working working *updated*

I was so looking forward to blogging. But I am sooooo busy at work today. I have to finish four pamphlets before this afternoon, advertising camps we have in June, as well as our conference facilities etc. And what with my pc being away for some tweaking, I was unable to work on them for a few days. Now my deadline is looming! yikes!

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busy + coffeeless + dragon pills = grrrr

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Anyway, I thought I'd show you the poster / pamphlets I'm working on. So, you see, I actually do work around here! Sometimes.

This is the cover:-

And the inside of the pamphlet:-

(You should be able to see it bigger if you click on it)

And in other news, my poor hubby is sick. And as you know, when men are sick, they evolve into babies. Please spare a thought or two for him.

Sick + wife on dragon pills + nobody else to commisserate = poor, sick, v unhappy hubby.

Back again

IIIIII'mmmmmm baaaaaacccckkkk! And happy again too. Nothing like a reprieve and a couple hundred cups of coffee to help you get your mojo back. Better yet - my computer is back from the shop, with a new skip in it's step. Apparently the technicians couldn't find what was wrong with it. So, it was either all in my imagination or my p.c. took one look at that pile of discarded computers in the technicians workshop and decided to shape up. Probably the latter. All I know is - I CAN BLOG AGAIN! woot woot!

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I wouldn't cope longterm without a global cyber-audience to spill my guts to.

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Me thinks I'm quite addicted to airing my dirty laundry.

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But would you know it - I don't have anything to say right now. Except that I was supposed to start the Dragon Pills again this morning, and I forgot. Dash. I wonder if I can still take them tomorrow? Hmmm...

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That's what I get for going on hiatus for a few days.

Quickie

My computer is in the shop for some repairs. So I'm sitting in an internet-café right now. Just wanted to thank you all for all the cyberhugs I received and to let you know I'll be blogging again as soon as I can get my pc back. Until then, I'll be enjoying some solitude and hopefully reading a book or two, seeing as most of my work is pc-related and I can't do much without it.

Cheers vir eers!

Of Frogs and Outcomes

My yesterday started with me climbing out of bed to get dressed. And stepping on a loving gift that one of my cats had left for me beside my bed. And it just happened to be something that bursts when you stand on it. From what I could make out as I tried my best not to add some of my supper to the mess scraped the gooey remnants from my footsole, it appeared to be a frog. And that set the tone for the remainder of what turned out to be Cycle Day One.

And this is what I spent the remainder of Cycle Day 1 doing...

- Asking God to help me be ok.
- Had lunch at a friend's house. Where there happened to be some other friends invited who had their baby three weeks ago.
- Endured much ooh-ing and ahh-ing.
- Asking God to give us a baby, for Robin's sake and not for mine. I'm done asking for myself.
- Holding friend's baby and wishing it was mine.
- Praising God for life. And asking Him to help me reconcile the fact that I probably will never hold my own baby. And to help me be ok with that eventuality.
- More ooh-ing and ahh-ing.
- Listened to lots of unsolicited advice from old aunties who have heard that I should just adopt and I'll miraculously fall pregnant soon after that.
- Refrained from telling them that right now it is impossible for a white South African to adopt. That I had personally phoned twelve adoption agencies and not ONE of them had been willing to even write down my name, because their waiting lists are 11,000 strong. And that if we were to adopt a baby with a different ethnic group to mine, I'd have to raise that child exactly as if I were it's ethnic equal. Which I wouldn't be able to do. Seeing as I am, unfortunately, not a Zulu. Or Xhosa. And therefore do not know how to raise a child as one.
- Nodded and said "Yes, I have heard stories like that before."
- Spent a lot of time staring at the baby and wondering if they would be able to catch me if I grabbed her and made a dash into the mountains considering my chances of ever acquiring having one of my own.
- Listened to four of the women talk about how "next time I fall pregnant, I'll definitely not have an epidural." And trying my best to look comfortable.
- Wondered if my friends would ever get past the Babymaking Age.
- Wondered if I would ever make it to the other side.
- Looked forward to the ripe old age of fifty, by which age, surely, I would no longer have to juggle wanting to spend time with my friends and wanting to avoid them because they are either pregnant, or trying to fall pregnant, or nursing, or only talking about how cute their little one is because they're now walking / talking / sitting on their own / starting school soon.
- Wondered if I would still have anything in common with them, by then.
- Thanked God that at least one of my friends will never have children, because of circumstances in her life which don't allow for it.
- Felt guilty for being so selfish.
- Asked God to forgive me for being resentful.
- Tried not to weep when Robin held the baby and remembered again that if it weren't for ME, he'd have been a father years ago already.
- Begged God to grant our request for a child, for Robin's sake. Again.
- Listened to some more unsolicited advice from grannies who never had problems conceiving, but who have all the answers.
- Eventually escaped Came home and had friends come to visit.
- Including the one I'm convinced is pregnant!

Am I a sucker for punishment or what?

CD 26

It is Cycle Day 26. Which is right about when my hormones usually start going totally wacko and everything falls apart. Ummm, maybe that sounded a bit too descriptive. Hmmm. Well, I meant it in a "things start going wrong" kinda way and not in a gross, literal, descriptive way. If you know what I mean.

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Anyhoo.

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So, I'm now at the stage where I try to convince myself that should, um, Aunt Petunia arrive, I won't be disappointed, because actually I expected it. Which is what I do every month to try to minimize my shattered'ness.

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Strangely enough, the waiting is worse, for me, than the outcome. Once, um ahem, Aunt Petunia comes knocking, it's almost like a resigned "oh well, I knew it anyway." Not really, but it helps me to convince myself of it. Because it's easier for me to fool myself into believing that I didn't really think I was pregnant anyway, so it's not so bad. Than to think that I might be pregant! and then be disappointed.

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Because I'm a bit of a weird one that way.

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I just hate disappointment. So, if I don't hope, then, well, I shouldn't be disappointed. Right? Um, no. I'm always disappointed. Aaaaallllllllways.

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So, these next few days are going to be ha-ard. Because my cycle is about as regular as... shucks, I can't think of anything that's as irregular as I am. Which just goes to show. So, Aunt Petunia might only arrive this time next week. By which time I will have already peed on about fifty-two sticks and been disappointed with each and every one. Because, even though I'm not hoping, per se, I'll still be checking my sanity levels and guaging them by the outcome of the pee-stick. If you know what I mean.

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Grrr. And they said "trying" would be fun!

I think "they" were lying.

Period. Err, um, that's all I have to say about that.

Teeveeholic

If you're not a tv watcher, this post might not interest you... In which case you won't know that there's been a Writer's Strike. And hence some of my fave shows are delayed. So I'm waiting.

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So one of my all-time fave shows "Men In Trees" is on hiatus because of The Writer's Strike. I honestly never paid much attention to The Writers Strike, because, well, our tv still continued without interruption and I thought that by the time the strike ended, we'd have only been a month or two behind the USA shows. And now, as with all things African, we are waiting. And heaven knows when Men In Trees will be putting a smile on my dial again. Boo hoo... and it ended at such a crucial moment too - with Jack holding some flossie in his arms, on a lifeboat adrift at sea. Talk about a cliffhanger.

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Almost as bad as when Veronica Mars' first season ended and you didn't know if she chose the badboy or the high school sweetheart. (Now I'm really revealing my penchant for all things frivolous and shallow, aren't I?)

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But definitely my very most worstest totally blow-me-awayest ending to a season was the season finalé where NCIS Special Agent Todd (Sasha Alexander) got shot in the head. Robin and I both sat forward in our seats, waiting for a Dallas-type senario where It Was All Only A Very Bad Dream. But, alas, it wasn't. And now the series continues, minus Agent Todd. And me as a viewer. I was so angry they killed her off that I totally "boycotted" their show. And hence my hubby did too. Because I barter the remote for favours.

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Oh, and now that I'm on a roll, remember Denny from Grey's? Why, oh why do they always let the good ones die?

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At the moment I'm waiting for these shows to return:-

• Smallville. Because, really, when last did you see such a hunk* ANYWHERE on planet earth?
• Men In Trees. Jack! Jack! Oh wherefore art thou, Jack?
• Survivor
• The Amazing Race
• American Idol or Idols the UK version

Let's hope none of those shows were affected by the Writers' Strike. Otherwise this lil couch potato's gonna start sprouting some spuds in the next few months waiting for her fave shows to return. Which is also just as well, because chances are I probably won't be sprouting anything of a Mini-Me nature.

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The wait continues.

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*Now there's a word you probably haven't heard since Noah was roaming the planet. I really need to brush up on my youngster vocab, lest I give away my geriatricness.

Wait Schmait

My babe-dar has been pinging around one of my friends for like the past three months. I am convinced she's preggy. She hasn't put on major weight or anything like that. But I pick up preggovibes every time I'm near her. I eventually get to the point where I just can't resist anymore, so I wait until we're alone and then I ask her. And every time she has adamantly denied it, but I see the small smile linger around her mouth, and her eyes twinkle. And when she thinks nobody is looking, I've seen her hand rest on her (still flat-ish) belly. And then I wonder if I'm going totally cuckoo's or if she really IS pregnant and just doesn't want anyone to know yet...

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Maybe I'm just totally lobsided in this department and hypersensitive about it. But I am totally obsessed with the marvel of it too. I think of her ALL. THE. TIME. I just know she's pregnant. And a few months along already.

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And yet she still denies it.

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It's driving me crazy.

As if I wasn't crazy enough to begin with.

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It's probably the Dragon Pills' fault. That's my excuse and I'm sticking with it.

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Speaking of which - are my n*pples supposed to be this sore on The Dragon Pills? Maybe it's a combo of having had some boob renovations, AND taking the pills? If any of you can relate, some advice would be much appreciated. Right now I wouldn't mind surgically removing them and putting them in a basket to carry around with me instead of having to grit my teeth when I'm walking. And, no, I'm almost sure I'm not pregnant, so don't go and leave comments saying that "you know you get sore boobs when you're preggy, don't you?" alright? Because I just know somebody's going to say that, and believe me, this body of mine is not telling me I'm preggy ok? So none of those comments please. I'm just saying.

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At this stage in The Waiting Game, there's no Hoping. Just waiting. And obsessing about this friend of mine who I'm convinced is preggy and not telling anyone.

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And going crazy.

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Who ever thought that two weeks could take this long?

Keeping busy

So it's been a few days of creative endeavour and I've been LOVING it. Here is the birthday invitation card I designed for my godson, Caleb:-

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Front cover:

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Inside left:

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Inside right (with blurred details for privacy):

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Back of card:

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Anything to keep my mind off of the two week wait!!!

Funny bunny

Hooray, my blogger's up and running again! I missed you guys! c",) I was having nightmares of my entire blog being corrupted and never finding all of you again. Hooray, tis not so.
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Had to share a funny story with you. My parents surprised Robin and I with a visit this past weekend, and they brought My Nephew Who I Love To Bits with them. He's a hoot. Four years old, going on twenty-seven, and absolutely LOVES being on the farm with us.

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Anyhoo, yesterday morning I took my mom and Ethan into town so I could buy my mom her birthday present (it's her birthday on Thursday, for those of you who know her). The road into town is quite bumpy, but there's one patch that is particularly fierce. Ethan was standing on the back seat of the 4x4, looking out the rear window (I don't have a car seat for kiddies nor a seatbelt that doesn't choke him to near-death, unfortunately, so we spend most of the journey saying, "Ethan - please sit down, boy!" and then threatening him with all manner of terrible torture. His worst one (and therefore our most effective threat) is not being allowed to play with the other kids on the farm when we get home. As we were nearing this very bad patch of road I said-for-the-thousandth-time "Ethan, sit down, boy!" But by the time he reacted he were on top of the rumbles and potholes and all of us practically had the lice shaken off of us. I said to Ethan, "Careful, Ethan - it's very bumpy here." To which he replied "I know, my bum wants to fall off!"

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Your bum and my boobs both!

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Oh did we laugh.

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And then, we were in town, in a shop called Clicks (a haberdashery store that sells almost anything, from kettles to nail varnish), which just happens to be one of my fave stores. My mom, Ethan and I were arbing up and down the aisles when Ethan spotted an indian family, all clothed in their traditional hijabs. I should have known he would say something out of place when he sidled up to the lady and peered up at her. Speaking loudly enough that everyone in aisles 3 to 18 could hear, he said "Granny, why is this lady dressed so funny? She looks just like a crook!"

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Needless to say, this aunty disappeared faster than The Road Runner.

*Update*

I am pulling my hair out at Blogger right now. I had a LOOONG post written and when I went to publish post it, Blogger said ERROR ON PAGE! Grrrreat. Am I the only one experiencing problems with blogger right now?

Just wanted to give you the links to the people I mentioned in my previous post quickly... I have to do this the long way round because even this page has an error message... Do you think I might have a virus? Or rather, my COMPUTER have a virus? It would be most inconvenient.

Anyway, here are those links:-
Chrissy in Australia's new blog: http://ccsramblingthoughts.blogspot.com
And my new blogger friend, Rita: http://positivefertilityvibes.blogspot.com

I have bunches of others to introduce you to, but it will have to wait until I can my internet working nicely again. Boo hooo....

Back and This and That

Hello everyone. I feel like I am emerging from the very depths of the deepest pit today. The last two days have been horrible really. Not life destroying, or sad. I just felt weighed down with heaviness. My body was crampy. And tired. Oh, so very tired. Everything I did required monumental effort and even smiling took some doing. How awful. What a terrible waste of a few days.
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The last two days reminded me why I hated the Dragon Pills so much and why I had decided that I would never use them again... and yet, here I am. I wonder what I was thinking to even contemplate trying again. Especially when I feel so bad on them. Oh well. I'll have to ride this cycle out. I still have two more months of pills... but, man, I don't know if I want to try again after this spell of feeling so crappy...
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But, today I'm feeling better. I don't quite have my groove back, but at least my body isn't so crampy anymore. Ha-le-luuuuuu-jah! Oh, and I especially wanted to say THANK YOU to Rita for her short comment on my One Bad Post. You made me feel like I wasn't going mad at all. You reminded me that this isn't the real me. It's those blinking Dragon Pills. Thank you!!! You will never know how much that meant (means) to me. The other comments too, but that one really made me feel "sjoe! it's going to be ok." I'm so glad I met you! The Been There, Done That Club helps me so much.

And in other news, you will never believe who we saw yesterday. Go ahead, guess! Remember my kitty that ran away last year? We never did find out what had happened to her. And then, last night Robin and I were driving up our hillbilly driveway after our date, when the lights of our 4x4 landed on some eyes reflecting in the bushes. That's not a strange occurrence when you live in the bush, so we didn't get too excited about it. And then the lights fell on the animal again, and she was sitting in the driveway, about 200metres from the house. Robin and I both shouted "Moonie!" at the same time, and she darted into the bush. We didn't see her again, even though we walked up and down the road calling for her for about fifteen minutes. At least I know she's fat and happy. And hasn't been mauled by wild dogs or something. Just why she would choose to live in the bush and have to hunt for food etc. when she gets yummy food and a warm spot on our bed at home is beyond me. So, you see - The Hillbilly Syndrome strikes again. Even the cats aren't immune.
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And on a totally different note - welcome back to the blogosphere Chrissy. I'm so glad you're blogging again.

And now I'm going to make myself an enormous cuppa coffee, because if my body's sending me the right messages, then this cycle definitely hasn't worked, and I can just as well enjoy a good cuppa in commiseration.

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Sorry guys - I had links and photo's in the post, and it was nicely formatted, and then we had a power out and now blogger's giving me error messages... I'll try to fix this post later again.

One Bad Post

I've been avoiding you today. It's because I'm suffering from a bit of feeling-sorry-for-myself-a-litus, and I hate to blog when I'm feeling that way. So, this blog will resume it's normal programming tomorrow.

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Yours in Self-Pity

Ms Des Pondent

Happy again

Nothing like a little retail therapy to put the old smile back on your dial. Behold the wondrous power of the credit card. Notice the smile on my dial. Definitely an improvement on my previous disposition.
And this is what I bought online. The "A Lot Like Love" Soundtrack. Yay! Don't you just LOVE lovestories? This is my new fave right now.

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I'm already humming Jet's "Look What You've Done" song, and I haven't even receieved the cd yet.

Woot! Yay for online shopping!

TTC update*

*for those of you in non-baby-making-land or easy-peasy-baby-making-land, TTC is an abbreviation for Trying To Conceive

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And so the quest to conceive continues. I am now on Day 16. The Dragon Pills have started working, me thinks. Bloated, cranky, uncomfortable, pms-type cramps... these are all the order of the day right now. Fun fun fun. And we still have a few weeks of this before we'll know if it's worked.

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I must be honest and say that I'm secretly SO HOPING it works, but trying my hardest not to think about it too much, lest I am too disappointed if (when) it doesn't. Which is probably the more likely eventuality. But I'm trying not to think about that either.

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It's hard not to think though.

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I feel a twinge and think "OOOOH, maybe I'm pregnant!". Or I get a nasty taste in my mouth and I wonder "could that be the metallic taste many preggo's experience?". Or I just lie in bed at night with my hand on my lower abdomen, radiating warmth and love at My Eggs That I Actually Despise, willing them to just shape up, pull up their socks and be good for once - just produce one good egg that a very fit little sperm can find. Or three good eggs. I'll take as many as I can get. Even if they come all at once.

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I was all hoppy-skippy-jumpy-happy at the start of this cycle. I just KNEW it would work. And now the dreaded Two Week Wait has settled in. In which all manner of dark thoughts of doom and gloom lurk.

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Grrr.

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Not easy this Waiting Waiting Waiting Waiting Waiting Game.

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Quite sucky really.

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And to make me even sadder... my sister and her hubby and my Little Ethan Who I Love are moving to New Zealand and plan to be there before the end of this year... and being the poor relatives that we are, who knows when we'll be able to fly out to them for visits? Very sad indeed.

Toe Jam

My dad has been the butt of a longstanding joke in our family. He is a very big man, you see. Very tall and very solid. And an avid fisherman. Quite a good one too - and that's not a fisherman's tale either. He also grew up as a farmer, or a boer, as we South Africans call the very traditional old white farmers. So, that makes him a very traditional, big, white boer who likes to tell stories.

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Anyhoo. The story goes that many years ago, my dad was fishing on the coast, standing almost waist deep in the waves. There he was, just minding his own business, when an enormous breaker attacked my dad and sent him sprawling. He surfaced after a good struggle against the tide, not much the worse for wear. Except for a damaged ego. And a "cracked" ankle.

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Off he rushes to the doc. The doc takes a look at his ankle, which has since swollen to the size of a small tree trunk. My dad shares the story with the doc (with a few fisherman's embellishments) and the doc comes to the not-too-popular conclusion that my dad isn't suffering from a cracked ankle, as much as from A Little Too Much Overindulging. We'll call it Gout. For short. Needless to say, my dad wasn't too impressed with doc's diagnosis, and promptly insisted that his foot was indeed broken and forced the doc to take x-rays. Which, much to my father's dismay, showed a perfectly shaped bone. No crack. Just gout. Never one to be deterred by technology, my father continued to insist that his foot was broken. Severely. Probably shattered to miniscule pieces that would never heal. Very persistant would probably be an understatement. The poor doc eventually acquiesced and put a plaster-of-paris cast on my dad's foot and sent him packing with a pain shot, a couple of voltaren bum-bullets, and a set of crutches. My dad left the office a very satisfied patient.

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Only to have the cast get so loose in the ensuing days that he took a saw to the cast and removed it himself when the "gout" swelling went down.

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Of course, we have never let him forget the episode. Often asking him about his "cracked ankle" and if he still gets any twinges. And the biggest mouth in ragging my dad has been my dear hubby, who thinks it's hilarious that my dad convinced the doc to put a cast on his not-broken foot.

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Fast forward to December 2007.

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Robin is playing soccer with the kids at the camp. Kicks his big toe against a fellow player and spends the rest of December and much of January limping around the farm. Is convinced he cracked his big toe. Finally gets better. Swelling goes down. And life at the Hillbilly Dump returns to normal.

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Until yesterday. Robin plays soccer again. Barefoot. Kicks big toe. Spends remainder of day feeling very sorry for himself. With wife pandering to him hand and, er, foot. Spends much of day sleeping on bed. In the foetal position. Is convinced he has cracked toe again. Words like "cracked" and "Old Sports Injury" and "definitely broken" get pandered about quite a lot. Wife whispers soothing words like "Aw, poor dear" and "Can I pass you the remote?" which, as we all know has Magical Powers.

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Poor Hubby eventually decides to take himself to the doctor this morning for a check on his toe. Is convinced he will come home with cast on foot, on crutches and hauling a dealer's stash of happy pills.

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Imagine his chagrin when he had to arrive back at work minus the cast, crutches and crack. Turns out the doc's diagnosis is officially Gout. With a subtitle of "perhaps old sports injury." Hubby is still sheepish. And my dad and I are still laughing. Loudly.

Blog Idol

You are all going to have to start asking for my autograph soon, people. Especially if you are of the Australian persuasion. Now, I know my blog has spurred me on to an almost-overnight-sensation status type of infamous notoriety and all (snigger snigger snort snort) , but this event even defied my bloggy logic, y'all. Because on Thursday morning I was merrily making myself a cuppa in the kitchen here at work when my cellphone rang. The screen displayed a cryptic "Caller Unknown" message. So I gave the cursory, "Hello, Char speaking"-type answer. To which I heard the magic words:-

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"Hallo, is that Chaaa?" (Think heavy Ozz accent)

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"Yes, this is me!"

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Would you know it - it was Campo from Brisbane's best radio station: 97.3FM and he wanted to chat to ME! I know! Talk about booty-shaking excitement! He phoned me because I'd emailed him after you all recommended your fave radio stations, asking him to play a song or two for my cousin and his wife, who live in Brisbane. How awesome is that? He phoned me! All the way from Brisbane! And he chatted to me for about five minutes, asking how I'd heard about his radio station, and I could answer "why, from my blog, kind sir!" Not really that formal, but you know what I mean. And so he asked about South Africa, and when I'd be coming to Australia for a visit, and if I would be a guest on his show and would I please marry him... just kidding.

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I know.

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Instant Fame can be a very heady experience.

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So, a very special G'Day to all of my Ozzie readers out there. Krikey! I love you, mate(s). And I owe all of my instant fame to you. [Insert Queen Elizabeth-type vague wave here]

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Oh, and if you happened to hear a very squeaky weird-accented person babbling on the radio on Thursday afternoon Ozzie time, um, yes, that was probably me.

Hillbilly Baxter

Remember this cute pic I posted a while ago? Notice how fluffy and clean he is? Err, yes, I know he's gorgeous, but I'm actually referring to Baxter, the corgy. Snigger snigger!

Mmmm... Clearly, he enjoys playing in the garden.

Now look how dirty he is!

Even the corgies are turning into Hillbillies. It comes with the territory and nobody is immune. I'm not entirely sure it isn't catching over cyber-space. Let this be your warning then.

Achtung Baby! Hillbillies lurking.

Bugged

The bugs in South Africa don't play.

They mean business.

And this bite is already a few days old.

Cycle Day 10

So, yesterday I took my last fertomid for this cycle. That means that now we play the waiting, hoping, praying, begging and pleading two week wait game. And only then we'll know if we need to begin again with the Dragon Pills.

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I'm trying so hard to "just relax" and not think about it too much. Which we all know is about as likely as me falling pregnant without intervention.

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But "just relaxing" has the added bonus of making you worry even more if you're still thinking about it and not "just relaxing". It's a vicious cycle. Literally. Just ask My Hubby Who Tells Me I'm Suffering From Sense of Humour Failure.

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Other than that I am actually quite surprised (and my hubby is VERY RELIEVED!) that this new brand of Dragon Pills hasn't had very many side-effects. Like, say, beating my hubby to a pulp. That's a nasty side-effect and one my hubby is quite happy to have avoided so far. Of course, if you overlook the bloatiness and the snappiness, then, well, side-effects this cycle = nil. Which is either FANTASTIC! or it makes me wonder if I'm not popping placebos? Mmmm... Maybe the doc just wants me back in his office for another prescription? And a peep show while he's at it. Just kidding.

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Only time will tell.

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In the meantime, help me think up some useful activities to fill my two-week-and-a-bit wait if you don't mind? I am now on Cycle Day 10. So, still 18 days to go (if this were a normal abnormal cycle for me, then 18 days is just a big fat guess though) before we will know if this cycle is successful. In which time quite a bit of hanky-panky needs to take place. If you know what I'm saying. And, what with all of the snappiness, that's also about as hard to do as, well, falling pregnant.

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And that's about all I have to say about that.

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That and oh where oh where is a Starbucks when you need one?

Like a duck to water

It hasn't been without some strategic complaining throwing a few tantrums feigning life threatening illness some much needed self-discipline that I've been swimming every day.

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But, as is evident in picture below, once I'm in the water, I'm actually surprisingly happy.

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Note to self - next time I must submerge my arms so that I can claim that it was the water warping the image and making me look fat.

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And now for the grand total of what I swam last week!

Be prepared to be amazed.

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Day 1: 6 lengths

Day 2: 8 lengths

Day 3: 12 lengths

Day 4: 14 lengths

Day 5: 14 lengths

Total: 54 lengths x 25 metres per length = 1350 metres, or 1.35 kilometres (that's about 0.83 miles or 1476.3 yards). Which basically means that I swam friggin far. With thanks in part to my newly acquired floating devices, a.k.a. Pammy and Dolly.

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And then, yesterday I swam, wait for it, twenty lengths, y'all! Ta-wenty. Which means that last night I could enjoy a packet of Lays Sour Cream and Chives guiltfree. Well, almost. Seeing as I shouldn't really be eating rubbish when I'm on the Dragon Pills. Eish. It's hard enough just staying as "normal as possible" during the treatment cycle, without still avoiding all the yummy stuff. But, flingdingit, I may as well just knuckle down and look after myself properly, right? OK, so no more crisps. Sob!

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No wonder these pills make you ratty.

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P.S. Thanks everyone for your kind words to my previous post. That's what makes blogging so awesome. Comments = Opium of The Bloggers and all of that. Especially when they're from well-wishing people who are wearing a Been There Done That T-shirt. It means more than you know to have a few people sitting in the stands cheering us on. I will keep you all updated.

I'm a sucker for punishment

Apparently, the allure of giving fertility treatments one last try proved too tempting for my restraint. I decided to take another trip to my doctor here in Dundee to see if he could give me some Dragon Pills (a.k.a. Clomiphene Citrate) just to give this Wishing For A Baby thing one last chance. I haven't touched a fertility pill for over a year now. But apparently it's not quite out of my system - this silly desire to have a baby of my own. So, I took the plunge. Bought another ticket for that roller-coaster ride that is The Pursuit of Motherhood. I've really been trying to move on. Been doing all sorts of things to try to make life as yummy as possible, if it meant that life would never include a baby of my own. Because, as I've told you all a gazillion times before already - "if this is my lot, then I may as well be happy with it, right?" Wrong. Been there, done that, can't let go of this desire of mine to be a mother. And I really did try to stop thinking about it, dwelling on it, et cetera. And the ticking of my biological clock in my ears just won't shut up either. It keeps saying to me "maybe you should just give it one last bash, before your eggs really are all dried up and biltong-like. And then you will NEVER have the opportunity to just try one last time. Because by then it will just be too late."
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Ugghhh...
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I so did NOT want to be barking up this tree again. But here I am. I remembered a post that Tertia did about giving up. And I've read it so often I can almost quote it word for word. And for a while I thought we'd made the right decision. For my sanity's sake. But I kept stepping on my broken dreams with bare feet and, believe it or not, it still hurts.
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So, two days ago I made another trip into town to go see my doctor. Incidentally, he's the same doctor who removed my stitches after my renovations. So, the first thing he asked me when he saw me was how the "ladies" were doing! haha! I told him really good. As was evident in the slightly clingy shirt I was wearing that day. He asked if he could see, and, never one to shy away from sharing my bounty with anyone, I promptly removed my shirt and lifted my boozie-hanger ever-so-slightly so he could see how well my wounds were healing. All very clinical-like. Promise. No hokey pokey funny business. Very scientific. But even Doctors can blush. Anyhoo... I explained the whole doo-dah-please-give-me-a-chance-at-being-a-mommy-story, and he said, no-problemo, and I said thank-you-very-much-kind-sir and off he went to find me some Dragon Pills. He handed them to me with a flourish and a wink and a three month prescription was mine for the taking, for FREE! Never underestimate the power of My Weapons of Mass Distraction. And that's all I have to say about that.

So, now I have three months worth of Dragon Pills. And another three months of Hoping. Please Hope with me? I am so determined not to be negative about this round of torture treatment, because, after all, I asked for it. And I really want it to work.

I took the very first pill in this month's course just this morning. And boy oh boy, they are already working. I am already bloaty, have ringing ears and a slight propensity for over-exaggeration. Oh wait, that's normal is it? Well, let's just say that I'm also already verging on emotional snappiness. That's just one of the other delightful side-effects of clomiphene citrate. Please exercise extreme caution when approaching this infertile right now. Don't tell me I never warned you.

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So, guys, here we go. Are you ready for the ride?

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