I'm in the TWW but I already know I'm out for this month.
Last week we BD'd just for fun (my idea) even though we were both tired. I almost immediately fell asleep afterwards and didn't get up to pee until the alarm clock went off the next morning...how could I be so stupid?! I woke up at about 3:45 on Saturday morning with a UTI--Happy Valentine's Day!!! It was bad enough that I considered pulling over during the drive to work and calling in sick because I felt like I couldn't leave the bathroom for more than 15 minutes. I even told our really socially-fumbling male Store Manager that I had a UTI and was intending to drink as much water as possible and get through my first appointment, but that I wasn't sure I was going to be able to make it through the day. Awkward.
So by about 2pm that afternoon, after about 3 water bottles and countless trips to the bathroom, I started feel like everything was settling down. I finished up work, went home, and was met with a yummy dinner, roses and a very good bottle of wine from G. I knew it was a bad idea, it's just that I hadn't had a glass of wine in so long and it was Valentine's Day, so I poured myself a small glass to have with dinner. Yeah, it wasn't too bad until half way through watching Anna Karenina on Netflix, at which point it spiralled into yet another whirlwind of agony. I was up until almost 3AM (yay 24 hour day!) before managing to fall asleep, then back up again at 7AM so that we could get ready to go to G's niece's birthday party down island. Not a good Valentine's Day, and certainly not romantic.
Yesterday and today have been better, finally, but I've completely cut coffee, even decaf, for the the last five days. I had the tiniest little bit of chai yesterday and that was okay, but it's better to limit sugar and stick with water, cranberry juice and herbal tea.
So we literally missed my entire fertile window this cycle. I O'd night-before-last/yesterday morning and we couldn't do anything about it. It's not recommended to BD with a UTI until at least two weeks of being symptom-free, and G didn't want me to continue to be so uncomfortable so we didn't risk it. We even discussed trying at-home AI with a needle-less syringe as a possibility, so that we'd maybe still have a chance this month, but Monday night I was still feeling so bothersome that I didn't stop to pick one up on the way home from work because I couldn't stand the thought of anything foreign being in me, even if it was for a really good cause.
G was actually really willing to give it a try. He turned down BDing the usual way last night once he found out that I still hadn't picked up a needle-less syringe. I know he was really disappointed but he still put my well-being first. I suppose in the future, if a similar situation occurs, we can default back to this at-home plan B.
The one good thing about this UTI: I have raced through Ali Smith's most recent novel How to be Both while passing all that time in the bathroom. I think I read about 80 pages Valentine's Day night, which I haven't done since the days of post-secondary reading-lists. It's written in a way that makes for really good straight-through reading though since this novel is written in two inter-changeable sections with almost no chapter breaks in either section. Her intention was to attempt to have narratives on different time lines running simultaneously, not so much interwoven, as though it were a symphony. She was especially influenced by fresco/secco and she has tried to create these layers in the novel, and I'd say she has it pushed to the limits, to a point where it works without sacrificing the quality of her storytelling. It's pretty amazing--I have been contemplating how she's done it so successfully and essentially nerding-out all morning.
Ali Smith is one of my top 5 favourite authors, and How to be Both is maybe the 5th book of hers I've added to my own personal collections. I used to say Jeanette Winterson was better, and she's up there on my list/collection too, but I think I've come to the conclusion that Ali Smith is much more versitile, perhaps more technical. Both have published work in the realm of literary criticism, but Ali Smith manage to turn it into a novel (another amazing book of hers: Artful) and that was mind-blowing for me. If I ever manage to write with as much skill and intellectual prowess as Ali Smith I was die an extremely self-satisfied woman.
I'm going to be gracious and give you all the link for the CBC Radio podcast of the interview Ali Smith did for Writers and Company. Rather than explain her work and these two novels, I'll let the author tell you about it herself:
http://www.cbc.ca/player/Radio/Writers+and+Company/ID/2540945305/
On that note, I will take my leave of you all. I've got to take Zoe-dog for a walk and hopefully leap back into doing either some fiction or non-fiction writing while I'm still feeling all bubbly with inspiration.
Thursday 19 February 2015
Thursday 12 February 2015
"Because you want your world a certain way"
My appointment to meet my new GP is in about two hours and I'm trying to keep myself feeling level-headed. I don't know what to expect but I'm assuming we'll at least glance at the specifics of those lab results, and discuss moving on to new tests and examinations of a gynaecological nature. G isn't coming with me this time but I know he wants me to discuss our concerns that maybe he isn't "shooting" with enough force to get his swimmers to my cervix and beyond.
I wish G hadn't cancelled his appointment a couple of weeks ago with his GP because I think that's what his doctor wanted to touch-base with him on during that visit.
I have been freaking out all this week about the possibility that we may either never have children, or might only be able to with a lot of medical help. G has said that he doesn't want us to go through IVF. On one hand I'm glad he doesn't think it's fair or pleasant that I go through the process required, but on the other hand I wish he'd be a bit more flexible--if that's what we have to do, if that's our only chance, shouldn't we be open to it?
I'm terrified that if it does really take years for us to conceive he might close down completely to having a baby under the pretence of being "too old". I have a little bit of time left to do this, in fact I think I'm just slightly past the prime age overall to have a baby (taking into consideration education, personal achievements, travel, financial and relationship status-wise, and amassed life-experience), but G is constantly concerned with fighting against the passing of time these days. Time passes a lot faster for him, he says. I get that, but I don't think it's an excuse to limit your pursuit of a fully-lived life.
On a much sunnier note, derby practise last night was great! Once again, roller derby has proved itself to be the best therapy I can get. Another freshy achievement: the start of baby-sized cross-overs and T-stops! Next time I have Kitty Glitter count how many laps around the track I can do in 5 minutes, it's going to be quite a bit closer to the 27 goal-point than ever before. By doing cross-overs rather than coasting sticky-wheels style I can maintain, and even pick up more speed, and that's huge. It means I can keep up better with the pack when we're going at a faster-than-moderate pace, and it gives me the potential to dart around blockers and stuff if I do jam occasionally. The T-stops are going to take me a little bit longer than cross-overs still because leaning on my edge wheels feels so unnatural and I'm totally in that phase of over-thinking it every time. I'm pushing myself, and it feels good--even my knees were sweaty by the time I was done the two hours and pealing my gear off.
Also, it looks like on March 7th we'll be doing another team photo shoot (I missed last Saturday's because of work and the film festival). This morning I dug through my dresser drawers and basically figured out two outfits for the shoot; one is a short black dress I bought in NYC when I was 20, and the other is a white and black striped dress that would totally work perfectly if I do get into reffing matches as part of the Nerd Herd. While I was sort of playing dress-up I was rocking out to the Pixies, and I totally felt like deep-down I've still "got it". I'm out of shape still, and that sucks, but in fishnets, a short dress, and my faux-leather jacket I've got legs for days--and that's always been my "problem area": thunder thighs! I actually felt hot for the first time in ages, and with my ruffled-up rocked-out long bob and bangs I looked sort of like I was in my early-to-mid 20s again. If I wear the gold tie with "fuck work" printed all over the bottom, it'll match perfectly with the mustard coloured cover font of a book of local ghost stories if I want to pull in a prop.
If my ex's could see me in my derby-best they'll all be kicking themselves....sigh. At least I think G still feels like a lucky guy, right? TTC is so not sexy and fun at this point.
I wish G hadn't cancelled his appointment a couple of weeks ago with his GP because I think that's what his doctor wanted to touch-base with him on during that visit.
I have been freaking out all this week about the possibility that we may either never have children, or might only be able to with a lot of medical help. G has said that he doesn't want us to go through IVF. On one hand I'm glad he doesn't think it's fair or pleasant that I go through the process required, but on the other hand I wish he'd be a bit more flexible--if that's what we have to do, if that's our only chance, shouldn't we be open to it?
I'm terrified that if it does really take years for us to conceive he might close down completely to having a baby under the pretence of being "too old". I have a little bit of time left to do this, in fact I think I'm just slightly past the prime age overall to have a baby (taking into consideration education, personal achievements, travel, financial and relationship status-wise, and amassed life-experience), but G is constantly concerned with fighting against the passing of time these days. Time passes a lot faster for him, he says. I get that, but I don't think it's an excuse to limit your pursuit of a fully-lived life.
On a much sunnier note, derby practise last night was great! Once again, roller derby has proved itself to be the best therapy I can get. Another freshy achievement: the start of baby-sized cross-overs and T-stops! Next time I have Kitty Glitter count how many laps around the track I can do in 5 minutes, it's going to be quite a bit closer to the 27 goal-point than ever before. By doing cross-overs rather than coasting sticky-wheels style I can maintain, and even pick up more speed, and that's huge. It means I can keep up better with the pack when we're going at a faster-than-moderate pace, and it gives me the potential to dart around blockers and stuff if I do jam occasionally. The T-stops are going to take me a little bit longer than cross-overs still because leaning on my edge wheels feels so unnatural and I'm totally in that phase of over-thinking it every time. I'm pushing myself, and it feels good--even my knees were sweaty by the time I was done the two hours and pealing my gear off.
Also, it looks like on March 7th we'll be doing another team photo shoot (I missed last Saturday's because of work and the film festival). This morning I dug through my dresser drawers and basically figured out two outfits for the shoot; one is a short black dress I bought in NYC when I was 20, and the other is a white and black striped dress that would totally work perfectly if I do get into reffing matches as part of the Nerd Herd. While I was sort of playing dress-up I was rocking out to the Pixies, and I totally felt like deep-down I've still "got it". I'm out of shape still, and that sucks, but in fishnets, a short dress, and my faux-leather jacket I've got legs for days--and that's always been my "problem area": thunder thighs! I actually felt hot for the first time in ages, and with my ruffled-up rocked-out long bob and bangs I looked sort of like I was in my early-to-mid 20s again. If I wear the gold tie with "fuck work" printed all over the bottom, it'll match perfectly with the mustard coloured cover font of a book of local ghost stories if I want to pull in a prop.
If my ex's could see me in my derby-best they'll all be kicking themselves....sigh. At least I think G still feels like a lucky guy, right? TTC is so not sexy and fun at this point.
Monday 9 February 2015
Family Day
Here is rainy BC today it was Family Day--thank you, Christy Clark.
You know how crummy it is when you're single on Valentine's Day? That's how today felt for me. The positive side of the stat-holiday fence was that the salon closed an hour earlier than usual, meaning that I went in and then finished my work-day an hour earlier than my usual Mondays, and I made time-and-a-half alongside my commissions (which were decent, not amazing, but decent). However, I really felt a bit all-over-the-map emotionally: tired, determined, hangry, cynical, sugar-buzzed elated, then upset enough that I really just felt like crawling into bed and crying--all basically in that order. Now that I'm in on the edge of crying-blob-mode I'm really feeling that emptiness and the possibility that this might be what Family Day feels like for more than just this year and/or the next.
My single-mom co-worker doesn't get it. I shouldn't really expect her to, not because she is or isn't an empathetic/compassionate person but because she's really young, accidentally got pregnant in high school ("accidental pregnancy" completely baffles me these days, I'm sorry), is dating an equally young guy, and infertility isn't something she's ever had to consider. Never has she had to wonder "what if I can't have children?" She has a wonderful, kindhearted, curious, bright, healthy boy that she's able to kiss goodnight. So when she announced, while we were quietly grooming our dogs, that she "just want[ed] to be home with her boys on Family Day, actually being a family" I made a comment about how she was lucky to at least have a family on Family Day.
"That's not true, you have G and Zoe-dog," she said.
"It's not the same," was all I could say. I don't remember if she made an additional optimistic comment.
That's my point though: even though I love G and Zoe-dog very much, I don't think the two of us and our dog equate to being "a family" in the eyes of most people. G and I are a couple with a dog, and currently Family Day is not a stat holiday for us. I can't tell you how much I'm hoping and praying and wishing that this is only temporarily true, but with every passing cycle of TTC the fear that maybe this is it for us gets a little bit bigger, just a little bit louder and a little less foggy.
Underneath all the optimism there's this growing anxiety, and on days like today it's pretty terrifying.
You know how crummy it is when you're single on Valentine's Day? That's how today felt for me. The positive side of the stat-holiday fence was that the salon closed an hour earlier than usual, meaning that I went in and then finished my work-day an hour earlier than my usual Mondays, and I made time-and-a-half alongside my commissions (which were decent, not amazing, but decent). However, I really felt a bit all-over-the-map emotionally: tired, determined, hangry, cynical, sugar-buzzed elated, then upset enough that I really just felt like crawling into bed and crying--all basically in that order. Now that I'm in on the edge of crying-blob-mode I'm really feeling that emptiness and the possibility that this might be what Family Day feels like for more than just this year and/or the next.
My single-mom co-worker doesn't get it. I shouldn't really expect her to, not because she is or isn't an empathetic/compassionate person but because she's really young, accidentally got pregnant in high school ("accidental pregnancy" completely baffles me these days, I'm sorry), is dating an equally young guy, and infertility isn't something she's ever had to consider. Never has she had to wonder "what if I can't have children?" She has a wonderful, kindhearted, curious, bright, healthy boy that she's able to kiss goodnight. So when she announced, while we were quietly grooming our dogs, that she "just want[ed] to be home with her boys on Family Day, actually being a family" I made a comment about how she was lucky to at least have a family on Family Day.
"That's not true, you have G and Zoe-dog," she said.
"It's not the same," was all I could say. I don't remember if she made an additional optimistic comment.
That's my point though: even though I love G and Zoe-dog very much, I don't think the two of us and our dog equate to being "a family" in the eyes of most people. G and I are a couple with a dog, and currently Family Day is not a stat holiday for us. I can't tell you how much I'm hoping and praying and wishing that this is only temporarily true, but with every passing cycle of TTC the fear that maybe this is it for us gets a little bit bigger, just a little bit louder and a little less foggy.
Underneath all the optimism there's this growing anxiety, and on days like today it's pretty terrifying.
Sunday 8 February 2015
Cinematic Daydreams
I'm pretty tired out today, to be honest. Yesterday was a really busy day, I stayed up way too late, got up at my usual time this morning, and after walking Zoe-dog G and I spent about four hours reading through and marking his class's latest curatorial project assignment. We just finished doing a grocery shop and as soon as we were in the door I had to get a roast in the oven for our dinner later on. I literally feel like I could fall asleep in minutes if I were to try and read a book in bed right now, and it's only barely 5pm.
After work I had to hurry to get gussied-up in the bathroom and then make it to our annual local film festival. I made it there about 10 minutes late and found the seat at the back centre row G had saved for me, all while our close friend J was in the midst of giving his final introductory speech as the festival director. J has been the festival director for the last 10 years and this was his last year before stepping down, so next year he'll just be offering mentorship to the new conglomerate of organisers. I was actually the Submissions Coordinator for the festival from winter 2010 until March of last year, at which point I decided to step down because I knew I just wasn't going to have the same amount of time for volunteer work. It felt so strange to be part of the audience again, and to not have seen all the films about five times beforehand. I felt really disconnected, whereas I used to always have formed an emotional attachment to some of the films, and a connection with the different filmmakers--after being having sent about a dozen or more emails back and forth over the span of about 4 months you start to bond a little bit. Plus there are a handful of local filmmakers who are very diligent about submitting something every year and you get to know them well enough that when you bump into them in a Starbucks you end up chatting for a decent 10 minutes about if/what they're working on lately. I'm still on a first-name basis with these special few, even though I hadn't been their liaison-person this year, but the vibe was obviously a little different. As much as I liked having that extra festival-free time this fall/winter, I didn't realise I'd missed my old post until about a quarter of the way through the films. I just felt old and tired, not glamorous and professional.
My short attendance at the after-party was extended until about 1:30AM, which was so much later than I'd planned. G left as soon as the films were over (he was in a bit of a funk), before the awards portion of the festival, and I was so hungry that I ordered two sushi rolls and a ginger ale for myself. G was in bed by the time I got home, and he's still a little bit cranky with me for being out so late. Actually, he's been accusing me of staying out late so that I could flirt with other men (so far from reality--I wasn't even remotely as social as I generally am at the after-party because I was so exhausted). It was good to visit with our friends for a little while, that's all.
Being over-tired today has made me feel a bit more emotional that usual. I'm not feeling very "up," I'm sorry.
One of my two Internet Angels, Lkal, went in for her second IUI today. I'm hopeful for her, of course, even though she was disappointed because there was only one follicle and her hubby's count was 2 million less than last time. She's thinking that maybe upping her Clomid dosage next month (if she doesn't get her BFP this month) might be a good idea. I asked her how she feels about the possibility of IVF in the future if IUI doesn't take, because when I think about IVF lately I get super antsy and emotional about it. I mean, the success rate is much better but it's a huge jump in terms of cost, and it's physically a lot more rigorous than IUI. I know lots of women say that they didn't think they were strong enough to go through IVF and discovered that they were, that we women are stronger than we think we are, but sometimes I just don't know if I have what it takes. I don't know if G would even be up for IVF if that's what we end up needing to do...his parents still have a mortgage in their mid-80s and so he's super paranoid about paying off our mortgage as quickly as possible and not having any debt. I just don't know right now. Yes, speaking solely for myself, I want a baby enough that I would be willing to go through with IVF but I'm not sure G wouldn't want to spend that kind of money. I earn a quarter of what he makes per year, so I don't feel like I have much of a right to make that decision if he isn't 100% willing. Thank god we have MediCare, at least!
Anyway, it's only CD 7 and I'm actually sort of debating giving the whole "not trying" thing a try. To just put away the thermometer, not look at the calender every day, and just recharge this month. But I know those thoughts and feelings are all stemming from just being so. fucking. tired. I just don't feel like I'm up to TTC this month...honestly, I just want it to "happen". I've been so ready for so many months now that maybe I'm just hitting a bit of a wall now that we're at the 9th month mark.
I think once that roast is out of the oven I'm going to bake some brownies. No, not the "special" kind. Chocolate seems fancy enough for me right now.
Okay, over and out.
After work I had to hurry to get gussied-up in the bathroom and then make it to our annual local film festival. I made it there about 10 minutes late and found the seat at the back centre row G had saved for me, all while our close friend J was in the midst of giving his final introductory speech as the festival director. J has been the festival director for the last 10 years and this was his last year before stepping down, so next year he'll just be offering mentorship to the new conglomerate of organisers. I was actually the Submissions Coordinator for the festival from winter 2010 until March of last year, at which point I decided to step down because I knew I just wasn't going to have the same amount of time for volunteer work. It felt so strange to be part of the audience again, and to not have seen all the films about five times beforehand. I felt really disconnected, whereas I used to always have formed an emotional attachment to some of the films, and a connection with the different filmmakers--after being having sent about a dozen or more emails back and forth over the span of about 4 months you start to bond a little bit. Plus there are a handful of local filmmakers who are very diligent about submitting something every year and you get to know them well enough that when you bump into them in a Starbucks you end up chatting for a decent 10 minutes about if/what they're working on lately. I'm still on a first-name basis with these special few, even though I hadn't been their liaison-person this year, but the vibe was obviously a little different. As much as I liked having that extra festival-free time this fall/winter, I didn't realise I'd missed my old post until about a quarter of the way through the films. I just felt old and tired, not glamorous and professional.
My short attendance at the after-party was extended until about 1:30AM, which was so much later than I'd planned. G left as soon as the films were over (he was in a bit of a funk), before the awards portion of the festival, and I was so hungry that I ordered two sushi rolls and a ginger ale for myself. G was in bed by the time I got home, and he's still a little bit cranky with me for being out so late. Actually, he's been accusing me of staying out late so that I could flirt with other men (so far from reality--I wasn't even remotely as social as I generally am at the after-party because I was so exhausted). It was good to visit with our friends for a little while, that's all.
Being over-tired today has made me feel a bit more emotional that usual. I'm not feeling very "up," I'm sorry.
One of my two Internet Angels, Lkal, went in for her second IUI today. I'm hopeful for her, of course, even though she was disappointed because there was only one follicle and her hubby's count was 2 million less than last time. She's thinking that maybe upping her Clomid dosage next month (if she doesn't get her BFP this month) might be a good idea. I asked her how she feels about the possibility of IVF in the future if IUI doesn't take, because when I think about IVF lately I get super antsy and emotional about it. I mean, the success rate is much better but it's a huge jump in terms of cost, and it's physically a lot more rigorous than IUI. I know lots of women say that they didn't think they were strong enough to go through IVF and discovered that they were, that we women are stronger than we think we are, but sometimes I just don't know if I have what it takes. I don't know if G would even be up for IVF if that's what we end up needing to do...his parents still have a mortgage in their mid-80s and so he's super paranoid about paying off our mortgage as quickly as possible and not having any debt. I just don't know right now. Yes, speaking solely for myself, I want a baby enough that I would be willing to go through with IVF but I'm not sure G wouldn't want to spend that kind of money. I earn a quarter of what he makes per year, so I don't feel like I have much of a right to make that decision if he isn't 100% willing. Thank god we have MediCare, at least!
Anyway, it's only CD 7 and I'm actually sort of debating giving the whole "not trying" thing a try. To just put away the thermometer, not look at the calender every day, and just recharge this month. But I know those thoughts and feelings are all stemming from just being so. fucking. tired. I just don't feel like I'm up to TTC this month...honestly, I just want it to "happen". I've been so ready for so many months now that maybe I'm just hitting a bit of a wall now that we're at the 9th month mark.
I think once that roast is out of the oven I'm going to bake some brownies. No, not the "special" kind. Chocolate seems fancy enough for me right now.
Okay, over and out.
Thursday 5 February 2015
Age of Consent
Yeah, it's a scandalous sounding title for a blog post but don't worry, I'm just rocking out to "Age of Consent" by New Order on my iPhone's Songza app. It's a bit nerdy more than anything else, I totally get that.
So, in light of this, I think I will more fully embrace my eclectic nerdiness and make this an About Me post, since I haven't done that really.
I'm Meg. I also just picked my derby-name: Ingrid Locke (as in "in gridlock"), and if I feel like being more public with my blog I might use my derby-name as an alias so that I can still keep a level of secretiveness with the people in my personal-life--just a heads-up. I'm 28, turning 29 in July, and I'm from "Super Natural" BC, Canada. Vancouver Island, to be a bit more exact, since I'll likely have to mention catching ferries and such at later points. I'm the oldest and only daughter in my family, and I'm one of those lucky products of two parents who got married really young and still managed to stay hopelessly in love with each other over the years. I was born on the Sunshine Coast and living in the middle of nowhere with just adults and family around for the first four years of my life (aside from my brother John, who was a baby at the time) meant that I had to be pretty imaginative and creative, and content playing by myself--understandably, I'm pretty introverted but I never get bored, ever. I can get restless but "bored" isn't part of my vocab.
We moved to the island when I was about 4 and a half because my paternal grandfather was passing away. My grandad's death was a huge deal to me, and he pops up in my writing and artwork all the time--always has, as a matter of fact. I was lucky enough to spend enough time with him and be old enough to get to know him and retain quite a lot of memories for being as young as I was, and he was one of the most amazing people I have ever met. He was a haemophiliac who contracted HIV and Hep C through blood-transfusions in the late 70s; the rest of our family, including my Granny, were all extremely lucky that we never contracted either disease. A few years ago our family was given copies of a documentary that had been produced in the late 80s about haemophiliacs living with HIV, of which my granny and grandad had both been interviewed in. It was absolutely mind-blowing to get to hear his voice again 20 years after his death! Did it bring me any closure? A little bit, yeah. To hear him say that he had no regrets, that the surgery to correct the hemorrhaging behind his knees gave him a better quality of life even though that was the probably when he received the tainted blood transfusion, did set me at ease. For a while it really stirred up a lot of emotions and vivid dreams, and it's a really good thing that I was in the midst of re-vamping my writing practise by taking a few poetry classes with a place to work with those emotions.
Okay, so, I was one of those really children who was totally happier in make-believe-land than playing games or sports or with Barbies. And I was totally picked on throughout elementary school--I get it though, I was a little bit of an odd kid, but I did have a bit of a nerd-herd gaggle of friends to keep me company every step of the way, many of which are still close-friends. Around the age of 15 I basically decided not to give a fuck what people thought, and I was lucky to have switched to a high school with a really great theatre program (not that I was really one of the drama-kids, ever) so diversity was actually almost-promoted and bullying didn't really happen there. I hung out with the goth/punk kids, and I'll admit I wasn't as much of a metal-head as the core of that group became, or as hardcore.
Here's a mental picture for you: skull-and-crossbones knee-high socks or fishnet stockings, combat-boots or red Mary Janes, kilt, a tight off-the-shoulder Blondie shirt with neon green bra-straps showing, spike-collar, dark red lipstick, tons of eyeliner, and long wavy dyed red hair. Or, quite often, my electric blue bob wig with heavy straight bangs. Yeah, I guess I stood out a little bit in my grad-class, hey?
Obviously I don't dress like that anymore, though I still do wear an awful lot of black, but as goth/punk girls go I like to think I was pretty adorable. If you gave me an option between listening to either Indie Rock or Classic Alternative & Punk Rock, I'd pick the latter. I could have happily haunted CBGB's in NYC if I'd been born in a different decade. Give me Joy Division, the Banshees, Sex Pistols, Nirvana, B52's, Pixies, the Runaways, whatever, and I'm ready for to have a dance-party all by myself. I'm a lot more picky when it comes to new music/bands.
Back on track: I went to my local university-college, which has since turned into a full-fledged university, straight out of high school, as was expected of me. I Majored in English, Minored in Visual Arts, and took a ton of Creative Writing classes. I went to NYC halfway through my 3rd year and realised that even though I found my English classes interesting, I didn't want to teach English classes for a career and probably would have been better off going to Art School. But I was halfway through and didn't want my education-thus-far to have been all for nought so I pressed on completed 5 years of my BA with a great GPA. I even went to Italy for a month with the Liberal Studies' Study Abroad program the summer before I graduated. Yes. Italy. I lived and studied the Italian Renaissance in Italy--how cool is that?! I did two semesters of a directed studies in Museology (study of Art Museums and Curatorial practises, basically) which included an internship with our local art gallery as the Assistant Curator in my last year, and in the span of about a year and a half I was included in about 3 art shows with small groups of instructor-selected art-students outside of the annual student art show that took place at the end of the year, and my Graduating Project show. I won awards for my ceramic work but I was really into installation, and blending my art and writing practises together. I felt like I was golden that last year of university. I did a lot of really cool things, like studio-visits, interviewing artists, writing monographs for exhibitions, and even doing a few interviews with our local news channel. I felt totally poised for launching into an amazing career.
And then I decided that I would move to our provincial capital, Victoria, and get myself an intellectually inspiring gallery job before picking the right Masters program. I moved into a townhouse apartment right in the middle of downtown, which happened to share a wall with a little artist-run commercial gallery. Rent was expensive, but I could literally hear them hanging artwork on the walls next door! Only, as it turns out, getting a job at a gallery is really competitive and often only part-time, and/or volunteer-based. So I ended up waitressing--yawn.
This was also the time-frame in which I began a romantic relationship with G. I'll have to save our "love story" for another post, though. I pursued him, and I had been sure for years in advance that he was the man that I was going to end up with. I can't completely explain it, even--I just knew.
Pretty soon after I got Zoe-dog as a tiny 9 week old puppy I figured out my downtown apartment and pedestrian lifestyle was going to have to change. Even though she's only about 18 lbs, she's a Westie and she needs a certain level of exercise, both physically and mentally. We needed a yard, plain and simple. So we move back up island, and eventually I got around to buying a car. She is the reason why I became a dog-groomer two years ago. She is my Heart-Dog, and I have tailored quite a lot of my life around making sure her needs are met. In April she'll be five years old, and I am more and more in love with this scrappy, clownish, expressive, bossy, adventurous, bright little white terrier with every passing year. G too. It took him a lot longer to bond with her because of his own dog passing away when she was still a puppy (more on that in a later post, I promise), but he spoils her all the time and doesn't even like leaving her at home by herself for more than a few hours.
This is where I'm going to have wrap up my About Me post. It's only partial, sorry, but I've got this huge pile of laundry waiting for me and I haven't even had lunch yet (it's almost 1:30PM here--yeeps!!).
So, in light of this, I think I will more fully embrace my eclectic nerdiness and make this an About Me post, since I haven't done that really.
I'm Meg. I also just picked my derby-name: Ingrid Locke (as in "in gridlock"), and if I feel like being more public with my blog I might use my derby-name as an alias so that I can still keep a level of secretiveness with the people in my personal-life--just a heads-up. I'm 28, turning 29 in July, and I'm from "Super Natural" BC, Canada. Vancouver Island, to be a bit more exact, since I'll likely have to mention catching ferries and such at later points. I'm the oldest and only daughter in my family, and I'm one of those lucky products of two parents who got married really young and still managed to stay hopelessly in love with each other over the years. I was born on the Sunshine Coast and living in the middle of nowhere with just adults and family around for the first four years of my life (aside from my brother John, who was a baby at the time) meant that I had to be pretty imaginative and creative, and content playing by myself--understandably, I'm pretty introverted but I never get bored, ever. I can get restless but "bored" isn't part of my vocab.
We moved to the island when I was about 4 and a half because my paternal grandfather was passing away. My grandad's death was a huge deal to me, and he pops up in my writing and artwork all the time--always has, as a matter of fact. I was lucky enough to spend enough time with him and be old enough to get to know him and retain quite a lot of memories for being as young as I was, and he was one of the most amazing people I have ever met. He was a haemophiliac who contracted HIV and Hep C through blood-transfusions in the late 70s; the rest of our family, including my Granny, were all extremely lucky that we never contracted either disease. A few years ago our family was given copies of a documentary that had been produced in the late 80s about haemophiliacs living with HIV, of which my granny and grandad had both been interviewed in. It was absolutely mind-blowing to get to hear his voice again 20 years after his death! Did it bring me any closure? A little bit, yeah. To hear him say that he had no regrets, that the surgery to correct the hemorrhaging behind his knees gave him a better quality of life even though that was the probably when he received the tainted blood transfusion, did set me at ease. For a while it really stirred up a lot of emotions and vivid dreams, and it's a really good thing that I was in the midst of re-vamping my writing practise by taking a few poetry classes with a place to work with those emotions.
Okay, so, I was one of those really children who was totally happier in make-believe-land than playing games or sports or with Barbies. And I was totally picked on throughout elementary school--I get it though, I was a little bit of an odd kid, but I did have a bit of a nerd-herd gaggle of friends to keep me company every step of the way, many of which are still close-friends. Around the age of 15 I basically decided not to give a fuck what people thought, and I was lucky to have switched to a high school with a really great theatre program (not that I was really one of the drama-kids, ever) so diversity was actually almost-promoted and bullying didn't really happen there. I hung out with the goth/punk kids, and I'll admit I wasn't as much of a metal-head as the core of that group became, or as hardcore.
Here's a mental picture for you: skull-and-crossbones knee-high socks or fishnet stockings, combat-boots or red Mary Janes, kilt, a tight off-the-shoulder Blondie shirt with neon green bra-straps showing, spike-collar, dark red lipstick, tons of eyeliner, and long wavy dyed red hair. Or, quite often, my electric blue bob wig with heavy straight bangs. Yeah, I guess I stood out a little bit in my grad-class, hey?
Obviously I don't dress like that anymore, though I still do wear an awful lot of black, but as goth/punk girls go I like to think I was pretty adorable. If you gave me an option between listening to either Indie Rock or Classic Alternative & Punk Rock, I'd pick the latter. I could have happily haunted CBGB's in NYC if I'd been born in a different decade. Give me Joy Division, the Banshees, Sex Pistols, Nirvana, B52's, Pixies, the Runaways, whatever, and I'm ready for to have a dance-party all by myself. I'm a lot more picky when it comes to new music/bands.
Back on track: I went to my local university-college, which has since turned into a full-fledged university, straight out of high school, as was expected of me. I Majored in English, Minored in Visual Arts, and took a ton of Creative Writing classes. I went to NYC halfway through my 3rd year and realised that even though I found my English classes interesting, I didn't want to teach English classes for a career and probably would have been better off going to Art School. But I was halfway through and didn't want my education-thus-far to have been all for nought so I pressed on completed 5 years of my BA with a great GPA. I even went to Italy for a month with the Liberal Studies' Study Abroad program the summer before I graduated. Yes. Italy. I lived and studied the Italian Renaissance in Italy--how cool is that?! I did two semesters of a directed studies in Museology (study of Art Museums and Curatorial practises, basically) which included an internship with our local art gallery as the Assistant Curator in my last year, and in the span of about a year and a half I was included in about 3 art shows with small groups of instructor-selected art-students outside of the annual student art show that took place at the end of the year, and my Graduating Project show. I won awards for my ceramic work but I was really into installation, and blending my art and writing practises together. I felt like I was golden that last year of university. I did a lot of really cool things, like studio-visits, interviewing artists, writing monographs for exhibitions, and even doing a few interviews with our local news channel. I felt totally poised for launching into an amazing career.
And then I decided that I would move to our provincial capital, Victoria, and get myself an intellectually inspiring gallery job before picking the right Masters program. I moved into a townhouse apartment right in the middle of downtown, which happened to share a wall with a little artist-run commercial gallery. Rent was expensive, but I could literally hear them hanging artwork on the walls next door! Only, as it turns out, getting a job at a gallery is really competitive and often only part-time, and/or volunteer-based. So I ended up waitressing--yawn.
This was also the time-frame in which I began a romantic relationship with G. I'll have to save our "love story" for another post, though. I pursued him, and I had been sure for years in advance that he was the man that I was going to end up with. I can't completely explain it, even--I just knew.
Pretty soon after I got Zoe-dog as a tiny 9 week old puppy I figured out my downtown apartment and pedestrian lifestyle was going to have to change. Even though she's only about 18 lbs, she's a Westie and she needs a certain level of exercise, both physically and mentally. We needed a yard, plain and simple. So we move back up island, and eventually I got around to buying a car. She is the reason why I became a dog-groomer two years ago. She is my Heart-Dog, and I have tailored quite a lot of my life around making sure her needs are met. In April she'll be five years old, and I am more and more in love with this scrappy, clownish, expressive, bossy, adventurous, bright little white terrier with every passing year. G too. It took him a lot longer to bond with her because of his own dog passing away when she was still a puppy (more on that in a later post, I promise), but he spoils her all the time and doesn't even like leaving her at home by herself for more than a few hours.
This is where I'm going to have wrap up my About Me post. It's only partial, sorry, but I've got this huge pile of laundry waiting for me and I haven't even had lunch yet (it's almost 1:30PM here--yeeps!!).
Wednesday 4 February 2015
The Replacement
Right now I'm not sure whether to cry with relief or cry with worry. I am obviously emotional enough that I broke down and text'd my mom.
I just very nervously called my clinic to enquire about my lab test results, and discovered that my family doctor officially retired last week (WHAT?!?!?!). The secretary told me that they only call if there's something abnormal about my results, so not having gotten a call simply means that everything came back fine. I still want to know numbers, I still want as many details as they can give me, and I still don't have any answers. So I booked an appointment for next week, on the 12th, to meet and discuss where we're at with my new GP.
And the biggest discovery of the day (so far)? My new GP is a lady-doctor! *Gasp!!!!!*
I have been dying to have a female doctor since the tender age of 18, when suddenly you're at that age where you have to discuss the nitty-gritty of your reproductive health, because I am a shy and awkward kind of gal. I felt awkward enough just having my former male doctor administer the Depo shot in my hip (I begged him to just give it to me in my shoulder but he never relented) when I was in my late teens, and I have been rather bad about going in for that recommended annual examination in the stirrups...I know it's not sexual, I am completely aware, but that's just how shy I can be! So having a fellow female do the future examinations and tests is such a hugely joyous bit of news for me. I won't be half as awkward and shy now--thank God!!!!
However, I don't know what this doctor is like. She could be dismissive or she could be highly motivated due to the fact that this is a new clinic full of new patients and newness has a way of inspiring a person, or so I believe. I'm not expecting her to be my new BFF, obviously, but if this journey becomes especially longer and full of all kinds of tribulations I really hope she's going to be the compassionate and diligent variety of doctors. After all, future visits may include some moments of tight-lipped chin-held-high heartbreak as well as successes. At this point, I don't know what's ahead.
I also don't know how long she's staying at my family's clinic. It might be just a year, or it might be more.
Because last month was not our month (AF arrived on Monday, so it's back to CD3) this will be the ninth cycle of TTC. I suppose the 0.1 degree drop last weekend was all that was needed to cue my uterus to start wringing itself out again--c'est la vive. Actually, this month was really good cramp-wise so I'm trying not to complain as much, I was able to function with just Midol and Advil and not have to spend hours curled up around a scalding hot water-bottle or basically living in the bathtub just soaking. I don't know for sure, but I sort of suspect that cutting drastically down on my caffeine-intake may have made this difference. I am not in agony, I am simply plodding along a little slower the last few days and craving chocolate.
G has yet to go in for his test. Maybe now that I've had it confirmed that my results were fine he'll finally set aside a bit of time to go in tomorrow and get it done--I'm hoping so anyway! Yesterday he referred to his possibly lower sperm-count as the "elephant in the room", and I do feel bad for him because I know he worries all the time that he may have missed the baby-boat by waiting until he was 50 to try. It wasn't his fault, prior to the start of our actual relationship 5 years ago he'd spent the majority of the 5 years beforehand with a girlfriend (who is only about 3 or 4 years older than I) who only gave him "maybe one day" as an answer until finally admitting that she wasn't on the fence at all and was honestly uninterested in motherhood. (I get really angry at her when I think about this too, especially since she still sends him Xmas and birthday cards/gifts in the mail and calls him more than any of my former partners contact me, period.) He would have loved to have had kids in his 40s, even though he was uber focused on his career at the time, but marriage and TTC was never seriously on the table for him until we started seeing each other. I am literally the only woman he has ever been with who has wanted children. I know it's hard on him that this isn't just "happening" and he will feel like it's all his fault unless his SA comes back without abnormalities.
So why am I wiping away tears since this phone call to my clinic? Because I know that regardless of G's SA results, I will likely be going on to more tests and they won't be as quick and easy as having 3 vials of blood taken. Fertility specialists want you to have all the test-work done before they see you, to know exactly what's going on physically. Even if G's results are so unfortunate that it's obvious that we'll need IUI or IVF they will need to make sure my fallopian tubes aren't blocked, that there are no cysts, polyps, or endo. This all makes sense: if there's something really wrong with me they need to correct it as best they can before we attempt pregnancy. It doesn't make me feel any more cosy about our situation though. I am still pretty nervous about the future, no matter what the stats are.
On a brighter side though, I'd like to take a moment to give a shout out. Kaeleigh of the Unpregnant Chicken blog (http://unpregnantchicken.com/) has kept me smiling and laughing throughout the last few tampon-filled days. Her blog is amazing and totally accessible--not just because I'm in the TTC boat also--it is worth a check-out! As a fellow Canadian, just one province to the right over, I've got to say her blog is my favourite! I also really like Infertile Girl in a Fertile World, by C who is also Canadian (yay!). However, I like to read blogs from their very beginning, in chronological order (yes, I am THAT nerdy), and I accidentally read over C's TTC time-line, at which point she had just gotten her BFP. So the suspense is a bit lessened, unfortunately. Since Unpregnant Chicken dates back to August 2014, it's a bit less daunting to try and catch-up--and it's good enough to want to catch-up!
Since becoming a dog-groomer almost two years ago, a day-job that I am a zillion times happier doing in my everyday life than waitressing (being a line-cook was okay too, but that was ages ago now), I have been guilty of taking a big step back from writing. Shame on me, I mean it. Even though blogging is not as esoteric as my usual poetry/prose scene, I am so glad to report that my passion for writing has been more than rekindled. I'm a decent groomer and I love dogs, I can easily keep doing this rewarding day-job for another two years if that's my path, but I am becoming more aware again that I need to try for more in terms of my long-term career. I need to rework the portfolios that got me short-listed for the low-residency MFA in Creative Writing two years ago, I need to reconnect with my former professors (because every year another one retires), and I need to reapply for grad studies. Babies or not, I need to carry on writing and being creative. Resuming, even if it's not exactly where I left off, has lifted my spirit up and I can't just walk away from that. It's time to stop being rusty and whip my inner-writer back into the sharp and perceptive machine it once was!
And now I think I'll put TTC and next week's appointment to the back corner of my mind and see about getting a haircut. I may be back to my writing desk in a few hours, or tomorrow, but I'll be back! :D
I just very nervously called my clinic to enquire about my lab test results, and discovered that my family doctor officially retired last week (WHAT?!?!?!). The secretary told me that they only call if there's something abnormal about my results, so not having gotten a call simply means that everything came back fine. I still want to know numbers, I still want as many details as they can give me, and I still don't have any answers. So I booked an appointment for next week, on the 12th, to meet and discuss where we're at with my new GP.
And the biggest discovery of the day (so far)? My new GP is a lady-doctor! *Gasp!!!!!*
I have been dying to have a female doctor since the tender age of 18, when suddenly you're at that age where you have to discuss the nitty-gritty of your reproductive health, because I am a shy and awkward kind of gal. I felt awkward enough just having my former male doctor administer the Depo shot in my hip (I begged him to just give it to me in my shoulder but he never relented) when I was in my late teens, and I have been rather bad about going in for that recommended annual examination in the stirrups...I know it's not sexual, I am completely aware, but that's just how shy I can be! So having a fellow female do the future examinations and tests is such a hugely joyous bit of news for me. I won't be half as awkward and shy now--thank God!!!!
However, I don't know what this doctor is like. She could be dismissive or she could be highly motivated due to the fact that this is a new clinic full of new patients and newness has a way of inspiring a person, or so I believe. I'm not expecting her to be my new BFF, obviously, but if this journey becomes especially longer and full of all kinds of tribulations I really hope she's going to be the compassionate and diligent variety of doctors. After all, future visits may include some moments of tight-lipped chin-held-high heartbreak as well as successes. At this point, I don't know what's ahead.
I also don't know how long she's staying at my family's clinic. It might be just a year, or it might be more.
Because last month was not our month (AF arrived on Monday, so it's back to CD3) this will be the ninth cycle of TTC. I suppose the 0.1 degree drop last weekend was all that was needed to cue my uterus to start wringing itself out again--c'est la vive. Actually, this month was really good cramp-wise so I'm trying not to complain as much, I was able to function with just Midol and Advil and not have to spend hours curled up around a scalding hot water-bottle or basically living in the bathtub just soaking. I don't know for sure, but I sort of suspect that cutting drastically down on my caffeine-intake may have made this difference. I am not in agony, I am simply plodding along a little slower the last few days and craving chocolate.
G has yet to go in for his test. Maybe now that I've had it confirmed that my results were fine he'll finally set aside a bit of time to go in tomorrow and get it done--I'm hoping so anyway! Yesterday he referred to his possibly lower sperm-count as the "elephant in the room", and I do feel bad for him because I know he worries all the time that he may have missed the baby-boat by waiting until he was 50 to try. It wasn't his fault, prior to the start of our actual relationship 5 years ago he'd spent the majority of the 5 years beforehand with a girlfriend (who is only about 3 or 4 years older than I) who only gave him "maybe one day" as an answer until finally admitting that she wasn't on the fence at all and was honestly uninterested in motherhood. (I get really angry at her when I think about this too, especially since she still sends him Xmas and birthday cards/gifts in the mail and calls him more than any of my former partners contact me, period.) He would have loved to have had kids in his 40s, even though he was uber focused on his career at the time, but marriage and TTC was never seriously on the table for him until we started seeing each other. I am literally the only woman he has ever been with who has wanted children. I know it's hard on him that this isn't just "happening" and he will feel like it's all his fault unless his SA comes back without abnormalities.
So why am I wiping away tears since this phone call to my clinic? Because I know that regardless of G's SA results, I will likely be going on to more tests and they won't be as quick and easy as having 3 vials of blood taken. Fertility specialists want you to have all the test-work done before they see you, to know exactly what's going on physically. Even if G's results are so unfortunate that it's obvious that we'll need IUI or IVF they will need to make sure my fallopian tubes aren't blocked, that there are no cysts, polyps, or endo. This all makes sense: if there's something really wrong with me they need to correct it as best they can before we attempt pregnancy. It doesn't make me feel any more cosy about our situation though. I am still pretty nervous about the future, no matter what the stats are.
On a brighter side though, I'd like to take a moment to give a shout out. Kaeleigh of the Unpregnant Chicken blog (http://unpregnantchicken.com/) has kept me smiling and laughing throughout the last few tampon-filled days. Her blog is amazing and totally accessible--not just because I'm in the TTC boat also--it is worth a check-out! As a fellow Canadian, just one province to the right over, I've got to say her blog is my favourite! I also really like Infertile Girl in a Fertile World, by C who is also Canadian (yay!). However, I like to read blogs from their very beginning, in chronological order (yes, I am THAT nerdy), and I accidentally read over C's TTC time-line, at which point she had just gotten her BFP. So the suspense is a bit lessened, unfortunately. Since Unpregnant Chicken dates back to August 2014, it's a bit less daunting to try and catch-up--and it's good enough to want to catch-up!
Since becoming a dog-groomer almost two years ago, a day-job that I am a zillion times happier doing in my everyday life than waitressing (being a line-cook was okay too, but that was ages ago now), I have been guilty of taking a big step back from writing. Shame on me, I mean it. Even though blogging is not as esoteric as my usual poetry/prose scene, I am so glad to report that my passion for writing has been more than rekindled. I'm a decent groomer and I love dogs, I can easily keep doing this rewarding day-job for another two years if that's my path, but I am becoming more aware again that I need to try for more in terms of my long-term career. I need to rework the portfolios that got me short-listed for the low-residency MFA in Creative Writing two years ago, I need to reconnect with my former professors (because every year another one retires), and I need to reapply for grad studies. Babies or not, I need to carry on writing and being creative. Resuming, even if it's not exactly where I left off, has lifted my spirit up and I can't just walk away from that. It's time to stop being rusty and whip my inner-writer back into the sharp and perceptive machine it once was!
And now I think I'll put TTC and next week's appointment to the back corner of my mind and see about getting a haircut. I may be back to my writing desk in a few hours, or tomorrow, but I'll be back! :D
Sunday 1 February 2015
"I'm going to eat raw salmon like a seahawk today!"
That's what my dad said via text this morning. My family's not all that into football (American football, I mean), we're mostly interested in hockey and soccer, but for whatever reason G and my dad are determined to participate in Super Bowl Sunday this year (sorry, I'm just not into it). So in about an hour we're going to pick up some veggies and dip and head over to my parents' house. This will be the first time I've seen my mother since her "gestational diabetes" comment three weeks ago, so I'm a little bit apprehensive.
Thursday, Friday and Saturday I really wanted to do some writing but there just wasn't time. I'm super thankful that G is busy in his studio right now so that I can spend a little while at my writing-desk today.
The basics: today I'm 12DPO. I haven't poas yet, I'm waiting for AF to arrive in a couple of days (or not?). That constant feeling of being dehydrated hasn't gone away at all, and so I've been putting up with night-sweats and chapped lips, and G has filled the fridge with coconut water for me. I've also been getting occasional, really light cramping. No sore boobs here. My BBT dropped as low as 37.0 degrees yesterday but was back up to 37.2 this morning, where it's been for the most part during my TTW this cycle. Hmm. So I don't know how optimistic to be.
It would be so amazing though if this were the month. In three weeks we're going up to my grandparents' ranch for about five days and I'd want to tell them first. Well, maybe my parents first, to be fair, but I'm a bit afraid of how invasive my mother could get. Grandma's way more comforting and positive to be around. This would be their first great-grandchild, and they would be so excited. Maybe G and I would be able to relax just that little bit more while we're on a mini-holiday, also? That feels so greatly needed lately.
G's older sister, my favourite sibling-in-law, is finishing up the month and a half of radiation right now. The bad news is that her doctor feels that it's necessary for her to do more chemo again, just when we were hoping she was just about done treatment for the next while. Also, apparently there's a tumour on her spine and they can't do a biopsy until after this next round of chemo, and that has G really worried. From what we've been told they were able to remove all the cancer that they had found in her uterus before it had really spread elsewhere when they did the hysterectomy, and that the chemo and radiation was all just for precaution because it was a particularly aggressive form of cancer that they'd discovered. G and his siblings are all starting to think that she and her husband (who has been really great throughout all of this) have been downplaying how serious this is. Poor C (for her first initial) says she's tired of all of this, her hair had just started to grow back and now it will all fall out again.
Also, earlier this week I watched a video that had been put together detailing 3,000 years of women's "ideal bodies" as described by their own societies. I knew some of these things via Art History classes, because there's as long a history of artists depicting "ideal beauty" as there is a canon of Western Art History to be studied, but even just seeing how many times the criteria for "ideal" has changed over the last 100 years was interesting. I'm going to try to hang onto this--what? Notion of craziness? Rejection of superficial idealism?-- while I'm at my parents' house today. I've asked G to try not to leave me alone with my mom, if he can help it.
Well, G is back in from the studio and I think I need another huge glass of coconut water before we leave the house, so it's time for me to sign off again.
Thursday, Friday and Saturday I really wanted to do some writing but there just wasn't time. I'm super thankful that G is busy in his studio right now so that I can spend a little while at my writing-desk today.
The basics: today I'm 12DPO. I haven't poas yet, I'm waiting for AF to arrive in a couple of days (or not?). That constant feeling of being dehydrated hasn't gone away at all, and so I've been putting up with night-sweats and chapped lips, and G has filled the fridge with coconut water for me. I've also been getting occasional, really light cramping. No sore boobs here. My BBT dropped as low as 37.0 degrees yesterday but was back up to 37.2 this morning, where it's been for the most part during my TTW this cycle. Hmm. So I don't know how optimistic to be.
It would be so amazing though if this were the month. In three weeks we're going up to my grandparents' ranch for about five days and I'd want to tell them first. Well, maybe my parents first, to be fair, but I'm a bit afraid of how invasive my mother could get. Grandma's way more comforting and positive to be around. This would be their first great-grandchild, and they would be so excited. Maybe G and I would be able to relax just that little bit more while we're on a mini-holiday, also? That feels so greatly needed lately.
G's older sister, my favourite sibling-in-law, is finishing up the month and a half of radiation right now. The bad news is that her doctor feels that it's necessary for her to do more chemo again, just when we were hoping she was just about done treatment for the next while. Also, apparently there's a tumour on her spine and they can't do a biopsy until after this next round of chemo, and that has G really worried. From what we've been told they were able to remove all the cancer that they had found in her uterus before it had really spread elsewhere when they did the hysterectomy, and that the chemo and radiation was all just for precaution because it was a particularly aggressive form of cancer that they'd discovered. G and his siblings are all starting to think that she and her husband (who has been really great throughout all of this) have been downplaying how serious this is. Poor C (for her first initial) says she's tired of all of this, her hair had just started to grow back and now it will all fall out again.
Also, earlier this week I watched a video that had been put together detailing 3,000 years of women's "ideal bodies" as described by their own societies. I knew some of these things via Art History classes, because there's as long a history of artists depicting "ideal beauty" as there is a canon of Western Art History to be studied, but even just seeing how many times the criteria for "ideal" has changed over the last 100 years was interesting. I'm going to try to hang onto this--what? Notion of craziness? Rejection of superficial idealism?-- while I'm at my parents' house today. I've asked G to try not to leave me alone with my mom, if he can help it.
Well, G is back in from the studio and I think I need another huge glass of coconut water before we leave the house, so it's time for me to sign off again.
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