Organizing frenzy. OCD much? Um, yeah.

Hard drive kicked it. Totaled. Mostly everything was backed up. Only lost bookmarks + that's what Google is for. Best thing that could have happened for my heightened computing pleasure. Have memory galore now. Been busily reorganizing my computer files. Have taken the computer organizing into the real world. Finally wrapping up long overdue crap I've been creatively avoiding by blogging in detail about the minutiae in my life.

So while ya'll get caught up reading said nitty gritty, I'm getting caught up filing away.

We're entering our last month here. Trying to emotionally prepare for the laundry list of unknowns fast approaching. Expect AF to drop in for Valentine's Day. Looks like this cycle is back to its old long self. We'll probably do the FET in the 3rd week of February, let 'em bake, then fly back a week or 2 later. No, not ideal. But then again, doing a second IVF/FET round isn't either.

Still working on that elusive optimistic HOPE thing.

Have I mentioned I miss my precious Z? No, don't mean Zeke. Though I miss him tremendously. And Tallulah. HUGE. I'm referring to Zoloft. Miss it. On it, that's my normal. My normal isn't normal nor has it ever been...

Anyone who has read more than one or two of my posts is more than privy to my OCD, etc. crap. My friend who has been kindly and loyally following my blog sent me this. I wanted to share. She's not an "infertile," is actually a new mommy, and has never been on these drugs. Yet she GETS it. Not just the mental struggles, but the infertility as well. Moreover she's able to articulate it. She's an amazing + insightful person. And I'm lucky I get to count her as one of my dearest friends and have her in my life. Plus, she makes an insanely good cup of coffee.

I may have sent you this before, but I am trying to get caught up again on your blog (funny how [baby] makes "reading" a too time-consuming activity) and your post reminded me of this one on Dooce.com:

http://www.dooce.com/2007/12/13/because-i-couldnt-say-it-phone

She is a Sister-in-Arms when it comes to Head Meds (from your blog post). Drugs (therapy, whatever) aren't indications of weakness. If they help you to have a happy fulfilling life then they are a success. AND (my two cents), the fact that ANYONE seeks them out and stays on them (or with it) in order to make their life livable, shows that they have great strength and courage.

I've told you before she's one of my favorite bloggers (in addition to you now)! She's just has a great perspective on life, given the life she's already lived. I'm behind on her posts too. Hmph. I'll be caught up one day with all my favorite bloggers and vloggers. Actually, this year. New Year's resolution!

Smooch.
Say "HEY" to The Surfer for me!

-k

Head Meds

Instead of writing, I'm supposed be packing to leave on a surf excursion to Kenting for the weekend; serving as the 3rd wheel to my husband and Drew (and his still in-need-of-a-home- car-sick-dog, Tuco).

But I thought I'd post one last one for the road copying what I wrote on a fellow IFer's comment section.

The dilemma she was having was about how to proceed in dealing with her husband's hypochondriac symptoms/depression. Here's what I foisted on her blogworld:

Here's my biased take:

Drugs.

Head meds can be a good thing. Sometimes it is just circumstances that drives the need. Fine. But also, one's personal/familial chemistry can be such that they're deficient on brain hormones--as was the case for me--hit it right off the bat w/ The Zoloft. I was taking 50 mg. which did the trick, took at night to sleep off the major sleepiness and felt it get me on track right away. Prior to taking the meds (which I'm off at the moment due to TTC, but not off for life), it was always SUCH a struggle to pull myself out of the spiral. And the thing that really confirmed to me I was such an example of "chemical imbalance" was that there wasn't anything in particular that was setting me off when I finally admitted I was a good candidate for the drugs. YEARS of therapy cannot help a physical, chemical imbalance. After a lifetime of low-grade depression, when I finally gave over and took the drug, it was such a relief. Unfortunately, I still felt the sting of societal stigma: that it was a hush-hush thing I was doing. And honestly, I think there are a few of my friends who never "accepted" it and are glad I'm not on it currently. I get a bit defensive in my head and just let it go; if I vibed someone wasn't accepting, but judging, I made peace with it being their problem.

Here's the fair and analogous question:

Do people judge diabetics because they need insulin due to their pancreas not producing enough or any insulin?

NO.

But when people don't make enough of their own seratonin, just because the organ in question is the brain (i.e. the "mind") and not a pancreas, it gets lumped in as being "mental."

I go out of my way to openly talk about it and any other "taboo" subject I can b/c it's SUCH BS that these (OCD, depresssion, infertility) things are still SO not talked about and/or accepted, esp. in our American society.

Unfortunately, no solution is perfect for those of us w/ deficient organs. (As all of us struggling w/ IF know all too well.)

My dad, yes 1/2 of where I got these screwy genes, finally went on meds. Guess what? OCD/hypochondriac stuff dissipated. But he couldn't handle the drugged sleepiness and went off them. Yep, hypochondriac back in full force. My (lifelong) step mom was so bummed when he ditched them.

Please be patient with your DH.

...And there's my novella.

Laying around looking like I'm sick with all my tissues readily on hand for sudden hormone tears except now

I really am. Sick. Shit. Have a crappy fucking cold. We both do. Worried it'll turn into a racking cough and I'll eject the embryos out after the transfer (around Christmas day - our present to each other!). I'm nervous a cough will screw with implantation. Is this pure paranoia? I'm too tired to search on Google. I realize I can't be the first woman undergoing IVF treatment to get a cold. Fuck it. I'm not gonna give it much thought.

Letting it go now.

Gone.

In light of the fact that I'm pooped, and in keeping with backtracking due to my blogging procrastination, here's a letter (edited down - see I am capable of editing) sent to our lovely neighbor Susan from down south in the VOD from when I first arrived here:

June 11, 2008

Dearest Susan,

Just wanted to let you know I will get to keep my mind here. Alissa was able to send my first batch thru FedEx. Scary thing is, I was totally off them for about 2 whole days (having taken half doses the prior 4) and I could already tell I was needing them. Ugh. I guess it's true what they say - better living thru chemistry! Dan's pancreas needs insulin; my brain needs serotonin reuptake inhibitors - my brain needs to recycle what little I have instead of dispensing of it as used and unnecessary like normal brains do. My brain, BTW, hates it when I talk about it behind its back. So I should move onto a different subject before it gets angry and spiteful and withholds important multisyllabic vocabulary words from me that I might need when trying to impress Dan's boss tonight (who also misread his itinerary and missed his last flight here, so actually I think we'll get along famously).

Moving on. Before our new tenants get there, I wanted to see if you and/or Miri wanted to raid our freezer for any food items you might want. I know there are some decent frozen goodies in there, like a couple of Trader Joes Pizzas, etc. I think I may even have a Barbie in there. Feel free to take her home so as not to scare the newbies. Long story. Kinda in keeping with my weird brain ramblings above. I have an active inner life. Never bored at least.

Send your famous Toll House cookies here? Okay maybe not the cookies. Maybe some sand from Beacons? Waaaah!!! We miss you guys and our little valley of dreams Shangri-La. (Either that Zoloft has kicked in funny, or I better get my ass to Taipei 101 and look for some English speaking Ex-Pats cuz it seems I may be desperate to communicate in fluent English, eh?)

Okay. I’m serious. I think I’ll scoot off to seek out some small banter with strangers where our only bond is based on where we happen to have been born.

I'm the Blueberry girl in Willy Wonka

Ok.
Turns out shooting up that = this.

Remember how when the chunky girl pops the gobstopper and goes through all the permutations of the whole meal she ate in a single piece of candy? (I do wish there really was such a thing.)

Here's my gonal-F injection rendition:

Shooting up (w/ Dan doing plunging b/c it's too hard for me to press in myself). Plop back deep against the couch cushions as I wait for the waves to overtake:

Feel 20 lbs. heavier. Like gravity increased its pull on my entire body.

Wait. Wait. I'm starving. No, I'm full. Now I'm dizzy. Now my left eye is blurry. Now my right ovary is twinging like I'm mid-cycle. Ah, here come the constipated tears. Now I'm hot. No wait, where's my jacket? Hey Dan, Um. Yeah? I forgot. I had a thought. Wait. Naw. I was wrong there's nothing in there. Just roll me out - I'm hot, dizzy, full/hungry, bloated, and staring straight ahead spacing like a drugged out stoner with pinwheel eyes.

Gotta lay down now.

Have I mentioned I quit coffee and am weaned off Zoloft?

Gotta lay down now.

Have I mentioned Waaaaahhhh? Ok. I'll stop whining. For now.

Gotta lay down now.