cindy's world

Because my follicles look like this, this morning…

…we now have hard dates so that my gametes can meet my hubby’s gametes for the first time. My blood test must’ve been okay, cuz the doctor cleared me for egg retrieval on Monday, Feb. 28. (The blood retrieval process this morning, btw, sucked. The regular phlebotomist wasn’t there, the nurse who took my blood yesterday wasn’t there, and there was some very rough looking large woman who wasn’t particularly warm. Think “Berta” on Two and a Half Men. She pricked me FOUR TIMES, frowning and, according to Mr. W, pretty carelessly, before she poked the right spot. OW.) So at the ultrasound, Doctor #3 measured a bunch of follicles between 18-20mm. They’re the right size! They’re SO right, I could feel the ultrasound wand poking at my ovaries, making me squirm. The doctor told me to take my last dose of Menopur in their office (yeowch!) and the nurse gave us an orientation on what to do next and how to administer the next shots, over 2 weeks’ worth of daily intramuscular injections (*whimper*). The urologist also called us and worked his schedule in with my surgery schedule. So here’s the beginning of the scary stuff happening in the next couple of weeks:
Tonight, at 8pm (the were very specific about the time), I am to take my first intramuscular injection, a hormone called Pregnyl, to start the ovulation process. It’s a two-vial med like Menopur, and Mr. W has to draw 1 cc of the fluid from the liquid vial, squirt it into the powder vial, mix it, draw it into the syringe, change the needle to a thinner one, then inject it to my upper outer buttock area, just around the corner from my hip. I’m glad I don’t have to do it; it’s so counter-intuitive to stab oneself, even after having done it daily for the past few weeks. I actually sat on the bed with the teeny Lupron syringe aimed at my abdomen this morning, my brain went into hyperdrive, and I could not get myself to do it. Mr. W was there and he just took the syringe and did it for me. It felt like being 7 again, standing at the edge of the highrise diving board, and being absolutely unable to make myself step off the board to fall 20 feet into the water. (Swimming class.) It’s a good thing the doctor announced I’m done with all other previous injections now. YAY! After this scary Pregnyl thing, I have NO SHOTS tomorrow, the first shot-free day I’ve had in almost 3 weeks. (Great timing, cuz tomorrow’s Rebecca At The Beach day and it would suck to have to rush back by 6pm for my evening shot.)
The Monday morning at 6:15a, I’m to check into a different medical office that has operating rooms and labs on-site. My surgery is scheduled for 7am; I’m the first patient. They make a little incision in the back of my vagina, use that hole to reach the couple of centimeters to each of my ovaries, suction out the fluid in the follicles, collect the egg in each follicle they suction. (They do approx. 550 of these a year.) I’m going to be put completely under for this, which is scary to me because I’ve never been totally under anesthesia before. I hope I won’t be paralyzed but conscious, THAT is a horrific thought. Bubble of light, bubble of light!
Meanwhile, because they moved my surgery up a day to Monday, it means Mr. W’s sperm retrieval is not possible the day before as it would be Sunday. So the urologist worked out something with Mr. W: hubby will drop me off in the morning of my procedure, then go to the urologist’s nearby other office. Sperm collection will take place then, then the goods will be packaged and handed to Mr. W so that he could drive his own boys back to the OR where I am. Then at that lab, my eggs will be fertilized that day. And then he drives me home. I thought he would need his own driver after his procedure, but the urologist and Mr. W aren’t concerned. I definitely will not be allowed to drive; I’m told to be on bedrest and be cared for in the 24 hours following retrieval.
The following night, I start the first of what the nurse called “the monster of all these injections,” Progesterone. It’s only 1 cc in the same butt muscle area (switching back and forth between sides), but because the hormone’s in sesame oil, it’s thick and requires a thicker needle to draw into the syringe. Once in the syringe, the needle is unscrewed and replaced with a thinner one for injection. And supposedly it’s very uncomfortable once in; the oil makes it harder for the body to absorb, so they recommend massaging the injection site immediately after administering the shot to help the liquid disperse and absorb, then to use a hot compress on the area 3-4 times a day. Apparently what’s not absorbed may harden and stay in there, so they want heat to help keep the stuff liquified. UGH! I’ve heard about how painful Progesterone could be. Although, I wonder if it could be as bad as that same area felt after I climbed the Great Wall of China; I couldn’t even straighten my legs or walk upright the next couple of days. “I’ve been through MUCH worse, this is nothing,” I keep telling myself.
So the day of retrieval, the eggs are fertilized and doctors monitor the embryo growth. They’ll let me know same-day how many eggs they’ve collected. Then a day or two later, the lab will tell me how many embryos have successfully been created. If the embryos look like they’re not doing well, they’ll pick the best and implant it on Day 3 after the collection. If the embryos look like they’re doing well, or there are enough good embryos to wait, they’ll wait till Day 5 to implant, so they have more time to pick the best one. In those couple of extra days, the eggs would’ve evolved into “blastocysts,” which I guess just means they’ve got more cells than the Day 3 embryos would have. I’ve prepaid up to the blastocyst transfer; if they have to do an embyro transfer (day 3), they simply refund the difference since we’ll be using less lab time.
After the implant I’m on bedrest for 48 hours. Then on March 16, they have me go in to the fertility doctor’s office for the last time for a pregnancy test. Meanwhile, through all this, the progesterone injections continue, one a day. And starting the day of the retrieval, I take two drugs orally, Doxycycline and Medrol for about a week to fight off infection and stuff. After the implant, in addition to the Progesterone, they add the hormone Estrogen. LUCKILY, this is in the form of a Vivelle sticker dot; I just stick 2 to my lower abdomen, and change them with new ones every 3 days.

Mr. W is at the gym right now, since he can work out and I’m not allowed to. I do feel my lower abdomen in the sense of twinges when I walk or when I’m in certain positions, but nothing more severe than the twinges I feel in my left ovary when I’m ovulating from that side naturally. However, I’ve felt sick in the evenings for the past 2 days in a row. A tad nauseated, just a general feeling of “ick.” I blame that on the hormone overload. I expect to feel better from now on because I’m off the 3 hormone injections. Eating has been tough on this high-protein, low-carb, low-salt, low-sugar, no-caffeine restriction. I’ve gotten used to the no-caffeine and removed coffees, teas and chocolate from my diet, no biggie. But the past couple of days of the other stuff, I started running out of things to eat. I had an eggwhite omelette with cut pieces of tri-tip steak for two mornings, steamed tilapia over kale salad for dinner, half a butterflied prime rib with steamed veggies for lunch, and last nite I made cream of asparagus soup for dinner, processing firm tofu in place of cream with my boiled asparagus and shitake mushrooms for extra protein. The thought of meat makes me nauseated. I’m craving fresh fruits and veggies. Today for breakfast I had an avocado, and for lunch, a smoked salmon, capers and tomato omelette. I’d meant to ask how long I have to keep these dietary restrictions up, but forgot. Mr. W ate a small basket of mini muffins, Thin Mints Girl Scout Cookies, and other cookies in front of me, but I didn’t cave. In fact, maybe due to these restrictions (plus it’s amazing how much junk food you don’t eat when you eliminate chocolate from your diet), or maybe due to the workouts I’d had since joining the ultra gym, I think I’ve dropped a couple of pounds at a time when a common symptom is to bloat and gain a couple of pounds a day. That’s good, cuz I figure, if I’m not going to gain more than 24 lb through my pregnancy, I want to start a little on the low side so I can reuse my adolescent stretch marks (wishful thinking). Starting right about now brings my maximum weight to what I weighed at my heaviest.

Less than 2 hours to my first intramuscular thought. I feel a little sick thinking about it. But it’s coming to the last stages!

I’ve never been one of those kids who complained about their parents not being “up with the current trends.” My mom’s always been trendier than I, anyhow. And now, she caught up big time. Imagine my surprise when I checked my emails and found a friend request from my mom. She found me on the social networking site. AUGH! I had friended my dad at his request many moons ago, but he’s rarely on it and doesn’t respond or look at people’s pages. My mom’s different; she’ll go through everything and then question me about things. Women have more time to go through stuff with fine-toothed combs, I suppose.
I just now deleted two bikini photos from the networking site. I don’t want to get a phone call one day wherein my mom asks me to explain why those photos are on there for all my online friends to see. I wouldn’t know how to explain. In case you’re curious, they’re this photo and the last photo over here.

At my parents’ house, when the wind meets these flowers, we have a snowfall. Ahhh, Mommy Nature, you didn’t forget California.

“I dream. Sometimes I think that’s the only right thing to do.” – award-winning Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami
I dream, too. Don’t let them convince you it’s “abnormal,” or that you do it too much. Then bring your dreams to fruition. Happy New Year of the Hare. I look forward to all the coming little bunnies.

The other day, Mr. W was driving us home when my cell phone rang and caller ID revealed it was Lily, whom I hadn’t spoken to for…gosh. A year? She doesn’t have a blog and she doesn’t do the online social networking thing, so the only information I get about her life is if/when she emails. She and her husband Arnold do a holiday newsletter so all the most recent updates I have are from that. I was curious and a little concerned to hear from her out of the blue. The conversation started with the usual exchange, “So what’s new with you?” I told her what’s newest with me, she told me what her work and her husband’s work recently has been like, she told me about their split times between various hospitals (she’s a radiologist and he’s a cardiologist), their recent goals… and I was on the verge a couple times of asking her, “So, what’s up?” to get to the point of why she called. About half an hour into letting the conversation go in its natural meandering course, she told me she had now arrived at her destination and would call me maybe next week to chat some more and catch up.

She only called me to chat because she had free time on her drive to talk? *blink blink* So…there WAS no point to the talk, she had nothing important to tell me, no disaster to seek consolation about, no request to make of me?

And then I remembered how things USED to be. In high school and into college, we used to call each other just cuz we’re bored and wanted to talk. There wasn’t always a point to the call, but we figured we’d collect lots of points along the route of our conversations, and we always did. She wasn’t the only one, I did this with lots of friends. It was how we bonded, hung out when we couldn’t physically hang out. My parents never understood it and thought it a huge waste of time (thank goodness they were mostly local calls so they couldn’t kill me for wasting money, too). They would say that the point of a phone call is to convey a message, and when that task was done, then it was time to hang up and go about the rest of the day. I’d roll my eyes and think about how parents don’t understand anything and how we NEEDED these talks, these bonding times.

I guess I’m in my parents’ shoes, now. Instead of being excited when the phone rings like I used to be, I get annoyed and wonder who is interrupting whatever I was doing. Seeing the caller ID would sometimes mitigate the annoyance, i.e. “Oh, it’s ___. I’m sure it’s important.” “Good, it’s ___ calling me back about our weekend plans.” “Hey, ___’s calling! We like ___!” Not that I want to discourage my friends from calling, it’s just that it’s so RARE these days. We mostly touch base by email or text or social networking; phone calls seem reserved for urgent-response-required matters. Sometimes I’d be texting or online chatting with a friend (which seems less intrusive to their day), and there’d be something they want to relay but would take too long to type out, so they say they’ll call me right then, so I get a heads-up.

I wonder what changed. Have WE changed, by way of getting adult responsibilities, so that we have less time to “waste” on socializing on the phone? Has social communication etiquette changed with the new forms of available communication, such that we’d rather leave non-emergent messages for each other via email (if unimportant) or text (if a little more immediate) so we don’t impose and interrupt our friends’ day, letting them get back to us at their convenience? Have we lost the need for human interaction so it simply doesn’t occur to us to bother with keeping in touch with friends personally, as long as we can laugh at someone’s status message online once in awhile? Is “lol” what passes for “KIT” these days?

The fertility clinic had me go in this morning before work for an ultrasound (to count the number of eggs I have in each ovary for this cycle that they’ll be using) and to start the paperwork for the process. I also had to turn in my surgery paperwork and photos from yesterday. The same female fertility doctor who found the polyps did this morning’s ultrasound.
“They didn’t find polyps? They’re gone? What happened?!” she greeted me as she came into the ultrasound room.
“Yeah, the doctor said I’m clean as a whistle. But she did look at your ultrasound pictures and confirmed there were polyps.”
This doctor suggested what yesterday’s doctor said: the polyps must have come out on their own between their discovery and their removal procedure, possibly with a menstrual flow. This doctor started the ultrasound and said, “Look at this!” She turned the monitor to face me.
“What am I looking at?” I asked, staring at the black and white image of what appeared to be a series of concentric ovals.
She pointed to the center, a black oval within the gray ovals. “You still have some fluid in here so we can see, and it’s totally clean in here. No polyps like we saw last time.” *cheer* She went on to count the follicles in each ovary, found 7 on each side, which she said is “more than adequate.” *more cheers*
“Now, you started on the pills, right?” she asked.
“Yes, I started yesterday.”
“Good, good, good!”
“The timing of this has really been amazing, to catch this cycle in time.”
“I like to think there’s some karma involved in this,” the doctor smiled at me.

Flat Coke & Flies emailed me this morning to congratulate me, and asked if this all feels surreal. No, it doesn’t feel as surreal as much as a “finally!” We’d been working on this for so long, and with the false starts, I feel more than ready for this. I’m sure actually BEING pregnant will feel surreal. For now, the only thing that feels surreal is the fact that I charged $10,000 on the new credit card this morning, maxing it out, and had to charge another $375 on another card, to start the IVF process. The only expenses left after this are a few thousand for the fertility drugs and shots (which I’ll be starting in 2 weeks), a few thousand for Mr. W’s urologist to extract his swimmers, and whatever it costs to freeze and store unused embryos (probably about a few hundred dollars, plus a monthly charge for storage). Given the few thousand I’ve already paid for the tests, consultations, and false starts, we’re well within the $25K expected range.

Let’s see if I can whirlwind my way thru this, altho I’ve never been good at concise posts (unless I’m hiding something, ha).

Thursday:
Mr. W and I had discovered a weird raised mole on his shoulder so I made him an appointment with a doctor to get a referral to a dermatologist, if needed. Turns out the regular doctor said it was benign so that was good news, no derm referral necessary. We took the afternoon off work for the appointment, so we went home, he packed a few things, and we went to La Costa Resort & Spa in Carlsbad to spend the night. College roommie Diana and her fiance Eric had a certificate from their gym for a free night there, and she’d stayed there before on a business trip, and they gave us the certificate since it expires mid-month and they weren’t going to use it. The place is so nice! We were given tip top treatment with a golfcourse view off a huge suite, visited a quaint little oceanside town for dinner, enjoyed the huge tub, ate well, took walks. Great time.

Friday:
We took an early walk around the amazing resort grounds, had breakfast overlooking the greens, packed up, checked out, and went to my ob-gyn appointment. The doctor was very nice and looked at the ultrasound printouts the fertility clinic gave me, and agreed that up, these polyps need to come out. She made the referral and I’m expecting a call from the coordinator telling me the when and where and who. This doctor feels like it could be an office visit, much like the LEEP I did years before, and I didn’t need to be put through traditional surgery with the anesthesia and all that. That’s good cuz putting put complete under kinda wigs me out. So I get to watch polyps being removed on the screen. After the appointment, we went shopping at Fashion Island and I bought some stuff for my staff for xmas presents.

Saturday:
I’d booked a half-hour private reading with Rebecca, and booked a half-hour private reading for Mr. W’s friends Yvonne and Yvette right after hours, and invited Rebecca to lunch with all of us afterwards. Rebecca’s office was decorated very spa and very zen, and I commented enthusiastically on the decor as I went in. But minutes after I sat down on the couch, I noticed a compression type of feeling, like the atmosphere was heavy and dense, like I was in the pressurized cabin of a plane. Soon afterwards I found myself straining to take some deep breaths, as if there were pressure against my chest. Then the ear-ringing happened. I thought about bringing this up to Rebecca but didn’t, thinking if there were high-voltage power lines over her office or something unsafe like that, she’s the psychic, she’d know. (I’d brought this up with Mr. W afterwards and he did not feel any of these things.) As soon as she went into our readings, I got distracted and forgot about those feelings. She’s pretty specific when she’s doing private readings, not having to be tactfully private as she is when she’s in a crowd in the coffee shop. She even described our fertility doctor down to a tee, when I expressed concerns with our finances. She asked who the doctor is, and I just gave a last name, no gender. She immediately said, “Does he wear glasses?” Yes! “He is sort of balding on top, slender, petite?” YES YES YES! She says he’ll work with us, talk to him about splitting payments or payment plans; he sometimes needs to be reminded that his patients are humans, but that he’s amenable to working with us. She also said she felt a second child or soul coming to us after the first one. INTERESTING. I was afraid to look at Mr. W when she said this. Haha! After the readings, Rebecca’s husband and young son joined us and we all walked over to a Mexican food place next door to the coffee shop and had a great lunch.

Sunday:
We invited my parents over to treat them to a movie at the VIP Theatre we’ve been going to. They drove down and we had a good time walking around the town after the movie. Unfortunately, the movie that was playing was “Love and Other Drugs,” which I did not look into and just took Mr. W’s word that it was a romantic comedy. Turned out, it was practically a porno. Mr. W apologized to my parents afterwards for not realizing there was so much sex, but my dad laughed it off. After they left for home, Mr. W and I waited for his son to get here; he was over last week and said he was interested in coming with us for Rebecca’s group reading on Sunday, and for us to text to remind him. So I texted Sunday morning, “Reminder…rebecca tonite, be here by 6. :)” He texted back “K” and I was excited. Unfortunately, last minute he decided that a better offer came along to play tennis, so he flaked on us, telling his dad it was because his dad didn’t get back to him on what time Rebecca’s thing was (altho I’d told him to be here at 6p), so he had made plans to play tennis at 8:30 with his friends. Mr. W’s daughter, nearly out of her mind from studying for her finals for the last 4 days, spontaneously decided to come with us. That was unexpected since her religion typically frowns upon things like psychics, reincarnation, etc. She brought her study material and set up at the coffee house. She did participate openly, asking a few questions, watching people get readings on past-life stuff, said she’d never even considered the possibility that this isn’t our one-and-only-shot here as her church always insists it is. She was so touched and impressed by Rebecca she immediately contacted her closest friends and family and wants to book a private session. He even texted her brother saying they can split a private reading, he texted back that’d be cool and that he should’ve come. She said, “Yeah, you should’ve. :(” His flaking bothered me more than I thought it would. I couldn’t figure out why, since it’s not like he’s never flaked before. But I guess this was the first time I had REALLY expected him come through, and it meant something to me personally that he come through, because attendance was a promise he’d made ME. Rebecca did say in our private session on Saturday, tho, that I give him the materials, and it’s up to him to deal with it or not, but that he had a few years left of growing up to do before he came out of the teenager mindset he’s in.

So anyway, since I was up all night feeling bothered anyway, I thought I’d write Rebecca an email. Her response totally blew my mind…

Me:

Hi Rebecca! As usual it was great seeing you today. There were a lot of new people so I didn’t ask anything, giving them an opportunity to get to know you. But something I wanted to bring up…

When I visited you at your office on Saturday, within a few minutes of sitting there, I felt like the physical pressure inside the room was really high. Like in a pressurized cabin of a plane, or when you’re sitting half in and half out of a car and can feel that the pressure inside is denser than outside, and it makes your inner ears feel funny. And then I felt like there was pressure on my lungs, making it hard to breathe. Then my ears started ringing. I’m not sure what that was, and thought about bringing that up to you, but I figured that if there were something “off” about your space, that you’d be the first to know.

Rebecca:

First of all, Cindy, I just want to tell you what a delight you are in so many ways!

The energy you picked up on in my office was several things; the presssure in your chest was your empathy of my asthma. Being empathic means you feel other’s physical or emotional feelings. When that happens, simply acknowledge that you are feeling something, then send it back to the source from where it came.

The ringing in your ears, the funny feeling of being in and out of a car at the same time was about your exposure to the conscious field in my presence. You are showing integrity and clear intention to know more about God, the Conscious Field and Guidance and the Universe is responding to your request by exposing you to more awareness of what it feels like when there are energies around you.

You are the first to tell me of experiencing these sensations while in my office. I have had others talk about how peaceful it is or that it feels like good energy in there, but your awareness is growing by leaps and bounds.

Ringing in the ears has always meant (for me) that something or someone is trying to get me to stop and listen for a moment. I have always thought of the high pitched ringing as beings that are a lighter vibration such as insects or other small beings letting me know they are also helping and guiding when appropriate. It’s a good reminder that all beings in the Universe are supportive. 🙂

:O!!!
=D!!!
I thought about it, and I had been gradually getting to the point where I was more open to direct contact, whereas before I was a little put off by it. I hadn’t thought the 3 sensations I felt in her office was 3 separate things. I was afraid it’d be something like, there’s high-radiation or high-electrical lines flowing over the ceiling of her office and the building managers didn’t want to let her know how unhealthy that is, so they didn’t tell her it was there. I just figured maybe I was sensitive to that the way some people are sensitive to magnetic fields; it didn’t occur to me that it was third-eye type perception because the feelings were so PHYSICAL. I sent up a thank-you for giving me such clear sensations and exposure to that. I also thanked Rebecca for interpreting for me. I’ve felt stress or anxiety before that wasn’t mine, but never a physical feeling that feels like it’s coming from my own nerve cells. Wow. This just makes my week. 🙂

The weekend before Thanksgiving, Mr. W and I went for our usual parental visit to my parents’ house. As we were about to leave, my mom said, “Oh, I almost forgot. Your Aunt Jessica gave me a book to give you.” She disappeared for a moment and returned with John Edward’s “One Last Time.” I was surprised that my aunt would get me a spiritual book, and one that was so on-the-money something I would read on my own. Usually when people get me books I try to hide my dubious expression out of politeness. “Have you heard of him?” my mom asked. (She was unfamiliar with the author and the subject matter.)
“Yeah, he’s got his own show on TV called ‘Crossing Over with John Edward.’ I’m a huge fan.”
I delved into the book as soon as I got home, and it was a very interesting read about John’s life growing up psychic, his experiences, details on interesting readings done on clients, his theories of life and death and beyond. So interesting, that I read it all week long and then brought it with me to Vegas last weekend to continue reading over Thanksgiving.

Except for an initial awkward period when stepson first arrived Wednesday night and stepdaughter and he did not acknowledge or speak to each other, the two got along swimmingly as soon as we climbed in the car for the drive. We left about midnight and the kids chatted a bit, then slept most of the way to Vegas. Daughter slept in the den at her grandparents’ house, allowing her brother to have the other spare bedroom, which he’d initially expected to share with her. Other than these sleeping arrangements, the two hung out together all weekend and in one or the other’s sleeping quarters until they went to bed. Mr. W offered to sponsor a sportsbet on a football game for Son on Thanksgiving day (he’s now 21), Son chose what turned out to be the winning team, and per agreement, he and his sister split the winnings 60/40. The extra 10% went to Son because the two played darts with that as wager. (Actually, from my understanding, Daughter won the dart game but let Son have the 10% anyway in her weekend of demonstrating generosity to her brother.)

Daughter and I hung out at my in-laws’ (where we were staying) when Mr. W and Son went to the Strip to place and then later to collect on the bet, to allow them some much-needed father-son bonding. Both times when Mr. W returned, he reported the productive conversations they’d had regarding Son’s career choice, social scene, etc. The latest talk had Mr. W’s eyes lit up like it was already Christmas. Apparently Son asked his father about Rebecca, wanting to know how Mr. W understood the cycle of life and spirituality to work. Mr. W told him what he could, then said he wished I were there because I had more information about that type of stuff. So on the drive from my in-laws’ to the Strip one evening, Son brought up something his dad said about Rebecca and asked about what she does. I answered him and then said he should come with us sometime to her workshop when she’s in town. He said he was interested. Then he asked more questions about spirituality and I told him what I knew. This launched an interesting discussion. Daughter was in the back seat, too, but pretty silent. She did ask one question, wondering whether Rebecca’s visions were from God and whether she prays (yes to both). I wondered whether what I was saying was offending her hardcore Christian beliefs. She’s normally one to jump in on God-topics, but she didn’t. Son brought this up again in the car on our drive home Saturday night, and Daughter was completely silent this time. He asked questions, I answered the best I could, told him some stories and case studies that pointed to the existence of life after death, and reincarnation. He was fascinated. The conversation with Son then took another surprising turn. Out of nowhere, he asked into the air, “Do you think I’m competitive?”
Mr. W chortled and said, “Yeah! You’re the most competitive person I know!”
Instead of being offended, Son said thoughtfully, “Yeah, I think I’m the most competitive person I know, too. But it’s starting to affect me negatively because I get really angry, so I think I should try to do something about that.” I gently took him on an exploration of his competitiveness and encouraged him to make a new challenge for himself to go through the motions of not acting angry, even if he felt angry, and assured him that the emotions will follow. He gave the impression he would work on that. We talked about how long it takes to establish a habit, and to break an undesired habit, which is just a new desired habit taking the place of an old undesired habit.
I was floored. I’d said a few times before to Daughter, when we discuss Son’s anger or competitiveness issues, that I wish I could talk to him but he doesn’t open up to me so I can’t bring it up. Son and I had never had a heart-to-heart, never truly bonded. Not the way Daughter and I do on a semi-regular basis. I give him his space out of respect for his teenagerism, but I’ve told him that he could come to me if he wants. He never had until now.

After we got home that night, Son and I talked a little bit more, just the two of us, in the spare bedroom before we went to bed. I read him a passage in John Edward’s book that hit exactly on something he had asked me about. In Vegas, he’d asked me about the book, asking if it were an easy read. I’d told him it was interesting and not dry at all, offering to let him read it when I was done. He was interested. Now he said he definitely wants to read this book. I also suggested he watch the movie “What Dreams May Come” (Robin Williams, Cuba Gooding, Jr.), which was pivotal in my early spiritual development. We made plans for a future screening of this movie together. I disclosed my existential crisis that put me on this path of discovery when I was 21, his same age now. He seemed to be going through a mild version of what I had gone through. The future looked very bright and I was happy. But I had to make sure Daughter was okay with the conversation that didn’t exactly flow along the lines of her Christian beliefs.

I snuck into her bedroom the next morning as she was getting ready to go to church. “Can you believe that [Son] brought up that thing about his competitiveness by himself, and wanted to talk about it?” I asked.
“I know! Out of the clear blue! I was listening to my music and when he said that I was like, boop!” She made a motion like she was pulling a headphone earbud out of her ear.
I laughed, and told her I was glad she stayed quiet because, as she and I had talked about just a couple of weeks before, her prior attempts to introduce God, Jesus, the Bible, and church to her brother just made them all trigger words for him to claim he would never turn to God or Christianity. She had said in that earlier conversation that she wished she’d known then to just show him God’s love instead of talking about it, because he took it as preaching and is now totally turned off by it. As for being offended, she said not at all; she had immediately started praying, as soon as Son opened the topic, “Please, God, speak through them! Get through to my brother!” She said she’d been praying for this type of breakthrough for weeks, and although she was upset when she found out he was coming with us to Vegas, she prayed about that too and got the distinct feeling that she was being told, “Just go and be a part of it, you don’t have to do anything. There are bigger plans for him.” So she went and did not participate in the spiritual discussions, which turned out to be a good thing. Daughter and I both agreed that it doesn’t matter the path one takes to God, the point is he’s getting there.

It hit me Sunday morning, as I was reading the last bit of John Edward’s book, that the book isn’t for me, it’s for Son. The night before when he and I talked privately, he told me he’s been seeing little signs or messages that seem to be pointing him on this spiritual journey (not his term), or in specific directions. He’d wondered whether he was just forcing a connection or a pattern because he wants to believe there is one, or whether these truly are messages. I told him they’re unlikely to be just coincidences. He looked relieved. We talked about how if I’d talked to him about this stuff a month ago, he would’ve thought me crazy, but given his recent experiences, he really thinks there may be something out there, up there. John Edward’s book is fraught with examples of people on the Other Side practically moving mountains to make sure the right people here get the right messages they’re trying to convey. They use signs, other people, unexpected connections. And it only just occurred to me that (1) my aunt uncharacteristically got me this book so that I would have it with me to read over Thanksgiving (and not earlier, or I would’ve finished the book and probably not have thought about it or had it onhand to show/give him; and not later, or it wouldn’t have come up in our discussions), (2) the book addressed all the questions Son had brought up, and (3) although it was an interesting read for me, it wasn’t anything new for me, so it didn’t seem to serve me much purpose, all of which point to the very retrospectively obvious conclusion that the Other Side pulled many strings to get the book to HIM. So I finished the book on Sunday morning, explained this to him, and he gratefully took it with him when he left that afternoon.

Wanna hear some more signs last weekend? The movie we all went to see is “Hereafter,” starring Matt Damon, which turned out to be a storyline very similar to John Edward’s book. (Both kids enjoyed the movie more than they’d expected to.) And we saw John Edward posters around Vegas advertising his Group Reading appearance at the Flamingo Hotel in December. That’s a lot of confirmation that we were where we were supposed to be, and for this purpose.

We have pending plans to introduce Son to some “firsts”: watch “What Dreams May Come,” play tennis (he announced that he’d just gotten into tennis, which got me very excited because I have yet to try out my new tennis raquet), catch his first movie at the VIP theatre, and see Rebecca. I hope we really do get to do them all.

The circle is now finally complete, and whatever happens now, I am content.

Mr. W, BOTH kids (each agreeing to participate on their own) and I will be spending Thanksgiving with Mr. W’s parents and local-ish brothers’ families. We rewarded Daughter’s integrity and assistance — for all that she did while we were in Europe — with a nice dinner at one of her favorite restaurants last night, The Cheesecake Factory. Dinner provided the backdrop for a good talk for Mr. W to lay down his cards, connect with his daughter, and have her connect back. She’s on board, good to go. In my mind leading up, this talk was very important to me because it was the final link that I had any control over (I strongly STRONGLY recommended that Mr. W let his daughter in on his plans regarding his son, and resolve any lingering misunderstandings about intent, favoritism, priority, etc.). She had already come to the same point on her own over the weekend while she was visiting friends in San Diego, but it’s nice to clear the air. Speaking of clearing the air, I broke the ice last week between me and the son because I don’t want negativity to fester with him and then he won’t know how to deal with me, so we had this very encouraging exchange of texts.
Me: Hey [Son]! I was thinking about you so I thought I’d say hi.
Son: That’s nice…I hope you’re not still mad at me or anything.
Me: I think the world of you. I think you made one of your poorer decisions that week but you’re still one of the brightest guys with the most potential I know…no matter where you choose to apply your potential. I’m looking forward to hanging out with you [for the Thanksgiving plans].

We continued a little more of the texting talking about the Thanksgiving plans. I’m happy he brought up the “elephant in the room” on his own, because it shows a taking of responsibility and acknowledgment of his behavior. So now hopefully it won’t ever have to come up again.
I also literally cleared the air in the house. After being instructed to sage the house to cleanse it of negative energy, I did it over the weekend, my first smudging ever, with a blue sage and lavender stick that Mr. W and I selected for its cleansing, purifying, healing, and protection. I started with a prayer to connect to God and my higher self, to open good intention, and to ask for help. And I did every room, inside and out, starting east and going counter-clockwise, while commanding any negativity that is not of God and love to leave immediately and be transmuted by the light of God into positive energy. Passing by Dodo who was lounging on the bed, I smudged him a little, too, just for good measure. And I also cleansed Mr. W when I passed him. He was playing with his iPad.

I hope there will always be a circle of fluid harmony wherever I am. And I hope I see it happen at Thanksgiving. How appropriate that would be.

I meant the title as in “ahem,” altho I just started coughing, too.

We saw Rebecca on Wednesday and she advised me to hold off on the surgery until January. I was troubled and said something about it being so far away. She said, “There’s too much going on right now,” motioning around me with her hand, as if to circle me in her field of vision. “It won’t make a difference,” she reassured me. “You’ll be so much calmer after the surgery, and the extra time doesn’t make a difference. You understand what I’m saying? Does that make you feel better?” Trying to be discreet. Yes, I knew what she was saying. The kid will be the same kid, whether born a month sooner or months later. He’s still gonna be born in 2011. What’s the difference? And now I can drink at college roommie Diana’s wedding in January. “And the surgery will go well; they’ll go in and take care of it. It’s a small thing, no problems.” All this was prompted by, “I have an upcoming coming surgery that I’m nervous about.”

She’s right; there is a LOT going on, more than I thought there would be when I sat there near her. I think a lot got resolved last night in the wee hours, but not before the stress sent me dry-heaving over the toilet. As I sat on the floor of the bathroom, I thought, “She was right. If I were pregnant now, I’d probably be too affected and lose the baby.” Thank you for knowing what’s best, Universe.

And, given the fact that there’s a lot going on, and I’m still blogging, you lazy bloggers should feel inspired! Hint, hint!

Toward the end of the workday, Mr. W let me know that he was leaving to go home, but that he was going to drop off his drycleaning first. I said okay, and presumably he left after that conversation. I then spent the next half hour or so on the phone making my ob-gyn appointment with Kaiser. (Earliest available with any doctor in the county: December 10. Ugh.) I expected with the half-hour headstart, that even with his drycleaning (which was on Mr. W’s way home), Mr. W should get home before I did. So I called him as I drove up our street to ask him to open the garage door for me, since our garage can’t be opened remotely right now. He picked up after almost 4 rings, sounding serious. “Are you home?” I asked.
“No, I just got back,” he said.
“Got back to where?”
“I mean, I just finished dropping off my drycleaning and I’m just now getting back home. Are you home?”
“I’m just pulling up. What took you so long?”
“I had to drop off my drycleaning. I’m almost home, I’ll be back shortly.”
“But you left work almost 2 hours ago.”
“Well, I left late, and then I had to drop off my drycleaning. I’ll be back soon, so I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Odd. And he sounded so serious, almost irate. And so CLEAR. No road noise whatsoever. Plus, he picked up after 4 rings, when his car has the bluetooth connection set to automatically pick up after the first ring. Something wasn’t right. Drycleaning doesn’t take that long, I’ve been to that place with him, he’s in and out in 5 minutes.
“You left late?” I prompted.
“Yes! I left late. And I just dropped off my drycleaning. I’ll talk to you when I get home, I’m almost home now. Okay?”
He sure was in a hurry to get me off the phone.
“Okay,” I said. I went in the front door and opened the garage door from inside the house by myself. After I parked my car in, I closed the garage door behind me. And I locked the front door, too. Hmmph.
Less than 15 minutes later, Mr. W called. I actually considered deliberately taking my time to pick up the phone. But I didn’t; I picked it up. “Yes?”
“I’m outside. Can you open the garage door for me?” he asked. I was silent. “Hello?” he said.
“I’m thinking about it,” I grumbled in my best cranky voice, even as I was already pushing the button. He laughed like he understood I was messing with him.

When he finally came in the house, I heard plastic rustling around, and he called out, “I got this for you.” Curious, I walked into the kitchen. He dumped an armload of stuff on the table. “Forty dollars’ worth of chocolate,” he said proudly. I gawked. And then I laughed. Check out this loot:

Ben & Jerry’s ice cream singles in Cherry Garcia, Strawberry Cheesecake, Mint Chocolate Cookie, Chocolate Fudge Brownie. Breyers dark chocolate ice cream. Claim Jumper’s infamous 6-layer Motherlode cake. I’m not a comfort food person, but I was TOUCHED. He brought home dinner. We each had a portion of the Motherlode cake (I couldn’t finish mine) with some ice cream for dinner, washing it down with tea. Mr. W did offer to pour alcohol over our dinner, too.

Apparently when I had called and he let slip that he’d “just gotten back,” he WAS back, in the neighborhood, across the street at the grocery store.
(If you’re thinking, “What’s with the chocolate?”, read the previous post.)