Ash (Ashley J. Williams) Wednesday

As I explained in a previous blog (did I ever mention how I find the word "blog" bizarre? Oh, well, that's another tangent), Jacob and I bonded over the Evil Dead series. Today, being Ash Wednesday (which I typically miss, because I'm too embarrassed to ask when the services are, as I should already know. I also usually forget until it's too late.), I've decided to pay homage to my favorite horror/action hero: Ashley J. Williams. Or, as we all know him, "Ash."

"Gimme some sugar, baby."

As many of my friends know, I have an unhealthy love of Bruce Campbell (the actor). He's the only reason I ever sit through a real show with a real plot like Burn Notice, and I don't even do that very often. But I've been know to make t-shirts, force others into watching the series, and, let's not forget that all-important poster. Underneath the copious gore and campy humor, to me, Ash symbolizes true love. And twenty cans of kick-ass.

I can't even describe the thrill of watching Army of Darkness with all of my like-minded friends. It's an overwhelming sense of nostalgia and compatibility. Oh, dear Kansas friends, I miss you. I wish we could all celebrate Ash Wednesday together again someday.

Moving on. Jacob and I are considering doing something a little unusual: open a home daycare. I've been trying to find a job for the last few months. And no, not just a job, but something that feels more like a real career, something that suits me, something that pays reasonably. It would be extremely difficult if the economy were in good shape; right now, it's pretty much impossible. So, we continue to re-evaluate my skills. Um....artsy. Ok, that won't work. Creative? Keep looking. Patient; ok, getting warmer. Good with kids? Ok, on a roll. Owns a home? BINGO. Home daycare. We keep coming back to this. Our house is pretty well suited for kids on the main level (we have an open floor plan, with a little sun room that can be closed off during nap time). Jacob also discovered today that I'm already qualified to open a daycare, I just need to jump through all of the hoops. There are a lot of hoops. But I think we can do it.
I just need to hide all the liquor.
And the breakable objects.
And clean and rearrange.

This is probably the best idea we've had in a while. And no, I don't think we're crazy. Maybe it'll help sprinkle us with proverbial "baby dust" (by the way, I think I've mentioned this, but I hate those terms. I hate diminishing the truth with stupid euphemisms.) Anyway, that's all---Jacob's home and it's time for bed. I get to watch the girls for the first time in two weeks tomorrow (only from noon to five, but that's a start), and I need to sleep.

We're okay!

Did you guys know there was a Broadway channel? Neither did I. I'm enjoying watching previews (which is all I can get On Demand for free), because it's giving me a fun little taste of what real professional productions look like. Also, I now know what it sounds like when Daniel Radcliff sings: it's okay, I mean, he mostly sings on pitch, but he should probably stick to straight plays. Holy crap, this is fun; ooo, now it's preview for Rent! Aghhhhhhhh, I wish I could see all of this in person. (Woah, that was definitely stream of consciousness...)
 I was never so self-deluded as to think I could make it on Broadway, or on any professional stage. I mean seriously, that's just astronomically difficult. I don't have the face, voice, or body, not to mention the talent or even the desire to go through all of that. But what I did want when I was younger was the opportunity to be a real theater critic. See and review plays? As a job? How cool would that be?!
Yeah, that didn't pan out. Figures.

So, I went to the doctor today for my two week post-surgery check up. My incisions looked pretty good, and I had nothing unusual to report, so that's great. My surgeon went over the laparoscopic photos with me, explaining where he found instances of the endometriosis. I found out that my sigmoid colon was pretty severely adhered to my uterine wall. Which explains SO MUCH. He couldn't remove all of it without putting my colon at risk. He also showed me my liver, which is also covered with spots (or "tea stains" as he called it) of endometriosis. The inability to remove that as well leads me on to his recommendation: six months of Lupron-Depot, along with another drug to ease its side effects (hot flashes, depression, etc.) I already knew about the Lupron, which I was extremely apprehensive about, but it's nice to know that they're going to try to control the side effects.
I inquired about my chances for fertility. He stated that although I have Stage Four endometriosis (the highest stage), once again, it's only because the endometriosis had spread to my colon, liver, and diaphragm, along with the size of that endometrioma (or "cyst" as the rest of us call it). He said that there was no instances of endometriosis behind my uterus, which is extremely unusual and a very good sign. My fallopian tubes are remarkably clear, which is amazing. Plus, despite the surgery, both of my ovary seemed to be healthy now, and should function normally.  In short, this surgeon has seen cases where the endometriosis is much more severe, and those people have gone on to have children.

Um, HALLELUJAH!!!!!!

That makes everything seem so worth it. Being horribly impatient, I hate having to wait the six months of being on Lupron before I can attempt to become pregnant. But I most certainly will wait, because I know that's best for everyone. Ah, I just feel so relieved.

Today is a good day.


Oh, I just thought of something. I heard a lot of feedback from people about my list of Do's and Don't's when facing friends and family suffering from infertility. It was all pretty good, but it made me realize that I forgot an important one:

• Don't put on a pout and hug me whenever you see me, exclaiming, "Oh, I'm so, so sorry!" and then squeeze the damn life out of me. Every time you see me. First of all, once is enough, and I don't need the waterworks for you to prove your concern. Secondly, I'm not in a constant state of sorrow, and I don't like to be. I hate undue pity. I don't have effing terminal cancer, I'll make it through. Stop looking at my like I'm bleeding out through my jugular.

Oh, that one just drives me crazy. I will be fine, and now I know that everything is not as bad as it looks. Please, everyone, let's shower concern those who actually need it; I'm okay.

Whew, it's good to get that one off my chest. Hey, it's Fat Tuesday, guys! I'm not really into hedonistic celebration, but I have always wanted to go down to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Mostly because I'm in love with New Orleans and I need an excuse to go there. Hey, wanna go to New Orleans with me? How about Ireland? France? I think my brother is going to Spain next semester, so who wants to go to Spain? With this infertility hiccup, it's given me a little bit of a travel bug. I should probably act on that (and it'll give me another delightful distraction!)

I just realized I forgot my trivia pledge. How about I pose a question for you? Comment if you can answer it:
Ok, here's a Broadway themed one, inspired from the show I just watched:
Which 1999 revival featured a season Broadway actor as a lead, who is better known from the television series The Dukes of Hazzard?
I'll give you the answer later. It's not terribly hard, though, if you're familiar with this topic.

Cheese-Eating Surrender Monkeys

 That title has absolutely nothing to do with this blog. That's just Groundskeeper Willy's term for the French.

I really hated writing that last blog. I hate openly exploring my feelings. I considered deleting it, because it just seemed...I don't know, attention-seeking perhaps? It wasn't my intent, but despite my belief that our own battles are as traumatic to us as the seemingly more monumental ones of others, I still feeling like I'm whining. I prefer to keep a lot of those things to myself, but considering I've been doing that for years, I don't think it is always in my best interest until I finally let it out. Ugh. It's still not my favorite thing to do.

I decided that I wanted to write about something I love, something that makes me happy.

Jacob.

Ah, Jacob. Nothing makes me happier.

No it's not Pee-Wee; it's Jacob.

Many of you know all about the story of Jacob and me. However, some of you don't, and it gives me a tremendous amount of joy to recount our life together. It's pretty long, so I'll just start with how we met.

Now, I should mention that I'm not exactly proud of this story. Not all parts of it. It doesn't paint the best picture of me as friend, which almost totally out of my character, but I feel validated knowing that it worked out. And other parts of it are beautiful.

We actually first met around November of 2004, but only briefly. I lived the floor above him during my freshman year at Luther College. I'd been friends with a guy named Tyler and his roommates on that floor, and as we were walking through the hall one day (which smelled like the Frito-Lay factory covered with cigarette butts, yet was oddly comforting), I remember the door to Jacob's room opened and he stepped out. Now, the guy I was with was extremely tall, somewhere around 6'4 or so, so it didn't occur to me that the young man stepping out of his room was tall. It was winter, so underneath the layers of clothing (even though he wasn't planning on going outside; it's cold in those dorms), I didn't notice his extremely thin frame. I did notice two things. First of all, he was wearing socks. Bless his heart, he was wearing socks. It's well known amongst my family and close friends that I hate seeing bare feet, especially when I first meet people. Feet deeply disturb me on a level so deep that it's difficult to even articulate it. So, given that I wasn't preoccupied by his feet, I was able to notice something else: his beautiful blue eyes, framed by dark brown hair. And there was another thing: his name was Jacob. I have a brother named Jacob, so I'm comfortable with that name. But, that wasn't really important, because the truth is, I had a track record of being attracted to men with dark hair. And blue eyes. Whose names started with a "J." Man, did this kid fit the profile. Tyler, being an extremely nice person, politely introduced us, as he did with most people we would run across. But I couldn't forget Jacob. Something deep inside of me recognized a distant  possibility for a relationship; I mean, he fit the profile.. (Although it turns out Jacob forgot me pretty fast; he had been talking to some hottie from his hometown and wasn't over that yet.)

Time went on; I suffered a major FAIL in the dating world, and I wasn't really prepared to pursue it much at that point. My friend, Alison, on the other hand, hand found a likely candidate for a match while at the bar one night. You guessed it: it was Jacob.
However, there was a problem: they were so alike that they both shared the same awkwardness when it came to talking to prospective dates. Alison needed a mediator. I like helping (and talking), so I volunteered. At first, I figured all they needed was a little push to get the spark going, so I started to talk to Jacob.
At first, he seemed really boring. I mean, really boring. He and I shared almost no similar interests---all he knew about was small town Iowa, his buddies, baseball. Pretentious Katie couldn't believe he'd never gotten interested in the arts or read any classic literature, etc. Man, I was obnoxious. I thought this was going nowhere fast, as Alison's interest was fading too. However, I happened to turn and notice his little mini fridge. On the fridge was a poster. The exact same poster I had in my room. A poster that I absolutely adored. This:

Yes, Ash, you are awesome.

This is a photo of Jacob and I, shortly before we started dating.

Woah. This opened a whole new can of worms. Upon discussing movies and pop culture, I suddenly realized that this Jacob kid was a lot more interesting than I had first thought.
From then on, Jacob and I started spending more time together. At first, it was innocent: I'd invite both Jacob and Alison over, trying to get the two together. We'd do funny things, like sculpt goofy sculptures out of polymer clay or watch Free Willy and make fun of the crappy dialogue. Typical college things. But as time went on, all while Alison's interest was waning, my interest was mounting. Yet, I refused to act on any inclinations, because I really cared about my friend and I refused to go down in history as a home-wrecker. But we couldn't stop what we started. We couldn't seem to stay away from each other, whether it be watching on B movie or another, or just googling our friends' names for hours at a time. All of this, mind you, was as friends. I was still healing from past mistakes, and I didn't want to get involved with a guy that was "destined" for one of my closest friends.  But both of us secretly knew it was moving in a different direction. In fact, one night, Jacob even invited me to join him and Tyler to see the movie Sin City. This goes to show just how awkward Jacob could be with women. There's a lot of horrifying violence in this movie. Not to mention, penis violence.  But we had a good time nonetheless.
Then, one evening, while watching a light night airing of Charles Bronson in Death Wish 3, I realized that over the course of thirty minutes, I had gone from sitting on the edge of a chair to sitting next to Jacob. In a one-person recliner. I finally looked at him, and I knew I wasn't going to leave that room without kissing that boy. And I didn't. He kissed me.
We fell asleep in the recliner in each other's arms in that recliner that night.
And we've never been  apart since.

This was shortly after we met. I was still blonde and Jacob was still painfully skinny.

 Yes, there was backlash. Alison was mad for a while, but not forever, because she'd actually been losing interest in a man that couldn't get the courage to talk to her without the aid of alcohol. We're still friends. I felt terrible about hurting her, but I knew that Jacob was the kind of something wonderful that doesn't come along every day. Only five days later, he came to the astonishing conclusion that he was absolutely in love with me. I felt the same way. He also had come to another conclusion: I was, without a doubt, the girl he was going to marry.

Jacob's first gift to me? Wallet sized prints of this photo.

Wow. That was fast.
Too bad it took him another five years to actually go through with that plan. But better late than never, I suppose. I think that was healthy. It gave us time to grow up, learn about each other.

May 1st, 2010. Happiest day of my life.

We are HUGE nerds. Huge.

We've gone through a few rough patches---I had a hard time with college and friends and suffered from more than one bout of serious depression. Jacob got a taste of living the single life during his summer internship at Hormel and reconsidered being in a relationship (it worked out, though). We got our deposit stolen by a crazy landlord whose apartment we never lived in and had to take them to court. We've suffered and supported each other through the loss of family members and beloved childhood pets, bad career situations and health problems. And we couldn't be more grateful for all of the love and support we've received from our friends and family, who have been accepting of our relationship from the beginning. They've encouraged us with all of our endeavors.

Zach was Jacob's roommate. By the transitive property, he was mine as well.

We enjoyed great times during college with some amazing people, and we've gotten to do some amazing things.

This is the only picture of us Jacob keeps at work. He loves it.

This is where I spent almost all of college.

Trout Fry PLANET.

Jacob's never been known to be appropriate.

Jacob's first Cubs game (even though it was spring training.)

Jacob's 21st birthday at T-Bock's.

We love Halloween.

Ah, the great Tater-Mitts Adventure.

Good times spent with family. And drag queens.

Graduation from Luther College!

I was inspired to paint this after a trip to the bar.

Here we are in Puerto Rico, on our honeymoon.

American Gothic museum.

Mustache-maker.

Did I mention that we love Halloween?

Ah, the Florida Keys. I hope we go back sometime.

HOT AIR BALLOONS!!!!

This will be the picture in my obituary someday.

Stop ruining pictures, Jacob.

Television zombies.

We have a beautiful home, which we occasionally find times to clean. And we have a dog whom we love (and treat) like a child. We have an incredibly blessed life.

 And now here we are, facing something completely new. We'll continue to be a united front as we face infertility together, knowing that together, we can channel our overwhelming love for each other into loving and raising a child, no matter how that child arrives in our family. I have a very well-founded belief that Jacob will be nothing less than an incredible father, and part of my irritation with this entire situation is that I have to wait so long to see it in action.

For those of you who don't regularly interact with us, Jacob and I have an unusual way of relating to each other. We utterly adore one another, yet enjoy teasing each other mercilessly. The way I see it, my family has spent my entire existence finding ways to make fun of me, and, as Jacob puts it, his mother has been trying to embarrass him from the moment he was born. So we tend to frequently jab at each other; it's just a learned behavior from our childhood.
 But, I should also mention that Jacob is one of the most spot-on hilarious people I have ever met, so the teasing is usually pretty enjoyable for everyone. I've known funny people. Jacob rises above all of them. He's obscenely smart and witty (and it's a good thing only I know how far his mind has fallen into the gutter), but hides it under quiet demeanor. So, when he's on a role, I've been known to hurt myself laughing. Yet, he's also an easy target for me, because as smart as he is, sometimes he just doesn't think.
I could think of a hundred Jacob stories, but last evening provided me with a great one:
I went to see the play at the college yesterday afternoon. I realized that my friend Bill, with whom I had been in many past productions, was in town, partly to see the show, but mostly because his cat was getting spayed. So, after the show, I was talking to him and a few other friends, and upon realizing that none of us were doing anything, I extended my typical invitation of offering soup and movie. However, I still had to clear this up with Jacob, so I gave him a call. My message went something like this: "Hey Jacob, Bill's back in town because his cat is getting fixed, so he's really got nothing else to do tonight. I thought maybe him and David and Trapper could come over for some butternut squash soup and watch Wet Hot American Summer. I hope that's okay with you. I'm going to pick up some stuff from Target, so let me know if you're not alright with my plans." I finally arrived home to find the rug in the living room vacuumed, and things cleaned up. Upstairs, Jacob was freshly showered and the entire upstairs had been swept and vacuumed, and even the bathroom was clean. I asked why Jacob had made such an initiative. Apparently, he thought my friend Bill was coming for a sleepover. A sleepover. What kind of married woman invites other men over for sleepovers? AND, what kind of husband not only allows it, but cleans the house for such an event? It was just too funny; I couldn't stop laughing. Once my friends arrived, we all had a good laugh. We asked Jacob again, how on earth could you have gotten "sleepover" from that message? His response? "Well, Bill's cat was broke down and needed to get fixed, so I thought he was down on his luck and needed a place to stay." All of this with a smirk on his face.

I love him.

If music, be the food of love, play on...

I distinctly remember learning how that's one of the most misinterpreted lines in Shakespeare. Most often, people assume it means that Duke Orsino of Illyria is referring to his love of music. It's quoted on posters and t-shirts and barbeque aprons, etc. They think, "Oh, a Shakespearean quote about music; that'll make me seem cultured." However, few realize that Orsino continues with, "Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die." Perhaps some of you aren't as familiar with Shakespeare's turn of phrase (and frankly, I don't blame you, but I'll admit that Twelfth Night is my favorite), but what he means is this: if music is the fuel for love, play it so much that I'll become utterly disgust with the even the faintest idea of falling in love. See, it's not exactly a flattering  quotation.
I've been thinking about it a lot lately. No, I don't recite Shakespeare in my free time; I'm not a pretentious ball of crazy..most of the time. I've just always resonated with that idea---overkill for the sake of self-preservation. It's a tactic with which I'm very familiar. I don't do well with sudden change or surprise or fluctuation of plans. You know, all the stuff most mature people handle with extraordinary ease. So, if there's even the slightest possibility of the worst case scenario, I feel the need to emotionally plan for this by running it over and over and over and over, treating it as truth. I practical suffer through an emotional breakdown in case I run into an occasion where I might have an emotional breakdown. It's not healthy. It's not mature. It's nowhere near normal. However, it's what I do. Judge how you will.

Unfortunately, this is how I'm currently dealing with all the festering mess that is my reproductive system. Yes, that seems a very harsh phrase when referring to one's own body, but that exactly how it feels. I saw the photos from my surgery;  nightmarish fleshy corridors, revealing all sorts of wicked-looking adhesions and scarring, and not to mention a  unwelcome, bulbous white mass in the middle of it.

Needless to say, I haven't been the most warm and open person in the last few months. I closed off from a lot of people, even those close to me.  I've sullen and listless and all of the things I don't like to be. But I think I'm on the rebound, even though I think this one may be difficult to shake. Optimism is something I'm working on. Nobody likes to read about emotionally compromised young women, right?

Except that weird Twilight phenomenon. In my opinion, Bella Swan should have read some Adrienne Rich feminist poetry and maybe she would've gotten bitten in the ass by some self-confidence. I guess I just prefer my heroines a little more self-sufficient.
Once again, I digress.
 Surgery most certainly eased my mind. Recovery is going more slowly than I expected, though. I thought I would be up and running (literally) by last Thursday. You know, as week later. Apparently, that was a little much to ask. I'm still sore and it's Saturday night, over a week and a half later. I'm getting terribly impatient. I'm starting to suspect that my muscles are starting to atrophy from sleeping and resting all the time.The worst thing about recovery is that I've been waiting for so long, years, in fact, to feel good/better/normal again. I've been craving a future where I'm not terrified to eat meat, to drink red wine, to suffer through another episode of relentless pain, another missed opportunity to start a family. I just want to know if the surgery has made that possible, if I'm going to be able to feel like my old self again or if I'll have to carve out a new sense of normal.
Lately, all my prayers have seemed void of thanksgiving. I feel like I'm incessantly nagging God, for relief, for a miracle, and he's probably tired of hearing it, considering that my life isn't all that bad. I could have AIDS, I could have bone cancer, I could be homeless and starving. I'm not; I've got a comfortable American life, with miniscule needs. Frankly, I would like to think God would pay more attention those issues than mine. They're a little more pressing when it comes to the state of humanity.
But it doesn't stop me from hoping that there is a miracle in store for me. Hope is all I have, I guess. And, when faced with the loss of hope, a person can have a pretty severe psycho-physiological reaction. You know, like the "ickies."
I hope. I hope. I hope.  To stay sane, to stay optimistic, to stave off the "ickies," I hope. 
And I'll keep hoping.


Sorry. I'm just in one of those moods. I'll cheer up and post some fun stuff soon.

The Blog of Great Accomplishment (A.K.A the delightful distraction blog)

The Kiss

Yesterday was a lousy day. I had figured that a week out of surgery, I was going to be out running six miles a day, cooking six course (vegetarian) meals, and learning how to tap dance. Not so, as it were. I woke up yesterday, feeling absolutely miserable. I was extremely cranky about this all day, and I didn't do any of the things on my list (Jacob's got me on the master list system---it's really hard for me!)
I did, however, come to the conclusion that I shouldn't be blogging when I'm feeling down. I whine enough as it is. So I made up my mind that I would start an accomplishment entry, one that compiles all of my accomplishments (or what I see as accomplishments, which some of you may think silly).
You see, when all you want is a baby, and you can't seem to make or buy one, it gets extremely difficult not to fixate on that issue. Which, inevitably, will lead to severe depression and sense of worthlessness. I'm very prone to depression; this is another one of my uncomfortable secrets, which is similar to infertility in that a lot of people deal with it, but everyone hates to talk about it. I know I hate talking about it.  I particularly hate it when it gets bad enough that I need to do something about it.
However, over the course of my life, I've discovered some great remedies: art and theater. I could pour my entire life into both of these categories, and be completely happy. Unfortunately, society doesn't pay artists to be artists, so I have to trudge through the world, scraping together whatever skills I can, trying to find something that will pay me money, but won't rip my soul from my being. So the art and theater get pushed to the level of "hobbies." But to me, they're so much more. So much so, in fact, that I'm almost in a frenzy when I do them: I've done eight full shows in the past two years (seven musicals and one straight show), along with numerous little projects and skits here and there. I also started making polymer clay pendants last Christmas, starting with easy little flower and bird designs. Now, I'm recreating Klimt paintings with polymer clay. It's just insane the amount of effort I put into this stuff. Yet, the same can be said for the amount of satisfaction I get out of it.
Alright, so here's the fun part. To keep myself from getting too cranky yesterday, I spent some time compiling pictures of all the cool things that I did over the past few years (I think the play pictures might be fun for some of you, although I couldn't find actual production pictures of all of them.)

Godspell 

 This was my first show that I did in Austin. Aside from doing The Vagina Monologues in college as a fundraiser for women's shelters, I hadn't done any sort of theater since high school (and those who knew me in high school knew how much I enjoyed it then). I happened to be in church one day and they mention that auditions were approaching for the church musical. So it began. What a fantastic, fun production that was. Plus, I actually started to make friends! (I hadn't really done that in Austin yet, despite having lived there for nearly two years).

Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

After Godspell,  Jesus came to me and told me I should get involved in community theater. Or, at least the actor who played Jesus. So, I went to auditions for the two musicals that summer. This is the first one I was in. I actually couldn't go to rehearsals until two weeks after they started, because Jacob and I were on our honeymoon. I was ensemble, and I had a lot of fun, making all sorts of new friends and such. Also, many silly pictures were taken.

The Hormel Girls

I actually didn't know I was in this play for a long time. Jerry Girton, the director, had accidentally cast one of my Godspell cast mates in a role, not realizing that she had conflicts, and mistaking her for me. So I got into the show. It was a really different experience for me. I had never been in a show where I had been expected to dance. I'd never had dance before and had always wanted to, so it was thrilling! I played the part of Viola, the geeky, funny girl, in love with a geeky guy. I didn't sing as much as the other girls, but it didn't bother me; I was just so excited to have a part in the show! Unfortunately, I started to have a lot of health problems around then. A few weeks before the show, I'd started taking a weird medication and got really, really fat by the time we opened. So, that was a bummer, but the show still went extremely well. The show was a big deal in Austin, because it had a lot to do with local history, so there was a big to-do, and I got to meet a lot of important and interesting people. Jacob was proud of me, but since I had to kiss another guy in the show, he referred to it as a "whorehouse production."
 It was really, really fun.

Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

This was a hilarious show. I mean, the script cracked me up. I had to keep myself from laughing every night, it was so funny. Plus, this show has the rare distinction of being a show Jacob actually enjoyed watching. Once again, I was just ensemble, with an itty bitty part as an usherette (and I wore sparkly shorts). It gave me a lot of excuses to learn more dancing and goof around with Samantha backstage. We had too much fun as Alpine maids.

Mame

Mame was a show that I really had hoped to get a bigger role in. I felt that my audition was great, but you know, directors have to choose their leads for a multitude of reasons, and I didn't make the cut. I was cast as Sally Cato, a conniving Southern Woman, and once production started, I decided it was very silly for me to be upset with casting. Very silly. I swore I would never get upset at cast lists again, because just being in a show is enough for me, to be honest. I just love shows.
 I think Mame is the type of show that's confusing and a little boring to watch, but MAN, was it fun to be in. I learned all sorts of choreography (from the coolest choreographer ever, Leslie Weber), and I actually felt confident dancing. I hung out with almost all of my favorite theater people every day, and all sorts of silliness occurred. I just loved it. Also, I had volunteered to do some detail painting on the set, a trend that would land me a little work during later shows!

Annie Get Your Gun

Auditions for Summerset 2011 where actually during the run of Mame. I was feeling hopeful, but not entitled, and was just plain excited to do more theater. Annie Get Your Gun was a show I'd always had a soft spot for, just one of those shows that had charmed me in my youth, so I was excited to audition. During the strike for Mame, the director pulled me aside and asked me if I would be willing to do some painting for the Summerset season, casually mentioning that I would be playing the lead in AGYG. Which floored me. Even in high school, I'd never been a lead. Starting that day, I decided I was going to be extremely efficient and work extremely hard to make it the best performance I possibly could. I started running a 5k every morning, dropped a little weight, learned all of my lines before anyone else, and learned all of my songs before I expected to learn them. That sounds nuts, but my job at the preschool had just ended, and I had a lot of free time. I want to say that I had a fantastic time, but being in a moment of frenzied motivation (sometimes that happens with ADD), I was nervous as hell. Also, little did I know, but endometriosis had gotten out of control and I had a giant cyst, which actually sent me to the emergency room one night from severe pain---all I could do was worry about who was going to take over for me if I died. I also had three dislocated ribs, but didn't figure that out until much later that summer. So, aside from being a hot mess, I think  the show went very, very well. I got a lot of lovely compliments on my performance, along with frequent recognition from the old ladies at church.

Forbidden Broadway

I couldn't find a good picture of this one---this was of Lia.  At the college where I like to do shows, there's an alumni show every year. As you know, I went to Luther College, not Riverland Community College. However, I should mention that Luther screwed me out of a credit, so I did in fact take one course at Riverland. I guess that qualified me to be in the alumni show. I had a fantastic time, because for the first time, I was with mostly older community members, people who were at similar life stages, and it was really educational for me to see how they balanced a love of theater and their own private lives. And the parties were more fun :) But this show was really great---Forbidden Broadway has a number of permutations. Basically, pick a Broadway song. Then, rewrite the lyrics to make fun of the musical or actor who is known for singing it. Then, you have Forbidden Broadway. Perfect for Katie the theater nerd.

Be Aggressive

In high school, I was actually known for doing straight shows. In fact, I only did two musicals in high school. So it seemed odd that I hadn't been in any straight show over at the college. Now, mind you, I had promised Jacob that after the alumni show, I was going to take a nice long break. He tends to miss me if I'm at rehearsal all the time. Well, I was contacted by the [new] director at the college because she was having difficulty filling  a role in her show. After asking three times, I finally agreed. For the most part, I had a good time. It was a fun little role, that of a California housewife transplanted from the south, dealing with a demon-spawn cheerleader for a daughter. I even got to do a crazy cheer. Fun, right? My only issue was that I have a mommy complex and I volunteered to monitor the other cheerleaders, most of whom had very little theater experience. I actually had to stop a girl from going to do her homework in the computer lab during the show. But overall, it was a good production and a good time.

Well, that's all the photos I have. I've done some work with the students' director projects, and I've performed with Stage Left, the GLBT Issues awareness group (I think being from Topeka has encouraged me to "Fight the Fred" wherever I go), and tomorrow night, I'll be participating in a Murder Mystery Dinner. Right now, I've enjoyed a little lull in the theater activities. That alright, because coming this April, I'll be in a production of Rent! I'm excited; I think I've dreamed about being in Rent since I was fourteen years old. And, I'll be my favorite: Maureen. Wow. I feel so privileged.

 A dear friend of mine asked me once why I do shows. She questioned whether I was just bored or if I was addicted to the attention. That may sound rude, but it was a valid question. It forced me to spill the beans about our infertility issues, because truthfully, I don't care for the attention I receive (I run out quickly after every performance, because getting compliments is awkward for me), and when extremely bored, I usually watch tv or go running. The community theater has given me such a fantastic way to escape the absolutely world-consuming struggle of having babies. If I couldn't leave my own brain every now and then, I would probably be committed. And, for a girl with ADD, it's perfect. Work, work, work, one project, one run of a show, and then, on to something new and exciting. Perfect. That's why I do so many shows.

My art, well, that gets complicated to talk about. Perhaps I should save that for another blog, far in the future. There's a lot of pain you can express through the visual arts, whereas with performing arts, the real therapy comes in the escapism. But because you need to give of yourself so much with the creative process, I might have a hard time expressing that to all of you. I can't divulge the entire contents of my soul all at once.

 I will say that my recent habit of making polymer clay pendants has bordered on lifesaving for me. It's helped to stimulate my brain in a very healthy way. And I couldn't really ask for anything more: health.
Why the hell not? Here's some pictures of those. These are by the artist Gustav Klimt, by the way.

The Girlfriends

Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I

Valen-times

Before I start this, I want to include a disclaimer: in general, I hate infertility blogs. I feel as though the women who write almost develop their identity as being an infertile woman. Not only do I find that depressing, but I also find that unfair to the readers. True, as of right now, I am an infertile woman. But I choose to see myself as so much more. And while I need to write about my feelings for therapeutic reasons, I hope to reveal more of myself than just a baby-obsessed crazy with too much free time...which is only true about myself occasionally. Plus, all of that stuff is such a drag. Maybe I'll throw a joke in at the end.

Valentines is a silly holiday (traditionally celebrated by Jacob and I buying each other the cheesiest, stupidest gifts that Walmart provides), but it's certainly not important enough for one to typically take the day off. So, I find it strange that I'm planted in front of my TV, watching the OWN network, under a pile of heated blankets. Maybe that has something to do with the surgery I had last week...
I know, I know, most of you are saying, "Why is that weird? Isn't Katie unemployed?" Yes, this is true. For all intensive purposes, I declare myself as unemployed. But that doesn't mean I'm not busy. Far from it. (Ok, if you want to hear me talk about jobs and kids, keep reading. But if you already know about all of that, you can skip to the end. This is still the expository part of the blog, so I'm going to spill my guts for the first few days. Hopefully, I'll level off after that.)
 My current "job" is as a nanny for four little kids, ages five (Morgan), two and half (Madeline), two (Abe), and nine months (Marlie Jo). I started this position last May, shortly after I was done working at the preschool for the year. At the time I met them, the girls were four and two, and the baby wasn't yet a month old. I proceeded to spend four days a week, working from 6:45 for 4:30 every day, doing all the things that a single mom would do, learning all about naps, lunches, and most importantly, babies and their many needs. I was there when Morgan turned 5 two weeks ago. I was also there when Marlie's teeth finally poked through her gums. Madeline is madly in love with my husband and talks about him to everyone she knows. Abe knows about ten words, three of them being "Katie," "Jacob," and "Linus." When I was in Annie Get Your Gun this past summer, the girls only referred to me as "Annie Oakley" for a solid two weeks. Now they address me by both my first and last name and tell me they love me every day. They refer to this holiday as "Valen-times" and helped me make cards for Jacob the other day. And for my part, I now own way more children's movies than one would expect. And they make me incredibly happy. And a little wistful.
It's odd; I've really got no marketable skills---I'm not going to act ungrateful or fish for compliments, because I'm aware that I'm talented in other ways, but my skills don't exactly suit traditional job descriptions. My ADD (which you should note is not just a blanket excuse I use for everything---it's extremely real and has an imprint on basically every decision I've made or project I've ever undertaken) really makes it difficult for me to function like other employees. I work twice as hard to seem as adequate as others, so while I excel for a time, I tend to get easily exhausted by jobs. My time management skill are obscene. I'm practically never exactly on time. But, I'm friendly! And I like talking to people! So, since living in Austin, I've worked as a teller at a credit union, from which I got fired---don't think I didn't see that coming! Then I worked as a paraprofessional in the elementary, then art room at a school which serviced the children of a residential behavioral treatment center. Honestly, it was my favorite job, but the stress of it caused my health to decline and I had to quit, and that made me sad. To keep from being unemployed, I immediately took a job as a paraprofessional at a Head Start preschool in a town 30 miles away. It went really well for the first year (although it was part-time), but by the second year, once again my health was getting in the way. The teacher (which I could say a lot about, but need to keep this blog light and happy), accused me of "partying too hard" and "making up my illness," and basically convinced me to quit before I got fired. It was hard to do; I had great relationships with the other paraprofessional and all of the children, and it nearly broke my heart. But when things get bad, you can't subject yourself to misery every day and expect to remain emotionally healthy. Or, that's how I feel.
Right after I quit the preschool, I found out about the cyst. I knew I would need surgery, and I didn't want to finally land the perfect job, then suddenly need time off to recover. Also, my grandfather was in hospice and then later passed away in January, so I just knew it wasn't a good time to beginning another chapter in my work history.  I just needed some time, you know?
But I had a point to this lengthy description of my work history: notice a pattern? Aside from the weird stint in the bank, pretty much everything I've done has been working with children. I came to realize pretty quickly that the few talents I do have--- patience (ok that one had to be cultivated), creativity, singing, art, acting--- are really beneficial in the world of childcare. Regular 9-5 jobs can't hold my attention, but spending an afternoon building a fort in my living room feeds my soul. Then again, who doesn't want a fort in their living room? Forts are amazing.
I'm saying this, because.I feel as though a lot of women my age, in my social and economical situation also want children. However, it's hard to decipher whether they actually want children, or they're just getting pressured from society. I don't think it's fair to expect children from every woman; we're not all made to be mothers. I know for a solid fact that many women have children and don't deserve that right whatsoever. Some girls are so obsessed with having that ideal family that once kids are in the picture, they're completely overwhelmed at the prospect of raising them, that they wake up one day and realize they don't know the little monsters they've created. I'm in no way bashing mothers who balance a full-time career and being a parent. I think moms that are able to balance motherhood and careers are miraculous. Miraculous. I do know that everyone's different, and for me, I would certainly be unable to balance to two things (but we all know my brain doesn't easily do two things at once!) But some of us women are meant to be career people. Some of us are meant to be marine biologists. Some of us, politicians. And yes, a few of us are meant to be mothers. We thrive on it and it keeps our minds and bodies active and healthy. In that same light, some men are meant to be full time dads (because gender stereotypes aren't fun for anyone!), and that's just the way it is. It doesn't make you a bad person to not excel at parenting; it makes you a bad person if you refuse to parent or neglect the children you created (or worse, adopted).
Adding up all of these factors, I'm slowly being convinced that parenthood thing might be the best career move for me. The pieces fit: looking back on my life, I was a perennial babysitter, summer nanny, and I worked at preschool as my college job. I've noticed that me, the habitual clutter-magnet,  am actually cleaner and more organized when I watch the kids---I even clean my floors while they're napping! I just have to get over this road bump and find my baby out there. He or she could be hanging out in my battered ovary, or maybe they're in Eastern Russia. I don't know yet. True, I'm apprehensive of where this journey for Junior is going to take me, but I've got a loving partner and a great support system. I know that once our kid shows up, we'll only be ten times more grateful. I'm just terribly impatient.
I get to go back to the doctor next week and move on with the plan to get me started up on Lupron-Depo-Gobbledy-Goo for about three to six months. Basically, it'll stop my periods and help me to heal. And, it'll probably make me fat. Shit. I hate being fat. I try hard not to be fat. I finally made progress on that front, and now it's ten steps backward. I'm willing to get fat for a baby, but it'll be really hard if this doesn't work. After all of that, I might be on any number of fertility drugs, and hopefully, that'll go smoothly. There's that key word: hope. I like it. Let's log that one away.

So I was thinking: everybody who has kids gets loads of advice and things to teach them. I know about most of that stuff---ABC's, counting, hand/eye coordination, manners---but I'd like to impart something different on my future children, the thing that is a constant for both Jacob and I: the art of being simultaneously nerdy and cool. So, every time I blog, I'm going to alert all of you to a tasty little trivia treat from my own mind. Then, some day, I shall pass these morsels on to my eager young progeny.

Trivia for Feb. 14th, 2012: Did you know that in Mary Shelley's  Frankenstein, the creature is never given a name, yet unlike the way he is portrayed in pop culture, he is extremely eloquent, a creature of supreme loneliness and is painfully angry with his situation. He's still pretty ugly, though. Also, in the original 1818 text, the subtitle was The Modern Prometheus, drawing the comparison between Dr. Frankenstein's desire to overcome death with the classical story of Prometheus stealing fire from the gods and giving it to mankind. Needless to say, it didn't turn out well for either of them.

I prefer horror over mushy lovey stuff. I bet a lot of you knew that (particularly if you went to Luther College or have a vested interest in literature), but I didn't really have the energy to think of anything else. I'll probably inundate you with Beatles trivia later, so enjoy the literary theme for the time being.

One last thing: a note of gratitude

I was not expecting such overwhelming support. I am just dumbstruck. Ok, not dumbstruck; I'm still talking. But honestly, I am over my head in gratitude for your support. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You are all wonderful.

Linus approves.

That said, I think I need an editor...

And a personal assistant.

And a white Russian. In my hand. (Although I probably need to wait until the Codeine wears off first).

I'm not good at maintaining momentum on projects, but I'll do my best to keep this blog updated. And I'll try to keep it light and interesting, because I know how these blogs can be: bummerville. I also hate cutesy sayings---I don't like all those euphemisms and stupid abbreviations. I'll just be honest with you all. But hopefully not too aggressive with the details. That could border on uncomfortable.


I think I needed to start this blog months ago, as evidenced by my writing three entries in one day...

Things you all should stop saying to young married couples

I know, I know, I just posted. But this is an addendum to what I just wrote about. You need to stop harassing young married people. Not everyone wants babies. Some of us want babies very badly, but can't have them. In our society, people assume that families always happen a certain way, but the truth is, they don't. You just can't tell what personal things are going on, so it's best not to assume.
Here's an awesome bulleted (again) list to help you stop irritating young married people and keep your relationships healthy. A lot of people suffer from infertility, so this might help in a lot of situations. Also, if you do some of these things, maybe you're beyond helping:

• Please stop asking us when baby will show up. Period. DON'T. Especially if you don't know us.
• Don't force the subject. Maybe we're not ready to talk yet.
• DO NOT demand that we start working on it. Particularly, don't use the argument that you want to babysit our child. Like I'm going to let you near my spawn, Crazypants.
• Whatever you do, don't come near my stomach and try to listen to my empty uterus. It's obscenely wrong. And crazy.
• Don't bombard us with religion. Some of us (like Jacob and I) feel our religion is extremely personal, and like to keep it private, because that's how we best utilize it. Being overly pious makes us uncomfortable, but that's coming from a Midwestern Lutheran and a small town Catholic, and it might work for others. It's just territory you may want to be cautious exploring.
• Stop telling me to "relax" and it will happen. Sometimes, when you don't know the whole story, that's really hurtful.
• Don't complain about your own kids in front of me. That hurts too. I would love to be in your situation.
• In the same breath, stop telling me how awesome kids are and that I should have them. Also, extremely hurtful.
• Don't try and soften the blow by telling me that kids will just ruin my body/sleep cycle/party schedule. I'm not an idiot; I know what I'm getting involved with.
• Telling me about  your sister/cousin/friend that went through the SAME THING doesn't really help, and it's really just wasting our time when we could be drinking wine and eating fatty fat fat foods.
• Don't remind me about all the homeless kids in the world. I know about that. Like I may have mentioned before: I'm not stupid. Every family makes decisions for their own reasons, and believe or not, adopting a child is a lot more complicated than adopting a puppy.
• Don't assume that I'm horribly jealous or hateful towards you if you get pregnant. I'm VERY happy for you, although on a personal level, which is unrelated to you, I'm still sad. That doesn't mean I'm not going to spoil your kid.
• Don't act weird around me. I'm still me. I still like to joke and go out and talk, I just have my own battles. Seriously guys, it's cool. But don't be surprised if I ask for a hug every now and again.

I think that's a pretty accurate list. Oh, and here's a list of things you SHOULD do, if you encounter friends, family, or acquaintances going through a similar struggle:

• If your friend wants to talk, listen. We like that.
• Be supportive, regardless of what the family chooses.
• Be ready to hug, but also be prepared to give people their space.
• Also, be prepared to give chocolate. And liquor.
• Prayers, good vibes, love never hurt anything.

Basically, just be tactful. I don't think a lot of people either know how to handle this issue, or they go overboard. It's not something society frequently talks about. Just think about poor Beyonce! The press was terrible to her, constantly speculating whether or not she was pregnant, scanning every photo for a baby bump, and all the while, she was suffering through miscarriages and infertility. That has to be absolutely agonizing. That just goes to show how badly we deal with family issues---I won't even go into how we deal with the LGBT community and their struggles with parenthood, or couples who want to adopt in the first place. Yet, we're cool with the Octo-mom. Or Britney Spears' crazy ass. All of it makes me sick. Overall, we're insufferable, but if all of you make an effort to just be more..understanding...things could all turn around. That's really all the world needs. Understanding.

The most irritating part of the journey: the beginning

How do I start this blog? I'm not good at feelings. I mean, I'm needy and emotional, but I'm terrible when it comes to genuinely expressing my feelings. And, well, this one is so tremendous, I felt the need to write about it.
Here goes: Jacob and I are struggling with infertility.
Ugh. That didn't feel any better.
Where do I go from there?
Maybe some expository information first? My intent for this blog is to keep friends and family aware of what we're going through, since we've extremely tight-lipped about the state of our family.  But if I can help other infertile couples, then that would certainly be a perk. Plus, I need therapy to get myself through this. Writing has, you know, been known to be therapeutic, and in addition to that, I need to stop keeping all of this mess to myself. Jacob is having a hard time shouldering all of my emotions as well, so it's high time I start talking about it. It's extremely uncomfortable, I know, but for once I need to start embracing the uncomfortable before it becomes unbearable.
Also, I've realized something about infertility: if you write a blog about being infertile, it seems you inevitably get pregnant. Maybe that's the long lost cure to infertility: blogging. Science should explore that option.
But I digress...where was I? Oh, yes: background. Wait...I'll get to that in a second.
I should explain something about my writing first: I'm not a very good writer. I also have been diagnosed with ADD for years. I tend to go off on tangents and never fully explain myself, which is confusing for you, but rather therapeutic for me, so in short, I don't really care. Also, be warned: I swear. I do. I know I shouldn't, but I linguistically, I just love popping in an expletive here and there. I've got a flair for drama, and nothing says dramatic like a well-placed f-bomb. I'll try to refrain, but don't say I didn't warn you. This is my therapy blog, not yours. Sorry, mom.
So, background: Jacob and I met in 2005 at Luther College in Decorah, IA, and basically have never been apart since. We got married five years later in 2010, after graduating (me in studio art and him in accounting) and moving to Austin, Minnesota, where he is (surprise) an accountant for Hormel Foods, and I...well....find things to do from time to time, mostly involving supervising small children. We have a lovely home, full of empty bedrooms, and a lovely Gordon Setter, who is phenomenal with children...but no babies...yet.
True, we've tried it all, test strips, temperature charting, all that crap, but to no avail. We thought we weren't trying hard enough, that our time would come, and that it wasn't worth it to bring it up to friends or family, since we didn't want to get anyone too invested in the state of my uterus. However, nothing happened. For over a year. Well, that's when I thought, "Hmm, Katie, maybe you should, I don't know, see a doctor?" So, I did. Well, let me backtrack---I'd been seeing a lot of doctors in the past few years. My intestines don't really function like they should and I've been privy to a lot of lower abdominal pain, which has been all-around miserable. But nothing was really established other than that catch-all diagnosis of IBS, so I figured the two issues were separate. That is, until November. In November, I finally decided to mention to my (new) doctor that my husband and I hadn't made any progress on the baby front for over a year. She actually seems concerned by this. After an uncomfortably thorough (and I mean back-of-a-Volkswagen-uncomfortable) exam, she diagnosed me with an ovarian cyst. NBD, I thought. I'd had cysts before, and they'd always gone away on their own. My doctor suggested my husband get his little swimmers tested, which turned out to be a very awkward experience---they expect you to put that stuff in about four different containers before you finally seal it up and mail it in! Fortunately, he has no reproductive issues. Also, just for a precaution, I went in for a pelvic ultrasound. What they found absolutely overwhelmed me: I had an ovarian cyst the size of navel orange! I was in complete shock; how did I not realize that I had something so large growing inside me? I hadn't been feeling well for months, but this was completely unexpected. So, the next step? Surgery. This thing wasn't going to come out on its own, so they scheduled surgery in order to not only remove the cyst, but see how extensively my reproductive system was affected by this.
So, I had the surgery. Actually, as I'm writing this, I'm still recovering, as it was only a few days ago. But since you've invested this much time in reading all of this, you probably want to know what they found. Ok, I'll bullet the list, so it's a bit easier to read (and coming from a girl with ADD, I really appreciated bulleted lists):

• The cyst on my left ovary was, indeed, the size of a navel orange. It was also two-chambered, meaning that most of it (the orange) was on the outside of my ovary, yet part of it was buried within my ovarian tissue, meaning that the surgeon had to excise some of it to remove the cyst. He said it went well and sewed up the remaining ovary, though.
• I had extensive endometriosis throughout my pelvic region, including some on my other ovary and some spots on my uterus. However, they were easily able to remove those legions and it doesn't appear to have damaged my fertility.
• My fallopian tubes are clear now. I haven't deciphered whether they were closed before, but they're clear now, so...yay!
• The endometriosis was not only throughout my pelvis, but it had reached up to my liver and my diaphragm as well. That couldn't be removed, due to the proximity of my heart, so it's still there. I'd been having a lot of shoulder pain during my episodes of extreme abdominal pain, and apparently, it's due to my body thinking that the diaphragm is housed in the shoulders? Weird, but I'm thankful for an explanation.
• My sigmoid colon apparently is adhered to my pelvic wall, which is why I've been having such "irritable" bowels. They couldn't remove that either, since they didn't want me to wake up from surgery with a colostomy bag (Congratulations, you've made it through surgery, and to commemorate you experience, here's a free colostomy bag!), so I'm  hoping that the lack of pressure from the now gone cyst will ease things up down there.
• The surgeon wants to medically stop my periods for a few months, in order to help me heal, and then immediately attempt to get me pregnant. I mean, by my husband. He isn't personally going to invest in that...ew.

So there's that. Ok, that's enough. I hate writing exposition anyway.