So Dear and Yet So Far

stream of four years' consciousness

2012-01-25T17:37:00.002-05:00

I need to write, but I don't want to. I know there are things to write, but I don't want to. I've told my story too many times until I can see people inching away thinking Why does she have to mention this again? Dead babies, lost pregnancy infertility, Grief. I have talked and vented and cried. I have yelled at people who didn't deserve it. I have loved and I have gotten lost in it. I have lost who I am, what I want (need) who I used to be No that's not right. Kubler Ross says we tell our story to make sense of it, to let a little in at a time, as much as we can hard it leaks out a bit at a time with tears with seething -- the almost sweet smell of amniotic fluid on the white pad between my legs -- after that first burst it came and went movement, sleep I could feel it leaving me. My only living son my body slowly slowly bit by bit falling away his source of life of growth even as his heart beat strong wavy lines on the ultrasound, Oh look, you can see he's practicing breathing -- But how could he live, how could he grow and breathe and play when my body took away what he needed to do all these things

I had wanted to watch my child grow -- discover his fingers and toes, giggle and walk, grow into a person a little beautiful person someone to walk with for a little while -- so trite is the expression but walk with as he grew on his own with his mother and father slowly receding as he grew into a man -- I wonder if the wonder and joy of watching your child discover his toes ever really goes away

My chest closes off and my throat is tight, squeezing tears, again the tears that you'd think would slow, would dry up after four years

What did that what closed my throat discovering pink little bubble gum toes that fit in a little toothless mouth -- the milestones of growing up all those things I knew I was letting go of, letting him go -- And I couldn't even face it, couldn't be present.

Why didn't we wait a little longer? Why was I the only one with hope -- desperate hope for a future

Was it imaginary? this future? or would it bring pain for my boy? Toes he couldn't reach -- brain bleeds and spastic, cramped muscles -- a feeding bag an ostomy. Five to 10 percent if we made it to 24 weeks, 28 weeks -- 32 -- stunted lungs -- poor weak legs --

And I couldn't say good bye -- not to my cold dead child.

I watch my sister with her eminently healthy child, the one who discovered her toes and fingers and slept, newly born, with a smile on her face -- She is happy and sociable and is learning to use verbs -- verbs, just like that. and she says, I love you, Aunt Sue, and I -- my body my chest constricts with all the air my son never got -- (neither of them got) -- at least one had a chance, such a small one -- oh, the breath stops in throat, and I need to practice breathing.

Quiet night

2011-12-21T01:38:00.001-05:00

I'm sorry it's been so long. For those of you still around, well, thanks for being around. It's been a difficult season and, I anticipate, another difficult week or two. We have some distractions planned, but, well, you know.

My dear friends in the computer (those I know, and those who lurk) and those in real life, I think of you, and of your little ones, very often despite my apparent silence. There is a lot to say, and yet I seem to have no words right now. (I may be creating a new space, but the same applies there, so...)

I just wanted to stop by briefly to say hello, and to wish you all moments of joy, peace and light during this holiday season. During this season, and every day.

S

Never before and never since

2011-09-10T10:18:00.003-04:00

These are the days

These are days you'll remember.
Never before and never since,
I promise, will the whole world be warm as this.
And as you feel it, you'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky.
It's true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you.

These are days you'll remember.
When May is rushing over you with desire to be part of the miracles you see in every hour. You'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky.
It's true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you.

These are days.
These are the days you might fill with laughter until you break.
These days you might feel a shaft of light make its way across your face.
And when you do you'll know how it was meant to be.
See the signs and know their meaning.
It's true, you'll know how it was meant to be.
Hear the signs and know they're speaking to you, to you.

Natalie Merchant
These are Days (1992)

*****

Four years today since the first beta. Once this week is over, most of the dates will fade. I just recall feeling this way that week, cautiously, after the first and second beta. And then there's the bit about May, but that's another post; I've spent plenty of time on May, haven't I.)

Thanks for hanging around.

Lost in space, or Bookends

2011-08-25T18:51:00.000-04:00

Sorry I disappeared. It's been a summer. You know. Lots going on, but much of it in my head.

I don't have much time to write right now, but I'm doing okay. I'm doing well, even. Therapy continues to be helpful. I have barely begun the diss proposal, but I have begun. If I want to be done with all this by the end of next summer (my own potential deadline), I need to have the proposal done and defended by mid-October. Sometimes I feel like I can totally do it. Sometimes, I'm frozen.

My topic is not about DBMs, specifically, but it's about being a woman in the workplace (specifically academia), and the private and public nature of women's bodies, especially around pregnancy -- and then what happens there, at work, when there is a loss? So far, that seems to be the direction. Academia is an institution focused on the mind, and yet women are (still) valued for their bodies. What do we do with women, what do we do with their grief. I could go on and on, since I'm not very far yet. You get the idea.

Like I said, I'm doing good work in therapy. It ranges from loss to IF to body stuff to health to whatever it is in my head, and more. It's not easy, but good. I'm weepy lately, though I'm hoping it's part of the process.

I've been distancing myself from this world, I'm sorry to say, but I need to keep from dipping my foot in that pool too often. I read on my reader, I lurk. My heart is there, but my head seems to need to lead it out a little more.

I'm writing today, probably because of the date. I can't not remember. Not important ones. At the very least, I remember the season. My body remembers the time of year. The smells of late summer; the feel of the air.

Four years ago today, we had the IUI that conceived the boys.

IF was getting to me, to us. Our one last shot (so to speak) with the leftover meds. Talking about next steps we figured what the heck.

We don't know what the next steps will be. Back where we started. Only not.

More soon. Thank you for hanging in there with me.

Sending love,
S

just occurred to me

2011-07-11T22:58:00.000-04:00

How much emotion I left out of that last post. It seems that there's a lot of feeling I'm not articulating. Not yet anyway. Perhaps I am out of practice. Perhaps it will come soon.

We shall see.

That time of year

2011-07-11T21:07:00.002-04:00

(Sorry, this is really, really long...)

So, it's my birthday this week. When I was a kid, I loved my birthday, I got excited about it. I was disappointed if the weather was crappy or there wasn't much planned. it's not that I wanted some huge party, but perhaps just recognition. And being one step closer to being grown up. I don't know what I expected to be so great about growing up, but there was *something.* Maybe I just hoped it would be easier than being a kid, a teenager. It would be when I'd have all my shit together, or married or loved or parenting. Having some control in my life, maybe. The last five or seven years or so, not enjoying them so much.

Whatever.

I'm in a pretty bad mood today. There are several possible reasons, but most likely is that I think I skipped some of my pills last night. I think that pisses me off even more than the other stuff.

Anyway. C and I are supposed to be furiously cleaning up the house because, as I found out on Friday, C's folks will be coming to stay with us overnight on Thursday. How did I get out of the loop? This was mentioned months or weeks back, but somehow I never heard. Or never heard when. Nothing's getting clean. He's got mixed feelings and so do I, but I think for different reasons.

The car seems to need a new radiator cooling fan. It makes this terrible noise if I turn on the fan and the a/c at the same time. Of course, it's been June/July. Today it was about 90F, with a "real-feel" of 114. No A/C in the car. No idea how much this will cost, but I've had to cancel two different appointments to get it fixed because

There has been much drama with the dog. She needed emergency surgery in May (the day before our anniversary) for a large foreign body in her stomach. After a night of violent vomiting (4 or 5 times) and a week of nausea and lethargy, when she finally refused food despite the anti-emetic, we took her to the local city's emergency/referral animal hospital. Doc did x-rays and an ultrasound which showed that her stomach's movement (peristalsis) had completely stopped because of the foreign body. It was basically surgery or death, so, obviously we opted for the surgery. Thank you, Grandma's inheritance for $3,000.

Exactly a month later, Stella started furiously licking the carpet again in an effort to vomit, which she did 3 or 4 times in 15 minutes. Emptied her stomach. Off for an 11pm visit to the Doggie ER so find a small foreign body. $1,000 and two x-rays later they gave her fluids and anti-emetics and after she recovered from a "random" period of lethargy, we took her home. They said, can you keep her from licking the carpet? I told THREE doctors that she only does this when she needs to throw up. Hmm. They said, "Can you crate her so she doesn't lick the carpet?" sigh. Make an appointment with the Internist. This premiere facility has only ONE internist. She is out all week for a conference. We make an appointment. Stella has another vomiting episode at 4:30 in the morning, and then develops diarrhea in the days before the appointment.

So at the appointment, she runs a test (neg for pancreatitis) or two (neg for Addison's) and wants to do an endoscopy when the Addison's test comes back. But she can't because she's out of town, again, this time for a death in the family.

Endoscopy scheduled for Monday AM that she comes back. Internist calls at 11am, says procedure went great and pup was doing great. The scoping showed some areas of "sick" or "unhealthy" tissue, which, when biopsied, was friable and did not bounce back as healthy tissue should. Her initial opinion was that it was likely to be Inflammatory Bowel Disease, though a small chance of Lymphoma. 3 to 5 days for results. In the meantime, start her on steroids (pred) as initial treatment for both.

I called to check in at three days, and the doc called me back with the results. "It's good," she said, and I breathed for the first time in 3 days. Inflammatory Bowel Disease can be managed, but we'll need to find a new diet for her, one that includes a novel protein diet (like duck or venison, which she's never eaten) because the IBD is likely caused by an allergy to food proteins. So, the pred for a month and then we start to reduce and change her diet.

The pred, as predicted is making her thirsty and peeing *constantly,* and always hungry. We are taking her out every couple of hours. She is peeing all over the house. She is to be on the pred (15 mg x 2/day) prescription food, a weekly B12 shot and daily pepcid. They start her on an anti-biotic because her digestions seems to be deteriorating. I called the local vet, overwhelmed and spent a half an hour talking with her about what we'll be doing, and she reduced the pred slightly since she was doing better with all these meds.

After going through tons of paper towels, and leaving puppy pee pads all over the house (totally unused, btw), I went to the dollar store absorbent "chammy", then just went to target for cloth diapers because they are so absorbent. Floor, carpet -- they work great. We are washing diapers every day. Yes. Diapers. And we actually conversations about the color and consistency about the dog's poop.If it wasn't serious, it would be funny. Ironic, even. Perhaps.***

Somehow she makes it 4 or 5 hours during the night, though there is usually a wet spot somewhere. Fortunately, she is going through so many *big* bowls of water a day the pee just looks like water.

Stella is pretty confused, alternately lethargic from the pred and starving/sniffing out food crumbs on the carpet or under the couch or bed. We found out the other day she can fit her entire head under the couch and her whole body under the bed. Awesome.

So far (not counting *all* the food and the last consult with the local vet) we've spent about $6,000 getting the dog diagnosed and treatment begun. Thanks to Grandma (again) and C's high interest emergency credit card. Also, I never got to start looking for a job because Stella's illness began the week we were finishing grading for the spring semester. We've been constantly running back and forth to the city and the local vet, with crisis, test or consult. For the last two and a half weeks, we have had to coordinate the entire day so that the dog is not alone for more than 2 or 3 hours at a time, to try to reduce the house-peeing. Or make sure she gets her meds on time. Or try not to spend money we don't really have. (thanks, again, Grandma).

So, I would use the cc to pay for the car repair, except that I have to find a time to get the car fixed when C will be here -- that was going to be this Friday, but we will be hosting C's folks. Well, after I entertain them Thursday afternoon while he is teaching. And while I'm not following the dog around with a diaper or dragging her out into the heat to pee. Again.

*****

We had had plans to go to see C's family in the SW and go to NY so I could meet my youngest niece from across the room (don't get me started again) and my dad and elderly aunt & uncle. And B, my wonderful friend and respite. And I wanted to go to LA to see my sister and niece. Before all this, I wondered how we (I)/she would deal with the dog being boarded, but now, after all this money and time, there is no time.

My sister's daughter just had her second birthday. She is gorgeous and amazing and has recently had growth spurts, physically and verbally. And she recognizes me on the skype. Along with the foof and mew. I do come in second to my dad, her grandfather, whom she has wrapped around her finger. But that seems as it should be. I'm craving a visit. I haven't seen C's family/sisters/nieces/nephews in probably 4 or 5 years. It's been more than a year since seeing A's daughter. I've never met my brother's daughter who was born at the end of October.

*****

There have been some small good things: my brother (who has not spoken with/connected with my sister for most of his daughter's life) sent a birthday card and some stickers for nieces birthday last week. It appears that his wife had no knowledge of his actions, and did not even sign the card (he signed for all of them), but we (my sister and I) are really pleased that he finally, finally has shown some independence and understanding of the connection he has with my sister's daughter. And my sister. He's been getting therapy, and who knows? maybe it's helping. It makes me hopeful, even though I need to contain it. A very small step, but a big one in their difficult relationship.

I got an email from a dear old friend in Boston who has met a man she says may be her "soulmate." He lives across the country and a bunch of other details. I've never "heard" such words or tone in her voice from her email. Wonderful, happy, hopeful. A little careful, but so happy. She had been putting off ending another relationship, but she did it this past weekend. I, being overprotective, want to know details like how she met him. I am wary, but happy for her.

*****
Therapy is going well. I am feeling better overall, and want to start getting rid of my drugs, but I know that will take time, and I may never be without them. I don't know if it is a general sense of happy/hopefulness or what, but I am really craving baby. This birthday, though, really forces me to understand just how far away I am from that, in a number of ways. I may never raise children. I'm not ready to accept that. I don't want that. Not yet. There is a lot of work to do on many fronts. It makes me tired just thinking about it.

I tried working on the diss proposal at the beginning of the summer, but it was just too much with the dog and the car (and did I mention my feet?) and a bunch of other things. Hoping to get back to that soon. It feels really far away, too. Several of my friends/colleagues (two of whom I started with) are graduating in a month. C says I need to let that go and forgive myself and understand that everyone has different timetables. Yes, I know. Still. It's frustrating to know that this wretched adventure has not only left me childless, broke, deeply depressed, largely medicated and no degree -- yet. I started both, so very long ago. I started the degree first.

I don't know.

*****

I wish I were as bright as of this writing as I was in my last, but that will come soon enough, I guess. Meds, birthday overwith, therapy. There will be other things. I just have a lot of work ahead of me.

Thanks for being here to listen.

*** Please don't think that I'm not aware that this is what we would be facing if we -- indeed what many folks face when they -- have/had a child who is ill (and at much higher costs). Also, the whole, being on call every two hours and the frustration and the worry and the vigilance since early May are just like having a newborn -- and yet nothing so very intense and emotionally exhausting and life-altering...I don't know -- as having a newborn or a sick child.

Processing

2011-07-08T11:24:00.000-04:00

For most of last semester, I met with my dissertation adviser who was/is supportive in every way. We'd talk about what I would do for our next meeting, and I would complete it, sort of -- mostly in the hour (30 mins?) before each meeting. I felt kind of ashamed, like I should really have been doing so much more (and really I should have), but she was always pleased with what I came with, and found really good thinking and focus in what I showed her. I would leave feeling mixed -- both proud and kind of like a fraud. Like I'd gotten away with something.

One day I came clean with her (mostly) and in talking about it with her, and with my therapist and a couple of others, it was universally suggested that I'm simply processing and then getting my ideas, the results of my processing down on paper (usually) in advance of our meetings. My thinking, they suggest, is productive, I just don't work like some other folks do. I need to do a lot of work in my head, rather than on paper. Sometimes.

*****

So. Hi. For those of you who still stop by, I'd like to apologize for my long absence. Much of it has been practical distraction (sick dog, sick car, tired feet) and some has been mental distraction. Not reading, not reading for school, not reading for fun, not reading blogs much (forgive me, my friends). I guess that I'm processing. Therapy, life. You know.

So, I'm off to take care of a few more of those practical things, but I hope to be back in the next few days to share some of the (mundane?) details and some things I've been thinking about.

It's been an odd summer, I tell you. But I have been thinking about you despite my silence: So. How are you? What have you been up to?

where did the words go

2011-05-26T00:05:00.003-04:00

every time I sit down to write, to participate in a DBM writing exercise, draw a picture write a freaking word -- I just can't

The notebook closes.
The window closes.
The breath closes.

Pencil down.

I'm doing good work with my therapist. I don't want to say that "I'm getting close to something," because that doesn't seem to be the way this will work. Some of it is peeling layers, but mostly it seems to be taking bites out of things. Banging my shin into the chair and trying to figure out what will help to heal it.

Or maybe it's just a matter talking with someone in a different way. Open to some things, challenging others. Cracking the door open to see how blinding the light is. Or how bitterly cold.

How long can I go on with the metaphors?

I just deleted a bunch of crap post about guilt and grief. It's all been said before. by me. A different context this time, but still. just displacement, I think.

I have been eating constantly for the last 3 or 4 weeks. Or crying or angry. All the regular stuff, I know. Time of year, sick dog, and what-not.

Surely I am stuffing down some kind of feelings I am not ready to feel. I've picked up all kinds of tools and media to exorcise it from my body.

I pick it up. Put it down.

Not yet.

In response to Mel's post today about tornadoes

2011-05-08T16:42:00.005-04:00

(http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2011/05/mothers-day-tornadoes/)

This is my first mother's day with no mothers. My grandmother died 2 days before mother's day last year. My mother died 9 days before mother's day ten years ago. The twins I lost at twenty weeks were due (had they survived that long) within a week or two of mother's day.

Last year, my sister celebrated her first mother's day -- the one she had been working (?), trying for for 6+ years -- at the funeral of her last remaining grandparent, our maternal grandmother.

This year is hard. Moreso than usual. Beyond new therapy and anniversaries, I'm not really sure why. It's quiet. This week has been tumultuous, but today is quiet. I try to remind myself that I am very lucky to have had the kind of maternal relationships I did have. As complicated as any, but loving. I mourn them. I mourn the frustrations and challenges that come with those relationships. I know that I am lucky to have had them. I know others whose relationships with their mothers were very different, very difficult, extremely painful. Maybe that recognition is progress. Less feeling sorry for myself? Probably not.

(My father called a little while ago; there is always a lot of space when he leaves messages, thinking as he speaks. He said he wanted to say hello. He would call later today. I know that he wants to hear that I'm okay, doing something productive, or not really caring.)

I don't. Well, no, I do. But more than sad, I think, I'm feeling angry. I'm not sure at whom, though, right now. My new therapist, G, suggested writing a letter to my OB, since I was so angry at him, but it wasn't really cathartic. I tossed around the idea of writing a letter to my body, since I'm hating it, angry at it. But that didn't really get off the ground either. C and I talked about getting a bunch of cheap dishes and glassware and just going somewhere and smashing it all. Cursing and yelling and crying and all. I don't know. I'd need someone else there, either doing the same thing or just being there for moral support, or egging me on. Or I could write all the failures, body and otherwise, one to a dish, and smash it. The idea of smashing is satisfying, but I don't know if it would accomplish anything. Or how to work the practicalities. So, yeah, lots of anger, especially this morning. Now, after a nap, quiet.

Anyway.

As B said in an email yesterday, it's just a Hallm.ark holiday. Both her parents are gone now, and she's navigating new space. This is the first Mother's day without her mom, without her sons' grandmother. The first anniversary is in a few weeks. I can imagine, but only sort of.

I don't really know how to end this. Just thinking.

Mom's Day

2011-05-06T14:00:00.007-04:00

It was Wednesday, May 4.

As usual, the lead up was worse than the actual day itself, though I did find myself merged with the couch and unable to get up for several hours, despite the need to eat and do work. I found myself somewhat triggered by the Bin Laden thing; even though I hadn't lost anyone directly in the towers, I did grow up in their shadow, and my father worked in Tower 2 for about 20 years. I think on the 43rd and on the 48th floors. 9/11 occurred about 4 months after my mother's death, just as I was starting to get on my feet again. Like I said, somehow it triggered something.

Monday was an anniversary of my sister's loss. Wednesday was 10 years since my mom passed away. Today, Friday, is the first anniversary of my grandmother's death. And, of course, there's Sunday comin.

It occurred to me this week that I have no more mothers. (I have a mother-in-law, but I don't feel that way towards her, love her as I do.) And I wept. It's the natural process of things, but I wept.

No more mothers. No children. (I could say "yet," but that seems trite and let's face it, we have no idea.)

*****
I talked with my aunt yesterday, Tia, the one who addresses everything "Suzi, dear." Her birthday was on the 30th and I wanted to wish her a happy mother's day, as she is a mother and grandmother, and has been a loving presence in my life, for my whole life. We talked for a half an hour. It was so good.

Outside of catching up about Passover and family, she asked me about the boy's dates. She said that she lights candles for them, on the yartzeit, at Passover and for Yom Kippur. There are two other holidays, but she couldn't remember. :-) I told her how much it meant to me. She said that she loved me and and how important I am, and the boys are, to her. She loves me and she loves them and will always remember them.

*****
In the midst of this, my brother's wife is still experiencing post-partum something: depression, anxiety, psychosis. My request that, after flying 1000 miles to see her, I get to hold and interact with their daughter, my niece, triggered something else in SIL, exacerbating an already difficult situation. I think she hijacked his phone, his email. She apparently freaks out when anybody even talks about holding the baby, who was six months old a week ago.

She has major mood swings and freak outs over other things now. My brother is working on setting up time with a therapist for himself to figure out how to deal with all this and get her some help, too. I'm worried about all of them. My reflex is to get on a plane and go there, but I don't even know what I would do.

Sometimes it's easier to let go of that worry than others. I mean, not perseverate. Doing better. Though I grieve my brother's relationship with the rest of the family. My father and my brother went to the cemetery on Wednesday separately. It's usually something they do together. Most of my father's family is buried there, as well as my mother's (both paternal and maternal grandparents, paternal aunt & uncle, and my mother. My dad even buried some of my mom's dog's ashes along side her). My father had offered to help with arrangements for something for the boys, but we still haven't done anything. I doubt we will at this point.

*****
Overall, outside of the anniversaries, I've been doing better. Trying to work through things and feeling like there's some progress. Still with the roller coaster, which I know is normal, but really, a pain in the ass.

I bought my sister two mother's day cards (one funny, one sappy) because I was feeling like it, and one for my aunt, but just couldn't send them. I told my sister I had cards here for her, which she wouldn't be getting. She told me that of course I didn't have to do that, but I told her the truth: I was so happy to be able to get them for her. I really was. We were talking on my mom's anniversary; she had called to check in.

Despite the cards and everything else, and thinking about mother's day I shared a realization: sometimes I'm really tired of being happy for everyone else. I love my friends and family, and I'm so glad that they have families and beautiful children. But sometimes it takes work. And there's the hangover, after. And the distance that sometimes grows between the haves and the have-nots. I want to talk with them, hear what's going on with them and the kids. I initiate it even.

It's not that I resent it. I don't think that's it. It's just a whole different life, and sometimes it feels like this huge chasm. Especially on FB, where I hear about (and see pics of) birthday parties and little league games and nights off when the kids are with grandparents. And really beautiful pictures of my friends and family with their truly precious children. And it makes me so happy for them. And so far away from their lives. One day I may have that. I may not. But right now, it's really hard.

*****
So, in honor of my mothers, I am going to briefly post a couple of pictures of them, but from long ago for some anonymity's sake.

Here is my mother and me on the day of my college graduation, 20 years ago.

picture removed

Here is a close-up of my mom from the picture above.

My grandmother in March, 2010. This was during a visit from my aunt and a cousin, which she enjoyed tremendously and brought her great joy to talk about. It was a few months later that she passed away, at 92.

This one captures all three of us, in spirit at least, on my wedding day. My grandmother is helping me put on my mother's pearls.

picture removed

Did I mention that we accidentally scheduled our wedding for Mother's Day? A story for another day.

ETA: I took down the two pics that had me in them. I couldn't take down my mom and grandmother. And I think it will be nice to come across these -- two of my favorite pictures of them -- when I'm not really expecting it.

*Please don't let this keep you from visiting or commenting. Please.

who knew?

2011-04-20T21:51:00.001-04:00

Beauty, brains and morals.

http://www.dooce.com/2011/04/20/one-mother-another

Christy Turlington Burns. The former supermodel. Looking at pre and perinatal care for high risk pregnant women. A cause I could get behind.

There's a short article and a 1 minute trailer. Take a look.

*****
Real post soon. Therapy seems to be productive so far, and I'm feeling, well, more stable. Hopeful, even. The tree in our front yard that I thought was dead? Sprouting leaves and blossoms. Not even a metaphor. Remember those two tulips I posted lo these many Aprils ago? They have found a friend.

I'm trying to not read into it. I'm just trying to feel my way through effective therapy that leaves me tired, but, well, thoughtful. I' m not saying hopeful again, but thinking. Open, maybe.

This song has been running through my head. I played it a lot when my mom was sick and in the years following, but not recently. It just feels so...close these days.

Thanks for hanging in there with me.

Just saying

2011-04-07T23:14:00.000-04:00

There are a couple of new posts up on C's blog.

It's okay

2011-04-06T21:58:00.000-04:00

Well, no it's not, but I'm okay. Thank you for all your supportive comments. I kind of want to leave the comments up so when people go.og.le those sites, they can see what they're getting into. Though, I don't want to upset anyone randomly coming upon them. We'll see.

Really, they made me more angry than anything else. I had had a really crappy day. I called it "death by one thousand cuts," because it was just a series of minor but pain in the ass crappy things happening all day long. I got 3.5 hours of sleep the night before, then I got home from 12 hours at school to these comments and I was someplace between laughter, horror and anger. Pissed off. If I had been in a better state of mind when I found them, probably I would have been more upset. At first, I wasn't even sure what I was looking at.

Something that surprised me was not so much that these assholes decided to troll sites looking to share their hatred of babies and children. They were just being mean.

Who does that? I mean, the posts they commented on (at least one of them) was not right in the open and purposely hit nerves.

Who does that? Who has that kind of time on his/her hands? Who has so much hatred for people in general?

At first I wanted to set up a profile and leave a post on the forum spewing vitriol and four-letter words. C talked me down. Really, not worth the effort or, well, anything.

*****

Five minutes after I found these comments? My dad called. I hadn't talked to him in almost 10 days, and felt bad enough about that, but I just couldn't talk to him. I know he's been going through hell with my brother and his wife. I wanted to talk to him, but I really couldn't. And after all the little, pissy crap I had to deal with for 12 hours, plus this, I started to cry. He said that was fine, he'd talk to me on Thursday. And that he loved me. I held it together and just got teary. A couple of pills and off to sleep.

*****
Just as an aside, I feel like I'm doing some good work with my new therapist. It makes me regret all the time that seems to have been lost, but I"m trying to tell myself that I hadn't been ready yet. There's someone who says that when the student is ready, the teacher appears. Maybe that's it.

*****
Anyway. It meant a lot to get your support. It really did.

Anonymous can go suck it.

2011-04-04T21:54:00.000-04:00

I just opened two emailed comments on blog, 9:50pm on a really crappy day:

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "This resonated for me.":

dead babies are funny www.bratfree.com we love ded babies

*****
Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "Intake":
hahahahah you killed ur two kids ww.bratfree.com

*****

Fuck You.

This resonated for me.

2011-03-30T09:25:00.001-04:00

When is it wrong to fight for your son's life? - Salon.com Mobile

Only problem is...

2011-03-21T09:16:00.000-04:00

the hole I'm climbing out of? In my mind it kind of looks like inside of the psycho's pit from Silence of the Lambs.

But that's just when I'm feeling negative.

Sunday

2011-03-20T15:46:00.002-04:00

There is light today.

It was drizzling this morning, dark-ish, but now, later in the afternoon, sunlight through bare tree limbs, white sky.

Today winter becomes spring. It's my brother's birthday, too. Even as a little girl, I thought it was cool that this day is his birthday. The beginning of the season of light and re-birth, flowers and warmth. His birth coincided with the beginning of spring.

*****
Skype session with G went well. I like her so far. She has a grounded professionalism, and that calm that I imagine is how people used to describe me. I dove right into my anxiety about starting therapy again, and all the guilt and digging into all the crap that I haven't been able to shake for very long for more than three years. She is kind of holistic, in that way that she is aware of and embraces the connections between the mind and body and health and how the experience of infertility impacts it. She just wants to start with baby steps. Little steps. Like eating breakfast. One small thing to take care of myself.

I think I will get something out of this.

There was nothing earth-shattering about this first meeting. She didn't really say anything that hasn't been said before about the immense guilt and responsibility I feel -- the sole cause of all of this, and how I can't climb out. How can I live a life like knowing that I failed so miserably? These are things I felt going into the conversation. I didn't say all that, but I felt it. What kind of life can I lead knowing I failed at the most important thing there is? And that I continue to fail at everything else, over and over again.

*****
Talking with C today, I had some revelations. They are not easy ones, and not ones I'm prepared to share here. But I do sense a...sea change? a different perspective. Oh, the guilt is still there. But something has changed. Maybe. Something that may help me climb my way out of this after all. I may get bloody and filthy and exhausted along the way. I may not get all that far.

But maybe I can gain some footing.

Or maybe it's just the sun behind the white sky encouraging me.

Naked

2011-03-17T13:49:00.001-04:00

I'm at a loss. I'm continuing to titrate up to the therapeutic dose of my new augmentation med, but each time, it brings on those, well, those things they warn about in the black box, if you know what I mean. I'm also getting some of those lack of coordination and bits of aphasia which is really, um... what's the... disconcerting. My use of language has always been something I could count on. One thing I felt like I could do -- I could find the right word, articulate my ideas, whether for school or otherwise. Actually, I'm even my typing is, um, hampered. Hard to tell if it's depression or the additional drugs. There are times when my thinking is clearer, or rather, as C says, I seem a bit more engaged. But, god, it just reinforces my feeling of all having all these holes in my head. I even forgot to tell Dr. Shrink until almost the end of my appointment this week. He said to pay attention to it and if it gets worse, we'll stop the med.

What would be next, I wonder.

*****
I start my therapy via skype tomorrow, and not a moment too soon. I'm feeling anxious about digging through all the details, whether of my loss or past or I don't know what. Starting over again. She called to clarify about something on the intake form -- "looks like you've tried a number of meds." Yeah... No judgment implied, she was just asking about them. Something tells me I'm going to open up th computer and just start bawling my eyes out.

I worry about feeling better again. Isn't that crazy? I've had these ups and downs. I fear going up again because I fear coming back down again. Like down is the natural state. Oh, that sounds great. Down is my natural state? That just makes me want to cry.

*****
The day I started the next dose up was was a bad day. Like thinking about calling Dr. Shrink and asking him about me going away somewhere. That feeling has passed, mostly. But when I took the dog out I just got the overwhelming feeling of guilt. I've struggled with this to one degree or another since my water broke. That really high period I had the summer my niece was born? Denial. Somehow I have to come to terms with it. Hoping this new therapist, G, will help with that. But I don't think it was a passing panic like I was feeling earlier in the day. This was hardcore, horrendous, scaring the dog, weeping out loud in the street guilt.

Dr. Shrink didn't even blink when I told him that I found someone long distance with whom I would meet via skype. I told him about her qualifications (Psy.D., IF, Health/mind-body stuff, and certified bereavement counselor) and he said it sounds like she's got the approach, covers the stuff I need to work through this stuff.

He also said that most of my symptoms were not ones he associated with the med, and it makes sense. I'm so twitchy and moody and oversensitive, sometimes fine, sometimes I can't stop talking. Hello, depression and anxiety and lord knows what else. I hate the way I feel. But you knew that.

*****
I know the last few posts have been difficult and raw. I've hesitated to spew all this stuff all over here. Yes, I know, it's my blog, I should write what I want. But, as I've withdrawn from a lot of people, this is where all these thoughts and fears and insecurities and bitching come out because I don't really feel like I can talk about these things with folks, or want to lay this stuff on them. My family worries. I talk to C and I talk to my sister, mostly. I talked to B recently for about 3 hours, which was, god, like I have another sister. But I know people worry. I guess I would worry, too.

So, I've hesitated here, too. My new diary. To friends who understand a lot. But it still feels very naked. I know that I seem to have become the one who didn't make it. The DBM who hasn't moved on for one reason or another -- no subsequent pregnancy, no adoptive child, no resolution. Not yet, anyway. How's that for optimistic? I'm the DBM on every TV show, every movie of the week.

It seems that once again, I haven't asked for the help that I've needed. I didn't demand people do what they should. I didn't seek out people who could *really* help me. And my sons. Failure, again, it seems. Even C doesn't know what to say anymore.

There's a part of me that feels like this new therapist, this new approach can help me climb back up. Sort through the guilt and the trauma and everything else. So, you know, no pressure. It may be that just having someone who understands, who can put words to things, to talk with me about phenomena and feelings of loss and grief around IF and loss. And forgiving my body. Forgiving myself.

So, yeah, I still hesitate to write all this down. I feel crazy. I feel like there's no good way to respond. I feel like a freak show. Three years out, now, and everyone else has moved forward. Integrated things. Grieving still, but integrated. Like, the only reactions to all this dreck are, "wow, that's fucked up," and "man, how is it that she is still struggling, still up and down? What else is going on with her that she hasn't been able to deal with this?" Rational or not, that's the hesitation.

And yet I can't seem to write this in a notebook. I seem to need to share it.

So: Hey, everyone! Here's all the crazy in my head! Look out!

Re-cycle

2011-03-13T17:52:00.000-04:00

Over and over again and I am three years ago grieving, except not just the boys, but my hope for family and connection and achievement and meaningful work.

I am tired of all the pills. All the false hopes and the "adverse" side effects (normal and humiliating) and crying, and frustration from everyone I know. Trying to be hopeful that this combo will work. Knowing that if they do, then *that* indicates a closer approximation to exactly how fucked up I am. And wishing I could just dump them all. And fearing what that would do to me. Physically and emotionally.

I'm tired of watching everything I want go down the drain because I have no guts, no strength in my legs to put one foot in front of the other. I'm tired of busting my ass for a bunch of students who, for the most part wish they were somewhere else and who know they have a job after graduation so this is just one more hurdle for them to carelessly jump over. And who does the work? Me. Trying to be fair, trying to engage them.

I want to run away. I'm tired of cycling through all the various feelings again. Grief. Loss. Infertility. Fear. Hope. Doubt. Loss. Grief. This cycle is three years old already. I'm tired of it. I am left behind. Special as I always wanted to be. But as I always feared.

I feel like I have no footing. I have nowhere to go from here. Up? Until something fails again. Until I fail again.

My therapist has her work cut out for her, but I wonder if even she can/will want to deal with all this crazy. Have I mentioned how many times I've cried, just fearing that I am too fucked up for her?

I want to go away. I don't know where. I don't know what good it would do. Most people I love are far away (please, no guilt). Those nearby have little clue. Or maybe I'm just tired of going through all this again with them. I want empathy. Understanding. I don't want to have to explain.

I don't care about the dissertation right now. No ambivalence. I don't have any idea how to spproach it or even get started writing about it. All I can write is this crap.

10 years since my mother's gone. The world is literally shaking on its axis. Men openly and politically discount and hate women. Capitalism openly gouges for needed services.

So much pain. So much loss. We chip at the great wall with a little spoon. we bloody our knuckles for what?

That is another rant for another day.

I feel like I did 2.5 years ago. More functional maybe. But still.

I'm really tired of it.

No words

2011-03-10T23:51:00.000-05:00

No. Fucking. Words.

The P17 shots that help keep women from going into pre-term labor has been branded by a pharmaceutical company who has decided to raise the existing cost from $10 to $1,500 a dose. That's about $30,000 per pregnancy. Fuckers.

Thanks to Tash for posting this.

Intake

2011-03-10T20:39:00.002-05:00

Between spring break and the flu, I've been watching a lot of TV. Well, let's face it, I watch a lot of TV anyway, but that's besides the point. One of the networks was running marathons of the TV show House, from recent seasons. One stuck out for me in particular. It was season 6, episode 2, when he's at the psychiatric hospital. I couldn't shake this scene between house and his psychiatrist (played by Andre Brau.gher).

Nolan: Why do you value your failures more than your successes?
House: My mother caught me masturbating… to pictures of her mother.
Nolan: Can we get past these cut deflections?
House: Successes only last until someone screws them up. Failures are forever.
Nolan: So you accept that fact. You accept that there’s nothing you can do.
House: Okay, I accept the fact that there’s nothing I can do. Now, what can I do?
Nolan: You acknowledge failure, and you move past it. You apologize.
House: Wow. Powerful things, these apologies. Get someone to jump off a building and you say two words and you move on with your life. Hardly seems fair.
Nolan: Is that the issue? You caused him pain. If the world is just, you have to suffer equally? [House lets this sink in as Nolan laughs slightly.] You’re not God, House. You’re just another screwed-up human being who needs to move on. Apologize to him. Let yourself feel better. Then you can learn to let yourself… keep feeling better.
http://community.livejournal.com/clinic_duty/33247.html#cutid1

*****
I can't do it.

There are some failures that can't be made up for. I don't believe I have to suffer forever my sins, for my failure to do the very best I could, what I knew my children needed. I thought I could take care of everything. People failed me. But I failed them. I didn't demand what I needed -- better care, better doctors, time off from school, more frequent doctor visits.

I don't think I did the best I could.I know I didn't.

I can't make up for it. I can't simply apologize.

I don't know if I can ever forgive myself. Or, perhaps I can forgive myself, but

I don't know that I can ever trust myself or my body again, and

I don't know if I can trust anyone, any doctor, provider, to take care of me.

I don't know if I can trust anything, anyone.

I don't know how to exist in the world anymore.

Connect with people. Create.

Trust others. Take care of others.

Be taken care of.

*****
I'm trying to get back into therapy to move on. Get on with my life. Completing the intake form for the therapist was eye opening, too.

Hindsight is not 20/20. Not in this case. There are moments of clarity, but so much that I just don't know -- how things happened, how I behaved, reacted. Of what I actually needed.

I just don't know.

RIP

2011-03-09T15:11:00.000-05:00

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

This poem is called The Laughing Heart. It was written by Charles Bukowski, who died 17 years ago today. It came toward the end of a collection of Bukowski's work, given to me during my poet years in Boston by my brother, then the English major.

Bukowski's work tends to be more raw, graphic, hard-edged -- I don't know how to describe it, and the poet in me winces at the broad, generic terms I just used. But I was more about Sharon Olds, Mary Oliver, Anne Sexton, Lucile Clifton, Donald Hall, Jane Kenyon. I flipped through the pages of book, and found myself enjoying more than I thought I would. Connecting. And then I came across this poem at almost the end. I think it was the second to last in the collection.

I was working as an administrative assistant in a consulting firm, and doing a lot of writing. I had a good, well-paying job and overall a good work environment, though nothing thrilling or particularly challenging.

The copy that hangs on the wall of my cubicle at school is not the same one I posted on my cubicle wall at work, though it is beat up, with thumbtack holes and bent corners. My favorite lines: the gods wait to delight in you. I was writing all the time, and while not at my peak, I was feeling good, like I was ready for something, though I didn't know what. I would stop, occasionally and read the words.

This was before I met C and before my mother became ill and before we moved to the midwest and before we couldn't get pregnant and before we did.

When my mom got sick, I was working a terrible job, in a place I hated with mostly horrid people. I kept this poem up on my cubicle wall.

there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.

It was hard to read it. "Yeah," was usually my reaction, when I thought about it. "Right."

When my mother died, and when the Twin Towers came crashing down a few months later, this poem was still up on my cubicle wall, a new construction. It as a new office for an old, old company. Completely the wrong place for me. Demeaning.

it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.

"Shut up," I thought.

And yet, soon, I found a new job, a new career path where I knew I fit in. Where I could do some good. Do something important and do it well.

C and I got married. He was finding his way. He got into graduate school. We moved halfway across the country. It was hard. It was really hard and really lonely.

I don't know where the poem was. In a box or drawer somewhere. In the book on my shelf. In the back of my mind.

I decided to try graduate school, the only way I could really teach, really reach out was to have a degree. I found my way to my department. I made a new copy of the poem. I posted it on my cubicle wall.

your life is your life.
know it while you have it.

And then we started trying to conceive. And failing and losing and failing and losing. And then we got pregnant with the boys.

you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.

And then we lost them.

I don't know if I took the poem down for a while after our loss. Like the "hope is the thing with feathers" pendant, sometimes I just couldn't bear it.

The semester I got my own section of the course I teach, the semester we were going to try again, finally, I began to hand out a copy of this poem to the students in my class. Once I did it one class before an exam. Once I did it at the end of the semester. I talked to them about making their own meaning from it, and the meaning that I took from it.

The work we do is hard. Life is hard. It can be really, really hard. But you can do it. You can get through it. You can do more than get through it.

your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

*****
The gods wait to delight in you.

The poem is still on my cubicle wall. A few inches from where the the pictures of my nieces, were posted up until a few weeks ago. Even had to come down for a bit. They sit in my desk drawer.

It's been a few really, really dark months. Dark like I didn't think I would see again. And, even though I knew I was lucky, I could see those bits of light flickering, oh, it has been dark.

Yesterday, for some reason, I decided to look up the post I had written exactly 3 years earlier, just to see where I had been. Here it is:

Saturday, March 8, 2008

Broken Record

I hate this.
It's all bad.
This is so stupid.
I can't believe this is my life.
My babies are dead.
I want them back.

I have nothing else to say.

*****

I am not in that place. I have not been in that place, despite the darkness; it's been a whole new flavor of hurt. Its context has broadened, and deepened. Grown more confusing, despite the simple kernel of truth. Of pain. I need help sorting through all the vines and roots.

I think some of the new medication is helping, though I've been fighting the flu, so it's harder to tell. But I'm feeling better. I emailed the therapist in LA who will skype with me. We will start on a trial basis soon.

I'm not claiming sunshine and light. In fact, it's one of those great, gray rainy days, perfect for tea and a book, curled up with a cat and a blanket. Hope is too much, too dangerous.

But we will see, I guess.

*****
The Laughing Heart

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

Out of foolproof ideas*

2011-03-08T14:18:00.004-05:00

This blog is shifting. Changing. I don't know where I'm going, but I guess that has to be okay.

I think I"m going to try a trial run via skyp3 with the LA IF therapist (if she's willing to) since I'm still having trouble finding folks around here. Might be time for a new name for this place, too. We'll see.

In the meantime, here's a song (and video) I like and which suits my state of mind (of course). Hope you like it, too.

Crap, can't get the image to fit. Here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlxB9zGH8GU

Here are the lyrics:

No words, My tears won't make any room for more,
And it don't hurt like anything I've ever felt before, this is
No broken heart,
No familiar scars,
This territory goes uncharted...

Just me, in a room sunk down in a house in a town, and I
Don't breathe, no I never meant to let it get away from me
Now, too much to hold, everybody wants has to get their hands on gold,
And I want uncharted.
Stuck under the ceiling I made, I can't help but feeling...

I'm going down,
Follow if you want, I won't just hang around,
Like you'll show me where to go,
I'm already out, foolproof idea, so don't ask me how
To get started, it's all uncharted...

La la la-a-a-a.
Oh-h-h.

Each day, countin' up the minutes, till I get alone, 'cause I can't stay
In the middle of it all, it's nobody's fault, but I'm
So lonely, Never knew how much I didn't know,
Oh, everything is uncharted.
I know I'm getting nowhere, when I only sit and stare like...

I'm going down,
Follow if you want, I won't just hang around,
Like you'll show me where to go,
I'm already out, of foolproof idea, so don't ask me how
To get started, it's all uncharted.

Jump start my kaleidoscope heart,
Love to watch the colors fade,
They may not make sense,
But they sure as hell made me.

I won't go as a passenger, no
Waiting for the road to be laid
Though I may be going down,
I'm taking flame over burning out

Compare, where you are to where you want to be, and you'll get nowhere

I'm going down,
Follow if you want, I won't just hang around,
Like you'll show me where to go,
I'm already out, foolproof idea, so don't ask me how
Oh-h
I'm going down,
Follow if you want, I won't just hang around,
Like you'll show me where to go,
I'm already out, foolproof idea, so don't ask me how
To get started, it's all uncharted...

[ These are Uncharted Lyrics on http://www.lyricsmania.com/ ]

*copyright Sara Bareilles 2010

Achoo

2011-03-04T21:26:00.002-05:00

My dear, wonderful and giving husband has given me the cold/bug he had last week. It's years since I've had a cold -- or at least a bug lasting more than a day or so, but this is the end of day two and does not appear to be leaving any time soon. I used to say that my work in a day care center and middle school gave me a rock solid immune system, but this time, it seems to be gravel. And, boy, am I whiny.

So, the work I wanted to do, the writing I needed to do, the grading I promised to do has not been done.

I worry about the writing because my progress this semester has not been what it should. Of course, if I come back with something brilliant at the end of spring break (starts Monday) maybe I'll be given some leeway. Let's hope.

*****
I called and left a definitive message on therapist's voicemail. Thanks and goodbye. Dr. Shrink has called a couple times to let me know he's waiting for call-backs from some local OBs and women's health professionals. Unfortunately, the first name he came up with is a rec from my RE, an MSW who has been helpful with some of his clients.

The MSW degree doesn't really bother me, although there is weirdness re-creating the connection with the RE and I wonder about experience. I also wonder about the complexity (or lack thereof) of my issues, and where the focus needs to be. Do I go for the IF specialist who is experienced with IF and general depression? Or a psychologist versed in depression and experienced in treating women with IF?

It seems to tied together I can't seem to parse out what's going to be most critical to getting me healthy and functional.

*****
I'm also concerned about my diss proposal. I think I'm going to go back and focus on the questions I was asking a couple years ago for that project I did for class. I need to really think about it and lay it out. I think I would be able to do it with relative energy and depth if I can just get started, get past the sneezing and whining.

Lovely thing about being sick is that it reminds me of being depressed: no energy, weird appetite, foggy brain, poor concentration. Hard to tell if the meds are working, with the cold, but I'm ready to be done with this. All of it. I have some thoughts about therapy and treatment, but I think I've reached my capacity for sentence formation.

Thanks again for all your comments and support.

The next day

2011-03-02T22:37:00.002-05:00

I don't have as many details (or maybe the patience to -- titrated up the dose today) as I thought. Let's see.*

Essentially, she implied throughout the session that I was using the loss and infertility and grief to get in the way of really dealing with my depression (a distraction, like bitching about my brother, or getting off topic). I tried to conceptualize for her that the experience of the infertility and loss and grief seem to be enmeshed (I can't think of the right word) with the depression, and that the only way to get through the depression was to try to parse out what was what and how one affected the other.

But of course, I'm just the depressed client, what do I know.

She even told me about a couple she treated who had tried for maybe 10 years to have a child and got a surprise pregnancy, made it all the way to delivery and the baby died. And she treated them. And they got pregnant again and treated them through the whole, fraught second pregnancy that did result in a living child. (See? I can treat you too?!?) I said, she was very lucky to get pregnant a second time if she had been infertile for so long. The chances are infinitesimal. Yes, she was very lucky, said my therapist.

During my session, I tried to communicate to my therapist the experience of losing not just the child, but his future -- made harder by seeing those his same age going through all the milestones I thought I would go through with him. Caught up in the discussion, I said, "Imagine your children had died at age 3, but you see all their friends going through elementary school, high school, prom..." And she said, starting to cry "I have to stop you there, because you're starting to make me angry. My daughters, at age X and X+3 watched their father die a horrible death and I was a widow trying to take care of two fatherless children." I made some comment about me losing my mother, too, but of course as an adult it's different (actually, I agree with that). I don't even really remember much after that. As I left, she asked if I would be back next week and I said I didn't know.

To be honest, I felt a little bad about bringing up something that would be so painful for her and maybe it was a little too much. But as I took a drive to burn off some anger and sadness, I realized something and called her. I said, "I'll be in touch in a month to let you know what my plans are. I also called to say that I realized, after our conversation, that it seems that you believe your pain is (greater/more important/more significant) than mine, and I believed that was not necessarily the case.

I can't imagine being a widow with two small children. For Christ's sake, my friend B was days away from the very same situation. With smaller children. But I think that, aside from the arrogance (common in the public mind, I think) that there is not complexity of experience and pain in the impact of IF (certainly none she needed to even look into), my therapist believed that her pain was worse than any mine, and I didn't believe that was true. Can you say medalist in the Pain Olympics? Guess what? I felt my dead child against my leg but was too drugged to do anything about it. I delivered my dead sons and held my mother as she died a terrible death. What medal do I get?

I hate that.

So, the message from my therapist from yesterday? I didn't want to listen to it, and C didn't want to, so my sister volunteered and I let her. She emailed me the message: My therapist still thought we could still work together, and hack away at the work we had to do and was saving my spot for next week.

Holy. Christ.

*****
Finally got to talk to Dr. Shrink, whom I gave the session highlights and told I was actively searching for a new therapist. I told him I felt like we crossed a line and that I wasn't comfortable gong back. He didn't argue or challenge. He said he'd check with a couple of people locally. "There's got to be someone who's got some experience with this around here."

I'm still not sure about, well, much -- how I've been feeling, thinking about myself -- is it "simply" depression or IF complicating things or what. Don't know how to communicate anything, emptiness, hopelessness, helplessness, fatigue, poor concentration, poor sleep -- what to tell whom... it's easing, maybe, I think. And I can eat now. Maybe that's the drugs. But what does that say about my mental health in general?

Oy. C keeps telling me that I can let it go for a little bit. I don't have to constantly think about it. He's right. But it's hard.

*****
Well, I guess I had more to say than I thought. Thanks for listening. And for all your kind, supportive comments on my recent posts. It means a lot.

*Yes, yes...more than I thought...

breaking up is hard to do

2011-03-01T19:24:00.003-05:00

Broke up with my therapist today. Boy, was that ugly. Really Ugly.

The only satisfaction I have right now is knowing that I was right: she had not done one moment of research on infertility and its potential impact before I sent her those links last week. So much for respecting your client's experience. And informing yourself about it, too.

She thought she knew all she needed to know about it.

There's far more to tell, far more, but I'm exhausted.

She just called my cell, too, but that -- along with the story -- will wait for tomorrow, I think.

That's fucked up.

2011-02-26T20:14:00.004-05:00

I guess there's really nothing to say. Nothing else to say.

This is why I haven't posted about all this stuff.

Hope vs. Resignation

2011-02-26T14:35:00.001-05:00

It's a new day. And it pretty much sucks.

After many long hours and conversations with C, it has come to my understanding that it's possible that what my therapist has been trying to do is get me to accept that we may never have a family. For the record? I have always acknowledged this, but because I do want a family I want to try to focus on doing everything I can before I give up and the hope for a family and resign myself to a different kind of life. I'm not saying "resign" as necessarily a bad thing, but what has to happen when all our options and attempts and chances have run out.

What I don't understand is why it's so important for me actively embrace this idea that we will not have children when there *are* at least a couple of options down the road for us. Clearly, right now, we are not in a place to pursue them, but why is it so important to accept and resign before the fight is over? Or, at least, over in my eyes.

C has, on occasion, asked me where that line will be, when I will know that I am done and we are done and have run out of chances. Will it keep moving? I don't know the answer. What I was hoping to get out of therapy was some exploration of what we've done so far, what I might be up for and not up for. How do integrate these THREE different options into our life, rather than be strapped down and made to accept that we will never have a family ever.

Unless that's what she and Dr. Shrink believe and want me to get. That IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN FOR US. That I am too fucked up and we as a couple are not fit to be parents.

I talk to my sister, and she says you know, there are still options out there and if you want kids (and she knows how I want kids) there are avenues to pursue when you are ready. You don't have to accept being childless YET. At some point it may come to that, but doesn't necessarily need to be right now.

Or, as C has also asked, am I going to go around and talk to shrinks and REs and adoption agencies until I find one who will tell me, "Sure, I can help you"?

I don't think so.

*****
When my mother was sick, we talked to tons of doctors. The ones at SK in NYC, cancer doctors all over the country. We all did research we all asked questions until it became clear that not only was her cancer terminal, it was terminal in the very near future.

Where I come from, you do everything you can if you really want it. I curse myself not infrequently because of the way that I handled my/our infertility, pregnancy and the process of loss because I often feel like we didn't do everything we could. I was prepared to risk infection and blood clots and god knows what else if it meant holding on for another month or more to try to save Jacob. It never occurred to me not to until conversations with C made it clear to me he feared for my life, and not without reason. And so the conversation changed.

*****
I used this analogy of how I see this situation with my therapist and all these people who are trying to help me. Well, at least my therapist. I apologize if it hits a nerve or is offensive to you, but, for me, it seems to illustrate what's going on.

If, for example, some random woman, Jane, were to discover she had breast cancer, her first thought might be, "Oh, my god, I have cancer, I'm going to die." Not unreasonable.

After expert tests and examinations and meetings and second and third and fourth opinions, the doctors come to the consensus that the tumor is not small, but manageable in that a lumpectomy, (possibly mastectomy) and a round of chemo, and a round of radiation should eradicate the cancer and help her live a relatively healthy, long life, as the doctors tell her. All she can think is, "Oh, my god, I have cancer. I"m going to die."

She is paralyzed with fear, and despite the pleading of her family to get treatment she does not. Think of all the people who love you, your grandchildren -- don't you want to see them grow up? "It's hopeless. I have cancer. I'm going to die."

Her doctors talk to her and tell her that this cancer, while serious, is treatable, and with careful observation and management after treatment, she can likely live far past the clinical 5-year marker. Of course there are no guarantees, so Jane is still in despair. "I have cancer. I'm going to die."

Her pastor comes to her and tells her that she has options, that despite the cancer, God has provided a treatment that may very well give her her life back. "We cannot know what the future will bring," says her pastor, "but we can try to live our life to the fullest, to do everything we can to live and live well."

But she does nothing. Family and friends, clinicians, religious leaders all say, "we have no promises, but we have hope, we have knowledge that may help us save your life."

All Jane can think is, "I have cancer. The only thing we know for sure is that cancer can kill. All this talk about "maybe" and "likely" and "trying," it's all pointless because I have cancer. I'm going to die."

And she does nothing to treat the cancer. And, just as she predicted, she dies less than a year later, knowing she was right. She had cancer, and it would kill her.

Heavy-handed, I know. I'm sorry.

To me, it's like saying, "You're infertile. Sure, there are treatments, but they might not work and that might make you really upset, so you should just accept that you are going to live your life without children. You need to accept this without trying anything else."

To me, a good therapist will help me understand what's happened so far, accept it and forgive myself and the (mediocre) doctors who were involved. Help me integrate that past into my present and my future. He or she would help me explore what my options are now, what the possible outcomes are and how I need to consider handling those. Or if I could handle them. How I can strategize living the rest of my life, given the limited options that I have.

Rather than making me accept that this is my fate and I really need to give up now to save myself heartache later. It feels like all the professionals in my life are wanting me to be Jane and let go of any hope, despite the (albeit small) possibility that we could have a family.

Maybe it's the inverse of my story: Jane says, okay, this is small, this is manageable. I've talked to doctors, I've talked to survivors, I've talked to folks for whom treatment didn't work and I want to push as hard as I can so I can live my life. And the doctors all say, well, yes, there are treatments, but they might not work. You have to accept that they might not work. And she says, I know that. But I need to have hope that they might because I want to live a long life filled with my family and friends and I want to see my grandchildren grow up.

And the doctors just say, Really Jane, we know that your cancer is in the early stages, and we could try to treat it, but it might not work. You need to know that, and maybe you should just put your things in order and enjoy what's left of your life.

That's kind of what this feels like, too.

*****
The question of all questions for the infertile: When do I/we give up treatment and decide to live childless?

It seems like some have made that decision for me. Is it lack of experience with infertility and loss? Or is it just that I am SO very messed up, we are SO unfit or SO old, that even working to put things in order to get to a place where we can build a family -- biological or not -- is just that bad an idea and no one will say that?

I have to say, I really wonder.

*****
Or maybe I should just let it go.

When do you let go of something because the chances are bad? When do you let go of something because it will hurt so much if it doesn't work out?

Jesus Christ, have I -- with the intractable depression -- with my feelings actually on the surface -- with that primal drive left wrought and bloody in a labor and delivery room -- have I proved right all those people who believed I was just a fragile little girl, incapable of dealing with (any realities of) life?

Maybe I am.

Leaves me very few choices, I think.

So far*

2011-02-25T10:04:00.003-05:00

today is not terrible. Not bad, actually.

It's snowing and cold, which is a disappointment after the warm weather we had a week or two ago. Kind of feels like my state of mind. Up and down and all over the place.

After a week on the super-duper folate supplement, I called Dr. Shrink and told him how I was not only not feeling better, but possibly worse. Up and down, a lot. Or rather, okay and then terrible. A lot.

He asked if I had a family history of Bipo1ar. Yes. My maternal grandfather. (and lord knows who else.) He said that in some depression that is resistant to treatment, there may be other things going on like (sub-clinical) bpd. According to the research I've done, the hyp0mania just looks like normal, active, energetic, productive -- functional. And the depression is the depression. Started me on something for it, about 10 days ago, but it's the very low beginning dose so I have felt nothing.

No, not nothing. Headaches and poor sleeping. Sadder, if that's possible.

*****
After my appointment with Dr. Shrink I had an appointment with my regular therapist, which went poorly, then tried to meet with my adviser who, after several delays told me she double booked our time. Fine. Teary.

Really tired of being teary.

Dr. Shrink had offered me the folate supp, saying that we may be moving on to another (more intense) antidepressant, the kind that is referred to only by letters, the one that begins with M. When I asked him, wasn't that kind of drastic, he said, "You're telling me you find no joy and pleasure in your life." He wasn't wrong.

Two days later, couples therapy, in which my regular therapist tried to communicate to me her concern about my state of mind, but did so in such a way as to make me feel even worse. Even C conceded this. She was worried, she said. Worried that my next steps my be ECT and that would have even more major implications on my life. Worried about how depressed I am.

"What can I say in response to that? Oh, okay, if I knew it was that serious, I'll get right on that." I asked her again and again, what do you want me to say? I don't want to feel like this, but I don't know what to do. It's not *just* grief* it's not *just* infertility it's not *just* depression. I'm going to therapy, I'm taking meds that are doing lord-knows-what to my head, I'm getting up and teaching when I have to, meeting when I have to, trying to work (and failing) I don't know what else I can do.

What do you want me to do?

I'm also failing my friends, feeling distant, far away, isolated from everyone who knows and loves me -- who reach out to me and I can't seem to reach back. My colleagues are pleasant enough, but I feel like a freak, disconnected -- talking too long, or not enough, or not appropriately. or so it feels.

And if I want to adopt, I can't be in this state of mind, I mean, "I wouldn't give me a baby." And she said it, too. "I wouldn't give you a baby. I wouldn't give you a baby with you like this. I wouldn't give you a baby.

Three times she said it. After I already acknowledged it.

And I hate my body, I say. And she says, "well, you've put on weight."

Yeah.

*****
C said there were practically tears in her eyes during this session. Can you say "in over her head"?

I called Dr. Shrink and said I had concerns about my therapist, who, like C, said, "Well, are you looking for someone who has had the same exact experience as you so they can understand how you're feeling?"

Seriously?

NO. I just don't want to have to educate my health providers about the impact of infertility and loss on those experiencing it. And I told him that. Both of them. (Gosh, THAT must be why I hate my body. The weight. From all those cookies I ate trying to swallow all those feeling of gut-wrenching horror and grief. Oohhhhhh.)

Dr. Shrink said he'd get in touch with my therapist to get her perspective.

So, I did it anyway. I tried to educate my therapist about what it means to be infertile. About the lived experience of my nightmarish birth experience. I sent her links to resolve, and Mel's place, and I gave her a Word document of the posts I did for the anniversary account of those 10 days.

Tuesday was my next appointment. I gave her a copy of Mel's book and the McCracken book. She had read and went to the links I sent her. I asked her for her response to what I sent her.

She went on and on about how perinatologists and neonatologists, they try so hard, wanting to give patients hope, but you know, when there isn't any really, and you know, with births and epidurals, you really never know how it's going to go, like this one woman I know who labored so fast she didn't even have time for the epidural. "Did she deliver a living, healthy baby?" I asked.

"Yes."

Really.

And, my brother, he just wanted to help so much, he didn't know what to do. "Except he left the day the babies were born." Well, we all grieve differently.

*****
We got into some discussion where she is trying to convince me to let go of all my dreams of motherhood, since treatments so far didn't work, and I was (evidently) such a mess and that of course i couldn't ever adopt.

And somehow we got to the question of what kind of reaction did I want from her, after reading the account. And I said something like, "I don't know... 'I'm sorry you went through that' or 'What a terrible experience' or even 'wow, what a story.' " You know, it's not like i was looking for her to weep and tell me god I had been through hell and how did I go on living and no wonder I'm so depressed.

She said, "Well, in all this time we'd been working together, I thought I'd already communicated that."

All I wanted, expected was just a small acknowledgment. A reaction, like, after you see a powerful movie for the second or third time and you just think, "wow." That's all. (C's response was, "did she say anything supportive at all?"

I had already handed her the McCracken and Ford books, so as I was leaving, I asked for them back. She gave me a funny look, hesitated and asked why. I said something like I didn't think they were relevant or that she already knew what she was going to know, so just give me the books back. More funny look, more hesitation, and she said I'll give them back to you in our next session.

Fine. Whatever.

*****
I talked to my sister after, while sobbing, and she said, "Okay, that's it. We're going to find you someone who can help you."

And she has been working to help me find a therapist who has some actual knowledge/experience with infertility and might be willing to work with me long distance, like through skype or something.

I talked to one woman in LA who might be good. And talked to another who seemed totally, like, Wow, you need more than over the phone therapy. And I've reached out to a few friends in the mid-west and east coast. So we'll see.

If you know of anyone wonderful, I welcome the suggestion. Especially in SW Ohio. Where they tell me that I was doomed if I wanted to reproduce at age 39 or later.

*****
Friends drop a line. They can see I'm not doing well by fb or just send me emails I can't seem to return. I'm weepy. These past couple of weeks have actually been among the worst. And it's not simply the loss. I feel damaged. broken. Mentally. Physically. Like I've ruined my career. My brain is so messed up from my biological history of depression and 2.5 years of meds that only sort of work. Or maybe I was messed up to begin with. Maybe there's bipo1ar to add to the mix. And maybe after all this I shouldn't be a parent, ever, anyway. Or maybe I never should have.

I called Dr. Shrink this week to tell him about my sleeping (waking at 4-6am) issues and that I think I may feel worse. He was quiet, and asked all the right questions, but I feel like I'm bothering even him. Frustrating. I can't even do this right.

I started out a superstar in my program and now the chair won't even look me in the eye. I'm disconnected from my work, afraid to jump in. Quick to anger, quick to frustrate.

I know C is sad and worried. My family is worried. I don't know what to say to them.

*****
But I do have good hours. Good chunks of time where there is even some laughter. And I think, okay, maybe the new drugs are starting to kick in now. Maybe I'm getting better. Maybe just sorting out the fertility and family stuff will give me enough of a bounce that I can start living a little more.

That would be nice. But just like I had that doubt when folks said Mom's tests were headed in the right direction, I get that weird, disbelief, distrust in my gut.

But that would be nice.

*****
The snow has stopped, mostly, and there seems to be sunlight pushing through.

The dog snoozes.

And it's time for me to take my pill.

***
(ETA: Today was not terrible. Not all that hopelessness I've been fighting, though I didn't interact with anyone but C. Writing helps, I think. Thanks for listening.)

*really long post.

What does it mean to be a woman in the 21st century?

2011-02-18T19:36:00.002-05:00

Disclosure: I think defunding Planned Parenthood is horrendously scary, horrifically offensive and yet another attempt to silence and condemn women for trying to control and protect their own bodies. Planned Parenthood provides not just abortion services but contraception, disease prevention and many other critical services for women who have no other options for health care because they can't afford insurance.

In the debate in the House of Representatives (hah) Congresswoman (D) Speier from California was moved to share a very painful, personal moment in service of this cause. For those who could not or did not, she was able to stand up for them and say you will not silence me and you will not judge me for what I needed to do for me, for my child, for my family. This makes me want to move to her district. It makes me want to be brave like her.

Truthout had a brief column about her testimony, in which she speaks not just for women, but for every single American.

http://www.truth-out.org/revealing-her-own-abortion-rep-speier-criticizes-conservatives-failing-empathize-with-women67903

Make sure to watch her statement and check out the last paragraph for the article. I found it articulated what many of us in this community--- no, check that. I found it articulated what I find so important about the right to choose. That most women are intelligent, sensitive individuals who can (with or without their families) make grave decisions about their bodies, their lives and the lives of their families.

*****
Planned Parenthood also posted highlights from the debate (3 mins from 3 hours), which I also found moving:

<br><br><br><br>mkes

Augmentation

2011-02-12T14:00:00.000-05:00

Cymb.alta with Depl.in:

http://www.deplin.com/HealthcareProfessionals,Folate

http://www.deplin.com/HealthcareProfessionals,Deplin

My clotting disorder is MTHFR C677T.

Holy shit.

WTF?

2011-02-10T13:14:00.001-05:00

I give up.

Crossroads

2011-02-07T09:20:00.001-05:00

It's not simply the loss. Or the continued infertility.

It's what comes next.

*****
It's pretty much looking like we're staying here for another year. C has been offered the visiting prof position again and thee job search came up with, well, not much in the way of options.

So. If we're going to try IVF, it's probably gotta be this year. So, we shell out Grandma's money and get a consult and try to go to the top place in NYC. Except I'll need some baseline testing (day 3 stuff), so where do I do that? Who do I go to to see if I can actually sustain a pregnancy? Who do I see to do that?

Should I actually get pregnant, I'm gonna need a lot of physical and emotional support. I figure I can find a specialist, but what about day to day? As is the nature of grad school and living/working in a college town, people come and go. My dearest friends, the kind i'd lean on are far away, and others in my program who I might be able to call on? I don't know that they'd even be here next year.

Of course, if I asked, I know I could stay with family in NY or LA. But that would mean being 1000 miles away from C. At least. And leaving this whole life on his shoulders.

Then there's tthe possibility of adoption. Which we are both open to, but which scares the he'll out of me. Finding the right march, the right relationship, hoping that pregnancy is healthy, and that the birth mother, whom I'm asking to make this enormous sacrifice doesn't change her mind. I know the chances are slim in that regard, but i've also learned that chances don't mean much til you're on the wrong side of them.

Besides, considering our grad school debt, living in a rental, year to year i.come, possibly moving in a year and our primary support systems in transition, *I* wouldn't consider us good candidates. We need to start researching anyway, and try to find at least a support group. To start.

*****
I'm in so much flux. I look at pictures of my newest nieces and my heart aches. I was blowing kisses via sky-pe with the older one the other day.

I just get...flashes of emotion: joy, fear, anticipation around...I don't even know. Baby feelings, I guess.

And anger. And envy. And regret.

Maybe I'm starting to realize that this may be it for us. I've read others and how they've come to understand it and, despite the grief, they seem to embrace it. Maybe I'm reading into it, or misunderstanding them. But I'm not there.

*****
I need to do something. Or any opportunity we have may pass us by. I think that would be the worst thing of all.

I can't seem to figure out how to shake the learned helplessness. And to feel hopeful again.

Hopeful is feeling a bit far away at the moment.

2011-02-06T20:34:00.000-05:00

I just don't know how to reconcile it all.

Open

2011-01-28T18:16:00.002-05:00

This post started out as a comment to a beautiful post written by an amazing woman and DBM I'm glad to call my friend.

*****

This is beautiful, B.

So very relieved and glad that your friends' sons made it to the 32-week milestone. (I remember what a far-away dream that milestone felt like at 20 weeks.) My sister has talked a little bit about that realization that the baby is here and (she) is okay . She recently talked about making plans for pre-school and realizing that she's here to stay.

Your description of the classroom in winter, and understanding the poem in a different way was wonderful. Without you even trying, life...spring revealed itself to you. It seems, though, that it wasn't just that you saw it, but you were present enough to see it. Some part of you was open to it. Indeed, a precious gift.

*****

My loss happened in the depths of winter, exactly a year after Natan, and I dreaded the coming of that first spring. The light I saw was dim, like the first gray light of sunrise, maybe. But it never got past that. I had always loved spring, blooming with color and life. But there was the due date. There was the death of my mother 7 years earlier. My sunlight was like that at the Arctic Circle during the darker days of fall, as the days disappear.

It wasn't until a year later that I began to actually see light. About 6 or 8 weeks before the birth of my niece, I found light and hope. She still holds a special place for me. Somehow, when I see or hear or think of her, it makes me happy, makes me feel hopeful.

For a little bit, anyway. there always seems to be a bit of a hangover, letting go of the love that does not belong to me. Or, rather... I don't know how to say it. When I hear my niece say, "Mama?" and my sister says, "Yes, little one?" my heart fills and my eyes sting. For her. And for me.

But I go back for more. My sister's child, my brother's. B's amazing son, S's little boy and girl. B's two little boys. J's girl and boy.

I find myself drawn, even, to others' children. C and I are working on figuring out what will come next. Somehow, there is always something else to focus on. Stuff to get done, plan, work on. I'm not strong enough yet to venture out and do research, make appointments myself. My sister has offered to help me find a real IF therapist, or do anything she can to help with the process, which I greatly appreciate. Part of me feels like I need to be able to do this myself, if I'm going to be able to get through a pregnancy or the adoption process. Maybe just some help getting started. We are both (C and I) still struggling to talk about the details of our experience and figuring out together what comes next.

I still don't know. I try to be open, hopeful that joy -- that deep joy -- will come back, and not just in the domain of family-building. Not in a constant way, but here and there... to be anticipated.

Is love alive?

2011-01-03T01:16:00.005-05:00

I couldn't embed it, so I'll just link to the old post with the video.

Sometimes I feel like this...

They say that things just cannot grow
Beneath the winter snow,
Or so i have been told.

They say we're buried far,
Just like a distant star
I simply cannot hold.

Or like this...

This is my winter song.
December never felt so wrong,
Cause you're not where you belong;
Inside my arms..

But more and more, I find that I feel like this...

I still believe in summer days.
The seasons always change
And life will find a way.

(~ Sara Bareilles with Ingrid Michaelson)

Just not in December. Or January 3 and 4.

And then the new year begins again.

What will it bring?

Long winter's nap

2010-12-25T00:55:00.005-05:00

I'm sorry for the previous post. I'm sorry I spent time tonight looking for information online (info I couldn't get from my doctors). I'm sorry I put both you and me through the writing and reliving and recovering from the content of that post.

I'm going to go take the dog out, and I'm going to take a couple of pills and go to sleep for a very long time.

Thank you, all, my friends, for helping to make this all a little more bearable.

To paraphrase what my sister said on FB tonight, whether it's with Christmas cookies or fortune cookies, may you be happy.

Of course I did

2010-12-25T00:20:00.003-05:00

So, for Christmas, I thought I'd torture myself.

(You may want to just skip this one if your tolerance is low, or if you're in a really good mood.)

Here's a link I used as the instrument of torture. NOTE: it's not for the squeamish

http://books.google.com/books?id=os_NQOiTu_4C&lpg=PA27&ots=BV9Klg2aCi&dq=fetal%20death%20compression&pg=PA28#v=onepage&q=fetal%20death%20compression&f=false

According to this text book, cranial sutures overlap around 96 hours after fet@l death, or 4 to 5 days, it says.

Collapse of the skull happens around 1 week after.

It gets worse, but I'll spare you.

*****
So, it's no wonder my cervix was twitchy. I had a dead baby inside me for at least 4 or 5 days when my water broke.

The ultrasound reports from the university hospital used terms like "collapsed cranial sutures" and "overlapping cranial sutures." And there was no fluid around him to speak of.

I almost asked my stupid ob for an ultrasound when I had my regular appointment. When my dad was visiting. Both because I felt, oh, like I was a different shape than I had been, and wouldn't it be awesome for him to see his grandsons? He got to hear the heartbeats. That would be good, I thought.

Stupid OB brought a tape measure with him (as I was about 18w 3d at that appointment, with twins), but he didn't use it. The first heartbeat was easy to find. The second took a couple of tries. There was a 10 beats per minute difference in the heart rate that day.

Similar to the day my water broke. I started to breathe a sigh of relief, but then, Dr. Coldfish shook his head, No, that's an echo of the first one...

Fuck.

Denial Denial Denial...

The night before my dad came to visit (the day before my appointment), I was up til almost 3 grading. And then I couldn't sleep. And then the nausea (which had been fading) seemed to come back, especially on my way to go pick him up at the airport. I made myself puke a little, but it didn't help. Nothing seemed to help. I tried to nap when we got home -- we were all tired -- but I couldn't. I dozed for maybe half an hour after getting almost no sleep the night before.

I took some tyle.nol pm or bened.ryl to help me sleep. It did, but a little bit.

Only a couple days later did I realize I had probably had a panic attack. I had had a few before.

*****

There's nothing really to say.

I need to let it go. I need to remind myself I did the best I could, even if that wasn't very good at all. I need to remember that I didn't get very good care, and was not up to advocating for it, apparently.

I need to forgive myself and let go.

In many ways I have. I usually do.

I guess I still have a little ways to go. It's anniversaries that make it hard.

Still seems so much like a dream.

*****

And I guess I was right. One of those terrible days, sitting in my hospital gown. Well, I that's it. There goes our one chance.

At least it feels like it today.

Countdown

2010-12-23T10:44:00.002-05:00

I went out to get coffee this morning, after the dog let me sleep in before her morning outing.

I went out to get coffee this morning, the first time I've left the house before, well, noon at least, all week.

I went out to get coffee this morning, in the raw cold, the sky a whitish gray, grayish white.

And when I got back in my car, I looked at the clock; at the same moment, bells chimed: 10:00 am.

Two days will make it three years.

*****

Each anniversary is different. Each year has been different. It's kind of like BC/AD. The grief integrates, changes, morphs, fills cracks, breaks through in different ways. My understanding of what happened changes. My hopes for the coming year change, grow, shift. I find the hope that I had lost before getting pregnant -- really pregnant -- that lostness seems to be drifting in and out. Hope for parenthood gets more and more hazy. Or maybe it's my vision. Clouded.

But it still stings. All of it. Everywhere.

Just as I feared, I am not the same. I don't know that I want the old me back. Maybe I just want three years back. Or maybe just those 20w 5d. When I wasn't consumed with nausea or worry, I was filled with joy. Hope. Hope for wishes come true.

*****

I don't wish anymore. Not really. Oh, yes, I wish for a snow day, or a winning lottery ticket, but nothing important.

The old me is gone. The new me? Well, she's stronger. Strong enough, anyway, I guess. Though, awfully tired. Some days, she's normal, like anyone else, moving through errands and grading papers and trying to do whatever else needs to get done to m. Like anyone else. Except not really.

It's invisible to most people, I think. Though I sometimes wonder what people think when they look at me, listen to me kvell over my darling baby nieces. (She loves kids, talks about if/when, but she's gotta be 40. What's going on there? Why doesn't she have any?)

*****

Two days begins the 10-day journey. From where to where? Young to old? Hope to resignation, maybe. Filled up to emptied out.

*****

Hope and joy. Peace. It's what the season is about, isn't it?

Where do you find it?

Salient

2010-12-14T17:23:00.003-05:00

I just read this post by Jennifer Lawler and, given this time of year, find it...well, salient. Compelling.

Depending on the event, I can often remember the date and the day it happened. We landed in this town on Tuesday, Aug 14, 2003. First coffee date with C was Monday, Dec 7. I also remember when I got braces, when I left for college. The date of my father-in-law's birthday.

My pregnancy was full of dates that were etched in my mind. Are etched? First hpt. Beta. Ultrasounds. Hospitalizations. Milestones. Three years out, of most dates I'm less sure. December sticks though.

I'm almost done with school for the semester. Just 19 papers to grade. Within the week I will be on vacation. My sister has suggested C and me taking one or two overnighters out of town. Maybe someplace that will take the dog. Or giving. My therapist suggested baking goodies for folks who do good. The volunteers at the animal shelter or vet. The admin and student workers who keep the department running. Our sweet neighbor with whom we chat while the dogs sniff or yap.

Virtually everyone I know will be out of town for a good chunk of the break. This is the first year that I have not had a particular distraction. The first anniversary. The second. The laparoscopy. C out of town for the holidays. Cycling. That project that took two months to get through.

This year, I was hoping to enjoy some quiet. Get the house cleaned up (oh, the laundry...) and have some fun or enjoyable outings. I'm feeling a bit haunted though.

My therapist keeps coming back to school -- seems to think I'm not really into getting the degree and it's affecting everything else. Could it possibly be another anniversary? Feeling my place in the world shifting as I seem to become the aunt (perhaps later the mother).

My brother* finally got a bunch of pictures of him and his wife and the baby up on one of those pic websites. I found it drawing me closer to him, to them. The love is building, which I knew it would. But somehow it hurts more. I am the aunt, kvelling. But I am always the bridesmaid, or so it seems. The more I talk about my wonderful family, the more I feel it.

Yesterday, I was chatting with a colleague, showed him a picture of my father with my sister's daughter, grinning from ear to ear. He is struggling with my brother, still. They are trying to figure out this next part of life. My sister told me that my father's girlfriend's grandchildren (you got that?) call him Grandpa.

And I think it's wonderful. He loves it. He loves all of them.

And he loves me. And C. And still aches for us. But I am not part of that.

And not part of the fertile world. I found out on FB that an old friend of my brother's is a new uncle. The birth? 8 and a half months after the wedding. I don't know how long they were trying. I don't know anything. And it's none of my business. It has nothing to do with me.

When I bring up being infertile, sometimes my therapist tries to remind me that I'm going to keep coming across this, that the world is fertile, and I've got to get used to the idea.

Usually I do. I mean, usually I'm okay. Just like it's a pain in the ass to find a left-handed desk or left-handed scissors, I've gotten used to the fact that I am not part of the privileged fertile population. Apparently, though, I don't have the right to lament it, either. I'm not saying that I sit around moaning. Just that, well, when I come across a reminder (especially from a stranger or distant acquaintance), there's an "oh, yeah. of course. of *course*. And that's it, mostly. But somehow, it seems, I'm supposed to be happy that I can be an aunt, a very important role.

It IS very important, but it is not the same.

I honestly wonder if I just have to figure out how to deal with all this on my own. Maybe I'm done with therapy for a little while. I don't know specifically what I need help with. Or maybe I need it more.

*My sister came across a posting (it popped up on her email provider) on one of those on-line question and answer sites. She is sure it was my brother asking how to deal with my SILs possible PPD and possessiveness over the baby (at 2.5 weeks old). How he felt so blessed to have this child, wanted to share her with family, but didn't know how to deal with SIL. If only he could have said something to us. "Just give us a little space. SIL is having trouble adjusting, both hormonally and emotionally." He doesn't know my sister saw this. I wonder how things might be different for all of us.

Tears

2010-12-09T20:46:00.005-05:00

December is harder than I thought it would be. Looking at the comments on Tash's post, the names, the love. Remembering. And so many names.

They just keep falling.

*****
I'm supposed to be writing about Foucault in relation to the impact of loss on women in academia. Discourse analysis is not happening. I was going to write something about a plan for a project, using Foucault's ideas, but that's not happening either.

The loss is not just about my babies dying. It's a lot of it. some writers have talked about the conflict women in academia face when they consider starting a family during their doctoral process or their search for/beginning tenure-track jobs. There's a mind-body conflict: the biological clock versus the tenure clock.

In a project I did last February, I talked about the possibility exploring the potential change in world view for women like me, in academia and with late pregnancy loss. Several women I've talked to have expressed differing ways of integrating their losses into their lives and careers.

I wonder if it's more about determining how much of one's (my) identity is tied in with motherhood/potential motherhood/loss and what changes (or doesn't) over time. How I once saw myself as a mother -- in the future or in the past versus how I see myself as an academic, a professional.

Who am I?

How do I understand who I am now?

Foucault talks about normal versus abnormal; the power of authorities over the mind and/or the body. How do I understand who I am now?

He talks about how societies, authorities, doctors determine what is right, what is normal. Doctors are one of the ultimate holders of medical knowledge: we are taught that by looking at you by a variety of means, casting their "gaze" upon the patient, they can determine what is wrong with you. And what needs to be done to fix you. Your own contributions as a patient are less important.

*****

During my pregnancy, it was determined I was high risk. Advanced maternal age. Clotting disorder. My OB had to work with other doctors. He didn't like it. He was passive in treating me. If I wanted care for a problem, I had to ask for it. Beg for it. Demand it. Despite need, some doctors thought I was merely being emotional. Despite need, my insurance carrier denied coverage that would enhance my well-being. I sucked it up.

When my water broke, the nurse at the hospital made me wait to see a doctor ("She thinks her water broke.") for at least 15 minutes. The radiologist was unavailable. I would have to settle for second best, an educated guess from the doctor on call (annoyed his holiday was interrupted) until the next morning.

Days of strangers examining me in the most personal way. (I think I lost count at nine.) Asking the same questions. All except the neo-natologist resident, who showed up (looking exhausted -- it's been a bad few days, she said) after two days of requests to talk with her about the possibilities. My family and I asked questions, and she did answer them, gravely. New words, new conditions to be explained.

After a week, when we determined that all hope was lost and that I would deliver my twins at the local hospital, we geared ourselves up and went. My OB had said he would set everything up. Already in my hospital gown, IV in my arm, and Ativan in my veins, the nurse came with apologies. The lawmakers determined that the hospital couldn't help me that day. The next hospital I went to needed me to sign a form that said I had considered my options for at least 24 hours.

*****

The room I was put in was small. Not enough room for my husband and family and doctor. All around me heartbeat monitors echoed with the healthy rhythm of other people's babies. Normal pregnant women about to give birth to normal healthy babies. All around me. The nurse kindly turned down volumes after I asked.

*****

The pharmacy delayed getting my labor-inducing drugs for 6 hours because they doubted the doctor's orders. The epidural was in after the fourth try. But it didn't wholly take. Instead, they gave me drugs that would distract me. That would mostly knock me out.

I started the day with one doctor, ended it with another to whom I don't recall being introduced.

I have little memory of the delivery: it's like a very bad dream, complete with a spotlight piercing darkness. Horrid images. Lots of blood. Strangers invading my body. More, and more deeply.

A transfusion, said the doctor. You'll need two units of blood.

****

I called the OB with a fever one week after delivery. The fever went away with a Tylenol, but left an infection that required surgery.

Six weeks or so post-partum, I received he pathology report for the placentas of my dead babies. I had had an appointment with my OB, but forgot to bring the report. I told him that I read through it, and thought I understood some of it, but obviously, I wanted to discuss it with him, hear his thoughts.

He said, "Well, yes, of course...lots of big words in that. And I did go to medical school..."

Two and a half years later I have not gone back to him.

*****

Almost three years past these events, and I think I begin to understand the experience in a different way.

We tried for two years to have a child. We almost did. It was what I wanted more than almost anything. But what about my studies, my potential career? How do I think of the world, of my identity as a person, as a woman without this? Or, as a woman who basically failed at having a living baby. Could I succeed at it eventually? Could I succeed at anything?

*****

A year and a half of sadness, guilt, no answers. Still, there are virtually no answers.

And being treated like...well, a body. To be dealt with. To be fixed. Some folks were kind. It seems though, when I tried to get answers, for the most part, it took pushing. Or it took physical and visual examination of my body. And responses like, "if only we had a crystal ball."

The doctors who were supposed to be helping me to finally have my twins could barely help me in losing them. Could barely help me in trying to understand.

*****

This is something which makes no sense. That is what the grief counselor said. What many folks have said, trying to help.

It just pisses me off. I want answers. Even though I know that knowledge doesn't exist.

*****

What about the way that I was treated? I had to push and push to get test results. To get them explained to me. To get someone to commit to some answers. Risks.

I only found out after the fact that one of my doctors considered me to be at "dramatically high risk" for pre-term labor, as noted on one of my appointment reports.

For most of the ten days between my water breaking and the delivery of my dead or dying sons, I learned more about the practice of medicine than I ever wanted to learn.

Despite their high status (as Foucault describes them in The Birth of the Clinic), medical doctors apparently seem to have very little definite knowledge. Everything "depends." In my five years of trying to have a child, only one of the many doctors I met with admitted that medicine is as much or more art than science. There are few definite answers. Medicine, it seems, is postmodern.

Doctors are human. They have egos and insecurities. They seem to assume patients would not understand, or would not be interested in knowing, the details. Why did I have to push so hard to get information that I had a right to know, that may have affected my choices.

*****

I was medicated out of my own ability to advocate for myself. I was acted upon. After the delivery, a nurse gave me a sponge bath before taking me back to my room. She changed the linens, rolling me this way and that. I vaguely remember it. Mostly I remember being without will. I let her do what she needed to do.

I gave in. My body was no longer my own.

*****

In addition to the loss of my sons, I lost my faith in any so-called authority. When my mother became ill six years earlier, I learned the importance of advocating for yourself and getting information as possible. It wasn't easy.

Being a grown woman, with a variety of life experiences -- achievements and losses -- I had already learned that there are few things one can depend upon. Somehow, I still believed in medicine.

I still go to doctors, though I try to see them for what they are: human beings with fallibility and not nearly as much knowledge as our society would like to believe.

*****

In developing my comps exam responses, I found confirmation in the literature that there was an enormous surge in the importance of pregnancy and motherhood in the media: TV shows, news shows, movies, commercials. They all implied to one degree or another that a woman was not complete without a child.

In the academy, commitment to one's work may be questioned if there is suggestion that motherhood may interfere somewhat with one's pursuit of degree or tenure.

The literature suggested that there was an implicit (and sometimes explicit) demand that a woman choose between family and academic career. Certainly in considering that only 27% of full, tenured professors in four-year colleges are women (with children or not), professional gender equity is still not present. What does it mean to be committed to one's career? To be committed to one's family?

The myth of the superwoman who can do it all seems to live on. And at the same time, there is strife between those who choose to stay home and those who choose to work. Or who need to do one or the other. To be a woman and/or a mother and/or a professional seems to be a lose/lose/lose situation.

You can't please all of the people all of the time, but, apparently according to the culture, you should try.

*****

I tried to perform a discourse analysis on several posts another blog, but don't feel confident in the practice.

My situation, my loss, is abnormal. Only about 1% of pregnancies end without a live birth. And yet, my story, the interaction with my doctor(s), my worries about my own responsibility in the loss, my interaction with the doctor about my body (not my self), seem if not universal, then common. At least where I live. The information shared with me, about my body -- or need to ask for it, seemed to separate the two (body and self). The social workers and counselors were kind, generally. The doctors were generally kind, but somewhat withholding of information. They were in charge, sort of. The kindness rather seemed like an afterthought. Discomfort with the situation made them quiet.

*****

I'm still learning the central concepts Foucault put forward, but I am sensing it all over my own story. And, to some extent, it changes the way I talk and think about it.

Power. Knowledge. Power-Knowledge relationships. Power over the mind. Power over the body. Discourses of the body, of what it can and can't do. Discourses. Authority. Normal/Abnormal.

I'm still working it out.

Company

2010-12-08T01:25:00.001-05:00

Tash over at Awful but Functioning posted her thoughts on the passing of Elizabeth Edwards, this morning. Another grieving mother.

Do you match?

2010-12-07T13:17:00.004-05:00

I got the following email from my friend, B, about her cousin's baby who needs a bone marrow transplant. (Her husband, by the way, is doing wonderfully since he received his new heart almost 2 years ago. As good as new. :-) )

*****

Hi There,

Below is a link to a newspaper story about my cousin Joe. His infant son was recently diagnosis with leukemia and he needs a bone marrow transplant in order to survive. I ordered a kit to be a donor and just completed it. It was easy and painless. I thought maybe you could forward it to others you know who might be interested in joining the bone marrow donor registry. Thanks

http://montgomerynews.com/

also:

http://www.montgomerynews.com/articles/2010/12/02/springford_reporter_valley_item/news/doc4cf6f66071a6b716798703.txt

In addition here is a link to his web page with caring bridge: http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/justinwichner

Flying Colors

2010-12-03T17:25:00.002-05:00

I defended my comps yesterday and passed with flying colors. (Isn't that a great expression? "Flying colors." So visually evocative.)

Anyway, all the agonizing and self-flagellation was apparently in vain because the preparation I did to defend what I said in (and clarify and expand on) my papers were satisfactory. I was so nervous, but once we got started it was almost fun. Only got through three of the five responses, and the deliberation was all of two minutes. My adviser was grinning ear to ear. He said it was one of the best defenses he's attended in several years.

*****

There was a glitch, though, in that I was supposed to have the defense on Monday, but it turned out that for a variety of reasons, only half my committee would be able to be there -- so it was CANCELED. Well, postponed. Four hours before the appointed time.

I had a visceral reaction, like ptsd or something. It felt kind of like it did the first day I was supposed to deliver the boys and they sent me home even though I was already in the gown with the IV in my arm. What? But I'm ready. I've gone through the agony of deciding to do this and preparing to do it and What?? I have to put it off?

It wouldn't have been so bad, but then I went shopping instead and got overloaded with Christmas at the mall. That combined with the glitch... Oh, and the $165 speeding ticket I got on my way to said mall. 63 in a 45.

*****

I'm exhausted and am taking my adviser's advice by taking it easy this weekend. I'm anticipating ordering in Chinese food for dinner and napping and sleeping a lot. I still have some stuff to do to finish an incomplete so my comps can be official, but it shouldn't be too bad. Stella slept on me for 2 hours last night after we got home from celebratory drinks. We are all feeling a bit relieved, I think.

*****

But I did it.

Wow.

random-ish

2010-11-22T00:14:00.003-05:00

I'm starting to open to the idea of not finishing this degree, but I have to get through this part of it, and I'm really struggling to do that. Every time I open a document to get through a couple of papers, to review my exams so I can prepare for the defense. I get that frozen clutch around my throat. Am I trying to sabotage myself? Probably.

I honestly don't know what else I would do. I don't even know what I *would* do with this.

Also, I've been feeling a lot of pregnancy/loss sadness. Maybe it's more pregnancy. just sort of sitting around and realizing I'm feeling something familiar. Yet painful.

Sad, maybe.

Maybe I'm just anticipating.

*****

I don't even know what I was going to write. I expected that there was going to be major crying this weekend. Instead, I woke up to a migraine yesterday. I have PMS, too.

Most of the people who took comps with me have (of course) successfully defended. I don't go for another week. Right after the holiday.

I have a lump in my throat.

Maybe I'm just overwhelmed with everything.

Craptastic

2010-11-21T16:44:00.002-05:00

Mel from Stirrup-Queens posted an excellent salve for getting through the holidays, and she includes a little note to carry in your pocket, should you need a reminder.

I hope you know that I'm here, too. Ready to listen if you need to bitch. And really, it makes me feel better to know I'm not the only one just trying to endure all this. Seven weeks til the holiday season is over.

November: Catching up

2010-11-17T00:03:00.005-05:00

It's a hard month. I do that calendar thing, where I connect dates and smells and air quality and my mood and state of mind.

*****
Sorry it's been a while. I got through writing comps, crying as I handed them in. I was overtired and convinced they were horrendous. I was up and down the next few days. After I shared my concern, my adviser read through them and agreed it wasn't my best work, but they were "conceptually strong," if a little thin. I needed to fill out my ideas, support my work, bring my scholarly voice to the table.

But I do understand, now, the huge milestone I've just gotten half way through. I was sort of panicked, not sleeping or eating well in the weeks before.

And, of course, the arrival of my newest niece. I crashed for a day and a half, and woke up ready (more or less) to focus on work the next day. I have moments, hours, where I feel connected and love for her, I want to buy her soft, cute things. But there is difficulty between my brother, his wife and my family. She seems to be entirely resistant to sharing this child with us. My father lives maybe 10 miles from my brother and SIL, offered to help, to bring food. Never got to hold her until she was 10 days old. Only after my sister and I gave my brother a hard time.

They took the baby to southern CA for four days for SIL's cousin's wedding when the baby was two and a half weeks old. They got approval from 2 pediatricians. My sister reached out to them. Volunteered to drive the hour so they could spend a little time together, so she could meet the baby. No dice. In the past, SIL has resisted my brother going anywhere without her. I assume there was no way she'd let him go with the baby for an hour. And she seems to hate my sister, based on previous experience. Despite attempts to bury the hatchet six months ago, it's still rough. My sister was pretty hurt, too.

Of course, the fact that my brother and SIL are fighting indicates that at the very least, he is attempting to stand up for himself. In the first week, he had to compete with SIL's family just to get to hold his own child.

*****
All this makes it hard to be joyful. And it's not about deserving, or ease of reproduction or anything like that.

My sister sent pics of her daughter as a little black and red ladybug. The sweetest little ladybug you have ever seen in your life. My reaction, reflex was that ache in the belly, the love for the sweetness. I even got a twinge of that for my brother's baby girl. It's there -- I know it is.

But all this makes me feel resentful. Sad for my father. My sister echoed my fears that we are going to drift apart as a family. It sucks to validated that way.

*****
So my dad is going to LA to be with my sister and her family for Thanksgiving. We planned to stay here for the holiday, what with the new baby and our over-protectiveness of the pup. And I still feel like I'm recovering from writing comps. Like everything I pushed aside to prepare for/freak out about comps has come rushing back.

It turns out to be a good thing that we are not traveling for the holiday, as I will be defending on the Monday after. I have a ton to do to prepare for that. A ton to prepare.

*****
C is in the midst of the job hunt, so we don't know where we'll be next year. This forces us to put aside plans for family building, as we don't know what resources we will or won't have.

I'm having trouble getting back to work to complete my comps defense, and the other stuff. My therapist keeps observing my apparent ambivalence about completing my program, getting the degree. It's so tied up in pregnancy and grief, I really can't tease apart what issues are professional and what issues personal. It's too entwined. Hope, work, success, failure, pain, grief... and then trying to initiate a project based around constructs of womanhood, motherhood, personal and professional goals, and (potentially) loss.

I'm wondering, again, if this whole experience hasn't been contaminated by trying to have a child, by the loss and grief. If that pull for a child hasn't ruined my professional focus, acuity. Today, in therapy, I admitted that that pull comes first. I would put everything aside for a year or two to build our family, and then go back to my (professional) work. Child. Then work.

*****
Also, I had a particularly difficult class on Friday, which makes me feel even less effective as an educator, an academic. And I have to be there, I have to teach 3 times a week. And I wonder how much I really want to deal with this for the rest of my career. What is it that I even want to teach? I know what I want to explore, but how can I translate that to tenure?

I know what I enjoy doing, and what crap I hate doing, just from having a variety of jobs before I found this path.

C has said that he just wants me to be happy. To find work that satisfies and pays a salary of some sort.

I think I have a story to write. Others' stories, too, perhaps. Not sure what it is, yet. But what can I do for a *living*? Work that leaves me satisfied, at least some of the time.

And what about parenting?

One of my dear friends came back into town to defend her dissertation on Friday. It was so very good to see her. I'm so proud of her, and all she's accomplished. All the work and stress. And she's so good, as a mama, as a professional, as a friend. But, there's something else...also, I don't know. There's that wish for accomplishment, I guess. Maybe some envy. Work. Family. I know it doesn't come without hard work.

Maybe it's just recognizing, again, what I want.

*****
I've been resistant to writing all this here, because it's not directly related. Though, I guess, this is life after. Writing makes me feel better, so I guess I'll come and spew occasionally.

I've been thinking about you all, as we enter this season of loss. Isn't that something? For most people it's the happy, stressful holiday season. But this is the time of so many of our losses. I'm glad to say we are not traveling at all this season. We will need the money for (hopefully) C's job talk travels, but neither one of us is feeling the joy of the season. Not even enough to fake it. I wonder how long it will take to have that carefree, celebratory mood. Maybe not carefree (I keep typing careful), but to really enjoy it.

So, we will have a quiet few weeks together. I am considering trying to find something to be grateful for each day for the next few months (at least), lest I get too morose. Today, it was a warm, safe space to come in from the wind and rain. I guess that fits in more than one way.

Thanks for stopping by.

S

She's here

2010-10-26T18:43:00.000-04:00

I'm an aunt again. My brother's daughter, Talia, was born this afternoon. Everyone is healthy and safe.

My brother, of course, handled the announcement as clumsily as possible, send my father a text message to the waiting room. Thankfully I had already planned out how I wanted to hear the news, from my sister.

I haven't the faintest glimmer of joy for them . Not yet, anyway. Still hoping for that.

Now, I have to go finish writing my comps.

Remembering...

2010-10-15T17:58:00.006-04:00

Joshua Spencer, Jacob Rhys, Callum, Caleb, Maddy, Serenity, Noah Doodle, Talia Doodle, Jessica, Peyton, Jacob, Liam, William, Henry, Charlotte, Paige, Hannah, Gabriel, Silas, William Henry, Natan, Thomas, A, Finn, Devin, Angel Boy, Ames, and so many more whom I have gotten to know through their wonderful, loving parents.

May their light go on...

Onward

2010-10-05T23:08:00.003-04:00

Kate from sweet|salty shared this at her local Walk to Remember. I found it so moving. It says so much.

So much.

*****
Another mother joined the club this past week, losing her sweet twin boys.

The heartbreak goes on.

And so does life.

On and on.

Rusted Wings and Bluebirds

2010-10-02T23:00:00.004-04:00

(Yes, I've been listening to the new Sara Ba.reil.les album.)

Thinking it may be time to fly -- somewhere else, or nowhere in particular.

I'll let you know.

S

(Thanks for sticking with me.)

I'm really tired

2010-09-27T12:52:00.001-04:00

of feeling left out.

Just another birth announcement in the department. Didn't even know they were expecting.

The second "new daddy" in the department in a month. C's former adviser is pregnant with #2. I know of at least one more imminent birth, assuming all has gone well with the pg thus far.

I'll be using the side entrance for a while. No need to further torture myself with pictures of storks and beaming parents. Let the skulking begin.

What happened to all that progress?

Yeah. Still here.

2010-09-27T00:40:00.002-04:00

Feeling better overall. Looks like comps are on their way. My students seem to be a nice enough group. C has officially begun the job search. Possibilities are on the horizon. Generally hopeful and positive

But I'm still struggling. Trying to be social. Everything still feels like an effort. My SIL is about 5 weeks away from having a child. I am dreading it. Isn't that terrible?

I'm trying to be positive. Hoping it doesn't happen until after comps, though, just in case. Next appointment with the pharma isn't for another 10 days or so. I was thinking I would just try to keep things the same, but I'm so emotional. And my body reacted to the 2ww like I was pg. *That* was fun. Which way do I face in the shower? Which shirt do I wear?

Picking fights and feeling angry, too.

And feeling really sad. It just sort of washes over me.

Here and there.

Better, overall.

Tired, though. Of all of this.

Aren't you glad you stopped by?

Apropos

2010-09-22T11:32:00.004-04:00

This is something I've (obviously) been struggling with. I'm not there, yet. I'm still resistant, my symbolic garage packed to the gills.

But I get it.

Oops

2010-09-19T15:09:00.001-04:00

Today was the baby shower. I totally put it out of my mind.

Well, not totally, but I had it in my mind that it was next week for some reason.

No gift from me. I'm sure I'll be hearing about this at least 2nd or 3rd hand.

Awesome!

A New Member of the Club

2010-09-17T15:37:00.003-04:00

Dammit.

A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from one of my students saying that she was going to miss class because her sister had to deliver her baby two months prematurely. I checked in with her the following week, and her sister was doing okay, but they didn't think the baby was going to make it, as she was having trouble breathing.

Surely, I thought to myself, at 32 weeks, this baby would make it. Not much to worry about, I thought. (For us, 32 weeks would have the dream gestation.)
.
.
.
.
I checked in with her again, today. The baby passed away last week.

Dammit.

*****
I sent her links to GITW and the Stirrup-Queens blogroll. Told her that I had been through something similar and would be here if she ever wants to talk.

And now I'll let it go. I don't want to become some creepy stalker/teacher. Don't want her to feel any pressure.

It's all so... I don't know. Life goes on. And so does loss. My student, at what, maybe 20 years old, has lost the innocence of the idea that, at some point, you can count on getting a baby at the end of a pregnancy.

Or maybe I'm projecting. Still. She is certainly affected. Her whole family is.

And I'm so sorry for that.

Flashbacks

2010-09-12T22:45:00.002-04:00

Today, three years ago, my beta had more than doubled in the required 48 hours: from 568 to 1354.

In case you couldn't tell, it's been a rough week.

*****
I tried, again, to read some of Alexa's (from Flotsam) book, and it's just all too familiar. I just realized my body went into similar, familiar...places.

There's a spot in my chest that just...aches. Like it's been...pierced, or stabbed, by something small but sharp. Just a few inches deep. I feel it when I breathe.

*****
Her description of her reaction, of her experience with the doctors when things start to go really wrong, just getting through bedrest...

My entire body is clenched. It's all so familiar. I'm up to chapter 7 or 17 or something, but I don't think I can go on. Not for now, anyway.

Have I mentioned how similar our experiences were? our reactions, feelings -- even the same jokes. Our anatomy scan was scheduled for the same day, too, I think.

It's great writing, but I think I need to be done for a while.

*****
Things here have been relatively good. I'm functioning, mostly. I'm teaching a nice group of kids. I'm planning to take comps at the end of October -- nothing like waiting til the last minute, huh? At any rate, decent functioning. Laughter.

Some things bother me. I get up and I'm fine and then something whacks me in the face. I deal, it's okay. But, damn, it's tiring.

So, yeah, some things are difficult. Just being social, worrying about stuff. Getting work done...yeah, well, not doing great. I'm missing my two dear friends who moved out of town. But I'm taking Stella to the dog park. I'm doing laundry. Teaching. Even some mentoring or just helping out with a few of the new instructors for my course. It feels good.

I have a colleague who is also IF, and we talk about it -- quite a bit actually. Sometimes I just want to talk about something else. Which is weird for me.

*****
I've been thinking about being pregnant again. Not that I expect it to happen, with or without help, but what it might be like. I've looked at some old emails from that time, lo these many years ago.

It seems to me that there needs to be *some* denial that something could go wrong. Vigilance, but hope? Alexa mentions this in her book, about how the lows were SO low, but the highs were just SO high. Those moments she describes are like moments I had, too. Not many, but enough. And so good.

But I don't know that I could do it again now. C has begun the process of applying for a tenure-track job, and there are several opportunities that could land us in a state where insurance covers all of IVF costs. There is no telling, of course, but given the opportunity to try again, given stability on all fronts, is sooo attractive.

But how do you do it? Many of my friends in this terrible club, including my own sister, have gone on to have a living child (or two). I have followed the accounts of panic and denial and the whole "mind-fucked"-ness of it all. How do you bear it?

*****
I may post a couple of emails I sent from that time. Just to share some of that time. I don't even know why it seems like I should, why I want to. I don't know.

I hope some of you are still around. I have been quiet and a terrible commenter. I am not even keeping up with friends who do not live in the computer. I think about you folks a lot. Hope you are well.

I'm going to try to write more. I need to for school, and it just feels good to post, even when it's like this. The stabby pain has retreated some.

What are you up to these days?

Three Years

2010-09-07T23:40:00.005-04:00

Three years ago tomorrow, September 8, I told my dad I thought the cycle had worked. It was at my cousin's wedding, a gorgeous day, beautiful ceremony, beaming bride and groom.

It had been two weeks since the IUI. I didn't even use the P-word, even though the pee-sticks couldn't get any darker. I still have one in my nightstand drawer. Everything else from that period is in C's office or at the community thrift store.

Oh, and all the emails from that period of time, conveniently labeled/foldered for easy access. The joy -- tentative, as the pee-sticks grew darker, as the betas came in and doubled beautifully, the potential ultrasound...two sacs, two heartbeats...

So much to look forward to. I want that again.

I'm trying. Trying to look forward. Working on it.

I had to share this

2010-08-23T18:21:00.003-04:00

...although I'm probably being way over-sensitive. My brother did warn me an invite was coming. He gets points for that. Ultrasound pic on the invite? I could have used some warning for that, too. He knew I wasn't planning to go. I wouldn't have looked at all. (By the end of the last 10 days, ultrasounds came to represent the most difficult decisions we had to make. Though I don't know if he knew that.)

But, really? Is this what baby shower invitations look like now? I guess it's been a while since I've seen one.

*****
I'm all over the place these days. Thanks for abiding the silence.

going away

2010-08-15T01:59:00.000-04:00

Need some quiet for a little bit.

Packing

2010-08-14T21:47:00.001-04:00

C has a new post up. I'll probably have stuff to say on the subject soon, too. In the meantime, here it is.

Okay

2010-08-13T12:21:00.004-04:00

Who's tired of hearing me bitch and moan? Who's tired of me ignoring all the good things I have in my life, like an amazing husband, a roof over my head, good friends, and food in my stomach?

Yeah, I know.

I"m in a place I never thought I'd be. But one I always feared I'd be.

Well, let me be clear. There was a long time I thought I'd be alone forever. That I would, literally, die alone.

Then, it seemed, there was hope for more, and even more...

As an infertile, I looked around, and *forgive me,* I thought to myself, please don't let that be me. Never getting pregnant. Or, then, pregnant and losing it. Late. And then never getting pregnant again.

Well, guess what.

I know, it's not generous. I know. I'm a bitch, and let me tell you, I often feel like I'm being punished for it.

I started reading Alexa over at Flotsam, the book she wrote. She's the one who had the IF, lost one of her twins and got a living, healthy child out of it. And she wrote a book. Good, so far, too. But it rips me apart, too. My doppleganger* got the baby I didn't.

More alone.

I'm great at feeling sorry for myself. Lord knows. Everyone knows.

I'm trying though. I really am.

But I keep getting flooded with other stuff. Like panic. Like overwhelming sadness. Grief. Guilt. Hopelessness.

Paralysis.

Which of course frustrates the shit out of everyone I know.

I keep trying and i keep getting knocked down.

Yeah, I know, courage (or something like it) is getting up again.

It's really hard. Really, really hard. And I keep getting blindsided.

And I want to feel normal and healthy and hopeful. Because when I am, well, look out.

Be it chemical or physical or emotional, it's feeling kind of out of control lately.

and last night I came to the overwhelming realization that I am letting it win.

And I hate that. I don't want that.

And I am so gripped by the sadness and the grief and the guilt, and now the shame of letting all of this take over my life. I have become one of those people I feared I would. One of those people I looked at and said, wow. Hope that's not me.

Guess what.

I've never felt a depth and such overwhelming...feeling as I have when I was pregnant (joy, anticipation, connection), when we lost them, everything associated with all of this. Grief, sadness, anger, isolation, alienation, envy.

Maybe it is that I don't want to let go of them altogether. Maybe it's all I have.

Maybe I don't want to let go of the dream I had for myself. That I finally let myself have when we finally got pregnant.

Whatever.

I have and am pushing away everyone. I am asking for failure. I am asking for punishment and isolation.

I'm so tired of all this.

*We got pregnant with twins the same week. Due the same day. Lost one twin, but she wound up delivering the remaining, living one, at almost 26 weeks. I had been following her blog from before we got pregnant.

...

2010-08-12T23:07:00.001-04:00

I'm so fucking tired of this.

All of it.

2010-08-12T15:47:00.001-04:00

Shouldn't I be done with this by now?

This week starts 3 years since the cycle that worked.

I went to the hospital to deliver my sons and all I got was a lousy teddy bear

2010-08-12T15:14:00.002-04:00

Well, two teddy bears.

And a uterine infection.

And a touch of ptsd.

*****
Dr. Shrink reduced the new med and I'm feeling all kinds of things. All kinds of things that suck.

Wishing we had waited. Tried to wait to deliver. Wondering what life would be like now.

Wishing I had at least gotten to hold him.

I know, I likely spared him painful procedures.

I know, I could have held him after he was gone. Cold.

I couldn't. Not cold.

*****
I know that others have held their child as he or she passed away.

I am envious.

*****
The other day I was at school for a meeting with my adviser and, on my way into the bathroom, almost ran smack into a gorgeous pregnant woman. She was pulling the door open as I was pushing it open. The wife of a colleague. She is about 39 weeks.

They had a loss at 13 or 14 weeks. He says she is still anxious about losing this baby, despite the fact that things are going smoothly. I told him it's not unreasonable. He said there are members of her family who had stillbirth(s).

He couldn't wait to get away from me. When I left, I was ripped apart.

*****
Trying to get used to the idea of adoption. Elizabeth Sw1re Fa1ker has a book about it, I think. It was too perky for me. Yet, anyway.

Really feeling the end of this. No chance of pregnancy. Never being that woman.

Never holding my baby. Never holding a baby I'd carried.

*****
There is a package, a cartridge of the remnants of the fo11istim we used when I got pg with the boys. And from our last attempt. There are unopened packages of syringes. A bag from cvs with 1oven0x in it. The brave11e donated by a friend, just in case we decided on another cycle. I don't know when it expires, but kind of soon, I think.

I should donate the donation, but I can't seem to go back to my RE's office. I know too much about him via FB, among other things. But I know how grateful I was to get donated drugs. It's not his patient's fault the RE seems to be having a mid-life crisis. If it's not expired yet. Like me.

(Or is that ungenerous of me?)

*****
A good friend, S, is in transition. She and her family are moving across the country. Her husband and kids are on their way, she will follow in a week or two. She misses them. A hole in her chest, she said on FB. Her dog is being clingy. Dogs, I told her yesterday, are good at filling holes. She knew what I meant.

Stella climbed on my lap today, when I got home from errands. My 30-pound lap dog. It was good. But still.

*****
I fell apart in the car today, on the way home from errands. 1ngrid michae1son singing "Fools Rush In." I started thinking of my niece, but all I could see was me holding a baby. My baby. A baby that would be mine.

Or Maybe

2010-08-01T01:54:00.000-04:00

Maybe I just need to suck it up.

Watching one of those ER reality shows (instead of sleeping) and they show this woman with stage IV colon cancer. End stage.

She's 25.

And she's pretty philosophical about it. And religious.

*****
My friend B says, "it can always get worse.". She's had a hell of a few years. Or five.

Hm.

Eternal Sunshine

2010-07-31T23:16:00.002-04:00

Sometime after my loss and before my sister's, we had a conversation about denial. I was beating myself up for (theoretically) ignoring signs that should have sent me to the doctor, and she mentioned something about how we learned to be in denial from my mom, who, really, was Cleopatra* about many things.

When she had her loss, my sister's initial reaction, when I tried to be comforting, was to deny. She said all the things you never want to hear when you are grieving, but about her own situation. (I think I wrote about it but I'm not going to go dig out the post.) Later on, she indirectly acknowledged that she had been in that place, right after her loss. That the kinds of things she said, "I'm just going to go out and have fun and be happy!!" at that point were defenses against the outrageous pain. She could acknowledge that.

In a recent phone call, I asked her about being on the other side. Of infertility. Of loss. She referred to it as always being there, like in a rearview mirror, getting smaller and farther away. I mentioned the article on one of those magazines, and they talked about how IF seems to be one of those causes that people don't advocate for once they've reached the other side. My sister told me that for Res0lve, IF is a temporary state, eventually you either have a child or you don't and you go childless/free.

Then she talked about my dad, who has volunteered with the local hospice (almost) since my mother died. She said, it seems like he's not letting go. I responded that it's important work, even if it's not fun, and he gets something out of it. She said something about how it's so painful, so sad, why spend your time focused on that?

She talked about how she has a daughter now, and a life that needs living, and doesn't want to be stuck in the pain of her past. Or something. My words, not hers. That was the essence of it, I think.

So how do you balance it? Does it just fade? A past life? Life does go on, and, honestly, I don't spend a lot of time these days thinking directly about the boys, or what we went through in that horrible 10 days. But I feel it, I think. The IF. The loss. The secondary (?) IF. Next steps. New steps. But it all builds up to where we are, doesn't it?

She doesn't suggest pretending it never happened, but not getting stuck in it, not focusing on advocating for those still in it -- instead, moving forward into today.

I don't know.

*****
I know this question has been asked, and answered, by many, but I'm asking it again. How much do you hold onto? If you could erase that whole period of time -- (IF,) pregnancy, and loss -- would you?

Just now, I said to C, I kind of wish I could just blank on the last 3 years. Or even the last five, as we approach 5 years of trying to have a living child (or working toward it). I don't know if I even meant it. I'm so tired of feeling sad and resentful and hopeful and tired. Tired of working to be hopeful and happy and productive in my work. Working to try to have a child. Depending on others, paying others to build our family. Especially when it seems other people's fertility is in my face -- and will be in my face for the rest of my life.

Sometimes I'm tempted to just chuck it all.

*****
We were at the dog park with Stella today, talking with some of the local dog owner's group (who organized funding and creation of the park) and gushing about her. Stella. Our dog.

It felt a little ridiculous. We are so eager to talk about our sweet pup. We love her so much. She is the lucky recipient, I guess, of the love of frustrated, childless people.

*****
Lately, there has been a very, very small voice inside that says, Wouldn't it be nice to just go on with the rest of your life without trying so hard, working so hard for this?

But I can't imagine it. I would have to run away to the other side of the world. Never see my (aggravating) sibs, never see my nieces/nephews (I assume there are more coming). Never see dear friends and family. I couldn't do that. As it is, I miss them all too much. Even when we live in the same town.

*****
There is no eternal sunshine.

And even though I usually answer those questions with, I would rather have the pain because I get to remember the love and, especially, the joy.

I don't know anymore.

Maybe that's what's making all of this so difficult.

*The Queen of the Nile. Queen of Denial.

Advice

2010-07-28T18:27:00.000-04:00

So, while I'm pondering, I thought I'd ask you, O Wise Friends in the Computer:

What book/s or website/s about adoption would you recommend? Which do you think is the best? Why?

As you can probably tell, I'm feeling better about broadening our family-building options. We are also sort of considering embryo donation, but more towards adoption or foster-adopt.

I think this new rx combo may be helping in that I can tell a difference in the way I'm thinking, but I am still dragging a lot, lots of anxiety (especially around going to bed for the night and getting into the shower. Maybe it's leftover trauma? We'll see.) Still not getting much work done. It's only been 10 or 11 days, and half that at the full dose. We shall see.

Thanks for hanging in there with me. I look forward to your suggestions!

The Place In-Between

2010-07-25T15:46:00.005-04:00

(Anybody else watch the Dr. Who season finale?)

*****
How can it possibly be the 25th already? Three weeks left of summer break, and I haven't gotten nearly enough done.

It's been a rough few weeks. Losses. Frustration.

Blah blah blah. I already have one crappy post in my drafts folder.

Anxiety. Guilt. Frustration. Loneliness.

This is going to be a long spewing post, I think. Disorganized. I have so much going on in my head, if I don't get some of it out, well...I need to get some of it out.
*****
Saw the Dr. Shrink on Monday. He changed my rx again. Here's hoping this works. I am beginning to fear that this is my life. Depressed.

(The last couple of weeks were pretty bad. Lots of sitting on the couch because doing something, *anything,* seemed too much like work. Eating, for example. Getting tons of anxiety about school. And so, not doing much. And so, anxiety. Paralysis. Depression.

A year ago, I was recovering from the TAC surgery. Recovering from my visit to see my newborn niece.

I was beginning to really hope. Really want it. I mean, well, duh. I had the TAC surgery before I got pregnant -- how's that for not hedging your bets?

After taking the first or second dose of the new rx, it occurred to me to try on the idea that we have decided for sure on adoption. For a week. To see how it would feel to be settled in with a choice already.

It hasn't been that bad.

I went back to some of the links I'd bookmarked, and bookmarked a few more. Read through homestudy info. Got kinda anxious.

But it was okay.

Kind of a relief, actually, to not be sweating over treatments. Trying to plan for consults and appointments. Wondering how I would do with pg or pg loss again. Dr. Shrink is very much against me cycling again. I don't know that he's wrong.

I am neither here nor there.

*****
I had another session with my regular shrink and she had read that McCracken book. Some of the things that really struck her, or made her say, "I never thought of it like that!" were some pretty basic grief/dbm stuff. Though, it did give me the opportunity to talk about some stuff from the book, and to go back over some of the things that she had said that bothered me. She clarified. Not necessarily to my liking, but at least it's out there.

Dr. Shrink is encouraging me to work with reg Shrink some more, to share my concerns with her. And, honestly, I kind of feel like leaving now would be yet another loss. I need to have difficult conversations, anyway. And if it doesn't work out, then I'll know I did what I could. (Why does that sound familiar?)

Canceled my apt with the fertility shrink and said I would get back to her to reschedule, but I haven't. Haven't even listened to the message she left me more than a week ago.

*****
Had a gm.ail chat with my brother, initially thanking him for his birthday wishes (yes, it was the 15th), and basically making peace. Also spent some time talking about how we can talk about his wife's pregnancy and baby (He said that, for fear of saying something dumb, he hasn't been saying anything to me). Explaining why I was kind of f'd up when we were in NY for the funeral -- wanting to be with my niece, yet wanting to run far away. Yes, I had to explain how and why that split me in two. He did say, though, that they have held back from talking about the pg on FB, specifically in consideration of me. He was very insistent that I should reach out to SIL to let her know I'm thinking about them and the baby. And that I'm looking forward to meeting my new niece or nephew.

This bothered me. Maybe it was just that it was the day after my birthday, but I felt like, WTF? I'm the one with the dead babies, and I have to make THEM feel better? SIL generally feels like we all don't like her (why? that whole conversion I-don't-want-anything-Jewish-in-my-home thing? Hm. Maybe). She has shown considerable growth since then, but still. Really? It's up to me to reassure her?

Well, okay. I reached out. I wished her happy anniversary on Tuesday. I sent her a note saying that I"m thinking about her/them. She responded.

I texted my sister after my convo with my brother to vent my indignation, but her phone was off (you'd think that in the neighborhood where they live, they'd get better cel reception). She called me back in the 5 minutes that she had while she was getting the baby ready for the three of them to go out to dinner. "See, this would be a great thing to talk to an IF shrink about, to try to figure out how to deal with all these things. Okay, gotta go. Talk to you later!"

Yeah. Just like she did after my mom's illness and death, she is putting the pain of IF and baby loss behind her. Like it was an ugly detour in an otherwise perfectly nice walk.

I asked her about Thanksgiving. (SIL is about 25 weeks, due the first week of Nov.) She is likely not going to NY for it, both because BIL will probably want the holiday at the house, but also because she is still pissed at my brother because he didn't show enough excitement about her daughter's arrival. Or something. How about being a grown up and not sinking to that level? I ask. Yeah, well, we'll see. So much for burying the hatchet, huh?

These two will never get along, they will never forgive each other. And guess who is stuck in the middle?

Oh, it just makes me want to scream.

*****
I feel different. Maybe it's the drugs working already, but, I feel like I'm moving in a different direction. Or, similar direction, but a different route?

I don't know. If we are going to adopt, I would like to get started on that. But we will be leaving this town, likely this state, in a year or so. In the meantime, we can find workshops, read books, I guess.

I don't know where I'm going with my work. I think that's part of the anxiety. I need to know why I'm doing something, where it's going, so I can apply myself appropriately.

I also feel less sharp. Like I've lost some of the spark, the intellectual sharpness that may have been there (or that I imagine was there).

Maybe I'll write a book. Maybe I'll present my narrative at a conference. Maybe I"ll do work for an IF or DB org. Advocate for them with Congress. Get more research, more resources. Or try to.

One of those magazines had an article talking about the silence around IF and followed the plight of a couple spending $20K on their last ditch effort to get pregnant by going to that famous clinic in NY. It ended with her pregnant with twins of course. But there were some good points about getting the word out. Making ourselves heard. Last year, when I still had hope of a pregnancy, I talked a lot about being infertile. About losing my pregnancy. It made me feel powerful. But I wonder if that's not because I felt like.... Hm. Like I was almost done being IF. Like I could reclaim life after IF, after DB, by being positive. And all that would result in getting pg. Magical thinking anyone?

*****
I don't know where I'm going. Or where I should be. I'm neither here, nor there.

A Poem about Grief

2010-07-21T21:29:00.003-04:00

This post by bon at cribchronicles just popped up on my reader. Like the rest of her writing, it's beautiful.

Dark

2010-07-19T23:27:00.000-04:00

C has a new post up, talking about one of our coping mechanisms. Thought I'd share the link here.

http://letting-days-go-by.blogspot.com/2010_07_01_archive.html#8908357126669946312

(Sorry, no linkage on the b.berry.)

Today

2010-07-15T12:27:00.000-04:00

is okay.

It's 90-something degrees, blue skies with puffy white clouds. I'm out on a field trip by myself to try to do some work, or at least some writing, and to treat myself to something, be it a pedicure or something purchased with a gift card from my dad from March.

There were a couple of good clips about aging/turning 40 that I wanted to post, but our internet is out. Again. Maybe later.

So, yeah. Getting fb love. C is being very sweet. Feeling philosophical for now.

Thanks for being here, folks. You are a great gift to me.

just shut up already

2010-07-13T16:42:00.000-04:00

Shut up and get over it.

Time to let it go. Honestly, people are getting tired of hearing about it, and there's really nothing to say in response anyway.

Suck it up.

Compartmentalize, already.

One foot after the other.

Move on.

Awesome

2010-07-13T15:27:00.001-04:00

Connected by phone with local IF shrink who works with the local REs. After I talked to her about my concerns, issues and choices, she warned me that REs around here won't go near a woman any where close to 40 for IVF. "They feel like it's just taking your money for nothing."

I know some other clinics (c0rnell, NYU, CC.RM and some in LA) will see women my age as a regular part of their practice, and told her so. But know I know where she's coming from. Which may or may not be helpful.

I feel like if I had enough of the right support, I could get through IVF, but am already doubting the is the right support and am dreading the search for it.

I'll write about my appt w my reg shrink later. Def need diff kind of shrink, maybe grief counselor instead of IF? I'm so tired of all this.

Thoughts?

does it ever go away?

2010-07-12T02:06:00.000-04:00

Feeling so lonely, so alone. Such a failure?

How do you forgive your body, yourself?

Is it time and distance? Carrying or caring for your own (adoptive) child? Does that help you to block out all the IF and loss pain and grief?

Somewhere (forgive me, I forget) someone wrote about always carrying this, the IF, the grief.

Emotionally, I am all over the placen every single day. All. Over. The. Place.

I'm so tired of being sad. And hopeful. And frustrated. And guilty. And forgiving. And optimistic. And angry. And envious. And sad. And tired.

And lonely.

There is no one in my place. I know some have weathered this and come out on the other side, in various ways.

I don't know how to do this.

And I'm so tired..

What would you say?

2010-07-11T21:28:00.000-04:00

I'm going to try to have a conversation with my shrink about how I've been feeling about our sessions lately. May prove to be a challenge, since I can't quite articulate it for myself yet.

If you had the chance, what would you want you shrink/doctor/friend to know about what infertility after loss is like. Even if you've finally gotten pg? What was pregnancy like for you? What was/is it like between the time you decided you were ready to try and the arrival of the bfp? The baby? What was it like to go through treatments and/or other losses?

What if you decided to stop IF treatments and pursue adoption? Or to choose to remain without living children?

How did any/all of this feel? What emotions were dominant? What emotional or intellectual processes did you need to go through to get to where you are today? Even if you are not quite there yet?

I'm sorry. This is all so personal and huge. I think I need to feel validated in some way, or have some sense knocked into my angry, self-pitying head before and as I begin this conversation. If you have anything to share, I hope you will. Feel free to stay anonymous or email me directly.

I got a call back from the IF shrink I emailed, so I will be in touch with her soon, too, probably.

Thanks, folks, for anything you can share, and, of course thanks for being there.

S

drifting

2010-07-08T21:06:00.001-04:00

I seem to be afraid to settle down. Or, rather, to focus.

Crying is good. Eating, sometimes.

Tired. Resisting focus.

My advisor/mentor is helping me, and very patiently. I seem to be failing him, too.

Couples therapist says that in pursuing a phd, I need to need it. To know I won't be complete without finishing it, contributing in some way.

My regular therapist seems to imply that I am far too focused on the pregnancy part, what about motherhood? I am coming to understand that there seems to be part of me that wants a do-over. To do it right. As if that will somehow undo all that has happened.

I failed at the most important thing I could ever try to do. Even if it's not true, it feels true.

Am I punishing myself, still? Is that why I can't let go? Why I don't push school as much? It feels so good, when I get into my work. When I am caught up in a thoughtful conversation about ideas I care about, with people whom I respect. When I can get the ideas down. Help a student learn something.

The only other time I felt as connected and hopeful was when I was pregnant. Yes, puking and miserable a lot. But good, too. Is it punishment or fear?

Jesus christ, how many times have I typed this? It's ridiculous. Christ.

*****
The couples counselor says I'm experiencing complicated grief. If I want to change shrinks, I need to find someone who specializes in this. In addition to infertility/loss/adoption issues.

I asked my shrink last week if she had been to Reso1ve.org, thinking perhaps she might do a little research about a condition her client has been dealing with for 5 years.

Nope.

I also had to explain the diff between IUI and IVF, and she used the dreaded "implant" instead of "transfer" in part of our discussion. I corrected her. She didn't like that.

My sister suggested at least the shrink at the big local clinic to at least begin my search. Couples therapist suggests really discussing this with current shrink before making any moves. I know she's right, but I'm apprehensive about confrontation. Not a great sign.

I gave my shrink my copy of the McCracken book. She thanked me and tossed it in her bag. Still, even with the beautiful, eloquence of the book, her experience subsequently was so different from mine.

*****
Yesterday was my niece's first birthday. I put together a slideshow of my pics, some from A's oldest friend, some from A. I told her I was working on something and asked for specific kinds of recent pics, some of which were done by a professional. I made the soundtrack S.arah McLa.chlan's "0rdinary Mirac1es." Turned out to be a good choice.

God, I cried so much putting it together. Pics of the baby from birth to as recent as last week, with her mom and dad, my dad, Grandma, me, my brother and his wife, A and friend... The pictures were of varying quality, but the prof ones especially with A and BIL interacting w the baby were just beautiful.

A looks so beautiful, especially when she's with the baby. And SO much like my mother. Especially with the baby.

I texted with A after she got it (BIL was on the phone). She liked it. Loved it. "Ugly crying," she said. I taked to her yesterday and told her I didn't know what I could get for her birthday that would be special. "This is priceless," she said.

It makes me glad to know. I have such complicated feelings. With her, with her and the baby...where do my eyes go when I watch? What is it that makes me cry?

If I ever get steady internet again (posting via Bb), I might post it. (Anonymity and all,) but, if you get a chance, listen to the song, and you'll probably get what I mean about some of this.

*****
Two of my dear friends have left our small college town for good. Trying to re-orient.

In a week, I turn 40. Not *quite* the dead end mentioned in WHMS), but it feels very, very significant, ad my body does seem to be changing against my will. (This is fodder for another post.*)

Things with my brother are non-existent. Total radio silence.

About 6 weeks til school starts again for the semester.
Life goes on, I guess.

(*Sorry this post was sooo looong. Thanks for reading.)

because

2010-06-29T00:37:00.003-04:00

I think of this when I encounter people whom I feel don't really get me, at least as far as infertility goes. Thanks to Mel. I hope you know some of the good that you do.

Manifesto

by Lollipopgoldstein

You don’t understand, so let me explain.

We thought we’d be able to have children and then we couldn’t.

It wasn’t a choice to enter into treatments/adoption/donor gametes; it wasn’t an option.

Having a child may feel like a choice to you, but it isn’t to us.

You and I will need to disagree on that, because you’ll never change our feelings about having a family be a need over a want.

When we’re cycling–whether we’re trying naturally, doing minimally invasive treatments, or doing invasive procedures–I am riding on a roller coaster of emotions.

I am angry. I cry a lot. I am frustrated. I am told one thing and another happens. No one can give me straight answers. No one can make real promises. We pay A LOT of money for the chance to have a child. This money does not guarantee that we will have a child at the end of the day.

We get pregnant and we are elated. And then we lose the pregnancy.

Or we get news that the pregnancy isn’t taking and we never get a chance to feel that elation–we only get the depression on the other end.

Even though I’m a pro-Choice feminist, I also love my children when they’re only embryos.

And that is a difficult thing to wrap your mind around.

You think that you know what we’re going through based on the small amount of information you know.

You think you know how I feel or how I’m reacting based on what I present to you.

You never see the full picture, but you make a lot of assumptions.

You are impatient that we plan our lives like this.

You think you need to make parenthood seem less enticing–this doesn’t make me feel better. This just makes me feel like you are belittling the thing I am putting myself through hell to obtain.

You say that you feel like you can’t support us. And you can’t. Not really. Or not in the way that you want to offer support.

Infertility isn’t linear. It’s a wavy line and you can’t know if you’re entering on a crest or a dip. I don’t expect you to get it right.

I don’t expect you to run in like a cheerleader and accompany me to appointments or help me raise money for treatments/adoption.

What I want from you is actually quite simple.

Ask me how I am and want to hear the answer.

Ask me about treatments and where I am in the process.

Ask me to explain to you more of what I’m going through.

Let me vent.

Don’t try to change my mind or see the world from your eyes.

I used to have your eyes too before this happened. And I know you mean well, but even if you say that you went through infertility or loss yourself, my own experience is unique.

I try very hard to be proactive. I do this not only by seeking treatment, but gravitating towards other infertile men or women or other people using assisted conception/adoption.
We are a supportive community.

They take care of my emotions–I rarely have to explain myself to them. They understand with few words. I enjoy being with them because it’s easy.

I also enjoy being with you. Sometimes I like being with you because I don’t have to speak about infertility at all. Other times, I like being with you because I can talk it out and explain and hear my own words and make sense of this myself.

Infertility is so different for every generation. When our mothers and fathers were experiencing infertility, they had few choices. They had fewer answers.

Now, we have many choices–maybe too many choices. It makes it difficult to step away.
I believe that I probably won’t understand much of what my children are going through if they experience infertility. I’ll try to be there for them and I’ll do my best. But I also know that they will have opportunities or choices to make that I never had. And it will affect them in a way that I will never understand because I didn’t go through it myself.

And that will make me sad because I really want to be there for them. That’s the closest I can come sometimes to understanding how you feel when you are dealing with me. So, I’m sorry. I know it really sucks to watch me be sad and feel like there’s a wall between us.

Infertility makes some women want to sweep it under the rug. It has made me want to be an activist–not only for infertility, but for all the taboo topics still out there. I talk about infertility a lot–not because I’m obsessed with the topic, but because it has shaped who I am and it is a large part of my life. It has to be–so much of infertility is a day-to-day monitoring that it becomes impossible to set it aside fully.

It makes me want to reach out to other people–and that is something I am extremely proud of that I do. I think I used to lead a life that was very focused on self and I think I lead a life that is now focused on others–the children I have, the children I want, the people I reach out to comfort or help. You may think I focus too much on self because you may not understand the intricacies of what I do. What I put myself through because I have a burning need to parent. You may think the choices I make are selfish. Or self-indulgent. You may think that I like being sad or that I should just move on. You may think that I’m making unhealthy choices. I can’t really do anything to change the way you think and frankly, I don’t have the emotional reserves to focus on you.

We can’t take you to the edge where we stand–we can only tell you about it. And hearing it is nothing like living it.

But if you want to stand over here and watch me at the edge, you may find that everything you are scared that I am or becoming isn’t true at all. And if you opened your eyes, you would see that I’m not at the edge to jump, but I’m at the edge because I trust myself and my choices so completely and I know this is where I need to be if I want to fly.

nice

2010-06-28T18:55:00.000-04:00

2mg k + < 5mg ambien

***
Remind me to call and cancel w my shrink. Just not connecting anymore. No, it's me. Not doing it right.

***
Just need a nap for now.

recommend

2010-06-28T18:27:00.001-04:00

Shrink/Therapist specializing in infertilty/pregnancy/adoption in the southwest Ohio area.

Seriously.

Science vs. Art vs. Magic

2010-06-27T14:08:00.004-04:00

I've been thinking about this all afternoon, so instead of writing a nasty letter, I'm going to vent here.

When we first met with our RE, he and C bonded over the science. They were able to talk as two professionals, discussing research in scholarly terms.

During the cycle in which I became pregnant with the boys, I made a joke about a certain family with eight children, and he (my RE) was visibly angry at the irresponsible behavior of the woman's doctor. It takes careful monitoring, understanding of the reproductive system and of the woman's own chemistry, he said.

On my RE's website, from the very beginning, he has included the line, "A child is a gift from god." We didn't talk about god. We didn't discuss the quote, nor its implications. It didn't seem to have much impact on our treatment.

When I came back, finally, and began treatments, my RE had clearly gone through life-changing things. A divorce. An illness. He became certified in medical acupuncture. In the middle of restarting our professional relationship with him, my RE got remarried. To a woman who runs the shop where he does the acupuncture. To a woman who calls herself a psychic.

It was during our second cycle after we came back that we had a conversation where I told him that C was atheist, and I was agnostic, though leaning towards atheism. It was the idea that everything we had been through, everything my family and friends and loved ones had been through, was for a reason. I told him about the faculty member who told me "Everything happens for a reason." He, my RE, winced and said that's horrible. I told him that I was trying to understand the universe not just as chaos, but not with a plan from some god on high.

I think it was last January that I saw posted in the lobby a photocopy of some inspirational thing, entitled "why did god give me infertility?" The gist of it was that it was a way to give a woman (and her partner, I assume) a special relationship with the child she would eventually mother.

"Sounds like everything has a reason" to me.

Somehow, I ended up on his email newsletter mailing list and in part of his most recent featured article, was this:

It's not anything magic that we do in the laboratory. The real magic lies in children who are so wanted and desired by loving parents who pray over days/weeks/months/years. Through such careful attention and caring, the world now has the opportunity to share in the many blessings these mini-miracles are bringing forth.

Huh? Is it that I'm not praying? "Mini-miracles"? Blessings? Do I not desire it enough? Or in the right way? Is that why I lost my boys? Is that why I can't get pg again?

Do I not get these?

It sounds to me like this doctor believes there is a plan. That there is is some greater force deciding who gets to be pregnant, who gets to be a parent and who doesn't.

Maybe he thinks he is just the instrument of god's will?

*****
Aside from all this crap is the question of interests, as in "of course he is going to recommend acupuncture because it is in his (and his wife's) financial interest." Or, "of course he is going to say that I don't really need IVF because he can get me pregnant because if I go to IVF, he loses a patient and the revenue. And yes, he did get kinda twitchy when I brought up the possibility of IVF. It was only in recent months, as I approach 40 that he seemed okay with it.

*****
Oh and on his fb page, which, btw is open to all, he is a fan of "O.B.A.M.A -- One Big Ass Mistake, America." I don't care what your political beliefs are, if you are a professional (i.e. doctor/lawyer) or a smart businessperson, you don't put partisan stuff out there for everyone to see.

*****
I feel like I've wasted 5 years. I feel like I've given tons of money to a man whose politics makes me ill.

Did I feel respected and cared for at the time? Yes.

But hindsight sucks.

Comfo.rtably nu.mb

2010-06-25T23:41:00.003-04:00

Well, numb-ish.

An hour or so after my second K today I decided it was time for bed and took 2/3 of an ambien. That was about 45 mins ago. So, I'm a little bit high.

in my FB status today, I answered their question: What's on your mind? with Everything. You name it. It's there, making me anxious, sad, hopeless, worried, longing.

I got my records from my (old) RE in preparation for what might be the beginning of consulting with a new RE. The anticipation of beginning this again makes my chest clench. I have this ridiculous fantasy about doing just one last cycle with my old RE, since i have a bout a half a cycle of meds, and this last cycle would land around my 40th birthday in a couple of weeks or so. And of course, I would be perfect about taking my pills and shots and not overly stressing or anything because i would be working on other things like finishing my projects from this spring/summer (oh, which all have to do with loss and infertility and change of worldview and women in academia) so I can be ready for my comps in October. No. Sweat. And it would work perfectly.

In the world I live in, the sky is a lovely lilac/blue with twinkling stars.

*****
there are terrible neighbors down the street who have (I think) two dogs, one of which lives in a cxrate in the garage and even though it gets food and water, I am tormented with sad dog visions and me sneaking over there in the middle of the night to take it out of the terrible, lonely situation it's in. They also have a chocolate lab I've seen them walk on one of those prong collars occasionally. Also, he's got a huge ford pick up truck with the ford emblem emblazoned with the confederate crossed swords. this nice jewish girl from ny is a little bit afraid of him. Oh, and they are also keeping ducks in a rabbit hatch in the garage, the same one with the dog. ??? I know. They are in the process of moving out and I am praying that there is a big pond and yard for the pup (a year old basset hound to romp in). I am becoming my mother. Except for that whole reproducing thing.

*****
Father's day sucked. C is really feeling things and I have no way to comfort him except to be sweet and leave him be. And I feel terrible. Responsible. Which he would dismiss, but, you know, still.

*****
I am getting nothing done. And part of me wonders if this is just frustration and trying to get over the hump from bio/pregnancy to adoption or if I'm really just this fucked up. I had an appt with my pharma shrink and he (along with every other professional and probably every other perosn I know (except my sister) is probably thinking "Ok, Sue, enough denial. Get your shit together before it's too late and you've acummulated 4 dogs and 6 cats and you're featured as some neuor-psycho on discov.ery heal.th. But not for "I didn't kno.w I was pregnant." Hah.

I want to get moving on things, but there is little ot get moving on because we don't know where we are going to be in a year or so.

*****
My project at school, it appears, will be about all of these things, loss and infertility and the process of becoming a woman in academia and how it affects world views and I think, how can I write about this in the midst of this? And, id this what I want to establish my professional career with? and how can I deal with all this while I'm supposed to be writing scholarly work on it?

*****
And two of the most important people in my life in this very small town in the last few years, wonderful people who have been supporting and understanding with all my craziness day to day and month to month (and yes, year to year) and all my grief are leaving town in the next few weeks. And they are moving on to wonderful, wonderful opportunities, and I am really so very excited for them, I really am, but I'm so very sad for me, too. I have not appreciated them nearly enough, have not been the kind of friend to them that I would have liked to be. And the last thing I want is for them to pat my hand and say of course you have, because it doesn't feel true, and the last thing I want is for them to feel guilty or manipulated or anything by this because they sometimes read here. Maybe I will write something else that is less weepy and more...something.

*****
I need to get through my work. I am feeling like I am losing my standing and need to get through this. But my throat and my chest clenches and I just want to cry.

*****
I'm sorry. I was hoping for numb. Not bawling mess.

There's always next time.

Talk to me -- what's going on in you worlds?

Pesach, sort of

2010-06-21T01:44:00.003-04:00

My husband has a new post up in honor of this painfully contrived and yet ridiculously important day.

He's titled his post "How is today different from all other days?" which reminds me of the recitation of the four questions (asked by the youngest at the table) in the Passover seder. The wonderful thing (I think) about Judaism is that we all attribute varied meanings to holidays and rituals, and many of those meanings are accepted (you've heard about 2 Jews, 3 sides of a story?). Anyway, in my hippie Jewish school in the 1970s, Passover, or Pesach, celebrated survival: making it through the desert, making it through another winter. As a people; as people.

We have survived another year. Another winter. Another father's day. Two and a half years now. In some ways, I've gotten used to this load I carry. In other ways, it seems to change from day to day.

What makes today different from all other days? After all, it is simply another day we have survived -- survived when we did not know if we would.

And what the future holds? We simply put one foot after another, hoping/not hoping the load we bear gets lighter this year.

*****
To all fathers with empty arms, you are in my thoughts.

A New Member of the Club

2010-06-17T22:37:00.000-04:00

I just heard from JK that a good friend of hers just lost her baby boy at 33 weeks. I don't know other details.

I sent her links to GITW and Stirrup Queens. Also the links from Julia and Chris's posts.

What else can I do? Something that helped me was messages from LFCA, but I don't think she's got a blog. Suggestions?

How about here? Feel free to leave her messages here. I'll pass them (or the link) to her through JK.

Times like these remind me how lucky I am to have you all. I know I've been whiny and a bad bloggy friend lately, but I really couldn't have made it this far without you.

S

sometimes

2010-06-14T02:16:00.001-04:00

It's too much.

*****
A few weeks ago, I went to this life coaching group session and I actually said the words out loud: I can't have babies. Not without heroic effort. And enormous risk.

Every once in a while, I say out loud to myself. Perhaps I'm trying to get used to the idea.

We are likely done trying. I don't know what comes next.

*****
I don't remember if I posted about this, but a few weeks ago I asked my brother if he was reading the blog. I had asked him to stop last year. I noticed hits from his workplace and hometown around the time he told me SIL was pg. He said, No, he wasn't reading. I asked him why the hits from work? He said he didn't know. Those hits miraculously stopped around the time I confronted him. Liar.

I sent him a bitchy email judging him for taking a "babymoon" to Mexico when he was bitching about being broke. I told him I resented his complaining about losing vaca time to support me and them using another week for this babymoon when he could be using it to be home when his newborn comes.

He's back from his babymoon and sending me resentful email at 1:20 am. I didn't read it, but apologized for the bitchiness. I told him I'd stay out of his business but he'd better appreciate what he's got.

I scanned the email. Can't believe I was even arguing with him. No sense.

And my sister recently recounted a tale of woe surrounding some dinner party and catering hassle she had to deal with.

Really?

Sorry, folks. I just helped my oldest friend bury her mother and I have just come to the realization that I will probably never conceive or even carry any children we might be lucky enough to raise.

I am in the process of giving up on my body for reproduction. I turn 40 in a month. In the family self-pity Olympics? I fucking win.

*****
I have therapy tomorrow for the first time in a few weeks. I'm sure she's going to tell me I'd better get my shit together (school work, relationships) before I lose all of it, and end up with nothing but a mountain of debt.

Or maybe that's the couple's counselor. 'Cause, you know, panic makes me so productive. Time to kick some therapist butt.

*****
2:43 am. Time for some ambien, I guess. At least.

McCracken

2010-06-13T23:36:00.000-04:00

Just finished her book. You know the one. I wasn't ready til now. (Maybe I'm still not.)

It was so beautiful. I want to send her a note to thank her for writing it. I want to give it to everyone I know.

so much

2010-06-11T23:23:00.002-04:00

Visit to NY was good. Well, as good as it could be. I kept thinking "sometimes you can go home again." I was a grown up without the sibling drama, family grief. I could just be there, in small ways for my oldest friend. B was my sister before A and I came back together as sisters. Somehow, it's always...easy. Family.

I was glad that I could just be there to be moral support. Lots of familiar faces. Some very difficult moments. I hope I could give her a little of what she needed in those times. It was hard for me, too. But I know there is nothing like losing your mom. It brought it back, a lot of it. But somehow the 9 years distance has helped some. All I could do was be there. (And bring challah and rugelach and black and white cookies from our favorite local bakery.)

She is an amazing woman, B. Strong. She does the right thing because it's the right thing. She took care of her mother in life and death. And though it's cliche to say so, I think B's mom would have been pleased with the way B honored her. B has an older sister, who is basically absent and selfish. Their mother died on Tuesday; B's sister, who lived 3 hour away, "couldn't" make it until Sunday morning. something about work. B did everything. Without bitching, without announcing. Just because it needed to be done. To take care of her mother. To honor her.

I consider myself so lucky to call her my friend.

*****
My visit with my dad was good, too. I felt like I was a grown up. We had grown-up interactions without the complications of family dynamics and drama. My dad was happy to share his knowledge of trusts and estates to help B. It was what he focused on in his 30 year career. "She's family," he said. Indeed.

*****
I think my father feels bad that he didn't give me my mother's engagement ring. However, he said he found his mother's engagement ring and wanted to give it to me. It was just beautiful. I don't know the lingo, but a simple gold band with small diamonds along the top. I was touched. Speechless that he would share this with me. Dad holds on to things, precious things like these. It means a lot. I don't think I communicated that to him. I hope I can. He spoke with his sister, my Tia, to make sure that she was comfortable with this, and she said she was pleased (or something) that I would have it.

*****
Coming back was hard. In NY, I was just Sue. Grown up. Doing things that needed to be done to support friends, family. Not thinking about school or infertility or dead babies. Except, of course, traveling and seeing so many beautiful babies. Those pangs I couldn't even name until I felt them a bunch of times. That wanting to just... just wanting all those babies around me, the impulse, the empty arms... I don't know.

*****
Now I have work to do. School to get through when all I can think about is life and death and family and reproduction. C and I have had some very difficult conversations. Productive, probably, but incredibly difficult. Starting to understand what lies ahead and what came before. And the impact of it.

I haven't been able to move, to do *anything* the last day or so. Maybe it's just catastrophic thinking about how to get through, to produce my dissertation, immerse myself in all that thought, theory, life, change. Delving deep into...everything.

Favorite line from a recent TV show

2010-06-10T00:56:00.001-04:00

Sue Sy.lvester (from that show about a HS show choir):

This room is as barren as I am.

Mrs. K

2010-06-01T23:29:00.004-04:00

B's mom.

When we weren't hanging around my house, we were hanging around her house. Her kitchen. Spotless. It was always spotless. Any time of day. Even with the dog, Taffy.

B and I made chocolate chip cookies over there when we were bored teenagers.

She was the first person I told when my mom died. I called her to get B's number at work, and I couldn't not tell her.

She sent me info about possible wedding sites. She was the red herring to get me to my surprise bridal shower.

She'd run into my dad at Shop-Rite. She sent me congratulations on my pregnancy, but not until 16 or 17 weeks (she didn't want to jinx anything). She sent cards after we lost the boys. She just sent me a sympathy card when my grandmother died.

I had a standing invitation for family events. I came for Easter dinners. I came by whenever I was in NY. I griped to her about my brother. She made great apple pie. She talked to me like a person.

She always had a smile for me. A sarcastic laugh or raised eyebrow or eye-roll. Short blond hair with a shock of white.

Always with a cigarette.

***
She had emph.ysema. A heart condition.

Surgery I didn't get to ask about.

I got a text message at 10pm tonight from B.

She's gone.

Are you there, God? It's me...

2010-05-24T03:20:00.003-04:00

(With apologies to Ju.dy B.lume and any men reading.)

Remember being in 5th or 6th or 7th grade, eagerly/anxiously awaiting your first period? You dreaded hearing about someone else getting it, because that would mean you'd be the last one, it was never going to come and you'd be a freak/child/virgin/spinster because you never got it?

Well, I was one of those girls, sort of. Only, I didn't talk about it, because the friends I had between elementary, junior high and high school didn't all know me back at the other school. So, many already had started before they knew me. No big deal. I didn't say anything, they didn't say anything...

I was 14. December of 9th grade. Yeah. I was watching a talent show in the library of my high school when I felt it start.

Finally. I was so grateful that finally I could be like everyone else.

*****
I don't know. I don't know anything. C and I haven't talked about the money we are likely to inherit. Well, no, we have. First, we fantasized about expensive toys or paying off some debt. Having at least part of a down payment for a house. Having a little bit of a financial cushion.

But. There's that other thing. Baby-making. Family building. Can't really do both. Or, well, we could but only a few options/combinations would work.

And then there's that whole getting pregnant, again. And being pregnant, again. Or, beginning the adoption process, which seems huge and daunting, too. (and there's my birthday, again. looming.)

Haven't really discussed it in any depth. Not yet.

*****
Right now, I kind of feel like I'm 13, again. I have no idea how, when or if this is going to happen. And what it's going to take. And how I'm going to deal.

Dear Friend

2010-05-21T19:47:00.002-04:00

I added a link to my Good Reading section. It is written by Chris of Elm City Dad, and featured on Glow in the Woods. He lost his sweet baby Silas, just hours after his birth.

Chris's (and his wife, Lani's) posts can sometimes be hard to read, but this is not to say they should not be read. It is just that they are so raw, and often bring both me and my husband right back to that place. Whatever emotion, moment, event they are describing comes in technicolor through the black pixels forming letters on the screen.

They are not always easy to read, these words, but they are important to say. And, maybe most importantly, they need to be heard.

*****
We were lucky enough to have family and friends be there for us in many of the ways Chris describes. I will always be grateful to them.

Up Late

2010-05-20T01:46:00.003-04:00

Disjointed and annoyed and up too late.

I can feel the half an ambien trying to work, but I'm resisting.

Met with the "life coach" guy again on Saturday. Since the two others in my class didn't show, I got a private coaching session with him and his wife. It was actually good. I think. Somehow I can accept the questions he asks me. and the sense he makes of my words. Maybe some stuff that had been simmering, ruminating, meandering around my brain.

I almost felt hopeful for a day or so. Trying to think about somethings differently. Thinking about the way things have been happening. How I've been, how I've reacted. How I'd like to change something things, ways I react.

And yet, I'm still so angry and sad. I never got a break, between the end of classes, finals week, losing Grandma; now my summer classes have started and I have work to complete from the spring, still..

(Did I already post about this?) I made a narrative for that one research class I was taking. The one with the faculty who said the absolutely wrong things right after my loss. She has been better around that. I may post what I wrote for that project. It included a few posts from here, but wound up being about telling the story. What sliver do I tell? Even as I re-read it now, I can see sloppy writing on my part, things I would edit. She had some interesting things to say, though, my prof. Unexpected. Not sure what to do with it.

Sort of feels like a sea change is coming. Or might be. I don't know. The ground underneath me, the feel of the air is different somehow.

Time to sleep, or try to.

Here's one thing

2010-05-18T18:39:00.002-04:00

...that's pissing me off about my family. There are a bunch, but I'll just start here.

My grandmother had a heart attack on Monday, the Monday before she died. It was a small one, says my brother when I ask him today. I found out over dinner before the last shiva, on Monday. In front of Dad, sister, BIL, Uncle (Mom's brother) and Aunt, Friend B, and, of course, my husband. At least I wasn't alone in my ignorance: B and C didn't know either.

No One Told Me.

Is this my fault because I don't call enough? Haven't been in touch enough? Oh, it was very busy and we didn't know how things were going to progress, said my Dad. Did A, my sister, know? Well, apparently, since she's the one slipped and said something at dinner. Well, I just happened to call and found out.

And no one called me? No one left me a voicemail? No one sent me a fucking 10 word text message?

Oh, I thought Dad would do it, says my brother.

My brother who is riding my sister's ass about the proceedings of the inheritance because he's afraid he's going to be left out of important information or decisions. Who implies via email that this is just "found money" to me and my sister, taking it all very casually. Right.

Good lord, no wonder no one trusts anyone. Fucking triangulation. At no time does every member of the family have all the same information on anything.

*****
Okay, so maybe that's two things. Three?

Well

2010-05-15T23:36:00.005-04:00

I'm sure by the tenor of the last few posts that you can tell it was a difficult weekend. I'm still processing a bunch of stuff, but in the meantime, I thought I share a few bright spots.

1.) My niece. I hadn't seen her in person since she was about 2 1/2 weeks old; she's 10 months now. Honestly, I am so in love with her I can feel it in my chest. Sweet and engaged and generally relaxed and sociable. It was amazing to see her greet my dad again, to see them both react -- just wonderful. I'd like to believe we made a little connection. I sat like an idiot for 10 minutes stacking 3 little cups and knocking them down, just to hear her laugh.

1a.) My sister commented that she was so happy that I could be with my niece, and enjoy her. It was all I could do not to grab the baby out of the sling my sister was carrying her in when we met at the airport. By the end of the trip, I was dressing her and holding her and calming her down. We had a lovely time looking out the picture window at all the green trees and the occasional car driving through the neighborhood. Despite the impulse to hold her, be with her, though, there was always the hangover.

2.) My dear friend B came down for shiva Monday night. She drove almost two hours when she got off work (she's a teacher) and stayed far later than she should have. But, oh, it was so good to see her. With everything going on, it was really a comfort. My family was happy to see her, too. Just one thing that was easy this week.

3.) My grandparents left us an inheritance. It's not huge, but it will allow us to pursue -- or at least consider -- some avenues that we had thought were closed off to us, at least in the short term. No decisions yet, but there may be some options to consider. I'm still so strung out by finals week and the loss of my grandmother and the associated family crap and finishing my own work, and Oh, I'm starting the last course in my program on Monday. A little overwhelmed, but knowing it's out there is good. Mostly.

Hopefully, by the end of next week the most difficult anniversaries will be over with. Thank you, all of you, for your comments and support this last week -- these last weeks. I can't tell you how much it means to me.

no title

2010-05-14T11:19:00.000-04:00

I can't seem to get up.

There's a sweet dog leaning her head against my leg. It's been there since she came in from her walk several hours ago. Since my return, she has been my little furry, red-headed shadow, despite the 5-star accommodations she had this weekend.

I have one leg over the side of the bed. I need to get up and do my work.

Maybe it's the weight of May pressing on me. My sister mentioned this to me, about how she used to love May in NY. I did, too.

Now I would have the whole month stricken from the calendar, were it not for my wonderful wedding day.

I still need to get up. I have responsibilities. The world will not wait for me.

There is much to tell about this weekend. It will wait. Just a bit longer, I guess.

Eight Years Later

2010-05-12T11:58:00.000-04:00

Our wedding song.

they're right

2010-05-11T02:04:00.000-04:00

You can't go home again.

She's gone

2010-05-07T00:14:00.003-04:00

Late this evening.

September 14, 1917 -- May 6, 2010.

Nine years (to the day) after she buried her daughter. Six after she buried her husband.

Her name was Anna Sarah T______, but she hated her name and changed it to Ann Shirley as an adult. Yes, after Anne of Gr.een Gab.les (or so I understand, though, she didn't keep the e at the end).

She was a hell of a woman. She made a mean pot of chicken soup with matzo balls and "killer" rugelah, known internationally. The slippers she knitted are still keeping feet warm all over the country.

And she was my Grandma.

Oh, and (edited)

2010-05-06T20:48:00.006-04:00

My grandmother is dying. Her heart is failing and she is barely lucid.

I just collected my students' final exams which I have to grade and post by Tuesday at noon. C may not even be able to come home with me due to final exams and posting grades, and, oh, there are the animals. Do we take Stella with us? Will she freak out if we leave her alone in my dad's house ? There are several people who we might be able to leave her with, but I don't even know when I'm going or who I'm going with. And the cats?

My sister is going out on a date-night to night, and trying to justify staying in a hotel because her loser husband can't be flexible, and gets stressed because there's no space and is "concerned about cleanliness" as far as the baby goes. This is the same husband who put the baby down outside a Westwood/UCLA cafe, in the dark and WALKED AWAY FROM HER, to get something out of the car.

This is the same loser husband who gave her grief in the days surrounding my mother's funeral because my sister didn't have time to shower with him. It's not like she had anything else to deal with.

Well, you know, he's not used to being in such cramped quarters, 'cause we practically have a whole wing when we go to his mothers' in Bloomfield Hills. I told her, well, it's nice that my niece won't have to worry about cramped quarters, she'll always be comfortable.

Fuck.

I'm not ready for this. I haven't talked to her in a couple of weeks. I know I complained, but it was a complaint of privilege.

I'm not ready for this.

ETA: Don't worry, I'm off to take a pill and try to *do* something.

Mamaleh

2010-05-04T01:07:00.000-04:00

Thunder and lightning. Heavy rain ushers in the beginning of the tenth year without her.

I miss her so much.