And hello to you too. I know right? But this picture is really kind of how we feel about the concept of hope in this stage of our infertility treatments.
Seriously though, that’s kind of the feeling. The booty shots are negligible, waiting for the side effects to kick in, as so far it’s been painless at the injection site (my husband could seriously charge for his intramuscular shot services, he’s that frickin’ awesome) and haven’t gotten the barfies at all yet. Of course I’ve done absolutely none of the treating my body like a fertility goddess like I did before, choosing a nice bottle of Bordeaux to share with my honey, and dropping the GF/DF cleanse I was going to go on as soon as I realized I really, REALLY needed to try my hand at making a rosemary olive oil focaccia (then subsequently buying an entire book on bread – nice huh!).
Who knows how I’ll feel tomorrow but honestly, it’s such a faraway concept that this might work, it’s more like I’m just making an extra 1.5 months’ mortgage payment and scheduling the shots no different than I would a reminder to pick up TP at the store. I’m just not obsessing. I’m getting shit done in my every day life. I’m productive.
That’s it, ya know. In a less than a month from now our third transfer attempt will be in the books, and the results will be in. Then I can choose how I want to react. But right now? The aforementioned prescription is working just fine. People ask how I’m doing and I just kind of shrug. I’m tired of talking about it. It is whatever it decides to be and I’m going to work my tail off in my consulting work… and try not to choke as my dog is smoking me out of the living room with her evil ate-dinner-too-fast gas.
My husband might think I’m envisioning a scenario like this after what my arse has gone through, but honestly? I’d rather get the shots than give the shots. I know weird right? But I can’t look at that stuff. I don’t even keep the meds & syringes on the counter anymore. They’re all stuffed in a bag in the pantry and only pulled out at the same time I turn on the butt warming pad. And this time I don’t even do a meditation before the shot, I just warm the booty up, take about 5 cleansing breaths, and walk in the kitchen and proclaim “left booty” or “right booty” to my husband so he knows where to draw the quadrant each time (he just does it with his finger, no markers are actually involved…hell he doesn’t even have to do that but for my own sanity’s sake, I’ve asked him to still do it so I feel like I’m controlling something going on back there). I take deep breaths and inhale right before the injection, so I can do one long yogic type of exhale as the needle goes in, and he’s usually in and out much faster than one might imagine. I hand him the symbolic band-aid to commemorate the spot, he rubs the spot for about 20 seconds (keeps it from getting lumpy bumpy at the injection site, don’t skip having your partner do this step, ladies!), gives it a smooch, and yep – I pull my britches up and get back to work. Before I used to sit and heat it for 5 minutes after, but I’ve found that just walking around feels better, keeps the circulation going I suppose. Whatever.
Yep it’s that simple. Funny as now I keep wondering if there’s something I’m missing as it seemed all so complicated the first two times. Now I’m blase. It’d fucking surprise the hell out of me if this actually works.
So I’m learning from other blogs that there are actually 15 entire states here in the US that require some type of infertility coverage be covered as part of most insurance plans. Of course not that Oregon would contemplate being that progressive. I read up on what the closest state, California, offers and it’s really bullshit to tell you the truth – they offer “infertility treatment” but exclude IVF. And even more of a kick in the teeth? Nearly every one of those 15 states do NOT require employers who have self-funded plans to do so (which, according to my research, are about 60% of employers in 2015). So it’s not really mandatory – you just have to be lucky to work somewhere that offers it, ultimately.
But hey at least I can get my birth control for free now. And if I want to become a man, my husband’s employer will pay for that. (And that’s NOT dissing the trans community, I am just guessing the percentage of infertility diagnoses are a wee bit higher…)
But we do what we gotta do. We make sacrifices. We put money into our uteruses instead of our retirement accounts. And we wonder at the end of the day, will this all be worth it? And so I curl up next to my husband and yep…I put it out of my mind and think about the next episode of Scandal coming up this Thursday night.
“When people ask women ‘how do you go to work and take care of your family?’, you’re somehow suggesting I am not as capable as a man. You’re somehow suggesting that I don’t have as many skills as a man, and you’re also suggesting I am neglecting my life at home. that I find really insulting and not gender equal.”
~ read this in a magazine recently, spoken by the great Shonda Rhimes