Who has the chocolate?

I am overly emotional at other's pregnancy annoucements. I was when I was trying to get pregnant, but now that I'm not anymore, those annoucements are even harder to read.

I don't have anything against pregnant woman, and I genuinely wish wonderful, uncomplicated pregnancies for them all. I have, and always will, think that pregnancy is a true miracle, and a pregnant body is amazing and beautiful.

I'm trying to be happy for the women in my life who are pregnant, because I want them to be happy for me too. It's just hard. And it makes me wonder if hearing that I was pregnant was hard for other women. I'm sure it was, and I'm sorry if I flaunted it or rubbed it in.

The thing is, I KNOW this is bad. I KNOW I shouldn't feel this way. I KNOW this is selfish.

But it's still so hard. So, so hard.

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

I had my appointment today, and am thankful for all your prayers. The doctor said everything looked okay, but we will know for sure when the test results come back.

This post is overly emotional. I can only apologize. And go eat chocolate.

Why the Mirror? Seriously.

No nerves. This is an odd feeling for me, to have to go to the doctor and have tests done and things frozen and be partially naked in a room with a mirror (WTH?), and not be nervous.

But after the year I’ve had, it’s the new normal for me.

Back in May, I had a procedure done that involved partial nakedness and scraping and other things that scared me. And I thought I might have cervical cancer.

Anyhow.

I was nervous on my way to that appointment. I cried and I was shaking and I felt like I was going to throw up. But it ended up being okay.

And then I had to drive back to that office again in July, and had an ultrasound that confirmed my worst fear. The drive there was filled with tears, and shaking, and feeling like I was going to vomit. And when I left that office knowing that I had lost my baby, I couldn’t imagine ever being that scared again. I couldn’t think that driving there would ever feel quite as terrible as that day.

But that day was also filled with prayer. And it changed the course of the day. I prayed, WE PRAYED, and it was okay. It wasn’t good, but it was okay.

And so tomorrow I will have another procedure done. I am not scared, because I will pray. I’m sure I will have butterflies, and probably feel a little bit sick to my stomach. But I know that no matter the outcome, it will be okay. It might not be good, but it will be okay.

(I’m not doctor, but my mom’s a nurse. That doesn’t really have anything to do with this, but my best attempt at the medical explanation of this is over at my Conceive blog.)

Thoughts For A Friday Afternoon.

Being a blogger for Conceive Magazine is kinda hard when my focus has been on loss instead of gain. My mindset is changing though, and this side of conception that I'm on gets a little brighter each day.

During this time, the community over at Conceive Online has been encouraging and uplifting and well, pregnant!

(Oh, and I wrote over there today.)

Thanks for all your encouraging and hopeful comments on my last post. I really hope it's nothing too. I have an appointment next Thursday and am keeping my fingers crossed.

Because, as you'll see over here, we're ready.

Not really here.

I'm over here today, talking some more about how I LOST MY DOG.

I have such guilt. I'm not sure I'm cut out to be a parent. I will probably cry all the time and then my husband will leave me and I will have to get another job to support me and my children and my dog, and I won't have time to spend with them and they'll grow up to break the law and give me grandkids when I'm 50 and I'll spend mother's day visiting them in jail.

I have PMS, in case you can't tell. Bye.

And then they called again.

I figured I should follow up on this post, and let you all know that the doctor's office called and I get to keep my uterus. It's really quite exciting, and while I have forever been a supporter of Breast Cancer Awareness, I am now adding Cervical Cancer Awareness to the list, cause that was some scary crap.

And even though he tried to hide it, I could tell my husband was really worried about me. Even though I didn't want him to worry, it meant so much to me. I know the he cares, but it was a special concern that he usually doesn't show.

I'm so glad to be okay, and I'm so glad for the friends and family who are my support system.

I will leave you with this pleasant message - get an exam every year ladies, no matter how uncomfortable it makes you feel. It is totally worth it.

It's My Blog and I'll Talk About It If I Want To

Welcome to my journal, my place for family, faith, humor, life-changing memories. I write about my husband, my dog, my job, things that I like, and things that frustrate me, like the woman I work with who curses in the workplace. I write to inspire and encourage, to make you think and make you laugh.

I've said before that this is not my sounding board for fertility issues, and while I have tried to limit what I say here (with the exception of the past couple weeks), the reality is that my life the past few weeks has been about our fertility journey and working 60 hours a week . It's hard to write about my life but avoid certain topics for fear of seeming conceited, but then I would have nothing to talk about I would be lying to myself and denying myself the support I know ya'll can provide.

So here's the story.

In mid-April, I went in for my annual exam, which has got to be comparable to death by stoning. I discussed with my doctor that Aaron and I have been trying to conceive for going on 6 months, and while I wasn't worried it wouldn't happen, I was a little concerned that for as many ovulation tests I had taken, I had never been able to detect the hormone that indicates ovulation (LH Surge). She suggested a "21 day draw", which would determine the levels of progesterone my body generates or produces or gives off or something. Just 48 hours after my blood test, a nurse called to tell me that my levels were low, and the doctor wanted to start me on Clomid. I said okay, thinking all the while that I was going to research alternatives to this medicine because I don't want to have the side effects that will make my husband want to leave me. I certainly wouldn't get pregnant that way.

Ahem.

Anyhow, that same night when I got home, there was a letter in the mail from my doctor, the results from my test the week before. The letter had mulitple lines available for the office to check, from "Everything is fine" to "PLEASE CALL US BEFORE YOUR UTERUS FALLS OUT" and for the first time ever, I had the "PLEASE CALL US BEFORE YOUR UTERUS FALLS OUT" line checked. My heart instantly sank, and I had nightmares about what could be wrong. This is not the place for me to go into my past (that may actually require multiple posts), but I will just say that had I never expected to see any lines marked, other than "okay" and I certainly hadn't expected to see them after I turned 25. Things like "this" won't happen to "me". Of course!

When I called the next day, the nurse was very sweet in telling me that there had been some abnormal cells found during my visit, and the doctor wanted to see me. As if being violated once a year isn't already enough, I scheduled an appointment, and didn't even have to beg Aaron to come along.

The procedure itself wasn't terrible, although I did squeeze Aaron's hand pretty tight, and my doctor mentioned that I'll be a terriffic candidate for an epidural - that she will be able to administer in my fourth month of pregnancy. I couldn't hide the fact that I am a baby, and I have no pain tolerance.

During the appointment last week, she was able to tell me that my risk for cervical cancer is very low. She was not, however, able to rule out other cervical issues, which may or may not be related to my difficulty conceiving thus far. The test results will be back this Friday or next Monday.

When I said this was not my sounding board, I intended to keep it that way. Unfortunately, or not, life happened, and if I was going to continue posting about the things that matter to me, I couldn't avoid letting you know where I've been!

Look for an uplifting picture post soon!

The Clubhouse

When I was a little girl, I used to invite my neighbor girls over to play "club". Any kind of club would do, from the "Lisa Frank Sticker Club" to the "Kitty Cat Club". I had a fantastic clubhouse in the backyard of our house, and I spent many hours a day hanging out there with my friends. My clubs were exclusive, no boys allowed. My poor brother would run around the yard with his friends, and beg to come into the clubhouse. He was only allowed in it when I was out running around town, trying to find cats to steal for our "Kitty Cat Club". Have no fear, my mother was quick to address the issue of stealing our neighbors cats.

My friends and I spent all summer coming and going from that clubhouse. We not only used it for our "meetings", we also had occasional Friday night sleepovers, and Wednesday afternoon reading time. We ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the clubhouse, and we colored pictures for our moms. We made flyers advertising our current club, and brainstormed ideas and names for the next great club. One of which may or may not have included selling bird feeders made out of milk jugs and bird seed that we stole from my mom (I'm starting to notice a pattern here that I've cleary been in denial over for many years).

Now I'm older and most of the "Lisa Frank Sticker Club" members belong to a new club. A club that doesn't have a membership fee of sticker trades, a club that allows membership to anyone who applies, and even some who aren't sure if they want to sign the club agreement. A club where the rules aren't taped to the inside of the door, and you can't give up and change the name when it gets boring. Their new club doesn't collect kitties, either.

I want to be a member of the Mommy Club, but I think my invitation is lost in the mail.

One day, though, I hope it arrives. And I hope it has a big fat Lisa Frank sticker right on the front.

*Clubhouse pictures taken May 10, 2009. Roughly 17 years after I last climbed the ladder.