Adenomyosis

I have always wanted to be a mom. 

When I was a kid, I played teacher. I’ve convinced myself that at some point I wanted to be an astronaut. My grandma insists that I wanted to be a writer. But none of those are true. The only thing I have ever wanted to be is a mom. I was going to be a stay at home mom and I was going to homeschool my kids. In fifth grade, my best friends Courtney and Carrie and I made our own version of the game True Colors and we played it every day. One of the questions was, “Who is most likely to have seven kids?” And we all, always picked me. Because that’s what I wanted. Not just to be a mom, but to have seven kids. Seven. That has been my dream my entire life.

I didn’t know what to major in when I went to college, because I wanted to be a mom. I don’t mean to sound pretentious, but I knew I was smart enough to be anything I wanted to be. If I wanted to be a doctor, I could have done it. If I wanted to be a lawyer, I could have done it. But I wanted to be a mom. What degree do you get for that? So I just went with the degree that I enjoyed the most, because I didn’t think I’d really end up using it that long. After I got my Bachelors, Daniel and I moved to Oxford for me to get my Masters, but we moved back because even though I wanted my PhD someday, I didn’t want it even a fraction as much as I wanted a family. I just enjoyed being a student and kind of thought of it as something to do until my real life started. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. Teaching has brought me a lot of joy over the years. I love sharing the love of literature with my students when they’ll let me. But I always thought it was only temporary. I never thought I’d retire from teaching. 

I’ve known I am infertile and/or can’t carry a child beyond a few weeks for over 10 years, so believe me when I say that I’ve considered all of the options. Daniel and I finished everything but the final visit from the social worker to become foster parents, but I couldn’t go through with it. It didn’t feel right. I think I thought I would be one of those people who would find out they were pregnant the day they finalized an adoption or accepted their first placement. As it turns out, that’s not a good reason to become a foster parent. 

I have been on and off birth control for years. My menstrual cycle has been literal hell since I was fourteen years old, and birth control is the only thing that can control it. But I can’t do it. I can’t take it. It makes me crazy. Not because the hormones make me crazy, but because I can’t live with myself knowing that I am intentionally taking away any chance I may have of ever having a baby. I literally have breakdowns every few days if I try and take birth control. I don’t ever cry. Unless it’s about a baby. And then I either cry for hours at a time, trying to hide it from Ryan so he doesn’t feel guilty, or sob uncontrollably to the point that I can’t breathe.

When I married Ryan, I got two beautiful step kids, both of whom I love more than I could have imagined, but they both have mommas. And while I love the role I play in both of their lives, it’s not really the role of mom. They were both a little too grown for that when I came along. And by the time I get to be grandma, I will be 10+ hours away, so I will never be grandma who takes care of her grandkids everyday after school until mom and dad get off work, just grandma we get to see once or twice a year who brings good presents. 

I have had this narrative in my head my entire life of, “When I have kids . . .” but something has happened recently. A few weeks ago I heard the word “Adenomyosis.” I have read and read and read, and I think it’s describing me. Long, heavy periods. Does a six month long period count? Or a period that sends me to the ER with a hemoglobin level of 4? 

I have had terrible periods my entire life, but there are three that stand out in my memory as the worst. And I think they may have all three been miscarriages, but I’ll never know. I haven’t taken a pregnancy test in over 15 years because it’s just too hard to see “No,” “No,” “No,” over and over and over again even though you haven’t had a period in six months. Six months on, six months off. That’s normal, right? I convinced myself it was a balancing of the scales and only told people/went to the doctor around the six month mark both times. So I’ll never know whether or not I was pregnant, all I know is that I mourned like I was.

I plan to call my doctor soon and talk to him about Adenomyosis and getting some testing done. But I’m scared. See, more and more research is being done about Adenomyosis, and it would seem that because the tissue lining grows into the uterus, that individuals with Adenomyosis cannot carry a baby even if they do manage to get pregnant. (Look up Gabrielle Union’s story to learn more.) Since I’ve been with Ryan, I have joked that I have a .05% chance of getting pregnant. Here’s the thing, I have clung to that .05% for dear life. I truly believed a Vasovasostomy and/or IVF were in our future. But if I do have Adenomyosis, that’s the end.

I have always had that .05% chance of hope, and I feel like it’s been taken away since I heard that word. And I have to be honest, I’m not okay. I’m not okay. I don’t know how to move past this. I don’t know how to accept it. I don’t know how to move through life watching people I love get pregnant and have babies, or watch people who don’t even want babies have babies. It’s shaking my faith. I specifically remember a night when I was laying in a hotel room having a break down after Daniel died, and I opened my bible and began to read. It was Genesis 22, when God promises Abraham that his lineage will be like the stars in the sky or sand on the beach. Then I cried some more and raged at God. I opened my bible study and the verse for the day was Hebrews 6:15. Again about God’s promise to Abraham, and I knew in that moment that God was making a promise to me. I knew it without a doubt and prayed about it on my knees for hours. I feel like all of that hope is gone now. Maybe I just read it wrong. Maybe I lied to myself.

I know so many strong, amazing women who don’t have children. And sometimes I just want to go to them and shake them and beg them to tell me how I can live a life with meaning without children, but I don’t want to belittle their lives or desires for their lives. I understand there are women out there who don’t want children and don’t feel like they were meant to have children, and I don’t ever want to make them feel less than. But that’s not me. I feel incomplete and I have lost hope that this hole will ever go away. And I am not okay. 

Words

Despite what my grandmother may tell you, I am not a good writer.

I know words. I know what order to put them in and which punctuation to use. I know the rules even though I don't always follow them. Sometimes this is because rules are made to broken, and sometimes it is carelessness.

Perhaps carelessness is my problem. I get in a hurry and am not patient enough to find the words I need at that moment. 

I find that too often when I need them the most, words fail me. Unfortunately, I am the most eloquent when I am hurt or angry. It is then that I find the most powerful words. The words that hurt. 

But I've never really fancied myself a writer, so this is okay, most of the time. But sometimes it's not. 

Sometimes, you get in an argument and you need to explain your side. But the argument becomes so intense that you can no longer listen to the other person's words or you will lose your own. So then you have to make the choice. Is hearing the other person's words more important than saying your own? Does this person care about you enough to give you the opportunity to speak and listen to your words even when they're not the right ones? Does this person care enough to understand that not all of the words you said are the words you meant? Do you care enough to give that person the same leniency for his words?

The problem with this is that we're taught to be true to our word. So even when we misspeak, we stand behind those words for honor instead of disgracing ourselves by admitting that maybe our words were not what they were meant to be. Or they didn't mean what they meant? See, my words are getting jumbled.

And then, we try to fix our words with new words. But the old words are still there. They are still sitting in the other person's heart like a dagger, even when we can't remember them. Not that I can't remember them. I can. But even when I can't, those words will still be there. Surely there is a better word for fixing this than "sorry."

"Sorry" has been so overused and misused that it no longer means anything. What word can I use when I truly want more than anything to fix what my words have done? How do I make my words reflect my heart? Unfortunately, I am not good enough with words to do that. "Sorry" is a word that is thrown around flippantly. The feeling of truly being "sorry" is similar to the word "sorrow" for a good reason. My heart aches knowing that my words have hurt you.

"Love" is another word that is too often thrown around. I love my bed. I love Coca Cola. I love the Harry Potter series. I love crisp autumn afternoons. I love peaches that you can smell before you can see them. I love toe nail polish. I love taking a long, hot bath. I love getting lost in a book. I love cooking for people. I love milk chocolate oranges. I love you. Well, isn't that special? But what about when you really do love someone? Does this paltry word really convey that emotion? Are there any words that can really convey that feeling? I wrote about what love was to me once. But it was specific to the person I loved. Love is not always the same. There isn't one way to describe "love," so why do we only have this one little word?

I am not good with words, but I am sorry. And I do love you.

A Tale As Old As Time

The title "A Tale As Old As Time" seemed fitting since this party happened longer ago than I care to think about it.  In fact, I think this was a Disney party to celebrate my 29th birthday.  Wow.  I'm a little behind! This is indeed a tale as old as time.

 

It will be a miracle if I can even remember what all I did for this party!  Luckily, I have a decent memory and lots of photos to help me out.  Since it was my birthday, I decided I wanted to do something fancy, so I brought out the fine china and we had a fancy French meal for our Beauty and the Beast party.

The following was our menu for the night:

Ashley's Birthday Dinner

Saturday, September 07, 2013

Soup Course

French Onion soup with Le Gruyere

Main Course

Boeuf Bourguignon with a side of

Provencal French Beans and

Potatoes Gratin Dauphinois

Sorbet Palate Cleanser

Cheese Course

Semi-Soft White Stilton Cheese with Blueberries

Hard Goat Cheese Log

Semi-Soft Feta Sheep's Milk Cheese, and

La Tur-Three Milk Soft Ripened Cheese

Dessert Course

Chocolate Mousse followed by a showing of

Disney's Beauty and the Beast with

White Cake in Cream Cheese Icing and

Vanilla Ice Cream 

Beginning with the soup course, we had my favorite French Onion Soup.  No one does it better than the Pioneer Woman.

 

It's making me crazy that it won't let me rotate my pictures!

The soup course was followed by Julia Child's Boeuf Bourguignon with Barefoot Contessa's french beans and potatoes gratin dauphinois.

 

The sorbet cleaner was just a standard lime sherbet and the cheese course was a variety I found at Kroger.  Though I did read that you should aim to get one cow, one goat, and one sheep's milk cheese for a true cheese plate.

  

The dessert was a chocolate mousse, though I have no idea what recipe I used.

 

Which leaves only the grand finale.  The most fabulous cake you have ever witnessed.

 

There's a stinking rose in a thing like the movie!  I can't even word and sentence right now because three years later I am still in awe of this cake.

We ended the night by playing a game and doing a craft project.  For our game, the sisters decorated plates like the china in Beauty and the Beast, and we had to balance a ball on the plate and pass it around the circle.  It was pretty fun.  Look how teeny weeny the Bean was!  Adorable!

 

Then for our craft project, we all made our own magic mirrors.  Look how not teeny weeny I was!  It's been a long three years!

It's crazy to think how much has changed since then.  It seems like only yesterday that we were doing these parties and getting ready to go to Disney World!  Life has changed drastically since then, but as always, I'm still here and I'm still behind.

Godspeed.

 

Heartbreak

Heartbreak is a funny thing.  There are so many things in life that break our hearts.  It happens over and over and over again.  Sometimes we break our own hearts.  Sometimes something as simple as a youtube video can break your heart.  Then, you get to that point where you think you're at the bottom.  Your heart is as broken as it can be.  And somehow it heals.  As time passes, it hurts less and less.  But then all it takes is one little thing, one little reminder, and you realize that it never actually healed.  You just stopped noticing the pain.  Isn't it strange how it hurts?  I mean, it physically hurts.  Sometimes you wonder if you're having a heart attack because surely a metaphysical pain can't hurt like that.  Can you literally die of heartbreak?  I read a study that says that you are more likely to have a heart attack within a week of losing someone close to you.  But it mostly hurts emotionally.  You somehow feel like less than you were.  Like a piece of you is missing.  Even if you can see it standing on the other side of the room.

And somehow, even when it's so broken you think it can't break any more, it does. 

Letting Go
Holding On

How can I hold on to something that isn't here?
I thought I had let go
But once it was gone
I realized I was still holding on
Even though my arms can't stretch to heaven
My heart apparently can
Because it can't seem to let go

But my heart can do many amazing things
Like hold on to more than one thing
Even if it's not safe
Even if it hurts
Even if it's not smart
Wise decisions are for the head
Not the heart
But how can you hold on to something
You've never actually had
Lingering heartache is a bitch
And games are for the foolish and lovesick

But wait
It can do more still
Here's another thing to hold onto
Something that will hold you back
And keep you safe
And even as your heart screams
Let it go
Let it go
It also screams
Hold on tight
And then when you've pushed it away
You're left in the same place you began
It's too far away to hold with your hands
But your heart has an amazing elasticity
This time not to heaven
Because heaven doesn't exist for both of you

My Heart

Whole

Innocent

Happy

Alive

I give my heart away easily. 

I love you too!

And you!

And him!

Of course I know what love is!

It's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. 

Heartbreaker. 

Youth

---------------

Carefree

Easy

Obvious

Living--Dying

The ichthus stole my heart.

Tended like a flower,

but I can't keep a rose alive.

You are the one my soul loves. 

Forever yours.

Who is she?

Yes, even now.

Is there no other way to deal with the pain?

Please let me help you.

Yes, even now.

Broken and alone with you. 

Yes, even now.

Broken and alone without you.

Yes, even now.

Marriage

---------------

Vibrant

Unfeeling

Sexual

Free

You can't break a heart that's already broken.

It's so easy to be callous.

All I will drink is water.

All I will eat is anger.

You will not see me cry.

Don't wait for me.

Yes, even now.

Divorcee

---------------

Dead

Dead

Dead

Dead

You lied again.

You said you would wait for me.

Yes, even now.

I give away the pieces freely.

You have a piece.

And you.

And him. 

What does it matter?

All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put humpty together again.

It's better to have loved and lost? What a load of bullshit!

It's better to be an unfeeling bitch.

Be careful with that piece, it may cut you.

I warned you. 

Not responsible for damages.

I think I'm giving away pieces of my soul instead of my heart, because my heart is

Dead. 

Dead. 

Dead. 

Dead.

Yes, even now?

Widowed

---------------

Searching

Lost

Confused

Dead

Gather all the pieces together. 

Here God. Fix me. 

Wait! I want to keep this piece. 

And that one. 

And that one. 

And I've already given away a few. 

Don't worry.

They weren't important pieces. 

Go ahead. Fix it. 

What are You waiting for?

I need that piece back. 

I may need it later. 

I mean, I can give You most of the pieces.

I just want to keep some.

As a reminder.

What do You mean you need it all?

Don't You know that it's dead?

What do You mean You bring dead things back to life?

But I can't give up these pieces. 

They're mine, not Yours.

I don't understand Your plan.

What do you mean I'm not listening?

Of course I'm listening!

I'm just saying I'm going to keep these pieces.

You can't have them. You can have all of those.

Fix me.

Yes, even

Now

The Breaking Point

The breaking point.

The straw that broke the donkey's back. 

But can one piece of straw

really make a difference?

Or would you find

that as soon as that

poor

overworked

stubborn

ass

tried to take a step

there were too many straws

many pieces of straw ago?

Or is it a camel?

The straw that broke the donkey's back. 

The straw that broke the camel's back. 

Camels have humps,

but it's not politically correct to call a camel an ass. 

When you reach the breaking point

will you know?

Is that the chest pain I've been having?

The EKG assures me

it's not a heart attack.

Maybe I should get an 

x-ray 

and see if it's a 

broken 

back. 

Or does this malady present itself in a different way?

Is it the pressure I feel behind my eyes?

Or the sinus headache that won't go away?

Or the fact that I cried last week

for the first time

in a long time. 

I think I've sprung a leak. 

trudging along

trying to keep up

keep getting

further

and further

behind

What exactly does broken mean anyway?