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.