Give Me Reality. I'll Deal.

Wow, it's been awhile. Anybody else wondering what in the heck happened to November?! I truly don't remember it coming or going. I woke up the other morning, looked at the calendar and saw DECEMBER staring back at me. <insert stress overload here> Yeah, I'm feeling it baby.

So how 'bout that long awaited Quirk #3? I know you've all been sleeping next to your computers and it's starting to get uncomfortable, but I can explain. In my book, November never even happened, remember? So that much time hasn't really passed. And second, I wasn't completely aware of Quirk #3 until the other week so the point of writing Quirk #3 weeks ago is mute. So there. Ok, ok so secretly November did happen, but it was spent trying to unravel the mystery that is my body. Doctor appointments, tests, more doctor appointments, more tests. There wasn't much time to ponder on the passing month or focus on much else besides work (which got incredibly crazy) and feeling like a lab rat.

When Gary and I started seeing a doctor 6 months ago, I thought I was prepared for this process (and believe me it is a process). I had a lot of time before-hand in the many failed months to think about the possibilities and what I could deal with. I thought I was ready and willing to accept whatever master plan my Heavenly Father had put in place for me. My first doctor visit was a success and left me feeling understood and more confident than I had felt in some time. The following appointments . . . . . . not so much . . . on the confidence part that is. Now before you hit comment and tell me all about the personable doctor you know that can simply mumble some gibberish and a baby appears, let me tell you that I've been an emotional mess through no fault of my doctor. And yes, he is a man and can't offer me that I-know-what-you're-going-through connection that all your woman doctors can, but he can offer me 40 years of experience and a kooky sense of humor, both of which is infinitely more important to my husband and I than Oh, you have a vagina? So do I! Let's band together! And yes, you read right 40 YEARS. In addition, my doctor has not once made me feel unimportant or diminished my problems in any way, nor has he tried to tell me what to do or force anything on us. I'm always presented with a handful of options and Gary and I can then decide what is best for us. So yes, I like my doctor and we don't want to switch, but I've still been having an emotional melt-down every time we leave his office. I thought I could handle this! Why am I even crying? All we did was blood-work today and I'M CRYING! Needless to say, my husband has been a little confused with all the water works after every single appointment. Frankly, so have I.

After months peppered with appointments and numerous tests that have proved useful, but still haven't given us concrete answers, we finally moved onto a lapraoscopy surgery that took place the beginning of Thanksgiving week. So yeah, anybody who thought I was looking like I had some serious weight gain going on, that wasn't the second helping of turkey and stuffing or the 3 pieces of pie, that was the air the doctors pumped into my body to make MOVING MY INTERNAL ORGANS AROUND easier. Gross, huh? Needless to say, all that extra air really looked & felt like extra pounds which was pretty depressing. More painful than the two incisions and bruising was that AIR getting up into my chest and shoulders so even the tiniest breath would send pain screaming through my torso. IF THEY CAN PUMP THE AIR IN, THEY SHOULD BE ABLE TO PUMP IT OUT!

Two weeks after the surgery, Gary and I showed up for the post-op appointment. This was the appointment that we would discuss what the doctor had found during the surgery. I'd spent two weeks not knowing and I was a little nervous about the outcome. What if there is something seriously wrong? Amazingly, my doctor came right in and spoke with us for a bit, but didn't give us specifics of my surgery because the hospital hadn't sent over my op-report yet and he didn't want to give us misinformation based solely on his memory. What? Are you telling me that I might leave here today still NOT KNOWING WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON?! So we waited. Gary sat relaxed in the chair while I fidgeted on the table cursing the stupid hospital. They'd only had TWO WEEKS. After another 45 minutes my post-op report was finally retrieved and my doctor sat down to share all the juicy details. The information delivered was indeed serious, but laced with lots of options and hope. I sat gripping the edge of the table, leaned forward and just ate it up. This was the good stuff. We talked options and the steps we wanted to take. Then we left and I felt good. No I felt great, relieved. I was talkative, laughing and in good spirits. Gary was just waiting for the floodgates to open.

ME: Wait, we just found out about the most serious stuff we've had to deal with since we've been married and I'm not crying. Aren't I supposed to be crying? I cry after every other appointment. I may never carry a child! Why am I not crying?

GARY: . . . . . . um, maybe because you actually know what's going on now and you don't have to guess about why you're not getting pregnant. All the previous appointments were just leg-work that never gave us any real answers. Now you know.

ME: Oh . . . . . you're so smart!

GARY: I know.

Thus Quirk #3 presents itself. I cry myself into a sniveling heap when there may not be anything wrong and I feel relief when given bad news. Doesn't that seem backwards to anyone else? I believe my husband had it right though. It takes patience, strength and endurance to battle through trials. I guess I just need to know what I'm battling. Exactly how much patience, strength and endurance am I gonna need?

Give me reality. I'll deal.

Yeah, I think that's my new motto.

Quirk # 2: The Nose Knows

I've always found reading among the plethora of things I thoroughly enjoy. My mother used to catch me still awake under the blankets with a flashlight at 4:00 in the morning, my nose stuck in a book and by golly, IT WAS A SCHOOL NIGHT. When it came to books, I wasn't a casual reader, I was completely and hopelessly addicted. I'd plunge headfirst into a book & the only way to get me to come back up for air was to physically shake me. Yeah, my parents learned real quick that grounding me or sending me to my room wasn't punishment. They finally changed tactics and simply took away the book I was IN THE MIDDLE of reading. That's just cruel.

I don't devour books like I used to and mind you, not for lack of interest. I simply made a commitment to a full-time job, husband and a whole host of additional responsibilities, but I'll tell you what, that commitment weakens when a book steps into the picture. The love affair that ensues is hot, steamy, and completely absorbing.* Books become the other woman in a weird, twisted, backwards sort of way. Once an addict, always an addict I guess. So when I say that at some point I will have a beautiful library full of the books I've come to love, my husband is a little worried. It's like your unfaithful spouse asking for all his/her lovers to move in. That's just awkward.

Now I wouldn't place reading in the category of quirks, maybe of obsessions, but not quirks. That which I place in the category of quirks is the process by which I purchase the books that will one day reside in my beautiful library. So I suppose the above two paragraphs really don't mention Quirk #2 at all, but are simply background info to understanding Quirk #2 more fully. I don't have many requirements to read a book beyond being filled with words and the pages in numerical order, but to actually buy the book, well now, that's a different story (no pun intended). Often times, the same novel is published in a handful of different ways. Hardback, paperback, large, small, abridged, unabridged, various cover art . . . um . . ya get it. When in the market for a new book, I explore all my options. I consider the weight and sturdiness of the book, the texture of the paper and after much deliberation I employ the tried and true method of book selection. I smell it. Yes you read right, I SMELL IT. I open 'em up and take a whiff RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STORE. Needless to say my husband always makes himself scarce at these times. Do you think he's jealous? Maybe he just can't handle seeing me that way with another . . . . .um, novel. The whole sniffing thing seems strange I know, but I LOVE smelling books. I find myself smelling everything I read and have discovered that there are a lot of different scents that accompany their hosts and, to be honest, some are downright terrible. Others have a certain musk that lays hold on my nostrils and all I can think about is how much I want to get that book alone and dive between the sheets of paper. I have been known to buy random books based on scent alone. I told you I was quirky. So if you catch me in a Barnes & Noble with a book plastered to my face, you'll know why. Not only will my beautiful library be full of the books I love, but it's gonna smell AWESOME.
What can I say, I'm head-over-heels for having my nose stuck in a book (ok, ok pun totally intended).


*To clarify in case anybody misunderstood, no, I do not read literary pornography, unless you count The Twilight Series in that class, then I'm totally guilty. So when I talk about my love affair with books, it has nothing to with the content of them.

Quirk Nombre Uno

My friend Esther tagged me with 6 Quirky Things About Me. While I typically don't participate in the whole tagging thing, I decided to give this one a shot, but in my own way. I won't be tagging anybody else (mostly because there is no one left to tag) and I'll deliver one quirk per post. I can't seem to handle doing all six at once, which is due to another quirk of mine that I won't get into now. So I guess if you care just how screwed up I am, you'll have to check back another FIVE TIMES to get the rest.

Quirk #1
My husband works nights and is often gone for work or school. I've become accustomed to being alone and even revel in it because I can watch, read, or do whatever I want without disturbing or being disturbed (mostly I just blare my music and dance around our small space like a gypsy). While I enjoy the freedom of being a single wife, it does have it's downfalls, one of which being that every now and then my imagination punches into overdrive and I effectively freak myself out for NO REASON. My most common mind-induced freak-out occurs when I come home after dark and try to unlock my front door. Having not been home, there are never any lights on. You'd think I'd learn to leave an outside light on before leaving, but I just can't bring myself to willingly turn on a porch light in the middle of the day. I'd worry that my mom would pass by and see how irresponsible and wasteful I was being. Then she'd feel like a failure as a mother. Not wanting to be responsible for doing that to her, I walk alone in the dark to my door. It's about this time that my imagination kicks in and my perfectly safe yard in my perfectly safe neighborhood turns into a dark alley in the city with rapists and murderers lurking in the shadows, waiting for me. Subsequently I walk a little faster and breath a little harder. My mind fills with horrible images of scary men as I fumble with my keys, trying to unlock my stupid door! CURSES! Why did I lock the door? I locked it to keep the scary men out while I was away and now they're gonna get me anyway because I'M SHAKING SO BAD THAT I CAN'T GET MY KEY IN THE LOCK! It takes about another, oh . . . um, 0.5 seconds for my freak-out level to jump off the charts and all I can think is MUST. GET. INSIDE. My rational at that moment is all I need to do is close the door behind me and I'll be safe. It never occurs to me that if there really was a rapist outside my house he'd probably wait until I was inside anyway before inviting himself in and having his way with me. The key finally slips in the lock, I turn the handle and burst inside. I slam the door back shut, turn the dead bolt, flip on every light in the house and then try to compose myself. Everything is ok now. You're inside, the lights are on, the door is locked and you're really just suffering from an over-active imagination. Turn on some tunes, eat some ice cream and calm down. So I take my advice.

Then I go and retrieve my keys from the outside lock.

I Miss . . . .

There are times when I'm suddenly struck with an odd feeling of emptiness. The absence of something or someone that once was is keenly felt and though the space has been vacant for some time, only now do I realize the loss. Only now do I feel appreciation for what was and miss that which can no longer be.

I miss being a kid.

There are certain things that just come with the territory of being a kid. Extravagant forts, playing in the mud, sleep-overs on the trampoline, laying in the grass & finding shapes in the clouds. Things you did because school, chores, and homework were finished. Because Mom turned off the TV. Because you had a big imagination. And by you I mean me. Random ideas would pop into our heads and my siblings and I would say, "That sounds fun!" then promptly run off and put our plan into action. We didn't wait to think every detail through before starting. We didn't look at a calendar to see when we could afford to squeeze the fun in later that week. We simply acted, right then. I miss that. I miss being so impulsive. I miss sleeping on the trampoline. I miss getting dirty and not thinking twice about it. I miss taking the time to enjoy life. There are many reasons that form my desire for children. Having a good excuse to play is one of them. When my kids are going crazy with a hose, I want to be there. When their bodies are plastered with mud and smiles, I hope mine is too. When I find them awake after bedtime laughing and having a pillow fight, I hope I join them. And when their dad builds them a tree-house, it better be big enough for me.

Make-believe, one of my favorite past-times as a little girl. I was different than a lot of other kids in that I tried to create the most tangible world I could. While other children playing cowboys and Indians were satisfied with a feather in their hair and a toy gun, I played outside with separate camps at either end of the yard. The Indians would have tepees of sheets wrapped around trees, stuffed animals scattered around, gathered sticks and string for bows and arrows, faces would be painted. The cowboys would wear button up shirts, hats and had forts built out of various scrap wood we found. Out of my many make-believe worlds, the one I visited most often was pretending to be a grown-up, doing grown-up things. My mom's checkbook was fascinating and it was magic when she would sign her name and hand it to the clerk of the grocery store. My cousin Lora had a playhouse her dad built for her with two rooms, a shingled roof, and curtains in the windows. I was so envious of Lora. Having a house of my own was my strongest childhood desire (it's transformed into an adult desire now). I never did get one, but that didn't stop me from pretending I was a mommy paying the bills or changing a diaper. I sent my brother Bryce to work while I cleaned the house. A plastic hot dog and mashed potatoes would be waiting for him when he returned. As a child I couldn't wait to be a big girl with big girl responsibilities and now that it's happened and I'm there . . . . well, let's just say that pretending to be an adult is much more glamorous than actually being one.

I LOVE vacations. I think most people do. Of the many reasons to love them, I believe the one that tops my list is that a vacation is the closest I come to carefree adventure. Notice I say close to carefree. I don't feel that any responsible adult can be truly carefree, especially poor starving college students trying to eck out a living. Sure we can relax and leave worries at home, but there is still a level of awareness of funds, gas, food, lodging, etc. Unlike a child, who's mind never ventures to those areas. There is always enough money, always enough gas, always enough food, always a place to sleep and when there's not, a child doesn't feel the loss, at least not at that time. Maybe when they're older and the world as it really is comes into focus. Childhood is filled with make-believe, learning, games, discovery, but not worries. A child doesn't ponder on tomorrow, unless it's Christmas or the first day of school. A child doesn't notice the passing of time. Childhood is truly carefree. I miss that.

My parents used to know EVERYTHING and while now they're still extremely knowledgeable, they don't have all the answers. My woes, worries, and wonderings aren't wiped away as cleanly as they used to be, if they're wiped away at all. I'm sure that has something to do with the fact that my trials and challenges have entered an entirely different sphere than that of a 8 year old. The biggest issues my parents had to deal with then were Why are there ugly cockroaches? (I still wonder about that) When will Christmas be here? Bryce is bugging me again! Mom and Dad could handle those. They're much more uncertain on what investments Gary and I should make or why I'm not pregnant. The easy answers are gone, the comfort and security incomplete. It's part of being an adult, I know, never having an absolute knowledge of the why, how, and when. Even though my mom and dad have never actually wielded an all-knowing mind, I miss feeling like they did. I miss saying, "My dad is smarter than your dad."

I miss being a kid.

What do you miss?

Cure: A Bullet to the Brain

I thought I was getting an early jump on allergies this year with all the dust being stirred up from deep cleaning. Sneezing and watery eyes have been a companion of mine for the last couple of weeks now and so on Wednesday, when my nose started to get stuffy and my throat a little sore, I believed I was heading into full-blown allergy territory. After an extremely fitful night's rest, I awoke on Thursday morning and determined I was past full-blown allergies and into more of a miserable cold. I could deal. By Thursday afternoon it was clear to me that I had gone way past a cold and had ventured into the land of KILL-ME-NOW-BECAUSE-WHATEVER-I-HAVE-IS-GOING-TO-WIPE-OUT-A-SMALL-CITY-AND-EVEN-IF-IT-DOESN'T,-KILL-ME-ANYWAY-'CAUSE-I-DON'T-WANT-TO-FEEL-LIKE-THIS-FOR-ONE-MORE-MINUTE.

I'll spare you the icky details and just say that the bug I have is kinda like the super spiders off of Spiderman and includes such things as allergies, cold, fever, and flu. NOT. FUN. AT. ALL. I didn't know the body could produce so much mucus and in such varied colors. Usually when I'm sick or don't feel good I employ my defense mechanism and simply go to sleep. Sleeping makes it so I don't have to be conscious for the suffering and the passing time. Good plan, huh? Um, yeah, hasn't worked out so well. I've been soooooooooo congested that no amount of air as been allowed to pass through my nostrils for 2 days now. I've filled up a trash can with snotty Puffs Plus Lotion tissues and you'd think after blowing that much mucus out of your head that your wish of breathing through your nose would be granted. No such luck for me, hence I haven't been able to sleep much. I keep waking up every 45 minutes because my head is about to explode bright yellow snot all over the walls. I diffuse the bomb and add another handful of used tissues to the trash. Then I get to lay awake for the next 30 minutes, acutely aware of the time and how miserable I am, and try to sleep again. Play. Repeat. All night long.

On top of it all, I still have to work (the employee who covers for me is out of town) and any medicine I've taken hasn't provided much relief. Oh hey, Relief Society anyone? I could use a casserole, but please, no dairy products 'cause then you'd have to pick up the pieces of my brain from the resulting pressure explosion.

Just shoot me. Please?

Just Like Raiders of the Lost Ark

Hasn't the weather been freakin' awesome as of late?

True, summer hasn't quite let go of the days, but oh, the nights with their cool breezes. The other night I flipped the AC switch to OFF, opened every window and slept blissfully to the sounds of crickets and distant dogs barking. The air that circulated through my home was perfect. I absolutely love autumn and it's coming fast. I'M BEYOND EXCITED. Summer brings a lot of fun activities like swimming and camping, but my face melting off every time I walk outside is getting really old.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

You wanna know something strange? I'm sitting here hoping with all I have that I start my period TODAY. Yeah. WEIRD. Oh, and you should all hope right along with me because . . . . . . . because I said so. WEIRDER. That is all.

Ok, ok, let me explain. As if I could ask you all to will my female cycle to begin without a good reason, especially when last you heard I'm trying to get a loaf in the oven. Basically I need this test done. And this test can only be administered on days 7-10 of my cycle. So about a month ago I attempted to get this test taken care of, but the attempt was in vain and has only lead me to believe that the people at Southwest Medical Radiology are some of the most INCONSIDERATE SERVANTS OF LUCIFER I'VE EVER HAD TO DEAL WITH. Yes I know that is harsh, but I'm PMSing and emotional so I'm allowed a certain level of irrational thinking and I'm not the one who treated them like ABSOLUTE CRAP! Let's just say I haven't had a day that bad in over a year and those (insert expletive) people helped make in possible. After spending a day on the phone with various doctor offices and insurance companies all I had to show for it was a gallon of tears and a five pound bag of anger. To be honest, I FELT A LITTLE JIPPED! Oh and to clarify, Southwest Medical is not who my doctor is with. I know you're all thinking What the caboose is she thinking for choosing to go there in the first place? I'm not that irrational folks. And the only reason I'm going through them at all is that they are the ONLY flippin' people that can provide the test I need under the wing of my $10 co-pay insurance. The alternative is forking out $1000+.

So here we are, a month later, a month wasted. I had my husband call the children of Satan this time because I don't think I could have made it through without hot tears spilling all over my cheeks. This test is all about timing (remember days 7-10?). Last month I was told to call on the first day of my cycle and an appointment would be scheduled. Last month my clock began chiming on a SATURDAY. Last month Southwest Medical Radiology WASN'T OPEN on a Saturday and because I didn't call EXACTLY on the first day of my cycle, they were booked through the 20th which was at least a week after my four day window. Makes a lot of sense huh? HENCE MY ANGER WITH THEM. Well that and the whole treating me like crap thing. Like I wasn't an individual woman who hasn't been able to get pregnant for over a year and just wants to KNOW what the heck is going on with her body, but can't get anything figured out until she gets this test done and YOU'RE BASICALLY TELLING HER YOU DON'T GIVE A @$&%. Yeah, like that. On top of everything they REFUSE to schedule the test UNTIL you have actually started your period. A heap of good it does me since a typical female cycle lasts four weeks which puts me right back to starting on a Saturday. AGAIN. So, to prevent a repeat of last month, my husband came up with the ingenious idea to lie about my start date. "We'll just call them up Friday morning and fib." Um . . . . . . I'm ok with that. We called, told our little lie, and BARELY got an appointment for Monday the 15th (which would be the 10th day if I really did start on Friday). So things are perfect right? I've got the stupid test scheduled, it'll be within the four days, and I made it out minus the tears. SERIOUS PLUS. There is one teensy-weensy, small, minor problem though. IT'S MONDAY MORNING AND THE BLOOD'S NOT FLOWIN' YET! Curse my uterus for choosing this month of all months to be behind. I need to start TODAY or tomorrow at the absolute latest to make my Monday appointment work. If I don't, I'm gonna have to call 'em up and spin a new story about why I can't go through with it. Either that or tell them the truth and we all know that's just not a viable option if I'm going to have any luck rescheduling next month.


Wo unto the liar . . . . .


UPDATE: I'm not pregnant, but I was expecting that anyways. I did start my period late Monday night/Tuesday morning. I've never been so relieved to start a week of cramping, bloated misery.