The other evening a friend called and simply asked, "2009 is gonna be better, right?" Her 2008 has been nearly as awful as ours: a job in flux (twice) due to political wrangling outside the office's control, boy issues, medical problems all topped off by searing back pain that has her finally assenting to an epidural for relief. My honest response to her:
It has to be. It simply has to be.
2008 was the year that we finally revealed our baby-making intentions to family and friends. That didn't preclude a BFN from our very first complete donor egg cycle kicking off that new year. You showered me with expletives and bad jokes. Because I asked you to.
In February, I said "no thanks" to an endometrial biopsy (stupid, stupid, stupid) and soldiered on with a frozen embryo cycle in March. Hey, I bet you'll never guess what that result was...More bad jokes were shared. I also celebrated 20 years cancer free. Don't bother clicking on the link to the FN post in that post - it's all gone. Grrr...
In April, I turned 34, wizened up and said, "oh yeah, hey, maybe an endometrial biopsy isn't such a bad idea," took bets on what we were going to find, and continued to have incredibly bizarre dreams.
Fast forward to June: biopsy was clean but we found a polyp and the fact that my uterus wasn't as "in phase" as it should be. The polyp was removed, meds were realigned and we were off to the races, all feeling incredibly optimistic.
In July, we transferred two gorgeous 12- and 14- cell embryos with our 2nd FET, and saw Fertility Notes "retired."
In August, we saw crazy beta numbers grow and grow and grow until I finally spit out the "P" word. And the next few months were the happiest of my life. No question. Sure, we were apprehensive, oftentimes not really sure that all of this was happening or if it was some sort of joke. Could it all be real? Our 19 week scan gave us both peace of mind. Let us relax with the idea that yes, we were really going to be parents. To two girls, no less. I wrote this post just a week before the day that everything changed.
And it seems that I've been writing ever since.
December 5, 2008 is the day that our lives changed. The day that we saw Iso.bel and Jo.vita for the first and last times. Since then, we have been grieving, crying, but also laughing, hoping, trying to maintain. Some days are good. Others, not so much.
We have made a lot of decisions over the last few weeks. We will be having a memorial (or two) for our girls. We are going in search of my birth parents. I have decided that I need to run. We are going to try to conceive again.
2009 is going to be better, right?
It has to be.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Running It Out
I ache. All over.
But in a good way. I promise. My arms, my shoulders, my legs (OMFG my legs), my feet...
Let me back up.
Remember the other day when I tried to go for a walk? Well, not only did I get myself out the door and to the library (and the bank and to request copies of the girls' birth certificates), but on the way, I found myself holding back this strange desire to run. To just sprint, dash down the sidewalk, to run and run and run.
For some reason, I thought it might feel good.
So, when I got to the library, I checked out this book
. It sat on the table for a few days, and then that same urge struck again. Run, Forrest, er, m. run! I started perusing the book and found a nifty chart that is meant for total and absolute beginners to get into the swing of things. It goes something like this:
But in a good way. I promise. My arms, my shoulders, my legs (OMFG my legs), my feet...
Let me back up.
Remember the other day when I tried to go for a walk? Well, not only did I get myself out the door and to the library (and the bank and to request copies of the girls' birth certificates), but on the way, I found myself holding back this strange desire to run. To just sprint, dash down the sidewalk, to run and run and run.
For some reason, I thought it might feel good.
So, when I got to the library, I checked out this book
. It sat on the table for a few days, and then that same urge struck again. Run, Forrest, er, m. run! I started perusing the book and found a nifty chart that is meant for total and absolute beginners to get into the swing of things. It goes something like this: week 1: days 1, 3, 5 and 6 run 2 minutes, walk 4 minutes, repeat 4 times.
week 2: days 1, 3, 5 and 6 run 3 minutes, walk 3 minutes, repeat 5 times.
week 3: days 1, 3, 5 and 6 run 5 minutes, walk 2.5 minutes, repeat 3 times....
On the off days (2, 4 and 7), don't run (or do something else). And it's all laid out in a nice little table that I could easily xerox next door at my office and hang up on my wall. By the end of the 10th week, a beginner could theoretically be busting off a full 30-minute run with no trouble.
10 weeks, hey? Well, I got time. And I need a reason to get myself out of bed. And a hobby that doesn't involve ingesting food or alcohol because while that feels great right now, I can't imagine it will put me in the spot I would like to be a few months from now when we can think about trying all of this all over again.
Sunday was week one, day one.
I got out on the riverfront and just started moving. And d*mn if 2 minutes isn't a really long time. But then I walked. And then I ran. And before you knew it I was not that close to home and figured I'd better turn around and come back.
And it did feel good. It did.
Now, I'm sure I'm nothing pretty to look at. In fact, the last time I tried to run was in 7th grade when my (alleged) best friend laughed in my face (in front of boys, nonetheless) and announced that I "ran like a r*t*rd." And that was the end of that. No more running for me.
Well, you know, I just might "run like a r*t*rd" but it just so happens I know a lot of people with that label these days and if that is the company I keep, that is really not so bad. Not so bad at all.
Yesterday was week one, day two - technically an "off" day. So I went to the gym with M. and worked on some things that are always in need of work: my arms and my gut. So add those pieces to the ouchy sore list too.
I am trying not to remember that just a few weeks ago things were all very different. I am trying not to feel how empty my belly feels. How weak my body seems to be. I am trying to get back into this frame of mind. Strong. Ready.
I am trying not to remember that just a few weeks ago things were all very different. I am trying not to feel how empty my belly feels. How weak my body seems to be. I am trying to get back into this frame of mind. Strong. Ready.
And I am hoping that running helps to get me there.
As a little incentive to myself I picked up not one, but two, new pair of kicks (Can I help it if the footwear store had a buy 1 get the 2nd 1/2 off special??), a watch and some clothes that are a little more decent than those in my gym drawer since I am running along a busy road, here. People might see me! I tested all of those out this morning. This windy, cold morning.
And hey, it still felt good.
Two minutes is still a long time. And my body now hurts from top to bottom. But in a way that makes sense. In a way that I can pinpoint and address. Not like that other kind of hurt.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Where I get my Darlene on...
"You're like Darlene from Roseanne."
That's what my brother said to me when I disagreed with the general consensus that this Xmas eve was the "best ever." Best ever meaning no tears, no fighting, actual civility among parents and our small little circle of relations. We actually got along. Or so it appeared.
Really? Sorry to let you down, folks. Glad you had a blast, but if I never have to do that again, I would be grateful.
After dinner (where it was duly noted that neither M. nor I said grace) that we didn't eat and presents that were craptastic (wow. thanks, mom, for getting M. sweet rose wine he will never drink, my brother a mexican fiesta gift package he will never eat and me a necklace with 2 little girl charms that is so gaudy and so not like anything that I would ever dream of putting on my body that you have guaranteed its return. Nice to know that you have your finger on the pulse of people you allegedly know so well...), M. and I convinced my brother to pull out his Wii and hook it up.
Thank goddess for the g*d damned Wii. Hours and hours of playing this game and getting my parents off the couch and involved apparently counts as the Best Xmas Eve Ever.
M orchestrated the Wii set up, the crafting of the little Miis, the bowling tournament. And it was 100% selfish. Because we knew we would have to linger a bit longer and I honestly couldn't see how I was going to make it without crawling into a corner and going fetal. He could obviously see that too.
In true clueless form, my parents saw nothing, said nothing relevant and were focused solely on themselves: My father's comments directed at all the hours my mom spent in the kitchen and expecting us to lather her with praise, my mom waiting in silent martydom for the praise. A word about the girls? Not a one. A question? A Query about us? No way. Just an acknowledgment that we have arrived and that dinner was ready. Meanwhile, my aunt and cousin were quiet at their seats trying to see through the tension that was obvious to them but apparently no one else. My brother: hungry and just trying to be a good host. His girlfriend: as usual, fairly clueless but sweet. She is usually a welcome respite at these affairs.
Can I just say when I saw the necklace I wanted to punch through a wall? And then I wanted to punch my mom. Wanted to ask, what the f*ck were you thinking when you picked out this piece of shit and is this what the girls are to you? Some tacky charm? Some cheap ass trinket? Is this what you think of your daughter? Do you even know me? Have you ever known me?
I am sure that I am acting like a brat here, but you know what? I think if there were ever a moment when I could, that moment would be now.
It is easy for me to get myself absolutely riled at how awful my parents have been since this all went down. Every moment when they have had an opportunity to show compassion, some love, some empathy, they have managed to avoid it. Every chance that there has been for words, for no words, for acknowledgement, for...for f*ck's sake...something, they have managed to act in the exact opposite way that I would hope for. Every time I see them I feel as if this is something I have done to them. A punishment that they now must bear, a situation that I have created out of spite and because I never really wanted them to be grandparents. You see, it is all about them and I can't help but thinking that somehow an apology, an admission of guilt has been expected from me.
Now, hang on there, m. Are you serious? Is this just an extension of what we already talked about?
Look, all I know is how I feel and I feel like I want to scream every time the phone rings and I see it is their number. I crumple into "Darlene" at the prospect of spending an evening with them. I want to limit any and all interaction with them and this, of course, is obvious and is grounds for more guilt and martyrdom from them.
Ah Eastern European traditions. F*cking great, no?
And here is where I need to pause.
And I need to remind myself that as horrid as xmas eve was, that was how wonderful Xmas day was. I woke up with my husband. Hugged and held. Opened the few presents we bought for ourselves (none of them surprises.) Oh look! A package from vans! oh hey! Santa Matador records came! Oh golly! the elves from Keen shoes must have left this here (rip. rip. tear. tear. hurray!) we do this every year, and you know what, every year we crack ourselves up.
With new pressies on our bodies and bellies full of coffee we went to M's parents' house where we opened (truly fabulous and NOT craptastic presents) and sat around, and ate, and laughed, and talked about the girls and plans for the future and enjoyed each other's company. And simply loved each other. And it was wonderful. I fell asleep on a chair with a book on my chest and a belly full of food. I fell asleep content.
And for as awful as my parents have been, that is how amazingly wonderful relatives like my brother and my aunt have risen to the occassion. I have had shaky relations with both of these folks at various stages in the past and now, dammit, they are my homies. My strongest allies, my biggest supporters. And that is a gift.
And for as thoughtless as mom and dad have been, that is how thoughtful our friends, our good good friends have been. They have surrounded us with love and care, but not smothered. They have asked, but not harped. They have simply reminded us again and again and in so many ways that we are loved and that they are here, as they have been in the past, like they will be in the future.
And that is a gift.
At the end of the day, I am simply thankful that this holiday season (at least the worst of it) is over and that a new year is just a few days away.
That's what my brother said to me when I disagreed with the general consensus that this Xmas eve was the "best ever." Best ever meaning no tears, no fighting, actual civility among parents and our small little circle of relations. We actually got along. Or so it appeared.
Really? Sorry to let you down, folks. Glad you had a blast, but if I never have to do that again, I would be grateful.
After dinner (where it was duly noted that neither M. nor I said grace) that we didn't eat and presents that were craptastic (wow. thanks, mom, for getting M. sweet rose wine he will never drink, my brother a mexican fiesta gift package he will never eat and me a necklace with 2 little girl charms that is so gaudy and so not like anything that I would ever dream of putting on my body that you have guaranteed its return. Nice to know that you have your finger on the pulse of people you allegedly know so well...), M. and I convinced my brother to pull out his Wii and hook it up.
Thank goddess for the g*d damned Wii. Hours and hours of playing this game and getting my parents off the couch and involved apparently counts as the Best Xmas Eve Ever.
M orchestrated the Wii set up, the crafting of the little Miis, the bowling tournament. And it was 100% selfish. Because we knew we would have to linger a bit longer and I honestly couldn't see how I was going to make it without crawling into a corner and going fetal. He could obviously see that too.
In true clueless form, my parents saw nothing, said nothing relevant and were focused solely on themselves: My father's comments directed at all the hours my mom spent in the kitchen and expecting us to lather her with praise, my mom waiting in silent martydom for the praise. A word about the girls? Not a one. A question? A Query about us? No way. Just an acknowledgment that we have arrived and that dinner was ready. Meanwhile, my aunt and cousin were quiet at their seats trying to see through the tension that was obvious to them but apparently no one else. My brother: hungry and just trying to be a good host. His girlfriend: as usual, fairly clueless but sweet. She is usually a welcome respite at these affairs.
Can I just say when I saw the necklace I wanted to punch through a wall? And then I wanted to punch my mom. Wanted to ask, what the f*ck were you thinking when you picked out this piece of shit and is this what the girls are to you? Some tacky charm? Some cheap ass trinket? Is this what you think of your daughter? Do you even know me? Have you ever known me?
I am sure that I am acting like a brat here, but you know what? I think if there were ever a moment when I could, that moment would be now.
It is easy for me to get myself absolutely riled at how awful my parents have been since this all went down. Every moment when they have had an opportunity to show compassion, some love, some empathy, they have managed to avoid it. Every chance that there has been for words, for no words, for acknowledgement, for...for f*ck's sake...something, they have managed to act in the exact opposite way that I would hope for. Every time I see them I feel as if this is something I have done to them. A punishment that they now must bear, a situation that I have created out of spite and because I never really wanted them to be grandparents. You see, it is all about them and I can't help but thinking that somehow an apology, an admission of guilt has been expected from me.
Now, hang on there, m. Are you serious? Is this just an extension of what we already talked about?
Look, all I know is how I feel and I feel like I want to scream every time the phone rings and I see it is their number. I crumple into "Darlene" at the prospect of spending an evening with them. I want to limit any and all interaction with them and this, of course, is obvious and is grounds for more guilt and martyrdom from them.
Ah Eastern European traditions. F*cking great, no?
And here is where I need to pause.
And I need to remind myself that as horrid as xmas eve was, that was how wonderful Xmas day was. I woke up with my husband. Hugged and held. Opened the few presents we bought for ourselves (none of them surprises.) Oh look! A package from vans! oh hey! Santa Matador records came! Oh golly! the elves from Keen shoes must have left this here (rip. rip. tear. tear. hurray!) we do this every year, and you know what, every year we crack ourselves up.
With new pressies on our bodies and bellies full of coffee we went to M's parents' house where we opened (truly fabulous and NOT craptastic presents) and sat around, and ate, and laughed, and talked about the girls and plans for the future and enjoyed each other's company. And simply loved each other. And it was wonderful. I fell asleep on a chair with a book on my chest and a belly full of food. I fell asleep content.
And for as awful as my parents have been, that is how amazingly wonderful relatives like my brother and my aunt have risen to the occassion. I have had shaky relations with both of these folks at various stages in the past and now, dammit, they are my homies. My strongest allies, my biggest supporters. And that is a gift.
And for as thoughtless as mom and dad have been, that is how thoughtful our friends, our good good friends have been. They have surrounded us with love and care, but not smothered. They have asked, but not harped. They have simply reminded us again and again and in so many ways that we are loved and that they are here, as they have been in the past, like they will be in the future.
And that is a gift.
At the end of the day, I am simply thankful that this holiday season (at least the worst of it) is over and that a new year is just a few days away.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
From FN: The Real Meaing of Christmas
Once upon a time, I had this great gig blogging about fertility issues that actually gave me a little cash. To vent, to share, to talk about fertility in the media, on the news, in the blogosphere. those days are past and all the old links are dead. But every now and then, it feels nice to resurrect some old, yet relevant posts. You can find them here under the header "From FN:"
This was originally posted December 9, 2007. Happy Holidays, everyone:
No, I am not going to talk about material vs. spiritual, Santa Claus vs. little baby Jesus. Even though my mom still insists on buying a birthday cake and singing Happy Birthday to Jesus every year (a holdover from our childhood which she thinks we all embrace), we all know this holiest of holy days has actually been around long before Christianity took hold.
Here’s a great article on AlterNet that gives a history of December 25th from its pagan beginnings to it as a shared celebration with Christians and on to its current incarnation. Decorating homes with evergreens probably started with the Roman celebration of Saturnalia. Rob Boston reminds us that,
Evergreen trees had long been viewed as a symbol of fertility by Pagan peoples.
When winter came and most trees lost their leaves and appeared to die, the
evergreen was a reminder that life would endure and that long days, warmer
weather and a harvest would come again.
The Good News says thank German immigrants for bringing the concept of a Christmas tree to America:
Nineteenth-century German immigrants to the United States were among the first
to use a recognizable Christmas tree in this country, so it is often assumed
that the Christmas tree hails from the traditions of northern Europe. In fact,
it is more authentically a product of much older southern traditions. Ancient
Egyptians viewed the evergreen tree as a fertility symbol.
I wonder if this explains why we bought our tree early and if the past is any indication, will probably have it up well into the new year? I love the look of it, the smell, the fact that we keep unearthing ornaments from different places and times in our lives. I love having a huge piece of the forest taking over my living room. I love that that’s not seen as odd. Maybe I just love being reminded on the dreariest of winter days that life will endure and that long days, warmer weather and (hopefully) a harvest (of sorts) will come.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Feels like...Nothing.
Rain. Rain. Rainy. Rain.
Icy, cold, why-the-hell-aren't-you snow rain.
These days have been dragging. Now when was the last time you heard someone say their vacation days were going by too slowly? It's not even Xmas and I think M. and I are both ready for a regular routine. Some hard and fast work deadlines. Places to be. A reason to get out of bed. Days off are great. But not when neither of you can figure out what to do with yourselves.
"Wanna do something?"
"Sure. What?"
"Not sure. Any thoughts?"
"No. "
"Wanna go someplace?"
"Sure. Where?"
"Oh. I dunno. Got any ideas?"
"No. you?"
"Hmm. No."
"Me neither."
But then we come up with some. All of which are vetoed. Too far. Too expensive. Too boring. Too, too. Of course, the weather isn't helping. No point of discussing hikes or outdoor adventures. Not when pneumonia feels like the likely result. A gym visit is good for an hour. Tops. And then we're back to what we were doing before. Either on the couch or in the office. Reading a book or playing video games. Watching TV or checking the computer. And on any other day. Any. Other. Day. This would feel like bliss to me. A welcome respite. A delicious way to spend the day doing nothing with my sweetie.
But that's what this feels like today: Nothing.
We are feeling absolutely rudderless. Aimless. Days are filled with things to fill the day. Nothing more. What to do when you have completely reprogrammed yourself to exist solely for your children?
And your children aren't there.
I know that every day won't feel like this. I know the rain won't last forever. But this is what it feels like today.
And the rain seems like a cruel joke.
Icy, cold, why-the-hell-aren't-you snow rain.
These days have been dragging. Now when was the last time you heard someone say their vacation days were going by too slowly? It's not even Xmas and I think M. and I are both ready for a regular routine. Some hard and fast work deadlines. Places to be. A reason to get out of bed. Days off are great. But not when neither of you can figure out what to do with yourselves.
"Wanna do something?"
"Sure. What?"
"Not sure. Any thoughts?"
"No. "
"Wanna go someplace?"
"Sure. Where?"
"Oh. I dunno. Got any ideas?"
"No. you?"
"Hmm. No."
"Me neither."
But then we come up with some. All of which are vetoed. Too far. Too expensive. Too boring. Too, too. Of course, the weather isn't helping. No point of discussing hikes or outdoor adventures. Not when pneumonia feels like the likely result. A gym visit is good for an hour. Tops. And then we're back to what we were doing before. Either on the couch or in the office. Reading a book or playing video games. Watching TV or checking the computer. And on any other day. Any. Other. Day. This would feel like bliss to me. A welcome respite. A delicious way to spend the day doing nothing with my sweetie.
But that's what this feels like today: Nothing.
We are feeling absolutely rudderless. Aimless. Days are filled with things to fill the day. Nothing more. What to do when you have completely reprogrammed yourself to exist solely for your children?
And your children aren't there.
I know that every day won't feel like this. I know the rain won't last forever. But this is what it feels like today.
And the rain seems like a cruel joke.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Motion
Not necessarily forward in a straight line. But motion. Nonetheless.
We now have an appointment with our RE in January to discuss next steps. Nurse intimated that some of those next steps might include another HSG to ensure there was no damage to the uterus and a discussion around transferring only one embryo at a time next time to minimize risks.
I don't know how I feel about that second piece of info. While it probably makes sense on a number of levels, part of me thinks, well hell, if next time is going to be defined as "high risk" anyway (since I now have a history of pre-term labor and will no longer fly under the radar of "advanced maternal age." Shit), and if I will be "watched like a hawk" anyway, is there really that much more risk in transferring two?
Not like we have a cache of embryos here. We have 3 on ice. 3. That's it. And I am guessing they are probably bundled together. As in, thaw one, thaw them all. So, let's just say we are lucky enough to have more than one survive the thaw. I am saying right now there is no flipping way that one goes in and the other goes out the window. Sorry. That's where I stand. Risk or no risk.
So, perhaps I do know how I feel about the 2nd piece of info. As for the first, I know for a 100% fact I am absolutely dreading it. Because I did so great the first time around. Remember?
So there's that. #6 off the list. Along with #1 and #4. (Those were pretty easy.) Working on #9...
Now, how's about #8? That's going, going, going slow. Here is a brief explanation as to why. At least why it is so damn hard to get to some basic info in my state. Still trying to come up with a plan. Still exploring options, including petitioning the court with "good cause." Doors aren't opening yet.
But they aren't closed.
We now have an appointment with our RE in January to discuss next steps. Nurse intimated that some of those next steps might include another HSG to ensure there was no damage to the uterus and a discussion around transferring only one embryo at a time next time to minimize risks.
I don't know how I feel about that second piece of info. While it probably makes sense on a number of levels, part of me thinks, well hell, if next time is going to be defined as "high risk" anyway (since I now have a history of pre-term labor and will no longer fly under the radar of "advanced maternal age." Shit), and if I will be "watched like a hawk" anyway, is there really that much more risk in transferring two?
Not like we have a cache of embryos here. We have 3 on ice. 3. That's it. And I am guessing they are probably bundled together. As in, thaw one, thaw them all. So, let's just say we are lucky enough to have more than one survive the thaw. I am saying right now there is no flipping way that one goes in and the other goes out the window. Sorry. That's where I stand. Risk or no risk.
So, perhaps I do know how I feel about the 2nd piece of info. As for the first, I know for a 100% fact I am absolutely dreading it. Because I did so great the first time around. Remember?
So there's that. #6 off the list. Along with #1 and #4. (Those were pretty easy.) Working on #9...
Now, how's about #8? That's going, going, going slow. Here is a brief explanation as to why. At least why it is so damn hard to get to some basic info in my state. Still trying to come up with a plan. Still exploring options, including petitioning the court with "good cause." Doors aren't opening yet.
But they aren't closed.
Ambitious Lists
When all of this went down, I was contemplating dropping out of IComLeavWe this month. Granted, it wasn't the first thing on my mind, but it was there.How can I read about everyone else's lives when mine feels like it's falling apart? How can I share joy? Offer comfort? Commiserate? Laugh, even? Those were my thoughts from what feels like ages ago.
Today, on this sunny, brisk morning, I am thinking that I can. Not only that I can, but I should. And that it will feel good.
This morning, armed with my cup of (decaf) coffee, I am so ready to crack open my computer and visit some worlds that aren't mine right now. Look out, ladies. I'ma comin' over!
And I am not stopping there. After I get my bloggy fill, I have big plans for today which include:
- getting dressed (look out, world)
- ironing
- watering my plants
- addressing and sending the remaining announcements and Xmas cards
- making soup (and maybe some cookies)
- calling our RE to see when we can come over, talk, hug, check out some donor profiles
- cracking open my work email (if only to peek. L, don't get mad. I won't do anything useful)
- doing more research on possible avenues that might lead me to my birth parents (dear readers - comments and suggestions are welcome)
- prepping some walls I plan to paint (because, well, I have all these cans of no VOC paint)
- maybe, just maybe, going to the gym
- finishing The Big Year and then,
- taking a walk to the library
So, did this post really devolve into a mundane "how I plan to spend my day?" Yes, sorry. I'm afraid it did. But for those of you who know me in real life, this should bring a smile to your face. Because is there anything that signals a return to (semi-)normalcy than my anal-retentive lists?
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