Sunday, September 25, 2011

A funny thing happened on the way to the RE’s office…

*I am going to put a little disclaimer on this post because I use the word “vaginal” a lot! I mean a lot!! So you have been warned.*

I had planned on continuing my exploration of the first question I asked on my very first blog post…

How did I end up here?

My first blog post briefly explored the possibility that ending my relationship with my High School Sweetheart (HSS) might have landed me where I am today.

And one year later for my blogoversary, I took that exploration a little further and explored “the one that got away”.

I told you the story of my sailor.

And to be honest I think telling the story of my sailor has been very cathartic for me.

I was ready to move forward with a salacious tale about the Breadman.

I promise you ladies it is a tale to be heard and I will continue it.

But in the midst of all this story telling I had 2 cycles cancelled, a surgery and then finally I started a new cycle.

And that’s when it happened…

When I started driving to Dr. Wow’s office for my baseline ultrasound, I was overcome with this enormous fear that something was going to go wrong.

I wanted to turn around.

I used to drive to Dr. Wow’s office with some kind of hope or excitement and a little crush but now…now it was total dread.

That’s when I realized something…

I realized I am suffering from Post Traumatic Vaginal Ultrasound Disorder or Post Traumatic IVF Disorder or Post Traumatic TTC Disorder.

Whatever you want to call it, I am damaged.

And in actuality I think that I am truly suffering from all 3.


It starts with Post Traumatic Vaginal Ultrasound Disorder because that is where all the bad news comes from.

The Vaginal Ultrasound.

On my very first Vaginal Ultrasound over 2 years ago, I was told that I had very little eggs left and given a “Practically zero percent chance of conceiving”.

It was the Vaginal Ultrasound that always made Dr. Doom let out a little grunt of disappointment.

Then it was the Vaginal Ultrasound that told me I had a cyst on my 1st IVF cycle.

It was the Vaginal Ultrasound that showed very few eggs for retrieval on all 3 of my IVF cycles.

It was the Vaginal Ultrasound that told me I had a cyst on my last 2 recent attempts to cycle.

It was the Vaginal Ultrasound that told me that my lining wasn’t shedding and I wasn’t baseline for both of my cancelled cycles.

And it was the Vaginal Ultrasound that told me I was going to miscarry.

Actually it was a total of 3 Vaginal Ultrasounds that I had to endure all telling me the same horrible news.

The funny thing is, I’m not sure if I ever told anyone this before but the night before that last Vaginal Ultrasound confirming my miscarriage I had a dream that I was at an RE’s office but it wasn’t my RE’s office from the time (that would have been Dr. Doom) but it was kind and gentle RE. And when this RE did my Vaginal Ultrasound he turned the monitor towards me to show me my beautiful, healthy baby.

But that is not what happened the next morning…

The next morning Dr. Doom’s partner Dr. Darth Vader callously delivered the heartbreaking news that I was going to miscarry via Vaginal Ultrasound.

So, yes I have PTVUD and although I am trying to make light of it, I don’t mean it in a humorous way.

*Although the word itself “Vaginal Ultrasound” is very funny!!

But you see I am a girl that loves and enjoys her downtown area. I can appreciate it for all its glory and I never knew it wasn’t anything but glorious until I met the Vaginal Ultrasound.

But now…

Now, I want to close down, downtown.

Every time they go in to take a look around something is wrong.

And that feeling of dread I had going to Dr. Wow’s...

It was unfortunately spot on and of course the Vaginal Ultrasound once again gave me bad news.

But Vaginal Ultrasound’s partner Bloodwork actually gave me good news so I will be moving forward with my cycle.

And that brings me to…


Post Traumatic IVF Disorder.

I cannot get excited about this cycle.

I cannot talk about it.

I cannot share and I cannot even breathe the word “cycle” without that horrible feeling of dread creeping over me.

That feeling of doom.

That feeling of failure.

And that fear that I will go in for my next Vaginal Ultrasound and “KABOOM!!”

Which brings me to…


Post Traumatic TTC Disorder

And this is the worst part or the hardest part for me…

I am angry and bitter.

I have no hope or faith.

And I don’t want to be this person and I don’t want to feel this way.

But I don’t know how to stop these feelings.

But I don’t want to do this anymore…

I don’t want to cry when I hear a friend is pregnant.

I don’t want to cry when I read a blog post about a BFP.

I don’t want the pangs of jealousy when I see a happy family; a baby’s picture; an ultrasound picture (that means the Vaginal Ultrasound didn’t let them down).

I don’t want to fake a smile, fake a laugh, fake excitement or fake joy.

Shit I have faked a few orgasms in my life (very few because my downtown is glorious but still); that was enough. I don’t need to fake anything else.

I don’t want to hide my fears, feelings, anger, jealousy or tears either.

And I don’t want that feeling of wanting to tell people to “Bite me!” or “Fuck off” when they are expressing what they naturally should be regarding cycling, pregnancy, family or their babies.

I want to share it with them.

I want to rejoice and be happy.

I want to have hope and determination.

That same hope and determination that has gotten me this far.

But I can’t for some reason. I feel like I am the one left behind.

Left behind to drown in my disorders…

And I never felt this way before.

I never felt this way Pre Vaginal Ultrasound.

Pre IVF.

Or Pre TTC.

It’s all post and it’s all traumatic.


Saturday, September 17, 2011

We now return to our regularly schedule program already in progress…

Episode 64: The root of all evil!

Previously on “A Single Journey”, our single gal Michaela just finished telling the story of her sailor…or did she?

So that was it.

That is how it ended between me and my sailor.

It didn’t end with what one would really call closure.

Actually it’s the farthest thing from closure you can get.

I know there are many of you wondering if I ever tried to look him up online or on Facebook and some suggesting that I do so.

And I don’t mean to sound coy but:

“Come on!!”

“Are you fricking kidding me??”

Of course I tried!

I tried repeatedly!!

I even joined some kinda of “British Forces Re-United” website and tried to look up him up by the crew information from different ships.

As a matter of fact I am still a member of “British Forces Re-United” and get their monthly email updates!

And I still try every once in a while.

But here’s the thing.

My sailor has a really (I mean REALLY) common name. It couldn’t be any more common than if he was John Doe himself! And when you Google it or try to look it up on Facebook there are thousands…actually tens of thousands of entries that come up and I have no way to narrow it down except to add England or the Royal Navy! Neither have proven fruitful.

And then there is this cold hard fact.

The one that is a little hard to swallow but speaks volumes.

I have a very unique name and when you put it into Google or Facebook I am the only one (and well maybe my brother) that comes up.

He could find me.

If he wanted.

I have had other people track me down.

I am Facebook friends with so many people from my past that looked me up.

He could find me.


If he wanted.

So I guess I have my answer.

And a pretty definitive answer.

But if that is not a definitive enough answer I actually got the closest thing to closure that I think I am ever going to get just about 2 years ago. Just about at the same time I embarked on my journey.

I had over the years, wrote so many letters to him. Most I never sent but once in a while I would send one to his mother’s.

I never received a reply.

And then about 2 years ago when I started on my journey, I decided to send this letter out to as many addresses as I could find:

“Over the years I have written you so many letters. I have no idea why I never sent them and now after over 10 years, I have no idea if you’ll ever get this. I am sending this to all of the last known addresses I have for you, to your mom’s address and one address I got from a computer search. I hope this reaches you and if you have no idea who I am, I obviously sent this to the wrong address. So here it goes:
You were a huge part of my life. I loved you so much and losing you was the most devastating thing I ever had to go through. I just wanted you to know that you have never left my thoughts or my heart. I would love to be able to talk to you again; see how you are doing…anyway… if you get this and would like to talk you can call me or write me. I would really love to hear from you.

And I actually got a response.

Well sorta…

Can you imagine how fast my heart was racing when I opened the mailbox and saw a letter?

But it was my letter returned, ripped open and then taped back together with a note:

“Hasn’t lived here in 15 years”

Written in large black letters across the front and back of the envelope.

I thought it was odd and a little bit of overkill.

I mean they opened it.

They read it.

Taped it back together and sent it back to me with a message.

A pretty clear message.

And that takes some effort.

So why go through the effort?

Did they know where he was?

And why after reading my letter would they in no uncertain terms want me to know he’s not there anymore?

I told M3 about it.

I told her I had his brother’s old address, all his old ship addresses and his mom’s old address.

Well, I figured they were old addresses. I assumed (and we all know what assuming does!) that they had all moved by now.

And I also had a bunch of old phone numbers. One of them his mother’s phone number.

I told M3 that there is no way after all this time his mother could still live there. Plus I’d sent letters to her. She had to have moved.

So M3 was like:

“Let’s find out”

And she called his mother’s old phone number from the early 1990’s.

And his mother picked up.

Only M3 could have handled it the way she did.

What we found out is that she doesn’t want to tell my sailor about the letters and she doesn’t want to tell us how to get in touch with him.

She kept asking: “Why now? Is she sick? Is there something wrong with her?”

M3 kept saying things about closure and reconnecting.

But she told M3 that he was very hurt for a very long time and she doesn’t want him to be hurt again.

And then she said…

The one thing I didn’t want to hear but knew was coming…

She then said he’s married with a young son.

I will say my immediate reaction was “She’s lying”.

Not about the young son but about being married.

But she probably isn’t.

She’s just trying to protect her son.

And so, that’s it.




So is that the root of all evil?

Is that the reason I haven’t been able to find the one. Why I am still single and childless?

Could it all boil down to my sailor leaving?

Have I been spending all this time waiting for him?

I often wonder but I don’t think so.

I have had many relationships after my sailor and some of them with very strong potential.

There is a part of me that thinks it might be because I became “gun shy” or in this case “love shy”.

But I feel that I am more than ready to open my heart and love that way again.

And I have been for a very long time.

I think that the sum of one’s parts doesn’t necessarily equal the whole.

And I’ll just have to keep on going forward.

I think I also have to examine my transient perception of men. There were a few times where I was the one who left in order to stop something from being too serious at the beginning.

I would leave before they could get the chance to leave me.

And I know in those cases I have hurt them in the way that my sailor hurt me.

I think there is a part of me that thinks I might be paying off some kind of karmic debt because of that.

But really this is a price that is just too high to pay for any transgression!

Some might even think why bother going over the past. The past is there in the past for a reason but when you’re faced with a future that you are not quite sure where it is going and you are not sure if your dreams will ever come true you search for a reason.

You desperately search for a reason.

You try to look for what brought you to your present state.

So, could my sailor be the root of all evil?

I am a firm believer that it is not what happens to you in life by how you handle it.

And I cannot blame my sailor for the things I did after I lost his love.

That is on me.

What has brought me to this present state I have to accept responsibility 100%.

And if I was going to be fair I would have to start reexamining all of my relationships to see if one of those is where I went astray or went off course.

After my sailor there were a couple of notables in a sea if unnotables.

So could the root of all evil began after my sailor left?

My sailor broke my heart but maybe the root of all evil started after that with the man that broke my spirit.

Could it have happened on Superbowl Sunday in 1996 when the handsome Breadman came into my bar to watch the football game?

Stay tuned...


Sunday, September 11, 2011

We interrupt this regularly scheduled program…

My sleep was being interrupted by the obnoxious sound of the telephone ringing. My head was pounding. I was hungover. It was too early and the phone was too loud. I shook Sio.

“Who is it?”

Sio looked at the caller ID and grumbled: “It’s your sister.”

In slight outrage I declared “Oh this better be good!”

It better be good because my sister (and my mother and my other sister) all knew “the rule”.

“The rule” was that because both Sio and I worked late in the restaurant and in actuality because both Sio and I partied too much, there were no phone calls before noon.

It was way before noon! This before 9!

I picked up the phone with a very distinct: “What!”

“Are you in the city now?”

“No. I answered the phone didn’t I? Why?” with a distinct tone of sarcasm.

Sissy L was definitely annoying me. She had a way of doing that with early morning phone calls. As a matter of fact her early morning antics are why we had to invoke “the rule” in the first place.

“You’re not going to the city today.”

But there was alarm in Sissy L’s voice that immediately made me sit up.

“No, I don’t have class today. Why?”

Now Sissy L has always been up before the “ass crack” of dawn so she knew as soon as it happened…

“Something’s happening in New York. Turn on the TV”

Shaking Sio: “Get up! Turn on the TV. Something’s happened in the city”

“A plane. Something. Thank God you’re safe.”

“I’m fine. Is that the World Trade Center? Sio what’s going on?”

“A plane hit the World Trade Center.”

“I’ve got to go!”

I don’t think I even remembered that I had a hangover or about my rule. I knew I had to call my friend Corby. He worked in the World Trade Center and he was in the elevator in 1993 when it was attacked but really at this point we only thought this was an accident.

His wife answered.

“Ellen where’s Corby.”

“He’s home. He didn’t feel good this morning so he called in sick.”

“Can I talk to him?”

As soon as Corby got on the phone I started ribbing him.

“Sick eh?”

“I’m telling you Michaela I felt sick to my stomach this morning.”

“Well, let me tell you something Mr. Corby, God must really love you! You escaped a bomb and now a plane. Find another place to work!”

We laughed. And then discussed how it must have been a small plane, some kind of accident and as we were talking, on the TV, almost in slow motion and really actually kinda fake looking, a plane cut through the top third of the 2nd tower.

We stopped talking.

It felt like time stopped ticking.

And then Corby said to me almost monotone:

“Michaela, what are we watching?”

And I replied in that same slow tone: “I have no idea. I’ll call you back.”

I never did call him back that day.

The only other call I made before we lost reception completely was to my mom to make sure she was safe.

To get her certification, my mom was taking a class in the lower 20’s in the city with a yoga master named Dharma (Dharma, I find his name ironic now). She was so proud that she could get in and out of city by herself (my first trip to the city for acting school, she was a nervous wreck). She was supposed to take the early morning class that day but at the last minute decide to do the afternoon class. She would have been far enough away to be safe but close enough to be caught in the chaos. Because on this day if she had gone in to the city, there would have been no getting out.

Sio and I ran out of my apartment and to the top of the hill that had a full view of the most magnificent skyline ever.


My Manhattan.

We lived close to the Lincoln Tunnel and for as far as the eye could see there were cars.

Cars everywhere.

So many cars that you couldn’t tell if they were trying to get out of New York or if they were trying to get in.

We stood on the top of the hill and watched.

Others began to join us.

And we watched.

We watched as the towers fell.

Miles and miles of cars with their occupants sobbing and a vagabond group on top of a hill that looks outwards towards NYC with their head in their hands too stunned to comprehend what had just happened.

And although my friend Corby was safe, later that I day I found out one of my girlfriends from our shore house was not as fortunate. My friend, Cira Marie Patti, was on the 89th floor of the South Tower. The 2nd tower to be hit. She had time to call her mom and tell her she loved her. May she rest in peace. I am sure I can speak for all my girls from the shore house when I say Cira we love and miss you!

That is where I was 10 years ago.

And today…


Today in regards to what has happened, I haven’t move on. I have not gotten over it. I just haven’t. I’ve moved forward but I have not moved on. Thinking of that day. The sites. The sounds. The stories. And thinking of my friend, all brings me down to my knees with my head in my hands too stunned to comprehend.

It is just too hard.

Maybe someday I will move on. Just not today.

Today I got up and went to church with my sister. We sat in quiet remembrance.

Today I also started my 8th cycle in my journey to motherhood.

This morning I gave myself my 200 hundredth and something shot.

Today, on a day when I am mourning the loss of a dear friend, mourning the loss of a piece of my city and mourning the little piece of my heart that died that day I will be embarking on a journey of hope. I will be taking new steps towards my dream.

I am starting a new journey on a day that is forever burned into my memory and makes me weak from the enormity of the pain…May this journey ease that pain and someday in remembrance be a day filled with some kind of happiness that might possibly take a little dent out of the pain.

Today I do remember. I will not forget. I am not healed and I am not over it.

But today I am moving forward with a little glimmer of hope.



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