The sliding doors automatically open, and I step into the lobby. The smell of sickness and antiseptic fill my nostrils, and I nod to the Candy Striper volunteers at the front desk. They recognize me now. I walk down the hall to the laboratory, then up to the receptionist. "Oh...you again." They recognize me now. I nod, fake a smile, and say, "Needles are my life!" I shrug and go find a seat to wait my turn. It's just me and one other woman in the waiting room. The lab closes in less than a half hour; I hurried here right after work. The woman is at least six months pregnant, happily reading a pregnancy magazine. For a second, I hate her. Then, in the next second, I am jealous of her. Two seconds later, I am filled to the brim with emotion--actual  happiness--for her. "You must be so excited," I think to myself. "What a blessing--look at the human curled up right there inside of you."

I look away. She probably thinks, "Why is this woman staring at me?" I look down at my feet, blinking away the tears. I listen for my name, and it is finally called. The actual blood draws are also routine now. I barely wince. I watch the whole time--don't need to look away as the needle punctures my skin. I don't get light-headed anymore. I don't have that luxury. I need to go and get these tests done alone, sometimes several days a week, and I've had to build up my tolerance. Wham, bam. It's done. Time to go.

I walk out toward the front of the lab and the ladies wave good-bye. "How sad is it that most of them know my name?" I think to myself. I walk down the hallway and back toward the teenage Candy Stripers. They have textbooks open in front of them, but they're not doing their homework. They whisper and giggle. They look so young to me. "Did I look that young at sixteen?" I wonder. The young girls nod, and I think back to that time in my life. I must look so old to those girls. Thirty this year. I'm one of the women I never thought I'd be--nearly 30, the antithesis of sexy, fertile youth in my uniform of different colors. I long for their red and white stripes--so fresh, so cheerful. My uniform is made up of black and blue--bruises line the inside of my arms. I keep them covered, put my head down, and fight back the tears again as the sliding doors automatically open for me to leave.

I don't have anything very exciting to write about this morning, but I feel compelled to take a break from working to organize a few thoughts and catch everyone up on what's been going on with us.

First, we found out this weekend that the cycle discussed here and here was unsuccessful. The incessant rain this weekend felt like an appropriate depiction of the sadness we felt. We spent a lot of time cuddling and crying and truly letting ourselves feel the pain, which although it may sound pretty depressing, was probably good for us. For those of you wondering, "Wow, another failed attempt at conceiving. How long are these two going to keep at this?"-- I don't have an answer for you. For now, we will probably try two more cycles before my doctor will need to force my body to take a break from all of the fertility drugs. If we aren't successful by then, we will need to re-evaluate our situation at that time, the same as we have been doing these past few years as we've reached other milestones. We appreciate everyone's thoughts and prayers as we continue to work through this difficult time. That you are all out there rooting for us and wishing us well means more than you'll ever know.

In other news, I am now past the half-way point in my second semester of teaching two university-level classes: business writing and technical writing. I learned a lot last semester that I've been trying to immediately apply this semester, and I'm learning a whole slew of new lessons this semester as well. Basically, I'm pretty convinced that I'm learning more than the students are at this point. I have joined two other professors this semester to work on a translation project between the U.S. and another university in Italy. Although the final outcome has yet to be seen, I am hoping that my technical writing students will gain some experience in working within an international team, as such skills are so integral in today's workplace, and also with preparing instructional texts for the translation process (definitely not as easy a task as you'd think).

In my other job, I'm keeping very busy as well (thank goodness). As with most other people right now, I am worried about my job. K-12 educational funding in our state has been recently cut, and we are still waiting to see how it will impact my regional educational services organization. I am still loving the variety of projects I get to work on, the creative writing I get to do, and seeing how the publications we produce make a difference in the school districts and community, so for now I will just continue to be thankful for the job I have and hope that I'll be able to keep it.

Last night, we went out to dinner with a colleague of Drew's who is visiting from Germany. We had a great time at the Japanese steakhouse talking about the differences between languages, dialects, and cultures. We haven't mentioned the possibility much to people up until this point, but ever since Drew spent time in Germany and France last fall for work, we've been discussing the possibility of someday becoming ex-pats. Of course, right now wouldn't be a great time for it to happen. With owning a house, three cars, two dogs, and me being on so much medication to control my PCOS, we are not exactly in a flexible enough state to pick up and move overseas. But, it is exciting to discuss the possibility. And, if adding to our family does not work out the way we'd like it to, the five bedroom house with the big yard starts to seem a little unnecessary to keep. Drew's boss has told him that if he ever gets serious about the prospect, just let him know. I think the opportunity might be there, if we find ourselves in the position that we can take it.

Finally, my dear husband generously bought me a new toy this past weekend. I have been "following" this electronic reading device since it was introduced in 2007. At first, I had mixed feelings about it. As an avid reader and someone who has always been emotionally attached to the physicality of books, the device, at first, seemed like "the beginning of the end." Now, however, my feelings have changed slightly, though I must admit that a small part of me feels like a traitor who has joined the "dark side." "What will become of the publishing industry and libraries if I support the development of these devices by purchasing one?" I used to think. But, as with anything else, if you can't resist change, you must embrace it. So, I guess I am choosing to embrace it now, as we have seen the "writing on the wall" for publishing of late with the consolidation and closings of so many newspapers and other media outlets who are also going "paperless."

Also, when we calculate out how much we'd spent to buy additional bookshelves (ours are currently beyond capacity), as well as how much I spend on my Barnes & Noble membership and books each year, the numbers spoke for themselves. Once the device pays for itself, we can also feel good about the fact that we'll be killing fewer trees. And, the "techie" features such as text-to-speech, bookmarks/annotations, a search function, and a dictionary look-up aren't half-bad, either. I'm excited to give it a try, though I know I probably wouldn't have bought it for myself. (So, thanks, sweetie. )

Have a great week,
Em