This highly fascinating article was in the Seattle Times and in the Advocate this morning. In summary, a transgendered man (F2M) who started his life as a woman and who has been on hormones and living and passing as a man for the past 10 years, is 5 months pregnant. HOLY BAT SHIT, BATMAN! Wow! Awesome! A whole range of thoughts and emotions sprouted from my guts and bitch slapped me the face when I first read this; even beyond sputtering words of "holy shit" and "wow" because you know... I am highly evolved and multi-dimensional that way. Anyway... I wanted to share some thoughts and maybe solicit some thoughts and emotions of others on this topic. First of all, I will state clearly for the record that I have absolutely NO ethical issue with this what-so-ever. I am well aware of the number of people who will take this news in horror and what does this mean for society, blah blah shut-the-fuck-up-and-open-your-mind-blah; but ethics are not what I want to talk about here.
Here are my thoughts. In no particular order.
1) Selfish thoughts. Martyr syndrome kicks in. This article does not explicitly say how long it took him to conceive, only that it took him 4 months from when he stopped taking testosterone hormones to when he got his first menstrual cycle. First of all, 4 months after being on hormones for 10 YEARS is pretty damn impressive. It took me almost a year to get a period after I went off birth control pills ages and ages past. But whatever. I assumed that conception took place very shortly after. Conception, mind you, via the home-grown turkey baster method. I THOUGHT THAT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO WORK!!! shhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. This is where I start to get a little surly. Really? Did it work the first time? Essentially a dude on testosterone for 10 - TEN years and you can get knocked up? What does this say about me? A dude with ovaries but very little estrogen can get knocked up, and lest we not forget that they now are selling paternity tests over the counter at RiteAid because women can't seem to stop randomly and carelessly procreating and oh oh oh that freak Jerry Springer features a show at least once a month centered around the "Who's Your Baby-Daddy" question and and and JUST @(#(%&@)#%U@#(&)E%I%#!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Seriously. @()*%_)@U%U#RUR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Non-selfish sensitive me thoughts: You, Thomas Beatie, are an amazing person! I am so humbled by you. Truly and sincerely. Because of what you've done because your wife could not conceive herself. Now that's my definition of a self-sacrificing GIVER. This poor dude was born into the wrong gender and identity, no doubt struggled tremendously through his entire life, finally gets to the point where he's secure in his life and passing completely as a man, his friends, neighbors, colleagues, coworkers, grocery store baggers, etc. know him as a MAN and he goes and selflessly puts himself into a situation where he has to stop taking all hormones, live as a pregnant *person* for 10 months and give birth??? Wow. I can only begin to imagine the mental preparation and emotions that went into THAT decision. I am personally blessed to have had the experience of knowing a transgendered man. In college I had a friend who at the ripe age of 19 was going through this same thing. Since I first knew him he identified as a man, but he had not started any hormones and didn't exactly pass completely. When I moved to Seattle a few years later after I graduated he had just started taking hormones. I remember the first time he phoned me and his voice had changed. A total Peter Brady moment. It was nuts! But... not to digress too much. My point is, I have a friend who has gone through this and it's bigger than you and me and anybody could imagine. He was very open with his friends and so I was able to gain some insight on the subject. To effectively "reverse" all of this progress (if even for a bit) to conceive a child because your wife could not is nothing short of saintly. And also, dude, you've got BALLS! Big BIG balls! Gives new meaning to the term "grow a pair", yah? BALLS!!!!!!!
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Fess up, YOU BASTARD!
What I’d really like to know… and what I’ve been wondering about daily for the past 10-15 years of my life, is who on god's good earth, broke into my soul, dislodged and ran away with my self-discipline? Successfully, I might add.
Really… whoever you are, own up! Come out and confess. If you happen to be one of my few readers of this blog, come clean and post a note with your apologies and confessions you spineless, brazen shithead of a thief! Becuz I truly hate you AND your ass-face.
After I found out we had to skip yet another month of TTC, I decided to attempt (AGAIN) to get on a plan. A BIG PLAN. My plan was to stop drinking for a MONTH, work out EVERY DAY for 45 days until I go to Hawaii and eat nothing but protein and vegetables for well... the rest of my life. Maybe my problem is that I aim to high?
Here’s how it’s gone so far. Day 1 – worked out, did not drink alcohol, ate mostly healthy except for that one brief moment shortly before I went to bed when the giant bag of chips that has been sitting on the counter quite literally danced (it was the Mackarena, I’m fairly certain of) into the living room, shimmied up to the “lazy girl” chair where my fat ass had been firmly implanted for the past few hours and actually launched themselves into my mouth (amazing the aim those little f_ckers have) at the speed of sound before I could even think to shut it and shield myself from those monstrous attacking chips. I have since taken protective measures and wired my jaw shut, stationed armed guards in front of the door that leads from the kitchen to my ass-couch and have set fire to my bag of chips and watched them wither away in a blazing inferno whilst blasting Queen's "Bohemiam Rhapsody" at the number 10 dial to create appropriate ambiance and dramatic affect. It was a public execution, of sort, afterall. Safe - for Day 2.
Day 2 – worked out (but only on one side of my body because I couldn't physically move the other side), ate mostly healthy, had a 45 minute think tank discussion with Drakey on whether a 3/4 full bottle of wine that was sitting on our counter from Monday night’s St. Pattie’s Day festivities was going to keep until the weekend. The answer, CLEARLY, was absolutely not. And GOD SAVE THE WINE, people. Let's be serious here for a second. The decision couldn't’ be avoided. And we made the right one. We drank the wine. It went down beautifully.
Day 3 – Now I can’t move either side of my body. Tell me, how is a girl supposed to work out if she can’t move either side of her body? I went to ask.com but Jeeves had stepped out for a smoke and nobody offered up any suitable answers so I said 'f-ck it', plopped my ass down on the couch and ate some meatballs instead. Seemed like a logical substitution. Oh – and in honor of Good Friday and Easter, my chips have somehow resurrected themselves from the dead. 'Nuff said about that. Lastly – EVERYBODY knows that you can’t eat meatballs (or meat of any kind) without a nice rich, plump Syrah. Tonight we’re drinking the whole bottle because we definitely don’t want to be put in another dilemma like last night. Jesus Tits.
So… I ask myself and you, kind reader, and the spirits in the world hovering around listening in… or reading blogs… WHO THE F_CK RAN OFF WITH MY SELF-DISCIPLINE and may I please please please have it back. PLEASE.
Really… whoever you are, own up! Come out and confess. If you happen to be one of my few readers of this blog, come clean and post a note with your apologies and confessions you spineless, brazen shithead of a thief! Becuz I truly hate you AND your ass-face.
After I found out we had to skip yet another month of TTC, I decided to attempt (AGAIN) to get on a plan. A BIG PLAN. My plan was to stop drinking for a MONTH, work out EVERY DAY for 45 days until I go to Hawaii and eat nothing but protein and vegetables for well... the rest of my life. Maybe my problem is that I aim to high?
Here’s how it’s gone so far. Day 1 – worked out, did not drink alcohol, ate mostly healthy except for that one brief moment shortly before I went to bed when the giant bag of chips that has been sitting on the counter quite literally danced (it was the Mackarena, I’m fairly certain of) into the living room, shimmied up to the “lazy girl” chair where my fat ass had been firmly implanted for the past few hours and actually launched themselves into my mouth (amazing the aim those little f_ckers have) at the speed of sound before I could even think to shut it and shield myself from those monstrous attacking chips. I have since taken protective measures and wired my jaw shut, stationed armed guards in front of the door that leads from the kitchen to my ass-couch and have set fire to my bag of chips and watched them wither away in a blazing inferno whilst blasting Queen's "Bohemiam Rhapsody" at the number 10 dial to create appropriate ambiance and dramatic affect. It was a public execution, of sort, afterall. Safe - for Day 2.
Day 2 – worked out (but only on one side of my body because I couldn't physically move the other side), ate mostly healthy, had a 45 minute think tank discussion with Drakey on whether a 3/4 full bottle of wine that was sitting on our counter from Monday night’s St. Pattie’s Day festivities was going to keep until the weekend. The answer, CLEARLY, was absolutely not. And GOD SAVE THE WINE, people. Let's be serious here for a second. The decision couldn't’ be avoided. And we made the right one. We drank the wine. It went down beautifully.
Day 3 – Now I can’t move either side of my body. Tell me, how is a girl supposed to work out if she can’t move either side of her body? I went to ask.com but Jeeves had stepped out for a smoke and nobody offered up any suitable answers so I said 'f-ck it', plopped my ass down on the couch and ate some meatballs instead. Seemed like a logical substitution. Oh – and in honor of Good Friday and Easter, my chips have somehow resurrected themselves from the dead. 'Nuff said about that. Lastly – EVERYBODY knows that you can’t eat meatballs (or meat of any kind) without a nice rich, plump Syrah. Tonight we’re drinking the whole bottle because we definitely don’t want to be put in another dilemma like last night. Jesus Tits.
So… I ask myself and you, kind reader, and the spirits in the world hovering around listening in… or reading blogs… WHO THE F_CK RAN OFF WITH MY SELF-DISCIPLINE and may I please please please have it back. PLEASE.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
an update: simple yet long winded anyway
With Dr. Evil now out of the picture, Drakey and I signed up for a consult with our new doc (Dr. Wild Bill) today. My appointment was at 10:30am. We each left our respective offices and arrived promptly, as usual. At 11:15 we were ushered into another "private" waiting room. Around 11:30am, Dr. Wild Bill decided to grace us with his presence. But you know... I'm not going to get started off on the wrong foot with this guy because frankly, it saps my energy. So he's a little tardy. At least he has an excuse. He's probably REALLY REALLY popular. Yah. Anyway... after 13 months of TTC, we finally were offered some formal direction. It felt nice. It restored some hope. It rejuvenated my attitude...maybe a tiny little bit. We did ask him to put me on meds. He recommended something mild; Letrozole (Femara). It apparently cures breast cancer AND stimulates egg follicle production. Who knew? I say that's a pretty damn nifty drug to be aware of, in my very professional opinion. I only have to take it 5 days of each cycle and it renders very few side affects. It's also not FDA approved but the FDA probably doesn't know sh*t about f*ck and I've never been one to go by the book anyway. Dr. Wild Bill noted that I've had a consistent polyp that was of some concern and recommended we measure it and then have it surgically removed. For the record, I don't like surgery. It's a quick out patient surgery but you still have to go full under on anesthesia and the last time I had an anesthesia hang over, I quite literally crapped my pants in the middle of having a probably entirely serious and likely uncomfortable conversation with my dad because apparently anaesthesia takes away your ability to detect any sensation that tells you that your bowels are about to explode; so as much as I look back fondly on that moment, I'm not so keen on having a repeat incident... only this time in front of my wife. Sexy, eh? Anyway... so because I'm pulling out all the stops at this point, I reluctantly agreed that if my polyp was still there and maybe (or maybe not) f_cking shit up, then I would do it.
Given that our scheduled consult happened to fall on CD 14, we went ahead and scheduled an Ultrasound as well in hopes that my eggs would be mature enough to do the LH shot and inseminate tomorrow. I wasn't hopeful. I was right. My follicles measured a whoppin' 8 nano-buckets which is not quite HALF of where they need to be at to be considered "mature". It also told me that they probably couldn't get to the size they needed to be at in time to be considered a viable cycle. BUT!!! that Ultrasound did reveal something shocking. My persistent little polyp that showed up one day around insemination attempt #4 and has stuck around all this time to witness numerous sperm invasions, magic wands and catheters has suddenly disappeared! Wowzers! That rocks! No surgery and no crapping my pants in front of Drakey! There is a God! So the outcome is that we're going to skip this cycle. I make big tits but small eggs. I guess it's important for my body to find a nice yin and yang balance of femininity in that regard. Whatever. We will give it a rest for a month and let the drugs kick in and grow my eggs big and plump like my breasticles and then go in for the kill sometime in late April. It will give me yet another chance to exercise and detox a bit and try to pull my head back out from inside my ass a bit. I've failed at these three things on every attempt so far but they say if you try and try and try again then one day you just might succeed. Seems like sound advice to me, so OKAY!
We were happened upon an Infomercial on TV the other day and they were advertising for a workout routine called "The 30 Day Shred" by Jillian Michaels and the lady on the TV told me that I would drop 20 pounds in 30 days so I said... "well, that sounds peeerrrtty damn gooooood! Right in time for our Hawaii trip! And because the lady on the TV told me, I'm choosing to believe her. Of course, the last time I watched an Infomercial we ended up with that stupid Ab Lounger that I'm literally terrified of because I'm convinced it's going to snap and make an amputee out of me and so I won't go within 100 feet of it. And the Infomercial before that, we ended up with a Bowflex that doubles as a Coat Hanging device in our music room/workout room/library. Please note that I neither work out, read nor make much music in this room so that contraption has collected a fair amount of dust as well. AND... while I'm on the subject, the Infomercial before that, we bought the "Set it and Forget It" Rotisserie which is supposed to be a really awesome LEAN meat option because all the fat drips out. What the Infomercial DIDN'T tell us is that it comes with a giant injector device that we figured out right quick would be super nifty for sucking up all the fat that dripped out and injecting it right back into the meat! So much more YUMMY that way, you know? So that didn't work out as planned either. I'm really hoping the "SHREDDER" will have some different results.
Well, I warned you in the title that this would be long-winded. At least I've succeeded at this. Can't say I'm good for nothin', yah?
Given that our scheduled consult happened to fall on CD 14, we went ahead and scheduled an Ultrasound as well in hopes that my eggs would be mature enough to do the LH shot and inseminate tomorrow. I wasn't hopeful. I was right. My follicles measured a whoppin' 8 nano-buckets which is not quite HALF of where they need to be at to be considered "mature". It also told me that they probably couldn't get to the size they needed to be at in time to be considered a viable cycle. BUT!!! that Ultrasound did reveal something shocking. My persistent little polyp that showed up one day around insemination attempt #4 and has stuck around all this time to witness numerous sperm invasions, magic wands and catheters has suddenly disappeared! Wowzers! That rocks! No surgery and no crapping my pants in front of Drakey! There is a God! So the outcome is that we're going to skip this cycle. I make big tits but small eggs. I guess it's important for my body to find a nice yin and yang balance of femininity in that regard. Whatever. We will give it a rest for a month and let the drugs kick in and grow my eggs big and plump like my breasticles and then go in for the kill sometime in late April. It will give me yet another chance to exercise and detox a bit and try to pull my head back out from inside my ass a bit. I've failed at these three things on every attempt so far but they say if you try and try and try again then one day you just might succeed. Seems like sound advice to me, so OKAY!
We were happened upon an Infomercial on TV the other day and they were advertising for a workout routine called "The 30 Day Shred" by Jillian Michaels and the lady on the TV told me that I would drop 20 pounds in 30 days so I said... "well, that sounds peeerrrtty damn gooooood! Right in time for our Hawaii trip! And because the lady on the TV told me, I'm choosing to believe her. Of course, the last time I watched an Infomercial we ended up with that stupid Ab Lounger that I'm literally terrified of because I'm convinced it's going to snap and make an amputee out of me and so I won't go within 100 feet of it. And the Infomercial before that, we ended up with a Bowflex that doubles as a Coat Hanging device in our music room/workout room/library. Please note that I neither work out, read nor make much music in this room so that contraption has collected a fair amount of dust as well. AND... while I'm on the subject, the Infomercial before that, we bought the "Set it and Forget It" Rotisserie which is supposed to be a really awesome LEAN meat option because all the fat drips out. What the Infomercial DIDN'T tell us is that it comes with a giant injector device that we figured out right quick would be super nifty for sucking up all the fat that dripped out and injecting it right back into the meat! So much more YUMMY that way, you know? So that didn't work out as planned either. I'm really hoping the "SHREDDER" will have some different results.
Well, I warned you in the title that this would be long-winded. At least I've succeeded at this. Can't say I'm good for nothin', yah?
Friday, March 14, 2008
OB Office - voicemail
This should be the voicemail answering machine at the Hades clinic. A little humor for all of us TTC girls who are all too familiar with the stirrup queen role.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
drastic and tragic
I have only 4 more tries left until we reach our 1 year or 12 attempts mark and am forced to revert to my "second string womb"... AKA Drakey. I am going to take the high road and not disclose 100% my true feelings about this publicly here because well... I don't want to start World War III; but needless to say, there's a fire under my ass and I'm a weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee little bit concerned. And by concerned I mean stressed-out-beyond-measure-don't-sleep-at night-near-panic-like-state, Concerned. Perfect recipe for priming myself for utmost fertility, I'm sure. It has nothing to do with Drakey - hell - she would do this 100% better than I ever could but it's MY thing and I want to do it. I have a clock. It ticks. A LOT. I want to experience pregnancy. And I don't want her to have to compromise herself by picking up the pieces of my failure. But I've already said too much. So I'll shut up.
So drastic times call for drastic measures and Step # 1 was firing Dr. Evil. That bitch has been formally fired in that red-headed comb-over of an arrogant bastard, spindly finger-pointing Donald Trump way - FIRED. We (we, meaning Drakey, cuz I'm a lover not a hater, and besides I'm kinda spineless when it comes to this stuff) called the clinic and requested our file be transferred to another Dr. That Dr. Evil wasn't working out for us and is not meeting our expectations in terms of proactive care and that she didn't share our ideas of how aggressive we should be. Drakey, you see, is all things diplomatic, tactful and polite. What I would have said was "that bitch has done NOTHING FOR US! NOTHING AT ALL but feed us excuses and bullshit and crappy bed side manner coupled with moments of such extraordinary social awkwardness you could cut the tension in the air with a dull butter knife. And besides, she's late. ALWAYS, without fail, late which gives me hypertension and probably makes my perfectly fertile ripe eggs explode on the scene moments before the sperm invasion. Anyway... so Dr. Evil has been "REMOVED FROM THE CASE" and we have been ever so fortunate to be assigned one of the most renown fertility specialist and endocrinologist in the Pacific Northwest. Yeehaw!!! I am going to refer to him here on out as "Dr. Wild Bill". It fits. And I'm hoping to shit that Dr. Wild Bill can help a sister out.
Step # 2 is to go on drugs. For those that know me well, you'll understand what a compromise this is for me. I hate hate hate hate hate meds, pills of any sort. I don't even take aspirin unless I'm literally bleeding out my eyeballs (or having a drug induced miscarriage that breaks my ovaries apart bit by bit and sends them colliding down my ........... oh fuck it - you get the idea). I don't like drugs one bit... and I especially don't like ones with enormous side effects that make you fatter than fuck... blown up like the Pilsburry Dough Dyke. Cuz I really need more of that right now!!! But I'm going to do it. Bring on the drugs. I repeat - drastic times call for drastic measures.
Lastly - I am going to find religion and start praying. If anybody can recommend a religion to me, I'm open to ideas. I studied Tibetan Buddhism once, but sadly found that I'm not all that peaceful. I prefer Eastern things, just as a tip. But I'm not ruling anything out. DT=DM!!!
So drastic times call for drastic measures and Step # 1 was firing Dr. Evil. That bitch has been formally fired in that red-headed comb-over of an arrogant bastard, spindly finger-pointing Donald Trump way - FIRED. We (we, meaning Drakey, cuz I'm a lover not a hater, and besides I'm kinda spineless when it comes to this stuff) called the clinic and requested our file be transferred to another Dr. That Dr. Evil wasn't working out for us and is not meeting our expectations in terms of proactive care and that she didn't share our ideas of how aggressive we should be. Drakey, you see, is all things diplomatic, tactful and polite. What I would have said was "that bitch has done NOTHING FOR US! NOTHING AT ALL but feed us excuses and bullshit and crappy bed side manner coupled with moments of such extraordinary social awkwardness you could cut the tension in the air with a dull butter knife. And besides, she's late. ALWAYS, without fail, late which gives me hypertension and probably makes my perfectly fertile ripe eggs explode on the scene moments before the sperm invasion. Anyway... so Dr. Evil has been "REMOVED FROM THE CASE" and we have been ever so fortunate to be assigned one of the most renown fertility specialist and endocrinologist in the Pacific Northwest. Yeehaw!!! I am going to refer to him here on out as "Dr. Wild Bill". It fits. And I'm hoping to shit that Dr. Wild Bill can help a sister out.
Step # 2 is to go on drugs. For those that know me well, you'll understand what a compromise this is for me. I hate hate hate hate hate meds, pills of any sort. I don't even take aspirin unless I'm literally bleeding out my eyeballs (or having a drug induced miscarriage that breaks my ovaries apart bit by bit and sends them colliding down my ........... oh fuck it - you get the idea). I don't like drugs one bit... and I especially don't like ones with enormous side effects that make you fatter than fuck... blown up like the Pilsburry Dough Dyke. Cuz I really need more of that right now!!! But I'm going to do it. Bring on the drugs. I repeat - drastic times call for drastic measures.
Lastly - I am going to find religion and start praying. If anybody can recommend a religion to me, I'm open to ideas. I studied Tibetan Buddhism once, but sadly found that I'm not all that peaceful. I prefer Eastern things, just as a tip. But I'm not ruling anything out. DT=DM!!!
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
a list... of sort
Things that do NOT get you pregnant. In no particular order:
1) reverse psychology
2) mass pineapple consumption
3) praying to the baby jesus
4) wishing on falling eyelashes
5) threatening Aunt Flow with corporal punishment and foreign torture tactics
6) playing stirrup queen to Dr. Evil
7) stocking your purse with sanitary devices in hopes of irony playing a part in your life in just the right way
7) just because you want it and deserve it
Things that seem to get you pregnant but can't work for me:
1) dry martinis and mini skirts some drunk night in Vegas (but who really remembers?)
2) being 16, horny and dumber than a sack of rocks
3) having copious amounts of sex with men and a lucky star shining down on you
4) S&M swings?
Alas, another cycle of hope and failure commences.
1) reverse psychology
2) mass pineapple consumption
3) praying to the baby jesus
4) wishing on falling eyelashes
5) threatening Aunt Flow with corporal punishment and foreign torture tactics
6) playing stirrup queen to Dr. Evil
7) stocking your purse with sanitary devices in hopes of irony playing a part in your life in just the right way
7) just because you want it and deserve it
Things that seem to get you pregnant but can't work for me:
1) dry martinis and mini skirts some drunk night in Vegas (but who really remembers?)
2) being 16, horny and dumber than a sack of rocks
3) having copious amounts of sex with men and a lucky star shining down on you
4) S&M swings?
Alas, another cycle of hope and failure commences.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
out of left field...
In consideration of "operation try not to get knocked up", I've decided to post a blog about something entirely unrelated to pregnancy, and my unprecedented fear and aversion to it.
I normally don't post other "funnies" here but I couldn't help myself. I've watched this about 6 times over many days and haven't stopped laughing yet. So, I had to spread the warmth. And yes, maybe I am referring to that warm tingling feeling in your pants after you've wet yourself from laughing so hard over this. Enjoy.
I normally don't post other "funnies" here but I couldn't help myself. I've watched this about 6 times over many days and haven't stopped laughing yet. So, I had to spread the warmth. And yes, maybe I am referring to that warm tingling feeling in your pants after you've wet yourself from laughing so hard over this. Enjoy.
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