Tag Archives: Conversations with myself

I’m stupid. Seriously.

5 Jan

Ok – as some of you may know, I am a chronic googler. I get a weird tingling in my left pinky I google “left pinky tingle”. I get a slight ringing in my ears, I google it.

During my two M/C’s, I was a googling freak. Seriously. And when we were trying to get me preggers as well. I can tell you everything you want to know about ovulation predictor kits, pregnancy tests, temperatures, cervical mucus (my apologies to the men reading this). I am a walking miscarriage/conception wikipedia.

So, as part of my whole “let’s take care of my body better” pledge I went to a GP and she ordered a round of blood tests. When she took my BP she thought it was high, so she also ordered me to get a machine hooked up to my arm and get my bp monitored for 24 hours.

So first – the blood tests: I have high cholesterol, low vitamin D and low sodium, and slightly elevated lymphocytes.

Google machine – commence the paranoid madness!!!

So – I may have kidney or liver disease, I may have cancer (of course!), lupus, or it could be nothing.

To lessen the freak out I call my doctor, since my appointment with her isn’t for another week. She calls me back and basically says: “Listen, if I saw anything terrible in your blood tests I would have called you already. Don’t worry, everything’s fine. I’ll see you on the tenth.”

I say “thanks!” and hang up.

Then my internal monologue begins:

Me: she’s a doctor! listen to her!

Me: What does she know? Hasn’t she ever seen “House?” it could be Lupus!

Me: Oh shut up.

Then my BP results come back. The woman who gives hubby the printout is just a tech. I’m not there because I’m sleeping. She hands it to him and says – well, it’s high.

I get the printout from shmerson in the evening. Yep. According to the google machine it’s high.

And another google-athon begins:

Hypertention! Heart disease! Cancer!

and did I mention:

IT COULD BE LUPUS! Seriously people – watch an episode of house sometime.

Or maybe it’s that I have anxiety and that sometimes causes a high BP? or that merely the act of measuring my BP caused me anxiety which influenced my BP?

Nah – that couldn’t be it. That would be a reasonable explanation.

So one xanax and 30 minutes more of obsessive googling later, I’ve decided to be more productive and post to the blog.

The truth is – my high cholesterol is hereditary and linked to PCOS.

The truth is – I smoke and don’t exercise enough.

The truth is – that is most likely what my doctor will tell me on the 10th.

The truth is – I need a serious lifestyle change.

And all i can think about is that I like steak and chocolate cake (that rhymes! I will not eat them in a box….), and that I might have to give them up.

Or become a crazy eater like my mom (I’ll leave my mommy issues for a different post).

Urgh. Must… Stop… Googling!!!!

Me: just suck it up, plan out your meals better, get some exercise, and when the shrink OK’s it – quit smoking.

Me: Wait… Are you sure? Let me google that…

Ok – you don’t need to have a revelation every day

4 Jan

Oh, dear spaghetti monster in the sky – please give me patience.

I slept waaay late today. I didn’t sleep well because i had a blood pressure monitor attached to my arm (long story!). So when Shmerson woke me up at nine to take the blasted machine off of my arm (considerate hubbies rock), I was all about sleeping more. And the fact that it’s gross and rainy outside definitely helped out here.

So I finally dragged myself out of bed at around 1pm. And then, apart from a bit of work I absolutely HAD to do – I did nothing.

Me: Ok – seriously – you’ve been so good about doing stuff everyday. How about getting some stuff done?

Me: No. Me sleepy. Get off my back and let me watch “How I Met Your Mother”!

Me: Ok – it’s a good episode. I’ll let you watch it.

***25 minutes later***

Me: Episode over! Come on – go do something.

Me: No. It’s cold and the puppy is snuggling up against me under the blanket and I’m comfy.

Me: But you don’t absolutely have to work. You can do other stuff! How about painting? Doing some laundry? At least putting on a pair of pants?

Me: No. The Law and Order episode I’m watching now is about killer monkeys! Come on – you have to give me that.

Me: Ok fine. But after this – get off your fat ass.

Me: Fine

**42 minutes later**

Me: Ok. Episode over. Go – Paint! Have a revelation! Reflect! Write a deep post about important stuff!

Me: No. It’s cold and rainy. I’ll post about my tattoo. Oh! Law and order episode about a black guy killing a white cop!

**42 minutes later**

Me: Hey! You’re supposed to be going through a daily healing process to work through your crap! You can write about medical stuff you’re going through! Write about your mom! You haven’t done that in a while!

Me: mmmm…. Milk and chocolate chip cookies. Oh! Law and order episode that’s “ripped from the headlines!”. And the puppy is dreaming. that is so adorable!

**42 minutes later**

Me: Seriously dude – a pair of pants at least?

Me: No. Comfy.

Me: Fine. But only today, ok? Tomorrow you’re definitely going to put on a pair of pants.

Me: mmmm…. Cute puppy… Sam Waterston…. Jerry Orbach… Darn! We’re out of cookies! …. Did you say something?

Me: I give up!

Me: heh. I love those one-liners Detective Briscoe says at the beginning of each episode.

This is getting a bit heavy – isn’t it?

30 Dec

Conversation recently had with myself:

Me: Hey – you know, you’re doing some great writing on that blog of yours.

Me: Gee, thanks! I’m really enjoying it! Plus it’s a good way for me to analyze all of the crap I’m going through.

Me: yeah. I know. that’s awesome and all. But… Well… How do I say this?

Me: come on, we’re being honest with ourselves now, remember?

Me: Ok. fine. I’ll just come out and say it: You’re a real downer

Me: Well – um, yeah.  I guess so. But what do you expect? I’m going a bit nuts here.

Me: yeah I know. I mean, I’m right there with you. But you’ve been like, REALLY heavy over the last week or so. And well, it’s a bummer. People are reading this, you know?

Me: Well, what do you want me to do, write about bunnies and rainbows?

Me: Bunnies? I like bunnies!

Me: Yes but that is not what we’re going through here. We’re talking about miscarriages, and anxiety, and grief, and…

Me: Oh shut up for a second!

Me: Mean.

Me: Listen, you have a sense of humor.

Me: I do? Really?

Me: um – yeah. Some people would actually say you’re a pretty funny lady.

Me: Don’t call me lady. That makes me feel old.

Me: Whatever. You’re funny.

Me: Funny? What is this funny you speak of?

Me: I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt to put in a joke or two on occasion. I mean, it’ll make things easier for all those readers out there.

Me: Fine. A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel on his penis. The bartender asks him why it’s there and he says: “ARRRR! It’s driving me nuts!”

Me: You’re annoying. You always go to that joke when you’re out of material.

Me: What do you want me to do? make miscarriage jokes?

Me: well… um…

Me: noooo that would be so wrong.

Me: fine no miscarriage jokes. But will you please lighten up just a bit?

Me: Shut up I’m depressed.

Me: All the more reason to.

Me: Fine. I’ll try.

Feminine issues

30 Dec

Ok – I’m going to address something here that I doubt many women talk about after a miscarriage (though i have a feeling some feel this way too). But to be honest it’s something that’s been following me for much longer.

I don’t feel like a woman.

Here’s the thing: I’ve got some hardcore daddy issues. He’s a pig. Seriously. He can’t fathom a strong, business – savvy woman as something normal.

I’ve always been strong. So basically from as early as I can remember he’s been telling me not to walk down stairs with a skirt on because people will see my balls.

Paints a pretty picture – doesn’t it?

That’s not all – he also tells me sometimes that “he forgets I’m a woman.”

lovely. thanks dad. that does wonders for my self-image.

And it’s not like I did much to overcome this. My actions perpetuate it.

During grad school – very early on, one of the female directors got picked up (as in physically) by an actor on a set who proclaimed “you’re so freakin’ cute!”.

and of course, the mostly male crew stopped respecting her at that exact moment.

So – when I directed, I came in wearing sneakers, baggy clothes, with my hair up in a ponytail and a baseball cap (I hate baseball caps!).

No make up, no skirts. And make sure to let the camera crew talk openly about T&A around you. Say the word “tits” a couple of times and curse like a trucker. One of my most used phrases became “fuckety fuck fuck”. That helped.

I made a huge effort to be “one of the guys.”

Avoid getting emotional. Never ever EVER cry in front of the crew. That shows weakness. Never be girly. Because most of them are guys, and they will immediately stare at your huge boobs (I have double D’s. Baggy sweatshirts came in handy).

So I perpetuated it. Over and over and over.

I remember that on the day I finished grad school I got dolled up for the ceremony. Got my hair done, make up, a cute little black dress, heals, the whole shebang. One of my crew (who was also graduating) came up to me before the ceremony and proclaimed: Oh my god! You’re a chick!

I assume he meant it as a compliment. And – he was genuinely shocked. He was not joking.

My father to this day continues to treat me like a son – not like a daughter. He can’t handle it when I cry in front of him, for example.

The result is that I rarely put on make up, I don’t “dress up” for anything, I never buy myself anything pretty anymore (even though I have a serious shoe fetish).

My internal monologue is – what’s the point?

There were exactly two months in the last decade where I truly felt feminine. Starting from a week before my wedding and until my first miscarriage.

Having a wedding dress, a honeymoon, and a baby in my belly helped me feel grounded and whole. I found myself shopping online for pretty maternity clothes. It was fun. It was as if I had found a missing part of my identity. I could finally embrace my femininity. Embrace my “inner mommy”. The woman longing for a child.

And now – two lost babies later – i feel even less like a woman than ever before. How can I be truly a woman if I can’t keep a baby alive inside of me?

This feeling haunts me. I don’t feel sexy. I don’t even feel somewhat pretty. And I like feeling those things. I just don’t let myself any more. I’m in a bit of a gender crisis – to say the least.

Plus – I have PCOS, which means that as is, I’ve got a smidge too much testosterone in my body. So that doesn’t help matters much.

Oh – and I’m the primary breadwinner in me and schmerson’s little family.

it’s as if the second miscarriage was the final nail in the coffin of my femininity. Which sucks! Seriously. I wish I had a more eloquent way of saying that. But I don’t. It sucks and I don’t know what to do about it.

It’s amazing what an internal monologue of your own and daddy’s voice will do to decimate a person’s gender identity.

I actually LIKE the way I feel when I put on pretty, flattering clothes. I L-O-V-E shoes, and unique jewelry.

I have this earring – this amazingly gaudy earring that was made by a designer and cost a fortune. I LOVE the way I feel when I wear it. I haven’t worn it once in the last year.

I have – literally – a collection of unique shoes. Pointy heals, flowery boots, really adorable shoes that I LOVE. There was a point where I would stop and stare at a good pair of nine wests or mellisas – sometimes spending hours trying on shoes that i had no chance in hell of affording. I have at least 15 pairs of cool shoes (bought on clearance!). I barely wear them. I just wear the same pair of sporty flats until I wear them out, then I buy another boring pair of sporty flats. I barely window shop for shoes anymore. And did I mention I love shoes?

I LOVE the way I look in heals. Don’t wear them.

I LOVE how I feel when I get my hair done. I do it – at most – once every three months. I like having long, painted nails, but they’re “not practical.”

I don’t buy pretty clothes anymore. And none of my old pretty clothes fit me. So I wear ratty jeans and shirts. When I “make an effort” it’s a tunic and tights.

but still those same boring ratty shoes. If I feel daring I put on a ring that takes up half of my hand and is a giant butterfly.

That butterfly ring is nothing compared to that righteous earring. THAT made me feel like a little bit more of a woman. Especially while wearing a cute little black dress and an equally gaudy bracelet that matches the earring perfectly and was bought at the bargain price of 10 dollars.

The miscarriages just destroyed the last vestiges of my femininity. I have no idea how to get them back.

Any advice would be greatly appreciated.

Pharmacies expose my weak will

26 Dec

So I went to get the blood tests this morning (no results yet), and afterwards I stopped by the pharmacy to pick up some feminine-type-stuff.

I walk by the aisle where they have the home ovulation test kits and the pregnancy tests.

I stop. The following internal conversation begins:

Me: Come on – just buy the ovulation predictor kit. you know you want to.

Me: No! No! It’s not time yet.

Me: You don’t have to USE it. Just buy it. You know – it’s handy to have around.

Me: No! Shut up! I will not!

Me: But you Luuuurve peeing on sticks.

Me: yeah, I kind of do…

Me: It gives you a sense of control. Control is our friend.

Me: Mmmmm…. Control….

Me: go on, just do it. there’s one on sale. Just pick it up and take it to the cashier. No harm done.

Me: No! Must… Be… Strong… Must… Resist…. Urge… To… Pee… On… Stuff…


Me: No! It’s not time yet. AAAAAARGH!

I was strong. The OPK was not bought.

You are what you watch

24 Dec

I feel like I’ve been rather whiny lately. I mean, supposedly it’s understandable but I’m not usually a whiny person so this whole “daily post about crappy stuff and revelations” thing is getting a bit tiring. So I’m going with a ranty analysis today.

I’ve been sharing this blog with friends. Not everyone, but people who are important to me, and some that I haven’t been in touch with for a while.

And the responses I’ve been getting are amazing.

Here’s the thing: I am very lucky. I have a lot of friends. Most of them I’ve known for years. Sometimes we lose touch for long periods of time, but they are those sorts of friendships that you know are always going to be there.

So the reactions I’ve been getting have been incredibly loving and supportive, but more surprisingly, a lot of them have been telling me that even though they aren’t going exactly through what I’ve been going through, they can relate to my struggle.

It’s funny – they almost feel guilty about saying that. As in – “I know what I’ve been through isn’t as hard as what you’re going through…”

But they really shouldn’t. Just the fact that they relate actually makes me feel a bit more, well, I guess normal is the word.

Most of the people who are saying this are people my age – as in – 30. I read somewhere about people these days having a “quarter life crisis”. perhaps this is it.

The one thing that keeps coming up – especially with my female friends is this careerist vs family struggle.

I’m actually only the second of my close girl friends to be married. I have more single friends than I do married friends, and none of my close friends have children.

20 years ago this would be unthinkable. Today, I really and truly think this is becoming a cause for turmoil and confusion for a lot of women.

I spent most of my 20’s living by a fairly feminist doctrine. Marriage was barely on my radar – let alone kids. It always seemed like a possibility in the distant future, but nothing even close to a realistic option until I met and fell in love with Schmerson.

Women in their late 20’s and early thirties – or at least my friends – who I admit come usually from well-to-do, highly educated families – are – in my opinion – getting smacked upside their heads by their biological clocks.

We were raised in a post-feminist generation. Ally McBeal, Buffy Summers, Veronica Mars, Elle Woods, and Rory Gilmore were our role models. Yes, sometimes those chicks got the guy. But you never saw Buffy thinking about a wedding. She was too busy kicking vampire ass. Veronica Mars in a wedding dress? I think not. Heck, going even further back, even Kelly Taylor told Dylan and Brandon “I choose me” back in the day.

I could spend hours making pop-culture reference upon pop-culture reference. Lord knows I love that. But I’ll spare you all and try (somehow!) to get to a point here.

I honestly do believe we are – on a lot of levels- a product of the pop culture that we consume.

Our fantasies are based on the ideals fed to us by the flickering images we watched on screens.

Just like every woman fantasized about being Donna Reed in the 50’s, I’m sure that the over achieving Rory Gilmores, Joey Potters, and yes, even Cher Horowitzes I saw flickering on screens for so many years made an impression on me.

To make matters “worse” – I minored in women’s studies in college.

And just in case not enough fuel was added to the fire, like a lot of my friends, my mother was – most of the time – a housewife.

So I rebelled – all of my 20’s were spent chasing a career. I in particular chose film – which is basically one of the hardest “careers” to actually achieve statistically. But I was invincible! I was unstoppable! I was going to conquer the world!

For two years during my first degree I researched female film directors – or lack thereof.

You would find me saying – at least twice a week – “do you realize that only two female directors have ever been nominated for an oscar?” “Do you know that only 4% of all working directors in Hollywood are women?”

Yes, Kathryn Bigelow finally broke the so-called “glass ceiling” this year with her win for hurt locker. But let’s be honest – this does not mean that things have changed much.

But I’m getting away from myself. I’ve spent the last two years having an interior battle with myself. I believe that this battle has been in large part responsible for the general feeling of “being stuck”. I’m torn. Is there really a way to have it all?

I’d always had this fantasy that the man I would marry would be a “house-husband.” I would bring home the bacon, he would take care of the kids. All would be well.

But it turns out the “who brings home the bacon” issue isn’t really the problem.

From the moment I realized that I wanted to be a mommy – I knew I wanted to be a “present” mommy.

I remember as a kid – my dad was never ever home. He barely had a hand in raising me until about the age of 14. The result is – inevitably – that I am far closer and more attached to the parent that was “present” – my mother. I love her more than anything – I would do anything for her.

I honestly can’t say the same about my father. I would never confide in him the way I do in her. I don’t feel as safe with him as I do with her.

I don’t want to be my dad (hell to the no! but that’s a different post altogether). I want to be a present parent. an active parent. I may want to work – but how in the heck can I “be a mega-superstar-film-director” and be a mommy?

Directors don’t sleep. They’re sometimes gone on shoots for months at a time. They’re shut away in editing bays and sound stages.

This was the ton of bricks that dropped on me about two years ago. Just as i was realizing that I wanted to marry Schmerson. And just as a feature I was working on was starting to come together.

Immediately the film project fell apart. And i haven’t been able to get it together since (get it together in the broad sense – not just that particular project).

It’s only now that I’m starting to realize the connection between these two events.

I kept on telling myself “I’m going to be a director” but I kept on feeling “I’m going to be a mommy”. For the last two years – those two thoughts have been basically canceling each other out.

Yes, there have been other factors – a sudden loss of confidence in my abilities amongst them – but at the end of the day I can’t ignore the coincidence here. The timing is just a bit too perfect.

You know, I have a tendency to end these posts lately with some sort of conclusion or revelation.

I don’t have one here. I honestly don’t. I think this is going to be part of my struggle. I don’t want to be my mother. I don’t want to be my father.  (oh! any psychology majors currently reading this are probably having a field day!)

I want a fulfilling career, and I want to be a mother that is always around and can be counted on. I’m going to have to figure out how to navigate that one.

Any suggestions will be happily accepted, then I’m sure – eventually forgotten somewhere between a sound mix and diaper change.


20 Dec

I think I wrote in my previous post that I have flashes of anxiety and I’m trying to combat them with flashes of optimism.

There is one thing and one thing only that makes me feel that these days, and that’s the thought of getting pregnant again.

That’s awful isn’t it?

Seriously – I have to make some serious choices about my career and my future. I still have some medical stuff to sort out before we can start trying again, and let’s not forget the fact that currently I AM A MESS.

So let’s say I get pregnant tomorrow, in my current state I would most likely spend the first three months FREAKING OUT from the fear that I will have another miscarriage. And that’s without the little facts like I still need to quit smoking, our financial situation is still unstable, I’m currently wandering aimlessly through life, etc. etc.

So it’s ridiculous, really. I mean i know that even a week from now things will be much better because I’m taking steps to make them so.

But all I can think about is how I want a baby and I want it now!!!

it’s annoying to me (at least to the logical side of my brain) because I know a baby won’t solve my problems (well, it will solve the “I want a baby” problem). But it certainly won’t solve anything else.

Ok. At least I am aware of that. That’s more than a lot of people.

But it’s seriously starting to drive me a bit nuts.

For your reading pleasure, here is the transcript of the conversation I am currently having with myself:

Me: I want a baby!!!! Now!!!

Me: I know, I do too. But how about working on a bit of stability first?

Me: no no no. baby baby baby!!!!

Me: Calm down. You’re going to the hematologist tomorrow correct?

Me: Baby! ehem, I mean, yes.

Me: Good. And that means that in a few days you will know whether a lack of progesterone is what caused the miscarriages or whether they were a fluke. Correct?

Me: yes. and then I can start peeing on sticks obsessively again and we can start trying and then there’ll be a baby!! baby!!! baby!! yay!!!

Me: Calm down. No. That’s not what’s gonna happen.

Me: Baby!! baby!! baby!!… wait… what did you say?

Me: I said that’s not what’s gonna happen.

Me: Ehem. Says you.

Me: No. Says sanity. Do you want to be pregnant and on xanax?

Me: No.

Me: Ok – so you have to at least wait to see that the zoloft is working and you don’t need xanax. Correct?

Me: *pout* ok. I guess you’re right about that. But that should only take about another week! Yay! then we can baby it up!!!

Me: not necessarily.

Me: You’re really a killjoy, you know?

Me: Oh shut up I’m just being practical.

Me: screw practicality. Babies!!! I want babies!!!

Me: Babies? How about starting with just one…? Ok here’s a question for you:

Me: Does it involve babies?

Me: Ok you’re beating a dead horse with that joke sweetie.

Me: right, yeah. Sorry. You had a question?

Me: yes, I did. My question is, do you want to be a good mommy?

Me: Well, duh.

Me: Ok – and do you think that being a good mommy also entails having a full and satisfying life outside of your mommy-dom?

Me: Well, of course it does.

Me: and are you leading a full and satisfying life right now?

Me: well…

Me: come on, be honest.

Me: ok. I’m not.

Me: so do you not think that you should at least try to handle that first?

Me: But  – you can’t expect me to completely make-over my life and only then try again. because really, that could take ages. And sweetie, you know there is such a thing as a biological clock.

Me: Ok – I’ll give you that, we don’t want to wait too long. How about a compromise?

Me: Ok. I’ll have a baby then make over my life.

Me: That’s not a compromise.

Me: Baby! Baby! Baby!

Me: Now stop that you’re getting annoying. I’m talking about a real compromise.

Me: Ok fine. Shoot.

Me: Step one: We go to the specialist and see what – if anything, is wrong with our pipes.

Me: Check.

Me: Step two: We balance out with the zoloft, and get to a place where we no longer need the xanax.

Me: Ok. I’m good there.

Me: Step three: We get a little momentum. It doesn’t have to be much. Just enough so that our days are full and relatively satisfying.

Me: But that could take ages!!!

Me: it could. But we could try extra-extra hard and hopefully it will go faster.

Me: we could. But that’s hard!

Me: life’s not easy, sweetheart.

Me: my god, you do like cliche’s  don’t you?

Me: stop judging me. Now concentrate. Ok?

Me. Fine. Bossy.

Me: good. So we take steps to get our life on track. They don’t have to be huge. just enough to feel a sense of optimism WITHOUT being pregnant. Just enough to feel “full” again.

Me: You think we can pull that off?

Me: yes. I think we can.

Me: I’m not so sure.

Me: We can do it. Just be a little patient. It may only take a few weeks.

Me: Then we can try for another baby? BABY! BABY! BABY! BABY!

Me: Then we can discuss it again. And stop chanting that’s annoying.

Me: Party pooper.

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