Sunday, 30 November 2008


Things are getting better. They are.

I think my last post was a super downer and as such, lead people to draw conclusions that oversimplified the matter.

First, as I said in a comment on the last post, Thursday's offering was a snapshot of how I felt at a particular time, in that very moment. Even a few minutes later, once I'd gotten everything out there, I started to feel better. And today I feel better still.

My friend S had her baby last night. I'm ecstatic for her and her wonderful hubby - truly I am. I was honoured and happy to be the go to person who got the updates from her/her husband and relayed them to our circle of friends.

My friend L had her baby shower today and I was very glad I went. We had a lovely time, she looked amazing, and she got some wonderful things. I rocked the clothespin game, had some yummy food, and enjoyed hanging out with my friends. I may not have pleased Great Aunt Beverly who took an almost instant disliking to me when I took her clothespins but hey, you can't befriend everyone, right?

So yes, I'm okay. I am happy for my friends and have been able to pull myself out of where I was a mere three days ago. And that's a good thing! Isn't it?

I'm having a really hard time though, knowing that one of my friends, someone who obviously knows me well, thinks that I'm blaming other friends for their success, that I shouldn't be surprised if those friends decide it's time to rethink their friendship with me.

This one really rocked me. I barely even know how to respond. I...I'm speechless, because I can't figure out who thinks this way, who thinks this way about me.

Anyway, just wanted to give that bit of an update for those that were worried about me or thinking that I'm in some nasty place without any hope of escape. Yes, Thursday was a shit day through and through. But thankfully those feelings, while so very valid at the time (and therefore I will offer no apologies for having them), have ebbed and today is another, brighter day.

Thanks to those of you that understand, and to those that don't, talk to me. Send me a fb message, whatever, but please...own what you say so we can actually discuss it.

Hope everyone had a great weekend and is ready to make the leap into December tomorrow!!!

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

Thursday, 27 November 2008

I should be...

Today, I should be 12 weeks pregnant.

I should be getting ready to scream from the rooftops that we're pregnant. That we're almost in our second trimester, in that oh-so-coveted safe zone.

I should be finishing those nasty progesterone shots and estrace tablets up the hoo ha.

I should be celebrating with glee my friend's new baby girl, another friend's impending birth (truly any day now) and yet another friend's long awaited IVF success.

I should be reveling in my recent work success, proud of myself for what I've managed to accomplish.

I should be looking forward to a good friend's baby shower this weekend, ready to enjoy the pink-ness of it all as she's having a girl.

I should be gearing up for the holidays, thinking of all the necessities and frivolities to add to my Christmas wish list this year.

I should be....happier. Smiley-er. More carefree. Jovial, even.

But I'm not.

Right now, I'm none of those things.

Instead of being a third of the way there, I'm still dealing with the emotional and physical side effects of a miscarriage only two and a half weeks ago. I tear up for no specific reason over the smallest of things. Commercials, not even baby ones, make me cry. Every once in a while it just smacks me right between the eyes and I'm temporarily paralyzed by it all.

Instead of shouting from the rooftops, I'm screaming on the inside every time someone asks me if I have children. If we plan on it. When I hear someone talking about their kids on the GO train. When I see a happy pregnant woman walking by.

Instead of progesterone and estrace, I'm back on the birth control pill, trying to help shed the lining still left over. To keep us on track and prepare us for our next try. Here comes the mood swings and crazy acne. Awesome.

Instead of celebrating, I'm keeping a safe distance by keeping in touch via Facebook, wanting to be more supportive to my friend who's now 24 hours away from being induced but not knowing how to do it, and feeling terribly jealous of my friend and her success because I so desperately want it to be me. Think it should be me. Not me in place of her, but still.

I'm a horrible person.

Instead of being happy about work and what I've done over this past week, just doesn't register. The president of our organization actually sent me two dozen deep pink long stemmed roses to congratulate me for a job well done and while I've totally enjoyed them, it's all just so tainted. Spoiled. I feel like I'm cheating myself out of happiness.

Instead of looking forward to the shower, getting the chocolates together that I think I'll make to take with me, I'm dreading the experience. I want to be there for her and will totally go, but I couldn't even muster the intestinal fortitude to RSVP - a friend had to do it for me. Who the hell have I become?

And instead of putting that Christmas wish list together, I'm stuck trying to come up with creative ways to tell family members that this year, instead of presents, I'd much prefer cash because we need to cobble together $2,200 by the third week of January to try again. That nothing else is more needed or wanted than that. That this year, embryos trump clothes hands down.

Sure, it's not always like this. I have moments of laughter. The sun does peek through the clouds. I'm not this bitter, resentful, hurtful person 24 hours of every day.

But today, when I should be 12 weeks pregnant and looking forward to all the wonderful things to come, I just can't. Can't be smiley. Can't be jovial. Can't be my normal happy-go-lucky self.

Someone tell me it gets better...

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

Tuesday, 11 November 2008

A comment on comments

Hello my lovely readers.

I just wanted to paste here a comment I made in reference to the comments in yesterday's post.

Thank you all so much for the comments and kind words. They are very much appreciated.

You may notice a few posts have been deleted. Please note that I have taken them down not because there was anything offensive or because I didn't appreciate what was written but because they contained my and Hubs' real names.

While most of you know exactly who we are, I do try to keep real names out of this blog as much as possible to protect certain people, particularly DeeDee. And since it's not possible for me or most people to go in and edit comments after they're made, I had to delete them instead. Sucks, but unfortunately what needs to be done to protect some important people.

Hope you understand, and thanks again for the kind words. Diva

So yeah, hope that makes sense. I love seeing the comments and the support is hugely valuable so I sincerely hope no one takes this personally because it's not meant to be that way at all.

In other news, today's been a very hard day. I think it's finally hitting me...crushing down on me, for that matter.

I started bawling for no reason at all, just sitting on the couch. I knew I had to call the clinic to find out what the next steps would be, but I also knew that even talking to them had the potential to throw me into a tailspin, so I put it off until the first wave of tears had passed.

Of course, I finally got through and it didn't go well. My doctor and my nurse are both gone this week, so I had to talk to someone else. Who wasn't all that available, and simply told the receptionist what to say instead of talking to me directly. Pain in the ass.

The worst part was the inane receptionist who kept saying 'pregnancy test' over and over again. That I've apparently been booked in for a 'pregnancy test' on November 24 and I'll have to keep coming back for 'pregnancy tests' until my levels are zero.

Yeah, okay, I get that - but I just told you I had a miscarriage. Yesterday. You work at a fucking fertility clinic. Everyone else says beta, why the fuck can't you? Grrr. I got so frustrated at the end of it that I just gave up, said I would talk to Tom when he got back and we'd take care of it from there. Then I hung up, crying. Just couldn't take it anymore!

Hubs called work and said I needed another day, which I desperately do. Not only is the emotional stuff hitting me, but there's pain now, pain I never expected. Cramps but more than cramps....not cool at all.

Anyway, I'm still in my pj's and that's okay. I'm watching last week's 90210 while Hubs is off at the grocery store picking up some staples for our hibernation. We had originally talked about going to see a movie and using our Keg gift card for dinner, but given my breakdown of today, hibernation is indeed the name of the game.

How novel - a mid-day update from me. Hope you're all having a better day than I am, and thanks again for understanding the whole comments thing. :)

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

Monday, 10 November 2008


***warning - this is a very long and at times, graphic post***

After six weeks of agonizing limbo, it's finally over. I'm no longer pregnant.

Despite everything, I never thought it would happen naturally. I truly believed that we'd be kept in limbo for as long as the universe deemed necessary, then I'd finally be able to go for a D&C and that, as they say, would be that.

We were supposed to go to the clinic today at 10am for another ultrasound. One to see if there was still a heartbeat. One to help us make plans going forward. I did get an ultrasound this morning - but not at the clinic, and not at 10am. Instead, I had one at our local hospital.

After spending a fantastic day yesterday at Elmwood spa with my fabulous sister in law, I was wiped. DH and I flopped on the couch, had comfort food for dinner and watched the latest Chris Rock special on TMN. Then we headed off to bed just before 11, exhausted from our weekend.

Just over two hours later, I woke up. I had been dreaming that I was miscarrying, in a car of all places, in the desert. Weird, but true. When I awoke, I thought I had just soaked the sheets thanks to hormone induced night sweats, all too common in my world these days. And then something clicked. I knew, just knew, that wasn't the case.

I got up, moved quickly to the bathroom, and turned on the light.

I apologize if things get graphic from here on out. I realize that not everyone is comfortable, nor should they necessarily be, talking about things like miscarriage and blood and passing large clots...but this is as much catharsis for me as it is update for you. So bear with me, and feel free to turn away or skip over portions if need be.

Back to the bathroom. I sat down on the toilet and there was blood everywhere. Running down my legs, all over the floor, on the carpet, you name it. Like a bad horror movie come to life.

I sat there, stunned, disbelieving that this was actually happening. How could I have gone from zero to bang in a matter of hours? No cramps, nothing. No advanced notice whatsoever. And then all I could think was how thankful I was that this hadn't happened 12 hours earlier, while floating in the salt water pool that's part of the water therapies at Elmwood.

But I digress.

I was truly in shock. Couldn't move. Wasn't fully awake. Couldn't process.

Eventually I got it together enough to wake Hubs. I just called his name, and said "something has happened". That he should check the bed, the sheets were probably covered. And I was right.

He sprung into action, stripping the bed so I didn't have to see it. Sheets straight into the washer along with the duvet cover. Mattress pad to follow. Bless his heart, he remade the bed so I could get back in, but put a garbage bag and towel down underneath the sheets so I wouldn't be worried about making more mess.

Still stunned, I stumbled into the shower to clean myself up. Surreal - again, right out of a horror movie watching that crimson water swirl down the drain, taking with it so much of the hopes and dreams we'd invested in the entire IVF process and the pregnancy as a whole.

I dried off, put on a pad, and sat stunned on the chair in our bedroom while Hubs, not quite awake, decided that Windex was the perfect cleaning tool for the blood on the carpet. A few ticks later and he remembered that we had a SpotBot...problem solved.

I went and laid down in bed and seconds later had the strangest sensation. Again, gross here, but part of the natural miscarriage process is the expulsion of massive clots, and in that moment I passed what was to be the first of many many many freaky, mess with your mind clots. Not cool.

Back to the washroom, and then I noticed I'd soaked through the pad. 10 minutes, and nothing but red. Then I knew that we were on our way to the ER, no questions asked.

Hubs set to work getting clothes together for me, starting the car to warm it up, putting towels down on the seat, putting in a second load of laundry. I put on some deodorant, the clothes he'd laid out for me, and grabbing a whole whack of pads, I headed downstairs. Just before leaving, I changed the pad again. By this time I was quite scared - I'd never bled that much or that fast in my entire life.

Into the car we got and we made our way to the hospital. We decided not to go to our closer hospital, but to take the extra time to get to one with a well known ob/gyn department as it's hugely important that to us that everything possible be considered so when we're ready, we'll be free and clear to try again.

The trip took less than 30 minutes, and by the time I got out of the car I'd soaked through everything - the pad, my underwear, my pants and onto the towel on the seat. Excellent thinking on that one, Hubs.

I stumbled into the ER and straight to triage where I stood. And waited. Finally someone came out and I told her I was miscarrying. Plain and simple. We knew it was coming, we knew exactly how far along I was (and when the baby had stopped developing) so while a shock, it was no real surprise.

From there I flew to the washroom in an attempt to apply fresh field dressings, as Hubs called them. I was greeted with blood everywhere - I can't even begin to explain the fear of seeing that much blood, to have it simply gush like a river right out of you. To have clots everywhere, not knowing which, if any, contained what had been your baby. Some of you reading this will know what I mean all too well - and if so, I apologize for bringing back memories you'll likely never be rid of. But you'll understand better than most.

I attempted to pull myself together, tried to clean myself and the bathroom as best as I could. Then I waddled over to check in, and this time they took me seriously and took me quickly into my own little room in the ER. I could finally get out of my clothes, put on a fresh pad, and just lie down.

They took my vitals, and my blood pressure was 180/98. Yeah, no shit. Could I BE anymore stressed? Guess not.

But even in the room of my own, I couldn't relax. The clots just kept coming, and I soaked through everything. The pad, the gowns I was wearing, the pads on the bed, the sheet itself. Every half hour.

Then my loving husband had a stroke of genius - he found me some adult diapers, yes diapers, and I could finally relax with confidence, knowing I was protected. The nurse came in, started an IV in the worst possible place, the crook of my right arm, and the saline started its work. They took blood, and told me to relax.

The night staff were amazing. I had two male nurses that were absolutely incredible - great sense of humour, really explained everything that was happening, and, maybe most importantly, they actually expressed sorrow at what we were going through. Amazing what a little kindness can accomplish.

Then we saw the doctor, and he recommended I get pitocin/oxytoxin, a hormone that causes the uterus to contract. This would apparently help to ensure everything was expelled and that the bleeding would subside, because it just.wasn't.letting.up.

Of course a lovely side effect of this medication is extra cramping, really feeling like you're having contractions. All things considered I was fortunate - I never really had massive cramping, and the pain was never unbearable. I thank the universe for that.

My wonderful sister in law showed up then, having made a trip to our house to pick up clothes for me so I'd actually have something to wear home. Bless bless bless her.

Hours went by and we waited for our OB consult. But first, I needed an ultrasound so they could know what they were dealing with and if a D&C was necessary. So at around 7:30 am, I was told that my ultrasound would be at 9:30 and I needed to drink four glasses of water to fill my bladder.

Okey dokey then.

Having done a gazillion full bladder ultrasounds, I know how much I have to drink and when. So I based my consumption on being ready for 9:30. You can imagine, then, the lack of bladder fullness I presented with when they took me to ultrasound half an hour early.

Now, through all of this, as scary and hard as it was, I hadn't yet cried at the hospital. These days I cry at any and everything, so this was a big feat. I'd managed to hold it together...until I made it to ultrasound.

They wheeled me over, me madly trying to swig back glass of water number two. Then as we got in the room, they took my glass and tossed it down the sink, saying I couldn't drink while laying down anyway. Okay.

Then all hell broke loose. The technician, a raging thundercunt if ever there was one, tried to tell Hubs that he should wait outside, that there were going to be things he didn't really want to be seeing going on.

Shock and awe.

He fought his way in, saying he'd been with me through all this and wasn't leaving me alone now. He'd seen how many ultrasounds - he wasn't stepping outside now.

She fought him - he won.

And then the good times started in earnest. She tried to do the full bladder ultrasound, but told me I was empty and they weren't going to see anything that way. I felt like a child being chastised - just what I needed.

Then she asked me what brought me to the emergency room this morning. Diva says WHUT? Do you really have to ask me that? You know exactly why I'm here! Ugh.

Then she asked about the date of my last menstrual period. I said I didn't know, but knew exactly how far along I should be, and she, in the snippiest of tones, asked how I could possibly know that. I replied that this was an IVF pregnancy, gave her all the details, and she asked if my clinic had sent the info over to the hospital for them to review.

Uh, well, they might have had anyone asked us to ask them, but nope. They're not mind readers. They're good, they're not that good.

Finally she makes me get up to put the silly pillow thing under my butt for the internal. I give her some guidance on how to insert the probe properly and easily, and she tells me that I'm going to insert it myself.

Yeah, like that's easy. I have a short IV line in my right hand, and I'm right handed. The danged IV box kept going off all the time as it was because I would have to bend my arm from time to time - now you want me to bend my arm and run the risk of ripping out my IV to insert the probe myself? Fuck you very much.

Finally we're in and she gets to work. Says nothing. Clicks, snaps, measures, whatever, then takes out the probe and gives me a small box of Kleenex to 'clean up with'. I asked if she could see anything, and she snapped right back that the doctor would review it and get back to me.

Okey dokey then.

She leaves. Gone.

Another nurse comes in and gives me bigger, better wipes to use. As I'm sure you can imagine, this all makes quite a mess, not something that can be cleaned up easily with a half sized kleened with an IV line that doesn't give me enough slack to scratch my own nose.

By this point I'm standing up, trying to reorient myself and throw away all the wipes I'd been given. I'm straightening out the covers, tryin to figure out how to get back on the bed, and my IV line alarm starts going off, the nurses keep pushing in to see if I'm ready to go back to the ER, and at this point, I lost it. I just burst into tears. I was so frustrated, the alarm wouldn't stop, I felt dehumanized and humilated - truly awful.

I lost it with tears, Hubs lost it with the nursing staff. He called them out - 'will someone please get over here and help my wife?' He got action, that's for sure. They helped me navigate back into bed and got me the hell outta there. What a horrible experience.

Finally back to the ward (I'd been kicked out of my private room and squished amongst the other sickies) and it was all about waiting for my ultrasound results and the final say from the doctor. By this time, it was well after 10am and I was starving. Of course I couldn't eat anything in case they had to do the D&C, so I sat there, watching the minutes pass, craving coffee and a bagel.

At long long last, the doctor finally came and told me that I'd miscarried almost all of the 'products of conception', that there was 'minimal residue' and that it wasn't thought that I would need the D&C after all. They unhooked my IV (bliss, true bliss), and sent me on my way.

Almost nine hours to the minute that we left the house, we were home.

First thing I did was take a shower, and it was blissful. Then I ate. Then I called my mom. Then I slept. And that's kinda been my day.

I'm exhausted in every sense of the word.

Physically, mentally, emotionally, I am spent.

Despite everything, I don't think the magnitude of what's happened has, in fact, hit me yet. I just can't wrap my brain around what we went through today. Or the fact that this is over, really over. I've even surprised myself with how generally 'okay' I am mentally. Maybe it's because a part of me, a big part, started mourning this pregnancy long ago.

The bleeding has stopped - for now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but for the moment, I have some relief. I'll be staying home from work tomorrow as well to try and recover, again, both physically and mentally. But most of all, I just want to sleep.

If you've actually read this, thanks. Hope I didn't gross you out too much. :)

Thanks too for all the support you've shown over the past few weeks - it really has helped me get through what has been a very dark and dreary time. My hope now is that the healing can begin in earnest, and Hubs and I can spend our time comforting one another, healing together, instead of merely stressing out about what the next week, next ultrasound will bring.

So for now, we hope this is the end, we follow up with the clinic, we take some time for ourselves, and we look ahead to the possibility of trying again in January.

And I try to look on the bright side. At least now I can have rum in my holiday eggnog.

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

Monday, 3 November 2008

Mourning the possibles


Yep, it's me. It's really me. With an update at long last.

Apologies for my prolonged absence. I just haven't really known what to say.

Not true...I've known what to say, or what I've wanted to say, but I never could find the strength to actually type it out. Put it on paper.

Because that would make it real. And I would do anything for the events of the past month of my life to be a dream.

But alas, here we are again.

Truth be told, I can't even remember where we left off. I can't even remember if I'd mentioned that Hubs and I had decided to bite the bullet, drop the cash and go for IVF. I think I had, because I'd mentioned that our first go 'round was cancelled because I didn't respond to the meds.

That didn't happen the second time.

I responded, all right. Things went much better on the second try. Valuable lessons had been learned and were put into practice. By retrieval day, they'd gotten 15 eggs, 14 of which were mature. A day later, 10 had fertilized. And four days after that, seven of those 10 remained - we had seven beautiful day five blastocysts.

September 23 we transferred two of the wee things back to their rightful home. The transfer went wonderfully. The doctor was happy and very optimistic. I, for the first time in a very long time, was too.

Fourteen days after transfer I was supposed to go for my blood test (a beta, they call it) to see if things had worked. Never a patient diva, seven days post transfer I decided to pee on a pregnancy test to see if there was anything worth looking at in that elusive second line department.

Well sweet holy shit - there was.

Now, Hubs had to squint and hold it up to the light sideways to see it, but it was there. Truly. I still have the stick to prove it.

A few hours after that wonderful moment - I started spotting.

Not much, but enough to freak me the fuck out. My good friend urged me to call the clinic, so I did. They asked me to come in for some bloodwork - maybe I wasn't absorbing one of the support hormones properly. So I marched right over there and thrust my vein at anyone who would prick it.

Sure enough, I wasn't absorbing the progesterone. And that's not good - you need progesterone to not only get but, most importantly, stay pregnant. Expected levels during this time should be over 100. Mine was eight.


I was literally millimeters away from starting a period and losing it all.

They also did a beta test to see if I was indeed registering pregnant that way. Anything under five is negative, over 10 is considered positive.

Mine was seven.

And thus the roller coaster that has been our lives for the past two months began.

Not only was I not absorbing the progesterone in the format in which they had given me, I wasn't making any of my own either. Doctor just shook his head, kept saying 'eight', like it didn't make sense to him either. So we switched to shots of progesterone in cottonseed oil, to be taken by a massive needle once a day directly into the muscle of my upper ass.

Good times.

I took the shots, the spotting stopped, my beta numbers started to increase. But not like they should. By day 10, my number was 27. Tripled (they're supposed to double every 48-76 hours) - this was exciting. But still, it wasn't nearly as high as it should be for that far along. I was told that I needed to see a number of at least 150 to 200 by 14 days after transfer for us to have a shot.

So what was my number on that 14th day? 151.

Seriously. I kid you not.

Numbers continued to increase, just barely along the lines of 'acceptable standards'. Doc booked me an early ultrasound because he was concerned about the viability of the pregnancy.

Turns out Doc's a smart guy.

We showed up for the ultrasound at 9:30am two Monday ago. I was ready to vomit, I was so so nervous about what they'd find - or wouldn't find. I should have been 6weeks4days along by this point. And by this point, they should have been able to see a heartbeat.

Bladder full to busting, I hobbled into the ultrasound room and assumed the position. The technician was poking and prodding and pushing around - and, of course, not saying a word. When she was all done, she told us the baby was there, measuring 5weeks4days, and there was no heartbeat.

I was crushed. Hubs believed it was simply too early to know.

We talked to the doctor. He told us that this is what he was afraid of...that by now there should be heartbeat, and we shouldn't already be measuring an entire week behind. He asked us what we wanted to do, and we were not ready to give up yet. We wanted to keep going, solider on as it were, to see what might happen. This little bean had hung in so far - we needed to know how much it had left.

Doctor warned us not to get our hopes up, that there was less than a 5% chance of this being a viable pregnancy. That horrible word again - viable. Like getting pregnant wasn't hard enough - now I have to fight and hope for it to just be viable? Isn't that kinda the freakin point here? Ugh.

I was a disaster. In my mind, it was the beginning of the end. Just a matter of time. Sure, we'd keep going back to see what, if anything, had changed, but that less than 5% was a death knell to me.

That week of being in limbo was brutal. I did my best to try and merely keep my head above water - to not worry about things too much until the day before the ultrasound because nothing could change the outcome. But every once in a while, these horrible thoughts would creep into my brain...visions of my uterus, so confused by all the artificial hormones, holding on with everything it's got to a baby who will never breathe a single breath.

It haunted me.

Finally, the week had passed and we were back in the clinic. I had an early morning meeting, so Hubs was going to meet me there - and of course, got stuck in traffic on the DVP. They made me go in without him.

The ultrasound technician, Lily was her name, was amazing. She got to work setting things up and said, 'okay, let's get ready to look at your growing baby' and I burst into tears. I didn't think I could handle this without Hubs there....she held my hand, stalled as much as she could, and before you knew it he was there and able to take her place as my official hand holder. She told me she was good luck, and that she thought good things were going to happen for us.

And then she turned the screen to me and showed me our baby's heartbeat.

I cried. Openly and deeply, I wept on that table, legs akimo, cooter cam lodged where the sun don't shine. I cried because I got to see that little flutter, and even if it was only for a few seconds and no matter what the outcome, no one can ever take that away from me.

Then I cried some more when she said to the doctor (who had recently entered the room) that the heartbeat was 89 beats per minute, and the baby was measuring 6weeks1day.

Before he even said it, I knew. But hearing him say the words 'this is not good news' truly solidified things.

He knows me well, my doctor. Knows that I don't want things sugar coated. That I need realism, not a cheerleading squad. And so he gave me realism, right between the eyes. While I was lying on that table, legs akimbo, cooter cam lodged where the sun don't shine. And I cried some more.

We chatted afterwards, and he told us his biggest concern was the slow growth rate. That the baby had only displayed three days of growth in a week's time. And the heartbeat wasn't great either. Yes, it was there, but it was low. Should have been over 110.

Feels like a broken record, doesn't it? Numbers never lining up, always there but not there enough. Yes, this has been my/our life for what feels like way too long.

So we decided to cut the hormones in half and see what that did. And it's back again in a week for, you guessed it, another ultrasound.

Of course, this is the week where I have my nephew's birthday, my niece's first birthday party, and a friend's baby shower. Oh, and Halloween. A truly kid filled week. And I won't lie - it was freaking hard. So hard, trying to keep a smile on my face. The only thing that saved me was thinking of that little flutter, and wondering, hoping against hope, that things might change direction.

Then today rolled around. In we go for another round of poking and prodding. I have the non communicative technician again this time who says nothing while she pokes and prods. Nothing. I have no idea what's happening - but in my gut, I know it's not good.

As I stand up to leave, I'm putting my pants back on when she tells me in her heavy Russian accent that the baby is measuring 6weeks1day. In that moment, I know it's well and truly done. No growth. Nothing.

I wait to ask about the heartbeat, sure that it's gone. That all life has just stopped. But instead, she tells me it's 114 beats per minute.

Yet again, we defy all medical logic.

We gather our belongings and wait to speak to the doctor. He confirms my beliefs - there is no hope left.

No growth in a week. In fact, what was supposed to be our baby actually shrunk in one of its key measurements. And he has no idea why the heartbeat has gotten stronger. Makes no sense, but he's sure there is something genetically wrong with this particular baby. And that we need to be put out of our suffering, our misery. He said that he hates to see us in this limbo.

And for once, Hubs and I both agree with him - this is the end.

So I'll stop taking all hormones and see what happens from there. Because oh yeah - no hospital will do a D&C on an embryo with a heartbeat. Talk about adding insult to injury. We know it's not going to be viable, but we can't help you.

So once again, we wait. We wait to see if my not taking drugs will help me to miscarry naturally. Goodie. Sounds like fun. Can't wait.

If nothing happens between now and Monday, you guessed it!, we go back in for another ultrasound. If the heartbeat has subsided naturally, they'll begin the process of scheduling the D&C. And if not, we have two choices - wait for nature to do its thing, or have it taken care of clinically.

That's right - I'd have to have an abortion.

Nothing like adding a truckload of salt to my already gaping wound. Because there's a heartbeat, we would have to make the decision to terminate the pregnancy and get it done at an abortion clinic despite the fact that there's no genetic viability for this little one. Just doesn't seem fair to me.

What's worse, is that after a D&C, they can/will take the tissue and send it away for testing. We could get answers as to what happened. Why this didn't stick, what went wrong. Not so with abortion. So again, not like it's bad enough we have to go through the abortion process, but we don't get any much needed/wanted answers either.

'Cause sitting in a waiting room surrounded by women who are CHOOSING to end their pregnancies isn't bad enough.


Fuck the universe, big time.

So there ya go. The update to end all updates.

Again, sorry for being absent, but now that you've had a front row seat, hope you'll understand why hibernation was the name of the game for so long.

I can't promise that I'll be back daily, but I'll do my best to update as I can, when I'm feeling up to it. I have no idea what the next few weeks shall hold, but then again that's nothing new for me lately.

So for now I'll sign off and thank you for reading if you've made it this far. Believe it or not, it actually does help to get it all out there.

And that's your long overdue dash. How's your diva doin'?

Thursday, 2 October 2008

Insane week

Hi all.

I know it's been a while, but this week has been insane. More bumps in this baby making road. Big ones.

As a result, I'm exhausted, mentally and physically, so I've been yet again off my blogging game.

I'll do my best to check in again soon, but for now, I really need to concentrate on resting and doing pretty much nothing. Good times.

Thanks to all for understanding, and for checking in. Sorry I don't have more for you but I hope to be back in the swing of things next week.

And that's merely a pinch of dash. How's your diva doin'?

Wednesday, 24 September 2008

Just another Wednesday...

After all the excitement of the past few days, today was delightfully uneventful.

Slept in, had breakfast, played around online, then Hubs and I went to see Burn After Reading so I could get out of the house a bit.

I keep calling it Burn Before Reading for some silly reason...can't wrap my head around the title. Huh. Strange.

Anyway, I'm actually quite tuckered today, so there's truly not much of anything to report. And even though I'm sure I could find something to blather on about, I just don't have much energy to blather, ya know?

So I hope you'll excuse me if I leave you with this uber brief installation of the diva dash due to pure fatigue and lack of an interesting life today.

Hopefully more will transpire tomorrow!

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

Tuesday, 23 September 2008

Baby Mama?

Interesting title, I know. It works in two ways - one, because for the first time in, uh, ever, I have a real shot of being Hubs' baby mama. And two, because we just watched the movie of the same name.

I heart Tina Fey, truly I do. But given all we'd been through, this was one theatrical release that I had to forgo. If Knocked Up taught me anything, it was that seeing baby/pregnancy related flicks while being infertile is highly discouraged. Big time.


But today was the one day where I thought I could view this little baby bump of a film and actually be okay about it. And fortunately, I was right.

Yes, today was transfer day. Two beautiful, high grade blastocysts were delivered to the proverbial 'sweet spot' of my uterus at 11:03am. So sayeth my doctor, and boy am I inclined to believe him.

Two weeks from now we'll find out if it worked, but in the meantime I can float in this bliss bubble for a week at least, before I start peeing on things to see if I can get an early test result. And so I allowed Baby Mama into my bubble.

It was good, had some pretty laugh out loud moments, but the ending, as expected, was meh. But what could she do? Forced into a corner, she pumped out her Hollywood ending and there was much rejoicing. And I'm not giving anything away to those that have yet to see it, trust me.

Back to me as baby mama now. Hubs and I went out for dinner tonight thanks to some Outback steakhouse gift certificates CJ had given me for my birthday. We had a fantastic meal and chatted a lot about what our new future might mean, what changes to expect, what we were both excited and scared about.

At this point, quite frankly I'm most scared that I'm jinxing us by even having these conversations. That merely talking about it as something that could happen is enough to anger the universe that's been so cruel to us in the past. But for tonight, all second thoughts were shoved aside and there was meat to be ingested. All in all, a lovely evening.

So cross your fingers, toes, whathaveyou that little eenie and meenie (Hubs' names for our embryos) are snuggling in nice and tight to the cushy lining I've been busting my hump to keep plump for them since they were merely eggs and sperm. Only five days old and I'm already complaining about the work necessary to keep a roof over (and under) their heads.

I'm going to do my everything to think positively, to visualize this actually happening, to picture those embryos latching on, getting bigger day by day, and one day becoming the son or daughter we've craved all these years.

'Cause even if it's only for two weeks (or as long as my bliss bubble remains intact) I will always be baby mama to eenie and meenie. I'll always have that.

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

Monday, 22 September 2008

Annnnnd we're back.

Well hello my lovelies. I realize it's been a while...a long while. Much longer than I said I'd be. My bad. I do apologize. But hopefully once I fill you in on what's going on you'll be a bit more understanding.

So by now you of course know all too well our fertility challenges. You also know that we had started IVF just to get cancelled because I was oversuppressed and didn't respond to the medications properly. And that we were waiting to start again.

Well, start again we did. Around the middle of August, in fact. Started popping that birth control pill (yes, it is all part of the plan) and went about our merry way.

Being on the pill was pure hell. Mood swings, much higher and more severe than ever before - poor Hubs. Breakthrough bleeding for two plus weeks - nothing like things not going the way they're supposed to right from the get go. And acne - the absolute worst acne you could ever imagine. It was everywhere - my face, my heck, my chest....I looked like the president of the high school chess club. Not cool at all.

Coming off that was the best day, seriously. I celebrated like crazy when I took that last pill. Of course it took forever for things to finally wind down, but in the end I suppose it did its trick and we were well on our way.

I started my stimulation drugs at the conclusion of my sister in law's wedding. Literally. I stored them in the fridge behind the bar at the reception site. What an auspicious beginning!

The wedding went well, was beautiful, and I was relieved. I held the role of day of coordinator, so was running around like a crazy person all day. I was delighted to slip into bed that night, the drugs hard at work.

This time around things went much better. I responded to the drugs. Things that were supposed to grow, grew. Levels of hormones that were supposed to increase in my blood, increased. And before you knew it, we were ready for egg retrieval. We'd made it further than we'd ever gone before.

Around this time is when I kinda went blog silent. I was so tired from the drugs, so worn out from the not knowing what was coming next, so sick from yet another ear infection, so stressed about what to say and how to say it that I elected to just retreat from it all until I could figure things out.

Have I figured said things out? Nope, not necessarily, but I do have the relief of knowing that we're able to progress yet another few steps. They got a good number of eggs, most were mature, and a huge number of them fertilized. More than my wildest dreams, actually. And we find out tomorrow just how many are left as we jump over the final hurdle in the actual IVF process - the transfer.

Transfer is the easy part, really. What truly sucked ass was the retrieval. Yes, you're given drugs through an IV so you don't feel anything. But it sure doesn't improve your pain level when the nurse, obviously new to IV's, tries to put on in and blows your vein. You can imagine the huge bruise I have on my right forearm. Looks like Hubs was seriously pissed off at me one day!

Finally a more experienced bloodletter came along and slipped in the needle lickety split. I donned my lucky socks, grabbed the IV pole and we were off down the hall to the procedure room.

I don't think it's really necessary to go into all the truly gory details of what egg retrieval entails. Let's just all agree it's not much fun. A nasty means to an end. But they got what they went in for and that was good.

Recovery wasn't so good. First, because of the size of my ovaries and what they had to do, they told me to expect some gas pain and bloating. Uh, some? I'll have to get them to rewrite their post-op expectations for patients. I had no freakin idea a wee touch of gas could be so debilitating.

Add to that the constipation that resulted from the progesterone I was taking/making and I was a flipping bag of toys.

They'd given me percocet because they expected I'd have some extra pain due to how big my ovaries got. Sure enough, by the end of the day I was pretty danged sore, so I decided then was not the time to play hero, and I took one.

Big mistake. Big. Huge!

Percocet is not my friend. In addition to making me stoned, it also constipates. Yeah, just what I needed, more help in the bunging up department.

Friday morning I was feeling a bit better, so we made the decision to go to a friend's wedding in Ottawa. It truly was a game day decision, as I wasn't sure I'd be up to it. But I totally wanted to go, so we set off.

By Saturday, things weren't improving much. I got ready in the hotel in phases, taking a shower, curling up on the bed for a bit, doing my makeup, curling up on the get the picture.

We headed out to the burbs for the ceremony but managed to find a Shoppers so I could get some much needed Metamucil (actually, a tasteless, pasteless version thereof) into my system to see if that would help. Picture this - Hubs and I, all dressed up, sitting in our Kia in the parking lot of the Catholic church, me putting BeneFibre into a bottle of water and Hubs shaking it up while I wipe the excess white powder off my dress.

Quite the scene, I tell you. But boy did it feel good to actually think we might be making some progress.

The rest of the wedding was beautiful. A long time coming for my good friend the groom, and I was just so delighted that we could actually be there. I made it through 'til about 10:30, then it was back to the hotel for pass out time. But despite everything I'm glad I went.

Today I've just been resting, resting, resting. Sleeping for all that it's worth. Went over to my mother in law's new apartment and Hubs helped her put up some pictures and put some shelves together. It's great to see her back in civilization, able to do things for herself again. So much better than being in the middle of nowhere, where it was impossible for her to even go to get her own newspaper.

And tomorrow, tomorrow is transfer day. They're (hopefully) going to put in two wonderful embryos, and I'm going to wait for two weeks to see if it all worked.

And so it begins.

So there you have it! The update of all updates. I hope now you'll understand a bit better why I was so scatterbrained and not quite up to posting par over the past few days and weeks.

I'll be looking for plenty of distractions in the next two weeks, so look for posts on all sorts of wild and wacky stuff! For example, Sex and the City comes out on DVD tomorrow. Guess what this diva's present to herself will be for transfer day?

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

Tuesday, 9 September 2008


I wanna post.

I really do.

But I'm so tired, and I think I'm starting to get sick again.

Which means I'm royally pissed off, too.

My throat feels like it has a new flap affixed to the back. I'm not enjoying this sensation in the least.

Add to the mix a fever, having to get up stupid early in the morning to get to the clinic, and weird weather systems, and I'm a flipping bag of toys.

With no strength to post about a darned thing.

I have ideas o'plenty though, fret not. More than anything I want to write about my particular take on 90210. Hopefully I'll get to that one tomorrow. :)

But for now, bed calls.

Til next time!

Wednesday, 3 September 2008

Spotted in my sleep...

Okay, okay. I know it's been a looooong time since I posted. Apologies. It's been a rather crazy week and a half - mostly recovering from the notion that I'm now 35 years old. Hehe - yeah, that's it.

Nah, it's been nuts doing a thousand gagillion different things for different people. My sister in law is getting married on Saturday, so I've been filling in in the role of wedding planner. I also offered to purchase and assemble the fixin's that now make up the favours, so my free time has found me cross eyed, cutting small strands of ribbon, tying them to tiny jars, sticking on labels, and just today, dumping in the yummy candy that will be consumed by the nuptial-witnessing masses in a few short days.

I see jelly beans in my sleep.

I've also taken on the role of jewelry pimp for my mother in law. You'll hopefully remember my post from a few weeks back that discussed her handiwork. Well, she's surprisingly prolific, and has now made more than 300 sets of necklaces and earrings.

300. Insane!

Since I've got a plethora of her creations in my personal collection, I wear them to work quite often and get many the comment. So much so, that co-workers asked me to bring in some of her wares for their perusal and, perhaps, purchase.

In preparation for said sale, she came over on Sunday and we went through everything. I selected 140 sets to take to work with me, and we set to pricing and labeling each individual piece.

I see jelly beans and beads in my sleep.

The fantastic news is that in just over an hour, I was able to sell over 30 sets and net her more than $500! Not too shabby! And there are still many a person interested in perusing my large pink bag of treats - now delightfully lighter than it was on the way into work on Tuesday!

Talk about your win win situation - she's making some extra income, people are able to get wonderful, one of a kind pieces, some even starting their Christmas shopping, and she's decided to donate 10% of the proceeds to the charity I work for.

I love it when a plan comes together.

Monday Hubs and I truly wanted to do anything but Labour, so we hung out in our pj's until 2 and watched a movie together. As much as I was enjoying our pure flakieness, the insane mess of weeds in the backyard was calling to me, so I set out on a mission to remove the offending growths.

So yeah. I don't 'garden' per se. Actually, ever. That's my sister in law's department. We have a lovely front garden, and I have a pair of gardening gloves...that she bought I was at least protected from Nettle Forest when I went to destroy the evil bitches.

Um, pulling mega weeds is serious work. Who needs the gym? I was in target heart rate the entire time! And my hands - I could barely pick up the soap to have my well deserved shower once it was all done! Ugh.

I see jelly beans and beads and weeds in my sleep.

But the worst side effect of all is the excruciating and apparently never ending pain in my hamstrings. Do you have any idea how long it takes me to go from a sitting to a standing position, or vice versa? I feel like I'm twice my already advanced age! Sheesh.

I kinda want to just soak in our big tub but I'm truly afraid that I won't have the leg strength to get myself out once I'm in!

So that's a brief recap of what's keep me insanely busy these days. Is it the weekend yet?

To top everything off, I'm hopped up on all sorts of hormones again. I just finished a course of the birth control pill (all part of the process, as strange as it sounds) and can I just say how much I hate the damned side effects this time around? Marvelon is not my friend at all!

The roller coaster emotions are one thing. It's the freakin breakouts that I can't handle.

I've generally been pretty lucky to have decent skin. Now? I look like the 10th grade president of the chess team. Seriously....I look like I have the chicken pox, I have so many spots. All over my chest, up both sides of my neck and face, everywhere! I've seriously never been this self-conscious in all my life! I'm totally hating it. I can't WAIT to get some clear skin back. I have a whole new respect for all the kids in those ProActiv commercials now. Sigh.

I see jelly beans and beads and weeds and spots in my sleep.

Ah, sleep. Sounds like a really good idea, no?


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

Monday, 25 August 2008

Moving Boxes

Greetings from the other side of 35.


Yes, it's official. I can no longer, in good conscience, put a check beside the 25-34 box on the most basic of demographic surveys.


I didn't even have much of a reprieve from my first earth shattering box click either. Hubs, bless his wonderful soul, got me the pink iPod nano I'd had my eye on for months. I was soooo excited - I'd dreamed of finally getting back into iPod land for eons, but given everything else going on, dropping the cash for a luxury item wasn't in the cards.

And then came my birthday!

So yes, I open the package and there she was, all pink and shiny. Beautiful! I immediately rush to my laptop, plug her in, and begin the synch-ing process. At which point Apple asks me to register my iPod. I of course agree, and am subsequently confronted with the first kick in my old pants - Apple wants to know how old I am.

And there it is. I hover over the 35-44 box and, grudgingly, click.

It's 11:32 am. And so it begins, nary a few waking hours into my day of birth.

What a wonderful weekend though.

Hubs made a totally yummy breakfast of waffles, homemade homefries, scrambled eggs and maple bacon. My good friend L stayed over the night before 'cause we were celebrating Kristine's birthday, and the festivities continued!

Then I got to play with my iPod, received a few phone calls from family and friends, and just lazed around in my pj's for a few hours. Then it was off to Nat's a for a pre-pub pool party!

We actually had decent weather, so it was a real treat to feel the sun on my (now aged) skin.

After a nice soak and some delish appies (Nat does know how to buy some mean finger foods) we returned home for a quick change, then it was off for all you can eat sushi. Which I actually do adore, despite my deep dislike for anything that swims. Good thing there's more to Japanese food than just fish!

Totally stuffed, we caravaned down to the Irish pub for the final round of the evening's festivities. I was delighted to have a wonderful turnout, friends from all different circles and phases of life. Everyone was so generous and kind - for an exceedingly non-religious person, the best word I can think of to describe the feeling of that day was blessed.

Blessed to have a wonderful husband who went out of his way time after time to make sure I had a fantastic day. Blessed to have friends who hosted parties, travelled to the 'burbs from downtown, gave up a Saturday night in the summer to come to celebrate with me. Blessed that those same friends, even though I told them not to, spoiled me rotten with so many gift cards that I can't close my wallet, and other gifts that required both Hubs' and my arms to get them to the car. Blessed that Hubs' mom and sister made the trek to party with us - I truly am so fortunate in the in law department.

Yep - plain ole blessed. And it was an incredible feeling.

I delight in being overwhelmed by the kindness of the people in my life. The friends that I have made, be they long suffering (aka since high school) or relatively new to my fray, and my crunchy-on-the-outside-soft-and-chewy-on-the-inside husband who'd do pretty much anything to make me happy.

How much luckier can a gal get?

Kinda makes moving boxes seem like a pretty petty thing after all.

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

Tuesday, 19 August 2008

A matter of taste

Scads of apologies for my absence. But this time I have an excuse, really!

I've been sick.

Yes, sick. Argh. Stupid summer. And I'd managed to go sooooo long too! Not since March had I experienced the mucous madness...and alas, here we are again.

Not sure if it was my boss that passed along the yuckies or if I snagged them off some public transit railing. Regardless, last week I got sick. Knock you on your ass sick.

Before I could say echinacea, it felt like I was swallowing razor blades. Quite the auspicious beginning. Blessed me.

The next day I was a huge diva bag of poo. Felt awful. Came home from work early and just crashed on the couch. Snotty mess. Wicked headache. Terrible fatigue.


Friday I woke up and there was no. way. on. earth. I was leaving my house to go to work. I somehow managed to pull myself together and Hubs shuttled me over to the walk-in clinic for some medical attention as colds never just stay colds with me.

The verdict? Bronchitis and an ear infection.


The doctor whipped out her prescription pad and within seconds I had the ticket to feeling better in my hot little hands. Ten days of biaxin. Good times, good times.

Not sure if you've ever taken biaxin, but it's one of those annoying drugs. It works fantastically well - you start to feel better incredibly quickly - but you must contest with a nasty side effect.

The worst freaking taste in your mouth. For ten salivatingly long days. Every morning I wake up, and it hits me like a tidal wave of disgusting. Nice way to start the day.

For the first few days, it wasn't even that big a deal. The difference from how I felt Friday to Saturday was nothing short of transformational. Friday I simply laid about and moaned a lot....Saturday I was up and about, making a cheesecake for celtic_kitten's birthday fete later that afternoon.

God bless thee, Alexander Fleming.

Now yes, I was feeling better, but still not fantastic. I did decide to go to that afternoon's pool party because a) it was super close by, b) I thought the nice fresh air would do me some good, c) I felt I was being good by electing not to go in the pool, and d) I just darned well felt like being there. So I went, had a lovely time, enjoyed simply sitting outside on a summer day.

Somedays it's important to just be.

My biggest fear of the day was not how I was going to feel, it was how my cheesecake was going to turn out. I'd used a brand new recipe as I know she's partial to the New York style cheesecake. And then the panic set in.

What if the recipe didn't turn out? What if I was about to serve everyone a slice of eek on a plate!? I mean yeah, it'd be eek topped with your choice of cherry or fresh strawberry topping, but eek nonetheless! And lets face it, no one wants to mow down on eek in the middle of a sunny afternoon.

So we all sit down, have a lovely dinner, and the cheesecake is served. I take my first bite....

...and I can't taste a thing.

I'm so stuffed up that I register no taste, none whatsoever. I look around me and see smiling happy cheesecake faces, but these are all such nice people that there's no way in hell they'd ever tell me if it was crap, ya know? Celtic_kitten had a delighted grin which reassured me somewhat, but I was not going to know for sure until I had cleared up enough to taste it for myself.

Fortunately there were two pieces left over, and the next day I got my taste. It was worth the wait, in my most humble of opinions. This is one recipe that will make its way into permanent rotation.

Oh yeah...Hubs liked it too.

Sunday I awoke feeling pretty much the same, but there was work to be done - it was off to Brampton to explore the sight of my sister in laws' forthcoming nuptuals. We spent the afternoon discussing all sorts of wedding minutia and by 6 I was spent. Home to bed we went.

I'm still feeling rather nasty. The worst part now is the coughing that keeps me up at night. I have to sleep sitting up, four pillows stacked behind me. Humph. All I want is a good night's sleep - is that too much to ask? I mean really!?

Alas. Only a day and a half more to get through this week, then I'm off Thursday afternoon and Friday. I plan on enjoying my final few days as a 34 year old in style - out for lunch with friends, the EX with Hubs, and a spa morning with my fabulous sister in law.

Doesn't sound too bad, does it? Now if only I can get back to my somewhat healthy diva self, I'll be delighted! 'Cause I don't want to miss a mouthful of my Japanese with the girls or the spa lunch on Friday!

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

Monday, 11 August 2008

I'm sprouting fungus

Hi. It's August, right? Summer?

And I live in Ontario, right? Not the freakin Costa Rican rain forest?

What is with this weather?

Seriously. (That's my fave word lately. Seriously.)

I truly feel as though I am sprouting fungus. Spawning 'shrooms. This is nothing short of ridiculous.

Spring and summer are supposed to be my reward for making it through winter alive. I'm not a fan of winter, as I'm sure you're well aware, and this past icy season was particularly heinous.

So you can imagine (and in fact likely shared in) my delight when April sprung to life with gorgeous warm temps. Positively balmy. Away went the coats, out came the sunscreen.

What a tease.

The rest of the spring/summer has been abject crap.

I can't remember a rainier summer. It's rained something like 45 of the last 70 days in my little corner of the world. WTF?

Hell, if I wanted weather like that, I'd move to BC. At least I'd have pretty mountains to look at.

Tonight was a doozy, that's for sure. Massive fork lightning and house shaking thunder. We've had all kinds of storms this summer but this time the thunder was so close I felt the shudder all the way down in my pancreas.


Hell, a few weeks ago Nat and I had to go to the flower place (also known to many as the nursery but I'm not the biggest fan of that word these days given our circumstances) because I needed new hanging baskets. Thanks to all the rain, my pretty yellow pansies had actually started growing mold.

Never in mine almost 35 years have I ever seen anything like it.

At least the weeds are thriving. I'm pretty sure that if I spent enough time in my backyard I'd discover a never-before-seen tribe of pygmies or something. Lord knows there's enough foliage of every variety back there for them to thrive in.

My backyard depresses the hell outta me. I call it ghetto fabulous. Without the fabulous.

Thank goodness no one can see it. Except my neighbours if they look down from their bedroom windows. But I've got the goods on them, so they can't say too much. And it's not like my backyard is affecting their curb appeal....I could say plenty a word about their patch of weeds, dirt, and the strangest little pansie weeds that have taken over their entire lawn.

Dirt, lawns, weeds and fungi aside, I just want to see the sun, ya know?

I mean, this morning started off rather well. Cool, but at least the sun was out. I saw that heretofore painfully shy blue sky that I crave so desperately, and for a moment, all was good.

Fast forward to the trip home and the heavens open just in time for me to disembark from the GO train.

I love the smell of wet diva in the afternoon.

Seems to have stopped now for the time being. The odd flash of light still streaks the night sky, but it's noticeably further away now.

Any bets on how long this latest respite shall last?

Meh. Guess I'll just put that umbrella back in my purse.

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

Wednesday, 6 August 2008

Back to work I go.

Yep. Mini break over.

Five and a half long days away from all things work has been surprisingly wonderful.

We went to my sister's new place in Waterloo over the weekend and had a great time. Pool was more hot tub than pool, and we all swam until we pruned up something fierce. Then we drank, and ate, and celebrated my brother in law's 50th birthday. We hit the St Jacob's Market, procured some very yummy fudge and jam, and all in all had a fantastic time away from home.

A much appreciated diversion from all the things we should have been doing this weekend had we not been cancelled just a week ago. But I digress.

We returned home late Sunday and I was delighted to have three more days of precisely nothing to do ahead of me.

You'll be happy to know that Hubs and I found a plethora of wee tasks to keep us busy. First on the list was a trip to Canadian Tire on Monday to finally, FINALLY! procure the coveted chandelier for our master bathroom that I'd blogged about all those months ago.

Thanks to a birthday cheque from my mom kindly dated for now as opposed to the birthday proper (later this month), I was delighted to throw caution to the wind and secure my shiny new fixture. A few hours of swearing (on Hubs' and my part) and manicure destruction (all mine) from trying to get all the danged crystals into place, she was finally all assembled in her new home.

First, a reminder of what we were working with below. Big globe-y blobness.

And here she is, in all her ensuite glory! Unlit by day....

And lit by night! Pretttttty. She throws some great light, nice and warm without being overpowering. Much better than the before, I'm sure you'd agree!

Thanks for all your assistance in helping me find the perfect new addition! Now for your next challenge...the fixture above the massive mirror. Same bathroom, same colour scheme, all that jazz....but sweet jeebus we need something more stylish to replace this nastiness!

As always, any and all suggestions will be warmly welcomed! Thanks in advance.

As for the rest of my time off, I finally took the plunge and spent a bit more of that birthday money on some new clothes. It had been ages since I'd shopped for myself so it was a real treat. I managed to get some shop-tastic end of season (sigh - since when is now the end of the summer season?) bargoons, including a dress that I luuuuurve to wear to my sister in law's wedding at the beginning of September. Excellent trip, all things considered.

Tuesday we slept in a bit, then embarked on a trip to Costco and Chapters. I'd decided that my sister wasn't reading her copy of Breaking Dawn, the one she was going to lend to me, fast enough for my liking, so I needed my own. Got home around 3 and I started reading. Hubs went off to play his silly boy games, leaving me home alone with my book. In about seven hours, I made dinner, cleaned out our entire pantry, and read that book from cover to cover.

All 754 pages of it.

Perhaps needless to say, today was a non-reading day for me. My eyes needed the break!

After a super yummy breakfast of french toast and maple bacon (have I waxed poetic about the virtues of maple bacon yet? OMG - best stuff on the planet, I swear it) we finally got our acts in gear and took in a matinee of The Dark Knight.

I hadn't really been all that interested, but Hubs went last week and loved it, so I decided to bite the bullet. But before we did, we popped in Batman Begins (which neither of us had seen) as a prep course for what was to come.

All in all I liked the movie. Good action, lots of drama, and lots of talking from Gramps and his hippie grandkid sitting behind us.

Someday, as gawd is my witness, I'll be able to go to a movie and not hear the cacophony of stupid people talking as I try to watch a flick I paid some serious money for. If you want to talk, rent the fucking movie and stay home. Makes me truly mental.

And here we are, back at home again. DeeDee's with us tonight. We had a great dinner, watched the Hannah Montana/Miley Cirus Best of Both Worlds in 3D concert thingie that DeeDee had PVR'd a few weeks ago, and now we're all watching Back to the Future.

My very PG13 Wednesday night.

Shortly it'll be off to bed, then back up and on the GO train in to work. I suppose I really can't complain too much. A two day workweek AND new clothes to wear? Why, that's a diva's dream come true!

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

Thursday, 31 July 2008

So yeah.

We're cancelled.

You may have figured this out by now.

Or you may have read about it elsewhere.

Regardless, it's true. Cancelled. Try again. Better luck next time.


So here's a picnic. Since the meds didn't work quite right, we have to clear things out in an attempt to get ready to start anew.

Okay. Fun!

Basically I was told to give myself the 'trigger' shot, the special cocktail of hormonal goodness that forces ovulation. I've taken this drug a bunch of times for other cycles we've done in the past and it was no sweat. Out popped the egg, maybe two, that had been growing thanks to the medication, and on we went.

But not this time.

Oh no.

You see, while the medication balance for the cycle wasn't quite right for me, I still did develop a number of eggs. They may not have matured entirely, but they were big enough that they needed to go.

All 11 of them.

Yes, you read that right. I had 11 follicles developing, and the trigger shot ensured that they vacated the premises en masse.

Ever been punched in the ovaries before?

Me neither, but I now can relate to those that have. Fuck.

It's getting better now, thankfully. But ouchie ouch ouch, it hurt something fierce.

The silver lining in all of this is that now I get to do some fun things in August that might otherwise have remained on the back burner.

For example, Hubs, DeeDee and I can go to my sister's place in Waterloo this long weekend. I can drink. I can go in their pool. All things I would not have been able to do had things gone ahead as planned.

And I can drink. Did I mention that? Hehe. Yes, I realize it's somewhat sad to take so much pleasure in being able to drink, but cut me some farking slack, yo. I have to get through this somehow, and if a POMtini or two puts a smile back on my face, it's worth it.

Just ask Hubs, it would most certainly be worth it.

I'll also be able to drink for my 35th birthday, now merely three flippin weeks away. It would have been hard enough without alcohol, but hell, I would have been pregnant if this had worked, so I would have found a way to be okay with it.

Now, I can get blotto and not worry. Good times.

Sorry I haven't been around these past few days, but it's been hard. So much that I've wanted to say, yet so much time spent in limbo waiting for phone calls and confirmations of the worst. At the same time, I've been trying to focus on the good things in my life so that I can retain the already tenuous grip I have on sanity right now.

I'm walking one heck of a tightrope, folks. And seeing as I have the grace of a water buffalo, it's going to take all of my strength just to stay upright.

Thanks for keeping me steady.

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

Thursday, 24 July 2008

Bitterness, thy name is diva

Well holy fuck.

Pardon the profanity, but I'm really pissed at the universe. Again.

Quel surprise.

I'm just damned sick and tired of being infertile and being crapped on by the babydust bitch.

That little tramp decided she'd left me alone for far too long and so today, she pulled up in her scuzzy paneled van and threw a flaming bag of poo at my doorstep.

And it stinks.

Yes, we're back in fertility land. I've kept a bit quiet about it because it's been awhile and I'm really trying to not have it dominate my entire being as it has in the past. And I had been doing a somewhat decent job of it.

Until lately.

So yeah, things aren't going according to plan. Which sucks hairy ass, 'cause as we started this whole thing, we were told that we were going into it with ideal conditions.

And no one had ever said that to us before, so you can imagine how we clung to that like a lifeline.

Well, now it appears as though we're drowning, and someone's yanked our precious floatation device right out from underneath us.

Bitterness, today thy name is most indeed diva.

Now, I should say that all hope is not lost. We're not completely out yet. But it really is looking that way. So I've done my crying (not all of it, I'm sure - but I do need to rehydrate in order to actually get my body to produce new tears) and I'm in my angry, bitter phase.

I do hope it's all for nothing, and that tomorrow I look like a real stupid diva for getting all riled up over what might actually never materialize. I'd happily take back this post and all the crappy things I said about the universe if she actually comes through for us just this one time.

Pretty please, Ms Universe. I've tried to be good. I've tried to be nice. I've even tried to be patient. But we've waited so long, spent so much and come so far, I'm just not prepared for this to be over already, ya hear?

Pretty please with sugar on top.

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

Wednesday, 23 July 2008

My mother in law

Ah, the much maligned mother in law.

Some mothers in law make you nuts. Some make you angry. Some make terrible, inappropriate comments. Some make you feel like you'll never be a part of the family. Some make you cringe every time you have to set foot in their home. Some make you feel like you must deliver a grandchild (or seven) in the next year. Preferably less.

As for me? My mother in law?

She makes me....jewelery.

That's right! I totally lucked out in the in law department. I believe I've mentioned this before but it certainly bears repeating. I got plain stinking lucky. And not just because she makes me cool stuff.

I've got two fab sisters in law and a mother in law that, besides never doing any of the nasty things I outlined above, has recently taken up jewelery making.

And the woman is a wiz with beads!

She's emptied out every bead store within a gazillion mile radius, and sweet holy crap the stuff she puts together! I'm seriously impressed! And you know it takes a goodly deal to impress this diva in the accessories department!

I've snapped some photos of but a few of the goodies she's compiled. Some specifically with me in mind, and others, well...I've snagged them from her massive bag of possibilities.

So far, she's made more than 150 sets. Most are necklaces and earrings, some are necklaces alone, and some include bracelets.

And they're all pretty freaking sweet!

Take a peek! Apologies for the crappy photography - don't have the super duper camera that would really do all of these justice. Someday though!!

Anyway, gives you a pretty decent idea of what she can do. Now is that impressive or what?

And the crazy thing is she has over 150 sets of these all done and ready to go.

But what to do now? We'd love to find a way to set her up so she can make a bit of money off of all her hard work. We've tossed around eBay but that's a challenge since she's not a fan of the computer. I think she might bunk with a friend at her local flea market and see if she can make some headway there.

Regardless of what she wants to do next, it's just so cool to see her get into something she loves and that she's truly good at. I just had to show off all her hard work!

Yep, truly hit the jackpot this time. Lucky, lucky diva.

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

Tuesday, 22 July 2008

Nothing much today


I'm trying to write every day, so here I am.

But not much to say on this Tuesday. I stayed home from work today because I had a terrible night. Woke up a bunch of times and was sick. Didn't get much sleep. Felt absolutely gross.

I wondered if it had anything to do with the drugs. Upon further reflection I don't think so - in fact, I think it was instead something I ate. Nevertheless, I was exhausted and dehydrated, so I made the decision to stay home, rest, and suck up the fluids.

I'm feeling a bit better now, just tired still and fighting off yet another headache from all of these insane weather systems. When will we see a nice, clear, stable-barometric-pressure day again?!


So just a really quick hello my lovelies today. Now it's time to head off to bed and hope that tonight is a vast improvement over last night's travesty.

Ciao for now! Hope I have much more exciting topics to discuss tomorrow!

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

Monday, 21 July 2008

Booze without booze


We're back on the fertility bandwagon, and I'm at a point right now where it's not the best idea to consume alcohol while on the medication.

Okay, fine. The things I sacrifice in the name of trying to get pregnant.

It's not that I'm a huge boozer, truly. But I do enjoy my drinks. Always have, always will.

I mean, it's summer time! Nothing goes down better than a cold brewski after a long, hot day at work. Gawd, it sounds like I toil in the coal mines or something. But still...a cold beer is super yummy after a day at the office.

So I've decided that I won't give up beer in its entirety. As we were headed to a party on Saturday, I elected to suck it up, made a beeline to the Superstore, and for the very first time, purchased a 12 pack of near beer.

Whoooo-ahhhh. Near beer. Molson Excel.

I am one



Watch out, I've had four Excel's and I...have to pee.

That's about it.

The problem, I've subsequently found, is that the stuff doesn't really taste all that much like beer.


They only sell it in cans, and I've always hated the taste of a canned beer. I lived in residence in university for four years and the only beer we could bring in was in cans. Blech.

Pfft. At least that beer had, well, beer in it.

I decided that I'd have one with dinner tonight. Try to spice up my meal. Make me feel like I wasn't missing anything.

Meh. Maybe I should have just quit cold turkey. This is such a tease, 'cause 'near' is nowhere near enough in my books.

I also procured some .5% wine coolers. $1.49 for some lemon ice wine cooler thing. Hehehe. Too funny.

But that fared much better than the beer. It looked like a cooler so I could blend in with my drinking friends, it tasted like a cooler, so I felt like I actually was drinking like all my drinking friends, and it had pretty much no alcohol in it whatsoever.

The kicker? 34 grams of carbs per bottle.


I'm just not destined to win this mocktail game. 34 grams of carbs is way too much for this diabetic to consume in a stinking drink.

So I have two that doesn't really taste like beer, or caffeine free diet Coke.

With options like these, however shall I choose?


All for the greater good, I keep telling myself. Please god, let this all be for the greater good.

Off to finish the last of my 'beer' now. At least I can use it to wash down those meds!

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

Thursday, 17 July 2008

Put your danged belly away!

No, despite the title and my current infertile status, I'm not issuing a blanket directive to all pregnant women. They only have so much choice of where to put the belly anyway!

Instead, I'm referring this evening to those of the so called fairer sex who decide it's hip, cool, and generally okay to expose their midriffs for all the world to see.

A small percentage of the female population can actually get away with this. The ladies with the concave bellies who work out like crazy, eat really well, and upon viewing, basically make me feel even worse about my diva physique than I do on a regular day. Yep, they're the ones.

They can pull off the belly shirt. And I'm okay with being exposed to that flat patch of flesh - hell, they work that hard to get it, hells yeah, show it off to everyone who walks by!

The rest of the ladies out there - and really, you should know who you are - should, before leaving the house, ensure that there is full fabric coverage throughout the entire midsection area.

See, this is a no brainer for me. Never shall my fish belly white tummy region see the light of day. Never gonna happen.

Hence its current state of fish belly whiteness.

Shit, I'll even do the stretch test just in case. You know, I'll stand in the change room as I'm trying something on and do a fake reach up with one arm to be sure the belly doesn't slip out the sides of my shirt. 'Cause you never know when you'll be called upon to fetch an item from a tall shelf or forced to thrust your arm skyward to grip the middle bar on the subway.

But for some reason, other gals just don't get it. They apparently see nothing wrong with flaunting their muffin tops and love handles to anyone graced with eyeballs. They care to not cover up in public. And to me, it's just plain wrong.

Maybe they don't see anything amiss when they look in the mirror. I suppose that's not entirely a bad thing. In this day and age of 12 year olds wearing minuscule string bikinis and modeling their diet and lifestyle after the Olsen twins, maybe feeling okay about your body, muffin top and all, is a rather healthy mental state.

But when I see a white belly replete with stretch marks and ripples coming my way, I nevertheless break out into a full body shudder.

I say this somewhat tongue in cheek of course, mostly because I am nowhere close to those super fit, flat tummy-ed girls that I barely have the energy to aspire to be, let alone aim for. I know that no one would ever want to see my belly in its fleshy goodness. Hell, my upper arms rarely make public appearances - there's no way my diva pooch will ever see the light of day.

And therein lies the difference.

I know better.

I KNOW not to wear a shirt that's too short for me. I KNOW that my pants/skirt/shorts must come up to a certain point in order to prevent exposure. I KNOW that specific tshirts will never meet my length requirements, and therefore I do not leave the store with them in my possession.

Now if only I could convince some of the walking fashion disasters that cross my path on a daily basis to embrace my simple techniques I'd be just plain delighted.

Until then, I'll have to stick to my current practice of averting my eyes as best I can.

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

Monday, 14 July 2008

First one's free, next one's $5.99.

I've become a pusher.

Not really anything I ever aspired to do, but here we are nonetheless.

But fret not - no need to shield your children or addictive-personality friends, etc, I ain't peddling crack.

No no, my good friends...instead, I've recently been peddlin' some kick ass chocolate. As addictive as crack, but without all those pesky side effects and legal ramifications.

And it's soooooo goooooood.

Here's the story - a few weeks ago, maybe even months now, MMK emailed me a link to get free chocolate.

Talk about a call to action - I clicked on that sucker PDQ, filled in their online survey, and waited to see if I was accepted.

Turns out they were looking for 300 people from a few cities across Canada to be part of Dove chocolate's word of mouth marketing campaign. And hells yeah, they chose me as one of the lucky 300.

My job? To eat chocolate. Give chocolate out to other people and listen to what they had to say. Talk about chocolate.

How I suffer for my treats.

I became a very popular person, especially when my package of goodies arrived. And despite my desire to lock the door, turn off the lights, and keep all the chocolaty yumminess to myself, I did my Dove-ly duty and became the Robin Hood of chocolate. I gave rich, chocolate goodness away to my poor, unsuspecting friends and colleagues.

I've never felt so popular.

Sure, they only wanted me for my chocolate (picture knocks on the door, random email messages, Facebook wall posts, all politely requesting more, more, more). But I figured they could come for the chocolate, and stay for the diva.

The jury's still out on that one.

Nevertheless, it was great to actually be involved with a really good product. I'm relieved to say that no one I shared it with thought it was crap and/or that they'd never eat it again. Instead, I've had lots of people ask where to buy it (try your fave mart - Shoppers Drug Mart, Wal-Mart, etc), how you can buy it (larger tablet form, purse packs with four individually wrapped pieces, and larger cartons with more than four individually wrapped pieces), and what flavours they have (milk, dark, 71% dark (in tablet only), and my personal fave, dusk, a mix of milk and dark. Rawr.).

I've attached some photos for your reference, 'cause if you've ever been in the US and purchased Dove there, it's the same brand, but different. This is the good stuff you can get in Canada, so don't miss out! The photo on the left shows you the purse packs. Strange though - not sure how many of these actually make it to the purse. It's just too easy to consume four of these puppies in one sitting.

Then again, I've always had issues with self- control...

Moving on...

So there you have it. All in all it was a very good experience, but then again, when is getting free premium chocolate a bad thing?


Give it a try if I haven't tossed a nibble or two your way as of yet. You won't regret it. Try the's my fave.

And just to make things perfectly clear, I get nothing from the Dove folks other than some free chocolate, a notebook, a pedi kit and a wine glass. Yes, a somewhat odd assortment of goodies, but I believe in being transparent, so there ya go. I don't make any money if you buy Dove, and I won't lose my house if you don't, so let your taste buds and pocketbook guide you!

Speaking of what I get and don't get, and on a completely different note, I wanted to thank everyone for their comments and suggestions on what to do with that pesky upper lip fur. I did try the Parissa and I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about it. I don't think I used it correctly, 'cause it didn't do what I had hoped it would. I don't think I warmed it up enough in my hands, because it didn't pull much off, to my chagrin. I got the after burn feeling but the hair remained.

I will say, though, that the little bottle of oil stuff to cool your skin afterwards worked like a charm. So I'll reserve my judgment until I try the stuff a second time to see if I just did it wrong. Totally possible.

In a weird twist, I actually got an email from the people who do the PR for Parissa because I had mentioned their product. Intriguing! Hi Parissa folk! Your product does come very highly recommended, so I'll give it another shot and hope for better second results.

So there you have it, Monday's product review post. And look at me, posting so early in the day! Gotta love taking Monday's as vacation day.

And now the whole night lays ahead of me. Hubs is cooking stuffed sole for dinner tonight - yes, that's right, I'm actually going to attempt adding fish to my culinary repertoire. If you know me, you know that's huge. So wish me luck.

In the meantime, I'm a wee bit PMS-y today. Lemme see, where's that Dove chocolate?

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

Thursday, 10 July 2008

A diva confesses

No, I'm not here to once again confess that I've been a bad diva for not writing enough. You already know that - hardly a confession!

Instead, I write today to discuss something I rarely talk about but that haunts me on a daily basis. I can barely look in the mirror without obsessing over it. I see it, and I know others can potentially see it too, if they look for it. I think of all the different ways I could deal with it, then attempt to go about my day as best I can.

My confession?

I kinda have a moustache.

Now before you start picturing me with crazy black hairs sprouting in every direction from my pretty upper lip, stop yourself. Back that truck up and allow me to explain.

First, it's a somewhat blonde 'stache, thankfully. There are a few thicker, coarser, black hairs, you know the ones - they just keep coming back despite repeated pluckings. But generally speaking I can keep them at bay with my handy dandy tweezers. Fabulously painful tool, those tweezers.

But tweeze my entire upper lip I simply cannot. Too many hairs, most of them fine and lightly coloured, and just too much pain to pull them all out one by one. My pain threshold just ain't that high.

So what's a diva to do? On occasion I'll splurge and spend an extra $8 to get the upper lip waxed when I'm out getting my mani pedi. But wax and I aren't always the best of friends.

No, that waxy bitch leaves behind a whole host of other issues. Sure, the hair may be gone, but it its wake is left a trail of blemishes (that's fancy diva talk for zits) that overtake my upper lip area.


Drives me nuts.

And they're painful blemishes too. Darn right! As if the searing (albeit short lived, thank goodness) agony of the initial rip isn't enough, now I have to put up with the nasty prolonged annoyance of zits lining the rim of my sexy pout.

Kinda takes all the sexy right out of the equation!

So. Where does that leave me, other than either hairy or zitty? How's that for being between a rock and a hard place?

Recently I've become aware of a product called Parissa (I think?). Yes, they're wax strips, but the at home kind. I'm left to wonder if the at home kind can possibly be better for you than the spa-grade wax, but I sense I'm about to find out.

I've had the stuff in my possession for almost a week now, but I can't quite get myself to open the package, let alone try it out. I want to, don't get me wrong. Every glimpse of mine hairy reflection in the mirror makes me want to rip open that package with increasing abandon.

But as always, I'm worried about the repercussions. What if I try it and my face stays red all through the next day? Or I break out in hives? Or some other dermatological misfortune befalls me? How do I show myself to the world? Sit on the GO train? Actually turn up at work? Yeesh.

Luckily, I'm about to enter into a three and a half day weekend. So I think I'll give it a whirl tomorrow afternoon and see what happens, let this be my science experiment for the month. I'll be sure to fill you all in and let you know how things turn out.

If you have any other suggestions on how to manage the wee forest that grows unwelcome on my otherwise happy face, I'm definitely open to suggestion!

And if you're one of the gal pals I'll be seeing for our bbq on Saturday, don't laugh too hard if things don't turn out right, okay? I mean, you'll be able to tell just by looking at me, that's for sure.

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




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