Frozen: The Potion of Despair

Happy Friday, my ferocious Follicle Farmers.

As it has been awhile, a brief synopsis of what has happened in case you need a refresher.

IVF #2 was in October.  Day after retrieval, Bub and I have zero fertilize.  (In the event that you're new, my favorite albeit possibly least helpful way of explaining our problem is here. And if anyone other than me gets why I titled that post 'Tybalt' I'm pretty sure we're soulmates). Two days after retrieval, MIRACLE surprise knock-me-over-with-a-feather two badass embryos. Since they were late-late bloomers, my lining wasn't ideal for them, so the plan became to freeze them and switch to FET in November if they made it to day 5 blastocysts which was highly unlikely.  And THEN THEY MADE IT.

Everyone remember in Princess Bride, when Wesley is retelling being captured on a ship... and every freaking day his captor says 'Good night, Wesley, I'll most likely kill you in the morning'.  That whole week was like THAT. 'Good night, Stork, sweet dreams - most likely they'll be dead in the morning.'

At any rate, on the 25th La Bamba and Heisenberg are being transferred.  I can't be sure as like most infertiles I avoid children's movies like the plague, but judging by the movie posters I'm fairly certain my story has been optioned and set to be released the same week as my Transfer.

Oh hey, so you're wondering what you should be thankful about for Thanksgiving?  Here goes: THAT YOU'RE NOT MY HUSBAND.

I realize it has been quiet over here in Storktown but that's only because of my very real, and very slow descent into hormonal madness.

Okay fine - so I normally dress like Helena Bonham Carter and what comes out of my mouth is usually a heavy dose of sarcasm, HOWEVER... I am really quite nice and positive and my experience with the ledge usually revolves around talking people away from it not approaching it my damn self. In short: I am a robot. Typically speaking, though I really truly understand the reasoning behind tears or being coocoo (because I have the same reasons)... When I see outwardly, hugely emotional people my first NANO second response before hugging is usually side eye because that whole feeling-things-fully doesn't come easy to me.

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I have previously 'lucked out' in the hormone department - I don't seem to have had the 'usual' response to anything side effect wise, and so I've happily lived as the woman who could give you hope that you wouldn't either.  With Clomid, all it did was make me euphoric when I took it, and then after a painful O would be a teensy bit more sensitive than usual.  With all the IVF shots - no, not my favorite but really they just gave me a shit ton of energy and an ability to eat all the things.

In case you're keeping score, after LB & H get put back in on the 25th and I begin the PIO shots (which I anticipate not being fun, don't worry) I will have gotten the full tour, the full tilt boogie tour, of infertility drugs.  Just all of them.  All of them... All of them. Prior to this month, I would have been the prime candidate for you, before you start a new treatment, to calm you in full confidence with 'okay it's not fun, but it's not that bad'.

NOW I AM HERE TO SCARE THE BEJEEZUS OUT OF YOU.

Lupron, which I have been on for 3 weeks as of today, is devil juice.  DEVIL JUICE.

Surely you've read or at least seen all the Harry Potter's - if not I don't even have time to address your psychological issues in one post as I can barely handle mine.  At one point, Dumbledore and Harry go adventuring into a crazy ass cave, and Dumbledore has to continuously drink some seriously poison shit out of a bowl and he says to Harry beforehand, 'no matter what happens, no matter how crazy I get - you have to keep spoon feeding it to me'.

As further proof that you should absolutely re-read these books every few years because you learn something new everytime, this is potion is CLEARLY Lupron, Dumbledore is CLEARLY trying to get pregnant and Harry is CLEARLY the unwitting partner who's a little disenchanted he can't just jizz somewhere and call it a day.

Moral of the story, as I have always suspected based on his prescription glasses and scar that he claims is from a dog bite: my husband is Harry Potter and thanks to drugs I can now grow a beard like Dumbledore.

Day one and day two, I breezed through with a slight headache and the general high of doing something that felt pro-active.

Then my brain froze. Generally speaking in my life when I've been depressed it's been 'about' something. This was about nothing.  My emotional dick went limp, all my happy thoughts went bye-bye, Tinkerbell died and I couldn't wait to see her fall to the ground so I could squish her because basically she's a glorified bug.

For two weeks, clean clothes seemed far less important and I started to resemble some sort of living blanket. Curious of all curiosities, Bub can in one second be my favorite person in the world who I want to weep over with love to seeming like an unwanted debt collector spritzed in onions and shit perfume.  I reached my 30s without having any acne experience, and now I look like a 13 year old boy who has been sleeping facedown in pizza grease and chronically masturbating (yes, ladies and gentleman, the rumors are true - I am Sasha Fierce).

The transformation was slow and thorough. Optimistic and determined - bitch who's just biding time - multiple personalities -DEATH INCARNATE.

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Thankfully, I got to start taking estrogen last week so I am... better.

My brain has started to produce it's usual insane curiosities (like - do doll people and bronies hate each other? Discuss) so I'm taking that as a sign of thaw. My shenanigans shall slowly return.

Initially my transfer was going to be around the 20-22, but as of this morning it is set for the 25th.   On the downside, that's a few extra days of Lupron not to mention this month has gone by at a snails pace.

On the bigger upside, it'll put extra days between cigarettes and embryos (refer to Girl Interrupted picture) and it'll give me one extra weekend for me and Mr. T to greet my husband, like so, at the door everyday regarding shit that has to be done in this house pre-baby.

I whine to exorcise it a bit and because you are my troops.  I am, however, above all things super grateful and super excited and would do this 10,000 more times if it would give me a shot.

But my husband is a fucking saint.