So, Yeah.

Hello, Iowa!  I'm coming back!  (Yes, again.)

I have a good reason this time, too.  Not that I need to create a reason to go to my Iowa home.  When all else fails, I can use cancer as the reason.  Just another upside to it, I guess.

However.  This time, I am coming back for A HAIR SHOW!!!  Wahoo!!

Having not been able to consistently do hair for the past five months has made me a little bit nervous that I'm losing my touch, but I'm doing everything (aka, looking at lots of pictures and asking myself how I would get that result) in my power not to become a dummy.  Thankfully I've been allowed to do a couple of Isaac's peers and it's been keeping me on my toes.

I spent three hours today driving to get my hands on Keune color.  Ridiculous.

Oh, and for those of you out there who care, Salon Centric does NOT carry all of the same brands from state to state.  For instance, in Iowa, they carry Schwarzkopf, which is comparable to Keune.  Well guess what?  In Michigan, there is only ONE store in the ENTIRE STATE that carries it.

And it's an hour and a half away with traffic.

Ten minutes away from the place that carries Keune.

Shoot me.

I bought a variety of colors today so that the next time I need color, I don't have to drive halfway back to Iowa to get it.

Anyway, the gist of this post is that I'm super excited to:
  a) come back to Iowa again, as I'm desperately lonely out here
  b) go to a hair show

By the way, if you're wondering what you might be able to pray for, pray for me and depression.  Once upon a time, I had a conversation with my best friend, who I emphatically told that "I don't believe in depression," only to find out that he had struggled with it for years seconds later.

And, once again, I find myself wanting to go back in time and insert my foot in my mouth during that conversation.  I think it's real, and I think I'm dealing with it.

There's something wrong when you're driving down the highway, contemplating whether you want to go home to endure another day or try to get hit by a semi.  It's just not "normal."  Or maybe it is and I've just never experienced it until now.  Either way, I need to figure out what to do with it.  It's not a consistent thing, but it does come and go rather frequently the longer I'm out here.

And obviously, since I've never dealt with this before, I'm just mentioning it rather casually because I'm not sure what to do with it.  Don't mistake that for sarcasm.

And yes, a lot of you close to me will be surprised to read this, because I haven't mentioned it at all, save to one person.

Again, I'm just not sure what to do with it.  Do I mention it?  Do I not?  No clue.  I'm a little nervous to post this, just because I'm not sure what the response will be from certain people who I care about.

The blog is supposed to help me be transparent, to share my thoughts that I either can't, or don't want to verbalize.  So there it is.

In the meantime, I'm just hanging out.

And The Day After That...

Today has been the first day that I've actually started to process that I'm no longer pregnant.  I find it a little shocking that I'm grasping it this quickly, because normally I'm extremely slow to digest things. I didn't even realize I lived in Michigan until about a year afterward--it just felt like a bad dream until then.

I've had to wear adult diapers (not really, but pads the size of my calves) for the last couple of days while things started to drain out.  I took a shower this morning and watched as big (we're talking quarter-sized) blood clots dropped out of me and splashed on the bathtub floor.  I've had them in periods before, but nothing like this.  Four or five came out while I was in the shower and another dozen or so have passed since then.

The first one was surprising.  I didn't know what to do, or if I should do anything, so I stood in shock as it drifted toward the drain.  When the second one came out, I trapped it and called for Isaac come in and check it out.  They were just so big!  He said as long as I wasn't losing too much blood and my uterus was starting to "heal" itself, I should be fine.  When the next one came out I watched it.  I trapped it again and squished it, seeing it break into blood.  Then I started to cry.  I broke it.  What if there had been pieces of our baby in there?  Isaac heard me and came to the bathroom to ask what was wrong.  I didn't really know though.  I'm just sad.

I trust that God has a place and time for everything.

When we first found out we were pregnant, I was a little excited, but mostly nervous.  What about finances?  Is it time?  What about insurance?  Will this work?  Then, when we sat down and looked at everything, it was going to be alright.  Actually, it was going to be awesome.  That was when I started thinking that this was more God's plan than ours.  It was also when I think I started to believe that it was going to happen.  That we'd have a baby in February.

Then once I finally seemed to get with the program, it ended abruptly.

Now I'm in the timeframe where I know this has happened for a reason, but I have to work on translating that into my life.  Into what I do.  I'd really love to bury myself in a hole again.  Mom was texting me today and reminded me that I need to be careful not to allow my grief to carry me into a depression again.  And she's right.  I can already feel little fingers of it at certain times.  I don't want to go there.

Tomorrow will be a normal day, because it needs to be.  I'll get up, give a friend a haircut, go to work for 8-9 hours, and then head to Jen and Joey's house to hang out for a bit and enjoy some barbeque.  Then Isaac and I will probably come home and hang out for a bit.  Maybe start a movie and then get caught up in conversation, or I'll fall asleep on his lap.  Whatever the case, I need to get back to life and not dwell on the sadness because that invites me to a bad place.

Do People Announce These Things?

Fact #1.  We want kids.
Fact #2.  I'm a scaredy-cat.
Fact #3.  I'm a control freak.

Which brings me to today's blog... we're no longer preventing pregnancy.  We're not TRYING, (because there's apparently procedures, etc. for that) but we're not making effort to stop it anymore.

Isaac let me know several months ago, he would be thrilled if a little wiggle worm dropped out anytime now.  I, on the other hand, have been much more hesitant.  For several reasons--some of them legitimate, others not so much.

What if I'm a horrible mother?  What if Isaac's residency ends up being in Michigan and I go through a severe round of depression again?  What if I end up feeling alone because he's gone at the hospital all the time?  What if I become suicidal?  What if I don't love them good enough?  What if the chemo did something crazy to my body and I have mentally challenged kids?  Will I have enough patience for that?  Will I even have enough patience for a normal child?  What if my cancer comes back while I'm pregnant?  What if I get really huge--like, monstrously huge?  What if my acne acts up while I'm pregnant and I get pizza face again?

Ugh.

Obviously, some of these aren't as important as others.  Isaac says my mom genes will kick in and it will all be okay, regardless of the circumstances.  And he's probably right.

Through my cancer experience I learned I better handle things when I don't know what to expect.  Whoever first said that ignorance is bliss was my dispositional twin; I can roll with the punches as long as I can't tell where I'll get hit next.

So I'm lowering my guard and leave myself open for a beating that will probably rip me apart physically and exhaust me mentally.

I heard the payoff is definitely worth it.

Bad Morning

Blech.

That is how I feel about Wednesdays.  Most people probably don't mind them, but I'm starting to wonder if after this is over every Wednesday will bring about a shudder for the rest of my life.  Or at least a few years.

The average person's Wednesday indicates the middle of the work week has finally arrived.  Mine marks a breakfast of chemicals followed by a three-day chemo-coma with a side of constipation, fatigue, heartburn, and just feeling plain old yucky.  The mind-body association that is developing enables me to almost vomit on command when I think about it.

I prefer to try my best to NOT think about it that often.  Is that mentally healthy?  I have no idea.  Does it make it easier to get through now?  I think so.  Will I regret that decision afterward?  Possibly.

Thinking about the future, I wonder if I'll even remember the summer after I got married.  I know I won't remember the summer part of it.  There's been no poolside basking this year, no driving around with the music blaring and windows down, no late-night movie premiers, the annual Florida trip, sunburns, tan lines, fresh sweet corn, grilled food, sand volleyball, the county fair, the Iowa State Fair, game nights, picnics, Iowa family evening walks, or outdoor Panera nights.  This year, the sun isn't something I feel, it's something I look at through the patio doors.

Moving to Michigan is partially to blame, but chemo takes responsibility for a lot of it.  The combination is emotionally desolating.

I'm having a hard time mourning the loss of what was my home.  I miss Ames.  I miss my Iowa family, my friends, my church family, my job, regular interactions with people I love, a small community with character, the comfort I felt there...

I don't know that I've ever had to mourn before.  I've lost things that I liked, but not anything I loved.  How does this work?  

I don't like to talk about it with Isaac because I have so many different thoughts.  I feel every single one of them all at the same time, but none of them seem to align with each other.  They don't even make sense half the time.

I'm sad because I feel alone and disconnected here, but I love being with him.  I'm angry because I feel like he dragged me here--but I said "yes" to marrying him, knowing I would have to move.  At the same time, I wouldn't change my decision to marry him because I love him and I know he had to drag me out here because of medical school.  I hate his career choice, because at this point, it seems it will dictate our lives.  Go to medical school here because you got accepted.  Do residency here because it's the only place that it's offered.  Live here because you have to pay off your student loans and we'll pay you best.  It seems like it will be ten or fifteen years until we even have options.

I've always heard that doctors are more prone to suicide, depression, substance abuse, and divorce.  Nobody ever suggested to read up on research on the rates for their wives.

I did, however, just stumble across a blog called Lives of Doctor Wives which has been insightful, encouraging, and discouraging at the same time.  Encouraging, because I can read what other women are doing to cope.  Discouraging, because it doesn't sound like it will end anytime soon.  Or ever.

I guess at the end of the day all I can do is hope for the best and work on it.  Whatever that means.