We were trucking along, baking several dozen each night and placing them in the freezer for the big delivery. In fact, Josh was supposed to be picking up 3 pounds of butter when the STW occurred and he needed to leave the purchase at the food store to come home. No cookies that night. The STW threatened my cookie baking and when other people threaten my cookie baking, I become a rabid, ass-kicking mother fucker. I am going to bake my 1200 cookies, damn it.
When we left our clinic appointment, I made Josh drive to the food store before we headed home so I could load up the cart with chocolate chips, butter, and marshmallows. Oh yeah, it's on. I may be behind due to the STW, but I will make those damn cookies if I have to stay up all night doing so. Why? Because I'm not going to let the STW stop me from providing dessert. Because this world needs a little sweetness. And I have Martha's double chocolate cookie recipe as well as an Epicurious brownie that will literally make your teeth ache with its goodness.
The clinic appointment was non-eventful. We parked in the same space where we parked the day the car battery died while we were trying to get to Starbucks between a shwanking deposit and an IUI. That made me cry. Very little changed in the four years since we've been back except that the bathroom no longer contains this absolutely insane air freshner. It's notable because I wrote down the name of it in my palm pilot when I squirted it. It literally sucked all scent out of the air. I couldn't even smell the rubbing alcohol from the alcohol wipe I had tried out moments earlier. Josh claims he doesn't remember it, but I have a distinct memory of going back into the waiting room afterwards and whispering to him that he had to try it out.
I must retake an injection class, which is probably a good thing since I haven't actually given one in 4 years and it might be nice to have a refresher. We can't really say what will happen next until I do my first day 3s. Oh...and I have to have a sonohystogram this time. Which sounds like all kinds of suckage, the least of which being the actual sucking sound as saline drips from my body onto a sanitary pad like a long, slow, three-hour pee. But I have a week or two until I have to stress about that.
That is my story. In case people are leaving town this weekend and won't be checking back again between now and Christmas, Merry Christmas for all of my Christian friends and Happy Christmas for all of my British, Christian friends (I learned that from reading Harry Potter). May people bring you figgy pudding and much happiness. And if you are dreading the holidays, simply cut-and-paste this note into a Word document and print it out and carry it in your pocket:
It really sucks to be here right now. Maybe there are people in the room who are making you extremely uncomfortable. Not addressing the white elephant is exhausting. This really isn't how you hoped Christmas would be this year. But it won't always be like this. I don't want to make you an empty promise and tell you that next year will be different, but I can promise that not every Christmas will be like this one. And hopefully, the next one will be better. Regardless, I'm your liminal friend, down here in your pocket. Know that I'm not only here with you in paper form, but I'm ready for a bitch session when you get home.When feeling sad or seething through one more time of having someone brightly tell you that you just need to relax, place your hand in your pocket, take your stress out on the paper, and remember that there is a whole blogosphere who has your back.
And now, the blogs:
Bea at Infertile Fantasies (by the way, head over and learn how you can vote for her because she has been nominated for a cool award!) had a series of posts that blew my mind and it's not too late to get in on the discussion. She asks whether or not you'd be willing to give up years from your life in order to have a child. If the answer was yes, you also needed to say how many. Needless to say, the discussion is fascinating--especially the reasoning behind the choices. Go over, read along, and add your own thoughts.
Sarah at Sarah Solitaire had a simple yet moving post this week about what happens next after her recent chemical pregnancy. She writes: "But he may say that we could try another cycle, and you know what, it would not be the end of the world if I decided to do another one, even though I said I wouldn't. I have been spending all this mental energy basically telling myself that I HAVE to end here, that everyone will think I'm crazy for keep trying to flog my poor old ovaries into submission. But if that's what my heart wants to do, then it is worth considering. " I love that attitude. I think it's the one that creates the good stories--the person who paused and listened to their heart and followed it. I'm fairly certain that whatever road it leads you down, whether it takes you to the place you want to be, it was (at the very least) not the wrong road.
If you haven't seen it yet, you need to go see the Impatient Patient's Christmas card.
And the other very cool visual from this week is from the new blog, The Art of Being Infertile. She is making these great images including angels serenading you from atop progesterone and Santa with a syringe. She will continue keeping up the site after Christmas, but I really love the current postcards. Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like PIO.
On that note, have a wonderful weekend. I'm around; doing mad baking and clearing out my inbox.