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.