The good bad news is that the number is falling on its own. Down from 642 to 618. Big relief! Scan on Monday morn to double check errant embryo is not embedded where it shouldn't be, i.e. tube or anus. Off to have some wahn to celebrate!
Oh! Hahahaha! Just read the first comment and realized that you might think we had THAT kind of sex! No no, don't be silly! We are married for goodness sake! Married people don't even have sex, never mind do that kind of stuff!
I was sitting in the lounge tonight in my exceptionally unsexy towelling bathrobe and my fluffy slippers, sipping on my wine and tapping away at my laptop when Marko pipes up, "I can't believe I ended up with someone like you"
WHAT, I said, WHAT! What do you mean?
What the fuck is that thing against your nose, he asked.
It's a piece of tissue paper, I replied piously. My glasses are broken and the metal thing is poking into my nose. And you should be SO LUCKY that you are married to someone like me!
And so he should. Where else is he going to get a slightly older, barren, undomesticated goddess like me! The ungrateful little fucker.
On a positive note, I am feeling quite strong. Am feeling all zen about this almost pregnancy. What's meant to be is meant to be and all that shit. All my pregnancy symptoms have disappeared, making me rather hopeful that tomorrow's beta will reveal a neatly falling HCG count, indicative of things like natural miscarriages and unruined holidays.
On an even more positive, I am featured in the New York Times today. I'm practically famous!
PS Please don't be alarmed at the size of the crevices on my forehead. All donations to the Give That Woman Some Botox fund gratefully accepted.
PPS Thanks for all your supportive comments. You make me feel all warm inside. Like wine.
Things have been fairly interesting of late. Let me back track to two weeks ago. I had been suffering from a pain in my left ovary that had gone from slightly worrying to ‘omg I am going to die’. Which is my world takes anywhere between two weeks and two seconds.
So, on what was CD66 of my cycle (don’t you just love those PCOS cycles), I took myself off to the doctor to have a scan of my bits. After much poking and prodding, the doctor declared that it didn’t appear to be anything more ominous than a bit of blocked bowel. In other words, I was literally and figuratively ‘full of shit’. She prescribed a suppository to get things going and asked whether I wanted to have a ‘peace of mind’ CA125 test. To rule out the ‘omg I am going to die’ factor. I said yes please. And because once an addict, always an addict, I decided to throw in a little progesterone test along the way.
The results came back that I wasn’t dying and that I had indeed ovulated. (prog = 42) Surprise surprise. By this time the ovary pain had subsided as had my obsessing.
That was that until this weekend, when the thought occurred to me that if I had ovulated, then I should have had my period by now. Which got me thinking. What if. Surely not! It can’t be! But what if!
After 456,000 conversations in my head, I decided to email the divine Dr H to ask him whether a progesterone count of 42 always indicated ovulation and if ovulation had occurred, whether one’s period should arrive 14 days later and whether it was scientifically possible that maybe I could be pregnant. Hypothetically and scientifically speaking, of course.
He came back with “go get a blood test:
To which I replied, “don’t be silly, I am infertile”. What a terrible waste of money.
This was on Monday. By Monday afternoon, which was also a rather impressive CD79, I was driving myself crazy. So I bought a HPT. Which came up immediately with two lines. PREGNANT! What the fucking fuck. How could this happen. I sent the divine Dr H a text message to tell him. To which he replied, “go get a blood test”. This time I complied.
I got the results back on Tuesday morning. Beta = 532, prog = 32. Which could have meant (a) I am pregnant (b) I was pregnant, but am now miscarrying or (c) Ectopic. The only way to know would be to do another test 48 hours later.
I was scared, happy, sad, nervous, freaked out. Marko’s first words were “but it’s impossible”, I replied “I KNOW!!” He immediately got out his measuring tape and measured the spare room and I IM’ed Julie for an hour. We both have our different ways of coping.
I’ve spent the last two days feeling a million different emotions. At 4:30pm today, exactly 48 hours after the first blood test, I had another one taken. This time I marked it ‘urgent’. I have just got the results back.
It’s over. I am not even sure what the number was, all I heard was six hundred and something and I knew it was over. The doctor muttered something about there being a very small chance that it could work out, but I told her quite firmly “no, it’s over. I’ve done this enough times to know”. This is my sixth pregnancy. I know how these things work. (For those who don’t know how these things work, the number should have been around a 1000. 600 and something clearly isn’t anywhere close to a 1000)
My biggest fear is that it is ectopic. I will be very very cross if it is. It is one thing to get a total mindfuck with a surprise pregnancy, it is another thing to have to go through that horrible methotrexate thing again. (Methotrexate is a chemo drug that is also used for ectopic pregnancies)
“Methotrexate may cause very serious side effects. Some side effects of methotrexate may cause death. You should only use methotrexate to treat life-threatening cancer, or certain other conditions that are very severe and that cannot be treated with other medications. Talk to your doctor about the risks of taking methotrexate for your condition.”
Dr Julie assures me that her official diagnosis is “not ectopic” as my progesterone was ok. I’m holding her to it.
Back on Friday to check that the number is going down on its own (i.e. miscarrying naturally). If it goes up slightly like it did this week, then it is probably ectopic. I am going away on holiday next Friday and I REFUSE to be messing about with betas and injections. I will make them give me the metho right there and then.
Can you believe this shit!!! I have THE worst luck when it comes to reproduction.
But that’s it now. I am totally done. This has convinced me that I am done having children. I really can’t do this again. I am going on the pill. It is exactly a year ago when I had that spontaneous pregnancy and the whole thing is getting very old now. As are my eggs, as am I.
On a positive note, I got pregnant by having sex! For the second time! Which just proves my point that sex is a very dangerous thing to do and we should restrict it to once a year only. For safety’s sake.
Over the years, much to my husband’s dismay, I’ve posted some pretty risqué stuff on this blog. Not for any particularly evocative reason, but I’ve always taken the attitude that if you could see it in a bikini on the beach, then surely it can’t be too much to be shameful about. We all have boobs, ass and bellies, what’s the big deal. The biggest risk was that I would sorely disappoint some spotty youth when his surreptitious search for boobs and blow jobs netted him my blog. What a screaming disappointment.
That was until I got this email.
Hello from an American who loves to go barefoot
Hello, my name is (male name)
and I reside in the state of (xxx). More specifically, a small town called (xxxx).
I came across your site, www.tertia.org, and
your address after typing the words "I love to go barefoot" on the
Yahoo! search bar.
First, allow me to say that it's an honor to be able to send a message to someone where bare feet really rule. In the last two years, I've had communication with barefooters from Australia and New Zealand. But let's get real. If you want to see boatloads of bare feet, or at least get in touch with people where bare feet is routine, Africa's the place!
You may find this question odd, but do you prefer to look a certain way when barefoot? I do. More specifically, I like to bare my calves when I bare my feet. If I'm not wearing shorts, I'll roll my long pants up to my knees.
My favorite things to wear barefoot:
Pants - black khakis and black sweat pants rolled up to the knees
Shirts - a blue dress shirt with sleeves rolled up just above the elbow, an olive green T-shirt and a gray T-shirt
Here's a question that's not so odd. What's your most favorite barefoot activity? Believe it or not, I like to do things physically excruciating. Anything where sweating, grunting and heavy breathing is required.
My most grueling barefoot activity:
Mowing my grandmother's lawn. I did so twice 11 years ago. The first time, I wore a green short-sleeved shirt and black rolled-up pants. The second time, I wore a green T-shirt and black rolled-up sweat pants.
Whether or not you have an answer to either of these questions, I'd like to hear from you. Gotta go. Dinner's almost ready.
Thank you for your time.
I think I read that email about 7 times, trying to figure out what the hell he was on about, and then I got it! He must be one of those foot fetish people, people who get turned on by feet! Foot porn! Who knew!
It really is one of the funniest, and strangest, emails I have ever received. And I get A LOT of emails.
So, it would appear that the tits and ass left them cold, it was the foot porn that really got them going.
Gah. I have bad news. I haven’t been able to tell you all because I actually can’t bear to admit to myself what absolutely revolting bad luck this is.
One month before the UK release of my book, the publisher has gone into liquidation. ONE MONTH. The deal is off. After being THIS close to eventually getting it released overseas, we are back to square one.
I took the news really badly. So so disappointed. My book is about my incredible bad luck when it came to trying to have a child, and so it seems inordinately unfair that the book should suffer the same fate too.
Oh well, back to square one: cap in hand, looking for another publisher. My agent is going to try again but if any of you have contacts with someone Influential and Important in the publishing world, tell them to PLEASE have a look at my book. Offer to give them a blow job in return. You know I’d do it for you!
I am really thankful that I don't suffer from headaches. I get them occasionally (seldom) and when I do, I can't imagine that there are people out there who live like this every day. I don't know how they cope.
My BF and business partner* Friend Mel suffers quite badly from headaches. She gets them every now and then and when she does, they last for almost a week and just about completely knock her out. She say she usually gets them on one side, kind of behind her eye and it feels like her head is in a vice grip which is slowly being turned tighter and tighter.
I know there are a million different causes for headaches, but I thought I would poll you anyway. Anyone got any tips, advice, remedies or potions that help for a headache? I feel really sorry for my poor friend. Mel said she heard chewing on ginger helped. I told her perhaps if she put some up her bum it might work faster. She didn't think that was funny.
*PS Our egg donor business is going really, REALLY well. I am on cloud 9. Our website is up and running and we are going full steam ahead. Well, we were until this nasty headache felled my friend. Which is why we need a cure. Our business depends on it ;-)
PPS I've created a Facebook page for Nurture Egg Donors, please become a fan!
Marko feels really sorry for my dad.
When my parents were first married, my dad used to be the one in charge. The head of the household. Although my dad is very liberal in many ways, the roles he and my mom played were pretty traditional. He worked and when he came home my mom had some lipstick on, the four of us children were bathed and in our pajamas and supper was almost done. Our dad used to be the Strict One and my mom would regularly threaten us with “just wait until your father gets home”. But over the years we began to realize that actually my dad was the one with the soft touch and if he said no, there was a chance you could cry / beg / plead for him to change his mind. Whereas with my mom, you could stand on your head and whistle through your arse, there was NO WAY you were going to get a ‘yes’ out of her. Cold, unfeeling heartless mother ;-) Only joking, you know how much I adore my mother.
with the realization that dad was the softy, we always knew he was in
charge. Well, that was up until about 10
years ago when slowly, slowly, my mother subtly switched roles until she now calls
the shots and my poor father complains to us that “you know, your mother bosses
me around all the time”.
“Paul! Here is your list of chores to do, you can either do them on Saturday morning or on Sunday.”
hang that picture for me. No, a little
“No Paul, you don’t actually like that dish. Here, eat this, it’s your favourite”.
Marko can’t believe how my mother ‘makes’ my father do things, and even worse, how she doesn’t seem to feel bad about it at all. I personally think it is wonderful that after 40 years of marriage, she has him so well trained. It might have taken a while, but just look at the results!
I still have to develop that skill. Making my husband do things, and even more importantly, not caring if he moans. I’m getting better though. Especially when it comes to helping out with the kids. (Marko is very good at DIY and I never have to ask him to do any of that, he does it himself)
For the first few years after the kids were born, I wouldn’t ask. I figured if he really wanted to do the chore he would volunteer and if he didn’t volunteer then he clearly hated me and the kids and so stuff him. Ok, not exactly, but I wasn’t going to ask for help. Stupid huh. (Please note that he didn’t sit around idly, but I often wished he would just take the kids for a morning, or bath them etc).
Then, as they got bigger, I started asking him to do more kid chores. And he did it, but not with great enthusiasm. Which made me think ‘stuff you, I’ll do it myself’. Talk about cutting your nose off to spite your face.
But the kids are now three years old and I need some time on my own. So every Sunday morning I ask him to please take the kids out for two hours and give me time to do some email / blogging / personal things. He does it, but not without an exaggerated sigh or a slight rolling of the eyes. AND IT DRIVES ME CRAZY!! I know he does it mostly to wind me up, and like my mom, I should just not care, but it gets on my nerves!!!!
Which is why I can’t wait to be like my mom. Make them do the chores and just don't care.
I am so tempted to say ‘well, if it is THAT much of a hassle, don’t do it’, but I need my time and its good for him to spend time alone with the kids. He works so long and hard during the week, he hardly sees them.
I’ve tackled him before about this and he says he is just doing it to wind me up. But why does he do it!!! And why do I care so much!!!
him to VOLUNTEER to do the kid chores. I want him to say “sweetheart, let me
take the kids out for the afternoon, you stay behind and catch up on your blog,
emails, egg donor business, IBM stuff, writing etc”, I don’t want exaggerated eye
rolling and wringing of hands.
Sister Mel is quite good at this. She makes her husband do chores too, and mostly doesn’t mind too much about the moaning and ‘poor me’ attitude she sometimes gets back. But even she sometimes takes the high road (‘fine! I’ll do it then’) instead of the right road (make him do it and just don’t care). And she has been married for less time than I have! I know I shouldn’t care, but I do.
Look, it only took my mom 40 years to get it right. I’ve been married for 8 years this month, so I only have another 32 years to go.
Please note that Marko is FAR from a lazy husband. This weekend he has done several DIY jobs around the house, went out to get take outs etc etc. Plus he is being very loving etc, and I really am quite fond of him. I just wish there would be more enthusiasm and less eye rolling when it came to kid chores.
Please note: This blog post was written in the peace and quiet of an empty house. I’ve dispatched Marko off with my in laws and the kids to the Play Place. He might moan, but he does listen. Eventually.
Long winded ranty post. Read at your own peril.
I drive a Renault Scénic. It’s a great car, a real ‘mom’s car’. It is not a big gas guzzler, but is big enough to fit in a few children plus their various paraphernalia. It has millions of little cubbyholes and cool things like tray tables, separate individual seats in the back etc. Plus it drives like a dream. I really love my car, but every 15,000 kilometers I am reminded how much I absolute hate Renault and how I will never, ever buy another Renault again. Their after sales service SUCKS! I’ve had my car serviced four times and ever single time I’ve had THE most frustrating and unpleasant experience.
About two weeks or so ago, my car told me it was time for a service. It has a computer thingy that knows when it is time have its bits checked. So I called the main Renault location to book my car in for a service. After the 75th ring, the phone was eventually answered. The conversation went something like this: