It is Saturday morning and I am sitting at home, licking my wounds. Not literally, of course, because the wounds happen to be on my insides. Today was IUI Round #2 and boy, it was about as romantic as a root canal. Actually, a root canal hurts less I think. My body wouldn’t cooperate today so the doctor had to use a clamp on my cervix. That’s right. It is about as painful as it sounds. Ouch.
Whatever humor I found in driving around with sperm, etc., was gone about oh, two seconds into the procedure. Of course, if it worked then it was worth it. If it didn’t work… Well, let’s not think about that yet.
Note to self: I should have had that cosmo with dinner last night. Darn. I could really use one right now. I am going to spend the rest of the day on the couch and nursing Drew, who is also sick as a puppy.
On a different note… I wrote this piece on The Nervous Breakdown last week and I’ve been getting some interesting feedback about it. I do appreciate all the comments, but on the other hand it feels like the comments are evaluating the relationship I wrote about. I know it’s not really true. But when someone writes that they would love to read more about it, or that the story left them dangling, I feel like saying “well, welcome to my world.” I sure would have liked to know more and I was left dangling too.
I am not bitter, or anything. It all happened a lifetime ago and a continent away.
My brother said that he is jealous that I had this big love in my life that is worthy of writing about. True, but what does that say about all the other loves – including the current one – that I don’t write about? Why is it harder to write about something that is quiet and constant and safe? Drew read the piece too and he said that he loved me and my “dark, dark past.” Snort. Never thought of myself as someone with a past, but I guess I do have one.