“Are you pregnant or not?” Includes fun pictures :)

You don’t realize it, but the whole fertility process happens quickly! Within ten days of an IUI or IVF procedure, you know if it worked or not. On February 10, 2017, we went in for our first IUI procedure. Within ten days, I was a little less optimistic. I felt crampy, which was a sure indicator that I was going to start my period. On day eleven, I had lost hope. The cramps were intense and so was my mood.

Normally, I could give two shits what people think about my personality. I’m quirky, weird, socially awkward, and oftentimes poke at people when I don’t want to be around them. Well, on Tuesday February 21, 2017, I sat in my office, bawling because I’m so goddamn weird. Stupid shit comes out of my mouth when I’m nervous, and to boot, that stupid shit came out during an interaction with an executive at my work. Good one, Ursula, you need to cry this one out.

“Why am I so @#$*ing awkward?!”

(sigh) This was later my first inclination that I needed to take a pregnancy test. Not wanting to jinx it, I waited. Hubby kept bugging me, “Are you gonna take a test?”

“No. I’m gonna wait and schedule an appointment with my OB to be sure it’s an accurate test.”

Lies. On the night of Wednesday February 22, hubby went out to the gym. I took action and did the whole, less-than-glamorous pee on a stick thing. Was that a solid line with a faint line? My heart dropped and I grinned from ear to ear. I took a pic of it and sent it to my dearest friend, Jenny.

“I’m shaking…is that a second, faint line?”

“It looks like it :).”

It said I was pregnant. Shaking, I hid the test and planned to take another in the morning. I was going to go to my OB to take, yet another, and plan my next steps to tell hubby the news.

That night, I dropped hints of a special lunch or dinner just to spend time with him during a stressful week. At first, he was ok with lunch. YES! I only have to keep a secret for a few more hours! Then, hubby drops a bomb on me – either dinner tomorrow or we wait until the weekend. COME ON! I CAN’T WAIT THAT LONG!

The next morning, since I have to get up so early to paint my face, I was up before hubby and took another test – when it is supposedly pure, concentrated pregnancy on a stick. Sure enough, this one read, clear as day, “Pregnant”.

Holy shinoly!

“Are you gonna take a pregnancy test today?” Hubby asked.

“Yeah, I’m going to see if they can do a blood test to be sure instead of taking an at-home test.”

Lies.

“Ok, call me as soon as you know!”

Well, the doctor’s office confirmed what I already knew – pregnant. I did have to go in for blood work that Saturday to run checks and balances, so the lie I was about to tell was only a white one.

After the appointment, over the phone:

“So, did you take a test?!”

“No, she wants me to go in to a lab Saturday morning for a blood test. They ensure 100% accuracy with blood tests. Do you wanna meet for lunch? It’s been a stressful week.”

“Ok. So we go Saturday?”

“Yup! Bright and early! Where do you wanna meet for lunch?”

Once it was decided, I worked fast. I went to the bookstore and acquired two books:

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I ran home, threw the pregnancy tests in a baggie, along with the sonogram card and books, and went to meet hubby for lunch.

Quick on my feet, I thought up my plan. Hubby was currently studying for a certification, so I knew exactly how I would tell him we were expecting. Once at the restaurant, I met him at his car with a bookstore bag with all of the loot in hand. He gets out and,

“So, I went to the bookstore and got you a couple things to help you study.”

I shakily hand him the bag. He looks inside and pulls out what he initially thought was a calculator and I grow silent.

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“WHAT?!”

“Yeah, I lied. I took a test last night, one this morning, and confirmed with my doctor that I am pregnant.”

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It worked. IUI worked the very first time. I hope he doesn’t hate me for sharing the next one, but his girls will love it when they are old enough. My guy is the best and this shows his raw emotion in the middle of a restaurant.

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Stay tuned, though…We are not in the clear yet.

If You Want Children, Get Them However You Can

Our amazing doctor was able to save one of my tubes. That being said, we were still not in the clear quite yet. Our next adventure would involve IUI or, potentially, IVF. Before we get into our chosen route, which will be a dead giveaway in the description below, let me educate you on the differences between IUI and IVF because I got them mixed up as well. They are definitely different, so be careful if anyone tells you they had to go through one or the other – prego women can be sensitive and will attack if you don’t keep that trap of yours shut, so check yo’self before you wreck yo’self.

IUI, or intrauterine insemination, has HUGE differences from IVF. These include, but are not limited to, the following:

  • Eggs are NOT removed from the body
  • Eggs are NOT taken to a lab to create precious embryos

Like IVF, IUI follows a strict timeline, so if you’re going to go through the process, get yourself a planner if you haven’t got one already. Your cycle starts on the first day of a full-on period after 2PM, so count out to day twelve and call your doctor to schedule an ultrasound. (Make sure you remind your hubby every hour of every day the sacrifices and steps you are taking to ensure he gets a family. And ask for presents; big, exorbitant ones. Also remind him that he only steps in to the process provide his “seed” and that his level of discomfort to produce said seed does not match your level of discomfort.) On days three through seven of your cycle, you take either Clomid or Letrozole. In my case, it was Letrozole, which is slightly less potent (we will get to why this can be chosen later). On day eleven, you take and ovulation test. If it is positive, call your doctor. On day twelve, go in for your ultrasound. They will do this transvaginally, so get ready and pray that they use warm gel. At this time, they will count and measure the maturity of your egg(s). They must be at least 18mm to proceed with the next step. If they are not, go home, call your doctor, and schedule another ultrasound for day fourteen. Go into your ultrasound on day fourteen and have them measure. If your follicles, or eggs, are mature, call your doctor. On day fifteen (or thirteen if your eggs are mature then), if you’re me, expect a phone call from your doctor’s personal cell phone to warn you that there is a potential for twins and that it is VERY risky to proceed. There are no documented cases of twins with my cerclage, so “selective reduction” is an option that one can opt into in this event. Once you discuss the risks with hubby, call your doctor back and receive instructions to give yourself a “trigger” shot in the belly. (*Please note that, during this time, it is a choice to consume an alcoholic beverage as there is no harm done to the process. This could be your last adult beverage for months since, after this day, you should not consume ANY sort of alcoholic beverage.) It’s a super tiny, ultra thin needle with miracle juice that forces you into ovulation within the next 36 hours. On day sixteen (or fourteen) take hubby with you. Hubby will be hopeful that there are “materials” to help him along with his production process, but sometimes that won’t happen and he will be left to his own devices. He could also be stuck in a room with no cell reception, so proceed with caution because the pressure is ON! Also, try not to embarrass hubby by yelling out in a full waiting room, “Would you like me to come with you?!”

Now for the coolest part…

Within two hours of hubby’s production, the sperm is “washed”. During this time, they put the sperm into a machine that uses centrifugal force to pull the sperm from the semen (semen, mixed with the ph of your vagina can be toxic and kill off the little spermies). This is done twice to make ensure you’re getting the best of the best! From there, millions of little hubbies are put into a tube with a sugar water mixture where they are happy and healthy – like a theme park for sperm. Once the two hours are up, wifey returns for the finale and doc tells hubby his sperm are the Michael Phelps of sperm. This process should only take about five minutes, but, as you know, nothing can be easy for us.

At this time, our normal specialist, Dr. Woodard, was doing her rotation across the street at MD Anderson, so a different doctor was to help with the insemination part. This doctor, God bless her for dealing with me, could not find the opening to my uterus. Half an hour later, Dr. Woodard was messaged and offered to come over to help. It turns out, she had just as much trouble. You see, scar tissue had formed over my uterus after two surgeries, preventing entry to my uterus, so the opening was near microscopic. They had to dilate me. If you’ve ever bumped an old wound that has scarred over, you know that this can be painful. Imagine this on one of the most sensitive parts of your body and then times that by a million. It was absolutely PAINFUL! The dilation came with an ultrasound to help find where the opening should be, as care was taken so that they did not puncture my uterus.

Hubby was right there by my side holding my hand the entire time. I could see the worry in his face and the love and care in his eyes. He was never going to let me forget how much I mean to him and how much it meant to him that we were moving forward with this whole process. He’s my rock through everything!

After some tears, dilation, an ultrasound, and an hour and forty minutes, the catheter with our special little ones was in. Once this process is complete, you lay horizontal for twenty minutes (we opted to stay for thirty to ensure optimum swimming potential).

Once the process is all complete, you are given a potential for a 20% chance that the first time will work, but you must always remain optimistic.

Off we went on our three hour drive home…hubby with his crotchety and sore wife. Three hours.

The Saga Continues…

Hubby, always thinking positive, mentioned going back to Houston for a second opinion. Yes, that is exactly what we did! Once there, we were met with kind and compassionate eyes. That was my doctor, Terri L. Woodard. Go ahead, look her up; she’s as beautiful outside as she is in, with the brain to match! It’s insane the amount of effort that God put into this woman to create someone that could and would help people. Just phenomenal.

While there, I was subjected to another HSG. Guess what? This time the doctor did it herself AND my hubby was allowed in the room to hold my hand. See a theme here? Effortlessly, she found the opening to my uterus. She did her thing with the dye to see if the tubes were open. It was true, both tubes were blocked. Her warm, caring expression somehow didn’t disappoint or alarm us, so we seemed to accept our fate.

Once the test was complete, we met in her office to discuss a path forward.

“It’s 50/50, but I think I can save one of your tubes,” said Dr. Woodard

“What, really?!”

“Yeah, I think it’s worth a try! The other is completely blocked, so that will have to come out, but the other may be salvageable.”

Hallelujer! 50/50 was better than zero! To be clear, they tie your tubes when you have a blockage to prevent ectopic pregnancies…Just a side note there.

We scheduled my surgery and went home in greater spirits. We knew that the three hour drive to Houston would be, and was, completely worth it. The medical center there has top notch doctors that genuinely care about their patients. Not only that, but even the office staff and nurses are spot on! I had once dealt with an office worker in San Antonio that kept repeating Dr. Anderson when I told her I was trying to get a follow up appointment after my surgery at M.D. Anderson. Ugh, no, it’s the top cancer treatment center in the country, not a doctor, honey.

We returned a few weeks later, hopeful that the surgery would be a success, and it was! One, “beautiful” tube remained.

That was it. That was the official start to our journey to baby. It was right before Thanksgiving 2016 that this all went down and we were able to enjoy our holidays. This was not the end, though, as there was more in store for us soon.

Post-Radical Robotic Trachelectomy and Pregnancy…a Journey Told by a Sarcastic SOB

Stage 1b1 cervical cancer is a pretty critical stage of cancer to diagnose. Why, you ask? Because there’s only a small window in the staging process that you can be a candidate for fertility-preserving radical robotic trachelectomy. Sound like a mouthful? It is. Fertility preservation is a very important piece of this puzzle, so keep this at the forefront of your mind; unless you’re here because you have questions that have gone unanswered because, in the deep abyss of the internet in 2017, there’s little-to-no information for people like me, or potentially, us.

I became a candidate on July 29, 2015 at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas. Not one doctor point-blank told my husband and I that there was a high probability that we would have to seek fertility treatment. Do you know how stressful the thought of that is? It’s essentially a letdown. The doctors are telling my husband he failed in finding a responsible spouse that took care of her girly parts in her twenties before he met her. Not what you were thinking? Well, good for you, then, because I was.

After six months of trying on our own, and it was painful, by the way, because this surgery shortens your vagina and reattaches it to your uterus, we sought answers locally here in San Antonio. Let me tell you, it’s no trip to the fun park after having a trachelectomy because most doctors don’t know what the hell to do with you when you walk through their doors. You may as well have 8 tentacles, a white mohawk, and your name is Ursula. Oh…

The local doctor performed a routine hysterosalpingogram (HSG). The radiologist could not find the opening to my uterus, so lucky me, I had to tuck a catheter into my underwear, walk through a busy lobby, and take an elevator ride five flights up to my fertility specialist where she couldn’t find the opening either, so had to use and ultrasound machine. Back downstairs I went. I went back behind closed doors to be poked at while my husband was told to stay in the lobby. This is where it gets even more interesting…the doctor was having a conversation in the lobby with people behind the desk about my case. Isn’t that a HIPPA violation? Anyway…test was finally done and I was out the door. A couple weeks later, hubby and I went back for the results.

“So, I have some bad news,” the doctor said.

“Both of your tubes have total blockage,” she says. The room suddenly gets smaller and the walls close in on me.

“I recommend we do a full tubal ligation and move forward with IVF,”.

WHAT THE F*CK! (sorry for those virgin eyes out there, but I’m sure this would be your immediate reaction, too)

We left that day feeling angry and defeated. With mascara smeared across my face, hubby decided it might be best to grab a couple drinks together at our favorite spot down the road where I could regale hubby with my angry and sarcastic banter. Did I mention that I have the sweetest, most amazing and supportive husband? Well, that’s worth mentioning here. Also, back off ladies, he’s taken…FOR-E-VER!

Open Letter to the Woman Whom is Insulted by People Calling Their Beloved Pets “Fur Babies”

Yesterday, I came home to a shit surprise left for me by, you guessed it, my beloved fur baby (my husband plays a huge role in the cleanup as well, afterall, she’s “our” fur baby). It was dried and encrusted in my tile from her deciding that it was a good idea to keep her puppy pad clean. She pranced and cried happily, greeting me with relief and excitement as I grimaced and raged on silently because, well, she does not know any better, and at 12 I am certainly not going to “teach her a lesson”. The only way to clean was with a gloved hand (which I don’t have gloves), or paper towels soaked in bleach, nails on my hand, and a prayer that the barrier of the paper towels would not be breached, but you, the woman that has children, changed 12 diapers already today. How lucky for you.

After a battle and a close call with cervical cancer and surgery to remove/prevent recurrence, it will be a long road for my husband and I to be as lucky as you were to have a baby (or however many “real” babies you have). Was this baby planned? Were any of them planned? Oh, you carried for 9 months? Lucky you, I’ll be LUCKY if I can carry for 8, and bedridden for the latter part of my pregnancy. Oh, but I’m sure yours was so much worse.

Normally I would sit back and read these ignorant posts with an eye roll and keep scrolling, but this one I found completely insensitive and selfish. Can anyone have anything any more without someone packing it into a shit sandwich, setting it on fire, and stomping on it with a heavy foot and a pompous attitude? Ridiculous.

A lesson to you, miss “sick-of-people-with-fur-babies”, think before you write. Some of us out here may not want, may not be able to have, and may only have one option – a pet to call family, a pet that loves unconditionally. Sit back and let us have our thing while you sit back and have yours. And while you’re “insulted” by my fur baby, I’m insulted by you. I hope your children grow to learn empathy and compassion, not your insensitive and thoughtless words.

Thanks,

Proud “mom” of a pomeranian “Fur baby”

Urine for a Treat

For what was supposed to be one night in the hospital, it has now turned into 7 nights and possibly more. The pain, at times, is unbearable and I want the hell out. My arms are black and blue from needles and ports, along with my back and legs from surgery. I want out. The nurses are all exceptionally sweet and diligent in their duties, tending to my every need. I want out.

I watched in agony as my towel dropped to the floor this morning, reaching for it while envisioning one of those grabbers (I think I should get one). I insist on showering and doing everything I possibly can on my own, but when I drop something, it has to stay. Bending down breaks me into a sweat, trying to backcomb my hair breaks me into a sweat; all efforts to do anything are tiresome. Sitting up in a wheelchair for two hours makes me feel like I’ve done a Super Beast run. I look in the mirror and see the Michelin man, envisioning myself parading around the streets of New York with that stupid Stay Puft hat because the fluids have bloated me to upwards of 150 pounds.

Last Wednesday night I decided, at 3 in the morning, that I was going to sit up in bed and try to walk around. What happened moments after, I don’t remember, but can only describe. Thankfully, I had called a nurse to help me out of bed because, as I pushed the button on the bed to raise me up, my blood pressure lowered drastically. 61/42. For two minutes, Joey watched in shock as I sat staring into nothing. Nurses yelled my name and pounded on my chest, but still no response. 6 of them stood around in fear speaking about calling the trauma nurses. The thing I remember is seeing Joey’s face while yelling my name, then turning to a nurse as she yelled it, too.

That was the night that started my journey to where I am today. I had 4 blood transfusions to get my hemoglobin stable. On top of that, I have this bag that I have to maneuver my legs around every time I get out of bed (see above to refer to exhausting tasks). It’s my gold. The key to getting me out of here. I just have one more hurdle – that f*&%king bag. As longs as everything is in line, I can go home the next couple days.

All of this and I’m still laughing, telling the doctors I have truck nuts (inquire within if you’d like more information) while asking whether or not my blood pressure is stable enough to leave.

I’ve cried. It sucks. It gets boring and lonely sitting within four walls. My loving hubby visits every day for hours, but I send him home at night to sleep in a real bed with a real fuzzy Koko beast…it’s no place for a spouse to have to be.

Today, I had a particularly rough meltdown alone. It hurts to cry, it hurts to laugh, I’m stuck here until they deem me fit to leave. Most importantly, I am cancer free. After a morning of showering on my own and sitting up for a few hours, I was exhausted. My voice was shaky from the pain, but the thought of the drugs they give me for it made me more upset. They give me terrible headaches and don’t even work for very long. As I sat, unable to move in my chair, I looked out the door and saw something – a woman fighting just to walk around to get exercise, her IV behind her. The skin of her head glistened, pale in the lighting. She looked gaunt and tired from the a seemingly long battle she has been fighting. This made me cry more. All of these things that I’m upset about, but I forgot about the things that I do have. Yeah, I have surgical complications that I am hoping are not life-long, but some things I do have:

My hair.
The opportunity to even think of going home tomorrow.
A 97% cure rate.
I’m cancer free.

To that, I pondering the idea of decorating my catheter bag with my fabulous silver, bronze, and gold markers for the nurses. It will read:

Urine
for a
Treat

The Taboo Cancer and the Delicious Recipe that Will Help You Cope with it

You know, chances are that you are reading this and there’s a high probability that you’ve been with more than one person. Yeah, been with. In this day and age it is extremely rare (but does happen) that someone has only been with one person. Did you know that it only takes one person to cause cervical cancer? Yeah, that’s right, one. Do you know how many people have had or do have HPV? Damn near everyone. I had no idea that HPV was that common, did you? Did you also know that if you are a male, it can go undetected because it is not treatable in males? Yup.

What do you think of first when you hear HPV? Dirty? Loose? Well, it turns out that there are over 60 different strains of HPV and each and every one of us has carried at least one of them and didn’t know it. It just depends on your body and how it reacts.

When I was first told that I had an abnormal exam, I didn’t know what to think. I told my husband that it could possibly be because of pre-cancerous cells. Well, what causes those – HPV. My first initial thought was, no, it couldn’t be me that brought this into our marriage. We went back and forth on a drive to visit his brother about who it was, but wait a second – we are a team. It doesn’t matter who did what or where or when, we are married and this is just one of those marital bridges we cross…together, hand-in-hand.

It wasn’t until my second biopsy, scary by the way, that I found out that I had CIN 3 – severe cervical dysplasia, or stage 0 cancer.

“Well at least we caught it”, my hubby said.

We thought we did. In pain and a day away from two weeks since the procedure, I hurried to my doctor to see if there was something still going on. It turned out I didn’t have an infection, but what I did have was a tumor they “think” they got. I will never forget that moment. A doctor speaks to you, in a concerned and comforting voice, telling you that you have cancer. I kept the smile on my face and thanked her as I hopped down from the table. A million thoughts. A million. Your head spins. The doctor hugged me and stepped out of the room after telling me I needed to see an oncologist.

“Why am I so f*&$ing happy right now?” I thought.

My eyes grew wide and I looked to every wall in the room, as if searching for answers to questions that I didn’t even have yet. I picked up my phone and texted my husband.

“I need a drink. You will, too, after I tell you why. Call you in a few”, I wrote.

Imagine being on the receiving end of that text. Completely composed, I walked out of the office and to my car. I started my car (because it was as hot as Hades’ balls outside), and picked up my phone. One missed call. It was my hubby. I dialed.

“What’s going on”, he asked.

“She said I had cancer, but thought they got it all”, I said.

“What?!”

“I have cancer.”

His voice was as calm as he could be, but I could tell he was almost frantic. “What stage are you?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask. She said she was making an appointment with the oncologist for me and that it wasn’t urgent, so we can get our answers then.”

“Not urgent?!” He said.

He asked some other questions that I can’t remember, nor could I answer. I was in shock. And so began our first marriage milestone, albeit a horrifying one. No longer did it matter that I once had HPV that turned into cancer, I had cancer. That’s it. I no longer had control over my body, something else did. It was as if a body snatcher took me and I was trapped. I was at this thing’s mercy until I had answers. Thankfully, my husband is the biggest badass on the planet and took the reigns from me so that I could sit back, watch Netflix, and stew in my own thoughts.

Because of his persistence (and possible ability to send poor admins, secretaries, and nurses to therapy), we were on our way to MD Anderson Cancer Center within a matter of weeks (unheard of). How? He let the administrator know that he would call every half hour until my paperwork was released to MD Anderson.

Fast forward almost three weeks…I am scheduled to have surgery on July 29 with one of the best and top gynecologic oncology surgeons in the world – Dr. Pedro Ramirez. Not only is he extremely skilled in the highly specialized surgery that I am having, but he is one of the pioneers of doing the procedure robotically. Let me take a few moments to give that guy some kudos…First, anyone that leaves my hubby without any questions is doing his/her job and doing it well. We sat in a conference room with him where he explained my procedure – the radical trachelectomy. I just kinda looked like I was listening, cuz that’s what you do when you have ADD, but what I did hear is the 97% cure rate, along with the high probability of having children. (YAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSS! Mini Jim Harbaugh here we come!) All of this was said to us in words we understood, slowly and methodically, and with a confidence that didn’t exude cockiness (all EXTREMELY important when trying to win over a couple like us). We found our doctor. Better yet, my hubby found our doctor. Have you ever heard of a doctor calling his patient back to answer questions? How about calling your husband back to answer his questions? Do you have any idea how big MD Anderson is? No? It takes up multiple city blocks and only specializes in cancer. It’s gigantic, but they make you feel like you’re the only patient they are seeing.

Now that I got the boring stuff out of the way, let’s talk about the questions I’m going to ask. I already asked how many women hit on him in front of their husbands, so that one is out of the way (seriously, I’m not sure if he’s single, but if you are he would be a catch since my guy is taken already). I found an old presentation from a conference about robotic radical trachelectomies, so I might whip that one out and ask some of those as long as I can pronounce the words.

So, let’s digress a bit. My mom, being the online research fiend that she is, told me that birth control can cause cervical cancer. She’s not necessarily wrong, but that wasn’t my cause, and I’m sure it certainly didn’t help it, either.

I took a deep breath. “No mom, it’s from HPV,” I said.

(GASP) “YOU HAD WARTS?!” she proclaimed.

“No, mom,” I chuckled, “I did not and do not have warts,” I said, nervously.

“But that’s what it causes,” she proclaimed once more.

(Here is where your education and hers comes in) “Yes, it can, but that’s not the strain I had. There are several different strains and I happened to catch the one that gave me cancer,” I explained.

I was tired, but I gave her the whole lecture at it only taking one person to cause this. She obviously thought I got around, as I’m sure would be almost any parent’s first thought, but it wasn’t like I had. I gave her a couple scenarios until she seemed pacified.

“Who gave it to you,” she asked.

“I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. It’s just a speed bump that the hubby and I are getting over together,” I said, patting myself on the back with my bitchin answer.

At that, this is the problem with cervical cancer awareness. No one talks about it because it’s associated with STDs, sex, dirtiness, and getting around like a 2001 penny. It is the second cause of death for women in the United States and we STILL don’t talk about it! It is also the most preventable!!! So, get checked regularly, educate yourself, and ponder the Gardasil shot for your daughters when it comes time. Save yourself some heartache because not all doctors are familiar with radical trachelectomies and are certainly ready to give hysterectomies.

That being said, here is the recipe that will help you cope:

BAD-ASS CANCER COPER

1 Fifth of Tequila
The juice of 10 limes with one extra (unjuiced)
A jug of your fav margarita mix
orange juice (50 calorie for us big babies)
1 Lemon, juiced
Bloody Mary salt

Get a jug (because you’re not going to wanna measure this shit) and throw all of your lime juice and lemon juice in. Put about two shots worth of orange juice in there, too. Add a bunch of tequila (to your taste) and then throw in your margarita mix. Stir all of that business together like there’s no tomorrow. Next, cut a wedge of lime and run it around the rim of your glass (margarita glass, sippie cup, solo cup, I don’t care). Shove your glass in some of that bloody Mary salt and put a smile on your face. This is gonna be frickin delicious. Either shake some of that bitchin mix and pour it off into your cup, or throw some ice in there and fill ‘er up. However you take your cancer-coping margarita is completely up to you. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the company of those that you love and love you most because life is too short to do otherwise.

The Big “C”

Today is day 20 after finding out that I had a cancerous tumor on my cervix. As I lay in bed, exhausted from doing nothing and getting barely any sleep, I’m constantly in thinking mode…thinking about the beautiful man that sleeps sweetly beside me, all of the things he is doing to make me comfortable, and the unknown.
At this point, the doctors don’t know what stage I’m at, which prompted the Hubby to make several phone calls to doctors, hospitals, and receptionists to find the best hospitals we could travel to. His belief that his late Grandmother, Germie, sent me to him, drives him to find the answers that will keep us healthy for years to come.
For years before the Hubby, I found myself indifferent with the thought of having children. After all, they smell, take turbo shits that most certainly end up in odd places  (including your hair), and they encroach upon my best laid plans of owning a Chanel handbag…as I step into my Ford Focus. That all slowly changed when I met my Hubby. Now, Friday will be 9 months of awesome marriage, and I couldn’t stop talking about having a little boy to dress up like Jim Harbaugh for Michigan game days (complete with mini, blue permanent marker and mini notepad).
All of that came tumbling down to a screeching halt after last week’s visit with an oncologist. Am I being punished because I had always vowed never to ruin my body with child birth? If so, I promise I don’t care as long as I can have a little one. The thoughts that cross my mind.
Angry doesn’t even begin to describe my feelings, but what can I do? We have to play the cards we’ve been dealt and always try to remain one step ahead of the dealer. The temper tantrums I’ve had in my head have been epic, and growing epically bigger as the days pass. I can only imagine what will happen in real life if this week doesn’t go as I hope. Fuck, shit, damn, son of a bitch…They’re all normal words that cross anyone’s mind during a tough time. I mean, let’s be honest.
The little things, “At least you don’t have cancer”, cross my mind when people complain…then I stop myself and get a jolt of reality because that saying can no longer apply to me, and I can’t frickin believe it.
This week, we are venturing off to Houston to MD Anderson’s cancer facility to get a better handle on what we’re dealing with, so the adventure continues and the updates will too.
Switching gears, I have to say that I married into the biggest support system known to man. Sisters, brothers, moms, and dads galore, on top of my own! They all call and/text words of love, support, and encouragement to both the Hubby and I. To that, though I have constant, racing thoughts, I say, “We’ve got this”.

I will be making bracelets to raise awareness for cervical cancer. They will include the infinity symbol to signify family and friends as a constant, along with a dark blue bead to signify my Hubby and his strength throughout this whole thing (he has a labeled accordion file with all of my documents, all of his questions, and any easily accessible info. Talk about organized). One version will be corded and will go for $10, and the other will be beads of different sorts that will go for $15. If you are interested, let me know – half of the proceeds will be given to the American Cancer Society because there is more than one cancer that needs a cure.

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We’ve got this.

Easy Crockpot BBQ Chicken – For Those Days When You Fall UP the Stairs…

I’ve been told before that I’m a very descriptive writer. Thank you for that compliment. The idea is for someone to visualize your experiences in a comical way using descriptive words. For instance, if I tell you that I put a tiny bell on my tiny dog’s collar, you wouldn’t think much of it. If I tell you that I put a tiny bell on my tiny dog’s collar and she ran for her life as I fell up the stairs while only hearing that bell jingle feverishly, you might get a better idea of what may have happened.

As every morning goes, my fuzzy beast demands to be taken outside, and not in the general sense that you’re used to; she jumps on me and gets in my face to let me know there’s a deposit to be made.

I take her and grab my phone as I needed to make an important call. Ironically, I needed to call the doctor’s office (more on that later). She does her business and I’m on hold with the doctor. As I make my way up the stairs, I see my neighbor and good friend, Melissa. Phone in hand, I get ready to smile and say hello, instead tripping up the cement stairs clad in my stupid socks and FLIP FLOPS (I was oozing sex appeal at that point). Off in the distance, I hear the frantic sound of Koko’s bell as she feverishly ran up the stairs to avoid a 125 pound monster landing on her. At the same time, Melissa is locking her door, turns, and has a look of shock, fear, and compassion all at once. Each of her arms had things dangling from them as she made way to the top of the stairs. I had fallen and all of the weight went right to my funny bone.

Almost immediately, I felt faint. Poor Melissa, whom later admitted that the look on my face made her feel like I was either going to punch her or cry, was on her way to work and could tell that no help was going to be accepted. I grabbed hold of the railing, and in my best Dark Knight Batman voice said, “I’m ok. I just need to sit down”. Only this time I wasn’t impersonating Batman. I slowly made my way up the stairs while Koko cautiously followed, all while still being on hold.

This is where an easy recipe comes into play slow that you can lay on the floor and recover all day after sending your body into a jolt of hot and cold sweats while seeing stars and hearing imaginary lawn mowers in your head.

At that, I give you:

Easy Crockpot BBQ Chicken

  • A bunch of boneless chicken breasts (preferably anywhere from 3-5)
  • A packet of BBQ spice (my fav is the Korean BBQ found in the International Foods aisle)
  • A couple cups of your favorite BBQ sauce
  • White Vinegar
  • 1/2 TBSP of Garlic Powder
  • a day at home

Make sure you line your crockpot with one of those crockpot liners. Trim and season your breasts (lol) on both sides with some of that BBQ spice pack. Line the bottom of your crockpot with the breasts (lol). Put three cups of your fav BBQ over the top of those bad boys and then sprinkle the rest of your spice pack (if you have any left) over the top. Next, add your garlic and roughly one to one and a half cups of white vinegar. Let it sit for 6 hours on low. Shred your chicken with a fork before serving.

Rest up and use your good arm for manning the television while you wait for deliciousness to make itself.

“I” is for Introvert, So I Made No-Bake Cherry Cheesecake Cups

Just this morning I took the time to read an article about introverts, because well, I am one. I perused through the article of 18 people that explained what it was like to be introverted, and, most of the time, misunderstood. This lead me to revisit my night last night.

Last night was a special night where we (my hubby and I) were each celebrating a big milestone, and since he had lost some weight due to endless hours of studying for his PMP Certification (of which he passed), he thought it was a great opportunity to celebrate over some beers, March Madness, and Little Caesars’ Deep Dish, Bacon-Wrapped pizza. Ugh. Begrudgingly, I agreed.

Before he left me in the car to make a run for beer, he asked me to phone the pizza place to put in our order. If you’re like me, introverted, you recognize the sinking feeling at the thought of having to be social with someone you don’t know in order to get something you don’t even really want. After the horror movie music rang dramatically through my mind, I agreed and he made way for beer.

I sat in the car trying to quickly find a solution to the predicament that I was in. I searched for a Little Caesars application to potentially order my pizza that way. No app. SHIT! I Googled Little Caesars to see if I could order from their site, and dammit, it wasn’t loading! As the slight panic washed over me, and knowing that my hubby’s return could happen at any moment, I did what any red-blooded introvert would do in an emergency situation like this, I broke down, took a deep breath and hit “call”. (*Note: when this happens, please expect that I must recharge my batteries after interaction with any human being via phone or in person.)

As always, the phone call was awkward. Was it me? Was it the girl on the other end? I don’t know and I don’t care, I just want the call to end. As I stumble and bumble through my words, I get the amount of time it will take for the pizza to be ready and finally hang up.

Hubby returns. As I celebrate internally over this personal triumph, my hubby asks if I made the call, of which I have. Satisfied, he suggests two, large orders of queso “Because it would be delicious,” while we wait for our pizza. Again, begrudgingly, I agree.

No-Bake Cherry Cheesecake Cups

1 box of no-bake cheesecake

1 box of sugar-free black cherry jello

3 tbsps brown sugar

5 tbsps butter, melted

1 cup of water plus 1/4 cup

1/4 cup of fat free half and half

Get 1 cup of your water going on the stove. Turn around and make some magic happen. Melt your butter and mix in 2 tablespoons of your brown sugar. Yum. Next, take the package of crust mix and throw that up in the bowl and start stirring until combined. Set that aside and line a cupcake tin with some of those snazzy cupcake liners I talked about previously. At about this time, your water should be boiling. In a separate bowl, pour in your mix of jello and remaining tablespoon of brown sugar. I know I said sugar free, but this just leaves more room for the awesome called brown sugar. Pour in your boiling water and stir until dissolved. Now, mix in your half and half and remaining water and stir that mix up a bit. Add your cheesecake mix and stir, then whip out your electric beaters and get that stuff combined. Set that aside while you spoon in some of that crust mix into each of the cups. Be sure to press down on the bottom and a quarter of the way up the sides. Now, spoon in your jello mix and place in the fridge for an hour. If you’re like me, though, you won’t wait but half an hour and tear into two of them. They’re good.