Get outta here

Most of you know where to find me. If you don't, email me and I will clue you in. Now go. There's nothing to see here.

Considering, considering

I miss the old way. The old... place.

I miss it a lot.

I want to go back there. Perhaps not a great idea... but the old place is calling me.

What say you? Shall we go back to where we were?

Time

Just a quick note today: Go see dear Lisa and wish her well. She is one of the bravest, kindest, and smartest people I know. She could use a boost (to put it mildly) so go on over there and give her one.

Things are decidedly better over here - almost good enough that I feel capable and even likely to begin my slavish and groveling campaign to win back the respect and affection of Avitable, whom I have treated monstrously in the last few months. Very badly. Indeed worse even than... well. Perhaps I won't describe it. But if Avi forgives me by the time we both turn a year older (this is not long for either of us, I am certain) I will count myself truly blessed. Because I have behaved... oh forget it. We'll talk about it later.

In other news, of the mind numbingly boring sort, I had the last piece of metal dental work removed from my head today. I now have enough "invested" in my teeth to make dying any younger than, say 90 a complete waste of funds. Ha ha.

Guess I better get on with all that living.

Love,

A

Sooner

(s).

My darling Woodrow has just informed me that the OK Sooners are tied at the half and so need intercessory intervention of a time sensitive nature. Light a candle for recently departed excellent priests and Oklahoman football victory.

(Gracias).

Proof I am still Catholic

Actually, not. It's more like proof I am still willing to cry a little bit.

Father Neuhaus died today of cancer. His book Death on a Friday Afternoon is has not left my nightstand for six years, events and contingencies notwithstanding. And that's saying something.

If you are a praying type, do what you do. If not, think of someone who inspires you and give thanks.

Love,

A

Clarification

To be fair, I should explain that I see Excellent doctor frequently. Why? Because she is a true PCP. She is the hub around with all my other medical specialists operate. In a given year I see her at least three times - usually more like six. Between all my various specialists, I see her to review all the wreckage. And last year when I made my first trip to what might rightly be called a developing country, she chose what immunizations I should have. When she rattled off the list of hepatitis vaccines, I stopped her and told her that I was determined, despite all my human frailty, not to do it with any Moroccan men - or any other men of any other nationality. As I announced this, she chuckled in a way that only a doctor who knows far more than you do can chuckle. Then she started cracking jokes about me smoking hashish and whoring my way across the Sahara desert. At the time it was hilarious. I laughed so hard it hurt.

Since then, every time she gets a chance to obliquely suggest I get laid, she takes the opportunity. And we giggle, and it is all very funny. Ha ha.

Only this time she wasn't laughing. This time I think what she meant, as usual, was not that I engage in all manner of inappropriate reproductive behavior with any creature not dragging his knuckles and drooling onto his shirtfront. She meant that I ought to move the fuck (pun very intended) on. And that moving on might mean making my own family, somehow, someway, so that the destruction of the one I was born into can be left firmly behind.

I suppose, since I am in a clarifying mood, that I should explain further what I meant by getting the information about my current fertility or lack thereof. I meant only that I know now that if I have children, it will be alone. Since that is the last option open to a woman two weeks shy of 39 years old, I thought I should at least know if even that is possible. I do not mean to say that I am determined to do it alone; merely that I want to know if even that is possible.

Other news is otherwise good, but I don't have to stamina to write about other things. Be assured I am better every day.

Love,

Aelalea

Normal people

Today at the doctor's office, my doctor and I reviewed my recent blood work. We noted the absence of two results: TSH and FSH. TSH is thyroid stimulating hormone and FSH is follicle stimulating hormone. My doctor is interested in my TSH because although my blood work is otherwise unremarkable, she wants a benchmark for "later." Also, she believes my thyroid function might not be as speedy as it should be. To which I say: whatever.

The other number interests me more. A low FSH would mean that I am still theoretically able to have children. Never in the history of reproductive ideas has my having a baby been a good idea. It is right at this moment the worst possible idea in the realm of any and all possible ideas. However, however bad an idea it is, I suspect that right about now is the last time I will be able to entertain it. So I want to know if it is even possible. My doctor, having heard my reasoning for being desirous of the information, said the following:

Excellent doctor: "There are other tests you can perform all by yourself that are far more accurate."

Ordinary Me: "Oh good. What can I do?"

enter *pregnant* silence

Excellent doctor: "You could find out much more easily than I can by changing your lifestyle."

enter *total* bewilderment

Ordinary Me: "I can't do that."

Excellent doctor flips through my file while my bewilderment grows more complicated. She looks up at the ceiling as she performs a few simple mathematics problems.

Excellent doctor: "Your mother got sick when you were sixteen and died when you were twenty-five. Your dad then got sick when you were thirty-five. That means your entire reproductive life has been bookended by the deaths of your parents."

enter super-pregnant silence

Ordinary Me: "It has?"

Excellent doctor "You do the math."

Ordinary Me: "Oh."

Excellent doctor: "It's time to start living for you. And in case you are not sure what I meant, the easiest way to determine whether you can get pregnant is to have sex."

Ordinary Me: "You are kidding, right?"

Excellent doctor: "Normal people do it all the time."