Ovaries Shmovaries

I don't remember how old I was when I first got my moon (my period to you muggles). I was not so young or so old that the event stood out. I knew what it was and boy was I pissed.

I woke up, saw the blood on the sheet, and said "Ooooh shit."

I told my mother who smiled congratulated me and then said "Arn't you glad I didn't slap you?!" (in some cultures/religions first mensus is rewarded with a slap because, you know, now you're the vessel for original sin and should immediately be punished and all)

By the time I got back from the bathroom my great Aunt was on the phone which meant my mother had already called my grandmother who immediately called her sister who immediately called me. Thus is life in a Jewish family.

Oh shit indeed. Because what I didn't know was that from that time on "health" would become entirely subjective.

I remember the episodes. They came on unexpectedly and left me laying on the floor of the bathroom curled in a ball crying and wishing I could magically transform into a boy. Luckily (or so I thought at the time) they only came a few times a year. We were told it takes some girls a while for their cycles to become...well...cyclical.

By the time I was 16 they still were not regular. A visit to my mom's OBGYN (because nothing says mother/daughter bonding like sharing a doctor whose job it is is to shove cold metal instruments in your lady parts) we were informed that for some girls cycles just don't come regularly but combined with my recent unexplained weight gain and horrible pizza face acne despite atomic acne drugs (Acutane anyone?) they thought the best course of action was "The Pill" (birth control pill for you menfolk). 

At 17 when I became sexually active and still wasn't menstruating regularly I had multiple "oh my god I'm pregnant" freak outs. Had I known how elusive pregnancy would be for me, huddled with a watch in the bathroom at my best friend's house staring at a pregnancy test not even knowing how many lines I wanted to see, I would never have been so nervous. You see I'd only ever wanted to be a mother. For as long as I can remember. I wanted a big family. 5 kids or so. Other people were driven to become doctors or teachers etc. I wanted to be a mother and everything I did between then and birthing my children was just filling the time. So when at 18 I went to a different OBGYN by myself for a routine visit and in walked a doctor I had never met who skipped any introductions and just stared at my chart and talked really fast saying "You'll probably never get pregnant on your own you'll need to come in for drugs to help you have kids." I. Was. Destroyed.

I believe I was 20 when I contracted an illness that required antibiotics. The doc told me it would be pointless to take the pill while on the antibiotics so I didn't take them. I got sick (or maybe it just never went away) again the following month and did another course of antibiotics and didn't take the pill. Two months with no "pill".

It was as though clouds I hadn't noticed were there parted and the sun shone down on me for the first time. I was happier, more stable, less crazy. I had thought I was just another casualty of teen-hood. I went in to my teen years and came out a crazy bitch. I didn't know I could be any other way. And that was on a low dose pill. I vowed never to go on the pill again.

Slowly over the course of about 2 years I put on even more weight. My hair thinned. Acne was still terrible. Still only got my period a few times a year. Doctors seemed to be at a loss. They could continue giving me the steady stream of drugs and antibiotics for the acne. I could go back on the pill. That was it.

In 2002 right before I started graduate school my grandmother showed me an article in her diabetic's magazine and said "This sounds like you." It was there I learned about PCOs (Poly cystic ovary syndrome) its link to insulin resistance (before it was cool) and the diabetic drug glucophage (generic: metformin) which seemed to be helping women with PCOs. I went to see an endocrinologist who had no idea what I was talking about but agreed to give me a prescription. I took it and was sick for about 6 months straight. I was in grad school and living away from home. I was nauseated and had stomach pains for most of every day. I couldn't eat anything but mozzarella sticks. After a full day of classes I'd go out into the woods with some friends, smoke pot, and then finally be comfortable and able to eat. Then I'd get the munchies and end up eating exactly the crap that I was supposed to avoid. I didn't have anyone to explain how insulin and sugar worked or how different sugars effect your blood sugar or hidden sugars or combining protein with sugars so the insulin didn't spike.


PCOs is a syndrome because its symptoms vary from woman to woman. Not every woman will have all the symptoms. To break it down very very simply imagine insulin in your body looking like a little puzzle piece. It is meant to fit perfectly with sugars to digest them. In my body the puzzle pieces don't fit properly. So, my body says "hey, I need energy - eat something!". When the sugar hits my system the insulin can't digest it or turn it into energy because it doesn't fit correctly. So my body thinks I still haven't eaten. So it makes MORE insulin to make me want to EAT MORE. EAT MORE SUGAR especially. My body also thinks its starving because though I eat, the food isn't actually being turned into nutrients so it automagically stores everything as fat. The high levels of insulin and fat cause hormonal disruptions. The hormonal disruptions - mostly high testosterone and low estrogen and progesterone - cause annovulation (no ovulation) and infertility.

The lining around the ovaries, that membrane the eggs explode through and come tumbling down the fallopian tubes to be fertilized, well, it thickens. Kind of like a testicle! The eggs don't get enough of the hormones they need to mature. They also can't get out of the thickened membrane. They turn into cysts within the ovary and chill out there releasing MORE androgens. The ovaries produce too much testosterone. The lining of the womb doesn't get enough estrogen and doesn't bleed. Short term it causes weight gain, hair loss on the head, hair growth everywhere else acne and a lovely long list of other crap. Long term, uncontrolled, it leads to Type 2 diabetes, heart disease, and uterine cancer. 

Isn't it lovely. First it gradually turns you into a man. Then if you can actually find a man who doesn't mind chest hair on his woman it takes away your ability to have children, then it kills you early. And I repeat - this is the leading cause of infertility for women. You absolutely know someone who has this (other than me). It is estimated that about %10 of women have it to some degree or another. 

At least I can get work as a carny

It wasn't until my summer off from grad school that I got myself a bunch of books and started to learn. I learned how PCOs is vicious cycle. That the one thing that makes it go away (losing weight) is also the thing it actively prevents you from doing. I learned how it is very common (leading cause of infertility in women) but that so little was known at that time that doctors didn't know what to do for women who had it beside put them on the pill which masks the symptoms but doesn't actually fix the problem and certainly isn't helpful if you're trying to have a baby. I learned how to eat to control my sugar levels. I cut out a great deal of things and replaced many others with healthier options. I learned about herbs and supplements that could help. High protein, low carb. Cut out androgen disruptors like soy, and certain cooking oils. Never store food in plastic. Never microwave. The list is exhaustive and I wrote a different blog post about it a while ago. Its been so frustrating that no matter what I do, No matter how many changes I make, my body doesn't budge. If I do them all my weight stagnates and I don't menstruate. If I stop I gain weight which makes it worse.

It it took a very long time for the metformin to work. 2 years actually. 2 years before my moon was predictable - cyclical. Two years of nausea, stomach pains, and arguing about what to eat because NOTHING was appetizing - ever. The first time I knew when my moon was coming it was falling on my wedding day. PMS the week leading up to my wedding and a bloody honeymoon?! No thanks! I went to the doc and got some progesterone to bring on my moon early so I'd be in the clear for the wedding.

And I was.

I'd also rebooted my system. I didn't know a tenth then of what I know now about my body and fertility and well..... everyone knows Magdalena :-)

Pregnancy was wonderful. Everything that plagues me when I'm not pregnant went away. I was healthier than I'd been in many years. Pregnancy makes the PCOs go into a kind of remission. For some women it is permanent. I was not so lucky.

A few months after Magda was born, knowing we wanted more children and wishing to get ahead of the problem we went to see a fancy fertility specialist. Sitting in his very posh office he told me despite my healthy baby bouncing on my lap that  

• I'd never get pregnant on my own  again without his help
• my daughter was a fluke
• I needed to go back on the pill for a few months
• I needed to take Metformin again - forever.
• that I needed to exercise for at least an hour every day for the rest of my life
• and be on a permanent Atkins diet for the rest of my life. 

He was a complete asshole with a massive god complex. HE would MAKE me pregnant. There was no other way. (FYI his name is Steven Palter from Gold Coast Fertility and  I highly recommend you take your precious ovum and run as far away from him as possible)

I went back to my books (and the internet now thankfully) and vowed I could do it without his expensive hormone peddling douchy help. It took the better part of a year (which is actually completely normal) but we conceived Tristan on our own.

Again pregnancy was great.When Tristan was about 6 months old we started working on baby number 3. 

We've been working on it ever since.

I remember when I first began learning about PCOs and the few medical options available to me. I read about a surgery where they removed a section of the ovary kind of like cutting out a wedge of cake. I remember thinking that that would be at the bottom of my list. That there were so many other options one was bound to work. I also remember thinking I'd never get to the bottom of the list. The modern version of this surgery is called Ovarian Drilling. A laproscopic procedure where they poke holes in the ovaries and cauterize them at the same time. Ovarian Drilling - obviously named by a man. 

It has been 14 years since my journey with PCOs began (really it started when I first hit puberty but we couldn't have known then).  In that time I've completely altered my diet. I've been on nearly every supplement recommended for androgen problems, insulin problems, menstrual problems, sometimes so many at once it was a financial burden and so filling I couldn't even eat after taking all the pills. You might think not eating would be a good way to lose weight but you'd be wrong. If I don't eat regularly it actually seriously exacerbates the problem. I've exercised at various intensities for periods of time most notably the entire year leading up to my sister's wedding when I diligently shlepped my two babies to a New York Sports Club in Long Beach 3 times a week. And true to the difficulty inherent in living with PCOs - I lost NO weight. 

I even tried going back on Metformin three times all with the same result. Even a lower dose. Even the extended release. Even the name brand. They all made me sick to my stomach. I longed for the days of grad school when I had no little ones and could afford to be sick or stoned all the time.

I've had two miscarriages in the last 5 and a half years. After the first I went to see a different Reproductive Specialist. Joseph Pena of Long Island IVF. Also a total asshole. I told him when I sat down that I was just looking for information. I wanted to know what options "medicine" had for me. I'd just finished bleeding after the miscarriage. I was very knowledgeable about my "condition". I was also very diligent in charting. A way of keeping track of fertility by taking your basal body temp every morning and checking cervical mucous (yum) and mood, and many other things which can and do tell you when what is going on in your body. He refused to look at my charts. He insisted I knew nothing about PCOs or my body. He told me he didn't believe that I'd had a miscarriage or had ever been pregnant because I hadn't had a blood test to confirm it. Asshole. And he repeatedly pushed a stack of financial aid paperwork for IVF (in vitro fertilization) at me. Their big money maker.

After the second and far more devastating miscarriage in January of 2013 I went to a third fertility doctor. I liked him. He was a kindly white haired old man who reminded me of Orville Reddenbacher. I told him about my experiences with the other doctors and he was embarrassed on behalf of his occupation. He looked over my charts. He took seriously my knowledge, my history, and all the "crazy" herbs and supplements I had tried. My desperate aversion to Metformin and the birth control pill was understood and not brought up again. His name is Richard Bronson of Reproductive Services of New York. Having PCOs limits what even the fertility doctors can do. The very hormones I am lacking, the ones they hand out like candy to other women, have a high incidence of over stimulating a woman with PCOs. Ovarian hyper stimulation is no joke. It hurts. Aaaaaand it leads to multiples. I'm not talking twins. I"m talking octomom. So we did Clomid, a common fertility drug which brings on maturity of the egg and ovulation. The low and medium doses didn't work on me. The high doses were torture. It feels like menopause - mood swings, sweats! and of course I took it in August. Clomid itself if taken too long increases the risk of cancer. This doc limits it to a very conservative 6 rounds. By our 6th round we were getting desperate and added a trigger shot (a shot of a hormone that forces the last bit of maturation and ovulation so fertilization can be timed perfectly) and an IUI (intra uterine insemination) a.k.a. turkey baster. The whole time I was under their care I had the constant morning routine of getting blood drawn and having trans-vaginal sonograms (worst dildo ever). They were running out of places to draw blood from that weren't black and blue.

None of that worked either.

I'd been looking into yet another supplement called Inositol that was entirely different than Metformin and yet did the same thing. It regulated the sugar/insulin problem only without making people sick. It had had many trials and studies done and ALL were promising. I used the dosages and recommendations from the studies and began to take it. We also scheduled the surgery. Dr. Bronson, at a loss for what else to do for me, brought up this unknown supplement a colleague of his had been studying. INOSITOL. I told him I'd already started and he was very supportive. Blood tests confirmed a significant decrease in my testosterone. We were relieved and excited. We cancelled the surgery. For a few months it seemed to be working. My moons were coming closer together, hurting less, the blood was healthier. And then it just stopped.

Everyone insisted that stress was causing the problem. Stress over not having a baby most of all. So I pretty much took this past year off from that. Trying but not really trying. I stopped the charting, the testing. I did a lot more "fun" things that I had avoided doing because I was "trying to have a baby". These usually involved alcohol.  I've did a lot of soul searching. I've improved a great deal in how I handle stress. How I treat myself. How I make myself happier. Instead of  making things better it is been 10 months since I last ovulated. I've had two bleeds but they came because my womb just said "oh fuck it I can't hold this anymore". In the last 5 months I"ve not even bled.  I spotted for a couple of days every two weeks for 2 months. Desire for more children took a back burner to worrying about being alive for the 2 I have. I went back to the doctor to make sure there was nothing ELSE wrong. There was nothing new. My ovaries showed the typical signs of PCOs but not bleeding for so long is a big concern. We discussed my whole history and what options were left to me. 

• I could go on the pill for the rest of my child bearing years (and obviously have no more children and possibly a stint in a sanitarium)
• I could go on progesterone for 10 days every month to bring on a bleed (progesterone is awful! again, like being in menopause and pms only when you're done you get to go through regular pms and THEN bleed heavily and painfully)
• I could do the ovarian drilling.

So we booked the surgery. 

The studies show that %50 of the women who undergo the surgery spontaneously begin ovulating on their own. The surgery is usually recommended for women who don't respond well to fertility drugs - like me. Of the other %50, a large majority of them become responsive to drugs and supplements and lesser invasive treatments after having had it.

It isn't a permanent fix but as my husband pointed out - wouldn't it be amazing to have a reprieve from this for a few years. To actually function normally. To get my "health" under control. Even if its just for a few years. And he is right. Every year this goes untreated my chances of a horrible disease ridden future go up. Though a baby is not foremost in my thoughts these days, every year that passes I get older. I went from being 29 and everyone telling me not to rush - you've got plenty of time to being considered "high risk" just because of maternal age. (Its bullshit by the way but its claws dig deeply into my brain).

SO there is a very good chance that this surgery will work for me in some way. It will, by virtue of literally burning it out, remove some of my body's ability to create testosterone. PCOs is, as I said, a vicious cycle. I've tried interrupting the cycle in various ways over the years. Through food, through drugs, through herbs/supplements, acupuncture, hypnosis. The ovarian drilling will interrupt the cycle in a new way. In a way I can't influence no matter how careful my diet or how many disgusting herbal tinctures I take. Everyone assumes that I've just reached a new level of desperation in my quest to have a baby. I hope this long history helps you all to understand - its not about a baby.  I never imagined all those years ago that I would reach the bottom of that list of options. I can't believe I'm here facing this. I DON"T want to do this. I HATE hospitals. I have a phobia of IVs so bad it was the driving force which lead me down the road to home birth! I am crying now typing this because the surgery place just called to give me particulars about tomorrow and it has made it VERY VERY real. But, for the sake of my long term health, for the sake of my quality of life. I have to do this. I have to try. I have to have hope that this "drastic" measure will work where all the gentler less invasive things didn't. 

So please think of me. Not necessarily prayers for my recovery because as surgeries go this isn't so bad. As recovery periods go, this isn't so long. Pray that it works. Pray that it marks the end of this long drawn out nightmare I've been living my entire adult life. This subtly invasive, invisible, and traitorous syndrome which steals, femininity, fertility, vitality, and health. Pray that it works. Because if it doesn't there is really nothing left on the list.

In Recognition of a Moment

Sunday evening I was driving home from my father's house. I was alone in the minivan because I was transporting the semi built wooden structure that will soon become my sons "big boy" bed. I had all the windows down so I didn't choke on the fumes from the wood stain. I had just dropped off my grandmother at the old person camp where she now lives. We had been at my father's celebrating her 85th birthday (somewhat belatedly) and my son's 6th birthday. 

While cruising down the L.I.E. thinking about no particular thing I was overcome with a beautiful, wonderful, feeling. Something that heretofore I'd only felt during specific moments of my life. So specific I can name them:

walking toward my then future husband at our wedding..

stolen moment in the elevator
is alway my favorite picture

birthing my son

baby is actually crowning at this moment.
I cropped my va-jay-jay out. You're welcome.

becoming a member of my coven

I borrowed this image from the internet.
I can't show you my dedication without a blood sacrifice during a dark moon.

after about 3/4 of a bottle of wine

most of my time at Pennsic...

 which had a lot to do with the above mentioned alcohol.

and at the peak of a really great orgasm.

you didn't think I'd post a photo of me orgasming did you?
I get pretty personal on here but really!?

I don't like new age speak. I suffer through a lot of it being a hypnobabies instructor and being a witch. Positive language. Positive thoughts. I do it. Because it is a good way to be and because I know for a fact that doing the opposite is not helpful. But theres a part of my brain that rebels and thinks its corny.

I am a struggling optimist and what I mean by that is that I hail from a long line of Jewish curmudgeons who have made pessimism and worst first thinking an art form. I struggle against this. I struggle to be positive. I struggle to appreciate what I have because I am never satisfied with where I am or what I have and it sucks and part of me hates it. Part of me likes it because that is what fuels much of my creativity. i.e.: I want X. I can't afford X. I will make X. But most of the time its pretty annoying to everyone around me that everything I lay my eyes on is instantly assessed as to how I could improve upon it.

But, in that moment. There was nothing I wanted to change. Nothing I wanted to fix or improve or even complain about. The only word that came to mind to describe what I was feeling was: Gratitude. 

I was in that moment, for no particular reason, feeling that universal love. Feeling appreciation for my life. Feeling gratitude for the little things that I usually feel guilty about not appreciating. 

My grandmother was diagnosed with stage 4 lady parts cancer a few years ago and yet we just celebrated her 85th birthday and for the first time in my life she lives so near me I can pick her up and drop her off! I was hauling a bed for my son that my father spent two days helping me (re: let me sand stuff and sweep up) build. My belly was full of a delicious and lovingly prepared dinner that my angel of a step mother cooked. How many people can say that entire sentence with utter sincerity?

I felt grateful. I felt happy. I felt high. I felt connected to my life and the world. I felt like I was in the right place at the right time. I felt the love of the people in my life. No wine necessary.

So, in that moment. That perfect moment of happy gratitude in which I was self aware enough to notice "hey I'm feeling that thing I usually only feel when I'm drunk!". And since I usually post things that I'm bitching about I made a promise to myself to document it. This miraculous good moment. So I wouldn't forget it. So I would always know I am capable of it. And, maybe it is just the start of something. Maybe years from now those moments will be so frequent and familiar that I will look back at this post and remember that dark time in my life when those sparks of gratitude were so rare that I had to write a snarky blog post about it. 

Dear Pennsic, Fuck You!

Fuck you for being so beautiful that everyday life looks like the color has been washed out of it. The grass was actually greener. The sky bluer. The people more colorful and expressive in their choice of garb and experimental with their hair, jewelry, and makeup. The music was sweeter. The drums pulsed in time to my heartbeat. The fires were brighter. The jokes funnier. The drinks more intoxicating. 

Fuck you for being so exhausting that I have never come home from a vacation so relaxed before. Seriously though -  heat and I don't play well together. "This is not the weather of my people" was muttered multiple times and yet there I was: Sticky, sweaty, moderately 

My people hail from Siberia and carry portable sunshades.

dehydrated from the previous nights alcohol, and still totally blissed out to be there.

Fuck you for introducing me to so many awesome people that I will miss them for another whole year. No really. Like - every single person I met was great. Ok, except that one dude....at the virgin sacrifice.....who couldn't take a joke. He wasn't so much fun but the other 12,000 people were pretty fucking great.

Fuck you for your fine and free flowing inebriates. My usual 4 o'clock glass of wine, drunk quickly in solitude over the kitchen sink in a last ditch attempt to keep from murdering my children, is lonely and flavorless in comparison with your delicious and often homemade brews and no, I still don't want to know what's in it or how it was made, REFILL PLEASE!

 Pappy's famous Moonshine. Guaranteed to put hair on your chest, make you forget the names of your children, and buy an $800.00 pair of boots from Son of Sandlar and think it was a steal!

Fuck you for helping me discover the answer to that annoying party question "if you had to eat one food for the rest of your life what would it be?" Because it is bacon. Cast iron cooked bacon. Crispy, crunchy, salty, fatty, bacon. Mmmmm....bacon.

I heart bacon

Fuck you for showing me so many things that I really really want to be and do because now I have more things I want to be and do and well...you didn't know me very well Pennsic. If you did you'd know that I was already trying to be and do a great many things which will now be shoved back a few places while I figure out how to construct a loom in my basement and shoot arrows in my yard without killing my neighbors.

Fuck you for ruining normal men for me forever. As if the bar wasn't high enough now all men must wear armor....all the time....because it is so damn sexy the thought of it does funny things to my lady parts. Seriously though, most of these guys would just be normal guys in normal clothes at their normal jobs in their normal lives but slap on some armor and let them wail on each other with some bamboo and I am reduced to incoherent babble. 

You can shazam me anytime sweetie.

Take a normal guy, add a little Pennsic, and shazamm! Jason Mamoa.











I think I'm going to need a moment after the Jason Mamoa google images page I just scrolled through.

ok,

<stay on target....STAY ON TARGET>

I"m good now. Where was I?

Oh, Fuck that fucking harpist. Nothing has ever awakened me at 7am with a fucking smile on my face. Ever. How dare you.

Bitch.

And while I'm on music Fuck the Drummers! The party drummers providing sensual beats for the belly dancers and fire dancers and shit faced partygoers. The war drummers making my heart race with their deep inexorable pounding. Those fucking whackos who chased us off the hill at 3am with their creepy drumming in the mists and fog. I can not stand still when there is drumming. My hips sway. My body moves. I'm not saying I'm any good at that part but damn! I want them to provide a soundtrack to my life. Washing dishes and navigating Long Island traffic would be way more exciting with drummers.

Fuck you Pennsic for being so full of activity that I kept forgetting my camera and have no documentation of anything outside the camp!

And finally Pennsic - Fuck you for allowing me the space to reinvent myself.....as me.  

Pennsic me is awesome! She does pretty much what she wants. She doesn't wait on people out of obligation. She doesn't have to pretend to be anything she isn't for the comfort of others. She eats what and when she wants. She doesn't swallow 2 dozen supplements a day in a vain effort to manage bodily dis-eases. She doesn't even seem to feel the effects of them. Hypothyroidism? Whats thats? She stays out late laughing and drinking, she walks miles with no pain and no complaining, she gets up early, with no hangover, and more surprisingly - stays up and doesn't nap! Her brain produces witty comebacks and dialogues which are actually available for use by her mouth DURING a conversation not hours later wondering why she couldn't think of that before. She doesn't really care what her hair looks like because it is matted to her head with sweat and there is nothing she can do about it. She doesn't care what her skin looks like because sweat and mascara are a recipe for disaster. She doesn't take offense. She seeks only fun. If fun isn't happening over here....she goes somewhere else and doesn't feel guilt about leaving. Actually she doesn't feel guilt at all.

That deserves its own paragraph.

Fuck you Pennsic for showing me that I can live without feeling guilty about my every move. That I can be decisive and not look back. That I can live in the moment and not wonder how it might be different had I made some other choice.

One night while stumbling happily home through the mud I realized that, miracle of miracles, - I was happy. This is no small thing. I was HAPPY! I wasn't even drunk! I felt free. I felt like the person I always want to be. The person life usually doesn't let me be. And I realized that that is probably the reason that all the people around me seemed so fucking awesome too. At Pennsic they weren't defined by their relationship to someone else - mother, father, husband, wife. They weren't defined by their occupation or their station. They weren't defined by how they look (sweaty and muddy) how old they are (young at heart) or where they are from (because its all made up). And yet we were never more honest. The SCA allows them to be who they really are. The mundane world is the play. The masque. The SCA is where they go to be themselves and be accepted for it. Freak flag flying proud. And it worked its magic on me too. I've often wondered who I would be without the "s" word hanging around my neck dragging me down to dark dismal depths. STRESS. Without it I'm pretty fucking great too.

Normal Me

Me at Pennsic. Yes I have wings... And Abs.

So the funny part is - I was only at Pennsic for 3 days. 3 FUCKING DAYS. All this awesome was compressed into 72 hours (minus the 10 or so combined hours I bothered to sleep). 

There was a great deal of lead in to this trip. Many years of many friends telling me how great it is and how much fun I was going to have. How many times in one's life can it be said that the real thing not only held up to peoples opinions but surpassed it? Not many.  So now I am faced with the sad truth. Pennsic was awesome. And now it is over for another 49 weeks. I have many new things I want to do and more SCA events I want to attend and new acquaintances who I want to turn into old friends and have to figure out how to make it happen without spending any money but I think it will work out somehow because miracles do happen - even to me. Oh - and I have to get my husband armor.

So FUCK YOU PENNSIC one last time. Because it was fantastic and I can't wait to fuck you again next year ;-)

and FYI It is a truth which should be universally acknowledged that pretty much anything is more fun if you do it in a tent. 

Penises and Assholes

The following is a Facebook post I wrote many months ago on a Facebook thread where a soon to be mother was asking questions about circumcision. It was written in response to a Jewish mother who was arguing in defense of circumcision or more specifically Brit Milah the name for the traditional Jewish ceremony (en-Jew-ification has a nice ring though don't ya think?) wherein newborn male babies are officially brought into the fold.... by sacrificing one of their folds.

all your foreskin belong to us

The Jewish mother was upset because another poster had responded calling circumcision mutilation and she was deeply offended on behalf of her faith and this sacred right of Brit Milah - or what people who don't hate babies, and men, and penises, and themselves call Male Genital Mutilation.

Before I get into it let me say that I know people who have, for one of the reasons I argue below or another, circumcised their sons and they live with the regret every day. You KNOW this is not for you. I love you and your children and I feel for you. I keep myself educated and continually put myself in the crosshairs of this argument because I don't want any other parent to feel what you are feeling. 

With every year that goes by and every new horrific study that comes out I become more militant in my desire to eradicate this sick twisted idea. I am less lenient, less understanding of other peoples viewpoints, less considerate of their feelings on this matter. BECAUSE THERE IS NO OTHER SIDE! You are either FOR cutting off baby parts or you are AGAINST it. You are either a protector of bodily integrity OR you're an asshole. There is no argument, no middle ground. The ONLY reason I would ever agree that cutting off a part of your body is a good idea is to save your life or drastically improve the quality of it. Think gangrene. Think diabetic necrosis. Or whatever the hell this guy had. 

So below is what I wrote to her. I have edited it with more current information and links and (I hope) funny things for the sake of this blog post. The reason I am turning it into a blog post is entirely selfish. It is because I am still confronted with this argument quite regularly and I am tired of typing the same things over and over. Now it will be in one handy link. 


So much to say....

I was going to apologize now for any course language I may use or any offense I may cause but I'm not going to because if you're offended then good. It means you have doubt about your actions and where there is doubt there is the chance that you could change your mind.  Someone taking offense to this is awesome. I will gladly take offense on behalf of your circumcised children. I have had this argument so many times I can't believe I am still having it. Like the 200th time you ask your child not to jump on the couch. And people continue to do it with the same carelessness of a child.  I just don't have it in me to even pretend to be polite toward people who defend circumcision anymore.

Add Don't I look like a good little
Jewish girl on the day of her bat mitzvah.
All decked out in her early 90's finery
and bad bangs in front of the ark.
with my prayer book. What you can't see
is the Witch's bible I hid underneath.

The Jewish Argument

I was raised Jewish and identify culturally as Jewish the way other people say they're Italian or Irish. As the birth of my son approached I did a great deal of research when faced with this decision not because I was conflicted but because I needed to be armed with knowledge to use in my defense to my family.

Circumcision is UNARGUABLY MUTILATION whether a sadistic (re: asshole) god commands it in an outdated book or not. If you did it to a girl, an adult, or an animal people would be horrified and laws would be passed to protect them and yet the tradition continues. In the detailed research I did which included talking with two rabbis as well as reading multiple translations (see bottom) of the portions of the texts which discuss it I learned several things. 

1) the words in the original covenant  indicate "nicking" the foreskin. NOT removing it. The goal was to release a droplet of blood as a sacrifice of sorts or as a rabbi from the middle ages claimed - to cause bodily pain. Welcome to the earth little one, you're a Jew, its time you start SUFFERING! Really feel it. Stew in it little asshole. Don't let it go. Carry it with you throughout the generations and pass it on to your children. Never forget the SUFFERING!

2) any child born of a Jewish woman is Jewish according to Jewish law. Nothing else is needed. If there was then females wouldn't be Jewish. End of story.

3) the laws disallowing any changes to ones body ie: the big taboo against tattoos... Because we were created in gods perfect image....so, no tattoos, no piercings, no hair dye or makeup, (tell that to the orthodox women wearing pancake batter on their faces and mops on their heads) but go ahead, take off a chunk off a newborn, he can't stop you. 

And why on the 8th day of life? Because there are specific blood factors that we don't have in high enough percentages to prevent hemorrhage until about the 8th day! So my birth junkies one could argue that the reason America is so obsessed with vitamin K shots at birth is to give the baby an extra boost so they can get circumcised before they leave the hospital. So the vitamin K producers and the company who make the circumcision equipment are in (a very very scary) bed together. Here is a handy graph. But wait what am I talking about. We do it on the 8th day because god said so. My bad.

As far as metaphysical or spiritual reasons saying to someone that they aren't as close to god as you are because they didn't have a part of their body removed is insane. Just reread those words again and think about it. (The woman I was responding to made the argument that circumcision brought her son closer to god). If the god of Abraham required that every newborn have their index finger removed would we be so quick to do it?! I think not. And this is no different. The change to a removal of the entire foreskin was decided by some conclave of rabbis that met several hundred years ago. You know, in the dark ages. So glad we kept all the awesome ideas they had back then. Let's bring back the rack!

Jews need to stop hiding behind their religion and screaming persecution every time someone questions circumcision. There is a reason it is so often questioned. There is NO reason to be doing it! It needs to be abandoned like stoning adulteresses, and keeping slaves. One of the reasons Judaism is declining is because it teaches blind following of tradition for tradition's sake. No one ever explains the WHY of anything. Just do it. Its what we do. Perhaps not for the orthodox or the chassids but for the majority of American Jews our religion is devoid of any actual spirituality. Modern people and modern spirituality don't just do things because that is the way it has always been done. When something is the best or the right thing to do it persists throughout time. When something is no longer the best or right thing to do it needs to be abandoned not clung to against all reason, all feeling, and all evidence to the contrary. If your religion cannot stand up to challenge or questioning then it doesn't deserve to be followed. Judaism has many wonderful  qualities that should be the focus of its teachings and traditions. Not this. Circumcision goes against the core of Judaism.

The "Look Like Daddy" and "It Looks Weird" Arguments

As far as the arguments for "looking like daddy" the numbers of circumcised infants are dropping so quickly that by the time your sons are old enough to care what their penises look like they will be in the minority if they're circumcised. So they will look like daddy but not like their peers. Does it look weird to me? YES, sure, because 95% of the males who are my peers are circumcised. So all the penises I"ve seen (hey, it hasnt been THAT many) are all circumcised. It is what I am used to, nothing more.  By the time our sons are in locker rooms or engaging in sexual acts their peers will be used to seeing it both ways and I hope dearly that in the not to distant future it will be the circumcised penises that look "weird".

 My husband is looking forward to the day when my son asks why he looks different than daddy and my husband can say "when I was a baby everyone did this until we realized it was wrong and cruel and I'm glad I knew better and didn't do it to you, your penis is perfect" 

Here is a fucking interactive map showing the decline of circumcision. Even here in NY where circumcision is still funded by medicaid and we have a large catholic population, because catholics still seem to think circumcision will stop masturbation, the circumcision rate is down to %58 as of 3 years ago and falling. The national average was 33% in 2009!

The "Protection Against Disease" Argument

I am not a doctor so listen to all of these people...

http://www.doctorsopposingcircumcision.org/info/HIVStatement.html

http://www.nocirc.org/2008-07_Mothering-Fauntleroy.pdf

Video telling exactly why our quest to circumcise all of Africa is BACKFIRING  and causing more disease.

There is a whole website for doctors opposing circumcision and another 

So why keep the foreskin? What does it do?

But if you're too lazy to read that in a nutshell It contains oh...about 20,000 nerve endings. It protects the tip of the penis. It lubricates with an all natural antimicrobial antibacterial "smegma". Handy during sex, or for preventing infection. 

So this is bad

but this is ok.

Watch this video. It is a tame one. The others I have seen didn't bother with any numbing agent and the baby passed out from shock though ignorant assholes....I mean, Aunt Ethel will say not to worry he just fell asleep. After all we did give him your pinky finger covered in wine to numb him. 

 If you don't it's because you know deep down what a horror this is. A horror you perpetuated on your perfect helpless child. They TIE him down to a board. They put - if you're lucky - a little topical numbing agent (which take quite a while to be effective even topically). Then they use tools reminiscent of the spanish inquisition to remove a perfectly good and healthy part of your child's body while he screams so hard he turns red, shakes all over and passes out. 

There! that was it! That feeling you just had that made you want to cross your legs. That face of discomfort and disgust. But hey - its a baby. They won't remember right? WRONG again!

But I'm not a psychologist so here:

psychologytoday.com

and here

http://www.cirp.org/library/psych/goldman1/

and here

http://www.doctorsopposingcircumcision.org/DOC/statement06.html

There are so so so many more links and studies. But I am done for today. And really, any Jewish girl can tell you - Jewish boys remember. Oh boy do they remember.  


Don't try this at home. I'm allowed. I have the Jew card.

This tradition is just that, a tradition. One that needs to fall into the fog of history with other things we look back on with embarrassment like foot binding, thalidomide, child labor, and prepubescent brides. Be educated. Protect the penises. Don't be an asshole.

wikipedia article on Brit Milah

one version of one mention of it in the torah you will notice three things. 1) god repeats himself a lot....kind of like talking to a toddler, 2) the word circumcision sticks out like a sore thumb being invented 2000 years or so after the torah was written and 3) we are instructed to circumcise our sons in the same sentence that we are told to circumcise the other humans we bought.

Yes, it does make the penis less sensitive study

History of Circumcision Slide Show....I shit you not.

Everything you ever wanted to know about your penis

YouTube video

Jewish Circumcision organization

Jews Against Circumcision check out the section under the "Jewish" tab.

Beyond the Bris Jewish organization with many wonderful pieces written by families and rabbis faced with this issue.

NoCirc.org

I NEED people to VALIDATE my CHOICES as a parent!

That title is not about me.

I don't give a shit what you think about my parenting choices. (well, thats a work in progress really but thats what I aim for and I'm doing pretty well)

A couple of friends who I love and admire and have lovely children have apparently been upset by this article. I appreciated the British Nanny's perspective because to me it was even handed and reasonable. Their upset was shared by a mother who wrote a response to the Nanny article. In my opinion the author is 1) totally missing the point, 2) inventing new ones that were never intended and then 3) blowing them out of proportion. An awesome combination!

Poofskichuuaooooooor!!!!

The author makes a great deal of assumptions and is nitpicking the original article to make it sound ridiculous. Which of course she would do because it helps her sound reasonable. 

And she doesn't. 

She sounds like 50 other other articles written by mothers who have made keeping little Susie or Johnny "happy" their main goal in life and does everything in their power to make sure nothing ever upsets them. I am highly emotionally connected to my children and them to me. It doesn't mean I let them walk all over me. You think you're children don't? Well since you're so interested in having your parenting publicly validated allow me...as one of the public...to tell you - they are!

The original nanny article expounded on five points which the irritated mom article found fault and drew extreme conclusions from.

• We are afraid of our kids
• We've lowered the bar for their behavior
• We've lost the village of people who could keep them in check
• We rely too much on shortcuts
• We put kid's needs in front of our own

How many people do you know who are raising little terrorists. Little dictators. Yes the onesie was cute. Its not so cute anymore. We do expect less of children. Think about in times past when children worked at 6 years old. Were taught to hunt or farm or make bullet casings (thanks Shindler's List). I'm NOT saying those were good times or that we should revisit them. I'm pointing it out because that is what children are capable of. And you're telling me that if you yell or say NO or "BECAUSE I SAID SO" at little Johnny because he feels strongly that he NEEDS ALL OF THE STRAWBERRIES RIGHT NOW that you are causing life long damage and perpetuating the creation of a cruel horrible world? If you think my analogy is ridiculous and extreme understand that that is how ridiculous the mom author's analogies are to me.

I'm tired of parents parenting to heal their own wounds! It was 30 years ago! get over it! You won't make that same mistake - rest assured - you'll find new and better ways to fuck up your kids! In fact our generation is a walking study of how outside influences cannot "make" us happy. We were raised by the most selfish self-serving generation - ever (though I have not spoken with anyone responsible for the downfall of the roman empire I'm pretty sure it started with hippies too). If they couldn't make us be happy, no one can.

For the sake of argument and to continue with both authors obvious favorite (and silly) metaphor - I let my toddlers pick their own sippy cups and now at nearly 6 and 8 they still go into hysterics when they don't get the one they want. They did't gradually learn to manage their feelings they learned they can get what they want if they parrot back the words I said to them. (I've been present while so many kids do this to their parents and their parents fall for it every fucking time and think their kid gets it. Sure, he gets it. He gets to play you sucker!)

Notice I didn't say my kids "get what they want if they throw a tantrum", because in my house that gets you nothing but time to calm down and then have a talk. If that doesn't work you get angry mommy and time staring at the wall while mommy calms down. The talk is NOT about why they wanted the thing they wanted or how it made them feel to be denied the thing they wanted or how it made mommy feel when they screamed and cried.  

Yes children are sponges but they are also resilient and stronger than we think. 2yos cannot understand sympathy. You can't reason with them. They don't understand respect or boundaries. Even if you model it for them 1000 times. They may copy but they don't understand.

We've instituted the old camp special "you get what you get and you don't get upset". They get choice where I can offer it and no choice when it suits my needs as a parent and that is just the way it is....kind of like real life. Sometimes there is choice and sometimes those shoes only come in black. No amount of crying, wishing, patience, or non-violent communication skills will make them come in red. 

Theres no place like happy hour. 

I am gentle and permissive where I can be and stern and strict where I must be. My line for where that is is of course going to be different than everyone else's but (and this is key) the combination of parent/kid/parenting style is why I CAN go to public places without meltdowns. I CAN eat out with my kids without tantrums or iPads. Its not because I've got "amazing kids" (although I do happen to have amazing kids) or because I have some mystical parenting magic. I just parent by one rule...

Don't be an asshole! 

That goes for them and me. If you're going to persist in acting like an asshole then I am going to come down on you like a ton of bricks because that shit is NOT ok. Millions of children before you learned that at 4 or 5 or 6 and so can you.

Fly my darlings, be creative, and brilliant, and wonder at the world, and love all the creatures in it....just don't be an asshole! What I have experienced a whole lot from families who parent similarly to this author is a lot of little assholes. I am fearful of a future where my children, as adults, are surrounded by a generation that feels entitled to that (insert adult version of a sippy cup here). They will try to walk all over my children - who I am trying to raise to be fair and equitable for the benefit of all (because thats easy to explain) But how can that compete with children who are being raised to believe that their momentary desires are of paramount importance. That their feelings trump facts. That they're "special". (Sorry Susie, we're all special). 

And before any of my friends who may read this think I"m talking about about them and their precious angels and get their panties in a bunch know this: I am.

Nah I"m just kidding. I have a tendency to not keep my thoughts to myself so you'd know if I felt this way about your kids by our lack of....hanging out with your kids - ever. 

Seriously people. All this back and forth mommy wars stuff is like high school.

Your desperate need to for public validation is proof that you are afraid you're doing something wrong. If you were sure of yourself you wouldn't constantly seek agreement from others or continue to get in such an uproar any time someone puts forth an idea that is different from yours. Stop it! If you're so certain you're doing the right thing stop trying to prove its the right thing! Own that shit!

If you still need validation I'm pretty sure I've got a trophy for participation around here somewhere.