Good news! No cancer!

My doctor’s office finally called back this morning. The Giraffe was upset that they didn’t call immediately last week, but I chose to believe what Angiela said—if it was bad news, they’d make a point to call right away. No call means better news.

The person who called me said “no cancer” and let me know that I’d need to follow up with a breast specialist. My doctor wants me to do this because of the history of cancer (including breast) in my family. So I expect to learn more about what the lump is and how to proceed from here at that appointment (not yet set). I’m very happy about this news and feel like it was all worth it to have peace of mind.

Despite the great news and the relief, I’m going to complain about something. It’s about how this boob thing is interfering with my Couch to 5K goal. I did the first workout of the first week on Saturday, February 28, and I haven’t been able to run since then. I was naive enough to think I’d be able to go for a jog THE DAY OF my biopsy, which was just stupid. Then I thought maybe later that week—if I could get the second workout in by Thursday, I wouldn’t be behind. When that didn’t happen, I thought I’d just do two workouts in a row on Saturday and Sunday. But Saturday my boob hurt so bad, I had to hold it with one hand the whole time I went for a walk with the Giraffe. Definitely no running.

On Friday I had called the place that did the biopsy to see how long I should expect to have pain, and I was told up to two weeks. Fun. But they said I could run if I could stand the pain and I won’t do any damange. Too bad I’m a wuss and so cannot stand the pain. I’m still showering with a bathing suit top on because the weight my own boob is too much. So running? With all the jiggling? No thanks. To be honest, it’s not a horrible pain, more like a discomfort that constantly reminds me of what went on there.

But. I think I’m going to try to get back on track this week. I adjusted my running schedule to still fit all the training in before the 5K I want to run in May, so it’ll be a little more intense, but I can do it barring any more setbacks. I wouldn’t call myself a severly dedicated person, especially when it comes to fitness. I don’t often set fitness goals because I know I won’t want to follow through on them. But damn it, I set this goal, and now I want to achieve it. To have such a big set back at the very beginning has been very discouraging for me. On the verge of tears discouraging.

The good news is that Emily, my sister who is training in the same way for the same run, has a big ugly blister on her heel and isn’t any further along than me. It’s mean to be happy about her blister, but I admit, it did make me feel a little better.

I’m taking your advice! I’m getting the biopsy. I don’t think I ever doubted that I would – with a history of breast cancer in my family, I knew I couldn’t take the risk of not having it done. But at my appointment yesterday, even though I was there for an hour and a half, it all seemed to go so fast. One minute I was getting an ultrasound as planned, the next I was whisked off to the mammogram room, and then I was told I’d need a biopsy. I didn’t have time to process it all.

Plus I was recalling things I’d heard from other people about how doctors deal differently with patients who have insurance and those who don’t. If, after writing that post, I had heard a lot of stories from you guys about how, Yes! Doctors totally do that! I would have called and investigated a little more. But instead I heard a resounding, YES! Without a doubt, get the biopsy! And I agree.

Next Tuesday I’ll be naked from the waist up with a needle in my numbed left boob. Woohoo! I’ll let you know how it goes.

Well, I had my first mammogram today. That’s not what I was expecting when I started my day, but that’s where I ended up. With my left boob smashed between two plastic plates. I’ll tell you how I got there, but I also want to ask some advice. So if you have time, read the whole thing and help me out.

In December I was laying in bed on my right side, reading a book. I had my left arm propped up on the side of my left boob to better hold the book, and I noticed a pain. Hmm, my boob kind of hurts, that’s odd. So I felt around a bit, and sure enough, a lump. I showed the Giraffe who thought I should get myself to to the doctor that very second, but I waited and had my sister check it out for me the next time I saw her. She said it was probably ok to wait until my doctor appointment in mid-January. Well, you know how that went, and I ended up not seeing a doctor until mid-February.

The doctor felt the lump during my breast exam, but seemed very unconcerned. She had me set up an appointment for a breast ultrasound, explaining that it felt more solid than cancerous lumps usually feel, and that the ultrasound should tell us what we need to know.

This afternoon, I went into the Cancer Center downtown (that’s intimidating!) and was ushered into a small room to change into a gown from the waist up. By the way, most unflattering gowns ever invented.

(Could I look any wider?)

In the exam room, they looked at my breasts, felt for the lump and marked it with a pen. Then they propped me up so my left breast was easily accessible, squirted it with warm gel, and put the ultrasound wand to work. The screen looked like nothing to me. I have no idea how they can tell anything from this mess:

(Yes I grabbed my camera and took that when the technician left the room for a moment.)

After the technician showed the doctor (who I never even met) the scans, she told me they were inconclusive.

“The doctor wants you to have a mammogram to get a better look.”
“Um, today?”
“Yep. I’ll get the room ready and we’ll do it right now.”

Three minutes later and I was face-to-face with a big shiny mammogram machine. Oddly, I wasn’t really nervous. I asked her how long I’d be smooshed, and she said no more than 20 seconds. That sounded tolerable. She positioned my left breast on the shelf of the machine, lowered the top plate, walked away to push a button, the machine made a noise for about five seconds, and it released my boob. When it was done, I literally asked if that was it because I didn’t believe it was that easy. She had to do another one with my breast in sideways, and that was a bit more uncomfortable, but still very tolerable. When she told me that the side scan wasn’t good enough and we’d have to do it again, I admit, I was a little annoyed. But truly, the mammogram was nothing like I expected based on horror stories I’d heard. Supposedly breast size makes a difference, but for anyone with a D-cup, I can assure you, it’s not bad! In fact, because the top plate is clear, I was more fascinated by the sight of my pancaked boob than I was worried about pain.

Anyway! The unseen doctor was shown the results of the mammogram, and when the technician returned, I was told that I’d need a biopsy. They think it’s a fibrous mass, and they want to do a biopsy to rule out anything worrisome. A biopsy yo! A mother fucking needle! IN MY BOOB! My mother, who has had myriad health problems in her 49 years, has never even had a breast biopsy. I’m 29 and next week I’m gonna have a needle in my boob. A needle that will take a piece of boob away with it! The ultrasound and the mammogram didn’t scare me. This scares me. Not to mention, for the last couple months I was pretty confident there was nothing to worry about. Just a gut feeling. Now even my gut is a little worried.

So here’s where I need advice. Part of me thinks that a lot of this is happening because I handed over an insurance card when I checked in. If I didn’t have insurance, would they have done an ultrasound AND a mammogram AND request a biopsy? Do they just assume my insurance will cover it, so run all the tests in the world. No problem! If insurance really did cover all this, I wouldn’t worry, but if you remember, I have a high-deductible plan, meaning I’m going to be paying for most, if not all, of this myself.

If I were to call and explain that and ask if this biopsy is absolutely necessary, would they tell me the truth? Should I do that? There is some history of breast cancer in my family, and that makes me not want to mess around here. But how do I determine if this is really necessary and worth the cost? Do I just trust what the doctor (who I never met!) says and get it done whatever the cost?

Switching jobs can be a pain in the ass for many reasons, but the one I hate the most right now is having to switch health insurance coverage. Here’s my saga:

- I started the job in early December.
- I filled out a billion kinds of paperwork to get on the company’s insurance plan and sign up for a Health Savings Account.
- The new plan is regional and doesn’t include places near my home (I commute over an hour now), so I asked around at work to find a new doctor.
- Made an appointment for mid-January with Doctor A.

- Doctor A called to reschedule a week in advance because someone broke a foot or something. New appointment was made for mid-February.
- I told them my birth control would run out before then, so I really needed to get in sooner. They had no earlier appointments.
- I asked if I could get an advance on birth control to get me through the month. Shot down.
- So I called my old doctor’s office (Doctor B) to see if they could help.
- Doctor B, plus the two PAs that I usually saw, had left the practice. I had been assigned a new doctor (Doctor C) at some point that I had never met.
- In the meantime, back in November, I had seen Doctor D about a stomach problem. I went to her because she was closer to work than Doctor B was at the time. And I really liked her. But she didn’t prescribe me the birth control, so I couldn’t call on her for a refill.
- Finally, after some finagling (begging), Doctor C, the one I never met, agreed to give me one more refill on my birth control.

- At the beginning of February, I learned that there’s some partnership that allows me to see certain doctors near home. One of them happened to be Doctor D, the one I saw once and liked.
- I made an appointment with Doctor D for early February.
- That same day, Doctor A, who had already rescheduled once, called to reschedule again! I said forget it, cancel the appointment because I’m going to Doctor D!
- Appointment with Doctor D last Thursday was fine. She wrote me a prescription for birth control and Ambien.

- Friday I tried to pick up my prescriptions. TRIED! Keyword.
- I picked out a cute stuffed giraffe (Maury) to give The Giraffe for Valentine’s Day and brought it to the pharmacy counter with me.
- Employee Z rang me up, but just after I swiped my Health Savings Account card, I realized I couldn’t pay for Maury with the HSA.
- Employee Z said to fear not, the card would reject anything not medical-related. Except not. It totally rang up the whole order.
- I didn’t want to deal with the paperwork it would take get Maury off my account, so I asked her to void the transaction. She did.
- She rang me up again with just the prescriptions. This time it only covered $50.
- I figured the the other transaction was still pending, so it showed as money spent. No biggie, void the transaction and I’ll come back in a couple days.

-Went back on Sunday and Employee Y rang me up. Rejected. I explained the whole thing to her, but she said there was nothing she could do. I left.
- I tried to check my HSA account online when I got home, but it demanded I give it a username.
- I was never assigned a username, and I couldn’t find anything in my paperwork that described how I might find or get one.
- I called customer service, which was of course closed.

- Monday I called customer service again. She told me my username as if it was supposed to be common knowledge. Like no big deal, we never gave this to you, but YOU SHOULD KNOW IT!
- I managed to log in, and oh look, $249 available. Excellent!

- I stopped at the pharmacy Tuesday (yesterday) and tried again. Employee X rang me up.
- Card declined. I begged him to help me figure out why. He said call the bank. I said call the manager.
- Manger comes and tells me the same thing. Call the bank.
- But I charmed her with sappy kindness and a loooong explanation of my journey so far, and she said she’d take a look.
- Eventually she was able to tell me that it was one of three things: 1) No approved items were purchased [not true since it was all prescriptions], 2) No pre-authorization was available [this wasn't necessary], or 3) No funds available on card [my online account said I had plenty available].

- I need to start a new pack of birth control Friday morning, and I’ll be out of town from Thursday morning until Friday night, so things are getting dire.
- I called the HSA customer service this morning. Explained the whole story.
- The HSA employee explained that I had a ZERO BALANCE! in my account because of two transacation from last Friday. The two transaction that were voided at the pharmacy.
- She explained that it takes about 7 days for voided transactions to go through, meaning I have no access to my money until Friday or Saturday, which is too late.
- I asked her why my online account shows $250, but she sees $0.
- Oh, they’re just having a little problem with their website right now.
- Great.
- I asked how I will know when the money is back in my account (since the website clearly has no idea) because I am NOT going back to that damn pharmacy just to get shot down again damn it.
- She had no good suggestions.

I’m starting a new kind of birth control, and I don’t want to start incorrectly, so I’m just going to have to suck it up and pay for the prescription out of pocket in order to get it on time. The problem is that my new insurance is a high-deductible plan, meaning I basically have to pay for everything myself up to a certain amount. The HSA is nice because the company contributes to that, so I’m spending their money, not mine.

So when I buy this birth control on my own dime tonight, it’ll be close to $200. Just to not get pregnant.

(This is Maury, the giraffe that caused all the problems.)

Emily [while handing Brady over to me]: Doesn’t he just make you want to have one?
Me: Actually, yes.

But of course I didn’t mean that I actually wanted to have a baby. I’ve always wanted to adopt, and I still do if circumstances allow someday. What I meant was that it seems more realistic than it ever has (which isn’t saying much) that someday I might actually be ready to be a mother. As much as Brady has stolen my heart, my uterus is still not calling to me.

Later when I recalled the conversation, without context, to someone else, that person commented how until Brady was born, Andrea never thought she’d love being a mom. There’s just something about carrying a child for 9 months and giving birth to it that creates a deep instinctual love.

“Don’t you think it could be the same with an adopted child?” I asked.

“You can still feel that, but it’s not quite the same. Andrea can’t stand to be away from Brady for long.”

“But don’t you think I’d feel the same way with a child I adopted?”

“Maybe…”

I think what that conversation proved to me was that no matter what, some people just won’t be as excited about me adopting children as they would be about my birthing them. I’ve noticed this before. Little glimpses of pure joy when someone thinks it’s possible I might procreate.

One relative’s unfettered joy when I said future pregnancies are not entirely ruled out.

Another’s comments about how they’re sure I’m going to change my mind about having babies after seeing me with Brady.

They always try to backtrack when I remind them that adoption is my first and most likely choice, assuring me that they’re just as excited about that idea, and they’ll of course love my children exactly the same. But I can tell there’s a difference.

I’m not sure yet if this is a bad thing, an acceptable thing, or just a complete non-issue. Do I care that they’re eyes light up when they think for a second that I’ve given up on the whole adoption dream and replaced it with the possibility of pregnancy? Does it bother me that they can’t muster the same genuine thrill when I talk about adoption? I don’t quite know.

Part of it might be that I’ve talked about adoption for sooo looong, that the idea of changing my mind shocks them into excitement. In fact, I bet that’s a lot of it. Yet, still. Still, there’s something else there. I just have to decide what that means to me.

(Just to be clear, I’m not at all talking about the Giraffe here. After re-reading, I worried maybe someone would think that.)

Resume coaching went fine. Phew! I think it’s mostly because you guys said it would and you’re usually right. So thanks for that.

I only had one client last night, but we were able to spend over an hour working on her resume. I think I gave her some valuable tips, and I recommended she make the changes and bring it back for another look. Plus, I learned something cool from her too. She told me that she had been using Women for Hire to get resume and interview tips. I hadn’t heard of it, but turns out Women for Hire is pretty cool. It’s all about helping women with their careers, as you’d imagine. There’s advice and job boards and resume tips and templates and more.

Unfortunately I think women don’t help other women enough. Instead we often tend to betray each other for our own gain. And I’m sure you all know the statistics about women still making less than men for the same jobs (which, wow, bullshit right?). Add on the fact that the economy is sucky right now, and it’s harder than ever for women (and everyone) to get adequate work, let alone fulfilling careers.

So even though I haven’t actually used anything from Women for Hire yet (and I’m not at all getting paid in any way for any of this), I thought I’d pass it along. Maybe it will help someone else. I love the idea that one woman desperately looking for a job told me, her resume coach, about this resource, and I’m sharing it with you, and maybe one of you will benefit from it somehow. Women helping women. Love it.

We had another baby shower for my sister today. As soon as I got out of the car at the party my sister said, “Cute boots. You never wear heels.” I was wearing heeled ankle boots (super cute ones I got for $2 at Goodwill!). And then later my sister-in-law saw the boots and goes, “Wow those are pretty fancy for you huh?”

Apparently I’m a total slob on the weekends, when I normally see my family. I wear heels to work on a pretty regular basis, though I do admit I prefer flats during warmer weather. But I guess it’s been a really long time since my family saw me in anything but flats, flip flops or tennis shoes.

Next they’re going to act surprised to see that I’m wearing a bra.

(Just kidding. I wear one every day. Gotta keep the girls from introducing themselves to my waist any time soon.)

If you’re sick of ‘hearing’ me ‘talk’ about the last name topic, that’s ok. But if not, you should read about the last name ultimatum I heard live on the radio this morning. Crazy stuff.

[Want to read more on this topic? I've written about it here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here and here.]

Halloween: a time for girls to dress up as sexy versions of any and all things. We all know that Halloween, for many girls, is just an excuse to wear very little clothing and call it a sexy kitten or a sexy zoo keeper or a sexy proctologist. Naturally I hate this trend and can’t understand when Halloween became an excuse to wear less.

Anyway, this isn’t a rant (though dangerously verging on one), but rather a way to point you here. It’s the Sexist’s Top 10 Worst Sexy Halloween Costumes. Some are pathetic, some are obnoxious, some are just plain ridiculous. Check it out, but first, here’s a little taste:

It’s the Sexy… America, Or Something Costume. It doesn’t really matter what she’s trying to be (in this case, nothing at all apparently) as long as it’s sexy!

I always knew that my mom got pregnant more than once while on birth control — twice with a diaphragm and once on the pill. But the part of the story that I just found out is that her doctor wouldn’t ‘tie her tubes’ when she asked him to, even after the fourth child. And even after he warned her that another pregnancy could cause long-term problems for her. She asked for a tubal ligation three times, and twice she was refused because she “might want more someday.” It wasn’t until after her fifth time giving birth (all vaginal, all without drugs, by the way), and after her long-time doctor died, that her personal decision about her reproductive health was honored.

As I understand it, this is how it went:

- Mom gets pregnant with my brother, has baby August 1979
- Mom gets pregnant with me, has baby December 1980
- Mom uses diaphragm, gets pregnant with my sister, has baby January 1983
- Doctor tells her shouldn’t have any more kids
- Mom asks for tubal ligation
- She is denied by her doctor
- Mom uses diaphragm, gets pregnant with my sisters, has baby March 1985
- Doctor tells her shouldn’t have any more kids
- Mom asks for tubal ligation
- She is denied by her doctor
- Said doctor passes away
- Mom uses birth control pill, gets pregnant with my sister, has baby September 1987
- She asks for tubal ligation from new doctor
- Doctor ties her tubes
- No more babies

Now what the hell? Her doctor tells her it’s bad for her health to have more babies, but he won’t do anything to help her permanently prevent it? She tries multiple forms of birth control and they fail (keep in mind my dad has seven kids… we are a fertile and tenacious people). She doesn’t want any more children*, she knows having more could cause negative and long-term health problems, so she tries to take control of her reproductive health and is denied. Why? Because the doctor knows better? Because she might want to have more kids one day? Because she’s not intelligent enough to make that decision herself?

The worst part about this story is that now my mom is living with those negative long-term health problems. Her medical issues are her business, so no details, but suffices to that she had to retire on disability in her mid-40s, she can’t drive, she walks with a cane, she is in chronic and serious pain, and obviously she can’t work at all. Most of this is caused directly or indirectly by giving birth more times than her body could handle (not everyone is built like Michelle Duggar). She is not yet 50 years old, and this is her life.

So let’s reiterate: doctor tells mom not to have more kids — mom asks for tubal ligation — doctor refuses — repeat — mom now lives a limited life with chronic pain.

I get so angry when I think about her situation. It was in the 1980s when she was being denied her reproductive rights, and sadly too much of that still exists today. Way too much. Women are people, they have brains, they are intelligent, they are capable of processing information and they are capable of making their own decisions. Stop making them for us.

*My mom is thankful for all of her children. Just because she wanted to stop having kids before my sisters became real people (and not just abstract possibilities) doesn’t mean she isn’t endlessly grateful for all of them. And she loves us all the same. Except for me, I’m her favorite of course.

I’m getting married!

I can’t believe how my life has changed in the last year. I never expected to meet anyone so soon after feeling so heartbroken, and when I signed up for match.com in November, I didn’t really believe I’d find anyone. People to go out with? Yes. But someone I would love? Hardly. But here we are, only eight months later and not only am I in love, but I’m engaged.

The Giraffe and I never really avoided the topic of marriage. I think we’ve been talking about the possibility from the beginning – maybe that happens when you get to a certain age. Over the summer we started to talk more and more seriously about it, even discussing the details of a wedding. Pretty soon we were talking about potential wedding dates, and then we had to stop and ask ourselves how serious we were about this. Turns out, pretty damn serious.

A while ago our friend Erica (E – get a website so I can link to you!), an aspiring photographer, said she was always looking for ‘models’ to practice on. I never planned on doing an actual engagement session like many couples do, but I thought it’d be fun to pose for a fake one anyway. So on July 19 we did a (free) faux engagement photo session. At that point we knew we wanted to get married, but we hadn’t used the term “engaged” yet. One passerby saw us posing for photos and asked, “engagement session?” Well sort of, we answered. And it was that night that we decided to officially consider ourselves engaged.

Soon after, we both bought engagement rings. I got permission to pick his out with no help from him, and we picked out mine together (I had something VERY specific in mind!), and we split the cost. His is titanium with a black walnut inlay. Mine is white gold with a cushion cut green amethyst. His came in last week, and I got mine yesterday. I pretty much love it.

We’ve started planning a wedding, but nothing is for sure yet. We are both determined to keep it low-stress and low-budget because the actual wedding is just not worth a lot of anxiety or cash to us. After seeing how much work my sister’s and friends’ wedding were/are and how much drama surrounds them, we’re more determined than ever to keep it simple. We’ve even discussed the possibility of elopement or a trip to the court house.

No matter what we do, we’re both very, very happy.

(Also, my baby sister proposed to her boyfriend in July, and another sister was proposed to last night. So now one of us is married and three of us are engaged. There’s a seven year age difference between the four of us, but somehow we all met our match at the same time. So weird.)

GRRRR!

I’m growling at some of the unbelievable comments on this Elle article.

It’s by a writer who did not change her name at marriage, and who references a study that suggests 70% of Americans think women should (I mentioned this study earlier). She points out some of the study’s flaws, but I think the point is clear: when challenged, people have really strong feelings about this issue.

And I’d the say the majority of them think women should blindly follow this tradition, no questions asked, no thoughts given, no options explored. Just shut up and do it.

Some comments from the article:

Not taking his name is an insult to him.
-John

So is not taking her name an insult to her?

My wife and I talked about it for a little while, and here’s how the conversation went: “I don’t think I’m going to change my name.” “Why not sweetie?” “It’s just a stupid tradition that isn’t really a big deal anymore. We’ve already lived together for 2 years, why should I have to change my name?” “Well, that’s a good point. In fact, why have a wedding? It’s just a tradition. Why get married, when we can just live together, since marriage is just a tradition nobody really needs.” She got the point immediately.

As a man, why should I cave to cultural demands that my fiance finds appealing while she gets to take out the traditions she doesn’t like? Think about how much grief a guy gets from society if he doesn’t marry his live in girlfriend. “He is just stringing her along, what a jerk!” I don’t have to get married at all, and my wife doesn’t have to change her name. But I marry her because I love her and she cares about the tradition that I think is outdated. She takes my name because its part of that tradition. Picking and choosing the parts you like and don’t like from an age old tradition screams pick and choose feminism. Hyphenated names get ridiculous. What happens when a daughter with the last name Smith-Johnson marries a boy who is a Jensen-O’Reilly?
-JP

JP, marriage is more than a tradition. It’s a legal union between people. There are traditions within marriage and especially weddings, but traditions aren’t rules or laws or legal requirements. People have options. You don’t get married because it’s tradition (or you probably shouldn’t), you get married because you want to legally unite your life with someone else’s. You can have different last names and still be married.

Why is this even an issue? Here is a message to all you liberal, ultra-feminist, man-hating women: SHUT THE F*** UP! Stop bitching and moaning over everything! Just shut the f*** up and get in the kitchen! It’s like, all of you women out there are obviously BORED out of your pathetic minds and sit there with your K.D Lang poster on the wall and are just thinking of things to bitch about! Shut up!

And to the pathetic writer of the article, your husband is not a real man and I would place money that you two will be divorced in less than five years. No man will put up with that and certainly not forfeit their name to take their wife’s. All you “men” out there that have or are doing it, GROW A PAIR AND USE THEM. All that bullsh** about “my identity” and marrying “later in my life and knowing who I am” are just excuses for: I’m a liberal bitch who hates men but am too afraid of coming out of the closet. You women are what is wrong with America today. You are the woman that cause men out there to laugh at us. Good job! You made an ass out of yourself again!
-Ashley

Note to the Giraffe: You’re not a real man if you let me keep my last name. We will be divorced in less than five years. You should grow some balls and use them (for what exactly, I’m not sure). You should probably know I hate men, I’m a liberal bitch and I’m a closet lesbian. Also, I am what is wrong with America, so if you want to reconsider things between us, I understand.

I agree with John, why the hell did you get married at all if the only thing that was going to change is that now if you leave him he has to give you half a house or vice versa, You could just continue writing under the same name. (Pseudonym, ever heard of it?) It seems as though you are just doing this to cause some sort of stir and prove youself to be a feminist among your female readers.
-Hunter

Oh thank you Hunter. You know, I was thinking about getting married to a man I love in part because of all the benefits it brings. Like how I can see him in the hospital and get information on his medical condition if he’s injured, we can join the Peace Corps together someday, we can more easily adopt children together which we both hope to do, we can use each others’ employer-provided health insurance coverage and on and on. But then I thought wait, Hunter’s right, I don’t want to change my last name to his! Therefore, we’re foregoing all those benefits and we’re just going to not get married. Thank you for showing me such obvious logic!

I’m taking his name. I think you should either take your husband’s name or hyphenate. You’re joining two lives and should act as such. By keeping your own name, its like denying you are married. Its a lie. I’ll be proud when I can be called, legally and forever, Mrs. Heskett.
-Jayme

I suppose then, future Mrs. Heskett, that your future husband will be living a lie and denying that he’s married if he doesn’t change or hyphenate his name? That’s what you’re implying right?

Fortunately there is some hope, as evidenced by several other commenters:

Guess I just don’t understand the fuss. I married my wife because I love her and it had nothing to do with names. I didn’t care if she took my last name or not and told her that either way, I’d be happy. She chose to use her maiden name as her middle name. No hyphens. There’s so many problems in the world without getting ridiculous about something as minor as this.
-tchudson

Wow… every time I read the comments from people on the internet, I lose a little more faith in humanity. I am so disheartened by the venom that people have toward others. Give people some anonymity, and the hatred just boils over. To all of the folks who are so frightened of people breaking with tradition… why are you afraid? No one is making you hyphen your name, or take your wife’s name….it doesn’t affect your marriage at all. You are free to make your own choices. Other people’s marriages have nothing to do with you…pay attention to your own marriage and maybe we can change the high divorce rate in this country.

The tradition we are considering here, the woman taking the man’s last name, is a designation of property transfer from the father to the husband. Somehow we have lost the associated dowry and kept the name change. If you are okay with that, by all means carry on. But know that a woman taking a man’s name was originally done to let everyone know who her new owner was…and children are also subject to patriarchal ownership. As for me, my husband took my name. I don’t usually advertise this (or deny it, for that matter)… but I think it is relevant to this discussion. I’m not a “man-hating feminazi.” We had our own unique situation where WE felt it was appropriate to do it that way…it was natural for us. He wasn’t very attached to his last name (a stepfather’s) and I was very attached to mine. He is secure enough to not be disrespected or demeaned by taking my name. I figure anyone who cares about what I do with my name, or what my husband does with his, has some serious insecurities.
-Emily

I’ll keep it short: I’m a guy. My last name is Merritt. My wife’s last name is Kamisasanuki. How could I possibly suggest covering up such a beautiful and historically rich heritage with my middle-of-the-road ancestry? Her grandfather has hand-crafted samurai swords in museums. People confuse me with shampoo and boy scout awards. Women should definitely keep their last names. We’re no more relevant/important/special/etc.
-T

I left my own comment that (as of right now) hasn’t shown up yet. It just reiterated what I’ve already written here several times, so I won’t repeat it. But really, what is so very wrong with people thinking about it, discussing it with their partner and making a decision that makes sense for them as individuals, as a couple and as a family?

I’ve made it well known here that I plan to keep my last name when I get married, and I admit, I wish more women would do the same. But I respect the decisions any individual makes about his or her last name. Bottom line for me is I think couples should discuss their options and make a decision together, one that makes sense for them and their potential future family.

So when I read that according to one study 70% of Americans think a woman should take her husband’s last name upon marriage, and 50% think it should be a legal requirement, I was painfully disturbed. Jigga wha? Really? You want to make a law that requires me to change my last name when I get married?

I have to laugh at how absurd that is. HA!

The study only involved 815 people, and I don’t know what their demographics were, but that it ever even crossed anyone’s mind that this should be a legal issue shocks me. Ok I guess it doesn’t shock me, but it does sort of piss me off.

Let’s just hope this never becomes legislation. Because I’m rather fond of my surname, and the Giraffe’s is, well… sorry babe, it’s boring it doesn’t suit me.

I’m going to be an aunt again! My beautiful and amazing younger sister, Andrea, is pregnant with my future niece or nephew! I love being an aunt to my niece and nephew now, and I’m so thrilled to have another. A sweet little pink chubby baby.

Let’s back track a little though because there is other news. Earlier this year, when I deemed 2009 the Year of the Wedding, I alluded to another very important wedding that might take place. That was this same sister. The wedding plans came before she realized she was going to be a mom, but either way, this is a big year for her. She’ll be a wife in August and a mother in December (she’s due a week after my birthday!). Big year for me too because I get to be a bridesmaid in August and an aunt in December. Not quite the same though huh? But since I don’t want to be a wife or a mom right now, I’d say I’m doing pretty good.

Last night I helped her make wedding invitations and I got to see an ultrasound picture of my little niece (I think it’s a girl, but Andrea begs to differ). I also helped her order a wedding and bridesmaid dresses, and I got to measure her growing boobs and belly to determine a size. We talked about baby names and caterers, onesies and tuxes (or lack thereof). We discussed showers and registries – both wedding and baby – and how both of these things – the wedding marriage and the baby – are going to change everything.

This may not be exactly the timeline she would have predicted, but I’m so happy for her. And so excited to be part of it all.

Why am I so emotional lately? I’m happy and angry and sad all the time in rotating intervals. Everything is a potential trigger. I got choked up yesterday because the sun was out and it was so beautiful. Later I had to hide in the bathroom for awhile because I was severely raging over the ridiculousness of my slow computer and faulty internet. Things that normally just make me smile are putting lumps in my throat. Things that normally just annoy me are making me want to take a baseball bat to someone’s car.

Yes, my first thought was, oh shit I’m pregnant.

But that’s essentially impossible. I use double protection. So I immediately ruled that out, and I think it’s a combination of a couple other things I’ve been doing recently.

1. I started taking my birth control continuously. For someone who never wants to be pregnant, the monthly period is such a waste. My body prepares itself to be pregnant every month, but I can’t seem to convince it that it’s never gonna happen. After 16 years, I finally decided I didn’t want my period every month, and so I got on a mono-phasic pill (I was on a tri-phasic for seven years) and I’ve been trying to skip my period. It’s been met with mixed results (I’ll leave out the details for now), but I think the increased hormones without a break are maybe affecting my mood.

2. I stopped taking my Celexa recently. I maybe should have consulted a doctor about this decision, but instead I just went ahead and stopped. I’ve been feeling really great for a few months, and I didn’t want to take an anti-depressant unnecessarily. I realized of course that maybe the reason I was feeling so great was the Celexa itself, so I didn’t conciously decide to stop taking it. One day I forgot to take it in the morning. And the next week I forgot to take it twice. And soon I just stopped taking it altogether.

So yeah I increased my estrogen and progesterone at about the same time I stopped taking my anti-depressant. No wonder I’m a flaming mess of emotion.

It’s definitely that and not a zygote. Right?