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I love Mary J. Blige. I just do. When I heard this song I couldn’t help but think of all of my infertile brothers and sisters out there. I think it should be our theme song.

Here are some of the lyrics that resonate in my heart long after the song is over. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do (over and over again…)

In each tear
there’s a lesson
Makes you wiser than before
Makes you stronger than you know
In each tear
Brings you closer to your dreams
No mistake, no heartbreak
Can take away what you’re meant to be

You’re much more than a struggle that you go through
You’re not defined by your pain, so let it go…
You’re not a victim, you’re more like a winner
And you’re not in defeat, you’re more like a queen

No no we can’t be held down
No no oh noo I I I can’t held down
You you you can’t be held down
We we we can’t be held down

Fran in the big city

Some adVenturs must be done alone… like defrosting some snow babies for a second round of IVF. Fran missed Peggy and her sushi eating, skydiving ways, but had a nice short visit to Chicago. She went shopping on the Magnificent Mile, met a friend for dinner and had the most delicious calamari of her life, saw Second City for the second time, and watched five hours of Golden Girls. Could life get any better? Yes, yes it could. A positive pregnancy test would be the whipped cream and cherry of the weekend (as opposed to the bread and butter).

Not many people can say they had such a fun-filled weekend when they conceived. The most exciting story I ever heard is a friend who conceived after an Eagles victory. If one of the two embryos implant they will have a story, alright. One like no other and yet like thousands of others…

Thank you for the secret note you left me at the inferility clinic! It was a bright spot to my otherwise grim visit to Magnolia Park. Dr. W said, “Well, your ultrasound was…um…quite dramatic.” The cysts on my ovaries are apparently tennis ball sized and have cousins that are happily hanging onto my fallopian tubes like nasty little monkeys. The entire family of them are filled with gooey poison which seeps into my gut. And the good news? He thinks taking the cysts out could actually COMPROMISE the fertility of my eggs. Seriously, can I not have ONE element that works correctly?

I left a quick note to you (under many watchful eyes). And at the checkout I saw a flyer for a new mom party. Braggarts! I can’t wait to put our V-list party flyer right next to it and assure women that at OUR party there will be no stinky diapers or swapping of ultrasound images. (unless they are ultrasounds of cysts or follicles.)

I keep trying to take a deep breath and see this all as a lesson in patience. I should know by now that in this world the game changes daily, so the Bad News Bears have to roll with the punches. One of these days I will learn how to do that. I’m pretty sure the key lies in riding a mechanical bull, drinking gin from a flask or eating one of the cupcakes you made. I’ll start with that one…

Am I about to talk about my vagina on a blog? Yes, yes I am. I think we should talk more about vaginas, because mine is starting to feel a bit like public property. As in, “Mind if I take a look in your vagina?” “Sure! Everyone else has!”

When I went to get my “ping” test the guy made my vagina feel like a bit of a freak. But today my (female) doctor said my vagina is a perfectly normal vagina, maybe with a few idiosyncracies, but still, perfectly normal all the same and more than capable of having a catheter and balloon shoved into it.

I’ve already grown tired of various and sundry doctors peering into my love hole. But when they do stare into it, I’d at least like them to remember that there is a person attached to it. That’s all.