(Anti)social media

I have a Face.book account. (Like everyone on the planet, apparently.) I post rarely, though I read it a few times a week. Overall, it's been a fun way to reconnect with people I haven't talked to in years. (I could argue that calling those people "friends" is weird, given that I haven't talked to them in years, but that's for another time.)

Most of the people I'm friends with fall into the following categories:

• People I am friends with, right now
• People I went to school with (college, high school, middle school) that I'd lost touch with
• People I work with or have worked with in the past; primarily people I trust more than I trust the average person I work/worked with

I just got a friend request from a vendor I know through work. A contractor. We've had several phone/e-mail conversations and have been out to lunch once, but that's the extent of our friendship.

Dude, I'm not going to friend you. You are not my friend, in any sense of the word.

I know many people use various forms of social networking for work purposes. That's fine-- but that's why I'm on Linked.In, not Face.book. I do occasionally post personal stuff on the FB, and there's no way in heck I'm going to give a work vendor access to that stuff.

Public. Private. There's a difference.

The nice part about FB is that I can "ignore" his request. And if he ever asks me straight out why I didn't accept the request, I'll be honest: FB is for my personal life, and my work and personal lives do not mix on a regular basis.

Sometimes I think it would be easier to have a pseudonymn, so I wasn't findable to the general public. Something dramatic and mysterious, perhaps. Hm.

Not really a domestic goddess

I don't cook very often. I can cook, and I'm not horrible, but generally when it's just me, dinner is some variation on the salad/pasta/chicken breast/frozen meal tango.

I have, however, been trying some new recipes this fall. Particularly for vegetables-- I love steaming them, but sometimes a girl likes a little variety. One of the veggies that I've always been kind of meh about is cauliflower. I mean, it's fine, but it's not that interesting. It's a nice, white, safe vegetable; if you have a kid, you pour cheese on it. Sometimes it goes on sale and I buy it, but I'd rather have broccoli.

Last weekend, though, I tried roasting cauliflower. If you have not tried this, let me tell you: YUM. It was easy and absolutely delicious. The roasting makes the flavor richer and more complex. Highly, highly recommended.

1 bunch cauliflower
2 Tb olive oil

Clean cauliflower and cut into flowerets. Toss in the olive oil. Roast in a 400 degree oven for 20-25 minutes (depending on how toasty brown you want it).

That's it! I roasted mine with a bit of chopped sweet onion and several cloves of garlic, becaue that's how I do things. But you don't need to.

It's ironic-- me giving domestic advice to anyone-- but really. Try this.

Here's a money-making idea

I swear to GOD, whoever comes up with a different (effective) delivery method for progesterone is going to make an absolute FORTUNE. I would seriously pay just about anything for something that wasn't one of the two existing methods. Anything.

Urg.

And trust me. You don't want details.

I'm fine, thanks

People keep asking me how I am, and how I'm feeling.

I'm feeling fine, thanks. Not surprisingly. Because for another week, I don't know a darn thing, and even if I was pregnant, symptoms wouldn't be showing up a week in.

So yeah, just fine.

Nothing to see here. Move along.

Beagle puppy attacks!

If this does not make your day just a little bit brighter (or a whole lot), then I worry about you.

Things you never really wanted to know

One of the side effects of IVF/fertility treatments: a sore butt. The right side of my tush feels like someone has been beating it with a mallet for several hours. Not good.

The reason: you have to inject yourself with progesterone. It's in a huuuuge needle, and it's an intramuscular injection; that means the butt. (Apparently you could use the thigh, but that's even more potentially painful, according to my doctor.) Then, the progesterone itself is suspended in oil, so if you don't sit yourself on a heating pad immediately after injection and stay there for as long as you can, well... You know what happens when oil isn't warm. Think about it.

I'm switching to an alternate progesterone delivery method (really, you don't want details, although you may get them eventually) after Sunday, so I've been trying to twist around and inject in my left tush rather than continue to make the right feel even worse. By Monday, both sides of my butt should feel equally like crap.

See? The things you learn from me. Well, the four of you reading this. :)

** **

Transfer was Thursday and went fine. Surprisingly, three of the embryos were of good quality, so that's exciting; the fourth was fragmented and rather sad, so while they popped it in with the rest, it's probably already moved off into embryo heaven or wherever they go.

I'll know more in a couple of weeks. Given my odds, I am doing my best to simply live my life and not think about it; at this point, all I can do is be healthy and keep going.

The two days of bedrest after were excruciatingly dull. You always think it's going to be nice to have an excuse to laze around, until you actually have to laze around. Boring. I watched Net.flix online (documentaries, mostly), and napped. Friends came over both nights for dinner and movies, so that was good. I got a lot of crochet done. I paid bills. I thought longingly of all the cleaning I could do if I wasn't on bedrest. (That's how you know you're bored: when you WANT to clean.)

The friend that came over last night brought her dog, and it was so nice to have a puppy around the house for a while. She's a love bug, so I got lots of dog cuddles and a few unwanted dog kisses-- dogs don't really make any kind of break between licking themselves and licking you. Heh.

My house feels much more like a home with a dog in it. Someday.

Thursday is transfer day

So: transfer is tomorrow. I really wish they could have held on until Saturday, for a five day transfer rather than a three day transfer, but it is what it is.

I don't know how many embryos will be transferred. I suspect not all four will be of good quality; I guess I'll find out in the morning.

** **

With transfer tomorrow, they want two days of bed rest. There's really no proof that it helps, but I figure it can't hurt.

An unexpected Thursday/Friday off from work, with no notice and with all kinds of people in town from the company that bought us, is not an easy thing to explain.

I had to manufacture a "family emergency." I really hate doing that, but there wasn't any alternative. It was a pretty believable falsehood, too-- I'm disappointed about the transfer being tomorrow rather than Saturday, so I'm already a little upset. And, to be honest, in the three months since I lost my little Vertigo Dog, tears are never very far from the surface.

And it is kind of a family emergency. It's my family. Or could be.

I'm taking vacation, so I'm not cheating or anything. I just feel bad that I'm not there during what's been one of the busiest weeks I've had in a long time. I should be able to work from home for part of the time, too, so that's good.

** **

I have acupuncture before and after the transfer. My wonderful acupuncturist is dragging herself out of bed at a hideous hour to meet me at 7 a.m.. Seriously, I love her like pie.

** **

I'm watching an American Experience about Joan Ba.ez. Dang, she looks gorgeous. I hope I age half as well as she has.

A long day

I barely had time to breathe today. I like days at work where I feel like I'm useful, but I like being useful for a bit less than 11 hours straight, thanks.

** **

So, an update. Retrieval Monday: five eggs. Not great. But found out today that four of the five fertilized-- pretty good!

There are four little embryos off in a petri dish somewhere, plugging away. Think good thoughts for them, please. May at least a couple of them continue to do their thing, and be of good quality.

Another romantic Saturday night

I got dressed up, went to a party, and left the party early so I could come home and shoot myself in the tuchus with an extraordinarily large needle. Aren't you jealous?

Yes, it's trigger shot night-- 36 hours before Monday's retrieval. Of course, I'm worried I did it wrong. But no way to know that right now, I guess.

Driving home from the party, I thought about why I'm doing this. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I wonder, and that I doubt sometimes the road I'm on. I'm old, I'm single, my job is precarious (and could be even more so if I actually get pregnant; we've been bought by a conservative organization, and I'm in a fairly visible role)...

Sometimes, you stay on a path because you're too stubborn to abandon that path. That's not it entirely, but it's part of it, for sure. And I suspect the doubt is because side effects from all the drugs caught up with me today, in terms of extreme exhaustion. Never think Big Life Thoughts when you can barely stay awake.

Speaking of which, I think it's time for bed. Entertaining, since I got 8+ hours last night, and had a nearly two hour nap this afternoon (unplanned-- I just sort of fell over). Like I said, side effects.

The glamorous, romantic life of me. Hold back your jealousy, please.

Who needs fancy?

Friends came over tonight and brought bags of tacos, and media. The tacos are from a little hole in the wall place on the near south side, and they're absolutely perfect. Just tortillas with meat, fresh chopped cilantro, lime, and onion. You can get cheese, or avocado, but... you don't need it. They are perfectly done in their simplicity. We chowed down.

Also, they brought media. Theoretically I'll have two days' bedrest after the transfer, and I've put out the call: lend me books and movies so I don't go completely mental, please. I have wonderful friends who've responded to the call, with everything from Major League to Nigella Lawson.

FYI, retrieval is scheduled for Monday.

We'll see.

I have a problem

I love Tar.get. I might even be addicted to Tar.get.

Now, in the realm of problems, this is a mild one. But... it's the perfect store. I even have the Super version, so I can do all my grocery shopping, try on shoes, get air filters for the furnace, and find a cute skirt. ALL IN ONE PLACE.

I am a simple person.

Obviously.

Better news

So! Whatever I did over the weekend worked. The follicles are growing like crazymad. They just took their own sweet time.

The nurse asked if I wanted the numbers, and I said no. I suspect I'm the only fertility patient in the history of forever that didn't ask for her numbers; I can tell from reading various forums that those numbers are currency. But I don't remember numbers. All I know is I went from two small, silly little follicles to a whole mess o'them. They are "in play," according to the nurse.

Go follicles!

I had various people offering theories about what would get my apparently lazy follicles to take some action. (Note: I'm lazy. My follicles are lazy, too. Hee!) One friend suggested getting Hugh Jack.man and George Clo.oney in a room for me, which I thought was a terrific idea. Another friend said listening to the dulcet tones of Josh Gro.ban would work. (Sue me. I like melodic tenors, even if they're overproduced.)

My favorite was the friend on Friday night who said that I should drink a lot, thus perhaps reminding my ovaries of my wild and crazy youth-- when you spend all your time trying to avoid getting pregnant, not encouraging it.

Whatever it was-- liquor, laughing with friends, eating Indian food-- don't know. Don't care. It worked.

Updates as I have them!

Think growing thoughts

Five days in, on ginormous doses of two different stimulants, follicles are not growing.

This is Not Good. I go back in on Monday, and if nothing's happening, this cycle is cancelled.

Now, a lot can happen in the next two days, and some women take longer to react to stims than others. But given my already miniscule odds, this is a bad thing.

Think good, growing, egg-a-licious thoughts, please.

These needles, I don't mind

Not everyone needs acupuncture. Not everyone wants acupuncture. (We had to stop talking about it this weekend in front of my dad, who went completely white when I started describing some of the points my acupuncturist uses. If I didn't love him so much, I could totally screw with him.)

But if it's something you've ever considered, for whatever reason, I'm going to be the non-paid-spokesperson here and say: give it a try.

Of all the things I've learned on this journey to potential IVF-momhood, the thing that probably suprises me the most (other than the fact that I've now shot myself up in a bathroom stall-- because that's never going to stop being completely freaking bizarre) is how much I like acupuncture.

It is relaxing. It is refreshing. It is, almost every time, an oasis in my day (or week), and I come out of it feeling more focused and more serene. Regardless of whether it helps with my nearly impossible IVF (TBD!), it absolutely does help with my tension levels, and it has helped with a couple of other minor things related to medication side effects.

I just might be addicted. In a good way, not a shooting-up-in-a-bathroom-stall kind of way.

Heh.