The endometrial biopsy results are in. The results show evidence of ovulation and dates as day 22 of the cycle.
It was really day 36 of the cycle, because I have my ridiculous Excel chart, but hey, who's counting? Besides me. And my doctor, I assume, because he has a printout of the thing.
My doctor's nurse told me the doctor said that this means I'm still ovulating so my issues aren't hormonal in nature.
Huh. I'll have to look up what affects ovulation. I thought it was hormonal, as the pituitary gland stimulates adolescence and all the wonders of menstruation, but I'm not a doctor and I might be either remembering this incorrectly or interpreting matters poorly.
If anyone wants to clarify this for me, just in a general sense, go for it. Please.
They asked when the first day of my period was. I told them about the "bleeding since the biopsy but in ever increasing amounts culminating in the bloodbath Wednesday evening" thing, so the nurse told me my doctor has picked Wednesday as the start of my period. Kind of what I thought. What sucks about this is that if this period goes as the last one did, I'll have been bleeding for four weeks by the time the bloody thing is over. But only three count as my period.
Eyeroll.
I was also told, by the nurse, that I had two choices... erm... options (yes, she switched words): I can either continue to chart for the next three or four months and get another appointment in July or August -- for what purpose I was not told -- or I can take something called "Agestin" which will basically act as a chemical D&C over the course of several months and slough off the endometrium until we're left with a normal uterine lining.
So mine's abnormal, apparently, which I figured but was not told in so many words. Probably because a trained ape could figure that one out, considering the circumstances. But why is it abnormal? I don't know. No one told me. I'm assuming that it's thicker than standard, due to the chicken-liver-sized clots I shed at times. But why is it thicker than normal?
No answer. No chance to ask the question.
Now this Agestin will likely result in "heavier than normal" periods for the first couple of months. Ah, heavier than normal! What, for the average female? Or for me? Because in case you weren't paying attention, they ARE fracking heavier than normal already. The every-hour-tampon-change for 24-72 hours at the onset of the period? Is standard in my life. Normal, for me.
Any heavier than this and I am going to need a transfusion.
And I never did get to talk to the doctor.
At this point I'm doing a few things.
A) I'm gong to keep charting for the next few months rather than go on the Agestin. I can't handle any heavier bleeding than I'm dealing with right now. Not and remain functional in day-to-day life.
B) I'm going to draft a letter to my GYN with my questions. And I'm going to re-draft and re-draft it so it doesn't sound whiny. Just the queries and a request for answers.
C) I'm going to decide whether or not to send this letter.
D) I'm going to look into getting a second opinion. My doc has his merits, but he's never bled like this in his life. His (to me) lassiez faire attitude about the unpredictability, duration, and volume of flow of my periods doesn't show any concern let alone understanding of the impact this has on my life. Holy cow, if nothing else, how in the world am I going to ever have sex again? Yes, we've all (okay many of us) done "the deed" when conditions were less than optimal, but seriously, this is ridiculous.
I'm at a loss. And yes, angry again. I've tried to temper this entry, but won't be sure how well I've succeeded until I read it in a week or so.
Excuse me, I need to go buy another 40 count box of super-plus tampons.
Ugh.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Thursday, May 03, 2007
The Tide is In
Notes:
#1 - Hi there, Angel! Glad to see you're out there in the blogosphere. And yipes, migraines suck. I'm whiny enough just bleeding most of the time. We definitely need to talk!
#2 - Speaking of bleeding, stop here if you don't want to read about the subject line. Yes, more of the bloodbath. You have been warned.
Anyway, yep, it's definitely my period. No wonder I'm lucid. Got up twice in the night to change super-plus supplies and back-ups of same.
Make that lucid but sleep deprived. Slightly grumpy, too.
I had to keep running to the bathroom at work every hour or so to take care of "matters" as well. This is especially obnoxious as I'm the prime telephone answerer, so any time I leave my desk I have to ask someone else to catch the phones. Therefore, any observant coworker with too much time on his or her hands can chart my time of the month.
I await the inevitable office pool with bated breath.
Cramping is running between a 1 and a 3 on a pain scale where zero is no pain and ten is pain comparable to feeling that my pelvis is going to fracture, like the way it felt when I was pushing out the younger offspring. This is nothing like that; ergo, it's not enough to cause me to lose any sleep... just annoy me when I'm awake. I'm actually allergic to Aleve (took it for a year back when it was by prescription only for cramps, then started getting hives), Tylenol doesn't touch the pain, and aspirin when I'm already bleeding seems, well, counterintuitive, yanno? And narcotics would definitely be over the top for a petty annoyance like this...
So yes, grumpy. That would be me.
My doc told me to let them know the start date of my period when they call to give me the results of the biopsy. Guess I'll call them with that info tomorrow, per their instructions, since I haven't heard from them yet and it's officially been a week.
I swear, I must have one of the only bodies out there that can lose blood this steadily and NOT have the sense to be anemic. Sheesh.
#1 - Hi there, Angel! Glad to see you're out there in the blogosphere. And yipes, migraines suck. I'm whiny enough just bleeding most of the time. We definitely need to talk!
#2 - Speaking of bleeding, stop here if you don't want to read about the subject line. Yes, more of the bloodbath. You have been warned.
Anyway, yep, it's definitely my period. No wonder I'm lucid. Got up twice in the night to change super-plus supplies and back-ups of same.
Make that lucid but sleep deprived. Slightly grumpy, too.
I had to keep running to the bathroom at work every hour or so to take care of "matters" as well. This is especially obnoxious as I'm the prime telephone answerer, so any time I leave my desk I have to ask someone else to catch the phones. Therefore, any observant coworker with too much time on his or her hands can chart my time of the month.
I await the inevitable office pool with bated breath.
Cramping is running between a 1 and a 3 on a pain scale where zero is no pain and ten is pain comparable to feeling that my pelvis is going to fracture, like the way it felt when I was pushing out the younger offspring. This is nothing like that; ergo, it's not enough to cause me to lose any sleep... just annoy me when I'm awake. I'm actually allergic to Aleve (took it for a year back when it was by prescription only for cramps, then started getting hives), Tylenol doesn't touch the pain, and aspirin when I'm already bleeding seems, well, counterintuitive, yanno? And narcotics would definitely be over the top for a petty annoyance like this...
So yes, grumpy. That would be me.
My doc told me to let them know the start date of my period when they call to give me the results of the biopsy. Guess I'll call them with that info tomorrow, per their instructions, since I haven't heard from them yet and it's officially been a week.
I swear, I must have one of the only bodies out there that can lose blood this steadily and NOT have the sense to be anemic. Sheesh.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Uhm...
I've noticed many of my recent past posts have been pretty angry sounding. That's one reason I keep this blog... kind of to keep a pulse on where I am, where I've been, etc. My emotions keep whipping around like nobody's business, and it's driving me nuts (perhaps literally, ick).
To be fair to myself (because I read some of this stuff and was thinking, "Wow, okay, hello Rage Diary!" eek), I've had a pretty yucky time this past month or so, at least for me. On the other hand, other folks have it much MUCH worse.
This reflection is probably because right now I'm in a calm phase. This tells me the continued spotting weirdness is likely not post-biopsy spotting, but rather is my period, as I tend to be much less nutty a day or so after it sets in, and remain that way for around a week. Timing on this is good, because if I were in one of my more whacked-out states I'd likely be freaking out that I still haven't heard about the biopsy. Right now, though? Not a problem. Frankly, no news is good news, in my experience as a patient (I really REALLY have got to remember that when I'm losing my mind over some of this stuff). I'll either hear tomorrow, or I'll call in Friday. And if I call in Friday, it's a pretty safe bet they'll have the results in and have just been slammed at the office.
As a patient I, of course, wish they'd go ahead and call without me having to call in. As an office manager, though, I recognize that there are some days so busy folks can barely find time to choke down lunch. And that's just in architecture, which is rather laid back compared to many other fields, especially medicine. Really, in all fairness, my GYN's office is really very good about this stuff. And my GYN, much as he may aggravate me at times, is a logical, honest, and competent physician. If there were something really wrong and he had the results back, I'd know.
Need to remember to chart that I'm sane at the moment. That's another thing I appreciate about my GYN... he has a great appreciation for my lovely, color-coded anal-retentive menstrual chart that I'm keeping up on Excel, hee. I think it's that I'm one of few people who actually chart these things without being prompted that impresses him, actually, but heck, I'll take what I can get.
That said, I'm still wondering why I'm "She who bleeds and does not die." And I can't help but keep thinking about the menopause thing, FSH results be damned. It's a toss-up between researching on my own some more and risk driving my doc nuts, or hanging in there a bit longer. I'll probably do some of both, and try not to drive either of us crazy/ier in the process.
To be fair to myself (because I read some of this stuff and was thinking, "Wow, okay, hello Rage Diary!" eek), I've had a pretty yucky time this past month or so, at least for me. On the other hand, other folks have it much MUCH worse.
This reflection is probably because right now I'm in a calm phase. This tells me the continued spotting weirdness is likely not post-biopsy spotting, but rather is my period, as I tend to be much less nutty a day or so after it sets in, and remain that way for around a week. Timing on this is good, because if I were in one of my more whacked-out states I'd likely be freaking out that I still haven't heard about the biopsy. Right now, though? Not a problem. Frankly, no news is good news, in my experience as a patient (I really REALLY have got to remember that when I'm losing my mind over some of this stuff). I'll either hear tomorrow, or I'll call in Friday. And if I call in Friday, it's a pretty safe bet they'll have the results in and have just been slammed at the office.
As a patient I, of course, wish they'd go ahead and call without me having to call in. As an office manager, though, I recognize that there are some days so busy folks can barely find time to choke down lunch. And that's just in architecture, which is rather laid back compared to many other fields, especially medicine. Really, in all fairness, my GYN's office is really very good about this stuff. And my GYN, much as he may aggravate me at times, is a logical, honest, and competent physician. If there were something really wrong and he had the results back, I'd know.
Need to remember to chart that I'm sane at the moment. That's another thing I appreciate about my GYN... he has a great appreciation for my lovely, color-coded anal-retentive menstrual chart that I'm keeping up on Excel, hee. I think it's that I'm one of few people who actually chart these things without being prompted that impresses him, actually, but heck, I'll take what I can get.
That said, I'm still wondering why I'm "She who bleeds and does not die." And I can't help but keep thinking about the menopause thing, FSH results be damned. It's a toss-up between researching on my own some more and risk driving my doc nuts, or hanging in there a bit longer. I'll probably do some of both, and try not to drive either of us crazy/ier in the process.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Updates, Various
I think I hate this past month or so. It's pretty much sucked more than one of those Dyson vacuums (which I seriously covet) is rumored to do... only in a really fracking BAD way.
And Speed, yeah, I'm wondering why parrots live so long and our fuzzy little friends go so quickly. I'm sure there are people out there with parrots who are passionately attached to them and have very affectionate relationships with their birds. I'm likewise sure there is both joy and pain in knowing that your pet is very likely to outlive you, but at this moment in my life? I'd take that over what I'm feeling now.
The same day Little Guy died is the day I had my endometrial biopsy. My doctor did prescribe the Valium (5 mg, 1/2 Wednesday night and 1/2 Thursday morning). He was going to do two, but I'm a total lightweight with meds, so I told them I only needed one. Considering Thursday, I should have kept my big fat mouth shut and just let him give me two. Ah, hindsight.
At least the Valium was well timed, all things considered.
At any rate, it was MUCH less ooky than the cervical biopsy I had 12 years ago. That one involved tissue removal with some sort of snipper thingie, which was decidedly less than fun. This one mostly involved kind of sucking stuff from the endometrium with a straw, to put it in very basic and likely incredibly inaccurate terms. The worst part for me was when he placed the tenaculum to dilate the cervix. The actual biopsy bit wasn't an issue. There was no cramping at all, even though I was warned there would be some as the uterus really doesn't like things going into it (smart uterus!).
What there has been alot of is spotting. And more spotting. And semi-period-ish stuff, followed by more spotting. My last period ended on April 13th, and the biopsy was done on April 26th, so that means I got a whopping two weeks free of sanitary supplies. Yippie freaking ki yay. I'm calling in tomorrow to see if I should still be spotting, or if I should chalk it up to a slow-starting and light-for-me period.
I should have the results back at the end of this week, and am to call in Friday if they haven't called me by Thursday so someone can find out what the hold up is.
In other, happier news, I have three cats! A dear little girl named Emily came to join our family on Saturday.
You can see her Catster page here:
http://www.catster.com/cats/472892
(You'll likely have to copy/paste it because I can't seem to get Blogger's "Insert URL" feature to work.)
We didn't get her because we lost Little Guy. I'd actually been pitching Emily to my husband for a few days prior to LG's decline and demise. Big reason I wanted her? She's a GIRL! And she's a cute snuggly little affectionate feline as well. But most of all: GIRL!
I've been pretty outnumbered by the tripods here. At last count there were three human males, two feline males, and one canine male. And me. Six to one. GACK! But now? it's 5:2. Boo on the downslide to five, but yay on the two!
It did become a bit of a hard call going to get her, considering my Beast's death. I tossed and turned the idea around in my head and finally decided that as I'd been planning to get her prior to that particular event, that I wasn't breaking the cardinal rule of "Never EVER immediately get a pet to replace one that's just died." I didn't get her to replace my boy... no animal ever could replace him, bless his little incontinent heart (I warned y'all I'm a bit inappropriate with this grief thing). I got her because I needed a girl.
And now I have her. Welcome home, Emily. And if you knock Little Guy's ashes off the piano, we're going to have to have a little talk about respect for the dead.
(Uhm, I mentioned inappropriate, right? Yeah.)
And Speed, yeah, I'm wondering why parrots live so long and our fuzzy little friends go so quickly. I'm sure there are people out there with parrots who are passionately attached to them and have very affectionate relationships with their birds. I'm likewise sure there is both joy and pain in knowing that your pet is very likely to outlive you, but at this moment in my life? I'd take that over what I'm feeling now.
The same day Little Guy died is the day I had my endometrial biopsy. My doctor did prescribe the Valium (5 mg, 1/2 Wednesday night and 1/2 Thursday morning). He was going to do two, but I'm a total lightweight with meds, so I told them I only needed one. Considering Thursday, I should have kept my big fat mouth shut and just let him give me two. Ah, hindsight.
At least the Valium was well timed, all things considered.
At any rate, it was MUCH less ooky than the cervical biopsy I had 12 years ago. That one involved tissue removal with some sort of snipper thingie, which was decidedly less than fun. This one mostly involved kind of sucking stuff from the endometrium with a straw, to put it in very basic and likely incredibly inaccurate terms. The worst part for me was when he placed the tenaculum to dilate the cervix. The actual biopsy bit wasn't an issue. There was no cramping at all, even though I was warned there would be some as the uterus really doesn't like things going into it (smart uterus!).
What there has been alot of is spotting. And more spotting. And semi-period-ish stuff, followed by more spotting. My last period ended on April 13th, and the biopsy was done on April 26th, so that means I got a whopping two weeks free of sanitary supplies. Yippie freaking ki yay. I'm calling in tomorrow to see if I should still be spotting, or if I should chalk it up to a slow-starting and light-for-me period.
I should have the results back at the end of this week, and am to call in Friday if they haven't called me by Thursday so someone can find out what the hold up is.
In other, happier news, I have three cats! A dear little girl named Emily came to join our family on Saturday.
You can see her Catster page here:
http://www.catster.com/cats/472892
(You'll likely have to copy/paste it because I can't seem to get Blogger's "Insert URL" feature to work.)
We didn't get her because we lost Little Guy. I'd actually been pitching Emily to my husband for a few days prior to LG's decline and demise. Big reason I wanted her? She's a GIRL! And she's a cute snuggly little affectionate feline as well. But most of all: GIRL!
I've been pretty outnumbered by the tripods here. At last count there were three human males, two feline males, and one canine male. And me. Six to one. GACK! But now? it's 5:2. Boo on the downslide to five, but yay on the two!
It did become a bit of a hard call going to get her, considering my Beast's death. I tossed and turned the idea around in my head and finally decided that as I'd been planning to get her prior to that particular event, that I wasn't breaking the cardinal rule of "Never EVER immediately get a pet to replace one that's just died." I didn't get her to replace my boy... no animal ever could replace him, bless his little incontinent heart (I warned y'all I'm a bit inappropriate with this grief thing). I got her because I needed a girl.
And now I have her. Welcome home, Emily. And if you knock Little Guy's ashes off the piano, we're going to have to have a little talk about respect for the dead.
(Uhm, I mentioned inappropriate, right? Yeah.)
Sunday, April 29, 2007
My Mind is Blank
I've not been able to write much in the past few days. As you've likely noticed from the previous entry, my geriatric mutt passed away last Thursday. I'm torn between heartbreak and rememberance, and making incredibly inappropriately macabre-humorous remarks, which is my usual method of coping with tragedy. I know he was "just a dog," but he was MY dog, my first, very own, mine-all-mine dog. My boy.
When he was a little puppy he had rather smelly fur. Actually, to be truthful, he maintained the odor of wet mutt throughout his life regardless of the humidity of his fur. But when he was a baby I just couldn't understand WHY he stunk! Then someone told me that, as he was part terrier, terriers tend to have an oil in their skin that kind of keeps the funk going on.
My solution? "Obsession" scented perfume for dogs.
He forgave me for that, fortunately. And I wisely let him maintain his distinctively doggy odor after that little experiment failed.
When he turned five I got misty-eyed as I considered that, if he were human, he'd be heading off to kindergarten in the fall.
When he was eight years old, my elder son was born. Little Guy was so happy with the baby when he was little. He'd sit on the same quilt with him and just relax in the joy of knowing he had his own little piece of Mommy right there with him.
When he was twelve years old and my younger son was born, he knew enough to stay out of arm's reach from the child lest his fur be grabbed in a tiny fist.
For the longest time he didn't show his age much. At thirteen years old, he was bouncing around with the energy of a little puppy, even though he had some mild cataracts. But the past couple of years he's been failing. And finally, early Thursday morning, April 26, 2007, my baby boy crossed the Rainbow Bridge.
Enjoy, Little Guy. Mommy loves you, always.
When he was a little puppy he had rather smelly fur. Actually, to be truthful, he maintained the odor of wet mutt throughout his life regardless of the humidity of his fur. But when he was a baby I just couldn't understand WHY he stunk! Then someone told me that, as he was part terrier, terriers tend to have an oil in their skin that kind of keeps the funk going on.
My solution? "Obsession" scented perfume for dogs.
He forgave me for that, fortunately. And I wisely let him maintain his distinctively doggy odor after that little experiment failed.
When he turned five I got misty-eyed as I considered that, if he were human, he'd be heading off to kindergarten in the fall.
When he was eight years old, my elder son was born. Little Guy was so happy with the baby when he was little. He'd sit on the same quilt with him and just relax in the joy of knowing he had his own little piece of Mommy right there with him.
When he was twelve years old and my younger son was born, he knew enough to stay out of arm's reach from the child lest his fur be grabbed in a tiny fist.
For the longest time he didn't show his age much. At thirteen years old, he was bouncing around with the energy of a little puppy, even though he had some mild cataracts. But the past couple of years he's been failing. And finally, early Thursday morning, April 26, 2007, my baby boy crossed the Rainbow Bridge.
Enjoy, Little Guy. Mommy loves you, always.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Little GuyTuesday, April 24, 2007
It Seems Griping Works
I can go weeks between posts, months even... today?
Three.
Two posts prior I was whining about not having my test results back. Well, I have them back now. Cyber-whining -- it works!
Anyway, the results:
Pap smear? Normal; friable cervix and "polypoid structure" notwithstanding.
FSH (follicle stimulating hormone)? Normal; no signs of menopause.
Thyroid? Normal.
Pelvic ultrasound? Normal; no masses, uterus size, endometrial thickness, ovaries, fallopian tubes, everything is so normal the nurse asked me if there's ANYTHING imperfect about my bodily functions and structures.
Yay! And huh. Weird.
It's not as if I were wanting there to be something wrong, but I thought maybe I'd get some answers or at least a clue what in the hell is going on with me. I have hot flashes, my are periods beyond weird... I'm going to have to change that damned "prematurely perimenopausal" thingie in the title block... see what happens when non-medical personnel try to diagnose themselves?
So I get to go in sometime soon to have an endometrial biopsy. What this entails, apparently, is the use of a standard speculum (oh yippie), followed by the insertion of a tenaculum (described as a little tube with spikes/ prongs on some part of it) into my cervix. A pipelle (thin tube approx. the size of a tube of ink in a ballpoint pen) will then be inserted, which will cause cramping, and a sample of the endometrial lining will be taken and analyzed. The whole process will likely take as long to do as it took for the nurse to explain it to me. Perhaps we'll get some answers from that. Or not.
I have requested drugs. I had a cervical biopsy once. The doctor then (not this doc -- different state) said, "You don't need anything. It's so fast it will be over before you know it." Asshole. That thing HURT! I'm not going in there without some kind of sedative. I don't think the man wants me going to Hooters and knocking back a few prior to the biposy.
The one thing I gave them problems with was figuring out when to schedule this wonderfulness. They like to do this in the "luteal" phase of the cycle, which if I remember correctly -- give me a break, it's been like 15 minutes since I spoke to them -- is the week before the onset of my period. Question is, when WILL that sneaky little thing opt to show up next?
Inquiring minds want to know.
Oh, and changed the "about me" blurb. Heh.
Three.
Two posts prior I was whining about not having my test results back. Well, I have them back now. Cyber-whining -- it works!
Anyway, the results:
Pap smear? Normal; friable cervix and "polypoid structure" notwithstanding.
FSH (follicle stimulating hormone)? Normal; no signs of menopause.
Thyroid? Normal.
Pelvic ultrasound? Normal; no masses, uterus size, endometrial thickness, ovaries, fallopian tubes, everything is so normal the nurse asked me if there's ANYTHING imperfect about my bodily functions and structures.
Yay! And huh. Weird.
It's not as if I were wanting there to be something wrong, but I thought maybe I'd get some answers or at least a clue what in the hell is going on with me. I have hot flashes, my are periods beyond weird... I'm going to have to change that damned "prematurely perimenopausal" thingie in the title block... see what happens when non-medical personnel try to diagnose themselves?
So I get to go in sometime soon to have an endometrial biopsy. What this entails, apparently, is the use of a standard speculum (oh yippie), followed by the insertion of a tenaculum (described as a little tube with spikes/ prongs on some part of it) into my cervix. A pipelle (thin tube approx. the size of a tube of ink in a ballpoint pen) will then be inserted, which will cause cramping, and a sample of the endometrial lining will be taken and analyzed. The whole process will likely take as long to do as it took for the nurse to explain it to me. Perhaps we'll get some answers from that. Or not.
I have requested drugs. I had a cervical biopsy once. The doctor then (not this doc -- different state) said, "You don't need anything. It's so fast it will be over before you know it." Asshole. That thing HURT! I'm not going in there without some kind of sedative. I don't think the man wants me going to Hooters and knocking back a few prior to the biposy.
The one thing I gave them problems with was figuring out when to schedule this wonderfulness. They like to do this in the "luteal" phase of the cycle, which if I remember correctly -- give me a break, it's been like 15 minutes since I spoke to them -- is the week before the onset of my period. Question is, when WILL that sneaky little thing opt to show up next?
Inquiring minds want to know.
Oh, and changed the "about me" blurb. Heh.
Degrees of Cuteness
In lighter news: I, apparently, am "cuter than a duckling."
This courtesy of my eight-year-old.
He's a bright child. I'm going to go with his assessment.
This courtesy of my eight-year-old.
He's a bright child. I'm going to go with his assessment.
Still Nothing
First of all, hiyas Speed! Yes, I'm actually updating this thing again, miracle of miracles. Feel free to comment whenever. In fact, all four of my regular readers (do I have that many?), please comment away!
Now, on to the topic at hand.
Last Monday, April 16th, I went to my GYN about this period insanity. His nurse told me I should hear back on the blood testing in the next day or two. I've heard nothing.
I went in Wednesday for the pelvic ultrasound. They said I should hear something in a week to ten days. They've still got time, but at this point? Nada.
The PAP results should have been in within a week. It's the next Tuesday now. And what have I heard? Zip, zero, zilch.
Most of this wouldn't be a problem as they still have time to get the results in. However, I did call the doctor's office regarding the blood tests. The lady I spoke to that time told me I wouldn't hear for (wait for it) a week to ten days. I told her that I'd been told a day or two on the blood work, and I'd like to know because I needed to know if I was going to live or die -- yes I was a bit stressed. She checked the lab results, said they were all in, and she couldn't figure out why I was worried! Did I have any family with a cancer history? (No) No one who died early inexplicably? (No) Well, I was just fine and I'd hear from them on the results as soon as the doctor signed off on them.
Uhm, excuse me? But the reason I was worried is that my GYN himself appears to be convinced there's Something Very Terribly Wrong with me. THAT is why I was panicky. If he'd just said something like, "Well, you've said that your mother told you she had this same type of bleeding pattern, so perimenopause is a possibility and we'll do testing to see if your hormone levels reflect that. On the other hand, abnormal bleeding can also be a sign of various reproductive disorders (he wouldn't have to use the c-word, and could hold it in reserve in case I asked for specifics... which I would have). You don't have any in your family, but I also want to do testing along those lines to rule anything out."
See how easy that was? No panic, none of this, "I don't think you're pre-menopausal or perimenopausal. There are tests I need to run, because there are... 'things'... that can cause this type of bleeding, and we need to find out what's going on."
I hope it's apparent how his actual portrayal of the facts to me might have, I don't know, FREAKED ME OUT???
I'm peeved, in case you couldn't tell.
I also looked over this post and noticed I've used a bunch of question marks in it. I guess that's appropriate because I am questioning what in the hell is going on here. I don't know why my doctor practically dismissed early menopausal symptoms out of hand when he KNOWS my mother's reproductive history. I don't know why I still haven't heard from them officially on the test results when they know I'm scared shitless. I don't know why the woman I spoke to would even THINK to question me about why I'm freaked.
Holy Jesus God, people.
I'm not just peeved. I'm pissed.
Now, on to the topic at hand.
Last Monday, April 16th, I went to my GYN about this period insanity. His nurse told me I should hear back on the blood testing in the next day or two. I've heard nothing.
I went in Wednesday for the pelvic ultrasound. They said I should hear something in a week to ten days. They've still got time, but at this point? Nada.
The PAP results should have been in within a week. It's the next Tuesday now. And what have I heard? Zip, zero, zilch.
Most of this wouldn't be a problem as they still have time to get the results in. However, I did call the doctor's office regarding the blood tests. The lady I spoke to that time told me I wouldn't hear for (wait for it) a week to ten days. I told her that I'd been told a day or two on the blood work, and I'd like to know because I needed to know if I was going to live or die -- yes I was a bit stressed. She checked the lab results, said they were all in, and she couldn't figure out why I was worried! Did I have any family with a cancer history? (No) No one who died early inexplicably? (No) Well, I was just fine and I'd hear from them on the results as soon as the doctor signed off on them.
Uhm, excuse me? But the reason I was worried is that my GYN himself appears to be convinced there's Something Very Terribly Wrong with me. THAT is why I was panicky. If he'd just said something like, "Well, you've said that your mother told you she had this same type of bleeding pattern, so perimenopause is a possibility and we'll do testing to see if your hormone levels reflect that. On the other hand, abnormal bleeding can also be a sign of various reproductive disorders (he wouldn't have to use the c-word, and could hold it in reserve in case I asked for specifics... which I would have). You don't have any in your family, but I also want to do testing along those lines to rule anything out."
See how easy that was? No panic, none of this, "I don't think you're pre-menopausal or perimenopausal. There are tests I need to run, because there are... 'things'... that can cause this type of bleeding, and we need to find out what's going on."
I hope it's apparent how his actual portrayal of the facts to me might have, I don't know, FREAKED ME OUT???
I'm peeved, in case you couldn't tell.
I also looked over this post and noticed I've used a bunch of question marks in it. I guess that's appropriate because I am questioning what in the hell is going on here. I don't know why my doctor practically dismissed early menopausal symptoms out of hand when he KNOWS my mother's reproductive history. I don't know why I still haven't heard from them officially on the test results when they know I'm scared shitless. I don't know why the woman I spoke to would even THINK to question me about why I'm freaked.
Holy Jesus God, people.
I'm not just peeved. I'm pissed.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Optimism? HAH!
Right. Remember how optimistic I was that my GYN wouldn't dismiss my thoughts about perimenopause out of hand simply due to my age because, oh, he'd been my MOTHER'S doctor, knew her history, and KNEW her last period was at age 41? And KNEW that she started dealing with this crap around my age, perhaps just a year later?
Feh.
So I go to see the man (who is a moody soul, but was fortunately feeling amusing Monday). And I tell him what's going on and remind him of my mother's experience. I do have serious hopes that he'll actually remember this, as he and my folks are friends outside of the scope of his practice.
Well, he did remember my mother's experience. However, his insightful response to my weird periods? Is that they're "abnormal bleeding" (no shit, Sherlock), and that he doesn't think I'm doing the perimenopause thing. No, no, his ideas seem to center more along the lines of there being Something Really Very Seriously Wrong with me.
I went home and fretted hugely about the "C-word" since I googled all sorts of medical terms like a fracking idiot. But then I remembered my mom saying that he'd also told her she was having "abnormal bleeding" when she had THE SAME THING happen to her, period-wise, around my age (like we think bleeding for three weeks is normal???). And he'd done tests. And two D & Cs. And guess what, kids? It was perimenopause she was going through!
(banging head on desk)
I mean, I like the man, moodiness aside. He's not the most "modern" doc out there, and he's somewhere in his sixties, but he's blunt and to the point. He knows his strengths and his limits, and practices accordingly. I respect him as a professional, or I wouldn't be going to him again. He was in my rotation of OBs when I was expecting my first son (he'd just been doing GYN for several years, but got back into the OB gig for a bit), and was very clear that if I couldn't push the kid out and he was on call that I'd be getting a c-section because a) it had been a long time since he'd done a forceps delivery and he wasn't going to risk me or my son by using forceps when he was out of practice, and b) he wasn't trained in using vacuum extraction, so, well, see the explanation to item 'a'.
Now this didn't really tickle my fancy, but I appreciated that he was so straightforward about matters. And fortunately for me the other OB in the practice (WONDERFUL woman! Loved midwives, used many midwifery model methods in her practice, and was utterly ADORED by the hospital nurses) actually stayed on after her call was over to deliver my son.
With a vacuum.
Thanks to her, I've never had major abdominal surgery. Dr. K, wherever you are, you ROCK.
But anyway, back to my current doc. I'm glad that he's being thorough and checking everything. My GP is so laid back I'm sometimes worried he's comatose, but between the two of them I think I've got a good balance of care. And to be very fair, my GYN is having my pituitary function checked (and something else? the brain, she is fried) to see about the hormonal levels just in case I could possibly be correct and have inherited the tendency to early menopause from my mother.
He's requested the records from my now-rather-embarassing run to the ER, and is doing other bloodwork, some of which I've listed and some of which I haven't due to mommy-brain. Additionally, I'm going in tomorrow for a pelvic ultrasound.
Note: I have a bladder the size of a pea. This should be fun, considering I'm supposed to drink some God-awful amount of water an hour prior to the ultrasound and hold it.
So... we'll see what the tests say. Or if the tests require more tests, which is a strong possibility from my GYN's point of view. What really reeks is that I was wanting to wait to do all this until June, when my good medical insurance kicks in rather than this nearly-useless stuff I have now.
The ER visit changed that timeframe. Now I've just got to keep my eyes on all this while it plays out, and pray it doesn't break the bank.
Or me.
Feh.
So I go to see the man (who is a moody soul, but was fortunately feeling amusing Monday). And I tell him what's going on and remind him of my mother's experience. I do have serious hopes that he'll actually remember this, as he and my folks are friends outside of the scope of his practice.
Well, he did remember my mother's experience. However, his insightful response to my weird periods? Is that they're "abnormal bleeding" (no shit, Sherlock), and that he doesn't think I'm doing the perimenopause thing. No, no, his ideas seem to center more along the lines of there being Something Really Very Seriously Wrong with me.
I went home and fretted hugely about the "C-word" since I googled all sorts of medical terms like a fracking idiot. But then I remembered my mom saying that he'd also told her she was having "abnormal bleeding" when she had THE SAME THING happen to her, period-wise, around my age (like we think bleeding for three weeks is normal???). And he'd done tests. And two D & Cs. And guess what, kids? It was perimenopause she was going through!
(banging head on desk)
I mean, I like the man, moodiness aside. He's not the most "modern" doc out there, and he's somewhere in his sixties, but he's blunt and to the point. He knows his strengths and his limits, and practices accordingly. I respect him as a professional, or I wouldn't be going to him again. He was in my rotation of OBs when I was expecting my first son (he'd just been doing GYN for several years, but got back into the OB gig for a bit), and was very clear that if I couldn't push the kid out and he was on call that I'd be getting a c-section because a) it had been a long time since he'd done a forceps delivery and he wasn't going to risk me or my son by using forceps when he was out of practice, and b) he wasn't trained in using vacuum extraction, so, well, see the explanation to item 'a'.
Now this didn't really tickle my fancy, but I appreciated that he was so straightforward about matters. And fortunately for me the other OB in the practice (WONDERFUL woman! Loved midwives, used many midwifery model methods in her practice, and was utterly ADORED by the hospital nurses) actually stayed on after her call was over to deliver my son.
With a vacuum.
Thanks to her, I've never had major abdominal surgery. Dr. K, wherever you are, you ROCK.
But anyway, back to my current doc. I'm glad that he's being thorough and checking everything. My GP is so laid back I'm sometimes worried he's comatose, but between the two of them I think I've got a good balance of care. And to be very fair, my GYN is having my pituitary function checked (and something else? the brain, she is fried) to see about the hormonal levels just in case I could possibly be correct and have inherited the tendency to early menopause from my mother.
He's requested the records from my now-rather-embarassing run to the ER, and is doing other bloodwork, some of which I've listed and some of which I haven't due to mommy-brain. Additionally, I'm going in tomorrow for a pelvic ultrasound.
Note: I have a bladder the size of a pea. This should be fun, considering I'm supposed to drink some God-awful amount of water an hour prior to the ultrasound and hold it.
So... we'll see what the tests say. Or if the tests require more tests, which is a strong possibility from my GYN's point of view. What really reeks is that I was wanting to wait to do all this until June, when my good medical insurance kicks in rather than this nearly-useless stuff I have now.
The ER visit changed that timeframe. Now I've just got to keep my eyes on all this while it plays out, and pray it doesn't break the bank.
Or me.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Hormones... bleah.
More on the perimenopause from HELL. Stop reading now if this isn't your cup of tea.
Okay, are we all snuggled in now? Good.
Let me tell you a story of a woman in her late thirties. We'll call her "me" for the sake of accuracy. Well, you'll remember how my last period took 41 days to arrive. That selfsame period also took 22 days to depart, finishing off yesterday.
Last weekend I was experiencing frequent episodes of dizziness. I was worried because I was constantly bleeding, so I started myself off on some iron to help with any deficiencies that could be a result of that.
Monday it just got worse. And worse. To the point where I was having to hold a wall to keep my balance, even. Finally, around 3:00, I told one of my bosses what was going on -- and it's really fun to tell an almost-70-year-old man that you're worried you have a blood loss issue -- and went to the ER. I was honestly terrified that I'd just flat lost too much blood. I'd been anemic toward the end of my second pregnancy, dangerously so until it was caught, so yeah. Concerned, that was me.
So... I parked myself at the ER. The doctor, by the way, was a really neat lady, and a total hoot! She did a quick pelvic (I'd stopped bleeding for a little bit, of course), and then ordered all kinds of fun tests, including hematocrit (sp?) and yet ANOTHER pregnancy test. I also had my heart rate monitored, and had my blood pressure taken lying down, sitting, and standing.
Eventually she came back in and told me that a) I wasn't pregnant (we'd kind of figured that, but it was good to have a second confirmation via blood test), b) my hematocrit was good, and c) that my blood pressure, heart rate, blood sugar, and whatever else they tested weren't just good but PERFECT.
Uhm, okay. Now we know what it's NOT. She recommended I see my doctors. I concurred.
So Wednesday I went to see my GP, told him what had gone on, and he determined that the dizziness was due to an inner ear problem, which he said would likely self-resolve as it had been improving anyway. I think he was right, because I'm not dizzy anymore.
He also asked how my husband was handling the never-ending period, because, and I quote, "He isn't getting to have any fun!"
Sure. Because MY first priority, when I've been bleeding for THREE FRACKING WEEKS, is how my HUSBAND is handling his lack of sex life. Oy gevalt. Bless his little heart.
Next up is my appointment with my GYN on Monday. I couldn't get through to their office on Tuesday, so on Thursday I just went up to the med complex and made the appointment in person. The lady who did my intake asked me if there was a particular problem for which I'd like to see the doc, other than just an annual exam. I explained the whole period-that-wouldn't-arrive-then-wouldn't-leave drama, and she promptly put down that I was having perimenopausal symptoms.
It helps that my GYN is also my mother's GYN, and knows that she had her last period at age 41. I'm a little younger, but Mom also had a baby at 36, so that may have put her off a little, is my guess. So at least we have family history going for me.
We'll see how it goes. I'm optimistic that I won't have to do like many women I've heard about who have to argue with their doctors that, no, they aren't too young for this to be menopause, thankyouverymuch. Yes, it's premature, but it does happen. If it didn't, they wouldn't have a category called "premature menopause," now would they?
After that? Something to stop the damned bleeding. Ye gods, I'm tired of it.
Okay, are we all snuggled in now? Good.
Let me tell you a story of a woman in her late thirties. We'll call her "me" for the sake of accuracy. Well, you'll remember how my last period took 41 days to arrive. That selfsame period also took 22 days to depart, finishing off yesterday.
Last weekend I was experiencing frequent episodes of dizziness. I was worried because I was constantly bleeding, so I started myself off on some iron to help with any deficiencies that could be a result of that.
Monday it just got worse. And worse. To the point where I was having to hold a wall to keep my balance, even. Finally, around 3:00, I told one of my bosses what was going on -- and it's really fun to tell an almost-70-year-old man that you're worried you have a blood loss issue -- and went to the ER. I was honestly terrified that I'd just flat lost too much blood. I'd been anemic toward the end of my second pregnancy, dangerously so until it was caught, so yeah. Concerned, that was me.
So... I parked myself at the ER. The doctor, by the way, was a really neat lady, and a total hoot! She did a quick pelvic (I'd stopped bleeding for a little bit, of course), and then ordered all kinds of fun tests, including hematocrit (sp?) and yet ANOTHER pregnancy test. I also had my heart rate monitored, and had my blood pressure taken lying down, sitting, and standing.
Eventually she came back in and told me that a) I wasn't pregnant (we'd kind of figured that, but it was good to have a second confirmation via blood test), b) my hematocrit was good, and c) that my blood pressure, heart rate, blood sugar, and whatever else they tested weren't just good but PERFECT.
Uhm, okay. Now we know what it's NOT. She recommended I see my doctors. I concurred.
So Wednesday I went to see my GP, told him what had gone on, and he determined that the dizziness was due to an inner ear problem, which he said would likely self-resolve as it had been improving anyway. I think he was right, because I'm not dizzy anymore.
He also asked how my husband was handling the never-ending period, because, and I quote, "He isn't getting to have any fun!"
Sure. Because MY first priority, when I've been bleeding for THREE FRACKING WEEKS, is how my HUSBAND is handling his lack of sex life. Oy gevalt. Bless his little heart.
Next up is my appointment with my GYN on Monday. I couldn't get through to their office on Tuesday, so on Thursday I just went up to the med complex and made the appointment in person. The lady who did my intake asked me if there was a particular problem for which I'd like to see the doc, other than just an annual exam. I explained the whole period-that-wouldn't-arrive-then-wouldn't-leave drama, and she promptly put down that I was having perimenopausal symptoms.
It helps that my GYN is also my mother's GYN, and knows that she had her last period at age 41. I'm a little younger, but Mom also had a baby at 36, so that may have put her off a little, is my guess. So at least we have family history going for me.
We'll see how it goes. I'm optimistic that I won't have to do like many women I've heard about who have to argue with their doctors that, no, they aren't too young for this to be menopause, thankyouverymuch. Yes, it's premature, but it does happen. If it didn't, they wouldn't have a category called "premature menopause," now would they?
After that? Something to stop the damned bleeding. Ye gods, I'm tired of it.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Birthday
Well, I've changed some of that funky stuff up in the title block thingie as now I am officially 37, rather than just "nearly."
Not much to say about the birthday. I took the day off from work, took the kids to daycare (yes, I'm a bad mother), and proceeded to do nothing around the house except wash the dishes and scoop the litter boxes. Beyond that? I sat on my duff and read a book.
It was one of the best birthdays I've had in years. It's also the first day I took off just for me in almost two years. The last time I took a personal day off was just before our wedding anniversary in 2005. I was determined to get our bedroom looking nice, as I wanted the nuptial nookie I was envisioning to take place in a room that wasn't overrun with laundry, kid droppings (toys, people!), and other assorted piles.
Well, I got the room scraped up and proceeded to scrub at some spots on the carpet. This was where I really went wrong, apparently, because as I tried to get up from the floor my back screamed at me.
It continued to yell for the next three days. Nuptial nookie? Yeah, right.
So anyway, happy birthday to me! Hey, it's better than the alternative. Now I've just got to finish that book I started reading.
Not much to say about the birthday. I took the day off from work, took the kids to daycare (yes, I'm a bad mother), and proceeded to do nothing around the house except wash the dishes and scoop the litter boxes. Beyond that? I sat on my duff and read a book.
It was one of the best birthdays I've had in years. It's also the first day I took off just for me in almost two years. The last time I took a personal day off was just before our wedding anniversary in 2005. I was determined to get our bedroom looking nice, as I wanted the nuptial nookie I was envisioning to take place in a room that wasn't overrun with laundry, kid droppings (toys, people!), and other assorted piles.
Well, I got the room scraped up and proceeded to scrub at some spots on the carpet. This was where I really went wrong, apparently, because as I tried to get up from the floor my back screamed at me.
It continued to yell for the next three days. Nuptial nookie? Yeah, right.
So anyway, happy birthday to me! Hey, it's better than the alternative. Now I've just got to finish that book I started reading.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Friends
I just learned today that a friend of mine from back in junior high, extending through senior high, passed away. We got back into touch over 10 years ago when we were both teaching at the same middle school. It ended up that we lived in the same apartment building; I was on the third floor, she was on the first, and there was this evil wench living between us who liked to play music so loud it shook my floor and her dining room light fixture.
Time passed. She was in my wedding, I sang at hers. I moved out of state, she moved to another city. I moved back, and we met a few times sometimes with kids, sometimes without.
She'd suffered from breast cancer for years, and it had metastasized (or however that's spelled -- I'm so not looking things up tonight). Still, I thought she'd survive. I didn't keep in contact like I should. After all, she was going to be okay. There was always another chance for a lunch date, another time to write an e-mail, another day to make a phone call...
But there's not. There's no more time.
I know she now knows why I was so distracted -- or at least I selfishly comfort myself by believing so. But that doesn't change the fact that I let her down, even if she didn't miss my presence with all the other friends and family at her side.
That's on me.
Time passed. She was in my wedding, I sang at hers. I moved out of state, she moved to another city. I moved back, and we met a few times sometimes with kids, sometimes without.
She'd suffered from breast cancer for years, and it had metastasized (or however that's spelled -- I'm so not looking things up tonight). Still, I thought she'd survive. I didn't keep in contact like I should. After all, she was going to be okay. There was always another chance for a lunch date, another time to write an e-mail, another day to make a phone call...
But there's not. There's no more time.
I know she now knows why I was so distracted -- or at least I selfishly comfort myself by believing so. But that doesn't change the fact that I let her down, even if she didn't miss my presence with all the other friends and family at her side.
That's on me.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
An Open Letter to Publix Supermarkets
Dear Publix,
Most of the time I like what you do. I most especially like your deli, where I can purchase a variety of lovely sandwiches either premade or to order. The Boar's Head pesto ham on an onion roll with aged provolone on it, for example, is particularly to die for.
For the last few weeks I have been blissfully enjoying your premade Turkey Italian wrap. This delightful concoction consists of a spinach tortilla wrap stuffed full with various turkey luncheon meats, provolone cheese, tomatoes, onions, banana peppers, and even has dark leafy greens contained therein. It is ingeniously held together with a smear of cream cheese with chives.
This wrap has been the saving grace of my sanity of late. This wrap has taught me that yes, I too, can eat greens on a sandwich-type structure rather than merely in a bowl drowned in dressing. This wrap is a miracle worker.
So today, please imagine my distress when I discovered some "creative" individual had decided to toss BLACK OLIVES into my beloved wrap! Sweet baby Jesus, what sick mind could conceive of such a thing? Olives are food most foul. In fact, I hesitate to label them food due to the complete texture violation they visit on my mouth. They're weirdly firm, yet mushy, and they freaking SQUEAK between my teeth.
Why didn't I just pick them out, you ask? Well, rest assured I gave it a valiant effort. However, the same sadistic bastard who thought black olives were a good idea to spring on an unsuspecting wrap-eating public also seemed to to think that combining sliced olives with MINCED olives was just a dandy addition.
Do you know how hard it is to scrape tiny olive shreds out of baby greens? No? I suggest you try it sometime.
I managed to soldier on and only got one or two foul bits of olive in my mouth, but my wrap-love has been destroyed. Let this be a lesson to you, Publix. Don't screw with the pre-made wraps. Or if one of your foolishly-creative employees (perhaps marketing would be a better position for such a warped individual?) decides to do so, be sure to affix a large neon warning label: TEXTURE VIOLATION! MAY CONTAIN BLACK OLIVES! above the wrap bin.
Disgustedly yours,
Amanda Justice
Most of the time I like what you do. I most especially like your deli, where I can purchase a variety of lovely sandwiches either premade or to order. The Boar's Head pesto ham on an onion roll with aged provolone on it, for example, is particularly to die for.
For the last few weeks I have been blissfully enjoying your premade Turkey Italian wrap. This delightful concoction consists of a spinach tortilla wrap stuffed full with various turkey luncheon meats, provolone cheese, tomatoes, onions, banana peppers, and even has dark leafy greens contained therein. It is ingeniously held together with a smear of cream cheese with chives.
This wrap has been the saving grace of my sanity of late. This wrap has taught me that yes, I too, can eat greens on a sandwich-type structure rather than merely in a bowl drowned in dressing. This wrap is a miracle worker.
So today, please imagine my distress when I discovered some "creative" individual had decided to toss BLACK OLIVES into my beloved wrap! Sweet baby Jesus, what sick mind could conceive of such a thing? Olives are food most foul. In fact, I hesitate to label them food due to the complete texture violation they visit on my mouth. They're weirdly firm, yet mushy, and they freaking SQUEAK between my teeth.
Why didn't I just pick them out, you ask? Well, rest assured I gave it a valiant effort. However, the same sadistic bastard who thought black olives were a good idea to spring on an unsuspecting wrap-eating public also seemed to to think that combining sliced olives with MINCED olives was just a dandy addition.
Do you know how hard it is to scrape tiny olive shreds out of baby greens? No? I suggest you try it sometime.
I managed to soldier on and only got one or two foul bits of olive in my mouth, but my wrap-love has been destroyed. Let this be a lesson to you, Publix. Don't screw with the pre-made wraps. Or if one of your foolishly-creative employees (perhaps marketing would be a better position for such a warped individual?) decides to do so, be sure to affix a large neon warning label: TEXTURE VIOLATION! MAY CONTAIN BLACK OLIVES! above the wrap bin.
Disgustedly yours,
Amanda Justice
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Enter the Crone
I'm not pregnant.
This is good news. Pretty much. At two kids our house is full-ish, and our budget is definitely at its maximum.
Yet part of me is sad, because this was the last chance I had to have another baby. I'm the oldest of three kids, and although it's silly to figure my life will be like my mother's (especially because it isn't at all, period), I'd always thought I had room for just one more baby.
But I'm extremely perimenopausal. And this last 41 day cycle (which involved lots of home pregnancy tests and finally a blood test to clarify that I am definitely NOT pregnant) has convinced me that it's time to head in to the doctor and get a cure for what ails me. The past three years I've had increasingly heavy and increasingly undependable periods. I range from 23 to (now) 41 days cyclically, and I invariably have a day or three where I'm literally changing the "sanitary" supplies every hour.
Something's got to give, and it's going to have to be my fertility. No matter which way I go, hormones, laser, hysterectomy... it means no more kids. No more possibility of kids. I'm not overly saddened by this (and let me say here that I am thrilled to know the "feminine hygeine" aisle and I will be on much less intimate terms), but it's weird knowing I'm hitting the Crone stage of my life so swiftly.
So. Sounds like I don't have room for one more baby. To be fair, my husband's been done since #2; so we've actively avoided pregnancy while realizing that it could potentially happen as neither of us has taken permanent steps to end our fertility. Our avoidance has worked, apparently rather well. And really, that's fine, but while I was testing away for the past week I had a chance to look at possibilities... possibilities that are now gone.
No third child for me. No "one last chance" for a daughter for me.
It's fine.
This is good news. Pretty much. At two kids our house is full-ish, and our budget is definitely at its maximum.
Yet part of me is sad, because this was the last chance I had to have another baby. I'm the oldest of three kids, and although it's silly to figure my life will be like my mother's (especially because it isn't at all, period), I'd always thought I had room for just one more baby.
But I'm extremely perimenopausal. And this last 41 day cycle (which involved lots of home pregnancy tests and finally a blood test to clarify that I am definitely NOT pregnant) has convinced me that it's time to head in to the doctor and get a cure for what ails me. The past three years I've had increasingly heavy and increasingly undependable periods. I range from 23 to (now) 41 days cyclically, and I invariably have a day or three where I'm literally changing the "sanitary" supplies every hour.
Something's got to give, and it's going to have to be my fertility. No matter which way I go, hormones, laser, hysterectomy... it means no more kids. No more possibility of kids. I'm not overly saddened by this (and let me say here that I am thrilled to know the "feminine hygeine" aisle and I will be on much less intimate terms), but it's weird knowing I'm hitting the Crone stage of my life so swiftly.
So. Sounds like I don't have room for one more baby. To be fair, my husband's been done since #2; so we've actively avoided pregnancy while realizing that it could potentially happen as neither of us has taken permanent steps to end our fertility. Our avoidance has worked, apparently rather well. And really, that's fine, but while I was testing away for the past week I had a chance to look at possibilities... possibilities that are now gone.
No third child for me. No "one last chance" for a daughter for me.
It's fine.
Monday, March 19, 2007
My Feline Children
I've mentioned that I have two human children, and touched on the fact that I recently acquired two cat kids. Well, let me just say that the cat kids are totally awesome!
Nothing against my human offspring, I assure you.
The elder cat kid is Daniel. We got him a bit over a month ago, at nine months of age. My elder son and I had been out looking for a kitten (we thought that was what we needed) when we got a call from the younger's daycare provider. She was at the SPCA and had intercepted a man who was going into the SPCA to surrender one of his family's cats (they'd taken in a pregnant female who produced four kittens and the family was suffering from an embarassment of feline riches). Unlike most of the cats being taken in for surrender in carriers, Daniel was being carried in his then-owner's arms. He was beautiful... long white coat with black tail, black ears and mask, and a "Mickey Mouse" set of spots on one side. I looked at my son and asked, "Would you like this cat?"
Hope welled up in his eyes (we'd been looking quite a bit), and he just looked at the cat with complete love and adoration and nodded his head. Thus, Daniel joined our family.
He spent the first week under the china cabinet, coming out only for the elder son. We took him in to get fixed, and he then spent the next week under that same child's bed. Since that time, he has actively joined in the family (and he LOVES his scratching post, blessed beast!).
Next came Patrick. Now Daniel had a tiny issue with my husband. The spousal unit is a bit loud and Daniel, as an extremely vocal cat -- the reason his former people chose him to surrender -- was used to being the biggest voice in the house; that plus the fact that the spousal unit is the one who caught him to "crate" him for his trip to the vet for his neutering... OUCH! Sad thing is, my husband is the real "cat person" in the house. I'm pretty apathetic to most cats, due to the fact that, well, I'm allergic to the wee beasties.
I'm devoted to my family, obviously.
Anyway, as the big cat lover of the family, it about did him in that Daniel ran from him at every conceivable opportunity. He wanted a cat of his own. Preferably a kitten that he could bond to himself. We'd discussed going to the SPCA, but about a week ago we'd gone to the pet store to get Daniel more cat food, and danged if they didn't have kittens.
Rats.
Thus, Patrick entered our lives. He's a brown and black tabby with a white throat and belly and white "boots" on his bitty paws. He's about eight weeks old and totally adorable. As a kitten, HE didn't hide under any furniture. No, we're more likely to find Patrick perched on the kitchen table (eyeroll).
I clean that table quite a bit, anymore.
We were naturally worried about how the introduction would go. After all, Daniel is an altered male cat, but recently altered, and fully grown (feline is HUGE!), and Patrick is a sweet tiny baby un-altered male cat. However, we couldn't have been more pleased. They took turns forming the cat train (wherein one cat's nose is affixed to the other cat's behind), and later that night I caught Daniel washing Patrick. It was a very cute sappy moment.
Obviously the cats are quite useful with the ongoing mouse invasion as I continue to disrupt the living conditions of our resident vermin by demucking every storage space in our house (darned shame, that). Today I heard "Mouse alert!" from the elder, and came out to find Patrick gleefully tossing the corpse of a small mouse into the air, catching it, shaking it, pouncing on it, etc. The boy got Patrick away from his "toy" (without scratching!) and I wrinkled up my nose and tossed the nasty thing out.
When we got home later on (my big kid had some weird allergic reaction, so we were home today), my husband asked me if I'd tossed the mouse the cats had had earlier. Of COURSE I had! Well, it seems his employee was over and found yet another body, and disposed of it for us.
I learned later on that my husband had caught Daniel lurking in the kitchen staring at the dishwasher (the little nasties evidently have a home under there), prepared to pounce.
Marvelous EFFECTIVE felines!
But it's not for that reason alone I love these cats. And yes, I, the allergic one, do love them. It's that I think we got absolutely the perfect cats for our family. They're both slow to scratch (I've taught the kids that the second the cats show signs of being restless while being held it's time to put them down), they're tolerant of both kids, and both of them will even let my little boy hold and carry them.
I never thought I'd see a 35 lb. four-year-old hoisting around a 15 lb. cat, but I was obviously mistaken. More amazing was the fact that the cat was just as relaxed and happy as could be.
It's just darling, and I'm smitten, by all four of the (invited) under-five-footers in this house.
And my dog. Who pees on the carpet. Bless him.
Nothing against my human offspring, I assure you.
The elder cat kid is Daniel. We got him a bit over a month ago, at nine months of age. My elder son and I had been out looking for a kitten (we thought that was what we needed) when we got a call from the younger's daycare provider. She was at the SPCA and had intercepted a man who was going into the SPCA to surrender one of his family's cats (they'd taken in a pregnant female who produced four kittens and the family was suffering from an embarassment of feline riches). Unlike most of the cats being taken in for surrender in carriers, Daniel was being carried in his then-owner's arms. He was beautiful... long white coat with black tail, black ears and mask, and a "Mickey Mouse" set of spots on one side. I looked at my son and asked, "Would you like this cat?"
Hope welled up in his eyes (we'd been looking quite a bit), and he just looked at the cat with complete love and adoration and nodded his head. Thus, Daniel joined our family.
He spent the first week under the china cabinet, coming out only for the elder son. We took him in to get fixed, and he then spent the next week under that same child's bed. Since that time, he has actively joined in the family (and he LOVES his scratching post, blessed beast!).
Next came Patrick. Now Daniel had a tiny issue with my husband. The spousal unit is a bit loud and Daniel, as an extremely vocal cat -- the reason his former people chose him to surrender -- was used to being the biggest voice in the house; that plus the fact that the spousal unit is the one who caught him to "crate" him for his trip to the vet for his neutering... OUCH! Sad thing is, my husband is the real "cat person" in the house. I'm pretty apathetic to most cats, due to the fact that, well, I'm allergic to the wee beasties.
I'm devoted to my family, obviously.
Anyway, as the big cat lover of the family, it about did him in that Daniel ran from him at every conceivable opportunity. He wanted a cat of his own. Preferably a kitten that he could bond to himself. We'd discussed going to the SPCA, but about a week ago we'd gone to the pet store to get Daniel more cat food, and danged if they didn't have kittens.
Rats.
Thus, Patrick entered our lives. He's a brown and black tabby with a white throat and belly and white "boots" on his bitty paws. He's about eight weeks old and totally adorable. As a kitten, HE didn't hide under any furniture. No, we're more likely to find Patrick perched on the kitchen table (eyeroll).
I clean that table quite a bit, anymore.
We were naturally worried about how the introduction would go. After all, Daniel is an altered male cat, but recently altered, and fully grown (feline is HUGE!), and Patrick is a sweet tiny baby un-altered male cat. However, we couldn't have been more pleased. They took turns forming the cat train (wherein one cat's nose is affixed to the other cat's behind), and later that night I caught Daniel washing Patrick. It was a very cute sappy moment.
Obviously the cats are quite useful with the ongoing mouse invasion as I continue to disrupt the living conditions of our resident vermin by demucking every storage space in our house (darned shame, that). Today I heard "Mouse alert!" from the elder, and came out to find Patrick gleefully tossing the corpse of a small mouse into the air, catching it, shaking it, pouncing on it, etc. The boy got Patrick away from his "toy" (without scratching!) and I wrinkled up my nose and tossed the nasty thing out.
When we got home later on (my big kid had some weird allergic reaction, so we were home today), my husband asked me if I'd tossed the mouse the cats had had earlier. Of COURSE I had! Well, it seems his employee was over and found yet another body, and disposed of it for us.
I learned later on that my husband had caught Daniel lurking in the kitchen staring at the dishwasher (the little nasties evidently have a home under there), prepared to pounce.
Marvelous EFFECTIVE felines!
But it's not for that reason alone I love these cats. And yes, I, the allergic one, do love them. It's that I think we got absolutely the perfect cats for our family. They're both slow to scratch (I've taught the kids that the second the cats show signs of being restless while being held it's time to put them down), they're tolerant of both kids, and both of them will even let my little boy hold and carry them.
I never thought I'd see a 35 lb. four-year-old hoisting around a 15 lb. cat, but I was obviously mistaken. More amazing was the fact that the cat was just as relaxed and happy as could be.
It's just darling, and I'm smitten, by all four of the (invited) under-five-footers in this house.
And my dog. Who pees on the carpet. Bless him.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Not my JOB???
What is my job as a parent, relating to school issues?
My job, first and foremost, is to keep close tabs on my children's progress and status within the school system. That is the most important part of what I do.
However, in some circles there is some question about just what a parent's job is regarding the state of a school itself, along with the state of the school system in which we reside.
I think any responsible parent keeps a thumb on the pulse of the state of the school system, via news reports and other input, and also pays attention to the school atmosphere in general, as both these things can affect children in varying ways.
I find that reasonable.
However, I have recently learned that my desire to pay attention to my son's school as a whole and to the school system itself makes me into a "watchdog" type of parent, who obviously must not trust the system or I wouldn't need to keep an eye on it.
I don't agree, obviously. So if anyone has an opinion, let me know. I've out-debated this in the area where I was, so I'm just curious regarding others' views.
My job, first and foremost, is to keep close tabs on my children's progress and status within the school system. That is the most important part of what I do.
However, in some circles there is some question about just what a parent's job is regarding the state of a school itself, along with the state of the school system in which we reside.
I think any responsible parent keeps a thumb on the pulse of the state of the school system, via news reports and other input, and also pays attention to the school atmosphere in general, as both these things can affect children in varying ways.
I find that reasonable.
However, I have recently learned that my desire to pay attention to my son's school as a whole and to the school system itself makes me into a "watchdog" type of parent, who obviously must not trust the system or I wouldn't need to keep an eye on it.
I don't agree, obviously. So if anyone has an opinion, let me know. I've out-debated this in the area where I was, so I'm just curious regarding others' views.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Telemarketers
You could blame John Scalzi for this post, but that just wouldn't be fair. He merely provided the inspiration.
I hate telemarketers.
I don't hate the individual people. I mean, everyone has to make a living. But I hate, hate, HATE trying to explain to the people on the other end of the telephone that a) I don't wish to discuss their charity, and my husband is in charge of giving to charities in our home; and b) that this is a place of BUSINESS, and NO, we do not have to take your unsolicited sales calls if we do not want to, THANK YOU.
For the first one, at home, we're on the National Do Not Call List. Have been since anyone could register. So we don't get the sales calls. No, we get the "Please give us money" calls. My husband and I give to charities we know, but in the wake of post 9/11, the number of charitable organizations supporting the police and fire departments has increased astronomically. It's as if the telemarketing companies are hiring "charities" to be fronts to support them. And they call MERCILESSLY. And it doesn't matter that I'm not my husband, John "Justice." No, they're fine with talking to me... until I tell them I'm not authorized to make any financial decisions in this household. Hee.
Fact is, I can make any financial decision I want. Just in case anyone is worried I'm being repressed.
And at work? Holy Jesus God. Save me from them! I put the office on the National Do Not Call List, but it takes time for everything to go through, so in the meantime I have to deal with idiot companies who either make computerized calls (and then, when I get a real person, get SNIPPY that I want to put all six numbers on THEIR do not call list, which they have to do... asshats), or idiot stock brokers calling individual professionals at my place of business who simply must speak to "Robert."
I'm sorry, no one at the entire office goes by "Robert." We do have a "Bob," so "Robert" is a good cue that the person at the other end of the call is a stock broker who thinks "Bob" will want to buy some stock. Preferably from him.
I got into a loverly argument with such an individual just yesterday. I answered the phone, and the man at the other end told me, "Yes, I need to speak to Robert about a project."
Okay, "Robert". Red flag.
"And what is the name of your company?"
Response: "It's very important that I speak with Robert."
"What project would you like to discuss with him?"
Annoyed pause.
"It's my project. He's not aware of it yet. I need to brief him on it."
"Certainly. Let me speak with him. Just a moment, sir."
Yeah, "brief" him on it? My happy ass. This ain't no law office. And if anyone would know that, I would.
Here is where the interlude where I talk to "Bob" and ask him about this person, he tells me that yeah, he's probably a stock broker, and I'm welcome to make him go away, occurs. Then I return to the telephone.
"Yes, sir?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry, but I spoke to my boss and he informed me you were likely a stockbroker calling with unsolicited investment advice, basically a telemarketer. He does not wish to speak with you, nor does he have time to do so. He also asked me to let you know we are on the National Do Not Call List."
Response, wherein the caller does not dispute the facts in question, and very snottily says: "Well, as that list doesn't apply to businesses..."
"Actually, sir, any number can be placed on the National Do Not Call List, and I personally placed all six of our office's numbers on the list. Now, I am trying to get some work done, and as I am the only person who answers the telephone here, I would suggest you put us on your do not call list or I will be next be making a complaint to the FTC."
I then hung up. And I WILL make the freaking complaint, too, should the jerkweed call again. I've done it before, and it reaps lovely (and quiet) results.
Hopefully things will quiet down once the office's numbers hit the list. And as for the homefront? Please know that you CAN request charities and polling agencies to put you on THEIR "Do Not Call" lists, and if they fail to abide by that, you can register a complaint.
And for everyone who heard the "Dead Parrot" sketch when they saw the last words of the preceding paragraph, I'm right there with you.
I hate telemarketers.
I don't hate the individual people. I mean, everyone has to make a living. But I hate, hate, HATE trying to explain to the people on the other end of the telephone that a) I don't wish to discuss their charity, and my husband is in charge of giving to charities in our home; and b) that this is a place of BUSINESS, and NO, we do not have to take your unsolicited sales calls if we do not want to, THANK YOU.
For the first one, at home, we're on the National Do Not Call List. Have been since anyone could register. So we don't get the sales calls. No, we get the "Please give us money" calls. My husband and I give to charities we know, but in the wake of post 9/11, the number of charitable organizations supporting the police and fire departments has increased astronomically. It's as if the telemarketing companies are hiring "charities" to be fronts to support them. And they call MERCILESSLY. And it doesn't matter that I'm not my husband, John "Justice." No, they're fine with talking to me... until I tell them I'm not authorized to make any financial decisions in this household. Hee.
Fact is, I can make any financial decision I want. Just in case anyone is worried I'm being repressed.
And at work? Holy Jesus God. Save me from them! I put the office on the National Do Not Call List, but it takes time for everything to go through, so in the meantime I have to deal with idiot companies who either make computerized calls (and then, when I get a real person, get SNIPPY that I want to put all six numbers on THEIR do not call list, which they have to do... asshats), or idiot stock brokers calling individual professionals at my place of business who simply must speak to "Robert."
I'm sorry, no one at the entire office goes by "Robert." We do have a "Bob," so "Robert" is a good cue that the person at the other end of the call is a stock broker who thinks "Bob" will want to buy some stock. Preferably from him.
I got into a loverly argument with such an individual just yesterday. I answered the phone, and the man at the other end told me, "Yes, I need to speak to Robert about a project."
Okay, "Robert". Red flag.
"And what is the name of your company?"
Response: "It's very important that I speak with Robert."
"What project would you like to discuss with him?"
Annoyed pause.
"It's my project. He's not aware of it yet. I need to brief him on it."
"Certainly. Let me speak with him. Just a moment, sir."
Yeah, "brief" him on it? My happy ass. This ain't no law office. And if anyone would know that, I would.
Here is where the interlude where I talk to "Bob" and ask him about this person, he tells me that yeah, he's probably a stock broker, and I'm welcome to make him go away, occurs. Then I return to the telephone.
"Yes, sir?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry, but I spoke to my boss and he informed me you were likely a stockbroker calling with unsolicited investment advice, basically a telemarketer. He does not wish to speak with you, nor does he have time to do so. He also asked me to let you know we are on the National Do Not Call List."
Response, wherein the caller does not dispute the facts in question, and very snottily says: "Well, as that list doesn't apply to businesses..."
"Actually, sir, any number can be placed on the National Do Not Call List, and I personally placed all six of our office's numbers on the list. Now, I am trying to get some work done, and as I am the only person who answers the telephone here, I would suggest you put us on your do not call list or I will be next be making a complaint to the FTC."
I then hung up. And I WILL make the freaking complaint, too, should the jerkweed call again. I've done it before, and it reaps lovely (and quiet) results.
Hopefully things will quiet down once the office's numbers hit the list. And as for the homefront? Please know that you CAN request charities and polling agencies to put you on THEIR "Do Not Call" lists, and if they fail to abide by that, you can register a complaint.
And for everyone who heard the "Dead Parrot" sketch when they saw the last words of the preceding paragraph, I'm right there with you.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Lover Style
Okay, so I tested out what kind of lover I am. Apparently, this is me:
The Classic Lover
50% partner focus, 42% aggressiveness, 40% adventurousness Based on the results of this test, it is highly likely that:
You prefer your romance and love to be traditional rather than daring or out-of-the-ordinary, you would rather be pursued than do the pursuing and, when it comes to physical love, you concentrate more on enjoying the experience rather than worrying about your performance.
This places you in the Lover Style of: The Classic Lover.
The Classic Lover is a wonderful Lover Style, and is the closest it comes to the classic images of the princess in the tower, or the romantic and chivalrous knight, or the hero/heroine from a Disney film. The Classic Lover is a treasure to find, though it can be difficult to do so because they sometimes tend to be shy and/or difficult to successfully court.
In terms of physical love, the Classic Lover again can be shy, and often needs more in terms of emotional security to feel comfortable than some of the other Types. Given the right setting, and the right lover, the Classic Lover can be a delight in bed.
Best Compatibility can probably be found with: The Romantic Lover (most of all) or the Devoted Lover, or the Liberated Lover.
, you're now logged in!
Below you'll find your test result. After, continue on to your homescreen to discover what we're about.
50% partner focus, 42% aggressiveness, 40% adventurousness
You prefer your romance and love to be traditional rather than daring or out-of-the-ordinary, you would rather be pursued than do the pursuing and, when it comes to physical love, you concentrate more on enjoying the experience rather than worrying about your performance.
This places you in the Lover Style of: The Classic Lover.
The Classic Lover is a wonderful Lover Style, and is the closest it comes to the classic images of the princess in the tower, or the romantic and chivalrous knight, or the hero/heroine from a Disney film. The Classic Lover is a treasure to find, though it can be difficult to do so because they sometimes tend to be shy and/or difficult to successfully court.
In terms of physical love, the Classic Lover again can be shy, and often needs more in terms of emotional security to feel comfortable than some of the other Types. Given the right setting, and the right lover, the Classic Lover can be a delight in bed.
Best Compatibility can probably be found with: The Romantic Lover (most of all) or the Devoted Lover, or the Liberated Lover.
Updating
Wow, October was the last time I updated this, eh?
A few things have happened since then. No, I haven't moved to Mars or anything like that. I've just been dealing with Thanksgiving, The Thanksgiving Cruise (thanks, Mom and Dad!), the Christmas Buildup, Christmas, three gatherings with the folks on my local newspaper's forum (hey, y'all!) etc.
Since January is about over, well, things have settled down. My brother and his wife produced their first son and my first nephew, finally making me an AUNT! And the child is beyond lovely, outside of the fact that I can cuddle him and not worry about him waking me up at night. Workwise, I'm attempting to activate a new timekeeping/ billing system. Problem being, the program sucks. What sucks more is that the folks who sold it to us also are the original programmers, so any criticism leveled by my office is received about as well as a negative comment about a long-awaited baby would be.
I hate the program. I think I already mentioned that.
Hmmm in other news? I got nothing. No commentary. I still can't stand Bush, I'm still a breastfeeding advocate, the traffic here is still abominable, etc.
Should something grab me, I'll put up an entry.
A few things have happened since then. No, I haven't moved to Mars or anything like that. I've just been dealing with Thanksgiving, The Thanksgiving Cruise (thanks, Mom and Dad!), the Christmas Buildup, Christmas, three gatherings with the folks on my local newspaper's forum (hey, y'all!) etc.
Since January is about over, well, things have settled down. My brother and his wife produced their first son and my first nephew, finally making me an AUNT! And the child is beyond lovely, outside of the fact that I can cuddle him and not worry about him waking me up at night. Workwise, I'm attempting to activate a new timekeeping/ billing system. Problem being, the program sucks. What sucks more is that the folks who sold it to us also are the original programmers, so any criticism leveled by my office is received about as well as a negative comment about a long-awaited baby would be.
I hate the program. I think I already mentioned that.
Hmmm in other news? I got nothing. No commentary. I still can't stand Bush, I'm still a breastfeeding advocate, the traffic here is still abominable, etc.
Should something grab me, I'll put up an entry.
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