You are more than I could have dreamed of
The child I was couldn't have imagined a love
so pure, so true
A love that is not merely a fairytale
You are everything...
A feeling that can only be experienced and not fantasized
Your love fills me, spills out of me
and I come alive because of all you give
I remain who I was when I met you,
but have become so much more
Because of the love we share
I am complete... I am saved.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Day 80
It's been many, many days since I wrote anything. Sometimes that happens... but I wrote a new poem tonight, so here goes.
Autumn Returns
He stands behind me and envelops me in warmth
His arms wrapped tightly around my torso
The heat of his breath on my neck tingles down my body,
And I shiver though not cold
Surrounded by the wind, he holds me tightly
As autumn sings a song of crisp nights best spent in a lover's embrace
We're awash in a shower of golden leaves and gently falling raindrops
The chill of the drizzle on my flesh sharply contrasts with the fire of his lips on mine
My eyes fill with tears, not of sorrow but delight
The joy of love as pure as always, yet richer with the passage of time
The moment as enchanted as those of years long past
His breath on my neck, his lips on my own more thrilling as that first night
(Dedicated to my amazing, beloved husband... I am a better person because of his love.)
Autumn Returns
He stands behind me and envelops me in warmth
His arms wrapped tightly around my torso
The heat of his breath on my neck tingles down my body,
And I shiver though not cold
Surrounded by the wind, he holds me tightly
As autumn sings a song of crisp nights best spent in a lover's embrace
We're awash in a shower of golden leaves and gently falling raindrops
The chill of the drizzle on my flesh sharply contrasts with the fire of his lips on mine
My eyes fill with tears, not of sorrow but delight
The joy of love as pure as always, yet richer with the passage of time
The moment as enchanted as those of years long past
His breath on my neck, his lips on my own more thrilling as that first night
(Dedicated to my amazing, beloved husband... I am a better person because of his love.)
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Day 79
Silver Eyes
Her mouth was painted with the stains of sweet, ripe raspberries
Our kiss tasted of summer's promise
As warm as the sun-baked earth beneath us
Above a sky of midnight blue bathed in brilliant stars
But the only moonlight shimmered in her silver eyes
My name a song I pulled from her lips
Her lithe body quivered in the warm summer breeze
(The sestina still needs work... coming soon to a computer screen near you!)
Her mouth was painted with the stains of sweet, ripe raspberries
Our kiss tasted of summer's promise
As warm as the sun-baked earth beneath us
Above a sky of midnight blue bathed in brilliant stars
But the only moonlight shimmered in her silver eyes
My name a song I pulled from her lips
Her lithe body quivered in the warm summer breeze
(The sestina still needs work... coming soon to a computer screen near you!)
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Day 78
Two new poems in the form of a cinquain.
Solace
His embrace
My quiet peace
A respite from the world
A place where hurt cannot reach me
My home
All I Need
Your arms
Wrapped tightly
Around me when we sleep
All I need is this kind of love
Forever
I am working on a sestina. This is the most complex and challenging poetic form I have tried, but I'm getting there. I'll post that when it's done.
Solace
His embrace
My quiet peace
A respite from the world
A place where hurt cannot reach me
My home
All I Need
Your arms
Wrapped tightly
Around me when we sleep
All I need is this kind of love
Forever
I am working on a sestina. This is the most complex and challenging poetic form I have tried, but I'm getting there. I'll post that when it's done.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Day 77
My favorite book of all time is by Judy Blume. Actually, many of my favorite books of all time are hers, but Summer Sisters is something truly special. I think every woman should read this book, and if you love Judy Blume and haven't read it, you're cheating yourself out of a very special experience. If you have not read it, and think you might want to, stop reading this now. Bookmark it or ask me about it after you've read Summer Sisters because I do not want to take anything away from the experience.
When I was a child, in a highly dysfunctional family, I often found myself lost and isolated. I took to reading quickly and with passion. It is the first thing I remember excelling at, actually. Until then, I was the chubby little kid who seemed to annoy adults with stupid questions. It was an unexpected success to be in the top reading group of my first grade class. I quickly became a voracious reader. By second grade, my home situation had gone from bad to worse. My mother was a raging alcoholic, and my parents had been separated for several years. I shared a bed with my three year-old brother - and he had a nasty tendency to wet the bed at night. I had moved from a small town called Garwood to its much larger, affluent neighbor Cranford. Before my parents' divorce, I'd lived in Westfield, Garwood's other (even more) affluent neighbor. At 8 years-old I'd already moved about one time for each year I'd been alive.
I remember that I loved biographies. I loved books in general, but in second grade my passion was for biographies. I took out children's biographies about Washington, Lincoln, Amelia Earhart and others. I read the Lincoln biography on a rare, quiet afternoon over the course of about two hours. It was 82 pages long.
I first remember reading Judy Blume in fourth grade. The book was, not surprisingly, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. I related to that title. I felt like a "nothing" much of the time. By this point in my life, my mother had lost custody of my brother and I, and we lived with her family... also highly dysfunctional, but certainly more stable than any other life I'd known. I loved the book. I went to the library and took out more of her books. I found Are You There God? It's me, Margaret and while I couldn't quite understand why any girl wanted to get her period, I was relieved to have read the book because, like Margaret, my head was full of confusing and often contradictory thoughts.
I discovered that Judy Blume, like me, was born in February and in New Jersey. She had several stories that took place, at least in part, in NJ. Forever, one of her young adult novels, even took place in Westfield - yes, the same Westfield I'd lived in.
I related to so many of the characters she created, and it was largely because of her books that I began to write. It first started in my head. I'd be narrating what I was doing or watching silently. I still do this, especially in situations that intimidate or amaze me.
In 1998, I'd just moved back to New Jersey after several years in the Philadelphia suburbs. I was back in Cranford, living with my mother (sober by then) and my baby sister, who was almost seven. I was at the Barnes & Noble near the daycare center I worked at when I saw Summer Sisters in the new release section. It was the first time in my life I'd bought a hard-cover book, but I had to have it. I was 22 and made lousy money in daycare. I paid rent to my mother and helped (read: took over) care for Kaitlyn, my baby sister.
I immediately related to Vix, the main character in Summer Sisters. I was, like Vix, the eldest child. I was the one who somehow managed to remain about as unscathed as one can in a family like mine. I was, at the time, desperately trying to get back into school. I'd flunked out of college the first time I tried. I was also, as always, writing frequently. In those days, I mostly wrote poetry with the occasional short story thrown in just to keep things interesting.
I'd had a friend like Caitlin Somers - Vix's "summer sister," and oldest friend. She'd stolen my boyfriend, amongst other things. She was older and beautiful and daring. She was smart, but not terribly motivated. She had a tendency to lie, as did Caitlin. Like Vix, I was never quite sure (once I'd uncovered the lies) what was true and what was just an alternative reality she'd created in her mind.
I'd also had that friend I'd tested sexual boundaries with as a younger girl. My first 'real' kiss was with her, when we she was eight and I was nine. It was in the shed behind my grandparents above ground pool. The shed was old, metal and smelled like chlorine. I remember we decided that kissing felt a lot like sucking on a marshmallow. We tried it a few times, and then years later, one night in the pool when we were teenagers, we'd share another kiss. I was reminded of that in the scene of the novel where Caitlin, in her young 20s, dances a fiery Flamenco dance for Vix alone in a hotel room, and for just a moment it is quite obvious there is a strong sexual undercurrent.
Summer Sisters has become a tradition for me. I have read it at the start of every summer since that first one in June 1998. I just picked it up today to start reading it for this summer. It's a bit early, especially now that I live in the Colorado Rocky Mountain foothills, and we just had 18 inches of snow fall last week... but it's just "time." I can't explain it. It's like this every year. Sometimes, I just need to read the book and it's still only April. When that happens, I read it again sometime in June or July. I have read this book more than any other. It is like an old friend.
Last year, due to some unique circumstances in my life, I came to believe that Caitlin was always in love with Vix. Romantically in love with her, and that this was what motivated Caitlin's behavior where Vix was concerned. I don't think Vix ever really recognized this... and for all I know Judy Blume does not believe Caitlin was "in love" with Vix. It's just my interpretation of the story, and reading it again following that revelation (last winter), things made more sense. Caitlin at one point tells Vix she always wanted what Vix had, and Vix is baffled by this. Caitlin is incredibly beautiful, rich and seemingly free. I think Caitlin wanted what Vix had in the sense that Vix was able to form real bonds with people, while Caitlin flitted about... but I also think Caitlin wanted to be with Vix because she felt no one else understood her the way Vix did, and as we all know, that feeling is priceless. The safety that comes with being loved that way is something no one should ever take for granted, and though Caitlin does at times take it for granted, I also think she realized how rare and precious the gift of acceptance she got from Vix was.
I will always cry at the end. Vix is married, with a six month-old baby named for the little brother she lost as a teenager. They are in a wild flower field on Martha's Vineyard (where much of the book takes place), and they are dedicating it to Caitlin's memory. She has vanished while boating in Italy, and Vix, as the last to have seen her, is inconsolable. I sob hysterically every time I get to this point of the story. I have read the book enough times to have literally memorized sentences, and I think them before I read them.
Every year, I think... wow, I wish I could write like this. I try to come up with a story, and though I have plenty, I am me. I'm not Judy Blume, and though I'd love to emulate her style, I can only really ever be myself. I wrote a romance novel (that of course I can't find an agent for, haha) about seven years ago. Even though it is unlikely to ever get published, just having that opportunity to write "The End" after about 350 pages was thrilling. Though not like the stories I'd read by Judy Blume, I know I owe part of that achievement to her influence in my life as a reader. I think that, even for a romance novel, the characters are authentic and have a "voice" of their own, and that is something I learned from reading books like Blubber, or Deenie.
I have no intentions of giving up on the dream of being a "published (and paid)" writer. In fact, I told my husband a few weeks ago that I have a new goal. I want to be published and paid for something I have written by the time I am 45. I have eleven years to accomplish that goal, and I certainly hope it will be a novel that I publish. I am in graduate school to be a high school English teacher, and part of the appeal is that I get to teach what I love - and I get summers off to pursue my dream of being on the library bookshelves someday.
So, as I sat down to start my annual journey with Vix and Caitlin, I remembered this goal. I will keep it firmly in mind as I continue to read my favorite story for probably the 22nd time. I will live vicariously through Vix for a few days (I like to savor the book), and I will keep her, and other characters created by Blume, in mind as I consider what I want to write next. I'll keep a box of tissues handy, not only for the end, but also for the point in the novel where Vix realizes she has found the man of her dreams. Through her thoughts, we learn that she realizes the others were just "practice." She knows she won't get bored with this man, and she says she won't allow him to be bored with her. I cry when I read that, because I found that with my husband, whom I met about six months after reading Summer Sisters for the first time.
About five years ago, I emailed Judy Blume to share with her how influential this book has been in my life. She emailed me back and talked about what she believed happened to Caitlin. It was so cool of her to do that, and I loved that she thinks about it as a "what might have happened," as opposed to a certainty about what happened to this character she created. Caitlin is a mysterious character. She is the only main character whose thoughts we never hear, and it seemed appropriate, somehow, that even her creator wasn't quite sure what happened to her in the end.
I still read that same hardcover version I bought nearly 12 years ago. I hope to be reading the same copy in another 12 years... and to be celebrating my own success as an author.
When I was a child, in a highly dysfunctional family, I often found myself lost and isolated. I took to reading quickly and with passion. It is the first thing I remember excelling at, actually. Until then, I was the chubby little kid who seemed to annoy adults with stupid questions. It was an unexpected success to be in the top reading group of my first grade class. I quickly became a voracious reader. By second grade, my home situation had gone from bad to worse. My mother was a raging alcoholic, and my parents had been separated for several years. I shared a bed with my three year-old brother - and he had a nasty tendency to wet the bed at night. I had moved from a small town called Garwood to its much larger, affluent neighbor Cranford. Before my parents' divorce, I'd lived in Westfield, Garwood's other (even more) affluent neighbor. At 8 years-old I'd already moved about one time for each year I'd been alive.
I remember that I loved biographies. I loved books in general, but in second grade my passion was for biographies. I took out children's biographies about Washington, Lincoln, Amelia Earhart and others. I read the Lincoln biography on a rare, quiet afternoon over the course of about two hours. It was 82 pages long.
I first remember reading Judy Blume in fourth grade. The book was, not surprisingly, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. I related to that title. I felt like a "nothing" much of the time. By this point in my life, my mother had lost custody of my brother and I, and we lived with her family... also highly dysfunctional, but certainly more stable than any other life I'd known. I loved the book. I went to the library and took out more of her books. I found Are You There God? It's me, Margaret and while I couldn't quite understand why any girl wanted to get her period, I was relieved to have read the book because, like Margaret, my head was full of confusing and often contradictory thoughts.
I discovered that Judy Blume, like me, was born in February and in New Jersey. She had several stories that took place, at least in part, in NJ. Forever, one of her young adult novels, even took place in Westfield - yes, the same Westfield I'd lived in.
I related to so many of the characters she created, and it was largely because of her books that I began to write. It first started in my head. I'd be narrating what I was doing or watching silently. I still do this, especially in situations that intimidate or amaze me.
In 1998, I'd just moved back to New Jersey after several years in the Philadelphia suburbs. I was back in Cranford, living with my mother (sober by then) and my baby sister, who was almost seven. I was at the Barnes & Noble near the daycare center I worked at when I saw Summer Sisters in the new release section. It was the first time in my life I'd bought a hard-cover book, but I had to have it. I was 22 and made lousy money in daycare. I paid rent to my mother and helped (read: took over) care for Kaitlyn, my baby sister.
I immediately related to Vix, the main character in Summer Sisters. I was, like Vix, the eldest child. I was the one who somehow managed to remain about as unscathed as one can in a family like mine. I was, at the time, desperately trying to get back into school. I'd flunked out of college the first time I tried. I was also, as always, writing frequently. In those days, I mostly wrote poetry with the occasional short story thrown in just to keep things interesting.
I'd had a friend like Caitlin Somers - Vix's "summer sister," and oldest friend. She'd stolen my boyfriend, amongst other things. She was older and beautiful and daring. She was smart, but not terribly motivated. She had a tendency to lie, as did Caitlin. Like Vix, I was never quite sure (once I'd uncovered the lies) what was true and what was just an alternative reality she'd created in her mind.
I'd also had that friend I'd tested sexual boundaries with as a younger girl. My first 'real' kiss was with her, when we she was eight and I was nine. It was in the shed behind my grandparents above ground pool. The shed was old, metal and smelled like chlorine. I remember we decided that kissing felt a lot like sucking on a marshmallow. We tried it a few times, and then years later, one night in the pool when we were teenagers, we'd share another kiss. I was reminded of that in the scene of the novel where Caitlin, in her young 20s, dances a fiery Flamenco dance for Vix alone in a hotel room, and for just a moment it is quite obvious there is a strong sexual undercurrent.
Summer Sisters has become a tradition for me. I have read it at the start of every summer since that first one in June 1998. I just picked it up today to start reading it for this summer. It's a bit early, especially now that I live in the Colorado Rocky Mountain foothills, and we just had 18 inches of snow fall last week... but it's just "time." I can't explain it. It's like this every year. Sometimes, I just need to read the book and it's still only April. When that happens, I read it again sometime in June or July. I have read this book more than any other. It is like an old friend.
Last year, due to some unique circumstances in my life, I came to believe that Caitlin was always in love with Vix. Romantically in love with her, and that this was what motivated Caitlin's behavior where Vix was concerned. I don't think Vix ever really recognized this... and for all I know Judy Blume does not believe Caitlin was "in love" with Vix. It's just my interpretation of the story, and reading it again following that revelation (last winter), things made more sense. Caitlin at one point tells Vix she always wanted what Vix had, and Vix is baffled by this. Caitlin is incredibly beautiful, rich and seemingly free. I think Caitlin wanted what Vix had in the sense that Vix was able to form real bonds with people, while Caitlin flitted about... but I also think Caitlin wanted to be with Vix because she felt no one else understood her the way Vix did, and as we all know, that feeling is priceless. The safety that comes with being loved that way is something no one should ever take for granted, and though Caitlin does at times take it for granted, I also think she realized how rare and precious the gift of acceptance she got from Vix was.
I will always cry at the end. Vix is married, with a six month-old baby named for the little brother she lost as a teenager. They are in a wild flower field on Martha's Vineyard (where much of the book takes place), and they are dedicating it to Caitlin's memory. She has vanished while boating in Italy, and Vix, as the last to have seen her, is inconsolable. I sob hysterically every time I get to this point of the story. I have read the book enough times to have literally memorized sentences, and I think them before I read them.
Every year, I think... wow, I wish I could write like this. I try to come up with a story, and though I have plenty, I am me. I'm not Judy Blume, and though I'd love to emulate her style, I can only really ever be myself. I wrote a romance novel (that of course I can't find an agent for, haha) about seven years ago. Even though it is unlikely to ever get published, just having that opportunity to write "The End" after about 350 pages was thrilling. Though not like the stories I'd read by Judy Blume, I know I owe part of that achievement to her influence in my life as a reader. I think that, even for a romance novel, the characters are authentic and have a "voice" of their own, and that is something I learned from reading books like Blubber, or Deenie.
I have no intentions of giving up on the dream of being a "published (and paid)" writer. In fact, I told my husband a few weeks ago that I have a new goal. I want to be published and paid for something I have written by the time I am 45. I have eleven years to accomplish that goal, and I certainly hope it will be a novel that I publish. I am in graduate school to be a high school English teacher, and part of the appeal is that I get to teach what I love - and I get summers off to pursue my dream of being on the library bookshelves someday.
So, as I sat down to start my annual journey with Vix and Caitlin, I remembered this goal. I will keep it firmly in mind as I continue to read my favorite story for probably the 22nd time. I will live vicariously through Vix for a few days (I like to savor the book), and I will keep her, and other characters created by Blume, in mind as I consider what I want to write next. I'll keep a box of tissues handy, not only for the end, but also for the point in the novel where Vix realizes she has found the man of her dreams. Through her thoughts, we learn that she realizes the others were just "practice." She knows she won't get bored with this man, and she says she won't allow him to be bored with her. I cry when I read that, because I found that with my husband, whom I met about six months after reading Summer Sisters for the first time.
About five years ago, I emailed Judy Blume to share with her how influential this book has been in my life. She emailed me back and talked about what she believed happened to Caitlin. It was so cool of her to do that, and I loved that she thinks about it as a "what might have happened," as opposed to a certainty about what happened to this character she created. Caitlin is a mysterious character. She is the only main character whose thoughts we never hear, and it seemed appropriate, somehow, that even her creator wasn't quite sure what happened to her in the end.
I still read that same hardcover version I bought nearly 12 years ago. I hope to be reading the same copy in another 12 years... and to be celebrating my own success as an author.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Day 76
Flames flicker and cast shadows
Heavy with longing and mystery
The chill of a spring night is swept away
On the wisps of sweet wood smoke
His profile in firelight is strong
His hand covers mine, and he squeezes gently
My fingers are warmed by his
Interlaced on his knee
We sit in silence
With shared glances and delicate caresses
We do not need words tonight
Our language is our love
Darkness quietly washes away the light
Of our warm May Sunday
Stars shimmer in the inky night sky
My hand covers his as we watch the fire fade
Heavy with longing and mystery
The chill of a spring night is swept away
On the wisps of sweet wood smoke
His profile in firelight is strong
His hand covers mine, and he squeezes gently
My fingers are warmed by his
Interlaced on his knee
We sit in silence
With shared glances and delicate caresses
We do not need words tonight
Our language is our love
Darkness quietly washes away the light
Of our warm May Sunday
Stars shimmer in the inky night sky
My hand covers his as we watch the fire fade
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Day 75
Today I am introducing you to a writing style you are probably already familiar with, but it's one I much enjoy, and desperately need to make use of at the moment. It is called "The Rant." I did not create this style, but I do believe I've enjoyed much success with it, and hopefully, the rant that follows - simply called "Stupid People," will demonstrate that I am adept with ranting.
The hardest part of having a chronic medical condition isn't always the symptoms caused by said condition. Sometimes, it's the stupidity of people you foolishly talk to about the condition. I have a cornucopia of conditions to choose from, but let's start with infertility.
There is a rule... it's unspoken, and typically ignored, but it is a rule nevertheless, and those of us who've battled infertility are well acquainted with this rule. Don't ask a couple when they're going to have kids. I don't care if they've been "married long enough," or if you think she might be passing her fertility prime. It is none of your damn business. Doesn't matter if it's your sister, your daughter, your best friend... you don't ask this question. Many couple choose not to have kids. IF they want to address that with you, they will. Some couples - like my husband and myself - try for years and go through the heartbreak of failed infertility treatments, and they don't want to have to talk about it because it fucking hurts. It's emotionally painful, and often also physically painful.
People, however, are stupid and insensitive. They ask anyway. Usually, when they ask me, they're sorry they did. I refuse to be polite and just say, "oh, it didn't work out." Nope. You wanna be nosy? Then you get to hear all about my ovarian cysts and the endometrial tissue that lines the insides of my body, swells and bleeds and causes me unspeakable pain. You can hear about how my hair is still falling out after six months of medically induced menopause - oh, how did they do that? Shots in my ass. Yeah, fun stuff. Aren't you glad you asked? The way I look at it, I am doing a service to other people in my shoes. Maybe this person will be sorry enough they asked that they won't repeat that stupid mistake with another couple.
Then there are the ones who, when you first mention "infertility," will interrupt and either say, "well, did you try the treatments?" or "maybe you should adopt." No, I didn't try any treatments. I just like to complain. Duh. All I ever wanted was to be a mother. Of course I tried the damn treatments. Four rounds and two years and I'd had it. I couldn't do it anymore. By then I knew I had not one, but two conditions and the odds of me ever getting pregnant were minuscule. Maybe to you it sounds like I gave up too soon. To me, it sounds like I was done with the monthly heartbreak of not being pregnant... AGAIN. 26 months of that was more than enough, thanks. I had to preserve my sanity, and although I am one of the lucky ones whose marriage wasn't impacted that badly by infertility, it still has an impact. If nothing else, just think about how you'd like to have specifically timed sex that ends in ridiculous ways you don't want to hear about for months on end. It's no picnic.
As for adoption, well... I have fibroymyalgia, depression, Hashimoto's disease, endometriosis, PCOS and my husband has multiple sclerosis. We're hardly ideal candidates for adoption. It's also NOT without the risk of heartbreak, and it's incredibly expensive. We're atheists, and that's also a challenge because many international adoption agencies have a religious foundation. Not to mention, I've already dealt with invasive treatments and tests to figure out what's wrong with my insides. I don't want that same invasive procedure in my personal life to qualify for adoption. We've discussed it, at length. My husband would do it for me... but it's not right for us and it's doubtful we'd qualify anyway, at least not for an infant and for many, many reasons - all personal choices we have every right to make - we don't want to adopt an older child. We don't want to adopt any child, but that's beside the point, because bring up the medical stuff and someone always says, "there are older kids who need a home, too." Yes. Maybe you should adopt one if you feel so strongly about it that you want to tell ME to do it. The bottom line? The answer to "why don't you adopt?" is also "none of your damn business."
Okay, so let's move on to fibromyalgia. I have chronic, near constant pain from this condition. I have some days that are worse than others, but I haven't been pain free for a full day in nearly nine years. I also haven't had a decent night of sleep in that time frame. It takes its toll. I recently decided, partly because of the fibro and partly for other reasons unrelated to medical stuff, that I wanted to teach high school instead of elementary school. It's less physically demanding, and in some ways, less mentally demanding. When you don't sleep well, your brain just gets, well... tired. There's no other way to describe it. Some days, just trying to think hurts.
Fibro is fun because a lot of people don't believe in it still (including my grandmother, though she refuses to just outright say it - or at least she doesn't believe *I* have it). Researchers still really aren't sure what the hell it even is, how it is caused. Which makes treatment options sort of a shot in the dark, really. There are only three FDA approved treatments. One is Lyrica, which did literally nothing for me or to me. Nothing good or bad... I had no reaction to it (which is good because at least it means I didn't have terrible side effects). The other two are both antidepressants, and to be specific, they're SSRIs. I can't take SSRIs. They give me terrible depression (ironically) and cause extreme anxiety attacks. That said, out of desperation at one point, I did try an SSRI called Elavil. The smallest dosage possible made me sleep for 17 hours (and it was a heavy, hard sleep - not restorative at all). I also tried gabapentin, which is a drug chemically similar to Lyrica, but it's generic and use of it to treat fibro is "off label." It helped the pain some, but made me crazy - literally. I was angry, hostile and miserable. It wasn't worth it. I also tried physical therapy, but the therapist wanted me to go down to a center that has a pool. Which would be great, except driving there would take an hour - and driving is one of the more painful activities I can do. My doctor agreed that driving an hour for a 45 minute therapy session I then had to drive an hour home from would just be silly and counterproductive.
So, we've established what I've done for the fibro. At this point, all I can do is get through my days with the various medications that help (like Xanax, Vicodin, Flexeril). I use them as little as possible, but when I need them, I need them. I make no apologies for that. But because of this, when I finish my Master's degree, I plan to look into some of the online charter schools for employment. My grandmother had asked why I was changing to secondary education, and I was explaining all this to her, and she (stupidly) asks, "don't you think that will ever go away?" Uhm, NO. I've told her this before, but I said it again... there is no cure for fibro. I've exhausted the known treatment options. I deal with the pain. I try to live my life as best I can... but if something like working from home can make my life easier, why wouldn't I do it if it's an option??? But you have to know my grandmother to know that it wasn't just an innocent question. It was heavy with unspoken disbelief and accusations. She clearly either doesn't believe in fibro or (more likely) doesn't believe I have it. Which is also really, really frustrating to deal with... and it is stressful, and fibro and stress aren't happy bedfellows.
Which brings me to the main point. People are stupid. I mean, does she think I'm just sitting here in pain not even trying to do anything about it? Part of the issue is probably that I don't complain much, especially to her. Which makes it less likely I could *really* be in so much pain. Now, let's just analyze the source of this unspoken criticism for a moment. Seven years ago, she broke a crown in the front of her mouth. There is still a gap there because she's too terrified to deal with the dentist. She has needed glasses my entire life, but says that her eyes will get "worse" if she wears them, so instead she squints and scares the crap out me whenever I consider she still drives (oh, and mind you - I've worn glasses since second grade. I've had my eyesight improve twice in the past five or six years. Not by much, but still.). Her feet have caused her extreme pain for years, but she doesn't go to a doctor to get inserts made that might help. Next time she says, "don't you think it will ever go away?" I might come back with, "do you think you'll ever get your tooth fixed?" ARGH.
She's not a "bad" person (not that I believe in "bad" and "good," per se). But this aspect of her personality is frustrating and downright pisses me off at times. Just because you are unwilling to do what you need to do to take care of certain issues (like missing teeth), don't assume I am also unwilling. If there was a magic wand that could take away my pain, I'd wave it and say the spell. Unfortunately, no matter how determinedly I point my wand, and no matter who convincingly I shout, "reparo!" there is no magic to fix me. I'm broken. I deal with it... if *I* can deal with it, you should certainly be able to deal with it, and just be glad it's me and not you.
They say mean people suck, and while I concur, I also think stupid people suck, and frankly, there are times when I'd prefer actual malicious intent over stupidity. At least then I can attack back...
The hardest part of having a chronic medical condition isn't always the symptoms caused by said condition. Sometimes, it's the stupidity of people you foolishly talk to about the condition. I have a cornucopia of conditions to choose from, but let's start with infertility.
There is a rule... it's unspoken, and typically ignored, but it is a rule nevertheless, and those of us who've battled infertility are well acquainted with this rule. Don't ask a couple when they're going to have kids. I don't care if they've been "married long enough," or if you think she might be passing her fertility prime. It is none of your damn business. Doesn't matter if it's your sister, your daughter, your best friend... you don't ask this question. Many couple choose not to have kids. IF they want to address that with you, they will. Some couples - like my husband and myself - try for years and go through the heartbreak of failed infertility treatments, and they don't want to have to talk about it because it fucking hurts. It's emotionally painful, and often also physically painful.
People, however, are stupid and insensitive. They ask anyway. Usually, when they ask me, they're sorry they did. I refuse to be polite and just say, "oh, it didn't work out." Nope. You wanna be nosy? Then you get to hear all about my ovarian cysts and the endometrial tissue that lines the insides of my body, swells and bleeds and causes me unspeakable pain. You can hear about how my hair is still falling out after six months of medically induced menopause - oh, how did they do that? Shots in my ass. Yeah, fun stuff. Aren't you glad you asked? The way I look at it, I am doing a service to other people in my shoes. Maybe this person will be sorry enough they asked that they won't repeat that stupid mistake with another couple.
Then there are the ones who, when you first mention "infertility," will interrupt and either say, "well, did you try the treatments?" or "maybe you should adopt." No, I didn't try any treatments. I just like to complain. Duh. All I ever wanted was to be a mother. Of course I tried the damn treatments. Four rounds and two years and I'd had it. I couldn't do it anymore. By then I knew I had not one, but two conditions and the odds of me ever getting pregnant were minuscule. Maybe to you it sounds like I gave up too soon. To me, it sounds like I was done with the monthly heartbreak of not being pregnant... AGAIN. 26 months of that was more than enough, thanks. I had to preserve my sanity, and although I am one of the lucky ones whose marriage wasn't impacted that badly by infertility, it still has an impact. If nothing else, just think about how you'd like to have specifically timed sex that ends in ridiculous ways you don't want to hear about for months on end. It's no picnic.
As for adoption, well... I have fibroymyalgia, depression, Hashimoto's disease, endometriosis, PCOS and my husband has multiple sclerosis. We're hardly ideal candidates for adoption. It's also NOT without the risk of heartbreak, and it's incredibly expensive. We're atheists, and that's also a challenge because many international adoption agencies have a religious foundation. Not to mention, I've already dealt with invasive treatments and tests to figure out what's wrong with my insides. I don't want that same invasive procedure in my personal life to qualify for adoption. We've discussed it, at length. My husband would do it for me... but it's not right for us and it's doubtful we'd qualify anyway, at least not for an infant and for many, many reasons - all personal choices we have every right to make - we don't want to adopt an older child. We don't want to adopt any child, but that's beside the point, because bring up the medical stuff and someone always says, "there are older kids who need a home, too." Yes. Maybe you should adopt one if you feel so strongly about it that you want to tell ME to do it. The bottom line? The answer to "why don't you adopt?" is also "none of your damn business."
Okay, so let's move on to fibromyalgia. I have chronic, near constant pain from this condition. I have some days that are worse than others, but I haven't been pain free for a full day in nearly nine years. I also haven't had a decent night of sleep in that time frame. It takes its toll. I recently decided, partly because of the fibro and partly for other reasons unrelated to medical stuff, that I wanted to teach high school instead of elementary school. It's less physically demanding, and in some ways, less mentally demanding. When you don't sleep well, your brain just gets, well... tired. There's no other way to describe it. Some days, just trying to think hurts.
Fibro is fun because a lot of people don't believe in it still (including my grandmother, though she refuses to just outright say it - or at least she doesn't believe *I* have it). Researchers still really aren't sure what the hell it even is, how it is caused. Which makes treatment options sort of a shot in the dark, really. There are only three FDA approved treatments. One is Lyrica, which did literally nothing for me or to me. Nothing good or bad... I had no reaction to it (which is good because at least it means I didn't have terrible side effects). The other two are both antidepressants, and to be specific, they're SSRIs. I can't take SSRIs. They give me terrible depression (ironically) and cause extreme anxiety attacks. That said, out of desperation at one point, I did try an SSRI called Elavil. The smallest dosage possible made me sleep for 17 hours (and it was a heavy, hard sleep - not restorative at all). I also tried gabapentin, which is a drug chemically similar to Lyrica, but it's generic and use of it to treat fibro is "off label." It helped the pain some, but made me crazy - literally. I was angry, hostile and miserable. It wasn't worth it. I also tried physical therapy, but the therapist wanted me to go down to a center that has a pool. Which would be great, except driving there would take an hour - and driving is one of the more painful activities I can do. My doctor agreed that driving an hour for a 45 minute therapy session I then had to drive an hour home from would just be silly and counterproductive.
So, we've established what I've done for the fibro. At this point, all I can do is get through my days with the various medications that help (like Xanax, Vicodin, Flexeril). I use them as little as possible, but when I need them, I need them. I make no apologies for that. But because of this, when I finish my Master's degree, I plan to look into some of the online charter schools for employment. My grandmother had asked why I was changing to secondary education, and I was explaining all this to her, and she (stupidly) asks, "don't you think that will ever go away?" Uhm, NO. I've told her this before, but I said it again... there is no cure for fibro. I've exhausted the known treatment options. I deal with the pain. I try to live my life as best I can... but if something like working from home can make my life easier, why wouldn't I do it if it's an option??? But you have to know my grandmother to know that it wasn't just an innocent question. It was heavy with unspoken disbelief and accusations. She clearly either doesn't believe in fibro or (more likely) doesn't believe I have it. Which is also really, really frustrating to deal with... and it is stressful, and fibro and stress aren't happy bedfellows.
Which brings me to the main point. People are stupid. I mean, does she think I'm just sitting here in pain not even trying to do anything about it? Part of the issue is probably that I don't complain much, especially to her. Which makes it less likely I could *really* be in so much pain. Now, let's just analyze the source of this unspoken criticism for a moment. Seven years ago, she broke a crown in the front of her mouth. There is still a gap there because she's too terrified to deal with the dentist. She has needed glasses my entire life, but says that her eyes will get "worse" if she wears them, so instead she squints and scares the crap out me whenever I consider she still drives (oh, and mind you - I've worn glasses since second grade. I've had my eyesight improve twice in the past five or six years. Not by much, but still.). Her feet have caused her extreme pain for years, but she doesn't go to a doctor to get inserts made that might help. Next time she says, "don't you think it will ever go away?" I might come back with, "do you think you'll ever get your tooth fixed?" ARGH.
She's not a "bad" person (not that I believe in "bad" and "good," per se). But this aspect of her personality is frustrating and downright pisses me off at times. Just because you are unwilling to do what you need to do to take care of certain issues (like missing teeth), don't assume I am also unwilling. If there was a magic wand that could take away my pain, I'd wave it and say the spell. Unfortunately, no matter how determinedly I point my wand, and no matter who convincingly I shout, "reparo!" there is no magic to fix me. I'm broken. I deal with it... if *I* can deal with it, you should certainly be able to deal with it, and just be glad it's me and not you.
They say mean people suck, and while I concur, I also think stupid people suck, and frankly, there are times when I'd prefer actual malicious intent over stupidity. At least then I can attack back...
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