The First Snow

It's here.

Officially bringing winter with it.

So maybe it actually arrived yesterday.

Sometime between 4 and 8:30 in the morning.

Which I only know because when I got home at a ridiculously late hour (to be expected when you agree to meet up with friends who live over an hour away) the snow had not yet started falling. When I got up and opened my blinds at 8:30 though - it had already blanketed the ground.

Prompting me to close the blinds and crawl right back into bed.

To be fair - Jack also made a surprise early appearance Saturday. Which put a fast end to any drinking I had otherwise planned on doing, but still left me curled up with the heating pad most of the day yesterday.

I may be feeling worlds better lately, but let's face it - visits from Jack are never going to be fun.

And that explains why I didn't actually get out to experience the first snow until today.

When I sat and watched 3 different cars fishtail over the same patch of ice at the gas station, only to pull away and do the exact same thing myself.

You've got to love that first snow.

I'm still hoping for a few more inches though. Something to completely cover up any dead foliage still attempting to poke through. It just isn't quite as pretty as it should be when the snow is only barely covering the ground. Plus, there's something kind of satisfying about the crunch of a good bit of snow under your feet, which we just don't quite have yet.

Here we are though - October 31st.

Winter.

The start of at least 5 more months of this white stuff on the ground.

At which point, I can pretty much guarantee I will no longer be yearning for that satisfying crunch of snow.

But for now, I might as well enjoy it while I can.

You know - before the novelty wears off and I find myself once again jonesing for summer.

A moment that will likely occur sometime next week.

A Night To Pretend

I love Halloween.

A night to laugh.

Drink.

Play.

And pretend.

Almost like you're a kid again.

Plus - it's the night all the freaks come out.

(Only in the valley - Gotta love Wasilla, AK)

Which of course, only further ensues the hilarity.

I Have Abandonment Issues

There.

I said it.

I have abandonment issues.

You know you were thinking it.

Or maybe you weren’t. Maybe that’s just me projecting my own insecurities. Perhaps that’s just one more thing I should bring up with Dr. Headshrink sooner rather than later.

But the point is, the train wreck I transformed into last night after saying goodbye to Loo made one thing very clear – I have abandonment issues.

I blame my mother.

OK, stop right there. Before anyone gets too bent out of shape – I’m laughing as I type this. I swear.

I only half blame my mother.

(Still laughing. Geez, get a sense of humor.)

I don’t think my mommy issues run that deep.

And anyway, we’re talking about abandonment issues here.

(Courtesy of onetreehillaccess.tumblr.com)

(For those of you One Tree Hill fans out there, you may now realize why I've always felt a special bond with poor misguided Peyton!)

While I will be the first to admit that I have some deep seeded fears when it comes to giving all my love to someone and having them walk away; for the most part right now – I’m totally joking.

If only because my post-goodbye breakdown last night was so wholly and completely over the top, that all I can do at this point is poke fun at myself.

I have a hard time with letting go. Always have. Saying goodbye to the people I care about tears me up inside.

Don’t get me wrong, plenty of times in my life – I have been the one to leave. And while that still sucks, it’s always a little easier because I’m the one moving towards something exciting and new.

Only twice now have I had to deal with the loss of a good friend moving onto greener pastures whilst leaving me behind.

Let me just tell you – I didn't react too well for either goodbye.

The first time was when an old roommate and (at the time) very close friend decided it was time for her to move 3000 miles away. I tried to be an adult about the situation, but inside – I was breaking. That goodbye consisted of me getting tanked at the airport (for the record – this was quite a few years ago) and turning into a tearful, snotty mess as she disappeared past security lines.

Pathetic.

I then hit up a bar with her most recent (and subsequently, also mourning) boy-toy (a good guy we had always been friends with, even long before they became something more) and continued to drink. Until my then boyfriend gallantly picked me up and walked me across the street to his apartment where he deposited me in his bed and let me sleep (and cry) it off.

I wound up staying there for 8 days. Which is exactly how long I had before my lease was up and it was time for me to move into my new place with my new roommates. I hadn’t wanted to be alone in “our” apartment (to be fair, we lived in the ghetto – being there alone probably wouldn’t have been so smart), so the boyfriend suffered through my impromptu move-in and unrelenting tears.

(Arguably one of the better guys I ever dated – the only exception being that he was kind of a total pot head, with an ambition and drive to match.)

Looking back on that experience, I can proudly say that I behaved a bit more appropriately when it came to my goodbyes with Loo.

An additional modicum of self-respect and dignity if I do say so myself.

At least, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

True, I had to fight back tears most of the day at work. And it’s possible that simply hearing her voice when she called to go over the details of the evening had me choking back on the “please don’t leave me!” plea's lingering upon my tongue.

But overall – I did pretty good.

I swear.

Laughing through the packing and repacking of her bags. Bravely throwing out last bits of advice and promises to talk and see each other soon. Fighting back the tears each and every time they threatened to brim over.

Until that last hug, right outside the security gates, when I could take it no more and began shaking beneath the sobs I was fighting so desperately to hold back.

Both of us hugging the other so tightly that I’m pretty sure passersby must have had some serious questions about our relationship.

Or maybe they didn’t. This is Alaska after all. People don’t spend a whole lot of time judging, or even paying attention to, the actions of others up here. It’s more of a live and let live state than you would ever really imagine.

At least, that’s how I assume we wound up with a nut like Sarah Palin as a spokesperson.

Badump-bump.

I pulled it together only briefly as she walked away – not wanting to cause a scene at the airport.

Been there, done that after all.

But as I wandered back to my car, all bets were off.

I was that girl sobbing her way out of an airport in the middle of the night.

When I actually got to my car, I had to sit there and let it all flood out before I could put the keys in the ignition and head safely home.

And today, I’m still struggling with the fact that she’s no longer just down the street for me to call upon for any number of needs or (mis)deeds.

Plus, I just realized she brought with her my spare key. The one I gave to her in case I ever locked myself out of my place and needed to be rescued.

(It’s been known to happen a time or two.)

And I might just be contemplating locking myself out now “just to see” if it would be enough to bring her back.

What do you think? That’s a totally reasonable request, right?

I’ve been reading a series of articles over the last few weeks about the plight of the single woman. Feminist driven, blatant agenda; surprisingly addictive and intriguing.

Especially for someone who doesn’t really consider herself a “feminist” by any means.

Despite the obvious feminist lifestyle.

(Damn you fate for rendering me single and my ovaries for leaving me childless! I never wanted to be a cat lady in the making!)

Anyway, one of the things that has stuck out to me about these articles is their emphasis on the intensity with which single women rely upon their friendships.

I am totally that girl.

My friends are my family. My blood. My reason for being.

And no – I’m not being dramatic at all.

I never do that.

But for real – I recognize how lucky I am to have such amazing friends. How lucky I have always been to fall into groups of women as an adult who I fully trust and enjoy being around. Without the backstabbing, and gossip, and general shadiness I tend to see in so many other female relationships.

And Loo – she is one of those friends you could literally trust with your life. Warm, and genuine, and sincere, and fun, and intelligent, and… amazing. Not to mention how “there” for me she has been over the last few years. Holding my hand at every single appointment, decision and emergency as my surrogate partner in all of this.

I’m pretty sure we left many a nurse and doctor questioning our relationship in that time as well.

Despite the Tourette’s-like proclamations of my love for the cock that seem to occasionally (and haphazardly) fly from my mouth in awkward situations such as this.

She has stood by me, and supported me, and been a friend to me when I needed my friends the most. When I wasn’t so easy to be around, and my vision was so singularly focused that I know I wasn’t the same kind of selfless friend in return.

Which is why last night, when I felt the tears billowing over, I tried so hard to hold them back. To wish her luck in this next big life step and remind her that I would always be there for her – no matter what.

I managed to do half of that correctly.

But the tears; there just wasn’t any way to truly dry them up.

Because last night, one of my closest friends in the world moved thousands of miles away from me.

And I have abandonment issues.

For which I only partially blame my mother.

I swear.

You Never Know

There is something about the world of infertility that can so often feel completely overwhelming.

Absolutely heartbreaking.

And totally isolating.

When you’re in the middle of it (facing down the doctors, and diagnosis, and treatments) it’s easy to get caught up in a thought stream of “me, me, me”. One where no matter what else you really know, you almost convince yourself that you’re the only person who has ever gone through this. The only one who has ever struggled to conceive. And the only one who has ever felt the cold slap in the face that is failure.

Infertility can leave you feeling more alone than anything else ever has or ever will again.

At least, it can if you let it.

One of the things I’ve learned over the last few years however, is how often I encounter people on a day to day basis who actually do “get” it. Whenever I start talking about my journey (my struggles), I’m always astounded by how often I find I’m talking to someone who understands. Not just in the internet world where we’re admittedly seeking each other out, but also in real life – where it’s easy to convince yourself that you’re the only one. Where the silence about what we’ve experienced only perpetuates that notion.

I was walking by the office of one of the higher ups at my company last week when I noticed a vase with lilies sitting on her table.

I am a sucker for lilies. Always have been. I’m pretty sure I could forgive just about anything if the apology came attached to it a bundle of lilies. If any man ever truly wants to woo me – that’s the way to do it.

But that’s beside the point.

The point is, I saw these lilies and I had to stop in her office to compliment them. To smell them. To admire them.

Have I mentioned how much I love lilies?

As I was gushing over her bouquet, I explained that I recently had a friend who went through IVF and that I sent her lilies on the day of her transfer after we had talked at length the day before about the bumps along the way that left her feeling less than confident. I had been disappointed to learn that they arrived almost completely closed up, but on the day she was set to fly home (right around the time those embies of hers would have been implanting), she sent me a video of those lilies.


Untitled from S.I.F. on Vimeo.

Almost all of them had bloomed over the days prior. As if they were coming to life along with those babies of hers.

Call me a sap, but I totally had to fight back tears at the symbolism of it all.

In the retelling of this story however, I realized how out of my comfort zone I had just stepped. This was a higher up exec I was speaking to. One I had worked with on a handful of occasions already, but not one I had ever entered into the realm of personal story telling with.

And I had just thrown out a bunch of terms to her that most “normal” people don’t fully understand or grasp at all.

Feeling stupid, I sheepishly stopped talking and turned away from the flowers to gauge her expression.

Only to find her looking at me with a completely enthralled expression on her face.

“Was it her first IVF?” she asked.

“Yes.” I replied.

“Did she get pregnant?” she further inquired.

“Yes.” I again responded.

“Wow.” She said. “That’s incredibly lucky.”

Sensing somehow that maybe she understood to some level what I was talking about (perhaps she had a sister or a friend who had gone through something similar?) I blurted out “I have another friend who just did IVF for the first time too – she’s also pregnant.”

“Wow.” She repeated, a look of awe on her face.

Again, there was something there. I can’t really explain it. This isn’t a topic of conversation I typically delve into with people I’m not close to – it certainly isn’t one I often bring up at work. But something told me to keep going.

“I did two rounds myself.” I continued. “But they both failed.”

Upon saying it, I self-consciously shoved my hands into my pockets - not wanting her to notice that my ring finger was bare. Those old fears of judgment at the hands of people who would never understand why I tried so hard to get pregnant as a single woman poking the back of my brain – causing excess worry because this woman is more than just a few rungs above me in the pecking order at my company. I couldn’t really afford her judgment.

Not that she had given me any indication up to that point that she would judge me – it was just old insecurities flying to the surface almost as quickly as the words flew out of my mouth.

I couldn’t figure out why I had just divulged so much.

But still… she was looking at me in awe.

“Come here.” She instructed, motioning for me to step behind her desk and look at her computer.

She closed everything out until only her screen saver remained – a picture of several young girls ready to head out for some team sporting event.

She pointed to the one on the end “That’s my daughter.” She said. “She’s 15 years old. She was the result of my 5th and final try. I had already started working on accepting the fact that I would never carry a child. When we saw her heartbeat, it was the most amazing feeling I had ever experienced. She’s my miracle.”

I was stunned. Shocked silent and choking back my own tears.

My own hope.

You never know who will understand. Infertility isn’t something we can see, although I think most of us believe that the scars it leaves behind are noticeable to all.

She went on to explain what a dark time that period in her life had been. How she had relied on organizations such as Resolve simply to feel some level of connection to others who “got” it.

I was reminded again of how lucky I am to live in an internet era.

How blessed I am to have friends who support me always – even those who have never actually been there. And especially those who have.

I’m lucky. Surrounded by a world of understanding and acceptance that I may not have so easily found 15 years ago.

We’re lucky – to live in a time when finding support for infertility is so much easier than it ever was before.

But still – there’s that silence. That shame. That voice in our head that tells us to keep our struggles private. Mocking us into obscurity in our own lives. Leaving us to feel alone, and scorned, and isolated in a world where we begin to believe that no one else could possibly understand.

Until we start talking about it. Until we realize how many voices out there have walked this path before. How many faces in our day to day lives really do get it.

So much so, that they too have been hiding away in their own silence.

You never know who’s been there. Who’s walked this path. Who’s felt this hurt.

You never know who’s carrying around this same silent shame.

And scars that feel so very visible to them, all while the rest of us are blind to the marks others are wearing.

Even as we ourselves are carrying around the same exact wounds.

You never know.

And there’s something about that simple fact that makes the isolation of it all suddenly seem so very unnecessary.

Because you never know.

But you’re never alone.

The Story Behind That Exhaustion

I’m not anemic.

Or malnourished.

Or lacking in some vital nutrients essential to energy.

My vitamin D levels are perfect, and for the most part (with the exception of just one thing) – my blood work is looking pretty good.

I'm not dying.

And I’m still not depressed.

Although – ask me again tomorrow. I have a feeling that once I get Loo on that plane, I’m going to lose it.

None of that really explains that exhaustion I’ve been experiencing lately though.

And the only clue in my blood work was a fairly high white blood cell count, and a slightly elevated TSH level.

Just for the record though – my T4 and T3 levels were still within normal range.

It does turn out that I’ve been running a low grade fever for who knows how long. Since my appointment last Friday (when Dr. Naturopath asked me if I realized I was running a temperature – and I stupidly replied that I had been achy, and also clearly non-observant) I’ve been tracking it. It’s been hovering around 100 ever since. Not a high fever by any means, but still… coupled with the high white blood cell count, it’s obvious I’ve got some kind of infection.

Nothing too drastic or scary. My body is just fighting something. Not real sure what exactly (no sore throat, or coughing, or trouble breathing to be found), but… something.

Still, just an infection. Dr. Naturopath thinks it may have something to do with my adrenals, so in addition to changing up the dosage a bit on the thyroid medication I've needed ever since that first IVF threw me all out of whack, she set me up with an adrenal tincture.

And that’s pretty much it. She wants to do blood work again in 6 weeks, but in the meantime – I just work on being good to my body and letting it fight off whatever it’s fighting off. If things get worse, I’ll of course go back. But for the time being – I’m just going to ride it out.

My father is of course not a fan of this plan. He’s of the school of thought that infections are deserving of antibiotics. No if’s, and’s, or butt’s about it.

Poor guy has always had a bit of a tough time with my more natural approach to all things health related. I think he about had a heart attack the first time I got cupped.

But there is a reason I now see a naturopath as my primary care physician. A reason I’ve learned to rely so heavily on acupuncture and alternative (or at the very least, integrated) therapies.

It’s because at the end of the day – complete trust in (or total reliance upon) Western medicine has done me far more harm than good. I don’t believe submitting to drug use is the best way to solve every medical problem.

And I loathe antibiotics.

Besides, the natural approach to things has actually been working for me. I had my annual with my regular lady parts doctor yesterday, and even she couldn't deny the improvements I've made over the last few months. She even commented on the reduction of inflammation my most recent ultrasound showed. I could tell she wasn't entirely sold when I explained to her the different methods I've been using to treat endo, but she was quick to admit that something was working and that I should keep doing whatever it was I was doing.

So for the time being, I’m going to try to cope with the exhaustion. And keep an eye on the fever just to make sure it doesn't get too out of hand. If that’s the worst of my symptoms – let's face it, I've handled worse before. Sometimes even at the hands of western medicine treatments.

I'm just going to have to work on listening to my body a little better until whatever this is clears up. Because if I'm being totally honest, pushing to enjoy every second of this weekend with Loo really didn't help matters much.

Which is why I may have taken PTO today - solely to stay in bed being lazy and napping at random intervals.

Still – I’m not hacking, or wheezing, or burning up with fever or pain. I’m fine.

Just tired.

Which to me, means my body is trying to do its job and kick whatever the heck is going on.

For the time being, I’m going to let it.

We’ll reassess again in 6 weeks though – or sooner if things seem to get worse.

As far as those allergy panels I submitted to?

Yeah, um… let’s just say that I’m not so pleased with the results.

Remember how sure I was that I didn’t have any food allergies at all?

And then remember the part from earlier in this post where I acknowledged the fact that sometimes, I might be a little non-observant.

Well, it turns out that I’ve been really non-observant when it comes to certain foods and how they effect my body.

Either non-observant, or totally in denial.

Because according to this report, I’ve got sensitivities to things I’ve never even thought of.

Like chocolate – who the heck has a sensitivity to chocolate?

The way Dr. Naturopath explained these results to me is that people have varying symptoms to food sensitivities – it doesn’t always exhibit as stomach upset. They can present as fatigue, or skin issues, or in ways that most people wouldn’t even detect.

She did say that this list of sensitivities doesn’t necessarily mean I can never have these foods again. Apparently from here, you do an elimination and re-introduction diet with the foods identified. Going a set period of time without the foods mentioned (time periods vary depending on the level of sensitivity – and yep, you guessed it, the highest level of sensitivity for me was dairy) and then reintroducing one item at a time for 3 meals in one day, and watching for symptoms over the next 3 days. If nothing happens that seems too drastic or concerning, that food item can be eaten in moderation. But if the symptoms are noticeable – it gets the boot.

So, here I am. At the start of the elimination period. Giving up things like eggs, and garlic, and citrus, and gluten, and dairy, and peanuts and walnuts, and… and… and… plus a handful of things I don’t care much at all about, like beef and shrimp. I’m doing it, solely because I want to prove to myself that I’m not crazy and that I really don’t have noticeable reactions to any of these foods, but – I’m pretty sure I’m going to be eating bland chicken and lots of spinach over the next few weeks.

I didn’t realize how often I used lemon juice and garlic to cook with until now!

The longest elimination is going to be with Dairy – and that’s only 6 weeks. Dr. Naturopath did say that the test looks at cow’s milk specifically (which I never drink anyway), but that sometimes people with higher sensitivities to cow’s milk still do fine with things like cheese and yogurt because the proteins are broken down differently.

I’m kind of counting on that.

Because while there are plenty of lifestyle changes I am willing to make in the name of better health, I am here to tell you:

A lifetime without another morsel of cheese is not one I’m sure I’m so excited about taking on!

Hope

I've decided I want to live in a quaint little town someday.

One with a quaint little shops.

And quaint little trails.

And quaint little views.

(OK, so there is nothing quaint about that view - but go with me on this one!)

And even a quaint little name.

We had a blast in Hope, AK this weekend.

And took about a million amazing pictures while we were at it.

I'm pretty sure it was the last gorgeous weekend before winter hits.

And I'm pumped I got to spend it with Loo and Liz.

Of course the two pups as well.

But I'm still working on ways to shackle Loo to something solid and unmoving before Wednesday.

She can't leave if she can't even get to the airport.

I'm just sayin'.

And Then I Cried...

Saying "goodbye" is going to be a lot harder than I thought.

Just throwing a few last things in my bag now before we take off on a road trip to Hope, AK.

Hopefully I can keep it together for the rest of the weekend!

Don't Try This at Home

I had a visitor in my yard.

At first he was just eating and ignoring me completely as I snapped away.

But then...

He made it pretty clear I had gotten too close.

Sorry about that dude. Won't happen again, I swear!

You'll Have To Excuse Me While I Disappear...

I have 3 or 4 posts in the works right now.

One about a random conversation I had with an unlikely infertile.

Another about what I've learned recently about hormone treatments and how long they can alter your body’s natural function.

And even one about the ways in which Google actually saved me from a total panicked meltdown today when I got a hold of my blood results a day before my actual consult to go over what they mean.

I have a feeling that tomorrow's appointment is going to lead to an interesting post as well, now that I have gotten a sneak peak at that suspicious blood work of mine.

At the very least, I'm pretty positive that I'll be getting some pretty concrete answers about why I've been so tired lately. I'm just hoping those answers wind up pointing to something far less terrifying than the scenarios I managed to build up in my head this afternoon.

But... It's all going to have to wait.

Loo is moving next Wednesday. Tomorrow night is her going away party, and then Saturday we are getting out of dodge and escaping with another friend to a cabin a few hours away.

A last great Alaskan adventure for my Loo before she leaves me forever.

The truth is, I'm kind of pre-occupied with the goodbye-ness of it all.

And so while I am a little anxious about that blood work and what these results may mean, and while I can't wait to tell you about the things I've learned this week and the people I've met;

You'll have to excuse me while I disappear.

In a perfect world, I'll get you some pictures of our camping adventure Sunday or Monday.

And maybe between then and the big goodbye, I'll manage to pump out a real post or two.

But in reality - I'd say it's going to be a week or so before we return to our regularly scheduled programming around here.

Because I hate goodbyes.

And I have a feeling that this one... It's gonna hurt.

Tough

This one is getting some serious play in my house the last few nights...

Once And For All

The endo diet.

Anyone who has ever done any research on natural treatments for endometriosis has come across this.

It basically involves giving up dairy and gluten, along with a few other staples in the average Americans diet.

In reality, most of it is common sense. A fresh, whole foods diet is what's best for all of us. If we could all convince ourselves to subsist on organic chicken and fresh produce – we would be a fit and fab nation for sure.

Yes, there is science behind it. And most of the items on the do-not-eat list are restricted specifically because they promote inflammation. Which isn’t good for anyone with endometriosis.

But at its core – it’s healthy guidelines for anyone to follow.

I have friends who swear by it. Not only people I’ve met online, but also one of my recently pregnant IVF warriors, and my roommate.

Yes, my roommate has endometriosis. No, that was not a part of the interview process when I started looking for roommates. I swear, we found this shared connection out completely organically, when we both had visits from Jack at the same time the first month in. She has since taken on a lot of the natural treatments I’ve been utilizing, and has astutely stuck to a gluten and dairy free diet with far more commitment than I can typically muster.

Here is my problem with the diet: I struggle to get behind anything that is so completely restrictive of natural food sources. Giving up processed foods is something I can absolutely support (although, I would be lying if I said I don’t have a Taco Bell relapse every few months – even knowing how nasty it is). But when it comes to cutting out entire food groups, I just have a hard time thinking it’s for the best unless someone has a verifiable allergy or sensitivity. Which I have never thought I had.

I personally have never seen any difference in my pain levels when I am giving these things up entirely. I have gone an entire 6 weeks before without letting a single “bad” item cross my lips, and without seeing any improvement at all in my pain levels. In fact, when I was away on my vacation a few months ago, I ate worse than I have in a year. Ten straight days of eating whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. And you had better believe that the majority of what I wanted contained either gluten, or dairy, or both. Not to mention sugar, and booze, and processed crap, and all the other lovely items I tend to avoid on a day to day basis. And when jack paid a visit just a week after my return home, it was actually the easiest visit I had experienced in 4-5 months. Interestingly enough – I started both my visits with the healer, and those two new tinctures I mentioned the other day just a few days before that vacation began. But the diet – it seemed as though giving it up completely had no effect at all on my pain levels.

I have attempted this diet multiple times in the last 2 years, before finally coming to my current food compromise. I keep most of the “bad” items out of my house unless I am really having a craving (and then, I try to go as organic on the dairy as I can, and as whole grain on the gluten as I am able to find), but when I go out to eat with friends or at others houses – I don’t restrict myself. Nor do I expect (or ask) others to make accommodations for me.

This has worked simply because I have a fairly easy time eating “right” on my own, but when I’m socializing with others – I get so much enjoyment out of eating. Out of tasting and talking about the various flavors. Yes – I may be a bit of a foodie (a foodie who still likes Taco Bell – What of it?) I refuse to take that away from myself for something I’ve never actually seen a difference with.

But then there is this voice in the back of my head, telling me that I should be doing it solely because I know other people it has worked for. And also because, every time I have another endo girl ask me if I’m adhering to the diet, I always feel like I have to sheepishly tell them that I’m not sticking to it exactly. And then I feel like they’re judging me. Or thinking I’m not doing enough to be healthy.

Even though I totally am!

OK, so really – I don’t care what other people think of me. Or, I shouldn’t. But… I can’t help that little bit of guilt that creeps in when I have to admit that as much of an advocate for natural treatments for endometriosis as I am, I do not adhere completely to the endo diet.

Which brings me to my point.

Last week when I saw Dr. Naturopath, she ordered a butt-load of blood work to look into that pesky exhaustion problem I’ve been having. She actually said that she was a little concerned because my eyes looked like I may be anemic, but I would be shocked if that was the case. I was a vegetarian for 13 years and never had a problem with anemia. If I find out that I’m now anemic, when I eat healthier and more well rounded meals than I have ever eaten in my life – I’m pitching a fit and downing the largest block of Tillamook I can find in one sitting.

Just saying.

But while she was already doing all that blood work anyway, I asked her if she wouldn’t mind also doing an allergy panel.

I want to know, once and for all, if I have an actual sensitivity to dairy or gluten.

I don’t think I do. Which makes it that much more difficult for me to adhere to the diet. And if I find out I’m right – hopefully I can let go of that voice in my head that tries to make me feel guilty every time I reach for a slice of whole grain bread now.

I want to be able to have a well rounded diet where all of the food groups are represented without feeling like I may be doing something that could exasperate the endometriosis.

And if I know for a fact that I do not have sensitivity – I think I will be able to do that without the guilt that currently accompanies my splurges on parmesan and Gouda.

Of course, if it comes back that I am sensitive – I may just be screwed.

But at least then I think it will be easier for me to stick the diet.

Following the protocol knowing that there is physical proof that it’s what’s best for my body.

Rather than just something I’m doing because everyone else is.

Once and for all, I am going to find out Friday.

And from that point forward, the absence or addition of gluten and dairy in my diet will no longer be such a looming question.

I’ll know.

And once and for all – I’ll be able to determine the future of gluten and dairy in my life.

I really do think it’s all going to come back fine. I truly don’t believe I have any food sensitivities or allergies at all.

But Friday, I’ll know once in for all.

And in the meantime – I better hit up Taco Bell one more time.

Just to be safe.

Just in case, I find out Friday that I really do need to give up my one guilty pleasure.

Once and for all.

The Truth About Trying

Redbook has a pretty incredible campaign that they launched just last night.

The Truth About Trying

And last week, I was honored when I was asked to be a part of it.

I think we all know that I am far more comfortable perched behind my keyboard than my webcam, but for this campaign - it was worth the discomfort.

Even if I can't help but cringing now at the pained look on my face in the video I taped for my contribution.

There are some amazing other videos though, filmed by some amazing women who have all walked this path before.

And now you have the opportunity to share your story as well.

But first - check out the campaign itself and the videos that have already been posted.

Then do the world a favor, and add your own words of wisdom to the cause!

Too Hard For a Monday

I think I deserve a pat on the back.

I’ve been a rock star when it comes to those morning workouts I was dreading so much just a few weeks ago.

Three times a week I’ve been getting up and doing a good/steady running buildup (alternating between jogging and walking, but adding more jogging time every week) for 35 minutes.

At least 2 times a week I’ve been getting up doing a good incline walk for 30 minutes.

And at least 2 nights a week – I’ve also been heading off to Pilates.

Like I said, I’ve been a rock star.

I’m sad to report that I haven’t seen much in the way of weight loss, but I would be lying if I said I’d been “dieting” per se. I’ve been eating pretty good, but after those morning workouts – I’m pretty freaking hungry. So I suppose I’ve been eating more than normal. All sorts of good stuff mind you (my breakfast smoothies are starting to look more and more like a salad I just randomly decided to throw into the blender), but more of it.

And my craving for carbs is… a little bit out of control.

I figure it’s all good, and just a reflection of new muscle building and exertion. I’m cool with that. And all for my body getting stronger, if not slimmer.

Plus – I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that I can’t be expecting the instantaneous results I used to see when I was in my early 20’s.

That’s a hard pill to swallow though!

Still – I’m proud of myself. I have been sticking to a program and doing well. Getting out of bed extra early every morning, and pushing myself.

Hard.

This morning though, I may have pushed too hard.

At least, too hard for a Monday.

I swear, I only ran for 1 minute more than I did on Friday. And my Friday workout went off without a hitch.

But this morning, as I finished off that extra minute of running, I realized I had gone too far.

It was all I could do to walk out the last 5 minutes in a cool down. And I had to do that at a turtles speed.

Then, I proceeded to collapse on my floor.

Face down.

(Courtesy of fitsugar.com)

Where I remained for a good thirty minutes.

Dead. Pathetic. And pushing the boundaries on the amount of time I actually need to get ready for work.

When I finally pulled myself up, it was with great effort. When I dragged myself to the shower, I never wanted to leave. And when my roommate asked me how in the heck I was possibly running so late when I had gotten up so early –

I told her I had died.

And that she really should have burst into my room to rescue me at some point.

I then apologized for being overdramatic. At which point we both laughed, and she sarcastically quipped “Oh no… you’re never overdramatic.”

It’s possible… only possible… that I sometimes overdramatize certain aspects of my life.

But only for the sake of humor of course.

This morning, I didn’t actually die.

I don’t think.

But I did push too hard for a Monday. And that one extra minute – it crippled me for the rest of the day.

In fact, here I am right now, at 7 on a Monday night, wanting nothing more than to take a hot bath, or fall asleep.

So long as neither require any level of physical exertion from me that is.

I pushed too hard for a Monday.

Which means that tomorrow’s workout:

Is going to be a fun one.

Arbonne Book Party and Giveaway

Ever used (and loved) Arbonne products? Or looking for a new skincare product to try?

I'm hosting an Arbonne Holiday Shopping Party over on the community. Check out the details and look through the product line - I love this stuff, so hopefully you will too!

Bonus: Everyone who places an order will be eligible for a giveaway the consultant is offering.

Check out the details here.

I hope you'll join in on the fun!

Someone Like You

I had a blast from the past last week.

One that I wasn’t expecting.

One that kind of caught me off guard.

And one that left me thinking about someone I honestly hadn’t thought about in quite some time.

I was going through an application for a new hire at work. Part of what I do is vet new employees before they come on board. This includes conducting background checks and reference calls.

It’s funny though, because in all the time I’ve been doing this – I’ve never come across a name I know. You would think it would happen fairly frequently simply because of Anchorage being so small, but it’s never actually occurred.

Until last week – when I looked down at an application and realized that the name and number staring back at me under "references" belonged to the ex.

The truth is, I could have skipped over calling him. Or even asked one of my co-workers to do it for me. There were 2 other names and numbers listed. I didn’t need to call him.

But seeing his name, it made me smile. I was flooded with nothing but good memories. It was like enough time had finally passed, that there was no longer any sadness associated with him at all. I kind of liked the idea of hearing his voice. Of hearing that he was happy. That things were going well. And of laughing over how small a world this little town we live in is.

I suppose I thought that enough time had passed where we could have a professional conversation without it being weird.

The last time we connected was earlier this year, shortly after I found out he was in a relationship. We spoke a few times, and met up once. There was no bad blood between us. No anger or hurtful words thrown. In reality, I think things parted between us as amicably as one could possibly have hoped. We talked about a lot of things that we probably should have discussed before. Cleared the air in many ways. Even discussed my maintaining relationships with his family, and he let me know that would be fine. That they loved me and he would never ask me to pull back from them knowing how much they meant to me. He was happy. And I was trying my best to be happy for him.

It’s true that at the time, I was absolutely not over what we had.

That in reality, I wasn’t fully convinced we were really over.

And that it killed me to think of him with someone else.

I’m not sure I believed then that I would ever really get over him. I had never felt for anyone what I felt for him. Never really seen a future with someone, and then had to force myself to walk away from that. I wasn’t sure it was possible.

But it happened. I moved on. Let go. Allowed myself to see that relationship for exactly what it was; my first real love. But clearly not the man I was meant to spend my forever with.

It’s funny because whenever something makes me think of him now, it’s never with the same heartache that I once felt. I’m over him, and what we had. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about him. Or that I don’t now look back on what we had, and the way he treated me, with fondness.

Because the truth is that what we had, before I messed it all up, was really something great. No one had ever treated me the way he had. No one had ever been so tender, and protective, and loyal, and good to me. I never questioned how he felt about me. Never wondered if he would betray me. Or let me down. I knew how he felt, and while I didn’t feel safe in much else at that point in my life – I did feel safe in that. In him.

I truly believe he taught me what I should be looking for. And how to hold on to it when I find it.

He served a huge purpose in my life, and now – I can’t help but look back on that time (all of it – the good, bad, and ugly) and smile.

All while recognizing that we’re both better off exactly where we are now.

I moved on. I wasn’t sure it was possible, but I did it.

I let go of my first love, and now I have nothing but good thoughts of him left. I want for him to be happy, and fulfilled, and in love. I think that’s exactly what he deserves.

Needless to say, he never did call me back. When I made the call, I left him a message saying that I had other references I could check, so if he didn’t feel comfortable returning my call – I understood.

And I did.

He’s happy now. Moved on. Content. And it didn’t surprise me that he decided not to revisit that blast from the past – no matter how professional the reasons for contact may have been. If anything, it made me smile more. Because the guy I remembered loving was kind of amazingly loyal like that. And I much prefer to think of him in that light now, than in any other.

Things did not end between us on bad terms. There was no bad blood, and I would hope that if and when we do actually run into each other around this small town of ours – a few friendly words could be exchanged.

But we’ve both moved on. Which is really kind of incredible when you think about it.



When I first bought the Adele album way back when, this song immediately made me think of him. It was when I was first really trying to move on, knowing that he already had. I remember thinking the song had been written for me, because the words spoke so true to what I was feeling at the time.

It must just recently have become the new single, because in the past week I’ve noticed it all over the radio. Almost haunting me. I had to laugh one day when it was the song I woke up to in the morning, and then it proceeded to greet me the next 3 times I got in my car that day as well.

Alaska has a knack for over-playing songs on the radio, that’s for sure.

I remember feeling such sadness the first time I heard it though. Relating to every word. Wanting to be happy for him. For them. Wanting to walk away with grace, but also thinking to myself that he was exactly what I wanted. And that I didn’t know how to let go.

For everything the ex and I went through (all the ups and downs and an inability to find our way back to something that really had been so good), I knew I wanted to find someone like him. Someone who treated me as well as he had.

It’s weird though… realizing that you really have moved on from someone you once loved so much.

Can’t say it’s anything I ever actually experienced until now.

But I like it. It’s a good feeling. Almost liberating. Empowering. Healing.

The ex was kind of a big deal in my life. And I really am finally happy for him. For whatever happiness he can find.

Knowing full well – I’ve got plenty of happiness of my own now too.

And plenty more still to come.

Dormant

I’ve had this post half written and floating around in my head for the last month.

Afraid to commit to it.

To put it out into the universe.

To profess my belief that it may be true, only to have it come bite me in the butt the next time Jack’s in town.

I didn’t want to say it out loud (or rather – commit it to my keyboard) and risk looking stupid if in a month I’m once again complaining about pain.

But… I don’t think I’m going to be.

Three months ago, I was nervous.

Maybe even moving into the realm of downright scared.

I was hurting. More and more every month. Simply ovulating was bringing me to my knees. Actual visits from Jack were becoming unbearable. My day to day pain was increasing. And ultrasounds were showing what I couldn’t help but believe was the proof that the endo was returning.

Already. So soon after the surgery I had been hoping would mean relief for at least a few years.

And then there was that lovely night in the hospital. A burst cyst, an arrogant doctor, and the realization that here I was. Again. Having to deal with this disease and the pain and destruction it was capable of bringing with it.

At that point, it’s fair to say I was ready to throw my hands up in the air and give up. Convinced that nothing I ever did would help me to “win” against this disease so bent on bringing me down.

But I tried anyway. Not because I had much left in the way of hope, but because I felt like I couldn’t just throw in the towel.

This is my life after all. And no matter what, I couldn’t just condemn myself to a life of pain.

So, I finally took Teeny’s advice and I saw the healer. At the same time, I met up with Dr. Naturopath and began taking two new tinctures on her recommendation daily.

Between those two things, I began to see relief almost right away. Which was hard for me to acknowledge. Hard for me to believe. Nothing I had done in the past had ever produced results so quickly.

But as the weeks passed, my pain began to dissipate almost as quickly as it had increased. And my visits from Jack became less and less vengeful, leading us to this last visit where I was definitely still in a bit of discomfort, but nowhere near the level of pain I had been feeling before. In fact, I managed to go the entire time without popping so much as a single Ibuprofen.

Let alone the good stuff.

About a month ago the healer was working on me when she said “Your endometriosis has gone dormant.”

The word lingered in the air – not one I had ever really heard attributed to this disease.

“When I first started working on you” she continued, “I could literally feel the inflammation and diseased tissue beneath your skin. It was like a web of destruction that I could sense as soon as I touched anywhere that was affected. But now, it’s quiet. I can tell it’s still there, but it’s dying down – dormant. We’ve played defense, and won. Now we just have to change up our strategy and kill what’s in there before it has a chance to flare back up. But right now – you have the upper hand on this disease.”

Trust me, I know how it sounds. And I get that there are those out there rolling their eyes upon reading this. Refusing to believe. Thinking I’m crazy for trusting in any of it at all.

I’ll admit, I have a hard time wrapping my head around how this woman can sense the things she can. At my core, I am a logical person. I like to have things explained to me in details that I can understand. Someone simply sensing energies and vibrations doesn’t really register with me. Once upon a time, not so long ago, I actually had to be convinced to give even acupuncture a try.

Believing in this kind of thing is not something that comes naturally to me at all.

But I know what I was feeling just a few months ago.

And I know what I’m feeling now.

There are only two things I changed in that time – weekly visits with the healer, and a few drops 3 times daily of two tinctures Dr. Naturopath made up for me at the height of the pain.

For those who are curious, one of those tinctures is Turska’s Formula, and the other is a mix of Leonurus, Taraxacum, Zonthoxylum, and Vitex. Either is something a naturopath in your area could probably make up for you if you inquired.

In the last week I have also added Pycnogenol (Pine Tree Bark Extract) at the suggestion of Dr. Cook, and in an effort to keep the endo at bay. But the relief I was feeling came about long before that.

Don’t get me wrong – I still credit Dr. Cook fully for any relief I am feeling at all. I know that when I first saw him, I was in the most excruciating pain I have been in at any point along this journey. The surgery he performed on me lasted almost 5 hours. He had to remove endometriosis from my entire abdominal cavity, finding it even up by my spleen. My bowel and uterus were completely fused together, and the work he did was exceptional. I don’t believe I would be feeling any relief at all right now, had he not done such a phenomenal job of cleaning me up out in the first place. I am thankful every single day for the events that led me to him. No matter what I’m doing now, I don’t think it could have combated the extent of disease I had then.

But I also know what I was feeling just a few months ago. I know I wasn’t crazy. I know I wasn’t making it up. And I know what I have seen on the multiple ultrasounds I have had in that time.

I believe with every ounce of my being that I was having an endo flare up, and that those cysts on my ovaries are in fact endometriomas. I believe that the aggressiveness of this disease was coming out full force with me again, and that if I hadn’t done or changed anything – in a few months time I would have been right back where I started.

Now obviously I have no way of knowing this for sure. And without another surgery (which I hope I am years, if not a lifetime, away from ever having to face again) I clearly can’t even prove that what I was feeling a few months ago was endo.

I can’t tell you anything for sure – and so if there are skeptics out there, I completely understand.

But what I know is that for 4 or 5 months in a row, I was having to take a Percocet every time I ovulated. The pain was getting that bad. For the last two months though – I wouldn’t even have known I had ovulated at all had it not been for the period tracker on my phone telling me where in my cycle I was.

I know that over the summer, my visits from Jack were completely knocking me out. Reducing my ability to function, and requiring of me days of pill popping simply to get through. Jack’s visit two months ago resulted only in a few well time Ibuprofen’s and a heating pad though, and this last visit was entirely pain pill free and landed me only 2 days of needing to treat myself with a little extra rest and care.

I know that I was feeling daily back and hip pain again. That my belly was starting to ache with that tell-tale pain of inflammation and disease. And now, while I can’t tell you that I am entirely out of back and hip pain, I can tell you that it is incredibly reduced. Something I am hardly ever even noticing unless I am truly forcing myself to pay attention to and analyze it.

There are huge differences in my pain levels, so when the healer tells me that the endo is currently dormant – I believe her.

Dr. Naturopath does too. I had a visit with her this week, and I sheepishly explained what the healer had said and some of the methods she’s been using during our sessions.

Dr. Naturopath is like me. Despite the line of work she is in, she is a logical woman. Yes, she looks for more natural methods, but typically only those where she can logically identify how they work. She has more than once in the past shot down various ideas I’ve read about online or picked up from the very little I know about Eastern Medicine.

But when I told her what the healer had said (and who the healer was – the two do actually know each other in this small world that Anchorage is), she said “I believe her. I’ve never known anyone so in tune with other people’s bodies. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around, but I’ve seen some incredible things from some of what she is doing. I believe anything she is saying.” And then, just for good measure, she slid my most recent hormone panel across the desk.

The one I peed in a bucket for just 3 weeks ago.

The one that paints a near perfect picture of my hormones.

Like normal lady hormones.

There are a few small elevations here and there, but nothing to get excited about. And nothing that would have any effect at all on the endometriosis.

And when compared to my panels from just 6 months ago (and certainly my panels from last year), the difference in how my hormones are functioning is incredible.

Especially when you consider the fact that just 3 months ago, I was actually considering succumbing to hormonal treatments – despite how many times I have sworn I would never put my body through that again. I was that desperate to avoid falling down the path of pain once more.

Yet here we are – damn near perfect hormones. All on my own.

Well, on my own with just a little bit of help from Dr. Naturopath, the healer, Teeny, and of course Dr. Cook that is.

I spoke to Loo about all of this, and I swear that friend of mine swelled with pride. “You’re beating endometriosis.” She proclaimed. “And you’re doing it naturally.” Pretty sure she gave me a giant hug after that.

Because once upon a time, I said this is what I wanted to do. And people looked at me like I was crazy. My gynecologist (who I love, but who I know has a hard time understanding why I insist on doing things this way), readers here, even my dad – who I know loves me, but trusts far more in the miracles of modern day medicine than in all this crazy hippy shit I manage to come up with.

But it’s working. Something is working.

Because I’m not in pain.

My hormones are looking great.

And this disease is dormant.

Now… about how the healer suggests we formulate our next plan of attack.

The one where we wipe out this disease entirely and destroy those cysts organically.

Without drugs, or surgery, or heavy interventions of any kind.

It involves me embracing essential oils. And making my own suppositories. With Frankincense of all things.

It’s bizarre. And disturbing. And so far out of my comfort zone it’s not even funny.

Plus, it’s making my cootch smell a bit like a dirty hippy.

And I only wish I was joking about that.

But at this point – I’m willing to try anything. Especially if the healer is prescribing it.

Because I can’t help it – I buy into whatever it is that woman is selling.

Don’t worry though. I ran this plan (and all the less savory elements) by Dr. Naturopath this week. And while she laughed, she said she saw no reason to believe any of this could cause any harm.

So she was supportive of it. If only because she knows the healer.

And because she knows – we’re doing something right.

Because I’m not hurting.

And my hormone levels are “normal”.

And it’s kind of hard to deny that one beautiful word:

Dormant.

Can You Feel This?

I had an interesting appointment with the vaginatherapist today.

And believe it or not, the things we learned had absolutely nothing to do with my vagina.

In fact, it’s almost misleading to continue to call her the vaginatherapist, because the truth is – the last few appointments we haven’t been focused on my lady bits at all.

Don’t tell the devirginator that though… I’m pretty sure he gets through his days by chuckling at the thought of me getting PT for my cootchie.

And it’s not even that the PT for my cootchie is no longer necessary. It’s just that the vaginatherapist is kind of great in the fact that she doesn’t necessarily believe the issues down there are symptomatic only of complications down there.

She happens to think it’s all (as in – the body as whole) a little more linked than that. And given the fact that I have past injuries that also seem to be tying into some of the pain I have (namely – 3 cracked vertebrae’s when I was 18, and a broken tailbone when I was a kid), she has started working on pinpointing where exactly some of my muscle dysfunctions are originating from. She thinks it’s all connected (the down there muscle spasms and low back pain included). Even though those other injuries haven’t really bothered me at all in quite some time (I hadn’t thought about the fact that I once busted my tailbone in ages), she believes that between my surgeries and the endo – the perfect storm occurred to recruit those other injuries into the mix and make it all a big jumbled mess.

One where some of my muscles don’t seem to be working at all, and others seem to be working overtime in order to overcompensate.

Basically, the vagina therapist thinks that if we can pinpoint the line where all these issues are being connected, we can work from there out to alleviate the dysfunction.

I know I’m doing a crap job of explaining this, but I promise you – when she explains it to me, it makes perfect sense.

And this is why the vagina therapist has spent a lot my time analyzing my back over the last few weeks rather than my… well, my vagina.

Today she had me stripped down to a sports bra and shorts though, as she was poking around on my back and asking me to perform various movements. The goal of course being that she wanted to be able to feel how the muscles in my back were working together (or not working together) as I was doing them.

When I was performing one relatively simple bending forward motion, I felt a sharp pain in my back. So just as she had requested, I let her know that whatever I was doing hurt.

“Where?” she asked.

I immediately responded with “Right where you’re poking.” I could feel her finger on my spine, and it just so happened to be exactly where the sharp pain was occurring.

I was sure she must be able to feel some tightness there.

But she sounded confused and said “The whole area?”

And I said “No. Just right where your finger is. It’s isolated right there in that spot.”

Still confused, she said “Which spot?”

And I, now frustrated, repeated again “Right where your finger is!”

She paused for a second and then came around to face me. She asked how many fingers I thought she had on my back. I am pretty sure I looked at her like she was an idiot before saying “One. Maybe two, but if it was two they were pushed right up next to each other.” I then demonstrated what I meant by holding out my pointer and middle finger crossed one right over the other.

She looked at me for a second like she was trying to assess how much I really believed this. And then she formed her hand into a claw-like gesture with all 4 fingers spread wide apart. She said “This is how I had my fingers on your back. Each finger on a different vertebrae. Could you really not feel that?”

Now I was questioning myself. Surely I felt that and just got confused, right?

“Do it again.” I said – thinking that of course I would feel the difference now that I knew what she was doing.

But when she put her hand on my back again, all I could feel was the pressure of one finger.

Maybe 2.

Certainly not 4.

And definitely not spread across my entire lower back.

She began actually poking my back with just 1 finger. Questioning with each movement when I could and couldn’t feel it. When she was working with just 1 finger, I was able to tell every time she touched my back – no matter where she was touching. But there was a definite difference in how I felt those pokes. In certain areas of my back, it was like I was aware of the pressure but couldn’t feel the actual touch. Kind of like how your mouth feels after a trip to the dentist. You can tell when you’re touching your jaw, but not because you actually feel the touch.

That’s exactly how this was.

And any time she had more than one finger on me, I couldn’t tell how many she was using or how close or far apart they were placed. It kind of always just felt like one finger to me – like all the different pressures combined into a single sensation.

After playing around with the different vertebrae’s for a while and almost testing my ability to tell what she was doing, she came around and faced me before saying “It’s fascinating. I’ve read studies about people with back pain whose brains actually shut off receptors in their back in an attempt to diminish the pain, but I’ve never really studied or seen it myself. Very cool.”

I had to laugh at that point. She was genuinely excited. Or maybe not excited, but definitely enthralled.

By me. And my back. And my inability to feel her fingers poking around.

I wasn’t so much enthralled. In fact, I was kind of freaked out. It made me nervous that I really hadn’t been able to feel much of what she was doing. Don’t get me wrong, when she increased pressure – I definitely felt it. And I’m not sure we ever even would have discovered this at all had it not been for the fluke of me trying to tell her where I was feeling pain while her hands were actually on me. It’s not like you could poke me in the back with a needle or lit match and I wouldn’t know. It was nothing that drastic. I still have feeling back there, it’s just… greatly reduced.

At the end of the day, this isn’t exactly a serious problem either. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose I would definitely prefer to have less receptors back there than more (since when I do have pain, it so often ends up culminating in my lower back). It’s just… weird. More than anything, it’s weird. Not necessarily anything that has to be fixed, or that points to any more serious issues beyond what we're alrea working on.

Just the body’s weird way of coping. Which I guess is kind of cool.

The only real drawback that I can see?

If I were a kid, and playing that game where someone writes something on your back with their finger and you have to guess what it is – I would lose.

Every time.

Other than that, I suppose it's not really that big of a deal.

Just this weird thing the vaginatherapist and I discovered one day when she was poking around at my back instead of my...

Well, you know.

No one Ever Said That Life Would Be Fair...

But sometimes, it’s just downright brutal.

Some of you will remember that last year, during my frozen cycle, I met up with some other endo girls in Seattle. They came to my hotel room and we spent the night gabbing with friends who “got” it. It was an incredible relief to have people there to talk to who understood this disease and wanted only to support me as I was laying low post cycle.

A while back I mentioned Elizabeth. One of those girls who had been there that night, and who had gotten pregnant with twins going to the same clinic I had gone to. A few days after their birth though, her son stopped breathing. Two weeks later he passed away in the hospital. It was heartbreaking and shocking and so very very unfair.

Elizabeth has been doing incredibly well since that point in time, and has proven herself to be one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. Her daughter has also thrived and is a happy, healthy baby.

But still… no one ever expects to bring home a healthy baby only to lose them a few days later. Life just shouldn’t work like that. Not for anyone, but especially not for anyone who has had to work so hard for that happiness in the first place.

One of the other girls who was also there that night had her first IVF cycle earlier this year. And it worked. She became pregnant with twins. And even though there have been a few scares along the way, things seemed to be going well.

She lost them yesterday though. At 20 weeks. Her little boy was gone before he even arrived in this world, and her little girl had only 20 minutes with her mom and dad before she joined her brother.

No one ever said that life would be fair.

But I’m struggling to understand why it should ever have to be so damn cruel.

If you have any love, or prayers, or healing thoughts to send, I’m sure there is a hurting mother over at Miss Conception who could use whatever support she could get right now.

Because life just isn’t fair.

And yesterday, it took a cruel twist into the realm of heartache that no one should ever have to face.

Three for Two

You read that right.

Not Two for Two.

Nope.

Three for Two.

I didn't even know it was possible, but for all my wishing and hoping and praying - I got a bonus.

Wonder what I’m talking about yet?

Pregnancies of course!

Friend B took a pregnancy test on Monday and sent me a video with her 2 beautiful lines.

And I immediately let out a huge sigh of relief.

There was a point during her cycle that really knocked me down. It was the one real breakdown she had, just after being told that the 9 eggs which were retrieved the day before had been reduced to only 3 embryos.

And when I called her after the text update and heard her tears, I about lost it myself.

Because I remembered being there. Remembered feeling that loss. Remembered the fear that accompanied such a drastic drop in numbers.

And I also remembered how going through all of this and coming out empty handed hurt more than anything else I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.

I knew then more than ever that I never, and I mean never, wanted to see anyone I cared about go through that.

Even if the alternative meant feeling that pang of jealousy if they succeeded where I had failed.

I was far more prepared for that than for watching a close friend of mine feel the same heartache I did last year.

Twice.

So when I got that video, I was genuinely filled with pure and unadulterated happiness.

She had her beta this morning, and everything is looking good. Her numbers were even high enough that we might just be looking at a two-fer.

Although, only time will tell on that for sure.

So there you have it. Both friends that I had pursuing IVF in the last month have succeeded.

Leaving me once again as the odd man out.

Wondering why it worked for them, but not for me.

I’m OK with that though. Really. Especially because it’s so much better than the alternative.

I never wanted to see either one of them fail.

That makes us two for two though.

Are you wondering where the three came from?

Mrs. King called me a few weeks ago.

She and her hubby are pregnant.

This will be baby number 3 for them.

I would have said something earlier, but since I’ve talked about her here in the past and we have shared friends who read in this space – I didn’t want to be the one giving her away before she had told everyone herself.

Last week she made it Facebook official with an ultrasound pic though, so I’m pretty sure it’s safe.

And that makes us three for two.

Three of my close friends in Alaska – pregnant.

All within a few weeks of each other.

And have I mentioned lately that Loo is leaving? My one single and childless friend up here. Moving to Texas in just 2 weeks.

To get married and live her happily ever after.

Besides her, these 3 now-pregnant ladies are definitely the ones I spend the majority of my time with and talking to.

And they are all knocked up.

Can you see where this is going?

So far, I have avoided a complete breakdown. I actually had dinner with friends A and B on Saturday night, and it was fine. I got myself a flight of wine and joked that they could be pregnant, but I was drinking for 3.

Just for the record – I most certainly did not drink for 3.

It was fine though. We talked, laughed, and had fun. Plus – I totally had built in DD’s.

I’m happy for them. I really am. I wanted this for them.

But… man my heart aches right now.

Because I’m jealous.

And feel left out.

And like the only failure.

Like somehow I did something wrong – and that’s why it didn’t work for me even though it did for them.

Because I didn't deserve it enough. Or I wasn't careful enough. Or I just plain didn't try hard enough.

Even though I know I did...

And with Mrs. King added to the mix, I have to admit – all I want is to be pregnant right now with them.

All I can think about is how great it would be to have our babies together.

To raise them together.

To send them to school together.

To watch them grow up together.

I’m jealous.

And I feel left out.

And I want to be a part of the club.

And I am terrified it is only going to get worse as all of their bellies grow.

But I swear – I’m doing a pretty good job of swallowing most of that down.

Pushing it away and replacing it with my very real elation for these friends of mine.

Trying not to dwell on the fact that for the next year I am going to be inundated with all things pregnancy and baby related. And it will be up to me to let the happiness and joy outweigh the jealousy. Because my friends deserve that from me. And because those babies deserve that from everyone.

I have to let the happiness win out.

All the while knowing that I will never really be able to relate.

I am going to be a very busy auntie.

And I’m happy about that. I swear.

It’s just… I’m also a little heartbroken.

Because it’s not me.

And because I so desperately want it to be.

Three for Two.

It’s a blessing.

The only outcome I really would have wanted.

Three friends. All pregnant.

Together. At the same time.

Without me.

But I’m happy.

I swear.

Feeling Punchy

Pretty sure it’s not a word.

But it definitely describes how I’m feeling today.

And I can’t even really explain why.

I can tell you that I want to ball my fists up and sock someone in the chin though.

(Courtesy of cse.dmu.ac.uk)

Or slap them across the face.

Or karate chop them in the trachea.

Or Judo kick them in the gut.

Basically, I’m feeling punchy.

And not towards anyone in particular.

More towards everyone in general.

I also don’t really want to hurt anyone - just for the record. I swear.

I just… I have this pent up energy (which I suppose is good after a month of exhaustion), but for real… I am feeling an aggressive need to work it all out.

Punchy if you will.

To be fair, I’ve never been in an actual physical altercation with anyone.

In my entire life.

If I ever was, I’m pretty sure I would lose.

And fast.

Because let’s face it – I’m not so tough.

Despite the punchy feeling.

I talk a big game, but if there ever was a real threat of physical contact – I would likely wind up in a fetal position on the ground crying out for them to leave my face alone.

Because I kind of like my face.

Still… I’m feeling punchy.

Like I could use a good old fashioned wrestling session.

The kind where whoever it is letting me toss them around takes into consideration the fact that I have the reflexes of a stroke patient and the upper body strength of 6 year old.

Scary – right?

Instead though, I’m heading to Pilates.

And wishing it was kickboxing.

Or… kickboxing for dummies. If there is such a thing.

Because I’m pretty sure if I took an actual kickboxing class, I would fall.

A lot.

Which just isn't so punchy after all now, is it?