Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Nothing Screams Inadequacy Quite Like a Fertility Specialist

At least nothing screams as loudly in my head, pointing out my failures, as a needed visit to a fertility specialist. I am self aware. I pride myself on that. But being self aware and having the capacity to change every little piece of yourself you don't like and every situation where you could have reacted better are not the same thing. But, let's back up.

Dig back in my blog. I've only been married since January, so it's not like we've been trying that long. Well, actually...

We decided to live fully in sin (like champions of our own destiny) when we got engaged. Because we are in our mid thirties, we almost immediately came off birth control and decided to let the chips fall where they may. We wouldn't obsessively try to get pregnant, but whatever happened happened.

Nothing happened. Well, nothing good. My cycles were more irregular than usual, cramping had reached an all time high, and then there was a really unpleasant ultrasound... like inside...

Fibroids. A lot. Not too big, but several. So back on the pill I went. "Sometimes that can help them shrink or even go away", Dr. Ladybits said.

Success!

Then there was the matter of my health. I needed to lose 30 lbs naturally (check) and lower my cholesterol (check).

Still winning at life.

Then came the serious question, when do we really start trying? We weren't getting any younger and as it was, we only had a few months to try before I would either celebrate reaching advanced maternal age while pregnant or have to have a premature baby to avoid it. I get it. It's not like some magical switch flips on at 35 that forces you to have a baby with developmental or physical disabilities.But much like knowing I'll never be a size 0, it would be easier to let go of if it weren't shoved down my throat by every freaking media source.

I did a round of hormones and at the end of November we started the overly scheduled, don't even care if you're even having fun, very frequent, reproductive sex. Maybe we would be pregnant in December. After all, Dr. Ladybits did say this was our best window.

Well, maybe by January.

February would be a romantic V-day treat.

Or March?

April?

May...

June.

So here we are. Already knowing we won't be pregnant in July either (thanks to work travel for both me and the hubs... two tired travelers passing in the night).

We've had the tests. Another transvaginal (TV) ultrasound. Then the Hysterosalpingogram (HSG): an xray of the uterus and fallopian tubes that involves a cold table, a paper gown, and injectable dye. Followed by the sonohysterogram, where they infuse a saline solution into your uterus for (wait for it) yet another TV ultrasound. Then there's the peeing in cups and giving of blood. Super fun.

The silver lining of all these tests? We don't have to play the blame game. We know who's at fault. We know which one of us is crap at a basic human functions. That asshole who is at fault? That's me.

So, back to what I was saying. I'm self aware. I know that we haven't been trying as long as some others. I know that I'm not that old. I know that my husband doesn't want to talk about babies and our lack thereof every single day. I know that my friends don't want to listen to me cry about it. I know I'm a downer. I know that I'm slightly less than excited for pregnant friends than a better friend would be. I know that it's weak to cry in the car when yet another person around me gets pregnant. I know that it is a terrible thing to be jealous of others about. I know that picking fights with my spouse for not remembering what day I am most likely to ovulate is damaging to our relationship and unfair to him. I know, I know, I know, I know...

Monday, June 02, 2014

Bamboo - The Gift That Keeps on Giving

Oh man. I finally figured out who planted this stuff.

Satan.

The new casa has bamboo everywhere. Well, not everywhere. But on our property that is just shy of an acre, I'm guessing we have at least 1/3 or an acre of bamboo. During the remodel, we removed sheet rock from the bathroom and guess what was growing between the exterior of the house and the sheetrock... bamboo.

And in the crack between the porch and the beginning of the sidewalk.

And into the wall of the laundry room.

And all the way up the driveway.

And across the entire fence line.

Okay, you get it. Bamboo.

Here's the kicker though. We needed to level a VERY small portion of the bamboo grove that I will bamboo hill. Bamboo hill is a relatively isolated patch of bamboo... on a hill... but it's a nightmare.
My car on the other side of Bamboo Hill.
The front of Bamboo Hill pre-cut. 
 Prior to the removal of the bamboo, we started researching how to kill it and the internet basically says you'll have better luck finding a unicorn that eradicating this much bamboo. So, now that we felt completely confident in our ability to fail, we started cutting... and piling... and hauling bamboo. We suckered some people on craigslist into coming for some of, though I'm not sure how I feel about a bunch of bamboo weirdos knowing where our new casa is... but it was less we had to manage. So we cut, and we sprayed brush killer. Then we cut some more. Then we sprayed more brush killer. Then it started to grow back and we spray so much that the ground shall never be fertile again. So we thought.
Midway through cutting bamboo hill.
Some 200 bamboo shoots and several blisters into the process.
 The contractor brought in some heavy machinery to level the ground for the garage foundation and what did he find in bamboo hill? A maze of roots that broke the 5' x 5' wooden trash bin over like a cornucopia spilling forth the remnants of bamboo.
A pile of horrifying bamboo roots as proof that the internet was right.
We will have bamboo forever. 
 Now, I don't want to shock anyone trying to eradicate their own bamboo, but new garage, 4 quarts of concentrated brush killer, and a backhoe were used in this one small clump... and it's growing back. Green as ever.