How It Went

Okay, bottom line: It went fine. I have to get a few things sorted out, but when I'm ready I just show up on CD2 and let the party begin.

Gulp.

Now the drama: I show up, and they have no record of my appointment. None. "Is there anything that can be done?" I ask, whimpering. Nope, I'm told. And I make an appointment. For next month. I'm 40 freaking years old. I'm not happy about waiting an extra month JUST for an introductory appointment that frankly, I already had. (I met with this clinic twice, about six months ago. And then set about getting insurance to go ahead).

If y'all recall, I don't make my appointments. H does. It's a combination of the fact that I don't have the privacy (or time) at work to do it, and the universe likes him better. (Every time there was bad news, I got the call. Good news, him). So when I hit the pavement I call H up. And I leave the teariest, most pathetic (and slightly angry) voice mail message you can imagine. I stand there, on a Manhattan street corner, and I sob for a good ten minutes. (You may recall, I was nervous about this appointment to begin with.) Then I get in the subway and head home.

When I get off the subway, H calls my cell. "They said you never made the appointment," I sniffle. "I know," he replies, "can you be there in twenty minutes?" What? Somehow, me standing in front of the receptionist looking forlorn wasn't enough to move someones schedule around. An angry husband calling up was.

So back I went, and darned if I wasn't seen IMMEDIATELY. Dang.

If you'll note the links to your right, you'll notice I listen to N.o Pea in the P.odcas.t, with your host Gabby. And last week Gabby made an off hand comment about your TSH level should be 2 or lower if you are trying to conceive. (5 or lower is good for anyone else). I have hypothyroidism, and I had taken the advice of Heather and Bea and brought along every scrap of medical history I could find. (Seriously. I had copies of films from the test where they shoot you up full of dye to see if your tubes are working. In addition to the write up that said everything was flowing fine). I mention the hypothyroid, and the RE looks at my pile of paper. And gasps aloud.

Now, I should mention the RE I was seeing was... let's say... professional to the point of being robotic. When she shook hello, she hurt my hand. When she asked me to follow her, I had to jog (JOG!) to keep up with her. She talked so fast, in flat staccato tones.

For any doctor to GASP upon looking at my TSH results would have been... odd. For Dr. Robotica to react so violently... I jumped out of my seat.

The gasp causing truth is that I've apparently never tested below a 3 point something, thyroid-wise. And that isn't good. She gave me the names of some endocrinologists and STRONGLY suggested that I take care of it before we went to the next step.

Lord Almighty. I've had HOW many IUIs and one IVF and this is the first time someones noticed? I've filled out the blank "what other medications are you on" with Levothyroxine more times than I can count -- wasn't anyone paying attention?

(Lie and tell me that this isn't really as big of a deal as I take it to be. Or tell me the fact that I did NOT respond to the f.ollisti.m that I took for all previous procedures was related to this. Or something. I'm dying for some CONTEXT, here.)

Anyway. I have an appointment with an endocrinologist next month (so I have to wait a month anyway -- THERE's irony for you).

So now's all to do is some blood work for me (genetic screening) and H, see this new doctor and figure out how we're going to pay for medication...

Which I haven't the slightest idea how we're going to do it...

Help

So I have my first real meeting with my new RE on Friday morning.

And I'm scared to death.

And I don't want to go alone.

And since I don't think any of y'all are going to climb in my over-large handbag and come with me, what... What? What should I expect? What should I ask? What should I bring?

Unless, of course, you are willing to climb into my over-large handbag...

PS: quick recap: First RE was a brand new (read: CHEAP!) RE who was so incompetent she is no longer in practice. Second RE was a friend of a friend who gave us a discount rate on my first IVF. This is a real-live grown up RE, or actually RE practice (so a revolving chorus of REs), nationally ranked and everything.

And I have that it's Sunday night midnight and I haven't done my project due first period Monday feeling. You know it?

(Belated) In Honor of Cake Day...

I went off diet and CHOWED.

Please note: YES this is a store-bought cake, NO it didn't look a thing like it's picture, and NO it wasn't very good

But it was still CAKE.

Real Quick

I found my wallet (benignly left a neighborhood cafe).

I have insurance coverage for two IVF cycles.

I have an appointment next Friday with my new RE to set the ball in motion.

I have a date this Friday to dance with my husband at M.idsumme.r Ni.gh.t S.win.g.

I don't know how to dance.

It's cycle day 1.

(And the song STILL runs through my head).

So Give Me Something To Sing About

I had a great weekend, by the way.

To be like other girls...
To fit in in this glittering world...

Friday night, H and I went to the Buffy Sing-Along. (Yes, I am that big of a geek.)

Life’s a song
You don’t get to rehearse.
And every single verse
Can make it that much worse.

This was not a spur of the moment decision; you have to buy tickets in advance, and stand in line at the theatre. H prepped by downloading the songs onto his i.p.o.d. He'd come up to me at random moments and make me listen to a song or two. Or blast them when we were driving in the car. H was insanely excited and MOCKED ME LOUDLY for my trying to look cool as we waited to be seated outside the theatre.

So that’s my refrain.
I live in hell
’Cause I’ve been expelled
From heaven.

But the thing is... I wasn't trying to look cool. I was a little scared. A wee bit nervous.

There are songs on this album that make me cry. Break down and sob cry. Just reading the lyrics makes me sniffly. (which, I know is more than a little cheesy. And weak. And lame. But whatever.)

So I sat in a darkened theatre and sobbed my heart out, while people around me blew bubbles and kazoos and exploded poppers and all sorts of other merriment.

Life’s a show and we all play a part
And when the music starts,
We open up our hearts

I recovered moments after whichever song had set me off ended, and sang my heart out to the ones I knew.

I tell myself I'm doing fine. Most of the time, I feel fine. I'm good, I'm great, THINGS ARE GETTING BETTER.

And then I'm sitting in a darkened theatre, sobbing my heart out, wondering. Wondering.

Give me something to sing about.
I need something to sing about.

And now, this song will NOT leave my head.

Life’s not a song.
Life isn’t bliss.
Life is just this.
It’s living.
You’ll get along.
The pain that you feel
Only can heal
By living.
You have to go on living.
So that one of us is living.

Have I Mentioned

Mama sometimes forgets my name. Sometimes forgets H's name. Sometimes calls the cats by the wrong name.

But while watching a dvr'd episode of T.he D.ail.y S.ho.w, she points to the screen and exclaims

"that's A.ngelin.a J.oli.e, Jon Voight's d.aughte.r!"

Too funny...

...because I SAY it's getting better

It's getting better BECAUSE...

Because every morning, I stand in this little patch of sunlight in Grand Central Station and say, 'today will be a better day.'

Because I smile. Even when I don't want to.

Because I have your blogs to read.

Because I've had talks with the folks that I wanted to work with, and they lament the fact that I am not with them.

Because I have hope it will all work out.

Because I have medical insurance now, and can move forward on the baby making tract.

Because I have a husband who loves me, a crazy Mother In Law who loves me, and two cats who like it when I'm around. (mostly because I feed them).

Because I've watched T.he S.ecre.t three times.

Because I have a husband who loves me.

and mostly because I SAY so.

Okay, it's getting better

I'll s'plain more when I can.

And no, I didn't find my wallet. Or get the Job I Want. Or win the lottery. Or get a BFY.

But it's getting better, just the same.

And just when you think it can't get any worse...

I lost my wallet. Which contains every bit of my identification.

As well as every bit of Mama's identification.

(As well as my C.ostc.o card and other such useless-to-anyone-but-me items).

This week has GOT to get better...

...right?