Rambling post ahead…

So I’ve been sick this week. Which sucks, since it turns out I might be one of those women that goes overboard with being careful about what they put in their bodies when pregnant. Might be? Scratch that. I’m erring on the side of caution, which is easily confused with being totally insane about this. But anyway, that means I haven’t been taking anything for this sinus infection/cold that I have, so every symptom seems a hundred times worse (I take that back… I took a Tylenol Saturday afternoon, when it hurt so much to swallow that I was getting really dehydrated). I’ve basically just been sleeping, taking hot showers, and drinking a lot of hot water. It seemed to be working, at least until yesterday when I fasted for 10 hours then had a blood glucose tolerance test. That pretty much wiped out my day and my energy, and I woke up feeling worse again this morning. The good news is, I apparently tolerate glucose as well as I ever did, and there is no sign of gestational diabetes. (Also my iron count looks “fantastic,” thank you kale!)

So anyway. I was out sick from work on Monday, then doing the glucose thing yesterday, then out sick again today. Turns out that if I don’t go back tomorrow (which I won’t, because I have a final and a midterm and the appointment where my adviser says I can graduate for real) I need a doctor’s note. Well, both my husband and my mom have been telling me to go to a doctor anyway, so this morning I scheduled a same-day to go in and see someone and ask for a note. I guess I’ve been spoiled by my previous jobs… I haven’t needed a doctor’s note in ages (of course, I also can’t remember the last time I needed 4 consecutive days off for anything other than a badass family vacation). So I headed in, and started to check in when I realized that I haven’t updated my insurance since I changed jobs. Almost a year ago. Because I never go to the doctor. Where did my aversion to going to the doctor come from, anyway?

So I got called in and sat down on the awkwardly high, loud, crinkly examining table, and the nurse asked me a few questions and then said, “So what’s going on?” They always ask that. Even if you’re clutching an obviously damaged body part which is gushing blood, they want to know what brings you in today. Because they didn’t ask when you made the appointment, or when you checked in. Or I guess maybe my cold may have transmogrified into a stomach ailment? But for once it was nice, because I was petrified of asking for a note. I think my response to the nurse was something like this: “IhaveacoldanditsnothatbadanymorebutnowIneedanoteforwork!” Fortunately this is as common a request as my husband insisted it would be, and she dutifully wrote down what I said, and then said the doctor would be in shortly. Amazingly, the doctor was in very shortly! And started asking me about how I was feeling and looking at my nose/ears/etc. She asked if I was prone to sinus issues and I said I was prone to sinus issues and allergies both, and that I was avoiding allergy meds because I was pregnant. I kind of slipped that in there because no one had asked, and I wanted to make sure she knew that before writing any prescriptions. So she suggested some pregnancy-safe medications, and said if I got worse, feel free to call back and she’d call in a prescription for me.

And then she said I should pop out and start showing soon. In a very nice, friendly, hooray you’re pregnant kind of a way. But good lord, I’m 27 weeks in! I’m basically 2/3 of the way there! Just the other night I was complaining to F that at this point in the game, I wished I was showing more. He made the (very valid) point that soon enough I will probably be huge and really uncomfortable, so I might as well enjoy it. But it still really sucks to still look basically like I’ve put on a few pounds rather than like there is a BABY INSIDE ME A REAL LIVE BABY and it’s INSIDE ME. And yes, I still find that incredibly weird. I think it’s safe to say at this point that I will find it weird up until the point that it is no longer true.

And as soon as I connect my camera, I will prove that I am showing. Even if it’s only when I wear yoga clothing. And maybe stick out my stomach a little.

So, the feeling that I was pregnant went away. I was sure I wasn’t. I took like 4 tests. And then I had a couple drinks on Thursday. I found out Friday that the “pregnancy tests” that I’d bought and been using almost every day (since it was $8 for a pack of 25) turned out to be ovulation tests.. they sent me the wrong thing! Of COURSE they were showing up as negative. I wrote a rather nasty letter, and expect a new set of tests, an apology, and a “we’re so sorry please keep the items we sent you.” Although, last night I used one anyway and it showed positive. After some research, I discovered that this means one of the following things:

1. I am ovulating
2. I am pregnant
3. absolutely nothing

Oh I forgot to mention what makes all this so scary! I didn’t get my period this morning as I was expecting to. And then I took a drugstore variety (as opposed to the doctor’s office variety, which is what I bought online) test and it was… frustratingly inconclusive! The barest hint of a “pregnant” line, which depending on who you talk to means:

1. I am probably not pregnant
2. I am almost certainly pregnant
3. I am going to have a miscarriage

So yeah. I’m gonna go with pregnant until I have some definitive signs in either direction. I plan to take the second test on Monday morning, and set up an appointment with the doctor for a blood test either way.

Also to talk about the absolutely terrifying thing, which is really hard to even bring up: If I’m pregnant now, that means I was pregnant on Thursday when I had a few glasses of wine. And that means I am a terrible human being, and guaranteed to either miscarry or have a FAS child, and then the whole world will know of my shame. Great. Part of me does not believe this, since there are plenty of women with healthy babies that had a couple drinks before they knew. Right? Right??

Not exactly the way I meant to start this whole adventure :(. I’ll be upset no matter which way this turns out. Last night I had so many dreams about pregnancy. I dreamt I was, that my sister was, that all my female friends were. And if I am? I’ll spend the next 9 months scared out of my wits that I’ve hurt my child. And if I’m not? Back to waiting and hoping and getting older. I suppose if I’m not, I’ll have a bunch of free ovulation tests…

The last few months have grown long indeed, with no signs of and triumph in the mama-realm. I’ve continued to push myself through school. I finally had enough of the stress at my last job and found a calmer and far less intense job that nonetheless stretches my brain. F and I have struggled through some tough financial decisions and made our peace (mostly) with Fee’s kidney problems and eventual decline. We discovered Sarah has insulinoma (this is very very bad) and are still working on finding a similar peace. In the mean time, she will be going in for some major, and rather dangerous, surgery on Wednesday. More on all of these things later, I think. Because I’m here to talk about something else very weird that’s going on.

There’s no way I can know this. There’s no way I have any kind of scientific backup. But I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant. I’m not going to know for another week and a half at least, but the night before last I started cramping uncharacteristically early. And yesterday all day I had low-level cramping and a strange feeling in my abdomen, some nausea, and most inexplicable.. I just feel it. I just FEEL like I am. It’s electrical through my whole body. I am trying to justify that feeling with a bunch of things. Cramps this bad usually don’t happen until a few hours before my period. Not that they are bad, just that they are unseasonable. And I’m not experiencing any of the other period or pre-period symptoms.  The timing is right. Am I hungry more than usual? Is it just hope that makes me tingle?

But there’s no way to know for sure yet, and wishful thinking has gotten me into trouble before. I can’t get pregnant by simply wanting it enough. So I’m not mentioning it to anyone yet. If it turns out I’m wrong, the dreadful silence of this blog will continue. How embarrassing to name a thing after a future event that turns out to be far less certain than I thought.

It’s gonna be a long couple weeks.

Today at work, my promotion was announced to my team. The only person in the room with whom I had worked before was my boss, making the announcement. Somewhat ironically, the person who got the job I wanted most in the company (I’m not worried; there will be another chance for me). But amid the whole-hearted clapping and congratulations from these unknown men, for I find myself yet again the only woman on my technical team, I felt the weight of the impostor syndrome that has plagued me (not to mention many whom I love) for a long time. I don’t understand why the people that know me best are the people whose opinions feel unfairly weighted to the positive towards me. I know, intellectually, that my parents, my husband, my boss, and all my previous bosses are right when they say that I deserve this promotion. And yet I am terrified that I will prove everyone wrong with a single mistake. I am not afraid to make a mistake. I am scared to make the mistake. As I try to define It with my anxious, insomniac mind, I discover that there is no single mistake I could make that would prove to the world that I Am Not Worthy. And yet the emotion persists. I took a logic class when I was 14(?) and I recognize that this emotion is totally fallacious. Oi, is that an argument to pity?

Well, whatever it is, it’s keeping me from sleeping tonight. More accurately, it’s keeping me awake enough to think about school, which is causing me more anxiety than I’m entirely comfortable admitting to. And more than enough to keep me from sleeping. When I last left school, I failed (pardon the pun) to withdraw from my classes. Which means I have a jam-packed semester of failed hours. Which has put me on academic probation, because let’s face it, I didn’t really figure out how to be a grown-up until my late 20s and my GPA couldn’t really take a hit of 16 hours of F. So I am on academic probation. World, I’ve learned my lesson. I spend a minimum two hours a day, six days out of seven (I give myself either Friday, Saturday, or Sunday off) on homework after a full 9 hour day in the office. I’m really truly an adult now. If I were a regular student, taking a regular courseload, I could recover within the two semesters provided to me by the university. But I’m not. I’m juggling this slippery-seeming career with a single class that stresses my [shoulda-already-graduated] schedule, and a GPA that all too painfully delineates my lifelong struggle with depression. With a philosophy class and a gym class left to go, I could flunk out of college permanently. And so I sit here writing, wrought with anxiety. That is the mistake of which I am most scared. There is the mistake. The one from which I have been running for so many years. The imminent failure that kept me from going back to school for so long. There might end up being proof that I wasn’t good enough to make it.

And so this house of anxiety and sleeplessness is built. Brick after unyielding emotional brick.

Ever gotten in a car where at a certain speed it rattles and shakes so hard, you feel like it’s going to fly apart in a thousand directions? Sometimes, depression is just like that. I know that if I could go faster or slower, maybe this dreadful sensation that I’m about to lose my grip on everything will ease, but the traffic is going 55 all around me so I just need to have faith that things feel worse than they are. I must not fly apart. Traffic will speed back up to 60 soon.

I don’t like to talk about work on this blog so I can’t get into specifics. But right now I have so much anger and pain, so much frustration and rejection. I feel like I just got dumped and at the same time I have the sick sinking tingle in my stomach that I get when I’m about to dump someone I still love. I feel like I’ve been lied to and everyone’s pretending it’s the truth. I thought I could turn right but I missed my turn, and now I have to take three lefts in heavy traffic.

I hate the generic analogy I am using. I regret painting myself into this corner of refusing to talk specifically about a job that is so much a part of my life. But I just can’t shake this feeling and I had to get some of it out. The right path is not always the easiest, and I’m not good at dealing with rejection.

I had another meeting with our HR representative this week. It looks like getting my birth center covered by insurance isn’t likely to happen. That leaves two alternatives. The first is moving forward with a birth that’s not covered (at least not in network). The second is to choose a hospital birth through a covered OB/Gyn. Read the rest of this entry

None of these things are really worth devoting an entire post to, but there hasn’t been much earth shattering going on recently.

1. I wonder if I broke a toe. I stubbed my little toe on a brick yesterday, and despite icing it within about 5 minutes, it’s swollen and purple and hard to walk on. I’m pretty sure the only purpose the little toe serves is to remind us all to be glad for modern medicine. You can break just about any other bone in your body, and they can do *something* for you. (Although I hear that taping broken ribs really doesn’t help much). But break a toe and your options are to tape it to the toe next to it, or don’t.

2. Fee has a new collar as well as a microchip! In an effort to distinguish him from those cats whose owners just leave a bowl of food outside, I tried to make it explicit that if you see him you should call me. If he were a teenager he would kill me for this: Read the rest of this entry

Throughout my life, I’ve felt like there were years that would just somehow be better or worse than others. 27 was slated to be an amazing year since the age of 13 or so, and indeed it was an excellent year. 32 was supposed to be another fantastic year. So far, it feels like it’s not living up to expectations. Sparked by some extremely difficult times at work, I’ve instead found myself struggling through a (hopefully relatively minor) spell of depression. I’m somewhat regretting having already chosen to Not Talk About Work here. I thought I was on top of things in my life, but I feel very out of control. The pressure of ScriptFrenzy has turned out to be too much for me, and my guilt at my own inability to write at the end of 9 hours of barely-hanging-on every day has seriously undermined my ability to update this blog. I’ve been reading Fosterhood in NYC (I’d been savoring it but have now caught up) and decided to try and take a page from Rebecca’s book and just post about inconsequentialiaties (is that a word?) for a while. I’m fascinated by her, her lifestyle choices, and her strength. So I’m just going to try little posts for a while in hopes that I can get back into this.

This week, the big decision has been whether to take the $100 gift card I got at work and: a) buy an $100 Amazon.com gift card for myself for future minor purchases, b) put it towards buying a gas grill so I can stop struggling with charcoal, or c) buying myself a decent pressure cooker. I don’t really want to feel like I frittered the card away on little purchases, although I expect most of them would be books about pregnancy and child rearing. A hundred dollars doesn’t quite make a decent grill affordable, so I would still be spending another hundred+ on the grill. And I can’t imagine what I’d use a pressure cooker for besides corned beef and cabbage. So the card is just sitting in my wallet for now.

I also found out that I might be able to take 12 weeks of maternity leave instead of 6, which is pretty awesome! Maybe, like 27, I’ll find the joy in 32 a little bit later in the year (I got married right before I turned 28). I’d like to have 6 months, but I don’t know that there’s anywhere out there that would offer so much. And not entirely sure I want to know either; I feel pretty trapped already by the knowledge that no one would hire a pregnant woman and FMLA wouldn’t help me at a new job at this point.

I’m starting to mope out loud (ish) aren’t I? That’s enough of that.

I belong to a theatre company. Sometimes I feel like I’m not a very valuable member, since I have no formal education in the subject, am not the best actor out there, and have never written a play in my life. On the one hand, it takes the personal pressure off me. I had to take about two years off while I was working nights, and although I regret that I’ve never felt any judgment from this group. Which is rather a feat, since about once a week I feel like even the doorknob judges how I twist it so carelessly. I just work that way, frustrating as it can be to everyone.

But anyway. every couple of weeks we get together for either a planning meeting or a social meeting. Every time, I come home feeling fulfilled in an artistic way that my work has never given me. I consider myself a writer, and although many of the jobs I’ve had in the past require at least a grasp of the basics of English, none of them have really pushed my writing skills themselves. Tonight was a social meeting at the Draught House Pub and Brewery, and only a few of us made it. We talked about how to push the company forward in terms of the works we produce and how to bring it back in house. Such discussions can quickly get out of hand with too many people, so I’m very glad it was a smaller group. Talking about what motivates a writer, how we can come together as a group to come up with a play, and a concrete plan to begin pushing towards our goals was emotionally and intellectually satisfying. It reminded me of a writing group I used to belong to, and how good it would feel to put something out there for a workshop again one day.

I just wanted to capture the feeling before bed. And remind/inform you that I will be participating in Script Frenzy 2011, so please be prepared for the script to be taking place, warts and all, here. As of right now, it officially begins in 51 hours!

And now to bed, because holy hell it is late.

Well it’s been a long couple of weeks. Life isn’t always easy, but that’s how it goes. I made a decision when I started this blog not to talk about work, because that’s a great way to not have a job anymore. Just ask dooce. But today has been one of the most emotionally draining days I’ve had in a very, very long time. The good news is I honestly think I can pull through and come out on top. After I push through just a couple more anxiety attacks I’m sure I’ll be able to prove my worth in my usual rockstar fashion. Until then, well, I’ll be keeping Papa T. on his toes. Read the rest of this entry