Helloooooooooo out there!
(Is anyone still out there?!)
I just wanted to pop on, say hi, wish you all a very joyous holiday, and give you a quick update on my crazy life.
I’m still here, but not really. I don’t have a computer at home anymore (ya know, since I left my husband, moved into a craphole apartment on my own, started dating his friend, put my house on the shitty market, got my divorce finalized, and have started to prepare to move in with said boyfriend) so blogging and reading blogs has been tough. I’m hoping to get one soon though so I can share this crazy life with you… I miss this. I miss you.
Anyway, it’s been a crazy year for me. I got smacked in the face by bliss, and it dared me to ignore it and settle back into my comfortable misery. I didn’t, and here I am.
Divorced. Dating an incredible guy with a crazy ex-wife and custody of his two kids. Oh, and a vasectomy. Trying to figure out how we can maybe add another to our lives……
HAPPY.
(I’d be thrilled if you left me a comment and said hi!)
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
what doesn't kill us.....
... I truly hope makes us stronger.
I am sorry to have left you all in the dark for so long, but there have been major happenings in my life lately..... and no, I'm not pregnant. I probably never will be again.
You see, on Thursday I will be moving into my own place.
I no longer love my husband, and realized that I've been staying for the sole purpose of trying to conceive. That isn't fair to anyone. There is more to the story - way more - that I will be sharing in the coming days. I just haven't figured out how to write about it yet.
Perhaps my utesaurus has been a blessing in disguise because as difficult as this situation has been, a child would make it infinitely more complicated.
Bear with me, internetz. I don't know if this is the right place to write about my new life. I'm thinking of leaving this blog up for the semi-fertile masses and starting a new one, but I'm not sure. The only thing I am sure of is that leaving is the right move, for both of us.
Love to you all.
I am sorry to have left you all in the dark for so long, but there have been major happenings in my life lately..... and no, I'm not pregnant. I probably never will be again.
You see, on Thursday I will be moving into my own place.
I no longer love my husband, and realized that I've been staying for the sole purpose of trying to conceive. That isn't fair to anyone. There is more to the story - way more - that I will be sharing in the coming days. I just haven't figured out how to write about it yet.
Perhaps my utesaurus has been a blessing in disguise because as difficult as this situation has been, a child would make it infinitely more complicated.
Bear with me, internetz. I don't know if this is the right place to write about my new life. I'm thinking of leaving this blog up for the semi-fertile masses and starting a new one, but I'm not sure. The only thing I am sure of is that leaving is the right move, for both of us.
Love to you all.
Monday, April 25, 2011
wonderment
I am filled with wonder when I feel light, airy, alive these days. How, I wonder, could I have spent so long in the dark?
I know that we are at a crossroads. The doctor we will see next month may have answers; he may not. But truthfully, the fact that we have taken IVF - and all of its physical, emotional, and financial tolls - off the table is freeing. I have chosen my path; I wonder why it took so long.
I wonder at the gift of adoption; I don't think I can ever truly understand how strong a woman must be to place her baby in someone else's arms.
And yet, although I KNOW we are on the right path, I wonder if I'll ever truly be able to celebrate someone else's pregnancy. I wonder if the sight of a pregnant belly will always leave me breathless, fighting back tears. I wonder if I will ever finish mourning my babies, and the experiences I never got to have with them: the kicks, the flutter of a heartbeat on an ultrasound screen, that moment after birth of finding my husband's face in theirs.
I wonder.
I know that we are at a crossroads. The doctor we will see next month may have answers; he may not. But truthfully, the fact that we have taken IVF - and all of its physical, emotional, and financial tolls - off the table is freeing. I have chosen my path; I wonder why it took so long.
I wonder at the gift of adoption; I don't think I can ever truly understand how strong a woman must be to place her baby in someone else's arms.
And yet, although I KNOW we are on the right path, I wonder if I'll ever truly be able to celebrate someone else's pregnancy. I wonder if the sight of a pregnant belly will always leave me breathless, fighting back tears. I wonder if I will ever finish mourning my babies, and the experiences I never got to have with them: the kicks, the flutter of a heartbeat on an ultrasound screen, that moment after birth of finding my husband's face in theirs.
I wonder.
Friday, April 22, 2011
TGIMFF #3
This week’s list of the GOOD:
1. See previous post – I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off of my chest. I can breathe again. That desperate feeling is gone. I know that, even if my appointment next month is an Epic Fail, I have an option. An excellent option, which we had always planned to pursue even before the utesaurus reared her ugly head. To be honest, I sort of hope this doctor tells me my case is hopeless, because I am very close to ready to put this horrible chapter of my life behind me. (However, I have not rushed out to pursue any birth control options just yet. I’m not THAT ready. Even though work is still sucky, and I have a bit of anxiety/teariness while here, it’s not as bad as it was earlier in the week.
2. Acupuncture. I had my weekly session, and I think that has helped tremendously with my anxiety. It was like all of those tiny needles hit my reset button; I felt fabulously relaxed when I left. Oh, and my acupuncturist is just awesome. I told her about pregnant chick #2 in my office and she said, “Oh honey, you need to go find an office with all men. Gay men, if possible!” And then we laughed our asses off. I love her.
3. Two Kisses For Maddy by Matt Logelin – I’ve been reading his blog since Maddy was about 6 months old, and I was so excited to get the book. It did not disappoint: I laughed, I cried (sad and happy tears) and plowed through it in a couple of hours. Go Matt!
4. A productive day off – I went to acupuncture and then grocery shopping, I cleaned the house, got all of the laundry done, read a book, and had dinner waiting for Hubby when he got home. Productivity rocks!
5. Water for Elephants was one of my favorite books ever, and Sara Gruen ranks high on the list of authors whose books I devour, so I am SUPER excited to go see the movie tomorrow. Hubby and I are going to have a date night (after working on some long neglected projects around the house), which we rarely do, and have dinner at a nice recent first. Yay for date night!
And there you have it, folks. A rollercoaster of a week for sure, but it’s definitely ending on a high note. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend, and for those of you celebrating religious holidays, Happy Holidays!
1. See previous post – I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off of my chest. I can breathe again. That desperate feeling is gone. I know that, even if my appointment next month is an Epic Fail, I have an option. An excellent option, which we had always planned to pursue even before the utesaurus reared her ugly head. To be honest, I sort of hope this doctor tells me my case is hopeless, because I am very close to ready to put this horrible chapter of my life behind me. (However, I have not rushed out to pursue any birth control options just yet. I’m not THAT ready. Even though work is still sucky, and I have a bit of anxiety/teariness while here, it’s not as bad as it was earlier in the week.
2. Acupuncture. I had my weekly session, and I think that has helped tremendously with my anxiety. It was like all of those tiny needles hit my reset button; I felt fabulously relaxed when I left. Oh, and my acupuncturist is just awesome. I told her about pregnant chick #2 in my office and she said, “Oh honey, you need to go find an office with all men. Gay men, if possible!” And then we laughed our asses off. I love her.
3. Two Kisses For Maddy by Matt Logelin – I’ve been reading his blog since Maddy was about 6 months old, and I was so excited to get the book. It did not disappoint: I laughed, I cried (sad and happy tears) and plowed through it in a couple of hours. Go Matt!
4. A productive day off – I went to acupuncture and then grocery shopping, I cleaned the house, got all of the laundry done, read a book, and had dinner waiting for Hubby when he got home. Productivity rocks!
5. Water for Elephants was one of my favorite books ever, and Sara Gruen ranks high on the list of authors whose books I devour, so I am SUPER excited to go see the movie tomorrow. Hubby and I are going to have a date night (after working on some long neglected projects around the house), which we rarely do, and have dinner at a nice recent first. Yay for date night!
And there you have it, folks. A rollercoaster of a week for sure, but it’s definitely ending on a high note. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend, and for those of you celebrating religious holidays, Happy Holidays!
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
quick change
I swear, if you read this blog regularly you probably think I'm bipolar. This rollercoaster is so damned ridiculous.
After my last post , you might have thought that I had a really shitty day today (pun intended). It certainly started out that way. But then Hubby and I had a text conversation that put a smile on my face all day long.
To make a long story short: we've been having issues with our car for a while now, but since it is paid off we haven't really sought a replacement. Recently we made the decision to take out a 401k loan so that we can trade in our car, get something better, do some home renovations, etc. We got the check yesterday.
But then a strange thing happened - the thought of having that much scratch in our bank account left my mind on only one thing, and it wasn't a car: baby. It seems that my incredible Hubby was on the same wavelength too.
So here's the deal: the money is going to stay put until after our appointment with the NY doctor next month. If all seems hopeless, we're going to start the adoption process. For real this time, since we actually have a large chunk (though not all) of what we'll need. We figure we can save the rest and somehow make it happen. Regardless of how that appointment goes, we'll be on our way to parenthood shortly after.
After my last post , you might have thought that I had a really shitty day today (pun intended). It certainly started out that way. But then Hubby and I had a text conversation that put a smile on my face all day long.
To make a long story short: we've been having issues with our car for a while now, but since it is paid off we haven't really sought a replacement. Recently we made the decision to take out a 401k loan so that we can trade in our car, get something better, do some home renovations, etc. We got the check yesterday.
But then a strange thing happened - the thought of having that much scratch in our bank account left my mind on only one thing, and it wasn't a car: baby. It seems that my incredible Hubby was on the same wavelength too.
So here's the deal: the money is going to stay put until after our appointment with the NY doctor next month. If all seems hopeless, we're going to start the adoption process. For real this time, since we actually have a large chunk (though not all) of what we'll need. We figure we can save the rest and somehow make it happen. Regardless of how that appointment goes, we'll be on our way to parenthood shortly after.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am so excited to have something to hope for, to look forward to. Of course, it would be wonderful if we could conceive on our own and then use that money for a new car, a nursery, yadda yadda. But I'll drive that thing until it's a rusted hunk of tin powered Flintstone style if it means I get to be a mommy.
Me, a mommy. Him, a daddy. A family. It almost seems within reach.
Of course, now that I've put this out there, the universe will find some kind of way to fuck everything up, some ridiculous catastrophe that I cannot even begin to imagine. Oh well - at least I've got some of my fight back, along with my smile.
Hope lives.
and so it begins
I started crying 3 blocks from the office, and haven't managed to stop much since.
Oh, and in my no sleep having haze this morning, I grabbed my normal breakfast of greek yogurt. And yep, my intestines revolted, which makes me even more sad.
Am I crying because I can't have babies? Or dairy? I'm not so sure right now.
Sigh. Just gotta make it till 4pm, and then I have tomorrow off. Send me all of your dry eyed strength vibes, if you can.
Oh, and in my no sleep having haze this morning, I grabbed my normal breakfast of greek yogurt. And yep, my intestines revolted, which makes me even more sad.
Am I crying because I can't have babies? Or dairy? I'm not so sure right now.
Sigh. Just gotta make it till 4pm, and then I have tomorrow off. Send me all of your dry eyed strength vibes, if you can.
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sometimes.....
I just really hate my life.
I have to work tomorrow (actually, in 5 hours) and I can't sleep. My anxiety level is off the charts right now.
Worse yet, I think I might have become lactose intolerant. (Is it possible to become lactose intolerant after a lifetime love affair with dairy? I'll have to consult Dr. Google...) Today I reached for my favorite foods in an effort to eat my feelings, my favorite foods being cheese and ice cream (not together - that would be weird. Or maybe delicious). And my stomach has been royally fucked up all day. When I tucked into my bowl of Peanut Butter Panic <3 I could literally feel my whole digestive tract protest the first bite, and I've been becoming very well acquainted with my bathroom since.
Of course, I finished the whole bowl in between dashes to the crapper. I don't waste ice cream. That would be silly.
And I have to ask the universe, are you fucking serious?
Please don't take ice cream from me too. And cheese. You've already taken my babies, my dog, bread, pasta, my self esteem, running (for the moment, anyway), my sanity, hope.
Let me keep the fucking ice cream, ya bastard.
I have to work tomorrow (actually, in 5 hours) and I can't sleep. My anxiety level is off the charts right now.
Worse yet, I think I might have become lactose intolerant. (Is it possible to become lactose intolerant after a lifetime love affair with dairy? I'll have to consult Dr. Google...) Today I reached for my favorite foods in an effort to eat my feelings, my favorite foods being cheese and ice cream (not together - that would be weird. Or maybe delicious). And my stomach has been royally fucked up all day. When I tucked into my bowl of Peanut Butter Panic <3 I could literally feel my whole digestive tract protest the first bite, and I've been becoming very well acquainted with my bathroom since.
Of course, I finished the whole bowl in between dashes to the crapper. I don't waste ice cream. That would be silly.
And I have to ask the universe, are you fucking serious?
Please don't take ice cream from me too. And cheese. You've already taken my babies, my dog, bread, pasta, my self esteem, running (for the moment, anyway), my sanity, hope.
Let me keep the fucking ice cream, ya bastard.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
no writer could come up with this stuff.... (and post 200!)
In honor of my 200th post, I wanted to let you all know about a project I am participating in.
Kerri at Uncommon Nonsense is putting together an anthology of sorts, a collection of our stories. A collection of our heartbreaks and horrors and triumphs and survival. The ALI blogosphere has been such a wonderful source of sanity and support for me, and I'm sure for some of you too, but not all infertiles or BLM know we're here.
Kerri says "The goal of all this: I want to gather together a variety of personal stories from the blogosphere, and hopefully publish them - making them available to couples outside of our Blogger community. I want to make your stories heard, and to give other infertile families a chance to learn from our community and to find support in it. Each of our stories has the ability to connect with at least one person, somewhere out there, and to make them feel just a little less alone as they journey through this difficult time in their lives."
You can participate anonymously, or not. Your story can be long or short. But I urge you to check out Kerri's post and let your voice reach someone who might really need to hear it. One of the few things that has kept me sane is this blog, and the people who comment or email to let me know that my writing makes them feel less alone. It makes this whole craptastic journey seem like less of a waste, you know?
Kerri at Uncommon Nonsense is putting together an anthology of sorts, a collection of our stories. A collection of our heartbreaks and horrors and triumphs and survival. The ALI blogosphere has been such a wonderful source of sanity and support for me, and I'm sure for some of you too, but not all infertiles or BLM know we're here.
Kerri says "The goal of all this: I want to gather together a variety of personal stories from the blogosphere, and hopefully publish them - making them available to couples outside of our Blogger community. I want to make your stories heard, and to give other infertile families a chance to learn from our community and to find support in it. Each of our stories has the ability to connect with at least one person, somewhere out there, and to make them feel just a little less alone as they journey through this difficult time in their lives."
You can participate anonymously, or not. Your story can be long or short. But I urge you to check out Kerri's post and let your voice reach someone who might really need to hear it. One of the few things that has kept me sane is this blog, and the people who comment or email to let me know that my writing makes them feel less alone. It makes this whole craptastic journey seem like less of a waste, you know?
Monday, April 18, 2011
it's a 3 post kind of day
I need to write to process what I am feeling right now. It's the only way I know how.
Discouraged. Fearful. Wounded. Disappointed in myself.
How can I literally go from feeling good and optimistic about life to..... this horrible low in just a few hours, triggered by just a few words?
This familiar place, with all the scabs ripped off of my oozing soul and all hope drained away - I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want the journey to this place to happen in a flash.
I've climbed the walls out of this dark place so many times, inching my way back into the light. So arduous, every time. I thought the situation with the Belly was a real breakthrough for me. And then a few words from my coworker - "I'm pregnant. About four weeks."
That's all it took to erase weeks of hard work, of willing myself to live life, to love life no matter what.
Why does SHE get to have this, when she never wanted kids? How can she even think of telling people this early, as if it's guaranteed that nothing will go wrong? (But of course it won't, because I've been taking the statistical bullet for everyone I know since 2006). Whose cruel joke am I the butt of? Why can't I just be fucking happy for her?
The truth of it is that I am tired of clawing my way back from here. I am scared that my whole life will be a series of horrible downs followed by a long fight back to a brief reprieve in the light. That I will hide from pregnancies and babies forever, the reminders of what I cannot have, and become some sort of reclusive freak.
I'm just tired. I'm running out of fight. I hate that my soul is so easily shattered. I hate crying in the bathroom at work, and watching my funny, gregarious, friendly and loving parts die a slow death.
I don't know what to do.
Discouraged. Fearful. Wounded. Disappointed in myself.
How can I literally go from feeling good and optimistic about life to..... this horrible low in just a few hours, triggered by just a few words?
This familiar place, with all the scabs ripped off of my oozing soul and all hope drained away - I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want the journey to this place to happen in a flash.
I've climbed the walls out of this dark place so many times, inching my way back into the light. So arduous, every time. I thought the situation with the Belly was a real breakthrough for me. And then a few words from my coworker - "I'm pregnant. About four weeks."
That's all it took to erase weeks of hard work, of willing myself to live life, to love life no matter what.
Why does SHE get to have this, when she never wanted kids? How can she even think of telling people this early, as if it's guaranteed that nothing will go wrong? (But of course it won't, because I've been taking the statistical bullet for everyone I know since 2006). Whose cruel joke am I the butt of? Why can't I just be fucking happy for her?
The truth of it is that I am tired of clawing my way back from here. I am scared that my whole life will be a series of horrible downs followed by a long fight back to a brief reprieve in the light. That I will hide from pregnancies and babies forever, the reminders of what I cannot have, and become some sort of reclusive freak.
I'm just tired. I'm running out of fight. I hate that my soul is so easily shattered. I hate crying in the bathroom at work, and watching my funny, gregarious, friendly and loving parts die a slow death.
I don't know what to do.
the universe can suck it
Ok, so you can scratch work going well off of my list.
Another coworker is pregnant. One who doesn't like kids, never wanted any.
FML.
Another coworker is pregnant. One who doesn't like kids, never wanted any.
FML.
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The belated TGIMFF #2 post
Last week's list of the GOOD:
1. I just finished reading The Hunger Games trilogy. Oh my – it’s been a long time since I’ve been so transported by a book. It reminded me of when I was a kid, and things weren’t so great at home, and how I’d walk to the library (by myself! At 8 years old! In NYC!), grab a great big armful of books, haul them home and lose myself in the surety that there was a world outside of my own private misery. These books had the same effect, and I pretty much wore out the battery in my Kindle light laying in bed, listening to my husband’s soft snores and losing my own sadness in the story. It kind of makes me want to start working on the fiction project that I’ve been up and down about over the years.
2. I injured my foot last weekend, and we were all pretty sure that it was a stress fracture, and that I’d be out of the running for the 20k I signed up for. Thankfully, with rest and a styling special shoe, it feels much better and I should be back to training in a week or so. I cannot wait – I am so antsy to go for a run! I guess I’m addicted to that runner’s high.
3. Work is going okay – I think my boss is so scared that I’ll leave because of the growing, pulsating Belly he’ll pretty much give me anything I want. New fax machine (that we’ve been asking for for YEARS!) – done. Laminating machine to make my life easier – done. A new radio because the one we had sucked and could barely get anything but static – done. I need to figure out what else I want before my review
4. The Belly. I think, as painful as working with her is, as much as her fullness illuminates my flatness, as much as her talk of her growing boy makes me long for my lost Ocho, and all that came before him – I think this will be good for me, in the long run. I have contact with a pregnant woman, due just weeks after my Ocho should have been, and yes I cry in the bathroom sometimes, but it hasn’t killed me. If I can live through this, and all that is to come with the birth and baby talk and all of it, I can survive anything. I’m proud of myself for being able to like her, to smile at her and chat with her like I am just a normal person (even if I sometimes have to cover up the swell in my eyes with a well timed sneeze). I am a survivor.
Side note: So, since I haven’t been able to work out as hard core as I’d like, I let my super healthy lifestyle slide for a bit…… and got a bit stinking drunk on Saturday. We had some friends over, and were having a good time acting like morons, until I slipped on the straps to my aforementioned styling shoe, and took a header into the wall. I think I knocked myself out for a moment, and now I have a giant fat bruised lip, a swollen bruised nose, and a giant painful bruise on my back from hitting something when I landed. Hubby’s been calling me Rocky since then.
Lesson learned. Alcohol is bad. Alcohol when you are gimpy and acting like a fool and there are walls everywhere is really bad. I’m on hiatus again. At least until the next miscarriage
1. I just finished reading The Hunger Games trilogy. Oh my – it’s been a long time since I’ve been so transported by a book. It reminded me of when I was a kid, and things weren’t so great at home, and how I’d walk to the library (by myself! At 8 years old! In NYC!), grab a great big armful of books, haul them home and lose myself in the surety that there was a world outside of my own private misery. These books had the same effect, and I pretty much wore out the battery in my Kindle light laying in bed, listening to my husband’s soft snores and losing my own sadness in the story. It kind of makes me want to start working on the fiction project that I’ve been up and down about over the years.
2. I injured my foot last weekend, and we were all pretty sure that it was a stress fracture, and that I’d be out of the running for the 20k I signed up for. Thankfully, with rest and a styling special shoe, it feels much better and I should be back to training in a week or so. I cannot wait – I am so antsy to go for a run! I guess I’m addicted to that runner’s high.
3. Work is going okay – I think my boss is so scared that I’ll leave because of the growing, pulsating Belly he’ll pretty much give me anything I want. New fax machine (that we’ve been asking for for YEARS!) – done. Laminating machine to make my life easier – done. A new radio because the one we had sucked and could barely get anything but static – done. I need to figure out what else I want before my review
4. The Belly. I think, as painful as working with her is, as much as her fullness illuminates my flatness, as much as her talk of her growing boy makes me long for my lost Ocho, and all that came before him – I think this will be good for me, in the long run. I have contact with a pregnant woman, due just weeks after my Ocho should have been, and yes I cry in the bathroom sometimes, but it hasn’t killed me. If I can live through this, and all that is to come with the birth and baby talk and all of it, I can survive anything. I’m proud of myself for being able to like her, to smile at her and chat with her like I am just a normal person (even if I sometimes have to cover up the swell in my eyes with a well timed sneeze). I am a survivor.
Side note: So, since I haven’t been able to work out as hard core as I’d like, I let my super healthy lifestyle slide for a bit…… and got a bit stinking drunk on Saturday. We had some friends over, and were having a good time acting like morons, until I slipped on the straps to my aforementioned styling shoe, and took a header into the wall. I think I knocked myself out for a moment, and now I have a giant fat bruised lip, a swollen bruised nose, and a giant painful bruise on my back from hitting something when I landed. Hubby’s been calling me Rocky since then.
Lesson learned. Alcohol is bad. Alcohol when you are gimpy and acting like a fool and there are walls everywhere is really bad. I’m on hiatus again. At least until the next miscarriage
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
the weight of it all
So, as I mentioned in my inaugural TGIMFF post, I have an appointment in May with a specialist in NY. This doctor was the first to perform IVF in New York, and now mostly encourages more conservative fertility treatments. He believes that IVF is necessary for some, but way over recommended, and that there are other methods to bring a woman's body into balance. His specialty is - get this - RPL! At worst, his methods could prepare me to be in the best physical condition possible for IVF, if it comes to that.
For a few weeks now, I've been collecting my medical records from the various doctors I've seen since this whole nightmare began just over 5 years ago. I had all of the records sent to me so that I could keep a copy for myself, because I like the self abuse involved in reading through all of them. Anyway, after 8 failed pregnancies I have quite the stack of records. Several trees died to make that happen. (Great. Now I feel guilty for killing trees and babies).
And you know, it's all been weighing on me a bit. This doctor is kind of my last hope for a successful pregnancy. I don't think I have much more trying left in me, unless we can find something else to fix. I'm starting to feel Einsteinially insane, in the whole "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results" kind of way. I want to hope, but I'm afraid to all at the same time.
Anyway, I mailed out the packet at the post office substation in the grocery store across the street from my office. I'm in there a lot, and the workers can be VERY nosy. "Oh, an avocado? I like them but I can't get my husband to eat them..... Oh, a pregnancy test! Which outcome do you want?" And so on.
So of course today, the clerk asked "What the heck is in here? It's so heavy!" My heart trembled because I wanted to tell her off, to let her know that she was holding the weight of eight dead babies in her hands, the weight of a million shattered dreams and more tears than can be counted, but instead I gave her a warning look. She persisted, so I answered "Medical records." "Oh," she said. "Why are you sending your medical records to New York?"
(She read the label, which clearly indicated a fertility clinic, but wanted to grill me anyway.)
So I answered "None of your fucking business" and gave her a sweet smile as I paid.
Fuck nosy people. If you can't help me shoulder this load, you don't deserve a peephole into my heart and all of the weight it's been crushed by. (Present company excluded, of course!)
For a few weeks now, I've been collecting my medical records from the various doctors I've seen since this whole nightmare began just over 5 years ago. I had all of the records sent to me so that I could keep a copy for myself, because I like the self abuse involved in reading through all of them. Anyway, after 8 failed pregnancies I have quite the stack of records. Several trees died to make that happen. (Great. Now I feel guilty for killing trees and babies).
And you know, it's all been weighing on me a bit. This doctor is kind of my last hope for a successful pregnancy. I don't think I have much more trying left in me, unless we can find something else to fix. I'm starting to feel Einsteinially insane, in the whole "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results" kind of way. I want to hope, but I'm afraid to all at the same time.
Anyway, I mailed out the packet at the post office substation in the grocery store across the street from my office. I'm in there a lot, and the workers can be VERY nosy. "Oh, an avocado? I like them but I can't get my husband to eat them..... Oh, a pregnancy test! Which outcome do you want?" And so on.
So of course today, the clerk asked "What the heck is in here? It's so heavy!" My heart trembled because I wanted to tell her off, to let her know that she was holding the weight of eight dead babies in her hands, the weight of a million shattered dreams and more tears than can be counted, but instead I gave her a warning look. She persisted, so I answered "Medical records." "Oh," she said. "Why are you sending your medical records to New York?"
(She read the label, which clearly indicated a fertility clinic, but wanted to grill me anyway.)
So I answered "None of your fucking business" and gave her a sweet smile as I paid.
Fuck nosy people. If you can't help me shoulder this load, you don't deserve a peephole into my heart and all of the weight it's been crushed by. (Present company excluded, of course!)
Friday, April 8, 2011
TGIMFF
Thanks so much to all who commented, emailed or fb'd me after my last couple of posts. Your kindness, love and concern mean the world to me. Seriously.
I know that this shit I'm going through right now isn't going to get much better anytime soon. I have been able, ever since my first miscarriage, to generally avoid or limit contact/interaction with preggos. This coworker situation is really tough for me to deal with, and she's not due for 3 more months (and I really cannot imagine how big she'll be at that point, since she's pretty much a belly with arms, legs and a head right now). Between now and then, I anticipate getting rocked by: Mother's Day, Father's Day, our anniversary, Ocho's due date, other missed due dates, family events with our new niece, etc. And every day, I'll be looking at her and picturing an alternate universe, where my baby didn't die and we could be preggo friends. Every time she mentions getting the baby's room ready, or ultrasounds, or childbirth class, I'll be wishing..... well, you all know what I'll be wishing for. I wish I could hate her but she's too frakking sweet. Sigh.
Anywho, in an effort to keep myself from succumbing to the madness - and to keep this blog from becoming too fucking morose, I plan to post each Friday about the GOOD. You all know the bad and the ugly, better than I would like.
And so, without further ado, here is my first Thank God it's Motherfucking Friday (TGIMFF) list of the good.
1. You know that book I'm so wild about? Well, I managed to score an appointment with the doctor who wrote it during my trip to visit family in NY in May. It'll cost a fortune, and I'm totally afraid to hope that anything good, any answers will come of it. I've been so convinced lately that there is no chance for us that I've pushed the appointment out of my mind, but it has the potential to be life changing.
2. Speaking of that book, I am still - for the most part - following the program. I go to acupuncture weekly. I have severely limited my intake of sugar, flour, caffeine and alcohol, and increased the amount and variety of produce I eat. I take royal jelly, fish oil, folic acid, aspirin, a multivitamin and vitex daily, and chug red raspberry leaf tea. I exercise regularly. I meditate and practice self massage. I have noticed changes in my period (no cramps! none! they used to cripple me) and hope this means good things are happening inside.
3. My regimen has helped me lose around 20 pounds in less than two months. I'd like to lose about 10 more, but I've been called "tiny" twice in the last week so I'm pretty happy. Also, today I wore jeans that I couldn't even pull up over my fat ass two months ago, and they were falling off of me. Literally. WINNING!
4. Ahhh, acupuncture. I fucking love it, and my acupuncturist. I'd go three times a week if I could afford it, but I do have all of those vegetables and shit to pay for now.
5. I am running a 20k in June (right around when Ocho would have been due) and Hubby has agreed to run it with me! The race itself will be a hella good time (I know the non-runners reading this think that's a damn lie, but it's true) plus I get to go all drill sergeant and train my man for the next two months. I like making him puke :)
6. I still love my tattoo, so much. I think it's beautiful, and I've noticed that when I am having a rough moment, looking at it, touching it, and remembering my lost babes is soothing. Surprisingly, I have not gotten any negative feedback for having such a large piece on my arm - people either love it or don't say anything, which is cool by me. I don't really give a fuck if anyone thinks it's distasteful, though - soon, the whole arm will be covered and I'll be a happy little freak.
7. A coworker (and NOT the one I would have expected it from - this girl is unmarried and doesn't have/want kids, or even particularly like them) pulled me aside on Tuesday. "Hey," she said. "I have to ask you a sensitive question and I hope it doesn't upset you." Ummm, okay. "We want to throw a baby shower for The Belly and I thought you might prefer if we did it while you're out of town." I definitely teared up at her thoughtfulness, because hell no I won't go to a baby shower. She saved me from some serious awkwardness.
8. We had dinner with Hubby's grandpa and step-grandma. They are such a cute couple, and it was really nice to spend time with them.
Okay, so I think that's it for this week. I hope next week's list is just as long, and that you all have a wonderful weekend. I will be doing battle with my backyard without the benefit of cocktails. One of us will emerge victorious. I hope it's me.
I know that this shit I'm going through right now isn't going to get much better anytime soon. I have been able, ever since my first miscarriage, to generally avoid or limit contact/interaction with preggos. This coworker situation is really tough for me to deal with, and she's not due for 3 more months (and I really cannot imagine how big she'll be at that point, since she's pretty much a belly with arms, legs and a head right now). Between now and then, I anticipate getting rocked by: Mother's Day, Father's Day, our anniversary, Ocho's due date, other missed due dates, family events with our new niece, etc. And every day, I'll be looking at her and picturing an alternate universe, where my baby didn't die and we could be preggo friends. Every time she mentions getting the baby's room ready, or ultrasounds, or childbirth class, I'll be wishing..... well, you all know what I'll be wishing for. I wish I could hate her but she's too frakking sweet. Sigh.
Anywho, in an effort to keep myself from succumbing to the madness - and to keep this blog from becoming too fucking morose, I plan to post each Friday about the GOOD. You all know the bad and the ugly, better than I would like.
And so, without further ado, here is my first Thank God it's Motherfucking Friday (TGIMFF) list of the good.
1. You know that book I'm so wild about? Well, I managed to score an appointment with the doctor who wrote it during my trip to visit family in NY in May. It'll cost a fortune, and I'm totally afraid to hope that anything good, any answers will come of it. I've been so convinced lately that there is no chance for us that I've pushed the appointment out of my mind, but it has the potential to be life changing.
2. Speaking of that book, I am still - for the most part - following the program. I go to acupuncture weekly. I have severely limited my intake of sugar, flour, caffeine and alcohol, and increased the amount and variety of produce I eat. I take royal jelly, fish oil, folic acid, aspirin, a multivitamin and vitex daily, and chug red raspberry leaf tea. I exercise regularly. I meditate and practice self massage. I have noticed changes in my period (no cramps! none! they used to cripple me) and hope this means good things are happening inside.
3. My regimen has helped me lose around 20 pounds in less than two months. I'd like to lose about 10 more, but I've been called "tiny" twice in the last week so I'm pretty happy. Also, today I wore jeans that I couldn't even pull up over my fat ass two months ago, and they were falling off of me. Literally. WINNING!
4. Ahhh, acupuncture. I fucking love it, and my acupuncturist. I'd go three times a week if I could afford it, but I do have all of those vegetables and shit to pay for now.
5. I am running a 20k in June (right around when Ocho would have been due) and Hubby has agreed to run it with me! The race itself will be a hella good time (I know the non-runners reading this think that's a damn lie, but it's true) plus I get to go all drill sergeant and train my man for the next two months. I like making him puke :)
6. I still love my tattoo, so much. I think it's beautiful, and I've noticed that when I am having a rough moment, looking at it, touching it, and remembering my lost babes is soothing. Surprisingly, I have not gotten any negative feedback for having such a large piece on my arm - people either love it or don't say anything, which is cool by me. I don't really give a fuck if anyone thinks it's distasteful, though - soon, the whole arm will be covered and I'll be a happy little freak.
7. A coworker (and NOT the one I would have expected it from - this girl is unmarried and doesn't have/want kids, or even particularly like them) pulled me aside on Tuesday. "Hey," she said. "I have to ask you a sensitive question and I hope it doesn't upset you." Ummm, okay. "We want to throw a baby shower for The Belly and I thought you might prefer if we did it while you're out of town." I definitely teared up at her thoughtfulness, because hell no I won't go to a baby shower. She saved me from some serious awkwardness.
8. We had dinner with Hubby's grandpa and step-grandma. They are such a cute couple, and it was really nice to spend time with them.
Okay, so I think that's it for this week. I hope next week's list is just as long, and that you all have a wonderful weekend. I will be doing battle with my backyard without the benefit of cocktails. One of us will emerge victorious. I hope it's me.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
dreams
I used to have dreams, big dreams.
I thought I would do great things, have a great career, be a wondermom to a gaggle of kids.
As I got older, I consciously made life choices to make that wondermom fantasy a reality: I chose not to go to medical school or veterinary school because I wanted to be able to stay home with my kids and not have loads of student loan debt. I chose to give up my teaching career and move halfway across the country because I wanted Hubby and I to be able to afford a house on one income. I left my family, my friends behind to chase a dream. It seemed so within reach, so inevitable.
I was so fucking naive.
Now, my biggest dream is to learn how to live like a normal person, in a world with real live babies and pregnant coworkers with huge bellies that seem to have their own gravitational pull (seriously - she bumps into me with that thing every. single. day). I dream of not crying in the bathroom at work, of not putting up these walls that close me off into my own little world of pain and sadness. I dream of learning to live childless.
I dream of not wanting to beat the fuck out of people who still think it's okay to make fun of, stigmatize and marginalize the infertile. Oh yeah, fuck you, PETA.
It seems so hopeless. I don't mean the actually getting pregnant and staying that way long enough to have a baby. That dream is dead. The living part, that's what I'm struggling with. I don't think I can do it.
I thought I would do great things, have a great career, be a wondermom to a gaggle of kids.
As I got older, I consciously made life choices to make that wondermom fantasy a reality: I chose not to go to medical school or veterinary school because I wanted to be able to stay home with my kids and not have loads of student loan debt. I chose to give up my teaching career and move halfway across the country because I wanted Hubby and I to be able to afford a house on one income. I left my family, my friends behind to chase a dream. It seemed so within reach, so inevitable.
I was so fucking naive.
Now, my biggest dream is to learn how to live like a normal person, in a world with real live babies and pregnant coworkers with huge bellies that seem to have their own gravitational pull (seriously - she bumps into me with that thing every. single. day). I dream of not crying in the bathroom at work, of not putting up these walls that close me off into my own little world of pain and sadness. I dream of learning to live childless.
I dream of not wanting to beat the fuck out of people who still think it's okay to make fun of, stigmatize and marginalize the infertile. Oh yeah, fuck you, PETA.
It seems so hopeless. I don't mean the actually getting pregnant and staying that way long enough to have a baby. That dream is dead. The living part, that's what I'm struggling with. I don't think I can do it.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
familiar
In the bathroom at work, crying because my period is about to arrive and so is my coworker with her huge belly. I should have that. Fuck. I hate my life.
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Tuesday, March 29, 2011
wasted
No, I'm not wasted right now (though I'd like to be. If any of y'all want to come over for a drink let me know!)
For the last few months I've been on an upswing, figuring things out, trying to figure ME out. I've been too busy to let the siren song of the dark reach me (or, more likely, ignoring the fact that a foray into the dark is inevitable by sticking my fingers in my ears and shouting "Nananananananana I can't hear you!"). Of course, I've had some bad moments, some minor down ticks in the upswing, but they were brief, usually tied to the post-ovulation/pre-menstrual phase of my cycle, predictable. A small crevasse, if you will, easily scaled.
But right now, I'm in the motherfucking Grand Canyon.
I don't know how I got here. I think it started with the advent of the birthing season. Like cats all over, my friends - both on the internets and IRL - are having babies. Or getting ready to pop. Or celebrating 1st birthday parties. And all of these things bring events that highlight how different, how damaged I am: baby showers, hospital visits, welcoming parties, 1st birthday parties. I want to be ok enough to do these things, to socialize, but instead I either don't go or don't get invited.
I am so isolated, and I know it's mostly my own doing.
I was thinking about what I want the outcome of my story to be: adoption? miraculous natural pregnancy? ART? living childfree? I can't answer that because what I want can't be.
I want none of this to ever have happened. I want to be normal, and happy. I want to still have friends.
I want the last five years to never have happened.
I hate my life.
PS - just logged on to FB to find this gem of a status update: "
For the last few months I've been on an upswing, figuring things out, trying to figure ME out. I've been too busy to let the siren song of the dark reach me (or, more likely, ignoring the fact that a foray into the dark is inevitable by sticking my fingers in my ears and shouting "Nananananananana I can't hear you!"). Of course, I've had some bad moments, some minor down ticks in the upswing, but they were brief, usually tied to the post-ovulation/pre-menstrual phase of my cycle, predictable. A small crevasse, if you will, easily scaled.
But right now, I'm in the motherfucking Grand Canyon.
I don't know how I got here. I think it started with the advent of the birthing season. Like cats all over, my friends - both on the internets and IRL - are having babies. Or getting ready to pop. Or celebrating 1st birthday parties. And all of these things bring events that highlight how different, how damaged I am: baby showers, hospital visits, welcoming parties, 1st birthday parties. I want to be ok enough to do these things, to socialize, but instead I either don't go or don't get invited.
I am so isolated, and I know it's mostly my own doing.
I was thinking about what I want the outcome of my story to be: adoption? miraculous natural pregnancy? ART? living childfree? I can't answer that because what I want can't be.
I want none of this to ever have happened. I want to be normal, and happy. I want to still have friends.
I want the last five years to never have happened.
I hate my life.
PS - just logged on to FB to find this gem of a status update: "
Thursday, February 24, 2011
growth
Despite what others may say, and the occasional down swing, I feel like I've grown a lot lately.
There is a place in my heart that is healing over, and the things that once would have ripped the scabs right off and sent me right back into that hole don't hold so much power anymore.
There is a place in my heart that is healing over, and the things that once would have ripped the scabs right off and sent me right back into that hole don't hold so much power anymore.
- I can smile at other people's babies again.
- I can look at my coworker's belly, and feel sad and wistful for all that I have lost, but I cannot change the past. I can feel happy for her (it helps that she is a real sweetheart) and sad for myself and none of it makes me want to hide and cry (well, most of the time).
- I can think about the future, and know that while I am doing everything I can to tame the utesaurus, it might not be enough. I am starting to be okay with the unknown ahead of me.
- I can listen to people say things that begin with "The worst thing about being pregnant....." and not throw up in my mouth. Or on their faces. (But sometimes I think about it.... I know, I know - I have a long way to go!)
- I can think about going to baby showers again even if I can't quite bring myself to actually go to one.
- I can pick out a gift for our new niece, and cry a little and smile at the same time.
- I can run and go to the gym for hours at a time and watch my body change, not in the way it would have were Ocho still inside of me, and it makes me happy more often than not because I know that I am strong and healthy and if there ever is a ninth pregnancy,
it'll have a better chance of survivingI'll have a better chance of surviving. - I can look at my husband and see the love we have for each other, how it has survived unimaginable horrors, and feel proud of the FAMILY we have become instead of like a failure for killing his children.
- I can see a future without children and it doesn't make me want to stop breathing.
Fuck you, RPL. I'm taking my life back.
sad day
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”
-Khalil Gibran
-Khalil Gibran
My computer has been on the fritz (and so has my digestive tract) and I haven't been on in a while, so I was totally surprised and heartbroken to learn that my friend Sugar Donor lost her twenty week baby yesterday.
I don't understand why the universe has to be so relentlessly fucking cruel.
It's just so unfair. So completely unfair.
My friend, you are one of the strongest souls I know.
Monday, February 14, 2011
help, I need some
Hey ladies,
Quick question for you: for those who have had your blog redesigned, who have you used? Were you happy with the process/end results? This thing needs some shaking up, and I certainly do not have the skills to do it myself. If you don't want to leave your answer in the comments feel free to email me (wifey.to.hubby@gmail.com).
Also, I am ashamed to admit it but I am tweetarded. If you're on Twitter and you have a moment, can you give me the lowdown on how to get connected with the ALI crowd? And how the whole thing basically works? There might be a present in it for you........
Thanks a bunch! And Happy Valentine's Day! (isn't it nice to type a word that starts with "va" and doesn't end with "gina?" I sure think so.)
Quick question for you: for those who have had your blog redesigned, who have you used? Were you happy with the process/end results? This thing needs some shaking up, and I certainly do not have the skills to do it myself. If you don't want to leave your answer in the comments feel free to email me (wifey.to.hubby@gmail.com).
Also, I am ashamed to admit it but I am tweetarded. If you're on Twitter and you have a moment, can you give me the lowdown on how to get connected with the ALI crowd? And how the whole thing basically works? There might be a present in it for you........
Thanks a bunch! And Happy Valentine's Day! (isn't it nice to type a word that starts with "va" and doesn't end with "gina?" I sure think so.)
Friday, February 11, 2011
cusp
Right now, I am in a pretty decent mental place. I had an appointment with my therapist the another night, during which we discussed my birthday blues and the expiration date I had put on my life. And while I felt like a complete psycho for even having had the thought, and for the complete and utter relief it brought me, she made me feel not insane. "Well," she said, "sometimes I think the notion of suicide is what can keep people going through their darkest times. The knowledge that no matter how bad things get, we can endure them, because we know that if they get bad enough, we have an out, an option. And for many people it serves as a reality check."
Hmmm.
We also talked about all of the positive things that I am doing: eating well, exercising, avoiding booze, following the Making Babies plan and how hopeful that has made me feel, my efforts to reach out to others who have walked this road. I am taking control of the things I can control, and apparently, that is a very good thing, and a sign that I am doing really well.
I went into the appointment scared that she'd want to commit me, and left feeling proud and strong, and almost happy.
Yesterday, despite my trepidation, I went to see a psychiatrist on my therapist's recommendation. I was so reluctant - I already have the stigma of infertility and loss, and I didn't want the stigma of "Psych patient" weighing me down too. It turned out to be a great appointment - he thinks my meds are doing their job, despite my down moments. He said "You've been through a lot of really shitty things, and no matter how medicated you are, you wouldn't be human if you didn't feel sad, anxious and depressed sometimes. The point is, your lows aren't as low, and they don't last as long, so you're doing really well." He even said that he wouldn't characterize what I'm dealing with as strictly depression, since it stems from my shitty ass life. Instead, he called it an adjustment disorder and told me that he doesn't think I need to see him again.
I went into that appointment scared of being labeled "crazy," and left feeling saner than I have in months.
Straight from there, I went to my tattoo appointment. I have been wanting this tattoo for so long, to memorialize all that I have lost, my eight unknown, unseen but so deeply loved children. The physical pain (and the four hours in the chair!) was a mere drop in the bucket compared to the pain I felt losing each of them, mourning the lives they never had and the mother I've never gotten a chance to become. I think it's beautiful. This picture doesn't show all of it, since it wraps almost all of the way around my forearm and I am not agile or smart enough to figure out a way to get all of it, but you get the idea:
This tattoo represents the new chapter I am starting in my life. I am trying to strike the balance between being positive and being realistic, trying to keep pessimism at bay. And so I got this tattoo, with all of it's eights, in the hopes that either I will never have another miscarriage, or that I will be strong enough to endure whatever is ahead (even if it is another miscarriage) without falling too far into the darkness.
Hope springs eternal.
And yet, while all of this positivity swirls around me, there is part of me that is afraid. Hubby's SIL is ready to pop out baby #2, and my coworker's belly grows by the day. Other friends are ready to welcome their babies, and it seems that most of the bloggers I read are knocked up as well. I worry that I will disappoint myself, that I will fall into that abyss and lose all hope.
I feel as if I am on the cusp of something. I just don't know yet if it's something good or something bad. And I'm trying to be okay with the unknown.
Hmmm.
We also talked about all of the positive things that I am doing: eating well, exercising, avoiding booze, following the Making Babies plan and how hopeful that has made me feel, my efforts to reach out to others who have walked this road. I am taking control of the things I can control, and apparently, that is a very good thing, and a sign that I am doing really well.
I went into the appointment scared that she'd want to commit me, and left feeling proud and strong, and almost happy.
Yesterday, despite my trepidation, I went to see a psychiatrist on my therapist's recommendation. I was so reluctant - I already have the stigma of infertility and loss, and I didn't want the stigma of "Psych patient" weighing me down too. It turned out to be a great appointment - he thinks my meds are doing their job, despite my down moments. He said "You've been through a lot of really shitty things, and no matter how medicated you are, you wouldn't be human if you didn't feel sad, anxious and depressed sometimes. The point is, your lows aren't as low, and they don't last as long, so you're doing really well." He even said that he wouldn't characterize what I'm dealing with as strictly depression, since it stems from my shitty ass life. Instead, he called it an adjustment disorder and told me that he doesn't think I need to see him again.
I went into that appointment scared of being labeled "crazy," and left feeling saner than I have in months.
Straight from there, I went to my tattoo appointment. I have been wanting this tattoo for so long, to memorialize all that I have lost, my eight unknown, unseen but so deeply loved children. The physical pain (and the four hours in the chair!) was a mere drop in the bucket compared to the pain I felt losing each of them, mourning the lives they never had and the mother I've never gotten a chance to become. I think it's beautiful. This picture doesn't show all of it, since it wraps almost all of the way around my forearm and I am not agile or smart enough to figure out a way to get all of it, but you get the idea:
This tattoo represents the new chapter I am starting in my life. I am trying to strike the balance between being positive and being realistic, trying to keep pessimism at bay. And so I got this tattoo, with all of it's eights, in the hopes that either I will never have another miscarriage, or that I will be strong enough to endure whatever is ahead (even if it is another miscarriage) without falling too far into the darkness.
Hope springs eternal.
And yet, while all of this positivity swirls around me, there is part of me that is afraid. Hubby's SIL is ready to pop out baby #2, and my coworker's belly grows by the day. Other friends are ready to welcome their babies, and it seems that most of the bloggers I read are knocked up as well. I worry that I will disappoint myself, that I will fall into that abyss and lose all hope.
I feel as if I am on the cusp of something. I just don't know yet if it's something good or something bad. And I'm trying to be okay with the unknown.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Rally the Troops!
Hey ladies (well, I guess there could be gentlemen reading here too, so hey to you!) –
There is an excellent article about IF on The Huffington Post today. There are, however, some not so excellent comments. You know, about how those of us with IF aren’t meant to reproduce because it’s natural selection, among others. Please, head on over and tell these jerks what’s what, and please repost this so that more voices can be heard.
Thanks, y'all!
There is an excellent article about IF on The Huffington Post today. There are, however, some not so excellent comments. You know, about how those of us with IF aren’t meant to reproduce because it’s natural selection, among others. Please, head on over and tell these jerks what’s what, and please repost this so that more voices can be heard.
Thanks, y'all!
Sunday, February 6, 2011
a confession
I feel, these days, as if there are two distinct yet intertwined parts of my soul.
There is the part that believes in hope, despite the unlikelihood of it all working out. This is the part of me that follows my Making Babies plan to the letter, the part that drags me out of bed to work out, that convinces me that weekly acupuncture is a worthwhile investment. This part has convinced me that I should give up sugar, caffeine, and alcohol and not look back. I take all of my supplements and meds and drink the prescribed amounts of water and tea; I meditate and do self massage as directed. I have been molded by that belief in hope; I have made major, significant lifestyle changes.
The other part, I confess, is darker. This part haunts me constantly with sadness and grief over all that has been lost, and worry about what horrors of loss may still come. This part gives me anxiety attacks about going to work and dealing with pregnancies and births in any way, shape or form. This part mocks me, tells me hope is useless because things will never ever get better and at most, I can look forward to a lifetime of sadness and misery mitigated by pharmaceuticals.
I shut that dark part up though, for a few days at least, with a realization. It was my birthday morning. I was staring st the ceiling, feeling pretty hopeless, the dark part chiming in and making things seem even worse. I am 33. I was 27 when we started out on this road. So much anguish, so many tears shed.
And it hit me: it doesn't have to be this way forever. It's all under my control. And so, I made a decision: if things are not turned around by my 35th birthday - if I haven't figured out how to live a normal life with or without a baby, if I am still haunted by anxiety and sadness and grief and dependent on Big Pharma just to get through my days, I'll just end it all.
I gave my life an expiration date.
As soon as I thought it, I knew that it was sick and twisted and crazy, and that I really need to talk to my therapist about it. At the same time, though, I felt as if an immense weight had fallen off of me. I had a surprisingly great birthday, and a pretty darned good long weekend. It was strange to feel so light. The dark part was quiet. I think it got what it wanted.
How fucking crazy am I?
I feel a bit weird sharing this with you all, but I try to be as honest as possible on this blog, so there you have it. I made a suicide pact with myself that set me free. Fucked up, I know.
((And please, please, to my family who reads this, understand that I am not suicidal right now, just desperate to feel normal. I know that I need to talk to my doctor about this, and in fact I have an appointment on Wednesday. OK?))
There is the part that believes in hope, despite the unlikelihood of it all working out. This is the part of me that follows my Making Babies plan to the letter, the part that drags me out of bed to work out, that convinces me that weekly acupuncture is a worthwhile investment. This part has convinced me that I should give up sugar, caffeine, and alcohol and not look back. I take all of my supplements and meds and drink the prescribed amounts of water and tea; I meditate and do self massage as directed. I have been molded by that belief in hope; I have made major, significant lifestyle changes.
The other part, I confess, is darker. This part haunts me constantly with sadness and grief over all that has been lost, and worry about what horrors of loss may still come. This part gives me anxiety attacks about going to work and dealing with pregnancies and births in any way, shape or form. This part mocks me, tells me hope is useless because things will never ever get better and at most, I can look forward to a lifetime of sadness and misery mitigated by pharmaceuticals.
I shut that dark part up though, for a few days at least, with a realization. It was my birthday morning. I was staring st the ceiling, feeling pretty hopeless, the dark part chiming in and making things seem even worse. I am 33. I was 27 when we started out on this road. So much anguish, so many tears shed.
And it hit me: it doesn't have to be this way forever. It's all under my control. And so, I made a decision: if things are not turned around by my 35th birthday - if I haven't figured out how to live a normal life with or without a baby, if I am still haunted by anxiety and sadness and grief and dependent on Big Pharma just to get through my days, I'll just end it all.
I gave my life an expiration date.
As soon as I thought it, I knew that it was sick and twisted and crazy, and that I really need to talk to my therapist about it. At the same time, though, I felt as if an immense weight had fallen off of me. I had a surprisingly great birthday, and a pretty darned good long weekend. It was strange to feel so light. The dark part was quiet. I think it got what it wanted.
How fucking crazy am I?
I feel a bit weird sharing this with you all, but I try to be as honest as possible on this blog, so there you have it. I made a suicide pact with myself that set me free. Fucked up, I know.
((And please, please, to my family who reads this, understand that I am not suicidal right now, just desperate to feel normal. I know that I need to talk to my doctor about this, and in fact I have an appointment on Wednesday. OK?))
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Happy fucking birthday
Damn. Tomorrow is my birthday, and I'm totally dreading it.
Hubby and I are at odds right now. It always seems to happen when I'm on a down swing - he has empathy and compassion for a good long while, and then, he's had enough and all my sadness does is piss him off. I never feel quite right when we're at odds - it feels like I'm trying to make my way through the day with only one contact lens, or something like that. Eventually, we'll talk through it and be fine. In the meantime, though, I flounder, because......
I have no fucking friends. Seriously. The five years that I've been in hell have completely isolated me from any friends I had before (even the 20 year friendships that I thought could survive anything). And somehow, the person I used to be - the girl who could make friends with anyone, anytime - has disappeared. I don't even know how to make a new friend anymore, how to connect with someone over anything other than loss. Truthfully, I'm not even sure that I want to. I don't know how to explain my craziness to an outsider. All of our couple friends are really Hubby's friends and couldn't care less about me. All of it makes me kind of mad - when shit started to go wrong in my life, people stopped calling, stopped wanting to do things. My core group of friends from NY are all still pretty tight with each other, and wouldn't you know, these are all girls who have had good happy things in their lives over the last few years. I can't remember the last time I heard from one of them. They know of our trials and have cut us out of their lives as if my RPL is some kind of tumor that could spread to them. And so, the reality is, when Hubby and I are off, I have no one to go grab a bite to eat with, or to gab on the phone with, or whatever the fuck it is that girls do with their friends.
I did try to reach out to the new girl at work, who just moved here from another state. I sent her a message inviting her to brunch (I knew her husband was out of town). I felt all nervous while I was doing it, and I checked all day for a response that never came. REJECTED! Of course, I found out a few days later that she's knocked up so it's probably better off that way.
Speaking of New Girl, her belly has popped. I am back to having a sky high anxiety level at work despite my wonderful boss. I just don't think I can sit next to her, listen to her talk about her body changing and the stresses of pregnancy, see her growing belly, and not imagine that that should be my life.
I called off all birthday celebrations this year in an email to Hubby's parents:
Hi guys,
Hope you had a great trip!
I just wanted to let you know that we will not be celebrating my birthday this year. Let me explain: My first pregnancy happened at 27 years old. I will be turning 33 this year, and, obviously, we are still childless. Each year, I have stood by and watched as everyone around me has baby after baby, growing their families. Each year, I feel like I have failed, and this year my birthday is especially depressing. I have no desire to celebrate the passing of another year, and the fact that it is less and less likely that we will ever be parents to a live child.
I know you cannot imagine what this is like, but it breaks my heart that I cannot have the children your son deserves and desires to father.
Please understand that I love you all and while it means a lot to me that you want to make my birthday special, I just can't put on a happy face and pretend this year. I just can't.
I hope you can understand, or at the very least, respect, this.
I don't know what I expected from them, but a response - something - would have been nice. Instead, they called Hubby to talk about it. Every time I reach out, I get slapped down. My MIL talks about how she wants to feel close to me, but clearly that's not true. Oh well. Why should she care about me when her other daughter-in-law is about to give birth?
Another year. Another fucking year.I just want to wake up tomorrow and be someone else. Please, please, someone make that happen.
Hubby and I are at odds right now. It always seems to happen when I'm on a down swing - he has empathy and compassion for a good long while, and then, he's had enough and all my sadness does is piss him off. I never feel quite right when we're at odds - it feels like I'm trying to make my way through the day with only one contact lens, or something like that. Eventually, we'll talk through it and be fine. In the meantime, though, I flounder, because......
I have no fucking friends. Seriously. The five years that I've been in hell have completely isolated me from any friends I had before (even the 20 year friendships that I thought could survive anything). And somehow, the person I used to be - the girl who could make friends with anyone, anytime - has disappeared. I don't even know how to make a new friend anymore, how to connect with someone over anything other than loss. Truthfully, I'm not even sure that I want to. I don't know how to explain my craziness to an outsider. All of our couple friends are really Hubby's friends and couldn't care less about me. All of it makes me kind of mad - when shit started to go wrong in my life, people stopped calling, stopped wanting to do things. My core group of friends from NY are all still pretty tight with each other, and wouldn't you know, these are all girls who have had good happy things in their lives over the last few years. I can't remember the last time I heard from one of them. They know of our trials and have cut us out of their lives as if my RPL is some kind of tumor that could spread to them. And so, the reality is, when Hubby and I are off, I have no one to go grab a bite to eat with, or to gab on the phone with, or whatever the fuck it is that girls do with their friends.
I did try to reach out to the new girl at work, who just moved here from another state. I sent her a message inviting her to brunch (I knew her husband was out of town). I felt all nervous while I was doing it, and I checked all day for a response that never came. REJECTED! Of course, I found out a few days later that she's knocked up so it's probably better off that way.
Speaking of New Girl, her belly has popped. I am back to having a sky high anxiety level at work despite my wonderful boss. I just don't think I can sit next to her, listen to her talk about her body changing and the stresses of pregnancy, see her growing belly, and not imagine that that should be my life.
I called off all birthday celebrations this year in an email to Hubby's parents:
Hi guys,
Hope you had a great trip!
I just wanted to let you know that we will not be celebrating my birthday this year. Let me explain: My first pregnancy happened at 27 years old. I will be turning 33 this year, and, obviously, we are still childless. Each year, I have stood by and watched as everyone around me has baby after baby, growing their families. Each year, I feel like I have failed, and this year my birthday is especially depressing. I have no desire to celebrate the passing of another year, and the fact that it is less and less likely that we will ever be parents to a live child.
I know you cannot imagine what this is like, but it breaks my heart that I cannot have the children your son deserves and desires to father.
Please understand that I love you all and while it means a lot to me that you want to make my birthday special, I just can't put on a happy face and pretend this year. I just can't.
I hope you can understand, or at the very least, respect, this.
I don't know what I expected from them, but a response - something - would have been nice. Instead, they called Hubby to talk about it. Every time I reach out, I get slapped down. My MIL talks about how she wants to feel close to me, but clearly that's not true. Oh well. Why should she care about me when her other daughter-in-law is about to give birth?
Another year. Another fucking year.I just want to wake up tomorrow and be someone else. Please, please, someone make that happen.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
unexpected kindness
I have been surprised so many times by the kindness of others. When I am deep in the darkness, it seems to me that others must loathe me as much as I sometimes do.
I've been proven wrong, again.
When I discovered my coworker's pregnancy, I had a meltdown. That meltdown paled in comparison to the one I had when I learned that her due date is very close to what mine would have been. You know, if that raging beast of a utesaurus didn't eat my baby - which I discovered, you might recall, hours after I had to make the most horrible decision of my life and put my sweet otherwise healthy dog to sleep. The worst fucking day of my life, also known as DDDBD (Dead Dog Dead Baby Day).
I just couldn't make sense of how I was going to face her every day - her belly growing, mine shrinking, she aglow with life, me casting the pallor of death. I was having panic attacks walking into the building, and at this point no one else (except the boss) knew.
I knew that I had been acting oddly for a few days, so I pulled aside the girl I work most closely with (a wonderful, wonderful girl whose friendship in the office means so much to me) and explained that she shouldn't take anything I say/do personally, and that I'd be acting weird for a while, because New Girl is pregnant (I didn't even mention the due date thing). And this girl - we'll call her Runway (she used to model) - this girl who isn't close to wanting babies yet and certainly hasn't lost any, her eyes welled up. I told her that I might have to look for another job because I just didn't think I could do it, and she got even more sad, but said she'd understand if it came to that.
That night, I emailed Runway to thank her for her kindness and empathy, since I know that my particular craziness is off her radar. She responded with, among other things, "Don't worry - I've got your back." And with that, the icy loneliness and fear in me started to melt.
I had also emailed another coworker, my friend A, to warn her. Her response was full of empathy and kindness, and so the ice melted just a bit more.
My final email was to my boss. I let him know exactly what was going on and how I didn't know if I would be able to continue working there, even though I am loving my job right now. I told him that I am just not willing to risk completely losing my mind for it.
He responded that he thinks I am a very valuable employee, and doesn't want to lose me. We are in the middle of some scheduling changes and he mentioned that he would try to work things out so, basically, preggo and I aren't around each other too much. He also suggested possibly moving my workstation into the office the doctors share.
And then he wrote "Let me know if you need anything else. I am willing to put up with a lot if you are willing to give it a go." And with that, the rest of the ice was gone.
I forget it sometimes, but I am a lucky lady to be valued so much by the people with whom I spend the bulk of my waking hours.
((And of course, the feel-good vibe is taking a hit from the bad voice in my head, which says "Wow, I am a seriously fucked up person if my whole office has to be rearranged to accommodate my craziness. I mean, the girl is pregnant! It should be a happy time in the office, not one of walking on eggshells because I can't cope with life." That stupid mother fucker never completely goes away.))
Oooh, and I've won a blog award! Hopefully tomorrow I'll post about that and my Making Babies beginnings.
I've been proven wrong, again.
When I discovered my coworker's pregnancy, I had a meltdown. That meltdown paled in comparison to the one I had when I learned that her due date is very close to what mine would have been. You know, if that raging beast of a utesaurus didn't eat my baby - which I discovered, you might recall, hours after I had to make the most horrible decision of my life and put my sweet otherwise healthy dog to sleep. The worst fucking day of my life, also known as DDDBD (Dead Dog Dead Baby Day).
I just couldn't make sense of how I was going to face her every day - her belly growing, mine shrinking, she aglow with life, me casting the pallor of death. I was having panic attacks walking into the building, and at this point no one else (except the boss) knew.
I knew that I had been acting oddly for a few days, so I pulled aside the girl I work most closely with (a wonderful, wonderful girl whose friendship in the office means so much to me) and explained that she shouldn't take anything I say/do personally, and that I'd be acting weird for a while, because New Girl is pregnant (I didn't even mention the due date thing). And this girl - we'll call her Runway (she used to model) - this girl who isn't close to wanting babies yet and certainly hasn't lost any, her eyes welled up. I told her that I might have to look for another job because I just didn't think I could do it, and she got even more sad, but said she'd understand if it came to that.
That night, I emailed Runway to thank her for her kindness and empathy, since I know that my particular craziness is off her radar. She responded with, among other things, "Don't worry - I've got your back." And with that, the icy loneliness and fear in me started to melt.
I had also emailed another coworker, my friend A, to warn her. Her response was full of empathy and kindness, and so the ice melted just a bit more.
My final email was to my boss. I let him know exactly what was going on and how I didn't know if I would be able to continue working there, even though I am loving my job right now. I told him that I am just not willing to risk completely losing my mind for it.
He responded that he thinks I am a very valuable employee, and doesn't want to lose me. We are in the middle of some scheduling changes and he mentioned that he would try to work things out so, basically, preggo and I aren't around each other too much. He also suggested possibly moving my workstation into the office the doctors share.
And then he wrote "Let me know if you need anything else. I am willing to put up with a lot if you are willing to give it a go." And with that, the rest of the ice was gone.
I forget it sometimes, but I am a lucky lady to be valued so much by the people with whom I spend the bulk of my waking hours.
((And of course, the feel-good vibe is taking a hit from the bad voice in my head, which says "Wow, I am a seriously fucked up person if my whole office has to be rearranged to accommodate my craziness. I mean, the girl is pregnant! It should be a happy time in the office, not one of walking on eggshells because I can't cope with life." That stupid mother fucker never completely goes away.))
Oooh, and I've won a blog award! Hopefully tomorrow I'll post about that and my Making Babies beginnings.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
a shout out to local ladies
I have volunteered to be the Des Moines area group leader for the new Face2Face Friendship Group program started by Faces of Loss. If you're local, and interested in hanging out with like minded super fun ladies who have also survived loss - and you're not offended by tattoos and salty language - join our Facebook group. I've made it super easy too - there's a box on this page that says "Find us on Facebook!" and all you need to do is click "like." Or you can search on Facebook for the "Face2Face Des Moines" page. It's pretty lame right now but I'll be working on it tomorrow.
We will definitely be having our first get together soon, and likely in a bar/restaurant. Well, it might just be me unless some of you join up!
I know I have local readers - I do occasionally look at my stats. Delurk, delurk I beg of you! I so don't want my group to be the FAIL of the program. That would just suck monkey balls.
We will definitely be having our first get together soon, and likely in a bar/restaurant. Well, it might just be me unless some of you join up!
I know I have local readers - I do occasionally look at my stats. Delurk, delurk I beg of you! I so don't want my group to be the FAIL of the program. That would just suck monkey balls.
Monday, January 24, 2011
hope, and an offer for you!
I’m not off to a great start with ICLW this month ((flogs self)) but I swear to the gods that I will be caught up on my commenting tonight. It’s hard to comment from work since I’m really not supposed to be on the internet….. posting is easier since I just type away in Word and it looks like I’m being a good employee :)
Anyway, this post is not going to be about my shitty work situation (btw, the knocked up coworker just walked in! Yay!) or how much I hate my life or how sad I am.
No, this post is going to be about hope (shocking! I know!). Specifically, the hope I have found in Making Babies: A Proven Three Month Program for Maximum Fertility. These people – a top fertility doctor and an acupuncturist/herbalist – are the real deal, and they know their shit.
I’ve been saying for a long time that I need to get my body in the best possible shape to conceive because if I can get pregnant – and clearly, I can – then there must be something I can do to stay pregnant. I’ve just been going about it piecemeal, trying to blend Western medicine and Chinese medicine without a guide. I’ve just about finished the book, and it will become my bible for the next three months (our “premester”).
I was hooked when I read the Western doctor’s take on ART – he believes it has it’s place but that it is overused and most women, when given the appropriate guidance, can help their own bodies conceive naturally. If the program itself doesn’t work and ART is still necessary, the body will be in the best possible shape for treatment to work. It’s so empowering, and I really believe it can work for me. I plan to use this blog to document my premester in the hopes that it might be able to help someone else.
Anyway, I have an offer: If someone out there wants to walk this walk with me, I’ll send you a copy of the book (for free, y’all!). Just be the first to let me know in the comments and I’ll send it off.
And then we can skip hand in hand off into the sunset. Just kidding. Sort of.
Anyway, this post is not going to be about my shitty work situation (btw, the knocked up coworker just walked in! Yay!) or how much I hate my life or how sad I am.
No, this post is going to be about hope (shocking! I know!). Specifically, the hope I have found in Making Babies: A Proven Three Month Program for Maximum Fertility. These people – a top fertility doctor and an acupuncturist/herbalist – are the real deal, and they know their shit.
I’ve been saying for a long time that I need to get my body in the best possible shape to conceive because if I can get pregnant – and clearly, I can – then there must be something I can do to stay pregnant. I’ve just been going about it piecemeal, trying to blend Western medicine and Chinese medicine without a guide. I’ve just about finished the book, and it will become my bible for the next three months (our “premester”).
I was hooked when I read the Western doctor’s take on ART – he believes it has it’s place but that it is overused and most women, when given the appropriate guidance, can help their own bodies conceive naturally. If the program itself doesn’t work and ART is still necessary, the body will be in the best possible shape for treatment to work. It’s so empowering, and I really believe it can work for me. I plan to use this blog to document my premester in the hopes that it might be able to help someone else.
Anyway, I have an offer: If someone out there wants to walk this walk with me, I’ll send you a copy of the book (for free, y’all!). Just be the first to let me know in the comments and I’ll send it off.
And then we can skip hand in hand off into the sunset. Just kidding. Sort of.
Friday, January 21, 2011
and the universe continues to fuck with me....
Yay. Just found out that through the evil of FB that the new girl we hired - the girl who shares a workspace with me - is pregnant. I'm expecting the work announcement soon since she seems to be 16-17 weeks along.
Our clients are a bunch of friendly nose folk who like to comment on everything: "Oh your hair is so long!" "I really like your makeup today," etc. Oh, and this is the first time someone in our office has been pregnant for realz. It's going to be torturous.
It's just my luck too - I was starting to resolve the whole love/hate my job thing (it was shifting mostly to love) and now I have to quit.
I have to say, I didn't handle this discovery well. The ugly cry made an appearance, as did self pity and self loathing. I have got to learn to handle this shit like a grown up. Sigh.
Our clients are a bunch of friendly nose folk who like to comment on everything: "Oh your hair is so long!" "I really like your makeup today," etc. Oh, and this is the first time someone in our office has been pregnant for realz. It's going to be torturous.
It's just my luck too - I was starting to resolve the whole love/hate my job thing (it was shifting mostly to love) and now I have to quit.
I have to say, I didn't handle this discovery well. The ugly cry made an appearance, as did self pity and self loathing. I have got to learn to handle this shit like a grown up. Sigh.
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Thursday, January 20, 2011
by the numbers
This week marks 5 years since our first loss, since the last time I remember being truly happy and hopeful. I think somewhere my brain knew that milestone was looming, which would explain my recent funk.
Anyway, the numbers:
4 - how old that first doomed baby would now be
7 - how many times (at least) I've been pregnant since that loss
40 - number of times I've been poked for beta testing
50+ - number of babies born to people I know in that time (not including all of my blogging buddies, who seem to be getting knocked up regularly these days)
56 - approximate number of weeks I've been pregnant
680 - approximate number of sticks I've peed on (opk and hpt)
$1040 - how much I've spent on sticks to pee on (approximately)
$3500 - how much we've spent on copays for visits and meds and surgery
10950 - number of folic acid pills I've swallowed
1,257,333,123 - number of times my heart has been broken (approximate)
I can't believe I'm still here.
Anyway, the numbers:
4 - how old that first doomed baby would now be
7 - how many times (at least) I've been pregnant since that loss
40 - number of times I've been poked for beta testing
50+ - number of babies born to people I know in that time (not including all of my blogging buddies, who seem to be getting knocked up regularly these days)
56 - approximate number of weeks I've been pregnant
680 - approximate number of sticks I've peed on (opk and hpt)
$1040 - how much I've spent on sticks to pee on (approximately)
$3500 - how much we've spent on copays for visits and meds and surgery
10950 - number of folic acid pills I've swallowed
1,257,333,123 - number of times my heart has been broken (approximate)
I can't believe I'm still here.
Monday, January 17, 2011
worn out oars
There’s this girl I know, K. We went to the same high school, and although we’ve never been close friends we’ve always run with the same social crowd.
Truth be told, although many of my (formerly) close friends love her, I’ve always found her to be more than a little annoying. She’s a bit of a control freak, and has always expected that things would go as she planned them. She married her 1st husband in a ceremony that was beyond extravagant.
Anyway, shortly after her 1st wedding, Hubby and I started trying to conceive. And then we had that first mind shattering miscarriage, followed closely by the devastation of the second.
This slice of time was hideous for me – I was starting to wonder if it would ever happen, what I could have done to deserve a double dose of failure, and if all I had ahead of me was heartbreak (guess I know the answer to that question now!). I spent days pouring over books on conception and pregnancy and miscarriage. K and I were at some party together during this time, and the conversation turned to having babies.
“Well,” she said, with a haughty shake of her head, “I know that when I want to have a baby I’ll have one right away.”
“And how do you know that?” I asked.
“I can feel when I ovulate every month. The rest is simple,” she said, looking at me.
I wanted to scream and shout that she didn’t have a fucking clue, and then I committed the cardinal sin of the infertile: I wished IF on her. I did, and I’m ashamed of it, but at that moment I wished that she would know just a slice of the pain I was experiencing.
Anyway, she went on to divorce first husband, marry second husband, and start trying to conceive.
Nothing happened.
She tried for years, and then because she lives in a state that mandates coverage for infertility, she tried IVF. It worked. Yesterday, she gave birth to a baby girl.
And again, I am slapped hard with the realization that my life is stuck – we’ve decided to become parents, we’ve changed our whole lives so that we could be good parents. We’ve left behind the life of the DINKS (dual income no kids) that we were, and yet we can’t get to where we want.
We’re in limbo. I’ve been here long enough for K to have gotten divorced, remarried, try for a baby long enough to get diagnosed as infertile, try fertility treatments, get pregnant and have a healthy baby girl.
I feel like we’re in a rowboat, stuck in the middle of a lake so big we can barely see the shore. We’re rowing and rowing and rowing, as hard as we can, sweating and panting and getting desperate to get to shore, where it seems the happiness is. We can hear the party, and all around us boats are moving. Some are moving more slowly than others, some so slowly they hardly appear to be moving. Some boats find a current and drift in to shore with no effort at all. But us – we’re stuck, we’re stranded, our oars are falling apart from all that damned rowing, and I feel like we’re going to die here. (I may have read this somewhere – not sure – but it feels like such an apt description).
Truth be told, although many of my (formerly) close friends love her, I’ve always found her to be more than a little annoying. She’s a bit of a control freak, and has always expected that things would go as she planned them. She married her 1st husband in a ceremony that was beyond extravagant.
Anyway, shortly after her 1st wedding, Hubby and I started trying to conceive. And then we had that first mind shattering miscarriage, followed closely by the devastation of the second.
This slice of time was hideous for me – I was starting to wonder if it would ever happen, what I could have done to deserve a double dose of failure, and if all I had ahead of me was heartbreak (guess I know the answer to that question now!). I spent days pouring over books on conception and pregnancy and miscarriage. K and I were at some party together during this time, and the conversation turned to having babies.
“Well,” she said, with a haughty shake of her head, “I know that when I want to have a baby I’ll have one right away.”
“And how do you know that?” I asked.
“I can feel when I ovulate every month. The rest is simple,” she said, looking at me.
I wanted to scream and shout that she didn’t have a fucking clue, and then I committed the cardinal sin of the infertile: I wished IF on her. I did, and I’m ashamed of it, but at that moment I wished that she would know just a slice of the pain I was experiencing.
Anyway, she went on to divorce first husband, marry second husband, and start trying to conceive.
Nothing happened.
She tried for years, and then because she lives in a state that mandates coverage for infertility, she tried IVF. It worked. Yesterday, she gave birth to a baby girl.
And again, I am slapped hard with the realization that my life is stuck – we’ve decided to become parents, we’ve changed our whole lives so that we could be good parents. We’ve left behind the life of the DINKS (dual income no kids) that we were, and yet we can’t get to where we want.
We’re in limbo. I’ve been here long enough for K to have gotten divorced, remarried, try for a baby long enough to get diagnosed as infertile, try fertility treatments, get pregnant and have a healthy baby girl.
I feel like we’re in a rowboat, stuck in the middle of a lake so big we can barely see the shore. We’re rowing and rowing and rowing, as hard as we can, sweating and panting and getting desperate to get to shore, where it seems the happiness is. We can hear the party, and all around us boats are moving. Some are moving more slowly than others, some so slowly they hardly appear to be moving. Some boats find a current and drift in to shore with no effort at all. But us – we’re stuck, we’re stranded, our oars are falling apart from all that damned rowing, and I feel like we’re going to die here. (I may have read this somewhere – not sure – but it feels like such an apt description).
Friday, January 14, 2011
funk
I'm in a funk. It scares the shit out of me - I've come so far in the last few months thanks to Big Pharma and therapy and hubby. The creeping constant tears, the overwhelming sadness and hopelessness - I am reminded not only of what I long for and can't have, but also of the years I lived existed so far down in the darkness.
And when I feel like this, the world just seems too sad to bear: the Tucson tragedy and Christina Green, the rough time my brother is having right now, my older cat who has taken a sudden and likely very not good turn for the worse, the floods in Australia (and that brave boy who sacrificed himself so that his brother could be saved). It is just too much.
(My rational brain says "Duh! It's PMS! Happens every month! You'll be fine." Despite her assurances I feel like I'm on a precipice, on the edge of another major depressive episode.)
Of course, while I'm writing this, this song came on. I know he's not writing about my life, but man do his words hit close to home:
I'm not surprised, not everything lasts
I've broken my heart so many times, I stopped keeping track
Talk myself in, I talk myself out
I get all worked up, then I let myself down
I tried so very hard not to lose it
I came up with a million excuses
I thought, I thought of every possibility
And I know someday that it'll all turn out
You'll make me work, so we can work to work it out
And I promise you, kid, that I give so much more than I get
I just haven't met you yet
I might have to wait, I'll never give up
I guess it's half timing, and the other half's luck
Wherever you are, whenever it's right
You'll come out of nowhere and into my life
And I know that we can be so amazing
And, baby, your love is gonna change me
And now I can see every possibility
And somehow I know that it'll all turn out
You'll make me work, so we can work to work it out
And I promise you, kid, I give so much more than I get
I just haven't met you yet
They say all's fair
In love and war
But I won't need to fight it
We'll get it right and we'll be united
And I know that we can be so amazing
And being in your life is gonna change me
And now I can see every single possibility
And someday I know it'll all turn out
And I'll work to work it out
Promise you, kid, I'll give more than I get
Than I get, than I get, than I get
Oh, you know it'll all turn out
And you'll make me work so we can work to work it out
And I promise you kid to give so much more than I get
Yeah, I just haven't met you yet
I just haven't met you yet
Oh, promise you, kid
To give so much more than I get
I said love, love, love, love
Love, love, love, love
(I just haven't met you yet)
Love, love, love, love
Love, love
I just haven't met you yet
This mood I'm in, this day, calls for two hours of sweating my ass off in the gym tonight, followed by a bottle of wine and a good hard ugly cry. Maybe I can all of these tears out all at once.
And when I feel like this, the world just seems too sad to bear: the Tucson tragedy and Christina Green, the rough time my brother is having right now, my older cat who has taken a sudden and likely very not good turn for the worse, the floods in Australia (and that brave boy who sacrificed himself so that his brother could be saved). It is just too much.
(My rational brain says "Duh! It's PMS! Happens every month! You'll be fine." Despite her assurances I feel like I'm on a precipice, on the edge of another major depressive episode.)
Of course, while I'm writing this, this song came on. I know he's not writing about my life, but man do his words hit close to home:
I'm not surprised, not everything lasts
I've broken my heart so many times, I stopped keeping track
Talk myself in, I talk myself out
I get all worked up, then I let myself down
I tried so very hard not to lose it
I came up with a million excuses
I thought, I thought of every possibility
And I know someday that it'll all turn out
You'll make me work, so we can work to work it out
And I promise you, kid, that I give so much more than I get
I just haven't met you yet
I might have to wait, I'll never give up
I guess it's half timing, and the other half's luck
Wherever you are, whenever it's right
You'll come out of nowhere and into my life
And I know that we can be so amazing
And, baby, your love is gonna change me
And now I can see every possibility
And somehow I know that it'll all turn out
You'll make me work, so we can work to work it out
And I promise you, kid, I give so much more than I get
I just haven't met you yet
They say all's fair
In love and war
But I won't need to fight it
We'll get it right and we'll be united
And I know that we can be so amazing
And being in your life is gonna change me
And now I can see every single possibility
And someday I know it'll all turn out
And I'll work to work it out
Promise you, kid, I'll give more than I get
Than I get, than I get, than I get
Oh, you know it'll all turn out
And you'll make me work so we can work to work it out
And I promise you kid to give so much more than I get
Yeah, I just haven't met you yet
I just haven't met you yet
Oh, promise you, kid
To give so much more than I get
I said love, love, love, love
Love, love, love, love
(I just haven't met you yet)
Love, love, love, love
Love, love
I just haven't met you yet
This mood I'm in, this day, calls for two hours of sweating my ass off in the gym tonight, followed by a bottle of wine and a good hard ugly cry. Maybe I can all of these tears out all at once.
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