Monday, November 21, 2011

Load me up...

One post and I'm already lacking in consistency!

After my last post I promptly became DEATHLY ill with tonsillitis and because I’m incredibly dramatic it landed me in the hospital. I was told by an ENT about 3 years ago that I needed to have my tonsils out due to the fact that they kept flaring up and abscessing (yuck). But after scheduling and cancelling the surgery 3 times and I decided to be honest with myself and the ENT that I was never giving up me tonsils argh! (apply Jack Sparrow accent here).

The one thing I enjoy about the hospital visit (besides Percocet) is people watching. The rare breeds that come into the ER are something you don't find in your everyday encounters. I'm pretty sure the majority of the population simply goes for somewhere to hang out.

The person in front of me was there for a cough that she "just couldn't handle anymore". I never once heard her cough while we shared the miniscule breathing room that was the ER. Actually at one point her and her Kurt Cobain wanna-be boyfriend had a heated interlude that should have sent her "cough" into hysterics but nope, not even a throat clearing. Perhaps there's a bed in the lockdown unit for you and your imaginary cough. I hear Klonopin works wonders for such things.

Another man came in to retrieve his car keys that were in the pocket of the shirt they cut off of him the night prior. Now mind you, he rode his mountain bike straight into the ER lobby and requested said keys. I don't know about everyone else but if my shirt had to be cut from body in the EMERGENCY ROOM I would not be b-bopping around on my 5-speed! I later saw this man at the local pharmacy 3 miles away, when I went to pick up my scripts. Hey Lance, TAKE A CAB!

I've got to hand it to the nurses and Dr.'s. They don't even bat an eye at these nut jobs. They are even nice! I was rolling my eyes so hard my ocular muscles hurt the next day. *My mother was beyond pleased that I was unable to talk because she knows the level of my psychosis when it comes to such matters and I would have been grumbling to her the whole time.

Needless to say they drugged me and I'm now back to my bitchy joyful self.

Somewhere in the happens of last week I had my WTF appointment with Dr. T. J and I had decided that if this woman didn't have some cold hard facts as to why I'm not knocked up after 7 treatments we were taking our **bros and going home.

 Here's another fun fact you should know about me. In the hypothetical I’m one bad ass broad. I’ve given many a tongue lashing in my day. I've made owners of corporations, bosses, presidents, and wait staff crumble at my mere stare. In real life however, I tend to smile and nod a lot. So when the first words out of Dr. T's mouth were "you still have 2 day5 blasts on ice". I immediately spread my legs and told her to implant them bitches. I left the appointment feeling like I'd made some big dent in my infertility and we were on our way to twins!

I promptly called J's sister to discuss the appointment. She's beyond supportive and likes to know all the details and gives way more feedback than J. But on the down side she would never say, "Well, that kind of seems like the same line of B.S Dr. T has been feeding you for 1.5 yrs. You shoulda smacked a hoe." Instead she shared in my validation of the new same plan. It wasn't until I called J that I realized aside from some acupuncture and an additional bro we were doing our usual song and dance that leads to either a chemical or BFN and no chubby little ball of love with a full head of J's hair! (Don't pretend you're shocked by my level fantasizing)

So here we are about a week and half from starting my FET meds. The ones that I so affectionately refer to as vomitogen and ***'dirty band aid mark for weeks' patch. But this will at least use up all the snowbabies so a break up with my clinic will be a little easier if it's another fail.

Well there it is. I've been given a load of antibiotics, opioids, and B.S. in this last week. Bring it on!

*J doesn't handle the hospital well AT ALL. He becomes intensely anxious and irritable like he's having some kind of withdrawl. So I bring me Mum to such affairs as the ER.
** We refer to our embryos/blasts as "bros".
*** Does anyone have suggestions on how to remove those horrible sticky square outlines from your skin without getting a skin graph?

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