Hormonal Rage

I wasn’t going to go on this whole diatribe about road rage and how there are entirely too many people who don’t understand the basic concepts normally covered in driver’s ed – but, here I am. At this rate I’m thinking that *when* (positive thinking!!) we have children, I’m going to have to find a way to acquire and drive an M1 Abrams Tank so I can make sure my precious bundle(s) of joy stay safe from all the crazies out there. (Which now makes me totally chuckle because I’m suddenly reminded of the episode of Family Guy where Peter decides that a tank would be the perfect “vehicle” to buy for Meg. LMAO!)

As I was saying…

Apparently, these days using an indicator to signal that you’re about to change lanes is no longer deemed necessary – instead, it’s evident to me that most people give little thought to what could happen if some of us didn’t have excellent brakes and reaction times when faced with a grade A moron who, in dense traffic, decides that YES, this is the perfect time to switch lanes. Without signaling. In fact, why not go ahead and careen your death machine across three lanes of traffic all at once. Because, you know, you should always try things you’ve seen on tv – especially given your totally awesome driving skilllllz, yo! Fo shiz! (Do I need to point out that this is dripping with sarcasm? No? Didn’t think so.)

But it doesn’t stop there, oh no! Instead, I’m also starting to get REALLY annoyed at people who just don’t keep up with the flow of traffic – and then create problems for everyone else because they don’t understand that the left lane is the PASSING lane, not the “cruise as slowly as possible while still keeping vehicle in motion” lane. I actually had a conversation with someone about this a few weeks ago – and she told me that one of her girlfriends admitted to always driving in the left lane “because I just like it more”. I think I may have started twitching and balling my hands into fists to stop myself from screaming WHAAAATTTTT? – followed by a choice selection of profane expletives.

So if you are one of those people – STOP. If you’re going slower than EVERYONE ELSE – and people keep switching to the right lane to pass you – that’s a sign that YOU ARE DRIVING AT THE SPEED OF GRANDMA. So kindly get the hell out of the way, before I decide to trade my current vehicle for a Dodge Ram and decide to live up to their motto that “If you can’t Dodge it, Ram it”.

All of which is just part and parcel when dealing with the strata of population whose subpar intelligence also includes texting while driving (if you have a death wish, do us all a favor and just drink a bottle of bleach instead) and doing your make-up/hair/other cosmetic enhancements while driving (because, yes, of course you want yet another layer of foundation since you lost half of what was previously caked on your face on that shirt you tried on and didn’t buy – thanks for that, btw, not gross AT ALL).

But perhaps the most aggravating thing, to me, are people who don’t understand that you should have at least one hand available for driving – and that using one to smoke and the other to talk on your cell phone is just plain retarded. YES, I’m using that word because that’s exactly what it is. Also? Newsflash, it’s almost 2014 – ever heard of a damn bluetooth device, you troglodyte?

Personally, I think driving laws would benefit from a draconian make-over – such as, no phones if it’s not hands-free, absolutely ZERO tolerance for texting while driving, and if you hold up traffic because you’re doing something other than keeping your eyes on the road and moving to the right lane where you belong if you’re driving at snail’s pace, you should just have your license suspended. Also? Any vehicle that’s meant for construction and or hauling something (like, say, ignitable fuel, construction materials, chainsaws or who the hell knows what else) should not even be allowed to drive in the left lane unless forced to pass an obstacle to avoid an accident. Why? Because when there’s a tractor trailer, construction truck or someone with an RV attached on the back hauling a$$ on the highway – guess what? It takes them much, much longer to come to a halt. So if there’s a problem, or traffic suddenly backs up because Barbie forgot to put on her false eyelashes correctly? That behemoth is going to come crashing into a bunch of cars and cause something awful.

And people who have construction materials and tools shouldn’t be driving fast anyway since it’s a toss-up whether or not they’ve remembered to tie everything down – and you may otherwise find yourself in a predicament like what I went through a few years ago when a chainsaw literally went airborne from the bed of a truck ahead of me and damn near smashed into my windshield. Yes, that actually happened.

Last but not least – people who act like idiots at the gas station. Idiotic behavior such as talking on your cell phone while refueling your vehicle – or being too lazy to actually stand next to your car and getting back into your car while the hose dispensing flammable fuel is left unattended – deserves an extra dose of Gibbs Head Slaps. Especially since you can’t claim that it would hurt seeing as how you’re clearly just using your brain as insulation for your head.

All of this stuff is giving me serious road rage. (Because, you know, it wasn’t obvious from what I’ve written so far. Yep, all about stating the obvious today.) Can someone please explain to me what happened to common sense? Was I in a coma when it died? Or are people just too stupid to think about exactly how many things can go wrong if you’re not paying attention when you’re driving? ARGH!!! (On a side note – DH and I have already had numerous, erhm, “discussions” in regards to our as-yet-to-be-conceivable offspring being allowed to drive. I said not before 21 because as far as I’m concerned, until you’re deemed responsible enough to consume alcohol in moderation, you’re certainly NOT responsible enough to sit behind the wheel and avoid things like vehicular manslaughter. DH thinks I’m being unreasonable because how are they supposed to get to the jobs they’re going to need to pay for college when we’ll be busy paying off our projected IVF debts until we’re in the ground?)

ANYWAY.

I’m feeling hormonal. (Here I go again stating the obvious – tsk tsk!) I know it’s T minus a handful of days before my period, which means yet another month where I get to writhe in pain with absolutely NOTHING to show for decades of suffering. And, just to add insult to injury, all those supplies I have to buy every month aren’t even tax deductible (an oversight? me thinks NOT!) – despite the fact that I have to waste hundreds of dollars a year on something that has as yet to show me ANY kind of tangible benefit.

The good news, though, is that I ran some errands today and everyone I came into contact with was very friendly! I admit that I went out of my way to be super nice as well, but it’s just an awesome feeling when the worst thing I can say about my day is (a) people drive like idiots, (b) there are entirely too many baby bumps around (uhm, hello? it’s autumn – kindly keep your damn fecundity to spring where it belongs and has a choke-hold on all us IFers for months. THIS time of of the year should belong to US! HMPF!!).

The plan is to watch a movie together tonight – which I always enjoy because I almost don’t care what we watch so long as DH is snuggling on the couch with one of the pups and I can feel at peace with the world. Plus, it means I can “steal” some popcorn from him because he loves me too much to say “get your own damn bag of popcorn!”. Ah, the gift of perspective – so nice when I can honestly say that, despite the ups and downs and some teeth-grinding in the car earlier today, I’m happy as a clam.

In other news, today my little blog hit 50 followers – YAY! Thank you for being out there and making me feel like, for all my rants and sometimes (ok, often) irrational fears, anxiety and frustration, I was right to listen to some of my fellow IFers who encouraged me to start a blog. Namaste! 🙂

In The Trenches

For the past week, I’ve been fighting a head cold that has been leaving me feeling really awful – depleted of both physical energy and mental acuity. Nothing I tried would make it better: not chicken soup, not orange juice, not Benadryl or the rest of the medicine cabinet. It’s a miracle that any one of my desperate concoctions didn’t kill me – because, honestly, if I’d thought arsenic or rat poison would’ve made me feel better, I probably would’ve tried it.

The upside of feeling really crappy physically is that it took my mind off a lot of the mental anguish for a while – at least to some extent. AF with her perfect timing chimed in to make it all a big mess of aches and pains – a nice preview of old age, if I ever make it that far. And while I’m still trying desperately not to freak out about how my period has suddenly taken a dramatic change since my single Clomid cycle in early summer – going from its usual 7-8 days to 4, which I would normally find a great cause for celebration, were it not that I’m one of those hapless women dealt the dastardly card of DOR (diminished ovarian reserve) – all of these things coinciding together made me feel sick as a dog.

But! Great excuse to lounge on the couch and watch crappy tv – which is really all that Netflix has to offer (I won’t even elaborate on that, since anyone who also has a Netflix subscription will undoubtedly have noticed all the bizarre crap on there that NO ONE in their right mind would give a fig about, never mind want to watch).

Mostly, though, I pretty much just schlepped myself between the couch and the bed, possible moaning like an octogenarian as I shuffled between resting places with a variously stuffed up and dripping nose, my head feeling like an over-sized, overripe watermelon begging to take first prize at a county fair. I slept A LOT. I hurt even more. I wanted chocolate, but there wasn’t any at home – and I was in no condition to leave the house, and DH has been working way too much for me to ask him to make a detour on his way home. He would have, if I had asked him – but, c’mon. I’m not that self-indulgent. I figured if I was THAT desperate, I could always eat the baking chocolate. (FYI: I didn’t. I’ve tried that before – and it basically tastes like what I imagine licking an ashtray would taste like.)

Tonight, I finally got a chance to catch up on some reading – and came across a post on someone else’s blog about friendship. Or, rather, the ending of it.

It’s a pretty raw subject for me. In the past few years, DH and I have lost almost everyone in our lives to either death, estrangement or some version of IF-related “amnesia” – which is what happens when people learn of your predicament and suddenly lose your phone number, address, and/or other identifying characteristics. To say that we’re operating without a support system would be a huge understatement because we basically don’t have one anymore.

In the past few months, as I’ve read more stories from others – I’ve been shocked to see that the amount of people whose experiences mirror ours largely outweigh the stories of people who have warm, caring and supportive friends & family. In most cases, people try to be open about their struggle – and find themselves suddenly bumped off the invite list, excluded from parties or other social events.

Some stories I’ve read have been much, much worse than what we’ve been through. I won’t repeat them here to respect the privacy of others, but let’s just say that there have been times where I’ve cried for someone else that I haven’t even met – and times where reading what someone else had been put through at the hands of a family member made ME want to slap the crap out of the person in question.

But those are the extremes. Far more common, it seems, are the friendships that fray at the edges as the friend struggling with IF continues to do so over an extended period of time. It seems that – as I’ve experienced first-hand with grief – people expect there to be a time-limit on how much they’re expected to give or invest on a particular “problem”. As though your struggle is a sort of community service – and after X amount of hours spent listening and/or discussing the topic, it’s dealt with and moved “off the docket”. NEXT!

Of course it’s not like that for us – for those who continue to struggle through the first, second, third pregnancies of friends, family members, coworkers. Years go by, and we are like waylaid passengers on a platform, watching as the trains pull into the station, people getting on and off, trains pulling away again…but we remain the same, rooted in place, unable to move forward.

I imagine that dealing with infertility is somewhat similar to a street urchin from the days of yore peeking in through the windows of a fancy restaurant or butcher’s shop – tantalized by the smells of rich foods…so close within reach, and yet still denied access to it. I think it’s quite the same for us – surrounded by women who are pregnant, who have babies, multiple children, and it’s all right there in front of us, taunting us, mocking us – from the pages of magazines, tv commercials, the back of a catalog. Everywhere you look, companies are turning to The Mother and Child images to sell us on everything from band-aids to pencils, shoes to breakfast items.

So what do you do, when you struggle with infertility? You keep your chin up, you smile, you trudge on. You’re a warrior! You’re a woman of the 21st century – you’ve got this! You confide in your friends, help them plan their baby showers, ooh and aah over their baby pictures, attend kids birthday parties, sign up dutifully as the doting aunt, godmother, best friend in attendance etc.

But time doesn’t stand still for you – it goes by. Slowly, at first, it seems. I’ve got plenty of time, there’s no rush, you tell yourself. Little by little, your friends start dropping off – they now have new “mommy” friends, and they now go on play dates with their mommy friends and all their kids. They’d invite you, they say, but they don’t want you to feel weird, awkward, left out. You smile, say thank you for considering your feelings. Soon, they stop trying to make excuses – they just stop calling. And you stop calling too – because you know you feel it too: you’ve reached the end of the road. There are no sad good-byes here. There is no acknowledgment of the hurt, the pain, the sorrow of the one left behind without a baby of her own – because how could there be? It would require everyone else to stop thinking about themselves, to interrupt the happiness in their lives to allow the sadness in your life to affect them in any way, shape or form.

This is the part where you find yourself feeling as though you unwittingly contracted a highly contagious disease, or like you just stepped into a dog turd and walked all over someone’s antique Persian rug with it: you’ve become persona non grata.

Not all relationships are like that though. Some people you meet later in life – when they already have children. It wasn’t so weird, you told yourself, because it’s not like you were going to have to worry about which one of you would get pregnant first. But then there’s a surprise or unplanned pregnancy – and you’re devastated. Or one of you moves away, and has an “out of sight, out of mind” mentality.

Friendships are hard to maintain, under the best of circumstances. When we’re young, we’re thrown together with others all the time – it’s easy to make friends, even if you’re not the most popular, the prettiest, the smartest: there’s still someone out there for you. Whether it’s in school, church, at camp, after-school activities, in college…you’re constantly around tons of people. How could you not make friends? But as we get older, move, get jobs, move again, get married, move yet again etc…you lose contact with people. Sure, some people think they have lots of friends. See how many of those friends they’ll still be in touch with after 6 months if they got rid of their FB and/or Twitter accounts.

The trials of infertility are many – but the first casualty is the belief that your “friendships” will last forever. For a lucky few, they will have friends and family who will be there for them for as long as it takes. They will go to appointments with them, be a shoulder to cry on, hug them when they’re in despair, take them out when they don’t want to face the world.

But for most of us, it becomes like a war that’s fought in the trenches – and you find out who your REAL friends are.