And so the Story Goes

While I was standing in line at a coffee shop recently I overheard a conversation between two friends.  One young man was telling another young man about a concert he had been to the night before.  The concert was great but he was even more enthusiastic about the girl he met during the event. 

     “She was kind of exotic looking…you know?” He went on to describe how pretty he thought she was, how she laughed at his jokes.

     “Her laugh was awesome,” he sighed.  This young man was clearly smitten.  He asked her for her number and she was more than happy to give it to him…but now he was worried.  Should he call her today?  Would that appear too desperate?  Would she be mad if he didn’t call today?  What if she was having a “concert high” (meaning she had gotten lost in the excitement of the live music) and today she was completely regretting having given out her number?  His friend told him to “go for it,” and as I was departing from the shop, coffee in hand, the young man was dialing her number.  I don’t know what happened after that, but I was excited for him, I was excited for the girl, I was excited for their story.

I derive a great sense of excitement and pleasure from stories.  I see them everywhere in everyone.  I want to know who and I want to know how.  I find it irresistible how so many people’s lives can twist and turn and unfold in so many different ways.  That’s why I am a voracious reader and an aspiring writer. If you look close enough there is an aspect of fascination to every human’s life. 

If I were to write the story of that young man and young woman, when he called her he would have been brave enough to ask her on a date.  She would say yes and they would meet at AKA music to browse cheap used cds.  They would crack up when they find out they both like the same obscure band that they thought no one else had ever heard of, then they would head to Franklin Fountain for some delicious ice cream.

The date will go so well they can’t help themselves, they must see each other the very next day.  He’ll meet her at a dog park where he’ll be introduced to her dog for the very first time. The dog will love him instantly. 

     In ten years that man will be sitting in a chair way too small for his large frame while a kind of exotic looking preschool girl pours water into tiny plastic tea cups…I think I’ll also make him wear a silly looking yellow hat with a daisy on the brim. That girl he was so smitten with at the concert will breeze by the room unable to stifle the awesome laugh that he first fell in love with.  Yes that is where I see the story going.  Does it seem a bit too sappy?  Probably (though I’m sure they will have some bumps in the road), but I feel like today there are too few happy endings so lets make this one of the few. 

*Interestingly enough had I written this particular story during my melancholy teenage years I would have ended it with some act of tragic romance.  It’s funny how time, age and or life experience changes how you want your stories to end. 

Lily-Livered

I finally had my appointment with the Hepatologist (liver specialist).  I’m happy to report that he was extremely nice and at least my first impression tells me, he is quite knowledgeable.  I know a lot of people think that the whole electronic medical records thing is creepy and kind of 1984ish, but I’ll admit that it was convenient to not have to request my lengthy records from this doctor or that doctor, the hepatologist was able to view years worth of tests and blood work while I was sitting right next to him (thanks to my Rheumatologist who did the initial gathering).  He told me that I have already had quite a work up blood wise and that some tests only need to be run once and all of those were negative.  He said it was clear that I was having some sort of liver inflammation, but what is causing the inflammation is still a mystery.  His two biggest suspicions are either my lupus or the endometriosis.  A thorough physical exam was completed and he was happy to tell me that I had absolutely no signs of having liver damage.  Labs were ordered for everything that he couldn’t find labs on and I am to follow up with him in about two weeks to see if the labs found anything new.

 Now I am not at all lily-livered when it comes to blood work, but they ended up taking 9 viles of blood and as I saw vile after vile pile up I did get a little woozy.  It wasn’t so much the taking the blood but the visual of all that blood laying there that unsettled me. I guess I can say goodbye to my career as a CSI (though really without Grissom I wouldn’t want the job anyway).

I suppose I’ll also have to take extra care never to chance upon an encounter with a vampire; sparkly or otherwise.  I’d probably end up starving.

The Hepatologist said that at this point he doesn’t see any reason why I couldn’t do the fourth IVF.  If I do end up proceeding, he would like labs to be done every two weeks just to keep an eye on my liver enzymes.  He told me he had a patient once who had Lupus and had liver enzymes that were so high they put her on a liver transplant list right away.  When he did a liver biopsy however he found her liver to be perfect.  He said that there are a lot of new studies and new information coming out about lupus and the liver.  Biopsies are not something that he likes to do or something that he takes lightly.  He said that they are a lot riskier than people think and he doesn’t see any reason to do one on me unless absolutely necessary.  That was a relief and it gave me confidence in his judgment.  So now I must wait again for two weeks to follow up and see where we go from here. 

The Signs

A few weeks ago in church they showed a video of missions work in Thailand.  My husband and I looked at each other and smiled; just the night before we had engaged in a serious conversation about adoption.  Out of all of the countries that Holt works with, we like Thailand the best. That was what we had decided less than twenty-four hours before.  Sitting there in church all I could think was….was it a sign?  Could this mean that yes we are 100% meant to adopt and we are to adopt from Thailand? 

I’ve been looking for signs left and right during this time when tough decisions have to be made; decisions that not only effect my life but others lives as well.  Finding signs in unexpected places assures me that I’m going in the correct direction. In the past few months I’ve spent time with my almost two year old nephew.  Each time I’ve found him so fun and endearing and I think…If we adopt from Thailand then we would be adopting a child this age.  This is a great age, I love this age, is it a sign?  I’m not sure if the signs that I perceive are real or are simply my imagination or more likely…my impatience rearing its ugly head.  I want so much to move forward.  I want answers and I feel like it is just taking so much time and yet I have a feeling  that someday I’ll look back and think that it was really no time at all.  That in the span of my entire exsistence this time in my life will appear as a drop in the bucket.

Maybe?

Do Me a Solid

I couldn’t resist.  I love the episode of Regular Show where the guys keeping doing solids for each other back and forth until one decides not to honor the code of the solids and it causes the whole universe to begin to implode.  In the end he has to return the solid to save the world.

  I finally heard back from my original GI doctor who I was having such a difficult time getting a hold of.  She felt that my liver enzymes were probably elevated because I have Lupus, but it was not anything serious.  I called and spoke to my rheumatologist who passionately disagreed.  She thought that I should skip general GI doctors all together and see a hepatologist (liver specialist).  She wanted me to see a specific doctor but at first he wouldn’t see me because technically I haven’t been diagnosed with a specific liver disorder.  My rheumatologist called him up and talked to him and I’m guessing asked him to do her a solid and see me even though I didn’t meet the precise liver specialist requirements.  The rheumatologist’s office was able to get me an appointment for Monday; they even called my primary and secured the referral for me.  Currently I am quite impressed by Drexel Medicine and the level of care that they provide for their patients.

I had to work really hard over the last two weeks to remain patient while all of these things were being worked out.  I’m a busy bee kind of person.  I like to be doing things and I relish in accomplishments so having to sit and wait for others to work things out for me felt torturous at times.  I also get a strong sense of security knowing what is coming next and at the moment it seems as though I’ve made it to the center of a giant board game; waiting for my next move.  Do we move a few steps forward and try for a fourth and final IVF or do we jump directly to adopting?  I don’t mind either move, it is really the not knowing that kills me, and I believe that teaching me is what all of these large and small trials are designed to do.  I need to become skilled at doing less, waiting without complaining and learning to be content with things just as they are today. 

A Me Night in Pictures

Ice cream, cooking magazine and a good book (a perfect night)



Cozy Kitty socks

Cozy Kitty

Going to the Mattresses

Our new bed (renovated bedroom to come)

I can still vividly remember shopping for a mattress with my husband (then fiancé) just a few months before our wedding.  As we tested each one trying to make a decision all I could think about was that it was going to be our mattress.  We were going to be sleeping on it together.  We were going to fall asleep on our mattress and wake up together.  I must admit that on the day we were picking out our first mattress I was so full of love, excitement and anticipation any mattress would have been comfy.  Though I had spent a good amount of time preparing my heart for marriage, there would still be a lot to learn.

Nine years later it had become apparent that we had outgrown our first mattress.  It was not as comfy as it was during those blissful newlywed days.   It had become a bit too worn in and had lost the strength that our marriage continued to have.   It was time to get a new mattress.

Our mattress this time would reflect the learning and wisdom gained by nine years of marriage and bed sleeping.  We went to the store this time with specific questions in mind.  We knew exactly what we were looking for.  In the end we chose a Sleep Number mattress.  One where we could each adjust the comfort levels of our individual sides.  I like my side to be softer.  My husband has learned that I must be loved softly.  That sometimes I like to have dreams and ideas just to have them and when I have too much to do I get overwhelmed and I need a hug and a smile and maybe a helping hand.  My husband likes his mattress to be firmer and I’ve learned that as a wife I need to give him lots of respect and support with regards to who he is and what he does. It is an art that I continue to perfect.

      Thankfully our mattress can be adjusted at any time to meet unexpected needs.  My husband might need his side to be a little softer when ill or firmer after a long day of working on the house.  I have also learned when I need to be either softer or firmer with him depending on the circumstances that are going on in our lives.  Our new mattress is supposed to last for twenty years.  I hope we will come upon a day when we find that we have outgrown yet another mattress and I look forward to all we will learn between now and that day. 

        

To those who were curious and asked, Emma (the kitty) prefers a firm mattress we think since she now sleeps on my husband's side of the bed.

The Winter of my Discontent

It’s Saturday morning.  I roll out of bed and slide my feet into my fuzzy granny slippers (as my husband likes to call them).  I shuffle downstairs, make a mug of tea (in my favorite green mug) and curl up on the sofa under a cozy comforter.  I turn on HGTV and talk to myself as I enjoy long sips of tea.

   “See, isn’t this nice?  Isn’t this so cozy and peaceful?  It’s a lazy unhurried Saturday morning.”  I try, I really do but inevitably I sigh and admit that it is not as fun as my Saturday morning ritual May through November.  During those months I hop out of bed early and make my way to the Farmer’s Market where I stroll through sun drenched stalls admiring produce of varying shapes, sizes and colors.

 After making my purchases, which include homemade treats for kitty, I stop at the Tree House stand for a cup of iced coffee and then I stand in line at Tortilla Press for a yummy seasonal flavored quesadilla.  I then take pleasure in my spoils as I watch little girls in spaghetti strap dresses and floppy sun hats dance around to which ever band happens to be playing.  Yes that is my ideal of a perfect Saturday morning.

I didn’t always dislike winter so much.  I think the blizzard and ice storm of 1996 somehow broke my spirit. All of the women in the blogs I love to read have such romantic views of winter.  They speak poetically of knitting sweaters, snuggling beside fires with a good book and flannel clad children and cup after cup of steaming hot tea.  They encourage that winter is the time to slow down and spend more time quietly with God.  It always sounds so lovely and each year I do my best to make an effort to find the good things about cold weather, darker days and grey skies.  My feeble list…

-          Fires in the fire place (due to an ample supply of wood this year we have had a lot of them)

-          Cozy cups of tea

-          A kitty who is more eager to snuggle so she can suck up my warmth (sometimes my husband does too)

-          Chili (because that’s the kind of weather that makes it taste best)

-          A chance to wear my large collection of fuzzy socks

-          The crunching crackling sound that cars make as they drive over ice and snow past our house

  That’s all I can think of at the moment.  I’m sure there could be more but I must admit those things never quite compare to walks on the boardwalk, sandals, hands dirty from planting flowers and tall glasses of lemonade.   I’m doing my best though, learning to be content with and appreciate things even if they aren’t my favorite.