Nachi's pointless rants and recollections

He sat me down on a park bench near my house, he said he wanted to tell me something but wasn't sure how I would react.
I sat there, knowing exactly what he wanted to say. I knew what he was going to say, there was no question about it.
He told me he was gay.

I can't imagine how hard it must have been for him to say it. I was one of his very good friends and the thought of losing me because of his sexual orientation must have frightened him.

I looked at him and said "and?"
He looked confused, and then told me that most people would judge.
I told him I wouldn't, the fact that he was gay didn't change the way I viewed him.
He was still as funny, charming, and crazy as he was 10 minutes ago before he uttered those words.
I also told him that I knew he was gay, but I never touched the subject because it's none of my business and it wouldn't matter anyways, he would still be my friend.

I don't know how I came to the realization that gay people are just people. I know there is a lot of prejudice from others and I don't understand it. All I know is that since I can remember, gay, straight, bi or whatever other orientation people associate with, does not change the person. People are people, period.
I think some of it stems from my bible studies. No, I'm not religious at all, but I love to read, and the bible is a book you know?
To me, the bible is a wonderful book filled with stories and lessons. There are tons of things people don't agree with with, but as with any book, you don't have to like everything it says. It's what you take from it that matters.
I was always fascinated by Genesis, it was wonderful to read how everything began from a religious point of ivew. It never ceases to amaze me. I was also intrigued by Revelations. It scared the crap out of me but I couldn't stop reading!
One of my favorite passages though, comes from the book of Corinthians. When I first read it, I couldn't believe I was reading the bible.
Let me show you what I mean:

1 Corinthians 13:4-8 4 
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.

 Love is love people. It doesn't matter what sex you are. Just because a man may love another man, does not make their love less than mine for my husband. Their love is genuine, their love is pure and everyone understands love. At one time or another we have felt it, and you know that love is something we can't control. Love is an unstoppable force with its own mind. It takes us places so high up that you forget you're even human. How can we judge it? We cannot!
I'm not gay, but I am a firm supporter of the LGBT community. Whenever someone brings up the subject (ahem, family...) of gay being wrong, I always try to educate them on the subject. You don't have to like it, but you do have to respect it. Plain and simple.

Any who, enough with my ramblings, love thy neighbor and all that jazz.

Plain and simple, my freaking butt hurts. Every time I try to explain to someone why I groan when I get up from a chair or why I suddenly stop dead in my tracks when I'm trying to sit back down, I find it hard to explain that the excruciating pain I'm feeling is coming from my ass.

I try to gently explain the wonderful phenomenon that is Posterior Pelvic Pain but once I utter those words, people look at me like I'm crazy. Plain and simple people, my ass hurts like a motherfudger!

Why does my butt hurt? Well, let's see, since I got pregnant, my body no longer belongs to me. I have this little devil child growing inside me. He/she took residence in my womb and decided to mess with the delicate balance of my hormones. It made me puke, it made me moody, and it turned me into a pregzilla. Not only that, but this little devil child has the audacity to stretch so long that it pushes my bones around. He/she kicks and turns while I'm trying to sleep and makes my belly jump!
To top it all off, one of those lovely hormones my body is secreting has the wonderful job of stretching out my bones. Yes, you heard it, my bones are being stretched out and my joints are like jelly, hence the pain. Where? In my butt of course.

Lol.
No, I'm not mad at my baby, I just found it funny that I was trying so hard to very modestly explain my butt pain to people. Now I'm just going to say that my butt hurts.

Most holidays are a cause of celebration. People get together, they give each other gifts, sometimes a cake is involved...

There is a holiday in June, that I rarely celebrated when I was little, Father's day.
The only father I ever knew when I was a young child, was my grand-father.
Yes, I had a biological father, but he wasn't around much.
So, my dear grand-father was the daddy figure in my life and he was amazing.
He was the kind of father that loved with all his heart and was never afraid to show it.
He was the kind of father who would cook, do house chores and also do "manly" things like fix the house.
He was a carpenter, a shoe-maker, a plumber, a painter and many more things.
So one could understand why a six year old girl would experience total despair when said grand-father passed away. Right?

My father-daughter experience was short lived. I would never know that kind love again until I was older, much, much older.
Fast-forward a few years and I find myself traveling to a new country to meet my biological father. Sure, I had met him before but nothing important enough to leave a lasting memory of him.
He had a wife and three kids
You can imagine the joy a little nine year old girl might feel at the thought of having a daddy in her life. I was both nervous and excited.
My expectations were met short.
I don't want to get into too many details because this is not a post about him, but Take Two of my father-daughter experience was not a good one.
It was so bad in fact, that I decided men in general were no good.
Growing up I treated men with little respect. All of them were toys for me to play with and discard at my will.
Needless to say, I had a lot of "boyfriends" who came and went like nothing.
I vowed that I would never raise children with a man. I would get pregnant by some random stranger and raise my kid on my own. No man could be trusted, no man was good enough to be part of my family.
That all changed when I met my husband.

The circumstances under which we met were not common. The trials and tribulations we went through were right out of a movie. The love wasn't there from the start. Nobody would have thought that him and I would be a couple. I didn't even believe it, but it happened and we fell in love.
I didn't trust him completely, I had my issues with him, he was a man after all and men could not be trusted.
Still, being with him gave my heart peace. Being in his arms gave my soul a chance to rest, to stop running.
I started to sprout roots and settle in. I started to feel at home.

Right before and immediately after my son was born, I had my doubts. I was going to raise a child with a man and that scared me.
I shouldn't have been scared though. I had nothing to fear.
This man ultimately taught me what it is to be a daddy, and for that reason, this letter is to him.

To a father,
Thank you for loving me, thank you for giving me a space in your heart. Thank you for allowing me to hurt and to heal and thank you for being there to hold my hand while I did it. I love you more than any blog post can express. You are my Prince in yellow shiny armor.
Although you are not my father, you did teach me the kind of love a father is capable of. Thank you for being there when our son was born. Thank you for encouraging me to push harder when I had nothing left in me. I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you for cuddling him when he cried. Thank you for all the pooppy diapers you changed, I hated those. Thank you for staying up late at night rocking him to sleep when I was so exhausted to do it myself. Thank you for kissing our son's boo boos away. Thank you for reading him Dr. Seuss books in full character voices. Thank you for missing us so much when we go to Peru. We miss you too when we are away from you. Thank you for being our rock, our stability, our safe heaven. Thank you for being all the things the others weren't. Thank you for showing me what a real family looks like. Thank you for showing me love, pure and unconditional. Thank you so much for allowing me to grow into myself and giving me time to love you. Thank you for every single little thing you do. You have no idea how much it means to me to feel like I belong somewhere. Thank you so much for giving me my fairy-tale ending. Thank you a million times for being in my life.
I learned from you that men can be real daddy's if they really wanted to. I finally met a man who could fill my grand-father's shoes and exceed my expectations. Our son is blessed to have you as a father.
Thank you.

If I could go back in time right now to the day my son was born, I would tell myself that everything would be alright. I finally found our daddy and our happy ending had begun.

When I was 16 or 17, living in Peru, I had a puppy named Orion. He was a rottweiler that my mom "stole" from my grand-mother when he was three days old. She gave him to me to raise. I cared for that little doggy like he was my own child.
One day, while I was coming to the kitchen to get something, I heard him yelp. He was about two months old or so or maybe three. I saw that he was struggling to get free from a wooden crate that was laying around there. He kept yelping and pulling away but couldn't manage to get free. When I got close to inspect the situation, I saw something horrifying. There was a bent nail stuck under his eyelid.
How in the world did he manager to get in that situation, I'll never know.
Panic started creeping up. I didn't know how to save him. He kept squirming around and wouldn't let me help.
I yelled for help but everyone was very far away from where I was, nobody could hear him.
So, I came to the realization that if I was going to save my puppy, I had to do something.
I hugged him tight and I talked to him. I said to him "You need to stay still, if you keep pulling, you'll damage your eye. You need to trust me, I'll get you out of there."
Somehow, he understood. He kept yelping but he stood very still. I managed to pull his eyelid out and free him.
With tears streaming down my eyes, I managed to carry him to my mom who helped me clean him up and decided he was ok.
He didn't have any major damage, not even a puncture wound.
It was a miracle.

I've never had to go through something like that again. Well, all that changed a few days ago.
Last Wednesday my son and I were at my in-law's. I was in the kitchen with my mother-in-law and my son was going to see his grand-father in the living-room.
While I was chatting away, I heard my son call for me.
"Jeannette? uh, Jeannette?"
It was a simple call, nothing alarming in his voice it would seem.
I knew better though, I guess mothers always know, but I knew something was wrong.
I went to look for him and found him in the spare room where my-in-law's keep their clothing and other things.
He was bent down with his hands on an old bicycle.
I was about to yell at him for touching things that don't belong to him, until I saw his face.
Pain, all I saw was pain and desperation.
He was very calm though, no crying, no yelling, nothing, just a look that said help me!
I got near him and saw that his right hand was stuck in between the chain of the bike and the wheel thing that moves when you pedal. I tried to pull his hand a little to see if it would budge.
No luck.
I wanted to spin the wheels in the opposite direction but I couldn't. The bike was stuck in between several bags of clothing and it was too heavy for me to lift.
I decided that it was time for help.
I called for my in-law's and shortly after they came I regretted my decision.
I thought they would help, but instead panic started.
Once my mother-in-law saw what was happening she started crying and screaming.
My father-in-law looked like a poor lost puppy not knowing what to do.
My poor little brother-in-law just stood against the wall covering his mouth.
I felt helpless again but this time I had so much noise in my head, I couldn't think straight.
Luka, who had been calm up to this point started to panic. The yells and cries of my family were so loud, I couldn't think straight. My brain was telling me that I needed to turn the pedals towards the opposite direction, but somehow my brain didn't know what direction that was. If I turned it wrong, his hand was going to be fed even further in.
His little fingers looked like they were only holding on by the skin.
I resigned myself to the idea that he would loose at least two fingers, so my mission now was to get him out of there and into the hospital so they could at least reconstruct his hand if it was possible.
I started to yank the chain with my own hands in hopes of breaking it. Nothing was working.
The screams were getting louder, I finally yelled "Shut up, everyone needs to shut up!"
I felt the panic creeping up on me but I couldn't let it take over. If I allowed myself to feel despair, I wouldn't be able to free my son. He was counting on me to free him and I wasn't going to fail him.
I told my father-in-law to bring something to cut the chain with. Finally, I hugged Luka and told him he needed to stay very still and quiet so I could help him. I covered his mouth and he stood still.
My brain finally decided to work. "Turn the pedal this way" it told me.
As soon as I did, I freed his hand.
Relief....

I saw no blood, just very smooshed fingers.
I yelled at my MIL to give me a cloth or something to cover his hand.
I carried my son and I told my FIL to take me to the hospital.
He started to say "Wait, let me see.."
"No, HOSPITAL, NOW!" I yelled.
"But..." he continued.
"H O S P I T A L" I demanded.
Finally he go the message.
I told my brother in law to call my husband and let him know what happened. I had to repeat it twice because he seemed to be in shock.
\
When we finally got to the ER, they wanted to check him but Luka wouldn't allow it. He wasn't crying at all. That little boy is so brave, he wouldn't cry. He was in pain though, you could see it in his face, but he refused to cry. He was very scared and very sad. I kept hugging him and telling him how brave he was and that the Doctors would help him feel better.
Long story short, they gave him medicine for the pain and he started to perk up.
The amazing thing though is that every time I checked his hand, his fingers started to plump up and look almost normal.
By the end of the whole ordeal, his fingers looked almost like before but with a few bruises and cuts.
I couldn't believe it, it was a miracle!

Finally, my body started to react to the whole ordeal. I realized I had been wanting to pee for hours. I also started to feel pain on my left hand. When I looked at it, I saw chain marks from when I almost broke the stupid thing. My body was finally telling me that I needed to be taken care of. I had been carrying my son the whole afternoon and he is not light-weight by any standards. Add to it that I'm pregnant and I can't quite understand how I managed to do all that I did to not only rescue my son, but remain calm and endure everything else.

The Doctors told us that Luka's hand would make a full recovery. They advised us to clean the wound at home because he wouldn't allow them to do it. They also told us to give him Motrin or Tylenol for the pain and come back in a few days if the swelling didn't go down.
Luka was finally perky and responsive. He actually smiled and laughed. It was as if the whole thing never  happened.
Yes, he was still in a little pain, but nothing compared to what he felt before.

That night, while I put him to sleep, I hugged him tight and read him a bed-time story.
He was so happy and kept telling me he loved me.
Finally, when he was snoring away, I let myself feel something.
Tears started to stream down my eyes and I started to sob.
My son had gotten hurt, and in that moment I would have traded places with him in an instant. I would rather go through the pain he went a thousand times if only to avoid him going through it.
My emotions were taking over now and I couldn't stop crying, that is until Luka woke up and asked me:
"Jeannette, are you crying?"
"No"
"Jeannette, why are you crying?"
"I'm not crying bubba."
"I want you."
"I love you, goodnight"

Finally my baby went to sleep, but I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes all I could see were his fingers stuck in the chains. The image still hunts me two days after but I'm glad I was able to help him. He counted on me to rescue him and I didn't fail him.
I like to believe that mommy-mode was activated when he called for me. Otherwise, I don't know how else I would have remained so calm and in control.
I haven't had a chance to cry again. It seems that I was only able to cry for those 10 seconds before he awoke that night. Now it seems silly to cry. I can live with that. My son is alright now, his hand is healing and that's all that matters.

Super long blog post. Beware!

The first time I got pregnant, everything was new. I did so much research, I started to feel like a pregnancy resource database. I had so many question, so many concerns, I'm sure I drove my husband crazy with it all.
In the end though, everything turned out good. All of my research paid off. All the knowledge eased my mind and I had a nice, healthy pregnancy and birth.

This time around things feel different. My pregnancy seems to be going well and overall both baby and I are healthy. The difference is, that this time I feel more confident in my body to do what needs to be done to carry this baby without any type of intervention.

I should explain more.
A few years ago, I decided that if and when I got pregnant again, I wanted things to be slightly different.
If possible, I wanted a home birth. I didn't want any type of medication including labor inducing ones.
Don't get me wrong, the clinic I went to never forced me to do anything I didn't want.
They waited for pap smears or exams if I wasn't comfortable with them. They listened to me and my concerns as well.
Sadly, at the hospital where I gave birth doesn't exactly have the same policies.
Even though my birthing experience was beautiful, there are things that I would have done differently.
When you're in intense pain sometimes your judgement gets clouded. You just want labor to be over and you just want to push that baby out ASAP.
After the fact, I feel like I would have omitted certain things and this time around I will be more adamant about what my labor experience should be like.

So what am I trying to get at?
Well, I'm refusing tests and exams that I don't feel like are necessary.
For example, on my first actual visit with my Dr., I refused a pelvic exam and a pap smear because I felt it was too early in my pregnancy.
Yes, I'm sure they are safe during pregnancy, but when you get either of those sometimes there is bleeding.
Now, if you combine bleeding with the fact that my pregnancy is still very early, it just adds stress.
I'm more concerned with what stress will do to my body than what the actual tests are going to do for me.

Another example would be ultrasounds.
Because my clinic is so small, ultrasounds are done at the different facility.
Even though they are the same health company, the techs at the other location are horrible.
They are cold, entitled and sometimes rude.
I'm not saying that all of them are, but the times I've been there, I've felt like I was just a job to them and my feelings didn't matter.
Now, I don't care what profession you are in, if you work with people, you should be able to at least pretend to be nice to them.
I had a scheduled ultrasound for a day where I didn't have anyone to watch my son.
Now, the ultrasound place does not allow children under the age of 5 unless they are accompanied by another adult.
I called the ultrasound place and asked if they could give me a day when my husband was able to come with us and watch my son. I was granted the request and we went to our appointment.
We waited for an hour before we were called. When they called us, the tech asked us the age of my son.
I told her that he was 3 and she refused to let him in. I explained that I had brought my husband with us so he could watch him while the ultrasound was being done. She refused and told us they could wait in the waiting room. By then I was already pissed. Waiting for an hour had already made my mood sour, not to mention, my son was getting tired too. I told her that I would not have the ultrasound done and she suggested I re-schedule. I told her that wasn't possible since my husband wouldn't have a day off for a while and she kept pushing for me to have the ultrasound done without them.
I refused again and told them I would just go home and later figured it out.
She then informed me that no other ultrasound place within their network would allow my son to be in the room.
That pushed me over the edge. I told her it was fine and that I wouldn't have an ultrasound done.

Now, before you start judging me, I should say that I had already thought about not having any ultrasounds done. I only agreed to this one because I wanted to share the moment with my family. Since it was not possible, it just made my decision to not have any at all much simpler.
I got home later that day and started doing some research on people refusing ultrasounds.
Some people cited websites of research that have been done regarding the risk of unnecessary ultrasounds.
Others thought it was crazy to forgo them.
I mean, why would you NOT want to have them right?
Well, this might sound crazy but I don't feel like I need them.
Sure I would like to have one eventually, maybe right before the baby is born?
I don't know, but I don't feel like I need one.

The ultrasound I refused was to confirm viability and to confirm due date.
First of all, I am 100% of my menstrual dates because I have been recording them for two years now.
Second of all, now that I am 19 weeks pregnant, I know for sure my baby is viable.
At 14 weeks, which is when my ultrasound was to be done, it's too early to do anything about a miscarriage. So if my baby wasn't viable, nature would take its course and that would be the last of that.

Now, the second ultrasound which is usually done around 20 weeks is an anatomy scan. Basically, they measure the size of baby and whatnot. Again, I fail to see how that is going to help me. My baby isn't technically a baby until 24 weeks. If and when something happened to me before 24 weeks and I went into labor, they wouldn't try to save the baby anyhow because in medical terms "it isn't viable yet."
I also never understood why measurements mattered so much at this time. Babies grow at different intervals. My baby in womb maybe a little small right now, but who is to say that he/she will not get bigger by the end of it?
I'm also against any genetic tests. My decision to keep my baby would not change if they found out I had markers for down syndrome or anything like that. So those types of tests would be irrelevant in my case, it would only cause me stress and again, we all know how I feel about that.

I'm rambling now, but you get the point. I just don't want all of this done to me. If I could afford it, I would just pay a midwife to come to my house for my regular check-ups and just give birth in the bathtub.
I'm not kidding, I rather just do it at home without the medical interventions.
Ronald doesn't agree.
He much rather drag me to a hospital when the time comes and tie me to the bed until that baby is born.
Of course he would never do that, he respects my decisions and as much as it bothers him, he will never try to persuade me from what I feel is right.

I have an appointment for the 17th and yes, I will be going to that.
I might refuse the pap and the pelvic exam once again.
With my first pregnancy, I refused it until my very last appointment and my doctor was fine with that.
I'm a healthy person who doesn't smoke, I used to drink casually at home with dinner every once in a while. I have never done drugs. I have never contracted an STD and neither has my husband.
I did allow them to do an HIV test because sex is not the only way to get it and it's nice to be sure.
But again, there is no medical reason for me to allow anything else if there are no indications I may be sick.

So yes, I guess I am a little crazy for just trusting in myself and my ability to do this without all the medical hoo-ha that is usually involved.
But I trust myself and my intuition and I know that if anything feels wrong, I will promptly seek medical help without delay.