I'll be able to say "I knew her when..."

I've never tried to embed a YouTube video before, but I actually met this chick face-to-face recently, and man, is she awesome. She's from the Netherlands, and her name is Caroline van der Leeuw, but she goes by Caro.



I lived in the Netherlands for a year and half during my undergrad studies -- have I mentioned that before? I can't remember -- and Caro's best friend is one of Aphrodite's grad school classmates. She (Caro) was here for a visit recently, and word got around that I speak fluent Dutch (*ahem* Aphrodite...), so she got curious ("Why the hell would anyone want to learn Dutch?!") and wanted to meet me. So we all met up at a bar a couple of weeks ago and had a great time. This is her first single, and first video... and I am super impressed. Take a peek!

I know I'm being kind of quiet for these last few weeks of the semester -- I am absolutely buried in work, not to mention my parents are coming to visit for Thanksgiving -- but I'll be back soon.

The Audacity of Hope

I'm a week late with this post, but I know it's one I'll look back fondly on in twenty years, so I'm making the effort. Those who are sick of hearing all the rhetoric about Obama: stop reading now. I'm agnostic, but this post is going to border on religious fervor, because recent events have awakened emotions in me that I have rarely, if ever, experienced.

One week ago today, Barack Hussein Obama -- a young father, a black man, a Democrat, a visionary -- was elected President of the United States.

Aphrodite and I were two of the millions who reported spontaneously bursting into tears -- not only during his acceptance speech, but whenever we read a news article or saw a TV spot about him over the next 24 hours. Eight years of tension, shame, and mistrust were over -- actually finally fucking over, and ended by the most incredible, transformational figure we could have dreamed of! For the first time in our adult consciousness (we were only 16 when Bush was elected the first time), we had voted for -- and succeeded in getting -- a leader that we trusted. Not only that, but the entire world, from Australia to Kenya, was proud of us in a way that I had never experienced. The world sympathized with us after 9/11 -- supported us, encouraged us -- but the last time all those countries were proud of us, feeling uplifted by us, looking to us for inspiration? I can't remember such a day.

9/11 sparked a unifying of the American people themselves, too -- but it was largely an outpouring of defiant nationalism sparked by shock and fear. Inspiring, yes, but for the wrong reasons. Barack Obama winning the 2008 elections has sparked a similar feeling of unity -- this time, for all the right reasons.

I can remember being a college junior during Obama's DNC speech in 2004, sitting in front of my computer in my tiny apartment bedroom, feeling the hair stand up on my neck as Obama gave his speech. I knew at that moment, as did so many others, that he was something special; I had the overwhelming sense, "That man is what we need!!!" I spent the next four years hoping beyond hope, in the back of my mind, that he would someday be our president, never believing it would actually happen. When he announced his bid, I couldn't believe it. Something I wanted, actually coming true on a national stage?! When he beat Hillary -- though I felt a definite fondness for her, too -- my hopes rose even higher. And on November 4th, they reached a towering crescendo... finally cresting and crashing upon the beach of relief and euphoria. President Obama. President Obama!

The disconcerting -- and, at the same time, reassuring -- thing is this: I trust Barack Obama. I do not simply follow him for lack of any other choice, hoping for the best; I truly trust him to take care of us all, and help us to the best of his ability. If there is something he wants, I trust that he knows best in the long run. If there is something he cannot or will not do, I trust that he has a good reason. I trust that he has my best interests -- and Aphrodite's, and my parents', and my downstairs neighbors' -- at heart as he sits in the Oval Office. I trust that he is honest and genuine in what he says to us: "I will not be a perfect president, but I can promise you... I will always tell you what I think and where I stand." Something about him goes beyond charisma for me -- something unexplainable. I honestly think I would trust him with my life, and I am not a person who says such a thing lightly.

Not only do I trust the words he has said, I trust the ones he hasn't. It has not escaped my attention that three same-sex marriage bans were passed last week by the same American people who voted this incredible man into office. I trust that if Obama has the power to change things for us, to lead the next civil rights battle after finally shattering the ultimate racial barrier, that he will.

I don't believe he has all the answers -- but I believe he knows where to look to find them. I believe he knows how to strike a compromise between dissenting parties. And I believe he possesses the ability to talk to people in a way that they can understand, without being condescending, even if they don't agree. He is exactly what we need at this dark hour.

He is going to change our country, and our people, for the better.

I can't wait to watch him work.

26.2 miles really is a long way...

So yesterday I ran the 33rd annual Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C. I ran a half marathon in January 2007, and did a half Ironman in September 2007 (of which the run portion is equivalent to a half marathon), but had never done a full marathon before, so this was a first for me. One more thing I can cross off the Life List! :)

We got to D.C. on Friday, did a little sightseeing on Saturday, and Sunday was race day! I woke up to a temperature of 47 degrees. I had chopped the arms off an old, Goodwill-bound shirt to use as temporary arm warmers until the sun came out, and that proved to be a good idea. I was still pretty chilly, but since the day warmed up to nearly 70, it was definitely the right decision to be cold for a little while rather than hot for nearly the entire race (as I would have been had I run in long sleeves or long pants, as many did).

As it happened, I wasn't cold for very long, because the first adrenaline rush of the morning happened quickly. Walking from the Metro station to the staging area (in an enormous crowd of people), we heard the national anthem being sung. "Oh, yeah, they were going to do that at, like, 7:30," someone said. A few minutes later, we heard a gun go off. "That's the wheelchair start," someone else said. We all kept meandering along until we reached the staging area, and I got in line at the first Porta-Potty I came to. I hadn't been standing there for more than two minutes when... fireworks went off, there was a huge cheer, and the announcer bellowed, "And we have begun the 33rd annual Marine Corps Marathon!"

Only then did I realize that everyone standing around me was competing in the 10k, not the marathon! "Are you kidding me? Why am I still standing here?!" I yelped, and took off toward where I presumed the starting line to be. Luckily, there were quite a few empty Porta-Potties in that direction, and I was able to make use of one before continuing my mad dash, asking everyone I came to if I was going the right way. I knew it would take at least ten minutes to get everyone across the starting line, so I wasn't too worried, but I was definitely glad that I'd done all my obsessive preparations (putting my chip on my shoe, pinning my number to my shirt, etc.) the night before!

I reached the crush of people at the start corral just a couple of minutes before the back of the pack crossed over the line. The first couple of miles were easy and jocular, everyone bantering back and forth, marveling over the man who was juggling as he ran and the older, wheelchair-bound man who alternately slowed down and sped up as we all proceeded up and down the hills. (Although the course was, in general, very flat, there were a few rolling hills throughout the first 3-4 miles, as well as a couple more at the end.) I began the race with a girl my age named Amy, continued it with three older people (John, Lauren, and someone else), later met a nurse who was trying to go back to grad school at Penn State, and then ran the latter part on my own, once I put my headphones on.

The first part was very pretty; we crossed a bridge over the Potomac, with Georgetown University in sight on the other side, surrounded by orange and yellow trees. There was a light fog wrapping around the bell towers and tall buildings, looking like something out of a photograph. It was gorgeous, and everyone around me was commenting on it.

Everybody was taking frequent potty breaks in the bushes during the first part of the race, due to all the hydration we'd been doing. Around the five-mile mark, I joined a group of women in making a break for the trees, and when we were done, the change was dramatic. One minute I was running in a tightly packed group of people, all talking and laughing; when we emerged from the foliage a few seconds later, amid jokes about poison ivy, the group had thinned out considerably and there was a lot less talking going on. It was like going from the smiling "slow-but-fun" runners into the serious "this-is-really-gonna-hurt" runners. I was a little taken aback.

I ate my first pack of Sport Beans (like jelly beans, but with more carbs and electrolytes) around this time. I had 5 packs of them, plus two packs of Gu gel, so I decided to have a little snack every 4-5 miles or so. I was also carrying a water bottle, since the water stops were only every 2-3 miles (in contrast to a lot of other runs, where they have them at every mile marker), and that also proved to be a fantastic idea, since I could wash down my snacks and wet my whistle on my timetable, not the course's.

Although headphones had been officially banned from the race course, a lot of people were wearing them anyway. I had mine in the tiny pouch around my waist (along with my Beans, Gu, Advil, BodyGlide, debit card, ID, Metro pass, and toilet paper -- hey, you never know!) and as miles 6 and 7 rolled by, I was starting to feel like I'd definitely need to bust them out at some point. I was actually a little bored, which was something I hadn't really expected. I decided to wait until at least mile 10 for the headphones -- I knew they would help, but I also knew that once I put them on, I was (a) out of 'distraction' ideas, and (b) a lot more isolated from everyone around me, so I wanted to wait as long as I could.

One nice surprise came at mile 9, when I'd been searching for mile marker 8 for what seemed like forever and was worried that I was already slowing down to a glacial pace. I finally saw the marker up ahead -- and it said 9! Relieved that I wasn't as slow as I'd feared -- and that I was a mile farther than I'd thought -- I continued on.

This was the point when my legs started to hurt -- and not just in the 'running muscles' (hamstrings, calves). but up along the insides and outsides of my thighs too, as though my legs were frozen in position as they swung through the air. Everything was starting to 'lock up', and it was quite painful. If it were a 15k, or even a half marathon, I probably could have stuck it out, but I had 17 miles to go! I decided to stick it out until mile 10, and then take another potty break, eat some more Beans, and take some Advil!!!

I took care of all that business (noting as I did so that I'd run the first 10 miles in just a little over two hours, which, for me, was pretty great), and slowed my pace to alternating walking and very slow running until the Advil started to take effect. I was also noticing that every time I slowed from a run to a walk, something in my right thigh would twang! like a bowstring. It was more disconcerting than painful, but I was hoping the Advil would help. As it happened, it did; the twang! backed off to more of a nerve-conduction 'crackling' feeling, then stopped altogether near the end of the race (possibly because I got more and more careful about my 'downshifting' technique!) We were on a very pretty part of the course, running along the river in the park at Hanes Point.

Once the Advil had started to work noticeably -- around mile 11 -- I pulled out my iPod and cranked up my 'power song': Pat Benatar's "Invincible". That song came on during the last half-mile of my first half marathon, at Disney World, when Monique and I were pouring on the steam at the very end, running through Epcot past cheering crowds toward the finish line... and it has an incredible revitalizing effect on me. I only listen to it during races or very long runs, and even then, only when I really need that boost. Anyway, within just a few seconds, I was back to my normal 11-12-minute mile pace, passing people left and right. It didn't last long -- only until mile 14 or so -- but was certainly a nice boost (and reprieve from the mental and physical fatigue). Someone was passing out packets of Tylenol when we passed through a medical area, so I grabbed one and held onto it.

Around miles 14-16, we were passing through monuments -- the Lincoln Memorial (with people sitting on the steps cheering us on), the Washington Monument, and then the Capitol. Aphrodite had said she'd be somewhere around mile 16, and I was counting down ("Only three more miles until I see her!"), but when I got there, she wasn't there. I took a rather (ahem) prolonged Porta-Potty stop, and when I came out, the 6-hour pace group (holding a sign reading "6:00") was right in front of me. Their strategy was to run for 3 minutes, then walk for 1 minute, over and over and over. My original (loose) time goal was 5:45, and I decided that as long as I stayed in front of that group, I'd be happy. I wasn't in as much pain as before, but was starting to get a little miserable emotionally -- just sick of it all. I was relieved to finally see Aphrodite at mile 17 (and then again at mile 19); it gave me a real lift. Around this time, I calculated that it had been around 3 hours since the Advil, so I swallowed the Tylenol as well.

The last 6 miles were the worst. I did 'beat the bridge' by a wide margin (i.e. get through the bridge at the 21-mile mark before it was reopened to traffic, at which point any runners still needing to cross would have been forced to drop out) but the space between mile markers just seemed to get longer and longer. I stopped to pee again, and when I was through, the 6:00 group was way ahead of me; I finally caught up to them as we entered Crystal City, which was a very 'busy' area -- people everywhere, streets lined with red, yellow, blue, green, and purple flags, cowbells ringing, even a sign reading, "You're almost there -- have a beer!" with people handing out small Dixie cups. There was a lot to look at -- even some guy running in an enormous mascot outfit with a giant felt head -- but by that point I was so 'over it' that I wasn't even paying attention. I put on Pat Benatar again just for the distraction, to try to get a little cushion of space between me and the 6:00 group, because I knew that when I dropped back to walk, they'd catch up to me again.

Well, they did catch up again, somewhere between miles 24 and 25, and the woman leading the group said, "Only seven more intervals, guys! Twenty-five minutes, and we're done!" Those words did a lot to cheer me up -- no longer were we counting in miles, or even hours, but in minutes. I counted each time we sped up or slowed down (another woman was holding a stopwatch and would regularly yell, "Ten seconds... five... three, two, WALK.") -- six more intervals, five more, four more, three more. Finally, when the spectators along the side of the road began to holler, "Less than half a mile, you're almost there, less than a half mile!" I left the 6:00 group behind and decided I was just going to run straight for the finish.

We rounded the last curve, and there was a narrow path at a steep angle leading up to the path between the bleachers, which I gritted my teeth and got through at a just-barely-run (though not without thinking I was going to vomit once I got to the top), in the middle of a crush of people trying not to trample each other in their desperate enthusiasm. And there was the finish! The cameras were watching me, so I threw my arms in the air and screamed as loudly as I possibly could as I crossed the line. 26.2 miles, done! Time, 6 hours flat (6:00:15, if you want to get technical). Which proves that, though I may be pathetically slow, I am nothing if not consistent (my half marathon time in January 2007 was 3 hours flat).

Only then did I realize how incredibly tired my legs were. They were so sore that I could barely walk, tightening up more and more every minute. I knew I had to keep moving. I was limping, but not from the 'usual' pain in my heel -- indeed, I wasn't even really sure why I was limping, just that that was my body's most instinctive way of avoiding as much pain as it could. I walked through the chute, collecting a bottle of water and a Mylar blanket, heading toward a smiling Marine in camouflage. "Congratulations, ma'am," he said, slipping the medal over my head. (Honestly, if he hadn't ruined it by calling me 'ma'am', I'd probably have cried.)

A bag of snacks was shoved into my hand, and I made my slow and painful way toward the family linkup section to find Aphrodite. Along the way, I was given the official 'Finisher Coin', a tradition which once saved the life of an American Marine pilot during WWI; he was set to be executed as a traitor, but was able to use the coin to prove his identity as a member of the U.S. military. It's a triangular, red-and-gold coin; definitely framable.

Once in the linkup area, I borrowed a fellow runner's cell phone to call Aphrodite. It turned out that my electronic alerts (sent automatically to Aphrodite, my mom, and Aphrodite's mom via text message every time I crossed an electronic strip, every 5 kilometers) had stopped working somewhere around the 30k mark -- so nobody had heard from me since Aphrodite had last seen me at mile 19. Therefore, they all thought I was hurt or unable to run any farther, limping along somewhere. Worried, Aphrodite had started walking back down the course, hoping to encounter me; instead, she had missed me entirely (since I wasn't hurt at all, but moving along at exactly the same pace as before) and thus didn't see my finish, which was very upsetting to her after spending the whole day running after me trying to catch a glimpse. She made her way back to the linkup area, found me, handed me a bouquet of roses (aww...) and we joined the crowd cramming into the Metro for the ride back to the hotel.

So... that was my first marathon experience. Some lessons learned (carry a cell phone!), many successful techniques rewarded (carry water, use liberal amounts of BodyGlide, and definitely carry headphones!) If last year's half Ironman was a 10 in difficulty/pain, this was probably a 9... maybe an 8.5, if only because I never really doubted that I was capable of finishing it. Very hard, for sure, and definitely not my favorite distance (that would be the 15k or the half marathon)... but I'm not ruling out the possibility of doing another one someday. :) And the best news (to me) is that Aphrodite, who runs a lot but has never competed in a race, was so inspired by it all that she's going to do 'my' 15k race (the one I do every year) with me in 2009!

Blisters: 4
Calories burned: approximately 3200
Chafing: NONE (incredible!)
Pain today: hips, inner thighs, calves, shoulders
iPod songs played: 43
Swag accrued: medal, finisher coin, patch, long-sleeved shirt, numerous coupons and free samples
Experience: priceless!

Anyway, thanks for caring enough to read all the way to the end of this... hope you guys are all having a great Monday! (I'm home recuperating today... can barely move my legs, LOL!)

To "Anonymous"

Athena,

I stumbled upon your site a few months ago. I was scouring the internet for anything that could...who knows? normalize?...the crazy turn my life has taken in the past year.

My family has always been my rock. And then this wonderful relationship...came out of nowhere. And all of a sudden I became distant. My family would never approve. Their potential reactions, were they to know, plague my worst nightmares. I've struggled with not being able to tell my friends and family about this...and it makes me feel horribly distant in a way I've never experienced before.

I still can't get over the similarities between your story and mine. I really just wanted to drop a line. Let you know I have loved reading your posts and I really enjoy your writing.

I hope you are well and keep posting, but life is hectic so if you cannot blog, I wish you the best of luck.

To the person who posted the above: please feel free to email me if you're looking for a little long-distance support. (Invent a name if you aren't comfortable sharing your real one.) I have soooo been there, and I know almost everyone else reading this site has too. I feel honored to be able to provide even a tiny bit of the support you're looking for, and I wish you the very best of luck with everything.

Conflicted

Wow, it's been a long time. Sorry for falling off the map like that -- it's been a truly crazy summer.

Quick update before the real post:

(1) Aphrodite has started her master's degree and is having a great time,
(2) I'm in two online classes (Pathophysiology and Developmental Psychology), which are both very interesting and are potentially my last prerequisites for PA school,
(3) we're moving to a MUCH better apartment on October 31st,
(4) my grandfather has backslid a lot medically, and I've been given his (mostly new) car so we can sell my beloved Beetle so I can pay off my credit card debt,
(5) my little sister is getting married on October 4th,
(6) I'm contemplating a longish buzz cut (after the wedding),
(7) marathon training isn't going quite as well as I'd hoped, but I still think I'll finish the race, and
(8) I still want that ear spiral.

Anyway, I have a dilemma, and I'm hoping you guys can help -- or at least provide some sympathy. :)

We currently have 12 doctors at the pediatric practice where I work (five men, seven women), and each doctor has a more-or-less-regular nurse who is with them almost every day. Every doc has different preferences when it comes to how much (or how little) documentation they like the nurse to do, at what age they prefer to give the meningitis vaccine, how lenient they are with regard to what time their patients arrive, etc., so having a regular nurse for each doctor lets each nurse get used to the way her doctor likes things done and function accordingly. So the docs get to keep their preferences rather than adhering to a practice-wide policy, and each doctor-nurse team functions pretty efficiently.

When I first started work at the pediatric practice, I got 'bounced around' a lot from one doctor to another; they couldn't seem to decide where to put me. Then, finally, Dr. H (one of the younger male doctors) got fed up with the scatterbrained older nurse who had been assigned to him (but that's another story) and privately asked my boss if he could have somebody different. Next thing I knew, I was Dr. H's regular nurse.

And it has been fantastic. Dr. H hasn't been used to having a nurse that he can ask once and have a task be completed every time henceforth, so he was visibly relieved and thrilled to get me. He treats me with respect (doesn't go on a power trip like a couple of the other doctors) and thanks me profusely every evening for that day's work. When I noticed that I occasionally had to correct the immunizations he was ordering, I started checking each patient's vaccine records before he went into the room and attaching an electronic note to the chart documenting which shots the patient needed -- a practice that he loved and asked me to continue. His patient messages to me are signed with his first name. We discuss patients and parents, talk about our personal lives and what's happening with the election (he's a staunch Obama supporter, too), and swap jokes back and forth all day. And as he's gotten more comfortable with me, he's given me more responsibility, such as asking the preliminary questions on the infants (breast- or bottle-fed, how many hours of sleep, etc.) and calling patients back with test results. Better yet, he knows I'm trying to go to PA school, so every once in a while, he calls me into an exam room, hands me his stethoscope, and says, "Listen to his chest. This is classic pneumonia." And if he's discussing a patient's condition with another doctor ("The parents were like, 'oh, he was in so much pain before', but really, I didn't think pyloric stenosis was a painful condition -- I thought those kids just puked a lot, right?"), I know I'm welcome to ask what pyloric stenosis is and have both doctors turn around, smile, and educate me. I'm submitting my PA school applications in 8 months, and Dr. H's letter of recommendation will weigh heavily towards getting me into the school I want to go to. It's really an ideal situation.

But.

I don't think he approves of homosexuality.

We have a number of gay and lesbian parents who come to our practice (the moms of those twin girls I wrote about a few months ago, for example), and he is always kind and polite as can be, treating them no differently than any other patients. And he's politically liberal, so that gives me hope. But he has made a number of comments that have put me a bit on edge. For instance, I heard him use the word 'dyke' in conversation one day. And a mother brought her son last month with the last name Millert, or Millette, or something with M-L-T. Dr. H sidled up to me afterwards and said, "Nice family. But I think Mom's last name may have been Mullet before, if you know what I mean." What could I do but laugh along with him?

Same thing a few days ago, when an older teenage boy came in for a physical. "He's a bit odd, but not in a bad way. Maybe fabulous. I don't know for sure whether he's fabulous or not, but you'll get the 'fabulous' vibe off him." (As it happened, I did -- he even walked in with a purse.) But does that comment qualify as offensive, or not? I couldn't decide.

Most people at work don't know about Aphrodite -- only one of the receptionists, two of the doctors (at our accessory office, not the main one where I work), and two or three other nurses. I don't know for sure how far word has spread. But I do know that I don't want to become another of Dr. H's jokes. Partly because I genuinely like him and want him to think well of me -- but partly because, if I'm going to be his regular nurse for the next two years, he's the one who has to write me that glowing recommendation letter. If he wrote it tomorrow, he wouldn't be able to say enough good things about me. But if he knew about Aphrodite, I'd always wonder what he was really thinking, and if that would have an effect on his opinion of me. It's a risk I'm not willing to take. But at the same time, I want to be able to discuss my life with him, the way he does with me -- because I feel like he could be a lifelong contact, even a friend. My Developmental Psychology textbook talks about how people in their twenties usually find older mentors who help them shape certain aspects of their lives, and I think that's what Dr. H is becoming for me. I want to 'come clean' to him, so I can talk with the same open frankness that he does. I think about it every day. But at the same time, I don't want to put my future in jeopardy.

Do I maintain the 'distance' I've got going right now and not say a word, ever? Do I wait until he's written my letter (May 1, 2009) and then casually mention 'my girlfriend'? Or do I just take my chances now, before too much time has gone by? I really don't know what the right move is.

Thoughts?

Ear Spiral

So one of our good friends, R, had her grandfather pass away last week. She's had something of an erratic family life, and was very close to him. An old navy man, he was adorned with numerous tattoos, including, on his left forearm, the traditional red heart with a banner across it. (Since he didn't have a steady girl at the time, he had his own name tattooed in the banner.) R sat by his bedside for two weeks staring at that tattoo -- and finally decided that, in memory of him, she would get the same tattoo and have it read 'Papa'. Aphrodite and I went along for the ride -- neither of us had ever seen a tattoo done -- and enjoyed ourselves immensely. R loved the final product.

However, one of the mysteries of a tattoo parlor is that, even if you're just accompanying a friend, it always seems to make you consider getting something done yourself. (Or, at least, it did me and Aphrodite.) We'd both toyed with the tattoo idea for years, but have yet to find anything that clicks and makes us go, "YES!" So we held out, but at one point, I wandered over to the opposite side of the store, where they did their piercings. "What would you pierce?" I asked Aphrodite and R. They mentioned various possibilities -- eyebrows, noses -- but there was nothing that felt quite right to me there, either.

Then, suddenly, I remembered something from my freshman year of college. A classmate had had an ear spiral (top image, NOT the bottom one), and I stared at it every day for the entire semester, marveling at how cool it was -- unique without being trashy. I hadn't thought about it in years, but standing there, I knew that was what I wanted.

I've got to wait a while -- from the research I've done on the internet, cartilage piercings take a long time to heal and can easily get infected, so I want to wait until I'm done training for the marathon in October and don't have sweaty hair falling over fresh piercings every day -- but if I still want it by the time the race is over, I think I'm going to do it.

Anybody out there have any piercings or tattoos? Any good stories associated with them? I'd love to hear them!

Ignorance, again

Last week, a woman came into the office for her four-year-old son's kindergarten physical. I enjoyed them -- the child was friendly and engaging, the mother firm but good-natured. We went through the standard stuff (weight, height, blood pressure, vision screen, hearing screen) at a rapid pace. As I told him about the headphones he was going to wear for the hearing test, I said, "They're really cool -- they make you look like a pilot!"

"Ohhh, we've got to tell Jen-Mom that you wore pilot headphones!" his mom enthused.

Jen-Mom. I smiled, administered the hearing test, and, later, came back to give the boy his shots -- which he handled quite well. On their way out the door, I said, "See you later, guys!"

"Oh, we'll be back soon," the mom assured me. "Our twins are due this week."
"Oh, how wonderful! Boys or girls -- or one of each?" I smiled.
"Two girls," she beamed.
"Are they going to see Dr. Smith too?"
"Yep -- we have an appointment for next Wednesday."
"Fantastic -- then I'll see you guys then!"

I smiled for the rest of the day.

Sure enough, the moms showed up together on Wednesday with a double-length stroller draped in pink. I put each infant through her paces -- naked weight, length, and head circumference -- and chatted with the women. I was really hoping to find a place to casually interject a remark about my girlfriend, to let them know we had a bond, but it never happened. Still, it was the best appointment of my day. Cuddling one of her daughters, the original mother, whose name I never knew, had lost all pretense of being stern or firm, the way she had been with her son. She cooed over both girls, and bubbled over with enthusiasm about their personalities, "She's either eating like a pig, or screaming because she wants to eat some more!" The other mother, Jen-Mom, was beautiful and, though tired (she had given birth to the twins), was visibly thrilled to hear the numbers and see how well her girls were doing. It was really touching to watch, and the atmosphere in the room was very warm and happy. I felt right at home with them, and wished I could have stayed in there all day.

I showed them their exam room and walked back to the nurse's station, still smiling to myself at having experienced such a loving family. As I headed for my chair, Kelly, a new nurse whom I don't care for, leaned over to me with a malicious grin and asked, far too loudly, "Are those turkey-baster babies?"

My cloud of happiness punctured, I stopped in my tracks. "Um, if you mean are there two mothers in the family, then yes." I was extremely offended -- not just on behalf of the family, but because of the ignorant attitude that such a question suggested, even if posed as a joke.

Kelly later apologized -- "I didn't mean to offend you, if I did. I mean, it's obvious that they're, well, you know, gay -- well, I don't mean gay, but -- whatever, it's obvious, and I was trying to be funny..." Watching her squirm almost made me feel better. But not quite. If it had been a man and a woman with adopted Chinese babies, for example, she wouldn't have asked if those were 'imports'. She wouldn't ask if traditionally conceived twins were 'penis babies'. Why is it any more okay to make fun of a lesbian couple? She doesn't know about me -- almost no one at work does -- so she's free to show her true colors, which are turning uglier by the day.

Those twins -- and their brother -- aren't going to grow up thinking that anything is wrong with the way they live. They'll be surrounded by love and support for their entire lives, which is more than a lot of children from 'traditional' families can say. Why should it matter how they were conceived, as long as they made it here? They are deeply loved by two exceptional women and a beautiful big brother. Honestly, I don't know what more anyone can ask for.

*All names have been changed, as usual.

Talent Versus Skill

One of our best friends, K, is an incredible actress and singer -- the kind that makes the hair stand up on your neck. She's had countless years of vocal and theater training, and has lived all over the country while performing in various shows. Although she's in law school now, she admits that she's doing it 80% for the money and because "I had to pick something." If she had the choice, she'd make her living through the theater. She is beautiful and hilarious, with enough personality and talent for three people. I've heard her sing on many occasions -- usually intentionally massacring a song for purposes of a laugh -- but had never seen her act. Aphrodite, who was good friends with K in high school, assured me that she was phenomenal, and we finally attended one of her plays this past Wednesday. I was blown away. K sang an operatic piece, which I'd never heard her do with any seriousness and which totally impressed me. She also distinguished herself from the other actors by continuing to 'act' even when the spotlight was elsewhere -- changing her facial expressions, gesturing, making her presence known however she could. Whenever she was with a partner in one of those quiet moments, such as dancing in the background while another character was speaking, she took the lead, constantly changing things up and keeping her partner from becoming monotonous. At one point, she and her dancing partner were supposed to be drunk, and although the actor speaking was being very serious, the entire audience was looking at K (who was dancing outlandishly, taking her partner's tie in her teeth, etc.) and cracking up.

At the end, when she came out and took her bow, she spotted us in the audience, grinned from ear to ear, and gave us a tiny wave. Everyone sitting around us noticed and started asking questions -- "Do you know her?" "Is she a friend of yours?" "She was incredible!" We were so proud of her.

After meeting K, giving her the flowers we'd brought, and sitting and talking for a while, Aphrodite and I had a long conversation on the way home about talent versus skill. We decided that a skill is something you can learn to do, even learn to do extremely well -- but that a talent is something you're born with. While you might need to hone it, or work on it to develop associated skills, one cannot 'acquire' a talent. Most of the other actors on that stage were extraordinarily skilled. K has talent -- in spades.

Rarely have I ever been so proud of (or so starstruck by) a friend -- but at the same time, it awakens a sense of desperation in me. K is so talented and so deserving, and yet the chances of her ever 'making it' in that business are slim. Reality is that she'll probably end up wearing power suits to a courthouse every day, hating her job, and acting in a couple of tiny community theater plays every year to give herself a little taste of joy. She's so much better than that, and yet there is nothing I can do to help give her what I know she deserves. Watching her was a bittersweet feeling -- if she weren't so damn good, I wouldn't feel so desperate to see her succeed.

Anybody out there with theater connections? ;)

Update

Rather anticlimactic, I suppose:

Athena,

Yes, that is left field. For some reason you are being hypersensitive. I thought when Aphrodite was here the last time things were OK. You are an adult and you seem to be handling your life just fine. I do not have any questions that you need to answer and you do not owe me any explanations. All I can do is accept things as they are and I am glad you are happy.

Love, Mom

To which I responded:

You're right, things were better the last time Aphrodite visited, and you talking to her on the phone after her surgery was great too. I'm sorry if I'm being hypersensitive. I guess I just wanted to say, since my reaction the last (and only) time we discussed it was pretty hysterical, that it's not a secret at all (I forgot that I'd asked you not to say anything to anyone) and that it's not a 'forbidden' topic. If you ever do have anything you want to say/ask me, feel free. If there's nothing, that's fine too -- I guess I just thought that since it was such a major realization/adjustment for me, you might have some questions or want to have a conversation. Just wanted to put the ball in your court. :)

She never acknowledged that I'd written that at all, only moved on to discuss my grandfather, the weather, and other scintillating topics. Sigh.

In other news, I have strep throat. Thank you, pediatrics. I'd only had a mild sore throat for two days, after which it went away and left me with a debilitating headache, fever, swollen glands, and no appetite -- so I didn't realize that it wasn't your ordinary virus until I broke out in the telltale 'scarlet fever' rash on the fifth or sixth day of being sick. One of the docs where I work wrote me a script for amoxicillin, which is great except that (a) I choke on the pills every time I take them (they're the kind that 'float' in liquid instead of sinking, which for some reason I have trouble swallowing), and (b) my bowels are, shall we say, revolting. (Double meaning there.)

Aphrodite is also having problems -- she had her gallbladder removed in November and called me this afternoon in the throes of what seems to be a mild-to-moderate attack of pancreatitis (which she had when she had gallstones). I made her call her surgeon, and she talked to his advice nurse, who said that if she's still in pain tomorrow, she should come in to be seen. According to her pathology report, there were a couple of small gallstones left in the ducts after the operation, which "can rattle around for a long time", according to the nurse. We're hoping that's all it is and that it resolves itself overnight -- her illness, diagnosis and surgery was a seven-month emotional roller coaster that drained the very marrow out of both of us, and she's been doing so well since then that it's easy to forget she was ever sick. We definitely don't want to start all that again. And for all my medical experience and emotional stability, I absolutely go to pieces when she's the patient. I collapse into tears when I can't be right by her side, and act like a mama bear when I am by her side. It's sort of embarrassing, actually.

Anyway, I'm off to prepare for tomorrow's genetics presentation (on 'designer babies'). Just thirteen more days of school -- yay!

"Just close your eyes and jump!"

Well, I did it. Something about the springtime blossoming outside on my drive home gave me the nerve to finally gather up my courage in both hands and send this email to my mother:

Hi Mom,

This may seem like it's coming totally out of left field, but... I would really like for us to be able to talk about my 'orientation' now that I'm not confused and sobbing, LOL. The only time we discussed it was that conversation last year, which (I'm sure you agree) was an unmitigated disaster. :) Now that we've both gotten a bit of distance, I'd like to bring it out into the open again. I'm sure you have a lot of questions, and I want to answer them. At the moment, I feel like you're uncomfortable every time I so much as mention Aphrodite's name (which may or may not be the case, but it does feel that way). I want you to understand that this isn't something she dragged me into, but a part of myself that has always been there, something that I'd been trying to ignore since middle school. Financial and academic hardships aside -- emotionally, I'm happier than I've ever been, and I hope you can be happy for me. But for that to happen, I think we have to be able to be open with each other, and I don't feel like we're doing that very well right now. Are you okay with trying again?

I love you...

Athena

I wonder what she'll do -- if she'll ignore it, or if she'll write back right away, or if she'll show it to my dad (who accepts me and Aphrodite wholeheartedly) and ask what to do, or if she'll sleep on it, or... what.

Anyway, I'll keep you posted. But I'm glad I'm finally financially independent, on the off chance that I may have just signed my death sentence. Gulp.

The Limits of Gaydar

What do you think it would feel like to be stuck in the wrong body? This story got me thinking, and then a conversation in class on Wednesday carried my thoughts even further.

I'm in a lab group with an older girl (35-ish), Jillian, and a shy gay guy, Rob. Anyway, Rob 'came out' to us on Wednesday amid much hilarity -- Jillian hadn't been aware that he was gay, and practically fell off her chair with surprise, whereas I had known almost from the first day, since he'd suddenly gotten much more interested in me when Jillian asked if I was married and I told her the ring was from my girlfriend. (He was the one who told me about the sole church here in town that performs commitment ceremonies for gay and lesbian couples, which is something I'm keeping in the back of my mind...)

Anyway, Rob turned out to be a wealth of information -- one of the things he told us was that one of the other guys in our class, Scott, apparently began life as a girl (Rob's ex used to work with him/her prior to the hormone therapy). Scott does dress very 'punk' (plaid pants on the tight side, earrings, etc.), and definitely stands out, but I'd never have guessed he was transgender. He stood up and gave his presentation in class that night, and even knowing what I knew, it was really hard to imagine him as a woman. I don't think 'gaydar' goes that far. :) He's very thin, sure, and his voice has an interesting raspy quality to it, but nothing leaps out to sharply suggest 'female' to me. He's just Scott -- soft-spoken, one of the most knowledgeable people in class, always good for a laugh. Who he's always been.

It made me happy for him, that his changeover had been so seamless that even those who knew couldn't really tell -- and it got me thinking. What would that feel like? As attractive as I think women are (and as 'animal-istically' as I sometimes wish I had another piece of anatomy to use on Aphrodite... ;)), I've always known that I'm a woman, inside and out. As a kid, I hated dolls, dresses, and the color pink. As a teenager and college student, I played every sport there was. Yet I know, from some deep identity center inside me, that I am a woman. Even as I was in the agonizing throes of questioning my sexuality, I never questioned my gender.

What would it feel like to feel as though you were supposed to be someone else, trapped in a body that on some deep fundamental level did not fit you? I can easily sympathize with the idea -- after all, I'm trapped in a society that persists in seeing me as something I'm not -- but try as I might, I can't really imagine it, even superficially. I can imagine the emotions -- frustration, hopelessness, maybe shame -- but when it comes to the actual feeling of being in the wrong body, I reach the limits of my imagination and can't seem to go any farther.

Do any of you readers have experiences with transgenderism, whether firsthand or someone close to you? If so, I'd love to hear your stories.

((Side note: Aphrodite and I were repotting ferns at Gaia's house this morning, and I mentioned how my mother, emailing my sister about me and how I've been drawn into 'this thing with [Aphrodite]', said, "I would never alienate either of you for anything you do." Gaia stopped short, looked at me like I was nuts, and said, "For what you DO?! How about for who you ARE?!" I loved it. I've got to remember that line, for the unlikely event that I'll ever get to use it on Mom.)) :)

My First Big Boo-Boo

This afternoon, an eight-year-old girl needed stitches in her knee, and I had to exercise all my considerable powers of distraction and storytelling (as well as my arm muscles) to let that happen successfully. Twenty minutes later, shaking and covered in sweat, I met two siblings coming in for shots -- a 15-year-old girl and a 12-year-old boy. The girl was getting Gardasil, the new vaccine against genital warts (HPV) and cervical cancer, and the boy was getting his tetanus booster and a meningitis vaccine. He volunteered to go first, so I gave him his tetanus vaccine in his left arm -- the one he doesn't use as much, since we all remember how much tetanus shots hurt the next day -- and then grabbed for the second syringe. As I depressed the plunger into his other arm, I caught a glimpse of my scrawled Magic Marker letters on the plastic: 'HPV'.

Holy fuck. I just gave this boy a shot of Gardasil.

For an instant, I panicked, and my mind spun with a half-second of options: could I get away with this? Maybe just not give him the Menactra? No, he has to have his meningitis shot, and anyway, what am I going to give his sister? No, I realized immediately that there was no way to cover it up and still do everything necessary for both kids. I was going to have to confess, come what may.

I turned to face the mother, who was congratulating her son on being brave and encouraging her daughter to get up onto the table for her turn. "Um, one second." She stopped and looked at me expectantly.

"This will not hurt him," I stressed, "it won't do anything to him, but -- I have three shots here..."

"Yes..."

"...and he just got the Gardasil," I finished with a rueful smile, pointing to her son.

To my relief, she laughed out loud. Oh, thank God!

"They're already using it on boys in Europe," I hastened to explain, "and doing all sorts of trials here, and boys will probably be getting it regularly in the U.S. too, in another year or two."

The mom was nodding. "Yeah, I've been reading about that, actually." Hurrah, an educated parent!

"It absolutely won't hurt him, and actually gives him extra protection." I finally felt reassured enough to grin. "Hey, he's safe from genital warts!"

She laughed again, and as I left the room to draw up a second Gardasil for the originally intended (FEMALE) recipient, I saw her poke her son and heard her say, "Hey, you'll never get cervical cancer!" She and her daughter cracked up.

My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly draw up the second shot. That was unbelievably stupid, and could have been very, very bad.

However, in hindsight, if I had to make that mistake, I think I definitely dodged a bullet -- it happened under the best possible circumstances. The mistake was with a shot that would do no harm (and probably provide some benefit), the mom was educated about the vaccine and took my flub with grace and a laugh, and the boy was of the proper age to receive the shot, even if he wasn't a girl. And the physician who signed off on my incident report, one of my favorites, absolutely died laughing when I told him. ("I made my first big boo-boo today, and am hoping you'll sign off on my idiocy." "You know I will." "Well, let's just say there's a 12-year-old boy walking around town who will never get genital warts.")

My true boss, who can be temperamental, doesn't know about this yet, but apart from making the mistake in the first place, I did everything absolutely right, so I don't see where she'd have any cause to take any sort of action... so in many ways, I got very lucky.

Just another Friday afternoon...

Life Update, March

Three big things have happened this month, in both Aphrodite's and my lives, which I've forgotten to share.

First, Aphrodite got accepted to the Master of International Studies program she applied for, and also received a TAship position which will provide her with full tuition, health insurance, and a generous stipend to live on. She's over the moon with happiness, and feels like her life has a purpose again, which is a feeling she's been looking for for a long time. She'll finally be taking a step in the direction of her goals (to earn a Ph.D in political science or international education). The program starts this fall. I'm almost as thrilled as she is, and couldn't be more proud of her.

Second, I'm finally on spring break from school, which meant the two of us got to go to her stepdad's beach condo for a long weekend. We used to try to make a point of going there every one to two months, not because it's especially close by, but just because when we're there, we never take any 'work' with us, so it forces us to completely forget about Life and its demands for a couple of days. We hadn't been there since October, and were really pushing the breaking point as far as stress. Three days of shrimp pasta (the one thing I can cook), walks (and runs) on the beach, coffee and doughnuts (two luxuries we only indulge in on vacations), lazy evenings watching DVD after DVD, and great sex (yeah, it has to be said!) recharged our batteries, and we're doing better this week than we have since Christmas. It's amazing what a little self-imposed laziness can do.

And third, back at the beginning of the month, I went home for two days over a weekend to visit my parents and run in the annual 15k held in my hometown. It's a wonderful race, with around 12,000 runners aged (this year) from 5 to 87. We cross two huge bridges and run through lots of nice residential areas, where people sit out in their front yards and cheer you on while their kids run up and down giving everybody high-fives -- and then finish on the field in the NFL stadium, watching ourselves on the JumboTron while hundreds of spectators cheer. I look forward to it every year.

I should explain here that something always happens to me before this race -- the first time I ran it, I had plantar fasciitis and shin splits for over a month and hadn't run a single step for the six weeks prior to the race. I made a dramatic improvement in the week before the race, and since I'd already paid the fee and my running partner had already booked her flight to come do it with me, I decided to run it anyway. I was super sore for the next week, but pulled a 1:59:41 -- 19 seconds under the time I wanted to beat. :)

The second time I ran it, Aphrodite, my running partner, and I were all at my parents' house, and somehow the stars aligned so that I ended up coming out to my parents the night before the race. (Aphrodite had gone for a walk in my neighborhood, which she's not familiar with and which isn't among the safest of places, and was gone for almost two hours. I got panicky, then tearful with relief when she finally turned up, and was trying to hide those emotions from my parents, who thought she was just my roommate, and couldn't, and they were questioning me, and... yeah... anyway.) Talk about timing. Luckily, my running partner, also a lesbian, was understanding -- she'd been there too. So Aphrodite and I were up all night crying and almost-fighting (she was upset that I had told them 'on the spur of the moment' without considering her feelings, as their guest), and I didn't eat or drink much of anything either, so I ran a horribly painful 2:02.

This year, my running muscles, nutrition, hydration, and emotional health -- everything that had been messed up in past years -- were fine, but something had to happen... so, of course, I got the flu and was out of training for two weeks. Plus my running partner bowed out at the last minute, which I was dreading, because it was going to make the race horribly boring. BUT, although I love running with her, I forgot about the fact that she's somewhat slower than I am, so I raced a 1:49 (10 minutes off my best time) despite not having trained very well. My goal is to eventually get down to about 1:35, but that'll take another year or two, I think... because honestly, what else can go wrong?! :)

Speaking of health, as long as I'm on a roll here... three things have come to my attention in the past year or two that concern me a little, but I'm reluctant to go to my doctor because I don't want to get slapped with that dreaded 'preexisting condition' label (I'll be changing health insurance at least two more times before I'll be set 'for good'). Don't get me started on the ridiculousness of our health care system, but here we go:

1) Hematuria. While still an undergrad, it was discovered that I had small amounts of blood in my urine. Too small to see with the naked eye, but consistently there (over 3 tests). My doctor wanted to check my kidneys, but it was near the end of the school year, and I wanted to wait to start that process... and never followed up on it. However, she did say that athletes, particularly runners, often have trace amounts of blood in the urine due to all the jarring. That would have eased my mind, except that I wasn't running more than two or three times a month back then because I was swimming 16 hours a week. So... that makes me a little nervous. I might wait for a weekend day when everyone's out of the office and run my own pee through that machine we have and see if the blood is still present.

2.) T-waves. We hooked ourselves up to a 4-lead EKG in my anatomy lab last week, and although my resting pulse was great (61 bpm, and that was while holding a conversation in a bright, noisy classroom), my T-waves (the part of the wave that signals the electrical stimulus for contraction of the ventricles, the most muscular part of your heart) were off-the-charts huge -- bigger than my QRS waves (the big 'spike' most people associate with a heartbeat). My teacher looked at them and said, "I have never seen T-waves that big!" She said it was probably nothing to worry about, that it's normal to have some variation among individuals, and looking online, one document says that can happen in athletes because our hearts are more muscular than other people's... but it still worries me a little, because elevated T-waves can also signal hyperkalemia (too much potassium) or a heart problem.

3.) Cholesterol. A little over a year ago, I participated in a clinical trial (I don't even remember what it was for, just that they were giving me $50 to have some blood drawn) and my results got thrown out of the study because my cholesterol levels were above normal. My triglycerides were fine (on the low side), my 'good' cholesterol was fine (on the high side), but my 'bad' cholesterol, while also technically fine, was on the high side, and my total cholesterol was about 10% above the normal limit. Which isn't huge, but as a 24-year-old lifelong athlete and reasonably healthy eater, it worries me. Another number was also high -- my c-reactive proteins, which are a general measure of inflammation in the body. The scale was 0.00 to 5.00, and I was exactly 5.00 -- .01 away from getting flagged for that, too. However, I had just run my first half marathon three days before the blood test, so I'm thinking (hoping) that the elevation of that number was probably just an indicator of my body recovering (inflamed muscles, tendons, etc.). The cholesterol wouldn't have been impacted by that, though -- and that worries me. I don't have a very strong family history of high cholesterol, I exercise almost every day, and I eat lots of low-fat, high-fiber foods... what more can I do?

Sorry for the long-winded post, but you know how I am... I get rolling and just can't stop! :) Anyway, if any of you have any insight into any of these things, please do speak up and put me out of my misery, because I'm starting to feel like maybe I'm not as healthy as I've always perceived myself to be... and that's a real smack in the confidence area.

I Wonder How My Mother Felt

Let me preface this by saying that I adore my mother. She is beautiful, outspoken, intelligent, and practical to a fault. We've always gotten along well. However, as my mother's oldest daughter, I was always a bit, well, different from what I believe she had envisioned.

As a newborn baby, I could be comforted only by my father. Being wrapped tightly in a blanket and snuggled on his chest -- not Mom's -- was the only way I would sleep. As a toddler and a young child, I followed him around like a puppy, always wanting to play with Daddy's wrench set or help string the Christmas lights. As far as sweeping the floor or cooking like Mommy, though... forget it. (I still can't cook!)

Mom has never wanted to travel. She likes quiet, predictability, routine. I, on the other hand, have been to half the 50 states, spent a year and a half living in Europe, and consider traveling and learning about other languages and cultures one of the great passions of my life. To this day, I often hear my mother saying aloud to her friends, "Where did I get this kid?"

While my kindergarten friends were playing House and drawing hopscotch grids with sidewalk chalk, I climbed to the very top of the climbing structure, higher than the boys could go, all the way up to the topmost intersection of wooden beams, the part that wasn't really meant for climbing. I never fell, never even slipped (though some child must have, because the structure was removed when I hit third grade).

(Aside: I once broke my mother's nose by accident, by jumping up off the floor while she was standing next to me. I was about eight, and didn't know she was bending over me.)

My mother is a tiny and petite A cup -- she didn't even top 100 pounds until she went to college -- and has never exercised beyond her daily morning walks. I am a muscular 5'6", a 36DD, and have eagerly tried practically every sport there is, from horseback riding to skydiving.

My mother has dark brown eyes and nearly black hair, which she has always worn longish. I am a carbon copy of my dad -- hazel eyes and light brown hair -- and have always kept my locks trimmed as short as I could get away with. As a teenager, I recall her telling the hairdresser not to cut it as short as I had asked for, whispering that she didn't want me to "look like a dyke."

My mother's school performance was always on the good side of average, As and Bs and the occasional C. Somehow, I learned to spell my name with alphabet blocks before I could walk, began reading at age two and a half, was accepted into the Gifted program at age seven, attended magnet schools, completed the International Baccalaureate program, became a National Merit scholar, and got a full scholarship to college.

My ninth-grade female friends only went to gym for the purpose of checking out the guys -- all the ones I was beating at basketball. When they tried on each other's makeup, I wrote stories at my desk. And during lunch period, while everyone else was sitting in the courtyard gossiping, I joined the boys on the football field for knock-down drag-out games of Ultimate Frisbee, and returned to class dripping sweat.

My mother got her period at age twelve, and was overjoyed to have finally 'matured'. A box of maxipads mysteriously appeared in my closet when I was eleven -- and stayed there as I passed twelve, thirteen, fourteen. At fourteen and a half, I finally got my period... and sobbed for an hour, dismayed at the incontrovertible evidence of growing up.

I remember a seventh-grade classmate, part of a group who spent their free time tormenting me, slipping a note into my locker that said, among other things, "WE KNOW YOUR [sic] GAY!!!" I didn't even know what the word meant.

I wonder if my mother knew about me? She was the only one of my family and friends who was surprised when I told her -- but did she really not ask herself that question even once throughout all my years of growing up? My room was literally plastered with Shania Twain, I drew cartoons of my camp counselor in the margins of my notebooks, my Spanish teacher's name came up in literally every other sentence at the dinner table when I was 17... How can you live with a child for 18 years and not know on some level? I always felt like I was keeping a secret from her, for all those years when I wasn't sure... but did she really not have her suspicions?

I wonder how she felt, as I was growing up and following a path so different from her own? Proud, I'm sure -- I know I've accomplished a lot in my life, and I'm grateful for all my gifts -- but did she ever feel resentful, dismayed, jealous, disappointed, confused? My gut says that she did, maybe does to this day... and that makes me wonder if I'm another disappointment to her even now?

As much as I want to deny that... my gut kinda says yes to that one, too.

I Feel Your Pain

A four-year-old girl came into our practice a couple of weeks ago for her well-child checkup -- adorable, as most of them are, and a little fearful, which many of them also are. She didn't want to get on the scale without clinging to her mother, and nearly threw a tantrum over standing against the wall to have her height measured. I made sure to be gentle with her and fully explain each task we had to do, and she eventually began to loosen up, smile, and interact with me a little. As part of the standard physical exam, we start doing vision checks at three years old and hearing checks at four -- which, as you can imagine, aren't always easy with a child that young -- so her checkup took a little while.

One of the things many people don't realize about a pediatric practice is that the parents can sometimes be far more difficult than the children. Some of them are wonderful, but some are just horrendous, too, and they make the exam that much more difficult for their children. Luckily, Lila's* mother was friendly, tall with short salt-and-pepper hair. She was quite firm with the little girl, and when Lila was hesitant about something, her mom mentioned more than once 'remember how we talked about this?' in reference to a previous in-depth conversation about the doctor's office. That impressed me, that a mom would take the time to walk through each aspect of a trip to the pediatrician ahead of time, and struck me as a good idea.

At first, I was so focused on Lila that I wasn't paying much attention to her mom, except for the occasional glance, smile or, "Your mom's right, we're just going to..." Near the end of the exam, though, as I was getting my things together to leave the room and allow the doctor to come in, my eyes landed on the woman... and I suddenly got a familiar vibe off her. My 'gaydar' isn't always accurate, not by a long shot, but this time I was sure I was right. I smiled, said the doctor would be right in, and closed the door -- then checked Lila's last name: hyphenated. A clue, but not a certainty. Flipped open her paper chart, and saw the Post-It note from the doctor to herself, as a reminder before she entered the room: Both moms are PAs. Smiled to myself.

Desiree, another nurse, stuck her head over my shoulder. "She was a cutie."
"Yeah," I said with a smile, still absorbed in the chart.
"What does that say?" she asked, trying to read the scrawled handwriting on the Post-It.
"'Both moms are PAs.'"
"Huh? ... Maybe she didn't mean to say 'both moms'."
I tried to hide a smile. "...No, I really think she did."
"Why?"
"Oh, I dunno, just the vibe I got," I said casually.

* * *

"Lila needs her Hepatitis A and Varicella shots," the doctor said to me upon emerging from the room, "and then they'll be free to go."

I scurried to the fridge, grabbed the two vials, and prepared the shots. Grabbing the necessary paperwork, I entered the room. I'm still being observed when I perform immunizations, so Desiree was at my side.

"Okay, Lila, let's lie down on the table," her mom said calmly.

Immediately, Lila began to whine and cry. She clutched her mother as if I were the Antichrist, her eyes wide and fearful.

"Remember, we talked about this. You're going to lie here, and I'm going to hold you, and it's all going to be over in just a second." Lila began to struggle in earnest, her whines escalating to wails, her legs flailing. I had to hand it to the mom, though -- most moms would have continued to try to talk the child down, but the PA training kicked in and she grabbed Lila's hands (to keep them away from the needles) pressed her down into the table, and hung on grimly.

Without speaking, Desiree and I each grabbed a kicking leg and held it still. We uncapped our syringes, counted "One, two three," and injected simultaneously. Lila screamed at the top of her lungs as we withdrew our needles, slapped on Band-Aids, and stripped off our gloves. She continued to cry as her mom held her and soothed her -- "It's all over, they're all done."

Lila looked at me over her mom's shoulder, tears streaming down her tiny face, and what I saw there made my heart wince. I hate, hate, hate seeing that trust go out of their eyes.

My own tears threatened, prickling and hot. This woman was a PA. She had a daughter. And she had a life partner who was a woman. So many things about her matched up with the life plans I had for myself, the red carpet I saw stretching out in front of me. She had undoubtedly endured most of the same emotions and struggled with many of the same situations as I had, as many of you have, as many of us continue to. Getting taunted on the street for holding your partner's hand, not knowing what to write for 'relationship' on your emergency contact form, seeing the look on your parents' faces when you tell them your secret. This woman and I shared a bond, although she didn't know it. I felt a strong and unique kinship with her... and there wasn't a single thing I could say or do to reach out to her.

I watched them walk out the door, hand in hand. Wiped a tear. Smiled for what was. Sighed for what might have been... and went back to work.

*All names have been changed, as usual.

Par For The Course

10:00am - made the decision to skip my 11am class so I could devote sufficient time to my online chem quiz, then organize all my school stuff, clean the kitchen, and maybe even fold some laundry.

10:30am - sat down to take quiz.

11:15am - submitted quiz, and realized 20 seconds later that I made a stupid stupid stupid mistake that's going to knock my potential 100 down to an 80.

11:25am - tried to get some of the organizational stuff going, then remembered I had to complete the online chem lab for this week, since we didn't meet in person. Tried it, and encountered major technical difficulties ("that test tube is only a quarter of the way full, yet for some inexplicable reason, you may absolutely not add more than .387 mL of virtual water to it, ha ha. Nope, not that one either.") that meant I spent an hour on the stupid thing and had to make up about half the answers.

12:29 - and now that I am down to approximately negative four minutes before I needed to be out the door and on with my life... I have realized that in all my frantic studying for my genetics exam on Monday, I neglected to write up the prelab for tonight's lab in that class. Which I have done religiously every other week. Which has never been checked. Which will be checked tonight, because he hinted that it would be. Argh.

Not to mention that my hair is standing on end, my scrubs are wrinkled, and the only food I've got to sustain myself until I get home at 10pm tonight is a partial bag of M&Ms and a Nutri-Grain bar.

Anyway, I had a really great, poignant post to write, I promise, and it's coming -- I just had to throw this in as a frustration-venting mechanism for how much I HATE MY LIFE sometimes! Gaaahhh!

OK, off to work now.

Diary Excerpts

Looking back over my old diaries, it's painfully obvious to me how in denial I was. A few snippets from the old days (names have been changed):

10 years old

"Guess what? Cassie Harding is trying to steal Jilly away from me. She skips me in line, sleeps in the same tent with her at Girl Scout Camp, sits next to her at lunch, and more! But she's pretty much given up now, since I fight back."

14 years old

"Camp was so much better than last year! Unfortunately, I now have more evidence to support my sex theory of myself. That I'm a lesbian, I mean. I've always suspected it, because I hate boys and now I love Rachel. But then, it's not as if thinking about girls naked turns me on either. So... I dunno. Oh well, it's not important right now."

17 years old

"[My Spanish teacher, Juanita] was confiding in me, and that made me feel honored. She wasn’t seeing me as a student at that moment – I was being viewed as a friend. The fact that she could let down her defenses in front of me – to curse, to complain, to just talk uninhibitedly – is something that I treasure. Perhaps it was a moment of weakness, perhaps not. But I appreciated that, because I see her as much more of a friend than a teacher, and it was encouraging to think that maybe she was beginning to think of me as the same... I hope that I really was useful to her, and not just an annoyance... She also said that Mitch was the most lucid person in second period most of the time, although he 'has his moments'. I’ll confess that that made me feel a little jealous. I know this isn’t a Competition for Juanita’s Affection or anything – I think it's just that I just broke up with the guy, you know. ...I think I followed her as we left the parking lot... I had hopes of maybe catching up to her, but it never happened. I wonder where she lives? West side, I know, but where? I don’t know why I wonder that; I just do. Makes me feel kind of like a stalker. LOL! As if. No way. I think she’s near Sterling High, though."

18 years old

"I’m doing that thing that I always do, which is checking out the competition. I’m getting worried that [my Dutch teacher, Annemarie] likes Steve more than me, which is SO elementary and horrible of me. I’ve always been a couple of years behind everyone else emotionally, and now I’m worried that I’m WAY behind, because only six-year-olds say “You like her better than me.” It’s a baby thing.
But I made sure to tell her today that I’m going to Utrecht in the fall semester, so that she doesn’t use Steve's program as a reason to like him more.
Okay, this is getting really stupid."
...
"I feel really shitty and I don’t know why. It has something to do with Annemarie but I don’t know what. Is it because I didn’t sing for her when she asked? Or because she went off with Steve? Or a combination of both? I think that’s what it is – I think I’m jealous, and that makes me even madder because I'm supposed to be mature enough to not have these stupid fixations anymore. Sometimes I think I’m just as crazy as the next person but I’m smart enough to know what the hell's going on. Like, maybe I’d be stalking her right now if I were a average person, but I’m intelligent enough to be able to recognize that and tell myself not to do it. Maybe I’m just as fucked up as anyone in a mental hospital but I’m just more in tune with myself. Oh, I don't know. I just have to stop thinking about all this. I don’t know what my problem is."
...
"Annemarie admitted something that I’d suspected - she said, 'You can’t tell anyone - because I really like Steve.' And I could tell by the way she said it and how she looked at me that she meant as more than a friend. I'd suspected that before, but never called her on it... I'm jealous, I admit it. She pays more attention to him than to me. Like in Fat Tuesday’s when she said to him, 'It might sound stupid, but I wish that I could talk to you in Dutch [her native language], even just for ten minutes.' But now I know that a lot of it is because she’s attracted to him in spite of herself, and at the same time, I’m glad I’m a girl, because she’ll tell me things that she wouldn’t tell him, and we have less of a chance of our friendship being disrupted by sexual/romantic tension. Even though she did comment in Fat Tuesdays about having wondered 'what it would be like with a girl'. But I think all girls wonder that. Maybe guys don’t, but I think all girls do. It doesn't mean we’re gay, or even bisexual – we just think about things like that. I know what she means."

----------

I sort of stopped writing about things like that during my last three years of college -- I was dating Dutch guy after Dutch guy in an attempt to be 'fulfilled' by someone, anyone -- but now, at age 24, all I can say is OMG, how blind can a girl be?!

My only defense is that I think the idea of being sexually attracted to women scared me so much when I was starting to figure it out -- see above, age 14 -- that I ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction, and thus put myself through a lot of confusion and (unrecognized) heartache. It's like with the throat swab for a strep test when I was six -- it made me throw up, because I was sick, and so for ten years after that I was terrified of throat cultures for no good reason. Our minds can do some really wacky things.

Do any of you other RSGs have old diary entries, etc. like that, old thoughts and justifications that make you want to slap yourself in the forehead and go duuuuuuuh? I sure hope I'm not the only self-induced idiot here. :)

15 Months

Just wanted to post quickly to say that I'm not dead or anything, just super busy with school and work. (Not to mention the fact that I've got two new books -- The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory and Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult -- who has time for the Internet when your mind is dying to get back to sixteenth-century England?)

Aphrodite and I turned 15 months old on Monday, and celebrated by sneaking McDonald's double cheeseburgers into the discount theater to see Juno (which was really cute). It was a great date. We're pretty low-maintenance. :)

Thanks to everyone for the comments on the 'kid' post of two weeks ago. It sounds like the opinions are pretty evenly split as far as regrets. I have to admit, though, that as much as I love my new job, that if I end up working in pediatrics full-time, I might not want to come home to still more children. I see about 30 patients a day, sometimes more, and it's really making me appreciate 'grown-up conversation'. :) On the other hand, I was recently made aware of something that apparently happened last year (I'm always the last to find out about these things) -- bone marrow stem cells have been successfully turned into sperm cells. Not actual sperm, mind you, but the precursors -- and even Aphrodite has admitted that if she and I could have a biological child together, that that might raise the stakes.

Anyway -- anybody looking for a tasty piece of writing, head over to Jen's latest post -- it really struck a chord with me. As I posted there, I've never been with a woman other than Aphrodite and don't believe I ever will be, but I well remember this feeling of possibility in the beginning -- looking at women with a new level of consciousness, noticing the details about them in different ways, wondering what my life would have been like, what experiences I would have had, if I had known who I was years ago. I'm immeasurably grateful that Aphrodite was my first, and I never would have chosen to have it any other way, but my initial experiences with her 15 months ago did sort of open up this whole other world for me that I'd never considered with any seriousness, and Jen expresses that beautifully. Thanks to her for the beautiful writing.

Well, I'm off to school. Wednesday is my long day -- class, 4 hours at work, class again, then lab til 10pm. Ugh. I think I might have to throw my credit card debt to the winds and buy myself an iPhone as a reward when these prerequisites are finally over -- I cannot wait.

Little People

The new job is going great. Granted, I haven't done a whole lot yet -- heights, weights, head circumference, temperature, one throat culture -- but I absolutely love it. I got to help with measurements on a newborn Caesarian baby, take a history on a nine-year-old with abdominal pain, and even use my (admittedly now far less fluent) Spanish with one little boy who was afraid of his chickenpox shot. For the first time in, well, EVER, I'm actually looking forward to getting up and going to work every day.

It does beg the question, though -- what about children?

Well, what ABOUT children?

See, I have always wanted kids -- two, possibly three. Lately, I've been considering the possibility of just one. Aphrodite, though, has never really wanted children, for the (understandable, and quite possibly valid) reason that she wants her life to be her own. She wants to be able to set her schedule as she likes, travel when and where she wants to, and come home after the workday and spend all her free time with ME, not Junior. That makes total sense to me, and she's actually come perilously close to persuading me on several occasions -- after all, who would want to give up that freedom?

But for me, having children is almost an obligation. The idea of not doing it has flitted through my head now and then, and does so on an increasing basis these days, but I'm just not able to discount that 'someday' gut feeling. I've worked with kids of all ages for twelve years -- camps, daycares, babysitting -- ever since I first became a mother's helper to my favorite cousin, then a toddler, when I was eleven. (She's now 15 and a national swimming star -- my, how times fly.) I have always been drawn to children, and vice versa -- Aphrodite teases me that I just have to sit down in a room and they "flock" -- and more than that, I'm really, really good with them. I know with absolute certainty that I would be a fantastic mother, and I'm not overly concerned about the 'two moms' thing, either. But I do agree with Aphrodite to an extent -- I don't want my entire life to be taken over by a child. I want my adult life, too. She, having dated a man with a child, doesn't think that the two can coexist. I, knowing that her ex was a terrible, inconsistent parent who gave her a bad impression of the scenario, am clinging to the belief that one can have both.

It may happen that my 'work kids' -- the kids I'll treat as a PA -- may be enough for me. Lately, that feels more and more like a possibility. But what if that doesn't happen?

All you gay/lesbian couples out there -- and anyone else who wants to weigh in -- do you have any children? If so, what have you found -- do you totally lose your independence and 'couple time', or have you found ways to hang onto it? If you don't have kids, are you planning to have any? How many, and after how long? Natural (an option for the girls, I guess, anyway) or adopted? If adopted -- international or domestic? If natural -- how will you decide on a method/potential father?

This definitely isn't something Aphrodite and I can decide now, anyway -- neither of us is done with school, for a start, and our financial situation is far from secure. But I really want to hear others' thoughts on this topic, because the subject does come up from time to time, and we circle the same old barrels whenever it does. Can anyone inject some wisdom/advice/suggestions/humor into the fray?

Meme

OK, so Grumpy Granny tagged me in a meme -- I haven't done one of these in about five years, but it's a relatively short one, so here we go.

Rules: Link to the person that tagged you, post the rules on your blog, share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself, tag six more bloggers at the end, and then leave them comments so they know they've been tagged.

1) I despise apples, and especially apple juice. I'm not a picky eater, as a rule, but I just never could learn to like that taste.

2) Most of the time I feel more comfortable around children, especially those under the age of 12 or so, than I do around adults.

3) I was a 'spontaneous reader', just before age three. My very pregnant mother purposely skipped a sentence in a (brand new, from the library) book she was reading to me, and I calmly looked up and said, "That's not what it says." When she, incredulous, challenged me, I took the book from her hands and read her the rest of it -- and haven't stopped to this day. (When my sister was born and nobody wanted to listen to the three-year-old read anymore, I spent hours recording myself on blank cassettes in my kiddie tape player. :))

4) This has had to relax somewhat since living with Aphrodite, but when left to my own devices, I am obsessively neat -- clean up after myself after every meal, keep everything in the house organized, etc. That's my mother rubbing off on me. *wince*

5) It takes me forever to type a blog post or an email -- or anything, really -- because I read over everything dozens of times to make sure it sounds the best it possibly can.

6) Aside from Grey's Anatomy, Brothers and Sisters, NFL football, and the occasional episode of Extreme Makeover Home Edition, I genuinely hate TV. I never have it on when I'm home alone.

OK -- I'm tagging ~k at Inside Wants Out, but everyone else has already been tagged by someone else... so I'm going to be lame. :)

P.S. My birthday was yesterday -- I came home to a treasure hunt, tacos (my favorite meal), and a homemade cake -- so all the buildup to that is part of the reason I haven't been posting as frequently. There's another introspective-type post coming, don't worry.

Life Update

Just a bit of a Life Update... I know they're not as interesting to the general population as the posts everyone can relate to, but I post them anyway because my blog has always served as a bit of a personal journal to me -- I love going back years later and reading about what I was doing (often shaking my head and muttering, 'Wow, if I had only known how that was going to turn out...").

Anyway, so, major life areas:

WORK. My last day at my old job is Tuesday, my birthday is Wednesday, and I start my new job on Thursday. I am STOKED -- my old job is driving me nuts. I literally almost cried yesterday when they sent me on a call at 4:45pm (when I'm supposed to get off at 6).

SCHOOL. My second semester of prerequisite courses is going okay so far, though I loathe my anatomy professor (an annoyingly perky micromanager) and also hate the fact that my genetics lab is in the evenings, lasting until 10pm (I'd much rather be curled up on the couch watching TV with Aphrodite). On the flip side, I got perfect scores on my first two chemistry quizzes, which is a bone fide miracle (cue angel music). This is a complete and total switcheroo from last semester (when I struggled through chemistry, barely scraping a B, and breezed through anatomy with a 98 average and a fabulous professor), but I can handle it.

SPORTS. I'm training for a 15k (9.3mi) in March, one I've done for the past two years and really love. I'm still not exercising nearly as much as I was during my undergrad (when I was swimming 15 hours a week, plus biking and lifting weights), but then again, I'll probably never hit that peak again. I'm doing a lot better than last semester, anyway -- running 3-4 times a week, 3-5 miles each time. I'd love to finish the race in an hour and a half this year, but I won't hold my breath --an hour and 45 minutes is probably a more reasonable goal. Oh, and also, I've decided to enter the lottery for the New York City Marathon, which is held in November. According to the internet, the odds are about 30-40% of getting selected, which isn't that bad, but I'll keep my eye on a few other races held around the same time (don't want to train for six months and then never run the darn thing).

GIRLFRIEND. Aphrodite is doing okay, not great. She'll be teaching a course at her alma mater this summer, and after that (hopefully!) back at school herself for a master's in international studies, but she's working retail in the meantime and it's really wearing on her. She's the type of person who needs a community around her, familiar faces that care about her, and she sort of lost that when she left school in May and all her friends scattered to the four winds. Add to that her sensitive nature and the fact that she gets treated horribly by a good percentage of those who come into her store, and you've got one unhappy girlfriend. We're counting the days until June.

Thus concludes the Saturday Life Update... enjoy your weekend, everyone!

Continued...

Okay, so I have a bit of an addendum to that last post. (Thanks to Jen and LD for the comments; you guys really made me feel better, like maybe I don't sound that crazy!) See, I've been reading a little about Reiki, healing, and similar experiences on the Internet, and that made me remember some of the things that happened in the early weeks of Aphrodite's and my relationship. They've sort of tapered off lately (is that normal? anyone know?) but a lot of really weird things happened to us in the beginning.

1) Last December (2006), one month after we got together, Christmas break rolled around. Not only did I have to go home and leave Aphrodite (since my parents didn't know about us), but on the first day of my vacation, I had to go with my family to Alabama for a cousin's wedding. Aphrodite had a huge final that day for one of her accounting classes, and was spending the day studying in our apartment, alone.

I felt fine for most of the morning, as we started our journey, but around ten -- the time Aphrodite usually wakes up -- I started to feel sick, nauseous and headachy. That was unusual for me; I'm a competitive athlete and rarely get sick. The symptoms continued all day, during our travels and arrival at the hotel. I refused all food and went straight to bed -- but then couldn't sleep. I finally dropped off for about a half hour, then was awakened by my mother to get dressed for the ceremony. I was literally feeling too weak to move, and when my dad made me stand in front of him so he could pin up a fold of my dress, the room started to go black in front of me and I had to grab for a chair and sit down. This was completely out of character for me; I've never passed out in my life.

Mom put a cold washcloth on my face and neck, forced me to eat some crackers and put my feet up, and made me sit outside in the breeze. I took deep breaths, thought about Aphrodite's arms around me and how she'd hold me if she were there, and eventually started to feel just barely good enough to go to the ceremony. We got there just in time. I didn't feel well, but at least I wasn't passing out -- and I did gradually feel better and better as the evening rolled on.

Finally, at the reception, Aphrodite called, exhausted but relieved -- she'd just finished her three-hour final. That was when things started falling into place for me. I asked how her day had gone, and she launched into telling me about her hours of uncontrollable tears, panic attacks, fears about the exam, missing me, etc. "I knew it was going to be hard, but I still wouldn't normally get so upset over trying to study for an exam -- but I was literally on the floor bawling my eyes out," she said.

Ding ding ding! I have no idea whether her emotions caused my physical symptoms or the other way around, but it seems clear that they were related -- I never get sick, and she never panics to that degree over exams, and yet the time frames matched up. I got worse and worse until around the time she started taking her test, then felt gradually better as she progressed farther through it, and felt one hundred percent fine once it was over and she was on the phone with me -- and her emotions followed the same map. We were both a little awed by the strength of our connection -- and dismayed that we had two weeks to go before we'd be together again.

2) Here's a second example. Aphrodite's mother is an alcoholic, and although she's learned how to accept her and deal with her now that she's older, one of her old professors (I'll call her Gaia -- 'Mother Earth') has filled that 'Mom' role for her in a lot of ways. She treats Aphrodite like a third child, and the two of them go through the same mother-daughter ups and downs ("she doesn't understand me!") as any pair. Last January, about two months into our relationship, Aphrodite was vacillating over whether or not to tell Gaia about us. She was 'almost positive' she would be perfectly okay with it; she was just incredibly nervous to actually say the words. Aphrodite had dated the same man for four years while at college, even getting engaged to him, and she wasn't sure how Gaia would react to such an about-face.

So one day back then, Aphrodite was going to see Gaia, who lived 30 miles away from us at the time (we hadn't moved to our one-bedroom yet). She hadn't reached a decision on whether or not to try to broach The Subject, planning to just 'take it as it came' and see what kind of mood she was in. I was sitting at home, totally absorbed in my Mayan hieroglyph homework, my mind one hundred percent focused on the task at hand -- when I suddenly slapped my pencil down and sat straight up in my chair. It felt like someone had banged me on top of the head. "Oh my God," I said out loud, "she's telling her right now!"

Unable to concentrate, I got up and paced around the apartment, picking things up and putting them down, grabbing the phone and then making myself drop it, telling myself that I didn't want to interrupt such an important moment. I was in agony, but also absolute certainty. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before -- me, the so-called cynic, skeptic, atheist, what-have-you -- but I knew, absolutely knew that I was right.

Ten minutes later, I got a three-word text message, undoubtedly an opportunity snatched while Gaia's back was momentarily turned: 'she knows omg'.

Over the next 20-30 minutes (as the conversation progressed...) I felt the nervousness begin to ebb, but still couldn't focus -- until Aphrodite called me to give me all the details and say that Gaia had been absolutely wonderful, that she wanted to get to know me better, that it couldn't have gone more perfectly, etc.

These are just two of the larger experiences in a whole series of shared connections that happened over those first few months. But what I want to know is, why have they stopped? Is it because our lives have gotten so much busier (we're both working) and we don't have as much time to focus on each other? Or because the 'newness' has worn off somehow? Or is there another explanation?

Hey, another little tidbit just crossed my mind too, in light of my new job: for as long as I can remember, children have always been drawn to me (and I to them). I sit down somewhere and they just come to me. If I'm in a room with a child for any length of time, s/he almost always comes over to me and tries to make contact somehow (we often end up playing). Is there something special about kids? Are they more 'open' somehow, can sense energy more readily or something? Or is it just coincidence?

Thanks in advance for any ideas, suggestions, sympathies, shared experiences, or whatever you have to offer. This is all really new for me, and I'm eager to learn from anyone who's been there!

Feeling Different

Okay. I've been struggling with this post for almost two hours now, and I simply can't get it right. The images and analogies aren't flowing the way they usually do, and I think it's just because this topic is such a new area for me that I don't know how to express it as fully as I want to. So I'm just going to say it, as plainly as I can, and maybe some of your comments will help me to write a second post which follows up on this.

So I've read several accounts lately which mention that many gays and lesbians are more 'sensitive' than the general population (to the moods and thoughts of others, et cetera), and that this ability may contribute to the typical 'feeling different', especially when younger.

This is definitely true in Aphrodite's case. She is the most 'emotionally intelligent' person I've ever met. In everyday life, she genuinely cares about every single person she meets, can sense people's moods, and knows how to navigate a tricky conversation without raising hackles -- all wonderful life skills, and some of the things that draw people to her so readily. On another level, though, she also finds it almost instinctive to 'tap into' a source outside herself. She listens to the Universe, as it were, almost without effort. Sometimes, it's as though she has an extra antenna -- she senses things that others don't pick up, predicts certain things before they happen, 'feels' her place in the universe in a way that most people never even think about. As a child, she was always the one to act beyond her emotional years (holding an injured baby squirrel for hours until he died, greeting her kindergarten teacher every single morning "because I thought she might want to have someone tell her good morning"), and as an adult, she still amazes me every day (buying a Starbucks muffin for the homeless man on the street, going far out of her way to corner, catch, and find a home for an abandoned 10-week-old kitten, etc.).

On the face of it, I am her antithesis. I was raised an atheist and have never really put much faith in the idea of there being anything beyond this physical existence. I wasn't a particularly sensitive child (although I think that was more conditioned than instinctive, since every time I got emotional about something that my mother didn't think warranted such a reaction, she would tell me I was being hypersensitive and that I needed to calm down. In time, I learned not to react externally.)

However, since meeting Aphrodite, I'm realizing that this is more the result of what was forced upon me than a result of what I really feel. Spirituality was never discussed in my house -- literally, never -- and most of my religious experiences ('friends' attempting to convert me, etc.) were negative. But I'm slowly realizing -- mostly due to Aphrodite's influence -- that what I thought I believed isn't really what I feel. (Side note: I'm not discussing this with any particular religion or belief system in mind at all -- just offering up the (to me) new idea that maybe there is something beyond our physical bodies, whether that's energy between people, beams of light from a universal source, or something entirely different.)

I could go on about this for pages and pages, but I'm going to focus on one specific aspect here: touch.

I was never touched much as a child beyond the perfunctory bedtime hug and kiss, and yet I'm realizing now that touch is actually my strongest 'love language', that is, I feel love most strongly when someone is holding me or stroking me. Words are nice, but physicality, to me, speaks louder. I have extremely sensitive skin (in the old-fashioned sense: for example, I don't like running the pads of my fingers over textured surfaces like carpet or sandpaper, and I'm incredibly ticklish), and I'm not sure whether that is a byproduct of not being touched, an occupational hazard of loving physical contact, or simply a coincidence. But recently, I've started to realize that I may have the ability to heal. I don't mean lay hands on you and cure your cancer -- but I seem to be able to do something that others can't.

Aphrodite's gifts don't come without a price: she carries a lot of stress at different points in her body, and often gets painful twinges in her upper left chest and shoulder. (Don't worry, heart problems have been ruled out.) The other night, when she said she hurt, I made her lie down on the sofa, rubbed my hands together until I felt them tingle, then laid my right hand over the affected area and my left on Aphrodite's forehead. (I felt strongly that I needed both hands on her, not just one, and the left hand just seemed to naturally gravitate to that spot.) I felt them gradually get warmer and tingle, and had the impression of blue-green light flowing in a circle from my left hand (on her forehead) through her body and back to my other hand (over the painful area). We sat that way for who knows how long. It felt very peaceful and comfortable, like time had stopped, like nothing else was important.

I eventually removed one of my hands to grab the remote and stop the annoying DVD menu music -- and then I couldn't get the sensation back. I rubbed my hands together again, and they didn't tingle. I laid them on her body, and they didn't get warm. Whatever had been happening, I couldn't get it back. I stood up, then realized I had a slight headache and felt far more tired than I had before we'd started. Aphrodite, on the other hand, said she felt much better and practically bounced up off the sofa.

I'm sure there are a ton of explanations for this -- it's not exactly a miracle cure, after all. All I can say is that it felt significant, which is why I'm writing about it. I did something similar when she had gallstones -- one hand on her front and one on her back, which she said felt really good -- but that obviously didn't help in the long term. (On the other hand, we didn't know she had gallstones then, and the pain was referred to her left side, so I wasn't exactly touching the right spot.) Anyway, Aphrodite says her grandmother can do something similar (she called it "healing hands"), but that she's the only one she knows who can do that.

Anyway, okay, now that you all think I'm completely crazy, I'll shut up. But if any of you have similar 'sensitive' experiences, please do share and let me know I'm not all alone out here! :)