably looking for something else.
CD1 came around last Wednesday, as I was preparing to drive down to a city for a training course. Of course it did. So I took my super powered pain pills Thursday morning and headed off to the course. High. As. A. Kite. As in, "hmm...I can't really feel my face" <poke poke> "I hope no one is looking at me poking my face. Wow that carpet is trippy." But after a few hours of nausea I felt better and most importantly pain-free.
I have taken a week off of running. After running that 6k last week, I went running on Sunday with a friend. I picked the trail but really should have done some research because oh my god the hills. Who knew they were there? Despite a few rest breaks to catch my breath at the top of said hills, I still averaged 44 seconds faster per kilometre trying to keep up with my friend's pace. She is fitter than I am and can do that. I'll get her back one day. It was still a good run, but oh the shin splints. So I decided to take a few days as rest days. I planned to run while I was away for my course, but ended up walking a bit instead. And I don't run while bleeding. I don't do anything really.
I did get a phone call on Tuesday from the nurse at the medical centre, informing me that I was uber-low priority for a gyno visit, and that my doc was unhappy about it (she is not the only one). The call was to let me know that if I wanted to go private I could get the consult done that way and then move back to public funding for treatment. I said I would think about it. I don't really want to pay $200+ just to tell someone I think I have endo. And then have to wait to do anything about it because I get shunted back on the public side of things. I suppose if I get that RE referral I will have to go down that road anyway...hmm. I want to chart a few more cycles first, and try well timed intercourse (why does that sound dirtier than sex?). I thought I had timed it well before I was charting, but now I am not so sure. And I will not let fertility friend's changing ovulation date thing trick me again. Fool me once. If I had paid more attention to my body rather than my phone app I may have gotten in a well timed bonk last cycle.
The universe is picking on me. Not only are there preggos and babies everywhere, but our grocery store is doing this "little store" thing where you spend $40 and get these little packets that contain mini versions of some groceries. They have done it before and my running friend collects them so I get them and keep them for her. But of course I open them first. And the first one I opened:
Today I ran 6k. Without stopping once, and with only one near face plant when I tripped over a rock. Woot Woot! After complaining to a friend earlier in the week about pretty much everything I have already complained about on here (yes, complaining is sort of a hobby but I try to make it funny), I stepped on the scales and in the course of one day, without any sort of gastro-intestinal pyrotechnics or dehydration, I dropped from my long held 86.5kg to 85kg. And stayed there the next day. I had been so close to giving up hope of ever dropping despite running calorie deficits and jogging frequently. It took a couple of rest/yoga days (weather too miserable to venture out to jog after working in it all day), but it happened. So maybe this is how it will be. Maybe I will spend the next two weeks at 85kg growing more and more frustrated, only to suddenly drop a kilo and a half. Perhaps a good reason to not jump on the scale every day.
On the TTC front, today is either 17dpo, 14dpo, or 10dpo. It is at least xdays past ovulation. No real symptoms. There have been cramps and sore boobs earlier, but not really anything now (righty is feeling a very little burny but I am not reading into that as it isn't athlete's foot strong yet). I am not even approaching pre-period bloat. Maybe the running is keeping bloat away. I felt a bit like my period will arrive tomorrow earlier today, but now not so much. So I will wait and see. Might pee on a stick or two once my internet cheapies arrive. I imagine right now they are stuck in customs and puzzling people as to why any one person would need so many things to pee on. I am feeling pretty relaxed about the whole thing right now. And once the period arrives it is a 6 pack of beer (which will magically be upgraded to a 12 pack because it is cheaper and it would be rude not to) and some sushi. Maybe a bloody mary. I really am jonesing for one of those with pickles and green olives and a turkey on sourdough with avocado and spicy peppers. Drool. Sadly New Zealand doesn't understand great sandwiches. One of the gals at work and I were drooling over good sandwiches and moaning over how yummy they are in the states, and from way up the row another lady shouts out "I'll have what she is having!". I think sandwiches are going to find their way onto the menu for tomorrow night.