First post, a bit of an intro, and my violent Auntie Flo

(I wrote this yesterday but didn't get a chance to run a spell check, so I posted today.  Probably still with spelling errors, grammar errors and errors of all sorts.)

Hello.  My name is Tiggy and I appear to be sub-fertile.  Possibly infertile.  But I haven't been diagnosed yet, and my name isn't actually Tiggy.  But Tiggy is a nickname I do answer to, along with Tig, Honey Tig, and a myriad of other tiger related pet names.  Why tigers?  Well, I am a crazy cat lady (even though I only have 2), and basically my husband gave me the nickname when I leaped through the air growling ferociously to pounce upon him and tickle the shit outta him.  Cuz that's how I roll.  Anyway...where was I?  Ah yes, traitorous lady parts.  Perhaps.  Might as well start from the beginning.

I was one of those unfortunate souls to get my period just before I turned 10.  10!!!!  Not fair.  By 14 I was put on the pill to regulate the monster after missing too many school days and complaining non-stop about cramps.  I was careful with taking it when I was a little older and...um...dating.  Very careful.  I was not going to be the girl to get preggers in high school.  In fact, I didn't think I would ever want children.  Babies terrified me.  I successfully avoided pregnancy, graduated high school and university, moved overseas and got married to husband #1.  Still wasn't interested in children, and could not imagine raising them with husband #1 (oh the dramas that would have ensued...<shudder>).  I divorced husband #1 and met my Moose, the nickname for #2...because he is a mouse.  He opens boxes or bags of food, ie crackers, eats them and leaves the empty box in the pantry.  Just like a mouse.  And mouse=Moose.  Naturally.  It's called science.  With my Moose things are different.  Life is good.  I am happy.  I can see us raising a brood of whatever you get when you cross a Moose with a Tig.  Unfortunately it seems like we may need the intervention of science to make that happen.

In May of 2013, I could no longer ignore the biological clock (31 years old then) or the sudden presence of babies and preggos everywhere.  Moose and I decided to give it a go.  I went off the pill, terrified of horrendous visits from a violent Aunt Flo, but figuring she wouldn't be pestering me for long.  Of course I would get pregnant right away.  Because of these child-bearing hips.  Seriously.  Those ancient sculptures of earth goddess mother types might as well have been modelled after me.  And my extended family is numerous.  There used to be jokes about the little paper cups in my grandma's kitchen.  I was always careful to avoid them.  I went to the doc to get a check up.  I am immune to rubella.  I got my first ever flu shot.  I was told if I didn't get preggers in a year or so to come back.  I was also told to lose a few pounds.  Which I did.  Anyhoodle...the first cycle I was certain we had succeeded.  I had burn-y itchy boobs.  I could smell the spice aisle at the supermarket from several aisles away.  But no positive pregnancy test, and my period came a few days late.  Perhaps a chemical pregnancy.  Perhaps my stupid brain tricking me into thinking there were symptoms where there were none.  Because google.  And then...nothing.  Aunt Flo came along every month, right on schedule, because my lady parts are nothing if not punctual.  After a few months I decided not to worry, to relax and just sort of let it happen.  We bonked around the time I figured I was ovulating.  Aunt Flo arrived to kick me in the uterus.  Repeat the next month.

Finally around March of 2014 I decided to get my ass in gear and head to the doc.  That and sudden and unexplainable pain in the lower right part of my pelvis (the kind which would stick around for over 6 weeks), with no connection whatsoever to Aunt Flo.  I talked to the doc, who got me on the waiting list for a pelvic ultrasound, as she thought I had a cyst.  Endometriosis runs in my family (well, a few aunts have had it), and is something I have discussed with the doc before.  As regarding the lack of any buns in the oven, well...I was told I would need to lose 10-15 kilos to qualify for publicly funded diagnosis/treatment.  Bugger.  The weight that I had lost the previous year had come back with interest after a 3 week holiday back home (the US), and I hadn't really bothered about shaking it off.  Because of course I would get pregnant naturally!!!  The hips!!!  Must be there for a reason!  Ultrasound revealed no cysts and that my organs were all present and accounted for.  Ovaries were cyst free and one had a lovely follicle on it.  Endometrial lining seemed on track for where it should be.  Of course, by the time I got in for the ultrasound, the pain was mostly gone, and it was suggested perhaps that it was a grumbling appendix or something with the bowel.  It was something grumbly alright.

I started running on a couch to 5k program in April.  Now, I don't have a sedentary job.  I work outside in a vineyard.  40-60 hours a week of manual labour.  Some days are more manual than others, but the crew I work with does a lot of the more physically demanding jobs.  I am overweight.  Technically morbidly obese by BMI standards.  But I am strong, and surprisingly fit.  I can hike up a 1,000m mountain.  I can walk all day at work (up and down really steep hills on some days).  I can roll massive nets along the ground, hoist rocks, lift heavy buckets all day.  Now I can run for half an hour without stopping to walk.  Still morbidly obese according to BMI.  And that is what the doctors go off of.  So...ok...momentarily lost in my long story...back on track.  I need to lose some weight to get my free/much cheaper medical intervention.  Did I want to go that route?  If I had to.  So did I have to?  Maybe.  So best find out a little bit about what I might be getting myself into.  So, I spent a few months reading up on everything I can find in regards to infertility.  I read possibly hundreds of blogs, all these different journeys, some which end happily, others in heart break, many still continuing.  I start to wonder if I could do these things.  Can I handle the drugs?  Would IUIs work for us, or would we end up having to go IVF?  How long will all this take?  How many failed cycles until I give up?  Research.  I want to know what is going to happen before it does (yes, I often read the last page of a book first, or read spoilers online before watching a show.  Don't judge.).  It was time to take a more active role in this whole getting pregnant business.  I started BBT charting and turns out I enjoy that a lot.  I love watching the chart develop, analysing every dip and rise and reminding myself that the daily change matters less than the overall patterns.  And yes, I ovulate.  Or so far I have every chart.  Which I knew anyway.  Regular cycles.  28 days on average.  Light pain halfway through it at ovulation time.

So I was surprised in June when one Monday at work I began to feel odd.  I had cramps the Saturday night before, and expected the evil bitch on Sunday.  I stocked up on supplies.  When she arrived I was going to start this blog.  But she didn't arrive on Sunday.  Maybe she was waiting to ruin the start of the work week.  She has been known to punch me in the uterus on Mondays before, out of spite and the fact that I don't often have the greatest access to the cleanest facilities in a vineyard.  But by Monday afternoon, no sign.  Officially late.  And I was stupid.  I mean really, really stupid.  As in I would forget what someone said at the start of the conversation and at the end have to be reminded of it.  I was tired.  I wanted to lie down in a sea of fluffy white down comforters and sleep for days.  And not in a depressed sort of way.  And the boobs...holy athlete's foot-boobage.  Burn-y as sin.  I peed on a stick when I got home.  And got a very, very faint positive.  There was much dancing and jubilation.  Pregnancy websites.  I read Alpha Mom's pregnancy guide, I looked at strollers and onsies, at creative ways to announce it (not that we would just yet, of course).  By Thursday, however, my pee sticks were still only faint lines.  Shouldn't they get darker?  So I made an appointment.  Saw my doc, who was happy, but a bit perplexed at my very faint line on her more sensitive test.  So we did a blood test and the results would be in on Friday.

Ah, Friday.  My stupid was gone.  My boobs barely hurt.  I spotted a tiny bit in the morning.  And the call came.  My hCG was only at 6.  Barely enough to register pregnant.  The doc was still hopeful.  I was not.  I knew.  And then I bled a bit more.  And then at 2am HOLYSHITMYFUCKINGUTERUSISGOINGTOEXPLODE cramps.  And it started.  An entire weekend of on again off again rolling cramps and bleeding.  Lots and lots of bleeding.  Like Aunt Flo's hoary old bitch of a mother.  I never bled through a pad, of course, because I only seemed to bleed into the toilet.  Of course I pretty much lived on the toilet for 3 days.  I didn't want to eat anything and felt just like shit.  Bugger.  I called in sick to work on Monday.  Monday night my supervisor called.  He had been sick on Monday with the stomach bug that was making its way around work, and wanted to know how the day had gone.  I told him I didn't know, I had called in sick, and I did tell him what happened, because I know he won't say a word about it to anyone else.  Which is not true about most of the other people I work with.  I kind of wanted to point out that while we both spent the weekend on our respective toilets, I won the shitty award.  Well, perhaps he won the shitty award literally speaking, but I think I won full stop.  Another two days of light bleeding wrapped that up.  

Naturally the next week I found out that a former co-worker's wife is expecting.  Sigh. 

And this cycle...nothing.  Aunt Flo arrived on time, though a last few days temp spike in my BBT chart had me hopeful.  Light bleeding the first two days for a change.  And a punch to the feckin uterus on Monday that nearly had me in tears from the pain.  Dammit.  In frustration I made an appt with the doc for tomorrow, more to deal with my cramps than anything.  I want to discuss endo further, and hear what she thinks about my chances with a lap...and if she thinks maybe no, or I should wait and do it when I have lost weight and gotten the referral, well, then I want drugs.  Some serious drugs.  I wanna punch Aunt Flo in her feckin face. 

PS I have seriously no idea how to do this blogging thing.  I will be whiney, I will complain.  I will hopefully entertain and be funny.  I will maybe even help someone.  Maybe make some friends who are going through the same craptastic journey.  Maybe I will get pregnant on my own.  Maybe not.  But this will be a place for me to gather my thoughts, hopefully get used to some healthy writing habits, and perhaps force myself to be accountable regarding my physical health.  And since I really don't like showing emotions EVER, perhaps a place where I can share, and cry the ugly tears, and not have anyone see me.  Oh, and I will probably post a million pics of my adorable cats.

PPS I have nothing against dogs.  We just have a tiny house and a tiny section, and two very different ideas of what kind of dogs we would want.  The cats now rule the house, and they don't want any dogs around.  Except Molly (neighbour's dog).  She's allowed.