Mollywogger

I'm getting a bit fed up with Blogspirit -- it's not allowing me to post pictures in my mammoth Oscars post.  So, at least for the time being, I'm headed back to Blogger.

 

Go to http://mollywogger.blogspot.com/ to check out my 2007 Oscar fashion report -- and make sure to change my address in Bloglines! 

Sorry ladies.  This whole not-updating-my-blog thing has gotten out of hand.  The way it has looked for two months (christ!), I’ve been wallowing in a cauldron with equal parts grief, depression, and self-pity.  Please let me assure you that that is far from the truth – I am still in one piece and still kicking – I just didn’t feel like I had much to say.

 

But I should really find something to say, because the Golden Globes are coming up on Monday (Monday!) and lord knows that I’ll have to post then.  I had better get a warm-up post in to verify that the snark is fully engaged.

 

We just got back on Thursday from our annual trip out to see the in-laws in Montana.  It’s hard to complain when this is what you see from your back porch:

 

 

We sledded in Glacier National Park:

 

 

And enjoyed a wonderful family Christmas:

 

All in all, a great success.

 

Hal and I are kind of taking a break on the reproduction right now.  I’m trying to figure out what the hell my uterus is up to – my last two cycles have been 18 and 21 days long, so something’s going on.  I’m just sick of thinking about it at this point.

 

Classes start again in two weeks.  I’ve been packing in as much novel-reading as I can during winter break.  I finished A.S. Byatt’s fabulous Possession in Montana, and now I’m halfway through Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks.  I’m still deciding how I feel about it.  The next two on my list are The Living by Annie Dillard (her first novel) and March by Geraldine Brooks.

 

Anyway, thanks for your concern over my whereabouts.  I’ll do my best not to disappear for so long again.  How is everyone else keeping busy?

You know how sometimes when a week ends and even though you’re an atheist, you think, “Thank Christ that is over.”

 

Yeah.  That was pretty much this week.

 

Monday started off bright and early with a negative pregnancy test (I know – my own damn fault).  Went to work and immediately was confronted with the knowledge that I had seriously fucked something up the week before, leading to berating from a bitchy patron.  Then came the news that my grandma (my only living grandparent) was in congestive heart failure and needed to have a pacemaker put in.  At 85 years old, without any real health problems besides arthritis, this was a surprise.

 

Tuesday was remarkably better.  Grandma had her pacemaker put in and everything went really well.  I may or may not have told you that I’m currently doing an internship in document conservation through a local museum.  I found it deliciously coincidental that I was working on mending and encapsulating (creating an envelope out of Mylar plastic for protection) this campaign poster on election day:

 

 

Tuesday night after voting, I was pleased to curl up in bed and watch the election returns.  Things certainly did seem to be going well for the Dems.  But I had a headache by then, so I didn’t stay up too late.

 

Wednesday I woke up to that headache squeezing my head in a vise and demanding that I stay home, which I did.  I missed class that night as well.  I also got my period, which was fun.  Though I was proud to see that the Democrats had taken the House and Senate, I was beyond disgusted with the State of Wisconsin for two reasons:

 

1.       Voting to advise the state leadership to instate the death penalty in Wisconsin.

2.       Voting to outlaw recognition of gay marriage or any type of gay civil union in the state.

 

Really.  I couldn’t believe how absolutely backwards we were. 

 

There are ways in which I’m very proud of my adopted home state – or at least the district I’m in, which includes liberal Madison.  My district put Russ Feingold in the U.S. Senate – one of the most vocal opponents to the Bush administration, and the only U.S. Senator who voted against Bush’s Patriot Act.  My district also elected Tammy Baldwin to the House of Representatives – the first non-incumbent openly gay person elected to Congress.  Too bad her partner can’t receive benefits in the State of Wisconsin.

 

The rest of Wisconsin, however, made decisions that all of us will have to live with.

 

On Wednesday I also found out that my grandma was in terrible pain from a blood clot in her leg, and they had to do surgery.  The surgery did not go well – it took twice as long as it should have taken – and the doctors informed my family that grandma didn’t have long left.

 

Thursday my headache seemed to be even worse, so I stayed in bed and took a Vicodin, which gave me some seriously fucked up dreams but finally made me feel better.  I dragged myself to work that afternoon only to receive a call from my sister at 6:15 telling me that Grandma had just died.  The funeral’s on Sunday.  And my grandma never had great-grandchildren, and my children will never know her.

 

Thank Christ this week is over.

Remember when I introduced you all to the subversive sidewalk art of Madison?  I found this one today, and all I can say is, "Sound advice."

 

Number of days since my last post: 27

 

Number of times I’ve felt guilty for not posting in 27 days: 4,672,532

 

Clomid Cycle Number: 3

 

Cycle Day: 14

 

Follicles on Day 12: 3 – 20, 20.5, and 21

 

Lining on Day 12: 5.0 in one horn, 5.8 in the other

 

Number of times I freaked out over my shit lining:4

 

Number of acupuncture appointments I’ve had: 1

 

What my acupuncturist said when I described my symptoms: “Everything you’re presenting indicates poor circulation.”

 

Number of days until next acupuncture appointment: 5

 

Household cleaning product I’m thinking of divorcing my husband to marry: Mr. Clean Magic Erasers (do you ladies have those in Europe?  If not, shit, I’ll send you some)

 

Amount of stress caused by working full-time and going to school full-time: gobs

 

Number of days since I shaved my legs: 11

 

Currently reading: Selecting and Appraising Archives and Manuscripts by Frank Boles

 

Hours of homework I have to do today: 8-10

 

What I’m doing instead: blogging

The time has come again where I force myself to type all of the jumbled thoughts in my jumbled mind.

 

First, thanks for all of the well wishes on the first Clomid cycle, but no such luck.  Today marks Day 4 of Clomid Cycle 2: 100 Milligram Madness.  We’ll see how this one goes.  Dr. Dildohead did my ultrasound once again, and was the one who decided to up my dose to 100 mg and to add Estrace on days 8-12 to help thicken my lining.  More pills, more fun!  I’ll keep you posted.

 

My period was nice enough to wait until the day after my dear sister’s wedding to show up (though, with the fuchsia dresses, I don’t know if it would have been that noticeable).  No, the dresses were fine.  I looked pretty hot, actually.  I don’t have pictures yet, but I’m sure Mandy will be sending them along to me when she and her new husband return from the Mayan Riviera.  (No, that wasn’t a hint of jealousy you sensed there.  I’m fine.  Here.  In Wisconsin.  Fine.)

 

Mandy was my maid of honor four years ago, and I was Mandy’s matron of honor on Wednesday.  There are just two of us, and she’s a great sister to have – not only because she’s a total clotheshorse who freely distributes her hand-me-downs (which are always more in-style than the clothes that I currently wear), but also because she’s a lot of fun.

 

The evening before my wedding, July 19, 2002.  Yes, she’s that tan.  Yes, same parents.  The funny part?  I was actually feeling quite tan before my wedding.

 

The wedding was beautiful.  Mandy looked like a dream made a whipped cream (not that kind of whipped cream dream, perverts) and diamonds.  The flowers were gorgeous, the music was lovely (and I don’t just say that because I sang), the reception was a blast.  The groom’s grandpa brought some of his homemade chokecherry wine for the wedding party (holy shit, that stuff was stiff), the best men (there were 2) and I made rousing toasts, and my aunts and uncles absolutely tore up the dance floor.  Mandy and I stood there staring at them: “Did you know Uncle Wayne could dance?  He’s going to accidentally kill an onlooker with those moves.”  “Holy shit, Uncle Vern’s doing the twist.  Get the camera.”  Hilarious.

 

The next day was the gift opening.  Hal and I gave Mandy and her groom a box full of Penzey’s Spices – 28 herbs and spices, everything from bay leaves to cocoa powder to cayenne – and some recipes I’d written up that used the new seasonings.  Penzey’s is my favorite gift to give to newlyweds – they make fantastic gift boxes, packed with bay leaves and cinnamon sticks instead of packing peanuts or paper.

 

Overall, the weekend was wonderful, and a great way for Mandy and her husband to start the rest of their lives.  Congrats, sister.

 

Mandy double-fists it on the way to the reception.  That's my girl!

 

You want more Molly, you get more Molly.

1. When I was little, I used to climb doorways. I’d either put one arm and leg on each side and climb up that way, or just grab on to one side and inch my way like a little monkey. Once at the top of the doorway, I’d press my back on one side and my feet on the other, which I found quite comfortable. My parents actually have a picture of me parked up at the top of the doorway reading a book.

 

2. I own 40 Barbra Streisand albums. Yes, I am actually a middle-aged gay man.

 

3. I seem to be a “turner.” I have dated at least one guy who has since come out, kissed another who is out now, and dated two more that are seriously, seriously questionable. (Perhaps it was the Barbra Streisand?)

 

4. As many of you know (and as I have mentioned previously – before and after pictures here), I have a removable false tooth. It’s a Maryland Bridge, but the cement kept coming loose and I realized that it basically just stays in by itself, so why keep paying $250 to have it re-cemented? The era of the removable tooth will soon end, however, as I’ve had the bovine bone “slurry” graft and I’m finally going in for my tooth implant on Friday. The process involves drilling a titanium rod into my new cow-bone and letting that heal for a number of months (during which time, I’ll still be rocking the removable tooth), then, FINALLY, getting a crown put over the rod so that I have a permanent, real-looking tooth. This tooth was missing congenitally (just never formed), so I’ve been without it since it was pulled at the age of 12. Because it was missing congenitally (as opposed to it having been knocked out by accident), its replacement is not covered by insurance. How about that? Obviously, wanting all of the teeth you should have been born with is a cosmetic luxury.

 

5. I always like the goofy-looking guy. Well, not my husband – he’s definitely attractive (even Alexa? says so! See?), if not in an entirely conventional way – but I’ve always been the girl with the weird crush. Take my first celebrity crush – Mike from The Monkees.

 

 

You know, the one with the hat.

 

Everyone else was falling over Davey Jones, and I was macking on Mike, back at age 8. During middle school, everyone was in love with Donny (the “bad” boy) or Joey (the dewy-eyed crooner) or Jordan (the pretty boy) or even Jon (the shy, sensitive one) from New Kids on the Block. Me? Nope. I liked Danny.

 

 

 

The long obsession with David Duchovny hit in high school (who, though HOT, is not conventionally attractive),

 

 

 

followed by the Adrien Brody phase (ditto).

 

 

 

My current bizarre celebrity crush is Stephen Merchant, co-writer and co-director (with Ricky Gervais) of the British series “The Office” and “Extras.” Yeah, umm, he’s 6’7”, has protruding eyeballs, and has more than a passing resemblance to Beaker from The Muppets.

 

 

 

6. I can do this weird thing with my toe that I’ve never seen anyone else do, best illustrated in the following pictures (note: please ignore the sad state that my feet are in. I generally pride myself in the fact that, despite the fact that my feet are short and fat, they are generally soft, callous-free, and as good-looking as you can expect for short, fat feet. The two horrifying blisters on this foot are the result of pulling out the summer sandals and allowing them to break in my feet for another season [because, let’s face it – you aren’t breaking in the shoes, they’re breaking in your feet]. That having been said, here are my bizarre toes).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This process can be repeated very quickly and repeatedly, generally freaking people out. Want to see it in action? Email me and I’ll send you a short video. You won’t be disappointed.

I am alive, I am fine, and it’s time for me to bite the bullet and write another blog post before you send out search parties.

 

Suffice it to say, extreme guilt on my part and a thousand apologies for not posting forever, etc. Done and done.

 

Biggest news first: we bought a condo. Holy shit! In my last post (NEARLY A MONTH AGO OH MY GOD) we had just been pre-approved for a mortgage. Things have obviously moved quickly. In the time betwixt the blog posts, we toured 18 condos and townhouses. We got a call on Sunday night from our realtor saying that our front-runner would be receiving an offer the next day, so we should make one immediately if we were still interested. We were, and luckily we had all of our financing in order with our mortgage counselor. On Monday the seller received three offers and countered all three. We agreed to the counter (and luckily were the first ones to respond, as another potential buyer agreed to the counter they were offered only a few hours later), and they accepted!

 

We meet with our realtor tonight to hand over our earnest money and look at the place once more. Hard to believe that we bought a place after seeing it once, but we knew what we wanted and this place had it – 3 bedrooms, 2 full baths, in-unit laundry, underground parking, plenty of storage. Our cats will also finally get their own balcony for extensive air-sniffing. We close on June 23^rd, a week before our lease ends in our current place. Thinking about how much we have to do before then is a giant mindfuck, so I shall conveniently ignore that for the time being. Like Alexa, the thought of our collection of books alone causes my back to spasm uncontrollably. Must. not. think. about. now.

 

What I have been thinking about is finding exactly the right paint color that will cover the cornea-scorching bright mustard yellow that currently graces the living room and hallway in our modest home, yet still manages to match the deep red accent walls in the dining room and kitchen. I’ve spent a bit too much time on the Sherwin-Williams.com color visualizer and I’m having a heck of a time choosing between Sand Trap and Mocha. Other suggestions certainly accepted.

 

I’ve also applied for another job (one that’s more in line with what I’d actually like to do with the rest of my life), and was just contacted today to set up an interview. We’ll see how that goes.

 

In reproductive news, it took me less than a month to get an appointment with a real, honest-to-god RE – I see him next Wednesday, May 10^th. However, I can’t help but ask myself whether the fact that I got in to see this particular RE so quickly was due to the recent staffing scuffles at the UW Fertility Clinic. These conflicts, if you’ll recall, included one female RE accusing a male RE of sexual harassment because, in the words of his female colleague, “Dr. XXX wears a surgical gown in a patient care area with breasts and pubic hair drawn on it. He then comes to a meeting of the entire staff wearing this, sits next to me and looks directly at me.”

 

Guess who’s seeing Dr. Tits ’n’ Bush on Wednesday? Yeah, that would be me. Mildly concerning, true, but I’m sure he knows his stuff (at the very least, he can certainly identify where the general genital area is, if we are to believe his . . . *ahem* . . . costuming). Plus, makes it awfully easy to come up with a nickname for him though – Doc T ’n’ B it is. All medical records have been forwarded, and period will conveniently have cleared out by then. Full report, I’m sure, will follow in a timely manner.

 

I’ll tell you which report did not follow in a timely manner – Confabulous 2: The Drinkening. And by this point, the other ladies have done such a fantastic job of reporting that I don’t have much left to say. I am slightly surprised that neither of them mentioned the fact that since I had left all of my makeup in the car that accompanied my husband to the south suburbs, I had to borrow makeup from my 56-year-old mother. Who wears blue eye makeup. Eyeshadow, liner, mascara, the works. BLUE. I felt like the inexplicably white fourth member of The Pointer Sisters. However, dearest Alexa, DD, and Jennifer sucked it up and talked to me anyway. Amazing women.

 

Food was extra cheesy and bacony (read: perfect), champagne was divine, goody bags were deliciously fragrant and have already been mostly used. Plus, of course, I got to enjoy the splendid company of three kickass chicks. Good time all around.

 

So . . . busy time for Hal and I. I’ll have more news for you soon. I promise. If I don’t, you have my permission to hold me down and apply blue mascara. I can take it.

I’m sorry that every time you’ve pulled up my webpage since then, you’ve had to look at the headline that reminds all of us what a shitty ride infertility is.  Now, my friends, we can move on.

 

We’re both doing quite well.  I have nothing but thanks and lots of gooshy love for all of my amazing blogland friends and all of their supportive commenting.  Seriously, it would be an awful time to be without supportive people who understand, what with all of the pregnancies and the babies elsewhere in my non-computer life.  Online life is just better sometimes.

 

Anyway, as a final follow-up on the whole miscarriage ordeal, I’m going in sometime next week for a blood draw to check on post-ovulatory progesterone levels to see if I am indeed correct in guessing that my progesterone levels are the culprit.  Hal goes in next week for his physical and lab work (AKA: cup-wanking), so hopefully we’ll have answers there soon as well.

 

So, yes.  I am good.  Life goes on, and there are things to do.  So on we go--

 

Confabulous.  Would any of you upper-Midwesterners be up for a Sunday meeting next month?  I’ll be in the Twin Cities for events on Saturday, April 8^th and Saturday, April 22^nd, and I’d love to save myself the gas money and do a Combo-Confabulous at the same time.  (Please note from the previous sentence two of my most especially endearing qualities: 1) I make everyone else alter their schedules so that they fit with mine, and 2) I’m cheap).  I know that a Sunday meeting on either April 9^th or 23^rd would necessitate a meeting earlier in the day (what with many of you driving in from outstate/out of state), and for that reason alcohol consumption would probably be lower as well (BOOOOO!), but if we could schedule anything, that would be lovely.  A brunch?  With lots of mimosas?  We’ll see.  Email me if you’re interested in attending and let me know if you’re available on either date.

 

Also, I know that a lot of you ladies are in the Chicago area, and I’m not too far from there.  Anyone interested in setting up a Chicago chapter of Confabulous?  Ideas?

 

That’s about all for now.  Just wanted to let everyone know that I’m alive and well and longing for the day when Wisconsin’s high temperature finally inches above 40.

I know.  I KNOW.  I have no excuse for not blogging for (HOLY SHIT) ALMOST THREE WEEKS.  I am, frankly, as horrified as you are.

 
But, I am here now, ready to delight you with my usual assortment of sarcasm, snark, and coarse language.  Ready? 
 
 

Life has been good.  One of the highlights of these past three (eek!) weeks was meeting the lovely EJW last week.  EJW is relatively new to the blogging circuit, and shortly after starting her blog, she emailed me to tell me that we were some sort of freaky twins – we both live in Wisconsin and work for the state, we’re about the same age and have been trying to conceive for about the same amount of time, we both like cheese, etc.  So we emailed back and forth for a month or two, and imagine my shock when I found that not only do we live in the same city, but we work two blocks away from each other.  Tiny, miniscule world.  We had lunch last week, which included lots of gossip, plenty of bitching, and two enormous wraps, and Snapple.  Good day, in all.

 
Speaking of real-life blog meetings, Alexa and I are discussing when to hold the next Confabulous/Upper Midwestern Barren Bitches Brigade Gathering.  We’d like to try for March.  Midwesterners – email me and tell me if any weekends in March work for you.  OK?  We’ll probably meet in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area again, if that works for you.

 
I’m sorry that the title of my last post caused some confusion.  No, I’m not on Clomid – yet, anyway.  In fact, tomorrow marks the first day on my new, 50%-of-infertility-diagnostics-and-services-covered insurance!  I’ve made an appointment with a general practitioner for my annual checkup a week from today (though I’ll probably be getting my period that day, so not good planning on my part), and I’ll be able to get an RE referral that day as well.  Though who knows how long it will take, once I get that referral, to actually get an appointment.  From what I’ve heard, REs aren’t known for their speediness.
 
 

For those of you keeping count at home, I am now on Cycle 19, CD 20, 5 DPO.  Hopefully I've provided enough acronyms to keep you satisfied until the next time we check in on my uterus.
 
 

Oh, and remember this post?

 
Remember the part where I wrote, “To the best of my knowledge, none of my college friends and roommates have even considered trying to have kids at any point soon.  That is, of course, a blessing for me as I just may have had to throw something if one of my college roommates showed up at our five-year reunion this fall with baby pictures to fawn over.”?

 
Yeah.  Guess who received the following email from her roommate J 5 days after writing that fateful post?:

 
“I am just writing to let you know in about 6 months, B and I will have a new baby!!!  We just attended our 3 month appointment last week and heard the baby's heartbeat, which made us even more excited.  Baby JB is expected to arrive on or about August 25, 2006.  We are really looking forward to this new adventure and wanted to share with you the good news!”

 
I was frankly kind of pissed off at first – not because she’s pregnant, but because she knew that we were having problems conceiving, yet she included me in a mass email with 16 other recipients to tell me her news.  I believe my response was a scant, “Congrats, you two!”  All I could deal with at that point.  Reading her email was like being kicked in the gut.  It was such a visceral reaction.

 
A few weeks earlier, one of the other college roommates had sent a short update on her life and had invited us all to do the same.  No one had taken her up on that offer, but after reading J’s email, I decided that it was time to bite the bullet and educate my friends. 

 
I started a group email with all sorts of lovely info about my life – my job, Hal’s job, our cats, my family, etc.  And then I pulled out the big guns:
 
 

“In light of the fact that at least 2 of you are currently housing much-wanted uterine squatters, I thought I'd fill you in on my status as far as THAT goes.

As some of you may recall, I was giddy like a little girl over a year ago when Hal and I started trying to conceive, and I went ahead and told many of you, moderately confident that our reproductive organs would go right along with our plans.  Generally, an average couple will get pregnant in about 5 cycles of trying to conceive.  Well . . . we hit 5 cycles about 14 cycles ago.  Yup, we're on cycle #19, and it's really starting to suck.

So far, we've only had a few very basic tests -- I had one short consult last summer with my gynecologist, and two blood tests for my thyroid and prolactin counts, which came back normal.  Unfortunately, a 10-minute consult and two blood tests cost $450 and were not covered by insurance. 

That kind of put things on hold for a while.  Now that we're considered officially infertile (infertility is described as one year of unprotected, well-timed intercourse without a pregnancy), we're going to start investigating a bit more.  Hal's new insurance, to our great joy, offers 50% coverage of infertility diagnostics and treatments, which is another reason why we've dropped my insurance and moved to his.  I'm very excited for March to begin so we can get on with this process.  The next step is for me to get a complete blood workup to make sure my hormone levels are normal, and then poor Hal has to submit a . . . *ahem* . . . sample for evaluation.  We'll have to see what our RE (Reproductive Endocrinologist) tells us to do from there.

So, yeah.  It's been tough, and I can't lie and say that I haven't felt a moment of pain and stinging jealousy when friends announce that they're pregnant (my best friend, K, is also due in August), but that does not diminish my joy for my friends when they announce their good news.  It's just a little bit tough to deal with now and then.

I welcome you to read this list of infertility myths and facts -- if anything good comes out of this, I'd like it to be educating other people so they don't say hurtful things like, "You're too stressed out, just relax and you'll get pregnant" without understanding what infertility really entails.  Another great page to read is this one on Infertility Etiquette.

So -- sorry this turned into a sermon, ladies.  I'm becoming a crotchety old lady before my time.  At least that's what my ovaries think.”

 
Hey – if I’ve gotta be infertile, I might as well do my part to de-ignorant-ize the world, yes?

Note that J called me about a week later and we had a nice chat.  All is well in Mollyland.

 

So, that’s enough of me for now.  Expect more frequent posts in the next few weeks – of course, I’ll be fashion-blogging the Oscars, and then I’ll have to give you the update on my appointment next week.  Take heart, friends.  Molly has not forsaken you.