New Year's Eve

Every year when New Year’s Eve rolls around, Cody and I are always at a bit of a loss for exciting things to do. A couple of years ago we went to an OKC Thunder game on New Year’s Eve, which was the coolest thing we’ve ever accomplished to ring in the new year (with the exception of a fateful night in college that involved my best friend losing her shoes and taking incriminating pictures that will haunt her forever). Cody and I always find ourselves a bit underwhelmed by New Year’s Eve, and in turn, welcome a new year with a pathetic whimper rather than a celebratory bang.

However, thanks to Twitter and my obsession with travel sites, Cody and I have signed up for a New Year’s celebration to counteract our years of lameness. Drum roll please….

Cody and I will be spending the final night of 2013 in Reykjavik, Iceland. Yes, you read that correctly. Cody and I are going to the frozen tundra in the dead of winter in hopes of seeing glaciers, waterfalls, bonfires, and most of all the allusive Northern Lights. This crazy plan all started with a tweet about the coolest places to celebrate NYE. Reykjavik was amongst other interesting locations like New York City and Paris to ring in the New Year. Reykjavik has around four hours of daylight during December and January, which results in a nearly continuous explosion of fireworks. Icelanders also light bonfires to burn witches (weird, I know) and shed the baggage from a year passed. Something I certainly feel like I could get into.

Because Iceland is cold and dark, we are also going to spend a few days in Copenhagen before ending up in Reykjavik. I was a little worried about how much jetlag and darkness and freezing temperatures I could endure. Four days is about what I decided.

Needless to say, we are super excited about all of this. There’s something about crossing an ocean that really makes me feel alive. And naturally, Cody is my favorite ocean-crossing partner in the world.

Here’s to the end of 2013 and an exceptional beginning to the next. Maybe 2014 will prove as noteworthy as our celebration to begin it.

I'll leave you with a few pictures of all of these places so you can envision what in the world we are getting ourselves into.

Reykjavik, Iceland

Copenhagen, Denmark

The Blue Lagoon...a geothermal pool in Iceland.

And finally, the Northern Lights. Maybe we'll get lucky and catch a glimpse.

 

Katy Vs. Her Ovaries - Odds Are...

Recently, I went out to eat to celebrate a friend’s birthday. There were four other couples at this dinner, plus Cody and me. Among those five married couples, there were three children and another on the way. At some point in the night, I looked down the table and saw three mothers tending to three children. Oddly, this moment of maternal affection suddenly made my current baby situation make a little more sense to me. I realized that in in a group of young, seemingly healthy people there has to be someone who falls victim to the natural odds of fertility. Out of five couples, I realized that Cody and I happen to be the one out of however many people who struggle to have a child. We have fulfilled those odds. In other words, the rest of you baby-making fools can thank us for your little bundle of joy.

As I continued to sit at that dinner table, I started to make note of all of the parts of my life that fulfill some meaningless statistic. I thought about breast cancer and heart disease and depression. I thought about addiction and above average height and terrible eye sight. I pretty much threw myself a pity party that started with an innocent glance down a table and ended with my having eaten approximately half a dozen rolls to alleviate the pain associated with all of the crappy odds that exist in my life.

Now, in the past this is where this story would end. I would have gone home, continued to drown my pity in carbs, and moved on with my life. However, there is a new Katy Prater floating through the universe these days, who tries to balance her propensity for  “I-hate-the-world” moments with a much more appreciative and grateful attitude that focuses on all the goodness around her. In the time after I ran out of rolls, I decided to make note of all of the positive statistics of which my life consists. I thought about my family and supportive parents. I thought about my marriage and college degree and job. I thought about my house and health and happiness. I thought about how my life is far more privileged and magical than I could ever deserve, and I realized that we all have to fulfill some sort of odds. Each of us carries an albatross around our necks, and I suppose it is how we respond to that stupid bird that ends up being significant.

With the rest of my evening, I held those babies that my friends care for on a daily basis. I asked questions about pregnancy and child care and school and deciding to have more than one of those little creatures. I told my friends that their kids were adorable (because they are) and was grateful that I get to spend time with sweet babies who were created and are cared for by the good people in my life.

As I walked away from the restaurant that night with my husband’s hand in mine, I felt a little more acceptance of my current situation. I held Cody’s hand a little tighter. I appreciated him being there a little more. I loved him a little better. I continued to pay attention to all of the goodness around me because I am slowly starting to accept that we must revel in who we have right now. I can’t keep focusing on what may or may not happen after Lupron or after my mom’s chemo quits working or after I get pregnant. Those are all worries for another day. We must absorb all of the good in preparation for another day. And we must never, ever let the rolls run out. 

Katy Vs. Her Ovaries - Plan B

I went last week to get my final Lupron shot. In other words, I am at the beginning of my last thirty days of the medicine. The two months that I have been on the medicine have flown by. Between enduring the craziness of a new school year and all that comes with Fall, I haven't hardly thought about Lupron or babies or my lack thereof. The longer I am on the medicine the more side effects I am experiencing. I have hot flashes everyday now. I am also having some bone pain which is common. I go back November 3rd to speak with Dr. Bell about the next plan of action.

I am so ready for life to slow down a bit in the next couple of weeks. I am excited for the end of volleyball season so that I won't be working so much, and I can enjoy some free time. However, I am a little worried about a slow down. Christmastime the past few years has been the time of year when having a baby really interests me. It's something about a holiday season with a family full of adults that leaves folks asking a lot of questions about coming up with some children to open presents the next year. Certainly it's more fun to watch a kid tear open a package than my thirty year old brother. No offense, Jared.

In the past few months, I have sort of pushed the idea of parenthood out of my mind. I knew that I had three months where getting pregnant was not an option, and instead all I had to was worry with work and graduate classes and other normal stuff. It's been nice. I haven't missed negative pregnancy tests. I haven't missed counting days and trying to interpret the inner-workings of my body. I have just been me without so much guilt about not being able to get pregnant. The break has been appreciated.

So, I'm left with facing the next step, whatever it might be. I realize that in order to have a child I will have to at least try. That magical dream of just turning up pregnant no longer exists anywhere inside of me. I have accepted that this story is going to unfold differently than I originally anticipated. And I've accepted that everything associated with getting pregnant unfolds in thirty day intervals. Slow, lonely, frustrating thirty day intervals.

The volleyball team that I coach played a tournament this weekend at the high school I attended. In the halls of the school are some plaques and trophies that I won years ago. Some of my players were looking at the plaques and called me over to ask me some questions about playing sports. After we were done talking, I stood in that hall looking at those plaques that I won almost a decade ago. I felt a sense of envy thinking back on my seventeen year old self who never wondered what my purpose was. I never questioned if playing sports was what I was meant to do. I could use wins and losses and points scored and newspaper articles as proof that I was doing something worth doing. Being an athlete was always so easy for me. I suddenly really missed having something in my life so inevitable.

I couldn't help but feel a little deflated at the realization of who I am today compared to who I was ten years ago. For whatever reason, I don't get a ton of satisfaction out of being a teacher and coach. I don't feel immense pride for waking up each day and going to work. I don't feel like I am accomplishing much by taking Master's classes. I don't feel like I am doing much to speak of in this world. Sometimes I feel like I am just treading water, staying afloat until something significant happens. I have always told myself that one day I will have a child and the lack of direction and purpose in my current situation will suddenly be swallowed up by this tiny human that Cody and I create. I have always assumed that being a mother is the next big thing, and perhaps the only big thing. Standing in that familiar hallway yesterday I was forced to start considering a Plan B that doesn't involve motherhood the way I envision it.

And then the thought of a Plan B jogged my memory to a time years ago before I was married to Cody in which I enlisted the emergency contraceptive Plan B in a feverish meltdown over the .0001% possibility of getting pregnant without technically have sex. Yes, this truly happened, my friends. I have always been so supremely confident in my reproductive abilities (or perhaps unhealthily scared of being judged for an unplanned pregnancy) that I assumed I was pregnant before losing my virginity.

My name is Katy and I am neurotic and out of control and absolutely befuddled at the idea that I cannot get pregnant.

Felina

Recently, I have worked to combine two of my favorite things in this world - dogs and television.

A couple of weeks ago, a stray dog started showing up on regular basis where I work. The first time I saw the dog I was walking out of my building and she happen to be scavenging for food outside. I immediately tried to sweet talk the dog to me. She simply ran away with her tail tucked between her legs. For whatever reason, I couldn't stop thinking about the dog. I followed her up the street a little way. I noticed how thin she looked. I thought it was weird how she refused to come to me. I never have known of many dogs that won't have anything to do with people.

Naturally, I proceeded to Dollar General to buy dog treats and food for this little creature. I spent the next three days stalking her at work. I followed her in my car. I threw food out my window to try to get her to come to me. I talked in a calm voice. I avoided eye contact like the Internet advised me to do. I researched how to capture feral dogs. I was convinced this animal would never let me help her. I decided the best I could do was put food out to try to help her survive. I worried about the nights getting colder and where she would go when it rains. I worried about her all the time. I couldn't stop thinking about this dog. There was something different about her than other stray dogs I see.

I told my family about my latest animal project. My husband rolled his eyes. My mom jumped in the car to go visit my little friend. I eventually even got my husband on board. At a football game one Friday night, we found the dog huddled under the sole car left in the parking lot. My husband did his best to get near her but to no avail. She simply wouldn't be caught.

On a whim, I left my phone number with a guy who lived near my work. He said that if he ever managed to catch her that he would give me a call.

After a few days, the guy called to tell me that his son had somehow caught the dog, and he was keeping her in his garage. Cody and I gathered all sorts of materials (towels, blankets, gardening gloves, cages, etc.) imagining how difficult it would be to get this wild dog in my car and all the way home. The ride there was spent imagining the enormous task of rehabilitating a dog that we thought had been abused. A dog that we assumed would be aggressive.

Upon arriving at the house, the captor of the dog told us that she didn't seem aggressive at all. Cody and I looked at each other like we assumed this man was crazy. We could not imagine the dog that had alluded all of us for close to a week would simply accept her fate as our newest pet. The dog was in fact in the man's garage. When we entered, she slowly appeared from beneath a pool table. The tail that had always been tucked between her legs was slowly wagging as she looked up at us with the sweetest eyes. Cody and I couldn't believe this was the same animal we had been trying so hard to get. Was she simply going to go home with us?

The answer is yes. She rode home in the front seat on my lap. We didn't need the towels or gloves or cage. She just sat silently in my arms. As we drove I naturally started crying. I cry all the time it seems these days. Lupron has forced me to acknowledge my feelings no matter the circumstances, and in turn the overwhelming sense of love and appreciation and sympathy that I felt for that little dog curled in my arms resulted in tears of relief knowing that she would be okay.

This dog is now my dog. She has transitioned into our two dog home pretty seamlessly. She is a cleaner, slightly less skinny version of the timid dog we rescued in a stranger's garage close to a week ago. She is as sweet and loving a dog that I envisioned her being when I first saw her.

I felt a certain amount of responsibility to give this storied animal a notable name. I knew that she couldn't be a Stella or Cookie or Dixie. She had to be something unique and different to match her personality.

I am obsessed with "Breaking Bad." I have watched the show for years and consider myself an avid fan. I read analysis articles about the show; I follow all of the actors on Twitter. I have watched the entire series more than once and consider it to be one of my favorite television shows of all time. The series finale of "Breaking Bad" is entitled "Felina." I have known of this episode title for weeks after having read an article about the significance of episode titles of the final season. I also knew that the name "Felina" is not only an anagram of the word "finale," but connects to an old country song by Marty Robbins. In the song, the narrator loves a girl named Felina so much that he ends up dying for her.

I love "Breaking Bad." I am always so intrigued by how the show leaves nothing to chance. I also respect Walter White. Maybe it's because he started as a lowly high school teacher with cancer. Maybe it's because he is such an unlikely hero..or villian. Maybe it's because he knows what he wants and goes to crazy lengths to get it. Maybe it's because he builds bombs and enlists mute nursing home patients to blow up his enemies with the ring of a bell. Either way, I knew the most recent addition to my family needed a cool name like Felina.

Here is the newest addition to the Prater household. She may not be human, but she is certainly a baby. Sometimes we have to fill gaps in our life with unlikely objects...or dogs.

Lupron - Month 1

I have officially completed one month of Lupron. I went last Thursday to get my second shot of three. Despit the terrible possibilities, I have been pleasantly surprised at how few side effects I seem to have experienced. I have recently started having some noticeable hot flashes. Granted, it's 95 degrees outside, and I came out of the womb sweating so I'm not sure being hot is too out of the norm for me. In the big picture, the hot flashes are no big deal.

The past month has been a little weird simply because I started taking Lupron and started living the three most hectic months of the year in respect to my job. I appreciate that Lupron seems to have perfectly coincided with volleyball season. I wouldn't have my stress any other way than simply over the top. I have had a couple of experiences in which my emotions seem to have gotten the best of me. I am hesitant to blame these out of character emotional displays on Lupron because I may just be a little unstable right now. However, these moments of emotion seem to be much stronger than the norm.

Because Lupron is used to shut down a person's ovaries, I can't help but think back to my own mom's experience with medically-induced menopause years ago after a hysterectomy. There was one evening when I was in high school that seems to be an accurate example of the short fuse I seem to have in respect to emotions recently. I remember going to eat dinner with my parents one evening after a basketball game. We all sat down. Everything seemed completely normal. I even think we had won the game. The waiter came to take our drink orders. My mom proceeded to order a Diet Coke to which the waiter responded that the Diet Coke machine temporarily not working. My mom looked at that poor kid with stone cold eyes and then stood up and simply walked out of the restaurant. My dad and I wondered for a few minutes whether or not she might return. She didn't. We ate dinner and were thankful that we happened to have more than one car at the restaurant. When we got home, my mom was already in bed and acted as if she hadn't just walked out of dinner because of a lack of Diet Coke. Moral of the story here is that estrogen serves a lot of purposes for women.

In the past month I have cried in front of my superintendent serving as only the second time I have ever cried in front of anyone at work in five years, much less my boss of all bosses. I am officially the crazy girl now by the way. Every time he sees me he acts as if I might start bawling without warning. It's terrible. I have also found myself much quicker to anger than normal. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) the mother of one of my players experienced my new found temper as she tried to convince me that her child deserved more playing time. I am fairly certain that by the end of the conversation the parent understood why her child would not be getting more playing time. She also understood that she should apparently never approach me with any sort of issue ever again. I really felt sort of bad after the confrontation, but at the same time I felt completely liberated. It's like I have no filter. I can't turn it off. Emotions just happen without me having any sort of control, which is not normal for me at all. In some weird way though, it's kind of nice. I have always really tried to keep my emotions in check. I sort of understand why some people just cry when they feel like crying and scream when they feel like screaming. It's exhilarating to just be whatever it is you feel. Granted, you may get fired or in a fist fight, but we have to suffer some repercussions in this life I suppose.

The other day when I went in to get my shot I talked to the nurse about what happens after I finish taking the Lupron. Sometimes it's hard for me to remember why I'm doing all of this. In the middle of the night when I'm awake and sweating and crying (not really) it's difficult for me to connect these weird things with having a child. At this point the surgery and the doctors' bills and the scars and the stitches and the Lupron and the crying and the anger are all just a weird part of my life completely unconnected to a baby. I keep telling myself that no one has to go to excessive lengths to have a child and still not have a child. Right? I keep telling myself that one day all of these funny stories will be just funny stories to be remembered as we sit around and stare at some cute little kid that's a perfect mixture of Cody and Katy. I worry that if all of this doesn't end with a child there will eventually come a time when all of these funny stories seem a lot less funny.

But for now, they're all pretty funny. And I am thankful for that. For now.

Behind Your Neckid Ears

My dad once told me a story about dinnertime in his house when he was a child. He was the middle child in a family with two brothers, always into something, always causing trouble. Nonetheless, my dad's mom used to cook every meal for her family, ensuring those three boys were always fed well. My dad remembers his mom always making him and his brothers wash up before dinner every night. According to my dad, she would always tell the boys to "go wash behind your neckid ears" before they were allowed to come to the dinner table. When my dad tells the story, he depicts a boy-version of himself huddled over the sink in the single bathroom in their house in Poteau washing his ears like his mother told him. He never questioned this seemingly weird directive. He never wondered why she referred to his ears as "neckid" (the country version of "naked" by the way). He just did what she said because that's what kids do.

Years later when my dad was home from college, my grandmother jokingly told him to "go wash behind his neck and ears," just like she had told him before meals as a child. My dad was obviously misunderstanding what his mother was saying, and in turn spent years and years of his life washing only behind his "neckid" ears before dinnertime, blindly following the directions of his mother, never questioning what he believed her to be saying.

I turned twenty-seven years old a few weeks ago. A few weeks before that I had surgery to remove a cyst from my ovary and severe scarring on my reproductive organs. Before that I was scheduling out each month in an attempt to get pregnant, because years ago I decided that at twenty-seven years old I would have my first child, because it isn't too young and it isn't too old. I sort of feel like just recently I started understanding my current situation much better. It's like the past few months my life has been on a loop as I slowly hear the words a little clearer each time around. Twenty-seven looks nothing like I thought it would. Twenty-six proved to sound clearer than any other year I've experienced. I sort of feel like I just recently listened to my favorite song from years ago, only to realize I'd been singing it wrong all along.

The good in realizing that the certain things in this world aren't necessarily so is the opportunity to get to find the new things in this world that are true for me now. Sometimes you need moments of clarity to allow you to quit washing behind your neckid ears.

Katy Vs. Her Ovaries - One Cyst Down

The Recap: I am four days out of my laparoscopy. The surgery went well. I ended up with two incisions plus the cut in my bellybutton. Dr. Bell did not take out my left ovary. He did remove as much of the 5 cm. cyst from my left ovary that he could. He did find quite a bit of endometriosis beyond the cyst that we already knew about. I could get into the logistics of it, but it's probably neither here nor there. He did diagnose me with somewhere between stage 3 and stage 4 endometriosis. I think I knew that this was the most probable outcome of the surgery. For some reason it hurts a little more four days out from the surgery than I expected.

Initially, I was so worried about the actual procedure that it wasn't until right before the day of my surgery did I start to think about what would happen next. I just wanted to get through the waking up early and the nerves and the anesthesia and the pain. That's all I was worried about until I finally remembered that the end of the surgery wasn't just the surgery. I had kind of forgotten that all this sometimes seems to be is the longest road.

I went this Saturday to get my staples removed from Dr. Bell who happened to be on call this weekend. Cody went with me and we got to recap in more detail what Dr. Bell had found. Dr. Bell did say that he had dealt with numerous women with endometriosis as widespread as mine. He even told us that he thought somewhere around 90% of women in similar cases ended up pregnant. For some reason, this gives me very little solace. He showed me pictures from my surgery. He showed me the cyst and my right ovary that does have some growths on it that we didn't see with an ultrasound. He showed me all of the stuff in me that isn't supposed to be there. I felt so overwhelmed. I don't know how all of this happened inside my own body without me having the slightest clue. How can I have stage four endometriosis? Where was I for stage one and two? I just don't get it.

Dr. Bell did suggest that I take a drug called Lupron for three months or so. Lupron is an injection that essentially forces a woman into pre-menopause in hopes that it will kill out as much of the "roots" of the endometriosis that he couldn't clear in surgery. Lupron logically has some pretty serious side effects. Any time a twenty-something-year-old woman is forced into menopause there are bound to be some hormonal side effects happening. The internet is filled with horror stories about the drug. At this point though, I sort of feel like I have no other option. I am starting to accept that there are going to have to be some somewhat drastic measures taken for me to try to get pregnant. Any ideas I used to have about the way becoming a parent would look like are gone. They have been replaced with injections and pain and schedules and a lot of failing. A lot of months that don't end in babies.

The first couple of days out of surgery I felt okay about this whole thing. I had kept both of my ovaries which I felt like was the worst thing that could have happened. I wasn't in an enormous amount of pain. I felt like I had jumped a hurdle. For whatever reason I now feel like the surgery simply solidified my fear about how difficult this process might be. I guess I get it now. I must have been holding onto some outside chance that the surgery would somehow reveal less issues than I actually have. I kept telling myself that I would just turn up pregnant one of these months and we would all move forward with a baby like all of my friends who just move forward with babies. I kept telling myself that maybe I would get to do that too. But the surgery did more realistically define reality for me. And it's obviously taking me a little while to process all of this. 

For a while I didn't know whether or not I really wanted a child. I tried to focus on all of the bad, all of the typical stuff that people with kids complain about. For whatever reason, now all I can think about is how much I do want a child. Just one. I don't need an army of them. I just want one of my own. I feel like that has to be doable. It has to be something that someone can figure out how to accomplish. I am trying to resolve myself to the process that I am going to have to endure to try to have a child. I am trying to accept that all of the difficult parts of this may still not end with Cody and me having a baby of our own. I am trying to ignore the questions about how we got to this point and instead focus on trying to move beyond it. I am trying to remind myself that no one feels like this is my fault, no matter how much I feel that way. I am trying to understand that despite all signs pointing to it, I am not shriveled up and this is not a lost cause. And I am trying to juggle all of these emotions two weeks outside of the start of the school year and volleyball season and a few days away from injecting myself with a drug that will shut down my reproductive system like I'm fifty years old. I am trying to understand that this is where I am right now and there is no easy way out.

 

Someone knocked the breath out of me. I ran into a brick wall. I have been blindsided. 

I am beginning to think that the surgery was the easy stuff. 

Katy Vs. Her Ovaries - Maybe Years, Too

I am a firm believer in the power of travel, and by travel, I mean going somewhere unfamiliar and different and new. In my experience, travelling provides a perspective on your life at home that cannot be gained until life in someone else's home is examined. Travelling has a way of minimizing the trivial parts of the world that we experience each day, and a way of magnifying the parts of our lives that remain significant even thousands of miles away.

Keeping in mind my personal opinion on the value of going places, I put a lot of pressure on our most recent trip to St. John. I was somewhat familiar with St. John. I had even been there before; nonetheless, for whatever reason, I was really hopeful that a week in a Caribbean paradise would yield a new perspective on my upcoming surgery and our recent reproduction issues. I hoped that enough clear water and sunny skies would somehow change my current situation or at least change the way I thought about my current situation. I was hopeful that there was some moment of clarity and acceptance still waiting to envelope me that just happen to be hiding in a perfect sunset over the beach or on the side of a cliff overlooking the ocean. I just knew getting away from all of this would make it a little easier or a little less scary or a little less like a ticking clock constantly reminding me that what I've got right now simply isn't cutting it.

St. John was great. There were lots of pretty sunsets and gorgeous views of the ocean. There was lots of time to reflect and talk with Cody about our lives. There was sand between our toes and water in our ears and a salty taste that lingered for days. And yet, at the end of the trip there was nothing new to replace the thoughts and fears that I held tight when I first stepped on that plane in Ft. Smith. All of the worry and anxiety and frustration about my lack of ovulation and this upcoming surgery proved to be quite the travelling companions as we all made our way back home from our tropical getaway.

On the plane ride home from Atlanta after enduring a five hour delay that resulted in our final flight of the day taking off at about midnight, I had simply had enough. I finally admitted what I probably didn't want to admit throughout the entire vacation, which is the unfortunate truth that my current baby battles are one of the significant things in my life that travelling served to magnify rather than minimize. There I was on the last row of a too small plane with my head wedged against a smudgy window listening to depressing music and wondering what revelation I'll be searching for on summer vacation next year...and eventually accepting that there is a very real chance that my next vacation will be very similar to the one I was ending. Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, I suppose the most significant experiences in our lives not only can span oceans and continents, but maybe years too.

As it turns out that was my moment of clarity that was hiding in the early morning hours of a flight home rather than a beautiful sunset on a beach somewhere.

St. John - 2013

Cody and I have been back from St. John for about a week now. Overall, we had a really great time! We spent a lot of time on some of the prettiest beaches we've ever seen. We only got sun burnt once. We didn't once wreck our jeep, despite the crazy St. John roads on which we drove. We bummed a few episodes of "Dexter" off of the Westin's premium cable. We didn't see any sharks or scary ocean creatures despite snorkeling on more than one occasion. And as we always do, Cody and I had a lot of fun spending a week together exploring a new place. Below are some pictures to capture our week in St. John.

St. John in known as an eco-friendly island, meaning that there is a big push to leave the island as untouched as possible. This is Cody hiking through what you can tell is some fairly jungle-like terrain. We hiked to the Southern-most tip of the island, called Rams Head, one morning. It was awesome. The hike consisted of sandy beaches, mountains, crevasses, cacti, black stone beaches, and a breathtaking view of the ocean. And yes, he did wear that hat for the majority of the trip. Sun protection at its finest.

More hiking. He looks so majestic. 

This was the end point for our hike. We were trying to capture the peak in the background with cool cloud. Every trip we take we threaten to bring along a picture-taker for our next adventure...and then we remember picture-taker is another word for friends who are willing to travel with you...and then we remember we don't have any of those. 

Trunk Bay overlook. Often times voted the prettiest beach in the world, which is not an exaggeration.

This was in the midst of our sun burning episode. 

Us at Cinnamon Bay, another of St. John's incredible beaches. Note the hat on my dear husband again.

Us on Trunk Bay. We finally asked someone to actually take a picture of us. 

Us at Salt Pond Bay, which was very close to the Concordia Eco Tents which is where we stayed for the first few nights despite it not having air conditioning and instead having bugs. I was very proud of myself for not freaking. New experiences are good for people. 

Katy Vs. Her Ovaries - Swing and a Miss

I went back to the doctor today after taking about 2 months worth of birth control pills in hopes of shrinking the cyst on my left ovary. The past 2 months have been really good for me. I have felt better in all of the weird ways that I have chalked up to endometriosis problems. For example, about 2 years ago I just randomly started getting acid reflux. It was super annoying and seemed such a weird development for a mid-twenties seemingly healthy person. I had decided it was just one of those things that happen as you get older, until I learned how much endo can affect your stomach, bowels, and all of that other digestive stuff. The past couple of months my acid reflux has just disappeared. I had decided this must mean that my cyst had shrunk as well.

I also had a weird experience in the early morning hours on Sunday that entailed me having some pretty severe pain on the left side of my abdomen for a few hours until the pain got so bad that I was in a cold sweat and dizzy and nauseous and telling Cody that I needed to go to the hospital. As Cody was getting ready to take me, the pain just sort of subsided. It was very odd. After some research, Cody and I decided that the whole episode must have something to do with my cyst and we were hoping that maybe it had ruptured and was gone. Always hoping these days...

Nonetheless, I was looking forward to the doctor's appointment just to see if we could get some clarification on all of these things. Cody and I were both expecting some sort of positive news. Unfortunately, we didn't get it. Turns out, my cyst has grown quite a bit. In fact, my cyst is now about 5.5 centimeters which is pretty big in the ovarian cyst world (Go big or go home, I always say). We also found out today that I may have more than one cyst on my left ovary, which might be what caused the extreme amount of pain that I felt Sunday morning. Apparently, my left ovary was having a party while I was trying to sleep. Old Lefty invited a cyst friend over for an early morning rendezvous that resulted in me in a cold sweat clinging to a toilet bowl trying to decide how my husband was going to carry me all the way into the hospital. Made for a lovely morning.

I kind of felt like my bubble got burst today. I had so much enjoyed the past couple months without worrying about getting pregnant or cysts or anything along those lines. I felt like I really knew what was happening inside of me. I felt like the signs all pointed to progress. And yet, I was completely wrong. Swing and a miss. I am not in tune with my insides, not even a little bit.

Our next step seems to be laparoscopic surgery to remove the cyst(s) and see where we stand after that. The surgery is scheduled for late July just around the time when I need to be focusing on volleyball and school. The whole thing is so frustrating for the part of me that desperately needs to control everything in my world.

For just a minute this afternoon I considered stomping my feet and throwing a fit and just simply saying "no." No, I'm not going to do the surgery. No, I'm not going to go out of my way to get pregnant. No, I am not going to let something that should be so natural and fundamental and instinctual get in the way of my life. No. No. No. It's simply not fair. It only took me a beat or two to remember that I don't throw fits in times of unforeseen surgery. There are much bigger battles in this world to fight. This too shall pass. This too shall pass.

On a lighter note, I will be here in less than two weeks.

I'm packing up my cyst friends and heading to St. John for a week. Say a little prayer that one of these jokers doesn't decide to pop or invite anyone else to our little left ovary party while I'm on an island in the Caribbean.

3 Years Ago Today

This happened three years ago today...

You would think that three years would be enough time to really process any event in your life. However, I still today get overwhelmed at the thought of my wedding day. It still feels hectic and nerve-wracking and crazy. It still seems overwhelming and stressful and hot. It. Was. So. Hot. Nonetheless, June 19, 2010 is a good day in my mind and that is all you can really ask for. 

I thought in honor of this three year anniversary I would provide you with a few fun pictures that probably capture the essence of that day better than the one above. 

Exhibit A & B

I cannot tell you how many times I have people ask me why I'm not smiling or check to see if I'm "okay" because I apparently look as if something is wrong. Look at these two people who created me. Neither appear too terribly happy on this supposedly joyous occasion. This is who we are, folks. Smiling is not our default expression. I need you all to accept this and move on.

Exhibit C

I have a brother. His name is Jared, and he is pretty cool. However, I think Jared is a good example of the not-so-smooth demeanor that most Schrodt's experience after taking upwards of fifty pictures in one day in the heat. The above picture is a good example of the limits lots of folks stretched in order to capture my wedding day. Certainly I appreciate it. I know it was painful at times.

Exhibit D

One of the really frustrating parts about getting married for me was how often I felt awkward. I think I am probably somewhat awkward by nature, but I also feel like deciding to take a million pictures lends itself to analysis of those images. The picture above was taken after the ceremony. I remember the first time I saw this picture weeks after getting married. I don't know why, but this picture struck me as hilarious. I think I look huge, not as in overweight. I  just feel like the dress and the fact that I have my arm around Cody makes me look big, much bigger than the man that I just married. I also feel like Cody's posture sort of makes him look like he's handicapped. The whole picture is a mess. A funny mess. 

And finally, Exhibit E

That's my husband rolling around on the dance floor. An empty dance floor by the way. People did eventually let loose after Cody managed to break (shatter) the ice. There were a few tense minutes though in which we were all left relying on Cody and three-year-olds to set the tone. I wouldn't call that ideal.

Again, this day three years ago was a whirlwind to say the least. Nonetheless, as with anything in life the stressful parts of our wedding day now serve as a source for some good laughs. 

Three years later there is one thing that resonates with me still. I spent the entire day leading up to the actual ceremony with an enormous amount of anxiety. The whole dress, veil, flowers, thing certainly was not something with which I felt natural or comfortable. I remember standing in the back of the church waiting to walk down the aisle. My bridesmaids were already on their way. It was just my dad and me waiting for what seemed like an eternity. I was scared to death. Finally, the doors opened and I was kind of taken aback by how many people were in the church staring at me. There was a split second that I considered bailing. I figured I could drag my dad backwards and just forget this whole wedding thing. The only other feasible option in my head at that time was to start crying. I was so, so close to losing it right there in the back of that church. I almost found myself in a completely un-Katy-like sobbing mess. Eventually, once I digested the number of people staring at me, I finally found Cody at the other end of the aisle. Standing. Waiting. Smiling. I felt an enormous wave of calm and confidence that dissolved my whim to run or cry. I didn't need to run or cry; I knew that if Cody was at the other end, I could make it there one way or another.

Years later I still look to Cody for comfort in those moments when running or crying seems like the best option, and I think that makes for a successful partnership in this world...

A partnership in which we ride off into the sunset in a red convertible with confetti in our hair and impeccable back muscles because of all the hours I spent working out leading up to that dang wedding. 

Katy Vs. Her Ovaries - The Inbetween

My husband turned 27 today. For whatever reason Cody’s birthday has always served in my mind as the unofficial starting date for my “gotta get a baby” journey. I can very vividly remember Cody’s birthday last year. June 9^th happen to fall in the midst of when I thought I should be ovulating (happy coincidence). June last year was the first month that I really set my mind to getting pregnant. I forced myself to ignore whatever hesitation I had about getting pregnant, constantly reminding myself that pregnancy is bound to happen when the time is right (where is that theory now?). I counted days and learned about ovulation and really tried to get pregnant and in turn have a baby the following March in perfect school teacher fashion. However, despite all the math and reproduction knowledge I had gained, I worried that something was wrong. I never felt like I was pregnant. I never felt like all of the pieces were coming together. June was the beginning of a long string of negative pregnancy tests that each added a bit more fuel to my worry that something was amiss.

Last night Cody and I got in bed a little after eleven. We laid in the dark and counted down minutes until midnight so we could kick off his birthday celebration. We talked about his 26^th year of life. We talked about all we had done in the past year. We discussed what he wanted to accomplish as a 27 year old. We remarked about how quickly time passes. Throughout our conversation I couldn’t help but think that if someone asked me what I remember most about being 26, I would have to respond with endometriosis and all that has unfolded. If someone were to ask me what I want to accomplish as a 27 year old, I would reply with getting pregnant. I was happy that Cody didn’t seem to think of these things. I am glad that Cody keeps moving forward. It’s something I am constantly trying to get better at myself.

Midnight rolled around as John Mayer songs floated through the air from the speakers of my phone. We held hands and laughed and talked about years ago when we first met and all the hours we spent in bed doing just those things, holding hands and laughing. Talking about what we dreamed of doing. Talking about where we want to be one day. Talking about the things that roll off the tongue a little easier in the dark after midnight on your best friend’s birthday.

Not being able to get pregnant has a way of taking control. Until just recently I was allowing too much of me to be devoted to having a baby. Last night with Cody reminded me of all the good in our lives. I realized that there is so much more to this world than having a child. Being with Cody is so easy and right and good. We want to have a baby, but it doesn’t have to happen on some specific timeline. Last night was a reminder of the necessity of living in the inbetween…when birthday celebrations make for an easy conversation with the person in this world who you love the most. The inbetween when turning twenty-seven feels a lot like seventeen .The inbetween when Lifehouse’s “You and Me” comes on your Pandora station for the first time in a long time. The inbetween when holding a hand feels a lot making a promise that everything is going to work out just the way it’s supposed to. The inbetween that ends up being exactly where you are supposed to be for now. The inbetween that every once in a while is the only thing in the world that matters. The inbetween that I assume one day we will all realize is actually just life.

I love Cody Prater, and he makes all of this past year a lot easier for me to handle. I am grateful for that and so much more about the man I married. Happy birthday to the best guy. 

Kickball: A Cure-All

I am winding down the last week of my fifth year of teaching school. I’ve taught ninth grade English for half a decade, folks. That statement literally makes me a little queasy. Looking back, I remember the past five years unfolding pretty smoothly; however, when I take some time to think about it, I realize there have been more than a few bumps in the educational road. Nonetheless, I’ve survived, and I’d like to think that I have learned a few lessons over the past five years.

1. Always have an emergency contact…I realize you’re probably thinking I’ve had some sort of crazy injury or medical emergency while at work which is not exactly the case. By emergency contact, I mean someone to call when you are so overwhelmed by the thirty blank, souless stares glaring back at you for eight hours a day that you must speak to someone outside of the walls of the school in order to remind yourself that fourteen year olds do not reflect an accurate representation of what is good or right or important in this world. The first day of school five years ago I had spent countless hours making sure I had everything ready to go. I was clueless and scared to death and dying to be doing anything other than starting my life as a public school teacher. Nonetheless, I trudged forward surviving the first period of class. It was a whirlwind of weird smells and failed jokes and awkward “I’m an adult. Can’t you tell?” portrayal that any barely twenty-two year old teacher has to go through. I remember the bell ringing and kids filing out and frantically trying to regroup and reorganize for my second period class. I was shuffling papers and erasing boards and running around like a crazy person. I waited and waited and waited. I stood at the front of the room with a plastered fake smile (yes, I managed a fake smile) and no one showed up. There were no kids. I panicked thinking that maybe there was some weird mid-day classroom switch and envisioned thirty kids sitting in a different place waiting on me. I started to walk out of the room to ask where to go when I realized that second period was my planning period. I immediately closed my door and called my mom who listened to me cry (yes, I literally cried) about how I didn’t want to be a teacher or an adult or anyone at that point. She talked me down from the ledge and I eventually pulled myself together for third period. It was difficult though. And awful. But what I realize now is that the rest of my first day of school is hardly even a memory in my mind. I don’t know what happen during the rest of that day, but I do remember that conversation with my mom.

As a person who devotes their life to interacting with adolescents (or children) on a regular basis, it is imperative that there be a ready and willing group of adults who are always available to remind you that it is not normal to have a job that involves dealing with the irrational world of high school all over again. You must always have someone that will answer the phone during second period on Wednesday. Always.

2. Be an expert at delayed gratification…One of the weird parts about teaching school is that the warm and fuzzy feel good moments in which a student comes full circle and transforms into a clean, well-dressed, articulate adult right in front of your eyes doesn’t actually happen right in front of your eyes. I generally witness students leaving high school as eighteen year olds who are not exactly articulate or transformed. On occasion you can see the beginnings of a productive citizen under the overly confident, usually selfish shell of high school graduates, but more often you wonder how in the world that kid is going to ever make something out of themselves. But they do. They must. I haven’t seen it happen quite yet, but I assume that there is some experience waiting for me in the years to come that will make my time as an educator make sense. I hope. In the meantime, you must constantly remind yourself that they are just kids and they probably don’t know any better, and you must sit and wait for that magical moment years from now on the frozen food aisle in Wal-Mart when a former student calls you Mrs. Prater and you cringe and turn around to see a ninth grader in a thirty year old’s body with three young kids in her cart who finally wants to thank you for being someone who cared all those years ago. Delayed gratification at its finest.

3. Never underestimate the power of a parent…I have had some of the weirdest interactions with parents as a teacher. I have had parents yell at me. I have had parents accuse me of purposely ruining their child’s grade. I have had parents follow me into a public restroom to ask me why their child does not play on a team. I have had parents hit on me. I have had a grown man harass me in a gym full of parents with alcohol so strong on his breath that I thought maybe I was drunk when he finally left. I have had parents spend over an hour recapping their early years as the personal photographer for President Nixon and then (same guy) enlighten me on the wise investment in Iraqi currency (dinar) that he could allow me to take advantage of for a buy in price of only $150 (by the way, this conversation somehow happened in a small closet full of copy paper). I have had some weird moments to say the least. Through it all though, I have come to understand that most parents love their kids more than I can probably ever know, and they all want the best for those kids even if they are a little inappropriate or abusive or crazy or drunk.

4. Get lost when it’s right…One of the things I’ve learned more recently as an educator is to really savor the moments when working with kids is fun. Let me give you an example…the other day I found myself with a group of students who had just recently finished a standardized test and had nothing to do for a couple of hours until the bell. In order to fill some time, the kids wanted to play kickball. My initial response was an adamant “no.” A bunch of wild kids kicking balls at each other can be sheer craziness. Nonetheless, against my better judgment I volunteered to take the kids who wanted to play outside on the promise that I would also get to play. Only a few minutes later, I found myself standing on a baseball diamond rolling a ball to a bunch of kids who couldn’t be any happier. It was May. It was sunny outside. On top of that, I somehow made an unprecedented, unassisted triple play in the bottom of the fourth. It was great. At some point I looked around and realized that being a teacher and coach certainly has its perks. I think the longer I teach the more I realize that moments that are not spent in a traditional classroom setting focused solely on work are some of the best moments as not only a student, but a teacher also. We must take advantage of the silliness and fun that can come from being a kid. We must allow young people to be young every once in a while and act silly and play kickball. I know that when I think back to my own high school experience the moments that meant the most to me were not centered around a textbook. I always really appreciated teachers who were something more than teachers. Teachers who were also people. There are a few moments every school year when students and teachers just become people and those are the moments that you have to hold tight for they allow you to endure the rest of the days. 

And when all else fails, you just have to play kickball.

Katy Vs. Her Ovaries - Facebook Etiquette

Last Friday I went in for another ultrasound to check the progress of the chocolate cyst (yes, it is actually referred to as a chocolate cyst...blasphemy) on my left ovary. The assumption was that if the cyst was the same size or larger than the last ultrasound we would move forward with surgery to remove it. Turns out, my cyst has shrunk some. It is still there, but it is smaller than last month. Dr. Bell has decided to put me on birth control for a couple of months to see if the cyst will continue to get smaller.

I suppose this is good news. I certainly wasn't looking forward to having the surgery, but I was looking forward to removing the cyst and having a better idea of how widespread the endometriosis is. It really bugs me that there is not an easier way than surgery to evaluate exactly what I have going on in my own body. It also seems completely illogical that birth control pills can be used as a means to achieve fertility. Backwards.

I am trying to resolve myself to the slow moving nature of this whole process. I realize that treatment has to be based on a monthly cycle. I realize that I am not the only person who is a patient of Dr. Bell. I realize that all options need to be tried before you jump into a surgery. I realize all this. I also realize that every month that passes without me being pregnant is another month that passes with very little progress from my perspective.

I am also trying to keep pregnancy from turning into a goal in my mind. I have a tendency to be a bit intense and persistent and ruthless in respect to things I want to achieve in my life. I worry that I am going to start approaching getting pregnant as just another goal, like an A in a class or winning a volleyball match or remodeling my laundry room. I keep trying to remind myself that pregnancy is not the end goal. After you get pregnant, you actually have a baby. I think I forget that sometimes.

On a completely different note...if you happen to see a married couple of child bearing age at an OBGYN office, that does not necessarily mean that they are pregnant. You may want to assume this is the case. You may want to be the first to know about this joyful time in their lives. You may reason that there is no other logical reason why both a woman and a man would be together at a doctor's office other than to see their newly minted fetus on an ultrasound. But trust me, there are other reasons that unfortunately bring married couples to the doctor, even young, healthy-looking married people who should have a baby ( I mean they've been together forever). And because of the plethora of reasons that bring people to doctor's offices, you should hold off on a congratulatory Facebook message until the couple actually announces their pregnancy. A congratulatory Facebook message about pregnancy for a woman who just found out that she may be infertile is kind of like a punch in the stomach...an empty, barren, non-egg releasing stomach. Let's not get ahead of ourselves folks. Just a thought for this Friday afternoon.

Katy Vs. Her Ovaries - The Good Fight

One of the hardest parts of this whole reproductive mess of mine has been my struggle with whom to tell about my infertility. Early on in the process I told no one with the exception of one of my closest friends. I didn't tell my parents. I didn't spread the news to my other friends. I suppose I felt embarrassed in a way. I'm a prideful arrogant confident person by nature and I think the idea that I would have problems having kids was a bit of a chink in the capable Katy armor that I tend to wear. I also assumed for a few months that I could out-think or out-work this whole thing and end up pregnant without even having to mention this little bump in the road. Obviously that idea got thrown out the window soon thereafter.

I knew at some point I had to tell my parents. The main reason I avoided this conversation was because I know how much my mom especially wants me to have a child. In some weird, twisted, unhealthy way my mom's cancer diagnosis was the original impetus behind me really considering getting pregnant. I've always known that I want to have a child at some point, and the idea that my mom's life may be shortened motivated me to make a decision on the baby issue a little sooner than I would have on my own. My mom often makes it known that she wants a grandchild, and despite the fact that I have an older brother, I seem to be the best bet for a little one. (Thanks for that, Jared.) I didn't want to disappoint my mom with my infertility, despite knowing that my mom would never be disappointed in me over this.

After talking with my parents and sharing this news with a few of my friends, I started to realize that talking about my endometriosis was actually a really productive experience for me. Almost every person I talked to knew someone who also had endometriosis or someone with some sort of fertility issue. I realized that my initial feeling of isolation was an unwarranted feeling. There are so many women with similar circumstances that it seemed silly not to be talking about these things.

After I told my parents and my closest friends, my next logical step was to start blogging about my experiences. I realize this may seem odd to some people, but the older I get, the more I realize that sharing your experiences is what this whole thing (life?) is all about. Since I've been writing about my experiences, I have had more than one person reach out to me with their own experiences with infertility. Those connections with people are invaluable. There is no reason to go about this alone.

The other day I got a text from a person I hadn't talked to in quite a while. Today she is a mom of two young kids, and I haven't gotten an opportunity to really talk to her since the birth of her two boys. She texted me out of the blue to tell me about her own infertility struggle after having read my blog. She ended the conversation by saying that she "vowed I would never be silent...if given the opportunity to talk about infertility." She said that while she was going through infertility she felt "clueless" and "broken" because she had no one to talk to about her experience and that broke my heart, and yet made me so happy that she has her boys.

I have no idea when or how my experience with infertility will end. I don't know if I will look back on these days years from now with gratitude that my struggle ended with me having my own kids. I don't know all of the ways I will have to fight to have a child. I don't know if I will end up being a mom to my own kids or someone else's kids. But I do know that infertility will not break me and it does not and will not make me any lesser a woman. I will not let myself run from these days when the struggle to have a child consumes my hours like so many other women. Infertility is not the scarlet letter I first thought of it as. Talking to other women about their experiences has allowed me to come to these conclusions, and thus I will continue writing and talking about my own experiences, despite the inevitable discomfort it will cause some folks. My recent exchanges with other women have provided me so much comfort and hope in an otherwise bleak existence of counting days and ultrasounds. Indeed, there is power in a conversation between two women who have fought the same fight. And that power is what allows me to continue to fight this good fight. Well that and the fact that I so desperately want to see mine and Cody's DNA meld into whatever magically awesome offspring we both anticipate it could create.

Katy Vs. Her Ovaries - A Sort Of Diagnosis

When I went in for the day 13 ultrasound last month, I finally started making progress toward some sort of actual diagnosis. Before the ultrasound, I was under the impression that I had some sort of hormonal imbalance that wasn't triggering my ovaries to release eggs. Dr. Bell had made it obvious that the hormones can be regulated pretty easy, so I was hopeful that the ultrasound would in fact show some healthy follicles on my ovaries.

Poor Cody has been the victim of my thorough online research throughout this entire process. During the ultrasound he kept asking the poor woman if what we were seeing was in fact a follicle. She kept saying no, no, no. Eventually she answered that what we were seeing was a "growth." She went on to explain that I have a fairly good sized cyst on my left ovary that appears to be endometriosis. She immediately stopped the ultrasound and told me to get dressed. Cody asked a few more questions about the follicles. She pretty much told him that whatever fertility issues I was having stemmed from that cyst as well as other smaller endometrioma (I don't know what the plural of that word is) that I have on my other ovary. She also told Cody that the general method of treatment is surgery. Uhhh, what?

I didn't know much about endometriosis off the top of my head. I have a cousin with this issue, but she is only aware of it because she has spent her entire life with unbearable pain with her periods. I thought all people with endometriosis had a lot of pain. I couldn't figure out how I was different. I also knew that my cousin is only 18 but has been told that her endometriosis could impact her having children in the future.

After hearing all of this, I immediately wanted to be anywhere other than on that stupid table in that stupid dark room with that stupid gown on. I was over it. Done. I obviously had something wrong with me. It was obviously something serious enough to hinder my ability to have children, and I was sick of hearing about ovaries and Fallopian tubes and follicles. I was overwhelmed to say the least. I found myself in the bathroom putting my clothes back on. There was a moment when my most natural response to this news was to ball up  in the corner of that little room and cry. I'm not sure why really. I don't know if it was the actual diagnosis of endometriosis. I don't know if it was how quickly the woman ended the ultrasound after seeing the endometrioma. I don't know if it was because I knew I had to face Cody on the other side of that door. Sweet, loving, supportive, inquisitive Cody who never signed on for this mess, who never imagined getting pregnant would be anything like these past few months. I don't know what it was, but something about that day 13 ultrasound sort of broke me.

I eventually made my way out of the bathroom. I did face Cody and he was as accommodating about the situation as he could have been. The nurse told us that Dr. Bell would eventually read the ultrasound and get back with us as what to do next. I left the hospital with more questions than answers.

I spent the next few days learning everything I could about endometriosis. Just like any other fertility issue, I think endometriosis varies considerably from woman to woman. About 1 in every 10 women have this issue that stems from the lining of your uterus growing outside of your uterus. Over time the lining can eventually build up on your reproductive organs keeping them from functioning properly...or at least that's what webMD says. Dr. Bell requested that we come in the following week to discuss the actual ultrasound. After the initial time it took to process the news, Cody and I both decided that we thought the diagnosis was a good thing. I was somewhat relieved to have an actual name to label whatever issue I was dealing with. From my research I determined it was important for my endo to not be considered stage III or IV. If I was in the early stages of the disease, I felt like I would have a really good shot at correcting this and getting pregnant. We spent the next few days waiting and worrying, waiting and worrying. I also spent the next few days trying to figure out how in the world I was going to tell my parents about all of this.

Katy Vs. Her Ovaries - Tick Tock

After the blood test in December resulted in the assumption that I did not ovulate, I spent a few days just kind of doing nothing. I considered not pursuing any sort of further information or treatment. I considered closing the baby door and throwing the key away until I was thirty (for some reason I expect thirty to bring a new understanding of this world). I spent a lot of my time making note of everything in my life that couldn't happen with a child. When I slept until ten on a Saturday, I celebrated the uninterrupted rest. When I hung out with friends past midnight, I celebrated the freedom. When I booked a vacation, I celebrated the extra money. When I came home from work to a quiet house, I celebrated the silence. Unfortunately, when my friend had her first child, I couldn't shake those little toes or the little noises he made. When I spent time with another friend's baby, I couldn't quit thinking about how much I liked holding her and smelling her and wanting to teach her things (namely for fear that the baby's mother will not provide adequate athletic wisdom). Nonetheless, over the few weeks that I focused on all of the things in my life made possible by not having a child I was also forced to focus on all of the thing in my life missing without one. 

I eventually realized that doing nothing was silly. I have watched my own mother face three separate cancer diagnoses without flinching. I could walk into a doctor's office and discuss my eggs...or lack thereof. 

After the next doctor's appointment, our plan of action involved taking a prescription drug called Clomid designed to increase a woman's likelihood of ovulation. The drug is taken on specific days during the cycle followed by a properly timed amorous few days in hopes of scheduling conception. The whole process is very funny when you stop and think about it. Certainly drugs and "properly timed intercourse" (their words, not mine) are not my idea of the best month of my life. However, in the big scheme of things if this was all that it took to get pregnant I realized it would seem barely a blip on the radar in the future. 

Along with Clomid, I was also scheduled for a day 13 ultrasound to actually look at my ovaries to determine whether or not I had follicles (medical term for eggs before they are technically eggs). I walked away from the appointment feeling good about the plan of action. I had a couple of weeks before I would actually be required to start taking the medicine. I honestly still wasn't sold on the idea.

Cody and I talked a little about not taking the Clomid at all. Again, we are both so very happy with our current existence. We revel in all of the time we get to spend together and how in love we are with just us. We do not spend our days trying to fill some sort of baby void. We do not feel like something is missing. I literally feel like every day with Cody as my husband is a little more rewarding than the one before. I think the satisfaction we both feel with our current situation makes us both a little worried that we don't want this child bad enough. The internet is full of people spending their life's fortune and years of their time and going to limitless ends to conceive a child they have wanted for so long. Cody and I are not those people. 

My decision to go ahead and start the Clomid came from a gnawing fear I have had since the beginning of this process that involves Cody and I turning into those people on the internet. The weird thing about infertility is all of the not knowing. There is often not a clear diagnosis. There is often not a finish line. There are just months that slip by faster and slower than you ever imagined. There are just days that get filled with all of these ways to make your body do the most fundamental of all processes. There are just months and days that can turn so quickly into years that never get filled with little toes and little noises of your own. I couldn't help but feel like every month I let slip by without conceiving a child is one less month that I get to play the baby lottery. It's as if my biological clock not only started ticking for the first time but also made its entrance with the volume indicative of someone much older than myself. 

Katy vs. Her Ovaries - Child-Bearing Hips

Every day that passes I accept my most recent reproductive issues a little more. I am still not sold on actually wanting children this very minute, but I am sold on wanting them eventually. The eventual desire that I assume will show up one of these days is what motivates me to move forward with some sort of medical intervention. The weirdest part about this whole situation is that I am supposed to (and have) felt an immense sense of loss or disappointment over not being able to have children sometime in the future. It's not like I had a child and lost it (unimaginable pain). It's not even like I got pregnant and miscarried a child (also really awful). Both would be much more tangible, real experiences. Yet, somehow the past few weeks have felt something like losing someone. I have experienced a hypothetical, maybe someday loss of a person I've never met. A confusing thing to process.

I have had enough time to sort of step back and analyze this whole situation. In some twisted way the concept of me being infertile is actually kind of funny ironic. I spent my entire life convinced that I possess the most fertile womb on the planet. The women in my life periodically passed down reproductive wisdom to me growing up. My grandma (who is also about 5'10" and shaped very much like me) used to tell me that I had "child-bearing hips." I hated this description. I hated my hips. I hated having a body useful to a woman, when I was very much a kid still. Today, my grandma is a no-frills ninety-year-old. She's lived through the Great Depression, had three boys, and was married to a WWII veteran who was absent for long stretches of his children's lives. My grandma probably got pregnant by magic. I doubt my grandfather even had to be in town for the event. She just looks like a mother. She's big and strong, yet feminine in every way. She can cook a meal unlike anyone else in our family and never misses a beat despite her age. I have always been under the impression that my grandma just knew things that the rest of the world didn't. I believed her when she told me I had child-bearing hips. I believed her when she told my long torso would make for easy pregnancies. I believed her when she told me I would have lots of kids. I believed her because I had no reason not to.

After years of "child-bearing hips" references, I think I adopted the same belief about myself. In college I was convinced on a few different occasions that I was pregnant. The catch was that I hadn't had sex with anyone to actually get pregnant. Immaculate conception I suppose. I've spent my life convinced of my inevitable future motherhood. I've never once doubted that getting pregnant is anything other than simple. I believed that I could control pregnancy to the point that I could choose a birth date. I never imagined to be in this situation. Why would someone be cursed with child-bearing hips and not be able to bear children?

I have slowly started to rewrite my story over the past couple of months. I have let go of preconceived notions about who I am and started to accept that whatever story unfolds in the coming years will be the real story. It's easy to rely on the words of those who have come before you to narrate your own experiences. It's easy to buy into the wisdom of people you love, people you trust. It's easy to predict your fate based on your reflection in the faces of those before you. Nonetheless, every person is responsible for finding their own story and their own reality...no matter how big your hips are.

Katy Vs. Her Ovaries - The Backstory

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know that I have spent the past few months writing about having babies. The main reason for all of this philosophizing about reproduction has stemmed from my own entertainment of the idea of having a kid. Now, I feel like it's important for you to know that my willingness to have a child started out as some sort of half-hearted experiment in fate. Let me explain... About a year ago we stopped taking precautions to not get pregnant. Being the obsessive planner/control freak that I am, I decided with the input of my dear husband that we should try to get pregnant in May, June, or July of 2012. Why those three months you ask? Because I teach school and the ultimate goal of any female educator is to have a child in March. March allows teachers to take the 12 weeks of maternity leave available and not ever have to come back to school before summer break. It is the Holy Grail of life as a female educator. Because I wanted to be reasonable and accepting of the unpredictability of getting pregnant, I allowed for a couple extra months just for good measure. Needless to say, I did not get pregnant. We closed up shop and continued to make fun of all of our parent friends and their exhausting existence as parents of young people. I tried really hard to not worry with those three months of no pregnancy. It was THREE MONTHS. I heard all these mothers recount trying to get pregnant for 6 months or 8 months or over a year even. They all had kids, so why in the world would I be any different? But for some reason I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. I started learning more about pregnancy and ovulation and cycles and cervical mucous and ovaries. I read articles about basal body temperature readings and biphasic months. I completely over-saturated myself with pregnancy information. I felt like I needed to equip myself with all of the knowledge available to be prepared for the next time we decided to try. Over the next few months I did notice that my cycles (periods? Why are both of those words so icky?) were not regular. Some were 31 days and some were 33. I even had a 53 day cycle somewhere along the way. It seemed a little weird to me and naturally only fed my feeling that something wasn't right. Thankfully, the school year started. I was so busy with volleyball and teaching that I didn't even think about having a child. Cody and I were never really sold on the idea in the first place to be honest. In fact there were a lot of days when I was thankful that those three months hadn't resulted in me being pregnant. I convinced myself that there is so much time to have kids. We are so young. Cody felt the same way. I never did get back on birth control. I used my new-found reproductive knowledge to avoid getting pregnant. After volleyball ended, i did flirt with getting pregnant. I kept telling myself that if I was healthy and viable then maybe I would just get pregnant. I always felt like it would be so much easier to just turn up pregnant. No planning. No thinking ahead. No scheduling a birthdate in March. Just get pregnant. People do it all the time. i mean people get pregnant ON ACCIDENT. In December of 2012 I went to see Dr. Bell for a regular check-up. Everything went fine during the appointment. He told me I seemed completely healthy. I did ask him about my irregular periods. He was literally walking out of the door when I explained what was going on. His response was a simple one: "that probably means you're not ovulating." I sort of felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. My reproduction 101 lessons flooded my brain. Panic set in as I wondered how in the world people get pregnant without ovulating? I never imagined that would be the answer. I was looking for a "oh, there's nothing to worry about," or " almost everyone has irregular periods." I did not expect the answer he gave me. I walked out of his office that day with an appointment for blood work that would definitively say whether I had released an egg. I also walked out of his office with a premonition that hinted that this was only the beginning of a completely unexpected journey. The blood test revealed that I had not ovulated. It took the doctor's office forever to call with the results. I was cooking dinner when the phone rang. The nurse told me so nonchalantly about the results. I asked what exactly the results meant. She beat around the bush about there being a lot of different options, and she listed a few different treatment plans. She ended the conversation by telling me that the ball was in my court as to how aggressively I wanted to treat my infertility. I remember being shocked at how calm and cold the nurse sounded. I remember wondering how one month of not ovulating suddenly classified a person as infertile. I was hurt. Upset. Stunned. Confused. Frustrated. Scared. I felt like what started as an innocent question to ask only because I wouldn't talk to Dr. Bell for another year had unexpectedly opened the flood gates of infertility...I was suddenly involved in a fight to have a baby that I wasn't sure I even wanted.