Little Sisters in Shittiness

Monday Blessings from a younger version of Jenny!

That's right.  I am a trickster who is writing this post-for-the-future on Friday.  Woah.

Remember Friday?  When the weekend was still right in front of you? Before you had seen the Opening ceremonies?  (Have I mentioned that if someone told me to stick my tongue in a light socket in a British accent, I probably would?)  They were simpler times.

I am doing this mainly because on Monday I will more than likely be running around my house trying to hurl piles of laundry from unacceptable spots to acceptable ones, and then heading to the ninth-circle-of-hell otherwise known as LAX airport.  All in preparations for the fabulous 16 year old sister in law who I will be spending the second half of Monday strangling with love.  We will be referring to her as Bubella (thank you, EmHart).  I feel like that name both captures that she is Bubba's little sister, and also makes you think "wait.. didn't I get vaccinated for that once?"

So today (Friday - keep up, damnit) the best friend Mr. T and I stopped into a Barnes & Nobles.  On a note completely unrelated to what I'm about to talk about, check out some brilliant asshole's idea on book arrangement -

No words.

ANYHOO.

Mr. T is on a strange quest to find all the Bernstein Bear books and so before I knew what was happening I found myself in the children's book section.  As I ran screeching out of it, I thought "oh, looky that, another strange habit thanks to Infertility".


I am, undeniably, a different Jenny than I was a few years ago. I retain my goofy core, but I am full of habits, reactions and strange information I could have happily lived without.

Wouldn't it be nice if when you started trying to have a baby, you'd just get a letter in the mail telling you that you're infertile?  Some lovely letter from people who are longstanding members of the Infertility Club, welcoming you, giving you perhaps a few nuggets of solid gold advice? A sort of "Little Sisters in Shittiness" program.

Okay so it wouldn't be the best letter you ever got (maybe we could also throw in a muffin basket?) but you'd have a better idea of what you were getting into instead of slowly watching it happen to yourself.  Rip the damn Bandaid, I say.

With that in mind, I started thinking about what possible advice I could give to someone who has just realized that they are not going to be in the 'whoops!  I'm pregnant!' category.

I reserve the right to revisit this subject, add and subtract - but here's what I have so far.

On Smug Fertiles:
When every mother fucking mother your age is working on their third child and asking you why you don't have one, I find it best to have an arsenal of responses prepared to suit your mood.

 If you're feeling snarky and mysterious, I would go with something like "I have no kids, just free time and money".  If you're feeling shocking, something along the lines of "I'm barren, jackass".

Or if, like me, you've just reached the point where you want to make people as uncomfortable as they make you, launch into a ten minute explanation (make sure not to pause, an interruption will ruin it) of your infertility woes, and try to work the phrase "cervical mucus" into your speech as much as humanly possible.


On Progesterone:
Speaking of cervical mucus... If anyone in a lab coat ever utters the phrase "progesterone suppositories" to you, as soon as you can get your pants on, I want you to go to Target.  Buy two packs of grandma underpants that you will not get attached to - for you will be throwing them out at the end of your visit to Progesteland, if not burning them in your back yard.

"Progesterone Suppository" is Infertile speak for "This will be the grossest thing that has happened to you ever in the history of ever.  Giant clumps of hideousness will be falling out of you all day, every day.  Excellent practice for the sensation of giving birth only instead of a baby, it will just be a giant lump of awful".



On HSGs, Saline Sonograms and Trial transfers:
Doctors can be funny.  When they tell you they're going to do a test to have a 'look see' at your uterus, they will probably also smile, and tell you to perhaps take a Tylenol beforehand.  I want you to smile back, leave quietly, and then blow every drug dealer in town if necessary to get a Vicodin.

All of these tests mean that you will be spending an afternoon with your legs in the air, with 3-5 people inserting crazy things into your vajajay (a wand?  A teapot?  A small collection of toy trucks?  You won't know after awhile) looking and feeling like an advertisement for gang rape.


On Side Effects:
Also on the subject of Doctor hilarity, when they write you a script for something and say the side effects "aren't that bad", you are to interpret that to mean that much like Godzilla you will be blowing up to 10 times your usual size and terrorizing your entire city.


On Laughing:
Do it.  Do it a lot.

I am a woman always trying to find the funny in things.  Always and forever, in my life, there are going to be people who find this off-putting - particularly when it comes to the subject of infertility some people (understandably) have a hard time finding the silly in it. I laugh - this means I will never be a 'for everybody' person and this is certainly not going to be a blog to point the super-serious in the direction of .

I like to think that in order to stay human, we have to laugh x many of times a year.  Say, 10 million.  Otherwise you turn into a goblin.

There have been days during this long strange trip through infertility, where I cannot find the funny or goofy in anything - and I can promise you with absolute certainty there will be days like that for you as well.  So my best little nugget of advice, keeping the goblin rule in mind, is that when you can find the silly in something - laugh. Laugh twice.



(Sidenote - can we not all agree to collectively burn all copies of "Love You Forever"?   Honestly.  Yes it's wonderful but that book only makes people cry.  Just seeing the cover I burst into flames). 



Alright my darling sisters in shittiness, what are your golden nuggets?