People love to say that history repeats itself. I don’t love to say it, but I’m living proof. (In about 3 minutes, you’ll find out why I’ve lately grown to hate the word “proof”‘s guts.) I went through my own infertility adventure a while ago. Suddenly I find myself going through it again… without really going through it.
I dealt with trying to get pregnant naturally for a year after we got married. Call me old fashioned, but it never occurred to me to try a year before we got married. I imagine it would have been a bad idea anyway since I only met my husband ten months before we got married. Anyhoo…
Once I called a fertility clinic and they heard that I was almost 41, they sent an ambulance to my house with sirens blaring to escort me to my first appointment. In fact, because of my elderliness, everything about my treatments was kind of aggressive and at warp speed.. like them tossing in 4 embryos at each transfer. So this is why I started writing it all down- to unclog my brain. Anybody who goes through fertility treatments knows how overwhelming it is to go from your regular life to one that routinely includes blood tests, hormones, injections and a million other weird and scary things… and then mine was also sped up. The belief was that I didn’t have years- maybe not even months- to get pregnant, so it was pressure on pressure. I spent most days in a hormone-induced pressure cooker: Every hour or so I would take a break from crying just so I could make time for freaking out. So I started jotting down notes and creating Word documents in an attempt to center myself like how my fellow psychopaths were given basket weaving classes and adult coloring books in prison. (I also made sure my computer screen was always clean so I could see my husband’s reflection should he ever come up behind me with a scarf or a knife.)
Okay, now we’re years later. I’m in the menopause zone and I’ve decided to make those notes which became an eBook into a paperback. More hormones and more pressure. Years have gone by and once again, I’m a human hand grenade. This time, instead of needles, doctors, and meds, it’s margins, proofs, and fonts. Writing about infertility back then helped my infertility stress but it’s not doing a thing for my publishing stress. Once again, you can set your clock by my meltdowns. (This past weekend we set the clocks back one hour leaving me plenty of time to squeeze in an extra meltdown.)
“The spacing isn’t right! Why does the cover look like that?! It’s too many pages! It’s not enough pages! Is it getting hot in here or is it just me? What’s a mirror margin?! How do I embed a font?! Hey, did you hear the one about the font that was embed with the margin?”
My poor husband: Oktoberfest ended and Nutfest is still in full (mood) swing.
The eBook is on sale ($3.99 USD) for November (Amazon, Nook, & Kobo). The paperback will be available also at a special price on Amazon & Createspace in a week or two- (And, depending on how it goes, the last page will either be a lovely comment by Dr. Spencer Richlin- from RMA Connecticut or my suicide note.) https://www.amazon.com//dp/B007G9X19A/