Note : I posted this on the actual day but it didn't show up for some reason. Here it is now, in its original format.
Today, April 23rd 2007, is the 13th anniversary of the Yang + Temko union. The good news is that Wanda and I both called in to our places of work to tell them we weren't coming in, and then spent the entire day knocking around Atlanta together.
The bad news is that we spent all day driving from one doctor's office to another. Yesterday Wanda developed a stomach ache which got progressively worse, and after losing a night's worth of sleep she called the doc this morning, gave them her symptoms (pain all over her abdomen, sore back, fever), and then was told she had to go in. Right then.
So, we rushed showers and headed to the doc. After some rather painful tests we were sent to the lab for some blood work, and then they gave her an enormous tub of barium-milkshake to drink and sent us here so that they could give her a cat scan of the area to see what the hell was going on. The doc was thinking appendicitis. We were hoping virus. You see, if Wanda has appendicitis, and they have to do surgery, then that means that we can't move ahead with adoption proceedings for another year. They require a year to pass after your last surgery, I suppose to make sure you're OK, though it seems punitive to me.
So, surgery bad.
We sat around waiting to get cat-scanned forever. Finally they got her in, and then spat her back out again. Ten minutes later there was a quasi-verdict : it's not appendicitis. We were then sent here (notice how fucking far that is) to the emergency room, where we got to wait around forever again (it is so possible) before seeing another doctor. This time there were x-rays (which did not, thankfully, require the barium milkshake), but after many more hours and many more tests, nothing whatsoever new was learned, only that Wanda's appendix looked normal, as did the rest of her internals in the vicinity. They pumped her full of antibiotics, gave her prescriptions for more along with some pain meds, and sent us home. All told, we were gone for around 14 hours or so.
So, we spent the entire anniversary day at doctor's offices, or on the road to a doctor's office, all the while with Wanda in some pretty serious pain. When Wanda herself says it's a 7 on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the "worst possible pain you can imagine" (those were the words of the triage nurse at the emergency room), then that means it's about a 72 for you and me. Wanda's 7 puts me on the floor screaming like a little child.
We had plans to eat a lovely dinner somewhere out romantical-like, instead I ate this, my first food of the day, by myself at about 8:30 (it was the only place I could get food, and this meets my criteria for ever eating at McD's), and in about 5 minutes while Wanda was in for x-rays for the second time. Wanda, the poor girl, didn't get anything to eat except that disgusting, enormous Barium milkshake, and she was in pain the entire time just as an added bonus.
All along we joked how romantic it was (in between Wanda's gasping in pain), and we did remember to say "Happy Anniversary" to each other along the way. One thing for sure, it has been a memorable day, and will help to make us appreciate the good times all the more.
I love you so much baby! Happy Anniversary! Now go enjoy your hydrocodone!
The postscript to this is that after a follow-up today, the docs are now saying diverticulitis, which means no surgery, just antibiotics and later, a colonoscopy! Yay!
One last thing : this is not to say we didn't celebrate at all - we threw a little shindig last Friday night (which got off to a roaring start when I accidentally broke part of one of Wanda's big toenails off with my large clodhopper feet during our prep work hours before) which lots of people attended, and everyone had a blast. We'll post pics of that in the near future. First we have to figure out where the hell the camera ended up.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Adoption Update & Venting Some Steam
It's been awhile, we know. Many of you have yelled at us, online and offline, to tell us to get on with it already, and we've heard you. Last night Wanda and I plowed through all but two of the remaining pieces of paperwork to complete the home study. The two remaining are the medical reports, which we will schedule for this week, and the police reports, which I will take care of tomorrow, if possible, this week for certain. Those two things are also requirements for the overall adoption paperwork pile, and are two major accomplishments along the road. Houston, we have movement once again.
Now, that said, let me explain something.
Wanda and I had a nice late night outing last Friday, just the two of us at one of our favorite late-night-outing locations, the Brickstore Pub in downtown Decatur. It was noisy and energetic, and we had a lovely time screaming at each other to be heard over the general pandemonium surrounding us. What we discovered was remarkable.
You've all heard of those 5 stages of grief, right? Turns out Wanda and I are still both smack in the middle of denial. We refuse to accept that we'll never be able to have our own biological children. We still have hope that something might work for us some day. So here's the rub - we both us of feel, even though we know it's not rational (and if there's a more rational person around than me, I'd love to meet them), that proceeding with adoption is giving up on biological children forever. Our mental and emotional roadblock is the fact that we see adoption, on some level, not as moving forward but as giving up. And neither of us are the quitting type. Not even a little bit. We're stubborn, and driven, and both of us believe that, if we just try hard enough and do everything just right, that we will achieve any goal we set for ourselves. It's just inconceivable to us that we can't accomplish anything we set our minds to.
It also doesn't help that we HATE having to go through this adoption thing, and we hate it with a white hot passion. We hate the paperwork, we hate feeling judged, we hate the constant feeling that we're just not good enough to have our own kids, when the entire fucking world around us can do it. We can't shake the gross unfairness of it all. It's offensive in the extreme. Much of this, of course, is tied to our underlying grief, but it's thorny and complicated to say the least.
You see the problem?
Well, now so do we. Both of us were on the verge of tears many times during this very loud conversation in this very public place (it was largely cathartic in many ways, being able to scream like that knowing we weren't screaming at each other - I recommend this highly). I verge on tears just typing this shit out. It's deeply painful to contemplate - Wanda and I have essentially lost 4 children in the last 3 years. They might not have been physical, actual children, but in our hearts we were planning birthday parties and teaching them tennis and music and sending them off to Emory and sleepovers to their friend's houses and having play dates with our friends' kids. They were so real to us. We could smell them, feel them, hold them in our arms. You show me anyone else who goes through that kind of loss and has their shit together any time soon. We talk and walk and laugh and play and seem like our ordinary selves on the outside, but inside we have all-too-easy access to what feels like an endless well of grief. It's really not like us at all to dwell on something this much, or to let ourselves be held back by any kind of burden, but this, this is a special sort of circumstance, and all we're trying to do is weather the storm.
What we decided is that, in the meantime, we can begin to separate the mechanical process of adoption from the emotional and physical process of grieving, so that we can move towards something that we know will bring us great happiness, and that is having a pack of children running amok in the house. We've already made a start with last night's paperwork spasm, and it will continue this week as we try to conclude the proceedings as soon as possible.
I can't tell you how much we appreciate the support, well wishing, and even the ass kicking we've been getting during this time. I hope you all understand that we're doing the best we can, and that we really do want to get this done, even more than you want us to get it done.
A lot more.
Now, that said, let me explain something.
Wanda and I had a nice late night outing last Friday, just the two of us at one of our favorite late-night-outing locations, the Brickstore Pub in downtown Decatur. It was noisy and energetic, and we had a lovely time screaming at each other to be heard over the general pandemonium surrounding us. What we discovered was remarkable.
You've all heard of those 5 stages of grief, right? Turns out Wanda and I are still both smack in the middle of denial. We refuse to accept that we'll never be able to have our own biological children. We still have hope that something might work for us some day. So here's the rub - we both us of feel, even though we know it's not rational (and if there's a more rational person around than me, I'd love to meet them), that proceeding with adoption is giving up on biological children forever. Our mental and emotional roadblock is the fact that we see adoption, on some level, not as moving forward but as giving up. And neither of us are the quitting type. Not even a little bit. We're stubborn, and driven, and both of us believe that, if we just try hard enough and do everything just right, that we will achieve any goal we set for ourselves. It's just inconceivable to us that we can't accomplish anything we set our minds to.
It also doesn't help that we HATE having to go through this adoption thing, and we hate it with a white hot passion. We hate the paperwork, we hate feeling judged, we hate the constant feeling that we're just not good enough to have our own kids, when the entire fucking world around us can do it. We can't shake the gross unfairness of it all. It's offensive in the extreme. Much of this, of course, is tied to our underlying grief, but it's thorny and complicated to say the least.
You see the problem?
Well, now so do we. Both of us were on the verge of tears many times during this very loud conversation in this very public place (it was largely cathartic in many ways, being able to scream like that knowing we weren't screaming at each other - I recommend this highly). I verge on tears just typing this shit out. It's deeply painful to contemplate - Wanda and I have essentially lost 4 children in the last 3 years. They might not have been physical, actual children, but in our hearts we were planning birthday parties and teaching them tennis and music and sending them off to Emory and sleepovers to their friend's houses and having play dates with our friends' kids. They were so real to us. We could smell them, feel them, hold them in our arms. You show me anyone else who goes through that kind of loss and has their shit together any time soon. We talk and walk and laugh and play and seem like our ordinary selves on the outside, but inside we have all-too-easy access to what feels like an endless well of grief. It's really not like us at all to dwell on something this much, or to let ourselves be held back by any kind of burden, but this, this is a special sort of circumstance, and all we're trying to do is weather the storm.
What we decided is that, in the meantime, we can begin to separate the mechanical process of adoption from the emotional and physical process of grieving, so that we can move towards something that we know will bring us great happiness, and that is having a pack of children running amok in the house. We've already made a start with last night's paperwork spasm, and it will continue this week as we try to conclude the proceedings as soon as possible.
I can't tell you how much we appreciate the support, well wishing, and even the ass kicking we've been getting during this time. I hope you all understand that we're doing the best we can, and that we really do want to get this done, even more than you want us to get it done.
A lot more.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
I Wuz Robbed
The Tennis Channel is having a contest, the grand prize for which is 2 weeks expenses paid to cover the French Open as a journalist, with press credentials and full access and everything. This, to me, would have been paramount to having died and gone to heaven, since this would have folded up some of my favorite things about life (i.e. tennis, writing, Paris with Wanda (oh yes, Wanda is with me this whole time - as if she'd let me go on my own!)) and put them all in my lap.
The entry for was 500 words or less on the topic "What would you do if you were commissioner of tennis?" This is an interesting question because currently there is no commissioner of tennis, just a bunch of governing bodies which squabble endlessly with one another. They asked for creativity and to show a knowledge of the game of tennis. Here is my essay, which I found out tonight did not place in their top ten, which was the requirement to move ahead to the semi-finals of the contest:
So now you can go to the Contest Home of the Tennis Channel's Contest, read the other essays, and explain to me how in god's Great Green Greasy Limpopo River of a fucking world did I not place among that group of essays. Granted, there's a bit of a bite-the-hand-that-feeds-me vibe to mine, but for one, I'm not talking about the tennis channel I'm talking about ESPN, which everyone who watches tennis knows is the worst instigator of this sort of behavior (but TTC is not above this behavior themselves and it infuriates me), and for another, fuck them if they can't take a joke. They have no idea I wrote a program which automatically sent e-mail every single day to Comcast's programming department which read, simply "Dear Comcast, Please pick up the Tennis Channel! Thanks, Ben", and that thing ran for the better part of 8 solid months before Comcast finally caved. I LOVE the tennis channel, I just need full matches, thank you very much.
I only like one of the so-called semi-finalists' essays more than the one I wrote. Can you guess which one it is? Double bonus for anyone who knows (and can say why!).
Fuckers.
The entry for was 500 words or less on the topic "What would you do if you were commissioner of tennis?" This is an interesting question because currently there is no commissioner of tennis, just a bunch of governing bodies which squabble endlessly with one another. They asked for creativity and to show a knowledge of the game of tennis. Here is my essay, which I found out tonight did not place in their top ten, which was the requirement to move ahead to the semi-finals of the contest:
Imagine a sports bar in
“Due to time constraints, we are moving ahead in this game.”
Upon return, the score has moved from 7-0
It’s not even as if the cuts are tastefully done. I remember watching a Sampras match wherein Pete lost the first set, and upon return from the commercial break, those dreaded words:
“Due to time constraints, we are moving ahead in this match.”
Upon return, Pete has evened the match at a set apiece, and the announcer, I believe it was Barry “7th Game” McKay, chimes in with:
“That’s got to be the best set of tennis played by anyone this year!”
Well thanks for nothing, mister editing-room goon, I’m glad you got to enjoy that fabulous set of tennis. The rest of us will sit and wonder about it, perhaps we will begin to read that book about knitting we’ve been eyeing. We at least know that when we inevitably put it down, we can pick it back up again where we left off!
As commissioner of tennis, my first act would be to strike new TV deals which flatly prohibit the cutting short of any broadcast match, be it live or tape delayed. What do you mean there are aliens landing on the capitol? Federer and Nadal have split sets, we’re not going anywhere! Your local news is next but they’re going to have to wait, because Sharapova and some other Randomova are playing a 3rd set tie-breaker - they’re already at 67-67 and nobody shows signs of being able to hold serve anymore. Are the manic fumblings of my local police force more interesting than that?
So now you can go to the Contest Home of the Tennis Channel's Contest, read the other essays, and explain to me how in god's Great Green Greasy Limpopo River of a fucking world did I not place among that group of essays. Granted, there's a bit of a bite-the-hand-that-feeds-me vibe to mine, but for one, I'm not talking about the tennis channel I'm talking about ESPN, which everyone who watches tennis knows is the worst instigator of this sort of behavior (but TTC is not above this behavior themselves and it infuriates me), and for another, fuck them if they can't take a joke. They have no idea I wrote a program which automatically sent e-mail every single day to Comcast's programming department which read, simply "Dear Comcast, Please pick up the Tennis Channel! Thanks, Ben", and that thing ran for the better part of 8 solid months before Comcast finally caved. I LOVE the tennis channel, I just need full matches, thank you very much.
I only like one of the so-called semi-finalists' essays more than the one I wrote. Can you guess which one it is? Double bonus for anyone who knows (and can say why!).
Fuckers.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Whodathunk it?
While googling my favorite countertenor today, I see that Andreas Scholl has a MySpace page. He is a composer of pop songs, mostly of the 80s New Wave kind, and I love them. He's such a cheese ball. Did I ever tell you that I met him, back in 2000, when I went to Belgium to compete in a Baroque Singing Competition? He was one of the judges, and he's 6 foot three of pure dreamboatness. Now that's a countertenor, baby.
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