Tuesday, February 29, 2000
NEGATIVE #5
CONGRATULATIONS! YOU DID IT!
POSITIVE #5
CONGRATULATIONS! YOU DID IT!
NEGATIVE #4
The next morning, you get up, do the pee/cup/stick routine again, and glance at the results with trepidation. No matter what the outcome, it’s going to be ludicrous. You peer between your fingers and see… positive or negative?
MILE HIGH
RESCHEDULING
You board the plane with impressions from the seat belt buckle and the gear shift still visible in your backside, but glowing with the knowledge that dammitall, you got that sperm in you and it’s out of your (Cait’s?) hands now.
WAY TO GO!
PRUDENT APPROACH
Do you fork out the big rescheduling bucks or do the syringe nasty mid-air?
DOUBLE WHAMMY
POSITIVE #4
Do you go double or nothing or slow and steady wins the race?
NEGATIVE #3
POSITIVE #3
After school, for the second day in a row you screech out of the parking lot as students are being dismissed, wishing that your car weren’t so distinctive, and trying to hide from the super-observant eyes of your fellow teachers on bus duty, heading for your first appointment with the most highly recommended fertility acupuncturist in town. You are pleased as punch when you tell her you got a positive OPK, and allow her to needle and moxa away all the bad karma/funky mojo/crap of the last 10 months, hoping that this will clear the way for good times ahead.
Unfortunately, instead of enjoying that fuzzy post-acupuncture sleepy bliss, you have to get in the car and hightail it to the semi-seedy beer and wine store for another round of dry ice. When you finally arrive at home, you kiss your wonderful wife and hand her a syringe and the first vial. Following her tender ministrations, you drift gently off to sleep with dreams of sperm and eggs dancing in your head. You wake up the next morning at 4:30 am, repeat the procedure, and leave for a short day at work before flying off to the wilds of New Hampshire.
HOORAY! SPERMISSION ACCOMPLISHED!
NEGATIVE #2
At 5:15 that damn clock does its thing again and you wonder to yourself why you chose a career that requires waking up at an hour any sane human would be dreaming peacefully (or not so peacefully, depending on their antidepressant prescription). You drag out the Crotch Science Kit yet again, and begin to worry that your cheapskate nature is threatening your entire reproductive endeavor. What if neither the store brand nor the Internet cheapie OPKs are worth a damn? What if you already surged and you missed it? What if you have more than $600 of useless spermatozoa sitting in your cooler (that you will never again be able to use for picnics) waiting to die uselessly?
Snapping out of the funk, you peer at stick #3 (or is it 4?). Is it negative or positive?
POSITIVE #2
After school, for the second day in a row you screech out of the parking lot as students are being dismissed, wishing that your car weren’t so distinctive, and trying to hide from the super-observant eyes of your fellow teachers on bus duty, heading for your first appointment with the most highly recommended fertility acupuncturist in town. You are pleased as punch when you tell her you got a positive OPK, and allow her to needle and moxa away all the bad karma/funky mojo/crap of the last 10 months, hoping that this will clear the way for good times ahead.
You head home in that fuzzy post-acupuncture sleepy bliss, and slide right into bed for your second date with Mr. Syringe. Knowing that you’ve made it through the worst this week has to offer (except inconsequential family drama – Hah!), you drift gently off to sleep, figuring that skipping dinner will make up for the stress chocolate you ate earlier in the week.
CONGRATULATIONS! YOU DID IT!
The Big Chill
You rush out from school as they are dismissing the first bus, hoping that no other staff members will see you and think, “Short timer! Blowing off work already. What a loser!” Hightailing it down to Georgetown, you pray to Asphalta, the goddess of parking for a space.
Scraping yet another chunk of your rainbow flag sticker off the rear bumper, you wedge the car in between a Lexus and a Ford F350 truck with construction equipment and debris all over it and rush into the RE’s office. You briefly consider a disguise, as your next insemination is strictly against doctor’s orders, but remain secure in the white lie you have carefully crafted in case anyone asks why you want your sperm if you’re prohibited from getting pregnant until September: “Cait wants to try this time.” (You just aren’t saying WHAT Cait wants to try.)
Luckily, the andrology lab tech has not left early, and greets you with two vials of ICI sperm, paperwork, and an enigmatic smile. You sign off, carefully place the vials in their ziplock bag and nestle the precious cargo amongst the dry ice. Before you depart, you do an OPK in the doctors’ office just to spite him.
Is it positive or negative?
Just Relax
And lunch wasn’t even that good.
Gory Details
To understand the current encounter, it's necessary to have a soupcon of history. When P.U. first moved in, he and I got along fine. We worked together on some community projects and seemed to have similarly cynical humor. He was helpful to us when we moved from a rental unit to buying our own unit, hooking us up with his realtor. In return, we helped P.U. move furniture and baked him cookies from time to time. Unfortunately, the unit we bought was diagonally downstairs from his, and the proximity led to the present state of affairs.
On several occasions in the past year and a half he has disliked various actions or inactions we have taken with regard to the exterior of our unit, and P.U. has not hesitated one bit to share his opinion with us. He tends to do this by e-mail. While his requests are rarely unreasonable, the manner in which he communicates them often is. He seems unaware that the tone he takes (whether spoken or written, but particularly written) is often peremptory, patronizing, and judgmental. Many neighbors have had similar experiences and privately agree with me, though most are more Zen about it than I and don't get into these scenes with him. Last summer, one message he sent was so inflammatory -- and CC:ed to many others in the community -- that it led to a community-wide uproar and a strongly encouraged mediation session involving P.U., Cait and me.
Since then, there have been occasional minor disagreements during a general state of detente. However, on Friday P.U. sent an e-mail demanding the removal of a bicycle from our front porch, as he is (thank god!) trying to sell his unit. It's an old, beloved bike in lousy condition, particularly since the front tire was stolen a while ago. It's out there waiting for me to have time to take it to donate to a bicycle rehabbing charity. And I admit, it's ugly. But again, the tone of his message was mildly unpleasant (though probably because of failed humor on his part), and I reacted angrily in my reply. As soon as Cait got home, she moved the bike. He never acknowledged that, but has spent the past 24 hours trying to "work things out" with me.
His version of working things out involves convincing me that I was wrong and he is a wonderful guy. He dug himself in deeper by beginning yesterday evening's attempt by patting me on the head. No shit. Since we were in the presence of friends and many children, I refrained from clocking him. (He's kinda big and would probably trounce me, martial arts experience notwithstanding, so that's just as well.) But it did nothing to improve my mood, and I ended up furiously telling him, "I don't want to continue this conversation," three times before he finally left.
Today as I was finishing mowing the community lawn, he tried again. This episode ended in an even uglier fashion, with him admonishing me, "You need to go see your therapist." This led me, finally, to scream at him in rage, "You self-centered, arrogant..." and then I sputtered as I did not want to finish the sentence with small kids distantly in earshot.
Five minutes later, he was back, and the final interchange consisted primarily of HIM hollering down from his balcony that I needed to grow up, get over it, and so on and so forth. I was livid. If this weren't all happening because he's moving, I don't know what I would do. As it is, I would love to do some Grrl-style Competitive Boy humbling, but I couldn't even begin to come up with something that good. Suggestions welcome....
NEGATIVE #1
At lunchtime, do you relax and eat with your colleagues, enjoying the brief time you have in their company or run tedious errands?
On Today's To Do List
You rush out from school as they are dismissing the first bus, hoping that no other staff members will see you and think, “Short timer! Blowing off work already. What a loser!” Hightailing it down to Georgetown, you pray to Asphalta, the goddess of parking for a space.
Scraping yet another chunk of your rainbow flag sticker off the rear bumper, you wedge the car in between a Lexus and a Ford F350 truck with construction equipment and debris all over it and rush into the RE’s office. You briefly consider a disguise, as your next insemination is strictly against doctor’s orders, but remain secure in the white lie you have carefully crafted in case anyone asks why you want your sperm if you’re prohibited from getting pregnant until September: “Cait wants to try this time.” (You just aren’t saying WHAT Cait wants to try.)
Luckily, the andrology lab tech has not left early, and greets you with two vials of ICI sperm, paperwork, and an enigmatic smile. You sign off, carefully place the vials in their ziplock bag and nestle the precious cargo amongst the dry ice.
Your wife arrives home and you immediately commence the highly romantic act of lesbian baby making. You both remain in bed for half an hour. Every so often, the love of your life whispers tenderly in your ear, “Turn over so the sperm can fully coat your retroflexed cervix.” After the appropriate amount of time has passed, you remain supine, and your gorgeous lover brings you Thai food in bed. [Ed: it’s my novel, I can write what I want!]
Wednesday
At the truly ungodly hour of 4:30 am, you wake up, repeat the thermometer drill, and remind yourself that A) all this is worth it if you get a baby, and B) 5 hours of sleep will seem like an impossible luxury once you have a kid, so get over your whiny self and get to sperminatin’! With deft hands, Cait skillfully and tenderly fills the syringe with the world’s most expensive liquid and performs the act. You impersonate a rotisserie chicken for the next half hour. When you wake again to begin the day, you sigh with relief. After debating whether or not to cancel the fertility acupuncture appointment scheduled for the afternoon, you realize you’re done with sperm, dry ice, syringes, and OPKs for this month (and gods willing, a long time to come). Now you just have to worry about spending a weekend with your wife, mother, stepfather, sister, her 33-year-old paramour, and a few otherT assorted characters in a rental house in New Hampshire for a snooty prep school graduation. (Paramour not staying in house, thank god.) Oh, and then a high-society Jewish wedding Sunday evening when you get home, just to round things out. And you won’t be able to drink at any of it!
BUT NONE OF THAT MATTERS, ‘CAUSE YOU’VE GOT SPERMS IN YOU!
CONGRATULATIONS!
Positive #1
The kids are wild at school, and by lunchtime you’re ready to go home and go to bed. But no rest for the weary! Do you head to the staff lounge to get a few laughs out of someone else’s crazy morning, or hop in the car to squeeze in a few errands (and maybe get something more interesting for lunch than the frozen whatever you stuck in your bag this morning)?
WIMP!
Rescue Story
Sent: Thursday, September 08, 2005 9:13 AM
To:
Subject: RE: RE:
Friends,
My name is Chuck Fazio of Alexandria. Here's why I'm writing. As you might know, I am a pilot and this past Tuesday, I flew a 10 hour medical mercy flight bringing back to DC from Baton Rouge to be reunited with her family, a 61 year old paraplegic woman named Lois who barely survived the hurricane.
I'd like to tell you the story of that trip and at the end, make a special appeal to you.
I took off around 7 Tuesday from my airport just south of the Wilson Bridge and flew 4.5 hours non-stop to Baton Rouge landing at a corporate terminal that was packed with a host of rescue pilots, a bunch of hurricane evacuees and Brian Williams of NBC. After flying for almost five hours at 16000 feet, I was a bit fuzzy and the action in that small terminal all seemed to blend together in a surreal kind of way.
As I was walking up to the desk to register and ask for fuel, I heard my first name "Chuck" being called out twice by one of the women behind the counter on the phone. I said "YES" and she looked at me and said "Yeager?" Cool, I thought in the haze, she saw the landing I made next to the MD80 on the parallel runway. Not quite it turns out. THE Chuck Yeager was on an inbound flight and she was arranging transportation.
I need some water, I thought.
In the mass confusion of that terminal called an FBO, I looked for my Lois but she was nowhere to be found so I found an empty room to get some quiet time while I tried to track her down.
Phone service was still sporadic so the best I could do after about ten tries was to leave a message for the graduate student who had been volunteering at the shelter where Lois lived for the past 5 days. 'Lived', I came to find, was a wholly inappropriate term to use to describe the hell and misery this woman endured.
I went back to the desk to find a fuel bill of over $410! And that was for only one way! Despite telling them I wanted the plane topped off with fuel, I could tell by the quantity of fuel on the bill that the fuel guy forgot to put fuel into the auxiliary tanks on the wing tips. "He forgot the tips," I said. "You forgot the tips on seven Victor Charlie,' the nice lady at the desk said into her walkie talkie. "The plane had tips?" the fuel guy disturbingly replied. Scary because a fuel guy should know where to put the fuel. That wouldn't be the last time he screwed up I will come to find.
By now I got a call back from the grad student Marcio who told me Lois was on her way. Sure enough, shortly thereafter a ambulance with lights flashing, came though the gate, drove out on the ramp and up to my plane. I immediately hopped into the back of the ambulance to introduce myself to the poor woman on the gurney. My god she looked like she had been through hell. With tears in her eyes she said, "Mr. Fazio, you were sent by god to me."
"Well ma'am", I replied,''god and I haven't exactly been on speaking terms for many years but don't worry, in about 5 hours, you'll be home to your family." All she kept saying was, "you saved, my life." That coupled with the "I was sent by god" line shook me. Oh sure, I've been told often that perhaps the devil sent me but the god thing was something new. The other thing that struck me was just how in the hell were we going to get this woman laying flat on a stretcher into the back of my airplane! Failure was not an option however.
I still don't know how we did it -- perhaps it was just another of the many miracles Lois had over the past week, but two EMT's and I were able to get this woman into the back of my Bonanza, the inside of which is about the size of a small car. Gracious from the beginning to the end, Lois kept saying she was fine although I knew she was in a great deal of pain.
Once inside and settled, I started the airplane only to see that the aforementioned fuel idiot didn't put the fuel cap back on the tank correctly. My bad, I should have checked. Now what was I to do because to get out, meant climbing over Lois' throbbing legs? I taxied out a bit and saw the fuel truck. I waved the fuel idiot over and pointed with my finger to the loose cap. He fixed it and the only thing left was to call for a flight clearance.
I called up the traffic controllers on the radio and was assigned a 'lifeguard' call sign which air traffic control uses to identify medical evacuation flights. For the next 5 hours, as I flew the almost 900 miles back to DC, I was "Lifeguard 727Victor Charlie" instead of "Bonanza 727Victor Charlie"
Lois and I waited for a C130 to takeoff and then my new friend and I were wheels up into the wild blue yonder. And blue it was as the flight conditions were near perfect. On the intercom, all Lois could talk about was the miracle she was in the middle of and the beauty of the country beneath us. Our route of flight took us south of Jackson, Miss., right over Birmingham, Al., a little south of Chattanooga, over Ashville, NC, Roanoke, Charlottesville and right over the District.
Lois, despite being in severe pain and having just been through what can only be described as hell on earth, told me a harrowing tale that leads me to believe they're gonna find thousands of dead old people in attics soon because I'm sure Lois' story was not uncommon.
Lois, her 83y/o aunt, a male adult next door neighbor and his 15y/o son were advised to NOT evacuate their house because they had more provisions in there than they did at the Superdom. Knowing Lois was sick, the men left their house and huddled together with the elderly women in the aunt's one story house. Had they not, Lois and her aunt would surely be dead.
At 4:30am, they noticed water seeping into their house but at that point, they weren't worried. 45 minutes later however, there were 4 feet of water and an hour after that, Lois was floating on her air mattress with her nose on the ceiling. The fact Lois had an air mattress instead of a regular one is the only reason she floated. That's miracle 1. The 15 y/o, now in the attic, was with great panic, tearing through the ceiling dry wall in a desperate struggle to get to Lois. They were somehow able to cut enough ceiling away and pull Lois into the attic for miracle 2 but that's a short lived one as water is rushing in so fast that at this point they realized that if they didn't now get out of the attic, they would all soon drown.
Somehow, they were able to cut a hole in the roof just big enough to get the 15yo out for was miracle number 3. He was able to flag down a boat that just happened to have a chain saw in it and an hour and a half later, Lois, for miracle number 4, is on the roof and then in the boat on her way to the Superdome.
I am so riveted by the story I'm hearing that I don't hear air traffic control's call telling me to switch radio frequencies.
Lois goes on to tell me that her stay in the hell that is the Superdome is less than 24 hours before miracle number 5 happens and despite the thousands at the Superdome trying to get out, she's evacuated to a hospital. The only problem is that it's a hospital in New Orleans that's about to be flooded. A day late after she gets to the hospital, miracle number 6 happens and she gets evacuated yet again to the Maravich Center in Baton Rouge where she spends the next five days flat on her back in a military cot spending her time talking to the nice woman next to her who sadly happens to die at 8:30 Tuesday morning because they gave her too much insulin the night before. I feel bad because had I gotten up at three am like I had planned, I would have been down there in enough time to get Lois and thus sparing her the two hours she spent lying next to a stiffing corpse.
Lois finally gets the word that her nightmare is almost over, corpse aside, as miracle number 7as she calls me is waiting for her at the airport to take her home.
The whole trip, she kept saying that god is our co-pilot. Great, I though at one point, because after 8 of ten hours in the plane, I'm freaken beat and could use the help. My headset feels like a vice and my temporary crown is throbbing so much that I'm cursing my dentist and everyone he loves. Then I feel like a whining wuss as Lois reminds me by her gentle voice what real suffering is about. The strange thing is although it hasn't worked properly for months, my autopilot worked flawlessly on this trip taking a huge workload off me. I told that to Lois who said, "I told you so, baby." The woman had been in hell for a week yet she didn't lose her sense of humor.
4 and a half hours later, we were in the local airspace and Washington Center, the air traffic controllers that cover airspace as far south as the Carolinas switches me over to Potomac Approach which controls the airspace near DC. They advised me that I would be routed around to the east of Washington in order to avoid the restricted airspace. As if! After spending close to five hours in the plane, Lois needed to get on the ground so I replied in no uncertain terms that I had a woman in the back in pain who has been holed up in an evacuation center for the past week and I'd really like to go direct. A couple of seconds later I was told "Lifeguard 727Victor Charlie, fly direct to DCA, stay clear of the downtown prohibited areas and then on to College park airport". Cool. That saved at least 20 minutes.
So, 5 hours after we took off, we were touching down into a beautiful sunset. "You're home, darling," I said to that wonderful woman as I slowed the plane down.
The airport called the local EMT's, who after much work, got Lois out of my plane and into their ambulance where she lay alone. I climbed into the back to say goodbye to her and after showing such incredible strength all day, she was just overcome with emotion. Tears were streaming down her face.
'You saved my life, you saved my life, you saved my life god sent you, god sent you over and over again."
I squeeze her hand and said goodbye. She looked up at me now, too tired to make a sound, she mouthed the words, "I love you."
After 18 hours, it's more than I can handle
*****
I wish I could make these trips every day until every last person is out of that hell but I can't because quite honestly, this trip cost over $800 in fuel alone. I just can't afford it to do it anymore unless I get some help so that's why I'm writing to you now. Could you spare a few bucks to help out so we can immediately evacuate more people like Lois?
If you have a Paypal account, you can send money to chucklesebay@aol.com Or you can send a check to me @ 600 N. Henry St Alexandria 22314 or you can call 703 894-9000 and tell Chris you want to help Chuck by donating with a credit card. The money isn't tax deductible but I hope that's not what matters to you.
Rather than being put into some big budget, your contribution will be spent on gas that will be used by me and other local pilots who are trying to take human beings out of inhumane conditions. I feel bad for asking but I'd feel worse for not.
I appreciate very much you taking the time to read this note and I again apologize if it was inappropriate to send it to you.
Peace, Chuck Fazio chuckfaz@aol.com 703 801-0700
If you know anyone else who might be able to help, would you please forward this email to them? If you have any questions, please call me.
Hold on Tight!
On Tuesday, you wake up at 5:15 am, groggily stick a thermometer in your mouth, mumble the reading to your wife, and hit the snooze bar. After two rounds of snoozing, you admit defeat and trudge to the bathroom for your first OPK of the day. You pee in the dinosaur cup, put in your Internet cheapie stick, and wait the requisite time.
Is it positive or negative?
Cait's Black Belt Speech
Since my diagnosis, my relationship to karate has been complicated. At times I have contemplated quitting. Exhausted and hurting, I have spent some classes far more focused on dragging myself through than actually getting anything out of the class. On those days, I wonder why I’m doing it. At other times coming to class has reminded me of the things I can still do—that I’m not defeated yet. And so, I’m still here.
Whereas in my past life training for black belt might have been an experiment in overtraining, getting to this point has been an exercise in balance. I set up a training schedule for myself, but gave myself permission to be flexible with it. Some work on my strength and endurance is essential. Running myself into the ground is not. Because I want to be successful, I have had to be very aware of this. As I have never been very good at listening to my body, this has required major changes in my mental, emotional, and physical approaches to the process. Where I might have pushed myself through a workout before, I now have to pull back and evaluate what is in my best interest. While I don’t understand or enjoy the ways that my body is more complicated now, I am forced to pay attention to them, to notice the signals, and to respond. Resting, letting go of what I “should” be able to do, and shifting my view of the situation have allowed me to escape some of the overwhelming frustration. When I look at what I can do instead of getting stuck on what I can’t, or am able to find humor in my challenges, I learn and leave class feeling content. When my frustration is all I can think about, I spiral into a miserable state and get nothing out of being there. Though I am far from perfect, the combination of Lyme Disease and Karate has forced me to ponder the concept of balance, and slowly move closer to that way of life.
One might wonder why I’ve chosen to stick with training, rather than take up activities that are easier on my body. Well, I like Karate. Deeper than that, karate gives me a sense of strength and being powerful in my body that was lacking for much of my life. I enjoy the growing awareness I have of my body and the things it can do. Karate helps me to deal with stress in my life. I can come to class feeling stressed about work, and leave feeling better and more able to deal with it. Karate is also an opportunity to refocus, distract myself, or deal with problems in some other way. Much of my “spare” energy this last year has been focused on trying to become a mother. Jen and I were thrilled last summer when she became pregnant, and were devastated to lose the pregnancy at the end of the third month. In the aftermath of the miscarriage, karate has been a stabilizing force, and has allowed me to work through some of the anger and sadness in a productive way. Our child was due in April. Training for black belt has given me something else to focus on and work toward rather than sitting with the emptiness of what is not happening this spring.
Karate is also about community. My mother is a martial artist, and I trained as a child, and then again as an adult before moving to DC. I still feel connected to the people that I trained with at Mejishi. They are my point of origin in Karate. The community at DCSDKA is also an essential part of karate for me. I have many people to thank both in and out of my martial arts communities.
First of all, I want to thank Jen for her patience and support. Training has left me with little time or energy, and even though it has been hard, you have continued to encourage my training and have believed in me when I’ve had doubts. I want to thank Sensei, Sara, Maggie, and Matthew for your leadership, and for offering honest feedback while still noticing things done well. Thanks also to the many other people who have offered their feedback and support in this process. Thank you to Adilson, Danielle, Gary, Antion, and Laura for keeping me motivated with your energy. Special thanks to Martha for countless hours of practicing, and for keeping me laughing through one steps, two steps, three steps, or whatever form I thought I’d never learn. Thanks to Andrea for helping me through the beginner levels, and to the Beefcake Crew for teaching me what real weight training is about.
Thank you to my Mejishi family: to Jaye Spiro for starting me off when I was five, and for enthusiastically welcoming me back 17 years later, to my mom for outside practice time (how many parents voluntarily let their child punch and kick at them?), and for continuing to ask about my training here, and to all the other Mejishis for their continued support.
Thanks also to my youngest friends: to the kids in my class for reminding me that there’s always more energy to be found, and especially to Simon and Adelaide for keeping me laughing both in school and in Karate. Thank you Gretchen for coming with Jen to pick me up after class and for asking “how was Karate today?” even on non-karate days.
Big thank yous to everyone that went out of their way to be here today, especially my mom, who traveled in from Detroit, my sister who came in from Philly, Sensei Barbara Feldman for coming in from West Virginia, and others who came in from the farther reaches of the DC area.
Without the love and support of everyone in this community, I would not be here today. Thank you.
Wednesday, February 02, 2000
Puzzle
CLUES
1. 2 - 2 = ?
2. The second word that Brooke’s mom says every time she hears something new about their pregnancy.
3. In _____ We Trust
4. The most popular name for girls born in 1982.
5. Bill Clinton said his answer depended on the definition of this word.
6. VIDEO DAILY DOUBLE!
The Fine Print
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The Fine Print
We've had one beta (24, a very nice number for 11 DPO) and will get our second results soon (in NYC, because we always have to go through some kooky hoops!). We are excited and scared and hoping that this one will stick.
P.S. Comments are enabled on the original post only.