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.