Uncommon Julia

Um, Yeah. Pretty Much.

Hope developed Tourette's syndrome over the past five days or so. She was alternately screaming obscenities and encouragement at me at all hours of the day and night.

But in the end, Hope always gets her way. I broke down this afternoon with no period and a raging headache urging me on.

As most of you can imagine (or know firsthand) this latest development has caused far too many emotions for me to process, let alone discuss in some coherent manner.

I'll be calling Dr. Smooth for a beta tomorrow. It'll be the first I've ever had.

If you're the praying sort, now's the time.

Booty and Confessions of a Pollyanna

On Coping:

Um, yeah, so you remember how well I dealt with the arrival of little Lucy? Everyone is so proud of me - they murmur as I pass by, "Wow. She is so strong. I just don't know how she does it."

Well, I'll tell you how: She fakes it. She lives in the moment and then escapes to the nearest private setting and has a good 'ol fashioned why-me pity party. Or in this case, a why-NOT-me pity party.

It was the strangest thing, really. I came home and felt fine. I worked. I returned phone calls. I did normal people things. Then I started to feel sick. Like flu sick. I was achy. But I had no other symptoms and I knew I didn't have a fever. "Must be the adrenaline wearing off," I say to myself - and then to my husband when he asks why I'm going to take a nap.

But the nap didn't really work and the aching didn't stop. I knew it was psychosomatic. I mean, I'm no brain surgeon, but I can recognize the connection between a tough day emotionally and a painful one physically. But then I figured that recognizing that it was psychosomatic and not real illness would make it go away. Kind of like when you're dreaming and you say "I know I'm just dreaming," and that's enough to wake you. But that didn't work either.

I went to bed early and woke yesterday - my birthday - feeling just fine. That day at lunch a friend mentioned a possibility to me. We have a mutual friend who works in brain research and she's told us on many occasions that 90% of a human's memory is stored in cells outsidee of the brain. The cells throughout the rest of your body hold the majority of your memories. Could it be, my friend hypothesized, that my physical pain was actually my bad memories being triggered?

That made more sense than anything else I'd been able to come with, so I'm settling on that as my explanation.

So you see, my dear, dear friends, I am not the queen of unending goodness and kind support. I am a normal, damaged human being who just managed to make it home before the freak-out hit. I hope none of you will be too disappointed in my less-than-superhero status.

On Booty, the Various Definitions:

So I made out really well yesterday! My husband bought me five presents! Yep - five. He made me open one the night before in a really sweet attempt to break me out of my funk. It was an adorable pair of p.j. bottoms - capri pants, cotton striped.

Then yesterday I at lunch with my friends I received a gift certificate to a salon and a fantastic (and pricey!) candle from Saks. When I came home and finished getting ready for a lovely dinner out with my husband I opened his other four presents: One more p.j. set, a slinky piece of lingerie, and two charms for my charm bracelet.

He then took me downtown to this great restaurant we haven't been to in years for tapas and wine. We ate a ton and then finished it all off with an almond-chocolate mousse... oh my dear Lord was that ever lovely!

Following dinner (and a minor fiasco involving my car keys) I was handed off to my entourage of guy friends who took me to our favorite country dive for an evening of dancing and superb people-watching. I drank a number of crown-and-cokes and sweated more than I'd planned to in the densely packed bar, but I had a blast. My friends all turned out and they had the DJ announce that it was my birthday (my 22nd, as I kept telling people) and various embarrassing other acts that I ate up with glee.

I drove home after drinking three LARGE bottled waters and confirming that I'd waited for the alcohol to clear out of my system. When I got home I found my husband sacked out and snoring. Which is completely expected when considering that he had class the next day and it was 2:00 a.m. But I wanted lovin'. Or I thought I did. I mean, it is my birthday and there's a law about that, right?

After a failed attempt to gain said lovin' I settled for cuddling. And then I cried. I told Todd that I was jealous of my best friend. Not in an ugly, hateful way. But I missed my boys. All of them. Each of them. It was so amazing to hold Lucy and watch her legs flail and her toes curl, to see her twitch while she dreamed and stick her teeny little tongue out while I rubbed her cheek with the back of my finger. She's so perfect and intact. She works and she's whole. And it makes my heart hurt with joy and pain all at the very same moment.

After unburdening myself, I fell deeply asleep. Todd, apparently, did not. I'm not sure if it was what I said that kept him awake, or just the fact that I woke him. But either way, he has class until 9:00 tonight, and he's struggling at work today. Poor guy.

Oh - as for the second definition of booty: I spend a great deal of this morning hanging out on my toilet because the apparent after effects of Spanish food combined with crown-and-cokes is that of liquefaction. Nice.

Amazing Beautiful

It is with great pleasure that I introduce you to Lucy Grace. Her mother, my best friend, gave birth this morning at 11:02 a.m. She weighs 7 lbs. 5 oz, and is 21" long. She is just the prettiest little thing ever. I am so in awe.

My best friend did just great. She went through things right on schedule and only had to push for about 30 minutes - and she didn't feel a thing during that time.

I held up really well. I teared up a bit while I watched my friend attempt to get the hang of nursing, but all in all I was able to look at this event as what it was: a beautiful life coming to join the rest of us. I will admit that I had a few rough moments coming home in the quiet of my car, but who wouldn't.

My best friend's mother was thoughtful enough to ask if I was okay - which I was - she is just so sweet.

Tomorrow is my birthday, and I couldn't think of a better present from my best friend.

Rollercoasters of a Different Sort

After being on an emotional rollercoaster for far too long, my husband and I just returned from a long weekend where we rode the more enjoyable sort - actual rollercoasters.

We traveled to Arlington, Texas on Friday and spent the day with friends perusing the new and exciting rollercoasters of Six Flags. (Bonus Points: Who can name the six flags that flew over Texas throughout its history to give rise to the name "Six Flags"?) I hadn't been to the park in a dozen years or so, and my last memory was of hooking up with a football player from my school while on a band trip. [sing your own version of "Memories"]

That evening my entire cadre of friends and I piled into a mini-van yellow cab (there were thirteen of us) for an evening of fantastic Cajun seafood and even more fantastic alcoholic beverages (the fruity sort). The sight of the thirteen of us tumbling out of the vehicle must have been thoroughly entertaining for any onlookers.

The next day we lounged by the pool while shaking off the last ill effects of the previous night, and then prepared for a ball game. We went to "the Ballpark" in Arlington to see the Yankees play the Rangers - an event that caused a near perfect split in loyalties for our group. Nearly all of the men are from New York or "up North" somewhere and nearly all of the women are tried-and-true, dyed-in-the-cloth Texan girls. It made for a great game of friendly contention, and an even better evening of gloating for the women when the Yankees lost.

That evening was passed at a nearby sports bar in a haze of overly-expensive cocktails and shuffle board games. On Sunday we took our time getting packed up and headed home. We arrived in time to mow the lawn, pick up the dogs from the kennel, and watch the Sopranos with our neighbors.

Damn, that felt good.

Fantastic News!

My new friends, A. & J., have been to see five more doctors since I last spoke with them - including the fetal-maternal specialist that my husband and I saw in Houston.

The doctors all feel that their baby girl's risk of mental impairment is low and although they confirm that both feet are clubbed and she has several "hemi-vertebrae", that is the extent of her physical impairment.

A. & J. are going to carry her to term and do everything in their power to help her through her physical disabilities. I am so, so relieved for them. Though they face some challenges in the near future, they pursued the specialists necessary to help them make this decision and it is one that they can make with confidence, knowing they're doing everything possible to care for they're little girl.

[As an aside, I couldn't think of a better example of why prenatal testing is so valuable.]

So let's all have a round of applause for A. & J. and their baby girl!

Finalmente! Mi Cocina!

I've only alluded to it here, but my kitchen has been under construction (and therefore, unavailable to me) for over two weeks now. With no sink and no dishwasher I cannot cook a damn thing, and we've been eating out and relying on microwave dinners eaten off paper plates for weeks now.

This afternoon, I should (knocking on wood right now) get my sink back! I'm so excited I can hardly stand it! I'm actually jonesing to clean the kitchen and do the dishes. Weird, but true.

The title of my post is in Spanish because I've been conversing (as best I can) with E., my housecleaner and her whole huge cadre of women for the past hour. She and her family help me with my house twice a month and they ROCK! Plus they actually cajole me into conversations at every turn because they love the fact that I speak Spanish. True, my proficiency has suffered since I last used it on a daily basis some five years ago, but I still read (every other book) in Spanish and practice whenever I can.

Apparently, this cleaning kick is attempting to infiltrate other aspects of my life as well. I spent a good three hours creating new categories on this blog and hand-sorting all my old entries into said categories. Whew! It's also dawned on me that I really should update my "About Me" section - as it's not been touched since I began this blog. Perhaps I'll save that for tomorrow.

In bodily news, no new signs of ovulation. I'm thinking this may be a day 20 kind of cycle. We'll see. Meanwhile, my face has broken out a bit. FUN! I have managed to keep up my workouts, though, which has been a great source of stress control.

So, to recap - things here in the Misconception household are boring, which is likely a good thing.

Follie-Follie-Oxen-Free!

"Yes, Vanna, I'd like to buy a vowel - an 'O' please."

Well you knew I couldn't go too long without finding something to whine about, right? Don't worry - I'm not really whining; more like noting. Noting in a slightly irritated way.

I've never been a real regular cycle kind of gal, but I'm not too erratic, either. I tend to ovulate between day 14 and day 20, and I've gotten pregnant on both ends of that spectrum. Last cycle I ovulated on day 14 and was rather surprised, but excited that perhaps I might have some nice "textbook" cycles coming my way.

Alas, this cycle will be different. I'm on day 16 and there's no sign of ovulation anywhere. Just some crickets chirping in the recesses of my womb.

Perhaps you're thinking you should remind me that I'm not supposed to be trying to get pregnant - that I'm a "not/not". Yes, thank you, you're quite right. But that bitch, Hope, keeps popping her head around the corner quite a lot lately. And there's nothing wrong with aiming at the right dates, right? Right?!

Well, I can at least say that I haven't been demanding sex when I don't even feel interested just for the sake of procreation, so that's a plus. Of course, the fact that I wasn't interested is my first big tip-off that ovulation isn't on the immediate horizon.

I think what's irritating me is my Inner Pessimist (yes, she's new - I'll introduce you, but I bet you've already met). Inner Pessimist keeps pointing out that my fertility could pack up and take off just like every other scrap of good luck I've had in the past two years. Sure, I've been able to conceive pretty much as soon as I decide I'm ready thus far, but who's to say I won't turn up with a rousing case of Unexplained Secondary Infertility. Wouldn't that be fun?

I'm keeping Inner Pessimist sedated with wine in the evenings and pasta dishes during the day, but I sure wish I'd ovulate in the next few days so I can shut her up for the remainder of this cycle.

So, little ovum, if you're listening: Come out, come out, wherever you are!

Reprogramming Successful!

Perhaps you'll recall my complaint a number of weeks ago about my husband's lack of knowledge in all areas relating to women.

I'm pleased to announce that the reasonable facsimile husband the aliens left in his place has completely made up for all such statements from my real husband with the following exchange:

RFHusband: "Have you seen the Playbuddy of the Year in this month's [mainstream gentleman's publication, which we receive and who's article I really do read]?"

Me: "No. Why?"

RFH: "She has the same figure as you."

Me: [Laughing so hard I literally snorted.]

RFH: "No, really. She does."

Me: [Cease snorting.] "Wha?"

After realizing he was completely serious, I ran upstairs to check out said hottie and to contemplate the wonders of modern science when applied to the re-education of husbands. What a wondrous thing brainwashing is.

Must See* TV

So I promised I'd render an opinion... here goes:

Last week I turned on the TV and settled into my sofa for a full Thursday evening of "Friends" finale and "E.R." - much like the rest of the country. And I'm not sorry I did. Yes, "Friends" is cheesy, but so am I.

Courtney Cox Arquette has become somewhat of a glam-girl poster child for us habitual aborter types (we even have a secret handshake, you know), and as a result, my ears perk whenever she is interviewed. I couldn't help but be moved as she spoke on camera about dealing with her miscarriages while shooting episodes that revolved around babies and infertility. But there was one sentence in particular that struck my heart. In a separate conversation about what she is up to now, the actress explained that June would be a big month for her, amongst other things, her due date is in June. Courtney started to say, "I'll have a baby..." but midway through the sentence stopped, and corrected herself, "I'm due in June."

I could see the fear in her eyes. I could see that knowledge that is there even up until the last minute before they put that screaming baby in your arms. She recognizes that things could still go wrong. And it is heartbreaking to see that on her face and know exactly how she feels. It was the definition of poignant.

After the finale, I watched "E.R." I've been addicted to both shows (regardless of quality, I'll admit) ever since they hit the air. Last year I was impressed by their decision to show Carrie going through a miscarriage and her resulting fear of trying again. They've also devoted scripts to topics like adoption, various sorts of miscarriage and loss over the years. But last week they did something borderline historical, and I found it brave and honorable.

As most of us know, pregnancy goes awry more often than any one in the media is willing to admit. I thought "E.R."s portrayal of Carter and his wife's experiences when they discovered their baby had died from a cord accident was accurate and touching. It struck so close to home that both my husband and I had a hard time watching - not because it was inappropriate or offensive, because it wasn't - but because it seemed so dead-on.

While our situation was different, I have to applaud the courage of the producers, writers and actors of the show for tackling a gut-wrenching experience. They had to know that showing such a scene was not likely to be popular, and yet they did it anyway. I think it was cathartic for women who've suffered any sort of similar loss to see their plight recognized in a public way.

A positive pregnancy test doesn't mean you're going to have a baby, and both those examples in one night made that point clear. I wish it wasn't a point that needed making, but that can't be changed. Now - if only I could get someone to talk about the taboo choice of termination in Hollywood... then I'd really have a blog entry.

A Calling

I received a call this afternoon from a complete stranger with whom I share an intimate and immediate bond - though both of us wish we didn't. My genetic counselor had given her my number (with my permission, of course) because the caring and courageous woman has found herself facing the most important decision of her life. And like me, she has very little information at her disposal to do so.

A. and her husband, J. are carrying a beautiful baby girl. On Tuesday they were told that she has clubbed feet and spinal malformations. The doctors have also told her that they believe these two issued combined may indicate further problems with her health that are undetectable. A. and J. will have their amnio results back in nine days, but the doctors have also warned that they do not expect to find an answer there. They may be facing an genetic disorder that isn't detectable, and therefore, cannot give a syndrome or any expected range of symptoms.

All she wants is answers. Something to hang her hat on. Some way of facing this decision that feels more appropriate that a flip of a coin.

I cannot tell you how much I feel for her and her husband.

I tried to provide any insights I could. I tried to provide any resources that I've relied upon. I tried to comfort her. I tried to tell her that she will get through this, one way or another.

But no matter what, I will not be able to help her off the path her life is on. And I wish with all my heart that I could. The road she is traveling is the darkest she will ever know and I wish I knew a detour.

I am so thankful, though, that this is my calling: to be there for her in a way that no one could be for me. Since I have made it further down this road and have no choice but to keep on going, I can think of no better use of my time than to tell my story and help the others that are coming behind me.

My heart and prayers are with A. and J. and their baby girl tonight. May God help you to find your answer and give you the love and courage to make it down that path.