I have been absent for a very long time.  And much as I love this site, that's a good thing.When my IVF didn't work last October, we decided to take a break for a while.  I didn't think I'd want to; after all, up until the IVF I had done everything in my power to hasten this baby along.  But the IVF was torturous.  By the end, my butt was caught in a paradox of being both sore and numb, I had to take a nap every day or else drag my nose and chin along the floor as I walked, and the hormones won out in their battle against the anti-depressants.  When it was over, for three months James and I luxuriated in not thinking about fertility.  IVF was just so hard.  So hard.  It's one of the hardest things I've ever done, and I've inflicted a lot of unnecessary challenges on this red head.While we were not thinking of fertility in the desperate, daily sense, we did "have some work done."  Specifically, we had a selective bilateral tubal canalization.  When I say "we," I mean "I," and when I say, "selective bilateral tubal canalization," I mean, "they made my tubes as broad and welcoming as the Panama Canal."  You see, I first got onto Daily Strength with the question of what I should do once our infertility was diagnosed: fix my tubes and deal with James's low sperm count, or skip all corrective treatment in favor of the IVF magic.  I decided on the magic because with two difficult problems, it seemed like too much effort to deal with both factors.  When the magic didn't work, we went back to the separate factors for some recreational surgery: paid for by insurance, and just helpful; not immediately pregnancy-inducing.  To deal with my tubes, I headed toward the hospital.  My outpatient procedure started with an HSG -- you know, a Hysterosalpingogram.  It's what I did before: have radioactive dye shot up into my hoo-ha, and watch on the X-ray whether it seeped freely into the fallopian tubes, or whether it got stuck in the exit-less uterus.  The first time I did the HSG, last June, the dye stayed put, and the doctor declared both tubes 100% blocked.  That time, I was lying on the cold table in my hospital gown, knees bent and rear pushed to the end of the table, grimmacing in pain as the doctor worked the metal speculum into my vagina, then poked the plastic tube through my cervix and into the uterus, squeezing as hard as he could to force the liquid into my stubborn fallopian tubes.  Owwww.  I listened as he discussed how hard it was to come back from his Disneyland vacation and I tried to participate in the conversation, even as the metal was working its way around my viscera.  "I recall that at Disney World, the streets were very clean," I eeked.  "Yes, they say a piece of trash has a 0.7 second lifespan on the streets of the theme park," he said.  "Well, your tubes are completely blocked," he continued.  "You could either do a roto-rooter-like procedure to clear them, or you could just do IVF and get pregnant."  After I hobbled my cramped self back to the dressing room, with radioactive blood-colored dye dripping from between my legs onto the cold hospital floor, I decided to go with the option that had included the word "pregnant."Then we spent $15,000, several months, many tears, and not a few calories -- although of course the medicine made me gain weight.And it didn't work.Then I learned something about the HSG and my tubes.  There are two reasons that my tubes might have seemed clogged during the HSG procedure.  First, they might actually have been clogged -- with mucus, dried blood, scar tissue, etc.  Or second, the uterus may have cramped up while undergoing the humiliation and discomfort of the HSG procedure, and thus have closed off the openings to its perfectly healthy fallopian tubes.  Apparently what happened to me was the latter.When I went for my canalization, the first step was to conduct an HSG so the doctor could see what she was dealing with.  When they confirmed that my tubes were blocked, they were going to continue on to the roto-rooter step, telescoping progressively smaller catheters into my tubes until a wire poked out the end, and then gently pushing the wire, like a Q-tip, through the gossamer tissues of my female pathways.  But this time, when I was sedated, feeling no pain, and all my muscles were as soft as jelly fish, the HSG revealed no blockage whatsoever.  Although it's possible that this time the ink flushed a blockage out both of my tubes, my doctor later concluded instead that, "Your tubes probably weren't blocked in the first place."I didn't know the HSG was so untrustworthy.  I didn't know that if we'd redone the test -- gotten a second opinion if you will -- we would have had no reason to steer towards the $15,000, devastatingly intrusive, course of action.  I wish I'd known.But that's water under the canal.  Now it's 2008 and we're starting over.In a few weeks we'll be undergoing a different procedure, which promises to be cheaper, easier, and at least as successful as the IVF.  We're going to have an IUI, an intra-uterine insemination -- the Turkey Baster method, as my family calls it.  If my parts are working correctly, which they supposedly are, this should compensate for our other problem: low sperm count.  By intercepting James's sperm before it gets to me (harvesting it from a recliner in the men's bathroom), washing it in a special solution and giving it a spin in a centrifuge, and shooting it up past the cervix and straight into the uterus, the technicians will give James's boys a fighting chance.  And then, again, it's up to Nature, that fickle bitch.We don't know how much this costs; it's only a couple thousand dollars.  Ha.  We'll find out in the next few days.  When my period comes this time around, I'll be given Clomid, the ovulation enhancing drug that I took as our first line of defense in this battle with infertility.  That should give me One Good Egg (ask the universe for Two Good Eggs, if you would).  Then I'll take a shot of HCG to release into my tubes like clockwork, once the ultrasounds and bloodwork determine I'm ready to ovulate.  Exactly 36 hours after the shot, a nurse will inject James's best and brightest into me and I'll relax in the afterglow for 15 minutes on the table.  Then it's back to work.  And the dreaded 2WW -- Two Week Hellish Wait -- will begin.I heard of someone earning two "recreational masters degrees" once.  They didn't further any career goals, and they didn't lead to anything that did.  But they were fun and interesting and not too expensive.  That's the way I look at this next attempt.  IUI: recreational ART (Advanced Reproductive Technology).  I hope something comes of it, though.  The ARTist's life can be dismal.  I hope we're not left depressed, drunk, and posting our severed ears in the mail.  Please, God, please, let my creativity actually create someone this time.