Qbert

Meet Qbert. Baron and I spent a lovely afternoon poking holes in poor Qbert. Seriously, 3 hours of learning how to inject myself with needles. I will be injecting myself (or having Baron inject me) for oh... if things go well, approx 4-5 weeks. It will start in less than a month, and I'm panicked. Sorry I didn't call anyone after class, I'm drained.

Project Bindle has begun, I wrote a check for almost $8000, learned how to jab myself with a needle, I'm picking up my meds on Saturday (another $4000)- now we just need to cross our fingers and hang on for the roller coast ride.

I hate this. I hate feeling so out of control, so vulnerable, and so overwhelmed. There were 3 other couples in the class and when the nurse started talking about everyone's medication regiment, I was the only one on 5 different medications, everyone else only had 2 or 3. The nurse kept pointing out everything that would be "different" about my cycle. Five minutes in to the class I almost lost it. Tears welling up in my eyes as she's explaining how I'm the only one on 2 different forms of FSH. I'm the only one on a Lupron cycle, blah, blah, blah. It wasn't the nurse's fault, she was very nice about it and explained that about half their patients are on the same course of meds, etc, etc. Didn't help. I still felt old, defective, damaged.

And I only brought 1 orange. Everyone else brought 2. It made me feel stupid. Like I failed the preparedness portion of the test. I won't be a good mother, because it didn't occur to me that I should bring 2 oranges to the injectibles class. I could feel the shame color my face crimson when I saw everyone had 2, but we only had lonely Qbert. How screwed up is that? They said to bring an orange, and I brought one. Yes, we only needed 1 - even practicing all afternoon, we only needed the one orange - it's not like we went all Hellraiser/Pinhead on Qbert. But that's not the point. I hate feeling like the odd duck. It sounds ridiculous, but there you have it. I feel like I failed because I brought one perfect orange. I spent 15 mins trying to pick out the right one in the grocery store, and it just never dawned on me to bring two.

On a good note, Baron handled it much better than I thought he would. We've been fighting all week - mostly because he's making jokes about it, and I'm scared out of my mind. And everyone knows, a scared Moosh is a bitchy Moosh! When he saw all of the different medications, and that he only has to give me the one medication toward the end of the process (only one is intramuscular, the rest are subcutaneous) he relaxed, and didn't look like he was going to pass out when practicing on Qbert (mostly. He did go a little pale, but I was expecting worse).

Wow, guess I'm just rambling. That's the update. Push came to shove, and I'm scared out of my freakin' mind. I can try to paint a pretty face on it, it's all for the best, it's better to try than not, no regrets - but it still is nerve wracking. All I keep thinking is - $15,000 to $20,000, major medical intervention, and it's all for a 1 in 12 chance *if* I manage to get pregnant. I am out of my effin gourd going through this. I should have just spent the money on new floors and getting the bathroom fixed.

If I don't call, or freeze up when the subject comes up, know it's not you. It's me. I'm trying to keep the house afloat, Baron's income is still unpredictable, I'm very worried about my job, and I'm spending every last dime we have on a dream. I'm flying by the seat of my pants, and I'm a planner and a control freak. This isn't good for me. I'm fighting back tears of panic almost every second of the day, and trying not to let anyone see the chinks in the armor. But I'll work my way out of it, starting with drinks with two of my favorite people on Friday!