By way of explanation

Yes, I haven't been around much. And even when I have, I haven't been my upbeat (if cynical and bitchy) self, wouldn't you say?

Well, today I can finally tell you why, and I hope you'll forgive me my transgressions and wanton lack of posts. I've been a bit of a basket case.

If you've read for a while, you know that Hubs and I are having trouble starting a family. We've been trying for more than two and a half years, and in that time there's been nary a blip on the baby radar screen. Nothing. Nada.

So in November of last year, we finally got our referral to a fertility clinic (feel free to skip ahead if all of this is rote to you by now). Tests were done, I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome and type 2 diabetes, and I had to take three months to get my blood sugar under control. I managed to do just that, and we were able to start trying - with assistance.

I was given clomid, a happy pill that makes you all loopy in the brain and, oh yeah, also makes your eggs grow. First cycle I didn't respond - no eggs for me - and the cycle was canceled. There were many tears, but we moved on.

At the start of cycle number two I went to the clinic on day three, ready to start anew, and was told that I had a cyst and this cycle was canceled as well. Bugger. More tears, more brink-of-nervous-breakdown behaviour, a trip to Cuba to avoid said breakdown, and we were back again, ready to start cycle three.

Day one of cycle three is the day Hubs' father passes away. I have to take the clomid, now double the dosage from last time, as we deal with the funeral preparations and the funeral itself. Awesome. Set the emotional puppet free and watch her dance! Sigh...

This time, it appeared that we were actually making progress. While I didn't develop the hormones necessary to make an eggie release all on its own, the clinic decided to go ahead with a medicated egg release, and I suddenly found myself emulating all those druggies that hang out in train station bathrooms by self-administering a hormone shot in the stomach in the GO station bathroom following a Tuesday Night Distraction Club meeting.

Around this time I meandered in here and stated that I wasn't going to talk about what we were up to on our journey. Is this all coming back to you now? Good, it should! It was only two weeks ago and I've barely posted since then, so you must have read recent posts in sheer desperation to once again step into my world!

Yeah, right. Anyway....

That Thursday, Hubs' sister's birthday by the way, we went to the clinic for happy insemination day. Hubs made sexy time with a svelte cup with a pink lid, I waited patiently like any bored housewife who knows what's going on behind closed doors, and three hours later, 30 million of his best swimmers were mercilessly thrust into my welcoming uterus via catheter (by way of my cervix). From there, they were on their own.

Apparently the little fuckers got bored or sleepy or lost or started up a game of Dungeons and Dragons, 'cause they sure as shit didn't do the two step with my egg.

Actually, I shouldn't be blaming the poor bastards. They were in remarkably good shape, and I truly believe that the problem lies with me. In fact, I'm not even 100% sure I actually released an egg, so there you go. They could have been in there, all ready to go, looking around stunned like, not quite sure what they were supposed to wiggle their little heads into. And so they just up and died, and as a result - we're not pregnant.

This was confirmed today via bloodwork. It was, as you can hopefully imagine, a sad day.

It wasn't at all unexpected, however. I knew the success rates maxed out at around 20%. I knew that without an LH surge of my own, there was no real way to know if I actually ovulated at all. And more than anything, I just knew it in my gut...it wasn't going to work.

You see, my greatest fear has always been that I won't be able to bear children. I've never had regular cycles, so this isn't something I just dreamed up out of nowhere - it's always been a very real possibility to me. So I ask you now to think of your greatest fear, and imagine yourself sitting back, watching life pass you by as it slowly begins to come true. Pretty fuckin crappy, eh? It sure is.

I KNEW it was going to be a negative result or BFN as we say in the the baby circles. Stands for Big Fat Negative, but I always like to change the F from fat to something else much more apropo in my eyes. Bet you can figure out what that is!!! Yep, you got it. I'd been going through home pregnancy tests like a crack whore goes through...uh, crack. Or men. Or crack men. You get the point. I was doing one a day for five days before my test date, and in one super frenetic moment, I even did two in one day. And they were all negative. Yeah, that was not pretty I tell you.

So today was all about getting closure and figuring out where to go from here. We'll keep trying, of course, but it was just so demoralizing to get that call and hear 'oh diva, I'm so sorry - I wish I had better news for you'. Even though I knew it was coming, it was still a punch to the gut to receive.

I instantly starting just bawling in my office. I tried desperately to remember all the questions I had rehearsed and think I managed to sputter most of them out. I wasn't too happy with the answers I got, especially since the clinic is closing for two weeks in a week and a half (which means we might have to miss yet ANOTHER cycle - sometimes I truly hate them), but what can I do, really? I don't have an ultrasound machine at home so I can keep a close eye on dem ovaries whilst the clinic does its inventory and the clinic folk go on vacation.

The nurse did suggest that I talk to their social worker, who deals with people in my situation. As I'm sure you can see I'm not finding this to be an emotional walk in the park, so despite my normal 'I'm a strong, independent woman, I don't need to seek help by talking to anyone', I think I might take them up on the offer. If only to make poor Hubs and my befuddled mom feel better - they're both so worried about me, which only makes me sad and mad at myself for making them feel this way. Vicious circle, these emotions are. So I'll give her a call and set something up. Can't hurt. I guess. I hope!

So that's been my past two weeks. I hope my revelations help to shed some light on why my littler corner of the blogging universe has been kinda dark for a while, and I hope you'll understand why it was necessary to keep this under wraps until we knew what the outcome was. It was hard enough telling my wb friends (in the bb section, of course) that it didn't work when they were all cheering me on and rooting for me like you wouldn't believe. I just couldn't bring it out in the open that much more and have everyone asking how things were going, what was happening, ya know?

Today goes down as a crappy day in my books. I'd been dreading July 12 for a while, and turns out I was right. And it also sucked for a good friend who got crappy news from her fertility clinic today - I'm thinking about you. You know who you are.

Fortunately all was not lost this week - my good wb buddy Corrie got her positive result, and I couldn't be happier for her. We've been running this race together for a good while now, and I'm so happy that things have finally gone her way. I'm sad that we won't have the chance to go through the whole preggo thing together (her due date is one day ahead of what mine would have been) but I'm delighted that there's finally some good news for one of us.

I've rambled on enough now. It's time to watch tonight's Big Brother (safely taped on the PVR), then I'm heading off to bed. My eyeballs are burning from all the crying I've done over the past few days (if you have a salt water aquarium that needs topping up, call me!), and I'd really just like to put this day behind me. After this, Friday the 13th seems like a piece of cake!!!

But before I head to bed I'm making a beeline for the fridge where I will find a nice, cold, Alexander Keith's - the pride of Nova Scotia - who has been waiting patiently for me for two long weeks. Soon, Alexander, soon...

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?