Sunday, August 30, 2009
Funny Funny
How am I just now finding this? Funny, Funny.
And this one... even better! (just fyi- one of the animations does contain an expletive, in case salty language greatly offends you... but, i posted it anyway, because honestly, life is real, and i've uttered... or yelled... the occasional one or six on particulary bad days of this journey...shocker, right?:-)
I want to have them over for dinner....
Thursday, August 27, 2009
And now, we wait...
I have debated and debated with myself about actually putting this on here, but I figured, what the hey, why not.
Today was our first, hopefully last, IUI. I learned a couple of things.
1. The technical description of the directionality of my uterus. (I can't believe I just typed the words "my uterus" in public... but there you go.)
2. Reinforcement of how good my God is. The worrisome details that had been present in the past were inexplicably absent today... the worrisome details that could have extremely affected the outcome of the IUI... just gone... we had a perfect procedure.
3. My husband is a big goofball, and I don't know what I'd do without him.
Why is my husband a goofball, you ask? Because he has the ability to make my laugh hysterically while in the very compromising position the IUI requires. So, the nurses helping today come in the room, and we are quite familiar already, so we get started right away. The chair is the standard one you ladies all know and love, but it has to be adjusted to the right height. Sugarbear is up by my head, holding my hand like a good husband does. The nurse starts raising and tilting the chair, and things are very much in progress. Sugarbear, in fascination, states loudly that he wants a chair like this in his living room to watch football in. Yup. My husband, ladies and gentlemen...
Then, the procedure is done, and the routine is that you stay put with the chair tilted for a bit. The nurses leave the room, and it is just me and Sugarbear. After the sweet talk, Sugarbear begins talking about how bored he is... and then proceeds to start going through drawers and cabinets, touching everything. It is all I can do in my compromised position to keep him from playing with the controls for the chair... "But I want to play with it!" he says... "What's that?" "Why are there so many speculums?" "What's in that bottle?" 'Syringes!" "I told you they were puppy training pads..." "I want to touch the buttons!" talking about the sonogram machine... I am laughing loudly. I can't imagine what the office staff thought at the crazy couple laughing their heads off in the procedure room... I wonder what they'd think if they saw Sugarbear touching the piece of equipment that had a large tag on it that said "Do Not Touch"...
And now, we wait...
Today was our first, hopefully last, IUI. I learned a couple of things.
1. The technical description of the directionality of my uterus. (I can't believe I just typed the words "my uterus" in public... but there you go.)
2. Reinforcement of how good my God is. The worrisome details that had been present in the past were inexplicably absent today... the worrisome details that could have extremely affected the outcome of the IUI... just gone... we had a perfect procedure.
3. My husband is a big goofball, and I don't know what I'd do without him.
Why is my husband a goofball, you ask? Because he has the ability to make my laugh hysterically while in the very compromising position the IUI requires. So, the nurses helping today come in the room, and we are quite familiar already, so we get started right away. The chair is the standard one you ladies all know and love, but it has to be adjusted to the right height. Sugarbear is up by my head, holding my hand like a good husband does. The nurse starts raising and tilting the chair, and things are very much in progress. Sugarbear, in fascination, states loudly that he wants a chair like this in his living room to watch football in. Yup. My husband, ladies and gentlemen...
Then, the procedure is done, and the routine is that you stay put with the chair tilted for a bit. The nurses leave the room, and it is just me and Sugarbear. After the sweet talk, Sugarbear begins talking about how bored he is... and then proceeds to start going through drawers and cabinets, touching everything. It is all I can do in my compromised position to keep him from playing with the controls for the chair... "But I want to play with it!" he says... "What's that?" "Why are there so many speculums?" "What's in that bottle?" 'Syringes!" "I told you they were puppy training pads..." "I want to touch the buttons!" talking about the sonogram machine... I am laughing loudly. I can't imagine what the office staff thought at the crazy couple laughing their heads off in the procedure room... I wonder what they'd think if they saw Sugarbear touching the piece of equipment that had a large tag on it that said "Do Not Touch"...
And now, we wait...
Monday, August 24, 2009
Too Much
I've tried and tried to put together a deep, meaningful post about our current plan and goings-on, as I thought it would help clear my head and keep me focused. But, it's just not coming. There is too much stuff floating around in my head, and everything I write seems silly and annoyingly pious. So, here is a random picture of Chica dog...
"Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see." Hebrews 11:1
Confidence and Assurance. Word up, yo.
"Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see." Hebrews 11:1
Confidence and Assurance. Word up, yo.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Irony
It’s been a while since I’ve written anything about baby-making. So, I thought I’d share some thoughts. I won’t go into extreme detail about ‘the plan’ and all the little things that make up the current course of fertility treatment. Sounds weird, but seriously, hashing over details is a burden for me, not a comfort, and I’m sure no one wants the nitty gritty details. Instead, I choose to find humor in the situation as it pertains to the outside world, which has always been a pretty good coping mechanism for me. I’ll keep the scary emotional stuff to myself for now, you’re very welcome.
For instance, I’ve always been a big fan of irony. Irony ranks just below sarcasm for me as far as literary devices go. I’ve always hated going to the doctor… any kind of doctor. I will avoid it like the plague, sometimes to my detriment. In the last 10 months, I’ve had more doctors’ appointments than I’ve had the rest of my life combined, and I’m not even sick. My current schedule is a visit every three-four days.
On that same note, one of the reasons why I hate going to the doctor so much is that I have a much cherished bubble of personal space, and I can be pretty modest. Gym in school was torture for me, as it involved a communal changing room. NOW- Every single one of these doctor’s appointments include the words “waist-down”, “pink drape”, and “this might be cold”. Yes, I do understand that modesty goes out the window when you are pushing a baby out, but in that instance, the baby is kind of a motivator.
Moving on- another reason why I’ve always hated going to the doctor is that I’ve had for most of my life an irrational fear of needles. I don’t know why, although I can point to a couple of traumatic events in my childhood that may have something to do with it. Don’t judge… I make up for it by being extremely rational in other areas. Anyway, this is the most ironic of all, in that my life now consists of a red sharps container on my kitchen counter, a box of alcohol swabs, a pharmacy in my fridge, and so much lab work that I’m worried about being anemic. And on top of that, I am a really hard person to get blood from. Seriously… my last appointment ended with two nurses, two needles, three tubes, my right arm, and the words “can you come milk her”. Not fun. You know it’s bad when the nurse has to pull up a chair… BUT- I am extremely nonchalant about needles now. Fear conquered!
I will post a more serious post soon, as I have thoughts in my head that need to come out … but for now, I’ll laugh at the irony…
For instance, I’ve always been a big fan of irony. Irony ranks just below sarcasm for me as far as literary devices go. I’ve always hated going to the doctor… any kind of doctor. I will avoid it like the plague, sometimes to my detriment. In the last 10 months, I’ve had more doctors’ appointments than I’ve had the rest of my life combined, and I’m not even sick. My current schedule is a visit every three-four days.
On that same note, one of the reasons why I hate going to the doctor so much is that I have a much cherished bubble of personal space, and I can be pretty modest. Gym in school was torture for me, as it involved a communal changing room. NOW- Every single one of these doctor’s appointments include the words “waist-down”, “pink drape”, and “this might be cold”. Yes, I do understand that modesty goes out the window when you are pushing a baby out, but in that instance, the baby is kind of a motivator.
Moving on- another reason why I’ve always hated going to the doctor is that I’ve had for most of my life an irrational fear of needles. I don’t know why, although I can point to a couple of traumatic events in my childhood that may have something to do with it. Don’t judge… I make up for it by being extremely rational in other areas. Anyway, this is the most ironic of all, in that my life now consists of a red sharps container on my kitchen counter, a box of alcohol swabs, a pharmacy in my fridge, and so much lab work that I’m worried about being anemic. And on top of that, I am a really hard person to get blood from. Seriously… my last appointment ended with two nurses, two needles, three tubes, my right arm, and the words “can you come milk her”. Not fun. You know it’s bad when the nurse has to pull up a chair… BUT- I am extremely nonchalant about needles now. Fear conquered!
I will post a more serious post soon, as I have thoughts in my head that need to come out … but for now, I’ll laugh at the irony…
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Sibling Rivalry
This...
is the dogs' toy box. It sits in front of the fireplace, next to their blankets. It is where the toys are kept, and the dogs know that this is where they go. Now, if I could only teach them to put them back when they are done, but we just aren't there yet!
Anyway, you'll notice that there are no whole toys. There are scraps of toys. There are pieces and parts... a wing here, a body there... a foot there. I recently had to clean out the carnage of all the useless scraps. There are dried out husks of toys that have had their innards torn out by an industrious wienie dog. Seriously. Both dogs prefer plush toys. Ginger can dismantle a stuffed toy in minutes, no matter how well-made. She makes it her mission to disembowel them. She will cover a room in stuffing, and when I think that there is no more stuffing, she will dig her little wienie dog nose down into the carcass, and find more. It has come to the point where as soon as we notice she has made the first incision, we just go ahead and eviscerate the poor thing ourselves. She will then proceed to tear them apart, trying to prove how ferocious of a badger hunter she is.
Chica, on the other hand, is more docile. She likes to suck on plush toys like a baby sucks on a pacifier. She will hold it between her paws and suck for hours. She is scared of any toy that makes noise, and refuses to have anything to do with plastic toys. She loves anything made of fleece. She will almost take off a hand if you try to part her from a basted bone though... go figure.
The dogs fight over toys like siblings. Ginger will want to bury a toy in the blanket that Chica wants to suck on, and they only want what the other one has.
So, Chica gets back at Ginger by putting the toy parts to other use...
More to come.
is the dogs' toy box. It sits in front of the fireplace, next to their blankets. It is where the toys are kept, and the dogs know that this is where they go. Now, if I could only teach them to put them back when they are done, but we just aren't there yet!
Anyway, you'll notice that there are no whole toys. There are scraps of toys. There are pieces and parts... a wing here, a body there... a foot there. I recently had to clean out the carnage of all the useless scraps. There are dried out husks of toys that have had their innards torn out by an industrious wienie dog. Seriously. Both dogs prefer plush toys. Ginger can dismantle a stuffed toy in minutes, no matter how well-made. She makes it her mission to disembowel them. She will cover a room in stuffing, and when I think that there is no more stuffing, she will dig her little wienie dog nose down into the carcass, and find more. It has come to the point where as soon as we notice she has made the first incision, we just go ahead and eviscerate the poor thing ourselves. She will then proceed to tear them apart, trying to prove how ferocious of a badger hunter she is.
Chica, on the other hand, is more docile. She likes to suck on plush toys like a baby sucks on a pacifier. She will hold it between her paws and suck for hours. She is scared of any toy that makes noise, and refuses to have anything to do with plastic toys. She loves anything made of fleece. She will almost take off a hand if you try to part her from a basted bone though... go figure.
The dogs fight over toys like siblings. Ginger will want to bury a toy in the blanket that Chica wants to suck on, and they only want what the other one has.
So, Chica gets back at Ginger by putting the toy parts to other use...
More to come.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
The Pets...
I thought it was time to introduce everyone to the pets... they are a lively bunch.
This is Chica. She was Sugarbear's Christmas present our first year dating, 1999. She was a pound puppy. Chica is Sugarbear's dog, but she adores her mommy. She seriously lives and breathes for me... she follows me around the house, always wants to sit in my lap, and sleeps at my feet. Sugarbear is quite jealous that she greets me at the door when I come home. He doesn't get that honor.
And this is Ginger. She is my dog. We got her in early 2003, about 6 months after we got married. She loves anyone who will play fetch. She loves to hide her toys under things, like blankets, and them dig them out. She is emotionally needy. Tennis balls are her addiction. She can sniff them out anywhere. She is delicate. If no one is watching, she will sleep under the covers with her head on my pillow.
This is Sergeant Death. Sugarbear bought her for me two years ago to make me smile one day when I didn't feel like smiling. And then he named her Sergeant Death. She loves her daddy. She sits on the top of his recliner, and tries to groom his head. She lays in his lap. She lets him pet her tummy. She almost won't let me near her. She hates my guts.
The End.
This is Chica. She was Sugarbear's Christmas present our first year dating, 1999. She was a pound puppy. Chica is Sugarbear's dog, but she adores her mommy. She seriously lives and breathes for me... she follows me around the house, always wants to sit in my lap, and sleeps at my feet. Sugarbear is quite jealous that she greets me at the door when I come home. He doesn't get that honor.
And this is Ginger. She is my dog. We got her in early 2003, about 6 months after we got married. She loves anyone who will play fetch. She loves to hide her toys under things, like blankets, and them dig them out. She is emotionally needy. Tennis balls are her addiction. She can sniff them out anywhere. She is delicate. If no one is watching, she will sleep under the covers with her head on my pillow.
This is Sergeant Death. Sugarbear bought her for me two years ago to make me smile one day when I didn't feel like smiling. And then he named her Sergeant Death. She loves her daddy. She sits on the top of his recliner, and tries to groom his head. She lays in his lap. She lets him pet her tummy. She almost won't let me near her. She hates my guts.
The End.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Regarding Side Effects...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
