GOOOOOOD MORNING IN-TER-WEBBBBS (in my best Robin Williams voice).
I. Am. A Uterus. Yes – a real, live uterus; don’t let this happen again – though Boss-Lady *did* think your comments were fucking hilarious!
I try. I really do. I try to blog and twit-twat and facedeck and all that on a regular basis but the wi-fi is soooo spotty! If I wasn’t so afraid of getting stuck in a landfill somewhere I’d be tempted to jump out there and experience the world for myself. But I won’t.
See…. the squatters may have damaged my walls as they were forcibly evicted from the premises, but the memory of them still finds a way to warm the place up. Even if the repair job *does* gives off a post-modern ambiance that would look great in any colour but red.
I’m a damaged one – for sure – but I was made better by the care of a great physician. Dr Andree Gruslin, High Risk OB/GYN extraordinaire, and her protective veil made sure that I was OK, every step the of the way.
With every grumbling earthquake and through painful flashes of lightning she hooked me up to things that go bleep and made sure I was OK. Made sure the Squatter was OK. Made sure that my connection to the Squatter was stronger than an army of hormones.
Today I am grateful for this wondrous lady, this warrior. Her research in the link between placental deficiencies and pre-eclampsia will one day lead to a diagnostic tool that will save hundreds of thousands of lives. If you look closely through the records, you may recognize a snarky bitter subject – yours truly ;). I must say that I am very, very photogenic and passed every test with flying colors. A relief, given the disastrous finals in my first go-round.
Between bad lighting and spotty wi-fi I often have to rely on the Boss for my news and just recently heard of her passing. Her obituary says she’d been battling breast cancer for 10 years. #fuckyoucancer. I never would have known! I mean, I saw her a lot! She always had on the greatest shoes, her smile was infectious (a hospital being the sterile environment it is, it’s a good thing that smiles aren’t dangerous lol), her wardrobe to die for (someone said I should choose my words carefully… LOL I DID).
She saved me. Made sure I could keep on doing my job. A sad day for medicine this is, and I mourn the loss along with the Boss.
She wouldn’t want tears though, which is good ’cause the timing is bad. In her memory I’m going to squeeze myself into the finest white suit and a to-die-for pair of Manolos. I’m gonna try not to stain the jacket but make no promises.
I’m going to laugh like no one’s watching (I’d dance…. but that might get awkward even without the shoes) – pun intended – and celebrate each day for the miracle it is. I’m going to kick the Boss in the arse and get her to do the same.
Because life is too short to be sad, lonely, and cold. (wait… what?) Because I don’t care who’s watching. Because she shouldn’t either.
Go in peace, Doc, and God, let there be shoes in heaven.
Once again Herself dragged my ass out to BlogHer’14. Can you say SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA? WHOOOOT!
Whooping and hollering we made like Thelma & Louise and headed west for the vacation of a lifetime. Well, of the year – maybe; there were no cabana boys – and no beach – but there was a pool! Does that count?
I digress. Like I was saying, BlogHer14. We met up with Herself’s “bestest friend” as Jeanne would say. It was refreshing to be surrounded (teeheee!) by chronic over-sharers with no sense of filter. Everyone is on some meds or another, they’re all weird or crazy, and they’re all – well, mostly all – absolutely wonderful.
Did you know Boss-Lady was speaking? She rocked it. Hard. We both walked away from that session feeling like rock stars; the feeling continued through the weekend as people kept coming by to gush all over her and ask more questions. For once I was polite and restrained myself.
There’s something about a being in a room with 4000 other women. I spied on her while she was people-watching with the girls. She’s lonely. I’m not convinced she’s fully aware yet, but the heart and I have known for a while. What? It’s not exactly a party in here, gossiping keeps up entertained!
She watched as couples danced the night away or joined lively conversations amongst peers and strangers alike. He’s not big on crowds, Himself is, and he’s not so great at chit-chat either. She would never say out loud, but I can tell she’s a
wee bit insanely jealous.
Jealous and lonely she may feel, that did not stop her from laughing. With an infectious joie-de-vivre she laughed so much tears ran down her legs. Come as you are – the BlogHer community is wonderful for that. Be yourself. Celebrate yourself. Embrace your uniqueness. I hope she’ll continue to be her exuberant self, no matter who’s watching or what they think.
When she wasn’t Selfibrating with fun selfies she hid behind the camera and captured moments. I’d show you my selfie but I could never get the lighting right.
So we ride the highs and brave the lows, and tomorrow is another day. Not a BlogHer day, just another day. Another day filled with kiddie laughter and tears, poopy diapers and client letters, and maybe a few discreet selfies.
I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. This precious little thing, so beautiful – so full of life.
Imagine longing and planning for this sweet little pea, falling in love from the moment you saw her in your husband’s eyes. Knowing that together you were creating a legacy, a life… a family.
Watching her grow – that first smile (or maybe gas? no, that one was definitely a smile…), those big eyes that held the universe and their secrets.
She would have been 2 years old this month. And I think of her every day.
I can only begin to imagine how devastated her mother was when she passed unexpectedly – the doctors said 2 in a million. 2 IN A FUCKING MILLION. And it had to be her. She was 14 months old. And I think of her every day.
This sweet thing… she’s my daughter’s sister. Not my child, but oh – how I loved her.
I was growing one of my own at the time… my third. I remember the night Herself had to break the oldest’s heart, tell her that her sister was gone.
I saw her grow up years beyond her meager six that night.
Herself always maintained a good (mostly) relationship with her ex and his wife… but I think – on this night – they became friends.
But how do you grieve for a child that is not yours? Months later? Who do you talk to? Who can you share with? Because who wants to hear about death and children – in the same sentence?
She’s expecting again. Another beautiful, sweet, precious little sister for my best girl. I see it in her eyes – the happiness and the devastation. The longing and the excitement. Wreaking havoc on her composure, every minute of every day.
Holding on to those little flutters of new life while grasping at the memory of a loved one lost.
To my dear friend I wish her all the luck in the world – the next few month might be the hardest of them all.
And as I listen to the baby breathe sweet dreams at night while Herself sleeps I remember that sweet little monkey-doo – and I miss her too.
Oh yes, the rumors are true. I’s is a goin’ to that fresh hell called Blogher’13 with 5000 other bitter uteruses (uteries?). I can just imagine the chatter I’ll hear from an overworked and underpaid bunch (I don’t mean the bloggers – I mean you!). I’m packing up my droopy self along with a healthy stash of Advil, a good dose of humour and maybe even some business cards! That’s right – the Boss-Lady has decided that it’s time to start pimping out this blog.
Though I’m sure the pay is better than the ravage the 3 squatters left behind the rewards surely won’t be as great. But still, this is exciting news for us.
She has plans, Herself has! She was talking on the phone the other day, and mentioned building this thing up to be a platform for women’s health awareness issues. I just hope they won’t need to come in for a photoshoot… how awkward!
Change the Cycle is coming back to the expo hall this year and I’m hoping we get a fuzzy uterus to bring home. Just ’cause. Last year Boss-Lady met with Vicky Iovine (now there’s someone’s uterus I’d like to have a coffee date with!!!!) of the famed ‘Girlfriend’s Guide to…” series. I’m hoping she comes back…. And maybe even hoping she’ll agree to lend her uterus a voice.
They’ve promised us wifi – I’m not sure how great the reception will be in here but I’ll be trying! There has been mention of wine (always a good thing), food (salty, chocolaty, and otherwise sinful please!), fashion (I may need help there…).
There’s this great session called ‘the LIST and how to get on it’ – Is there such as thing as “The Great Big Uteri List? I hope Herself makes it. She’s got an 1-on-1 with Dr. Cutie – um – Dr. Stork from The Doctors and maybe a photo-op?
So long as no ones gets any Poise Cooling Wipes near me…. I think it’ll be a good time! I’ll be posting updates on Twitter when I can (seriously, the wifi in here sucks) but I hope you’ll follow me on this journey!
Are you going? Wanting to go? Have gone before? Tips? Tricks? Survival guides? Or do you have #pissyourpantsfunny story to share? Let’s here it!
I’m a raging mess of hormones on a good day so after I evicted the 2nd squatter you can imagine just how I felt – never mind what it did to Herself. A small bout of postpartum? Absolutely. Weird adult acne issues? Definitely. Throw in a bit of hair loss and a body that doesn’t feel like your own, I can see where she may have had a bit of issues.
It’s no secret pregnancy and birth changes you forever – heck, look at me! I’m rumpled, and dimpled, and scarred from 3 of those! Look, I couldn’t be the only one who didn’t recognize themselves in the mirror. I was jealous, ok? I, too, was a raging mess of hormones and I may… have gone at bit extreme in my quest to avenge the Hormonal Uteri Contingency.
Now what horrible, no-good, very bad, terrible thing did I do? Well… I gave her straight hair. I thought I’d send her a few clumps of weird straight hair but it felt sooooooo good. The only thing I remember is waking up feeling incredibly satisfied, relaxed, and peaceful – until i heard her shreek to high heavens and back. It appears I didn’t stop after a few clumps. The poor woman went to bed with curly hair and work up with stick straight hair. Stick. Straight. Hair. She spent her life with big, bold, beautiful curls the likes of Shirley Temple and everyone who had the best hair in the ’80’s.
They’ll come back, right? the curls? I hoped so. I prayed. She cried. She screamed. I felt awful. Hormone-induced vengeance of non-existent issues are never a good idea.
Life is funny like that – the smallest little thing can have a huge impact. Fast-forward through a third pregnancy, ailing parents, the loss of a few loved ones, the toll of life… and she just seems a little bit sad all of the time.
You can’t see it really: she’s laughing and smiling and rocking out her big personality like she always has.
But I can tell. I can feel it.
When she looks at an older couple and she sees how beautiful they were in their youth, how beautiful they still are. When tragedy strikes in the world and her twitter stream lights on fire. When she looks in the mirror to do hair.
She picks up the brush, she sighs, and untangles a chevelure that doesn’t feel right in her hands.
Wife, Mother, Daughter, Caregiver, Entrepreneur… But what about Woman?
The medication, the therapy… they help. But still – Where is the woman who used to look back at her in the mirror?
I overheard her talking on the phone – seems she booked an appointment at the spa. I’m guessing she’s taking looks into her own hands and getting her curl back today.
And hopefully when she looks in the mirror tonight, she’ll be just a little less sad.