Sarcomical

the bullet points...

Oh my lord, but the tune never changes. "Hello, wee blog; in the mess you got left behind, so sorry blah blah blah..." Ah, well. Moving along.

Basically, this has been my summer, in progression:

• no SarcomiBebeh
• a bit of yoga
• a few crappy farmers markets
• i need to get out of indiana and this stupid subdivision
• puppy dental surgery
• Florence & The Machine concert
• pescetarian
• i refuse to be consumed/defined merely by my current (non)maternal state
• artistic frustration
• vocation & adoption research
• mindfulness practice
• hey, i feel pretty good about myself
• no SarcomiBebeh yet
• potato chips
• treadmill treadmill treadmill
• obsessive trips to Half Price Books
• Paul McCartney concert
• blissblissbliss
• i hate anyone with a baby
• The Head & The Heart concert
• hell no, i have to give up coffee?!?
• Saturday brunches with The Husband
• Big Brother
• doctor appointments
• excessive highlights
• still no SarcomiBebeh
• ICED VENTI SOY LATTE, please
• depressive movie marathons
• Starbucks pumpkin loaf (i hate the word loaf)
• back to yoga
• adoption research
• i am so tired of thinking about this
• pumpkin loaf
• decision to stay away from IVF & clomid
• return to acupuncturist
• stunning, beautiful, exhausting adventure in Banff, Canada (photos coming)
• back in the routine
• eager to mix up the routine
• [except for the pumpkin loaf]
• acupuncture as well as fertility specialist appointments booked
• workshops at the Writer's Center
• crazy yoga arm balances - this is my year, right?
• determined to be present and fully unafraid of trying everything

• attempts at yoga & treadmill running

and now, for some actual words...

i've been taking the easy way out. i've been posting photos, photos, photos (okay hey, they ARE fun and i do really want to share all of the things we did on our trip) but the truth is there's quite a bit going on here.

or...NOT going on here, in terms of the SarcomiBaby Experiment.

we've been unsuccessfully on a wait-and-see/do-what-we-can-in-the-meantime path since i had The Procedure (laparoscopy) ten months ago. i tried acupuncture for about four months, changed some things in my diet and have kept track of everything ad nauseum. then i moved on to the "aw, screw it" approach after we finally decided that perhaps talking, eating, reading babybabybabystuff 24/7 was not exactly how we wanted to live and may in fact be driving me a little bit over the edge. so we began to obsess less about physical logistics and making sure i was eating/doing/reading/timing/tracking everything to the point of becoming a ball of baby-obsessed nerves that jumped when you looked at it funny...and instead tried to ease up a bit for a few months to allow us step back and regather our serenity.

and so we are here. 35 and 36, kind of freaking out about being over 40 when we have a 5-year old at best. not that there's anything fundamentally objectionable about that for us - i mean, we're the ones who waited until a couple of years ago to really do something about this seriously, but still it does create a bit of a freakout when i read my diary from age 9 where i marveled at my mom turning THIRTY. so...yeah. it feels a bit weird for both of us i suppose since we had such young parents.

and then there's the fact that we're talking adoption. the truth is, even when we were in our 20's and weren't thinking about kids, we both agreed on our mutual interest in adoption someday, whether we had our own children or not, so of course that is becoming a high priority for us as we realize we're probably talking 2-3 years to complete the process. even if we got pregnant before then, i still think we'd want to go through with it. so now here we are at the crux of several very costly and emotional processes, adoption and possibly an attempt at IUI, which i was supposed to have done around january, but i was very hesitant after reading about the success rates and what all that Clomid meant for women with endometriosis.

sigh.

but no, i do want to be hopeful and positive. my tendency when faced with things that are overwhelming is to hide, crawl into a quiet cave and hibernate until all's clear. but obviously in this case, that will only mean waiting longer and longer and reducing our chances of either route to parenthood more and more. sooo...we're pushing forward. i've been returning to yoga and trying to get as healthy as possible for what is coming up, and i plan to go back to my acupuncturist as well. and then there are the doctors...

there you go. that is one of the things i've been up to lately.

What I Got

"I am afraid to show you who I really am, because if I show you who I really am, you might not like it--and that's all I got."
—Sabrina Ward Harrison (Spilling Open: The Art of Becoming Yourself)

I'm trying to decide if I still ever feel this way...

I like to think that, as I am approaching a birthday very many women do not like (35), I have grown into myself. Sure, that would be nice.

At the very least I think I've evolved, in my already-established relationships, to a level of genuineness and comfort - not comfort with THEM, but comfort with ME. As in, not trying to put on a performance in order to impress and be liked, not exerting energy toward judgment ("I can't believe she thinks that is normal!"), refusing to nurse negative-energy relationships and not being afraid to be a little imperfect.

But really, those things don't cover the SHOWING YOU WHO I REALLY AM idea, do they?

I am not generally, in real life, a spiller. I won't sit down with you over tea and share my latest emotional struggle, tell you about the last fight the Mister and I had (that started over english muffins), or confide my Dark Day moments to you. See, a long time ago, I sort of was that person. I was younger and thought of that as connection and was eager for advice. But along the way, I began to realize that some people love to feed off the drama of your life for reasons that are not altogether altruistic or helpful. I also started to see how hasty I was by letting all of Myself out like laundry on the line, when it actually feels good to hold some of you close and warm, tumbling in the privacy of your soul as you grow with each moment survived and learned from. Not Every One needs to know Every Thing.

I suppose in this way, there are things I do hold back...but I'm not sure that means I'm holding back who I am from the people I care about. I like to think of it as working on learning to cultivate peace and balance in my life and trying to make that what I put out more than the opposite. No, I'm not all Zen-Master of Om with friends; I still toss out a wry comment here or a sarcastic wisecrack there and DO I EVER ENJOY IT, but as far as personal drama and hardship? I'd much rather be there to support you in yours than talk about mine.

Honestly, probably the thing I show others the very least is the fact that I am still figuring out WHO this person is. I've still got some questions about mySELF, questions that have gone unanswered for too long because of a muddled youth or a clouded mind or a traumatized spirit or a timid heart or any number of other culprits that basically boil down to ME. There is no one else who can clear this up, and that's been my journey for the past couple of years - well, almost 35 of them, I guess.

Showing that I don't have this self figured out completely yet...that is probably what I don't show most of all.

Thanksgiving at the mother-in-law's so far...

Number of bars of service on both of our cell phones: 0

Pounds of turkey prepared: 18

Number of inappropriate dinner conversations: 4

Number of "disagreements" about Sarah Palin: 2

Varieties of potatoes: 4

Number of times Grandma Bonnie has asked me where we live: 9

Number of times Grandma Bonnie has asked Mr. Sarcomical if I'm his first wife: 2

Varieties of stuffing: 2

Number of Christmas trees in this house: 8

Number of dogs in this house: 7

Number of canine scuffles resulting in broken skin: 1

Number of times I've had to turn down pistachio pudding: 5

Approximate number of hours I have spent in my cozy, cozy sweats: 10

Tap

Two days ago I experienced acupuncture for the very first time. For some reason, I'd had zero (ZERO) concern or fleeting thought about whether or not it would be uncomfortable. Yes, that's what I said; I didn't even think about the needle aspect. I honestly think I've been much more preoccupied with the fact that I'm starting a cycle of Clomid this week for the first time, which was partly why I had made the decision to venture into that office if only to aid in managing the stress and offset the crazy emotional fallout I've heard can accompany that process. So then it hadn't occurred to me, oddly enough, that this might remotely be painful. I didn't think about it, that is, until the nice tiny woman in the white coat, three needles in hand, said, "It doesn't hurt as much as people think it does."

WHAT.

The truth is, it didn't hurt. Much. The first three needles were tapped into the cartilage of my ear. I'm not going to lie, at that moment I started to feel a tinge of panic. Wait...was that panic or a white-hot burning sensation on the right side of my head? Well, let's call it a draw. Honestly, it was manageable, and once she had done the other side, everything else was easy. EVEN THE ONE ON TOP OF MY HEAD. Yes, after placing a needle between my eyes where I am perpetually scrunching in concentration, she moved above my head. "Whoa, hold on, whatcha doin up there Tiny White Coat Lady?" was all I had time to think before she tapped a single needle into the center of my skull. I felt like Frankenstein getting a bolt inserted...except for the fact the I didn't feel a single thing. What a bizarre sensation.

By the time she finished I was a 13-needle pincushion, and she told me I had 20 minutes to lay and relax as she shut off the lights and turned up some spa music. And OH SWEET SWEET SUNBALLS she turned on a heat lamp and aimed it over my torso, and after a few minutes I felt like I was spread out in a sunny field like in those allergy commercials.

I didn't ever fully fall asleep during the 20 minutes (which felt like 10); but that may have been partly because I kept hearing Mr. S. move around (yes, he came in support even thought that meant he had to watch his wife get impaled). Just when I was getting to the point where I thought "Ahhhh...here we go, I'm going to have myself a nice little nap now", she came back in and said it was time to take them all out. It was over. And while I wasn't expecting to feel completely different right away, I was surprised that I didn't really feel that different at all. In fact, the headache I'd had when we arrived was still in full force. She had told me that I could expect to feel better emotionally after the first visit, but by the time we got home with takeout pad thai I still wasn't noticing much of a difference in my state of mind.

That evening though, and these two days since, I have felt a major ease in my inner chatter, which had been riddled with anxieties the past few months, and I am finding that I do in fact feel very calm and at peace, despite the fact that I am now on day three of my first 5-day Clomid prescription, which is supposed to mess with you in quite an ugly way. The tales of psychopathic rants and frightened husbands huddled shakily in dark corners have been well-documented in blogdom, and I was not looking forward to the possibility of hellfire raining upon the SarcomiHaus for a few weeks. I know, I know...I'm only on day three, but I'm optimistic, especially knowing I have another session with Tiny White Coat Lady on Monday. She promises more needles, so...

Eeep.

Only embarassing if you are alive...

Here's a little something that's been keeping me busy lately:

Babies.

Oh, fantastic. A post about babies. LAME. WHO likes babies? Who wants to hear about stupid, cute, layabout babies? Who wants to see fat, sweet, slobbery baby cheeks? Ew.

Well, as completely unappealing as they are I have to talk about them, because a lot of things in my life have been completely baby-centric the past couple of months. So...sorry, but you'll just have to bear with me. I know. It'll be hard. But I think a few of you can do it.

The fact is, Mr. Sarcomical & I have not had the best luck in the offspring department so far. For a while we thought it was timing, then we weren't sure, then we said let's just wait it out, then we said wait that is colossally stupid look how old we are, then we found out that the endometriosis that has pretty much traveled down my maternal roots for a few generations has probably been instrumental in halting the miniature person creation process.

So.

We scheduled a laparoscopy for myself with my doctor (who is perhaps the sweetest and most encouraging physician ever to exist outside of an episode of Grey's Anatomy but not those dark & twisty girls, you know that one smiley girl named Arizona or some other state who is always sunny and cheek-dimply?), and I actually had that done last Wednesday. (I'll be telling you about that experience in the next installment of Reproductivosity Weekly.) But first...FIRST, I decided to tell her in the appointment just prior that my mom happened to mention in a phone conversation that "oh by the way I've also had fibroids, I don't know if you want to tell your doctor that or not" and when I did Ms. SmileyPants Doctor got a flash of serious and said "Oh. ...well let's get you in for an ultrasound to check for those before your procedure. Because, you know, if that's an issue we'll have to take care of that first surgically."

Oh. Okay. Um, haha, let's check on that. And p.s. THANKS MOM. Great genes. Awesome.

Also, p.s. "What is fibroids?" asks Mr. S. "Uh...I'm not sure. Hmm."

Whee.

Mr. S. came to the scheduled ultrasound with me, because I was feeling kind of nervous about it. That flash of Serious Face on my happy doctor made me wonder if what I thought I was taking care of was going to end up being more serious than I had thought. Bleh. And just when he had kind of successfully distracted me, the door to the waiting room opened and for a microsecond I looked up and something immediately registered in my brain:

Our old next door neighbor. The one who moved out of the neighborhood with her husband & kids about 2 years ago. She's an ultrasound technician. Oh Sweet Torture Chamber.

Here's what went on in my head:

Oh dear God please please please do not let her be the one doing my ultrasound oh come on do you really think they have more than one person doing them in this little office right now? WAKE UP. YOU LOSE. Get ready to be spanked by coincidence and you know what else? I'm just gonna go out an a limb and assume that the simple ultrasound you thought you were getting is more...involved and may have required a leeeettle more..."prep work" than making sure you were wearing nice underwear. Oh my God if I am wrong about what this is that's happening and SHE is the one doing it then I am going to turn around and run out of here in a puff of cartoon-like smoke before the humiliation burns my face off ARE YOU SERIOUS, UNIVERSE?!?

After much nervous tight hand-gripping, we were called back and OF COURSE she recognized us "HEY GUYS!?!" Crap. Yeah...no chance this wasn't going to happen, was there?

...and no chance this wasn't going to be as horrifying as possible, right?

NOPE. NO CHANCE IN HELL.

We get back into the room, and I'm like "soooo...this ultrasound, it's..."

"...yeah. It's internal."

MOTHER. EFFER.

"Oh, Keri, let me apologize. I am not really...I mean...I didn't especially prepare for this. I'm stupid, I thought this was just the kind of ultrasound you see on tv, I'm an idiot, I..."

"Oh, please. Melissa, don't worry about it! I do these all day long. It's no big deal, it's fine! I'm sure it's fine. Don't worry, please."

Whatever. Because also? I mean, they knew this when I made the appointment (THEY SAID "OH IT'LL BE NO BIG DEAL), but this was also the first day of my period. (Any guys left in the room? Did that clear you out? I hope so.) So...I pretty much decided the only way to make it out alive was to go to my happy place and stay in a waking coma until I was out of the building.

The situation, you see, just wasn't grotesque enough. Wait, you thought it was? NO. YOU ARE WRONG. Because when I was in the other room changing, Mr. Sarcomical tried to break the ice by asking her how things were going...you know, how's your husband and whatnot...OOPS THEY GOT DIVORCED. I came back in and he whispered quickly "Whatever you do don't ask about her husband THEY SPLIT UP!" I swear to God there was NOTHING not vomit-inducingly uncomfortable about this day. NOTHING.

Except.

Everything looked okay, and finally some good news:  all clear on that front, thus the fact that I just spent the past week in recovery from the laparoscopy (which was an entirely other surreal experience for another day). Mr. Sarcomical was also convinced after looking up at the big projection screen during the procedure that there is literally no distinction between my ovaries and the fuzzy pictures of UFO's from the 50's.

Anyway. Working on that SarcomiBaby, that's what we are. I mean, not for 2-3 months according to doctor's orders, that is. But we are. There will be a lot going on here in the meantime, but there you have it. That's what's been brewing here while I've been a little blog absent.

...like a science experiment. with bonus Rude Stranger Affront!

This weekend I did the thing I have grown to loathe, down to even the cellular level. The thing that makes me cringe, feel physical annoyance, wish I were in someone else's body.

I went to the mall.

Priority one was to find some jeans that didn't make me feel bad about myself. In order to do that, you have to try on a lot of jeans that actually DO make you feel bad about yourself. Yay. The level of degradation depends upon the rate of occurrence at which you mindlessly enter stores catering to 12-year olds and/or 24-year olds with hips that could slide down rain gutters. I've found that I can be an easy with room to spare size eight at the Gap, but am approximately size seventeen-thousand in, say, Forever 21 or H&M. Also, I don't recommend going after you've spent a chilly season being depressed on the couch watching Law & Order marathons on USA. I mean...things don't exactly situate themselves in what you know as their optimal arrangement after such a period. Just so you know.

Well, enough about my sloth consequences in the dressing room. I actually was left with more of an impression from the day by a random interaction with a horrible, bully of a woman. Well, I don't know, it's possible she's actually a rather fine woman who does charity work and hand-addresses letters for her elderly arthritic neighbors.

HOWEVER.

On this day...at the moment in time when our lives intersected...she was sort of vile.

If there's anything I dislike with more intensity than trudging in and out of dressing rooms, it's walking among hordes of people who do not believe that space and particles and motion have anything to do with them. They are floating in their own continuum, chatting and daydreaming while walking through the bodies of us boring earthbound folks.

This woman (Horrible Fine Charity Bully), was turned & talking to her daughter, walking in a crooked line and generally not paying attention to the universe. Enter ME, walking directly toward a rack of tops, seeing Horrible Fine Charity Bully to my right and actually slowing down so as to avoid the impending collision. She stopped just short of nailing me in the arm and uttered a sweet-sounding "oop! sorry!". Whew! Impact averted! "That's okay!" I said, thinking what a polite lady.

Oh, but then...

Immediately following, I heard her make an animal-esque hacking noise of disgust. A SCOFF, if you will. Followed by snarky grumbles. I turned around and saw her continue down the aisle with a contorted face (apparently) still venting her anger to her teenage daughter. I was sort of transfixed, a little in shock over how this 40-something woman, who seemed the kind who might have a good job in a colorful, lavish office - who was well-groomed and nicely coiffed with a pretty teen in her charge, felt the need to be loudly pissy after {SHE} almost ran into {ME}, apologized with fabulously feigned sincerity, and I had been (dare I say) pretty damn gracious. She had snapped afterward and was suddenly and oddly ugly about it, and I was surprised.

I was admittedly still observing this when she turned around, and a furious gasp opened her mouth wide. "OH MY GOD and she's LOOKING at me!" she hissed to her daughter, and I couldn't hear but oh, I could see...there were more words MANY MORE WORDS and lots of eye daggers. I didn't have much time to react, as it was so brief and I was still puzzled over this woman's responses. I just turned around and my eyes widened, as if asking the tank top in front of me "wowww...what the whatwhat is WRONG with that angry lady?"  Her eyes were on me even as I could peripherally see her daughter encourage her out of that section of the department store. But I wasn't feeling any of my own ire bubbling up. I wasn't upset that this stranger had almost assaulted me with her torso and was then smack talking me to her high school child in a display of woeful parental example. No, I really wasn't. I still felt peaceful and calm. I know that there was a time when I would fight Rude Stranger Affront with Bitchy Viper Sass-Back, but I'm glad that I'm not as easily roused to defend myself in anger. I guess after being 27 for six years in a row you really do grow into your maturity. 

When I shared with Mr. S. what had happened with Horrible Fine Charity Bully while he was off having an easy breezy fun time looking at nerdy electronics in Best Buy, I told him the reason I felt myself staring at this woman during that span of about fifty seconds was because it was like watching a mad science experiment. I got temporarily locked in; despite my better intentions, it was sort of fascinating to observe.

You know...much like an episode of 16 and Pregnant.