Hit Hard And Often

We all know that I'm a bad person. That's a given. I mean, I'm a nice bad person, but I'm basically a bad person. Anyway, a long time ago, I decided that I couldn't handle so many happy families and families-to-be on my Facebook, so after canning it all together for a while, I went through and hid basically every single person who has babies or wants babies or has ovaries or whatever. I still love them, but I'm not a good enough person to be happy for their working ovaries.

Anyway, I got one of those requests to "like" a page from a person that I hid, and I ignored it for a while. She is one of the happy-with-a-child people who make my heart hurt, so I didn't want to pay attention to it. Curiosity got the best of me, and eventually I clicked on the link and realized it was a page to support some disease research. "Aw, man. I hope she isn't sick," I thought to myself.

So I clicked over to her page.

She isn't sick. Her baby, who was under a year old, was sick. Her sweet baby, who I was totally and uncontrollably jealous of, died a few days ago of an incurable disease. It came quickly, and she left quickly.

I could not handle it. I could not, by any stretch of the imagination, handle it. I went into instant hysterics, and I hurt for her, and I missed a child I had never met.

The world is mean, and when you're in a crazy, self-pity spiral, it's easy to forget that it's mean to everyone at some point. I can't figure out how to deal with the abundance of emotions that have sprung up from a weekend of having this on my brain. I'd happily (sort of?) keep it on my mind for a while if it could relieve some of their hurt, but I know it doesn't work like that. I haven't lost a child that I've fallen instantly in love with, but I do know what it feels like to have your life feel different in an instant. I know the feeling of heartbreak when you feel like your future will never be what you pictured. I know what it feels like to have parenthood snatched out from under you. And I know that I don't want anyone to have to feel this way because I would do anything to never feel this way.

A sweet baby is gone, her parents are struggling, and I'm the innocent bystander who may be taking it all way too much to heart. I don't know how to feel all of this correctly. I don't know how to organize this in to a way that makes sense. I don't have these skills.

I had been banking on never needing these skills.

I'm out of skills.

Today, I'm not sure that it's hip to be square.

Not All Bad Days

I feel like I only ever think to write when the days are crappy, and I've decided that that is no bueno. Not every day sucks, and, in fact, a lot of them are great. Things are so much different now than they were a few months ago, and that's pretty strange to get used to.

Our house has walls. WALLS. The concrete blocks are up, and there is plumbing laid but not connected to anything. I can see where my garage is going to be, and how big the backyard is. While just in concrete, it looks really small, but it's not. The optical illusion is pretty crazy though. 

That house will be ours in February. Then, it's just a matter of moving in and getting settled. Right now, we're pretty well settled (though still trying to find our way) into the mostly unused upstairs of my mother's house. It's a pretty good place up here. The rooms aren't huge, but we're surviving. We have all three dogs with us, and my brother's dog makes an appearance. 

For now, we're all getting along and trying to be helpful. Hopefully, that stays the same. It should. We've been here a month without any major problem. That's a pretty good sign, right?

So, yeah, that's a good check in because I feel like this space needed it. Not everything is bad or unfortunate. It just feels like it sometimes.

As always, it's hip to be square [and surviving!], kids. 

Turning Inward

I got invited to your child's birthday party, but I declined.

I am beckoned to congratulate you on baby number three, but I'm staying away. 

I got asked when we're having children, and husband jumped in and weaseled our way out of it.

I'm turning inward because that's the only place that feels right. 

And I'm done feeling like a bad person for it. 

I feel bad enough about all of this that I won't feel bad for doing what I need to do to get my life back in order after these years that have ripped me apart and shaken everything that I thought was a given in life. 

There are things that good people do, and I'm not doing them. 

I'm refusing to believe that makes me a bad person.

I'm also done caring about how my reactions to your news affect my status in The Universe.

I'm done wanting to be a better person who handles this better than I have. 

You know what? I haven't cried in public. I haven't told anyone to fuck off when they shared more good news that made me hurt inside. I haven't hurt anyone's feelings. I haven't made my burden anyone else's. I haven't cried myself to sleep every night. I haven't tried to change anyone else.

I think that's handling the damn thing.

I've turned inward because it's comfortable here, and I'm so fucking tired of being uncomfortable. I'm so tired of trying to figure out what life is going to be like without all of the things that we have dreamed out. None of that is comfortable, and none of it ever ends.

And I'm sorry that I still don't want to hear your good news.

Wait. I'm not. 

I'm not sorry. I feel like I should be sorry, but I'm not. 

I'm just not there yet.

Sorry, I'm not sorry. 

If you need me, I'll be inside.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

Who Do I Talk To?

When you're a writer, and you have a place to put your words, sometimes you have to put them there right away because you know otherwise they'll be forever gone.

I'm in the throws of moving, but I had an inspiration, and it will disappear if I don't get to it soon. 

Meanwhile, there are boxes EVERYWHERE.

Anyway.

I'm that person who calls in for customer service and, when not getting anywhere says,  "I want to talk to your supervisor." I don't ask for anything that I'm not entitled to, but I will go up the chain until the situation is fixed.

Maybe the fact that I'm not scared to fight for what I want is what makes this so difficult.

I was just putting a box together and looking at the announcement for yet another person's baby. It was going in the garbage. Not in an "I don't want to look at this way," but in a "my life is going in storage and I'm not paying to store a picture of someone else's kid," way.

And I wondered:

Where is whoever is in charge of this process's supervisor? Who do I talk to? Because I want someone on the phone now who will explain to me why it's been three years, and I'm still waiting. Why sometimes it's fine and other times it's just not. Why sometimes I'm thankful for a child free existence, and then it hits me like a ton of bricks and hurts everywhere like the punches just don't stop coming.  Why I know someone who is bragging about waiting to get knocked up with baby number three while I'm coming to terms with never having one. While I may have to spend thousands and thousands of dollars for the CHANCE at having one of my own, and others get to have way too many for free. 

Today, all of a sudden and out of nowhere, I'm struggling.

My semi-religious upbringing would tell me that there is someone to talk to who is always listening.

Yeah, well, I'm not so sure of that right now.

I mean, I am. I'm not overly religious, but I cling to my spirituality as the last shred of decency I am capable of as the last few years continue to be hard. But, let me tell you, I've been talking and asking and begging and pleading and thanking for all of the perfect things in my life, and that's not getting me any closer to actually having the one thing that I would do just about anything for.

No one is listening. 

Can someone go back and listen to the recording of these calls? I just wanted on record that I asked to speak to a supervisor, but I was ignored. Are these calls recorded for quality assurance?

It feels silly to keep asking. It is silly to keep asking. Someone had to have heard me by now, and they would have already done it if they were going to do anything about it.

Who is your boss's boss?

Sigh.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids. 

Dear Mother and Father of Another Little Elsa: YOU SUCK.

To the parents who allowed their young and unknowing child to wave her "Frozen" wand, which is basically a multi-colored strobe light, around a dimly lit restaurant this afternoon:

I sentence you to one month of non-stop awkward commentary to friends and strangers from your kindergarten-aged child regarding things you do at home. Additionally, I sentence you to one month of non-stop profanity from your toddler that will only be uttered in the presence of adults who will think it's hilarious and laugh every time as to unintentionally encourage the behavior.

Good luck to you because this miserable migraine aura and now painful headache that I've had all day will make that all seem like a cake walk.

Best,

Maternal Damnation

P.S.- You suck.

P.P.S.- Yes. Light up toys can cause migraines for those who suffer from these awful beasts. If you aren't sure who you could be unintentionally injuring, please leave the damn thing at home. She could have even left it in the car. I seriously thought they were police lights before realizing that I was just being punched in the brain by a dumb toy.

P.P.S.S. Yes. It feels like being punched in the brain. Repeatedly.

Good Morning Sunshine

Yeah. It's afternoon. 

I never seem to know what time it is anymore. 

I'm not complaining. I have something to keep busy with all the time.

Husband might be complaining, but I think he'll manage. 

Being busy has kept my mind off of the amount of upheaval and back-and-forth that have been going on in our lives. It's all good things, and we have made it through in tact, but it has been stressful. We managed to get a contract on our house, and it won't be our house anymore in about 11 days. I haven't had time to think about how bizarre that is, and that's probably good. We'll be moving in with family for a few months while our beautiful new house is finished. Saving up will be very, very nice. Living with other people might be difficult. I think we'll survive it.

We're settling in to new ideas of life and things we might need to focus on instead of the ideal that we had our hearts set on for most of our lives. This might not work out the way we want. Since other things seem to chugging along, that doesn't seem soul crushing anymore. 

Most of the time.

We got the sister-in-law married off in a mostly uneventful weekend of wedding shenanigans. By uneventful, I mean everyone returned alive with all limbs intact. I dodged relentless grilling by the bride-to-be about when we're going to make babies, and I handled it way better than I ever thought I would. 

I survived the wedding that was put on in three months because she wants to start making babies yesterday. The idea of it was difficult for me to begin with, but it was never about me. Sometimes, my feelings really don't matter. That's totally ok. She'll have babies because life is good to her like that, and I'll sit and hurt for a while. It these last few months have taught me anything, though, it's that I'll get over it. 

And we continue on because that is what we do. We're busier than ever and, right now, that's a good thing. 

It's a great thing.

And, as always, its hip to be square, kids.

#ImNotGoingAnywhere and What It's Like to Work In Mental Health On This Day

Today is my first day back at work.

It's the first day back since someone who I admire with an intensity that goes beyond affection and branches into the realm of awe took his own life.

It's the first day that I will sit across from people and gather information about how they're feeling and how many other times they've tried to get help.

It's the first time that someone will describe something that sounds like major depression or bipolar disease, and I'll know what needs to be done for them.

It's the first time that I won't be able to do anything because I'm not a doctor, but I'll be able to get them with the person who can.

It's the first time that I'll tell them that we're available 24/7 and they can call at any time if there's a problem.

It's the first time that I'll tell someone that this is a disease and not their fault. 

It's the first time I'll tell someone that they can't get better from a depression until they're clean and sober.

It's the first time I'll do a lot of things today that I've done almost every day for years and years.

But today, I'll be thinking about him.

Today, I'll be saying it and desperately wishing that I could have been there for this total stranger who needed help.

Today, I'll be asking the universe why we couldn't get to someone when there are SO MANY people like me in the world.

Today, I'll be a little bit angry about it because we need to do better.

We have to do better.

I'll blame myself not because I had any control but because someone has to fix this. We have to do better. As a nation and a profession and a medical community, we have to do better.

If I was heartbroken two days ago, I'm even more so now. I'm never ready to say goodbye to anyone that I could have helped. Never. No matter how near or far or out-of-my-reach they are, I still could have helped in some divine intervention threw us together on the street.

I'm no more talented or intelligent than the thousands of other people who do what I do in this very big and supposedly very accepting country. We're all hurting today. Not because we could really have done anything, but because even with our lack of impact on the situation we still didn't do enough.

Depression and bipolar disease are not moral issues. They're diseases. They're words that are stigmatized to mean "crazy" or "too lazy to stop crying and get things done."

And you know what? That's bullshit.

We have to do better. We have to stop treating mental illness as an unfixable problem. We have to stop encouraging people to keep to themselves about their hurt because hurt that can't be seen doesn't exist.

I want to shout this from the rooftops.

It does exist. It's very real. There's nothing wrong with you. You're suffering from a disease that lies to you and tell you that you're the problem.

You're suffering.

Don't do it alone because your shit head cousin or neighbor or best friend thinks they know what they're talking about and tells you that depressions don't exist. Depression makes you listen to negative people because depression wants you to believe bad things about yourself. 

DEPRESSION LIES. DEPRESSION LIES. DEPRESSION LIES. DEPRESSION LIES. 

People you love you will stand by you and support you through the help you need. They'll help you find a doctor. They'll go with you to appointments. 

And if you read that and think no one loves you, remember this:

I LOVE YOU.

And I'm never more than a click away. 

Today is going to be tough. I'll get through it because there are people like him in the world who deserve more out of life. No matter how much money or good fortune they have, they deserve more out of life.

And I'll be here because I'm not going anywhere.

Are you going anywhere? If not, post it on the comments. Post it on Twitter. On Facebook. On Instagram. On your forehead.

We're standing by people with mental illness.

#ImNotGoingAnywhere

It's Not Your Fault.

It's late. I'm up working on freelance projects and trying to get myself organized for tomorrow. Pretty standard. Well, I'm trying to pretend it's standard. 

It's not.

My heart hurts, and I've been in and out of pools of tears since earlier this evening. 

I've talked before about how I get attached to people who I don't know. 

This is different. This is beyond that. I did feel like I knew him. I grew up watching him. I wanted him to be part of my family. I wanted him to come make me laugh. I remember knowing who he was when I was a toddler. I remember knowing that he was funny, and I remember laughing at things that I was still too young to understand. 

But I did understand.

Anyway, I'm not ready to really write all of this out because it's late and I'm tired and it's all really raw. I feel like it shouldn't be because, again, total stranger, but it is still so raw. 

So, I'm just going to leave this and probably watch it 1,000 more times over the next week or month or year. I want to scream it so loud that I know he hears it. I want to believe that he can hear everything and he understands now. I want him to know that he is worth all of our love even though he's gone.

You were always deserving. You will always be deserving. You are and will always be enough.

It's not your fault. 

I'm not sure that it's hip to be square, kids. Today, it doesn't feel like it.

Glutton For The Best Kinds of Punishment

Ok. I've been absent a lot lately. I haven't spent anytime with you silly people, and that is no bueno. I need to make more time to fill this space up with my inane and ridiculous thoughts. And I will. 

I mean, I'll try to.

I mean, I will. 

I totally will. 

Just, don't get mad if it's, like, 2 weeks before you see me again. 

I have a really good reason, I swear!

You're right. It's not a good enough reason to ignore you, but it's still a pretty damn good reason. 

Anyway, remember how I'm a crazy person? And remember how I have a job that fills up, like, 80 hours per week and we're building a house and trying to sell this house and there is just a hella lotta things going on and yeah? And remember, remember how life has been so stressful lately and I probably should be vegging out and not looking for more to keep myself busy with?

Go back to the part where we all agreed I'm crazy.

Anyway, I have opened a freelance ghost writing business called Nearly Headless Writer. 

[Side note: If you don't get the joke, we probably can't be friends.]

Anywho, I have been working through some freelance sites and getting work by just being willing to try things. I never have enough confidence in my skills, and I'm never sure that my work is good enough. The feedback has been positive, though, and I'm really enjoying it. Like REALLY enjoying it. 

Oh, and I'm getting paaaaiiiiidddddd. [Added bonus achievement unlocked.]

Even though it's more to balance, is has actually taken a huge amount of stress off of me for almost 10,000 reasons. That's a really good things.

Regardless, I probably won't be talking about it much on here because this is my word vomit place and that is my word prose place, but I wanted to share something happy with you kids for once. 

So if you're missing me, I'm probably not far away from this space on another similar space typing my little fingers off. 

Typee typee type.

Oh, and thanks for being the most supportive group a girl who has been through a huge amount could ask for. You're always there when I need to yell, and you're never missed a beat when it's time to celebrate. Whether you're next door or across the world, I really appreciate your being so close. 

And as always, it's hip to be square, kids.

My Safe Place Isn't Safe Anymore

I'm not good about facing what's bothering me. I never have been. I try to get away from it for as long as I can. The good news to that is that I have a short attention span so that by the time I get back to it, it's usually not bugging me anymore. The bad news is that it doesn't always work. I'm working on the fact that it doesn't work and trying to manage things a little more up front, but it's hard to tell a person who tries to survive on logic that voluntarily going the emotional way is the best way-- especially when it seems to work out the same a lot of times.

Anyway, in my attempt to escape a word of never-ending baby pictures and reminders of where I'm not going in life, I have set up a system that involves a few close friends who I consider safe. These are friends who aren't going to show up pregnant any day soon or bring over a bouncing bundle of snot. Friends who don't ask me when we're having kids and who aren't on a page to do it themselves. I have enveloped myself in this tiny safe world. I'm comfortable here. There isn't an emotional roller coaster. At best, it's an emotional boat ride.

…but the boat ride is like "A Small World." It's slow and isn't likely to make anyone upset, but FUCK does it get boring and WAY annoying at times. 

But I digress. 

Anyway, the tranquility of my safe world has been shattered a little. A friend mentioned in passing that another friend (also one of my safe people) was trying to get pregnant. In my safe little world, it never occurred to me that this would come up. I set this thing up so well! These were the people who have ovaries that are closed for business! Some have never even been open!

How dare people let their plans change? It's really cramping my naive style. 

My safe place just doesn't feel safe anymore. It's cracking. Soon, it will be flooded with a deluge of things for which I am not prepared. And I won't be unprepared because I didn't have enough time. I will feel abandoned and exposed because instead of facing the fact that it was getting harder to be around people and address the ever growing crack in my heart, I went farther back in. 

I have a few people in my life aside from family. A few. I had more, but they were all happy people and couldn't understand what this felt like. 

Now that I'm so far inside, I don't know how I get out without being my least favorite thing in the world: vulnerable. 

My safe place isn't safe anymore. 

And I'm not ready. 

Maybe I should have been a Doomsday prepper. They're ready for anything.

As always, it's hip to be square (and unprepared!), kids.

The Date Is Set

The date is set.

My sister-in-law-- my husband's twin--is not only engaged as of April but getting married on August 31.

This means I have just over 2 months to get over myself enough to get through the whole thing with a smile and without any tears.

It means I have, like, three months until the phone call where we find out they're pregnant.

Because the Universe is both great and cruel like that. It just depends on what side you're on. Currently? I'm on both. I'm not flexible, so it makes my thighs hurt.

My 35-year-old sister-in-law is going to waste zero time in the baby making department.

And, mother fucker, that is going to be all kinds of a roller coaster.

So, I guess the self-indulgence stops now.

...or in a few minutes.

Days?

Ok. Minutes.

I promise.

I think.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

CONSIDER YOUR AUDIENCE

I had a little bit of a hissy last night.

Ok, a lot of a hissy.

Cause, just... WHAT THE FUCK?

I use an app, PinkPad, for tracking fertility. I downloaded it and starting charting more than a year ago. I didn't start using it until I got an inkling from The Universe that I needed some more information to figure out why the baby making wasn't working. If we had accidentally or quickly gotten pregnant, I wouldn't have needed the app. Furthermore, if we already were pregnant, I wouldn't be logging in to the dumb thing anymore.

Imagine my surprise when I touched the icon for the app to be faced with an invitation to buy their new baby naming app!

ARE YOU JOKING?! CONSIDER YOUR AUDIENCE.

There is a fairly good chance that people who are using your app aren't at the baby naming stage yet. There's also a very good chance that your notification that there is a baby naming app that your users DON'T NEED is pouring salt on a very open wound.

Yes, people who are charting fertility might eventually need baby names, but if they're actively using your app, they don't. BECAUSE SCIENCE.

I was fuming. I think I'm still fuming. I think I'm going to find another app.

Clearly, the minds behind Pink Pad have never actually dealt with infertility or the twisted way that every little thing affects people who are dealing with it. Instead, they go with the SEX MEANS BABIES MEANS PEOPLE WILL SPEND MONEY ON STUPID THINGS FOR BABIES AND NO ONE EVER SAD FACES.

Yeah, right.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

Does it get easier?

So this is for all the lovely ladies who have been through where we are right now. 

And men, I guess. I don't think there are a lot of Y chromosomes who hang out here.

Does this shit ever get easier? 

I have to say, when I was so busy that I didn't have a moment to think for myself and I was sleeping on borrowed time because there was just so much to do, it was easier. It really was, but you can't work on infertility if you're dead, so it doesn't sound like a good way to do things. I am the world's best sleeper, and I was getting 4 hours of sleep at most per night. It wasn't because I couldn't sleep but because there just weren't enough hours to get enough sleep. I was running on fumes and caffeine. Wonderful, wonderful caffeine.

And I just can't do that. 

I feel like a spool of thread. When you first get it, it's well put together and looks solid. It's wrapped up tight and self-contained. As you use it or unravel more than you need, it becomes less orderly and starts to look disheveled. You roll it back up again as neatly as possible the first time, but it doesn't look the same. As you use it, or as it falls out of the sewing basket and rolls across the floor, you take less and less time to wrap it up well because it's just freaking thread. You can just get more thread. It's still perfectly good thread that is useful for the same purposes as before, but it's not orderly. It's not self-contained. It's a cotton hot mess. Finally, you stop rolling it up at all because it's just so tangled in itself that it doesn't even matter anymore. You've cut the slack off of it so many times that there is much less of it, but not because the other pieces have been used. They've just been wasted.

Eventually, it can't even serve the one purpose for which it exists-- to hold stuff together. It goes at the bottom of the sewing basket to be replaced by less messy spools that still have their shit on lock. And it will remain there until you get tired of the strings being tangled in everything and having to rip your useful tools out of it's grasp. 

I'm a spool of thread who is full of knots and just as useful but so well disguised as something so very broken. I've gotten so used to feeling broken that it's almost like the status quo. It's just part of what this is. It's part of who I am. I can't even prove that I'm one piece anymore. But I am. I'm tangled and knotted and disorganized, but I'm one piece. 

I am.

So, back to the original question: does this ever get easier?

Today is Father's Day

Life has been crazy and hectic. As much as it has been overwhelming, it's also probably been a good thing on about eleventy thousand levels.

...Especially the level where we're too busy to think about how our hearts hurt.

For whatever reason, today was the day that neither of us could ignore the hurting heart anymore. Unfortunately, I get really consumed with my own sadness and forget that my husband has some of his own. Ok, a lot of his own.

We're struggling.

Mother's Day came and went and didn't really bother us. Maybe it's because we have two mothers to worry about and it's sandwiched between three birthdays, but it came and went with little to no emotional pomp and circumstance. I didn't spend a lot of time wondering when it would be my day, and it never came up with husband.

My husband barely talks to his father and certainly would not make an effort to see him on Father's Day, so it's just my dad. My parents just moved, and we have been helping them nonstop. We're already exhausted and edgy from the sheer amount of stuff to do professionally and personally. This weekend was already raw, but we were getting through it. Then a friend who planned her wedding the same time we planned ours announced her pregnancy and everything just unraveled.

I couldn't keep it together anymore for about a thousand selfish reasons. I went back to thinking about how unfair it is, and I let all of those thoughts into my head about what she has done in her life that makes her less deserving than me. You know, like any of that matters in the genetic lottery. Husband had already declared that he hated Father's Day, and we had argued because I felt he was punishing my dad because his dad can be a jerk. I didn't consider the fact that he was also struggling because it represented our continued failure. We were supposed to be celebrating our own reproductive success by now, but we're not. More frighteningly, I have genuinely resigned myself to the fact that we may never have anything to celebrate.

So on Father's Day 2014, it felt like everything came apart at the seams, and we couldn't get it back together despite the apologies to each other and celebrations with my family. Even though the emotional roller coaster had stopped for a while, we took another unexpected drop and we're still trying to catch our breath.

I'll be here gasping for air for a little while as we try to sort this out and smooth out these very raw edges. Send sandpaper.

As always, it's hip to be square (and a little jagged), kids.

My Brain Hurts- Help Me Sort This Out?

Being an adult is hard, yo.

Aside from having to do ALL THE THINGS and now being the proud owner of a second practice, we're trying to sell our house and build another one.

This raises SO MANY QUESTIONS.

And, you know, why have a blog and not make the Internetz answer these questions for you?

So we're building this house, right? And it's coming in about 50K more than I would like it to, which is manageable even though it's extra money per month. Anyway to not spend that money, however, would be stellar.

This leaves me with a conundrum. The community we're building in allows garage apartments. If we have a garage apartment, we can rent it out for about 1/2 of the mortgage payment. It adds about 60K to the price of the house and about $400 to the mortgage each month but we would get nearly three times that in rent if we were to successfully rent it out each month.

There is always the question of whether we would be able to rent it out or not, but with a medical school walking distance away as well as three hospitals, I can't image there will be a paucity of renters.

Do I want someone in my space? I mean, the apartment would have an outside entrance, so he or she should not have access to the yard or my house, but it is a fairly close proximity to a relative stranger.

I think we should just go for it and take the risk, but it's a big risk to take, and it's a lot of money to borrow over and above to 20% down.

What would you do?

Can You Find Me?

INTERNETZ.

I AM SORRY.

I am have busy doing things. We bought another practice. We're trying to buy a house. My parents are moving. We're trying to sell this house.

I am the HBIC of all of it. 

I am le tired. 

I'll be back soon, kay?

Love,

--MD

It's hip to be square, kids.

Can You Do Me a Favor?

Have yourself a great day.

But for reals, kids.

I just wanted to leave the words that have gotten me through a tough year right here where you could get them if you needed them.

You have survived 100% of what life has thrown at you thus far. 

You are a survivor whether you realize it or not.

Keep doing that.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

Kidneys and Viruses and Concussions, OH MY!

It's just been a day.

Such a day.

A lot of a day.

It started with a missed phone call because I assumed it was my alarm. And then two more phone calls all from my dad.

I naturally assumed the worst and called back quickly. He didn't answer, so I called my mom. When she picked up, all she could say was, "I'mmmmm siiiiicccckkkk."

As terrible as it sounds, a sigh of relief followed. Mom being sick is usually manageable. Doc being sick can be catastrophic.

So, my in-office-get-shit-done day quickly turned in to a go-take-care-of-mom day. You would think I would be off the hook for this because my father is a doctor, but no dice. He still isn't 100% after his surgery, so he shouldn't be physically moving anyone around or taking care of them.

So, you know, off I went.

Mom had severe vertigo, which she had never had before, and was unable to stand or sit up. She was uncomfortable and scared. We didn't know if it was viral, part of her kidney disease, or the aftermath of a really good knock on the head that she took a few days ago. Either way, FUCK.

Her general practitioner phoned her in some medicine and we waited to see if it would work. It didn't. I force fed her Pedialyte and she did perk up some, but not enough for her doctor's liking. He wanted her to go for a stat CT, and he was not fucking around. We piled her in to the car and took her to the ER where we sat for a very, very long time. Luckily, we are friends with most of the ER docs, and let them know in advance what was going on. They got her in quickly, but the process still took forever.

Luckily, it seems like it was just an episode of vertigo. There was nothing on the CT to be concerned about, and her blood work came back normal. The good news was that her kidneys were actually better then than they have been in recent months. They sent her home with the diagnosis of "dizziness". GEE, THANKS, FUCK STICKS. If that's why they get paid for, someone put me on the payroll. ME CAN BE A DOCTOR 2.

It looks like she'll be fine. Fingers crossed. I'll keep you posted, anyway.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

Autoerotic AsphyWHAAAA????

As my readers (all 2 of you) know, my dad and I are very close and talk about really weird things. I assumed that I knew basically everything about him at this point in my life. There isn't much that is off limits. I know that he almost shot a guard when he was in Vietnam, so he stopped carrying his sidearm because he figured he was more dangerous to people he knew with it. I know that he dated a woman for 5 years when he was young, and she is still angry at him 50 years later for not marrying her. I know that his actual goal in life was to be a physicist and he had to give up on it when he couldn't pass Optics in 1957. I know that his family has a lot of bizarre and probably crazy people in it, and that he is one of them. I know that when he couldn't handle Optics, he decided to "settle" for being a doctor and then a psychiatrist. 

I did not know the following. 

We were talking about random things at lunch today, and somehow Danny Trejo came up. I said that I always get him confused with "Kung Foo Fighting" because I can never remember that actor's name. My brother pointed out that I was talking about David Carradine, and that reminded me that David Carradine died during autoerotic asphyxiation. 

When I said that, I imagined my 76-year-old father would say something along the lines of, "NOOOOO SHIT!" or "Ew. That's not a fun way to die." 

Instead, he said, "Really? People don't often die that way." 

I paused. 

"Uh. How do you know?" I asked while entirely terrified of the answer.

"Oh," he said. "I presented a paper at a national forensic sciences conference about a guy who died while attempting autoerotic strangulation. He was watching a video while he did it, so I got ahold of the video and edited it down to be presented with the paper," he said matter-of-factly. "The paper was published in some national journals, and we did a whole presentation on it during the sexual perversions part of the conference."

…WHAT THE FUCK?!

I started laughing, but I think I wanted to cry. I mean, I know I wanted to cry. In fact, I may have been crying. 

"So let me get this straight," I said to him knowing that I would regret it. "You were, at one point, an expert on autoerotic asphyxiation?"

AND MY 76 YEAR OLD FATHER SAID:

"Well, I guess I would still be considered one." 

He paused. 

"I mean, I never tried it." 

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! LIKE HOW IS THIS A THING?

My father, my best friend, the person who I am most like in the whole entire fucking world is an expert on WHAT?!

I JUST CANNOT EVEN. 

You learn something new every day. AND THEN YOU STAB OUT YOUR MINDS EYE UNTIL YOU CAN'T EVEN THINK ANYMORE EVER.

What number do I dial to get a lobotomy?

It's hip to be square, kids… I think.

Someone Tell Him

Can someone tell my husband that I'm not crazy?

Or, better yet, tell him that I am, and that he just has to deal?

We had a really nice lunch. We were talking about options and next steps and how we handle things from here on out. We were being productive.

Then he says, "Well, how are you going to react if my sister gets pregnant before we do?"

And it just shook the foundation of everything that I have been working so hard on. It rattled me to my core and now I just can't keep it together.

How am I going to react?

How am I going to fucking react?

I'm going to be furious. Not at her, but at the universe. I'm going to be angry in that always-a-bridesmaid-never-a-bride-and-fuck-you-for-not-dealing-with-infertility way. I'm going to want to smash things and scream at the Universe that I get to live through daily torture and she gets to get married and get knocked up right away. I'm going to hate the world more than I do now.

I'm going to hate the world more than I do now.

And that's awful. And I know it's awful and I feel like the worst person for even having thoughts about being mistreated or not having enough in life. I have everything I could want. 

Except, you know, the one thing that I actually want. 

She's older than I am. Substantially. She has had a rocky, on-and-off relationship with her not-quite-fiancé who will probably soon be her fiancé. She deserves to be happy just as much as everyone else does.

And knowing all of that, and knowing that life isn't fair, and knowing that things are hard and that I'm not special, I am still a sobbing mess because it just never occurred to me that that would happen. And now it almost seems like a certainty.

And I just can't.

Husband doesn't get it and keeps reminding me to find the positive and be thankful for what we have because he's going through it to and he's not getting enough support in it. And he's completely and totally right. I'm being totally selfish and self-serving and I can't hate everyone who gets good news while we continue to wait.

I mean, I shouldn't.

It's not stopping me though.

It's just where I am right now. And nothing seems to be getting me through it any faster. I'm sorry for that, and I'm sorry that it's not who you want me to be, but it's where I am right now. If I could be anywhere else, mentally or physically, I would be. 

But this is where I am right now.

So, I guess I'll see you there.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

A Little Bit Liberating

This is the week that I would normally obsessively be peeing on sticks and praying to whoever would listen for two freaking lines.

Two.

Not one.

Two.

And squinting hoping that the smaller my eyes get, the more that white space will start to have some kind of shadow on it that could be mistaken for a second time.

And giving myself a headache by squinting.

But I'm not because we didn't try to do anything this month. The bad news came and went and we decided that we can't add extra variable and stress to it. For a bit, we just have to let it be what it is. For a little while, we can't do anything other than just let it exist.

So we existed and took the month off.

And while I thought I would feel like a failure, I really just feel fine. I'm not back to expecting the normal rather than begging for miracles. The normal is okay because it isn't a failure of any kind. You miss 100 percent of the shots that you don't take, right? So we missed this one. That's cool. Same number of points on the scoreboard as when we started.

Alright.

It's the typically dreaded time of the cycle and I'm not dreading it. I'm not dreading anything.

I didn't fail because we didn't try.

And that's a way better feeling than trying to explain what it's like to have your own vital organs working against everything you want.

So, yeah.

This is a good thing.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

New Normal

I don't spend that much time sad or angry anymore.

It has gotten a lot better in the last few weeks. I think I'm just too busy to spend any time getting upset over things that I'm not in control of, and that is a blessing beyond my comprehension. It's just time to get used to these new words and new things and new idea of the future. I can't be controlled by it anymore.

The only time I really struggle exists entirely in my mind because it hasn't happened yet and very well might never happen.

I just have this image of running in to a friend or loved one and getting asked that question that I dread every moment of my life. It's in my nature to be honest, but I have kept this so private and hidden. As far as my friends and family no, I have no interest in children any time soon. I was hoping it would just be a happy surprise for them.

I'm sure I'll go back to the answer that I have been giving for three years now. I'll tell them that puppies are way easier than kids because you can put puppies in boxes when you leave the house and no one gets angry at you. I never actually answer the question. I don't have it. It's none of their business.

I just know that eventually someone is going to ask at the wrong or unplanned moment and I won't be able to continue my normal assholistic, self-serving, kids-are-lame attitude for a fleeting moment. I don't want to answer questions. I don't want sympathetic glances. I don't want people to grab my hand or hug me.

So that moment? The thought of that moment that might never happen? That still brings the tears and the anxiety because I just don't want it. I can live my normal life now without all of the ups and downs. I just can't imagine surviving that moment even one more time.

And it will happen. And I will survive it. And I'll die a little more inside every time I think about how the goings-on of my ovaries are none of your business, compassionate acquaintance or even good friend.

But to answer the question you didn't ask, Internet, that's what I'm still struggling with at this moment.

It's hip to be square, kids.

Fuck you, Snooki.

If you want to know what it's like to navigate the world of infertility in the weakest, most hateful moments, this is it right here:

*Scrolling Facebook*

*Click on Trending Topics*

Oh, look! Snooki's pregnant again!

A woman who has publicly done more intentional damage to her body by regularly drinking herself into a stupor and LITERALLY making bad decisions for a living has a working set of reproductive organs that give her babies when she wants. Meanwhile, I stay out of trouble for my whole life, do the best I can to talk care of myself and work hard to not make a jackass out of myself, and I get to sit here without any hope.

I'm an awful person.

If you want to know what it's like to be unintentionally attacked by the whole world at the same time, it's right here. It's happy people everywhere getting what you want and making sure the whole world knows it. You can't get away from it. You can't hide from it. To avoid reminders of it, you can't go to the grocery store, leave the house, turn on the television, read news sites, NOTHING.

Everything feels like a purposeful reminder of how much it hurts.

This is all so self-centered and ridiculous. I have so many things to be thankful for right now.

It just feels like none of them matter.

And they do.

But they don't.

But they do.

But they don't.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

Codes and Signs

Days have just been rough. There is so much going on, and it seems like any shit that can get thrown at me, does. It's not huge stuff. Everyone is healthy and doing well (knock wood). But a ton of tiny little things still weighs 2,000 pounds. 

My husband has a code that he uses for most things. Pins, some passwords, reminders. Different variations of that code show up pretty much everywhere. It's like his thing.

We did the walk through on Mom and Dad's new house today. The fence installer met us there and gave us a quote on the fence that my parents need for their dogs. It was double what we wanted to pay. Meanwhile, I got the taxes back from the accountant which are 3 times what they were last year. 

I feel like I can't make money fast enough. There is no break in this barrage of bullshit.

Anyway, I put my foot down and said that they were not spending that much on a fence. I told them to change the plans and ONLY fence in the back yard and not worry about the small sides of the house. I'm done getting taken for all that I've got because I don't have anything left.

They redrew the plan and the guy recalculated everything. He was super nice and was doing everything he could to organize it as inexpensively as possible. I let them work and walked outside to cool off and clear my head. I'm pretty sure it was a useless pursuit at that point, but I was bordering on being a total mess.

I walked back in to the house as the guy finishes crunching his numbers. He looks up and says, "Wow. This is way better."

The cost was less than half of the original price. 

And the exact number?

My husband's code. 

For whatever reason, that calmed me down immensely.

If we can keep trending in that direction, that would be swell.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

I Wish

I wish I could be motivated to exercise.

I wish I could love it the way my friends who post pictures of their races finishes and beach bodies are able to love it.

I wish I wasn't too tired all of the time.

I wish there was a flip that I could switch where I don't have to shove myself to the gym every day and, instead, go because I enjoy it.

I do enjoy it for a few days when I start. Then I few days more once I'm there. Then something happens. I get injured or life gets in the way or something else pops up and just makes it so tough to get going. Last time it was a nasty bug that stole my energy for weeks. By the time it was gone, so was my resolve.

I want to be active. More than that, I want to want to be active.

More than that, I want to be motivated to do it and not have that motivation dwindle at the mere sight of a couch to nap on when I'm so damn mentally exhausted.

Can I have my teenage metabolism back, please?

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

One Year

Since we decided that we wanted to start a family, I have been heard from numerous sources, both medical and anecdotal, that most couples get pregnant within a year. If you don't, then you should start seeking medical intervention to find out what the hold up is. 

I heard that there is a 20% chance of getting pregnant in any given month. 

I heard and read lots of other facts that were there to be a guideline for us as we embarked on this incredibly unknown journey. 

Well, it's been a year.

I'm no more pregnant today than I was then. We have some answers as far as why it's not working for us, but none of them are bolstering any confidence. In fact, they're pushing us farther away from optimism by the day. 

We have to start thinking about that word. That word that no happy couple thinks is them. That word that can't be me because I'm just too young. That word that doesn't mean anything to me because I'm the picture of health. 

The fucking word that I have been dreading but now, after a year, have to accept as one of the next possible realities. 

Infertility. 

There is a pretty good chance that it just won't happen for us.

We aren't at the point of wanting alternatives. We aren't looking at options yet. We aren't looking for treatments or miracle cures. 

We're just absorbing. 

And being angry. There is a lot of anger (at least on my part).

And as I feel like some days I'm just going to boil over with rage and start throat punching the universe, I'm also sitting here completely powerless. I feel like I can get everyone else's life in order, but mine will always been a disorganized train wreck of never getting what we want. I feel like it will always be a struggle because all we have known for the past 365 days is struggle. 

My husband tries to tell me that it could be worse and that there is so much good in our lives. I know he's right. It doesn't matter though. 

Most days I have peace, and I'm calm and easy going about it. I no longer regularly burst in to tears at another announcement of yet another beautiful baby. But on days like today, it still happens. 

Today, everything is raw. Everything is right at the surface. Everything is a reminder that we haven't and we might never.

Everything is everything all at once and sitting on my shoulders and reminding me that life may never be what I want.

I think I just have to get used to that feeling for a while.

So, here we go. 

It's hip to be square, kids. 

Here We Go

Last week, after nearly a week in the hospital and what felt like a million roadblocks, Doc finally had the procedure to implant the shunt in his brain that will drain the cerebral spinal fluid that has been sloshing around up there for who knows how long. 

Some things to note: 

1. If someone tells you no, and you aren't sure they're correct, ask why. Get opinions. Make a scene. If we had not done all of that, Doc never would have had the surgery that has changed his life. 

2. Doc is now bald. Like, totally. They shaved his head on one side for the shunt, so we shaved the other. He looks great bald. I'm totally amazed. He has now decided that he wants a beard. With any luck, he'll look like this: 

3. He goes back to work tomorrow. I am so nervous, and I think he is too. Some people have gone out of their way to help and make sure that things go smoothly tomorrow, but who knows how it will work out. I think he's tired of being bored, though, and he's ready to go back to work. 

4. I am thankful. So very thankful. He was miserable before. It was like someone stole the happy right out of his heart. He wants more out of life, and now that he is able to walk and stand freely on his own, I think he feels like he will get it. This brings me all the happy haps.

So, you know, here we go. Here's to my fingers crossed and things being better than before for him. He deserves all of it, and I'm so glad that we were persistent and didn't take no for an answer. He taught me to be a spitfire. I don't think he ever realized I would be using it to his advantage. 

As always, it's hip to be square (and determined!), kids. 

Do Me This One Favor

If I leave one impact on society, I will be more than happy for it to be this:

As a planet, can we please stop asking  married-without-children acquaintances when they're going to make babies?

It's an innocent question. It may even be a logical question. Lots of people get married and have babies. But similar to asking a woman who isn't pregnant when she's due, asking one who isn't pregnant when she's going to be could be pouring salt on a very open wound.

Maybe they don't want to have kids.

Maybe they haven't decided when they want kids.

Maybe they differ on how kids should be raised, and so they're waiting to grow as a couple before bringing a baby in to the world

Or maybe they've been trying for days or weeks or months or years and the whole process is terrifying and anxiety-inducing and you're reminding them how far they are away from actually getting there.

Maybe they just got bad news and are still trying to process it without being reminded of how much the world thinks that babies should be happening.

Maybe they know they can't have kids and they're trying to adopt but they aren't ready to share that with you yet.

Maybe you don't know or are forgetting how raw and vulnerable this process made you feel, and that's still just below the surface for them.

Maybe it's none of your effing business.

For the thousands of times that the question is totally innocent and elicits a giggle or an excited answer, there are a handful (and probably so many more) that send someone away in tears as a reminder that this process is not naturally on their side. If pregnant women and people with babies all around aren't a big enough reminder, the indication that your friends and family are disappointed in your process is overwhelming.

Don't make assumptions about what's next. If someone isn't coming up to you excited about a bun in the oven, you don't need to fish for more information than that. Maybe there's nothing, but the chance that you're going to nick a wound that might not ever heal is always there.

Do humanity a favor. Let them bring you information when they're ready for you to have it. If they don't, they're not ready.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

Lately

I have been incredibly absent from this space lately. It isn't my longest stretch without writing in my two years of managing this space, but it too long regardless.

The last couple of months have been, well, insane. I'll catalog it with a short list here and give you details in the later times. 

These are some of the things that have happened in the last few months

We are selling my parents house

We are in the process of buying them a new one

Husband's truck was in an accident and was in repair for a month

Husband never got the rental car and just used my car for a month (much to my inconvenience). 

Husband's motorcycle was hit while parked in the parking lot of his work

We began pondering whether it was time to sell our house

We started looking for another house

I started going to doctors trying to figure out what's wrong

Husband did the same

Husband has had problems at work

Oh, and Doc had life changing brain surgery that, knock wood, has thus far improved his quality of life. 

So it's just been... yeah. 

Thanks for sticking through it with me. If you're a Twitter pal and you've been checking in, I appreciate it so much. 

As always, it's hip to be square (and flipping exhausted), kids. 

Not Inconsolable

Today, I would normally be inconsolable.

But I'm not.

Today is that day that I would normally feel like my world is coming to an end after yet another unsuccessful try.

But I'm not.

Somehow, finding out that there may be a problem has released me. Maybe not entirely, but it has enough to let me feel that I don't have to hate myself today. I don't have to hate the injustices of the world today

Maybe it's because I had my freakout two days ago when I got the news. I got it all out of my system, and I'm not a ball of stress and nerves anymore.

This is still different, though.

This feels as if I'm not longer tied down by the must-make-baby-now instinct. I don't hate anything associated with this process right now. I am anxious to get it moving and get the answers that I want.
But then I'm not. There are moments when I am truly fine with just giving up and having dogs who let me sleep in on the weekends.

I just hope this lasts. I hope this feeling of my lungs being filled with fresh air stays. I don't want to go back to feeling like my life is ending with each passing day. I want to feel like this is part of my life and not my entire life like I do right now. I want to look forward to things again. I want to live in this moment for as long as possible. I just don't want to feel like that anymore. Ever.

I just want to feel like this. Breathing. Understanding. Doing more than just surviving.

As always, it's hip to be square (and chilled the eff out!), kids.

Oh! There I am!

I think I just found my courage.

I think I just got over that terribly overwhelming feeling. 

I think I just found my spirit again. It's a little beat up, but it's still good. 

Still good. 

I'm taking back control. I will not be controlled. I will not lose myself in this. 

Oh, there I am! 

Let's do this, bitches.

It's hip to be square (and awesome!), kids.

I'm Not Very Smart

Sometimes I get ahead of myself. 

Sometimes I'm an idiot. 

Sometimes I'm more than an idiot. Sometimes I'm a downright fucking moron. 

I went to Tarjay the other day mostly because it's my happy place, but also because I needed things for the house. I spent a long time shopping, and I was late on my way to get home. Husband was waiting for me so we could go do something. I don't remember what. 

Anyway, I'm neurotic about my purse when I'm in supermarkets and parking lots. I took my purse out of the cart and set it in my trunk while I was unloading groceries. In a choreographed dance that I can barely remember, somehow my body got ahead of my brain, and I instinctively closed the trunk before grabbing my purse. 

Cue the instant flood of terror and the OH SHIT. 

I knew it soon as the trunk closed that I had done things out of order. Thank BOB I still had my phone in my pocket. My trunk was closed with my purse in it and my car was locked. Well, fuck.

My terror quickly turn to embarrassment which quickly turned to OH-MY-GOD-I-HAVE-TO-TELL-MY-HUSBAND-THAT-I-LOCKED-MY-KEYS-IN-MY-CAR. Images of how I would never live that down across across my head, and I considered just moving into Target instead of calling him. I could get a job, work there, and never have to go home again. Instead, I womaned up and called him. "I'm an idiot," I said. I told him I happened. 

Because he's away nicer person than I am, he didn't make fun of me. He didn't give me crap. He didn't even complain. He just got my extra key, got in the car and came to get me. There is no Target near our house, and it was a half an hour drive to get to me. This is not a short distance. So I wandered around Target with my tail between my legs wondering when, just when, I would get my head out of the clouds, come back down to Earth and pay attention to what the fuck I'm doing. 

Probably never, but it's a good idea. 

As always, it's hip to be square (and a total airhead), kids.

Be Obnoxious

I give you my permission to annoy the shit out of your doctors.

Now, my permission doesn't mean shit, but it's still there if you want it.

Ask questions. Ask every question you can think of. Ask stupid question. If a doctor says something that doesn't sit right with you, ask more questions. If those don't help, get another opinion. If you don't like the service you're receiving, try someone new. Doctors work differently than other human beings. Sometimes, it's less about saving lives and more about saving their own ass. Defensive medicine causes huge problems, but so do people who sue for no reason. I can see both sides.

We've started asking questions and getting second opinions for Doc. He's miserable. He wants more out of life. He is willing to take a risk having this surgery when it isn't a good idea. He doesn't want to have trouble walking for another minute, much less another yet.

I called a good friend who is a neurosurgical nurse practitioner PhD candidate. She has worked on many, many shunt procedures, and she knows the deal. She understands how the anticoagulants work, and she told me that there is another way. Then I got on the Internet and did some research. I found articles from the Cleveland Clinic and Duke medical school that gave me the information that I need. The articles gave me the numbers that doctors insisted didn't exist. They talked about mortality rate and time off of the medication. They helped me understand how much of a risk this is.

These are answers that no one else wanted to give me except to say, "It's a bad idea."

Yeah, well, so is being miserable. So fucking help us out here.

We're calculating risk now so we can choose what to do next. And then we go from there.

Because I'm fucking obnoxious and decided that their no wasn't good enough.

Ask questions. No one is going to advocate for you but you.

As always, it's hip to be square (and obnoxious!), kids.

It Wasn't Supposed To Go LIke This

I went to the doctor to find out that I was fine and had nothing to worry about. I went so she would tell me that my problem is stress and I need to reduce it. I agreed to the tests because I thought they would further the cause that, even though occasionally sluggish, I am healthy as a horse. 

I didn't go so she could tell me that I will have trouble getting pregnant. 

I didn't go to have the news broken to me over the phone on Valentine's Day without any indication of how long this next part takes. 

I am at sea. 

I am exhausted. 

I am without hope. 

I am no longer optimistic. 

I am barely getting out of bed. 

I will get passed this eventually-- probably even sooner than I think. 

In the meantime, here we are.

I'm sorry for the tone of this writing space in the coming months. I just don't have the funny in me right now. 

Talk soon.