sueeeus

Today I tried to wheedle a metformin prescription from my ob-gyn, but he assured me that I do not in fact have pcos and that he will not in fact prescribe unnecessary medications. Hrumph. I guess the classical pcos symptoms checklist could have gone either way, but he is of the school that since I occasionally ovulate, as evidenced by a handful of pregnancies and one child, I am not, therefore, per his diagnosis, afflicted with pcos. Oh, I could curb those commas, but the effect just wouldn’t be the same.

The pcos checklist:

1. Irregular (check) or no periods (no)
2. Acne (no)
3. Obesity (check)
4. Excess hair growth (no)

But I have a family history of diabetes, said I. Compounded with a history of gestational diabetes. And what about this article (from a reliable internet source and now in my recycle bin) that states quite clearly that

“Clomid does not work well in extremely obese patients…these patients usually have insulin resistance and those patients should be highly encouraged to lose weight before induction of ovulation. Insulin sensitizing agents such as Metformin should be the primary treatment…”

Again, and bless his professional heart, I don’t get an unnecessary prescription. My most recent A1C hemoglobin test was 6, which is borderline, and my glucose level from that test was 77, which was excellent. So. No metformin. I do get to continue the Clomid. Oh Joy. This time I will have a serum progesterone test mid-luteal phase, and then we’ll take it from there.

Meanwhile, back on the home front, I felt exceptionally sleepy shortly after having some ginger ale. Yes, the sugary kind. I don’t normally drink soda, and especially not sugary soda (after GD, and all), but we had some leftover from Easter and I was thirsty (and lazy). So I had some. Oh, did I mention the leftover pizza I had shortly before the soda No Or the leftover stale donut Okay, so the first part of the day was not an exemplary day as far as food decisions go. Note to self. Get OVER the childhood waste not want not there are starving children in India and China and Africa and clean up your plate or else and don’t you dare let that go to waste mentality. (Even so, I deplore wastefulness. Can’t stand it. Yes, there is the rationale that the greater evil is putting that crappe into my body, but the voices of the starving children in India and China and Africa invariably get there first and by then it’s too late, the deed has been done, and the donut is down the hatch.)

Where was I Oh. Sleepy. After a truckload of carbs. I decided to dig out my blood sugar meter and see the damage. After all, I had to step on the scale at the doctor’s office this morning, so I’ve already had to pull this ostrich head out of the sand. Why is it so easy to pretend that if I don’t look, there’s no problem After ruining one test strip (goodbye, one dollar — what a racket, the blood sugar monitoring industry), I figured out how to properly use the meter. Beep. 226. GOOD LORD. Try not to panic. How long has it been since that soda GOOD LORD.

Okay. Breathe deeply. Frantically search the internet to find the appropriate ranges. GOOD LORD. Go for a walk. Force that blood to move through my veins. GOOD LORD.

After half an hour of zune tunes under a clear blue sky (who knew that 30GB, which is nearly my entire 500ish CD library, all on shuffle, could make me sooooo happy), I feel infinitely better. Okay, so I’m a bazillion pounds overweight. I’ve even flirted with the idea of the lap band, but it seems so extreme, and hey, people die. Surely, if I can handle every professional challenge that comes my way, why can’t I handle this very personal and very important one Surely I can find a way to get out there and walk. Every. Single. Day. Surely I can do that Surely I can set a small goal to lose 5 lbs. Surely I can lose 5 lbs. Then I can do it again. And again. And again. Surely I can do that If I just don’t think of how many times I need to do that, perhaps I can get somewhere. Small steps. Small, attainable steps. GOOD LORD. That 226 number is like a Vegas billboard, flashing before my eyes. I have a vial of test strips left, so I plan to test until they’re gone, to get a better picture of what is really going on. If it’s really as bad as it seems, I’ll go see my primary care physician, and ask about metformin. This time, for insulin resistance and diabetes. It might actually be justified. Maybe I should have entitled this post, “be careful what you wish for,” because it will invariably bite you in the @$$.

Translation:

Snake.
Sssssssssssssss.
Too Scary!

I don’t know how or why he decided snakes are scary.  Every day is a wonder and a delight, watching him learn and grow.  It’s nothing short of amazing, how he can point to something out of the blue and tell me what it is, when it’s been months since I ever mentioned it, and at that, only once.  My feeble attempts at reading to him, pointing at pictures and telling him what things are, and his boisterous 1.3 second attention span, left me wondering how the child will ever learn.  Yet, it all must register and now he surprises me time and again with the things he knows.  He is a little prankster, as well.  I love his sense of humor!  He is the apple of my eye, my litte mischievous lad.

There’s nothing like the colors of flowers in the spring time.

I planted bleeding hearts a few years ago and this year they decided to bloom.

I have yet to keep a fuchsia alive longer than one season.

But I will give it another go.

And finally, the rhodies, which I deplore for their bad feng shui, what with all the shrivelled spent blooms clinging desperately to their parental twigs, are temporarily forgiven during their very short lived burst of beauty.

Of the seven WOCBA in my family, there are only three who are not with child, and of these three, two are happy with the situation.

WOCBA

women of child bearing age

That is all.

(I am very happy for all of them.  Just sad for me, in my own selfish way.)

Sometimes I wonder if I might have been Irish in a former life.   Not that I believe in past lives.  I don’t disbelieve it, but it’s just one of those things that I don’t know for certain, one way or another, so I don’t hold an opinion.  The Irish thing…  It’s hard to explain.  Sort of a sense of home and understanding or a kinship of sorts.  Who knows   Maybe I was just hormonal when I took in some Irish tale years ago, and it made such a deep and lasting impact within my mind that it got tangled up with bonafide memories and impressions. 

In a similar manner, I sometimes wonder if I had tribal origins in another past life.  There are times when I have such a strong yearning for that simple tribal life in which one lives to survive.  There is no eight-to-five slogging through a day job followed by a mad frenzy to fit life into the  remaining  hours before doing it all over again.  There is just life.  Just survival.  One’s work makes sense.  Food, water, shelter.  The basic necessities of life.  One lives from day to day to meet these needs.  Somehow there seems to be meaning in this.  There is no television.  There are no shopping malls.  At the end of the day, they rest.  I don’t suppose it’s all that different from the modern life, but the meaning can sometimes be so elusive.  Where is the sense of content   I think that might be more of what I’m truly yearning. 

I must also take care not to romanticize these tribal yearnings, and acknowledge the savage side.  It’s not idyllic.  What of the uprisings and slaughter   People have been killing people since the dawn of time, with little or no provocation or grounds.  It’s senseless.  So senseless.

MG manages the movie queue.  We’ve seen three difficult films recently.  Blood Diamond, the Constant Gardener, and Syriana.  All films depicting the tragic plight of people.  It’s hard to see things like this, in which the films are based on true historical events.  It’ s hard to acknowledge the plight of people, and feel helpless as to what to do.  I was convinced I  should adopt an orphan, and pored through the internet reading about orphan adoptions.  It was so sobering.  It’s hard to take in all the pain and need that there is in the world, and know that there is very little I can do about it.  It’s hard to know what, if anything, I can or should do.  Perhaps one day I will adopt a child to grow up with my Boo Boy. 

I pondered these things heavily for several days, filled with anxiety and anguish.  In a moment of deep anxiety I cast my eyes about my home, and noticed my wilting violets, which sparked a stream of thoughts that jolted me back to reality.   Wilting violets, wilting body.  How qualified am I to reach out and try to tend the world’s garden when I neglect the care of my own body, my own home, my own garden  

I have work to do, here and now.  That is what I should be doing. 

Wake up, girl.

We watched Blood Diamond yesterday. I was horrified. I am and have been far too sheltered in my life. My heart cries for the atrocities of humankind. Children armed with machine guns, forced to destroy their brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. Riding the crest of a progesterone wave, the emotions are heightened and tears stream from my face. One scene, in particular, is so powerful, it stirs the very core of my being.

Dia is pointing a gun at his father. Solomon speaks slowly, steadily. His words are written in every line of his face, the depth of his heart pouring forth from his eyes. “I am your father who loves you. And you will come home with me and be my son again.” The tone of voice and expressions speak volumes more: “I will protect you. I will teach you. You can trust me. You can depend on me. You are safe. I love you.” It is so powerful and so very beautiful. They are so beautiful –Solomon and Dia.

After seeing this film, I am thankful (and relieved) that I don’t have an enormous diamond. Like many a GOAD (Girl of Asian Descent), I likes me some bling. Luckily, my conservative nature, in harmony with typical engineering frugality, prompted me to desire only a fabulous and beautifully set CZ as an engagement ring. Lucky for MG, too. For under $200 he made me quite happy with 1.5 carats of badabing, set in 14k white gold. I love it. I love that I have not one ounce of worry over the responsibility of owning and wearing something as valuable as a 1.5 carat diamond. And now that I have been enlightened in part as to the meaning of conflict diamond, I put all that more value into the ring that I wear.

(as Austin Powers would say)

I spent a s t a g g e r i n g amount of money this week, but I feel very good about it.  (Most of it, anyway.)

The state has a fantastic guaranteed tuition program so I can now proudly say that my son’s univeristy tuition is paid in full, guaranteed for when he’s ready to go (as long as he goes to a public university).  I bought the maximum, which translates to five years.  I had previously let it be known that I would expect my children to pay for their own education, like I had to (the reasoning behind that stance being that the education might be more fully appreciated and taken seriously).  I don’t know whether I will let him know I’ve done this, when he’s older.  I’d rather encourage him to do his best and seek scholarships, grants, internships and such.  I don’t want him to grow up assuming that life is a free ride.  I want him to learn a good work ethic.  I want him to be responsible.  I want him to be able to go confidently out into the world, when it’s his time.  I don’t want him to be lazy.

I also paid the property taxes for the year.  That’s not such a happy outward flow of cash, but there’s no getting around it, and at least a little of it does go towards good things like the public schools.

Recent family crises added to the net (and I’m so thankful that I am able to help out a bit).

…and…   ….shhhhh….   …don’t tell Mr. Gadget, but I ordered the Nikon D40.  What the heck, say I…  It’s a barely discernible drop in the bucket of freeflowing cash this week.  Barely discernible!  What better time than now

Actually, so far I’ve only told him about the tuition and the tax.  Not the family crises and the camera.  He won’t mind, though.  He might be a wee bit jealous, but he did get a new camera himself this week (which he got to get from the community fund).  And I’ve forked out quite a LOT of money to help out his side of the family when in crisis, so he has no room to grumble, should he decide to comment. 

I don’t know how other families keep financial peace.  I know that financial matters are the root of many a marital woe.  And we have had more woe than I care to express or continue.  So.  We have come to an understanding.  Our accounts are separate, like single people.  I manage the family budget.  We contribute to the common fund by percentage of earnings rather than dollar amount so we feel equal relative pain, and if we have anything left over after our family commitments, then it’s ours to do with as we please.  It’s an average budget, though.  It doesn’t include expenses out of the ordinary routine.  And really, we should establish a savings plan, for future and for retirement.  It’s one step at a time for my dear MG though.   He balks at anything that will reduce his current potential spending money.

Mr. Gadget’s wants seem to exceed his means, and mine generally don’t. (Means being what’s left over after family commitments.)  Somehow I end up feeling guilty if I ever covet something expensive.  (I attribute it to my upbringing, which has both pros and cons.)  The tuition, family donations, and camera came from my personal funds, and somehow I feel a bit guilty about the camera, even though I shouldn’t.  I guess a part of me worries that MG will think that if I got to spend X then he should get to spend X.  Math is not his strongsuit.

I wonder if we’d view things differently had we married younger, or had he not been married previously.  If I had married younger, I probably would be gung ho for a fully joint account, in which we would have to agree to certain expenses as a team, and we’d have to be responsibly accountable to each other for all of our expenditures.

Having been single and established, way into my thirties, it’s been quite difficult to fully adjust to the sharedness of marriage.  Having been previously married, MG’s child support payments come from his personal account, which substantially diminishes his available mad-money.  This is why he feels strained and why it’s easy for his wants to exceed his means.  Maybe I’m a bit hard-nosed, but support for his other child is his responsibility, not mine.  And support for our child is our responsibility together.  That’s how I see it, anyway.  If his daughter were to come live with us, of course we’d both support her, but he has no custody, and none forseeable.

I need to find a way not to end up feeling guilty.  I’ve worked very hard (I’ve worked for one company for almost 21 years) and made many financial sacrfices along the way so that I would be better set in the future.  The future is now, and it should be okay for me to have a Nikon camera, guilt-free!

They say a picture tells a thousand words…

Oh, the clarity of the play chips in stark contrast to the lack therof in the intended subject. My beloved, joyful boy, swinging merrily away. By the time I can get a focus locked, the moment is gone and by the time the picture actually takes, there’s no telling what I’ll get. I have a Canon Powershot G1, which I love, but the other day I made the mistake of picking up a Canon xTi and playing with it, just for kicks. It felt so good to hold, and made such a satisfying click during the shot. Since then, I have been pining for a digital SLR, and even more so after reviewing my latest batch of action shots.

Fueled by my desire and newly magnified sense of dissatisfaction with my present equipment, I’ve googled extensively and pored through gazillions of reviews, comparisons, recommendations, and forums. The contenders are the Canon xTi and the Nikon D40. I’m leaning toward the Nikon D40. It costs quite a bit less, to be certain. I have been very happy with my Canon, though. Perhaps the sound of Paul Simon singing Kodachrome non-stop in my mind has something to do with the Nikon decision. Not that it’s a decision. I still have to get my hands on one and see if I like how it feels. Then I’ll have to decide if I’m willing to make a mad money splurge and dive in. Suffice it to say, it’s consuming far too much of my mind. Coveting, it is not such a good thing. One of the big commandments, is it not And for good reason, I’m sure.

Kodachrome
They give us those nice bright colors
They give us the greens of summers
Makes you think all the world’s a sunny day, Oh yeah
I got a Nikon camera
I love to take a photograph
So mama don’t take my Kodachrome away

… is a pain in the ass

Today I have the WORST headache.  I get these once in a while and I generally call them migraines, although they don’t seem to fully fit the textbook description.  At least, I’ve read that migraines typically occur on one side of the head.  That would count, if it meant the top side rather than the left or right side.  It’s like a ring around the head.  Envision one of those horror flicks in which the evil character takes a saw and cuts off the top of the victim’s head, leaving it like a bowl.  A half head bowl.  That’s the line of my headache.  In fact, most of the time when I get these headaches, that is the line.  A circle around my head at roughly eyebrow level, and everything above it T H R O B S with such force that I can barely breathe.  Nor do I want to breathe, for any motion at all sets it throbbing worse, if that could be possible.  (And it is.)  The pain makes me want to spew, but I most often can avoid that, if I try to be as motionless as possible.  Then there’s the freezing cold, followed by sticky hot, followed again by chills.  And the feeling of constriction anywhere.  I have to take off my rings, my clothes, and try to get comfortable.  At one point the only comfortable position was on my knees, my torso draped over the bed.  I knelt for over an  hour.  Still.  Be very very still.

Two vicodin later (4 hours apart), and after praying, begging and pleading for the pain to stop, I am able to function again. But it’s still there, low-level, threatening to return.  Usually these headaches consume a day, and it’s not until a full night’s sleep that they become a thing of the past.

Normally, I would be pounding the ibuprofen, but I have to consider the big what if.  What if I ovulated   What if there was a happy meeting somewhere in one of my fallopian tubes If so, then would medications inhibit this hopeful blastocyst thingamajiggy from burrowing into my uterine wall   Why do I get sick right when I can’t take anything   I started to notice a swollen throat yesterday, and today it’s worse.  No echinacea.  No megadosed vitamin C.  No ibuprofen.  I try to tough it out, but gave in and started scrounging for the vicodin I hoard for times like this.  I take it because it’s what my doctor gave me when I was pregnant before, and it is supposedly more safe than ibuprofen and aspririn.  Acetominaphen does nothing for me in times like this.

I wasn’t going to go on and on and on about ttc, but who am I kidding   This is the second month of clomid.  The side effects are not as strong this time, and again I had no clear indication of ovulation.  I suspect that I might have, and if I did, then I’m currently in the tww.  Waiting.  I’m planning to muster as much reserve as possible and not resort to being a poas junkie as in times past.  To my credit, I haven’t been nearly as neurotic this month, which makes for a better chance of success.  I’ve been more relaxed (for me, it’s all relative, you know).  I also think that if this month is a bust, then I won’t continue the clomid.  The hormones work a number on me, and I need to take a break.  I need to have a mammogram anyway, so if it’s a bust, I’ll schedule that as soon as this tww is over.

I can’t help but speculate (the neurotic part of me, again –or the optimist, which sounds alot better) if the sickness and headache are due to the wonders of cell division and new life taking place.  That would make it worthwhile.

(s) for the Aussies…  I’m so thoughtful.  🙂

There are times when I’m nearly overcome with anxiety.  Like now.  I know that the root cause is the hormonal change du jour, but that doesn’t help me abate it.  It just helps me understand why it’s there.  Here.  Now.  I would sit on my hands, but I need them to type. 

My thoughts whir about in a general cloud because there are so many irons in the fire, spinning plates, loose threads, or whatever you want to call it.  “Too many notes,” as the emperor said to Mozart.  It helps to write lists.  Things to Do.  I have a collection of journals, books, notebooks, pads, and papers, all for this express purpose.  Lists are a very good coping mechanism.  Less intrusive than meds.

Amongst the tornado of thoughts, occasional fragments come into focus. 

Making a living in rural America.  (How does one do it )
Bora Bora.  Now that would be a fabulous getaway, wouldn’t it
Low maintenance landscaping.  Artificial turf.
Garden cage (to keep the wild animals out, in wild America).
Sustainable living (in rural America).  Passive heating, cooling and power.
Stable broadband internet (in rural America).
Family vacations to interesting places.  Other continents.  Tropics.
Social connections.  Yearning for a sense of community.
Education (saving now for the future).
Work (in suburban/urban America) here, now, due today, due soon.

After capturing some of these, it is apparent there is only one theme.  I want to move to rural America, build my dream home, earn a living, live comfortably, raise my family, take occasional vacations, prepare for my child’s future, and belong to the community (i.e., have friends and a social life).  All of these things are possible.  They just need patience, planning, and execution. 

I can design and build my dream home with sufficient planning and juggling of assets.  If I can guarantee stable internet connectivity, I can very likely keep my current job (given I provide a stellar sales pitch and justification portfolio).   If I can keep my job with its decent wage (and excellent medical coverage), I would have the means to save for family vacations the caliber of the fragmented thoughts flitting about my imagination.

All within the realm of possibility.  Just a matter of laying it out, putting a plan in place, and taking action on the plan.

Drawbacks.  Working remotely makes it easy for the home base to forget you.  Out of sight, out of mind.  Salary growth would likely diminish or cease altogether.  If cutbacks are edicted, layoff could loom ominously.  If the job disappeared, how would we make a living   How would we adjust to the long winters   What would MG do for income

The easy road would be to relinquish, or postpone the dream until retirement (13 years at best).  But I don’t want to do that.  I don’t want to wait to live my dream life.  I want to live it now.  I could walk away from this job altogether, but then the grim reality of making a living by other means would likely open new anxieties.  More work for less money.  Less time off.  Less freedom.  Or more freedom, but less money.  Much less money. 

Maybe the anxiety is from not knowing what to do.  I know what I want.  I know I can get there.  It’s just not clear which path to take.  It doesn’t help that MG isn’t particularly thrilled about relocating to rural America.  I’ve planted the seeds, though, and have been (and will be) gently tending them for years.

It can all boil down to some equations.  No need to be confused or anxious.

x=what I want
y=cost of x
z=factors affecting x, y, t
t=time to accomplish y
life=f(x1,y1,z1, t1….xa, ya, za, ta…xz, yz, zz, tz)