herveryown

One Gestatertot Short of a Combo

Well, suck. 

One of the women at work, someone I happen to care about very much, miscarried last week.  I was completely taken off guard, and for a long moment I found myself scrambling for an appropriate response.  Finally, it came to me: Just Don't Be The Asshole.

No, seriously.  People spew so much assvice after a miscarriage, my main goal was to not be The Asshole.  Actually, my main goal was to be as supportive as possible, but I realized that sometimes supportive is as much about what you don't say as what you do say.

When she came back to work, I recognized that terrible shellshocked look.  I wanted to take it away.  I wanted to drag her off and hold her hand and feed her ice cream and rice krispie treats, but didn't.  I scratched her back sometimes.  I waited. 

After a couple of days, she started talking.  "You know what the worst part is?  I mean, other than the obvious?  Using these fucking pads."  "Some brands aren't so bad.  Always is okay."  "Yeah, but have you read the little strips?"  "What little strips?"  "The strips holding the wings up.  I peeled one off and read it, and it says 'Have a happy period'.  A happy period?  Fuck you!"  "OH MY GOD.  It does not!"  "It does.  Fuckers.  Don't they know what people use these for?" 

A little later she was sitting down, hunched over a bit.  "I think we need to give you a new name, hon.  Cramping Beaver."  She cracked a smile.  "You know, Hidden Miscarriage, Cramping Beaver?"  "No, no," she corrected. "It sounds like a Pokemon name.  Cramping Beaver!  Gotta catch 'em all!"  "Gotta catch 'em all?  Incomplete D&C!  Vanishing Heartbeat!  Cramping Beaver!  Maybe...Gotta NOT catch 'em all?" 

She laughed until she cried, but in the good way.

I laughed, too. 

I was (and am) still heartbroken for her.  Oops or not, she wanted her pregnancy very much.  She loved the baby it would have become.

I am grateful that I could make her laugh, relieved that I was not The Asshole.  I am glad that the shitty experience I gained through losing GE and BE gave somebody comfort, even if it was of the Inappropriate Humor variety.

I love you, Cramping Beaver.

It's Hard To Relax When You Won't Stop Talking

Originally written: October 13th, 2006
Held back because: The vein in my forehead kept throbbing every time I tried to edit it.

Good (insert appropriate time of day here) ladies and Sam, and welcome to another exciting round of Stupid Shit That People Have Said To Me, And No, I'm Not Making This Up, And Yeah, I Know It Sounds Implausibly Stupid But You're Just Gonna Have To Take My Word For It, People Really Are This Fucking Dumb/Rude/Insensitive/Deserving Of A Swift Punch In The Throat. 

This is the bonus round, where everyone spouting the assvice in question is either a close friend of the family, a family member, a doctor or a member of my father's health care team.  In short, these aren't people I can tell to go to hell (which is a damned shame, as it would give me nearly orgasmic pleasure to do so). 

Contestant Number One:  "Do you want to have kids, Akeeyu?"
Akeeyu: "Yes, very much.  In fact, we did IVF this year, but I had two miscarriages."
CN1: "Oh.  You know what you should do?"
Akeeyu: "What?"  (pleasedon'tsayitpleasedon'tsayitpleasedon'tsa--)
CN1: "You should go on vacation."
Akeeyu: (...yousaidit) "A vacation would not help us.  I have Endometriosis and Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, and a vacation will not fix those things."
CN1: "But I know this couple, and--"
Akeeyu: "I don't ovulate on my own."
CN1: "Well, we manifest what we believe."
Akeeyu: "No.  No.  We never thought I would have so many problems.  We never thought I would have two miscarriages in three months."
CN1: "A vacation would help.  I know these things.  I'm a midwife."
Akeeyu: "I've never gotten to the point where I needed a midwife.  All my babies die."

Contestant Number Two: "So, how are things going at home?"
My mother, Branch: "Okay.  The hospice nurses are very nice."
CN2: "Good.  Now, you said you were interested in pursuing another round of treatment?"
My father, Giggles: "Yes.  I think if it shrunk one of the tumors, it might help with my symptoms and I'd be more comfortable."
CN2: "Well, I guess we can do it, but it's important that you know that it's not going to cure you."
Giggles: "I know that."
Akeeyu: ('Jesus, is this asshole assuming that people who go on hospice and sign Do Not Resuscitate paperwork are all sitting around waiting for a cure, or does he think that my father is a moron?')
CN2: "Well.  Just so you understand, I guess we can do it."

Contestant Number Three: "Now, we could send a nurse over to help with that injection..."
Akeeyu: "No, we're fine with injections.  We've all given ourselves injections, so it's not a problem."
CN3: "Oh.  Are you diabetic?"
Akeeyu: "No, I did IVF."
CN3: "What's that?"
Akeeyu: "In Vitro Fertilization."
CN3: "Oh."  (Looks at my relatively flat stomach.)
Akeeyu: "Obviously, it didn't work."
CN3: "Have you considered adoption?"
Akeeyu: "Yes."
CN3: "I was adopted, and it worked out very well for me."
Akeeyu: "I'm glad, but these days adoption can be very expensive."
CN3: "Really?"
Akeeyu: "Yup.  If the IVF had worked the first time, it would have been cheaper than adoption."
CN3: "I didn't know that."
Akeeyu: (Nodding, thinking 'Yeah, you didn't know that because you have two easily conceived biological children, both of whom were essentially free, which I think is kind of interesting, since you seem to think adoption is such a great idea.')

Contestant Number Four, Whose Prose Will Be Heavily Glossed Over To The Point Of Decoupage To Protect Their Identity, Because I Do Love This Person: "But let me tell you all about how you should deal with your father's impending death."
Akeeyu: "Mmmhmm."  ('Hey, great, why don't you get back to me after one of your parents dies?')

Contestant Number Five: "So, you did IVF.  You two seem really hung up on having a biological child."
Akeeyu: ('You seem awfully presumptuous for someone who's only been talking to me for twenty minutes.') "It's really less that than the fact that we think adoption is a little unrealistic for us."
CN5: "Why?"
Akeeyu: "Well, it's very expensive, for one thing.  There's also the fact that I am Bipolar.  I just don't believe that people line up around the block to give babies to the crazy ladies."
CN5: "You could adopt from one of those other countries."
Akeeyu: "The standards are just as tough for International Adoption, and it's still very complicated and expensive.  And really, it all comes back to me not believing that somebody's going to hand a baby to a crazy lady."
CN5: "Oh.  Well, of course you'd have to get one of those multiracial babies.  They give those to anyone."
Akeeyu: (---tilt---)

And then my fucking head exploded.

If I Were A Guest, I'd Kick Myself Out

When people visit a dying person, a large number of them want to talk about death.  On the one hand I understand this urge and think it's perfectly natural and on the other hand, good God, people, change the fucking subject.  The dying person's family members and caregivers are just about up to here with the morbid chatter, and I know for a fact that this topic has crossed the mind of the person in question about 56,000 times since June.  So no, we don't want to hear about your dying (or dead) relative, we don't want to hear your theories on the afterlife, and we really don't want to hear about your elderly relative's recent brush with cancer (or whatever), because that intense look on our faces doesn't mean we're thinking "Wow, I'm sure glad so-and-so survived that nasty infected hangnail," it means we're doing the math in our head and figuring out how much older your elderly relative is than our not-so-elderly relative will ever be and resenting it.  A lot.*

Incidentally, I am totally not talking about any of the sweet comments and/or emails y'all have sent, which have been wonderful and kind and supportive.  I'm talking about the people who stood in my father's kitchen for fortyfive minutes waxing poetic about mortality while I stood there, nodding politely and thinking about the laundry I could have been folding and the lunch I should have been preparing.

The death-related assvice is intense.  "My (insert family member) had that, and is fine now."  "Have you tried...?"  "You should..."  "If you just think positive..."  Wait, come to think of it, a lot of it sounds oddly like infertility assvice.  Huh.

I feel suffused with death and I would desperately like to talk about something else, but at this point I'm having a hard time focusing on anything else for very long.  It's a bit like that old story about stirring porridge for five minutes without thinking about little green monkeys, and am I the only one who remembers that story?  Apparently the Internet has no recollection of it, and neither does my mother.

Anyway, in light of my total lack of focus and the fact that I may have gone completely crackers and invented an old story about porridge and little green monkeys, I think I'm going to drag a few old posts out of mothballs and air them out, if you don't mind.  Like all things pulled out of the back of the closet, they may be a bit out of fashion or have a hem in the wrong place, but I think they may still have some wear left in them.  We'll see.

*The best thing to talk about at somebody's bedside, other than whatever the hell the person in bed wants to talk about, is your warm regards for them, your favorite tales from the good old days and any ways in which the person in question has influenced or improved your life.  This melts everybody like a pocketed candy bar in the summer, leaving the same sweet aftertaste.

But They Mean Well

"Jeez, are you sure you want to have kids?  Listen to that kid crying.  Do you really want one of those?"
I took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly.  "Yes.  That's kind of why we did IVF."

"You're pregnant?  Hey, So-and-so is pregnant, too.  Boy, there must be something in the water around here."
"Uh...yeah, must be."  Keep in mind, this person knew about the IVF, so I'm not sure what they thought was 'in the water'.  Repronex, maybe?

"Well, Sam, I know of a great family car Akeeyu could buy.  I assume that she will be getting rid of her impractical car now that she's pregnant?"
Because important car buying advice should always be routed through the man of the house, rather than the actual owner of the vehicle.  Welcome to 1950!

"Do you need my extra maternity clothes/crib/baby clothes?"
"Um...I've only been pregnant for about twenty minutes, so probably not just yet, but thank you."

"It it kicking yet?"
"No, because s/he doesn't have feet yet.  I think s/he's still working on growing the tail.  I'm looking forward to the tail."

"Is Sam going to take pictures of the birth?"
"No.  God, no.  Sam will not be allowed below my waist.  The way I figure it, if he wasn't allowed below the waist during conception, I'm sure as hell not letting him down there for the birth."

Fess Up: Which One of You is Dina?

"How's Dear Abby today?" Sam asked.

"Hmmph."

"That bad?"

I cleared my throat and began to read: "Dear Abby, I am an ignorant snatch."

"Akeeyu.  It doesn't really say that."

"It might as well."  I rustled the paper to call for silence and began again.  "Dear Abby, I am an ignorant snatch.  My friend "Dina" hasn't been able to get pregnant."

"Oh, God," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

"Indeed," I said, and read him the rest of the column.

So, which one of you is 'Dina', and how in the fuck have you restrained yourself from thwomping 'Carefree in Seaside, California' upside the head with a crate of home pregnancy tests?  I must say, I admire your discipline.

I found the first part of Abby's advice, the part about shutting the hell up about 'relaxing', to be unexpectedly wise.  I half expected her to spout off about putting your feet up afterwards and God's will, but the first part of what she said was quite pleasant.

Now, I wasn't crazy about the the second part, the bit about advising dear barren Dina to see a fertility specialist (I can just picture Dina's stunned headslap: "Gee, why the fuck didn't I think of that?").  If Dina has already been through a barrage of tests and been diagnosed as unexplained, don't you think she's already earned some frequent flyer miles in an RE's stirrups?  Also, um, if a friend of mine suggested I see a shrink because of my infertility, I would have one fewer friend and consider myself quite a bit better off in the long run.

I've never felt the need to write to Dear Abby (P.O. Box 69440, Los Angeles, CA 90069), but suddenly, I am inspired.  I must confess, I find it difficult damned near impossible to write about infertility without using the terms "assvice" "snatch" or "fuck," but I'll give it a try.

Dear Abby,

As an infertile woman, I read your recent column with interest.  I was glad to see that you advised Carefree that telling Dina to relax was the wrong thing to say, however, I doubt that Dina needs to be prompted to see a Reproductive Endocrinologist (fertility specialist).  If she has already undergone extensive fertility testing, she is undoubtedly already under an RE's care. 

Also, while I certainly agree that infertility is painful, frustrating, and disappointing, I doubt that I would find it helpful to have a friend tell me I need to see a psychotherapist to help deal with my infertility.  This is a decision that infertile women, men and couples need to make on their own.

What might be helpful is for Carefree to realize that infertility is a medical problem, not an attitude problem, and that all the platitudes in the world will not cure it.  Carefree certainly wouldn't encourage Dina to "relax" her way out of cancer, after all.  It might help Carefree to type "infertility" into an Internet search engine and do a little research, not because she needs to educate Dina, but because she needs to educate herself.

Sincerely,

Akeeyu

Akeeyu's Law

Is everybody familiar with Godwin's Law?

"As an online discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches one."

Traditionally, when Godwin's Law is invoked, the thread is over and whoever resorted to Nazi/Hitler comparison is declared to be the loser.  Nifty trick, eh?

Now that we're all on the same page, I'd like to introduce Akeeyu's Law, or Infertile Godwin's Law:

"As the number of comments on an infertility blog post increases, the probability of someone declaring that ART (Assisted Reproductive Technology) is 'unnatural'/'messing with nature'/'interfering with God's will' approaches one."

Look, if you don't want to mess with nature, I'm sure the Amish or the people living off the grid in Montana would be happy to have you.  Those are perfectly acceptable life choices.  Really.

If, however, your birth or the birth of your children required any modern medical intervention whatsoever, if you or a loved one has ever been treated for cancer, vaccinated, operated on, taken antibiotics, used an inhaler to treat asthma, worn glasses, popped an aspirin, if you've ever eaten wheat (the original genetically modified food) or any food grown on a large scale farm, if you've ever ridden in a car, and for that matter, if you're um, on the Internet having a discussion, you've pretty much lost the right to assert your moral indignation over what is or isn't 'messing with nature.'

We all mess with nature.

The general rule of thumb is that what you do is 'taking advantage of modern conveniences and advances in scientific technology,' and what other people do is 'messing with nature,' right?

Riiiiight.

Interview With The Theypire

You know what's been chapping my ass lately?  The plethora of lackwits chiming in to pass judgement on when, where, how, and why women should bear children.  Who are these people, and where can I find them? I'm dying to give them a piece of my mind.

They: "Right here."
Akeeyu: "You know, you're a lot shorter than I imagined."
They: "We get that a lot."
Akeeyu: "Wow.  They.  Right in my very own Internet.  I hardly know where to start; I have so many questions."
They: "Well, don't worry, little lady.  We have all the answers."
Akeeyu: "Uh huh.  Well, there's been a lot of debate about the best age for women to start having children.  Do you happen to know the exact right age for a woman to have children?"
They: "We do."
Akeeyu: "And it is...?"
They: "Precisely five years younger or older than whenever the woman actually had children."
Akeeyu: "What?  That makes no sense.  Could you give me an example?"
They: "Of course.  We'll even do the math for you so you won't have to trouble your pretty little head."
Akeeyu: "Gee, thanks."
They: "Say a godless harlot, er, girl gets pregnant at fifteen.  Clearly, she should have waited until she was twenty.  On the other hand, if a godless grasping career harpy, er, woman doesn't start trying until she's thirtythree and has problems conceiving, well, obviously she should have started when she was twentyeight."
Akeeyu: "I see.  Are there any exceptions to this rule?"
They: "Our wife.  She had children at exactly the right age."
Akeeyu: "And what age would that be?"
They: "It's not polite to ask a lady's age."
Akeeyu: "It's not polite to be a judgemental gasbag, either."
They: "What?"
Akeeyu: "What?  Did you hear something?  Must have been line noise.  Look, I'm still confused about this perfect right age thing.  Fertility-wise, it could be argued that it's advantageous to get pregnant as a teenager.  I mean, highschoolers are more fertile than bunny rabbits on Clomid."
They: "Yes, but then you'd be an irresponsible slut."
Akeeyu: "Um. Riiiight.  So, you're supposed to wait until you get out of high school?"
They: "Have you no ambition?  Aren't you going to go to college, or were you planning on being a welfare mother?"
Akeeyu: "Okay, so you get pregnant right after college?"
They: "Sure, if you want to lend support to the theory that educating women is a waste of time."
Akeeyu: "So, you wait until you're out of college and have established a career?  And you're financially stable?"
They: "Only if you want to be a dried up old maid who put off childbearing for her career, and we all know what coldhearted bitches those women are."
Akeeyu: "Right, so we're back to that again.  Look, what about the women who want to have children earlier, but their husbands want to delay starting a family, and they collectively wait out their best fertile years?"
They: "I'm sorry, I'm a trifle deaf in one ear.  You'll have a to speak up.  Next question?"
Akeeyu:  What if you just found a nice rich man to support you and then had kids?"
They: "You gold digging hussy!"
Akeeyu: "Got it, no rich men.  A poor man, then?"
They: "My tax dollars will just end up supporting you when he gets laid off from his dead end job, you know.  And nobody wants that."
Akeeyu: "What if I just skip the man all together?"
They: "Don't you know what single motherhood DOES to a child?  Being raised without a father figure!  Without a traditional family!  Without values!  Without...without..."
Akeeyu: "Dude, I think you're foaming a little bit right there."
They: "You're...you're one of those FEMINISTS, aren't you?"
Akeeyu: "If by 'feminist,' you mean I'm not falling for your hypocritical misogynystic bullshit, well then, feminist me up, buddy.  Now bugger off before I start loading up this diaper bag with nickels."

This Is Not A Bridge

How interesting.  I got a troll.  My very own troll.

You know, you read about this sort of thing happening.  You fantasize about this moment, but when it comes, it's just so much...stupider than you could have possibly imagined.  I feel like Santa came early and put a gift wrapped idiot under the tree just for me.

Somehow, when I picture trolls typing from beneath their bridges, tapping out poorly punctuated messages motivated by...well, whatever it is that motivates trolls...I don't think this is the reaction they're going for.

Let's turn on the Implied Subtitle Feature, shall we?

i have just typed the longest comment, then thought better of it.

Originally, I had something longer and even less interesting to say, but somehow, I managed to edit it down to these little gems.  I do not have a clear concept of the term "thought better of it."  Also, I fear punctuation.  The shift key terrifies me.

children are not our right, they are not what defines you as a person.

There will be irony in this statement later.  Wait for it.

we spend obscene amounts of money to find ways of helping people have children,

I am personally invested in the way that total strangers on different continents spend their money.  Interestingly, it doesn't bother me at all when people blow thousands of dollars on bigger boobies or a prettier chacha, hundreds of thousands of dollars on yachts, or millions on stupid television shows, but man, wait until an infertile couple drops $2,000 on IVF screening tests, and I am totally there, fighting for Truth, Justice, and The American Way.

...while children all over the world starve, die of thirst, die of diseases that have cures that are too expensive, then there are the ones no one wants in your own country.

And you, as an infertile woman, should adopt, rather than bear your own children, despite the fact that adopting costs about...um... about the same as pursuing IVF, and sometimes much more.  Somehow, that does not offend me as an 'obscene amount of money,' because if you adopt, you're doing a good deed and taking in a child 'nobody wants'.  Isn't that a wonderful, healing way to refer to children available for adoption? 

we are still in the dark ages. a woman is not defined by the fact she can bear children.

I read the post about making peace with your Mother In Law through patience and perseverence, but my reading comprehension is kind of low and what I actually got out of it was "I, Akeeyu Buttmansion, define my entire existance by whether or not I can bear children."

i'm sorry,

Man, am I ever.

i had 8 misses but i did get two wonderful kids in the end,

And here comes the irony.  I am a big ol' hypocrite who thinks that all women with fertility problems (except for meeeee, of course) should abandon the quest to have a child posthaste, take up the veil, and dedicate themselves to ending all disease and hunger worldwide.  I don't have to, of course, because hey, I got my kids in the end.

but i spent a lot of time with other women as desperate as i was to have kids, most had no idea what they really wanted, come to that neither did i.

I'm a big old misogynist who thinks that all women (except for meeeee, of course) are simply too stupid to know what they really want.  By the way, I was so much fun down at Ye Olde Infertility Support Group.  I was always going around saying "Just adopt!  This isn't the dark ages!  You don't know what you really want!"  I think I really changed some lives and helped people in a meaningful way.

Akeeyu's Guidelines For Future Trolls:

Rule One: Please try to keep your remarks relevant to the post you're commenting on.
Rule Two: Punctuation is your friend.  Really.  See the little key that says 'shift' on it?  Try holding it down when you type the first letter at the beginning of a sentence.  There.  Doesn't that look pretty?
Rule Three: If you think that a poorly thought out missive from a semi-literate troll is going to rock anybody's world, shake their resolve, or make anybody reconsider IVF treatment, my goodness, you have a high opinion of yourself, don't you?
Rule Four: Please do not refer to children awaiting adoption as children that 'no one wants.' It is disrespectful to the children, their biological parents (who may want them desperately but be unable to raise them), and their future parents (who might not want to see their children referred to as the human equivalent of weeds).
Rule Five: If you can't be interesting, at least be original.  Don't shop at Cliches R Us.  Don't spew the same assvice that infertile women receive by the steaming bucketload in real life.  If you fail to do so, you will be banned.  This is not a bridge, and you do not live under it.

The Ethics of Pain

I am having a bad week.

If I were a sweet, socially polite little girl, I would sigh prettily, grouse briefly about my life and then apologize profusely for my unacceptable negative emotions.  I might even giggle.

Fuck that shit. 

I am having a bad week.  It's the kind of week where every day shovels out the basement of 'rock bottom' and then pushes you down the resulting hole.  It's the kind of week which would just be SO much more bearable if I were medicated, but I'm not, so here I am.

A question keeps coming up in my everyday life, and I swear to God, the next person to ask me this is going to receive The Full Wrath Of Akeeyu.

People keep asking me why we're moving on to IVF so quickly.  Why we're not trying naturally longer.  Why we don't want to try what worked for them, their cousin, their friend's sister's mother's college roommate that one time.

I have lost my patience with this line of questions.  The fun part is that I'm not just getting it from friends who should know better.  I also got it from Dr. DebateTeam (an OB/GYN) who should really know better.  I can't even begin to formulate an answer to this without employing the work "fuck" in one of its many forms.

Let's review: I have Endometriosis.  Untreated Endometriosis spreads and destroys internal organs (many of which I happen to be personally attached to, several of which are essential for life).  Trying to get pregnant requires Endometriosis treatment to be discontinued.

I am tired of being told I should try 'naturally.' 

I get (I absolutely totally 100% get) that when people encourage me to keep trying naturally, or try pineapple or singing the Mickey Mouse song backwards or whatever, that they're trying to be supportive.

I assume that they're trying to encourage me to "keep trying" because conceiving naturally is the best possible option in their opinion, or maybe the only morally acceptable one.

Guess what?  That fucking ship has sailed.  The S.S. Natural left port quite a while ago, and I wasn't on its passenger list.  There is nothing particularly 'natural' about having Endometriosis.  There's certainly nothing natural about its treatment.  There is nothing natural about having your internal organs cemented together and destroyed, one by one. Nothing.

So, for the next person who tells me to try naturally, here's what you're actually saying to me:

"I think you should be in more pain, and for much longer.  I think that Sam should have to watch his wife's health deteriorate much further.  I think being a silent witness to your wife's pain sounds like a fun way to spend the day your life.  I think you should wait until you're in pain every single day, like you were before when life was unbearable.  I think your body should be completely destroyed by the Endometriosis.  I think that losing an ovary or a fallopian tube to an untreated disease doesn't really sound too bad (as long as it's happening to you and not me, that is).  I think you should wait until you're completely incapacitated by the disease, and then do IVF.  I don't think you should 'give up' and try IVF until you're ready to collapse, both physically and emotionally.  I think you should wait until your odds are significantly worse than they are now. 

"I think you should be in much more pain."

Well, I don't. 

I'm not giving up.  I'm moving forward.

5150 or Bust

While Dr. Debate Team was entering my test information into the computer, I said "The thing I'm most concerned about is that with all this uncertainty regarding the PCOS, I just can't sleep anymore.  I'd like to get something to help me sleep, because the lack of sleep is putting me at greater risk for complications with my Manic Depression, which I'm not medicating because I'm trying to get pregnant."

Full stop.

"You're not taking your medication?"

If you ever want somebody's full and undivided attention, tell them that you're an unmedicated Crazy Person.  Dr. DebateTeam could not have looked more horrified if I'd told her that I ate stir fried kittens for breakfast every morning.

"Well, are you at least being monitored by your psychiatrist?"

"No."

Stir fried kittens with a tall glass of exploited widow's tears.  "Why not?"

"Because there's nothing he can do for me right now.  Also, his office hours are not great, it's a really inconvenient drive, and basically, it's a lot of stress to get seen."

"But...um...you should be talking to someone, and-"

"Why?  As long as they can't medicate me, there's no point in going through all that just to talk to someone for a half an hour a month."  Clearly, this woman has never sought psychiatric coverage from an HMO.  The additional layers of bullshit you have to sort through, the stupid questionnaires, the shoddy treatment by low-level Evil Insurance Company, Inc. phone minions?  Why, it's enough to make a girl go stark raving mad.  Whoops, too late.

"But...um...do you have a therapist you can talk to?  Because...um..."

"I have," I said (very slowly, as if I were talking to a complete lackwit, which, okay, I pretty much was) "a disease, and the treatment is a drug.  Talking to someone is not going to change that, and I'm not going to take Lithium in the first trimester because of the risks to the fetus."

"But...um...sometimes the risks of not taking the drugs are worse than the risks of taking them."

I just looked at her.  "If I have a child with a birth defect caused by Lithium, that's going to be a lot worse than what I'm feeling right now."

"But...um...you should..."

"I'm not taking Lithium, so the only way I can treat the Manic Depression right now is to try to treat the causes of stress in my life, and at the moment, untreated PCOS is the big one."

"But you might not even have PCOS."

"So...can I get that glucose test thing done anywhere, or do I have to come back here?"

"Um, anywhere.  Now, I'm going to prescribe something to help you sleep."

"Great.  Something safe while I'm trying to get pregnant, right?  Something Class B?"

"Right."

"Thank you."

As I walked down to the pharmacy, I figured the day wasn't a total loss.  At least I'd be able to sleep.

When I reached the pharmacy, however, I was told that my shiny new prescription was not safe for use during pregnancy.  The pharmacist didn't even want to dispense it unless I was absolutely certain I wasn't pregnant.  Dr. Google helpfully pointed out that it was, in fact, a Class X drug and as such, shouldn't be taken by anybody who could become pregnant in the near future.

Great.

I looked at the little bottle of promised sleep in the pharmacist's hand, the one with my name neatly stamped across the label and said "Well, I guess I won't be needing that today."

You know what pissed me off the most?

The fact that Dr. DebateTeam felt qualifed to make decisions about acceptable risks to my theoretical children.  That after talking to me for all of fifteen minutes, she felt comfortable declaring that untreated manic depression was a greater risk to a fetus than Lithium, a drug known to cause serious harm in pregnancy.

I said a lot of things to Dr. DebateTeam.  Not all of them were polite.  Honestly, I got a lot snippier than I've ever gotten with a medical 'professional.'

I did not, however, say this:

"Excuse me, Dr. DebateTeam, but I am an adult.  As such, I am allowed to make my own medical decisions.  You may not respect them, because you look at me and just see a Crazy Person, but when I look in the mirror, I see a person with a mental disease, and those two things are worlds apart.

"Don't tell me what risks are acceptable to my future children.  I'm their mother, goddamnit, and any decisions to be made about their well being or best interest will be made by me and their father, not you.

"You have no right to tell me to poison my body and endanger my children just because the idea of an unmedicated Crazy Person makes you uncomfortable.

"So I'm unhappy for a while.  So I'm clinically depressed for a couple of months.  So fucking what?  I've been through worse.  I can handle it.  As compared to the potential lifetime suffering of my child, this is not a big deal.  It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

"I know you don't respect my decision because I'm just a Crazy Person to you, but what you fail to take into account is the fact that my decision was made back when I was medicated and is therefore a completely rational (even by your standards) decision.

"I have a mental disease.  It doesn't have me."