tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289573632024-03-23T14:05:55.630-04:00Sarah SolitaireFrom infertility as a single woman to acupuncture...Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.comBlogger832125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-84297289810633419772010-10-31T10:40:00.002-04:002010-10-31T10:55:46.393-04:00RefiningI think I've posted before about how I'd like to be one of those minimalist types. You know, people who have 20 items of clothing in total, one laptop and this spare clean apartment with one sofa in it. Or something. But, I like shopping, so that's always been a problem for me.<div><br /></div><div>But I set my mind on <i>slightly</i> reducing the number of possessions I have. Of course, this means that I have to wait for suitable moments of time and energy in which I can tackle such projects, but I am on a clothing kick right now.</div><div><br /></div><div>Last week I reduced the number of casual pants I have to 40 (this includes all shorts, track pants, yoga pants as well as jeans and weekend stuff). It makes me cringe a bit to relate that I had to <i>reduce</i> to this number, as 40 still seems impossibly high. Why 40? It just kind of happened. I had 50 in my head as a number for pants overall (with the aim some day of having 50 pants + skirts, and then whittling the number down further). But I didn't have the energy to tackle work pants, so I started with the closet section that has casual pants in it, and once I'd tried everything on and put everything that didn't fit or I didn't like or just plain wasn't going to ever happen again on to the "donate" pile, it came out to 40 left. So I stopped there. More than 20 pairs of pants got donated. Eeek. So much STUFF. Too much.</div><div><br /></div><div>This week I went on a shoe buying binge (hey! BOGO!), so it came time to tackle shoes. I have gone up half a size in shoes in the last 5 years or so (mostly I think due to gaining weight but I lost 22 lbs and have kept it off for ~18 months and the feet have not shrunk). So there are many shoes that I just couldn't wear any more without wincing. Onto the donate pile they went, and when I counted what was left, I had .... 39 pairs of shoes. Given that I like round numbers, one pair of shoes was rescued from the donate pile to make 40. It's weird how that number cropped up again.</div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe 40 will be my number. Maybe I'll try for 40 tops next. [Well, being honest, it'll probably be 40 sweaters, 40 tops/shirts, and 40 t-shirts.]</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, the trick is going to be to reduce my shopping tendencies. Having limited spare time has helped with this, of course, and I am making a conscious effort NOT to just buy things mindlessly. I'd rather buy fewer, higher quality pieces of clothing that will last a long time, than keep consuming, consuming, consuming. But it's so damn hard to change ingrained habits.</div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-9055094472791969912010-09-24T22:05:00.002-04:002010-09-24T22:07:28.753-04:00All clear on the boob frontThank you guys for hanging out with me, and sending me good vibes. It is good to know that you are there.<div><br /></div><div>I got the letter on the boob issue today - no abnormal findings. Phew. Even though I was only saying today that I felt sure that there was nothing wrong - with every day that went by, it seemed less and less urgent, and logically I knew that I should be fine, still, I breathed a sigh of relief when the official word came. </div><div><br /></div><div>Phew.</div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-4288947429084357012010-09-18T20:16:00.005-04:002010-09-18T20:34:40.913-04:00The finding<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I have something in my boob, apparently. My new doc told me to get a mammogram, so I did, and now they're being all freaky that they can't provide me with a report until they get my baseline mammo from my old doctor and compare. Because there's a "finding." I expect that it's nothing, as if it was something serious: (a) you'd be able to feel something, which you can't, and (b) they wouldn't be sending me snail mail letters telling me to get the mammo film over to them, they'd be calling on the fellytone, and insisting on follow-up imaging STAT. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But still, the mind can't help but wander over to the particular corner of memory lane where jabbing oneself with fertility drugs is stored, and thinking...hmmmm. Ah well, all will be clear eventually I suppose. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And I don't feel that I can share with too many people because then it's like I'm making a mountain out of a molehill, and demanding attention. But my work friends have been useless, frankly. One is a radiologist's wife, immediately freaked, and had me call her husband to discuss, who of course said "well, this could be perfectly normal," which is what I knew all along - it could just be some fibrous stuff that means nothing. Another has had many cystic things in her boobs, and thinks I'm making a mountain out of a molehill. Which I'm not. I just </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">mentioned</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> it. Gah. So that put me off mentioning it to other people outside the family, because most of them don't know me well enough to know my level of not freaking out but still being just a teensy bit concerned at the back of my mind.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So, here I am. Not that I have an audience here any more, but it makes me feel better to put stuff out there in the ether. Sharing without </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">really</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> sharing, as it were. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I suppose I shall call my old doc </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">again </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">on Monday and find out if they've sent the darn records off yet. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It doesn't help that I got the second letter reminding me that they need to see the previous mammo on the anniversary of my mom's death. At a young age. From the big C. But a different organ. But </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">still</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. Gah. </span></span></div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-84627667282817826402010-08-20T13:25:00.002-04:002010-08-20T13:46:31.590-04:00It's been a whileI went to a new GYN yesterday (I have switched to a practice that does not include any OB along with their GYN - much more civilized for the likes of me). She tried to talk me into doing fertility treatments while I still had time. Umm, yeah. <div><br /></div><div>OK, so I had tried to fudge my history with the nurse a little bit when they were setting up their new patient screen, by saying I'd done "a few" IVFs and downplaying the whole thing. Eventually, the truth will out, of course. But I did like the way she tried to imply that my fertility problems might have been my partner's, and that these days you can "order out" while you're single and use a donor. Ha! After I explained that I <i>was</i> "ordering out" and had tried <i>three</i> different donors, she finally got the point.</div><div><br /></div><div>And once the whole sordid history ["<i>how</i> many cycles?"] came out, she sat back and said "Ah. I see." And I said "really, I am at peace with it. I am FINE if I never have kids. If I meet someone new and I manage to get pregnant, I'll be THRILLED. If not, that's OK. I'm not doing any more treatments." And we moved swiftly along. </div><div><br /></div><div>But will I be fine? Someone recently told me that they saw me working with children in the future, especially those with ADD/ADHD. And I immediately died a little inside, and wondered how I could handle that if I don't have kids of my own. Of course, I still may adopt. Still could do donor egg. Still could have a miracle. Still could climb Mount Everest. </div><div><br /></div><div>I suppose I had always seen myself doing infertility work due to my particular background, but you know, I've been looking around at doctoral programs, and at the people jumping on the infertility bandwagon, and it isn't really appealing, to be honest. I think these days I see myself more as a generalist - a little infertility, a little back pain, a little geriatric work, a little pediatric. But then again, maybe I should be a brain specialist. I do think so much infertility is actually a brain/heart/mind thing as opposed to a plumbing problem. We're under so much stress that it really does mess everything else up. I look back now to see how tightly wound I was going through those IVF cycles, and how I am much looser and freer these days (in spite of my crazy schedule), and wonder if things would have been different if only I'd got the stress, the grief, the depression, the crazy dealt with first. Not that I didn't try. I tried damn hard. But I didn't know how, and people telling me "just relax" and "open your heart" stressed me out even more. So maybe I could tie it all together - infertility, depression, ADD/ADHD, anxiety, it's all in the mind. Maybe <i>that's</i> where I'm heading.</div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-4483092337985066292010-06-04T09:55:00.004-04:002010-06-04T15:33:01.263-04:00Crunch. Time.You know how when you are impossibly busy, something else comes along, and you think "holy crap, how am I going to fit <em>this</em> in as well?" And then you fit it in somehow, and then something further comes along, and you think "Oh Lord, another thing, how on <em>earth</em> is this going to work out?" And then it does...<br /><br />Hopefully.<br /><br />So, hahaha, in addition to my impossibly busy schedule, I am about to start a herbal internship program for one day a week. I think I have gone slightly crazy. <em>But</em>, it was an opportunity too good to pass up. This is the opportunity about which I was already wondering how to finagle even the possibility of getting an interview for in my third year. This is the opportunity that you apparently have to be <em>reccomended</em> for. This is with the most respected acu doc in the area. I am super lucky that someone in the program recommended me for this opportunity now. I may not get another shot at this, and I would be <em>insane</em> to let concerns about my schedule prevent me from going for it. Insane. I can't <em>not</em> do this. I <em>will</em> make this work somehow.<br /><br />In other words, I'm thrilled. But frantic schedule reshuffling will now commence. I <em>think</em> if I move my work start time an hour earlier, and the finish time an hour later on Mondays and Fridays, and drop a clinic session at school, I will be OK.Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-64957731816808457242010-05-25T10:54:00.002-04:002010-05-25T11:17:41.304-04:00ImaginingsI find that, slowly but surely, I am starting to imagine what my future life might be like in acupuncture. I am finding what floats my boat, and what I care not-so-much about. Of course, I still have a long way to go, and a lot of things to learn. But it is nice that my imaginings are starting to take shape. <br /><br />So far I am liking the gentle Japanese-style of acu (as opposed to Chinese-style "no pain, no gain"), herbal medicines (though the classes are boring and with a TON of information to learn), ear acu (I cleared up my own backache in 5 minutes just jamming a probe on the right points in my ears). And, actually, I like learning the "western" medical stuff. Some of my classmates are dismissive of western medicine because we're doing the eastern spiritual/energetic stuff so why should we have to sit through pathology classes? But I like it. Partly because I have always liked gross medical stuff, although of course I am always imagining I have whatever we're studying - I have a spot on my arm that has in my mind been both skin cancer and MRSA within the course of a week. And every time we talk about skin diseases or infectious diseases I come over all itchy, which is not terribly reassuring. But partly I like it because I know that patients will be coming in with western diagnoses. They won't be saying "oh, I get dizzy now and again, and sometimes I am thirsty and sometimes I pee a lot." They'll be saying "I have high blood pressure and diabetes." And I want to be able to understand the disease, and to be able to speak in terms that the person can understand. I also want to be able to understand prescription drugs, so that I can know which drugs and herbs react/interfere with each other. Most doctors will just say "I don't understand herbs, so I don't know which ones react, therefore don't take any." If I can counter with appropriate information for the patient to take back to their doctor, all the better. But it would be nice not to have to fight with patients' doctors. It would be nice to work in an integrative setting with a doctor that is not dismissive of this stuff.<br /><br />Of course, thinking about working in a doctor's office doesn't stop me from constantly looking at buildings in my city and thinking about whether they would make a good clinic. Particularly old stores with apartments above them. I really dig the idea of living above the shop, as it were. I don't know whether this is just because it would save money to have one location, or because it appeals to a sense of history. That's the way people used to run their businesses - out of their homes. It just seems funky and cool. Of course, it does mean living on a busier road, as such stores are not generally on quiet residential backwaters, but hey, that's the price you pay.Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-73127503863968976992010-05-09T19:45:00.003-04:002010-05-09T20:07:20.726-04:00Whoa. Freaky.So, right, akashic record thing. They said I had to open myself up to other things, especially to learning about areas that are adjunct to or complementary to what I'm learning with Chinese medicine. Maybe other healing modalities, other herbal medicine traditions. Whatever whets my interest. I shouldn't cry off about not having enough time, I should just do it. Go to the seminars or classes or whatever. And broaden my horizons. Not the least because the more things I go to, the more people I will meet, including (I hope) the future Mr. Sarah.<div><br /></div><div>Right. <i>Just do it.</i> Easier said than done to someone who is chronically worried about being time-deprived.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, we were leaving the school clinic on Saturday when I got persuaded to go to the home of some fellow students to learn about an energetic healing class one of them is doing. I said no to start with, true to form. But they pushed, they said there would be food, and that it would only be a few hours and besides, I had nothing else planned for Saturday night. So with the "just do it" motto floating around my head, I stepped out of my comfort zone and said yes.</div><div><br /></div><div>We had a nice dinner, and then sat around discussing this healing thing, and I've got to say, I was a bit skeptical. It involves what basically appear to be mirrors. And some colored threads. And some other things that I couldn't figure out. Yah. Like I said, it wasn't floating my boat any. But the guy that has done the class decided to do a treatment on me to demonstrate. And.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Whoosh</i> is all I can say. </div><div><br /></div><div>I felt this energy from these darn mirror things. I felt my chakras, especially the ones where I have blockages. I felt fear bubbling up. I felt many things. And then they left me for 10 minutes to relax, and as I was lying there, all these insights came to me. Insights into the whole infertility mess and my mother's death. About how things happen to us that we can't control and plan for. And I felt at peace. It was like these two aspects of my life were mirrors - my mother got ripped away from me, and so did my child. Or, at least, the child I <i>thought</i> I was creating with my carefully planned SMC backup plan. You can't plan. Things happen. Sometimes things happen to teach us a lesson in a fairly brutal fashion. But it was like, <i>here,</i> here is this 30-year period of your life in which you were miserable. Bookended by two miserable events. But for the first time, I came to see them as bookends. A beginning and an end. An open and a close. A start and a finish. And that I can close that chapter of my life, and look on to the next with happiness. Because I don't need to drag the misery around any more.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then my friends came back in the room, and continued the healing, and we got to a point where my head opened up and I got dizzy from the vastness of space that was inside my head.</div><div><br /></div><div>Um. Yeah. <i>Whoosh.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Don't worry. My head went back to normal again. <i>I think...</i></div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-55168915457336736442010-05-07T10:29:00.003-04:002010-05-07T11:12:51.179-04:00BlurtBefore the crushing exhaustion of a new semester at school begins again, I thought I'd jot down a few random thoughts:<br /><br />***<br /><br />I had an amazing psychic/akashic record reading type thing done over the weekend. It has given me hope again on many levels. I'm not sure I can write about it adequately without sounding like a complete fruitcake, but I believe in what happened, and I believe the message I got that there is a soul waiting for me to be its mother. And that it doesn't necessarily have to be through adoption. So I am again thinking about this whole motherhood thing rather than remaining child free. We asked if this soul was born yet, and got the answer that it has not. But, anyway, first I'm going to look for my husband/boyfriend, who I also believe is out there somewhere for me. And then we'll see what happens.<br /><br />***<br /><br />Are you a regimen type of a gal? I mean beauty regimen here. I have always been a random collector of products tried and not stuck with. But I have been thinking about the number of chemicals we expose ourselves to on a daily basis, and am thinking that this random usage of different items might expose me to more types of chemicals than if I stuck to one range of things. Surely items from one brand that are meant to work together will have underlying basic formulae that share ingredients? So if I switched to a complete regimen, might this cut down on the number of different chemicals? Anyway, I'm going to give it a go. I'm going to try being a regimen following lovely. And on that note, do you have any natural beauty brands that you <em>love</em>? Skin care, hair care, make up. Or even cleaning products?<br /><br />***<br /><br />Do you love to-do lists? I remember blogging previously about trying out a web-based to do organizer. Well, I gave up on that one pretty quickly, but I am now trying out <a href="http://www.rememberthemilk.com/">http://www.rememberthemilk.com/</a> So far, me likey! I ever have this dream of being organized. And, talking of which, my house is still tidy, which is probably a record for me. I am trying my very best to morph into a neat freak. I don't want to hire someone to clean for me - I tried that out before, and while I liked coming home to a nicely mopped floor every other week, it didn't satisfy me on a fundamental level. Strangely, making small but incremental progress in cleanliness brought about by my own actions <em>is</em> satisfying.<br /><br />***<br /><br />I spoke to a woman yesterday who is from England and has been in the States about the same length of time as me. And she's a year younger than me. But she still spoke with a<em> </em>very English accent, but me, not so much. I have really modulated the way I speak over the years, and I wonder what this says about me. Or her. It was a <em>very </em>noticeable difference when we were talking. You say skedule, laugh at the way I say shhedule, and it won't be long before I'll say skedule too. Same with yoggurt and yohgurt. Same with any number of other words. Do I just associate more with people that are not terribly tactful and burst out laughing at my strange "mispronounciations"? Or am I more sensitive to people laughing at me? I hate it. Hate, hate, hate. And I know they're not laughing in a mean way most of the time (although when I said urEYEnal to a room full of people recently instead of Urihnal, that got some pretty harsh laughter and teasing afterwards). I'm not trying to put on an American accent. I still stand out, but I say many words in an American way. And there are some words I am incapable of saying differently, like bahth, and cahstle. I guess those are ingrained somehow, whereas the other words are easy for me to say differently. Are the people that stick with their accents incapable of changing? Do they just want to hold firm and be the obvious English person? Am I just scared of standing out?Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-34928445265275541512010-05-01T10:13:00.003-04:002010-05-01T10:43:41.117-04:00The Happiness ProjectI have been doing a lot of thinking lately, aided by an oh-so-short 2 week break from school. Of course, you know me, there was some thinking about children in there, but mostly I was thinking about happiness. <div><br /></div><div>On the children front, I still vacillate between thinking I will adopt when I have graduated, and thinking that I will remain child-free. I was recently, uh, <i>pursued </i>(in a nice way) by a guy who appeared very interested in dating. The problem was that his personality rubs me the wrong way, and I just don't see myself wanting to spend all that much time in his company. However, of course, my ovaries piped up, and there I was thinking "well, I'm 41, so if I really want to prove that I <i>might</i> have some fertility left in there, maybe I should just date the guy for a while and see..." But, thankfully, sanity reasserted itself, and I decided that I didn't want to have some callow sperm-stealing relationship on a whim to prove multiple RE's wrong. I decided that it was more important to me to date the <i>right</i> person, or parent the <i>right</i> child (however that child comes to me), than to go for some desperate attempt to conceive. I've tried enough desperate attempts at conceiving, thank you very much.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, it was an eye-opener to me that I was able to back away, and rest easy in the knowledge that the longing for a genetic child really <i>is</i> ebbing away. And I am feeling more comfortable with <i>both</i> the idea of adopting and remaining child-free. I don't know what I will do, but I can see happiness in my future with either.</div><div><br /></div><div>Neatly (or not) segueing into the happiness project...</div><div><br /></div><div>One of my wishes for myself when I decided to give up the infertility treatment lark was to make a life for myself that involved me being happy. But of course I had spent so long imagining a life with children that I couldn't picture what happiness involved if it didn't include children. I have therefore needed to really think about what would actually make me happy. So I routinely now (when I have time) jumble up all my daydreams and imaginings and try to figure out how to get from <i>here</i> to <i>there</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Damn, it's hard, though. Even when I think my happiness wishes are pretty basic. But they include things like "coming home to a clean house" which means I have to try to actually keep the house clean. And I have a slob streak a mile wide, I admit. Every time I think I'm getting better, I don't empty the dishwasher on schedule, and then the dirty dishes pile up waiting. And then it makes me grouchy. But do I go and empty the darn dishwasher? Not always, no, and it'll get overwhelming very quickly. But I am <i>trying</i>. I am trying to be better. I want to be the type of person that keeps a clean house all the time. I don't want to rely on a cleaning lady. I want to <i>be</i> the clean freak. I am hoping that by rephrasing cleaning as a way to increase my happiness, rather than as a chore, it will work better this time. </div><div><br /></div><div>Do you have any housekeeping shortcuts or tips? Spill. I need 'em. </div><div><br /></div><div>Do you have any happiness suggestions? Bring 'em on. This is going to be an ongoing project for the rest of my life, whether I have kids or not, so any and all suggestions are welcome.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's my happiness list:</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Love</b> - connect with friends and be better at it. Ditto family. Ditto partner in life.</div><div><b>Laughter</b> - see above re relationships. Take time to laugh.</div><div><b>Place</b> - I have moved around too much. I want to feel rooted in place, so, work to establish connections in the neighborhood, town, state.</div><div><b>Home</b> - I like the idea of clean minimalism, of no clutter, of airy open spaces. Of loving my house instead of thinking "I hope nobody sees the dirty laundry lying around." Be clean. Keep clean. Love my home. Replace things I don't love with fewer, better things.</div><div><b>Travel</b> - stop waiting for other people to be available to travel. Stop making excuses. Get out there and see places!</div><div><b>Body</b> - strong, healthy, bendy. Exercise, do yoga, eat to nourish myself. Preferably be thin, but at least get to a healthy weight.</div><div><b>Mind</b> - be the lady that frequents the library, keeps up with news, movies and theater, and has interesting conversations. Meditate.</div><div><br /></div><div>Simple, right? Hahaha, it seems a bit overwhelming when I type it out. But it's not <i>so</i> so bad really. And I'm focusing on small things at a time. The focus this term at school is on cleaning house. Each semester so far I have cleaned in the break, and then let it fall into disaster the rest of the semester because I have no time. And then I end up in semi-squalor by the time finals come around. I have launched grandiose plans and schedules for cleaning, only to have them fail because they were too much to cope with. I have planned to get a cleaning lady, but put it off for so long that I talked myself out of it. But no. Not this time. This time I will figure out how to make it work, damn it. My happiness depends on it.</div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-55525503304049829222010-03-22T10:27:00.003-04:002010-03-22T10:39:21.088-04:00My notes, my choice.I am, it would seem, a bitch. And I don't care. <br /><br />We have this class on Saturday mornings which is <em>hard</em>. The prof. gives us an overload of information, and gives us two tests every week. <em>Every week!</em> Two! And I feel like I struggle. I write reams of notes, I study, I read the text book. And each week those tests are damn hard. I have a suspicion that two people in the class have got hold of old tests from other classes and are cheating. But I am not saying anything about them to anyone in charge, because eventually they'll get theirs. If they're not properly learning the stuff, they'll suffer in the end on one exam or another. And frankly, if that's their attitude to learning medical stuff, they'll suffer in their careers because they won't know what's going on when a patient comes in and says "I have X disease, can you help?" At least with acu they won't kill people if they treat wrongly, but it won't necessarily heighten the reputation of acu for the rest of us. But, whatever.<br /><br />Anyway, there's this subset of people in class who have chosen not to take notes. Including the cheaters. But also including the party girl subset. I mean, I do have <em>some</em> sympathy for them - it's hard to get up early on Saturday after you've been out the night before. They sit there and listen (most of the time) or stare blankly at the wall thinking about their headaches. While I, and most others, didn't go out on Friday because we were effing studying. We worker bees are all getting pretty pissed about the whole thing.<br /><br />So this week one of the "I have no need to take notes" people asked me if she could borrow my notes and copy them. And I said no. It would be a different matter if she'd missed the class because she was sick. Or if she struggled with taking notes, or with English, or with anything else. I have no problem in helping people out, because I know it is often easier for me than it is for others. But sitting there in class, choosing not to take notes? While I, every week, end up with a sore arm because I am writing so much? Ah no, you do not get to have me as your secretary taking dictation for you.<br /><br />Heh. She's pissed at me. I wonder how long she'll keep it up for, but I am unrepentant. You're an adult, dearie, it's time to take responsibility for your own actions.Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-2574568110004953362010-03-08T10:07:00.004-05:002010-03-08T10:29:35.053-05:00It's the herbs, manI am feeling so much better in the last couple of weeks. This semester (trimester actually, as there's 3 of them in the year, but as an infertile, I hate that damn word) has been so damn HARD. I have been battling crushing exhaustion for 8 full weeks, which is even worse than when I first started at school. I was getting miserable, crying in my yoga classes out of the suckiness of it all, and generally living in a disgusting pig sty because I didn't have the energy to clean. And now I'm finally crawling out of the pit. The house is slowly becoming respectable again, and I have energy left over to do more than simply exist.<br /><br />Of course, a lot of it is just getting accustomed to the new schedule, which is a lot tougher this year and involves a lot more standing while working in the clinic, which is hard when you're used to sitting on your butt all day. Some of the improvement is diet-related - eating more fruit, not letting myself get quite so dehydrated while working in the school clinic (yay for coconut water), and stepping up the protein intake. [Sadly, I have not cut back on the chocolate intake, but you can't do everything at once.] But some of it I think is herb-related. I have got back on a regimen of tonifying herbs, and also herbs to help my immune system. And that's got me really excited about herbal medicines again, because I definitely feel like they are working and giving me a boost. Prior to deciding on studying acupuncture, I had briefly considered studying herbs, but there didn't seem to be any formal recognized training programs for "western" herbs. So I figured I'd study the Chinese herbs, and then try to supplement my knowledge after graduation. But then school intervened, I got a bit disheartened about the sheer amount of memorization that studying herbs would require, and I got a bit annoyed about the teaching methods. The herb classes are, to be honest, boring and uninspiring.<br /><br />But now I have some more energy going through me, I like to dip into the herbal textbooks at random and read about the herbs. And it amazes me that people found out so much. Not just that they tried to eat every plant known to man (because if you're starving, you <em>would</em>). But that they tried all the different parts of the plants - some of them have different actions in the body depending on whether you are taking the root, the leaves, the fruit, the bark, etc. And then tried cooking them different ways, and realized some have different actions depending on how they are prepared. Man, those people must have been in tune with their bodies. I mean, nowadays would we even recognize the action that a herb is having on us? There's no way that we'd be able to sift out the different responses from all the daily "noise" of living. And the other thing I find amazing is that we <em>still</em> haven't figured out all the compounds that are present in some of these plants.<br /><br />Then I go off into little reveries about how stunning it is that here we are, on this planet, and <em>soemone</em> provided us with all these different plants that can help cure our ailments. That there are all these substances out there that can help us if we only would try them. Makes you start thinking about the existence of God all over again.Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-72296338677638284822010-03-01T10:35:00.002-05:002010-03-01T10:52:10.361-05:00Life, death, and reflectionI'm still here! BUT I will say that this semester is harder and more crushingly exhausting than the last. Which was harder and more crushingly exhausting than the previous semester. And so on, and so forth. So I am only just emerging from the pit of despair and exhaustion that I created for myself with this change in schedule.<br /><br />Anyway, so much for fate. I haven't had any infertility patients since I last posted. Weird. But that's OK. I'm building up my confidence, reviewing my acu point locations and needling skills, and generally mostly enjoying it all. When it all comes together, I will know my way forward and what I am supposed to work on. Or maybe I'm not supposed to specialize. There is, after all, something profound about helping someone who is in pain. Whether that is physical pain or emotional pain. It's all very amazing to see someone get off that treatment table looking relaxed and saying that they feel better.<br /><br />We are doing a lot of "western" medical stuff this term at school. And we've done some recent work in different classes on cancer and also on respiratory diseases (among many others). Now, for me this has been hard, and yet eye-opening. My mother died from lung cancer at a very young age, and yet she was not a smoker. One of the pieces of anger that I'd carried around for many years is that she was initially misdiagnosed. I mean, when a 37 year-old female non-smoker walks in with a chronic cough, I don't suppose your thoughts would immediately go to a not-terribly-common-but-aggressive form of lung cancer, would they? No, indeed. And her doctor's thoughts didn't go there either. She was sent away twice with a diagnosis of bronchitis before they realized what was going on, as she was going downhill so rapidly. I knew this, and while for many years I have known that I shouldn't have expected anything else, and that this really <em>wasn't</em> malpractice or anything but just the expected course of events, there was still this anger that perhaps she'd have got better if it had been picked up earlier. <br /><br />Now I know differently. Now, learning this stuff on cancer, and <em>her</em> cancer in particular, I know for certain that she would be dead by now whatever happened. At most, she'd have got a few more months. Maybe a year or two if a miracle had occurred. The 5-year survival rate is abysmally low for that cancer, even with the best treatments. Even now, 30 years after this all happened, it is very hard to treat. This was a nasty, nasty cancer. They could not have prevented her dying. <br /><br />So.<br /><br />That's that. It's kind of horrible to learn, and yet that little bit of anger is evaporating. She was destined to go. We couldn't have done more, and perhaps it was better to go so quickly and not draw things out.<br /><br />'S funny. I never thought that going to acu school would do these things for me. And yet, it is changing me. Day in, day out, there are changes going on inside of me. And that is something to be grateful for.Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-26357888191166992892010-01-07T10:02:00.002-05:002010-01-07T10:09:35.284-05:00Fate?It was my first day in the student clinic yesterday. In the morning I just observed on some simple pain cases. In the afternoon, I got to work on my first patient (in tandem with a more experienced student, and two doctors). And the first one I worked on? Yup, an infertility patient.<br /><br /><div>It was like the giant hand of fate was pressing on my head as soon as I walked in the room and realized what she was there for. It was saying "you SHALL work on infertility cases whether you want to or not." Not that I don't want to, necessarily, but sometimes I'd like the <em>illusion</em> of having a choice.</div><div> </div><br />God, the poor woman. I knew exactly how she felt as she started crying in despair at the conflicting instructions from her RE not to take Chinese herbs, and the exortations of the main clinic doctor to take herbs and just give them three months. What is a person to do when these forceful personalities are all saying that you have to follow them to the letter and NOT do what the other forceful personality is telling you to do. And then the exercise/don't exercise question cropped up. And of course somebody in the room told her to relax and she'd get pregnant, and she wailed "but it's been two years." Deja <em>fucking</em> vu all over again. I hope I'll be able to tell her soon that I've been there, and to actually help her.Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-10410961316815533262009-12-28T12:23:00.003-05:002009-12-28T12:47:27.151-05:00SnippetyMiscellaneous snippets:<br /><br />***************<br />A dear friend posted on her f-book page about how this was her first Christmas as a mother, and how she was more excited about seeing her boys with their gifts than about her own gifts. And it made me chuckle because of my own reaction. A few years ago in the throws of infertility angst, it would probably have made me seethe with jealousy, and I would have stifled a tear or two because she got to be a mother and I didn't. Or something. But now? Now I thought "awww, you were previously excited about your own gifts? Man, my family Christmas <em>sucks ass</em> in comparison then, because I'm <em>never</em> excited about getting gifts." I think the last time I can remember being excited about getting gifts was when I was about 7. I have been disappointed ever since. No, I should rephrase that. I don't get disappointed because I now have sufficiently low expectations. And actually, this year, I got quite a good haul - from the family I got some nice jammies (that I can get into - I have in the past received clothing that is too small, as a "hint" to make me want to lose weight), a cute silver necklace, a bottle of vino, and chocolate, and from friends I got an interesting cookbook, more vino, more chocolate, a cool reusable shopping bag, and a couple of gift cards. Not bad at all, really.<br /><br />***************<br />I met a nice man who is interesting, and who maybe kinda seems interested in me. Whether it will go anywhere, I have no idea, as I am the <em>worst, </em>most lame person in the history of lameness at flirting. But he bought me a cup of coffee last week, and then on Thursday I got a Merry Christmas hug. So, we'll see. I hope he's the patient type. And that he perseveres in the face of lameness. But it has brought up all sorts of feelings about if I can get him to try to have kids together as a last ditch effort on my part (<em>nota bene:</em> we haven't even had a <em>date</em> yet, so this is wildly inappropriate thinking). And I came to a realization, which startled me. I realized that it is more important for me to approach any potential relationship in its own time, than to be a crazy person and try to rush somebody into ditching contraception just because I have a half-baked fantasy that 9 IVFs were wrong and that I'm actually still fertile. So, <em>finally</em>, a relationship will be more important to me because of its own merits than because of anything it can provide me in the way of kids. I think that's a pretty huge step, as it means I am at last putting away <em>all</em> of the kid fantasies, and am getting on with real life. Whatever real life has in store.<br /><br />***************<br />I freakin' <em>love</em> the public library. Just saying. Every time I go (which is sadly not often these days due to school commitments) I am bowled over by how libraries have changed with the times. You can renew books over the internet. You can order them over the internet. They have magazines! DVDs! All sorts of things. For freeeeee. Awesomeness. If only they had all my school books, I'd be set, as I wouldn't have to pay hundreds of dollars every year to get new text books. Anyway, this year I am determined to keep going to the library even during school time, so I can have a little mental break from studying with some nice piece of fiction, or whatever.<br /><br />***************<br />Merry New Year, one and all. I hope that if you are crushed by your own infertility pain (or any pain, really), that 2010 is the year that things finally go your way. Even if that means getting off the pain treadmill and finding other things to do with your life. Because that can be rewarding too, I promise.Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-91186110776068534942009-12-21T09:24:00.003-05:002009-12-21T11:41:22.136-05:00Do you dream of home?I don't know about you, but until recently I never dreamt of my own house when dreaming of anything set at any home. It was always either the house I grew up in (I lived in the same house from the time I was 6 months old until I left home at 18) or my paternal grandparents' house (similarly, they never moved when I was a kid). Even if the dream was set in the present day. Or if I was conjuring up a scene from a book. It would be set in one of those houses. Other relatives' homes or even other homes that I have lived in never really factored in to the equation, even though they or I may have stayed in them for long periods of time, but I assumed that because they were not "permanent" meant they were lost to my unconscious. Although sometimes I'd dream of my maternal grandparents, and those were set at the house they lived in the longest (that I remember), but if they weren't the main characters in the dream, their house wasn't in it either. I suppose I assumed you get hard wired to certain archetypes of "home" so I figured mine was set. I'd be interested how those of you that moved around as kids dream of home.<br /><br />Until this weekend. I dreamt of my current house. But more specifically, it was a bit of a nightmare. You see, my house got broken into. AGAIN. And I lost my brand new laptop, and more importantly, more sentimental jewelry (my mother's and great-grandmother's engagement rings). The police said that I'm now being targeted and watched, because now they know that I live alone, that I'm out of the house a lot, the house isn't very secure, there's no big dog, and I have expensive taste in electronics (I'm paraphrasing here). And there's a huge crime wave in the neighborhood and they're trying really hard to catch them.<br /><br />Blah. This time the front door was damaged as they jimmied the lock. I have had it repaired, but I have ordered a new, swankier, tougher door, with no soft wood that can be splintered with a pry-bar type of a deal. I can't wait for it to be installed, as I don't feel all that safe any more. [Yes, the alarm was on, and went off, but it was a smash, run in and grab type thing. They were long gone before the police and I arrived.] I also have the alarm company coming on Wednesday to beef up the alarm system.<br /><br />So, my dream. I dreamt that I was in my house, my <em>current</em> house, and there were evil zombie-type people outside trying to get in. They were banging against the living room window and the front door, rattling things, and generally being very menacing and zombie like. But in the dream I knew that I had awesome and terrible magic power, and so I raised myself up and boomed out "by the power vested in me, you shall NOT gain access to this house. This house is SAFE. You will LEAVE this property and not gain entry." And I zapped 'em with the power rays coming out of my hands. And then there were all the zombies with their hands on the windows, melting away and dying these rather horrible deaths. But oh, the evil looks that they gave me as they writhed and melted away were awful and fearsome, and I knew that it was not over and that they were going to try to come back again.<br /><br />I just need to find my inner awesome and terrible power and make my house safe again, and then I'll be good.Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-69611020232003719162009-12-13T08:08:00.005-05:002009-12-13T08:58:54.722-05:00Up, Down, On PainHave you seen the movie "Up" - you know, the animated one with the old guy and the house and balloons and the little fat kid?<div><br /></div><div>I rented it last night. Oh my lord, it made me bawl. I'm not sure that that was the intended effect on the moviegoing public, seeing as it's a Disney movie, and all, and I'm sure it is supposed to be a comedy. But still, there was bawling in my house. The kind of crying that is so loud and involved that you have to snort hard to get gasps of breath in your body inbetween wails. The kind of crying that makes your cat look up in alarm at the terrible racket you are making.</div><div><br /></div><div>You see, at the beginning there's a little montage of the history of how the old crotchety guy got to be the old crotchety guy. It's lovely really, but includes a tiny scene where him and his wife suffer what appears to be the loss of a pregnancy and then never have kids. Presumably because they can't. And of course, to an infertile, this cuts like a knife wound, so it started me off with the sobbing. Of course, they make the best of things, and have a lovely relationship which is shown over the years, but which to my eyes was always tinged with the sadness of what never was. And yet they never get to go off and have the adventures they dreamed of, because there's always some emergency or other to pay for. And then the wife dies. And the man loses his last link to happiness, but has to carry on in his lonely life. And that had me wailing even harder.</div><div><br /></div><div>It got me thinking of course, if they HAD been able to have children, would we have NOT expected them to still dream of having adventures? Is having children enough of an adventure that it leads to a satisfying life? I think the general answer is yes - it is an adventure into how you can live with your heart walking around outside of your body, in having your heart opened up so wide, with learning about responsibility and caring and having to be there and having to be responsive to that little being even when every fiber of your being is worn out, worn down and just plain bored of just one more repetition of "the wheels on the bus" or whatever. But those of us that do not have children, we seem to be expected to go out and find that grand adventure, that BIG life that is allegedly denied to those with children, to find meaning elsewhere. And if we don't do that, are we failures to be pitied? I suppose we are. I suppose I was pitying the old guy in the cartoon. I suppose that's what I was meant to do. And then we are supposed to cry again at the happy, yet poignant, ending montage. Which I did too. Of course there's a happy ending. It's Disney. And WE have to hope for a happy ending too.</div><div><br /></div><div>And yet, there's a story there about loss here. And yes, redemption. There is so much love and loss, and pain in the world, that anything that shows it breaks my heart open anew these days. Any death of a child, of a spouse, of a sibling, of a parent, of any loved one, is terrible. Any infertility, especially if it involves a permanent loss - of a pregnancy, of a hope, of a dream, of a link to a genetic child, is terrible. But what gets me is the people who are left behind, who have to soldier on. Who have to continue living their life because it's not their time to die too. What a terrible fate. We who are left behind have to wallow in the grief even while we're secretly waiting for our own improbable Disney-like happy ending, for redemption, for a fat, obnoxious, annoying kid to knock on our door and change our lives. </div><div><br /></div><div>And yet, I have seen my own pain and how it has changed me. Inside. Without a kid coming along and doing it for me. And would I change that for all the world? That realization that I can change my viewpoint about things and see the good in the bad? Actually, of course I would. I'm not yet so evolved that I cherish all of my pain, that I wouldn't gladly have changed it for success - but I CAN see that it has been in some ways beneficial. That it IS changing my life for the better, and that I can cherish <i>parts</i> of it, parts of my journey. And I am thankful that I can see that much. So why can't I see that pain for others could be good too, in the end? I suppose it's because we all just want to spare everyone from the depths of despair. We see pain in others, yes, even in a Disney cartoon, and are reminded of our own torment. And that hurts.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nobody wants to go through the depths, the dark night of the soul, and yet the depths is precisely where the rebirth of a new hope, a new life, a new light can take place. It's a scary, horrible place, and not everyone has that new hope experience of course, but I wish, I wish, that those that ARE in pain, that have to go through it, can get something good out of it. I wish that we all could fully live in this wonderful adventure of life. Fully live. Even if we have to suffer through pain and loss and disappointment while we're doing it. I wish we could fully take to heart the words of the wise people who have been there before us and come out the other side. I wish we could all find the joy in pain.</div><div><br /></div><div><i></i></div><blockquote><div><i>On pain</i></div><div><br /></div><div>And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.</div><div>And he said:</div><div>Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.</div><div>Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.</div><div>And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;</div><div>And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your field.</div><div>And you would watch with serenity though the winters of your grief.</div><div><br /></div><div>Much of your pain is self-chosen.</div><div>It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.</div><div>Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility;</div><div>For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,</div><div>And the cup he brings, though it burns your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with his own sacred tears.</div></blockquote><div></div><div><br /></div><div>From <i>The Prophet</i>, by Kahlil Gibran</div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-41930295615818130702009-12-06T08:03:00.002-05:002009-12-06T08:37:34.125-05:00A funny thing happenedSee, I was just thinking "hmmm, I really better do a blog post before my 2 remaining readers think I have shuffled off this mortal coil..." when my A/C broke. What's that got to do with blogging, you might wonder. Well, if one doesn't have A/C it gets kinda hot. And when it's kinda hot, you tend to open a window. Or two. So there is my house, sitting there with windows open while I am at work one Friday, thinking "I really <i>should</i> call the A/C repair guys, but I don't want to spend the money and maybe I can last out until the cool weather arrives." And wouldn't you know it, the open windows looked so inviting that a couple of guys just couldn't resist popping the screens off the windows and climbing in. In broad daylight. On a Friday afternoon. As some of my neighbors were walking past with their dogs, and shouting that they were calling the police. So, that was that for my laptop. And my iPod. And some jewelry. Sigh. Off it all went into one of my pillowcases and on to whatever pawn shop/fence is currently paying the most for such things.<div><br /></div><div>So, no computer = no blogging. And you thought I was just lazy - <i>shame on you</i>. Well, OK, I am lazy. Uh, I mean, busy. Uh, well, not living an interesting infertility-related life. But now I have <i>finally</i> got myself a new computer, so I feel obliged to post that I am not dead.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am doing OK, actually. I'm taking stock of the fact that I'll probably never have kids. You'd think I would have been dealing with that all along, and I have. Kind of. But I always had this fantasy that I'd meet a nice guy and get knocked up the old fashioned way, against all the odds. But the odds are climbing higher and higher every day so it's featuring less and less in my imaginings of what my life is going to be like in the future. And that's surprisingly OK. I spend some time every now and then imagining my child-free life, and it brings me comfort. In fact, it's been one of the main ways that I have used in order to be able to crawl out from the pit of despair. What I do is picture myself at 70 and see what I've been able to accomplish without children - what sort of life I've built for myself. See, without paying for kids' things, and school and college, without needing to live in a place with extra bedrooms in a good school district, I figure you can afford to make different life choices.</div><div><br /></div><div>In my imaginings I have built up a picture of myself as a thin, elegant lady who lives in a bijou apartment in NYC (or some other great city like Paris or London), who you might find dashing off to a yoga class, or to the library, or to tea with a dear friend, or to a free concert in Central Park. I have a small wardrobe of high quality designer clothes, and I have minimal but carefully cherished possessions. I am happy and serene, and although I don't live an expensive life, it is interesting and fulfilling.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's funny, when I first started doing this, I set myself a task of picturing ANY sort of life, money no object, reality be damned - let's just picture anything that might make me happy without kids. I had spent so much of my life imagining that kids were the natural progression that I couldn't picture an adulthood without them. So I felt that I had to re-imagine life, and come up with a goal. And this is what gradually emerged. No fabulous yacht sailing around the south Pacific islands, no large mansion, not really anything that wasn't totally unattainable. So when I am wallowing in pity or feeling annoyed with life, I return to this picture, and try to put into action concrete steps that will help me get from <i>here</i> to <i>there</i>. I mean, without kids, why not be totally selfish and just make a life that will feel <i>right</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, I am doing yoga. I am doing it 2 or 3 times a week, and am getting back to bendiness and am gaining some good muscles. I am slowly losing the weight I gained doing infertility treatments. It's taken me over a year, but I am down nearly 25 pounds. I have a ways to go, but one of these days I <i>will</i> be in shape. Each time something no longer fits right, I am being brutal about putting it aside to take to Goodwill. I am no longer hanging on to bigger clothes in case I need them when I am pregnant. Slowly my giant wardrobe that is mostly clothes I can't fit in is being whittled down. Not that I'm at the stage of buying expensive designer things to replace the stuff I am giving away, but I am trying to think about buying things that are stylish and work well together. See, they're little steps, but they are actual, concrete steps that help me to feel like I am <i>doing something</i>. That I am creating my imagined life.</div><div><br /></div><div>And there's school. It's a little (lot) crazy right now because we have a big comprehensive year-end exam coming up. But I am liking my class (yes, even the annoying guy has calmed down a lot and is growing on me), I am liking what I am learning and I can use it as an opportunity to have a fulfilling not-too-stressful job and to move anywhere I want when I graduate. And maybe I will move nowhere at all, and will stay put. But it'll be a choice because I like my friends and my life here, rather than just being in my current city because that's where my job is.</div><div><br /></div><div>So. There. That's where my head is. If I could give one piece of advice to anyone mired in the pain of infertility, it's to start imaging a life without kids. Maybe you'll find that parenting really is the most important thing, and you'll adopt or succeed through treatment. Or maybe you'll find that life might not be so bad and lonely after all.</div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-84556188139210063952009-10-11T08:37:00.003-04:002009-10-11T11:29:33.447-04:00The Infertility BookWhat, wait, where did a <i>whole</i> <i>month</i> go since I last posted?<div><br /></div><div>Sorry about that. Well, not that many people care, but hey. I feel that I don't really have all that much to say. I don't have a kid I can post regular updates on, and it's not like I suddenly have any great insight into how to fix infertility. I mean, I'm learning more each week about acupuncture theories and about the points, and how to tie it together into treatments, but am not yet in any position to really pull everything together in a cogent way. And there's only so many times I can post "I'm really busy" before it gets <i>uber</i>-tedious. But if you were to walk into the student clinic next semester with low back pain, and I was working there, I finally know what to do off the top of my head without having to go and look it up in the book. Woot.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, I will report that I spend much of my time when I am aimlessly driving to and from the grocery store, or other humdrum activity, mentally composing the introduction to my great work - the book to end all books on infertility. Hah. If only, eh? But, just so you know, it starts off humbly detailing my abject failures in IVF, goes on to say how I met my wonderful husband (already we're in fantasy land here, because no wonderful husband is yet in sight), how I naturally conceived quickly (<i>snort</i>), had my amazing child at 42/43/44, then went on to discover how to reliably treat infertility patients in my busy and successful acupuncture practice (lalalalala-land). OR, in the alternative version, it starts off by saying that even though I remained an abject infertile failure, I still have something to say on the topic. Due to said fabulous and successful acupuncture practice. Bwahahaha.</div><div><br /></div><div>My interest was piqued this week by news that my school is <i>thisclose</i> to starting up a PhD program in acu. And that certain students in my class (who are, ahem, not quite as brainily inclined as moi) are contemplating doing it once we have graduated from the Masters program. And I thought, hey, why are <i>they</i> contemplating it, and not I?? If it takes a few years to build a practice, and you are effectively experimenting on your patients during that time, to find out what really works for you, why not spend that time really experimenting, by formally conducting research and writing a thesis? Into infertility, of course. And then use said research as the basis for my aforementioned fantasy book.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have no idea how the financing would work out, or if I really could do this, or what. But it certainly gives me something else to mentally chew over in the car. I wonder if the local IVF clinic would cut a deal with an old patient and do a joint study with me? Hmmm....</div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-60662351806664198462009-09-11T21:35:00.002-04:002009-09-11T21:45:23.666-04:00The school food hierarchyIt seems at an alternative health type school, we are all a bit freaky about our eating. Or perhaps we all just only pretend to be uber-healthy when in public, and secretly scarf down pints of ice cream at home (as I did tonight, but I don't mind telling you guys because I freakin' enjoyed it, damn it). <div><br /></div><div>Anyway, it seems to be a cool acupuncture student you must:<div><br /></div><div>Only eat home-cooked food (commercially prepared food is <i>so</i> last century).</div><div>Only eat organic food (<i>duh</i>).</div><div>Only eat Chinese-style food (because we're studying Chinese medicine, after all).</div><div>Only eat out of pyrex containers (because plastic is bad).</div><div>Only use the toaster oven to heat up said home-cooked Chinese-style food in said pyrex containers (because microwaves are evil).</div><div>Only use your own chopsticks that you bring from home (forks are for idiots).</div><div><br /></div><div>Except for the bozos like me who bring in an Amy's frozen meal and nuke it in the microwave. Which I then eat with a good old-fashioned western-style fork. I felt so embarrassed at school yesterday with <i>two</i> frozen meals - one for lunch and one for dinner. The sodium! The laziness! The horror! Ah well. I guess I am not cool after all.</div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps in a week or two when the crushing exhaustion that comes with the start of the semester lifts I will start trying to cook for myself again. But for now, Amy's is all I can muster the energy for.</div></div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-26607637611415669682009-09-07T11:29:00.002-04:002009-09-07T11:49:28.243-04:00SchedulingSo, all that house cleaning that I was determined I was going to do on my break? Yeah, it didn't happen. I mean, <i>some</i> cleaning happened. Some closet clearing and such. But not the big spring clean that it really needed. And it is back to school tomorrow, so it is back to the time crunch.<div><br /></div><div>Of course, instead of <i>actually</i> cleaning the whole house today, I have written myself out a detailed chore schedule, which I'm going to print and stick on the fridge. And oh yes, you betcha it has spaces for check marks to fill in when I have completed something.</div><div><br /></div><div>Despite my love of study schedules, I am really not the type of person that loves to schedule the remainder of my time. I like to do things as I feel like them rather than have a routine. I like NOT knowing that Monday is laundry night, or whatever. I think it comes from my childhood, where we had a rigid meal schedule. I mean, sure, I <i>l</i><i>iked</i> casserole, but that didn't mean that I wanted to have it every Tuesday. Or fish sticks every Saturday. So I have generally lived a bit more free flowing than that. Which is fine and dandy if you have the time, but I don't any more. I don't have the time to catch up, because if I don't feel like emptying the dishwasher today, there's no freakin' time to spend tomorrow to do it.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I also just cannot allow things to disintegrate around the house as I have done the past two semesters. I cannot be too embarrassed to have people come to my home. I cannot live like a slob any more. Thusly, the schedule. </div><div><br /></div><div>On today's docket:</div><div>AM:</div><div>Go for a walk - not done, but I did some yardwork that I should have done yesterday, so I'm counting it as done as that's enough exercise for the day.</div><div>Laundry - check. Well, it's in the washer, but not completed.</div><div>Clean out kitty litter - check.</div><div>Clean shower - not yet</div><div><br /></div><div>PM:</div><div>Buy groceries - not yet</div><div>Load today's dishes into dishwasher - not yet, or yesterday's dishes if I'm being honest</div><div>Clean kitchen surfaces - not yet</div><div>Take out garbage and recycling - not yet</div><div>Spend 6 mins* dusting/vacuuming - not yet</div><div>Do qi gong - not yet</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh lordy. It seems such a huge and insurmountable list when it's written out. Maybe I'd better get on with it. At least today there's no work to get in the way so I can do things leisurely around the studying and hulu watching that is also going on.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>*the 6 mins of dusting and vacuuming is because I have a handheld Dyson that I can use for both. And its battery only lasts for 6 minutes on one charge. The plan is to just go at a portion of the house until the battery dies. And the next day do the next portion of the house, and repeat on most days until eventually I am back to where I started.</div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-18170884712005421662009-08-29T19:30:00.003-04:002009-08-29T21:05:23.464-04:00I used to be a bloggerWhenever I read about how another blogger, no, let me correct myself, <span style="font-weight:bold;">a</span> blogger is feeling bad because she's out of touch, and then goes on to explain in detail why, it reminds me just how out of touch I am now. Because I'm always <i>way</i> more out of touch than they are. Way, way more. I basically read about three blogs now. No, strike that. At any one time I may, on a good day, <i>read</i> three blogs. But that covers about 10 actual blogs - it's just that some of them may only get read once in three months, whereas others I might read, ooh, <i>as often as</i> once every three days. Not three times a day as I sometimes used to.<div><br /></div><div>It's my own fault, I know. But where do you fit once you've had an infertility blog and then given up? Most infertility blogs morph into mommy blogs, and hooray for that. But I'm not even writing about getting on with life after infertility. I mean, sure, I could post every time I'm wistful, or jealous, or bitter, or even dream about something (last night I dreamt I had a fantastic beta result - that was a disappointing wake up moment, I can tell ya). But I think that would rapidly get boring, because who wants to hear all the time that I'm wistful? Or even, happy. Because, yes, most of the time I'm actually happy these days. Thank GOD I am not going through infertility any more. Thank the little baby jesus for that.</div><div><br /></div><div>So instead, I don't blog about anything really. Which is even more boring I'm sure. So here are some snippets:</div><div><br /></div><div>********</div><div><br /></div><div>I have finally discovered hulu.com. And am working my way through the entire back catalog of Arrested Development. Love that show! And by the way, has anyone seen Dr. Horrible's Singalong Blog? <i>Genius</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>********</div><div><br /></div><div>I have, for the first time ever, <i>almost</i> thrown out some books. I say "almost" because I have two piles - one to go to work to our employee "library" and one pile to go in the recycling bin (all useless free books that came with magazines that are really more book<i>lets</i> than books). But they haven't made it out of the house yet, and so I could still chicken out. </div><div><br /></div><div>You see, I am trying to pare down my stuff so that it actually fits within the storage that I have available. So far this week I've worked through my closet (apart from the shoes and dresses) and my t-shirt drawer. And <i>one</i> bookshelf. It's a start people, it's a start. I have this dream of living this very minimalist, organized, neat and tidy life, which is sadly always destroyed due to my love of shopping. And my habit of not fitting into 3/4 of my clothes as I gain and lose weight. But really, there's no <i>need</i> for me to have 5 pairs of black ballet flats. Or 7 pairs of sneakers. Or 6 pairs of black pants. I am slooowly improving on that score. Why, just this week I resisted buying another pair of sneakers, but instead am throwing away the pair that I've been wearing as they're now falling apart, and have dug an old pair out of the back of the closet. So what if they made my feet bleed the last time I wore them? I <i>will</i> wear them in and make use of them, damn it.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of these days I <i>shall</i> be that elegant lady who lives in a miniscule apartment with minimal possessions, but each of whose possessions are treasured, wonderful quality, just <i>so</i>, and fabulous. Even if it takes me until I am 90.</div><div><br /></div><div>*********</div><div><br /></div><div>Still haven't rejoined a dating site. But I'm still working on it. Kinda sorta.</div><div><br /></div><div>*********</div><div><br /></div><div>Cousin was not sent overboard by Hurricane Bill. But last heard of was in danger due to (remains of?) tropical storm Danny. Ah well, I'm sure they will go back out to sea again, and ride this one out too.</div><div><br /></div><div>*********</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm actually looking forward to school starting up again. At least while at school I'm busy as anything and feeling like life has a purpose. The many evenings of doing nothing this week have just been a reminder of my lack of social life. Hence trying to update my blog on a Saturday night instead of going out and having fun. Bleh. OK, back off to hulu...</div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-63054613209045773382009-08-22T17:45:00.003-04:002009-08-22T17:59:34.404-04:00Refreshed?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidaDw1OUyLtQhzqE2JQgeFdPGMpxYkJSmo5nZzMvev9z__U9-PtWBA5N4EL6yBGVtBPEcrRjXTcONFCFWH9s_9tDhN0lZ-9mnWMnMyNu1sCsLQ-sN0SRvXE8ovBq8c3IK104wP/s1600-h/DSCF0476.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidaDw1OUyLtQhzqE2JQgeFdPGMpxYkJSmo5nZzMvev9z__U9-PtWBA5N4EL6yBGVtBPEcrRjXTcONFCFWH9s_9tDhN0lZ-9mnWMnMyNu1sCsLQ-sN0SRvXE8ovBq8c3IK104wP/s320/DSCF0476.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372907865694636706" /></a>I am home. Tired, but home. I made the possibly mistaken decision to drive all the way home from Asheville, NC to So. Fla. in one day. Through a giant rainstorm that lasted all through Georgia. So today, I ache. And I feel depleted. And <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">all kinds of tired</span>.<div><br /></div><div>But I had a lovely time. I feel renewed and refreshed. I feel ready to tackle projects around the house, and projects in my life. Why, I even started on an online dating profile. Whether I actually complete any of these projects is another matter of course, but I took the opportunity of being on vacation to take lots of photos of myself for said profile, so we'll see. The photo posted here is not, of course, of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">me</span>, but of some flowers from Biltmore Estate. They have quite lovely gardens there, I must say. Perhaps I will post more soon when I have more energy.</div><div><br /></div><div>*****</div><div><br /></div><div>I have arrived home to a freaking-out aunt. My cousin, last we heard of him, was in a fishing boat off the Grand Banks near Newfoundland in an area called the Flemish Cap. [Such is my family - you never know what will crop up next.] In case you've never heard of the area (and I must admit, I hadn't), it's where <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Perfect Storm</span> is set. Where the Titanic sank. In other words, not a pleasant place to be on a fishing boat when a hurricane is bearing down on you. The boat is going to go further out to sea in the hopes of avoiding the storm, but one never knows with these things if a storm will jog off its predicted course at the last minute. And of course, being an idiot, I have promptly opened up my copy of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Perfect Storm</span> and started freaking myself out by reading about the harsh conditions. So, if you are the praying type (or the sending good thoughts type), please send some thoughts for all the shipping vessels that are in the way of the current hurricane. We always breathe a sigh of relief when these things are predicted to avoid land, but of course on this crowded planet there are always some people who are in the path of danger. And as one of them is a relative of mine this time, that is where my thoughts are straying.</div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-35574141515980862862009-08-16T08:22:00.002-04:002009-08-16T08:34:08.651-04:00School's out for summerI get a whole 3 weeks off. So I am heading off on vacation for 1 week, then I'll be back in town.<div><br /></div><div>I was pleased with the final week at school. I did the best in class at the Chinese massage first time around (although he let people have another try the following day if they wanted to improve their grade so it ended up that I was not the only A). The other exams went well - I underperformed slightly on one (it was <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">damn</span> hard) but then so did most everyone else. By the time he added in the grades from the quizzes we'd done during the semester, and he curved a bit, I was back up to where I wanted to be. So I think I'll either have straight A's, or one A-. Wait, do you count A-'s as being included in "straight A" tallies? I never know if you should or not. I guess there's always a chance of an A+ from anatomy this semester (haven't seen that grade, but she's generous and gave me A+ last time), so maybe if I do get an A- that will be cancelled out.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, I shouldn't be so concerned. It's not freakin' Harvard. A good grade doesn't make a good acupuncturist. But I keep thinking that if there are opportunities to go and study in China, or to intern with the best professors, they will go to the high performing students, and that's one reason why I keep trying to do well. And there's the little matter of my own Type A tendencies coming to the fore, I guess.</div><div><br /></div><div>Back in town in a week, barring hurricanes. </div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-29613139479670652462009-08-12T07:50:00.003-04:002009-08-12T07:56:56.539-04:00Just so you know...It took until Tuesday morning to get an (almost) definitive answer on the question of whether I was fired or not. My department head said "well, I don't <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">think</span> you were fired. Maybe they just cut your benefits." Then the office manager expounded on how you have to do 30 hours a week for benefits, and maybe they were looking at certain figures and not other figures and that could be an answer. To which I replied that they would still have had to have given me advanced notice. And that it would be nice if someone, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">anyone</span>, had shown a bit more confidence in whether I was still an employee or not. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Even my own boss</span>. And the HR woman, when she <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">finally</span> got back to me sent me a one line email saying "I show you as OK." Which raised the question as to precisely what OK meant.<div><br /></div><div>But on Tuesday morning the HR woman sent me an email saying that she had spoken to the insurance company and that my benefits had been reinstated. No confirming that it had been a mistake, or apologizing for the stress, or anything. Thanks a lot, employer, for all the warm and fuzzies.</div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28957363.post-48733726127791671342009-08-09T19:42:00.003-04:002009-08-09T20:33:14.745-04:00Snippets<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Packing:</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">such</span> a chore since moving to S. Fla. Everywhere else that I go is cooler than here, but yet how <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">much</span> cooler? Does one take endless sweaters or does one assume that it's summer and will be plenty hot enough, thank you. I am going on vacation in a week (yay!) and am trying to figure out what on earth I will wear. The high temperature will be about 83. Which is the current overnight <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">l</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">ow</span> at home. And the low will be a nippy 61. But that's when I'll be tucked up in bed. How cool will the evenings be? Will I be shivering if I don't take fleece and woolies? I am not so tolerant of low temperatures now that I'm a tropical little flower. And then there'll be some hiking in the mountains. I'm only used to hiking in England, where one basically prepares for a blizzard, or at the very least, a freezing downpour, and hopes like hell that one won't encounter that. Will I feel like a tool if I'm wrapped up as if for winter with my Kendal mint cake in my giant backpack and everyone else is in shorts and t-shirts? Will I end up with a suitcase the size of a house to account for all the layers of clothes I will have to take?<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">School:</span> we were discussing Type A personalities in Anatomy class, you know, how they're hard driving people that aren't happy unless they get 100 on their tests. Half the heads in the class swiveled in my direction with knowing grins. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">What?</span> Said I. That is<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> SO</span> not me. I am PERFECTLY HAPPY with a 99! Heh. Coming from a law firm where I am one of the most type B people in the place, it amuses me that I appear type A to my classmates. Of course, I'm sure I'm a bit of both, and I do love me a 100 on a test...</div><div><br /></div><div>More on school: we were doing some qi gong the other day in class, and had to hold our balls of qi in front of us (imaginary energy, that is) with our eyes shut. I was pronounced the best, because the teacher could feel heat in-between my hands, and I opened my eyes when he moved <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">his</span> hand between my two. I felt a slight breeze when he did it, so I don't know if there was anything really to it or if there was a slight bit of physics-nerd cheating going on, but hey. I went up in the estimation of some of my classmates, and more importantly, in the eyes of the teacher. The daily qi gong practice is really paying off with the hot hands thing.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Work:</span> my buddy at work <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">swears</span> that he was told that nobody from our office was getting laid off, and nobody from our department either. So he thinks that I am NOT fired, but I'm still awaiting the verdict. He concurs with me that I may have been on a "bad list" of people with low billable hours, but then they realized that I was part time. But the "bad list" might have gone to the health insurance people. Or something. He said I should have called our boss to find out for sure, but I didn't want <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">him</span> going loopy on the HR people at the weekend, or having the awkward "ah well, I was going to tell you on Monday..." conversation on the phone, so I didn't. We will see. My classmate who I carpool to school with on Saturdays says that even if I AM fired, things happen for a reason, and on the whole I agree with her, so I'm not stressing too much.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Babies</span>: I find myself wistful again for babies. I mourn the passing of each ovulation, as I'm no nearer to finding a reliable source of sperm. I tend to think that I'll need the hormone surge of a new relationship to have any hope of conceiving, so I don't think that ordering a man in a can will do me any good. I have plans to get out and about to new places while on summer break, so you never know, maybe I'll meet me a nice guy at a Buddhist meditation class.</div>Solitairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14484347015033286135noreply@blogger.com2