Wednesday, December 21, 2016

Progress, Preparation, and Homemade Kamikazes

So life has returned to a relative normal state.

I am down to going to the doctors once a week to once ever other week, with one of my doctors and once a month with the other.

Yeah yeah yeah.
::does victory dance::

I mean it's pretty exciting.. in comparison to twice a week.

Dr. D she is my physical therapist now... and she told me that my pelvis is calming down...
Goals.  You have to love it when your doctor can track your pelvic muscle on a computer.

I am supposed to go "potty" with a stool now like a 6 year old's who feet can reach the floor...

This is real.  I don't have a stool though.  It really doesn't go with my bathroom decor.  So instead I just try to prop my feet up on the tub, a stall door, toilet paper holder, the wall; really anything that's readily available to me.

You are welcome for that killer visual. 

The shame I have ever had for talking about anything to do with my body is completely gone.
I might still be uncomfortable with the way I look or other things in regards to my physical appearance but, what happens to my body due to this...
Open book.

I don't want people to be scared to talk about what happens to their bodies because it is scary.  It's absolutely terrifying.  Especially when there is nothing about it out there.  People are too worried about what others will think.

Screw it.  This is me.

Here is a minor update in the life of Ole Kels....

Doing real good with the big girl job.
Started seeing this pretty decent individual.
Going to Colorado with the Fam.
I still don't like wheat bread.
I got roofied recently.
My sister is getting married in less than a month.
And I have to make a speech at it...

Okay I might need to address this real quick
So.. I have to give a speech at this wedding.. okay totally cool.. I get it.. It comes with the whole Maid of Honor thing but.... BUT...
I am absolutely horrendous at public speaking..
I black out.. I say even more embarrassing things than I originally was going to do...
and sometimes... just sometimes.. I vomit...
I failed public speaking. And I retook the class and made a D.. this is where we are at.
And yes, I know I can write it down and that would be fine but...
I am dyslexic...  I will butcher the shit out of this speech in a way that will be talked about
for years to come. I literally have no idea what I am going to say either..

Should I start off with a joke? 
How many of ya'll slept with the groom or bride raise your hands?!
No... that would be one step too far. 
Should I make it super serious?
Loving, Giving, Receiving, Sacrifice are components to a lasting relationship.
I mean that is some good stuff but I want them to know it's coming from me not something I found off a Wedding Card from Hallmark. 

Or I could just talk about the first time she helped me put in a tampon.  
It's fine I will figure it out..

Well this concludes another episode of into Kelsey's mind...

My bad, ya'll my bad.

Thursday, December 1, 2016

I Might Be Losing It

It's been a little over a month since I have last addressed anything.

My life has gotten into a repetitious agenda, which is the most feared thing in most mid-20 year old's life.

The goals of my future life leave me determined and enraptured into my current lifestyle.

I did go see Dr. P on Tuesday for a morning dose of 17 shots this time around.  She doubled the numbing stuff, and went a little deeper.

And as invigorating as that wasn't as refreshing as one would think.
Yet, I didn't cry this time so I feel like I might be growing up.

I have my next appointment with her in two months, which is moderately terrifying because the shots normally wear off around week 3...but I am sure they know what they are doing.

::does extreme eye roll, where it makes me vomit a little::

So one of the requirements before I go back to see Dr. P is to start going to see a counselor.

I am not good at seeing counselors.

All during my senior year of high school I had to see a counselor, and take pills because I was a problem child and my grades were slipping.

I was a rebellious 18 year old girl and I enjoyed the booze a little more than I should have.

I can't remember his name to save my life, but he was a roller derby coach.  Such a strange dude.
I liked him though.

All I did was cry when I went in there.

I am not good about vocalizing how I feel.  I could write a ten page paper about how my emotions compare to a piece of lint out of my favorite denim jeans.  But to talk about it is another story.  I end up tripping over my own words and crying.

And I don't even cry in an attractive way.  There is a lot of heavy breathing and my face swells up.  I have tried to hold back and do the cute single tear, but it never works out.  I end up with snot and mascara all over my face like I had a cold.

So I am nervous about do thing this.  Dr. P said, "I carry all my stress in my back and you carry all your stress in your "oven"......"


She didn't say oven.. She was a bit more colorful. A lot more V's in the word.  It's fine.

I slightly believe this is a way to get away from the known fact that there is not a cure just ways to make life a little more comfortable.

And let me tell you... it's not.

She said she is trying to cleanse my mind, body, and soul.
Which in medical talk is Pills, Shots, and Therapists.

I am not an expert, but they are making me feel crazy.

I know it is healthy to get out what you feel and address the stressors with this form of treatment.  I know I have some pain there,  I know I still mentally hurt.

But I don't think she or he or whoever is going to change that.  I have thought about all of these things in my mind for a long time.

Or maybe it will change and I will magically be better and my pain will go away because the therapist, pills, and shots have up-lifted the pain from my oven and cleansed my body of all the stress, and I can feel normal.

Bring on the baking.
Yeah, I am definitely losing it.

Thursday, October 27, 2016

Trial and Error

Well, I did go see that new specialist.

I was absolutely gut-wrenching nervous all the way up until my appointment.

My original doctor, Dr. S, sent me to this new specialist to get a second opinion in regards to my "situation".

This new one seemed nice.  Understanding.   A real go-getter.

This is what happened:

I laid-back in this small office.  The "internal" examination was over and I was feeling more mortified than any other time before.
I was use to examinations.
But not that.
It was the quickest, most invasive exam I have ever had. Rattling off codes like, they are at a convenience store counting snacks.

Well finally the torture was over, the nurse and doctor left me to change.
At this point, I am fully-clothed, alone trying to salvage any piece of dignity I had left.

After several minutes the doctor and nurse return.
This new specialist had come up with a plan.. which has never happened before.
Awesome.  A plan.. finally.

Now, I can quit wondering around in circles hoping someone was going to pull me out of this bottomless chasm.  

She did say that this is all going to be trial and error. That the muscle is my main issue..  The scarring is secondary.  So for the muscle, she told me to think of it like a Charley Horse.  

....A what.  You are telling me that my muscle has been spasming or involuntary contracting for OVER A YEAR.  And there is nothing we can do about that part.  Nothing. Just let it do it's thing.  
A constant Charley Horse... for over a year.... She must be out of her mind.  

So this plan:

First, some kind of numbing trigger point injection shots to my lower abdomen. Cool.

Second, Pills to fix the nerve-endings.  Eh.. Skeptical..

Third,  More physical therapy to strengthen the muscle. Okay I guess the last 12 weeks didn't mean anything

Fourth, surgery to remove access scarring.  I knew this was coming.

So anyways, with the plan underway.. First things first.  A shot.
Well I thought it was going to be A shot. A as in one.  As in singular.  Well that my friend was not the case. 

14.  yes 1-4...10 plus 4  shots in my lower abdomen.  
This needle was no joke.  A concoction of medicinal potions to relax my trigger points.  

Looks like this:

My new doctor prepped the area with a copper-looking solution on the largest Q-tip I had ever seen.  
She covered the whole area a long my scar.   

This shot was supposed to relax the muscles to give me some kind of relief. 

The doctor told me it was time. 
The nurse grabbed my hand.  
As the first shot broke skin and entered my pelvic muscle I felt the water pour out of my eyes. 
I gripped the nurses hands harder.  I couldn't stop it. My ears were becoming clogged with my tears.

When they stopped, I had 10 shots on the left and 4 shots on the right.  They covered the injection points with a neon yellow, and neon orange bandage.
 As if I was going to forget what just happened by covering it up with the coolest bandages I had ever seen.

(I have never shown my scar before on here before today.) 
Those little dots are each an injection point. Cool, huh. 

The visit was over and I had to then proceed down the stair to the pharmacy, for phase Two.  Pills for the nerves.  Remember I had tried this other kind back in December or January that really messed me up... Remember? Well my specialist assured me that this was absolutely nothing like that at all.  

So I believe her...... like an idiot. 

She told me it was going to make me tired.

So I took one 30mg pill as instructed at 21:45-22:00.  It wasn't until 0330, that rest had found me.

I woke up the next morning to a phone call from my mother checking on me after my shots.  I couldn't move.  I don't even remember what we talked about.  I don't remember her coming over.  I don't remember how she got in. 

I don't remember anything.  My eyes were dilated. I felt like I had a lump in my throat. I was gagging and vomiting.  My body felt paralyzed.  

Not again.. not again.  

I called the nurse with no answer.  I emailed the doctor. No answer. 
I knew the only thing I could do is ride the storm out. 

I started to finally feel okay at 16:30.  I don't know what I would have done with out my mom. 
So, Now are still at a standstill. Now we have tried step one and two and they were both nothing but a trial and an error.

I am really trying to be hopeful but it is so hard when it is one fail at a time.  
I see Dr. S next week.  I am hoping for more answers.
I still will be hopeful.

If the sickness doesn't kill me, the medicine sure will. 

Monday, October 24, 2016

Another Day, Another Doctor

Well I have one more trip saved up to see Dr. B, the physical lady therapist.  We actually found that electrotherapy is working to decrease the pain for a few days, which is a complete turn around from the pain being every day.
See, I was supposed to go on  Friday for my last session, but naturally, due to my recent increase in age on Wednesday my body decided to get sick with streptococcus.

It sounds like a dinosaur.. Streptococcus

But I was on the rest of bed for  few days when, I realize that at the ripe age of 26, I cannot truly take care of myself in a healthful way when I am sick.

Which has become a regular thing with the uterus, the colds, the headaches, the chills, and the allergic reactions to everything.
I'm like a walking, breathing sickness. A ticking time bomb of disease waiting to ruin your week, your month, or even your year.

I was house-sitting for my lovely mother this weekend so she could go visit my pops in search of new land to purchase in CO.

After this weekend, like, we are lucky all cats, dogs, and I survived it.

I might have to move with my parents because this whole adult-thing when you have an illness, stacked on top of a disease is far beyond what any one person can handle alone.

So, as my trips to the doctors increase, the less I believe they know what they are doing.

Hear me out

When I went to the doctor about my Strep they prescribed me medicine that was "cousins" to a drug that I am highly-allergic to.

So I said Hey I am not trying to waste my time here.. is this safe for me to take, you're the doctor but I have a feeling that this isn't a good idea. 

They reassured me I would be fine...... blah blah blah.

And of course, I wasn't.  The medicine wasn't fully in my system until later that night and I started hiving-up and being all types of itchy. So, naturally, I had to take MORE pills to get rid of the adverse effects of the medicine.

Thursday due to all of this crap I had taken 9 pills total due to the doctor not listening to my concerns.

Rookie Move, Dr. C.

I am doing better from the Strep now, so I can tackle the next appointment up ahead.

Which is tomorrow.

I am meeting with a new specialist (That will be my 6th specialist this year) Dr. P to get a "second opinion", and she specializes in reconstructive surgery.

This will be my last surgery.  I will not keep doing this.  If this is the only way to fix it. Take it all.
I cannot keep living in this fear. Living in this pain.  I don't even feel like I am living anymore.  I am just in all this annoying pain all the time and it is annoying, for me and for everyone else.

I am losing everyone around me because I am no longer fun anymore.
It is driving me insane.
I hate this.
But I am hopeful for tomorrow. I am hopeful for some new answers.  I have been praying like crazy hoping for something to give.
I'll remain hopeful.

Friday, October 7, 2016

Buck-Up ButterCup

Alright... Listen... I have been on this rocky-road of emotions lately.

It's probably my "hypothetical" time of the month... I say hypothetical because I don't really get one of those anymore.... per se... I mean I still am an emotional roller-coaster during that time and things...happen....

I'll let you guess when it is... don't worry I don't know either.
I did have one boyfriend download the "P. Tracker" App... I think he was just as confused when I would cry and laugh all in the same 10 second span.
And he would plead,


It's fine.
Anyways,  I noticed I get really down about things when I am stressed out.  And telling me to stop stressing out, stresses me out more.

It's like a never-ending circle of awful for myself.

I have gotten a little less crazy with the stress... like I don't pull my eyelashes out anymore... so that's cool.  Well I try not to...

(By the way that's why I wear false eyelashes, sometimes, because it consciously makes me not do it)

Through this new bout of stress, I want to address something.

I have an amazing life.

I really do.  I am doing very well with my job for an amazing company.  I just moved into a house not too long ago.  I just bought a car.  I have an amazing family.  I have a wonderful dog,  And I have some good close friends.

I have so much to be thankful for.

Everyone goes through something.

I do have to go to the doctor all the time which is a little unfortunate, but
I am still breathing.  I could be the opposite of that.
(I'm not trying to jinx myself here)

I get down about trivial things all the time.  But I have to remind myself.

Why? Why are you letting that effect you?

It's easier said than done.

My favorite thing to do is think about the good times, think about plans I have made.. and the goals I have for myself.

If I let the darkness of self-pity run my life, I would kill myself.
I am so much better than that.
I have too much to offer.

Do I love waking up in pain every day? No, I don't love that.
Do I love that I can't get a date because I can't have a family? No, I don't love that. 
Do I love that I have and my family have spent thousands of dollars on medical bills with no change in getting better? No, I don't love that.
Do I love that I cry over stupid things because I can't get my emotions under-control from the hormones I have to take? No, I don't love that.

But I do love waking up every day. And I do love myself despite the flaws.  And I do love my family.
I know the pain gets hard.  I know, God I know.
I wouldn't wish this kind of pain physical or mental on my worst enemy.

But what makes all of this worth it, is the person I have become from it.

I slip up sometimes and have a little too much to drink and cry a lot and I do mean  A LOT.
And call everyone in my family to hear my tears of self-loathing.
But I am trying.

I am finding my way in these twist and turns of fate.
I never thought in a million years would happen to me. 
I would have never guessed it.

And the hardest part of it all is forgiveness.
I am struggling the most with forgiving myself.

I blame myself for this happening. That I went wrong somewhere and that I deserve it.

I have to remind myself when I feel in doubt,

You are good enough.  This is not your fault.  You are strong

If I say it enough to myself, I'll believe it.

I feel like I am getting close.

The main thing that gives me hope, and should give you hope is:

You were put on this earth for a reason, find out that reason.  You are handed all these things in life because you are one of the strong ones. You should view this as a challenge and challenge accepted.

Remember that. Never give up hope.

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

New Wound, Same Scars

At a young age I understood the obsession with physical perfection.

Who didn't want to look like the models.  We all do, whether we admit it or not. 
My fear of weight gain took a toll on me significantly during my early high school years. 

I would eat my body weight in food and quickly leave the table to my lonely secrets of purge and discontent. My family would unknowingly joke of my disappearance, and little did they know they were right.

I got over this on my own and became accepted to what I had to look at.  

Then, 2013 hit and I was in a "comfortable" relationship.....filled with passion and love.
That last part is a very obvious joke. 
My every insecurity was presented like a well-received award through the lack of passion and intimacy. 
The comments of disapproval and dissatisfaction reinforced my fears.  If he didn't love me then how could anyone else. I believed that to be true.

When I left, I began to rebuild like that last, cheesy scene in San Andreas...

Two years later I found myself in a weird position, where I get diagnosed with this weird... thing..
It's not an illness,  I don't want to say it's a disease, and I am not "sick" .. so thing..

**Insert all post to this point***

And now I am here. I am just here. 

I am working on this insecurity but I am having a really tough time with what I have to deal with now. 

I am so worried that when I take my clothes off, and the person I am with will look at me....
and think....

Show me the Carfax.

Why do I want this model when I can have one without all the damage. One without all the problems.

I seriously, true to God, thought I found that.  
I thought that's what I had. 
And I know that I am over thinking this when I say it..
...but what if that's why. Not the explained why but the rudimentary rationale. 

A part of me after years of this profound insecurity has reinforced this fear. 

How long does it take to unlearn that. 

It is ruining my sleep.
It is ruining my dreams.
It is ruining my thoughts.
It is ruining everything. 

Wednesday, September 21, 2016


Congratulation to myself. 

 And I do not mean that sarcastically.  Seriously.

I have now known for an entire year more about myself than I ever thought I could.  
Things that I never would have guessed about myself. 

I am beyond cool with my body at this point.  I have always been a heterosexual female, but I have definitely in the last year had more woman look at my naked body than anyone else.  

I did actually venture out of my comfort zone and I had a boyfriend for a brief period of time.  Which of course #noregrats not even 3 months. 
Still a little bit of a flesh-wound 
Image result for just a flesh wound gif

But in other news, 
I am literally pelvis deep into my physical therapy.  

I go two times a week still, for my personal training of my pelvic floor.
No weights necessary. 

It's still very weird.  It gets a little better in the aspect of you know what is going to happen but that doesn't really mean you want it to, so at least you are mentally prepared....::shrugs shoulders::

But I really feel like I need to watch the news more to have more things to talk about with Dr.B.  I mean the last thing on earth I want to happen while she is making sure those muscle are mobile, is for us to run out of things to talk about.

She is no Dr. S,but you could say things are getting pretty serious with us.

There have been a few times were she is making sure I am doing things right.  No I don't want to talk about it.

I will say the biggest change I have seen is my external scar decreasing.
It's by no means gone, but the change has been significant, which moderately boost my self-esteem. 


I am still not going to show anyone.  

I wore a one piece this summer that was way too small for my body in front of my family to make sure no one saw it.

I doubt I will ever really get there with that one.

The pain has been less frequent as well.  Which is the largest plus of all. The determination has been that the scar tissue itself is the the "true" culprit, so we could  have another surgery. 

A surgery. 
Another one. 

I'm like the DJ Khaled of woman's heath surgeries... 
 Image result for dj khaled another one meme

I am hoping by my last visit on October 21st that I will be much better and there will be no need of 

Another one. 


Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Personal Training that Pelvis

I have not written in a while because life happens and I have been beyond busy.  And I also have not had a lot of medical situations that needed addressing. After my last surgery things were really getting better.  I was just having normal, after-surgery pain.  Well things have once again hit the fan.  I don’t like to live a normal life, so this is good.

So, about two weeks ago I started to get that pain in my left side again.  I don’t have the proper tools, or drugs to handle this situation appropriately so I decided to pay the love of my life Dr. S a visit. 
I did miss her. 

Anyways she was like,
“Hey Kels, figured it out… guess what… you have
Pelvic Floor Dyfunction.”

What. The. Eff. Is. That.
I was baffled
Is this like erectile dysfunction?  Can I not get a female erection? What does that mean? Do females need that?
I am so confused at this point asking Dr. S for pills to harden my female lady parts. 
She’s like,   “No Kels, You have to go to physical therapy for 12 weeks for this.”

You have to do what Dr. S.  You are telling me to do what for how long.

I have had physical therapy on my back from a really bad car wreck I was in.
Please dear baby Jesus that this is not the same thing.  They are going to do what to my what.

I went home in tears, naturally because that’s one of my more prominent emotions now a days. 
And I looked up this PFD.  So I know you might google it to figure out what I am talking about but,

Pelvic Floor Dysfunction refers to a wide range of issues that occurs when muscles of the pelvic floor are weak, tight, or this is an impairment of the sacroiliac joint, lower back, coccyx, or hip joints.  Symptoms include pelvic pain, pressure, incomplete emptying and gross organ protrusion. 

Cool, huh?

I knew I was unique but, 10% of people between the ages of 20-40 get this.

Yes people.
Guys get this too. 
Not quite what physical therapy they have to endure but I know for 100% fact it’s not the same as mine.

And if the therapy doesn’t take, surgery number 3.

I did not want to do this.  I did not want this. I don’t want this.
But I really, really don’t want another surgery.

I am currently on my 2nd week of therapy.
I have created some rules of what I can, and cannot do while I am there:

1.       Don’t ask too many questions.  You really don’t want to know. Don’t ask.  Just listen, shut up, and do it.
2.       DO NOT.  DO NOT make eye contact.  Even if she does.  Don’t. You’ll hate yourself.
3.       Actually do the stuff at home that she tells you.  This isn’t a game. 

I really was debating talking about this because I don’t mind all the ovaries and the tubal removal and the visits and the surgeries but the therapy.  


This puts the cake on the weird things that happen to me, and some weird things happen to me.  Even over ripping my pants at my job interview, at the job I currently work at.
That’s a whole other story.

I will say, If you are going through this and want to know. Ask. Or if you are curious ask.  I am trying to normalize something people go through but because of what it is, we can’t talk about it.  That’s ridiculous.

The one of the biggest problems we have in life is feeling like we have to go through things alone because we are too embarrassed to talk about things.

If you think I am not embarrassed, you are crazy.  This is beyond embarrassing.  I cry about how embarrassing this is because I feel like wow something is seriously wrong with me.  And there is.  But I am trying to fix it.

I don’t want to feel like I am dealing with this alone or that I have to. 

So, my name is Kelsey Appleyard.  I am Infertile, and I have Pelvic Floor Dysfunction.  And that’s okay.

Friday, June 3, 2016

At a Loss



I don't understand.

Today, I attended a funeral.  One that I would have hoped to never have to attend.
My dear friend. One of the closest girlfriends I have had in years.
She lost her baby.

He was fighting an uphill battle from the very beginning.
He was a strong one, though.

What do you say.  What do you do in these situations.  How do you help.  

There is no right answer, and most of the time, you can do nothing.
You let them know you love them, and you are there for them.

It's this feeling of trying to figure out how they feel and try to do right by them.

I can never feel what they feel.  Only those who have lost can understand, kind of.

Everyone's pain is different; everyone's loss is different.

I try and imagine; I can't.

They are such good people.  How does something like this happen to good people.

I don't understand.

I have been struggling with faith for sometime now, especially with motherhood being ripped from my hands, but through all this, I can only feel that this little, innocent baby was taken to Heaven.
I have to believe that.
I have to believe that he was called up for a bigger reason than any of us could possibly understand.
I have to believe that there is more and that the pure existence isn't just a cruel joke that means nothing.  

This life is not about just happiness; is it about finding joy even in the hardest of times.  We live this life on earth to understand and learn what it is to love, and what it is to feel pain.
You cannot truly have one without the other.

I was told when I was younger that God tests the strong ones to see if we can persevere.
That was a way to push forward and I have to believe this is true.

I pray for all who have ever gone through this.  I pray no one ever has to endure a casket that small.  I pray that any one who does have to go through something so tragic, keeps the strong faith and love that I witnessed between those two who lost their child.

I pray that she knows that, even though her son was given to God so early,  she is still a mother.
I have to try to understand.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Life As I See It

It has been a month since I have written.

My brain and my life have been in complete auto-pilot since the "awarding" of  my degree.

I say "awarding" because I did not walk, and I have not received my fabulous piece of paper yet that pertains to any form of commitment.

With facing all that adversity and hardship of my academic career, I figured that the accomplishment of a degree would have been, only of what I could have presumed to be trumpets sounding and angels descending, yet it was nothing of the sort.

At this point it feels like I am in this weird life to job purgatory.
Caught in the middle of being given a chance, and taking a risk.

They never told you how hard it would be.

But I am remaining positive and hoping for the best.

Once I stop showering all together; that's when we should be concerned.

My health has been pretty consistent minus the night-time stomach cramps that leave my body in peril.  I take enough  sleeping medication to knock out a medium-size kangaroo, and I can only assume that is the best route to take for the time being.  Or at least until the latest round of medical bills have been completely paid off, and I can then seek medical counsel.

I am finally healthy enough to leave the nest.  I am finally becoming a real-life adult at 25.  I like to joke with my mother and tell her that I am never leaving, but it is time for Lane and I to live away from the security.

 I just have worries that my health may not stay in good shape and that I will revert back.

I can not live in fear, so I must go.

I worry far too often about the future.  I need a plan.  Without a plan my life feels at a stand still.


My scar fear did come true.
That thing is permanent and prominent.
I hate it so much.

And it hurts.

It's so strange.  It has a burning feeling every once in a while.

I am like a c-section Harry Potter.

I wonder who my Voldemort is.

All I know is this person has to go.


I did want to mention these.... interesting occurrences.

I saw this new trend of  husbands and wives making a "Go Fund Me" account for IVF.

Personally, I kind of felt a sense of bitterness towards it.
I mean, it is a very expensive procedure, I understand that.
And I understand that most people who have the ability to have children shouldn't, and the ones that can't should.

But I just couldn't help but feel a sense of distaste.

Everyone does things different, I guess.

But personally, I could never ask someone to help me pay to have a baby.

Strangers donating money so maybe I could have a child, that I could potentially screw up because who knows if I could be a good parent.

It seemed so odd to ask for money for that, like buying a pair of boobs, or funding a trip to Asia.

Maybe, if a family member wanted to help, maybe.

But having a baby isn't a need,  it is a want. 

I might be completely out of line, and maybe I am just being too critical.

But 1 in 8 people deal with some kind of form of should we all make a Go Fund Me for the next surgery, or the next shot, or the next appointment, or my potential "Mommy Tuck" because the last surgery screwed up my body.

Monday, April 25, 2016

National Infertility Awareness Week

Happy (?) Infertility Awareness Week.

Is that disheartening? I am allowed to say that?  It doesn't feel like a happy time, but it also doesn't feel like a complete sad time either? 

1 in 8 right... 

This is a week that we talk about the problems some of us face.  
or we just don't talk about it in fear of judgment.

I didn't even know this week existed until it directly affected me.

And most days I don't let it.
I am a normal person just like everyone else.

It really does depend on your outlook on the word. Infertile.

I guess, it is one of those things that you should know about.
It could be happening to you and you need to know what to expect.

It's kind of a scary thing.

It's been myself fighting my own view of life.  I was supposed to get married, get a good job, and have a beautiful family.
And that all equals happiness.

I felt I needed to find someone who would kind of love me, and our family would make us whole.  I felt my fertility clock running out and my eggs drying up as the years went by.

I never thought it would happen to me.
I never thought I would have to go through this. 

Especially alone.

Finding out my tubes were blocked was a gift in the strangest form.

A gift telling me life isn't always the perfect idea you created in your mind in the 4th grade.  Everyone has different things they deal with, no infertility story is better or worse.

It makes us human.  It shows us that life is exactly what it is supposed to be.
A rollercoaster.

You can either throw in the towel, marry the first guy who shows you attention, and give up
Or you can realize that when shit hits the fan, it's going to be okay.

I had to get to know myself. You can't begin to heal through this until you find out who you are.  And that might be the scariest thing you can do.  Because what if you don't like that person.  You are stuck with you.

I still don't know if I will have a family, or if I am willing to put my fake future husband through IVF.

But I think out of all the people that this could have happened to.. I am glad it happened to me.
I am glad only for the fact that I can handle it.

I will never throw the towel and give up.
My life is exactly what I allow it to be.

But for those going through the years of trying with your husband, or have a freak situation like mine.
You aren't alone.
It's okay to ask for help.
It's okay to ask questions.

This is a real thing, and it does happen.

I didn't ask the right questions in the beginning because I thought that this impotence made me less of a woman.

It doesn't. I know that now.  It makes me more of one, a warrior, a fighter, an unstoppable being.

Some days are better than others.  Some days feel I have been defeated.

But the brilliant thing about this infertility war we are fighting  is that some battles don't have to be won in order to win the war.

We are human.  We do feel sadness, and a loss of something we never even had. 
But, that's okay because we were the strong ones that can handle it.

Like a beginning intro to Law and Order, we are an elite squad known as the Infertile ones.

And that's okay.
Don't be afraid because our plan may me different but it is ours.

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Yearly- Can we switch this to monthly?

I had my scheduled yearly today.
Not that we couldn't have done it the other 50 times I had been there this year.

But naturally, I had missed my beautiful gynecologist, so I didn't object.

It has been one month since my 3 week post-op appointment. 
I was afraid they forgot what my face looked like.  
They didn't.

I scheduled my appointment early because I was feeling 9:15am, a month ago.
This morning, I was not feeling it. 

I woke up at 8:30 and started rushing around because I was less than prepared for anyone to see what was under my very comfortable leopard print pajama bottoms.

I don't even understand why I wear those bottoms. They always make me sweat an uncomfortable amount when I wake up. 

Anyways, I had to dry shave my legs because I was not trying to have Dr. S think I am careless like all of the other patients she has. 
I figured it's like a jubilant surprise to see my young sporty body in comparison to the over-weight, overly hairy yetis that I have seen walk through those doors.
I'm sure they are all very lovely people.

I arrived on time because my loving father let me borrow his vehicle to take the turnpike.  I really need to invest in a pass but, I just come up with too many excuses to break down and get one.
Regardless, I made it on time.  I had to park a mile away because, I have a very tough time parking his vehicle.  It's so large and I normally drive Betty White and she is indestructible and my father can be terrifying so, I would rather keep his objects safer than mine.

Well after my mile, fast-paced walk, and an elevator ride, I made it. 
I didn't even have to sign in.

They took my weight, which I could have told them what it was.  I weigh myself every day. 126. I haven't grown.  I did go to the bathroom before I walked in which was a shame because I had to give a sample.  So I ran some water and sang, Don't go chasing waterfalls, please stick to the rivers and lakes you're used to I know your going to have to your way or nothing at all but I think you're moving too fast, to myself and then magic happened.

They put me back in the room with the horrible picture of a red flower, which in my opinion just looks like an angry vagina.  It makes me have really bad anxiety. Like why would you put that in there.  It's not even like a really great painting. I just don't understand why you would have a red themed room at a gynecology office.

I finally am alone to take my clothes off, all of this time. No shirt allowed. I got this paper vest that I like to wear the opening in the back.  It makes me feel sexy with an exposed back, yet not too sexy because it's a paper shirt.

Dr. S comes on in and sits on the counter and we discuss some medical stuff and then she says to me,

Kelsey, we need to talk....Your blog.  I heard.... you feel broken?  You aren't broken. Just because you don't have your tubes doesn't make you less.  You are still desirable. You will find someone who is willing to take you for all of you.  I know it is hard to do this alone but you are so strong.

I stared at her.

I started tearing up, yet doing my best to hid it.
I have, literally, trusted this woman with my life.
And she told me things that I have heard from so many people. But coming from her was something so life changing.
Maybe it's because she has seen my everything, maybe it's because she has literally cut me open and seen my insides,  maybe it's because she would call me on the weekends when I was so sick to check on me, or maybe it's a combination of everything but, she threw me through a loop.

I was speechless.

She gave me a giant hug.
I needed that hug.  I needed those words from her.

I was so caught up in my feelings that I didn't even realize I was hugging her with only a very thin sheet between her and my nakedness.  
I didn't even care. 

It's so strange how the human mind works.

 My family tells me all the time how beautiful and special I am, and mainly I never consider this because I feel, maybe, they feel an obligation to make me feel better.  And random guys tell me I am pretty but 92% of the time it is because it is their feeble attempt to see me naked.

But, Dr. S; She didn't have to say that. She didn't have to reach out. She has so many other patients, and she actually cares how I view myself.

I'll never forget that moment.

As I was leaving, I said goodbye to everyone and told them I will see them in a year.
They told me they would miss me.

And I knew I would actually miss seeing them too. 

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Building a Wall Out of Tire Parts and Sticky Tape: The Alff Presentation

I mentioned a long time ago that I began this blog initially for this blogging class I am currently enrolled in.

It has obviously turned into something way bigger than that but, I still mentioned it.  That did happen.

Well part of the "criteria" we have to talk about our presentation in this class and our "blog adoption".

I ended up doing this adoption over Shawn Alff,  who I am pretty sure is the only man I know that can pull-off a leopard print thong, and still be one of the sexiest people I have ever seen.

The adoption, also, gave me a reason to genuinely stalk this guy, in a way that would get me less likely to be arrested, and more likely be able to find out everything in the world about this person, minus his social security number, and his address.

I am still working on his address.

I think the girl on the right has very nice butt. 

But outside his charming demeanor and super hot bod,  he is one of the best writers I have ever seen.

I ended up writing a 2,500+ word, thoroughly thought out paper over this guy.  It's almost embarrassing, and more than moderately creepy.

He doesn't hate it though.
He did tell me, if need be,  I could write his relationship profile because, let's just say, I was selling him like I was giving away free water at Wakarusa.

I knew I was a good wingman, and an even better, twat-swat to myself.

I was going to attach the paper, which I know is going to be way too long for my blog, BUT it's, also, one of the best papers I have ever written because, Shawn actually gave me most of the material, and was the easiest subject to write about.

But it really is too long, but if you want to read it, I will send it to you, or I will come to where you are and give you the presentation.  I mean this paper is nine pages double-spaced.

I clearly have no self-control.

The powerpoint is so good, too.   Here is a picture of us.
Shawn and I

But see, also, I waited to write about him because today is his birthday and he told me that he never really has an amazing birthday, which makes me sad because I am not there to throw confetti or like make a pudding bath out of gluten-free pudding because I don't want to waste good pudding.

He's writing is not only funny but it puts on display his every fear and insecurity, which resonates with so many people.

You can read his stuff at

You won't regret it.
I surely didn't.

Monday, April 4, 2016

The Ex Files: Part Three: Brew

This might actually be the hardest one to write.

I met him right before my 20th birthday.  He had just moved next door to my boyfriend at the time.
My first impression was: fun, cute, and a mess.

He had become my best friend, and I can honestly say I had no romantic feelings for him in the beginning.   Thinking back at it now this might be gross to say but, I viewed him like a big brother. 

He and I would stay up late at night drinking and laughing and talking.  The night we truly became best friends, he and I were up still after everyone else had gone to bed and we were dancing to
I Get Around by the Beach Boys in his kitchen.  We were laughing and yelling the words as he spun me around the kitchen. 
The first time I saw him naked was under the worst conditions.
We were playing my boyfriend at the time and our best friend in a game of beer pong. 
We were completely shut out.
We had to streak.
It was snowing.
We had to get naked run next door touch the door together, high-five, and run back.
I had never been streaking before. 
He took his clothes off like he was in the NBA. It was the most impressive swift movements I had ever seen.  
He had taken off before I had removed my first layer of pants to reveal my long-johns.

He was laughing.
This contagious laugh that makes everyone laugh.
The only things he said to me was nice tattoo...
We remained just friends until one night.
Tuesdays Gone came on and he disappeared. 
I went to go check on him and he was hiding his tears.
He has just lost his grandmother and was very upset, so I grabbed him and hugged him.

And that's when he kissed me and told me he loved me.

That's when everything changed.

My boyfriend and I broke up at the time, and I told him I was in love with someone else.

Then I got back together with the boyfriend a week later.
 It was a gigantic mess to say the least.

I loved them both for two different reasons.

It forever ruined that friendship.

We did end up dating for over a year, a year and a half later.
We moved in together and we had so many wonderful beautiful times together.

My favorite time was when he gave me a birth"week". 
For 7 days he did the sweetest things for me. 
The first night I will never forget. 
We use to go sit on the roof at our home, and that night, he took me up to the part where you can actually lay down and we drank a few beers and we laid out under the stars together.  It was simple but, sweet.  Which was his style.

But we couldn't get past me leaving him to be back with my ex the first time.
I started to depend on him too much.  I became bothersome and annoying.

I let my insecurities come back out, which killed us again.

We, too, grew apart.  I started letting myself get too comfortable and more of a burden.
And he really hated my bobby pins all over our house. 

Him and I might never be friends again.  I miss that the most though.  He was my best friend.
I wish him all the happiness in the world.  He is such a kind person, caring, loving, and I just want him to be happy. 

My past relationships have shaped me into who I am today.  In the past I have been sad about them but I am no longer sad about those past relationships because they happened and they were real and I know they loved me too. 
And they know they did.

Nothing will take away what me and any of my previous boyfriends have been through together.

I love all three of those men to this day.  All for different reasons. They helped me get through my darkest times whether they realize it or not, and have helped shape me into the strong, independent, goal-oriented beautiful person I am today.

And for that I will love them until I die. 

The Ex Files: Part Two: Mr. Dick

We dated for a long time... off and on for the better half of three years.  That doesn't include the 10 months at the beginning when, I had to trick him into dating me.

That's a thing I do, by the way.  If you don't want to date me, I will hang out until I wear you down and then, the next thing we are together.

The first time I met him I had just gotten back from Spring Break my freshman year from Florida with my family.  I was talking to this guy while I was gone and he invited me over to his friend's house and that's when I saw this gorgeous creature. 
I hung out with my girl friend  over there for an hour or so and then we headed to a party. 
I couldn't stop thinking about that blonde haired, blue eyed master piece. 
So I got drunk and went back over to hang out with him.
I was 19 at the time and they wanted to go to the bar.
So the first time we kissed I was drinking underage at a bar.
This was, also, the first time I had ever drank at a bar.

I was living in a different town, but he would make the effort to come see me.
Once he surprised me at my dorm.  Tackled me to the ground and I cried.
We had so many adventures together.

He was the best boyfriend I had ever had.
He was my biggest supporter, and cheerleader.
I was so in love with him.

Fireworks, holidays with our families, birthdays, ski trips, the aquarium, spontaneous trips to Amarillo, going to the lake, waking up in the middle of the night singing to John Mayer and Something Corporate, snow dayss, my car wreck, bingo. So many memories. 

Which it has been 4 years since we have been together, and the montage of events of us are always similar to the memories Facebook shows me which, are all the good times.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that it all really happened. 

They weren't all good. 

I was so insecure in our relationship.  I use to go through his phone because I didn't trust him. 
Things would happen, and he would disappear for days and I couldn't understand what was happening.

We were growing up but something wasn't right.  We were grow-up but growing apart.
It was so strange.

It was like a train wreck that I could see coming but couldn't stop or get out of the way from. 
It wasn't later that I found out there was a substance issue that destroyed him, and us.

I didn't know what was going on and I tried to tell him we were falling apart but things ended up bad,  I left him for one of his "best friends".

I am a terrible girlfriend.  You were warned. 

Years later, he turned his whole life around.  He is an amazing person.  He needed away from all of this.  I loved him, and I still have so much love for him.

Last I heard he has a beautiful girlfriend and treats her how I wish I could have been treated for the last year of our relationship.  I am very proud of him, and hope he knows I am still hoping the best for him.

 I haven't heard from him since 2014 but, maybe that's for the best for both of us.

I still tear up when I hear Dig by Incubus, if I can make it through the first 30 seconds.

The Ex Files: Part One: Freak Boy

There are over 300 reasons of why I am not dating anyone at the moment.

200 of those reasons are because of the kind of person I am, and how I like being alone. 

I have screwed up tremendously throughout all of my relationships.

 It is always after we break up and I go through my "post-breakup insan-o binge" that I figure out that it's because I am a mess of a human.

Mainly we breakup because I don't know exactly what I want in life.
It's a little bit better now because I have a better understanding of who I am now, and why I am the way I am the way I am.

I have surprisingly become more confident in myself, comparative to how I use to be.   Scary huh.

When you don't know what you want in life, your insecurities are tenfold because you are a lost, codependent little puppy.

I have had several boyfriends most lasting 6 months tops, with the exception of two.

I have been truly IN head over heels love with 3 people.

And I am doing a three part series where I am going to talk about them.
(Oh yes, this is going to be fun) 

The first was the absolute worst boyfriend I had ever had in my life.
The first time we met was at a party in the 8th grade.  He was a year older than me and tied to a chair with duct tape the first time I laid eyes on him.
 And then we proceeded to lock tongues for 2 hours, and he left with out telling me anything more than his first name.  This was my first time kissing a stranger, but his high school scruff and long curly blonde locks had me at "will you help me out of this duct tape?" 

Then, I ran into him two months later at a movie with his friend and my friend who were dating.  He was eating a Quzino's sandwich in the middle of a theater.
 I fell very hard.
Apparently, at the ripe ole age of 13 it doesn't take a lot to fall in love.
Then when I finally reached high school we dated for one week, where he ended up cheating on me with another girl on my birthday, and the night of homecoming.

We were very young and stupid, and I was in love, so naturally I had to get him back and make him pay for it.
I got back at him by dating his best friend, and kissing boys in front of him.
To where he would yell at me. 
Needless to say, we were far past the point of return: he wanted me back and I wanted him.   These reasons were purely from the fact we didn't want to see each other with anyone else. 
We wrote each other notes in the hallway, that I still have in my room. 
He use to sneak into my basement and we would talk late at night, and I would get caught every single time.
But I didn't care.

He moved away and I moved away after my freshman year.  I thought I would never hear from him again.
I was 15 years old, and had no idea about the world, or what was actually important in life and not.

I knew I was wrapped around his finger though.  We kept in contact here and there when we left.  I moved to Oklahoma and he to Tennessee.  I didn't think we were going to cross paths.
We had the most messed up relationship you could have.  But what came from it what the closest bond I have ever had with another person.

He completely destroyed me as a person in every single aspect of the word when we were children.  He made me believe that, that was how another person was supposed to be treated.
That was not the case obviously and for some reason the forces of the universe kept us close.
A huge part has to deal with me being a completely forgiving push-over and wanting acceptance and love from everyone.

But this beautiful disaster came from it. 

He did take me to my first dance ever as a freshman and my last dance ever as a senior.
We still  talk regularly and see each other at least once a year.

I would not be the person I am today without him in my life.  
We have the strangest, rarest relationship in the world.

Thursday, March 31, 2016

Missed Connection: w4confidence

Despite what you might think.  I am shy. Very shy.

Especially in the beginning.

In the last year I have had a complete rollercoaster of self-image.

This is pretty typical because I am a woman and woman generally are:
1. Self-Conscious
2. Absolutely Insane 

That being said every woman in this world has some serious crazy to her, if she says she doesn't; she is a liar.

Lately, I have felt like an absolute crazy person.

Not a "burn your clothes in the street" crazy because frankly, I don't care enough about someone to do that. 
But a "I cannot bring myself to connect with another person" crazy.

Whether that be a friendship or romantically.

And I know it has to do with my lack of confidence since my surgery. 

I am a hit or miss when it comes to confidence. 

I can look in the mirror one day and think
"dang girl you killin' it today with your fine self"
and the next
"Wow you really need to not wear that. Look at your love-handles.  No one wants to handle that love"

It has been a huge struggle to get past this, and I am not even sure I know how.

I have taken my working out to an extreme that I feel guilty if I don't work out for a certain amount of time, or do a certain number of sets.

I feel guilty eating certain things.

I just feel when I look at myself it is a mess, and that if I can't love it how can someone else.
It's getting so out of control that I have been consuming myself with loneliness.

If I focus on everything else it seems to fade away for a little but, it keeps me up at night. I even find myself doing crunches at 2:00 in the morning.

Don't eat that.
One more lap.
Don't do that.
Stop that.

I know I said before I wouldn't be ashamed of this scar but, I am.

I am ashamed of what it stands for.
I am ashamed of how it looks.
I am ashamed of who it has turned me into. 

This doubt-filled loner.

This all being said...

This all could be a spiraling effect of all my stress.  Consuming me into self-doubt and, maybe, if I was less stressed out with graduation, finding a career, somehow getting 15 years of experience in my field before May, all while making 100,000 dollars, then maybe, just maybe I wouldn't lack self-confidence.

Does that go away with time?

How do I make it stop?

I really don't want to feel this way. So why do I.

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Trip To The Vagina Doctor

In honor of going to see my gynecologist over 15 times in the last 5 months; let's talk about the dreaded adventures to the vagina doctor.

 Going to see your OBGYN is the most terrifying, required adventure on earth.

Once a year, if you are lucky to only go once a year, as a woman, you are required to go see this man, or woman that you pay to violate you.

For science.

I remember my very first adventure to see the gynecologist.  I was 17 years old.  I wanted to start taking birth control because, back when I use to  bleed once a month, it use to be the worst experience of my whole.

It was like a real life murder.  From the inside out. All of my insides hated me and I would have to get into this fetal position and pray to all things that were holy that I was going to go to church more, if Jesus would just take the pain away.

He didn't, so I had to go see this woman about some pills.

I wasn't ready for a man to analyze what I had to work with.
I still didn't exactly know what I was doing with it anyways, so no need for a man to stare at it and professionally tell me about my downstairs business.

I can't for the life of me remember her name, but she was a military doctor.  She was tall, dark, and handsome.  She was my commentator, and coach.  She would tell me what she was doing when she was doing it, and then would tell me how good of a job I was doing.

I wasn't doing anything, other than staring up at this poster of a beach to tell me to escape to somewhere else and to make sure I never made eye contact with her.

It was anything but enjoyable.

Nowadays, I am a lot less awkward about it.

I have since been to multiple doctors to see my business.  
And I love my current one now.  I trust her with all my goods.

I can't say I am still not awkward about it.

How could you not be.

My post-operation meeting was last Tuesday, and it went really well.  Everything is going according to plan.
Minus the whole fact that my scar tissue is not going to go down.  She told me that I could go to a plastic surgeon to fix it.

This news did cause me to go into a full on panic attack because this is my worst nightmare.
She basically told me that this "cliff" I have on my stomach is

I would never see a plastic surgeon for my stomach. I would go for some better like boobs or bigger lips, but not a tummy tuck.  They called it a mommy tuck.

A mommy tuck.

What the hell kind of shit is that.  

I guess I am going to start looking for high-waisted bikini bottoms.  This is bullshit.

Cut me some slack body.
Haven't I made enough sacrifices? 

Monday, March 14, 2016

Whiskey on a Patio

There is no real reason for my title to be Whiskey on a Patio, other than the fact that I am drinking whiskey on a patio.  It's such a beautiful evening and I couldn't help but, want to sit out here and write.

I am on what the youngsters call "Spring Break",  I have never really participated in Spring Break, other than when I was in High School on our Senior trip, where we were kicked out of the town of Gore, and told to never return from the sheriff. 

I did have a little too much fun this weekend with my weekend warrior mentality.  Saturday was a little different because I got to participate in the social activities of a Baby Shower.

One of my dear BudGirls had a baby shower.  Yes, for those who do not know, I was a Bud Light promotional girl.  Which this job pretty much entailed my friends and I getting into all of the best places, meeting famous people, drinking, and handing out free things.  It was very hard work; there were nights when I didn't even want to drink.  But I pushed through for the good-of-the-job. 

Continuing on, while I was finding out I was incapable of having children, my two best friends found out they were pregnant.  The timing almost felt too cruel to be unintentional.   

I love these two girls more than anything, but I had never felt so alone with the idea of my two best friends are now pregnant, and I was left out of the pact.

Not that they made a pregnancy pact, but I have heard about those and they are pretty common, and oh, so strange.

The shower was lovely, someone even brought a live baby for entertainment, but I found myself sitting in the corner, shoveling my body-weight in cold-cut pinwheels down my throat and drinking the alcoholic punch.  I was swimming in sea of pregnant woman, and even 'drinking the water' wouldn't change my fate.

It sure is sounding like a Pregnancy Pact, now.

I spoke a few times with what could be taken as inappropriate comments.  One, of course, asking about birthing techniques.  I am more of a visual learner. 
The patrons were less than pleased with my vaginal birthing hand motions. 

Whenever I feel awkward I say the wrong things, and do the wrong things.
Lucky for me, I didn't make any dead baby jokes, or joke about playing football with the baby as the ball.

Something is very wrong with me.

We did go out to take a picture of my two favorite preggers and I together, and one had asked about my surgery. 
Suddenly everyone got quiet, and I try to light-heartedly tell my impotence of being a woman, with a smile on my face.
It all was seemingly creepy, and forced happiness. 

I love being a part of these monumental times in my friends lives, but it does something to you, where you want to go home and drown your sorrows in a bottle of your finest Pinot Noir.  

Luckily, I do have my 3 week post-operation appointment tomorrow.  I am enlivened because, I am anticipating to get cleared to go back to work. 

I feel more complete when I feel like I am doing something worthwhile with my time. 
I just feel useless and broke.

I just want to get ahead. 
I want to do something crazy. 
I want to live for the story instead of continuously writing the same bullshit over and over again.

When the hell do you get over it?  When does it stop haunting you?
I sound like a broken record.

I am annoyed by my own self.  I have to find my adventure and go. 

Forget all this ever even happened.

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

Oprah in the Spring

Oh the babies are abundant this time of year. 

All the little gremlins are all making their appearances from those steamy summer nights.

I went to see one of my best girl friends brand new baby today.
I was a little apprehensive at first due to my extreme awkwardness around babies to begin with and that this will be the first baby I've actually seen since the surgery. 

I have no idea how I have done it but I have managed to avoid seeing small people until this day. 
Besides social media exposing every single baby bump, new born, and first walks. 

Anyways, I received a message from one of my other dear friends that I hadn't seen since the summer at her baby shower.  I had yet to meet her new baby; not because I didn't want to but because it's honestly really hard to see something so cool and cute and small; and not feel a sense of sadness and jealousy.

I have said it 100 times; I don't want a baby right now, but it begins to haunt your thoughts when you can't. 

Seriously though, this little 7 month old baby was so cool. I, eventually, built up the courage to hold her.  She was like just making all these noises and yelling, but not because she was upset, but she just wanted to make noise.   It was so strange to hold this little human that has thoughts, and facial expressions.  I normally talk to babies like they are just another person.
Baby S and I talked politics, about the time her mom and I did some reckless nonsense, and then I drove her around the hospital room in the baby burrito holder that the new born baby rolled out on..
And of course, I licked her. 

It's my thing.  All of my friends children I have licked.  It's like a good luck thing.

The usual stuff.

I may or may not have had some expression of feelings with saline like forms of water coming from my eyes.

I'm even worse when it comes to new born babies.  I have no idea how to act around them.  Like they are super, duper small and I am not exactly sure what you are suppose to do with them.

Like am I suppose to do something?

These two girls and I use to hang out frequently before our lives all went in different directions.
That being said all of us could go months with out seeing each other and still have a lot of love for each other.  They are very similar to the person that I am.

I  feel like me in a mom form would be very similar to how they are as parents, which is honestly the strangest thing I have ever seen. 
I never pictured either one of these crazy, wild ones as moms but they are, and they are killing it.

I do feel like my situation is a blessing with in itself.  I have no idea what my plan is in life and that's fine. 

Perhaps, I wasn't meant to be a mom. I am kind of uncomfortable when I am around them.

Which is so strange because I am a woman.  I have the parts of being a woman. I just can't do what women do.

Am I like that Britney Spears song, "I'm Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman"? 

My older sister use to sing that song to my younger sister, until she started her period..  Then she would tell her she upgraded to a woman. 

I don't even have a period any more.
I mean that's super tight.
But, what does it mean for me?
I am 25 years old.

It's all very perplexing to think about.

And I do think about all these things. More than I should.

It's all so conflicting when I get caught up in my own mind on decisions I will eventually have to make. 

Will I ever even be able to be with someone long enough to be like will you be my baby daddy, or will  I decide to just not do that?

Will I adopt?

Will I try and go through IVF and have a baby?

Will I ask my sister to be my sister wife and carry my baby, and be a surrogate but have the baby call her Aunt-Mom?

Will I say screw it and never have kids?

I mean they are like a lot of responsibility, and I can barely take care of myself.

This is overwhelming.

I really shouldn't write at night.

Monday, March 7, 2016

Fauxgasm: Faking It

Little Baby Update: Pun intended,  It has been officially two weeks since the expulsion of my fallopian tubes. 
Naturally, I have some major discomfort from the actual incision, but the never-ending pain that I was experiencing since late September is absent.
I never thought I would feel better.

It makes all those sleepless nights on the brink of death, worth it.

The sleeping has definitely gotten worse, but right now, I am content with life.

 I even tore it up a little this weekend.  Don't be alarmed, no pills were involved.

My relationship status is still nonexistent due to multiple factor.
I will say it has most to deal with my inability to put up with nonsense, but that is neither here nor there. 
And also, realizing that my options are more than limited due to the factor that I am not looking for a licentious relationship. 

I, also, believe timing is a factor.

The point that I am in my life is that I would like to travel the world with my own personal Casanova, that seduces me with intellect, creativity, and passion rather than with his baby-making banana bazooka. 

That every trip we take together will be named, like a hurricane or a child, so that when we look back, and reminisce on life, we can smile and say, "Remember Larry?"
How could I forget.

I know he exists; I'm sure he is just 1,328 miles away.

Just a little patience and things will all fall into place.

I am facing a lot right now, which is helping occupy my time.
Two months until I graduate and then, I can begin to pull-out my eyelashes due to a stress-filled panic to starting "real life".
I have tried to stay in college as long as possible because the thought of growing up is the most terrifying thing I could think of.
Well that, and dying alone.
 I'm not exactly out of the woods yet on either, so you can see my predicament.

But I feel like no one is really prepared for anything, or has it together; they are just good at faking it until they make it. 

We are all kind of just stumbling around wondering if we are going to make it out alive this week.

I have to start preparing for what feels like the beginning of a new chapter, and then perhaps I will find some clarity in my disheartening thoughts.

Yet, I am having a case of writers-block and, I have no idea how to even begin to write my next portion in my sci-fi romantic novel.

I can only assume that my next chapter is filled with unicorns, and happy-endings due to my anticlimactic storyline thus far.

I feel the need for adventure.
Due to all of my "medical bullshit", I have really decided that my 20's have been the worst era for myself.  I just need to grow a pair and start saying yes to life, rather than being scared of a risk.

I told my mother the other day that I couldn't really see myself getting old.  Not in the aspects of like being an older person, but in living that long.  I have always had some eerie suspicion that I won't live to be a grandparent.  Which, I guess, could be true because I would have to be able to have children in order for them to have children.

I guess, my sub-conscious has a sick way of making my suspicions more of a livable reality, rather than a capital punishment.

I know that all sounds super morbid, but I have a feeling that, that could be more of an unspeakable common-thought rather than, a far-fetched notion.  

I have remained extremely positive though, at least in my opinion, which is also the only one in this situation that really matters.

I just have to continue to remind myself of the 5 most important things:

1.  I am a champion.  In all senses of the word. I have overcome a lot and, I am not letting a single thing stand in my way, nor despair me.

2. I am a beautiful person.  Not because of my exterior shell, but because my heart is good.  I genuinely care, despite whether a person is "deserving" or not because, in my eyes, everyone is deserving. 

3.  I am valuable.  It has taken me a long time to understand my self-worth. But now, I know what I am capable of .  I know what I can offer, and that is half of the battle.

4.  I am smart.  I have never made the grades, but because I had this preconceived notion that I was in a competition of my siblings.  I am not in a competition with them; I am in a competition with the person I was a year ago.  And, I am sure as hell surpassing every expectation of myself that I had.  I am very knowledgeable in the strangest ways, but that's what leads me to my final point.

5. I am not like anyone else.  Everyone in this world is like a finger print.  We have similarities.  But we are all different.  I have so much to offer, but so do you.  No person in this world is better than anyone else.
I am so strange, but that's the best part about me.

As long as I remind myself of these things, I am going to eventually believe them and that's the best thing about the mind.
If you truly believe it; that makes it true.

Wednesday, March 2, 2016

No Body Left But Me

Every evening I conduct a similar routine.
I come up to my room lay in bed with my extra large heating pad, watching as many episodes of NCIS to become a real Naval Crime Investigator, as possible.
Then, I take a break and take a shower.
I take all of my clothes off and, on a good night, put them in  my dirty-laundry basket.

And then I stare at my body.

It's not an awful body.  I've definitely seen worse at Night Trips, or on PornHub, yet I have, also, seen better. 

I have a proportional body.
If my boobs were any bigger, I wouldn't complain, but I would say I wouldn't be as proportionate.
I have a "athletic" body type.

I had to work to get it there, so I wouldn't be considered fat-skinny anymore.

It's a real thing. Fat-skinny.  It's when you aren't exactly skinny, but too small to call "fat".
It's a weird awkward stage one gets in when they are on the verge of being "unhealthily" large.

I look at every part of my naked body.  The way you study your notes before your mid-term, going over it with a fine-tooth comb.

I have for years, like most girl, tried to come to terms that this is what I have to work with.

I am short, 5'3, which I actually like, shorter than most guys, which weirdly I have something against dating guys shorter than me, it just doesn't do anything for me.

My skin is flawed but, in a way that I can cover if I feel the need.
I have scarring all over from an accident when I was 10.
I fell face-first off a see-saw, while camping in Switzerland, 5 feet in the air and a boulder caught my fall.
I wish I made that up.

My hair grows in thick which at a young age caused me to shave my arms from the bullying of being called "gorilla arms". It doesn't grow back thick, yet I will shave them until the end of time to never have to hear that again.

My muscles have been improving in my legs but, every time I shave my legs I get razor burn.  My legs get so irritated that I try and wait to put lotion on to some how hide it, but it always seems to show. I have tried everything from waiting to shave them, to conditioner, to switching to every type of razor.  I have yet to figure out how but like all things in life, it's a process.

My body is covered in tattoos to try and distract from my imperfection.   And even I get distracted by them sometimes, so they must help.

My neck is long, my mother use to tell me it was like a dancers neck, which helped me with thinking it was weird for my figure.

My stomach will never be flat due to my love of beer, and soda. But the Abs have been trying to come through. I just have to give up the things I love most like: Red Candy. Red Velvet Cake. Cream Cheese.  I can't do it.

I am so distracted by my stomach, as I stare at myself complete exposed.

Each and every scar tells a story; the same story.

I know it's still healing.  But I can't help but stare at this 3 inch line, surrounded by a rainbow of bruising;  the swelling, and protruding lump of stitch, is anything but sexy. 
It mocks me as I stare at it.  Reminding me of what is gone, and what I am left with.

I get in the shower and use my Irish Spring: Signature for Men, Cool Spring.
I have always found that men's body wash smells the best, after as a child using all of my fathers Oak, body wash by Bath and Body Works, when he was deployed.
It, also helps as a good cover up from seeing multiple men at the same time.

That last parts a joke.  I can't even see one person right now, let alone multiple. Let's be real. But, you are welcome for the future cover up, my lady friends.

I get out of the shower and look at myself one more time.
 It always looks a little better wet and bright red, from the scolding showers I take. And , also, with my head tilted, and one eye closed, like I am trying to drunk text.

I need to give this more time, but I can't help but think of how far I have tried to come and that this is what I have to show. 
My rawest form makes me cry.

I feel for the most part I have been so strong about all of this dealing with everything.
And I have never 100% felt comfortable in my own skin.

But my self-esteem and self-confidence has never been to this level. Even when I have been turned down, after asking a guy out, this is a new low. 

I joke about everything all the time. It really does make things easier, less real, less dramatic, and emotional.  I hate being upset.  And I hate worrying about shit I can't control, so why not make light of it and move on.

But deep down, I am heart-broken.
It might have been easier to loose a finger.
Yet, I think I'd miss my finger too. 

Thursday, February 25, 2016

Poop Diaries

I sit here thinking about all the things that have compiled to this very moment.

We forget about all of the things that have become second nature to us. Like breathing, walking, talking, using the bathroom, etc, these things become trivial things until it's no longer a thing we can do alone or with out duress.

Sitting up has been my most painful feat, minus the attempts to number 2 all day.

If I push will the stitches rip and all my insides come tumbling down like Jack and Jill, and their precious water.
Then what.
I have to explain my tears and tears are from trying to shit.

This is less than an ideal situation.

I could approach it like I just need to play 57 games of Sudoku; that putting my mind to an ultimate mind-numbing activity will coerce my body to oblige with my every wish.


I could use the Ole birthing techniques; inhale, exhale and push. That would surely end in my pulling something that I could not simply push back into place. 

No, no it must be a mixture of both.
A distraction from my own pain companied by my own infliction and limitations.

Wish me luck.

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Snipped, Glued, Stitched.. All better, Right?

Well turns out I didn't die on Monday, so that's dope.
And the Tubes are gone, yo!

We arrived at the hospital at 4:45 for my 5 am check-in.
I had slept maybe an hour and a half, which is a big deal.

I had finally entered my room
I, of course, managed to get the gown that doesn't tie in the back because the string has been cut.
I try to get away with wearing my underwear and sports bra.
The nurse just shakes her head at me.

Naked it is. The gown barely covers anything.  I did shave my legs for the occasion.
I put the hospital socks on, which is out of my norm.  I don't like wearing socks, when I am naked.

I get all hooked up the the IV and the nurse tells me the anesthesiologist,  Dr. Stark was coming.

I immediately asked..
..... Tony?
The nurse said that she was a woman, and that she didn't know if her husband's name was Tony.

Poor, stupid, beautiful nurse.

Let's just say she could have been Tony Stark's wife.  She was gorgeous.

At 7:03, I entered the surgery room.

I woke up at 9:30 in my room for the night.  I was hooked up to an IV, breathing machine, pulse checker, catheter, and some things around my calves to make them move so I wouldn't develop blood clots in my legs.

I don't remember a whole lot from that day, but apparently I said some funny things.  My parent's made a list.  And took pictures.
When my brother arrived they took this one.
Apparently this is what I look like when I am sick. 

The breathing tube was weird, apparently the nose-like part on it measured my CO2 and if I took it off then the machine would beep uncontrollably, and then I would be yelled at by one of the nurses on the staff to keep the tube in.

I probably begged the nurse 87 times to take out my catheter; mixing it up how to ask her every time she came back in.
"Hey will you get me some ice chips, and oh, and take this catheter out"
"What does this button do, and oh the catheter, take it out." 

That thing is the bloody devil, and I hate it. 

My brother and my older sister came to see me.  I remember more when my older sister was there.
She brought me flowers and made me watch the bachelor.  It was torture of the purest, kindest form.

I, also, received flowers from the nicest man on earth whom I can only predict will be the future Mr. to my Yard.  That poor, beautiful man will end up with me on his doorstep with a backpack, and two, one-way tickets to nowhere.  

I didn't sleep worth a damn in the hospital. No one does. 
From being so high on morphine, and the every hour wake-ups, and shots in my stomach from the nightly Nurse Gay, The night was full of misery and business, to say the least. 

I just needed to get the hell out of there.

I finally left around 6 PM yesterday.  I slept like a baby, when I got home. 

I have felt utterly useless today though, and even more, so as I sit here watching my mother fold my laundry.  She is a saint, that I know for sure. 

It feel like the incision it not as big as I had thought.  She did cut through my tattoo, which I knew would happen, but it definitely went from a beautiful quote from my favorite book, to a Rihanna Lyric. 

Graphic Picture. My Bad,

I am not going to be ashamed of my scars.  

I will just tell people I got stabbed saving kittens. Everyone loves a good stabbing by saving kittens story.

Now, I just need to learn how to get up, go to the bathroom, cough, lay back down, walk, and sit without being in pain.

Seems easy enough.