I'm screwed up. That's all there is to it. There's something about dealing with infertility that makes you permanently insane. And it comes from out of the blue sometimes. For instance, tonight. The Blue came out of a very cheap bottle of Bella Sera Pinot Grigio. Mixed with an emotionally lethal dose of spending time with our good friends and their new baby.
Their kid is 4 months old. Why I am still struggling to hold it together whenever we see them is beyond me. I've got a zillion friends with kids (hey, we can't - THEY can) - I hold no ill will towards any of them. It's this ONE couple. I don't know why, but I absolutely can NOT stay 1: Sober, or 2: Rational, or 3: You know...tearless after we leave their house. I don't know why.
The only thing I CAN pinpoint is that after our very first failed cycle (seconds before she gave birth), they were at our house and I still hadn't taken down the ultrasound picture on the fridge of what would've been our two babies. She asked what it was, I told her - she just shrugged her shoulders and looked away. She couldn't have been more uncomfortable - in fact she almost seemed embarassed that I was talking about it. These are supposed to be close friends and that was her reaction. J asks me: "what do you expect?" I guess from CLOSE friends I expect acknowledgement. I don't expect a parade in my honor for god's sake, but from a CLOSE friend - YES...I expect acknowledgement. I expect someone close to me to acknowledge my loss. I don't need to have a ten-hour conversation about it, but a hug, touch of a hand, an "I'm sorry" or an "I don't know what to say"...something. I got nothing. So now I have to pretend to be "close" friends with people who I couldn't feel LESS close to.
Yes...screwed up. Yes, apparently I expect the world to revolve around me. Yes, yes, yes - I am a selfish, self-centered pain in the ass...apparently people should get used to that.
I read somewhere - maybe from a fellow blogger, I can't remember - about how infertility will weed out your good friends from your not-so-good friends. Is that what this is? Is my insanity or selfishness cutting out the dead limbs here? Am I unconsciously getting rid of the people that I don't need near me during this ultra-sensitive time? I don't know. Am I truly this person?
I've done nothing but avoid these people for going on a year now. I mean I've thrown out some seriously lame excuses. I can't help it. I'm around them, I end up with a bottle of wine in my hand and a box of tissues - oh and on here doing therapy blogging.
Thank god for Blogger. And Bella Sera. And Kleenex.
I wonder if I'll ever be normal again.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
IVF Limericks (Compliments of B)
Drink Tequila, Eat the Worm
Come on Eggs, Come on Sperm!
-----------------------------------
There once was a sperm from Nantucket
Who got squirted into a bucket
He said “I don’t mind being injected,
But in retrospective,
It was much more fun just to f*ck it.”
Come on Eggs, Come on Sperm!
-----------------------------------
There once was a sperm from Nantucket
Who got squirted into a bucket
He said “I don’t mind being injected,
But in retrospective,
It was much more fun just to f*ck it.”
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Brownie Points
Dammit. How can you be mad at a man who brings home flowers? With a card attached that reads "we make a great team". He's too good to me.
Wow, lucky you...
Two blog postings in one day. I know. You're excited.
I have broken down and cried at least six times today. I have bitten my husband's head off at least twice. I have googled "IUI", "failed IVF", "artificial insemination" and I even got desperate and typed in the ultimate: "adoption." By the way - don't google "open adoption"...you'll want to kill yourself.
I'm afraid I find myself in the downward spiral of post-failed-IVF-depression - over a month AFTER the failed IVF. Or maybe it's more: post-failed-IVF-the-doctor-gave-up-on-us depression. Either way - it's a bad place. This isn't my first visit.
I knew this post-IVF-recovery was a fragile thing. I just didn't think my own doctor would be the one that gave me that final shove off the edge of the cliff. I've been walking around for the last month in a pretty damn good state of mind. I was amazed with myself, actually. See, I had a plan. We were going to take time off. Recover. Drink a lot of wine this summer. Pick up in the fall - do one more IVF that was absolutely going to work - without a doubt. Well, now there's doubt. Major doubt. Doubt from the doctor with his big stupid medical degree hanging on the wall. And not JUST doubt. So much doubt that he wants to shove us off on some other jackass with a big medical degree hanging on his/her wall so we don't continue to bring his stats down.
Oh my god, we're ruining success rates - the horror!
Actually, the real horror of it all, is that I can already feel the dividing line growing deeper between J and I. He is incapable of joining me in post-IVF depression - or doctor-desertion-depression. Whatever. In such a small frame of time, I find myself unable to talk to him about all this. I'm angry and scared. He's...I don't know what he is. But he's not angry or scared and if he is - he doesn't wear it on his sleeve like I do. He's calm and collected. I am hurricane fury.
He calls me from work and says "what's wrong?" And the fact is, if he has to ask that question, then I can't very well explain it to him. But I try anyway "it's all this fertility crap." To which he responds: "Try not to think about it." Then I log on to my blog and let it all out here.
Oh. Did I mention that my period is over a week late? It's exactly what happened after the last IVF. It is of course fucking with my head. But I will not take a pregnancy test. I just won't. I swear I won't. I might not....
I have broken down and cried at least six times today. I have bitten my husband's head off at least twice. I have googled "IUI", "failed IVF", "artificial insemination" and I even got desperate and typed in the ultimate: "adoption." By the way - don't google "open adoption"...you'll want to kill yourself.
I'm afraid I find myself in the downward spiral of post-failed-IVF-depression - over a month AFTER the failed IVF. Or maybe it's more: post-failed-IVF-the-doctor-gave-up-on-us depression. Either way - it's a bad place. This isn't my first visit.
I knew this post-IVF-recovery was a fragile thing. I just didn't think my own doctor would be the one that gave me that final shove off the edge of the cliff. I've been walking around for the last month in a pretty damn good state of mind. I was amazed with myself, actually. See, I had a plan. We were going to take time off. Recover. Drink a lot of wine this summer. Pick up in the fall - do one more IVF that was absolutely going to work - without a doubt. Well, now there's doubt. Major doubt. Doubt from the doctor with his big stupid medical degree hanging on the wall. And not JUST doubt. So much doubt that he wants to shove us off on some other jackass with a big medical degree hanging on his/her wall so we don't continue to bring his stats down.
Oh my god, we're ruining success rates - the horror!
Actually, the real horror of it all, is that I can already feel the dividing line growing deeper between J and I. He is incapable of joining me in post-IVF depression - or doctor-desertion-depression. Whatever. In such a small frame of time, I find myself unable to talk to him about all this. I'm angry and scared. He's...I don't know what he is. But he's not angry or scared and if he is - he doesn't wear it on his sleeve like I do. He's calm and collected. I am hurricane fury.
He calls me from work and says "what's wrong?" And the fact is, if he has to ask that question, then I can't very well explain it to him. But I try anyway "it's all this fertility crap." To which he responds: "Try not to think about it." Then I log on to my blog and let it all out here.
Oh. Did I mention that my period is over a week late? It's exactly what happened after the last IVF. It is of course fucking with my head. But I will not take a pregnancy test. I just won't. I swear I won't. I might not....
Is it just me, or does the world suck today?
I’m hanging by a thread today. A very thin one. I’m still trying to brush myself off from yesterday’s doctor appointment disaster. It’s not working. I’m angry. I’m more frustrated than I’ve ever been. I’m baffled. I’m tired. I’m restless. I feel defeated.
In a nutshell, we can proceed with IVF (this time with GIFT)…and we may or may not be doing it for absolutely nothing. OR…we can try IUI with J's guys – spend about $3k with a 10% (or less) chance of success. Doesn't seem worth the trouble. And besides, I've read where you only qualify for IUI if the sperm count is at least 1 million. The very best test he had said he's only got 200,000 working guys. For the first test, it was closer to 2,000. Now how the hell does that qualify us for IUI? Again...not worth the trouble. Or the money. Or me induring 3+ fucking weeks of injections. I don't think even our doctor knows what the hell he's talking about.
I wish I had asked more questions yesterday. But I just felt like somebody had knocked me upside the head. I was expecting him to give us a plan for our next IVF attempt. I wasn't expecting him to blow us off and ship us to another doctor. For most of the appointment I sat there with my mouth hanging open not sure what to say. Or if I was going to cry. Or if I was going to throw myself across the doctor’s desk and start strangling him. Man, it was tempting. But instead I just sat there dumbfounded, listening to that stupid little man tell us that even donor sperm wouldn’t raise our chances – but with no reason WHY. Maybe I misunderstood him. I was a bit shell-shocked. It's male factor - how could donor sperm NOT work? I really don't get what the hell he was talking about.
The doctor gave us no reason whatsoever for the latest failure. He seems to think that because some eggs were fertilized, that J's guys are ok. But he didn't come out and say my eggs AREN'T ok. So where the hell is problem? I mean if it's male infertility, can't they run a goddamn test to see if his dudes are any good (that's a rhetorical question - no, technology isn't that advanced)? So what - they can fertilize. BFD. Embryos aren't much good unless they continue to grow.
J’s approach to all this is to strut around like a rooster in a hen house “Look at me, my shit works.” I get it. I really do. Could there be anymore of a blow to a man’s ego than to find out he’s "sterile"? Unless you were one married to and pissed off one Lorena Bobbit…nothing compares. So in his defense, I get it. It’s like the doc giving him a gold star for the day. He’s suddenly gained a bit of his manly-ness back.
However, as a diagnosis…it puts us 10 steps back. J’s more interested in being told his body is working, than he is in the actual solution to our damn problem. So now I am irritated to all hell at the one person I should be finding comfort in.
But all that aside - I don’t even believe what the doctor says is true. How does it make sense that in dealing with MALE INFERTILITY if we go with a sperm donor, it DOESN’T raise our chances of pregnancy? How the shit does that make sense?
How is it that every time we do IVF, we get shit loads of eggs. And those shit-loads of eggs will not fertilize properly with J’s little men? Ok...we don't get shit-loads of eggs. But we get around average...and not even half fertilize?
I get that it COULD be an egg problem – hell, maybe my eggs won’t fertilize with ANY guy’s dudes. But why does the doctor automatically assume that it’s NOT a sperm problem? Why is it no matter what the fertility issue is – it’s assumed to be on my end of things? Every single one of my tests came back fine. And yet he continues to use me as a fucking guinea pig. And then gives us options that continue to beat up my body? I'm so fucking sick to death of being on the receiving end of every goddamn needle that fucking man can conjure up.
Ugh.
I guess I was almost hoping the doc would say: You should try donor sperm. I guess I was hoping that if he recommended an easier less invasive, less expensive route, then J would agree to it and we’d try it. Instead he gave us the options of IVF with GIFT -- even more invasive, even more expensive. Or IUI - a complete fucking waste of time.
I’m running out of steam for this fight, guys. I swear to god. Yesterday before this stupid appointment we still had a plan: one more IVF....if that didn't work - artificial. But that was before we watched out doctor grasping at straws telling us that our last cycle was perfect – it should’ve worked -- I don’t know why it didn’t -- I don’t know if it will work if you try it again - donor sperm won't work any better -- maybe you should find another doctor.
That doesn’t exactly give me the motivation to go hacking away at my body again for nothing. So now where do we go? What do we do? I'm so, SO fucking tired of this shit.
In a nutshell, we can proceed with IVF (this time with GIFT)…and we may or may not be doing it for absolutely nothing. OR…we can try IUI with J's guys – spend about $3k with a 10% (or less) chance of success. Doesn't seem worth the trouble. And besides, I've read where you only qualify for IUI if the sperm count is at least 1 million. The very best test he had said he's only got 200,000 working guys. For the first test, it was closer to 2,000. Now how the hell does that qualify us for IUI? Again...not worth the trouble. Or the money. Or me induring 3+ fucking weeks of injections. I don't think even our doctor knows what the hell he's talking about.
I wish I had asked more questions yesterday. But I just felt like somebody had knocked me upside the head. I was expecting him to give us a plan for our next IVF attempt. I wasn't expecting him to blow us off and ship us to another doctor. For most of the appointment I sat there with my mouth hanging open not sure what to say. Or if I was going to cry. Or if I was going to throw myself across the doctor’s desk and start strangling him. Man, it was tempting. But instead I just sat there dumbfounded, listening to that stupid little man tell us that even donor sperm wouldn’t raise our chances – but with no reason WHY. Maybe I misunderstood him. I was a bit shell-shocked. It's male factor - how could donor sperm NOT work? I really don't get what the hell he was talking about.
The doctor gave us no reason whatsoever for the latest failure. He seems to think that because some eggs were fertilized, that J's guys are ok. But he didn't come out and say my eggs AREN'T ok. So where the hell is problem? I mean if it's male infertility, can't they run a goddamn test to see if his dudes are any good (that's a rhetorical question - no, technology isn't that advanced)? So what - they can fertilize. BFD. Embryos aren't much good unless they continue to grow.
J’s approach to all this is to strut around like a rooster in a hen house “Look at me, my shit works.” I get it. I really do. Could there be anymore of a blow to a man’s ego than to find out he’s "sterile"? Unless you were one married to and pissed off one Lorena Bobbit…nothing compares. So in his defense, I get it. It’s like the doc giving him a gold star for the day. He’s suddenly gained a bit of his manly-ness back.
However, as a diagnosis…it puts us 10 steps back. J’s more interested in being told his body is working, than he is in the actual solution to our damn problem. So now I am irritated to all hell at the one person I should be finding comfort in.
But all that aside - I don’t even believe what the doctor says is true. How does it make sense that in dealing with MALE INFERTILITY if we go with a sperm donor, it DOESN’T raise our chances of pregnancy? How the shit does that make sense?
How is it that every time we do IVF, we get shit loads of eggs. And those shit-loads of eggs will not fertilize properly with J’s little men? Ok...we don't get shit-loads of eggs. But we get around average...and not even half fertilize?
I get that it COULD be an egg problem – hell, maybe my eggs won’t fertilize with ANY guy’s dudes. But why does the doctor automatically assume that it’s NOT a sperm problem? Why is it no matter what the fertility issue is – it’s assumed to be on my end of things? Every single one of my tests came back fine. And yet he continues to use me as a fucking guinea pig. And then gives us options that continue to beat up my body? I'm so fucking sick to death of being on the receiving end of every goddamn needle that fucking man can conjure up.
Ugh.
I guess I was almost hoping the doc would say: You should try donor sperm. I guess I was hoping that if he recommended an easier less invasive, less expensive route, then J would agree to it and we’d try it. Instead he gave us the options of IVF with GIFT -- even more invasive, even more expensive. Or IUI - a complete fucking waste of time.
I’m running out of steam for this fight, guys. I swear to god. Yesterday before this stupid appointment we still had a plan: one more IVF....if that didn't work - artificial. But that was before we watched out doctor grasping at straws telling us that our last cycle was perfect – it should’ve worked -- I don’t know why it didn’t -- I don’t know if it will work if you try it again - donor sperm won't work any better -- maybe you should find another doctor.
That doesn’t exactly give me the motivation to go hacking away at my body again for nothing. So now where do we go? What do we do? I'm so, SO fucking tired of this shit.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
This is what falling off the Happy Wagon looks like:
Today was our doctor’s appointment to discuss the latest failed IVF cycle. It went something like this:
Our doctor scratched his head a lot.
He flipped through our records – intently focused on each page.
He called the other office in Florida to ask them to fax more records.
15 minutes into the conversation he actually looks up at my husband and asks his fucking name. He flipped through more records.
He scratched his head.
He tried to convince us that after 4 years of trying to get pregnant, at least $30k-plus in some type of fertility testing or procedures, and two failed IVF’s that “it could still happen naturally”.
He flipped through more records.
He asked what we thought we should do.
He encouraged us to see another doctor.
He said we were working with bad sperm. Then told us we could do IUI. With a 10% success rate.
He scratched his head.
He told us it might not be bad sperm after all.
He suggested IVF with GIFT. Then said we don’t really need GIFT.
He said we could do regular IVF again. And again. And again….
He told us that a woman in our last cycle responded worse to the meds than I did. And she’s pregnant with twins.
He scratched his fucking head.
He flipped through the records one last time. Then handed them off to the nurse to make copies for us.
He encouraged us to find another doctor again.
He reminded us to “keep trying.” “Buy one of those ovulation kits”.
He charged us a fucking $20 co-pay. Then shipped us out the door.
I look back on the events of the last few hours and all I can think is: That twenty bucks would’ve gotten me a nice bottle of wine. Or two decent bottles of wine. Or three crappy bottles of wine….
Our doctor scratched his head a lot.
He flipped through our records – intently focused on each page.
He called the other office in Florida to ask them to fax more records.
15 minutes into the conversation he actually looks up at my husband and asks his fucking name. He flipped through more records.
He scratched his head.
He tried to convince us that after 4 years of trying to get pregnant, at least $30k-plus in some type of fertility testing or procedures, and two failed IVF’s that “it could still happen naturally”.
He flipped through more records.
He asked what we thought we should do.
He encouraged us to see another doctor.
He said we were working with bad sperm. Then told us we could do IUI. With a 10% success rate.
He scratched his head.
He told us it might not be bad sperm after all.
He suggested IVF with GIFT. Then said we don’t really need GIFT.
He said we could do regular IVF again. And again. And again….
He told us that a woman in our last cycle responded worse to the meds than I did. And she’s pregnant with twins.
He scratched his fucking head.
He flipped through the records one last time. Then handed them off to the nurse to make copies for us.
He encouraged us to find another doctor again.
He reminded us to “keep trying.” “Buy one of those ovulation kits”.
He charged us a fucking $20 co-pay. Then shipped us out the door.
I look back on the events of the last few hours and all I can think is: That twenty bucks would’ve gotten me a nice bottle of wine. Or two decent bottles of wine. Or three crappy bottles of wine….
Monday, May 21, 2007
(Temporarily) Life after ________
Hmmm, what to name this post? Life after…what exactly? “Life After Death” would’ve been catchy, but a bit morbid, and although true I suppose, not the chord I’m trying to strike. It’s not exactly “Life after IVF”, because that chapter of my life isn’t over yet – just on hold. So maybe, “Life in between” would’ve been more appropriate?
My friend B emailed me last week, and I quote:
“sounds stupid, but I miss your rants, it was like talking to you on the phone everyday. I can actually hear you talking when I read your writings. I AM very glad you are getting a break from the physical stress of the whole deal, but I just miss being an active supporter! Sounds sick, I really don’t know how to describe it better.”
I have missed blogging like mad, and I've wanted to continue it during this "fertility vacation" but in some strange way I feel like using this to talk about anything other than IVF is in some way cheating. I know that sounds stupid. But I guess maybe I feel the same way about my life right now. I’m taking this “break” from fertility treatments – and don’t get me wrong, I am totally enjoying myself – it feels a little bit like…hmm, how to put it…failure? Weakness? Fear? Abandoning my (seemingly) life’s mission? Ok, now that I’ve typed them out they all feel overly dramatic. But something – I can’t put my finger on it yet – feels just out of place. Maybe I’ve just gotten used to operating in life crisis that I’ve forgotten how to sit back and chill. Maybe it’s because we’re still facing the unknown with no idea if there will be a resolution. Maybe I just miss the day-to-day abuse of IVF. I can’t quite describe it yet. It's like because of IVF - or infertility in general - I'm still in a place where so many things seem very trivial and small to me. But I'm living in a world where these things that are trivial to me, are huge to everybody else around me. Not to minimize what other people feel at all, but I feel kind of numb to a lot of things now. I'm not saying that exactly the way I mean to. It'll take some time for me to put it into words. Something different lurks in my brain that I’ve yet to put a name to.
Which brings me back to this blog that suffers from the same Square Peg, Round Hold Syndrome as I find myself in. I’ve discovered that blogging is the ultimate therapy for me. I like to air it all out (as you know). I just need a way to get into "life blogging" instead of "crisis IVF ranting". So…here goes:
[insert 3-hour pause as I sit here staring at a blank screen with no idea where to begin]:
Conversation with Myself
Me #1: Hmm, is there such thing as a non-philosophical, non-crisis, yet interesting blog posting?
Me #2: Beats the crap out of me.
Me #1: Are people going to be bored as hell reading through my daily life doings?
Me #2: Yes, absolutely…sometimes I bore even myself.
Me #1: You should really get out more.
Me #2: Hey, would you like to come with me?
Me #1: You know, now that we’re not doing IVF, we should really be living it up.
Me #2: I thought we weren’t talking about IVF.
Me #1: Dammit, this is hard.
Me #2: Hey, I know. Tell them about the squirrel.
Me #1: Oh god, the poor squirrel…
So one morning, a week or so ago, I get up, and let the dog out. The weather has been nice and mild, so all my windows are open. I walk into the kitchen, turn the coffee maker on and pull my cell phone off the charger. Suddenly my peaceful morning ritual is interrupted by a horrendous scream which seems to be coming from the backyard. I go running out onto the back stoop expecting to see a child being tortured, only to see my dog thrashing around in the flower bed. Mulch and flowers are being savagely tossed into the air. And the screaming is getting louder. In a blink I am hauling ass across the lawn (still in my robe – thank god I had PJ’s on underneath) thinking I am going to the rescue of my hairy-four-legged child. About 30 or so feet away, I realize that the screaming isn’t coming from what moments ago I was calling my “innocent little angel dog.” It’s coming from whatever hairy flash of brown I just saw in this new wild-eyed slobbering dog’s jaws. Whatever it is, I know that by the time I cover the 30 feet between us, it’s going to be a goner. Realizing I still had my cell phone in my hand, all I could think to do was throw it. So I did. Hard.
Now let me tell you something about myself. You know that saying: “you throw like a girl?” Well, I am that girl. In fact, that is an insult to people who throw like girls. I am that girl’s ultra un-athletic friend she doesn’t like to talk to in public. But she wants me in her gym class so she doesn’t look so stupid. So you can imagine my surprise when my cell phone clacked (very loudly) into the side of my dog’s skull. Even with my adrenaline high all I could think was: “Holy shit, J will never believe me when I tell him.”
Unfortunately with the dog’s adrenaline high, she didn’t notice the cell phone. Instead, it fell to the ground, trampled on by the fight to the death with what I could now tell was a poor little squirrel. It was trying desperately to take a bite out of the dog’s face, but failing miserably.
I finally make it to the dog – I feel horrible about it, but I had to rough her up a bit to get her to let go. She drops the squirrel, then with one shot of the “evil eye” from me, backs her little rear end far enough away from ME, but close enough to still see the squirrel.
The little guy was laying on the ground giving me a pitiful display of his teeth, but not moving his hind end. I’m pretty sure his back was broken. I bundled him up in my robe and brought him into the house. Got him settled in a cozy little shoebox, and set it on top of a heating pad to try to ward off shock. Then I got on the phone with the wildlife rescue center. Turns out they don’t take calls until 9am. So at 7:30 am I am bawling on their voicemail: “Please call…dog….murderer….poor squirrel…so sad…help…”
I guess they figure if the animal can’t survive a few hours, there’s nothing they can do for it anyway. Although in the moment I was ready to scream at these idiots for not answering and opening the ER doors for me, or at the very least - sending an animal ambulance. Is that too much to ask?
I got a call a little after 9 and we made plans to meet. But by the time that was settled, my bushy tailed friend had passed away in my size 7 Enzo Angiolini shoebox. I guess there’s worse ways to go.
J got home that night and we buried him under a tree in the side yard - I cried the whole time. The dog wouldn’t come near me for the next several days…in my mind she was ashamed of what she had done. Although in all reality it probably had more to do with the cell-phone shaped goose-egg she was sporting. I continue to imagine a little squirrel family out there living in the oak tree, still looking for their friend. Or maybe they witnessed the attack and have moved on to greener pastures and dog-less backyards.
Either way, the dog continues to go outside with that killer instinct in her eye. And I continue to stand guard by the back door. Cell phone in hand.
My friend B emailed me last week, and I quote:
“sounds stupid, but I miss your rants, it was like talking to you on the phone everyday. I can actually hear you talking when I read your writings. I AM very glad you are getting a break from the physical stress of the whole deal, but I just miss being an active supporter! Sounds sick, I really don’t know how to describe it better.”
I have missed blogging like mad, and I've wanted to continue it during this "fertility vacation" but in some strange way I feel like using this to talk about anything other than IVF is in some way cheating. I know that sounds stupid. But I guess maybe I feel the same way about my life right now. I’m taking this “break” from fertility treatments – and don’t get me wrong, I am totally enjoying myself – it feels a little bit like…hmm, how to put it…failure? Weakness? Fear? Abandoning my (seemingly) life’s mission? Ok, now that I’ve typed them out they all feel overly dramatic. But something – I can’t put my finger on it yet – feels just out of place. Maybe I’ve just gotten used to operating in life crisis that I’ve forgotten how to sit back and chill. Maybe it’s because we’re still facing the unknown with no idea if there will be a resolution. Maybe I just miss the day-to-day abuse of IVF. I can’t quite describe it yet. It's like because of IVF - or infertility in general - I'm still in a place where so many things seem very trivial and small to me. But I'm living in a world where these things that are trivial to me, are huge to everybody else around me. Not to minimize what other people feel at all, but I feel kind of numb to a lot of things now. I'm not saying that exactly the way I mean to. It'll take some time for me to put it into words. Something different lurks in my brain that I’ve yet to put a name to.
Which brings me back to this blog that suffers from the same Square Peg, Round Hold Syndrome as I find myself in. I’ve discovered that blogging is the ultimate therapy for me. I like to air it all out (as you know). I just need a way to get into "life blogging" instead of "crisis IVF ranting". So…here goes:
[insert 3-hour pause as I sit here staring at a blank screen with no idea where to begin]:
Conversation with Myself
Me #1: Hmm, is there such thing as a non-philosophical, non-crisis, yet interesting blog posting?
Me #2: Beats the crap out of me.
Me #1: Are people going to be bored as hell reading through my daily life doings?
Me #2: Yes, absolutely…sometimes I bore even myself.
Me #1: You should really get out more.
Me #2: Hey, would you like to come with me?
Me #1: You know, now that we’re not doing IVF, we should really be living it up.
Me #2: I thought we weren’t talking about IVF.
Me #1: Dammit, this is hard.
Me #2: Hey, I know. Tell them about the squirrel.
Me #1: Oh god, the poor squirrel…
So one morning, a week or so ago, I get up, and let the dog out. The weather has been nice and mild, so all my windows are open. I walk into the kitchen, turn the coffee maker on and pull my cell phone off the charger. Suddenly my peaceful morning ritual is interrupted by a horrendous scream which seems to be coming from the backyard. I go running out onto the back stoop expecting to see a child being tortured, only to see my dog thrashing around in the flower bed. Mulch and flowers are being savagely tossed into the air. And the screaming is getting louder. In a blink I am hauling ass across the lawn (still in my robe – thank god I had PJ’s on underneath) thinking I am going to the rescue of my hairy-four-legged child. About 30 or so feet away, I realize that the screaming isn’t coming from what moments ago I was calling my “innocent little angel dog.” It’s coming from whatever hairy flash of brown I just saw in this new wild-eyed slobbering dog’s jaws. Whatever it is, I know that by the time I cover the 30 feet between us, it’s going to be a goner. Realizing I still had my cell phone in my hand, all I could think to do was throw it. So I did. Hard.
Now let me tell you something about myself. You know that saying: “you throw like a girl?” Well, I am that girl. In fact, that is an insult to people who throw like girls. I am that girl’s ultra un-athletic friend she doesn’t like to talk to in public. But she wants me in her gym class so she doesn’t look so stupid. So you can imagine my surprise when my cell phone clacked (very loudly) into the side of my dog’s skull. Even with my adrenaline high all I could think was: “Holy shit, J will never believe me when I tell him.”
Unfortunately with the dog’s adrenaline high, she didn’t notice the cell phone. Instead, it fell to the ground, trampled on by the fight to the death with what I could now tell was a poor little squirrel. It was trying desperately to take a bite out of the dog’s face, but failing miserably.
I finally make it to the dog – I feel horrible about it, but I had to rough her up a bit to get her to let go. She drops the squirrel, then with one shot of the “evil eye” from me, backs her little rear end far enough away from ME, but close enough to still see the squirrel.
The little guy was laying on the ground giving me a pitiful display of his teeth, but not moving his hind end. I’m pretty sure his back was broken. I bundled him up in my robe and brought him into the house. Got him settled in a cozy little shoebox, and set it on top of a heating pad to try to ward off shock. Then I got on the phone with the wildlife rescue center. Turns out they don’t take calls until 9am. So at 7:30 am I am bawling on their voicemail: “Please call…dog….murderer….poor squirrel…so sad…help…”
I guess they figure if the animal can’t survive a few hours, there’s nothing they can do for it anyway. Although in the moment I was ready to scream at these idiots for not answering and opening the ER doors for me, or at the very least - sending an animal ambulance. Is that too much to ask?
I got a call a little after 9 and we made plans to meet. But by the time that was settled, my bushy tailed friend had passed away in my size 7 Enzo Angiolini shoebox. I guess there’s worse ways to go.
J got home that night and we buried him under a tree in the side yard - I cried the whole time. The dog wouldn’t come near me for the next several days…in my mind she was ashamed of what she had done. Although in all reality it probably had more to do with the cell-phone shaped goose-egg she was sporting. I continue to imagine a little squirrel family out there living in the oak tree, still looking for their friend. Or maybe they witnessed the attack and have moved on to greener pastures and dog-less backyards.
Either way, the dog continues to go outside with that killer instinct in her eye. And I continue to stand guard by the back door. Cell phone in hand.
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