Archive for August, 2011

Is sex sexy?

Since we’re all obsessed here about reproduction and all that, it’s kinda secondary to obsess over sex a little. Our sex drive, Dr prescribed sex, fun sex, sexy time, trying to make ourselves look/ feel sexy. I mean, how much more unsexy could we feel half the time when we’re suffering losses and fertility issues. It’s much easier to feel sexy when you’re actually fertile, plump with the life you’re bringing into the world, breasts enlarged, and knowing that your body is doing what it’s meant to do. Or before all that when you have no idea that sex = baby is not totally accurate and your body still has that “in my prime/ never been pregnant” lack of all that sags.

I’ll admit that my head kinda got stuck on this last night while I was watching True Blood. Here they are showing what I guess is supposed to be some epic sex scene between our two favorite characters (that True blood kinda ruined if you’re a fan of the books) and  I was awful. I was nitpicking it to death. His legs are too slim, why does he have his toes pointed?…that’s such a feminine pose…why did they put that scrap of fur blanket over his penis like that in the shape of a penis? Why does she look like she’s stoned? Who has these cheesy unconvincing conversations?

My theory is: they have directors, why did the directors not fix his frickin’ legs? He’s supposed to be the epitome of manly, not a damn ballerina. It ruined the sexy.

But is sex actually ever sexy? I have no clue. I’ve never had sex in front of a mirror or (my friends probably wont believe this part) recorded a video either. I have no idea what sex looks like from a perspective that is further than arms reach. I dont count porn either, since in reality I don’t think we’re so focused on posing, flexing and holding a certain facial expression to go with our cued noises (and if you are, chances are you’re not enjoying yourself properly).

You want to know what I think sex probably looks like?

Something that would make us look like this

More like the friends episode (that I can’t seem to find a video clip of) when Ross and Rachel accidentally recorded themselves and were a little horrified at how unsexy they were.

Maybe I just dont do sexy? Maybe it’s just me. But I think that things are good when you can get some laughs. Those faces we make, the grunts and other noises, trying to roll over and finding your waist length hair stuck under Hubby and getting yanked back by your head. Ya, sexy hey?






I have to remember reality. I have to be strong and pay attention. I have to consider reasons behind actions and not just take things at face value like I have a tendency to do. This is what will help me. This is how I will get though all of this shit and not let it destroy me.

My regular readers know what happened between me and Hubby when we were last trying to conceive. For anyone else, the short version is…he said he was ready to try again, all started ok but quickly he avoided me like the plague. He wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole and was always ‘sick’ if there was any chance of me being near a fertile portion of my cycle. He kept insisting that we were trying but all it was was denial on his part. He wasn’t ready, he looked at me and all he could see was the babies we lost, him almost losing me, and my insistence on doing something that would eventually kill me and leave him and Monster alone. But I saw my husband refusing to touch me, not talking to me and I thought I’d lost him. I sunk really low, lost a ton of weight (that I couldn’t afford to lose) and withdrew from everything around me.

So that’s a big contributor as to why I didn’t want to admit that we were TTC again. To myself and to others. Why I refused to dive back in head first. I’m scared that it will happen again and I’m pretty sure that we…or I…wont be able to survive it. There are a lot of things I can take, but that just ain’t one of them. He’s sworn up and down that he’s ready now, that he’ll tell me if he starts heading back into that place again, and I know what to look for (the distinct lack of a sex life being a giant clue, hey?). But I’m still scared of it.

That’s the main reason I’m doing everything I can to act like we’re not trying, while the fertility gods in the back of my head, strutting in all their phallic glory, are yelling at me about missing what could be my only chances by not paying closer attention. How many years of bad luck do you get for telling them to shove it?

I feel like if I give this my all again, I’ll just be setting myself up for another crash, and if I don’t give it my all…I’ll just end up getting nothing out of it.

Then my grade A quality stubborn side kicks right in. I ain’t givin’ up quite yet, I’ve got too much to lose. Nothing worth having is easy. Right ladies (and gent)?

Does this make you feel old?

CD ? lol

My SIL pointed out to me that there is going to be a remake of Dirty Dancing coming up. I’ve got some mixed feeling on this.

#1. I don’t think I’m old enough to have my childhood movies remade yet. What the Hell? Isn’t it a little early? Am I wrong? I grew up watching Little Mermaid and Dirty Dancing (I know, not your usually combination) and I used to record it every time it came on TV. My best friend D and I would run barefoot across the alley to my house so that we could make it to the VCR and I’d get MAYBE a week before my dad would “accidentally” record over it. This happened about twice a year for my entire childhood (then my mom just bought me the VHS).

#2. This may be a crappy idea because there is no way that they can sufficiently replace Mr Swayze. He is the best, the ultimate in sexy, he IS Johnny Castle. What? Didn’t your mothers raise you to idolize Patrick Swayze? To wish you were Baby so that you could dance with him? (or wish you had any coordination so that you could dance period?).

#3. I’m just no really a fan of remakes in general.

Conclusion? Leave well enough alone.

You’d never have guessed!

Yep, that’s right folks, The Red Lady came to town. Who’d have guessed that I would experience such a festivity!? The joy, the laughter, yada yada, fluffy things and cuddling, blah blah blah.


OK, the real reason that I was ticked was that I didn’t expect it for a few day. I don’t know why I was thinking I’d still go 28 days once the birth control stopped, but for some reason I did. But back to the 26 day cycle I go. Then again I was in the mid to high 30’s before I went on it again. I can just never tell now.

Saturday morning, Me:”Hubby, I’m crampy, it feels like I’m about to get my period”, Hubby: “ok…that’s not fun”. I know, what else is he going to say, lol. “Oh my darling, let me message your pelvic area and all that surrounds it in an unsuccessful attempt to alleviate your cramps”. More likely would be a “you know, there’s a cure for that” followed by an eyebrow waggle.

And, just because the it’s more funny this way, I was attending my uncle’s wedding all bloated. I decided to embrace it. I decided that I could be The Red Lady all on my own.

On the up side, I was able to inform my little brother that I had cramps on a semi-regular basis throughout the day. The little joys in life, such as a battle of wills between siblings as to who can say the more blunt and awkward things around the other. This is the same brother that inquired about my baby making schedule at family dinner.

I guess we’re back at CD 1 (for Saturday), but I’m still not going to track it…so much as I can help it that is.

I’ve been avoiding this post

the actual video for this song is pretty amusing, I’d suggest youtube’ing it. I just couldn’t link it and veiw it on here.

To be completely honest, I’ve been avoiding this post. Ya, I’ve been AWOL around here for months while Hubby and I jumped off the TTC wagon and back on the birth control, miscarriage counselling, and coffee. Well, the coffee was just me…you all know how much I love me my coffee.

So…I’m actually not too sure here, almost 4 weeks ago now I think…I had resigned myself to the fact that it was just not going to happen for me. I’d given up. I was never going to give my son siblings and I was never going to get off this hateful birth control if I wanted my hubby to come within 20 feet of me.

That very same night, Hubby rolls on over (we were laying down) and tells me he’s ready. What the HELL!? Part of me wanted to tell him where to stick it since I’d just started accepting the lack of trying, and of course the rest of me was saying “put tab A into slot B”. I go dispose of my birth control (more joyful about that than anything else really) and make a deal with myself that I’m going to do my best to ignore all fertility related news my body gives me. Good luck with that right? But I wanted to just ease into things as much as possible so I was going to try.

So far I’m actually doing pretty good. I’m not tracking my cycle day, my cervical position, trying not to track cervical fluid but it gets pretty damn obvious around the time you’re “not paying attention to” when you know what you’re looking at, and I’m not peeing on sticks twice a day. Lets see how long I can hold out. I’ve even kept to drinking my coffee for the time being to try and convince myself that life is normal, quiet and I’m not anxiously trying to grow another human (preferably) in my theoretically perfectly fine uterus.

Posting this is my admission to myself that we’re actually trying again. First step to recovery is admitting, or something like that? But I’m still not getting my hopes up. Yes, Negative Nelly, Pessimistic Penelope, Antagonistic Annie. Maybe I’ll get a cape and make a super hero out of this?

A letter to mommyodyssey

To My Mommyodyssey, (yes, she’s mine, I claimed her but I share)

Tomorrow she’s going for a laparoscopy and she’s scared and angry. Angry because last time she had a “minor invasive procedure” she came out of it worse for wear, scarred up inside and forever changed.

So now, it’s all happening again. Different doctor, different surgery, same “minor invasive” idea, same “low risk”, same “getting knocked out and having no idea what’s happening until it’s all done”, same complete lack of control as to what’s going to happen to your body.

And I’m scarred for her too, just like anyone else that has gone through any kind of surgery dealing with our fertility and reproduction would be. Ya, we’re a paranoid bunch, stop denying it. We’re the hypochondriacs of the reproductive world. Anything that can go wrong will go wrong because so much has gone wrong already, right? No, we need to back the F up.

When I went…what is it…over a year and a half ago I think, to have my big hairy, toothy, with its own thyroid and everything dermoid cyst removed from my right ovary, I was freaking right out. It was big enough that they didn’t want to leave it,
even though there was little chance that it was cancerous, but it may twist and cut off the blood to my ovary, my fallopian tube, whatever else it had grown on to.  Then I’d lose all that. But going in, I knew that there was a chance I’d be losing them in the surgery anyways, even though the chance was small.

But I was far more scared of getting put under. Why? I dunno. But it freaked me out more than anything. And I’m a nurse! I know people go through this all the time and they’re fine. Oh, and I was stupid enough to watch a video of my procedure beforehand
cause I though educating myself would be helpful. No, don’t do it. But when it’s personal, all practical knowledge goes out the window and all you’re left with seems to be doubt and fear and negativity.

So, I was afraid that above all else, I wasn’t going to wake up again. I got right morbid. I was in the middle of making my son’s “big boy room” and I busted my ass to finish it in time for my surgery “just in case”. I stuffed everything I could into his baby book, writing him letters about himself and me and what we did together every day and my special memories of him. I found a little corner of his room and painted a little love note to him on his wall so that he had something from me if I didn’t come back that he would stumble across at some point and feel loved.

The morning of the surgery I traded off, my son going with my step-dad to play in a helicopter (technically not supposed to do that) and my mom to stay with me at the hospital. I was NOT good company, but she was still a distraction a bit. I was trying to ignore the massive panic attack that I was going though, reminding myself of all the practical things that made no difference because it was me, not someone else or one of my patients going through this. Eventually, I gave up, surrendered to the numbness that was my only other option at the time, and went on in.

Of course they never get to things fast enough when you just need to “get it over with”. Waiting on the stretcher, having random nurses or surgeons come and ask me the same questions over and over (confidence inspiring, I know, but it happens all the time). And then eventually I go in, get knocked out, and remember nothing.

I only ever told one of my friends how I’d been feeling. Another mother that could understand the morbidity of my “what if’s” and not judge me or say I’m being ridiculous. I couldn’t tell my husband because I knew he’d yell at me for saying things I shouldn’t (maybe he thinks it’s a jinx, I’m not sure). I just faked a brave face for everyone else.

But eventually I woke up. I passed in and out for a bit, felt fine, told the nurses not to bother with a prescription for pain meds since they don’t work on me anyways (they looked like they wanted to have me committed when I said that, they must be wimps), and then I had to pee. “No way in hell am I using a bed pan if I can help it lady, no I’m not nauseous, just help me sit up so I can walk”. It’s amazing how you can go from fine to puking your guts out in a matter of seconds. But I did manage to walk to the bathroom after. And I puked every time I moved after that for the next few hours.

My mom took me home to live with her for the next week since my hubby was working and I couldn’t take care of my son. I came out of the hospital sliced up and stitched back together, underwear on backwards (mom’s fault), singing a song (slight side effect of the drugs) and pausing to puke every few minutes (it just snuck up out of nowhere), some pain in my chest/ shoulders/ back from the gas that they used to blow my abdomen up like a balloon, and walking like there was a short string from my head to my toes. But I was fine.

So mommyodyssey, that was my long-winded way of saying that we’re all scared, we’re all angry about the shit that has happened to us, and no matter how much I tell you that everything is going to be fine (cause it is) and that this time will turn out like it’s supposed to (cause it will) and that you will wake up (cause no one actually gets do die peacefully in their sleep like we all want to) and the percentage of things going wrong is so low (fuck percentiles, us infertiles hate percentiles)…all this will mean nothing because it’s not a someone else going through it.

I love you and I know that I’ll be hearing from you after your surgery when, just like I did, you will be able to laugh off your morbidity. I’ll be sending out my heathen prayers because if he’s there, he can hear me anyways. You know I won’t be the only one doing so. I know things are shit right now with this, and I wish I could be there with you to hold your hand and let you vent (even if you’re as grumpy and morbid as I got before mine).

Oh, and I managed to keep all my bits. I was lucky there (luckier if we knew why they aren’t really working). And my dermoid didn’t end up with teeth, hair and a thyroid. It was just boring fat and tissue so the dr didn’t bother taking a picture for me.