ask me how I feel today…

I just left Rite-Aid with a bag of Kotex, a bottle of extra strength Tylenol, and chocolate.

I feel as though someone socked me in the stomach and then set my abdomen on fire.

Sometimes it sucks to be a girl. I told DH last night that next time, he gets to have the uterus.

God and Silliness

Yesterday afternoon DH and I went to see Evan Almighty, despite the negative reviews of the critics. Usually I am sick of a movie before it comes out, weary of hearing about it on the radio, seeing the same funny moments in the same previews over and over and over. But this one made me laugh every single time, so I figured it was worth a shot. Besides, the critics didn't have many good things to say about movies such as Nacho Libre and Mystery Men, which are two of my all-time favorite funny movies ever. So what do they know?

I was right. I enjoyed the movie quite a bit. The parts I enjoyed the most seemed to center around Morgan Freeman's portrayal of God. I think he was spot-on in some cases, and I was reminded of a few things I'd forgotten about God:

• Whatever he does is because he loves me. Even if it breaks my heart in the short run, in the long run it will bring me immeasurable joy.
  
• God has a sense of humor. And while I'm fond of saying (a la Mode) that it's a sick sense of humor, for the most part it's just a funny sense of humor.
  
• God likes us. I mean he really likes us. He doesn't just tolerate us, waiting for us to screw up so he can show us how merciful he is by forgiving us. He doesn't just have an obligatory love for us, because he made us. He likes us.
  
• God enjoys us. This goes beyond liking us. He likes to be silly with us and to laugh at us. Not in a mean poking-fun-at-us way, but in the way you might laugh at a kid who's being goofy, and knows he's being goofy. The laugher of enjoyment, not ridicule or mockery. Every good parent enjoys the endearing things his child does.
  
• God does not necessarily cause things to "happen to" us. He gives us opportunities. Things happen, and we have an opportunity to respond.
  

My favorite parts of the movie were the conversation God has with Evan's wife (named Joan, of course) in the restaurant, and the last conversation God has with Evan at the end of the movie. They both did my heart good. And even though I know that it wasn't really God in the movie, just an actor portraying a scripted version of God, it did serve to remind me who God really is. And I needed that.

33

When I was in college, my group of friends had pagers. This was right before cell phones were becoming affordable and small enough to carry, and if we wanted to get a hold of each other we paged. We also used the calculator tricks we learned in elementary school to send each other our version of text messages (this was before alphanumeric pagers, we just had numbers). You know what I'm talking about – 07734 upside down on a pager spells "hello." 589 7718 84 1 became "I hate Bill Gates." Hey, what can I say? I used to be an Apple girl through and through. It was only when I started using CAD that I started using a PC. I was much more idealistic in college. ;-P

Anyway, because we never knew where we'd be calling from, we all had numeric sign-off numbers. For various reasons, mine was "33." So I could send a friend the number where I was calling from, 911 for "Emergency," and 33 to let them know it was me and not a wrong number.

Ever since then, I have kind of considered 33 to be My Number. When I have to choose a number from 1-100, I choose 33. The exclusive dinner club at Disneyland is called Club 33. If I purchase something and the price ends in 33 cents, it makes me smile. So does 33 minutes past the half hour, if I happen to see the clock at that minute. Call it my "lucky" number, if you will. I like 33.

As of today, I have completed my 33^rd year of life on this planet. And I have to say that this past year was not great. There were great moments, but overall I was not impressed. Tomorrow marks my 33^rd birthday. And while technically it will be the beginning of my 34^th year, I choose to believe that great things will happen in the year I am 33.

Par-Tay!

I don't usually wax political, either in my real life or on my blog. But this is a big step for me, and I feel the need to write about it.

It is official, I am now affiliated with a specific political party. My entire voting life, I have been registered as "Decline To State," choosing not to choose sides.

However, when you register outside of party lines, you don't really get much of a voice during the Primaries. And this looks to be a very important election, and I want to be a part of it.

So I am no longer "Decline To State." It feels strange, but I'm okay with it. (Even though DH says that, by being a two-party house, we're really just cancelling each other out.)

cycles of hope

It's been a little over a week since my surgery, and physically I'm feeling just fine. Had the stitches out Friday, was told to hold off on BD for two weeks, and that was that. The tissue they removed turned out to be benign, but I wasn't really worried. New game plan is to try naturally for two cycles, then move on to injectibles and IUI.

So I have a couple of weeks until we start trying again. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Since our IUI in February, we've pretty much been taking a break because of all the testing and procedures I've been going through. And the break has been nice – no temping, no POAS, no charting, nothing. No crying when AF shows, no caring when or if I ovulate. No worrying or obsessing or riding that cycle of high hopes and crushing devastation.

Now, we have two months to try on our own. I don't think my heart could take much more than two cycles before moving on to something more proactive. But I'm feeling the pressure, and I'm not sure I'm ready for this.

July marks the first month of the third year of TTC. It has been a long and difficult road. My BFF once wisely told me that I would need to learn to pace myself, that this is a marathon and not a sprint. I feel as though I've had a breather for these past few months, a much needed breather. But now I'm looking at running again, and I am just so damn tired. Can't I just sit here in the shade a little longer? Do I really have to get up and start moving again?

Ultimately, the choice is up to me. Yes, I can sit here as long as I want to. No one is standing beside me with a cattle prod, forcing me to put one foot in front of the other. But the race isn't over yet, and I'll never get to the finish line if I stay here. And though the end isn't in sight yet, it just might be around the next bend.

Which is what terrifies me. I don't mind trying again, I don't mind the daily peeing on sticks or the charting of CM. I'm afraid, because part of me believes that this just might actually happen for us now. And I've learned from experience that every time I think that, and every time it doesn't happen, I am crushed. Devastated. Puddle of tears, stay in bed all day, can't face the world at all depressed.

That same friend also once told me that I have to open my heart up to hope. It's a delicate balance, one that two years hasn't taught me, to have hope that doesn't turn into despair. But the hope is there already, I can't help it. It sneaked in the second the doctor said that maybe this polyp was the only thing standing in our way. It didn't dissipate when he reminded me that a normal, healthy couple TTC only has a 20% chance of conceiving each cycle. It didn't go away when he said the step after injectibles and IUI would be IVF. I heard "there's a chance," and my heart opened up. And all this fear and trepidation doesn't change that – hope sneaked in.

So now we wait. And start Year Three with a new reproductive cycle, and a new cycle of hope.

contentment

I just found the fortune from a fortune cookie I received the last time I ordered from Pick-Up-Stix at work. I had forgotten about it until I came across it while cleaning up around my desk. It is now taped to my laptop. It reads, "The near future holds a gift of contentment."

I can't help but wonder, does it mean that the future holds a gift that will bring me contentment, or that the future will give me the gift of contentment itself? Will I receive what I believe will make me happy and at peace with my life, or will I learn to be happy and at peace as I am?

Either way, it's a good thing to look forward to.

Thanks, Jack

Comfort food of choice when I'm not feeling so hot tends to be breakfast. Not many places you can get a breakfast sandwich at one in the afternoon.

Thank you, Jack In The Box.

It's my first day back to work after my surgery. I am exhausted – this is the longest I've been up and about since last Wednesday. I have no stomach for food, but I was starting to get shaky so I went and got some anyway. I thought about working a short day today. G is out because her little boy is sick, and the doctor couldn't see him 'til 2. Even if they'd gotten in earlier, chances are she'd've stayed home with the little guy anyway. So I'm the only one here, and it looks like I'm stuck 'til 5:30.

Just as well. I have a hair appt this evening, so even if I could go home it would be pointless, I'd just have to drive back out here again.

At least we're not too busy today. I can take it easy. And it's just as easy to sit in front of my computer at work as it is to sit in front of the TV at home. Only, at home I could take a nap. It's probably better that I don't do that, either, since my sleep schedule is still all wacky. Didn't get to sleep 'til about 3 last night. I finally figured out part of the problem – DH had moved a night light to our hallway, and it was shining in our room. It's very difficult for me to sleep at night in a room that's not dark. I have no trouble sleeping during the day, just at night in a room with lights. I have to turn my alarm clock to face the wall, or the light keeps me awake. Red lights aren't so bad, but sometimes even the little green light on our fire alarm can get to me. That, and ticking clocks. Can't sleep in a room with ticking clocks.

post midnight ramblings from a drug-addled mind

Well, my sleep schedule is shot all to hell. I've done not much else but sleep and read for the past three days. And much as I love sleep, it's about 1:30 am and it's nowhere to be found. Might as well write, I suppose.

Ever since my sleep study, I haven't pushed myself to fight my anxieties. I've used the surgery as an excuse, too, as well as two full years of IF. I'm tired of being strong, I'm tired of fighting to be healthier, I'm tired of doing what needs to be done even though what I really want to do is hide from the world.

One of my biggest anxieties (aside from sleep studies) is the telephone. I trace it back to when my mom was the leader of a 45-girl Girl Scout troup. Whenever there was a message to get out, I was handed a list of numbers and told to call. Most of the girls did not like me much (I was a bit of an outcast until I hit college). Calling a few dozen girls that didn't like me was not fun. Now, I hate the telephone. I've never been one to sit on the phone for hours, chatting about nothing with my friends. I'd rather go see them, talk in person. Silences are much more comfortable in person. Calling someone I don't know takes me steeling my nerves and taking a deep breath. Even calling friends takes it toll on me. Sometimes I sound like a nervous teenager practicing asking out the pretty girl in homeroom, running through my mind what I'm going to say before I dial the numbers. I'd much rather send an email, or an IM.

Lately, answering the phone is difficult for me as well. There are two people who call me, two IDs that don't make me freeze up. DH and my best friend - them I answer without a second thought. My family calls, I'm more likely to let it go to voicemail. Unknown callers, I don't even think about it. If they want to reach me, they can leave a message. And if you do call me, and I recognize your name and/or number, chances are I will *still* let it go to voicemail. Even if I call back just a few minutes later, it helps me feel like I have some control over the issue.

Yes, I know how crazy this sounds. But it's after 1:30 am, and I can't sleep, and I haven't found a therapist yet, so I write.

Now my surgery is over. And it was a bit anti-climactic, honestly. I've been in very little pain. Today I'm more sore than yesterday, enough to warrant a pain pill, but overall it's not too bad. It's that achey, full feeling that you can get from using your stomache muscles for situps or vomitting. I accidentally scratched at my belly button this afternoon, forgetting the stitches - that didn't feel so good. But overall, other than a sleepiness that could be just as much from my burgeoning depression as from the surgery, there's not much aftereffect to worry about.

So I have no more excuses. Things I've been putting off 'til after the surgery, now they need to get done. Short list being, in no particular order:

• Start back on the South Beach Diet. It's really the only diet that hasn't driven me nuts. I gave myself a "break" at the holidays, and never got back on the bandwagon. No more excuses. I need to go to the grocery store tomorrow, plan my week's menus, get into a healthier frame of mind.
• Register for my NKBA certification. This includes collecting affadavits from clients.
• Start studying for my certification test in September. Gotta pass both the AKBD and the CKD, no small feat. It's too big of a financial investment to not pass them.
• Find a therapist. For reals. No more dragging my feet, making excuses. (Note to self: never again judge someone who's said they'll do this and then taken a few weeks to get around to it. It's a scary process. I should have known that already, but somehow I forgot.)
• Finish that wedding scrapbook for G at work. This is not a top priority, but now that summer TV means reruns, and since most of my books are in boxes in the garage, I have the time to do this.
• Clean up our spare room. Hire strippers/painters to do the walls, and that guy to come back to do the floors. Make it a guest room for now, because the thought of having a nursery before having a baby just hurts my heart. A guest room will actually get some use.
• While I'm at it, get painters to do the bathroom and hallway, possibly the living room too.
• After I get someone to patch the holes left behind by the electricians. A year ago.
• Finally throw that party I've been meaning to throw since last year, 'bout this time.

I feel my eyelids getting heavier. That vicodin must be kicking in. I hope I haven't rambled too much here. I don't mind bearing my soul, but I can't bear the thought of being incoherant. Did I spell that right?

OT: sleep study = anxiety

I had a sleep study on Friday night. I was nervous about it all week, and if there wasn't a $250 cancellation fee I probably would have stood them up. I've done this before, and it is no picnic for me. Stirs up all kinds of anxiety and phobias, and I had a pit of dread in my chest until it was over.

I got there around 9pm, and waited while they prepped the others there for the study. I don't usually go to bed 'til 11 or 12, so they saved me for last.

They hooked me up to a total of 22 wires, coming out of my hair and all over my face and down my legs. They told me they'd be video taping me. They said they'd watch me to see if I needed to try the mask. Then they turned out the lights and expected me to fall asleep.

Right.

I was so anxious, I could hardly breathe right. I kept repeating to myself "You're strong, you're in control, you're okay. They can't do anything to you that you don't let them. You're okay." I kept thinking of the people who love me and knew I had to do this, and all the people who emailed or posted on my message board to say they'd be thinking of me. "You're not alone, someone's thinking of you right now, you're okay."

The bed was too short, so the sheets wrapped around my feet and restrained them, which ALWAYS gives me what my grandfather used to call "wormy legs" - Restless Leg Syndrome. I didn't sleep, just lay there twitching my legs and trying to remember to breathe. After an hour, they told me I needed the CPAP, or oxygen mask. Well duh, I wasn't breathing right and my legs were twitchy. Classic signs of needing the mask, even if I never did fall asleep.

They have these new masks designed for people who hate the big one that covers half your face, which is the one I had to use last time. This one is just a tube that goes under your nose, with straps around your head to hold it in place. He had me hold the tube while he secured the straps. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe, I started shaking, my heart felt like it was going to explode it was beating so fast. When he asked me if it felt comfortable, I tore it off my face and said "No! No no no, I can't do this, I'm not doing this, NO!"

The technician was really very kind. He tried to find out what about it was bothering me, if they could try something else. I showed him my hand, which was shaking uncontrollably, and said "No. I'm not trying anything else." He was gentle with me and told me that was okay, he wasn't going to make me do anything I didn't want to do, or was uncomfortable with. But he did try to urge me to try it again, and backed off when I just about burst into tears.

He hooked up my wires again and left. After that I was able to fall asleep for two hours. He came back in to my room because I had torn off a couple of the wires in my sleep. I asked how long the study needed to last, he said he needed six hours of recordings total and he'd check. We both knew the study was pretty much a bust, since I didn't hardly sleep at all and I woudn't tolerate the mask. When he came back to tell me how much longer I had, it was twelve minutes. So I stayed there for twelve more minutes, he came and unhooked me, I filled out a post-study questionnaire, and I came home to take a shower (I had goo all over my face and head from the wires) and fall back into bed. Next to my husband, with my kitty, where I belong.

Thank God that's over. I'm never doing that again. Before I left, I told DH "I'd rather go to Mother's Day dinner at my mom's house than go here tonight." He just looked at me and kind of laughed, "Wow, you REALLY don't want to go to this thing!" Again I say, Duh!

I don't know if it would be different if I were at home and in complete control of the situation. If I wasn't already strapped down with wires and bands and monitors. I mean, I couldn't even turn over, there were so many leads coming off me. Maybe it would help if DH had to use one (I'm sure he will, he has more of the classic signs of Apnea than I do). We could do it together, bond over it, give each other moral support, get used to it in the comfort of our own bed. But there, in a strange place, with strangers watching me, already strapped down to the bed with the wires and leads and all, there was just no way.

It has taken me all weekend to recuperate. DH was a saint to me yesterday. He let me sleep in as long as I wanted, and when I got up he asked me what I wanted to do. "Nothing." He said Okay, that can be arranged. We ended up going to Wendy's for burgers (one of my favorite weekend fast food choices), and to the mall for what started as a quick errand at Target and ended up being a two-hour shopping spree. When we got home an I asked him what he wanted to do for the rest of the evening, he said "We could go to Disneyland and get corn dogs for dinner." Again, a favorite weekend dining choice of mine. The corn dogs on Main Street are the Best Corn Dogs EVER. He also humored me by suggesting I get that small backpack I've wanted for Disneyland trips, and then by shopping at Disneyland for ways to decorate it and make it a Disney Bag. He took very good care of me, and I love that man more than I ever thought possible.

Today was another lazy day. I'm just starting to feel like myself again, instead of like a neurotic mess. Yesterday and today, I let myself have whatever anxieties and neurosis that came my way, since I had to fight against them so hard Friday night. And I'm finally feeling like I'm ready for a new week.