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. 

Catch Up or Caught Down?

 I figured it was about time to start writing again.  I have had a lot of things to work through since I last spoke and a lot has changed.  Priorities have changed, life has changed, and time never stops. 

And the journey never ends.  I have still been battling with endometriosis, and the surgeries and management of the disease never ends. But things have been a lot better since my last surgery in December of 2021.  The surgery ending up being robotics and it rid me of a lot of excess scarring which was definitely an issue when it came to pain. 

I still have pain, which I know will never fade, but I have been trying to live a better/healthier lifestyle to combat some of the influences I have control over.  

Don't get me wrong.. I will still have the occasional drink, but the wilding out (Nick Cannon voice) has died down significantly.

Honestly, its probably because I am 32 (I am pretty sure) now and hangovers last an entire moon cycle, and I really don't have the time or capacity for that anymore.

But small catch up:   I am married now.. Yes it's true (I can't believe it either), I tricked him so hard and now he is stuck with me.  Until death do us part dawg.  And if I die before him and he thinks I want him to "move on"... he has another thing coming... if I am dying guest what mothereffer you are getting in with me and we can go together... I will haunt the shit out of him. 

Honestly, what is really wild is before I met my angel, the man that saved my life.. I was planning on having a full hysterotomy.  

No shit, I had it all planned out. I was going to do it in October, and we met in August.  I was determined to snip snap, until I met him.  

I looked in his eyes and I knew that's going to be my baby daddy. So I decided to spontaneously keep it all up in there in hopes I could make him fall in love with me and eventually knock me up with some shots and a petri dish.

So we got married, we moved away to a new state, and I am out of the service industry and I have flipped my life all the way into a pretzel.

I would probably be freaking out if I didn't have him. 

Now the mental is a thing... I know this has been my story of infertility and that's a huge portion of who I am because of the trials and tribulations I have faced dealing with this imperfect being that is human. 

But my mental.. jeez louise.. its been all types of what the hell.  

Like scary. And I have no idea how to deal with this.  

I have no idea how to handle my own brain.  

It's terrifying.  How am I supposed to be a mother if I am a complete psychopath who cries in the bath while listening to Paramore. 

I can't even pull myself sometimes out of the dark abyss and I am expecting myself to just pop out octuplicates and be like good? I have a good support team which is rare and beautiful, and I am lucky.

Honestly, I am lucky to be alive. Life will either eat you or it won't. It's so easy to just throw in the towel and say, nope I am done with the pain, I am done with the sadness, I am done with the hurt,  I am done with the tears, I am done with the sorrow.

 I am just done.  And that's not you.. You aren't meant to be done.  

There is a plan.  There is hope.  There is support.  It's okay to take a pill to be okay.  It's okay to feel sad, but it's not okay to feel like you are nothing, because you are someone's something, whether you know it or not. 

I didn't mean to go on some crazy rampage, and it's been 2 years and I am coming in soooo hot. But I will write more, I think.  I might have lost my touch, because the rumors are true... if you don't use it you will lose it.

But I will have more to discuss like: the baby grant I applied for, and Colorado doing some awesome IVF advancements... like insurance... covering...part... of....IVF... okay too many surprises. But basically life is good. It's still crazy. I am still a wreck of a person, but a girl is trying to just wake up in the morning and be alive. 

Loca Loca Loca

I feel fucking crazy.  That's a fact.

Things were getting worse, the pain, the anger, the sadness, the lack of sleep and patience.  I am tired.

But I've been tired.

I really didn't think I needed more help after finding out that Endometriosis was my fate.  I thought I had dealt with my shit pile of cards and things are awesome and I'm going to put my every being into my career.  I'm going to let fate decide my relationship status and I'm good.

then why the fuck am I so angry.

Finally I decided that I'm just not trying to be this person anymore.  My emotions controlled my life. Basically I'm attempting to break up with my anger.  Which He is kind of a douche bag and treats me like shit, so naturally I'm in love with him. 

I decided the best way to break up with my anger was the only plausible decision which was to see a psychiatrist and get better drugs to make me less angry and sad. 

Makes sense.

So ya girl calls Dr. A.  She is in my network...one of the reasons I chose her and Like dude I don't know her.   She can't help me if I'm not honest.  So we Zoom meet which is like the 2020 skype.
And I send her all 45 pages of how I am feeling which  like one question was

"list your traumatic experiences"
And let me tell you nothing gives you PTSD like writing out every single thing you bury so deep to forget but you know that you need to tell her or the anger and sadness doesn't stop.

So you tell her.

We are talking via Zoom because of the Rona and She asks me more questions like my fucking novel that I sent her wasn't sufficient enough to make a diagnosis.

And Dr. A blurts out the most obscene shit I've ever heard.

"Kelsey you are bipolar"
At first I was like excuse me B word you are bipolar... I 1000% thought she was being rude and then I had to remember she is a psychiatrist and like those words actually mean something here.

What.. Bipolar.  I'm not bipolar.  There is no way I am bipolar.  I am not crazy.  I don't have anything wrong with me. I have been just fine.  I don't need this.

bipolar: extreme highs and extreme lows.

fuck I'm bipolar.

She starts listing all the medicines I need to start taking.  I keep it together as she tells me she is calling in my prescriptions.

We hang up and I'm sitting there with myself.  I am bipolar. It felt like a bomb had dropped on me. 
I always thought everyone felt the way that I do about things.

Realizing you are different hurts. You aren't like everyone else.  Your brain isn't right. My brain isn't right.


I have been on these happy pills for 3 weeks now.  So Strange.

My first move was to realize there was something not right and make a change.

There is nothing wrong  with being bipolar,  I am still me. I haven't lost myself. But there are more good days than bad.

It's okay.
My brain isn't right, but it's okay.

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.

So like what do you do.

I probably haven’t had real bad anxiety in a long time.

Like I had a full blown panic attack when I moved into my new house, where the walls were shutting in and even outside it felt like I was stuck in a seemingly bottomless chasm.

It's so hard to explain this menacing flow of uncertainty.  It was getting to a point where I would just lay in bed thinking of every mistake I have made in the last 20 years.  It's a toxic nightmare that didn't make any sense.

It was an argument with myself.  I would speak out loud to tell the baleful assertions in my head that they were wrong,

I would be proclaiming I am worthy! I am not nothing!

I didn't realize that after everything there would be so much mental pain too. 

The doctors were so adamant about me seeking council to reconcile with myself over the difficulty of my prognosis.  At first I thought they were worried about how I would take not being able to have children and, though difficult, I have found most peace with that.

So why do I have to speak my inner thoughts and desires and take these pills if I am fine.

I didn't realize they could have been betting on the fact that I would need assistance to get through the nights I don't want to go out because of the pain or the constant worry of feeling fat because of the effects this disease has on your body, endo belly..so hot. 

I didn't realize that it would take a toll on my relationships with the inability to be intimate when I want to.

I didn't realize.

It was getting to a point where I was mad at myself and mad at God and why he would make me this defective human. 

I am worthy.  I should feel that way at least.  It's a struggle.  It's sometimes to a point where work takes a toll, home takes a toll, friends take a toll, and it becomes too much.

That was enough. I didn't want to lose it all.  I did something I swore I would never do again.  Because I felt stronger at one point but I was mad, I was getting angry, every trigger would consume me. I was losing my compassion, losing sight, being awful and ugly to everyone around me.  I did it I got on anxiety medication. 

I didn't want to lay in bed for hours feeling so stiff that I couldn't move.  I wanted to take my life back.

I wanted to be kinder to those around me. 

I was nervous about this change.  Before the doctors didn't worry about what it was doing to me.  It was making me a zombie. It literally almost killed me.

But this time was different; I was ready for it.

Did it make me feel like I had succumbed to this feat? Did it feel like I had given up on my own ability to take control of my own life?
Yes it did...at first.  But I have found myself thinking more clearly, not overcome with rage and anxiety.

It was a beautiful moment to feel like I had gained my life back. 
I was worried a lot about the stigma. 

Take your crazy pills Kelsey.

But I am not crazy.  Am I crazy? Maybe, I am crazy.  But it's not crazy to want to take control of your life.

I don't care for the negative connotation of this majestic antidote.
Do I feel like I want to shut myself in my room anymore and wait for a better day?

No.

I took my life back. 

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. 

You will be just fine.

I've lost touch.

Not on purpose, naturally.  But life gets in the way.
The days turn to weeks and you just forget. 

The reason I started this was to never forget. 

To remember how I felt. How this is my life, not one that I am watching from the outside in silence. I am trying to remember to play an active role in it.

Much has happened. And I'll do a quick recap to not spend hours on it, which I probably will anyways...  So my last published piece was June... An immense amount of things have happened..

Well I fell in love in a hopeless place, B has become this person, my person, in my life that has washed every doubt of inadequacy that I have ever felt in my life away from me in a way that I never thought I could feel or know or be deserving of. 
It has been a beautiful surprise, one that I thought would never exist, but he does and we are here.

Life changes has led me to being back in the service industry, being in management, gross yet yay.  My employees humble me through their strength, love, and ability to persevere through their own personal trials.  It has been not only the biggest headache I have literally ever had, but the most rewarding headache.  I do love them, but don't exactly love waking up at 4:30 AM on purpose...

My health has been better since I'm back on the ole pill.  That majestic pill that stops pregnancy (not mine other peoples), and psycho ass Kelsey.  Who would have thought.
But I know if I have missed it, because I will sit in the car and sob uncontrollably to a video of Mr. Roger's testifying in front of the Senate for more funding for public television from 1969...yo girl chill...
So the pain is better, minus the swelling.  But beggers can't be chosers... 

I hate that saying.

I'm not a raging alcoholic anymore, which is better.. for my liver.... and the bank account.. that also being said when I do have a drink every once in awhile... I'll have a headache for 13 1/2 days. It's literally the worst.  I guess this is 27?

I am trying to be a better person.  Trying to be a better leader.  Trying to show that I am not this unstable little unicorn that I used to be. 

I'm not as good at this as I used to be.  Not as poetic or well-spoken.  And I definitely still don't have it all together. But did we really expect that to happen..

But. I guess what I am trying to say is: I am still alive.  I am going to try to be more consistent, with my stories of meaningful life shit.  Perhaps a decent story every once in a while. 

Like Mr. Rogers and children, but mine will be to adults who need to feel someone gets it.  Because that's what ties most people together; their ability to be understanding and relate.

Really, Where am I at?

I haven't written in awhile because I don't know if I have been sober enough at this time in a long time.  What can I say it helps me sleep.  That's all I want.

But anyways, enough of my debacles of debachery.  A lot has happened since I last recorded events of my life....it's interesting to me for the most part.

I started a ballin job that I love.  I work with basically a bunch of people I went to high school with and now it's like an adventure every day.  I can do what I love and have an adventure..let's go!

I was seeing someone and it was going really great, so naturally it failed miserably, which I should have seen coming, but what can I say.... I try to obtain the unobtainable ::shrugs shoulders::

You guys...I actually made girlfriends..that like me... it's so weird. I mean I love it, but it's the first time where I would actually consider peeing in the same stall as someone.
I mean I am not going to do that because it's still weird but I would consider it.. which is a huge feat.

My family is growing. My older sister had a munchkin.  A real life small person. Leon.  He is so cool.  I thought I was going to be selfishly sad when she had him but I really haven't.. Not for one second did I feel sadness.

I think that's the biggest feat I have defeated thus far through this transition.
I realized that maybe it's really not for me.. at least any time soon. And I am so overjoyed that I am finally okay with that.

Kids might not ever be in the cards for me and I am liberated by the idea of me being completely okay with that.

My brother is getting married to the best girl ever. I couldn't be more excited, I just have to promise to not drink too much at this one.

The only big issue I have had has been health insurance.  I have been off and I need to go to the doctor. I haven't had my trigger point injections in a few month so the pain has gotten unreal.  There has been days of utter agony and discontent, but I must continue to push forward.
There are woman out there who have been through worse and I can get passed this.

I just have to remain strong.  It helps that my support has been unreal.  My best friend Krystina has been my guardian angel and saving grace.  Being able to have someone who understands and has been through that pain and can have your back in a moment of need is unrivaled.

 I could never imagine my life being where it is now.  Which is why I will never say I know who I am.  I have a slow-played process of configuring how my mind works, but it's a never-ending process.  I am a total different person than I am last year and can only assume I will be different next year from who I am now.

If I am the same person, then I am living my life wrong.  I cannot have that.
There is a plan.  I just must figure it out.  But I have plenty of time.
I hope.

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.

I could eat an M&M out of that.

They never tell you that physical pain takes a toll on the body after a while.

That's the reason they drug you up.  To make you feel that the constant, annoying torture isn't just physical, but it's mental too.

A way to make you feel that the aches, night terrors, and consistent self-doubt is this plaguing misery is all a fabrication in your mind.

When it's an everyday event you feel crazy.  You feel that there is absolutely no way it can be every single day.

Do I look as bad as I feel?  Can people tell?

Can they see that scar I have has lost coloration.  The dent from the steroid shots....  Can they see it?

 I could can fit a M&M in it.  A red one, of course.  I only like red colored candy.  I will eat the other ones, but I don't particularly love it the same.  It's a mental thing, right?

Lately the mirror has been my nemesis.

I will stand there and stare.
Because I am looking for the good.

I have cute toenails. I have always though the shape and size was something of a fetish foot-model status.  I could be wrong,  but I do feel like I have that going for me.

I am in a struggle to get right with Jesus.  Not that I haven't turned my life around for the better. Far less drinking than my previous life, and I have only worn one scandalous shirt in the last 6 months.
But my life has turned into a bad sitcom.

There is a lot of fake laughter, and a farcical screenplay.

I think I just need a change of scenery.  I have lived her for 11 years now.  It's far too long for my liking.  I know it sounds like I am running away.  But I am really not.  I am just playing with the idea of something different.

Like a coast.  I told my mom I should start to do drugs so they can send me to a fabulous coastal rehab facility.
 Don't worry I am not going to actually do that.  I would be a terrible drug addict. 

I just have run into this issue where I put everything and every one else ahead of myself.

Am I cursed because I have been taught to be caring and selfless?

So when others aren't I don't understand and I try to make up for the fact that they aren't.

I can't stop. It leaves me in shambles, but I can't stop.

I am a lover.  I want to be the best person I can be.  I want to be honest, caring, selfless, adventurous, kind, and above all hopeful.  I hope that if I am kind enough it will help anyone treat others better.  With a kindness that is out of character.

I know I can be temperamental. I have no excuse.  Everyone goes through something and I no better nor worse.  I just need to find the strength to face the mental block I have endured.

I have been secretly debating doing a photo shoot that embodies the feeling of this "disease".  You can physically see the scars it has left.  Well not the internal ones but my super sweet dent has been prevalent enough to haunt myself image and why not share it.

I am talking crazy.
At least I can eat an M&M out of that.

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.

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.

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,

"ITS NOT EVEN TIME YET!"

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.

HAPPY(?) ONE YEAR

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 

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.

But.

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. 

moderately. 

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... 

 

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. 

  

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 2^nd 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.  

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.

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.