A Most Glorious Trend

My nights have been pretty restful lately. My whole body is changing, so that’s changed the way I do nearly everything. I’m good and sleepy by 10 / 10:30PM, my body POPS awake at 5:00 (even though I wrestle with it to sleep for just a half hour more – not cause I’m tired, but because the bed just FEELS so good). And every morning I wake up with a song in my head. As if someone had put an earphone in and left a song on repeat. I’ve been trying to find a way to catalog all the various songs I wake up with because they usually determine how my day will be. This morning’s song was Marvin Gaye’s “You Sure Love to Ball” (but mostly because I heard the song just once during the day — I guess that’s all it takes…) And there are CERTAINLY worse songs… I love that song. I think it colored my dream though so I thank Marvin in advance for setting the mood.

I dreamt that my hubby and I were getting married… but it was our first time getting married. NOTHING like our actual wedding. There were far less people involved and I want to say that I was pregnant in the dream, but not apparently to the world… just he and I knew. And we were both overwhelmed with happiness and excitement. So all of this seems pretty normal — except that I didn’t normally dream about the man laying next to me… cause you know… he’s right there, and why dream if i can just turn over and tahdaaah? But lately, when I close my eyes… there he is. Wooing me and loving me even in my dream world. So when I do wake up and roll over, I’m just doting on him. And he doesn’t mind that one bit. In my dream world he’s a much more verbally expressive person. Everyone who knows my husband knows that he does use few words unless you know him extremely well. He lets his actions speak for him mostly and he is true to both. But the dream hubby version of him has mastered the art of self expression and does it regularly. What I love most, though, is that my dreams are a manifestation of my reality.

The man I married is evolving right before my eyes and it’s a wonder to witness.

Who says a man can’t change? You certainly can’t FORCE him to… but when he’s ready? Look out!

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The Palm of Your Hand… The Need For Your Care

Sitting with one of my seasoned, sensational Golden Sorors, we chatted a few weeks ago about the prospects for my future since my surgery. She was intimately familiar with the details of my surgery and my reasoning for doing what I did. So she was asking the standard questions… “How many kids do you want?” “Where do you plan to live?” “Have you picked out names?” and the like. And of course I answered each question and offered the answer up as a claiming of my victory to God… knowing that it will come about… just making sure that He knows that I know.

Then she asked a question that I’d not been asked before and it really got me to thinking.

“Who is your support network once the children are here?”

And I paused… I knew what she was asking. Who was really here to help me with the children. What family members (particularly of a female kind – sorry guys) would be able to lend a hand on a regular basis? The standard answers from most folks would… “My mom, his mom, my grandma, his grandma, varied aunties and tanties and countless female cousins.” But I ticked off that harrowing checklist that I’m now the owner of: No mom. No grandma. No dad. And then added to it 1 sick auntie that I trust. A few aunt in laws who have huge families on their sides. No girl cousins. I could tell by now she was seeing the wheels turn in my head and started to get a look of concern on her face. And I finally turned to her and said… “Well, I’m most certainly excited that I decided to join AKA all those years ago… ” And she giggled warmly. I told her that outside of my Mommy Cora (my mother-in-law) and my Auntie Ina (my auntie-in-law) I would mostly lean on the very close knit friends I’d had the fortune to make in life, several of which are sorors. That was a satisfactory answer for her.

I used to feel so envious… There’s a close friend of mine who whenever anything happens in his family, his wife’s family swoops in around them: birthdays, christenings, barbecues, graduations… whatever… here they come from the 4 points of the earth to surround her with assistance and love. Varied Aunties and Tanties… Countless girl cousins. And I would wish to have that. But my immediate family was like that so long ago… and now everyone is so old… the idea of my 1 blood Auntie climbing 2 flights of stairs with her bad knee to help me with my babies breaks my heart. And my uncles… well, I’ll be real – the one uncle I know who WOULD want to partake, is terribly sick as well. The other uncles are so ensconced in their own soap operas… one of them didn’t even bother to come to my wedding. (I’m referring, of course, to all the siblings for my mom – as all the siblings for my dad passed before he did, so they’re really all I have left). And ALL my cousins (1st and blood) are BOYS. I have not ONE girl cousin that I grew up with or who taught me to braid hair or play double dutch. So then, there’s that. I somehow doubt that there could be any REAL joy out of my giving birth from my family due to the fact that they have so many other problems going on… facing their own mortality, trying to get their own affairs in order after witnessing the death of their eldest sister… my mommy.

There was a time when my family WAS that kind of family. The swoop in from everywhere family. And there were varied aunties and tanties and all my mommy’s countless girl cousins would come and help roll out dough for Haitian patties and caramelize sugar for tablette pistache and bring all their confectionery tools to make glorious 3 and 4 tiered cakes with the silver sugar balls. And when it was their turn, mom would scoop me up and we’d swoop to them… and I’d help sew little heart shaped pillows for wedding favors or tie printed ribbons on a communion keepsake. And I was going through all that in my head while I showered the other day when I realized… most of these varied aunties and tanties and countless girl cousins… when I became of age to understand the tree that is family and started to ask about them to my mom… were BARELY related to us… if at all. A lot of “their great grandfather and my great grand father were 2nd cousins” or “we’re not blood relation… we grew up on the top of the hill together” or “we went to school together and roomed in Brooklyn while we got on our feet when we first came to America”. And I started to get VERY excited… because that means that I DO have varied aunties and tanties for my babies and COUNTLESS girl cousins that currently call best friends. And they have PROVEN their “swoop in” to me… in more ways than I could ever care to count… from silly heart breaks over worthless boys to life altering changes like losing a parent or a first major surgery.

So okay – they may not know how to make all the Haitian goodies… but they know how to make Jamaican ones and Southern ones and African ones and Indian ones and Trini ones and Grenadian ones and Italian ones and Midwestern ones and Colombian ones and French ones… and they’re ALL treats my babies won’t have to wait until they’re in college to experience. They’ll have grown up well rounded with this network of women that if I didn’t tell them any different – they’d be SURE that we were all related.

I thought about what I’d want these babies to call my network of women… out of respect of course – the ones closest to me, they’ll know as their Aunts. But they will call them “Tati”. My one blood aunt – we were trained to call her Tante Sisi (her name is Elsie and Tante means aunt in French) – but as kids you’re always talking fast and so it became Tati Si. So they’ll lovingly call you all Tati. And for the men they’ll call you “Mon Oncle” or “Oncle” (pronounced on-cler) before your names (which means “My Uncle”). And I know my babies won’t learn Creole and French from the onset, but they’ll have bits and pieces… until they decide they’d like to learn more.

I know I write a lot of posts about this network of friends and sisters. I know I dote on them quite a bit. But I owe them so much… when they’re present and when they’re not… for saving me from myself in despair – for offering their hearts up to help when i don’t even ask for it – and for their presence being SO strong, that I can call into mind this GLORIOUS future that I have waiting for my babies to come thanks to these PHENOMENAL Women (and Men) that I call my friends.

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A Little Tired of Being Strong

Look.

I know that I’m supposed to be made of stronger stuff…

And that I can weather situations better than most.

I can even find a perfect silver lining in the worst situations so that I can give myself the inspiration to keep on trucking.

Today?

Not so much.

I talked to a few people (who have been through it successfully and unsuccessfully) about what the IVF procedure really entails… in detail. And I found myself thinking… “Why me?” Why must I take the road less traveled just because I’m stronger.

I want to be weak. Just once, maybe. And have things come easy.

I know. I’ll be all strong again tomorrow and find the bright side of this.

But right now?

GOD it sucks to be me.

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Recuperation – Week 2

Well, at the end of another week, figured I’d do a sum up because the days aren’t THAT terribly different. Being on bed-rest / orders not to use the stairs severely limits my interaction with the world and thus my varied experiences. So I’ll just truncate it all into one post.

Friday / Saturday / Sunday / Monday – Most of the experience of these days was the same. Trying to move around minimally… taking my Tylenol ES every 4 hours to keep the low grade fever at bay. Taking Tylenol PM at night to see if I could get some version of rest, but it always ended up being some kind of hallucinatory sleep from which I’d wake up drenched in sweat and with the CRAZIEST headache sitting on the crown of my head. I was limited to doing pretty much nothing as per the doctor and Earl. So there was a LOT of reclining and asking for E to do things I’d normally just get up and do. Laced through all of this were visits from family and friends a plenty; lots of phone calls and emails all of which were really comforting and reassuring. There’s such a great “community” amongst those I hold dear. I feel excited for the kind of close knit wonderfulness that my kids will benefit from. It’s really amazing.

I frustrated myself a LOT because I’m too damned independent and on occasion, Earl would find me doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing… like… bending… or lifting… or … *ahem* sweeping the floor. He was quick to put me in my place though. After enough delinquencies in my behavior, my best friend J told me that with all that’s in store coming up (getting pregnant, having babies in succession) this might be the very last long time I have to relax and I should revel in it. I’ve taken his advice and am running with it. He’s right. I don’t think after this year I’ll sleep again for 20 years. So i might as well just sit my ass down. LOL!

On Monday I insisted that my brother come by and we fete his birthday. We made him lasagna (as I know Mommy would have made for his birthday because it’s his favorite dish that she prepared on his birthday), some garlic parmesan bread and a chocolate cake. I knew this was his first birthday without her and she was such a huge part of his life still… that she might be one of the only people he’d spend his birthday with. I knew I couldn’t take all the pain away, but maybe lessen the blow.

Tuesday – We woke up bright and early for the appointment for the doctor to remove the staples. What I had realized through trial and error was that the staples were pulling both sides of the skin around the incision and holding them together to fuse. But with all the motion I insisted upon doing… i occasionally would either stretch the incision open, or force the staples to pull to hold together more causing tearing. Not a lot? but enough to be painful. When the nurse tech lifted my shirt and lowered my skirt she was like “wow… those staples are TIGHT. She took what looked like a needle nose plier and grasped the top of the upper most staple and twisted it out of me. Painful? To say the least. And that wasn’t even the most tender of staples. As she worked her way down, she entered the realm of the staples that had been torturing me most all week. And it was all I could do not to scream. Earl sat there and looked on helplessly. I couldn’t even bring myself to grasp his hand because I knew that it would be painful for him, so I just gripped the mattress of the examining chair and gritted my teeth for all 30 staples. They then cleaned the incision with betadine ointment and held it together, finally, with something called “steri strips” – little white pieces of surgical tape that they told me would “fall off on their own” and completely concealed the incision from me. It was still tender but at least there weren’t staples tugging at the skin anymore.

Wednesday / Thursday / Friday – was more of the same as the earlier part of the week. On Wednesday I pulled out the cornrows so lovingly plaited by Victoria and the result was a big bright afro

that Mr. Earl would not let me comb down because he loved the Angela Davis / Coffee / Foxy Brown-ness of it all. It was HUGE.

On Thursday Max came and hung out in the evening and then took a day from work on Friday to sit with me and her Macbook and surf and hang together. We were playing some oldie songs and reminiscing about the 70s and the 80s and the quality of music from back then. We were definitely playing the music loud. But it was still pretty early in the evening. And honestly? we don’t play music that loud at all in this house. But it didn’t matter. My downstairs neighbor came upstairs and made it sound like it was something we do all the time – make noise and make her miserable. Max had some colorful things to say regarding other things she could have been doing. But I’ll spare the public LOL!

On Saturday, The Faction planned a little get together for about 4 in the afternoon so E and I (my participation was limited) tidied up the house and I showered, washed my hair and got dressed. Folks started showing up about 4 and by 6 it was a full house, Faction and Friends. There were spirits and fast food and music and chatter. My spirits were high and I was glad to have everyone around and happy. I did a little dance or two (my mistake) and my body let me know immediately that it wasn’t ready for all of that. Unfortunately, that brought the party to an abrupt end and folks made their way out so I could lay down and I did exactly that while a watchful Earl monitored my sleep. I was really sore on the inside, but hoped it would go away in the AM. Which it did. But I truly learned my lesson. It’s only been a week. Major surgery is no joke. I really just need to take it easier than I’ve been or I may suffer consequences I’m not ready for (like more weeks just sitting around doing nothing).

Sunday was a complete day of leisure, watched movies, played video games. Spent a great deal of it on my own as the Mr. went to represent the Flearys at my chapter’s Community Charter Day Celebration. And when he got home, we ate dinner and I fell asleep. Nothing extravagant to report on.

Today I go for my post-op appointment at 3:00. There’ll be a separate post on that – with the results of everything the Doctor found and our next steps. *keeping fingers crossed*

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Reconstruction – Week 1

What a week.

I don’t even know how to articulate everything that’s happened. I’m not quite sure I remember it all. But I’ll try.

Sunday – Angels of mercy in the form of my friends came by to fete me before I had to fast. Li’l Vic came through with food and hair braiding stylees so I could manage to not have to wash my fro every day. So 6 (Vic, Lisa, Kim, Max, Joelle and I) of us got together and laughed and acted a fool while she lovingly blew out the fro and tressed it into cornrows for me. The afternoon was fun and interesting and the conversations had … will stay in my living room!!!! Nuff said.

Monday – was pretty uneventful. Had to stay home to do the “clear liquid diet” purge thingy. Which I HATE. And still do. So it was basically just running from the computer as I worked from home to the bathroom as the saline solution cleaned me out from the rooter to the tooter. The nerves really began on Monday. The anticipation of what was coming. What happened if something went drastically wrong and they had to do hysterectomy…. All the “what-ifs” came rushing in and I was quietly panicking under the guise of staying busy. I surfed the Inquisitive Geek with Fibroids site all afternoon looking for stuff to take with me to the hospital and then provided the list to Earl to be sure that I had all the most detrimental supplies at hand. Primarily Gas-X…

Tuesday – we got to the hospital right on time and they put me in a room in a purple gown with purple footies and I removed my contacts and rocked my Jimmy Choo frames (really? it’s the only Jimmy Choo anything umma own…) and I waited. Tante Sisi, David and Domi showed up to wait with me. They came and poked me a few times… fed me some pills for which the reasoning behind them now escapes me (nausea and something else), and then around 9:30 they called me in. I hugged everyone and kissed them and made my way to the OR.

IN OR – things were moving quickly but slowly all at once. It seemed that they were running behind time and Dr. Kofinas likes to be ON TIME, so they were all scrambling to get things together. About 10 different people moving around the room all stopping by to ask me questions. The anesthesiologist stayed around me the most trying to comfort me by talking to me in her Eastern European accent and while I appreciated her efforts, I wished very much that she’d just put the mask on me and knock me out already. That would have been THE most calming thing for me right then. But no. One of the assisting doctors came to me and lifted up my gown to examine my pelvis and decided she wanted to give me a bikini trim right then… so she pulled out a little electric razor and just went to shavin around. Tickled like crazy. Then she grabbed a long piece of surgical tape and dabbed it around that area, to snatch up the stray hairs I imagine. I heard them chattering amongst each other. “Which one is Dr. Kofinas” one asked. “You’ll know him when he comes in,” another reassured. It comforted me to know that he had that kind of presence. I can’t stand bland doctors. And on cue he came into the room “Hello, Hello, Hello!!! Are we READY, c’mon, c’mon we’re running behind!” his voice boomed through the room. Before speaking to anyone else he came and pinched my cheek and in his heavy Greek accent, “Hello, baby! Are you ready?” and I replied “Yes, doctor. thank you.” He makes you feel like he’s your uncle or something. It’s very nice. He smiled and walked to talk to the other doctors. He was introduced to another assisting doctor who I suppose was doing his residency and was asking him about what specialization he wanted to take up and I heard him say “OHH! So you want to be a GYN and be broke like me, huh?” and patted him hard on the shoulders. After a little more questioning about where my blood units were and counting of utensils I heard him say, alright to the anesthesiologist and the mask came over my face. I made a concerted effort to say “Good Luck everyone” before I was out completely.

IN RECOVERY – I came out of the anesthesia slowly and the regaining of my awareness was also the realization of how much pain I was in. I found myself saying “please…. please…. it hurts so much… please… help….” Folks were taking vitals of me for a few rounds before I saw my husbands familiar and smiling face. I was happy he was there but so unable to articulate anything. My mouth was cottony and my mind and mouth were disjointed. They had me on a morphine drip that had a button on it to give myself more if I wanted. I found that hard to fathom, but they did. And I clicked that little thing as often as I could. I think I was relegated to every 10 minutes or so and therefore, my body began clocking what 10 minutes was. But there was pain coming from a number of places I couldn’t understand… My abdomen… yes… that was the main source of pain… but… the first 3 fingers on my left hand…. were dead. Completely numb and tingling like they’d fallen asleep. And it took me so long to connect where I’d felt such excruciating numbness before… Carpal Tunnel? Can’t be. My line sister and my baby Tish came and sat quietly with me while I mumbled on and on about nothing. My aunt and cousin came in to check on me too… They had been waiting a long time. I went in at 9:30 and didn’t come out until 5:30 or so and I don’t believe that they let anyone come out to hang with me until 6 or so. So when they finally did get a chance to see that I was doing well, they did just that and let Earl be the one to let them know when I got a room. He sat by my bed patiently and either held my hand and looked at me sleep or was playing pac man on his cellphone. After administering 2 units of plasma to me and running 3 blood tests to make sure that my hemoglobin levels had indeed stabalized they finally moved me to a room upstairs at about 11:00 PM.

IN-ROOM – The room was a private one (hallelujah) and was nicer than some apartments that you can rent in nyc. Hard wood floors and marble in the bathroom LOL. Was VERY nice but small… but that was fine. What did I need gaping room for? I was just going to be laying there. In summation, I was there for the next three days which went fairly quickly. The nights were the hardest. Being there alone, one night being completely disconnected as AT&T was too damned impatient with there bill mongering to wait one more day, it was hard when I’d wake up in pain and know that the next pain med dose couldn’t come for another 2 hours. Biding my time in my mind was extremely difficult. I’d answer emails or check fb. Staring out the window was a downer because it was usually raining. One night, I’d reached the bottom. My stomach had bloated up to it’s fullest and gas was NOT coming out. Actually? NOTHING was coming out besides urine which was uncomfortable to pass. The pain meds were NOT taking… I was trying to find a way to cheat the system and have the Ultram (which is supposed to be Tylenol Extra EXTRA strength) and the Tylenol ES alternate so I could have less time in between them. Then the nurse came in and announced that I had a FEVER fever. Not the low grade that they were expecting and vehemently fighting off with a vengeance… but 101.6. Background – these kinds of procedures have a likely hood of a low grade fever involved because of the inflammatory nature of the tissues post-op. So you’re not actually infected – just inflamed. Normally, they would give you Motrin from the offset to PREVENT the fever from every cropping up to begin with. Unfortunately, I have negative reactions to Motrin or Ibuprofen at all. So we had to go the long route to Mordor. Over the course of the 3 days, Dr. Kofinas, Dr. Montez and Dr. Sullivan came in to regularly ask me a million questions, take close looks at the staples and assess where I was and how close I was to going home. On the day I thought I’d go home was the day I cropped up with the 101.6 fever and excessive bloating. Yet another angel, in the form of the Nurse assigned to my room during the day Vina, said, “Enough” and came in to the room and presented me with the Tylenol ES AND the Ultram, Mylicon for the gas and a suppository. Wait…. a what? A suppository. Yep. If it wasn’t going to come out on it’s own, we were going to make it do what we wanted to. I turned over and she did what she needed to do and told me to clench and wait. I’d know when it took effect. Man… after that??? My system flushed out and I felt like a new person. It’s amazing how that bloating can have you feel so down. I was light and bouncing around and ready to go home! But no… now I had to stay over night once more for them to observe.

By Friday morning, fever or no, I was fighting to go home. Earl showed up at 8:30 and tossed my bag of “going home clothing” on my bed and announced that we were going home NOW. Of course this was before paperwork was signed and vitals were checked one last time. LOL. But by 12 noon, we were driving slowly down the streets of brooklyn. A ride that normally takes 15 minutes took us about 45 to ease around potholes and let impatient drivers by. My trip up the stairs took about 10 minutes. Taking each step on its own and stopping to make sure that everything was doing fine in between.

And I’ve been here ever since. So considerably dealing with a touch of cabin fever, but visits from numerous friends and confidants have passed the time as I anxiously await Tuesday when they’ll take these staples out.

More to come… think that’s enough for now…
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Once Again – and with CLARITY…

I have been told I didn’t come right out and say it so here goes.

I am having surgery on June 2nd, 2009 at 8AM to c-section and remove my potentially 10, large uterine fibroids via a procedure called a “myomectomy” (http://www.myomectomy.net – warning – NOT for the squeamish). It is a procedure that lasts anywhere from 4 – 5 hours and the recovery period for it is about 6 weeks. I will be in the hospital for 3 days from the 2nd under observation and then I will be discharged to my home where I will be on bed rest, essentially, for the remainder of the 6 weeks. I will not be able to lift anything, bend, climb or descend stairs, stretch, reach, exercise, dance or anything strenuous until after the incisions through my abdomen and my uterine wall have healed. As per a previous post, my abdomen / stomach area is extended to that of a woman who is 5 months pregnant, so despite the bikini incision, I’m very excited to know what my body will look like when this is all said and done.

My doctor is Dr. George Kofinas of the Kofinas Fertility Institute out of New York Methodist Hospital in Park Slope Brooklyn (http://www.kofinasfertility.com). Without ever being operated on by him before, I feel that he’s a great, confident doctor. He’s been in the business of repairing wombs and getting women pregnant for a very long time. He’s been in the New York Magazine’s list of Best Doctors for 6 years and counting. If you make an appointment to see him for 3 o’clock, you will be waiting to see him till 5… but it will be worth the wait and his waiting room is filled with anxious new patients, old patients who are back for round 2 with the fruits of round 1 running around the waiting room and it gives you hope. He’s an older Greek man with wonderful bedside manner who makes you feel like you might be his niece that he’s working on, speaking gently and with assurance. He has told me confidently that he will reconstruct my uterus: “It’ll be like brand new – I’m going to perform some plastic surgery on it!” and for my malfunctioning cyst / endometrium covered ovary he will “repair it and restore at least 70% functionality to it”. I am glad that I got the reference to see him and that I actually followed through. (THANK YOU, ALEX )

I am on medical leave from my job starting Monday, June 1st. So I will be working from home once I’m off the drugs that might have me woozy or hallucinating. Although I truly don’t want to be on those long at all if I can help it.

I am petrified because this is my first major surgery. I am hopeful because of all the amazing things that this will open the door for. I am excited because I have imagined and dreamed my days without discomfort, bloating, inability to evacuate, fibroids poking back up at me if I lay on my stomach to sleep (which used to be my favorite position). I am humbled at the thought of having a normal uterus again… and maybe… just maybe… being able to carry to full term… a healthy, happy, little bundle of joy OF MY OWN to celebrate and dote incessantly upon so I can stop feeling like the Wicked Witch of the West about everyone else’s joy.

There’s so much hope in my heart.

Prayer is all I need now.

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20 Weeks

Yes – it’s been a while again. Occupying myself with PLENTY of work and senseless FB quizzes has kept my mind preoccupied but it’s time to get back to documenting my journey.

I finally focused hard for two months and went diligently to the GYN and Radiology labs for extensive exams and probes and have emerged on the other side with some definitive answers and a course of action. Sparing the general public of gory details, my tests have shown that, as my doctor so eloquently put it, my uterus has “a lot going on”. 4 four large fibroids on the top, side back and front of my uterus (the only time I’ve hated the number 4 in my life), 3 polyps inside and 3 cysts on my right ovary. Luckily, none of this is cancerous or life threatening – just life altering and quite inconvenient on a multitude of levels. She referred to the size of my fibroid uterus as 20 weeks — as in, it’s the size of the belly of someone 5 months pregnant. That particular description has been taking a while for me to digest… Who would have thought that my first reference of that would be to something unproductive and bereft of joy? To give you an idea, without exposing myself… this is about what my belly looks like when I stand in the mirror and convince myself that I could be MUCH worse. (difference is, the woman in this picture is actually pregnant:)

No... that isn't me.

There is, at this time in science and technology, only one solution for me if I would like to retain the ability to give birth at some point. That solution is a process called a Myomectomy. For laymen, it’s essentially (for my case) the C-Section and “delivery” of all this…. garbage taking up space and causing discomfort in my womb. It is a major surgery for which I’ll be in the hospital for 3 – 5 days ensuing and will need 6 weeks of serious, no movement, help-me-get-out-of-bed recovery time. For the next 2 months, I’ll be on medication called Depo-Lupron. Lupron in it’s original administration was a medicine administered to prostate cancer patients to help shink the size of the tumor. DP will shrink my fibroids by limiting the blood supply to the tissue (which is what they “feed” on) thus shrinking them and potentially making the surgery a bit easier. Plus side of DP? No more periods while I’m on it — WOO-HOO!!! Downside? Symptoms of menopause complete with hot flashes, night sweats and mood swings . But even the silver lining there is that it’s only temporary. Until they perform the surgery.

Next week, I’m going for a second opinion at a place called The Kofinas Institute, a fertility institution here in Brooklyn that a number of women I know swear by. Ones who had been told it’d be impossible to give birth that are now expecting their 2nd baby. But I’m pretty sure given the circumstances and possible course of action for my case, there’s only one way to go.

So to those of you who thought you may have seen something in my silhouette and were afraid to ask… or even those of you who went so far as to put your hand on my belly and ask, “So when are you due?”

In about 3 months.

And then I can start living again.

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