"I think I need a Bandaid." "You're ALWAYS using up all our Bandaids."

After getting hired as a full time teacher, I noticed that my legs consistently had bruises about desk height. I had one particularly impressive bruise that lasted for a month that has just now started to fade. I figured that this was just one of the hazards of the job, and I wore those bruises as a badge of honor. But I'm starting to think my teenage klutziness just never really went away.

You see, in the last week, I've drawn blood even more times than usual.

Last Sunday I was grating a five pound block of cheese from Costco to store in the freezer before it had a chance to mold. Not ten minutes into the task (it took a looong time), I grated a chunk of my knuckle. We will not be inviting any company over for dinner (at least for any recipes involving cheddar), for fear of them ingesting some of my skin.

Then, a few days ago, I was slicing an apple for my lunch. People, there's a reason why you're told to cut away from your body. As I was removing the seeds, the oversized knife bit into my finger. More blood.

And just now, as I was standing up after putting some items away in our entertainment center, my knee crashed into the open cabinet door. With all the commotion I made, I'm pretty sure Jacob thought I was dying. Nope, just bleeding again, in two places this time. And now I'm sporting an ice pack wrapped in a paper towel, courtesy of my husband (who is a good soul for not laughing at my misfortune).

If wishes were fishes

First off, thanks to all those who sent me lovely comments and messages after the last post. I'm blessed to have such thoughtful friends!

Now, I'm not intending to make this an "infertility blog." I've been blogging since I was in high school, and while infertility is now a large part of my life, it doesn't define who we are.

That said, one more post on the subject. (This not to say that this will be the only post on the subject. But one more for now.)

I think mentally, I'm prepared for the hormones and the injections. But to pay off the procedure? Ouch.

You see, we'd like to complete the IVF cycle over the summer if possible, since daily appointments aren't exactly conducive to a teaching schedule. But we have to pay for it up front, first.

Today we found out that we qualify for something called a Single Cycle Guarantee. In essence, we would be able to complete a fresh and frozen cycle with a guarantee of a live baby or part of our money back. Sounds fantastic, right?

However, each case is reviewed by a board and placed into tiers based on likelihood of success. We were hoping to be Tier 1 -- the cheapest of the 5. Instead, we're Tier 2, meaning that if we decide to go with this option, it's going to cost just over $18,000 -- and that doesn't include the medications, which can run up to $3,000.

Yikes. Of course, we don't HAVE to go this route -- we can just pay for one fresh attempt ($10,150) and the medications and cross our fingers that it works. Because if not, we're out of the money.

Decisions, decisions.

After receiving this news, let's be honest, I was a bit downtrodden. There's no way we'll have $20,000 saved up in just a couple months. We might get close, but we'll probably be several thousand short. So we got to thinking about how we can acquire more money. These are some of our ideas, with varying degrees of plausibility and morality:

- Rob a bank. (Jacob wants to make this clear that this was NOT his idea.)

- Hold a bake sale/lemonade stand.

- Sell all of our personal belongings online.

- Sell our plasma.

- Enter all of the radio contests in an attempt to win cash prizes.

- Go on a game show in an attempt to win cash prizes.

- Go to Vegas and hit the slots.

- Play the lottery.

- Ask family and friends for donations.

- Panhandle on the corner of a busy intersection.

- Take out a loan through a credit union.

- Kidnap somebody and ask for a ransom. (This isn't Jacob's idea, either.)

Any other suggestions?

An announcement of sorts

Throughout my preteen and teenage years, I would look at the newly married couples I knew and expect them to announce a pregnancy shortly after their first anniversary. After all, that was the natural order of things: get married, wait a year to settle into married life, and then start popping out babies. And I admit, if an announcement wasn't forthcoming, I was a little judgmental of them for postponing children.

Oh, how wrong I was. Not only was it none of my business, but back then I didn't realize that certain circumstances might make achieving pregnancy difficult.

Clearly, we have not followed the pattern of giving birth during the second year of marriage. But not for lack of trying.

You see, today marks the start of National Infertility Awareness Week. And it only seems appropriate that we make you, reader, aware that we are dealing with infertility.

Shortly before our first anniversary, I stopped taking birth control. We expected it would take a few months at least, so when I didn't get pregnant right away we weren't too concerned. After seven or eight months I read Taking Charge of Your Fertility and started tracking my fertility signs to pinpoint ovulation. 

Confirming that it wasn't a timing issue, I became more unsettled and more sure that something was wrong. April of last year I attended a Utah Infertility Awareness event, before even seeing a doctor about our lack of success. While there, I entered a raffle and won a free infertility consultation with a reproductive endocrinologist at the Utah Center for Reproductive Medicine. 

We set up an appointment, met with the doctor, and had multiple tests performed on us. In the last year, we've given over a dozen samples of body fluids for testing, had a couple ultrasounds, taken eleven months' worth of supplements, tried a few rounds of medication, and underwent a somewhat invasive surgery in hopes that we might be blessed with a baby.

Not so. 

And so, with our most recent appointments, we've decided to proceed with in-vitro fertilization (IVF), coupled with a procedure called ICSI. 

To those uninitiated, this procedure will involve: a couple months of birth control (oh, the irony!); up to three subcutaneous (under-the-skin) injections a day for about two weeks to turn my body into an egg factory; retrieval of said eggs with yet another needle; fertilization of the eggs in the doctor's office; three to five days of waiting before transferring the healthiest embryos back to my body; and then eight weeks of intramuscular injections with the most terrifying needle of all. Oh, and it will cost about the same as our new (used) car. 

Romantic.

Why are we revealing this in such a public manner? 

1) To quell the asked (or unasked!) question of "when are you going to start having kids?" 

2) To bring awareness to the struggles of infertile couples in general, in an attempt to reduce the stigma associated with infertility.

3) To let the other infertile couples who read this, whether they have made their situation public or not, that they are not alone in this trial. I have found comfort in reading accounts of other couples who have dealt with infertility. I've also found support with other women as I have opened up to friends and close family members about our situation. It's a terrible thing to deal with, but there is some comfort in knowing that not everyone is able to conceive with little effort. 

So. What can you do to help? Aside from giving us an interest-free loan to help pay for IVF, read this article: Infertility Etiquette. If you don't know how to respond to the announcement that someone is dealing with infertility, this article gives some great suggestions on what NOT to say and what you can do to offer your support.

And to get some insight as to what it's like emotionally to deal with infertility, watch this video (overlook the twanginess of it and try not to dissolve in a puddle of tears):

Lovely ladies.

Ever since Jacob and I watched Les Miserables at the beginning of the year, I've frequently listened to the music on Pandora. And by "frequently," I mean "up to six times a week for hours at a time." (Before this, I was on a Thoroughly Modern Millie kick. I go through phases.)

The other day we were doing the dishes together and I began to serenade him with some of my favorite Les Mis songs. After multiple instances of belting out a line followed by mumbling gibberish, I turned to him and said, "You'd think with how often I listen to these songs, I'd know the words a lot better."

Alas.

Which reminds me: When Eponine sings "Every word that he says is a dagger in me!" (which happens to be the line Jacob and I sing to each other most frequently, without any context), I can't help but imagine this:

Teehee.

"Come, little chickens." -- Repeated three times by some mother to her kids

Yet another of my students' word problems, because they make me chuckle:

"Mrs. Erickson drank 3 kiloliters of water yesterday and 4 kiloliters of water today. How many kiloliters did Mrs. Erickson drink in all?"

(In case you're unfamiliar with metric measurement, a kiloliter is approximately 264 gallons.)

I'm pretty sure I would die of water intoxication if I consumed that much in two days, but no need to tell my student that. Instead I just wrote on her paper "I must be very well hydrated!" Very well hydrated, indeed.

In other news, my classroom now has a piano! My school had one they were going to surplus if nobody claimed it, so Jacob came over after school today to help me reorganize my room so I could fit the piano in it. (He's a good soul. It took us three hours to rearrange everything.) I'm excited to be able to practice again! The fourth grade might be putting on a musical for our program next year, and if that's the case I'm likely to be in charge of playing the music. Which means I'm going to want to start practicing . . . now.

Math. All day every day.

A few months ago, the teachers at my school received an email encouraging them to sign up for time slots for the state-mandated end-of-year tests. Well, the testing seemed pretty far away at the time, so I took my sweet time in scheduling.

Rookie mistake.

The most desirable (i.e. latest in the year) time slots were snatched up like hot cakes, and I was given the leftovers. Not the biggest deal ever, perhaps, but it means that my students will begin testing a couple weeks earlier in the year than some of the other classes.

Obviously, this is my first year teaching, but this is also the first year our district has used this particular math program, so as teachers we've had to go back and fill in the gaps between last year's third grade curriculum and this year's fourth grade curriculum. And since we aren't familiar with the program, pacing has been a bit of an issue.

All of this boils down to me having only two and a half weeks before testing to teach two full units of math.

Have I mentioned that it usually takes me a month to teach a unit?

Operation: Teach Math Twice or More a Day or Maybe Just Until My Students' Brains Explode  (TMToMaDoMJUMSBE -- pronounced Tum-tomato-ma-jum-sbe) goes into effect tomorrow.

Wish me luck.

Oh hey.

Jacob has a paper due at midnight tonight. He's at work and he emailed me a copy to proofread before he submits it to his professor.

Um, let's just say my inner journalist may have came out a bit while I was editing*.

He may not ask me to correct anything for him ever again.




*This is not to say that his paper was terrible, by any means. But the nit-pickiness may have come on a little strongly. I still love you, Jacob!

Ragamuffin.

For various reasons, one of which is for insurance purposes, we utilize University of Utah Health Care services. In case you live outside of Utah (or inside of Utah but under a rock), BYU and U of U are rival schools. It took some pride-swallowing for this BYU alumna to voluntarily visit a medical center associated with the U, but you do what you gotta do.

I had to get some blood work taken care of today, so I moseyed on over to the health center (assuming cars can mosey). When I arrived, I realized that I was wearing a BYU sweatshirt. And even had I removed the sweatshirt, I was wearing a BYU t-shirt underneath. A little awkward.

And to top it all off, my hair was still in the braid I put it in yesterday and consequently slept on.

Oh, I keep it classy.