Type A

First of all, a little shout out to my grandmother who now knows about my dirty little secret. I have intentionally not told her about the blog, mostly because she has severe fibromyalgia and is always in pain. I know my grandma, and I know she loves me more than anything in this world. I did not like the idea of her struggling to sit over the computer for hours at a time trying to read through all of my meanderings. I didn’t like it, because I knew she would do so to the point of being completely uncomfortable. She is, if nothing else, my biggest fan and supporter.

But, my dad let the cat out of the bag, and grandma is now reading along. Thanks a lot jerk. (P.S. my dad wrote me the most amazing e-mail this week and it left me balling my eyeballs out. Therefore, I am allowed to call him a jerk!)

Here are the rules though lady: if I write about something naughty, I try to put a dad disclaimer at the top (sometimes I forget – sorry dude!) You steer clear of those posts too, got it?!?

Of course, if we’re being honest, I’m pretty sure there is nothing I could do or say to unnerve my grandma. I was telling her a story once that I probably shouldn’t have been telling my grandmother (it was of a sexual nature) and I caught myself and started to change the subject. She immediately stopped me and said “Excuse me! I gave birth to 4 boys you know. I DO know what an orgasm is.” It was pretty awesome because a) I wasn’t talking about orgasms (I’m not that creepy – it was still my grandma!) and b) my grandma totally brought them up all on her own!

I’m sure most of you won’t be surprised to hear that this woman was pretty much my mama growing up. I will proudly claim any openness I get from her!

OK, moving on:

When I was in college I read a case study that said that infertility was more prevalent in type A personalities. I don't recall the science behind this study, and I remember questioning the authenticity, but I also remember thinking "does a type A personality cause infertility, or does infertility lead to type A tendencies?"

I’m going to start a discussion over on my community right now asking this same question. I would love for you to weigh in on your own infertility struggles. Have you always been a little anal, or did it just start upon hearing the “infertile” diagnosis? Are you one of the insanely lucky ones who has remained laid back and calm in the face of infertility? (and if so, I would love to know – please share your secret, because I could use some of whatever it is you’ve got!)

Scientifically speaking, it kind of makes sense. From what I remember from some of my psych classes, when you are stressed out your body releases cortisol, and cortisol has a pretty big effect on your hormones (for the record, I could be off on all of this - it has been a while since I studied this stuff!) I know endometriosis (and countless other female conditions) are driven by hormone imbalances, so given that information it does pan out that stress could lead to problems. And, Type A’s are likely more prone to stress in general. This leads me to wonder: did my lifetime of worrying and trying to control every little detail around me possibly lead to some of my problems?

I will be the first to admit that I have always been type A. I like an organized life, and I am nothing if not a perfectionist. I thrive off of lists, and I tend to think there is a right way to do just about everything. If you’re not doing it my way, you’re not doing it the right way! I have always been a worrier, and I have always carefully weighed out all of my decisions before making them. Bills never go unpaid, and I never take on more than I can handle (mostly because I will bend over backwards to handle it, even if it is too much!) I am not a fly by the seat of your pants kind of girl. Rather, I’m an excel spreadsheet for just about everything kind of girl.

But, infertility and my struggle with endometriosis have increased those traits exponentially. The need to have my ducks in a row in the face of this disease is astronomical. I face a daily urgency to get my hands on every bit of information, and an even greater drive to do everything just right; to make all the best decisions at all the right times. My last appointment I actually asked my doctor when I should stop taking all of my current supplements and start taking prenatal vitamins. She laughed at me and told me I could wait until about August – guess I was jumping the gun a bit there! I tend to go to my doctor’s appointments with a list of questions in hand, and I suck in information regarding this disease like a sponge now. I haven’t even started looking at the sperm banks yet (taking my time ladies, just taking my time!), but you had better believe that my compare and contrast spreadsheet is already complete and ready to go. I like order in life – I like being prepared.

I am working on letting go, and on accepting that I do not have control over this life (if this disease has taught me nothing else, it has taught me that). My faith has actually been helping me a lot too, as I get better and better at putting my worries in His hands. I am reminding myself that stress is not going to help my situation now, and when I feel myself start to panic I step back and do whatever I can to get myself breathing normally again. I have found peace in a lot of this, in a way I never would have dreamed possible. Still, I am Type A. I have always been Type A, and I will always be Type A. My control tendencies will probably never go away completely.

In fact, I'm sure we can all just imagine how much worse motherhood is going to make it!

A Little Something Extra

I’ve been noticing a new trend lately with my readers interacting and chatting with each other through my comments section. I think it is so neat (and I just love the camaraderie) so I decided it was time I broke down and set up my own community. I haven’t wanted to do this yet, mostly out of fear that I would be talking to myself on there (at least with the blog, everyone expects me to be talking to myself! If I set up a community and no one participates though, I think I will kind of feel like the dorky kid who eats lunch alone in third grade!) but I think it’s time. You can either join up through the link I just posted, or through the community widget now on my sidebar. This will be your way to interact with me in an open forum (have questions? Ask away and I will do my best to answer!) as well as to interact with each other. You can discuss recent post topics, ask questions you have relating to your own life, or just tell your story.

I am also going to harp on my in real life friends to get involved as well, because while they are lurking here every single day, they tend to call me and tell me what they think instead of posting. But, they know all of you! I get phone calls more often than you could imagine asking about certain comments and wanting to know more about the person’s story. Just last night (at the house warming party with the boy who I will not be dating anytime soon - nice enough guy, I'm just not interested - he didn't smell though!) Mrs. King and Loo were talking about one of my bloggy BFF’s as though they knew her – it was cracking me up! So, I want you to know them too, because really? I have some of the most incredible friends a girl could hope for, and I think everyone can benefit from knowing them! Plus, they are spread around the country and across the spectrum of single to married with kids, so they can offer all sorts of different perspectives on any number of topics. So ladies, you know who you are (don't make me start naming names!) – sign up and start talking!

And for those of you who are bloggers but have never really heard of blog frog, you absolutely need to check it out. One of my favorite things about these communities is that when you participate your blog photo appears, and right next to your name it says “author of” with a link to your blog. I’m not going to lie; I like seeing that I am the author of just about anything! Makes my insides all warm and fuzzy! Your latest blog posts will also show up under the blog posts tab, giving people new topics to check out all of the time. Plus, if you say something that someone finds interesting, they are likely going to check your blog out and you may just find yourself garnering new readers. Pretty much a win-win for all involved, especially since your playing along will help keep me from feeling like that dorky kid with no one to talk to!

For those women who are following along with no prior concept of blogging, and just here because you connect to my story: This spot is especially for you! Make connections. Talk. Get involved. This is your place to realize that you are not alone, and that you have friends out there who are rooting for you. I am rooting for you!

I’ve got a few topics up right now (just to get the ball rolling), but please feel free to post your own discussions. If you’ve got a question to ask (of me, or of anyone else out there) ask it! I would request that you be respectful of each other though. I am all for an open dialogue and speaking your mind (and as you will likely soon find, I have differing views on a number of topics from some of my best friends – we can argue and still walk away loving each other at the end!) and I believe (really and truly) that you can have a difference of opinion with someone without it getting ugly. I love having serious conversations, and my topics may seem to be hot button topics that encourage debate – that’s because I am encouraging debate! Sometimes I learn the most from the people I disagree with the greatest. But, there is a big difference between debate and personal attacks. Just go into it knowing that if there is anything that crosses the line into just plain cruel, I will have no qualms banning you from participating.

It won't come to that though, right? We're all adults here!

Gum Drops and Lollipops

A new friend shared this link with me yesterday, and I just felt compelled to share it with all of you, because… well, because it left me with chills.



I’m not usually a country fan (and I had never heard of the artist) but I just loved the video. The words were amazing, but the signs everyone were holding throughout the video is what really got me. Just incredible - took my breath away.

I just took my second shower of the day. I am going out with some friends tonight, and there is going to be a guy there. This is a guy my friends have been talking about hooking me up with for a while, but it just hasn’t happened for a variety of reasons (mostly my complete disinterest in dating or being set up for the last few months!) There is a house warming party tonight though, and it should be a fairly pressure free zone for us to meet.

When they first started talking about setting the two of us up, everything I heard was great. He is intelligent, good looking, has a stable job, and a dry sense of humor – all things I am always saying I’m looking for in a guy! Then, one of the girls at the table says “I would totally date him, except sometimes he has that whole BO thing going on.”

Wait. What? My friends think I should be hooked up with a guy who has hygiene issues? The worst part was that no one disagreed! They all quickly explained it away, and we had a good laugh, but… This could get interesting.

Let’s just say I don’t have my hopes up.

So, I just took my second shower of the day – both because I want to model good (and fresh smelling) behaviors, and also because; I kind of just felt dirty today. I didn’t do anything. I sat at my desk all day.

But – I felt dirty.

I woke up this morning in a much better mood. I felt good, and ready to take on the world. Unfortunately, as the day wore on, my heart started to feel heavy again. Heavy over a lot of things, which I am sure are just exacerbated by the shot. I’ve seen a lot of meanness lately; a lot of judgment directed towards people who are simply different, or who make different choices. A lot of lashing out at people who just don’t fit in. My heavy heart over all of this just left me wanting a second shower before going out and enjoying a night with my friends. I needed to clean all the yuck away!

In the last 6 months I have made a conscious effort to try to always see where others are coming from, and to not judge or criticize behind people’s backs. If I disagree, I try to say it to your face. I try to be honest, but most importantly – I am trying to be understanding. I have failed from time to time. There were some discussions about homosexuality not too long ago that got me riled up, and I have had my feelings hurt a few times and probably not reacted right; but I have been trying. I have been trying to be the person I want those around me to be like. Positive and upbeat; warm and understanding. I have been trying.

Still, I keep seeing nastiness in the world. I saw it directed towards some people I deeply respect recently and I was unnerved. I just didn’t understand.

I don’t understand meanness for the sake of meanness. I don’t understand personally attacking someone solely because you disagree or they have stepped on your toes somehow. I want people to be better to each other. I want the world to be nicer.

I want to build a life that is Gum Drops and Lollipops, and spread love instead of hate.

Yes, I know I sound like Suzy Sunshine.

For the record – I still miss sex like crazy and would not mind a good old fashioned roll in the hay. I still think curse words in my head (and speak them aloud more than I care to admit!), and find myself biting my tongue when I disagree with someone. I still want to rally against the wrongs of this world, and I wouldn’t mind kicking the ex in the nuts.

I am not claiming innocence or perfection here; I’m just claiming a new found resolve for understanding. I want to try to understand where people are coming from before I jump down their throats (and to be clear – I have a history of jumping down a few throats. I know how to use my words, and that is not always a gift I have used for good.) I want to avoid being so sensitive, and try to understand the motives behind certain actions rather than the results. I want to be a positive light, not a Negative Nancy.

Just call me Suzy Freaking Sunshine!

But what is so wrong with wanting that? I know there are people in my life who would read this and just laugh and find 18 different things to make fun of. But, what is wrong with a life that is built on surrounding yourself with positivity instead of negativity? What is so wrong with wanting to build people up instead of tear them down? Shouldn’t we all want that, at least on some level?

Life is too short. Negativity will always abound, but I don’t have to surround myself with it, and I don’t have to let it get me down. Most importantly, I don’t have to participate.

I know it’s unrealistic to seek out the Gum Drops and Lollipops, and that in the end I will get let down every time; but maybe I would rather strive for how it should be than sit back and accept how it is.

When I have kids, I do want to teach them that life can’t always be Gum Drops and Lollipops.

But I also want them to know that sometimes, if you really try; you can still find a tootsie roll here and there.

Bring On The Sperm (plus - I'm an idiot)

Let me just preface this all by saying that I have been a bit of a train wreck today. The new shot has definitely kicked in, because I have been crying all day without rhyme or reason. It was just one of those days when you are in a funk, and you have absolutely no idea why. Thankfully, I was pretty alone in my office all day (and free to have break downs without judgment) but seriously? I am about to kick this downer mood in the butt if it kills me!

I did have my consult today with the “tour guide” – the lady whose job it is to teach me about sperm and the joys of sperm buying. It was pretty enlightening. I now have the names and sites of 6 (that’s right ladies and gentlemen – 6!) sperm banks to start sifting through. When she noticed on my file that my cycle date isn’t until November though, she stared to laugh at me. Apparently people don’t typically start doing these things so early, but I explained to her that I am kind of anal like that. Procrastination is not my thing! She said it was perfect though, because sometimes the good sperm sells out (who knew?) and this way I'll have plenty of time to really get the lay of the land and hop right on my sperm when I find it!

Kind of like the early bird get’s the sperm!

That’s right; I have resorted to telling lame jokes in an effort to kick my Lupron induced funk.

She did give me a few things to consider before I go out into the world of sperm buying; namely CMV status and blood type. Apparently, even though random people hook up and make babies all the time with no concern at all for these factors, ladies who pay for their sperm should really take it all into consideration. Again, who knew?

I have no idea what my CMV status is (apparently it is a fairly common virus, like strep or HPV or Herpes – she made it sound like it’s no big deal, but I’m never a fan of finding out I have things that could be in the same category as Herpes. Call me crazy.) If you are negative CMV, the FDA says you shouldn’t buy sperm that is positive - but if you are positive, you can buy whatever dirty sperm you want! Since my blood testing won’t even be done until September-ish (and doctors don't typically test for CMV since it has no real symptoms), she said I should just shoot for donors who are negative to be safe. Works for me! Gerard Butler is totally a donor who is probably negative for CMV, right? I’ll take some of whatever he’s got available please.

I also need to consider blood type, because if my blood type is RH- (don’t even know what that means!) I should choose a donor who is also RH- (again, can you imagine having this conversation with your husband to be: “I need to know if you are RH- babe, because if you aren’t I’m just not sure we should make babies together.” Ha! They said it is because your body is more likely to attack an RH+ baby if you are RH- though, so I get it, it’s just… so weird to be considering these things!) Here's the kicker though: I don’t know my blood type.

I didn’t really think this was a big deal. I kind of thought this was something that would be written down somewhere and I could easily access it. WRONG. My family/childhood doctor doesn’t have it, my OBGYN doesn’t have it, the agency I donated to doesn’t have it, and the hospital I had my surgeries at last year doesn’t have it. That’s the part that threw me the most. Wouldn’t you think that would kind of be something they would want on file? You know, in case I bled out?

Tomorrow I am going to try the clinic I donated my eggs through, but if they don’t have it I'm going to have to go to the doctor for blood typing. I’m just amazed that out of all the blood I have had drawn in the last year, no one has taken note of my blood type. Kind of crazy.

So, sperm shopping will begin as soon as I know my blood type. I’m thinking it is going to involve a spreadsheet of some kind. I’m OCD like that.

They did give me something else to consider: Apparently three of the six banks have donors that have agreed to be contacted by the children their sperm helps create when those children are 18. They have no right to contact the child themselves, but they agree to keep their information updated and on file so that if a child chooses to do so, they can contact their “bio dad”. I know I signed similar forms when I donated my eggs, but the whole sperm donor process seems so different from the egg donor process (you can’t even see pictures of these guys! When I donated my eggs, they paid for an entire photo shoot for me so that the parents could see nice photos of me, rather than the ones I sent where I was always with friends and typically in a bar – oops!) I guess I was just surprised to see that was even an option with sperm donors, and that any of the sperm donors would actually agree to it. That sperm costs more, but I think I’m going to try and get it. I like the idea of my child having the option of making that decision when they are an adult, and being able to decide what it is they want rather than what I think they should want.

OK, are you ready for the stupid move story of the week/month/year? I got a call from one of my doctors today, and they were concerned because my insurance had not yet paid for an appointment in December of last year. They called my insurance company and were told that the insurance had sent the check to me. I vehemently denied this (my insurance has never sent me a check before, why would they have done it on just that one bill – that just doesn’t make sense) and further, I stated that I had seen the insurance statement in question and that I knew exactly where it was and would be able to sort this all out tomorrow. I assured them that the insurance company had made a mistake, and I would fix it. I was adamant that I had never received a check though. If I had, I would have paid the bill - I am not a girl who lets bills slide!

I got home, and went straight to my medical file (which is starting to strain under the pressure of too many documents!) I went to the section where I knew my insurance statements were, and almost immediately found the statement I was looking for – with a check for almost $400 in my name attached to the bottom. I hadn’t even looked at it, just filed it away with the rest of my statements. Crap. Now I am going to have to explain to that woman tomorrow what a blond I really am!

But seriously? Why would my insurance send me a check like that, on just that one bill? They have never done that before, why do it now?

At least, I don’t think they’ve ever done it before.

I’ll be in my medical file for the rest of the night if you need me.

To Be Fruitful

I wanted to write about my bible study this week (as has become my custom on Wednesdays) but… I started, and I couldn’t stop. I finally looked down at the page numbers I was at, and it was 7 – single spaced. I’m not kidding. I have been word vomiting onto my laptop for the last 2 hours. I realized that none of it was going anywhere, and it was all kind of more negative than I prefer to be – so I deleted it and started over, determined to try to keep this at one page (since you have all been through multiple long posts the last few days and deserve a break!)

Here’s the gist: Beth Moore spent this week talking about all of the dreams that little girls have growing up (to be the bride, to be beautiful, etc.) and there was one entire section entitled “To Be Fruitful” that I struggled with. I just… I have a hard time with a woman who has two children telling me how I should feel about my infertility. It wasn’t even that I disagreed with what she was saying (because really, I was on board with her for about 80% of it) it was just that I took issue with anyone who has never been there, weighing in on what the reaction should be. It struck a chord with me, and maybe I’m not so proud to admit how much it bothered me.

She discussed that there shouldn’t be shame in infertility, and while I agree on a completely logical level (and I am typically a logical person) – you can say it all day long, but there is shame in infertility. There shouldn’t be, but there is. My body doesn’t do what it is supposed to do. Because of endometriosis, it will never do what it’s supposed to do – not the “normal” way anyway. I will never get pregnant naturally. There will never be a time when I get to "try" with the man I love... And honestly, the "trying" part always sounded like fun to me. I will never wake up one day and just "feel" like something is different and know that I am pregnant. That will never happen, because when I do actually try, my days following IVF will be filled with peeing on dollar store pee sticks every chance I have until I get the answer I want!

There is pain in that. There is loss in that. I was robbed of how it is supposed to be.

With how quickly everything happened, I honestly didn't even have time to contemplate the possibilities before they were there; before I was staring down the barrel of that gun and had to choose what to do. There should be time to grieve for that. Women should be allowed that time.

Because, as much as the logical side of me knows that there should be no shame in infertility, there is. I was always a strong and capable woman. I was always able to accomplish everything I set my mind to. The fact that I may have absolutely zero control surrounding the one thing I want most in this world is almost humiliating. The fact that my body is broken and no longer functions the way a woman’s body should makes me want to cower away in a corner. I know I shouldn't feel that way, so then there is shame in the fact that I allowed this news to initially turn me into a girl I didn't recognize; that I allow it to still punch me in the gut out of the blue from time to time when I least expect it. There is shame there. I am ashamed of my reactions and of my hurt. I am ashamed of my emotions surrounding this. I am ashamed that I would allow anything in this life to affect me so; there is shame. I am all on board with saying there shouldn't be, but I would be lying if I said there wasn't. God said "Be Fruitful and Reproduce" but some days I feel like someone looked down and said "That goes for everyone but you blondie."

So Beth Moore can tell me how I should feel all day long, and maybe she’s not wrong, but… Until she’s been where I am; I don’t want to hear it from her.

I know that isn’t necessarily the “right” way to react, but that was how I felt this week going through a bible study that was trying to tell me how to feel.

I think I handle this all pretty well. I think I keep my chin up and try to remember that my infertility does not define me. I think I do a pretty good job not allowing myself to fall into the pits of despair. So, if I want to feel a little shame; a little grief? I’m not going to feel guilty for that. I'm not going to walk away thinking "Well, Beth Moore says I shouldn't feel that" and then feel even worse because I do.

Here’s the thing I realized though (after writing out 7 pages to explain more or less what I just said); God and I, we’re the only people who have to be right with this. No one else has to understand any of it. My decisions may not make sense to some people, and my reactions may seem extreme to those who haven’t been in my shoes. But, I do know there is a purpose, and I do know He has a plan. I know that's all Beth Moore was trying to say, so maybe I should just try to accept that for what it is. Even if I don’t end up with a baby in the end, I am confident there is a plan. Even if I can’t trust in Beth Moore’s version of how I should let this make me feel, I can trust in His.

I am surviving this, and I am doing so with a smile on my face most days. I am working on trusting in Him, and knowing that He has a purpose in all of this. I am working on trying not to bite the heads off of women who really can’t help it if they've never had trouble conceiving. I am working on accepting kind words for what they were meant to be, even if it feels like they come from ignorance.

I am working on letting go; even when some days it seems as though I may be going backwards.

The Letter

I’ve spent the last few days thinking about this situation, and trying to determine how best to put into words what I am thinking and feeling. I wrote and re-wrote this letter so many times, it started to feel ingenuine to me. I couldn’t stop criticizing it though. Everything about it seemed wrong to me; so of course (me being me) I just kept adding to it. The more it seemed like “not enough”, the more I wrote. It’s too long. It’s too tortured. It’s just too much…

But, I couldn’t come up with anything better.

I sent it to the agency today, letting them know once and for all that I will not be doing a split cycle, and requesting that they please pass this along to the family. I sent it at noon, and then I spent the rest of the day refreshing my e-mail over and over again, waiting for a response.

It never came.

I know it’s silly to care so much, and I know it’s OK to look out for me in this situation, but… I feel guilty. I feel like a selfish jerk. I feel like this family, and everyone at the donor agency (everyone who was all on board to provide their services for free in order to make this happen) are going to hate me.

I feel like they kind of have a right to, seeing as I wasted two months of their time.

I’m kind of feeling like a giant tool today; and as if I somehow missed something when writing this letter, but now it’s too late to go back.

There's not much more to say about that. This is what I wrote:

I am not entirely sure where to begin this letter, and most of me hates that I’m writing it at all. When I initially heard of your offer to do a shared cycle, I was over the moon and overwhelmed with emotion. I fell in love with the idea of it, and with the idea of us both walking away with babies in the end. I fell in love with this picture of “Happily Ever After” for all involved. In my discussions with my RE however, and in my own knowledge about how this process works, I have been finding myself with doubts. I’ve been coming to terms with the fact that eggs do not equal embryos, and embryos do not equal babies; the fact that out of 28 eggs that I donated to two different families, only 2 became children. I’ve been worrying about how many successful embryos I may be able to produce with a full cycle, let alone what that number could be cut to in a split cycle. In focusing on those numbers, I am so sorry, but I think I have to tell you that I cannot share a cycle. I don’t have it in me to share; I’m too afraid of not having enough for myself.


I think I initially got caught up in the idea of doing this as a split cycle, because I loved the thought of having someone experience it all with me. I know that sounds silly, since everything about this situation has been anonymous from the start, but as much as I am aware that I am capable of doing this on my own; I also feel very alone in the process. I read about women who rave about having doting husbands by their side through their infertility struggles, and I find myself wishing someone was going through this along side me. I am strong and independent and capable. I can do this on my own, but some days I wish I didn’t have to. Don’t get me wrong; I am ready and excited for this next stage of my life. But, the idea of having two people as invested in a cycle as I am was more tempting to me than I could ever hope to explain.


I will never regret my decision to donate my eggs. I don’t think that is something I could have been sure of until I faced my own fertility issues, but I know it beyond a shadow of a doubt now. When I heard about your two little ones, I felt no anger or remorse over my decision at all. In fact, what I felt was utter elation that I had been able to help someone who was facing the same obstacles I am now. I understand now (more than I ever could have then) what torture infertility is, and I will always be thankful that I had the opportunity to help you when I was healthy. No part of me feels any claim on your children, or any regret at helping to bring two children into a world where they are loved and adored by two parents. I will admit I was curious about them. I found myself wanting to see photos, or know about their personalities; but only in the realm of wondering how closely my own children would resemble them. I think about them often now; those mystery children I haven’t yet created. I wonder in what ways they will be like me, and in what ways they will resemble the donor father I’ll never meet. I wonder what they’ll look like, and how their behaviors will develop over time. I wonder about the children I have yet to produce every day, and hearing about your two filled me with the hope that they will someday exist.


I also wanted to thank you for your offer to donate sperm to me, and explain my reasoning for declining. I’ve actually had the same offer from several close male friends of mine as well, but I just made the decision at the beginning of this that if it wasn’t someone I was going to have a future with, then it would be better to use an anonymous donor. I didn’t want to have to explain to my child one day that I did (in fact) know their father, but that the man who had donated hadn’t actually wanted to be a father (as would be the case with any of my friends who would donate – they would all be doing it to help me, but with no real intentions of being a part of raising a child). I know technically you would still be an anonymous donor, but in the case of accepting your offer, I would worry about one day having to explain to my children that they had 100% biological siblings out there; especially if I only end up having one child who grows up wanting siblings. For reasons I can’t explain, there would be guilt there on my part. I’ve never even thought about that in terms of the children who were created from my donated eggs, but for some reason the added entanglement of using the same sperm that was combined with those eggs makes all of those children seem that much more connected. I will, of course, one day tell my children about my decision to donate (and I will do so with a full heart as I explain how proud I am of that decision), but I don’t want that explanation to be any more complicated than it has to be. I hope some of that makes sense, and that you understand how much I truly did appreciate the offer. I just think for me, the best decision in this scenario is to use sperm that is completely anonymous and not connected to me in any other way.


I want to apologize for leaving you hanging this last two months, and for not coming to this conclusion sooner. I feel as though I’ve wasted your time, and I am so sorry for that. I really and truly did love the idea of doing this as a split cycle, but I just don’t think I can take that risk right now. I will admit that I am afraid; I am afraid of how I would react if you got pregnant and I didn’t. I don’t know if I could be OK with that. When I donated my eggs I was asked how I would react if I one day found myself infertile, and I knew that I would still never regret that decision. I didn’t even have to think about it. But now? Maybe I’ve become too selfish now, but I don’t think I could handle your success and my failure. I am so sorry for that, and please know that I truly do hope nothing more than that you do find success with another donor, but I just can’t take the risk upon myself. I’m not sure I have more than one cycle left in me. My doctors say I do, but my doctors never expected my endometriosis to spread as fast as it did either. Hearing their shock after my second surgery was all I needed to know that they are not entirely aware of what has caused my condition to spread so aggressively in the first place, and they can’t really tell me how long I have to have children. I want to be a mom more than anything in this entire world, and I would be a good mom. As much as I would love to help you expand your family (and as much as I love the idea of your two children having the large and adoring family I always dreamed of growing up), I just can’t take the risk of sharing, and then finding out I don’t have enough. I have never regretted donating, and no matter what happens; that will never change. But in this case I don’t think I would ever forgive myself if everything didn’t turn out perfectly. If I cycle on my own and just can’t make a work, I will find a way to get past that. But if we shared, and you succeeded and I failed; I’m so sorry, but I would have a really hard time with that. I am not typically a selfish person, and I am so sorry that I can’t get past that feeling, but… I can’t.


I hope you understand, and can forgive me for allowing this to draw out as long as it has. If I weren’t in the position I am in now, I would donate to you again in a heartbeat. I wish you all the luck in the world in finding a new donor, and in conceiving again to your hearts content until your family is as large as you could possibly dream. I have nothing but love in my heart for you and your children, and I think of your family often. I have all kinds of happy thoughts coming your way, and hope that your children continue to be the lights of your lives. Thank you again, for all that you have offered to do and for all the kind words you sent.


I wish for you nothing but happiness.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

This really fantastic thing happened last night. I had just finished writing an emotionally draining blog post, and I went to the kitchen to get a bite to eat. I opened the refrigerator door and reached down to get the cheese (because - I am a cheese addict), only… I reached too fast (for the record, you should never get in the way of a hormonal girl and her food!) I thwacked my head on the handle of the freezer (because I am one of those people who is completely unaware of the dimensions of her own body) and then looked down to realize that there was now an actual chunk of my skin on the handle. I had to spend today explaining this:

(Notice my “pensive” face… That’s the face of a girl who is completely and totally frustrated with herself!)

My grandma always told me that one day, when I got older, I would outgrow my klutziness. My grandma lied.

The worst part about it was that it literally was just like someone had scooped out a spoonful of skin, so it was still oozing and gross today. There was absolutely nothing I could do to cover that bad boy up, so instead I just had to convince everyone that no, I wasn’t drinking when it happened. Awesome.

Pretty sure that one is going to leave a mark.

I had my doctor’s appointment today too, and so of course I had to explain that I am not being beaten at home (because these are things doctors ask even when you don't come in looking as though you've had something thrown at your head!) Actually, I think the question was whether or not I feel “safe” at home, to which my answer was “no”. A look of horror flashed across the nurse’s face, and I had to explain that I just don’t feel “safe” anywhere with sharp edges and metal refrigerator handles. I am my own worst enemy.

It may not be a bad idea to childproof this place sooner than later!

I had my annual pap before my shot, and it was the first opportunity I’ve had to tell my OBGYN that I have decided on IVF. I hadn’t actually seen her since my surgery follow up. We had spoken on the phone about my most recent ultrasound results, but I didn’t tell her then for whatever reason. I’m so happy I waited though, because her reaction was priceless. She got so excited, and all of the nurses did too. It was this big thing, and everyone was on board. I loved it. She just kept saying she thought it was the best thing for me, and that she could tell how much happier I am now that I’ve made this decision. When we got serious again, she reiterated that in all of her years as an OBGYN she had never seen a case of endo spread as aggressively as mine had, and that even she is still nervous about future spreading for me. She was just so all about me doing this now, and it actually got me even more excited. She said that too many women wait until it’s too late, and that even though this will be hard for me some days, I will never regret making this decision. It was all exactly what I needed to hear.

We did my exam then, and I could tell she got a little anxious about my right side. It started bothering me on Friday, and I just chocked it up to the Lupron wearing off. But, I was really tender when she was poking around down there (I’m still amazed by the fact that doctors can just reach right up there and feel your ovaries… what is it that keeps them from falling out?) so she said she wants me to give the Lupron two weeks to get working again, and then if I’m still tender she wants to move my April ultrasound up. Fine with me, I can wait the discomfort out two weeks and hope it goes away. My right side has been my problem side since day one, so if we need to keep a better watch on it; I would rather be safe than sorry. She was reassuring though, and reminded me that we would figure this out even if my endometriomas returned. I just love my doctor.

Then it was time for my shot. Can I just tell you, that between both of my donations (where I gave myself shots every day) and this battle with endometriosis, I have been poked more than you can possibly imagine. I am not afraid of needles, and I don’t think they hurt (when you have collapsed to the floor in real pain, a needle prick will never seem like a big deal again), but I can’t help it; I tense up when I am about to get a shot. So there I was, lying stomach first on the table, with my butt cheeks in the air and clenched as tight as could be. I was laughing, because I knew I was doing it, but I couldn’t stop. That’s when my lovely nurse started shaking my left cheek until it finally loosened up; another one of those things I never thought would happen to me as a grown woman! When she was done squeezing every last drop of Lupron into my tush, she gave me a slap on the butt as if I were a newborn. Oh man… I love my life!

The best part about today's shot though? It means that I am officially a quarter of the way through with this year long journey to baby. I've got 3 months down, 9 more to go until it is time to try. Thinking about that just gets me giddy!

I did get sick this morning though, hours before my doctor’s appointment. I half thought I maybe had a concussion from the banging of my head, but I didn’t have any bruising or a bump; just a giant divot of skin missing. I can’t imagine it was a hormone thing either, because I haven’t been sick from that in at least a month. I think I’m getting a little stomach bug, which isn’t super exciting seeing as I was throwing up within 24 hours of my last Lupron shot. Therefore, I am looking forward to this little stomach bug getting much worse before it gets better.

I would consider calling in sick to work tomorrow, but now that everyone is convinced I’m a booze hound who can’t protect her own face when she drinks, I’m not sure that would be the best idea.

Of course, throwing up at my desk probably won’t help the situation either.

Sunny Side Up

I have to admit, I’ve been keeping something from you. It hasn’t been intentional. Typically I am so driven to write out exactly what is on my mind, because that’s the only way I know how to digest it. But this? There were just too many "what ifs", and too many things I wasn’t sure how I felt about. I didn’t want to put it out there into the ether and then change my mind. I didn’t want to talk about it until I knew exactly how I felt.

Some of you may remember that I donated my eggs to two different couples a few years ago, long before I knew that I would have my own fertility problems. Back in December I heard from the agency I donated through. The first couple that used my eggs now has twins, and they were hoping I would be willing to donate again so that they could further expand their family. As you can imagine, this was a very weighted e-mail for me to receive at that time. I had just had my second surgery a month prior, and was coming to terms with the very distinct possibility that I may never carry a child. I was still highly emotional, and a little unsteady in my actions. I hadn’t yet decided for sure to pursue IVF on my own, and so there were still a lot of questions about what my future held. Everything was very much so in the air.

So when I opened that e-mail, I immediately started crying. I was in Arizona at the time (it was just before Christmas) with my grandparents, dad, brother and sister in law, and cousins around me. I don’t even know why I was looking at my e-mail, except that the iphone is unfortunately becoming my security blanket!

I couldn’t help crying. Not because they had children and I didn’t, but because they had children. This couple who had struggled for so long to conceive now had twins; because of me. Because of something I chose to do to help them. For me there was a lot of hope in that; the message being that it can happen, no matter what. I was elated to learn that they had a family now; ecstatic to know of my part in that. And... I wanted to help them further. I wanted to assist them in expanding their family to the moon if that’s what they wanted. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again; even though I never met them, I felt a strong connection to the women I donated to even then. At a time in my life when I couldn’t have comprehended their struggles anymore than I could have assessed what it would be like to go through life with a penis; I still felt connected to them and wanted them to succeed. Now that I understand in a way that I never would have imagined I would? I feel like those women are my sisters; my blood. I ached for them, as I ache for myself on the days I wonder why this has to be such a struggle. I wanted to help them.

But, I obviously knew I couldn’t. I knew that I am no longer the same donor who gave to them then. My ovaries have suffered a great deal of damage, and I’ve been told that my eggs are now those of a woman 10 years older than me. My time is running out, and I am no longer in a position to help anyone else; I have to help myself now.

You may recall that I sent the agency an e-mail to that effect, but at the end of that letter (for good measure, and also a little added humor – it’s still me we’re talking about!) I said I might be interested if the family wanted to go “halvsies” on a cycle.

I was half joking/half serious. On the one hand, I really did want to help them, and I couldn’t imagine needing all of my eggs. I produced 14 eggs for both of my donations, and I assumed that even if I only produced 10 now, why couldn’t I share? I never in a million years thought it would actually be a possibility (the legalities and moral ambiguities would be astronomical), but I figured I would throw it out there. When the agency called me the next day to thank me for my honesty, but to let me know they didn’t think that sharing a cycle would be a good idea and they wouldn’t be passing that on to the couple; I wasn’t disappointed. I kind of laughed it off and went on with my life.

A week later the agency called again though, and this call took my breath away. Upon hearing about my situation, the couple had gotten on the phone with the coordinator and taken turns expressing their hopes and gratitude for me. They had told the coordinator that they felt as though they owed me children, and said I had given them a gift that no one else could ever even begin to match. They went on to describe their perfect 1 ½ year old twins, and to state that I (yes, they actually gave me credit for this) had helped to create two of the most amazing children anyone had ever met. The father got on the line and asked if he could donate his sperm to me, because at least that would save me money and because “the two of us together had already created such miracles: replicating those children over and over again would be doing the world justice”. They then brought up the idea of splitting a cycle themselves, and offered to sign an agreement stating that my getting pregnant would be the number 1 priority. They wanted to guarantee that no matter what, I would get a set number of eggs. If some were then left over for them; great. Either way, they just wanted to pledge their efforts to assist me in whatever way they could, and to help me achieve the same dream I had helped to give to them.

When the coordinator was passing this information along to me, we were both crying. She said that she initially thought doing a split cycle wasn’t a good idea, but that after talking to both of us she just thought we were all such amazing people, and that we could make this work. She pledged to give her services for free, and any others she could find through the agency. She just wanted to see us all come out the other end with what we needed, and she felt that we were meant to be in each other’s lives this way.

I immediately declined the sperm offer. I didn’t like the idea of us each having sets of 100% biological siblings. I can’t explain it, because technically my children will share genetics with theirs no matter what, but the idea of them being 100% biologically related just made me more uneasy then the idea of the 50% ever did. I was always fine with my genetics being out there, because I think there is so much more to motherhood than genes (and I feel strongly that their mother is the one who has been “mom” to them since the day of conception), but knowing my children had full siblings out there would just be one of those things that would make me feel guilty, for reasons I really can’t explain.

But the rest of it? I asked if I could have the weekend to think about it; I needed time to digest.

I thought long and hard, and over that weekend I fell in love with the possibilities. I started to feel like this family was supposed to be in my life; like we were somehow going to become friends. I don’t know why I thought that, because everything with this entire scenario has always been anonymous (and no one has ever suggested it would ever be different) but suddenly I pictured meeting. I pictured us cycling together, and being equally invested in the outcomes of each other’s pregnancies. I saw her and I being connected forever, and two people standing by me who really got what I was going through. Two people who wanted it as badly as I did.

The financial help would have, of course, been beneficial; but what I liked more was the idea of this camaraderie. I wanted to do this with them. I wanted to help them build their family, and to have them rooting for me as I built mine. I wanted to meet their children; not in the sense of claiming them, but in the sense of possibly getting a glimpse into what my own children may be like. I wanted to know them, and I thought that if I did this, if we did this together; we may all come out the other end family.

I called the agency the following Monday and explained my stipulations: My cycle would still have to wait until November, so that I could be at the healthiest possible place for conception (they would therefore also have to wait until November), and we would have to do the entire cycle in Seattle, where I had already found myself comfortable with the staff. Also, I wanted their doctor to have the opportunity to review my medical records. I didn’t want them agreeing to any of this until they fully understood how damaged I really was. I wanted them to realize that they very possibly could sign off on all of this, and then I may only produce 6 eggs; of which they would get none. I wanted full disclosure. I wanted them to have the opportunity to tell me “no”.

They came back and agreed to everything. They still wanted to do this.

That was a little less than two months ago. I hadn’t written about it, because no legal documents have been signed yet. And because, there have still been doubts in my head. As much as I loved this idea, there has still been a voice whispering to me that it wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t want to write about it until I knew for sure, and I haven’t felt that confident about it once.

I spoke to my RE about my plans over a month ago, and she advised me strongly against it. She explained to me that eggs don’t equal embryos, and that embryos don’t equal babies. She pointed to my own experience, and the fact that out of the 28 eggs I donated; only 2 became babies. She asked me how I would feel if I only wound up with 6 eggs for myself, and none of those even developed into embryos. How I would feel if, in the end, I still had to do another cycle by myself. She said in my case (right now) she thinks I have more than one cycle in me if necessary, but that no one understands why my case was so aggressive and devastating in the first place. She said she would like to believe that I have more than one cycle, but that no one can make me any guarantees.

Then she asked me the question I had been too afraid to ask myself: How would I feel if I did this, and they got pregnant and I didn’t?

When I first donated, I was asked how I would feel if somewhere down the line I found myself infertile. My answer was simple: That I would still never regret my decision to donate. I was thankful to find that I still felt that way, even after my diagnosis. No one could have ever looked at me and said “you are one day going to have a very difficult time conceiving.” My endometriosis was undetectable at the time, and I had perfect insides. Every test I went through, I passed with flying colors. I was the ideal donor, and no one could have ever foreseen that one day I wouldn’t be. I won’t regret assisting in the creation of two children who are loved and adored by two parents. I won’t ever look back on that decision with remorse.

But, now? If I did this now, and they got pregnant and I didn’t? If I never got pregnant after this? I would never forgive myself. I would never be able to be OK with that decision. I know this. I know it in the bottom of my heart.

I know I cannot split this cycle.

I spoke to the social worker about this a few weeks ago as well, and she told me she thought I had my answer. Still, I’ve been sitting on it. I’ve been weighing and re-weighing the options. I’ve been beating myself up, trying to find a way to feel OK with being selfless, and to tell myself that I could survive it if they conceived and I didn’t. But I can’t. I can’t convince myself of that. I know it isn’t true.

I wrote the coordinator this week, and asked for her thoughts. Her response was short and sweet. She said that from day one she has said that I needed to look out for me, and that the most important factor here now is that I get pregnant. She said she loved the idea of us all cycling together as well, but not as much as she loves the idea of me having a child; no matter what needs to occur to make that happen. She did ask me to make a decision one way or another soon though, so that the family isn’t waiting around for me.

I want to write them a letter. I want to tell them how much their kind words meant to me, and how strongly I felt about wanting to help them again. I want to thank them for their generosity and caring, and assure them that I will be forever grateful for the ways in which they wanted to help me. But, I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how to apologize for wasting the last two months of their quest for children, and I don’t know how to explain how scared I am of their success and my failure. I don’t know how to apologize to the people who have babies with pieces of me, and who want nothing more than to add to that family.

I don’t know how to tell them “no” when every core of my being knows exactly how they feel.

We Don't Need No Stinking Man!

I took Chatty to the museum yesterday. We went a few weeks ago (I really love museums – One of the attractions I miss the most from San Diego is Balboa Park; where the exhibits were endless and you never knew what you were going to see!) and found out that they would be having a star wars exhibit coming soon. They were building a mock ship at the time, and it looked so cool that we decided we would have to go as soon as it opened up.

I picked her up, and we spent a few minutes talking about how warm and muddy everything had been. I flipped on my windshield wipers to clean off all the muck, and it shot out just enough stream to really smudge it all up, and then ran out. I momentarily panicked. First of all, I had a child in my car (a child whose safety I am responsible for when she is with me) and I could barely see out of my windshield. Second of all, I have never run out of wiper fluid before… ever. I had my civic for almost 7 years, and never once did it run out. I guess that should tell you how often I used wiper fluid in Arizona/San Diego, compared to how often I need to use it in the springtime here! Just one more reason to hate breakup…

Since I’ve never run out before, I had no idea what was involved in re-filling it. I was picturing oil changes in my head, and then adding up the costs and time that were going to be involved in rectifying this situation. I was not a happy camper, and poor Chatty witnessed me having a flustered moment.

I pulled over near the museum and started calling people I knew to try to figure out what one is supposed to do in this situation. Loo, being from Texas, was in the same boat as me – having no idea what is involved in replacing wiper fluid! Mrs. King was laughing at me though (as her husband shrieked in the background “What do you mean she’s never run out before?”) and explained that she had just needed to fill her own two hours ago, and it wasn’t a big deal or expensive at all. She told me how to do it, and I calmed down a bit.

I am a do-it-yourself girl. I taught myself how to re-do all the lighting and electrical sockets in my condo (and only had to call on the husband of an acquaintance once when I realized that I had somehow rewired my bedroom switch to turn on the light in the bathroom!), I re-installed my shelves (after the ex failed at installing them in the first place), I put together my own furniture, and I am always trying to learn something new when it comes to improving my little home. Typically my do-it-yourself projects go awry in some way or another at least once or twice (and I find myself at Home Depot trying to search for a solution for hours!), but I almost always pull it together in the end. I’ve been taking a lot of pride in my house lately, because I know that I did so much of this work myself.

But I’ve never really learned anything about cars. The Devirginator was really great with that type of thing, so when we lived in the same state I always deferred to him (he was actually my first call about the wiper fluid too, but he was at work and didn’t answer). Then, when he wasn’t around, I lived in San Diego and went to a really great shop that I didn’t ever think was trying to screw me over – so I never really felt the need to try to figure any of it out myself. I had never even put air in my own tires until last year, and when I did that I managed to pull the really cool move of not pushing the button to start the air flowing! I sat there for the longest time trying to figure out why the tires weren’t filling up – sometimes I'm "special"! The ex explained to me that I should call on him from then on out whenever anything went wrong with my car. He said that would now be his job. Hmmmm…. Guess I’m glad I paid attention when he taught me how to do it anyways!

Learning this was something I could do myself was really exciting though, so I breathed a final sigh of relief and decided Chatty and I would go to the museum first, and then we would handle my car.

The last time we went to the museum they only charged us $10, and I gave them a $2 donation on top of that, so it was $12 total. I was planning on this same price again, and about threw up when they said the price was now $30. I fumbled for the extra money as they explained that the new exhibit was the reason for the price hike. It wasn’t that big of a deal, because I budget in $50 a month for activities with Chatty anyways, and we havn’t spent any money yet this month. But still… I hate when things turn out to be more expensive than I was expecting!

I made the mistake of joking to her that I am now broke. I could see the immediate concern on her face, and she actually reached into her pocket for the few dollars she had to help. I felt like such a jerk. This little girl is actually broke, why on earth was I complaining about having to spend $30? It was ridiculous. I of course told her to put her money away and tried to explain that I was just joking. In her little eyes, I am rich. I own my condo (which is always clean and furnished like a mansion compared to the trailer she shares with her mom, grandma, uncle, and 3 siblings), I have a nice new-ish car, and my clothes are always clean and different from what she saw me in the week before (meanwhile, she has had the same ratty and dirty shirt on the last 3 times I have picked her up). Note to self: Remember your audience when you try to complain about your circumstances.

We had a lot of fun though, and I will begrudgingly admit it was worth $30. I’m not even a Star Wars fan, but it was really cool. They had a lot of hands on activities, and those are always my favorite at museums anyway (yes, I am juvenile from time to time!). Chatty and I played a bunch of the futuristic games they had set up, and overall we just had a great time. It was all I could do to drag her away from there when my stomach started growling and I knew it was time to get her home.

After we left, I pulled into the nearest gas station we could find, and was cracking up to see 3 different women right out front doing the same thing we were about to do. At least I wasn’t the only one fumbling to figure this out (something completely new and foreign to me) without a man! The cashier said (as she rang up my bottle of wiper fluid that was only $4 – woo hoo!) that women had been coming in all night. She even had pre-cut paper cups to use as funnels sitting right by her register. It seemed like the theme of the night as we watched even more women walk in to purchase the fluid while we were filling up my car. Do men just not run out of wiper fluid? How do they tell when it’s running low?

It is here that I will admit that I did have to call on the help of a stranger to open my hood. I just couldn’t figure it out, which should really make it clear how much I know about cars. In my defense, the latch to open it was under my dash, and not right next to the gas latch as it had been on my civic. It even took the stranger a minute to find it!

But, Chatty and I figured out the rest all on our own. OK, so it’s not like it was even kind of a difficult task, but for a girl who had no idea this was something I could do myself just a few hours earlier – I was proud of us! Chatty seemed pretty excited to be operating as the assistant too, and was all kinds of ready and willing to help.

After I dropped her off, I caught myself thinking that as nice as it would be to rely on a husband to do these things for me, it’s kind of fun when I get to figure it out myself. I will never be a car aficionado, but it’s good to know that I can do the few simple things in a bind (namely: filling my own tires and replacing the wiper fluid – I now have those two down!) Always a good day when you learn something new!

In other news, I’ve been doing the pee test today. I’m slightly concerned that I already had it filled up half way after just 5 hours into what is supposed to be a 24 hour test.

I severely cut back on my fluid intake after that. I drink a lot of water. I grew up in Arizona (where hydration is kind of a big deal!), and have a habit of always having a water bottle in hand. I go through 5 refills of my 1 liter water bottle every day at work, and when I’m home I probably fill my glass back up at least once an hour. I now have no doubt that I could pretty easily fill up about 4 of those jugs on a normal day if you asked me to, but that is not the goal. If I overflow this jug, I have to put whatever comes next into my own container, and I am just not a fan of that idea. I would rather quit drinking.

And in case you didn’t notice, yes, that jug is in my refrigerator. I am now a girl who is storing her own urine right alongside her food. I ask you: how did this become my life? After this is all said and done I have to swish that jug around and then transfer a smaller amount into another container and freeze it before mailing it out; so then I’ll have urine in my freezer. For some reason, all of this kind of seems like something a serial killer would do. Collecting, freezing, and mailing your own urine? I mean… seriously?

How did I become this girl?

It Must Be Time

My next Lupron shot is on Monday. I know, because I live, breathe, and die by my calendar. Even if I hadn’t written it down though; I would know.

(This next paragraph is probably going to be too much information for anyone who has never been on hormone injections. Feel free to skip forward if you gross out easily! Dad - This means you!) I went to the bathroom today, and was surprised to see: my lady juices are back! I swear to you, I have been like a dried up prune down there (and really, everywhere else too – my eyeballs have been consistently red and itchy no matter how many drops I’ve put in them) since that first shot. I’ve found myself being a little thankful I'm single, because I would have gone bankrupt on lube if I was actually getting any! Still – My sex drive hasn’t faltered at all. I almost wish it had, because I have been missing sex. Of course, I’m missing it even more now that the lady parts once again seem to be working (and mass producing the juices) as God intended! It may sound strange, but that one simple change has me feeling like a girl again. It has me feeling "normal".

Beyond that piece of happy news, my skin is once again awful. I had perfect skin all throughout high school. Barely ever a blemish. One of the first indications for me that something was not right was when I started breaking out really badly right around the same time my periods stopped. That was not even a little bit common for me, but no matter what I tried, I couldn’t keep my face blemish free. Then I had my first Lupron shot, and that all pretty much cleared right up (presumably because my out of control hormones were simply shut off). Now? You could play connect the dots on my forehead – I am not happy about it. It's bad, and I even found myself questioning why I insist upon using barely any makeup when clearly I need something a bit more intense right now!

You want to know what’s worse though? My back. That’s right people – I officially have backne. So not cool. And yet another time I find myself being thankful I’m single, because I just don’t know that I could explain to any man that hormonal fluctuations were the totally acceptable reason behind my body breakouts. There is just nothing that makes that not embarrassing.

The other thing that’s gotten worse is my headaches. I can’t quite figure that one out, since I thought that Lupron caused headaches – so you would think those would be getting better and not worse as the Lupron wore off. But this last week I have had the most unbearable headaches (the kinds where you almost can’t see straight and it becomes difficult to concentrate on anything). I have never had headaches in my life, so I know it has to do with my hormones being out of whack. The only thing I can think is that it may have something to do with my add-back. The way this all works is that Lupron is given in 3 month shot intervals. Its purpose is basically to shut off all of your female hormones (and mine were really out of control before I went on the Lupron. The pill wasn’t doing a lick of good.) I’ve been told that your hormone levels actually dip lower on Lupron than they do in menopause, because even in menopause you maintain some hormone balance. That’s why a lot of doctors prescribe an add-back alongside Lupron (mine is Norethindrone – I call it my “happy” pill, because my mood swings really haven't been that bad – unless I am completely oblivious and everyone around me has been talking about what a jerk I’ve been behind my back!) The add-back adds back (clever, huh!) the good hormones that don’t encourage endo growth, so that you at least have something going on hormonally. It’s supposed to keep you from completely losing it! But, you take that in a nightly pill. I’m wondering if, as my last Lupron shot is wearing off, the fact that I’m still taking the add-back (and therefore, altering that hormonal balance that would be optimal) is what is causing the headaches. I’m actually really hoping they will go away with my next shot.

My energy level is back though, and I feel like I can function full days again without wanting a nap, so that’s good. It feels nice to not be dragging myself through life every day in the hopeful anticipation of collapsing into my bed as soon as humanly possible. I also haven’t thrown up in at least a month, and that should have been my first indication that things were dying down. I know nausea isn’t a symptom everyone gets, but for me it was the worst. I had trouble holding anything down that first few weeks after the last shot. Then, even as it got better, it would still sneak up on me out of nowhere when I thought I was in the clear. I’m really hoping I won’t have to deal with that again this next go-round, because it’s been nice to eat without fear this last month!

The biggest indication though? I have been freezing lately! No hot flashes, and no waking up drenched in my own sweat. In fact, I’ve been waking up shivering because I haven’t actually turned my heat back up to a normal level (knowing I’m just going to want to turn it down again in a few days anyway).

For the most part (besides the headaches and the acne situation, which just has me feeling like I’m getting punished for having perfect skin when I actually was a hormonal teenager!) I am feeling almost 100% back to being myself. This is why I logically knew today (after I noticed my free-flowing juices and it dawned on me that I have been feeling quite good the last few weeks), that clearly it must be time for round two! One shot, every 3 months, for one year. Those were the rules. I knew what I was signing up for, and I am so thankful that I have had an easier time on Lupron than a lot of women do (I am telling you – I have heard women tell the worst horror stories about this drug. My side effects aren’t great, but I can absolutely endure them.) Of course, in my head I would have put up with almost anything side-effect wise as long as it bought me more time. At least now I know that if I can get through the first 2 months, the last month get’s increasingly better!

I did decide to do the pee test, so tomorrow I will be lying low and collecting every last drop of my urine. I got a call this week that the ANP who specializes in infertility and alternative treatments (the one whose practice was full and I wasn’t sure would be willing to take me on) has agreed to treat me – even before seeing the results of this test. That sealed the deal for me. I’ve heard great things about her and her abilities in this field. I figured I owe it to myself to at least see what she has to say and find out if she thinks she can help me.

Maybe I’ll even get lucky and she’ll have some fail-proof way to counteract the side effects of the Lupron – at all stages of potency! I would love to rid myself of the nausea, and fatigue; the headaches and acne.

I wouldn’t even mind finding out if she could somehow keep the juices flowing.

You know... just in case!

Welcome To The Breakup

No, I didn’t get dumped again! How sad would that be, seeing as I haven't even begun dating yet?!?

But, the breakup is here. My least favorite time of year in Alaska: Spring.

We have been above 40 the last few days, and normally that would really excite me (especially in February, which is supposed to be one of the coldest months of the year), but it just means that everything is melty, and muddy, and dirty.

I would be OK with all of this if I truly believed that it was the end of winter, but come on now! It’s February. Those of us way up here in the great white North know we still have at least a good 2 months of the cold wet stuff.

(Yes, I do rock flip flops and capris in the snow. What can I say? You can take the girl out of California, but you can't take the California out of the girl!)

What is going to happen is that everything is going to melt. Cars, shoes, and pant bottoms are going to get dirty, and then everything is going to freeze up overnight one night and the streets are going to be deadly. I will (very likely) end up getting into an accident (because let’s be real: it is a miracle that I have now survived almost 2 winters without plowing into something or someone - I had never driven in snowy/icy conditions before moving here), and I will almost surely end up slipping and damn near killing myself on these steps outside my house:

This time next year (when I am very hopefully preggers and trying to stay on my feet to protect my growing baby) those icy steps are going to be a nightmare! At least now if I fall I only risk breaking my own butt, but I am going to be terrified when I am worrying about something happening to the little one inside of me as well! I don't stay upright all that often in the wintertime; it's pretty standard that I end up falling good and hard at least once a month.

Last year when breakup began I was so excited it was warm that I put on my tennies and went for a run. That's when I learned that people don't pick up their dog doo in the winter time. It starts to melt during breakup, and is literally everywhere. I came back from that run soaking wet, muddy, and I'm pretty sure covered in feces that very likely got splashed all over me with every step I took. Even though I would love to go for a run right now, I will not make that mistake again.

I do not like breakup. I like it even less because it happens and freezes and happens again at least 4 times before it happens for real.

I should be happy, because this means we are just that much closer to summer (and midnight sun, and breathtaking hikes, and salmon in my creek… The creek that is right outside my condo and very really and truly is called by my last name; tell me that isn’t kismet!) But I’m not, because I am cranky today and I do not like breakup.

Plus, I was walking all over the bottoms of my nice work pants today and they are filthy. It took me until mid day to realize they were dragging (and to be fair, they are dragging because I have thankfully lost a few pounds and they are sitting pretty low on my hips – I didn’t even realize how loose they were until today though, because my tummy hasn’t gone down at all. Stupid Lupron has me carrying my weight around my gut, which has never been my body type before. So, because the faux baby bump hasn’t gone down, I hadn’t even noticed that my booty/hips have… It's so weird when your body behaves differently than it has your entire life!)

Don’t get me wrong. I love Alaska, and I love seasons in a way I (as an Arizona/Cali girl) never would have dreamed possible. I never would have thought this girl:

Would ever turn out to be a girl who adores scarves and sweaters as much as this girl:

But I do. I really really do! (However, seeing these two photos together I do notice the absence of my once always golden tan... sigh.)

Summer time in Alaska makes me happy from head to toe:

The colors of fall actually take my breath away:

And I have come to adore the outfit choices and excuses to stay warm and cuddly inside during the winter:

I even love fresh snow and looking outside during a good storm. It feels like it makes everything clean and shiny again.

But spring? Spring is officially lame.

I've Got The "Eat" Part Down!

I walked into church on Sunday, and they were singing what has come to be one of my favorite worship songs:



I tend to sneak in late on Sundays because I can’t sing (really – it’s bad how tone deaf I am) and I feel awkward mouthing the words and standing there by myself, but I have come to love this song and am always excited when I walk in and they are singing it.

I was having a good day Sunday. No reason to be over emotional, or to feel down. Still. I walked in and had tears streaming down my face within seconds.

Something about the words:

I’m not going back, I’m moving ahead
I’m here to declare to you my past is over in you
All things are made new surrendered my life to Christ
I’m moving, moving forward

Maybe you have to be there and hear the emotion. One of our pastors has the most incredible voice, and he interjects his own thoughts into the song. I’m not sure just reading the words would do it for me, but hearing him sing it breaks me down.

Either way though, those words mean the world to me. I am changing. I am working on being a better version of me. I will never go back to the broken girl I was once upon a time. If I made it through this last crisis without becoming her again, she's never coming back. And, I am accepting Christ into this much larger role in my life now. For whatever reason, all of those things combined together had me crying on Sunday. Not sad tears though. Happy tears. Tears of joy. Tears that signified an end to some of the mistakes I have made in my life and a choice to let those things go that have hurt me. Tears that signify my excitement over this next stage in my life and my overwhelming urge to move forward.

It wasn’t long before two women were over me praying, and for the first time I wasn’t completely uncomfortable with this notion. I held my breath, closed my eyes, and let them pray as the tears continued down my cheeks. I was laughing and crying at the same time. They were too. They didn’t even know why I was crying, they were just praying for forgiveness and strength for me. I’ve never liked people praying for me. There is just that uncomfortable feeling that someone somewhere deserves those prayers more than I do. But Sunday? Sunday I felt comforted. I felt like I belonged there. It was still odd to have two strangers I didn’t know touching me and praying for me as I cried, but I smiled and hugged them afterwards. I thanked them, and I meant it.

That song kills me!

Last night my bible study group took a break from our regular meetings and got together for a service project instead. We went to the local Boys and Girls club and volunteered cleaning services. I’m not going to lie; I wasn’t too excited about this. I am all for volunteering, but I get really icked out over other people’s messes. I can’t really explain it, but I have been known to gag if something is gross enough; and this place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Plus, I had to go to Bethel today, and I knew I would have to get up at 4AM. I guess I didn’t go into it with the best heart to begin with, which probably didn’t help with my discomfort the rest of the night.

While we were cleaning, all of the ladies started talking. I realized (yet again) how out of place I am with this group of women. The conversation topics ran the gamut; from favorite Christian music, to quoting bible verses, and talking all about God’s grace in certain areas lately. I felt awkward. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate these conversations, it was just that I found myself thinking “Is this all these women talk about? Am I a bad person because I have other interests too?” It was just weird. Then one of the women mentioned masturbation as though it was this awful thing (our church is starting a series on sex this weekend, so that’s how we wound up on masturbation - you would have thought I would have been excited at the turn in conversation, but not when it involved bashing one of my favorite activities!), and I really felt out of place. I didn’t exactly volunteer what a big fan of self love I am, but I found myself thinking “isn’t that better than the alternative?” Because, I’ve got to say; if I didn’t take care of myself, I would be finding someone else to do the job for me sooner than later! That's how mistakes are made people!

Then, the conversation turned to Undercover Boss and I about peed myself with joy! Even though I hadn’t seen the show, I figured reality TV was at least something I could relate to and comment on! Except, they were talking about an episode where Hooters was apparently featured, and the conversation turned to how degrading and unbiblical Hooters is.

Here’s the thing: I have no issues with Hooters. I have had friends work there, and they’ve made good money. I personally could never do the booty shorts (and really, I dare somebody to find a pair of booty shorts that could contain my booty!) but it’s no worse than some of the low cut tops I wore when I worked in bars (some of the low cut tops I still wear from time to time, because – I like my boobs!) It was just a weird conversation, and they kept talking about “those poor girls” and I kept thinking “the girls I knew who worked at Hooters had no qualms with what they were doing, and they certainly weren’t poor!” I guess I just don’t get it. It’s not stripping - and honestly, even though I do see a higher level of depravity there, I still can’t bring myself to get too upset about women stripping either. Again, I would never do it, but who am I to judge? I will admit – I have been to strip clubs before, and was never too concerned with what was going on. There was actually one woman who did this Cirque De Soleil act, and I was fascinated. I totally forgot she was naked because what she was doing was so amazing! Do I think strippers have the best lives? No, of course not. But do I think we should feel sorry for them? Not necessarily. I’m sure some of them are quite content with their choices, so who am I to tell them it’s wrong?

Plus, have I mentioned my amusement with Thunder From Down Under? I can't really bash female strip clubs when those Aussie boys totally make me giggle like a school girl!

That just got off point, because I did not mean to go on a tangent about stripping! The point is, the Hooters girls aren’t naked and you can see far more skin at the beach any day of the week. Yes, they are flaunting their assets for money, and I’m sure on some level that’s probably not great – but again, I put the twins on display working at a bar for years. I was able to go to school full time, live on the beach, and only work 3 nights a week. I didn’t feel degraded at all. I was proud of my body and I always felt safe. Plus, even with the twins, if I hadn’t been good at my job and always had a smile on my face; I wouldn’t have made nearly as much. They were just a helpful asset!

So maybe that’s it. I just don’t see a huge difference between Hooters girls and my working at a sports bar. Heck, there are probably people who would scoff at my saying I flaunted my rack for better tips. I’m sure that’s not a “Christian” thing to admit, but it’s true. And I don’t regret it, or feel bad. And the girls I know who worked at Hooters are all normal, decent women too. I would never judge any of them. So, the whole conversation just made me uncomfortable. I just don’t feel that strongly about the sins of others. Again; I’ve got enough on my hands trying to keep my own sins in check.

At that point, I was just ready to go home. These women are all very nice, but there are only maybe 2 of them I could picture myself actually being able to be myself with. The others? I just feel like they would have me (and my twisted brain) condemned before 30 minutes of conversation were up.

Once we were done, one of the women asked if we could pray for a family that lost their home recently. The story is pretty traumatic. They have 7 kids, and one of them woke up in the middle of the night complaining about a hissing noise. They realized it was the gas, and they got all the kids into the car. As they were backing out, their house exploded.

I can recognize the miracle there. What are the odds that a child would wake up to such a faint noise? And, if it were my child, I probably would have just told them to go back to bed. I certainly wouldn’t have thought to get up and investigate at 3 in the morning (and even if I had, I never would have known what to look for). The fact that they all got out safely is incredible, and I am all for praying for them to continue to find blessings. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to lose a home like that.

So we formed a circle, and the leader started to pray for this family. But then, when she was done, everyone else started to add on prayers. I was horrified. I am not comfortable with praying out loud. I’ve always prayed (even when I wasn’t going to church it was a nightly ritual of mine), but the idea of people listening to me pray makes me tense up a little bit. I’m just afraid it would take the intimacy of prayer away for me. I don’t want anyone else to listen in on my conversations with God. I don’t want anyone else to judge how I do it, or whether I use the right words. I just don’t want to pray out loud. I totally respect people who are comfortable doing so, but I’m not one of them. It just feels un-genuine to me.

Everyone in the circle said something but me. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I could feel the group waiting for me to go (a long silence until the leader finally realized I wasn’t going to say anything and ended the torture), but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t think of the words to say, and even though I prayed for that family on my own, I couldn’t do it out loud. Does anyone else feel that way? Am I crazy for being so uncomfortable in it?

I’m pretty positive I am the problem child in our bible study. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I just finished reading Eat, Pray, Love on the plane back from Bethel today. I loved it. I love her style (in some ways I kind of think it is similar to my own… she writes like she's talking to you and uses italics too much!), and like I could relate to so many of the things she said. OK, so I obviously can’t relate to her not wanting to have kids, but so much of what she says elsewhere hits home for me.

Which is why when I was reading page 192 today I about keeled over. After struggling so much with feeling like I just didn’t fit in, it was kind of exactly what I needed to read. I will preface this by saying that she doesn’t define herself as “Christian”, and instead talks about seeking out spirituality in whatever way works for you. I know a lot of Christians aren’t comfortable with this idea, which is why I wanted to explain her philosophy so that you can go ahead and disregard this next bit if you want to.

She was talking about how, on her spiritual journey at an Ashram in India, she started to feel as though she needed to tone down her boisterous personality. In trying to do so however, she got a very clear sign that this was not what was expected of her. She then writes:

God dwells within you as yourself, exactly the way you are. God isn’t interested in watching you enact some performance of personality in order to comply with some crackpot notion you have about how a spiritual person looks or behaves. We all seem to get this idea that, in order to be sacred, we have to make some massive, dramatic change of character, that we have to renounce our individuality. This is a classic example of what they call in the East “wrong-thinking.”


To know God, you need only to renounce one thing – your sense of division from God. Otherwise, just stay as you were made, within your natural character.


This doesn’t mean I cannot be devout. It doesn’t mean I can’t be thoroughly tumbled and humbled with God’s love. This does not mean I cannot serve humanity. It doesn’t mean I can’t improve myself as a human being, honing my virtues and working daily to minimize my vices. For instance, I’m never going to be a wallflower, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take a serious look at my talking habits and alter some aspects for the better – working within my personality.

So even though it’s not from a “Christian” perspective (and I do consider myself Christian), I still love it. I’ve been trying to figure out if my thoughts and feelings (or lack thereof) on certain subjects are wrong; if they somehow make me less Christian. Reading this made me think “maybe not - maybe I'm reacting exactly as I was built to react.”. In a world full of horrendous sins (sins against children, sexual assaults, murder) I just can’t bring myself to get all worked up about Hooters or strip clubs or porn. Sure, I could get worked up about the stories of those women, and whatever it is some of them may think led them down that path, but those who claim to be happy doing what they’re doing? All power to them. They certainly aren’t hurting me.

And, I am probably always going to be this way on certain subjects. I can’t picture myself sitting back and lamenting with a group of women over the things that we find sacrilegious.

But… I can be moved to tears over a song, and over words that define my feelings towards Christ. I can allow two strangers to pray over me and allow myself to be grateful for their reaching out.

I can make a decision to try and be more understanding of those women and their concerns, even if I don’t fully agree.

I will probably always be a little crass and dark humored as well.

But… I can make an effort to watch myself in certain company. I can try and tone down that part of my personality when it is not appropriate.

Most importantly though, I can remain strong in my faith and my path; no matter how much I feel as though I don't fit in. I can keep reminding myself that just because I may not be just like these women, doesn’t mean I’m doing it wrong - it doesn't mean I should give up. I know I feel God in my heart and by my side on this path to motherhood. I know a lot of Christian women wouldn’t agree with the choices I’ve made there either, but I also know how guided I feel in that direction.

I may always be the problem child in a group of Biblical women, but that doesn’t mean my heart is any less in the right place than theirs.

As I finished Eat, Pray, Love today, I thought “I should probably read the 'Love' section again. And after last night and my inability to pray outloud; maybe I could use a refresher course in 'Pray' too”

At least I’ve got the "Eat" part down!