three months of silence

So we did some serious work around the house!

You can actually see the garden shed, now.

We also destroyed the letterbox.

and replaced it with a much nicer one!

I need to get some (better) pictures of the cats
case in point- sleeping is the best time to catch them for a photo.

They also sometimes act as lumbar support for the Husband in his computer chair...

love.

--TGW

high school lied

I went to a Catholic school that only started teaching Sex Ed because it was threatened with withdrawal of State funding if it didn't start teaching us about condoms etc.

Their approach to this was to teach us that if a girl so much as looks at an erect penis, she will get pregnant.

Reality?

It's not that easy.

We've been 'trying' for almost nine months... well, we were trying for the six months between our wedding and when I got put onto paroxetine... then we had to stop for two months because I found out AFTER reading the labels -I was not told by my psychiatrist - that paroxetine has been known to cause serious birth defects of the neural tube persuasion.

I self-weaned off paroxetine when I realised it was giving me horrible vivid nightmares - Ace thinks they might have been closer to night-terrors because of the way that I was reacting to them even when asleep.

The other reason for self-weaning?

After four 'sessions' with the psychiatrist at $130/45minute session, she still didn't know who 'Ace' was when I was talking about him, in spite of the pages of 'notes' she had been taking during our talks.

The man is my husband. It says RIGHT THERE on my profile that Ace is the person to contact in an emergency.

I have had such an horrific time with shrinks that I have sworn off them... at least for the time being.

So now, we are back to trying to get pregnant.

One more week and I can wee in a cup, dip the stick in and wait for those two pink lines.

Strange part?

I won't be telling anyone in real life for at least a few months.... mainly because I can't trust my mother to keep it a secret for me.

Oh well.... got to love family.

--Anna

SSRI's

Paroxetine (as hcl) tablets 20mg.
30 count.
Take ONE tablet in the morning with or after food.
5 repeats prescribed.
I did some Google-fu and found that they are primarily used as an anti-anxiety measure.
So why on earth have I been prescribed these little white tablets?
Three anxiety/panic attacks (which are a result of the uncertainty I am suffering thanks to this epilepsy diagnosis) means that I've been put on something to stop me from being so panicky and freaking out every time I have acid reflux.SSRI's basically stop your brain from responding to the chemicals that cause negative feelings, which means that I'll, hopefully, be having less anxiety issues and less depressive episodes. Plus Paroxetine is one of the few SSRI's that won't interfere with any anti-convulsives that I might be prescribed.
I'm no longer working in an environment that kills my soul, either.
I decided that the flashing lights and constant noise right up until I was supposed to be asleep, not to mention the less than stellar calibre of the staff I was working with, weren't worth me feeling like crap every time I thought about having to go to work.
So I got a job in a call centre and now I don't even have to think when I'm at work. I have a script that I have to follow and there's no issues with co-workers, mainly because I choose not to interact with them very much, except for a few people I've known for years and just happen to be working in the call centre, too.

So, all in all, life is going a lot better, now!

long time no blog

Today, for something completely new and different, I was surfing the internet... and procrastinating. Reading Allie Brosh's blog (hyperbole and a half --->) I found her explanation about never becoming an adult entirely too relatable... but it's 2:39AM and the Android keyboard on my phone is giving my hand a cramp, so I'll expand on that tomorrow... if I remember. No promises!

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Big day

And I say that in a completely ironic, sarcastic way. It has been the complete opposite of productive around here and, funnily enough, I am extremely proud of that fact.

I have no idea what Geek and I are going to do for dinner. I have not got the faintest clue where the last three hours have disappeared to (there may have been a nap involved).

Today was a day for apathy. I am totally over it.

Work sucks. The job I am doing is destroying my soul at a rate of knots and it is crushing my spirit along with it.

The job that I want to do, as far as I am aware, doesn't actually exist. There are TAFE courses that I can do, but they will give me a piece of paper that qualifies me to do precisely nothing that will earn me any money... and not only do we have a mortgage to finance, we have to cats relying on us for sustenance and dammit my kitties will not go hungry!

What I really want to do with my life- what I've wanted to do for as long as I can remember, is be a mum.

My secondary ambition (the one that is likely to make me money, and that I can likely manage to do at the same time as raising a brood of kidlets) is to be a writer.

Now, I don't care if it's journalism, blogging, fiction, research, proofreading, editing or beta-reading fanfiction- if I can get paid to read and write as a professional, my life will be complete.

I already beta read, and this blog is my attempt at making sure that I get some regular writing out (I know, I need more discipline... but between the seizure/syncope issues and some less than fantastic attempts to upgrade my computer I've been a little preoccupied with real life to blog regularly), but with the love and support of my Geek I may well be going back to TAFE next year to do a Certificate IV in Professional Writing and Editing.

God only knows what I can do with that qualification, but a few years ago when I mentioned perhaps undertaking that course one of my not-so-lovely relatives said 'Oh, yeah, that'll be as useful as a philosophy degree!'

So I didn't do it.

But now... now I have a chance to maybe do something that will make me a bit happier. Maybe if I start a full-time course I can drop the soul-crushing hours to 15 or so a fortnight -one or two nights per week- and get myself into a better frame of mind.

I'll keep you posted. Promise.

diagnoses and specialists

I had another 'instance'. Well, a few actually. Five in total, now. After one of them I spent two nights in hospital (after 8 hours in casualty waiting to get admitted, finally taken up to the ward at 2:45AM) had a CT scan, an MRI and an ECG before finally getting sent home.

The whole theory about the aging population seems to have been confirmed by what I saw in the hospital- I get that older people get sick more often, but I cut a few laps of the ward and I was the youngest patient on the entire floor by a good thirty years.

Thank goodness for my Geek. When I got admitted it was after I'd been unconscious on the floor of the lounge for 90 minutes, called the ambulance and then followed it up to the hospital. He was going to stay with me until I got admitted, but I sent him home around eleven when it looked as if I was still a few hours off admittance... turned out I was right.

I'm also pretty grateful that mobile phones are allowed on the wards now- I was able to text Ace and request some real clothes (not to mention some pyjamas and my laptop). Those hospital gowns are less than flattering!

I got some jeans, a few t-shirts and- luxury of luxuries!- a bra delivered to me, plus a few dvds to keep my sanity intact.

Nothing like real clothes to make a girl feel human! Plus Ace, being the genius that he is, had thoughtfully made sure that the DVDs he had delivered were seasons 4 and 5 of House. Of course. I'm in hospital with some unknown thing making me pass out for extended periods so he gives me a TV show about a brilliant doctor to get me through.

Since the hospital admittance I've had four more 'instances'- we're not sure if they're seizures or syncope (sudden drop in bood pressure) but the longest I've been unconscious is 20 minutes, and I've flatly refused to go back to hospital, mainly because in the 48 hours I was actually up there I saw my doctor for a grand total of two minutes, and his lackeys (I assume interns/fellows) for about ten. I get that they're busy, but seriously?

I've had an EEG, too (the gel stuff they use makes your hair feel disgusting) and apparently the timeframe for results to come back is three weeks.

And then, of course, my 'specialist' appointment, which was supposed to be tomorrow, has been delayed to the 25th of August.

Stuff it, I'm going to make an appointment with my own doctor and see if we can figure it out.

stupid body failing on me....

Well, more of a 'fell!' than a 'fail!'

I got out of the shower yesterday, and woke up half an hour later on the bathroom floor.

Totally blacked out. Freaky-deaky.

The scariest part was that I was home by myself. So I woke up, freezing, on the floor of the bathroom, with the cat licking my foot, no idea how I'd gotten from the shower to the tiles.

I got up and rang my Geek, and I think I freaked him out more than I was, because I think I had a panic attack while I was on the phone with him, so he came straight home from work (an hour early) and took me up to Casualty.

Three hours, two blood tests, five blood pressure tests and two hours on a heart monitor later, I'm the picture of health and they can't figure out what happened to make me black out.

Nothing like making a girl feel safe!

The only thing they could think of was that the sudden change in temperature (hot shower-cold bathroom) caused a drop in blood pressure and I blacked out, and the only thing that was definitely ruled OUT as a cause was pregnancy.

Which brings me to my next point.

Ever since a couple of months before we got married, my Geek and I have given up on the contraception thing, in pursuit of producing a Geekling.

Yes, that's right, not only do we have sex, but we want to make a baby happen as a result!

But, of course, this comes with its' own pitfalls.

The whole 'making a baby' thing is made out to be so damn EASY! Everyone, when you are a teenager, hammers home the whole 'use protection or you *will* get pregnant' line, but when you stop, and actually want to have a baby, it's suddenly not such a simple task.

It kind of makes me glad that we've kept this little decision to ourselves, because every single parenting forum that I have come across has multitudes of 'trying to concieve' boards with story after story of women becoming seriously depressed every time 'AF' (Aunt Flo - aka, your period [because, of course, you can't use the correct term on a message board supposedly for adult women]) arrives.

Some have truly heart-breaking stories of battles with infertility, but others seem to be using the boards as a place to complain that, while they and their 'DH' (dear/darling husband) are desperately trying to make a baby by charting (using a cervical thermometer to check basal body temperature), having sex during 'fertile times' and taking three different kinds of pre-pregnancy vitamins, their sister, sister-in-law, cousin and every single female workmate is getting pregnant 'without even trying!'.

Not one of them seems to realise that not everyone is so vocal about the fact that they're having sex every other day and sticking a thermometer up themselves at the same time every morning just to 'increase their chances.' Only one of my closest friends even knows that Geek and I are in the process of trying to get pregnant, and she is under strict instructions to slap me in the face if I start talking about cervical thermometers or mucus levels. Chances are that someone in my circle of friends is also in baby-making mode, and if I happen to be pregnant first then she'll be bitching about me somewhere on the internet, possibly to the tune of 'HOW DARE SHE GET PREGGO BEFORE ME AND STEAL MY THUNDER!? IF SHE STEALS MY BABY NAME I WILL CUT HER FACE!'.

Another thing I don't get, which is prolific on baby-centred websites, is posting a list of names that you like and asking the opinion of, essentially, a bunch of random strangers. Or, even worse, whingeing that someone else has 'stolen your name' when you've been telling all and sundry about your 'short-list' since your first pair of pink lines. If you don't want someone to use a name that you like, then don't tell them the names you like.

I don't want to be one of those women whose entire world revolves around the idea of a baby, who makes her husband have sex even if he doesn't feel up to it, and cries for two days after she gets her period.

I'm well aware that this process might take a while, I know that most couples take, on average, six months to conceive a baby. I know that pregnancy can suck royally, with everything from mild swelling of the ankles to nine and a half months of all-day 'morning' sickness, but that doesn't make me sad, it makes me excited.

Besides, if it happens 'naturally', via IVF, or if it comes to the point that we have to get rid of our cats so we can foster kids with a look to adopting one, I know that I am looking forward to being a mum.

I just hope that I can be good at it.