Red Hornet (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} redhornet) wrote,@ 2006-06-06 14:58:00 |
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RedHornet’s 23 Days of Bliss: Days 1-4
June 3-6, 2006
-had a session with the Astrologer
-made great bread
-received an e-mail from The Cougar with Thom Yorke’s solo album embedded in it
-saw The Puffy Chair at The Lumiere (great flick!)
-had a leisurely breakfast at the Grove where a very handsome writerly gentleman helped me with my coat
-got a manicure and painted my nails with the fieriest red in the salon.
-await Bruce concert #9 (tonight!)
I am on vacation, and never have I needed one so badly. My triple-threat year started off well in late April with my love-fest birthday party, and it was a love fest—joy and warmth and friends and creativity and no stress. May, though, was a story slipping and sliding so far down that by the end of the month I was experiencing the kind of desolation and despair that I hadn’t felt since, well, high school. I’ve had a turbulent past four years filled with very adult and grown-up problems leaving me exhausted and emotionally drained, yes, but these feelings were different, very adolescent. Time to call in reinforcements.
I made a promise to myself six months ago that I’d take time to address all of the medical issues that I have been putting off for ten years, far too long, given that I’m gimpy, but I’ve kept the promise and over this time, I’ve been to at least ten different medical appointments. A draining feat in itself, as any woman might attest.
I saved the snatch doctor for last, as any woman might. But for me, the depth of emotional baggage associated with a trip to my nether-region is so far reaching that well, I won’t be gratuitous except to say that up until a month ago I’d never had a successful exam and this one had to be done in the operating room under anesthesia.
Except for the time it took to push the anesthesia out of my body (this is the reason I’ve never gotten into recreational drugs, the memories associated with anesthesia are recreation enough), the hospital experience was fine, CPMC is the spa of hospitals—oh what luxury one can have when one has a 90% coverage PPO. The follow-up, though, this is when it hit me.
Two weeks ago I took the day off to the gynecologist and then to the UCSF brace and prosthetics lab. To get the report of the former out of the way, the UCSF trip was a bust and they have to redo my orthotics, six more weeks of waiting, weighted even heaver by what had happened that morning.
The good news, the gynecologist said, is that everything is structured appropriately anatomically and I’m healthy, no cancer or cysts. The bad news I was expecting but not quite to this degree. The bad news—my physical spasticity is so bad that even with me under anesthesia she could barely do what she needed to. We talked about the risks of my carrying children, too. Suffice it to say, none of this did anything for my sexual confidence.
I am a sexual person, and a champion of alternatives. I was expecting to need to take time to work through the emotional impact of the experience. But I wasn’t expecting the return of the pangs of my adolescence, pangs that I thought I’d worked through, pangs that were so familiar and so sophomoric—how am I going to deal with this and who will ever want to deal with these issues with me, and the ultimate taboo for a fairy-tale hopeful like me—what if he isn’t out there? What if he isn’t out there and I’m doomed to beautiful friendships for the rest of my life. This was my depressed reality at the end of May. Right before I called in The Astrologer.
I relayed the heavy tale above to her and she, like the true superheroine that she is said never fear, what you are feeling is normal; Pluto has been creeping through your house of health and body for twenty years, where Pluto is, this where life-growth must focus, and over the next six months, Pluto is making it’s final exodus from the house health and body and into the house of love and marriage. It is normal during the transition, she said, for Pluto to test you by letting you know where he began, to make sure your lessons are learned. These teenaged feelings will pass, she said, with the help of your wild Sagittarian moon and all the fire energy you can muster.
Maybe Bruce will play a hootenanny version of “I’m on Fire” tonight.
June 3-6, 2006
-had a session with the Astrologer
-made great bread
-received an e-mail from The Cougar with Thom Yorke’s solo album embedded in it
-saw The Puffy Chair at The Lumiere (great flick!)
-had a leisurely breakfast at the Grove where a very handsome writerly gentleman helped me with my coat
-got a manicure and painted my nails with the fieriest red in the salon.
-await Bruce concert #9 (tonight!)
I am on vacation, and never have I needed one so badly. My triple-threat year started off well in late April with my love-fest birthday party, and it was a love fest—joy and warmth and friends and creativity and no stress. May, though, was a story slipping and sliding so far down that by the end of the month I was experiencing the kind of desolation and despair that I hadn’t felt since, well, high school. I’ve had a turbulent past four years filled with very adult and grown-up problems leaving me exhausted and emotionally drained, yes, but these feelings were different, very adolescent. Time to call in reinforcements.
I made a promise to myself six months ago that I’d take time to address all of the medical issues that I have been putting off for ten years, far too long, given that I’m gimpy, but I’ve kept the promise and over this time, I’ve been to at least ten different medical appointments. A draining feat in itself, as any woman might attest.
I saved the snatch doctor for last, as any woman might. But for me, the depth of emotional baggage associated with a trip to my nether-region is so far reaching that well, I won’t be gratuitous except to say that up until a month ago I’d never had a successful exam and this one had to be done in the operating room under anesthesia.
Except for the time it took to push the anesthesia out of my body (this is the reason I’ve never gotten into recreational drugs, the memories associated with anesthesia are recreation enough), the hospital experience was fine, CPMC is the spa of hospitals—oh what luxury one can have when one has a 90% coverage PPO. The follow-up, though, this is when it hit me.
Two weeks ago I took the day off to the gynecologist and then to the UCSF brace and prosthetics lab. To get the report of the former out of the way, the UCSF trip was a bust and they have to redo my orthotics, six more weeks of waiting, weighted even heaver by what had happened that morning.
The good news, the gynecologist said, is that everything is structured appropriately anatomically and I’m healthy, no cancer or cysts. The bad news I was expecting but not quite to this degree. The bad news—my physical spasticity is so bad that even with me under anesthesia she could barely do what she needed to. We talked about the risks of my carrying children, too. Suffice it to say, none of this did anything for my sexual confidence.
I am a sexual person, and a champion of alternatives. I was expecting to need to take time to work through the emotional impact of the experience. But I wasn’t expecting the return of the pangs of my adolescence, pangs that I thought I’d worked through, pangs that were so familiar and so sophomoric—how am I going to deal with this and who will ever want to deal with these issues with me, and the ultimate taboo for a fairy-tale hopeful like me—what if he isn’t out there? What if he isn’t out there and I’m doomed to beautiful friendships for the rest of my life. This was my depressed reality at the end of May. Right before I called in The Astrologer.
I relayed the heavy tale above to her and she, like the true superheroine that she is said never fear, what you are feeling is normal; Pluto has been creeping through your house of health and body for twenty years, where Pluto is, this where life-growth must focus, and over the next six months, Pluto is making it’s final exodus from the house health and body and into the house of love and marriage. It is normal during the transition, she said, for Pluto to test you by letting you know where he began, to make sure your lessons are learned. These teenaged feelings will pass, she said, with the help of your wild Sagittarian moon and all the fire energy you can muster.
Maybe Bruce will play a hootenanny version of “I’m on Fire” tonight.
