Suckitude Olympics

Word up to my sisters, The Barren-ess is calling out:

It's been quiet around here lately. I wish it were because everything were going so swimmingly, so Michael Phelpsingly, for our Mafia. But I suspect we are just ranting in solitude. Not good. Let's dive in, shall we? We'll call the event Synchronizing Ranting, and everyone who participates gets a medal. Maybe the petiter among us (ie, me)could even get a chest to put it on. I know, overreaching...

1. So, work sucked today. The overnight software "upgrade" turned out to be a downgrade, and at noon they ended up de-installing it -- causing all work done all morning to be lost, whether it was saved or not. Luckily, it was only our BUSIEST DAY ALL WEEK, so it didn't affect us much at all. Not. I didn't have time to eat lunch until about 5. I left an hour late. And where did I have to go after work?

2. To the grocery store. Not usually a big deal. But I was there to buy baby food. Except I have NO BABY. Why was I buying baby food? Well...

3. It was for my DYING CAT, in hopes it will help her get enough nutrition in her to keep her alive for another day, week, please god month.

4. The checker saw my five sad little jars of turkey and broth, chicken and broth, and Gerber beef, and chirped, "How old is the little one?" God help me I actually said out loud, "It's for a dying cat." I am such a b****. She offered sympathy, rang me up, then said, "Have a nice day." I looked at her. "I'm sorry about your cat," she added.

5. I'm sick of acting like such a bitch (can I say that word here?). Worse, I'm suck of feeling bad for acting that way. Usually I feel just overwhelmingly sad. Today I tried feeling angry. Turned out it's not much different, but I suppose the variety isn't bad. Maybe it will improve my complexion, because...

6. Sometimes if you are having a good hair day or are wearing a kickass outfit or some such, it will help you fend off a day's rottenness. No such luck for me today. My hair's okay, but... I'd say I have a zit, but that really doesn't capture the scale of this deformity. It's on my cheekbone, and it's a THREE-DIMENSIONAL object. First it was convex -- by which I mean tall. Tall enough that I COULD SEE MY FACE WITHOUT USING A MIRROR. If I rolled my eyes down and a little to the left, I could actually SEE this thing on my face. That is just wrong. The thing was the Mount Everest of complexions. The Pyramids of Egypt transplanted to my face. Now it has become concave, by which I mean it looks like the Grand Canyon. It's a crater, like a meteor hit. Now I know what happened to the damn DINOSAURS: The Earth got a freaking pimple like this on its surface.

7. My university called to ask me for money tonight. Apparently they haven't noticed my degree is in CLASSICAL STUDIES. A fine enough education to be sure, but not really one that pulls in much, you know, income. Even if you AREN'T up to your ears in IVF debt. I couldn't be mean to them, though; I used to be one of them: Telemarketing for the university is the only job I ever had that I quit by just not showing up for a scheduled shift. I would've been fired soon, because I was nearing the end of my training period and I knew I would never be able to make the quotas. But still, what a crappy thing to do. Clearly I have guilt issues since that was at least 15 years ago...

8. Tonight's Olympic events? Synchronized diving, which has to be the second dumbest sport ever invented (after solo synchronized swimming), and men's beach volleyball (in which the men compete wearing long shorts and loose T-shirts, they look like freaking NBA hoopsters, very unfair since the women wear itty-bitty bikinis -- hey, I want my eye-candy too!). Later the women's gymnastics will be on, thankfully. I love gymnastics. But I sure hope our girls do better than they did on qualifying day; that was just ugly.

9. All this, and I haven't even started the lupron yet. If any of you have been on that you know it is the devil's drug. I (and my poor husband) have that joy later to look forward to later this week...

I could probably go on ranting all night, but I'll step off the podium here and let y'all join in. What are your rants of the day/week/month/year/life?

--The Barren-ess

The Rant Room is open

rant. noun. a loud bombastic declamation expressed with strong emotion.

Have a rant about your day, your month, your year? All rants are welcome and no judgment will happen. However no ranting about specific bloggers. No ranting about specific clinics unless it is in the abstract. Don't be a hater. Just a ranter.

Dontcha "Wish" you had mad rhymez like this?

VMB Wishy-Wish has submitted the first official entry to our blog! She's written another song for the VMBs, and the girl has mad crazy flow. With these sic rhymez and all the bling she's flashing in her gangsta pic, I'm starting to wonder if she's actually "straight outta Compton" and not Cairo. Check it:

Since we are all GANGSTA BITCHEZ here yo, I think we need anotha song and it goes a little somethin' like this...hit it...

Hitting the needles, taking the pills, careful with the piss cup make sho it don’t spill.

I ain't got no babies, ain't got no kids but word up yo I got a reason to live.

It's infertility yo, come take a lick, and pray when you transfer them embabies stick!

Pimpin' ain't easy and neither is this

not another injection, damn I thought that was it!

If you are 2 week waitin I feel ya I do

Man this shizit sucks, I know you feel me boo.

Thugz and bitchez try to front all the time

saying "look at my little one isn't she fine"

I say "yeah she's ahwright", a little cute maybe too

But my day will come, sho nuff soon I know it too.

We are Vet Mafia Bloggers, infertiles hell yeah

Can I hear ya holla with me girl ... oh HELL YEAH!!!

Welcome to the Mafia

vet (noun) - an experienced person who has been through many battles
mafia (noun) - any small, powerful, or influential group in an organization or field; clique.
blogger (noun) - a person who keeps a Web log (blog) or publishes an online diary

Vet Mafia Bloggers (noun) - an embittered, but shrewdly humorous gangsta offshoot of the infertility blogging community who, in response to an assclown fertile, might say things like, "just know, I will cut a bitch."

Had a bad day and need the support of your posse? Do you just need to vent and get some of the anger out of your system? Founded by The Original Gangstas, the Vet Mafia Blog is a place where you can come to lay the bad shit out and know you'll have the understanding from people who know. Sarcastic wit and snarky comments about fertiles and infertility dominate this 'hood.

Basic VMB information:

• Colors: Wear to Make Aware pomegranate and black (to represent the infertility suckhole)
• Hand Sign: middle fingers up, hands crossed at the wrists into a V shape
• Turf: the RE's office, bars, home, the blogosphere
• Song: The Vet Song
• Slogan: ??? New Mafia memebers - we need your help with this

How to Join: Read Initiation to the VMBs and follow the instructions there.

How to Submit Posts to the Blog: This place belongs to all of us. If you'd like to post an entire entry to the blog, email it to us at theoriginalgangstas@gmail.com. Please let us know if you'd like to submit the entry anonymously.

Commenting: This community runs on comments; it's how we give and get support, which is the whole purpose for the creation of this space. Come if you need a laugh. Come if you need a hug. Come if you need to vent. Come if you need someone to cry with you. Come if you feel like you might cut a bitch. This is your gang, your group of biznatches who you know will have your back.


Our first mission as a group is to decide on a slogan. Post yourselves in, then come back to this post and add suggestions for our slogan to the comments.

Initiation to the VMG's

So you wanna be down? You need to Post In by going to your blog and creating a post with the following information:

1. Figure out a gang name for yourself.
2. Take a pic of yourself (or just your hands) flashing the gang sign - middle fingers up, hands crossed at the wrists into a V and post it on your blog.
3. Put the Vet button on somewhere on their blog (either in a single post or in the sidebar).
4. Tell a story about the crappiest thing a Fertile ever said to you or something else vent-worthy.
5. Add your name and the permalink to your Initiation Post to the comments of this post.
6. Visit at least 5 other VMB's and give 'em a shout out by commenting on their blog and linking to them on yours.
7. Come back here and comment on this post with your gang name and a permalink to your initiation post on your blog. (Edit from Izzio: This may or may not be the same as number five. Just be happy there is no goat involved in initiation.)
   

We'll add your blog to the Mafia Roll Call once you've posted yourselves in, bitchez.

The Vet Song

(to the tune of "The Jet Song" from West Side Story)

written by Izzio and K-Smarty

(Spoken)

K-Smarty: Against the Fertiles we need every woman we got.
Izzio: Yeah, cuz we just don't belong there anymore.
K-Smarty: So how 'bout youse and me start us a gang.
Izzio: I'm down - let's call ourselves the Vet Mafia Bloggers.
Ms. Diagnosed: Count me in. I’ll design the graphics ‘cuz you know I gots those mad skilz.
K-Smarty: That's whats up! But what if you're a Vet and you manage to cross over?
Izzio: When you're a Vet, you stay a Vet...

(Song)

When you’re a Vet,
You’re a Vet all the way
From your first negative
to your last fertile egg.

When you’re a Vet,
If the shit hits the fan
You’ve got sisters around
Even if you’re a man!

You’re never alone,
You’re never disconnected!
You’re home with your own.
No baby is expected,
Even with no condoms, you’re well protected.

Then you are set
With a capitol V,
Which you’ll never forget
Even if you get a babeeee.
When you’re a Vet,
You stay a Vet!

Oh, when the Vets fall in on the RE’s table,
We'll be pulling that gown down as tight as we’re able!
And when the dildocam takes a look up your snookie,
Your follies will tell you if it’s time for some AI or some nookie!

When betas fall or there's blood in your pants,
We'll be there for you as you fight for your chance.
When Fertiles don't get us, and don't get our ties
They're gonna flip, gonna flop, gonna drop just like flies.

When you’re a Vet
It can be the saddest thing.
Girl, you’re a fighter,
So fuck Nuva ring!

PIO in the rear,
Our Follistim pens clickin'.
Fertiles steer clear,
We're doped up on hormones and your ass needs kickin'!

Here come the Vets,
With our keyboards we yell-
So don’t tell us, “Relax,”
Because we’ll give you hell.

Here come the Vets,
Fertile girl, step aside!
Better stop breeding
Better run, better hide!

Some partners of Vets,
Have sperm straight from hell.
They can’t find their way,
Or they don’t swim so well.

We have no second pink lines,
So keep your bellies hidden.
We're hangin' a sign,
Says "Fertiles are forbidden"
And we ain't kiddin'!

Here come the Vets
Yeah, and we’re gonna beat
Every last insensitive Fertile
On the whole buggin' street!

'On the
Whole!
Ever!
Mother!
Lovin'!
Street!

THE VETS!

Who are the Original Gangstas?

Izzio AKA Io from Who Shot My Stork?

K-Smarty AKA Kymberli from I'm a Smart One

Ms. Diagnosed AKA Calliope from Creating Motherhood

Izzio fa sho'

What up biznatches? Word to your non-mothers.
Izzio here. I blog at Who Shot my Stork.
I'm a snarky political asshole who loves to talk back. I have to: Ninety percent of the people I work with are manly (read: lovable dumbass) men and 100% of the people I work with are tough. These guys walk through fire. Literally.
Infertility sometimes feels like being a smoke eater.
When you walk in that building, you can't see. It's hard to tell where to turn. And you don't know that you'll get out without a floor collapsing.
My husband has no vas deferens so we did surgery to extract the sperm. Now we have to wait until we can afford IVF. I'm not a veteran of the didocam or of injections. But I am a veteran of disappointment and anger and sorrow. Of putting of with those damn ferts who tell me to relax, that I'm young and have plenty of time. Those ferts who don't understand that adopting isn't for me right now. Those ferts that don't understand that maybe I don't want them to shove their fucking baby in my face and demand I coo.
It doesn't matter what kind of fire you are fighting - if you're infertile, we all come out with burns.
I believe it will make us stronger that we are together. We will drag each other out.
And if those ferts think that they can hurt me or my sisters any more, well bitches, you better watch out. We've fought fire. Surely we can take you too.

K-Smarty's in da' hizouuuse

I probably shouldn't be, but I am, and quite frankly, I'm tired of fighting it. I'm bitter. Still bitter. I'm sure that part of me always will be bitter.

Infertility is cold and vicious, and like the sea, it has many depths and a wide breadth. Some, like myself, might only need Clomid. Others injectibles and IUI. Others IVF. Surrogacy. Adoption. Child-free living. No matter what your particular flavor of infertility is, it's like walking through fire. No matter how long or short that walk is, when you come through the fire, you're still left with burns. The scars of the struggle remain etched in your heart, and they prick from the heat of the nearby fire and from the pain of the others still there. Or maybe that's just me.

So yeah - I'm bitter. Still. Because it just isn't fair. Dammit.

As a surrogate, I chose to come back to the flames partially because it feels like a way of paying it forward. But there's the other side of me that feels like I have unfinished business, like I can't rest until I've helped pull someone else out. Then there's the greater part of me that is actually comforted by the warmth here - not by the fire's heat, but by the warmth of the others here. That other place where people say shit like, "I got pregnant on the Pill!" and "If you just relax it will happen for you" just makes me cringe.

People look at me but they don't see. Now having crossed through, I hear shit like, "Don't you know what causes that (that being pregnancy)?" and "Well, you're just a baby machine, aren't you?" If you only knew, jack ass. But since you don't, I'll just call you a bitch or a fucker behind your back and resist the urge to make a voodoo doll in your likeness and poke its private parts with a PIO needle.

I'm definitely bitter - and bitter is better together.

Once a vet, always a vet.

Vets up, Ferts down - can I get a witness, my Mafia sistas?

Cali is Ms. Diagnosed

In my glorious youth I was in many, many clubs: community service Club, drama Club, forensic speaking Club, Latin Club, girls that liked to be a member of a club Club...you name it I joined. I have a long, long history of joining. I'm very good at it. In my grown up years I didn't have time for clubs any more. I was working, fool! I barely had time to see my friends. (there should have been a club for that...)

Then infertility happened, like shit often does, and it caught me totally unaware. Suddenly I found myself needing to be a joiner again. I needed to feel NOT alone. So I started hanging out at virtual places and lurking about looking for the right type of people to inflict my personality on (at?).

The first group I joined was an awesome SMC (Single Mothers by Choice) forum at a charting site that I will not plug. Also on that site I became fast and furious friends with a group of women that were equally as obsessed as I was about charting and cervix gazing. Then there is The IVP, a group comprised of women dealing with alternative reproduction and all the fun that brings. heh.

But even within these groups I became aware that my knee jerk response to cheerful and chippy newbies was one of snark. I was the worst case scenario girl that had multiple failures under her belt and loved to burst the, "maybe it will happen at the first IUI" bubble. I have become leathered by my sadness and usually have to bite my tongue when faced with blissful optimism.

Thankfully there is now an arena that will cater to those of us that have been through the waiting, struggled with the failures, filled up those wine glasses and cried until our waterproof makeup dripped down our face. No need to sugar coat it here. No need to pretend that you are just fine. No need to say, "having a shit day" and then explain, "well you see I am not pregnant and I have been trying for oh so many years..." We get it here. We understand that there will always be the residue of sadness coating every moment of our life.

My pissing contest list of fertility fun and games includes, but is not limited to:
Being single! (aka- no sperm in the house)
unmedicated cycles: 2
Clomid cycles: 4
Femara cycles: 2
Injectable cycles: 5
IUI's: 13
Home Insem (ha ha ha!): 1
BCP cycles: 2
IVF 1- shared egg donor cycle: canceled day before ER due to false + Hep C test
IVF 2-BFP! Holy shit! unpregnancy at 5.5 weeks, months of bleeding & depression
break cycles (due to cysts or lack of money): 5 million
Baby: 0

My VMB name is: Ms. Diagnosed

Vet Mafia Blogger Roll Call

The Original Gangstas
Izzio - Who Shot My Stork?
K-Smarty - I'm a Smart One
Ms. Diagnosed - Creating Motherhood


Vet Mafia Bloggers
(arranged in alphabetical order of home blogs)

Mrs. Bitter Be-otch (Kara) - becoming parents
Speedy G - Giant Speed Bump

Patches (Susie) - I'm an Ova-Achiever!
The Barren-ess (katedaphne) - It's Either Sadness or Euphoria
Loopy-P (DC) - Lupus Pie
B-rip (Bon) - Scrambled Eggz
EM/C (babychaser) - The Baby Chase
Wishy-Wish - Wishing4One