Run-on Sentence

This is not a post about grammar. Certainly not from a former business major.

I hate ambiguity. I hate 700 page books (although I read them anyway) because I want to rush to the end. I micro-manage my life to receive the biggest "bang for the buck", in the least amount of time of course.  My usual mode is get from point A to point B.  It works for me.

My infertility journey, not so linear. Pretty much a never ending book.

My story is different than many that walked the path before me and alongside me.

There was no success, no "graduation", no closing of a book in a defined timeline.  My journey ended with a big question mark followed by a ...  as in, to be continued...  but for how long?

Some days I almost forget how I got here, and other days it hits me square in the face.  On the worst days I encounter a random event that feels much like a bandage being ripped off from a fresh wound.

A friend of mine is having a very complicated and extended ending to a miscarriage of sorts, similar to one of my losses years ago. It brings me back to a place I hate to go. Uncertainty, irony, sadness, anger, and impatience at the world. Oh, how I feel her pain.

Today is one of those days I am rolling in the muckity-muck. My heart feels raw for all of us that don't get the happy endings and neatly wrapped gift... rather those of us who get the loosely wrapped present... paper ripped, tape falling off, bow askew. What the hell does one do with that mess?

For a long time I felt mad, and over the years I just could not shove it into the dark or bend the hurt and anger into something worthwhile. Sometimes when my guard was down, the feeling faded into the background, but it never really left. Just lurked out there, waiting. Unresolved.

I mean, my path is highly unusual. I get it. I have a son from some miracle of miracles and then the train went off the rails. Trust me, I know how fortunate I was.  Once.

But let's get real- secondary infertility often drives odd judgement from others. I try to fly under the radar and brush the naysayers to the side.  I run into them often (and they are always fertile beings, ironically).

No, I am not always happy with what I have.  Does that make me a terrible human being?  No.  It means I am being truthful and allowing myself to feel the disappointment- and, without disappointment, the joys in life just don't shine as brightly.

It's okay really. But what stings the most is never knowing when "to be continued" turns into "The End."

That sentence can be short, or painfully run on.

No ending in sight.

Avoiding the Obvious

The message for National Infertility Awareness Week is "not to ignore infertility" and instead of preaching the message, I am here to tell you I am guilty of doing just that.

I came here on Monday ready to write a sun-shiny post (like I do every year) to support the message. But nothing came. I just stared at the keys on the keyboard.... unable to find any words.

The words did not come because of sadness- that my infertility journey was a long, wasted effort into the depths of hell and back with no success.

The words did not come because of anger- for myself and my sisters, that our journeys are sometimes dismissed by our fertile friends, or worse, ignored completely because Infertility happens "to other people" or "for reasons we are not supposed to know...". Hmmmmmm.

The words did not come when the fifth fish died in our new fish tank yesterday. Yes, a fish tank. It appears that I experienced a nuclear meltdown when I reminded my husband that we lost five humans via miscarriage, and GOD DAMMIT we had five fish we couldn't keep alive in a tank.

The words, very simply, did not come until about an hour ago... when I realized that my journey came to an end a few years ago, and I've been avoiding thinking about it.

Avoiding.

I am thinking about it now, and the feeling I feel....  is emptiness.

I pray that anyone reading this never, ever walks my path. I hope to God that I have taken the statistical bullet for you.

Because I could never bear to know and love a friend and have this ending be a reality for them too.

For you.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

The Egg

Last I left off, I was having a moment of clarity and obsession in the middle of the night with a bottle of Gatorade. Since then, I have managed to completely change my life and the direction of my health.

This is a big thing for me. As much success I have had in other areas of my life, I had as many failures in caring for myself. I wish I could say that it was totally a result of work/life imbalance, because honestly, I had myself believing that too.

It wasn't.

I know now that the struggles with infertility wasn't the real issue either. It was tragic, yes, but not the crutch that hindered me from being a better version of me.

It was simply, me, being unkind to myself.

Putting myself last because I never, ever knew any differently. Since forever.

It is probably a blessing I don't have a daughter. Somehow, I am sure that I certainly would have carried on my own insufficiencies into another human.

I have a plastic Easter egg in my desk at home, once shoved into the back corner of my junk drawer. In the egg, I wrote words on a slip of paper. It was an assignment I received at a weight watchers meeting in 2005. For the umpteenth time, I was trying to preserve any part of me that I could. Control SOMETHING, anything.... I was in survival mode, really. My WW leader asked us to each write a promise to ourselves and put it in the egg.

I wrote...
"I want to love me."

I stuck that purple egg in the drawer. I knew it was there. I knew it was there each time I failed, fell off the weight wagon, again and again. I knew it was there each time I sunk my spoon into a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream because I wanted to deaden any emotion that even came close to admitting failure. I remembered it was there when I cried because I made a mistake, a bad decision, hurt someone, or let myself down.

Yet, in four years I just left it unopened. I figured I would eventually toss it out next time I purge the junk drawer. After all it was JUNK.... Right?

JUNK because I just couldn't take seriously the thought of ever loving myself.

Then, the ultimate low. The last straw that proved that I was insignificant and not worthy of any goodness. Failing at completing my family, losing confidence in my professional worth, hitting rock bottom.

Then, with almost impeccable timing, my body started to revolt. It was pissed off over being mistreated and discarded. I got scared. I spent the last 6 months in a revolving door of doctors. My bones ached. I couldn't walk. Was I depressed, sick, or going mad? I suddenly felt all of my 44 years crashing down on me. Tentative diagnosis as of now, Fibromyalgia and sleep issues, waiting another referral to rule out more bad stuff. Merely the tip of an iceberg, but a step to knowing.

A wake-up call indeed. It was time to get my temple in order.

This was my rock bottom.

I remembered the egg. It wasn't going to gather dust any longer. I finally opened it this past January, and renewed my promise to me.

Something is different... this time. I can't put my finger on it. I still have days I feel like I am 90 years old, but I also have days I feel I can conquer the world. I changed the way I view food. Which is insanity in my mind anyway... I have this bad habit of never breaking bad habits. But here I am, three months later, and finally giving myself the time to heal and be renewed. I am not going to let anything chip away at the progress I made. It shows on the outside.. I am a pound shy of 30 pounds lighter. In physical weight. Probably even lighter on an emotional level.

There is no reason I should feel so good while feeling so bad.


But I do.

Strangely, my newfound love is catching root in the oddest of places. My husband, my son. They don't see the positive change around us, but I do.

I still have a long road ahead. But for the first time ever, I am walking in my own shoes, feeling my heart, accepting the unclarity of life, and not afraid to fail.

My egg, no longer collecting guilt and dust...

...now, my lucky charm.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Beach Bummed

Well, July just flew by.

As promised I present you with photographic evidence of my spray tan. It looked great (ignore my mean face). Even coverage, no streaks, and no orange glow. I methodically used the blocker lotion on my hands, feet, knees and elbows as directed... and it was easy. Would definitely do it again, and especially for a unique occasion. For those of you who asked, the tan was via VersaSpa (not Mystic) and I chose the medium tone. I am intrigued to try the dark tone, but a little scared. Maybe on a week I know I don't have to go anywhere just in case.

So, l took my new tan on the road to Hilton Head, SC for our 10 day vacation. Didn't you wonder where I went?

We had a great time, as usual. This is the 6th year we've made the 12 hour drive. Sure, there was bitching and moaning being trapped in the car and dreaming of an exit on I-95 with a Starbucks, but the pain is worth it in the end when we see the sign that takes us to our home away from home.

David was like a boy obsessed this year. For one, he couldn't wait until he got the opportunity to go crabbing off the pier at the resort. He and hubby caught five blue crabs (catch and release), and they were in heaven. I particularly don't get the enjoyment of standing in the sun over a creek with fish smell lingering in the air, but to each is own.

Secondly, after David spent a week trying to make friends at the pool, he met a girl (insert oohs and aahs and curious eye rolling here). Is this when it starts, age 8?? Really? Goodness. Unfortunately, their courtship was short-lived.. she left the next day. However, he had a ball and I got a new friend too... her mother is the same age as myself and through conversation I found that she had her daughter via fertility treatment. We traded war stories, and it was really unexpected.  It was like meeting a mirror image of me, and so glad I got the opportunity to chat with her. Thank goodness for Facebook to stay in touch. Sadly, David is left only with a picture of himself and his new friend-  plotting how he might charter a boat to see his southern sweetie. I am still trying to help him understand that TN is not on the coast. lol.

We spent most of our days poolside, and if you follow me on Twitter, I posted a few pics along the way.

We were almost too lazy to spend time physically ON the beach. Too much preparing and effort. Plus, I admit it, I hate getting sandy.  Hate it.  However, we did take walks and collected seashells.

The thing I love about HHI is the relaxation factor. It's the only place I've vacationed where I feel truly rested.

After all the turbulence this year, I wanted that feeling more than ever. Problem is, once I shut down it's hard to boot back up. We got home on Monday and I've spent the last 48 hours walking into walls and navigating my foggy brain through the day.

The reality of being home was kind of a downer. You all know the feeling. Back to the grind, and to-do lists.

Speaking of  to-do's, I am making a doctor's appointment for myself this week. Been feeling off for the last few weeks and some oddness going on with my fingernails looking weird and my hair falling out in bunches (has been for the last 6 weeks). The hair loss is worrying me.  Really bad.  I am asking for a thyroid panel at my regular doctor when I get in, among other things. Surely, five years of shooting up hormones hasn't affected my endocrine system, right?!? I can only guess the crap my body is going to give to me now after putting it though so much over the years.

For naught of course.  Another post for another day.

So, I am back, sort of. Give me a minute and a latte and I will be ready to rock and roll.

Worst kept secret!

I have a secret.

The worst-kept secret in the world.Many of you already know, but for reasons I can't quite explain... I just couldn't write the words here until today. I could in other places, but just not HERE.

Argh.

Let me cut to the chase...

If your remember, this time last year S. and I were in research mode for domestic adoption. Well, we managed to examine every recess of every local agency last Spring, and by June of 2010 we had an agency, a wonderful case worker, and about a billion items added to our to-do list. As of October, 2010 our homestudy was complete and we were officially granted "waiting" status.

Yes. We are pre-adoptive parents.

So, back to the disclosure part. This is not a secret, of course, but knowing there were so many readers (cyber and IRL), I didn't want to divulge because not everyone in our real-lives knew of our plans. It's much like that weird space in the fertile world for infertiles. Those who have experienced the challenges of infertility wouldn't dare announce a pregnancy prior to the 4th month.  Go ahead and chuckle, because we ALL know exceptions exist (how many of you can write a book on that? raise your hand!) but bear with me on that thought.

Bygones.

...that's sort of where my head is on this. The last thing I wanted was someone in real-life carrying the message to random people in our circle, and those people telling friends, and so on. We are excited about it, and so is David. We are equally as petrified. Walking that line has proved daunting, so there was an odd comfort in knowing that we had this big secret that wasn't public knowledge yet.

And, to be honest. I was very nervous to write this here. I've struggled so much in having "hope" in my life again, and this blog had become a diary of failure. Some days, I couldn't bear to look at the archives staring at me on my front page. Years and years of dashed dreams. What if I added to that sorrow? Adoption is also a risk, and not every story ends the same. What if I fail again??

I decided that this new chapter in our lives, completing our family and taking steps toward our dream doesn't have to be pushed to the back burner because of my own fears.

At the same time, this place won't morph exclusively into an adoption-themed blog. Sure, I may post something now and again, but I have other outlets for my writing on this topic. This place will remain the story of my family.

Having said all of this, I also came to the realization that there was just no downside to spilling the beans.  It became a ridiculously silly hang-up on my part.  I am just darn tired of living in the shadows, and you all, as my support, need to know.

So there you go.

A new chapter already begun, and lots of memories to come.

I promise not to hold out on you any longer.

Pinky swear.

Avoidance Theory

I have had a recurring dream over many years. In my dream I am in my childhood home and feeling a sense of dread. I never really understand the "why" of the situation, I just seem to land mid-stream into this nightmare of sorts. Whatever is spooking me sends me into utter panic, running from room to room, locking each exterior door and running to the next.

And then, standing still.

So still I can hear my own breath and it sounds so loud in my head that I am sure whomever is on the other side of the door can hear me as plain as day.

I spent some time recently on one of those "dream" websites. You know, the ones that define objects and common dream themes. Apparently, my locked door dream is a symbol of avoidance and much of the interpretation has a lot to do with whether you are on the locked side of the door. Locked side = shutting ones self off from someone/something.

It dawned on me that I have developed an avoidance of many things over the last few years. Whether my mood is up or down I still practice the art of avoidance.

I guess I've always been a little withdrawn. Even in earlier years I was always comfortable with people and experiences- having anxiety initially, but once I warmed up I was outgoing and gregarious. I always had that shy girl inside me, but I was 60/40. Sixty percent outgoing, forty percent reserved.

Infertility was the fuel on the fire that turned that ratio upside down. Now I am more 40/60, maybe even 30/70. I find it really hard, even with therapy, to be that person I was. I have great days where I see the light, and dark days (like today) where all I feel is grief and loneliness.  The only place I feel grounded is here, at home, in the company of S. and David.  The outside world is a constant source of stress and unfamiliarity.

I still am trying to appreciate myself as a new and improved person (with some extra wisdom and compassion) but I've developed some bad habits that are slowly changing me and not always for the better.

I know my triggers, and spend far too much time avoiding them:

• Arriving on-time exactly to David's school events- it reduces the amount of time I have to mingle with the happy moms.
• Buying baby wipes at my local warehouse store- to avoid trolling down a baby aisle in a regular store.
• Unopened magazines that I just chuck in the trash- (backstory) I had subscribed to a popular parenting magazine for school-aged kids but won't read it after I browsed a few only to realize 70% of the content was baby-related.
• I've gone from that person...  a person who doesn't hide a thing about the ups and downs of life to a person that finds it easier to small talk through an entire conversation and engage the fake smile just to avoid and move on.
• Even my Google Reader doesn't go unscathed. I have many friends I've met online over the years, and although I follow and read all their posts, often I feel like I can't comment (or don't want to because I feel like I don't belong). 

It has been so very, very hard.

As many times that I give myself a pat on the back for meeting a situation head-on, there are a million more instances where I tend to fade into the background and avoid feeling... well...

...feeling anything.

The old adage, "You reap what you sow..." has never been more true that where I am today.

I am to blame for the state I am in.  Just me.

And that truth is becoming very hard to avoid.

Call me Suzy

Back in the day, when I was blissfully unaware that bad things can happen to good people, I wandered throughout life with rose-colored glasses.

Yep, long ago I really was Miss Suzy Sunshine.

The nice thing about living that way is that life (generally) seems to be just full of excitement and wonder, and pressure? almost minimal or non-existent. Failures were just momentary bumps in the road. The idea "there's always a next time" really seemed plausible and in fact, there always was a "next time" right around the corner.

And, with just the right amount of drive and stick-to-it-tiveness, anything was achievable.

And then I grew up.

Scratch that.

I got old.

There's something about entering your 40's that slams the brakes on all of that sunshine. And it has nothing to do with life changing or even the people around us... it has everything to do with the change in ourselves.

Infertility gave me a reason to be bitter, and well, I just took it and ran. Instead of looking at the goodness in my life, all I could see was...

nothing.

Those damn rose-colored glasses turned to grey, and a shitty shade of grey at that. At times, it dimmed e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.  I was damn-near blind.

Suddenly, in my blindness, I became the self-appointed purveyor of fairness. I was insulted that life dealt me a bad hand, and there was (is?) no remedy for that. If you are a family of 4+ you were a target of my jealousy. If you were a family of 4+ and had the nerve to complain about ANYTHING going on in your life you were a target of my anger. If you took pity on my story and made an ass-backwards remark to me in public to belittle what I experienced or felt? well...

let's just say I prayed the karma police would catch you before I did.

And then I decided one day that I just couldn't carry the anger around anymore. I grew tired of putting myself in a box and labeling it "BREAKABLE: Please Don't Touch." Every day I get a little better. Let's face it, I'll never go back to the person I once was, but I will develop into a different and better version of me.  Eventually.

It's been more than a year since my failed donor egg cycle. When I think back to the feelings of failure then, it saddens me. It DID feel like the world was tipping over. It DID feel like I was never, ever going to heal. I DID feel like a desperate junkie, and when the treatments ended... hell, I felt like I would end too.

But I didn't.

And I am still here.

And I've given up my karma police badge. I've come to terms that good and bad happens every day to everyone. It's not about me being singled out.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again... this journey gave me a gift I would never ever return...

Compassion.

And here I thought I got nothing... 
guess I need to get a new pair of glasses.

Signed,
Miss Suzy Partly Cloudy Sunny

Failure is not an option

I was extremely efficient last week.

Remember that list of a million things I talked about? I was knocking them off one by one.

Here's the thing about lists that is no surprise to anyone- after one list is done another one takes its place. I used to be a woman of few lists. I was so adept at getting crap done, by the time I sat down to make a list I didn't need to write it down.

Then, over the last few years, I started to morph into a person with multiple lists and post-it notes. It is maddening. Especially when I know I used to be good at it.

I was watching a show on cable not long ago... well, let me digress for a little background... I upgraded my cable at home and now I get e-v-e-r-y channel on earth- even all the pay channels (for a promotional period of course). So when I am wide awake and stressed at night I watch TV, specifically movies and reruns of "Top Chef" and "Say Yes to the Dress"... ummm, yeah...don't ask about that second one. I got married 15 years ago and yet I still love looking at wedding dresses. Don't judge me.

Anyway..I had been watching a movie (can't remember which) and one of the lines from a character in it resonated with me:

"I don't try anymore, because I am afraid. It is much easier to not try at all. If I don't bother, I don't have to worry about being a failure."

Boom.

It was as if a giant arrow virtually appeared above my head pointing down at me... THIS IS YOU STUPID.

...Well, damn! No wonder I am procrastinating lately. It was as if that one line was written expressly to me.

(mental note, mention this to Dr. Anne)

The next day I was wandering around the house and looked at projects that were unfinished or never started at all. And it dawned on me that I am my own roadblock to ever being that person from years ago that went missing during infertility treatment. I am letting my failures beat me every single day.  Still.

I won't try because I am afraid. Every friggin' day.

Therefore, nothing gets done. And the list grows longer.  And I get mad at myself.

The cycle is never-ending.

Hell, I have a project (related to my biggest failure) that I am not even blogging about here. Why? Because if I commit to it here, in THIS place, it's as if I am setting myself up to fail.

Finally, it all becomes clear. The tragic part?  My greatest relief, writing, has been a victim of my own crazy neuroses. Somehow I have grown to expect that bad luck is hiding in the shadows, just lurking and waiting to jump out and tear my heart to pieces.

The monster that I blogged about during my egg donor cycle has exacted its final blow.

It seems that I myself have become the monster I always dreaded.

How's that for self-realization???

I had a dream last night, like many of the ones before it, but this one was different. In this dream I wasn't running or hiding. I was happy. A person I've never met told me a secret, and it was the best news ever. It felt real. I woke up feeling elated. Positive, and with new purpose. Determined to make my dream a reality.

If I can change, I can stop making lists and start focusing on today.

Perhaps I can escape the sense that I am a victim, and start acting victorious.

It's a tall order, but something I need to do.

I'm adding it to my list, pronto.

Dreaming of me

I've always been a vivid dreamer.

My dreams are in color, I can remember small details, I always "know" when I am dreaming, and most of all... I've become very perficient at knowing how to wake myself up from a dream I don't like.

I'm not sure how I figured out that last part. As a kid, I had a lot of nightmares, and my trick (back then) to waking up was first realizing I was dreaming, and then closing my eyes in the dream and pressing my belly button.

Viola! My bad dream cure.

Except sometimes it backfired (and still does), when I manage to think I woke myself up but realizing I just forced myself into a parallel dream state. Even when I wake from a horrifying dream, I need to stay awake for at least 10 minutes, because I can easily slip back into the same awful dream.  Great, right?

Last night I had a particularly bad dream. I was stuck in some sort of pit, and snakes were chomping on my limbs. You see, I hate snakes. Like Indiana Jones, when I see a snake in my dreams I think: "Snakes! Why does it always have to be snakes?!" It's my anxiety dream of choice.

So I manage to wake myself up (or so I thought). I sat up in bed, breathed a sign of relief, and just when I thought I was home free, a snake appeared under my covers. Argh! Worse- I had a heck of a time waking myself up. When I did finally, I jumped out of bed and stood in the middle of the room praying that I was really awake. ala Paranormal State without the demon in the house.

I was awake... but the fear of lying back down was too much. So I rocked back and forth and willed the nightmare away before I slipped back into bed.

I'm not sure how I was blessed with such a jabberwocky brain. Or if there are many people like me, or if I am a class unto myself. I've pinpointed that my dreams are stress relief for me. It's a way of my working out the cobwebs nestled in the far corners of my head.

I just wish I dreamed more about good things than bad.

The irony is my dreams have gotten a little more nightmarish in the last 5 years (oh, duh!) no doubt due to the constant state of stress I've managed to wrap myself into.

I had always liked to blame the infertility medications on my active imagination, but now that it's been 6 months without any artifical substances in my bloodstream, I guess I can't.

The key now is to channel the negative energy away from my sleep ritual.

The problem... I'm not sure if that ever will change.

Inside Out

I recently attended a local adoption seminar at an agency. I hesitate to write about it, because my reaction to it was unexpected.

I sort of walked into it with the task of obtaining information on domestic adoption. Get in, and get out. I am the sort of person that needs to chew on an idea after I've gathered initial information. So the surprise was on me, THIS information session was out of my comfort zone.

When S. and I got there, we sat in a small room with about 6 other couples. I sat with an inch thick folder on my lap which I procured on the way in. I watched the clock. The meeting started late. The social worker, a really nice person, gave her speech which sort of went off the beaten path a hundred times over... that was okay... but of course there's always the guest who monopolizes the conversation.

I started to get annoyed. The business person in me is thinking, "this is an information session, not a personal one on one interview". Give the necessary info to the crowd, and leave it up to the individuals to stay and ask questions.

I started to zone out, and fidget. And after an hour had passed, they brought in a lovely couple with their newborn baby to share their own journey. I listened to their story, and as I did I scanned the room and noticed that the other women were almost in tears. I was not. I was detached. I wanted to escape.

Again, I found myself in a place that was unfamiliar. Almost like we did not belong. We seemed to be the oldest in the room. We were the only couple that had a child at home. The other couples looked like Barbie and Ken clones. All I could envision in that moment was disappointment. 

It had nothing to do with the topic at hand... I was very much interested in it. I just felt like I didn't belong there, like there was a spotlight above our head. The odd couple out.

I also had little interest in dwelling on the obvious emotion that was hanging in the room. It felt cheap.  Unnecessary.  It was just too much. I didn't come there to be sucked into the vortex they attempted to create.

At the two hour mark I stood up, excused myself nicely and S. and I left. It was a quiet drive home.

I'm not even sure where that all came from that night. The agency seemed great. The employees seemed nice. I came home with more information than I could ever ask for.

I just feel weird about it. Unsettled.

This path is proving to be more than I bargained for.

I feel.... fine?

Smile tho’ your heart is aching,

Smile even tho’ it’s breaking,

When there are clouds in the sky

You’ll get by,

If you smile

thro’ your fear and sorrow,

Smile and maybe tomorrow,

You’ll see the sun come shin-ing thro’ for you

Light up your face with gladness,

Hide ev-’ry trace of sadness,

Al -’tho a tear may be ever so near,

That’s the time,

You must keep on trying,

Smile, what’s the use of crying,

You’ll find that life is still worth-while,

If you just smile
Music Composed by Charlie Chaplin, Recorded by Nat “King” Cole on Capital Records.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I've been in a bit of a weird place lately. I think a lot has to do with the fact that my life is very different now than it has been for the last 5 years.

Last week, while sitting in the big comfy chair at my therapist's office, she asked me a very simple question. "How are you feeling?"

You know, it's crazy, but no one in real life asks me that question. And if they do, it's more like "How are you?" like in the casual conversation kind of way. You know, when you are SUPPOSED to say, "Fine" or "Good", but no one REALLY wants the truth, or wants to hear a 10 minute dissertation to the question...

My answer to her, "depends on the day..." and isn't that really the truth for everyone?

The difference for me is I feel like my days are jammed with work, and schedules, and cooking, and homework with David, and chores, and a multitude of activities which serves other people, but not me.

I feel empty.

"Who else do you talk about your daily struggles with besides your husband?"

To which I replied, "well, lately.... no one really."

And then the conversation flowed to that one topic that bugs the shit out of me. The fact that other people are living their lives, happy and engaged, and most of them... don't have a clue what it's like to be on the dark side.

I truly cannot bear the "Mommy" thing. The school parties, the events where the Moms gather around and complain about not having time to sleep or get their nails done. The ones that I. MUST. HAVE. totally FAKE conversations with. On the basketball court, in the neighborhood, family/friend events, parties, and the grocery store. It's like the world is turning without me because I have no interest in the "chatter" between Moms.

For me, I exist between two worlds. One foot in the Mom world, and the other foot in the non-Mom world.

I don't quite fit in either of them.

Mel wrote a great post yesterday about putting on "the smile". The one that shields you from the bullets other people hurl at you that can break your heart. The one resource that we infertiles have to safeguard ourselves from making a scene crying in the grocery store when we meet an old friend who has been! pregnant! 4! times! by accident! omg!

The "smile" is something I carry with me every time I walk out of the door.  And lately, it's been getting harder and harder to not show the crack in my smile.  And, it's plain EXHAUSTING.

So where does that leave me? Well, according to therapist Anne, I need to make an effort to start having real-life interaction with like-minded individuals. Hey, not that you on-line buddies aren't the bees knees! It's just I really don't have a that person IRL that I can commisserate and share these dark feelings with. Someone who has first-hand experience with infertility in the way I have. Where they did not succeed and stopped treatment. Or stopped and pursued adoption.  Anne thinks I should put out feelers for a support group in my area.

Because, you know, that's a lot less desperate than standing in line at Starbucks with a shirt that reads... 

(Are YOU an infertile?  Have you failed where others always SUCCEED?  Are you a fertility clinic dropout?  Please have coffee with me and let's DISCUSS!)

When I leave my session with Anne, I always feel good. And most of that is because she did walk almost the same path as I did. She defines infertility as a "life crisis" and draws parallels between infertility and going through any other serious illness. The difference? Infertilty is not terminal. Which in her opinion, makes it all the worse since you can never-ever-ever escape it. The outcomes are different, but it is something we will forever carry to our deaths.

Peachy, huh?

Solitary

solitary: 1sol·i·tary
Pronunciation: \ˈsä-lə-ˌter-ē\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English, solitarie, from Anglo-French, from Latin solitarius, from solitas aloneness, from solus alone
Date: 14th century


1 a : being, living, or going alone or without companions b : saddened by isolation

Last night I had a very weird dream. I don't remember much about it in its entirety, but what I do remember is waking up and feeling like I solved a great mystery of life.

In this dream, somehow I ended up sitting at a round table with about 10 people whose faces I did not recognize. We were talking about fears. I didn't feel scared, but rather... melancholy. Someone commented from the other side of the table that their worst fear is death.

My response was immediate, almost as if the words were just falling out of my mouth without my lips moving...

"I am less fearful of death, and most fearful of being alone."

It was nano-seconds later that I woke up, with those words still hovering in my head as if I said them aloud in the waking world.

I thought about it in the shower and and it was perfectly clear that as much as I would not like it to be so, it is my primary motivation in life.

It is the reason for everything.

As independent as I've led my life, I've let that fear mow me over in recent years. But when I look back to the choices I've made thus far, it's been the driving undercurrent all along...

...how could I have not realized that?

This therapy adventure has certainly opened my mind in ways I had forgotten about, or didn't have the key.

Specific to infertility, I am realizing that my want to complete my family has a lot to do with this one specific fear. The motivation has little to do with "kicking infertility's ass" and more to do with surrounding myself with people I can count on. People that my son can count on that will still be here 30-40 years from now. Let's face it, when I get old and if S. isn't here, I do not want David to be alone. I don't want him to have that burden.

I may be projecting my fear needlessly onto him, but it's something I think about more often than I should. This is probably the only reason I haven't truly given up. And if I am being honest with myself, I will never be able to move on until I feel comfortable that David has a sibling. Someone who can't easily walk away, uninvesting themselves when it is convenient.

I envy those that can and have made the active decision to push family-building to the back burner and move on. I've wondered if it is possible for me.

My therapist says I can do that if I wish, but it will take time.
I definitely can envision a life without cycling. I am 99% sure that I do not ever want to walk into a fertility clinic again. 

I am 100% sure that there is a child waiting for me, if I put myself out there.

It is very surreal to me, to know that before I had David, I always had this invisible attraction to adoption. I didn't even know my "fertilty" status at the time, but I had always envisioned something extraordinary for my family. Perhaps I should have listened to my heart many, many years ago.

We are in research mode. No timeline, no stress. We will walk wherever the paths leads.

Life is a highway

I've been feeling a little sad this week.

There's no main cause... perhaps cabin fever had a little to do with it. Each day I wake up and look out of the window to whiteness, I grumble a little under my breath. I'm ready for winter to be over. I'm tired of the snow.

Work has been busy, and I've been plotting taking off some time soon. I feel like my work could swallow me whole if I let it. Last week my company forced a download to my laptop with a software update, and it blew my machine. I called the helpdesk, and when I say "help" desk I am exaggerating. They feined ignorance, and then tried to tell me my home wireless network was to blame (which it most certainly is NOT!) Our helplessdesk is a joke, staffed with people who live in almost uninabited areas of the world and make $1/hr. We are a technology company for goodness sake!  If you have a problem that isn't in their script, forget it.  There is no thinking outside of the box, or the script, as it were...  I wish I was kidding.

I was so mad I was spitting bullets. I worked on the issue into the wee hours of the morning, using Google as my guide. I thought I had fixed it. But unbeknownst to me there was some sort of auto-update that removed my hard work again. grrrrrrr....

On Thursday, I am giving up my car. I love my car (remember when I got it three years ago?).   The lease is up on it, and with recent events (and current events), we simply needed to downsize. As much as I will miss it, I am glad to be breaking free from it.  I spent many days driving it to the fertility clinic and getting my unfair share of bad news.  I cried big tears in that car.  As much as I will miss the luxury, I will not miss the reminder of it.  The funny thing is we've been progressively downsizing our cars over the last 7 years.  Since S. is still in the auto business, we are limited in our choice since we must take advantage of his employee discount.  It's the same make, different car.  Much cheaper.  Better gas mileage. Cheaper payment.  And, as S. proclaimed, thank goodness it's not black.  He hated waxing my black car.

I've also spent some time thinking ahead.  I've not done a lot of that lately...   I found that living in the moment was much less stressful.  But once in awhile, the monster greets me in an unlikely place. 

He found me in the car this past weekend.  S., David and I were driving home from having a nice lunch and David was talking up a storm in the back seat.

"Mommy, Daddy... why don't I have a sister or brother?  Did I do something wrong?"

I just about drove off the highway.  S. held my hand and we pulled into a Starbucks.  It was everything I could do to not start bawling.

I let S. answer because I couldn't. 

I just couldn't.