I have a tendency to over-share.
I'll pause here for a minute so you can snicker and guffaw at the obviousness of that statement. "Oh really? She "over-shares" says the girl with 399 posts on a blog about people sticking things up her vagina?? The young lady who torments her beloved husband with tales of her amazing bowel movements? (they are awesome, fyi) You don't say!"
Well, yes. I do say. Generally, I say a lot. Far more than you ever wanted to know. It has taken me years to realize when someone asks, "how are you?" they're not really wanting all of that information. M is always one to remind me that out of 100 people who ask, 80% could truly care less, maybe 10% actually root for bad things to happen, and maybe, just maybe 10% are cheering you on.
So, I get that. And over the years, I've gotten much better at keeping my aches and pains and musings and commentary about others around me to myself. For the most part. But I still blab. A lot. About personal things. Which annoys M. to all get out. He doesn't much care for people all up in his bidness. Casually mention something I said to you about M. to him, and just watch the daggers shoot out of his eyes past you, the innocent offender, directly to his wife, that's me. The blabber.
But I've been observing something lately. There is one part of my personal life that I cannot speak about. As in, physically, words stop short in my mouth. Its like I experience an actual log jam in my throat.
It's my dad.
And it's usually when those 10% who actually DO give a shit ask. The concern is real.
How's your dad? Is he ok?
And I stand there like a mute. Sometimes people see me struggle with my syllables and they save me. "It's ok. No need to respond. I just want you to know I'm thinking about you." Others sit and wait for me to force something out.
I, I, I.....I don't know. I mean, I do know I just can't say. I mean I can say, I just.....
Yes. Someone actually does pay me to communicate. It's in my job title. And these fragments are all I can muster.
My dad is not good. But really, if I am honest with myself, he has not been "good" for a very long time. Only now, he has a diagnosis. He has been waiting and wanting to die since oh, about 2005. But now he has some x-rays and pieces of paper to defend his musings on morbidity.
I don't know how long he has to live. I truly do not. It could be weeks, months, years. It could be days.
How do I feel about this?
Sad.
Wow. She is Captain Obvious today, huh kids?
No wait. There's more to it. I am not particularly sad that he is going to die. My mother will be happier. HE will be happier. Those thoughts make me sad. But I am terribly, terribly sad that my father has no joy in living. At all. And I'm not sure he has for a very long time. I can barely stand to try and imagine what that kind of existence must be. What a weight to carry.
Every time I see him I want to scream, "What if you die tomorrow? Don't you want to DO SOMETHING with today?!?!"
But I know, I just know what his response will be: "Well hell, if I'm gonna die tomorrow, might as well just get it over with today....."
@#$@$%#$%^^^!!~#$@!#!~~!~#%&*#!!~
And this makes me want to yell and cry and ball my fists and punch and....
And what? Clearly, I cannot change him. We've been over this. But gosh, it makes me sad. Not the end, but the steady progression and wishing, hoping, forcing the end. Because somehow the two kick-ass kids you raised and the life you made for your family is not sufficient enough reason to try to live. To try to enjoy living. All he sees are the opportunities he DIDN'T have, the money that he assumes others have and he doesn't, the luck that THEY have and he missed out on.....
Is this man clinically depressed? Does the pope shit in the woods? Of course. But could you fit one more anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, anti-being-a-bastard pill down his gullet? Unlikely. Counseling? Ha. Try it. Even my brother (I did it for you. Can't you do it for me?) hasn't won that one.
So I steel myself for another few days with him. We'll head down this weekend. And he'll be happy to see us for a few minutes, spend the next few minutes bitching about my mom, who will then leave to find some respite. He'll sulk. We'll try to un-sulk him. He'll stare at the TV. We'll deal until a hallmark movie comes on and then text each other while we're sitting there plotting our escape. We'll go someplace for a beer and to vent and to recharge for the next day. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
I've started assigning deeper meanings to my father's actions. For no other reason than it helps me love him. I don't care if I'm projecting. I don't care if I am even remotely close to his intentions. My cousin and her newborn baby girl were down to visit last weekend. He told me he had no desire to hold the baby. At all. I attribute this to him mourning the grand-daughters he cannot hold. M says that's a stretch.
I don't care. That is what I would like to believe. So I've decided I will believe it.
**
So, how to encapsulate all of that into a one-sentence answer in response to "how's your dad?" I can't.
So I don't.
Showing posts with label dealing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dealing. Show all posts
Monday, May 23, 2011
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
And See?
now I am fine.
See, I told you. I guess I am lucky in that I cannot sustain the Sad for longer than 24 or so hours. I just get sick of myself.
Thanks to A. for sharing an evening run. (did you see the autumn sky last night?) Thanks to M. for putting up with my slouchy, self-pitying self and pushing me out the door to run. And for reminding me that there are many, many people around us who love us and who get us and who will be here for us this season - they just aren't members of my immediate family (brother excluded. He tries hard.) And as I mentioned in the comments of the last post, this doesn't make them bad people. And it doesn't make me love them less. What it does mean is that I need to reconfigure my expectations, and not take for granted the overlapping circles of support that M and I both have around us.
And if any of you are in the area, you are more than welcome to stop by tomorrow afternoon to try out some chickpea gravy. I think its gonna rock.
See, I told you. I guess I am lucky in that I cannot sustain the Sad for longer than 24 or so hours. I just get sick of myself.
Thanks to A. for sharing an evening run. (did you see the autumn sky last night?) Thanks to M. for putting up with my slouchy, self-pitying self and pushing me out the door to run. And for reminding me that there are many, many people around us who love us and who get us and who will be here for us this season - they just aren't members of my immediate family (brother excluded. He tries hard.) And as I mentioned in the comments of the last post, this doesn't make them bad people. And it doesn't make me love them less. What it does mean is that I need to reconfigure my expectations, and not take for granted the overlapping circles of support that M and I both have around us.
And if any of you are in the area, you are more than welcome to stop by tomorrow afternoon to try out some chickpea gravy. I think its gonna rock.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Days and Days
....that I am behind in the whole MEME thing. I keep envisioning a lightning round where I just stuff you full of everything and anything you wanted to know about me in one fell swoop. Maybe that will happen.
Right now I am holding steady. Steady through the days.
Wondering who that delusional idiot was the other evening that said to her husband, you know, I think I'm going to be OK this holiday season. I think I may even be looking forward to it.
And I am - some pieces. Like our first vegan Thanksgiving feast. (hint: if you ever want to minimize your numbers for dinner, say the word "vegan") And the impromptu trip up north that we just might make to see friends and family. Getting a live tree. Seeing lights. Plotting trips down south to avoid Xmas day....All of that - that sounds nice.
The anxiety that crept up on me last night and hasn't left....the anger rising inside of me when people asking things of me, wanting me to function like I did yesterday or the day before when now my mind is squarely stuck on other moments (don't they know? can't they see? isn't it obvious that the eve of my daughters' deaths is soon upon us?)....the simple injustice of all of the "this time last year"s....Those things = Not So Nice.
And the answer to all of the previous questions is, of course, no. They don't know. They can't see. It isn't obvious. Why would it be? And even if it were, newsflash, we all have an ache to bear. This is something I keep trying to remind myself.
We all have an ache to bear.
I am not the only one with a gaping hole in my heart and a truth that makes me gasp if I allow myself to think about it. I am not the only person who walks into the holidays feeling anything but thankful. I am not the only one who is trying to get through.
And, as M put it so eloquently: even if you were, you will die holding your breath waiting for people to think about anything other than themselves.
Well, yeah. In some cases, yes. (in some cases, no. We'll get to that in a minute)
I guess I was just empowered, strengthened, encouraged by this great letter that My Infertility Woes wrote to her family and shared on her blog yesterday. I thought, oh my gosh, this is so gentle and so true and states so clearly what she and her husband could use to get them through the season. Wow. Wow.
And I thought, hmmm.....I wonder what would happen if I asked for some help, some understanding? Because as the sage M also pointed out last night when I was freaking out about an exam I will soon take, it is rarely evident when I need an extra hand. He was clueless that I was at panic point, and readily lent a hand (literally, to hold cue cards and quiz me) when he realized I needed help. He simply had no idea.
Along that line of logic and spurred on by the responses M.I.W. received from her letter, I tried the asking thing out this morning with a little text:
Still waiting for the full results from the morning text to come in. One has been disappointing but predictable. The other kind. A 50/50 split isn't terrible. But in the mood I am in right now at this moment, these words bring me up to a steady seethe:
I understand
beautiful lives and memories
eternity
a place far better and safer than this world
continue fighting
don't give up
I find comfort in none of this. None of these concepts work for me. And the fact that they were tossed out, one after the other, like sprinkling holy water, confirmed for me where I do NOT want to be for more than 5 minutes this Thursday.
So then what, exactly, was I anticipating? What did I WANT from that family missive?
I think I would like quiet. And an understanding for when we are quiet. I would like some room to breathe and grieve if those feelings come up on us as they seem to be. I would like the ability to be angry without someone rushing to comfort. I would like to be alone with my thoughts and not have someone else define them for me. I would like the ability to switch gears and not have to explain it. I would like a quiet acceptance of the idea that I can be sad in the morning and happy at night. And vice versa.
But, as I look at this wish list, I am thinking this is not mutually exclusive to the loss or infertility communities. This is what most of us want from our families, isn't it? And not just over the holidays.
Tell me, peeps: in a perfect world, how would YOUR family support you over the holiday season? What are the things you want/don't want?
Let's build our wish list together.
Right now I am holding steady. Steady through the days.
Wondering who that delusional idiot was the other evening that said to her husband, you know, I think I'm going to be OK this holiday season. I think I may even be looking forward to it.
And I am - some pieces. Like our first vegan Thanksgiving feast. (hint: if you ever want to minimize your numbers for dinner, say the word "vegan") And the impromptu trip up north that we just might make to see friends and family. Getting a live tree. Seeing lights. Plotting trips down south to avoid Xmas day....All of that - that sounds nice.
The anxiety that crept up on me last night and hasn't left....the anger rising inside of me when people asking things of me, wanting me to function like I did yesterday or the day before when now my mind is squarely stuck on other moments (don't they know? can't they see? isn't it obvious that the eve of my daughters' deaths is soon upon us?)....the simple injustice of all of the "this time last year"s....Those things = Not So Nice.
And the answer to all of the previous questions is, of course, no. They don't know. They can't see. It isn't obvious. Why would it be? And even if it were, newsflash, we all have an ache to bear. This is something I keep trying to remind myself.
We all have an ache to bear.
I am not the only one with a gaping hole in my heart and a truth that makes me gasp if I allow myself to think about it. I am not the only person who walks into the holidays feeling anything but thankful. I am not the only one who is trying to get through.
And, as M put it so eloquently: even if you were, you will die holding your breath waiting for people to think about anything other than themselves.
Well, yeah. In some cases, yes. (in some cases, no. We'll get to that in a minute)
I guess I was just empowered, strengthened, encouraged by this great letter that My Infertility Woes wrote to her family and shared on her blog yesterday. I thought, oh my gosh, this is so gentle and so true and states so clearly what she and her husband could use to get them through the season. Wow. Wow.
And I thought, hmmm.....I wonder what would happen if I asked for some help, some understanding? Because as the sage M also pointed out last night when I was freaking out about an exam I will soon take, it is rarely evident when I need an extra hand. He was clueless that I was at panic point, and readily lent a hand (literally, to hold cue cards and quiz me) when he realized I needed help. He simply had no idea.
Along that line of logic and spurred on by the responses M.I.W. received from her letter, I tried the asking thing out this morning with a little text:
"Dear family: asking for your patience over the winter holidays. This is a hard, hard time of year for us. Thanks."I thought that handful of words might minimize the fuss when M and I stop by to say hi but don't sit down or linger at the other Thanksgiving feast. Would alleviate the need to feign happiness and delight upon seeing my pregnant cousin's belly move. Would grant us at least a little repreive from faking our way through the holidays. Might help explain the unpredictability of us - honest to pete, 24 hours ago I was FINE. This morning, I had to brace myself and de-tear before a morning meeting around people that I do NOT want to appear teary around. Right now, a break in the clouds is appearing. I bet by evening I will be fully present again.
Still waiting for the full results from the morning text to come in. One has been disappointing but predictable. The other kind. A 50/50 split isn't terrible. But in the mood I am in right now at this moment, these words bring me up to a steady seethe:
I understand
beautiful lives and memories
eternity
a place far better and safer than this world
continue fighting
don't give up
I find comfort in none of this. None of these concepts work for me. And the fact that they were tossed out, one after the other, like sprinkling holy water, confirmed for me where I do NOT want to be for more than 5 minutes this Thursday.
So then what, exactly, was I anticipating? What did I WANT from that family missive?
I think I would like quiet. And an understanding for when we are quiet. I would like some room to breathe and grieve if those feelings come up on us as they seem to be. I would like the ability to be angry without someone rushing to comfort. I would like to be alone with my thoughts and not have someone else define them for me. I would like the ability to switch gears and not have to explain it. I would like a quiet acceptance of the idea that I can be sad in the morning and happy at night. And vice versa.
But, as I look at this wish list, I am thinking this is not mutually exclusive to the loss or infertility communities. This is what most of us want from our families, isn't it? And not just over the holidays.
Tell me, peeps: in a perfect world, how would YOUR family support you over the holiday season? What are the things you want/don't want?
Let's build our wish list together.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Up and Then Down
Plans for this morning were to post my perfect moments from the week, which consisted of a great weekend topped off with a concert by a beloved icon from my past. I was going to count the ways which the evening rocked and then bang out some more 30-days MEME posts since I am, yet, again, falling behind. That was the plan.
But M. woke this morning when my pilates alarm went off (I chose snooze. sorry. legs still sore) and continued to toss and turn until he finally got up, sighing the whole way in and out of the shower. Somber morning, the kind where I quietly can't wait for him to leave since the weight of the air is oppressive. Is it about work? Was it the alarm? Did I say something last night to start this funk? what was the trigger? How can I make it better? Can I make it better?
On the way out it felt like he was trying to pick a fight over some earphones and finally I was like, dude. What? What is this about?
"I just can't find a reason to get up in the morning. That's all. I just don't see the point."
And with that he leaves. And here I sit. Reminded that no matter how fine things appear on the surface, That is always there.
**
Sometimes I wonder how different things would be if I just never got pregnant. If nothing worked and the grieving was for something else. Not two real, actual little girls that never got a chance to get mad as us, make us crazy, make us proud. I wonder if the sting would be any less if we knew there was NO chance, as opposed to one chance, and oh you blew it, and now you have none. That feels terribly cruel, don't you think?
But where does the anger go? Who to be mad at? Sure there are the usual suspects, but inevitably it turns inward or to each other, or to The World in general, and leads to mornings like this. Ones where I text until he answers me so I am sure he at least made it to work safely (he is). One were all my best laid plans are shot to hell and I still have a day of work ahead of me. Of other obligations, other expectations that have nothing to do with this.
This dead babies/infertility/sad husband/crazy family business (which I am not even getting into here)...It's really doing a job on me this morning. And the rest of the day awaits.
But M. woke this morning when my pilates alarm went off (I chose snooze. sorry. legs still sore) and continued to toss and turn until he finally got up, sighing the whole way in and out of the shower. Somber morning, the kind where I quietly can't wait for him to leave since the weight of the air is oppressive. Is it about work? Was it the alarm? Did I say something last night to start this funk? what was the trigger? How can I make it better? Can I make it better?
On the way out it felt like he was trying to pick a fight over some earphones and finally I was like, dude. What? What is this about?
"I just can't find a reason to get up in the morning. That's all. I just don't see the point."
And with that he leaves. And here I sit. Reminded that no matter how fine things appear on the surface, That is always there.
**
Sometimes I wonder how different things would be if I just never got pregnant. If nothing worked and the grieving was for something else. Not two real, actual little girls that never got a chance to get mad as us, make us crazy, make us proud. I wonder if the sting would be any less if we knew there was NO chance, as opposed to one chance, and oh you blew it, and now you have none. That feels terribly cruel, don't you think?
But where does the anger go? Who to be mad at? Sure there are the usual suspects, but inevitably it turns inward or to each other, or to The World in general, and leads to mornings like this. Ones where I text until he answers me so I am sure he at least made it to work safely (he is). One were all my best laid plans are shot to hell and I still have a day of work ahead of me. Of other obligations, other expectations that have nothing to do with this.
This dead babies/infertility/sad husband/crazy family business (which I am not even getting into here)...It's really doing a job on me this morning. And the rest of the day awaits.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
We Interrupt this MEME....
For just a little bit of real life news.
M. and I have quietly been prepping for an FET with me.
And last night, after learning that after almost a full month of heavy increases of estrace that my lining is still only 4.7 mm, we decided together to call it off.
We still have time to try a few more days of estrace before another ultrasound on Friday, but really, what would that show us? That it's grown to 5.1? 5.5? Still well below the 6.0 that would usually mark the canceling of a cycle. Far below the preferred 8.0 mm.
It's not about the numbers. It's about feeling like this is grasping at straws, like this is desperate. And that's not a place M or I want to be.
I don't want to put everything on hold only to have someone else make this decision for us. I don't want to spend my mental energy trying to reschedule meetings, juggling more days off work, longing for my morning runs and thinking about all of the things I could be doing if I wasn't cycling....and truly, this is where my head has been lately. After the first ultrasound showed us pretty much exactly what I expected, my heart wasn't in it. And neither is M's. All the more reason to say, hey, you know what? I don't think this is the time.
This isn't bad news. Disappointing, hell yes. But the fact that we could rationally sit down and make this call - this decision that these were not the terms we wanted to accept - felt like a pretty big milestone.
"For the first time in a long time, I am actually happy with our life. I'm ok with where we are, with what we have planned."
"Me too. And I'm afraid going into a cycle where the odds of success are well below normal could throw us back to a place I don't want to be."
"Me too."
"So then...."
"So then."
**
We're not hanging up our baby-making hats. We haven't given up our hope for a family. In fact, I know it will happen. Somehow.
But probably not like this. Not right now.
And that's ok.
M. and I have quietly been prepping for an FET with me.
And last night, after learning that after almost a full month of heavy increases of estrace that my lining is still only 4.7 mm, we decided together to call it off.
We still have time to try a few more days of estrace before another ultrasound on Friday, but really, what would that show us? That it's grown to 5.1? 5.5? Still well below the 6.0 that would usually mark the canceling of a cycle. Far below the preferred 8.0 mm.
It's not about the numbers. It's about feeling like this is grasping at straws, like this is desperate. And that's not a place M or I want to be.
I don't want to put everything on hold only to have someone else make this decision for us. I don't want to spend my mental energy trying to reschedule meetings, juggling more days off work, longing for my morning runs and thinking about all of the things I could be doing if I wasn't cycling....and truly, this is where my head has been lately. After the first ultrasound showed us pretty much exactly what I expected, my heart wasn't in it. And neither is M's. All the more reason to say, hey, you know what? I don't think this is the time.
This isn't bad news. Disappointing, hell yes. But the fact that we could rationally sit down and make this call - this decision that these were not the terms we wanted to accept - felt like a pretty big milestone.
"For the first time in a long time, I am actually happy with our life. I'm ok with where we are, with what we have planned."
"Me too. And I'm afraid going into a cycle where the odds of success are well below normal could throw us back to a place I don't want to be."
"Me too."
"So then...."
"So then."
**
We're not hanging up our baby-making hats. We haven't given up our hope for a family. In fact, I know it will happen. Somehow.
But probably not like this. Not right now.
And that's ok.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Vocalization
And finally, he speaks.
"Everything is just so far removed from where it should be."
And I can relate.
I bet you can too.
"Everything is just so far removed from where it should be."
And I can relate.
I bet you can too.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Love > sadness
Yesterday I had lunch with someone I love. After lunch we drove to see the Trees.
I explained to the this person that this is my destination when I drag myself out to run. It is the reason I don't stop and walk along the way. It is my reward for sweat and toil and perseverance. (I'm thinking I need a t-shirt - I went through labor and all I got were these trees.)
This person whom I love went on to say how its good to have a place to have conversations with "the girls" and I cringed because "the girls" is also how she refers to two (now dead) obese pomeranians (that I loathed). But I said nothing. She then went on to tell me that she talks to the girls everyday. In her mind, they are two little bumblebee-like creatures flying in the air, with little wings, perched on big flowers, laughing a giggling and having a fine time.
And my first thought was: that is seriously the most fucked up bullshit I have heard in a very long time.
And this time last year I would have said, "that is seriously the most fucked up bullshit I have heard in a very long time." And feelings would have been hurt (legitimately so) and tears would have fallen and two people would have gotten into a car sad and upset and feeling terribly misunderstood and alone and punished for sharing how they actually felt.
This time, I just stayed silent. And let her think her thoughts. Because, shit, whatever gets you through, right?
And the more I sat, the more I wondered to myself. Well, hell, would it hurt to envision your daughters as happy? Would it be a bad thing to think of them in a joyful way?
I'm thinking no.
And this is actually something I've been thinking about for a while now. There have been two instances now where I have had some energy readings or therapies and each time the person guiding me has sensed strong, protective, decidedly female power. The first time, I wracked my brain wondering why my grandmother's presence would be so well, present, when sure, I loved her, but my gi-gi (my grandfather) is the person whose absence I still mourn. It wasn't until the therapist said she felt two, equally strong vibrations that I realized,
Holy fuck. They are my daughters. My daughters are here with me.
I wept. She wept. And just like that it was over.
Just recently a similar situation occured in which a positive and strong aura was felt near me. Once again, I never even thought about it coming from my daughters. Even though I was purposefully in the room with their remains, their boxes, our only remnants of their short lives with us. The idea of them spiritually near me never crossed my mind.
Shame on me.
Shame that I need to constantly remind myself -
My daughters are NOT the tragedy.
My daughters are NOT my grief.
My daughters can be my light and my joy, even if they are not physically present. I can honor their memory and still live at the same time. There is no need for a hairshirt. No need to self-flagellate while saying their names out loud.
Isobel.
Jovita.
Those are beautiful, beautiful names, don't you think?
I think I need to say them out loud more often. Enunciated by more love than sadness.
I explained to the this person that this is my destination when I drag myself out to run. It is the reason I don't stop and walk along the way. It is my reward for sweat and toil and perseverance. (I'm thinking I need a t-shirt - I went through labor and all I got were these trees.)
This person whom I love went on to say how its good to have a place to have conversations with "the girls" and I cringed because "the girls" is also how she refers to two (now dead) obese pomeranians (that I loathed). But I said nothing. She then went on to tell me that she talks to the girls everyday. In her mind, they are two little bumblebee-like creatures flying in the air, with little wings, perched on big flowers, laughing a giggling and having a fine time.
And my first thought was: that is seriously the most fucked up bullshit I have heard in a very long time.
And this time last year I would have said, "that is seriously the most fucked up bullshit I have heard in a very long time." And feelings would have been hurt (legitimately so) and tears would have fallen and two people would have gotten into a car sad and upset and feeling terribly misunderstood and alone and punished for sharing how they actually felt.
This time, I just stayed silent. And let her think her thoughts. Because, shit, whatever gets you through, right?
And the more I sat, the more I wondered to myself. Well, hell, would it hurt to envision your daughters as happy? Would it be a bad thing to think of them in a joyful way?
I'm thinking no.
And this is actually something I've been thinking about for a while now. There have been two instances now where I have had some energy readings or therapies and each time the person guiding me has sensed strong, protective, decidedly female power. The first time, I wracked my brain wondering why my grandmother's presence would be so well, present, when sure, I loved her, but my gi-gi (my grandfather) is the person whose absence I still mourn. It wasn't until the therapist said she felt two, equally strong vibrations that I realized,
Holy fuck. They are my daughters. My daughters are here with me.
I wept. She wept. And just like that it was over.
Just recently a similar situation occured in which a positive and strong aura was felt near me. Once again, I never even thought about it coming from my daughters. Even though I was purposefully in the room with their remains, their boxes, our only remnants of their short lives with us. The idea of them spiritually near me never crossed my mind.
Shame on me.
Shame that I need to constantly remind myself -
My daughters are NOT the tragedy.
My daughters are NOT my grief.
My daughters can be my light and my joy, even if they are not physically present. I can honor their memory and still live at the same time. There is no need for a hairshirt. No need to self-flagellate while saying their names out loud.
Isobel.
Jovita.
Those are beautiful, beautiful names, don't you think?
I think I need to say them out loud more often. Enunciated by more love than sadness.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Aw Hey
Life's not so bad. Really it isn't.
Of course we went to happy hour.
And of course right at the depths of his "whatamIdoinghere?" angst about work, some things happened over the course of the day that made M. realize its not all bad. And that his young and ambitious (and sometimes a little bossy) boss has the exact same thoughts he does. And she IS all about the corporate track. And maybe it is time to start looking around for something else. But in the meantime, while M's hard, hard work may not reflect in his paycheck, damn, those health insurance benefits, some of which we never ever had before, have been so necessary this year. I'm not sure what we would have done without them.
But we'll make a plan. We always do. Fine tune it over a Bell's or a Dogfish Head. And then try to make something happen.
Me? Oh hey, I'm just handling the reprecussions of my own resolutions. My crises are completely of my own making. And they're not baaaad, they're just, well, hard.
I asked for more autonomy and authority at work. And shit. I got it. And shit. It's not easy. Especially when I feel pretty strongly about having down time during my week. Keeping things to 40 hours is unrealistic, but I get incredibly cranky and resentful when things push past 50. So, there's that.
And I told myself I would make more time to say yes to friends and family and that takes, well, time.
And I am trying to be a better partner. Someone who is able to hold up and support M in his deepest hours as well as he does that for me.
So, I'm just trying to make all this happen, and hang on to the hope of a family, and stay sane.
and kick some dodge ball ass.
Of course we went to happy hour.
And of course right at the depths of his "whatamIdoinghere?" angst about work, some things happened over the course of the day that made M. realize its not all bad. And that his young and ambitious (and sometimes a little bossy) boss has the exact same thoughts he does. And she IS all about the corporate track. And maybe it is time to start looking around for something else. But in the meantime, while M's hard, hard work may not reflect in his paycheck, damn, those health insurance benefits, some of which we never ever had before, have been so necessary this year. I'm not sure what we would have done without them.
But we'll make a plan. We always do. Fine tune it over a Bell's or a Dogfish Head. And then try to make something happen.
Me? Oh hey, I'm just handling the reprecussions of my own resolutions. My crises are completely of my own making. And they're not baaaad, they're just, well, hard.
I asked for more autonomy and authority at work. And shit. I got it. And shit. It's not easy. Especially when I feel pretty strongly about having down time during my week. Keeping things to 40 hours is unrealistic, but I get incredibly cranky and resentful when things push past 50. So, there's that.
And I told myself I would make more time to say yes to friends and family and that takes, well, time.
And I am trying to be a better partner. Someone who is able to hold up and support M in his deepest hours as well as he does that for me.
So, I'm just trying to make all this happen, and hang on to the hope of a family, and stay sane.
and kick some dodge ball ass.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
First I was fine
but now, not so much.
I don't know how the day shifted. Right from under me. And actually, as I type this, it has shifted back. Right back to fine.
Last night I drank mulled wine. Decorated the tree. Lingered a long time on the ornaments with some of the only images of the girls that we have.
Do I put them up? How does this make me feel? Do I want to be looking at these every day? I asked M. Do these things make you happy or sad? He said keep them up. He said both.
Yes. Both.
I did the tree. Because when else can you bring an 8 foot piece of the forest into your home and have it be ok? We agreed it is one of the things about the holidays we like a lot.
Tree is up. Lit. Pretty. Now the stockings. No sorry. Can't do it. The image of two stockings - even if they are ostensibly for M and me - hanging in expectation on the mantle is simply too much. No. This I can't do. Those went back in the box.
Lights yes. Stockings no. Tree yes. Cards maybe. Presents - fuck. Presents.
Maybe this is what started it. Anxiety around presents. What to get. Who gets its. Wait. We are close to broke. Now what? Thoughts return to perhaps just skipping Xmas altogether.
No. No. Can't do that. I mean, you can, but Angie said it so well:
"It is like falling off a bicycle, we cannot skip the holiday this year, or we will every year."
I do believe she's right.
But somewhere amidst the wine and the lights and the balls and the baubles I remembered, "this time last year I was full-on pregnant. Blissful. Happy. Beyond happy." By this time a week from now, all of that had changed.
And within that quick realization, that split second, the lights seemed accusatory, the baubles gaudy, the stockings already shoved back in the crate just plain cruel.
I have tried with all my might to avoid the "if only's" and the "if they were's..." and even the "this time last year's...." but they are flooding my brain today and won't go away. Not even some basic yoga postures soothe. They just bring tears.
And then Michael picks me up off the ground, demands a hug, we go back to the kitchen and get coffee and I am back to being fine. Just like that. The phone rings an email comes in, a workman knocks at the door and the haze reshuffles and moves away for a bit. Until the next time.
I think, as so many of you have already warned, I am just going to have to take these waves as they come. Let them happen. Despite all of my logic and rationalization, this week DOES feel different than the rest of the year. It IS different. It just is.
M has off today. I am working from home - not by choice - every once in a while our office tries to see if we can function away from the physical building and if anyone will notice. Its our "emergency testing" plan. Yesterday this was awesome. I needed the peace. Today I'm am in desperate need for distraction. So I am getting dressed and running some errands with my husband. I am walking away from the phone and the computer for a while and hoping no one notices. But if they do, well it just doesn't matter that much.
I don't know how the day shifted. Right from under me. And actually, as I type this, it has shifted back. Right back to fine.
Last night I drank mulled wine. Decorated the tree. Lingered a long time on the ornaments with some of the only images of the girls that we have.
Do I put them up? How does this make me feel? Do I want to be looking at these every day? I asked M. Do these things make you happy or sad? He said keep them up. He said both.
Yes. Both.
I did the tree. Because when else can you bring an 8 foot piece of the forest into your home and have it be ok? We agreed it is one of the things about the holidays we like a lot.
Tree is up. Lit. Pretty. Now the stockings. No sorry. Can't do it. The image of two stockings - even if they are ostensibly for M and me - hanging in expectation on the mantle is simply too much. No. This I can't do. Those went back in the box.
Lights yes. Stockings no. Tree yes. Cards maybe. Presents - fuck. Presents.
Maybe this is what started it. Anxiety around presents. What to get. Who gets its. Wait. We are close to broke. Now what? Thoughts return to perhaps just skipping Xmas altogether.
No. No. Can't do that. I mean, you can, but Angie said it so well:
"It is like falling off a bicycle, we cannot skip the holiday this year, or we will every year."
I do believe she's right.
But somewhere amidst the wine and the lights and the balls and the baubles I remembered, "this time last year I was full-on pregnant. Blissful. Happy. Beyond happy." By this time a week from now, all of that had changed.
And within that quick realization, that split second, the lights seemed accusatory, the baubles gaudy, the stockings already shoved back in the crate just plain cruel.
I have tried with all my might to avoid the "if only's" and the "if they were's..." and even the "this time last year's...." but they are flooding my brain today and won't go away. Not even some basic yoga postures soothe. They just bring tears.
And then Michael picks me up off the ground, demands a hug, we go back to the kitchen and get coffee and I am back to being fine. Just like that. The phone rings an email comes in, a workman knocks at the door and the haze reshuffles and moves away for a bit. Until the next time.
I think, as so many of you have already warned, I am just going to have to take these waves as they come. Let them happen. Despite all of my logic and rationalization, this week DOES feel different than the rest of the year. It IS different. It just is.
M has off today. I am working from home - not by choice - every once in a while our office tries to see if we can function away from the physical building and if anyone will notice. Its our "emergency testing" plan. Yesterday this was awesome. I needed the peace. Today I'm am in desperate need for distraction. So I am getting dressed and running some errands with my husband. I am walking away from the phone and the computer for a while and hoping no one notices. But if they do, well it just doesn't matter that much.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
How to Remember Something We'll Never Forget?
There is a short, sweet, completely non-controversial email in my inbox that I have been ignoring for over a month now.
They had no idea that our babies had just died.
They had no idea I was even pregnant. So how would they know that December 5 is such a loaded day. That is the day Isa and Jovi were born. And died. The most horrific 24 hours I have ever experienced. The day that changed our lives forever. One that we alternately try to hold forever in our memory and one we try to forget.
So, this email is simply marked as unread. And I'm feeling awful about it. It's weighing on my mind. There's no veiled "can we crash at your place?" request. There's not even an obligation to respond. But I have to. I need to.
So what's our plan? Do we set aside December 5 as a day of mourning? Write back and say, gosh guys, we won't be around. Sorry to miss you? Do we spend yet another 24 hours wallowing in our grief and self-pity?
But dudes, we do that every day. Do we really need to set aside another date on the calendar dedicated to remembering?
It's not like we are ever going to forget.
I've had this discussion with M. a few times now. And I think as the day gets closer we are on the same page on this one. What would our response be if the girls were alive? I think it would be Bring on the Fucking Band. There might have been a few moments showing off our beloved kids before shuttling them off to grandparents. If the girls were here, we would not be afraid to just live. Like we always have.
So where is it written that we need to spend their birthday bathed in tears? I'm not saying a few won't emerge. Christ, we are only human. And I do seem to be waxing nostalgic as the leaves start to fall and I'm reminded of the quiet evenings I spent pregnant last year indulging myself in take out and bad TV while M was covering local football games. Good times, man, truly good times....
But I cannot wait for some mystical sign to tell me its ok to start living again. I can't hold on to this grief-haze for the rest of my life. If I behave like a normal human being it doesn't mean I'm not hurting. And perhaps it's selfish of me to assume that others around me aren't?
On December 5th we will open our home. Open our hearts. Maybe we'll tell our friends about the year we've had. Maybe we won't. Maybe we'll confess that the time before the last time we saw them, we were in the midst of the two-week wait for the positive test that gave us the girls. So hopeful, so happy...Maybe they'll bring us that same luck this time around.
Hey! How are you? We're booking a show near [your city] and wanted to let you know. It's Dec. 5 at the [pretty cool pub]. Had a blast the last time we were with you. Would love to see you both again.This is from a band that we love. One whose sound is that wall of noise and distortion that somehow creates melody that I embrace. One that we cannot believe hasn't broken into the big time yet. And its true. The last time they were in our city, we had a great time. We kicked ourselves when we realized they were staying in a crap motel when we have space to spare. We promised ourselves the next time they came around, we would open our home to them. They have no idea how much their last show meant to us. Or that the last time we saw them was one of the first times we had actually emerged from the apartment in over a month.
They had no idea that our babies had just died.
They had no idea I was even pregnant. So how would they know that December 5 is such a loaded day. That is the day Isa and Jovi were born. And died. The most horrific 24 hours I have ever experienced. The day that changed our lives forever. One that we alternately try to hold forever in our memory and one we try to forget.
So, this email is simply marked as unread. And I'm feeling awful about it. It's weighing on my mind. There's no veiled "can we crash at your place?" request. There's not even an obligation to respond. But I have to. I need to.
So what's our plan? Do we set aside December 5 as a day of mourning? Write back and say, gosh guys, we won't be around. Sorry to miss you? Do we spend yet another 24 hours wallowing in our grief and self-pity?
But dudes, we do that every day. Do we really need to set aside another date on the calendar dedicated to remembering?
It's not like we are ever going to forget.
I've had this discussion with M. a few times now. And I think as the day gets closer we are on the same page on this one. What would our response be if the girls were alive? I think it would be Bring on the Fucking Band. There might have been a few moments showing off our beloved kids before shuttling them off to grandparents. If the girls were here, we would not be afraid to just live. Like we always have.
So where is it written that we need to spend their birthday bathed in tears? I'm not saying a few won't emerge. Christ, we are only human. And I do seem to be waxing nostalgic as the leaves start to fall and I'm reminded of the quiet evenings I spent pregnant last year indulging myself in take out and bad TV while M was covering local football games. Good times, man, truly good times....
But I cannot wait for some mystical sign to tell me its ok to start living again. I can't hold on to this grief-haze for the rest of my life. If I behave like a normal human being it doesn't mean I'm not hurting. And perhaps it's selfish of me to assume that others around me aren't?
On December 5th we will open our home. Open our hearts. Maybe we'll tell our friends about the year we've had. Maybe we won't. Maybe we'll confess that the time before the last time we saw them, we were in the midst of the two-week wait for the positive test that gave us the girls. So hopeful, so happy...Maybe they'll bring us that same luck this time around.
Friday, August 7, 2009
It's Ok
You guys are the bomb. Really the bomb. I love it when my inbox fills with expletives. I feel like such a tease. Getting us all worked up for a transfer and then...and then.
It's ok. I'm ok. I think we are going to be ok. What other choice do we have?
Today feels so anticlimatic. Yesterday feels so far away. I feel so removed from the shaking, sobbing, full of snot, can't even talk mess I fell into in the little cubicle. Fuck. Where did that come from?
Today, I am back in front of the computer, working. Ok, kind of half-assed working. Picking off all low-hanging fruit in order to end the day with some sense of accomplishment. Thinking of new ways to spend the now no holds barred weekend: cook, drink, fuck, drink, kayak, run, drink.
Yes, that sounds ok to me. At least for now.
It's ok. I'm ok. I think we are going to be ok. What other choice do we have?
Today feels so anticlimatic. Yesterday feels so far away. I feel so removed from the shaking, sobbing, full of snot, can't even talk mess I fell into in the little cubicle. Fuck. Where did that come from?
Today, I am back in front of the computer, working. Ok, kind of half-assed working. Picking off all low-hanging fruit in order to end the day with some sense of accomplishment. Thinking of new ways to spend the now no holds barred weekend: cook, drink, fuck, drink, kayak, run, drink.
Yes, that sounds ok to me. At least for now.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
The Long and the Short of It
Is: when I sit down and try to write a new post, to fill you in on what's happening/not happening here, I am also forced to figure out how I'm feeling, how I'm doing. And that's when I start feeling sorry for myself.
Unimaginably, embarrassingly, pathetically sorry for myself. It is beyond pathetic.
And I hate it. Cue in the self-loathing.
I hate writing about that. I hate feeling it. I hate anyone knowing or even sensing that it's happening.
Cuz I ain't looking for pity. From others. Most of all from myself.
Confession: I have a hard time accepting random acts of kindness. Because sometimes I cannot tell the difference between that, and pity. I am still angry about the free ice cream from the cashier at the Ponderosa who knowingly looked at my balding head, my 12-year old face and conspiratorily whispered, "go ahead. You can have it. Don't worry about it..." Angry at her for thinking her fucking soft serve would make things better. Angry at myself for taking it.
See? See how ugly this is? You don't want to read this. I don't want to write it.
I don't even want to mention the shock and joy that M and I felt this morning when someone said, "measuring....7.2"
Because before it even registered, it was followed with a, "oh wait. hang on. I think that was just the angle. No, no, more like 4.8."
But it did. It registered enough. The hope sparked long enough for it for it to really hurt when it was quashed.
Suckers. That's what we are.
And then it all starts again. M and I laughing it off. Playing it cool. In truth, this isn't a bad read. It isn't anything other than what we expected it to be. In fact, it might even be better than what I expected for such a brief time on estrogen compared to the month-long session I had to get to 4.9 for the mock cycle.
Because, you see, our expectations are rock bottom these days. But still.
And then I remember the days when I trudged back to the train station crying to M. about a 6.2 or a 7 mm lining. Crying because we would have to wait a few more days, take another u/s...
Fuck me. Those were the golden days.
And then I remember how god damned hopeful we were back then. How we felt we had a chance. A real chance. And then I acknowledge that we will never. Ever. Feel that way again.
Cue the self-pitying, follow up with self-loathing, And running after it comes the "stop blubbering you stupid fucking baby. are you the only person in the world with problems??" inner voice.
Sigh.
So this is why I haven't been writing. I've been trying to handle all of this. Keep it under wraps. Work it out with yoga, breathing, acupuncture, other things. Anything other than thinking about how good we once had it. If only for a few moments. For the most part, honest to goodness, it has been working. I felt calm getting in the car this morning. I felt ok this week. I have been repeating to my body over and over again, "it's ok. It's cool. I'm not mad at you. We're ok. I love you. Don't worry." Every moment I think about it I whisper to myself, "My heart is open for what comes next. My heart is open...." hoping that I will convince myself.
Something has to be said for persistence, right?
Unimaginably, embarrassingly, pathetically sorry for myself. It is beyond pathetic.
And I hate it. Cue in the self-loathing.
I hate writing about that. I hate feeling it. I hate anyone knowing or even sensing that it's happening.
Cuz I ain't looking for pity. From others. Most of all from myself.
Confession: I have a hard time accepting random acts of kindness. Because sometimes I cannot tell the difference between that, and pity. I am still angry about the free ice cream from the cashier at the Ponderosa who knowingly looked at my balding head, my 12-year old face and conspiratorily whispered, "go ahead. You can have it. Don't worry about it..." Angry at her for thinking her fucking soft serve would make things better. Angry at myself for taking it.
See? See how ugly this is? You don't want to read this. I don't want to write it.
I don't even want to mention the shock and joy that M and I felt this morning when someone said, "measuring....7.2"
Because before it even registered, it was followed with a, "oh wait. hang on. I think that was just the angle. No, no, more like 4.8."
But it did. It registered enough. The hope sparked long enough for it for it to really hurt when it was quashed.
Suckers. That's what we are.
And then it all starts again. M and I laughing it off. Playing it cool. In truth, this isn't a bad read. It isn't anything other than what we expected it to be. In fact, it might even be better than what I expected for such a brief time on estrogen compared to the month-long session I had to get to 4.9 for the mock cycle.
Because, you see, our expectations are rock bottom these days. But still.
And then I remember the days when I trudged back to the train station crying to M. about a 6.2 or a 7 mm lining. Crying because we would have to wait a few more days, take another u/s...
Fuck me. Those were the golden days.
And then I remember how god damned hopeful we were back then. How we felt we had a chance. A real chance. And then I acknowledge that we will never. Ever. Feel that way again.
Cue the self-pitying, follow up with self-loathing, And running after it comes the "stop blubbering you stupid fucking baby. are you the only person in the world with problems??" inner voice.
Sigh.
So this is why I haven't been writing. I've been trying to handle all of this. Keep it under wraps. Work it out with yoga, breathing, acupuncture, other things. Anything other than thinking about how good we once had it. If only for a few moments. For the most part, honest to goodness, it has been working. I felt calm getting in the car this morning. I felt ok this week. I have been repeating to my body over and over again, "it's ok. It's cool. I'm not mad at you. We're ok. I love you. Don't worry." Every moment I think about it I whisper to myself, "My heart is open for what comes next. My heart is open...." hoping that I will convince myself.
Something has to be said for persistence, right?
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Which One Will It Be?
Ok.Have you ever gotten yourself so worked up as a kid that all of a sudden you are sobbing/sniffling/gasping/hiccuping and trying to talk at the same time? Like when your best friend got six cabbage patch dolls from all of her grandparents on her 6th birthday and you didn't have even one and she was a spoiled snot and didn't even deserve them and you were just incensed at the injustice of it all and you ended up getting spanked by your mom because you were being such a brat and embarrassing her and then got yanked out of the house all the time screaming/sobbing:
"Bu-ut (wheeze) it's (gasp) just (SNORT) not (hiccup) FAAAA-IIIIIIII-YERRRRRRRRR......." as you were dragged down the driveway to the car.
Hypothetically, of course.
Well, um, ahem. Maybe I had one of those days yesterday. (insert embarrassed face here).
Yes, I am fairly certain I suffered an anxiety attack of my own making but thankfully the story by S. reminded me that perhaps going to the emergency room is not the best plan of action. So I didn't. But honestly, the panic attack was small peanuts compared to the snot-fest I was when M. finally got home.
Poor M.
He just walked into it.
And after a few moments in his arms and on the couch, he wisely led me OUT of the house. Because he knows I can't stand crying in public (far too vain) and I'm guessing he couldn't figure out another way to get me to stop.
And he listened and he tried to sympathize and then he finally said,
"Look. It is not your grief or your sadness that is consuming you. Because I have that too. It is some kind of raging anger and hate that is eating you up. m., you are hurting yourself with your hate! What is going on here???"
I mean, he said a lot more than that. Some of it nice. Some of it not so much. Some of it that started the tears up all over again. But that is the part I remember.
and then he said,
"You can't hold this kind of hate and be happy at the same time. You need to decide which one you want. You can't have both. So, which one is it going to be?"
And then, we both sat down to watch TV and took a high powered ibuprofin (left over from the last hysteroscopy. holla) because we managed to collide heads when giving the PIO shot last night. (don't ask. I am still shocked M. doesn't need stitches) and promptly fell asleep. Exhausted.
Shit.
This shit wears me out.
And so, today is a new day. And today I am trying, trying, trying to choose happy.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Just
I seem to be spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about what I might blog this morning. Obsessing, almost.
No matter how the conversation begins, or what stories of the weekend or last night or this morning I share, whether they are good or sad or silly or poignant, it all winds up in the same place.
This morning, I am hurting. Just. Hurting.
No matter how the conversation begins, or what stories of the weekend or last night or this morning I share, whether they are good or sad or silly or poignant, it all winds up in the same place.
This morning, I am hurting. Just. Hurting.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Elm City Dad
Left me absolutely breathless with his latest post where he talks about changing in order to exist alongside that fact that his beautiful Silas no longer does:
He will never change, and I cannot do anything else.
I am not joking when I say that this is now printed out and sitting in my day bag. I am waiting for the moment to share it with M. Because I think he will find some peace in knowing that we, that he, is not alone. That he is not the only one that expends so much effort to simply try and exist in a state remotely similar to what he was before. Happy. I gasped when I read these lines. Because they are so painfully true:
I’ve been living with this fact for 8 months now and I’m just completely fucking exhausted by the daily wrestling match between what I want and what I have. So I’m trying to stop that internal battle and simply resign myself to the facts at hand.
There is resignation here, but not of the hopeless kind. At least, that is not how I read it (or internalized it)
I think you should go read it too.
He will never change, and I cannot do anything else.
I am not joking when I say that this is now printed out and sitting in my day bag. I am waiting for the moment to share it with M. Because I think he will find some peace in knowing that we, that he, is not alone. That he is not the only one that expends so much effort to simply try and exist in a state remotely similar to what he was before. Happy. I gasped when I read these lines. Because they are so painfully true:
I’ve been living with this fact for 8 months now and I’m just completely fucking exhausted by the daily wrestling match between what I want and what I have. So I’m trying to stop that internal battle and simply resign myself to the facts at hand.
There is resignation here, but not of the hopeless kind. At least, that is not how I read it (or internalized it)
I think you should go read it too.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Resignation
I might just have to come to terms with the fact that I will not be able to get pregnant again. Ever.
That our few moments with Isa and Jovi is all we're going to get. Ever.
And dammit. This is pretty hard to bear right now. Especially when, you know, the world doesn't stop while you need to comprehend and process your own little corner of it, does it? (This post is taking me ages to write because I am working, rescheduling, emailing, pretending to be ok.)
21 days of 8 mg of estrogen daily and what do I have to show for it? An endometrium that is a measly 4.7 mm. Entirely too thin for, for anything. Possible reasons? Microscopic scarring. As my RE explained, a pregnant uterus is incredibly sensitive. To remove living tissue from it in that state could easily result in permanent damage.
Pregnant.
Living Tissue.
Permanent Damage.
And just as I thought that clouds had lifted, that we were getting on with our lives, actually quite well lately, it all comes flooding back. Fuck me, I was pregnant. There were babies inside of my belly. Beautiful ones. I had two daughters. And I may never have the opportunity to try again.
The fact that my RE even felt a need for this follow up ultrasound after a second hysteroscopy should have made me wary. And it did. But maybe I was just so pleased that the first hysteroscopy didn't reveal massive scarring, I let myself get hopeful again. To start thinking about new ob/gyns, unearthing maternity clothes, to contemplate how I would be if I were able to get pregnant again.
Fool.
My RE is great. She really is. And at this point, I am pretty sure I am a research paper waiting to be written, or at least a pet project for her. She must have said ten times yesterday, "I don't give up this easily. There is more we can do." Well, great. In the meantime, I am desolate. Sick of the hypocrisy of organic foods and green living while meanwhile super-sizing my hormone levels and forcing my body to deal with all kinds of artificial junk. Inserted. Ingested. Forced. I am sick of being angry and hurt and hating everybody. I am weary of heavy sleeps and strange dreams filled with distorted bodies and fucked up story lines that leave me unsettled for the rest of the day. Really, really tired of it. My misanthropy is just a few layers below skin on a good day. And today is not a good day.
The only things that kept me from throwing myself on the train tracks yesterday were texts from M and, oddly enough, one of my old posts that I reread as I sniffled to myself on the same seat, in the same station, for almost the same reason, almost a year ago.
I wrote this just a week before our (successful) FET, when after weeks of everything you are supposed to do and nothing you are not supposed to do landed me an endometrium measuring 6.0. Not as sucky as 4.7, but not far off. Last time, this strategy worked. I am hoping it will again.
So I spend this week ingesting, and now inserting, estrogen into my body and go back next week for a wand redux and pray that there is a notable improvement. From there, I will probably add progesterone to the mix, just as if I was gearing up for a transfer. After a few days, RE will take a swab of my uterus to see if I am "in phase" (if my body and my RE are on the same page as far as where they think I should be in a cycle.)
If I am, then I do believe we aim for a transfer ASAP.
If I am not, well, that's a conversation I don't want to have with myself right now.
M. is my strength. It seems he has already inflicted this self-torture on himself and has landed on the other side. Not easily, not peacefully, but he is definitely at a place right now where I am not. He says we have more than we ever thought possible, meaning, two daughters. I think that and immediately think, yes, two dead daughters and more heartache, self-doubt and questioning of my sanity than I ever, ever, ever thought possible. Yes, this is true.
I have to keep living. I have to hope for the best. I have to get dressed now and put on a face that completely conceals what we have just been talking about right now. Because the world doesn't stop while you need to comprehend and process your own little corner of it. And what's more, for the most part, I think the rest of the world could really give a shit about it.
That our few moments with Isa and Jovi is all we're going to get. Ever.
And dammit. This is pretty hard to bear right now. Especially when, you know, the world doesn't stop while you need to comprehend and process your own little corner of it, does it? (This post is taking me ages to write because I am working, rescheduling, emailing, pretending to be ok.)
21 days of 8 mg of estrogen daily and what do I have to show for it? An endometrium that is a measly 4.7 mm. Entirely too thin for, for anything. Possible reasons? Microscopic scarring. As my RE explained, a pregnant uterus is incredibly sensitive. To remove living tissue from it in that state could easily result in permanent damage.
Pregnant.
Living Tissue.
Permanent Damage.
And just as I thought that clouds had lifted, that we were getting on with our lives, actually quite well lately, it all comes flooding back. Fuck me, I was pregnant. There were babies inside of my belly. Beautiful ones. I had two daughters. And I may never have the opportunity to try again.
The fact that my RE even felt a need for this follow up ultrasound after a second hysteroscopy should have made me wary. And it did. But maybe I was just so pleased that the first hysteroscopy didn't reveal massive scarring, I let myself get hopeful again. To start thinking about new ob/gyns, unearthing maternity clothes, to contemplate how I would be if I were able to get pregnant again.
Fool.
My RE is great. She really is. And at this point, I am pretty sure I am a research paper waiting to be written, or at least a pet project for her. She must have said ten times yesterday, "I don't give up this easily. There is more we can do." Well, great. In the meantime, I am desolate. Sick of the hypocrisy of organic foods and green living while meanwhile super-sizing my hormone levels and forcing my body to deal with all kinds of artificial junk. Inserted. Ingested. Forced. I am sick of being angry and hurt and hating everybody. I am weary of heavy sleeps and strange dreams filled with distorted bodies and fucked up story lines that leave me unsettled for the rest of the day. Really, really tired of it. My misanthropy is just a few layers below skin on a good day. And today is not a good day.
The only things that kept me from throwing myself on the train tracks yesterday were texts from M and, oddly enough, one of my old posts that I reread as I sniffled to myself on the same seat, in the same station, for almost the same reason, almost a year ago.
I wrote this just a week before our (successful) FET, when after weeks of everything you are supposed to do and nothing you are not supposed to do landed me an endometrium measuring 6.0. Not as sucky as 4.7, but not far off. Last time, this strategy worked. I am hoping it will again.
So I spend this week ingesting, and now inserting, estrogen into my body and go back next week for a wand redux and pray that there is a notable improvement. From there, I will probably add progesterone to the mix, just as if I was gearing up for a transfer. After a few days, RE will take a swab of my uterus to see if I am "in phase" (if my body and my RE are on the same page as far as where they think I should be in a cycle.)
If I am, then I do believe we aim for a transfer ASAP.
If I am not, well, that's a conversation I don't want to have with myself right now.
M. is my strength. It seems he has already inflicted this self-torture on himself and has landed on the other side. Not easily, not peacefully, but he is definitely at a place right now where I am not. He says we have more than we ever thought possible, meaning, two daughters. I think that and immediately think, yes, two dead daughters and more heartache, self-doubt and questioning of my sanity than I ever, ever, ever thought possible. Yes, this is true.
I have to keep living. I have to hope for the best. I have to get dressed now and put on a face that completely conceals what we have just been talking about right now. Because the world doesn't stop while you need to comprehend and process your own little corner of it. And what's more, for the most part, I think the rest of the world could really give a shit about it.
Monday, March 16, 2009
In the Midst of a Regular Day
Yesterday M and I were driving around, running errands. I was on a rant about something. M. was chiming in. This is what we do. We rant and rave, drive around and shake our fists at the world and laugh at how ridiculous we are.
In the midst of this, M. said, "man, you're gonna make a great mom."
And I paused, and I held on to that. Because he said it without thinking. He said it naturally. He didn't wince when he said it. It wasn't tagged by an "IF" or even a sigh. It was just said as if it were a statement of belief. It was said like we used to say things to each other. It was said like he meant it.
And I have to belief that there's still a little hope in that sad little heart of his. And it was utter joy to hear it sneak out.
And he wondered why I wanted to hold his hand at the grocery store.
In the midst of this, M. said, "man, you're gonna make a great mom."
And I paused, and I held on to that. Because he said it without thinking. He said it naturally. He didn't wince when he said it. It wasn't tagged by an "IF" or even a sigh. It was just said as if it were a statement of belief. It was said like we used to say things to each other. It was said like he meant it.
And I have to belief that there's still a little hope in that sad little heart of his. And it was utter joy to hear it sneak out.
And he wondered why I wanted to hold his hand at the grocery store.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Honest Scraps, Sisterhood and More
(holy crap, this post took forever to write)
In what world does "ASAP" translate to "over a week later"?? Mine, it seems.
First, sincere THANK YOUs! to lostintranslation from We Say IVF They Say FIV , Brendan and Brenna's Mom at Living Without Brenna and Brenna from the Real Bean who nominated me for an Honest Scrap award. lostintranslation also threw in a Sisterhood award there too. Cool! Next, a sincere apology for not having my act together to share the love sooner.
Before I get started, a quick update: we are better. At least better than my last post. Better than this one, too. Trying hard to talk things out, trying to say "yes" to invitations and to minimize our time on the couch, in front of the TV, wine in hand. Don't get me wrong, that course of action was incredibly healing for a while, but maybe that while has passed. Warm weather is helping. Planning for the tree planting ceremony we hope to have on Easter weekend is, strangely, helping. Thinking about what I want Barbara to make for me in her new Tiny Moments of Pure Joy shop is helping.
Some days I am so agitated, sensitive, annoyed and aggressive all at once I cannot stand myself, and I am sure I am pushing the limits of others (I am sorry L. I am sorry John).
Note to self: having babies that die does NOT give me a free pass to be an asshole for the rest of my life.
I should probably write that down on a piece of paper 100 times.
But when I'm not being an ass to the world around me, lately I have been struck by this other very strange feeling. The only way I can explain it is a sense of knowing. Almost as if I am pregnant already, like babies are a foregone conclusion. That someday soon, I will be changing diapers and life will be different. In a good way.
I don't mean to be presumptuous. Not at all. There is no chance of a "miracle oops" here. To be blunt, I got no fucking eggs. But that hasn't swayed this feeling. Would you call it a premonition?
I don't want to speak too much about it. Fear of jinxing, etc, etc. And we still have a bit of a wait before our next cycle begins. ETD: one month from now? But it's there. And I'm not really minding it.
And now on to the awards. Here's how it goes. For Honest Scrap...
1) Choose a minimum of 7 blogs that you find brilliant in content or design.
2) Show the 7 winners names and links on your blog, and leave a comment informing them that they were prized with "Honest Scrap." Well, there's no prize, but they can keep the nifty icon.
3) List at least 10 honest things about yourself.
**
1.) Bass in your face! Maybe you recall me mentioning that I've always wanted to play bass guitar in a punk rock band. Well, ain't nothing to it but to do it. I decided last week that talking was for posers. I bought a bunch of books on Amazon and was in the midst of consulting with friends and checking craigslist for cheap starters and a friend said, hey man, I got one in my garage, you can totally borrow it. Just remember, it's a loaner. And OMFG, what a loaner. I am now staring at a GORGEOUS Fender bass guitar and an amp (complete with crystalized piss on it and a missing screen). I can almost play a Violent Femmes tune. How rock star is that?
2.) I can't decide if I love the recently added aspect of my job which has me schmoozing and lobbying with legislators, or if I think it is just about the silliest waste of my time ever. I think maybe both.
3.) I am finally figuring out how to make homemade pizza dough. Without it sucking. And I haven't even pulled out Sarah and Alan's super secret recipe yet. That's coming out soon...
4.) I have a bad habit of buying a lot of stuff for myself while I am Xmas shopping for everyone else. This year, I picked up a green and gray striped waffled long underwear shirt from the Tommy Hillfigger outlet. This is back when I had babies in my belly. I wore that shirt every day. I loved it so much, I went back and bought any other color they had (which wasn't much). So now, I rotate between 3 striped long-sleeved shirts. M is puzzled as to what, exactly, I wore before these shirts. Neither of us can remember.
5.) I miss being in the know. We resigned from our brief stint as nightlife insiders for a local rag when my pregnancy started to progress and M got his new job that was connected with the local newspaper (potential conflict of interest). Despite several really sweet requests, I haven't picked up that pen again, and now there is a new writer/editor there. I don't miss the deadlines and trying to track down flaky artists for interviews, but I do miss the recognition, the invitations, the feeling that we were part of something cool here. Some folks remember, but I'm sensing that will fade fast. Sigh. Back to paying at the door.
6.) I will never buy something that is not on sale.
7.) Getting my inflatable kayak last summer was one of the best purchases (on sale, of course) that I ever made. I cannot tell you how much I love being on the water. Why, oh why hadn't I thought of this sooner? Right now, I am staring out my window wondering if it would be absolutely foolhardy to attempt a float down the river tomorrow.
8.) I wish I were more creative. I wish I could do things like my friend Matt. I have closets full of yarn. Why can't I get beyond the basic scarf and hat? I bought a whole bag full of cross-stitchy gear months ago in the hopes of creating some subversive cross-stitch designs of my own. Hell, I even got some pastels and scratchy sketch paper hoping for some inspiration. Matt told me to go take a line for a walk and see how it ended up. Well, it ended up stooopid. Where are my juices? Why won't they flow? I love art supplies. New pens! Blank canvas! But I am not sure I ever had the talent to fill them.
9.) We have rediscovered box wine. Seriously. Have you tried this? It's not great. It's about as good as two buck chuck, but we dig the cool recycled box. In these economic times.....Whatever. 4 liters! Holla!
10.) The public library is the bomb. M. discovered that our local library somehow has an amazing CD collection that they continue to update and expand. And you can search through the entire public library system and have all your stuff sent to one library. And its all there waiting for you. It's like Xmas every day. At least one of us walks there at least once a week. So even on the crappiest of days, there is almost always a treat waiting for us at the end of a short stroll. How cool is that?
**
And now, for the Sisterhood award,
Put the logo on your blog or post. Nominate at least 10 blogs with great attitude and/or gratitude. Be sure to link to your nominees in your post. Let your nominees know they have received the award by leaving them a comment on their blog. Be sure to link this post to the person who nominated you for the award.
And because I am lazy, I am combining the 2:
and my nominees are:
Mick at WannaBeDad (yeah, I know. You're a dude. But I think you're the bomb. And I think you are man enough to post a Sisterhood award on your blog. In fact, I double dog dare ya)
Mo and Will (Mo is my Hodgkins homie. So, so grateful to you reaching out to me. So happy to watch you and Will move forward)
Lori at Weebles Wobblog (Lori has probably done more to help me shed my adoption anger and angst than any other person. I wish every kid had a mom like Lori.)
Little Bluebirds Fly (I may not comment on every single post. But I want to. Our journeys are so similar, yet, bluebird often has the clarity that I lack, or a perspective that I need to see. I was so thankful for finding this blog)
The Burdens of Being (is one of the few blogger I know that found herself in the exact scenario as us. Still no answers to so many questions, but she's currently nurturing a new baby in her belly. And I hope we can follow in her path)
No Swimmers in the Tube, No Buns in the Oven (one cool lady. period.)
Barbara at Burble (who thinks I'm joking when I say I want to come over and hang out with her and Ray)
Chicklet at Bloorb (who is fast approaching Legend)
Dani819 (I know you don't have a blog, but it didn't feel right leaving you out. Just know that if you did have a blog, I would love for you to post these there.)
Nutmeg96 at Two Shorten The Road (because I have the honor of knowing this cool lady in real life, way before we both got picked by this new team.)
In what world does "ASAP" translate to "over a week later"?? Mine, it seems.
First, sincere THANK YOUs! to lostintranslation from We Say IVF They Say FIV , Brendan and Brenna's Mom at Living Without Brenna and Brenna from the Real Bean who nominated me for an Honest Scrap award. lostintranslation also threw in a Sisterhood award there too. Cool! Next, a sincere apology for not having my act together to share the love sooner.
Before I get started, a quick update: we are better. At least better than my last post. Better than this one, too. Trying hard to talk things out, trying to say "yes" to invitations and to minimize our time on the couch, in front of the TV, wine in hand. Don't get me wrong, that course of action was incredibly healing for a while, but maybe that while has passed. Warm weather is helping. Planning for the tree planting ceremony we hope to have on Easter weekend is, strangely, helping. Thinking about what I want Barbara to make for me in her new Tiny Moments of Pure Joy shop is helping.
Some days I am so agitated, sensitive, annoyed and aggressive all at once I cannot stand myself, and I am sure I am pushing the limits of others (I am sorry L. I am sorry John).
Note to self: having babies that die does NOT give me a free pass to be an asshole for the rest of my life.
I should probably write that down on a piece of paper 100 times.
But when I'm not being an ass to the world around me, lately I have been struck by this other very strange feeling. The only way I can explain it is a sense of knowing. Almost as if I am pregnant already, like babies are a foregone conclusion. That someday soon, I will be changing diapers and life will be different. In a good way.
I don't mean to be presumptuous. Not at all. There is no chance of a "miracle oops" here. To be blunt, I got no fucking eggs. But that hasn't swayed this feeling. Would you call it a premonition?
I don't want to speak too much about it. Fear of jinxing, etc, etc. And we still have a bit of a wait before our next cycle begins. ETD: one month from now? But it's there. And I'm not really minding it.
And now on to the awards. Here's how it goes. For Honest Scrap...
1) Choose a minimum of 7 blogs that you find brilliant in content or design.
2) Show the 7 winners names and links on your blog, and leave a comment informing them that they were prized with "Honest Scrap." Well, there's no prize, but they can keep the nifty icon.
3) List at least 10 honest things about yourself.
**
1.) Bass in your face! Maybe you recall me mentioning that I've always wanted to play bass guitar in a punk rock band. Well, ain't nothing to it but to do it. I decided last week that talking was for posers. I bought a bunch of books on Amazon and was in the midst of consulting with friends and checking craigslist for cheap starters and a friend said, hey man, I got one in my garage, you can totally borrow it. Just remember, it's a loaner. And OMFG, what a loaner. I am now staring at a GORGEOUS Fender bass guitar and an amp (complete with crystalized piss on it and a missing screen). I can almost play a Violent Femmes tune. How rock star is that?
2.) I can't decide if I love the recently added aspect of my job which has me schmoozing and lobbying with legislators, or if I think it is just about the silliest waste of my time ever. I think maybe both.
3.) I am finally figuring out how to make homemade pizza dough. Without it sucking. And I haven't even pulled out Sarah and Alan's super secret recipe yet. That's coming out soon...
4.) I have a bad habit of buying a lot of stuff for myself while I am Xmas shopping for everyone else. This year, I picked up a green and gray striped waffled long underwear shirt from the Tommy Hillfigger outlet. This is back when I had babies in my belly. I wore that shirt every day. I loved it so much, I went back and bought any other color they had (which wasn't much). So now, I rotate between 3 striped long-sleeved shirts. M is puzzled as to what, exactly, I wore before these shirts. Neither of us can remember.
5.) I miss being in the know. We resigned from our brief stint as nightlife insiders for a local rag when my pregnancy started to progress and M got his new job that was connected with the local newspaper (potential conflict of interest). Despite several really sweet requests, I haven't picked up that pen again, and now there is a new writer/editor there. I don't miss the deadlines and trying to track down flaky artists for interviews, but I do miss the recognition, the invitations, the feeling that we were part of something cool here. Some folks remember, but I'm sensing that will fade fast. Sigh. Back to paying at the door.
6.) I will never buy something that is not on sale.
7.) Getting my inflatable kayak last summer was one of the best purchases (on sale, of course) that I ever made. I cannot tell you how much I love being on the water. Why, oh why hadn't I thought of this sooner? Right now, I am staring out my window wondering if it would be absolutely foolhardy to attempt a float down the river tomorrow.
8.) I wish I were more creative. I wish I could do things like my friend Matt. I have closets full of yarn. Why can't I get beyond the basic scarf and hat? I bought a whole bag full of cross-stitchy gear months ago in the hopes of creating some subversive cross-stitch designs of my own. Hell, I even got some pastels and scratchy sketch paper hoping for some inspiration. Matt told me to go take a line for a walk and see how it ended up. Well, it ended up stooopid. Where are my juices? Why won't they flow? I love art supplies. New pens! Blank canvas! But I am not sure I ever had the talent to fill them.
9.) We have rediscovered box wine. Seriously. Have you tried this? It's not great. It's about as good as two buck chuck, but we dig the cool recycled box. In these economic times.....Whatever. 4 liters! Holla!
10.) The public library is the bomb. M. discovered that our local library somehow has an amazing CD collection that they continue to update and expand. And you can search through the entire public library system and have all your stuff sent to one library. And its all there waiting for you. It's like Xmas every day. At least one of us walks there at least once a week. So even on the crappiest of days, there is almost always a treat waiting for us at the end of a short stroll. How cool is that?
**
And now, for the Sisterhood award,
Put the logo on your blog or post. Nominate at least 10 blogs with great attitude and/or gratitude. Be sure to link to your nominees in your post. Let your nominees know they have received the award by leaving them a comment on their blog. Be sure to link this post to the person who nominated you for the award.
And because I am lazy, I am combining the 2:
and my nominees are:
Mick at WannaBeDad (yeah, I know. You're a dude. But I think you're the bomb. And I think you are man enough to post a Sisterhood award on your blog. In fact, I double dog dare ya)
Mo and Will (Mo is my Hodgkins homie. So, so grateful to you reaching out to me. So happy to watch you and Will move forward)
Lori at Weebles Wobblog (Lori has probably done more to help me shed my adoption anger and angst than any other person. I wish every kid had a mom like Lori.)
Little Bluebirds Fly (I may not comment on every single post. But I want to. Our journeys are so similar, yet, bluebird often has the clarity that I lack, or a perspective that I need to see. I was so thankful for finding this blog)
The Burdens of Being (is one of the few blogger I know that found herself in the exact scenario as us. Still no answers to so many questions, but she's currently nurturing a new baby in her belly. And I hope we can follow in her path)
No Swimmers in the Tube, No Buns in the Oven (one cool lady. period.)
Barbara at Burble (who thinks I'm joking when I say I want to come over and hang out with her and Ray)
Chicklet at Bloorb (who is fast approaching Legend)
Dani819 (I know you don't have a blog, but it didn't feel right leaving you out. Just know that if you did have a blog, I would love for you to post these there.)
Nutmeg96 at Two Shorten The Road (because I have the honor of knowing this cool lady in real life, way before we both got picked by this new team.)
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Need Some Help
Me, I'm ok. M...not so much. In fact, I am pretty damn worried about him.
For me, work has reached pre-pregnancy levels of frenzy and activity and honestly doesn't give me much time to think about anything else during those hours. Which is probably good. I am jumping on the train today to go get this balloon pulled out of my uterus and I am guessing I am going to feel even better after that happens. And lostintranslation just informed me that I am the recipient of not one, but 2 blog awards (thank you!) so, I'll get on those ASAP.
But M - he is sad. Sad. Sad. We've talked about this before, these fairly regular bouts of melancholy. This is not that. He has convinced himself that his job (that he loves) is on shaky ground (new editor-in-chief, new ways of doing things which essentially amount to weekly reports of what you have done over the week and a subsequent staff meeting to talk about those tasks - all of this imposed upon an office that has been editor-less for over a year. No. It's not going well.)
That lack of job security is not made any lighter by the daily barrage of news coverage of the recession, human interest stories of people losing everything and that mantra, have you heard it? that seems to be everywhere coming out of every set of lips, I HATE it:
"Well, just be thankful you have a job...."
Sorry. I think this is an awful, awful thing to say. To anyone. Even to yourself. Because it opens the door to so many negative things. What? It's OK that someone or someplace doesn't value you or the work you do? It's OK to be asked to do twice as much in half the time for a portion of the money? And you should say, "well gosh, thank you sir may I have another?" NO! It is not ok. It is what is happening for a lot of people right now.
But that does not make it ok.
So, work. That's one major stressor for M. Of course, missing the girls, thinking about the girls, thinking about what could have been with the girls, the pain of the absence of the girls - this lays the foundation for every Sad. Every day. Worry about what happens next. If anything will ever happen next. The idea that we may always and forever be childless - That makes it so much worse. But what really has me quite worried is this new emotion, expressed only last night.
That he is feeling utterly and completely alone.
As in, totally abandoned by friends and family. Completely without anyone to talk to or reach out to. I know this isn't true. YOU know this isn't true. Closer to the truth is that M has always been a very private person, not all that willing to talk about things that affect him most deeply, (you may have even been the recipient of a snarl or a yell if you tried to ask) and people remember that and try to respect that (or at least not get yelled at). But what I heard last night was honestly a cry for help. One that my words cannot soothe, and my rationale puts no dent into.
This is not the M. I know and love. The person who used to frustrate me beyond belief because he always used to believe that things would work out. Now, he is overwhelmed by a cloud of bad luck, which also includes pretty much every electrical appliance or piece of technology he loves and relies on crapping out this week. ("Everything I love is just systematically being taken a away from me.....")
It seems, while I may not want to talk about it, M wants to. Very much so. With anyone who will listen.
That's not to say that he is going to open his heart to you. But he NEEDS to know that people ARE here. Have been here. And want to know how he is. Please, if you know M. in real life, take a minute or two and drop him a line, give him a call, shoot him a text. (Not all today, please, because he will become suspect. And please, please, PLEASE don't mention that you read something on my blog) but sometime this week, next week, next month. Anytime, really. The hurt doesn't go away. We just get better at hiding it.
For me, work has reached pre-pregnancy levels of frenzy and activity and honestly doesn't give me much time to think about anything else during those hours. Which is probably good. I am jumping on the train today to go get this balloon pulled out of my uterus and I am guessing I am going to feel even better after that happens. And lostintranslation just informed me that I am the recipient of not one, but 2 blog awards (thank you!) so, I'll get on those ASAP.
But M - he is sad. Sad. Sad. We've talked about this before, these fairly regular bouts of melancholy. This is not that. He has convinced himself that his job (that he loves) is on shaky ground (new editor-in-chief, new ways of doing things which essentially amount to weekly reports of what you have done over the week and a subsequent staff meeting to talk about those tasks - all of this imposed upon an office that has been editor-less for over a year. No. It's not going well.)
That lack of job security is not made any lighter by the daily barrage of news coverage of the recession, human interest stories of people losing everything and that mantra, have you heard it? that seems to be everywhere coming out of every set of lips, I HATE it:
"Well, just be thankful you have a job...."
Sorry. I think this is an awful, awful thing to say. To anyone. Even to yourself. Because it opens the door to so many negative things. What? It's OK that someone or someplace doesn't value you or the work you do? It's OK to be asked to do twice as much in half the time for a portion of the money? And you should say, "well gosh, thank you sir may I have another?" NO! It is not ok. It is what is happening for a lot of people right now.
But that does not make it ok.
So, work. That's one major stressor for M. Of course, missing the girls, thinking about the girls, thinking about what could have been with the girls, the pain of the absence of the girls - this lays the foundation for every Sad. Every day. Worry about what happens next. If anything will ever happen next. The idea that we may always and forever be childless - That makes it so much worse. But what really has me quite worried is this new emotion, expressed only last night.
That he is feeling utterly and completely alone.
As in, totally abandoned by friends and family. Completely without anyone to talk to or reach out to. I know this isn't true. YOU know this isn't true. Closer to the truth is that M has always been a very private person, not all that willing to talk about things that affect him most deeply, (you may have even been the recipient of a snarl or a yell if you tried to ask) and people remember that and try to respect that (or at least not get yelled at). But what I heard last night was honestly a cry for help. One that my words cannot soothe, and my rationale puts no dent into.
This is not the M. I know and love. The person who used to frustrate me beyond belief because he always used to believe that things would work out. Now, he is overwhelmed by a cloud of bad luck, which also includes pretty much every electrical appliance or piece of technology he loves and relies on crapping out this week. ("Everything I love is just systematically being taken a away from me.....")
It seems, while I may not want to talk about it, M wants to. Very much so. With anyone who will listen.
That's not to say that he is going to open his heart to you. But he NEEDS to know that people ARE here. Have been here. And want to know how he is. Please, if you know M. in real life, take a minute or two and drop him a line, give him a call, shoot him a text. (Not all today, please, because he will become suspect. And please, please, PLEASE don't mention that you read something on my blog) but sometime this week, next week, next month. Anytime, really. The hurt doesn't go away. We just get better at hiding it.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Slowly, Slowly
Quick post on the fly to let you know I am here. In the office, that is.
The weather forecast worked in my favor. The office is empty. Ice storms (even when they don't happen) make people skittish. The only one here is me. And an electrician trying to fix something. And my crazy boss flitting in and out running errands but she is not really "here."
So far, it's been nice to be here. Communicating with co-workers and members (I work for a non-profit association), whittling away at email that has accumulated...
But now I am at the point where the emails are from Before. From when I was pregnant. From when I was helping to plan my maternity leave. From when everyone was so excited...
So pretty much every email I am trying to tackle now is peppered with at least one mention of me-as-pregnant-lady or of the girls. A joke here. A how-are-you-feeling there. The first few caught me off guard, especially after such a non-eventful morning. But slowly, slowly, I am taking them. Reading them. Remembering not that Iso.bel and Jo.vita are not here (damn I love their names) but that these are all the people that are rooting for us, cheering us on. There were here and they will be here again when it is time to try again.
And that time will be here soon enough.
The weather forecast worked in my favor. The office is empty. Ice storms (even when they don't happen) make people skittish. The only one here is me. And an electrician trying to fix something. And my crazy boss flitting in and out running errands but she is not really "here."
So far, it's been nice to be here. Communicating with co-workers and members (I work for a non-profit association), whittling away at email that has accumulated...
But now I am at the point where the emails are from Before. From when I was pregnant. From when I was helping to plan my maternity leave. From when everyone was so excited...
So pretty much every email I am trying to tackle now is peppered with at least one mention of me-as-pregnant-lady or of the girls. A joke here. A how-are-you-feeling there. The first few caught me off guard, especially after such a non-eventful morning. But slowly, slowly, I am taking them. Reading them. Remembering not that Iso.bel and Jo.vita are not here (damn I love their names) but that these are all the people that are rooting for us, cheering us on. There were here and they will be here again when it is time to try again.
And that time will be here soon enough.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)