Wednesday, September 16, 2009

I know nothing.

disclaimer: still typing without the use of my index finger....typos may occur.

Angela, thank you for your amazing comment on the previous blog!! Loved getting your perspective and I wish you the best in your fairly new journey with your husband.

I started stimulation shots yesterday for another round of IUI. Follistim anyone? I feel like I'm getting let out of my Femara prison camp which has been sheer hell. Femara made me feel like Sybil, actually the shell of Sybil, is more like it.

On Tuesday morning, just hours since the near miss catastrophe with my finger, and day three on Femara (in case you don't know, Femara strips you of your estrogen; they give it to breast cancer patients) I was driving to the doctor's office for an ultrasound to see if the rogue follicle was a 'leftover' not an 'egg.' Barely listening to Robert Siegel on NPR, it was all I could do to hold back tears. Not normal.

Once I was in the doctor's office, forget it. I sat in the waiting room, tears at the brims of my eyeballs, no magazines this time, no tuning into Good Morning America, instead I watched every woman walk in and out of the joint. I wondered about each one of them and where they were in the Pursuit of Parenthood. I inappropriately stared too long at their Jimmy Choos. I had purse envy, hair envy and bangle envy. I was certain that not one of them was spending their savings, going into debt or was being accosted by their Guatemalan twin neighbors about if and when a baby would come. I felt like the back of the line in a very well dressed, incredibly rich, beautifully coiffed herd of cattle.

The prettiest woman in the waiting room had her husband sitting by her. She wasn't overdone, you should see some of these women, but the rock on her finger was enough to tell me that this journey wasn't a financial hardship for her. Her hair was slicked back and her natural light pink toe polish was a perfect combination for her tanned feet and leather open toed slingbacks. She must have a pool or maybe she just returned from her summer on the Mediterranean. Her husband held her hand, with his body toward her and placed his head on her shoulder, as if to say I'm sorry, I'm worried, or I like the way you smell. She barely noticed him, as she stared straight ahead in a daze. I was certain that something horrible had happened.

I got called into the ultrasound room, quickly undressed, could barely speak to Helen the technician, for fear I would burst into tears. I have no problem crying in public, but I am getting quite the reputation in this office. Two months ago, I actually drove myself into Beverly Hills to begin an IUI round the day after Newman died. Well, that was stupid. The nurses gave me my own room, so that I wouldn't have to wait in hysterics in the public waiting room and embarrass myself and scare the other ladies on the verge. Needless to say, I didn't go through with the IUI that month. I decided to give myself a break and grieve the passing of my dog. I wasn't really feeling like having a melt down AGAIN in front of Helen. I held back the tears just long enough to get up to the counter and pay for my visit. I watched the beautiful woman with the pretty toes and her clingy husband burst to the counter with happiness, announcing to all the ladies in their green outfits behind the front desk that they were having a girl. And then the tears came gushing out. I didn't make a sound, but I was screaming inside, "WHY AM I ME? AND NOT HER?" The woman checking me out didn't say a word, other than, "sign here." They really do need to learn some manners at the front desk.

I lost it in the elevator, in the car ride home and when I walked through the front door I collapsed onto the chair and told Jason that my soul is splitting apart. (That was fun for him). He called my doctor in a bit of a panic. It didn't take long for the doc to deduce that it was the femara fallout that I was experiencing. Studies show that 10% of the population respond to the drug like I did. I would have done anything not to feel what I was feeling. Anything. I downed 2 mg of estrogen and within hours, I started to feel "normal" again.

And that's when I realized that I know nothing.

I have no idea how to feel. I don't know how to act when I do feel the way I feel. I don't know how to walk into that waiting room and not feel a pit in my stomach. I am not sure if this is the right path for me and my body. I don't know if wine with dinner is a no-no (although I did ask my doctor today and he said there would be no Italian or French folks if wine kept a person from getting pregnant). I don't know if coffee in the morning is a no-no (doctor said one cup is fine). I don't know if acupuncture is a must (why doesn't insurance cover it)? I don't know if all these drugs are going to give me cancer (they probably won't, but I do worry about it). I don't know how anyone is alive because getting pregnant seems like climbing Mount Everest without a coat. I don't know if any of this is ever going to result in pregnancy. I don't know how I can have an FSH of 7 and not get pregnant. I don't know how I make good embryos and not have a baby.

I know nothing. Except that I can't give up, not yet. And I now know, that Best Price Pharmacy is a discount drug company that delivers to your door and charge you half of what Rite Aid does. 1-877-509-2378.

Note to Self: Tenacity is the root of pregnancy (for women over 40).

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