“…it is the woman’s part.”—Cymbaline

Today is both “Goddess of Fertility” and “Supreme Sacrifice” Day.

Strange pairing, I know, but it got me thinking—always scary… I made the supreme sacrifice of losing my fertility about 4 years ago [i.e. menopause]. I know that probably sounds odd. I mean it’s not like I wanted any more children—at 52 especially—it was just nice to know I still could. It’s just bittersweet to come to terms with the loss of that most womanly capability. The desire had popped up off and on when my 2 were in grade school—you know: “I know what I’m doing now God—give me another shot at this…..” I even used to have the occasional dream about having another child…. Is that common?

We were 27 and 21 when our daughter was born—and 13 months later our son joined the clan. Fertility was not a problem. In fact, my doctor threatened to send my husband to a monastery for the spring if I got pregnant so soon again. By our 10th anniversary, we’d decided that two healthy kids were enough—and my husband got a vasectomy. So another child was not an option.

Not long after I separated from my husband and moved into my own apartment, I had my then-9 year old grandson over for a visit. Out of the blue, he asked me if I was going to have any more babies:
“Oh, I don’t think so buddy.”
“But, I want you to.”
“Why? So you can burp your aunt or uncle?”

Well, THAT cracked him up—and diverted him onto another subject. I relayed this conversation to my daughter the next day. She told me he desperately wanted to be a big brother.
“He’s not having any luck with me, so I guess he thought he’d go to the next known breeder in the family.”
“Oh good God, he’ll be onto Nanny next.”

Well, he never has gotten to be a big brother and now my daughter has had an ovary removed due to a malignant cyst, as well as cancer cells on her cervix. She has bravely accepted the fact that her son may well be her one and only. But I feel bad for her—she never got to experience the fun of being a pregnant couple. She was only 16 and Mr. Sperm Donor was clueless. He’s been pretty much out of my grandson’s life since he was one. So she never got to plan a nursery, have a baby shower, have the daddy fuss over her and listen to the baby’s heartbeat.

Now she’s like many women in her age range—reproductively challenged. I wonder why that is? Why so many 30-something women—and men—are facing a myriad of issues with fertility. Is it the additives that have been in our food supply over the past 3 decades? Is it the birth control pills that my generation took before having them—and that they started taking at young ages?

I ache for all of these couples who would make amazing parents yet cannot conceive. I wish I knew the answer…..

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
A footnote:
As devote Catholics, my parents followed Church approved birth control methods—my mother used to point to the four of us and say “This is my rhythm section.” When she was pregnant with number 4 in 7 years, she looked at my father and said “You know, the pope isn’t paying to raise these kids….” My dad got a vasectomy right after my younger brother was born.

Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!

I’ve noticed the days are getting shorter and shorter—starting about a month ago. The past few nights it has been dark by 6:30 or so.
I hate the long months of days when I get up in the dark and come home from work in the dark—it’s so depressing. Especially the getting up in the dark—I hate getting up in the morning to begin with. Having to crawl out of bed when it’s still dark out just totally sucks. Sorry, but it does.

I mean, I’m a theater person—I’m used to spending lots of time in the dark. It’s what we do. [But we also spend a lot of time in the light—albeit artificial….]

I'm sorry, but I just hate that whole “Fall back, Spring forward” time switch thing. I don’t get it. What is the point? It’s just a pain in the ass to twice a year have to adjust the microwave, the VCR, the alarm clock, wall clocks—and the clock in my car. Sheesh. Thank god the computer and my cell phone do it on their own.

I really wondered why this whole mishegoss got started—sooooo, Google here I come....

First interesting fact: It was Philly’s own Ben Franklin who came up with the concept. Oh, Ben…. He got his inspiration while in Paris. [That is so not what I’d be thinking about if I was in Paris, but I digress.] Apparently, Franklin had befriended some people who had invented a new kind of oil lamp; they were so enamored of his concept that they continued corresponding with Franklin even after he returned to America. [Ah, the first oil lobbyists!!]

Second goodie: the official spelling is Daylight Saving Time, NOT Daylight SavingS Time. Oops, we all get that one wrong. Our bad.

Next little tidbit: In the U.S., 2:00 a.m. was originally chosen as the changeover time because it was practical and minimized disruption. [And the bars love that extra hour of revenue in the Fall.]

And this one: at one time in the 60s, the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul made the switch on different dates and things got really confusing…..

[Follow the link from the title of this post to learn more interesting factoids—like the guy who used DST to avoid the draft during the Vietnam War.]

Now the rationale for this entire thing started in the springtime: the main purpose of Daylight Saving Time (called "Summer Time" in several parts of the world) is to make better use of daylight. We flip the clocks during the summer months to move an hour of daylight from the morning to the evening. [Okay, I'll play along...] Then, in the 70s, it became a whole energy saving thing. [Remember the energy crisis of the 70s-- $.89 a gallon seems like nirvana now, doesn't it?] Maybe it’s just me, but I'm pretty sure I use more electricity in the winter cause I have to turn lights on in the morning and at night. [Of course, with the whole menopause thing, the AC is on even in the middle of a blizzard, so I lose big time there.]…. I’m confused. But, like the rest of you, I will run around my apartment changing all the clocks on November 1st.....

Okay, looking at this and yesterday’s post, I’m coming across as really crabby. Maybe I have Seasonal Affective Disorder?

Something Wicked This Way Came...

I want my body back. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but somehow I lost control of it and some demon spawn or something is wreaking havoc on me.
About 15 years ago or so, I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia. For the uninitiated, this is an auto-immune disorder that is characterized primarily by migrating joint pain and sleep loss. They don’t know which comes first: the chicken or the egg—is it the joint pain that disrupts the deep restorative sleep cycles or is it the lack of good solid sleep that causes the joint pain. Either way it’s no picnic; sufferers tend to spend their waking hours in a “Fibro fog.” Oh for the days when I could blissfully sleep for 8—10 hours, dream wonderful things and wake up raring to tackle the day ahead….

Fibromyalgia can also so totally compromise your immune system that you fall prey to every bug that comes down the pike—also exhausting [and a bit depressing]. I have lost track of the colds and stomach viruses that have caused me to miss work and social engagements. Treatment for Fibro is still nebulous at best. It primarily strikes women in the 30—45 age range, but some men have been diagnosed. There is no “cure,” and the ailment is strongly linked with chronic fatigue syndrome. Are ya jealous yet?

Okay, then when I was about 44, I started with night sweats and irregular cycles. So, off I go to my GYN, who chirpily informs me that I am “peri-menopausal” and this could last for 10 years. Ohhh, sign me up!! [As it was, the “factory shut down” about 8 years later—but just to add to the fun, the night sweats have hung around. And I generally wear lots of sleeveless tops with sweaters in the dead of winter to combat the permanent daytime hot flash].

Throughout all of this, I am trying hard to be active and stay in shape, but… well let’s just say “the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” After putting in an 8—15 hour day [I worked 2 jobs for 10 years in order to keep my head financially just barely above water], I had absolutely no energy to think, let alone exercise. Then, I went through a very painful and protracted divorce….
Okay, ya still with me??

I start reading health articles and see numerous references to how lack of sleep causes weight gain. Strike one. Then a little while later, I see articles about how stress causes the body to store more fat than it needs. Strike two. And we won’t even go into what menopause does to a lot of women…..

To complete my trifecta of physical fun, I took a nasty fall this past March and damaged the crap out of my left knee. I am still gimping around following surgery—and going to physical therapy twice a week. Needless to say, I can’t even go walking for exercise at this point. I avoid mirrors so I don’t have to see what I look like these days. Fortunately, though, my sense of humor has stayed intact.

But what I keep thinking is: What gods did I piss off to create this storm of physical (and mental) limitations I find myself in? I’m a nice person. I try to do good deeds, I floss. God, I miss the 2 decades post puberty where I had a pretty good figure and could dance and jog—and even do an occasional cartwheel. At this point, I feel my only option would be a trip to Lourdes…. Anybody got any suggestions?