Kismet

I had a random conversation with an acquaintance recently, someone that I know to talk about general "stuff" but not ever connected on a personal level. Actually, two people but I need to explain each in its own context.

I somehow knew this person and I would see eye to eye. Kind of that "feeling" that there is more under the surface. I've become very guarded in my conversations lately, I don't know how to explain except to say that I have found a peacefulness in quiet. Maybe reflective is a better word.  What's different for me is I've spent a lot more time listening than talking to family, friends, and strangers.

So it was an odd occurrence when this person asked me, simply, "you look deep in thought, how are things?" And the conversation ebbed and flowed right to the heart. Somehow in 10 minutes we went from talking about our sons to infertility to adoption. She is me. Her life story is a reflection of shared pain and relief.  Forty minutes of talking to someone who not only "gets it" but sees (outside of the job related stress) the part of me that no one notices. She saw through the hardship and saw peace.

How cool is that??

Ironically, acquaintance number two was a mom I met at a sports practice. We sat next to each other watching our sons and started to chit chat. Her son ran over to sip a bottle of Gatorade and I immediately noticed he looked much different from her. I must have smiled a certain way, because as our two boys ran back to the field, she turned and gave the knowing look. For those in the ALI community you get it too... she knew. "Are you an adoptive Mom?"

The answer, "well, not yet..." .. and the conversation ensued.  I smiled driving home the two miles from there to here.

There is goodness in quiet.

And I am thankful that the universe knows it too.

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.

Friday Fragmentary Thinking

So much to say.

I just haven't been in the mood to write it down. Or have the time, really. It's been a crazy month, and June looks like it will be equally as crazy.

So this post is just a mish-mash of what's been going on in my head lately.

Yesterday, we went to the zoo for David's first grade class trip. It was great. Great weather, great time.

The coolest thing? The prairie dogs, the bears, the otters, the turtles, the cheetahs!... oh heck, just everything!  We'll be going back soon to see everything we missed.  It's hard to fit it all in with just a few hour window.

Pictures courtesy of my main man, S. who basically just followed the pack of Moms, Dads, and kids with my new camera.

Last week was David's 7th birthday party. This was the first party I had at a party "place" instead of at home. He had a great time. We had family and friends from school. I must admit I liked not having to cook or clean up. lol.

Can I express my frustation at that 47 year old "celebrity" who is pregnant? Should I comment that I am a little PO'ed that by not disclosing HOW she got pregnant is merely giving a bad education to women out there that think they can pop out babies into their late 40's? With their own body parts?  Who freakin' knows...maybe she is in the lucky .00005%.  I certainly made that percentage on the flip side of unluckiness.

Perhaps I should convert to scien.tology. There's one thing I haven't tried yet.

Lastly, but not leastly... who watched Grey's last night on the edge of their freaking seats?

And who's with me on Sunday watching THE LAST episode of LOST??? I am beyond sad to see this show end.  Prepare for some live tweeting and lots of tears on Sunday.

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.

Six going on Sixteen

My son has a teensy crush on Taylor Swift. Which is cute for a six (almost) 7 year old.

Note to family and friends:  David is asking for Taylor Swift pencils for his birthday.

Heck, I may even have a crush on Taylor Swift (in a I-wish-I-had-a-daughter kind of way). It's nice to know that there are some celebrities that aren't wading knee-deep in the "look at me, I am so much more important! and relevant! than you!" stage.... ala Heidi Montag, who, while no longer a teen has somehow reinvented herself into a Frankenstein'ish 40 year old.  Scary.

Note to older adult David:  This is not the girl you want to marry.

Did she realize she looked younger BEFORE the plastic surgery??

Anyway, certain milestones such as "crushes on teen queens" phase reminds me that my little guy is not so little anymore.

As evidenced by his pants size. At the beginning of the school year, I hemmed his uniform pants which were too long (then). Now? Just 7 months later, he has grown at least an inch and a half. Which means I have more hemming in my future. I should also mention that I never even knew how to hem until the last two years. Domesticated, I am not. The only reason I self taught myself is sheer laziness... if I knew a tailor I would pay to have it done.

Do you remember this picture?

One of my favorites. I want to say he was maybe 18 months here- sitting with Daddy on his new motorcycle.

Now?

If you are a Facebook friend, you saw that I posted a picture of S. giving David his first "real" ride on the Harley last weekend.

What a difference 5 years makes...

Disorderly

This past Monday was quite a day. I should have known it would be a fitting beginning to another step forward in the healing process. I woke up to the windows rattling, and rain pelting against the glass. It was the kind of day best served not opening your eyes at all, but rather a day where you pull the covers up over your head and sleep in.

I returned from driving David to the bus stop. Soaking wet... umbrellas aren't very handy when 50 MPH winds are mocking you. After the garage door was closed, the wind whistled between the open gaps and made an eerie sound. I fully expected the house to lift into the air and be whisked to The Emerald City. Then, a brief roll of thunder- weird and unexpected on a January day in NJ. As I drove to meet Anne, (not her real name) my therapist, it was raining buckets.

Lovely.

It was a mostly one-sided conversation... her getting to know me. When she did speak, it was kind, and deliberate. After she got the big picture as to why I ended up in her office, she stopped and said... "I want you to know I do understand your feelings. I myself experienced primary infertility, and after 7 years of heartache I stopped treatment and I adopted my little girl a few years ago."

Pin drop.

and then, a big sigh of relief swelled up in my body.

This is someone who understands, who "gets it" AND can help me.

I didn't even wince writing out a check at the end of the session. Although it does feel a little weird to be PAYING to talk to someone, and even weirder trying to sum up my failures in 45 minutes.

Curiously, when she gave me my receipt on the way out I noticed it had a field for my insurance company (NOTE to self- figure out if I can get this covered) which had a hand-written note:

Diagnosis: Adjustment Disorder



For five years, I have been "unexplained" in the realm of infertility. Talk about an open-ended diagnosis. It mocks you. It provides no explanation other than the unexplained. I am my own mystery. We will sooner find truth to the existence of aliens in space before we ever find out what happened to me.

Forcing that part to the side and looking at that new text left me with a thought...

If I am having trouble adjusting to my new life, then that certainly means that there will be a time when I can make peace with it and not carry the label to my grave.

This part of my healing is temporary and doesn't define me.

At the end of the day, I am okay with that.

A warm wind blowing

"... it's been such a long time, and I really do miss your smile."

Bonus points if you know what line that song is from. (also, a hint in the title of this post).

So I've been implementing changes over the last week. Getting my life in order. First order of business was getting my ass back on the healthy eating train. I really blew it over the holidays. I fully admit to drowning my sorrows in lots of high fat and carbs. I figured I earned it. No holiday cookie was safe in my eyesight.

I had stopped my vitamin regimen as well. And exercise was non-existent.

Let's see, poor diet, no exercise, depression. Check. Even my hair was falling out again, no doubt from the withdrawal of copious amounts of fertility drugs that have invaded my system the last few years.

Yep, I am in pretty bad shape.

Beyond the mental, I need to also work on the physical. So I am back to eating sensibly and back to my favorite hangout (weight w.atchers). Taking my vitamins again. My hair FINALLY is growing in and staying in. I also got my Wii Fit hooked up and easing myself back into exercise. Contemplating going to a gym, but not getting too far ahead of myself.... I mean, Rome wasn't built in a day.

And I have plenty of time on my hands.

My body is no longer a trash heap.  I've made countless commitments to getting healthy, but honestly, I think now is the perfect time to really get down to business.

If you want to follow my progress, I'll be posting over here at a new blog focusing just on my weight loss and exercise journey.  

No worries...  I'll still be here, at BagMomma, providing deep contemplative thought along with bad humor.  I just need to have a place to fully immerse my new project. 

It's nice to feel....  engaged again.

Live to tell the story

A few weeks ago, I was channel surfing on TV and stopped at a show I wouldn't ever normally watch... one of those religious based shows best suited for middle-of-the-night viewing.

Don't get me wrong... I've got nothing against people who love to shout about their religion.  In fact, I admire the passion exuded from someone who truly "believes" in something. I just find these types of shows a little creepy.

So I paused on this particular show really just to reach for my glass of water, and I started to listen to a woman talking about her life. She had been on the fast track in the entertainment industry in her twenties and got mixed up in "the lifestyle"- that one of hedonism and excess. I found her personality to be likeable, and she was very well-spoken, so I continued to listen.

Of course, you know where this is leading- she hit rock bottom and was incarcerated. You would think that would be enough to shake the cobwebs from anyone's life, but no... she continued to act out in jail and spent many years in solitary because of her bad behavior.

One day, she was allowed to obtain a book, and, of course it was The Bible. And then the story becomes predictable: she found God and changed her life, as well as many of the other inmates she bunked with.

The thing I found interesting, though, was how she interpreted the Bible as if it was meant as a direct message to her. I'm not an expert on religious text, but I want to say she likened her incarceration to the incarceration (and re-education) of the Isrealites. And, in that, she began to think that God delivered his message to her in this manner because there was no other way to get her to LISTEN. As he did with the Isrealites, he had to resort to extreme measures to get his point across to her.

Jail=vehicle to deliver message=God=love=PURPOSE

She went on to talk about her purpose in life. How clear it is now. How she can assist others in finding their own purpose. The great things she's done with her life since then. Letting go of the past and forging a new road to contentment.

And I thought only fertile women made me jealous!

It got me to thinking. What is our individual purpose? How do ordinary people find it? Do you really have to hit rock bottom to get the "wake up" call, or is there another way to enlightenment?

I think it's rather easy to hit rock bottom and use religion as the vehicle to chart your course to a better place. After all, it's JAIL for pete's sake. It's a place where you start with nothing, so of course it's easier to start a new path or a dream when you are stripped down to nothing.

I do find that when I meet people, the most interesting are the ones with a story to tell. Overcoming adversity, living through tragedy...who doesn't love a little inspiration?

To be honest, more than once I've had random people praise me for my steadfast commitment to trudging though infertility hell, much like how I feel admiration for that woman. The difference is I am still in the muck. I am like a drunkard navigating a straight line on the pavement at a DUI checkpoint. I sway, I stutter, and limp my way down the line. My path is dimly lit.

I wish I had the same conviction as that woman on TV. I am too jaded to put all of my eggs in the basket of religion. Admittedly, I identify myself as "somewhat" religious in that I do believe in God and attend church, but I find it very difficult to accept religion as the answer to all my questions. I'm too busy poking holes in theories and playing the critic.  That's part of the old me I still have in spades.

I guess this means I'm probably not susecptible to falling into something really radical like a cult.

Well, that's a good thing, right?

Funny Girl

Who watches Glee? Is Sue Sylvester not the most evil incarnation of an antagonist you've ever watched on a TV show? I love the dark humor, almost as much as I loved the rendition of "Don't Rain on my Parade" this week. I think I liked it just as much as when Streisand sang it!!

Pure genius I tell you...

And for those wondering, NO, I am not abandoning my blog. Shifting focus, maybe, but not disappearing. If you dislike my vain attempts at humor, you may want to bail now. At the core of it all, I revert to laughter in times of uncertainty and I do plan on laughing again.  Just as soon as I stop crying.

I do.

I also have my posse of infertile friends to keep me busy obsessing about their cycles (now that I don't have my own to think about). I've got my buds about to become mommies for the first time. Surely you want my unsolicted advice on teething and swaddling, right? And lastly, but not leastly... the rest of you... My  Super-Duper Band of Sisters and Supporters. You've always been there for me, I continue to be there for you.

I end with something I haven't done a lot of lately. Picture time! as we approach the season of many holidays.  Sigh...  this could be the last one with Santa before he's tarnished.  lol.

See?  I'm laughing!

Which way to the exit?

I promised myself that I wouldn't obsess about things until at least after the holiday.

But I am a fool. I don't have that kind of self-control.

I've been poking around. Researching. Contemplating. Reading your feedback. Hanging out on websites, making phone calls to big clinics and adoption agencies.

I had my follow-up appointment with my RE, and well, it was somewhat pleasant and horrifying at the same time. Pleasant in that, I really like the team of doctors there. They've never not provided an answer when I ask a direct question. They have hearts, and are genuinely interested in wanting me to succeed.

We talked about the FET. Dr. Nerd opened my file and we went through every embryology report. We talked about how the donor may have not been the best choice (hindsight being 20/20). I gave feedback on what I liked/disliked about their donor program. We talked options for the future. I walked out with closure, sort of, and that's about it.

The reality is my chances of succeeding are still high if I were to cycle again with another donor... no matter where I cycle.

The bigger reality staring me in the face is that we are tapped out of cash. I could want this more than anything, but there's a point where I need to take into account "the rest of our lives". I can't put our family in financial ruin chasing a dream. There's still a lot of living to do.

Yes, if a wad of money appeared out of nowhere, or embryos miraculously dropped in my lap I would jump on it. But for now, dreaming is just that... dreaming.

Unbeknownst to me my decision has sort of lingering here all along.

I would have loved to make a dramatic exit out of the land of infertility, emerge vicoriously, flipping the middle finger on my way out....but this story ends quietly for now.

Not necessarily closing the book, just bookmarking it if I ever choose to return.

Gratitude

I have a lot to say, but just don't have the energy to put it into words right now.  That day is coming soon though...  just not today.   Don't worry, I'm not abandoning my blog.  Just waiting for the inspiration to move me.

I am writing today to offer up a heartfelt "thank you" to my brother and sister-in-law. Yesterday was a special day for our families. My brand new niece was baptized yesterday, and S. and I were the Godparents. You might be thinking that it was a bittersweet day for S. and I under the circumstances, but you couldn't be more wrong.

It was, in fact, the most beautiful day.... and I found myself smiling ear to ear all the way through it. It means the world to me that we were able to be active participants in such an important milestone.

Thank you K.   Thank you for your unwaivering support and always holding out your hand to me. It has not been easy to be related to me.  I have far too much baggage, and most sane people would have given up on me by now.  My self-preservation mode has often found me isolating myself, and there are such rare moments when I don't feel like the stranger looking from the outside in.  You have always managed to make me feel included and wanted, and never a stranger.  That is a feat unto itself.

Having a day like yesterday makes me feel human again. It was the closest I've felt to being "me" again in a long time.

It was the best day.

Thank you.

The last chapter...

For the inquiring minds: I tested this morning. I stared back at nothing. Not even a whisper of a line.

Please, do not tell me it's too early. It's not.

So this is what it feels like to really fail at something. To exhaust every path, to endure every last available technology.  To pump myself full of chemicals that have god knows what affect down the road.

Almost five years of misery. Five years of loss. Five years of chasing a dream only to come up empty.

Empty in mind, body, spirit, and finances.

No next step. No back up plan to the back up plan.

Just sadness, regret, and unbearable pain.

Compassion

October 15th is like a ticking time bomb for me. It's a reminder that I am still in the trenches of infertility and loss.  I will always be no matter where my journey ends.

I've blogged on this day over the years, and each time I do... I feel emptiness reflecting back on such sorrow.  For the first time since the start of my infertility journey in 2005, I did not experience a pregnancy loss in the last year.  In fact, I haven't even had a pregnancy since February 2008. 

The RPL'er looking for one good egg now can't even get pregnant with a good egg.

How rich in irony that is.

Please take some time today to consider that while some of us are very much "out of the infertility closet" (bloggers, anyway) that many women do not have a place like this to vent, and cry, and commisserate with others.

Show compassion. 

Listen.

Sometimes the ugliest scars on a person who has experienced loss are not visible.  Sometimes they are hidden very well. 

It does not mean they don't exist.

Peace today to all of my sisters-in-loss,

There goes my psychic connection again...

When I wrote that post on Tuesday? It was immediately before I had the worst conversation with my employer in my life.

In. my. life.

Coincidence? I don't know, but sometimes I scare myself when coincidence is far too repetitive.

I am ready to plan my departure from the corporate chess match. I am done. Maybe I can live on my dream job as a barista at Starbucks.

Man, I wish I could share details, but I won't because there could be eyes here, and damn you Blogger for not having a pw protect option for posts.

It is most sad and maybe, just maybe.... a sign. Bigger and better things (and less stress) are ahead. It's not even the money anymore that matters. I refuse to check my reputation at the door. I will not be insulted.

===========

I am also struggling with blogging. You know it already, and I've been singing a sad tune for a month now, but honestly I am out of words.

I know it's my state of mind. I know I am depressed. I know I need to spend time avoiding a nervous breakdown. I just need to start a plan.

I am mad at myself for not taking care of me. I'm not sleeping, and (surprise) the fat girl (that's me) isn't eating well, if at all. Why is this momentous? Because I am used to stuffing my face to deal with any kind of stress. That is how I operate- until lately. There is no joy in food, and THAT my friends is a sign I need to figure out what the hell is wrong with me.

So please bear with me. I might be here less. I might comment less.

But please don't leave my side. I need you my friends.

The Career Path

Can you trace back a major life decision to a specific point and time?

When it comes to my career, I can. I like to think that it chose me.

I recently uncovered a crumpled up piece of paper in my desk while I was cleaning last week. It was the original Help Wanted ad from my local newspaper dated Dec 18th, 1992.

"Wanted: Sales assistant for innovative software company in PA/NJ area. Must have some computer knowledge and a strong will to succeed in a fast-paced industry. Call J. @ xxx-xxx-xxxx."

Simple and somewhat intriguing. So I called J., a sweet Southerner from Georgia who agreed to meet me for an interview. We met the week after the New Year, and she offered me the job on the spot. I confessed that my computer knowledge was limited (EVERYONE's was in 1992), but she said she had a good feeling about me.

And so I entered the corporate world on that day. With only my bachelor's degree and a two-years post graduate work history that included retail and a stint at my Dad's construction company. What she saw in me, I have no idea.

My first day, I was assigned a HUGE desktop computer and a cube to sit in. I had never seen the Windows Operating System in my life, in fact, the only time I touched a real computer was in college to print out assignments (and it was JUST a Word Processing machine). And a little bit of dabbling in MS-DOS. That was college in 1986-1990.

In 1992, the Internet was still a foreign concept. Few companies were using e-mail systems, and the company I worked for had only one competitor. But we were good, we were the "Google" of the time. Our competitor hated us because our e-mail and desktop software was infinitely better. And in the early 90's companies were banging down our doors for software and services. Our door.

That translated to profit. A lot. And one of the perks of my job was I also served as the person who set up team meetings and conferences. I had no budget. I traveled everywhere with my team. Exclusive hotels, spas, locations. Dinners at exclusive restaurants. It was an embarrassment of riches, and even though my paycheck was minuscule compared to the sales folks, I got to ride the wave with them. I got Tiffany jewelry and clocks for awards. I met celebrities. I saw and did more in those years than I would ever in my life.

In my twenties, no less... heaven.

Then, in the mid-90's we were acquired by a conservative technology company. We kicked and screamed for years until they finally completed the acquisition. Some of my co-workers jumped ship to start their own companies, some of us hung on. Some failed in their start-ups, some came back. Some retired. Software sales was a dog-eat-dog world, and the mantra was work hard, play hard... 24/7.

It was exciting to be a participant in the revolution of the Internet, Messaging, and Collaboration. I went from a naive young girl with no computer experience to an expert... trained in the trenches with my teammates.

As time went on, the climate changed. The perks went away. The travel went away. I lost my job no less than 3 times, and was lucky enough to find another position within the company each time.

17 years later, I am still hanging on.

And I can't believe that this all started from a 5-line Help Wanted ad.

And J., who saw that light in me and took a chance on a young and inexperienced girl with no career direction.

What decisions have you made that permanently altered your life's path?

Highs and lows

David just had his last day at summer camp. He often rambles on to anyone who will listen about his adventures this summer. Swimming, skating, bowling, dancing, and his visits to two zoos, two museums, one theme park, the "theater" to see a real stage production, and numerous trips to the ice cream shop and movie theater. He had a great time.

In two weeks he starts 1st grade. In the meantime, we will be ramping up for school and sharing some serious 1x1 time. I am scheduled to be off for the entire first week of his school so I can sit at home, bite my fingernails, and watch the clock while I wait for bus stop duty.

Next week also starts soccer, and soccer practices. Practice being a new thing this year since he's on the big boy team now that he's 6. Also means more work for me.

When I look at the upcoming calendar for the next few months, it looks overwhelming. I am having one of those moments when I wish I didn't have to work. In fact, I'm back to figuring out if I could swing a leave of absence. The money is not even half the issue (I could survive), it's the fear that I could be laid off in the meantime. Still hanging by a thread as always. S. is also still hanging by a thread at his work too. We try to ban "work talk" because it only depresses us.

Not a time to be part of the "out of sight, out of mind" equation, methinks...

I'm also trying to figure out where to go from here- as in, my mental state.

I am realizing that I have some major issues to deal with that perhaps I cannot solve on my own. I've never visited a therapist in my life (except for the mandatory ones for this past DE cycle). I'm not sure I can even afford one, but I do know that I am not myself anymore. This has been a cumulative effect and really has been building over the years. This last month (failure and scary moments) seems to have accelerated my feeling out of control.

I am sad, a lot of the time. I know that much of my state is temporary (or is SUPPOSED to be), but I am worried that I cannot lift myself out of my funk this time. I'm just not me.

Aaarggh.

... what to do, what to do...
I just don't know.

Truth

Thank you all for your comments, and talking me down off that ledge yesterday.

And hello to my fellow ICLW'ers. You have happened upon my blog at a very emotional time. I'm not normally this crazy... really.

You know, I had pondered lying low for this cycle (in the blogosphere, anyway) but over the last few days I just have had so many emotions about this. They were just eating me from the inside out... and you might know this about me- writing is my therapy. Mainly, because I don't have the outlet IRL (well, except for S. and he's just sick of my rambling).

Speaking of S., I should note that he is my rock, but he is a fragile fellow when it comes to our infertility treatment. He worries more than I do, I know this... always has. I struggle to understand how I can help him when he's constantly worried about me. His feelings are deep, and judging by the fact that his cuticles are bloody today... he doesn't need to say much more than that.

I also am concerned about my IRL relationships, and the fact that some of them have been blown to bits because of my struggle. To some, I am an object of pity... which hurts me to the core. To some who cannot relate to my plight, the silence is equally as horrifying. When I think about moving on, I wonder if I will ever not be the subject of hushed conversations. I wonder if anyone will ever treat me like an equal again, not as the 24/7 fragile porcelain doll they perceive me to be. Constantly on my mind..? IRL readers equate reading this text as communication in lieu of having a real conversation with me. What I thought might be a good mode of communication ultimately backfires in that respect. My fault entirely, and unfortunately I can't put the genie back in that bottle.

Sure, I'd love to play this cool... (there are plenty of IF bloggers that can, and have successfully) but you all know me better than that. Yes, I'm worried sick that this won't work. Yes, this really is the last stop. If this fails, we are NOT pursing further treatment or renewing the adoption path. There's no monetary or emotional resources. More importantly, we want our life back.

I just had to say that. Because it's not just words thrown out there for dramatic effect.

It's my truth.

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So, the new update for today: Donor's retrieval scheduled for 10am Thursday. Unless they push out again, which I sincerely doubt.

The Monster in the closet

This post has been brewing for awhile now- the draft locked in my head wanting to finally be documented to make room for other thoughts.
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I had a dream, not long after the drama in March after Donor#1 failed. I thought it was just the stress talking, a way for my mind to reset...

In my dream I was putting together a scrapbook, all lovely pictures of me, S., and David. As I turned the page there was a blank page just begging for photos. I reached into the pile of photos that remained on my desk.

The first thing that was seemed off was that each picture was black and white. I remember thinking "how odd" but when I looked closer to visually inspect them I noticed there were no people in any of the pictures. They were scenes familiar to me... our backyard, the beach, my family room.

But no people. I became frantic looking for pictures that had anyone I knew in them. But the pile seemed endless, and one after another, each picture was curiously absent of living things. Not even the cats.

I remember having the worst feeling in the pit of my stomach, so in my dream I ran to the two people closest to me looking for an answer. I glided into my kitchen, and S. and David were eating eggs. The table was set for six. But they seemed sad, and again I found that the color in my dream had vanished to a dark grey.

And then the dream ended.

I woke up in tears, and my first instinct was to reach over to S. to ensure he was there, and then I walked off to David's room to check on him. He was sleeping of course. But I sat down in the rocking chair next to his bed and replayed that dream in my head... looking for meaning.

And so began those terrible thoughts in my head after that night.

What is to become of me if this cycle doesn't work???

This is it. This is the last stop in my journey. There is no more after this. No more injections, no more tests, no more doctors visits. No more loans on top of loans. No more planning around a 28 day calendar.

How will I ever become whole again when I've been carrying around years of disappointment and loss like a monkey on my back?

I've been trying to shove these thoughts from my head. "Worry about that when the time comes.." I say to myself.

But each morning it is the first thing on my mind when I awake.

...and it is the last thing I think about when I lie down to sleep.

It's the monster in the closet, behind the door I don't dare open. What is to become of me when I have to turn that doorknob? It's almost like being told you are going to die, but instead of not knowing when.. you have a date.

Because very soon ...I will know.

On my mind this week...

Oh, it's been awhile since I had one of those "all over the map" posts. This will be one, so be forewarned... I'm still coming off my vacation funk.

I told myself I wouldn't do it, but I am feeling the need to comment on the Jon & Kate thing. Yes, I am guilty of watching the show from last Monday (and past shows), and... ugh... I have so many feelings about it. I've been reading a varied bunch of posts, many that bash Kate and/or Jon, and curiously, many that are starting to come out of the woodwork that grant sympathy to Kate.

Here's my short comment... Making money off the backs of those children (fully knowing that this media frenzy will haunt them f-o-r-e-v-e-r) is wrong. I'm sorry. I don't care if it they are doing it to secure themselves financially. Not good enough. Plenty of people have large families and make it work and aren't television stars. And, don't get me started on the "you should have thought about that in the first place" trail of thought. It gets the infertile part of me all riled up.

Sell your books, use the profits for more teeth bleaching and fake spray-on tans... create a J&K+8 clothing line for all I care.. but take the damn cameras off those kids immediately... if you really care about their health and welfare.

And that's all I have to say about that.

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David is graduating Kindergarten in less than two weeks! I just can't believe my baby is almost done his first year of school. That just flew by. Next Tuesday, I volunteered as chaperone to his school field trip to the zoo. I just can't wait to ride a school bus with a bunch of 5/6 year olds. The last time I rode on a school bus was to a Frat party back in my college days. aaaah, memories. AHEM... different type of bus trip... entirely.

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I am having a really hard time readjusting to work. Honestly, something happened to me on vacation that activated the "procrastination chip" in my head. I sincerely need to get back into the swing. Maybe I really did relax too much. Is that possible?

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I am catching up on the gazillion shows I DVR'd while I was gone. Shocked at some of the finales.

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And, I just realized that I have to get my list together for David's "official" birthday party (with the family) next Saturday. This time of year, everything just seems to take off and run at breakneck pace.

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Lastly, please check out my "last" 23andMe post up over at my review blog...here


...and have a pleasant weekend!

And time marches on

You know what stinks?

I am growing bored with my secondary infertility label. In fact, my lack in speaking about my upcoming donor cycle is directly related to the funk I am in.

I cleaned my Google Reader today. And I am a category lover, so it won't surprise you that of the 250 or so blogs I follow, I have categories so I know what I am looking at.

One of my categories, which was full for years is "SIF/TTC" or "IF/TTC" (Secondary Infertility/Trying to Conceive and Infertility/Trying to Conceive). The joyful part is over the years there's been a complete turnover. About 95% of my bloggy buddies passed through this category in my reader to "SIF/IF PG", "IF/SIF Adopt", "Off the Hamster Wheel For Good" (self-explanatory), or "Friends/Moms".

I have just two blogs left in my SIF/TTC category. One is a newer friend, the other... a blogging buddy who started TTC#2 the same time I did and curiously has had 5 losses as well (what are the odds, friend?).

While I am genuinely happy for all my buds who passed onto the other side (a few after a quest much longer than mine), or chose another path after much consideration, -the fact remains that I am still stuck in the same place.

And I'm still licking my wounds.

And some days I am fine.

And some days I feel like my heart could drop out of my chest because it hurts so bad. I don't want to reach the milestone of 5 years TTC. I just don't.

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Two weeks from today, I will be on vacation, far away from this situation... and honestly, it can't come at a better time. I am just exhausted talking about it. I don't want to talk about it.

So, just as a warning... my posts in the future specifically about what's going on with the DE cycle may be non-existent, or erratic at best.

Right now, everything is fine. The Donor passed my litmus test I talked about here. Donor is getting her Day 3 u/s and labs done while I'm on vacation (we missed the window.. her consult/interview was on Day 6 so we had to wait a whole month... figures). Basically, I should know a lot more after Memorial Day when I get home. Perhaps a June calendar if we are lucky.

I have an appointment next week for another trial transfer, sonohysterogram, and new blood cultures (mine expired from the last time I had them drawn). S.'s bloodwork expired too, so he has to go in for a redraw.

My mammogram is due, and my Pap is due (which means another visit to the place I can't stand).

Reminders that my journey just gets longer and longer.

For now, that is all. We now return you to regular programming.