the slow reveal

So I think I've got the whole pelvic pain thing figured out-- parsed into 3 distinct categories:

• tendons/ligaments/connective tissue that are all just pissed off royally
• a sebaceous cyst - hurrah
• and a very very low baby+previa = massive pressure low

Yes, I called the doc, and yes I asked to be seen and no they didn't because they are truly unalarmed. Due to the baby position, the pressure I am feeling is not worrisome to them since it is totally expected from their perspective- and as long as there are no contractions, bleeding, seeping, or other misbehaviors, all is well. The doc I spoke with is the one who saw my ultrasound last week and is confident.

Me? I am not so confident, still worried, but I feel as if I can stand down from the worry a little, but not the vigilance (constant vigilance!) as if somehow by paying attention I can save myself.

Speaking of saving myself, please note my nifty new button click through thingy upper right taking you to my heartwork site. It is under construction (and conceptualization) but in want of readers-- it is an offshoot of my usual stuff, you're sure to recognize my voice there, just not much talk of pregnancy, crotch tendons, or IF stuff. I am hoping to use that space to focus on the broader act of creativity, being in the world, and things that bring me joy or move me in a direction of positivity.

You may see some echoes of things I have posted here--

Please check it out.

I hate wordpress but a friend says he will help with customization. If the site moves, I'll change the link with the button.

I wanted to wait until there was *more*, have a big reveal, but really? Life is a slow reveal, a fan dance anyway, so there you go.

I have just two posts up, and one skeletal page for an e-workshop in the works. Feedback is more than welcome-- please please please.

I came apart at work today, cried hard, and took some time to put my pieces back in the same bag-- I do not feel together but I feel gathered. It is a fine start. See, the thing about grief, no matter what kind, is that it bubbles and seethes, it does not just leave cleanly. And while I am good at coping, great at denial and diversion and redirection, I am mortal. My professional facade cracked. Sadness flooded faster than I could staunch the flow. I left work, drove home, cried enough, and then met a friend for dinner. See? I say to myself, see? I'm ok. And with the lump in my throat down to the size of a onion set, I can believe it to be true.

No, actually, I know it to be true. I can feel like shit and be ok and have both be true. I have enough room.