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June 20, 2011 / Mettā Reiki Center

Week one through four…

April 29, 2011.  “Week One.”  Which is a ridiculous observation, because you’re not even pregnant during “week one”.  That’s the week that you fantasize about having a nice cup of coffee with Eve and then dumping the hot coffee down the heifer’s shirt and screaming, “THAT’s for water retention, bitch!  Apples are NOT that good!”

Fortunately for me, the water retention would be well out of the way before I went on a weekend getaway to Charleston with Lion King.  With “Week One” out of the way, Lion King and I set out for Charleston on May 13th.

For those of you who are keeping track, yes, that would be the beginning of that all important “Week Three”.  We were far from concerned.  You see, 14 years ago, Lion King was neutered (what non-feline types call a “vasectomy”).  Five years ago, I had been told by more than one doctor that there would be no way I could get pregnant because of the autoimmune problems I had been struggling with since my divorce.  But there were two other factors that we had not considered as we threw caution to the wind and took what the doctors told us as fact:

Number one: vasectomies performed more than 10 years ago were not done with cauterization.  In other words, the tubes were “tied not fried” (as medical professionals love to joke in break rooms).  Failure rates were…well, pretty damn impressive.

Number two:  the doctors that treated me didn’t bank on me deciding to flip the bird at their medical opinion, lose about 112 pounds and all but reverse the autoimmune problems my body had dealt with for so many years.  I figured, once barren, always barren, right?

Hehheh… :/

It was a beautiful weekend in Charleston – perfect weather, perfect company.  The only bad part was having to leave.  On the night of May 13th, we stood on the beach in the Isle of Palms and, after making sure Lion King’s eyes were closed, I gave him a set of Gaelic “promise rings” with necklaces.  The inscription read, “Mo Anam Cara”, or “My Soul Mate”.

Later as we thought back, when we were asked when we thought “IT” happened, we had to shrug our shoulders and giggle when we told the doctors, “um…pick a day?”  But we both knew, after the shock lifted, that with all of the reasons we had been given why we could not have a child, that was the one night that had enough magic to make the impossible, possible.

Fast forward to June 2, 2011.  A couple of things are happening here.  I’m on call.  And this is the first night that Lion King and I will not see each other since, oh, March.  He’s at a concert with his daughter and I’m using the evening to make some extra coin working from home.  I set up my computer, my phone, my binder for work; I’m ready to rock and roll.  I stand up from my kitchen table/desk to grab a Diet Coke – and the room spins. And spins. And spins.  The cold sweat starts and I’m pretty darn sure there’s a good chance I’m going to lose my lunch and quite possibly my breakfast.  The rest of that evening is spent sitting on my couch with a pillow around my head, praying to God that I don’t throw up when the on-call phone rings and a patient needs help.  Finally, around 10:30pm, the waves of nausea subside and I’m hoping that this little tummy bug has left.

Friday, June 3rd.  The alarm goes off at 4:30am.  At 4:31, I find out pretty damn quick that the stomach bug has settled in quite nicely.  I say I fervent prayer to the porcelain gods and drag my exhausted ass to the car to go to work.

As was my habit, I called Lion King from the car on the way to work.  He sounded exhausted, and I figured he was tired from a fun evening at the concert.  I find out that isn’t necessarily the case – his stepdaughter in New Jersey was going in for emergency heart surgery, and his ex-wife was leaving to be with her. That day.

Oh, okay, no problem.  We’ll have the kids over at my place, play video games and eat pizza.  We’ll be fine.

Except this one thing…the kids want to stay at their house.  It is also important to note that this is the ex-wife’s house.  Where she lives with “the other man”.  And the kids want Lion King to stay with them at the ex-wife’s house.

And the world starts to spin…again.  Except that I’m driving in rush hour traffic.

Needless to say, I’m not exactly thrilled with this arrangement (except the one infinitesimal bit of relief that Lion King won’t see me acting like a runway model with my newly found affinity for barfing up everything that goes in  my piehole).  This is probably the closest to a disagreement that Lion King and I have had up to that point or since then.  I gulp back as much of the tears as I can, try to be a grown up, tell Lion King I love him, hang up my phone in the hospital parking deck, open the door to my car, and puke.

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