If You Can't Say Anything Nice...

Anyway, that's why I haven't been posting.

Not much going on in baby-making land. Peeing on OPKs. Planning on an IUI this month, not feeling terribly optimistic about the whole thing. Wondering how long I should keep this up before admitting that it's not going to happen short of IVF (if at all). Dr. Baby Factory says 1-4 more cycles, given the severity of my endometriosis.

(Dammit, why doesn't spell check know "endometriosis"? Screw you, spell check.)

Speaking of endo, last week was a particularly unpleasant edition of GI/Endo Badness. At least I have visible wounds to show for it this time -- after the first day stuck in bed groaning, I took a bunch of the painkillers I use for migraines. (They don't make the GI pain go away, but they do make it seem like it's happening to somebody else. Sometimes they let me sleep a little, too.) Then I decided I could go to the bathroom -- a whopping 10 foot walk -- by myself, which was fine until I was on the toilet and the visual world was replaced by thickening clouds of very coarse static. I'd never noticed how LOUD the bathroom lights were. It would have been okay if I'd had the sense to get off the toilet and onto the floor, as I had that afternoon when the same thing had happened -- orthostatic hypotension is a common side effect of taking a handful of those little pills.

But lying on the bathroom floor sucks, I thought, if one can be said to "think" with so little blood in one's brain. I bet I can make it back to bed if I run.

I am a genius.

I'm not sure if I did run, as the next thing I was aware of following a period of blackness was a lot of furniture hitting my face. Then Sugar was standing over me in the living room, saying she would help me to bed but that I needed to decide first whether I wanted my pants on or off, because halfway wasn't working very well.

I am now the proud owner of a subtly glamorous black eye.

But you should see the bookcase.