What’s Real

What is real? Realness? Reality? Real Talk? Really Real? I’m for Real? Real Love? Reality Shows?

How do you know that what you’ve experienced is real? Versus another dream in your head that is so… “real”istic? I read past memories through this blog and some of the actual memories feel like a distant dream. What makes those real? How do I know for certain I went through them? Unless I have someone who can verify… and then… could it be the stuff of mass delusion? Occasionally I struggle… with this question. I suppose it’s an offshoot of the more common “What is the Meaning of Life” question that folks like to ask. My mission is to discern what is real from what is feigned and the line blurs way more often than I care to imagine. I touch my hunny’s skin and it feel real to me… soft and chocolatey and wonderful. And he reacts to my touch… with a smile or some goosebumps. And in that instant I think he’s real. Not a figment of my imagination. Not a cast member placed here to help play out the whims of my life story. Some one truly real in my life and here. But that fleeting assuredness is chased away by the thought – “one day he won’t be real anymore…” Just like Grandma and mom and dad aren’t anymore. They were a bastion in reality for me. And now all I have is the concept of them. The remembrance of how real they WERE. But are no longer. Then I try to soak up all the “realness” of each moment. So I don’t forget. Collect all my “pretty pictures” so I have them to go with me when all is said and done.

I watched “A Beautiful Mind” last night. I’d seen it before and was always intrigued that someone with something as severe as Paranoid Schizophrenia could overcome it or at least cord it off so he could live somewhat of a normal existence and still benefit from his genius. What I noted last night is that the schitzophrenia had him in such a way that those characters that followed him around were all as real to him as the regular people roaming the earth (according to the movie). He would engage in conversation with them. He could interact with them. Touch them. Feel them. They never actually “went away” he just stopped interacting with them because it would lend to too much of a fantasy world that was not actually a part of our reality. But for all intents and purposes, until someone told him “no – these are not real people – we don’t see them. This is all in your head,” they were a very real and regular part of his life. The mind is Beautiful in its constructs. What it makes you know to be true versus anyone else’s interpretation.

I thought about it a lot last night. And this morning. I thought I’d write it down. Maybe that makes it real.

On another note, I got my hands on the new Erykah Badu album. It’s called “The New Amerykah Part II – Return of the Ankh”. I’ll say honestly that I’d not loved “Worldwide Underground” or “The New Amerykah Part I – 4th World War” with the passion that I loved Baduism, the Live Album or Mama’s Gun (the latter being my absolute FAVORITE Erykah album). But I DO love this new album. It immediately surpassed the last two in my mind to take up position as the 4th Erykah Album that I truly enjoyed. With that, I’ve already identified a song that I can relate to in a very surreal way. Although it’s done in the same three movement style as “Green Eyes” (for which I adored ALL THREE movements), “Out My Mind Just in Time’s” first movement hits me right *here* (pointing to my head and my heart). Music. Sentiment. Emotion and execution all join forces for it to sound like Erykah has watched my past relationships and took a little while to quantify what she read. But finally found the very simplest words to express my addiction. My compulsion. I expressed to MJ yesterday that the main issue with me is that I remember vividly and sometimes still feel in my heart how very deeply I loved… EVERYONE. It’s still incredibly real to me. But as a side effect… I also remember how hurt I felt.

I’m a recovering undercover over-lover
Recovering from a love I can’t get over
Recovering undercover over-lover
And now my common law lover thinks he wants another

And I’d lie for you… I’d cry for you
‘n pop for you and break for you
And hate for you and hate you too
If you want me to… ahhh ooooh
I’d pray for you… Crochet for you
Make it from scratch for you
Leave off the latch for you
Go to the Store for you
Do it some more for you
Do what you want me to
Guess I’m a fool for you

I’m a recovering undercover over-lover
Recovering from a love I can’t get over oooh I
Recovering undercover over-lover
And now my common law lover thinks he wants another

And I’d lie for you… and cry for you
‘n pop for you… break for you
‘n hate for you and I’ll hate you too
If you want me to… I gotta do
My Love for you
Chop and Screw for you
Paint it Red for you
It’s true it’s true
Poor Badu…
Ooooh oooh ooh
Thought I was through with you
Guess I’m a fool for you….

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The Box

I got another lesson in things not always being what they seem yesterday.

Truth be told, yesterday was one of those days where I think it might have been altogether better to just stay in bed and opt out. But my sense of obligation propelled me forward. Despite be feeling physically horrid, my mind was racing because hi, have you met me? It’s what MY mind does. I valiantly make it in to work and am in the throes of being productive when I get a phone call from the company mail room informing me that I have a “box”. Oh okay… OHHH… It’s the IVF meds. Okay. According to AG’s description last year… it’s about the size of a duane reade’s shopping bag. So I should be cool to take it home on the train and it’ll be okay. But the mailroom guy is asking me if I wanted to come take a look at it. Sure. Why not. I got to the mail room and there was a box… the size of the kind of box you’d store your Christmas tree in at the end of the season. T’was HUGE. I was stopped dead in my tracks. Because…. WTF?? It wasn’t terribly heavy, but it was cumbersome so I had homeboy wheel it back to my area and he sat it on the floor and I just… stared at it. Hadn’t opened it yet but read and re-read the words “PERISHABLE” “REFRIGERATE UPON ARRIVAL” over and over on the box. Placed a quick call to the med company that sent them to make sure that they’re on ice packs in there so they won’t melt or degrade or whatever it is that these meds do. What to I know of meds??? I don’t take aspirin. As a kid, when I had a tummy ache, mommy boiled some clove tea for me, hung a bulb of garlic around my neck and put one or two in my socks and sent me to bed. I woke up ALWAYS feeling better (smelling pretty rank – but FEELING better). So what do I know of hormones and stimulants and all this kind of stuff??? I could run my own black market with all the prescriptions of morphine and vicodin they’ve prescribed for me in the past that I just didn’t fill because – WHY? If the pain is not mind numbing, why pump myself full of chemicals just to “ignore it” It’s not going to “heal” the pain — just make me oblivious to it. I’ll pass. Save my system for something substantial should it be needed.

Maybe this is it.

I sent a frantic BBM to Aisha with a picture of the box and she talked me off my ledge a little. I admitted that it’s hard for me to not have the first thought out of my head be “why me?” “Why me and how come there are so many people who can do this baby thing EFFORTLESSLY and completely take it for granted – but me who desperately wants a family has to jump through flaming hoops at the mere CHANCE of having one?” It felt very unfair. I updated my FB status to state how I wished that somewhere in the countless dimensions and realities out there that there is a Victoria who is spoiled and over privileged; who never has to “hunker down” or “grit her teeth” or “fight the good fight”. She just gets anything she wants when she wants it and how she wants it. Very much the Paris Hilton of her reality. Knowing she’s out there would give me a sense of balance. Because I’ll do all of this… Pay thousands of dollars… inject myself with more hormones than have EVER been in my body… Go under the knife again

ONLY FOR THE CHANCE — Not even a guarantee that it’ll work. Maybe even an opportunity for my heart to be broken again because it doesn’t take…

But it’s the risk I have to be willing to take and the fear I have to overcome if I’m ever to know if I was supposed to be a mom on this planet.

Please pray for me.

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Getting Me Ready

The following is NOT for the weakhearted or squeamish. You’ve been warned.

So, Tuesday, I got my period. (yeah – I wasted no time) It’s not something I share with the world freely unless I absolutely have to (due to lack of a pad or maybe commiserating with a fellow female or whatever). I did however inform my husband and thought nothing of that. During the day Tuesday (and when I say i just got it – we’re talking warning shots mostly….) I get a call from someone with a very thick Eastern European accent from Dr. K’s office. “Hello Victoria, do you have your period yet – you have it today, yes?” And I paused for a second and thought – why does she know me like this…. and hesitantly responded… “Yeesssss…….” and she promptly responded, “GOOT. We see you Thursday between 7AM and 10AM!” and I asked if there was any prep or anything to be done before the appointment and she assured me they’d let me know whatever I needed to know when I got there. I called Earl and told him what we were up for Thursday morning.

Yep – today. Well, we didn’t get there for 7AM as we planned but signed in at 8:00 AM and hunkered down for our at least 1 hour wait. We try to be pros at it so it doesn’t make us angry. And I’m thinking… THEY KNOW I have my period. So there can’t be an exam happening today. They’ll probably start me on a whole bunch of pills or whatever. Massive speculations abound as I’m sitting there aging in the waiting room with Earl. Finally they call my name and start to lead me to an exam room. And I’m thinking to myself… they must want somewhere quiet to talk to me or take blood (from my arm) or something… But when I got into the exam room it was all prepped with stirrups and a sheet to put over my nether regions. And the nurse informed me that i was to undress from the waist down. And I said defiantly – um… y’all ain’t ready for what this is like… it’s a heavy day… and my flow ISN’T measly… She waved me off and made it sound like “whatever… basically do what I just told you to do.” I undressed in everything from the waist down except my diaper.

Brief History of me and my experience with this female cycle we call menstruation: I’ve NEVER had it easy. First off, I got my first period when I was 10. I was in the 4th grade. I mean. C’mon. Then to add insult to injury, my flow was never ever something to sneeze at. I learned a hard lesson one day on the way home from school one day when I’d not accurately planned for the arrival of my “Aunt” I only had one pad and I wasn’t my typical extra double wide super long magna absorbency with wings and tabs and extensions. It was just a 25 cent one from the vending machine in the girls bathroom at SFP. Put that on at 2:00. Bell rang at 2:37. Got on the bus and train to get home – about a half hour commute. It was the fall. I had on: my pad, my panties, a slip, my uniform skirt, a long sweater and my wool fall coat. When I got off the 7 train at 90th street, I looked down at the seat I left behind and there was a HUGE bloody smudge all over the seat which made me know that the back of my grey coat was telling of who left said smudge there. I RAN from the train to my home 2 normally short blocks which seemed like an eternity for me and cried for HOURS. From that point forward, I took many measured precautions to avoid that kind of thing from EVER happening again. But there’s only so much planning you can do for stuff like that. As I got older and the fibroids grew, the flow got heavier and the ways for precautions within the realm of the reality of a young lady who gets her cycle regularly became strained. Doubling up on overnight pads through out the day. Changing my pads every 2 hours. ANYTHING I COULD DO to avoid another embarrassing accident. But through out the years, I had my fair share. Bloody butt prints on chairs at work, family and friend’s carseats, restaurant booths… Opting to stand became the regular for me – because I’d rather inconvenience myself to spare what was left of my dignity. One day when my father was dying and after all the years of watching me strain, my mother finally suggested that I try using the adult diapers that my father had in the house for his incontinence issues. She assured they were designed to hold more liquid and could very well be the solution to my problem. I was so reluctant out of the sheer embarrassment of having to say to MYSELF that I’d now resorted to wearing a diaper because of this flow. But the embarrassment of the ever growing instances of accidents shamed me right into that bag of Depends. And that was working famously… till the day I bled through one of those. (that’s when my trek to get the fibroids removed began). At this point, I probably wear them more out of fear than necessity. My flow at present after all the surgeries seems to be 1/3 of what I was used to once upon a time. But I want to be sure I suppose. The anathema of my period all these years is BURNED into my soul. It isn’t something that takes a week or a month or maybe even a year to break out of.

So I sat on the edge of the examination table with the sheet over my yet still girdled loins and cried. Earl was trying to hard to be sympathetic. But what could I tell him that he’d understand? They want me to let loose the flood… and sit here in my own blood until they come to examine me in front of my husband. It was a level of embarrassment I’d not yet dealt with yet and didn’t have much time to learn how to deal with. So I cried. The nurse came in eventually and asked me what was wrong. And in brief I said, “I had no idea that I was being examined today… I have my period… It’s very heavy…. I wear an adult diaper when my cycle is on. I’m very embarrassed.” She said in a soft tone but still being very professional, “we have to look at the ovaries 2 days into your cycle. We do this all the time. Please try to believe that we’ve seen pretty much any scenario that you can imagine. I’ll give you a few moments to take the diaper off…” She left the room and I quietly asked Earl to please turn around so he didn’t have to see me remove the object of my mortification. I slid them off and centered myself on the blue pad that was now on the edge of the exam table. She came back in and asked me to lay back and spread my legs. And conducted the exam like nothing. She took measurements of my ovaries and then asked me to get dressed and get ready for them to draw blood…. *sigh* I thought – this is just a blood centered day. I put a fresh diaper on assessed the damage on the table, which wasn’t as much as I’d expected… and put my clothes on. Sat there quietly and the next technician came in with a tray of 17 vials. I figured… I’d have to fill one of each color. Nope. They had to have me fill ALL OF THEM. 17 vials of blood. Blood. Bloooood. BLOOOOOOOOOOD. (sorry. Had a tiny breakdown just now).

Then it was off to the nurses’ station for my next orders. 2 prescriptions of antibiotics, 1 prescription of antibiotic cream, 1 prescription for birth control, 1 prescription for antibiotics for Earl. Go. Fill them. See you on the 2nd of April. So, yep… the process begins. I’ll try to blog more frequently because I have a feeling that I’ll need to. I found solace in talking to Aisha after it all. She’s unwavering. Just calm and focused. I’ve gotten 2 incredibly great lines to always remember in the last 2 years. One that Auntie INA gave me on a refrigerator sticker that reminds me that “God is at work in you” and today Aisha reminding me, “Do good things to your body… your body will do good things for you.”

I’ll just step and repeat.

Lord Help me.

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