Barely promoted

Sense of doom

My grandmother started coughing up blood last night. She's in the hospital now. She's had a bunch of scans. The staff are wearing masks around her, because "it might be TB." Ricky and Marina are both there with her today.

Ricky will be able to stay with her there tomorrow. See, he got fired from the taxi company. A second accident was enough to convince even the high school buddy who had taken him on (and kept him on for over seven years) that he wasn't worth the trouble. (The first accident? Somehow the accelerator hit the floor, as a six-year-old was trying to climb into the taxi. Marina told me about that one, and about how her painkillers were going missing, when I was last there. It was an unfortunate conjunction, as she was only too aware.)

This means that they're living off Marina's income. It also means that they have no transportation but buses and trains. Ricky asked the ambulance to take her to the hospital that's sort of on a bus line that goes by the apartment. Conveniently, Marina is working further down the same bus line. She'll be putting in an evening shift with Nana.

The detail that killed me? They've put a baby monitor into Nana's bedroom. That's how she got Ricky up when she started coughing.
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I re-checked Cornell's stats today. In my age group, 31.3 percent of cycles result in pregnancies; 20.6 percent in live births. What exactly do they mean by "pregnancy"? Gestational sac in the uterus, actually. So that's taking out the chemicals and the ectopics already. And I'm not yet past that threshold -- and just looking at that final number makes it seem like too much, like I cannot be that lucky, it is too damn low to allow hope, why did I do all of this again?
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Dr. Wow asked the publisher to extend our deadline by a week. It's a fucking good thing he's thousands of miles away from me. I am currently regenerating some very slow pictures and stewing.
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A ray of light? Radio Nigel. That's my 80's. (Ah, if only someone would stream WLIR's Screamers of the Week...)

Still sort of on track with both projects

So: I have promised myself one entry per book chapter read and corrected. I've actually fallen behind: I've made it through 3 chapters, and not posted at all until now. We'll see how it goes from here.

So spring break almost sucked rocks, but not quite entirely.

I got the flu the week before. Only canceled class on Wednesday (if god forbid it happens to you, just STAY HOME, damnit, especially during the early achy stage). I was feeling a bit better on Thursday so I went ahead and got my HSG (at this point any slips in schedule would derail cycle number 5 badly, so driving 40 miles each way with a fever seemed pretty mild). (Oh -- and why is this test part of the current plan? Dr. Data just wanted to check that nothing's odd in my uterus, like fibroids too small to see on ultrasound, or a lurking polyp. No one gives a damn about my tubes).

Both tubes were clear, which made it a much less horrible experience than my first HSG, back in (eeek) late 2002. I went up to our old local clinic. Dr. Brash is long gone, and the doctor who pumped in the contrast dye -- and who maybe did our second transfer there? but who can remember -- didn't take it personally that I'm going to Cornell now. "Say 'Hi' to Dr. Data for me!"

Then Beaker and Miss T. caught the flu too, over the weekend that started break. We'd hoped Beaker wouldn't -- he's missed several colds that came home with me or Miss T. this year -- but no. The flu is bad news for Beaker. Every year he's pre-armed with antivirals, which he took, but he still took to his bed for three days. There's still the lingering lung inflammation, which is very bad. His exercise tolerance is the worst I've ever seen.

We'd been planning to go visit Beaker's parents for the whole week, both getting half-days or so of work done while grandparents and grandchild communed. We hemmed and hawed and coughed through Thursday, when we finally, crazily, set off on the 7-hour drive. Everyone seemed better enough. I took big chunks of Thursday and Friday for grading -- I'd fallen horribly behind the week I was sick, and when I'd been hoping to get caught up -- and then the first half of break had been taking care of sleepy grumpy toddler and achy wheezy dada. Beaker played with a tractor, and Miss T. planted potatoes with her grandpa. There was sunlight and company and laughter. And then Sunday we drove home.

After the 4-day break, my e-mail contained no horrible surprises. (Plenty of continuations of existing stressful situations, but no new ones). And I find myself strangely optimistic, once again, about the book project; that I squeaked out any progress at all during break (feverish toddlers nap more than healthy ones) comforts me.

Life in the next few months will be a marathon leading up to the next vacation -- which will be a week at a cold but pleasant midwestern beach with family and friends at the end of June. Finish out the semester, then do the IVF cycle in late May, then spend a week with the co-authors in mid-June, then, finally, eat strawberries (I hope they'll be in season) and watch cormorants dive with my nearest and dearest.

That other project

So -- I'm not pregnant. You knew that, I knew that, but it took an very unpleasant two days and screaming at nurses over the phone to confirm it, and then Dr. Data did our follow-up consultation just two days later and convinced me that we weren't crazy to be trying again and next time they'll use the X-ray lasers on my ovaries and he thinks we still have a 30 percent chance per cycle and... and I slurped up that sweet sweet Kool-aid, hugged Miss T., thought about how honestly more difficult life would be with anther little banshee, and tried to get some work done for a change.

But, the other 2008 project. The book. The damn book. Out, out, damn book. Leave my life and let me work on other things! Dr. Wow has insisted that we start an intensive cycle of proofreading. Two chapters a week, for both of us junior co-authors. Of course the monster must get a close reading on its way to doneness. And getting it done is, of course, the goal. But there are still giant gaps! in later chapters! that need to be filled! by me!

I just wanted to publicly record that today, some six weeks after Dr. Wow suggested the plan, I finally started in. In fact, I just filled in a missing hyphen on page 1.

Yay me!

Where not to go when in chemically induced menopause

A dinner party whose other attendees are just as exotically trained as you are, but far more successful -- juggling outside offers and outrageous travel while ignoring their teaching and snarking about the truly famous in the field -- and where Larry Summers is a major topic of conversation.

Allow me to mention that I've heard talks given by cheerful -- and hairy-legged-feminist -- neuroscientists that have described cognitive deficits evinced by female rodents given enough Lupron. I might have even had some little issues^* myself, last time I was on it.

I tried to stay quiet. When pressed by the host I changed the subject from differential achievement by the two genders to... changes in financial aid policies at elite schools (I still love Larry for kicking that off), and from there, gawd help me, to class.

^* Actually, it's a little disturbing to pull up that old entry and see how similar the effects have been, this time. I left a pot of beans on the stove when I went to work on Saturday. And my worries about the book project and the IVF cycle are tending towards apocalyptic crisis... well, they'd do that regardless.

The beginning of a couple of ends

I am hopeful coming in to this new year.

Hopeful might be too strong a word. I'm not depressed, at least. I'm holding my head up and trying to peer ahead. There are two deeply unpleasant projects that finally have visible ends. They may go well. They may go poorly. But, by the end of 2008, they will be over.

First, the IVF thing. I start Lupron either tomorrow or the day after. Yes, it's horribly difficult and expensive and probably won't work. But there's an end in sight. We have three vials on ice, and that will be it. At most three cycles: this month, and, if necessary, late spring and maybe late summer too.

We've decided to not use donor backup. I wish I were young enough and/or had produced enough embryos in the past to feel like we could do single embryo transfers, but at 37, and having never frozen anything in my three pre-35 cycles, that seems foolhardy indeed.

It will hurt if it fails. I'm worried that, since our first cycle at Cornell worked, it doesn't seem real enough to me that this one could. I've been lurking at IVF Connections, reminding myself of the pain. But -- but -- yes, if we cycle three times and they all fail it will be horrible, and we will have gotten much more invested in the process along the way, so it will be more horrible than I can empathize with now -- but we will be at an end. If one or more vials fails to defrost, we'll be at an end even sooner.

Second, the book project. Dr. Wow is itching to get the damn thing off to the publisher, ideally by February. It's clear that he and the second author (for I am oh so third) have largely stopped talking to me; they're handling all the big-picture issues. There's a small list of tasks that were assigned to me, oh, a year ago, and I'm going out to visit Dr. Wow next week (why yes, I'll be on Lupron, and yes, he's three time zones away from Cornell, yes indeed -- there's a chance of a red-eye straight east at the end of the week) to try to finish them. No family coming along, so I can sweat away (sweat! ha ha! no, actually, I don't get hot flashes on Lupron) all my non-sleeping hours.

And after that I can start working on something else! There are a couple of small papers that I've discussed with editors of service journals. I have a couple of ideas I want to chase down -- I want to be doing something scholarly that's mine, all mine. Next semester's teaching shouldn't be as weighty as fall's was, so I might even be able to get something underway before the summer.

So that's what's wrong with my work habits

The last post over at Female Science Professor was comforting, in its own odd way. Excerpts:

Several recent commenters asked me for more information about how I manage to be so ‘efficient’. Just to be clear about where I am on the efficiency spectrum: I do tend to get things done in a timely way (= efficient) but I am not a neat or extremely organized person (= less efficient than I could be).

...

- I don’t procrastinate.

...

- I don’t get distracted by things or wallow in negative emotions; ‘things’ includes unimportant things (e.g., obsessing over my rude and patronizing colleague) and important things (e.g., major life events that might be depressing or upsetting). That is, I don’t shut down in the face of obstacles.

No, really, it is sort of comforting. Comforting to see that someone successful, and comfortable with her success, does genuinely run her life differently than I do.

I do procrastinate, and I do wallow. I like to think that some of the "crises" that stop me are real. But there was a day recently where I caught precisely the drop in affect that followed a minor piece of e-mail that told me that something bureaucratic and very small was going wrong, and the consequent complete derailment of my work plans for the day -- which happened to be the only day in the week when I have time for non-teaching-related things. (I do have a particularly horrible schedule this semester.)

Are we not reaching up?

Laura points out a new redoubt of Linda Hirschman's, while the Chronicle posts a piece on the long-term career consequences of women taking part-time positions that avoids insult only by what appears to be extreme institutional naivete:

Institutions such as the Ohio State University, the University of California, and Wellesley College have responded to those problems with a "half-time tenure track." That system allows caregivers to avoid the long hours of ideal workers while still producing high-quality research and teaching. Enhanced child-care support, parental leave options, and research grants for those with caring responsibilities could also help.

All of those options would make the tenure track more viable for many women who now believe -- on reasonable grounds -- that a tenure-track career is inconsistent with a meaningful and full family life. Universities could hire and retain many of the talented people currently now relegated to the mommy track of contingent status.

Not that I don't think a half-time tenure track isn't a great idea. (That's sort of what working at a liberal arts college, instead of a research institution, was for me^*.) But I bet all those departments living off adjuncts for budgetary reasons will go run right out and hire them permanently, as soon as there's an option that the adjuncts find attractive enough!

^* Edited to add: yes, of course those of us at little colleges work our butts off. I'm not meaning to say that we don't. The teaching load, the expectations of teaching quality and student contact, and the lack of graduate student lackeys all conspire to fill up time. However, I didn't need to do multiple years of high-stress post-doc to get this job. I got tenure with published output one-third the weight and one-fifteenth the impact of what I'd have needed at a Big Name University.

And, much as I might wish that right now, I could work half-time (and I do wish that), the employment and geographic security are both excellent excellent things to have as we try to raise Miss T. I can't imagine pulling it all off pre-tenure, while trying to write a real book (or two), or to build up a real reputation.

Fledglings

STUDENT A: Is being courted aggressively by half the top-10 programs in ergonomics. The large impersonal programs are e-mailing me daily, imploring that I advise him to attend. The smaller ones are phoning him directly. He's stayed with faculty on those visits.

Meanwhile his senior paper is growing into something publishable. Other faculty tell he what a joy he is in class. He's remained charming and graceful in the midst of all the attention, although he's stopped smoking, gotten a decent haircut, and is standing up a little straighter. I've seen younger ergo majors listening in awe as he declaims. I watch wistfully, remembering my own moment in the sun.

Remember how so many people in the humanities used to say that strong students should be discouraged from going to graduate school, that the odds were too high against them? Ergonomics doesn't have that sort of crunch, but still I know that he's got bad black moments ahead of him, wherever he goes. Grad school is hard (and you can't even go shopping, at least not very often).

But I think he'll make it through. Thrive, eventually. And several prominent institutions appear to agree.

STUDENT B: Has been rejected from all the top-10, and nearly all of the top-50, programs she's applied to. I'd noticed her growing tension at our weekly meetings; today she finally told me how bleak the admissions picture really is.

Her project is still scattered and unclear. No real writing is done, and we're still hashing out even the sparsest of outlines. Interlibrary loan lets her down three times a week. She cancels meetings at the last minute. There's a new haircolor every week, but not in a fun way.

We've talked about her options for next year. She thinks she can make it in this field; so do I actually, and I think there are solid reasons her application file would look very different next year.

Guess which student's parents will be coming to see me next week.

Not Enough

Dear Dr. Wow,

A remark you made during our last phone call, in the middle of your comments on how I'm not holding up my end of the collaboration, how I haven't gotten done the things I said I'd get done, well, it's been getting to me.

You said, "You're meeting you other commitments! Your teaching, you keep up with that! Why not this work?"

But, and this is why it's been rankling: I'm doing a piss-poor job all 'round, actually. You shouldn't feel like my ignoring our collaboration is anything special.

Class preparation? Ten minutes of looking for the old notes, followed by 10 minutes of scanning. Oh, and changing dates on the handouts—on good days, at least. Grading? Not happening. Am horribly behind in all courses.

Service? I haven't spoken in a department meeting all semester, because I haven't ever done the reading (of applicant files, or admin documents, or...) . I'm on one committee, which meets twice a semester, and I resent even that much of a commitment.

Child? Shipped off to day care for at least eight and a half hours a day. No time outside with her, 'cause it's cold and dark when we're together. Very little play time, because Mama's got to go to work in the morning and Miss T. zonks out right after (or often during) dinner.

Life? We're eating takeout or leftovers. Several rooms are blocked with clutter. The free-range Cheerios have split into multiple herds and scattered through the house. My clothes are all wrinkled, because the laundry's done in huge loads and left to age in the drier. I'm showering three times a week, max.

And I don't answer e-mail or return phone calls that are from, you know, friends. Haven't talked to my grandmother in over two weeks; before that it had been a month. Haven't sent Christmas pictures to anyone yet.

--EJ

P.S. You keep recommending your favorite program of four espresso shots first thing in the morning. Not gonna happen while we're still nursing over here.

Returning to chaos

Beaker and Miss T. and I spent Christmas, and then some time after that, far away from the confines of Granolaton. First a week with the in-laws out in the country, then a week visiting Dr. Wow at his fancy-schmancy corporate consulting gig, then a couple of days visiting with friends. The social stuff was pleasant but tiring, and the work was bracing and difficult, and it was good to get back home.

But everything is such a mess here! My department's offices were vandalized while I was getting lost in twisty hallways full of overpaid Dockers-clad thirty-somethings. My office, my computer, may have been particular targets. We are putting the pieces together, we are assisting the investigations, and I am full of righteous indignation.

Except that when I sit down at my desk, with a list of crucial e-mails to write, or when I try to pull my wits about me and get back to the damn manuscript, I am overcome by tiredness. We'll never know for sure who did it, they'll never get punished, and the underlying security flaws are not going to get addressed by anyone, ever. Can I just catch up on my sleep now, please?