moosh in indy.

The Lupron is gone.

I’m back to being a good old fashioned wench one regular week out of the month just like the stereotype dictates.

This past week has been the week of babies 2010. Four of my friends had them, one of them had two at once. I look at their pictures, those snuzzly little babies wrapped up in white cotton all yawny and warm. I found out four more of my friends are pregnant with them and one of them has two where she thought there was only one. All four of the friends are darlings with whom I have discussed the crappy road of infertility and miscarriage.

I am so relieved they got their babies.

I am even more relieved that I am at peace with not getting mine.

Now I’m not saying it’s never going to happen or that I’m immune to the smell of new babies. But I have spent the last two months oblivious to pregnancy math and it’s been WONDERFUL.

I’m happy being the moosh family three. I’m happy to wake up on Wednesday and know that it’s just Wednesday. Not three days before I ovulate and seven days after LMP and nine months from now is November.

I like it just being Wednesday.

I like our playroom being the playroom. Not the playroom that will someday be the nursery.

I liked telling the girl who did my hair last night that Addie is my sidekick and that she’s everything I could have ever wanted in something that popped out from my nether regions.

What I haven’t told anyone about the picture I took of Emily when she first held her baby was that in that moment I realized that if that moment never happened for me again? I would be okay with it.

100%.

I tried to fight it, a natural reaction after fighting so hard for a baby for years. But instead I let it wash over me and appreciated being there with Emily in that moment even more.

I like that when I hear of a new pregnancy I get excited, the way people should get when they hear of a new pregnancy. With hushed whispers and squees, maybe even some jumping up and down. I don’t get angry or bitter or immediately start thinking “WHY HER AND NOT ME?”

To those of you who are left without your babies? My heart knows the ache your heart feels when you get that negative on a pregnancy test. I hope you get your babies, even if it’s not your body that gives them to you.

I am done being bitter. I am done being angry.

All these new babies need to come into a world where love outshines jealousy. And gratitude squelches bitterness and anger.

I am finally there.

And I like it.

For the last several months I have undergone Lupron therapy as a followup to a a laparoscopy I had back in June for infertility/endometriosis.

Knowing what I know now I would have never agreed to the Lupron therapy. I knew that there was a definite possibility of emotional/mental side effects which is why I chose to do the month to month shot, in case something went wrong I could stop after the first shot.

I could handle the physical side effects of Lupron without much trouble, who doesn’t enjoy a good hot flash now and then? But the feelings that came with Lupron were so subtle that I didn’t even realize what had happened to me until the drug had swallowed me into a black inky devastating fog, and by then it was too late.

To put it mildly Lupron has destroyed every aspect of my life in one way or another.

I would never suggest Lupron to anyone if they had any another option of treatment. Especially someone who has been dealt the depression card.

I feel that the effects have finally begun to wear off, although I know I’m still not 100% myself. Those closest to me noticed a difference, that I wasn’t myself. And those who know the me who suffers from depression knew that the Casey that sat in front of them was even worse off than Casey with just depression. And me with ‘just’ depression is bad enough.

I am ashamed that I withheld and avoided friendships because of how the Lupron made me feel. I was not the mom Addie deserved while on this medication. And as far as being a wife? Fail. Fail. Utter epic fail. To go back and say “Oh sorry I’ve ignored you for the last few months, it was the medication overtaking my life.” seems like such a lame excuse. But when I look back over the last five months? I was simply an empty shell walking around, void of any and all hope. When I looked in the mirror I saw nothing. Nothing worth fighting for, nothing worth loving, nothing worth living for.

I tried faking it. Pushing through with a smile. For the most part it was all a lie.

I wish I could have those months back. I know I wanted a baby, and was ready to do almost anything to get one, but knowing what I know now? Babies can wait, babies can come other ways, babies aren’t necessarily worth risking your entire life for. (Coming from the lady who tried to kill herself while seven months pregnant? I know what I’m talking about.)

I know medication affects so many people in so many different ways, I also know a lot of you read my blog because you see some part of you in some part of me. And the part of me that has been beat by this medication says to that part of you, don’t risk it.

I almost lost it all in several different ways and all I have to show for it is a pit in my stomach and a black fog over the last five months.

I haven’t been a good friend (or even human being) the past few months, I was so concerned with making it out the other side of this in one piece. To those of you who have stuck it out with me? Thank you. Thank you a thousand times over. To those of you I lost or hurt? This is my apology, I’m so sorry.

I move into my house on Tuesday. A fitting new start to the old me that is coming back around.

I’ve missed me horribly.

Hi there. This is Casey’s right buttock.

How are you? Me? I’m feeling a little cheeky.

It’s not everyday that I get to be the most expensive body part. I mean, under most circumstances I have to share equal glory with lefty over there. BUT NOT TODAY.

I’m going to be telling you about the money shot I got today because frankly Casey is so darn grumpy it’s actually comical and not entirely safe for her to be set loose on unassuming people at this moment in time. (Her words, not mine.)

Want to know why she’s grumpy?

Yeah. When you can actually SEE the angle of the sharpest part of the needle? Yeah.

It was really big with really thick goopy crap inside so it took awhile to unload all the goods. It has actually left the rest of Casey’s body a pretty weird kind of sore and in a general state of ticked offedness but to make matters worse bellybutton had to get in on the “annoy the everloving crap out of Casey” act too and GET INFECTED.

Drama button.

Yeah, so when bellybutton was sodomized last month they stitched her shut a layer down and glued the top layer shut.

Well the stitches aren’t dissolving but instead trying to work their way out of the incision.

Really it’s just a party in Casey’s general abdominal area which Casey never really asked for or expected.

At the doctors office Casey told the nurse she needed to get a shot of the money shot. The nurse being a sweet lady was trying really hard to keep her from seeing JUST HOW LARGE the needle was that was about to be used.

“Uh, are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, it really is for the greater good. Besides, it’s not very often I get to have something worth more than my car shoved into my butt. I’d like to document that.”

Needless to say after Casey saw the needle she was lucky to even remain upright, let alone remember how to operate a camera.

Thankfully the literature that accompanies a Lupron Depot shot is so completely ridiculous that Casey was able to channel her anger to this image instead of all the searing pain going on in our respective pants.

REALLY?

WITH THE SMILING LADY ON A BIG OLD SHOT THAT GOES INTO MY BUTT?

REALLY?

Dear Maker of Lupron Depot,

Save the money on the cute picture with the model I want to punch, fancy package inserts and instead enclose a $5 gift card to Baskin Robbins.

Thank you,

Platinum Cheeked Casey

(It’s time to use your imagination again! I had a photo of me similar to the one on the Lupron Depot package with me uh, doing something unsavory with my middle finger. I felt bad about it so I didn’t post it. BUT IT WOULD HAVE BEEN FUNNY! Alas those darn morals won out yet again.)

Sit right down folks because I’m about to get all TMI on you (seriously, again.)

I have found that going through this kerfuffle to make moosh 2.0 has been a blessing in disguise.

I was so focused on getting that baby in me and getting it out of me that I failed to realize just how messed up my body had become. I ignored screaming signs and symptoms that something really was wrong, infertility was just a side effect and the only thing that opened my eyes to just how out of control my insides were.

When I was pregnant in the beginning, barfing over a dozen times a day, I figured “this is morning sickness, this is what so many people talk about, why there is an entire stereotype around it.”

Barfing 12 times a day is NOT normal. But I didn’t want to look like a complainer for mentioning it to anyone else.

For the last 12 years (gah, 12 years) I figured it was perfectly normal to double over in cramps each month, take vicodin for them and miss days of work due to crippling pain associated with my period. All those Midol commercials must have been talking about what I was going through, I was just a wimp and needed prescription drugs and a day off to make it through.

WRONG.

I spent all of BlogHer on my period. (TMI ALERT TMI ALERT) It wasn’t just a pretend period either. It was a burn through super tampons and overnight pad in less that four hours period.

I didn’t feel a thing.

Not a cramp.

Not a twinge.

Not an ache.

You have no idea how pissed I am that I spent one week every month for pretty much the last decade in pain, no one ever even suggested endometriosis as a possibility. I’m pissed that I never spoke up for myself and said “YOU KNOW WHAT DOCTOR? MY PERIOD HURTS REALLY BAD AND I’M SICK OF IT. SOMETHING IS WRONG, I KNOW IT.”

I’m not going bald anymore, I sleep better, my emotions are in check, I’ve lost 9 pounds, I don’t retain water like I used to, I don’t get headaches like I used to, I don’t have constant dull stabbing pains in my abdomen, my depression is better, MY SKIN IS BETTER and SWEET NAKED ANGEL BABIES IN HEAVEN I DON’T HAVE MENSTRUAL CRAMPS ANYMORE.

Now I’m not saying that if you have the above symptoms you too can be magically healed by bellybutton sodomy. But I can say that if you chronically don’t feel good? TALK UNTIL SOMEONE LISTENS.

Being on the panel with other bloggers who write about their diseases opened my eyes, even patients who KNOW something is wrong, who KNOW what is right and best for them can back down when someone in a white coat acts as if they know our bodies better than we do.

I’m ashamed that I’m the one that said “If someone says they’re not doing well, listen.” and yet I let doctors tell me what was best for me for years, when it was me that had to live in my wonky body.

Being healthy and having control of my body for the first time in years feels spectacular.

SO THIS IS WHAT BEING A HUMAN IS SUPPOSED TO FEEL LIKE! IT DOESN’T SUCK!

Suddenly I’m not so worried about getting a baby in there, I want to see what this body can do when it’s not overproducing this, underproducing that and going bat crap crazy over there.

I angered some people when I mentioned that the follow up shots to my surgery were not being covered by my insurance. (Which they are now FTW!) While I can see how some people don’t feel infertility a valid medical concern worthy of coverage by a health plan, I hope they can understand that while my journey began to get pregnant, it has since turned into a journey to reclaim my body. To have it back in working order. Had I never gone it with the intention of getting pregnant I would have never come to where I am at today. And today? I feel good.

If $6K worth of shots will keep me in working order and preserve the benefits of a $17K surgery, why not cover them? Why run the risk of my symptoms returning resulting in more costly doctor visits and perhaps another costly surgery?

When I was pregnant my insurance refused to cover more than 21 anti emetic (anti barf my brains out) pills in a 30 day period. But they would cover my weekly trips to the ER to get IV fluids and a shot of the same anti emetic drug at five times the cost of giving me enough pills in the first place.

So many plans refuse to cover dental care. Having a $100 cleaning every six months is way cheaper than going without for five years and ending up with a $4K dental bill.

I am a firm believer that taking care of yourself is your biggest responsibility when it comes to your health. But there are times when diet, 64 ounces of water, exercise and getting enough rest aren’t enough.

This is where our healthcare system is failing so many of us.

I just want to be able to go to the doctor when chicken soup and orange juice fails me.

Not have to wait until I’m so sick that I require a hospital stay and perhaps even surgery to get better.

Is that too much to ask?

So. Lupron. Heard of it?

If not, allow me to school you.

Lupron is a shot that sends its victim patient into medical menopause.

Nothing like medical menopause at 27 years old.

I was becoming okay with the idea of a big shot to send me into crazy until I found out how much it was.

If a pharmacists gives you a serious look and says, “We don’t carry that in the pharmacy because it’s just too expensive.” what number pops into your head? $500 popped into mine.

I went home to research this overly expensive shot that would assure me weeks of hot flashes in the middle of an Indiana summer.

What I found was this.

That’s per shot people. PER SHOT. And I need three.

Apparently there is an entire “LUPRON DEPARTMENT” where they take care of insurance billing and what not.

I’ll bet there’s not many of you who have ever had a medication that had an entire department dedicated to it.

After finding out about LupronLand and realizing that a TWO THOUSAND DOLLAR SHOT was not going to make me rich, skinny or beautiful I did what any emotional eater would do.

I got creative.

That right there is a grilled peanut butter, chocolate and marshmallow sandwich. And it was my lunch.

Before visiting LupronLand I have one minor thing to get out of the way. I’ll will be referring to it as “that thing in Chicago” so as not to bother those who are unable to make it to “that thing in Chicago.”

As of this moment Canada will not let Mr. Lady leave (for those of you who don’t know, I am considered Mr. Lady Light. All the awesome without the swears, body piercings or liquor consumption) And if Canada continues to hold Mr. Lady hostage I will be filling in as moderator at the “PatientBloggers – You Are Not Your Disease, You Just Blog About It” panel at “that thing in Chicago.” I’ll be sharing the stage with three lovelies in the blogging world, Loolwa, Kerri and Jenni. If you’ll be at “that thing in Chicago” it will be the third session on Friday from 2:45-4:00 pm.

Mr. Lady hand picked me to fill in for her in case she couldn’t make it. At first I though that I would never fit on a panel about illness blogging. (Unless the illness was an intense addiction to SYTCYD.) But then I realized I write about my personal health a lot on here. Depression. Infertility. RAINBOWS GALORE MOST DAYS.

It wasn’t until I was recovering from my surgery a few weeks ago that I went through and tagged all of my infertility posts as such.

I write about my bunk lady parts a lot. Like a lot a lot. Thanks for coming back despite the fact.

I figured the least I could do to thank you for all of your support and patience with me and my uterus I’d introduce you to the little wench organ. (I’m inserting it small. As a favor to you eating your grilled peanut butter, chocolate and marshmallow sandwiches. If you really want to see her? CLICK IT! IT EVEN HAS WITTY COMMENTARY FROM YOURS TRULY!)

So yes. There it is.

Let’s run down the optimistic list of why it is awesome to be infertile.

• I get to have pictures of my uterus.
• I get to have x-ray pictures of my uterus.
• We don’t have to use condoms.
• DRGGZ!
• I get to have shots that cost more per ounce than liquid gold.
• Itchy glued on scabs. (seriously? The glue they used to glue me shut with over three weeks ago? WILL NOT COME OFF.)

Now if you’ll excuse me. There is a grilled peanut butter sandwich calling my name…

OH! And I got my hairs painted!

Okay. Sandwich. BAI!

(Oh, P.S. Will you be at “that thing in Chicago?” Tell me if you are! Or just, uh, tell me what you had for breakfast if you won’t be able to be there. *ahem*)

Tiny Gramma told me one night a few months ago while I was sobbing into the phone “I don’t know why I was a rabbit and you ended up a panda.”

If you’ve ever watched Planet Earth (which if you haven’t you have no business being on any sort of technology whatsoever) you’ll know that pandas are like the worlds most unluckiest pro-creators despite being devastatingly cute. (Much like me in both respects.) Why can’t cicadas or sloths have crappy odds at procreating? Because I’ve seen sloths and I’ve seen cicadas and trust me the world needs no more of either.

In the passion and fury of my post yesterday where I segued into the whole infertility thing without meaning to I didn’t really acknowledge that I live in two different infertile worlds.

One is online. Where people understand. People get it. People talk about it. And the people who end up pregnant understand how much it means to me when they take the time to tell me before it hits the twitter fan. For those of you who have done that for me? A thousand fuzzy kisses (uh, yeah. I need to pluck a little more.)

The other world is what surrounds me on a daily basis. I am a member of a church that pretty much puts Catholics to shame when it comes to multiplying and replenishing the Earth, especially when we have the option of using birth control. (And no, we’re not told to make dozens of babies. Families are just really really important to us, so a lot of LDS people choose to have a lot of babies before they turn thirty. Personal choice. Not religious decree.)

I have watched…wait for it…over 60 pregnancies in the last three years since moving to Indiana. These are just people that live by me.

In the past week I have had three pregnancies made known to me from people that are in my congregation. That is not counting the previous two that already existed or the other two that just completed their nine month run. I have watched at least a dozen women be pregnant twice since living here and just this week I have now seen someone pregnant three different times within three years. After some of your confessions yesterday I don’t feel so creepy that I’ve kept count.

Outside the stereotypes of my religion I am abnormal. I was married just after my 18th birthday (and am enjoying it immensely thank you very much,) had a child at 22 and sometimes desperately want another before I turn 30.

Inside the stereotypes of my religion I am abnormal. I have been married for eight years and yet I only have one child.

My mom didn’t even have me until she was 32.

I find myself wondering so often “Why am I so worried about this? Is it because I can’t? Is it because the people around me are procreating at breakneck speed? I’m only 27 followed closely by OHMYGOSHIAMALMOSTTHIRTY.”

I’m very conflicted about being stuck between the “normalities” of these two very different worlds. I’d like to just be comfortable in my own little world. But there’s not enough medication for me to do that just yet.

Two of my closest friends are having babies before July is over. I have received news of other pregnancies of Internet/IRL friends as well, all of them giving me hope that one day it will happen for me. And for their miracles I can’t thank Heavenly Father enough for answering the prayers I’ve poured out in their behalf.

Sometimes my happiness for others is diminished by the irresponsibility, disrespect or overwhelmingness of it all.

(Which BTW? Dr. SallyForth? My old OB had the option of different appointment availability for infertility patients so I never had to enter his office face to belly with a room full of unwed pregnant teenagers. You *may* want to look into that.)

God doesn’t need/want me pregnant right now. For whatever reason. Today I’m okay with this. Tomorrow could be different.

But no matter what? If you have a little floater down there in your uterus? I want to know about it. And I want to know how I can help.

I just hope you can understand that some days are better than others.

I’m learning how to deal with this.

And sometimes it’s just very very confusing.

Please don’t take the panda personally.

The day is coming that I will hurt you. Or offend you.

Consider this your warning as I am just now beginning to acknowledge that this is my curse/gift.

I hurt people unintentionally. A lot. When I think I’m being funny, or ironic, or helpful it turns out that I’m only causing another person grief and heartache. I’d like to say it’s only happened once. But it’s happend a lot. Everytime I learn. But I wish I could have learned enough the first time to keep it from happening ever again.

But alas every person is different.

Therefore falling on my face each time is a wretchedly new experience.

And no matter how things are resolved I always feel as though I have this poorly patched crack that everyone is watching, waiting for it to fall apart again.

There was a time I was spiteful, vengeful and just plain mean. I hurt people and I hurt them on purpose, I didn’t care.

(I call this era B.C., or “before Cody”)

But P.C. (post Cody) I’m a little more human. And have become more and more so as the years have gone by. I have sought out those who I was nasty to in my B.C. life and offered apologies. People I hurt deserved them and I knew that I needed to come clean to be able to start anew.

And yet here I am. Still hurting people when I don’t mean to.

I have been very ugly in the past year about pregnancy. It has been brought to my attention multiple times. And everytime I feel horrible. But to everyone I hurt? It’s my own thing. It’s nothing against you. And I’m sorry that I lashed out at you the way I did.

I’m on a very confusing road and somedays are worse than others. I’m sorry if I cross paths with you on those bad days. But I promise. It’s me. Not you. And I am getting better.

In May I wrote a fairly ugly post about infertility. One of the uglier ones I’ve written. But it got all of that ugliness out of me and put it out there on display. And I’ve felt much better since. It hurts when people say “I’m pregnant, but I was afraid to tell you.” I don’t even know why that hurts. But it does. My own personal battles aren’t going to leave me any less happy for you. I want you to enjoy your pregnancy. I want to know about your heartburn and vomit. Really.

What hurts more is when I find out through the grapevine. It is obvious that I am having severe problems conceiving. People around me know that. In many situations I feel like the big giant infertile elephant in a room full of fluffy humpy bunnies. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it when someone admits to me that they are pregnant, before the word hits the street. Call me selfish. But it helps a lot to be able to have that private moment with someone, to see how excited they are. To be excited with them. I’ve kept many secrets of pregnancies around me.

But when a new pregnancy is being discussed and the conversation shuts down as soon as I walk by? I feel as though my freak flag is flying. I’m not dumb. I know what you’re talking about.

To those of you who may have friends struggling with infertility that find themselves pregnant? Tell them. In person. On the phone. However you communicate the most naturally. Have them at the top of your list of people to tell. We can keep secrets. We want so desperately to be happy for you but it’s hard when we’re the last ones to know because you didn’t want to upset us.

When we take our kids to see fireworks we warn them that it is going to get loud so when the big booms do come, they don’t come as a surprise.

A lot of times we don’t tell our kids something before going into it for fear that we will scare them before anything even happens. Generally you don’t go to a mall walk your kid straight up to Santa and plunk them down in his lap. You warm them up to the idea. Let them get used to it.

This is longer than I wanted it to be. And I got off topic. Sorry.

I’m imperfect.

And I hate myself for that sometimes.

I hate that I can hurt other people so badly without meaning to.

I hate that I even have the capacity to hurt someone.

Especially those that mean the most to me.

HI HI HI!

So it’s been about two and a half days since my innards were spelunked and I currently feel as though there is a very full puce colored balloon in my tummy that just has to be full of very nasty noxious gut gas. Got a visual on that? Good.

Just imagine the worst gas of your life but not being able to get it out the front or the back.

(Which reminds me. What did the stomach say to the burp? Give up? “I’ll let you out the back if you go quietly.” HA!)

So far the shoulder pain that a lot of you warned me about hasn’t been much of a bother. Of course from the way my last post reads and the way a lot of my tweets have been sounding I’m not sure I’ve felt much of anything over the past 48 hours let alone been coherent enough to comprehend any of it.

So I hurt. A lot. But my spirits are spry as a spring chicken.

Know why?

Because I have an answer! A timeline! HURRAH!

Now if any of you want to fill in the blanks because you’ve had this happen to you as well I’d appreciate it. I’d go out googling it but last time I did that I found out about teratomas and OH MY GOSH my doctor pulled a teratoma out of a girl a few weeks ago that had AN EYELID WITH EYELASHES IN IT.

The plan is to shut down my reproductive parts for six months with some sort of shot. (I got this news from Cody, he said “it sounded like something like, uh, Dem-uh, I don’t remember but it’s a shot.“) Now I won’t get the official MEDICAL definition and description of what’s going to be next until my follow up appointment but I can tell you that I like that where Dr. SallyForth is going with this. To know that for six months I can just live my life, let my little uterus get her freaking act straight and then assault her like a rabbit in heat when all is healed and taken care of. (Did you get a good visual on that too? YOU’RE WELCOME!)

Things I’ve learned while being laid out and gassed up?

Daytime TV stinks.

Simply willing food to appear in front of you does not work.

Many many women have all sorts of nasty things done to their uteri.

AND?

It takes approximately 23 minutes for narcotics to hit my system and make me ten kind of floppy fingered fun.

mmm. breakfast. (and lunch, and ironically dinner too.)

hi hi hi!

I MAAADE IT!

my ugerus was in saaaad sorry shape but is almost all bethter now. neeesdels to say the goood drugcs have not left my ssystem and with binking being exhausign and lifing my head to find backspace nect to impossible typing is kind of abug fat joke.

But i had to say THAANNNK YOUUU to everyone for makeing me giggle and weke[[p dammit weep wih all of your supprot on teh twiters.

i hurt pretty bad. no sense in lying aboruht that. my anetsheisioloigrst was Hot. i wauss supposed to have some spry redhead lady with freckles and instelad i got dashingdocntor mcdashypants. he had sto see me pee in bag while i was all out and stuff. also szince i was om ny period someone else had to take off may grannie pannies. THE Y DIDN’t GIVE hEM ABACK! have yet to see if they arean on ebayy today. BIIDD HGIGH PEPOLE!

BEST NEWSAS EVER!>>??? i got to skop the lasf few days of my period with my cleanout!! OH WOWHICUPS HUUURT!

moosh 2.o is sitill like half a year awya. apparenlty there’s jthings jacked up in there thaft surgfury couldn’t fix.(EDNO MEtreIOSIS LIKE x 10.000! BOO!!)  more on that when i don’t feel like a swallowed a mylar balooomn.

xoxoxo

pazz the drugs pl.sz!

So I feel I’ve already leapt the most awkward hurdle of the next 24 hours.

I’ll just let you know that administering two pills per my ONE VAGINA involved some advanced yoga moves Wii Fit doesn’t even know about and a MacGyver rigged tampon.

*ahem*

My belly is marked, the winning submission was “Please leave cleaner than you found it.” followed quite closely by “I won’t hate you if you take out 10 lbs.”

(spelling on your belly is hard, yo.)

On a more serious note (meaning one that doesn’t involve my vagina or drugs in any direct way) back in February during the Coyote Ugly Bar Dancing Extravaganza Blissdom ‘09 I met a little lady with a Suhthin’ drawl named Rachel. Cute as a button I declared that we would be friends immediately. And so we were.

On the closing night of Blissdom, Rachel and I were at a GNO shindig where they gave out some lovely door prizes. When they announced that one of the giveaways was a lavender pearl set from Peachbutt Design Studio I believe my exact words were “SHUT UP.”

Rachel and I bonded over our mutual love of pearls and how fancy they make us feel.

Rachel’s name was picked first for the giveaway.

I watched her walk over and pick out the lovely pearl set.

“Good! I thought. They’re going to a PROPER pearl lover. The only place pearls truly belong.”

Then I watched as she walked towards me and shoved them into my hands.

(Totally awesome picture of both of us by mom-e-centric. But don’t look at us, look at the sentiment! OOH! SENTIMENT!)

The day after I arrived home from Blissdom I had my first official “infertility appointment” with my new doctor.

I wore my new pearls.

I have since worn them to every fertility related appointment since. I rolled them in my fingers during my ultrasound. I held tight do them during my hysterosalpingogram. Today will be no exception. Well, except that I can’t wear jewelry during surgery so my darling Ami will be wearing them for me in the waiting room. Also? I can’t wear makeup. Not even a dusting of powder or a smear of mascara. Boo.

I figure if the pearls started out their life already being payed forward twice after being handmade? There’s got to be something to that.

And you’d better believe I’ll be wearing them the day moosh 2.0 comes spewing forth from my loins.

Thank you for all your virtual hand holding. Britt had a request to see #caseysuterus as a trending topic on twitter today. If that really could happen? It would probably be the most awesome thing ever. (You know, next to shiny clean ovaries and what not.)

xoxo my lovelies.

(Oh, and P.S. to my little kid. Thanks for letting me take your Pooh Bear with me today. And no, they won’t actually tear my tummy open and yes I’ll ask for Hello Kitty band-aids and no, anesthesia is not the same as medistasia (medicine + Cinderella’s wicked stepsister.))

****

Oh! And while I’m off zzzzing why don’t you enter to win a bedtime kit worth over $250!

bai!