P.S. – how could I forget?

Two year anniversary with my most wonderful husband (Zsolti) is today. Happy anniversary, Babe!

There is an unfortunate tendency for me to associate my wedding anniversary with discovering the lump in my breast last year. But sitting here at Tragos with Zsolt’s arm about my shoulder, bopping to the music and drinking a mint tea – every single moment, including our anniversaries, is a moment to celebrate loving my husband. I need to shake off that stigma from last year’s traumas – that was LAST YEAR. Past tense. This is now, here, happening. And it feels quite nice.

Stepping out the door

Alright, I’m at Tragos using the internet – last Tragos of the UK, last posting from England. Next up – Euro cruising with the Hungarians as we head to Zsolt’s homeland for a much needed vacation. I’ll write some posts in the car and then publish them as we arrive at various internet cafes. Until then, have a lovely week. The boxes are shipped, the flat has been cleaned, and the photo shoot is over. We’re on our way, baby!

See you soon

Packing through panic

Packing update (still no time for pictures):

The boxes are slowly filling. One after another, I’m stuffing them with clothing, books, computer games and cooking hardware. Attempts to sell the mattress have failed. Such is life. We’ll be shipping it to Canada. Time is running out since the movers arrive tomorrow to collect our goods, which means tonight will likely involve last minute quick-fixes – tape and cardboard flying. Went shopping yesterday in attempted retail therapy. Bought amazing dress (Sales Lady said it looked, ‘striking’ then commented how she remembered me from the last time I’d tried it on. That essentially sold the dress. Not sure why – but the word striking suited me perfectly. I’d like to be striking, particularly after this past year of being a Vaseline smear of myself in the mirror).  Soon to leave for Hungary with a European road trip in the works. Not planning this trip, instead leaving everything up to my husband and his family. I’ll just be the tired girl in the backseat, typing away on her laptop.  Article writing is coming along, but I’m suffering from ‘cheese’ symdrom. It’s like when attractive people suddenly appear ugly in front of the camera. As soon as a spot light is turned on my writing it freezes up – fills with formality and tension – thus resulting in a lost voice. But life is a learning process, problem has been identified – now must rise above. Shake off those nerves.

And that is my situation in the form of facebook status lingo, or twitter tweeting. Many nouns are lost in the process, but too bad so sad. I’m too busy for nouns today.  Essentially things are ticking along, but I’m finding it overwhelming. Also, throughout the madness of moving, there is this lurking sadness that keeps swooping down and resting heavily on my mind. It’s funny – when I found out gluten was a bad thing, that really pissed me off. Finding out that my eggs are so low . . . I’m not at the point where I can be pissed off, instead I’m just well-deep sad.

Chances are I should be writing more. It’s such a relief for these feelings, but because of the move there’s no time. So! I’ve snuck in a pinch of typing this morning for Bumpyboobs, thankfully, but now should be off to eat some breakfast. Early morning writing is good for the soul. Helps to lighten my mood (because I shove all my worries on this electronic page, ‘worry distribution’  so that they’re free from my head).

Okay, now it’s really time to go. Zsolt is awake and getting dressed.

Soon this madness will be over and I’ll be floating in spa waters. Almost there, Catherine, you’re almost there.

The procrastination continues

Ok – packing has STILL not started, and it’s Monday. Movers are due Thursday, so yeah, time’s getting pinched. It’s just hard to get focused. Between a great party last Saturday, selling the car and furniture, planning a road trip across Europe, dressing for that photoshoot, and visiting the theatre in London. . . those boxes arn’t likely to fill anytime soon.

Even writing this post is munching on time. But what the heck, I’ll skip the picture scribbling today.

Right. Last Thursday I was given the crappy news. Fine. Since then I’ve been struck by waves of sadness – but otherwise I’m just moving forward. Things are so busy I don’t even have time to google ‘egg donation’ and that’s probably for the best at this moment.

Zsolt said that while an AMH measures the level of hormones produced by eggs (thus measuring the amount of eggs –ish) it doesn’t measure the quality. So that could be either good or bad, though honestly at the moment I cannot be asked to investigate further. And my acupuncturist said she knew a lady who had similar AMH results, and then several years after the test was pregnant.

Anyhow – this is clearly a situation of “he said this” and “she said that” and “I once heard about a women who”.  . . a lot of speculation and encouragement to hope.

But honestly, at this moment (and I’m sure this will change) I’m just tired. I feel tired. Not chemo-tired, just emotionally exhausted and ready for a break.

Cue the summer. I keep telling people about lake Balaton and the spas of Hungary. I keep dreaming of floating through hot water and tanning in the sun. And then there’s this new world over in Canada that I’m trying to imagine – but it’s all water colours – I’ve got a sense, but no shape of what will unfold. This is one of those ‘trust the gut’ situations where everything hopefully works out.

Anyhow. Just checking in to say hello. At this very moment the Zsoltster is going through our filing cabinet trying to empty contents for shipping/binning. Considering he stops at every-single-item for a lovely trip down memory lane, I think it’s going to take a while.

Time to stop typing and help un-file that cabinet.

Later Gator.

Fertility AMH results

Today I received a phone call. The phone call. I’d been expected the used car salesman to ring me up and name his offer on our car. This morning we stopped by the lot, and having checked it over he said, “yes we’re interested in your car, but I need to talk with the boss about pricing. Leave your mobile number with me.” Which we happily did, meaning that today I carried my mobile on my person, whereas normally it’s left in my purse in the back office as I work in the library.

But today it was on me. And when it rang, I nipped into the back to answer it away from the students. Good thing for that because twenty seconds later I was in tears.

Results are in. They’re not great. My eggs are quite depleted with .7 pmol/L (or something like that, I’ve only heard the results, not seen the paper detailing the anti mullerian hormone (AMH) test results). The nurse said she was so sorry to deliver bad news, but the consultant thinks my best option for the future would be egg donation. Meaning, not my eggs.

Good on the .7 for hanging in there, even if that basically classifies me as ‘barren’ – it’s better than zero. “You just need one,” said both my husband and mother.

Anyhow – cue the tears, hang up the phone, start the profanity (a kind of medicine not recommended by professionals, but definitely recommended by me). Quiet utterances of ‘fuck’ interspersed with sobs of disappointment. My poor boss opened the door during the phone conversation and saw that look on my face (the ‘ugly cry’ look of uncontrolled emotion), but he handled things very well. After I sucked up my outburst just long enough to fill him in, again rose the tears and he was a great comfort. Poor fellow! It was my last day working with him, and the Avenue has been such a wonderful experience – leaving on a tearful note really does not represent my time within the library. It’s been all laughs and conversation (plus diligent work habits), even during the chemo months the library has been a place of refuge.

But he responded quite well. Didn’t try to fix anything, just let me go home for a private cry.

And then there was my husband. I called him up thinking ‘can’t share this news over the phone, must relate in person’ so just said: “I don’t feel well and need you to pick me up. Like right now, please.” So he came – but not before running around the flat to change his stained t-shirt and throw on some jeans instead of sweat pants. He thought we were going to the hospital! And when he arrived (I had decided to sit on the ground while waiting, which probably increased his worries), he jumped out of the car, and again I broke into a fit of tears –

“I got the results and they say I can’t have children.”

You should have seen his relief! Relief. I wasn’t sick, we didn’t need to go to the hospital. Considering the panic situations that’d been running through his mind, things were okay.

“That’s fine, we’ll be fine.” And he let me cry a little more.

And we will be fine. Today I’m grieving the loss of those eggs. Ever since flipping through Zsolt’s baby album I imagined having my own little big-headed baby, and now – well, we’ll see. Unlike a cancer diagnosis, I am not filled with fear. Sadness, yes, because there has been a loss. This is a loss. But no fear – instead there’s hope. There are options, there are possibilities, there are opportunities. And when we’re ready, we’ll see what can be done.

For now, I’m grieving. For today. Maybe again a little later. But Zsolt and I both feel that things will be okay. We want a family, so we’ll get a family (Hello! We already are a family, but children would be a wonderful gift).

And until then, there will be adventures. Moving to Canada, trips around the world, chasing careers, getting involved, making a difference, enjoying life. With every year – every bloom of the roses – I’m reminded that things are always beginning, always full of opportunity.

In time we’ll grow our family. For now, we’ll grow ourselves.

Early morning ‘To Do’s

This morning is waking me up with a mental ‘to do’ list knocking at the door. It first started knocking around 5.30am, but I sent it away through various mental images of babies being put to bed, boats adrift in the water, river currents taking away my thoughts (plus the addition of a shirt over my eyes to block any/all light) and it must have worked because eventually I fell asleep. However, it didn’t work for sooo long, or maybe the t-shirt fell off my face, because here I am typing away at 7.30 am and hoping that the clackity clack  of this keyboard doesn’t wake up Zsolt.

TO DO: Firstly, call the various utility companies and request a cancellation of their services. Unless I want to pay for another month of service, this needs to be done today.

TO DO: Zsolt has to drop by the printers to arrange a hard-binding of his thesis. It’s an expensive errand (most are these days) but the results are forever. For generations to come, his work will sit somewhere in the University of Southampton’s archive of past graduates, and maybe one day – when either he or I become hyper-famous, they’ll remove the book from its shelf and display it in the small gallery tucked toward the back of the library. “And here we have the writing of Zsolt, Hungarian scientist extrodinaire”. Well, regardless of whether that happens, the thesis, hard-bound and pressed with gold leaf lettering, will take a place of honour on our bookshelf.

TO DO: Little Peugeot needs to be sold. This is a must. Today we’ll be taking it around to the used car dealerships to see what type of prices they quote (so we have a sense of its value, but also, if we don’t find a buyer before leaving we’ll get the best of the worst prices, because used car dealers probably wouldn’t offer the ‘actual’ value of a car, considering they need to sell it later and make money from the exchange). Poor little Peugeout, she’s going to be poked and prodded.

TO DO: Sell the blooming mattress. Unfortunately despite being quite comfortable and good quality it has two strikes against its favour: strike one – it’s used, even if only for a year, it’s nevertheless used. Strike two – it’s a king size, which apparently doesn’t jive in this chocolate box land of petite and practical housing.

TO DO: Clean this apartment! Life imitates schedule. I’m busy : my apartment goes bizerk. For the past month things have been quite smoothy running in terms of housekeeping, but as soon as I began my marathon of goodbyes (aka, a great excuse to go out everynight and many mornings), the tidiness of this place has suffered. IF time allows, I’ll pop in a DVD and clean this entire mess up. When cleaning, always have a source of entertainment – whether it be music or a show in the background. For me, who hates cleaning in general (it’s not in my DNA, just ask my father), entertainment is essential.

TO DO: Say more goodbyes, heart breaking stuff. Yesterday I left a friend who I’ve known since my MA days at the Uni – she’s one of those inspiring women I was raving about the other day, and it was quite crap to say goodbye. And today there will be more of the ‘goodbye’ing, no crying, as work begins to wind to a halt. Friday is my last day.

TO DO: Pack. Ugh. Not worth discussing at this point.

TO DO: Write! Which clearly I’ve started on, and will need to continue once a bit of sky breaks in my day of busy activities. Yesterday I had some time alone in the flat, which is a rarity, and was able to use the main computer to begin my article-writing adventure. So far, so good.

Okay, time to get a move on – and maybe draw a picture.

Thank you for your company, and for reading my to-do list. Now that I’ve blurted the whole thing out, it feels far more manageable. Writing as therapy always does the trick. And so, onto the dishes.