All Will Be Well

Remember last week when I was all "Oh, it's all good, I'm not worried, God is great, everything is awesome!" I knew it wouldn't last the whole four weeks I had before surgery and sure enough, last night out of nowhere it sneaked up on me all sudden-like. Mostly thinking about how I'm going to react if I wake up from surgery and have to process the information that I no longer have any ovaries and everything that goes along with that. Last year I guess it was more expected that I'd likely lose the one ovary so it wasn't quite as altering when I found out, but this time around it's not necessarily likely at all (except in my head). When I woke up last year and found out at whatever point it actually made it through my anesthesia-muddled mind that they did take the one ovary, but it wasn't cancer, but it was endometriosis, it didn't have as immediate an effect as it would be this time around. It took at least a week really to hit me, probably because the first week was mostly spent trying to let my body heal physically. Anyway. The thought of having to find out that information this time around while recovering from surgery and trying to make all of it real in my brain is a bit overwhelming. So the obvious solution is don't think about it until (and unless) I need to! Easy to say.

At least I only have two more weeks to wait now, and one week before I get to talk to my doctor and ask her any and all questions I have at this point, which will be nice and I think will relieve some of whatever anxiety I'll be feeling. Because as many question as it's good at answering, the internet isn't my doctor. The thing about having two more weeks to wait, though, is that I still have two weeks to wait. That's a lot of potential worry time. The other day out of nowhere I got some crazy unexpected pains that at various times I thought were my appendix bursting, the cyst rupturing or leaking, or just me dying in general of something, and I was a little bit freaking out and wishing my surgery were tomorrow. (I have since decided it was either related to having endometriosis in general or having the cyst specifically, which throws things off and pushes things around, and was also cycle-related so has since gone away.) Here's hoping I won't have that again and whatever it was will be fixed with the surgery, but it's still a thing that's there that I don't want to be there and the longer I have to wait the more chance there is of something going wrong with it. I'm excellent about worrying about that stuff.

But overall, I know it'll be ok. Even if that moment of finding out the worst (again, if it even happens) - and lots of moments following it - are really tough to get through, it won't always be that hard. Eventually it will get better, and I'll be ok, even if certain doors are closed and locked forever. I met with a woman a few days ago who is both a spiritual director and also part of a healing ministry/has a healing charism. I was initially given her information regarding healing - I didn't necessarily contact her so that she could pray for some sort of miraculous outcome, or even best case scenario outcome, but just to have someone who has that gift praying for me (along with everyone else who's praying for me), whatever the outcome God wants for me. But since she is also a spiritual director, and I've been looking for one for quite some time now, we also talked about that aspect of my life. Anyway, the whole thing was very good for me in a variety of ways, but she helped confirm my feeling that regardless of what happens with my surgery, God has a big plan in this for my happiness. Only he knows what the heck that's going to turn out to be, or how, or when, or why, but he knows, so I really don't need to worry about it.

(By not worrying about it, I really mean not thinking about it, because when I really let myself think about it is when I get myself into trouble. My relationship with Jesus has been pretty awesome over the last month, which is of course a huuuge blessing and really all that matters in the end, but if and when I let my mind go to the not-great places about my situation, I start to falter. Why is this something God is letting happen to me? Why isn't he saying yes to my prayers? Why doesn't he want me to have babies? Does God even care about me at all? Etc. Obviously, I need not to go there, but I've lived there a lot in my life so it's easy to go back. It's ok to ask God those questions, knowing that while there is an answer for each but also I might not get to find out that answer in this lifetime - which, ps, sucks - but I need to ask them in a way that's less "woe is me the world is ending" and more "Jesus I don't understand but I trust in you." That's why trust is a thing. We can't always know everything. We don't always have the answers. We won't always know what someone is thinking regardless of how long we've known or how close we are to the person. Same thing with God. Except different, because it's God. So, to circle back around, if I do let myself go down that negative path and start to worry that my life is just irreparably going to suck, I'm trying to make myself better at getting back on the Jesus train even if it's about to go through a really dark tunnel and I don't like where it's headed.)

Sometimes following Jesus feels like hoping that your favorite flowers
won't die from the late-April snowstorm and freeze but knowing that,
even if they do, the snow will help both the flowers coming later in the season
and the ever-present fire danger around here. Even if it hurts short-term.

And now, for your listening pleasure, here is a song I have greatly enjoyed for a few years now, since first hearing it on one of my favorite episodes of Parks and Recreation (is it a favorite episode because of the song, or do I love the song because it's a favorite episode?), at a time that it really made me feel things. I haven't listened to it in quite some time but I happened to watch that episode again yesterday and was reminded of the song, and wouldn't you know it, it's still good!

Sometimes Monkeys Die, and Other Things That are True

Thanks for all the support lately, friends! I think your prayers have done wonders for me. It's annoying I still have to wait several weeks for this thing to happen, but I feel so much better about everything than I did pre-surgery last year. To a weird extent. Granted, last year there was the possibility of cancer which is on another plane of worry entirely, even though the worst-case scenario this time wouldn't be a picnic either. But aside from the initial "oh crap, here we go again" plus lots of tears much of the day last Monday, I haven't been worrying about it that much. Thinking about it constantly, sure. But in a somewhat more detached way, I guess? I'm not sure. I've talked to some people who have been in semi-similar situations, I've asked for lots of prayer from probably too many people, and the distractions of Holy Week plus the reality of Easter helped a lot. Because the worst would suck, but it wouldn't be the end of the world. (And, morbidly because sometimes I think that way, even if the extra worst case scenario that I'm not really worried about but could always be a possibility happens and I die from some random or other complication, then I'd be with Jesus so that wouldn't be too bad either. Probably a bit worse for the rest of you, but I can't worry about everyone. Haha. Sorry.) As it's now Friday, I'm not feeling quite as nonchalant as I was earlier in the week, but I haven't yet gotten to the point of nervous butterfly tummy every time I think about the surgery, like I did last year. Might I still? Sure, maybe, but I'm hopeful that I won't get there, or more realistically not before a week until my surgery. I'll consider that pretty good if I can hold out the nerves that long. But one nice thing is I'll get to meet with my doctor a week before the surgery to go over what will happen, so I'll still have a chance to bring up any concerns or questions that might cause me nervous tummy between now and then. And I expect she'll explain things better than happened last time. Plus, I won't have the added nerves of not knowing what surgery itself is like, which I definitely did last year. I hate not knowing what to expect or what things are like. That's at least a silver lining.

Another silver lining: Lilacs are blooming!

My sense of semi-peace about it all is likely because, while I worry about the worst, inwardly I find it hard to believe it might happen, mostly because I don't want to believe it might. That said, though, I know it's a possibility, regardless how small, and I also know that even if things go fine with this surgery there's no guarantee I won't be back in this position a year from now, and another year after that, ad nauseam until my ovary just gives up and throws in the towel. I've always worried infertility would be something I'd have to face, for no reason other than I'm me, and now I know it's a very very real possibility (again, assuming marriage in the next ten years or so is in God's plan for me). The ticking clock is real, yo, and it gets REALly loud when you lose an ovary and find out you have a disease that can cause infertility and you're over 30. (Also, even though I know it's good and I'm doing it for health reasons and whatnot, sometimes charting is such a pain to deal with - both in terms of just doing it as well as emotionally - when it seems so...pointless at this stage in my life. It's work, and it's a daily reminder both that my body doesn't quite work like it should and also, in case I forget, that I'm super single. Anyway. Just an aside about another aspect of this lovely journey.) But, just like that ticking clock, God is also real. I wouldn't say he gave me endometriosis, but he allowed it for some as yet unknown reason, and has a plan somehow to bring about my greater happiness with it and all associated with it. I think I said this before, but it's still and always true and still and always hard for me to say - my purpose in this life isn't to get married or be a mom (through whatever means). My purpose is to love God and continually grow closer to him. And you know what, you have to get really close to him to let it all out how angry you are at him sometimes. It seems to me it's much better to say things directly to peoples' faces when you're mad at them instead of trying to yell at them from several rooms away, or ignoring them altogether. He might not want either of those things (marriage or motherhood) for me, and might know my ultimate happiness needs to be brought about through some other means. Or, maybe he'll use all this to show me that he can work through things that seem like they don't work or shouldn't work or are damaged or or or. He's a God of miracles, after all, so he can do whatever he wants and if he wants me to be a mother then it'll happen one way or another.

I know that some people have a hard time squaring belief in God with bad things happening for no logical or acceptable reason. And my struggles are, of course, not nearly on the same level as widespread starvation or disease or extreme poverty or natural disasters or kids dying of cancer or lots of other objectively terrible things that people point to as reasons not to believe in a loving God. For me, though, I can't imagine squaring all that and coming to any kind of peace withOUT believing in God. Maybe those who believe just don't ever find peace, and that's the difference. I don't really know. In my life, and my situation, though, I have to believe in a God that loves me even in the midst of suffering and unfair situations. If I didn't, nothing would make sense at all. If there is no God, then any suffering is pointless. God or not, we're going to suffer in this life, because that's the way of the world. I'd rather trust that God can bring good out of my suffering than throw up my hands and say that nothing matters. And I know that regardless of what happens, God loves me immensely. I mean, we just celebrated Good Friday, and Easter Sunday, and everything around and in between. Jesus endured suffering I can't even fathom, and doesn't God love him? (And doesn't Jesus love ME? Because he endured that for me. And for you, and for everyone together and each one individually, which is crazy to think about.) Look at the good that came from that, though, and will continue to come from that forever. God doesn't cause suffering, but he sure allows it and makes it amazing if we let him. So. That's a pretty cool thing. (Not to say I'm a-ok with suffering. But it's going to happen, so it's at least nice to know that it can bring about something good, no matter how truly terrible it is.)

Not terrible: Lilacs on a wet, drizzly morning.

Another unexpectedly nice consequence is that I've been oddly in a much better mood lately than I had been pre-cystical knowledge. I think maybe it's allowing me not to worry so much about the other stuff that'd been front and center before, possibly? I'm more focused on this now, because it's, like, a Thing I have to deal with that has a specific date on it, and everything else is on hold or just doesn't matter anymore. But I'm not focused on this in a worrying way (very odd for me), even though I am constantly thinking about it. (e.g. I slipped down a few of our stairs last Friday morning which ps is not a pleasant thing to do so try not to if you were thinking about trying to do it for funsies, and even though I had the conscious thought of "boy, my back and tailbone are about to be rill sore" my first and more immediate/pressing concern was that it would do something to my cyst or ovary. Irrational, sure, but I'm really good at being irrational.) I guess after processing everything last week, and writing about it, I could step back and tell myself, "Ok, there are a lot of unknowns, and even more unknowns further down the road, but for now you can just be here and think about this and be nice to yourself." So, I am here. And I bought myself a nice unhealthy pizza for dinner because why not and also Easter Friday means Eat Delicious Things and Also Meat-ster Friday. Either things will go just fine next month, or they won't, but there's literally nothing I can do to affect that outcome. Literally. That's true of a lot of things I worry about typically, I guess, but sometimes there are things that at least feel like I have some semblance of control depending on what I do that might affect the outcome. Not in this case, not at this point.

(I could play the "I ate that cookie so my endometriosis came back" game I've been guilting myself with over the last year, but for some reason I don't really think that eating less of the stuff I "shouldn't" be eating would have made that much of a difference. Possibly, but there's no way for me to know.)

So, nothing I can do between now and surgery. I mean, other than pray, of course. The rest of it, though, it's all in God's hands, and of course my doctor's. And she's trained in exactly what I'd want her to be trained in - NaPro Technology for the win - and so I trust pretty much that if anyone can do this with the best possible outcome, she can. While I still sometimes regret the way last year's surgery went down, and the surgeon who did it, even though technically it made sense at the time with the information I had, I know that this time around I'm pretty much in the best hands I can be in for this surgery and even if the outcome isn't good, I probably won't have to wonder what would have happened with a different doctor. And if the outcome IS good I think I'll feel much more confident it will "take" better this time than last and maybe the endo won't grow back, or at least maybe will be monitored better. And one nice thing about it being almost four. weeks. away is that I have plenty of time to think of allllll the questions that I can ask my doctor at my pre-op. The trick is remembering to write them down somewhere. Which I still haven't started doing despite telling myself all week to do. #evertheprocrastinator

So, anyway, things are surprisingly good. Also, after telling myself for the better part of April that I was going to quit my subscription to Catholic Match (my current payment goes through early July), I finally did earlier this week. Being on that site has been an absolutely horrible experience for me and my sense of self-worth and other things, so I feel really good having finally left. (And oh my gosh it's hard for me not to have negative thoughts about people who continue to tell me that it's the answer to all my problems despite the fact that it's caused more problems than it's solved. Great that it worked for you or your favorite cashier or your father's brother's nephew's cousin's former roommate, but I am none of those people.) Maybe I'll try another site sometime, but right now I'm not going to worry about it and I'll just let things go as they will. This doesn't really have much to do with my surgery, but it's another odd positive going on right now. Because, boy, I'm sure there are some quality people on there, but there are a looooooot of...not quality people on that site. It is a relief not to feel like I have to go on there and check new profiles and...do...whatever people are supposed to be doing. Ugh. man. That place is the worst.

This place is not the worst.

It's funny - January has always been this pinnacle of terrible months in my mind, ever since I was a kid. I've had a handful of sad, not-great things happen in that month, plus it's January and no one likes January, right? April, in my mind, has the opposite feel. Maybe it's Spring, and things just seem nice and sunshiney and hopeful. However, a lot of not-great things have happened in April, both personally with some people dying, plus the surgery last year and this now this year, and just in general, in the world. (Last year I had a daily "on this day" desk calendar, and a lot of the "on this day" occurrences in April were tragic or terrible things. Titanic, Columbine, OKC bombing, Boston Marathon bombing, to name just a few.) I don't know why I don't have that January feeling about April, because I think it's probably held a lot more sadness than January. Poor January. I still love April, and I'm glad. Maybe the sunshine and flowers and Easter seasonality of April make it easier to deal with any of the sadnesses that come. (And maybe if I were more directly affected by one of the larger tragedies I'd feel differently about April. I'd rather not find out, though.)

Hey! Here's an awesome quote I just came across, from Pope Benedict several years back, which kind of fits my thoughts right now: "God loves every one of us with a depth and intensity that we can hardly begin to imagine. And he knows us intimately, he knows all our strengths and all our faults. Because he loves us so much, he wants to purify us of our faults and build up our virtues so that we can have life in abundance. When he challenges us because something in our lives is displeasing to him, he is not rejecting us, but he is asking us to change and become more perfect."

Now, I'd be lying if I didn't sometimes (often) have the thought that I'm a "good" Catholic (ha, what does that even really mean), and I'm faithful enough (except, you know, when watch Netflix instead of spending time with Jesus, and when I sin, all the time, and and and), and I follow God's commandments (except, again, the sinning thing, which quite often helps me identify with the Israelites when they were wandering in the desert, having been given their freedom and everything they need and yet they still are pretty awful and whiny people a lot of the time), and I believe in and practice what the Church teaches (and am definitely never prideful about it, or overly legalistic, or doing it as much because I'm a rules-follower as because I love God, nope no sir), and so don't I deserve the gifts that I want that God seems to give freely to almost everyone else? (Answer, in case you don't know: No. I don't. I don't deserve anything from God, no matter how perfect I am, which, again, I'm not. I mean, heck, Mary was as perfect as any of us could ever hope to get, and she still had to watch her son be tortured and brutally killed on the cross.)

Anyway, what's my point? I guess it's just that life is hard and sometimes doesn't make sense, and even when you're a pretty ok albeit still sinful practicing Catholic you're not guaranteed happiness or lack of suffering or anything, even when it seems like others who have no faith life as such to speak of have all the good things and things just seem to work out perfectly for them. (Which is, of course, never really true for anyone, but the fact is that some people have things easier than others and that's just how life is.) God is not a genie. He doesn't work on some sort of rewards system - attend Mass this many Sundays in a row, go to confession every two weeks, set aside 15 minutes of prayer every morning = get prayers answered. That's just not life, and it's not God. There's both a lot of freedom and a lot of frustration in that fact. The freedom is better, because it means I can choose to continue to love God out of love for God and not out of a desire to get something from him. Not that prayers of petition are bad, of course - God wants us to bring our desires to him! But we also have to trust him to fulfill those desires in the way that will bring about our greatest happiness which sometimes means experiencing pain. He knows, and he loves us, and he's good.

He made lilacs and flowers, so he's obviously a good and loving father. #science

(FYI I'm really good at saying this and sometimes really terrible at actually believing it. But I *know* it's true even if it doesn't always necessarily *feel* true or good, so I think/hope that's at least something.)

Boy, how does anyone read these posts? I'm way too fond of the parentheticals - always have been, probably always will be. And I promise I know what a run-on sentence is and that they're not great things to use. But hey, everyone else writes and grammars poorly, so I'm allowed to too, right? Of course right.

Second verse, similar to the first

I'm writing this on April 12, but I'm not sure yet when I'm going to post it. Maybe April 12 just to be fun. Or maybe April 22 because that's how I roll. Warning, though: it's long. Maybe I'll throw in some more random pictures to make it more interesting.

My church on Palm Sunday. It was pretty in its Lenten way.
Lent is bare liturgically - the music is different, the church
looks different, the readings are different - but it's still just so beautiful.

Remember last week how I talked about my fears, and how sometimes I fear any little pain might mean things that will result in no babies from me? At the time I wrote that I was feeling a suspicious pain on my left side (which is, coincidentally, the side that still has an ovary). I'd sometimes feel little twinges here and there that I alternately thought would definitely mean another cyst while also talking myself into believing it was just my overactive hypochondriacal imagination. But towards the beginning of the month it was feeling a bit different, and different enough that I called my doctor's office to make an appointment to check it out. At first they said they didn't have an opening until April 24, which would have been not great for my peace of mind, but then saw an opening on April 10 which was perfect. So, turns out that surprise, I do have another cyst, and while it's less than half the size of last year's, it's big enough that my doctor agreed with me surgery will be the best option. She said there's not much they can do to reduce them in size once they're there, and we could watch and monitor, but likely it'll just keep growing and that would obviously not be good. Doing it sooner than later will give her a better chance of saving as much of the ovary as possible, but even that's not a for sure thing. (It will certainly be her goal, though, and I'm grateful to be in her hands for this one.)

As of the time I'm writing this it's not yet scheduled. They're supposed to call me this week with some possible dates, once they figure it out with her schedule, the hospital's, and that of the person who will be assisting her. I don't know if that means a month down the road, or next week (though probably not that soon). [Finally heard back from them today, April 13; it's scheduled for May 16 which is frustratingly far away meaning too much time for this stupid thing to get bigger possibly as well as looooooots of time for me to think and worry and be anxious and, in my better moments, pray; AND it is just a few days before the young adult retreat I was looking forward to attending, and having had surgery earlier in the week might now preclude me from going. Maybe I can still power through it. I'll worry about that later.] What I do know is that I'm trying to get myself to a place where I can accept losing my second ovary and all that goes with it. It's hard. It's not a guarantee, by any means, that I will, but I need to put myself there so that it's not quite so much of a shock if it does happen. It's a really, really hard thing to try to accept, though, for many obvious reasons.

I vaguebooked on Facebook after I found out on Monday about how it's good to get bad news during Holy Week, and I really think that's true. For one thing, I have a lot going on to distract me (singing in the choir at five Masses this week is one excellent distraction), but I also get to enter into Jesus's suffering even more. He didn't want that either, but he gave himself up to the Father. I have no choice but to do that myself and to trust that, even though it might absolutely suck in a lot of ways, God will bring good from it. Not to excuse the suckiness, because believe me, I will not be initially calm, peaceful, and prayerful if I do in fact lose my other ovary, but just to say that God allows bad things and always brings good from it. Not always good that we recognize, or will understand in this lifetime, but we have to trust that he does. Jesus paid the ultimate price for us, even fully knowing exactly how poorly each and every one of us would/will treat him, others, and ourselves along the way. Obviously I'm not Jesus, but I'm called to be like him as much as I can, and what better way than to offer my body to God, trusting he'll do with it as he wants?

That said, I'm still praying - and annoyingly asking anyone and everyone who offers prayers, and a lot of those who don't, and maybe you, and if not you then consider this me asking you - that my doctor will be able to remove the cyst without removing my ovary, or even better, that somehow miraculously the cyst will disappear by the time the surgery rolls around. God can do that. He doesn't have to, but he can.

I'm back and forth a lot with my level of peace about things. Mostly back, in that I don't have a lot of peace at the thought of losing any chance to have kids naturally and also becoming menopausal at 31. I can reason with myself - reluctantly, because I don't really want to - ways that not being able to have babies could be part of God's plan (maybe there's a baby that will be coming into existence in the future that I'm meant to adopt and wouldn't have if I could have children naturally, or maybe I'll marry someone who's also infertile and we can just be infertile together, woo, or who knows what else), but it's hard for me to see why it would be good for me to go through menopause at 31. And I don't really know how that would all work anyway - I didn't get that far with my questions when I met with my doctor on Monday, but I will when I meet with her before the surgery.

A sand lily, one of the first flowers to bloom each year.
I had my first sighting yesterday after noticing the leaves
start to pop up last week, and I'm so glad that God gave us
the season of Spring to enjoy.

It's not great news. It's not life-threatening, of course, which is good (aside from the whole surgery aspect and something unexpectedly could go wrong and I could die or something else terrible could happen that they're not expecting, but I have enough to worry about without thinking about that stuff so I'll just make sure I'm all confessed up and ready to meet God), but it is potentially life-altering. Even if I don't ever get married, or don't get married until after I'd be able to have kids anyway, not having any ovaries would still alter my life right now. So I'm really hoping that my worst-case-scenario-ing does not come to pass this time. I can't tell you quite how...not great it feels, sitting in an OBGYN office regarding something that might harm or potentially end your future fertility, while seeing other patients there for the OB part, going about their pregnant ways. Or how it feels to be sitting in an ultrasound room with lots of pictures of unborn babies on the walls, looking up at the screen where instead of a happy new life, you're looking at an invader that's not supposed to be there and might end any chances you'll have of ever having one of those happy new life ultrasounds. I've had multiple ultrasounds now, and none of them have ever been fun or for fun reasons, and on top of that they're not the most physically comfortable things I've ever experienced.

[I am well aware that for some women who do have those ultrasounds or who are sitting at the OBGYN office for their pregnancies, it's not necessarily fun or good news in their minds. I get that, and I know that's an incredibly hard thing to go through as well. But I'm a little sensitive about it all at the moment, and it's hard to square all of this that I'm going through while living in a culture filled with people who take their fertility for granted. Who view it as an awful thing that needs to be "fixed" or avoided at all costs, or who just assume it will be there and work when they want it too. We all have those things we take for granted in life but that one's always been hard for me to deal with, even before last year. And not to be all "At least you HAVE ovaries!" at you, but seriously. Our fertility is a gift and a lot of people don't realize that, and sometimes it's hard for me to hear the way people treat it. (Also hard is hearing people complain about how super fertile they are, which I totally understand can be a really difficult thing too, but...if that's you, probably don't complain about it to someone for whom fertility is an unrealized dream that either won't or might not come to pass. Just saying. I know it's a cross for those people and I'm sympathetic to it, but don't ask me to empathize with you on that one. It'd be great if God had given us all the ability to have exactly however many babies we want to have, but we live in a fallen, imperfect world, where some women can't have any of the babies they want, some women have more babies than they want or have to work really hard not to have them, and some women kill their babies that they don't want. It doesn't make sense, but neither do a lot of things in this world.)]

Oh, and I've now had two people I've told (one a random person who asked people to let her know prayer requests for a novena she's starting on Monday, the other a person who works at the pregnancy center where I volunteer) ask if I could just freeze some of my eggs. I wasn't as surprised by one, since she's not Catholic, but I was surprised by the other, because unless there's some method I don't know about, artificial reproduction is not Church-approved. Or me-approved. And while it's tempting to think about and I've absolutely always understood why women who are facing infertility make those kinds of choices (because the alternative sucks) and I almost wish it were something I could consider, it's definitely not an option for me. (Plus, I don't even know if it'd be physically possible. Not that it matters, though.) So, yay for awkward evangelizing moments I might now get to have, I guess?

Speaking of awkward, Nutmeg sleeps like this a lot.
I don't understand how that could be comfortable, but then
I'm not a dog, so what do I know?

The other, less terrible but still disappointing thing about this surgery is that it will likely cost me some moolah. I got off easy somehow last year (I still don't quite understand my final total compared to the insane actual total the hospital charged, but I'm not arguing), but I have different insurance this time around and my doctor seems to think she might need to go the more invasive route with this one (laparotomy instead of laparoscopy - basically means a big incision instead of little ones), which will mean staying at the hospital and also longer recovery time. I don't mind that, really, but an overnight in a hospital can't come cheap. And there's a chance it'll take my Ireland money which will mean no Ireland trip. When I put down my deposit for it I opted for the insurance which meant I could cancel if needed and only lose the insurance part - and in the back of my mind a potential surgery was something I was thinking about when I did that. Now, I'm not saying it won't happen, because if I do end up losing my ovary I think I'll definitely want to do something fun for myself, and I might just go into debt to do it. Or God will provide somehow. I'll, I don't know, win a scratch ticket or something. Who knows. So I'm not giving up on it entirely, because that would make for another turrible year. But it's a possible negative repercussion of this whole thing.

On the plus side, I'm much more prepared with what to expect as far as surgery. Like, wearing sweatpants in and not bringing nonelastic drawstring pants to leave is a bad idea. (I had the drawstring pants in the bag I had packed in case I needed to stay overnight last time, which I left in the car, and so I ended up leaving the hospital in a hospital gown which I believe I still have somewhere.) Also, get a prescription for antinausea meds BEFORE throwing up. Also, the fact that this time my actual doctor who actually knows me and has met me before will be the one doing my surgery. (Also, bonus - she's an ND grad, so that's always good. And she's also a woman, which makes things less awkward.) One of the really tough things last year was that I kept getting moved from doctor to doctor, none of whom had met me prior to any of this. I liked them fine, but once they were done with me, they were done, and I was left kind of alone and felt very unsupported once the surgery was over. It made the whole thing a lot more difficult to process, I think. At least this time I won't have to deal with that. Oh, another plus: I will feel less guilty about eating a nice, gluten-y pizza sometime soon because hey, apparently it doesn't matter. Though, truth be told, I do feel better in general when not eating gluten. But a pizza isn't going to kill me.

So, once again, just like last year, I find myself in a Holy Week where I can do nothing but lean on God, cling to Jesus, and know that whatever happens, I am infinitely loved, cherished, and planned. None of this is a surprise to God. He knows what's going on, and he knows what he's going to do about it and with it. It will be ok, somehow. Maybe not the ok I want, but he'll be there with me through it all. Jesus knows a little bit about suffering, as do many of the saints. I recently became acquainted with Venerable Edel Quinn, who (I just now found out) shares my birthday, a fact which causes me delight, and who was unable to fulfill her desired vocation during her lifetime due to illness and circumstances. Also, she was Irish, so basically I kind of love her now. I mean, she was obviously very holy during her time here on earth and I still have a ways to go to get there, but that's why we have saints - to help us see how we can get there. (Also Jesus, of course, but he's not selfish, so he gives us lots of other examples of holiness.) Point is, obviously Jesus is doing something here, and God is moving in this, and it will work out in some way, and God will have some lessons for me to learn (maybe some I didn't quite get the first time around and needed another kick to get them into my brain and heart because God's ultimate purpose for me, and my ultimate end, is to be with him, not to be married or to be a physical mother), and whatever happens he will not abandon me. Not ever. Not even close. Not even a little bit. Not even at all. (I hope I will never be so down that I can't even throw some movie references into my mulling.)

And hey, just for funsies, there's a prayer for Edel Quinn's beatification which you could certainly pray and ask a small miracle (even if it's just saving my ovary!) for me. If you want. Not that this would be a beatification-worthy miracle, probably, but it would be in my mind.

Prayer for the Beatification of Venerable Edel Quinn
Eternal Father, I thank you for the grace you gave to your servant, Edel Quinn, of striving to live always in the joy of your presence, for the radiant charity infused into her heart by your Holy Spirit, and for the strength she drew from the Bread of Life to labour until death for the glory of your name, in loving dependence on Mary, Mother of the Church. 

Confident, O Merciful Father, that her life was pleasing to you, I beg you to grant me, through her intercession, the special favour I now implore..., and to make known by miracles the glory she enjoys in Heaven, so that she may be glorified also by your Church on earth, through Christ, Our Lord, Amen.

I love flowering trees. Spring is so great, even here in Colorado.

This is where I am now. I have support, I have people praying, I have people who love me and will be there for me, and above all I have God. It won't be easy especially if my worst fear (in this scenario) comes to pass, and if that happens I'll probably be a mess for a long time - and boy, will it ever be hard to go to church for a while (fun fact: did you know that church can be a really, really hard and painful place for people struggling with singleness and/or infertility? It is. Especially on stupid Mother's Day, unless the priest is of a more sensitive kind and either doesn't single out the moms or basically includes the definition of mom to apply to almost any woman), or, you know, out in the world where there are perfectly normal fertile people, and also people who worked really hard to get pregnant, or just have babies, or whatever. And I'd probably have to quit Facebook for a while too. And maybe just life in general. But maybe that won't happen and I can just sit in all those places grateful I still have some sliver of a possible chance it could still be me someday. Who knows. God knows, but I won't know until I do. What I do know, still, always, forever, is that God loves me, cares about me, cares about this surgery, cares what happens, and cares how I react to it. I could probably let it push me away from him, but that would be rather silly, so I hope I don't do that. I might get mad at him, but he's cool with that. He can handle some anger, provided I'm able eventually to put it into context and realize that whatever happens, it's not the end of the world. End of some dreams, maybe, but I've been holding onto those dreams far too tightly as it is.

Baby aspen leaves! And bonus Nutmeg.

All that said, this still sucks, and is unfair, as life is known to be. It's a hard thing to face. Again, not the worst thing - lots of couples face infertility, especially these days, and while it's not easy it will be ok somehow (a friend of mine just adopted a baby with her husband after a long wait, and it's so beautiful to see and really hopeful for me to see right now) - but that doesn't necessarily make it any easier. It sucks, plain and simple. And, again, maybe the "worst case scenario" in this case won't come to pass, and my doctor will be awesome and be able to take out the cyst and any endometriosis hanging out in there and the ovary will still be there and functional when I wake up. That could happen. Or even be miraculously gone. That could happen too. But if not (hey-o super secret scripture reference! also related to an upcoming movie I'll probably want to see), God is still good and I am still loved.

So. There it is. Pray for me? (Specifically any or all of the following, in no particular order: cyst to go away; cyst to get smaller; cyst not to get bigger; surgery somehow to be moved sooner; ovary to be saved; peace of mind through it all, whatever happens; anything else you might think of.)

What's more vulnerable than a peach?

Firstly, in my last post I left out an important blessing that's come out of everything that happened last year, which I meant to include: I'm going to Ireland. I'm going to Ireland! I don't know that I would have made that decision if not for the surgery (and pre-surgery cancer possibility) and all that came from it. I still don't know if it's exactly logical, and certainly not financially the most responsible thing, but I'd been putting that dream on extended hiatus waiting for some magical confluence of factors to happen that might not ever happen. So I decided to do it. It's not like me, the person who doesn't enjoy going out to eat alone or going to the movies alone or doing much of anything alone (except when I'm home, because I love being home alone), to decide to take an international trip by myself. Without any planning, too! Or much thought! So I hope that doesn't backfire. But I've planned and overthought a lot of other things in my life that haven't turned out great, so what's the worst that could happen? So. Anyway. It might be great, it might be weird, it might be depressing, but it's (theoretically) going to happen and I'll be able to cross of one of the few true bucket list items I have. And I have endometriosis to thank for that, oddly.

This is not a picture of Ireland, which would be logical here, but it is a picture of my

dog sleeping on my bed, sleeping so soundly that she has doofus mouth. She is super cute

and makes me happy on a daily basis, even more than the thought of Ireland.

Now to other things. I used to blog a lot but then it started tapering off until I pretty much stopped. There were a variety of reasons why I slowed down and quit with the blogging, though let's be real here, the biggest reason was because coming up with blog titles for every single blog post is the worst and I'm terrible at it and I hate it muchly. Other reasons I stopped blogging consistently include the fact that (a) I felt vulnerable writing to an audience I can't see and don't know (not that I'd want to speak to an audience I *can* see and *do* know, but whatever), and also sometimes felt like wasn't there anyway so what's the point, and b) I felt like I didn't/don't have much to say that isn't being said everywhere else. Oh, and also because I'm constantly worried I'll say something wrong or someone will disagree with me and think I'm an idiot so I'm constantly trying to couch my words so that everyone will like me and understand what I'm saying and not think I'm dumb. (I have a great, and quite unrealistic, fear that a post of mine might someday go viral. I can't imagine that being anything but awful.) You know what, though? It's impossible to make everyone like me and understand me and what I'm saying and not think I'm an idiot. Hence the not writing. Which *is* dumb because it's how I process things and I like to do it.

But at the same time, I've been closing myself off to almost everything and everyone (a few lucky listeners aside - sorry about that, you people), which is also terrible for me. Writing that post the other day was really unfun in the sense that I don't want my crap out there to be judged by people who like to play Pain Olympics (you know, trying to be the person whose pain is the Gold Medal winning pain, which ps no one ever wins because there's always a worse story out there - which is why it's important to remember that someone's cross they're carrying might seem like it's made out of fiberglass to you (that's a lightweight thing, right?) but for them it's made out of...heavy wood of some kind which I might know if I knew anything about wood, but all I know is that I like trees and very rarely pick them up. Anyway. And vice versa, regarding the heaviness). I know that things I go through could be worse, and I'm not trying to make light of that fact. Like I said, this is a big reason why I stopped blogging - I feel like I have to justify everything I say to cut off objections before they even happen, even imagined objections that maybe no one would even have. It gets really tiring to try to do that all the time and I do it enough in the rest of my life that I didn't want one more place, which is supposed to be an outlet, to be another place where I have to pre-apologize for everything I say.

Anyway.

All that to say, it felt really good to put those words out there. I read people's blogs sometimes that have a lot of honesty and I never think the things I worry other people are going to think about me, but I also read some of the comments other people have sometimes and think "I don't know I could handle people saying that about me." So usually I let fear and insecurity win. (Story of my life, in case you hadn't caught on to that yet.) But being open and vulnerable is good. It can hurt and be hard but it's really good. I also recently opened myself up to new friendships. Not that I'm against making new friends, but lately I've been in a place where I'm tired of opening up and growing potentially close to someone only to have the friendship fizzle for one reason or another - in my life, the biggest reasons are distance and marriage. Not my marriage, obviously, but sometimes the distance part is my fault. Such is life, I know, but as an introvert I don't like to open up to a lot of people and I really don't like to open up to people who aren't going to be around for very long. Sometimes I hold onto friendships far longer than I should just because I don't want to lose them, even if they're no longer good friendships or have just run their course as friendships sometimes do. Not to say distance and/or marriage always dooms a friendship (most of my best good friends live more than one time zone away from me, which isn't great but I'm still glad for them). I'm also in a place where, because I'm going through a rough time, I assume no one will want to touch that with a ten-foot pole, since obviously people only want to be friends with people who have their lives together and are abundantly happy and never go through rough patches. But even illogically feeling that way, I let myself be vulnerable with this new friend, and it's been great, even though I always have at the back of my mind this feeling like I shouldn't act too clingy because I'm a mess and why would someone want to be friends with that? (Or this feeling that she's just being nice to me because I'm a mess. Haha.) Boy do I ever sound pathetic, huh? Oh well. For the most part I'm doing my best to tell myself that I still deserve good friendships even if I'm going through a difficult time and am not, oddly, perfect. See, I'm learning things and stuff.

Long story short, being vulnerable is good, and hard, and worth it. Kind of like confession - when are you more vulnerable than when laying out all your sins and ickiness and bad moments in front of another person, even if that person is acting in persona Christi? But awful as it is in the moment, it leads to absolution and grace, which is the best and makes it so worth it. (Even when the confession experience itself isn't great, or the priest says or does something hurtful or weird or not great. The graces of the sacrament are still there! So if you're Catholic and haven't gone to confession in a while, maybe try to go. If you've had an awful experience with a certain priest, maybe try going to another priest, and also remember that priests are still human and they have bad days too. But God doesn't have bad days! And he's always there in that confessional, and always loves you, and always forgives you, even if you are a pathetic mess who feels undeserving of love or any kind of goodness, so that's pretty fantastic.)

Now, I wrote this post last Thursday and in typical Susie fashion, didn't post it. (Maybe it was the coming up with a title thing again?) So now I have an update with which to update anyone who's reading this and would like to be updated if I haven't already updated you. But that will have to wait for another post. Dun dun duuun.

Loved and not forgotten

I keep thinking of things I should have said or changed or not said in my post yesterday, like "I know my life isn't that bad compared to other people's, and I know things could be worse, and I know being a mom is hard even with other moms to lean on, and I know I sound pathetic and whiny." Or how one group of women I do feel can somewhat understand where I am in life, to an extent, is other women who are dealing with (actual) infertility (as opposed to my situational and potential infertility). They get what it's like. Not exactly, of course, but somewhat. It's different, but some similarities. Or I'd say how maybe if I could be living my single life differently I wouldn't feel quite as icky about it (though I probably still would) - like if I had my own place, or different things going on, etc. But what I wrote is what I wrote and there it shall be. FOREVER.

As an aside to everything, before I get into something else -
More and more, people don't seem to realize that the word is "voila." Not "walla," or "walah," or "waalah" or however else they try to spell it. I don't understand. But then I still don't understand the increasingly widespread use of "awe" when people are trying to say "awww." They mean different things. (Like "apart" and "a part." Except in that case they mean pretty much the opposite. This is what happens in a world where "literally" can mean "figuratively.") People just don't care anymore. They don't take the time to learn, or don't even know somehow that they need to learn. What do people learn in schools nowadays? How did I ever learn this stuff? I don't get it. I *literally* do not understand.

Anyway. Despite my jerky grammar curmudgeonliness, Jesus still loves me. And that's what this is about today because yesterday was pathetic and whiny (though I'm not going to try to dismiss my feelings as wrong or insignificant because they're real and even though my cross might not seem heavy to you it's heavy to me though I know it could easily be heavier but still let's just agree that crosses are sucky things to carry and move on with our lives because no matter how heavy they are, Jesus is inexplicably there which is at times both comforting and annoying because if he's right HERE then why can't he just TAKE IT AWAY and I can stop bugging him but that's not how either he or life works).

Back to the point. Jesus loves me. Now, despite being a life-long Catholic and generally at least a moderately ok follower of Jesus (nowhere near perfect, but not, you know, murdering people), I haven't had a lot of moments in life where I've really heard Jesus or felt any kind of direction from him. I blame this mostly on myself and my lack of attuning myself to hear him and listen well to him, but it's still annoying a lot of the time, especially because I try, though sometimes I get the feeling my version of "trying" is continually trying to walk through the same brick wall that somehow just won't ever budge, and all I need is to ask someone to help guide me a bit to figure out where the door - or at least a window - is where I can get closer to or at least hear Jesus better. Spiritual direction, I've heard, is really helpful in this. I'm working on that, too, but they're hard to find. I did, however, recently have the experience of going to confession and getting a penance of reading two verses from Isaiah (49:15-16). I went home and read them and they've been ones I keep going back to lately because they are great for me right now.

Can a woman forget her nursing child,
    or show no compassion for the child of her womb?
Even these may forget,
    yet I will not forget you.
See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands;
    your walls are continually before me.

Anyway, I just really like those lines, and also the referenced verses that come up with it (Isaiah 43: 4; 44:21; and 46:3-4). Isaiah is such my jam sometimes.

Snowcovered mountain ranges against blue skies:

A clear sign of God's love

The few times I have had unmistakable "messages from God" or whatever have, interestingly(?) (no) all been during adoration. And two of the three biggest ones have been told to me by others. Firstly, we have a retreat I went on in high school. It was me, my youth minister at the time, and another high schooler in the group (a guy), the two of us high schoolers having been chosen to accompany our youth minster due to our abilities to be awesome peer ministers to the rest of the teens in our church group. We went on a retreat with a church from Littleton that had a very successful youth group (and whose youth minister at the time, I only just realized a month or two ago after seeing him on one of the Symbolon videos, was Jim Beckman. Well, I'm like...97% sure. It was like 15 years ago and it was only one weekend, so I could be wrong), in an attempt to see what we could do to make ours stronger. Anyway. They had adoration on one of the nights, as these things typically go, and at one point during it someone (I think one of the adult helpers?) came over to me and told me that Jesus wanted her to tell me to rest in her heart. Something along those lines. A pretty simple, not earth-shattering message, not the meaning of life or anything (OR IS IT?), but just one of love and of his desire for me to trust in him. It was pretty cool, especially for high schooler me.

Fast forward a lot of years, to last year. It was after the Mass of the Last Supper on Holy Thursday, which was a week and a half before my surgery. I was praying in front of the tabernacle where Jesus had been taken before he would be taken away until the Easter Vigil, I think I was praying the rosary at this particular moment, and was either semi-crying or just generally more emotional than normal-me. There were a few other people around me also praying in front of the tabernacle. One of them was a teenage girl I see at Mass every week - her family's pretty involved in stuff at the church, and she and at least some of her siblings help serve at Mass sometimes. At one point she came over to me, said, "Excuse me, but Jesus wants me to tell you that you're precious to him." Precious. I mean, how do you even respond to that? What an amazing message to hear. She obviously couldn't have known my situation at the time, what was on my mind, how I was feeling, but Jesus did. He knows I'm sometimes really bad at hearing him, so he spoke through her that night. How can I ever doubt him?

The last one was more recent, and less...concrete. It was the retreat I went on back in February. There were several moments, and a lot of things just overarching the whole weekend, but basically I was left in no uncertain terms the fact that Jesus loves me. Even though my life feels untethered and unsettled, God absolutely loves me. It's easy for me to forget that, or put caveats on it because I don't feel as "blessed" as others (ohhhhh, my pet peeve of people only attributing that word to the good things in their lives), but boy howdy, much as it's painful my life right now isn't waiting for God's plan, it *is* part of God's plan. I mean, maybe not perfectly part of it because I'm me and bad at listening to him, but some things are things we just have to trust in and rely on God for. Not much we can do about it. So for whatever reason this time of waiting is something God wants for me in his perfect love for me. I'm sure he has changes he'd like me to make in my life and in myself, but I don't think he's withholding this dangling cookie (much better motivator for me than a carrot) that is my heart's desire in front of me just for fun, or just waiting for me to say the perfect prayer or do the perfect thing or go to the perfect event before he'll finally give it to me. That's not quite how it works. I'm pretty sure.

Anyway, back to the weekend, I just had a lot of peace about God's love for me. No revelations, no discernment answers, but a lot of resting in the knowledge that I'm loved infinitely by a God who thought I was good enough and necessary enough to create me and put me in this world. Why? Who knows. Well, he knows. And I have to trust that. (Spoiler alert: I'm terrible at this.) I had a lot of really good things during the weekend, starting with waking up early Saturday morning (made easier by going to bed at a reasonable hour Friday night, which was also a bonus because I was supposed to have a roommate but she ended up going home to sleep both nights) so that I would be to be able to go to confession as soon as the priest was hearing them, before morning prayer and breakfast, and bonus, he's one of those priests that's a really great confessor and loves to hear confessions and help people find that peace, so that was cool. Then there was the fact that the retreat was a semi-silent retreat which meant not feeling like I had to small talk with people from the Friday night portion until dinner Saturday night. The talks were great, I felt an overwhelming sense of Jesus's love for me (I can't remember exactly why or how or what happened Saturday afternoon but there was something), and then Saturday night we had this really spectacular adoration thing. Adoration was going on a lot of the day, if I remember correctly, and had Mass both Friday night and Saturday morning by that point so it wasn't the first Eucharistic moment of the retreat, but for this portion we were in the main church instead of the retreat house, and the monstrance they have at that church is...massive. Several feet tall, and the Eucharist used in it had to have been maybe not a foot in diameter, but multiple inches. Like, this is a Jesus you can't miss. Anyway. We had some prayer time, and it was great, and then the priest did something I had only seen once before, at a parish mission at my parents' church back in January that was centered on the Eucharist - he took the monstrance in his (covered) hands and came down to us who were kneeling in front of the altar, and one by one went to each of us, holding Jesus directly in front of us, allowing us to touch his cloak as the hemorrhaging woman did. The whole experience was very powerful and I - who am not (generally, the last year excepted) prone to tears - was overcome during this whole time, and cried a lot. Not out of sadness, which was a nice change, but not exactly out of happiness either. I guess it was out of love, and of being loved? I'm still not sure. It was nice, though.

Anyway. The whole weekend was great, and a lot of it involved sitting in front of Jesus in the Eucharist which, really, how can you get better than that? But I came out of it with a deeper sense than I'd ever had before of God's love for me. It's one thing to know it intellectually, which I always have, but it's quite another to feel it to the very depths of your soul. Both are necessary, but having the latter take over once in a while is a really nice change for me. The weekend showed me that, hate it though I might, this life in all its pain and messiness and unpleasantness and unhappiness (and joys, and all the good stuff that comes my way) is God's gift to me. This life is what he wants for me, and he will bring good out of it in one way or another. Maybe not the good I want, maybe not the way I expect, but my life goal isn't and shouldn't be those desires I have (however good they might be!). Ultimately, the goal of all of us is and should be to become saints. To be in heaven with God. To grow continually closer to him while we're here on earth. And, ideally, to help others grow in that relationship, too. He has different purposes for each of us, and while some of us reach our goals by the time we're 27, whatever those goals might be, others of us have to wait longer. Maybe even wait our whole lives. But God's with us in that waiting and pain and disappointment. It's not that he wants us to be unhappy, but our ultimate happiness is somehow made more and made better by temporary unhappiness here. I'm not going to pretend it makes sense to me, but God is so much bigger than I could ever comprehend so it's probably better just to trust him. And, like I said, I'm terrible at it. (Case in point: I got back from the retreat feeling just plain wonderful. It lasted all of maybe two full days, if that, and then whoo boy did I crash hard. The objective intellectual knowledge of God was still there but the feelings side? Not so much. But having the one helps when the other's lacking a bit, so at least there was that. Anyway.

It's easy for me to type these things out and, like I said, know them to be true, but I'm still a whiny child more often than not, crying about what I don't have that I want. God has a lot left to teach me. But I know, without a doubt in my mind, that he does love me, and he loves to delight me. Maybe it hasn't been with big things like he gives other people, but he delights me a lot with little things I know are from him. And that has to be ok, because he's not required to give me anything at all. As a gifts person, sometimes I think that a thousand tiny gifts can be better than one huge gift. I mean. I still want the huge gift. But constant little reminders are pretty fantastic, especially if I keep my focus on that and not the big thing I see God's giving that person over there and that one over there and so on and so forth. (Spoiler alert: I'm really bad at keeping my focus where it needs to be.)

My pup with a snow-nose: God clearly loves me

and loves making me laugh at this pup of mine

whom I love a whole lot too.

Well, this has gone on long enough. tl;dr Jesus loves me a whole heck of a lot. (He loves you a whole heck of a lot, too.)

One Year Gone

It's sort of hard to believe it's been a year since my surgery. I still remember so many things about that day so clearly (even the things I didn't remember clearly, like the time I spent in post-op - where I was barely coherent, but stubbornly told them I was "nauseated" rather than "nauseous" because even all anesthesia'd up I knew and insisted on using the proper yet more awkward word - before they brought me to the recovery area where I spent several more hours struggling to stay awake for even five minutes at a time), including how unbelievably awful it feels to throw up hours after you've had surgery on and in your abdomen. Do not recommend. I don't remember what I wore yesterday, but I remember that day (both what I wore, including but not limited to the hospital gown, and in general).

I feel silly mentioning this, just like I feel silly that it still affects me as much as it does (especially since I don't think many people understand why it is/was such a big deal to me once it wasn't cancer, and they could stop worrying about it). Today is one year since my surgery, one year since finding out I don't have cancer (well, not that one, anyway) - yay - but, surprise, I do have endometriosis - big boo. I know it's not really comparable, but it's still a tough thing to hear, especially given the fact that I now only have one ovary on top of having endometriosis. If I didn't care about having kids it probably wouldn't bother me in the slightest (despite having a rather bad case of it, I never really had the debilitating pain that's often associated with endometriosis which is good because debilitating pain is bad, but it's bad because it means it got to fester in there for years without me knowing and being able to intervene sooner). Given that the one thing in life I've always wanted is to be a wife and mom, though, it's a tough pill to swallow, no matter how many people and doctors tell me it doesn't mean I can't have kids. It's hard enough as a 30-something who's still as single as...something that's really single (an amoeba? Voldemort? the pope? haha), what with the ever-present biological clock and my long-held desire to have a big family (which, ps, being unwantedly single sucks and I have yet to reach that contentment stage people keep talking about which will apparently be the key to finding a husband), but throw in the fact that I'm down half of whatever remaining eggs I had, plus the fact that I have a disease with no real cure, which can cause infertility, and, you know, it sucks. I stress about food constantly because diet is one way to control endometriosis, theoretically, but I also have terrible self-control when it comes to food, so I'll eat things I "shouldn't" and feel enormous guilt that I've just signed the death warrant on my remaining ovary. (Don't worry, I know this is unhealthy and unhelpful and I am seeing a counselor.)

Anyway. Last year before my surgery I had a lot of "trust in God" stuff going on (mostly in regards to the cancer possibility), knowing that I couldn't do anything about the outcome and what would happen would happen, but also figuring that at least once the surgery was done there would be some resolution that would make things easier. Like, either my reproductive system would be ok, though more likely than not still down an ovary, and I could go on my merry way just worrying about still being single as I had been, or I would have cancer which would quite possibly put an end to the whole possibility of having my own kids, if I ever even get married. The result, though, was...not quite that simple. It's requiring a different, more long-term kind of yes that I haven't yet fully been able to give - a "yes, Jesus, I trust that you have a plan and I really can't control whether or not I'm going to get married or have kids, my own biological kids or otherwise, and I can't do much about having this disease other than the very little bit I can do and trust that the rest is in your hands and you're going to do what you will with it all." I guess our yesses are always more or less long-term things, and our fertility is never guaranteed or something we really have a whole lot of control over anyway (despite what we may think or try to believe or attempt to make science do). And, I mean, this isn't to say my situation is harder than having cancer. Obviously. That would have really sucked, a lot, to say the very least, and I'm not trying to make light of it. Of course I'm grateful for the non-cancer.

Before my surgery (immediately before, in the month before, and really in the, like, 30 years before) I was realizing how bad I am at trusting God. I mean, pretty spectacularly horrible. You would think that I would have gotten better at it afterward, but I think if anything I've only gotten worse. I have a lot of fear about things. Fear every pain is a death knell of my reproductive system. Fear I'll get another cyst and again won't know it until it's too late. Fear I'll never get married. Fear I'm supposed to join religious life and am not really open to that despite saying I kind of am even though I've never felt much of a desire for it but fear that I'm just not letting myself feel that desire. Fear I'll just have more endo should I ever be in a position to try to have babies. Fear I won't even be able to try (due to lack of husband or lack of ovaries). Fear I won't have anything of the life I've always dreamed. It's...rough. It's really a terrible way to live, yet I still can't seem to let go of those fears, or the dreams I've always had.

(I know getting married, or having kids, if either of those things are in God's plan, won't solve my life or magically transform it to a field of butterflies and rainbows, so put that one back in your pocket. I know marriage is hard. I know kids are hard. Jesus promised us that life is guaranteed a cross of one kind or another, so there's no escaping that. The cross of no vocation sucks, though.)

And it feels like such a lonely place to be. Moms have other moms to lean on with their struggles, as they've usually been there in some way or another. Single people can, to an extent, do that, but it's different. And then there's the fact that generally "Catholic woman" equates to "at least wife if not mother" in a lot of circles, which tends to be very isolating to those of us who are neither wife nor mother and yet long to be, so sometimes Catholic women groups/talks/retreats are the worst places to turn. It's painful, but a lot of the time I feel like I can't talk about it because it sounds more like something to be pitied than empathized with. And I guess to an extent I feel like a lot of people assume single people are single through faults of their own (whether because they just don't want to get married, or they're not doing the right things to find "the one," or they're obviously undateable for one reason or another). (Pray for single people. We don't have a lot of people praying for us in general.)

I feel like there were some big lessons God was trying to teach me through this experience, and still is, and I'm just missing them all in my cloud of fear and anxiety and control-grippiness. I know he won't stop, though, because I know that somehow, even if all my fears are realized, he's still with me and he still loves me mysteriously and enormously and crazily. And he still loves me even though it's been a really, really rough year (and, seriously, I have shed more tears in the last year than probably my whole previously life combined. Maybe an exaggeration but also maybe not. It's hard to tell, since unlike Hermione I rarely carry around vials in which to store my tears. Also they probably don't have memory powers so what would be the point), and I keep rejecting gifts he's probably definitely trying to give me, and I'm basically doing a pretty poor job of being the person he wants me to be. But either he'll give me lots more years to do better, or he won't, and I'll just have to rely on his mercy and the fact that I'm trying albeit badly and begrudgingly and "God, you wouldn't have to hear me whinge so often if you'd just listen to me and do what I want"ly.

Small (but significant to me) proof of his love, from this past weekend:

The workshop I signed up to go to this past weekend and definitely did not want to go to by the time Friday night rolled around ended up being really great (of course) and I got to hear a great speaker (Fr. Timothy Gallagher, who also signed the copy of one of his books I bought which I felt weird about but other people were doing and why the heck not) who, very inexplicably charmingly, kept using the word "reverently" ("now, very reverently, we've all had this experience, correct?" - I don't know why but it was just very soothing, or pleasant somehow), and I learned lots more about discernment of spirits and with that in mind I should probably rewrite a good chunk of this because some of the phrases I've used are ones that the enemy likes to make us think about ourselves...but maybe joke's on him because I know that, really, they aren't true, even though sometimes they feel true...? Anyway, the weekend was great, I actually talked to people (because during lunch the first day, as I was sitting there by myself, a girl I vaguely recognized but couldn't place until she said had been at the retreat I went on in February came over and asked if I wanted to join her and a few of the other young adults who were there and were eating lunch together, and what every introvert needs is an extrovert to invite them into the group), and I spent Saturday night with my friend and former roommate who now lives in Evergreen (#lifegoals if Estes Park or another mountain town doesn't ever happen), and not only that but she lives next door to a herd of buffalo. A few of which are white. And because it's Evergreen I saw lots of elk, which I so much miss seeing on the regular like I did when I was working at FOCUS, and it was just a delightful experience all around. So Jesus loves me, this I know, for this is a much better way to end this blog than talking about my dumb (but sadly still very real) fears.

Pray for me?

(I know I have a lot of issues. I'm working on it. Trying to, anyway. If I can just remember and believe and know above all else that Jesus loves me, then I hope I won't be too lost, at least.)