all-you-can-eat buffet September 30, 2008

   There’s a certain art form in the all you can eat buffet.  Whether it’s Chinese or all-American, the objective is the same: load as much as you can on one plate the first trip through; pot stickers on top of rice on top of General Tso’s, next to teriyaki chicken and chicken fingers and spicy broccoli.  Forget the fact that you can go back up as many times as you want; that first plate is the most important, a source of pride.

   I’m used to carrying around a relatively small plate.  Chicken fingers and pot stickers, max.  However, recently I’ve been expected to also pile some fried rice on to that plate.  Luckily, rice is small and can filter down into all the nooks and crannies between the chicken.  But when I was asked to include some sushi, it went rolling all over and on to the floor, a huge mess.  Luckily someone also then handed me a bigger plate.  This one’s the size of a turkey platter and it can hold a lot, but it gets awful heavy.  And I know that someday, it will be too full and someone will break out the pizza pan-sized plate and expect me to be able to handle it.  I just have to hope that someone else will be there to help me carry it.

 

   Okay, so I’ve probably taken that metaphor as far as it will go.  My point is this: I have a lot on my mental/emotional plate right now.  The everyday, not-so-stressful stresses like marriage, family, and work have been expanded upon.  Marriage now includes not just trying to get pregnant, but infertility.  Family includes a grandmother with advanced metastatic cancer.  And work includes a handful of people who think I don’t know how to do my job.  Luckily I have a husband who is supportive and willing to do what he can to help carry the load.  Sometimes I just wish he (or anyone!) would carry all of it, which I realize is completely unfair, because he has is own load to carry.

 

   Tomorrow I have an appointment with my RE, a follow-up to see how I’m responding to the Metformin.  I have a list of questions as long as my arm about what the next steps will be, and I’m actually pretty anxious about the whole thing.  It doesn’t seem that I’m ovulating on Met, and I’m afraid she’ll want to wait another 3 months or so before taking the next step (Clomid).  I’m hoping she’ll at least give me some Provera so I can start a fresh cycle, as I’m currently on day 49.

   Tomorrow is also my grandmother’s appointment with her team of doctors.  The oncologists and brain surgeons will tell her exactly what she has and give her treatment options, if there are any.  I’d say 80% of my current stress is about that.  I just don’t know what we’ll do if there are no treatment options.

   So today when my coworker decided to have an attitude with me, I lost my shit.  Now we’re both just plugging away, trying to avoid confrontation as much as possible.  Sometimes you just need to have some time to yourself (even if it’s only so you don’t kill someone).

This sucks. September 25, 2008

   I started smoking when I was about 14.  The cool girls* at school** smoked, and I wanted to hang out with them.  I knew I would look stupid if I first tried it in front of them, so I stole a pack of my grandmother’s Virginia Slims Menthol 100s when she was visiting, hunkered down in a corner of the back yard with a box of matches while my 6 year old brother watched Power Rangers, and became a smoker.  I loved it instantly.  Sure, I coughed and hacked my way through the first couple, but I was committed, and I loved the taste and the way it felt almost right away.

   I never got in with those girls, but I continued to smoke on occasion, and by the time I got to high school, I was ready to hit the big time.  My crowd turned out to be a bunch of losers who cut class to smoke in the desert (I lived in AZ at the time).  They had purple mohawks and turned me on to Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson, which my mother forbid, and Frank Zappa which she allowed.  I wore lots of black cloths and heavy black eyeliner that I had to apply on the bus.  Mom wouldn’t let me dye my hair an “unnatural” color, so I tried Kool-Aid instead for a subtle pink hue.

   I continued to smoke, various amounts, all through high school.  My preferred brand was Marlboro Reds, and I remember how excited I was on my 18^th birthday when I could finally buy my own.  I smoked all through college, and savored every one, knowing I would have to quit eventually.  I was moving back home and there was no way I could continue to keep my pack-a-day habit a secret.  Obviously, I also knew how bad it was for me, and I didn’t want to be a lifelong smoker; I never had.  So I took the opportunity of a change of location and lifestyle and quit when college was over.  It sucked.  A lot.  But I got through it cold turkey, and haven’t looked back.  It’s now been 5 years since I’ve had a cigarette, and usually when I see people smoking I think about how gross it is.  But every once in a while, I smell it and I want one.  Oh, how I loved to smoke.

  

   But I’ve never been so glad I quit as I am this week.  My maternal grandmother, the one I stole cigarettes from all those years ago, the one who watched her husband, also a smoker, die from stomach cancer 25 years ago, has lung cancer.  They are still doing tests and don’t have a full diagnosis/prognosis yet, but it’s in one lung and has already spread to her lymph nodes and she has a tumor in her brain the size of a naval orange.  I’m grasping at every little bit of news and doing research on possible diagnoses and treatment plans, to get myself prepared.  One word of advice, though: don’t Google “lung brain lymph cancer survival rate.”  I’m just saying.

   I’m off now to the hospital again, to hang out with my Grammy for a couple hours.  God, do I love that woman.  And I miss her already.

 

* I should point out that these weren’t the popular girls, but the ones I thought were cool; blue hair, Nirvana t-shirts, and wallet chains.  

** Eight grade.  Yeah, I know.

Wait…wait…wait…okay GO! Nah, I don’t feel like it. September 17, 2008

   Sometimes I have no patience.  Other times, what appears to be patience is actually indifference.  I’ve spent years of my life pining away for a child.  When I was 11, I started making lists of baby names that I liked.  When I was 17 and my period was late, I took not one, but 3 pregnancy tests, and when my period came (only) 4 days late, I was a little sad.  What I now know to be PCOS has caused my period to be late or non-existent many, many times over.  I couldn’t tell you how many sticks I’ve peed on over the years, anxious and unsure whether I wanted it to be positive or negative.

   However, now that we’re actually trying and I’m on day 36 of my cycle, I haven’t so much as glanced at the drawer full of tests.  I’m thinking maybe I’ll take one tomorrow, but I highly doubt it will be positive and don’t really want to waste a test or my energy hoping.  I’m still not even sure I ovulated, either 18 days ago like originally thought, or any time after that.  I feel the changes in my body from the metformin, but I’m not sure if it’s enough.  I’m thinking I might need to add some therapies, such as cinnamon or Vitex.  My next appointment with my RE is the 1^st of October, so I’m hoping either my body does something by then, or she’ll up my dose of the Met to 2000mg.  And maybe give me some Clomid.

   About the clomid, actually.  I’m so hesitant on it.  My mom tried it for awhile when I was a kid, and apparently it turned her into a complete nutcase, so she quit trying.  I’m also pretty afraid of multiples.  Not that I don’t secretly want twins, I think a lot of women do.  But we could not afford to have twins (or more!) right now, among other reasons.  On the other hand, I want to be pregnant, like, months ago.  At this point I’m willing to do (almost) anything to get pregnant.  So I just don’t know!

   Also, I’m worried that she won’t give me anything extra until I get my weight down some more.  I just can’t do it!  It’s like, impossible for me to lose weight.

   Oh, and another fear!  What if it doesn’t work?  What if she ups my metformin, and gives me clomid, and I lose weight, and I still can’t get pregnant (or even ovulate!)?  I’m so afraid of moving on to that next level of infertility, and I just don’t want to do it.  I’ve seen people go through it, and it’s not pretty.  Never mind the emotional effects; we couldn’t afford to move on to other options.  Our healthcare doesn’t cover anything (not even fertility testing!), and our savings are meager.  We would be stuck in this void of not really trying, but not-not trying, working overtime and second jobs to scrimp pennies so that some day, when we’re, like, 40, we could afford a one-shot go at either IVF or adoption.

   I now find myself a bit ambivalent about the whole thing.  I haven’t been great about temping lately, or checking my crotch every time I pee.  I guess I know that I can’t get myself worked up about it too much, for fear that I will only be let down.  I guess I’ve been NOT trying for so long, it seems really bizarre to me to actually be trying.  I feel like I’m in an alternate universe.

   And yet, I have little thoughts out of nowhere sometimes.  Like this morning, I was letting my coworker know that I’d be taking a day in November off for my little brother’s college graduation, and in the back of my head I thought, I could be pregnant by then.  Then I was like, what the hell was that?  Why does my brain play tricks on me like that?

dog-years September 12, 2008

   Monday is our first wedding anniversary.  Next Monday will mark us being together for 5 years.  It seems absolutely crazy to me that we’ve been together this amount of time.  On the one hand, it seems like the wedding was last month (okay, maybe the month before).  On the other hand, it’s like we’ve been together for 20 years.

   Last night we were driving home from the grocery store, and I asked him what a certain note was in a song, because I could not for the life of me hit that note.  But then I was singing along, softly and with incredible self-awareness.  I knew he was listening to me, and when it came to a part that I was unsure if I could pull off, I would hum instead.  I grew up thinking I was tone-deaf, and only recently have I realized that I’m not; instead I have a limited range and absolutely no musical training.  He asked me if I would be able to sing those parts in front of my mom.  I told him no, I could barely sing anything in front of my mom, and definitely not in front of my dad.  So then, we got on the topic of what I could do (or say) in my parent’s presence, as opposed to in front on Paul.  It turns out, I can do 97% of things in front of Paul, and only about 83% of things in front of my folks.  I spent the first 25 years of my life** living with my parents.  I’ve only been living with Paul for about 3 years.  And yet, I know there is no judgment with Paul.  My parent’s may always love me unconditionally, but that doesn’t mean they don’t judge me.  Oh yes, they do judge, constantly and without restraint.  In fact, I’m pretty sure that no one is more judged than by one’s own parents.  I think that, no matter how much you just want them to be happy, however that comes, it’s so hard to not have expectations that will inevitably be shattered.

   Anyways, this post was intended to be about my husband, not my parents.  My point was that I am almost 100% me with my husband, and it’s a very liberating feeling.  I like me, and I’m glad he does too.

   So Paul and I are going away this weekend, to a beach in Maine, where it is forecasted to rain for days on end.  It’s a good thing we splurged on the deluxe room complete with 2-person Jacuzzi and gas fireplace, because I’m not sure we’ll be getting to the beach, or the mini-golf, or any of the other things we love doing when we’re in Maine.  In fact, we’re staying at the same hotel, in the same room as we spent our honeymoon.  I have fond memories of sitting on that bed, opening wedding cards, drinking sparkling cider and eating Pringles, and watching South Park.  Yeah, that’s what we did on our wedding night.  Is that not normal?

* it was a high C

** excluding 4 years of college, during the week

bad habits September 11, 2008

   I had a conversation recently about bad habits.  What our bad habits were, what others had for bad habits that drove us nuts, etc.  I realized that I have a lot of bad habits.  A LOT.  And a lot of them are habits that are frowned upon by the general public or that annoy people.  But I do realize how annoying most of them are and only do them in “private;” a private that usually includes my husband.  But then there are the habits so bad, I can’t even bring myself to do them in front of him.  So here, for your utter repulsion, and because I feel like confessing, are my list of bad habits, organized by annoyance/disgust factor.

 

Bad habits I have that the general public couldn’t care less about

 ~ Drinking Diet Coke instead of water

 ~ Coffee, 2-3 cups a day

 ~ The gum that I’m almost always chewing and that I have stocked in my desk, purse, car, bedside table, etc.  The gum collection in my desk is plentiful and vast, organized by brand and flavor for optimum variety and satisfaction.  My coworkers talk about it to each other, then come over and ask if I have any gum, just so they can gawk at it.

 ~ My addiction to lip gloss/chap stick.  I buy LipSmackers in the variety 8-pack and stash them all over, just like my gum.  I have watermelon in my pocket right now, root beet and mango in my desk drawer, bubble gum in my car, strawberry in the medicine cabinet, vanilla in the living room end table drawer, and cotton candy and kiwi in my nightstand.  My purse currently contains fruit punch and grape soda, along with some Burt’s Bees and something pink and sparkly from Cover Girl, just for variety.

 

Bad habits I have that probably annoy the general public, but I don’t care enough to stop

 ~ Cracking my knuckles

 ~ Biting my nails

 ~ Chewing on my cuticles

 

Bad habits I have that I try not to do in front of others (except my husband)

 ~ Farting

 ~ Belching

 ~ Picking my nose

 ~ Picking at scabs, zits, bug bites, etc.  I even pick at my husband’s, and I know it drives him crazy but he’s never asked me to stop, so I keep doing it because I enjoy it and can’t help myself.

 ~ Smelling my armpits to see if I stink

 ~ Eating a pint of ice cream in one sitting

 

Bad habits I do only when I’m sure I’m completely alone

 ~ Picking at my dandruff until my shoulders look snowed-upon

 ~ Scratching my ass

 ~ Adding a million baby-related items to my online shopping cart, only to buy nothing in the end

 ~ Taking pregnancy tests even though there’s no way on earth I could be pregnant

 

 

Yoda was wrong. September 2, 2008

   It’s the beginning of September, and the summer breezes are turning a little cooler.  The maple tree out our bedroom window is starting to blaze orange, a full month ahead of the others, same as every year.  Our tomatoes are finally growing fat and red, and the lettuce is growing like it’s possessed.  I love this time of year, which is why we were married in September.

   But the only thing on my mind lately is that we are now officially trying to have a baby.  I find myself caught in daydreams about peeing on sticks, telling my parents, hearing the heartbeat, picking out names, and holding that baby for the first time.  I’m disgustingly optimistic, given my quasi-infertility. 

   Paul has new questions and concerns every day, and I answer them the best I can.  What I don’t tell him is that, however excited I am to have a baby, I’m pretty afraid of being pregnant.  From everything I read, it doesn’t sound like it’s too much fun.  One day, I’m ecstatic and can’t wait, looking at maternity clothes online and picturing what it will be like to be a beached whale in my own bed.  The next day, I think about the morning sickness and the hemorrhoids and how I’ll likely develop gestational diabetes.  But none of it matters, because the end justifies the means, and I’d gladly suffer through 9 months of morning sickness and hemorrhoids if it means a take-home baby.  But ask me about that again when I’m 6 months pregnant.

   So yes, we are now officially trying.  For my next trick, I will attempt to have a normal cycle.