Women’s Studies October 29, 2008

   As I step a little more every day into this land of infertility, I come to realize that, as fearful as I am that I will never have a (biologically-related) child of my own, I am almost equally as fearful that I will.

   Baby fever struck me early, about the time I hit puberty.  It was like: get a training bra, start my period, start looking for a husband so I can have a baby.  In truth, there was never a time when I didn’t want children in my life.  My Barbies always had babies.  When we played house I was always the mom.  When we played school, I was the dowdy teacher with 4 kids of her own at home.  When we played royalty, I was always the queen, never the princess; the queen had more power and got to have babies!  It has always been a part of me and how I shape my life.  And considering I’ve felt this way most (all?) of my life, I think I’ve been pretty patient to have waited this long (not that I necessarily had a choice, I now realize).

   In college as I delved in to women’s studies courses, I started to feel guilty about my desire to be a mother.  After all, why would I want to be in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant, when I could be out writing novels and traveling the world and falling in love with hundreds of beautiful foreign intelligent men (and women)?  But then it struck me, an epiphany like no other: the whole point of women’s studies was equality, and women (and men) being able to do whatever the hell they want, regardless.  It means having the freedom and opportunity to be a rodeo clown or the president or even (gasp!) a parent.  So now, I embrace the idea of being in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant.  There is nothing else in the world I want more.  It is a strong, noble, brave, and honest life ambition.

   But (BUT!) the closer I get to being pregnant (ha!), the more my fear creeps up, a little about whether I’ll be a good mom, a little about how we’ll afford it (never mind the lay-off talks going on at my husband’s place of employment), but mostly but actually being pregnant.  The odds of me being a gigantic, miserably uncomfortable, unable-to-fit-in-my-car, gestationally diabetic, yet still unnervingly happy pregnant woman from, oh, about day 3, are pretty good.  The thought of my ligaments loosening and stretching in ungodly ways make me queasy, and I can’t even begin to fathom just how big my boobs will actually get.  Is there some website out there specializing in plus-size porn stars expecting babies?  Maybe that’s where I’ll be able to find a bra that will fit me.

   At the end, however, there’s always that sweet whisper of a real, live, take-home baby.  A whisper that I’m convinced is a promise and I will be let down if it never happens.  Bone-crushingly disappointed (and that’s an understatement).  But that whisper is enough to make all of it worthwhile, something I’m fortunate enough to know at least a little now, although from what I’ve been told, I’ll realize only later just how worth it everything will be.

All is Well (all things considered) October 14, 2008

   Grammy’s surgery went well.  No surprises, and they got most or all of the brain tumor out.  We’ll know more after this afternoon’s MRI.  Fears of extreme weakness and slight temporary paralysis on her left side were shattered when she applied her own chapstick and drank hot tea just minutes after waking up, all with her left hand.  She might even be able to go home today.  It’s just crazy to me that they can saw your skull open, remove a chunk of “very damaged” brain matter, put you back together, and you’re instantly better than you were a couple hours before.  Crazy, I say.

 

UPDATE:  The MRI was scheduled for 4, and then she was going home.

Pantry Soup October 13, 2008

   I guess I haven’t written lately.  I think I just needed time to process everything.  I kept thinking about writing, but could never muster up a coherent post while on a computer (which is to say, about 13 hours a day).

 

   The appointment with my RE went well, I think.  She upped my dosage of metformin to 2000mg a day, so I’m crossing my fingers that does something.  She also gave me provera (after I asked) to induce a period, which started yesterday.  I’m not sure why I miss them so much when I don’t have them; they suck.  And if we weren’t trying to get me pregnant, I’d be happy with, oh, about 2 a year, just for safety’s sake.  Also, she told me that I can move to the next step (Clomid) whenever I want, but would like me to give the upped dosage at least 3-6 months to see how it works, if at all.  At this point I’m planning to wait about 3 months, until the first of the year.

 

   My grandmother’s appointment with the team of doctors went okay, all things considering.  She’s been officially diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer that’s metastasized to the mediastic lymph nodes and brain.  It’s incurable, and they said that she’s got 9-12 months to live, maybe up to 24 months with treatment.  Treatment includes surgery to remove the brain tumor (where all of her symptoms are coming from), radiation to the brain, and chemo/radiation combo for the lung and lymph nodes.  The brain surgery is today.  In fact, I’m thinking they’re probably cutting into her skull right about now.  It gives me the heebie-jeebies and makes me nauseous to think about it.

 

   Work’s been okay.  I alternate between being super-productive, or a big lump of worthlessness.  It all depends on my mood.

 

   My Mom’s birthday is Sunday, and Paul and I are hosting lunch Sunday for my parents, my grandparents, and maybe my brother.  I’m greatly looking forward to having everyone over.  My grandparents haven’t seen our new apartment, and now that we have a dining room, it should be much better than Mom’s birthday last year, when we were all (9 of us) crammed in our small living room eating tacos off our laps.  This year we’re making lemon roast chicken and gravy, browned butter mashed potatoes, green bean casserole (from scratch!), and corn (for Dad).  I’m also making my “famous” Loaded Carrot Cake with cream cheese icing (also from scratch), and some sort of chcocolatey thing (maybe pots de chocolate?) for Dad and Paul, who don’t like carrot cake.  I was also thinking I would make a couple raspberry pies, one for Paul and me (it’s my favorite) and one to send home with Grammy (her favorite, too).  Hey, maybe I’ll post my recipes!

 

   I’ve been on a soup-making bend lately.  Vats of home-made chicken stock.  Chicken noodle made from leftovers.  Creamy tomato soup from scratch.  Pantry Mexican soup.  Next is chili.  They all get packaged into individual servings and stuck in the freezer for lunches.  Maybe I’ll post those recipes too.  Can you tell I tend to cook when stressed?