Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Blah... Sex!... Blah...

So. Tired.

I've been going through this thing where I get up and feel okay, but by around 3:00 P.M. my body aches and I feel very restless but lacking in energy at the same time. It really sucks. I don't know if that's just when my morning Percocet wears off, or what, but it's getting super-annoying. I have had an increase in baseline pain and physical discomfort since I started taking Latuda, which sucks, because it does what it needs to do otherwise.

There have been some good things. I'm doing some freelance administrative work for a friend who will pay me for my time. (Though, I might ask him for more than $50, as I'm not even halfway-done and it has already taken me a solid 4 hours. We'll see. It just feels good to have something to do.)

The additional sex has been nice, now that Matt and I aren't treating semen like a deadly toxin. I always feel better after sex (go figure.) It kinda feels like we're newlyweds all over again, or maybe for the first time. I am thrilled at the effect trying for a kid has had on our intimacy in and out of the bedroom.

Still, this daily date with restless fatigue is getting me down. I've been so uncomfortable during the day that I can't even handle being in the car for more than a few minutes. It's like my fibromyalgia has gotten ratcheted up to 11.

In other medical news: Since our insurance denied my back surgery for a second time, I really need to get my butt scheduled for more physical therapy. Especially if I might be carrying a child anytime soon, I need to get my body in some kind of shape. The other thing that was suggested was a spinal stimulator, an electrical device that would be implanted in my back. I'm not too keen on it. They are mostly used for people for whom spinal fusion surgery hasn't worked. I'm not sure if I want to go the route of putting a foreign object in my body that might work, and might not cause additional trauma and pain. I also don't know what that would mean for carrying Potential Child.

Ugh. There is so much on my mind, but I can't seem to articulate any of it today. And my IBS is acting up. Fantastic.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

A baby in the works.

He wants to have a baby with me. My husband really wants to have a baby with me, and I want to have a baby with him. I never thought I'd want to have a child again, after so many ups and downs, after I convinced myself it would be a bad idea for all kinds of reasons. I went into the doctor's office feeling shame, honestly expecting the doctor to tell me I had no business trying to get pregnant. How dare you?

As it turns out, most of my fears- the medical ones, anyway- are unfounded. Matt and I went to pre-conception counseling today, and the doctor said that on a scale of 1 to 10, he would put my risk at about a 3. Despite my age, my weight, all of my medical problems, Matt's family history of genetic joint problems, and all the drugs I'm on, the doctor said that we still have a very good chance of having a healthy baby. It put my mind at ease, and made me happy. Matt and I have been talking about all the details, all the potential problems and joys, and we are incredibly excited.

This is how it should be. Even if we don't succeed in getting pregnant, the fact that it's okay, medically, to try, makes me feel a whole lot better. Actually, it makes me feel whole. I really am an adult who can handle parenthood. I am in a stable, healthy marriage, with a solid network of friends and family to help us out in the tough times. And the look on Matt's face when the doctor said it was okay- it was priceless. He looked so happy. It was like a preview of how he will glow when he looks at our child for the first time.

We are going to go for further genetic testing, just to be prepared for anything that might be passed on. I have long been concerned I might have some latent genetic issue that accounts for my joint problems. This won't stop us from trying- it will just give us a heads-up. We will, of course, be doing every pre-natal test we can to ensure the health of the baby once we get pregnant. There are risks, because of my weight, of gestational diabetes and hypertension, but I already knew that, and I'm prepared to do whatever I need to do in order to minimize the risks. You know, like quit smoking. It seems really hard right now to think about quitting completely, but I believe that once I know I have a little person growing inside me, that will be some serious motivation.

I just can't believe how all of this is making me feel. I have never felt like this before. I've tried to get pregnant with partners in the past, but I have never felt so confident that everything will be okay. And that's huge. Huge. HUGE.

As for how I'm doing otherwise, I pulled myself out of a depressive episode last night. Matt went to his second job, and instead of sitting around like a lump on the couch, I got dressed and played with make-up even though I wasn't going out. Then I had a one-woman party. A party, for me, consists of listening to my favorite music as loud as I like and dancing to it, chatting online, and making art. I've made a bunch of art in the past week, including three pendants and one digital drawing.

On an unrelated note, I get my CPAP machine, so that should be another step in getting healthier and improving my quality of life.

Yeah, I'm feeling pretty good right now.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

To my theoretical child.

Dear Theoretical Child,

I don't know your name, whether you will be a boy or a girl, or even if you will be conceived at all. I don't know if I will carry you to term and hold you in my arms for the first time, with your dad by my side, tears in his smiling eyes. I don't know if I will watch you learn to talk, walk, read, make friends, and love others. But I do know some things I want to tell you, and I'm writing them down, so I don't forget.

I will protect you, but I will never shelter you from life's lessons. I want you to skin your knees and fall off your bike and get a bad grade because you were playing video games instead of studying. I want you to know what it's like to be jealous, hurt, angry, and sick, because I want you to know that those things are all temporary, and that things like love aren't. I will always be there to listen. Always. Band-aids and herbal tea. Warm blankets and ice cream. Hugs and kisses, as many as you'll tolerate. Your mom will be there for you when you want her, and do her best to back off when you need your space.

Your childhood will not be like mine. It will be better -- but it won't be perfect. I will get frustrated and make mistakes, and so will you. We will fight, but we will always, always work it out. I want you to know that, right now. I want you to know that even if I get mad at you for pulling the cat's tail, leaving the milk out, or staying out too late, I will never stop loving you. I'll feel bad for losing my patience, raising my voice, and taking away your mobile phone. I'll apologize, and we'll talk about it. I won't shut you out, and I won't let my own fear be a reason to hold you back.

I won't give you everything you want (though I will really, really wish I could). I will do my very best, with the resources I have, to give you everything you need. There are going to be times when it won't be easy. I've got a lot of stuff to deal with, like depression and chronic pain, two things I hope you never experience. We aren't wealthy, and there may be times we all have to make sacrifices. It won't be easy for you to understand, at first, but I hope you will come to see that I'm trying my best.

I promise to respect you as the person you grow to be. I promise to respect your privacy. Your space will be your own. If you keep a diary, I will never read it unless you share it with me. I promise not to discipline you with my hands. I promise not to control you with fear. I want you to respect me, not be afraid of me. I promise to make sure your emotional and physical well-being come first, and are never ignored because of issues I and your father might be having at the time. I promise to include you in family decisions, even when you are young. I promise to listen to your concerns, even if they might seem small or silly, because what might be insignificant to me could be very important to you. If you do something you aren't proud of, I want you to feel like you can talk to me about it without fear that I will lash out at you in anger.

Most importantly, you will always be loved. You might question it, sometimes, when it seems like we don't understand you- all children question their parents, sometimes. You are not an accident or an inconvenience. You were not brought into this world for the purpose of bringing your father and I closer together- though I am sure you will do just that. I will make certain you know that you are loved and explain to you why we might ask you to do things you don't want to do, or ask you not to do things you might want to do. I want to be a friend to you, as well as a parent.

School will be hard. When others taunt you, as they will, because children can be cruel and thoughtless, I will be there to defend you. When adults don't take your needs into consideration, I will be there to help make it right. I'm always going to be in your corner, no matter what. I don't ever want you to feel like you're alone in life, like I did. I also will encourage you to put yourself into their shoes, so that you may be instilled with empathy and understanding towards others, even if you don't like them.

I won't be a perfect mother, theoretical child, but I will do everything in my power to be a good one.

Love,

Morgan, your mother



Thursday, March 13, 2014

Late-night rambling.

Dammit.

I thought I had my sleep schedule back to something that could almost be considered human, but I messed it all up. I slept all afternoon, today. I feel icky about it, like I wasted the entire day. I did manage to be creative the night before, with inspiration from my friend Laurel, and motivation for an actual project. I'm working on a logo for a local literary convention, on which Laurel is staff. When I am working, I completely lose track of time. I forget to eat, and I can't sleep until I have something either finished or in pieces that can easily be combined for a finished project. I lose my head in that kind of work. It isn't a bad thing, but my timing is wrong. My timing is always, always wrong.

What the fuck am I doing, anyway? I'm 36 years old, but I'm barely out of my teens in terms of doing the things an adult should do, like household chores and being married and not sitting in my room like a hermit or a prisoner all day and night. I'm in a really strange state of mind, right now. I'm not depressed. I'm not happy. I just am.

What should I be?

Where should I be?

Those are dangerous questions to ask, because they imply, in my twisted little head, that if I should be something and somewhere I'm not, it means I've done absolutely everything wrong up until now. So I have to ask myself, "Where, and whom, do I wish I was?"

There are a million billion answers to that question. I am acutely aware of all of them. This may sound strange to some, but I am consciously aware of every single time a choice I have made in my life has drastically changed my fate. I could have been this if I'd done that. I could have been there if I hadn't done this. All of these possibilities swirl inside my head and make "now" muddy and difficult to pinpoint. My future, it seems, is still uncertain, in many respects. I have stability and security in terms of a relationship and a home, but... now what? I have the potential to follow any of the threads I abandoned earlier in life, but which should I choose?

Here is a list of those threads, in no particular order.

  • Artist
  • Political Activist
  • Jounralist
  • Nurse
  • Optician
  • Ophthalmic Medical Technician
  • Veterinary Technician
  • Poet
  • Singer
  • Actor
  • Social Worker
  • Counselor
  • Holistic Practicioner
  • Business Administrator
  • Sociologist

This is not a complete list. It reads like a goddamn college course catalog, because that's basically what it is. These are all the things I've started, but never finished. All of my "almosts, but not quites". I was able to pursue all of them at one point with some success, at least academically, but I could never make the transition out of academics into the real world. Now, I am left with enough college credits and life experience to be ... nothing in particular.

I know a little bit about a lot of things, and a lot about some things. I can pursue things with sincere passion for a short time, before I burn out and succumb to physical or mental issues.

At least, that's how it's always been, before.

I want to go back to school, at some point, and follow one of those threads, and finish at least one thing I started, and get a degree and a job. It's just so damned daunting when I know my pattern, and it's so damned easy to give up when my body hurts and my brain betrays me. I'm brilliant, and I have nothing to show for it.

Well, nothing except friends who believe in me, which are, of course, invaluable, but I have a deep desire to be taken seriously. To be respected for something. To be considered an expert at something, and to be lauded on my own merits and ideas pertaining to whichever path I choose. I want to be someone out there, not just in my insular group of friends (all of whom, I feel, have accomplished a great deal more of those all-important "adult things" than I have.)

As to how I'm going to accomplish this, or where to even start in terms of which path to follow, I am absolutely stumped. As I said, I always start out with passion and enthusiasm, regardless of what I'm trying to accomplish, and I end up falling victim to myself. I want to end that pattern, and in order to do that, I have to finish something, and in order to finish something, I have to start something.

Start what?

I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't follow any of those threads. Maybe I should find something entirely new. Maybe I should be content to be a wife and possibly a mother. Maybe I should just learn to like who I am, and be thankful I never killed anyone in the process of becoming that person. But I feel that part of me is languishing. I need direction and routine and a schedule and a set of goals.

I guess my first goal ... is to find a goal.

Saturday, March 8, 2014

Burning my fear.

My head started to go to a dark place last night while Matt was out at his second job. I started thinking about my past, and what would happen if that beast got loose again. I was suddenly fearful that I would lose my mind and physically harm myself, or my cats, or my theoretical baby, or even my husband. The visualization was gruesome and terrifying. I did not act on any of it, and tried not to entertain those thoughts. I played a game on my phone for two hours to make my brain concentrate on something else.

Then, a friend pinged me on Facebook, and I started talking to her, and I came back to myself very quickly. I told her about all of the positive changes I have been making, both in thought and action, and she was very proud of me. I explained that I had been doing inner child work, both with my therapist and on my own. I told my inner child that I would protect her and take care of her. I told him that he could still come out to play, and didn't have to die, even if I was a grown-up. That helped.

All of the negative thoughts are rooted in one simple and counterproductive emotion: fear. Fear makes me forget who I am, where I am, the work I've been doing and the progress I've made. Fear is an asshole. So, in order to rid myself of it, I went outside in the middle of the night, and spoke to the only star I could see. "Burn my fear!" I said, three times. Then I came back inside, and drew the word "FEAR" in giant, angry letters. I burnt it on my altar. I asked Loki to devour it.

BURN MY FEAR.
I left the ashes of my fear on my altar. I will leave them there for a little while, before I wash them away, and prepare for my next objective. That objective is getting that job I applied for. Tonight I'll make an offering and throw positive energy at it. I'll keep doing that until I get a call.

On a different note, Matt and I have been talking a lot about our theoretical child. The pregnancy "scare" and the resulting epiphany has changed the way I interact with the world around me. For instance, we were in Target, and instead of pathologically avoiding the baby aisle as I used to, I took Matt over to look at a convertible crib I had put on my theoretical baby wish list. We saw some onesies that made us go, "awww!"- little superhero costumes, complete with capes. Yes, our theoretical baby would be a geeky baby. My fear of being a parent has been replaced with thoughts of enriching a child's life with the knowledge I have accumulated in my life. Our kid would be raised on art and music and hockey and Doctor Who and Star Wars.

But I don't necessarily consider having a child to be a goal to actively work towards. Truthfully, it's unlikely I'll be able to get pregnant easily. I'm 36 and I started my period at 9. I don't imagine I have a lot of viable eggs left. The entire point of this experience has been to make me realize that I am capable of raising a child because I am an adult. Being a parent doesn't mean I would have to stop being who I am. I had this image for a long time of getting pregnant and becoming a mom-zombie who wears frumpy flower-print dresses and writes a blog about how her baby is her whole world and talks of nothing but binkies and breast-feeding and poo poo. I know now it would not happen. I know that Matt and I would make great parents- not perfect parents, of course- but nurturing, caring parents mindful of the mistakes our own parents made. We could do it. We aren't making it a priority, but we're preparing mentally and financially, just in case.

Oh, and, TMI WARNING...

... Matt and I are going to stop having sex like terrified teenagers shrink-wrapping their genitals in case that one little drop gets through, and start rutting like a married couple for which children are a welcome possibility. I am sick of condoms.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Changes.

Last night, I had my second sleep study. They woke me up at 6 a.m. and I was back home by 7. Instead of going back to sleep, I decided to stay up. Instead of doing what I usually do with free time (which is screwing around on the Internet or watching TV), I decided to do something constructive.

I finally called the bank about my student loans. I didn't really make any progress with them, but I did find out what needed to be done to rehabilitate the loans. Because Matt and I filed our taxes jointly, they are using his income to calculate the monthly payment, and it is far beyond what we can afford. Then, I called to see if we can re-file our 2014 taxes as Married but Separate. If we're successful, the loan company will use only my income, and the payment will be reduced from $300-400 monthly to $50-100 monthly.

I also called about my past-due credit card account and made arrangements to make payments. I didn't do any of this stuff before because I just couldn't handle it. I hid from it, and ignored all the collections calls. I couldn't deal with the idea of Matt paying for stuff I got myself into before we were married, or under the assumption that I would be working, when I am obviously not bringing in any money. I guess I finally realized that it's okay for him to help me, because we're married, and I would do the same for him if the situation were reversed. That's the kind of couple we are. We take care of each other.

Last week, I went to order a new pair of glasses. I started talking to the optician about how I used to be an optician, myself. Long story short, he asked if I would fill out an application. I was upfront about my disability and the fact that my last job in the industry ended badly. He seemed to appreciate that. I'm confident that if I can get an interview with the manager, I can get him to give me a chance. If he gives me a chance, I can start to rebuild my resume in an industry I already know and am passionate about. It would be an enormous step forward.

When I dropped off my resume, I decided to get my hair done. I cut it extremely short in the back and had it dyed bright red on top, burgundy underneath. The new haircut makes me feel sharp and sexy instead of old and frumpy. I think the dye has gone to my head, because something is changing, or already has changed. It isn't just that I'm suddenly taking an interest in making up for past mistakes. I'm starting to think of myself as a capable adult who can handle more than I ever gave myself credit for, and that is leading to some interesting thought processes.

I was talking to an old friend last night, someone I used to live with. She was telling me about my ex-boyfriend, his girlfriend and their baby. The baby was born 10 weeks premature, but survived and is healthy. Unfortunately, my ex isn't doing very well as a father, apparently, screaming and yelling at her when all she wants to do is be picked up, ditching her with my friend to babysit all the time. I almost had a child with this man. It was one of my miscarriages. I'm so glad it didn't happen, then. It would have been wrong. I'd have ended up a single mother, and I would not have been able to deal with it back then. I still don't think I could make it as a single mom, but I looked at Matt, and thought, "Wow. I'm not alone. And Matt would make a wonderful father, even if he doesn't think so. And my period is four days late, and my pants don't fit, and ... shit. Am I pregnant?"

We went to the dollar store today to get a couple of tests. Far from the feeling of dread I have experienced every other time I've had a pregnancy scare, I was almost giddy. I was almost hoping it would be positive. No. Not almost. Suddenly, the thought of carrying this wonderful man's child in my body made me feel wonderful. Maybe it's just the spring, or my new meds, or something. When the test was negative, I was actually more disappointed than relieved. So it's just as well that my sterilization surgery has continued to be delayed. I don't want it anymore. At least, not yet. I made an appointment with my gynecologist to discuss the risks of pregnancy in my current state of health. I went on some online message boards to find out if other women had given birth to healthy children while still taking their psychiatric meds. What I found was that, yes, it is absolutely possible to have a healthy pregnancy while taking the psychiatric drugs I am on. In my case, the risks of stopping the medication would certainly be greater than any possible risk to the baby.

Until now, I have only been thinking about all the terrible things I didn't want to pass on to the child. From Matt's side, there is the possibility of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and depression. From my side, there is mental illness, bad joints, allergies, asthma and issues with substance abuse (My only issue is nicotine, but that wasn't the case for my father.) Both of us are obese, and our theoretical child may well have problems with his or her weight. I'm quite aware of these risks, but I hadn't thought of all the good things we could pass on, too. Strength of character. Self-awareness. Resilience. Intelligence. Creativity. Gorgeous eyes. The love Matt and I share for each other. Any kid of ours would be loved and accepted for whoever they turned out to be. We would nurture their imagination and encourage them to pursue what they love. Our kid would have a better childhood than we did, and we both know it.

But, wait! I hate babies! Babies are disgusting and stinky and loud and annoying. Toddlers are even worse. They screech at pitches capable of shattering windows. I really don't want one of those, do I? They're gross. And the world doesn't need any more kids, especially ones with problems. Or is this all sour grapes, denial spewed by someone who has secretly wants to be a parent, but never believed they could, because she hadn't grown up, herself, and children aren't capable of being good parents? It is enough food for thought for me to reconsider getting a tubal ligation. I've cancelled it, indefinitely.

Maybe I'm just manic. Maybe I'm letting my usually-hidden idealism get in the way of my better judgment. Whatever it is, it's kind of awesome, and I don't want it to stop. Maybe being an adult isn't so bad. As an adult, I'm not afraid of being a parent (any more than anyone else is.) I'm not even afraid of money or work, at least, in concept. The actual application of these things is another matter, but I won't know if I don't try. Stay tuned, true believers.