So much for second opinions

The RE I saw yesterday was all about the outpatient surgery, until he did an ultrasound. Apparently I'm carrying around a tennis ball-sized cyst attached to one of my ovaries. The good news is, the other ovary looks perfect. Which was the only good news I got yesterday.

He's going to have to do a laparotomy, which is major surgery. Two to three days in the hospital, and they won't release me to go back to work for four weeks. Oh, and there's a good chance I'm going to lose that ovary entirely, because there's so little healthy tissue left.

I just glanced at my employee handbook, and apparently whether or not I get paid during that time is completely at the owner's discretion. (And before anyone starts the FMLA chant, we're too small to qualify.) Unfortunately he's on vacation until early August, so I guess I'll just have to wonder. At least he's usually in a good mood when he gets back.

So, fingers crossed that my cyst stays put until after our vacation next month and that I won't lose four weeks of pay. As the "Sugar Mama" of the house, that would put a bit of a crimp in our little ol' budget.

Oh, I have one important question for my loyal readers. I haven't spent the night in the hospital since I was three. Do they give popsicles to the grown ups, too?

It's that time again

Friday. I'm feeling lazy today, so I only have one random thought to share. But since I'm being lazy, I decided to doctor up the post with a link. And a picture. Ooo, pretty pictures!

Today's random thought is more of a random fact. Did you know Minnesota has a law on the books that bans Dakota Indians from living within their borders? Obviously it's an old law, and not enforced, but it's crazy that it's still there, none-the-less.

Here are two more related random facts. I'm a descendant of Pocahontas on my mother's father's side. (But I haven't seen the Disney movie. I say it's because it's factually inaccurate and disrespectful to my ancestors, but it's really just that I haven't gotten around to it.)


And I had a great-grandfather that was half Cherokee. I always thought that was pretty cool, but didn't realize until relatively recently that my grandmother was greatly ashamed of this fact. That same great-grandfather fought in the Civil War, but that's another post for another time. (But think about that, those of you who were lucky enough to know your great-grandparents. He and I didn't exactly overlap on the whole timeline thing.)

(That's supposedly Pocahontas with her son, Thomas Rolfe, although the authenticity of the photo hasn't been proven.)

Giving it up

Laundry. I'm seriously thinking about giving it up. It's honestly my least favorite chore, and I'm getting increasingly bad at keeping up with it. There's very little job satisfaction in doing it well, unless you count being able to wear your favorite underwear because they're actually clean.

I find myself doing emergency loads so I can actually wear jeans on Fridays, when we're allowed to wear jeans to work. Not that I don't wear them on other days as well, from time to time, but it seems wasteful to not wear them on Friday when they're actually sanctioned by the employee handbook.

And in this day and age of super duper streamlined appliances and robotic vacuums, does it seem right that we're spending almost the exact same amount of time on housework as we were in 1900? I don't think so, but we are.

I want someone to invent a washing machine/dryer combo that actually simplifies the process. Or shortens it. Or makes it so I don't have to go search for hangers in my husband's closet.

Is that too much to ask?

It's Random Friday again

Man, this weeks seems to have flown by. Which is perfectly fine with me, considering the weekends feel like they last for approximately twelve minutes. Now on to the randomness. I've been holding on to the first one since Sunday, when the thought first occurred to me.

1. Do you think other cultures have storage units? Uncle Bob's Storage. U Store It. Climate controlled, pretty little boxes where we can store all the stuff we've accumulated that won't fit in our current residence? Or are we the only culture that is arrogant enough to need more 'things' than we actually have room for?

Now, I'm not saying that there aren't valid reasons for storage units. Temporarily between residences? Need to put your pool table somewhere while you refurbish the basement to look like a kickass bar? Knock yourself out.

I simply can't believe the sheer number of storage units we have in Florida. Which is ironic, given the fact that a decent percentage of our population actually has a SECOND HOME somewhere up north. For some reason I can't see a Frenchman paying perfectly good money for a place to store crap. And in Japan, their residences are smaller than our storage units. I'm sure it would be considered a ridiculous extravagance. But who knows? Maybe I'm wrong.

If you've lived in a foreign country (or know someone who does), fill me in. Does Uncle Bob have a chain in the Ukraine?

2. (You're only getting two today, because they're long.) You know how your voice sounds different in your head than it does to everyone else? You know, you hear your voice on a voice mail message (or on a cassette tape, in the olden days), and freak out at what you sound like to everyone else?

Well, yesterday it occurred to me to wonder how this phenomenon affects comedians and actors who do impressions. Those guys (and gals) who can do spot-on, can't-believe-it's-not-the-real-person-talking impressions. Since they would sound different in their heads while they're practicing new impressions, how do they get them so spot on? Do they have to record themselves and constantly go back and listen to what they sound like to everyone else? That seems awfully tedious.

Makes me appreciate Kevin Pollack's Christopher Walken all the more.

Going under the knife

Will it be

1) a two-day hospital stay, open incision, two weeks off of work jobbie?

Or

2) an outpatient, lap/hysteroscopy, back-to-work-on-Monday type deal?

That depends on whether you ask my OB/GYN or my RE. Personally, I'm voting for option number two. As a matter of fact, I'm less than thrilled with my OB/GYN right now for more than one reason. I know Dr. B has my best interests at heart, but sometimes the words that come out of his mouth are less than supportive. "I'll try to leave as much of your ovaries as I can." "No, we can't wait until after your vacation. You might experience Ovarian Torsion, and then it would become an emergency." "An incision this big, six weeks till you're fully back to 100%." "Slim chance, but we have to rule out ovarian cancer."

Yes, he went there. I've done my research, and I've read multiple times that elevated C125 levels should not be used as a diagnostic indicator for ovarian cancer. He fully admitted that it's most likely the cysts on my ovaries or the fibroids hanging out in my uterus causing the elevated levels. In fact, most of what he's blathering about are worst-case scenarios. And while I appreciate he has to tell me these things, TELL ME they're worst-case scenarios WHILE YOU'RE TELLING ME ABOUT THEM. For crying out loud, is that so hard???

Perhaps in an attempt redeem his beside manner, he did try to ask in a caring tone, "How do you *feel* about having the surgery?"

I looked at him with a rather blank stare and told him I was less than excited, but if that's what I have to do to get pregnant, then so be it. He then politely informed me that it was really more of a medical necessity, not just a fertility issue. In that case, it doesn't really matter how I *feel* about having the surgery, does it?

To end this rather whiny, complaining blog entry on a much happier note, I scored a 6.2 on my FSH test. Boooya! I know, most of you are probably wondering what that number means. Well, I'll tell you what it means. That means I have the egg reserve of a shiny, happy, pimple-faced twenty-something-year-old chickie, folks!

No dusty eggs for me!

Random Fridays

Haven't done one of these in a while, and thought it would be nice to take a break from the depressing posts I've been trailing out there recently.

1) I wonder who created the five-day work week? And who decided eight hours would make a good, typical work day?

2) The summer months makes me want to eat more veggies, even though I live somewhere where we have summer weather all year long.

3) When I lurk on other people's blogs, I'm hesitant to leave a comment 'cause I think they'll think I'm a weird Interwebs stalker. But as a blog author, I'd love for my lurkers to say hello when they stop by. Interesting duality, there.

4) If you're lurking, say hello. I promise I won't bite. And if you have a blog, I'd love to read it.

5) That last one wasn't really random, so I'll go for one more here. If there are other life forms in the universe, do you think they're not technologically advanced enough to reach us, or are we just primitively boring and not worth the trip? Or do you think they're already here, mucking up corn fields and traumatizing cows and people named Jim Bob?*

*I have nothing against people named Jim Bob. I may, however, have been making a thinly veiled reference to residents of rural America that think they get abducted by aliens on a semi-regular basis.

Karma?

I've told J before that we're just too lucky. The few times we've had bad luck (our SUV being totaled, our washing machine flooding our house (twice), a flat tire and five hours on Alligator Alley), I've chalked it up to Karma balancing out our otherwise blessed lives. My parents love him, I get along famously with his family. We're healthy, happy, have a nice home and plenty of food to eat. We have the best dog in the world (don't bother arguing with me, you won't win), amazing friends and two jobs that we enjoy.

We have an amazing girl that I'm proud to call my stepdaughter, even if we don't get to spend much time with her due to distance. Honestly, we just don't have much to complain about.

Is our infertility the ultimate balancing act dealt us by Karma? Perhaps this is our one big challenge that we will face as a couple. If so, it's a doozy. But I still have to step back and say, all things being equal, we're two lucky folks.

Might have to put that on a sticky note (or three) and post it where I'll see it every day.

Nesting for everyone

Whether you're a mom-to-be in full nesting mode or just a worldly individual with impeccable design taste, I dare you to not find inspiration on this blog.

I'm in a redecorating mode right now, which I think is because I've now officially lived in this house longer than I've lived anywhere in my entire life. So, I'm looking for ways to update. And the "before and afters" on this site make me want to go to garage sales because I know I'll find that gorgeous chair by Eames that the owner is foolishly selling for $3.

A picture like this makes me question why I don't make all my greeting cards by hand.



Check it out. Design*Sponge

If and When

I'm trying to figure out exactly when in my trying-to-get-knocked-up process I went from saying, "When we have kids" to saying, "If we have kids."

In all honesty, I guess I still haven't completely transitioned to the second option yet, but the first one has definitely left my vocabulary for good. Apparently I'm at the "If we're lucky enough to have kids" stage right now.

The transition definitely happened before I started having testing done. Somewhere between the one-year mark and the two-year mark.

I am nowhere near giving up hope, but I think at some point when dealing with infertility you also have to be realistic. I am EXTREMELY hopeful that we're going to be able to make a baby. I am willing to go through a lot of expensive (and sometimes painful) treatments to make that happen.

But as optimistic as I am, I have to let a little part of my brain and heart remain realistic. I suppose that's better than letting a big chunk be pessimistic. I'm beginning to think that that's going to be the key to surviving this process. Finding the balance and not letting one overwhelm the other.

37 and not trying

This is just a weird month. We've been trying to get knocked up for so long, I've forgotten what it feels like to try NOT to get pregnant. And the one month that good ol' Doc B asks us to abstain because of testing has to fall on my birthday. So now I feel old, and like I'm wasting a month.

In three years, I'll be 40. By that age, my parents had a kid in college.

Wow.

Oh, and on a completely unrelated note, we decided this weekend that someone needs to invent a spork with a slightly serrated blade on the handle (think KFC plastic knife, not something that's gonna take off a finger) and we'll call it a Spornk. I think it's brilliant.

I was going to call it a Snork, but was afraid people would confuse it with these:


Plus this way it has the word "porn" in it, which makes it seem a little dirty.