At the risk of alienating people, what the fuck is the big deal about Twilight? It was entertaining in the way any competant book for teenagers is entertaining. I didn’t think it was the most amazing book I’d ever read, which is certainly what I was veering towards due to the rave reviews of everyone I know.
I think the power of literature shines when it appeals to a large audience. I can certainly say that I have friends from all over who thought this book was absolutely cracktastic, and I think that’s cool. Me? Not so much.
I did like the whole crazy vampire chase thing at the end. But there were some poor plotting/character points. Also, predictable much?
All that aside, I am still planning on reading the others. Started New Moon last night and so far have no real compulsion to pick it up. I do think Twilight could have contributed to my, shall we say, ‘antsy-ness’ last night. And for that alone, I thank it.
This morning I’m in pain. Last night was a shit sleep, as the only position there is any comfort in is when I am angled on my side. I am now wearing the two sizes too big sweatpants I bought for the egg collection, and they fit like a glove. I really think we’ll be told after the scan tomorrow that the egg collection is this Wednesday.
I hope so. Because next Wednesday at work is a like a big group field trip. We’ve won this very elite national award, and we all get to be hoity toity. I just think it’ll be fun fun fun. Plus, it means my first day back in the office is A Fun Day, as opposed to having to juggle things around and miss two weekly groups in a row.
All these mothauckas, ucking up my shi.
Scratch that last post – unless you know if we can have hot lesbian sex. I think I’ve gone off the idea.
Why, you ask? Well, I just stood up to go tell TMD that I hadn’t googled my way into an answer, and the pain in my ovaries was like, ‘Ha ha, bitches! You thought you wanted to have sex! Well, how do you like the pain? Do you like it? Do you…DO YOU?’
No, I don’t.
Oh. I’m reading Twilight. It’s good, in a Mills and Boon for teenagers kind of way. I like it. But am I so impressed I want to name my first born child Edward or Bella? Not yet.
Anyone know if having sex while stimming is a bad thing in any way? I’m desperate to find out.
I’ll tell you, I’m sad my clinic is closed now till Monday. Because I’d like permission to have sex, actually. Also because a host of mildly alarming symptoms consistent with a non-IVF cycle are happening. I’ve been having cramping in my lower back for a day or so, occasional cramps in front, and today – well, fuck.
A large amount of eggwhite CM. And the friskiness.
I hope I cannot ovulate until they give me the go ahead, because my body sure seems to want to.
Just so I don’t forget one minute of this scintillating TTC drama.
You know I had that dream about the sperm donor? Well, the next night (the one before we got our guy) I had another dream. We got two sperm donor applications. One hand written with a positive pregnancy test taped to it (to prove his fertility?), one giant piece of artwork that had all these philosophical sayings on it. I was pleased with him.
The night after (night three, keep track now!) I had a dream about the egg recipient. She was weird, but not so weird I felt she didn’t deserve my eggs or something.
Night four was last night. I didn’t dream at all, that I remember. Except it turns out that TMD’s boss did – she told TMD she dreamed we’re going to have a little girl.
So that’s it on the dream front. This morning I made my first IVF ‘friend’ in real life. As TMD pointed out, I don’t ever ever talk to the other women because I’m too busy talking to TMD. This lady was opposite us today in the waiting room, though, and we all launched into discussion. She was envious of our ages, and kept saying she’d waited too long. She said she wished she’d done it when she was younger.
Six failed IUIs, and on her second attempt at IVF. She said she refuses to believe her eggs are too old. She was a lovely old hippy, and all I could think was, ‘I’d give eggs to you.’ I don’t know when I turned all altruistic and stuff, but I DO know that while my crying jags seem to be suppressed since I figured out The Plan, I am in uber pain.
And so tired. Beyond tired.
I am going to leave work soon and end up magically on the same train as TMD. I am probably also going to demand pizza, because TMD keeps saying how amazing I am for doing this for us. Muhahaha. I also have the Thanksgiving card to play.
Yes, that’s a point. About TMD, I mean. The nurse showed us into the office this morning then went to review the scan with the doctor. TMD turned to me and told me how beautiful I was. She said I had appeared glowing and gorgeous through this whole thing, even when I felt mopey. TMD said I looked comfortable in my body, was at a nice weight (she likes the curves, yes she does), and repeated how beautiful I was.
When you find someone who sees your beauty at 8:30 am as you are twisting a piece of paper nervously on your lap, hair all fucked up in a messy ponytail, you have found love. And you know what? I feel beautiful.
I am all bruised and swollen and tired, and I am beautiful.
Okay, I’m sane again. At least temporarily.
Thanks to Aussie (and TMD’s backing up The Plan), I sat down with Green to discuss The Plan. The Plan = working from home next Monday and Tuesday. This saves my ass in many ways, mainly that I have about two weeks worth of notes and letters to catch up on. It’s not as ideal as not working; I think Green thinks I’m cracking up and should just not work. But that’s not an option annual leave wise.
Green is lovely and calming. I feel so much better because I’ve scribbled The Plan on a ripped out piece of notebook paper and keep looking at it.
I am just so tired. Worn out. The needles aren’t bad, but I’m just so exhausted of having injections night after night. It’s getting both harder and easier. I won’t decode that.
I’ve been crying on and off all day. Thank fuck I’m a counsellor and I work with counsellors. Somehow I think I get a lot more sympathy than, say, a crying construction worker.
I’m taking a load of stuff home with me so I have things to do on Mon/Tues, and already thinking about the weight of them for when I return to work. I don’t want to have to carry anything (and shouldn’t lift anything heavy whilst babies are swimming around in my thickly lined paradise) and my work notebook is hefty. Full o’ shit. Important shit, but shit nonetheless.
I think another part of feeling better is because of the letter I’ve written to my little client. (Little size-wise, maybe, but a very big client in more important ways.) Part of my job does involve ‘therapeutic letter writing.’ This can occur between sessions, or in place of a missed session. I particularly enjoy writing to children, as it means I can play with fonts and graphics to my heart’s content. Not to mention what I do to the envelopes.
But on this occasion, I think the actual process of writing to this client was even more therapeutic to me. It enabled me to let this child know I will be thinking of them even when we don’t get a chance to meet each other. It also let me reaffirm what I have acknowledged in sessions: that they might feel angry or sad about this. And that it’s okay to feel that way.
At any rate, I am just trying to get everything organised so I can go home and not worry about any of this again until Monday.
I’m a wee bit nervous about not having another scan until then. The nurse has kept me on the same dosage of meds for two days, then reduced it for Sunday night.
Love to you all, and love to me.
Okay, still going to write more about the sperm when I can get over the shock of getting a guy that is not half my age. There’s something creepy about using a teenager’s sperm, I have to say.
Other funky news of the day: the director of the college I trained as a counsellor at rang me today. She offered me a full time post for three months – going abroad to a very exotic place and teaching students in their first year of training. If I wasn’t working full time and trying to get knocked up, I would LEAP at this.
I told her to keep me in mind. She said she may call for me to go over to teach a few individual sessions. I can’t believe she offered me the position of being core tutor on a course – except that I really can.
I have to say, counselling is something I’m apparently very good at. While I was at Day Job for forever, many of you (readers of my old blog *sniff*) would have followed my painful trials to find a new job.
Since moving into the counselling field, I’ve managed to snag this full time job – as a family therapist, no less (remember, I didn’t know diddly fuck about systemic psychotherapy prior to getting this job!) – as well as: a paid contract with an organisation that has never paid a therapist before, an offer of paid work as a clinical supervisor (well, two offers – one as a individual, one as a group supervisor), two sessional teaching jobs, this new teaching job, a place on a coveted private referral list, etc.
THIS SHIT MAKES ME FEEL GOOD.
I don’t claim to be a perfect counsellor, and I think that’s a dangerous concept anyway. I am always trying to be utterly me, utterly present with the person or people in the room. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, sometimes I say the wrong thing, sometimes I don’t get it right. All of that is okay. Necessary, even, if I am to continue to grow and learn as a counsellor.
But for someone who has struggled her whole life with the question, ‘What do I want to be when I grow up?’ it’s so affirming to have found something which gives me deep pleasure. I’ve been a counsellor in varied settings, with varied ages, over the past three years. And I have enjoyed (mostly) every drop of it, no matter the client group, presenting issue, organisation.
It also makes me feel that this must be the right path, because all these wonderful opportunities have come my direction – without me seeking them. I get such good feedback from clients and supervisors that I sometimes feel like a fraud – where is all this superhero goodness everyone else sees? Is it justified?
I love my job. I love the people I work with; every client I see brings such a wealth of, well, themselves into the room. This job feels more like a vocation, and I feel so honoured to be doing it.
And how excellent to be in such a good place in life that I am turning away jobs that are unbelievable opportunities. I couldn’ t have ever predicted this a year ago. I’ve not even been qualified for a year!
We’ve got a donor, so thank you for all the fingercrossing and good vibes – they helped!
Don’t have too much time to write as about to go in for a session with a client, but ….yay!
TMD called me, squealing and almost throwing up with excitement. The guy is uber smart and definitely not short, so that’s nice. More about him later.
I’m so relieved we turned down the first donor. Boy HOWDY am I. This one ticks all the boxes, including being a physical match for TMD (aside from the fact that she’s shortish.) He also is ‘proven fertility.’
Baby town, here we come.