The one in which I Google. And realize this is a very bad idea.

If my Apps are correct, I am two days away from my period. Which feels about right. Or right-ish. Unlike the last few cycles where my PMS has been nightmarish, I didn’t really start feeling any symptoms until Saturday. And they are pretty low key. Some crampiness. Some sore boobage. But thankfully no fits of blind PMS rage and/or weeping, or nipples that feel as though they are on fire. ON FIRE.

It is around this time of every cycle that I begin to Google, as if by magic some new result will appear that explains everything I’m going through. Today I was reminded that A) I am old, and B) old ladies have a significantly harder time getting pregnant. But I started when I was 33- doesn’t that count for something? Can I get an extension? (Yes, I am trying to negotiate my way out of this. And no, it is not working.)

Also a third of infertility is “unexplained” which strikes me as remarkably high. Seriously? 33% of the time, we have no idea what’s going on? Come on, Modern Medicine. What are you good for if you can’t figure it out a third of the time.

I also read somewhere that couples who are trying for over 3 years have a less than 25% chance of ever conceiving. (I’m in month 23 or 15, depending on how you look at it. Long story…) With no end of this non-baby-making, I see no reason it won’t drag on forever. I blink and it is three years in. I blink again, and I’m old, alone, and eating cat food from a can.

Someone should really invent an app that actively blocks you from Googling fertility-related words during your two week wait. It does no one any good.

On top of all this, I’m visiting my family this weekend to spend time with my mom which always makes me apprehensive. Not seeing her mind you. It’s the circus of despair conducted by my brother and father that I’m not looking forward to.  In good news (because I really could use some) my mom has successfully made it out of the ICU! In not so great news, she is having a tough time with the transition. In many ways, now is when the hard work begins. So I’m headed down to see what kind of help she can get in her recovery.

I’m staying with my dad, which I’m a bit worried about. He isn’t good with boundaries or respecting other people’s feelings. It is all him, all the time. If you tell him that he is talking about things that make you uncomfortable or upset, he will ignore you and keep talking. (This morning, he told my sister specifics about his… er… romantic preferences with my mother. File under: Things Children Should Never Know About Their Parents.) I made Mr. Ostrich promise me that if my dad repeatedly doesn’t respect my boundaries, we’ll leave. I’d rather stay at the Holiday Inn, thank you very much.

Next up for me in my battle in sub-fertility, Clomid Round Three. And no more Googling.


I am not a medical professional. I also believe that most of the stuff out there Googleverse is full of shit. So please do not read anything I’ve stated above as “fact” because it was probably found on “”


Why My Bits Are Like a Junior High Dance

Ah, the plague of the Two Week Wait… obsessing over what the hell is actually going on down there.

I can’t help but try to imagine what’s happening in my bits at the moment. I’ve ceased interpreting every twinge as a sign– good or bad. Now when I feel an unexpected pinch, I just think “That’s my body doing something weird. As you were, Optimism and Hope.”

Instead, I wonder about what’s happening without interpretation. Are there little cells down there dividing and conquering? Or more likely, has this month’s egg self destructed? (And why can’t I just know NOW? Screw patience!)

I wonder why it’s all taking so long, given that there is no medical reason for my sub-fertility (that my doctors have found, anyway.) Why can’t my egg and Mr Ostrich’s sperm just get this party started, damn it? I picture it like a junior high dance. Everyone has shown up, actually showered, maybe put on too much cologne… But there is no mingling. Maybe I should play “Bust a Move.” That usually did the trick in 7th grade. Oooo, how about some slow jams? Like Roni or I’ll be Loving You Forever?

But no junior high dances for me tonight. Instead, I will go see The Mountain Goats and cry in a dark room with other people. (At least I’m being social about it, okay?) John Darnielle gets me. His songs are so cathartic. I can feel like complete crap and they make me feel okay about feeling complete crap. It’s about weathered resilience, which sums up where I am right now. I’ve taken about as much as I can handle, and yet somehow I’m still a generally functioning human being. High-fives for me.

And so I leave you one of my faves, Tallahassee.



I have entered the Two Week Wait after round two of Clomid. Much as was the case with Clomid Round One, I am convinced that this is hopeless. Past performance being a indicative of future results, and all that jazz. Of course, it isn’t like I think there is anything else that will work better… Mostly, its something I feel compelled to do so that at least I know I tried. [She says as she collapses on the couch Sarah-Bernhardt style.]

Which sorta brings me to the point of this post. I am a HUGE Debbie Downer these days. Holy bejeezus, I can’t even handle myself at times. It isn’t just this whole infertility thing. Objectively speaking, I’m in a Polar Vortex of Sad Face right now. I shall roughly list them, in no particular order.

1) My mom is still in the hospital, and will likely be there through the end of the year. She is FINALLY being moved from the ICU and can now be spoon fed applesauce. This is an improvement, no doubt. But it also highlights how very deeply she was affected by her medical injuries.

2) This entire sitch in turn lead some of my family members to say and do hurtful things. I don’t trust them right now with my own feelings, because they are not respectful of them. Which sucks, because normally I like my family a lot.

3) My sister, who is perhaps the only person who isn’t annoying the shitballs out of me right now, was recently diagnosed with an autoimmune disease.

4) There has been a significant amount of death around me lately. Mothers of two of my good friends died in the last 8 months. An old friend committed suicide last month.

If there was ever reason for a hearty round of “WTF, UNIVERSE?!” , I think I’ve found them all.

But where am I going with all this? I’m trying to give myself the space to feel genuinely crappy. Not wallowing, but honoring that this stuff stinks and it is okay for it to make me sad. Real sad. Watching-What-Not-To-Wear-Reruns-While-Eating-Nutella-From-A-Jar Sad.

But I’m also trying to make room for things I am grateful for. So, in the interest of equilibrium, I shall now list the things in my sad puddle of a life that bring me joy.

1) My heart, my lungs, and my awesome quads. I run 3-4 times a week, and every morning when I’m running through my neighborhood, I’m so happy and proud that my body is strong.

2) Food. I love eating. This weekend, I had an amazing hamburger. Yesterday, we celebrated my husband’s birthday with cake (which is really just a vehicle for frosting. Everyone knows it.)

3) Middlemarch. When picking what to read next, I intentionally looked for something 600 pages and over because I wanted to get lost for a while. It’s like the thinking woman’s romance novel- no heaving bosoms, just long, furtive glances and ennui.

4) Mr. Ostrich. I like him an awful lot. This weekend, we cuddled on the couch watching Mr. Selfridge. I think I’ll keep him.