YARD SALE

So, since we're moving we decided to have a yard sale today.

We made $300 bucks!!!!!!!

Who knew? We also now have a lot less crap to pack!

MOHAMED ATTA

The morning after my wedding, I spent two hours with Mohamed Atta, the most notorious terrorist of the September 11 attacks on our country.

Actually, I cannot be sure that it was a full two hours, but while we were sitting at our gate in Logan Airport, awaiting the first of three flights that day, HE was at our gate too. News reports say he was watching the "departures" and "arrivals" screens: scanning, planning, scheming, plotting, knowing....knowing something the rest of us wouldn't know for another 48 hours. It was September 9th, and I had no idea that I could go from such extreme joy to such intense sadness in the course of a mere two days...

I don't even necessarily remember whether or not I saw him. Honestly, on that day, I don't remember seeing anyone but my husband - my wonderful, brand new husband. We were exhausted, but noticeably happy, noticeably newlyweds, and we had a smugness about us because our wedding had been such a hit. "We REALLY did a great job" we continued to brag to one another. And all the while over by the monitors there he stood: scanning, planning, scheming, plotting, and worst of all, KNOWING.

Like my parents' generation shares their stories of "Where they were" the day Kennedy was shot, we all now have our own September 11 stories. I was actually in the shower in our suite in Kauai, Hawaii, when I heard the news. Anthony had tried to turn on SportsCenter to find out the score from the Monday Night Football game, and he was deeply perplexed to find real NEWS on ESPN. He knocked on the bathroom door and said "I think something bad happened at home" and from that moment on nothing was ever the same. I wonder some day how I will possibly explain 9/11 to my children, and will they get it? I am going to have to explain it, because it is a part of my honeymoon video. My wedding anniversary will always correlate with the 9/11 Anniversaries. It is a part of my history, and I will have to explain what it was and what it means someday to my children, children who were lucky enough not to experience the horrors of that day.

I bring this all up out of the blue today simply because the government released the audio recordings, recovered from the black box, of Mohamed Atta's voice, and it sent a chill down my spine something fierce. It took a long time, but I eventually moved on from 9/11 and "got over it." I was deeply traumatized by everything that happened, even though I was one of the lucky ones. I was spared, I was "stranded" on one of the most beautiful islands in the world, and I didn't lose anyone that I was close to that day. Indeed, I was much luckier than a lot of people. Because of this, I think my family and friends didn't quite "get" the level of distress I was feeling. I wanted to seek help and yet felt silly asking for it, because after all I was one of the lucky ones. I saw it on tv, but it really didn't personally touch my life. Or did it?

Like a bad memory that you bury deep, deep inside and hope will never resurface, I try not to think too much about September 9. I cannot ignore September 11th, and I don't want to ignore September 8, my wedding day. But September 9th can sometimes wake me up in the middle of the night with a terror unlike anything I can possibly describe. And when I think about September 9th I start to dwell....HE WAS THERE. HE WAS THERE. He was there that morning. You cannot get to the gate without a ticket - so he had a ticket for our flight, because ours was the only flight at that gate for a few hours. It could have been us. It could have been my flight. Thank God it was a Sunday and not a regular business day. Why were we spared?

Anytime I hear the name Mohamed Atta, and especially hearing his actual voice for the first time OVER AND OVER on the news today, it just brings it all back like a giant tidal wave of fear and hopelessness.

If there is anything positive that I can say about MY experience with the 9/11 tragedy is that it made me instantly appreciate my new marriage so much more than I ever thought possible. Being together, alone, and over 3,000 miles away from all of our family and friends taught us very early on that when things are tough we've got each other to lean on, no matter what. The contrast of our happy, happy wedding day against the blackness of that Tuesday taught us both how truly precious life is, and how important it is to value those wonderful occasions, like a wedding, when you can celebrate life with the people closest to you. In a strange way, the memories of my wedding went way up in stock BECAUSE of 9/11. If that makes any sense at all.

That is my 9/11 story, and I suppose I have just now figured out EXACTLY how I will be able to explain it to my children. It is a life lesson - love life, and take NOTHING for granted - not ever.


us at our wedding on September 8, 2001 

MY GODCHILD


my godchild at 12 weeks, 2 days (6/10/04) 

Boy, if I don't have children is this kid gonna be spoiled ROTTEN!

FIZZY-P

What is “Fizzy-P”?

a) a weird side-effect from the suppositories I am taking to maintain adequate uterine-wall thickness pre-pregnancy
b) my Gangsta-Rap name
c) both a) and b)

If you guessed c), you are right!

Fa Shizzle.

SIGNS, SIGNS, EVERYWHERE THERE'S SIGNS

I really, really, REALLY do not want to get my hopes up. But there are signs everywhere that I am having a hard time ignoring.

Obviously, when you are me, and you've been planning to have a baby since - well, since you WERE a baby - you've sort of got names picked out. What if we ever had a girl, what if we had twin boys, etc. I've had many, many names in the bank for years now. For a girl, I tend to lean towards the names "Michelle" and "Marina." Anthony has thrown his boy-name ideas in the ring, going with "Louis" (in honor of his Dad) and "Anthony Junior" (in honor of himself).

So after the clinic visit with the fabulous ultrasound nurse who showed me my three eggs, we hit the grocery store, both in a really good mood. As we shopped we were trying to figure out the logistics of the next few days, expecting that tonight would be the phone call instructing me to give myself the "trigger" shot to induce ovulation, and that most likely our IUI would happen Monday and Tuesday. Not ideal for Anthony's work schedule this week, but c'est la vie, it is what it is.

So sign #1 came at the checkout counter. Anthony secretly nudged me with his elbow and whispered "check it out - our future kids are our baggers!" Sure enough, bagging our groceries were Anthony and Marina.

I started to laugh....loudly....hysterically...."It's a sign!" I practically shouted to the cashier, who thought I was insane.

We get the phone call Sunday afternoon, and it is exactly as we predicted - the trigger shot must be administered between 6:00 and 8:00PM that night, and in the morning we will do IUI cycle number one. We are excited. And apprehensive. And excited. I actually have to pack all of my needles and and vials into my pocketbook because we are going to my mother-in-law's for my brother-in-law's birthday, and we will be there between six and eight.

My night with the in-laws was a success, for the simple fact that I went to the house, stayed at the house for the duration of the visit, and left with Anthony without any allergic reactions or asthma attacks. This is a first - although their dog Bruno passed away 11 months ago, the pet dander that makes me ridiculously sick could still exist deep in the fabric of couches, carpets, curtains, etc. I always said to Anthony (back in our foolish younger days when offspring were a given) that it was going to be REALLY tricky to figure out how to split up on holidays once we had children. Knowing that I couldn't go to his mother's house, surely it would become an issue over which grandparents would get to see their grandchildren on Christmas, or Easter, or on their birthdays. However, for the first time in seven years, this problem seems to have resolved itself. I took this, ever so quietly and personally, as another sign.

Monday morning brought me to IUI #1. Pretty straightforward and not TOO uncomfortable. As I was lying on the table, allowing the 20 minutes post-insemination, I felt an incredibly sharp pain in my lower left portion of my back. Probably nothing....but the pain was TOO intense to ignore. What was it? I don't know. I chuckled to myself, that it couldn't possibly be anything, not YET, but maybe it was a sign of some sort....Could I possibly have ovulated a mere 10 minutes after the IUI?

As I was getting ready to leave the office, the nurse came back in with my discharge instructions. I was to return in the morning for IUI number two, Anthony at 8:30 and me at 9:30, and then I would not be returning to the clinic until two weeks later for my pregnancy test.

On June 29th, my sister's wedding anniversary. My PREGNANT sister's wedding anniversary. A sign for sure.

To be extra sure, when she came over to visit last night I rubbed her tiny little baby belly and asked my future Godchild for good luck. I felt happy. I felt good. I felt content.

Today, on the other hand, was the second IUI, which did NOT go very smoothly, as my cervix fought the nurse for 20 minutes before allowing the catheter inside. And all day I have had pain - not unlike menstrual cramping - and nausea, and extreme fatigue. I would like to think these are signs as well, but more than likely I am just over tired and my body is merely reacting to the procedure, and not to some "miracle" happening inside.

But you never know.

It's gonna be a LONG two weeks of waiting......

A LITTLE GOOD BEDSIDE MANNER GOES A LONG WAY

Okay, so let’s get back to three….Three refers to the number of mature eggs that I have created this cycle, thanks to Gonal-F. Actually, it is technically four, but one is not mature enough so three it is.

Allow me back up a step.

I have been the ideal patient ever since I started attending the fertility clinic mid-March. I show up on time to my clinic appointments, and when I am asked “Am I hurting you?” I promptly assure the nurses “Nope – I’m great” regardless of the truth. I follow all of my instructions to the letter. And I never ask any questions. I have been ideal in every way - ideal for the nurses maybe – but not so ideal for me. I learned this on Sunday morning when I went in for my daily bloodwork and ultrasound.

It was a different nurse that assisted me on Sunday – I have never seen her before, not once, in all of my daily and every-other-day appointments. She led me into the ultrasound room and asked “so what kind of cycle are you doing this month?”

“IUI” I replied, short and sweet and to the point, ideal patient that I am.

“What cycle day are you?”

“Twelve. We must be getting close, huh?” This is sort of a question, sort of a statement from me.

“How many do you have?”

I have no idea what she is talking about. How many what?

“Eggs? How many eggs do you have so far?”

“Oh,” I reply, a little embarrassed that I don’t know the answer to her question. “I have no idea. I haven’t been told anything – I just come in, they look around in there, and I leave.”

“What? I can’t believe you don’t know! You didn’t ask before? I’ll show you everything today and answer any questions you have.”

She had such a great bedside manner and put me so much more at ease than my regular ultrasound nurse. She was awesome.

“Here,” she turned the monitor towards me. “That big black circle is a mature egg. Mature means it is between 18 and 20 millimeters.” This I found fascinating, there on the screen was one of my eggs, and it appeared to be the size of a golf ball.

“What side is it on?”

“The left.” This made sense to me since I stupidly did all of my shots in my left thigh, forgetting that they recommended switching legs for ideal results. Okay, NOT the ideal patient.

She moved the wand and said “Here are two more on the right, both mature. There is another on the left but it won’t reach 18mm in time.” Three is GREAT, she told me. If there were five or more they would have to cancel this cycle, for fear that all five could potentially fertilize. Five babies – bad. Three babies – acceptable.

I felt so GOOD knowing that my injections and my physical discomfort was all for SOMETHING. Something tangible that I could actually SEE. This nurse has no idea how much she MADE MY DAY.

Especially with her comment to me as she left me in the room to change back into my pants.

“Just think – now you have tripled your chances to conceive this month. And this center has a VERY high success rate. AND everything looks PERFECT. Good luck!”

MADE MY DAY, she did.

THREE

Three. Three is the magic number today. Actually, three and a half, but really just three.

More on this, and the "sign" I was sent, later on. For now, I have a garage-full of yard sale stuff to price.