Cowboy: So is it the magic time right now? Said without a trace of sarcasm.
Me: I don't know.
Cowboy: Come on, you know.
Me: No, I honestly don't. I haven't checked the monitor yet this morning, so I don't know. (See, I really did kick my BBT and charting habit).
Hours later, I still can't get it out of my head that after a year-and-a-half of trying to conceive and two miscarriages, my husband still manages to believe there is something slightly "magical" about trying to have a child.
And if you know anything about cowboys, you also know that the word "magic" generally isn't in their vocabularies.
What would I do without his unflagging optimism?
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
I'm Starting to Get Splinters on My Ass
We are in the last cycle of the Summer of (DIY) Love.
Fitting, that I actually used the seat heaters in my car this morning on the way to the dentist. For gum surgery. Blech. Which means I am writing this pumped full of Vicoden.
I know I promised that I would focus on DIY and nothing else during the Summer of Love. Last Friday, however, I caved. I researched a bunch of international adoption agencies. And now have some packets on the way to our house. Must remember to get the mail first over the next few weeks.
There are scary things about international adoption. But I am tired of being so damn scared all of the time.
We’ve been hiking once a week in the Columbia Gorge. You can get a lot of steep vertical in the Gorge (its goes from 90 feet in elevation to 4,000+ feet in a few short hours). It helps get our legs ready for ski season. It is also amazingly therapeutic for us to be in the outdoors.
I spent the time on the trail last Sunday confronting all of my fears about the international adoption route. I made my peace with each and every one of them. By the end of the hike, I felt less afraid and more at peace than I have in months.
Until this morning. When Cowboy woke up and told me he had a dream that I had a baby – a little girl. Our second child. And she had a really deep voice.
Just like Cowboy’s.
It hit me how much I really love him. How I haven’t yet made my peace with the fact that I might be giving up on making something from us without really trying our last remaining option: IVF. With PGD.
So here I sit on the freakin’ fence. Again.
Only, today, loaded up on drugs.
Fitting, that I actually used the seat heaters in my car this morning on the way to the dentist. For gum surgery. Blech. Which means I am writing this pumped full of Vicoden.
I know I promised that I would focus on DIY and nothing else during the Summer of Love. Last Friday, however, I caved. I researched a bunch of international adoption agencies. And now have some packets on the way to our house. Must remember to get the mail first over the next few weeks.
There are scary things about international adoption. But I am tired of being so damn scared all of the time.
We’ve been hiking once a week in the Columbia Gorge. You can get a lot of steep vertical in the Gorge (its goes from 90 feet in elevation to 4,000+ feet in a few short hours). It helps get our legs ready for ski season. It is also amazingly therapeutic for us to be in the outdoors.
I spent the time on the trail last Sunday confronting all of my fears about the international adoption route. I made my peace with each and every one of them. By the end of the hike, I felt less afraid and more at peace than I have in months.
Until this morning. When Cowboy woke up and told me he had a dream that I had a baby – a little girl. Our second child. And she had a really deep voice.
Just like Cowboy’s.
It hit me how much I really love him. How I haven’t yet made my peace with the fact that I might be giving up on making something from us without really trying our last remaining option: IVF. With PGD.
And all because I am scared of failure.
My husband is so classically handsome. A big, rugged Western American guy. With twinkly blue eyes. An athletic frame. A strong chin. And a deep voice, like John Wayne.
His mother once told me he’s had that voice since opened his mouth to cry. How she could hear him on the playground without seeing him because that voice was so unmistakable.
So here I sit on the freakin’ fence. Again.
Only, today, loaded up on drugs.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Book Tour # 6: Love & Other Impossible Pursuits
Hot freakin’ damn! It is my first Stirrup Queens book club. Many, many thanks to Mel at Stirrup Queens & Sperm Palace Jesters for organizing the book club.
The book for this tour was Love and Other Impossible Pursuits by Ayelet Waldeman. I was so happy to read something other than an infertility or miscarriage self help book, that I read Love in less than two days. Below are my answers to some of the thoughtful questions the blogsphere posted about the book.
First a message from our main sponsor:
Hop along to another stop on this blog tour by visiting the main list at http://stirrup-queens.blogspot.com/. You can also sign up for the next book on this online book club: Happiness Sold Separately by Lolly Winston (with author participation!).
And now back to another episode of Ms. Planner tries to find ways to talk about herself:
Question #1. Throughout the book my feelings towards Emilia were conflicted. If you felt that way too, why did you also feel that way?
When I first began reading Love and Other Impossible Pursuits I felt so sorry for Emilia. No one understood her; for me, even her husband didn’t support her when her stepson, William, babbled about putting the baby’s belongings on eBay. I had so much sympathy for her that I wanted to spend the afternoon holed up in her apartment with her, bemoaning how no one understood what a loss like this does to a woman.
By the Walk to Remember, my response to Emilia had changed. It seemed like her sadness had turned to rage. And she did not know how to handle it, so she lashed out at everyone else whether they deserved it or not. If you think about it, Carolyn (the ex wife) had every reason to despise Emila for the situation that she had a large role in creating. And I especially thought the way Emilia treated her mother – the one person who it seemed was always on her side – was most rude. Emilia thought her suffering gave her carte blanche to be a complete bitch.
Toward the end of the book, I was back on Emilia’s side. I think she was very fearful that being a caring stepmother to William was her "consolation prize" if she couldn’t have Isabel. And she didn’t want something to replace her being a mother to Isabel. In the end, facing this fear allowed her to focus on being what others in her life – mainly her husband and her stepson – needed her to be: an engaged stepmother. I think that new focus helped her disengage from her own grief.
Her transformation made me reflect on my own myopic grief over my recurrent miscarriages. Here's the part where I get to talk about myself. I had let myself wallow in my sadness so much that I began to act like a spoiled child. I cried if others (namely my husband) didn’t understand me. I felt the world "owed" me something. I didn’t like what I was becoming.
Strange, but being a third-party objective observer of Emilia’s fictional character ultimately helped me reflect more closely on my own behavior.
Question #4: Emilia often describes the intense physical and emotional connection between she and Jack. She often refers to him as her bashert. But after the loss of Isabel, and Emilia's spiral into solitary despair, that connection is damaged. This alteration is noted by Emilia when Jack declines her first offer of physical intimacy since their daughter's death. She becomes "terrified that I have become like Carolyn, cold to sex, unmoved by my husband, uninterested in the passion that once meant everything to me." What sort of relationship do you have with your significant other? Do you feel he/she is your bashert? What effect has IF/loss had on your emotional and/or physical relationship?
My husband’s blog nickname is Cowboy. We’ve been together for almost eight years. Married for almost three. I knew he was going to be the man I would spend the rest of my life with from the moment I met him, which was in a strip bar. See this post for the real story.
I call him Cowboy (and have long before I started to blog) because he truly is the essence of a cowboy. If we lived in an earlier time, I have no doubt that he would have been a real life cowboy out on the lonely range with a horse, a dog, a few changes of clothes and a good book. As such, he has a steeled composure that rarely lets you see how deep he can hurt. And this was hard for me to understand after my miscarriages. He never grieved openly so I thought he didn’t care. Of course he cared that his wife was hurting, but I thought he didn’t care that we lost our "children." And I held that against him for a long time, which didn’t cultivate a healing atmosphere in our marriage.
We started going to couples therapy after the second miscarriage. Actually, it was originally supposed to be therapy for me and he was going along to be supportive. In the end, we both were talking. And, more importantly, listening. Having that safe, neutral ground to talk through the pain, fear and hurt helped us find our deep connection again. Seeing a shrink together remains the best money we’ve spent during our TTC journey.
Physically I had a difficult time after both miscarriages. I am one of those lucky gals who has never had trouble with the ‘Big O’ in a physical relationship. After my first miscarriage, I suddenly found myself not being able to, well, you know. It was disconcerting for both of us. Me, I seriously thought my bajingo was broken in some way. And I think Cowboy took it a little personally. Like he wasn’t performing up to par. After a session of discussing this issue with the aforementioned therapist, I realized that I was approaching intimacy with an I-just-need-to-get-pregnant-again-right-away-and-this-will-be-fixed mentality, which was hindering my ability to, well, you know. Additionally, this approach put way to much pressure on Cowboy and he would withdraw from any intimacy. It was a vicious cycle of very little and not-so-fulfilling sex. I am so thankful we’ve gotten past that. By the way, discussing your inability to orgasm with a therapist in front of your husband makes the embarrassment of getting dildo-cammed on CD3 look like a cakewalk.
Question #8: For those of us who have suffered loss, the Walk to Remember maybe raises some feelings and issues. Emilia meets another woman who lost a child after birth. "It's a terrible way to lose them. However it happens is bad, but SIDS is the worst. I mean, of course I'd think that, but I know I'm right." Emilia feels out of place amongst the women mourning early losses "I realize, with a vertigo that almost knocks me off my feet, that this woman has named her miscarriages...I know it is unfair to feel disgust...I have no right to condemn her just because she has given her miscarriages middle names." Is there a hierarchy of loss? Do we share more than divides us? Can we get support and solace from others regardless of their exact experience... or do we seek out those whose experience most closely parallels our own?
I hated it I read Emilia’s thoughts on this subject. I physically felt myself get warm with rage. And then I was embarassed because I gave a first name to my first miscarriage. For a long time, I considered a loss a loss. It didn’t matter if the baby was 8 weeks in utero or a few days old. And then I started reading Niobe's Dead Baby Jokes blog. And my perception began to change.
I also recently attended an exhibit called BodyWorld’s that solidified my new way of thinking about miscarriage versus stillbirth versus infant death. It features a gallery of human fetuses from 5 weeks to 40 weeks. The exhibit is as tasteful and scientific as such a thing can be. Imagine a semi-circle of glass displays, serenely and elegantly lit. Focusing on each embryo, fetus and baby as if it were the most precious gem. And it really, really hit me that my losses, which were in the first few glass displays, were truly so much less in the scope than those in the last few display casements. It really put it in perspective for me.
So while there is a hierarchy, what we share, however, is the loss of the promise of a future with our child(ren). I will never get to hear my 8 week old in utero "child" laugh in some future day the same way that Emilia will never hear 2-day-old Isabel laugh. The same way that someone who hasn’t achieved pregnancy yet hasn’t had the chance to feel the light that fills you when you see the first positive pregnancy test. I believe strongly we can find common ground in those kinds of losses.
As my blog muse, Watson, once commented: "…either way, the journey is NO fun." Amen to that, sister.
The book for this tour was Love and Other Impossible Pursuits by Ayelet Waldeman. I was so happy to read something other than an infertility or miscarriage self help book, that I read Love in less than two days. Below are my answers to some of the thoughtful questions the blogsphere posted about the book.
First a message from our main sponsor:
Hop along to another stop on this blog tour by visiting the main list at http://stirrup-queens.blogspot.com/. You can also sign up for the next book on this online book club: Happiness Sold Separately by Lolly Winston (with author participation!).
And now back to another episode of Ms. Planner tries to find ways to talk about herself:
Question #1. Throughout the book my feelings towards Emilia were conflicted. If you felt that way too, why did you also feel that way?
When I first began reading Love and Other Impossible Pursuits I felt so sorry for Emilia. No one understood her; for me, even her husband didn’t support her when her stepson, William, babbled about putting the baby’s belongings on eBay. I had so much sympathy for her that I wanted to spend the afternoon holed up in her apartment with her, bemoaning how no one understood what a loss like this does to a woman.
By the Walk to Remember, my response to Emilia had changed. It seemed like her sadness had turned to rage. And she did not know how to handle it, so she lashed out at everyone else whether they deserved it or not. If you think about it, Carolyn (the ex wife) had every reason to despise Emila for the situation that she had a large role in creating. And I especially thought the way Emilia treated her mother – the one person who it seemed was always on her side – was most rude. Emilia thought her suffering gave her carte blanche to be a complete bitch.
Toward the end of the book, I was back on Emilia’s side. I think she was very fearful that being a caring stepmother to William was her "consolation prize" if she couldn’t have Isabel. And she didn’t want something to replace her being a mother to Isabel. In the end, facing this fear allowed her to focus on being what others in her life – mainly her husband and her stepson – needed her to be: an engaged stepmother. I think that new focus helped her disengage from her own grief.
Her transformation made me reflect on my own myopic grief over my recurrent miscarriages. Here's the part where I get to talk about myself. I had let myself wallow in my sadness so much that I began to act like a spoiled child. I cried if others (namely my husband) didn’t understand me. I felt the world "owed" me something. I didn’t like what I was becoming.
Strange, but being a third-party objective observer of Emilia’s fictional character ultimately helped me reflect more closely on my own behavior.
Question #4: Emilia often describes the intense physical and emotional connection between she and Jack. She often refers to him as her bashert. But after the loss of Isabel, and Emilia's spiral into solitary despair, that connection is damaged. This alteration is noted by Emilia when Jack declines her first offer of physical intimacy since their daughter's death. She becomes "terrified that I have become like Carolyn, cold to sex, unmoved by my husband, uninterested in the passion that once meant everything to me." What sort of relationship do you have with your significant other? Do you feel he/she is your bashert? What effect has IF/loss had on your emotional and/or physical relationship?
My husband’s blog nickname is Cowboy. We’ve been together for almost eight years. Married for almost three. I knew he was going to be the man I would spend the rest of my life with from the moment I met him, which was in a strip bar. See this post for the real story.
I call him Cowboy (and have long before I started to blog) because he truly is the essence of a cowboy. If we lived in an earlier time, I have no doubt that he would have been a real life cowboy out on the lonely range with a horse, a dog, a few changes of clothes and a good book. As such, he has a steeled composure that rarely lets you see how deep he can hurt. And this was hard for me to understand after my miscarriages. He never grieved openly so I thought he didn’t care. Of course he cared that his wife was hurting, but I thought he didn’t care that we lost our "children." And I held that against him for a long time, which didn’t cultivate a healing atmosphere in our marriage.
We started going to couples therapy after the second miscarriage. Actually, it was originally supposed to be therapy for me and he was going along to be supportive. In the end, we both were talking. And, more importantly, listening. Having that safe, neutral ground to talk through the pain, fear and hurt helped us find our deep connection again. Seeing a shrink together remains the best money we’ve spent during our TTC journey.
Physically I had a difficult time after both miscarriages. I am one of those lucky gals who has never had trouble with the ‘Big O’ in a physical relationship. After my first miscarriage, I suddenly found myself not being able to, well, you know. It was disconcerting for both of us. Me, I seriously thought my bajingo was broken in some way. And I think Cowboy took it a little personally. Like he wasn’t performing up to par. After a session of discussing this issue with the aforementioned therapist, I realized that I was approaching intimacy with an I-just-need-to-get-pregnant-again-right-away-and-this-will-be-fixed mentality, which was hindering my ability to, well, you know. Additionally, this approach put way to much pressure on Cowboy and he would withdraw from any intimacy. It was a vicious cycle of very little and not-so-fulfilling sex. I am so thankful we’ve gotten past that. By the way, discussing your inability to orgasm with a therapist in front of your husband makes the embarrassment of getting dildo-cammed on CD3 look like a cakewalk.
Question #8: For those of us who have suffered loss, the Walk to Remember maybe raises some feelings and issues. Emilia meets another woman who lost a child after birth. "It's a terrible way to lose them. However it happens is bad, but SIDS is the worst. I mean, of course I'd think that, but I know I'm right." Emilia feels out of place amongst the women mourning early losses "I realize, with a vertigo that almost knocks me off my feet, that this woman has named her miscarriages...I know it is unfair to feel disgust...I have no right to condemn her just because she has given her miscarriages middle names." Is there a hierarchy of loss? Do we share more than divides us? Can we get support and solace from others regardless of their exact experience... or do we seek out those whose experience most closely parallels our own?
I hated it I read Emilia’s thoughts on this subject. I physically felt myself get warm with rage. And then I was embarassed because I gave a first name to my first miscarriage. For a long time, I considered a loss a loss. It didn’t matter if the baby was 8 weeks in utero or a few days old. And then I started reading Niobe's Dead Baby Jokes blog. And my perception began to change.
I also recently attended an exhibit called BodyWorld’s that solidified my new way of thinking about miscarriage versus stillbirth versus infant death. It features a gallery of human fetuses from 5 weeks to 40 weeks. The exhibit is as tasteful and scientific as such a thing can be. Imagine a semi-circle of glass displays, serenely and elegantly lit. Focusing on each embryo, fetus and baby as if it were the most precious gem. And it really, really hit me that my losses, which were in the first few glass displays, were truly so much less in the scope than those in the last few display casements. It really put it in perspective for me.
So while there is a hierarchy, what we share, however, is the loss of the promise of a future with our child(ren). I will never get to hear my 8 week old in utero "child" laugh in some future day the same way that Emilia will never hear 2-day-old Isabel laugh. The same way that someone who hasn’t achieved pregnancy yet hasn’t had the chance to feel the light that fills you when you see the first positive pregnancy test. I believe strongly we can find common ground in those kinds of losses.
As my blog muse, Watson, once commented: "…either way, the journey is NO fun." Amen to that, sister.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
To Every Season...
I have a love-hate relationship with fall.
On the love side, fall always feels like the start of something new for me. New school year (I loved school. I know: lame), new school supplies ready for all that planning and organizing, and the like.
This season, I am starting my own company. My primary job is I am a contractor to my old job – how is that for poetic justice? – plus I’m picking up a few freelance market research projects as the fall rolls around. So I’ve been busy.
My business also treated me to 2 new office supplies yesterday: (1) my favorite Uniball fine point black ink pens, which I discovered in grad school and (2) Ms. Planner’s favorite new business accouterment: a new academic school year calendar. Squee!
At my old job, I tried valiantly to be an electronic-only MS office kind of gal. Really. I tried. But to no avail. I ended up printing out the calendar by months, scribbling appointments and ‘to do’ lists in the margins.
Back in grad school I kept an old-school, spiral bound calendar with each page full of commitments, assignments, meetings and mid-terms. I went to business school full time, was a graduate teaching fellow and worked part-time at an REI store. I still have my calendar from second year as a testament to how much one person can cram into their schedule and still have a life. Sad, but keeping that schedule and pulling Dean’s List is one of my proudest achievements to date. I’d like to supplant that proudest moment with becoming a mom, but that’s another post entirely.
I also bought one new planning device for fall.
After getting aced out of a couple of eB*y, I splurged and bought it brand-spanking-new:
Hello Clear Blue Easy fertility monitor.
Good bye cashmere sweater fund.
And since it recommends starting on CD4 or 5, I’ll be breaking it out tomorrow. One cycle to go in the Summer of Love.
Which brings me to my hate relationship with fall. Fall sucks in the Northwest. It gets dark earlier with at alarming pace. It rains. A lot. It is cold and damp. There is not yet enough snow in the Cascades to act as the silver lining to rain in the valley.
Last fall, I was pregnant so I had a bright and cheery look on fall – until, that is, I miscarried in November. This fall, I am anticipating a slog.
I can only hope that I get pregnant this cycle while the sun is still shining. There I go again, silly me. Hoping and all.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Lessons Learned
What has your journey through infertility taught you? A degree from Dr. Google, notwithstanding.
I’m compiling a list. And while I won’t copy anyone’s answers, I often read things in these blogs that really get me thinking.
What I have learned so far:
Patience – I don’t have much of this but I like to think that I have acquired more patience over the past year. It is not like I am totally comfortable with the constant waiting, but I have become less insane over how long this is taking.
Humility – When I was pregnant the first time I went to the store to buy an assortment of interesting cheeses for a luncheon. The nice, older lady at the counter asked me what kind at which I announced, "no soft cheeses please because two of us are pregnant." She gave me this shocked look (actually, she looked a little sad). Today I think about this and feel like an asshat for feeling so self-important because maybe she struggled with infertility and my cocky statement took her back to that dark place. Anyway, just an example, but I feel so very humble about my body these days.
Sensitivity – I still slip here, but I believe I am more sensitive to the personal plights of others. I try not to say or do things that will hurt other’s feelings. Like gushing about my husband when I might be talking about someone who doesn’t have a special partner and wants one desperately or misses one dearly.
Being okay in an uncomfortable position – Infertility hurts. Wanting to hold your baby and not being able to hurts like hell. My first instincts with this uncomfortable-ness was either fight (I would get mad at something else) or flight (that’s it, I’m never having a baby and I better get over it – even if I wasn’t being honest with myself). There are yoga positions that challenge me this way – I am bound up and feel constricted in a not-so-good way -- so I don’t know if this skill is fertility related or acquired from yoga. But I feel less anxious about handling things that are uncomfortable.
Expecting everything to go according to plan is both futile and grandiose (and not in a good way) – I don’t think I need to elaborate here. The title of this blog says it all.
Here is a short list of things I am hoping to learn more of:
Forgiveness – forgive others because they get pregnant easily or say hurtful things without meaning to hurt me. Forgive Cowboy and me because we waited to start a family. Forgive myself for the financial and emotional burden that this desire has placed on us. Forgive my body when it fails cycle after cycle.
Staying positive no matter what life throws your way – This is my hardest lesson of all. I feel like a shell of the person I was a mere 12 months ago. I wish I could say that this struggle and heartbreak has demonstrated how resilient and tough I am, but I can’t. Some days the constant losing battle really gets to me and I know I am battling the foggy darkness. I see people who deal with much more and they seem so positive. I admire them and want to be like them. Today, I am not.
I know there is stuff that I have missed. Am taking any and all suggestions from you as jumping off points to think about what is learned from this journey so far.
Thanks in advance. The deep thoughtfulness of this community is truly amazing.
I’m compiling a list. And while I won’t copy anyone’s answers, I often read things in these blogs that really get me thinking.
What I have learned so far:
Patience – I don’t have much of this but I like to think that I have acquired more patience over the past year. It is not like I am totally comfortable with the constant waiting, but I have become less insane over how long this is taking.
Humility – When I was pregnant the first time I went to the store to buy an assortment of interesting cheeses for a luncheon. The nice, older lady at the counter asked me what kind at which I announced, "no soft cheeses please because two of us are pregnant." She gave me this shocked look (actually, she looked a little sad). Today I think about this and feel like an asshat for feeling so self-important because maybe she struggled with infertility and my cocky statement took her back to that dark place. Anyway, just an example, but I feel so very humble about my body these days.
Sensitivity – I still slip here, but I believe I am more sensitive to the personal plights of others. I try not to say or do things that will hurt other’s feelings. Like gushing about my husband when I might be talking about someone who doesn’t have a special partner and wants one desperately or misses one dearly.
Being okay in an uncomfortable position – Infertility hurts. Wanting to hold your baby and not being able to hurts like hell. My first instincts with this uncomfortable-ness was either fight (I would get mad at something else) or flight (that’s it, I’m never having a baby and I better get over it – even if I wasn’t being honest with myself). There are yoga positions that challenge me this way – I am bound up and feel constricted in a not-so-good way -- so I don’t know if this skill is fertility related or acquired from yoga. But I feel less anxious about handling things that are uncomfortable.
Expecting everything to go according to plan is both futile and grandiose (and not in a good way) – I don’t think I need to elaborate here. The title of this blog says it all.
Here is a short list of things I am hoping to learn more of:
Forgiveness – forgive others because they get pregnant easily or say hurtful things without meaning to hurt me. Forgive Cowboy and me because we waited to start a family. Forgive myself for the financial and emotional burden that this desire has placed on us. Forgive my body when it fails cycle after cycle.
Staying positive no matter what life throws your way – This is my hardest lesson of all. I feel like a shell of the person I was a mere 12 months ago. I wish I could say that this struggle and heartbreak has demonstrated how resilient and tough I am, but I can’t. Some days the constant losing battle really gets to me and I know I am battling the foggy darkness. I see people who deal with much more and they seem so positive. I admire them and want to be like them. Today, I am not.
I know there is stuff that I have missed. Am taking any and all suggestions from you as jumping off points to think about what is learned from this journey so far.
Thanks in advance. The deep thoughtfulness of this community is truly amazing.
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