#I think my estrogen is going up again after the end of my period

[tactfullyinappropriate]

And while we're at it. I also want to rent a cute little beach house with the love of my life. (Maybe we just got married) And spend a whole month there completely naked. Sunbathing. Fucking. Making love. Skinny dipping. Making popsicles and lemonade. Just kissing each other's skin. I want to never wear shoes and have the top of my bikinis hang from the railing of our balcony. And I want to nap in one of those beds with the white linen bed sheets and be woken up by their hands roaming my body. Cause I'm naked. All.the.time.

[04nc1n9]

haven’t slept in a while so thoughts are going mushy and i came up with a headcannon for zelda that statistically probably already exists but i don’t care. i came up with it while thinking about how fun it is to annoy zelda fans by calling link zelda. so firstly i will explain what i hope to convince you of throughout this; the legend of zelda is a metaphorical and literal transition story of ganon transitioning into zelda, with link being the space in-between when she was questioning her gender and felt too anxious to even speak. okay so i have like zero cold hard facts and, although i own and have access to a ton of zelda games, have only played like the tutorial to two of them. this may not be very well explained, but i do have the combined information of almost two decades worth of consuming creepypastas, game theories, and miscellaneous info on all of the games. first piece of evidence: the “three” of ganon, link, and zelda are all essentially soul bonded together through divine prophecies and such. it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that they all share a single, albeit fragmented, soul. this soul materialises as the triforce (i do not care about some goddesses that the triforce actually represent, the goddesses are just zeldas inner conscience. boom won.), the triforces being might (i think) for ganon, courage for link, and wisdom for zelda.  lets start with ganons piece of the triforce and work from there. so, ganon is linked to the “might” piece of the triforce, the piece that symbolises tyrannical rule, physical strength, a stalwart defence, and brutality. i think, again i haven’t played the games. with all my expertiese (that ebing none) i believe that ganon represents a stage in zeldas life where she was so far into the closet that she denied her true self and turned to crushing both herself and others. yes, i am saying that ganon is zelda from a time where in order to escape herself and ridicule that she believed could have been brought upon her by others, tried to swing harshly in the opposite direction. she embodied every toxic stereotype of masculinity, pushed other trans people down, and tried to project her self-hatred onto others. let’s leave gandalf here for now. enter, link. link, as the name suggests, is the transitionary period between rejecting herself and accepting herself. link’s triforce is the triforce of courage, the courage to reject all that you’ve been forced to be by an oppressive society, the courage to own up to your old mistakes and wrongdoings and try to rectify them, the courage to apologise and help others that are struggling, and the courage to be yourself. link, unlike ganon, embodies less of the stereotypical features associated with far end of toxic masculinity. link in many of their games has some form of lost innocence, i believe in one game, after saving the day, was unable to live with the rest of their kin as their actions caused them to age unlike the rest of their kin. i believe, metaphorically, that this is due to links uneasy transition from ganon. before being link they had already shown themself to be antagonistic to people who are questioning their genders. perhaps this is also a reason that link rarely, if ever, speaks. perhaps this could also be a significant reason for link’s undying will to fight back against ganon- link never wants to let ganon win again, link doesn’t want to return to being what they were before they finally started accepting themself, and they want to make amends for all the wrongs they did when they were ganon. perhaps the events of majora’s mask were link further questioning, and maybe becoming panicked, that they couldn’t figure themself out- and in blind fear started taking on the identities of people around them, as if putting on masks. and maybe, just maybe, heart canisters are a metaphor for taking estrogen. i don’t know how to justify this it just feels right. but after all that desperate searching- there stood geruda clan which link had to dress femme to enter. i believe this to be the moment that, after all the years spent questioning, link finally began to understand who they, she, really was on the inside. wearing clothes that affirmed the gender of the “zelda” hidden deep within and being accepted into a women’s-only space, even if link wasn’t doing it with the intentions of self-discovery to begin with, and even if it will take time for them to understand what that feeling truly was, it was there. again, i haven’t played botw, i only know about this whole thing from femboy link art. now onto zelda, after all the trials she had to go through, she finally accepted that this is who she is. the triforce of wisdom; enlightenment, knowledge, experience. zelda has all of this because she has experienced centuries of living in many different shoes trying to find the one that fit, until one finally did. but, even after coming this far, she knows she is still wearing those wacky-physics steel shoes also known as “ganon,” she knows that even if she did come this far what is behind her must still be amended, and even after all those decades she still works against her past self, trying to overcome the damage she, and others who were like her past selves, have done. she developed a way to speak with her past selves (because elf magic, duh) to try and help them on their journey to becoming her, but the only one that seemed to listen was when she was link, and thus she stood by the version of herself that finally was able to udnerstand right from wrong and against the version of herself who was still incpable and tried to make wrongs right. and then she transitioned and got magic powers and time travel and stuff, imma be honest i’m reaching at this point, i know basically nothing about zelda other than she’s a princess and what i’ve already written. i’m going to be honest i could come up with a shit ton more absolute word vomit like ganon being just slightly off from another anti-trans (basically anti-everything tbh) hate group but i don’t want to bloat it. so that’s my theory on trans zelda, hope you enjoyed. my eyes are throbbing and dry and i need to sleep.

[therenlover]

Would The Danny Bunch Survive A Holiday With My Family?

A/n: In the wake of recent life garbage, I have neglected to write a whole fic, and I’m sorry. In the interim, please enjoy this writing exercise I have put together in the hopes of nailing some characters I haven’t written for in the past in time for a larger project I’m working on! Cheers!

Characters: Laszlo Kreizler, Alex Kerner, Niki Lauda, Andrea Marowski, Ernst Schmidt, and Helmut Zemo

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Mild Misogyny, Mentions of Alcohol/Alcoholism, Mentions of Mental Illness, Non-Graphic Mentions of Death, Minor Spoilers for The Alienist Season One, Minor Spoilers for Goodbye, Lenin!, Spoilers for Rush (2013), Minor Spoilers for The Cloverfield Paradox maybe??? I haven’t actually seen the whole movie, blame Wikipedia if things are wrong. 

Laszlo Kreizler

NO

As the first of all of the Dannys to be put through the ringer, Laszlo Kreizler unfortunately would not survive a holiday with my family.

First of all, this man does not like massive huggy kissy crowds, so he’d already be off his game the second he walked into the packed house. That’s not why he’d die though, surprisingly.  

His downfall would be his status as an Alienist. 

There is simply so much mental illness and childhood trauma present at my family holidays that he would combust within 15 minutes of sitting in a room with all of my relatives.

Even if he were to somehow make it past the introductory phase, my family is nosey as hell, so they’d be grilling him about his arm and his own childhood trauma within the first hour. 

Laszlo, for all of his strength, simply wouldn’t be able to withstand it.

His death wouldn’t come from the initial combustion though. No, it’s not that simple. 

Knowing Laszlo, once he had combusted and entirely lost his composure the first time, he would become extremely intrigued about the interconnected nature of everyones issues with each other and he would start asking questions. 

That’s where the problems would begin. 

Because it’s one thing if my drunk great aunt starts badmouthing her sister at the table for abandoning her 90 year old mother for a lake house with her new boyfriend. That’s fine. 

But when Laszlo hops in and starts picking apart the mommy issues and underlying reasons for their decades long sibling rivalry? 

Oh it would be over for him. 

The yelling would never end. 

And, I have no doubt that Laszlo would start to psychoanalyze whoever started to yell at him, which would only lead to more yelling. 

In the end, someone would throw a probably full and probably fresh out of the oven casserole dish at his head and he’d be unable to defend himself because of his weak arm. 

We’d have to cart him out in a wheelchair and even if he were to technically survive, he’d never come back. 

Therefor, Laszlo Kreizler would fall victim to my family and die before we even got to dessert. 

Alex Kerner

YES

Ah, little baby Alex! A great contender here for holiday survival.

He seems relatively young in comparison to most of the Dannys on this list, though I don’t actually know how old he’s supposed to be. 

Based on his relative youth, he would automatically get points with the fam for not seeming like a creep or sugar daddy. Instead, he could be just about any dude I brought home from college. 

His skillset as a semi-skilled laborer would also earn him some points, seeing as several members of the family are in similar professions.

Alex might get lost in some of the more complex conversations about the local organic scene or the fine details of running a fine art gallery, but he would fit right in with the majority of the younger members of the family, smiling and nodding his way through the conversation. 

His enthusiasm and optimism would brighten the room and leave everyone excited to see him around again. 

There’s also the semi-small detail of him caring for his mother, which would earn sympathy from the older members of the family as they are in charge of caring for my deaf, blind great grandmother. 

Now, all of these aspects have already set Alex up for a successful survival of a holiday dinner with my family, but the real secret weapon he has up his sleeve is what really cements him in place as a survivor. 

What is his secret weapon, you may ask?

Lies.

Alex Kerner is really, really good at lying, and is even better at figuring out increasingly convoluted ways to keep his lies straight. 

If he managed to hide to fuckin’ Berlin Wall coming down from his mother for as long as he did, he could keep a couple of white lies up for appearances if he was asked any potentially embarrassing or weird questions that would make him look bad. 

He could also lie about enjoying my great aunt’s cooking, which is a vital skill for holiday survival in my family. 

Therefor, at the end of the day, Alex Kerner would not only survive a holiday with my family, but he’d probably enjoy it and get invited back for every subsequent holiday he could possibly attend. 

Niki Lauda

NO

Niki is another Danny that falls very firmly into the category of characters that would absolutely not survive a holiday with my family, for many, many reasons. 

First of all, just like Laszlo, Niki is not huge on going to big huggy kissy parties. 

Both adults and children would be all over him the second he walked in the door, which would probably make Niki get very uncomfortable and cagey. 

Little does he know at that point that people aren’t just all over you when you get in the door. 

No, no, no; from the moment you show up to the moment you leave, if you’re at a holiday with my family you are being basically accosted with questions and hugs and conversations that get weirdly personal. 

It doesn’t help that the whole entire house is packed and there are eyes on you at every moment, so he wouldn’t even be able to sneak in a break for air or a cigarette. 

If my own mother can’t sneak out for a smoke when she’s been going to these events her whole life, the new guy who’s still being vetted by the family sure as hell won’t be able to either.

Needless to say, Niki would start to get really, really tired of it all in an hour tops. I’ll give him until dinner at most. 

That’s where things would start getting really sticky.

See, a lovely little fact about the Niki Lauda that lives in my brain, as portrayed by Daniel Bruhl in Rush (2013), is that he’s just a little bit misogynistic. No more than would be period typical, but a little misogynistic.

Another fun little important thing to note is that my family is entirely matriarchal in nature. 

There are only 4 reoccurring male guests at family holidays out of about 20 to 25 guests at each event; My great aunt’s husband of many, many years, the two male siblings my mother has that live in the area, and the young son of one of those siblings. 

Men, specifically boyfriends, simply do not last in my family. They are considered pretty disposable and easily banned from family events after breakups or small mishaps. 

So, not only would Niki not have any other manly men there to chat about sports with over a scotch and a cigarette, he would be surrounded by so much estrogen that he would definitely struggle with his inner asshole even more than usual. 

In fact, we never have sports on, even on Thanksgiving. Poor Niki would be stuck hearing conversations about artisanal candlemakers and how to hand felt a woodland elf puppet.

Back to his downfall, the second he made a slightly sketchy joke about women in the kitchen at the dinner table to my great uncle, his fate would be sealed.

If you thought the yelling at Laszlo would have been bad, this yelling would be ten times worse, because he would be surrounded by like 20 very angry, very defensive, and very strong women waiting to beat the shit out of him and I would not be any help. 

He dug the hole, so he can climb out of it. 

In the end, his death would come when he tried to light a cigarette and calm himself down at the dinner table while trying to rescind his earlier statement, because smoking inside around all the precious textile art? Thats a big no no. 

My great aunt would grab the lighter right out of his hand, light up whatever cocktail she had at the moment, and throw it all directly into Niki’s face.

It would be like crashing his car all over again, only this time he would be surrounded by people who would rather he burn than try to get him out of the situation. 

Moral of the story, Niki would die within the first few hours of a holiday with my family because he made an asshole comment to a room full of women who don’t put up with that shit. Don’t be like Niki, even if you think you won’t get killed for it. 

Andrea Marowski

YES

Andrea is pretty much the polar opposite of Niki here, and I love him for it. 

He is very soft, very kind, very pure, and would never dare to say something rude at the dinner table like a certain racer we all know.

He couldn’t even say something rude if he tried to, because he probably wouldn’t have the English in his vocabulary to say the things he wanted to say even if he intended to say them out loud. 

But let’s be honest here, Andrea would never. 

Even with his limited English, Andrea would appreciate being surrounded by a whole bunch of people who think he’s the sweetest little thing since the invention of cake. 

My great grandmother, despite being almost entirely blind and deaf, would say he looked darling and he would immediately be a member of the family from the moment he stuttered out his thanks. 

Andrea, like Alex, is also relatively young, so he would get points for not being old enough to be my father. 

I feel like, because Andrea was shown living happily in a tiny village by the ocean with two old ladies, he would have an appreciation for craft, so he wouldn’t mind sitting quietly as my great aunt pawns off a handmade blanket from my great grandmother to him. 

He would also happily sit with the younger children and do whatever craft or simple game one of my aunts brought for them that time. 

The cherry on top with Andrea is his skill with the violin. 

My family is one that appreciates fine art a lot, but more than anything we appreciate music. 

I wouldn’t say that any of us are anywhere close to Andrea’s proficiency, but we definitely aren’t terrible, and we all can appreciate the effort, practice, and talent that goes into getting truly good on an instrument like Andrea is on his violin. 

He would be encouraged to play, of course, and he would happily oblige. 

If he felt comfortable enough, I could even see my great uncle grabbing his guitar, my cousin sitting at the piano, and my sister bringing out her own violin to do a little quartet with some simple song they knew as everybody else sang along. 

By the end of the holiday evening, once dinner was served and people were heading to the cars, Andrea would definitely be considered a member of the family. 

Needless to say, he’d survive and pass their tests with better than flying colors, even despite the language barrier. 

Ernst Schmidt

NO

Now, Ernst was probably the most difficult one on this entire list to put into the living or dying category. In the end, though, there were a few things that couldn’t be overlooked that send him into bad territory. 

To be fair, though, he would last the longest out of everyone who would die tragically at one of my family’s holiday gatherings. 

He, like the past two victims, would not be exactly suited for the mushy crowding that’s inevitable when it comes to my family. 

That being said, I think he would deal with it a little bit better than the other two did and would make polite conversation with the family when he could. 

The fact that he was trapped in a packed house filled with drunk people who have several generations worth of beef with each other, though, would start to get him eventually. 

If we consider all of the shit that happened while he was in space to be canonical minus, you know, the earth getting really fucked up, he would probably start to go a little bit nuts while packed together with that many passive aggressive people.

The second someone burst into tears on the way to the bathroom he would start to lose his shit. 

Still, I think Schmidt would probably be fine-ish until dessert was served, because that’s about the time where all the adults are absurdly drunk, so insanity ensues. 

They would start poking at him about his credentials and experiences as a physicist. 

He would answer their questions at first, but, unfortunately for him, the questions would turn more and more personal and uncomfortable as time went on. 

Did he ever still think about what happened up in space? Did he blame himself for not getting things to work correctly? How much did he miss his old world and old life? Did he ever have nightmares about what he saw? How much did it hurt to get shot?

They’d poke and poke and poke in their drunken state until poor Schmidt would snap at them, flying into a slight rage at their insistent probing. 

From there, he would be swiftly asked to leave and then “accidentally” run over while calling an Uber to take him to wherever he’s staying as my drunk great aunt tries to back out of the driveway to drive down the block to her house. 

In the end, Schmidt and his wit would be really close to surviving a holiday with my family , but he would, unfortunately, let his anger get the best of him, and it would be the last thing he ever did. Literally. 

Helmut Zemo

YES, BUT ONLY BARELY

Okay, so my earlier comment about Ernst being the most difficult out of everyone was incorrect. Zemo was, by far, the hardest to put into one category or the other. 

His wit and charm won out in the end, though, and I determined that he would survive one single holiday with my family. 

If he ever came back for a second he definitely wouldn’t make it, but he would succeed in living past the first one. 

Helmut’s problems start, surprisingly, not with the fact that he is a criminal. In fact that doesn’t even cause any problems for him. 

No, instead they start with the fact that he is 43.

I am 99% sure that my mother is 43, and I know for a definite fact that he’s older than one of my uncles who would be present. I, at the time of writing this, am 18. 

Needless to say, literally everyone would be massively suspicious of him and his intentions the second he walked through the door. The amount of money in his bank account definitely wouldn’t help in this situation either. 

The family would warm up to him eventually, though, because if there’s one thing Helmut is good at besides killing people, it’s making people like him even if they absolutely shouldn’t. 

With his expansive knowledge of what feels like literally everything rich and niche, he would slowly win over the older members of the family. Who knew the strange old man Jac brought home was so well versed in the American pottery scene, or that he could name specific jewelry artists from across the world that my family had done business with for years?

My family definitely wouldn’t. At least, not at first. 

Oh how they’d learn, though. 

Another nice thing about Zemo that would allow him to survive is his aggressive politeness.

No matter how many weird glances or dirty looks he got over the course of dinner, he would simply continue to be the best version of himself in the hopes of impressing everyone. 

He would even pretend to enjoy my great aunt’s cooking and get himself seconds, because I’m sure it would be easier to scarf down than whatever he and his EKO Scorpion squad had to eat while serving in the Sokovian special forces. 

On the tail end of reasons he would be accepted, Helmut Zemo drinks alcohol like it’s water, so he would fit right in drinking white wine and cocktails through the night with the rest of the adults. 

((I think he’d totally tease me about not being able to drink with him, but that’s a story for another time. Anyways...))

His slight downfall would come from something entirely uncontrollable by him or anybody else. 

And that something would be my flirty aunt. 

I love my aunt. She’s wonderful in her own special way. 

That being said, I know if a hot Sokovian baron with a nice smile and a fat pocketbook showed up to one of out holidays, even if he was introduced as my partner, she would be going for the kill all night long. 

This would make Helmut more and more uncomfortable as she got more and more drunk, because lets face it, he’s probably not very comfortable with being touched by near-strangers anyways, and being touched by a drunk member of his partners family who is very obviously coming on to him? 

That’s even more difficult to deal with. 

That being said, Helmut is a man who has been shown to be extremely in control of his emotions. 

He would swallow down whatever awkwardness he felt, make it to the end of the night, and, once he had escaped her clutches, he would politely say that he was never going back to another holiday function with my family again, though he would be happy to facilitate me still attending them. 

So, in the end, Helmut Zemo would survive one holiday with his sheer stubborn politeness alone. 

I will say that his patience would absolutely wear thin if he attended a couple more holidays and he would eventually die of a stress induced heart attack after being unable to politely decline my aunt’s advances. 

For now, though, he’s safe.

[motherjoel]

you like me (spencer reid x reader)

summary: you unfortunately run out of tampons and theres only one person who can bring you some

a/n: i get terrible cramps on my period so this is honestly based off of personal experience

wc: 2.5k

tw: vomiting

-

“Are you sure you can’t make it Y/N? Girls night won't be the same without you,” Penelope begged through the phone. You could almost hear her pout.

“I’m sorry Pen, I really can’t. My uterus is seriously trying to kill me right now and I am in no position to put on a tight dress and do shots,” you laughed into the phone. Penelope sighed.

“Okay, I guess that's a reasonable excuse. I hope you feel better soon, my love. I’ll call you tomorrow to make sure you’re okay,” she said. You loved how sweet Penelope was, and although she was upset you couldn’t make it, she most definitely understood. 

She let you go soon after that, so you decided to turn on the TV to take your mind off of the pain in your stomach. Your cramps tended to get so bad that it was difficult to walk- you sometimes even got dizzy. You decided however to brave the pain, going into your bathroom to look for some medicine to possibly end your suffering. Your heart dropped when you remembered you had left your bottle at work in your go-bag. Your heart dropped a second time when you couldn’t find any more tampons.

“Shit, shit shit,” you said to yourself, sitting on the bathroom floor and moaning in pain. Thankfully, your phone was in your pocket. You pulled it out and scrolled through your contacts, trying to decide on who to call. You didn’t want to disturb the girls night out, so you couldn’t call Pen, JJ or Emily. For obvious reasons, you decided against calling Rossi or Hotch, and you didn’t think Derek knew the first thing about menstruation. As much as you didn’t want to call your best friend and (not so) tiny work crush, he seemed like the best option at this point. Pushing your embarrassment aside, you hit the call button and let it ring.

“Hey Y/N, whats up?” Spencer asked. You would’ve internally squealed at his cute voice if you weren’t about to pass out from pain.

“Spence, hi,” you answered, said pain evident in your voice. Little did you know, Spencer felt his heart stutter at your use of the nickname “Spence.” 

“Is everything okay?” he asked, slightly worried at your pained inflection.

“Well, not really,” you sighed, pushing aside your embarrassment at your situation. “I’m currently having my time of the month and I have come to realize I am completely out of…. tampons. And medicine,” you blushed and so did he. “I was wondering if… you could possibly pick some up for me?” you asked, fingers crossed. He didn’t even have to contemplate for a second.

“Of course, give me 10 minutes,” he said before hanging up. You looked at your phone in awe before you were hit with another wave of nausea. Doubled over the toilet, your peanut butter and jelly sandwich from an hour ago made a guest appearance.

-

You had yet to move from the bathroom floor when you heard a quick knock on your door.

“It’s open!” you yelled, soon hearing the rustling of bags and footsteps following your voice. Spencer looked down at you with pity, setting the bag down on the ground and sitting next to you.

“Thank you, Spence, you really saved me,” you said, taking the bag from him and looking inside. You saw not only a box of tampons and some tylenol, but a bar of your favorite chocolate and a heating pad. 

“My mom used to make my dad get her chocolate, when they were still, you know…” he trailed off, not wanting to mention his parents' early separation. You felt bad about his eidetic memory for once- that he had to remember even the bad things. 

“Did you know that menstrual cravings are caused by hormonal imbalances? It’s theorized that the drop in your progesterone and estrogen cause an increase in hunger,” he explained, speaking with his hands. You couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“What?” he asked, a confused smile on his face.

“It’s just… I'm sitting here on my bathroom floor with my coworker, who is incredibly sweet for doing this by the way, while I basically die from period cramps 10 minutes after throwing up,” you continued to laugh- Spencer just looked concerned.

“You threw up?” he asked, worry written on his face. You nodded, opening the box of tampons as Spencer walked into your kitchen.

“You need to eat something. I’m making you toast,” he yelled from the kitchen. You smiled and shut the bathroom door, taking care of business.

You brought the bag of medicine, chocolate, and the heating pad with you onto your couch. You plugged in the heating pad and held it close as you curled into the fetal position. After a few minutes, Spencer came into the room with a plate of toast and a cup of green tea, your favorite. You smiled and accepted the plate, taking the medicine with the tea and sitting back. Spencer continued to stand in front of you awkwardly, fidgeting with his hands slightly. You wordlessly patted the couch, motioning for him to sit down, which he did.

“Thank you again for this Spence, you really went out of your way,” you said, hoping he knew how thankful you were for his kindness. 

“Of course, anything for you Y/N,” he said, trying to mask his blush after he realized how intimate that sounded.

“So… did I ruin your Friday night plans?” you asked, hoping he didn’t have anything to do.

“Oh, no,” he started, and you were relieved. “Well, I had a date, but-”

“You had a date?!” you yelled, hitting him on the arm. 

“Ow! Yes, I did. Is that so hard to believe?” he asked, grabbing his arm.

“Well of course not Spence, you’re a catch,” you told him, and he blushed. “What’s hard to believe is that you ditched it for me! I would’ve been fine!” you lied, which was evident on your face. 

“Y/N. You so wouldn’t have been fine!” he laughed, and you began to speak before he continued. “I saw a... friend in need and I helped them. Besides, I wasn’t really even interested in her,” Spencer said, looking at his fidgeting hands.

“Why did you agree to go out with her if you weren’t interested?” you asked, wondering why the genius, a man of reason, would waste his time.

“Morgan set us up,” he started, and you nodded immediately understanding- when Morgan was trying to set someone up, he was relentless until you agreed. “He thought she’d help me get my mind off of… nevermind,” he blushed, seemingly accidentally saying too much. Your heart cracked a bit at the thought of your crush having feelings for someone else, but you continued to pry.

“Ohh I see. Who’s the lucky girl?” you asked, with a bit of an edge.

“I can’t tell you that Y/N,” he answered, avoiding eye contact. You pouted for a moment. “Besides, I think she just sees me as just a friend,” he continued, disappointment on his face. It hurt you to see him upset but you couldn’t help but feel relief that he wasn’t about to be taken anytime soon.

“Well, I guess you can say I’m in the same position as you,” you confessed, not going into any more detail. His face visibly dropped at this- he seemed disappointed, but you were sure you were overthinking things.

“Well Y/N, any guy would be lucky to have you,” he said softly, finally making eye contact. Maybe it was your hormones, or maybe you were just feeling cuddly, but you scooched over to him and wrapped your arms around his torso, resting your head on his chest. He raised his arms in surprise at first, before wrapping them around you. 

“You smell good,” you told him, before regretting it immediately and blushing profusely. You could hear his heartbeat, which may have been at an elevated pace. You pulled away and he looked a bit disappointed.

“Would you… would you stay with me for a bit Spence?” you looked up at him, stars in your eyes. 

“Of course,” he said softly. You sighed with content before another wave of cramps set in. You groaned and clutched the heating pad, once again in the fetal position. Spencer felt helpless, just watching you in pain. In a movement that surprised both him and you, he leaned behind you and wrapped his arms around you, basically spooning you. You were too in pain to react, but the feeling of his warm chest on your back had the ability to simultaneously soothe and excite you. He rubbed circles on your arm with his hand and you could feel your heart rate spike. You hoped he couldn’t see the blush rising on your face. 

“This is nice,” you mumbled, earning a soft hum from Spencer behind you. Before you knew it, you fell into one of the best sleeps of your life with your long time crush.

-

The next morning, you woke to whispering from the one and only Penelope Garcia. You opened your eyes to see yourself face to face with Spencer- you must have turned around during the night and cuddled into his chest. Your face felt hot when you noticed he was still asleep- you slowly untangled yourself from him and stood up to greet Penelope, who had apparently put her spare key to your apartment to good use. 

“I called it!” Penelope said, half to you and half to Derek, who was currently facetiming her. You shushed her and dragged her into the kitchen, Spencer still fast asleep on the couch.

“So that's why you ditched us last night!” she laughed, mouth wide open in shock.

“I didn’t know the kid had it in him!” Derek said from the phone. You were confused.

“What do you mean?” you took the phone from Penelope. 

“You mean… Reid didn't… tell you anything?” he asked.

“No, I… I ran out of tampons last night and I called him to bring me some, I guess we just fell asleep on the couch,” you explained. He cringed when you said tampons.

“Why didn’t you ask me princess?” he inquired with a smirk.

“Derek, you almost passed out when I said ‘tampons’” you told him, he just shook his head. Penelope took the phone back from you just as Spencer walked into the kitchen. 

“Oh hey, what are you doing here Garcia?” he asked, yawning mid sentence.

“I’m just here to drop off some pastries for my lovely Y/N to make her feel better. Although i'm sure you don’t need much help with that G man,” she said with a wink. You and Spencer avoided eye contact like two high schoolers with a crush. “Well, I guess i'll be on my way!” she announced, hugging you both and speedily leaving your apartment, which was odd- if anything, Garcia tends to overstay her welcome. 

“Those smell good,” you said, walking over to the bag from your favorite bakery. He mirrored your actions, seemingly hungry as well.

 You both ate the pastries in silence for a few minutes when you noticed Spencer had a bit of icing on his chin. Without thinking you reached up and wiped it with your finger, licking it off your thumb. He stood there, with his mouth open for a moment before his cheeks turned red. When you noticed his embarrassed reaction you immediately regretted it.

“Oh im sorry, I forgot you have a thing with touching Spence,” you apologized.

“No no, it’s okay. I don’t mind when it’s you,” he confessed, finally meeting your eyes for the first time that morning. You nodded and continued to eat your breakfast, ignoring the flutter in your heart. 

“So, about last night…” you brought up the elephant in the room. “It was really nice,” you confessed, remembering the feeling of his arms around you. 

“Y/N, what I’m about to say is either really stupid of me or the smartest i’ve ever been, but, I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he confessed, your astonishment written on your face. “And- and not in a friendly way,” he said, before frowning. “Well that sounded, wrong, of course it was ‘friendly,’ but I meant it as more than… that,” he finished, biting his lip. Your mouth was open, surprised at his confession.

“Oh, Spence-” you started before being interrupted.

“I probably shouldn’t have said that, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer Y/N, you just made me so flustered and when I saw you hurting last night it hurt me too, so i thought it was a good opportunity to get close to you. Not that I was taking advantage of you! God that sounds bad, uh,” he made a face, trying to think of a better way to word it. You just wrapped your arms around his midsection, much like you had done the night before, and held him tight. He smelled like apples and coffee. You lifted your head to look up at him, arms still around his waist. 

“Spencer, I’ve liked you for a very long time,” you laughed. “I’m surprised you didn’t realize sooner, I mean I thought it was obvious when I always sleep on your shoulder during jet rides or when I bring you coffee like every day, or when I-” you were interrupted by his soft lips on yours. Your eyes widened before they closed, and you moved your hands to the sides of his face, his hands on your waist. He pulled away, leaving you in a daze.

“Sorry, I’ve just been wanting to do that for awhile,” he smiled softly. 

“Oh, uh, no problem,” you replied, still flustered from the kiss. “You like me,” you teased, poking his arm and giggling like a 13 year old.

“Well so do you!” he laughed, poking you in the stomach. Your eyes darkened with mischief and so did his. Before you knew it, the two of you were on your apartment floor, tickling each other's ribs. Spencer eventually got the high ground, straddling you and relentlessly tickling you until you couldn’t breath. He stopped after a moment, looking down at you in awe, before you grabbed him by his collar and pulled him in for another quick kiss. 

“Penelope’s gonna be so excited,” you giggled.

“Oh yeah, her and Morgan will finally stop teasing me about liking you,” he said, standing up from his position over you and holding out a hand to help you up. 

You spent the rest of the day with him cuddling on your couch and alternating between playing cards and watching shitty reality TV (which he got surprisingly invested in), and it was arguably one of the best days of your life. And you knew from the way that Spencer kept stealing loving glances at you, he felt the same.

[ringneckedpheasant]

u got any trans anders headcanons? 👀

OH BOY DO I EVER.... i also just have a lot of thoughts abt medical transition in thedas.... please forgive me for turning this into an absolute essay lmao

i think it’s reasonable to think that even if they’re not commonplace, some form of hormonal treatments would be available—naturally derived estrogen has been used for quite literally thousands of years, and would at least be available for trans women like Maevaris. i haven’t been able to find much on the history of testosterone usage before like the 1800s, but i don’t think it’s that far-fetched to think that that’s a development that could’ve happened within anders’ lifetime or even before, especially since we’re talking about a world where like. magic is a thing and herbalism is widely practiced. Krem seems to indicate that there are magical methods of transition, though iirc it was implied to be through blood magic (that, or Krem has an aversion to any kind of magic being used on him)

as far as surgical procedures go i don’t think there would be much available? at least not for trans men, which is part of the reason i drew anders as not having had top surgery, but looking like he’d been on t. which i think he would be, though i don’t think he would’ve started until late into adulthood.

my thoughts abt like. the timeline of his life are always kind of nebulous and subject to change but i’ve been thinking a lot lately about the subject of his name. i don’t envision his parents as being particularly accepting, at least not his father. maybe part of the reason he never disclosed his name when sent to the circle was in the hopes that no one would find out what it was—even being called Anders, as weird and dehumanizing as it would’ve been, might’ve been preferable to being called his dead name. i think a lot about the way that Anders’ name changed when everything else in his life did, and that both of those things happened as a direct result of being rejected by his family.

when he was sent to the circle at 12 i think he could’ve reasonably passed as a boy without much effort, though it would’ve gotten harder as he got older if he didn’t have access to hormones. i think it’s safe to assume based on interactions with Krem that knowledge of trans people, and respect towards them, isn’t something that’s commonly found outside the Qun (and perhaps Rivain or Antiva—but certainly not in Fereldan, or Orlais, or the Free Marches. yes i am still mad about Sera’s transphobic dialogue if you bring her to the winter palace). Anders’ absolutely miserable transition to living in the circle probably would’ve been made worse by adults in charge not understanding or respecting him.

I like the idea of Karl being the first person to accept Anders without question, to try to help him find information about other people like him with the limited resources they would have in the circle. there’s not a lot of canon information about Karl’s life, but 1) i think he and Anders met fairly young, maybe as soon as Anders got to the circle and 2) maybe by chance, Karl knew someone else like Anders—a sibling, a friend, maybe an aunt or an uncle.

his time in the wardens may have been better than his time in the circle, wrt gender. my HoF is a mage, and i imagine that even if he didn’t remember anders particularly clearly, he would’ve been Aware of him—people gossip, especially, i imagine, when confined like that. my surana is a nice boy however and would’ve tried to ensure that no one in the wardens gave Anders any shit over being trans.

by the time he ends up in Kirkwall, i think he would pass fairly well. and while he is absolutely dirt poor, i think by this time he would’ve found the resources to start some kind of hrt. he probably wouldn’t have regular access to it, and just going off my own experiences, this would’ve been something that made transition a slow process. it’s filled with constantly feeling like he’s taking a step back whenever he goes off it, when his progress halts, when his period starts up again, when he’s subject to awful mood swings from unstable levels of hormones (i also think Anders is bipolar, and i imagine some aspects of that would be exacerbated by being Hormonal)

by the time he meets Hawke and the rest of them, i think he would’ve sort of plateaued—after years of HRT, even inconsistently, he would be able to pass as a man without much difficulty. some things, like facial hair, simply do not go away even if you stop taking t.

i Do, however, think that Fenris would clock him. in an ideal world this would be because he is t4t and like recognizes like, but even if that weren’t the case, I think Fenris would be the most likely out of any of them to know about trans people—I may be mistaken about the timeline here but I *think* that Maevaris would’ve come out before Fenris left Tevinter? Fenris likely had at least passing knowledge of her, maybe even met her while accompanying Danarius if she had assumed her father’s position as a magister. my understanding is that Mae is literally the first trans woman ever to have a seat in the magisterium, and that it was a Big Fucking Deal to a lot of people. it would make sense for Fenris to know about her. also!! fenris spent time on Seheron with the fog warriors and it seems extremely likely that he would’ve met people who were aqun-athlok while there.

my point with all of this is that 1) Fenris would likely know Anders was trans even if he himself wasn’t and 2) as much as they hate each other, I think there’s no way that Fenris would out him. he refuses to hand Anders over to the templars, and I think he would know how dangerous being outed to the wrong people would be. (my thoughts are of course heading in a fenders direction, and I’m thinking about Fenris disclosing to Anders that he knows, and their shared transness being the first step in realizing that they have more in common than they would otherwise think.... in learning to understand and empathize with one another... g-d.)

that is the extent of my serious thoughts about this for now, it took me a half an hour to type this up on my phone and i hope at least one person finds reading it worthwhile lmao

(less serious thought: Anders and Fenris should have t4t sex in the back of Anders’ clinic <3)

[avengerscompound]

The Surrogate - Chapter 6

The Surrogate:  A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count:  1569

Rating:  E

Warnings: Pregnancy talk, sex talk

Synopsis: A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.  While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people.  When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want.  Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 6

It was another three months before Natasha and Clint actually took you up on the offer.  You had spent that time being very careful to not instigate anything physical between them during that time.  The kiss with Natasha had scared you a little.  You’d made the mistake of falling for someone because of a kiss before, and you weren’t about to do it again.  Not with everything that was at stake.  They were your best friends though, so you saw them regularly and the topic of babies came up a lot.  It was like everything they did made them think about becoming parents.  Sometimes it was a case of them thinking it was the worst idea ever and other times it was the only thing they wanted.

When they finally came to you it was with the same kind of nerves as the day you had made them the offer in the first place.  They were totally and completely sure you would have changed your mind.  When you said yes, they hugged you and Natasha had to hold back her tears all over again and the following day you started the preparations.  First, there was a psych evaluation to see if you were emotionally fit to act as a surrogate.  It made sense.  Being pregnant was a big deal and to then hand a baby over did take a special kind of person and if that person wasn't you, people would get hurt.  Next legal contracts were drawn up, looked over, and signed.  They include things like custody and medical cost and contact after the birth of the baby.

Finally, you have a long series of medical procedures to check if you were physically able to carry a child.  Including minor surgery so they could take a good look at your uterus.

All in all, it took around three months to get to the point that you and Natasha were going to be taking the fertility medication you needed.  And there was a lot of it.  Natasha had more than you.  Making enough eggs to harvest was harder than just having a place for one of those eggs to land.  Still, as you sat there talking about going on birth control just to get your cycles in sync before moving to estrogen and progesterone and tetracycline among all the other things involved, you realized that even getting to the point that you were pregnant in the first place wasn’t going to be easy.

“Now until the pregnancy is confirmed, both of you will have to be very careful about the sex you’re having,” the doctor said.  “When this procedure starts you will both be extremely fertile.  Use condoms, or avoid vaginal sex completely.  Do not rely on things like the pull out method.”

“I wasn’t relying on that anyway,” Natasha said.

“Well, just in case,” the doctor said.  “You’d be surprised what people think is okay.  But if either of you gets pregnant it will mean we can’t do this.”

“Right, we’ll be careful,” Clint said.  “Just blow jobs from now on.”

“Clint!”  Natasha yelped, elbowing him.

“What?  I’ll go down on you too,” he said defensively.

The doctor laughed.  “Well that would work fine,” she said.  “Starting now though.  I know I just put you both on birth control, but switching methods can create a period where neither work, so from now on, be extra careful.”

“We will,” Natasha assured her.

“Did you have any further questions?”  The doctor asked.

You and Natasha shook your heads.  “I think we’ve got it all for now.”

“Then I’ll see you in a month and we’ll move on to the next phase,” the doctor said.  “It was nice meeting you all.”

You, Natasha, and Clint headed back out of the doctor’s office and down to Cint’s lavender VW Beetle that was parked in the street.  “You wanna get something to eat before we head back?”

“Yeah, we better.  And next time I’m using the Quin,” Natasha said.  “I hate how long these appointments take.”

“I think it’ll be hard to find a parking spot for a fighter jet, Nat,” Clint teased.

“Well, good news,” you said as you all changed directions and began heading down the street.  “Once I’m pregnant it’s all being done in house.  This is just the specialist part.”

“God, imagine if you went into labor and we had to drive three hours to get you to the hospital,” Natasha said.

“Yeah, I’d probably kill you,” you agreed.  “I may be able to heal quickly, but I still fucking hate pain.”

Natasha chuckled and rubbed your back as you walked.  “You’re going to be so fun when you’re in labor.”

“Oh man,” you teased.  “I’m gonna make you both work so hard through the whole thing.  You’re gonna be getting called up in the middle of the night for you to go get me food I’m craving.”

“That’s okay, Clint gets up in the middle of the night to get food he’s craving already,” Natasha joked.

Clint draped his arm around your shoulder.  “Yeah, I’ll hook you up.  Pickles and ice cream.  Chips on pizza.  I’ve got your back,” he said.  “I have heard that pregnancy can make people pretty horny too.  I’ve got your back for that.”

You laughed and nudged him.  “Clint!”

“Yeah, Clint,” Natasha teased.  “If you’re doing it to her back, you’re doing it wrong.”

You and Clint burst out laughing and Clint altered your course so the three of you headed into a little pizza place with two-dollar slices.  The three of you got yourself slices and took a seat.  You could see people staring and whispering to each other as the three of you started eating.

“I keep forgetting that you’re both kinda famous,” you said.

“They probably just think I’m Thor or something,” Clint joked.

Natasha snored and nearly spat iced tea over both of you.  She grabbed a napkin and wiped her face and hands.  “That came out my nose, you idiot.”

Clint laughed hard.  “Oh man, I was going to say Steve, and last second I thought Thor would be better.”

“You keep dreaming, Clint,” you said patting his back.  “You know when we’re on these drugs we’re both going to be extra hormonal, so you have to be really nice to us and not annoy us at all.”

“I can be nice, but you’re out of luck when it comes to being annoying,” Clint teased.

“Yeah, there’s no way he can’t not be annoying,” Natasha said.  “What were you even thinking?”

“I guess, I wasn’t,” you laughed.  “Man, it feels like it’s taken so long just to get to this point, and now it’s only a couple of months and maybe I’ll be pregnant and that feels like so much time to wait.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Natasha said.  “It still might not work.”

“I am so sure it will,” you said.  “This feels like it was meant to happen.”

Natasha took a deep breath and shook her head.  “I felt like that when I got pregnant even though I shouldn’t have been able to.  I felt like that when we applied to adopt.  There have been so many times that I got my hopes up only for them to be smashed apart.  I can’t do it again.  Until there’s a baby in my arms, I have to keep my heart safe.”

Clint took her hand and held it against his heart.  “I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Nat,” you said, reaching over the table and taking her other hand.  “I’m just excited for you both and I just feel so sure.”

“I know,” Natasha said, softly.  “I know.  But I have to protect myself because … I’m me and I keep going.  I have to.  But I can’t let myself be vulnerable like that again.  It’ll kill me.”  She shook her head and squeezed your hand.  “But I am so grateful to you.  You have no idea what this means to me that you’re willing to do this for us.”

“You guys changed my life,” you said, honestly.  “In a good way.  I had these powers but I didn't know what to do with them.  I kept thinking it was all good and well I could heal myself but it was so self-serving.  I felt like I'd been given a gift but it was completely useless because all it meant was I could watch all these other people getting sick or hurt and I got a free pass.  Then you gave me direction and purpose.  And you became my friends.  I want this so badly for you.”

Natasha blinked her eyes.  “Alright.  Alright.  We have to go, I cannot start crying with a huge audience.”

Clint hugged her and kissed the top of her head.  “Aww, my tough badass girlfriend.”

“That’s right,” Natasha said, getting up. “I’ll kick your ass if you’re not careful.”

“He’d probably thank you,” you said getting up and following her out.

Clint gathered up the trash and threw it in a can, before chasing after you both.  “Hell yeah, I would.  Thank you, mistress.”

“Oh my god,” Natasha laughed as Clint draped his arms around both of your shoulders.  “I’m not even on the hormone injections and you’re annoying me.”

Clint kissed her cheek and pulled her tighter to him.  “Just imagine how bad it’s going to be when you’re on them.”

// NEXT

[idreamofplaid]

Amazed by You

Summary: The reader’s relationship with Dean is growing. That requires being real and accepting the gift of what happens next.

Characters: Dean x Reader

 Word Count: 1591

A/N: This is a request for @kaylielovespandas. I picture this as early season Dean. I wanted to capture the scramble of emotions that two people have who are in a new situation for both of them with the backdrop of the reader’s emotions that she deals with as part of her monthly cycle. It’s supposed to be young, exciting, confused, and hopeful. I don’t know that I succeeded in that. I’m reposting it from this morning because I messed something up, and there’s an issue with the keep reading tab not working. Not beta read. Mistakes are mine.

Reader’s POV

The first time it was easy. Your relationship was new then; you hadn’t started sharing motel rooms and the beds in them yet. Dean was close to you in one way or another most of the time now, whether it was interviewing a witness decked out in FBI suits or sharing burgers in Baby’s front seat, and you loved it. That is until now. Now it presented a problem.

Logically, you knew you couldn’t stay perfect in his eyes. That was the nature of a relationship. You learned each other’s flaws and faults over time, and those things became part of the tapestry of the person who still not only held your interest but had your feelings flying in the direction of something bigger. For instance, Dean was a complete smart ass. It was sexy. It was cute. It was downright exasperating when you wished he’d just share his feelings for once instead of glossing them over. 

This thing you were trying to hide was nothing that could even be considered a flaw, just the opposite actually. It was something women did. It was natural. So why were you freaking out so much about it now? You didn’t want to send Dean running for the hills; that’s why, and your sarcasm could make Dean’s seem tame in comparison with its bite. That was just one mood.

Others included non-stop tears and withdrawing into a safe little cocoon away from the world. When your hormones dictated, you might cry about anything from the puppy in a dog food commercial because he was hungry to the sight of the sunshine just because it was so pretty. Then there were the times you just wanted to curl up in a tiny little ball and pull a blanket around you.

You didn’t want Dean to think you were some kind of emotional mess. He grew up with his brother and an absent father. There had clearly been a notable absence f estrogen around him. Even the other hunters he mentioned knowing as a kid were all male. Later, his one night stands were just that. They didn’t last long enough for a monthly cycle to enter the picture. Girls who picked up guys i bars, or allowed themselves to be picked up, weren’t generally on their period. 

The fear that was consuming your irrational mind right now was that you would snap at him over something trivial; you would end up in an argument, and Dean would leave you for the much less complicated bar conquests. You eyes filled with tears at the thought of losing Dean, and the idea of him being with someone else had them spilling down your cheeks. You were swiping at them when Dean turned the lock with his key and walked into you motel room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean’s POV 

The first thing I saw was you on the bed, and sweatpants never looked so damn good. I could see the curve of your hip. Don’t stare, Dean. Don’t stare. Right. the food. “I got pizza. No onions, no sausage. Just the way you li...” What the hell? Why didn’t I notice you were crying?

I toss the pizza box in the direction of the table by the window and get to you as fast as I can “What is it, Y/N? What happened?” Your arms are around me as soon as I sit down, and m neck is getting wet where you’ve hidden your face in it. Oh, God. Did somebody get to you? Did I let something hurt you? My hand goes for the back of your head. I want you to feel safe. Make her safe. “It’s okay, Y/N. I’m here now.”

After awhile, the crying stops. You sit up, but you’re not looking at me. I take your hand. I’m scared out of my mind. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” My eyes are scanning over you looking for an injury. I can’t see any blood.

Your hand squeezes mine a little. “I”m okay.” When you look at me, I can’t read your expression. You seem unsure about something, but your voice is more certain. “Let’s eat.”

I search your face again for any sign that something’s wrong.  You’re making our way to the table and the pizza. I think about it for a minute then ask, “Y/N, what was that?”

By this time, you’re taking your first bite of the almost loaded pizza. You swallow and smile it off. “It was nothing. I was watching a movie on TV, and it made me sad.” A movie? Okaaay. I don’t have to feel so bad about staring at your boobs. And I can’t help but sneak a glance at them every chance I get while you eat.

I watch you eat half the pizza, matching me slice for slice. By the time the last crumb is gone, I’m wondering if you’re hungry for anything besides the pizza and hoping you are. I stop while I”m clearing the table. This is as close to good as my life’s ever been. I drop everything in the trash and come back to where you’re sitting. I lean down and kiss you. Your lips are soft, and you want my kiss. I can feel it. I’m smiling before I pull my lips from ours. Your eyes are gorgeous. Could you be any more beautiful? “I’m gonna grab a shower. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

I’m smiling even bigger when I climb into bed next to you. You snuggle right up against me, and I take you into my arms. Your lips find mine. I like where this kiss is going. While my tongue is twisting around yours, I move my hand from your back around your side to your stomach then start to slide it under your waistband. “Dean, stop. Don’t do that.” Your body is tense when you pull away from me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reader’s POV

You want to suck the words right back in and swallow them down as soon as you’ve said them. Dean’s chewing at is full bottom lip, and his eyes are the kind of green that makes it hard to think, but his words snatch you right back to the reality his handsome face made you forget for a second. “ Did I do something wrong?”

You shake your head even more upset with yourself now. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Are you sure? You can tell me.” He’s so sincere. Anyone who doesn’t see the soft side of Dean Winchester isn’t looking. “ I won’t...Whatever it is, I won’t do it again.”

You scoot up  and sit with your back against the headboard. Dean is still propped on his elbow. He looks up at you when you start to talk. “It isn’t you. I...didn’t want you to know.” There’s a long pause, and Dean doesn’t say anything. He’s still listening. “ I have my period.’ This whole time you haven’t been able to look at him like you were making some shameful confession, but when he lays back with his head on the pillow and blows out a breath; you do.

He’s quick to sit up next to you. “is that all?” You might be offended at that if he didn’t look so genuinely relieved.  “What do you need? Just tell me. I’ll do it. I can get you snacks, or more pillow, or...”

Dean was babbling, and it was adorable. He didn’t have the first clue what to do. Not really. He was trying, but he didn’t know. Looking back on it later, you would know that was the moment you fell in love with him; but you didn’t now that now. You only knew that he was making you feel warm inside and cared for.

That made you brave enough to open up a little. “Will you just hold me? I know you wanted more, but it feels like my insides are falling out right now.”

A gentle smile spread across his face. “Yeah. I can do that.” You turned over and snuggled into Dean until your back was pressed against his body, and his arm was draped over your waist. You took his hand and guided it into your sweatpants stopping when his whole hand was below your belly button. His huge palm almost covered the entire lower part of your stomach. You left your hand over his holding it in place and because there was something very reassuring about it.

“Is this okay?” You asked him in a whisper. 

Dean’s voice was just as quiet, and the tone of it was soothing. “Is it okay for you?”

“Mmm, hmmm. Your hand is warm. That feels good. It helps.”

“Okay. then yeah; I can do this.” You felt Dean’s nose brush your cheek before he nuzzled it into your hair and breathed in deeply. “You smell good.”

That made you smile. “Just for you.”

 Dean kissed the spot where your cheek met your neck. “That’s my girl.”

“Dean, can you really sleep like this?”

He kissed down the edge of your face toward your chin. “Do you mean can I sleep with a beautiful woman in my arms that’s made me want to hold only her? Of course I can do that.”

He was good at it too. Maybe it wasn’t killing monsters or shooting pool, but Dean excelled in making you feel better. In fact, he might just be better at this that those other things. And as it turned out, you’d have the rest of your life to find out just how good he could be.

Tag lists are open. Feedback is golden motivation! Every like, comment, and Reblog is appreciated!

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[werevulvi]

It is the first day of yet another of my menstrual periods. Yes, I wanted to share that information with you. I want to be vulnerable and honest, for a moment. Being a woman can be a bloody mess sometimes, painful and feel shameful. And I'm writing this post to tell you why I'm not ashamed. After I've told you all about those embarrassing little things that no one wants to talk about, or hear about. That alone, you see, makes me wanna talk about it. You're welcome. This post might be very triggering for dysphoric females, but this is written with especially you in mind. But because healing is painful, I won't hold it against you if you'd rather choose to scroll past this. That is entirely up to you. The author of this post (me) is a mostly desisted/detrans woman, still male-presenting, formerly trans man. But despite my first hand knowledge of sex dysphoria, I am not particularly smooth when talking about what used to cause me dysphoria but no longer does. Sorry about that. Otherwise, I do mean well. And secondly, this post is for any women/females who get periods and just don't like it for any reasons, obviously. Now let's get right in there. *

At this point, a little over 2 years of not taking testosterone anymore, I know my body so well that I know exactly when my period will arrive, from a few days prior. I can literally feel my estrogen levels plummeting, which it typically does a few days before the uterus lining starts shedding, and this drop in estrogen production is a perfectly normal part of the cycle as a whole. Then progresterone will rise sometime during the period, and the estrogen will start increasing slowly again after you're done bleeding, and will be at the highest typically somewhere right in between periods. I tend to feel the worst when my estrogen is low, and the best when it's high.

I googled that stuff for my own sake, and I found it fascinating, and that it helps me understand what practical hell my poor body is going through.

How I feel that my estrogen is plummeting, is mostly physical, and a little bit psychological. First I get bloated and no matter how much I fart, my stomach feels tense and sometimes slightly painful. Then comes the hot flashes. First just one in a day, fairly mild. The next day it's stronger, and more than just one. That day I usually also get easily irritated, and my skin feels more sensitive. Everything feels more sensitive. It's as if I'm more exposed in some abstract way. The third day the hot flashes are really intense and often, I'm very bloated and the irritations are exchanged for a hightened awareness of everything I feel. Happier, curiouser, sadder, angrier, more of everything. Kinda like being drunk, but without the rush. I'm getting mild cramps, a light pressure deep within my lower abdomen. Like a gentle tapping on my door.

That is when I really need to make sure I have a pad put securely in my underwear, because she's close now, my period. Tapping on my door. I can feel it.

Late that day, or early the next day, I will get my period. It's always like that. Bloated, hot flashes, light cramps, hightened senses, then bam. First it's medium flow with mild cramps, so I can continue whatever I was doing and not really overthink what's going on. And no panic about staining my underwear, because I was already padded up to begin with. That gives me a feeling of security and control. Like already having coffee prepared for your untimely guest.

On the second day, however, and the following 2 after that, I will need to keep on my toes, change often and be very mindful of my clothes not getting stained, as well as exist carefully because of the pain and lack of energy. Those 3 days my flow will be extremely heavy, which requires an hourly change of the thickest possible pads, slow movements, and being generally very gentle with myself. My body needs to focus 100% on this intense process of shedding my uterus lining very fast and effectively. It's very delicate business, apparently. I will not be able to exercise, or do much of anything, during these 3 days, but I don't mind. I let my body do her thing, because she knows what she's doing, and I know best to be helpful, but not controlling. And I'm thankful that my body lets it all out so fast and effectively, allowing me to resume my normal life quickly after my period's arrival.

I'm also thankful for those 3 days of completely unashamed self-care. Yes, I will indulge in a lot of tea-drinking, movie-watching, hot showers, playing of World of Warcraft, doing low energy arts and crafts, incense burning and cupcake eating. Those 3 days are painful and draining, but they are also very healing, soothing and bring me closer to myself. They ground me, a lot. They are the painful reality that I need to sober up from my previous weeks of ranting about gender dysphoria, the up's and down's of living as a man while female, missing being on testosterone, obsessing about my gender expression, and so on. Those 3 days are when I close the door on that gender noise and... just exist with myself, my material reality, and remind myself that fresh pads, warm rice bags to soothe cramps, the need for comfortable clothes, and standing up for women's rights - are the only gender struggles I really need to be concerned with. Perhaps relatable to you as well. Perhaps not.

In other words, those 3 days may be the worst 3 days of the month for me, but they are also... kinda the best 3 days, and I don't want for my period to behave in any other way. It's perfect the way it is.

The 5th day, after the first mild-ish day and then the 3 heavy, is a medium flow again, and I'm starting to feel better physically. The cramps ease up and the bloating is gone. The hot flashes typically end sometime during the heavy flow. Then on the 6th day, my period is practically over, by my standards. Light flow, no cramps or any other issues, my life resumes to normal. The 7th and 8th day there will be some light spotting, enough to just wear a pantiliner, or even go bold and free-bleed in black briefs.

So that's how I experience my period, every time. But enough about the presumably cringey, awkward, gross, whatever you wanna call them, parts.

I wanted to talk more about how getting my period effects me mentally. It acts kind of like a "reset", not only in my endless gender chaos, but in everything. Those 3 days that I dedicate to self-care, as my body forces me to slow down and focus on being mindful, stop spinning about, sit the fuck down and re-think my situation. It definitely works as a natural "restart" similarly to going to sleep at night, but in a way that instead of just knocking me out, makes me more awake and more aware.

That sense of increased awareness and awakening, which hyper-activates my senses yet slows me down, is what also grounds me. It has become kinda like an unintentional meditation ritual. That as soon as the toilet paper turns red, everything slows down and I change. This change is vital to my mental health. It helps me rebuild myself a little, and I believe that has a lot of valuable healing properties. And that makes me thankful that I'm a woman, because I get to experience this very healing, grounding process, every month - which I had entirely forgotten about, for 5 years, when I was taking testosterone and my period didn't come.

I was of course relieved back then, that I could go on for years without a single period happening. I'm not gonna brush aside that it was a huge relief at that time, back when I was still busy being angry at my body and at nature for causing any females to bleed monthly, because it felt like a punishment for the crime of simply having been born female - but now that I have her back, my period, I don't want for her to go away. It's the ONE thing that makes me hesitate and doubt if I even wanna go back on testosterone again, despite really badly wanting most other changes. And I will grieve losing my period again, if I go back on it!

I need my period. I do not hate it. I do not feel ashamed of it. It's a painful process to go through, which I have somehow managed to turn into something beautiful, and something to be celebrated. Every time it arrives, my instant self-care routine is also a celebration. I look forward to this celebration, every month. I look forward to my period. Every. Single. Month. This is something I thought I would never, ever say. But there it is. I am thanking nature for that wonderful opportunity to sit back, relax, reflect and focus on what really matters: loving myself, and making the most out of the one life that I have.

I hope this post gave you something to think about.

[level20lesbian]

hi! do you think you could talk more about the more important side effects of taking hormones? or things you should know about it before deciding to? i'm not sure whether i want to or not, mostly because the whole infertile thing kind of scares me

Long post incoming!

If you’re asking about like, negative side effects, there’s really not that many. The most notable one for some people is, like you say, that you’re very likely to end up sterile after a bit. It turns out if you pull all the testosterone out of that particular system it tends to not work so well. There’s always the option of freezing sperm for if you wish to use it in the future, but I’m told it’s quite expensive (I didn’t bother with it so I dunno exactly how much).

Along with that there’s a chance that your overall sexual function will decrease somewhat. You may find it slightly more difficult to get and maintain an erection, although the chances of things completely not working are pretty slim.

People will tell you a lot that your libido will likely decrease but I’m gonna be totally honest if that’s ever happened to anyone I haven’t met them. If anything it seems more likely that it might increase as you get more comfortable with yourself.

This one I’m still not sure about but I’ve heard a lot of women corroborate it and my own experience seems to line up: there’s a possibility you start to experience some of the symptoms of PMS. Obviously you’re not gonna have an actual period, but a lot of the side effects of that process are hormone dependent, so you might find yourself going through a few days of discomfort every month. The types and severity of symptoms you experience depends on the person; even in afab folks there’s a pretty big variation from person to person. Personally I tend to get pretty nasty mood swings, fatigue, and really sore breasts.

Speaking of breasts, they’re not gonna go away even if you stop estrogen, but usually that’s part of the appeal so that’s probably not a problem. They will ache and be ridiculously sensitive pretty much constantly when they start coming in though, so I’d recommend investing in some really soft sports bras and some painkillers, and if you have habit of flopping down on your front break that now, cuz you’re gonna regret it sooooooo much the first time you do it after this starts.

If you have a family history of migraines but you don’t get them now there’s a chance you might be a little more susceptible after. I get them every now and then whereas before I think I’d had like two.

There’s a small chance you may shrink an inch or two, because your pelvis is gonna rotate forward a bit. It may also widen a bit depending on how young you are when you start. This I’ve gathered just from my own reading so I’m not 100% confident that’s entirely true, but it does seem to make sense, and would explain why I spent a few weeks with a significant amount of pain around my hips around the six month mark. Seriously, that was definitely the least enjoyable part of this whole experience.

Specifically about the medication, you’re gonna spend a few days being incredibly nauseous while your body adjusts right after you start, but that’ll pass. Spironolactone also makes you have to pee constantly for a few hours after you take it, and reduces your sodium levels quite a lot. You’ll have to make sure you drink plenty of fluids to avoid being dehydrated, and you’re gonna crave salty food, which you should eat plenty of to offset the medication. This is where the whole “trans girls love pickles” thing comes from.

Finally, there’s a few health things that your doctor is likely gonna bring up pretty often. Your chances for blood clots and breast cancer will increase, BUT what may not be entirely obvious from whatever info they give you is that that increase is still TINY. Blood clots aren’t very likely unless you’re predisposed already, and your chances of getting breast cancer are only slightly higher than a cis man’s (it can still happen tho, so learn how to do a self exam!). What they also likely won’t mention is that your chances of prostate cancer drop SIGNIFICANTLY. Again, you’re still gonna want to get checked once you’ve reached the age for that, but while it’s pretty common in cis men, it’s very rare in trans women.

And that’s pretty much everything I can think of. But if you think that sounds like a lot, the list of benefits has to be like, twenty times longer. It’s really insane how much changes; I don’t think I can put it all in one post.

[donnerpartyofone]

idk if you've talked about it, probably have. but if you don't mind to again, ketamine injections for depression? did it work? was it expensive? how long did it work for? ty.

dang, i never got a notification for this message. sorry! ketamine absolutely worked for the management of my depression, it was very expensive, and i think i would have needed more for it to become a longer term solution. i may still go back in the future if my lifestyle changes, but for right now, i can’t justify the cost--which is an insane thing to say when what i’m paying for is freedom from hurting myself, but, ya know, CAPITALISM. 

the whole story is, i’ve been severely depressed my whole entire life; i don’t have any memories that don’t involve feeling morbidly upset, and i can remember things pretty sharply from the time i was slightly younger than 2.* i took ketamine recreationally some years ago when i was around 30 (i wasn’t adventurous about substances until i reached about that age), and i was totally astounded by how it affected my depression both during, and for weeks after the experience. it seemed to distance me from the oppressively immediacy of my bad feelings, giving me space to actually THINK about what was really bothering me, what kind of control i could have over how i assign importance and authority to things that don’t serve me, and what i might like my life to be like in the future. so, when i found out that there were ketamine clinics in new york, i kind of freaked out. actually, i found out about it from a guy who i met on an ayahuasca retreat upstate (which is its own hilariously mortifying story that i’ve been trying to write down for years and it keeps turning into a big unwieldy novel), who had been through the entire gamut of treatments for major depressive disorder. he liked his ketamine experience, but admitted that it was prohibitively expensive to keep up.

this is the place i went, and i recommend it to anyone who can afford it:

nyketamine.com

they say that they accept patients selectively, if you have treatment-resistant depression. i don’t know how strict they are about that, because by the time i came to them, i was looking pretty treatment-resistant. i’d been in and out of a few shrinks’ offices, and i’m basically incapable of taking any of the usual antidepressants because of how they affect other conditions i have. the process was, i filled out a request form on their website, and in a day or two, a clinician called to interview me over the phone about the character of my depression, and to gather some other anecdotal information about my history and health. the person i spoke to was very kind, attentive, and reassuring. the following day, someone called to set my first appointment. the whole reason i was able to do this is because of some inheritance that i received at the time; it’s $450 a session, and they suggest (or insist? i’m not sure) that you begin with a minimum of 6 sessions, each of them 2 days apart. after that, you just kind of monitor yourself to see when you think you need pickup sessions; the effect is cumulative and long term. i have no idea if they have any type of sliding scale accommodation, it could be worth asking.

when i went in for my first session, i had a brief interview with the head doctor, a navy veteran and anesthesiologist who had been working with ketamine in various capacities for 50 years. he explained a lot of things that i had no idea about, that were great to learn. periods of prolonged stress, especially while your brain is still developing, can result in a deficit of the neural pathways that you need to experience a full range of emotion; essentially, being chronically depressed and anxious can kind of give you brain damage. if you have that type of problem, it doesn’t matter what you do to try to boost your serotonin or dopamine or whatever; it’s like if you’re trying to get somewhere in your car and you can’t, not because you’re out of gas, but because the bridge is out. for some reason, ketamine switches back on the function that builds those pathways, so with regular therapeutic applications, you can actually heal the structural problem around your mood centers that’s reducing your emotional range to anxiety and depression. if you’re over 60 or so and your brain is less plastic, your chances of success aren’t as good as when you’re younger, but there’s always a chance; also, for some reason, ketamine plays especially well with estrogen, so women have a bit of a leg up. anyway, the doctor was great, and i really liked everyone there; it felt like they all knew they were doing something meaningful.

the sessions themselves are pleasant. they put you in a private room in a big cushy medical chair with a blanket and a pillow, and you let them know if you want the lights on or off. they give you an IV drip that lasts roughly an hour, and they communicate with you to figure out the dosage. you basically just tell them what feels comfortable, if the dosage they start you on is too low to notice. you won’t get something that puts you in a K hole, but you should enter a gentle dissociative state where you feel a little numb and floaty, and you might have a lot of interesting abstract thoughts. the worst part of it is just how bad you have to pee by the time the drip is done, when you’re still feeling a little anesthetized; sometimes i wound up looking at the bag with my flashlight to check if i had finished, and then i’d just press the call button to get them to come unplug me before i pissed my pants.

you’re not supposed to necessarily notice a difference right away, but you should detect a change in mood after a few weeks. i did. the way my disorder works is, most days i just have a low level background radiation of sadness and exhaustion, even on a “good day” when things are working out or i’m distracted by things i enjoy. when i wake up in the morning and realize i’m conscious and the time for sleep is over, my first feeling is disappointment, 100% of the time. then, i’d say roughly once a month or once every couple of months, i have a complete nervous collapse where i’m in so much pain i can’t really do anything but like drool and cry and let my eyes go out of focus, for anywhere from 1-7 days. there will usually be an apparent trigger; i’m a fairly dysfunctional person, and i frequently lose things, break things, and fuck things up even though i like STUDIED to do them, took it slow, asked for help, gave myself extra time, etc. but the thing is, i think the “trigger” is arbitrary, this is just a cyclic psychic event that builds up and waits to happen. but after my first battery of ketamine treatments, i had a particular day when i could tell that normally, i would quickly wind up curled up at the bottom of my bathtub scream-crying until i couldn’t move--and this time, i managed to just push through. not only did i not break down, but i actually got a number of difficult chores done, that i had put off because they seemed too intimidating, or like i wouldn’t be able to mentally handle my inevitable failure. i noticed more and more of that, while i was in proximity to the treatments, an ability to just buckle down and keep going. so it’s not like i felt HAPPIER or something, but i felt much more capable of coping, which was like a miracle honestly.

it’s been about 3.5 months since i last went in, and i think i could use a booster appointment, but as i said i just can’t fit it in with my financial reality right now. so, that sucks. but, i definitely feel that it was worth doing, and i would recommend it to anyone who can shoulder the cost. hopefully in the future, ketamine will become a much more common psychiatric treatment, and it will become available to more and more patients.

*A friend of mine just told me he read somewhere that you don’t actually recall memories from like 20 years ago, you just remember the last time you recalled them--so like, i THINK i remember my parents struggling to give me drops for pink eye in our first apartment when i was about 1.5 years old, but in reality, i just remember the last time i remembered it, or the earliest time i’m able to remember remembering it. pretty interesting! and kind of disturbing, like the idea that star trek-type teleporters don’t actually transport a person, they just DESTROY the original person and rebuild a new one on the other end, a thought that REALLY BOTHERS ME.

[sillyshortstories]

Parsley

Summary: This short story is inspired by the original Rapunzel tale by Giambattista Basile. Serafina must embark on many side quests to obtain the witch's parsley, before her pregnant wife Satomi succumbs to scratching her eczema ridden skin!

Cultural context: Birthmarks and cravings. 

“I’m really craving parsley,” Satomi said, longingly staring out the window. 

Serafina immediately rose from her coffin, and stared at her wife in horror. “Which… which parsley?”

Satomi pressed herself against the window, and dragged a hand down it slowly. “The neighbour’s.” 

These words granted Serafina more alertness than 49 cups of coffee. Satomi turned her head, pouting out her lip like a small child. Serafina softly started, “Don’t-”

“Could you,” Satomi started to beg. “Get some for me?”

Serafina stumbled out of her coffin, shaking her head profusely. “Nope. No. Not gonna happen, sorry babe.” 

Satomi whined, “But Serafina-”

“I may be a 240 year old blood-thirsty-vampire, but she’s a 22 year old independent witch of this century. She’ll destroy me and you know it.” Serafina grabbed Satomi’s hands, and pulled her gently. “”Now let’s get away from the window and think of sorbet. You like sorbet! I can go to the corner store and pick you up some of that.” 

Like a switch, Satomi change her demeanor, and leaned into her wife. She slowly and seductively whispered, “I want that parsley.” She breathed into Serafina’s ear. “And my eczema is acting up.”

Serafina quickly pushed and held Satomi at a distance. “You’re lying?” she said softly. 

“You know I’m not.”

Sweat began to form on Serafina’s forehead. She shifted her attention from Satomi to the window, until she gulped down. “You uh,” her voice quivered. “You really want that parsley?” 

Satomi smiled, horns imagined on her head as she planted a kiss on Serafina’s pale lips. “Make sure to get a big bunch,” she requested, and sat back down on the windowsill. “Thanks babe.”

“It was nice knowing you, my love. I’ll die on this quest to get parsley for my beautiful wife,” Serafina performed, allowing a tear to fall from her eye. “Tell our baby that I love them.”

“Hon, you’re immortal.” 

“She’ll break my soul!” Serafina sniffled, then ended her dramatic scene. “Okay, I’m going.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

___

Serafina tiptoed her way around the fence that divided the two properties, and somersaulted on the grass like a secret agent. She did it correctly, only her feet landed and crushed a lavender head. 

“Well, I already fucked up.”

Serafina stood up, dusted off her pants and cloak, and walked right up to the small patch of fresh parsley. She wrapped her hands around the stems of as many as she could, then ripped it out from the Earth. Soil spilled out from beneath it, pulling out multiple carrot-looking roots along with it.

Serafina heard a crack of a twig, fear shook her to the very core as a shadowy figure stepped into her view. The figure was her neighbour Nomi, who held onto the ends of her cloak above her head, giving the illusion of a larger stature in the dark night. However, she was approximately the average size of a pubescent child.  

Nomi squinted her eyes at the lavender patch, releasing her cloak, and croaked, “What did you do to my lavender?”

“It was an acci-”

“Those were to save the bees. What, you don’t like bees now?”

“No, I love those chubby fuckers! It was an accident, really.”

“And this bunch of parsley you ripped out from my garden? I’m guessing that was an accident too.”

“Well, uh, see-”

Nomi snatched the parsley from Serafina’s grasp. “Nice try, but it’ll cost you.”

“How much money do you want?”

“Not money…” Nomi stroked the parsley in her hands. “I’ll let you have the parsley if-” She smirked. “If you give me your first-”

“Not my first child!” Serafina screamed. 

“Goddess no, why would I want to be a mother in this economy? I just want your first murder victim. Their bones, to be precise.”

“I-I haven’t killed anyone. I’ve always lived off of period blood.”

Nomi blinked rapidly, shaking her head in disbelief. “Wow, um, okay? Then just get me Dildar from the graveyard down the street. Aaron’s been hoarding him since I was 7.”

“Are you sure you don’t just want mo-”

“Bones!” Nomi screeched, swinging her cloak over her face, and disappeared into the shadows again. 

___

The fog was thick in the graveyard, the whistling of the wind filling Serafina’s ears. She clutched her cloak and wrapped it around her body as she wandered deeper into the graveyard. Some fog passed through her body, and took the shape of a 10 foot cyclops. 

“I am the grave ghost! Fear me!”

“Hey Aaron.”

“Oh, hey Serafina.” The ghost relaxed and shrunk down to Serafina’s height, in a human form. “Has it been a year already?”

“No, I’m not here to visit my former husband. I’m here for, uh… Dildar, actually.”

Aaron squinted his illuminated eyes, and hovered around Serafina’s body. “Why?”

“Well, uh, see Aaron, I need something from Nomi and-”

“Tell that Gnome that she cannot have his bones.”

Tears welled in Serafina’s eyes. “Come on Aaron, it’s not like I’m asking for your husband’s bones.”

“Dildar was my first love and you know that.” Aaron descended slowly to sit on top of Dildar’s tombstone. He let out a sigh. “We met when I was 20.”

Aaron smiled softly, immersing himself in the soft memories.

Human Aaron was walking his dog when there was an explosion a few houses down. Thick smoke seeped out through the cracks in the window of the small stone house. A young man with singed eyebrows and a coarse beard stumbled out of the front door, and fell on the lawn.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asked, wafting away the smoke around him. 

“I’m fi-fi-fi-fine,” Dildar replied. 

Aaron offered a hand out towards Dildar. “You need some moisturizer, you are looking a little ashy.” 

Dildar burst out into laughter, then smudged some of the black soot from his cheek with the back of his hand.

“We became friends because of that,” ghost Aaron said recalling some more memories. “He sure was an experimental alchemist, and a talented witch.” 

Serafina spoke softly, “You know he would allow his bones to be used after his death.”

“I know that, Nomi just boils my blood.” Aaron floated up from the tombstone and circled around Serafina slowly. “Why are you helping the Gnome anyways?” 

“Satomi is craving parsley and-”

“Say no more,” Aaron interrupted. “I will make a deal with you. I will give you the bones of Dildar if,” he tapped his finger against each other, like he was hatching an evil plan. “You get me Rasmus’ lucky rabbit’s foot.”

“Oh, come on Aaron,” Serafina whined. 

“I cannot give you his bones, Serafina.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll get the rabbit’s foot for you.” Serafina turned and mumbled unpleasant commentary under her breath as she stormed out of the graveyard. 

___

Music was blaring through the open windows. Serafina’s knock was barely audible, but Rasmus swung the door open. 

“Serafina!” Rasmus shouted over the noise. “What’s up? Come in!”

Serafina immersed herself in the chaos, and without hesitation she tried to explain, “I’m going to be straight with you- well, not straight ‘cause i’m not.” She snorted. “But like, to the point, I need- Is that a dancing chicken?!”

“Oh yeah, Ove and Ivalu found her wandering on our front lawn,” Rasmus replied. “She’s pretty talented, huh?”

The chicken was racking up points in Dance Dance Revolution until the very end. The tiny Ivalu, exhausted, toppled over in defeat once the song finished. 

“Y’ain’t shit Ivalu,” Ove shouted at his sister, as he pushed her battered body to the side. 

Like clockwork, Ove and the chicken agreed on a song, and began to dance. But this song, When I Grow Up by The Pussycat Dolls, sent the chicken down memory lane.

Freshly hatched from the egg, the chicken was introduced to music, and with that, the influence to move to the melody. Her mother thought it was cute, the way she would move her feet, and sway her plump behind, but she wanted to be more than cute. She wanted to be the best. She wanted to be famous. 

At the ripe age of 1, she set out on her own. She followed the music, made it to frat parties, and befriended lonely flute players in the woods. 

‘I’ll be famous one day’, she would think as she practiced daily. On her journey, the chicken stumbled upon Rasmus’ front lawn, and danced to the music that poured out of the windows. 

Eventually, she caught the attention of the two children, and as many others had done, they welcomed the talented chicken into their home. However, this time was different. 

Other people, other homes, were not equipped with a game to help her practice. This game offered her a wide selection of tunes and choreography. Upon discovering this game, the chicken silently decided she would stay a while, and practice to achieve her dreams. 

‘I’ll be famous one day,’ she repeated in her head. ‘It is my dance dance resolution.’

Serafina stared in awe as the chicken demolished Ove this round without even breaking a sweat. Not that she could sweat, she’s a chicken after all. 

“Uh.” Serafina cleared her throat, and looked to Rasmus. “Look, I’m really in a rush. My wife needs parsley, but Nomi wants bones, and Aaron wants your lucky rabbit’s foot. Can I give you something in exchange for the foot?”

“Why does Satomi need parsley?”

“You know, pregnant women crave thi-”

“She’s pregnant?!” Rasmus threw his hands in the air, and giggled like a schoolgirl. 

Serafina smiled at his excitement. “Yeah, for a few months now.”

“I had no idea! I assumed hormone replacement therapy would make you infertile.”

“Oh no, I’m not on hormones. It’s hard enough to get my supply of period blood all the way out here, forget estrogen.” Serafina tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “Anyways, Rasmus, I need the lucky rabbit’s foot. What do you want in exchange for it?”

Serafina silently prayed for his request to be money. 

Rasmus placed a finger to his chin and stared at the ceiling as he thought. He animated his thought process by throwing his thinking hand into the air. “Oh! I know! Tamecia has a handwritten cookbook.”

“You want a cookbook?”

“Hey, I’m a single dad living in the middle of the forest. I need to make due with a surplus of wild mushrooms and ramps.”

Serafina sighed. “Fair enough. I’ll be back with the cookbook,” and she went on her not-so-merry-way.

___

She was exactly where Serafina knew she’d be; stuck in a tree. The branches crackled beneath her, and in an instant, Tamecia fell to the ground. 

Tamecia had a white afro as big as her belly, that now housed several branches and withering leaves. 

“Hey,” Serafina dragged out the word in a forced upbeat tone. “Tamecia.” 

“Serafina! Hello darling. Help me up, won’t you?” Tamecia grunted, and stuck her arms out for Serafina to grab. 

Serafina’s veins popped, muscles rippled as she strained to lift Tamecia up, who was putting in no effort herself. 

“There you go. Not too difficult for you, I hope?” Tamecia chuckled to herself, and dusted off her silk nightgown. 

Serafina was still panting as she blurted out, “Can I buy your cookbook?”

A bellow of laughter erupted from Tamecia. “Why would you need a cookbook, dear?”

“I don’t, but Rasmus does, and I need something from him.”

“Ah, Rasmus. Good fellow. Did you see that dancing chicken he has?”

“I had the pleasure of meeting her today. Now how about that cookbook.” Serafina whipped out her wallet from her back pocket. “How much do you want for it?”

“Oh sweetheart, I don’t want money.”

Serafina’s face light up like Diwali. “You don’t? Then can I get it n-”

“Monifa does have an invention I’m interested in.” Serafina immediately deflated as Tamecia continued, “If you can get that for me, dear, then I’ll gladly give you the cookbook.”

Serafina looked like death. “What’s the invention?”

“It’s a potion that gives you stretchy limbs. It’d be very useful for me. You don’t know how often my Kitty gets stuck in trees.”

“No no, I can imagine how often your kite Kitty gets caught in trees. We do live in a forest after all.” Serafina let out a long sigh, and carried herself away from Tamecia, who had begun another attempt at retrieving her pet kite from the tree. 

“So, a stretchy formula,” Serafina mumbled, swaying her lifeless body in the direction of Monifa’s house. 

___

Monifa’s lawn was full of botanical life, but with a clean walkway to the front door. Serafina breathed in the calming lavender, attempting to enjoy nature instead of letting the bitterness brew in her chest. She couldn’t believe Nomi was the only person in the whole village to grow parsley. 

‘It’s okay.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I will get this parsley, as if my life depends on it.’

Just as Serafina put her fist to the door, it swung open. “Hey Serafina,” Monfia said. 

“That was… were you expecting someone or something?” Serafina looked behind her, and searched around for someone else. 

“No.” Monifa leaned against the doorframe. “You were just standing on my porch for a while. Seemed a little out of it. Are you okay?”

Serafina’s voice cracked, and her body fell, as she clutched onto Monifa’s lab coat. “I need parsley.”

“Oh, okay?” Monifa instinctively held onto Serafina, and attempted to pull her up. “How can I help?” 

“I need your limb-stretching formula or whatever it’s called.”

“Stretcher 4.0. I’m sorry, but how does… how does that help you get parsley?”

Serafina pulled herself up with the aid of Monifa, and explained to her they daily events that led to this moment. She pointed to the trees, and danced like the chicken to animate her predicament. 

Monifa attempted to contain her laughter. “Wait wait wait, you’re going through all of this because your wife is craving parsley?”

“My wife has eczema, I can’t just not! Our child will have parsley all over their skin!”

“Actually, that superstition has been disproven for centu-”

“PARSLEY! PARSLEY ON OUR BABY’S BODY!” Serafina threw her hands in the air frantically, then dragged her fingers through her hair, tugging it down. “Now, what do you want in exchange for the stretchy thingy?”

Monifa paused for a moment before pointing behind her. “Do you see a little girl eating brownies back there?”

Serafina peered in, noticing a tray of untouched, steaming brownies, but no sign of anyone else in the bungalow. “Uh, no?”

Monifa adjusted her glasses to sit higher up the bridge of her nose. “Okay, I figured I needed to switch up my meds.” Monfia reached into her pocket, and pulled out a thin vial with a thick iridescent fluid. “Here you go, the stretcher 4.0.”

Serafina took it in her hands, and stared at it bewildered. “That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

“Are.. you sure?”

“Yup, that’s all I needed. Oh! One more thing before you go; be sure to unplug your appliances after use, because it can burn out the device and it wastes electricity.”

Serafina switched her gaze from the vial to Monifa, with tears forming in her eyes. She sniffled, “Thank you.”

___

The house was flooded with the burnt orange of dawn light, and Serafina swam in the warmth of it. The parsley in her hands flopped around as she danced to jazz music from the 1920’s, playing softly on the record player.

Even with the missing component of garlic, the scent of tomato sauce transported Serafina to her childhood in Italy.  

She burst into the tiny kitchen to greet Satomi when the record scratched and stopped. 

A pot began to spit out sauce as Satomi stood frozen over the stove, with her eyes fixed on Serafina. Satomi’s hand was still on her neck, which was inflamed and cracked. Slowly, her hand moved down to her side. 

Serafina held the bouquet of parsley out and mumbled, “You’re not still craving this, are you?”

“I, uh,” Satomi stuttered, just as the pot of water began to boil over. 

Satomi hurriedly removed the lid from the pot, and slowly stirred in the pasta, occasionally stealing glances of Serafina. 

Finally, Serafina relaxed into a smile as she watched her wife. She imagined their child looking just like Satomi, with birthmarks in place of her eczema. 

Serafina planted a kiss on Satomi’s cheek. “Our child is going to be so beautiful.”

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Planned Parenthood may do some good services, but it doesn't change the fact they still perform services that end lives. So I can't support them and hope they get shut down. No matter how good a place may seem, if they kill children, they aren't good.

My husband said something really lovely to me the other day. He said, “I like how you look at things and believe in the best intentions.” 

It was very nice to hear put into words something I’m really passionate about: assuming the best of people. Because, the thing is, I see something like this (which I assume has been sitting in my inbox for months given how long I’ve been off the platform), and I think, “This person clearly believes what they’re saying, and they had to have LEARNED it from somewhere. Family? Church? Friends? Their own attempts at research?”

And if you can learn something, you can learn better. You can always learn better. And usually, I’d take five minutes and find some good links off google and encourage you to read through that information and consider how and why the way you feel about Planned Parenthood was formed and the ways, perhaps, you were misled or outright lied to. 

Because, the thing is, Planned Parenthood doesn’t kill children. It saves them. Time and time again, it saves them. By providing pre-natal care. By offering information about government programs to help parents in poverty. By doing cancer screenings (because someone getting a cancer screening is, by fact, someone’s child). By providing Pap smears and STD testing. By providing condoms and birth control and 100% factual information about how sex works and how it can be safe and unsafe.

The abortions it does perform? Those aren’t children. Those are cells that have the potential to be children. 

And, usually, I’d have those last two paragraphs all linked up pretty in the hope that you might click through and learn, but quite frankly, I’m fucking tired today. I’m on my fourth change of estrogen dose in roughly a year, and that came after having a THIRD surgery to deal with my endometriosis, and before my FIRST surgery, I was on an ever-changing rotation of hormones to try and control my pain, and after that first surgery, I spent another six months rotating hormones before finally deciding it was time to take out everything we could, and I’m sitting here writing this, two weeks past my 37th birthday, hoping this new dose maybe lasts a full year so I can realistically make it to 40 without having to just go into full-on menopause because we had to yank out all my reproductive insides to deal with the pain from the endo.

And I’m so fucking tired. But at least I know I have endo, and I’ve been able to advocate for myself and find doctors who believe my pain and are avid in their assistance to keep my shit under control. 

And the only reason I know I have endo is because the doctors at Planned Parenthood didn’t tell me “period pain is normal.” They didn’t say, “Well, are you sure it hurts that much?” They didn’t ignore my long list of symptoms. They didn’t ignore my ability to know my own body. They didn’t ignore my AGENCY. They treated me like a full person in pain, not some woman with a bad period, and I’m on my fourth dose of estrogen in a calendar year, but I’m not in daily, bone-crushing pain, and it’s because, at the age of 30, a doctor at Planned Parenthood looked at me and said, “You have endo,” and finally--FINALLY--getting a diagnosis for the ever-increasing pain I was in gave me the strength to get up and fight for control, and that’s what Planned Parenthood does every fucking day. 

So, I’m not going to link you. Because you know where google is. And I’m not going to think the worst of you. Because I do think you’ve been told some bad things by people you trust. But it’s not my fucking job to change your mind. And I’m fucking tired. 

Planned Parenthood saves lives. In a lot of different ways. Every day they save someone’s child. Every. Fucking. Day.

[pitiless-achilles-wept]

I Will Never Be Well: Why Good News is No News

I’m sure you’ve been wondering why I haven’t written in a while. Part of it is that I set myself a very high standard at the beginning and now feel that anything I write has to be lengthy, meditative, and circumspect. I’ll try to get away from that, so that I can share news when I feel I have any. That is, however, only part of it. The other, more substantive reason that I have for not sharing is that my last scans (on September 27th) showed good news. Although the initial tumor didn’t get any smaller a couple other ones did and—the real news—nothing spread or got bigger.

That’s great! Why didn’t I share it? Precisely because it’s great. Those results were really only the second time I heard anything like good news and part of me is filled with the fear, or even the certainty, that good news is in short supply and that I’ll run out soon. I don’t want to spread it too widely because I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, including mine.

[Below the cut, reflections on being stage 4 and the time-limited nature of “good news.”]

I have actually found myself annoyed by people’s celebratory, relieved reactions to the news that the clinical trial has been working. “Sure it is,” I think, “but for how long?”. The truth is that nothing will work forever. The median time during which patients on the forerunner of this trial (those with BRCA germline mutations) saw improvement was 8 months. I started this trial in July. Even if I’m average (which, let’s remember, I haven’t been at any point in this entire process), that means timing out in March. (Happy birthday to me.)  

Now, I might be exceptional in the other direction. There are people on PARP inhibitors who have been stable for 3-5 years. That would be amazing. We can hope, and hope is certainly worthwhile. But the fundamental truth is that good news that I get is only good in context. And the context is still pretty terrible. I feel like people either don’t know that (not everyone has such an extensive and intimate understanding of cancer) or allow themselves to forget it (a luxury that they’re allowed).

The result is that I feel that, with very few exceptions, no one understands that I will never be well. I will never be normal. I will never not have cancer. This is what it is to be stage 4.

I had the opportunity a couple weekends ago to attend a pair of events at the Dana-Farber clinic in Boston, both specifically for unusual patient demographics that include me. The first was a summit for women under 40. The second was an entire day devoted to research into and strategies for patients with metastatic breast cancer. Both were well-attended—I’d guess 200ish people at each—with very little audience overlap. And, among those four hundred or so women, I still did not meet anyone who has my triple-word score of bad luck: under 40, stage 4, triple negative.

Because of this, even in the breast cancer community, even in the company of people I know do understand certain aspects of it in intimate, painful detail, I feel isolated and often experience empathy fatigue. Women at the first summit were at all stages and many were survivors. It was great to see so many people at my rough life stage who were coping with a variety of problems entirely different from those who are older, but I still felt like I didn’t quite fit. Because in this demographic, the stage 4 (also known as “metastatic” or “mets”) representation was pretty minimal.  

It makes sense. Typically, younger women’s cancer is caught earlier, informed as they are about early screening based on a family history or genetic predisposition. In addition, most stage 4 patients do not start out that way, instead experiencing the progression of the disease from an earlier stage at a limited point in the body. (And, if you’re still counting, this is a fourth thing that makes me statistically unusual: having a de novo metastatic diagnosis. I met one other woman who was stage 4, de novo, and under 40 and, while not triple negative, she also wasn’t married and didn’t have kids. I need to hang on to her.) Consequently, most stage 4 patients have been dealing with cancer for years already and tend to be older.

And also, of course, metastatic cancer patients tend to die.

I can’t see any of you, but I can still feel you cringe at that. I’m not usually so blunt about it because it’s a harsh reality. But it is reality. We’ve moved beyond the stage—wonderfully, with incredible work and fascinating science—that, at least for breast cancer, “stage 4” doesn’t equate to “terminal.” It does, however, equate to “incurable.” I have an incurable disease. And, the way things look right now, I will eventually die from it.

Now, don’t anybody say anything about getting hit by a bus, please. When’s the last time that actually happened, for one thing, and, for another, while many things are possible some things, like my life being ended by cancer, are more probable than others. We can hope it’s very eventual, or that circumstances change profoundly. The goal for metastatic breast cancer is to transform it into a chronic condition that can be maintained and controlled and, particularly for young women, be part of a long and relatively normal life. As normal as it can be with the constant, gnawing anxiety, punctuated by moments of terror at the idea that the treatment will stop working and that the cancer will grow again and that, maybe this time, they won’t find something to halt the progress.

This brings in the third rare group that I’m part of (one which doesn’t have its own summit): women with triple negative breast cancer. If you’ve been taking notes you’ll remember that this means my particular cancer cells don’t have any of the three receptors on them (estrogen, progesterone, and HER2) that open up other treatment options, like hormone therapy and Herceptin. I learned at this conference that only 15% of breast cancer is triple-negative. Multiply that by the odds of being under-40 and stage 4 and it’s…well, it’s apparently less than one in four hundred people, based on my experience. And I can’t help but feel bitter about that, try as I do to remain optimistic overall.

There is no “good” kind of cancer. (Not even “the kind that happens to other people.”) But, truly, there is a hierarchy of types and, within each type, a hierarchy of curability or treatability and, within that, a hierarchy of the ease of those things. Breast cancer is a better type than some (leukemia; lymphoma; pancreatic), well-funded and thoroughly researched. But within those parameters, I’m in the worst of the worst position. Most of the treatments that allow stage 4 patients to control their cancer involve hormone therapy and Herceptin, neither of which will work for me. Most of the new, promising research (aside from the study that I’m in right now) has to do with immunotherapy involving PDL1 – a protein on the cell surface that I don’t have.

So even though the generalities we speak in give reason for optimism, even at stage 4, for me all the particulars are pretty dismal. Yes, we hope that the treatment that’s currently working keeps working for a really long time. Yes, part of what I hope (intend!) to do is to stick around long enough for the science to get even better, for them to (for example) find other proteins on the cell’s surface that function like PDL1. For antibody-drug conjugates to really take off. For something as yet unknown to be discovered. I believe very deeply in the power of research medicine and it does give me hope. I’m always hoping.

Hope is the thing with feathers, but sometimes they get to looking pretty bedraggled. It’s easy to understand why I feel like, if the PARP inhibitors stop working, I’ve pretty much lost my only shot. Remember how chemo didn’t do anything? How my tumor got bigger and the cancer spread to my liver? Doing that again, looking for another clinical trial, and hoping that the science moves fast enough for me is all I would have if I had to leave the study. Which I’ll find out about in the next 10 days, as I check in for more scans on November 8th and hear results on the 11th or 12th.

So what’s the right balance between celebrating the good news—news good enough that after my September scans my oncologist swept me up in a hug—and remembering that, even in the best case scenario, my life will be filled with treatments that are long and painful and only effective for a limited period of time? And what about you all? How do you support someone through that? Do you choose optimism that can seem to miss the point, even coming off as naïve? Or a tempered realism that may seem not to offer enough enthusiasm to match a full understanding of the significance of good news?

I’m not able to give you an answer. The best I can do is try to give you some idea, through posts like this, what I’m facing and what’s going on for me, even when the news is good. But I will also try (when the news IS good) to share that information more widely. Because even a limited amount of good is, in a situation like this, worth celebrating.

[haikumomentsandinspiration]

#healthcarevacation, Part III

My last update was on August 25, 2018. So much has happened since then, so there will be at least two more parts to this documentation. If you missed earlier updates, you can read Part I here and Part II here. 

First of all, I did come up with a tattoo idea (see my last update) and got one last summer. I had had a challenging spring term in the 2018-2019 school year, and needed to remind myself who I am and what I’m about. So I went to my tattoo artist and asked her to design ”a badass mermaid” for me. A siren that’s feminine and strong (not a skinny blonde mermaid, please!), a siren who looks like she is ready to kick some ass if need be—soft, with hard edges.

And I got just that, along with a tattoo on the side of my belly of a fertility symbol from traditional Turkish kilim patterns.

But let me back up.

After August 2018, after a ton of research, we decided to go with donor egg IVF in Spain. Our patient coordinator at the clinic we chose was lovely and super communicative. She was available via WhatsApp anytime I had a question or anxiety or both, and made sure I knew what the next steps would be and when. I felt well cared for.

During my winter break, I flew to Spain soon before our donor’s egg retrieval to start the treatment. I flew into Barcelona to give myself some time in my favorite city before flying to Valencia. I had a cold right before my trip, and in Barcelona, I started feeling like my cold may in fact be a sinus infection. I was miserable. I managed to go outside, get some fresh ginger, some lemon ginger tea, cough drops, and congestion meds. I needed to get better...STAT.

Two days later, on the day I was to fly to Valencia in the evening and meet Gene at the airport there, I woke up to the news Gene couldn’t fly out to join me that day because his passport wasn’t good for at least 6 months. (Being Turkish, I wondered if someone had “cast the evil eye” on us.) Eventually, Gene was able to miraculously take care of all the paperwork, get an emergency passport renewal, and catch the same exact flight to VLC 24 hours later.

The day after G’s arrival, we took a bus to Gandía for our first appointment at Irema clinic. My uterine lining was still a bit too thin, so they upped my meds, but told me not to worry since I still had a week before the scheduled transfer day. That evening, Gene and I flew to Barcelona to boost morale before the transfer. I was feeling slightly better, but Gene ended up catching my cold. Sigh. Things were just not going as smoothly as I had hoped.

A week later, we headed back to Valencia and then to Irema clinic for my second scan. My lining was still too thin, but other than its thickness, it was looking exactly as it should. They doubled my estrogen dose and postponed my transfer date. I went to the market the next day and shopped for food with a focus on thickening my lining: nuts, avocados, olives, apricots, sardines, chicken broth…My third scan, on December 31, showed my lining was almost there (7.7 mm, with the goal being at least 8 mm thick, so we set the transfer date for January 7. Things were looking up, except I got sick with another cold while still not 100% over the first one, and spent New Year’s Day sick in bed.

Gene left for SF two days later. That he had to go back before transfer day was hard for me. I sent him updates via WhatsApp along the way and tried to stay connected as much as possible (this was a major challenge for me and really got me down). I found an acupuncturist of zero reputation (someone working from home and with no reviews anywhere, which was not unusual in Valencia), but who was very sweet and kind and seemed to know what he was doing, and started seeing him to get my body as ready as possible for the transfer. We had three good quality embryos from our donor, and after much discussion and research, we decided to transfer just one this time, and save two for later for a second attempt or for a sibling later on.

The day before my transfer day, I walked about an hour to the beach, prayed, meditated, and communed with the sea, wishing for a positive outcome the next day. The next day, I found out the embryo we were going to transfer was classified as an A-quality embryo, and my lining was just fine. Transfer was quick and painless, with an all-women team. I went to get fertility acupuncture next to seal the deal, and the next morning, I flew back to San Francisco hopeful, ready for this to finally work.

It didn’t.

But it wasn’t even that simple. The first blood test, my levels came back really low: technically pregnant, but disconcerting if I were indeed pregnant. I was to go back 48 hours later to see if my levels doubled as they were supposed to; we held onto the sliver of hope. But no. Negative. I couldn’t feel the sadness at first — Gene had just started a new job that day after a long stretch of unemployment, so we were celebrating and grateful. Then, a couple of days later, the emotions hit. I felt distant, quiet, impatient...and in need of a new tattoo.

And that’s how the badass mermaid/fertility design tattoos were born.

Fast forward to the summer. After a brief visit to Israel for my grandmother’s 90th birthday, and a week in Istanbul next, I flew back to visit Irema clinic in Spain for the transfer of remaining embryos.

In the meantime, our awesome patient coordinator Lauren had quit her job (some internal drama, which made it sound like she made the absolute right choice). I only found out when I contacted her in preparation for the summer’s transfer to find out what our next steps should be, and had someone named Sergio respond to my text instead of Lauren. He was terrible at communication and not half as knowledgeable as Lauren. It was a very frustrating period, but we had no choice since we still had embryos at the clinic.

July 3, 2019: transfer day! We had decided to transfer both of the remaining embryos this time. We really wanted twins, and if only one took, that was fine, too. We’d figure out what to do about a sibling later. I wasn’t sick this time. I had been upgraded to business class last minute for no apparent reason on my flight over. My lining was where it was supposed to be from the start, and we had two embryos this time. Everything was going smoothly. My sister Rina joined me at the end of my stay in Valencia to help me with my bags, and we went to Barcelona together for my two week wait. All was well; we were joyful and filled with hope.

Because the transfer day happened earlier than I expected compared to our last experience, I had more days in Spain post-transfer than I had anticipated. This meant that I would still be in Spain when I got my blood work results back. I decided I would not delay the wait. I had my blood test done, then went to the beach with Rina. I didn’t swim, just in case I was positive and had to avoid getting an infection. I told G to let me know when he got home from work so I could look at the test result with him on the phone and we could get the news together.

Finally, close to 2 am in Barcelona, with G on the phone, I finally took a look.

Negative.

It was an awful Whatsapp chat. This, we had been convinced, would be the successful one, and it wasn’t. We just sat there, each in our feelings, not sharing them. I felt devastated and alone. Hurt. Mad. Heartbroken. Isolated.

Hours later, when Rina woke up on the morning of her flight back to Istanbul, I told her the news through tears. She said she didn’t want to leave me behind like this; I said I would be fine, and that there wasn’t anything she or anyone could do. I just needed to grieve, and her being there with me or not wouldn’t change anything. Besides, why pay extra money to hang out longer with a depressed sister who doesn’t feel like doing anything except staying in bed crying? Rina went back to her room, made a phone call, and came back to tell me she was staying three more days and that was that. She left to give me some space and to get herself some coffee, and returned a little while later with a bubble wand for me (I am about to cry just thinking about it now.) I got up, blew some bubbles from the balcony of my room towards passersby below. Bubbles have always made me smile. And to my surprise, even under these circumstances they still did.

I got my period a few days later—a few days after Rina had returned to Istanbul and a few days before my own trip back home. That week after the test results and before my flight back to SF, back to Gene was the longest week ever. I tried to make the most of it by finally enjoying all the foods (including ice cream) and alcohol I had been denying myself in Barcelona due to my fertility-friendly diet.

And then, back home, it felt like the longest time ever until I stopped grieving. What finally helped me find a sense of inner calm was to start researching next steps. I started researching clinics in Spain all over again, making phone calls, having Skype chats at all hours of the night (due to the 9-hour time difference), exchanging numerous emails with a number of clinics and their former patients…

Eventually, after I did all that research and laid out everything on a spread sheet, we settled on a clinic in Barcelona and decided to gamble on their birth guarantee/shared risk program. What that means: instead of paying for one cycle (about $9K), you pay a flat fee (about $20K), which gets you three cycles with three different donors and a healthy baby at the end of those, OR all your money back. So the clinic is taking a risk in that they could lose $20K if you don’t have a successful birth by the end. And you take a risk by paying $20K instead of $9K because if the first cycle works, that’s $11K down the drain. We decided it was worth it since I’d had so many failed cycles, including two donor egg transfers thus far. And we figured the clinic would be taking especially good care of us because it would be in their best interest for us to have a successful cycle as soon as possible. Next challenge: figure out how to finance all this. After more research, more emails and more chats with people in various Facebook groups, we settled on a plan and decided to go for it.

December cycles hadn’t been kind to me. I’d had a December cycle with my own eggs in Turkey a few years back, which we had to cancel when my body just didn’t respond to the fertility meds. Our first donor egg transfer in Spain had also failed and was the one cycle when my lining took its time getting to the minimal acceptable thickness for the embryo transfer. Knowing cold weather is not my body’s friend, I was hesitant to start the new cycle with a new clinic in December, but I was also not getting any younger, so there was no time to waste. It was back to Barcelona in December 2019, and this time, Barcelona was the location of the clinic and our only destination, not a short trip between clinic visits in another visit. Everything would be much simpler.

Clarity sure felt good, and knowing what our plan was for up to three cycles (which could span the period of the next two years) was a huge relief to me. I felt so much lighter. I felt hopeful and confident again.

December 2019-January 2020.

Barcelona.

Let’s do this.

To be continued.

[ladywithoutababy]

Starting Over

I got the call today with the PGS results. The nurse left a voicemail without any information, which seemed weird to me, and when she didn’t answer my return call I texted my husband and told him I was worried she didn’t leave details because it was bad news.

She called me back a half hour later, which was good because I was just sitting there feeling queasy, and told me the following:

We have one mosaic embryo

We have one embryo without any results

We have four abnormal embryos

“Wait, 4 abnormal?” I asked, because I thought I must have heard her wrong – this was not a result that either of us had expected at all. She said “Yeah, I’m sorry” in the genuinely sympathetic tone people reserve mostly for funerals, and I think it was her tone that made me understand. I asked her to repeat everything more slowly so I could write it down, and she said:

Mosaic embryos have some normal cells and some abnormal. They sometimes can implant successfully, but the kind we have has a very low chance. I didn’t write down what was wrong with this one, but the abnormality was on chromosome 16.

We could re-biopsy the embryo that didn’t have any results, but there’s no reason to think it’s genetically normal.

Of the abnormal embryos, 2 have monosomy 16, 1 has monosomy 22, and 1 has both monosomy 17 and trisomy 15.

She didn’t explain what any of this meant (she said that usually the doctor likes to make these calls, but she was busy), so I googled it, and here is what I got based on my very poor understanding of how biology works.

When you make a human, each parent is supposed to give it 23 chromosomes. Sometimes, one of those is missing (resulting in a monosomy on that embryo), and sometimes there’s an extra one (a trisomy). Chromosomal abnormalities can cause birth defects, but more commonly they result in an inability to implant, or a miscarriage after implantation.

According to this chart, somewhere between 60-70% of my embryos should be genetically normal (I am 34). But instead, none of them were.

My emotions when this all sank in:

Vindication that I was not crazy when I was saying we should have gotten pregnant at least once during those 3 years we were trying (I was 31 when we started, mind you! That’s so young it’s barely on the chart!)

Depression and the absolute certainty that I will never be able to have a baby

Rage at everyone who’s ever been able to get pregnant

Rage at my husband for not proposing to me when I was younger

Fear that my husband and I have genes that can’t make a baby together

I immediately started trying to decide if we’d be willing to try an egg donor or a sperm donor, if it turned out that one of us was the cause of the abnormalities. I got really sad about raising a baby that isn’t mine, or isn’t his. (I don’t mean to say something negative about people who get pregnant in this way. It’s just something I haven’t had to think about before.)

I left work early after sitting through a few meetings somehow not crying or yelling at anyone, and came home and we sat on the couch and talked about it. We both agreed we felt like crying but didn’t really want to start crying. We took turns saying what feelings we’re having. He didn’t give me a straight answer when I asked if he would be willing to use a sperm donor. He gave me a big hug. Our dog took turns comforting each of us. My sister called. I texted some women who’ve been through IVF, who made me feel slightly better. But it was really hard not to sink into the dark place I was during IUI, where everything felt so pointless.

I think I mostly felt stupid for being so optimistic about IVF, like I should have known it wouldn’t work for us. I told my husband that I feel like my greatest fear came true. (I’ve always felt, since I was a teenager, that I wouldn’t be able to get pregnant. I’ve since realized that most girls feel this way. But most don’t turn out to be right!)

My doctor just called and was very nice. I told her it was good timing because we’d been crying for a couple hours but had decided to try to be optimistic (because what else can you do??), and she said “That’s ok, we’re crying over here too.” She said that we got fewer eggs than she was hoping from the retrieval, but then when everything was so great after that (All the eggs were fertilized! Almost all of those became blastocysts! You usually lose 50% of them at that stage!), she was surprised and disappointed by the results. She very patiently answered all of my questions. Here’s what she said:

Most chromosomal abnormalities (90%) are egg-related, not sperm-related.

It is not the case that my husband and I have genes that can’t make a baby together.

It’s a little weird that 3 of our embryos had an abnormality on chromosome 16. This could be a sign that one or both of us are a carrier for something. She thinks it’s unlikely, but thinks it’s a good idea for us to get our blood tested just in case.

The % of abnormal embryos you get in a cycle is “totally random”. She feels confident that this was just a “bad batch” and that there’s a good chance we get totally different results next time.

It’s all a numbers game, and even if I have more abnormal eggs than the average woman my age, the more times we do IVF, the higher chance we have of ending up with the one or two good embryos we need.

So. We will go in this weekend and get our blood tested. Then, a week before I get my next period (in ~3 weeks), I will go get an estrogen patch. (She said that like so many other things, this hasn’t been proven to do anything, but it might. I am pretty tired of hearing that, but I’m also not going to turn it down.) 

And then. We will do IVF again. We are going to get through it like we got through the first one. We’ve gotten good at doing shots. I know I won’t have any crazy reactions to the hormones, and I know I can survive the anesthesia for the transfer. We will continue not making any big plans (no house hunting, no second dog, no vacations). We will focus on this, and maybe it will work. If it doesn’t work, we will do it again.

But let’s stay optimistic.

[behind-the-hood]

Hey sorry if I’m being nosy but what is this appeal situation about? I think I may have just been out of the loop for a while. Whatever it is though you seem happy so congrats!

Buckle your seatbelts. It's story time, babes!!

I was supposed to go to Germany with my husband right after high school, so I took a year off. I'd just start when we came back to the US. But then he gets there before me, and tells me he doesn't think it's safe enough for me to go just yet. Then later he doesn't want me to go at all.

So I pick back up my old volunteer job at the retirement home down the road and I plan to start next August.

Well, my first year of college was horrible. My first semester, I was put in six classes, and one of them was an eight o'clock class. My school is half an hour away. And I had to take my sister to her school in the mornings as well.

I had to drop a class. It was too heavy a load and I wasn't ready. It still ended up being too much and I barely passed two thirds of my classes. And to keep the Pell Grant, you have to pass two thirds of what you start.

But I did it, if barely. So, the next semester, I only get four classes. And I'm a little behind on everything because I've got marital issues splitting my focus. And I'm set behind even more because my mom gets surgery on her spine again. (They have to go through the front of her neck and shove all that stuff aside to get to her spine. Horrifying.)

Then I get a tonsilectomy during what was supposed to be spring break, but there was a mix up in the schedule and I missed a week of school, plus an exam. Not that it mattered, I took the recovery period so poorly, I was out of school for nearly a month anyway.

I ended up failing every class but Creative Writing. Including Abnormal Psych. And it looks very bad to fail in your major. It doubly sucks because I actually knew the material, but I was too far behind to catch up, even with doctors' excuses.

After that I took another year off. I was going to volunteer at a rape hotline to get some experience under my belt before I returned to classes, but I was going to get my migraines checked first. I could barely stand outside for too long without my head throbbing, even in overcast.

They do an MRI, don't remember why only that they did it, then I actually saw the doctor and he said...something, I don't remember. Anyway, I do have migraines, and we're going to try a bunch of different pills 'til we get it right! Except...there's this little thing on my MRI...It looks like my pituitary gland is enlarged. Not uncommon for a woman of my age, but they're going to check it out anyway.

So I get another MRI, with and without contrast, and they focus on that.

It's a yes. Definitely enlarged. So I'm recommended to this hormone doctor to make sure all my levels are good.

So we see this guy a few weeks later, and he's taking blood, taking urine, did something else I think, but again I don't remember. I come back about a week later and he says all my levels are fine! Well, my estrogen is a little low, but that's normal on birth control.

But he sent me to a neurosurgeon, just in case. One of the best in the country! And I get to her office about a month later, and she's looking at my MRI, but nothing really seems wrong? No tumors, beign or otherwise. My gland is supposed to sit in a cup, which I don't have, so it's sort of pressing again my eye things? But it isn't affecting my vision, so it's a non issue at the moment. They're going to keep an eye on it over the next ten years. Woohoo.

My mom's with me 'cause I'm not a confident driver, especially in areas I'm not familiar, and she asks about this white spot on my forehead in the MRI.

The doctor looks for a moment, flipping through the images, and says "Well, that's your sinus, but it should be black like the other one..."

So I'm sent to an ENT, and not the one who did my tonsilectomy. I see him a couple weeks later, and he looks at my MRI, and I've apparently got a chronic sinus infection. Again, woohoo. But also, my sinus cavity is blocked off. This isn't unusual after a previous sinus surgery (which I had about a decade ago.) The scar tissue was healed over and blocking the sinus cavity.

(They ask if I feel like I'm breathing funny. I've been breathing this way for a decade. How am I supposed to know???)

They get me in the operating room less than two weeks later, open the cavity, straighten my septum, and did something else but I don't remember. I did fine. My jaw is killing me though because I'd just had a pain block two weeks prior, but they had to put a breathing tube down my throat for three and a half hours.

I have TMJ. I can barely eat a hotdog.

So, I wake up from my surgery, complaining about my jaw, not my nose. The nurses are confused. I'm half out of it on all the pain meds they've got me on. Can't really talk because my throat is raw after this, jaw too sore to open. I'm signing the letters of the alphabet to communicate.

It's about an hour later that I can start talking again. But at least the guy who pushed me out the hospital in the wheelchair was cute.

I get home, I'm doing fine. I'm sitting up in case of a nose bleed, half asleep every hour or so, and stay in like stage one/stage two of sleep for a couple weeks. I don't sleep well on norco, but percocet makes me sick unless I'm horizontal. So I deal with it.

I heal. I'm fine. Everything looks good. My marriage has fallen apart by this point.

I get my knees checked at one point because it hurts to bend them. I have runner's knee in both.

Then I get checked for a ADD (or ADHD without hyperactivity, but whatever), and I'm told I meet all the criteria. Lovely, and it explains a lot actually. That and ADHD runs in the family; I wasn't surprised.

So I'm on another medication, but it combats my migraine medication. Stimulants help ADD, but they trigger migraines. I turn to a lesser stimulant that only helps my focus and lessen the migraines. I only need it to get through school.

Now it's time to go back to school and I've accomplished nothing on my year off.

I get there, and I need to appeal if I want to get the Pell Grant again, which I desperately need. I didn't complete two third of my classes the last semester I was there.

So, I appeal. I write what turned out be a good draft. We zhuzhed it up. And I got a lot of medical documentation to show why I failed and how I'm going to do better.

Couple days after that, I get an email saying my appeal was approved and that I had to turn it in to complete my financial aid.

And here we are.

That is my story.

Yay!!