Are Marshmallovaries Kosher For Passover?

This week has been a fascinating mix of heaven and earth, ether and mud, ridiculous and sublime.

The spiritual plane was occupied with three beautiful experiences: solemnizing a wedding, hosting a seder, and welcoming Quan Yin. Meanwhile, in the corporal arena, my ovaries are swollen and tender, my uterine lining appears to be shrinking, and a cornucopia of cooch suppositories creates a daily rainbow in my pants.

Where to begin?

The wedding was gorgeous, the weather cooperative, the bride and groom glowing, the guests charming and fun. It was tremendous and awe-inspiring to be able to speak the words that created a whole new entity - a married couple. It was a privilege to sign their marriage license and make it all official.

For the next two days, I shopped and cooked and bustled about getting ready to host a seder for the very first time. I'd been to so many, but I still couldn't remember what went where on the seder plate. I had no idea how to roast an egg. I nearly forgot to get a lamb shank bone (and am so grateful to the Irish butcher who kindly reminded me when I picked up the brisket). I struggled to figure out a vegetarian alternative to the brisket for Atomic and two of our guests. Fortunately, with the indispensable assistance of Atomic and my dear friends who provided the matzoh ball soup and charoset (and constant hand holding), we pulled it off.

Eleven people around our table, a few Jews, mostly gentiles, three of whom had never attended a seder. What a beautiful sight. We used a wonderful Humanist Haggadah (which we dubbed the Hippie Haggadah) that I found online. It made me so happy to share the story of oppression and redemption in a way that emphasized our commonalities as humans. It made me even happier to see my friends devour the food I made for them. What a privilege to feed the spirits and bodies of people I love in this way.

And then, two days after that, came Quan Yin. My new acupuncturist, a devout Buddhist (I'll call him Lan Ts'ai Ho), had a little dustup with a woman with whom he shares an office right before my appointment. She thought he had made the office look "too Chinese." She particularly objected to a lovely, delicate porcelain statute of Quan Yin, the Chinese goddess of mercy, that Lan Ts'ai Ho had placed in the center of the office, so she moved the statue.

One of the things I love most about Lan Ts'ai Ho is that he tells me what I call Buddhist Bedtime Stories during my appointments. He talks about Quan Yin and prays as he's doing body work and inserting the needles for acupuncture. It's very soothing, and I'm inspired by his sincere devotion. I've also become quite fond of Quan Yin and started lighting a candle and thinking about her while I prepared my hormone injections each night.

On the heels of the unpleasantness with his office-mate, Lan Ts'ai Ho decided that Quan Yin needed to be somewhere else. She needed to be with me. He wrapped up the statue in a soft cloth and placed her in my arms. She now stands regally on the dresser in our bedroom. I feel blessed every time I look at her.



Then, yesterday, at our follow-up appointment with Dr. Nice, a scan showed giant sta-puff marshmallow ovaries and a thinner lining than when I triggered. Dr. Nice didn't seem too alarmed about the big ovaries, and I'm frankly amused that my supposedly tired old 'nads are showing such spunk. I am concerned, though, about my lining shrinking to 7mm. That's not good, and no one seems to know why that would happen. Dr. Nice prescribed estrogen suppositories, so now I get to shove one little blue thing and one little pink thing up my cha-cha each morning and evening. Perhaps the resulting nursery hues in my undies are a good omen.



Just in case there's a god, goddess, forest spirit or universal life force I've overlooked, please put in a good word for us, okay?