I have had an interesting couple of days.
The weekend I spend channeling my somewhat grumpy energy into cleaning this house to a psychotic degree.
Yesterday, the best friend Mr. T and I shat away 4 hours in a mall. I was lulled by the air conditioning and eu de mall - a mix of brand new leather and countless baked goods - into spending ludicrous amounts of money on things I had no idea I really, really needed. Like freshly painted red toe nails (as I was getting pedicured they were playing the price is right which I haven't seen in years - it's not the same without the shagadelic Bob Barker and those slutty looking 80s models with the big hair). I also bought a pig costume for Luna and a skunk costume for Phoebe, as you do. I only had my fill when I found myself sitting in a chair in Hollister waiting for Mr. T, and deciding that I did not want to smell like a teenage Abercrombie model had thrown up all over me.
And then to top off a Monday we watched documentaries and took pictures of ourselves wearing my dog's cone-of-shame (I have many EmHart pictures to catch up on, but I am making this my submission for 'fashion').
Then this morning I woke up at the butt crack of dawn to take my other best friend, Kali, to get an IUD put in. She has a big fear-o-pain so this involved valiums and comfort.
I was right for this job for the following reasons:
- I am now a gold medalist in the sport of having strange things shoved up your nooners.
- I tend to keep a calm head - nevermind the fact that I apparently enjoy wearing a flying saucer/roller rink/decorative dish around it.
- While I'm useless in many-arena I am pretty good at calming others down.
However, this was the first time I've been in a gynecologist's office (with the exception of picking up lab orders) since the ill-fated IVF.
Why must all gynecologist's offices be wallpapered floor to ceiling with thank you notes and pictures of smiling babies?
"Thank you Dr. so & so for my little miracle". Yeah, yeah I'm happy for you. Fuck off.
Should I have arrived home this afternoon and a man dressed as the grim reaper popped out of my hedge, I may have been less put off than the surprise of having one pregnant belly and wall-to-wall baby pictures at a Obgyn's.
Infertility is just an endless roller skating rink. Spinning in circles with other people's happy children being chucked at you from all angles. If you're good at it or not you still keep doing it.. Even when you're managing to have a decent enough time it's fucking exhausting and you're doing everything in your power not to show people how close your legs are to giving out right under you - and guess what, if you get knocked down you're still on freaking rollerskates and have to get your ass back up. The only difference between infertility and a roller skating rink that I can see is with infertility you don't have to suffer the indignity of listening to "Life is a Highway" 50 times in a row.
I am not ashamed to say I am taking one of Kali's Valium's bestowed onto me and replacing the baby form of dizzy with an altogether much more pleasant one. (I did not point out to her that I have gyno ptsd ::pats self on back::).
And now I'm off to disappear into your blogs. May your Tuesday be free of baby wallpaper.
Ahh! And PS - I have missed manly Monday, so be prepared for an overdose. Bub only gets weirder.
Ahh! And PS - I have missed manly Monday, so be prepared for an overdose. Bub only gets weirder.
I often say I have infertility PTSD. After my freakout about breast cancer it is also clear that I have cancer PTSD. PTSD sucks. Do you think our PTSD will magically disappear when we finally, finally have babies?
ReplyDeleteI dunno... wondered that myself. Like if you went to 7-11 100 times, and 99 times you were mugged, but the 100th time you won the lottery... would you forget the muggings?
DeleteBrilliant analogie. "if you get knocked down you're still on freaking rollerskates and have to get your ass back up." Nail is hit directly on its head. Now I have an image of us all in a roller race trying to reach the finish line whilst 'Eye of the Tiger' plays and babies and pregnant bellies are hurled at us from the sidelines. BTW, have you ever seen this post? http://www.creativedevolution.com/a-whole-lot-of-no-babies-coming-out-of-me/ Fifth picture down, I actually nearly crapped myself laughing. Once again the nail has a headache.
ReplyDeletep.s. crapcha hates me at the moment.
DeleteOMG. That is not a cartoon that is a documentary. That is literally my life. people crapping out babies all over the place.
DeleteThe cone pic is awesome. I really hope coning becomes a thing. Like planking or Eastwooding. Or maybe it already is a thing and I'm just out of the loop...
ReplyDeleteI think my roller skates are missing a couple of wheels. *sigh*
CONING. YESSSSS.
DeleteI'm fairly certain I was saddled with ice skates in a roller rink.
I love your picture :) Sorry about the gyno office crap today...big hugs coming your way!
ReplyDeleteAnd a loving smack to your tooshie.
DeleteI think I have PTSD PTSD....too much damn trauma...
ReplyDeleteI think you're a fabulous friend to walk in to the lion's den....
I think everyone should wear roller-skates with your fashionable cone....
You were missed this weekend, but I'm glad you had some good Mr T time and some retail therapy...it always makes things better for a while...and the valium probably helped a little too :)
EmHart...OMG that link was freaking hilarious...I read the first comment about spewing mango juice out of a nose and realized I had spewed my coke at that ridiculous picture....
It's true, I needed retail therapy. I am baby free, but damnit if my house doesn't have enough candles to pass for a catholic church and my toenails be as red as any high class escorts.
DeleteLove. That. Picture.
ReplyDeleteA cone certainly makes it easier to not lick my wounds. Don't know what the dogs complain about.
DeleteAwesome picture. I have claustrophobia. I would probably panic in the cone. Sometimes husband wants to have sex completely under blankets (I know, he's a weirdo) and I usually come up screaming for air...it sort of kills the mood.
ReplyDeleteAnd on that note, I understand about the OBGYN. I hate going because I'm always going to see a preggo or hear the doctor talking to a preggo about all the things I want him to talk to me about (pediatricians, daycares, etc.) as opposed to Clomid, tube checking, SA, etc. etc. I feel jipped. this past time I went for my monitoring and my follicle looked really good so he printed out an ultrasound pic for me to take home to husband and as I was walking out a super preggo (I swear she had a cape) saw it in my hand and said "congratulations!". I could just barely force a smile before practically hurling myself out of the door. What she didn't see is that I was also holding a bunch of paperwork on various infertility treatments he wants me to do research for my own self. Anyway-my experiences aren't nearly as traumatic as yours, but they hurt all the same, so I sort of understand what you're feeling. You're a good friend :)
It freaked me out and I'm not even that claustrophobic!
DeleteOh G-d. Misguided congratulations are the worst. THE WORST. I have it happen to me twice checking out with pregnancy tests (to which I feel like saying screw you, I apparently can't even get two lines at a grocery store).
You are so right about the GYN office...yuck. Sorry you had to witness that, but you are such a good friend for going there. The only places I want to see people's babies are the infertility clinic and MFM wall. I know those ladies went through hell and high water to get those pictures they didn't just sneeze.
ReplyDeleteAgreed! At the RE's I'm pretty fine with the baby pictures, and they actually have the presence of mind to keep them in isolated spots.
DeleteAt a regular OBGyn's, however, I would be less offended if they wallpapered themselves with porn.
I enjoy the fact that you are wearing your sunglasses with the collar. It makes all the difference.
ReplyDeleteOtherwise it would just be silly.
DeleteGod, I loved that roller rink analogy. Our local rink here was Skateland in beautiful Northridge, California. Remember the couple's dance when Debbie Gibson's "Electric Youth" would wind down, the lights would dim,and Roller DJ would bust out the Bryan Adams? You'd get really awkward because you were afraid a really dorky guy would ask you to skate, but the guy you really liked was already shoving his tongue down some 12 year old skank's throat? Yeah...that pretty much sums up roller rinks for me.
ReplyDeleteAnd also malls. The number of people with their tongues down 12 year olds throats is mind-boggling.
DeletePS, I'm pretty sure if I was a better throw I could hit you with one of my lemons from my backyard.
Props to you for going with your friend to her IUD appointment. Not sure I could handle something like that myself. I avoided Dr. offices like the plague before joining the land of IF. I only go now because I have no other choice if I want a baby.
ReplyDeleteShe has a ghastly fear of pain, so in this particular instance I definitely wanted to go. Plus, she's loverly. And, should I need her to join at the very least the reserves in the Bub-can't-go-and-someones-got-to-go-with-me-to-an-appointment Battalion I can use this as ammo. ;)
DeleteLove the cone of shame. I need one for... I dunno, fun I guess. I was sad my kitten didn't need one after his snipping.
ReplyDeleteWe have it for one of our dogs because though she is not ill, she occasionally has a day when she is obsessed with her crotch. I have days where I'm obsessed with my crotch as well, but I keep my shit together.
DeleteThank you, thank you, modeling dog paraphernalia is apparently one of my many talents.
ReplyDelete