Yes, I'm alive

Just a quickie this morning, but I did want you to rest assured that I have not dropped off the face of the earth.

We had a good but busy weekend. Friday night we went to our first Toronto Rock lacrosse game and had a great time (thanks again for the tickets, V), Saturday we babysat our nephew then hit the racetrack for a social event hosted by one of Hubs' professional organizations (and won $50 on the slots), and Sunday we had our fitness assessment at the gym and both ended up taking on personal trainers to aid us in our efforts.

Not too shabby, all things considered.

Then Monday came.

It was day three, so back to the clinic. Finally. I haven't managed to get into a new one yet, so I was stuck with the existing assholes. Lucky me. But I needed an ultrasound to see if the cyst, yes, the cyst that I've had since October and they've done nothing about, was still there.

You've already guessed the outcome of this one, haven't you?

Yep, cyst still there and firing on all estrogen cylinders. They gave me the option of going forward - to which I told them to shove it - and a maddening conversation ensued.

Turns out when they checked it in November, the last time we actually did an IUI cycle (total cost - $1,400) the cyst was 'functional' as well. But they never really told me that.

Instead, they said my estrogen was high but the doctors recommended moving forward. So we did. Had they said to me, hey diva, your cyst is functioning so we think it's okay to move forward but there is a risk the cyst will take up most of the meds so it's your decision I would have said hell no.

When I go forward with these cycles it's a huge financial and emotional investment. If I'm not in optimal shape ovary-wise before we begin, I don't want to begin. It's as simple as that.

The way I see it, they owe me $1,400. They didn't get my informed consent, and I am pissed off as all hell. Once I claw my way out of my current depressive cave I will take action with the hospital's ombudsperson. 'Cause this just plain sucks.

To make matters worse, they won't do anything about my cyst. Nothing. I'm just supposed to wait until my next appointment with my doctor to figure out what we should do.

That's in mid-February. Thanks for nothing. So I sit here in true limbo, stuck, with no options but waiting. And that sucks ass.

So it's been a really rough few days.

Despite all of the crap we've been through, this is hitting me harder than even I thought it might. I'm dragging my butt to work, still able to function 'cause a little distraction is always good, but I just want to sleep. I haven't felt this down since the first cyst came along last May. And what pulled me out of that was a complete escape from our lives via a week in Cuba.

So guess who's been researching tropical destinations....

Even there I'm torn, because we're trying so hard to reduce our considerable debtload. We could pull off this trip without adding to the debt, but at the same time THAT cash could be used for debt reduction. Torn. So torn.

I desperately need something to look forward to, something positive on the horizon to take my mind off my current lack of reproductive options. But will I just be adding to my stress in other ways (by heaping more onto our financial burden)? The last thing I want is buyer's remorse over something so huge - and expensive.

So we've decided to wait a bit and see what the universe says we should do. When in doubt, let the universe make your important decisions for you.

We'll put money aside into our savings account and wait a few weeks to see what happens. We wouldn't go until the fourth week of February anyway, so we have some time to save, see how I feel, and see what other financial hurdles (including my cat Maxx developing feline diabetes - sigh) jump into our path over the next few weeks.

Not at all what I want, but it's the only way I can stay sane and feel like we're attempting to be rational grown ups and not impulsive children who must indulge their every whim.

Sucks. Insert foot stomping noise here.

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

Sunset - 5pm

Thank god in heaven tomorrow is finally Friday. It's been stupid hard getting through this week, especially after two nice, long weeks on vacation.

Soooo hard.

Morning comes early. And it's still dark.

I like dark, I do. But only in my bedroom. At night. So I can sleep.

Not when I'm up, showered, dressed, and out the door on my way to the train. No, it should most definitely not be dark then.

It also shouldn't be dark as I'm leaving my office. WTF? I finish at 4:30, walk out the doors, and dark.

Didn't I already play this game this morning?

It all just seems so insanely unfair. But it does reinforce the fact that there's no way in hell I could ever live up there in the arctic regions where the sun doesn't come out for six flipping months. I think that's my idea of hell. Seriously. I'd go absolutely nuts.

Strangely enough, December 21 is one of my favourite days of the year. Yes, there's lots to enjoy that time of year, but to me it's the beginning of something wonderful.

Sure, it's the shortest day of the year. But guess what? Until June 21, it's all uphill from there. And that makes me more than happy, just knowing that tomorrow might be a minute or two brighter.

Actually, tomorrow we'll get one minute and 25 seconds more sunlight.

Now, if only the freakin sun would come out so I could enjoy it, I'd be one uber happy diva.

May the shine shine in your world tomorrow - enjoy that extra 85 seconds!

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

Sweet merciful crap...

You can see by the change in picture that I'm dealing with some new challenges right now.

Yeah, not fun.

My cramps have cramps.

I feel like my insides are being scooped out by one of those melon ballers. And not a super nice melon baller that you'd get at Williams Sonoma, no. I'm talking your bargain basement, Dollerama, no smooth edges melon ballers.

Ouch.

This is relatively new to me in the grand scheme of things. One somewhat good thing about having my reproductive issues is that I don't have good ole aunt flo come to visit all that often. Now that we're doing this whole fertility clinic thing, I'm up to about 8 cycles over the past year. That's pretty much three years worth of crampy fun all squished into 12 danged months.

I'm not a fan.

I seriously don't understand how you 28 day girls with bad PMS survive. Or more specifically, those around you survive. 'Cause right now, I could fell a rhino with my bare hands if it crossed my path or tried to take the remote.

They're that kind of cramps.

Doesn't help that the boys are still at the house playing their boy games. I know it's completely irrational, but even people speaking is grating at my last nerve. No rhyme or reason, just the very noise coming from my dining room is enough to make me go postal.

I think if there ever was a day for a LUSH bath bomb it's today.

Maybe I won't hear the chatter all the way up in my ensuite.

So a short entry today, but it's better this way. For everyone.

Especially rhinos.

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