the story of gerty mcnasty & my jerk uterus

Twenty-nine. 

I am twenty-nine glorious years old.  My facebook feed is filled with chubby-cheeked babies, classic poses by brides on the beach at sunset, status updates about pooping in toilets, and comments about the rat race / work / coffee / bosses / zzzz..... Sorry, I nodded off.  Anway, I enjoy seeing those people with their poofy white dresses, drooling infants, and white picket fences because it means that they are doing what makes them happy.  Getting married, repopulating the earth, collecting shiny items to display in expensive houses... It's all very wonderful.  For them.

I have one hell of an imagination, those who know me can attest, I'm a total weirdo.  However, I cannot fathom myself living that life.  I don't want a stroller that could double as one of the Transformers and costs as much as a plane ticket to the Middle East.  I don't want to work a job I hate (or even merely tolerate) to pay for shit I don't need and a house I can't really afford.  No offense, dear friends and family, nor judgement... just not my dig. 

My feed also occasionally dons the view from Machu Picchu or a dare become reality.  I have been fortunate enough to have collected fantastic friends who randomly move to foreign countries on whim, backpack entire continents in search of the best food, are true artists at heart, and remind me constantly that life is freaking beautiful.  They have even inspired some of my insane (and recently updated) Bucket List items!  However, a major surgery was never on that list. 

Exactly three years ago, I sat down and signed my name on the dotted line to have my insides looked at because I was constantly in pain and my flat little tummy would go from 'pilates video' to 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' in an moment's time.  What they found was endometriosis.  I also found out I was born without my right ovary, which I later began telling people that is why I fall over when I drink.  So, my solo baby-maker paired (ha) with this disease that is eating away at a handful of my organs, I was looking at a five-year window for popping out carbon copies of myself, unless I wanted to contract NASA to come in and make magic happen.  I might be paraphrasing...

"Happiness depends upon ourselves." -Aristotle

I had just ended my engagement after a five-year relationship, I had just started doing corporate marketing for a fantastic company, and I was 1,500 miles from my family.  I wasn't in a position to make any major decisions and thank sweet Lady Godiva that I didn't. Anything involving the human body deserves both objective and subjective thinking, and time was about to become my best friend. 

Flash forward to this semi-sunny week in July of 2013.  I am single, working at a non-profit helping people save their homes, planning the big move to Japan, and just aced my last class that has been plaguing me for ages.  I am also now scheduled for a massive, life-changing surgery.  This is about to get personal kids, but let me tell you why I am choosing to divulge this information before I throw all my lady cards on the table:

We are all in this game together.  Things like race, gender, sexual orientation, religion, and the rest of the identifiers don't matter: we are all human.  If I can't be there to help someone else who is hurting and alone, I am doing this world a disservice.  If someone reads this- whether they reach out to me or not- and is encouraged or relieved, even if only for a moment, I have done something.  Complacency, apathy, and indifference are the true evils in this world.

Back to my lady cards.  My uterus is trying to kill me.  That whiny bitch throws a temper tantrum every month because she made me a beautiful present- this egg- and I don't do a damn thing with it.  So, that Jezebel burns down the house.  My single ovary is working over-time because her twin got hammered and never showed up.  She's exhausted, freaking out, and running out of eggs, so she's pissy with everything around her.  The rest of my organs are frozen in fear, wondering how messy this is about to get; there could be a riot on the horizon.  My abdomen is making that face people make when they are thinking, "Don't do it, bitch.  Don't you dare, oh, hell no!  That look pisses off my bratty uterus, who then decides she's going to get back at everyone north of her by literally throwing herself into the chaos that she started.  Bitch, you don't belong here.  Where is your passport?  You don't have one!  Deported!  Cue: Riot.

Yes, I understand that anthropomorphizing my internal organs is morbid.  So is the fact that my best ladybird gal-pal and I both only have one ovary and so we gave them best friend names.  Mine is Gerty McNasty. 

The bottom line is that my quality of life is not where I want it.  It is 2-3 months of no traveling, no playing, and none of the good stuff every time a doctor has to go in there and clean up my stupid uterus' non-baby-mama-drama.  I am collecting scars like it's the 90's and they are Pogs.  (Yep, I went there.)  I'm always exhausted, I feel like I'm 59, not 29.  I cancel on my friends constantly because I cannot muster the energy to socialize.  I hurt every day.  Every.  Day.  There are no tests or scans for endmetriosis.  Pain is not a direct indicator of damage done.  There is no cure.  There are no pills or drugs that can fix it.  There are shots out there for temporary, chemically-induced menopause, there are birth control pills for suppressed symptoms, and there are surgeries for cauterizing the lesions and implants.  Until they slice me open and poke around inside of me, they have no idea what the hell is going on in there.  I'm basically a piñata.  A piñata filled with bitchy organs.

My initial surgery to remedy my internal civil war was scheduled for September, but was quickly moved up due to complications.  Yes, I did my research on both the procedure and my doctor.  The procedure is called a hysterectomy (uterus).  I decided to keep my cervix for personal reasons, plus it is like Switzerland: neutral and just here for a good time.  My doctor worked on my sister a few years back and has a great track record.  Her bedside manner doesn't suck, so I gave the thumbs up.

Update: I have decided to retain Gerty and wait on the oophorectomy... Trusting God on this one... 

The idea of being a mother is mind-blowing, and I have the utmost respect for those who do it, especially alone.  I also do not believe that the traditional definition of being a mother is the only truth by any stretch of the imagination.  If my body is telling me that putting a baby in my belly isn't my path, then I need to listen up.  Besides, I can just collect little kids from all my favorite countries as I travel.  I would be thrilled to collect the whole set: The Multigrain Family.  Who knows, perhaps I can get a 2-for-1 deal if I buy in bulk.  I need to call Angelina Jolie and see if she can put in a good word for me.

Kidding...

The majority of my life has revolved around children: nanny, swimming instructor, Sunday School teacher, youth leader for my church, English teacher... I love kids.  Each of those positions required me to teach, lead by example, touch a life, and make a difference; is that not the definition of a mother?  I have to look at this pending surgery as a list of Pros & Cons, not as removing my ability to be a nurturing mother, because I have been doing that my entire life.  When I was 4, I fell at pre-school and split my chin wide open (yes, I have a scar from that as well).  The school called my mom to come pick me up and, upon arrival, she found me with one hand propped up on my knee with ice in-hand, holding my bloody chin, and the other arm slung around another child with a book.  I was reading to him while I waited to go to the doctor. 

This post is me putting my arm around anyone out there who is dealing with a disease, condition, or decision in their life.  Whether it is your jerk uterus, punkass balls, or some other rebellious non-reproductive organ... I got your back.  The bottom line is this: You must be true to yourself.  You cannot give a half a damn what anyone else thinks.  Yes, it is important to discuss this with family and friends, gain perspective, etc.  However, in the end, this is my body, my jerk uterus, and my life.  Comparison is the thief of joy, kids.  I can't compare my one little bastard ovary to my overly-fertile friend's dynamic duo; I'd go positively mad. 

The hardest part of this whole process is trying to talk to people about it- like my doctor- who don't know me well enough to pass judgment.  When I went to talk to my doctor about it, she said this little gem to me:

"What if you meet the man of your dreams?"

Shut the front door.  Really?  If the man of my dreams doesn't want to be with me because I can't make a tiny human in my loins, then he is not the man of my dreams, I assure you.  Those of you who have been a reader for a while know that I lack a filter, so I fired back with a smirk:

"What if I meet the woman of my dreams?" 

Checkmate.  She stopped talking and started listening.  People need to stop spoon-feeding societal standards to others like it is the only acceptable form of sustenance.  I have felt judged, like I am a freak and heartless, all because I would rather live my life for me and be happy & healthy, rather than spend mountains of money and stress non-stop over making my DNA hook up with some dude's and in a hot rush. 

"But Amie, what about in vitro?"  Why would I spend tens of thousands of dollars to maybe get pregnant?  A lot of women end up with four freaking kids when they mess with that stuff!  For that price, I could fly to Kenya, go on safari, adopt a child, feed the orphanage for a week, and buy a gift for the lady who is having four freaking kids because of in vitro.

"But Amie, what about a surrogate?"  Hmmm... "Hey, lady, hold my baby.  For 9 months.  Oh, and then go away, because it's mine.  Gimmie.  Wait, change their diaper first."  Aside from the aforementioned monetary cost, this one is still tricky.  I'll keep you updated.

"But Amie, what about having a lot of sex with a guy and just trying?"  Trust me, that crossed my mind.  Oh, and I tried that.  Though it would be a very enjoyable experiment, the result- you know, the important part- isn't a goal.  This is someones life.  I don't want to bring a person into this world just because I might be able to. 

"But Amie, what about having a lot of sex with a girl and just trying?"  Nice try.  

The hardest part of this procedure for me will be losing a part of me that is vital to feeling feminine.  I'm tall, I have some curves (thankfully in the right places), and I have the mindset of a twenty-something dude.  I need to feel pretty, delicate, sexy, and feminine... So they're going to take out what essentially makes me a woman... Rad.  My family has been supportive, providing as many hugs as they do questions.  My bosses let me put my head down on my keyboard until I have a page and a half full of the home row keys on my screen.  My close friends offer a full glass of wine and a full bottle of Advil whenever I make it off the couch. 

Despite all that jazz, it has been quite lonely.  I know this isn't the easiest subject to deal with, and bitches be crazy, but I would like to feel I have managed to have a pretty firm grasp on all this.  So, dear friends and strangers alike, if you run into me or end up sipping whiskey with me on a Tuesday night, please don't freak out.  I don't expect you to know what to say or how to comfort me, just be cool like the fuzz is watching and all will be well.  If it will help, here is a solid list for those who couldn't buy a clue with a $100 bill.  

  

Guidebook to Amie's Hysterectomy 

x  Don't pity me.  

✔ Do buy me a drink.  

x  Don't avoid me.

✔ Do ask how I am doing. 

x  Don't let me get bored... Entertain me.

✔ Do just tell me, "I'm here".  That'll do, pig. 

x  Don't forget how hilarious I am on pain killers.

✔ Do come visit me.  Seriously... We can color and watch Disney movies...

I don't expect anyone to understand what I am going through, even another Hyster Sister.  This is an incredibly personal journey and I am lucky to be doing it at a transitional point in my life.  Yes, I am saddened by this, yet another jagged turn in the road that will change my body for the rest of my short but powerful life.  Simultaneously, I am honored to be trusted with such a massive task and given the opportunity to shine through as a positive soul.  I am nervous that I won't be the same afterwards.  I am more nervous that I will be exactly the same afterwards.  More than anything, I am excited.  I am excited to be pain free.  I am excited to never have "that time of the month" again.  I am excited to be freed from my chains.  

Let's recap what we have learned today, class: 

• My uterus is a jerk.
• I am a gypsy.
• I like mismatching children.
• I don't care what gender you are.
• I named my only ovary.
• I use inappropriate humor as a coping mechanism.
• I'm pretty funny.
• I want to watch movies with you while I am high. 

So, as I awkwardly stumble into this adventure, I try not to spill my drink & I thank everyone for their support, patience, kind words, and offers to carry my hypothetical future unborn children or lift me off the couch.  August 28th will be yet another insane moment in my life... Cheers to many more.

xx.a



in to me see

Intimacy. 
In to me see. 

Intimacy is the foremost ignored aspect of a relationship... and the most important.  Most people refer to intimacy in regards to the physical closeness: kissing, touching, sex, etc.  For me, and for many others who choose a path of growth and self-betterment, it is almost completely emotional.  

We all have our baggage from our childhoods, our past relationships, friends who have wronged us, and our own mistakes (for those that truly own them).  It is how we carry that baggage that determines our success in our present and future relationships.  There are countless other analogies and metaphors for baggage and finding someone whose baggage "matches yours" or "is willing to carry some from time to time"... That's wonderful for those that it inspires, but for me, it is more about realizing what you carry with you and consolidating.  

When you are backpacking through the world, you can only bring with you what you can carry on your back and shoulders.  You don't need ten pairs of jeans and high heels for each color scheme.  You need the basics, the things that will get you through the rain and snow, the things that will shade you from the scorching sun, and the things that will remind you where you came from.  The same is true for relationships.  I, personally, have been a victim (and I do not use that term loosely) of every sort of abuse and I have had to learn over the last thirteen years what to bring with me, and what to leave on the table as I move on to the next place.  

The lesson I learned when I was cheated on by my boyfriend- with my best friend, no less- was to evaluate who my friends are, why they are my friends (Are they friends with me to gain something?  Are there ulterior motives?  Do their core values match mine?) and whether or not we are bringing out the best in each other.  That is the baggage I choose to bring with me: experience.  The baggage I chose to leave behind: distrust, anger, cynicism, and fear.   

It is very easy for people to get caught up in being the victim and create a pool of pity they are too afraid to climb out of.  Newsflash: You will eventually drown.  

With all this baggage, any person will begin to feel like Atlas, and their relationships will suffer.  How can you gaze into your partner's eyes and be completely honest and open when you looking for the easiest exit?  How can you lovingly embrace the person you want to spend your life with when your arms are full of baggage?  How can you hold hands and walk down the path when you have countless walls that you either built, or were constructed during one of your wars, hindering?  

Intimacy is not an option.  For a successful relationship of any sort, one must be open to change and willing to take down those walls... Even if it is brick by brick.  Some walls can be bulldozed in a short matter of time, and some will take ages.  It is a matter of that person in your life, the one standing on the other side of your wall, being worth the effort it takes to destroy those walls. That person will help you.  That person will accept you as you are.  That person will love you unconditionally.  

Without intimacy, your relationship with your family is nothing but obligation.  
Without intimacy, your relationship with your mate is nothing but friends with benefits.
Without intimacy, your relationship with your friend is nothing but social networking. 
Without intimacy, your relationship with yourself is nothing but an empty existence. 

Don't allow the beautiful things in your life to slip away because you can't reach them over your baggage.  Don't let that person run from you because you are throwing your baggage at them.  Life is too short- guilty of a cliche and too passionate to care- and you have spent the majority of your life learning how to love yourself... You don't have that kind of time to convince somebody else.  The same goes for them.  Tear down your walls, dump the baggage, and quit being a little bitch.  You have more to lose than you think... and regrets are the heaviest of baggage. Intimacy is the only thing that will help you on your journey.  The choice is yours. 

In life, you have three choices: Give up, give in, or give it all you've got. 

Don't blind yourself so you cannot see into your partner.

xx.a

time does not change us, it just unfolds us.

That very Max Frisch quote rings in my ears as I walked laps at the park this morning with the kids I nanny in tow.  I believe that the events that occur during said time change us; they mature us, build character, leave battle wounds that remind us of lessons learned... And if we are reckless, leave us scarred and embittered.  I am fortunate enough to have learned early on that regret and remorse over so-called 'mistakes' is a waste of time... But not before letting regret live in my heart and head rent free for countless years.  


Half our life is spent trying to find something to do with the time we have rushed through life trying to save.  -Will Rogers 


This is precisely what I am striving to avoid.  I have said before that I have no intention of waiting until I am in my last decades to wander this great planet, and I have no intention of allowing the one thing that truly defines me to go to waste: dichotomy.  I need balance in my life, I came to that conclusion in my early twenties and have since been a better version of myself.  When I was taking 28 credit hours and working 3 part-time jobs, I was all work and no fun.  Currently, I am the opposite of the aforementioned lifestyle, and I am craving some structure to my life... But just a little.  The same balance can be applied to my "retirement years"... I don't want them.  I like working, I like earning things and feeling a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day.  It may be commissioned artwork only, or I may teach until I am in my 80's, but I know I don't want to kick back and do nothing at the end of my life.  Work, travel, love, rest... Live.  


That being said, I also believe that dear Father Time is not the only key-holder to our true selves.  Yes, events in our lives- first loves, first time having sex, first fight with our parents, first brush with death, first time traveling, first time living on your own- they build character and help you mature... But it is also the decisions we make that show us who we are. 


"Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habits. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny." – Unknown 


These words remind me of a very passionate, but tumultuous, relationship I was in for a very long time.  The words never quite matched the actions because the actions were a reflection of the thoughts & feelings.  In this life we live, words are the easiest thing to fake.  I, for one, refuse to "fake it til I make it" because I know that I deserve better than that, and so do the people in my life.  Your thoughts, words, actions, habits, & character are all what lead you to where you are going: Don't blame "fate" for things that happen... There is a sense of Karma (whatever you want to call it) in this Universe, so be kind and be careful what you put out there and how you treat others, but you are in control of your life!  If you pay attention, you will find your true self a little bit each day... Then live.

Strong then... 

Strong now...

  xx.a

twenty.seven

Tomorrow I will have been on this earth for twenty-seven years. Twenty. Seven.


Didn't I just turn 25 and have my 'Quarter Life Crisis'?  Was that even a crisis?  I was more tripping out about where my life was, I think.  For those of you who know me, 26 was a cluster-ball-buster, and, though I would rather wipe it from the books completely, there was so much outside drama happening I was unable to process anything internally.


What have I accomplished?
How far have I come?
Who am I?


Add about a dozen more questions, the last being; "By whose standards?"

Here are some things that others accomplished at the age of 27: 

-Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. dropped out from his job at General Electric to become a full-time writer.

-Henry David Thoreau went off for two years to live alone in a cabin at Walden Pond.

-Cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin became the first person in space.

-Memphis millionaire Frederic W. Smith founded Federal Express.

-Scottish botanist David Douglas discovered the Douglas fir.

-Ernest Hemingway published his first novel, The Sun Also Rises.

-Boston dentist William Morton pioneered modern anaesthesiology after learning that inhalation of ether will cause a loss of consciousness.

-Conceptual artist Piero Manzoni crapped in 90 small cans which were then factory sealed and offered for sale at the price of gold.

 Even the conceptual artist did something worth mentioning!  It's not as if I haven't accomplished anything, I know I have lived leaps and bounds beyond many people my age, and even some twice my age, but it leaves me wondering... Does it matter, and if it does, do I give a half a damn? What do I care if someone my age owns a condo and has been at the same job for 5 years? I lived in Europe, shot with some of the most revered photographers in the world, met countless fascinating people and kissed the stars. Take that, Manzoni! 


I have discovered that judging oneself requires a certain sense of consideration of the surroundings.  For example, you can own a 2500 sq. ft. home in the south for under $200k... or you can own a condo at 1/3 the size for 3x the price in Los Angeles.  Those of us living in major metropolitan areas shouldn't be judged against the same standards as those living in the burbs, there is no circumstantial level playing field. I feel the same is true for most circumstances, even one's career choice alters completely the standards by which they are judged.  In the advertising industry, no one- literally- gets married before they are 35.  Women in the South go to college to obtain their MRS degree.  (Can't take credit for the marriage joke, but it's my favorite.)  I think it's safe to say that judging where a life is based on age is pretty much approaching pointless.  Aside from having a job, not living in your parents' basement while playing LAN games all day with guys wearing PacMan shirts, there isn't much else one can ask of an individual.  Live your life, that's all one can do. If you're not busy living, you're busy dying. 


At 26 years and 364 days old/young, I can honestly say that even though I don't own a home, have a solid savings account, a husband, kids or a solid career path like my grandfather before me, I cannot help but feel accomplished and happy.  Yes, I have work to do and things to change, but overall this short, wild ride we call life is not going to be reviewed by the Accomplishment Gods on a checklist-style grading curve.  If anything, it will be how full our hearts are, how exciting our stories are and our battle scars- those acquired and self-inflicted.  I love every one of mine. 


The souls we lost at 27- Pope John XII, artist Jean-Michel Basquiat, athlete/soldier Patrick Tillman, Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and James Morrison- goes to show that there is no set standard or guarantee of "one day"...  Perhaps my "Holy shit, I'm 28..." blog entry will bode boasting of my survival, and that of legendary stories.  Cheers to old age.  xx.a