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?

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).

I’d request a makeover…if I cared. August 27, 2008

   This morning I was walking down the hall with a coworker, and I caught a glimpse of us in a window. 

   She was wearing tailored, black, cuffed slacks, 3 inch heels, a cute tweed blazer, and pearls.  Her hair and makeup was impecable.  She’s about 5′9″ and somehow a very volumptuous 115 (or so) pounds.

   I’m wearing brown twill capris with a drawstring waist, an oversized long-sleeved t-shirt, and orange Birkenstocks.  The only jewelry I’m wearing is my engagement and wedding ring, I have no makeup on, and my hair needs a trim and a wash.  I forgot to shave my legs, my lips are chapped, and my eyebrows need to be tweezed.  I’m 5′5″ and more than 300 pounds (and bloated).

   We were like the before and after shot of “Extreme Makeover.”

Mixed Nuts August 25, 2008

   I just found out that a good friend of mine here at work was pregnant.  Was.  She was 10 weeks, went to the Dr. for something else, and they asked if she wanted to hear the heartbeat.  The heart beat wasn’t there.  The ultrasound showed a six-week gestational sac.  She’s devastated, and to make it worse, the drugs they gave her to miscarry the “products” didn’t work, so now she has to schedule a D&C.

   My first emotion was gut-wrenching sympathy.  I remember my miscarriage, and while it was different from hers, I’ll never forget that intense emotional and physical pain.  It made me nauseous again just thinking about it.  I listened to everything she said, she told me who knew and that she didn’t want anyone else to know, and I told her that I was here if there was anything she needed, either for personal or for work.

   My second emotion, once I sat back at my desk, was anger.  First, I was angry that she hadn’t told me sooner that she was pregnant.  She was number 2 on my list of people to tell once I get pregnant.  That obviously has to change now, but not because she did it to me.  It’s more because she’s gone through this miscarriage, and it would be too painful for me to tell her now, assuming I get pregnant within the next year.  But I hate being left out, and I wish she had told me sooner.  She told me that she didn’t tell me sooner because she knew about me being infertile and all that, and she didn’t want to upset me.

   Then there was more anger, but of a different kind.  She wasn’t even trying to get pregnant.  Her BF is ready for kids, but she’s not quite yet.  They just bought a house together, and were planning on waiting about another year before trying.  But she got pregnant anyways.  I want to get pregnant, damn it!

   Now I’m just sad.  I’m sad for me, and I’m sad for her.  It’s an awful thing to go through.  And I feel bad that I can’t help but feel sorry for myself when all I should be feeling is concern for her.

Insert cliche here. July 25, 2008

   Things have been okay at work lately.  It helps that we’re slow right now.

   After that last really bad week, I went to my supervisor and talked to her about everything that’s been going on, both at work and in my personal life.  She was incredibly supportive.  (It turns out her daughter struggled with infertility, and recently had a baby by way of IVF.)  My supervisor is so funny; sometimes she’s really harsh and cold, and other times she cries right along with you, so you never know what to expect.  But since her granddaughter was born, and she got married about 2 years ago, and she’s about to retire in a year, she’s mostly pretty nice and happy.

   So anyways, I talked to her, and she agreed to mediate a meeting with my coworker (M), which we had a couple days later, and it went okay.  We both shared things we liked about each other, then discussed what could be worked on.  I found that M was really dismissive with my complaints, and had extremely petty complaints about me.  But things are better now, and will be for another week or so.  But I expect her to start slipping back at some point.  Old habits die hard.  You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.  Etc.

Vent July 10, 2008

I really can’t stand my co-worker.  I really, really can’t.

   At my company, in my department, we work in teams of two.  That way, if someone’s sick or on vacation, there’s always someone else who knows the accounts and the customers.  My teammate is about two years from retirement, has been with the company for over 20 years, and is under the impression that she never, ever does anything wrong. 

   I do things wrong.  I’ve only worked here for 4 years, and it’s a complicated job with a lot to remember.  I’ve been working with this woman (let’s call her M) for about a year, and she was a culture shock.  The woman I worked with before was laid back, made mistakes, and was able to laugh about them.  I like that.  M acts as though she never makes mistakes.  And if she does, she beats herself up over them, saying things like “I want to go bang my head against a brick wall” or “I can’t believe I was that stupid.”  When I make a mistake, I say “Oops, I’ll try not to do that again” or “Wow, that was pretty silly of me, wasn’t it?”

   When I make a mistake or forget to do something, she uses phrases like “In the future, you need to…” or “FYI…” or “That’s not the way I do it.”  It’s enough to make me scream (or cry).  And when I hear it at least once a day, you’d think I’d try to make fewer mistakes, but instead it just makes me shut down, causing more mistakes.

   M has always been this way.  I have several other coworkers who’ve teamed with M in the past, and they commiserate with me and insist that she’s always been this way, and no matter how much you complain to her or the supervisor or manager about her, she never changes.  I actually haven’t complained too much, because I know she’s not going to change.  I guess I feel like, if I complain just a little, at least they’ll know that she’s still doing it, and that it’s still not okay.

   The past week or so (since the “diagnosis”), I’ve been distracted at work, and rightfully so.  My head just isn’t here.  I also have a few special projections that I’ve been working on, and I think she resents that I have work to do that doesn’t involve her; that I’m not at her beck and call to do whatever she tells me all the time.  But I know that she would actually prefer to work by herself all the time, because it would make her more of a martyr.  To prove my point, just a little while ago she said “Is there any reason why you failed to do blah blah blah?  You really need to remember to do that in the future.  You should know better.”

   She’s just mean.  And I’m sensitive lately.  Cut me some slack, lady.