Take Things Slow

Logically, it makes sense.

Moving into the zone of too much too fast is what got us into trouble in the first place.

He needs time. Time to heal. Time to cope. Time to trust again.

Time.

He’s not ready. No matter what he says, he’s not ready.

So I need to be the one pushing us to take things slow.

(Courtesy of butthetruthis.tumblr.com)

But it’s hard.

Hard to take things slow, when all of those boundaries have already been crossed.

When the “L” word has long since been exchanged.

And when in my heart, all I want is for us to be at the point that comes next.

The point where we’re together.

Both happy. Healed. And whole.

Together.

Without the ghost of the one who came before threatening every moment that’s good.

Take things slow.

That’s the only way to make it work right now.

I know that.

And I’m the one who’s level headed.

So, I have to be the one who makes it happen.

Because it’s the only way to keep things from ending up the way they were.

The roller coaster. The epic battle of push and pull. On and off. Right and wrong. Together, and nothing more than friends.

Take things slow.

We had dinner last night. It was nice. We talked. We laughed. He paid.

A bona fide date if ever I've been on one.

Then we went to get frozen yogurt. At the airport, where Yogurtland (one of my favorite San Diego staples) has recently opened. Yes – we went to the airport solely to get frozen yogurt. No, I am not ashamed. If a Trader Joes opened there, I would do my grocery shopping at the airport as well.

True story.

So, after I convinced him that the airport was an acceptable place to pick up dessert, we went back to my house and watched America’s Got Talent.

Because in case you didn’t know – there are 2 Alaskans now in the top 10.

Always exciting to see an Alaskan getting attention for something other than being… Sarah Palin.

Doncha know.

But then – after the dinner, and the frozen yogurt, and the ridiculous reality TV indulgence – I sent him home.

To his own bed.

We laughed. And talked. And caught up.

We did not kiss. Or hold hands. Or blur any of the lines.

Because we’re going to take things slow.

Even if it kills me.

Even if my willpower is tested every step of the way.

We’re going to take things slow.

Perhaps even so slow, that it no longer makes sense to say we’re taking things slow.

Because in reality, we’re just friends.

Nothing more than friends.

Never anything more than friends.

Yeah. OK. Even I rolled my eyes at that one.

But the longer I can keep things on the just friend’s level this time around, the safer I think my heart is going to be.

And the better chance I think we stand of us making this all work out in the end.

So I am going to try.

With everything inside of me, I am going to try.

Because not talking, wasn't working.

And jumping all in wasn't working either.

Take things slow.

I am going to draw those lines. And stand my ground. And be the one who keeps us from making the mistake of moving into the zone of too much, too fast.

We’re taking things slow.

Because I’m the one who knows what she wants and has never wavered.

And he’s the one who changes his mind with the wind.

We’re taking things slow.

Because I can’t count on him to consistently be what I need.

Not now.

Not yet.

Not while he’s still working through the mess she left behind.

And I can’t just walk away from him either.

So, we’re taking things slow.

Because that’s the only way we stand a chance.

And I want us to stand a chance.

I think he wants us to stand a chance too.

I believe we could have that happily ever after.

If only we can just… take things slow.

I Have The Willpower of an 8 Year Old...

And after a week of his being either charmingly persistent, or simply willfully determined to get his way (I still can't decide which it is), the boy has convinced me to have dinner with him.

Tonight.

In half an hour.

I have the willpower of an 8 year old.

He says I'm all he's been able to think about over the last few weeks, that he misses me, and that he just wants to see me.

I'm just not so convinced that it's that easy.

Or that he's any more ready now than he was just a few weeks ago.

But... we're having dinner.

Tonight.

In half an hour.

Because I have the willpower of an 8 year old.

And because... I miss him too.

The Last of The Wedding Stories - I swear!

All of the professional shots from the wedding are finished, and last night dad's new wife painstakingly sent me about 20 e-mails with photos attached.

Even though she's also already got the CD with all 400 photos in the mail and on the way to me. She just wanted to make sure I had some (or all) of her favorites in the meantime.

The woman cracks me up - she fits in perfectly with our family!

Because let's face it - I'm just impatient enough to have done the SAME exact thing had the roles been reversed!

One of my absolute favorites - Me, and my two brothers!

My beautiful sister-in-law hopping in with us... no idea how it is that she puts up with that brother of mine!

I've got to say, I kind of feel like this angle or the bow on the dress or something makes me look bigger than I am in this picture, so I don't love it as much as I otherwise would, but.... The look the boys have on their faces almost completely makes up for how I feel like I look in this one! It's just too classic a picture not to share!

Yep. That one's getting framed and hung up immediately.

See - she fits RIGHT in!

I can't really explain why, but I just adore this picture of my brother and grandmother. Maybe because he looks so happy, and because my grandma looks so gorgeous in that dress. I just love them both so much.

Their photographer was a really sweet young girl who had never photographed a wedding before - don't you think she did a wonderful job?

I did have to give my dad a hard time though. As a girl who has never once dreamed about her wedding, I can tell you that if and when that event occurs - it will be a small and understated affair. We're talking flip flops, a sun dress, and a BBQ. I'm just not big on ceremonies at all. The whole wedding thing doesn't excite me like I suppose it probably should. So, more than once I had to tease him for having a third wedding that had more put into it than my first ever will. Still... everything really did turn out beautifully. A gorgeous ceremony, incredible food, and pictures that couldn't have turned out more perfect. They did pretty good!

I can't remember if I shared this story or not, but I did win $100 on this wedding. Last year, when he was so hurt and heartbroken over his divorce, he made some comment about feeling like it was too late for him. He was afraid he had wasted too much time with my stepmother, and that now - he was going to end up alone. I, of course, knew that wasn't the case. My father is a good man. A kind man. A wonderful, and giving, and caring man. And more than anything - my father is a serial monogamist. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would not end up alone. In fact, I knew that there was a far better chance that I (his fiercely independent and mildly afraid of commitment daughter) would end up alone before he ever would.

And so, I made him a bet. Right then and there, I bet him $100 that he would be married again before I would find myself in a serious relationship.

He of course told me I was crazy. That there was no way he would be getting married again anytime soon. That it would be a long time before he would ever be ready to make that leap again.

But I knew. I knew my father. And I knew that this day would come.

Of course - I didn't know it would come quite so quickly. But then again, I can't say I'm surprised either.

This is my father after all. And when he loves, he loves with everything he's got.

It was a bittersweet $100 to win. Especially right on the heels of my breakup with the boy - a relationship I really hadn't wanted to see come to an end.

A relationship that in many ways I still think there may be some hope for - but that's another post for another day.

The old man stayed true to his word though, and gave me my cold hard cash once the "I do's" had been exchanged.

At the reception I overheard him mentioning to a friend "Where did she go? I've lost my wife!"

I couldn't help myself. "Wouldn't be the first time..." Came barreling out of my mouth before a beat had even gone by.

It's a good thing my dad has such an appreciation for my sense of humor.

After all - I'm pretty sure he is the one who is responsible for it.

If nothing else, we are really good at laughing at ourselves in my family.

And even better at laughing at each other.

Which goes even further to explain the $100 I walked away with as a consolation prize for my inability to maintain a relationship.

It was a beautiful wedding though. To a beautiful woman who I am so happy has joined our family. Everyone from both families meshed together perfectly, and I'm looking forward to years and years of get-togethers where we can all grow even closer.

Get-togethers where from here on out, I'm actually welcome in the family home.

And hey - you can't beat that now, can you!

P.S. The sun set a little after 9:00 last night, and the new moon rose in the sky. Jack arrived at 10:00. I kid you not. The healer was right on, and Jack came with the new moon. Not only that, but I had more than one comment yesterday from other people who said their periods came yesterday when they shouldn't have as well (either too early or too late). So maybe there was something to this whole cycling with the new moon thing?

I love it when the hippies in my life are right!

Must Be Pregnant

In the world of “normal” people – that’s how it works.

A girl realizes she’s late, and just knows.

She’s knocked up.

Because… that’s how it works.

Your period doesn’t show up, so obviously – you’re pregnant.

In the “infertile” world however, it’s not quite that simple.

You’re period doesn’t show up – you’re probably just late.

I’m late.

At least, according to my period tracker.

Which admittedly, has been dead on for the last 4 months in a row.

I have been regular.

I have been on point.

I have known when to expect my period without a fault.

And now - I’m late.

Must be pregnant.

Except… I know I’m not. For a myriad of reasons I won’t even bother to get into here.

Not the least of which being – Stage IV endometriosis.

But let's be clear - that's not the only reason I know.

No ladies and gentlemen, I am most certainly not pregnant. No matter how much I wish it was so. No matter how things work in the world of “normal” people.

I am not pregnant.

Just late.

Which is slightly frustrating. Since I had been so proud of the “normal” path my body was finally taking.

I felt like at least something was working the way it was supposed to.

Which of course gave me some hope that maybe, someday; the rest of it would all fall into place as well.

Oh well.

I’m late.

Officially on the lookout for Jack.

Trying to calculate the days and determine if I misjudged ovulation this month.

For the record – I don’t think I did.

Granted, I didn’t get the excruciating pain I have typically been getting with ovulation.

Which was strange.

But… all of my other symptoms were there.

So, either my body prepared itself for ovulation and then it just never happened (hence the lack of pain), or… something weird is going on.

I saw the healer this morning for yet another amazing massage, and she told me she actually thinks my body is trying to align itself with the moon.

That my period will show up with the new moon.

Tomorrow.

And from then on out – I’ll ovulate with the full moon and cycle with the new moon.

According to her – this is the strongest new moon of 2011.

It’s a time to start new cycles, routines, relationships, jobs, etc.

So, it makes perfect sense that this moon especially could have an effect on Jack’s arrival.

I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Maybe Jack will make his late appearance tomorrow.

And I can embrace my hippy side and declare my period in line with the moon.

But if he doesn’t….

I’m definitely pregnant.

Don't You Just Love It?

Love, that is.

Don't you just love it?

It turns out, a lot of you wanted to see more from my dad's wedding.

I told he and his new wifey last night that they are quite popular!

I've got a few of the professional shots to share here, and I'll show off some more as they come.

But... Don't you just love it?

That handsome young man in the picture above is actually my new step-brother. He's 14 - doesn't look it at all though, does he?!?

There is a picture I love of the three of us kids on the slideshow, but I can't get it downloaded to my computer yet. There are actually more than a few others that are the same story. So as soon as I get the full disk in the mail, I'll share more.

But in the meantime, I'll just repeat myself:

Don't you just love it?

The One Where I Admit To Being Self-Involved

I’ve been accused recently of being self-involved in this space. Of being selfish, and petulant, and whiny, and… Well, I forget what all else. After a while, I suppose the negativity and hurtful words being spewed by people hiding behind the anonymity of the internet all start to bleed together.

Of course these words have all come from total strangers, because the people who know me personally know that nothing could be further from the truth. In real life, I am surrounded by amazing friends. Strong, supportive, wonderful, loyal, warm, intelligent, hilarious, open women who I would trust with my life any day of the week. I would like to think that I am blessed with these friendships because I in turn am the kind of friend to them that they are to me. I would like to believe that our relationships are based on a give and take where they get as much from me as I do from them. I suppose coming from me – those words fall flat. But the truth is, I can guarantee that none of them would ever think to call me selfish or self-involved. Not to my face, or behind my back. If nothing else – these women know my heart. And they know how readily I would drop everything to be there for them in any possible way should they ever need me.

Just as so many of them have done for me throughout these last few years especially.

Still… I find it humorous that someone would make these judgments about me based on the words in a blog. After all – isn’t a personal blog the epitome of narcissism? It’s a space to discuss solely one’s own take on their world. To publish and display THEIR thoughts, THEIR feelings, and THEIR version of events. Most blogs are not collective projects, and when it comes to personal blogs – I can guarantee that you are going to learn far more about a person’s life in that space than you would ever take away from a face to face conversation with them.

I, for one, know that I am very hesitant to discuss my own struggles in real life. I have a very real desire to always appear strong and in control to those who love me. There were too many times in my past when I faltered. Too many times when I outright fell. And because of those times, now – as an adult – it is incredibly difficult for me to let the people I love see me struggling.

Which is, in reality, why this blog started. I needed a space where I could let out those frustrations, and fears, and heartaches that I wasn’t articulating in real life. I needed a sounding board. A place where I could express myself in a way that I have never been particularly good at doing in real life. Writing is my therapy. It is the only way I have ever really known how to say what it is I’m thinking. The only way I’ve ever really been able to open up those darker spaces in my head that I tend to otherwise keep under wraps.

I started this blog because I needed to expose those dark spaces. And I needed to be able to connect to other women who could perhaps relate.

Still… I know how lucky I am. How blessed my world has been with the friendships I have. With the women who know what I’m thinking and feeling without my ever needing to say a word.

I know it says something that no matter where I have ever gone in my life - these loyal and incredibly strong friendships have found me.

I so often hear women complaining about their lack of female friends, and I know that what I have is rare. Special. To be cherished and nurtured always.

Because I wouldn’t trade my friends for anything in this world.

I say all this to warn you though – I’m about to have a self-involved moment. To say in this space something I would never fully express in real life.

Because again – that’s exactly what this space was created for.

I currently have 2 women in my life who I have grown very close to over the last few months. Both were brought into my life by way of the boy (one I had actually communicated online with for months prior to our actual introduction – but both were ultimately connected to me through him, even though neither had met the other until I brought us all together). Both have endometriosis, making them the only women I know in Alaska who have dealt with this disease.

Which means: the connection between us was immediate and strong.

It just so happens that both are women I would have also been immediately drawn to had that connection of disease never been there at all though. They are both genuine and warm and sincere. Hilarious and intelligent and strong. They encompass all of the qualities I tend to seek in friendships.

I am blessed to know them.

Both are also currently embarking upon IVF. One is a few weeks further along in her cycle than the other, but both will be in their 2 week waits within the next month.

It is the first cycle for each of them.

We have connected over this fact. And I’ve been beyond thrilled to be a sounding board to them both. To be in a position to answer questions they have each had that I myself wish someone had been around to answer for me. IVF is a scary path to take. It’s a roller coaster filled with ups and downs that no one can actually ever anticipate until they are in the middle of it themselves. It has meant the world to me to be able to be there for each of these women through this part of their journey.

And on more than one occasion – I have told them both that if nothing else, I know that I was meant to meet the boy because he facilitated bringing each of them into my life.

Still – and this is the self-involved selfish moment I warned you about – witnessing them walking this path I myself walked not too long ago has left me with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. An impending dread.

The knowledge that no matter how their cycles go – I am going to hurt.

Don’t get me wrong. The last thing I want is to see either of these women fail. It is ultimately my greatest fear. I would never in a million years want anyone I care about to go through that. Hell – I would never in a million years want anyone I couldn’t stand to go through that.

And in all honesty (taking this back to a selfish place), I am terrified of watching either one of them go through a failed cycle because I know it will thrust me right back to my own failed cycles. I know it would bring me back to that place, and I don’t want to go there. I don’t want them to hurt like that, and I don’t want me to hurt like that.

Not again.

But… I would be lying if I said I wasn’t also anxious to watch these women succeed where I failed.

I’m afraid of once again being the odd man out.

Of course that’s the option I prefer. Of course I want them to have success in this. Of course I believe them to be incredibly worthy of being mothers. They deserve this. They’ve earned this. They belong in the mommy club.

It’s just that I know their success will once again leave me pondering my own failure. Wondering what it was that I did wrong. Why it is that I didn’t deserve that same success.

I know it doesn’t work like that. I know there is no one arbitrarily picking and choosing who gets to become a mother.

If there was - none of us would ever be inundated with the stories of abuse and neglect we see and hear on the news every single day.

But still… I know it’s going to be difficult for me to partake in their joy, if only because my own sadness will be in such direct contrast.

For the record – I have every intention of being there every step of the way. Success or failure – I plan on being there. Holding these women’s hands and supporting them in whatever ways they will let me.

And if the best case scenario happens and they both succeed – I have every intention of being the kick-ass auntie I know I was born to be.

It’s just… I wouldn’t be being true to myself if I didn’t admit here that it’s hard for me to watch. Even at this stage. Even before anything is known at all.

It's almost as if there is a little bit of PTSD going on there. A car backfires - and I duck.

Someone I care about goes down the IVF road, and I find myself a pile of nerves as if I'm right back there in the thick of it all over again.

Which of course, inevitably leads me back to the ending that broke my heart.

If I'm being honest, it’s also hard for me to watch them be filled with the hope of trying, when I know that I myself will never be trying again. There is a certain level of jealousy there, even now. Even before the outcome is known. Simply because they are trying. Because they have that hope. That possibility. And I do not.

And as much as the logical side of me knows that the dream of a biological child needs to be retired on my end, in my heart – I still wish there was another round or two of trying in my future.

I still wish I had that hope.

That possibility.

That promise of a baby grown and loved beneath my heart.

I wish I was trying alongside them.

I wish we could all have that success.

I wish we could raise our little IVF babies side by side.

To be best friends.

To be joined by this connection that we, as their mothers, shared before they were ever even conceived.

I wish I could have it all.

But since I can’t – I wish for their success.

For their happiness.

For their wombs to be filled and blessed in the ways that mine was not.

I wish for them the ending that I couldn’t achieve.

And I wish for myself the ability to move past these selfish and self-involved moments.

Because I know it’s not who I am.

Or at least – I know it’s not who I want to be.

Like a Skyscraper

Chills.

That's what I get.

Each and every single time I play this video:

Get More: Demi Lovato, Skyscraper by Demi Lovato, Do Something Awards

To be fair, the first time I heard this song I didn't love it. Mrs. King had been raving about it and telling me I had to listen, and when I did - my initial reaction was that it was just so-so.

Plus, it was Demi Lovato. I admit to being a child sometimes, but I like to believe my musical tastes error on whatever side is the opposite of Disney teen stars.

(let's just go ahead and forget those Miley Cyrus songs I downloaded years ago)

Still, when Mrs. King sent me this link... I had chills.

Actual goose bumps popping up all over.

Because of a live performance.

A live performance with so much passion, heart, and life... I couldn't help but love it.

You can take everything I have

You can break everything I am

Like I'm made of glass

Like I'm made of paper

Go on and try to tear me down

I will be rising from the ground

Like a skyscraper

I am officially a Demi Lovato fan.
 
P.S. I read an article today that listed the top 10 cities for single women to live in. Phoenix, AZ was number 1. Shhhhh - Don't tell my dad.
 
Never. Gonna. Happen.

Back To The Real World…

My vacation is over.

Those 10 days of hopping around the Southwest and spending time with the people I love most in this world have come to an end.

I spent most of yesterday flying. And then the other half doing laundry.

Lots and lots of laundry.

I have no idea how I accumulated so many dirty clothes in just 10 short days, but it happened.

And of course, my dryer crapped out on me again mid-load.

Just a few more weeks until the Labor Day sales. I can make it.

Unfortunately, that will be just one of the big purchases I have to make over the next few weeks.

I’m also in need of new tires before winter sets in.

And Thursday, I’m scheduled for a root canal.

Which just for the record, happens to fall on the same exact day that Jack is due to arrive.

It would appear as though I have found myself back in the real world.

With doctor’s appointments, and work, and financial responsibilities.

The vacation is over.

But, it was fun while it lasted.

My dad’s wedding was absolutely beautiful. Classy and elegant and… he just seemed so incredibly happy. They both did.

It was a great visit with my family. Surrounded by the people I love, I managed to only break down once. After a long day spent playing with the newest additions to the family, that familiar pang of infertility hit me as everyone was leaving and babies were being kissed goodbye. I want so badly for my dad to be a grandfather. I think he deserves that. I think he would be amazing in that role. And I want even more badly for me to be the one running around the pool after a little one of my own. I don't just want to be the fun auntie/cousin/friend. I want to be the mommy.

And while none of those thoughts crossed my mind for the majority of the day, it was something about the goodbyes that made them sink in. I think it had been building for a few days, but it felt like it came on so suddenly. This need to sequester myself off in a room and cry over my inability to produce babies of my own. It made me angry to find myself there again; crying over the happiness of those I love. Out of jealousy, selfishness, and a broken heart. But my dad made a good point – during my last visit I couldn’t be around the cousins and their babies at all. Not even to say hello. This time, I made it through an entire day of visiting and playing before I collapsed.

Progress. Not exactly the lightning speed progress I would like to see, but still... progress.

And I’m proud to admit that it was my only breakdown the entire vacation.

Culminating after 2 days of zero sleep, lots of kiddos, and not a second to myself.

Which is always a little hard on me, since I am so used to being able to retreat into my own space whenever I need it.

So I suppose a mini-breakdown a few days in that only my dad, sister-in-law, and new step-mom were around to witness isn’t anything to be ashamed of.

Next time though, we’re shooting for no tears at all.

Thankfully, I found myself on a plane to see the devirginator the very next day. And if there is one thing I can say for that kid – it’s that he is a master at distracting me from any and all matters of the heart. Infertility is kind of the last thing on my mind when I’m in his presence!

My first day in LA we met up with my friend Kris, and as I have predicted all along – the devirginator took an instant liking to her. I’ve been trying to get these two in the same room together for what seems like forever. Of course, Kris is currently otherwise involved. But at least introductions have now been made. There isn’t a whole lot I would love more than for them to at least become friends. After all, it almost seems wrong to have two of my favorite people living so close and yet not knowing each other at all.

Disneyland was a blast. It was also incredibly exhausting. Despite the devirginator’s protests, I donned flip flops on our little adventure. By the end of the day, I was practically limping and he was holding back his I-told-you-so’s.

Sometimes, I’m not so smart.

A funny thing happened that night though. We didn’t get back home until well after 1:00 (after getting up to leave at 5:30 in the morning and spending all day out in the sun running around Disney and California Adventure). We were both exhausted. It had been all I could do to keep my eyes open on the drive back to the devirginator’s house. We both barely managed showers when we walked in the door (a necessary evil after being covered in sunblock, sweat, and whatever the heck is in the water at Splash Mountain) before crawling into bed and crashing.

It is here that I should point out that the devirginator is also recently single. Neither one of us is used to sleeping in the same bed with someone we aren’t currently paired up with. And at some point in the middle of the night, that dear old friend of mine unconsciously cuddled up to me.

And when he did, in my dream-filled state, I sighed and whispered “I missed you (insert the boy’s name here).”

Yep. That actually happened.

Now that I think about it, it’s probably far more pathetic than funny.

Regardless, my mid-sleep declaration of love (or longing?) woke us both up, which led to an awkward moment where we had to detach ourselves and roll back over to our own side of the bed. Without either of us saying another word.

Embarrassing much?

At least we got a good laugh out of it the next morning.

Which is where I point out to all you die hard romantics the cold, hard, truth – there is nothing romantic between the devirginator and I. At all. I can’t imagine spending a more platonic few days with any other guy. We realized this trip that it’s been over 10 years since there was anything between us beyond a friendship at all. 10 years. That’s a long time my friends. I think it’s safe to say at this point that the two of us will never end up as each other’s happily ever after. We will never be anything more than friends again.

And I, for one, am beyond happy with that arrangement. There’s just something incredibly nice about having a friend of the opposite sex who isn’t constantly trying to get in your pants. I adore my friendship with the devirginator. I don’t want it to ever change. I am grateful every day that we are exactly what we are. Which is nothing more than two very old, very close, friends.

Sorry to disappoint.

The day after Disney we spent exploring LA.

 I fell in love with The Farmers Market at The Grove (seriously, I could live in that farmers market) and we met back up with Kris for a late night dinner.

All in all, a perfect, fun-filled 2 days.

Thursday I caught my train to San Diego for fun in the sun with some of my best girlfriends. We hit up the beach, fished off the pier (something I never actually did when I lived there!), and ate far too much food. Honestly, this entire trip I ate far too much food. As of this morning I’m up 5 pounds, and my stomach is a little less than pleased with me.

But hey, if I can gain it in a week, I can surely lose it in a week… right?

One of my good friends was going through a breakup while I was there. A recent, painful, and unexpected breakup from the guy she has spent the last 3 years with. The guy she thought she was going to marry. The timing for me to be there felt perfect, and we spent days with just our group of friends commiserating, laughing, crying, and distracting. Saying goodbye to these girls was probably the hardest for me, for so many reasons. Not the least of which being that this is probably the last trip where we’ll all be together, since everyone seems to be fluttering off into different directions away from San Diego for good over the next few months.

Still… it was one fantastic last hurrah.

A lot of you asked about the adorable little boy I was frolicking with on the beach.

He belongs to an old neighbor and dear friend of mine. Funny story about his coming into the world: He was very much so wanted, and his mom and dad had been trying for months to make him a reality. This was before I knew I myself had any fertility issues, and I watched as they struggled without ever really knowing what to say or do. When my going away party came along, his mom had basically hit a wall and was at a point of frustration I think most of us in the infertility world are familiar with. She knew she was in the middle of her two week wait, but basically decided she wasn’t going to alter her life around another month of disappointment. So at my party, she hung with the rest of us. This huge, massive party where we went through 5 kegs, over 200 hundred Jell-O shots, and more liquor than I care to own up to. She and I were having keg stand wars, playing beer pong, and basically behaving as though we were still in college.

We had a blast.

The next morning though, she knew something was off. She just didn’t feel… right. And so, she took a pregnancy test.

And low and behold, she got her two lines.

So, that little guy was actually there for my last days living in SD.

My first trip back after moving, she was near bursting with her pregnancy. My second trip back, I got to meet him when he wasn’t yet a year old. Now, he’s 2 and a half. And I’ve got to say – I fell completely and totally in love with him. When it wasn’t just us girls, this little guy and I were best buddies. Two peas in a pod.

Leaving me yet again to ache over the fact that I don’t live closer to these people I love.

It started in AZ. This yearning to be closer to my family. This desire to find a way to make more frequent visits.

It intensified after my days spent with the devirginator. Missing the times when he was close enough for me to intrude upon regularly during any of my many boy meltdowns that only he seems capable of quelling.

And then, it exploded while with my girlfriends. While with this little boy whose life I would love to be a bigger part of.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not leaving Alaska anytime soon. In fact, I landed yesterday and was beyond happy to see my mountains. My trees. And my little home that I love so much.

It’s just… sometimes I wish the distance wasn’t so far to travel to see these people I love. My biggest complaint about Alaska would have to be how isolating it feels sometimes. How difficult (and expensive) it can be to get out.

In my perfect world, I would bring them all to me. We would live in a little bubble in Alaska and I would never have to miss anyone.

Or anywhere.

But if that perfect bubble existed, I suppose none of us would ever have to want for anything else ever again.

As it stands, I know I would never be happy living in Arizona (too hot, too many snakes, and too little outdoor beauty in my mind), and I can’t see myself ever living in California again (too big and too crowded for what I’m looking for), but maybe… Maybe there’s a happy medium somewhere.

Oregon? Washington? Somewhere that could give me the mountains, and creeks, and lakes, and quiet life that I adore about Alaska, but would put me just a little bit closer to these people I love.

I don’t know. I have a great job, a wonderful home, and people I love here as well. I can’t really imagine leaving right now.

But maybe someday.

And with Loo awaiting news on an incredible promotion that would inevitably have her on her way out of the state by the end of the year, maybe someday sooner than I realize.

I’m always up for a change. For something new. For whatever adventure waits beyond the bend.

And I’ve had a good run here in Alaska.

Who knows. Everything could change again tomorrow and I could find myself more entrenched here than I ever imagined. Incapable of even thinking about leaving anytime soon.

But right now, I’ve got to admit that I’m open to the possibilities.

I’m open to starting over.

And since I’m back in the real world now anyway…

I suppose it’s fair to do a little dreaming.

Tour de Love: Part Three

It's official.

My vacation is almost over.

And I am more than a little bit sad.

I'm not quite ready to return to the real world.

To my house.

My bills.

And life away from the people I hate living so far away from.

Don't get me wrong; I miss my Loo and Mrs. King like crazy. And I can't wait to see their faces, and to get back to my gorgeous Alaskan scenery.

I just wish... I wish I could bring everyone I love from the lower 48 up there with me.

As it stands though; tomorrow at 6:30 am my vacation is officially over, and it's time for me to catch a plane headed towards home.

Of course, that still gives me one more day with these ladies I love.

One more day to fish.

To play on the beach.

And to nurse the killer sunburn I am currently sporting.

One more day.

And I plan on making the absolute most of it.

Tour de Love: Part Two

Disney was fantastic.

Amazing.

Wonderful.

The happiest place on earth.

We managed to spend a full 15 hours there.

And then some.

By the time we got home last night, well after midnight, I crashed.

Hard.

And I am still plenty sore this morning.

But between California Adventure and Disney, I think we managed to squeeze it all in.

We even pulled off two rides on The Tower of Terror.

Which for the record, is the most terrifying ride I have ever been on in my life.

And I'm pretty sure I almost threw up both times.

But every time I put up any words of protest - the devirginator reminded me that it was his birthday and I had to do what he wanted.

Great.

This is also why we wound up on Splash Mountain at 11 at night right before taking off.

Leading to a very wet drive home.

But, we had a blast.

And I'm pretty sure he had a fantastic birthday.

Which is all that really matters.

I was supposed to head to San Diego today, but changed my train ticket for tomorrow.

I just wanted one more day in LA. To check out the town and see all the things I've never seen.

So as soon as I can get myself out of bed and into the shower, we'll be off.

With some place called The Village Idiot, and The Tim Burton exhibit on the list of things to do.

One more day in LA.

(because I'm 12)

And then, it's me, San Diego, the beach, and some more friends I couldn't live without.

I'm pretty sure I'm not going to want to go home at all once this is all said and done.

Tour de Love: Part One

Internet has been sporadic.

Or at least - finding 2 seconds by myself to hop on a computer and hope to find a signal has been sporadic.

And I have to admit: I loathe posting from my phone.

So, I have a feeling the next week is going to be hit and miss for posting.

And that's OK.

Because I am loving this time I am getting to spend with the people who love me most in this world.

But I wanted to leave you all with some pictures as I get a chance.

My papa and I:

Two of my amazing cousins, and my goofy little brother:

My beautiful new stepmom:

One of my oldest and dearest and I on a road trip to visit a few more close friends:

Tomorrow I'm saying goodbye to the family and catching a plane to LA. The devirginator is picking me up, and then we're heading out on the town with another very close friend of mine and one of the new men in her life. Should be interesting, since the devirginator already has big plans for us to get up and out the door by 7am Tuesday morning for a 12 hour day at Disney.

Hoping to catch up on sleep sometime next month!

P.S. I stand corrected. The devirginator has been stalking my blog and texted me immediately after I posted this to tell me that a.) my cousin is hot (duh!) and b.) Disney is going to be a 15 hour day.... Oy.

Things That Make Absolutely No Logical Sense At All

• Going straight from Vagina-Therapy to the salon for a brazillion wax – talk about sending the poor girl mixed signals!
• Immediately walking away from your wax over to the tanning salon for a spray tan session – yep, I did that.
• Letting yourself fall in love with a man who you know has just had his heart ripped out of his chest - and yes, I do own the choices I made in this.
• Waiting until just hours before your flight leaves to start packing for a 10 day vacation.
• Booking a seat on the red-eye, while knowing that you have never in your life been able to sleep on a plane.
• Catching yourself window shopping for sperm online – even though you’ve sworn up and down that you’re done trying.
• Boiling down an entire batch of stinky bug tea before remembering that you won’t even be around to drink it.
• Diligintly putting together 30 different bags of supplements (for morning, noon, and night pill times) before thinking to yourself that maybe – just maybe – you could survive 10 days without all the pill popping.
• Trying to talk yourself out of packing the “just in case” stash of pain pills – even though you still remember vividly what happened last time.
• Letting yourself believe the horoscope that told you a pregnancy is in your immediate future.
• Getting your feelings hurt by negative strangers on the internet who thrive of off lashing out at someone they've never actually met and who obviously don’t really know you at all.
• Buying just the first book in The Uglies series, when you know damn well you’ll be done with it by your layover in Portland and desperately jonesing for more.
• Dressing in sweats and a hoodie for a flight that will ultimately land you in 100+ degree weather.
• Wasting time away on the computer when seriously – why aren’t you packing dumbass?
• Calling yourself a dumbass. On your own blog. Like a total dumbass.

Status Update

This isn’t a teaser post.

No alluding to a story that I’m not going tell.

This is absolutely a post about the boy. About where we’re at. About what we are.

Or rather, what we aren’t.

I’m leaving most of the juicy details out though. Wrapping up the last 4 months would take a novel. And to be honest, I’m still feeling more than a little protective of him. Of his story. And of what it is we've had between us.

Suffice it to say though, things have changed. And I figured I should be honest about that here. Figured a status update may be in order.

And the current status is: single.

Not even “it’s complicated”.

Single

To say that the last 4 months have been a bit of a roller coaster would be an understatement. The boy went through a lot with his ex, and the damage there has been very clear and present as we’ve moved forward with each other. While there has been no questioning the extremely close friendship we’ve formed, the rest has remained on shakier ground. As he has struggled with his feelings for her, his feelings for me, and some residual fears over ever trusting anyone again. Especially now; so soon after a relationship he thought would never end came abruptly to a halt.

Most of the last 4 months has been dedicated to him. To what he needs and where he stands. This hasn’t bothered me. I’ve understood it, and been supportive of him and where his head is at every step of the way. I’ve sacrificed a lot of my own needs in order to be there for him in whatever way I could. In whatever way he would let me. And when we started out, this was OK. I was in a good place. A strong place. I was feeling healthier and more energetic than I had in years. I was happy. I was rebuilding. I had it in me to be the one who was giving more.

Don't get me wrong; we have had some wonderful times. Lots of laughing, and talking, and growing closer than I have probably ever been with any man in the past. There was definitely a lot in this relationship that made me want to stick around, even as we've had to navigate together through the land mines left behind in the wake of his divorce.

But lately, I have more and more of my own needs to consider. More of a desire to have someone supporting me. And while I would like to believe the boy could be that guy, he’s still got a lot of his own wounds to be licking.

If I’m being honest – he’s made me sad more often lately than he has happy.

And this weekend, we had a lot of breakup talks. A lot of conversations about where I’m at, where he’s at, and what we each need from each other right now.

All culminating into a conversation last night that left me curled up in a ball on my bed sobbing. Ignoring his incessant phone calls after the fact, and eventually just turning off the phone entirely. Because I couldn’t take any more. I couldn’t hear another word of explanation come out of his mouth. I couldn't stomach another apology being spewed from either one of our lips.

And I couldn't stand to have him hear me cry.

I know he cares about me. I don’t doubt that for a second. Over the last 4 months, we have at the very least built an absolutely incredible friendship. More than once he’s told me that I’m the best thing that’s happened to him in this divorce. And I know that the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt me.

But I got hurt. I want what he can’t give. And we’ve reached a point where we both need two very different things.

I love him. I went and let myself fall in love with him.

And I got hurt.

And it sucks.

But I'll be OK.

Where we go from here, I'm not really sure. I know there's going to need to be some space. Some time. Some healing on both of our ends; healing that's going to need to take place without the other's presence in our lives. I don't know what the next chapter holds, and I'm not about to pretend that my magic 8 ball has given me any insight into this one. I just know that we both need to step away. For now. For a while. And possibly forever.

Because as much as I wish I could do it - continuing a friendship at this point is not something I'm capable of powering through.

But hey - if the devirginator and I can be as close of friends as we are now, I suppose that anything is possible in the future.

The only reason I’m putting it into words here is because I need to make it real. And I guess it’s not ever real until it’s written here.

I need to accept that we’re done.

That he can’t be the man I need him to be right now.

That he may not even want to be.

And I need to move on.

But I refuse to regret this relationship. What it was. What it wasn’t. And what it may or may not ever become.

I’m sad. And hurt. And even a little confused at how things went down. But I have no regrets.

And I know I’ll be fine.

The boy and I are through.

My status update is “single”.

And this vacation of mine cannot come soon enough.

Counting Down The Hours...

Two more sleeps.

That's all I have.

Just two more sleeps until I can get on a plane and fly to Arizona.

Well, Arizona for my dad's wedding. Then LA for The Devirginator's birthday. And then San Diego for a little bit of rest and relaxation.

Who am I kidding? There will be no rest and relaxation on this trip. There's just too much to do and too many people to see.

And I don't even care.

I'll sleep when I die.

All I know is that I am getting a vacation.

And I seriously cannot wait.

Because I'm not going to lie - I kind of need it right now.

Two more sleeps.

Just two more sleeps.

And then, this is going to be my anthem:

Could It Be?

Could it be that I’ve made it all up?

Could it be that I’ve lost my grip on reality?

Could it be that I’m crazy?

OK, so that last one is a trick question. It’s pretty common knowledge that I’m certifiable.

Just ask the boy about the 4 page e-mail I penned to him in the early morning hours today.

There’s no question that I’m nuts.

But what about the rest of it?

Could it be that I’m a hypochondriac?

That this disease, and the knowledge of where it’s taken me in the past (the fear of what it could take from me in the future), has left me… more certifiable than usual?

I met with Dr. Naturopath this morning, and then had a phone consult with Dr. Cook this afternoon.

I have nothing but respect for each of these doctors.

So when they are both telling me that I need to take a deep breath and calm myself, I have to wonder – have I been making this whole thing bigger than it is?

Dr. Naturopath, who I thought would embrace the autoimmune theory whole heartedly, was very quick to dismiss it this morning. To tell me that I don’t have any of the typical markers she would normally look for. That while she’s willing to admit that there is something about my case that doesn’t present the way one would expect, she doesn’t think that’s the factor we’re missing. She doesn’t believe I have an underlying autoimmune disease.

Which admittedly did leave me feeling a little silly for having worked myself up so much over the possibility throughout the last week. All because one person put her hands on me and told me that’s what she thought it could be.

I would be lying if I said that I don’t still find myself grasping at straws. Searching for answers. For a reason to this madness. I would be lying if I claimed that it doesn’t all still consume my mind more than I care to admit.

So hearing about something new, something that I hadn’t explored before – I think there was part of me that wanted to believe there could be something to it. But after talking to Dr. Naturopath and hearing her go through all the symptoms she would normally look at in relation to an autoimmune disease, I realized – I’m nuts.

We talked for over an hour. Changed up my supplements, agreed to another liver cleanse, and set an appointment for a month from now. She wants to do another hormone panel to see how things have changed now that I’m symptomatic. Which means that I’ll be needing to do another 24 hour urine test the day after ovulation – that just so happens to be Friday. For those of you who may not remember – my vacation starts Friday. I’ll be in Arizona that day.

Peeing in a bucket, and storing it in my grandmother’s refrigerator.

Still, we have a plan of action. And while she said she doesn’t think that an underlying autoimmune condition is the problem, I know she’s going to do whatever she can to help me figure out what ever it actually is.

It’s just that, whatever it actually is may still be pretty up in the air.

I spoke to Dr. Cook this afternoon. And he’s not denying my pain, or the last visit from Jack which left me curled up in a ball on my bed.

He’s just not so convinced it’s endometriosis.

My CA-125 level was at a 15 just two weeks ago. That’s lower than it’s ever been.

Those cysts are still small. Even though they have grown, and multiplied – they’re still small. Small enough that under normal circumstances, most doctors wouldn’t even look twice at them.

And there could be other explanations for my pain. Scar tissue (3 surgeries in, it’s definitely a possibility), adhesions, the cysts (which could just be cysts).

There are other possibilities.

He still said that no matter what, if I’m in pain we need to address it. If that means opening me up again in order to get a real idea of what’s going on in there – we’ll do it. He made that very clear. If I’m hurting, and we can’t find another solution – surgery number 4 will be scheduled.

He was just quick to remind me that surgery is not something I want to do again unless I’m sure. Unless the pain hits a point where I don’t feel like there is any other choice.

Because lest I forget so soon – that last surgery left me feeling like I had been hit by a truck. And that was just physically. Emotionally, I couldn’t stop crying for a month.

I’m not too keen on jumping up and volunteering for that again.

And if Dr. Cook – my expert doctor who I have so much faith in – isn’t completely convinced that this could be endo; maybe it isn’t.

Maybe I’ve allowed myself to become so consumed by fear, that I’m creating problems before they’re actually here.

I’m not saying that I haven’t been in pain. Jack has been getting progressively worse for sure. And I absolutely burst a cyst just a few weeks ago. When I ovulate, my side feels like it’s on fire, and when I start to bleed, I bloat up like a balloon. I’m not saying none of that is true or real, because I know it all is. I’m just saying – maybe my past experience with endometriosis has made me hyper sensitive to the possibility of its return.

I have had 3 surgeries in the last 2 years. I’ve done 2 rounds of IVF, 2 rounds of egg donation, and have had countless synthetic hormones coursing through my veins during that time. My body has been put through the wringer.

It’s got to be at least possible that there is some other explanation for what I’ve been experiencing now.

Right?

Could it be that I’ve made it all up?

Could it be that I’ve lost my own grip on reality?

Could it be that I’m crazy?

Doctor Cook and I made an appointment for a month from now. We discussed the game plan Dr. Naturopath and I came up with, and he was fully supportive of it. After the hormone panel, we’re going to look at putting me on a progesterone only birth control. The only reason we haven’t done it yet is because of the uptick in pain I get around ovulation – if the surge of progesterone I get around ovulation is somehow contributing to my pain, it’s not a good idea. We’re hoping to know more once we see where my hormone levels are actually at after ovulation though.

And in a month, we’ll reconvene. Talk about my symptoms and how I’m feeling. Continue to revisit the idea of another surgery if that’s what needs to happen, but remain open to the possibility that whatever this is – it’s something that we can resolve without cutting.

If we can’t, oh well. At least we can say we tried.

I’m definitely not in a rush to cut again.

But I’m glad to know it’s an option. That if things get to be too much – if the pain hits a point of being more than I can handle – Dr. Cook will listen to me. He’ll trust me. And he’ll go in again to see what’s going on. And to figure out what we need to do to fix it.

In the meantime, I’m trying to wrap my head around the possibility that this may not be a return of endo.

It may not be the worst case scenario.

If nothing else, there has to be something said for positive thinking, right?

For changing my thought patterns and taking my focus away from the outcome that scares me the most.

I’m not saying I’m crazy.

Or a hypochondriac.

But could it be?

That it’s something else.

That it’s not endo.

That there’s some other explanation.

One that isn’t quite so scary.

One that wouldn’t leave me feeling quite so helpless.

Could it be?

History

I saw the healer again yesterday.

I had an hour long massage scheduled.

By the time everything was said and done, she had been working on me for over two.

I’m pretty sure I love her.

She had a few more interesing insights while she was working on me as well.

She mentioned the fact that when she was working anywhere near my lungs, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She kept saying that she felt like something was wrong with my lungs.

I hadn’t yet told her about the endo Dr. Cook thought could possibly be up in my lungs last time around. Or the fact that I’ve had difficulty breathing my last two periods. Wheezing, chest congestion, and headaches as a result. The first time I thought I was possibly getting an infection of some kind, but when I went to the doctor – they told me there was no infection. Likely just a cold. And then it went away as soon as my period did and I tried not to think about it anymore. Until Jack reappeared this last time, and again I found myself unable to breathe right.

It’s always possible she’s read here, or that there’s some other way she could have known about this. But I have to admit – she threw me when she said it.

How she knows any of this doesn’t really matter though, because her massages have been giving me the most pain relief of anything else I’ve ever tried. Some of the things she does leave me writhing in pain while I’m lying there on her table, but as soon as I get up and walk out – I feel so much better than I did when I first walked in.

Like I said, I’m pretty sure I love her.

I did talk to her about my discomfort with the holistic chiropractor she had recommended me to initially (the one I need to go to in order to get prescriptions to see her), and she was completely open to my concerns and immediately recommended someone else. She even went and cancled the appointment I already had set with him for that day.

Which was amazing, because I really hadn’t been looking forward to seeing him.

In preparation for that appointment though, I had created a history of the last few years at his request. In looking over it, I thought maybe it was something I should share here. I’m not sure I’ve ever broken it down so succinctly in this space before before. Looking at it, I can't help but realize how fast everything change. How quickly I went from healthy, to anything but.

So here it is; my endometriosis history:

• First period at 13 – on the pill within a few cycles. Periods had been heavy and painful, but after being on the pill everything was fine.
• Donated eggs in July 2007 AND January 2008 (24 years old). Did not go back on the pill after second donation. Both donations went smoothly and produced 14 eggs of “great” quality.
• Started having more painful periods in June 2008. Moved to Alaska at the same time. Cycles were getting further apart and increasingly painful.
• In October of 2008, went to the doctor because I hadn’t had a period in 2 months. He initially told me it was from the stress of moving cross country.
• Period finally returned in late November; the first time the pain was unbearable. Doctor still brushed this off.
• Went back to the doctor in January of 2009 after another very painful period. At that point he did an ultrasound and told me that my ovaries “looked like hell”. It had only been a year since my last donation, when everything had been perfect.
• Was put back on the birth control pill in January of 2009.
• Next two periods landed me in the hospital, and back at the doctor’s office – where it was discovered that the cysts on my ovaries were growing large and multiplying. The doctor told me he thought I needed a hysterectomy, without any kind of diagnosis beyond the vague possibility that the thought it might be cancer. He gave me a consent to have a hysterectomy, and I sought out a second opinion.
• Second opinion told me I didn’t need to jump straight to a hysterectomy, and that she would first prefer to do something exploratory. I had my first surgery in May of 2009. Diagnosis of endometriosis. Appendix removed, and left tube removed. I was told to stay on the pill after the surgery and that that should keep it from returning.
• August of 2009 began experiencing pain again.
• Second surgery in November of 2009. At this point diagnosed with Stage IV endo. Put on Lupron and told to start considering my options if I hoped to have children someday.
• February of 2010, started having pain again. Even though I was on Lupron at the time, it was discovered that new cysts were growing. Since both surgeries had revealed all of my cysts to be endometriomas, it was assumed that the endometriosis was returning.
• First IVF cycle in July of 2010. 10 eggs of “fair” quality were retrieved. 3 fertilized. 1 was transferred in a fresh cycle, 2 were frozen. The cycle failed.
• Second IVF cycle in November of 2010. Both frozen embryos unthawed and were transferred. The cycle failed.
• Daily chronic pain continued and grew worse after these failed cycles. Dr. wasn’t sure what more she could do to help, and so I sought out the help of specialists in the lower 48, which is how I met Dr. Cook.
• Third surgery with Dr. Cook in Los Gatos, CA in February of 2011. 4 ½ hour extensive surgery during which endometriosis was discovered high in my abdominal cavity and my bowel and uterus were discovered to be completely fused together.
• Return of pain in June of 2011. Ultrasounds revealed new endometriomas, which had grown and multiplied by the time of a second ultrasound 6 weeks later.

Interventions attempted:

• Lupron
• Birth Control Pill
• Surgery
• Acupuncture *
• The Endometriosis Diet (gluten and dairy free)
• Loose Chinese herbs *
• Large variety of supplements *

* = Still Trying

My Vagina Is Stronger Than Your Vagina

Otherwise titled: Who Needs an X-Box When You Have the V-Box?

Or just “V-Box” for short.

I also played with “My Vagina is Wired”.

Really, there are just so many possibilities.

But I think you should be warned right here and right now – this post is going to be filled to the brim with the v-word.

Which is arguably far better than the c-word.

And in my opinion, also easier on the mouth, ears, and eyes than the p-word.

Back on point though.

We were talking about my vagina.

And it’s superior strength.

I had vagina-therapy this morning. I had it last week as well, but we weren’t exactly able to accomplish much with me at the level of pain I was at. She pretty much just massaged my stomach for half an hour (which was weird) and then called it a day.

Today though… Well, today she pulled out the big guns.

Literally.

Today, the vagina-therapist told me she wanted to try a little bio-feedback with my cootchie (to be clear – that is not the c-word I was referring to earlier).

I had no idea what she was talking about when she mentioned this. Until she pulled out a baggy. A baggy with a probe inside that looked suspiciously like the bullet. Only, this bullet came equipped with a long wire and a computer hookup.

Five minutes later, my vagina was wired.

Literally.

The goal of the bio-feedback was apparently to get some idea of just how much I am actually capable of releasing those muscles, and what it is I can do to attempt to facilitate that relaxation.

I know it's a noble cause, but... the entire setup was just ridiculous. And when she finally said to me “You should see the look on your face right now” as I attempted to follow her instructions without laughing, I couldn’t help it. I looked right at her and I said “I’m just thinking about what a great story this is going to make.”

As awkward, and uncomfortable, and bizarre as the whole thing was - I couldn't help but think about how much fun I was going to have retelling it.

How's that for twisted?

So there we were. Me lying back on the therapy table, and the vagina-therapist sitting next to me with her laptop. Her laptop, which my vagina was conveniently plugged into.

We started off simple. Breathing and a few kegel’s – just so that I could get used to watching the line on the screen that was supposed to depict how tightly my muscles were clenching.

At my most relaxed, I was able to get down to a 3. But mostly, I hung out around a 5.

For the record – I have no idea what these numbers stand for or mean.

The vagina therapist told me that most people are at about a 1 when they’re relaxed.

Which just tells us what we already know – my cootchie is in a constant state of clench.

But then she had me start flexing those muscles. She said that most people should be able to hit a 12-15 when they are trying.

I consistently hit up in the 20 zone.

Which leads me to the title of this post.

My vagina is stronger than your vagina.

If we were to have an ultimate vagina fighting championship, my vagina would win.

And if we were to create a video game version of this little scenario (the aptly named V-Box) where handheld controllers were replaced with –well, you know – no one would be able to touch my high score.

My vagina is stronger than your vagina.

Perhaps not something I should be proud of, given the fact that the state of those muscles has everything to do with the trauma of this disease, but… Sometimes we just have to take our wins where we can get them.

And I’m kind of disturbingly proud of my own cootchie strength right now.

I of course called the devirginator immediately after my appointment to tell him all.

He listened, he laughed, and then he went on to explain that at Disneyland, there are these machines where you put a quarter in and squeeze to test your own strength. He said that if it got me this excited to see how strong I was, he would happily put a quarter into one of them for me when we’re there for his birthday in just a few weeks.

I told him that I wouldn’t sit on it.

Which is when he called me filthy and questioned the sanity of any guy who ever ends up with me.

And I just laughed.

Told him that’s why he loves me.

Because I’m like a dude.

Except with a super strong vagina.

He strongly encouraged me not to have this same conversation with the boy.

But the whole time, he was laughing hysterically.

So I’m thinking he doesn’t really know what he’s talking about.

At the end of the day; this disease has left me broken, beaten, and shattered inside.

It has taken away my ability to have children, left me with a bit more pudge around the middle than I ever had before, and turned me into a girl who finds herself hurting more than she would ever care to admit.

None of it is cool. Or attractive. Or part of what makes me a catch.

But my super strong vagina?

I’m pretty sure that’s something worth bragging about.

And even if it isn’t – what do I care?

Sometimes, you just have to be able to laugh.

And today, I did a lot of laughing.