Frightility Part Deux

 We are IN this. and I should have written sooner if I was going to document this properly, but I didn't and here we are so this might be a two part-er of part 2.

It's literally fine.

So let's begin.

So since we last spoke, I had my egg retrieval, and my transfer and there has been emotions on emotions. 

Also, I am basically a doctor now, because I am going to school for medical coding and ALSO because I give myself so many shots that I should be charging myself a deductible and Tricare should be paying me but that is neither here nor there. 

So we did a couple of weeks of shots to produce more follicles which hold eggs,  the follicles can hold anywhere between 0-2 eggs.  They have you develop more follicles than normal so that way you have the best chances.  Well when I woke up, they had egggstracted 16 eggs, which is incredible.

8 of them made it through the fertilization process and 6 of them made it through the cryopreservation process after developing for more than 5 days, which means they have more likely of a chance surviving because there are a lot of cells. 

So I had 6 Capt America Babies.  

Well during my egg retrieval they had to perform a surgery to make sure I didn't have anything adhering to my uterus which would prevent implanting, so they went in and when they go in to make sure they put more saline in there  which would destroy the embryos, so I had to wait a couple of weeks * a month to be exact, before I could start to prep my body for a FET, aka a Frozen Embryo Transfer.

We did our Frozen Embryo Transfer on Monday Oct 9th.

And you know how I like to keep things super interesting....I decided although advised against.. to do 2 embryos.  Yes, I said that correctly...2.

The reason they usually advise against is because those embryos can, also multiply.  I could have more than 2... but in my heart of hearts I knew that God wanted me to do two. I couldn't stop the force that was coming at me.  Something kept pulling me to do two, so we did two. 

I hope it means something.  I guess I am writing now because between crying every 5 minutes over silly things, and the exhaustion that I am just finally at a point where this is it.

We find out tomorrow morning if I am officially pregnant. And I am honestly so petrified.

I have done everything, absolutely everything in my control to make this happen.. and its now completely out of my hands. I can't take anything I can't do anything at this moment to change the outcome. 

and that terrifies me. 

This is the truest testament of faith that if it is meant to be for us it will be and if it is not then it is not. 

And I have to be okay with that.

I am in completely over my head and I have to be strong regardless of the news tomorrow.  

I really don't know if I am more scared that it did take or if it didn't. I really don't know. 

But I do know that I am scared. I do know how I felt went I saw those embryos go in. I do know my husband is the best partner that could ever exist.  

Seriously though. I have been on hormones since August.  I have already shown him so much crazy that its unreal, and he has been patient with me and this has been really hard on the both of us.

I guess I am just so nervous that I don't know how to be right now.  We will find out 15 hours. 

Shit I am losing it. 

Fruitility Journey Part Un.

 I have been honestly debating back and forth on writing about this, but honestly... 

this was the whole point of this...right?   The vulnerability... the honesty.. the actual journey. 

I never thought I would get this far to be fair. 

Well we pulled the trigger so to speak, and decided to do this damn thing.  I am not getting any younger and is there ever really the right time to have a baby. 

I could make 100 excuses of why I am not ready.  But I think the only reason I wouldn't really be ready to do this is the fear that my body would once again let me down and would prove my inadequacy to be abundantly clear to God and everyone.

 But screw it, right?  

Well I have started my journey with a fertility center here in Colorado.  They did this amazing thing here where they have actually made it somewhat affordable. 

I went in for my Baseline at the end of July after our phone consultation, where this guy was like Hey you guys are ideal candidates, which I think really just meant that we could relatively afford it.

The baselines were just hella blood being drawn to see what I needed to start taking or stop taking to get this vessel to start vesseling? 

Guess what mother truckers... I was really worried at 32 that I would not have enough stock or eggies left to do this without worrying and homies... she be fertile as a mother.. literally.  Which is awesome and my hubs swimmers be swimming, so to speak.  So that is amazing news.

I had to go in for a test called a Hysterosonogram.. aka the Balloon Test aka how many things can we fit IN there.. 

Yes IN.

So its a saline ultrasound.  The first put in the speculum, and for all my none ladies reading this that means that cold metal pliers looking device to prop your girl open, and then they put in "a very thin catheter" and if you have been following my story you know my hate/hate relationship with catheters... like no one wants that.  And THEN they pump in saline into the uterine cavity AND THEN they, also, put in the ultrasound probe.. or the vaginal wand or whatever you want to refer to it as to see if there are like any abnormalities such as polyps or really anything that could prevent the embryo from implanting in the uterus. 

I know I basically sound like a doctor. It's crazy, right?

But if you read back on that.. that's too many things going on in there.  Almost got caught up and thought my situation was Mary Poppins' bag, huh?  #metoo  Ooo is that an umbrella.. and a watch.. and oh dang not a Land Rover... all of it. 

Well during the test natch I am extremely uncomfortable.. too many things in there and I am not on Porn Hub, and I am not getting paid for this.. I am paying them to torture me.  BUT anyways, after they put Niagara Falls in there and remove the catheter they should be able to see what's going on in there to make sure is just the best looking Ut out there and low and behold as soon as they removed the catheter my Uterus closed up like a venus fly trap.. couldn't see a damn thing.  Well reported by the very nice tech she said that there might be a polyp, which we will have to surgically remove... stop it.. I can't.

I am hoping it doesn't prolong the process, but it might.  We will have to wait and see until we go in for the egg retrieval, which I will already be put under for.  I am not stressed... I am, also, lying. 

I did get all of my meds in which is probably the most aggressive amount of shit I have ever seen in my entire life.  I believe it ends up being around 90 doses of medicine in roughly 5 days and majority of them are shots.  You know I just love me some needles. 

I will start my injections when I start my cycle.. which should literally be any day now.. if I stop stressing out. Which.. I mean calm? me? ever? Literally no.  

Also, some of the medications expire in 2 weeks.. yes.. expire. The definition of use it or lose it. 

It is a lot. and I mean A LOT. And I have been looking up stats which is like Googling your symptoms...never good.  30%...

Do you realize 30% is like what you get on your SAT if you put your name on the exam.. You don't even have to really try anything to get a 30% on anything.. 

But shit... I mean I have come this far.. and 30% is better than 0% right? 

I don't even know anymore.  I have been praying so much and so hard and have to remember to be patient and remain positive regardless of the storm we are weathering. 

I really am just scared. Very scared.  I want to feel deserving, I want to feel confident, I want to feel hopeful and excited. And I am just so nervous for the shoe to drop and to be devastated.  I am petrified to be excited. 

So I will be waiting for my period to start and in the mean time watch videos of people giving themselves shots subcutaneously. 

Holler. 

Off the wagon? On the wagon? Something about a wagon.......

Well I’m back on my bullshit. I swear I only start writing when I’m close to losing my shit. 

Two weeks ago I decided that I was dying. Knees and Spaghetti style with some mild vomiting.  It was my right side that was in excruciating pain.  

If you’ve been keeping up with my shit then you would be like 

Oh man Kels isnt it usually your left side, and I would say yes yes it is but not this day.  

On God I thought I had appendicitis.  Even FaceTimed or whatever Google’s shit is for the time where I can see your face. And pointed to where it hurt like he is a doctor. 

I finished whatever I was doing (I was going to say doing laundry but I don’t do that, and I was going to say cooking but I definitely don’t do that either, but I was doing something) so I waited a minute to call my sister in law to come snag me to drop me off at the hospital. 

They get me checked in pretty quick.  People have been avoiding the hospital like the plague lately.....

Get it.

Well I hobble in there and I end up knowing the scribe.  Cute little thing. 

We end up loading me up on some pain medication to make sure I start to feel some kind of relief because by this point I’m basically dry heaving. 

Well CT scan shows I had a cyst rupture.  COOL. I tried to explain that me having cyst is so 2013 and that I am not looking for a B2B. 

They can’t do anything for ruptured cysts due to it happening already.  So they load you up on hydros, and morphine and you just head on out.  

It’s wild to me how they do that.  

They don’t tell you its going to hurt for days. But what is pain at this point anyways. Constantly feels like a figment of my imagination.  It’s all in your head. 

I swear there is enough shit in my head. 

I have been trying to maintain that its not a big deal at this point. Chronic pain feels so played out. Can a girl get some Chronic Pleasure, or what ever that type of weed is that I smoke.   

Honestly when I talk or preach or feel anything about it, it feels like a broken record. 

I am supposed to make an appointment to see the ultrasound specialist to check out the ovaries to make sure they are chilling where they are supposed to be and they are not covered in cysts, which hoping they aren’t.  Don’t tell my mom or my roommate that I haven’t made the appointment yet. What are they going tell me.   Let’s getttem gone (I live in Oklahoma thats how everyone talks..I’m kidding...I’m not)

Sounds made up... just like when my roommate told me that your periods don’t control if you like someone or not.... SOUNDS ::claps::MADE::claps:: UP.

Anyways, I am putting it off because I’m in the middle of opening up a restaurant and sound like something I don’t have time or effort for. 

I’ll just do what I’m good at which is burn it off a both ends and become a hermit psychopath.

And I know I’ll be the best kind.  

I Knew I Was Right

Being told it's all in your head is beyond discouraging.

Makes you doubt yourself and your sanity.

I did for a long time until recently.

On December 20th, I had my first surgery since 2015.  I felt so crazy the last few years with them telling me the pain I felt was a nightmare of never-ending turmoil. 

I was getting trigger points and doing physical therapy.  It always felt like maintenance for something none of us knew about.

I haven't mentioned my surgery on here, yet because I've been scared.  I didn't want to go down that road again of no answers, more doubt, and shame. I haven't known what to say or how to feel. will my story make sense...it doesn't to me so why would anyone else get it .

I know what you are thinking, "Why shame. There is nothing to feel shame for."

I felt alone and empty.  Maybe the pain for years was in my head. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I was being a hypochondriac.

This surgery validated my truth.

I was hospitalized 3 times for pain in the last 5 months.  Never any answers.
Just dope her up on some pain meds, that must be why she is here. 

My father and his wonderful amazing friend Dr. B, decided that we can't keep doing this.  They sent me a list of new doctors.  I called all the second on the list.  Dr. C we shall call her.

I pleaded to the nurse on the phone through a soaked face and they got me in so quickly. I knew Nurse R was going to be my saving grace from her concern at my first visit.

The room this time was something from a hoarders episode of all things pink.  It was absolutely frightening, and nothing I wanted to be exposed in.
I have only been in there twice but man just like it's a girl gender reveal threw up all over that room.

Dr. C was stern but kind.  She basically said screw it let's find out.

Scheduled me for surgery two weeks from the date.  This hospital was a little different.  They weren't saying prayers over you before you go in but they do make you feel all warm while you lay there naked.

Life is so out of control sometimes, that it's an honest to God blessing that you have any control ever.
Maybe the color of your hair or the nails on your fingers, or the tattoos on your body, but that inside stuff, nah...
you get what you get and you don't throw a fit.

When I woke up I always worry because out of anesthesia I am a total mess, either mad or sad....
basically it is how ever you are drunk is what the Post-Op nurse told me. 

I was sobbing. Like a little drunk girl who just was broken up with....a total and utter complete mess.
She told me I have endometriosis. 

I knew I was right.

How does one handle that?
How is one supposed to deal with that?

Here is this disease that will have your uterus grow into parts of your body it is not supposed to be and there is no cure but you will be in pain for the rest of your life.

I wasn't crying because I was sad.
I was crying because finally someone heard me screaming my lungs out that something was wrong.
Dr. C heard me.  I thank God for her every single day for hearing me.


It's been a little over 2 months post-op.  My belly button ring closed up again which is annoying, and I have a little scar on top of my C-Section-esque scar. 

I am taking more prescription drugs to numb what was there.  They said it should be at most two years before my next surgery.

Math tells me that's going to be a few surgeries left in my life time.

Sometimes I ask myself was it worth it all knowing what I know now....even though there is nothing I can do...
I would have to say yes, because at least now this demon has a name. Now I won't be told it was in my head. Now it won't hurt me because I know it's real.  Now I won't be sad thinking that I did this to myself.

Overdosing is Less Than Everything Else

Well I never expected it to be this long since I have written.
I have made up every excuse to avoid being vulnerable again or seem like I need a grasp on life or help.
But I think it's time to get back to myself and figure out what I am missing or what I need.
If it sucks it's because it's been too long and I am technically so far out of school that I might not even recall the difference between their, there, and they're...(I'm kidding about that last part. Yikes)

I have been so busy with immersing my every being into my career, to where it is making me bury everything else and now it is biting me in the ass like it always does.
  I have had a lot happen since I have decided to write again. So a recap I guess would serve a purpose because.. well I really don't need an excuse..because this is my story anyways..

I tried the internal shots.
And the first time it was like God had bestowed upon me the feeling of what a pain-free life would look like.
Well that's a stretch...the path is anything less than ideal.

A giant needle penetrating your muscles in your pelvic floor...::no no I don't like that::

It was the worst pain I have ever felt in my entire life. We ended up doing 8 internal shots. Dr. T was putting gauze in places that I didn't think one should put gauze. I started to freak because she was like WE NEED GAUZE, and said it in a urgent manner like she had just cut off a piece of my body. 

 The tears were worth the terror.

I have done 8 rounds of shots. Two internal and 6 external.  I have only done two internal because the first time was awesome but the second time made me so sick. Dr. T shared some dark Dove chocolate to settle my insides. Turns out if you are on your cycle it sends the muscles into shock and causes your body to freak out. And it did.  IT really did.

Dr. T said shots are not a permanent solution and I knew that and she knows that and we all know that, but I was scared for another surgery and scared for the pain and scared for the pills.
But I didn't want to say I wouldn't try.
We discussed changing my medications up. What's ONE more pill.

 I was taking 20mg of Lexapro to manage my anxiety and they decided to switch me over to Cymbalta.  This anti-depressant is also an anti-spasmatic. 

Well in the laws of the drug world you can't stop taking one and start taking another.

You have to ween off that shit.  So we decided to take me down to 10mg of Lexapro for a week, then 10mg with 30mg of Cymbalta, and the 10mg of Lexapro with 60mg of Cymbalta, and let's just say 60mg with 10mg is too many mg for my body.

I overdosed again. 
My muscles were in over drive.  I couldn't stop moving, I  couldn't talk, I hurt all over.  Brandon rushed me to the ER and my heart rate was 170 resting. My blood pressure was through the roof. They admitted me and pumped me with Benadryl and fluids through my arm and instantly was completely drugged up.  No idea what happened and then Brandon took me home.

It was like a dream. I didn't know when I woke up if it happened or not but I did feel like I was hit by an underage drunk driver again. Prying myself out of bed like they pried me out of my vehicle.
 And I went back to work the next day. 
I am back on the Lexapro and feeling better. 

It's dark in life when you mess with something that stabilizes you.

We still don't have a solution, but I guess I'll be getting my next round of shots on the 11th.

Life is crazy sometimes. Depression is real. Confidence and perseverance really are key to creating normalcy in a body that you wish wasn't yours. 

Triggggggered

So I am sitting here after being checked in by the very young and kind front desk lady.  I swear the vibe in there is very similar to an airport terminal awaiting to board an aircraft and I'm hoping through that door is a trip to another place, another moment from this one..
It's always a little rough to sit in the OBGYN waiting rooms.  There is always an over abundance of expectant women with their loving husbands waiting to see ultra sounds of their little ones.

Wouldn't that be cool.

But on the contrary some are just there for their yearly, you can always tell because they look a little less tense.

Me, I'm just waiting for relief.

It seems to take eternity, especially when you are nervous.  I am trying to conceal my worry with writing at this very moment. I am back to see Dr. P today because I am to receive trigger point injections again.  I have previously wrote in regards to this and still never seem to remember the exact emotions I feel.

They called my name and it felt in a brief moment like an echo. I got up to head to my destination.

The first step is always blood pressure and weight.  I was talking so much to mask my nerves that the machine wouldn't take and she finally had to kindly tell me to stop talking.
It was normal.
Then I was weighed. 116.  Seems I've lost quite a few pounds.

We head back to the room and the kind nurse asks me roughly 237492349 questions on what I'm allergic to and how I feel.
After we had gotten to know each other like a script I've recited so many times that I've committed it to memory, she did what happens every time,

"Please undress from the waist down, someone will be right in"

I take off my sweat pants and underwear and neatly fold them on the chair.  I do something I never do; I kept my socks on.  As you well know, I don't do socks when I take my clothes off. It stresses me out.  But today seemed different.

I laid back and looked to my right and there was a picture of a setting sun on the water.
My destination.

I began to think of something my father said today to me, Embrace the suck....
Lately there has been a lot of suck in my life. The feeling lately of being taken for granted.  The feeling of putting myself into all I do and having nothing for myself.  I put every single ounce of all who I am in my job, in my relationship and in other random little parts of my life.
It's been so rough of me mentally. Very rough. Not sleeping. Not eating.
I've shut down in all aspects of my life.
Except one.

In the room, I kind of feel tears welling up in my eyes and I began to pray the Hail Mary and the Lord's Prayer, back to back, in a whisper because it's just for Him and I.

There is a knock at the door,
"Come in"

It wasn't Dr. P it was her PA, we will call her Dr. T.  Well Dr. T is this super skinny, beautiful, soft spoken little angel.  I really wanted to ask her where she got her skirt from.

She came in with a nurse who had the best resting bitch face I had ever seen in my life, and the only time she opened her mouth it was to ask if I wanted to hold her hand.

Dr. T placed little x's on my body to pin point each area she was going to insert the injections.
There were at the time 9 sharpied X's on my body.

She then asked me the most horrifying thing I've ever heard in my entire human life.
"Would you like an internal shot as well"

Excuse me...what...

My face must have looked horrified, the only words that could leave my lips were,
"That's a thing...."

She began to explain how it would really help my condition, but as she asked me the 1.25" needle was in the nurses hands and I couldn't even imagine putting that inside of me or wanting to even remotely do that at all.
It was a no from me dog.

I told her I would think about it for the next round.

I was all prepped and I was laying back becoming anxious again and I finally looked at that beautiful  RBF and said please hold my hand.

The first few are always the worse. But the lidocaine takes control and the last few you feel nothing.  The soreness is coming though. We decided on 10 shots due to the amount of serum left in the vial this time.

After she finishes, I lay there and she tells me to not get up too fast. Move when I am ready.
I don't cry this time.

I have three more appointments scheduled, two being in the month of December.

I have found through all of my reflection and inner thoughts that I have been putting everything under the sun over myself: my feelings, my mental health, my physical health, my sanity.

I matter too.
God I matter too.

I'm worn so thin that I have just shut down.
How do you come back from that.
I just need to breathe.

God I matter too.

What's Wrong with Your Head.

Mental stability has never been one of my strong suits.

During my high school days I was seeing this psychiatrist, whose name I don't remember for some pills that I can't forget. 

I was going through typical "My parents don't understand me, and I am a failure because of my grades and my need to drink during the school day" high school slump.

I was a typical kid that didn't technically need to be on Lexapro and Paxil.  But I was. 

I stopped taking pills right after high school.

Then proceeded to resume my pill poppin after my 25th birthday.  My docs decided I need them because I couldn't have children.

I was going through the typical "I am unable to bear children, No one understands me.  I have lady parts for no reason and my need to be drunk during the day" mid-twenties slump.

I needed Jesus, not pills.

After my fiasco, where I took too high of a dosage of pills (talked about it "Well That Could Have Been Bad), I decided no more for me.

The only pills I take daily now will be BC, God Bless that baby chewable pill that causes the stopped up drain of what is my "reproductive system"and of course, 800 MG Ibuprofen, famously known as the Holy Grail of tablets, that was placed upon this Earth by the gods to cleanse my soul of the gut-wrenching agnoy that comes with being Kelsey.
#shoutouttomyliver

Well as of late I have not been "allowed" to take Ibuprofen. 
Long story short:
Football, my face, a dudes face, both facing the ball, collision, knocked out, concussion, ER, impact testing fail, memory loss, not better.
Sadly, that is the shortened version.

I apparently I'm not "resting" enough to be better, which sucks but, I am a busy woman, Dr. M. I got my heart and soul into my career and I can't just put it on hold.  I can compromise, but I can't stop.

Dr. M is really nice.  I've seen her twice now.  Her fingers are cold. It's not a bad thing.  She does look familiar, but not in a way that I know her.  Just like it feels, like I have seen her at a coffee shop or something, like 11 years ago.   You know, familiar but, not.

I really hope I don't lose my hair because my head is all lumpy now.  It would look terrible. Like a fused together peanut M&M.  I don't know... maybe that is a terrible explanation, but that's all I got right now, which isn't saying too much.
I don't really "got" a lot right now, except a headache and a need for more sleep.
I guess this is what the Scarecrow felt like. 

Something None of Us Want to Talk About

I never write when I am feeling 100% myself.  I have been listening to Lord Huron- The Night We Met on repeat.  So if you would like to get the full experience, go ahead and turn it on.
It's a good song.  I mean I wouldn't turn it on right now, but it is on currently, so I guess that's a lie.

Why would I be 100% when I write.  It's like a journal.  It's a way to organize my thoughts and fill my desolation.

A sense of normalcy that I crave.

I know that I am tired.  I decided my usual cocktail of 5 benadryl and sleeping pills was not meant for last night.  I decided to watch 13 Reasons Why.
The reason for myself is why.

I knew it was going to be something.  I just didn't realize what.
And in my addictive mind I knew I shouldn't, but I, also, knew sleep wasn't going to find me; the jetting pain in my side found me instead.

So with heating pad and a glass of water, I plunged into a series that I really wasn't ready for.

I know it's so silly that I am even bringing this up.  But it shook me to my core.

Now before we get started, I am not suicidal..  I was once.
But not in a plan it out way.  It was more of a "would-this-be-better".  Would it make everything go away.
It was 7 years ago.
I obviously wasn't serious.  I didn't even have a plan.

So you probably don't know what I am talking about when I talk about this series.

But basically very rough synopsis is, it's about a girl name Hannah Baker, who committed suicide and she left a series of tapes for each person who had "something to do with it", a series of stories and secrets that left her so empty and proved to her that her life wasn't important.

Reminder...me..... not suicidal.

We have all felt low.  We all have a story that no one knows about.  We all have skeletons.  We have all done things we aren't proud of. We have all lost someone.
We have.
It's apart of life.

My first real loss was in the 6th grade.  Vivian Staggs.  We were stationed in Germany at the time.  It was 2002.  And being on one of the biggest overseas bases meant most all the moms and dads were deployed, and that was no exception for Vivian or I.

We were 12.  Vivian and I met in counseling.  Ms. Hinson.
We went every single day for lunch.  I wore my father's Creighton sweatshirt every single day and Vivian would be there. We opened up to each other.  Her dad had been gone a lot longer than mine.  He was enlisted.  I remember Vivian's grades were slipping, and we would work on it together.  She wasn't the most popular.  She was kind of a nobody.  I don't actually remember her hanging out with anyone other than me.
The last time I remember seeing her was the end of the year ceremony at school.  She had received one of RAMS Best.  She was the most improved.  I remember her large lenses and her smile when she went up on stage to receive that award.  Her father was coming home in the next 2 weeks.  School was ending and my family was PCSing back to the states.
I knew, I was probably never going to see her again. I just didn't realize that never, really meant never.

We got the help we needed through the school, but Vivian's stepmom didn't.

Vivian's sister was suffocated.
She was 3.
Vivian...
Vivian was stabbed to death.
In the woods.
That's where they found them.
10 miles outside of the base.
She was 12.  
Her stepmom killed herself.
They had been missing for 3 days.

https://www.stripes.com/news/autopsy-reveals-airman-s-wife-suffocated-one-daughter-stabbed-other-1.10033#.WOQjSjvyu00


How does it get that bad.

It can.

I don't think I have ever stopped thinking about the person she was going to be or could have been.
It was 14 years ago. And I can still see her face.

Have you turned off Lord Huron's, The Night We Met...  
I haven't. Not yet. 

Like I said before.
The series was really good, and paints a picture that people don't want to talk about, or want to cover up, or not cover up.
And maybe you will get justice, or maybe you won't.  Maybe you feel guilt. Maybe you will try to forget.  Maybe if you don't worry about it or pretend it didn't happen, then it didn't.
Maybe people will make jokes and not realize.  And you laugh it off because you don't want them to know. Because you were only 19, and you shouldn't have been there anyways. And you fight with yourself and you drink too much and you start failing school because you trusted your professor and you had to move away but couldn't tell anyone why because you shouldn't have been at that party. You don't really remember.  It's all hypothetical, right.

Everyone has been through something.  You have to chose to make it through.

I have been hiding lately because things are bad.  I was let go from my job, dumped, lost my insurance, been to many many interviews with no leads, I can't sleep, I can barely eat.  I have felt like nothing. Like a burden.  But if I made it through 2003,  2010, 2013, and 2016; I can make it through 2017.


Just another bump in the road.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?
I'm not dead.

Cognitive Dissonance

Cognitive Dissonance: noun

the state of having inconsistent thoughts, beliefs, or attitudes, especially as relating to behavioral decisions and attitude change.

Today is a day that I cannot forget.

I am writing it so late because I wanted to make sure I knew what my thoughts meant and how I feel about today.

One year ago was the surgery that changed my life.

Today-

I was walking through the park with my love Lane, my beautiful dog, that has been their for me as an emotional support throughout my transformation.

As I spoke previously in regards to her, I picked out my Lane during the pinnacle of my break up with my ex that I was living with.

She was suppose to selfishly fill my void of love that I was no longer getting.

Which is crazy now that I think about it because I wasn't actually getting the love I desired/deserved any ways.

But anyways, we were walking through the park on this exquisite afternoon.

79 degrees, sunny, a light breeze; utter transcendence, especially for February.

I began to think about the trees and their existence. It was weird, so I stopped.

I thought about where I was this day last year. I was in a hospital bed.

I remember that this exact moment last year, I was in a hospital bed was so high on morphine that I knew the only thing I needed to do was press the bright green button to make things disappear.

Or at least help forget that I had a catheter in.

As I passed through the trees deep in my thoughts, I looked out on people there at the park. They were running, playing on the play ground, people were laying in hammocks, people were walking their dogs, and people were walking as a family with their babies in strollers.

I thought about them as individuals. Living souls. Students taking a break from class to enjoy a day that could have been stressful due to a test, a young girl going on a run desiring to be skinnier, a man reading on a table trying to find peace.

We all have something in common. We have all different frames of reference. We have all been through something. No one can look at me and see the road I have traveled.

People don't look at me and know my story. And I cannot look at these people and know their stories.

It's impossible.

I could nerd out and look at statistics and say the CDC says nearly 1 in 5 women have been raped so there was at least 5 of us there.

I could say according to the Cancer Research page 50% people will be diagnosed with cancer so that's, at least, 15 people there or someone they know.

Everyone has something. I remember when my biggest problem was, "does this shirt make me look fat"..

I fixate on other things to avoid this.

My favorite book in the whole world was my favorite book long before this. All of this.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower. (Not the movie. I don't even want to talk about that movie)

This book made me feel things that I can never put in my own words. I don't feel like I am clever enough to say the things I feel in a way that is poetic enough to draw justice to the actual feeling.

Through all my feelings today this is how I feel about where I am mentally,

"I think if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won't tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it won't change the fact that they are upset. And even if some one else has it much worse, that doesn't change the fact that you have what you have."

I no longer feel sorry for myself. I did for too long. I have for too long. I do wish things were simple again. Simple, back when walking through the park was a way to get to the swing set and I would just pump my legs up and down and no longer care if I didn't get the job, if he didn't call me back, if I didn't have bills to pay, if I didn't care that she didn't want to be my friend.

I wish that. But you can't go back.

They don't tell you what could happen because, people pray everywhere that it doesn't. But it does.

The best thing you can do is figure out how to swim against the rushing current and pray that you don't drown.

This day has changed me forever. I lost a part of myself, but in return I gained my life. I gained a perspective about others that I never knew existed and when you become less selfish you gain that.

I will never forget today. I will never forget how I felt. I will never forget how I feel. I will never forget what I learned. I will never forget who I lost. I won't ever forget not because I don't want to. It's because I can't forget.

Maybe it is sad that these are now memories. And maybe it's not sad. 

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.

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 sounds..it 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"......"

what.

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.

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. 

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.

At a Loss

Why.

How.

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.

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.

Anyways.

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 infertility...so 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.

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. 

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.

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
PERMANENT.

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? 

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.