Like a poltergiest, I disappear and then I'm back!!!

I forgot my password and I have been in a long battle to re-claim my account. It seems my recovery address for my password was sent to an email account from my alma mater. So for months I have tried logging on to no avail-- no emails, no blog, nada. So here I am ready to blog again. By the way google's technical assistance is a joke. The dark ages approach they ultilize to assist you in technological quandries: send us an email that will be answered by a robot. Said robot will send you an email saying he will not give you your account back unless you can prove the day you started with gmail, who is your most frequent email address used, and can you remember one of your old passwords. Sure I can. Oh that's not the one you had in mind Mr. Robot? Well, I can only give you my name, my old name, five old passwords so many times before you tell me I have compromised security.

I have my account back-- thank you old phone for having the log in. I wish I would have thought of it sooner.

Keep Your Fingers Crossed

Greetings Lovelies! I hope you all are well!

For the last two months I anticipated a plus sign after waiting the required numbers of weeks in between medically induced menstrual cycles. Alas, no pink plus. Just a line. I made myself sexually available for that? A line! Give me a break. Just kidding.

I thought the disappointment would seize me—grip me from the bowels and leave me emotionally wrecked. Ahhh….me with the dramatics, right? Yet, I feel content, at ease, and comfortable. One more month with the Clomid. One more shot at a relatively cheap chance to create life. I think the devastation lies more in knowing if I don’t conceive this last time our run stops. We decided since the rest of our treatment options are not covered by insurance we will not be able to move forward with assistance. The next step is a surgical procedure designed to see if my tubes are indeed open. A procedure we cannot afford now or in the near future. The literature I’ve read online states many doctors allow their patients to continue Clomid treatment for up to nine months--- I will be sure to ask my doctor if I am a candidate for that long term effort. But I guess if my tubes are closed why take pills for six more months? What I’m getting at here is that I am not at ease nor comfortable with running out of options. The lack of options tries my patience, my heart..

Therefore ladies, I commence month three. I have a raging period (thus after I should have stellar uterine lining perfect for housing a baby), a loving husband, and a new bra. Perhaps the combination will serve me well.

Peace,
Jessica

PS: My sister called me to tell me that she learned in birth class that amniotic fluid and breast milk taste the same. I replied, “Eww.”

Not Barefoot, Not Pregnant, But Not Worried

Being a real life adult is starting to get exciting. I remember in college feeling I had somehow amassed an incredible amount of maturity and responsibility by buying my own books and groceries. Now I when I muse on those days I realize the level of accountability I had amounted to almost nothing. Paying my cable bill topped my list of priorities. We fought over luxury items like name brand detergent and beer. Even though Chris and I have no brood, no strollers or snacks to pack, I feel more adult than I ever imagined at 21.

I pay bills—bills I have to account for by budgeting. I think about the months ahead rather than getting through this one month. I’ve come to the conclusion the hubby is starting to grapple with the complexity of becoming a real life adult as well. The other day in the car he interrupted my favorite talk radio host with a surprised, “Are you telling me that in 9 months we might need to buy a car?” I replied an emphatic yes. He is starting to put the pieces of a new reality together if we get pregnant. A new car, the need to move to a baby friendly house, car seats, the list goes on. We’ve surmised life as we know will be different. And that difference possibly would have scared us to death a year ago. But now the idea of living life from a whole new perspective sounds exhilarating.

It seems we’ve entered a new stage in our relationship. We talk more about the future with reason and logic—and a little less imaginary bliss. We play out scenarios and explore actual options rather than pretend ones. And what I have never really experienced before is this incredible comfort of being on the same page. I used to keep my struggle with my weight and fertility a secret--- even from Chris. I knew he loved me, but inviting him in to something so personal I don’t know if I can stand that level of vulnerability. But alas, this vulnerability has jump started this “togetherness” more than ever. He’s with me on this one--- I don’t have to sail the ship along and bring him aboard when all the hard work is done. He surprised me the other day by making a very sincere request: please wait for him to be there when I took a pregnancy test. It might sound strange but I never took pregnancy tests with him around. Maybe it was the looming disappointment or the embarrassment of taking one “just because” I had a shred of hope that day. I don’t know. Yet, this request was followed with a genuine interest in understanding charting and becoming more knowledgeable in trying to conceive.

 I feel overwhelmed when I realize how Chris and I continually have grown up together. As we approach this new impasse of infertility we have no choice but to rally each other. We can’t leave the other to stand alone--- we have to forge ahead--- together. Just like we did when we graduated, when we went to college, when we lost a parent each, when we moved across the country, and whatever else creates hiccups in life. And while we don’t have the level of responsibility of many parents out there, we feel ready to take on the challenge and thrill of welcoming a new member to our little family.

"So How About You Impregnate Me Now" and Other Phrases to Avoid

I’ve decided to list the three most annoying parts (pardon the pun) in trying to get pregnant the scientific way. In no particular order….drum roll please….

1. Scheduled sex. It’s hilarious really. There’s nothing more romantic than feeling bloated from medication, weepy from out of whack hormones, and the pressure of knowing its now or never. We are not terribly busy people, but ovulation seems to not wait for mine, or his for that matter, libido. I caught myself saying, “So how about you impregnate me now?” It was cheesy, but forward. It reminded me of the line in America Pie “Do me beautiful.” I thought the comment might suffice, but not so much.

2.The effects of medication: I take Metformin and recently Clomid. The problem with Metformin: it makes your stomach swell up and well.... instead of morphing into a gorgeous specimen, one feels ready to pop. The relief--- gas. EWWWWWW! Girls are not supposed to fart….ick I just typed fart. I can’t even write about flatulence in an adult way. So compound the bloating with the fear of farting and love really isn’t on the brain. And don’t lie ladies….we’ve all been there before.Thus a phrase to never utter while trying to entice your man, "Excuse me, I tooted."

3. Post Coitus: After loving on your man you imagine cuddling and whispering Shakespearian-esque sweet nothings. Nope. Not us. I lay propped on pillows to help gravity…I lay for thirty minutes. I barely move begging for gravity to work in my favor. “Just keep swimming!” And for the love of St. Pete don’t sneeze! I need every one of those suckers! Thus, as I lay rigid unable to complain about the channel he is now watching, we just seem to sit there. Eventually, I move but not far, I’ve already prepped pajamas on the side of the bed.  Nothing kills the natural high intimacy brings like "I once knew a guy who said he hung his wife upside down to get pregnant" or "Shit! I just sneezed."

My final thought:

Everything I read says to let the process unfold itself organically. But how? It’s a process--- there’s nothing organic about process. A process implies a system. And our system needs tweaking for maximum efficacy and enjoyment. So I determined this is one part of my life that books can’t enter. I read about food, decorating, politics, fiction, movies, non-fiction…. I’ve flooded the engine with too much information. We can do this….no assembly required.

Put on your cozies, grab a gulp of something, and read. This one's a doozy!

Your Uterus Wants Health Care Reform:


One might wonder why a pregnancy hopeful would choose to post this. This....really? A political view on health care? This blog seems to have no business entertaining the political. I've rooted the entire basis of my blog as an insight into the incredibly personal trials of attempting to conceive. But health care reform is personal. Very personal. Women like you and me don't have a fighting chance under the current structure to have access to affordable assistance as we try to forge ahead in conception. We are cut off at the knees--- infertility care seems nonexistent for the insured and uninsured alike. Women, like you and me, are denied before we even get to the door. Suddenly the discussion for a couple gains in complexity. The topic shifts from the difficult "Can we?" to the unimaginable "Can we afford the cost to?"

Let me expound:
A year and a half ago my husband and I first faced this difficult quandary. According to my doctors at Kaiser I had exhausted all options for care for my PCOS and attempts to have a child. Both my internist and OB/GYN agreed I move to a more specialized facility. I couldn't understand. I had only seen the OB/GYN twice. How could he determine based off a normal pap and a short consultation he couldn't help me? I still don't understand.

I called the Franklin Center asking a million questions. If I was going to shell out serious dough I needed to have an idea what for. In short I discovered the following:

*The initial consultation=$500

*Length of consult= max.30 minutes

*Most of the consult= medical history, ordering of blood work (blood work I had done TWICE before)

*No exam of any kind

*Future appointments go up in cost

I called my internist. She assured me my PCOS exempted me from insurance exclusion but to what extent she didn't know. My infertility was caused by this condition--- the treatment I required for PCOS aligned with the same treatments for infertility. But alas, my insurance balked and my coverage remained inadequate.

We pushed hard on the brakes in our pursuit of parenthood. We convinced ourselves karma determined a quality life required no children. I called my brother to tell him to sell all the baby belongings he had saved for me. Chris and I weren't having kids because I could not ovulate and I could not afford the doctor willing to prescribe the medication to help my body participate in an important female function.

After moving to Washington we discovered a brief glimpse of hope. Clomid. Clomid was COVERED! All our bets are placed on a tiny white pill that only works if my tubes are open. Tubes I cannot afford to see if are open. It's a gamble with no gauranteed results and many sleepless nights wondering. Wondering if I will be able to tell the difference from raging hormones due to the Clomid or possible pregnancy? And if I get pregnant will this one make it?

And then I think how my desperate situation pales in comparison with other women facing issues much more grave than mine. My heart draws to ladies with no options if they miscarry-- will they sit in a shower for days like I did? All because they couldn't afford the care of a doctor during a time when proper care is critical. A women, her health, her fetus all vulnerable because care isn't available. And please don't tell me only poor women have no insurance. I have a respectable job teaching. But my insurance doesn't care how I educate the future doctors of America? I still hit a road block. I think of the devastation I've felt and I can't fathom that of someone with terminal illness.

So ladies, just as I implore you to see yourselves as strong women unbroken by the heartaches of womanhood, I urge you to see the pertinence in correcting the failures of health care. Yes, America has many flaws worth fixing, but this one touches on something simultaneously tangible and intangible. We need reform.
You, me, the chick at the bus stop have a say in how this goes. Years ago when women first marched for rights they weren't greeted with jubilation. Suffragettes and feminists faced jail time, social banishment, and worse while fighting for our basic rights. The fight hasn't stopped and it isn't exclusive to women--- this a human problem. One that requires great acts of humanity and bravery to challenge the status quo. We must care about health care reform so our children will never have to wonder if they can afford our medicine as we sit in our twilight years. So your daughter doesn't lose everything, her home, her car, all her possessions trying to find a means to pay her husband's medical bills after he died from cancer. It's a tragic picture....but it's happening.
I wrote my representatives yesterday and I replied to an email I received from Mitch Stewart. I had to...it was my civic duty for the preservation of a more insightful, hopeful America for my children. I may be cut off at the knees, but I certainly don't want my daughters to be.



Here is my email response:



Please please please ask our President to sell this issue to the public as a basic civil rights issue. I feel like this historical issue is my generation's Little Rock. (A pivotal moment in what would become a series of critical historic events in the furthering of civil rights.) Crowds berated The Little Rock Nine to keep schools segregated-- now we teach students in classrooms how those students exemplify bravery against the racist public and the intolerant popular beliefs. While health care reform seemingly has nothing to do with segregation-- the issues, the intolerance, the heated debate, and the pertinence of ending such a corrupt and maleficent system of thinking are absolutely parallel in nature.
Access to quality health care is a basic human right and to deny this right is immoral. Corporations can no longer run this country through the back rooms of Washington. My President must take a stand, deny financial backing from Goldman Sachs, and use his incredible ability to bring the common man and woman together to create a better America. In the 1950s and 60s many people couldn't imagine equal rights or fathom how the status quo was so morally and ethically wrong. I believe the case is the same today. Yesterday I saw a video at a rally where a man protesting the "tea baggers" was spat on, cursed at, and treated inhumanely-- I doubt those same people treat their dogs with such disdain. The man was elderly and suffering from Parkinson's disease. People threw money at him and berated him. Use this image to draw back to the Little Rock Nine as they walked through the Arkansas crowd, protected by soldiers, to be spat on, told they should die and go to hell, and so forth.
How can my countrymen re-enact such hate? Hate we reference in social studies classes to teach students the importance of citizenship and the meaning of the saying hanging in school cafeterias "What's popular isn't always right, and what's right isn't always popular." Hate Harper Lee so eloquently taught us in To Kill a Mockingbird is so pervasive that we must teach younger generations to not carry on such resentment and to recognize when to take a stand. Perhaps if the poor Mayella Ewell had access to health care after she had suffered abuse she would have not lied. Tom Robinson wouldn't have died? I know I'm just supposing here, but aren't there Mayella Ewell's everywhere in America right now. Some dying of cancer because they can't afford treatment, others protesting health reform since their daddies believe its wrong, and others like me who wonder how my family has suffered because the costs of care are astronomical.
Thus ends my request Mr. Stewart. Please ask my President, a man I so admire, to keep telling the American people we must halt injustice, learn from our past, and build a better tomorrow.


Thank you.
Regards,
Jessica Miller

OOOOOOH I forgot....

Girls--

If your trying here are the must haves according to my doctor:

Get a fertility calendar-- mark days and keep track diligently. Diligence is key because Clomid has to be taken at the exact right time in your cycle.(Cycle days 5 through 9).

Journal-- food and otherwise. Know where you stand in your diet and exercise. What you eat and how active you effects your fertility, especially if you have PCOS. Express your emotions....it isn't easy to cope with the ups and downs of trying to get pregnant; journaling helps ease the pain and serves as a coping skill.

Stop smoking! Smoking isn't good for you and your body knows it. So your body doesn't feel like pregnancy is a good option for you. As well, when you get pregnant you don't have to worry about the stress of quitting because you already have!

Take a prenatal vitamin now and add Folic acid to your vitamin regimen.

Reduce your drinking (no more drunken nights at the neighbors). Alcohol doesn't help with weight loss, nor would it be good if you conceived and didn't know it.

Next Steps: pop some pills, make some babies. Maybe?

Good Morning Gals!

Yesterday I slept about two hours-- I kept thinking we'd go to the doctor and find out Chris' sperm was nothing but duds. In my experience, doctors have always shared test results over the phone;thus, I expected my OB/GYN would easily share Chris comes from a long line of studly breeding capabilities. At least that's what he (Chris) told me. But last week when I called to have the results explained the nurse replied coolly,"Dr. So-So (I never asked if I could use her name publicly)would like to discuss the results in person."

My stomach dropped into my toes and took a full week to return to my ample mid-section. So for a week I sat twiddling my thumbs wondering if we both were contributing to the fertility problem. But the torture was fleeting. Yesterday as we sat for the first time together in the OB/GYN's office, Chris learned his proclamation was true-- his swimmers are fine. Me on the other hand...

As I sat comfortably in the stir-ups (I shouldn't be so relaxed about it I know), I couldn't help but thinking, maybe today she'll poke up there and miracle of miracles "You're pregnant!" Like in the movies right? But alas, my annual finished with little event and I was sent packing.

But for the first time at the beginning of the appointment I realized how Chris and I are truly on the same page with this. He asked more questions than me, wrote stuff down and took note of little things that I seemed to let float by. The doctor congratulated us for being a team on this--- I think she didn't give the results over the phone just to make sure my husband was in the picture too. His presence in the room seemed to give her more comfort than he afforded me.

But here's the hope after yesterday:

I will start taking Clomid, a drug designed to trick your brain to tell your body ovulate. I will take this medication for three months. I take the "progesterone test" each month and on cycle day 5 I take the Clomid until cycle day 9. I count the days until the next time I should expect a period-- no period take a pregnancy test. Not pregnant. Start the process again. The hope is in that three month period I conceive. If there's no such luck then I go back to discuss more invasive and non-health insurance covered care. In that case our quest stops. Both Chris and I decided we can't afford to pay thousands and thousands of dollars for those procedures at this point in our lives. It sickens me to think of the money and anguish couples go through due to the high costs of infertility care. But that's for another blog entry.

So now you are all updated on the progress. Keep your fingers crossed....I know I am.

Real Beef Stroganoff and not too bad for you either plus a dash of Dr. Oz

First of all-- I have to confess my cheesy love affair with Dr. Oz. His genius lies in that he explains pertinent medical information in as simple and as brief a way as possible. As well, he invites his audience to participate in interactive teaching methods that help all types of learners soak in the information he has to share. As a teacher, I commend his ability to make television medical advice as interactive as possible. As well, I can easily skip over segments of unimportance for me. Dr. Oz also says its OK to yummy foods like cookies, macaroni and cheese, and you guessed it, beef stroganoff as long as you take the initiative to prepare the food yourself. I have found this to serve as a valuable mantra when meal planning. The guilt of eating out (I allow it once a week) sears my stomach lining and leaves me feeling like a complete failure for at least a few days. But when we take the time to prepare foods we like ourselves we cut the fat, the carbs, and sodium easily ourselves. We can monitor what we eat and how much we eat by making our own dinners. While the convenience of eating out seems easy and instantly satisfying, Chris and I find ourselves feeling sick afterward and sometimes pissed we ingested the gluttonous garbage.

With all that said here is a super simple recipe adapted from Bittman's How To Cook Everything for beef stroganoff.

Ingredients:
1 lb. ground beef (substitute lean ground turkey to cut more fat)
1 onion (diced)
1 cup low sodium beef broth
1/2 cup sliced mushrooms
1/2 cup sour cream (use less if you use whole fat)
3 tbsp. dijon mustard
1 can low sodium diced tomatoes
dash of salt and pepper

1 cup brown rice (substitute quinoa if you like)

Directions:
Start your brown rice! It takes about forty minutes

Brown ground beef in a skillet. Add onion and mushrooms. Cook until onions start to soften. Add beef broth, tomatoes, salt, pepper, and dijon mustard. Simmer until your rice has just about ten minutes left.

Add sour cream to pan. Next add your rice to the pan and simmer covered for five minutes.

Enjoy!

I had no idea if I would like this dish. Chris and I LOVED it. Its a nice twist on an old favorite and it was incredibly easy. I could walk away from the stove for a while-- that's my kind of cooking.

Happy cooking and feel free to share any recipes you have with us!

Let the Sunshine In!

I am feeling so incredibly amazing today! Perhaps it was my intense workout (in front of the tv might I add) or perhaps its that Chris finally dropped off the goods on Monday. Or maybe its the GLORIOUS sunshine outside. Granted I have a million tasks needing to be accomplished, but the day just seems to scream, "You can't be in a bad mood today-- just look at those clear skies."

On the baby front- I need to make an appointment since I missed mine while I was back in Colorado. I will update you. I am writing a few pieces on miscarriage, doctor's appointments, and marriage. I start so many essays, but fail to finish one in a timely manner. I hope to have all three posted this weekend.

Have a fabulous day ladies-- I know I am!

Back from Outer Space

Hey everyone. I'm sorry I have been seemingly off the planet for the last few weeks. As some of you may know, my mother-in-law passed away. I spent two long weeks back in Colorado with family as she her health deteriorated. The loss...crushing. After a fairly routine surgery, Doris suffered two incredibly damaging strokes. As her health declined, the family stood together waiting to make...decisions.

I think the pain from her loss feels too fresh, too surreal, and too raw to go into detail just yet. But when I am ready you know I will share.

I decided to spend a week away from the computer and emails when we returned. I facebooked a little, but I concentrated on getting back to the daily routine of living and I have poured myself into helping Chris deal with these traumatic event. Truth be told one of the few comforts I get is dedicating myself to staying busy by keeping him occupied. I find myself saying random things when I am feeling silly like rapping where the dishes go "Put the dish below...your momma no ho" and then immediately feeling sick to my stomach for uttering anything that refers to mothers. I turn the channel at the "Thanks Mom" Olympic commercials. I have found he just wants to know I am there...that I'm present even if we are not talking. We go on longer walks sometimes bubbling with conversation, sometimes with extended moments of silence. He looks forward to making dinner or little errands he has decided he wants to run. Once I woke up to the unmistakable breathing of him trying not to cry. I hold his hand when we sleep. I don't know what else to do. Grieving is such a personal, secret process.

As time trudges forward so will we. We have big decisions to make concerning our whereabouts and employment for next year. We let the pressures of reality simmer on the back burner as we deal with this new grief. We garden, we wash dishes, we sit on the couch. One day, one hour, one minute at a time.

Why you can't post

Hey sweeties! Here's the skinny on why some of you can post comments and some cannot--- you have to have a gmail blog account. That doesn't mean you have to be a blogger. When the box pops up and asks you to create a name and a password go for it. It lets you select a picture, "name to go by," and you can post comments whenever you like.

I know I promised to keep future updates as upbeat as possible. But the mood that hangs over me looms like winter clouds blanketing a gray landscape. I'm floating above it all, like an airplane steady the course. Steady the course...keep your coordinates. Life gives us some of the most terrible surprises.

I think my mother-in-law is dying. I say I think because we are holding on to a shred of hope that lies in the off-beat chance a drainage tube from her brain can give her a chance at recovery. After a recent breast cancer diagnosis and surgery, she seemed on the right path toward healing. I believed in my heart I had nothing to worry about. The surgery was successful. Yet twenty four hours can stride through life and make such a difference. After surgery, she suffered two strokes, now what we know to be an evolving stroke. Fluid is in her brain, creating massive pressure, and the stroke has ravaged portions of her brain.

So we sit. We wait. I drink coffee, pretend to read, slightly listen to menial conversation. But its not menial-- it's a welcome distraction from reality. Tears burn up my throat. I fight them back, rub little droplets from my eyes, and go for a walk. I've never watched such a vibrant person fade. My grandmother slipped into dementia....we knew her mind and body would crumble. My father left us in a flash--- like a snow storm quickly bubbling up from the west heaving piles of cold snow and retreating quickly to the east. This we never expected.

Its so exhausting to watch someone die. If that's what is really happening here. I am clinging to channel her grace as I traverse this difficult, painstaking path. I am hoping some strange magnificent miracle will help her open her eyes. I feel like Sally Field in "Steele Magnolias" "Open your eyes Shelby, open. open. open." But life isn't a movie, I'm not Sally Field, and all this is really happening.

I will update you all later. I've shared my losses with you in grave detail-- so this I feel comfortable relaying. I feel peaceful typing to invisibility--- who will read this? I have no idea. But we go on living, as tired as we are.

Love you.
Jeb

Losing weight and diet ideas

Thanks Victoria for this awesome link! Eating gluten free naturally prevents people like me from making high carbohydrate food choices. While I don't eat strictly gluten-free, I do purchase items that are and I never shy away from recipes that are gluten free.

Here's a link ladies to follow on blogspot if you are curious to try new ideas!

glutenfreegoddess.blogspot.com

All I want for Christmas is for you to drop off your sperm

So for over two months I've been waiting for my husband to go in to have his sperm tested. He keeps telling me "Oh I will go Friday" or " I can't until next week." I even put it on my Christmas list...All I want for Christmas is for you to drop off your sperm. I kid you not that's what I wrote.

While I completely understand the natural trepidation to literally walk into a doctor's office and have to produce a sample for testing, I can't move forward with my medication prescriptions until he goes in for the tests. I'm sure the very idea of going in for this delicate purpose makes him queasy. I don't quite know how to get it through his thick skull this has to happen. Now don't get me wrong and think this is his way of showing he doesn't want kids yet. We've established our commitment to the cause and feel ready for parenthood. He is totally on board, as long as he doesn't have to make the trip to the dreaded doctor's office. The other day I explained to him all the uncomfortable procedures and appointments that I have to endure as a female, let alone carry the baby if I get pregnant. He can deal with one awkward appointment. Right?

If anyone has any ideas beyond nagging and hysterics I'd love some feedback.

Venting

So today I vented-- I feel much better--I'm not choking. Cartharsis is an important coping technique. I write letters to people that I never send, call a sibling, or call out my problem. What do you do to purge overwhelming emotions?

Encouraging Words from Facebook!

A friend of mine from Colorado has the most wonderful posts regarding female empowerment through various music selections. I always look forward to reading and listening to the amazing tunes she finds and shares. She loves neo-soul, references socially conscious pop, and sometimes she throws in a song just for the wicked beat!

If you are looking for a pick me up or interesting music to add to your playlist click on her link and become a face book friend!

http://www.facebook.com/aldilorenzo

Her posts are so uplifting!

Gasp, gasp, choke. choke

I’m feeling stifled. I have such potential to make good things happen. So why does it feel like just when I use those skills I’m a bad person? I’m a go-getter. It’s just my nature. Yet for the last six months I feel like I can’t utilize that quality in myself. I’m sure its part of being new to the area, but it leaves me feeling exhausted. Exhausted from working so hard to fit in. Maybe I should stop trying so hard….

Customizing your baby

No. I'm really talking about customizing an actual baby like in science fiction movies. The baby I refer to here is my blog. I'm trying to jazz it up and make the page unique. I spent three days trying-- no luck. I downloaded an awesome program, but alas could not pay to actually apply the amazing template I created. Thus, since eyes sting, my brain hurts, and I've ignored my husband for days I have asked a former student who is excellent with computers to help me out. So please bear with me as we work to create a beautiful reflective space for you to peruse.

Regards,
Jessica

Here's the skinny on my not so skinny situation

I am five foot one inches and a tub of lard. Not really, but the height part is true. I know its suicide to admit one's weight, let alone ONLINE. But here it is. Drum roll please..........169! I am a hefty 169 pounds! I started noticing my weight gain in high school after the second time I broke my ankle. After physical therapy and what not I expected the pounds to melt off. I was an active teen, played year round competitive softball, enjoyed hiking, swimming, you name it. But despite all my activity my body expanded. Pants felt tighter, so tight in fact I resorted to sweats and running pants for a year.

In college I ate whatever I felt like. Carbs and coca-cola mostly. I still count one day when my friend and I ditched Bio with Professor Bat-man to eat a dozen donuts and watch "A Baby Story" as one of my all-time best days. Isn't that sick? A day gorging myself on sugar and trans fat felt amazing (the company was great though). In college I became an over-eater--- something foreign to me as my parents never insisted we finish the food on our plates. In fact, my folks never really kept junk food in the house; my mom stashed junk food away for parties and holidays.Doritos had no place in our home. Despite my activity, I gained. I gained some more.

As a student, disgusted by dorm food options, I resorted to what remains as my favorite food groups: cereal and dessert. My weight ballooned and I had no reasonable excuse for all my pounds. Upon one of my first visits home from college my mother told me I looked like a sausage busting out of its casing. My brother told me to stop crying because I was fat and get dressed to go to a holiday parties-- there would be cookies there so that would inevitably cheer me up right? The way I felt about my body only made me eat more.(It's ok if you laugh out here...I do). My best friend and I baked, cooked comfort foods, and relished in the bounties of the junk food aisles. I owe much of my current girth to years spent in college binging.

When I finally started exercising and paying attention to the crap I put into my mouth PCOS had also been working its wonders on my body's (in)ability to shed pounds. I should have known something was wrong when as a healthy active person I struggled to lose weight. I can assure you that after years of trying various diet options I have truly found the nutritional path I am comfortable forging ahead on. I plan almost every single item of food that I eat. I create a menu for the week with every meal, snack, side etc on it. I use this menu to inform our grocery shopping (this has done wonders for our budgeting). I tried food journaling, but I failed miserably at the diligence required to maintain such a document. Thus, my menu works as my diary-- just ahead of time. I leave myself wiggle room on the weekends and try to eat carbs at breakfast. I NEVER eat after eight. I need more protein-- so that's the current project I'm working on. Sneaky ways to get more protein in my diet.

Some people have tried offering me advice on how to eat better. I try and ignore it. I have read and read and re-read books on my nutritional needs as a person with PCOS and potential for diabetes. I have completely changed major aspects of my life to meet these needs. So when someone tells me I'm not doing enough, I shrug them off. This condition plays out as a mystery, I'm the principal actor, I don't need stand-ins ad-libbing.

Did I mention I work out? NO I don't hit the gym like some friends of mine who train for marathons etc. I used to tell people I was meant to be rolled...not to run. I work out at Curves (my only gym option in this rural area) and I walk my dog for a mile and a half each time. I also participate in activities that require my body to move. I hike, I accept invitations to do active things, I do little mini-work outs during Biggest Loser and other shows. And despite all these efforts, I haven't been able to get past the 169 mark for a year. This is where PCOS is taking me hostage-- its telling my body its hormones are off, the insulin resistors are at full speed, and my body says LOSE NOTHING--survival mode I guess.

But, I'm plugging along.

Here's my tasty smoothie recipe that sneaks in protein and vegetables.

Handful of kale (you won't taste it)
1/2 cup frozen strawberries
1/2 cup frozen cranberries
1/4 cup unflavored protein powder
1/4 cup almond milk (unsweetened)
1/4 cup Vanilla, fat-free organic yogurt

ADD if you want: fresh fruit you have in the house (apples, banana, peaches, berries, lime etc).

I drink one of these a day. Sometimes I get crazy and add spinach juice. I love it! The little boy I tutored absolutely LOVED these and had no idea how good they were for him. I crave them!

Hello? Comments please--

Realization people!

I've been sharing the crux of why I felt it was so important to start this blog--- setting a background if you will. I just realized, I've never really invited you to truly speak to share what you know, your perspective on the topic. I know its scary posting something--- my stomach turned upside down the day I first pressed post. But it feels liberating...I swear. So ladies attach a comment here giving your thoughts and ideas.

I welcome anything you have to say. Positive or negative.

I welcome your experiences.

I will work on being concise.

I will smile more often on the page.:)

So here's a question for you: Have you ever experienced infertility? or worried about infertility?

Of Mice and Men and Miscarriage

I’m in a mood tonight. Perhaps it’s the fact that my laundry room has flooded twice and the room smells like mildew has taken permanent residence between floor boards. Or perhaps it’s that my husband spent my first fifteen minutes in his presence screaming at me because the laundry was flooded. Yes, it was I who secretly conspired to flood the laundry room during the Hawkeye’s game. So instead of posting what I had planned to be an upbeat account of how I have tackled menu planning and feel proud of the results I think I’m pondering something more somber. Recipes of ways to bulk of your vegetable and fruit intake to follow some other day.



I mostly feel upset because I never knew I was pregnant when I miscarried. The guilt of feeling something I had done or eaten had destroyed the opportunity to parent still harrows through my brain. Had I known, had I only known. No coffee please, no thank you I don’t care for a glass of soda or wine. But, alas I didn’t know until the bleeding started. Perhaps I should feel thankful I never called the parents and announced the impending birth or decorated a room, or purchased a car seat. I cannot fathom the feeling of absolute anguish of knowing and….losing.

My first and my most recent miscarriages sear my thoughts. I cope better now, I feel no guilt, I know I’m not broken. But at the time, I floated from one reality to another with little ability to feel whole or like less of a woman. Bear in mind my esteem and feelings of self-worth faltered long before I miscarried. Miscarriage only provided another reason why I seemed a “broken” person. When I think of how I managed to move forward after my last miscarriage, I immediately think of my students. They moved me…not just forward, but inspired me through their understanding and support.

In October of my first year teaching I had scheduled an early meeting with a student to discuss makeup work. We sat, each tending to the tasks required, and suddenly as he motioned to me to ask a question I felt a surge of blood. I hadn’t anticipated my period. I knew the blood prevented me from walking to his desk to help, so I encouraged him to set up shop next to me. We would work through the problem until he felt he could move forward alone. I hoped, I prayed this smart boy would catch on quickly and be on his way. Meanwhile, my stomach churned, boiled, and sharp pains dug into my guts. He completed the task. I requested he go and catch up with me later. He stood up to shake my hand. Instinctively I also stood up and took his hand. I winced in pain; he winced as he caught a glimpse of blood oozing down my pants as I dizzily struggled to stand. Kindly, yet awkwardly, he asked if I was okay and if I needed him to get help. I denied assistance, sent him on his way, and begged the other teacher to take care of my classes for the remainder of the day.

At home, I sobbed. Not again! No insurance! The women’s clinic and ER both advised me to “let nature take its course” since I had no means of paying to see a doctor. So, I did. I called in sick for three days and bled. Nature was cruel. Was I being punished for kissing a boy in the fourth grade?

My return to school seemed subdued and I walked the halls in a trance. I couldn’t tell anyone, and I couldn’t engage as my effervescent self. Outside my classroom I heard two teens chatting. “Miller had an abortion.” “No freakin’ way?”

Most people let these discussions fizzle out-- the rumor mill to expire. But I couldn’t stand in front of a group of teens who believed I had purposefully lost this baby.I didn't have the option to exercise my choice. As students took their seats, the nerves warmed my belly, my hands started to stiffen.

“Good Morning guys.”

“Good morning Miller.”

The bulk of my broach of the topic: “I haven’t been out the last three days for the reason some of you may think. I want to stop rumors before they get out of control. Monday, I miscarried. It was tough at first, but I feel better now. Not perfect, but better. So now that you know, please do not tell your friends something different.” My voice quivered, my body language slackened.

They all sat there eyes blinking feeling, what I assume, overwhelmed by this incredibly human moment. Teachers don’t tell you stuff like this. They tell you baseball is cool and kids should read more. But this…no they don’t tell you this.

Tyler raised his hand, “What is a miscarriage?” I explained. He innocently gave his condolences. In fact, he got up from desk and hugged me.

Other hands raised; poignant questions followed by my responses interrupted moments of stillness and quiet. Students shared experiences, “Yeah my mom had that happen once.” Or “I have a brother I never met because he died when he was a baby” or “ What’s the difference between a miscarriage and an abortion?” For ninety minutes (a vital block day of learning) we cast aside Of Mice and Men to talk about the human condition as we had experienced it. I felt liberated by the discussion, saddened by the topic, and responsible for a magical moment as a teacher. We (society) never talk about these types of things. Miscarriage lies somewhere between abortion and sexuality on the continuum of taboos most likely to be avoided in discussion. But here we were talking about it without rules or shame. This lesson proved just as vital as Steinbeck's choice to not name the solitary female character in his book.

I have never felt closer to a group of students. They didn’t pity me or judge me. They just wondered how I was feeling. The very sentiment still brings tears to my eyes. Kids…kids connected with the very raw emotion more than I had wanted to. They also gave me hope—if I could have sons and daughters as wise and kind. They informed my philosophy as an educator--I will always care how a student feels to engage and encourage the process of learning.

Afterward, a few mothers sent me emails thanking me for teaching this “lesson” to their sons, a mother baked me a cake, two girls took care of some filing, and a father left me a voice mail to express his care and concern. If I needed anything…just ask. One student, whenever he saw me, always offered to carry my bag or my box of papers to grade. And the boy who was in the room the day it happened came to my room and quietly confessed, “I didn’t know that was what it was called. I think I told my friend the wrong thing. I’m sorry.”

How could I feel anger at this boy who had no idea what a miscarriage was? Of course I understood. Normally a quiet, shy student his explanation seemed to rocket out of his mouth, his words couldn’t keep time with his thoughts. “ It’s just. Just. I thought you know? Something was wrong. I could tell. I asked. He said that’s what it was. I shouldn’t hav….”

“Its okay.” I put my hand on his arm and promised I was okay. For the first time that day, I was.

The Baby Room

The Baby Room

I work for a daycare/preschool. Most days I spend chasing toddlers, giving copious high fives, and reasoning with four-year olds. Every once in a while—not very often--- someone calls in sick and I get to work in the coveted baby room. I love the baby room. The smell of chubby cherub children coated in lavender lotion and baby powder just melts my heart. When the toddlers drive me to another dimension of crazy (there is NO reasoning with a two-year old) I escape into the baby room, swoop an infant my arms and feel the calm seep through my skin. While rocking the baby her heartbeat sets pace with yours; every little worry or angst is drowned out by the peaceful stillness of a sound asleep baby. Rocking back and forth...a rhythm sets in, life feels less about noise and more about the constant,comforting rocking motion. Sure, the babies inevitably vomit up breakfast on my shirt, or suddenly stink of pee, but I love it nonetheless. Only in the baby room is gas considered cute. Each baby has adapted to sharing the attention of the staff, some mightily complain with wails to be held as others blow bubbles and grunt as they attempt to scoot across the floor.

Toddlers often try and “escape” from the confines of their classroom for the infant room. I used to take their hands and force them to leave the babies. Didn’t they understand they were big kids now? I mean we’re potty training people!One day while a particular persistent fellow kept creeping into the room, I realized his intent. He was escaping that day. Just like me, he wanted to feel the calm of lullabies and rockers. Blankies and binkies. So I stopped making the toddlers scram, but instead taught them to ask (one at a time) for permission to visit the baby room. Sometimes they remember, others they just storm in the room. Children, no matter the age, feel chaos as it collides with their routines and lack the ability to advocate for positive ways to cope with said commotion. Like us when we announce on Facebook, I NEED A NAP or MAKE THE WORLD GO AWAY, young ones need the opportunity to escape from dysfunction or have a moment to relax.

Every so often, when work is slow, I take a toddler by the hand and bring a rocking chair into our room. We take turns resting in the rocker reading books, cuddling while watching friends play, or having a good sit because every now and again we all need a quiet moment to share in the comfort of someone’s arms.

New Year's Resoultions: Whale watching

I’m never really excited about New Year’s. The holiday has always just provided an excuse to seemingly swim in alcohol. I always feel like the anticipation of it all seems to deflate at midnight. I grew up thinking some magical change just might occur when the ball drops, like Cinderella, and I’d feel different. So each year at the stroke of midnight I would wait for that wonderful transformation the new year would bring. I’d wait and wait, but nope. Same ol’ same ol’. This year I realized the delightful change could only happen not just if I willed it to but if I conscientiously elected to create change in my life. Change requires action.

Thus, this year when the clock struck midnight and the firecrackers popped over the beach, instead of sipping champagne or pretending to know the words to Auld Lang Syne, I sat in bed in my husband’s arms and purposefully crafted my means of change in my heart. I determined to find hope and hold on to it, to keep my grasp firm. I decided to write more, more letters, more blog entries, more cards. I will value meaningful relationships and work to keep them that way (even if that means to say sorry). I need to stop taking every little thing so personal. Negativity has no place in my heart; it is not up to others to determine what it negative, its solely my responsibility. I will recognize and give credence to my good-natured personality and I will share it. Communication serves as a key component in life and I will continue to value the process of building my communicative skills, openly and honestly.

Lastly, I as I drifted off composing this change manifesto in my mind, I determined these three things: to go back to school, find fulfillment in all I do, and to go whale watching. I think all of those resolutions have potential for success. The quality of my life isn’t determined by me becoming pregnant or having PCOS, its established by my own will to see the magic I already have.