Eventful processing and ample gratitude.

It's very apropo that after I wrote my previous blog, bemoaning the dating life, I quickly met Sam.

We've been together for a few months now. Love is a living, breathing organism that we build between us daily and nourish with understanding, encouragement, and gratitude. I haven't held any punches, have told him every single thing that comes to mind, and he revels in it. His love, unlike the others that have been offered to me, is not conditional, and that's an amazing fucking thing.

"Perhaps the depth of love can be calibrated by the number of different selves that are actively involved in a given relationship." -Carl Sagan

I am basking in him. He's incredibly intelligent, so kind, gentle, and giving. Truly, he exemplifies the best features of humanity as a whole, and I aspire to be more like him. For the first time in my life, I'm not dating a project, someone who "wants to be a better man" for me, or who I'm playing at Jiminy Cricket to keep on the straight and narrow. Nope, not even a little bit, not even at all. He's his own self, and I feel deeply lucky that I get to experience any length of life with him as my partner, let alone the rest of it.

I've been dealing with migraines ever since the surgery. Initially they started a month after surgery, then I doubled up on my HRT and they went away, only to come back about six weeks later. I've since changed hormones, so hopefully they'll even out, but I'm still fighting headaches. I was also in a car accident over a week ago, and I noticed after a few days that the pain in my shins was getting worse. I went to urgent care (because that's where the xrays are!) and turns out I have some hairline fractures in my tibia, hence causing me pain. The doctor told me to stretch, massage, and stay off my feet...Sam, wonderful as he is, added my shins/ankles/calves to the list (along with my neck and shoulders) to what he massages without complaint to try and ease my pain.

Note: isn't it interesting how after a bad relationship ends, when you start something new, all of the small things that drove you quietly into sadness previously are the things that mean the most now? For example, Liam would massage ANY of his friends that came by...cracking their backs and giving them long back rubs...but when I threw out my back and could barely move my shoulders/neck, he wouldn't rub them without complaining and trying to wheedle out of it the entire ten minutes he did it. Without the guilt and shitty way I felt in response to his attitude about it, I wouldn't so hugely appreciate the small gestures that Sam makes without me ever having to ask. He'll look at me while we're driving, see my eyes wince or some other tell that conveys a headache, and he instinctively reaches up to knead my neck and kiss my forehead. It's heavenly, and so deeply appreciated.

Integrating the other into our life plan wasn't difficult, and neither one feels like we're losing anything to build something new. There's no puppeteer with us. No secret financial source that dictates behaviors, no deception, no malice, no guile. I feel safe, really safe with Sam, and that is something that I've never had the privilege of feeling with someone. I hope to never lose it, and will work actively to maintain it.

"For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love." -Carl Sagan.

Thank you for loving me, Sam. I love you.

The Intricacies of Dating

This is going to be a quick post, and I know I haven't written since surgery and I will definitely hash that out later, but I've decided to go back on the dating scene after processing my breakup with L last August at the encouragement of my friends, and I tell ya: THIS IS SOME COMPLEX SHIT.

I've never dated more than one person at a time. Mainly, I'm just an intensely monogamous person, so when I find someone I want to invest in, I develop a type of emotional tunnel vision and can't pass out my affections to other men willy nilly. Right now, that's intensely difficult. I went back on the dating site that I met my last two serious relationships on, and right away, I got a lot of attention. WEIRD. One that I met on Valentine's Day was a douche, but I met another guy a few days later who is absolutely phenomenal. I adore the shit out of him, but he's recently out a of a long-term and very serious relationship and justifiably wants to take it slow. I want him to take it slow too, but it's difficult, because there are other guys who are sweet and adoring and funny who are also interested. Universally, we all concur on just dating for now, but I feel extremely conflicted trying to date more than one at a time.

So are we just hanging out? Is there some exclusivity I'm supposed to abide by? What am I supposed to disclose and keep secret? Because, let's be honest, I have no filter and keep very little secret.

I suppose this is all "better" than having romantic inclinations for the unattainable (a previous prof, nothing more need be said) and staying single for no other reason than to avoid what made me unhappy in the past at the risk of achieving the unique happiness of laughing through life with someone else.

GUH. JUST GIMME WHAT I WANT, UNIVERSE.

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Letter to Chauncey

Dear Uterus, 

It’s almost time for surgery. Dr. Machado is going to cut you out of me, and I won’t lie to you, it’s a separation that I’ve been looking forward to a long time now. I don’t want you to think that I don’t love you, or am eager to see you go. Truly, how could I hate you, when you’ve been a part of me since birth? And I don’t hate anything about myself. The truth, however, is that there are definitely things about myself that hinder my development as a person, and right now, you’re my number one offender. It’s not your fault, at all. Truly, I think this inability to function properly in, essentially, a small way is what is required for me to reach my higher spiritual self. You see, love, you’re a living embodiment of the female ego. Part of what women have used as leverage against men in patriarchial societies is that WE have the ability to bear children, and WE can endure labor, and WE are therefore worthy of respect. While I’ve never felt those sentiments too strongly, in weaker ways, it’s been thrust upon me since I was old enough to conceive. I would go to a doctor’s office and they would ask me if I’d ever been pregnant and how many children I had, stunned into speechlessness when I said no to both. You, uterus, have been an unspoken expectation placed upon me by society; that even if I was unmarried, I would bear fruit in the form of a child from you, and would take my place among the ranks of single mothers, like my own, struggling perpetually to build something better solely for said child’s benefit. 

This, love, is the truth of it. I have never felt the fundamental urge at the core of myself to be a biological parent. For awhile I wanted to be a surrogate for a nice gay couple, because I thought (and still do) that pregnancy is such an absolute miracle. When I was told I couldn’t have children, I mourned for a short time, naturally. It’s good to acknowledge the end of a possibility. But truly, I have always known that I am meant to parent other people’s children, to try and mend what others have tried to break, to love what others have thrown away. I always wondered: could I do those things with my own children to care for? Truly? Could I emotionally commit at the same level to kids I may not have in my home longer than a year as I could to my own? And the answer, always, was no. I knew, whenever that situation was posed, that it was more important for me to foster than make more children for an already overpopulated planet. Not having a partner, doing so was just an effort of self-absorbed vanity, wanting a baby that was half my genetic makeup to show off to strangers and family. I wanted no part. 

Uterus, this is why that this extraction has no blame and is definitely not your fault. It was the powers that be cementing what was already known in my innermost cells, that I wasn’t meant to carry children. You are freeing me from the societal ties of convention that bind, hinder, chafe against my life as it has been lived and will forge onward, away from their beaten paths. You’re helping weed out potentially hundreds of unfit partners, that couldn’t imagine life with someone who couldn’t bear their offspring or wanted to parent other people’s children. You’re enabling the removal of three likely cancer sites that could have ended this glorious life I intend to live much too soon. Most of all, taking you out is the only permanent solution to the pain that you’re causing me on a daily basis, that has at times taken away my will to live and endure, and has sapped all of my strength, financial solvency, and creative drive. You, without malice, have held me back, and it’s time to let you go. 

I’m 28. I’ll be on hormone supplements for the rest of my life. I’m thankful that you allowed me the time to come to these realizations on my own before you gave out completely, so that I wouldn’t feel deprived of a future not meant for me. A woman’s value, in our society, is still closely tied to the number of children you have, how you financially support them, and how you parent them, and now those criteria will no longer be applied to be. Not only do I feel like I’m looking forward to a future with significantly less pain, I feel like I’m looking at unlimited possibilities, freed from the constructed paradigms of mother-culture that keep up tethered so tightly. 

I’ll see adieu. And that I love you, have mourned you, and will flourish for your sacrifice. 

Truly,

Erin.

On love.

I’ve had a tumultuous couple of months, friends. I couldn’t tell you everything even if I wanted to. As youknow, on my birthday I fell and severely damaged my ankle…two weeks later, Liam and I broke up. In that break-up conversation, some nasty things were said; he resented me for my extensive pain issues, didn’t see a future with me because I wouldn’t “get along” with his mom (which I did, I just didn’t let her walk all over me when she got rude, and apparently that wasn’t good enough). The guilt and manipulation that surrounded our time together, sex, guh…everything, really did a number on me, and it has required months of processing to understand the scope of it all. At the end of the day, I think he was playing a charade that he wasn’t even fully aware of; he wasn’t being himself, he was being “the boyfriend” he thought I deserved, making most of his sentiments and promises invalid. That’s why it seemed so ideal, because he was working hard at making it so, but it was equally untrue. 

Two weeks ago, I left to go to St. Louis for Jessica. Her father was suddenly diagnosed with stage 4 small cell lung cancer that had metastasized to the rest of his body, and he didn’t have long. I was delivering two of his sons and his granddaughters for a final farewell, as well as being there for her as I’ve been for every major event since we met, and to say my own goodbye. It was fraught with issues; her parents didn’t leave and free up space when they said they would, we all got a terrible stomach flu, I got a cold before I had to drive solo back with her youngest brother, etc. But it was worth it, to be there for my family. I’ll always do whatever it takes to fulfill that most fundamental promise I make to whoever I pledge my love to. 

While I was gone, a flirtation developed with a friend of mine. I think it was fueled by my absence, and moved things faster than they would’ve gone if I hadn’t left. It’s already over, and the finality of it hurts, because of how much I truly enjoy him. He’s one of those people that makes any conceivable situation better, and really embraced my rowdiness, which was always frowned on by other people I’ve dated. The unfortunate part is that he is extremely stressed with work, his business, and family, and I felt like a burden on top of all that; one more person wanting a piece of him, and even though I tried hard to be essentially low maintenance, I felt like I wanted more than he could give and it would lead to resentment quickly. There’s nothing worse than someone you care about resenting you, and as I type that, Liam’s words are cutting through me and I know I won’t be dropping those bags soon. He fed on a very specific insecurity of mine; since I was 12 and had to live with my aunt, I’ve been told to do everything in my power not to be a burden, and I work so hard at it constantly. I clean up after myself, especially if I’m visiting someone, I bus my own tables…it just never ends. So, being resented for being the burdensome half of a relationship due to something completely out of my control has, to say the least, severely bruised me. Those same feelings arising so quickly into this flirtation, and the wincing pain I felt at the thought of being a burden and consequently resented by someone I enjoyed so much, made me backpedal quickly. Maybe in the future he'll have more time and I won't feel like I'm in chick warfare with other girls for a piece of his attention. I don’t think I’ll be able to help wanting him, but it’s not fair to ask him to give more than what he’s told me he can manage. 

Besides, I’m getting a hysterectomy in 19 days. That’s a lot for anyone to try and handle, and I know my Liam couldn’t have. I don’t feel right asking anyone to go through it with me, emotionally or physically, which is why I’m going alone. It feels right that way. 

I wonder sometimes if I’m so obsessed with not being a burden that I’ll end up so low on a totem pole that no one will notice if I go missing. And who would be to blame?! No one but my own damn self. 

Why can’t my extremely hot and sweet Anatomy professor suddenly realize I’m his life mate and ask me out? Although, even as I joke about it, I know he’d be yet another person that would be embarrassed by my loudass mouth and rowdy nature, and I’m sick of it. I’d rather be single than be shushed. 

On that note, I’m going to have a drink. I’ve cried enough for a week. Toodles noodles.

Carpe hope.

As I was sitting in bed, harvesting a pomegranate tonight, I was slammed with memories.

I'm nineteen and sitting in a dark living room with Jeff, my mentor at the time. We were looking through a book about the Sacred Feminine, and discussing symbology associated with it at the time. The most prominent were pomegranates...they were tucked away all over the place in art throughout his house and found constantly in myth. Persephone much? But here we are. Now. And my sacred feminine is due to be harvested in two months and I can't help but wonder if I'll feel different.

I know I'll be significantly happier from the lack of pain. As it is now, I'm constantly fighting just to get out of bed, get to work, get to school, study...stay motivated to do anything at all. The heavens opened up and gave me the Cataldos and their friend Melanie who are paying for the surgery in its entirety. If I didn't have them, I'd be driven to something desperate that I don't even want to think about. Knowing that there's an end in sight...Thanksgiving to be exact...is a huge relief. Making it through nursing school is less daunting, as well as possibly trying to do a relationship again.

When Liam and I broke up, part of the discussion of factors that led us to that point was that he resented me: notably my pain and what it took away from "us". I knew it, of course, throughout our relationship, and was constantly apologizing for having to decline coming over to watch a movie or whatnot because the thought of trying to stay vertical AND deal with his vicious, passive-aggressive mother were overwhelming. I had more panic attacks while dating him than I did in the five years before. The guilt was oppressive, and I let a lot go that, in retrospect, I should've addressed because I knew that being in a relationship with someone dealing with chronic pain is a burden in and of itself. So, while it's painful to know that someone I loved resented me for something I couldn't control, it's more painful to think of it happening again because technically, it's valid. I don't feel right trying to date someone while dealing with this pain and the implied depression that goes along with it. What a shitty partner I'd be.

A friend brought up that post-hysterectomy I might not be as "desirable" to the normal guy anymore, either. I hadn't thought of it, and for the record, I'd like to say that I don't give a flying fuck. I'm not a goddamn breeding machine, and if that was truly ever part of the fucking criteria used to judge my feasibility as a partner, I'm glad I couldn't deliver (PUN TOTALLY INTENDED).

Truly, getting this procedure is saving my life. My ten-day hospitalization, during which I came close to dying from complications, were ones that arose solely from my endometriosis. I don't want a broken piece of biologic machinery taking up space just to maintain the status quo of what my gender was ideally supposed to be capable of. I love children. I love my godchildren, I love my foster youths I've had the joy of mentoring, I love all of my cousin's children, and I fully anticipate loving the future children I'll parent via adoption/fostering/stepchildren just as much as I'd love anyone that came from my womb.

I bought dinner for a guy that looked kinda down on his luck tonight at the diner. Sharky and I had the joy of sitting next to this amazing foursome of two elderly couples who spoke animatedly in some european language I didn't recognize. They spoke perfect english to the waitress and called her sweetheart. They ordered warm apple pie. I don't have enough to get my car washed now (HA!), but I feel like sharing a smile with those couples and getting a thank you from the guy I helped feed was a little way of paying forward what is given to me daily.

I'm so amazingly lucky, and I know it. My family is amazing, biologic and otherwise. My friends are a gift. And I know that whatever happens, that love is a constant. And it bursts like pomegranate seeds on my tongue.

Never retreat. Never surrender.

Hi friends.

I'm sorry it's been so long since I've written. Honestly, it because I'm trying to stay positive and don't want to immortalize this overwhelming sense of insecurity/unhappiness/stress/anxiety in this space, where I try to develop and grow. But I really need to vent and put it all on down in one place, and maybe that'll help me lay it to rest and move on.

1) Physical erosion. You all know I've had a terribly epic couple of years in the medical realm, and it's frankly only gotten worse. Since I moved home, I've started gaining weight (an average of 5 lbs a month), and I attribute it mainly to the fact that my caloric intake up north was less than 1000/day, and now it's around 1500/day. That level of change, along with the fact that I used to walk around a hospital all day and am now rotting in front of a computer doing LITTLE TO NOTHING with my brain instead has had a very detrimental effect. A few months ago, I went to the ER because I suspected ovarian torsion or another divertics flare. There had been persistent pain in my upper abdomen for 3 days and my OB/GYN gave me implicit instructions to go to the ER if I suspected my ovarian cysts for that long, because it could be my ovaries twisting (and dying). They didn't find anything, but after being dismissed for the umpeenth time by some retarded-glorified-medical-assistant PA, I spoke to a doctor, who said I met all the criteria for endometriosis. I'd never considered that as a possibility, and called my OB up north right away to get his opinion on it. After reviewing my chart, my extremely rare medical complication after surgery last July, and my symptoms, he believes I likely have stage 3/4 endometriosis. The main implication is infertility.

The infertility hit me a lot harder than I thought it would. I love Liam, and we've talked about marriage and kids; he has determined that he's the carrier of the genetic mutation that caused his daughter's developmental disability and doesn't want to have any more children for fear they'd also get it, and I agreed. I've never been one that desired a whole brood of children, and whenever I got baby fever, I'd go spend some time with my goddaughters or watch a mother try to go shopping at the grocery store with an infant or toddler and the urge would dissipate. Now, suddenly, it's made apparent that I'm never allowed to change my mind. Part of why I never stressed about children is because I'm only in my late 20s. If I wanted to suddenly have a mini me to call my own, I have up to another decade to make that plunge. And now I don't. That's gone. I mourn the loss of a choice more than anything, and the possibility of seeing my father's eyes looking back at me from someone I grew inside of me and loved so monumentally that it changed the center of gravity in my universe.  I keep thinking about one of the world's "shortest stories" (which is attributed to Ernest Hemingway but shown in research he didn't actually write it): "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." I feel the need to honor this loss, and my friend Grace has offered to photograph me whenever I get the gumption to do it.

So, this endometriosis pain can hit me on some level sometimes three out of four weeks of the month. Then, 12 days ago on the morning of my birthday, I rolled my ankle in the parking lot of my job and slammed (I literally mean SLAMMED) into the asphalt. Messed up my already bad knee, jolted my arm and thus strained my back. Yadda yadda. My ankle gradually swelled throughout the day and by that afternoon it was twice it's normal size. I was worried it could be fractured, so I went to the worker's comp doctor and got some xrays. Nothing was broken, and we wrote it off to a strain. Naturally, my birthday dinner that I'd worked hard to plan was cancelled, and I didn't end up doing anything special for it. Another year passed without celebration (that's my only moment of self-pity, and is mainly mourned because last year I spent my birthday in the ER and wanted something GOOD this year). Then, a week later, I had a six-hour panic attack as soon as I got to work. I couldn't stop crying, and even though it was quiet and went mostly unnoticed, I'm so eternally thankful to my friend T for driving all the way down from the high desert to give me a xanax so I could make it through the day til I could go to my doctor that night. When I did, she wrote me a prescription for it and looked at my ankle. Immediately, she said that it was a ruptured peroneus brevis tendon in my foot and that I needed a MRI asap and would almost definitely require surgery. After doing tons of research on my own, it became apparent that there isn't any real conservative/non-surgical treatment for such a rupture and that, if the MRI confirmed her suspicion, I would definitely have to move forward with surgery if I ever wanted to feel secure on my foot again. My worker's comp MD tried to be a dismissive douche when I gave him her note two days later, but after watching me walk, he ordered me a stat MRI, fiberglass half cast, and immediate physical therapy. So here I am. Laid up, ankle elevated, constant pain, this ever-expanding and morphing bruise, and the inability to do things I enjoy. Like be at my booski's birthday in LA tonight that I'm missing because I don't feel safe driving that far with my foot swelling like it does. 

2) School. I've applied to the MSN program at Azusa Pacific for their Inland Empire campus. It's more expensive than Cal State, but I'd be able to start earlier, get to avoid taking the TEAS test, and not have to travel to Fullerton/Long Beach/Northridge/Dominguez Hills. Just what I'd save in stress/time/wear on my car from commuting makes it worthwhile, but the fact that it's a great program, I'll get my BSN in the first 15 months and be able to start working as an RN as soon as I pass my boards, and can get an educator focus makes the whole thing extremely promising. After meeting with the Program Admissions Adviser, she gave me extremely high marks and has essentially guaranteed I'll be accepted, as soon as I finish the rest of my pre-reqs. Unfortunately, they're not accepting the Anatomy and Physiology I that I took up north because I and II have to be from the same school, so I have to retake I at Valley. They also (oddly) require Bio/Organic Chemistry, so I have to take that and a Behavioral Science Research class. They'll only consider me when I have the 12 units of science COMPLETED, so even though I applied in July to start next May, but it was delayed until November for September consideration, but now I'll have to put it off another quarter because the classes won't be done by November 1 and therefore can't be considered as completed. Classes start tomorrow, and I'm hoping I'll be able to be added to the Chem class I need. Who knows. Right now I can't stress too  much about it, or I'm worried I'll have a breakdown. 

3) Work. I really hate my job. I feel like it's rotting away my brain and job skills, but I like most of the people I work with, so I'm going to stay with it until I find something better. I got extensively jerked around by Riverside Community Hospital and, after their conduct, and am really happy I didn't get it. I've applied to two jobs for San Bernardino County that I hope I get called to test for, but if not, I'll be stable at my current placement until the end of the year. Once again, I can't stress too much about it. I have enough money coming in to pay my bills, and who knows what's going to happen if I need foot surgery. 

So, yeah. Now I feel better. Ultimately, at the end of the day, I have really phenomenal people I can call to cry my eyes out or scream or whatever I need. I hold it in because I know that everyone has problems and I shouldn't be selfish about dumping my burdens on other people, including my boyfriend. But amazingly, during the time I spent writing this blog, I got an amazing message from my friend's boyfriend that I met once at her birthday a few months ago that said "You know what? You're a strong, positive person. That is very respectable." I got teary. And my foster dad told me to keep my chin up. And my love Kathleen told me how lucky they are to have my part of their lives. It's all of this remarkable and transcendentally perfect support that makes me get out of bed everyday and keep moving forward. 

In a very real way, you all help me live everyday. And I'm so beyond grateful, that I'm trying to repay you by getting better and staying better. 

I'm going to make it. Because I never retreat. And I never surrender, despite what life throws at me. 

Stay strong, my loves.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.

This has been one crazy fucking month.

I feel like the three months since I've been with Liam have been full of craziness, BUT REALLY, let's be honest. My life is always pretty hectic. TO DE MAX. And I'm okay with that. I have learned, wisely, to function in that chaos and try to make the best out of it. I'm pretty much a crazy-fucking-times-obi-one-mahsta now.

His daughter was hospitalized for a week. Hard for both of us, but undeniably more so for him. The fear of a parent having to watch your child lose all neurological control is a whole new level of terror, and he's had to do it solo for so long. Naturally, I kicked up a well-spoken fuss and did my best to get her the treatment she needed, which was belittled and degraded by his bitch mother (I'd call her a cunt, but that implies a depth and warmth that she just doesn't have). It was just another experience that, I firmly believe, helps illuminate our devotion to each other and the family/future we want to construct together. We just have to wade through a lot of shit to get there.

Unfortunately, my knee has been killer since climbing his stairs and crouching down with Michelle. I really don't have the knees for parenthood. Five days ago, I was overcome with pain in my uteuran/ovary area, and just chocked it up to cysts, which I have a prevalent history of. After day 3, which was the cutoff point for "typical" cyst pain according to my OB/GYN, I went to the ER as he had directed and they concluded my pain and intensity was consistent with endometriosis.

According to the National Library of Medicine, endometriosis is a female health disorder that occurs when cells from the lining of the womb (uterus) grow in other areas of the body. This can lead to pain, irregular bleeding, and problems getting pregnant (infertility). The amount of pain a woman feels correlates poorly with the extent or stage (1 through 4) of endometriosis, with some women having little or no pain despite having extensive endometriosis or endometriosis with scarring, while other women may have severe pain even though they have only a few small areas of endometriosis. Symptoms of endometriosis-related pain may include: *my main symptom* dysmenorrhea  – painful, sometimes disabling cramps during menses; pain may get worse over time (progressive pain), also lower back pains linked to the pelvis.

Most women would be the most panicked about the infertility, but I have always been heavily conflicted on whether I actually wanted children. When Liam and I talked about it, he hadn't planned on having any more, and I was very okay with that. This, I feel, is a biological confirmation of what I have always been inclined to practice: NO CHILLEN. However, it does mean that I'll probably have to undergo yet another large, planned surgery (hysterectomy) at some point, and I'm not too thrilled about that. This pain is so immense though, I can't wait to get that shit out if that's what's causing this. Considering that my lady parts are all that's really left down there, I think it's a pretty logical conclusion that it's the culprit.

I'm so unbelievably thankful that I have a man like Liam at my side. He is simply magnificent, and I never dreamed I'd have such a well-suited partner to walk through life with me.

So, despite all the insanity, I'm a pretty happy Pokey.

Toodles <3 br="">