Posts I’d planned to write

Blogging has been good to me.  And, not just because recent accolades have fueled my (potentially overfull to begin with) ego.  (Oh, and PS, voting apparently ends tomorrow – 6/17/2013 – so get your votes in!)  I’ve discussed before how important it is to find community (whether virtual, in person, or some combination of the two) when you are going through this battle to conceive, and blogging (along with Twitter, online forums, and my in-person RESOLVE support group) have all played a major role in decreasing the sense of isolation I’ve felt as the years have rolled on.  But, there’s another positive aspect that only blogging has added to my life and that was missing for so many of the early years.  Some might call it the freedom to be selfish or the luxury of self-reflection.  Namely, blogging has provided me with the time, the space, and the reason to actually explore what’s rambling around in my mile-a-minute head.  I can’t express how helpful that’s been and how profoundly that’s changed my life, my relationship, and my sense of clarity.

You want to know a dirty little secret?  I’m kind of a lazy blogger.  You all only read about one quarter of what actually flows through my brain.  Easily another quarter I do write about, read back, assess, revise, and, ultimately delete.  These thoughts weren’t fully formed, they weren’t quite what I wanted, they didn’t fit within the larger scope or arc of the post that I wrote them for, or, often, simply the act of writing them fulfilled the need I had to express them.  Whatever the reason, they never appear hear.  Finally, over half of the posts I plan to write, I never write.  I think of the theme of the post, I work it over in my brain for half a day or more, I think of visuals, useful related links, and start writing key passages in my head.  But, ultimately, virtual pen never makes it to paper.  My work day runs longer than expected, friends ask us out to dinner, or something much more important happens that needs to be addressed in a timely manner in this space.  And, ultimately, those posts are lost to the hollows of my mind along with the others sacrificed to the delete key.

Even though you don’t read them here, however, all that upfront intellectual effort is so tremendously worthwhile.  It allows me to view my life and live each day with a greater sense of clarity and some separation from the stresses of the day to day.  It’s almost like reading a self-help book or practicing visualization or centering my being or some such other nonsense that would totally not normally be in my vocabulary.  Except, instead of reading a book of someone else’s words, I’m embracing words of my own divining.  I’m reading the story of my life in a new and exciting way.  I’m not just tied to the here-and-now thoughts I’ve expressed in the past on online forums, Facebook, or Twitter.  I’m no longer reading chapters wholly composed of “IUI today on CD20” or “Follie check this morning was a disaster.”  Rather, I’m both writing and reading a story that delves much deeper.  And, that holds true whether pen actually makes it to paper or not.

So, that’s a long lead up to this.  Life’s been busy.  A friend asked us out to dinner.  Work’s been all-consuming.  The two-hour round trips to the RE for 3 of the past 4 days have taken their toll.  This blog has been left languishing.  But, it’s not for lack of effort.  As a way of catching you all up, here’s a sampling of the posts I’d planned to write:

• Saturday, July 13
  • Title: If you find righty… Tales of an AWOL ovary
  • Description: In which I recount the second follie check in a row during which the NP cannot find my right ovary.  My immediate panic that it’s left on a relaxing beach vacation without me.  My more realistic panic that the constipation I’ve been having combined with her disappearance means the endo is back in full force.  The news that lefty’s still only sporting a 14mm.  The realization that Mr. But IF leaves for a work trip next Monday and that could royally screw, well, our screwing schedule.  The not knowing if the cycle will be cancelled.  The silent wonder over which option (cancellation or moving slowly and steadily forward) is actually my deep-down longed for option.  The familiar feelings of failing.
• Sunday, July 14
  • Title: I’m totally the most amazing person ever
  • Description: Seriously, is a description even required?  Har… har…  But, no seriously folks, I answered a text from a friend that wanted to go out to dinner with me on Saturday night.  A friend with *gulp* a 4-month old.  A friend whose said 4-month old should have been besties with my little one due this September.  A friend whose dinner I cooked a few days after her and baby A had come from home from the hospital.  A dinner that I cooked less 3 weeks after my D&C.  And, who is the most amazing person ever?  This girl!  My ovary may have been hiding, but I didn’t!  Went to dinner and, oh hell yea, held that sweet-cheeked little bundle of that-which-I-can’t-have for freaking ever while the slowest restaurant in the world made our dinner.  And, I actually had a good time.  Look at me, all emotionally strong and shit!
• Monday, July 15
  • Title: Premature insemination: Tales from the clinic that always says “no”
  • Description: Returning for my 6th follie check of the cycle.  Repeating silently to myself as I laid down to sleep, as I washed in the shower, as I drove in the car, “Please let them find righty.”  Preparing for cancellation, anticipating cancellation, accepting cancellation.  Discovering that righty’s back (back again!), and sporting a matched set of 14mm follies.  Exhaling for the wait ahead, before finding that lefty’s lone 14 from Saturday, is now a juicy mature 18mm.  Doing a different type of exhaling as I realize the game’s afoot and I’m about to trigger.  Getting the instructions to trigger at 9pm.  Getting thrown for a loop when asked what my schedule is for the following morning (less than 12 hours after trigger).  Being informed, after I questioned the abbreviated time frame, that, “We always do IUIs 12 hours after trigger!”  Leaving with an IUI appointment 10.5 HOURS after my trigger shot!?!?! (when the “normal” is more like 24-36 hours).  Being a bad girl and triggering a few hours early.  Spending the day frustrated at a that clinic only does what the clinic always does as the clinic is always right, silly girl!
• Tuesday, July 16
  • Title: Well and Truly Basted
  • Description: In which I recount my first ever IUI.  Mr. But IF’s 6:30AM wank-job, my frantic drive to the clinic with deposit in tow, my realization that my hurry mattered little as I waited, and waited, and waited, and finally had my date with the turkey baster 2.5 hours after, ahem, “collection.”  My luck at arriving to find no NP or doctor available to assist me, and instead winding up inseminated by a friendly and apologetic surgical nurse.  The two hours of foreplay with my emulsified fat milkshake before the unlubricated speculum and catheter got frisky.  The unanticipated pain of the procedure itself (way worse than two HSGs, including one I failed), followed by a worry about how much post-IUI spotting is too much post-IUI spotting.  The wonder.  The worry.  The waiting.  The far too much time laying in the procedure room after wondering, worrying, waiting.

So, righty’s back, I held a baby, my IUI was both quite painful and likely quite pointless, but I’ve got 66 million swimmers on board looking for my wayward egg (which may or may not arrive in time).  Oh, and don’t hold your breath for more posts soon.  My fears over the timing of my IUI will mean Mr. and Mrs. But IF have dates with each other naughty bits for the next couple nights.  I totally believe in multi-tasking, but I still don’t know what Mr. But IF would think if I asked him to stop bouncing the laptop so much because I’m trying to blog.  Naw, scratch that.  I know exactly what he’d think.  “Just make sure you tell them how good I’m doing!”