Until the Fat Lady Sings, or Gets Weight Loss Surgery, loses a shit ton of weight and has a fabulous fucking life.

 The nerve of those Whos. Inviting me down there - on such short notice! 

Even if I wanted to go my schedule wouldn't allow it. 

4:00, wallow in self pity; 

4:30, stare into the abyss; 

5:00, solve world hunger, tell no one; 

5:30, jazzercize; 

6:30, dinner with me - I can't cancel that again; 

7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing... 

I'm booked. 

Of course, if I bump the loathing to 9, I could still be done in time to lay in bed, stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness. 

But what would I wear? 

I did something I never thought I'd do after all that I have been through, after how hard I fought; I gave up.  I gave up on me, my dreams, my hopes...I found myself in a pit of despair so deep I didn't know how to get out.

I have had PCOS (Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome) for over a decade now - basically that means that I get multiple cysts on my ovaries - I know, clever name.  My period has never been regular, going from gushing the amount of blood one expect from a stabbing victim to not having a period for literally years.  When I was finally diagnosed it was with the discovery that I had cysts on both ovaries they did surgery laproscopically (through my belly button) and were able to remove the cysts.  At the time they told me it was because I was fat that I had this problem and that I needed to lose weight, etc. which of course at that time I was too fucked up to heed that advice but I sure took it to heart.  Again the cysts came back, this time the size of a grapefruit on the one, it damaged it so much that when they did the surgery this time they were forced to take one of the ovaries and part of the other one.  I was told at the time that there was a chance that my remaining ovary would come back and start to work but again, I had to lose weight.  Next came the pap smear and the abnormal cells that were later determined to be cancerous - a quick d&c and that was taken care of.

I didn't have a period for years after that second surgery where I lost my ovary, no sign that my body was functioning in any way, shape or form.  And I put that dream of babies into the back of my mind, tucked it so far back in the recesses that I didn't have to touch it, to feel that pain but it was always there.  I told myself that my marriage wasn't stable enough to bring a baby into - and it wasn't, and I don't say that to lay blame at anyone's feet because it took two of us to form the relationship and two of us equally and in our own ways contributed to the instability and the insanity.  Here's the thing about me, don't ask me where I get it from but there is this stream that flows through me that even in the most desperate, sad, scary times and that is hope.  This optimism that some way, some how things will work out and inevitably they do, maybe not how I envisioned them working out, but work out they do.

When I had weight loss surgery and lost 30 pounds prior to the actual surgery because of that devil's nectar Opti-Fast the day of my surgery who should appear but my period - of fucking course, because it was inconvenient and the worst fucking timing ever, but there it was - my period.  A sign, surely that my remaining ovary was actually working and more importantly that the chance for a baby was indeed possible.  If you have read my blog (and shame on you if you haven't) then you know what happens next, I lost a shit ton of weight, got so healthy and strong physically and fell and got back up again repeatedly.  And still, my period was irregular maybe once every 3 months but hell, it was there.

In May I discovered that again the lining of my uterus was again thickened and because of my history my doctor referred me to the Oncologist I saw at Sunnybrook.  It twinged with me then that possibly this baby thing was going to be affected, but I didn't let it overwhelm me and I still had it, that hope and even if it was cancer that I could beat it like before.  I even went so far as to ask for a referral for a fertility specialist and I went to that first appointment and I quickly realized that this couldn't be an option for me - not with the state of my marriage and I put it on the back burner.  Next came the discovery of a "mass" above my uterus.  Again, I tried not to freak and I held it in - told few people - and held onto that hope.  I made the decision to end my marriage in August and I'm not really going to go into it here but needless to say it was many things - mostly my fear of cancer and what that would mean, but to say it was only that reason is a lie and right now I can't talk about that, maybe one day, just not today.

Anyway, a few weeks ago I developed this pain in my belly...well actually it started in my belly, went to my side, my back and finally my chest.  It was horrible, it made me keel over and I went to the hospital but pretty much shrugged me off as nothing.  Last Tuesday the pain got so bad that I said fuck it and drove myself to the ER.  After hooking me up to a morphine and doing xrays and an ultrasound two days later I had the report from the doctor.  In addition to the stuff I already knew about, the mass, the uterine lining - I now had cysts on my ovary AND cysts where the missing ovary should be.

I bruise so easily.

Call it intuition or whatever, but from that first visit to the ER when the pains started I knew what this was.  I had felt this pain before, the twisting and rupturing of cysts in my belly.  I became frozen inside - there's no other word for it.  I literally stopped feeling anything.  I went to work, put in crazy hours, came home and went to sleep.  I avoided friends, I avoided Facebook.  I avoided life because that sense of being frozen, it was my protection.  It saved me.  Because I lost my shit at that moment.  Hope died.  After all the weight I had lost, how hard I fought it still wasn't enough and I had failed.   And that little nasty voice in my head, the one that I have tried so hard to overpower came back.  That I didn't deserve a baby or love or support.  I punished myself....the most evil kid in school couldn't come close to how I bullied myself.  I did everything I could not to feel, because I thought if that sadness, that hurt, that anguish came up even a little bit I wouldn't be able to handle it - that I didn't have the strength to deal with it anymore and that I didn't deserve those tears because I did this to myself.  My friends, my beautiful, wonderful friends...they called me, texted me, Facebooked me...and I couldn't bear to talk to them.  I shut them out.  I froze them out.  I froze myself out....I did the very thing I promised myself I'd never do ever again and that's give up on me.

That second visit to the ER, that's what started the thaw, maybe it was the morphine - it is delightful stuff - but my guard came down and everything spilled out. And I cried.  I cried doing the dishes, I cried making my bed, I cried in the shower, I cried in my doctor's office, I cried on the drive home, I cried at Shopper's Drug Mart (which made the cashier pretty damned uncomfortable to say the least)... I was written off work until November 30th and the walls, just crashed in.  Without work I had nothing left to hold onto anymore.  The depths of that sadness were like nothing I've ever felt before and I thought I've known pain, I wasn't even close.  And the anger, with God, with myself was a burning hot rage that took my breath away.  It sounds horrible, and yeah, it really was and on the other hand it was the best thing that ever happened because whatever part of me that wasn't ready to give up reached out to my friends.  And their forgiveness and understanding, I don't know how I ever deserved to be so blessed but I am so grateful for each and every one of them.  I called my Mom and she came and got me and took me home and has been taking care of me ever since.

I have some perspective of this all now, given that I've been weaning myself off the morphine - 1 day sober, I'll take it and I realize that even though it has felt like pretty much the worst thing to happen in my life ever that there are victories to be found in this experience.  One, I didn't eat my way through a refrigerator of food.  Two, I didn't leave a trail of sexual partners and condoms.  Three, even though it took me awhile to get there I actually responded in an emotionally healthy way to this situation.  I cried when I was sad because that is the correct response to sadness, not eating a cookie.  I cried when my heart was broken because that is the correct response to heartbreak, not degrading my body with strangers.  I cried because I was afraid and lonely...because THAT is the correct response to fear and loneliness not finding 700 ways to self-destruct in an epic fashion.  Yes, it took me awhile to reach out to friends, but I forgive myself for that and they forgive me too.

Thanks to a much needed dainty foot of a Southern gal up my frozen Canadian ass (thank you Carolyn DeDeugd) and the sweet, loving friends and family who have surrounded me in light and love I woke up this morning with a new resolve.  I'm not going to give up.  Not on me, not on my dreams.  So I checked my work emails, worked on some stuff that needed to be done and I bundled myself up in some warm woolly socks over my pyjama bottoms, put on my Mom's rubber boots and a thick jacket over my pyjama top and I went for a walk through the field with my boy.  Sure I could have probably used a slow moving vehicle sign strapped to my ass that's how slow I went but the fresh air cleared my head, the movement eased some pain in my body and I took that opportunity to take down the banner, pop the balloons, throw out the horns and wrap up this pity party.  I got on the phone and harassed the gynecologist office until I got an appointment (December 3rd) - I have an appointment with the oncologist December 17th.  I re-affirmed in my mind what my goals are - and have been all along.  I want to be healthy and happy and damnit I want to be a Mom.  So I'm going to take this one step at a time, weigh my options.  And if this means a full hysterectomy - which the chances are pretty high of it being what needs to be done then I am getting my financial life in order and my power of attorney (thank you Amie Heaslip-Cosgrove) and do what needs to be done - on my terms.

Hope, it's not dead and neither am I.