Auld Lang Syne: What Does That Mean Again?

So my brother is a man so educated, so literate, so knowledgeable that it is virtually impossible to have a conversation with him. He has a concentration in English literature, and spent far too much time studying ancient poets. And a few years back he "translated" Auld Lang Syne for me.

"Auld Land Syne" is an ancient song of Scottish origin, attributed to Robert Burns. "Auld Lang Syne" translates, roughly, as things that past. Old friends. Old times. Back in the day.

The song says, in my opinion (and helped by the brother's translation), there are moments that happen. Moments to remember. Good and bad. People that matter, that touch your lives and then go away. And change is going to happen, life is going to go on, no matter what. But for this moment, I remember the old acquaintance. I bring you to mind. And I remember what it was to love you. I promise to remember you. But I also promise to continue, to celebrate you more than mourn you, and to go on.

For me, when I sing this song, I remember my grandmother, who died too long ago to know my husband. And I remember my husband's uncle, who was like a father to him when my father-in-law ran out. But this year, after reading all your blogs, I also think of the angels who never quite made it to earth, both from miscarriage and a "failure to implant." Mine included.

I promise to remember you, and to honor you, and to drink a cup of kindness here. For auld lang syne.

Send in the Clowns...

My friend Steve sent me this bit of news a while ago.

"Sending in the clowns can significantly increase the chances that fertility treatment will be a success, Israeli researchers have found."

Which is both ridiculous and completely logical. Being scared and strained and stressed can't help anything. Saying (and praying) "please please please" makes my tummy hurt and my shoulders aches. But when I declare "I am going to have a child, I am going to be a mother," it feels good. Great even. Like laughing. (Laughing always feels good. It's why we do it...)

Steve, I should mention, is one of my few real-life friends that I tell my IF horror stories to. He's HIV positive, so he's got his share of horror stories. And, like me, they involve the added HELL that is being sick in this country without insurance.

But Steve is my inspiration: he knows a guy who is a professional clown, he says, and is
sending Chuckles over when I have my next IVF treatment.

there ought to be clowns...

Infertility Shower

So Teamwinks put a post a few days ago, To Shower or Not To Shower. And as I read it, (and added my comment), I was struck by one sentence.

You see, a “normal” woman has a baby shower.

And I thought, I want an infertility shower.

I have been to more than my share of baby showers. (My traditional gifts are D.ref.t and B.oppie.s, which you cannot have too much of). I have been to baby showers of friends, co-workers, relatives and neighbors.

My turn. I want an infertility shower.

I want friends and acquaintances to gather around me and tell me, as they tell the new mother at the traditional baby shower, that it's okay. At the traditional baby shower, the guests tell the new mommy that she is going to be okay. That she has the love and support of all who are assembled.

I want that. Screw the quietness around the topic and no one asking for updates. I want a celebration of where I am (bleak as it is) and where I want to be. Where I am going. Where I am going to get to.

And, of course, I want cake. Hope, cake and presents.

and it's bumming me out...

..that I appear to be the only one surfing and posting on Christmas...

Merry Christmas!

Ask the Question

H (my husband) is a big fan of affirmations. Perhaps I've mentioned. But he's not a big fan of the statement affirmations. You know the kind. The "every day, in every way, I am getting better and better" flavor.


He thinks they're hooey, and I agree with him. Almost immediately, after I say it, my mind will provide me with a thousand reasons why it's not true, and a million things that are wrong with me and my life. Maybe it's just me.


H is a big fan of affirmations in the form of questions. Positive questions. And, at the risk of sounding like a dutiful wife, I agree again. Because nothing is more powerful, more insistent, more compelling than the unanswered question.


Now, if I ask myself, "what the hell is wrong with me?" I can always come up with an answer. But if I ask my self "what the hell is RIGHT with me?" it's suprising and NICE what pops into my head.


My affirming question, right now, is "what can I do to make my body more fertile and responsive to the drugs?"


Even though we don't have a hope in hell of affording an IVF until next year (if then), I'm doing things NOW that are answering the question. Goofy, loopy things—cutting down on sugar and caffeine, eating way too many vegetables, and (H's favorite) wearing a sleep mask.

So when I ask myself the question... even though we are on a "break," even though I am powerless against IF, even though I've got no reason to hope... I feel hopeful.

Any questions?

Entitlement

So we're so broke we're hitting the bill collectors up for cash. So what do we do this weekend? Go on vacation!

Okay, see, we're a member of a timeshare thing. And it was paid for, and we can't afford to anything for Christmas, so we packed up the Mama and the car and away to C.olonia.l W.illiamsbur.g! (seriously -- we're so flat we shook my purse for change to pay the tolls.)

Now, the park has a shuttle bus, and the shuttle bus is handicapped accessible. This is GREAT, because Mama needs her wheelchair to go further than a block. She has trouble walking on her own.

We approach our stop and begin to try to extricate Mama from her safety harness. A safety belt for her, a hook for each wheel and an extra restraint that I could not figure out. Most people give us space. Most people are patient (as we struggle) and give us room. Most people.

But who has the problem? The witch with the baby carriage.

She comes barrelling onto the bus, with her toddler on her shoulder and her stroller overloaded with gear. She's got a second bag on her other shoulder and is sniping at the man who trails them CARRYING NOTHING. She sets down her baby, her stroller and her bag is such a way that I CANNOT GET MY MOTHER IN LAW'S WHEELCHAIR OFF THE BUS. Has she got other places that she could have settled in? SURE, but that would have meant going a half of foot farther and WHY DO THAT.

The driver quietly and politely asks her to move her stuff. I don't know if she didn't hear him or was just too busy witching at her husband to pay attention. But she doesn't move. Finally, I'm so fed up I just say "HEY!" and gesture at my stranded and befuddled Mother In Law. 80 years old, mismatched, and crazy.

"Well, I have a child," she huffs.

I almost popped her. I freaking almost popped her. No court in the land would have convicted me.

How was your weekend?

And if you notice that I don't post pictures anymore....

...it's because they don't work so well in Blogger Beta...

Blech

Christmas is next week. WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN? Lord, I am not ready.

Went to the RE's today to have some sort of smear that I don't really understand. Not the PAP, but a c.hlamydi.a. I guess that they want to rule it out as a cause of IF. Which I just think is FUNNY because this is my third RE and the first to think of it.

I'm a little cranky today.

I've mentioned before that we don't have insurance. Because of that, we've been paying everything out of pocket. I cashed in my 401(k)s and we had an IVF cycle. And now we are broke. BROKE. Checking account overdrawn BROKE.

And Christmas is when?

Insert platitude here. We'll get by. Things will get better.

And a Merry Christmas everyone...

The thing that is extra frustrating is that I can't talk to many about it. Not in real life. Mentioning that you're penury makes people a wee bit uncomfortable. And it's a little embarrassing for us, as well. And knowing that we have no safety net... well, that just adds to the fun.

My father said that he would mail us some money. It's like I'm 19 again, living on my own for the first time. Sheesh.

Okay, I'll admit it

H and I needed time. We needed time to settle into each other, adn to settle in to the idea of being parents.

Even though we are both in our late 30s (H's 40, and I am not too far behind) we only got together a few years ago. And we had to figure out who we were as a couple. And that took time.

And then, almost on cue, Mama got sick. Way sick. Can't live on her own sick. And we had to adjust to being full-time caregivers. And that took time.

And then the concept of children. BABIES. Neither H or I had a good childhood. We had some good moments, but my mother abused me, and his father abandoned him. So... yeah. Not something that we wanted to do as a matter of course. And to truly get out heads around becoming parents. Yeah. That took time.

Now, of course, I think we're good. I think we're stable. I THINK WE'RE READY. So anytime you're ready, God, well, so are we.

Today

Today was a busy day. I took Mama to the doctors, beciuase her M11Q had expired. Her doctor had filled one out previously, but V.isitin.g N.urs.e S.ervic.e of N.e.w Y.or.k took over 30 days to process her request, and then realized they couldn't help us. (Mind you: they advertise that they will have a Home Health Aide out the next business day. Not over a damn month).

Now, if I haven't mentioned, Mama goes to Alzheimer's daycare everyday. And today also was the day of their Christmas party. And so after the doctor, I had to drive to this restaurant in the middle of nowhere, and wait with Mama for her daycare people to get there.

Now, let me mentione, I hate to drive. HATE to. It scares me. I live in New York City, darnit, I do *not* drive everyday. So a big day of driving to the 'burbs (where Mama's doctor is -- we go to a specialist) and then to some large party restaurant -- terrifying.

I set out with three sets of directions and two numbers of people who could help guide me. AND I DIDN'T GET LOST. Okay, I didn't get a lot lost. Yay me!

So I drop her off at the restaurant, help the aides get everyine settled and then Mama turns on me. She's been begging for weeks for H and I to come to this party. And she was sooo excited when I said that I would go with her. But when I was there, she was NASTY. I don't know if she was somehow embarrassed of me, or if putting me down make her look cool in front of her friends, but she was mean.

Then, I drive back home, park the car, and arrive to work by subway 4 hours late.

How was your morning?

I have to say -- my almost employers (after three years, I am still a "temp") have been very supportive and flexible with me regarding my odd schedule needs. But I am still looking for a job WITH BENEFITS come the first of the year.

So now, I AM STILL AT WORK since someone called out sick and I was late.

And I am so tired.

GREAT!

H called and got the results of the MIS test today. Borderline is 0.4; I am a 0.76 which (in the words of the clinic's nurse) makes me a good candidate.

I am a good candidate. Vote for me!

This means that I'll be trying again. At least once; from then on, I just don't know.

BUT THE HELL WITH IT. It is so RARE that we in the IF get good news that I am going to focus on the positive FOR AS LONG AS I CAN.

By the way, if you heard a woman whooping and hollering about 11:00AM this morning... you may work in my office.

:)

And the results are...

STILL UNKNOWN.

H says he got busy and couldn't call. Probably true but STILL. This means that I have to wait until Monday. OH JOY.

So I had a meltdown. And H... can't handle when I melt down. So the melting caused a fight, and the fight grew and then came to a close. It wasn't pretty, but we got through it, and I think we came out the stronger for it. Which sounds really trite but is true.

So. I'll find out what my ovarian reserves and all such funness that is the results of the MIS test. And then we'll cope.

And we'll get through it.

******************

Anti-Mullerian hormone and its role in ovarian function.

Anti-Müllerian Hormone — New Marker for Determination of Ovarian Reserve.

Müllerian inhibiting substance levels at the time of HCG administration in IVF cycles predict both ovarian reserve and embryo morphology.

The MIS is MIA

My MIS test results were supposed to be back already, but due to the holiday, they've been delayed. My husband's been checking up at the clinic. The following conversation took place today:

H: Are the test results in yet?

Clinic: No, sir, we're sorry. We expect them in sometime Friday. We'll call your wife and let her know.

H: No.

Clinic: What?

H: No. Don't call her.

Clinic: Sir.. I... (insert very confused noises)

H: See, my wife is convinved that I'll get better news, because the universe likes me. So don't call her, call me.

Clinic: (laughing) Will do!

Why I love him... among other reasons.

My Vow (to myself)

My boss informed me that I am "on the list" to be hired. (Hmm, so probably not the best idea to be blogging at work?). I nosed around as much as possible and found that there's a chance that I could get "hired" in December. I have been working here for three years, and now I might get "hired." Go figure.

Now, because I live in the State of New York, any employer with more than 40 employees (and my company counts) has to provide health insurance, and the health insurance has to cover infertility (until I am 44 years old. Which is far too close for comfort).

I have tried to find health insurance on my own. The cheapest was $600 a month and the most expensive was $1,100. Both were varying shades of wretched, and neither covered IF. (Hey. Let's face it. Neither covered optical, dental or chiropractic, either). So to hear I might be WEEKS away from being covered makes me adoa little happy dance.

But this is my vow: If I do not have Health Insurance by New Year's Eve, I'm going looking for a job that has one.

thanksgiving

Well, this was our year to host Thanksgiving. So my Brother and SIL came and condescended. And my Father came and planted himself in front of football. And my MIL got into the flan and got sick.

How was your Thanksgiving?

The nice part was that H and I got to spend time together. I tortured Brother and SIL (as well as Papi) into our traditional M.onopol.y tournament. Very fun, but MIL is much better at P.ictionar.y. (Maybe for Christmas).

This will be our only family holiday this year, as this is the only holiday where family comes to us. Traveling with an Alzheimer's victim is a challenge on a good day; traveling during the holidays is sheer hell. ESPECIALLY in the post 9/11 world. Once, my MIL was even detained by security for behaving suspiciously.

So no more holiday travel for us...

We took a hard look at our budget, and realized that even if we wanted to, we couldn't afford any travel in the near future. Much less any Christmas presents of heft.

Maybe next year...

i hate this

This has got to be the worst 2ww in the history of 2wws. To find out what my chances are... crap. Damn. Of course I want to know, but damn I don't want to know. I want to have a baby. I want to have my baby -- mine and H's. I want to look at a little face and see a link that connects me and my father and my grandmother and all the way back. I want that. I want that. And in less than a week I get to find out my chances.

If you're just tuning in, my old RE is on maternity leave (I never get tired of that). My new RE recommended this new test, called MIS. It's supposed to tell me what my chances are. But it's so damn new that it takes for-FREAKING-ever to get the test results. I should have gotten them already, but as it is a holiday weekend, it'll take extra time.

And I just know... the tests are going to be middle of the road. Average. Mark my words.

Waiting on the Telephone

Today, my husband called me up all excited: The results from my Day 2 test were NORMAL. I didn't see what was so fabulous to be excited about, but I've had more of these than he has.

We've got a new deal, my husband and I. Now he takes (and makes) all phone calls to the RE. I say it's because I have NO PRIVACY at my job, and that I am ALWAYS on the phone at my job (I'm basically a dispatcher, in an office setting, of office work.) I say it's that I'm sick of coping with crappy news in the middle of work. And while these are factors, they are not the complete truth.

The truth is this: the universe likes my husband better than me. Really. He gets good news, I get bad. Consistenly, religiously, ridiculously. He calls the charge card companies, they lower rates, extend credit lines, and send him complimentary gifts. Me, they scold to be more prompt with payment. The list goes on. God loves H. Me, the almighty is a little cranky with.

So H. will be taking all calls, most especially from the RE, and extra super-duper especially the one about my MIS result. I am completely freaking aobut the result of this MIS test. I've done more research and it appears to be everything it was sold to be: the test will say how good of a candidate I am for IVF. It will predict my personal and specific possible percentages of success.

No pressure, eh?

and today i figures out how to post comments

apologies to those who posted and I didn't publish... I just didn't know how!

MIS Test -- have you heard of it?

So my husband and I went to see my new RE on Friday. (My old RE is still on maternity leave). The RE read over my file and recommended I take a MIS test. This stands for Müllerian Inhibiting Substance and is supposed to be able to predict "both ovarian reserve and embryo morphology." In other words, before I go broke with IVF cycles, this will give an indication as to if they have a shot at working.

I am terrified. I figure there are only three responses: Good, Bad and Indifferent. Truly, the one that scares me the most is indifferent. A Good result will give me hope, a Bad result will take it away (and force the adoption question) but an Indifferent result... keeps me in hell.

And let's face it... I'm scared of the Bad result, too. To go from "maybe, maybe" to "definitely not!" Is it better to have no hope?

Has anyone heard of this test? My new RE says they've only been using it for the past six months. Has anyone taken it? Passed? Anything?

The History of Me

I haven't been very clear on this, so let me take you on My Fertility Journey.

About a million years ago (7? 5? I've lost count), I didn't have health insurance, but my employer offered free OB appointments, and I took one. And the doc mumbles something about fibroids and tumors and cancer and never being a mother.

I went out and spent thousands of dollars (no health insurance, remember?) and found out that I was basically okay, (no tumors, no fibroids to speak of, no cancer) but the "never having kids" thing... scared me.

About four years ago, I met my husband, told him of the doc's pronouncement and H encouraged me to find out for sure. I went to a new Gyno (who I love) who gave me a thorough check up and could find nothing wrong... save a minor thyroid condition.

So I get put on the synthroid, and H and I keep trying. It doesn't work, and I find that when I try to use ovulation detectors... nothing happens. I try C.lomi.d, and for the first time I score on the ovulation pee test. But still no baby.

My gyno runs tests. He tests, I test. H's s.per.m is... not good. Low volume, low count, poor motility. He has varicocele-ectomy, with only minimal improvement. So we go to my (now former) RE.

Now it's time to find out everything that's wrong with me. My FSH is not good. I get put on massive doses of ungodly expensive drugs and the result is still not good. Apparently, my body is stubborn and does not like to respond to drugs. We try IUIs and nothing.

Finally, we decide to try IVF. There's a clinic where his aunt lives, and it's cheap (relatively speaking) and Aunt says that she'll help with my MIL. So I take a month off of work and we journey the ten-hour car trip out there. And I end up with three (only) fertilized embryos and implant them all. I get a positive response, but a few weeks later it's discovered to be a chemical pregnancy. No dice.

(And, in non-related-to-me-news, H and I realize that Aunt canNOT cope with her sister's dementia, so all fantasies of leaving MIL in the warmer climate for the winter months evaporate).

And then I start a blog.

Hi, how are you?

Thesauri Are Our Friends

I abhor, abominate, anathematize, can't stand, condemn, contemn, curse, deprecate, deride, despise, detest, disapprove of, disdain, disfavor, dislike, disparage, execrate, loathe, object to, recoil from, scorn, shudder at, shun, spit upon and spurn the V.isitin.g N.urs.e S.ervic.e. (If I have left any verbs out, please let me know).

These are the folks who are supposed to be supplying a Home Health Aide for my MIL. But they don't. Because, they say, they lost the paperwork. (Heard of a COMPUTER?)

I am very frustrated with them... Mostly because they are not responsive, nor responsible, nor dependable. Customer service is optional, it seems.

So, for the past week and a half, Husband and I have had to juggle lunches and appointments and beg neighbors and friends to help. And it hasn't gone well. H's boss said that while they sympathize with our situation, if he can't continue to be at work whenhe is supposed to be at work they will have to let him go. My boss said the same thing. And V.isitin.g N.urs.e refuses to return a phone call...

Crunchy Granola

My husband is a hippie. Oh, don't let the fact that he's in a dress shirt and nicely pressed khakis fool you. He's a hippie. Which I mean in the nicest possible way...

For the longest time, H was convinced that we would get pregnant naturally. We just had to want it bad enough.

Well, then we started seeing doctors, and started learning what was wrong with me (and what was wrong with him) and he changed his mind. Kinda.

Yesterday he handed me something he had printed off of the internet. It's all about affirmations, and how to make them effective (ask yourself questions, give yourself concrete answers). He also handed me something on visualizations, and then walked me through how to visualize our next IVF treatment (or whatever we do) being effective.

Part of me loves this. I mean, it's positive, it's... it's restful. It helps to quiet the evil raging voice of doubt that rules my head. But another part of me wants him to just talk about adoption, to just consider the possibility that this will never work.

Okay, am I horrible?

I love my husband (Do we let spouses read these?)

My husband and I have been doing a lot of talking. Mostly about what we are going to do next. Do we adopt? Do we try again? Do we hide in bed under our covers? (I was fond of that one last week).

Initially, Hubby was dead set against adoption. I don't know why. We've talked about it, and all he can say is that "adoption seems like giving up." We're talking about it, though. His grandparents (my MIL's parents) had wanted a bigger family than God granted, and adopted a boy and a girl. That... didn't turn out so well. My MIL's parents treated the adopted kids like second class citizens. I don't know if that's coloring his judgment.

Hubby found some sort of state program that promises to help pay for IVF if certain criteria are met. As we're poor and uninsured, I think we might qualify. He hasn't told me all the magical details; we're meeting with someone of the 17th to get all the details. He's so excited; he seems to thing that we can get an IVF cycle for 5 grand or less. If this turns out to be true I will so post all info with links attached.

I have to say; to see him pick up the banner like that... Its what has pulled me back from giving up. That he is working with me on this... that he is not angry, not hopeless, still confident and still going... Keeps me going.

Yesterday, Hubby is talking on the phone with his best friend. I was cleaning the kitchen, and heard snippets of conversation. First it was football (Giants are looking good this year) then it was jobs (best friend is thinking of switching) and then it was fertility. To hear my husband start to explain assisted hatching and EEC like he was one of you bloggers is both heartwarming and surreal.

*********
Still don't know if it's true, but I found this:
New York State Grant for IVF

Now I know. There is a New York State Grant for IVF but I don't qualify. You need to only have a certain amount of drugs and I need the MAXIMUM amount. SO they're not going to cover me, not even a little bit. Hope this helps someone else...

Not so funny...

In real life. I am a funny person. Honest. And when I tell stories about my life, about my infertility and my MIL and my life, I can make people laugh. I can.

But when I look at this blog—it's not funny. Nary a word of it.

I'm racking my brain trying to think of something bright and shiny and witty to say. I'm reading and lurking on all these other blogs, and I'm so inspired and intimidated and touched by the lives that the bloggers lead. Going to conferences and job interviews and all such. My biggest accomplishment today was getting out of bed.

In other worlds..

We finally say my ob-gyn yesterday. "We" because my husband went along. He was going to get answers! He was going to get to the bottom of this! My husband is a man who fixes things—cars, computers, small appliances. He assumes that all things work in similiar wasy, that all problems are identifiable and all errors can be fixed.

He hasn't accompanied me on a lot of my infertility-related doctor visits...

My doctor tried to be encouraging, but also realistic. I sobbed buckets and she stopped the exam and just held me for a good ten minutes. (I love my ob-gyn.) My husband kept trying to get those definitive answers, but, to my doc's credits, she flat out said "I don't have answers for you. I don't know."

As we weren't crazy about the last RE she recommended to us (and as that RE is on, wait for it, MATERNITY LEAVE) my ob-gyn recommended another RE to us... This one has a sliding scale and specializes in the "harder" patients.

When we came out, he was upset. Crying a bit. He hugged me, held me hard, hung on for a good long while. "We're going to be fine," I told him. "We'll get through this. We'll be okay."

So sad the day when you realize not everything is easily fixed...

Halloween Horrors!

Today, approximately 7:30AM, my MIL comes running into the kitchen. "I'm supposed to wear a costume today! What am I going to dress up as?"

Her Alzheimers daycare usually has her dress up on Halloween. Halloween as in NEXT TUESDAY. As in NOT TODAY. As is OH DAMMIT I THOUGHT I HAD MORE TIME.

I poke my head into the living room, and ask my darling husband if he knows anything about this. "Oh, yeah," he confirms. "They called yesterday."

So it's 7:30 in the morning, she gets picked up at 8:15, and I've got to put together a costume.

How was your morning?

Long story short, she went as a football player. She put on one of my husbands football jerseys and chanted GO TEAM. Occasionally she even got the team name correct. My husband pitched in to get her ready, getting her excited about her costume.

touchdown!

I am a parent. Sort of.

Yesterday, when I walked through the door, my MIL threw herself in my arms, crying "I am your little girl! I am your little girl!" I have no idea what set her off, although she sometimes thinks that I'm her mother...

I am a parent. I know. I get to help wash her hair and help pick out her clothes. I even get to change diapers! :) But a "traditional" parent gets to look at their kid with some sense of hope. He's getting so big! Look what he's learned!

My days are filled with different victories. She remembered how to work a zipper! She called my husband by the right name! She knows what day it is! She know what city she's in!

There isn't any... hope. She's not getting better. She's never getting better. She's lucky just to hold on to what little ability she has...

I won't lie. In the chasm in my heart, the part that is empty without a child, my MIL has taken an edge off of that need, off of that ache. I have someone to fuss over, someone to snuggle with, someone to coddle.

But for everything that she's given, she's also added and edge to that pain. Because of my MIL, I know that I would be a great mom. I can get through the largest tantrums without loosing my cool! I am overflowing with knowledge on how to clean up stinky stains and messes! I have an exceptionally high tolerance for non-sensical songs (and butchered current hits)! I engage in education activities! I plan healthy meals! I make Halloween costumes! (My MIL likes to dress up).

I know I'd be a good parent; I'm already a good caregiver. My MIL is directly responsible for my confidence that I will be a good parent. And knowing I'd be a good parent... makes it a little more poignant not to be one.

Sound of Music

Have I mentioned that my MIL loves music? As in LOVES music. LOVES LOVES LOVES music. A million years ago when her memory was being evaluated by a young nurse, they started talking about favorite singers, favorite bands. The nurse was impressed because the last CD that she had bought was the last CD my MIL had bought (okay, we bought for her. But still). Some young handsome singer who's name escapes me...

Recently she's decided she like R.ob Z.ombie. Specifically the song "Dr.agula." Don't ask me why. It's been playing here and there because it's near Halloween. She's heard it enough times that she's been emboldened to sing along.

Have I mentioned my MIL's musical ability? No? Well, perhaps it's because... bless her heart, she ain't got any. She sings so off-key and out of time, out of rhythm that a friend of mine who likes to record "alternative music" wants to get her on tape. She's both that charming and that awful. Awful awful.

Yesterday, we're driving back from the grocery store. (I always take her when we go grocery shopping, because there's nothing she enjoys more than the produce section. Can spend hours in there...) And the radio is on, and we're flipping the channels, and "Dr.agula" comes on... And my eighty-plus year old MIL warbles along with Mr. Z.ombie, bopping her head, slapping her hands and not getting a single word right...

Feel free to sing along...

I hate Alzheimers

We told my MIL as soon as we knew. As soon as we knew we were having trouble getting pregnant, all the IUIs we tried, when we graduated to IVF, when we were successful and when, to quote my good doctor, when the pregancy didn't continue.

When we told her we were pregnant, she jumped. She clapped her hands. She cried YAY! and demanded to know the due date. Good, she said when she knew. Close to her mother's birthday

When we told her we weren't pregnant, we were crying. She started crying. She reminded me, somehow, of an upset bird. Throwing her hands and keening NO. Flapping her hands. No. NO.

But that was days ago. And, stomach punching aside, she does want to be a grandmother. She does.

This morning, she showed me a picture. A present she wanted to get me. It was a baby carrier, one of the simple ones that look like a peasant shawl.

I said, Mama, don't you remember? We lost the baby. No, refused my MIL. No. We went round and round a few times until my husband yelled THE BABY IS DEAD, MOTHER DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?

Then we were all quiet for a while.

I hate Alzheimers.

Last week I was pregnant. Today I am not

Coping is over-rated.

In other news, my husband got a job. No health insurance but a decent paycheck. And if we're very good... We may be able to afford another go round of IVF next year.

but let's face it. there is no other news.

Lunch Lady!

My MIL made my lunch today. I have to say, it was very cute. Having Alzheimer's has not stopped that maternal "I must feed you" urge.

SO she made me PB&Js. Sort of. It took her five minutes to think of what to make. Watching (and hearing, as she was talking aloud) her go through the thought process to come up with what she was capable of making me was cute and touching.

The great trauma was that we ran out of jelly. She came running (as much as she can run) into the room crying I NEED MORE JELLY!!! NOW!!! Seems we had run out. My husband convinced her that a PB sandwich (sans jelly) would be just fine. Oh, the sight of her face at that. I want to be that happy on a daily basis.

The best part (and it was all good) was how she wrapped the sandwhiches. My husband told her to use the zip-lock bags, but she couldn't get the bread to fit in them. So she wrapped the sandwiches in plastic wrap, and THEN placed them in the zip-lock bags.

She was so proud. Definitely, a good morning...

Not going to babysit...

I'm reading through all these blogs. Mostly dealing with fertility and infertility. I don't even know who Thalia is and I'm going to miss her.

I am so intimidated. My thoughts don't come in clean even paragraphs. so expect my blog to be disjointed.

Like now. For some reason I am stuck on the memory of the last time that I told my MIL I was trying to get pregnant. She responded with three sharp (hard) punches to my stomach. And then laughed.

Later I'll be funny. Not this post.

Will work for IVF: Someone hire my husband.

Had a lovely little non-fight with my husband moments ago. At the heart of it is that I wanted to leave work early, but I get paid by the hour, and we're cash strapped. So he doesn't want me to.

Mind you, he hasn't worked in 5 weeks, and the only think that's stopping him from getting a job is faxing in a form. Which he won't fax. Because he's too busy. Playing fantasy football.

Love is grand...

Good god, I've got a BLOG.

So my husband keeps saying, "Honey, you should have a blog" because between having a full-time job, battling infertility, keeping house and caring for his Alzheimer's inflicted mother, he seems to think I have lots of free time.

Hmpf.

Okay, well. I'll start a blog. (And If I never post again, rest assured that I have shot myself).

xoxo
Nica