“Are you pregnant or not?” Includes fun pictures :)

You don’t realize it, but the whole fertility process happens quickly! Within ten days of an IUI or IVF procedure, you know if it worked or not. On February 10, 2017, we went in for our first IUI procedure. Within ten days, I was a little less optimistic. I felt crampy, which was a sure indicator that I was going to start my period. On day eleven, I had lost hope. The cramps were intense and so was my mood.

Normally, I could give two shits what people think about my personality. I’m quirky, weird, socially awkward, and oftentimes poke at people when I don’t want to be around them. Well, on Tuesday February 21, 2017, I sat in my office, bawling because I’m so goddamn weird. Stupid shit comes out of my mouth when I’m nervous, and to boot, that stupid shit came out during an interaction with an executive at my work. Good one, Ursula, you need to cry this one out.

“Why am I so @#$*ing awkward?!”

(sigh) This was later my first inclination that I needed to take a pregnancy test. Not wanting to jinx it, I waited. Hubby kept bugging me, “Are you gonna take a test?”

“No. I’m gonna wait and schedule an appointment with my OB to be sure it’s an accurate test.”

Lies. On the night of Wednesday February 22, hubby went out to the gym. I took action and did the whole, less-than-glamorous pee on a stick thing. Was that a solid line with a faint line? My heart dropped and I grinned from ear to ear. I took a pic of it and sent it to my dearest friend, Jenny.

“I’m shaking…is that a second, faint line?”

“It looks like it :).”

It said I was pregnant. Shaking, I hid the test and planned to take another in the morning. I was going to go to my OB to take, yet another, and plan my next steps to tell hubby the news.

That night, I dropped hints of a special lunch or dinner just to spend time with him during a stressful week. At first, he was ok with lunch. YES! I only have to keep a secret for a few more hours! Then, hubby drops a bomb on me – either dinner tomorrow or we wait until the weekend. COME ON! I CAN’T WAIT THAT LONG!

The next morning, since I have to get up so early to paint my face, I was up before hubby and took another test – when it is supposedly pure, concentrated pregnancy on a stick. Sure enough, this one read, clear as day, “Pregnant”.

Holy shinoly!

“Are you gonna take a pregnancy test today?” Hubby asked.

“Yeah, I’m going to see if they can do a blood test to be sure instead of taking an at-home test.”


“Ok, call me as soon as you know!”

Well, the doctor’s office confirmed what I already knew – pregnant. I did have to go in for blood work that Saturday to run checks and balances, so the lie I was about to tell was only a white one.

After the appointment, over the phone:

“So, did you take a test?!”

“No, she wants me to go in to a lab Saturday morning for a blood test. They ensure 100% accuracy with blood tests. Do you wanna meet for lunch? It’s been a stressful week.”

“Ok. So we go Saturday?”

“Yup! Bright and early! Where do you wanna meet for lunch?”

Once it was decided, I worked fast. I went to the bookstore and acquired two books:


I ran home, threw the pregnancy tests in a baggie, along with the sonogram card and books, and went to meet hubby for lunch.

Quick on my feet, I thought up my plan. Hubby was currently studying for a certification, so I knew exactly how I would tell him we were expecting. Once at the restaurant, I met him at his car with a bookstore bag with all of the loot in hand. He gets out and,

“So, I went to the bookstore and got you a couple things to help you study.”

I shakily hand him the bag. He looks inside and pulls out what he initially thought was a calculator and I grow silent.



“Yeah, I lied. I took a test last night, one this morning, and confirmed with my doctor that I am pregnant.”


It worked. IUI worked the very first time. I hope he doesn’t hate me for sharing the next one, but his girls will love it when they are old enough. My guy is the best and this shows his raw emotion in the middle of a restaurant.


Stay tuned, though…We are not in the clear yet.


If You Want Children, Get Them However You Can

Our amazing doctor was able to save one of my tubes. That being said, we were still not in the clear quite yet. Our next adventure would involve IUI or, potentially, IVF. Before we get into our chosen route, which will be a dead giveaway in the description below, let me educate you on the differences between IUI and IVF because I got them mixed up as well. They are definitely different, so be careful if anyone tells you they had to go through one or the other – prego women can be sensitive and will attack if you don’t keep that trap of yours shut, so check yo’self before you wreck yo’self.

IUI, or intrauterine insemination, has HUGE differences from IVF. These include, but are not limited to, the following:

  • Eggs are NOT removed from the body
  • Eggs are NOT taken to a lab to create precious embryos

Like IVF, IUI follows a strict timeline, so if you’re going to go through the process, get yourself a planner if you haven’t got one already. Your cycle starts on the first day of a full-on period after 2PM, so count out to day twelve and call your doctor to schedule an ultrasound. (Make sure you remind your hubby every hour of every day the sacrifices and steps you are taking to ensure he gets a family. And ask for presents; big, exorbitant ones. Also remind him that he only steps in to the process provide his “seed” and that his level of discomfort to produce said seed does not match your level of discomfort.) On days three through seven of your cycle, you take either Clomid or Letrozole. In my case, it was Letrozole, which is slightly less potent (we will get to why this can be chosen later). On day eleven, you take and ovulation test. If it is positive, call your doctor. On day twelve, go in for your ultrasound. They will do this transvaginally, so get ready and pray that they use warm gel. At this time, they will count and measure the maturity of your egg(s). They must be at least 18mm to proceed with the next step. If they are not, go home, call your doctor, and schedule another ultrasound for day fourteen. Go into your ultrasound on day fourteen and have them measure. If your follicles, or eggs, are mature, call your doctor. On day fifteen (or thirteen if your eggs are mature then), if you’re me, expect a phone call from your doctor’s personal cell phone to warn you that there is a potential for twins and that it is VERY risky to proceed. There are no documented cases of twins with my cerclage, so “selective reduction” is an option that one can opt into in this event. Once you discuss the risks with hubby, call your doctor back and receive instructions to give yourself a “trigger” shot in the belly. (*Please note that, during this time, it is a choice to consume an alcoholic beverage as there is no harm done to the process. This could be your last adult beverage for months since, after this day, you should not consume ANY sort of alcoholic beverage.) It’s a super tiny, ultra thin needle with miracle juice that forces you into ovulation within the next 36 hours. On day sixteen (or fourteen) take hubby with you. Hubby will be hopeful that there are “materials” to help him along with his production process, but sometimes that won’t happen and he will be left to his own devices. He could also be stuck in a room with no cell reception, so proceed with caution because the pressure is ON! Also, try not to embarrass hubby by yelling out in a full waiting room, “Would you like me to come with you?!”

Now for the coolest part…

Within two hours of hubby’s production, the sperm is “washed”. During this time, they put the sperm into a machine that uses centrifugal force to pull the sperm from the semen (semen, mixed with the ph of your vagina can be toxic and kill off the little spermies). This is done twice to make ensure you’re getting the best of the best! From there, millions of little hubbies are put into a tube with a sugar water mixture where they are happy and healthy – like a theme park for sperm. Once the two hours are up, wifey returns for the finale and doc tells hubby his sperm are the Michael Phelps of sperm. This process should only take about five minutes, but, as you know, nothing can be easy for us.

At this time, our normal specialist, Dr. Woodard, was doing her rotation across the street at MD Anderson, so a different doctor was to help with the insemination part. This doctor, God bless her for dealing with me, could not find the opening to my uterus. Half an hour later, Dr. Woodard was messaged and offered to come over to help. It turns out, she had just as much trouble. You see, scar tissue had formed over my uterus after two surgeries, preventing entry to my uterus, so the opening was near microscopic. They had to dilate me. If you’ve ever bumped an old wound that has scarred over, you know that this can be painful. Imagine this on one of the most sensitive parts of your body and then times that by a million. It was absolutely PAINFUL! The dilation came with an ultrasound to help find where the opening should be, as care was taken so that they did not puncture my uterus.

Hubby was right there by my side holding my hand the entire time. I could see the worry in his face and the love and care in his eyes. He was never going to let me forget how much I mean to him and how much it meant to him that we were moving forward with this whole process. He’s my rock through everything!

After some tears, dilation, an ultrasound, and an hour and forty minutes, the catheter with our special little ones was in. Once this process is complete, you lay horizontal for twenty minutes (we opted to stay for thirty to ensure optimum swimming potential).

Once the process is all complete, you are given a potential for a 20% chance that the first time will work, but you must always remain optimistic.

Off we went on our three hour drive home…hubby with his crotchety and sore wife. Three hours.

The Saga Continues…

Hubby, always thinking positive, mentioned going back to Houston for a second opinion. Yes, that is exactly what we did! Once there, we were met with kind and compassionate eyes. That was my doctor, Terri L. Woodard. Go ahead, look her up; she’s as beautiful outside as she is in, with the brain to match! It’s insane the amount of effort that God put into this woman to create someone that could and would help people. Just phenomenal.

While there, I was subjected to another HSG. Guess what? This time the doctor did it herself AND my hubby was allowed in the room to hold my hand. See a theme here? Effortlessly, she found the opening to my uterus. She did her thing with the dye to see if the tubes were open. It was true, both tubes were blocked. Her warm, caring expression somehow didn’t disappoint or alarm us, so we seemed to accept our fate.

Once the test was complete, we met in her office to discuss a path forward.

“It’s 50/50, but I think I can save one of your tubes,” said Dr. Woodard

“What, really?!”

“Yeah, I think it’s worth a try! The other is completely blocked, so that will have to come out, but the other may be salvageable.”

Hallelujer! 50/50 was better than zero! To be clear, they tie your tubes when you have a blockage to prevent ectopic pregnancies…Just a side note there.

We scheduled my surgery and went home in greater spirits. We knew that the three hour drive to Houston would be, and was, completely worth it. The medical center there has top notch doctors that genuinely care about their patients. Not only that, but even the office staff and nurses are spot on! I had once dealt with an office worker in San Antonio that kept repeating Dr. Anderson when I told her I was trying to get a follow up appointment after my surgery at M.D. Anderson. Ugh, no, it’s the top cancer treatment center in the country, not a doctor, honey.

We returned a few weeks later, hopeful that the surgery would be a success, and it was! One, “beautiful” tube remained.

That was it. That was the official start to our journey to baby. It was right before Thanksgiving 2016 that this all went down and we were able to enjoy our holidays. This was not the end, though, as there was more in store for us soon.

Post-Radical Robotic Trachelectomy and Pregnancy…a Journey Told by a Sarcastic SOB

Stage 1b1 cervical cancer is a pretty critical stage of cancer to diagnose. Why, you ask? Because there’s only a small window in the staging process that you can be a candidate for fertility-preserving radical robotic trachelectomy. Sound like a mouthful? It is. Fertility preservation is a very important piece of this puzzle, so keep this at the forefront of your mind; unless you’re here because you have questions that have gone unanswered because, in the deep abyss of the internet in 2017, there’s little-to-no information for people like me, or potentially, us.

I became a candidate on July 29, 2015 at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas. Not one doctor point-blank told my husband and I that there was a high probability that we would have to seek fertility treatment. Do you know how stressful the thought of that is? It’s essentially a letdown. The doctors are telling my husband he failed in finding a responsible spouse that took care of her girly parts in her twenties before he met her. Not what you were thinking? Well, good for you, then, because I was.

After six months of trying on our own, and it was painful, by the way, because this surgery shortens your vagina and reattaches it to your uterus, we sought answers locally here in San Antonio. Let me tell you, it’s no trip to the fun park after having a trachelectomy because most doctors don’t know what the hell to do with you when you walk through their doors. You may as well have 8 tentacles, a white mohawk, and your name is Ursula. Oh…

The local doctor performed a routine hysterosalpingogram (HSG). The radiologist could not find the opening to my uterus, so lucky me, I had to tuck a catheter into my underwear, walk through a busy lobby, and take an elevator ride five flights up to my fertility specialist where she couldn’t find the opening either, so had to use and ultrasound machine. Back downstairs I went. I went back behind closed doors to be poked at while my husband was told to stay in the lobby. This is where it gets even more interesting…the doctor was having a conversation in the lobby with people behind the desk about my case. Isn’t that a HIPPA violation? Anyway…test was finally done and I was out the door. A couple weeks later, hubby and I went back for the results.

“So, I have some bad news,” the doctor said.

“Both of your tubes have total blockage,” she says. The room suddenly gets smaller and the walls close in on me.

“I recommend we do a full tubal ligation and move forward with IVF,”.

WHAT THE F*CK! (sorry for those virgin eyes out there, but I’m sure this would be your immediate reaction, too)

We left that day feeling angry and defeated. With mascara smeared across my face, hubby decided it might be best to grab a couple drinks together at our favorite spot down the road where I could regale hubby with my angry and sarcastic banter. Did I mention that I have the sweetest, most amazing and supportive husband? Well, that’s worth mentioning here. Also, back off ladies, he’s taken…FOR-E-VER!

Open Letter to the Woman Whom is Insulted by People Calling Their Beloved Pets “Fur Babies”

Yesterday, I came home to a shit surprise left for me by, you guessed it, my beloved fur baby (my husband plays a huge role in the cleanup as well, afterall, she’s “our” fur baby). It was dried and encrusted in my tile from her deciding that it was a good idea to keep her puppy pad clean. She pranced and cried happily, greeting me with relief and excitement as I grimaced and raged on silently because, well, she does not know any better, and at 12 I am certainly not going to “teach her a lesson”. The only way to clean was with a gloved hand (which I don’t have gloves), or paper towels soaked in bleach, nails on my hand, and a prayer that the barrier of the paper towels would not be breached, but you, the woman that has children, changed 12 diapers already today. How lucky for you.

After a battle and a close call with cervical cancer and surgery to remove/prevent recurrence, it will be a long road for my husband and I to be as lucky as you were to have a baby (or however many “real” babies you have). Was this baby planned? Were any of them planned? Oh, you carried for 9 months? Lucky you, I’ll be LUCKY if I can carry for 8, and bedridden for the latter part of my pregnancy. Oh, but I’m sure yours was so much worse.

Normally I would sit back and read these ignorant posts with an eye roll and keep scrolling, but this one I found completely insensitive and selfish. Can anyone have anything any more without someone packing it into a shit sandwich, setting it on fire, and stomping on it with a heavy foot and a pompous attitude? Ridiculous.

A lesson to you, miss “sick-of-people-with-fur-babies”, think before you write. Some of us out here may not want, may not be able to have, and may only have one option – a pet to call family, a pet that loves unconditionally. Sit back and let us have our thing while you sit back and have yours. And while you’re “insulted” by my fur baby, I’m insulted by you. I hope your children grow to learn empathy and compassion, not your insensitive and thoughtless words.


Proud “mom” of a pomeranian “Fur baby”

Urine for a Treat

For what was supposed to be one night in the hospital, it has now turned into 7 nights and possibly more. The pain, at times, is unbearable and I want the hell out. My arms are black and blue from needles and ports, along with my back and legs from surgery. I want out. The nurses are all exceptionally sweet and diligent in their duties, tending to my every need. I want out.

I watched in agony as my towel dropped to the floor this morning, reaching for it while envisioning one of those grabbers (I think I should get one). I insist on showering and doing everything I possibly can on my own, but when I drop something, it has to stay. Bending down breaks me into a sweat, trying to backcomb my hair breaks me into a sweat; all efforts to do anything are tiresome. Sitting up in a wheelchair for two hours makes me feel like I’ve done a Super Beast run. I look in the mirror and see the Michelin man, envisioning myself parading around the streets of New York with that stupid Stay Puft hat because the fluids have bloated me to upwards of 150 pounds.

Last Wednesday night I decided, at 3 in the morning, that I was going to sit up in bed and try to walk around. What happened moments after, I don’t remember, but can only describe. Thankfully, I had called a nurse to help me out of bed because, as I pushed the button on the bed to raise me up, my blood pressure lowered drastically. 61/42. For two minutes, Joey watched in shock as I sat staring into nothing. Nurses yelled my name and pounded on my chest, but still no response. 6 of them stood around in fear speaking about calling the trauma nurses. The thing I remember is seeing Joey’s face while yelling my name, then turning to a nurse as she yelled it, too.

That was the night that started my journey to where I am today. I had 4 blood transfusions to get my hemoglobin stable. On top of that, I have this bag that I have to maneuver my legs around every time I get out of bed (see above to refer to exhausting tasks). It’s my gold. The key to getting me out of here. I just have one more hurdle – that f*&%king bag. As longs as everything is in line, I can go home the next couple days.

All of this and I’m still laughing, telling the doctors I have truck nuts (inquire within if you’d like more information) while asking whether or not my blood pressure is stable enough to leave.

I’ve cried. It sucks. It gets boring and lonely sitting within four walls. My loving hubby visits every day for hours, but I send him home at night to sleep in a real bed with a real fuzzy Koko beast…it’s no place for a spouse to have to be.

Today, I had a particularly rough meltdown alone. It hurts to cry, it hurts to laugh, I’m stuck here until they deem me fit to leave. Most importantly, I am cancer free. After a morning of showering on my own and sitting up for a few hours, I was exhausted. My voice was shaky from the pain, but the thought of the drugs they give me for it made me more upset. They give me terrible headaches and don’t even work for very long. As I sat, unable to move in my chair, I looked out the door and saw something – a woman fighting just to walk around to get exercise, her IV behind her. The skin of her head glistened, pale in the lighting. She looked gaunt and tired from the a seemingly long battle she has been fighting. This made me cry more. All of these things that I’m upset about, but I forgot about the things that I do have. Yeah, I have surgical complications that I am hoping are not life-long, but some things I do have:

My hair.
The opportunity to even think of going home tomorrow.
A 97% cure rate.
I’m cancer free.

To that, I pondering the idea of decorating my catheter bag with my fabulous silver, bronze, and gold markers for the nurses. It will read:

for a

The Taboo Cancer and the Delicious Recipe that Will Help You Cope with it

You know, chances are that you are reading this and there’s a high probability that you’ve been with more than one person. Yeah, been with. In this day and age it is extremely rare (but does happen) that someone has only been with one person. Did you know that it only takes one person to cause cervical cancer? Yeah, that’s right, one. Do you know how many people have had or do have HPV? Damn near everyone. I had no idea that HPV was that common, did you? Did you also know that if you are a male, it can go undetected because it is not treatable in males? Yup.

What do you think of first when you hear HPV? Dirty? Loose? Well, it turns out that there are over 60 different strains of HPV and each and every one of us has carried at least one of them and didn’t know it. It just depends on your body and how it reacts.

When I was first told that I had an abnormal exam, I didn’t know what to think. I told my husband that it could possibly be because of pre-cancerous cells. Well, what causes those – HPV. My first initial thought was, no, it couldn’t be me that brought this into our marriage. We went back and forth on a drive to visit his brother about who it was, but wait a second – we are a team. It doesn’t matter who did what or where or when, we are married and this is just one of those marital bridges we cross…together, hand-in-hand.

It wasn’t until my second biopsy, scary by the way, that I found out that I had CIN 3 – severe cervical dysplasia, or stage 0 cancer.

“Well at least we caught it”, my hubby said.

We thought we did. In pain and a day away from two weeks since the procedure, I hurried to my doctor to see if there was something still going on. It turned out I didn’t have an infection, but what I did have was a tumor they “think” they got. I will never forget that moment. A doctor speaks to you, in a concerned and comforting voice, telling you that you have cancer. I kept the smile on my face and thanked her as I hopped down from the table. A million thoughts. A million. Your head spins. The doctor hugged me and stepped out of the room after telling me I needed to see an oncologist.

“Why am I so f*&$ing happy right now?” I thought.

My eyes grew wide and I looked to every wall in the room, as if searching for answers to questions that I didn’t even have yet. I picked up my phone and texted my husband.

“I need a drink. You will, too, after I tell you why. Call you in a few”, I wrote.

Imagine being on the receiving end of that text. Completely composed, I walked out of the office and to my car. I started my car (because it was as hot as Hades’ balls outside), and picked up my phone. One missed call. It was my hubby. I dialed.

“What’s going on”, he asked.

“She said I had cancer, but thought they got it all”, I said.


“I have cancer.”

His voice was as calm as he could be, but I could tell he was almost frantic. “What stage are you?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask. She said she was making an appointment with the oncologist for me and that it wasn’t urgent, so we can get our answers then.”

“Not urgent?!” He said.

He asked some other questions that I can’t remember, nor could I answer. I was in shock. And so began our first marriage milestone, albeit a horrifying one. No longer did it matter that I once had HPV that turned into cancer, I had cancer. That’s it. I no longer had control over my body, something else did. It was as if a body snatcher took me and I was trapped. I was at this thing’s mercy until I had answers. Thankfully, my husband is the biggest badass on the planet and took the reigns from me so that I could sit back, watch Netflix, and stew in my own thoughts.

Because of his persistence (and possible ability to send poor admins, secretaries, and nurses to therapy), we were on our way to MD Anderson Cancer Center within a matter of weeks (unheard of). How? He let the administrator know that he would call every half hour until my paperwork was released to MD Anderson.

Fast forward almost three weeks…I am scheduled to have surgery on July 29 with one of the best and top gynecologic oncology surgeons in the world – Dr. Pedro Ramirez. Not only is he extremely skilled in the highly specialized surgery that I am having, but he is one of the pioneers of doing the procedure robotically. Let me take a few moments to give that guy some kudos…First, anyone that leaves my hubby without any questions is doing his/her job and doing it well. We sat in a conference room with him where he explained my procedure – the radical trachelectomy. I just kinda looked like I was listening, cuz that’s what you do when you have ADD, but what I did hear is the 97% cure rate, along with the high probability of having children. (YAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSS! Mini Jim Harbaugh here we come!) All of this was said to us in words we understood, slowly and methodically, and with a confidence that didn’t exude cockiness (all EXTREMELY important when trying to win over a couple like us). We found our doctor. Better yet, my hubby found our doctor. Have you ever heard of a doctor calling his patient back to answer questions? How about calling your husband back to answer his questions? Do you have any idea how big MD Anderson is? No? It takes up multiple city blocks and only specializes in cancer. It’s gigantic, but they make you feel like you’re the only patient they are seeing.

Now that I got the boring stuff out of the way, let’s talk about the questions I’m going to ask. I already asked how many women hit on him in front of their husbands, so that one is out of the way (seriously, I’m not sure if he’s single, but if you are he would be a catch since my guy is taken already). I found an old presentation from a conference about robotic radical trachelectomies, so I might whip that one out and ask some of those as long as I can pronounce the words.

So, let’s digress a bit. My mom, being the online research fiend that she is, told me that birth control can cause cervical cancer. She’s not necessarily wrong, but that wasn’t my cause, and I’m sure it certainly didn’t help it, either.

I took a deep breath. “No mom, it’s from HPV,” I said.

(GASP) “YOU HAD WARTS?!” she proclaimed.

“No, mom,” I chuckled, “I did not and do not have warts,” I said, nervously.

“But that’s what it causes,” she proclaimed once more.

(Here is where your education and hers comes in) “Yes, it can, but that’s not the strain I had. There are several different strains and I happened to catch the one that gave me cancer,” I explained.

I was tired, but I gave her the whole lecture at it only taking one person to cause this. She obviously thought I got around, as I’m sure would be almost any parent’s first thought, but it wasn’t like I had. I gave her a couple scenarios until she seemed pacified.

“Who gave it to you,” she asked.

“I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. It’s just a speed bump that the hubby and I are getting over together,” I said, patting myself on the back with my bitchin answer.

At that, this is the problem with cervical cancer awareness. No one talks about it because it’s associated with STDs, sex, dirtiness, and getting around like a 2001 penny. It is the second cause of death for women in the United States and we STILL don’t talk about it! It is also the most preventable!!! So, get checked regularly, educate yourself, and ponder the Gardasil shot for your daughters when it comes time. Save yourself some heartache because not all doctors are familiar with radical trachelectomies and are certainly ready to give hysterectomies.

That being said, here is the recipe that will help you cope:


1 Fifth of Tequila
The juice of 10 limes with one extra (unjuiced)
A jug of your fav margarita mix
orange juice (50 calorie for us big babies)
1 Lemon, juiced
Bloody Mary salt

Get a jug (because you’re not going to wanna measure this shit) and throw all of your lime juice and lemon juice in. Put about two shots worth of orange juice in there, too. Add a bunch of tequila (to your taste) and then throw in your margarita mix. Stir all of that business together like there’s no tomorrow. Next, cut a wedge of lime and run it around the rim of your glass (margarita glass, sippie cup, solo cup, I don’t care). Shove your glass in some of that bloody Mary salt and put a smile on your face. This is gonna be frickin delicious. Either shake some of that bitchin mix and pour it off into your cup, or throw some ice in there and fill ‘er up. However you take your cancer-coping margarita is completely up to you. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the company of those that you love and love you most because life is too short to do otherwise.