Babies, babies everywhere...

Every time I turn around, someone new is announcing their pregnancy.  I gotta start hanging out with old people.

College Boy Hygiene & Vehicle Choice

Hey you!  Mister Camoflague jacket!  Yeah, you on the red scooter!  If the top speed of your scooter is less than the speed limit...STAY OFF THE STREET!  
I really mean to say this to all those college boys riding their scooters anywhere other than on campus. 
If you don't require a special license to operate it...keep it off the street. 
If you don't require a license plate for it...keep if off the street. 
If you don't think you have to follow the same traffic laws that I do...keep it off the street. 
If you don't think you should have to wear a helmet...well, let's hope you can keep your brains off the street.

And you, Mister Smirk, I hate to break it to you...but muscle shirts aren't cool, even in the gym.  Really, I promise.  If you aren't cut enough to work out sans shirt, then you aren't cut enough to pull off a muscle shirt.  And no one is cut enough to work out sans shirt...unless you look like Wade Wilson (no, not the Dallas coach).  So, put on a t-shirt, comb your hair and the rest of the class would appreciate your use of anti-perspirant.  Oh, and if you're gonna eat breakfast in class...pick up after yourself. 

As you can tell, it's been awhile since I really let loose with all my inner frustrations.  I gotta tell ya...being a full time student on a college campus provides mucho fodder for these little forays into my personal opinions.  For example, how do you tell an entire campus of sorority girls that "leggings aren't pants...when you wear them as such, we can all see your business."  Maybe that's the point.  Go figure, they are sorority girls.

Now, if you were a sorority girl don't go getting all offended and put out (heh,heh) by that last comment.  I'm sure you are a wonderful person who has gone on to great and wonderful things.  But when you were in college, I'm pretty sure you were just like all of them on campus today.  Cuz that's sorta the point...for all the sisters to conform to the same ideal.  Problem is, all the sororities conform to the same ideal so you all look alike...Nike Tempo track shorts (none of you run track, I checked), sweatshirt, Uggs (what a fitting name) and an elastic headband strategically placed in your strategically styled hair meant to look effortless.  Too bad that third coat of mascara gives away your "effortless" image.  Do sorority houses have their own tanning beds?  Every sorority girl I see has a tan oddly reminiscent of mid-July....and it's the end of October.  Maybe when they sell their souls during rush week that's the deal they make with the devil...I'll do whatever you tell me to do as long as I'm eternally tan. 

Wow, how'd I get off the college boy diatribe and on to sorority girls?  Oh wait...where there is one, you will find the other. 

Eh, that's enough bashing for one day.  I do feel better now, thank you!

To be a "B", or not to be

In the fashion of the original Rule Nazi, I'm struggling with a decision.  Maybe my loyal follower(s), can help me out.

About six months ago, I visited the women's health clinic on campus.  Let me preface this by saying, I've never been very satisified with the woman who is the primary medical representative.  Her bed side manner leaves much to be desired and she gets irritated if you think you know more about your body than she does.

Back to my story.  I made a visit due to some concerns about severe abdominal pain in the lower left quadrant during my mentrual cycle.  It wasn't constant but it did come in waves at random times...enough to buckle me over occasionally.

Her diagnosis, after a disgusted look, was constipation and suggested I start taking fiber pills.  I was pretty certain that this was a blow off.  I've been charting my cycles for four years and have become intimately knowledgable about my body and reproductive system.  I knew something was wrong but she certainly wasn't going to help any. 

Remember, this is not my first complaint about her...although in the past it has been mostly behavioral issues that I've disliked.  So now, three weeks after surgery to remove endometriosis in the LOWER LEFT QUADRANT of my abdomen...I ask myself...should I write a letter to the director of the health center sharing my frustration?  Submit a formal complaint?  Or do I just let it go and hope she just didn't like me personally and she's perfectly pleasant to every other girl/woman that sits in her exam room?

Would love some thoughts on this...if you are so inclined. 

Phenergan Is my Friend

I've never had surgery before.  I've never been admitted past the ER (kidney stone) before.  I have a hard time visiting people in the hospital.

Shows like "House" and "ER" are all about people who are in a hospital because something terrible happened to them.  Medical comedies rarely take place in hospitals (yes, I'm aware of Scrubs).  All the sterile, non-porous surfaces and ultra high Wyzenbeek rated upholstery just screams blood, urine and other biohazardous substances I don't want to think about.  The only people not bothered by hospitals are the people who work in them everyday, and I'm convinced that's just a matter of desensitization.

So you can imagine the angst I was feeling in the 24 hours leading up to my laparoscopy.  And to add insult to injury, I was prescribed a Fleet's for the night before.  Really wouldn't have been to big of a deal if we'd been in a hotel, but our fabulous friend, J.G. had offered his guest "suite" for the evening.  Okay, okay...not so much a suite as his entire second floor complete with bedroom, bathroom and home gym.  I survived it, that's all I have to say about that.

Nothing to eat or drink (even water) after 7:00 PM the night before....I almost did NOT survive that.  The lack of food wasn't really a problem but for someone who has a Klean Kanteen of cold water at her side every minute of the day, the lack of water was torturous.  I used a bit of chapstick (also against the rules) to deal with the dry lips, so a big shout out to Chapstick 100% Naturals Lip Butter!

Pre-Op was scheduled for two hours before surgery.  Yep, that consisted of me signing in, getting a wrist band and handing over my credit card.  Glad we set aside two hours for that!  Finally being called back to those little horse stalls with curtains was infinitely better than sitting in the outpatient surgery waiting room with all the bored little kids and anxious adults.  I got myself changed into the big purple gown and fun purple socks before they made me pee in a cup.  Seriously, people...I'm here for surgery to un-block both fallopian tubes...is there really a big concern that I may be pregnant?

Talking to the anesthesiologist was like answered prayer...he hooked me up with some intravenous valium to help calm my nerves.  Ahhhhhh, worked like a charm....for the first hour of waiting.  By the time it was my turn, the valium had pretty well worn off and I was a bit anxious again.

I had mentioned to K that the one thing I did NOT want, was to see the inside of the operating room.  I wanted to be knocked out cold before entering so I didn't have to look at all the scary stuff.  Well, horror of horrors...not only did I have to see the O.R., I had to walk myself in and put myself up on the table.  As I stared at all the lights and metal gizmos, a young man in a mask leaned over me and after describing his job (to keep me from dying on the table) he asked how I was doing.  Ha!  I believe my answer was "Scared to death".  Well, that nice young man promised me something to take the edge off and after a burning sensation in my hand and the blink of an eye...I was in recovery.  It's so crazy how you're aware of what's going on around you but you just don't quite care enough to open your eyes. 

K was so excited to share the doctor's findings that I'm not sure I was fully settled into my horse stall before he shared.  The surgery was apparently quite a success!  Both tubes open and supposedly operable.  I hope my reaction wasn't too apathetic for K...I was feeling a bit nauseous.  I really have no idea how much time passed but it didn't seem long enough, when the nurse came through saying it was time to get dressed and go home.  K says I was full assist lower body and mod assist upper body...if you're in the medical field you know what that means.  For the rest of you...he had to put my pants on me and I was able to put my hands over my head and pull down my t-shirt.  He didn't bother with my bra...and I didn't notice.   

I'm sure it was the sudden change in elevation (from sitting to standing) that did it, but no sooner was I dressed than I found myself making use of a little blue bag with a plastic funnel of sorts at the top.  That's when K requested some Phenergan.  A sharp stick in the thigh and a wheelchair ride later, I'm feeling no pain or nausea as I sleep away the two hour car ride home. 

All in all, a little anti-climatic for me but I'm thrilled to be done with it.   Now we just have to wait and see if Dr. P's foray into my abdomen yields the desired results!  If so, I've been assured that all the pain and discomfort I've had for the past two weeks (and counting) will all be worth it...with no regrets.  I think I'll hold you to that, J.H.!

Dr. P and the Mystery Twinge

Have you ever cried in front of a stranger and then felt stupid? Did that stranger hand you a box of tissue before the first tear fell because he saw you well up right in front of him? Did he then call you "kiddo" and reassure you that you were in a safe place and to never feel embarassed about crying? Sounds like a pretty great stranger, eh? Well, let me introduce you to my new reproductive endocrinologist...Dr. P. He reminds me a bit of my husband's Uncle G, whom I adore. That was a bit creepy at first, but then I decided I liked the perceived familiarity.
It was a slightly surreal experience, that day in his office. Just before we were called back by a sweet little nurse, I had stopped in the restroom to empty my bladder of all the drinks I had consumed on our 2 hour drive into a whole other state. When I came out, K commented on me rubbing a spot on my tummy. I assured him I was fine, just some of those weird twinges I get around ovulation time. We went straight to Dr. P's office where we small talked about the weather and the drive, before we ended up in an examination room for my annual exam and an ultrasound. During this exam, Dr. P became aware of my "twinges" when he pressed on that area and I flopped on the table a bit. During the ultrasound he had a look and said there was something a little different there but wasn't sure what.
Once we reconvened in his office, he started describing and sketching what my fallopian tubes look like based on my hysterosalpingogram results. As soon as he began describing these results, all the tension and anxiety that had been building for the last 4 weeks, suddenly and without permission, began to release. I hate crying in front of people, not so much because it makes me look weak and girly, but more because I am NOT a pretty crier. My face gets all squinchy and blotchy, my eyes disappear and my nose begins to flow like a faucet. He carried on with the explanations, pausing when the tears got the better of me, and checking to see if we had questions. I told K, that I was depending on him to pay attention and get all the facts cuz I wasn't sure if my emotion was causing some temporary amnesia.
The results...I'm scheduled for a laparoscopy to find out what's going on and fix it, if possible. We'll know a lot more after that.

Good grief!

Who came up with that stupid and oxymoronic phrase?!?!

I have ventured, temporarily I hope, into the anger stage. I'm assuming that I am experiencing the stages of grief, although I can't remember how many there are, or their order. And yet a part of me feels that my psyche is being a bit hasty with this whole grief bit, if in fact that's what this is.

No one has told me that it is hopeless or that I need to give up my dreams - not yet anyway. I will admit I'm preparing for the worst. However, I am most definitely angry.

I am angry that I my body doesn't work the way it was designed to.

I am angry that I have to pay someone to root around "down there" to tell me my body isn't working the way it was designed to.

I'm angry that when most people only need the equipment God gave them to conceive, that I have to pay large quantities of money for "a shot" at pregnancy - not even a sure thing.

I'm angry that my husband has to even consider making a decision that causes him to question his moral stand on a medical procedure.

I'm angry that he didn't automatically say "we'll do whatever we have to".

I'm angry that 14 year old girls who don't have the maturity or the money to raise a child are getting pregnant daily - some against their will.

I'm angry that pregnant women complain about being uncomfortable, when I would trade them places in a nanosecond.

I'm angry at insurance companies and their damn "pre-existing condition" clauses.

I'm angry that I don't get to surprise my family with an unexpected announcement.

Most of all, I'm angry that this is making me so angry!

Okay, I feel better now.

ps - If you are reading this, then you are my friend and know that none of this rant was referring to you.

Delays, Dilemmas and Dissociation

Well, the appointment with the reproductive endocrinologist that was supposed to happen Friday, didn't. Thanks to the local university that I attend full time, my insurance will be changing the second week of August, thereby changing all of our plans. Not only does the insurance coverage change, so will the clinic we will use, the date of our initial visit and quite possibly the amount we will have to pay. The upside is, we may actually be better off with that last change.



I'm surprisingly peaceful at this point. I have established my personal thoughts and beliefs regarding IVF and everything related to this treatment. My husband however, is still on the fence. Poor man, I hurt for him as he struggles to decipher his own feelings while balancing those feelings with his love for me. I've said everything I can say on the subject. We are a team and will make this decision together. I pray that we both settle on the same desire, whatever that may be. Being the consistent, logical and low-key man that he is means he'll most likely reserve judgement until we've heard everything the doctor has to say.



I've recently been doing some research into books and articles written by "christian" authors and am finding through the reviews by readers that there are a lot of very unhappy, disillusioned and grief stricken women traveling the same road that we are. I keep asking myself if there is something wrong with me that I'm not destroyed by this diagnosis. Should I be more upset? Should I be more depressed?



We have a very solid marriage and my husband is my best friend. We love spending time together and are always looking for new ways to have fun and strengthen our relationship. We already are a beautiful family and don't feel that something is "missing" from our lives because we don't have a child. We view children as a wonderful bonus and blessing from God but not as a requirement for happiness or completeness. This certainly doesn't diminish my desire for children any, rather it makes me secure in the knowledge that we offer a strong, loving atmosphere for a child to grow and learn in.



This, paradoxically, leads me to one of my fears...Do I want it bad enough?

Is my peace and contentment with my husband like a jinx to my dream of a child? Or worse yet, is it the Holy Spirit telling me we are meant to be childless and I just haven't recognized his voice yet?

A year or so into our marriage I had this sudden, gut wrenching, to-the-core-of-my-being feeling that I wouldn't be able to have children. Nothing had happened in my life to make me think this way. There was no medical history, personally or ancestrally, that would lead to this conclusion and we hadn't even tried for a baby yet. But there it was. I told my husband about it and being a man (meaning he has never experienced women's intuition), chided me and told me I was being silly. So I put it out of my head as best as I could. Of course it was simmering in the back of my head until one day in the shower (why do all my best talks with God happen in the shower?) I felt as though His voice said to me "I didn't make you wait 30 years for the man I had for you to then deny you the corresponding desire for children". It was liberating, intoxicating and cause for rejoicing! Right up to the moment I was told my tubes were blocked and my husband wasn't sure about "playing God" with medical procedures.



Is this peace I have from God? Or is it simply dissociation?

Rough times ahead...

It has now been four days since the bomb dropped. I feel pretty good to tell you the truth. A large part of my shock and emotion was due to a report that seemed so different from what we were expecting.

I'm feeling better about my stand on IVF but my husband is struggling. To him it all seems so "mechanical" and not "natural". I did, of course, remind him that dating online was "mechanical" and not "natural" to me, but thanks to the big guy upstairs I joined match.com anyway. And was subsequently "winked" at by the wonderful, compassionate and super cute man who has been my husband for nearly four years. There is so much information and so many opinions out there about IVF and ART, that to preserve my sanity I'm just waiting to talk to our reproductive endocrinologist later this week. A week which no doubt will be full of stress, anxiety, tears, fears and tons of long, insightful conversations (which my husband hates). In the end though, I have no other choice than to put my faith and hope in God and wait for what He deems best for us. In the meantime, I admit, I'm probably going to do everything I can to help my husband see the "normalcy" in doing whatever we can to have a little one.

Stunned

Less than 20 minutes ago I was told that at the age of 35, the only way I would have children of my own is to go through a procedure that I'm not sure I am morally secure with. Stunned? You betcha, like a bird that sees a beautiful, dream like sky and only realizes after he falls to the ground with a crack in his beak that it was a REALLY clean window reflection.



I know that God is in control of everything, but how do I tell my husband? How do I tell my friends and family that have been rooting for us through all the stupid and embarassing tests? What do I tell them when they ask the hard questions? I suppose if I use big medical words they'll react like I did and just shut down for a bit trying to comprehend it all. Why do doctors use these crazy, big medical words when describing a diagnosis? I think it's the stun factor. If you are stunned they can finish what they have to say and either hang up or leave the room before you start crying. I don't really blame them though...how do you comfort someone who has just been told they have cancer or some other incurable disease?



Don't get me wrong, I'm not comparing my blocked fallopian tubes to medical diagnosis that ends in someone's death. I am for the moment, however, comparing it to a diagnosis that ends in the death of a dream. Do I want to go through the expense, the procedures, the moral ambiguity of invitro fertilization? Do I want to do everything I possible can to produce a child that is a combination of me and my husband? Do I want to potentially regret not having done everything I could to realize the second half of the dream I've had since childhood?



I'm sure, not long from now, I will return to my secure faith and belief that God has a perfect plan for us. Until then, I will just let it all hang out and be honest with my feelings. I'm scared, I'm stressed, I'm nervous, I'm frustrated, I'm angry, I'm sad and I'm relieved. I'm relieved because now I understand. After three years of early morning thermometer appointments, daily charting and perfectly timed trips to the bedroom I finally understand why I don't have a child to show for it.