New Title

In light of my current childless and infertile situation, I have decided to give my self a new title.  I'm a Dog Park Mom.  You know, instead of a soccer Mom?  Pictures of my furry children are below.

If you know anything about Australian Shepherds, you know that they are high energy.  My dear boy, Wally, is definitely energetic.  Since we do not have a backyard, I don't have a place where he can really run.  So, that means I have to go to the dog park. DAILY.  Well, I don't go on Tuesdays because it's closed.  OMG!

I drive Roxie and Wally to the dog park.  We rarely stay there longer than 45 minutes.  I hate just standing around watching, and if things are going great, Wally has expended all of his energy by that time, and he's choosing to sniff poop, instead of run.  Once we get home, I give Roxie some treats and leave her behind because I have to take Wally on a walk to the park, which lasts about 45 minutes to an hour.  During that time, we are doing every trick we have to tire out his mind and body.  I'm talking sit, stay, spin, down wait, place, changing directions.

You're probably thinking, "that's a bit too much time to waste on a dog."  Well, it's perfect.  The dog park is for the dogs.  The walk is for me.  It's my favorite form of exercise and it is precisely the reason I wanted another Australian Shepherd.  My poor Roxie is a dachshund/Maltese mix.  All of her legs are short, but the front ones are shorter than the back ones.  She doesn't exactly excel at distance and endurance:-) She prefers to be carried.

Thanks to Wally ( and quiet possibly my thyroid meds), I am only two pounds away from my weight when I first visited Witch Doctor in December of 2012. Hooray!!  However, I am dog tired (pun intended).  My role as a Dog Park Mom makes it harder to obsess over my upcoming meeting with the fibroid surgeon.  Maybe I'll diligently research as the date of the appointment gets closer.

So this weekend I'm celebrating my hubby's birthday, and a pregnant lady will be apart of the party.  Pray for me!  Anyway, maybe I'll make a shirt and hat with my new title.  Awesome, right?

I Was Right

I went to Witch Doctor for the ol' ultrasound and guess what?  My fibroids have doubled in size since my first visit with her in December of 2012.  One is beginning to obstruct her view of my right ovary.
Her recommendation?  Retrieve some eggs, try to make some embryos, freeze them and get my largest fibroids removed.

I have made an appointment with some specialist at Stanford.  He's supposed to be some world renowned expert on Fibroids and Endrometriosis.  What does that mean to me?  Jack shit!  My last surgeon was all special with multiple titles.

Once again, I'm angry, heartbroken and confused.  I feel like I have no one to talk to about this.  My husband is the eternal optimist, and it feels like he's ignoring my concerns.  My mother and I really just can't talk about this subject in a meaningful way.  My soon-to-be-ex-bestie is pregnant and I don't want to bog her down my tragic tale.  The shrink is pretty much useless.  That leaves me feeling very alone.

I'm treading water over here.  I'm barely keeping my head afloat.  No matter what, I have to get some type of surgery AGAIN.  I didn't want another one.  I didn't like the first one.  I don't like surgeries.  Everyone pretends like they're no big deal, except they are.  People are cutting you open, exposing your insides, while you're passed out on the table.  You have to hope and pray that the surgeon is having a good day and doesn't fuck you up.  And even if he stitches you back up with flying colors, you have to pray the nurses in recovery actually know what they're doing.  My last post-op experience wasn't great.

Anyway, I wish there was a reset button I could press for this life, but that's not possible.  So, I'll just keep treading.

Well on a happier note, Wally, my pup, passed his training class.  Now, we're going to basic manners two.  AND I'm back in the jeans I wore when I first met Witch Doctor.  WooHoo!  I looked at some of the pictures after my first failure, and I was a whale.  People pretended they didn't see me carrying 10 to 15 pounds of pain.  Ridiculous.