Last night, I was lucky enough to watch a once in a lifetime gig – The Dresden Dolls (Amanda Palmer and Brian Viglione), Brian Ritchie, Mick Harvey and John Parish performing The Violent Femmes first album.
It was, amazing.
Things like this make me happy.
And if you’re interested, here are the photos I took of The Dresden Dolls performance.
Last night, I was lucky enough to see The Dresden Dolls perform at MONA FOMA. I took my camera, to see if I could get any decent photos and voila, here they are. The Dresden Dolls have definitely been the highlight of MOFO for me so far and they were amazing to see live. Brilliant performers.
We also have a few shots of Brian Ritchie in here, because at one point, he played bass on stage, alongside them.
Nice.
Also, I would like to have it noted that despite having a few difficult moments, I did not throw up on anyone. Can we all please thank my doctor for prescribing anti-nausea meds? On the flip side, the continued (and worsening) morning/evening/all fucking day sickness would suggest that the tiny little fetus is still alive. Which you know, is nice. The wanting to puke? not so much.
As always, images are copyrighted you guys. If you’d like to use one, email me.
1: Morning sickness is just as bad as EDS nausea, but it doesn’t ease with sleep and when I’m not actively wanting to vomit, I am always slightly queasy.
2: My body gets confused easily and forgets what it ought to be doing – things like regulating blood pressure and keeping my internal core temperature stable are optional, apparently.
3: An embryo the size of my fingernail takes a remarkable amount of energy to keep alive.
4: My stomach gets very large very fast in the first few weeks and then doesn’t grow so much between 14 weeks and 25 weeks. See below, photos from the pregnancy with Isaac in 2008:
See? SEE???
5: Pregnancy is merely the purgatory you have to endure to get a baby. If you’re lucky, that is.
6: You cannot take a decent photo of your slightly enlarged stomach, without either a) looking merely chubby or b) contorting yourself.
7 weeks pregnant – fourth pregnancy, third baby (if we’re lucky).
SUCCESS!
My uterus has successfully kept this embryo alive. There is a sac, an embryo and a heartbeat and at this point, that is all I was hoping for.
Sure, there is a little bit of doom and destruction hiding in my uterus, but it’s keeping itself away from the (teensy) baby and should (hopefully) not impact on future growth.
[I have an area of bleeding in the uterus, on the other side to where the embryo is implanted. They’re not sure what is causing it and the sonographer didn’t speculate on it. I’m going to try not to think too hard about it – but on the flip side, it’s nice to know that the bleeding I’m having on and off, is probably not a miscarriage.]
Instead, I will be schlepping off to an examination room tomorrow afternoon, to have an ultrasound wand jabbed in my most intimate places, while a woman reminds me to please breathe and can you just twist this way while I search for the right ovary?
My right ovary has opinions, especially surrounding being photographed. It’s a shy ovary, preferring to hide somewhere underneath my other internal organs and occasionally sending stabbing pains my way, so that I know it’s still kicking around in there.
It also has opinions about things like ovulating and not producing tens of cysts at a time, but who I am to tell it not to be argumentative, when it’s me it’s attached to.
This is, of course, the first ultrasound for this pregnancy. Hopefully this is also the one in which they confirm that a) there is a real embryo b) that said embryo is where it ought to be and not holidaying with my right ovary and c) that a heartbeat exists, somewhere that isn’t actually my heart – my heart being well behaved, if a teensy bit leaky.
I’m not concerned about my heart stopping suddenly, but an embryo seems rather more … fragile somehow.
I was reminded to drink three large glasses of water at least 30 minutes beforehand and to wear loose clothing. I resisted the urge to laugh maniacally at the receptionist on the other end of the phone line, while shouting “Lady, my uterus is wonky, there is no way you’re seeing anything from the outside.” I didn’t think she would appreciate hearing my insane cackle that bubbles up when my body is expected to behave in a normal fashion.
Really, the whole point of the ultrasound seems moot. Either I will have another baby, or I will not. Poking me with a dildo wand that silently shakes my uterus merely seems like a modern form of torture that we’re taught we need, in order to KNOW.
Being a big fan of KNOWING things however, I’ve insisted upon this myself and I am just hoping that it all looks sunny, down there in Uterusville.
Something a little brighter than death and destruction, please. I’ve put my order in now.