Jennifer, the human pin cushion

There are millions of pregnant teens out there. A friend of ours seem to get pregnant every time her husband shows her his penis.

Getting pregnant shouldn’t be so hard, right?

We’ve tried Clomid…but that didn’t work. So now we’re doing injections (Repronex) every day for ten days. I am SO sick of being pricked. I almost dread when B comes home because I know as soon as he walks in, he has to inject me. NO, I’m a big wuss. I cannot give it to myself. I hate it, I hate it.

When it was cold, the skin across my thighs would tighten up and feel like someone was pressing hard bruises. And ITCHY! Oh my goodness it itched like crazy. B felt so bad seeing the welts, bruise/discoloration, etc.

The only thing that alleviates it a little is as soon as he’s done, I get to punch him in the arm. (not very hard…but just enough to get the pent up energy out…in my defense, I did tell him to put up the punching bag in the garage.)

But that seems to have worked. We have one good sized follicle. We did Artificial Insemination. (IUI, I think?) We’ll find out if it ‘took’ later. I’m going in Sunday to see about my progesterone (?) level.

At least I don’t have to take any more shots.

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BTW…B got a passing grade

B got a thumbs up. His swimmers are good. Good number, good motility (or however you spell that)…all around good.

It’s strange my reaction…or maybe it’s very natural. Now that we know he can father children, I feel like the responsibility is all on me. If nothing happens, it’s my fault.  My intellectual side says that’s being silly. I can’t control everything…but it’s difficult to separate the heart from these matters.

To say the least, I am a wee bit stressed about it…even though I know I’ve been given a clean bill of health…still….

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The ROOM

So B and I have returned from the visit. This was the visit where he leaves a deposit to see if 1) he has swimmers…or enough of them and/or 2) just how well they swim. Fortunately, we have a world class fertility clinic here. ARTS @ Presbyterian Hospital

Despite my speculation of what the room might be like in an earlier post, I was highly disappointed! First of all, they wouldn’t allow me to go to the room with him. “Wives may not go to help husbands.”

Really…what can you do at this point? So I waited. Then asked the receptionist some questions.

Yes, doctors DO right off porn as a business expense.

No, there’s no disco lights or Barry White playing in the background.

She was very nice about it and told me when one was free, I can see what the room looks like…for journalistic reporting, of course.

The room is small. Very small. A nondescript, beige-y room. Just enough for one upholstered chair. (a very small one, too…which made me think that really obese men could not use one of those) There was a small side table that held paper cover for the chair & the top drawer that held a Penthouse and a Playboy. Nope, nothing more exotic than those. No ‘tie me up, tie me down’ nor gay porn…very vanilla. (I suppose writing off Playboy is easier than Barnyard Beauties.) And of course a small sink in the corner.

The reason she said wives were not allowed was because of the ‘help’ they might give their husbands. Even when they promised, many times the lab found foreign bodies in their specimen. I was thinking maybe saliva, skin cells…from the help. She was a little more blunt: “No, they have sex in there and then try to catch what comes out. We have to throw it away and start all over.”

Having seen the room, I don’t know how they manage it other than moving things around and using the wall.

She also did say many guys bring a portable DVD player to help them get things going.
Which made me wonder: How long are they in there on average? But didn’t get a chance.

B was in there for quite a while…or it felt like it because I was waiting. He said he was NOT comfortable in there…which is understandable. A strange place, the possibility somebody could walk in, the unnaturalness of the place…even the ‘marital aid’ didn’t help much, he said. Either that or he found a really interesting article in the Playboy.

All in all, if I had to choose, I rather do what he did than what I am going through with the daily shots.

But that’s another entry.

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Summer trips…links for planning

Found some interesting websites to search for a possible cruise this summer:

Travel + Leisure’s “Best 35 Travel Sites” list

CNN’s article about T&L 25 list 2007

CruiseCritic

Frommers for the discussion board

LuggageOnline

Kiplinger’s 2007 update of a 2004 article

TIME’S magazine 2007 list

Washington Post list

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Tony Bourdain at his snarky best

I’m actually putting this in here today to have a link. But if you want snark, he’s a master at it!

He writes about his opinion on the ‘stars’ of Food Network. I hate meanness…but it’s like a car accident you can look away from. And he’s over the top…so you take everything he says with a grain of salt. “There goes Tony again.” *shaking head*

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Our B&B if officially closed for the season

B’s maternal grandmother stayed with us for 2 months, his paternal grandmother for about a month (on and off), my sister was visiting during the holidays for a week…and my parents JUST left today.

Don’t get me wrong. We LOVE our family. But for the first time in 3 months, we have the house to ourselves…with no plans for  weekend guests.  Woo hoo!

We are actually going to schedule a ‘be bored’ day next weekend. We’ll finally get a chance to clean up the house, put up Christmas stuff (yes, it is STILL up), clean up the garage, start thinking about putting up a fence, the list goes on….

But the house does seem a little empty…

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Creepy Old Ads

I just had to share this. Click on the link for more ads. (although a few, I don’t know why they are there)

Can you imagine seeing these ads in your magazine? Crazy, man!

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Baby Makin’ Update

Well, since the last time, I’ve gone to visit Dr. Bookout 4 times…I think. I’ve lost track!

Apparently Clomid does NOT work on me.
Great.

So I’ve been taken to the next level: daily self-injected shots

I HATE it. It stresses me out to no end if I thought I had to do it myself. Fortunately, I’ve found someone to do the pricking. It’s unnatural…deliberately piercing your own skin with anything.

On a lighter note, B is going to have to see if his swimmers can, in fact, swim.
Yes, he should have gotten this done a LOT earlier…but for one reason or another, all the different doctors assume the other requested it…and that everything was ‘good’ on his end. So when I mentioned it this last time, they wanted him to get in there immediately.

So what does he get to do? Go in a room with material to help things along. I’m going in there with him. (we live too far for us to do it at home)

No, not to help him out. But I’ve been really curious what’s in those rooms. Do they have shag carpet, disco lights and fuzzy purple fabric with pleather trims on the walls? And when you walk in, do you hear Barry White? And what kind of magazines/videos will they have? Would they have material geared towards the gay community? I suppose so…for gay couples wanting to do artificial insemination. And do doctors get to write off porn as legitimate business expense? And do they wear rubber gloves when they dispose of them? (who knows who’s been doing what with which magazine! Yuck.) I wonder if any magazines get ‘borrowed’ permanently? (And do they count how many mags are in there right before you go in…and if any are missing, you get a charge on your credit card?)

Yeah, I’m curious. 🙂

I’ll report when we get back.

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The Anti-Dorian Gray

There aren’t many jobs that will literally document your aging process like when you work as a teacher. (Well, maybe being a movie star…but that’s another blog entry by someone else.)

Weird concept? Not really.

What other job makes you take yearly, close-up pictures? And has the audacity to place them in yearbooks for all to see?

Somewhere in my box of stuff, at the very bottom I have a picture of me…bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, fresh-scrubbed face young’un.  Every picture placed on top of the preceding one looks a little different…a little wiser than the one under it.

When I was a young, young teacher, I didn’t think about this…ever. As I’ve gotten older, I found myself more and more reluctant to take pictures. I guess I internally knew what was going on…just didn’t realize it. I really don’t mean to be late, but I missed last year’s group picture. (traffic, you know) This year, I thought I was going to be late. But I was on time. (yeah?)

I am waiting in dread for “The Turn Year”. It might be this year…it might be next. But you’ll know when it happens. It’s always hanging over your head each year…in the back of your mind…scratch, scratch, scratch. “Is this the year I turn old?”

Instead of “Hey, great picture!“, it will be a hesitant, “Oh…yeah…that’s you all right.”

Tick tock, tick tock.

Next year, they should have the Grim Reaper in the background as one of our scene choices.

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First test: “F”

The doctor asked me to take a pregnancy test to see if the first shot ‘took’. So last night before going to bed, I read the directions: (basically put…please skip if squeamish) pee on the stick first thing in the morning, put cap back on, wait 2 minutes for the result.

Next morning, I do my business on the stick. As I put the cap back on, I think to myself, “Okay, we wait 2 min…”

You’re not pregnant…says the stick.

“Hey, you’re supposed to tell me in 2 minutes after you think about it.”

Um…don’t need time to think. You’re definitely NOT pregnant. No need to draw this out.

Not only was it ‘no’, it was a “NO”.

As soon as I tinkled on it, a big fat minus sign pops up. Not, “Wait…you might be pregnant. Hold on, please.”
It was, “No freaking way are YOU pregnant! Nope, don’t need 2 minutes. I can tell you NOW that you are DEFINITELY not pregnant.”

Hate inanimate objects with attitude.

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