THE NEW NORMAL

Hello, friends. I would like to report that I feel like a somewhat normal human being. After four treatment cycles in a row (two canceled, two failed IUIs), we're taking a break, and I feel almost daily relief over it. For the first few days, I kept panicking -- what meds am I forgetting to take? What appointment am I missing? Oh God, what cycle day is this, I don't even know! Then I would remember, and relax, and think of my needles and sharps container and Follistim pen stored away in their secret spots, and not miss them one iota.

Now when I crave a Mexican Coke or a caramel latte from Starbucks, I don't have to consider the potential harm the caffeine would do to my fragile reproductive system; I just have to think of what time it is, and would I ever fall asleep if I indulged in said treat at 7 p.m.

When I've had a hard day and just want to go run it all out on the pavement or beat myself up at boot camp, I can just go do it.

When I want to make plans, I don't have to fire up Google Calendar to see how these possible plans might interfere with treatment.

I'm not crying over every tiny inconvenience in life; I'm not waking up in hot sweats; I'm not keeping my phone at my side every waking moment for fear I'll miss the call from the nurse. I don't have to worry about what size my follicles are or how thick my uterine lining is. I don't have to force my husband to masturbate into a plastic cup; I don't have to cram in a wine night with my friend before the two-week wait. I've even stored away the OPKs and the HPTs -- I'm just shelving it all until we get back from South America.

The downside of all this is that we won't make a baby. The logic behind this thinking is that if we can't make one even with all of the above paraphernalia, there's no way we'll make one just going about our business. I'm pretty OK with not having a shot at making a baby for two months, until one of the following happens:

1. I see a baby.
2. I see a pregnant person.
3. I see a person who may or may not be pregnant: Maybe she's just overweight, or maybe she's just wearing a loose top for fashion. But probably she's fucking pregnant.

I've done an OK job at shielding myself from pregnant bellies and babies, but they do tend to pop up in unexpected places. Facebook pregnancy announcements do a pretty good job of shattering me to pieces as well, but to be honest, I've hidden so many people, my feed has dwindled to practically nothing.

So it's a weird line I walk ... just being normal old me, going to work, going to the store -- then suddenly sad, jealous, hyper-comparison-making me, losing her mind over some stranger's baggy shirt.

But still, I stand by my proclamation that overall, it feels good to be on treatment hiatus for the time being.

Philip had a cold over the weekend, so we basically hibernated, eating take-out food, researching our big trip (seriously, my friends, I canNOT believe I am going here!) and watching This Is 40. (Which is hilarious, and I will watch anything directed by Judd Apatow, and there's even some infertility humor in the movie that totally splits my gut. But seriously, can we please [SPOILER ALERT] be done with the whole oh-no-I'm-accidentally-pregnant-at-40-whatever-will-I-do plot? It nearly ruined Modern Family for me. This predicament is, I guess, tragic for fertiles who had their planned pregnancies at the appropriate time earlier in life, but to me, it will be reality that if I have children at all, it will be at an advanced maternal age. So while this may be high drama in some circles, for me it's just a fact of life, is not compelling in the slightest and, in fact, is annoying as hell.)

Ranting aside, the weekend was just kind of ... normal. Philip and I reminded me of the old us, before charts and thermometers and pills and wands and needles came and changed everything.

So that's my transmission from my kind of pitifully insular, self-obsessed infertile life. Hanging onto small joys, living in the balance. Thank you, as always, for following along.