Lusting

I am lusting.

Intensely, uncontrollably, deeply lusting.

Not after what (or who) you might think though.

No, I am lusting after a new washer and dryer.

And maybe a new refrigerator.

And why don’t we throw in a new stove and dishwasher while we’re at it.

I want some new appliances.

(Courtesy of versaillesfurnitureandappliances.com)

I want them bad.

And it just so happens that I got an offer for 18 months zero interest if I buy them now.

As in, by the end of this 4th of July weekend now.

Here’s the thing – I do not need new appliances. In fact, my life would be just fine if I didn’t get them. My appliances are acceptable. Old, and not exactly energy efficient, but… acceptable. They get the job done, and they’ve never really given me any issues at all.

That said, they are also one item on a list that only has 2 items left to be crossed off. The list of things I want to upgrade in my condo. I have ripped out and restored everything else in this unit since I moved in. The floors are new, the bathrooms completely gutted. The walls are painted, and all the doors were replaced. I redid the lighting (only getting shocked once or twice), and have painstakingly turned this place into a home that I now show off with pride. All that’s left on that list I made when I first signed my name to a mortgage are the appliances, and the cabinets.

And the cabinets are going to have to wait until the winter, when hopefully I won’t mind being stuck inside refinishing them quite so much.

Still, there comes a point when a girl has to get realistic. And realistically, I have already put more into upgrading this condo than I will ever see returned on a sales price. Technically, I’ve over-upgraded. So anything further that I do at this point, I am doing explicitly for me. For my own pleasure. Knowing full well that I will probably never get any other benefit out of it at all.

And how much do I really need new appliances?

Needs versus wants. It’s always a point of contention for me.

So at this point, I am lusting. I strolled through the aisles of Lowes today, running my fingers over the pieces of stainless steel and black plastic that stuck out at me. I opened doors and caressed buttons. I stalked and flirted and daydreamed about all the possibilities.

Currently, I would say that these new appliances and I are in the courting stages of our relationship.

Whether or not this courting goes any further still remains to be unseen.

But for right now, I am lusting.

And wondering if it’s a problem that I’ve just spent 30 minutes staring longingly at the pictures I found online.

It's not a problem until it interferes with my day to day life, right?

Motivate Me

For all my bravado the last few days, I have to admit - I am feeling ridiculously unmotivated.

I should go to Pilates.

I should clean the house.

I should finish up some laundry.

I should convince a few of the girls to go hiking with me.

Instead, I am already in my pajamas at 5:30 watching last night’s DVR'd episode of The Bachelorette and considering a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner.

I need to lock it up.

Like, immediately.

Or maybe… just as soon as I figure out what the heck it is Ashley saw in Bentley in the first place.

This could be a while.

The Verdict Is In

Kind of.

Sort of.

Maybe?

I spoke to both Dr. Cook, and my regular OB/GYN today. My Alaskan doctor called around 1 this afternoon. She didn’t have much to add that I didn’t already know. She was pretty confident that the new cysts I had growing were in fact endometriomas, mostly because I’ve never had cysts turn out to be anything else whenever we’ve opened me up. She said she had reviewed the tapes from my most recent surgery, and that everything had been done meticulously. She then said that she would be shocked to see new growth back already – if it was anyone but me. It was reiterated to me that I have one of the most aggressive cases of endo she’s ever seen, and that there’s really no rhyme or reason as to why my body seems to be producing it at the level it has been. But that given what we’ve seen in the past, it shouldn’t be that big of a surprise either.

Which is frustrating, because I want more answers than that. I want to know why my case is so aggressive. Why we can't seem to stop growth. Why I don't respond to treatments the way others do.

I feel like these are things people should be looking at. But then I also understand - no one really knows what they should be looking for. My hormone levels all look great. My lifestyle is as good as one could hope. I've done all the research, followed all the protocols, and tried everything anyone has ever told me to try. There's something else going on here - but no one can even begin to comprehend what that may be.

She offered up another round of Lupron as a possible treatment, but I explained that I’m just not in a place to be wanting to go there again. As much as I’m dreading the pain I fear may be coming, I would dread the side effects of Lupron even more. The exhaustion. The nausea. The depression. The never once feeling like myself the entire time I was on it. And the fact that even on Lupron – I still had new growth.

It’s just not worth it.

I thanked her for calling me, and she asked me to come back in for another ultrasound in 6 weeks. She said we could assess the growth in that time and attempt to monitor the situation. I really do love this doctor for how much she cares, but I know she’s been at a loss with my presentation for a while. I know she doesn't know what else to tell me.

Which is why I sought out Dr. Cook in the first place.

He and I had our phone consult later on this afternoon. He was actually more optimistic. Even hopeful that maybe (just maybe), what we’re seeing on those scans aren’t actually endometriomas.

He made the same request for another ultrasound in 6 weeks. He said at that point we could make some determinations about how to proceed. If it is endometriosis – it will grow in that time. All the cysts (2 on each side) are currently under 2cm; which is very small in the grand scheme of things. There’s the possibility that they are scar tissue, or any other number of things at this point. If we see growth in 6 weeks, we’ll know it’s something to worry about. But until then – he told me to remain calm.

He said that it would be almost unheard of to have new growth at this early stage post-surgery. That if anything, it’s more likely that something was left behind this last time around. Remnants that were somehow missed which have been allowed to spread since that time.

This is of course assuming that what we are seeing is endo. And if it is – we will come up with a game plan in 6 weeks.

In the meantime, he wants me returning to physical therapy. I tried to explain that my time with Dr. PT had actually left me entirely underwhelmed. That I had attempted 3 visits with her, and each had entailed a lot of talking accompanied by her giving me exercises to do at home. Exercises I could have just as easily looked up online. I told him that it was just one more appointment that was taking me away from work, and that it simply hadn’t seemed worth it anymore – so I had quit going.

He immediately got online and started doing research on PT’s in Alaska. By the time we got off the phone, he had a name of someone he wanted me to try. And he was already working on the referral.

The reason he is so adamant about me trying physical therapy again is because of the low back pain I’m complaining about now, combined with the muscle spasms I presented with when I first saw him. Dr. Cook says that there is a muscle called the Psaos muscle which runs behind the ovaries and connects to the lower back. He said that at this point, it wouldn’t be entirely off base to assume I could have some scar tissue forming back there which could be leading to this low back discomfort. Either way, he said a good physical therapist should be able to tell if that’s the situation fairly quickly.

He also wants me to get another CA-125 level ordered. Not because it can tell us anything definitive per se (I’ve had elevated levels in the 40’s pretty much since this adventure began), but because at least it’s one more thing to look at. If my levels are low, or even nearing normal – perhaps it can give me even more of a sense of calm about the situation. And if they’re high – well, they’ve always been high. So it wouldn’t be anything new.

Other than that though, we’re looking at 6 weeks.

6 weeks for me to be good to my body.

To be good to myself.

And to hope for the best.

While planning for the worst.

After the 4th, I’ve decided that I’m going to go back to gluten and dairy free. Not because I put a ton of weight into the success of the endo diet (after all – I’ve tried it in the past without much in the way of results), but because I feel like I have to be doing something. And because I might be getting a bit of nagging from a good Alaskan friend if I don’t get back on the wagon here soon.

And over the next 6 weeks, I’m going to attempt to ignore that discomfort I’m feeling. I am going to get out and enjoy Alaska; getting physical whenever the sun is out. I am going to spend time with friends, and the boy. I am going to laugh, and smile, and enjoy this life I have to the fullest. I am going to continue separating myself from this disease as much as I can possibly muster.

At least for 6 weeks.

I’m going to do exactly what Dr. Cook told me to do.

Not freak out.

Not yet anyway.

Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out.

And in the meantime; I’m going to choose to ignore it.

Because I refuse to let this disease steal yet another amazing Alaskan summer from me.

Not this time.

And not ever again.

Blue Skies

I have to admit, I’m doing pretty OK.

Better than I would have thought after Thursday’s news.

There were some moments there. An exorbitant shopping spree that I’m still a little ashamed of (but one that resulted in some good Alaskan gear I’ve needed for ages that I’m hoping to put to good use next week), and then a total break down that took place over the phone with my dad where I blubbered out “I don’t understand. I’m a good person. I’ve tried so hard to do everything right here. I don’t understand why this is happening.” (And my poor father having to explain to me, yet again, that it has nothing to do with me or what I’ve done – that it’s just my body. Something about my body that we have still yet to figure out. But I’m not being punished, and I can’t control it. We just have to figure it out).

But since then (since that day); I’m doing pretty OK.

Pretty spectacular even.

Call it shock. Or disbelief. Or denial.

Heck, you might want to even call it the plague I’ve been fighting off for the last 5 days which has simply left me too exhausted to care.

But really – I’m doing pretty OK.

I laid low on Friday night. I had friends trying to pull me in about 8 different directions and invites to do just about anything I could possibly desire, but I decided to keep things kind of mellow. I had that plague to deal with after all (a plague that I am positive came on just to torture me – because I almost never get sick). I denied all invites, curled up into bed early, and talked to the boy on the phone for about an hour before passing out.

Saturday morning I got up for a Rolfing appointment with McDreamy. He helped to work out some of the post-period knots I had in my low back and by the end of the session I was sitting up straight again (as opposed to the hunched over look I had taken on while Jack was in town). He was just as disappointed in the news of the return of disease as I was, and wound up charging me only half for the session – claiming that I had needed it and that I deserved to do something nice for myself.

I swear, sometimes I really marvel at the luck I’ve had in finding such amazing people who are so invested in my care. Healers who want nothing more than to help me. I am insanely blessed in that way.

In the afternoon, I actually went to a pig roast that some friends of the boys throw every year. I almost felt bad. The poor guy has been stuck out of town for two weeks, and here I was hanging out with his friends at an event I know he was bummed to be missing. When we were talking Friday night he was lamenting the fact that he wouldn’t be able to go, and detailing for me all the work he had to do the next day. To which I responded “Yep. I’ve got a pretty rough day too. I’m planning on sleeping in, and then going to Rolfing, and then hanging out with your friends for a while.”

I’m pretty sure he called me a not nice word.

The pig roast was a good time though. I’ve never seen anything quite like that. An entire pig (eyeballs and all) on a spit. I have to admit, I couldn’t eat a bite of it. I may be a reformed vegetarian – but I’m not that reformed.

It was a good time though. Good people. Good food (you know, besides the pig). And good drinks. What more could a girl ask for?

Today, it's possible that I’ve been a lazy bum. The plague has lingered and I’ve wondered when exactly it is that this tightness in my chest will release so that I can breathe again. But it’s provided a welcome excuse to lie in bed reading and catching up on the DVR. I’ve been lazy, but not depressed. Not moping. Not even obsessing over the state of my insides.

It is what it is. And I know that I’m going to figure it out. That I’m surrounded by support and love as I take on this next stage of the fight.

I’m a lucky girl. A happy girl. A blessed girl.

And if I could just kick the plague, all would be well.

Because I have some hiking to do. And biking. And getting out and enjoying Alaska.

You know, as soon as I can breathe without wheezing again.

I also have some endo ass to kick.

I’m not going to let it get me down this time. I’m not going to let it win. I’m going to speak to Dr. Cook tomorrow, and move forward with whatever plan of action he thinks is best. I’m going to fight this. I’m going to take it all head on.

The future is full of blue skies.

And I’ve got this.

This Again

To add insult to injury, I came home last night to discover this in my mailbox:

Needless to say, it wasn't the best of timing for that kick in the junk.

So now I've gotten hit up by Similac and Enfamil. Both pretty large size packages of formula that I just cannot imagine are sent out haphazardly.

I'm starting to wonder how possible it could be that Seattle Reproductive Medicine could be behind the release of my name to whatever lists are used to send these types of packages out. The timing is just too much. Had my first cycle with them worked, I would have an infant right now.

I can't wrap my head around a doctor's office doing that, but then, after how little care they showed for their patients in the first place - I guess it wouldn't be so shocking either.

Whatever happened, however they got my name, it's just one more call to make. One more company to inform of my fertility status and to ask to be removed from their list.

There really should be rules against this kind of marketing.

Because something about the whole thing just seems cruel.

The End of The Beginning

It’s been 4 months.

4 months since surgery.

4 months since I’ve been in pain.

4 months since I’ve needed an ultrasound.

4 months since I’ve been able to actually visualize the endo growing inside of me.

If I were an addict who had been celebrating 4 months of sobriety, today is the day that I would have to tell you all that I’m back at day 1.

The end of the beginning.

I have new endometriomas. As much as I had been hoping I was a hypochondriac – I am not. I didn't make up what I was feeling.

The growth is still minimal. In anyone else, it probably wouldn’t be any major cause for concern.

But with me, we know how quickly this disease has always spread. The start of pain has always just been a warning of the real agony only months down the line.

I’ve spent the last 4 months starting over. Distancing myself from this disease. Allowing myself to believe it could be over. That I could have a life that was pain free. That I could beat endometriosis.

And today is the end of that beginning.

The good news is – I am back in fighting form. I am frustrated, and sad, and disappointed. But most of all – I am angry. And I intend to use that anger to my benefit. To allow it to turn me into the fighter I know I can be.

I intend to take this disease head on again. Now that I have had 4 months to rest and rebuild – I intend to fight harder than I have ever fought before.

Now. While it is still minimal. Still just in the beginning stages. Still something that wouldn’t be too much cause for concern with anyone else.

I intend to fight it now, before it gets out of hand. Before it becomes a cause for concern.

I have a phone consult with Dr. Cook on Monday. I’m eager to see what he thinks of my scans. Eager to hear what he thinks the next step should be.

I still trust in him. Still think that finding him was the best thing I could have possibly hoped for in fighting this disease. And I still believe that if anyone can help me to lead the normal, happy, healthy life I desire so strongly to lead – it’s him.

So until Monday, I’m going to try not to think about this. The boy is unfortunately out of town for work, so as much as I wish he were here to wrap me up and cuddle me – it looks like I’ll be relying on the girls to keep me distracted and smiling.

Lucky for me, I have some pretty amazing girls in my life.

It’s the end of the beginning.

But at least it’s not the beginning of the end.

And besides – I think I’ve got at least a few more beginnings left in me.

Just as soon as I find a way to kick the crap out of this disease.

For good this time.

Forever.

Jack The Ripper

I washed my sheets last night.

Which it turns out, is right up there with washing your car to induce the rain.

Because this morning; I woke up to a bloody massacre.

How’s that for some disturbing imagery?

Alas, it would appear that Jack The Ripper is in town. And my insides are less than pleased.

I have to be honest though – it’s not as bad as it was last month. Yes, there are cramps. There's even the hint of that sting beneath my rib cage that I'm trying desperately to ignore. Yes, I’m bloated. In fact, I actually gained 5 pounds overnight. My back is killing me, my skin is a mess, and I kind of just want to be in bed sleeping, but…

I was functional. Completely and totally functional without even needing to pop a single ibuprofen.

OK, so my day probably would have been much improved if I had popped a single ibuprofen, but I was on this mission. This completely bizarre mission that I’m pretty sure only paints the picture of a girl who has clearly stepped into hypochondriac territory.

I wouldn’t let myself take anything for the pain today, because I convinced myself that I needed to be fully aware of exactly how much pain I was in so that I could attempt to preemptively determine what Thursdays appointment may tell me.

Yes, I’ve lost my mind.

The thing is, in my full ability to function despite Jacks visit, I’ve started to question if anything really is wrong at all.

I mean, if it were coming back – wouldn’t I be doubled over in pain? Wouldn’t I be reduced to tears and unable to eat? Wouldn’t the bloat be pushing me up two pant sizes and the ache in my back rendering me incapable of walking?

Wouldn’t it be as bad as it once was? Or at least somewhere nearing that same level?

I’m starting to wonder if maybe I wasn’t making up the aches and pains I felt over the last 2 weeks. There were a lot of things going on around here. Work has been chaotically busy, and as happy as I’ve been with life in general – there have also been a lot of changes and rearranging of almost everything. I know I was stressed last week. I was taking everything in stride, and those around me kept commenting on how calm and rational I was being about a few of the bumps that came up along in the road, but… I know I was stressed.

So maybe in that stress, I made it all up? The pulling, the aching, the discomfort. Maybe it was all just a figment of my imagination?

Or even a physical manifestation of that mental discomfort?

I don’t know. I want it to be that. I want to go into this appointment on Thursday and have them tell me that I’m crazy. That there isn’t a single new cyst in sight. That I’m the picture of health.

I want to believe that it was all just stress.

But I have to admit – I’m terrified that it’s not.

I managed to spend my weekend laughing. Spending time with one of my best friends and forgetting about all that plagued me. I managed to ignore the state of my insides.

But right now, it may be all I can think about.

As I force myself to go on without pain pills. Solely because I need to know I can.

For the first time in 4 months though, I have pulled down my heating pad. I had a heck of a time finding it, and I kept reminding myself how blessed I am for that fact alone. How amazing it is that this once permanent fixture in my life has been so absent that I couldn’t even remember where I last put it.

But now, here I am. Lying in bed with the heating pad affixed to my back.

Willing Jack the Ripper away.

But at the same time, bidding him to stay.

Because at least with Jack in town, I have an explanation for the pain. A reason that makes sense. That doesn’t necessarily indicate sickness or disease.

I don’t want to be that girl again. The girl who is in pain. Who is exhausted. Who is broken down and losing pieces of herself to a disease she cannot control.

I don’t want to be that girl.

And I just don’t want to go in on Thursday and find out that she is on her way to returning.

I don’t want to be her. I don’t want to see her ever again.

Because as far as horror flicks go, she is more frightening to me than Jack The Ripper ever could be.

As Promised...

I had an absolute blast on my little mini-vacation to Ketchikan. The sun came out within hours of my arrival, and the scenery was just delicious:

I stayed on a yacht:

Had my fair share of eagle sightings:

Got the chance to catch up with one of my oldest and dearest friends:



And it's possible:

We may have taken over the town for the night:

All in all, not a bad way to spend the weekend.

Of course, I'm pretty sure it's going to take me the next week to catch up on sleep. But hey, for a little Alaskan adventure?

So totally worth it.

We All Need a Little Adventure...

And this weekend, I'm afraid I'm leaving you all behind again for another of my own.

I'm hopping a plane first thing in the morning to Ketchikan, AK, and I won't be back until sometime Sunday night.

I've always heard that South East Alaska is pretty much as gorgeous as it gets, but in my 3 years here - I've never had an opportunity to experience that for myself.

So this summer solstice weekend, I'm getting my chance.

And I am beyond excited for all that we have lined up for this little mini adventure.

But don't worry if your weekend isn't shaping up to be quite as enticing -

I promise to take plenty of pictures to share!

Just a Pinch

It started out as just a pinch.

A pulling on my left side that struck me when I stood up too fast.

It developed into an ache.

A radiating ache down my hip that refused to go away.

And then it expanded to my low back.

Lingering. Persisting. Threatening.

But it started out as just a pinch.

I’ve been in a bit of pain for the last week or so. I’ve tried to ignore it. Struggled to pretend it wasn’t there. Attempted to will it away.

Today, I picked up the phone. Made an appointment for an ultrasound. An ultrasound to look for new endometriomas.

Because if there are new endometriomas causing this pain, it’s fair to say it’s spreading again everywhere else as well.

Fair to say that endometriosis is to blame for what started out as just a pinch.

And at this point, even though it’s not horrific or crippling or unbearable, that lingering fear in the back of my head that it’s going to get that way again is eating away at me.

I keep trying to talk myself out of this being endometriosis. The truth is, if I had felt these aches 3 years ago – I wouldn’t have thought anything of them. I probably wouldn’t even have noticed them.

But the last two years have made me hyper-aware of my body. Of the little messages sent by those aches and pains.

What I once would have thought was totally normal, I now pick out. Pick apart. Analyze and question and attempt to diagnose all on my very own.

Endometriosis has turned me into a hypochondriac.

Only, when it comes to this disease – I’ve never actually been wrong.

My gut has always been right.

I’m trying to tell myself that my gut is wrong this time though. That there is just no way it could possibly be returning only 4 months after surgery. No way could it be starting up all over again.

I’ve been feeling too good. Doing everything right. Living life to the fullest. Allowing myself to be optimistic, and happy, and excited about the future again.

There’s just no way that 4 months is all I get.

My appointment is next Thursday. Between now and then, I’m going to work on convincing myself that I’m crazy. That I’m a hypochondriac. That I’ve lost all sense of what “normal” even is anymore.

I’m going to work on convincing myself that what started out as a pinch is just that – normal. Normal aches and pains that everyone feels from time to time.

Not specific to me. Not specific to endo. Just… normal.

But if it’s not, it may be time to formulate a plan B.

Or C. Or D.

I think I’ve lost track at this point.

I just know I want it to be nothing.

I want it to be normal.

I want more time to feel normal.

I Believe...

A friend had this posted on her Facebook page today, and it was pretty much exactly what I needed to read this afternoon.

So, I figured I would share it with all of you:

‎"I believe in manicures. I believe in overdressing. I believe in primping at leisure and wearing lipstick. I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and... I believe in miracles." ~ Audrey Hepburn

(Courtesy of allposters.com)

I believe...

Midnight Sun

We were out on Saturday night and it dawned on me that it was almost midnight and the sky still looked like this:

Obviously not the best picture in the world (I may have had a few drinks in me at this point), but still... I am so in love with the midnight sun.

I think it may be one of my very favorite things about summer in Alaska.

I'm Not Sorry

I have to admit it.

I’m not sorry.

I don’t feel bad.

Or guilty.

Or in the wrong.

Not even a little bit.

I know there are a few who think I went too far yesterday. A few who felt a pang of sympathy for poor Jon. And I thought about it. I really did. I called up some friends (moral, good, classy, kind-hearted friends) who are usually pretty fantastic about putting me in my place when I cross a line or two (which to be fair, sometimes happens in my attempt to find humor in each and every situation I encounter). But I was reassured by even them that there was nothing wrong with yesterdays post.

That sometimes – a creeper just needs to be put on blast.

Now, to clear up some fears I know a few of you had – Jon is not some poor, innocent, naïve kid who simply doesn’t know any better. How do I know this? Well his Facebook page paints a pretty clear picture of who Jon is (or at least – who he wishes to portray himself to be).

For instance, according to his page, he “hates sluts” (who doesn’t?) and is a fan of the “Pussy Wagon” (aren’t we all?)

Now, I'm not sure how exactly those two things don't completely contradict each other, but I'll go ahead and let that be.

As far as the languages he speaks (because I know some of you were worried that he is not a Native English speaker, and that perhaps that could account for his lack of brain power), he proudly proclaims that he “Knows street talk, slang" and that he speaks "fluent fuck off”.

Good to know.

A little further digging makes it pretty clear that he is definitely an English speaker, and that he has been in the United States for quite a long time (I’m assuming for his entire life – but obviously I didn’t dig that far back). A poor grasp on the English language was not the problem though, because it would appear that it is his native tongue. It’s just questionable how far he made it during the part of school that actually involved learning how to use that native tongue.

The truth is, I think Jon is a douche. And even more – I think Jon knows he’s a douche. And is maybe even a little proud of that fact. Which is why I don’t feel even kind of bad for putting him on blast.

In fact, I actually felt far worse for poking fun at Guenther way back when. Because there was part of me that wondered then (part of me that still wonders) whether or not there was possibly some underlying disability with Guenther that perhaps I shouldn’t be exploiting.

I’m not worried about that with Jon though. Lisa hit the nail on the head with her comment about him – he’s a scum bag hoping to capitalize upon what he perceives to be the vulnerability of an infertile woman. Hoping to play that situation somehow to his advantage.

Probably because he's not getting as far as he would like with the "sluts" he proclaims to hate.

He's looking for an easier target.

And if I were going to make a guess – I would bet that I was not the only person he sent that e-mail to.

For whatever it’s worth – Jon’s e-mail didn’t make me angry. Not even a little bit. Sure, it left me just the slightest bit annoyed (mostly over the fact that there are people so stupid and insensitive in this world at all), but for the most part – it made me laugh. Which is why I shared it – to make all of you laugh as well. Because, it’s ridiculous. This guy is ridiculous. Other guys like him are ridiculous. So, I’m not sorry for making fun of him. And as soon as I finished doing so – I jumped into the shower and then happily took off to spend my Friday night with the boy. Not an ounce of anger inside of me at all.

Also, I just want to point out that I’ve gotten probably 5 similar e-mails between Guenther and Jon. I haven’t shared any of them. Mostly because there was something about each of those e-mails that just seemed off. Sad maybe. Peculiar. Something that I just didn’t feel right poking fun at though. So I didn’t.

I’m not completely heartless after all.

But with Jon? His douche-factor was strikingly evident. And it was just too skuzzy not to share.

The Jon's of the world don't deserve any more respect than they are willing to give out themselves. And there is absolutely nothing respectful about trying to prey upon a woman's broken heart in the hopes of getting something out of it yourself.

As far as those concerned about the sharing of his e-mail address – let’s remember that Jon was asking me for help in finding his perfect infertile mate. I’m just giving him that help he requested. Because I'm helpful like that! Who knows; maybe some girl will actually wind up feeling sorry for him and will reach out. Maybe he’ll actually wind up getting exactly what he wants.

I hope not, mostly because I would hate to see any of you fall prey to such scum, but maybe… After all, there’s someone for everyone. Right?

Either way though, it’s not like e-mail addresses are some big, secret, private, locked-down entity. If they were, I wouldn’t have 40 spam messages in my e-mail at this very moment. Your e-mail is left behind in a variety of things you do online. It’s rarely all that difficult to track down or find. We’re not talking about a physical address, or a social security number, or anything else of that magnitude. We’re talking about an e-mail address. Where messages are sent that are fully capable of being simply deleted without reading. And perhaps if Jon was so concerned about the security of his e-mail address, he shouldn’t have used it to send me such ridiculousness to begin with.

Because at the end of the day, if Jon is cringing over this – good. Maybe it will teach him a lesson. Maybe he’ll realize that there is nothing even the least bit cool about sending a message like that to someone you know nothing about. Maybe it will dawn on him that there are various avenues to dating that are far more appropriate than reaching out in the way he did.

Maybe it’s just the kick in the butt that Jon needs.

Regardless – I’m not sorry.

Maybe I should be.

Maybe (like Karrie suggested) I now have one more thing to ask for forgiveness for in church tomorrow (actually Karrie – you’re probably right about that!)

But still – I’m not sorry.

I’m willing to open it up to a vote though. I just started a discussion over at the community – Was It Really So Wrong?

What do you think? Should I be ashamed of myself? Should I feel pity for Jon? Did he deserve better? Was posting his e-mail address going too far?

Or… Is there something to be said for finding the humor in something like this? Something to be said for putting a douche on blast?

Should I take e-mails like this in silence?

Or do they deserve to be shared with the world?

What do you think?

Let us know over at the community.

In the meantime though - I'm not sorry.

(UPDATE: I was actually asked on 6/13 by BlogHer to take the original post down. They said I could repost it on my review blog (where their ads don't appear) if I wanted, but they couldn't have it associated with their ad content. Which I TOTALLY get (and is actually the only thing I DO feel bad about - I hadn't considered the fact that I wasn't just representing myself when I wrote that post). I've always liked working with BlogHer, and they were wonderful in their e-mail to me, so I have no issues at all with removing it at this point. I won't be reposting it on the review blog either. I don't really see the point of that. The purpose was served, you know?


So, the post is coming down now. Lucky for Dear Jon!)

False Advertising

There are these ads that have been playing up here lately.

These ads that literally make me want to throw something at my radio every single time I hear them.

These ads that might just bring out my violent side.

Yelling and cursing at the people talking to me from inside those little speakers.

Because it’s lies. All lies. False advertising at it’s very best.

To know what I’m talking about, I guess you have to know that there are no board certified Reproductive Endocrinologists in the state of Alaska.

Zero. Zilch. Nada.

There is one rogue guy in Soldotna who has been practicing IVF for decades (at a drastically reduced price), but in the medical community – he isn’t really talked about or recommended much at all. And he’s not board certified. So while he is cheap and local, there are the varying risks that go along with trusting a family practitioner to impregnate you. I’ve heard mixed reviews on his results, and after a friend recently went through her protocol with him – I’m not sure how fast I would be to seek out his services.

So that leaves those of us up here in the great white north at a bit of a loss if the long dark winters don’t lead to spontaneous pregnancies for us at the same rate they seem to for most of our friends.

It turns out; it takes more than a cold winter to knock up a girl with stage IV endo. Which is really just not fair at all if you ask me.

Anyway, somehow (some way) Seattle Reproductive Medicine has cornered the market up here. They’ve formed relationships with most of the OB/GYN offices, and as far as I can tell – they are the first recommendation whenever anyone in Alaska starts to experience fertility issues.

They were the one and only name that was ever recommended to me.

And lately, I’ve been hearing their ads on the radio.

These kind, compassionate, heart-warming ads that make it seem like Seattle Reproductive is there to envelop you in their warm and loving arms and gently guide you towards your dream of building a family. All the while keeping your best interest at heart.

These ads make it sound as though they are in the business of helping people. As if that is their primary goal in all that they do.

These ads leave me screaming “Bullshit!" at my radio.

Because let’s be real – these people are not in it for the women they’re helping. They are in it for the money. Plain and simple.

How do I know this?

Well… I was a patient of theirs for 1 year, that’s how. And literally every experience I had with them was cold, and calculated, and all about the money.

Not once (during either of my visits to Seattle for IVF) did I ever see the same practitioner. Not once.

Never did the doctor who completed my phone consults come to one of my appointments to introduce herself to me. Never.

During my follow-up phone consult after my first failed cycle, it became abundantly clear that the doctor on the other end of the line hadn’t even taken 5 minutes to review my file before getting on the phone with me.

Which I suppose is better than the follow up consult I got after my second failed cycle.

The follow consult that never actually happened.

Instead, I heard from a nurse. A nurse who informed me that while the Dr. was unsure why my first two cycles hadn’t worked, she was positive that if I kept trying – I would get pregnant.

When I explained that dumping $25,000 into an endeavor that had produced absolutely nothing had pretty much bled my bank account dry, she promptly got off the phone with me – after reminding me that I could call them in the future at any time if I decided I wanted to try again.

I never heard from anyone at Seattle Reproductive Medicine again.

And that was over 6 months ago.

These people are not kind. They are not compassionate. And they are most certainly not in the business of helping people.

No. They are in the business of making money. Of collecting exorbitant fees for services that promise less than a 50% success rate. Services that don’t come with a single guarantee attached.

They pump women through like they are on a conveyor belt. Setting them up with whatever practitioner is available, and hoping that these women won’t notice that there is nothing personalized about their treatment at all. Churning them out one by one and relying on the fact that IVF is a numbers game. Plain and simple. It’s about rolling the dice as many times as you can. Because at the end of the day, even they have no idea why it works for some women and not others.

Which is fine. I could live with that (and even understand it), if only… If only I felt like just once throughout the year I was a patient of theirs that there had been at least one doctor who had my best interest at heart. One doctor who was invested in my case. In getting me pregnant. In giving me that dream come true.

But I never got that.

Because, like I said, I never even got the pleasure of seeing the same doctor more than once at all.

I did everything right. That second cycle especially, I did everything right. I followed the diet, committed to bed rest, did acupuncture before and after transfer, and ate my pineapple like a champ.

I did everything right.

And I still didn’t get pregnant.

I don’t blame Seattle Reproductive Medicine for that. I know it’s not their fault. I know that IVF is a crapshoot, and that unfortunately – luck just wasn’t on my side.

Because I do fully believe that luck has far more to do with it than these doctors would like to admit.

But I do blame Seattle Reproductive Medicine for how they treated me throughout both of my cycles. Like just another number. Dollar signs flashing in their eyes every single time they saw me.

And I blame them for how they washed their hands of me when everything was said and done. Like I didn’t matter. Like I had never mattered at all.

So every time I hear their ad playing on the radio, I want to scream. Both at them, and at any unsuspecting woman like me who may be hearing their ad for the very first time.

I want to tell them to do their research. To look harder. To find someone who will give them personalized care. Someone who will make them feel like they matter. Like they are worth the extra time and effort. Like it’s about more than the money they are about to hand over.

I feel like Seattle Reproductive Medicine is preying on women with these ads. Alaskan women who feel trapped up here by the lack of options. Vulnerable women. Broken women. Women who would do anything to make their dreams come true.

And I worry. Because I know they are not the people-oriented center for reproductive medicine that these ads are making them out to be.

But up here in Alaska, we don’t have many options.

And they know that.

They know they can prey upon that.

Which is exactly what they're doing. Ensuring they can add more numbers (and dollars) to their crapshoot.

Because at the end of the day, they have nothing to lose.

Only more money to make.

Sneak Attack

The sun has been hiding.

After our perfect memorial day weekend, the rain has moved in.

Which is OK. We need it. All of the green I love so much needs it.

But when I walked out of work today and there was sunshine, there was no holding me back.

I was going hiking. Even if it meant going by myself.

And it was worth it. Despite the minor fall made in front of someone I've only recently met who I just so happened to run into along the trail. The embarrassing fall that left me flat on my butt in the dirt.

Because I am full of grace and poise like that.

When I got home, I immediately headed for the shower (covered in filth and sweat from both my tumble and my fierce show of athleticism). Which is when I took a look at my sink and saw this:

It was a sneak attack. Possibly (probably?) even unintentional.

But ridiculously amusing when you know this story.

Or even better, the devirginators breakdown of what really happened there.

It was a sneak attack.

But it would appear as though my toothbrush has made a new friend.

Kind of. Sort of. Maybe.



An Explanation of Sorts?

I woke up yesterday morning to an e-mail.

An e-mail from Parenting Magazine.

They were thanking me for my subscription.

And at this point, an all new slew of expletives flew from my mouth.

Prime among them being “Someone is seriously F****** with me!”

It was a friend who I forwarded the e-mail to who pointed out that the address wasn’t mine.

The name was. The e-mail address obviously. But the actual address? Not so much.

So research commenced, and it was discovered that there was a woman with my name at the address listed in the e-mail.

A woman who likely has a similar e-mail address to me as well. Maybe off by just one letter.

In fact, upon thinking about it – I realized that I’ve gotten e-mails for this woman in the past. There was one that involved an interview to become a nanny, and there have been several others that have been sent pertaining to her home town from some sort of local government official.

This woman, with my name and a too close for comfort e-mail, is clearly on her way to motherhood.

Living the life I wanted to be living. In another state in another town. Preparing for the new baby about to enter her life by ordering the magazines and signing up for all the freebies she can get.

I can’t quite figure out how she could be related to the formula I was sent. Or the other mailings for that matter. It doesn’t make sense that these things would be meant for her, yet would still be coming to my address. But I’m consoling myself with the fact that these things are all somehow related. That rather than it all being some cruel joke, it is instead a random twist of faith.

A woman with my name. Preparing for the life I thought I would be living by now.

Nothing cruel or insensitive about it. Just life. The way things are.

Random and chaotic and not always so easy to explain.

Either way, I’ve made several calls over the weekend. To every number on every piece of baby mail I’ve been able to gather up. Removing my name from lists and asking to never be sent another piece of baby paraphernalia again.

I’m sure it won’t be the end. Sure that there will still be other things that pop up in my mailbox, and even in my inbox for this woman with my name living an alternate version of the life I wanted to lead.

But at least now, I feel like there is an explanation of sorts. A simple understanding for how this kind of mistake could happen.

Which makes me feel worlds better than I did when I thought that perhaps my doctor’s office had signed me up. Or even worse – that someone somewhere was intentionally trying to bring me to tears.

The formula is still sitting on my floor, but it does have an impending home. My co-worker, who had her baby a little over a month ago, will be putting it to good use. I just have to bring it in to work and have it ready for her the next time she brings him by for a visit.

And in the meantime, I’m trying to remember that there are aspects to my life that I am loving right now that wouldn't be possible if I had a brand new little one in my arms requiring my constant love and attention.

There is always a reason.

And I am hopeful that someday soon, I will understand the reason behind all of this.

Until I do though, I’m living a life I wouldn’t be able to live if I was today the brand new mommy I hoped I would be this time last year.

And maybe, just maybe, that girl with my name in another state and another town would be mildly jealous of some of the pieces of the life I’m living as well.

I wonder if she’d want to trade?

Wear Your Sweat Pants

The last two nights, I've come home from work and passed out.

Literally, passed out.

In bed. Asleep. By 5:30.

I’ve woken up at 8:30, made myself a piece of toast for dinner, gotten a few things done around the house, and then been back asleep by midnight.

I think life (and all the fun I’ve been having) is catching up with me.

Plus, work has been out of control busy (it’s summertime in Alaska – every single industry in this lovely state of mine is currently hitting the “busy” season). So every second of every day has been occupied to the extreme. From the moment I wake up, to the second my head hits the pillow.

The exhaustion has finally started to seep in.

So tonight I am opting for a girl’s night in. Chicken Caesar Pasta Salads and a bottle of wine with one of my favorite ladies.

The girl who upon getting off the phone with me just an hour ago quickly shot out the reminder “Wear your sweat pants!”

Bliss.

Hopefully (after the lengthy sleep-in I’m planning for tomorrow) I’ll have my energy back and will be ready to take on the weekend full force.

After all; there's still Pilates, and Rolfing, and hiking, and writing, and church, and cleaning, and the boy to think about.

But tonight?

Sweat pants and wine with one of my favorite ladies sounds like pure perfection.

I'm thinking if I make it until 10, it will be a victory.

On Repeat

There is music that speaks to every occasion.

I've always said that, and I truly believe it.

I told Loo the other day that I was the DJ of life. That I could make a mix for any event, feeling, moment, or day - and it would be a darn good mix.

So I thought I'd share the song that's been spending a lot of time on repeat for me lately.

I'll leave the explanations as to why to all of your creative little imaginations!