joie

Big News!

It has been almost one year ago exactly since we had the IVF discussion appointment. At the time I wasn't yet ready. I opted for a laparoscopy instead. That didn't provide any earth shattering insights and technically, I am still classified as "unexplained." It still seemed like the right decision,though--especially when I got pregnant two months later. But then came the big let down. Now, six perfect cycles (I'm telling you, the miscarriage didn't even slow down my German-engineered parts) later, I am still not pregnant. And now, I'm ready. SO FUCKING READY!

Basically, what I've been waiting on is Dan. I haven't gone into this very much, I don't want to break the cardinal blog rule of keeping marital conflicts out, but I need to talk about this. A constant source of tension between us throughout all of this is his use of substances.  He's always had very high (120 million and up!) sperm counts, and everything else was good, but basically with that number, it doesn't matter. Even a small percent of that many is pretty good. So, he sat back on his high sperm count and got high. Regularly. And this is Oregon. Whenever more than two people are gathered, a pipe comes out. And the tension between us.

Dan is so sad about not being able to make a baby. He took our loss very hard. And whenever I bring up ART or adoption, he just says "I just wish we could do it on our own." Which gets the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end!!! Well, apparently, we CAN"T! GET OVER IT! And if you cared that much, could you CONSIDER taking a break from the pot? And the drinking and smoking cigarettes-only-when-I-drink?

The nagging hasn't worked. Surprised? So, the other day I tried something new. I met him at the door when he got home. I had all the literature about IVF and the phone. I showed him exactly what would happen, what I would go through, the drugs I would have to take and all the restrictions for me. Then I showed him the recommendations for "male partners of IVF patients". I told him how I had started to dial and stopped myself. I said I would not go through with this without his full cooperation and commitment to follow the recommendations. The ball was in his court. When he was ready, let me know and we can go forward. He wanted to know when it would start (by "it", he meant the quitting part). The minute I make the phone call. Okay, but, he need a few days to consider. It was SOOO hard not to cajole, remind, or nag during that time, but I did pretty well. This morning he told me he is ready. He will go clean. He said, "Maybe it will be good for me." You THINK?!

So, today, I made the call. We have to do the "discussion" again. All the testing is outdated, and needs to be redone. But, we are going forward with IVF! I am just crossing my fingers that my FSH hasn't gone way up and all my eggs dried up in the past year! I am so nervous!! I am so excited!! I am so scared!!!

Excuse Me for One More Wood Joke

So the anniversary was productive, delicious and thoroughly enjoyable.

Delicious because we finally tried out Three Doors Down, which I have wanted to go to for 7 years. If you ever go there, the seared scallops and peaches with honey cream sauce is divine. Their signature dish, the penne with vodka sauce had too much build up, I'm afraid. When I told my friend, J. I was going there, she said "I've only been there once, but there's this one dish they have...."
"The vodka penne?"
"YES!!!" Rolling her eyes in the back of her head.
"So, its as good as they say?"
"Oh. My. God. I don't know how to describe it. Every bite was better than the one before it. Your mouth never gets tired of it."
"Wow, I have to try it."
"Its, its like the 'big O'!" I think to myself, ovulation? No...then kind of a long, only slightly awkward pause, "Well, of course, this is coming from someone who isn't getting any..."
A little longer, slightly more awkward pause, and then in my dorky compulsion to fill the space, I answered, "Well, I can have multiples! One from the pasta, and then one from Dan's noodle!" End of conversation.

Productive,because I was able to find a gift that Dan loved. a $1.99 bamboo back scratcher from Cost Plus. There was other stuff, too, but that was the wood (bamboo is wood, right?), and his favorite part. Who knew it was so easy? For his part, he called me out into the garage and there was an inexpensive wooden step stool in the middle.  The look in my eyes must have said, "Oh, how nice, but is that all there is?" So, he instructed me to climb it, silly! And there, in the rafters was a small package containing some massage tools from The Body Shop, including  this:

My gift of wood with Dexter in the foreground mistaking the massager for a new crotch to sniff.

It was also productive because I finally scheduled the mammogram my doctor told me to get over three weeks ago. Mammogram?! But, I didn't think women in their fertile years with NO family history of breast cancer got those! OH MY GOD!! The infertility was enough, but now I'm of the age for mammograms? And in protest, my breasts have been hurting LIKE CRAZY for the past two days, and I am now partaking in the subtle dance of "Maybe...could it be...? But, better not get my hopes up..." that every infertile knows. To top it all off, the mammogram is scheduled for the day before my cycle is expected to refresh. So now I've added some fancy steps to the dance, called the twirl around  'radiology would be dangerous if you are pregnant' then big kick to yourself for even thinking that is a possibility.

Do You Think Zappos.com Sells Snakeskin Boots?

First, I want to say thank you to all of you who helped me with ideas for gifts. You came up with some good ones. Yesterday Dan came home from work (he's doing summer school, I am NOT--no way!) and was all grumpy and sad. It took a while to pull it out of him (as usual) but when he finally spit it out, it turns out that the 3rd anniversary is leather, not wood. And he was really upset because he's been working on something diligently in the garage and now feels like he got it all wrong. Awwww! Honey, we can do leather next year! And I have ALL kinds of ideas for that one! Like this. This might come in handy while working on wood. (Tee hee!) Or, for a more formal occasion, this might be an appropriate choice. These are a nice idea for a joint gift from Dexter and me. Now, for me, what I really want is this or this. But, in the case that I am (cross my fingers) nursing by our next anniversary, this and this may come in very handy.

Then, while I was gone for a while, he decided to read my blog and now he is telling me NOT to get him a gift because he thinks it is causing me stress. He made it very clear: "NO gift!!!" But, do I EVER listen? I'll find something....

The ideal gift for my honey right now would be some kind of snake catching device. Do they make those in wood? Am I driving you crazy with my persistent determination to stick to an arbitrary theme? Every day (literally) my cat brings us her latest catch. During the summer, she is very good at pulling her weight around here, which makes up for the other 9 months of the year when she does nothig but demand food and keep the other couch (the one humans can't sit on) warm. Today it was a bluejay. The day before a field mouse (alive!) Yesterday, it was a snake (also alive!). I debated taking a picture of it to show everyone, and in the time I took to weigh the pros and cons, it slithered under the couch. So, all I have to show you is the last one she caught, a month ago. Clearly, it was dead.

The idea of having a snake under my couch was certainly not a pleasant one, but I'm so used to living with prey in my midst, I just decided either Nadia would catch it and kill it, then I could dispose of it, or eventually it would slither back out and then I'd take it outside. Good thing Dan wasn't home. He is not a friend to the serpent. At all. They freak him out. I keep telling him, garter snakes don't even have teeth. I used to play with them when I was a kid. Harmless.

Teeth, apparently are not the issue. Its more of a slithery, hissy issue. Or some kind of Jungian collective unconscious agreement by humans to dislike snakes. He's not sure. He. Just. Doesn't. Like. Them. Got it?! So, I felt really bad when I got home from my little jaunt out (COMPLETELY forgetting about our reptilian visitor) to hear his story of discovering the snake, still very alive, greeting him on the bathroom floor as he was getting out of the shower, all naked and stuff. Oooh, I think I owe him something nice.

Okay, I Need Some Help, Here

As I write this, Dan is out shopping for my anniversary gift. He has been dancing around bragging for a few days "I know what I'm getting you!" For my part, I just smile sweetly and try to seem mysterious, but, AAHH! Its four days away and I honestly haven't even thought of it. So, can you guys help me out? Like most men, he is nearly impossible to shop for. In keeping with my absolute obession with Project Runway, I will set up your challenge:

• This year's theme is "Wood". Go ahead, laugh! Yes, Dan is going to give me "wood". Hee hee! Now, are we out of middle school yet? We try to stick with the themes. Keeps it interesting.
• The bar has been set VEEERRRY low with our anniversary gifts in the past. Dan gave me his whole theory about that this morning. Lots of anniversaries. Don't set yourself up in the beginning, blah blah blah. Low (as in the bar) is a relative term, but to give you some perspective, here is the "Cotton" gift I received last year:

I love that man, but emblazoned accross my chest?!

• Dan has special talents with wood (hee-hee! Geez, would you get your mind out of the gutter!) He already has too much of it in the garage, and can do wondrous things with it, mostly build these amazing puppets:
• I could buy him a woodworking tool, but that would be like buying a gambling addict a lottery ticket. He has a little problem saying "no" at Home Depot, and besides I would have NO idea what he would want.

So, you have four days to complete this challenge. As Tim would say, Make it work, people!

Gearing up

Yesterday, Dan and I took a little trip to the neighborhood bicycle shop and bought close to $300 worth of gear,all for me. Dan has been bike commuting for years and has it all down. I am the one they all were probably laughing about as soon as I left. I felt like a  complete idiot, with "one of these old-style bikes" as the very hip, very fit bike repair chick called my 21st birthday present, which still works great, thank you. As I sat my fat ass down on my new seat (oops!) saddle to see if it felt right, I was embarrassed because I don't know HOW its supposed to feel! And frankly, when you are as out of shape as I have become, there is no getting around the inevitable pain that will come from exercise.

The motivation for all these purchases, which include my new shorts, a combination of tourniquet and Depends undergarment (should help with the saddle pain), aerodynamic helmet that makes me look like a character from Star Trek, and saddle bags to carry my stuff, is so that I will not fall over dead when we go to the Bainbridge in Bloom garden tour next weekend. We have opted to "Bike the Bloom". It should be the perfect vacation for us, I get to drool over the amazing gardens and Dan gets his bike tour. An O'Henry kind of vacation. According to Sunset Magazine, we will be encountering "the most passionate gardeners in the world" And I feel so eco-friendly traveling only by train then ferry then bike. Not anywhere near a car for four whole days. Wish me luck.

It WILL be fun

Today at work, all the whining I've been hearing started to become unbearable. What a bunch of babies! And I am NOT talking about my students. I am a little unpopular with some of my colleagues right now.  I feel like the burgermeister who banned Christmas. But, I am totally okay with that.

Today, I taped up the pot-luck sign-up sheet for our school's annual end of the year party. You may remember last year's. There were places to sign up for appetizers, main dishes, desserts, salads and beverages. Under beverages, I wrote "Let's try to stick to things from a grocery store" and I even ended it with a  friendly little  ; ). You'd think I just told some people that I was going to barbeque their new puppy and serve it on a bun for them. Okay, for those of you who come from more reasonable states, in Oregon you can only buy alcoholic beverages with a content below, oh, say 20% or something in grocery stores. For anything stronger, you must go to a state run liquor store. Or a bar. Just not, this year, to my house. Bring a keg. Bring a case of wine, champagne. Have yourself a hey day with your Zima, your Mikearitas, your hard cider. Just, please, lets not recreate the Christmas party with the Jaeger shots and the tears and the drama and the vomiting. (edited to add, as my husband reminded me, a fair amount of flatulence, too.)

See, the thing is, the people I work with, they are not exactly seasoned drinkers. Some, yes, could proudly hang with the rowdiest of frat boys. But generally, these are people who don't get out much. And teachers, on the last day of school before a big vacation, can sometimes lose a little control. And it's my house.

Now, even my husband is whining to me about this topic. When I came home tonight, he said his partner at work complained to him that his girlfriend, a diabetic and also a coworker and also the boss' daughter, wouldn't be able to drink anything because beer and wine have too many carbs for her.

"I  guess she'll have to bring her insulin. Or not drink."

"Come on, do you think you are being fair?"

"So sorry, but have you already forgotten the Christmas party? You still haven't gotten her vomit completely out of your leather jacket."

"Yes, but don't you think T. has a point?"

"Which is?"

"That M. might want to drink and she can only drink hard alcohol."

"Not my problem. Last time I was around her drinking, she ended up spending the night in the hospital. Maybe it would be good for her not to." True story. She got so drunk she was poisoned.

"I see your point, but can't you admit T. has one, too."

"Yes, I see his point. And I still am not willing to let this party get out of control. Have you forgotten that at last year's party, HE was the one keeping us up all night before our IUI with the sound of his wretching into our garbage can?"

"Oh, yeah," sheepish giggle.

"If these people feel like they need to get wasted, let them do it at a bar after the party is over. We aren't in the dorms anymore. I don't want to spend the first day of my summer break cleaning up grown up people's bodily fluids."

So there. I am getting so much more comfortable in the role of bitch. And I will have fun this year!

Hold the food, please

Dan and I just got done using the new online automated substitute employee management system (new to Dan, not me, actually). We both will be home tomorrow. Our plan is to roll around in bed all day together, moaning...with occasional emergency trips to pray before the porcelain shrine. Yes folks, that's right! We have both succumbed to the latest germ offering of our nephew, the science project. I got through almost the entire first trimester of a pregnancy without so much as a mouthful of bile, and now I can't keep my burrito from coming out my nose.

Mad at Dan

Last night was our school auction/get drunk and gamble with your co-workers event at the American Legion Hall. It totally sucks being the only sober person in the room. Everyone is less funny than they think and less good looking. So, I would like to run a "discussion" I had with my husband last night by the internet and see what you think. There's two women (both married) who he often likes to spend time with at these parties. They both smoke and Dan likes to pretend he does when he goes to these things, so they all leave together for cigarettes.  Most work parties he spends most of the evening with them. One, S., I really like. The other, A., not so much. If you've been around here awhile you may remember her from this post. She was in number eight. So, yesterday, While we were losing at playing blackjack, Dan says he has to go to the bathroom. He doesn't return, so I distract myself with some very good luck at the roulette table. When the tables close and I go to find him, I run into the end of this conversation:

A.: On a deserted Island would you?
Dan: I don't know.
A.: Okay, on a deserted island for FIVE YEARS with a case of Pabst and a bottle of scotch, COME ON!
Dan: Okay, if I was on a deserted island and really drunk, maybe.
Joie: Huh?
A.: I was asking him if he would fuck J. (another co-worker who, even drunk, isn't as attractive as she thinks).

This was a case of taking all my sober strength to show some good humor and grace. Why was she asking my husband who he would fuck?

So, later, when we were home, I asked Dan how that whole conversation came up. First, he said, "I think I asked her first."
"You asked her if she would fuck J.?"
"Well, maybe she asked me first. About someone else."
"Who did she ask you if you would fuck?"
"I don't remember."
"You do, too!"
"No, I'm trying to remember...Maybe it was H."
"Why would she ask you that? How did it come up?"

And thus began the circular dance of evasion. I know I will never know what really went down in that conversation and I trust my husband, but am I right to be really bothered by that on MANY levels?

Oh, did I forget to mention that last weekend, we were supposed to meet the same group of co-workers at a bar and when I said to Dan I didn't feel like staying out really late due to being pregnant and all, he thought it best that I just stay home and he go without me. When he came home at 2 am drunk and stinking of smoke, he had been to some strip bars with them. Not a big deal on its own. Portland had more strip bars per capita than any other city in the nation. Its hard to avoid them. Like I said, I trust my husband. At least I trust him not to cheat. But, this is all adding up to some kind of pre-parenthood freak-out rebellion. And its really messing with  my crazy pregnancy hormone addled emotions. Am I married to a fifteen year old?!?!

Right now I am taking way too much pleasure in the fact that he is miserably hung-over. Serves him right.

Starting Over

Here we are five days into 2006 and I still haven't written this post, but all my time seems to be taken up by this thing called "work" and also the quilt project that is currently eating my brain.  Thanks for all the comments and well wishes for 2006. Its already getting better, but before we move on, I have to mention a couple of bad things I almost forgot that happened in 2005, like how my nephew spent his summer with a sock on his hand because of the third degree burn and my cousin spent the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas in an eating disorder clinic. But, NOW, moving on.....

For MONTHS Dan has been planning and talking about this latest New Years party. Last year was so fun, we had to do it again. He planned the menu, bought the new Karaoke Revolution game for the Playstation2 and talked and talked about how this was going to go. Then all our friends had to go and get sick or have babies or go out of town and the whole thing fizzled out. So, we decided to go grab the scrabble board, some champagne and headed to my parents' love nest near downtown. Check out the view:

It was the best New Year's Eve ever! And I am clearly getting old. Highlights include kicking Dan's ass in scrabble with TWO fifty point bonuses for using all my letters. Then, of course he got all pouty and I started to play easy on him. I  left a few triple word scores completely open for him and allowed some very questionable words and he caught up. Then he became unbearably cocky and I started to wonder WHY I always feel sorry for him when he pouts?!?!! Good strategy on his part.

The love nest has no TV, so when scrabble was finished and we looked at the clock and it read 10:45, I said, "what are we going to do for an hour and fifteen minutes?" That's when Dan gave me that look. A vaguely familiar look that at first I didn't recognize. When recognition finally came around, my first thought was, 'but I'm not even ovulating anytime in the near future....' My second thought was, 'well, why not?' This is a family friendly blog, so I won't elaborate, but my final thought was....Well, there was no final thought. My mind was cleared.

And on New Year's Day, 2006, instead of waking up at noon with a hangover and spending my day cleaning up empty bottles, dirty glasses and spills, I woke up to this:

went for a nice walk and had breakfast with my lover. Over breakfast, we were admiring the new paint job in the love nest. It is an uncharacteristically bold color scheme (for my parents) that really works, but the walls are mostly empty. I said, "We should get them some art for their walls....I know!! I'll make them a wall-hanging quilt. It will be perfect! I'll need to go shopping for fabric..." Dan, eternally patient with me, smiled encouragingly. But, I knew what he was thinking. So, I said, "Or, maybe first, I should finish one of the six quilts I have already started..."

"I was waiting for you to say that"

So, that's what I did. ALL DAY. And the next day. Pictures soon.

Happy Holidaze

There are two great equalizers (besides birth and death...too obvious) in this world. One is the DMV. The other is the walk-in immediate care clinic. Because eventually EVERYONE:

1. Has to renew their license
2. Gets sick when the doctor is out.

Christmas Eve Saturday there was quite a collection of people in the waiting room. The anxious young couple with the sick baby. The Grandpa who cut his thumb and brought  his whole family wearing  jingly sweaters and continuing their festivities right there. The crazy lady who I speculate has a little prescription drug problem and was writhing around, moaning loudly and telling everyone who would listen (some visible to me and others not) that she had "back pain". Yeah, sure. And a whole lot of grumpy sick people from all walks of life. Including me.

Dan came too, I'm not sure why. But, I assumed if I got a throat culture he'd get one, too, just in case. In actuality, he just wanted to share the joy and fun with me. But, poor Dan, after his bout with the stomach purge, had not eaten a bite for over 36 hours. We have a word in our household that we use frequently which explains what happens when Dan goes too long between meals: he gets HANGRY. The man just has no fat reserves and the blood sugar shalt not be allowed to get low! More than 2-3 hours without food and  it gets ugly. 36 hours without food and he's not just hangry, he's hirrational and fucking hannoying! So, I sent him away. Fred Meyer was next door. I gave him the keys and said, "go get something to eat." I hate hate HATE playing mommy to my husband, but sometimes, like a root canal, taking out the trash or a pelvic exam, it is necessary. I reminded him to choose carefully, mild foods only for his first meal. After about 10 minutes, he returns. Pouting. Hangry still. "What happened?"
"They didn't have anything that sounded good to me."
"In the WHOLE store? NOTHING?!" I knew where he was going with this. He had talked about this before that day. What sounded good was a Burgerville cheeseburger. I was getting mad. "What about some crackers? Or soup?" He had completely rejected the homemade chicken and rice soup I made earlier.
"It just doesn't SOUND good to me."
"Fine. Whatever. Just. GO. Come back when you have eaten something." Remember, we have established that I was sick and grumpy. Sick and grumpy+Hangry=bad combination.

I saw the doctor. I got my Amoxicillin. I came back and there he was waiting for me. Smelling like Cheeseburger. I took a deep breath and said to my self, ' Well, he's an adult. The consequences of his actions are his problem.' Two hours later, he was in such pain and so sick to his stomach, he said he would be unable to ride in a car to my parents for Christmas as planned. I took another deep breath. And another. And gave him an early gift. It took some convincing and very assertive grumpy sick girl behavior. But, he gave in. You see, one of his presents was a magical herb that I knew could not only make his tummy feel better, but cure him of Hangry Man Syndrome. Yes, there are concerns about the herb while trying to conceive. There have been fights about the herb in the past. But, the fact is his swimmers have been fantastic, or as one medical professional said, "Awesome" under every influence on all criteria. And I want my man to be happy. Not Hangry. It worked and I took control of the menu. Long ago, a Kaiser Ask-a-Nurse told me about the B.R.A.T. diet. Strangely, it is not a comment on how my husband was acting, but stands for Bananas, Rice, Applesauce and Toast. Its what you eat when you feel sick.

We made it home for Christmas.

Number of human family members: 8
Number of canine family members: 3
Number of family members on antibiotics: 4
Number of family members who threw up on the carpet: 2
Number of family members forced to eat the BRAT diet: 3
Number of them eating a form of diet adapted for his/her species: 1
Number of Christmas miracles: 1 (Milo, Theresa's dog, had a huge tumor over his eye that everyone, including the vet, thought was IT. On Christmas morning it was GONE"
Number of Christmas mysteries: 1 (EARLY Christmas morning there was a loud bang up top and in the morning the neighbors came by saying "umm...does this roof in our backyard belong to you?" We are not discounting the 70mph plus gusts of wind, but there are some theories involving reindeer and bad landings...)
Number of fights: 0 (YAY!)