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. 

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"

or 

"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. 

If I Die Tomorrow

I had a dream a few nights that I died on the surgery table.  Like, in the aspects of I didn't wake up. Nothing gory. 


Naturally, I was freaked out by this because I have extremely vivid dreams.


I went to work after, and thought about it a little. I am not really worried about dying to be honest.  I have lived a good life.


I am not trying to come across morbid, or anything. Everyone dies eventually some sooner rather than others, but I wanted to just let everyone my wishes.


First and foremost, I want to be cremated. 
But not in the way you would think.  I want to do it like the Vikings.  I want a Norse Funeral.
I don't want to be covered in stones after to create a tumulus.
Just a boat, some flaming arrows, and a river.


I'd prefer the lake near my home. Lake Arcadia.


Then scattered.  I want to have at least 3/4 cup of my  remains in each on of my Ex-Boyfriends' yard.
Minus that one that posts pictures of Luis Vuitton things all over his Instagram, that guy isn't getting any of these remains in life and in death..


And each one of my siblings, must have enough to put in a rice necklace and wear it.
EVERYDAY.
That way I remain in their hearts and on their neck.


The rest.. I don't really care. Fertilize a tree or something.


Next thing. I have already told my best friend in the world this... Naturally I was pretty turnip when I said it (drunk), but I totally meant it.


I told him that people that I have had to try to put in my life that have not been there for me, that have blown me off, that I knew from high school that were mean to me, or even my bullies now are not allowed at my Party of Life Fiesta. Nor are allowed to post pictures of us together saying that
Jesus got another good one, or claim they miss me.
That's not what you said when I asked you to go see a movie with me.


You aren't invited to my life party.
You can't act like you are going to miss someone when during there life you didn't even give them the time of day when they were alive.


I have a list.
You are welcome.
And if you show up and you are on the list, I'll haunt the shit out of you.
Some paranormal activity, crazy, you better move out stuff, spiders in your hair.
I am petty like that.


I also want my dog to get all my stuff.
Bed, clothes, and my car; Laney-bug is going to be poppin.


I don't have any doubt that I won't be fine and that dreams are silly
because my sister's cat is not going to grow life size and chase me around a field, even though he is terrifying.


Dreams aren't real, except that one that I had about that one guy...that, that was very real.


Anything could happen.
But I am so thankful of my life.
And the people in it.


There are so many things I want to do with my life. I want to take a road trip to Mount Rushmore. I want to swim with otters, but only three of them because I feel like more than that would just be stupid. I want to go to a play.  I want to fly in a helicopter. I want to drive to California and touch the ocean again.


I am very nervous.
But.
I am okay.
I got this.


I really wish I could have a beer right now.

Doctors Without Boundaries

Figured I would mention a little something about my Camera Pill that I swallowed today.  The prep was like every GI prep; long, cleansing, and hungry.  It went down easy, and I hope it comes out just as easy.  (No I don't have to return the pill).


I look forward to the pictures next week.


Anyways,  so tomorrow at 8:45 in the morning, I have my Pre-Operation appointment with my homegirl, Dr. S.  She is legit. 


Most women understand this, but we have to really trust the doctor that is looking at "our situations".  Normally with the lady doctor, you are only suppose to go in once a year, for the "yearly". 


Dr. S and I have been seeing each other a lot more than that. 
I even shave my legs for her. 
You could say it's getting serious.


Actually now that I think about it... Every doctor in that office have seen my.....business.
It's not very common for me to have both tubes blocked, so they are curious.  I understand that.
But going in consistently since September at least every other week, kind of makes you feel like things that seem so personal, like the inside of your body, is no longer a secret.


When I call, they say to me, "Hey Kelsey, Long time!" 


It's probably not a bragging moment, when the receptionist know you by your voice on the phone. 
It's hard to not feel a certain way when you walk through the halls of the office and you know for fact more than half of the people there have seen...everything...


I wonder if they look at me and they are like, here comes "Blocked Tube Girl", like I am some kind of comic book hero.


The Adventures of Blocked Tubes Girl
....will they ever fix her?


I sure as shit hope so.









 

Dateable Debatable

One of the hardest things to do, even before my "Bering Strait" was out of commission, is dating.
I am a class A, chronic, bad dater.  My previous pattern consisted of trying to date the unattainable (boys who didn't want girlfriends), and lets just say that didn't work...obviously.


At 25 there is a pool of single men left...

My depiction of the Pool of Guys I have to select from.



Okay, now I know what you are thinking, "Wow Kels, Great art work!".....and thank you I worked really hard on it.

So this is what the picture means:

1. The Shallow End: This consist of our good time boys.  They are your weekend warriors; the Hook Up Kings of Oklahoma.  They don't want a serious relationship "right now", which means you. They are normally extremely attractive, and they know it. 

2. The Deep End:  This is the divorced, older men who just want to be married, because they are afraid that they have an expiration date on finding love, and the ones with baby momma's.  There is nothing wrong with being divorced and/or having children with another woman, but if we are going to be real; it's a category.

3. The "Too Young For You" boys:  Being in college at 25 is not an ideal place, actually, it's an extremely awkward place to date.  They all look the same age. It's best to avoid that all together.

4. The Holy Grail of Men: These are the one's that I can only presume I have not met yet.  I can only speculate that they have accents (British ones), volunteer on their free time at the hospital saving children, love traveling the world, and want 31 dogs...and me, of course.  

Things did change when I found out I couldn't have children.  Dating at the age of 25 is not easy.  On top of that, being infertile really makes you question the seriousness of the relationship. 

At this age most of us, not all, want to date to eventually one day get married, but how can I be that selfish.  

To say "Hey if you chose me, kids might not be an option for you but I am sure I will age very well."    I haven't even made a decision if I want to put myself through IVF, or adoption.  

Could I really be that selfish to make another person go through this? 

My mom tells me all the time that it won't matter when he cares.  But is that tricking him if I know I can't and he so-calls "falls in love" with me, and I didn't tell him.  Then what? 

Couples are 3 times more likely to divorce because of infertility. And it would be my fault. 

I am cruel, but I am not that cruel.  



The First One

Pre-Warning:  This is my first blog.  This is my first blog post.  I have no idea how to approach this, so please, bear with me. 

This will be my longest post (I hope).

 I honestly don't know where to begin.  So I guess, I will just jump in. 


My name is Kelsey.  I am currently 25 years old, and a student at the University of Central Oklahoma.  This blog is starting as a requirement for one of the courses I am taking called, Blogging for Journalist.  That being said some post will be in reflection of that.

The other reason, which I didn't realize until as of recent, I am writing this blog is to create awareness. 

Before I really get into it, I have to say this...
I don't want this to be a "dear diary, woe is me, feel bad for me, tragedy strikes" blog.
I do not want your pity.  There is nothing wrong with me.

This is a therapeutic outlet, because there are others.  They may not know it, but they exist.
1 in 8, actually.
 
Well, 1 in 8 couples, at least that's what Google says, so it must be true. 1 in 8 couples deal with problems of infertility. 



Technically the definition of infertility is "Not getting pregnant despite having carefully timed, unprotected sex for one year." Typically that is the way you find out, right? 



I wish I could have been so lucky.



My story is a long, dreadful, graphic one, so I will graciously spare you the details but basically:



I started cramping like crazy, and not like regular "suck-it-up-don't-be-a-wimp" cramps because I can handle those, these were the "drug-me-to-stop-the-tears-and-vomiting" cramps.


I went to three different doctors.


I had a very uncomfortable ultrasound.


I found that one of my fallopian tubes, (the passage ways from the ovary to the uterus, AKA egg dropper to the baby holder; you are welcome) from the ultrasound images, was blocked. 

So then in October 2015, we decided to do Laparoscopic Surgery (which is where they knock you out, pump you full of CO2,  put this scope thing that checks out your insides through you belly button, and two small incisions on the abdomen, so they can stick these claw-like things in your stomach to move things around).



Let's just say, we opened Pandora's Box with that.


So I found out that not just one, but both tubes are completely blocked.

I asked about reconstruction; they can't do it.

I asked about draining them; it's impossible, they are solid.


So after the semester ended in December, I went to see two specialists to find out what the hell I was going to do.  The Reproduction Specialist, and the Digestive Specialist, because I have two problems now:


1. I have completely blocked tubes.
2. They don't think that is the cause of my abdominal pain.


So over the winter break, I worked A LOT, to try and keep up with these insane medical bills, and I went to the doctors. 


At the Reproduction Specialist they said that the only way for me to have children is IVF.


IVF is In Vitro Fertilization. 


This is probably the most romantic way to have a baby.  

This is where they shoot you full of shots for months, you have this surgery where they stick this needle in your abdomen suck out an egg to a petri-dish, swish it around with homeboys sperm, wait a few days, and then stick it in the uterus aka the baby holder.  Then you have a 50% chance that will take.


By the way, its 15,000 dollars, nonrefundable, but it's totally cool, because if it doesn't take then you can freeze some of your eggs and they only cost 5,000 per egg, also, nonrefundable.


The chances go down after the age of 35, so at least I have 10 years to save up for this or decide if I even want to put myself through that. 


And of course, the other obvious ways such as foster parent, adoption, and/or marry a guy some day with a kid. 

(They obviously didn’t say the last one but, it is an option)

I will keep it short on the Digestive Specialist because it has nothing to do with my infertility, yet it is so interesting.  So in short with this doctor, I have had an Endoscopy, a colonoscopy (yes at the same time, and no, not the same scope), a CAT scan, and on Tuesday, I get to swallow the camera pill.  

Pretty excited about the camera pill because I will hopefully get some results and the pictures will go towards my collection for my Christmas card next year.

The Christmas card is an ongoing joke, but I am so serious.

So now my wonderful readers, you are up to speed.

There are ups and there are downs.  
There are beautiful parts, and there are less beautiful parts, but my goal for this blog is to shed light on what infertility really means for a young single woman who actually wanted to have children.  

So stay tuned for this roller-coaster.   

KA