Wednesday, October 27, 2010


Purgatory is waiting around for your pregnancy test, which is scheduled for the end of the week.

It's wandering aimlessly around the house, with no real work to speak of (both a blessing and a curse during this time), being limited physically and crippled emotionally. It's wondering how much you can take before you go mad. It's knowing that, either way, you'll never quite be the same again.

Purgatory is abstaining from almost everything you love, possibly for no reason whatsoever. It's decaf coffee and juice and walking (without the dogs) and watching other people ride your horse. It's preparing yourself for the worst while hoping for he best; running scenario after scenario through your head as you pace the halls like a caged tiger, dissatisfied and intensely aware of every ticking second.

Purgatory means you stop enjoying the things you used to love...well, the things you used to love that you are ALLOWED to do, according to the new rules set forth by your doctor. It's distraction, coupled with a bad taste in your mouth that leaves you dead in front of the television, wishing it was two days from now and evaluating your body for the slightest foreign twinge. A cramp here. Tenderness there. What if....what if...?

I won't be able to blog about the results of Fridays test. If it's good news (dear god, let it be good news), then you don't talk about it until you're past the first tenuous weeks. If its bad news...well...there are some feelings so visceral that even I won't be able to find the words to express them.

Please, let this week be over.
Please, let me take back my life, even if it's in bits and pieces when it's done.

This ghost of a person that I've become....let her find peace, no matter what the outcome.

Give me heaven or hell, ecstacy or sorrow.
Anything...anything...other than purgatory.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Doing the SHIT out of Halloween

I'm in a weird mood today.

First, I was feeling all "hahah funny" and was going to post about my halloween scare-venture. Then, for no reason at all, I started (well, continued) thinking about this infertility crap and I got sad.

Then I had breakfast.

Then I considered making a fort out of the couch cushions.

Then I remembered that Milo ate the couch cushions, so I went back online and here we are.

In summary, I'm all silly-sad-angry
(but not hungry. Thank god for small blessings)

I guess I can still blame it on the hormones, although these days they're coming in pill form instead of shot form, which is super cool and has increased my hydration level by, like, 30%. Except for that one hormone that comes in....suppository...form, and we don't really talk about THAT hormone.

Or I could blame it on the stress of finding out if the IVF "took" this Friday, which, BTW, is guarenteed to be the LONGEST DAY OF MY LIFE.

Or I could just blame it on Milo, because honestly, what problems CAN'T be blamed on that asshole?

Regardless, I'm all wonked out and not good for much other than drinking decaf coffee (shank me) and rambling endlessly on this here blog.

The Halloween activity was decidedly NOT scary. The scariest thing about the whole night was being surrounded by awkward teenage girls in skinny jeans and Ugg boots, uncomfortably holding hands with gangly teenage boys desperately in need of haircuts.

For realz, you could not pay me enough to be a teenager again.

The rest of the attraction was a little hoaky and a LOT random (aliens carrying chainsaws?!? WHAT?!?!?), which was exacerbated when I got the giggles and couldn't stop laughing at the poor "actors" (and I use this term loosely) trying their best to jump out and frighten me.

I think I hurt their feelings.

But it's made me want to up the ante, and perhaps next year, you'll find me at the Bates Motel or some shit like that.

We also carved pumpkins.

And I don't want to brag, but it's entirely possible that I made the best jack-o-lantern ever the history of jack-o-lanterns

I'm having that shit BRONZED, yo!

Halloween was also celebrated in the form of pumpkin chili and our annual reading of McSweeney's "It's Decorative Gourd Season, MotherFuckers"....and if you have not read this yet I STRONGLY ENCOURAGE YOU to click on the link, because this is the funniest shit EVER WRITTEN about fall.

I'm having the entire thing put onto a cross-stitch sampler for my mother this year, FOR REALZ.

So yeah, we're doing the SHIT out of Halloween this year, and I'm loving every minute of it.

That's all for now. I'm running low on decaf, and I've got another pumpkin with my name on it.
Happy fall, fuck-faces

(it's a McSweeney's reference. If you didn't get it, then you didn't click on the link, and we can probably most likely not be friends anymore. Please turn in your friendship bracelet and the other half of my heart necklace)

Friday, October 22, 2010

On Halloween, and Soiling Myself

For the record, let it be said that I Luh-HUV Halloween.
Love the shit out of it.
I love the decorations and the scary movies on TV and the ridiculous costumes that we dress our children (or animals) in.
For realz, I'd do sexy times with Halloween and even let it take me shopping and kiss it on the mouth, which is totally against my rules, but that is how much I love Halloween, people.

However, even I have my limits.

For one thing, I really don't like dressing up.
I know - I'm a total buzz-kill.
Everything about my personality says that I should be the first one throwing on that sexy pirate wench/sexy witch/sexy nun costume and the last one taking it off (unless I drink too much beer, at which point I've been known to remove clothing prematurely).
But something about all this time and effort and money spent to look like something that you're clearly not ....I just seems a little silly.
Because no matter how much I may look like that sexy pirate wench, we all know that I'm just a medical writer from NJ.
(not to mention the fact that if I WAS, in fact, a pirate wench, I'd probably choose a more servicable hem length...and not wear stilettos, what with all the rocking on the high seas...)
So what's the point?
However, I WILL say that I found a full-sized banana costume at Target the other day, and the amazing image in my head of me, waltzing around a party in as a banana, has kind of convinced me that for the right costume, maybe I'd change this position.

Another thing I don't do is the haunted corn maze/wagon ride/prison what-have-you.
Because that shit scares the baJESUS out of me.
Some horrible creature will jump out of the dark, and everyone screams and then kind of laughs and moves on....meanwhile, I'm in the fetal position on the ground, laying in my own feces and vomit, playing dead and hoping the monster won't actually kill me.
I don't know what it is about these attractions...
I can tell myself over and over again that it's not real and it's just for fun, but then I'm forced to walk down this dark hallway and I know for a fact that there are things down that hallway waiting to get me, and I have this moment, right before I pass out from fear, when I'm all, I paid good money for THIS?!?!?
And then I die.
I seriosly die, because I am so freakin' scared.

And don't even get me started on haunted mazes.
Because REAL mazes, in the daytime, terrify me, let alone when they're filled with human-eating zombies and whatnot.
I mean, what if I can't get out? What if I get lost in the maze and they never find me?
THIS is what goes through my head when I encounter a beautiful hedge maze in a garden in May.
Turn down the lights and add heart-attack-inducing characters?
No sir.
Not this sucker.
I'll sit on the bench outside the maze and hold everyone's purses and wait for them to come out....if they make it, that is.

So how, for the love of god, has my sister convinced me to go on a combination haunted hayride/haunted woods walk-through this weekend?
Well...I'm still not sure.

Maybe I want to face all my old enemies and see if I still soil myself at the first mummy
Maybe I want to prove that I'm older and wiser now and can recognize cheesy haunted theatrics when I see it.
Or maybe I'm just tired of holding everybody's purses.

I dunno.

But come Saturday, you'll find me on a haunted hayride to hell, either laughing at the cheesy haunted theatrics....or pooping my pants.
Just like always.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Fat Cat and Me

Fat cat (FC): Lily
Me: What
FC: You're not going to believe this.
Me: Believe what? I'm working...leave me alone
FC: I'm serious. Come quick! It's wild!
Me: Jesus christ...fine. Just gimme a second...
FC: No, you have to come NOW! It might not be here in a second!!
Me: FINE, fine...I'm coming, okay? What's so damn important that I have to stop working...
*follows cat to the water bowel in the kitchen
FC: Check it out.
Me: Check WHAT out?
FC: *touches paw to water: THIS
Me: This what? What are we looking at? Is there a stink bug in there again?
Me: What? Water?
FC: Yeah.....water.
Me: What about it?
FC: Dude....what do you mean? It's crazy. Look what happens when you touch it!
*touches paw to water again
Me: ...I'm speechless.
FC: ME TOO! Aren't you glad I brought you out here to see it?
Me: Dude. No. You're an idiot.
FC: What the hell are you talking about? This could be the next greatest discovery of our time!
Me: No, it's water. You do this EVERY DAY. You sit in front of it and put your paw in it and then lick your paw and look at it again as if it's some miracle. And then I have to explain to you that it's not a miracle...that it's just WATER...and then you go and lick your privates. Every. Goddamn. Day.
FC: ....Really?
Me:...really're saying...that I've seen this substance before...
Me: Yes. I'm saying that you're a moron.
Me:...but nothing. It's water. it keeps us alive. It's there, in a bowel, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.
FC:...Oh...but look how cool it is! I touch it...and then it's on my paw...
Me: *sigh
FC: And look! There's a cat in it! Did you know there's a cat in there?!?
Me: That's your REFLECTION, retard.
FC: My what?
Me: Your REFLEC...oh, nevermind. Yeah, there's a cat in there. His name is Larry.
FC: *looks in the bowel: HI LARRY
Me: God, you really ARE an idiot
FC: Sometimes there's a dog in there too - but only when Jericho comes around.
Me: I bet he's a big black dog.
FC: How did you know?!? Have you seen him too?!?
Me: Yeah. He's awesome. Can I go back to work now?
FC: Hmmmmm?? What? Oh, yeah, sorry. Go back to work. I'm going to hang out with Larry some more. Between you and me, he looks like he could use a friend.
Me: Okay, you do that. And Fat Cat?
FC: Yeah?
Me: Try not to fall in this time
FC: Yeah, yeah...

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

The Hormones Wish To Speak

I didn't intend this blog to be all about my infertility.
I intended it to be about my LIFE.

But then again, my LIFE is all about infertility these days, so I guess it makes sense that I would devote a couple of posts to fertility treatment.

Welcome to my hell
(please leave your dignity at the door).

Of course, I need to state for the record that despite all my grumbling, I am 100% grateful that infertility is covered by my health insurance. Without it, we'd either be out a cool $25,000 (that does not exist), or be shopping for kids in Guatamala.
Which may still happen yet, depending on if this fancy schmancy $25,000 procedure

Still, grateful isn't exactly what I'm feeling when I'm injecting 2 ccs of hormones into my body, several times a day...despite my best efforts.
And grateful isn't exactly what I'm feeling when I can barely stand upright because my ovaries are having a block party and bringing down the house.

The roof...the roof...the roof is on fire!!!

What I am every emotion known to man. In about a 5 minute period, none the less.
I have recieved three heartwarming cards in the last 24 hours, and cried while reading every. single. one.
I had some negative faculty feedback about my work, only to feel overwhelmed, sad, angry, and nonchalant in the first two minutes of recieving this feedback.
I've gotten seriously mad at Brian for existing.
That's it.
Just continuing to breath oxygen and take up space.

And that, my friends, is when you know that you need to just chill the fuck out, have a cup of coffee and chocolate croissant, and talk about your feeling.

Which couldn't be more unlike me.

And then there is....the procedure.
I'll spare you the details, but it starts with "ultrasound needle" and ends with "vaginal wall"

And it's scheduled to happen this Thursday.


In other words, this hormonal pin-cushion of a woman is about to get very unpleasant things done to her, all for the sake of having a baby.

Shit. Is. Wild.

I have to go now.
I'm getting my ass handed to me with a project that was doomed from the start, making this week even more awesomer.
I mean, who doesn't like trying to handle boatloads of stress when they have enough FSH, HCG, and DO-RE-MI in their body to chemically castrate a bull elephant?!?

Wish me luck on Thursday.
And a prescription for good, strong pain medication.

Because I'm going to need a crap-ton of both.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Babies. Fuck.

Dear Couple That I've Been Friends With Since Highschool.

You're expecting!

I sure didn't see that one coming.
Of course, I should have seen it coming - after all, you're married, and babies are the next obvious step. But the hormones that I'm shooting into my body 3 times a day make it so that if I'm not prepared for this kind of news, its going to upset me.

Like, makes me want to slam my forehead into a cement wall repeatedly until I knock myself unconsious kind of upsets me.

Like, makes me want to drive my car into the nearest tree at 70mph kind of upsets me.

Like, makes me want to participate in self-mutilation because clearly I'm not a suitable wife - or woman, for that matter - and I might as well just rip out all of my girly parts for all the good their doing me kind of upsets me.

Please don't take it personally.

You both are wonderful people and we have a long, LONG history together. You, guy, you were both the officiant AND the caterer at my wedding, while you, girl, coordinated the procession and helped out in a million other ways. I love you both, and you will always hold a special place in my heart.

So please, don't be offended if I freeze like a deer in the headlights the next time we see each other. Please don't be alarmed when all I manage to get out is, "hey, congrats on the new..." before i burst into tears. And please, by all means, don't take it personally when I attempt to claw your eyes out with my bare hands because the injustice of this situation is just so painfully obvious.

I mean, hey, it's a wonderful thing, right?
You do the baby dance and've got yourselves a bun in the oven.

I bet you didn't have to make a million trips to the doctor's office.
I bet you didn't have to submit yourselves to multpile humiliating and sometimes extremely painful tests.
I bet you didn't have to pay hundreds of dollars in out-of-pocket expenses (although I'm aware that without insurance, we'd be spending tens of thousands of dollars, and I am eternally grateful for having such awesome insurance)
I bet you didn't have to take a class to learn how to stick needles into your body, and then proceed to jab yourself multiple times a day until your tummy and thighs are covered in bruises and the smell of alcohol makes you instantly cringe.
Hell, I bet you didn't even have to suffer through the various side effects of the hormones coming out of those needles (which, btw, include mood swings and flu-like symptoms. super fun stuff)

Nope, I bet you guys just split a bottle wine and had at it.

And now you get to sit back and watch this little miracle grow. You get to buy books and set up a nursery and look at clothes and pick out names, and smile that little secret smile at each other because you are creating a family at this very moment.

But please, if I may have just one request.
While you're shopping for strollers and picking out paint colors, please...please...please...don't forget - not even for one second - how lucky you are.
Please don't forget that it's not this easy for some people.
Please don't forget that some people are going through hell for a shot at what you created with such ease.
Please don't forget how things could have happened.

So again, congrats.
You are both sure to be wonderful parents.
But forgive me if I don't jump up and down with joy.
I've got miles to go before I'm done with this journey, and my legs are very, very tired.

Love and kisses,
Lily's hormones

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

A Close Goddamn Call

My dilemma over what to do with this blog came to a head last night while my husband, my sister and I were playing Wineopoly and imbibing a shiraz or two (natch).

I expressed, more or less, that this blog isn't what it used to be. That I had read posts from a year ago and god DAMN were they funny. That I just wasn't the same person I was back then...that I had outlets now and a happy life and that just didn't make for funny posts...that I felt like every time I blogged I was disappointing my readers...etc, with much slurring.

And in response, my sister expressed, more or less, that I should always choose a happy life over an awesome blog, and that although I shouldn't stop blogging, maybe I should put this particular blog to rest....etc, and then she knocked over a wine glass

Then I pointed out, more or less, that when I lost all of my blog formatting, it felt kind of like a sign, and is it really the same blog anymore without all my stuff on it?...etc, while trying to feed Milo a playing piece because it was in the shape of a wedge of cheese

So she pointed out, more or less, that the universe is usually pretty good at handing out signs, and I should probably listen to it, but in the end, it doesn't really matter because this is just one of many lives we will have in our attempt to reach nirvana...etc, buddhism whatnot...blah blah blah...while almost falling out of her chair

In other words, I was ready to end this blog for realz last night.

But while typing this today, I've decided that I'm not ready to let go. Not yet, at least. Somewhere in me is that woman who could write some seriously funny shit. Somewhere in me is that bizarre, creative, wonky person who managed to get at least 87 people (give or take) to commit to follow her daily ramblings.

And while this person is seriously in hiding, I don't think she's gone yet.

So I'll keep this blog around for a little while longer, hoping she turns up now and again to make you snort coffee out your nose.

Because that's what she would want me to do.