Categories
Medical

Day 845 and Fucked Fertility

A bit of discourse stirred up a lot of grief and sadness for me. Noah Smith did an analysis of the much discussed Atlantic piece “The Myth of the Broke Millennial.” His breakdown is excellent and I recommend the Twitter thread where several of my geriatric millennial friends weigh in on how late in life security has come for many of us and how precarious it still feels.

What jumped out at me most in Noah’s breakdown is whether millennials will feel financially secure enough to have kids if it’s indeed true that we are getting less precarious.

That matters as a question as having children appears to be a driving force towards conservative politics but also a general preference for less government involvement. Noah wondered if millennials will be less woke and less inclined to socialism if we don’t turn out to be downwardly mobile. The theory is we might be if, and it’s a big if, we feel secure enough to have children.

There is one age-related factor that appears to draw people to the right, however: having children. Fertility rates are down, and Twenge discusses some reasons for this in her article. But what really matters for politics is probably not the number of kids that get born, but the number of people who end up having any kids at all.

I’ve got bad news on this front as the first wave of elder millennials who haven’t already had kids probably can’t. Why? Our women are aging out of fertility before they find the security they feel they need to consider having kids.

By the time millennial women get to a place where it seems feasible we’ve long entered “geriatric pregnancy” territory. I froze my eggs right before it was considered a geriatric situation. Which is give or take 31-32 now as we redefine fertility. I am now 39.

Now that’s a longer story for me personally as freezing my eggs felt like a consumer decision, was marketed as insurance policy, and ended up being a life changing catastrophe. And I still don’t have kids.

The process of egg extraction triggered an inflammatory disease and I may never be able to carry to term. And I have complicated grief stricken emotions about the entire affair. And we spent a small fortune getting me healthy enough to go back work.

But my suspicion is that many millennials will learn that fertility isn’t as easy as they imagine if they try to deal with it past 35 let alone past 40.

And we simply cannot seem to discuss the issue in a way that is productive. The discourse is toxic as cultural warriors, often men weigh in with their complex emotions about what it means to have a family, support children and generally deal with women’s health.

Shaming and controlling women’s bodies doesn’t really do much for the cold hard reality that we failed many millennial women by assuring technology could solve for the hard questions on fertility. So we marketed these new medical options and sold it at premium. Silicon Valley mounted a whole campaign to freeze eggs for its female workforce.

I’m afraid we are too deeply entrenched in a culture war to discus this productively as most of the people I see with the message that fertility is complex tend to view things in a more traditional context.

I personally love playing a tradwife on Twitter because I’ve learned a lot about how reactionary feminists and baroque online misogyny views motherhood. They talk to me and I’ve listened.

But we need to get women of all politics and preferences and family structures involved in this conversation as a full decade of millennial women are going to need to consider their relationship to their own fertility and bodies in short order. And for many of us it’s too late.

Treatments like IVF and egg freezing & extraction are expensive and have considerably more risk than we are comfortable discussing. Surrogates are a quarter of a million dollar expense which disgustingly is for bureaucratic costs not the surrogate herself. If you want multiple children it’s not crazy to plan for a million dollars. And don’t get me started on how adoption plays into all of this.

A generation of fucked fertility with myriad corporate profit motives driving decision making sounds like the stuff of conspiracy and cranks but don’t be fooled by extremism. We’ve done a shitty job investing in women’s healthcare in America and it will have consequences.

I know it’s scary to look at head on. I regularly break down with my own grief on the matter. I’ve been looking at it for years. Having a serious health crisis brought on by family planning has been a blessing to my marriage but that blessing has enormous costs. I’d expect this process of addressing the fertility of a generation of women to be challenging for us all no matter your personal choices or politics.

Categories
Community Homesteading

Day 839 and Chatty

I occasionally have the ambition to be less of chatty Cathy. I almost cannot help myself in Montana. I keep meeting folks who are into the same stuff as me and then I’ll just end up talking for an hour.

Introverted Julie somehow always finds the homesteader, science fiction, alternative economy, crypto libertarian aesthetic studies semiotics pirate at the party. Sometimes it’s even the same person (hi Frank). I’ve now found not one but two homestead curious folks at a spa. The same spa! (Hi Kylie & Lorraine!)

I’ve got a general philosophy in life that you should be a beacon. We are responsible for our light and maintaining it. But are we not equally responsible for shining it into the darkness?

I’d like to see my broadcasting into the abyss of the internet as being a sort of existential lighthouse. Perhaps my chatty nature is some form of the same ambition. I want my people to find me.

And wouldn’t you know it but I’m always finding people searching for the same things. I have so many pockets of knowledge. And I want to share what I know with you. I want you to share your knowledge with me too. Your world and your experiences will add to mine just as mine adds to yours. Like the Borg but decentralized.

I’ve got a lot of weirdly specific knowledge. You know, Julie Fredrickson shit. And I want the folks who need the light I’ve cultivated to find me. So I will broadcast.

I know how to be in my body even with illness. I know about inflammation and healing from post viral shit. I know about sovereignty and survival and independence. I know a thing or two about being a doomer and an optimist.

I’ve got weirder more specifics knowledge too. Ask me about corporate governance structures and decentralized autonomous organization. Or the most cost effective luxury unbranded retinols. Or what biometrics to track and on what devices.

The point is that I’m here to be a chatty Cathy. And if you’d like to talk just slide into my DMs on Twitter. Or email me. It’s my first name dot last name at gmail. Consider this your bat signal.

Categories
Medical

Day 836 and Medical Care & AI

I had a little bit of excitement in New York City when I encountered some type of gastrointestinal issue. We’d speculated it was food poisoning or norovirus with our doctor.

After getting it out of my system and speeding back to Montana; we’ve been pouring over the symptoms, timing, biometrics and medicines to see if we missed anything. It felt like an opportunity.

We had three doctors retire on us this year and after two years of rising premiums, we are naturally skittish about health care. Pandemic telehealth reimbursement being sunset is a hit to rural care as is the other policy roll backs as the of emergency winds down. Reciprocal licensing across all states sure seemed like it should have been a keeper. But alas American health care is a mess.

Thankfully we’ve got a doctor local to us in Montana who we’ve been slowly building up a relationship with over our first year here. After his star turn in this gastrointestinal saga, I am ready for a round of blood work and a look at the big picture with him.

We’ve even been dabbling in a few theories with our Large Language Model friends. While ChatGPT goes to a lot of trouble not to diagnose, we’ve been able to run down some leads on our own and bounce them off our doctor. I’m looking forward to getting a look at my liver panels and gallbladder. Maybe tweaking some of the pharmaceutical line up.

While it may seem a bit grim, I’m considering that with enough questions asked and enough clever inferences on our behalf from our new AI friends, maybe we can get further. Sure we are down 3 doctors and up 30% cost wise, but maybe these plucky kids can make do with a chatbot, a young doctor and a can do attitude.

Categories
Medical

Day 834 and Inside Out

I had a really rough night last night. It’s entirely possible my original theory of industrial lettuce wasn’t the whole picture.

For a little timeline clarification. Yesterday, I woke up with stomach troubles after eating agribusiness salad chain for dinner on Wednesday. I had meetings on Thursday so I took some varied drug store tummy medicines and gutted it out. I even had a very fun time at my meetings. But then as the adrenaline of the day wained I was heading towards disaster. The nausea and had was getting worse.

I realized I couldn’t attended a dinner with some old friends but Alex was fine. I told him to pick up some Tums on the way home. As his dinner wore on my symptoms got worse and worse.

I felt like I was beach ball ready to pop. My stomach was distended so far I felt like I had back problems my stomach pushed out so far. I was tight Mike a drum. The pain and nausea consumed my focus. Around 7:30 or so I called Alex saying I needed a doctor or a visit to urgent care. I couldn’t tolerate it any longer.

Blessedly our doctor in Montana called back almost immediately. He had just personally had a case of stomach flu or norovirus himself and mentioned it was trending up nationwide. At that point I was mostly moaning and curled into a ball from the nausea and gas. He prescribed an antispasmodic called dicyclomine. It helps calm stomach cramping.

I had an hour of crying and praying waiting for it to kick in. I’m sure I scared the shit out of the other hotel guests with the moaning and crying. I was begging Alex to please fix it. To find something else I could take. To do literally anything to relieve me of this horror. Thankfully around 930pm or so it kicked in fully. How do I know?

I was able to vomit. A lot. Seven times over the course of half an hour. And then I was fine. My stomach deflated down to a normal size. The nausea abated. The pain and cramping subsided. Four hours of intense misery has passed with a drug that turned me inside out.

I spent all of Friday in bed sleeping it off. I missed all my meetings and couldn’t eat anything till dinner time came around. I’m having some soup and I suspect I’ll simply pass out. New York is an inside out kind of place sometimes and I’ll just have to live with it.

Categories
Medical Travel

Day 833 and Industrial Romaine

I packed my day a little too full so I found myself ordering a salad from popular New York industrial salad chain Chopt at 8pm right as they closed.

The order was placed on an app so it was a crapshoot and I knew it. And sure enough I got something that wasn’t what I ordered but I’d been running around for 12 straight hours so I just said fuck it I’ll eat this weird burrito of industrial romaine and mayonnaise because I’d really rather be passed out.

Incredibly poor decision making on my part. I was up early and I was up often performing ablutions and praying to the gods of intestinal fortitude that this please pass swiftly.

I appear to have stopped with the worst of it and had about an hour or so before a meeting I really didn’t want to cancel. It’s not as if food poisoning is catching. So I groomed and put on something that would withstand the 88 degree heat of…checks notes… early April in Manhattan? And then I got on the subway.

Shockingly heat and the subway aren’t a great combination, but I was determined to gut it out. I’d left early so I could find my way to a drug store. Naturally nothing was available to purchase without someone unlocking a cabinet. Nothing more humiliating than asking if one could have a key to acquire GasEx, Tums and Imodium. A really stellar look all around.

I’m now comfortably in a lovely office of a venture capitalist hoping it all kicks in before I need to attempt socializing. Naturally I’m taking the time to write about it as I wait as it’s keeping my mind off the discomfort and misery of it all.

This isn’t the first run in I’ve had with agribusiness greens that’s gone awry for me. Many moons ago I got food poisoning from spinach I bought at a Trader Joe’s. A few blocks from where I am now. I had Gucci insurance (literally Gucci the luxury house I do not mean that it was particularly fancy) and spent the night in the emergency room. So maybe this is just a full circle experience. Ashes to ashes romaine lettuce to romaine lettuce to romaine lettuce.

I can feel the drugs kicking in and maybe I’m at the end of it. And hopefully this will just be an amusing anecdote that I recount on why we need to be more careful with food safety and industrial run off. But also I am loathe to cancel a commitment during a business trip. Showing up matters too.

Categories
Chronic Disease

Day 827 and Temporal Displacement

Everyone probably remembers a moment during the pandemic when time lost all meaning for them. Maybe you regained your sense of time as schedules solidified back into the real virtual hybrid we’ve agreed to keep for some of us.

I don’t recall ever getting back my sense of time. It started earlier than the pandemic for me. I slipped the time train tracks sometime after Trump was elected, before the pandemic hit, but definitely during the course of rebuilding my health.

Maybe sometime in late 2018 it became temporal displacement. And the variables involved in the perception of time and my own sense of where I am in time has been a common theme on the blog.

I’ll be dimly aware that it’s a weekday or a weekend if I’ve got someone who needs my attention or if I’m producing a specific outcome on a timeline. But otherwise I’m basically the the grand dame in Downton Abbey. “What is a weekend?”

It is in fact coming up on a weekend. A weekend where I don’t appear to have any houseguests or events planned or much necessary to be handled. I only have temporal obligations for physical care of my body. So maybe I’ll be able to slip further out in time or maybe I’ll align back to standard American work week. I mostly want to sleep.

Categories
Emotional Work Startups

Day 825 and Papered

A bunch of stuff that has been in the works for me for a while all got papered in the last couple of days. If you read any of my zen poasting (misspelled for internet reasons) you’ve probably gleaned that I’ve had a lot going on. Stuff got resolved on time horizons as long as lifetimes and as short as a narrative cycle.

I’d like to celebrate some of the papering (two deals I worked particularly hard for over a long time horizon) and I’m sure I will do so at some point but everything is going by fast and I’m just so drained from the dance. I suppose it’s how you really know if you are living. It’s a lot to live through everyone’s ego death drives and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take a huge toll on me. I don’t yet know how to pay these costs in anyway but energy yet but I’m learning. If I put hard costs on it motherfuckers wouldn’t like the bill.

I’m modestly less sympathetic to everyone else’s bullshit as someone in my extended family passed away (not getting into it as it’s not my loss) and that invariably makes every other problem look inconsequential. Who care about your feelings and your ego and your petty obsessions in the face of death. But also maybe you should care about them even more? Not my call to be honest.

I’m not really able to mourn with them directly but I feel the energy of the loss reverberating for my loved one. And I wish I didn’t want to discuss it at all but I do. Somehow death is the lowest drama aspect of my week. Actual death.

So if everyone else can tone the energy down a little I’d appreciate it. I will absolutely make sure shit is inked, wired, soothed, smoothed and otherwise handled. It will all get papered. Whether it gets celebrated or mourned is a matter of personal discretion and I’m all out of fucks as to what you chose. Just gimme a beat or two to breath. This isn’t what you’d call a nine to five job.

Categories
Chronic Disease

Day 812 and Stress

My internet experience recently has shown me some touchy people. Maybe it’s the stress of the global banking crisis. Or the random panics about Bitcoin. Or the AI panic. Or presidential perk walks. Or extreme weather. Or rising tensions with China. Maybe someone got the wrong coffee order.

Or maybe, in my case, I’m snippy and touchy because I’m having a terrible flair up of my ankylosis. I forgot what a challenge pain can be to manage. Then it comes roaring back after a period of intense stress and I forgot myself.

I’m just noting it for today as I’ve been working nonstop. I’ve had houseguests without fail for three straight weeks (five in total) for reasons mostly personal but occasionally with professional overlap. It’s just been a bit.

So no elaborate intellectual ramblings today or extremely online rabbit holes. It’s just a check in to say I’m not quite dead yet.

Categories
Emotional Work

Day 806 and Inputs

I’ve had a very intense month. In the past thirty days I feel like I’ve lived an entire lifetime of emotions.

I had some exciting but modestly controversial press in Vanity Fair about how chaotic the future looks in America. That brought a lot of attention and new LPs in chaotic.capital who want to invest in solutions for living in a rapidly changing future shocked world.

Then we were off to Mexico to celebrate my father’s 80th birthday and I had to grapple with complicated emotions on being present for family and the aspirations I have for a life that doesn’t align with disability.

Within a few days of getting back I had my sense making capacity crash override my brain into a snowblind. I thought I was going a little crazy but no it was because a bank collapsed. Then I heard some dog whistles about euthanizing people like me.

And finally I realized there is no point in doing my own writing in the wake of ChatGPT4 and decided that I’d do it anyways because organic human brewed content from Montana is fun to make.

It’s been an astonishing amount of inputs into my system and I am leaving out a lot of personal life details that I’ll leave folks to guess at. As exhausting as all of the above sounds it only represents a fraction of the work and emotional energy I brought to bear on expanding myself to meet this moment.

Categories
Chronic Disease Travel

Day 791 and Bathing Suits I’ve Never Worn

I’m on maybe my third or fourth trip to a warmer climate where I’ve brought a Norma Kamali bathing suit. I bought it on sale from Net-Porter as I’d always wanted one of her classic one pieces. I’ve never worn it.

For the casual reader, I have a chronic autoimmune disease called ankylosing spondylitis. It’s an inflammation condition that affects my spine and is aggravated by heat & humidity. Any temperature above above room temperature, give or take 72 depending on the humidity, starts to swell my tissues.

It’s well controlled with drugs but environmental factors can quickly spin up a bevy of symptoms including pain so debilitating I can’t walk. It’s one of the reasons we moved to Montana. I can live a semi-normal life so long as it’s cold. I spend most of my days laying flat in bed or in a zero gravity chair. My disability has become one of the super powers I use to propel my investing alpha. Because what else do you do with your time if you can’t leave bed except monitor financial indicators and chat with founders?

But back to the bathing suit. The black halter swimsuit has turned out to be entirely an aspirational garment. It’s still got the sanitary sticker for the crotch on it that says remove before wearing. I left it in and it’s become the not so subtle reminder that I may never enjoy a beach vacation again. It’s simply beyond my grasp unless I want to pay an obscenely high cost in pain and immobility.

I dutifully pack the Norma Kamali suit on each trip with a warmer climate. I’ve taken it to Miami, Texas, the Mediterranean and Mexico now. For this trip to Puerto Vallarta I packed a second bathing suit. It’s a striped bikini.

I had a fantasy that maybe I’d need a second swim suit as the other would need to dry if I swam every day. Oh what self deception we humans are capable of when it involves something we cannot have but want. I’ve never put the second suit on either. It also has the sanitary sticker still on it. It’s beginning to feel like they taunt me. Isn’t it funny that Julie still yearns to participate in the simple pleasures of life. “That dumb cunt” I imagine them murmuring as I pack.

My father loves tropical vacations. An adults only resort on a beach is his idea of a good time. And for his birthday, my brother and I very much wanted to give him what he wanted. Part of this is self protection as he often forgets to ask after other people’s preferences even if they are for something serious like a disease or disability. Better to avoid disappointment than know for sure. But also if we can give him what he wants why not make the sacrifice? It’s expensive for me energetically but I wanted to spend.

But it’s become clear I can’t make the sacrifices desired for the perfect fantasy family vacation. The bathing suit gets tossed in the suitcase with the knowledge that I can only manage one event outside each day. It’s usually a dinner or a chat.

Then I must sleep it off and work to recover. There is no space for pleasant relaxation on the beach in my body. The compressed Lycra slowly battling the expansion of my tissues as they swell overlapping with stuck lymphatic liquids would be torture. There is no joy to be found and no extra capacity to be eked out that might make the experience mimic the pleasure in a healthy body.

The fantasy is just that. A delusion I have about a life a lost and unlikely to be regained. The after effects of fertility treatments, IVF and living hard to outrun the vicissitudes of capitalism. I’ve accepted it as my lot in life. But it’s much harder to get it across to the rest of the world. And my fear that I’ll be left out and forgotten, that if I don’t fit myself into someone else’s life I’ll be abandoned. And so I rationalize that I’d be abandoned if I don’t at least try to bring the bathing suit. Even though going to the beach is a fantasy.

I hope my friends and family are able to meet me half way but I remain afraid that they don’t know how, or are unable to imagine what it’s like to live in my body. And it would be nice to be met halfway.