Pole Dancing In The Dark

A bit of myself

I normally don’t like to get into the personal personal stuff when talking about my life on line, but lately… I have just felt the overwhelming need to over share. This could get graphic, it will be very personal and if I didn’t strive to be so anonymous, I probably wouldn’t be typing this at all.

As most of the regulars know around here, I am adopted. It’s no big deal, I no longer dwell on who could have been my parents and I am past the point of imagining them being really famous people with lots o’ wealth to share to over compensate for their guilt at giving me up. I have matured to the point to realize that being adopted is possibly the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t even care about the circumstances of the reasons behind my biological mother’s desire to give me away. It was the best thing for both of us and I wish her the best in all things (but if you do happen to have lots o’ money, I wouldn’t turn it down…)

Being adopted has its good points and its bad points. The good points consist of being really mean to other kids when they mock you. I could always tell them that their parents were stuck with them, whereas my parents picked me out. Or, when talking about my family, especially my brother, I could always maintain full deniability. “Yes, we are legally related, but not blood… so I don’t share the jackass gene with him.” Also, it is amusing to fake out the doctors’ offices while filling out all the embarrassing medical paper work that one has to fill out for every procedure and office. For example, when going through the family medical history, “Has anyone in your family ever had surgery for hemorrhoids?” I usually say, “I’m adopted, so I wouldn’t know, but I know my current family can be a pain in my ass.” Yeah, I usually just get a lot of strange looks.

On the downside, however, there is the complete lack of familial medical history, which has turned into a bit of an issue as of late. See, hubster and I have been trying to start a family. We had been practicing for years when we finally settled down and made the decision that maybe a mini hub or a mini me (shiver) may be a nice thing to have. So, we tried… and we tried… and we had lots of sex and lots of fun and all though the practice was enjoyable, yours truly wasn’t getting in the family way.

This had beeen going on for three years. During those three years, hubster was laid off, my Ob/Gyn quickly (and without warning) retired, I found a new one – who grossed me out, hubster was rehired, and then finally found another Ob/Gyn that I was happy with. She ordered tests, for both hubster and I. Now, I’m not going into his results here, because it isn’t my place. Besides, it really is all about me.

Short version, cysts, damaged tubes, fibroids and polyps – oh my. Long version, I have had every single type of infertility tests there is. I have been poked (not in the good way), prodded and inspected. I have had pretty much every single doctor in the city look at my nether regions and I am beginning to wonder if I should start charging admission. It would probably help us pay all the bills that all these tests are helping us accumulate. I have had so many blood test that the red cross keeps turning me away because I am suddenly anemic (slight exaggeration here.) Meanwhile, I keep looking at my husband through narrowed eyes muttering, “damn men, stupid little cups… you all suck.” No, I’m not bitter. No, really, I'm not... I know, not very convincing...

That has basically been my life since last October. Many tests, new results, more bad news. The topper came on the February 13 when I went for my annual Ob/Gyn exam and my doctor found a lump in my breast. She told me to schedule an appointment with the local breast clinic to have it checked ASAP. For two weeks, I was sweating the appointment. I knew I had to go, but part of me – the really stupid part – kept insisting it wouldn’t hurt me if I didn’t know about it. I gave up coffee and chocolate for those two weeks as per the directions from the clinic – both my comfort habits. I managed to convince myself that I would be all right, I was too young to die, but the words felt hollow in my noggin', especially since my noggin is hollow. I told no one. Hubster was with me at the appointment, so he knew, but I didn’t want to freak anyone else in the family out until I had information.

This past Tuesday was my appointment. I had my very first manglegram (my term) or if you prefer, mammograb (hubster) which really sucked. But with the pain came good news. It’s not cancer, it’s cysts. This turned into really sucky news (figuratively and literally) about two seconds later when the doctor pulled out a needle and jammed it into my breast, twice. The good news: the cysts are gone. The bad: They will be back. But all in all, a huge sigh of relief and a short prayer of thanks to the Supreme Being(s).

On the baby making side, it looks as if it will have to be done the hard and expensive way. Can’t even go the turkey baster route… it looks as if we will have to go IVF. I also have a surgery scheduled to remove the polyp and possibly the tubes later this month. Again, I have more family history forms to fill out and today I wish I had gone through the trouble to find out more about my biological parents. But then again, life has always been a crap shoot and I have always lived on the edge. On the plus side, hubster has promised to wait on me hand and foot for four whole days after the surgery... I may even milk it for five...

By the way, this isn’t whining. I have always been of the opinion and philosophy that if it is meant to be, it will be. If not, there are plenty of children out in the world that need homes and that I would be honored to share mine with any of them. But we want to try having a baby first. I owe it to the hubster and to myself to try. My head is on straight and I refuse to drive myself crazy about this. Not to mention that the most positive thing to come of this is the bonding I have been doing with my mother. She’s been through all this so she has been very supportive. We’ve been getting a lot closer and that is a gift in and of itself.

Anyway, that’s what I’ve been up to. Which is nothing compared to what Mad Mikey has been going through. Go give the man a hand, if you can...

Posted by Ethne at March 2, 2006 09:00 PM | TrackBack