I'm back, bitches!
Wait. Did anyone notice I was gone?
Last week was a rough one.
How rough was it, Marla?
It was so rough that my weekend consisted of naps, football, hockey, and watching seasons 5 & 6 on The Office. I was supposed to go to a wedding, and my body is thanking me that I didn't. I did make 3 fabulous meals from recipes I found on Pinterest, so the weekend wasn't a total bust.
Halibut with white beans and spinach- I used flounder, but still super yummy and healthy!
Pumpkin chili- I used ground turkey instead of beef. A-MAZE-BALLS
Italian Wonderpot- Tony Soprano would have sucked this down faster than you could say Bada Bing!
But, I'm going to let you in on a secret; I didn't mind staying home one little bit.
Last Sunday, right before the new episode of Bar Rescue, I took my Zofran appetizer, and then followed it up with my first dose of Methotrexate. Thankfully, the nausea was at a minimum, I was a bit gaggy and extra burpy. And, let's be real, I'm always extra burpy.
Monday and Tuesday were spent in bed. I felt like I do after my Venofer infusions, only I think the truck that ran me over put itself in reverse, and rolled back over me. Twice. It was horrible. Going downstairs to take my morning meds wore me out so much that I had to take a 2 hour nap on the couch before I had the energy to go back to my bed. Every muscle, every bone, and every hair was just so tired.
Wednesday I felt slightly more human, and was able to make a few phone calls. I've been having some bleeding issues, which made me worried I had to see my GYN/oncologist sooner than scheduled. I went to my regular Gyn first (she's an NP), and she referred me to one of the doctors in the practice because she can't perform surgeries. I saw him two weeks ago, and really liked him, but I am not comfortable with the hospital where he does his procedures/surgeries.
My gyno-oncologist is at Cooper (I was first treat at Fox Chase Cancer Center, but, wasn't thrilled with my doctor), so I called the general ob/gyn practice, explained the situation and asked to get an appointment as soon as possible. She said, "how about tomorrow?"
How about, hell yes, I'll be there with bells on!
On Thursday, I drove the 25 miles to the office, walked in and noticed that both of the clipboards to sign-in didn't have the doctor's name I was scheduled to see.
Where do you think this is going?
The woman at the front desk said the doctor I was there to see was at the main hospital doing surgeries, and there was no way the receptionist from Wednesday could have scheduled me for today. She looked in the computer and said I was scheduled for the 19th.
I have my chemo on the 19th; I know there is no way in hell I would have taken an appointment on the 19th. Plus, I swear to you guys, she said "how about tomorrow" and I thanked her over and over and over again for getting me in in less than 24 hours.
So after a few choice words and eye rolls, I apologized to this receptionist because, honestly, it wasn't her fault. Pissing her off would get me a one-way ticket to a three-month wait. I asked to speak with an office manager, I did, she apologized, and I was given a new appointment first thing Friday morning, but with a different physician.
Things happen for a reason because I L-O-V-E-D the doctor I saw on Friday. She was amazing, and I was floored with how thorough she was. She didn't think it was anything cancer-wise, but she did an exam and pap just to rule out cervical dysplasia or anything worse.
After all those shenanigans were through (I don't understand how some people have gyn/medical fetishes), I got dressed, and she came back in so we could talk.
We discussed all my past and current medical issues, my medications and treatments, my family history, and she asked if I was planning on carrying my own children.
The million-dollar question.
I explained while no one has ever come out and blatantly said, "don't do it," doctors advise against it because of all the risks. That I could be fine, but I could have a stroke, broken hips, heart failure, seizures, kidney failure, blah, blah, blah. Besides, with all the medications I take, my poor eggs are probably shriveled up like a bag of cran-raisins.
She looked me dead in the eye and said, "don't."
Some of you may have benn pissed off or offended, because, yes, it is a heinous thing to hear. At first, I was stunned, and looked at her dumbfounded for a moment.
Her words sunk in, and I came to. No, we weren't planning on it anyway, but it was so refreshing to finally hear a doctor say no.
That probably sounds weird, and I guess I should explain myself. Up until Friday, everyone would dance around the subject. Beating around the bush, if you will.
OK, I can't stop laughing. Beating. Bush. Vagina.
How old am I?
Moving right along...
No one would ever give me a straight answer, and because of that, I've never been able to fully let go of the what-if. The what-if plagues me, and can sometimes keep me up at night. What-if I just do it and see what happens?
I know this blog is out there for all of the internets to read, and it seems I write about babies a lot, but in real life, there are very few people I confide in on this subject. Blogging is a free form a therapy for me. I also pay a therapist to talk to me, but I should probably take all the therapy I can get! Can't hurt, right?
Brie told me about an episode of The Talk, where one of the hosts was confessing a secret, hers being her struggles with infertility. What she said is a perfect way for me to articulate how I feel.
Since Steve and I became engaged, I thought about getting pregnant. The fun in actively trying, or having a night with too much wine, thus resulting in the best mistake of our lives. I've thought about peeing on a (dozen) stick, seeing the positive sign and conjuring up some silly and loving way to tell him.
I would envision the ultrasounds, hearing the heartbeat, finding out our first-born was a girl, fighting over names, building the crib, the pregnancy photo shoot, decorating the nursery, labor and delivery, then finally bringing her home from the hospital.
Our half Polish/Russian/English-Jew & Italian-Catholic baby girl would have Steve's brains and thick, curly, dark hair but my
smooth dance moves sense of humor and zest for life (duh).
I even played that same scenario with my Barbies so many, many years ago. Wedding Day Barbie and Ken had their lavish wedding, went off on their honeymoon, soon after found out Barbie was pregnant (although, at the time, I wasn't sure how that happened), she gave birth, and the happy little family drove home from the hospital in their bubble gum pink '57 Chevy.
Isn't that how it's supposed to be for Steve and I?
It's been terribly difficult letting go of that dream. Just when I thought I finally put it to rest, I'd play the what-if game during a bout of insomnia. Working in the medical profession has been a double-edged sword; I know I could hand pick my doctors and have the best of the best seeing me through a pregnancy. That said, I have a full understanding of the risks to a baby and myself. I've seen it all. It's scary.
I say to myself, "you know you shouldn't do this," and I think I put an end to it, and twenty minutes later I'm thinking of women I know who were told not to become pregnant, did it anyway, and both them and baby were fine. It's a vicious cycle, and I drive myself crazy.
Hearing a doctor give me a straight answer and say, "don't" was what I needed to stop being the only contestant in this never-ending mind game I play.
I'm not going to be able to lay it to rest tomorrow. I still decorate a nursery in my mind every time I walk past our empty bedrooms, imagine toys strewn over the house, and it feels like the entire world around me is pregnant. But, I've got my answer, and I can finally start to let it be.