Pontificum Scriblerus

Again, I know sex sells, but this is not just sex selling, it's somewhat disturbing. Actually, Spain was full of these GEMS of perfume and other commercials that are just like, que?? Not particularly sexy, but definitely weird: or this, which is sexy, with a like a... we're not really sexy, we're silly... touch at the end. What is it a commercial of? I thought perfume, but now I think a watch: or this one!! woweee, I need a ciggie. We don't get this kind of stuff on this side of the puddle...

Well, I'm back in the country of the proud Basques, and I even took some very touristical photos of green mountains and greener seascapes with my awesome camera, but that will have to be a different post. Currently, I'm contemplating the whole pregnancy ordeal. My conclusion: the whole thing is very odd. I've done a brief inventory of all the changes I have gone through so far, and this is what I have noted, in no particular order: a) my breasteses are of unsafe proportions and seem to have no inkling of stopping their ever-expansion. I fear for the safety of others; I think I am liable to turn around and give some kid a black eye. I have been eyeing burlap sacks, and wondering what they would feel like on my skin with an underwire. b) I pee a lot. c) Being hungry makes me nauseous. Eating makes me nauseous. As a sublist, here is a brief summary of things that make me nauseous: 1) the smell of EVOO and garlic 2) car rides 3) perfume 4) soap that's ...

My primary care doctor, whom I've been visiting for the past (scary number) of years, was somehow an important figure in me setting my mind on, making my way to, and then through, medical school. When he found out that I was applying, he slugged me on the shoulder and said, "Don't listen to anyone. Don't listen to those old doctors who say things aren't what they used to be. Listen to me. I'm a young doctor. Not a day goes by that I don't think how happy I am to be a doctor." When I got into medical school, he shook my hand, and said "Welcome to the club!" and immediately stopped charging me copay - still doesn't charge me, to this day. He has four children - one time, when I was worried about some finding, he called with results late on a Friday night, and said, "Listen, I have all these children, I never get to spend time with my wife, and we're about to go out to dinner - alone - but I couldn't go and enjoy meyself unl...

So, yes, I did have a positive test on my hands, but when I used the phrase, "Now that I'm pregnant," my husband stopped in his tracks, and gave me the "look" that said "don't get your hopes up." I did still have to wait nearly 48 hours for the blood test. That was just not going to happen. The next day, I phoned Fruitless and Fabulous, and fooled everybody by telling them that I wouldn't be around on the day my blood test was due, and I needed it drawn that day. Longest 3 hours of my life! HCG = 119. Magic number!

That was the approximate email my mom got on October 27th. But let me start from the beginning. We left off where I had an IUI, this time, with a very pleasant nurse practitioner - yes, yet another individual to get upclose and personal with my hooha. At that time, I was told I only have 1 follicle, and although my husband's sample was "the best sample ever," and my endometrial lining looked "juicy," I was not optimistic, and sort of breezed through the IUI with very little expectations. I then proceeded to spend the next week and a half searching for other area fertility clinics, because I said, I swear, once this cycle doesn't work, I'm done with Fruitless and Fabulous! I wasn't even going to use any peesticks, because what's the point of getting all worked up and disappointed, but on Monday, October 26th, what the hell. It was a long shitty day, and I was tired, and the stick was there. My plan was to do it covertly so as to save myself the...

I really hated my OB/Gyn rotation as a medical student. I thought, nothing good can come of so much estrogen in one place, both flowing from the patients and oozing from the doctors and nurses, all of whom are women except for a notable few. One of the notable few was the chief resident - what the hell was his name? - who was like a bossy important solitary rooster among many clucking hens. He was very handsome, and very aware of that. I really hated that rotation. I've always found the whole conception/birthing process extremely embarrassing and unjust - and still do, to some degree. I mean, women are at risk for so many things with childbearing, from stretch marks and weight gain to liver toxemia, heart failure and death, for example, and all just for fulfilling their biological purpose! Not to mention, starting at the moment that second pink line appears on the peestick in your hand, you cease to be yourself, becoming instead a factory, a physiological machine, a vessel wit...

We have been robbed of summer by psychotic weather that made June into November, and now, we're being robbed of beautiful yellow and gold fall by bipolar weather this time: can't decide between hot or cold, sun or snow. My mind and body are thoroughly confused by what's going on, and it must be exhausting because, lord, am I tired. So, I've developed a new routine. When I get home, nay, when I drag myself from car to elevator and ride up to the 3rd floor, and then drag myself down the impossibly long hallway across the threshold and into the apartment, the sequence goes something like this: I kick off shoes, and make a beeline for the couch on a good day, and straight into bed for a deeper nap on a bad day. Usually, I fall asleep immediately, and for at least an hour, and wake up completely disoriented on account of the cat or the husband confusedly pondering, poking and/or pawing my sleeping mass. Then, typically, I watch the husband make a meal from the couch, con...