The Moving Van is here.

CALLIOPE HAS MOVED!

It took longer than I expected, but I am finally ready to move out of this blog and into the new one.

I thank you ALL for reading me at this url & I hope you will follow me to my new digs. I am putting the welcome mat out just for you.

One of the reasons that I am moving is this silly notion that I might be able to make some money to save towards my FET via the ads running on my new site. The new site also gives me a bit more freedom in design…but really it’s all about the ads.

EDITED TO ADD: Just making sure everyone remembers to update their bloglines & google reader with my new URL. Come on over!

Just lifting up my head…

I know. I have been quiet. I guess this was a tough week for me on a couple of fronts. For starters I am still (STILL) bleeding. For those of you not keeping track that is 9 days of fun. Nine. It has made me cranky and tired and sad and on the verge. I am not a fan of so much bleeding. Sure, that first day there was a bit of closure gained, but now it almost feels rude to prolong it for so long. I get it. I am not knocked up anymore.

There is also that metallic taste that won’t go away. Well it isn’t so much metallic as it is bitter. I completely hate the underlying emotion that I am experiencing 24/7 is one of raging jealousy. I just can’t seem to reel that shit in. It is the most unpleasant sensation to find yourself at odds with, well, yourself. I want to be happy for other people. I want to be hopeful and excited. And yet. I am decidedly. Not. Well not in the “not happy for them” as much as the, “why can’t that sort of happiness come to ME?” sensation.

Trust me- I am not going around wanting to smite people or kick someone who is all about their good news. I am just sitting here wishing that I could write a blog post about how well my ultrasound went. But I’m not. Instead you few remaining readers get to hear about the blood. Good times over here.

I am feeling a bit lost in my own blog circle. I don’t have a kid and I don’t have one on the way and I am not able to try for one for a while. So what the fuck do I write about? What could you possibly care about?

I feel like I have just let so many people down. Myself included.

Then there is the funny thing that I am working on- a new blog! Good grief. I honestly wonder if any of you will have any interest in what I have to say at the new blog. I mean seriously- I can’t write about cloth diapers or trimesters or sperm or funny appointments with the RE. All I am now is a woman taking care of her Grandmother and trying to figure out what my purpose is.

Not saying that a woman’s sole purpose is to become a Mother. But that is what I want to do. And now that I can’t plan the way I would like I just feel tremendously deflated.

It happens.

Images and PBS

Two little things to write about today:

1) I am working on creating some images for your use. These are specifically for the IVP. The first image is to be used when you need help. It is a “Calling all IVP” image and can be found here. Please feel free to use when you need advice, hand holding or have a big announcement. I am also working on other images…just because. If you have ideas please leave them at the beep.

EDITED TO ADD: Created a set at flickr.

2) Did anyone else have a massive droolfest over the new season start of Masterpiece Theatre? I love, love, love the newest version of Persuasion. It will be airing a few more times before Sunday so if you didn’t watch it this weekend here is where I urge you to set your dvr. I watched it with GM yesterday morning and loved it so much that I watched it again with Mother in the evening. This may or may not have something to do with my deep, deep love for the brooding and unrealistic men that Jane creates (oh how our minds are the same when it comes to fantasies about men!).This particular version of Persuasion resonated with me on many levels. I like it when Jane’s characters are directed to break the 4th wall. It heightens the anxiety and reels you in. I also love a story in which you wait the entire two hours for the first kiss. (One of my secret favorite movies is You’ve Got Mail for that precise reason.)

PBS has changed the look and vibe of Masterpiece Theatre this year and I am still on the fence about that. I loved the old musical theme- oh the trumpets! (I am also someone that trills at the opening theme music to CBS Sunday Morning.) The new theme starts with the trumpet, maybe a hint of an homage, but then it morphs into some generic theme music that just doesn’t quite do it for me.

Another new thing is that each program will now be introduced. The classics will be introduced by Gillian Anderson, who was superb in last season’s Bleak House (rent it!). But for some reason I didn’t want to see Gillian, especially not with a bad dye job and wonky lip situation going on. I would rather have had the filmmaker present the film.

But I won’t complain much more. Oh no. Because this year they are doing The Complete Jane Austen within the “Classics” subcategory. The season will be divided into three categories: classics, mystery & contemporary. It should be noted that the contemporary piece will be the first American made work.

Next week is Jane’s Northanger Abbey which has been adapted by Andrew Davies so you know it will satisfy. If you like Gothic you will LOVE this. For reals.

IVP flares going up

The best and the worst is going on in the IVP.

Please go give Jenny & Ezra some high fives as they celebrate the arrival (finally!) of Elsie Jane. Jenny & Ezra have been through so, so much to get to this blessed point and I am so thrilled that the next chapter has begun for them.

↑—————————————————————————↓

Now take a breath and please visit my friend, Kim. Kim is part of the small group of single mothers by choice bloggers that I have befriended and she is beyond amazing. After a long time trying Kim found out she was pregnant. Sadly just on the cusp of reaching the 2nd trimester she has begun to miscarry. She is raw and hurting and she needs lots of love and support. Please go sit with her.

Every day gets a little easier.

This weekend I had to hit a low in order to rise above it. Saturday was my low. Without going into too much detail (because in retrospect it all seems ridiculous) I couldn’t sleep Saturday night and these evil parts of my brain and heart began to go into the very dark and bad place. The “life would be better without me” place. The “I just don’t know why bad things keep happening place”. The “I just want to quit everything and go to sleep forever” place.

Luckily I could see the light. Literally. The lights in the den were still on and so I went downstairs and cried and wailed and sobbed and made declarations and spelled things out. And my Mother listened to me. And after getting all of the bile and evil feelings out I felt lighter. We sat on the couch with infomercial after infomercial selling us makeup and then vacuum cleaners and then some sort of grill that would make the ultimate omelet.

Around 4am we realized that one or both of us needed to go to bed as GM would be up in a matter of hours. Mother volunteered to sleep in the den so that she could take the first shift with GM and up the stairs I went feeling foolish and yet free. I spent the next couple of hours mindlessly watching Nick at Nite.

Sunday was better. It felt like saying out-loud the things that were running in my head dissipated their weight. Thinking that life would be better if one jumped off the bridge is weighty shit. It is irrational and overwhelming and the longer one thinks it the more logical and dangerous it becomes. But as soon as you say it out-loud and to a sympathetic ear it no longer has any power.

I won’t pretend that I am all better and shitting rainbows and roses. Far from it. But I no longer feel the heaviness of the worst kind of thoughts. I still feel like it is ridiculously unfair to be in a position where what you want is unattainable because of stupid money (or the not having of it). But really- I understand there is a lot of that going around. Last time I checked most of you guys weren’t growing money in the backyard.

So let’s lighten the mood around here. Let’s play the “what would you do with $5,000?” game. Not as fun as what would you do with a million bucks, but I think 5 grand is enough to make things happen. So if an envelope of cash came your way today how would you spend it? The rules: 1. you must spend it on something YOU want (let’s pretend we live in a world where Visa isn’t calling your house) 2. investing it is not an option

There seldom is a right way.

I was pretty shitty to my Mother this week. To be specific I was pretty shitty to her when I felt like she was being shitty to me. Ok…I’ll be more specific: I was pissed that she couldn’t read my mind.

When I woke up three days ago in a disgusting puddle of blood and muck my first emotion after acknowledging the pain was just how embarrassed I was for being sort of hopeful that the bad beta could be wrong. I felt foolish and stupid and hated myself for taking afuckingnother pregnancy test less than 12 hours before the bleeding.

I waited hours before telling my Mother what was going on. And when I did I did it a very removed, matter of fact, would you like a cup of tea oh and I am bleeding, sort of way. It was one of my infamous distancing tactics. If I speak about something with an even voice then eventually I will stop shaking about it.

And so Mother said nothing to me. There might have been a “sorry”, but it really wasn’t at all what I wanted.

The problem was that I did not know what I wanted/needed until I realized that I wasn’t getting it. There is no pamphlet in our house on how to help someone through becoming unpregnant. There isn’t a book on our shelves about how to Mother a daughter that is going through something that you have never gone through.

As the day went on and the pain increased I found comfort in your e-mails and comments, but what I really wanted was my Mother. I wanted her to call me, or come home, or send someone to check on me. I felt how much I depended on her to be a surrogate for a partner. And I felt like she should just know what I needed. Her not calling felt like her not caring.

(this is where I shouldn’t have to remind you that I am not a woman with even keeled hormone levels at the moment)

Mother called home, the first and only time, after 7pm. By that point I was pissed off. I was angry. I felt like I had no support. So when she called to explain that she was running late and that traffic was a bitch I sort of let her have it. It didn’t feel good to unburden my issues on her. I felt selfish and bratty and needy and lame. I hung up in tears.

And yet there was a part of me that felt like maybe Mother would come home with flowers or Thai food. She wouldn’t come home empty handed. She was good like that.

Except she did come home empty handed. And that just set me off again.

I realize now that it is just wrong and unhealthy of me to put my Mother into the role of being my partner when she is, in fact, not my partner and only my Mother. I am not the first single woman to become unpregnant alone. It seems lame that I couldn’t be strong enough to think I could do it alone. I did do it alone (well and with all of you).

There are a lot of discussions going on at blogs that I love. Discussions about the roles of the other parent. I find myself feeling really removed from those discussions. Not only was I not raised with a co-parent, but I don’t plan on raising my child with a co-parent. Sure my Mother and I got a lot of support from my Grandparents, and I know that I will get support from my Mother. But my Mother is not my co-parent. I am solo on this flight.

I can’t and don’t blame my Mother for not knowing exactly what I needed to get through the pain. While she knows me very well, I can’t expect her to know specifics. I can’t expect anyone to know that except me. If what I need is shredded cheese and flour tortillas then, by jove, I need to haul my ass to the store and get it.

I’m rambling here, still pretty numb over how this week has unfolded. I guess my point is that there is no right way to help someone through their grief. As many of you have commented- the loss is different for everyone. What I have learned is that I am pretty much a needy fuck when it comes to loss.

I will say that someone did send me the perfect card. And since I think the perfect card is hard to find I am going to share it exactly with you. The front reads: I believe in you. Life hasn’t been fair to you. You have the ability and determination to succeed in spite of the odds, and if you try, I know you’ll make it. The inside reads: I believe in you, and I am here to help you in any way I can. I don’t promise it will be easy, but I know you can do it. Believe in yourself.

Thank you Academy Greetings for nailing it.

I also want to thank SO many of you for de-Lurching. That was pretty fucking awesome and nice. And not really a freak in the bunch!

[edited to add: My Mother has totally proven herself to be an amazing support to me. I just want to be clear that my Mom wasn't  NOT there for me. This post is just about how I realized that I expected her to read my mind.]

Oh…hello there.

Truth be told I don’t do a lot of blog lurking. Sure there are the mega blogs that I read and then when I see that 5 million people have already left funny, clever or perfect comments I tend to move on because, really, what more is there to say?

In the past year the number of people that click over to my neck of the woods has slowly increased. I know several of you in real life, many of you via message boards and a handful of you because you simply and wonderfully made yourselves known.

Then there are those of you that are shy. The silent readers that drive my stat counter up but for whatever reason (maybe for the same reasons I have) don’t comment. And really I am ok with that. There will be no ringing of the bell here and demanding that you delurk and show yourself.

Oddly there is a sense of comfort in knowing that there is a quiet gathering of support always near. Many of you have come out from the shadows recently to hold my hand in the darkest of times. You have shared your stories with me and sent me off site e-mails of encouragement. You have shown me how to harness strength when I felt there was none.

The word lurk kind of freaks me out.

1.	to lie or wait in concealment, as a person in ambush; remain in or around a place secretly or furtively.

It seems like a person lurking might be up to no good. I feel like if you opt not to comment that doesn’t make you a lurker, it just makes you a reader. Someone that is invested in an adventure, but not necessarily wanting to be an active participant. There may be some deep-seeded childhood fear that this blog is some sort of Neverending Story and that I might ask you to yell the name of your Mother through a window in my attic and the next thing you know you are flying around on the back of Falkor.

Being a reader here is perfectly fine. For reals. And if you want to just pull up a carpet square and watch the show unfold I am honestly ok with being your afternoon matinee. However, there is a bit of fun in commenting. It builds a tangible community and puts a name to an IP address. You don’t need to have a blog to comment.

Other things you don’t need:

1. the ability to spell (no judgement here on spelling or grammar)
2. no need to be trying to get knocked up
3. no need to have all of the answers
4. no need to have the perfect thing to say- sometimes the best thing in the world is getting a comment that simply reads, “me too”.
5. no need to leave your real name

So if you are feeling adventurous I invite you not to de-lurk, but to de-Lurch. Be mysterious or spooky, we’re all together ooky. Snap.

Timeline of the end:

Wednesday

• 2pm: I see a commercial for tacos and feel as though I may barf

• 3pm: I receive a returned call from a clinic regarding costs of FET

• 3:40pm: My mind tries to tell my body that I am still pregnant

• 4:45pm: I am now convinced that I am going to have a baby. I take a digital pregnancy test in the hopes that it will be some sort of concrete proof that the beta was wrong.

• 4:48pm: Digital test says pregnant, but I immediately realize that I am a stupid idiot for taking it and letting my stupid emotions overrule what I rationally know.

• 5pm: Get GM changed for bed, help her take her evening meds, assist her in the bathroom, and then tuck her into bed.

• 5:45pm: Look at digital test some more. Send e-mails. Pour glass of wine.

• 6pm: E-mail Mother at work and tell her about digital test. We decide that if I still have not bled by the weekend that I should get another beta. Hope creeps in.

• 6:30pm: Mother arrives home and I show her the test. She plays it cool. We eat leftovers and watch Entertainment tonight.

• 9:20pm: I pour another glass of wine as it begins to sink in that a digital test does not a baby make. Feelings of lameness sink in.

• 9:40pm: The wine lulls me to sleep on the couch and I eventually pry myself up and go to bed.

Thursday

• 2:20am: I wake up with a massive need to pee. In my sleep walking I recall feeling some sort of smug glee within the need.

• 4:00am: Wake up feeling like a rusted out screwdriver is being repeatedly stabbed into my abdomen. Feel almost paralyzed by pain. Feel pain in terms never felt before. Feel as if I am about to die.

• 4:07am: Look over at side table and note the time. Manage to turn bedside lamp on. Pull back covers and see that I am in a puddle of blood.

• 4:09am: Still in a painful gaze with the blood. Disbelief and pain.

• 4:11am: Manage to make it to the bathroom and try to clean myself up. Feel gross and disgusting and messy and stupid and HURT.

• 4:20am: Crawl downstairs and find bottle of oxycontin left over from my retrieval. Take two white pills.

• 4:40am: Strip sheets, change sanitary super tampon and maxi-pad, curl up within comforter and find zero comfort.

• 6:20am: Wake up still in deep, low pain. Change blood catching apparatuses. Watch comedy central. Feel empty. Feel numb.

• 7:00am: Call Ms. D and cancel today’s respite service. Begin to cry when she asks if I am ok.

• 7:15am: Want to wake Mother up but remember stupid moment involving digital test and feel too ashamed.

• 7:20am: Change apparatuses yet again. Stare at things that have come out of me. Feel guilty about flushing.

• 7:30am: Decide to set up camp in den. Catch site of digital test and begin to cry when I notice that the word “pregnant” is still visible on the screen.

Oh the State I am in…

So check this out- I have been calling pretty much every fertility clinic in my state to find out how much they charge for a frozen embryo cycle. So far I have called six clinics and of those 6 three asked if I was doing a snowflake adoption.

What the fuck?

It wasn’t so much that they asked, but it was the way that they asked with this sort of glitter and whimsy in their voices.

Sheesh.

Oh & don’t get me started on the mega clinic in Orlando that refuses to treat single women. I mean, seriously. Talk about a clinic with a fucking God complex. Who are these doctors that feel like they get to decide who has the option to become a parent. I got into a pretty heated discussion with a woman from their billing dept. and it just upset me so much. At some point I would really like to out all of the clinics that have turned away patients based on their marital status or sexuality.

The trend in price seems to be $2500- $5000 and at some clinics that includes medication and monitoring and at other clinics that will tack on another chunk of change. It might as well be 10 million dollars. But at least I know what my obstacle is.

But enough about my non bleeding female bits. Yup. Still not bleeding. Still have boobs of glass and sleep all day tendencies. Mindfuck, party of one.

I am lucky that GM has been so, so sweet this week. The day after I found out about the bad beta GM asked if I was ok. I told her I was sad because I wasn’t pregnant anymore. I think she didn’t quite understand what I meant, but was able to mirror back the sadness. Frankly that was all that I needed at the time. Now she just knows that I am not feeling well. She has somehow figured out that if I am still in my pj’s when she wakes up that I am “sick”.

I feel badly that I haven’t been the best caretaker in the world this week. Don’t get me wrong I am still getting GM up and clean and dressed and fed and walked to the bathroom and tucked warmly into her recliner. But I am not able to engage her with conversation or energy as well as I would like. We basically spend the day with her tucked into her chair and me tucked into the couch and a marathon of some cable show on the tv.

The interesting thing is that BG has become crazily attached to GM. Once we are all settled into our den poses BG strolls into the room and leaps on to GM’s lap. She then stretches out completely and naps- all day. It’s almost as if BG has figured out that I am sucking at the care-giving at the moment and has decided to supplement my energy with her own. It delights GM so much to have this usually unbenevolent kitty claim her lap.

Side note: I am tinkering with the blog a bit as I wait for my new blog to be ready for me. All I am doing is moving this exact blog to a hosted domain- nothing fancy. However, if there are any creative types out there with ideas I would love to hear them.

Trying

Today I am going to make an effort to try to be more of a person. For the last couple of days I have been not much use for anything. Every ounce of my energy was used to not cry in front of GM or to not go off on a rage on unsuspecting people like my Mother. It didn’t always work.

I could feel a small shift in my body last evening when I noticed that I smelled. It was a sort of weird belly button funk odor but it was coming from all of me. Rather than tilt my nose in another direction I got off the couch and took a shower.

Being in the shower is a great place to cry. Just file that bit of information away in case you need it some day.

I won’t say that I felt like this great new person when I got out of the shower. I mean I felt clean and smelled a hell of a lot better, but it didn’t make me better.

I am realizing that life is going to keep going on around me. The world doesn’t stop just because my beta did. I do have some strong armor on though.  The armor is what gets me through those motherfucking Johnson & Johnson, “a baby changes everything” commercials. Guess what- NOT having a baby changes things too.

The armor is also getting me through celebrity baby bump news and message board, “It’s twins!” blinkies and the mail. Yes. Even my mail is hard. Two days ago I got a New Year’s card from a good friend and it was all about how thrilled she was that I was pregnant. Yesterday I got a letter from the Northeast Clinic detailing the state of my frozen embryos.

I think my rage has dulled and in its place is sadness. I am feeling the loss now. Even though it was just a blip, an iota of a maybe, I wanted it. Even when I blogged about not believing it was real or compared it to other blips, don’t ever doubt that I wanted it.

This morning I e-mailed NEC with some practical questions that I need to know. I asked how much a frozen embryo transfer would cost. I asked if they shipped frozen embryos to other clinics & if so how much that would cost. And I asked if there were discounts given to women that opted to donate an embryo or two to another woman. (something I am pretty sure I won’t be able to do anyhow because I used a sperm donor)

This is a big step for me- the wanting to find out just what my obstacle is. I can’t bitch about things in the abstract. I need to know the price tag of my bitching.

Now for some random blog business:

1) I am working with a company to move this blog to my own domain. Once I do this I will be able to run a few ads on this site. Currently this blog platform will not allow ads to be placed. Who knows if ads will bring in anything, but it could be a start.

2) I turned off comments on the last post before I published the post. There were no mean of hurtful comment left that made me do it.  Really I just needed to write and purge and rage and I needed to do it without you guys feeling like you needed to prop me up. I am so lucky in that I know you are all here for me. I don’t doubt it at all.

3) Thank you for all of the plaid posts. That was really touching and sweet.

4) I am so so behind in blog reading right now. It might be a while before I catch up. This is not about you. I am not really in a happy place at the moment. I could force the happy, lord knows I have before, but this time I am not.

Now I want to talk about something kind of tough. I want to talk about the difference between a chemical pregnancy and a miscarriage. Before I started trying I had never heard of a chemical. In fact there was a moment that I thought all IVF pregnancies were called chemical because they were made in a lab with, um, chemicals.

What I want to talk about is the weight that each phrase has. Does one weigh more than the other? And I am not talking about the pain Olympics here. I mean when you hear the phrase “it was a chemical pregnancy” does it hit you in the gut the same way as hearing “it was a miscarriage”? Is calling it something other than a miscarriage a way of prettying it up? Dumbing it down?

I bring this up because I am one that needs/wants to label things. I  honestly don’t know if I am having a chemical or a miscarriage.

Actually neither of those words are bringing me any comfort. I feel like I was pregnant for 5 days and then when I heard about the beta my brain told me that I was unpregnant. But am I pregnant until I bleed? Did I stop being pregnant when the beta farted out?

I know, not a rosy subject…but I know that so many of you have been through losses and I just want to talk about the words we use. What words were right for you? Did it matter?