DH had an about face about trying this month. I was still concerned he was not ready and that he conceding to appease me. As a result of all of the emotional shinanigans, I have no idea when I ovulated. I figured we were not trying, and nearly every OPK stick I wizzed on was a dud (what the hell is that about). In the end, I give us a D- for effort this month - but it is still possible. It's just more of a toss up. I am contemplating calling my RE tomorrow to request the progesterone that she had suggested as a precautionary measure following ovulation. Not sure if she will give it to me without documentation of the date of ovulation. Grrrrrr.
Thanks for the few comments on my last post. It is really the first time I felt that kind of stress on our relationship before. I know it is normal. This is just a stressful thing. I think we are back on track though. I am dragging him to the head-shrinker with me next week and see if we can't make a few improvements on our communication. Now that makes me feel grown up = how weird.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
I want to melt into air
One year of trying, two miscarriages, two surgeries, three months of waiting and one month of deep anticipation makes me so tired. It is also the night after my husband tells me on cycle day 14 that he wants to wait till next month. We talked about this. We planned on this. Why did he have to wait to tell me till now? Why can't he talk to me about everything? The lengths to which he will go to protect me is hurting me instead. I feel like I got my heart broken all over again.
I want to throw in the towel. On ttc, on work, on home. I wanna run. I am tired of feeling ashamed for who this has made me. I just want to be someone else. I did not sign up for this shit. I did not volunteer to have a million little holes punched into the most important relationship in my life.
I guess I could use some advise. There is not a bone in my body that doesn't know the strength of my relationship with J. But I feel like something happened. I think I am starting to, unknowingly, push him away like I have everyone else. I would give up the chance to ever have children if it would prevent me from loosing him.
Let me just say that this is far from a fatal flaw. But how do I get him to talk to me? He rarely "shares"? How do I get him to understand how profoundly this effects me every day with out him thinking I am totally nuts? I have never felt this way about us. I have never felt a millimeter of distance between us. But today there is the slightest of gaps - separating him from me.
I want to throw in the towel. On ttc, on work, on home. I wanna run. I am tired of feeling ashamed for who this has made me. I just want to be someone else. I did not sign up for this shit. I did not volunteer to have a million little holes punched into the most important relationship in my life.
I guess I could use some advise. There is not a bone in my body that doesn't know the strength of my relationship with J. But I feel like something happened. I think I am starting to, unknowingly, push him away like I have everyone else. I would give up the chance to ever have children if it would prevent me from loosing him.
Let me just say that this is far from a fatal flaw. But how do I get him to talk to me? He rarely "shares"? How do I get him to understand how profoundly this effects me every day with out him thinking I am totally nuts? I have never felt this way about us. I have never felt a millimeter of distance between us. But today there is the slightest of gaps - separating him from me.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Will I always think I am who I was?
I was riding the train on Friday when a woman took the seat beside me. She plunked herself down, shopping bags and iPod in hand. I could hear some old school heavy metal streaming into her ears. I later realized it was Poison when I recognized the chorus to "Every rose has its thorn."
She had long blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail. Her bangs were curled down into a perfect tunnel that just grazed her forehead. She was dressed in classic 80's headbanger gear from head to toe: tight, tappered light jeans, black leather patchwork jacket. She had a small bag on her lap that she opened. Out of it came a red, heart-covered chinese food container. She opened it and peeled away several layers of fancy tissue paper to reveal a yellow rubber ducky with devil horns on it. She left the duck in public view long enough to show it off, smiled and rewrapped it. I imagine it was a valentine for someone special. She was so pleased with her modest purchase, so happy to be chugging along on the train listening to her favorite band. She just seemed so happy in her "here and now" that she seemed completely oblivious to the fact that it is no longer 1987. I loved this about her. She still is who she was - and she doesn't give a damn.
She was 45 going on 19. She was one of those people who stopped at 18. She still listened to the same music. She still wears the same style clothes, the same haircut. I started to wonder if we aren't all victims to this phenomenon to a certain degree. Don't we all still perceive of ourselves as the person we were somewhere between 19 and 23? Don't we all still wonder when we are going to "grow up" even though we already are?
I have never felt like an adult, despite the fact that I actually am one. I am the youngest in my family, and I am sure this plays a part in the way I perceive of myself. I own a house. That is pretty grown up. I teach college. That is pretty grown up. But there is that one last milestone I have left to hurdle, which to me, might be the one that actually makes me realize my adulthood: becoming a parent.
I was reminded of this unattained goal so clearly this evening. Last night our friends in DC welcomed their son into the world. They got pregnant at the near exact time as us. They are really my husbands friends and I have always felt strange around them. J. called them this evening and congratulate them. I was feeling very happy for them, and glad that I wasn't instead dwelling on the fact that I might have been holding my own son/daughter this week. It felt good to feel good for them - despite everything.
About an hour later an email announcement arrived with pictures and this statement, "There is nothing more beautiful in the world than your own child." And that is when it hit me. What if I never get to leave this person who I am: the non-adult me. What if I never get to hold my own child? Does that mean I am somehow incapable of experiencing beauty? Or do I just get to experience some half-assed, second-rate beauty? And if this statement is really true, well then I feel really sad for the world. Yes, having a child is a profound and beautiful experience, ummm, I think. Because I don't know that yet. I just get really scared of statements that are so exclusionary. What about those who can not have children? What happens to those who choose not to have children? The implication is an assumed superiority based on an experience, an experience that some may never have. Those with children are in the know. Those without children are inherently incapable of a particular breadth in their capacity for love which manifests in beauty? I think something like, "We are overjoyed at the arrival of our son and can not wait for you to meet him" would have served the same purpose, no? Why do I have to be constantly and unknowingly whacked over the head with my outsider status?
I am not a joiner. I never have been. But joining the club of "parenthood" casts over me like a skyscraper on a winter day. It is like no matter what direction I turn, it is there, throwing me back into the darkness. I wish I could implode it. I wish I could name a million other "beautiful" experiences that I have had that totally top the moment this friend had when he first held his kid. But I can't. I can't, not because I can not think of a truly beautiful experience, but because I am not in the club. I have nothing to compare it to.
I am left to wonder if I will always be who I was. Or will I get to join this club, that never appeared very hard to join, but apparently for some, it is. Yes, I am a joiner. I want a family. But not so I can tell everyone what they are missing. But so I can share and feel the love that right now I can only imagine.
She had long blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail. Her bangs were curled down into a perfect tunnel that just grazed her forehead. She was dressed in classic 80's headbanger gear from head to toe: tight, tappered light jeans, black leather patchwork jacket. She had a small bag on her lap that she opened. Out of it came a red, heart-covered chinese food container. She opened it and peeled away several layers of fancy tissue paper to reveal a yellow rubber ducky with devil horns on it. She left the duck in public view long enough to show it off, smiled and rewrapped it. I imagine it was a valentine for someone special. She was so pleased with her modest purchase, so happy to be chugging along on the train listening to her favorite band. She just seemed so happy in her "here and now" that she seemed completely oblivious to the fact that it is no longer 1987. I loved this about her. She still is who she was - and she doesn't give a damn.
She was 45 going on 19. She was one of those people who stopped at 18. She still listened to the same music. She still wears the same style clothes, the same haircut. I started to wonder if we aren't all victims to this phenomenon to a certain degree. Don't we all still perceive of ourselves as the person we were somewhere between 19 and 23? Don't we all still wonder when we are going to "grow up" even though we already are?
I have never felt like an adult, despite the fact that I actually am one. I am the youngest in my family, and I am sure this plays a part in the way I perceive of myself. I own a house. That is pretty grown up. I teach college. That is pretty grown up. But there is that one last milestone I have left to hurdle, which to me, might be the one that actually makes me realize my adulthood: becoming a parent.
I was reminded of this unattained goal so clearly this evening. Last night our friends in DC welcomed their son into the world. They got pregnant at the near exact time as us. They are really my husbands friends and I have always felt strange around them. J. called them this evening and congratulate them. I was feeling very happy for them, and glad that I wasn't instead dwelling on the fact that I might have been holding my own son/daughter this week. It felt good to feel good for them - despite everything.
About an hour later an email announcement arrived with pictures and this statement, "There is nothing more beautiful in the world than your own child." And that is when it hit me. What if I never get to leave this person who I am: the non-adult me. What if I never get to hold my own child? Does that mean I am somehow incapable of experiencing beauty? Or do I just get to experience some half-assed, second-rate beauty? And if this statement is really true, well then I feel really sad for the world. Yes, having a child is a profound and beautiful experience, ummm, I think. Because I don't know that yet. I just get really scared of statements that are so exclusionary. What about those who can not have children? What happens to those who choose not to have children? The implication is an assumed superiority based on an experience, an experience that some may never have. Those with children are in the know. Those without children are inherently incapable of a particular breadth in their capacity for love which manifests in beauty? I think something like, "We are overjoyed at the arrival of our son and can not wait for you to meet him" would have served the same purpose, no? Why do I have to be constantly and unknowingly whacked over the head with my outsider status?
I am not a joiner. I never have been. But joining the club of "parenthood" casts over me like a skyscraper on a winter day. It is like no matter what direction I turn, it is there, throwing me back into the darkness. I wish I could implode it. I wish I could name a million other "beautiful" experiences that I have had that totally top the moment this friend had when he first held his kid. But I can't. I can't, not because I can not think of a truly beautiful experience, but because I am not in the club. I have nothing to compare it to.
I am left to wonder if I will always be who I was. Or will I get to join this club, that never appeared very hard to join, but apparently for some, it is. Yes, I am a joiner. I want a family. But not so I can tell everyone what they are missing. But so I can share and feel the love that right now I can only imagine.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
What we thought we knew based on what we have been told
What we were told:
Your a woman, a breeder. Your big b00bs and wide hips will serve you well. Go forth, have fun. You'll know. You'll glow.
What it is:
Bleeding is normal. Women just like you have successful pregnancies everyday. Well at least you know you can get pregnant. You can have another. It will happen when you least expect it.
I heard from a dear friend last night. She is 27 weeks pregnant after having an early loss the same time as my first loss. She and her partner did it DIY - at home insemination with a known donor. They are dear friends and will make wonderfully delicious parents. They ooze love, in the best way possible. Their journey has been difficult and unconventional. I am, I have been, pulling for them all along.
S.'s first trimester was tough. Lots of bleeding. Then, on two separate occasions they got bad news from a genetics councilor. Once, they were advised they had a 1 in 3 chance of downs. Everything turned out ok. Next, they were informed of a rare chromosomal issue, which S. now knows she carries. She has passed it to her son. He a few weeks behind in growth because her placenta has not developed properly. She was on her way to the doctor with a packed bag this morning, expecting to be admitted to the hospital and kept on strict bedrest.
Pregnancy is not at all what either S. or I thought it would be. I am so alarmed by this fairytale we have all been taught to believe. No one ever tells you you might get your heart broken. No one ever tells you that it is possible to fail. Even when you ultimately have a real, live baby, you may have just experienced one of the most physically and emotionally taxing 9 months of your life. And if you had trouble getting pregnant in the first place - you can double or triple that 9 months - in both physical and emotion pain.
I have learned to stop expecting. I don't envision I am walking into a hopeless cloud of doom, but I am cautious. I know now that I should be critical of my own expectations. That your body, your mind, your life, does not always cooperate. It is not that I expect to fail at getting pregnanct, or at bringing a pregnancy to term. Rather, I enter the process again with hope, but also with a distinct set of experiences that I have prepare me for whatever my jacked up body decides to do next. In the end, I hope that by knowing my Ute might misbehave, perhaps it will do as it should - grow, support and nourish. Now THAT would be unexpected.
Your a woman, a breeder. Your big b00bs and wide hips will serve you well. Go forth, have fun. You'll know. You'll glow.
What it is:
Bleeding is normal. Women just like you have successful pregnancies everyday. Well at least you know you can get pregnant. You can have another. It will happen when you least expect it.
I heard from a dear friend last night. She is 27 weeks pregnant after having an early loss the same time as my first loss. She and her partner did it DIY - at home insemination with a known donor. They are dear friends and will make wonderfully delicious parents. They ooze love, in the best way possible. Their journey has been difficult and unconventional. I am, I have been, pulling for them all along.
S.'s first trimester was tough. Lots of bleeding. Then, on two separate occasions they got bad news from a genetics councilor. Once, they were advised they had a 1 in 3 chance of downs. Everything turned out ok. Next, they were informed of a rare chromosomal issue, which S. now knows she carries. She has passed it to her son. He a few weeks behind in growth because her placenta has not developed properly. She was on her way to the doctor with a packed bag this morning, expecting to be admitted to the hospital and kept on strict bedrest.
Pregnancy is not at all what either S. or I thought it would be. I am so alarmed by this fairytale we have all been taught to believe. No one ever tells you you might get your heart broken. No one ever tells you that it is possible to fail. Even when you ultimately have a real, live baby, you may have just experienced one of the most physically and emotionally taxing 9 months of your life. And if you had trouble getting pregnant in the first place - you can double or triple that 9 months - in both physical and emotion pain.
I have learned to stop expecting. I don't envision I am walking into a hopeless cloud of doom, but I am cautious. I know now that I should be critical of my own expectations. That your body, your mind, your life, does not always cooperate. It is not that I expect to fail at getting pregnanct, or at bringing a pregnancy to term. Rather, I enter the process again with hope, but also with a distinct set of experiences that I have prepare me for whatever my jacked up body decides to do next. In the end, I hope that by knowing my Ute might misbehave, perhaps it will do as it should - grow, support and nourish. Now THAT would be unexpected.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
My EDD + CD1
Today is the day I was due. Due to be a mother. My husband, due to be a father. My mom, due to be a grandmom. I was ready. I am still ready. I am still due.
Today is also CD1. And I am due to try again in 14 days. But not after one last look at the inside of my Ute, on CD11.
I am sad and hopeful all at once. I feel like I lost a whole 9 months of my life-- 9 months that was supposed to be full of joy and plans made for a bigger future. It was 9 months that were supposed to be the most "natural" of my life. Instead, I had what can only be described as the most unnatural year I have ever had. I have been poked, prodded and violated in nearly every way possible. But I was determined and pointed in my actions. I found the most amazing support from a group of women with the same condition as me, who gather online to share their experiences. It is because of this list that I was able to understand what was happening to me, but also to understand how to drive my own treatment. Without the support of these women, I would not have stumbled through this with such speed, and hopefully, success.
On my EDD and CD1, I'll start the clock again. I'll am going to allow myself to be hopeful. I am going to allow myself to believe that I will get pregnant. I am going to allow myself to imagine taking my next pregnancy to term. I am going to imagine my life in a family of three.
Today is also CD1. And I am due to try again in 14 days. But not after one last look at the inside of my Ute, on CD11.
I am sad and hopeful all at once. I feel like I lost a whole 9 months of my life-- 9 months that was supposed to be full of joy and plans made for a bigger future. It was 9 months that were supposed to be the most "natural" of my life. Instead, I had what can only be described as the most unnatural year I have ever had. I have been poked, prodded and violated in nearly every way possible. But I was determined and pointed in my actions. I found the most amazing support from a group of women with the same condition as me, who gather online to share their experiences. It is because of this list that I was able to understand what was happening to me, but also to understand how to drive my own treatment. Without the support of these women, I would not have stumbled through this with such speed, and hopefully, success.
On my EDD and CD1, I'll start the clock again. I'll am going to allow myself to be hopeful. I am going to allow myself to believe that I will get pregnant. I am going to allow myself to imagine taking my next pregnancy to term. I am going to imagine my life in a family of three.
Monday, January 28, 2008
My appropriate response
I did it! I had a wonderfully appropriate response to a pregnancy announcement this morning (outwardly anyhow). In fact, it was not soul-crushing. I did notice my hands were shaking a bit after I left the room, but I think that was because I almost blew my cover by knowing way too much about early pregnancy: even warning about the dild0-cam.
So this time it is my department chair. She is up for her three year review in a tenure institution. Having a kid in academia is certainly frowned upon, so I can only imagine she is a bit stressed. I am just a measly adjunct - low-pay, no-benefit, slutting around at other schools and hardly making a cent. The only benefit to having no benefits is you are free from the restraint of the tenure-track process. Your job is constantly unstable - so unstable feels quite normal.
Funny thing was she told me they want to hire me for her sabbatical in the fall. It would be great. It would mean for a few short months I would be making a living wage and finally doing my part to help our little family financially. But there are a lot of variables. I am applying for tenure positions myself. If I landed one, it would start that same semester. But that is just the job part. Then there is the uncertainty of our reproductive future. If I am able to get pregnant with some ease and stay pregnant, then I would also not be available in the fall. Hmm, how does this sound. "Well, even though I have been deemed a habitual aborter, my husband and I are foolishly attempting to cross that threshhold one more time. I might be available. In fact, if we look at my current history, I will be available. But if the cooch-lady did a nice job on my Ute remodel, then there is a good chance I too will be about ready to blow by fall."
So what the hell am I supposed to do? I can:
1. Put TTC on hold and try to time a pregnancy so I can teach through the fall semester. This carries the risk that my anatomy is still faulty. I am 32, so time is not exactly pressing, but not exactly nothing. Should I need more treatment... You see where I am going.
2. Screw it, everything in life is variable. Some plans fail, some succeed. Do what you want - which is to TTC again. Risk here is if I get pregnancy quickly and carry through, I will be out of work from May through (forever?) Spring 2009. This puts a heavy financial burden on my husband who is currently under a one year contract that ends at the end of the summer.
It is such a clusterf*ck that I am leaning toward the "hell with it" route. There is nothing easy about either route. There is also nothing for sure.
And finally, a play-by-play of what was going on in my head when my department chair told me these two things: 1. She is 8 weeks pregnant and 2. they have already picked out names. I wanted to scream, to save her from the potential pain. Don't do it! You are getting in too deep too fast. I do pray to whatever higher power that you have a wonderfully smooth pregnancy. But take a breath. Let your body settle into the process. There is never a moment again in my life where I will share a pregnancy this early with anyone. I will just wait till I can't hide it anymore. Losses happen. It can happen to anyone. Not just habitual aborters like me.
So this time it is my department chair. She is up for her three year review in a tenure institution. Having a kid in academia is certainly frowned upon, so I can only imagine she is a bit stressed. I am just a measly adjunct - low-pay, no-benefit, slutting around at other schools and hardly making a cent. The only benefit to having no benefits is you are free from the restraint of the tenure-track process. Your job is constantly unstable - so unstable feels quite normal.
Funny thing was she told me they want to hire me for her sabbatical in the fall. It would be great. It would mean for a few short months I would be making a living wage and finally doing my part to help our little family financially. But there are a lot of variables. I am applying for tenure positions myself. If I landed one, it would start that same semester. But that is just the job part. Then there is the uncertainty of our reproductive future. If I am able to get pregnant with some ease and stay pregnant, then I would also not be available in the fall. Hmm, how does this sound. "Well, even though I have been deemed a habitual aborter, my husband and I are foolishly attempting to cross that threshhold one more time. I might be available. In fact, if we look at my current history, I will be available. But if the cooch-lady did a nice job on my Ute remodel, then there is a good chance I too will be about ready to blow by fall."
So what the hell am I supposed to do? I can:
1. Put TTC on hold and try to time a pregnancy so I can teach through the fall semester. This carries the risk that my anatomy is still faulty. I am 32, so time is not exactly pressing, but not exactly nothing. Should I need more treatment... You see where I am going.
2. Screw it, everything in life is variable. Some plans fail, some succeed. Do what you want - which is to TTC again. Risk here is if I get pregnancy quickly and carry through, I will be out of work from May through (forever?) Spring 2009. This puts a heavy financial burden on my husband who is currently under a one year contract that ends at the end of the summer.
It is such a clusterf*ck that I am leaning toward the "hell with it" route. There is nothing easy about either route. There is also nothing for sure.
And finally, a play-by-play of what was going on in my head when my department chair told me these two things: 1. She is 8 weeks pregnant and 2. they have already picked out names. I wanted to scream, to save her from the potential pain. Don't do it! You are getting in too deep too fast. I do pray to whatever higher power that you have a wonderfully smooth pregnancy. But take a breath. Let your body settle into the process. There is never a moment again in my life where I will share a pregnancy this early with anyone. I will just wait till I can't hide it anymore. Losses happen. It can happen to anyone. Not just habitual aborters like me.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Is this the same as my last post?
Everything is still. I am just waiting. Waiting, hoping, thinking. I have been feeling much recovered over the last few weeks-- which I attribute to seeing a therapist. Not so much because the therapy has helped, but as it is in life, once you finally step forward to grasp that thing you have been needing, you no longer really need it so much.
I have been happily sunk into my work life. I have been reading again, thinking about some projects to start, even offering to run a training for a local organization that I used to spend a lot of time volunteering for. I check the blogs and the boards on a daily basis, and still follow everything- but no longer do I do it obsessively. I think all of this points to me being a little more healthy than I was even a few weeks ago.
But there is still one strange thing that is nagging me. I STILL do not want to see our best friends who are pregnant. She got pregnant right after I lost the second. I have not seen her since September, I think. Her body must be bursting at the seams by now. But I can not see her. I am too scared. Scared of how I might react. Scared that they both think I am a complete ass for having avoided them for so long. I feel ashamed of my behavior. But I feel safe and protected here, hold up in my own space. I can edit out what I know I can not handle.
The other part is that I do not know how to begin again. If I did feel ready to see them, what would I say? What would I do? "Hey, sorry for missing out on one of the most monumental events in your entire life, uhh, and by the way, can you refrain too much from talking about the arrival of your bundle of joy? I'm ready to see you but not quite sure I can handle the constant baby talk yet..." Seriously? What kind of a friend am I? My only hope is that the people who really know me, know I am not so shallow as to do this on purpose. If I could do a better job, I would. But so far, I can't.
J. wonders if finally getting pregnant and staying pregnant will solve this dilemma. But I don't think so. I might feel better about physically seeing them, but not emotionally. I was not there to support them through their pregnancies, so why should I ask them to be here for me? I fantasize about getting pregnant and not telling anyone for as long as I possibly can. I don't want anyone to know. Maybe it is because I will always be fearful f loss. Maybe it is because I will have to begin to mend these relationships. Or say goodbye to them forever. I can not remember a time when I had so few people in my life- and was fine with it.
Although I do hope to get pregnant soon, it is not the best timing. Being more saturated in my work has made me want to hold off a bit. If I were to get a full-time gig this year, having a baby would put a very serious question-mark in my file. I am really enjoying teaching right now, especially working with upperclassmen again. I don't want to loose sight of that. And I want to be able to salvage a career out of my train-wreck of a reproductive life after all this is said and done.
Another shout out to Pamela Jeanne at Coming2Terms for her post this week. She has the capability to articulate so much of what I am feeling in a way that is dense and true and fair. I would love to cut and paste half of her blog to my own and sign my name to the bottom... Even better, I'll encourage you to go over there and take a gander.
I have been happily sunk into my work life. I have been reading again, thinking about some projects to start, even offering to run a training for a local organization that I used to spend a lot of time volunteering for. I check the blogs and the boards on a daily basis, and still follow everything- but no longer do I do it obsessively. I think all of this points to me being a little more healthy than I was even a few weeks ago.
But there is still one strange thing that is nagging me. I STILL do not want to see our best friends who are pregnant. She got pregnant right after I lost the second. I have not seen her since September, I think. Her body must be bursting at the seams by now. But I can not see her. I am too scared. Scared of how I might react. Scared that they both think I am a complete ass for having avoided them for so long. I feel ashamed of my behavior. But I feel safe and protected here, hold up in my own space. I can edit out what I know I can not handle.
The other part is that I do not know how to begin again. If I did feel ready to see them, what would I say? What would I do? "Hey, sorry for missing out on one of the most monumental events in your entire life, uhh, and by the way, can you refrain too much from talking about the arrival of your bundle of joy? I'm ready to see you but not quite sure I can handle the constant baby talk yet..." Seriously? What kind of a friend am I? My only hope is that the people who really know me, know I am not so shallow as to do this on purpose. If I could do a better job, I would. But so far, I can't.
J. wonders if finally getting pregnant and staying pregnant will solve this dilemma. But I don't think so. I might feel better about physically seeing them, but not emotionally. I was not there to support them through their pregnancies, so why should I ask them to be here for me? I fantasize about getting pregnant and not telling anyone for as long as I possibly can. I don't want anyone to know. Maybe it is because I will always be fearful f loss. Maybe it is because I will have to begin to mend these relationships. Or say goodbye to them forever. I can not remember a time when I had so few people in my life- and was fine with it.
Although I do hope to get pregnant soon, it is not the best timing. Being more saturated in my work has made me want to hold off a bit. If I were to get a full-time gig this year, having a baby would put a very serious question-mark in my file. I am really enjoying teaching right now, especially working with upperclassmen again. I don't want to loose sight of that. And I want to be able to salvage a career out of my train-wreck of a reproductive life after all this is said and done.
Another shout out to Pamela Jeanne at Coming2Terms for her post this week. She has the capability to articulate so much of what I am feeling in a way that is dense and true and fair. I would love to cut and paste half of her blog to my own and sign my name to the bottom... Even better, I'll encourage you to go over there and take a gander.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Hello? Are you there?
I have been trapped, I mean hog-tied with work the last two weeks. It is the beginning of the Spring semester and the prep work is worse than usual due to the fact that I picked up a class I have never taught before at a new school. I have also been eyeball deep in the digital disaster which is my portfolio. Getting organized enough to apply for jobs has been scary. Last week, I was up most of the week till 4 am trying to make sense of my "files" from the last year.
This whole "habitual aborter" thing has had me neglecting my professional life for a mere 9 months. No time like the present to pick up the crumbled mess and mush it into something somewhat solid. My life is not pretty. It just is.
My dear boy J. returns from his middle eastern adventures this weekend and I can not be more ready. I mean, I was ready for him to return the second he left, but now I am REALLY ready!
We have a "date" planned. The kind where I shave my legs and show some cleavage, and he buys us a fancy dinner. I am excited for that. Then on to February. The month where we start to try again without really trying. I have given up temping and OPK's in the hopes of maintainig some sanity. I know I ovulate on or around day 16 - so we'll just get busy. The "hump-fests" of 2007 are a thing of the past. This year, we're just gonna chill.
My RE wants to do one last in office hysteroscopy to see how the resection site healed. I am pretty sick of getting violated, so I am thinking to cancel it and just hope for the best? Whatcha think?
EDIT POST
I want to add a note of sensitivity here to those of you in the IF world who struggle to conceive. I am one of the privileged who can get pregnant, at least prior to my resection I could. Getting pregnant has never been a problem for me - staying pregnant has. Recurrent miscarriage is not the same as the struggle to conceive. Not better, not worse, just different (some may argue this). So as I enter into the "trying without really trying" phase, it is with great privilege that I do so-- I know I am lucky to be able to say that. In reality, it stems from knowing that we should take a break and plan a bit around our work-life, but being truly scared that we have yet to hit the last bump. So we'll head into it, acting ignorant, but knowing we may still be in for a ride.
This whole "habitual aborter" thing has had me neglecting my professional life for a mere 9 months. No time like the present to pick up the crumbled mess and mush it into something somewhat solid. My life is not pretty. It just is.
My dear boy J. returns from his middle eastern adventures this weekend and I can not be more ready. I mean, I was ready for him to return the second he left, but now I am REALLY ready!
We have a "date" planned. The kind where I shave my legs and show some cleavage, and he buys us a fancy dinner. I am excited for that. Then on to February. The month where we start to try again without really trying. I have given up temping and OPK's in the hopes of maintainig some sanity. I know I ovulate on or around day 16 - so we'll just get busy. The "hump-fests" of 2007 are a thing of the past. This year, we're just gonna chill.
My RE wants to do one last in office hysteroscopy to see how the resection site healed. I am pretty sick of getting violated, so I am thinking to cancel it and just hope for the best? Whatcha think?
EDIT POST
I want to add a note of sensitivity here to those of you in the IF world who struggle to conceive. I am one of the privileged who can get pregnant, at least prior to my resection I could. Getting pregnant has never been a problem for me - staying pregnant has. Recurrent miscarriage is not the same as the struggle to conceive. Not better, not worse, just different (some may argue this). So as I enter into the "trying without really trying" phase, it is with great privilege that I do so-- I know I am lucky to be able to say that. In reality, it stems from knowing that we should take a break and plan a bit around our work-life, but being truly scared that we have yet to hit the last bump. So we'll head into it, acting ignorant, but knowing we may still be in for a ride.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
What is real and what is not.
I came across this great article today on the Road Less Traveled. It is called The Blank Space in Our Family Album and deserves a read. It is a rare moment when a publication like the Times sheds some light on the subject of miscarriage and infertility. But like Loribeth, I also take issue with the authors use of the phrase "real babies." Fact is, my babies were real. They existed, if only for a short time, if only ever inside my womb. But they were real, and their loss was real.
So even a woman who has suffered loss and IF herself can mis-step. With just a slight slip of the tongue or keyboard, a single word reveals the pervasive notion of what is real and what is not. And who gets to decide? For me, this gets to the depth of what I have been going through for the last year: the pain of having to endure the loss of someone who is unmentionable. My lost embryos make people nervous. So, apparently, it is my job to keep quiet about them. I am supposed to ignore that they ever existed. I am supposed to suck it up and put on a happy face for the festering ring of pregnant women around me-- because they never knew that I felt my babies presence. That I knew they were there. That even after they were gone, my body could still trick me into believing they were still there.
Some things in the world we can not see. And other things in the world we choose not to see. Miscarriage and infertility fall into the latter. It is easy to ignore something until it envelopes, until it swallows you whole and takes you to that unmentionable place. Alone.
I feel better about being alone every day. With J. gone, I spend whole days not talking to anyone. I don't miss my fertile friends as much as I think I thought I would. It makes it easy not to see them when I know they would fumble around me. Or perhaps I am just numb to the pain of loosing them. Or perhaps I just don't care. Probably another unmentionable subject. But there it is.
So even a woman who has suffered loss and IF herself can mis-step. With just a slight slip of the tongue or keyboard, a single word reveals the pervasive notion of what is real and what is not. And who gets to decide? For me, this gets to the depth of what I have been going through for the last year: the pain of having to endure the loss of someone who is unmentionable. My lost embryos make people nervous. So, apparently, it is my job to keep quiet about them. I am supposed to ignore that they ever existed. I am supposed to suck it up and put on a happy face for the festering ring of pregnant women around me-- because they never knew that I felt my babies presence. That I knew they were there. That even after they were gone, my body could still trick me into believing they were still there.
Some things in the world we can not see. And other things in the world we choose not to see. Miscarriage and infertility fall into the latter. It is easy to ignore something until it envelopes, until it swallows you whole and takes you to that unmentionable place. Alone.
I feel better about being alone every day. With J. gone, I spend whole days not talking to anyone. I don't miss my fertile friends as much as I think I thought I would. It makes it easy not to see them when I know they would fumble around me. Or perhaps I am just numb to the pain of loosing them. Or perhaps I just don't care. Probably another unmentionable subject. But there it is.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
I am flattening out and this post is boring.
Flattening out in a good way. Less like a cardboard cut-out, more like a mood that is manageable. My husband is out of town for nearly a month. So I have a month to heal. Really heal. Knowing that we can begin to try again is a relief. I am scared, but ready.
As far as my health, I am just waiting on test results from a biopsy and blood-work. My RE has been monitoring my cycle just to look for anything else that may have contributed to the losses. We can assume the septum was causing them, but she just wanted to make sure there were not any other factors. I appreciate her being so thorough. My second pregnancy was chromosomally abnormal. That loss was actually the most "normal" thing that has happened to me. It is the kind of miscarriage that "normal" people have.
I saw a shrink last week (do people still use the word "shrink?" It seems so 80's) I liked her ok. But seeing her made me realize I might not need her. What i really asked her for was help developing some better coping skills so I might be able to start seeing my pregnant friends again with out wanting to run away from them and cry. She suggested that I still need more time. She also suggested that I need some way to mark my losses, to grieve in a more tangible way. I was due on January 31st - in about three weeks. So I was thinking it would be nice to make that day special in some way. I just don't know what I want to do.
I am slammed with work. I picked up a web design class at another school here in the city. So now I am teaching 7.5 (possibly 10.5) credits at three distinct university (arg, how many ID's can one person have.) On the upside, that means I also have access to three different libraries! I also have a stupid amount of prep work to do in the next two weeks. I have a job interview on tuesday for a part-time office gig working for an organization that I have a ton of respect for. That would make my spring semester hyper-busy. Which I think would be a really good thing for me.
J. is in Egypt for three more weeks (2 weeks and 6 days actually - but who's counting). I was supposed to accompany him, but the plain ticket was pretty steep and I am desperate for a new computer and software so I can teach this web class. We are also in the midst of a bathroom remodel, so cash needs to be kept aside for that. It is fine. I hate to be away from him, but I can't say I was really in the head space to be in a foreign place. He is working while there, so I would have had to have been pretty pro-active about being out and about on my own.
Yesterday was crazy. My father, brother and uncle came into the city to re-start working on the bathroom. A year and 3 months ago we gutted it. Since then, we have lived with plywood floors, some drywall, exposed insulation, no electric and no sink. It has been rough, but you get used to it. Yesterday got us one step closer. We not are totally drywalled, have three beautiful functioning lights, a light in the closet and masonry board in the tub surround so we can start tiling! It was a long day, and my body it aching, but it is worth it. Free family labor rocks! Now I just have to teach myself to tile.
{the different colors in the image are just the color of the drywall. I did not paint my bathroom purple and green...}
As far as my health, I am just waiting on test results from a biopsy and blood-work. My RE has been monitoring my cycle just to look for anything else that may have contributed to the losses. We can assume the septum was causing them, but she just wanted to make sure there were not any other factors. I appreciate her being so thorough. My second pregnancy was chromosomally abnormal. That loss was actually the most "normal" thing that has happened to me. It is the kind of miscarriage that "normal" people have.
I saw a shrink last week (do people still use the word "shrink?" It seems so 80's) I liked her ok. But seeing her made me realize I might not need her. What i really asked her for was help developing some better coping skills so I might be able to start seeing my pregnant friends again with out wanting to run away from them and cry. She suggested that I still need more time. She also suggested that I need some way to mark my losses, to grieve in a more tangible way. I was due on January 31st - in about three weeks. So I was thinking it would be nice to make that day special in some way. I just don't know what I want to do.
I am slammed with work. I picked up a web design class at another school here in the city. So now I am teaching 7.5 (possibly 10.5) credits at three distinct university (arg, how many ID's can one person have.) On the upside, that means I also have access to three different libraries! I also have a stupid amount of prep work to do in the next two weeks. I have a job interview on tuesday for a part-time office gig working for an organization that I have a ton of respect for. That would make my spring semester hyper-busy. Which I think would be a really good thing for me.
J. is in Egypt for three more weeks (2 weeks and 6 days actually - but who's counting). I was supposed to accompany him, but the plain ticket was pretty steep and I am desperate for a new computer and software so I can teach this web class. We are also in the midst of a bathroom remodel, so cash needs to be kept aside for that. It is fine. I hate to be away from him, but I can't say I was really in the head space to be in a foreign place. He is working while there, so I would have had to have been pretty pro-active about being out and about on my own.
Yesterday was crazy. My father, brother and uncle came into the city to re-start working on the bathroom. A year and 3 months ago we gutted it. Since then, we have lived with plywood floors, some drywall, exposed insulation, no electric and no sink. It has been rough, but you get used to it. Yesterday got us one step closer. We not are totally drywalled, have three beautiful functioning lights, a light in the closet and masonry board in the tub surround so we can start tiling! It was a long day, and my body it aching, but it is worth it. Free family labor rocks! Now I just have to teach myself to tile.
{the different colors in the image are just the color of the drywall. I did not paint my bathroom purple and green...}
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