I went back to the doctor last week to follow up on my blood test and to see what the deal is with my cycle (or lack thereof). I haven’t written about it until now because frankly, I’m a little miffed. My doctor totally blew me (and my concerns) off. The testosterone levels were lower this time (yay!) and while they were still higher than normal, they weren’t high enough (this time) to cause concern. Apparently, if my doctor had his way, that would be the end of it. Unfortunately for him, he is dealing with me and in my world, seven months with no period is cause for concern whether or not my testosterone levels are abnormal.

He looked at me like I was insane when he came into the exam room (because clearly he would have called me if my test results were concerning). When I asked him if an ultrasound would be a good next move, I got a barely concealed eye-roll. When I mentioned that I had been looking up my symptoms on the internet, I got a full-on eye-roll. He made me feel like I was “crazy-hypochondriac-lady,” one step away from taking to my bed with a case of the vapours. Disappointing, considering that he has been my doctor for 8 years and should really know me better (and want to take better care of me) than that.

I am not happy.

He did tell me that it might be a good idea to take some progesterone to jump start a period. According to him, if the progesterone forces a period, I’m good and if it doesn’t, we try to figure out why. I guess that’s a sound plan. Except that the right side of my pelvis is hurting and even if the progesterone does start my period, I’m still not going to be satisfied that everything is okay. (I would have mentioned it to the doctor but I was feeling quite stupid by this point. Now, of course, I feel stupid for feeling too stupid to mention it. Stupid.) 

While I obviously agree that going on seven months with no period is a concern or I wouldn’t have seen a doctor about it in the first place, there is a big part of me that can’t quite bring herself to purposely bring on a period. I mean, really. Inviting a period, on purpose, is akin to inviting your husband’s mistress to go shopping with you and then buying her some lunch. I’m pretty sure that I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a plastic spoon than deliberately interrupt the vacation my period has gone on.

Part of me thinks that maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing. What kind of woman is anything but elated at a seven month absence of pesky aunt flo? I’m not particularly excited about making another appearance at my doctor’s office either, especially knowing that I’ll probably leave there feeling like I wasted his time with my silly concerns. He probably thinks I’m just a bored housewife with nothing better to do than come up with mysterious ailments.

Except that along with my seven month “vacation,” I have a dull ache in my pelvis, along with a mysterious weight-gain. I know inside that I am not making this up. Something is wrong. And I’m angry that my doctor isn’t taking me seriously.

What to do, what to do? Take the progesterone and then head in to the doctor? Forego the progesterone and demand the ultrasound I wanted in the first place? Find a hobby and drop the whole thing? I think I’d pick option #3 if my right ovary wasn’t screaming at me to stop being intimidated by my doctor and start taking my health seriously.

What would you do if you were me?

Filed under: Just My Luck, Keepin' it Real, Me, PCOS, Uncategorized by WWS (Lynn) - 11 Comments →

This blog is seriously lacking in content lately. I know. And, since the blog is lacking in content, the next logical conclusion would be that I am seriously lacking in content lately. You’d think it’s true, but you’d be wrong. I am full of content. Chock full. Brimming, even. I am positively drowning in content.

So what’s the problem?

Tired? Check. Lazy? Check. Emotional? Check. Pregnant? Uh, no. That would be too easy.

Suffice it to say that I am in a bit of a mental and emotional slump right now. I’m wasting a lot of my time and energy wishing for another baby things that are never going to happen. I don’t know why I torture myself this way, I really don’t. It’s not like pining over it will change things. But, really, do my kids have to grow up so damn quickly?

Yeah. I’m going to go to bed, try to forget about this ridiculous pipe dream and maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up and actually start typing out some of that “content” I was talking about before. Fingers crossed!

Filed under: Keepin' it Real, Me by WWS (Lynn) - 1 Comment →

Normally, I don’t do the whole “post of the day” themes, mostly because then I’d have to actually remember to do it every week, but I’ve made an exception for Blissfully Domestic‘s Funny Photo Friday. Actually, let me clarify: I made a one-time exception. One time! This way, I can officially excuse myself from participating in the future because I am old and I have a bad memory…

But enough about me and my issues…

Behold, my funny photo of the week! (Ok, so it was taken in February. Still.) May I just say that my butt isn’t really that big? What? It’s not! Stop laughing!

Filed under: Keepin' it Real, Me, Random, Uncategorized by WWS (Lynn) - 7 Comments →

When we last left our flexibility-challenged hero, he had just undergone successful leg-reattachment surgery. Aside from a bit of a limp, a slight case of tunnel vision and the creeping realization that his entrance into the twilight years was becoming imminent, Spidey seemed to be recovering nicely. As the days passed, however, he began talking more and more of the sweet Fiat Spider convertible he’d always wanted and how that barely legal hot barrista at Second Cup totally wanted him. He traded in his BenGay for Old Spice and complained of how he was tired of always sitting at home watching The Price is Right and waiting to die. I began to worry that Spidey had developed a brain injury following his head replacement. The Boy, thinking that Spidey simply needed some fresh air, decided to take him along on an outing to the car dealership as we signed the deal on a new SUV.

Once at the dealership, Spidey seemed content to observe the action from the miniature fist of his pint-sized guardian. Encouraged by Spidey’s change in attitude, we began to let down our guard. Little did we know that it was all just an act, a guise put forth to put us at ease while he planned his final act of stupidity superheroism. Spidey, knowing that he was on his last leg and hating it, decided to go out in a blaze of middle-aged glory. And so, he waited until The Boy was momentarily distracted by the fish tank on one side of the room to make his move. He hobbled to the unlocked door of the fire-engine red Tiburon in the showroom, threw his cane on the floor of the passenger side and gunned it through the window and out into the crime-filled streets. We watched in silent horror as Spidey disappeared around the corner, never to be seen or heard from again.

Shocked and heartbroken that his beloved friend would cast him aside like yesterday’s news, The Boy blindly searched the house for something, anything, that could replace him. The first day, he carried around Chip Clip.

He then tried Froggy.

No matter what he tried, though, The Boy could not get the memory of Spidey out of his head. Many a bedtime tear was shed because he simply Could! Not! Sleep! Without! Spidey!

All the while, I was spending hours staring blearily at my computer screen, scrolling through page after page of eBay listings. No luck. I shared our tale of woe with a friend of mine who has an odd little personality quirk causing her to refer to herself as PunchNut. (I have yet to ask her why she chose this nickname. I have visions of her punching random creeps in the sac which is not at all in keeping with her personality. I really need to set aside a moment to ask her what on earth could have motivated her to move away from her happy little nickname of Cheerios to this other, more aggressive nickname.)

But I digress…

PunchNut offered up a similar Spider-Man to help ease The Boy’s pain at being dropped like a hot potato by his old Spidey. I was immediately grateful and thrilled that a suitable replacement had been gifted to him and tried to figure out an appropriate time to travel to the other end of the world drive to the other side of town to pick him up.

It was at about this time that an eBay auction caught my eye. A woman from Great Britain had set up a listing with a lot of Spider-Man toys. (A “lot,” in this case, meaning ”several objects grouped together” as opposed to “many” although, really, I guess that’s how the term “lot” came to be. You know, since several objects grouped together in a lot is a lot.)

(Wait. What was I saying again?)

The only downside to this amazing discovery was that the “lot” of items would set me back a “lot” of money. So, I did what any mother would do and I emailed the seller in order to ask her whether or not she would consider selling just the one item on its own. Empathetic to my plight, she agreed! $12 later, NuSpidey was safely packed in a lovely little bubble wrapped envelope, en route to our humble abode.

He arrived less than two weeks later and, after a quick inspection and spit-shine, Spidey was presented to The Boy. I think to say that he was thrilled would be an understatement, so let me just say this: Operation Replacement Spidey was a success.

NuSpidey brings a few things to the table that OldSpidey was no longer capable of, like moving his head. Also, he has full mobility in both of his legs.

I am so lithe and flexible. Watch me do some man-splits. Do not cringe! I am a superhero! These things come naturally to me.

Wait. My Spider Sense is tingling. Who is this lovely lady? Why, The Boy’s Mom. How can I ever thank you for rescuing me from the trappings of that cardboard box filled with useless crap?

Take my hand, The Boy’s Mom. I am on bended knee for you. You have made my life worth living once again. I will now be able to fulfill my duty of fighting crime through the imaginative eyes of a child. You have done the world a great service. May you be forever rewarded with all of life’s wonders.

With the arrival of replacement Spidey came the warm, glowing warmth of happiness to the Land of Scissors. The children began, once again, to dance merrily around the May pole, flinging flower petals in the air and dancing with abandon in spring meadows filled with rainbows and unicorns. The End.

Filed under: Happy Happy, Offspring, The Spidey Chronicles by WWS (Lynn) - 5 Comments →

Right now, I am the heaviest I have ever been while not pregnant. I know this because the Wii Fit tells me so. Also, my pants are getting tight. Ordinarily, I would just blame it on poor diet and exercise habits. This time, though, I don’t think that’s the problem. This time, I think my weight gain is only a symptom of a bigger problem.

I haven’t had a period in more than six months. And no, I’m not pregnant, although that would be a much nicer explanation for my expanding middle than the one I’m expecting to get. It’s not unusual for me to go 2-3 months without my pesky little visitor, but six months is a long time, even for me. So, the fact that I am beginning to resemble an apple with legs combined with the fact that I have been free of my monthly curse for over half a year led me to seek medical advice.

(I fear going any longer without dear old Aunt Flo stopping in for a visit because when she does come, my house may resemble this):

My doctor sent me for blood work to test my thyroid and various other hormones. I was surprised to learn that my testosterone level is higher than it should be. On the surface, my husband thought that was pretty freaking hysterical and busted loose with all sorts of jokes, ranging from “well, that explains the hair on your chest” (Note: there is NO hair on my chest, thank you very much! Just had to make that one crystal clear…) to “Why don’t you want to ‘do it’ multiple times a day, then?” Har de har har.

I told him that some wives divorce their husbands for less than that and unless he wanted to die alone, he’d better show a modicum of support.

My doctor told me that raised testosterone levels combined with “absence of menses” can mean tumors. He muttered something about “benign” but really didn’t clarify. Instead, he sent me home with another blood test requisition and the suggestion that he may be referring me to an Endocrinologist in the near future.

At home, I researched my symptoms a bit more and came away with a self-diagnosis of Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. It makes sense to me and sounds a heck of a lot less scary than the word “tumor” and all of the things that tend to go along with them.

I haven’t heard from my doctor yet about my latest round of blood work. Until I get some real answers, I am refusing to let myself get worked up about this. I’ll post updates when I have them, but if I come back here chanting “Redrum, redrum!” it might be a good idea to run for your lives.

Filed under: Keepin' it Real, Me, PCOS, Uncategorized by WWS (Lynn) - 8 Comments →

I saw this post of Veronica’s on her website, Sleepless Nights and was so moved by Ivy’s story that I have reposted it here on my site (with permission.) There is a link to some pictures below that, while bothersome, will really help in understanding Ivy’s plight. I hope you all sign the petition to help her. I did.

_______________________________________________________

Ivy is beautiful and Ivy is sick. Ivy is only 2.

And yet, at age 2, Ivy has seen the inside of a hospital more times than anyone should have to. Ivy has a rare immune deficiency IgG. Because of that, she has Pemphigus which is an autoimmune response to the IgG [please note, these are photos of Ivy's pemphigus blisters and they may be a little graphic for some people].

These are horrible conditions that no adult should have to deal with, let alone a child.

Ivy is currently on Prednisone and Mycophenolate to help control her symptoms and blistering; however, these drugs suppress her immune system, on top of the deficiency.

Ivy’s mum says “…she was never good at mounting a response to infection but the meds make it worse.”

She frequently ends up in hospital on IV antibiotics, just to help control the infection in her ears that never seems to completely disappear. She cannot be exposed to a simple virus in fear that it will land her back in hospital for days at a time.

She can’t go to the playground to play.

She can’t attend playgroup.

She can’t head to the supermarket with her mother.

She might never be able to go to regular school.

She is only 2.

However, there is a treatment that would give Ivy a good chance at normal life.

It’s called IVIG (intravenous immunoglobulin) and it is a transfusion of immune cells that would bolster Ivy’s own immune system and help her fight infections in a normal way.

Think about it, a chance at a normal life. A life that doesn’t involve frequent hospitalisations.

Unfortunately, the officials at the Australian National Blood Authority have denied the request for Ivy to have this treatment. This treatment that could very well keep her out of hospital. So far, all appeals have been in vain.

As Ivy’s Mum says on her website:

“My little girl is going to have a life of hospital admissions and illness, some chronic, some life threatening, because some guy in an ivory tower decided she could survive without this medication.”

How is this fair?

What if it was your child? What if it was your sister’s child? Do the rules change for daughters of the officials? How come someone with a big stamp gets to say yes or no to this little girl’s chance at a normal life?

It shouldn’t be like this.

All I am asking for is 2 minutes of your time. If you could just head over here and sign our petition, we might be able to get enough support to convince the National Blood Authority officials to change their mind.

Ivy is only 2. She deserves a chance to be normal.

Please, a minute of your time could make all the difference for Ivy.

Sign Petition

Filed under: Uncategorized by WWS (Lynn) - 2 Comments →

So, I was standing in the pizza place a couple of days ago, waiting to pick up my order. As I was standing there, the pizza delivery guy looked at me with concern and said, “How are you feeling?”

Instantly horrified, my mind spun. Holy crap, do I look that bad? I know I just threw my hair in a ponytail and I’m not wearing any makeup at all and, crap, I’m wearing a baggy t-shirt and shorts made out of sweatpant material and I think I might feel a pimple coming on. Damn, I should take better care of myself. Outwardly, “I’m fine thanks, how are you?”

“So you weren’t hurt in the accident? Your kids are ok?”

Oh. That. Oh! He knew about that?

“Oh! You knew about that?” (duh)

“I delivered pizza to your house that night. That car looked pretty wrecked.”

Wow, I’m shocked that he remembered me!

“Wow, you remembered that?”

“I always remember my favourite customers!”

Aww.

“Well, thanks! The kids are just fine! And I’m fine. Just a few aches and pains. And this lovely scar.”

As I show him the scar on my hand, everyone else in the pizza shop materializes to have a look as well. There are comments of, “Oh, my” “Look at that!” “Wow, that’s crazy!” “Oh, I’m glad you’re ok.” It was like a big ole pizza family love fest.

And so, feeling the love of humanity once again, I take my pizza, my scraggy-looking ass and my budding pimple home to feed the family. With food that I didn’t have to make.

Amen.

Filed under: Me, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 5 Comments →