Archive for August, 2008

First off – Dog. Dog is good. Her name is Nellie – as in “Nervous Nellie” or possibly “Nosy Nellie”. She is, what could charitably be called, timid. Since my previous dog was so overly confident that she once jumped into a river. From a cliff. To rescue my husband. Who actually wasn’t drowning. Even though she couldn’t swim. It took a long time to fish her out, convince her that she was the only one in trouble, and that maybe she shouldn’t have jumped from quite so high a distance anyway. The vet loved my previous dog. Her hijinks put his eldest through college.

Nellie doesn’t suffer from this sort of self-delusion.

She is a princess, and she knows she’s a princess. This means that people are there to protect her. Certainly not the other way around. It also means she suffers from sighthound anorexia. ie: she’s been here for three days now, and has possibly consumed two cups of food in that time. Need to work on that.

She is, however, a cuddler, despite being all elbows and knees and sharp pointy noses. Raised by a gay couple, she instantly bonded with boy, but is less sure what to make of me. Taking her jogging helped, although I think she’d be just as happy to never leave the house again.

But the step-daughters like her as much as they can like anything to do with me. And the boy is being a veritable saint about this all. She makes his eyes itch when she licks him, and because of her thing for boys, she tries to lick him quite often.

I am better, emotionally, than I have been in a very very long time. It’s so good to have something besides coming home from work to look forward to in the morning. It’s so good to have a dose of doggie-joy when I come home. It’s so nice to be needed and looked for by half of the members of this household instead of just by 1/3 of them.

Nellie is the best.

No side-effects from the DHEA so far, and it’s been about a week. Bleeding still hasn’t stopped, but it’s definitely spotting now, not full on bleeding. My skin is looking better than usual, and I’m feeling happy (though, again, I’m inclined to give that credit to the boy for giving me the dog.) Trying for optimism, here, but willing to settle for cautious interest. This could still all come to shit. I’m having an MRI on the 5th, a week from tomorrow, and that should either rule out Adenomyosis, or it’ll rule out ever having a baby. No big.


And, continuing in that optimism-vein, assuming everything goes the way we hope, we’re then going to be waiting for me to have a REAL period (Yay, more blood!) at which point we can try to figure out exactly what we’re doing in October. At the moment, there’s a writing convention in Calgary that I’m planning to attend. A writers’ con. that I’ve gone to every year for the past many, where I reconnect with friends not seen since last year’s convention, and also where I met the boy. I have a lot of reasons to want to attend, but not if it comes in the middle of stimming. There’s one up in Albany, too, that I’d like to go to, but that one I can attend even if I just go up for an overnight in between appointments. Boy would, I think, like me to delay this next cycle so that nothing could possibly interfere, but then it just gets stupid. There’s Thanksgiving. There’s Christmas. And no, I don’t think it’s reasonable to wait until January. We’re under some hormonal constraints here!

So, yeah, more waiting, though since I get to pop pills three times a day, I do feel like I’m accomplishing something. Eggs on Drugs! Yes!


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I have a dog. Well, actually, we have a dog.
And, actually, unfortunately for me, this particular dog seems to prefer the boy – whose eyes itch when she comes too near and who doesn’t particularly like dogs.


This is, no doubt, the result of having been raised in a girl-free home, but it is, nevertheless, a bit disconcerting.

After two years of whining, begging, and finally demanding, I have a dog who doesn’t particularly like me.

Let us all hope, for the sake of my sanity, that this state of affairs reverses itself when I become the one who goes on all the walks.


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Not in so many words, but my doctor just basically said to me that Dr. Bigshot’s full of shit.

Ok, so not really, I’m reading between the lines here, but he did express professional disagreement with Bigshot’s insta-diagnosis of “worst case of Adenomyosis I’ve ever seen.” My doctor thinks this bleeding is just the result of my poor, over-abused hormonal system trying to figure out which end is up, and that we’re still just seeing varicosities on the ultrasound, because of their position relative to the endometrium & uterine walls, because I’ve had really no pain to speak of since the miscarriage, during my normal (hah) periods, etc. He also made the point rather strongly that a diagnosis like this should never be made on the basis of one ultrasound, at least not where the patient can hear you. He seems pretty confident that if I had a case of AM that was as bad as all this, I wouldn’t be functional for 3 weeks out of the month.

But, since my doc. also realizes that hearing two completely different things from professional colleagues is disconcerting, to say the least, and since this is something that can be definitively ruled out with an MRI, he suggested I get myself to an MRI center &, um, rule it out. A peace of mind third opinion to be the tie-breaker. So I’ll make the appointment, and have it done, but he seemed pretty satisfied that we were still looking at weirdo veins, but nothing new, nothing scary, nothing that would make it impossible for me to carry a pregnancy to term.

Especially since a good solid implantation was not a problem. At all.

Have I mentioned that I really like my doctor, and that Dr. Bigshot just pisses me off every time I have to deal with him? I think next time I have to have an ultrasound with anyone other than my doc, I’ll just pass & come back the next day. Because, really, my reproductive life’s too short for this kind of stressful shit.

If the big black holes currently taking up space in the wall of my uterus do turn out to be a wicked case of Adenomyosis, my doctor did allow that he would recommend against ever trying IVF again. He also seems pretty sensitive to how hard losing this baby hit me, and seemed to be recommending DE pretty seriously – I think simply because it has such a better live birth rate than using 38 year old eggs.

After talking it over with the boy, we decided that while I am not averse to using DE, I do want one shot of using my own eggs on DHEA. (Eggs on Drugs! Boy said it sounded like a particularly scary band, and I had to agree.) However, if we strike out, or if I miscarry again (and I would opt for a D&C with genetic testing), then we’ll probably go that route and not look back since we’re such a bad match for adoption.

And my doc gave me a prescription for DHEA, and told me to start taking it at any time. Supposedly, it’s going to make me feel like a teenager again. No, not in a good way. Pimples, greasy hair, crazy moodswings. However, I’ve always had blah skin, oily hair, and, er, crazy moodswings, so I suppose I could be one of the lucky ones that it just levels everything out, just like when I was pregnant. That would be nice.

Oh, and my HCG levels are down under 10. I’m officially not-pregnant. That’s nice too.

And, assuming I get a real period one of these days/weeks/months, we might be ready to start trying for a sprog of our own again in a month and a half or so. Which is good because I’m missing the needles, let me tell you. Actually, I’m just feeling old and used-up. I’ll turn 39 in a few months, and that’s just scaring me to death. Stupid prematurely aging ovaries.

So I guess, on a whacked out level, today is the first day of prep for my next IVF cycle.

Assuming I get another cycle, which I’m going to try very hard to keep assuming. Optimism. Yeah. I vaguely remember that feeling. Shall make the MRI appointment on Monday, since there’s no real rush, other than a need to know, at this point. And then I can settle into a nice long stretch of anticipation & crazy-making hormone manipulation.

Not that I know what that’s like or anything…

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Ah fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Went in for another HCG test today & mentioned that I’m still bleeding, er, heavily.

Wasn’t my doctor but the gruff guy whose bedside manner sucks.

Looks like all ‘products of conception’ have left the building, but, I’ve developed(?) “the most severe case of adenomyosis [doctor] has ever seen”


He gives me no information after this, just says, “It’s like endometriosis, only in the muscular wall of your uterus”.

So, how do I get rid of it?

“The best way to treat it is through a successful pregnancy.” He actually said that to me.

Um, Doc? I’m at a fertility clinic, and I’m still bleeding too much from my latest miscarriage. Pregnancy is something that I find rather difficult to achieve, let alone succeed at, you sodding smug bastard.

And, Dr. Google is scaring the shit out of me – hey, miscarriage is a typical problem for women with moderate cases of this.

And no one can tell me why this was never diagnosed before if it’s as severe as all that. Wondering if this is actually what my doctor saw & diagnosed as ‘varicose uterine veins’. Wonder if he’s right, or if Dr.I’mTheTopSpecialistAtThisClinic is right. Wonder if it matters.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

So, now we know why I keep bleeding long past when it should have stopped.


Heard back from the nurse, and my HCG levels haven’t zeroed out yet – they’re at 14. So I go back in on Friday, at which time I’ll also talk to my own doctor, who will, I hope, be a bit more forthcoming with actual info instead of scary words and half-assed explanations.

Hoping to get going again on pregnancy not only for purpose of, well, baby-result, but also to avoid bleeding for 3 out of every 4 weeks for the rest of my life, but since I need to demonstrate an actual, normal period before that, who knows when the hell that’s going to happen.

And I’m scared to death that everything’s just going to get worse from here on out. Scared that this is the reason I miscarried. Scared that any pregnancy I do manage, is going to end just the same way. All the literature I found keeps talking about how in severe cases of this, the best way to achieve pregnancy is to hire a surrogate.

Yeah, well, not going to happen. And I don’t want to be bleeding all the time for the rest of my pathetically fucked up reproductive life. My mother didn’t hit menopause until her early 60s. So I can look forward to being severely anemic, exhausted, and generally sick-feeling from constant blood loss for the next 20 years? Goddamn it. Why can’t one single thing work out the way it should? Why can’t I catch a single fucking break? I really don’t feel like I’m asking too much from life here.

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Have I mentioned before how much I dislike waiting?

Waiting to complete a missed miscarriage rated right up there with my least favorite things in the whole world. July 2008 will probably always go down as the Month of Misery, in my book at least.

But waiting to STOP bleeding, waiting to feel like this whole stupid, pointless experience is finally over? I’m not liking this much, either.

Now, truly, I’m not losing a huge amount of blood each day, at least not compared to the last two & a half weeks; it’s just a constant, steady loss. But having said that, enduring what amounts to a heavy (for me) period every day for going on three weeks now is no joke. It’s no frickin’ wonder I’m tired all the time.

And nothing sounds good except maybe steak. Rare steak. For breakfast. And maybe another bit of meat for lunch and, well, since it’s more of a traditional dinner food, it would surely be a nice way to end the day, digging into a nice bit of beef. Of course, the heart attack waiting to happen that steak three times a day would be has kept me from living that particular culinary dream. But it sure sounds good. Better than the ice cream, even, which in my world is pure and simple sacrilege.

The other side of that, though is that I’m getting almost as tired of eating meat (or just craving meat) as I am of bleeding. And that’s awful damned tired, let me assure you.

But, ever-hopeful is sort of the IVF watchword, and so I’m fervently hoping that when I go in for what I hope is my final HCG check on Monday, that my bleeding will either be GONE, miraculously tapered off to nothing over the weekend, or at least that my doctor will wave his Magic(ultrasound)Wand, assure me that everything’s been passed, and then maybe let me start taking DHEA supplements to prepare for the next try instead of making me wait for a real period, which, at this rate, might happen sometime in November. If I’m feeling wild & crazy, I imagine the good doc prescribing something estrogen-ish to convince my uterus that the emergency evacuation is over now, and would it kindly go back to being a fairly unobtrusive part of my body again…?

Not that I even know if there is such an estrogen-ish thing prescribed for such a reason, but I honestly can’t believe that it’s important for my body to keep bleeding like this. And hell, hormone manipulation is something that my body responds really really well to – not to mention being something that’s right up my doctor’s proverbial alley. And hey – I’ve been astonished at the different things that estrogen-ish pills and patches and pokes in the belly and ass have wrought in the last four months, so why not another application for the stuff? As long as I’ve given in to the artificial shit, let’s go whole-hog and do it right, eh?

Or maybe I’ll just go eat another hunk of meat. I begin to understand the concept of vampirism. I’ll bet being a hungry vampire feels a lot like this – gauging the appeal of every meal based on how red and drippy it is.

Blech, says this recovering vegetarian.

RIght before I start wondering if it might be time for a midnight snack…

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Simply because I’m sick about posting about the gross stuff coming out of the lower part of my body, here’s a meme dealing with all about the gross stuff that can go into the top part. Have fun.

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare

5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart

16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava

30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float

36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat

42. Whole insects (Dried caterpillars count? What if it’s ants in chocolate?)
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle

57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores

62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe

74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail

79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky

84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers

89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab

93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee

100. Snake

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So I was thinking, yesterday, about posting a blog today about how nothing dramatic ever happens anymore, (besides finding out that I’m too anemic to donate blood because I’ve been dripping little teeny-tiny bits of blood every day over the last two weeks.) But then I decided not to write it because, really, in the greater scheme of almost anything, spotting is boring.

But then last night. Ah, last night. It was a night made for a bit of conjugal joy, because really, folks, I’m feeling 100% these days, other than the occasional pink-stained t.p. And the boy is leaving for another college-investigatory trip with daughter, and what with the prospect of being apart for three days…

(and yeah, I know we’re pathetic, but hey, otherwise this whole infertility thing would be easy to solve with just a bit more attention paid to make sure we’re actually having sexjust like the good doctors ordered.)


Anyway, after the festivities, while performing my normal womanly ablutions, I noticed that, well, blood was running down my legs Er, quite a lot. And all of a sudden I was passing huge clots again – though without the killer cramping, this time. Just bleeding and bleeding and bleeding. What a night.

I guess the conjugal joy thing was a bad idea, so no need to tell me so. But I’m usually pretty good at gauging my own body, so this took me completely by surprise.

I guess it aint over yet, which is a shame, because just between you & me? This whole bleeding thing is really getting old. Sort of messy this morning, but I don’t think my uterus has actually turned inside out and left the premises yet, which is good, because I’ve got plans for her if I can ever get back on track.


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