A year ago tonight I was ringing in the new year in Iceland. Cody and I were fresh off a few days in Denmark, hopping on planes, seeing new things, and constantly remarking on how ridiculously exciting our lives were at that moment. We were crazy alive and demanded to be that way because travelling the world is something twenty-somethings can do only when they don't have children. As the clock struck midnight a year ago, I remember hoping that 2014 might be the year that Cody and I would have to hang up the globetrotting for a while in place of the elusive baby...
Low and behold, on this New Year's Eve I am pregnant. 2015 is officially, God willing, the year of the baby for the Prater's.
I am eighteen weeks pregnant to the day. Early June will bring with it a baby boy, Cody's 29th birthday, and our 5th wedding anniversary.
I have known that I am pregnant since September 29th, and the past three months have been nothing like I envisioned the weeks after learning you are pregnant. The world did not stop turning to allow Cody and I the preferable amount of time to simply sit and reflect and celebrate the end of the infertility battle. I have spent a lot of time at the doctor's office. I have taken a lot of shots. I have worried about progesterone levels. I have told myself that if I can just get to ten weeks and then twelve weeks and then sixteen weeks I can stop worrying about something going wrong. I finally have accepted that I am probably going to need to hold this little guy in my arms before I stop worrying about all of the possibilities associated with creating a human life.
On the last night of this year, I am thankful for so much that has transpired in the past 365 days. I cannot imagine what life will be like a year from tonight. 2015 is going to be the year of love for me. I will get to see Cody be a dad to our baby boy. I will get to see my parents be grandparents to this long-awaited baby.
Finally and most importantly, I will get to meet this little human. He will have a name and a room and those tiny little ears that babies have. He will make really adorable baby noises and really terrible baby noises. He will sleep and not sleep and cry and not cry. He will look exactly or nothing like me. He will act exactly or nothing like Cody. He will be everything and nothing like what I expect he will be, and I am okay with all of that. The older I get the more I understand that plans are for chumps. I am going to love the people I have every day that I get to love them. The past three years have just given me a little extra time to learn how to love a little better.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Monday, September 1, 2014
Katy Vs. Her Ovaries (and Cancer)
My mom is diagnosed with cancer again. I am not
pregnant. My mom spends a summer at M.D. Anderson. I am not pregnant. My mom walks with a limp. I am not pregnant. I push my mom in a wheelchair
at Ikea. I am not pregnant. The wheelchair was temporary. I am not pregnant. My
mom gets radiation. I am not pregnant. My mom walks normal again. I am not
pregnant. Cancer markers go up. I am not pregnant. I turn twenty-eight. I am
not pregnant. My mom starts chemo. I am not pregnant. My mom has a port
surgically implanted into her chest. I am not pregnant. Cancer markers goes
down. I am not pregnant. My mom turns sixty-five. I am not pregnant. My mom
walks with a limp again. I am not pregnant.
Three and a half years ago my mom was diagnosed with
breast cancer for the third time. The cancer was found in her bones in May of
2011. After the debris of a cancer diagnosis was cleared, the only answer I
found in the “terminal-illness-slow-it-down-never-cure-it” prognosis that my
mom received was that grandchildren were something that should happen sooner
rather than later. Suddenly, the idea of having children was an idea that I
stopped considering and started pursuing.
Three and a half years later I am no closer to
having children than my mom is to being cancer-free. I tell myself that not
being able to get pregnant is not actually that big of a deal. I tell myself
that if my mom weren’t sick or if I could even just get some concrete timeline
of cancer events, I could control my sense of urgency a little better. With
every period and every failed procedure the clock keeps ticking, except I can’t
see the freaking clock. I have no idea how much time is left. I don’t know when
it’s time for the Hail Mary. I haven't drawn the Hail Mary up yet.
And then sometimes I don’t need to see the clock. My
mom is okay, and the cancer markers go down and doctors give good reports. Her
hip doesn’t hurt, and she plays nine holes of golf and eats lunch with her
friends. We go to the mall and walk from one end to the other without stopping.
I show up unannounced and she’s not in bed. Sometimes my mom is the person I
remember from three and a half years ago before I knew I was infertile and
before I knew there was a clock.
Sometimes my mom is my mom and I am her daughter and
there isn't this huge gaping hole where another human that I created is
supposed to be. Sometimes.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Katy Vs. Her Ovaries - Unicorns and God
My fertility crusade has been somewhat uneventful as of late. The past couple of months have felt a little less hectic if nothing more because it's summertime. Ultrasounds and appointments have been easier to schedule. I haven't had to awkwardly ask to bail on fourth period in a while, and it's been nice.
Since June I have been doing acupuncture and taking an obscene amount of supplements suggested by my acupuncturist (if that's an actual title). I was skeptical at first. I feel like acupuncture is sort of like unicorns and God - one of those things that exists on faith alone. Nonetheless, Cody and I both decided that acupuncture is one of the last components of fertility treatment that we should give a shot to feel like we have exhausted all of our options. It just happens to add around $400 a month to our ever-expanding "try to get pregnant just one freaking time" fund.
I've been pleasantly surprised with my hippie-dippie medical treatment. The needles don't really hurt. They play Enya on a loop. The office smells like lavender and peace. The actual person who treats me sort of looks like what I assume Mother Earth as a human would resemble. She has a tongue ring and wears Chacos and I still trust her to insert needles into my abdomen on a biweekly basis. She talks in calming tones and tells me that this is all going to work and rubs my forearm when she talks to me. She tells me to relax for thirty minutes with needles sticking from my body and electrodes coursing through my reproductive organs. I stare at birds in trees and breathe a little deeper than I normally do and every once in a while I truly believe that those needles are working. Doing something that the hormones I'm being pumped full of can't accomplish.
This past month did result in an acceptable follicle (egg) and we think ovulation. We had two IUI's (intrauterine insemination) done in an attempt to allow Cody's sperm to bypass my (hostile) cervix and go straight to my (even more hostile) uterus. The IUI's were by far the weirdest part of this whole experience so far. One day I may explain why it was so weird to have my husband's sperm injected into my uterus, but not today. It's just a little too raw still.
Months ago I would have told you that the hardest part of infertility is all of the poking and prodding. It is the hormones and the pills and the ultrasounds. It is the shots and IUI's and awkward doctor's visits. I would have told you that those things are the reason why people stop trying to get pregnant. I realize now that it is the aftermath of all of those things that is actually the hardest.
Any given month is split into two halves. Trying like hell to get pregnant and then waiting to see if you are. There are a couple of weeks (or longer) when women have to wonder if the sperm actually found a viable egg. You wonder if maybe the acupuncture and the supplements and the Clomid and the collection (don't ask) and the pinched cervix (yes, he pinched my cervix) worked. Maybe this is the month. Maybe this will end in May or June or July. Maybe my womb isn't so hostile after all. It's the weeks after all of the hassle when infertility is at its worst. These couple of weeks are what make people crazy.
Each month there is a glimmer of hope that maybe this time will be different. That glimmer only exists in the couple of weeks after all of the treatment. It burns a little brighter with each new procedure and each new medicine. The harder you try, the brighter the glimmer. And in turn, the more devastated you feel when you realize that your stupid glimmer is completely unwarranted and you're not pregnant yet again. This month my glimmer is brighter than ever before. The stars have aligned a little more this time around. I have tried to protect myself. I have reminded myself that thirty minutes of needles and the bypassing of my cervix isn't just going to magically result in a human being. I have tried to walk the tight rope of realistic pessimism and healthy optimism. I have tried to brace myself for whatever impact I am soon to experience. I've tried to manage all of these conflicting emotions all month long and I've come to the conclusion that maybe I will just let myself hope. Forget being realistic and just go with it.
Maybe unicorns and God and pregnancy come only to those who believe. Maybe pregnancy is like the adult Santa. Maybe you've just got to believe.
Since June I have been doing acupuncture and taking an obscene amount of supplements suggested by my acupuncturist (if that's an actual title). I was skeptical at first. I feel like acupuncture is sort of like unicorns and God - one of those things that exists on faith alone. Nonetheless, Cody and I both decided that acupuncture is one of the last components of fertility treatment that we should give a shot to feel like we have exhausted all of our options. It just happens to add around $400 a month to our ever-expanding "try to get pregnant just one freaking time" fund.
I've been pleasantly surprised with my hippie-dippie medical treatment. The needles don't really hurt. They play Enya on a loop. The office smells like lavender and peace. The actual person who treats me sort of looks like what I assume Mother Earth as a human would resemble. She has a tongue ring and wears Chacos and I still trust her to insert needles into my abdomen on a biweekly basis. She talks in calming tones and tells me that this is all going to work and rubs my forearm when she talks to me. She tells me to relax for thirty minutes with needles sticking from my body and electrodes coursing through my reproductive organs. I stare at birds in trees and breathe a little deeper than I normally do and every once in a while I truly believe that those needles are working. Doing something that the hormones I'm being pumped full of can't accomplish.
This past month did result in an acceptable follicle (egg) and we think ovulation. We had two IUI's (intrauterine insemination) done in an attempt to allow Cody's sperm to bypass my (hostile) cervix and go straight to my (even more hostile) uterus. The IUI's were by far the weirdest part of this whole experience so far. One day I may explain why it was so weird to have my husband's sperm injected into my uterus, but not today. It's just a little too raw still.
Months ago I would have told you that the hardest part of infertility is all of the poking and prodding. It is the hormones and the pills and the ultrasounds. It is the shots and IUI's and awkward doctor's visits. I would have told you that those things are the reason why people stop trying to get pregnant. I realize now that it is the aftermath of all of those things that is actually the hardest.
Any given month is split into two halves. Trying like hell to get pregnant and then waiting to see if you are. There are a couple of weeks (or longer) when women have to wonder if the sperm actually found a viable egg. You wonder if maybe the acupuncture and the supplements and the Clomid and the collection (don't ask) and the pinched cervix (yes, he pinched my cervix) worked. Maybe this is the month. Maybe this will end in May or June or July. Maybe my womb isn't so hostile after all. It's the weeks after all of the hassle when infertility is at its worst. These couple of weeks are what make people crazy.
Each month there is a glimmer of hope that maybe this time will be different. That glimmer only exists in the couple of weeks after all of the treatment. It burns a little brighter with each new procedure and each new medicine. The harder you try, the brighter the glimmer. And in turn, the more devastated you feel when you realize that your stupid glimmer is completely unwarranted and you're not pregnant yet again. This month my glimmer is brighter than ever before. The stars have aligned a little more this time around. I have tried to protect myself. I have reminded myself that thirty minutes of needles and the bypassing of my cervix isn't just going to magically result in a human being. I have tried to walk the tight rope of realistic pessimism and healthy optimism. I have tried to brace myself for whatever impact I am soon to experience. I've tried to manage all of these conflicting emotions all month long and I've come to the conclusion that maybe I will just let myself hope. Forget being realistic and just go with it.
Maybe unicorns and God and pregnancy come only to those who believe. Maybe pregnancy is like the adult Santa. Maybe you've just got to believe.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
California - Where Kathy Got Naked - Part 2
After a couple of days in San Francisco, Cody and I headed north into the Napa Valley for the second portion of our trip that fell into the "relaxation" category. We are not wine people per se, but we figured we might as well see what all the fuss surrounding wine country is all about. We stayed at a resort in a Calistoga about twenty miles from Napa. I had read about Indian Springs Resort in a Times article about side trips to make from San Francisco. The attraction with Calistoga again involved mineral springs (like Esalen) and also mud baths.
Our resort was only an hour and a half drive from the city. We arrived in the early afternoon, explored the town a little, ate a late lunch, and then headed back to the resort for our much anticipated mud bath. We had gone from San Francisco weather (mid to high 60s) to drought-stricken California weather (nearly 100 degrees) all within the same day. It was hot in Calistoga. Too hot to be excited about a hot mud bath, but we persevered nonetheless.
Cody and I were under the impression that we would be partaking in a couples mud bath. We have had a couples massage once before, and we just assumed that mud baths were along the same line. We arrived at the spa to find that mud baths are actually gender separate experiences. My track record would predict that partaking in a mud bath without my husband at my disposal would feel like a nightmare to me. I sort of use Cody as a buffer in all types of uncomfortable situations in my life. He is always willing to talk to people that I don't like or ask questions of strangers I wish not to approach. He is like my personal "get out of social awkwardness free" card. Alas, we would not be bathing together as we had in Big Sur.
My mud bath experience started with a thick-accented woman calling for "Kathy" to follow her. Oddly enough, I get called Kathy all the time. I play this constant name game in my life. I just recently, after nearly four years of being a patient there, convinced Dr. Bell's office to call me Katy rather than Kristen (my actual first name). After I win the Kristen battle, I then encounter the issue with Kat(h)y. I suppose because of the "y" on the end of my name some people read or assume that my name is Kathy rather than Katy. Cody jokingly calls me Kathy from time to time. It's pretty out of hand. I considered correcting the spa attendant but decided otherwise since she obviously didn't speak great English. And I figure Beyond has Sasha Fierce so...
In the locker room I begrudgingly followed the attendant's directions by stripping off my clothes and putting on the spa robe. I couldn't help but smile at the realization that I was about to experience round two of nude bathing. Luckily, between my monthly pant-less ultrasounds and my recent nude nighttime hot tubbing, I felt a little calmer about my nakedness than I expected, and I was happy to see that my first attendant was apparently going to hand me off to two more women who actually facilitated the mud bathing. Unfortunately, these two new women also called me Kathy. I decided to go with the Kathy flow and accept that I was in California bathing in volcanic mud and that sometimes being naked in front of complete strangers is worth it.
Rosa was the person responsible for getting me in and out of the bath. I soon realized that the idea of mud that I had in my head was not accurate in respect to the mud at Indian Springs. This mud was blacker (volcanic, duh) and super thick to the point that sitting on the mud resulted in only sitting on top of mud. You did not sink in the mud like you would in a normal bath.
This is the point at which my mud bath got super weird. In her also thick foreign accent, Rosa instructed me to delicately place my naked body on top of a pile of mud. She then proceeded to pick up mud and place it all over my body. It was so weird. It made my pant-less ultrasounds seem like a walk in the modesty park. I ended up with hot mud weighing down every inch of me supposedly sucking out all of the toxins in my body. This portion of the experience lasted twelve minutes. As soon as Rosa walked away, I strongly considered freaking out about the weight of the mud and the heat and the claustrophobic feeling of being suffocated. I eventually calmed down and employed some deep breathing and reminded myself that this process was good for me and should be calming and healing. At the midway point, Rosa brought me a cold washcloth and some ice water and I started to appreciate the experience and the thick mud covering my nakedness.
After my twelve minutes were up, Rosa proceeded to scrape the mud off of me (even weirder than the application of the mud). I then showered off and was escorted to a lukewarm bathtub of mineral water. By this point in the game, I had sort of owned the nudity aspect of the experience. I laid in a tub and sipped cucumber water and imagined how Cody's experience was unfolding. It was another point in the trip in which I was forced to slow down and make note of my surroundings. There were no phones and no internet and no form of entertainment. There was nothing to pull my attention away from me and that moment in that glorious tub full of mineral water. There wasn't even Cody to steal my attention. It was just me, Kathy Prater, stripped as bare as can be experiencing a mud bath in California.
My mud bath ended with a few minutes in a steam room followed by a cool down period wrapped in cotton sheets with cold cucumbers on my eyes (thanks Rosa). For the second time during our trip, I found myself supremely grateful for the stuff I get to do in my life. Years ago, I had no idea that travelling is as fulfilling as it proves to be time and again. I didn't understand that growing and changing can be accelerated so much in an unfamiliar environment. I didn't know that mud baths in the Napa Valley leave one feeling so rejuvenated and powerful. I didn't know that going somewhere new with someone feels like those perfect firsts that you experience at the beginning of a relationship. I didn't used to know that in order to make sense of where you come from you need to go somewhere else. Years ago, I didn't know, but I am thankful that today I understand the power of exploring new places...with or without your clothes on.
The rest of our time in the Napa Valley was spent driving through vineyards and watching sunsets over mountains that felt fake. We giggled about our mud bath experiences and swam in the mineral pool. We read books and held hands and walked up and down streets of places we'd never been. We drove along two-lane roads completely detached from the hustle of San Francisco and listened to music that sounds as good in California as it does in Arkansas. We said "I love you" and promised that life at home wouldn't feel quite so harsh when we got back. We made wishes on shooting stars and confirmed to one another that we had wished our newest wish - the same wish that has claimed our last few birthdays and eyelashes. We left wine country as believers in its beauty and its mud.
Our resort was only an hour and a half drive from the city. We arrived in the early afternoon, explored the town a little, ate a late lunch, and then headed back to the resort for our much anticipated mud bath. We had gone from San Francisco weather (mid to high 60s) to drought-stricken California weather (nearly 100 degrees) all within the same day. It was hot in Calistoga. Too hot to be excited about a hot mud bath, but we persevered nonetheless.
Cody and I were under the impression that we would be partaking in a couples mud bath. We have had a couples massage once before, and we just assumed that mud baths were along the same line. We arrived at the spa to find that mud baths are actually gender separate experiences. My track record would predict that partaking in a mud bath without my husband at my disposal would feel like a nightmare to me. I sort of use Cody as a buffer in all types of uncomfortable situations in my life. He is always willing to talk to people that I don't like or ask questions of strangers I wish not to approach. He is like my personal "get out of social awkwardness free" card. Alas, we would not be bathing together as we had in Big Sur.
My mud bath experience started with a thick-accented woman calling for "Kathy" to follow her. Oddly enough, I get called Kathy all the time. I play this constant name game in my life. I just recently, after nearly four years of being a patient there, convinced Dr. Bell's office to call me Katy rather than Kristen (my actual first name). After I win the Kristen battle, I then encounter the issue with Kat(h)y. I suppose because of the "y" on the end of my name some people read or assume that my name is Kathy rather than Katy. Cody jokingly calls me Kathy from time to time. It's pretty out of hand. I considered correcting the spa attendant but decided otherwise since she obviously didn't speak great English. And I figure Beyond has Sasha Fierce so...
In the locker room I begrudgingly followed the attendant's directions by stripping off my clothes and putting on the spa robe. I couldn't help but smile at the realization that I was about to experience round two of nude bathing. Luckily, between my monthly pant-less ultrasounds and my recent nude nighttime hot tubbing, I felt a little calmer about my nakedness than I expected, and I was happy to see that my first attendant was apparently going to hand me off to two more women who actually facilitated the mud bathing. Unfortunately, these two new women also called me Kathy. I decided to go with the Kathy flow and accept that I was in California bathing in volcanic mud and that sometimes being naked in front of complete strangers is worth it.
Rosa was the person responsible for getting me in and out of the bath. I soon realized that the idea of mud that I had in my head was not accurate in respect to the mud at Indian Springs. This mud was blacker (volcanic, duh) and super thick to the point that sitting on the mud resulted in only sitting on top of mud. You did not sink in the mud like you would in a normal bath.
This is the point at which my mud bath got super weird. In her also thick foreign accent, Rosa instructed me to delicately place my naked body on top of a pile of mud. She then proceeded to pick up mud and place it all over my body. It was so weird. It made my pant-less ultrasounds seem like a walk in the modesty park. I ended up with hot mud weighing down every inch of me supposedly sucking out all of the toxins in my body. This portion of the experience lasted twelve minutes. As soon as Rosa walked away, I strongly considered freaking out about the weight of the mud and the heat and the claustrophobic feeling of being suffocated. I eventually calmed down and employed some deep breathing and reminded myself that this process was good for me and should be calming and healing. At the midway point, Rosa brought me a cold washcloth and some ice water and I started to appreciate the experience and the thick mud covering my nakedness.
After my twelve minutes were up, Rosa proceeded to scrape the mud off of me (even weirder than the application of the mud). I then showered off and was escorted to a lukewarm bathtub of mineral water. By this point in the game, I had sort of owned the nudity aspect of the experience. I laid in a tub and sipped cucumber water and imagined how Cody's experience was unfolding. It was another point in the trip in which I was forced to slow down and make note of my surroundings. There were no phones and no internet and no form of entertainment. There was nothing to pull my attention away from me and that moment in that glorious tub full of mineral water. There wasn't even Cody to steal my attention. It was just me, Kathy Prater, stripped as bare as can be experiencing a mud bath in California.
My mud bath ended with a few minutes in a steam room followed by a cool down period wrapped in cotton sheets with cold cucumbers on my eyes (thanks Rosa). For the second time during our trip, I found myself supremely grateful for the stuff I get to do in my life. Years ago, I had no idea that travelling is as fulfilling as it proves to be time and again. I didn't understand that growing and changing can be accelerated so much in an unfamiliar environment. I didn't know that mud baths in the Napa Valley leave one feeling so rejuvenated and powerful. I didn't know that going somewhere new with someone feels like those perfect firsts that you experience at the beginning of a relationship. I didn't used to know that in order to make sense of where you come from you need to go somewhere else. Years ago, I didn't know, but I am thankful that today I understand the power of exploring new places...with or without your clothes on.
The rest of our time in the Napa Valley was spent driving through vineyards and watching sunsets over mountains that felt fake. We giggled about our mud bath experiences and swam in the mineral pool. We read books and held hands and walked up and down streets of places we'd never been. We drove along two-lane roads completely detached from the hustle of San Francisco and listened to music that sounds as good in California as it does in Arkansas. We said "I love you" and promised that life at home wouldn't feel quite so harsh when we got back. We made wishes on shooting stars and confirmed to one another that we had wished our newest wish - the same wish that has claimed our last few birthdays and eyelashes. We left wine country as believers in its beauty and its mud.
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| Sunset in between Calistoga and Napa. |
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| Main Street in Calistoga. |
Friday, July 11, 2014
San Francisco
Saturday morning we made our way to the waterfront and poked around a farmer's market. This was the first time during the trip that I started to appreciate the freshness of California. I have never so much fruit and vegetables and all around awesome food. The organic movement is not a movement in California. It is simply the way things are. We managed to eat the most ridiculous peach while we were there and get a glimpse of the Bay Bridge.
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| This was before the magical peach experience. |
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| At the top of Coit Tower. The Golden Gate Bridge is hard to make out between the two of us. |
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| This was a stop somewhere along the stairs that never ended. |
After our Coit Tower hike, we made our way to City Lights Bookstore. I did a research project about the Beat Generation when I was in college and ever since I have been mildly obsessed with Jack Kerouac and his crew of writing buddies. City Lights Bookstore was a popular hangout for Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg during the 50's. The bookstore today still has the feel of an independent book seller. They have tons of books scattered throughout the three levels of the store. I almost bought my unborn child a book I found entitled A is for Activist because it's the type of book that inevitably creates really cool, socially responsible, emotionally intelligent adults.
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| Open Door - Open Books - Open Mind - Open Heart The signs in the windows were comfortably Methodist feeling and something I may incorporate in my own English classroom this year. |
Sunday we decided to rent bicycles and ride across the Golden Gate Bridge to Sausalito and the headlands. The ride was around eight miles and on a mostly level surface. I managed without falling once and without hurting my crotch too terribly bad.
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| On our way to the bridge. |
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| Cody took no less than 30 pictures of us actually riding across the bridge. Turns out more people commit suicide by jumping from the GGB more than any other bridge in the country. The entire time I was riding I kept imagining poor people jumping to their death. Eerie. |
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
San Francisco Pride
After our evening in Big Sur with the middle of the night hot tubbing experience under our belts, we headed north back toward San Francisco. On our way we stopped off at the Monterey Bay Aquarium for some shark viewing and ate lunch on Cannery Row. I wish I liked John Steinbeck more and maybe I would have thought the town of Monterey was more exciting than I did. The Old Man and the Sea simply cannot be forgiven in my opinion.
We spent the entire weekend in the city. Upon arriving at our hotel, we learned that we happen to have arrived just in time for the annual Pride Celebration (the largest gay pride celebration in the country by the way). All of the sudden the rainbow flags flying throughout Union Square started to make more sense.
Being in San Francisco during Pride is a good example of why I think all people should travel every chance they get. It is the responsibility (in my opinion) of all humans to learn as much as we can about other humans while we're alive. Experiencing life in a completely foreign place, even if for only a few days, can be enough to change someone for the rest of their life. Cody and I spent 72 hours with thousands of people gathered to celebrate a way of life that is far from celebrated in our bubble of the world. We met all sorts of people (gay and straight alike) who were open and friendly and crazy and passionate about the rights of all people to live whatever lifestyle one may choose. We saw wild stuff unfold on the streets of San Francisco that served as a reminder that feeling a little uncomfortable, having to remind yourself to quit staring, and witnessing happenings almost incomprehensible in your own brain only makes you a more accepting person at the end of the day.
Cody and I accidentally missed the majority of the actual Pride Parade as we were bicycling across the Golden Gate Bridge at the time. We did get to be a part of the Dyke March that happened sort of randomly on a street that we just happened to be walking along. The feminist in me loved the enormous gathering of mainly women fighting for equal rights. Their tagline for the parade was "My Body. My Business. My Power." So cool. We saw topless women, transgender women, single women, all kinds of women (50,000 people in all). There were also lots of men in the sea of people celebrating lesbians. We experienced an impromptu dance party that erupted without warning in front of a store that had a large sound system perched out front. People smoked weed openly and literally beside policemen in charge of managing the parade. It was chaos, and it was awesome. Cody and I both had a really good time and walked away with a renewed appreciation and understanding of other people.
We spent the entire weekend in the city. Upon arriving at our hotel, we learned that we happen to have arrived just in time for the annual Pride Celebration (the largest gay pride celebration in the country by the way). All of the sudden the rainbow flags flying throughout Union Square started to make more sense.
Being in San Francisco during Pride is a good example of why I think all people should travel every chance they get. It is the responsibility (in my opinion) of all humans to learn as much as we can about other humans while we're alive. Experiencing life in a completely foreign place, even if for only a few days, can be enough to change someone for the rest of their life. Cody and I spent 72 hours with thousands of people gathered to celebrate a way of life that is far from celebrated in our bubble of the world. We met all sorts of people (gay and straight alike) who were open and friendly and crazy and passionate about the rights of all people to live whatever lifestyle one may choose. We saw wild stuff unfold on the streets of San Francisco that served as a reminder that feeling a little uncomfortable, having to remind yourself to quit staring, and witnessing happenings almost incomprehensible in your own brain only makes you a more accepting person at the end of the day.
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| The costumes were off the chain! |
Side note: I unknowingly saw Big Boo from Orange in the New Black during the Dyke March. It wasn't until they posted a pic of her to IG that I realized that the woman who looked exactly like Big Boo was actually Big Boo.
Next up...other happenings in San Francisco.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
California - Where Kathy Got Naked - Part 1
Somewhere along the Pacfic Coast Highway sits Esalen Institute, a self-proclaimed wellness retreat.
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Esalen's website describes the resort as the following: "A community of practice. A place of pilgrimage. An integral learning environment devoted to pioneering deep change in self and society; in heart, spirit, body, and mind. Esalen is where seekers serve seekers, and where the veil between what is actual and what is possible is as thin as mist."
So yeah, there's that. Cody and I decided that we wanted to experience this magical place with the thin mist and pilgrims ASAP. We especially wanted to experience this place after reading about its history as a hippie counterculture community where lots of famous psychologists, reseachers, and celebrities (Bob Dylan, Abraham Maslow, sat around and did LSD and yoga and tried to determine what all of this life stuff means. We gladly paid $25 each to be able to soak in the powerful springs of Esalen from 1-3a.m. All of the other time is dedicated strictly to the people who actually stay at the Institute for one of the wellness programs.
We set out from our campground in the pitch black darkness of Big Sur, winding along the Highway only feet from hurling our Toyota Corolla into the Pacific Ocean. We were so tired. It was kind of cold. Everything in our bodies was screaming no and yet when someone mentions deep change and a big tub of hot water, Cody and I are both willing to do just about anything.
Funny side story - Before we started driving toward Esalen, I was waiting on Cody in the car while he went back to the cabin for something he had forgotten. Out of the corner of my scratchy eye balls, I noticed something rustling in the weeds and saw a skunk come walking out of the brush not three feet from my car door. In this moment, time slowed to a crawl as I stared at that skunk frozen in fear for my unsuspecting, equally tired husband who was fumbling in the cabin for his swim trunks. I ran through every possible strategy of how to avoid myself and Cody getting sprayed by said skunk. In the end, I just sat and stared at him until he eventually turned around and went back to where he came from seconds before Cody made his way back to the car. It wasn't until the next morning that I really put together the pieces of how terrible and yet hilarious it would have been if that skunk hadn't simply walked away.
Okay, back to Esalen and the magical springs. We had strict instructions from the employees at Esalen to park at the top of the (enormous) hill and wait for someone to come get us. There was a definite exclusivity vibe emitted from this crazy place. While we waited, Cody laid on his back with his GoPro in hand and tried to film all of the stars we could see. He also tried to convince me that this weird tube-shaped light structure was the Milky Way. What can I say? It was 1a.m. and there were a lot of freaking stars out there. There were two other younger girls who had also signed up for the early morning soak with us. A guy came and got us right at 1a.m. and walked us down the hill to a small security hut where we signed our names and allowed them to check our bags for glass of some sort. In the midst of the bag searching, there was a joke about how the Esalen employees were not TSA agents, which was only the beginning of the slew of government jokes we would hear before our time ended.
During the preliminary searching, we learned a few things from the obviously under the influence employees. First of all, there had been a juvenile mountain lion seen on the premises that we should keep an eye out for (great). And secondly, the tube-shaped light structure was definitely the Milky Way according to the guy in the parka. Cody's "I told you so" look was evident even through the darkness.
The next two hours of life are sort of fuzzy. We were directed to the springs (large stone tubs) where we were to soak. We were shown how to turn on and off the water that flows out of a spring at 119 degrees. And then we were NAKED and sitting in huge bath tubs full of lusciously hot water that smelled like rotten eggs and felt like a blanket from heaven. It only seemed weird to be naked in front of complete strangers for a few minutes. Then all of the sudden the fact that I had on no clothes and no bathing suit seemed downright normal, even logical.
We spent two hours moving from tub to tub mainly trying to avoid ever having to be in a tub with other naked people. We listened to some of the weirdest conversations about government conspiracy theories and must-watch documentaries and aliens and being true to yourself. I was lulled by the crashing waves directly below us. The moonless night was dark enough to hide my embarrassment about being nude and not being part of the counterculture that Esalen takes such pride in. There were some people in the tubs who were actually staying at the resort. These folks were obviously different, if for no other reason than they were willing to spend thousands of dollars to attend a wellness retreat, something that a lot of people (probably including myself) aren't willing to do.
As is the case with a lot of experiences that unfold in the wee hours of the morning, this one seemed significant to me. The cold air and hot water and crashing waves and low voices all mixed together to create a couple of hours of existence that stood out from the rest. As I floated in the water, I couldn't help but consider my own wellness. The past year of my life replayed in my mind as I eavesdropped on strangers talking to strangers about living a life that is true and authentic. I listened to conversations that I would have rolled my eyes at in the daylight, but that I believed in the darkness. I didn't feel like me for those few hours. The environment was too foreign for Katy Prater from Ft. Smith, Arkansas to exist within.
In those hot tubs, I vowed to be better to me moving forward. I promised not to be so hard on myself, especially in respect to getting pregnant. I assured myself that not having kids at this very moment is not a problem. I resolved to having children one day somehow. I made note of all of the good things in my life that make floating in hot mineral springs on the edge of the country in the middle of the night possible. I laid my head against Cody's chest and I breathed deeply at the thought of the enormous well of love that I have for this impossibly good human being that I get to travel the world with. And for those couple of hours I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
3a.m. eventually came. We managed to navigate back to our cars without getting mauled by the juvenile mountain lion (although I honestly was so relaxed I wouldn't have cared much). We drove the thirty minutes or so back to our little cabin and crawled back into bed. Before I fell asleep, I made myself remember one more time. I wanted to make sure that the tubs and the love and the vow to be better weren't lost in the dream world of the early morning hours. I wanted to make sure that my two hours at Esalen carried some weight and that the "deep change" that the website touted was a possibility even after the sun rose over Big Sur.
.
 |
| I took this picture at about 3:15a.m. and I wasn't even mad. |
Esalen's website describes the resort as the following: "A community of practice. A place of pilgrimage. An integral learning environment devoted to pioneering deep change in self and society; in heart, spirit, body, and mind. Esalen is where seekers serve seekers, and where the veil between what is actual and what is possible is as thin as mist."
So yeah, there's that. Cody and I decided that we wanted to experience this magical place with the thin mist and pilgrims ASAP. We especially wanted to experience this place after reading about its history as a hippie counterculture community where lots of famous psychologists, reseachers, and celebrities (Bob Dylan, Abraham Maslow, sat around and did LSD and yoga and tried to determine what all of this life stuff means. We gladly paid $25 each to be able to soak in the powerful springs of Esalen from 1-3a.m. All of the other time is dedicated strictly to the people who actually stay at the Institute for one of the wellness programs.
We set out from our campground in the pitch black darkness of Big Sur, winding along the Highway only feet from hurling our Toyota Corolla into the Pacific Ocean. We were so tired. It was kind of cold. Everything in our bodies was screaming no and yet when someone mentions deep change and a big tub of hot water, Cody and I are both willing to do just about anything.
Funny side story - Before we started driving toward Esalen, I was waiting on Cody in the car while he went back to the cabin for something he had forgotten. Out of the corner of my scratchy eye balls, I noticed something rustling in the weeds and saw a skunk come walking out of the brush not three feet from my car door. In this moment, time slowed to a crawl as I stared at that skunk frozen in fear for my unsuspecting, equally tired husband who was fumbling in the cabin for his swim trunks. I ran through every possible strategy of how to avoid myself and Cody getting sprayed by said skunk. In the end, I just sat and stared at him until he eventually turned around and went back to where he came from seconds before Cody made his way back to the car. It wasn't until the next morning that I really put together the pieces of how terrible and yet hilarious it would have been if that skunk hadn't simply walked away.
Okay, back to Esalen and the magical springs. We had strict instructions from the employees at Esalen to park at the top of the (enormous) hill and wait for someone to come get us. There was a definite exclusivity vibe emitted from this crazy place. While we waited, Cody laid on his back with his GoPro in hand and tried to film all of the stars we could see. He also tried to convince me that this weird tube-shaped light structure was the Milky Way. What can I say? It was 1a.m. and there were a lot of freaking stars out there. There were two other younger girls who had also signed up for the early morning soak with us. A guy came and got us right at 1a.m. and walked us down the hill to a small security hut where we signed our names and allowed them to check our bags for glass of some sort. In the midst of the bag searching, there was a joke about how the Esalen employees were not TSA agents, which was only the beginning of the slew of government jokes we would hear before our time ended.
During the preliminary searching, we learned a few things from the obviously under the influence employees. First of all, there had been a juvenile mountain lion seen on the premises that we should keep an eye out for (great). And secondly, the tube-shaped light structure was definitely the Milky Way according to the guy in the parka. Cody's "I told you so" look was evident even through the darkness.
The next two hours of life are sort of fuzzy. We were directed to the springs (large stone tubs) where we were to soak. We were shown how to turn on and off the water that flows out of a spring at 119 degrees. And then we were NAKED and sitting in huge bath tubs full of lusciously hot water that smelled like rotten eggs and felt like a blanket from heaven. It only seemed weird to be naked in front of complete strangers for a few minutes. Then all of the sudden the fact that I had on no clothes and no bathing suit seemed downright normal, even logical.
We spent two hours moving from tub to tub mainly trying to avoid ever having to be in a tub with other naked people. We listened to some of the weirdest conversations about government conspiracy theories and must-watch documentaries and aliens and being true to yourself. I was lulled by the crashing waves directly below us. The moonless night was dark enough to hide my embarrassment about being nude and not being part of the counterculture that Esalen takes such pride in. There were some people in the tubs who were actually staying at the resort. These folks were obviously different, if for no other reason than they were willing to spend thousands of dollars to attend a wellness retreat, something that a lot of people (probably including myself) aren't willing to do.
As is the case with a lot of experiences that unfold in the wee hours of the morning, this one seemed significant to me. The cold air and hot water and crashing waves and low voices all mixed together to create a couple of hours of existence that stood out from the rest. As I floated in the water, I couldn't help but consider my own wellness. The past year of my life replayed in my mind as I eavesdropped on strangers talking to strangers about living a life that is true and authentic. I listened to conversations that I would have rolled my eyes at in the daylight, but that I believed in the darkness. I didn't feel like me for those few hours. The environment was too foreign for Katy Prater from Ft. Smith, Arkansas to exist within.
In those hot tubs, I vowed to be better to me moving forward. I promised not to be so hard on myself, especially in respect to getting pregnant. I assured myself that not having kids at this very moment is not a problem. I resolved to having children one day somehow. I made note of all of the good things in my life that make floating in hot mineral springs on the edge of the country in the middle of the night possible. I laid my head against Cody's chest and I breathed deeply at the thought of the enormous well of love that I have for this impossibly good human being that I get to travel the world with. And for those couple of hours I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
3a.m. eventually came. We managed to navigate back to our cars without getting mauled by the juvenile mountain lion (although I honestly was so relaxed I wouldn't have cared much). We drove the thirty minutes or so back to our little cabin and crawled back into bed. Before I fell asleep, I made myself remember one more time. I wanted to make sure that the tubs and the love and the vow to be better weren't lost in the dream world of the early morning hours. I wanted to make sure that my two hours at Esalen carried some weight and that the "deep change" that the website touted was a possibility even after the sun rose over Big Sur.
 |
| We sat in this very tub, except it was completely dark so I didn't know it was this pretty. |
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