The Pit of Intestinal Despair

Yesterday started out pretty good, but it wound up pretty miserable for a number of reasons. It was supposed to be great---my brother had driven up from Kansas to interview for a summer internship (making him yet another potential roommate), Jacob was coming home after 10 days on the road, and David and I made Kahlua cake...and maybe had a drink in the middle of the day (I'm a horrible influence; David never drank anything before he met me). Like I said, it was supposed to be awesome.
Then, at 3 PM, I felt a horrifyingly familiar sensation. It's as if a medieval mace is being passed through my digestive tract. Everything tensed up, then it just exploded into one of the worst episodes I've ever endured. The worst part? Jacob wasn't there, and David had to fill in. I try not to suffer in front of others; it's extremely uncomfortable for everyone. I almost asked him to take me to the hospital (which really would have been for the availability of morphine, and I don't need another hospital bill). It just sucked. Fortunately, my brother was not around. That would have just been worse; we don't really do feelings, and it's never good to see your sister at her worst. Overall it was a bad situation.
I did not undergo an incredibly expensive surgery and painful recovery just to go back to the way things were. I'm irate. I am seething with anger. Why is this still happening? Didn't they remove that cyst? Didn't they get enough of that crap out? I mean, what else is wrong with me? Isn't endometriosis and infertility enough? What didn't they catch? I have a tremendous fear of bowel obstructions (don't ask why; I just do), and it's becoming less and less of an irrational fear. Can I please just be normal and healthy? Please?
Also, David, my live-in housekeeper/ roommate/ adopted adult son, has been going through absolute misery in the last two days. His ex moved away this morning. Six hours away. To a new guy (whom I can't say I like and has not made this process any easier) and a new job. It's crushing his poor heart. Last night was especially hard because he came to say goodbye to David ( and to me as well; I tend to mother him just like every other young adult and will no doubt miss him). Needless to say there were tears and sadness, which was oddly accompanied by beer and laughter, as my brother Jacob and my husband Jacob are pretty good friends and supplied me with a pretty welcomed break from being the emotionally stable one (not to say that I minded or anything, it was just a lot for my body to take yesterday)... It's just incredibly hard to know that someone you love is hurting and you can do nothing to help. If I knew it would make a difference, I would volunteer to have an intestinal attack (I mean, only if I knew it would make a difference). I hate seeing my friends in pain. Hearts are such fragile and vulnerable things, and it's an tremendous effort to attempt to heal one.

HOLY LIQUOR CAKE

Did I mention that I was also pretty hopped up on Codeine all night? That happened too.  I was in a lot of pain, and typically, would have spent the evening in bed, but circumstances refused to allow it. I didn't get to bed until pretty late, and I even needed a two hour nap today.  My body is getting to the point where I need a few days to recover from things like this. My insides feel like they just participated in a colonoscopy triathlon.  Fortunately, rehearsal was cancelled last night, and I don't have to worry about it until Monday. Good. I need the recovery time. I'm finally to a point where I can stand upright again, so I count that as a major success.

Throughout all of it, however, I actually managed to keep my house clean. WHA?????? I absolutely did. Clean. Even despite eating an extremely saturated Kahlua cake.

 I am going to make it a goal to become proficient at being an adult, chronic pain or not. We'll see how that plays out.

Cacao to emotional exhaustion...

 I need to warn all of you: I mentioned earlier that I'll be swearing from time to time on this blog. This production of Rent has conjured up a festering ball of profanity in me that I didn't know existed. Or if I knew, I suppressed it for the sake of all sanity. I can't keep dirty things from falling out of my mouth, so I apologize in advance for offending all of you in future blog posts.

I tried to write this post a week ago. It didn't work. There was just too much information. About a million things happened.
Did I mention that I tried to write this blog a week before that?
I started this as a therapy blog to deal with issues pertaining to infertility. But I've come to realize that while those issues have the tendency to infect everything else in my life, there's still plenty of unrelated drama that can seep into my brain.
In the last month, I've had one hell of a roller coaster. And the funny thing is, none of it directly applied to me. It all happened to a friend. A friend whose life pretty much, well, to put it bluntly, shit on him. Life shit on him. Everything bad seemed to happen to him, but the most painful was the imminent departure of  the love of his life, who was leaving everything they had together. He was in a very bad place (and he's still not in a great place), and he's one of those people whom many others love and care about, myself included. I couldn't let him wither away, I just couldn't. I forcibly inserted (um, ew?) myself into the situation; it's a weird mothering instinct. I like to mother sometimes. But things just kept getting worse. Then one day, while at lunch with Jacob and his coworkers, I got a phone call from him. I couldn't recognize his voice, and it scared me. So I booked it to his house (I probably drove 90 mph), and found him on his kitchen floor, a completely devastated mess.
So, I did the only logical thing. And by logical, I mean right. I took him home. He needed a change of scene. So, now Jacob and I have a new roommate for an indefinite amount of time. And yes, Jacob is okay with this. I may or may not have called him at work one day and said, "Jacob, David needs to live with us. NOW." And he agreed. Not many husbands would allow their wives to bring home another man. Although, in my defense, he's four years younger than me and gay, so that most certainly gives Jacob some peace of mind. Then again, Jacob's the one who cleaned our house when he thought I had invited a guy over for a "sleepover."
Having David around, even in his state of utter despondence, has been really therapeutic for me. I have to say I'm really benefiting from finally have a man in the house who smells good all the time, sings beautifully (he'll be portraying Angel in the upcoming production of Rent; he's been walking around my house in heels to prepare), and cleans constantly. I mean constantly. I may or may not have cried on a number of mornings (obviously before David gets up) over the fact that I am a completely worthless and incompetent housewife. But, as my house is always clean, I can't complain. And aside from cleaning, he pretty much knows how to do any other thing I could ever ask him to do, and is completely willing to do it. He's even helping me prepare for opening a preschool---he's opened a business before and knows the ins and outs of the legal crap. I pretty much cycle through gratitude and guilt all day long. But above all of that, I just feel relief that if he's here, he's...alive. Living. Maybe not functioning, but not deteriorating. I suppose that makes me feel alive too. Friends can give you purpose when you feel like you have none. And I am very familiar with feeling purposeless; unemployment and incompetence does that to a person.
Plus, I can't deny how much fun that kid is. I've been living in a rainbow theater camp for the past few weeks, listening to Rent, rehearsing for Rent, watching Portlandia, cooking tasty (vegetarian) things. I've even introduced him to real Topeka people, with whom we've had epic fun. Which, I might add, is a wonderful distraction from feeling like you have no purpose. And, mothering him gives me the satisfaction of mothering something that isn't Linus (who, by the way, is thrilled to have a new best friend; David feels likewise). My body still can't stop wanting babies, even though my mind is trying to distance itself from that idea, so being able to release some of that built up longing feels really, really good.
Jacob never lets me mother him, dammit.
Speaking of Jacob, he's in Illinois until Friday. He left last Wednesday, actually, so he's been there for a while. I drove there this past weekend, six hours both ways, just to spend a night with him. We took a train into Chicago and had a wonderful afternoon at the Art Institute and Millennium Park. It was beautiful. We don't go on enough dates. After seven years, romance gets buried under bills and business agendas, and occasionally we need a kick in the pants to rekindle it. Like weekend dates. Or, say, unofficially adopting an adult gay man. I mean, do what you gotta do, right?

Twitterpated and dizzy

Spring is a weird thing. One whiff of spring air, and everything feels different.
The last blog I wrote reflected a girl  wallowing in emotional turmoil, unwilling to allow anyone else in her mind. I've gotten a little bit of (incredible) feedback about that, and I've come to a conclusion that this blog won't be the reason I collapse into madness, and since others find it important, I figured it was probably best to continue my poorly-written musings about life, love, and, well, lack of babies.
Today, I woke up at 6 AM, happy as a clam. In fact, yesterday, I couldn't stop dancing or singing around my house. I even baked a pie for pi(e) day (you know, March 14...3.14). What happened? I could say spring. I could also say that I've had a little bit of a reality check in the last few weeks or so, and I figured out that I have an awful lot for which I am grateful.
Basically, I've figured out that my life really isn't that bad. It isn't. I mean, even for me, life is okay right now. However, I believe the main trigger for my depressive episode to be Jacob's application for a new job in a new state. I wasn't expecting it, and he didn't even consider my opinion about moving away. It's still up in the air; he interviewed for it yesterday. However, I know there are a lot of people in the race for this position, so I feel a little bit better about everything. I've also made a mental plan about what will happen if I have to move away. I always need to make a mental plan---I have very low mental flexibility, and if I'm not emotionally prepared for something, I tend to go bat-shit crazy overreact.

Jacob and I bought our house because A) it was beautiful and perfect and B) it had four bedrooms that we intended to fill up with babies. Since the baby thing isn't working out the way we'd hoped, we're at least trying to fill it with positive energy and neutrality for our friends. When I started doing shows over at the college, I had no problem inviting young members of the cast to my home on one condition: no drama. I refused to allow all of their pointless spats and love triangles to permeate the sanctity of my lovely home. I'm just too old for that crap. However, I've discovered that I am totally willing to allow drama into my home, if the drama is attached to a person I desperately care about. Having problems with your boyfriend? Do I love you to pieces? Get your ass over here; I'll wipe your tears away and...feed you (what can I do? I was raised Lutheran). Jacob thinks I should start charging...dumb accountant.
 In fact, I think being emotionally available to those who need it has really helped me recognize how important loving and honest relationships are in the overall scheme of life. I've most certainly taken that for granted. I've also taken for granted my stable financial situation---sure, I don't have a job right now, but we're still okay. I easily forget how difficult some have it, and it shocks me when I'm reminded. If I had a million dollars, you can bet I would give most of it away. However not before I paid off some loans. And buy some killer shoes.
I love shoes.

However, I do think infertility issues are wrecking havoc on my ability to remain detached and calm when providing emotional support to friends.  I have a lot of room for loving people, and if I can't love the babies that don't exist yet, I'd better start loving the people that are already in my life, even if it's exhausting or frightening. Perhaps it's causing me to mother them more than they'd prefer. Jacob knows this about me, and while he can't quite comprehend the strength of the relationships I have with others, he's still supportive, especially if he knows someone else needs help (although he does get cranky if it interferes with either sleep or The Walking Dead). He would do (and has done) it for any of his friends. Once again, it reminds me that I found my perfect mate.

I love really, really hard. It's part of what makes me who I am, and I think it's completely worth it.

Bummerville

 I'm debating whether or not I should keep my blog going. I'm grateful for your support, it's just that, I don't know if I can continue to put so much of thoughts out there. It seems silly; there are a million worse problems to have than whether or not to continue to blog for emotional therapy. But I feel extremely vulnerable and exposed now that everyone knows my every whim. I need to establish that my mental health is stable before I continue.

I'm what Jacob lovingly refers to as his "little glass case of emotion" (as mentioned in the movie Anchorman.) Basically, it means that I'm fucking crazy somewhat less mentally stable that others. It takes very little to tip me one way or the other, and I've had my struggles (but haven't we all?), so I work very hard to stay even keel. When I tip too far in the wrong direction, I become a "gray bubble"(which is a reference to a Zoloft commercial; Jacob has no original thoughts when it comes to mental health evaluations). I fear I'm becoming a gray bubble again.

With Jacob's job, there's always a possibility we could move at any time. ANY TIME. I was reminded of that recently.
 I used to be fine with the idea. I'm currently dissatisfied with what Austin has to offer. But as of late, I feel hopeful to what Austin could become. I've just recently become extremely involved with a number of arts projects and committees. I love being involved in community theatre. I have a church that makes me feel comfortable. I have a running route to which I'm very dedicated. I have little girls who think the world of me, and I don't want to miss them growing up (I mean, they're already growing up so much, and I've known them less than a year). I have made very dear friends; I don't want to be removed from them, especially in such a stressful battle for fertility. I need their direct support, and no amount of social media can replace a hug.
I need a very established sense of home. Until recently, I haven't had that in years. This is my home now, and it truly feels like home. I can't be ripped away from this. I've only struck out on my own once, when I decided to go to college in Iowa. But that was my choice, and I had two years to prepare. I also had a year to prepare before we moved to Austin. I just can't do this right now.

This is all strictly hypothetical right now. But it could very easily become a reality. And I would be miserable. I would have to postpone indefinitely the idea of opening my daycare, as I wanted to only open it up to families I already knew. Plus, there's the issue of finding new friends. I can get along with pretty much anyone. You have to do something pretty heinous for me to dislike you (although I do tend to overreact...). But I'm picky about whom I allow to get near me. It took me nearly six months to actually leave my apartment and do something when we first moved to Austin. After that, it took me another year and half to really find friends. Now, I've known them for at least two years, which is just the perfect amount of time to establish trust. It would kill me to have start that over again.
When you move away, people always say they'll keep in touch, they'll call, they'll write, etc. For a while, your friends make a good effort. But unfortunately, life goes on (and rather quickly, might I add). People whom you love and care about tend to forget about you, and though unintentional, it's still painful. I'm terrified that I'll move away and be at a huge loss for any real connection to anyone. It isn't fair to expect my long-suffering husband to be my only outlet for human interaction.
Plus, when we eventually move back (because everyone moves back to Austin), I'll have missed so much. I'll have been forgotten. It breaks my little glass-enclosed heart.

For the moment, I'm not sure what I should do. To distract myself, I'm going to throw all of my energy into preparing for Rent, and I'll probably try to watch the kids more often. A friend recently said distractions only delay facing the inevitable, and sometimes that makes it harder. I don't know if that's true for me right now, as I will fall apart if I face every single thing contributing to my depression. I don't expect others to help shoulder all that baggage. It's not right; we all have our own battles to fight, and right now, I'd be much more comfortable in your corner than mine. I just need to get away from my own thoughts for a while.

Welcome to Bummerville, Katie. Get out as fast as you can.

Weighing in, politically

 I don't typically do this. I really hate to discuss politics, unless I'm with very close, trusted friends. It makes everything uncomfortable, and I hate to alienate people for having an opinion that differs from mine (and likewise).  I just have to vent a little bit about a recent media frenzy. You don't have to agree with me on the issue, but please take into consideration what I have to say.

Regardless of how you feel about the subject of birth control, calling a woman who speaks out for her beliefs and defends her actions a "slut" in an effort to gain traction for your argument is incredibly wrong. I get it, that's Rush Limbaugh's schtick: say shocking things, get more listeners. But, being a woman, I found this enormously insulting. Unfortunately, it's nothing new. I just had high hopes that as a society, we had moved past the point of calling women derogatory names in an effort to immobilize them. It's infuriating.
Ladies and gentlemen, think what you will about me. I've been a supporter of reforms for women's health and rights for years. Also, I need birth control. Despite the fact that I would do anything to get pregnant right now, in an odd way, birth control plays a huge role in how that is achieved. Hormonal therapy achieved through birth control is the number one treatment for endometriosis. I was prescribed it when I was nineteen. I'd had stomach problems, along with severe cramps each month. At the time, the prescription was just a precautionary measure; they didn't think I would actually need it (maybe because I was ugly at the time?), yet it certainly helped the cramps. (And I'm sure my parents slept better knowing their nineteen-year-old college daughter wouldn't be returning home to Kansas with a grandchild, even though they trusted me.) Knowing what I know now about my reproductive health, I can't imagine how much worse it would be if I hadn't had that access to birth control during my late teens. My poor ovaries would have fallen off by now. It helped my body to function in a healthy way. I mean, all that weird crap growing on my various organs could have gone hose-crazy and interfered with more significant organs like my heart or lungs, if I hadn't had the benefits of birth control. (Plus, my rack looked amazing. I miss that.)
 The truth is this: many women use birth control for more than, well, birth control. Ovarian cancer is terrifying and extremely lethal, and birth control significantly decreases its risk. We also don't know what causes endometriosis. It could be environmental, for all we know. Millions of women are affected by it, most of them without knowing it, until it becomes a problem. Wouldn't it be nice to have something readily available as a form of preventative care?
 Women's health is making so many gains scientifically, yet we as a nation have such a difficult time disconnecting women's sexual health with women's sexual practices. And then the name-calling starts: whore, femmi-nazi, bitch, slut.

Please, don't resort to that kind of thinking. I don't think it complies with the golden rule.*




*The golden rule is "love thy neighbor."**





**Which is different from Jacob's golden rule: "never touch my wrists."