My Heart Might Really Explode

How is it possible to keep falling in love with someone over and over again? Although, I do fall in love again with Dave, it’s Conor who keeps making my heart want to explode out of my chest and shoot fireworks over my head.



When last we left the Mother Thing family, we had gone all the way around our ass to get to our elbow. Upon arriving at our elbow (i.e., West Virginia), we prepared for Cousin Rachel's wedding. Cousin Rachel is Conor's godmother and a recent graduate of the Naval Academy. As a four-year starter for the Naval Academy volleyball team and 3.9 GPA physics major, she has real problems with focus, talent and drive. She's also beautiful. Nonetheless, she still agreed to be Conor's godmother. And when she asked Conor to be the ring bearer in her wedding, we were thrilled. And under-prepared for the cuteness that would ensue.

Conor and the flower girl (age 2) practiced very, very hard at the rehearsal walking up and down and up and down the aisle holding hands. I told Conor he had to help her because she was so young. (I figured that would keep him less frightened for himself) But when they had to walk down the aisle for real, he was carrying a pillow and she was carrying her basket. They couldn’t hold hands and I think, by Conor’s slightly frightened expression, it was a bit scarier for them both.

When Conor arrived at my pew, he worriedly whispered, “Mommy! She didn’t drop her flowers!!” “It’s OK, honey!” I assured him. And then she realized what she had done, and turned her flower basket completely upside down and dumped them all right there in front of us! It was verrrry cute.

The two of them passed out in the pew during the service, exhausted from their adrenaline rush. But then they got better.

The reception turned into a dance-o-rama. This is a preview of Conor in about 18 years at a college formal (from the beginning of the reception), a little sweaty, a little too happy, and eyes partly closed.

And this is what Conor and his date are going to look like at the end of the evening.


Let me tell you that my shy son danced. He danced his heart out in the middle of the dance floor with strangers coming to take pictures of his adorable self as he danced. Conor kept trying to get her to twirl (because he and I twirl when we dance) but at 2 years old, she rightfully was not quite getting his lead on the twirling.

I tell you it was an amazing sight. He was in the spotlight for an entire day and blossomed in a way I could have never imagined. He never melted down once which alone is pretty impressive for an almost 4 year old.

And the next morning, he woke up very early still buzzing from the previous day’s excitement. He snuggled in bed with us and said, “I like….” He paused. “Dancing with the flower girl?” I suggested. “No.” “Dancing with Cousin Carter?” I suggested. “No.”

Pause.

“I like…Cousin Rachel.” Because as much fun as he had that day, he knew it was really his godmother’s special day.

Things I've Learned

We are on the final leg of our one week family vacation. I've learned a lot on this trip. Beforehand, I thought that the fastest way from North Carolina to West Virginia was through Virginia. That actually still may be the fastest way, but Mapquest sent us from Asheville to Huntington, WV through Tennessee, Virginia, Kentucky and the final 10 miles in West Virginia. This morning, we went to get Conor's tux to be the ring bearer in a wedding (cute, cute!) in Ohio. I have travelled through some states this week, I'm telling you.

Second, we have learned that when Conor says "I have to pee" when he's in the car, he means I HAVE TO PEE.

Finally, we've learned that Conor has the bladder of a camel and should you need to put out a fire, our son could pee on it and extinguish it promptly.

These are all good things to know.

Might Take A While

Apparently, tenure isn't completely over. After what I thought is the Provost's "final" approval for me to officially get tenure, there is another vote back in the department. I can tell it's a big deal because everyone is talking about it. I am concerned about 3 people voting against me, but one is leaving and in a department of 30 people, 3 people who hate me (now 2) don't meant that much. And besides the provost and the dean have given me amazingly strong support. I have to be honest that I'm feeling my oats and I shout out "YOU CAN ALL BITE MY ASS!" during a faculty meeting.

Then I think about my garden. Then I am in my garden and I am late in planting what I need to plant in my garden. I have tons of open space and only weeds are going to grow and I am going to spend all this time and we'll have absoutely no organic vegetables to show for it.

I am a loser in every thing I do!!!!!

And then I wake up. "Dave, Dave!!!" I say pushing on my poor sleeping husband's shoulder. "I have tenure, right? I have tenure! Right? They can't change their minds now. Right?" I start shouting, "DO I HAVE TENURE!??!?!"

"Yes, honey. Yes. You have tenure. You will always have tenure. It's ok."

I calm down slightly. First, I vow to myself to never judge my performance in the garden again. It's supposed to be fun. With rats and bunnies and slugs and drought and the wrong planting time and everything else that can go wrong, this should be something that I enjoy and don't judge myself.

Second, I have tenure. And I will always have tenure. And now I know that the dreams I had in grad school in which I forgot to drop a class until the final which changed to the dreams I had as a new professor in which I forgot to prep a class which changed to dreams that I had not completed my degree have changed and will always now reflect not having tenure. It's apparently common.

There's a Rat in the Kitchen, What I'm-a Gonna Do?

I love youtube. I can start singing some song from my youth \, and WHAM! I can watch the video. (WHAM! Ha ha! Get it?!)

So why on earth would I be singing:

"There's a rat in my kitchen, what I'm-a gonna do? There's a rat in my kitchen, what I'm-a gonna do? I'm going to fix that rat, that's what I'm gonna do. I'm going to fix that rat!"

Three guesses and the hint is "Not My Kitchen."

First, I shall describe an afternoon earlier this week while I was working at my computer in my home office. I saw a movement out in the garlic. Now, I love working here lately because I can see the birds pecking around outside and it's quite nice. But as they say in some parts of the south, "That won't no bird."** I scream and run outside to the garden, because I'm an idiot. The rat screams a little ratty scream and then runs....into my rosemary bush!!! About 3 feet from me. Apparently, that's his little rat's nest. And although Friends and neighbors were incredulous, I found a bitten off piece of lettuce near where he'd been.

All this time, I've been trying to keep the bunnies and slugs at bay and my real enemy has been a g*ddamn rat! And you know when the humane, crunchy, granola garden sites tell you to kill the fuckers, well, that's what you do.

Last night, Dave set out some traps, to no avail. I set them back out this morning (keeping Patches inside the whole time) and worked at my computer to wait for the show.

Oh, I got a show alright. I watched as the rat wandered into the lettuce, getting closer and closer to the trap. Then he sniffed it. Then he walked over it and into the garlic finally meandering into the yard. Great. And yes, I have tried yelling at it to get out of my garden, but it ignores me. Apparently, rats acclimate to loud noises.

About 10 minutes after watching the rat mock our attempts to murder it, a BUNNY ran through the garden. What the freaking hell?! Is my garden the Mother Thing Wild Animal Park? I swear I thought Bambi was going to show up next.

You know, I am southern. I could get a little bb gun and sit here at my desk waiting for some interloper to stop by. I'm only half kidding.

**I am fully aware (now) that "That won't no bird" translates to "That will not no bird" but I'm telling you, that's a phrase to most native southerners have heard, if not actually said.

One Child Left Behind

I have been very upset by the news of the Chinese earthquake, particularly the stories of the parents who, due to the one-child policy, have lost their only child. I keep walking into daycare with wet eyes from sitting in the parking lot and listening to the sad end of the NPR stories on failed rescues. I know I should stop listening, but I also want to let my soul send out its support to those devastated parents.

As I told a friend this week, I don't have the one-child gene. This is despite the fact that many, if not most, of my friends are happy with just having one child. I really feel like there is an empty space in our family and there is a little soul is trying very hard to reach us. I actually stole that quote from the intake worker at the West Coast Clinic we are looking into. And yes, despite being all matter of fact when we were talking before, when she said that, I started to cry.

We still haven't had our debriefing meeting with the clinic here, and Dave keeps saying that we're not leaving here until we see what they are going to offer us. Nonetheless, my faith in this clinic is severely shaken. I know the success rate at the other clinic and it's going to take a lot for me not to insist that that's where we go.

-------------------

Ok. That's the easy part. I feel like I need to address the brouhaha in the comments from the last post. Gabi? Honey? You might want to step off a little. I don't want to reprimand anyone and, certainly, I don't want to censor anyone. But I do want everyone to play nicely and name calling does not fall under what I deem "playing nicely."

Also, I am not going to defend my choices here. I'm just not going to do it. And as my poor mother can tell you, it's been years and years and years and years and years (and years) since anyone has successfully told me what to do. I appreciate the different opinions of the people around me. It's nice and it's often quite useful (Weick's requisite variety and all). But Dave and I get to determine what is appropriate for us and our family.

So I certainly don't want to stop people from commenting here. I do want to encourage respect for other's diversity of opinions and experiences. And I really do want to give a mini-lecture from my knowledge of computer-mediated communication (CMC), and hyperpseronsal communication and the flashbulb effect of flaming on CMC research. But instead, I'm going to go read an article I'm co-authoring on EQ and stress and then read my student's masters thesis proposal on entitativity and online technology, and wait for the rain.

Not Doing as Well as I Thought

Apparently, Saturday when we got the news, was the numb stage of grief. Yesterday started the anger stage (which remains) and today is definitely starting the sad and for some reason anxious stage.

I really want to have another child. I'm afraid if we only have Conor, I will smother him with my love. I need to spread out all the attention and affection I have to give or it will be too much for one little boy to grow up healthy. And because we are not made of money nor covered by insurance, I feel like we need to be very calculated in what we do next.

One option we are seriously considering is going to a fertility inclinic on the west coast. They have outstanding success rates for women of my age and for problems like what I have. It's not convenient and it is likely to be a bit more expensive. However, it is also significantly likely to be more successful.

I really just want to have one or two "good tries" and this last experience does not seem like a try at all. If the path for us does not lead to a child, then I will eventually accept it. But I feel like we really have to TRY before I can say we've gotten there. And I just don't feel like we have.

Zero

Nothing made it through the night.

We'll be setting up a meeting at the end of the week with the RE.

I'm sad, but I'm ok. I may sound like a self-deluding moron, but I do believe the end of this path is going to be good. It's just not at a good place right now.

Not Good

We only have 4 eggs to work with. We won't even know until tomorrow if any of them fertilize.

I know I'm supposed to be all "the right thing will happen when it's supposed to happen." Nonetheless, I am very sad.

Still Working

Yesterday, a colleague approached me and said, "You look really good. Your skin looks beautiful. I can tell you are feeling much better."

"Thank you for noticing! I'm using some new skin products now, especially this new primer, Lorac Aquaprime, which is fantastic!! Thank you so much."

"Umm. No. It's your health. Makeup can't do that. Your skin is too smooth and bright."

Oh, OK. Sure. That's the whole point of having acid eat off the dead skin cells on my face every day and using this AMAZING new primer (much better than the Revlon one I was using) is to make my skin smootha and bright. But, sure. I am healthier than I was a few months ago. So, uh, yeah.

The eggs are looking goodish. We're in double digits. Not high double digits, but over 10. The scoop is that not all of them may be viable, but we'll see.

I'll let you know what I know when I know it.

Doing My Civic Duty

I'm just back from voting here in the 15th precinct in Charlotte. We're expecting this to be a record turn out if the 45,000 early voters (up from 5,000 for the last primary) are any indication.

After I voted, I went for a jog around the neighborhood and counted 22 Obama yard signs, 12 Hillary yard signs and 1 Ron Paul. I love the Ron Paul sign; it seems symbolic of our neighborhood.

We tend to be a liberal, diverse 'hood. We went 90% Kerry in the last election and pretty much, you can pick any variable you want (ethnicity, age, SES, sexual orientation) and it describes us. And everyone seems to be talking about the election. I was walking through the parking lot of Home Depot on Sunday and two apparent strangers were discussing Obama versus Clinton. At Lenscrafters last week, some older woman was proclaiming the strengths of Obama to one of the employees. This is not a common occurrence in the keep your politics to yourself culture of the South.

I'm excited and anxious about the results tonight.

Much like I am excited and anxious about the upcoming IVF. Despite being Ms. Blogarama (Dr. Blogarama?) about some pretty gory details of my life, I feel myself holding tight to some of what is going on here. I don't want to jinx anything. I do feel good. I'm not having any hyperstimulation signs. And other than that, I will tell you that Things Look Good. But no more.

As soon as I have actual numbers of retrieved (Friday) and fertilized (Saturday), I'll post. Fingers, legs and hair crossed that everything stays on track and we have something to transfer next Wednesday.

GO OBAMA! Go little eggies!!!

Maynia

Yesterday was the annual M!dwood Maynia neighborhood festival. On the one hand, this is one of my favorite times to live where I live, what with the 5K race, the pet parade and the 6 hour festival in our park. On the other hand, this is the year anniversary of my running the 5K and losing my 11w5d daughter.

I think that miscarriage anniversary was less painful because we are right in the midst of the IVF cycle. So I have hope and excitement and not just waves of regret for losing our last pregnancy.

Plus, the pet parade is just so much fun! All the dogs and cats and gerbils and (fake) iquanas following behind the Charlotte Youth Organization Drum Corps is just a lot of fun!!!

So yes, the festival was fun. And the IVF is moving along. I think I mentioned that I wasn't quite sure if my estimates were correct about when everything would happen, and I was right in that I was wrong. It's *this* Friday not last Friday that they will collect the eggs. The good news is that so far, I'm doing great! In fact, the nurse used the word "perfect" so we have our fingers crossed that it will all go well. I'm not having any signs of Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS) so that is good news. Although we want tons of eggs, we don't need to have me get really sick in the process.

So Dave has finished up his Cipro and I remain on my drugs until until and we'll go through the monitoring as we need to next week. The estimated day of transfer back to me is May 14th and I'll be on bedrest that Weds-Friday. That's the status for right now.

Finals are this week and I still have quite a few papers to grade. But things are moving along and we're happily moving along with them.

Not Quite Getting the Point

Two scenes from daycare.

Scene #1

Conor is running around the room. He goes up to the one child in the room who I can safely guess his parents are Republican. They still have their Bush sticker on their car from the last election. Conor obviously has no conception of "Democrat" or "Republican" but nonetheless, he leans over the other boy and says Obama! Obama!! ObamaObamaObama!! (It is a fun word to say). The other boy rears back, scrunches his face, and says "Stop saying that!!!"

Yes, indeed. Parents do pass their politics on to their children. (At least when they are really young!) ;-)

Scene #2

The teacher asks Conor what does Obama mean. Conor tells him it's the sign, with the two poles that goes where the grass lives.

"Yes," the teacher says, "but what does it mean?"

Conor thinks a bit about this one. "It means keep off the grass."

Apparently, Some of the Advice Works

Yesterday was the last day of classes for this school year.

HOOORAY!!! YIPPEE!!! OH JOY! OH JOY! OH JOY!! OMYGOD(DESS) YESYESYESYESYESYES!!!

((ahem))

Besides being THRILLED OUT OF MY SKULL that the last day of classes was here, I realized I had not worn the pretty dress I bought last fall with the express purpose of impressing my students that I actually could look decent. I also had purchased the Appropriate Support Garmet (girdle slip) as recommended by my How Not to Look Like a Used Up Old Hag book. I have to admit that I felt pretty.

I walked into the classroom and everyone oohed and ahhed over my new dress. (Although I do try more on days that I teach, I still think it's obvious that my usual motto for dressing is to Not Be Naked) Then one particularly attractive woman said "Oh my GOSH! You've lost so much weight!! How much weight did you lose?!!?!?"

I replied, "20 lbs??? 30?? Exactly how fat did you think I was? Check minus for you!"

Actually, no I did not say that. It would have been funny. Admit it. And I didn't even say "Girrrrl! I'm wearing a girdle! I haven't lost any weight at all!!!" Normally, I would say that, but I'm trying to be more discreet lately. (ha!) I just said, Oh, I don't know! But I thought this was such a pretty dress!!

And then I thought, good advice, this control slip. I do look nice!

Reading

Conor can now reconize and read two words effortlessly:

Conor

and

Obama.

Glorious, Gorgeous Rain

It's really clear that we haven't had a lot of rain around here when I sit in my home office watching this steady rain and am happy. This rain could make a great deal of difference in our drought if it stays steady.

The weather is also coolish. We've had our heat/AC off for nearly 3 weeks now. And the windows we installed last fall may actually let us keep the AC off for another month or so. We can finally get cool air in our kitchen and in our bedroom. We can also hear the birds chirping in the morning which on the one hand is nice, but on the other is a bit annoying. I know the early bird gets the worm. But the early bird might also get a shoe thrown at his head if he doesn't watch it.

I've got most of the garden in including my tomatoes and peppers who I do not think are going to like the 40 degree low they are forecasting tomorrow night. Any suggestions on what to do?

I'm also really, really excited that Dave put up a fancy trellis that we're going to try to grow both the cucumbers and the tomatoes on this year. If we can train them to grow up instead of out, we'll have a lot more room in the garden and supposedly better veggies. I also realized why my carrots have all died. I wasn't supposed to plant them until this weekend, not a month ago. Whoops! I can see the new rhubarb from here and I'm very disappointed with this year's asparagus crop. I did something wrong last year (maybe trimming back the ferns?) and we are not getting much at all this year.

Finally, I hate slugs. I think we have the worms and bunnies under control, but I can now spot slug eatage. And somebody is going to pay for that. I may have gained weight in the last few years, but I be damned if a slug is going to get the better of my garden.

Now, back to the article I'm reading on bribery. Interesting, but not enough so to keep me from checking email.

Thank God(dess) for Photoshop

Oh my word. Why didn't anyone tell me about the full set of baggage I've been carrying under my eyes? I had my official headshot made for campus this week. They are doing a feature on my research for the alumni magazine and needed a mugshot, I mean, headshot for the story. Why oh why did I not get this picture made 6 years and 20 pounds ago when I arrived?

I looked like a complete and utter HAG! The photographer assured me that he could help with photoshop and demonstrated by covering up the ginourmous vein on my forehand, my deep crow's feet and even the pores around my nose.

Ummm, thanks, for making me feel so beautiful!

In all honesty, I have rarely felt so ugly.

That said, I'm thrilled about the photoshopped results. I do look a lot younger if not much thinner.

Oh, I haven't shared much about the Not to Look Old efforts. I'm using most all of the Oil of Olay Prescriptives products. I *thought* they were working until I saw the bags under my eyes and the wrinkles around my eyes. I guess that the problem is that I don't grin like a complete fool when I look in the mirror, but I nonetheless cannot help myself in front of a camera.

Oh, joy.

Packin' Heat

It's been an eventful week already. (Did I mention spending last Thursday in two doctor's offices because they thought I had a hole in my eye? No? Well, now I did. Everything is fine, but I was not amused at the time). Ok. Back to this week.

The doctor's visit on Monday was uneventful but exciting. They did an ultrasound to check for ovarian cysts and a blood test to check that my hormones have stopped. Everything looked great and they have given me my schedule for the estrogen and hcg. It looks like we're aiming for retrieval starting next Friday and up to Monday. I felt like they were wanting to have me hold off until Monday so that the embryologist could do the ICSI (sperm injection) and monitor embryo growth, but I guess we'll have to wait to see what happens when it happens!

As for school, so far none of my colleagues have had anyone demonstrating with their empty holsters. And interesting very few of the students have heard about the protest, but as I predicted, those who have heard are appalled. As one grad student commented, would you really want to give an F to as student with a gun?

In any case, there has been no holster or gun sighting. Until today.

Today was the first day of presentations for the students in my class. I was sitting in the middle of the room listening to an interesting talk on interent gambling when there was an usual and persistent knock on the door. People do not knock on closed university classroom doors.

"Come in," I called out.

Some dude with his hat on backwards, jeans, and a baggy jacket said "I need to see the class instructor."

I noted how odd it must be for me to rise from the middle of the classroom and I walked to the door.

"Yes, what is it?" I asked him.

"I am a police officer and I need to see one of your students," he said.

Sure you are, punk, I thought to myself, being well versed in stalking and domestic violence and I was generally not trusting this dude whom could I towerover. Out loud I said, "Can I see your badge?"

He pulled back his jacket and then I could note, quite easily, that he was packin'.

OHMYGOD! I thought!! IT'S A NUTJOB!! (I'm a psychologist; I use the technical terms.) OHMYGOD!!! OHMYGOD!! Out loud I said pointing to his gun, "ARE YOU ONE OF THOSE PROTESTERS????" and regretting my post earlier that I trusted the protesters not to really bring guns on campus.

"I'm not in uniform. I'm doing a lot of undercover work."

The dude looked 18 years old at max. He handed me an ID and a badge. I remember he did because I remember the physical motion. But I am here to tell you that I have no idea what either one had written on it or what they looked like. As I have taught both Intro to Psych and Critical Thinking, I can tell that I know about the weapon effect, which basically means that whenever a gun is involved, all focus goes to the gun (which was snapped into his holster). I'm here to testify that it's true, even for people who know about it.

"I need to see your student AC. Her car was broken into and we think we know who did it." We've had a string of on campus crimes and the police have not been amused.

Ironically, guess who was giving the very interesting talk on internet gambling?? AC!

"She is doing her class presentation right now," I told him. "I mean Right Now! Right Now!! You're going to have to wait."

So then I came back into class, and honestly, the presentation was so good that the students were questioning AC without me being in there. That is not typical! I reassured them that all was ok and waited for the questions to subside. They didn't and I had to call out "One last question!" in a high pitched voice. And then as AC went back to her seat, I had to intercept her in the middle of class to let her know that oh, by the way, the officer is here for you and your car has been broken into! And I want to do this giving the woman some privacy while we are standing in the middle of class and all the other students are watching. This is a small, interactive class that has developed real feelings of groupiness together, so let's just say it was awkward and I was still freaking out about the gun outside!

So we did find out later that she's ok and a good samaritan student called the cops to stop there being more damage on her car. (We're such a tight class, she just posted her update on the class blog) I really am still a bit amazed by the whole experience. Of all weeks to have an armed undercover cop show up at my classroom door...

Really. Can I have an easy uneventful week or two until I can get this IVF thing done? I'd really like it.

Betabase

What is up with Betabase.info? It's the best site to obsess over beta numbers and it's been down since Friday. The only thing I've been able to find is this, the google cached version of the main page. If anybody has any information, please leave a comment.

This and That

You know, considering the name of the blog, I do think it's ok to sometimes have a collection of topics in one post.

So, the lupron. I am not having night sweats or hot flashes. No indeedy. I am not having any of the typical menopause symptons. Instead, my main side effect is that I am a bitch. (More so than usual) And I am tired, really, really tired. Yeah, so I'm bitchy and tired. Who wants to be around me in about 15 years!? Won't that be fun!

On a more amusing note, last week I went to collect Conor from daycare. His school has a separate class for art and the kids go there at assigned times. I arrived when Conor was still arting. I walked into the atelier (really, that's what they call it), and I saw my son running around the room with his Thomas the Tank sunglasses on, a wand, wings, and a long pink frilly dress.

"Mommy!! I'm a butterfly! I'm a butterfly!"

"You're beautiful, son!" I called back to him. The teacher was worried that I would be upset upon seeing my son in a long pink frilly dress. (Little does she know!)

"The kids all love that dress," she reassured me. "They all want to wear it."

"Oh, that's fine," I assure her. "But the next time he puts it on, could you get a camera?!" I was thinking to myself, I don't care if he goes to the prom with a girl, a boy or a turtle, that picture is definitely coming back out!

We're anticipating fun times at school this week. In "honor" of the Va Tech massacre, students who believe that they should be able to carry concealed weapons on campus with the correct permits are planning on wearing their empty holsters to class all next week. As this is their first amendment right to protest (which I fully support), we have been instructed on not drawing attention to the students nor singling them out of anything bad. However, that's definitely NOT what we need: students who are hopped up on hormones, lacking the requisite amount of sleep and often hungover or high being able to carry guns to class. Yeah. Not so much. We have been instructed about how to contact the police should something be amiss, but I doubt there will be problems. I imagine the students are taking very seriously the limits of what they can and cannot do as part of their protest. I also suspect there will soon be a counter demonstration and that their goals are going to backfire. I am not looking forward to class next week. I sincerely hope none of my students are going to do this.

That's about all! (It's enough!) My cycle started over the weekend, so I'm going in on Monday to have my next round of blood work and then find out when I start my estrogen and Hcg! I'm hoping that This, That and the Mother Bitch will be able to retire for a few more years.

Bouncing

Besides my fat a$$, it's possible that emails sent to me in the last 2 days will bounce. We upgraded our cable and like the phone companies of yore, they switched our internet service provider without our consent. We are working to get our account back.

Thanks!

Trial Transfer

I'm just back from my trial transfer for the IVF. The point of this visit was to make sure there were no surprises when the doctor moves the (hopefully) two blastocysts from the "test tube" to my warm welcoming uterus.

As the doc said, now the hard part begins.

On the one hand, I'm excited. On the other, I feel like we're just paying good money so that 10 years from now we can say "We gave it our best."

Running Around Outside

(((Brrrringgg. Brrrrring)))

"Hello?"

"Anita? This is your neighbor, C***."

"Hey! How are you doing?!"

"Fine. I just thought you'd want to know that Patches is running around in your backyard with something that looks like shorts."

Pause.

"Are you sure it's shorts and not underwear?"

"I'm just saying it looks like shorts."

"Thanks!"

Still Psyched

Despite being absolutely knackered from the lupron, I am still quite happy to have the official word about tenure. I've known since January that it was highly likely. My letter from the Dean in support of tenure, which I got in January, was quite positive. Although I've only ever seen one letter for tenure (my own), my chair described the letter as very enthusiatic. That's always nice to hear!

Folks, I honestly have typed and deleted, typed and deleted, and typed and deleted half a dozen other thoughts about this process. But I have to tell you that I am not kidding when I say I am absolutely exhausted. I'm not even sure I can think straight to write much more on how happy I am about tenure and how I can't wait to see what happens next.

Big Ass Promotion

One of the frustrating things, I discovered, about being an assistant professor is abbreviating one's profession. I don't really want to write down that I am an ass professor (I'm not that self-deprecating!). And asst professor doesn't adequately distinguish between being an assistant and an associate professor. So for the last 6 1/2 years, I've not been able to abbreviate my job.

However, as of about 45 minutes ago, I can now write assoc professor (with tenure). Yes, I've finally received the official notice that I have been promoted to associate professor with tenure as of July 1. I'm a Big Ass now.

This has been a hellish process. I have not been able to blog about it as I would have liked for fear of being dooced. But the nice thing about tenure is that they can't fire me now unless I skip my office hours or sleep with a student. Unless, I'm a man. But that's a whole other story.

I fully realize that the tenure process is rough on everyone. But no one who knows my situation would deny me when I say I've had it rougher than most. Let me let you in on a few secrets. My miscarriages have run about lockstep with most of the really bad things that have happened at work here. A false correlation? Maybe. But I have yet to have the pleasure of saying, well, my job has problems, but at least my family is growing. (Or vice verse, but truly the former is more important).

I will hopefully reveal a bit of my anger over this tenure process with a story: Over the Christmas holidays when we went to Omaha for a wedding, we had to fly through Chicago. As we landed in Chicago, we hit some turbulence, and my morbid mind immediately thought "We're all going to die." And then I followed up with a scenario in which the Charlotte Observer profiled all the local residents who died in the crash. In this scene, they are interviewing my chair who says "Yes, she was in the middle of the tenure process. It's very sad. We've decided to award her tenure posthumously." A millisecond later, I imagined my bony, charred arms rising from the grave to give a two bird salute to this man.

To say that none of my good friends or family would be surprised to see a whirligig of birds being flipped from my raised and rotating arms would be an understatement. Indeed, my favorite response when people ask me about my future plans at work is to say "I really want to apply environmental psychology to virtual communities. I see myself really making new inroads into the theory of online behavior. Actually, I envision a lot of bird flipping."

But enough of the negative. I can only bitch about this so long. I have tenure. I am an associate professor. I'm going to go home and drink champagne. Finally.

Conversations You Don't Have

"You know, things are still a little tweaked. And the weirdest thing is that I can poop on demand."

"Poor Demand."

Cropdusting

You'd think I'd be referring to yesterday's war declared on slugs and bunnies. However, I'm actually referring to the low flying planes canvasing our 'hood today and aiming to kill those evil cankerworms that inhabit and eat our trees. I grew up in the era of mosquito trucks which sprayed the campgrounds we stayed in and I even recall running behind these trucks and their non-organic pesticides. (Explains a bit, eh?) This, however, is a massive spraying of BT, my favorite organic pesticide, which will cause the cankerworms' bellies to explode. As our local columnist implied , at this point, if the best option involved pointing flamethrowers at our house to kill them, we'd take it.

I thought the planes would go by just once, but they keep coming around. It's Bizarre, folks. But Charlotte apparently has the worst canker worm infestation in North America and if I have to run from my house to my office like a scene from North by Northwest, I'll do it.

Are Guns Organic?

The IVF lab was packed, PACKED, this morning when I went in for my lab work. This would not seem surprising except this morning (depending on when you read this) was Sunday morning. Who knew that infertility clinics that were busy every single day of the week. I guess that ovulation happens all the day. Still it was surprising.

I spent the rest of the day working in the yard and the garden. This spring is really beautiful and I don't know if it's because I'm actually paying attention to it because I'm not working as hard or if we are really getting a nice extended spring this year. I did not mention this, but a couple of weeks ago, Dave and I were featured in the Charlotte Observer for practicing organic techniques in our vegetable garden. (I would link to the story, but it's no longer live). Although one might think the keyword in this story was "organic", truly the most important word is "practicing."

This point was brought home to us when we proudly walked out to survey our organic garden and saw that all our lettuce had been eaten. The two main culprits are slugs and bunnies. Personally, I think the bunnies were responsible for this lettuce-i-cide. (I blame the slugs for what I saw killed today). Being that we had just been featured as presumably being successful organic gardeners, I felt very much like a loser. I then recalled that last year we had really didn't get nearly what we planted because something....some DAMN BUNNY....kept eating our young vegetables.

"A gun. Is a gun organic?" I asked Dave. "If we shot it and ate it, would that be a natural gardening technique?"

Instead, I busted out the Deer and Rabbit repellent and marked around the garden. I'm not really sure it has worked. I'm not 100% convinced it wasn't slugs. However, we left a plate of beer out and didn't catch any slugs (or drunk rabbits), so I'm not sure they are the culprits either. I am spraying the heck out of everything with BT, a bacterium that makes worms stomachs explode. That is helping our cabbage and broccoli, but the bok choi and lettuce are really taking it hard.

I have to be honest that today I was feeling pretty damn rough as a gardener. I'd like to find a hobby thta doesn't make me feel so bad about myself. I feel behind on getting the seeds in and I'm really discouraged that some FREAKING evil animal is eating my seeds. I just want some lettuce. I'd like to actually have a few carrots make it. I HATE whoever ate my cilantro. And I had BETTER get some turnips and beets this year or someone or someTHING is going to pay (Bunny/slug, did you hear that?).

In other more pro-chemical warfare news, since I could not pull up ivy due to my surgery, Dave mowed it down and sprayed it with Round Up. It's Dead. I mean, it is dead dead. Not kinda dead. Not wounded and able to make a comeback. I mean the ivy is finally gone from the side of our house. Some of our greener neighbors say that Round Up is not a bad chemical because it becomes inert as soon as it touches the soil. Still. I was once again discouraged.

I can tell you right now that if I don't get some lettuce this year, I will seriously consider some chemicals in our garden. I don't mind hard labor. But when there are not fruits of my labor, something has got to give.

Dismissed

"Why, oh, why, oh, why did I post that we were going to cycle?" I asked myself as I headed to an unscheduled visit with the surgeon. I really am not particularly superstitious but sometimes I do feel like I can jinx myself when I publicly express a hope that is not yet real.

So why was I heading back to my surgeon? Well, it had to do with the blood in my stool that's been happening on and off for the last 5 days. And this blood is nothing like the problems I had with my booty previously. This was obviously Blood In and Around the Things You Do Not Want Me to Discuss on this Blog. When it started on Sunday/Monday, I thought it was due to the double dose of naproxin I took for the HSG. Indeed, when it went away on Tuesday, I rejoiced. And then, when it came back Wednesday night, I despaired.

So I drove to the surgeon, not at all happy that I was bleeding out my butt again and that I had talked about starting the cycle on the blog before everything was official. The "good" news is that I'd had my final blood panel to prep for the IVF on Tuesday and I was able to call my IVF nurse and ask her for the results, telling her I was feeling a bit dizzy. (I didn't want to mention the extra blood as she might automatically cancel my IVF).

Let me pause for a moment and say that there is NO WAY I want to do this without being 100% healthy. I don't want to waste the money nor the eggs without knowing that I will actually live to give birth and not leave my children motherless. So I am more than willing to wait however long the doctors want until I'm in a fit state (as opposed to pitching a fit). So I was and am more than willing to wait to be a healthy woman to start this.

The nurse called back and although my hemoglobin was quite high for me (12.6 when 12 is the cut off. I usually run around 11.9), my hematocrit was low at 35.6 when normal is 37. Crap. (Literally, if you will)

So into the surgeon's office I went, having my IVF nurse fax over the results, both of us feeling crappy.

And then guess what? No. Big. Whoop. The surgeon says it isn't typical, but it's not abnormal either. Essentially, it's like I have an internal scab that my poop has picked off my colon. (Lovely!!) But it's *nothing* to be concerned about and *nothing* to stop this cycle.

So we're still on!!!!

And when I called my IVF nurse for the third time today and told her that I had a positive OPK and she called back making it the fifth time we talked to each other *just today*, we were both pretty dang excited. I go in Sunday for my first set of bloodwork for this cycle to make sure I've ovulated and then, I will start Lupron next week.

What an emotional day.

ETA: I forgot to put in here yesterday that the reason for the title of this post is that the surgeon dismissed me from this illness and seeing him again. I'm done! I'm healthy or soon enough I will be.

I Think This is Really Happening

I've been waiting for the official word that things are going to be starting for us for IVF, and apparently there is no "YES! You may proceed after surgery!" proclamation that is handed out. (And no, this isn't an April Fool's joke....unlike the one I pulled on my class this morning when I told them they were going to have a pop quiz. The look on their faces! The dread!! The "Oh Shit" attitude!!! Teehee! In case you're wondering, you just don't give pop quizzes to senior level students. So when I said "April Fools!", it took them a while to recover, but it was heee-sterical!)

Ok. Back to the real stuff. Dudes. We're starting our suppression cycle! Now! YIKES! I just got off the phone with the special order pharmacy and the medication arrives tomorrow. And our insurance is covering A LOT more than we thought!! And for the other medications, we joined a VIP/Frequent flier program at the special order pharmacy for $12 a year and a boatload of the meds will be less than half price. All in all the medications have thus far turned out to be half what we budgeted! Whew!! We still have to pick up some things from our local pharmacy, but it's antibiotics and a Valium for the transfer so things are looking great medication-wise.

And tomorrow we take our injectibles class where Dave and I learn to give each other shots. Well, he learns to give me shots and I learn to give myself shots. And on Friday, I had another HSG (just to make sure there is nothing in the way to prevent a pregnancy). We have our trial transfer scheduled in 2 weeks (to make sure the docs can actually do the transfer of embryos with no big surprises). And presently, we are just waiting for me to ovulate so we can wait a week or so before starting the Lupron to turn off all my hormones. (And put me into a menopausal state and scare the crap out of Dave. I might have read somewhere that "irritability" can occur.)

So despite trying to be up on everything I just leared that the first month, the docs turn off everything and the second month, they slowly turn everything back on so they can do all the things they need to do when they want to do them. Or something like that. Hopefully, I'm going to be responsive to the drugs which means that things will go quicker rather than upping the dosages and waiting until I respond before everything starts.

YIKES!!

The good news is that because of the timing of my cycle, the retrieval/transfer will happen at approximately 2 months after my surgery date which is when our doc said we could do this. Really, folks. It was Friday when he did my HSG that he gave us the go-ahead based on my cycle and the surgery and the expected timing of everything that we got the OK for this.

This may have something to do with my insomnia lately. Do you think? But it appears to be really happening. Really! Of course, now I fear that my excitement will lead to abject failure and that tomorrow we'll be told it's a No Go and that everything was not as we expected and that this is not going to happen. I have to tell you that although that fear may seem irrational to you, it seems all too real to me based on everything that has happened these last two and a half years. And of course, the probability of success is pretty low. So don't anybody get their hopes up!

Nonetheless, I *think* it might work. And I know I just told everyone not to hope, but I do hope that it will.

YIKES!!!!!

Insomnia

Yes, I know that at 10:50, it's not that late to be claiming I have insomnia. But I also know that I'm not going to sleep in the next hour and a half. And if every night since I've been out of the hospital is any indication, I'm not going to sleep once I go to "sleep" anyway. Actually, the last night at the hospital, I didn't sleep either. And who knew the nurses check on you every hour or so in the hospital? I certainly didn't while I was still on the morphine drip. The last night, the nurse finally commented at four am after I had greeted her with a wave at every hour "you're a light sleeper!" I should have said, No. I'm getting insomnia.

The problem is that at 7 am, I've finally gone back to sleep and the last thing I want to do is wake up and be bright eyed and bushy tailed. Bushy haired, I've got down. Bushy tailed makes me want to slap somebody.

The other issue is that Things Are Going On. Folks, when I don't blog, that is exactly the time that you should assume that the interesting stuff is happening and I'm not telling you about it. I really hope that in the next week, I can tell you all sorts of exciting things. But until it's settled, I don't want to "suppose" or "hope" or "babble like a drunken sailor." Or more accurately "babble like a sleep deprived prisoner."

Speaking of people who might have opinions about Guantanomo Bay, did you know that Bill Clinton was in my neighborhood last weekend? I don't mean "Clinton was in Charlotte" which he was. I mean Bill Clinton had lunch on Friday at the Thomas Street Tavern (.8 miles from my house) and then spoke at the VFW (.5 miles from my house). My local Harris Teeter is between Thomas Street and the VFW. That is wild!!

We're more of an Obama household, if you care to know. And considering that Dave and I are on opposite sides of the street, figuratively speaking, I think that says something. Nonetheless, knowing a prez was within spitting distance of the McDonald's that is within spitting distance of our house is kind of exciting. Dave's comment is that he was disappointed to learn that Clinton had the Un-Sweet tea (not "unsweetened" tea....it's called Un-Sweet tea in the south) for lunch, because Thomas Street has the best regular (i.e., sweet) tea in the city of Charlotte.

Yes, that's where we are in the TMZ-Ization of this world. We don't support your wife for president, but dude, you should drink the sweet tea.

Bye-Bye Nap, Bye-Bye Belly Button

Conor is giving up his nap. We first figured that out recently after we'd put him down and gone outside to do some work and came back to find that Conor's utility steps had been moved around the kitchen and cookies were missing. Being delusional, we hoped that was a one time problem.

Then last weekend, Dave came in to find Conor heading towards our room with a green sharpie to draw on some art he had hung on our wall. (At a child's eye-level and with lots of tape and so damn cute we took three pictures of it). Fortunately, he had bypassed all the knives, scissors and razor blades and focused only on an ink sharpie. Nonetheless, our days of putting him to bed and doing chores as we rely on him actually sleeping are gone.

Bye-bye nap. We really loved you.

I continue to get better, but there are good days and bad days. I went to campus on Monday and was shaking by the time I made it to my office. During my lab meeting with my students, I was sweating and having a hard time focusing. The vast majority of my colleagues have been incredible helpful including my "neighbor" in the office beside mine to volunteered to drive me to my car given the gray, ashen color of my face on Wednesday. (Being a university, one has to walk everywhere. Being I am cheap and won't buy the faculty pass, I park in the student lot and have to walk over 1/2 mile to get to my office. Easy when I'm feeling normal. Slow now).

Teaching has been a blast considering I have to sit down to teach. I'm a pacer with arms and hands that shoot out from my body when I get excited about a topic. Teaching while sitting is annoying. But I still cannot stand for any length of time, so I have to sit and teach. Bleah.

I'm also developing a bit of annoying insomnia that is coming on after I've slept about 4 hours or so. Last night I was obsessing about a senior colleague who has some sway over my career who showed up at my office door on Monday and wanted to know why I still feel bad. That's a quote, "So why do you still feel bad?" I don't know, doofwad. I was under general anaesthesia and had my guts ripped open by a velociraptor, umm, I mean surgeon, just 10 days ago and maybe I'm still feeling a wee bit weak.

This comment bothers me more than the other comments from my colleagues advising me to really take it easy, to stay off campus, and to err on the side of caution gives me comfort. It plays into my fears of being woussy, which is what caused me to go to campus on Weds when I knew damn well I shouldn't and frightened myself and my peers with how crappy I looked (and felt).

In any case, it is very frustrating for me to go from thinking a 45 minute run is a slack off, easy run to realizing that if I was walking any slower, I'd be standing still. I need to get the garden in and I know planting is fine, it's the prepping the soil that scares me. I've got at least half the garden left to prep and Dave has his own chores to do (including finsihing Conor's captain's bed) so the child can move up off a mattress on the floor.

In any case, I'm annoyed. Oh! And I forgot the reason for the second part of this blog's title. My bandages came off my stitches, and now I can fully see...that my belly button is completely tweaked! It used to be so cute! And now it's about half its normal size and squished on the left. It's going to become a lint trap instead of the pretty, open, clean belly button it once was. I'm very sad that my belly button is now so ugly. It's sadly one of the few parts of my body I have always liked. (One might note that in this house, my favorite picture of me as a bride does not include my head) So the one part of my body I have always liked and its ruined.

Phhht.

I'm not really in that bad of a mood, but I am crankier than I'd like to be. I'm ready to be normal again.

Farm Stock

When I woke up in the recovery room, the nurses had me breathe into a device to help me from developing clots in my lungs. I was to do this every hour 5-7 times per hour (although I originally heard it as 17 times per hour which seemed like an odd, arbitrary number to me!). They encouraged me to "do the best I could" that first time. And I did. I realized it was better than average when the nurse pointed out that they wanted me to inhale up to 1000 units and I inhaled to 2500 units. "Whoa," the nurse said. "She's not going to have any problems."

The day after surgery, I had to walk. In fact, I had to walk 3 times that day to get some important reward, which I honestly can't remember now, but I think was along the lines of "sip some water." For the first walk, they told me, it was ok to just walk to the door of my room. I got there and said, "I can keep going" so we went out the door and down the hall a little ways. Dave encouraged me not to go too far, as this was an "out and back" course and we needed to save energy for the return. I made some lame joke about a negative split and turned around sooner than I probably had to.

Two days after the surgery, I had pretty much explored the entire fifth floor of the hospital in my red reindeer pajamas and after one 25 minute walk, wondered if this counted as "real" exercise.

Three days after surgery, when I finally got my IV out, nurses and technicians were cheering my first ambling without the equipment (nurses and technicians I did not know) and some even inquired how I liked my first meal since the surgery that day. (Apperently, I had loudly expressed some enthusiasm about my first meal earlier in the day)

Yesterday, I went for my post-op meeting with my doc who pointed out that we were meeting on the day that the majority of people just get out of the hospital. He also said I could start driving again, a full week earlier than he had said on my discharge papers. (Hooray! School will be much easier next week).

So, I have been feeling pretty hardy. I *am* a hardy person, much more farm stock than thoroughbred. Nonetheless, I'm not quite 100% yet. I decided after yesterday's appt I could go for a walk around the 'hood at lunch. Originally, I planned to do about 1.5 to 2 miles. As I came to the end of my block (oh, let's say about .1 miles from my house) and noted that I was lightheaded and fuzzy, I decided one full block would be plenty. Then 25 minutes later as I shuffled back to the house, I decided yes, that was plenty. (.3 miles in 25 miniutes is not a PR, dontcha know). Last night, I woke up at 2 am in a wee bit of pain and had to take my first vicodin in three days. Waking up this morning was fun!! (Yes, Elizabeth warned me!)

I can't complain. Really. I feel like I am doing exceptionally well. However, I'm still on the mend. I still might give that walk another go today and and see if I can improve on yesterday's time. I can always take a nap and/or catch up on Food Network. Friday afternoons are a real blast around here!!

Finally, I'd like to end this blog with a prayer for some of my extended family. There are sad things afoot in this world and people are making decisions that seem pretty selfish, but also seem, quite frankly, naive, unsophisticated, and reflective of a life lonely and unlived. My prayer is for the children, all the children of this world, who don't understand adult decisions and blame themselves for not being good enough, smart enough, or pretty enough to keep their parents' marriage together. We (as adults) all know their thoughts are not true. Let us hope that the adults involved help the children figure it out, too.

Back at Home

Now that I'm a bit more out of that drug induced haze, I have a few more memories of my lost week in the hospital. (Which I would like to point out we purposefully did during Spring Break, but the result is basically that I did not have a conscious Spring Break this year! And the reason it was not "conscious" did NOT have to do with alcohol!)

Anywho, I checked into the operating room with a blood pressure registering at, oh, about 85 over 55. That would be considered "low." The RN freaked out and had me sit down immediately. I pointed out that following my "bowel prep" from the day before, I was a bit dehydrated. She tried to get an IV in me, but alas, I have no veins. They scurried me into the OR prep where more than a few folks fretted over my pathetic veins. (The anaesthesiologist the day before had said that if needed, they'd stick the IV in my neck. Thanks!!) Fortunately, another anaesthesiologist with a talent for finding crap ass veins got my one good dehydrated vein right off the bat and gave my fluids and a sedative.

The next few hours after the surgery remain a haze involving scooting over from my recovery to my hospital bed (owwwwwwww!), repeatedly hitting the button on my morphine pump, and begging for something to drink to wet my parched lips/mouth. Ice chips are nice, but not as helpful as one would imagine for Dr. Dehydrated. Also, my blood pressure remained looooow (95 over 65) until we finally got off the morphine pump. Who knew?

Three days into my stay, after the doctor queried whether my hair would continue to grow bigger and bigger, I opted to take a shower to wash my frizzfest hair and change into my red reindeer pjs and out of my lovely hospital gown. Sitting in the shower sideways on my cold metal shower seat trying not to let the water directly hit my wounds and unable to lift my hands, I would like to officially name that bathing incident as the Worst Shower of My Life. I came out of it wet but not clean and my hair ended up turning into a ginourmous dreadlock that I was only able to untangle yesterday at home. Nonetheless, my red reindeer pjs and animal print fuzzy slippers made me a bit of a (stinky, dreadlocked) fashionista in the surgical ward during my stay. That and the fact that I was about 40 years younger than everyone one else.

A few comments about my family support. My mom moved in with us on Weds and has been as close to wonderful as I could possibly imagine. It's nice being back in NC and having my Mom so close again. Dave has been exceptional, per usual, taking care of both Conor and me and not going too crazy in the process. But Conor. (((sigh))) Can I tell you a little bit about my son??

I called the house early, early the morning after the surgery because 1) I hadn't slept and 2) I missed Conor. Dave put him and the phone and we started the normal toddler conversation "How are you, Conor?" "I'm fine." "What are you doing?" "I'm making breakfast." And then he interrupted me, "Mommy, how are you feeling???" I thought my heart would explode.

After Dave dropped him off at school that morning and came to visit me at the hospital, he brought a card Conor had made for me. It was a picture of Conor and the words that Conor had wanted written under it "Mommy, I want to give you a kiss. Conor" Again, I thought I was going to die.

Then on Friday afternoon, Conor showed up with a project he has spent all of day making for me carrying it in a big bad labelled "For the Best Mommy From Conor". Within it was a big heartshaped decorated card that said "Mommy, I want to give you hugs! kisses too, and I want you here. I love you." (I think the teacher came up with that one!) and about 10 sheets of drawings and Conor practicing writing his name and "Mom" and "Dad".

The piece de resistance, however, was on Saturday night, when we were walking around the hospital corridors getting exercise and Conor kept holding and kissing my hand and saying "I love you, Mommy!" while every nurse, nurse's assistant, technician, patient and visitor melted at how adorable my son truly is.

((((sigh))))

So now I'm back home and getting off the pain pills. I feel like I'm either pushing myself too hard or not quite pushing myself enough. I'm trying to do work and still take it easy. Traveling is a bit harder than I thought it would be, but I can't stand just sitting here all the time. I get my staples out on Thursday (Have I mentioned that it looks like a metal millipede is eating my belly button? No? Well, yeah. I have a picture! It made my Mom scream!) :-)

Ok. It is time to figure out what I can get done for the day and when I can nap and should shower. It's been an eventful two weeks, no?

Still Here

Howdy. I made it through the surgery and doing well for the most part. I know that I'm doing well for folks who have had this surgery. Nonetheless, it does not feel as though bunnies have recently kissed my toes. I have a largish (to me) gash through my belly button and two smaller holes near my bikini line. These are all stapled together and look horrible. (to me)

I still have my IV and they say I can finally start a liquid diet today. I haven't eaten solids since Monday. Hopefully, if I can eat solids tomorrow, they'll let me go home.

I'm off the morphine pump (awwww) so I'm in a bit more pain, but I'm more uncomfortable than incapacitated. I'm sick of this damn hospital bed and my back is all tweaked from being in it. I cannot figure out how to situate it so that my back and belly are not competing for being the most painful part of my body. I'm also having to wear electronic air massage leggings/chaps to keep me from throwing a clot while I sleep. Lovely. Honestly. Lovely.

The weird thing about my belly is that the wounds don't hurt. There are parts to this side or that that hurt. And the poor thing is bloated and hard. I had to figure out how to pee again. Seriously, it took me two or three times before I figured out what I was supposed to do! And the tooting started back last night. And being that I am related to my family, it has come back with a vengeance: I woke myself up a couple of times in the night. These are all good signs, but not really fun.

Ok. the nurse is coming back with some vicodin. Hooray

Luckiest Woman Alive (Sort of)

So I have done some "cognitive restructuring" and I actually think this is a good thing. "This" for those of you just tuning in is finding out I have to have colon surgery.

The good part, as I see it, is that I am not pregnant. What an odd thing for an infertile to say. However, if I was preggers, they certainly would not be able to do a CAT scan, what with all that contrast solution and xrays. And my uterus would be pressed up against a bad infection, possibly all squished up against it. And this could hurt the baby and, I would imagine, my uterus. Bad, bad.

Another reason that this is a good thing is that prednisone and diverticulitis? Not such a good thing. And since I will be taking prednisone for the first three months of a pregnancy and at a higher dose, well, let's just say the scenarios don't turn out well. That alone has been enough to convince me to wholeheartedly do this surgery.

And folks, this is apparently a surgery. I met with the anaesthesiologist today. He pooh-poohed my comments that I was sensitive to anaesthesia and said they planned to put me in a deep sleep. Period. Also, he said they are going to stick a tube down my throat to breathe for me. (Hint #1 that there might be pain later)

We met with the surgeon again and he was again very positive. However, it was only towards the end that he mentioned that he was taking out 8 inches! Yikes! (Hint #2) Although he says that's not much at all, I perceive it to be a good deal!

He also snickered when I mentioned that I would be going back to teach next week. Yes, he actually laughed and the caught himself. (Hints #3)

Then there was discussion of the morphine pump (Hint #4) and that Conor maybe shouldn't come visit me until Friday (Hint #5). Oh and the catheter (Hint #6).

Oh and finally, they are going to staple my colon back together instead of stitch it back together. Also, to test the "seal" of the colon, they'll pump water in my stomach, hold my intenstines, and see if there's a leak. Lovely! Of course, the way they staple my guts back together is that they have to stick part of it up my booty (Hint #7).

There is some good news from today: I get to drink gatorade tomorrow morning before the surgery so I won't be so dehydrated and they have to stick my veins a zillion times to find one that works. What a relief. (Slight sarcasm)

So, yes, I'd better lose some weight out of this. Some real weight and not just fluid. I'm not counting on it though because I am contrarian in that way. I'll probably end up fatter and older than ever.

Hopefully, I'll be able to blog from the hospital. Rumor is they have wireless there.

Well, I Didn't See That Coming Part II

So the problem started about a week ago. I was working in my office when I started havng serious AF cramps. The only thing that concerned me was that this was the last day of AF and I have never had cramps on the last day of AF. Ok, the other thing that concerned me was how much it it: I felt like I was in labor. If I had been pregnant, I would have called the doula.

The next day, I was still in pain. But this time, it was more specific and "stabby". Also, when I, ummmm, tried to go to the bathroom, it hurt like a mother. And the pain wasn't in my booty, but in my belly. When I was trying to "relax" to go to the bathroom, it hurt so much I nearly shot up off the potty. Again, childbirth came to mind, it felt an awfully lot like trying to pooh the first week after giving birth. It really hurt and it scared me.

I knew it wasn't a bowel obstruction because of course I got online to see if I was dying or if I just had a really horrible case of constipation. As this is really unusual for me, I seriously thought of emailing Dooce to see if she had any advice.

The pain continued off and on for four more days, right around the same time I was in the throes of the flu. Going potty still hurt a lot. Lying on my side in my bed hurt. Sitting up in my bed hurt. Walking sometimes hurt. At one point, the pain was so bad that even though I was sitting in the chair, I had to get on the floor in Cat/Cow to see if I could find any relief.

So Thursday morning, I got up and it still really hurt to potty, so I finally called the doctor. I told the triage nurse my symptoms and they invited me in immediately. The doctor took some x-rays and said she didn't see anything but just to be ultra-safe, she wanted me to get a CAT (or CT) scan. Here's where I was starting to feel foolish: I wasn't in pain anymore. I honestly thought they were wasting all this time and money on me and it was just bad constipation and I was a totally complain-y pants. Because I have never had a CAT scan, I didn't realize that my 3:00 appt really was a 4:30 appt because I had to drink the barium stuff and then they had to put an IV of contrasting dye to check out all my organs etc. (Wonderful side effect of the IV drug is that you seriously feel like you're peeing yourself. Lovely!!) So what turned into a quick check up at the doctor's ended up spending half the day getting checked out.

All in all, it felt like no big whoop and because I had not really eaten anything that day, I honestly felt a lot better. In fact, I told Dave I wish I'd waited one more day because I would not have gone in.

I heard nothing that night nor early the next morning, so I rightly assumed there was nothing so awful that they needed me to go to the hospital. Besides, I felt fine except for an occassional stab in my gut.

The doctor called at 11:15 on Friday. She apologized for not calling last night. "No problem!" I said. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly. That's a little weird, I thought, but I said, "I'm doing much better. No pain and no fever." "Well, I'm glad that we did that CAT scan," she told me.

Let me point out that no doctor ever starts a comment with "Well, I'm glad we did that extra, expensive test" and it end up with "because we found nothing wrong at all! What a great waste of time and money that was!!" I think that's about as rare "I'm glad we did that CAT scan because we were finally able to see someone who is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside."

Nope, she instead continued "Yes, you have diverticulitis with a small abscess. I'd like to set you up with a surgeon immediately. It's small enough you may not need surgery, but I want a surgeon to evaluate that. Do you have a surgeon in town? No? I'll find you one. And by the way, your IVF is off the table until this is resolved."

"Ummm, ok." (I have not told you that the IVF had officially just been finally put on the table on Wednesday. We had our first meetings set up to coincide with the start of my next cycle. It was a complete "go".)

Three hours later I'm in the surgeon's office after having done only minimal playing of Dr. Google because I had a ton of meetings. The surgeon (who has the name of a cute doctor on a popular medical show, I humorously noted) came in and again explained the diagnosis. I told him that I was really surprised because I consciously really try to eat at least 20 grams of fiber a day. He said that it was very unusual for someone my age to have this problem. Indeed, he called me "young" and "thin." (HA!! It's official!! A doctor called me Young and Thin! I like this doctor!! However, I did not want to point out to him that based on what I saw in the waiting room, his practice is skewed to the Old and Fat. But let's not burst his deceptive bubble, eh?)

So, yes being as young and thin (ahem) as I am, it's really bad for me to have diverticulitis, particularly with an abscess. Therefore, I'm going to soon need surgery to remove it (And the conversation had been going so well! Why all of a sudden this turn to the worse???)

"How soon is soon? Like 5 years?"

"Uh, no. In a month."

I started crying and explained the whole IVF thing. He said IVF was off the table until this was resolved. And then he said, well, he knew of one woman recently who only had to spend 4 days in the hospital and then blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

"Ummm, let's go back a second. Did you say 'hospital for 4 days?'"

"Yes, this is major surgery. I'm not giving you any good news here."

"You suck!" I laughingly told him.

"Can I get a second opinion on that?" he replied.

"Yeah, you still suck!"

(OK, so I was not quick enough for the "you still suck" rejoinder, but the first part was accurate! And funny.)

So, ummm, yeah. There we go. I am on spring break this week and since I don't get sick leave, it seems like now is a good a time as any in the next 4 weeks. Also, my IVF clinic will not start anything until 2 months after this is resolved, and my RE is voting for surgery. IVF is apparently off the table for him until I have this surgery.

Surgery for this at my age is controversial. What everyone agrees on is at my age, I am very, very likely to get this again including the abscess. Additionally, if it reoccurs while I am pregnant, there will be an infection rubbing up against my uterus and could kill the baby. (A bad thing indeed) Theoretically, I could google "diverticulitis abscess pregnant IVF" but I really don't think there's going to be a whole wide range of studies and support groups for this particular problem. It's really, really rare to get diverticulitis with an abscess at age and with my usually healthy habits. (Young!! Thin!!)

We're going in Tuesday to meet with the doctor and at this point, the surgery is set for Wednesday. I hope to be home from the hospital on Sunday. I should be back up to speed in 2-3 weeks and then we'll wait 2 months and then FINALLY freakin' start IVF.

I cannot apparently take the easy route from Point A to Point B

Well, I Didn't See That Coming

I really need to update my blog more frequently so I can blog about the things I really want to blog about and not all these WTF moments.

For example, I am falling in love with my house again: our two cherry trees are in full, massive pink bloom and along with the 40 jonquil bulbs I planted last fall signal that spring is on the way. I am very excited to be back in the yard. I even enjoyed the Ivy Killing a few weeks ago in which I did a victory dance in my war gloating in my power from pulling up 20% of the massive field of ivy beside the house. Then the next day, I could not move as nearly every muscle in my body protested. We figure the Ivy got its revenge.

And the beauty products, YES! Things are working. First, I've been using the regenerist for a couple of months and think my skin feels and looks smoother. I've also started using "Primer" (from Revlon, although the book mentions some from Sephora). This is supposed to tighten and lighten my face. You can ever wear it alone. I think it does, but the real improvement has been switching to Revlon's Age Defying make up from its Stay-all-day based foundaton. Oh, heavens, is there a difference in how fewer wrinkles there are. Yes. Definitely try that.

And the best youth producer of all is having my hair highlighted. Years and years have been taken off my appearance from that alone. I can't afford the salons, so I've found someone who s local and independent. I'm not sure she used the exact color I wanted versus she used the color that bleaching my hair came out too. Nonetheless, it looks So Much Better. (Lightening one's hair is one of the biggies for How Not to Look Old. Get the book.)

So those blogs entries have been rolling around my head looking for the right time to come out in witty and profound glory. Not throwaway paragraphs in the above. But there you go.

Dave and I have actually come up with a couple of titles for this blog. I opted for the above, but we might well have used:

Supporting the Medical Community in Charlotte

First, Conor's update. He has continued to have diarrhea off and on for about two weeks. (Conor would like to you know that is a Long Word) The school has become increasingly worried because he's been crying and not following rules. None of that is typical so after one particularly horrible morning for Conor at school, we took him to the pediatrician. Apparently, his bowel has not recovered from his first bout of diarrhea, so all that dairy in the form of milk and cheese we've been giving him has not been so good. Oopsie Daisy! We've cut back on all cheese and are giving him lactaid and remain only with a few "juicy toots" throughout the day, but not bad poopies.

I would like to point out what a good phrase "juicy toot" is. For example, "I don't give a juicy toot what you think about that" would be an excellent rejoinder. Feel free to use it on your own.

So, Conor is doing better. I, on the other hand, well, do you remember the last time I got the flu? Well, I can't find the post, but the last time I had the flu they found a sinus infection that filled 75% of my head. This time, the problem occupies a different region, although I'm sure many folks think have my head up my a$$.

Ok....the family is up and I need to finish this later.

It's the Flu

I'm not "taking one for the team." I'm infecting the team. I am Typhoid Mary. Or more likely Typhoid Crazy Aunt Anita.

Ironically, I had the flu shot this year.

Taking Another One for the Team

We had a great weekend with Conor's cousin, Carter, and his parents visiting us from Palo Alto. Conor absolutely loves Carter and it appears the feeling is mutual. Of course, I am turning into "Crazy Aunt Anita." One the one hand, I like this, being the nutty aunt who is probably too smoochy, loud, and likely to join in a game of Fly on Space Shuttle to The Moon way too quickly. On the other, I'm turning into an aunt who is too smoochy, loud and likely to join right in kid's play when I ought to be a bit more grown up. There's a fine line between Craaazy Aunt Anita and Crazazy Aunt Anita, is all I'm saying.

Unfortunately, Carter got sick while he was here. One wouldn't have known he was sick from his and Conor's re-enactment of "Monkeys Jumping on a Bed" but his fever made itself known. We found out Sunday that he was strep throat.

So for the rest of Sunday, we were hovering over Conor to see if he started running a fever or started having a sore throat. But no! He's as healthy as a horse.

I, on the other hand, woke up with a sore throat. No big whoop. I've always got some sort of post-nasal drip going on. Then about 11:30, I started getting chills. I took my temp: 99.2. That is so low as to be no big whoop. 12:00 I was still freezing: temp 100.6. At 2:00, I was starting to flirt with the 101.5.

It could be the flu. My students are dropping like flies, including the good students so you know there's something going around. Flu has really hit the college students hard and if this is flu, there is no need to go to the doc. However, it could be strep due to proximity and symptoms.

In either case, and this is where I sound like Bitchy Wife Anita, why am *I* the one who keeps getting sick? I would never want to wish an illness on my son, so I guess what I'm really saying s WHY CAN'T DAVE TAKE ONE FOR THE TEAM once in a while?? He kisses Conor nearly as much as I do. Why I am the one who always gets the stomach viruses, the flu, and apparently strep throat?

Ok. Enough bitching and craziness. I'm almost finished making the homemade chicken and rice soup for dinner (!) and after that, I'm going to bed. (Dave had to work late tonight and we have no prepared food in the house. I would complain, but that's my own damn fault)

ETA: I don't think this is strep throat because I'm no longer running a fever this morning (although I had a fever last night while I was "sleeping."). And Dave would like to point out that he did take quite a few for the team during Conor's first 2 years of day care. I pointed out that this is my blog and hence my perspective and he should git his own dern blog should he want to discuss his child-induced illnesses. ;-)

The Best Laid Plans (of Lame Ass Bloggers)

Today's title was supposed to be Anita vs. the Ivy: The Siege of 2008.

However, we'll save that one for later on this week. Instead, I shall regale you with our story of going to the emergency room after work tonight.

Daycare called up Dave late this afternoon to tell us that Conor was going to the bathroom very frequently and had just told them that his p3nis hurt. Dave called me and we tried to figure out how we could get in touch with the pediatrician's before they closed. Conor's upset stomach on both Tuesday and Saturday worried me. We got ahold of the peds 5 minutes before they closed. "Go straight to the Presby Children's ER" was the nurse's exact quote.

Dave and I met at the house at which point there was some discussion about waiting until the next morning to save an expensive ER visit or chancing kidney damage if this really was unirinary tract infection. We opted to save our son's kidneys.

Fortunately, it was not a UTI in the classic sense. It is a UTI in the mildest sense---the UT is irritated not infected. Oddly enough, this was the second irritated UTI that the nurse had seen on a boy the exact same age as Conor in the last hour. I think that this bug that gave Conor his tummy/poopie problems is also irritating his wee-wee. (The bug has definitely been going around Charlotte's young 'uns). So it still hurts for him to pee and he's going with great frequency and urgency. But it should clear itself up by Weds. If not, we're back to the regular doc by Thurs.


As an aside, we left the hospital at 7:30 and no one had eaten, so for the first time in our lives, we had fast food for dinner. (Melting child, dying of hunger and holding onto his penis would have been fun neither at home nor a restaurant) The highlight of this part of the story is the drink we got the size of my thigh, which at this point is quite large. It was a disquieting display of consumerism to be served anything that big.


And back to Conor, just how bad is his UTI? He's been to the potty 4 times since I've started this. :-(

A Month in the Life of an Infertile

Cycle Day (CD) 1-5: Complain about Aunt Flo.

CD6, 7, and 8: Take a break from thinking about getting pregnant.

CD10-14 or so: Don't pee for 4 hours, sit with one's legs crossed until one can pee on a stick and perform the "Is-the-line-getting-darker" squint until the test line smacks you in the head, it is so dark.

CD8-CD17: Enjoy, ahem, being married or, in terms of TTC, babydance like crazy.

CD15-16: Take a break from thinking about getting pregnant.

CD17-CD26: Inject oneself twice a day with blood thinners while taking crazy making prednisone twice a day and progesterone once a day.

CD25-28: Laugh at how foolish newbies to the TTC process second guess every sneeze to see if they are pregnant. Realize that for you, indigestion, tingly boobs and bloating are "natural" outcomes to the massive amount of drugs you are on. They quite literally mean nothing.

CD26-28: Wake up and pee on a stick with no expectation of success, which, ironically, in the past meant a real possibility of success but now means you are not freakin' pregnant. Despite all reason, stare at the FRER HPT in 3 different light settings to see if the faintest of faint lines is detectable. Occassionally, tear the test apart to see if the line you see is "real" or an evaporation line. Decide after tearing the test apart that's as white as the driven snow, that it's perfectly acceptable to not feel guilty over a big fat glass of wine. Continue to whine, also.

After the final day of testing, stop taking drugs and wait for the whole damn thing to start again.

My Best Valentine

It was a particularly sweet day. And it wasn't all the doing of my dear husband.

Last night, we put together a set of stickers and lollipops for Conor's friends at school. This morning at breakfast, we talked with Conor about giving all his classmates their Valentine's. I told Conor he would probably get Valentine's cards, too.

He turned to me excited and wide eyed, "Maybe I will get one Valentine today at school!!!"

My heart exploded at my child's unselfish nature.

This afternoon, when I picked Conor up at school, I asked Mademoiselle how the card exchange went. She said that they had every child give their Valentine's to the other children one by one. It took forever, she said, but Conor was amazing. Some children would just drop the Valentine into the other child's lap. But Conor went up to each child and said "This is just for you because I love you." She said, "I thought, Wowwww. Did his parents coach him last night!?!?"

No, we didn't. My little boy came up with that one on his own. And that's my best Valentine's day present ever.

More Pre-School Door Quotes

What is a friend......

Conor: My mommy is my friend and she plays baseball with you!

What makes you happy......

Conor: when I play baseball with my Mommy!

(We don't play that much, but apparently, it makes a big impression with the toddler set)

What makes you miserable.....

Conor: When my Mommy yells at me from the shower.

(Great. I guess I deserve that after I came home and taunted Dave about being his baseball playing friend).

Throw Up on the Pillow

That was Dave's suggestion for the title of today's blog after I pointed out that although he can wake up quickly when Conor comes in the room to snuggle with us in the middle of the night, I can go from REM to lit room at the sound of our son throwing up on the pillow between us.

I heard Conor moan. And then I heard the tell-tale sound of blork that made me leap out of bed to get a trash can while Dave sat up and began to comfort Conor as he continued to blork all over the bed.

Conor just threw up for the first time in Decemember and it hasn't even been two months that he's gotten another stomach bug. And the poor guy really didn't know what to do when he had to throw up and poop at the same time. He just knew everything felt bad. (And trust me, it was bad!)

The odd thing is that unless he was being sick, he didn't act sick. He was laughing and bouncing and playing. Until he wasn't.

And since I've been batting about 1000 in picking up Conor's bugs, I'm unhappily anticipating my go round of this. And for some reason, I don't think I'll be laughing or bouncing or playing at all during my episode. Oh, yes. So when Dave comforts Conor when he yaks, I do my part by getting sick and in my own way, taking one for the team.

Lip Scuff

Since I'm currenty on the quest to give a shit, I thought I'd start a new series of posts on some of the products I'm finding useful in not looking like a used up old hag.

So here's the first one: Lip Scuff. I bought mine for the Body Shop a zillion years ago, and it had to be on sale because there's no way I'd pay $11 for it as they are advertising it on amazon.

So, in addition to having it for a zillion years, I've never really used it. Until the chapter on lips in my Don't Look like An Old Hag book.

So, now what I do is every morning before I put on the rest of my face moisturizer, I use the lip scuff (it basically exfoliates the dead lip bits), add a lip moisturizer from Clinique (a freebie that must be 10 years old!), and after I put on whatever makeup I'm going to wear, I add a lip gloss.

I have thin lips. (Chickens have thicker lips thatI) Nonetheless, the lip scuff helps plump them up and keeps them looking polished for most of the morning until lunch. This includes a couple of hot beverages throughout the morning.

So, my advice: go cheap, but it's worth it. My lips appear to be bigger and definitely look healthier.

I give that product a Mother Thing Stamp of Approval.

We'll see what else does or doesn't make it.

And, as for infertility (Why, yes! My infertility is doing fantastic. Thank you for asking), we a probably going not going to start IVF in the upcoming cycle. I am traveling most of March and it just would be too tricky and expensive for us to try. So end of March/beginning of April is when we're starting.

Of course, I realized on the way to work that if we'd pursued adoption last summer, we'd probably be on the way to bringing our child home soon. But we didn't. We may be in that place next year. But we're not there now.

We're still trying on our own, so maybe something will happen beyond the knots and bruises I'm getting now. It goes well with the lip scuff.

The Lives of Others

Thanks to our NetFlix subscription, last night we watched The Lives of Others. It was so good, that this morning on the way to the gym, thinking about the last line in the movie, I started tearing up again. Even NOW, I'm a bit misty.

Sad. Beautiful. Inspiring.

It was good.

How Not to Look Like a Used Up Old Hag

In my quest to be more "shit giving" I bought a book, How Not to Look Like a Used Up Old Hag. Actually, the name of the book is How Not to Look Old, and it is about as vain as it sounds. Or worse.

The author is on the cover and although she is attractive, she sort of scares me, too. She's a bit too pink pastel for this feminist. (Yes, I am aware of the irony of a feminist buying a book to look pretty. Let's just say I'm a post-feminist)

However.

I've been trying to new face cream and seriously, there are less wrinkles. (Oil of Olay Regenerist, if you must know) And I've been trying with the clothes and the mani/pedis. And I'm going back to my highlighted hair because it did look a lot better. (her hint: the older, the lighter)

And I have to be honest: folks are noticing.

Of course, it's a pretty big distance from dressing "to not be naked" to actually wanting to look like I give a shit much less to "not look old". And that alone could be accounting for the compliments. But it's rewarding. And maybe it will inspire me to drop these 10 lbs that I really don't need.

In the meantime, check out The Fashionable Academic. It's clearly not me, but it's fun.

A Real Trip Home

When we pull out of Conor's daycare, I ask Conor which way he wants to go: City or Firetruck?

The city route takes us directly towards uptown Charlotte and it's skyline. Conor always shouts out "That's my city Charlotte!!" (We've had a few testy conversations about whether its his city Charlotte or our city Charlotte)

The firetruck route takes us by the NoDa firestation and we can often see the firetruck sitting in the driveway. (A real hit with the three year olds).

That route also takes us by the coffee shop, Smelly Cat. Because I am a particular kind of mother, I have taught my son the Smelly Cat song, although really only the chorus.

Smelly Cat, Oh Smelly Cat
What are they feeding you?
Smelly Cat, Oh Smelly Cat
It's not your fault

We usually sing a couple of choruses as we pass the coffee shop.

Yesterday, after we finished singing, Conor sighed and said "That's my favorite song."

And I won the Mother of the Year award.

Scrabulous

It's been a crazy week. My Monday alone was so busy, I woke up Tuesday morning convinced it was Saturday. It's a mostly good busy, but by definition, it's still, ummm, busy.

I'm teaching a new class on online interactions this semester and it is one of the most fun classes I've ever taught for undergraduates. On Thursday, several students (probably the ones who drink coffee) agreed with me that our class seems to really fly by. This week, we have been discussing the effects of personality characteristics on online behavior (not so much) and also how people play with their identities online, too (again, not so much). A lot of the perceptions of how freaky people are online comes from research in the 80's and 90's when the main people online were geeky engineers and computer science professionals. So the early research of Weird and Odd behavior online came from the Weird and Odd behavior of old school Geeks, not that the Internet makes people Weird and Odd (media overplaying of sensational stories, notwithstanding).

In any case, my students are starting to pick their topics for their class project and so far SEX ONLINE is winning by far. This is new territory for me. I usually teach about organizations and organizational psychology, so my main take on sex during my classes is "Sex at work is bad. Don't do it." I am having to push the students a bit about what they want to study about SEX ONLINE--deviance? Deception?? What exactly are they interested in with SEX ONLINE, because although it's an interesting topic "PEOPLE HAVE WEIRD SEX ONLINE" is not likely to lead to an interesting research paper.

Ahem.

Anywho, so what does this have to do with Scrabulous? Not much. And unless you belong to Facebook, you have no idea what I'm talking about. But I LOVE Scrabulous!!! It's an online scrabble game that you can play on Facebook and it is so much fun!! I win! I lose! I have a boatload of fun. I can usually make about one move a day which lengthens out the games. Nonetheless, playing Scrabulous alone is worth the effort of joining Facebook. Anyone can join, btw. And it's free. And you can play Scrabulous!!!

Which I am doing instead of working on a conference paper. Well, right now I'm blogging instead of working on a conference paper. But I was checking on my scrabulous game when I thought I'd check in with you, too.