I just got back from my mini-vacation to Maine to visit my grandfather. It’s always a nice time, made especially for the ultimate combination: relaxation and over-eating. I managed to snap one picture with my phone:
Though I didn’t actually go in the lake (that would be too much exercise), I enjoyed the view. My husband and I did go down there once on the night of the 4th, enjoying the neighbors’ illegal firework display. This was the first trip to my grandfather’s house that I have been gluten- and sugar-free, which I knew would be a challenge. My grandfather’s wife, from Alabama, is a great cook, but was very understanding that I didn’t eat any of her desserts. And since I knew that avoiding coconut cream pie, pecan pie, brownies, and sugar cookies wouldn’t be easy, N kindly baked me two gluten-free, sugar-free desserts before we left: a “whoopie pie” cake, and coconut chocolate chip cookies. Both were very good. Of course, I didn’t take a picture of either one but if anyone wants the recipes, I can send you the links. The “chocolate” in the cookies was carob chips – a new item for me that we could only find at Whole Foods, but they were tasty.
Though I do have to say, there’s nothing like being completely gluttonous, eating every luxurious food in sight until you can’t breathe to motivate you to lose weight. Being gluten-free and sugar-free has not helped me lose weight at ALL. But then, I knew it wouldn’t. I know exactly how I need to lose weight. It’s a simple formula, of which exercise is the smallest part. I need to cut my portions in half, at least, stock up on veggies, and drink lots of water in between meals. It’s that simple. Why I haven’t just done it already, I’m not sure. Too much on my plate (literally). Too many “can’t”s in my brain, and I haven’t felt like I could take on another one. I can’t get pregnant, I can’t ovulate, I can’t just have sex to produce a baby like so many others, I can’t have gluten, I can’t have sugar, I can’t have more than a little dairy…and I can’t eat more than my husband does. I shouldn’t. At this point, stuffed full of cookies, I’m motivated. Let’s see if I can actually do this, and stop talking about it already.
In other news, I have successfully stabbed myself in the stomach three times. I officially feel like I’m seeking out fertility treatments. Clomid was an easy pill to swallow…I could almost forget why I was taking it. Getting shots in the stomach that need to be refrigerated, dropping the needles into my sharps container afterwards, along with every other day blood tests reminds me that this is no joke – this is the real deal. The first time, I was nervous, and wanted my husband to do it. He agreed, but right before it was time, he sort of chickened out, and I decided I needed to man up anyway. The actual stabbing part didn’t hurt at all – like, not even a little. But while the needle was hanging out in my stomach, as I pressed the release on the pen and then counted to 5 – that hurt a bit. Yesterday, for my second shot, I don’t think I had a steady hand. The pen must have been wobbly, because it bled a bit and I have a small little bruise there now. Today’s third shot – no blood, no bruise, no pain. I must be getting better. If it wasn’t such a weird thing to be doing, it might actually be fun. Maybe I should’ve been a nurse.
One of the medications I was prescribed was on back order from the company located in Maine, and I need to take it with me to my appointment on Monday, so conveniently enough, we swung through Portland on our way home and actually stopped at the pharmacy. Now I have all of my meds: Follistim, Ganirelix, Ovidrel, and Crinone. Obviously I know what the purpose of the Follistim is, and I know the Ovidrel is the trigger shot. Crinone is the progesterone, right? How much of a pain in the ass is that? And I have no clue what the purpose for the Ganirelix is. Anyone?
I have a ton of future blog posts rolling around in my brain, but they will have to wait. If my ovaries respond (not too well, though) and I have myself a nice IUI, this will be my 4th attempt at conception. I’m allowing myself just the smallest bit of excitement and an even smaller dose of hope. But regardless – could this be it?