Two Things

Thing one...

Friday night I sat four hours for my new tattoo. I had it placed on my left side over the ribs. They asked me if I was sure I wanted it in such a painful locations. I assured them I would be fine. The first three hours were a piece of cake, and everyone commented on how well I was doing, and how easy I was to tattoo. During the fourth hour, my nerves were so stimulated that the pain part kicked in. With one hour left to complete the color, we decided to call it quits. I was tearful because I felt like I had wimped out. The artist assured me that I had done very well, and said he should put me up on the wall for how well I had done.  

I've been trying to decide on a new tattoo for about six years but never came up with an idea that I really liked. Then, one day last week it hit me. I wanted a phoenix. It was perfect because I am a phoenix. I'll allow a few of my skeletons out of my closet to assist in understanding the previous claim. 

When I was 16, my family and I traveled to Hawaii to celebrate my great uncles birthday. It would be the first time I had met many of my cousins. While there I met a second cousin, who was about four and a half years older than me. He had traveled in Europe, and I was about to be an exchange student there. We hit it off immediately, and being a teenager in Hawaii I chose to hang out with him instead of being stuck with my parents. BIG mistake. July 4, 1996 he got me drunk on vodka, at least six shots (that's as many as I remember) and took advantage of my black out state. He then traveled to California and pressured me until my will gave way on August 7, 1996, and I slept with him again, many times. I felt such shame because had I called the police in Hawaii maybe I could have proved he raped me. But then I was weak and "consented" when he stayed with my parents and me later. I held it inside for the year I was an exchange student, and for many months after returning home. It finally came out and I was questioned by a male police officer, alone in a room at my house. Because my cousin "refused to speak to the DA without an attorney" they dropped the case. My parents never contacted the DA to question this or anything. I spent many years trying to cope, mostly in self destructive ways. I hung out with social rejects, misfits, other depressed youth. I smoked pot, did ecstasy a lot at raves, dropped acid, and inhaled nitrous oxide. I slept with a lot of guys, usually very quickly, before they had a chance to take it, I gave it up. I cried, wrote teen angst poetry, focused on ways to die, fearing the pain of dying. I finally hit bottom and got myself into therapy. I moved away from San Francisco where drugs were all to easy to get ahold of, and transfered to a small school in Wisconsin. I flourished, enjoyed college, finally started dating women, as I had once intended on doing prior to my long slutty run with guys. I still struggled with depression, and finally found the correct medication to help stabilize my mood. I finished college, went to nursing school, earned my masters, and met my wonderful, supportive wife. I struggled with weight issues due to stress (dropped well below 100 pounds) but finally gained the weight back. Now, I'm dealing with IF, and the depression that comes along with that. No need to go into that here, because this blog is about this "dark" time.

If that's not a phoenix, I don't know what is. And now, it will be forever on my left side.

Thing two...

The Brain has sent a letter to her sister asking her to consider carrying a child for us. I am both nervous and excited. I don't expect her to say yes, but I'm proud of my wife for at least asking. It's a door that can never be opened if we don't at least try. I hope, and pray that she will at least consider it, and ask to discuss it. I will love her if she says yes, and I will love her if she says no.

Patiently waiting, content and a little sore from having needles drug through my skin...

Pinky

Walking Backwards

Great! They had me signed up for a foster/adoption orientation on a day that I'm working the night before and that night, so I won't be able to go. There is one this Saturday that I thought I would be able to attend, but the lady at DCSF says it's in the high desert (even though online it's at my hospital). So, unless I can switch shifts with someone, or take a vacation day, we won't be going to learn about foster/adopt for a while. Yay! Another step in the wrong direction.

It It Selfish to Adopt?

Maybe I'm over thinking things, but that's what I do. I don't like to make big life changing decisions without dissecting every aspect as possible. This week I've been considering if it is fair to a child for the Brain and I to even adopt a child. When I say fair, I really mean fair to the child.

When I was a little girl I was always being picked on and made fun of. One of the older girls complemented me on my outfit and, since I was terrified for her because she used to make fun of me, I didn't say anything. So, she called me stuck up and that was just more fuel for her fire. I was made fun of for being shy, for not having "in" clothes, for having hairy arms, for walking funny (not sure why), for being smart, for having a big nose, for being Jewish, and anything else people could think of. For a while, nobody would talk to me except this one girl Raquel, and that's because she didn't speak English so nobody talked to her either. This was because when all the girls in the school stood in a circle and sang "Jesus loves me" I excused myself and told them I didn't believe in Jesus. Rather than asking me about Judaism, I was shunned. I was made fun of at my synagogue during Sunday school and Hebrew school, so even that place wasn't safe.

I bring this up because even though I was raised in an upper middle class, traditional (mother and father who never divorced), educated (mom has a masters and dad has a PhD), Caucasian household, I suffered as a child because of all the bullying at school. Granted, my parents and teachers never intervened. I can honestly say most of my childhood I spent thinking about how I couldn't wait to grow up, make something of myself and forget about all the people who were making my life hell and would most likely never make anything of themselves. I'm not really getting to the point.

My point is this. Is it fair for us to bring an adopted child into our home, no matter how loving we are? We know that any child we have, adopted or from donor sperm will have issues they will need to deal with. They will have two moms and be raised Jewish. In addition to these issues, a child we adopt through the county will most likely be of a different race than ourselves and the adoption will be a closed one. They will have to deal with abandonment issues and whatever else adoption brings up within a child and the issues of being in a biracial household. This just seems like a lot to ask one kid to deal with. Are we being selfish? How do I justify wanting to love a child by asking them to be part of a Jewish (but also Christian), lesbian, biracial, adoptive home.

Like I said before, I could be over thinking this, but it would be irresponsible of me to pretend these issues don't exist.

Persistently worried,
Pinky

Foster/Adopt

Wednesday morning when I got home, I called and signed up for the "taking care of business day" through the county. This is the day when you have orientation and they help you navigate through all the paperwork to become a foster or adoptive parent. I thought I would be really excited about it, but so far, I'm not. I don't really want to foster a child only to have them taken away from me to return to their parents or go to another foster home. I'm not sure how you deal with the loss once they leave and you've formed an attachment. If we adopt, then I'm giving up on my dream of experiencing pregnancy, and having a child that is biologically mine. I know it sounds harsh, but I'd rather explore surrogacy because then I know that there are some sound genetics there. I recently heard a news story on NPR comparing the outcomes of biological versus adoptive children and the effects of upbringing. It seems that no matter how much time, energy and money you spend on your child providing them with diverse opportunities, genetics will win over when it comes to perusing a successful education and career. And, I see many of the mothers who have their children taken away come through my ER. I know first hand how they treat their bodies, their children and others. I remember talking to one woman who was pregnant, using meth and was schizophrenic. All her children were in foster care. I know they need love and support, but that's not my dream baby. I don't want a child who is likely to end up on a similar path. No amount of love can keep a child from developing schizophrenia. So why did I sign us up for such an uncertain path? Today, I'm really not sure.

I Don't Want To Make Lemonade

My dad has always loved the cliched quote "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade." He even used it in his speech at my Bat Mitzvah when I was 13. But what happens when life gives you lemons, you try and make lemonade, the lemons are rotten and you have cuts on your hands? What then?

Am I stuck in a dark place? Absolutely. Do I feel angry? Yes. Am I feeling a little depressed? Probably. Do I feel sorry for myself? Sure. Do I feel like giving up? A little.

I keep having flashes of images that represent the way I feel. I see myself repeatedly walking into a glass door or reaching into a jar and getting shocked. Or with a plug getting yanked open, deflating and falling to the floor. I'm knelt down on my knees, arms up in the air cursing the heavens, tears streaming down my face.

Throwing Money Into A Bonfire

Or, at least this is what I feel like I'm doing. Today I went in for my fourth ultrasound of the week. My RE was concerned about my E2 levels because they were lower than he had expected. They redrew them again today in the morning. This evening I got the dreaded call from my RE, the one I knew deep inside that I was going to receive. My E2 levels are going down. Why? He thinks the ganirelix is shutting down my system. He gave me two options. 1. Continue and increase the medications. See what we get. 2. Cancel the cycle, start again with the old protocol that worked. I chose option 2. Why? Because why continue when we're going for good quality eggs? We don't know what we'll get, and the likelihood of having good eggs that result in good embryos is poor. We've wasted our time and money, but why waste our last attempt at IVF?

I feel deflated, socked in the stomach, like I should be searching out other options. Maybe I'm not meant to be a mother. Maybe I'm being punished by God? Maybe this is his/her way of telling me it's not meant to be.

In the meantime, I'm cooking, baking and on my second Gray Goose with cranberry and pineapple.

Bottoms up!
Pinky

Sometimes Bad Days Have Nothing To Do With IF...

...And today is one of them for sure.

To understand me, you have to understand that I am an animal lover. So much so that I decided that I would need to marry a veterinarian or a vet tech, because they are the only people who love animals as much and would understand my relationship with my furbabies. Amazingly, a vet tech found me, swept me off my feet, married me (twice) and is now in school to become a DVM. (I'm so proud of my Brain!) Ok, back on topic...My animals are not my children, but they are part of my family and are my furbabies. I love them with all my heart. Bessie and Tessa are mini rat terriers. Bessie is my trouble maker and she's tried to commit suicide several times. She has eaten a fallen medication and ended up in emergency seizing for hours. Her case was so interesting and difficult my roommate used it as a presentation for vet school. She has also jumped off a cliff at the beach, eaten most of a bag of dog food (twice) to the point where she had to hunch over to accommodate her stomach, vomited blood and turned blue after a routine dental which ended in a plasma transfusion and survived an attack by a German Shephard...just to name the memorable times. Her littermate Tessa has food intolerance and irritable bowel. I know this for sure because she's had an ultrasound, a colonoscopy and an endoscopy with biopsies. She's on two meds twice daily and a special diet. She also has a slew of "as needed" meds. Sometimes when she doesn't eat I have to hand feed her kibble by kibble. Boris and Vashti are our older cats and they tend to vomit up hair-balls, but what cat doesn't? Our new addition Beta had two eye surgeries to try and save her eye, and today a third surgery to remove her eye. Watson is our BIG dog and he's 80 pounds of gentile, lazy,  foo-foo, loving.  While I was in nursing school my roommate and I fostered kittens and found them homes at any expense. I even bought everything a kitten needs and left one in my parent's house when they called and said they were on their way home from the airport.

All this back story brings us to today and last night. Last night my friend calls and asks me to take four one day old kittens overnight and during Friday until around 6:00 p.m.  I was off and agreed since it was only one night and one day. They needed to get the kittens out of the humane society because the policy is to euthanize all kittens and puppies if surrendered to them. Her colleague was going to get in trouble for taking them, but they wanted to save them. She brought these little kittens over that were so new that their umbilical cords were still attached. I stayed up the whole night trying to get them to feed, keeping them warm, and toileting them. I had two hours of sleep before having to drop off Beta for her surgery. When I returned to feed them, the strongest one from last night was now limp and cold. I warmed her up, tried to get some glucose into her, and stimulate her. I repeated this frequently for hours until she died. The other three were strong and feeding well. Around 12:30 p.m. my friend calls me and tells me that her employers are threatening to charge her colleague with theft if the kittens aren't returned by 5:00 p.m.  I had to hand the kittens back over knowing they were going to be euthanized. We were stuck our backs up against a wall. If I kept the kittens this woman would be charged with theft and she could loose her license. If I gave them up my friend would probably be fired along with her colleague (she's quitting anyway) but more importantly these kittens will die.

So, on top of all my amped up hormones from this IVF cycle, and being sleep deprived, I'm upset about this kitten situation. I guess this is what I get...no good dead goes unpunished...

Today a red-eyed Pinky.