5:30 a.m. The Day After

It's 5:30 in the morning here.  The sun has just started to creep up over the height of the apartment complex and things are only halfway visible.  I woke up to start getting ready for work.  We have a big event today at Nordstrom.  After we left the hospital yesterday, I texted my Assistant Manager and let her know that I planned on still making it in today.  I'm supposed to be speaking in a show that we're holding this morning, as well as giving a few facials and teaching some customers about the benefits of using the Clarins products on their skin.  However, I'm still bleeding at a decent rate and I'm not allowed to use tampons to soak it up--probably because those aren't designed to hold clots, I'm guessing.  So I'm not going in.

I feel guilty for not being able to go in during an event.  I sent about 20 texts to my Assistant Manager this morning giving her information about a few things that I was planning on doing this morning and I know she's already got enough on her plate.  And add to that, the segment of time they were planning on me taking up during the show.... well, I don't know what they're going to do with it.  I guess this is just the most un-ideal time for this to happen.  Next weekend would have been much more convenient.  There's nothing going on.

So now I'm wide awake, blogging about working because I can't actually be at work.  I must have a disorder of some kind, because everyone else says my body should be a priority and in my head, my responsibilities at work are battling for that position.

Isaac and I talked about the baby off and on all day yesterday.  We deal with things very differently.  My coping mechanisms are sleeping, writing, and eating.  He can't stomach anything, can't sleep, and keeps himself occupied.  But at least we talk about it.  Counseling has been immensely helpful in us learning to communicate better in situations that I find stressful.  We've been going to see Jessica Couch pretty regularly since I ended chemotherapy last year and we love her.

He wanted to call it Dion if it was a boy.  I loved Sevita for a girl.  We probably going to be due in February and I was planning on taking maternity leave until the middle of April, which was perfectly convenient because Isaac would be ending rotations at that time and could stay home with the baby until we had to move for residency.  It was unplanned, but was going to work out absolutely wonderfully, time-wise.

I didn't realize until I miscarried that I had started to want a baby.

For several months before I quit using birth control, I had been gung-ho against having kids until we were back in my beloved Iowa because my emotional life has been emotionally unpredictable since moving for med school.  I was depressed for a long time and struggled with some suicidal issues because I felt like I had no support here.  I'm extremely slow to make friends, and even slower to trust.  Blame it on past relationships or whatever you want, but the fact of the matter is that I'm broken in that area.  And then heap cancer, chemotherapy, radiation, medical bills, and being newlyweds on top of that... yikes!  I wasn't an anchor for Isaac during that time--I was a deadweight, pulling him down, down, down.

I don't want to do that to a child.  He didn't deserve it when it happened and they wouldn't either.  So how to prevent it?  Well my answer was just don't have kids.  Not until you are home in your safety zone surrounded by my Iowa family, friends, and other familiar faces because there you can break down and you know people will help.  They've helped before when I was diagnosed and pulled together over $10,000 to help with medical bills and expenses that we couldn't pay for because I couldn't work during treatment.  I know I'm safe with them.  I trust them.

But then at some point, I started to realize I can't let my fear rule that area of my life, because we may never have children if I do.  There's no guarantee that I'll ever live near my Iowa family again, and even less of one during residency.  You just take what you get.  Even though thinking about it is enough to get me worked into tears again, I think that's just something I have to get used to.  It's just extremely hard and very much heartbreaking to me, but it's life.  Sometimes life sucks.  There are other people whose families aren't even alive anymore, so I just need to think about the fact that mine are living and healthy--even if I can't be with them.

Writing the last couple paragraphs was really hard... exhausting, actually, so I've cried again for a while now and I'm going to go back to sleep.  I'll have to finish my thoughts later.

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.

Dear Uterus

It's been going pretty good!

We went to see the doc on Wednesday and unfortunately, it sounds like six months is the least amount of time I'll have to be in treatment.  That was a bit disappointing.  I was really really hoping to hear that four would be enough.  Come September, we'll repeat my succession of tests to determine how much longer I'll have to endure for sure.  It sounds like it will realistically be anywhere from six to eight months.  Barf.

Isaac and I were talking yesterday and I mentioned that this whole thing is a lot more involved than I thought it was going to be.  In my mind I'd made the process something like: "Four months of chemo was enough.  The lymphoma is gone.  Congrats!  We'll see ya later!"

I guess that's not how it works.

I had to quit taking my birth control for the duration of the process too.  It's been quite a change, letting my body adjust back to what it naturally wants to do for my period.

I'd started taking it pretty young... probably fourteen (correct me if I'm wrong, Mom) because I get such infernally bad cramps.  Over the past nine years, I'd kind of forgotten what it was like to wake up in the middle of the night wishing I was dead because my abdomen was chewing on itself with razor sharp teeth.  I got a lovely reminder today.

Dear, Uterus.

Thank you.  Because of you, I was awakened this morning after only five hours of sleep.  Because of you, I've already downed four ibuprofen and have a heating pad set on blast trying to boil you away.  I'm sure you think it's funny.  Well, just you wait.  When I get older and you've already done the ONLY positive thing you can do (hopefully), I'm having you removed just because I can, you Judas piece of flesh.  Take that.

Sincerely, Ashley

I don't even feel bad about saying that.

Another undesired side effect: my skin breaks out SUPER easily.  I have to treat it like a spoiled Manhatten brat just to get it to behave.  We're talking washing twice a day at specific times, a topical cream, two types of moisturizers, pumice peels, clay masks, extractions, and hydrating gels.  Ridiculous.

Thankfully I learned these things in cosmetology school.

Mornings like today, I have to remind myself to chill.  These disruptions in the pattern of my life will only register as a little bump in the road when the whole story is told.  Nothing lasts forever.

At least, not here.

On a very random ending note: Happy Birthday to my little buddy Caleb Badger!!! You're one!!  :)  I know it's really not until Wednesday, but I'll be drugged and it's pretty likely I'll forget to say anything then.

Haha!  I found this other uterus picture later.  Keep those ovaries away from your children, ladies!!