Saturday, December 28, 2013

Post-Op Postscript

Seriously, a D&C/Hysteroscopy right before the holidays...what was I thinking?!  

I'll tell you what I was thinking.  I was thinking Day 1 surgery, recovery the next, bounce back to 100% by Day 3.  

Well, today is Day 8 and I'm at (maybe) 63%. A few days post-op we went out-of-state to spend Christmas with my parents. Percocet, Ibuprophin, and laying horizontal were my best friends.  Although I didn't initially have much bleeding with the cramping, that changed on Christmas Day when I woke up to a sharp pain on my right side.  I can only explain it as something similar to a constant side-stitch that you get after running.

On Thursday,  I returned "home" so I could watch my sister's five kids for a few days while she and my BIL went to San Francisco for a bowl game (something promised months ago). Unfortunately, the cramping/bleeding hasn't gotten any better so I'm excited for them to get home tonight so I can return to my house (about an hour south).

I'll only be able to enjoy it for a few hours because at 6:15am tomorrow morning I leave for Washington DC.  I'll be there for three weeks as I fulfill a rotation assignment at the National Disaster.Operation.Center.  At this point, I'm seriously wondering how in the ^#%* I'm going to do it. Right now I feel like I'm the walking (or rather non-walking) disaster.

Those of you who have had the procedure, what was your recovery like?  Last year, I didn't have a D&C with it and I don't think Dr. H did as much tissue scraping... but is cramping/bleeding at this point still normal?  I'm in new territory.

Advice please. I need to be at 100%.  Quickly.


4:00pm UPDATE:  Dr. H is on vacation but the Dr. on-call let me know that no, these aren't normal symptoms at this point.  Bleeding and cramping should be tampering off instead of vice-versa. I need to watch it closely along with fever, etc. and go to the ER immediately if it gets worse or becomes unmanageable. Great...

He said it sounded more along the lines is a cyst rupture (which I've had before) or appendicitis.  Even better.

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Little Snowdrop

Today has been a very good day.  Perhaps the most peaceful moment was when my younger sister slipped me this poem on behalf of my little Colton.  I'm not sure who wrote it, but her inspired thoughtfulness is always touching because it strikes when I need it the most.

In memory of all of our little snowdrops... I share these beautiful words with each of you who have walked this journey of infant loss and grief.  May you have a very Merry Christmas and feel the breath of your angels upon you, this day and always.

Little Snowdrop

The world may never notice,  
if a snow drop doesn't bloom,  
or even pause to wonder,  
if the petals fall to soon.  

But every life that ever forms,  
or ever comes to be, 
touches the world in some small way 
for all eternity.  

The little one we longed for 
was swiftly here and gone,  
but the love that was then planted, 
is a light that still shines on.   

And though our arms are empty, 
our hearts know what to do.   
For every beating of our hearts 
says that we love you.   

Monday, December 23, 2013

A Change of Heart

Yesterday, the Prodigal Son returned.  And just in the knick of time...
(Translation:  we have Lil A'for Christmas so things just got G rated.  To everything, there is a time and season...right?!)


Sunday, December 22, 2013

A Tiny Spark

Last week, in my "confession", I wrote about searching for a spark this holiday season.

I think I may be on the right path.  Thus, "sparkling" cider for all my neighbors.

It's a place to start.

(And with this I vow to focus outward and  eek as much service as I can out of the next four days.  For as the saying goes, it is far better to give than to receive. Right?!)


Saturday, December 21, 2013

Holiday Greetings From Moab (where that guy cut off his own arm)

At least Quibby put down the knife...

I think.

Pardon my French, but what the hell was I thinking scheduling a D&C/hysteroscopy combo-pack, five days before Christmas?  Dadgum, obviously I wasn't.

Mr. Thompson tried to warn me.  "Remember last time..." he kept saying.  Over and over.  "Last time was a piece of cake" I kept replying.

Except it wasn't.

How quickly the mind forgets somebody "aggressively" carving your pumpkin.  As if knife-like pains in your lady parts and major cramping everywhere else wasn't enough...general anesthesia makes me sick.  Each. And. Every. Time.

Queue Demeral.

Which makes it worse.

Queue waking up to gasps of breath...which queues all the doctors hovering over me in the recovery room trying to figure out why I can't breath... which queues more medicine in the IV and them propping me up sooner than they (or my lady parts or my upset stomach) wants...which queues the barf bag...which queues more pain south of the boarder...which queues a panicked Mr. Thompson who sits in the corner saying, "I kept telling her..." 

Yeah, piece of cake.

Once I could finally breath the doctors start telling me about their trip to Moab.  It appears that my uterus looked exactly like Arches.National.Park. Which sounds funny until you see the pictures.  Remember that old Johnny Carson guest who had a potato chip that looked like Jesus?

Same thing.

There. Now you'll never look at a Utah license plate the same...


Friday, December 20, 2013

When You Gotta Go -You Gotta Go

p.s.  Today is my hysteroscopy.  They have to do a D&C with it as a Christmas bonus.  Yay me!


Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Merry Christmas (Quibby Style)

Eek, eek, eek!

This is Quibby's way of saying Merry Christmas.


Sunday, December 15, 2013


I love Christmas.

...but this year I am having a really hard time getting into it.  And when I say "really hard time", I mean... Really. Hard. Time.

The tree is up.  Lights are twinkling everywhere.  Packages are wrapped.  Beauty is all around.  The yard is full of snow.  My 2013 ornament arrived and is on the tree.  I've read Luke 2 some ten times.  Quibby has been busy making us laugh.  I listen to holiday music morning, noon and night.  I sit in front of my tree when I wake up every day and enjoy the quiet, peaceful, reflective moments with a cup of hot cocoa sipped from my favorite mug.

But I'm still not feeling it.

At all.

I heard a woman yelling at her child in the grocery store the other day and I turned around and walked out.  I stayed in my pajamas until 3pm yesterday and would have stayed in bed if I could have.  Mr Thompson and I went out to buy my step-daughter a snow suit and we wanted to kill each other the entire time. I would have canceled church today if I could have.

I'm secretly (or not so secretly) in a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad holiday mood.  A smile is on my face and holly is hanging on my door but the only thing I can really think about is that another year has gone by and it just feels...


The holidays feel empty.  My house feels empty.  I feel empty.

Instead of canceling church I got up, got dressed and knelt down in prayer before I walked out the door.  My prayer was for a spark, a little ember to ignite something - anything - within me this Christmas season.

I sat next to my neighbor on the church pew,  smiled and about 10 minutes later realized she is very pregnant.  I had no I prayed for that spark still.  This neighbor has had three children in the years that we've been trying to conceive.  At that depressing thought, I looked around and realized that there was not one single or old person near me.  Rather there were young families, my friends, with loads and loads of I prayed for that spark even harder.  When the speaker began speaking about they joy of Christmas through the eyes of children - I took the inner pleading up a notch.  This is our eighth Christmas together, childless, and the unrealized dreams hurt.  Every year we think that by the next Christmas, it will finally be our turn... but it's not.  Maybe it never will be which is okay, but just... empty.

A spark.

I just need a spark and I'll keep barreling through the holidays.  Please.  

Just one little spark.

Thursday, December 12, 2013



And to think Mr. Thompson has been blaming me this entire time for stealing money out of our Bora Bora fund!

Wonder what Quibby needs the money for?  Humm...
In other news...

Looks like I'll be in DC for New Years (and the following 3 weeks).  I received an appointment for a rotation at the national Disaster Relief Operations Center.  Yay, me?

Not so much because I'm supposed to have my hysteroscopy procedure so we stay on FET schedule.  

Choices. Choices.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Just Say No!

Houston, we have a problem.

Rate he's going, Quibby will be in rehab (or jail) by Christmas...

"I don't know what to say, except it's Christmas and we're all in misery."  - Ellen Grizwald
But his daily mission was accomplished.  Mr. Thompson laughed.  Hard.

Monday, December 9, 2013

The Little Pill

I don't know whether to kiss or kick Quibby.  I was supposed to start "the pill" today to get ready for our next baby-making round but now I can't.

For me, it's the worst part of the IVF/FET protocol.  I'll take a million shots any day over this evil little pill that for me, packs a punch.

Plus it's just depressing through the holidays.  It messes with you psyche.  You want a baby...yet have to take birth control to get it.  Hummm... what?!

It's settled - Quibby gets a kiss.

(Aren't you diggin' his new outfit?  Mrs. Claus may or may not have cut up a pair of Mr. Thompson's good "chonies" to make it.  Quibby appears to like the look so much he's going to keep it.)  

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Back In Black

Seems Quibby took a break from his antics to observe today's National Day of Mourning.

Rest in peace Nelson Mandela.

"When people are determined they can overcome anything." 

Even infertility.

Saturday, December 7, 2013

An Ounce Of Prevention is Worth a Pound of Cure

This what I woke up to today.  It appears that Mr. Thompson is catching the Christmas spirit.



Friday, December 6, 2013

The Hangover, Part 2

Apparently, our elf Quibby is a drunk.  A tattooed drunk.
"You're gonna freak out, but it's gonna be okay."
Last month you got insightful meditation as your Daily Dose.  This month you get sick elf humor.


Thursday, December 5, 2013

'Tis The Season To Be Jolly

quib  (kwb)
1. A clever, witty remark often prompted by the occasion.
2. A clever, often sarcastic remark; a gibe. Synonym: a joke.
3. A petty distinction or objection; a quibble.
4. Something curious or odd.
Remember last December 2012?  It was a magical time in which we were going through our fourth (and presumed last) IVF.  I forsook all distractions and readily immersed myself into all of the hope and joy that the season offers.  It really was an amazing month... until of course the negative news came in around New Years during our Twelfth Night celebration. You may recall that I got off the phone with the nurse and turned off the Christmas tree lights.  That's how Mr. Thompson knew our results.  It was a huge downer after such a great holiday high. (understatement of the year)

Queue Christmas 2013.

Mr. Thompson doesn't want a Christmas tree this year.  Seriously.  He wants to forget about Christmas or will "concede" to decorate our palm plant I get really insistent on holiday cheer.  I very much understand because as an infertile, you are very aware that Christmas is for children and that just... hurts.

We had the most amazing Thanksgiving holiday with my family last week but there was a moment of sadness that Mr. Thompson told me about the other day.  We were taking a road trip to my older sister's house and after I jumped in my little sister's car, Mr. Thompson was willingly stuck with my two nieces and two nephews - "Care Bear" age 12; "Drew", age 10; Roy", age 9 and "Boo", age 8.  All four of them very much still believe in Santa. Seriously.  Weird, I know but if you knew my sisters, you would understand why.  They are the only people that I know who would rig up "reindeer tracks" on their feet to climb up on the snowy roof to shake a bag of bells in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve.

Well...not true.  My dad did the same thing, which is why I sincerely believed until about 13/14.  Too much proof in the puddin'. 

Anyway, during Mr. Thompson's car ride these kids were going on and on about "Farfel" and "Grantham" their "elves". (Queue eye roll).  Their "elves" (as in "Elf.on.the.Shelf")  had made their first appearance that morning and these kids were flipping out with excitement.  Mr. Thompson - not so much.  After 30 minutes of excited elf antics he was just...sad.

...and more insistent on the palm tree.

Which brings me to a question: why is Christmas just for children and why does it make us so sad when we don't have any (or when the ones you have live far away with your ex-wife so you don't get to completely enjoy the moments)?  ...Which also brings us back to the definition of "Quib".

Meet Quibby Fizzlefazzle.  
Our Elf.  Farfel Fizzlefazzle and Grantham Fizzlefazzle's cousin.  His one purpose - and one purpose only - is to act totally inappropriate and make Mr. Thompson laugh this holiday season.  

Yesterday morning he first appeared to decorate the beloved palm plant.  Point for Mr. Thompson.

Today, he showed up totally hung-over.  
#poorQuibby   #QuibbySavesChristmas

#poorQuibby   #QuibbySavesChristmas
Who knows what mischief (translation: adult humor) he'll get into this month.  All I know is that while last December was magical, this December will be funny.  Really, really funny.

Because we could use a few laughs around here.

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Day 21 - Extraordinary Me

"Every great dream begins with a dreamer.  Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world." - Harriet Tubman

(Part of a 21-day meditation.)

I'm extraordinary.  In my own way.  The last 21 days have taught me a lot about me - who I am and who I want to be.  I am...


I am extraordinary.

In the stillness in 30 minutes a day I was able to reawaken something within me that can only be described as the gratitude and wonder of being alive.  Of just being...Me.

Sometimes we want to trade our problems for somebody else's, thinking that the grass is always greener on the other side.  In being more thoughtful about my own individuality, I realized that I wouldn't trade it.  Any of it.

Let me say that again.  I wouldn't trade my life.

Not infertility.  Not grief.  Not any of the things that make  I'm not perfect and things aren't always easy, but I'm blessed beyond measure and I have an exreamly good life.

My destiny is joy.