The Other Shoe

I’m on a plane by myself this morning. Last night I didn’t sleep. Nor did M. Thankfully, D was sawing logs. I hate the idea of not being near them. Of purposefully moving in the opposite direction of them. Even if only for a few days. I used to love solo work trips – the promise of a big bed, an unhurried morning run, a hotel breakfast, even several hours on a plane to work uninterrupted? Why wouldn’t I say yes?

But now I’m shaving flight times as close to meetings as I can get them. Meeting starts at noon? Great. My flight will come in at 11:30 am. Ends at 3? I think I can hit the 5 pm plane home. I’m texting at every transition point and location to assure M I’m fine. That I’m safe. This is crazy. I am a white woman travelling within my own country’s borders. Yet I am acutely aware that something batshit crazy can happen at any minute that might impact my ability to get back to my family.

Yet this is our new reality. One of paranoia, anxiety, and fear that our “president” will trigger some sort of horrible action/reaction while we’re apart that will somehow keep us apart. For a few moments, my anxiety gets replaced by rage. We’ve worked too hard to be a family to let this fucker fuck it up.

There I’ve said it.

You know, it’s been quite a while since I’ve felt like I could break into tears at any given point in a day. On any day. Oh about, 8 or 9 years. (nine???? I and J would be nine????)

Having this man in that seat of power is Grief all over again.  I am actively Grieving. So it feels only right that I return to this space. A space that’s offered me comfort and safety as I try to find a path forward in the past.

The sight or sound, sometimes the very mention of him is a trigger, and I promise I don’t use that word lightly. Anyone who has ever been bullied, lived through a horrible and abusive relationship, had to deal with a narcissist they couldn’t escape – I know you are feeling this too. And I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. For you, and for all of us. I know many of you are grieving too.

So now what?

I keep trying to find the opportunity among the chaos. To be thankful that someone so horrifying to so many has actually been a unifying factor. That someone whose words and actions are so contrary to what I hope to believe most Americans believe is their country finally allows me to wear my politics on my sleeve in a way I have never done before.  I try to find strength in the sheer number of people marching, calling, acting, rising up.

I try to appreciate that this horrible person has compelled me to write again.

But it’s hard to feel empowered when a very limited number of very corrupt men are steering your country toward ruin and have little regard (or understanding) of checks and balances. It’s hard when you have to look at your son who cries when he hears at the Women’s March that Donald Trump is waging a war against women and that we have to fight for what we believe.

“Mommy mommy, we HAVE to go home RIGHT NOW. I don’t want to see Donald Trump! I don’t want him to hurt you. Why does he want to hurt us, mommy, why???”

I don’t know, sweetheart. I really don’t.  But know we will do everything in our power to keep you safe. But to also show you by our actions that we do have to stand up for what we believe is right. That kindness and compassion are the most important things we have as human beings, no matter what that man says or does. That, I promise.

God, D, I am so sorry.

##

If you’re familiar with this space, you know that we went through a pretty substantial life transition recently. I quit my job, got a new one. M left his job and is taking care of D full time and exploring completely new skills (landscaping and gardening? Really? Seriously, he’s pretty amazing). We left the home we assumed we would raise D in. We moved to our nation’s capital (ok, just outside of it). We bought a house. We’ve invested in a community. We’ve made wonderful new friends (hey, old friends, you are wonderful too). After a rocky and uncertain start we finally settled into a pretty wonderful existence. We kept wondering when the other shoe would drop, because that’s who we are.

We never imagined it would be the boot of an aspiring totalitarian. 

Just What Do You Think You're Doing With That?

I did it to myself.

If I hadn't crawled back into bed this morning after pilates class, I never would have fallen into a deep sleep that produced this hum dinger of a dream....

Hanging out with hubby in an examination room at the RE. Doc comes in and I suddenly realize that instead of a fully anesthetized semi-surgical procedure that I was expecting, there was a last minute change and the doc's gonna go up in there with no sedation, no numbing, not even a local.

"It'll only take a minute or two."

"Yeah, no it won't because it's not happening."

I take this moment as the moment to freak the F out about everything and anything that's been happening and not happening on this journey.

Nurse hugs me, hands me 2 aspirin and then starts giving me instructions on how to examine my stool in the mornings.

Huh?

"Well, yes. This is the new method we've been using to determine depression. You see, we've found that sometimes this process makes people a little sad."

You don't say.

Meanwhile, I notice that doc is still here, preparing what looks like yards and yards of tubing and other apparatus that it seems will be getting up close and personal with me sooner than later.

Oh hell no.

This is where I call to mind every expletive I own (and believe me, my repetoire is vast, spanning several languages) and end it with a resounding, "F*CK THIS BABY SHIT! JUST F*CK IT!!!"

and I wake myself up with a sob/gasp/shout.

D*mn. That was rough. In real life, the plan for a hysteroscopy actually has changed to a less intrusive (they say) and much less costly (they say) procedure. This happened last week when my doctor realized I was private pay. Ok. Thanks, I appreciate that. But frankly, I was looking forward to sedation. I am guessing that is not part of the plan for this new direction, hence the apprehension so apparent in my early morning dream.

Since their decision, I've been going on a week's worth of phone tag with my Nurse and financial advisor, so, no meds yet, no projected date for anything.

And I turn 34 on Friday.

F*ck.

Unlike last year, this one snuck up on me. No big plans, no band to usher in a new year. I think I could probably rally the troops and pull together a decent bash. I'm just wondering if I want to.

34.

How does that happen?

Giving Thanks

I love hubby.

I mean, I LOVE him with all my heart. And soul and self.

And dammit, it sure helps that he is the best shot giver in the world.

We've both been a little queasy thinking about these PIO shots. We studied. I printed off these fantastic tips from Nearly Dawn. He practiced. And finally, just a few minutes ago we did it.

Poke!

And it was fine. Just don't tell anyone I have big magic marker X's across my cheeks to make sure he aims it right.

Facebook

My mom is on Facebook.

I know because she sent me a "confirm how you know (me)" email.

And I did. And then I went through my own facebook page with a fine tooth comb to see if there was anything incriminating on there. By incriminating I don't mean photos of me drunk and stupid; I mean IVF-maybe baby-fertility plans incriminating....

There was one hyperlink that, if she chose to click it, would have taken her to another online project that I am working on (not www.maybebaby.com, thank goddess), which would have spilled the beans.

How savvy is mom with hyperlinks?

We'll see, won't we?

Next question: how good is she with google?

Now, it's not terrible if she puts two and two together and figures out that we are trying to have a baby. It's not terrible at all. But we chose NOT to tell mom or dad because if you recall: a.) they were in the process of selling their house, moving and relocating to a new state, all with more than a little bit of trepidation and we didn't want to muddy the waters; b.) I don't tell my parents much; c.) I don't tell my parents much because they worry and fret and bug the shit out of me until they are assured everything is ok.

I know that we have a long road ahead of us that will be tough enough without daily calls and goddess-forbid, visits to check up on me. I would have rather had a great "guess what??" moment in the spring. But so it goes.

Damn.

Count Down to Shoot Up

1. Schedule received: check.
2. Calendar to track timing of shots, blood draws, etc hung back on wall of my little "shooting up room": check.
3. Meds for me and donor ordered and paid for: check.
4. Credit cards pulled back out and maxed again to pay for cycle: check. Meds will be delivered to our door on Monday morning.

Ok, so, everything is in order. On track to start again, all over again, on WEDNESDAY. Just found out that in her last donor cycle, our donor had 23 follicles, 16 of which matured, and although it didn't result in a pregnancy, that lucky couple now has 12 embies on ice to try again with. Twelve! Recall that our first donor had so few follicles that we canceled the cycle. Twice.

All of this, fantastic news on top of the last set of great news. So why is it that I am a second away from sobs?

I've been in a funk for a few days now. You'd think I was already on lupron by the way that I have had no ability to focus, let alone work. Useless. I have been useless. And I think I have finally pinpointed what my problem is:

I am scared.

How to explain. The first few times, honestly, this felt more like an experiment. Like, wouldn't it be cool if....But now. Now, dammit, I am invested. I am hopeful. I am wanting. And I am near tears every time I think about the possibility of it not working. Am I willfully setting myself up for a heartbreak that I might not be able to bear?

A Confession

Warning: Sensitive info here about miscarriage and loss. Please don't read if you think it will upset you. It might.

I got a text Friday morning from one of our dearest friends. "Call me. Its important."

And so I did. And that's when I learned that he and his partner (who also happens to be hubby's cousin) would most likely be meeting at the emergency room in a few hours. They feared she had a miscarriage the night before. They were right.

This has consumed our weekend. Long talks with our friend, who at 40, was shocked, then thrilled, then absolutely thrilled at the prospect of becoming a father for the first time. The pregnancy was not planned, but not unwanted. The pregnancy and miscarriage has left them both reeling, uncertain of their next steps or of their future together. I am just sad. So sad.

While some of this is not really my story to tell, hubby and I are inextricably linked to it. He is one of our very best friends; she is a blood relative. We introduced them. We watched him as he pined for her from afar. We made it a point to include them both in group outings to give her more confidence in him. One day, they went out without us. For months, we heard little from them, which we interpreted as a good sign. And it was. They were falling in love and making plans to be together in a permanent kind of way.

Then, the bomb dropped. "We are expecting!" I cried. Happy tears, I think. I was so moved by the idea that two people in love really could create another. What a fucking concept, hey?

We helped them move into their new place together, I looked through baby books with her. But I think both hubby and I could sense that things seemed to be moving way too fast for these people who are both notoriously independent and self-reliant. While we had our doubts about their future together together, there were no doubts that the baby was wanted.

But things happen. She began to spot, then bleed, then cramp, then....

And before you know it, our friend is calling at midnight, after hours at the ER with a simple message: "We lost the baby." He cried. I cried. In fact, I have had a hard time not crying all weekend.

Why am I feeling this loss - which is not my loss - so acutely? Because I love my friends? Yes, of course, that's some of it. But it doesn't explain it all, I think.

He called me yesterday to apologize profusely about the midnight call. Hubby filled him in on our situation when he told us theirs. He woke up thinking that he had upset me terribly talking about the miscarriage. God love him. His world is falling apart and he is worried about hurting my feelings. I reassured him that he had done nothing of the sort.

But still, my heart is breaking.

I think because a miscarriage is my greatest fear. When I think of "worse case scenario" in this adventure - that is it. Not a bad retrieval. Not no embryos to freeze. Not a failed transfer. Not even a BFN (big fat negative). I fear a successful transfer that results in a miscarriage. Because then the loss is real.

Please understand. Up until the point where my womb is occupied, pregnancy, motherhood, all of it, remain theoretical concepts to me. Never in my adult life had I ever thought these were possible. Never. Even now after thousands of dollars have been charged, hormones injected, donors chosen, none of this is real for me. Because right now, I have nothing to lose. I am no worse off than when we started. We are no more childless than last year or the year before of the year before. Some of it is cognitive dissonance and a desire to stay sane, stay functional, not get too excited about the possibility. But this is all a pre-pregnancy state of mind.

When hubby and I first discussed donor eggs, I was so wary. And this was the reason: what if it works and then it doesn't? Then, I think, I will be worse off than when we started.

I know so many of you have already experienced this loss, have mourned like my friends are mourning. I hope I haven't offended anyone with my post. I just want you to know that in this moment, I am just a little bit scared of the future.