Thursday, April 26, 2012

Things I Love Thursday - Part 35


Not a toothbrush.

Shoots of glitter guns, pew pew pew pew!

This Thursday I am CHOOSING to love my morning routine of going to Northwestern Hospital.  You know, I go every single morning now, for my tests.  The staff actually have gotten to know my big stupid face and are very kind and funny with me now.  It just takes a hot minute and then people usually realize I'm pretty freaking awesome.  And most of them are too, once you break through their "going through the motions for the 8 millionth time" face. 

It finally happened.  This morning, almost legs up in stirrups, the gal says, "You look like someone."   OH MAH GAH.  And sure enough, she continued by saying, "I'm not the only Stenographer who thinks so; we've all been talking about you."

Well, isn't that nice.  Then we laughed and laughed.  Seriously.  I've been legs up with this girl every damn day for the last week and I was so happy to be laughing with her, I didn't even get irritated. 

I'm so grateful that Northwestern is a top notch medical facility and my husband's insurance lets me do this fertility gig there.  I am so thankful it's right downtown, across the Loop from my work.  And that I get to go in every morning at 7am before being at work at 8am-ish.  This makes a huge difference in my daily schedule.  I can take the train downtown and then walk about 6 blocks to the hospital with a gaggle of about 30 nurses or nursing students who also take the train. 

We all line up - about 20 women there for infertility each morning - some who are actually smiling and saying hi to me now - get our numbers for ultrasounds and go wait.  I see some of the same women every morning.  One woman was in our orientation when we went a couple months ago.  I know this is hard.  I know none of us want to be there.  I also know it makes me feel less alone and afraid to have a kind look or a how are you from one of them who is going through EXACTLY the same thing I am.  It helps.  So I am trying and some probably hate me for it and wish I would take my stupid big smile face somewhere else, but I'm here.  I'm grateful to be here and to be given an opportunity to try this. 

Bing, bang, boom, Ultrasound and blood work, and I'm outta there hoofing it across the Loop to the Tower in time for work. 

I am really, REALLY grateful for all of this.  The convenience makes it a bit easier to swallow all the pricking and prodding and money spent on this baby stuff. 

I don't even know who I am anymore, but I'm smiley for some reason and reaching out to other women going through this. Usually I just reach out to other drunks and leave the rest alone. Now, I'm reaching out to other women going through this baby stuff. And they are reaching out to me. Either in person or through my blog or the Facebook page. And I am so grateful for all of it. The notes of encouragement and love I've received are absolutely mind blowing to me. Every single one is so precious and I cannot thank you enough.

Also, I love my bird earrings I have on today.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Kicking Ass on Hormones

I can't really describe it better than it feels like I'm constantly re-arranging something.  Like my clothes aren't fitting right except that it 's not my clothes, it's my skin.  And my brain.  I want to reach into my body and soul and mind and re-arrange some shit.  I cannot get comfortable right now.

The itching.  The MOTHERLOVING ITCHING.  I had to be on some jacked up birth control for 3 weeks to start this whole IVF business.  It gave me a super rash.  It's normal.  I have NEVER been on the pill in my life.  This was all too much for me.

Forget about a vibrating device, a wire brush is my best friend these days.  I have never felt more pleasure than rubbing that bad boy all over my itchy body.

People say stupid ass things. Here are a couple of my favorites:
  1. Relax. It will happen when it's supposed to (or some iteration of that nonsense).
  2. Careful what you wish for.
  3. Do you want my kids? You may change your mind.
There are so many others, but those are my favorites right now. And by favorites, I mean, seriously STFU if you think any of these things sound like a good thing to say to someone struggling to have a baby.

Most conversations lately are like this:
People: "how are you feeling?"
Me; "Shitty."
People:  *STARES*, "Well have you tried this or this or how much longer or let's talk about me and how I would deal with that."


I'm having many different hormones shot through many different needles into my body.  It's not pleasant to feel like a human pin cushion.  I feel squishy.  Nothing is going to make that more pleasant.  I feel nauseous all the time.   And I'm incredibly sore.  That's my story.  It's ok, I will be ok, but it sucks right now.  Deal?  It's ok, let's all just agree that I'm not very good company right now and you are off the hook as far as talking with me. 

Way too many people who aren't my husband have been all up in my vagine lately. I'm not OK with it. There have been approximately 645 people sticking the ultrasound wand up in my junk and then looking around in there.  I mean, what am I gonna do, right? 

I hate having blood drawn, like every other day, but there is the Latino Older Gentleman at Northwestern (can I call him LOG?) that has his Latino music on every time I go and he's so nice to me.  It's comforting.  It makes looking like a junkie with bruises up and down both arms and my entire torso that much more enjoyable. 

I am overcompensating.  I feel like shit, so I am doing my best to look SUPER CUTE! every damn day.  And logging that shit on a Pinterest board.  That's right.  I want that reminder for when I have a belly and can't wear my cute dresses any longer, but really, I'm just trying to feel somewhat normal.  Hint, TELL ME I'M CUTE.

This is what I typically do in a self pity and pin cushiony induced haze on the weekends right now because I'm in NO MOOD for being social.  Ass on the couch, watching Franklin and Bash reruns hoping for a Zach Morris naked butt shot getting outta the hot tub. Brothers and Sisters.  Jesus God. Kitty and infertility and then cancer and how can I relate to this skinny white WHITE girl with these jacked up lips first on Ally McBeal with the clunky white girl 90's shoes we all wore and now on Brothers and Sisters? Am I getting cancer next? I want to crawl in bed with Sally Field as my mom and call it a day.

My mom is so far away and she writes me notes every day trying to make me laugh and encourage me and even one last week said that she wants to punch someone in the face for me having to go through all this bullshit. She didn't know who she would punch, I suggested me as I'm responsible for my life, but in a nutshell she didn't like that idea, she wanted to blame someone else. She's so little, my mom, and yet such a powerhouse. My dad calls her Woodstock. And every time I think about her lately I ball like a baby.

Try to explain to your cat that he can't be on you because your stomach is ripped to shreds and you feel vomitous all the time. Go on, try it and report back how that all goes for you.  My other bff at home besides my brush to scratch is my heating pad.  I cannot believe I'm turning into one of those "it's chilly in here" broads that I always want to smack on the head, but goddamn, is it chilly in here?  And then Sally Boy gets really excited when I get up and he gets on the heating pad and is all, "oh hey dudes, did you know about this magical ball warmer for my little tiny cat balls that are long gone, but dammit this is so warm on my bum?" 

All this funny bitchiness aside, I am so grateful to even be in a position to try this.  With a man I love so hard it should be a crime.  So I complain and hurt and cry and laugh, all knowing that I am so blessed to be able to even be here.  The moment I start thinking life owes me anything, I'm fucked. Everything I have is a gift. Period. If life were fair, I would be dead. I got the better end of this deal.  Baby or no baby.  Hormones or no hormones.  I win!

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, I give you Sam from Bitches Gotta Eat.  Which is in my top 3 favorite blogs of all time.  I am HOOKED.  I mean, I'm flabbergasted she would even ask to joint post, but she's on the fucking hormones too. She's proud to say she's my friend (winks) and I bow down to her mad funny, raunchy writery skills.  She called me her spirit animal once, I will take that shit to my grave.  

Yes, this is really happening, I geeked the hell out meeting Sam.

We are BOTH on the hormones. Different hormones for different reasons, but damn, it can fuck with a girl. This lovely and colorfully raunchy version is from Sam. That's your warning, if your virgin ears can't handle too much, bow out. But I know most of you will thank me after for introducing you to her if you don't know her work already, which I bet most of you do. She's Divine.  Please for you to enjoy.....

In general, i am not a horny person. is sex interesting and enjoyable? absolutely. would i rather be in bed with a bag of korean tacos than spending an evening bird-dogging dudes with a spanx pulled up to chin in the vain hopes of dragging one home to do the don't look at my thighs and weird birtmarks awkward first sex apology dance? absolutely. there are so many other things i would rather be doing than explaining why sucking a d would be so much better if i could keep my goddamned shirt on. the thought of new sex is fucking exhausting to me. jesus christ, you want to know what the last conversation i had was about?! THE NEW RANCHERO BEEF LEAN CUISINE. i wish that was a joke, but i just spent five minutes talking about what a drag it is when the meat isn't touching the sauce and it gets all dried out in the microwave and it's like eating a tennis shoes with lowfat chipotle gravy on it. that's not the conversation of a person who is in the market for sexual intercourse, friends. that is what your lonely aunt who wears scarves in the summer wants to talk about, NOT virile young things who can't wait to find some stud to put it in her butt.

i don't ever think to myself, "goddamn, i need to get the shit fucked out of me or i'm going to freak the fuck OUT." women like that seem glamorous and foreign to me, exotic creatures for whom a jar of nutella and a bottle of champagne aren't a suitable replacement for a bearded gentleman with an erection and a checking account. the other night i went to lula with caitlin, who proclaimed, "girl, i always like to keep some dick around," over our split spinach salad. wow, what a fucking grownup. sex just stresses me out and reminds me how little furniture i own and that i should go to water aerobics more often. and that i still buy kid panties with stupid patterns like martini glasses and ponies on them. my underwear drawer looks like the chick lit section of an airport bookstore.

my uterus has always been a finicky little brat. i found this out pretty early in my womanhood when, after being the kind of moron who engaged in unprotected sex with a hot dude who sold dvd players out of the back of his truck, i kept never getting a period yet also never winding up pregnant. so, when you're nineteen and you live in a car with no adult supervision or intervention in your life whatsoever, this is basically THE BEST NEWS YOU WILL EVER RECEIVE IN YOUR LIFE. these were my "fucking in exchange for some fleeting validation" years, you see, so if i could bang dudes and not worry about giving birth to what was sure to an army of street pharmacists and designer bag boosters then it was cool, right? exactly. sex was as boring to me then as it is now, and i'm totally lazy, so not having to think about a strange little creature hijacking my womb was the icing on the cake.

a couple months ago my gynecologist suggested i get an IUD. birth control was making me a bonafied crazy person, plus i am fast approaching the age where all those fine print warnings actually start to mean something ("may cause strokes and blood clots and certain death in women over thirty-five," etc) so i stopped taking that shit. and i was all, "no need, doc. i'm only giving handjobs from now on." he eyed me skeptically before peering through the speculum at what appeared to be my re-grown hymen. he swept the cobwebs away from my cervix and blew some dust from my uterus. "you're not kidding," he said. "who was president the last time you had actual intercourse with a human male?" "ABE LINCOLN." then he scraped a bunch of junk off my cervix to send to the lab and handed me some rubber gloves to protect against catching hand herpes if that's a real thing and not some shit i just made up because it sounds hilarious.

installing that IUD business is like a surgical procedure, and it's one my doctor doesn't do. and since i don't care enough to spend hours doing research and hours interviewing potential doctors just to insert a little piece of plastic in my underground railroad i told him to forget it. he wrote me a script for some metronidazole suppositories and another one for progesterone. JACKPOT, sucka. aside from the fact that PERIOD SEX IS THE ABSOLUTE BEST, i like to have a period because it makes me feel like at least one aspect of my body is functioning properly. these guts, as you know, are on some bullshit 72% of the time. and i'm mostly psychotic, plus my arm hurts sometimes. but every 28 days as i lay prostrate atop a crimson tide, torso wracked with convulsive pain, i smile with the knowledge that at least this part of my anatomy is doing what the fuck it's supposed to. except it sometimes don't. and then i enlist the help of ten tiny little progesterone pills, and within a week that molten lava comes exploding down the side of the volcano and all is well on pussy island.

BUT FIRST. this progesterone is a motherfucker. for ten straight days all i want to do is rub my vagina on chairs and stick my fingers in the mouths of everyone i see on the street. i'm not kidding, ho. horny isn't even the goddamned word. for a week and a goddamned half i am basically MADE OF SEX. i can't walk through the produce section in the grocery store without having to stop and caress all of the squash and melons half a dozen times. i bought three pounds of zucchini the other day because i couldn't stop fondling all of those smooth green shafts. it's ridiculous. right now i have huge swollen boobs and my labia have turned into a giant pulsating fist made of deli meat and i cried at a dog food commercial earlier, and all i can think about is sticking a remote control up my vag. it's insanity. sure, i get hot and bothered sitting across from a handsome man with burn scars and calloused hands, but generally this dog is not so crazy for a bone that i can't sit through a movie without sticking my hand in my pants.

and OH MAN, THE BABY CRAZY. keep your toddler away from me, because when i'm not desperately fantasizing about horseback riding with no pants on i'm salivating after every milk-drooling tiny human kitten with limited cognitive ability i can get my goddamned hands on. all i want to do is scoop them up and snuggle them close to my heaving bosom before bursting into uncontrollable tears about how perfect and beautiful they are. i can't top kissing them and petting their soft little heads, cooing how much i love them and how i'd kill anyone who got between us. until the pills are gone, and my uterus sloughs off that layer of fetus adhesive it built up, and i'm back to running screaming from sticky little hands and green poopy diapers. and only masturbating one time a day. seriously, i have a fucking job to keep.

look at this nonsense?  CAN YOU EVEN STAND IT? 

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Things I Love Thursday - Part 34

Waving that flag.  That white flag.  Marching around with that flag on my shoulders and singing, "I let it go, I let it go, I let you go you bastard of self doubt and worry and shit I can't control!"  MARCH MARCH MARCH MARCH. 

The Thing I Love this Thursday is the ability to surrender. To let that shit go.  I have to do it every single day, sometimes over and over and over until I want to rip that motherloving flag up and burn it to the ground, but dammit, I SURRENDER.

Now, you know I'm not a religious sort.  But this shit helps me every day in my life.  This little ditty right here makes all the difference.  Over and over and over I say this prayer and I surrender to the universe and just keep doing the best I can to treat others with kindness and respect and remember to treat myself with kindness and respect and not drive myself insane.

I like to pretend I have a little parade akin to the Music Man, or OK GO here, marching around with that white flag going through the middle of it all day, every day.  THIS TOO SHALL PASS.  God, how many times has this been said to me or have I said it to others.  And, you know what?  IT ALWAYS DOES PASS.  Always.  No matter how many times I roll my eyes or scream, I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR IT.  It passes.  The good and the bad, IT ALL PASSES.

Practice not perfection.  SURRENDERING is one of the hardest things to do because we love to make ourselves crazy with worry and self doubt and FEAR over useless shit that we have absolutely no control over.  You know who that helps?  Nobody.  Certainly not yourself.  Do yourself a favor and feel that burden lifted. 

Here's what I ask myself, "Is this something I have any kind of control over?"  Most of the time, it's no.  So I can let that shit go.  If I can control any of it, I do my best to handle it well.  The rest, GONE. 

Surrender feels so damn good, I want to give it to all my friends.  I want to give it to the world.  Just let me hang onto that one thing a tiny bit longer and then you can have it, OK?

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Things I Love Thursday - Part 33

Guess who came into work with me today? 

I give you -  GRANDMAMA.

Some of you on the IWADB Facebook Page may be familiar with Grandmama and her shall we say, prim and proper ways.  She likes to tell me I look like a whore or a prostitute, but in a nice way (not really, but I live in denial).

If it's possible, I think my skin itches even more right now with her on me.  I get pretty excited to see her, she's not very excited to see me, as you can tell here.
Most days she stays in her jewelry box and doesn't inflict judgement on anyone but me. Well, she and Sally Boy have a grand old Tea and Scones party every day, but that's about it. I can only IMAGINE the conversations that those two have. 

Today, GRANDMAMA took the train into the Tower with me and as you can see, she was doing her best to cast her disapproval on this gentleman here just trying to get to work.

"Have some pride young man and take off those mirrored sunglasses for god's sake.  You are embarrassing yourself."
She came about the first time I wore her and my Dear Sweet Husband called her that and started talking for her.  Because he's the funniest and most creative person I know.  And he married ME!  Squeeeeee! 

Therefore, she is a THING I LOVE THIS THURSDAY.

I can't do voices nearly as well as he can and when I talk for Grandmama she winds up sounding like my girl cat, Eliza.  So, in my head, all day every day, I hear things like this from my necklace, a.k.a, GRANDMAMA, a.k.a., my husband doing her voice:

  1. "You look like a prostitute."
  2. "You stink of cheese."
  3. "You look like a whore."
  4. "Your décolletage is distracting."
I think there should be a little pull thingy where she says these things all day whenever we pull her.  I NEED THAT.  Can anyone help me with that?

    Tuesday, April 10, 2012

    TOM'S A Day WITHOUT Shoes Challenge

    My company hauled our asses up to the 103rd floor of the Sears Tower sans shoes to do this thing for Tom's - One Day Without Shoes.  Here, for your enjoyment, are Leigh Anne and Young Jonathan. And me, of course.  All acting like idiots. 
    To be fair, this laying down and taking the picture from above from YJ's idea.  I didn't look down the entire time up there. 
     Yup, that would be me hiding behind him.  Who knew he was taller than me?

     I love my city.
     Not even out there yet.  Too skeered.
     YJ was even more scared than we were I think.  He tried to play it cool.
     This is my other young friend, Justin.  He was fearless up there.


    OK, here's a little fake forced, I ain't skeered smile.

    I don't know what y'all are so afraid of.  This is nothin'.

    Mr. Cool.

    We did it!  Holding hands like two proper old biddies. 

    Monday, April 9, 2012

    It's Not Me, It's the Hormones

    Well Well Well.  We have arrived at the point in which I can confidently say, we are doing IN VITRO FERTILIZATION.  Cue DUN DUN DUN sound here.


    Now, I am on week two of the birth control pills and I have a rash that is causing me to break out into scratching spasms at all times, day and night.  Mostly out of a dead sleep and my poor husband.  MY POOR DEAR HUSBAND.  Who will help me administer my first actual shot tonight. 

    This is how I think I look most of the time:

    When in all reality, THIS is what I look like at all times lately.
    This is what trying to scratch everywhere on your body looks like when you try to do it using only your mind. 
    Tip - IT DOES NOT WORK. 
    I have bruises all over my body from the scratching.  I have tried everything so please you really don't need to write or comment to tell me what I need to do. 

    IN FACT, can we all just agree that if your first response to this post is to write me to tell me anything about what I SHOULD OR SHOULD NOT BE DOING OR FEELING is probably one that you should keep to yourself.  I know, your aunt Minny or cousin Betty got pregnant when they just relaxed or when they adopted or all that.  Please.  I've heard enough of these stories to last a lifetime.  I know you mean well, or at least I'm hoping you mean well, but please respect our process and don't ask questions or tell me how I should be doing things.  Don't try to tell me how to do this or try to fix me.  In short, mind your own damn business.  Please respect our privacy. I put out as much here as I'm willing to put out for you.  That's it. 

    I am someone who is no stranger to mental health facilities. I have spent time as a patient on psych wards. This hormone shit is fucking with me. It's fucking with my sanity. So, I am trying to get to more meetings. I am talking to people who have gone through this and when they say, "that's normal", I believe them.  I am not making a lot of plans right now.  Because chances are, I will break them.  I can barely get my ass out the door to work right now most days.  I am a crazy hormonal monster. My only saving grace is people telling me I don't "look" crazy. Jesus.  I put in the effort to look nice lately as that makes me feel a bit normal. 

     However, I take all this mental health shit very seriously.  Because my sobriety hinges on it. So, this is my gig in my head lately, "I feel like crap, I feel like crap, I suck, everything sucks, I have no motivation to do anything, I am just going to screw everything up anyway so what's the point, I am not healthy, I am spiraling into a pit of despair, cry cry cry, oh my that's pretty funny because you know what?  everything is actually really fucking great.  I am sober, I have a great husband and a great life and this shit that I'm feeling is just these stupid hormones that are going through my body that are new and different and I am still Katy and I am just fine.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH be mean to my husband and people around me and maybe smash things with my mind and the daggers in my eyeballs, but wait, calm down, everything ok.  EVERYTHING IS OK.  EVERYTHING IS OK". 
    Rinse, repeat repeat repeat.

    I keep going back to, this is not me, this is the hormones fucking with me.  I am Katy.  I am calm and serene and everything is just fine. Well, yesterday at Easter I actually told people in my family how I am.  And after the look of shock wore off their faces, they were nothing but loving.  I realized how I am usually the one who listens more than expresses how I am feeling, but right now, no holds barred.  I need to get through this shit.  And I need people to hear me and just listen to me and my crazy. 

    This little ditty is with me today because I believe I can be crazed and still have my dignity and laughter at the same time.  And strength, well, I know I have that.  Fear?  Of course I have fear.  We all do.  But that doesn't mean we can't walk through it with grace and dignity.  Maybe a bit clumsily with a few trips along the way, but still, dignity.  Always dignity. 

    I have quit drinking. I have quit smoking. I have quit anxiety medication. I have quit a lot of things. I have learned to eat well and be healthy. To eat REAL FOOD. I have learned to honor my body and my spirit, finally. But even now, my first instinct is usually something self destructive. I play that through and make a good choice MOST of the time today. FEELINGS ARE NOT FACTS. The facts are that I have everything I need today. And man, does that feel good.

    My husband and I are good.  We are great and we have great support from family and friends and good medical people working with us.  We are lucky.  We are incredibly lucky that we even get to try this.  So, in my own way, making fun of myself and what a horrible monster I am by making jokes and doing funny postings is how I deal.  If I am laughing, I am not crying and THAT my friends are where my emotions are today.   Laughing or crying.  Not much in between.  So yeah, I am a terrible fucking emotional monster right now. Who is itching like a crazy person.  Who is driving her poor sweet husband crazy.  We want a baby.  We are trying this first.  Welcome to our journey.  You are with us or you are against us.  Hop off now, if you are against us please.  There are better places for you than with me. 

    The rest of you, get ready.  This is going to be an excellent ride.  Now, come over here and scratch my back. 


    Tuesday, April 3, 2012

    Excuse Me, I'm Trying to Avoid You

    We have a problem.  You are on the train or the bus in the morning going into work.  YOU SEE SOMEONE YOU KNOW.  Either you work with this person or you know them from a one night stand or they fired your ass for passing out drunk in the lobby of the Prudential Tower, or you know,  they are somebody's sister or something totally and ridiculously uncomfortable.  Whatever.  WHAT DO YOU DO?

    It's a problem that many before and many after me will encounter and never quite know how to handle without being incredibly rude or incredibly passive aggressive. That's not in my wheelhouse, the passive aggressive thing, so incredibly rude is usually how it rears it's ugly head. I usually will say something like, "I'm sorry, but I really need to just chill for a while before going into work, do you mind if I read/listen to This American Life (people love it when you drop the NPR bomb. It makes you seem super smart and worldly, not stuffy at all or pretentious in any way).

    If you don't feel comfortable throwing out the LEAVE ME ALONE AND LET ME CHILL FOR 5 FUCKING MINUTES BEFORE CROSSING THE THRESHOLD OF HELL, here's a helpful list to get you back to your headphones and that glorious Weird Al music you so enjoy at the butt crack of dawn to get you pumped up for the day.
    1. Wear a disguise each and every day.  We all know about fake mustaches.  Even finger mustaches can work in a pinch, but by god do SOMETHING.  I like bonnets myself. 
    2. See?  None of you would know this handsome devil is actually Mel Gibson in a clever disguise.
    3. Bring a cat with you.  Preferably in a stroller, a la Sally Boy here,
    4. People love cats.  I find.  Especially when on public transportation.  And they especially love when you do something creepy and weird like make them cradle your widdle biddy baby boy and swaddle him and ask if you want to kiss the teeny widdle baby.
    5. Act like you are a blind person.  Seriously.  I've seen it work on my favorite show, Pretty Little Liars.  Jenna here, is blind or isn't really blind, from an explosion the gang rigged to go off, but they didn't really think Jenna would be in there, and NOW, they all have to pay for what they've done.  And make sure you use one of those sticks because that really makes people stay away from you.  I mean, who wants to help a blind person with anything?
    6. Shhhhhhhhhh.  These dark glasses will make anyone rethink approaching you and entering into a conversation.  And, you can just glare at people with a scowl.
    7. Fake an accent.  Act like the person trying to talk to you must have you confused with someone else.  Similar to point number 1. up there, the disguise, a fake accent not only shows how worldly you are, but it's effective in making people feel absolutely crazy. Which they love.  I find the more stereotypes you can employ, the better.  Give it a try.  And for God's sake, BE LOUD.  Everyone knows foreigners are loud. 
    So you see, there are several different tactics you may employ in keeping your personal space on public transit.  And if all else, fails, just quietly start saying, "Oh no, oh god no, OH NO NO NO NO, NOT HERE.  NOT NOW!"  While starting to move around really uncomfortably and covering your bottom. 

    You are welcome, everybody.