So you think you dread the holidays this year because you’re dealing with infertility? How about before you were dealing with infertility? I truly believe that many many people- those with normally functioning reproductive systems included- either dread or at least would rather not go to these family soirees and there’s one main reason: Expectations: Either we fear that our holiday gatherings won’t live up to what we expect. Or, even worse: They will.
Quick Note: My eBook is now (finally, mercifully) in paperback. Regular price- $9.99 USD. New launch price through November- $8.49
The eBook is also on sale this month. Usually $4.99/now $3.99. https://www.amazon.com/dp/0692950117
(Contact me directly for orders of 5 books or more-I’ll hook ya up.) Now back to our regularly scheduled blog.
So I started chatting with someone online who had written a new book called: Down the F’n Tubes: An Ode to Fertility Futility. I’m really big on titles. I love a good play on words and phrases and can’t think of one that would better sum up the feelings of anxiety and frustration of infertility than that one. (Is it too late to change my book title?) Unlike most infertility books, this one isn’t written by a medical professional or “the woman” but “the couple”. I cyber sat down with “the couple”, Tom and Virginia Hanada for an interview. Continue reading
“If Walmart had a fertility clinic” I admit. There are several disturbing elements in that title. I will calm some of your fears right here by saying this post won’t have much to do with the ongoing fashion show at Walmart. You don’t need me. You have your own eyes and YouTube for that. Although, I do think the mentality when we’re getting dressed to go to a fertility clinic is similar as to when we’re going to Walmart:
“Who cares what I wear to Walmart? At least half of the shoppers will look worse.”
“Who cares what I wear to the fertility clinic? Ten minutes into the visit, I’ll be in a backless couture hospital gown with my ass hanging out.”
So, dressing for infertility or Walmart success notwithstanding– Walmart has eye centers. So why not fertility centers? The best part would be that they could run them just like they run their seasonal items. In and out. No delays. Fast and furious. Bathing suits are gone in June. School supplies are done in July and on to the Halloween candy because you know everyone wants to get a jump on their Halloween candy buying. I’m sure that August bag of candy is just laying around the house unopened waiting for October. (I wonder how many people actually finish the candy on the way home and turn around and head back to the store. I mean, it’s August. You can’t take a chance on it melting in the trunk.)
Well, why not a fertility clinic at Walmart? In and out. No delays. Fast and furious. No waiting ten days for your first consultation. No waiting until next month to try the next procedure. No two week wait to find out if you’re pregnant. Here’s the schedule at Walmart’s Minute Fertility Clinic:
Monday 8am: First and only appointment. You say “hi” to Dr. Total Stranger and tell her everything you can think of about your menstrual cycle and your sex life, editing out only the parts about the whipped cream and the crack in the windshield. While you’re chatting, a nurse takes blood out of your arm and sperm out of your spouse and then tosses away her latex gloves and goes to lunch. You then proceed onto the examination table behind the curtain. The doctor directs you to open up and say “aaah”. You ask how everything looks. You probe her mind. She probes everything on that diagram in sixth grade Health class. You swallow a handful of fertility drugs that your spouse picked up at the pharmacy while you’re on the table as the doctor stares at your ovaries to see if the pills have taken effect. She decides you need IUI. She uses something from Housewares to shoot your spouse’s sperm up north. You leave the Minute Fertility Clinic, go to Subway next door and have a sandwich then return to the clinic. If you’re still not pregnant, the doctor does an egg retrieval, sprinkles in some of the spouse’s sperm for IVF and then sends the combo into your uterus. Now is the hard part: The 2hw: The two hour wait. You get a flu shot. You go into the pharmacy area, kick off your shoes and stand on Dr. Scholl’s machine. You peruse the trial size aisle. You could take your blood pressure if Walmart hadn’t replaced the machine with a garbage can last year. (A simple matter of priorities.) You buy some non-perishable comfort food and return to the clinic. Success! You’re pregnant! You’ll return next week to buy maternity clothes, pick up your “It’s a boy/girl!” cake at the bakery, and stop in at the Walmart Ob/Gyn to deliver the baby on your way out.
Hey…Thanks so much for stopping by! I hope you had a few laughs while you were here. If you’d like more laughs at infertility’s expense, please sign on to my newsletter http://laughingisconceivable.com (top) and check out my little book: Laughing IS Conceivable: One Woman’s Extremely Funny Peek into the Extremely Unfunny World of Infertility. (It’s been downloaded by 1000s & is recommended by top fertility professionals around the U.S.) Available on all Amazons, Nook, & Kobo & in Spanish as La Risa ES Concebible. https://www.amazon.com//dp/B007G9X19A/
Corn mazes: They’re one of my favorite parts of Fall. Even though most of them feel a tad gyppy rip-offish and my husband Lloyd and I are notoriously horrible at them. It’s our annual tradition. The sweet smell of corn. The sweet sound of wives yelling at the back of their husbands’ heads: “Will you wave the damn flag already and get us out of here?!” Every year we go to the same corn maze. It’s carved out the same way. We get lost in all the same places. Last year, there had been a lot of storms. The maze was so depleted, I was towering over the stalks. And as you can imagine, at 5’2 1/4″, I don’t get that many towering opportunities. Regardless, it still took us a good hour and a half to navigate our way out. Sure, we could see the exit clearly. We just couldn’t figure out how to get there without intervention- divine or otherwise… Hm… Sounds familiar… Continue reading
Autumn of my fertility. I admit, it’s not quite as exciting as autumn itself. Waking up this morning, I didn’t even need to experience the 64 degree temperature first-hand. Just seeing it in the lower left corner of my local TV news was good enough to get me pumped up. Then there was the autumn of my fertility: Getting married at 38 1/2+ and, for an entire year trying to get pregnant naturally by myself (well, not totally by myself. I’m not a complete idiot.) Continue reading
Like a good mechanic, a good doctor is hard to find. But fertility doctors seems to be a little bit different. The vast majority I’ve dealt with have been amazing: Very caring. Very dedicated. A few were arrogant asses. They still seemed to be excellent doctors. Just arrogant asses. Unfortunately, I’m not good with arrogant asses… and neither is my big mouth. You’d think by now we’d both be mature enough to just ignore them, but no.
So as most of you know, I’m a humor writer. This means that I’m a professional highly-trained in making smart-ass remarks. Look how good I am at it, even my job description to you contained a smart-ass remark. My entire life, I’ve never been able to help myself from doing it so I finally gave in and made a career of it. That’s why I’m no good on Facebook. People beg you for sympathy and support. Look, my friend Shannon whom I adore posted that she lost 133 pounds. Only she accidentally wrote “ponds”instead of “pounds” so of course everyone else wrote: “Good job!” and “Way to Go!” and I had to write: “Was that water weight, Shannon?” instead of letting it go like a normal person. (I’ve probably been un-friended by more people on FB than anyone else.) So in honor of “Let’s Hear it for the Boys… and their ‘boys'” month, when it comes to male infertility, I thought it best if I just shut-up and let a medical professional tell you some important stuff with some great links to more important stuff… instead of a smart-ass professional telling you why it’s funny… which of course it isn’t. Continue reading
These blog posts leading up to Father’s Day are dedicated to all of the guys trapped in this infertility adventure with us and especially to Philip Cottraux whom I’ve never met in person but I’m pretty sure bears no resemblance whatsoever to Homer Simpson.
I love when Judge Judy has a case where a woman is suing her ex and going on and on about how irresponsible and useless he is. Judge Judy’s response is always the same:
“So what do you want from me? You picked him!”
The vast majority of infertility blog readers are women, likely because the vast majority of infertility blog writers are women. I’m sure that comes as a huge surprise to not one person. There are a lot of daddy bloggers now, but not nearly as many writing about infertility. I guess there a lot more guys proud of their kids than their low-sperm count. Go figure.
Infertile women generally have a short agenda when we blog or post on social networks: Continue reading
Have you heard of “Give Yourself a Cookie” Day?
If the best part of Mother’s Day to you, right now, at this very juncture in your life, is the moment it ends… Continue reading