A Number of Things

Where to start.  Sometimes throughout my day I'll have some profound thought or feeling and want to blog about it.  I want to share it with someone who understands the language I'm speaking.  Sometimes, I feel like I am in a land full of deaf people who cannot understand what we have gone through, only those who are enduring loss or infertility can hear me.  Everyone else just goes dumbly about their lives, ignorant to the fact that I sometimes feel as though my soul is bleeding.

The other night, while getting my ridiculously hot bath ready (I do that in rebellion of being not-pregnant), I did have an interesting thought.  I have had some pretty positive experiences as a result of this rocky road.  I'll list them.

• working normal, eight hour days (most of the time)
• taking better care of my house (being home to do that helps)
• being productive, such as building decks and helping my mom more (this was accomplished as a result of keeping myself busy in order to not end up in a counsellor's waiting room)
• focusing more on my health, drinking more water, eating healthier, taking my vitamins
• listening more intently to David, talking more intently to David
• appreciating my grown children more than ever
• seeing pregnancy as the miracle it is
• loving babies and children more than I ever thought possible
• researching my reproductive system on a medical level (I think every woman should know this stuff)
• understanding grief and learning healthy ways to work through it
• recognizing depression and avoiding it through communication, distraction, friends and family
• having a greater appreciation for the love of my husband, seeing him in a different light
• learning about my relationship and how to nurture it through the sadness
• not taking life for granted, not assuming things will, or should work out the way we 'want'
• being overwhelmed with gratitude that at least I did have children, and will most likely enjoy the miracle of grandchildren
• I now speak 'infertility' and can hear and talk to the other bleeding souls out there who understand
• this blog. 

It's not all peaches and cream.

There are some real differences in my life that also must be noted...

• I cannot truly make the connection between being pregnant and having a baby
• I have spent at least 21 weeks being pregnant or at least being told that I was
• I get angry when people complain about being pregnant or having children
• I sometimes get scared that my sons, or their girlfriends will be scared when it comes time to have their own children
• I thought I would love getting close to and turning 40.  Now it feels like a death sentence - for my unborn children
• I am fearful that I am creating a deep sadness in my husband's soul... a pain-filled chasm deep I will never be able to fill, no matter how many jokes I tell, how many cookies I bake, or how many trips we travel
• there's more, but I'm not the type to dwell on the crappy stuff - for long.

I'm going to give it about 28 days and then I will take the drug (can't think of it right now) that will make me  get my period.  Then, when that happens, I'll start birth control for a month, then schedule my three day scan and then at some point I start lupron shots. 

At the end of that cycle, I start my second IVF cycle.  Just typing that made a familiar little sparkly ball of hope jump around in my stomach.  What if this works?  What if I have a baby of my own next year?  I start to imagine the doctor handing that little baby to my husband, and his reaction, and my sense of relief that I finally did something for someone, for this amazing man, for someone I love more than myself.  Don't think this isn't about me when you read that.  This baby is wanted by me more than... well, you can imagine - you speak 'infertility' too, right?  But when it comes right down to it, I've had children. I've walked that path and he hasn't.... and I want to give it to him.

A Decision Has Been Made.

First off I must say a huge, heartfelt thank you to the women who read and write on my blog.  Also for the amazing emails of support and encouragement I get.  They are the difference between me carrying on versus becoming a huge bloody bowl of emotional jell-o.   Feedback is like warm fuzzy hugs from a best friend.... hot soup after coming in from a long day in the snow.... you get the picture.  Thank You!

Knowing that there are people out there who actually understand, who actually care about what happens to us is quite overwhelming.  To date, only a handful of family have acknowledged this staggering loss we've experienced, and it truly adds insult to injury.

Is it because they are used to it?  Do they think I'm too old and that it's hopeless, so why encourage me?  Do they think I deserve it?  Do they think we are used to it?  Maybe it's just too uncomfortable for them.  I just can't quite see myself not offering some sort of support to someone I was close to, or even simply knew as a casual friend. 

I don't expect sympathy flowers or cards - I'm not that into my own grief.. but when my little brother came to me and said "I'm really sorry things didn't work out, I hope you guys are okay", my heart just melted and I felt that my loss was somehow honored just a little bit.  That little spark of life, that David and I talked about and dreamt about and already started to love was somehow more... justified by someone else recognizing the pain we experienced from losing that spark, that dream, that hope. 

Okay.  Whining aside.  First off, let me catch you up on how I'm doing. 

I'm doing fine.   That reminds me of a joke we used to say amongst my twenty-something friends.  If you were 'fine', it meant: Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional.  Saying you were fine was code for "I'm having an emotional break down, call the loony bin and make sure my bed is reserved". 

Of course, I am not twenty-something anymore and I am honestly talking about being fine.  Hmmmm lets explore the word.

fine  adj. fin·er, fin·est

1. Of superior quality, skill, or appearance: a fine day; a fine writer.


2. Very small in size, weight, or thickness: fine type; fine paper.


3.   a. Free from impurities.


      b. Metallurgy Containing pure metal in a specified proportion or amount: gold 21 carats fine.


4. Very sharp; keen: a blade with a fine edge.


5. Thin; slender: fine hairs.


6. Exhibiting careful and delicate artistry: fine china.

7. Consisting of very small particles; not coarse: fine dust.


8.    a. Subtle or precise: a fine difference.


       b. Able to make or detect effects of great subtlety or precision; sensitive: has a fine eye for color.


9. Trained to the highest degree of physical efficiency: a fine racehorse.


10. Characterized by refinement or elegance.


11. Satisfactory; acceptable: Handing in your paper on Monday is fine.


12. Being in a state of satisfactory health; quite well: I'm fine. And you?


13. Used as an intensive: a fine mess.
 

Yes, I would think that fine is the right word to describe how I am, with more than one definition being appropriate.  While looking up the word... I came across these.. which get the idea of the word across in a much more dramatic fashion.

 

i wonder who pays the $200...

yeah.  i can see that you are. (hugs)

Zara Phillips declared herself "fine" despite suffering a fall at the Bramham International Horse Trials which today forced her to withdraw from the rest of the competition.

(and they say to get right back on the horse after a fall.  i feel her pain - should i also withdraw?)

these are fine, too.

 

Well.  you get my point.   I'm fine.  Whatever that means!

 

I actually spent the weekend doing very productive things.  Cleaning, cooking - oh gawd I do love to cook, helping my wonderful mom out with some cleaning and shopping, and writing this lovely blog page of course.  I'm about to go scrub my bathroom and dust the living room and vacuum, which will make me feel especially productive and useful.  Right after I put the second batch of homemade buns in the oven. HA!  "BUNS IN THE OVEN. "

 In the words of my favorite alien, Alf, "Ha! I KILL ME!"

Wow.  I am seriously avoiding.  Okay, dammit.  We've made a decision.  Actually, David did.   I left the timing of the next IVF to him, just laid out my thoughts for him to ponder and ponder he did. He wants us to get right back in the race.  Jump back in the saddle.  Keep paddling for shore.  You know.  Do it again, right away.  I agree.  Although I now equate trying to conceive more with heartache and pain and sadness than actually getting a baby, I am still hopeful and excited and have a possibly retarded thread of golden hope that I lovingly toy with from time to time. 

Looks like the end of September we'll be going for our second IVF.  Yay.  Anyone wanna come keep me company in Vancouver for three weeks?