Filling the void

I “held” a table for my friends as they played pool before the drag show. I sat alone for a long time, and that annoyed me. I had been reduced to a table saver so others could arrive whenever they felt like it. Once we assembled, the drama began: Who was flirting. Who was cute, a twink, a hoe, a butch, and who was nellie. Who was the latest internet boyfriend, what he looked like, and his measurements. This behavior had always annoyed me, but I now wondered if they would ever grow up. Then my friends announced they were leaving for another bar, to chase some ass that may be there. And . . . .they. . . . .left me there. . . . without a second thought. I could have followed to watch them flirt, text, and exchange numbers. But I would have felt just as alone there, in their presence, as I did by myself in this bar. So why waste expensive gas to feel lonely? Besides, I’m not going to be the fag hag who follows her gays to every location of their choosing, and try to consistently be their voice of reason. I'm tired of being the level headed one. Everyone had an agenda that night, and it has become a habit.

I sat alone and felt empty, but was determined to finish the show. I wondered, “What is wrong with me? Why am I sitting alone in a gay bar, when I am a single, straight female? Why do I surround myself with people who are desperate, when that behavior annoys me? How did I get here in life, and do I even want to stay here? What is wrong with me?”

There was a time when my group of friends was larger, diverse, and we gathered to have fun. We had our favorite bars, and we moved as a group. No one was left behind. As the group dwindled, we have become closer to each other, and our friendships are now deeper. But I am the only straight person left. And as the minority, I have followed the desires of the majority. Until now.

I left the bar feeling completely dissatisfied with myself, with my friends, with my life. I went directly to QT to get chocolate—as a salve for my soul. I sat in my car, chowing down when I heard a voice in my head, “You cannot fill this emptiness with food.” I was shocked. Then I thought of all the ways I have tried to fill or at least mask this emptiness—relationships, food, church, alcohol, smoking, food, working, and I can’t forget food. I was taught that God or church filled that emptiness, and I worked my ass off in church and in prayer, only to find myself still empty. I have put on 100 lbs since high school to fill the emptiness. I have been going out with friends and stayed as busy as possible to mask the emptiness. But it’s still there.

So the question of the year seems to be, how do I fill this emptiness, and with what? It comes from within, and I now know that. My friend Randall, who was not there that night, let me cry on his shoulder and express my frustration. He assured me I will find the answer, and it’s about loving yourself. He had actually alluded to my lack of self love a few times prior, and I blew him off. I guess my spirit wouldn't be ignored anymore.

I had a talk with one of my friends, and let him know that the drama and the agendas have worn me down, his behavior borders on desperation, and is immature. I let him know that I was hurt. He apologized, and I hope he truly heard what I was saying. Because it's all going to be different now.

Recovery

I have been recovering from my surgery, and am now on week 3. My incision is healing nicely, and my pain is nearly gone. However, I now feel my colon more than ever,my bladder, and my kidneys. It's a dull pain that gnaws at me, but isn't big enough to require narcotics. My doctor assured me that the scraping that was done made those organs sensitive, and they were still settling into their life that is now free from endometriosis.

I have not had hot flashes, but it's as if my body temp has risen 20 degrees the last few days. My typically cold body gets warm very easily. I believe my fetish for blankets may come to an end if this continues. I have been testy, partly due to being hot.

The hardest part is the emotional. I have found the physical recovery to be simpler than I thought. But I still have my moments of getting overwhelmed at seeing a baby, or something will make me think of living the rest of my life without a child, and I will grieve all over again. I know that I will ultimately be OK with my life, but for now I still struggle. I only recently began praying again, and it feels very hollow to do it. I feel like I lost all bearings in life, and I'm floating in the darkness. I am depressed and I recognize that. So I try not to let my mind linger in that black hole for long.

But I will survive. I have no other choice. My dogs need me.

It's done

As an update, I am home from the hospital. I had the surgery on Monday morning. I wasn't so much nervous, as I was ready to get it over with. My friend Kelsy was there, and that made me feel good. I came out of surgery in horrible pain and with nausea. I remember asking my mom how it went, and she said, "They took it all. Ovaries and all. You had endometriosis." I was shocked. The morphine drip barely handled the pain the first night, but finally seemed to do the trick around 2AM. I ended up with major itching all over my body from the morphine. I also drifted in and out of consciousness. I remember taking a drink of water, and falling asleep without swallowing. I heard my mom say, "Are you gonna swallow that?" I woke up and realized it was still sitting in my mouth.

After the doctor visited with me, I found out that the surgery came just in time. In my surgery just over a year ago, I had fallopian tubes connected to my colon. They were seperated, and the attachment was due to my colon becoming inflamed at some point. (My IBS explains that.) My doctor opened me up, and found endometriosis on my colon, my other organs, in and out of everything, had even formed their own cysts. They had to remove the uterus, cervix, tubes, and ovaries. She told me my pain was probably more dramatic than anyone realized, and that she was glad I was persistent with my claims. She said that she had no idea she would encounter that, and I will have a lot of relief once I am healed.

I am at home recuperating now. I have an 8" incision in my abdobmen. But I'm on hormones, and I'm looking forward to the future.

Tis the Season for New Traditions

Christmas is the time of year for family and fun and gifts and giving and getting together right? Not for everyone. Growing up, I LOVED Christmas. It was full of fun, love, food, gifts, and a joyous spirit. After my divorce, it became a reminder that I was alone. I had to buy separate gifts for each individual in my family, but married couples would buy me a single gift and say it was from both. So I spent more than anyone, and got less in return. I would sit and watch as my parents and my sister and her husband would exchange wonderful gifts with each other. Christmas lost its luster. To me now, it’s more of a burden. It’s a reminder of what I don’t have. My niece is the only thing about Christmas that I look forward to.

My friends are mainly in their late 30’s and single. So we are all in that same position: none of us consider Christmas joyous. It’s nice to be around people who understand that emptiness that comes with these holidays. On Thanksgiving, after fulfilling our family obligations, we met for a movie and then went to a club. On Christmas Eve, we will do it again. It gives us something to look forward to. Our own version of holiday cheer. Vodka makes everything a little more tolerable.

Our favorite waitress at Village Inn is amazing. We all chipped in and bought her a Christmas present—a robe, slippers, a candle, and a face mask. She loved it, and told us this may be her only Christmas gift. She has no family. She works Christmas day. So she is going to go out with us on Christmas Eve for the first time.

A cousin of mine is also single, and has no family that he is close to. He is coming with us as well.

It’s comforting to look around and know that I’m not alone, but to also know that if single folks unite, we can still have fun, even if it is not in the religious or traditional form.

Damn Emotions!

I was looking for some negatives. I had a friend who had lost his photos of Paris, and I had been there and offered to let him make copies from my negatives. I began tearing through my drawer of photos, unsure what I may have done with them. I found myself flipping through random piles of photos. I began throwing them away – weddings of cousins who are now divorced, my honeymoon, my trip to Vegas with my ex. All of it had lost its meaning. Still no negatives.

Wait! They may be with my wedding negatives! So I began plowing through that file box, and cleaned it out as well. As I came to my wedding negatives (they were actually engagement, bridal, and wedding shoot negs), I suddenly found myself sitting in a pile of discarded photos. Discarded…..history. My ….history……was lying in shambles on the floor around me. What did I even save this history for? My own daughter or son. It was a history of their mother. A story that needed told to understand where I came from.

And, it is a waste. I will not bare my own children. I sat on the floor and was suddenly overcome with grief. What are these photos for? What’s this house for? What’s this life for? Is there any real purpose for any of this? Why am I even here?

And so, I called my sister, and broke down. She explained this was natural, that these emotions would come and go. But this time, they took me completely off guard.

Today, I am both sad and in physical pain. My cramps are the worst I’ve ever had. I feel like my internal organs are swollen. I almost went to the ER this morning. I want some closure. I want some sense of direction. I want something to live for.

the beauty of a child

It has become a Sunday ritual.

I’m usually at my parents' house on Sunday, solving the crossword, when they arrive home from lunch. My niece's small frame peers over the couch and greets me with a smile. There was a time when she wouldn’t acknowledge me, passing through the stages of toddler independence, but she has outgrown that. She smiles broadly, showing her teeth, raises her eyebrows, lifts her head, and with her red curly hair encasing her head like a beautiful halo, she exclaims, “Hi, Kwisti!”. That’s when I melt.

It’s naptime after Sunday lunch. One time, my niece approached me in the living room, holding a stuffed animal, and said, “Kwisti, come nap wif me.” I was sure Nana put her up to it, but it was still adorable. Of course, I obliged.

Again, I was happy to lie down with her this past Sunday afternoon. I had been milling over my choices on my own reproductive future. I hadn’t vocalized my concerns, but I had been running scenarios through my head. What if’s. Why me’s. If only’s.

I crawled into bed with my niece after she was already asleep. Being hot natured, she was shirtless with only a sheet as a cover. I slid up next to her, careful not to wake her, and absorbed her beauty. Her hair is similar to mine—color, texture, lack of control. Her skin is commonly compared to a China doll’s white, flawless tone. But what struck me was her frame. This angel is now 3. It seems an eternity ago that she came into this world. We had wondered at the time what she would look like, act like, sound like. And I have to tell you, I’m awestruck. She is creative, intelligent, and analytical. She is funny and manipulative. She is no longer a baby, but a little girl. The cries and noises, are now replaced by words, conversation, creativity, stories, and song. Lots and lots of songs—in tune, mind you.

I gazed at her neck and her frame. I wanted to touch her soft skin, and even reached out my hand, but stopped myself in fear of waking her. As the light entered through the window, highlighting her shoulders, I wondered how something so perfect could exist--something so innocent. I remember praying before she was born that she not inherit my depression, and be spared my low self esteem and fears. So far, so good.

As I pondered the magnificence of God's creation, I wondered if I had the strength and patience for a child, and if my chance for one was truly over. Surely if I had a daughter, she couldn’t match the beauty of the child next to me. I wondered why some people keep children they don’t want, with so many families waiting for a child. How can anyone intentionally hurt a child? How can God allow some children to be born into horrible homes, and allow good homes to remain childless?

Soon, I fell asleep. But even now, days later, my mind drifts back to those quiet moments of reflection. The song that comes to mind each time is one by Steve Nicks, Landslide:

“…Oh, mirror in the sky what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean’s tide? Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Well I’ve been afraid of changing, ‘cause I’ve built my life around you. Time makes you bolder, and even children get older. I’m getting older too.”

Many of my expectations and hopes have included lying down with my own child. I am left wondering if this is the closest I will ever get—lying next to my niece. Is a child what I really want, or just what I’ve always expected? How could any child be more perfect than this? Am I really prepared for the dedication of motherhood? Am I really prepared for a life without any children? So many questions, so few answers.. . . . . . .

Barren is dead word

The word hysterectomy has permanence to it. There is no turning back. “Hysteria “ refers to a woman’s reproduction organs , and “-ectomy “ denotes removal.

Since my divorce 7-1/2 years ago, I have battled pre-cancerous cells that went away on their own, some so severe they were removed by surgery. I have my ex-husband to thank for the HPV that caused all of this. I’ve had an enlarged and sensitive cervix my whole life. I have cysts on my ovaries, and cysts in my uterus. When my doctor lasered my cervix, she took as little as possible to preserve my ability to have children, but warned another surgery like that would render me barren. That was several years ago.

Now, I’m 37. I have no children, and have never been pregnant. I did what I was taught—get married first, then have children. My ex not only left me an HPV present, but he left just as we agreed to start trying for a child. (FML) I kept telling myself through all of my abnormal paps, "God is preserving my organs for a child, right?" Apparently not.

I’ve waited for Mr. Right for a very long time, in vain. I sat in my gyno’s office a few weeks ago and she began asking about my periods. I gave her the rundown—my cramps last 7 days, my periods last 7 to 8 days, and are VERY heavy. I may have a period twice a month, maybe only once. You never know until it happens. I’ve had periods since the age of 10. I have other issues that have popped up in recent months that I won’t describe here. (TMI)

She told me that my options have ended, and offered me a hysterectomy. I told her I wanted to wait for more vacation and more money. But honestly, I wanted time to think about it. I was shocked at her offer, and left her office in shock. She told me to call anytime that I’m ready.

I am at that age where pregnancy means taking on huge developmental risks for that child. I’m at a high risk for infertility and miscarriage. And let’s face it—I’m not even in a relationship!!!!!

My mom asked me tonight why I am waiting to have surgery, and I told her that I know what will happen: I will say, “Let’s do it”, and I will emotionally break. As soon as I said that to my mom, I nearly broke. As tears rolled down my face and my lips quivered, I told my parents, “You guys have to realize how hard it is. It’s hard to go to church and see these young couples talk about God bringing them together. And you see them having babies, and saying that God gave them this gift. It makes you feel worthless. Like God hates you or is playing favorites. I can’t look at that anymore! But the day I give in to being barren will be the first day of many, many tears. ”

And so, the reality is setting in. I haven’t been to church in a while for a number of reasons. This is one of them. There is a part of me that thinks it’s pointless, because God isn’t listening anyway. And I am concluding that it is time for a hysterectomy. I’m tired of waiting. Tired of wanting. Tired of hope. The older I get, the scarier the thought of bringing a child into the world. I am only up for it if I’m in a healthy relationship, and I’m not even close to that.

I was talking to my friend Randall the other night about relationships. I told him, “In a perfect world, a man would come up to me and ask me out, and I would say, ‘here is a book called Love is a Choice, about overcoming codependency. Read it, think about it, and then call me if you are still interested.’ And months later he would call me, still interested, but emotionally healthier than before.” Randall laughed and said, “No, in the perfect world, he would say, ‘Oh, that book? I already own it. It’s helped me tremendously.’ Then you would KNOW it was a match made in heaven.” He is so right. And well, this isn’t a perfect world, is it?

Now, it's out in the open. The conversation with my parents, and this blog, make it real. So I guess the next step is: when shall I do it?