Awkwardly Social

I started the 30 Day Shred (again) last night in an effort to get a jump start on my February goal of exercising more.  I have never been able to do any work out for more than probably 7 days straight and I’m pretty sure it’s not good for your body to not give it a rest day, but I have made the silly goal of actually doing the 30 Day Shred for 30 days.  I will probably fail, but, you can’t win if you don’t play.  “Pain is fear leaving the body.”  (God, I hate Jillian so much.)

So, because I wanted to have an idea of my starting point, I took my measurements and some “before” photos that are for my eyes only.  I took them on my iPhone and because I often whip out my phone to show people my darling son (the modern version of, “Here, look at my vacation slide show.”) I wanted to get them off my phone and into a place where people won’t immediately see them (and recoil in horror at my cellulited ass).  My phone does not currently sync with my computer, so I decided to e-mail them to myself.  I VERY carefully entered my e-mail address as I was mailing them to myself and hit send after checking and re-checking to see if I had entered the proper address.  As soon as the final picture whooshed out of my inbox an e-mail came in from my father.  Subject line: These came through.  Body of message: “I will check them out in the morning.  I’m hitting the rack.”

I think you can probably imagine the feeling I had.  That feeling of all of your blood draining from the top half of your body into the bottom half.

I immediately went into a flop sweat and checked my sent mail.  It appeared I had only sent the photos to myself, but what if I SENT THEM TO MY ENTIRE CONTACTS LIST?  What if there was some terrible glitch?  I felt like I might actually die.

I frantically dialed my father and the phone rang and rang.

“Please don’t be in bed, PLEASE DON’T BE IN BED.”

He finally picked up.

“Dad, um, what was that e-mail about?”

“What e-mail?”

“The one that said, ‘These came through.’”

LONG TERRIBLE PAUSE.

“WHAT CAME THROUGH, DAD?”

“Oh, that went to you?  It was supposed to go to your sister, she sent me some real estate listings.”

Jesus.  Fucking. Christ. ON A CRACKER.

I explained the story to him and he had a good laugh.  Then I forwarded the e-mail he sent to my sister and told her what had happened.

She responded:  You would have totally had a rom-com night tonight breaking into everyone’s houses and deleting their emails before they had a chance to see your underwear. There - now you have a script to start writing!

Moral to the story:  Never, ever, take before photos.  EVER.

I got an update this morning and I think my doctor was excited? Or he was covering? Anyway, there are 8 thingies (I have no idea what to call them at this stage) left. He said something about them being between 2 and 8 cells? Honestly, I wasn’t really paying attention, I was just so glad I didn’t have to hear the terrible words, “Nothing progressed.” Or something else doom worthy.

I texted my sister the news and she texted back later that she was doing research and I was doing really well A+++. So, clearly she knows me well.

My transfer is firmed up for Thursday morning, and before hand not only will I be drinking a liter of water (what exactly is a liter? Besides being half of a 2 liter bottle? I cannot visualize this size) I will be having acupuncture before hand. My acupuncturist can’t be there, so there will be a new guy. Which… I cannot tell you how nervous that makes me, but I looked him up and he works with the woman that literally wrote the book on acupuncture and infertility, so hopefully we’ll have a good session and I won’t pee my pants.

This last part is the most embarrassing, but I am planning a trip to see a statue tomorrow. A fertility statue. You don’t have to make fun of me, I’m already blushing.

Last night as I was crying about nothing and everything in particular, I was lying on my back and the tears were rolling down my cheeks, and I thought to myself, “Why is it always so fucking cold in here?  My goddamned tears are ICY.”  Then I switched seamlessly into thinking about how I could use this moment, and probably will use this moment one day in my writing.  I’m an obnoxious writer-type person even when I’m sad.

Clomid has made me a really grumpy crazy person that every once in a while has really sweaty feet.  Alternate that with me feeling like I’m freezing in balmy 78 degree weather and the madness of  having my first pregnancy end in gumball sized blood clots and you’ve got a recipe for some crazy-fun times! If you think my already droll personality magnified into a gorilla in heat’s anger level is crazy fun, that is.

I had my 10 day ultrasound this morning with the ultrasound tech who reminds me physically of a character in a Wayans brothers’ movie.  In fact, she kind of looks like the Wayans’ sister, but really she looks more like a Wayans brother with a wig on.  She doesn’t act like a Wayans brother in anyway (thank fucking god, can you imagine getting some kind of live stand-up show while you have a wand in your puss?  Don’t answer that if you can.).  Anyway, she is brusque, but I’m starting to like her.   She doesn’t chit chat.  She just puts the wand up in there, and tells me good things like, “Your lining looks good.  You’re going to ovulate on both sides,” in her no-nonsense way, and I kind of like it.

So tomorrow…  with dread and hope I get my 3rd IUI.  Dreading the two weeks wait, hoping for the positive test, and dreading the next two weeks wait for the heartbeat ultrasound.