Birch and Maple

Doctor, Doctor, Gimme The News

I got a bad ca-

Right, sorry.  Cuz, boy, that ain't the truth.

Yesterday started out good, a 'swift' 3-hour ride up north with my mom (Mr Oro was ill and stayed home) up to the clinic for my HSG.  I am most happy to report that there's been very little pain, unlike my first HSG.  Dr 20something was very nice, and happy that I mentioned that I need the long speculum.  She wasn't too gentle about it, but whatever.  I felt the catheter going into my cervix, and the dye being pushed through (still painful), but it was all over quite fast.

And guess what?  Everything is peachy keen.  All the dye spilled out, my fallopian tubes and uterus are normal (I realize the uterus is basically a pocket, but it looked like a damned small pocket to me) and although I have a wee prescription for V*codin, I don't actually need it.  Which, after reading the Notes Of Death (aka, the side effects page) is fine with me.

Now, if that's where things would have ended, that would have been way cool.

So, we took the long way home, as it was rainy and picturesque, made a pee and snack break, whereupon I discovered I was bleeding.  I knew I might spot, but the rush of fluid when I got out of the car was pretty tremendous.  Nonetheless, my maternity (ha!) pad caught most of it and saved my skirt, so things were good.

You can see where this is going, can't you. 

We got home about 45 minutes later.  Then, after several hours filled with multiple pad and underwear changes, the second start of my evening culminated in standing up and:

a) having blood run down my legs and onto the floor
b) blood soaking the lap of my skirt and
c) blood soaking the bottom of my shirt (white, natch)
d) passing a clot the size of my palm

which led to:

e) my calling the clinic ER and then going to my local ER, where I spent the next 2.5 hours bleeding over everything (the chair, various tables, the floor, including a wicked dark clot the size of a walnut that dropped out of my body and onto the floor as I took off my underwear)

After multiple doctors and nurses took a gander at me (their first expressions were variations of 'jebusgod!')(heh) they called in an OB-GYN who proceeded to do more poking and prodding.  My uterus and cervix were unscathed, leading us all to believe that I have a vaginal tear or laceration somewhere.  Thankfully, by the time I got home (1:20AM) the bleeding had slowed, and by morning had stopped completely.

Now that I've been to the ER I feel like a real infertile.  Woo.

Things I have learned while bleeding for 10 hours:

big clots feel funky.
doctors can be skeeved
bleeding makes you really dehydrated
cottonmouth is yucky
bleeding makes you really tired
not even Stephen Colbert can make it better

How was your day?

Vital Statistics

I'm 38 years old today.

No kids.

No pension.

No insurance.

Unemployed.

Living with the parent.

Without children, does the future even have meaning?

Hmm.

First of all, brownies are bad.  My 'meals' yesterday, which wwere less of the plural and more of an all day singular, consisted of eggs, a buttery (please note oven temps might be a little on the high side), half a pan of brownies, two Lindt chocolates,  fish crackers (Peppridge Farms), a slice of cheese, a glass of milk, haggis, and the worst enchiladas in the world (Sainsburys 'America's Favorites' brand, to which I say, ptooie).

Today I fared a little better, so long as I don't tell you what I just ate for my dinner.  Once again, brownies and a buttery were involved.  With bacon.  And cheese-stuffed jalapenos.

Anyhoo, no krazee kustomers (I always want to write 'costumers') today, just the normal stupid ones.

Did you all know about Curves and this??  I'd thought about attending one once we moved back, but now you can just fuhgeddabadit.

Tomorrow, more scintillating pregnancy talk, and hey, Gwen Stefani, congrats on knocking Brittney from the numer uno MILF spot.

At least until Angelina gets preggers.

Oro out.

What Do You Call It When...

...women you know from work actually get pregnant?

It's not technically a drive-by, because everyone knows they're knocking boots, but, I dunno.  The one who is now 5 weeks pregnant, she's the one who had a miscarriage 2.5 years ago, and has had bizarre periods, extreme moodiness, and severe menstrual pain ever since.  I'm ecstatic for her.  She's been undergoing testing all this year, but recently found out that it's male factor infertility.  We hugged and shed a tear or two in the staff room.  I wanted to cry for a hell of a lot longer than that but I held it together for the entire day.

Except for when she started talking about how she's (you know what's coming, don't you) been so much more, y'know, relaxed, this year.  I said, If you say that to me I will fucking slap you, baby or no.

No, really, I did.

This was followed by 'so-and-so got pregnant after 8 years' and 'you can never know how long it's going to take'.  She's off to Spain for a week from tomorrow, which is good, because then I don't have to call in 'sick'. 

One of those 24 hour things, obviously. 

I know she's worried about miscarrying again, and there's nothing I can say to relieve that worry.  I can only hope she doesn't.  What's worse, I'd brought in some Brigham & Women's Clinic literature that my mom had sent me, that I thought I'd share with her.  Talk about the elephant in the living room...there was no subtle way to put it back in my back, so I just did.  She and the coworker below laughed merrily as they watched.  Those fancy infertility clinic booklets, who knew they were so! damned! funny!

One of my other coworkers has been focussed on having a baby since last year.  She's 23.  She's been bonking her brains out for months, but nada.

I've been so proud of myself for being open about my infertility at work, but now I can see that I was on crack.  Shoulda kept my trap shut.  I think I'll stick with you fine ladies and gents for the far, far, far future. 

~*~

We have a customer who as of today is called Mental Man.  I was convinced he couldn't read, but he can write, so I guess that's out.  He's a complete pain in the ass, however, and really, a customer we all hate.

Um, yeah.

I Pity The Fool.

Walking home tonight, I saw the following graffitoed onto the phone booth by the bus stop:

Fuck off Niggers

I'll give you one guess as to the color of the family that moved in up the road about three weeks ago.

I'm glad I'll be gone by summer 2006, because I don't want to have to deal with that shit.  It was bad enough getting the BNP (link leads to Wikipedia) flyer through the door two months after we'd moved in.

The Beginning of the End?

Last month's cycle: 25 days, 2.5 days with our old pal, menses.

Today: 24 days, day 1.

Last month was the shortest period ever in my life, and 24 days is my second shortest cycle in the 7 years I've been charting.

Is it the beginning of the end?  Do I still have a chance?  How do I do this?

Eta: no, there's no point in seeing a doctor over here.  I see no reason to fuck myself over again.  And speaking of doctors, who do you see in the US to get a metformin prescription?  Gyno?  GP?  Witch doctor?

This Just In: Men More Intelligent Than Women

/. puts this in the 'written-by-men' department.  Scroll down to read the comments.

~*~

Dear Customers,

I would like to remind you that the way to get good service (or at least service where it isn't obvious the salesperson wants to smack you over the head with something far harder than a wet noodle) is not to insult the products in the store or the sales staff (or waiters).  We don't care if you're having a bad day - it's not our fault (and believe me, we could make it be a bad day).

Thank you,

Chirpy McSaleperson

Dear Flasher,

You not only disgusted the lady you flashed, but you've succeeded in disgusting every single member of staff as well.  Even the male staff. 

Btw, kudos on escaping the police for 3 days running.  You wouldn't think a five foot tall, stinky little man with a full gray beard would be so damned difficult to find, but you've managed it.  I have an idea - don't come back to my store, mmkay?

Sincerely,

Gagme McSpoon

~*~

As to when we're going to move, well...probably in the next six months, assuming Mr Oro gets the nod from Homeland Security. (am I the only one who thinks that sounds Fascist?)  We're looking into either selling or renting our house, although it's looking like selling would be better, as it looks like we'd earn a $15-30k profit.

~*~

Tam, thanks for the info!  I still don't think that gives English people to call Scottish money 'play money'.  That's a good way to earn yourself a Glasgow Kiss, ya wee bastards.

~*~

Donna, gah, doesn't it make you want to go postal??  If I were from another country I wouldn't let go of my citizenship, either.  No offense to anyone who has, but I just don't get it. 

Dear Internal Spring

Sweetie, I don't know what to say, but I do hope you continue blogging.  Infertility may no longer be your number one priority, but I think we can still support you in the latest direction you're taking.

And even if you don't, please check in and let us know how you're doing, okay?

I Am Bored

Seeing as I have a novel to rewrite, I have of course been procrastinating all day. I've spent most of the afternoon looking for an 8.5 x 11 (or 9 x 12) blank book, hardbound, with a fabric cover and sewn-in, unlined paper.  Virtually everything I've found has been the wrong size, which is immensely frustrating.  I eventually caved and ordered one of Paperblank's Shakespearean journals, even though it's too small.  I need books like these, for I use one per novel, writing down all my thoughts and research and 'plot', character lines, etc.  Much better than having a spiral bound notebook, the kind that tend to get damaged or have pages ripped out, which of course then necessitates folders to keep said pages in.  Annoying as hell.

It's funny, how rereading the notes for my novel has lead to the discovery of notes for the other novels I'd had planned oh so long ago.  It's good stuff, and I can foresee I'm going to have trouble actually rewriting the not-so-good parts.  What I want to do is excise them completely, and simply write new bits.  Which is, in essence, basically writing a new novel on the base of the old, and I'm not sure I'm up for that.  And the bad thought that maybe my novel needs to be split into three novels keeps cropping up, which is bad, because I don't need that kind of work.  If I get an agent and they suggest I do so, well, that's another matter.  It could work, if I slooooowed things up...

You'd think the novel and all the things we need to do to move back to the US  would take my lack of a baby off my mind, but it hasn't.  There's Grrl posting about her son, and it's almost, but not quite, too painful to read.  There's a work colleague desperate to get pregnant (G, one guess as to who I'm talking about), another about to undergo IUI, a lot of people undergoing treatment of one type or another while I just sit here and wait.   There's the anxiety of returning home and being asked why I don't have kids yet, and if I want them, and the why-don't-you-just questions.  Admittedly, I always think the worst, but then, I try to expect the worst, because that way it doesn't hurt so much.  And no, it's never too early to get anxious, why do you ask?

Maybe it's all part of my Blog Depression (courtesy of Cecily).  I have been avoiding blogs, for the same reason I avoid lowcarbeating.com - it's too hard to watch people do something I can't, and I can't stand the 'you can do it if you just try!' crap. 

Speaking of food, I can see my double chin is getting bigger, and so is my belly. 

Not good.

I have no motivation to do anything about it.  I am not eating candy or potatoes or bread, although I am eating a lot of fruit.  Today I had three peaches, two nectarines, and half a melon, along with two eggs, two slices of cheese, a glass of milk, some chocolate, a bowl of homemade butternut squash and sweet potato soup, and a bowl of haggis.  That's a lotta carbs, my internets, and I am feeling it.  My face looks like crap too, so of course we had to go take emigration pictures yesterday, just to add to the general feeling of 'hey, you look like shit!'.  To be honest, I can't even imagine looking any different.  Maybe in my next life.

I figured out why SF doesn't feature babies and small children or parents: it's boring as shit.  If I'd known Memory of Fire was going to contain:

• neglectful, money grubbing adoptive parents
• an adoptee finding her 'real' parents
• an 'adorable' two year old toddler
• a mom glad her stomach is still flat and her ass pert and small
• two romances
• urban fantasy

I would never have bought it.  And guess what, I don't think I'm going to finish it, either.  Holly Lisle's a great writer, but I think I'll be avoiding her books from now on.

Maybe someday I'll be able to continue to read blogs and books featuring pregnancy and babies.

In other news, they showed the first episode of Lost on C4 the other night, and I am hooked. 

Yet Another News Flash

Well, according to the BBC, Infertility is caused by STD's and Obesity!

It's good to know that we're all loose, fat floozies. Thank you, BBC, for clearing that up.

In other health news, guess which health authority has a $40 million dollar overspend?  Why, that would be NHS Grampian, home of the fertility clinic that gave me the boot.

Hmmm.  Why, it's enough to make a person think that there was no logical reason for them to be dropped from a medical program they need.

But who, pray tell, would ever be so paranoid and bitter, thinking such terrible, horrible, mean and nasty thoughts about those dedicated medical professionals??

~*~

Look, we've had visitors!!  I really need a pet.  But I won't have one, not yet.

~*~

My birthday was uneventful.  Mr Oro gave me the Star Wars trilogy box set, and for our anniversary we did nothing.  I worked, he chilled.  Also, it's been incredibly hot (don't laugh, now), a whopping 77F with high humidity, the kind where you sweat standing still.  Just awful. Of course I had to work, and since few stores in the UK have anything remotely like air condition, let's say that 'sweltering' was the appropriate word.

Oro out (do you like this Seacrest thing?  Let me know.)