Monthly Archives: November 2009

Nov29

Making Ciabatta

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Making Ciabatta

Yesterday I was feeling kind of sprightly, so I decided to whip up some ciabatta for some friend of ours that recently moved.  Unfortunately, ciabatta takes two days to make, so I only got it started yesterday.  First, I made the sponge.

UM, the SPONGE? You ask.

Yeah, it sounded gross to me, too.  But it probably won’t be too bad once I get it finished.  Here’s the deal with the sponge: it’s flour, water and yeast that you set on the counter for between 6 to 24 hours, to the point where it has risen and fallen in on itself.  When it has fallen back in, you know it’s ready.  Making a sponge ensures that the crumb of your bread will be hearty and moist.  If you skip the sponge step, you can still make the bread, it will probably just come out more like a sandwich bread than a hearty artisan-type bread.

Not that you cared, but there’s your bread-making tip for the day.

I failed at taking a picture of my sponge before it got all spongy, but just imagine a wad of flour and water in the bottom of the bowl.  Got your mental picture?  OK, well, 24 hours later, it looked like this:

When I took the plastic wrap off, the entire bowl smelled like a brewery, but that’s what happens when you let yeast have its way with flour for 24 hours.

This picture demonstrates a fallen sponge a little easier.  See how most of the mixture has receded down the sides of the bowl?  That’s how you can tell your sponge has fallen and is ready to roll.

Once the sponge is ready, add some more flour, yeast and warm water to your stand mixer bowl and run it, using the dough hook attachment, for 4 minutes.  After it’s good and mixed, cover with plastic wrap and let it sit for 20 minutes.

Then add two teaspoons of salt.  TWO!

After the salt comes the fun part!  Adding the sponge to the dough…

The sponge is all squishy and delicious feeling (although still smelling rather like a can of Budweiser) and happily falls right out of the bowl it has been fermenting in and straight into the mixer.

Then: knead for five minutes.  It’s weird, because the dough is so soupy from the addition of the sponge that it doesn’t even begin to clear the sides of the bowl…AND THAT’S NORMAL.  (OK, I realize that 96% of you are like, Um, how is that weird?  But just trust me, it is weird.)

After “kneading” the dough, find the largest bowl in your kitchen and oil it up real good, because your bread is going to be in there for awhile.

On the first of its three raises, it’ll just be sitting in a warm place for an hour.  I like to use my oven; I heat it to 200 for 10 minutes, then turn it off (because I know what happens when I forget…) and it makes a lovely bread-raising environment.

Before raising an hour

After raising an hour. BIG KAHUNA!

I opened the oven at the prescribed time, and I yelled, “WOAH!  This got HUGE!”  It definitely raised more than I had been expecting.

The next phrase was a little bit more tricky.  It involved dusting with flour and then folding and turning the dough to mix the glutens and gently knead the dough a bit more.  I didn’t really have the tool I needed for the task, so I improvised with a couple of spatulas.

Dust with flour (that’s the white business atop the dough, it’s not mold even though it looks like it) and then gently go around the edges to separate the dough from the bowl.

Next, jury-rig a couple of spatulas to act as a flipper.  Somehow the goal is to fold the dough into thirds.  I KNOW, right?  How are you supposed to fold oozy dough?!

But apparently it’s possible, so… ready?  set… FOLD!

I was marginally successful, wouldn’t you say?  But now to do the other side with two very sticky spatulas…

Not bad, not bad.  (Of course, the Test Kitchen cooks would certainly do a better job, but I’ll do better next time.)

After folding the two sides in, I was also supposed to fold it in half, perpendicular to the other folds.  HA.  My dough was so stretchy that I hadn’t really FOLDED anything, (and who knows maybe it’s completely ruined and I did it wrong) but I gave it the old college try and “folded” it in half yet again.

The result was something akin to a gooey blob, but all the flour I had originally dusted it with was folded inside the dough, so I figured that was good enough for me.

Once floured and folded, it went back in the oven for another hour to raise…and TRIPLE in size.  (If that thing seriously triples in size, I may not have a kitchen left by the time I’m done with this bread.)

Well, I needn’t have worried.

The bread didn’t rise too much larger than it had the first time, although this time it held so much air that it was hissing and popping bubbles on its surface like volcanic lava.

Next, it got a little hairy.  (Or messy, if you want to be literal.)  I threw down some flour and scooped the dough out right in the middle.

It’s very sticky.  Very, very sticky stuff.

I tried to round it out to a good oval-type shape, making sure it’s even on both sides.  Then, using a dough scraper (which I do not have, so I improvised again and used my kitchen ruler), I had to cut the dough in half.

Easier said than done.  The dough sticks to the scraper unless it’s good and wet, which mine wasn’t.  Ugh.

Now, ideally, there are two little blobs of dough.

I said “ideally” though, because my dough kept wanting to ooze back together.

So I had to separate it.

Next, I had to move one of the dough blobs from the counter to a piece of parchment paper on an overturned baking sheet.  Why the overturned baking sheet?  I don’t know.  I didn’t question, I just did.

Once I successfully transferred the sticky dough, I flattened it out into a rectangle, then folded it into thirds, one side on top of the other.

It’s a little hard to tell, but that’s definitely in thirds.

Then, rotate the dough and press it out into a 10×5 inch rectangle.

I transferred each piece of parchment to a flat baking sheet, being careful to leave a good bit of parchment in between the two of them to form a barrier.

I had already prepped the oven by warming it, so it was all ready to raise my beautiful breads once I covered them in lightly greased plastic wrap.

Joey was kind enough to hold the other end of it for me, so I got it good and greasy.

Then, I popped them in the oven for 90 minutes, or until I noticed that they had grown to gargantuan size and should be immediately removed.  (Which is exactly what happened after 40 minutes.)

My counter?  Was a mess.

I spent way longer than I should have cleaning off the sticky ciabatta dough that had congealed with the flour.

After the third and final raise, the bread was getting pretty much gargantuan.  I feel like somewhere in here I missed something, because my dough seemed too runny and too flat compared with the picture of the ciabatta in my cookbook.  But then, those bakers are paid professionals and this is my first attempt at ciabatta ever.  So maybe I should cut myself some slack.

Anyways, see what I mean by gargantuan?

What I really wanted was a loaf that had a little bit  more rise to it and less spread.  But maybe next time.

I baked it at 500 (which is really, really hot!) and my oven is so temperamental.  Each loaf got a tiny bit blackened on the top and sides, but I think it will just add delicious flavor.  In any case, 27 hours after I started my ciabatta, I was finally finished.

I think it would make fantastic bread for grilled cheese, sliced lengthwise.  Hmm…maybe we’ll be having that for dinner tonight…

Nov28

I don’t want to go to sleep

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I don’t want to go to sleep

Because I don’t want to get up tomorrow.  When I wake up?  I have to get ouchies.

The one on the left is Ganirelix.  Nice, easy Ganirelix.  All that business on the right?  Menopur: the syringe, the cap thingy, the needle (the long skinny package on the far right), the bottle of medicine powder (gray cap) and the bottle of saline to mix with the powder (pink cap).

My sharps container is getting really full.  I’m kind of looking forward to taking it in to Dr. Babyplease when this is all over and getting it OFF my BATHROOM COUNTER.  It looks so shady sitting there now that it’s all full of creepy stuff.  Fortunately we haven’t had much in the way of company since it started getting full.

It’s 10:27.  It’s way past my bedtime, for those of you who know me well enough to have experienced the joy that is Jenna after 9:30 p.m.  But I really, really don’t want to go to sleep because I really, really don’t want to wake up.

I don’t want to has Menopur.

Yes, it’s THAT bad.

I told you the lid said Flip Off.

Nov28

No Problem

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No Problem

You know, I was expecting to feel a whole lot more like garbage than I do with all these shots and hormones and everything.  I mean, I’m definitely not “normal”, I feel like someone inflated a balloon in my abdomen and my stomach is bruised and sore, so bending over is kind of tricky.  But I don’t have major headaches, I don’t feel sick…nothin’ like that.

Even shots are getting easier.  Follistim?  Pssssh, no problem; easy as pie.  I don’t even feel the needle pricks from all these shots anymore.  (I do however still feel the medicine burn.  I doubt that gets easier.)

It’s amazing what you can get used to.

So far this isn’t so bad.  It’s not completely rocking my world.  I’m definitely tired and sometimes I just feel listless, but I think that is probably from the hormones.  I hate to think about IVF not working, but if it doesn’t and we have to do this one more time, I think I could do it.

Well, except for the Menopur shots.  I don’t want to think about doing those again.

Nov28

Doin’ Shots: Morning Edition, Joey Calls The Shots

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Doin’ Shots: Morning Edition, Joey Calls The Shots

This morning, I went on strike. I foolishly realized it was 8:45 and we had yet to do my morning shots (both of which burn like the earlier referenced Chicago Fire), so I nudged Joey and said, Ohai, I guess I need my shots.

He agreed with me and said he’d get up to go get them ready.

Then I realized what an idiot I was for remembering my shots, and I told him I wasn’t going to have them after all.

No way. No how. Thems hurt.

In fact, I yelled to no one in particular, “I’ve already had like 15 shots!!! Isn’t that enough for one life?” (But then I counted and I think I had only had 8, but close enough.)

Joey, with his usual fortitude, got out of bed despite my whines and protests and he went to the bathroom to wash his hands.

I laid there thinking how much I hate Menopur, and then I got a really good idea. We keep the bags of injections in our room behind my bedside table because they are kind of huge, what with the pharmaceutical boxes and whatever. We don’t have room for them in the bathroom. Well, I sneaked out of bed and grabbed the bags and dove back under the covers, shoving the bags under the pooffiest part of our down comforter.

You know, so Joey wouldn’t be able to find them and then I wouldn’t have to have a shot.

But I had made too much noise.

Joey, with freshly washed hands and minty-breath, poked his head in the door and said, “What’s going on in here?”

“Um, nothing,” I said and burrowed further down into the comforter with Blankie.

“No, something IS. I heard noises.” Joey marched over and tried to pull the comforter up but I held on as tight as possible, which didn’t last long. Momentarily, he gained the upper hand and ripped the blanket back and saw where I’d hidden all the medicine. “Nice try,” he said, grabbed the bags and disappeared again into the bathroom.

“NOOOO!” I wailed, more for effect than anything else.

“If you want to have babies you have to have your shots,” Joey yelled back.

Arg. Point taken.

Soon he reappeared, holding the vial of powdered Menopur that would shortly be mixed with saline and shot into me WHILE I SCREAMED. Seriously, some pharmaceutical dude has got to work on that one.

Yesterday, as we were meticulously trying to figure out how to mix the injection and reading and following every direction to a T, we noticed that the cap of the Menopur vial says “Flip Off”. Assumedly it’s because you are supposed to flip the cap off the vial, but we covered our bases, just to be sure.

Plus, as bad as that one hurts, I don’t feel sorry for taking its directions literally.

Sorry. Infertility injections make you do weird things.

Anyway, we followed the Menopur directions and then Joey hauled me into the bathroom and said, “I’m really, really, really sorry.” Then he stabbed me.

Nov27

Doin’ Shots: Day ?? (or, The One Where Joey Sprays The Ceiling With My Medicine On Accident)

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Doin’ Shots: Day ?? (or, The One Where Joey Sprays The Ceiling With My Medicine On Accident)

Most people go shopping on Black Friday.  We go to the doctor, get scanned, and do shots.  Oh, and set up our Christmas tree.

I absolutely forget how many days into the shots we are.  At this point, my stomach is a combination of bruised, itching and burning so what’s one more shot?  Bring it on, Dr. Babyplease. WE CAN TAKE IT.

We had a scan this morning to see how the maybe-babies were progressing.  A very nice nurse with a Russian accent, who reminded us a lot of Marya from Hogan’s Heroes, performed the scan painlessly.  I told her she was awesome and painless and, Internet, you should have seen the look on her face.  She said to me, very seriously, in her cute Russian accent, “I haff beeen doing thees for twelf years.  I do NOT hoort peeeeple.”

I told her she wouldn’t have to ruin her record on me, then, because I couldn’t feel a thing.  Not like the last time where I almost screamed.

Then the nurse cracked a smile and said, “Welll, I do not hoort peeeeeple unless they are makingk me mad.”  Then she winked at me.

The moment she left the room Joey and I began whispering Marya quotes to each other.  ”HOOOOOGAN DAAAHLINK!”  And the entire way home we talked to each other in Russian accents.  Pretty much the best doctor’s appointment ever.

OH WAIT.  Except that Dr. Babyplease caught us outside and told us to go home and mix up a dose of Menopur (yep, you read us right: we are mixing drugs in this house now, in addition to shooting them up) and then add an injection of Ganirelix.  Two more shots every day, only these two new ones will be in the morning.

I successfully gave myself a Follistim shot, but I wasn’t about to trust myself with mixing the Menopur powder with the saline and filling the syringe, so I told Joey he’s on shot duty from here on out.  He very seriously laid everything out on the bathroom counter and closed the toilet lid so he could lay the directions there for easy reading.  (We don’t have a lot of counter space, so we make do with what we have.)

A few minutes later, he had drawn up a syringe and was flicking it to disperse the air bubbles.  He was so serious that I started giggling.  Then he pointed the needle at me and told me to swab off because here it came.

This one hurt, so the most logical thing to do was to scream bloody murder.  Joey looked at me with eyes full of terror because he was only half way through the shot.  ”I’m almost done!” He squeaked.

Unfortunately the next shot, Ganirelix, was actually the problem shot.

I tried to read the instructions because I thought I’d give it to myself, but they freaked me out and confused me, so I handed it off to Joey.  They did the same to him, so after he read them two or three times, he gave up and called my doctor.  It was taking forever for them to call back, so he went in the bathroom to try to figure it out again.

This was proving to be complicated still, so Joey gave up and started calling all the medical professionals he could think of since our doctor hadn’t called back yet.  First he called his mom, but couldn’t get ahold of her.  Then he called Deanine, and she happened to be available.  Joey read her the directions and somehow she translated them and instructed him in the way he should shoot me.

I was sitting on the couch attaching hooks to ornaments when I heard him say to Deanine, “Um…what would happen if I pushed the plunger thing in instead of pulling it out, and sprayed medicine all over the ceiling and stuff? … Yeah, it went everywhere … OK, I’ll go get another one.”

This really piqued my curiosity, but no way was I going to go in the bathroom to see what he meant by “medicine all over the ceiling and stuff” because if I went in there, he might stick me with a needle.

Shortly he got off the phone with Deanine, and a few minutes later, Joey told me to stop putting the hooks on our new ornaments and get in the bathroom, because it was TIME.

Miraculously, once we got the whole how to inject it thing down, I was pleased to discover that the Ganirelix didn’t hurt at all.  Not one tiny bit.

Well, not until I walked out of the bathroom and said “Oh, sweet!  That one was painless!”  That’s when it hit me.  OH THE BURN, INTERNET.

It still hurts.  They both still hurt.

Conveniently, we probably had one more dose of Ganirelix than we needed, so it doesn’t look like we’ll have to re-order any more.  This is good news, because it’s not generic and we’d have to throw down a $25 copay for one box of a yicky shot.  So…way to screw up, Joey.  We don’t have to buy extra, and we get a good laugh out of knowing there is fertility medicine on the ceiling in our bathroom.  Not too many people get to have THAT awesome decoration…

Our next doctor’s appointment is Monday; Dr. Babyplease told us we could go on Sunday or Monday, and we picked Monday.  They’ll probably retrieve the maybe-babies on Wednesday or Thursday.  I can’t believe we’re getting so close.  This entire process becomes such a blur!

I’m so glad I have Nurse Joey, though.  Because I could never do all these shots by myself.  He is my rockstar.

Nov26

Thankful

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Thankful

Wanna know something weird?  Our annoying neighbors, the ones with the feral dog that bit Joey once, seem to be having a Thanksgiving shindig at their house and they left all their windows open.  As we walked past just now, we heard them singing.  Now, I come from a musical family and I have nothing against large groups of people getting together and singing just for the heck of it but…but our neighbors and their friends can’t sing.

Also, they weren’t even singing any type Thanksgiving song.  They were singing, all of them, the tag to some Top 40 song from last year.  I can’t remember the name of it, unfortunately.  And this was not just a freak thing, they are all STILL singing in there.  They’re singing so loud that if I stand next to my windows that are close to their apartment, I CAN HEAR THEM.

They haven’t improved any, either.  They still stink.

All this to say – Happy Thanksgiving, Internet!  I hope y’all had a good day.  I did.  We went to Ft. Worth and hung out with like 4,000 of Joey’s relatives.  I dozed during the Cowboys game and we all ate lots of food and did lots of talking.  On the way back to Dallas, Pops called from Laird Central and we participated via phone in the traditional Laird Thanksgiving Circle.  You know, the one where everyone goes around and says what they are thankful for from the past year.  It always takes a really long time, 45 minutes minimum.  (And usually we burst into song directly following.  I am not joking, just ask Joey.)

What am I thankful for this year?  Honestly, it was hard to come up with something at first.  Doesn’t that seem ridiculous?  We have all these blessings, all these wonderful opportunities, so many wonderful and supportive people…and all we get hung up on is HOW MUCH THIS SUCKS and WHY DID GOD PICK US ANYWAYS?!!

It took a concerted effort for Joey and I to come up with something that we were thankful for this year.  We had to step back and look at our lives almost as if we weren’t in them.  And, once we did that, we caught a glimmer of the blessings.

Sometimes, when you’re still so enmeshed in your struggle, it’s impossible to figure out what you’re learning.  We’ll catch ourselves thinking, “Gosh, are we even learning anything from this?” and I think the answer is YES.  We are learning.  But what we’re learning we won’t get to see for awhile, not until things aren’t so fresh and we don’t feel like we’re getting salt sprinkled in our wounds daily.

But we’re getting there.

Just this week I told Joey that I felt the rawness of grief of our miscarriage was starting to subside.  Of course, if I think about it for even a few minutes together you’ll find me in a mass of tissues, but I don’t feel like I’m carrying it around on my back anymore.

We’re getting there.

We realize that in the center of the hurricane that it’s easy to get self-centered.  Self-absorbed.  FEEL SORRY FOR ME!!!  All that garbage.  That doesn’t do anyone any good, not to mention it’s ugly.

So when I step back and take a look at my blessings, how am I thankful this year?  Hmm.

  • I’m thankful for Joey.  He’s brave, he’s strong, he’s supportive.  He loves me enough that he gave me my shot in the Walmart parking lot in Arlington tonight.  Joey fills in my gaps, holds my hand, and I can’t imagine doing this without him.  This year has taken our marriage to a completely different level of closeness, and I am starting to see it and be thankful.
  • I am thankful for those of you who pray for us.  So many days when I feel overwhelmed, I can’t figure out how to pray.  I am thankful for you who lift us up when we have no words and don’t even know where to start.  You bless us.
  • I am thankful for being able to try IVF.  Even when it stinks and I wonder if it’s worth it, I’m still thankful.  Every shot is a blessing.  I’m also thankful for our ten little follicles, our maybe-babies, which we will go see again tomorrow morning.

This year I feel like all we’re capable of being thankful for is basic stuff.  We’re thankful for each other, for your support, for your prayers, for the friends that we have.  It’s so basic that it almost seems trite.  But, I’m learning, when things are so hard you can’t see past tomorrow, that’s when we simplify.  That’s when we get back what is basic, what is absolutely necessary.  When we simplify.

This year for Thanksgiving, we’re are beginning to see how we are simply thankful.

Nov26

Random Stuffs

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Random Stuffs

Ohai Interwebz.  Happy Thanksgiving to all of you.

First and foremost, I accidentally gave myself a shot last night.  I KNOW!  SO COOL, right?!

Here’s how it went down.  I got my Follistim Pen all loaded up, sanitized, needle loaded up and alcohol-swabbed the spot I had selected.  I have this pretty major problem of forgetting which side I shot up the day before, but Joey is always on top of things.  He came skidding into the bathroom just as I swabbed off my right side and stopped me.  ”You did that one yesterday,” he said.  ”Other side.”

“Serious?” I asked.

“Serious.”

“Can’t I just do this side anyways since it’s already clean?”

“No.  Other side.”  Don’t mess with  Joey, Internet.  Don’t do it.

So I sighed and cleaned off a spot just to the left and a little below my poor bellybutton and held the Follistim pen at the 45 degree angle that we discovered is much less painful.

“Are you doing it yourself?” Joey asked me.

“No,” I said.  ”I’m just seeing how it would look if I were going to try it.” But as I said this, I accidentally jostled my right arm and felt a tiny twinge.

“Well…you just did,” Joey said.

“OH MY GOSH!” I squeaked.  The arm twitch had caused me to accidentally shoot myself, and I was somehow past the painful part of the process.

WEIRD.

I stared down at my hand and realized the way I was holding the pen made it next to impossible to actually depress the thingy that shoots the medicine into my person.  I tried to adjust my grip on the pen, but it was really awkward.  I pushed it in the rest of the way, and it didn’t hurt at all!, and awkwardly pushed the “button” (I don’t have a clue what that thing is called, I am such a bad druggie).  I was careful to leave it in for the prescribed 5 seconds and then, out it came.

“Victory!  I DID IT!!” I yelled, throwing my arms into the air, one of which was still holding the exposed-needled Follistim pen. Fortunately I didn’t nick Joey with it; can you even imagine what would happen to him?  He doesn’t even have ovaries.

“Nice job,” Joey congratulated me as I twisted apart the needle from the pen and disposed of it in my sharps container.  ”But this is terrible, now I don’t get to be part of the process anymore!”

“Well, you can still give me some shots,” I assured him.  ”Don’t worry.”

Joey suddenly laughed and said, “You know, if I’m the one giving you the shots, it’s like I’m more involved in the process than I would be the, um, Other Way.”  I laughed too.

The state of marriage during infertility treatments: spouses fighting over who gets to give the injections.  What is this world coming to?

Following my victorious shot-giving session, we stayed up an hour past our bedtime and web-cammed with my family as we did a really, really early version of Christmas/Birthday.  Sister and Pops have birthdays that each wind up on Thanksgiving day every few years.  Sister’s was Monday and Pops’ is TODAY (Happy birthday to Pops!), so they shared a birthday dinner last night.  We didn’t start presents until 10:00 because The Kid was taking for-ever to get to Iowa from Ohio, where he goes to college.

After all the presents were opened and the table was so covered in wrapping paper it was starting to block the webcam, we finally got to bed at midnight.

MIDNIGHT.

And this morning when Joey and I woke up, we realized I had used all the eggs in the house yesterday (6 to be exact) to make the pecan pie last night, so our plans for a brunch were kind of squelched.  That is, until we decided to go get some eggs.  But we were not self-starters at all this morning, not at ALL, and we sat on the floor playing with Henry and drinking our Ghirardelli Chocolate Peppermint coffee (and none of you will report me to Dr. Babyplease or you’re fired from reading this blog; yes, I have that power.)

We were also listening to the new John Mayer album, which totally rocks me.  So there we were, staring blankly off into space with really messy hair, lounge pants, coffee mugs and sitting on the floor.  The absolute picture of marital bliss.  Then Friends, Lovers or Nothin’ came on;  it has that sweet power chord piano line and fancy guitar business, so Joey and I spontaneously began playing air guitar (Joey) and air piano (me).  We were serious about it, too, with emotive head-banging and everything.

I am a way better air piano player than Joey is at air guitar, but 12 years of real piano lessons will give that added benefit. Then we realized how ridiculous we were and we laughed until my Follistimulated ovaries hurt and I had to cry “Uncle!”

It’s going to be a good day, Internet.

I’ve got Joey and my air piano skillz.

Nov25

A Perfect 10

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A Perfect 10

I just got off the phone with Dr. Babyplease’s office.  My nurse was informing me that my estrogen levels have increased from 160 to 420 (good progress, they basically want to see them increasing at a consistent rate) and, AND, I have 10 follicles!

That’s TEN maybe-babies, Internet!

TEN!

The follicles are itty bitty right now, but on Friday when they check me out, hopefully they will have grown.  Maybe there will even be more.

All ten of them are on my right side, due to the left side up and going on the fritz and taking the month off for Thanksgiving or whatever it thought it was doing.

But…seriously!  TEN!  SCORE!

Nov25

Doin’ Shots: Day 5

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Doin’ Shots: Day 5

I feel only slightly better knowing that fatigue is a side effect of Follistim. I guess it’s really hard to crank out extra egg follicles or something, because I’m absolutely bushed. I could fall asleep typing thiszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

Anyway, the shot is going much better. Joey’s a pro. That’s the good news.

This morning we had another doctor’s appointment, this time with ultrasound and bloodwork. I got to see another doc in the practice because they were slammed today and were trying to squeeze in over 50 ultrasounds. This other doc was quite nice, and I liked her.

As near as I can tell, there are quite a few follicles on my right side, but lefty isn’t looking so good. He isn’t feeling so good, either. The doctor went to check that side, and I gasped and almost shot off the table it hurt so bad. Turns out there is a bunch of endometriosis and cysts over there (YAY!) and no follicles.

“Hmm, what’s going on with your left side,” were the words that came out of my doctor’s mouth.

I wanted to beat my head on the exam table. I am so tired of hearing that phrase when it comes to my insides.

She cut the left side exam mercifully short because every time she went over there to look, I gasped or tensed or winced. I guess she figured it wasn’t worth it this early in the game, but OH GOODY won’t Friday’s exam be fun? She also mentioned that it’s so strange that people like me who have such bad endometriosis (which she referred to as a “disease” and freaked me out) don’t usually seem to be in as much pain as the lucky ladies who don’t have it very bad. She also said that Endo patients tend to do pretty well with IVF. She also said that Endo can choke out your ovaries and cause them to not produce any eggs. Oh lovely…

She also assured me that the uncomfortable pressure I feel around my midsection will get worse, probably to the point where I will be wearing only sweatpants to keep pressure off my poor, overstimulated system.

Then Dr. Babyplease came in to look at the pretty pictures of my follicles and cysts. I’m not supposed to start my additional two injections tomorrow (and THAT is something to be thankful for!) but we’ll revisit after Friday’s appointment.

When we left and walked through the waiting room, there were quite a few shell-shocked looking couples sitting there. Several of them were young like we are, and I felt really sorry that they have to be in the same boat that we are. It’s really weird to be sitting in the waiting room at a fertility clinic when you’re still in your 20s. I always thought this was a problem for older ladies or something. (There was a lot I didn’t know back then, though.)

So tomorrow, for Thanksgiving, I will be thankful that I don’t have to start extra shots that day. I will be thankful that we have the chance to try IVF. I will be thankful for Joey, that he gives me shots even though he doesn’t like hurt me. I will be thankful that he is strong for me when I can’t do it anymore. I will be thankful for supportive family and friends. I will be thankful for all y’all who are praying for us.

I have lots to be thankful for, especially in the middle of all of this. Sometimes it’s hard to see the forest for the trees, but doing this right in the middle of Thanksgiving can give me a chance to step back and see what I have to be thankful for that I so often overlook.