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Called Dr Hearn yesterday on his personal cell. Yes, the man gives out his personal cell. I don’t understand it, but it’s yet another bullet on my running list of “Reasons Dr Hearn Will Go To Heaven” (only sorta kidding). I don’t usually use a doctor’s personal number (unless of course, it’s a hope-crushing-pagan oncologist who just once again attempted to squelch my mother’s spirit).

Anyway, I called, he answered, and I told him that Bobby and I were ready to talk about “our options.” Sounds so foreboding. He suggested that we skip another appt with him and go straight to the reproductive endocrinologist of his choosing. So an hour later, we officially are on the calendar of Dr RE, MD. Our appt is next Monday, Jul 14th. Spoke to a nurse about what to expect… basically, Dr RE will get our medical history, and then we’ll figure out where to go from there. [Insert deep sigh of uncertainty here.]

The word “infertility” distresses me immensely. Part of it is ignorance – lack of knowledge is always frightening – so I’ve been reading like mad. Infertility is defined as not getting pregnant after a year of trying and/or getting pregnant then miscarrying. So yeah, I guess that would be us. For now at least. The anxiety I’m feeling is also fear-related… fear that this is just the beginning of a path that I don’t want to go down. Fear that there’s a problem, an issue, an unresolvable hiccup.

So I’ve been doing what any 30-yr-old does when she hears the word “infertile” cross her obgyn’s lips…. I’ve completely dismantled the kitchen. Pulled the appliances out, scrubbed them down, applied blue painter’s tape to every edge within reach, and started slapping paint on the walls. Yes, a nice coat of “gourd” is in my kitchen’s future. So far it looks like a giant mustard bottle exploded, but I’m hoping that things will improve as time goes on. And I’m not sure how I feel about the gourd and antique blue being neighbors. I thought it would be happy, uplifting, interesting. But instead it’s….. colorful. Really, really colorful. And maybe garish, obnoxious, Mediterranean-gone-wrong?

Daddy’s trying to organize a family night of Dave Ramsey-watching this evening… he has the entire Financial Peace series on DVD, and he wants us to embrace it as a group. I know, fun, right? I’m reluctant – feeling very jittery, unfocused… you know it’s bad when I’m avoiding Dave. My family makes me anxious right now. They’re still rolling along in their new normal, the one that they found after Mama died. But I feel different, altered, you know…. potentially infertile.

And did anyone else know that they make blueprints for gardens? Why yes they do. I want to do a little nook in the back corner of our yard… a shady place to sit and ponder. I’m thinking of it as a memory garden for Baby Rettew, and a place to visit with Mama. So I search for garden how-to, and voila…. bhg.com hooks me up with a bazillion little nicely drawn-up “garden plans.” They have plans for shade gardens, dramatic gardens, easy gardens, seasonal gardens, rock gardens, gardens of all colors and sizes. Ridiculous. Anyone who’s contemplating a garden should consult the Better Homes & Gardens online bible… good god, I’ve become a domesticated freako.

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