(Probably) The Most Personal Post I Will Ever Write

Trigger Warning: Yeah, I don't usually do these, and I generally don't care for the concept, but whatever. Not everyone is going to care about this stuff or want to read about it. So if you're not into discussions of sexuality, periods, family planning, depression, and the like, stop now. Click away! 

For everyone else, you can't say I didn't warn you. Tally ho.

There are certain expectations one has in life. Certain milestones that one anticipates. A particular rhythm, you could say. You grow up, go to school, have your first kiss, attend prom, go to college, get married, buy a house, start a career... Sure, things may happen in a different order, but those are the milestones it seems like everyone is expecting to hit. And I just...

Didn't.

I had a boyfriend for about two days in middle school. A friend of mine wanted to date someone, and he had a friend, so my friend said I should just date his friend. He was a year younger than me, we barely knew anything about each other, and we held sweaty hands on the playground. I felt no special attachment to him (though I still remember his name - Bryce Davis), and it really didn't bother me when he didn't call me over summer break. 

To my eternal shock, a boy asked me to attend the Junior/Senior Banquet (Christian school - no dancing) with him when I was a Sophomore. I gained very little social credit for this since I didn't know that was a thing, nor would I have known how to wield it, and he wasn't exactly Mr. Social Butterfly either. I had some warning that he was going to ask, I told him I'd have to ask my parents, and eventually I said yes. Free food, pretty dress? Sure. It occurred to me SEVERAL YEARS LATER that he did actually want to date me. This was after we went to the next year's banquet together and I asked him to be my plus one for a wedding. 

I'm a tad oblivious. 

I figured it was just that I had no romantic feelings for him. I remember telling my mom when I was in high school that I didn't think I'd ever get married. She said that was okay but I'd have time to change my mind. But something about what I'd said resonated with me. It felt right, even though it went against everything Hollywood and the world around me was telling and showing me. 

Sometimes I thought I just didn't have the right examples. My oldest sister's marriage was controversial, and my middle sister's marriage happened after she literally chased him down halfway across the world. At least, that's how it looked to me. 

But I didn't want to pursue anyone. So I figured I'd wait until someone pursued me. 

Except they didn't. (I was convinced someone was once, and then he moved to Arizona and told me six weeks later he was getting married.) But no one ever outright said to me, "Hey, I like you. Let's go on a date." 

I wasn't that bothered, except for the part of me that was because I wasn't conforming to social norms. I thought something might be wrong with me. Cue the first depression.

When I became a missionary, the pressure both lessened and worsened. Single female missionaries are a dime a dozen, it turns out. Single male missionaries get snatched up pretty quickly. Some women marry for convenience or security. Some women do actually marry for love, but hardly anyone believes it because you just look 'desperate'. Up to a certain age, the people around you joke about finding you a husband. I think it stopped around the time I hit 30. I guess I didn't show much enthusiasm for the process, so they stopped trying. Or they were scared of the look I gave them when they mentioned it. Not sure. 

Over the years, though, I was learning more about myself. For a while in college, I thought I should just become a housewife because at least as a wife and mother, I know what is expected of me.

I may have been a bit naive.

But even then, it was a utilitarian thing. I'll do it because I have to, not because I want to. And I started to realize that it was okay to be single. It was okay to go through life on my own. 

And then I learned the word asexuality. 

Look, I'm not a big woke apologist, and the LGBTQ+ agenda both saddens and angers me. But it was also helpful. Because I learned that there were other people in the world who felt different ways about sex and sexuality than what is normally portrayed. Not everyone wants to go around having sex with everything that moves. Some people (gasp!) don't want to have it at all!

I'm not broken. I'm just different. 

But I'm also lonely. 

It's lonely being single. Yes, I have family, but they aren't here all the time. There are only so many times I can call them a week because they have their own lives. It's weird to ask people (even friends) to just cuddle with you because you're having a bad day. Especially when you don't particularly like being touched. Cue the second depression.

Let's go back in time again. And again, I can't believe I'm talking about this, but it all fits together in my head.

I got my first period the summer between fifth and sixth grade. We were at Gettysburg National Park, I felt gross and uncomfortable, and my mom told my dad about it. 

Ew.

I did not see a gynecologist until I was 31. 

20. Years. Later.

Do not do this. Please do not do this. I get it. It's awkward to talk about periods with your young daughter. But seriously. It isn't healthy to not see a professional. 

Much like the milestone experience, my menstruation was not regular. It would occasionally fit the 28 day cycle that my health teacher told us about, but not always. It rarely only lasted a few days. But that was normal in my family. At least as far as I knew, because I didn't go out of my way to talk about it, and no one else did either. (My mom swears we had The Talk when I was younger. I have repressed that memory.)

As the Internet became more of a thing, I did some limited research. No, I wasn't normal, but I wasn't abnormal, either. Some women are just different. 

But it got worse as time went on. I was bleeding more often and heavier than before. Instead of 28 days between periods, it would be about 15 days. Eventually, it was almost constant. 

But it was life. It was what I was used to. I was pretty sure it wasn't normal, but I didn't think it was terrible. 

When I turned 30, I decided that I should probably do something about my health. I saw a doctor for the first time in however long, and it actually took a few visits before I mentioned my irregular periods. She asked when I'd last seen a gyno. I said never. 

This did not make her happy.

So I make the appointment. I mention all the things. He says let's do an ultrasound. I say no. He says yes. I say fine. 

The ultrasound prompted a biopsy. The biopsy confirmed his suspicion. 

Complex atypical hyperplasia. 

A healthy uterus has a 2-14 millimeter thickness. My uterine lining was 3 centimeters thick. 

Not great. 

In July 2017, I had a dilation and curettage. It's a scrape and scoop. Get rid of the excess, hope it doesn't grow back.

To aid in that, I had an IUD device implanted. The hormones are supposed to regulate periods in normal people and keep them from getting pregnant. 

For me, it was supposed to keep things from getting bad again. 

I had biopsies every six months for four years. 

They were not pleasant. 

They were also telling an unhappy tale. Things weren't getting better. Like, at all. 

So I started oral hormones. They made me sweat and grow hair in awkward places. My face broke out like I was 15 again. I gained weight.

And that's all they did. The biopsies continued and showed no change. What's worse, the bleeding came back. Every. Day.

See, the thing about complex atypical hyperplasia is that it becomes endometrial or uterine cancer in about 29 percent of cases. Especially when hormone treatment doesn't seem to be doing anything. 

I went to see the gynecological oncologist. He gave me two options. First, we could start doing adding depo shots to the hormone therapy. Those happen every three months. 

Pass.

Second, we can remove the problem. 

(Third, we can do nothing, but I spent a long time doing that, and it did not turn out well for me.)

I voted for the second option. 

And that's where we are. On December 2, I'm having surgery to remove my uterus, cervix, and tubes. I'm keeping the ovaries so I don't go into pre-menopause. But the majority of my reproductive system is being yeeted. 

Here's where people get weird again. Because when I tell them this, they get all sad and lament the fact that I will never have children.

But here's the thing: I wasn't having children before. I didn't want to have children. I didn't want to do the thing that leads to children. I will take care of other people's children, but then I want to go home and live my childfree life. 

I have known for a long time that I didn't want to birth children. Probably as long as I've known that I didn't want to have sex. And since those things are generally part and parcel of getting married, I just figured that I'd have to opt out on that one, too. There aren't a lot of guys (none I've met) who are happy to marry someone who won't have sex with them or give them children. 

And it's not just because kids are a handful or messy or a lot of work. They are definitely all of those things. But I also think there are already too many kids in this world who don't have parents, or who don't have good parents. I spent a long time being annoyed that I had to live in this world. I wasn't about to inflict that on someone else. But if that someone else was already here, then maybe I could be a good influence in their lives or support people who would be. 

Does that make sense? Does any of this? Who knows. 

What I do know is that this operation will and won't be life-changing. It will be in that it dramatically reduces my risk for cancer, hopefully makes my quality of life better, and is going to cost a fortune. 

But it won't be because, minus some parts, I'll still be the same person. I'll still have my job, my friends, my family, my faith... all of it. 

Besides. I wasn't using those parts anyway. 

The Weekly Wrap-Up: September 20-24, 2021

I'm on page 70! I've spent quit a bit of this week working on the Camel Method in Portuguese. It is slow going. I am able to do some of the finalizing as I go (making sure there's no overset text or weird breaks), but this is still going to take at least another week. Maybe. It all depends on what else crops up around here. I had to fix a Tamil file this morning that I had apparently started and never finished. I do try to write myself a note if I start a new project before the end of the day or on a Friday. But some things just slip. Fortunately, it's not a big deal as it was only a proof file. But it would still be annoying for translators, so they should be able to do their job more easily now. 

I had a few meetings this week. One was a debrief of the missionary council. I think we had some good takeaways from that. It will definitely mean more work for us as we learn some new systems that should help with hybrid events. Honestly, life is just easier when we can do all online or all live for events. But we're not there yet, so we do what we must. 

We had a really cute couple in chapel on Wednesday. Tim McGill and his wife Karen were here after retiring from working at a school in Taiwan. Karen actually retired in 2019. But after being in the U.S. for a while, she got an email from Tim. He asked her if she'd ever thought about marriage. 

That is one heck of a pick-up line. 

A few of us got to thinking about how we'd respond to an email like that. I honestly don't know (I do know it would likely involve a very unfeminine snort). But then we also figured out that there aren't actually any single male missionaries available to do something like that. Single guys rarely become missionaries, and if they do, they rarely stay single for long. 

I'm not saying I'm looking for a husband. I'm perfectly happy being single. But it is an interesting phenomenon. I could comment further, but I doubt it would be edifying to humanity, so I won't. 

It's weird how quiet it has been this week. Compared to the last few weeks, this feels abnormal. Honestly, it feels a little bit like last summer when we were in lockdown. I don't mind having fewer people around. But it is weird. Maybe I should get out more.

...

...

Yeah, nah, I'm good. 

Bye!

Felicitations on this, the thirty-third day of my birth.

I was probably 11 or 12 when I first heard Mark Lowry tell this joke.



And I don't particularly know why, but it has stuck with me all these years. Maybe because it's funny, which it is. Maybe because it seemed like a logical dividing line. Before and After.

The thing is, I don't mind being single at 33 (which I am today). When I was younger, I told my parents that I would probably be single the rest of my life. It was in part a lament, because getting married and having kids was just what you did. But it was also partly a feeling that that path was not one I would walk. And I'm not discounting the possibility (though the older I get, the less likely it is) because far be it from me to refuse something that God has ordained.

But I'm really just Not Interested. I like the single life. I'm responsible for exactly one person. I answer to myself, and I answer to God. (A little to my employer, but that's because as a person, I have decided that a work ethic and respect for my employer is a thing that should happen.) I can't even imagine rearranging my life right now to accommodate another person.

So why are we talking about this? Because now that I've reached the dividing line, I'm not really sure what comes next. What does navigating the rest of my life as a (probably) single adult look like?

I don't know. But I'm excited to find out.

Birthday Thoughts

So last Saturday, I celebrated my 30th birthday. I have been on this plant for 30 years. Three decades. 10,950 days. 282,000 hours.

In other words, a long flipping time.

I know there are some who would say that's not very long. And I suppose, relatively speaking, it's really not that long.

But it feels long to me.

I've done a lot so far in my life. I've traveled, I've studied, I've made friends, lost friends, had a few different jobs. There are a lot of things I haven't done. I've never been married, for one. I can't decide if I want that to change.

Obviously, I can't see into the future. I don't know what the next three decades holds, or even if I get three more decades. But I do know that I don't want birthdays to become just another day. They signify an achievement. By the grace of God, I've survived another year on this little round ball, and at times, I've even enjoyed it.

So if you ever hear me say that I won't be celebrating my birthday, remind me of this post.

And at some point, there had better be a surprise birthday party. 

Only 27

First, read this.

I had a lot of emotions when I first read this. At first, I did a virtual fist bump - "You go, girl! Preach it! Yeah! Why people be hatin'?"

Then, I got indignant. "Seriously, why do people keep asking this?"

Then, I felt a bit of relief. "Thank the Lord I'm not a firstborn child. Imagine the scrutiny and expectations of my life then!"

All of these emotions are valid. But once I got all the emotional angst out of the way, I started really thinking about the article. I realized I had some pretty deep thoughts.

1. Why, at 27, do people seem to think that I have to have things figured out? As the smart people I watch on television remind me, the brain really isn't fully developed until your mid-20s. So do I not get a few years to get used to the fact that I am now capable of rational thought? That those dreams or decisions I made when I was 16 or 20 are exactly that, the product of a 16-or-20-year-old brain. I don't want the same things I wanted then. Which reminds me...

2. I don't want the same things I wanted then. Because back then, it was me, Jessica, saying I wanted those things. It was the Jessica who let the world inform her of what was expected of her. Just look at TV right now - most characters in television pilots are young. Do they have things worked out? No. But are they ridiculed for this? Yes. They are considered the exception to the rule. Something is always wrong with them, and this has stunted their growth potential. They have daddy issues. They grew up poor. They grew up rich. They are too pretty. Or too ugly, which in Hollywood means they are brunette and wear glasses and weigh more than 100 pounds. (I'm getting off track.) Hollywood told me that I needed to have a steady job I loved, that it was okay to quit jobs I hated, that if I wasn't dating, I would be lonely forever, that I needed a man, that I didn't need a man, that kids can be had and then never seen or heard from again unless they had some cute quirk. And all before I was 30. Because life apparently ends after 30.

3. I have done a horrible job of appreciating the now. One of my favorite philosophers is Bill Watterson. Why? Because he created Calvin and Hobbes. Calvin might be a little hellion sometimes, but he always appreciates what he's doing at the moment. He's realistic about the future, but he also knew he was a kid and should be doing kid things. I have wasted so much time and so many great experiences because I was worried about what came next or how I would deal with something. It's a struggle. One I deal with daily. Especially now. This is not my dream job. But it's the one I'm in right now. I can't keep dreaming of the day I'm not doing this job anymore. Because it's an important job. It'll help a lot of people and bring revenue to OMS. I can't do my best if I'm constantly thinking about what I'd rather be doing.

I feel like we've moved a little further beyond this article. I know I've talked before about how I don't need or want to get married right now. That's still mostly true. I was reminded Monday of how much I need people sometimes. But not just any people. People who understand me and like the things I like. I had a conversation at lunch on Monday about science fiction, the Avengers, modern entertainment, history, books - all the things I love. And I was really only speaking with four people. I was passionate, I was animated - if you'd seen me on Monday, you would never have believed I was an introvert.

That's a discussion for another time.

I wouldn't mind coming home to someone every night. It's hard being on your own all the time.

But I don't know if I want to trade "when are you getting married?" for "when are you going to have kids?" Because the answer to the second question is a lot harder to answer. 

Not going to the chapel. Not anytime soon, anyway.

I've been thinking a lot lately about marriage.

As in, why am I not married? Do I want to be married? Why is everyone else getting married, anyway?

I'm going to blame April for these thoughts. She's getting married in a few weeks. She is the last of my Lakewood Park (high school) classmates (that I care about) to get married. I think.

Pretty sure.

Anyway, I've been debating this issue in my head. Mostly, it's a moot point, because I'm not dating anyone and I've never met anyone I would marry.

(There is a list, though, of people I haven't met that I would marry. These are mostly celebrities or older, wealthy gentlemen. I really hope I don't ever meet them because then I'll have to make a choice. Because they will obviously want to marry me as soon as they meet me.)

I understand the value of marriage. And I have been lonely. But I really think that could be fixed with a cat. Not a person who needs attention all the time and messes with my stuff. A good friend could solve this, too.

And besides, where do you meet people these days? Contrary to popular belief, there aren't a lot of eligible bachelor missionaries out there. And would I even want to marry a missionary? I hear they can be a little odd.

There's always church, I suppose. But I'm not the best at inserting myself into conversations I haven't been invited to join. So I guess he'll have to do the pursuing.

Any other ideas?

Of course, not having a husband means not having children. (Because that's just how I roll.) But do I want kids? Kids are messy. I like hanging out with them sometimes, but I like it more when I can send them home to their parents.

So there's that.

I'm still not sure where I fall on this issue. But today I saw a friend's post that began with "my husband and I" and it just weirded me out. So for the moment, I'm quite pleased with my life as it is.

I just need to remember that the next time I make a Doctor Who reference and no one gets it.

Because if I ever do get married, my husband will be fluent in the science-fiction lexicon.