A Single Journey

Rage against the Machine

2012-02-04T11:45:00.000-05:00

When I was 16 I became sexually active. Some of you might gasp at this and others might nod their head in silent knowing but one thing that is not really up for debate in this post is whether or not teens should be or shouldn't be sexually active. I am sure all of us would wish that they weren't but for the sake of argument let's just stop turning the blind eye and trying to live in the idyllic world and just agree that back then, back in the 80's and now, in the 2000's that teens are having sex.

And in the 80's I was one of them.

But I had a place to go.

A place that didn't judge.

A place I felt safe to go to.

A place that educated me on protection against sexually transmitted disease and unwanted pregnancy.

A place that in their education highlighted that abstinence was the best form of protection.

But if I chose not to use abstinence then I could at least make an educated decision on how to protect myself.

This place didn't judge or push. They just gave me the facts and the options.

This place is Planned Parenthood.

When I graduated High School and went off to college I remained at that place because it was a place that provided me with the basic screenings and tests that I needed.

A place that provided me with pap smears.

A place I went to for breast exams.

A place where I could get birth control.

And this place provided these services to me on a sliding scale so that I could afford the healthcare I needed when I didn't have insurance.

This place is Planned Parenthood.

And this place made me safe and secure and healthy!

I couldn't imagine being a teen looking for guidance and help and not having the services of Planned Parenthood.

I couldn't imagine being a young adult trying to make my way through school and beyond without the services provided by Planned Parenthood to ensure my overall health.

There are a million undesirable scenarios that could arise if I did not have this place to go to.

But thanks to Planned Parenthood I didn't have to face those scenarios.

My rage against this political agenda to attack and defund Planned Parenthood runs deep.

They have been taking swings at women's health and it is time for us to swing back.

We need to take action and we need to do this by NOT voting for those who want to deny women basic healthcare and by NOT donating to or running in or fundraising for ANY organization that puts the needs of the women they claim to be supporting last on their political list!

This isn't about the "A" word as so many of your politicians want to make this about. This is about ALL women and about "ensuring quality care for all".

"ensuring quality care for all" taken right off the Susan G. Komen website. It is written right into their mission statement: "ensuring quality care for all"

So if that is the goal then why is there a sudden attack on a foundation that strives to do what the Susan G. Komen foundation cannot?

Planned Parenthood actually provides the care for all!

Katie over at "From IF to when" has a very spirited post on this. woman vs. woman: my response to komen

Go Katie!

And Mel over at Stirrup Queen in her post: "Susan G Komen, You Can’t Delete the Tweet" suggests that we all print out the Planned Parenthood at a Glance page in order to educate and inform those responsible for the attack on Planned Parenthood as to exactly what services are provided by Planned Parenthood.

And mail them to:
Karen Handel
Susan G Komen
5005 LBJ Freeway, Suite 250
Dallas, TX 75244

I am mailing mine today!

But I am going to take this one further and ask you to take note of those in Congress who are trying to do the same to women's health and those who stood by us. The next time you are at the polls make a conscious effort to vote for: "ensuring quality care for all"

Democrats who voted to defund Planned Parenthood:

Dan Boren, Okla.
Jerry Costello, Ill.
Joe Donnelly
Dan Lipinski, Ill.
Mike McIntyre, N.C.
Collin Peterson, Minn.
Nick Rahall, W.Va.
Silvestre Reyes, Tex.
Mike Ross, Ark.
Heath Shuler, N.C.

Republicans who voted to preserve Planned Parenthood funding:

Charlie Bass, N.H.
Judy Biggert, Ill.
Mary Bono-Mack, Calif.
Charlie Dent, Pa.
Robert Dold, Ill.
Richard Hanna, N.Y.
Rodney Frelinghuysen, N.J.

This is for every woman who needs a place to go and get quality healthcare!

And this could be why I am single....

2012-01-22T12:06:00.001-05:00

I had left the dating scene a long time ago. It was absolutely too much to take. I tried all the online dating sites and it proved to be a case of "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" with it mostly being the latter. As a matter a fact I met very few "almost" good.

I went on dates where the guy would show up in sweat pants looking like he just mowed his lawn. Or talking on his cell phone the whole time. Or looking about 10 years older or 5 inches shorter than what was on his profile. Or trying to get "some action" on the first date (really fellas that needs to stop! Show some respect!). Or an ex convict who went to jail for 7 (no you are not reading that wrong), yes 7 years for armed robbery. I think once I was done lifting my chin off the ground my exact response was: "You're not planning on doing that tonight are you?".

And on and on and on...The Bad and the Ugly.

So I gave up. Closed my profile never to return.

And it's a good thing because I am pretty sure trying to have a baby would scare away any potential "Good" that might come my way and put a damper on any blossoming romance.

So I decided to pull out (ha! there might be a pun intended there!)

I decided early on in this journey that I was done with dating even though I still dream about the guy I would someday hopefully find. I even sat down and wrote on a piece of paper all of the qualities I am looking for in a man and sent it off into the universe. A ritual I know many women have done. S.I.F. and her friends did it on New Year's Eve over a year ago and some had some success. And my mother did it and she has been living with her boyfriend now for over a year.

I would write on my list things like: Just the right height for me, just the right age, handsome, funny, politically neutral (I need someone who sees both sides), loyal, faithful, active, open, honest, not allergic to cats (NYPD was allergic to cats and I chose the cats!), my best friend, loves me warts and all, and many other wonderful qualities I was looking for in a man.

And I would also put "walks through my front door" somewhat as a joke because I have no idea how I am ever going to meet a man unless he walks through my front door!

But alas... I have now used alas in a sentence on three posts! I think I need to work on the word "hence" next!...anyway...

But alas I have been writing about my ideal guy for over 2 years now and he's still a no show!

To be honest my exit from the dating world really hasn't been that bad. I mean after all for quite some time, I did have FB (aka the Itch Scratcher) and we let's just say having your itch scratched on a regular basis does take the edge off!

But as my journey progressed, the Itch Scratcher and I went our separate ways. I felt that if I was going to be with someone it should be something more. And now well, it's been quite some time since then and I am feeling well, let's say, a little more "itchy" than I anticipated. Definitely craving some male attention and a relationship. But I can't bring myself to subject myself to the online Freak Show.

So how is a gal supposed to meet someone.

Well, as I have said, I have no idea.

But I do know how not to meet someone and I do that with perfection...

About a year ago there was a gentleman doing a workshop at a school on retirement savings. I happen to be at that school that day on business. I overheard some of what he was presenting and afterwards I asked for his business card. I really didn't think much about it or take much notice of him. I just wanted information on retirement savings and what not. After all I was trying to have a baby and this was something I should have in place.

So I had contacted him via email but then never pursued it.

I ended up dumping my life saving into fertility treatments so focusing on IRAs went out the window.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago, I contacted him again to set up a meeting to go over some financial planning. I'm trying to get my head back above water.

I certainly couldn't take off of work for this meeting especially since I used to have all those fertility RE appointments that had me coming in late or leaving early. I figured now that I have given up my $50 + a week ultrasound habit and my $200 + a month meds habit that I could start saving and definitely wanted a meeting but taking off work was out.

He said he did meet with people after work at their homes so, I was meeting him Thursday at 5:00pm at my condo.

Now the day before I straightened up a little bit but I really could have done more. And in hindsight I really should have.

The day of the meeting I left work right on time so I could get home a little early but instead of rushing home to make sure my condo didn't look a mess, I decided to stop at the store and pick up a bottle of wine. You know, priorities!

So I was home maybe 2 minutes before the door bell rang and he was here.

Right away I noticed that he was cute and I thought "Wow, I don't remember Finance Guy being cute. He's probably married anyway."

I welcomed him in.

He was also greeted by these two:


Meet Calvin	Meet Runt

Calvin had decided to go off and hide like he does every time company arrives but Runt...no Runt has to be noticed.

The first thing Runt did was jump up on the chair that Finance Guy was going to sit in and sprawled out!

Laughing I said: "He likes to be the center of attention. I hope you're not allergic."

Finance Guy said he wasn't and sat down after I vacated Runt.

It was then that I noticed that one of two kitty culprits had kicked a ton of cat litter out of the box. It was driving me crazy sitting there looking at it. To the point that I got up and grabbed a broom and dust pan.

I said: "I'm sorry I just have to do something real quick." And I went over and swept up the litter sprinkled all over the floor and admitted to my embarrassment.

Now I was pretty sure I looked like the crazy cat lady who talks about her cats like they are people and doesn't clean their box. For the record I had cleaned their box the night before but somehow this day of all days one of them decided to do a jig inside the box!

But as I said I was pretty sure this guy was married (even though no ring) so I was really just concerned about looking "unclean".

As the meeting progressed Runt decide to come over and lay on the Finance Guy's feet and lick his shoe.

I have no idea why! To make me look even worse.

Finance Guy says: "Ummm your cat is licking my shoe."

I just shook my head, laughed and said: "He must really like you". Which in fact is a lie. Runt pretty much cozies up to anyone he thinks might feed him. I mean look at the size of this cat. Food is his only motive.

This is Runt's "Woes is me...I'm hungry!" pose

And then the Finance Guy reached down and started petting Runt and I thought that was nice and awkward.

So the meeting continued.

He was going over 401Ks, IRAs, Life Insurance and the difference between Term and Permanent.

He mentioned that for Life Insurance they would be going over all my medical records which prompted me to announce my infertility treatments.

Really? Why? Why would I mention such a thing. But I did.

And that wasn't all.

I talked about wanting a baby and on the counter was a basket of baby things I left out.

I think at one point there was a small mention of politics and I even mentioned Stockbroker boy who I dated many moons ago when the topic of stocks came up.

Once again WHY? I guess I was just trying to be funny or looking for something to say! Something stupid and embarrassing? I don't know but I couldn't stop.

He asked to use my bathroom. I should have run in there first to make sure there wasn't anything "unmentionable" just hanging out and to check the toilet for any undesirable marks (oh come on you know what I mean!) because once again I chose wine over a quick clean up. And there was of course unmentionables out on display! And I should have made sure Runt wasn't in the sink and he was!

So Finance Guy walks into this:

Runt's in the sink!

He's like: "Ummm...your cat is in here."

Now he was gracious when my cat was licking his shoe but I am pretty sure he didn't want my cat watching him pee!

So I go in there and try to hide shit as I am "oh so conspicuously" shoving the box of tampons under my sink and getting my cat out of the sink.

I'm like: "Oh, he likes water"

Which Runt does but there I go again talking about my cat like he's a person.

Finance Guy pees and then the meeting commences....

At one point the conversation turned to taxes and I said that because I am single I get completely raped with how much I pay in taxes. I have no deductibles. I was going on about how it would be nice for the government to give singles a tax break. A "Thank you for not clogging up the divorce courts" tax break.

Finance Guy was laughing and then said: "I know what you mean. I'm single too."

What What What!!

It was then that I noticed how cute Finance Guy really is and how not cute I was looking. No make-up (which I rarely have on but still)! I have gained what I call my undesirable "non baby" weight and since going through this journey due to non-stop meds that alter your shape and your appearance well, I have been feeling like I've lost my pretty . And in this moment of realization I knew I was not sporting my pretty.

It was then that I also realized all of the stupid things I said that I would have never said if I had known he was single....And it was then that I realized that he is pretty much everything I wrote down on my little list of what I was looking for in a man including "Walking through my front door".

But I am pretty sure that even if let's say for one second Finance Guy did find me attractive (which I highly doubt)...I rapidly put the kabosh on that as soon as he walked in the door with the antics of my cat, the litter, the tampons and then made sure of it throughout the rest of the conversation about babies, politics, guys I've dated, fertility, the money I've spent on it...I think at one point my comment was: "If you knew how much I'd spent you'd jump out that window".

So let's go over what you shouldn't do when a single man does magically walk through your front door.

Don't:

1. Assume they are married.
2. Not clean up! Litter and bathroom!
3. Stop for wine - Okay that's just crazy! Make sure you are stocked up ahead of time!
4. Clean up in front of them.
5. Look like the crazy cat lady.
6. Talk politics.
7. Talk about men you've dated.
8. Talk about your infertility.
9. Talk about babies.

I will say this though, when Finance Guy was walking out, he said goodbye to Runt and then said: "A friendly cat that likes water. Interesting."

And he was gone and I was so glad I had that bottle of wine!

So we know this much...Runt knows how to make a good impression. I only wish I did.


Notice Runt's Heart Shaped Marking	Me trying to be silly at Thanksgiving

A better place...

2012-01-15T17:12:00.003-05:00

When I walked into Saint Clair's Hospital at 6am on November 17th 2011, I was not in a good place.

As I sat there being registered for my Out Patient surgery, I was not in a good place.

Each question the staff member asked I answered without thought, without emotion, without truly being present. I was not there. I was somewhere else and it was not a good place.

And then he asked me "Religion?".

I think for the first time I looked up. I looked at him. I really didn't want to look at anyone. I thought if I looked at someone, if I caught their eye, then they would know. They would know that I lost my baby and I was there for a D&C.

When my sister drove me there and dropped me off, I know for the whole car ride I didn't look at her.

I walked the halls with my head down and I didn't look up as sat there answering this man's questions:

"Name?"

"Address?"

"Birth date?"

Until...until he said: "Religion?"

Then I looked up. I looked at him and I said: "What?"

He said: "Religion?"

"Oh"

Pause...

"Yeah"

Pause... as if I was really thinking about it. Or as if he asked me that question in a foreign language and I was still somehow trying to translate it.

Looking away. Looking down again. Then looking up.

I said as almost an afterthought: "None."

Even though I knew it was a lie. Even though I knew that just a week and a half ago I sat in church beaming, smiling from ear to ear and thanking God for the wonderful gift growing inside of me. Even though only 4 days ago I sat in church praying to God to be able to keep my baby. And even though I knew I would be back in church the following Sunday trying to come to terms with this.

At that moment, in that place, I didn't feel any of it. I felt strangely numb. I felt nothing so I said:

"None."

And I watched him type it in.

I walked down the hall to the elevator. Went to the 2nd floor, proceeded left towards the nurse's station for Out Patient surgery the whole time clinging to my piece of paper that declared "Religion: None".

I even stopped and took a picture of it on my phone. I don't know why. As a reminder? In case I forgot or in case I wanted proof that at that moment, in that place, in that bad place, I declared "None".

Because I had nothing left inside. My baby had stopped growing and I was walking down the hall to be admitted for a surgery that was going to remove what was left.

I was in a bad place and I wanted God to know that in this bad place I said: "None".

The rest of the day was as if I was in a dream.

I was in some faraway place when they put my IV in. Some far off place when they wheeled me to the "holding area" where I waited for Dr. O to come in and take me to the OR.

I was trying not to look at anyone. Trying not to cry and trying to pretend I wasn't in that place.

And then Dr. O came in and walked up to me.

That's when I looked at him. I looked at him with the tears starting to fill my eyes and I begged him to perform every test he could think of because I never wanted to be in that place again.

He took his thumb and wiped away that one tear that somehow got away and rolled down my cheek as he promised to do the tests.

Then everything went back into this dream like state as Dr. O wheeled me into the OR...as they moved me to the operating table and started "plugging me in"...as they placed my legs in the stirrups and strapped them down...as the anesthesiologist was getting ready to put me to sleep and as one overly sympathetic and somewhat annoying nurse kept rubbing my arm and trying to look directly into my eyes.

I kept trying to look away from her and all I kept thinking was "Okay, I get it. Your compassionate!"

"Damn I wish this anesthesia would kick in!"

And it did. And I was off to another place. A place of forgetting. Even if it was only for a little while.

The very next day I went back to work. I had to be in a place where I wasn't thinking about it. Where things were I guess you could say "normal". I need to be in a normal place.

But as the day progressed I could feel the pain of the surgery I had less than 24 hours ago. It was a constant reminder of the place I was really in.

I went through the holidays in a very emotional place but trying to show the world I was in a strong place.

And I tried to avoid any place where there was talk of babies or pregnancy.

I couldn't take it. It hurt too much.

But it didn't matter because the news of babies and pregnancies followed me everywhere like a ghost.

A ghost of my pregnancies past that never ended with a baby where everyone else's did.

And I wasn't even in a place to say "Congratulations" or support friends who were finally in the place I so longed to be.

I was angry and hurt and shocked. I was in disbelief and in constant emotional and spiritual pain.

I was not in a good place and I knew it.

But I didn't care.

I pushed forward in an attempt to move on.

I pushed forward in an attempt to ignore the pain.

I pushed forward because I didn't know what else to do.

And I just so desperately wanted to get back to a better place. Back to the place where I was beaming in church.

So I pushed to do my FET right away.

I had 3 frozen embryos from my IVF cycle.

I also have 5 frozen donor embryos which became available just days after my miscarriage. I was so afraid (and so certain) that my FET with my 3 frozen embryos wasn't going to work that I panicked and grabbed the 5 right away. I had to make sure I was in a place to cycle again when my FET would inevitably fail.

I put myself in a place of contempt for my FET.

I was so down that I had convinced myself there was no way my FET could work.

I am a numbers gal and sided on the law of averages and statistics. I figured there was no way I could "hit it out of the park" after just getting pregnant on my last cycle. I figured I was bound to strike out.

I kept telling myself that when the FET doesn't work I can always try again with the 5 frozen donor embryos.

I was just going through the motions. I wanted to get it over with.

I wasn't in a place of excitement and possibility as I had been just 3 months earlier.

But what I really wanted more than anything was for it work and put me back in the place where I was going to be mom.

But just like I predicted my FET did not work. I transferred 3 beautiful embryos and I am not pregnant.

And then I found myself in a place I never thought I would be in...a place of giving up. A place where I can't imagine cycling again and putting myself through it all again.

It could be because I'm not ready. It could be because I am still in a place of mourning.

I need to be in a better place in order to move forward. I know that. But I'm not sure how to get there.

And then out of a place where friendships and camaraderie are born from struggle something amazing happened...

Some absolutely, beyond incredible women contacted me offering to donate their remaining embryos to me.

Their offer has touched a very deep place in my heart and in my soul.

Knowing that there are people in this world that are so willing to open themselves up to help another already puts me in a better place.

It puts me in their world and I am honored.

And suddenly, I'm feeling my fight coming back. I slowly feel myself moving into a place a hope.

I feel myself finding a better place.

Mother fffer....

2012-01-07T20:39:00.000-05:00

Around the time of my first miscarriage, a dear friend of my Chi Chi also had a miscarriage. We were both devastated and took solace in each other. We knew we could express all of the hurt to someone who understood. I mean completely understood.

Although it was her first miscarriage Chi Chi insisted on getting as much testing done as she could.

My miscarriage was automatically written off as a "bad" eggs due to Advanced Maternal Age. It never occurred to anyone, myself included, that it could be anything else but...

Meanwhile Chi Chi (who is 8 years younger than me) found out she had the MTHFR gene mutation.

MTHFR

Now I don't know what y'all (and yes I have to use a y'all here)...Now I don't know what y'all see when you look at MTHFR but I but you can guess what I see...

Mother Fucker.

And if it's a gene mutation that causes miscarriages then it really is a Mother Fucker!

So Chi Chi and I started referring to it as the Mother Fucker gene.

Chi Chi has the Mother Fucker gene.

Now I am sure that most of you will know where I am going with this but I have to give you some background first...

The clinic I went to for my last cycle is in NY about a 3 1/2 hour drive north from me. Actually a beautiful, scenic drive that I had the pleasure of seeing in all its autumn glory when I went for my ET in October.

But due to the distance of my new clinic, during this last cycle, I would go to Dr. Wow for my monitoring. And since I have such high affections for Dr. Wow, even though he did not get me pregnant (hmm does that sentence seem odd to you?), I was happy that he was doing my monitoring.

After my positive pregnancy test, I contacted Dr. Wow's office requesting a prenatal ultrasound. The office manager said that they could not perform my prenatal ultrasound because I wasn't technically their patient.

I thought it was weird and I was a little upset because I always envisioned that it would be Dr. Wow who would the doctor in my dream, the one I had right before my first miscarriage, that turned the ultrasound machine towards me so I could see my baby's heartbeat.

But alas (I've always wanted to use alas in sentence)...but alas it was not meant to be. I ended up going to my OB for that fateful ultrasound that did not yield a heartbeat and ultimately resulted in my 2nd miscarriage.

2 days later I started bleeding and they scheduled a D&C.

While my OB was wheeling me into the operating room to perform my D&C, I tearfully asked him to please run an RPL (Reoccurring Pregnancy Loss) panel on me and to test the fetal tissue. He respectfully obliged.

The results of my RPL panel....MTHFR...Mother Fucker...I have the Mother Fucker gene. Plus my Thyroid levels were high and my C-Reactive Protein levels were also high.

The meaning: clotting and immune issues which can cause repeated early pregnancy losses.

The results of the chromosome testing on the fetal tissue...a perfectly healthy baby girl...

The meaning: Mother Fucker!

An Inconvenient Truth:

2011-12-16T22:18:00.006-05:00

No, I am not going to start a debate on Global Warming, Al Gore, Hypodermics on the shores, China's under martial law or Rock and Roller cola wars (for those of you that don't know that is from Billy Joel).

That's a flame that can be fanned at another time on another blog.

What I am going to do is express my thoughts on a recent blog post that I put up for discussion.

I opened up my last post with an invitation to discuss Megan's post on:

Millions of Miles: Raising Human Beings and Life Lessons from the Duggars

There are many issues brought up in this post. Issues that resonate with all that I have been going through and thinking.

Here is what Megan's thought provoking post brought up for me:

...when did we get to the point where we feel like we get to tell a mother that her child deserves to die and secretly rejoice a little bit when someone goes through a tragedy.

I am truly grateful that no one posted anything but heartfelt sympathy for Michelle Duggar and her miscarriage.

I am blessed to be surrounded by like minded people but that wasn't always the case.

The idea that it would even cross someone's mind to say that she "deserved this" is unthinkable but I am not sure I always thought this way.

I am pretty sure I can hear the me I was long ago saying things like: " She's an idiot for having 19 children" or " What did she expect? " etc...

And I can hear my friends of days gone past echoing the same sentiments.

I don't think I ever truly understood what a gift creating a life was.

The me of days gone by, that person I don't even remember being, looked at as "getting knocked up". Something you didn't want to do.

And if someone miscarried, I can vaguely remember phrases like: "It's for the best." "It's a blessing in disguise".

A blessing to miscarry?

I do remember the attitudes and thoughts on getting pregnant and miscarrying when I was growing up and those attitudes and thoughts fell more along the lines of "accident" and "thank God".

And if someone got "knocked up" at a young age there was one solution that pretty much everyone agreed was the "best" solution. If the "best" solution wasn't chosen, then the consensus was the unfortunate girl that got herself knocked up just ruined her life.

There was never really the sense of the miracle or the magic.

I am sure if Michelle Duggar was around in my lifetime past, the characters of that time, myself included would have echoed hateful sentiments out of what I can only conclude would be entitlement.

God forbid you ever have to wake up and hear the news. Then you really might know what it's like to have to lose ~ Everlast....

I know for a fact I didn't understand the pain of a miscarriage until I had one.

I remember a woman I worked with, she had gotten pregnant at an inconvenient time.

She said her and her boyfriend were planning on getting married but I wasn't sure how true that was and her career had kind of stalled. She was only working part time with me at the time.

Sometime in her 1st trimester she miscarried. I remember actually telling her that it was probably "for the best".

I told her now she could wait until she got married. There was no rush. It was a "blessing in disguise."

A few months later she was pregnant again.

I asked her why, why would she go and get herself pregnant again (that phrase alone shows how arrogant and entitled my thoughts were at the time) when she could wait (once again entitlement) until she was in a better position to have a child.

And in case anyone missed it, that whole sentence above is filled with arrogance and entitlement. But those were the attitudes and thoughts I was raised with on getting pregnant.

She told me that the pain from her miscarriage was just too unbearable and that all she wanted was to get pregnant again and have a baby.

I didn't comprehend.

I think I might have called her an idiot under my breathe.

I just couldn't understand.

I understand now.

That is a pain I now know all too well and it is unbearable.

...and hurt so deep that you wonder if you will ever feel normal again.

I often wonder if I will ever feel normal again.

My mother said to me on the phone after my second miscarriage: "I just want you to be happy again."

But I was happy. I was over the moon happy. Rejoicing in the fact that I was going to be a mom. I was going to be blessed with this miracle.

I had never been happier in my entire life.

Until it all fell apart.

And I try to think back to who I was 20 years ago, 10 years ago, 5 years ago, 1 year ago or even yesterday and I don't know that person. I am not that person anymore.

I remember about a year ago, sometime after my 1st miscarriage, I somehow pulled myself together, that's when I started blogging and I found the courage to cycle again. My BFF during one of our daily phone conversations, we were talking about all I had been through and how I had changed and she casually said to me: "I am proud that you are my friend."

That has always stuck with me. I want to be someone my friends are proud of and I am proud that she is my friend.

I have changed. Some changes are for the good. I would never think any women would "deserve" to lose their child or that a miscarriage was "for the best".

I now have a true understanding of the gift of life.

My child will be wanted, love and cherished.

I strive to be a better person.

But some changes are not for the good. I am broken, permanently damaged and forever mourning. I will never have that sheer joy of announcing a pregnancy and I will always feel the pain of loss.

I pray that I will be able to rejoice again in the knowledge that I am going to be a mom.

"I just want you to be a happy again"

Me too mom....me too!

I would think that no matter if it was your first baby or your 20th baby that loss is loss. Who are we to diminish someone's pain?

I sometimes feel that I did something to "deserve" my miscarriages.

That my cavalier attitudes toward pregnancy lead me to this place.

I have thoughts that it's payback for a time when I was so insensitive or a time when I might have utter the words like "deserve it".

Or a time when I would callously diminish someone's pain with worthless platitudes like:

"Well it could be worse, at least you weren't in your second trimester."

OR

"You could have had a disable child, which would be worse than a miscarriage."

OR

"At least you have other children"

OR

"It wasn't meant to be."

OR

"You could be homeless or starving or in a wheelchair..."

OR one of a million other "worst case" scenarios that people bring up meant to somehow make someone "count their blessings" instead of acknowledging the horrible thing that just happened to them.

We need to acknowledge, support and love. We need to show and feel compassion.

...but I also think that our society has shifted the way that we think about children. They are no longer viewed as blessings. They are seen as something we "do" for 18 years. We have lost out on the magic of what it means to care for someone.

And now here is where the Inconvenient Truth comes in because I do think people treat their kids as an inconvenience without even realizing it.

There is a reason I waited so long before starting my journey towards motherhood and that reason is because I wanted to be the kind of mother that took joy in her children. The kind of mother that saw them as a blessing not a burden.

There are so many people who say things like: "I was stuck with the kids."

"Stuck with the kids" like it's a death sentence. I can't go out and enjoy my life because I am "stuck with the kids".

Or they need to get their kids out of their hair.

They can't go out and have fun anymore.

Just before the summer started there was an article that got posted on Facebook:

"Parents Survival Guide for the Summer" with the introductory line of:

"Parents, are you secretly dreading a long, hot summer with the kids?"

A friend of mine responded to the article on Facebook with...

"This just pissed me off. Why have kids if you hate having them around?!?! I love when my kids are home for the summer...most of our best family bonding days are spent during the summer. Every year I cry the last day of summer vacation and begin the countdown to the next beginning of summer vacation. Love my kids and love spending time with them !!!!!"

I couldn't agree with her more. Imagine knowing that you are in your parent's hair, they are stuck with you and they can't have fun anymore...

Why did you have kids in the first place?

And why can't your children be your fun?

That's what I hope to do...

Have fun with my children.

Treasure every day.

Make every moment count.

My same Facebook friend eloquently posted another sentiment along the same lines:

"I think that some parents really need to lighten up a bit and remember that their kids will only be kids for such a short amount of time. If they could grasp this notion they'd have a whole different perspective on how they treat them. I am one of those people that never want my kids to grow up...I love every minute of them!!!!!"

They will be grown and gone before you know it.

I guess then you can start having fun.

...We are so tied to our technology and our careers and our pettiness that we forget that there are actual children wanting us to delight in them.

I was bartending one evening and a regular couple and their kids came in. I figured they would go into the dining room and have dinner.

No, the couple had to sit at the bar, so the plopped themselves down at the bar and put their children at a high top table behind them.

The mother then called me over and gave me a cake. It was her daughter's 10th birthday. She would tell me when to bring out the cake.

The whole night the parents sat at the bar and barely interacted with their children. The mother spent most of her time texting.

When everyone had finished eating the father, as almost an afterthought, said something to the mother about the cake.

She looked up from her phone and was like "Oh yeah...I guess you should bring the cake now."

Me and the other bartender went and got the cake, lit all the candles and walked out singing Happy Birthday.

The mother sitting at the bar with her back to her children continued to text.

The mother did not even get up from the bar and go to the table.

The daughter kept saying: "Mom! Mom! Come look! Come here!"

The mother didn't move.

I remember being appalled. I remember swearing that would never be me.

But what if I didn't wait to have children? What if this journey had been easy? If I had not miscarried? If I had easily "gotten myself pregnant"? Would I have in turn become a mother who is more interested in texting, drinking and getting her children out of her hair rather than one that cries when summer ends?

I posted to my friend on Facebook that she is the kind of mother that I dream of becoming. And she wrote back:

"And you will be because I know what kind of person you are! ♥"

No, it's the kind of person I've become...the kind of person I am.

But more importantly the kind of person I am not.

Then you really might know what it's like:

2011-12-09T20:51:00.001-05:00

I thought I would share this with you.

This is an amazing post by an amazing woman and writer.

I am so glad I found her blog. She is honest and raw.

Thank you Megan!

This post has brought up a lot of emotions and truths.

Millions of Miles:
Raising Human Beings and Life Lessons from the Duggars

I think I am going to make this post interactive!

Let's discuss!

It's the most wonderful time of the year...

2011-11-29T19:44:00.000-05:00

Unless of course you just had a miscarriage.

Then it doesn't matter what time of the year it is. Nothing matters.

Actually it darkens the whole holiday season. It is now shrouded.

And you, your life, your daily routines never mind the feasts and celebrations...every moment feels like you are walking through quicksand.

The days fly by at such an alarmingly slow pace but they will be here and gone before you know it.

Even in your daze, in your daily clouded haze, time keeps moving but you feel stuck in time.

Because you are in the same exact place you were a year ago while everyone else has moved on.

It feels like some kind of dream you are suppose to wake up from but you never do.

And then out of the haze comes that feeling. When everything starts to hurt and it's becoming hard to breathe.

When that moment comes, the one that is always just under the surface. That moment that wakes you from your daze, you know you must find a quite place by yourself. You must lay down because at any moment the tears will start to flow, uncontrollably. They consume your whole body and no one is supposed to see that.

They are only supposed to see your strength and how well you are handling everything.

And how thankful you are.

And hey: "You look good!".

But what they don't see is when you excuse yourself from the Thanksgiving dinner table, make your way to the bedroom just in time. Shut the door, fall onto the bed into a fetal position and stick a pillow in your mouth so no one can hear you crying.

Because everything hurts and your heart is as empty as your womb.

But no. No one is supposed to see that.

You should be celebrating. You should be thankful.

After all it is Thanksgiving. The day of thanks!

And no matter what, you should be thankful.

And I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to be thankful. Every night I thank the Lord for all the things I do have.

I am thankful for my family, my friends, my home, my job. I thankful for my furbabies who always find a way to make me smile; even if it's a smile through pain.

But here's the truth:

Being thankful doesn't take away the pain.

Being thankful doesn't make the darkness turn to light and being thankful doesn't fill the emptiness that consumes my being.

I don't know if I ever told you this before. Those of you that know me will know this...

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It always has been. Kinda funny right!

Next up...

The fat man and the magic of Christmas! Great!! I swear if I had a Santa suit, a little dog and a sled I might just try to steal Christmas or at least cancel it!

Jinxed? Fate? Cursed? Bad Luck? Karma?

2011-11-12T15:44:00.000-05:00

Jinxed?

I think the feeling that you could jinx a cycle is a direct result of PTIVF disorder.

“If I talk about my cycle I will jinx it!”

“If I get excited about good results I will jinx it!”

“If I blog or post about my cycle I will jinx it!”

There have been too many times in the past where everything looked like it was going to be so perfect and then you talked about it, got excited, told the world and the BOOM you “jinxed” it. And it would all go bad. Devastatingly bad.

So, believe me, after all my setbacks and then finally being able to cycle again I did everything I could think of not to jinx this last cycle.

I told very few people about my cycle. As a matter of fact one person had full disclosure and another was on a need to know basis.

I didn’t even tell my family. I just knew if I did that I would jinx it. If any of you are reading this, it was not done to hurt your feelings. It was done to protect mine.

Even my girls on Fertile Thoughts were pretty much kept out of the loop.

If I told people, if I chronicled its progress I just knew I would jinx it.

That’s why I didn’t blog about it.

I’ve spent the last 4 months blogging about past loves and how they might have led me to where I am now. And I almost wanted to continue on that path, blogging about the past so I wouldn’t have to face the future.

It was a nice distraction.

It made me feel like I wasn’t going to jinx this cycle.

I actually snuck away so I could go alone to my transfer. I didn’t want anyone “jinxing” it.

And finally, finally, I felt like I could have a successful cycle.

We transferred two perfect blasts and I have 3 frozen blasts.

My baby had to be in that batch somewhere. Right?

There was no way I could jinx this now…

But ahhh, even just thinking that could probably jinx it….

Fate? Cursed?

I really don’t know if I believe in fate.

I certainly have a more bitter outlook on it than others.

I am not one who actually believes everything happens for a reason.

I think that it is random events that happen.

Some amazingly good and some devastatingly bad.

And people use the “everything happens for a reason” to try to tie together some connection to help ease the pain of the devastating events.

Because if it was really meant to be, it could have happened and would have happened regardless. It doesn’t need the bad events preceding it.

I do think it is nice that people grab these ribbons and bows and tie together this pretty picture that makes all the bad seem necessary.

They make this pretty, little package.

But I think it’s harder for those of us that don’t have any of good that supposedly comes out of the bad.

It’s harder for those of us when it’s just one endless stream of bad luck and without that good at the end, how do you tie together the connections? Where are our ribbons and bows? How do you make that pretty, little package?

What could possibly be the reason?

You have bad luck?

You’re cursed?

Or maybe it’s your fate to be doomed?

Could there finally be something good that could make even a naysayer like myself believe…

Believe in Fate?

After my 1st failed IVF cycle over a year ago, I went to an Arabian Nights party at my friend V’s house.

At the party there was a fortune teller. This fortune teller told me that I would find out that I am pregnant on October 18th and it would be a boy.

Remember this was not this summer that just passed but the summer before.

I knew that what the fortune teller had told me couldn’t work out because I was cycling in August.

And let’s face it, when you are single the chances of a natural miracle are severely diminished.

But due to circumstances beyond my control my 2nd IVF cycle got pushed back and the day of my beta, the day I would find out if it worked or not, the day I would find out if I was pregnant fell exactly on October 18th.

I thought it was destiny. I thought it was fate. But on October 18th of last year instead of finding out I was pregnant; I found out that my 2nd IVF cycle had failed. I was not pregnant.

But I was so sure. How could this happen? Did I jinx it?

Flash forward to this year and this summer...

Could the fates be off a year?

I was supposed to cycle in June.

It got cancelled.

I was supposed to cycle in July.

It got cancelled.

I finally started my cycle in September and I was damned if I was going to jinx it this time.

I quietly went for my transfer on October 13th.

The looming date of October 18th was not unnoticed by me but really, it would only be 5 days after my transfer.

Surely if I tested that early I would jinx it.

But unable to stop myself from testing fate, I woke up at 5am and took a pregnancy test.

There was a faint line.

The next day that line was darker and then next day even darker.

I was supposed to go in for my beta on Monday. I requested my RE let me go in on Friday so I wouldn’t have to wait the weekend.

My beta was 86! 2 days early!

It had to be fate.

The fortune teller was right. I did find out I was pregnant on October 18th. Just one year later.

Could I start getting out the ribbons and the bows to make my pretty package?

To explain away all the bad because now finally, finally I was going to be a mom?

Wrapping it all up and finally finding out the reason?

Or did I just jinx it by testing early…

Cursed? Bad Luck? Karma?

My tests came back good and I was waiting for my 1st ultrasound.

I was still hesitant of telling people. I was going to wait until after my 1st ultrasound to then shout it from the roof tops.

I actually couldn’t wait!

But I was being careful. I was cautious. I didn’t want to jinx this pregnancy.

And in all honestly I didn’t really think that I could. My numbers were strong.

And then I did the one thing that was sure to jinx it.

Two days before my 1st ultrasound, I bought something for the nursery…

On the day of my ultrasound, less than 1 week ago, I was told that the baby isn’t growing and I would probably miscarry again.

I am shocked. I am sad. I am angry.

How could this be happening to me again?

Is this my fate?

Am I cursed?

Is this bad luck?

Or is this karma?

But I kept holding out hope.

You’ve heard the stories. Women who have been told they are going to miscarry only to go in for another ultrasound and there’s a perfect baby with a perfect heartbeat.

I had more bloodwork done. My numbers came back good again.

I woke up this morning feeling some cramps and I thought: “Maybe…maybe that’s my baby growing. Maybe that’s my uterus stretching like it should.”

“Maybe this is a good sign”

Maybe this…

And that’s when I felt it. Something wet running down the side of my leg.

Blood.

It is blood.

Today I’ve started my 2nd miscarriage.

I am no longer pregnant. I am no longer going to be a mom.

Did I jinx it?

Is it fate?

Am I cursed?

Is it bad luck?

Or is it karma?

Because right now I feel like everything I have done in my life. Good or bad. Every decision I have every made. Good or bad. Has brought me to a place where babies don’t grow inside of me.

And I don’t think there’s a bow big enough to tie this one together…

A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing…

2011-10-31T19:58:00.001-04:00

This is a cautionary tale…

The Fast and the Furious!

While I was perfecting my mountain climbing skills, the Breadman was also doing some climbing himself.

He was trying to climb his way into my heart very fast and very furiously.

A little too fast.

A little too furious.

So much so that instead of falling head over heels, I started seeing flags. And not the kinda of flags that indicates the start of a race. No this was the kinda of flag that screamed hit the brakes. A red flag!

But seriously what was wrong with me.

It was truly “love at first sight” with my sailor.

And never once with my sailor did it ever feel wrong or “off”.

So, why was I having these feelings with the Breadman?

It could happen again right?

But before I even started my mountain climbing excursions with the Breadman, he was on the fast track.

He would show up at my apartment with thoughtful “gifts”.

Things like “I noticed you were out of juice so I brought some with me.”

He would make me breakfast (in his undies I might add which was totally hot!).

I would come home and there would be flowers in my foyer.

Or get to work and there would be flowers waiting there for me.

And I know you are all thinking “Ahhhh!” “That’s so sweet!” “So romantic!”

And it was…

All so sweet!

All so wonderful!

All so romantic!

And it felt all “too good to be true”.

And it was too fast. This was happening at lightning speed.

After about 2 weeks the Breadman was professing his love for me.

But here is the thing…

Where it all felt wrong…

Where it all felt too pretty, too neat, too packaged, too wrapped up and too fast…

Even though it was love at first sight for me and my sailor. It was months and months before we said “I love you!” to each other.

I remember the 1st time my sailor let me know he loved me.

He didn’t tell me.

He circled it on a card and then pointed to me.

So this much I do know…I know that my sailor loved me so much that it was hard for him to say it. He didn’t just throw the words “I love you!” around. They were only used when he truly meant it.

But the Breadman…

The Breadman was waxing love within 2 weeks.

I think I tried to convince myself that it was going to happen again with the Breadman.

I tried to convince myself it was sincere. I wanted so desperately to be in love. In love the way I was with my sailor.

I allowed myself to “fall” for the Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing.

I pushed my fears aside. I fell for the disguise and then I got swept away.

Swept away by every “I love you!”

Swept away by every flower, every breakfast and every mountain climbing excursion.

So swept away that I couldn’t even tell that he was pulling the wool over my eyes.

And when the mask did finally get pulled off, I was in shock by what I saw.

There is a part of me that wants to end the post here. Leave you with another cliff hanger in the Tale of the Breadman.

But here’s the thing. The Breadman does NOT deserve anymore billing.

It will end here.

And so the story goes…

Remember this is a cautionary tale.

Beware of the Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing...

There were other things about the Breadman that should have given me a glimpse behind the disguise but I looked the other way…

You know that beautiful, thick brown hair that flips so perfectly to one side that I mentioned…

Yeah well that took him over an hour to achieve. I would be sitting, dressed, ready to go out and he would be in the bathroom blow drying his hair.

Now I know that Metro-Sexuals have hit the scene and I am a big fan of the guy that does proper maintenance.

BIG FAN (Really guys make sure you’re “maintaining”. I say a good trim from head to toe is always in order!).

But, no guy should take longer to get ready than you do.

So take caution: It shows that underneath it all there might be a little too much vanity and a little too much self absorption.

And also, I found out that the Breadman wasn’t divorced like he said he was. He was in the process of getting divorced.

It is very important to make sure that they are free and clear and have been for some time.

So take caution: Those that are still tangled up, well, they will get you caught in the web too. Divorce is messy and if it’s not yours you really shouldn’t be a part of it.

And after all the “I love you’s”…

When the Breadman and I were planning on moving in together, ironically is was around Halloween when his mask came off, I found out that I was not the only woman he was making these plans with.

The Breadman was truly a Wolf. He had another girlfriend. Maybe more than one. I do not know.

It amazes me how he pulled this off since we spent so much time together.

And it seemed to all correlate with when his divorce finally became final.

Because as soon as his divorce became final things started to change.

So take caution – When someone is so quick to say “I love you” it might be a sign that they don’t hold the same meaning to those words that you do.

And lastly, trust your instincts. My initial instincts were to hit the brakes. But I ignored all the red flags and sped ahead blindly.

It really is all too cliché and predictable.

I am sure there are many of you who have come across this Wolf.

They do share similar traits.

So, I will leave you with this cautionary tale and the warning signs.

Take heed and beware!

The Truth About Trying

2011-10-20T07:05:00.000-04:00

Redbook is partnering with RESOLVE to spread the word on The Truth About Trying.

We all know lately what trying has done to me.

Know that your are not alone!

Urban Myths & Mountain Climbing 101

2011-10-08T21:17:00.001-04:00

*For those of you that don’t want to know what it’s like to get down and dirty with the Breadman, I suggest you skip this post. There is a part of me that can’t believe that I am writing this but I am a girl that likes to tell the full story…from the big moments down to the smallest details. You’ve been warned.*

This is for the ladies…

There are a lot of myths out there regarding the anatomy of a man.

And all across the world there are women and their girlfriends giving validity or squashing these myths because women talk. They talk about everything.

I think that’s why a lot guys didn’t like Sex in the City. They didn’t want to admit that women tell all. The long and the short of it, right into the thick of it…Women tell all!

And we have all heard these myths and we can debunk most of them.

“You know what it means if a guy has big feet right?” Wink Wink!– Yeah it means they have big socks and big shoes. The size of a man’s foot has nothing to do with the size of their “et…et…hmmm’s”.

Definitely a myth.

Now the size of their hands is another story and I have a whole theory on that which I will share with you later.

“Black men are hung.” - Black men are like any other group of men. Some got it and some don’t. It might have something to do with the size of their hands.

“If he’s tall and skinny he has been blessed” – Myth busters (my fellow female friends and I) have determined that this one is mostly true but there are exceptions to every rule.

“It’s not the size of the boat but the motion of the ocean.” – Okay on this one I definitely have a theory…or should I say a “tell it like it is” breakdown.

Here it goes…

When you are dealing with a “manhood” that is bordering on the average (slightly larger, slightly smaller) than it is most certainly the motion of the ocean. Technique plays a big, big role but…

But…if you are dealing with a “manhood” that’s let’s just say is very short on the man and maybe a little too much on the hood…well, he can have all the technique in the world…he can go down til Christmas and sooner or later you gonna want him to come up “boom” in the “boom boom room” and he’s got nothing to “boom” with.

And…if you are dealing with a “manhood” that over-floweth with MAN!! He doesn’t need to know how to use it…you do.

Which bring me to another myth out there that was really bothering me and that was the Urban Myth that says that bodybuilders (due to excessive steroid use) have a “tiny manhood”.

And the Breadman was a bodybuilder. He no longer competed so he wasn’t adding any “extra assistance” when I met him and hadn’t for years but when he was competing he used to get a lot of extra assistance.

And the myth was not in his (or my) favor.

I even had a girlfriend give confirmation to the myth.

My girlfriend as soon as I told her my guy was a bodybuilder gave me that face …you know that “ohh…yikes…poor you” face…So I said: “What! What’s with the face?” and she said:

“You know what they say about bodybuilders…” and then she holds up her pinky in demonstration.

Of course I said: “That’s just a myth.”

And then she launches into this story about how she was dying to hook up with this guy who was a bodybuilder and he had the most perfect body. She finally started dating him and well when the time came for her to move in on the downtown area…well…and then she shook her head and held up her pinky again…

This can’t not be. I mean the Breadman was magnificent. There couldn’t be anything “small” about the Breadman.

Which brings me to the foot myth and the hand theory. We already know that foot size is a myth and does not in any way indicate what’s “packing” but here is my theory on hand size…I figure God is not going to give a man this teeny, tiny, little thing and these giant hands to jerk it off with and vice versa…a guy is not going to have this great big “manhood” and these teeny, tiny, little hands to do the deed with…

So in theory (once again there are always exceptions to the rule) the look, size and feel of a man’s hands matches their other appendage. If a guy has long skinny hands and fingers he probably has a long skinny you know what. If his hands are small…yikes…and so on…and so on…

The Breadman was a myth of epic proportions. Everything was bulging on him. He had the biggest and meatiest hands I’d ever seen. He was a mountain. A mountain of muscle. My mountain. My mountain that I wanted so desperately to climb.

But…ahhh… then that probably meant there had to be something wrong…right…isn’t that another myth…that if they got it going on in some places others areas would be lacking.

I had to push this myth out of my mind…because there was nothing more disappointing than getting to that moment…that moment of the great reveal and…whomp, whomp, whomp…let’s just leave it at DIS-A-PPOINTING.

And the Breadman and I were at that point. At the point of the great reveal. There was no turning back, I was going to be a myth buster whether I wanted to or not.

So…

So, we are in his truck and things are getting very hot and heavy. The outer clothing caresses are now going to be permitted…

I gently brush my hand in the area…hmmm…no bulging.

I go in again…I’m having a hard time locating it…oh no!!

All I can picture in my head is my girlfriend holding up her pinky…IT CAN’T BE!!

And then the Breadman gently takes my hand in his giant, meaty hand and moves it to the left and…

Holy mother of…

Oh…my oh my…it was there and it was bulging…bulging all the way out the left side and up to his ribcage! His ribcage!!

From now on ladies if you want a secret signal to denote a man’s WELL “endowedness”, you can just tap your ribcage. We will make that the international symbol for Holy Crap!!

And all of the sudden I became a little leery of my mountain climbing expedition because right in the middle of the mountain was a giant tree that I was not so sure I was ready to climb.

I told you that the Breadman was a myth of epic proportions.

But there was that other myth…the myth that’s says that if they got it going on in some places others areas would be lacking…

For some reason at that moment and for some time to come after that, I really didn’t care. I had opted to let that myth fly…to hell with myths…I am no longer the myth buster!!

But what I was forgetting to consider was the age old adage…

“If it seems too good to be true…”

The Breadman Cometh…

2011-10-02T20:12:00.001-04:00

As promised the Story of the Breadman…

It would start with a little flurry and a rush of excitement throughout the restaurant. Well, at least coming from the waitresses, hostesses and female bartenders because we all knew around what time the Breadman would get there.

I don’t think there was anyone in that restaurant that didn’t know when the Breadman was making a delivery. I’m pretty sure even the guys came out to get a glimpse of the Breadman.

Although they wouldn’t admit it. They would just give him that “knowing” head nod and say “What’s up man?”

But they were there to look too. Because, well let’s just say that the Breadman was a Wonder to see!!

This guy was beyond swoon worthy.

When he would walk in, he would have all of the girls blushing (and a few guys too).

Except for me, I would put on an air of being “unblushable”.

I wouldn’t rush to the kitchen to get a glimpse of his “hotness”.

I would wait until he would come out to the bar and ask me for a drink of some kind and then of course I would hand him his drink trying not to look up or catch his eye.

Being a little standoffish.

Because inside, I was swooning. I was blushing and giggling like a little school girl.

And trust me, anyone would swoon. It was impossible not to swoon.

And if I caught his eye, I knew I would blush.

So, as soon as he would walk away I would take a sip of water, put my hand on the bar like it was holding me up and make some kind of comment like:

“That is one mountain I would love to climb.”

And then I would blush!

But all of it out of the Breadman’s sight.

In front of him I was cool, calm and collected.

As soon as he walked away…weak in the knees.

He was hot!

I mean HOT!!

And he was a mountain.

A mountain I was dying to climb.

A giant mountain of hotness.

He looked like a Greek God.

He looked like the Greek God Atlas.

With all those bulging muscles holding up the world.

He had these large, brown puppy dog eyes and this beautiful thick dark hair that flipped perfectly over to one side.

And a Greek God really was exactly what the Breadman was…a myth.

He was a myth of epic proportions.

So, you took your moment, imagined, swooned, fantasized and then went on with your day.

Really, unless he was there making all the girls blush you really didn’t think about him again.

It wasn’t like I actually really thought that I could be with the Breadman.

He was a myth. An untouchable but oh so fun to fantasize about myth.

And anyway at this time I was still seeing Stockbroker boy. And I was all wrapped up in my city and in acting school.

Stockbroker boy if you remember was the 1st guy I dated after my sailor. And the boy that had me crying on my way home after the first time we were together.

It was with him that I think I learned the difference between sex and making love. If I had sex I wouldn't get hurt. And Stockbroker boy made it perfectly clear that we were “just dating” and we were not exclusive. That was something foreign to me at the time too. I had to learn it.

But don’t get me wrong, Stockbroker boy wasn’t mean, or “a player”. He was who he was and we had some “fun” times. Some actually really fun times. Times I might not have been able to open myself up to if it wasn’t for him being who he was.

And at this time, I still longed for my sailor so I guess we helped each other out.

But one thing was for certain, I was not entertaining any ideas of being with the Breadman. As far as I knew, he didn’t even know I existed until…

Until one very embarrassing day at the restaurant that in turn led to a date…

Now as I said we all knew when the Breadman made his deliveries. We all waited, watched and enjoyed.

So I was a little shocked when I walked into the kitchen one morning and he was standing there with the manager.

It was not delivery time.

I walked in the back to ask the manager a question and I’m pretty sure once I saw the Breadman my question came out like: “Hey, I was wntihe if hetgye hei seya?”

Ughhh!

And then the manager turns around…

IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE KITCHEN (I might add)…

And says: “Michaela have you met [Insert Breadman’s real name here]. I thought you two might get along.”

And right on cue the whole kitchen (meaning all the cooks!!) start with the “ohhhs” and the “ooooohs’ and the “ahhhhs” and the “whooooos”.

BLUSH does not even begin to describe it.

Mortified.

And I went red faced back to my bar.

I am pretty sure that I told my manager and the kitchen staff that I was never speaking to any of them again.

But after a couple of days I was over it.

And vowed to not be around when the wonder of the Breadman made his next delivery.

And I wasn’t. And I went on with life as usually.

The following weekend had the distinct honor of being Super Bowl Sunday.

Now believe it or not Super Bowl Sunday is not a busy bar day. Most people have Super Bowl parties.

This was Super Bowl XXX.

And for those who need to a little background.

It was 1996 and the Pittsburgh Steelers were playing the Dallas Cowboys in Super Bowl XXX.

And for anyone who doesn’t know my crazy, football girl side. I am a HUGE Pittsburgh Steelers fan.

Yes, a big enough fan to have some Pittsburgh Steelers home decoration.

A big enough fan to dress in the appropriate Pittsburgh Steeler attire and a big enough fan to yell at the TV when they are winning or losing.

Big fan and I have been since the days of Mean Joe Green and Terry Bradshaw.

And my Steelers were playing their arch rivals the Dallas Cowboys in the Super Bowl XXX.

And I was bartending that day.

It didn’t really bother me to be bartending that day b/c I knew it would be slow and I would get to watch the game.

And slow it was.

I had no one at the bar and then my manager peeks his head into the bar and says: “You have a phone call.”

“Really? Who?” –

No one calls me at work. Ever.

“Don’t know.”

“Hello…..”

And it was the Breadman!

I’m pretty sure I asked him several times to repeat who is was. I think I was actually confused at first.

But then he asked me if I would mind if he came in and watched the game with me.

Getting my bearings back I distinctly remember saying: “Are you a Cowboy fan?”

Now some of you might not understand the importance of that question but trust me a devoted Steeler Fan knows how important it is that any perspective date answers that question with a definite “NO!”…

And he did!

The Breadman said “No!”

He was not a Cowboy fan!

Whew!

So I said “Yes. Come watch the game with me!”

I hung up the phone and screamed!

The cooks were like “There she goes…”

I am a vocal football watcher!

“I guess Pittsburgh is winning!”

No Pittsburgh was not winning but it certainly felt like I was.

Sadly my beloved Pittsburgh Steelers did not win the Super Bowl that year. They lost due to turn overs.

Football is a funny game. One minute you could be winning, you have the momentum and the next…boom…you turn the game over…

It is what makes the game exciting. It is what makes people get up out of their chairs and scream at the TV.

And it is what also makes a loss that more devastating.

Because one minute you’re winning…

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

2011-09-25T15:50:00.000-04:00

*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.

PTVUD

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…

PTIVFD

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…

PTTTCD

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.

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

2011-09-17T14:35:00.001-04:00

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.

Easily.

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.
Love,
Michaela”

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.

Done.

Done?

Done.

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...

We interrupt this regularly scheduled program…

2011-09-11T13:45:00.001-04:00

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.

Manhattan.

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…

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.

Men ALWAYS Leave…

2011-08-27T21:57:00.003-04:00

They say that in your adult relationships you are “mimicking” the relationships you witnessed when you were little. You learn how to be in a relationship basically by how your parents were in their relationship.

I am not sure if I believe that cock and bull, load of crap, psycho-babble or whatever it is you want to call it, but I guess if I did believe it, then I have moved forward into adulthood and into relationships with the belief that “Men ALWAYS Leave”.

And I am pretty sure that is what I thought when my sailor left.

Because after months of not hearing from him, no letter, no phone call, I went with the assumption that would make any Psych 101 college student proud and believed that he left, just left, never to turn around, never to think of me again.

He walked away without a second thought. Because that is what most men in my life have done since I was a little girl.

It fits.

It’s perfect.

I mean it is the meaning of “textbook”.

My father left when I was little.

Then there was a very close friend of the family who became my surrogate father and he left.

And then there’s my stepfather who basically raised me and I haven’t heard from him since my mom and him divorced.

Now not all of these are in succession but when my sailor left I guess my innate response was that I was abandoned once again.

I did write to him.

Letter after letter after letter.

I can’t remember exactly what I said in each letter but I think there was a progression from: “Where are you?” to “I miss” to “Please let’s work this out” to “Fuck you!” over the course of many, many months.

And every trip to that empty mailbox increased the feelings of the latter.

And it hurt more than any other hurt I ever felt in my life.

I would call my mother on the phone everyday for months on end crying hysterically “Why!!” “How come…” “I can’t” “This hurts so much” “I want him back” “I want us back”…

And I kept going over everything in my head.

The house he bought. Re-enlisting. All pointing to me being a fool.

And there were other behaviors that raised red flags that I didn’t realize until I spent months listening to sound of my own tears and trying to figure out what happened.

And just like the hurt little girl that I used to be, all my feelings of insecurity and abandonment filled my being and I blamed myself. Feeling that there must be something intrinsically wrong with me that makes men leave.

But I did have the Theatre and I dived into school every day immersing myself in order to try to move past the pain. And I guess the funny thing is; acting school is probably the only place where not only do they allow you to express your feelings but they encourage it.

It truly was my life preserver at the time.

And after about 8 months and a lot of prodding from friends, I started going out.

I even had a date.

I started dating Stockbroker boy in an attempt to move forward.

The first time we were “together” I remember going home and crying. It felt as if I betrayed my sailor, even though I hadn’t heard from him, no letter, nothing.

Because he just left right?

Because men always leave.

And I was moving forward right?

I was moving on.

I mean really, I was never going to hear from him again and I had to face that right?

Well that is what everyone was telling me and in my head I knew they were right but my heart…my heart wasn’t ready and it was clear that my heart wasn’t ready since being with another man only brought me to tears.

But I covered up the pain. Put on a brave face and marched on because that is what I had to do whenever the men would leave.

That is what I did after my father left and so that is what I did after my sailor left.

And my brave face marched its way out to the mailbox in September of 1995, 9 months after my sailor had left and in the mailbox was 2 letters. 2 letters; one with a post mark from March and the other was from May.

And in those letters…

Well, let’s just say it was not what this little abandon girl had expected.

He was asking what was happening with us because he keeps writing and I am not responding.

He wrote that hadn’t heard from me in months and that he wanted to come see me on his leave in August to work it out.

It was now the middle of September.

So although he left, he actually did turn around. I just didn’t know it.

Somewhere, somehow our letters never reached each other.

I went to the post office and I asked: “Why did it take so long for me to get these letters?” and I was told that the postage was off by 1 penny.

1 penny.

The funny thing is (or should I say tragic); is in this day and age with emails and Facebook and always having constant contact this would have never happened.

In 1995 there wasn’t internet and emails. And for those geeks out there if one of you makes a comment: “The internet was in use in 1960 blah blah and people had email by 1970 whatever…” I am going to smack the dork right out of you (oh and by the way I absolutely adore geeks. I am a geek wanna be) because in reality, the internet and use of emails didn’t really become mainstream until late 1900s, early 2000s.

So in 1995, the post did us in.

1 penny…1 stinking, lousy, penny put an end to us.

As soon as I received those letters that September and realized that he didn’t just leave, I called his mother. I told her how I never got his letters until now. I told her to give him the message.

I started writing again but he had changed ships.

I called his brother. Left a message again. No response.

Now I don’t know if he ever got my messages. I will never know. But I have a sneaking suspicion that he did not.

But this time…yes this time…

I never did hear from him again.

And once again that little, abandoned girl inside of me became more acutely aware that Men ALWAYS Leave!

All the King’s horses and all the King’s men…

2011-08-21T19:17:00.001-04:00

I’m going to be honest.

This is something that is hard to admit.

And I know there will be some of you who aren’t going to believe what I am about to say.

Many of you are going to shake your head and wonder “How could you forget?”

But in all honesty, I can hardly remember what happened that day.

The day he left.

What we said standing in the airport…

I don’t remember.

But when you’ve spent so much time trying to move past the pain.

So much time trying not to think about it.

So much time trying not to remember.

I guess eventually you do succeed and forget.

It’s like physical pain. You remember that it hurt but you don’t quite ever really remember the details of the pain.

I guess the same holds true for emotional pain.

Til this day I can still cry over the loss but I can’t remember all the details.

But what I do remember is…

I was living my dream.

Soaking up every site and sound.

Every drop of wisdom from my acting coach, my voice coach, my Shakespeare coach and on and on.

Every day was something right out of the movie "Fame" and I was living it.

And I was doing this.

And I was doing that.

And to be perfectly honest I don’t think I said we since I got on my “I Horse”!

It was Christmas 1994.

One year later.

One year after I faced the unimaginable and rescued myself from my own suffering.

It was a long hard fight but I was on the other side.

And it was my turn to go to England.

And I knew this.

My sailor wrote me a letter, like he had done so many other times before but this letter also included plans for me to go to England.

He wanted me to come stay with him and his family and it was my turn but I…

Well I was in love with Manhattan and the Theatre and my acting classes and my dance classes and my voice classes and I had to rehearse and needed to practice and…

I think he had other plans and me going back to school didn’t fit into those plans.

And somewhere along the line he also got on his “I Horse”.

And even though I was riding high on my “I Horse” none of it would have interfered with our plans.

But his “I Horse” even though it included me none of it was part of the plans we made.

He had bought a house with his brother.

But there was more to this house.

So much more. That house was like a condemnation notice.

He condemned us.

But I didn’t know it at the time.

I told my sailor that I couldn’t go to England and that he had to come here.

I promised him that the next time I would go there…next time (little did I know there would be no next time)

And so he did. Come here. But he wasn’t happy about it.

As a matter of fact he was downright angry about it.

He was angry about everything.

When I talked about anything he would say he didn’t like it.

“We’re studying Anton Chekov. Aren’t his plays amazing?”

“NO! I don’t like Chekov.”

“Shakespeare?”

“Hate him”

“Arthur Miller”

“Hate it”

“The Beatles?” “Journey?” “The Doors?”

“Horrible!” “Awful” “Abysmal”

“Mac & Cheese, Beer, Pizza?”

“No, No, Not anymore!”

You get the point. MAD!!

But I had to go to rehearsals while he was here even though it was Christmas vacation.

I tried to include him in my excitement. I tried to show him what it was that I loved so much.

So, I brought him with me a couple of times to NYC, to my new home and of course to the Theatre.

And I asked him what he thought of my school, my new friends, the director, my scene.

I bet you can figure out his response…

“Et, Uck, Hmm, Ehh”

MAD!

I don’t know if it was me he hated or the fact that I went back to school and ruined his plans.

But here is the thing. Here is why that house turned into so much more.

It wasn’t in our plans.

That was his plans…

The ones he didn’t tell me about.

Our plans…

He told me he was going to leave the Navy in 1995 and move to the United States. This is something we started planning years earlier and the last I knew was that he told me that he already contacted the British and American Embassies to put our plans into motion.

But then he bought house in 1994 and re-enlisted in the Navy for another 4 years.

Not our plans at all.

If he bought a house and re-enlisted, he had no intention of moving to the United States or leaving the Navy.

That means somewhere we lost OUR plans and I guess we had just his.

He had new plans and without knowing it I think I threw a monkey wrench into those plans.

But as I said I can only speculate.

He never told me what the new plans were.

He never told me why he left.

I can only hypothesize about what it was that couldn’t put us back together again.

I came home from rehearsal and he was gone.

And you have to remember that this was a time before cell phones.

I think the only people at this time who had cell phones were those who were pretty “well to do” and the cell phone itself was the size of a regular phone with a long, retractable antenna.

And actually I think it was only car phones that you could get at the time, but anyway, I couldn’t just call and see where he was. Or text to find out.

I had to figure it out.

And I did when I noticed it was not just him that was gone but everything was gone.

All his clothes, his suitcase.

I called my mom.

She had brought him to the airport.

She said he wanted to be home with his family.

He called her for a ride.

She didn’t know what to do.

I frantically drove to the airport.

And that’s where it ends.

That is what I can’t remember.

I remember crying.

I remember yelling at him:

“How can you do this to me after all I went through last year!?!?”

Once again I was on my “I Horse”.

I remember him leaving but I don’t think I realized at that moment that I would never see him again.

But that was the last time I ever saw him.

And I never loved that way again either.

But what happened when I heard from him again over 8 months later is even more tragic then that fateful day in the airport.

Turnabout is fair play…

2011-08-13T14:31:00.000-04:00

**Before I continue with my story, I need to send out prayers to Shannon at Chasing Rainbows for her precious little boy Finn. Know in your heart that it will all be okay!**

Human beings are the only animal able to rescue themselves from their own suffering. ~ From a sermon from Pastor Bill Davis at the First Presbyterian Church of Whippany NJ

I spent Christmas in the hospital.

I spent New Years in the hospital.

But my Christmas present that year in my eyes was nothing less than miraculous.

It is still the best present I EVER received.

I did not have Leukemia.

So what was it?

Without getting too technical, basically what was causing the bruising was a lack of platelets in my blood. Platelets clot your blood.

The average person has around 200,000 platelets.

When I arrived at the hospital two days before Christmas in 1993, I literally had 2. 2 platelets (2 might actually end up being a theme here).

My doctor told me it was the lowest he had ever seen and if I had cut myself at any time before I got to the hospital I could have bled to death right on the spot. Crazy right!

There are a lot of big fancy doctor-like words but I will break it down in laymen terms (or in other words non-doctor language):

Platelets are produced by your bone marrow. Since I had so few platelets, the first round of tests, tested for Leukemia which is cancer of the blood.

Being told you might have cancer is a moment no one should have to face.

I couldn’t even begin to describe what I was thinking or feeling at the time. Because your brain can’t wrap around the worst case scenario and the worst case scenario is all you can think about.

My results were absolutely, positively negative!

And THAT is a new lease on life! Something everyone should be graced with.

So the cause?

My spleen.

The spleen filters your blood. My spleen (for some unknown reason) wasn’t working and it was “killing” my platelets.

The treatment…tons and tons of steroids to “jump start” my spleen.

As I said the average person has about 200,000 platelets.

I had 2.

On my first day in the hospital, they gave me 10,000.

I needed 20,000 to get out of jail.

That took 14 days.

And all the while they were pumping me full of mood altering (anger inducing) steroids.

When my sailor had left I was still in the hospital.

When he came back I was staying with my mom.

Anyone who has ever been on steroids can tell you that the side effects are unbearable.

There is depression, weight gain (lots of weight gain); depression, my hair fell out, more depression and to add to the depression a good dose of insomnia.

Days upon days without sleep.

I went from the bed to the floor, to the couch, to the floor all in hopes of falling asleep. And this went on night after night. I even took my pillow and blanket into the bathtub one night in a desperate attempt to bring on the zzzs.

And let’s not forget the mood swings.

I was crazy, hysterically crying, irrational and angry.

And I mean angry.

I remember being in the supermarket with my sailor and I needed a new toothbrush. He said he needed one too. So I grabbed a double pack but he wanted a different kind in a single pack.

No big deal right!

Wrong!

I was infuriated. I pictured myself jumping on his back and sticking that toothbrush “you know where” after he gingerly grabbed it off the shelf and turned to walk down the aisle.

And I couldn’t figure out why.

There I was standing in the middle of the Pathmark envisioning murder by toothbrush.

I knew it was irrational but I still felt enraged.

Why I was feeling this way?

I didn’t know. All I knew was that I was suffering.

And my sailor…

He had no choice.

Once again he had to leave and I was still pacing the floors at all hours of the night begging for sleep or sweet release.

I was so alone.

The depression was so intense that every morning when I woke up or I should say got up from my very minimal sleep, I felt like I was being crushed under a concrete block.

I actually remember thinking that if I get hit by a bus today that would be the best thing that ever happened to me.

It took me a while before I equated all of this with the steroids.

I just kept thinking: “What is wrong with me!!”

But once I did put 2 and 2 together I knew something had to change.

So there were two things (I guess 2 really is a theme) that I decided I needed to do.

The first:

I needed to get off the steroids.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I do not like to gamble. I get pissed if I lose a roll of quarters in a slot machine.

But this was a gamble I HAD to take.

I knew I couldn’t be on these steroids “indefinitely” like my doctor said I would be.

So I had to bank on the fact that for most of my life I have been a very healthy person and that this must have been a freak occurrence.

I placed my bet that my body had healed and I could live without the steroids.

So, every day I would lessen my dose and once a month I would go to my Hematologist (who was this funny, little Asian man) for blood work.

And every time I would say: “How are my platelets?”

(Waiting for the house to win!)

And every time my Hematologist would reply: “Good. Good. How are you doing with the medicine?”

And I would say: “Good. Good.”

(Knowing I was left to play my hand one more time!)

Until one day after months of this wager, I turned and said: “How are my platelets?”

And he said: “Good. Good. How are you doing with the medicine?”

And I said: “I stopped taking the medicine 3 months ago.”

I’m pretty sure he was shocked and I knew the lecture was coming.

He told me in no uncertain terms that if my platelets started to drop and I refuse the medicine than he would have to remove my spleen.

I said: “So be it.”

And he folded.

I really don’t remember too many appointments after that.

But I won.

I knew I won.

I had to win because I couldn’t keep living like that.

And I felt better.

And I looked better.

Now I had to take care of the second thing that had been eating away at me since I got my new lease on life:

And that was I had to start living the life that I so graciously got back.

Ever since I had graduated college and met my sailor all I did was wait tables and bartend.

Waiting for him to return.

I wasn’t pursuing anything.

I wasn’t doing anything.

I wasn’t living my life.

I was biding my time.

I knew that none of this was his fault.

I loved him. I loved him more than life itself.

But when I was faced with losing my life…

I knew that I had to start living my life.

I actually had a friend at one time say to me: “You are too young to be sitting around pining away.”

So I decided to go for it.

I decided to pursue my dream and I auditioned for some of the best acting schools in Manhattan.

The process of auditioning was exhilarating in itself but getting accepted to one of the best Acting Conservatories in NYC…

I was over the moon.

But out of the two things I decided to do…

The first probably helped our relationship.

The second is probably what tore it apart.

Because once I started living my life…once I started going back to school…and breathing in the city, the lights and the Theatre, that is when it seemed like he got angry.

So angry that one day when I came home from school…

He was gone.

And we all fall down…

2011-08-07T13:32:00.001-04:00

(courtesy of google images)

In hindsight I can only speculate as to what happened.

But I will honestly never know.

He left on a plane in January 1995 and I never saw him again.

When did the cracks start to form?

When did it all fall apart?

As I said I can only speculate.

This is what happened the way I see it.

I have no other eyes to view this with.

But if I had to pin point when the first cracks started to form I would say it was in early 1994 after I got out of the hospital.

My sailor had come to stay with me at Christmas time like he had so many other times.

When he picked me up at the airport I showed him a series of bruises that had literally just started appearing all over my body.

Out of nowhere I would get a new bruise. And it was dark and purple and large. Bruises were covering my legs and I swore to him over and over that no one touched me.

Over the next couple of hours bruises started appearing on my arms and my eye even went black.

His exact words were: “Looking at you, I want to arrest myself”.

The very next day I went to my old childhood doctor. A doctor I hadn’t seen since I was a teenager because I rarely get sick. I knew that there had to be a logical explanation for this. In my mind I thought I ate something bad and was having an allergic reaction.

But by the time I got to the doctor, both my eyes were black, my legs and arms were covered in bruises and I had a bloody nose that would not stop.

My doctor immediately called an ambulance and had me rushed to the hospital.

You do not pass go. You do not collect 200 dollars. You do not go home and get clothes. Someone can bring them to you. You go directly to the hospital.

I was admitted to the hospital just days before Christmas.

And I would not be released until after the New Year.

To say that the whole experience was surreal is an understatement. From the ride to the hospital, to being admitted, to being taken to (God I don’t even know where) but they were giving me transfusions and asking if I knew my blood type and people who could donate…it was all so surreal and scary and lonely.

And then the tests…my doctor (being so sweet) said to me “We are going to do a series of bone marrow tests”

And I stopped.

And my heart stopped.

And I knew.

I mean I really knew.

I looked at my doctor two days before Christmas in 1993 and I said:
“Oh my God. You think I have Leukemia.”

And at that moment.

At that moment in time…

I didn’t know where my sailor was, or my mother was or even where God was.

I looked at my completely bruised body and all of these things hooked up to me and I felt like I hadn’t lived and that I might not ever have the chance to live again.

And my doctor put his hand in mine and said: “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine. I’ve seen this before with my son. You are going to be okay”

Only to find out years later that his son died of Leukemia.

And the tests…

Let’s just say that they were painful.

Very painful.

To the point of passing out painful.

But they came back negative.

Absolutely, positively negative!

And my sailor.

He stayed with me during the day and then stayed at my parents during the night but…

But he had to leave.

And like always.

I knew it.

He knew it.

But we ignored it until that day came.

And in the middle of all those painful, heart wrenching, soul stealing tests…he left…

He did come back as quickly as he could. He put in for an emergency leave and was back by my side two weeks later but…

But I was on crazy amounts of medication including some pretty strong steroids.

My emotions were everywhere and all over the boards.

But the one emotion that was constant was anger.

And I was angry at him.

I’m not saying it was right or wrong or justified.

It was uncontrollable.

And I think part of it could have been because I knew…

I knew he had to leave again.

I knew that at a time when I was at my loneliest he was going to leave me.

Leave me all alone.

And even though after I got released from the hospital and things went back to normal…

Normal being that I lived my life separate from him waiting for his return.

Waiting to live my life with him.

If I had to put my finger on it, I would say that was the first crack.

The first chink which would ebb out creating more and more cracks, leading to that fateful day in 1995 when he got on a plane and never returned.

Fairy Tales can come true?

2011-07-30T12:05:00.000-04:00

“Pleasure of love lasts but a moment, Pain of love lasts a lifetime.”
-- Bette Davis

I walked around for weeks in a daze thinking about him with a dull ache knowing that I would never see him again.

I mean really, think about it, a British sailor, New York City, one night stand...well a couple nights stand...but still what are the chances that he wasn't bullshitting me just to get laid.

And trust me if he was, it worked! He had me at British or at sailor not sure which but this was the very first time I had let myself indulge in such an elicit fantasy and if all it ever turned out to be was an elicit fantasy that I could relive with a smirky, little “I did something naughty” smile on my face then so be it.

I was going to continue to re-enjoy the moment I had already enjoyed.

I am not going to say that I didn’t secretly wish that he would contact me but I wasn’t banking on it.

So when I walked to the mailbox that June day I was not expecting a postcard from Halifax, Nova Scotia.

Or the phone call to make sure I received the post card.

His postcard swept me off my already elevated feet.

“I don’t know what it was but meeting you sparked something off up top that I haven’t see or experienced for some time.”

He wanted to know if he could come spend his leave with me in August.

Of course I said yes.

That postcard was the first of many love letters to come and from that moment on I think I truly was “Walking on Sunshine” when I floated towards that mailbox. To this day going to the mailbox always brings me thoughts of him.

I can't even begin to tell what I was feeling as I picked him up at the airport that first time because picking him up at the airport after what felt like an eternity of being apart became a way of life.

The time in between was like living in quicksand.

And the time we were together flew at record speeds.

He came to the United States.

I flew to England.

His ship docked in Florida and I flew there to meet him and on and on and on…

And every time it was like meeting a stranger that I have known for years.

That first kiss…the taste was foreign yet very familiar.

We spent those first few days reacquainting our lips, our touch, our bodies and then rest of the time melding us back into one.

Back into us.

We would go on vacation with my mother and stepfather, spend time with M3 and her family, go to one of our favorite places, Great Adventure, to get our “fix” of rollercoasters (we both had a love for them!) and of course spent hours upon hours by ourselves; talking, laughing and loving more times a day than should be humanly possible.

All the time trying to ignore the fact that he would be leaving again.

And he would.

Leave again.

Plunging us into this strange dimension of being in love and being so utterly alone.

And in between, more love letters…

“When you pick me up at J.F.K. that is the time that I look forward to, after a long stay away from you, seeing you, touching you + smelling you. I don’t even know myself, when I meet you, how much more I can love you. But its always more that the minute before and I keeps growing.”

It was truly a fairy tale.

Until…

Until it all fell apart.

Maybe it had no choice but to fall apart.

Because fairy tales aren’t really real are they?

Don’t you forget about me…

2011-07-20T21:01:00.001-04:00

Hey, hey, hey ,hey

Won't you come see about me?

Memorial Day weekend 1991

I was finishing up my last year of college.

And even though I knew on the day I left for college that things were over between me and my high school sweetheart we still tried to make it work for sometime after that. It was messy.

But now, by now it was finally put to rest and I was “done with men”.

Yes, at the ripe old age of 22, due to my vast experience with the opposite sex, I was done with men.

Are they even men at this age?

Anyway, I had vowed off men but a group of my girlfriends were heading into Manhattan for Fleet Week.

I had declined to go.

But I did tell them to bring me back a sailor.

The next day there was talk of all the sailors, the fun, the Intrepid and how I should definitely go with them the following night.

Once again I declined.

My best (bestest, sweetest, dearest) friend in college M3 (there were 3 Ms in college; me, M2 and M3 and we called ourselves the M & M & M’s. I know silly) had met a sailor (I’m just going to call him the K-man) and she was trying her best to coerce me into going into Manhattan with her the next night.

“No”

“Just for fun.”

“No”

“It’s not like you are going to meet the man of your dreams there anyway!” “Come on please”

I love her so I said yes. And at this time in my life we did everything together.

So the next day I went.

I would love to write about how magically the city was with the lights and the streets full of service men but I went with a puss on my face and an attitude.

And this was Manhattan pre the glitz of Sex in the City and of course pre the devastation of 9-11.

This was the nitty gritty Manhattan. This was before the “Disneyfication” of Times Square.

Oh, yes, Manhattan was still magically but with a much darker edge back then.

But I was not looking at the magic of Manhattan’s city lights or the life that filled the streets.

I was looking for a way out.

And I made sure I took my own car so I wouldn’t get “stuck there”.

There is nothing worse than being stuck in Manhattan when all of your girlfriends are hooking up with sailors and you’re sitting there with a face on.

I made sure I could escape.

I figured I would go for an hour. An hour and a half tops and then I was out of there.

So, we got ready (and hey, I did try to look cute. I’m not a complete idiot.) and headed off into Manhattan. Me, M3 and two other college girlfriends.

M3 was meeting the K-man in front of the Intrepid at some certain time they set up.

We waited in front of the Intrepid. Me with my puss on my face and M3 anxiously looking all around trying to pick her sailor out of a sea of sailors.

Then M3 saw them. The K-man and he brought along a friend.

“There he is”

Two sailors walked towards us.

In the first second I thought: “Fucking great!! M3 set me up!”

But in the second moment, in the moment I laid eyes on one of the sailors all I could think was “Please God don’t let him be the K-man”.

“Please don’t let him be the one that is with M3”

“Pleeeaaaaseeee don’t let him be the K-man!!!”

And he wasn’t and the attraction was instant.

He was the most beautiful man I had ever laid eyes on.

It truly was love at first sight.

That urban myth I had heard about but didn’t think existed.

I am here to tell you that “Yes. Yes it can happen” but sadly I am starting think only once in a lifetime.

We gravitated towards each other.

We lost ourselves in each other as we strolled the city streets.

We laughed. We talked. We kissed.

I took him home. Yes, I know. Say what you will but at that time I didn’t care (and actually I still don’t)!

It was magical.

More magical than Manhattan could ever dream of being.

We spent the night together.

And the next night together.

And the night after that.

We were totally caught up in each other.

And the city, the magnificent city of Manhattan somehow still stayed in the background.

This time it was me that came alive.

Full of life and light.

Oh and I should mention that he was a sailor in the Royal Navy so he had that quirky British accent where everything he said just sounded so sweet.

We told each other that we would never forget one another.

We said it would only be for these few days.

On Monday he had to be back to his ship by 7:00 am and at 5:00 am in my quiet, dark bedroom he was whispering about going AWOL.

Or stowing me away on the ship.

We knew this couldn’t be and so I dropped him off in front of the Intrepid.

We said our goodbyes and said we would never forget.

And I honestly thought I would never see him again.

Until…

Until three weeks later when I received a postcard and a phone call.

How did I end up here? PART II

2011-07-15T06:50:00.001-04:00

It has been 1 year since I have started blogging and almost 2 years since I started my journey to motherhood.

I would have never believed that I would still be childless after 2 years.

2 years ago I was beyond excited, beyond determined, beyond confident and full of hope.

4 IUIs, 1 miscarriage and 3 IVF cycles later…

I’m beaten down, tired, scared, fearful and somehow through it all still full of hope.

It was 1 year ago today that I decided to start blogging about my journey and ironically (this is something I never noticed before) I published my very 1st post ever on my mom’s birthday.

So Happy Birthday Mom and Happy Anniversary “A Single Journey”!

Now let’s reexamine my initial question that started it all:

How did I end up here?

In pondering how I ended up here, I related my journey back to my relationship beginnings.

Back to my high school sweetheart and wondered whether or not leaving him brought me to my present state.

I do sometimes look back and wonder. Wonder what my life would be like now if I had married my high school sweetheart.

I would have children that I am sure of but my guess is I would be divorced.

And I wonder…

Would I be resentful of my children for taking away my youth?

Would I be tired and frustrated?

Would I find my kids a choir instead of a blessing?

I would hope not but somehow when I picture that life, I have a sneaky suspicion I would have.

But, I wanted to leave. I wanted to break free. I wanted to go out and see the world first before settling down. I wanted to want to have children.

And even though my high school sweetheart is married and has 2 children of his own, I can easily conclude that leaving him is not what has brought me to my present state.

You see, I have had many relationships after my high school sweetheart. Some full of love and potential. So in really trying to determine how I ended up here maybe I need to dig a little deeper…

My single status is obviously what brought me to having to choose to pursue single motherhood.

And it is a direct result in me waiting so long to start this journey.

But what was I waiting for?

Was I waiting for “him”?

The one that got away

Could that be why I am still single? I’m still holding out hope after over 15 years that we will somehow be together again?

I made a conscious effort to NOT call “him” the love of my life after things fell apart because my life isn’t over yet. And I pray every day that I will meet “the one” I am meant to be with.

And I don’t know if you could really say that I am sitting around hoping that “he” returns.

I think it’s more like a fantasy.

I fantasize that it could happen.

But then again I also have a fantasy that I will meet George Clooney and he will give up all the bombshell bimbos and fall madly in love with me and that I will be the woman he finally marries.

So, because I have all these fantasies does that mean I won’t meet "the one"?

Or have I already met him?

Whether or not this had a direct impact on where I am today I do not know.

Maybe I need to explore the possibility.

Maybe I need to face or better yet, release the one that got away…

This is a love that still causes my heart to ache even today.

And I will never forget that Memorial Day weekend during Fleet Week in 1991.

Yes, folks I met me a sailor during Fleet Week with all the making of a true Hollywood love story that quite fitting turned into heartbreak. Because really isn’t that how all Hollywood love stories end?

Anyway Fleet Week 1991, that is where it all began…

Cue up the 90s music and get ready because I am going to take you on a walk down memory lane as I try to answer my very 1st question: How did I end up here?

In life we all have an unspeakable secret, an irreversible regret, an unreachable dream and an unforgettable love. ~Diego Marchi

A Lesson in…

2011-07-09T10:51:00.000-04:00

Patience?

Second Verse Same as the First:

Yes, folks believe it or not it is still Groundhog Day for me!

I was given a large (and I mean LARGE) shot of PIO in hopes of inducing Leroy and getting rid of my cyst.

And it worked (sort of). Exactly 1 week later I got Leroy and I bet you can all figure out what happened next:

True to form and reliving the same day over and over...

I got my period. I started Lupron. I went for my baseline. And BOOM there’s cyst.

Well, it’s not a new cyst. It’s still the same cyst reeking havoc on my cycle.

And like a little kid I stomped and screamed:

“Why?? Why?? This isn’t fair!”

“I DON’T WANT TO WAIT ANYMORE!!”

Like the spoiled brat in Willy Wonka all I could think of was:

“And if I don't get the things I am after
I'm going to scream!...
And now
Don't care how
I want it now
Don't care how
I want it now”

And now, well now, I HAVE to learn patience once again.

Strength?

Just when I thought I was at my weakest. I was about to sit down and write a blog about how tough this is. How hard it is to wait! How difficult this journey has become! I saw this in my writings:

Somewhere out there's a dream that's not forgotten
But this world is never stopping for me
But I will try and I will keep on trying
I set my goals there's no denying
Never stop fighting
For What I believe
~ Amy MacDonald

And I knew that I had copied and pasted those lyrics at the beginning of my journey as a reminder to keep fighting.

To never lose my strength.

And now I HAVE to find my strength again.

Resilience?

And above all when you are fighting for your dream you must be resilient.

You will be knocked down.

You will get up.

Resilience.

You will have set backs.

You will move forward.

Resilience.

You will fail.

And you will succeed.

Resilience.

And now, I MUST be resilient.

I am working on being patient, finding my strength and being resilient. These are lesson that I hope are finally learned.

My Brother In-Law Vince…

2011-06-29T22:38:00.004-04:00

I like to think of myself as a spiritual person but if I was to say that I was a religious person, I would be lying.

Yes, when I was younger I used to go to church with my Grandma Hope and yes, over the last two years I have started going back to church.

I am trying to be a religious person but I am not quite there yet.

You see every Sunday when I go to church I wonder if I am fit to sit in that pew.

I tend to have, I guess what I would deem, inappropriate thoughts in church.

Recently over Easter it seemed like every week we would do the Last Supper ceremony with the breaking of the bread and drinking of the wine (well, grape juice) and all I could think of was: “Again!! We are doing this again! Didn’t we do this last Sunday! Ughh…it adds like 20 minutes onto church” (and you can draw out that last statement with a childlike whine!)

And I might add that there have been other “ceremonies” added to the middle of the church service that received the same childlike whining response from me!! Of course only in my head.

That is somewhat inappropriate.

And then there was the time Pastor Don said “Shit” in the middle of the service.

He didn’t really mean to swear at all. He was trying to say two things at once and the word “Shit” came out of his mouth.

Now of course, I start chuckling and looked around to see no one else laughing. I mean, come on, the pastor just said “Shit” but it gets even better…after about 5 minutes Pastor Don says: “I feel I need to pray. Will you pray with me?”

And we all lower our heads and of course all I am thinking is “Pastor Don said Shit! Pastor Don said Shit!” (Inappropriate) and then he starts the prayer and he says; I will paraphrase a little bit but it went something like this:

“Dear Lord please allow the words you mean for me to say be the words that come out of my mouth”

Okay now I am really laughing…the pastor just prayed to God that he doesn’t swear again…and once again I look around and no one else is laughing. Okay I might have caught one or two people laughing. Either way I had to hide my face behind my bible.

Inappropriate. Funny but inappropriate.

During the service there is a moment when the pastor asks the congregation to share any good news. And people raise their hands and then tell of their good news. Well one Sunday a couple raised their hand to tell the good news that they are having a girl! And all I could think was “REALLY!! F&%king really. Does this shit really have to follow me everywhere!!”

That is selfish and inappropriate!

Now, I will not go into the image that came to my mind when the pastor had someone kneel in front of him as he put his hands on their head. Let’s just say from my angle COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE!!

And then there is My Brother In-Law Vince…

During the service there is also a moment where we say a prayer for those people listed in the bulletin and then the pastor asks if there is anyone else we would like to pray for. People raise their hands, the pastor would point to them and they would say who they would like us to pray for and we would all then say “Amen”.

Well, every Sunday there is a woman who sits up front and every Sunday she raises her hand and every Sunday she says a list of people. And every Sunday the last person on the list is always “And my Brother In-Law Vince”.

And all I can think is “Holy Crap! Every Sunday…And my Brother In-Law Vince”

“What the hell is wrong Vince? And why after 2 years is there still something wrong with Vince!!”

“Come on Vince!!”

And I even say it in my head before she says it…”And my Brother In-Law Vince”

That is definitely inappropriate!

And I guess I don’t or should I say didn’t really get it until now…

After I found out my cycle was cancelled…

After the tears, the feeling of complete defeat and the certainty that this all must be signs from God that I should give up.

That night I even yelled at God: “Do you want me to give up because I won’t!”

After all that as I was getting ready for bed or should I say getting ready to cry myself to sleep, I received a text message from a friend of mine:

“Hi Michaela. I was thinking about u and I was praying for u today so u can become a Mom and have your baby. Don’t worry. It will happen”

Just like that I received a different kind of sign. I received a prayer.

And I know that there have been many friends and family telling me that they are praying for me. And it is not that I don’t believe them or think their prayers are any less significant.

It’s just that this text came at 9:05pm when no one knew my cycle had been cancelled yet. When I was asking God if he was sending me negative signs and begging for a positive one.

“I was praying for u so u can become a Mom and have your baby”

Praying for me, so I can have my baby…

“Don’t worry. It will happen”

And there was my sign…

And then there were more tears…tears of hope.

And then suddenly I got it. In my heart I got it.

And that night before I went to bed, I said a prayer for her Brother In-Law Vince.

Groundhog Day

2011-06-24T22:50:00.001-04:00

For those of you who remember the movie you know it’s a Romantic Comedy about a man who keeps reliving the same day over and over and over again until he finally gets it right…

I feel like I am stuck in my own Groundhog Day hell but instead of it ending with me finding the man of my dreams it ends with me forever stuck in a cycle where I don’t get pregnant.

This time last year, almost to the date I started my 1st IVF cycle after waiting months due to my miscarriage. I finally could cycle, got my period, started BCPs, started Lupron went in for my baseline and BOOM…I had a cyst.

Dr. Wow decided I should have the cyst aspirated and proceed with my cycle. I felt we should postpone the cycle and wait for the cyst to go away on its own. I aspirated the cyst and my cycle failed.

Flash forward and I wake up and I do it again. I haven’t cycled in a long time. I finally get my period. I start BCPs. I start Lupron. I get my baseline. And BOOM there’s cyst.

It’s like déjà vu all over again. I get this eerie feeling that every morning when I wake up…

I will get my period. I start BCPs. I start Lupron. I get my baseline. And BOOM there’s cyst.

And again when I wake up…

I will get my period. I start BCPs. I start Lupron. I get my baseline. And BOOM there’s cyst.

But this time will I proceed? Will the cycle fail?

It feels like the same thing over and over and the only thing that changes is my age!!

And doing the same thing over and over again isn’t that the definition of insanity.

Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. ~ Albert Einstein

Maybe I am insane. Maybe I am stuck repeating the same things over and over again. Maybe lightning will struck twice. What are the odds of that?? I can’t win the lotto where the odds are about the same as getting struck by lightning twice!

So I go for a follow up and yes, the cyst is still there but this time…this time…my cycle is cancelled.

I am devastated.

I almost feel like God is trying to tell me to give up.

But I won’t!

Because I won’t back down…you can stand me up at the gates of hell…and I won’t back down.

But now…now…

I have to wait for my period. Then I will start BCPs. I will start Lupron and I will get my baseline.

And I will pray that I can get out of this Groundhog Day hell and finally get it right!

What’s behind door Number One and Great Expectations!

2011-06-17T21:33:00.000-04:00

This is the part of the journey where it gets a little tricky. Where things get a little complicated. Where everything I want to share with the world are the same things I wish to keep private.

I think it’s important to open up, reach out and share what I am feeling and how I am finding the strength to move forward.

I used to sit and wonder (okay maybe cry, scream and beg) why is this happening to me? What is the reason for all this pain? Why me? Why would God do this to me? What possible reason could ever be acceptable?

And through writing…exploring through words my anger, sadness, fears and hopes. I started to find a way to release the pain.

And then I started to share my journey. And something more amazing happened; I started to connect to others.

And I think I found the reason.

Connection…I think that is the reason.

To connect with others and hopefully, possible help someone who is facing the same things I am.

Could that be the reason I’ve had to go through what I am going through? I have been known to say that the reason usually sucks or that there really isn’t a good reason. But throughout this journey I have started thinking of the purpose. What is the purpose? What am I supposed to do?

So maybe my purpose, the reason I have been going through all of this is to reach out and connect with others on a different level.

A level of understanding.

But it gets tricky.

I am going to be a mom someday and someday my child will be able to read. I want what I share with the world to be exactly what I am ready to share with my child and not a moment before.

So for now all I am going to say is that:

Yes. Yes, I am in a cycle.

Last we knew I was on a list for donor embryos, on a list for donor eggs and preparing to do an IUI cycle with Dr. Period. Dr. Period by the way turned into Dr. Quack, well more like Dr. Bumbles. Just like the Wizard of Oz, he was nothing more than an average man behind a curtain.

Which bring me to my decision…I decided that I would take whatever came first…whatever was behind door Number One I would do without question…

Whether it turns out to be donor embryos, donor eggs or my long awaited cycle with Dr. Bumbles …that is what I will do!

And that is what I did. I took what was behind door Number One and I now am scared and nervous and so afraid of striking out again.

I am afraid to talk about…I fear jinxing it.

And most of all I am afraid to let my expectations get too high.

I am afraid of great expectations…

The greater the expectation…the greater fall.

Because really when a contestant does pick door Number One you know they are expecting to win something amazing…wouldn’t it just suck if it was only a toaster!

Lucy!! You have some ‘splaining to do!!

2011-06-05T15:32:00.005-04:00

I will try to ‘splain myself without any confusion…but I am pretty sure that could be an impossible feat, since everyone interprets things differently but I want preface this post with the statement: I LOVE GETTING COMMENTS!!

I believe that all comments are a part of the conversation. And I wouldn‘t want anyone to feel that they couldn’t freely join in the conversation and comment on my blog.

Okay, I feel the need to say this again: I LOVE GETTING COMMENTS!!!

But there were a couple of comments on my last post that made me feel like I need to explain a couple of things.

I read those comments and thought to myself…that’s what they got out of my post? That is what they felt I meant? Is this how they are interpreting my blog?

And if that is how some people are “reading” what I wrote, I need to look back at what I wrote to make sure I am expressing myself they way I want to express myself.

Well I won’t back down. No I won’t back down. You can stand me up at the gates of hell but I won’t back down: (Thanks Tom Petty for those amazing words)…

Give up?

Change my mind?

My heart doesn’t know?

NEVER!

My heart is steadfast and strong in its determination and desire to be a mother. And it knows exactly what kind of mother I want to be.

I truly did not for one second want my expression of the fears and thoughts that creep into my mind as being interpreted as me wanting to give up or change my mind.

NEVER!!

I will be a mom.

Give me an “I” Give me an “N” Give me an “F”

Infertility – The diminished ability or the inability to conceive and have offspring.

I have been diagnosed with a Diminished Ovarian Reserve (DOR).

And trust me; I would love to take your diagnosis of “having a harder time than in my 20s”.

There have been many, many times that I have said to myself; “This can’t be true. I can’t be Infertile!”

But put my extremely high FSH, my low or out of whack E2 levels and my practically zero AFC count along with 2 years of trying to get pregnant with some very aggressive treatment…AND…what do you got…INFERTILITY!!

DOR can affect women of ALL ages.

In hindsight, due to the fact that I was with Sio for 5 years during my early and mid thirties and did not get pregnant, couple that with my absolute dismal test results at 41 and I would guess that I my numbers dropped in my 30s.

If I knew enough to have my Ovarian Reserve tested then…well…who knows…either way I am trying my best to find a way to be okay…

The good fight…

But I did fight the good fight!

Acupuncture, wheatgrass, royal jelly, Chinese herbs, supplements, IUIs, IVF…and I will keep fighting (cause I won’t back down) but unfortunately with me I am fighting more than age.

Shout it! Shout it! Shout it out loud!!

This to me is one of my most important messages that I WANT to get out into the world. If I reach one woman with my blog who decides to act sooner rather than later on her quest towards motherhood than maybe, just maybe I might be able to finally see “the reason”.

"For women over 40, the reproductive die has largely been cast. Genetics plays a heavy-handed role in the ability of a woman over 40 to become pregnant. If her eggs, which have been in her body since before her birth, remain viable in sufficient numbers, she should be able to become pregnant. If she does not have enough "ovarian reserve," she will not become pregnant without egg donation.

In a clinical report issued in January 2002, the American Society for Reproductive Medicine (ASRM) advised doctors to screen women over 35 for ovarian reserve. Typically, this is done by measuring serum basal levels of follicle-stimulating hormone (FSH) and estradiol, two of the so-called pregnancy hormones. Subtle changes in levels of these hormones are associated with a reduced ability to conceive—and, not surprisingly, also are associated with perimenopause, when a woman's hormone levels shift away from reproduction.

In the past few years, it has become increasingly clear that reproductive biology harshly separates older women into two groups: women who can get pregnant without a lot of medical intervention, but whose ability to sustain a pregnancy is more compromised than their fertility; and women whose fertility has dipped below a critical line and who require interventions, such as assisted reproductive technology (ART). For the first group, there is good news: Huge strides have been made in troubleshooting miscarriages, maintaining pregnancies, handling labor complications, and caring for preterm infants—all important issues in late-timing pregnancy.

For the second group, the news is much more grim. According to figures from the Mayo Clinic, a woman's fertility is highest around age 20. Typically, fertility drops 20 percent after age 30, 50 percent after age 35, and 95 percent after age 40. After age 40, reproductive function diminishes drastically: Half of a woman's eggs are chromosomally abnormal at age 40; by 42, that figure is 90 percent. And should an older woman get pregnant, her chance of miscarriage increases to more than 50 percent by her late 40s. Even the most advanced fertility treatments can't reverse such reproductive decline. As recently as a decade ago, fertility specialists were much more optimistic about first pregnancies at midlife, given improved overall fitness and advances in reproductive medicine. Now these specialists—and a generation of women—have found instead that certain aspects of fertility are much more intractable than they thought."

Source: http://www.edoctoronline.com/family-children-health.asp?Get-Pregnant-After-35-and-40=0&c=2&articleid=874

DO NOT THINK…

“ like a LOT of women, who, because of circumstances beyond your control (e.g. not meeting the right man), is trying to have a baby after 40, which concededly, gets harder than if you were 20 (although it can absolutely still happen)”

Until you know your numbers…YOU DO NOT KNOW YOUR FERTILITY…

And unfortunately the majority of women over 40 will find out about their Infertility.

Until you know your Ovarian Reserve…don’t wait. Be prepared.

I wish someone told me this in my 30s.

Instead of blowing smoke up my ass saying things like: “Oh, you’ve got time!” and “Women have babies in their 40s all the time now”

Yeah…not unassisted they don’t!

And yes, there are a few that beat the odds (you know...your friend's cousin had her 1st baby at...) and get pregnant.

Anything is possible!!

But is it probable!! The numbers above are dismal for women over 40 (by 42 90% of the eggs you have left are abnormal!! DISMAL!!) and unfortunately Math does not lie. Yes, once again anything is possible but what is the probability?

I would rather shout from the roof tops to educate and inform women then blow smoke up their ass!

So ladies DON’T WAIT!!

You could fall into the minority and hit the jackpot. Yes, you can get pregnant after 40 if your Ovarian Reserve is good.

But the majority…

The majority will not.

Get your Ovarian Reserve tested and make informed decisions.

And I will now jump off my soapbox and pray that someone has heard me!

Things that go bump in the night...

2011-06-01T20:10:00.000-04:00

I think the worst part of infertility is questioning whether or not I would be a good mother. Or, even worse, questioning whether or not I want to be a mother at all…

I never questioned it before.

Before infertility...

I knew I wanted to be a mom.

And I knew I wanted to be a good mom.

So, I patiently waited until I felt the time was right.

I don’t want to be one of those mothers whose children got in the way of their partying.

I want to be the kind of mother who lived, learned, moved forward and taught those lessons to my children.

I don’t want to be one of those mothers whose children exasperated, exhausted or irritated them.

And although there will be many times my children will do all 3 simultaneously, I want to be the kind of mother whose children exhilarate her.

I don’t want to be one of those mothers whose children make them old.

I want to be the kind of mother whose children make me young and full of life.

I don’t want to be one of those mothers whose children got in the way of their plans.

I want to be the kind of mother whose plans are raising her children.

I don’t want to be one of those mothers whose children are a burden.

I want to be the kind of mother who gladly carries the weight of this tremendous responsibility and gift with as much dignity as I can muster on 3 hours sleep.

I don’t want to be one of those mothers whose children “ruined” their lives.

I want to be the kind of mother whose life was enriched by her children.

So I patiently waited, knowing in my heart that I would embrace motherhood.

But I waited too long.

And now…

After infertility…

After infertility there are these thoughts. Thoughts that creep in, in the middle of the night.

The ones that question my ability to be a mother and even more terrifying are the ones that question my desire.

When the idea of not being a mother brings me to my knees…

When the passing thought of living a life childless takes the breath right out of me and wounds my soul without it even being a fact…

When those truths consume me and push me forward I still in the darkest reaches of my mind wonder if...that, maybe, just maybe due to the sheer fact that this has not happened for me at an earlier point in my life or due to the fact that this last year and a half has not produced a viable pregnancy, that maybe, deep down I don’t want to be a mom. Maybe that is the reason.

And that is something I would NEVER even contemplate before…before infertility.

Could it be? Even though these thoughts cripple me?

I know that they are just things that go bump in the night. Things that terrify you.

And even though at times, in the quiet of the night before sleep grasps me and darkness starts to cloud my mind, I have these thoughts, I know that in the light where dreams live, I do not believe the lies of Infertility. I believe in the dream. I believe that I am meant to be a mother. My desire to be a mom is in my soul. It is a part of me. It is a part of my thoughts, my prayers, my breath, my heart and my being. It is in the light, in the dream that I know it will be…

I have to keep reminding myself that these thoughts are just a byproduct of infertility.

That no matter how many times they go bump in the night, these fears will fade and I will once again be strong when morning comes.

And through all the questioning and self doubt, I realize…

I am already a mother, still waiting for and missing her children…

We’re off to see the wizard...

2011-05-29T21:59:00.001-04:00

The last time we were discussing my journey, I had decided to change paths…again!

I decided to follow the “yellow brick road” and follow my dreams of motherhood from conception to birth and onward…

I pray that someday I will be able to adopt too. I hold that dear to my heart but for now I’ve decided to head off to see the wizard and find a treatment for me…

Dr. Wow and Dr. Period

MY Dr. Wow… the RE who I felt would be the one to get me pregnant…the RE who renewed my hope after Dr. Doom and my miscarriage…well Dr. Wow turned into Dr. Douche. And it wasn’t because he told me I wasn’t pregnant. He told me that before. It was something he said just before we hung up. He quickly blamed the failed cycles on my age and my eggs (I expected that). He made some comment about this being my last try (since I paid for 3 cycles) and then said that I could do donor eggs. And none of that really bothered me. I was a little bothered that it felt like he was kicking me to the curb…like “Oh you bought three cycles and…Strike one…Strike two…Strike three…YOU’RE OUT!!” And I knew the donor egg speech was coming. It was what he said after he recommended donor eggs that really pissed me off…and I’m going to paraphrase here but he said something like “But donor eggs are expensive and since you’re single you might not want to spend the money. Let me know and I’ll be glad to discuss it with you” and click he hung up. And I immediately thought “Really douche bag! You’re going to tell me how to spend my money…Mr. Drives an Audi TT!” “My ass helped pay for your damn Audi and if I want to make another RE rich I will!! But I know one thing for sure…I will NOT be lining your coiffeurs anymore!!” And POOF just like that my prince turned into a toad…or more like a tool!!

So now I had to find a clinic that didn’t charge more than my future child’s college tuition to get me pregnant.

And that’s when I came across Dr. Period.

You see one of my other options is donor embryos. There aren’t many clinics that offer this but I found one that did. BUT (and there is always a “but”. I really think BUT and BUTT should be spelled the same!! b/c in actuality they mean the same...you're ass out of something!) BUT you have to be a patient of this clinic in order to be put on their donor embryo list.

So I made an appointment. And after sitting in the waiting room for almost 2 hours and threatening to walk out I finally sat down with Dr. Period.

You see, I was mad…okay I was f&%king pissed and in total bitch mode by now and I walked in a told him that he has wasted enough of my time and I will not waste anymore of his BUT (and once again it should be BUTT) he sucked me in. He started talking quickly about all the things that he thought went wrong with my cycles…things I thought too but had no basis for my opinion until now.

And at the end of every sentence he would say “Period” like he was dictating (which it turns out he was) BUT (with two “T’s”) I didn’t realize it at first and it was really weird.

“I think your last clinic over medicated you Period”

“If I was going to treat you I would do minimal or no meds Period”

“I think I can get you pregnant with an IUI Period”

And Dr. Period said the magic words…”get you pregnant”.

He was talking with an IUI. He was talking my own eggs.

And it was almost like that magic phrase: “There’s no place like home.”

I kept repeating it over and over.

And I felt like Dorothy…all full of hope…knowing that the wizard was going to bring me home…

BUTT could he….

Loose Lips...

2011-05-14T11:02:00.003-04:00

This Mother’s Day, like so many Mother’s Days of yore, was full of good food, fine wine, lots of laughs, too much talk, embarrassment and hidden tears.

My oldest sister, Sissy M, held Mother’s Day brunch this year.

Brunch was starting at 11:30 and I arrived a little before noon.

As always everything was set up beautifully. Sissy M really has a gift for this stuff. Her home should be showcased in Better Homes and Garden.

Out of the 3 girls; me, Sissy M and Sissy L - Sissy M got all of the domestic genes, Sissy L got some and I got none.

Sissy L is very mechanical. She helped me put together my entertainment center when all I could manage to do was pull all the parts out of the box and have them remain scattered on my living room floor until Sissy L came to the rescue.

But Sissy M…Sissy M is truly domestically talented. She is gifted. She could make a decorative something or other out of a toilet paper roll and it would be beautiful!

Me on the other hand, I got neither gene! I’m not mechanical and I am not domestic. My sisters used to make fun me. I would tell them that I am an intricate part of society; without people like me willing to pay to have things done instead of doing it myself, people would be out of a job. I’d rather pay someone to paint then paint myself…I am what keeps society afloat.

Both Sissy M and Sissy L would laugh and tell me that things will change once I have kids. That I will be doing everything myself in order to save money not spend money. I often wonder if my lack of domestic tendencies it what has, in some way, brought me to where I am today! It is either that or the fact that both of my sisters had their children so young that I vowed never to be 19 and pregnant. Its funny how things can backfire on you isn’t it?

Either way I was spending another childless Mother’s Day and thinking to myself: “If I didn’t miscarry, today would be my 1st Mother’s Day”

As I was checking out the spread and sampling some of the goodies on the beautifully decorated buffet table, I noticed champagne glasses and I say “Hey! I already missed the champagne toast?” and that was when my mom sauntered over with this little smirk on her face and said:

“YUP!! I’ve already had one glass of champagne and 2 (and you can stretch out the word two) glasses of wine.” And then she put on a giant smile like the Cheshire Cat!!

Oh my god, my mom’s drunk! Well at least buzzed and on her way to drunk.

Now one thing I do have to mention, in my whole life I might have seen my mother drunk 3 times and that’s counting this Mother’s Day!

So it was quite amusing that she was “getting her drink on”!

Yes, quite amusing until she decided to start asking about my next cycle (which I might add she likes to call a Series; It’s a cycle Mom!) while we were all eating brunch.

Quite amusing until she started saying words like: “Insemination” and “Uterus” louder than any other words.

Quite amusing until my brother in-law had to say: “Icksnay on the uterusay!!” and whispered to me through his laughter: “I am mortified for you!”

My response: “Thanks!” Just “Thanks!” - To be quite honest, none of this probably wouldn’t have bothered me at all if it wasn’t for the added guests. I come from a family full of women. We discuss impropriate things while eating all the time.

And it became even more amusing when after I told her that I didn’t really want to tell anyone about my plans because I was so tired of all the questions, and that even well meaning question are just too hurtful sometimes, she went on to ask me a ton of questions (some well meaning but hurtful).

And then after the embarrassment and 20 questions, she declared she needed to lie down!!

And as embarrassing as all it was. And as hurtful as some of those well meaning questions can be I do know that it is all because she loves me and wants what’s best for me. My mom is truly awesome even when she’s sleeping on the couch during Mother’s Day brunch.

And the day, well, it was all very funny and I am laughing about it. One of the funniest Mother’s Day moments to date!

But I did end up crying all the way home.

Perception…

2011-05-02T23:11:00.000-04:00

Is perception reality? And if we change our perception do we then change that reality?

At the very least I know that if we change our perception of a situation then we do indeed change our reality. We might not change other people’s reality but we will change ours and that is what I had to do. I had to change my perception on donor eggs.

I looked at donor eggs as a selfish endeavor. I thought that if I was going to use donor eggs and donor sperm that it would be a selfish act solely so that I could experience pregnancy, so that I could carry a child, so I could experience childbirth and so I could love and raise a child from birth.

I perceived them as selfish motives…in my mind…all selfish desires.

If I was going to use donor eggs and donor sperm than I should adopt. It was somehow my obligation.

But why would my desires to be pregnant, carry a child, give birth to a child and raise them from birth be anymore selfish than someone who wasn’t struggle with infertility? Any more selfish than any woman who has a bared child?

For myself, I perceived it as selfish. For anyone else I didn’t.

Pictures of me…
Remind us all of what could have been:

“I thought I had to have life growing inside of me to be a mother. Little did I know that the life growing in Africa could turn out to grow inside of me larger than I could imagine.”

That was a statement I wrote as I started to prepare for my homestudy. And that is the person I wanted to be. I wanted to be bigger than myself and my own selfish needs. I wanted to reach out and make a difference in this world. I wanted to be the type of woman novels are written about and think about it; couldn’t you just hear Oprah reading the lines above in awe…

And I still do want to be that woman. I know my heart is big enough and I was ashamed that I couldn’t let go of the desire to be pregnant.

But my desire to be pregnant is so strong. I want to carry a child. It’s something that I can’t let go of not even for Africa.

Then one day I was discussing this with one of my dear friends from college, who has 2 children of her own, she said to me, plain and simple:

“Why would you ever deny yourself that?”

And with that simple statement my perception started to shift.

I still want to adopt someday.

But adoption should only be done for the love of that child not because one perceives that they should…

Adoption to me is noble. It is stepping outside of you, reaching out to embrace a child.

It is noble.

But so is the woman who donates her eggs. She is noble. She is giving the most amazing gift.

I know there are many who might say “But there is financial compensation” and yes, that is true but what I am finding is that is secondary to most donors.

Two friends of mine have also offered to be my donor and that moves me beyond belief. That they would be willing to do such a wonderful, selfless act inspires me.

Everything happens for a reason even if the reason does suck but what I think I need to be focusing on now is the purpose behind the reason and maybe that purpose is of a higher nature.

Maybe the purpose is to allow someone to be noble for me.

I will adopt someday and become that person I perceive myself to be but for now I think my purpose is to accept this truly miraculous gift.

There’s still time to change the road you’re on…

2011-04-20T22:03:00.000-04:00

The verdict was in. The call came through and Dr. Wow said those horrible words... “You are not pregnant” and I knew it. I knew I wasn’t. In my heart I knew. Before I even picked up the phone…I knew.

I was not pregnant and my last IVF cycle failed. Yes, indeed Whiffer did return. I might have struck out but I had a plan. I was going to announce my Alternate Path and not look back.

The plan was clear. My Alternate Path was set. I was going to adopt from the DR Congo. And for those who were wondering, I called it my Alternate Path because I didn’t like Plan B or C or D. To me that felt like 2nd best and my Alternate Path was not 2nd best it was just a 2nd choice.

But something wasn’t right. I was crying all the time. I mean all the time. There was a pain residing in my heart that I knew all too well. But I couldn’t figure out why. I had a plan!

It was the anniversary of my miscarriage. I knew I had to grieve in order to move forward.

I spoke with a therapist.

I chronicled my miscarriage from the time I found out I was pregnant to the day I miscarried. I was trying everything to release and move forward.

I needed to be strong and all I was feeling is weak.

I wrote a letter to my child.

I cancelled my homestudy.

You see, I could picture myself going to the DR Congo.

I could see the amazement and the heartbreak of that country.

I could almost see my child’s face brightly shining through the devastation as I brought her home.

I could see all this and I pictured this so perfectly…

But I could also see myself pregnant. And I could also picture that so perfectly.

And I couldn’t stop visualizing me with a beautiful big belly. Seeing that 1st ultrasound. Seeing that 2nd and 3rd ultrasound. Seeing and hearing my baby’s heartbeat.

I could almost feel the life growing inside of me and I could picture the moment of birth.

The moment when my eyes meet my child's eyes. The child that I had carried.

I could see it all and I couldn’t let it go.

And that is what I was mourning. And as hard as I tried. As much as I struggled to move past it…I couldn’t let go my dream of carrying a child.

And I knew something had to change….

Follow the yellow brick road

2011-04-16T13:00:00.001-04:00

After my 2nd IVF cycle failed, the cycle where all the signs pointed to success, the cycle I knew I was going to pregnant on, the cycle that I am still in shock didn’t work…after that cycle…I made a decision to have a solid Alternate Path in place so that I could be prepared if IVF cycle 3 went up in flames too.

I had decided my Alternate Path would be adoption. Adoption is something I hold dear to my heart and something I have always prayed that I would someday be blessed to do. I always imagined myself having both biological and adopted children in one big beautifully meshed family. I smile as I type this because it is still a dream of mine.

So, I started researching adoption. I surfed the web, bought books, started reading adoption blogs, called agencies and on and on…I know adoption is a long, hard road so I wanted to be able to hit the ground running.

What I didn’t know (or realize) is all the restrictions on adopting. Not every country allows single women to adopt. Many have age restrictions and so on…but I knew I would find the perfect country for me to adopt from and I did…or should I say that country found me…

I know this is going to sound weird or corny but this is what happened.

One random Saturday I had just come inside after a run and I clicked on the TV. I am not a “big” TV watcher and in all honesty I can’t remember the last time I watched TV on a Saturday! Especially in the afternoon? So for whatever reason, I grabbed the clicker and clicked on.

I don’t know the name of the show that was on but it featured several Soap Opera stars on a mission to Africa. In the story they showed them on a safari and traveling to poverty stricken areas. I was mesmerized. The scenes were beautiful and haunting. I had to keep watching to see where they would go next. Where they went next is burned into my mind and resides in my heart. They went to a place called ABC which is The Abandoned Baby Center in Kenya.

You can read more about the amazing work The Abandoned Baby Center does here.

My research did not lead me to Kenya but led me to DR Congo in Africa and I fell in love. My research also led me to this blog and I found a huge source of information, honesty and advice.

Mind you, I was doing all of this on the heels of a devastating loss and trying to prepare myself for my next (and last) IVF cycle.

I was on a mission. A mission to push away the pain. A mission of protection. A mission to ensure I wouldn’t feel this way again. A mission to become a mom. A mission to be okay. A mission to find a purpose for all that I have been going through and I was certain that Africa was reason. Africa was my purpose.

I picked an agency for the adoption and a local agency for my homestudy. My Alternate Path was set! I reluctantly told my family of my path and as soon as I heard the words BFN, I was off. I wasn’t going to look back.

Until I heard those words…until it was a final and definite BFN…and then all of the sudden I couldn’t see the road in front of me…I couldn’t put one foot in front of the other…I couldn’t follow the yellow brick road…I was stuck…

Back to the Future

2011-04-10T21:26:00.000-04:00

Back to the Future...

It is time for me to allow the past to reside in its appropriate era. It's time to embrace the present and begin taking steps towards my future. It's time to get back to the future by getting back to my plans for the future. Getting back to my journey to motherhood.

So much has happened leading up to my last cycle and so much has changed in the aftermath of its failure. I have changed.

I know that change is what keeps your life moving forward but to be perfectly honest; I hate change. Change is what has to occur when things don’t work out the way you planned or when life throws you a curve ball. Yeah, I think change sucks. But change is inevitable.

Change happens without warning. One moment you are on a path. Your path. The path you chose and it leads you to a dead end. And then something has to change.

So you find a new path; an Alternative Path and then for some reason you find yourself stuck; unable to walk down that path and once again you have to change.

Change paths. Change direction. Or make a U-turn and get back on the same path you were on.

In order for me to get back to the future, I need to get back on track. I need to get back on my path.

We now return to our regularly scheduled program...

I also need to get everyone up to speed on what has been going on amidst all this change. So I will spend the next couple of posts navigating through all this change…

All this change which has made me stop going down one path and considering other paths. All this change which has me trying to find footing. All this changed which started with non-stop crying and a heartbreaking decision to postpone my Alternate Path, advanced forward with an opening of my mind and heart to the idea of a donor plan and concluded with an appointment with Dr. Period...

Stay tuned...

I wish that you were mine…

2011-03-22T21:41:00.000-04:00

The reason I’ve spent so much time going back over my miscarriage is because the pain I am feeling now, the pain of my last IVF cycle failing and the pain of knowing that I will not be carrying my own biological child has proven to be just as devastating as my miscarriage. The loss is unbearable but the love and desire to be a mom it still strong. I need to learn how to honor, to release and then open my heart up to the child waiting for me.

An open letter to my unborn child:

I have dreamed about you for so long. I’ve imagined your face, your smile, your eyes, your nose, your cheeks, your fingers and your toes.

I was never really sure what you would look like but I could picture you perfectly. I imagined looking into your eyes and seeing that familiar face. Mine, my mom’s, my sisters’, my cousins’, my aunt’s, my grandma’s face all living within your own. Generations of differences but somehow all the same.

I am so sorry that we will never meet. It is a loss that will reside in my heart forever. I am sorry I waited so long and in turned missed my chance to be with you. I am sorry that I didn’t welcome you into my life sooner.

I know that there will always be a part of me that will remain heartbroken over the fact that we could never meet. I know you tried to be with me and for whatever reason you could not stay. I miss you. There will always be a part of me that will forever mourn the fact that you had to leave.

I imagine your beautiful face and I can almost see it shining, your cries that I swear I can sometimes hear, your laughs that echo with mine and your smile which resides in my heart. I used to think someday…someday you will be mine…I never imagined that someday would never come. The emptiness of the absence of the hope in someday is a shadow upon my soul.

My beautiful, beloved baby it is time for me to let you rest. It is time for me to open my heart to the beautiful soul (your brother or sister) waiting patiently to be with me. I will forever hold you in my heart.

I wish you could have stayed. I wish that you were mine…

Love,
Mom

What is and what should never be…

2011-03-16T20:36:00.002-04:00

1 year ago on Saint Patrick’s Day I miscarried. I wasn’t blogging at the time but I was writing on the Fertile Thoughts board and I was writing for me. Below are some things I wrote at the time. They take place from the time I found out I was going to miscarry until a little after my miscarriage started. I left them as is. My miscarriage lasted 4 weeks and in those 4 weeks every hour of every day the knowledge that I was passing my baby chipped away a little something from my soul. These were my thoughts and feelings:

WAITING TO MISCARRY

I keep trying to convince myself that a miracle is going to happen. That somehow I am really only 6 weeks pregnant and not 7 weeks or that my baby is just small. MY BABY IS JUST SMALL!! I’ve googled everything. Misdiagnosed Miscarriage is like the bible to me right now. Praying that I have a tilted uterus, that I will have 1 more u/s and it will show my baby with a strong heartbeat! And I don’t want to do this…I don’t want to wait for my baby to pass. I just can’t. So how do I get through this…

I WANT THIS BABY

Everyone keeps telling me “Well the good news is at least you know you can get pregnant”…That’s good news…Here your pregnant…Oh but wait you’re not going to have a baby! I’m not finding comfort in that right now. And then my mom and sister are like “When can you try again? The next pregnancy will be the one” “You’re going to have a baby the next time” Well what if I don’t want a next time…I want to scream BUT I WANT THIS BABY! THIS IS THE BABY I WANT!! THIS BABY IS STILL INSIDE OF ME!!! AND I WANT THIS BABY SO BADLY!! And then all I can do is beg God…please…please…please….

GOING NOWHERE

I have only left my house 3 times since I have found out. Once to get my taxes done and 2 times to go to work. I talk to no one and the funny thing is…no one calls me…I know they are just giving me time (or they are sick of hearing me cry). I keep telling myself that I have to start doing things…going out, working out again, calling my sister, making plans, but I can’t…I just want to be home alone…sad by myself.

I went out today because I had to go to the bank and then I stopped at the grocery store. It took me over 20 minutes just to get out of the car. I couldn’t bring myself to open the car door. I just sat there watching the rain on my window and telling myself, screaming at myself, get out of the car, go inside, get groceries…but I couldn’t move…I didn’t want to move and I didn’t want anyone to see me. I don’t even recognize myself any more. I don’t know the person I am looking at in the mirror and I don’t know the sounds that I am making when I cry. I’ve never heard them before and believe me I have had many heart breaks in my life and have cried more than any 1 person should but this is different. It’s a sound I never knew I could make…

SOMETHING'S CHANGED

I will never be the same again and that makes me very mad. I had such a giving spirit, funny outlook on life, unbeatable determination and will power…gone…I’m gone…I can’t even be happy when one of the gals on FT posts that she finally got her BFP b/c mine is ending w/o a baby…I still don’t believe it…I don’t believe that I am going to miscarry…I can’t see it happening…what I can see happening is going in after 2 weeks b/c nothing’s happened and then seeing my baby with a heartbeat, growing inside of me…as it should be!!! But that’s me trying so desperately to hang on to what I know is lost…

SOMETHING RECOGNIZABLE

I don’t even recognizing my own voice…My sister called again. I didn’t answer again. I decided to finally call her back. She tries and I know she feels bad but I get a little angered or defensive talking to her. Maybe it’s because she is one of the only people who knew about me TTC in the first place. I don’t know but when I did finally call her back I didn’t even recognize my own voice. She asked how I was…someone answered terrible…she wanted to know if we were going to get together for our walk and someone went on and on about a busy week and maybe next week and I don’t know the person that was talking…she is so empty…the words were empty and hollow.

THE VANISHING SYMPTOMS

It seems that all of my pregnancy symptoms are disappearing. I’m still very tired but I am sure that is depression. My boobs are on and off sore and diminishing. They aren’t as full and my nipples aren’t a large. They are shrinking…With every lost symptom a little shred of hope gets lost too. I keep praying for nausea, increased sense of smell. The only thing left is a weird smell way in the back nose…almost dusty…strange. I have absolutely no signs of a miscarriage either. No cramping, no bleeding…NOTHING! Last night there was a huge storm. I got home from work to find my condo without power. All I could think of was that I did NOT want to sit in the dark with just myself and my thoughts. There was nowhere to go. No way to get away from me, so I slept. I went to sleep at 9pm and didn’t get up until 8am and then lay back down until 10:30am…now that’s sleep! In the middle of the night, I was still sleeping on the couch when I was woken up by the strangest fluttering down there where I should be cramping. I would like to believe that it’s my baby letting me know that she’s still there, fighting, growing and then there is the other part of my thinking (actually knowing) it was my baby letting go! I never felt anything like that before in my life.

THE DAY I PRAYED WOULD NEVER COME

Well, I start my miscarriage on Saint Patty's Day...horrible...I'm cramping and bleeding and devastated. I've decided to go to a new RE because I can't bring myself to walk into Dr. Doom's office with the Face Nurse and the pity stares! But I am afraid of losing my edge without Dr. Doom there to piss me off!

AFTERLIFE

I went out to lunch with my girlfriend today. We talked about things, trivial things, things that don’t really have any meaning to me anymore. I did mention briefly some of the pain I was going through and talked a little bit about the miscarriage (as I am still bleeding). I was concerned about the miscarriage being all I could talk about so I tried not to mention it too much. But in reality I don’t really get to talk about it to anyone. She commented on how good I looked. I cut my hair. She said it didn’t look like me. I said “I think that’s the point”. I’m not me anymore. When I was going to leave my friend told me “You’re in a good place considering what’s happened. Your strong” I've come to realize that I’m not. I’m not in a good place and I am not strong but I didn’t want to let her know that…

Must come down…

2011-03-12T00:52:00.000-05:00

As the 1 year anniversary of the day I miscarried approaches, I am trying to come to terms with loss and move forward on my journey to motherhood. By re-examining how I survived the past I am hoping to discover the strength to embrace my future. This is the past.

I’m pretty sure that if you had to describe hell it would be the time between your morning doctor’s appointment and the afternoon when the RE calls to give you your results. In that time the devil smiles.

The phone rang and Dr. Doom proclaimed that yet, once again, my beta more than doubled. The devil would have to wait another day to get his due!

Things were looking up. Many assured me that seeing a small pregnancy sac at such an early ultrasound wasn’t uncommon and that as long as my beta was doubling I was safe. I believed them. I trusted my heart. I knew at my next ultrasound I would see my beautiful baby. That whole week I celebrated. I bought little clothes and blankets and toys. I looked at cribs and googled ideas for the nursery. I envisioned my baby shower with Sissy L. I chronicled each shining moment in my pregnancy journal. I was looking forward to seeing that little flicker of a heartbeat on the screen…

I probably should have seen the writing on the wall but I didn’t. I knew I could get pregnant. I knew it in my soul but what I didn’t know was that I could miscarry. I truly didn’t possess that knowledge and when I was faced with the knowledge I had no idea how to process it.

A week later I went in for my ultrasound. I knew this ultrasound was going to be different. Dr. Doom would print out the picture of my beautiful baby and hand it to me. Or so I thought. When I arrived at the clinic, Dr. Doom wasn’t there. The Face Nurse told me he had been called away on a personal matter and that she would do the ultrasound. I was a little thrown off. She is not a doctor but I figured she knew what she was doing.

I stripped and skootched and got ready for the “probe”.

All I really remember from that point on was the Face Nurse saying “This doesn’t look good My Dear”.

Yes, she said “My Dear”. More than once.

“It doesn’t look good My Dear”. And then she said “There is no heartbeat My Dear.”

She removed the “probe” and I said up. Stunned and shocked. She put her hand on my shoulder and I wanted to smack it off.

I didn’t. I just sat there. She explained that I would have to wait for the doctor to call…the meaning of hell…the devil smiled…

She said that when he called he would tell me when they would schedule my D&C. As she walked out she said “Take as long as you need”.

I got dressed immediately and left. I didn’t cry on my way home. All I kept thinking was that I hope something bad happened to Dr. Doom and that’s why he was called away. I know I shouldn’t have wished that. I am not proud I did…

When I got home something snapped. I had messages and texts of excitement and promise from my sister inquiring how everything went. She kept calling. I picked up the phone and went off. I can hardly remember what I said. It was filtered through hysterical sobbing. It went something like “Aren’t you glad you kept calling wanting to know how it went? This is how it went…I’m losing my baby” and on and on I sobbed with unstoppable sorrow and uncontrollable anger.

I left day. Not physically but I left.

One of Dr. Doom’s partners called me. Dr Whatshername and all I remember is her saying she wanted me to come to the other office in the morning get confirmation of the results from a doctor. I freaked on her too but in the end agreed.

I don’t know if I slept that night. I don’t know if I ever stopped crying. What I do know is the next day I had to relive it all over again. I went to see Dr. Darth Vader.

Come to the dark side…

The drive was a blur. The wait in the reception area a blur. Going into the examining room, stripping and skootching a blur.

Then Dr. Darth Vader came in and started the ultrasound. He was mechanically. He was clinical. He pointed out everything on the screen. I didn’t look. And he said in that mechanical, clinical voice “As you can see there is no heartbeat. The sac is measuring a week behind and it is deformed”.

Deformed! I wanted to scream “You’re deformed and my baby is just small!”

I didn’t. I laid there silently as my tears quietly streamed down the side of my face. I sat up and then Dr. Darth Vader started giving me my miscarriage instructions.

He told me that I should miscarry naturally within the next 2 to 6 weeks. I was confused. I asked about a D&C. He recommended a natural miscarried. I was mortified by the thought of possibly waiting 6 weeks for this to start. He told me it usually happens within 2 weeks. I kept asking questions.

I asked “What if it doesn’t?”

He repeated “It will be between 2 to 6 weeks”.

“But what if this…”

“And what if that…”

He cut me off. Just like that, Dr. Darth Vader lifted his hand to cease the defiant questions and choked me silent by saying “Just call us when you bleed”.

I walked out. I never went back.

I week later on Saint Patrick’s Day I started bleeding. I never called.

Round and Round…

2011-03-06T20:57:00.001-05:00

*Note - In order for me to move forward. To move past the pain of loss and continue on my journey to motherhood, I need to revisit the past to find my future. This is the past.

After 5 grueling blood tests resulting in a satisfactory beta, Dr. Doom scheduled me for my 1st ultrasound only two days later. I felt it was too soon. I asked if it was too soon. He told me that they should be able to see a pregnancy sac by now and that is what he would be looking for.

I was nervous but I was thrilled (which is an understatement! I was f*%ing over the moon!). My betas rose appropriately and it was at a level that corresponded with being 5 1/2 weeks pregnant. I was pregnant. I knew I was pregnant and I felt pregnant. I celebrated by going out and buying a pregnancy journal on the advice of BFF M and started immediately writing in it. I told BBF V whose reaction was to say “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…” literally a hundred times through her tears of happiness and I told my mom.

Telling my mom was one of the best experiences. My mom, Sissy L and I were going out to lunch that day. We all met at my condo. My mom didn’t know about my struggles and TTC. There were so many times I so desperately wanted to tell her and there were so many times that I needed her but now, now I could tell her I did it!

We were all sitting in my living room when I went into my bedroom and came out with my baby basket. A basket I have been filling with baby stuff since my TTC journey began.

She looked at it and then she looked at me and then the basket and then me. I smiled and said “I’M PREGNANT!” and she jumped up and down hugging me and then said “Wait a minute, wait a minute…how did this happen?” Of course Sissy L and I had a laugh teasing my mom about the “birds and the bees” and then I went into a condensed version of my journey. I told her about my betas and Dr. Doom. She said “Don’t worry about that ass. You are pregnant. He was wrong when he said you couldn’t get pregnant right? Idiot!” We proceeded to go out to lunch with giant smiles on all of our faces.

I went in 2 days later. The Face Nurse wasn’t there that day. Another nurse Cecilia took my blood. Cecilia was a very sweet, kind woman. I remember her saying to me after she drew my blood “You are going to see your baby today. Aren’t you excited?” I smiled and said yes, but the truth was I was more terrified than excited.

I went through the ritual; pants off, paper napkin around your waist, feet in stirrups and I skootched all the way down so my butt was almost hanging off the edge.

Dr. Doom came in with Cecilia and proceeded with my internal ultrasound. He seems to be visibly agitated as he increasingly became more “aggressive” with the “probe” and then he said he was having trouble finding the sac. I don’t think at this time my heart was beating or I was breathing. I just kept praying as Dr. Doom rammed the “probe” around inside my cookie while he let out sighs of frustration. After a series of “Ugghs” he then removed the “probe” and printed out the picture of my baby from the ultrasound machine. I sat up. He showed me the picture. He pointed out how small my sac was stating that “This could mean the pregnancy isn’t viable or it could turn out to be a healthy pregnancy.” He told me that they would check my beta and see if it doubled again and that I need to come back for another beta in 2 days…just when I thought I had won, they throw me back into the beta game. He said he would call me later that day to let me know the results and just like that I’m back in the waiting game too.

And then he did something that made my heart sink…he stuck the picture of my ultrasound (of my baby as small as she may be) into his pocket and walked out.

I went home to wait for his call.

What goes up…

2011-02-25T15:58:00.001-05:00

*Note - In order for me to move forward. To move past the pain of loss and continue on my journey to motherhood, I need to revisit the past to find my future. This is the past...

Are you ready to play TTTThhhhe Beta Game?

(Beta is a blood test to check the levels of HCG (the Pregnancy Hormone) in the blood. These levels must rise accordingly and hit certain levels…Honestly I didn’t know any of this shit either until I started TTC)

Here are the rules:

Need to have a beta higher than 5 to be considered pregnant. Most REs want a starting beta of 50. Most HPTs will pick up a beta of 25 and higher. Digital HPTs are 50 and higher.
Your beta should double every 48 hours.
Most REs will do 2 betas to see if it is rising and then have you come back for an ultrasound 2 weeks later.
Your beta needs to be over 2,000 to see anything on an ultrasound.

Now let’s play!

Contestant #1 has started with a beta of 27. Although Dr. Doom and the Face Nurse shook their heads in dismay it was enough to get her into the game. Yes, she was indeed pregnant!

The next move comes from Dr. Doom and he’s playing it safe and requesting another beta. Will it double?

Anxiously Contestant #1 sits down as the Face Nurse draws her blood.

On a side note - Now that the Face Nurse has un-scrunched her face she feels the need to talk about her husband and kids while drawing my blood. Great! That’s just what every single gal sitting in a fertility clinic wants to hear.

The waiting is the hardest part…

And now the wait begins. You get your beta done in the morning before 9am and then you have to wait until the afternoon before Dr. Doom would call with the results. The stress of waiting was one of the hardest parts. I felt like my insides were completely tangled. I would take HPT test after HPT test just to make sure I was still pregnant. I was obsessed. When Dr. Doom would call I felt like I was out of my body talking in this breathless, babbling voice. On day he called really early and my sister had said “Maybe he calls early when it’s good news and later when it’s bad”. Well, “sure shit enough” my very next beta he didn’t call until later. I was positive it was bad news. When he did finally call and it was good news, I just started rambling about my sister and I am pretty sure I referred to him as Dr. Doom. I was completely crazed! I did this over the next 10 days! And just to clarify, I am pretty sure the doctor calls when he is done with his patients for the day. Not at some deviously picked time to inflict pain on those waiting for results (hmmm or do they?)

So yes, beta #2 was a 74!!! Ding Ding Ding!! More than double but wait…Dr. Doom wanted another beta? And another beta? And another beta? So Contestant #1 had to go back 2 days later for beta #3 and 2 days later for beta #4 and 2 days later for beta #5.

By #5 my beta was over a 1,000. For anyone keeping track that means it was more than doubling in the 48 hour time spans and me well I was really getting sick of seeing Dr. Doom and the Face Nurse.

I am not sure why Dr. Doom kept having me come in because each time my beta doubled. Each beta was pure torture. Maybe Dr. Doom liked torturing me? But little did I know that Dr. Doom had nothing on his partner Dr. Darth Vader whom I was about to meet under the worst of circumstances…

Put on a Happy Face!

2011-02-19T09:45:00.004-05:00

*Note - In order for me to move forward. To move past the last year of dedicating myself to TTC. To find my way and now dedicate myself to becoming a mom...I need to revisit the past to find my future...

A blast from the past continues...

Turn that frown upside down (or at least un-scrunch your face!)

And that’s exactly what the Face Nurse did when I walked into Dr. Dooms office on February 19th 2010. You see the only time you would go in for a beta with Dr. Doom was if you didn’t get Leroy by 15 days past your IUI. Leroy at the time was a very punctual visitor. On time every time (well at least until I started doing IVF). So for all my other IUIs by day 13 there was Leroy dashing my hopes. Not this time. Day 14. No Leroy…hmmm…I decided for the 1st time to POAS. The results were well, there weren’t any results. I had a faulty HPT. I finally decided to POAS and my HPT never gave me a control line. As a matter of fact it never gave my any line at all. And this is where this gets a little weird:

You have entered the Twilight Zone

The night before Leroy came after my 3rd IUI I went to bed repeating a certain mantra. I try to follow the teachings of Louis Hay. You can google her to get more information but her teaching have a lot to do with positive thoughts, positive mantras and loving oneself. So I was repeating the mantra “Everything I need to know is revealed to me” in the hopes that I might get a glimpse of whether or not I was pregnant. I fell asleep and had this dream. In this dream I took an HPT. I carefully peed on the stick, held it up to view the results and I watched as the window where you are supposed to get the lines turned pink. The pink dye kept filling up the window and I couldn’t tell if there were any lines and I said “What the hell does that mean” and a voice said: “It means you’re pregnant” and at that moment I woke up to a visit from Leroy. Clearly not pregnant.

But what happened in my dream is exactly what happened when I POAS after my 4th IUI. The whole thing went pink.

So, the next day I was expecting to wake up to Leroy but I didn’t so I went in for my beta. When I walked into the office the Face Nurse said to me “What are you doing here?” (with an exaggerated questionable look on her face) and I said: “I still haven’t gotten my period” That is when for the 1st time her face un-scrunched, she made a “Ohhh….” Face and then gave me a half smile and said “Let’s find out”. She took my blood and I went home to wait for the call.

Some people never change

Although the Face Nurse became a positive reinforcement, Dr. Doom kept living up to his name. He called me with my results. My beta was 27. 27 is a little low. There was cause for concern but I was pregnant with a good chance. So, instead of saying “Congratulations you’re pregnant”, Dr. Doom says to me: “Well, I am not going to say Congratulations you’re pregnant until I see your beta rising. So what I will say is that there has been fertilization and implantation. And we will see”. I hung up the phone pissed and scared.

Little did I know that I was about to experience happiness beyond measure, a despair beyond repair and end up peeing on a lot of sticks!

My Funny Valentine…

2011-02-14T12:29:00.002-05:00

But I wanted to be your valentine (Words can't say what a love can do)…

One of the things I need to do before I move on is revisit where I've been:

A year ago on February 14th, Valentine’s Day fell on a Sunday. Being single, I didn’t have any plans. Nowhere to go, no flowers, nothing to do but to be bombarded by constant “valentine” reminders of my single status. V called and asked if I wanted to go out to dinner. Well more like insisted because that is how V is. She knew I would be home alone so she called and said “Come out to dinner with me. You have to come out”. So I did. It was 10 days after my 4th IUI.

At the time I was going to Dr. Doom and the Face Nurse! I called him Dr. Doom because he never once gave me any encouragement. I had to fight with him to try something beside Clomid. When I finally got him to prescribe me injectables for my 4th IUI he made a point of letting me know that he was only doing it to humor me because “The reality is you have a practically zero percent chance of conceiving”.

It didn’t matter. I still walked out of his office triumphant knowing that I was fighting for a chance…any chance…my chance.

I called her "the Face Nurse" b/c she would always give you some kind of face. It was that half smile with her face scrunched up look while she would shake her head like "Yeah your test results weren't good!" "Better luck next time."

I wasn’t blogging at the time but I was posting regularly on the Fertile Thoughts Board. I thought I would share with you what I posted that day about my 4th IUI:

"Well I am officially PUPO. I had my IUI this morning. I was still in a blah mood driving to the clinic this morning, trying to cheer myself up with the promise of an Egg and Cheese sandwich from my favorite deli. Didn't help much. When I got to the clinic and I was going into the room for my IUI, I saw Dr. Doom. He's normally at the other office so I was like "F@$%k, can't I ever get away from this guy" and then the nurse came in and told me the Physician's Assistant Patti would be doing my IUI (and I like her...she warms the speculum!). So I stripped down, put my pink, paper napkin on, somewhat cheerful, and then the knock on the door...Dr. Doom comes in to do my IUI. He seemed to be being overly nice to me for some reason...there's no need for small talk!...even when he was downtown doing my IUI he keep asking me if I was okay and how I was doing. He performed my 1st IUI and he wasn't THAT nice. Actually my 1st IUI hurt! This one I didn't feel a thing! So, now it's done and the nurse says "Good Luck" and then Dr. Doom put his hand on my knee (feet still in stirrups) and pats my knee and says "Good Luck". Its bad enough I have to have his face between my legs, now he's touching my knee! Ughhh! As soon as he walked out the door I flicked him the bird!! I then proceeded to laugh uncontrollable for a couple of minutes before the laughter turned into tears! So now I'm on my back with a pink napkin around my naked waste with tears streaming down my face...not really the way I imagined getting pregnant (but I definitely felt f$#%ked)...Now, if I do get pregnant from this IUI...Should I pat Dr. Doom on the a%@ and say "Thank you"!!!!"

So my 4th IUI went something like that and 10 days later I was out to dinner with V on Valentine’s Day. We were indulging in some kind of crab entrée when V leans in and says to me “Your boobs look bigger.” I said “They do not.” And V says “I’ve known you for a long time and I am telling you, your boobs look bigger.” I told her she was crazy and continued with my indulgence. At some point during our meal, probably between the entrée and the dessert, I went to the bathroom. I was leaning over the sink washing my hands and I looked up into the mirror. In that moment I thought “Holy shit, my boobs really do look bigger”. 5 days later I found out I was pregnant.

The best laid plans…

2011-02-10T23:10:00.003-05:00

From the moment I started TTC, I’ve had some kind of plan. Even if that plan was prayer (or begging the two are pretty synonymous) I knew I would keep moving forward on my journey. So, I spent a lot of time making sure I had a solid Alternate Path. It wasn’t easy but I was confident that if my last IVF cycle didn’t work, if Whiffer returned, that I would take a day or two to grieve and then proudly announce my Alternate Path without missing a beat. It turned out not to be that simple.

I’ve fallen and I can’t get up…

Is pretty much how I’ve felt this last week and a half. I’ve been in a lot of pain; both physically (damn Leroy) and emotionally. I have been second guessing my Alternate Path. I’ve starting trying to figure out ways to cycle again. To give it another shot with my eggs. I started freaking out at the thought of not cycling again. I wasn’t letting go even though I thought I already had. I was holding on. I started looking at new Paths. Making calls, googling and then I started thinking that maybe God doesn’t want me to be a mother. That he is doing everything in his power to prevent it. Maybe I should just abide by his wishes. Maybe he is preventing it because I would be a terrible mother. Yes, I even went there. I went to the deepest, darkest places of Lostville. It is not what I had planned.

I have become “uncomfortably” numb…

I have been so consumed with grief and sadness. Overwhelmed with fear and lost in my thoughts that I am almost numb. I have no focus. I can’t even seem to find a way to complete a post. I wanted to write a simple post thanking all of you wonderful ladies for the incredible amount of support you have shown me. I planned on posting it a few days after I found out I wasn’t pregnant (although I knew way before my beta) and it’s taken me over a week just to sit down and start typing. Not what I had planned. None of how I am feeling is what I had planned…

"We're not giving up; we're waiting for a better chance to win." ~ McMaster Bujold

I would like to rephrase that quote to “I’m not giving up; I’m waiting for a better chance to win."

As much as everything that I have been feeling is not what I had planned, it has bought me back full circle. I have gone through these emotional before, I have grieved, I have cried, I have fallen and I have gotten up. And in the end I have come to the same conclusion as I did that day Dr. Doom gave me "A practically zero percent chance of conceiving". I decided to fight but this time I am fighting to become a mother no matter what. I am going to follow my Alternate Path. I am going to announce my Alternate Plan with pride and not miss a beat (well maybe one or two). I now have a plan. But there are a couple of things I need to do first…

Whomp, Whomp, Whomp....

2011-01-31T13:31:00.001-05:00

I am not pregnant and I am not okay. I don't know if I will ever be okay.

We don’t get fooled again!!

2011-01-25T19:56:00.003-05:00

What are the chances...

I DON’T BELIEVE IN SIGNS!!

After my 2nd IVF cycle failed I was crushed. I believed every last leaf blowing in the wind to be some kind of sign that I was pregnant. Now to be fair I did have some compelling signs but alas (I always wanted to use the word alas in a sentence!) they were just mere coincidences.

So now when I came home the other night and I found a package on my doorstep address to me and that package was a free sample of Similac Baby Formula I have to make sure that I DO NOT TAKE IT AS A SIGN!!

I sometimes participate in focus groups for extra money. You have to qualify for the focus group. To determine your eligibility they conduct a survey. When I went online to take the latest survey and that survey had questions like: “Are you a first time mother?” “Are you currently pregnant?” etc. I said to myself: I REFUSE TO TAKE THAT AS A SIGN!! And the fact that I (without hesitation) answered yes to those questions DOES NOT MEAN IT IS A SIGN!!

I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend…

AND I DON’T BELIEVE ANY SYMPTOMS OR NON SYMPTOMS!!

In order to “not get fooled again” I will be spending my 2ww talking myself off the ledge! For whatever I am feeling or not feeling, I will give the symptom and a logical explanation. For those of you at home you can play along and enter your symptom and logical explanation!

My boobs are sore – Why yes, yes they are! That is because you are shoving progesterone up your cookie 3 times a day!!! Or it’s because you won’t stop touching them!!

My boobs look veiny – Your natural skin tone is a purplish pink. It takes you a weeks worth of tanning just to get white. Of course your boobs look veiny! You are clear! You can see every vein coursing through your body!

I feel twinges – IT’S PROBABLY GAS once again from the progesterone that is leaking out of every pore!! Or at least leaking out of your cookie non-stop every day all day long!!

I have some craps – Which is probably a giant poop! WHICH IS FROM THE GAS! Which is from the progesterone!!

I have heartburn – Ever since you turned 35 you ALWAYS HAVE HEARTBURN! Go to a doctor already for Christ’s sake!!

I can’t stop eating – Yeah dexamethasone will do that to you! *It’s a steroid that they put you on at the start of your IVF cycle. I have been on it for over a month now and I have the extra weight to prove it! So all day long I am shoveling food down my throat!

My cervix feels high – Quit playing with yourself!! Or at least checking…you have no idea what you are looking for so stop it!

I got a zit on my chin – Well you have been shoveling crap food down your throat for the last month. It was bound to catch up with you!

I’m tired – You work two jobs (really three) and you have had this workaholic behavior all your life so you are ALWAYS tired!!

The Math is NOT in my favor – Really? Do you really know every women going through IVF at the same time as you so you can actually statistically determine whether it will work for you or not? You’re not Doing the Math! You’re guessing the Math!

I’m feeling frisky – Which leads me to believe Leroy is on his way and it didn’t work. Or it’s because you keep touching yourself!! No wonder you’re frisky!!

I don’t feel anything – It’s microscopic!! How are you supposed to feel microscopic?

I don’t have any symptoms and all the other women who got BFPs felt twinges or cramps or sore boobs – Yeah they probably did and most likely it was GAS, causing a GIANT POOP, they were touching themselves or it is all a side effect from too much progesterone that they all mistook as a symptom!!

I did 3 IVF cycles and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt:

Maybe what should happen is on the day you get your transfer, as soon as the RE puts your little embabies back you hear either a “Ding, Ding, Ding…” bell signaling that it worked or a loud “EEEETTTT” or “Whomp, whomp, whomp” indicating defeat.

This way you know. You know right away. It really is like spinning a wheel except you have to wait 2 weeks before the wheel stops.

If only you could know as soon as you transfer, this way you wouldn’t be analyzing every little zit and every little shit and every little fart in the wind as being some kind of sign!

Mamma said, PUPO and Firemen?

2011-01-21T23:42:00.000-05:00

This will be my 2nd post that I felt the need to put a disclaimer on. All I have to say is that this post is full of TMI!!

Giving myself a helping hand:

After my disastrous ER I called my mom. My mom always knows the right things to say. She immediately made me feel better.

But there was one thing I never thought I would hear her say.

The next day I called my mom to give her my fertilization report. All three of my embryos fertilized. We were thrilled. I told her my transfer would be on Thursday and then she says the “unsayable” to me:

Mom: “Remember the last time it said on your instructions that you should have sex the night before your transfer”

Me: “Ummm…Yes?”

Mom: “Well I think you should do it.”

Me: “HUH!!”

Mom: “You know. Give yourself an orgasm.”

Me: “MOM!!”

Mom: “No seriously. I think there is something to it. Maybe it makes you more relaxed or does something in the uterus to help the embryos stick. You really should do it. What could it hurt? What’s the worst that could happen…you get an orgasm?”

That is a conversation I never thought I would have with my mom.

Now I know they say you AREN’T supposed to have intercourse and/or orgasms AFTER your transfer but they do recommend intercourse the night BEFORE your transfer…hmmmm….maybe there is something to it…so…

The night before my transfer I was lying on the couch watching TV and I started thinking about what my mom said. I was like:

“Should I?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“I could?”

“Am I in the mood?”

“A little”.

“I could.”

“Like mom said…What could it hurt?”

“Hmmm I could….”

So I did…and I was pleasantly surprised because it was quick and efficient and quite pleasurable.

Then I went back and read my instructions:

Have intercourse in the evening prior to embryo transfer, but only if you are feeling comfortable. The prostaglandins in the sperm are believed to help with implantation.

The what in the what? In the sperm…what?…ohhhhhh… it has nothing to do with the BIG O!

Now you might be saying to yourself: “You could have checked the instructions before you did the deed” and yes that is true but just like Mama said: “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Give me a P!!! Give me a U!!! Give me a P!!! Give me an O!!!

Yes, as of 12:45 Thursday afternoon I became officially PUPO (Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise). And it actually feels good. There were so many times in this cycle where I really thought I wasn’t even going to make it to transfer. But I did and Dr. Wow transferred all 3 embryos. He told me that my embabies looked really good. That one was a Grade 1 (that is the best!) and 2 were Grade 2 (2nd best!). This is the 1st time I got a Grade 1. It really made me happy to know that I might have a chance.

I know what you did last night…

The procedure was pretty smooth. But there was a small part of me that was thinking: “Can he tell?” I mean he is right there. Is it possible to tell?

There was one moment in the transfer when I thought things weren’t going well. When you have a transfer the RE places the embryos into your uterus but using a catheter that needs to be threaded through your cervix. They do an external ultrasound on your abdomen and it is that ultrasound screen the RE looks at for placement. You need to have a full bladder because it increases visibility on the ultrasound.

When they started the procedure, Dr. Wow looked up at the ultrasound screen and says: “Your bladder really isn’t that full” and for a split second I swear I thought he was going to say: “Did you have an orgasm last night?”

I was like: “Really, I drank a lot of water.”

He said: “It’s okay. I can see but I’m having a hard time getting a picture for you.”

I told him: “I really didn’t care if you get the picture as long as you get the embryos in”

AND I thought to myself “And long as you can tell what I did last night!”

Burning down the house…

Well not exactly but at 8:30pm Thursday night my Carbon Monoxide detector started going off. I silenced it. It went off again. I silenced it again. I did have this happen one other time. The alarm went off on Thanksgiving and the battery was dead BUT I changed the battery after that and it hasn’t gone off since. So why is it going off now? I opened the windows. It kept going off. I waited 20 minutes. I was still going off. I very apologetically called 911. I was advised to get out and wait for the fire department. I really didn’t want the whole big scene but I didn’t have any choice. They were on their way. I went outside and waited. The firemen came. 4 to be exact and 1 police officer. I kept apologizing because I felt like an ass calling them but I wanted to be safe. I wanted to go to bed but more importantly I wanted to wake up in the morning. After all I was PUPO. I had to think of my little embabies too.

They checked out my condo with their gadgets. It was negative for any presence of Carbon Monoxide. So why was my alarm going off? Then the one fireman told me that my alarm was over 10 years old and needed to be replaced. Basically my alarm was broken. I really felt like an idiot then. I smiled and apologized again as they filed out.

Now I am not sure but I doubt they were all as hot as I made them out to be in my head but if I wasn’t PUPO I might have helped myself out again!!

Making Eggs and Eggless in New Jersey!

2011-01-17T20:39:00.003-05:00

Making Eggs…

Throughout this journey towards motherhood (and this journey through life) I always try to inject a little humor into any given situation. My humor might fall on the side of sarcasm but it is always all in good fun and something definitely needed when things aren’t going the way you thought they would. After all I truly believe that Laughter IS the Best Medicine.

Laughter and Loudness is a family trait. I’m loud, my mom’s loud (though she is the quiet one of the bunch) my sisters are loud, my cousins are loud, my aunt’s loud and we are all VERY, VERY animated. All stories are told with visual demonstrations and sound effects.

It is completely evident at family gatherings as we all take turns telling humorous stories about the people we’ve encountered, ridiculous things we might have done or said, driving stories, funny sighting, even Sasquatch sightings (yes, that is for my nephew Adam…we both have Sasquatch sighting stories…hmm must run in the family). And all the while we are talking over each other or jumping in with one-liners as our laughter and voices rise. It even gets to the point where my mom raises her hand and jumps up and down declaring: “I got one! I got one!” And then she’ll get up and act out this hilarious story that has us in stitches no matter how many times we’ve heard it!

I am pretty sure that’s where I get my sense of humor from. My mom's always telling me: “You should do stand-up! You’re so funny!” and I tell her: “Just because my mom thinks I’m funny doesn’t mean that I am” I could just see it now…me doing stand-up and nobody laughing of course except for my mom in the back of the audience!

So laughter is how I get through the day.

Since I started my IVF journey, I’ve had this running little joke…due to the fact that I’m not really doing it all that well and my efforts results in so very few…I joke that when I am cycling I am busy Making Eggs!

I’ll go on saying things like: “It’s exhausting making eggs!” or “I’m just gonna go home and make some eggs!”

Sissy L plays along and she’ll go: “Whatcha doing?” and I’ll respond: “I’m making eggs!”

Sissy L: “Where you going?”

Me: “Home to make some eggs”

Yes, I know silly and funny. Well at least to me and Sissy L it’s funny. But then again Sissy L is easily amused!

“Making eggs” is my little “ha ha” fun with IVF moment…hmm…Fun with IVF…do I see the potential board game in the future?

So on my last RE visit to check my follies, Dr. Wow came in, looked at my chart and says “Okay, well you are not over-stimulating but at least you’re Making Eggs”. Now of course I laughed a little too hard at this (is my crush showing?) But then I thought: “Hey wait a second, this guy is stealing my shtick!” Like the correlation between IVF and Making Eggs is some kind of comic genius! But either way Dr. Wow still found a way to make me feel good about my lack of eggs.

But unfortunately that didn’t last too long…

At my visit with Dr. Wow he told me to trigger that night (Saturday) with my ER on Monday. I had a sneaky suspicion (or maybe it was my eggstincts!! HA! HA!! Wow that was bad but I couldn't resist) that due to the fact Dr. Wow was in on the weekend I would end up with Dr. Corny on Monday. And, of course I was right.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire…

This morning when I got up everything seemed a little weird or surreal. I don’t know how to explain it but I knew things weren’t going to turn out good…I just knew it (maybe it was my damn eggstincts again! Okay not funny anymore but I had to take one more crack {ha!} at it!).

Sissy L drove me and we spent the whole morning joking around. While I was waiting for my procedure to start we had a grand old time laughing about this:

The Universal Pain Assessment Tool (Wong-Baker Facial Grimace Scale):

Yes this is on the wall in the prep room! Yes it took 2 doctors to come up with this! And apparently its Universal b/c they have it is 5 different languages! Now this is a very high tech, medical terminology going on here!

Once I was prepped I said to my sister: “I’m all sorts of glamorous now. I’m hot in this gown and cap! I have no idea why I’m single” as she takes a picture of me in all my pre-ER glory.

Yup I’m one hot mama!!

But not to be outdone, I told Sissy L it wasn’t fair that I had to wear the beauty enhancing cap and she didn’t. So, she put one on.

Okay we are complete dorks!!

But we continued laughing as the nurse declared: “You two are having too much fun in there”. And it was in that moment that I mouthed to my sister: “I have a bad feeling about this”

There really isn’t any need to go into the procedure. You can read about what happens when the RE gets up close and personal here.

But the end result turned into me waking up before the procedure was done and only have 3 eggs retrieved. Dr. Corny had ZERO bedside manner and made some kind of excuse about eggs sometimes getting stuck inside…I don’t know what that means…

I am sad. I’m defeated and I’m not finding any of this funny.

I left the RE’s office in a huff (a real huff with a curse or two thrown in!) which in hindsight I do feel bad about…

Now I’m walking on egg shells (HA!! I guess I had 1 more obvious joke hanging on in there!) as I wait for my fertilization report and pray that I have the Golden Eggs!

At this point it’s either laugh or cry and I’ve been crying all day!

Eat, Sleep and Poop!

2011-01-10T16:18:00.000-05:00

Today I went in for my ultrasound and blood work to determine how many eggs I have, what sizes they are and to see when my ET will probably be and well the news wasn’t good! It is coming dangerously close to my greatest fear being realized. My greatest fear is that I would go in, lay back, place my feet in the stirrups, wait for the doctor to insert the ultrasound cam (or as so many of the TTC ladies like to call it “the dildo cam”) and as the doctor moves the cam around inside of me he says “There are no eggs!” That is my greatest fear. And no it didn’t come true today but after 1 week of stimming on the highest doses of meds possible, I have 4. Yes, I know it could be worse. 4 is better than none. I know that and I am trying to be grateful for the 4 I have but…it hurts.

Dr. Wow, well, he always lives up to his name because he kept saying “Everything is good. Everything looks good”. He continued with: “Alright, well, we have something to work with which is good.” Followed by his sweet handshake, which he doesn’t really shake your hand but cradles your hand in both of his (which is very comforting) and then smiles and says: “Hang in there my dear”. But I know it’s not good. I know these numbers suck! They suck out loud! But boy did today only confirm to me the fact that I have a giant crush on Dr. Wow! Even with my sucky ass numbers he still found a way to make it all sound good. When I was with Dr. Doom you could hear an audible sigh of disgust or disappointment when he would do your ultrasound but not Dr. Wow. Always so sweet. Serious crush!

My last 2 cycles for each I had 6. I was hoping to have the same or more, not less. Less hurts. It puts my chances for success on my last cycle really low. And it hurts. I just wanted a fighting chance.

After my disappointing doctor’s appointment I went to Violet for some acupuncture. I told her about my numbers and how upsetting it is. She listened and then said as she was putting each needle into my belly, in her adorable Eastern Block accent she says: “You never know!” “More eggs could develop and they can mature very quickly. You never know. Now try to relax.” She shut off the lights and I was out.

I don’t remember what I was dreaming when she came back in but she says: “I see you were able to relax”. I smiled and said “Yes” (as I think I was wiping some drool away). Then she said (with that sweet accent of hers) “You have done everything possible to make this work. You have to now trust. You cannot get upset or depressed. All you have to do now is eat, sleep and poop!”

Since I already feel asleep during the session I had that covered. I went and got a sandwich and well…now I’m not sure if the extra needles in my belly were her intentions to make the last part of her statement come true but when I got home let's just say achieving the latter portion of her advice was a giant success!

So, I go back on Thursday to see how everything is growing and until then I am going to follow Violet’s advice and just “Eat, sleep and poop”. I’m pretty good at all three so it shouldn’t be too hard.

What’s going to become of me?

2011-01-07T16:34:00.000-05:00

When I grow up…

I wanted to be an actress. I spent over 10 years in NYC pursuing that dream. It was a magical time in my life. Everything was fresh and new. And dreams…dreams were alive, breathing and attainable.

After many years of pounding the pavement I decided to release that dream and create a new one for my life and although it was sad I could envision a new life. I could move on…

Throughout my time of running down this dream, I always pictured myself meeting the one, getting married and having babies. I can clearly remember the visions I would have of me at different points in my life (late 20’s, early 30’s, mid 30’s) pregnant. And until this day, even though it now seems impossible, I still picture myself with a toddler and an infant on my hip. These vision are almost a given. Not really a dream but path in my life I knew I was going to take. It is a part of who I am.

But now I often wonder what is going to become of me if I never fall in love again. I often wonder what is going to become of me if I don’t succeed in my quest to become a mother. Can you move on with a missing part?

At the bar I work in there used to be this woman who would come in and hit on all the young guys. She would walk around the bar pressing herself up against any guy that would let her. And believe me they would let her. Her name was Judy and Judy clearly had some figure enhancing surgery of the extra large variety done and Judy was definitely older. But she wore tiny little clothes to show off her extra large enhancements. She would rub her extra large enhancements up against the young guys, flip her hair and make the “duck face” by pursing her lips together. All of this in an effort to get some guy to go home with her (or at least to buy her a drink). I used to watch Judy and think she was sad. She had no one. Here was a woman (to my best guess) when she was younger probably had men falling all over her and now, now that she was older, she was desperate for the attention. Watching Judy always made me sad. What was Judy’s story? Did she have love and lose it? Did men just always use her and she never found love and if I remain single and never find the one could a life without love lead me to be Judy?

I wonder if I am ever going to fall in love again. And without it…Without love...Without that hand that touches mine to say “You’re safe!” Without that smile I catch as I look up that says “I’m yours!” and without the whispers of “I love you!” in my ear will I ever be truly happy? Without love will I turn into Judy, desperately seeking affection? Will you find me in some bar throwing myself at any guy who will let me in some hopeless bid to not be alone?

There’s another woman who comes into the bar; Coffee Lady. She’s the complete opposite of Judy. She comes in with a cup of “to go” coffee (she got somewhere else) and sits quietly at one of the tables. She’s unkempt. She’s unsocial. If you didn’t know any better you would think she’s homeless. She harmless but in some ways she makes me uncomfortable. I am not sure of her story. Someone at one time or another told me she was that way from doing drugs and that she’s been this way for a long time and lives with her mother. She is isolated. Lost. I walked up to her one time to offer her some coffee and she turned to me a smiled. And when she did, her smile was eerie, almost scary and her eyes were sad and lonely.

Is this what happens when you don’t have a family of your own? Is this what happens when you have no purpose but to wander into different stores all day long in hopes of getting a cup of coffee? And if I never have a family of my own will I find myself isolated and lost? Wandering around in a world of emptiness?

We all know the jokes about the “Crazy Cat Lady”; the woman that has 10, 15, 20 cats. I have 2. I have 2 cats. I am 42 and single and I have 2 cats. I can usually deal out the jokes with the best of them. You know that an older woman with cats must either be gay or the “Crazy Cat Lady”. And I joke around saying that it’s only a matter of time before I have a house overrun by cats. And when I see stray kittens around my condo complex, I want to take them in. I make a conscious effort not to look directly at them because I am sure if their little, sad, lost, cold and lonely eyes catch mine I will have no choice but to take them home.

Is this what happens when your desire to be a mom is so strong but never gets fulfilled? Do you go around taking in stray after stray after stray to try to fill your maternal instincts? And if I never become a mom will you find me obsessively hording pets?

My Grandma H passed away on April 8th 2008. She was 95 years old. The last 10 years of her life (let’s face it, it was probably more like 15) she spent debilitated with Alzheimer’s. My Grandpa passed away in 1972. 36 years before Grandma H. She never remarried. My grandmother had suitors (that’s what she called them “suitors”) but she would always say “I had my husband”. She could have had another 30 year marriage. Not lived alone. I often wonder if the being alone and wishing for days gone by attributed to her Alzheimer’s. I wonder if living in the past became a better alternative than trying to live in such a cold, lonely present and even lonelier future.

Having a family is not a dream that has to be released. This is a piece of me. Can I live without this piece? But more importantly will I want to?

If I don’t find love, if I never become a mother will I completely lose hope in the future so that all I can do is live in the past?

And as the days approach to finding out whether or not my last IVF cycle is going to work I find myself wondering “What’s going to become of me?”

I can’t fight this feeling anymore…

2010-12-30T12:34:00.000-05:00

What will I become?

I keep trying to feel nothing. Nothing at all.

If I feel nothing, nothing at all will I be able to avoid the pain, the pain if I fall?

As I try to feel nothing, nothing at all, my world closes in around me, I fall to the floor.

The emptiness that surrounds me, a giant gaping hole, as I sob and sob

I scream “I can’t cry anymore!”

“Please God I can’t cry anymore”

As I try to feel nothing, nothing at all there’s a flutter inside.

Could it be hope, is hope still alive?

I dream of what could be and all its possibilities.

For a moment I smile.

But what if it’s not meant to be?

As I try to feel nothing, nothing at all I can’t help but wonder “What’s going to become of me?”

*Note – I have never claimed to be a poet or even a writer for that matter. As I struggle with the question “What’s going to become of me?” these are the words that came to me. So I thought I would share.

Say What??

2010-12-26T20:43:00.001-05:00

How to speak Moronic:

We’ve all heard the sayings. “We” meaning my wonderful Sisters in Fertility who are TTC. We hear the same sayings time and time again. For the life of me I can’t figure out why people find “this advice” in anyway helpful but they are always ready to give it. Quickly I might add. It just comes flying out of their mouths like there is some kinda of “Asinine Shit” center in the brain that can’t be shut off in time. And once you are around a lot of people uncomfortably discussing your plans to have a baby the “Asinine Shit” center of the brain overfloweth.

The holidays provide many opportunities for these awkward conversations to blossom. From the company Christmas Party to gathering at mom’s house, all eyes, ears and mouths spewing Asinine Comments will be focused on you.

I went to V’s Company Christmas Party this week. The group consisted mostly of women and it didn’t take long for the “Ever so helpful. Why didn’t I think of that sooner” advice to come my way about my quest to be a mother. Now I know that this is all because they want to help and have the best intentions but after a while, after you have heard the same moronic advice over and over, you end up giving you’re honest feedback. So here are some of the answers I gave…

Well some I gave verbally and some I screamed in my head, and for some I smiled and said “Thanks. I’ll try that”.

The number 1 Asinine Comment from the Asinine Shit Center of the Brain is (and it’s no surprise):

What you need to do is relax! Just relax! Have a couple of drinks and relax…

Why is “Relax” the number 1 Asinine Comment people give you when you tell them you are trying to conceive? And why would this advice be even remotely helpful to a single woman of 42 TTC when the object of my baby making affection is a catheter? So I proudly told them: “Yes, I could do that! I could get drunk before my insemination or transfer, show up at my RE’s office and try to make it relaxed and romantic.”

In my best, sexy, slurring, drunk voice I explained how I could make the moves on my RE:

Me: “Wow, Dr. Wow you look…you lookkkk…so hot…hot with that vaginal ultrasound” “I’m just gonna slllipp in the other room and taake my pants off”

Wink! Blow kiss! Pull off pants and return to the examining room…

“How do you like my paper gown?” “Sexxy”

As I skootch onto the table:

“I’m gonna put 1 leg here (moving my legs ever so sexy into the stirrups) and the other here (wink). How do you like that? (blow kiss) Now I’m jussst gonna lay backkk, relax and let you, that speculum and catheter have your way with me! Because you are hottt and I am relaxed and we’re gonna make a babbby”

Dr. Wow:

Number 2 Asinine Comment from the Asinine Shit Center of the Brain:

You’ve got plenty of time…

Oh for the love of God I DO NOT!!! In case you missed it the 1st time, 2nd time or 3rd time I AM 42!!

But wait I know the next answer to that: “My girlfriend had her 1st baby naturally at 43!”

She is the exception not the rule. So I politely remind them: “After age 35 your fertility falls off a cliff. And it only gets worse as you get older. 80% of women 38 and over will need some form of A.R.T. to conceive and that number only increases with age. But I am so glad to hear that your friend was one of the lucky 20%.” And in my head I was screaming: “I wish someone had told me the facts instead of blowing sunshine up my ass by saying You’ve got time!”

Now there was one comment that did somewhat make sense and made me feel a little better.

“You didn’t know. How were you to know you weren’t going to meet the guy?”

And that’s true. I had no idea that I wasn’t going to meet the guy. I held out. I held out way too long!! And in the process of holding out I would always get Asinine Comment # 2 “You’ve got time” and also during this time I would get those wonderful unprovoked Asinine Comments on dating and looking for the one. I would get:

When you least expect it…

It’s cousin: When you’re not looking…

I can honestly say there are many, many times that I have been “least expecting it” over the last year since I’ve put my full focus on TTC. And I have completely stopped looking. I wasn’t sure what to put under Hobbies on my Match profile anymore: “Likes long drives to the RE office and injecting hormones daily”, so I decided to delete my profile all together. So I am clearly not looking and guess what; it still hasn’t happened. And that’s okay because based on this advice I figure that one day I will be sitting on the toilet with my eyes closed when the man of my dreams bursts in, I will somehow be relaxed enough to make love and then I will magically be pregnant at 45!!

You’ve got a friend!

And we all know they know someone:

My friends’ unlce’s sister ‘s cousin got pregnant when she….

Stopped trying…

Just relaxed…

Adopted a baby from China…

Got drunk and accosted her RE!

So based on what happened to their friend’s uncle’s sister’s cousin I will get pregnant after unsuccessfully trying to seduce my RE and successfully adopting- just not sure where the relaxing and least expecting it comes in on this one…oh okay I will successfully seducing my RE in the oh so relaxed atmosphere of the examining room and then finalized my adoption only to find that I am pregnant from the drunken tryst! Hey it could happen!!

But in reality everyone is just trying to help (how this helps I have no idea) but they are trying.

Don’t Speak…

And some people just should be allowed to talk at all.

There is one comment I have shockingly gotten twice. Once from a man (understandably guy’s are pervs) and most recently from my mom’s wacky female friend (not sure why a woman would say such a thing) but this one truly belongs in the Asinine Comments from the Asinine Shit Center of the Brain Hall of Fame.

“Why don’t you just go out and be slutty and sleep around?”

When my guy friend said it, it was more like: “You’re missing all the fun. You should go out and sleep with every guy in sight”

My mom’s wackadoodle friend said it after my mom announced I was doing another Series. Cycle mom not series, cycle. So then my mom’s wackadoodle friend said something like: “It would be a lot cheaper and a lot easier if you were slutty and went out and slept around”

WHAT!! SAY WHAT???

Do I need to dignify that with a response?

And to think the advice used to be “If you’re going to be slutty and sleep around use protection” (As it should be!) And in honor of my slutty days of Christmas Past, I followed the latter advice.

So with a big smile I turned to my mom’s wackadoodle friend and I said “Thanks! I’ll try that!”

But all joking aside that comment is just too Asinine for a response!

So in honor of the holidays when we are subjected to having to converse more than we would like, what are some of your favorite Asinine Comments from the Asinine Shit Center of the Brain?

The Long and Winding Road….

2010-12-19T22:19:00.003-05:00

Sio (the ex) has a girlfriend. It’s not just a girlfriend. He’s fallen in love. This shouldn’t bother me. I left Sio 6 YEARS AGO!! I do not want him back. I honestly thought that when I left Sio 6 years ago that I would meet someone right away, get married and have children. All the things that I wanted that Sio wasn’t ready for I figured I would get if I left him and moved on. But the road hasn’t been that easy or that simple and I am still on my journey towards my family. But Sio, Sio’s met someone. Sio’s fallen in love. Sio is moving forward and it is bothering me. It’s bringing me to tears. I’m melting down at the site of their "We're a couple" Facebooks pics, at the sounds that their “I love you” “Can’t wait to see you” posts whisper in my ear and at the thought of him loving someone else.

I mentioned this meltdown to M2 at her family’s Annual Christmas Brunch held every year on the Sunday before the Sunday before Christmas.

I said to M2 “Sio has a girlfriend and it is really bothering me”

and M2 said “Why? Didn’t you break up with him for good reasons?”

Me: “Yes”

M2: “Do you want Sio back?”

Me: “No”

M2: “Is is because he should be miserable and spend the rest of his life pining away over you?”

Me: “No! God no!” (well maybe a little!)

It’s because he’s experiencing those beautiful, wonderful moments of meeting someone that gives you butterflies, the excitement of going out for the first time and the second time and the third time, that first kiss, second kiss, third kiss, the moments when all you can do is kiss, the lingering stares, the expanding touches, the holding hands, the resting of your head on their shoulder and that sigh of relief when you finally know that this is really going somewhere. He has that. And I guess what I am really crying over is the fact that I don’t!

Would any of this matter if I hadn’t miscarried and I was carrying for a newborn now? Probably not. Is all this emotional release truly related to Sio’s new love or is it a side effect of BCPs and Lupron? Most likely a little of both. Is it because deep down I do want Sio back? No. There are many, many wonderful things that I have in my life now that I wouldn’t have if I had stayed with Sio. My sobriety is one of them. If I had stayed with Sio, I would stuck in the same place in my life never moving forward. When I was with Sio I drank too much, smoked too much and partied too much. I knew that wasn’t the life I wanted. I knew I had to move on and I knew that moving on meant leaving Sio behind. Sio and I aren’t meant to be. So what is it?

Could it be that this is just a deafening reminder of the single side of this journey? Bringing to the forefront the unmistakable fact that I am lonely? Bingo!

My loneliness was all too evident when I had the Itch Scratcher come over the other day. Yes, I caved. The Itch was too unbearable I just couldn’t keep scratching it myself (well in a little confession, I’ve caved a couple of times now). So, I called the Itch Scratcher. Well, actually he called me but either way the end result was some good old fashioned Itch Scratching. And it was good. It’s always good but after he left I knew I would probably go back to scratching my own itches for a while because I want more. I don’t want more from the Itch Scratcher himself. I want more in the form of a relationship. I want what Sio has. I want to fall in love.

This time last year I had decided to take motherhood into my own hands. I was with Dr. Doom doing IUIs with Clomid. The insurance company didn’t want to cover my expenses. They stated it was because I was single and they couldn’t prove I had fertility issues without a semen sample. Since I was with Sio for 5 years and some of those years off Birth Control, I asked Sio if he would provide a sample so I could get insurance coverage. I wasn’t sure what his response would be. And he said as a matter of fact “Sure! A cup, a towel. It’s going to go some place that day anyway! Besides I always wanted to do it in a doctor’s office!” He’s funny and we laughed and I said “You really do love me” and he said “It never was a matter of not loving you.” And I guess in that moment I did feel loved and I didn’t feel so alone. I ended up not needing that sample because my test results came back so abysmal but it was nice to know that I could turn to someone. To my Sio.

Flash forward 1 year later and I am alone, painfully alone, following my Path to Motherhood and the one person that I could turn to has fallen in love. I am happy for him. I really am. I guess it’s just that when you are taking the road less traveled it would be really nice to have a travel companion.

Praying for Someday…

2010-12-13T11:53:00.008-05:00

Throughout this journey I have always had a plan. From the moment I heard those words: “Practically zero percent chance…” I knew they were wrong. In my heart I knew it wasn’t true. My 1st plan of attack was to prove Dr. Doom wrong. And I did. And then it fell apart. After my miscarriage my plan was to get pregnant again as soon as I possible. It was the only thing I could think of doing to stop the pain (and it still is) so I decided to move directly to IVF. After my 1st IVF cycle failed my plan was to change my donor, double up my holistic efforts, start meditation tapes, go to psychics, lite candles, use a dreambox, rub a pumpkin on my womb (yes I rubbed a pumpkin on my womb!) etc. All to ensure success. I stopped going to my acupuncturist Violet and enlisted the services of Dr. Wang (thinking that old Chinese medicine men held some kind of ancient secret). I was certain this plan would work. And then IVF cycle 2 failed and I was back to square one. I had no plan. I had no idea. Should I triple my holistic efforts (I wasn’t even sure how to do that)? Change donors again? Take this? Increase that?

I was on the phone with Sissy M explaining all this to her and she says: “I guess you are just going to have to let go and let God”. I was looking for answers. Her response pissed my off at the time. My reply was (and I quote): “Like I have a fucking choice” but that was exactly what I was going to have to do...

I’ve realized that there is nothing I can do or not do that is going to change the outcome of this last cycle. It is either going to work or it’s not going to work. I cannot change that. I went back to Violet because I feel more at home with her. I went back to my old donor because the other donor didn’t have any sperm available. Normally that would have freaked me out and made me think this cycle was doomed. I’m letting go and letting God. I still continue with all my supplements but I am not as strict. I figure a tiny drop of regular coffee mixed in my decaf isn’t going to ruin me. I’m letting go and letting God. And my plan? My plan has become prayer. Every night before I go to bed I pray. Well I don’t know if you could actually call it prayer anymore. I mean let’s face it; it’s more like downright begging. Where is the line between praying and begging? Yeah, it is downright begging but I figured it’s the only shot I have. So every night before I go to sleep, I thank God for all the good in my life, ask him for the strength to carry on down the path that I am meant to take and then pray (beg and I mean beg) to become a mommy. I beg God for my family. So yes, my new plan is begging…

And somehow the being thankful, asking for strength, praying and yes the downright begging has given me a little sense of peace.

But there are some things you cannot avoid. No matter how hard you try or what you do you will eventually come across, run into or find yourself face to face with the constant reminders of your empty womb, childless existence or single life. Reminders are all around you. I would imagine the only way to avoid these reminders would be to work from home, always order delivery so you never have to go to the supermarket and around the holidays you would have to order all your gifts online in order to avoid the place where all reminders like to convene; the MALL!!

Yes, the other day I ventured out into the Holiday Torture Land and hit the mall with Sissy L. As we walked past all the various stores we pointed at shoes and purses, checked out the newest gadgets, “Ohhed” and “Ahhed” at the little mittens, tiny coats and little hats. We walked past pregnant women, a sea of strollers, happy couples and happy families everywhere. Teary eyed I watched the little ones sit on Santa’s lap and at lunch at the table right across from us a woman with twins put her adorable little babies into their highchairs and fed them lunch. I looked with longing and Sissy L would say “I can’t wait” and would declare “Me too!” But somewhere underneath it all was the fear, the overwhelming fear that it may never happen for me. I think Sissy L sensed this because later on after our trip to the pet store to “Ohh and Ahh” over the adorable puppies and fight the maternal urge to bring one home (to be a mommy to something), we were sitting at a little coffee shop drinking our Ginger Spice Lattes (yes it was decaf) and watching all the families walk by and Sissy L leaned in and said “Someday there will be a woman looking at you with your adorable children wondering when it’s going to be her turn”.

And I realized that is exactly what I have been praying for all along; my someday. I am begging for it to be my turn. I am praying for someday!

…to be okay

2010-12-06T23:50:00.007-05:00

When looking for a new design for my blog I went onto a website called Deviant Art. I scoured through pages and pages of artists and photos. There’s some amazing work on there. I was looking for something I could relate to. Something, I didn’t know what, something, something that said me. I just knew I would know it when I saw it.

I would email my blog designer Barbara “What about this one?” What about that one?” and she would respond; “I like this one” or “I like that one”. We decided we liked a beautiful piece of digital art by Selenart; the clock and the butterflies but then I came across another beautiful piece of digital art by Julia Starr. The title of the picture was “…to be okay”. The title grabbed me. The picture grabbed me. I emailed the artist. I gave her a brief summary of my situation, a link to my blog and I asked for permission to use her artwork. She said yes and we decided to do a combination of the 2 pieces. But there was more than just her permission in her response. Her response still resonates with me:

“Yeah ,you can totally use it :)
I read some of your blog but I am in hurry at the moment lol. But it was interesting. In a way you're similar to my mom. She always wanted to give birth to her own children
but my dad was infertile, so she became fascinated in adoption and adopted 6 kids over the last 27 years. She has been single for a long time. My dad was never a very good loving person,
and was very greedy about adoption. But it's just the fact that the child is getting a loving mother :)
And from the way you sound, I think you'd be a great mother! :)
I have to go, but I will certainly read more later!
-Julia”

Wow! And in my head, I can’t stop singing “It’s a Small World after all! It’s a Small World after all!” But more so her email is a reminder that being a mother has nothing to do with biology. I knew that to be true of a father from my own personal experience of growing up without a dad. I guess I needed to be reminded it's true for moms too.

If my last IVF cycle doesn’t work and I have to use my Alternate Path to become a mom, I will not be having my biological child and I need to be okay with that.

One day I am convinced that I am fine and whatever the outcome I will be okay and the next I am full of tears and pain not knowing what I'll do if this doesn't work...

I received my BFFs Christmas card in the mail which had both her children BBG (Beautiful Baby Girl) and BBB (Beautiful Baby Boy) on it all dressed up in their Christmas best and I was looking at their perfect little faces thinking BBG looks like my BFF and BBB looks like his dad and I lost it. I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn't stop pleading with God and I realized I am not okay.

Later on that day, I was driving to work and I started thinking of my Alternate Path. I started thinking of all the reasons I want to be a mother and not one of those reasons is so my child can have my eyes. That doesn’t matter. I started wondering what my child will look like and I smiled. I am okay.

I think about others going through infertility with PCOS, Endometriosis or Male Factor Infertility and I know that I don’t have any of those issues. I wasn’t robbed of my ability to have children. I have DOR due to Advanced Maternal Age. I did this. I waited too long. I took my fertility for granted and if I never get pregnant again I need to be okay. I need to find a way to let myself off the hook. I need to take full responsibility and then forgive myself. If I don’t forgive myself I will never be okay.

On the Fertile Thoughts Board one of the girls who struggled very hard and finally got pregnant just had her beautiful twin baby boys. And two other girls, who like me, are considered to be of Advanced Maternal Age, both struggled cycle after cycle and both were showing off their belly pics as they enter their 2nd trimester. This reminds me that the process works. It gives me hope and I have to let myself be okay to have hope again. I’ve lost that. I’ve been so consumed with the thought that this might not work that I haven’t let myself believe that this might work. I need to be okay with believing.

I need to find a way to be okay no matter what the outcome is.

As I sit here looking out my window as the first few snowflakes starting to fall, I look at the barren trees against a cloud filled sky and never thought that I would be barren too. I wonder if the trees know that come spring they will bloom again. Is that why the trees don’t seem to mind? Is that why they keep growing, reaching towards the sky? Is that why they’re okay?

“But it's just the fact that the child is getting a loving mother :)”

Can my journey towards motherhood keep me growing; keep me reaching up towards the sky? Can knowing that in the end I will be a loving mom make me okay?

Where's that confounded bridge?

2010-11-30T22:06:00.006-05:00

On Thanksgiving Day I was forced (yes, forced) to reveal my Alternate Path to my family. My Alternate Path is the next step in my journey towards motherhood should my Current Path not lead me to my destination. My Alternate Path is something very personal to me. It took a lot of crying, a lot of soul searching and a lot of researching before I became happy (and actually excited) about my Alternate Path. But I was only going to reveal my Alternate Path if I needed an Alternate Path. I still have one more cycle and I am praying that this is it. I am praying that I won’t need an Alternate Path. I am praying that the Current Path leads me to motherhood!

“I would never be content or happy not being a mother at all…”

I read those words on S.I.F.’s blog and they have been ringing in my ears ever since. My heart embraces those words. Those words hit home because I know that the same holds true for me. I know that becoming a mom is a “non-negotiable”. It was in that moment, that moment when I read and re-read those words, that I realized I needed a solid Alternate Path. I needed a new path in case the one I was on ended at a dead end. I figured the best way to move past the pain that I may never carry my biological child or the pain that I may never be pregnant again was to have a solid path laid out in front of me. I needed a solid path to motherhood and that is what I have been doing for the last month. I have been finding my way. Finding my path. And if it’s my way and if it’s my path, don’t you think I should be the one to tell people?

I made the mistake of including my sister, Sissy L, in discussions about my Alternate Path. I brought up the topic of my Alternate Path to V when we were out to dinner. Sissy L was with us. I included her. I didn’t think that my sister would tell others. Now I did not state that my Alternate Path was top secret so in that respect it is my fault. I just didn’t realize she would take my Alternate Path and make it her topic of conversation but I should have known better. Ever since we were little she’s tried to retell my stories and when she does they never seem to come out right. I can only image how she butchered the tale of my Alternate Path. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not mad at her. I just wish that it was me telling my friends.

But either way, it doesn’t matter. She revealed my Alternate Path and now my Alternate Path was out there! Close friends knew. Friends that I wish I was the one who told but instead my sister did. I had to reveal my Alternate Path because others knew and my mom would be so upset if she wasn’t told by me.

* Lyrically, the bridge is typically used to pause and reflect on the earlier portions of the song or to prepare the listener for the climax.

So I knew Thanksgiving Day would be the perfect time to reveal my Alternate Path to the rest of the family. I tried to avoid bringing up the topic of my Alternate Path by leaving information about it directly dead center on my coffee table. I figure one of them, my mom or my other sister, Sissy M, would point it out and say “Michaela, what’s this?” but nooooo, the giant elephant just sat in the room the whole time. And Sissy L kept making side comments the whole time. It was like she had Alternate Path Tourettes! Spurting out random words here and there! Till finally the moment came when I started to tell everyone what my Alternate Path is if my next cycle doesn’t work. And as soon as I started to tell the tale my mom cuts me off and says: “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there” and I looked at her and said: “I can’t do that. I can’t do that knowing that the bridge might collapse underneath me. Knowing that I can be dropped into the darkest abyss without some way out, I can’t. I can’t cross that bridge when I get there.” I know my mom is just trying to protect me by avoiding talking about it. If we all act as if it’s not there maybe it will go away and then we won’t have to face the giant “What if” staring right at us. But it won’t go away because there is a very real chance that this next cycle won’t work. There is a very real chance that I might never carry a child but there is no chance that I won’t become a mother. So I told my family my Alternate Path. They all embraced it.

This is my journey to motherhood. No matter what path I end up taking, no matter how many bridges I need to cross I will in the end be a mom. I need my Alternate Path. Right now my Alternate Path is my security blanket. It's a way to protect my heart. And in planning my Alternate Path it is my time to pause, reflect and prepare for the climax.

If the only prayer you said in your whole life was "thank you," that would suffice. ~ Meister Eckhart

2010-11-25T12:00:00.008-05:00

My favorite holiday is Thanksgiving. It always has been. For me it’s the one day in the year where you can just put everything aside, breath, relax, look around and say “thanks”. I am by nature a grateful person. I embrace this holiday. I treasure it and I live by it. But I am having a hard time…

I’m having a hard time letting all the things I am grateful for and all the things I am thankful for easy the pain of what I am missing.

Every night I thank God for all the good things in my life. Every night. Not just on Thanksgiving. And I am truly grateful. I am truly thankful. But that doesn’t close the hole. It doesn’t easy the pain. It doesn’t heal the wound.

So on this day as I count my blessing, celebrate the day and laugh with my family, I will put aside the hole in my heart, breath, relax, look around and say "thanks"!

On the edge of cynicism:

2010-11-18T15:08:00.007-05:00

I’ll be the 1st to admit that when someone starts talking about Jesus as their savior and quoting the bible my 1st reaction is a giant eye roll. It’s an unstoppable reflect. I don’t know why. I believe in God and Jesus. I respect all religions. I don’t mean to be cynical. I try to think back and I try figure out what has made me this jaded that I would roll my eyes at the Lord’s words and I have nothing. (*Actually I just rolled my eyes at typing that phrase “The Lord’s words”). I guess it evokes mental images of the extremes. Extremes you are only exposed to with age because I don’t recall sitting in church when I was little and rolling my eyes. When I was little I would go to church with my grandmother. She was a deacon in her church. Church was a place of utmost respect. She always made you stand up straight and sit up straight. You had to sit with your ankles crossed and your hands folded on your lap. There was no acting up. There was no fussing and there was no fidgeting. If you fussed, if you fidgeted or if you slouched you got a pinch on your leg. A good pinch! I guess it was an old fashioned form of shock therapy delivered with a stern scowl by Grandma H. But it worked. There you were drifting off into space, starting to slouch and PINCH! Or if you started fidgeting, tapping your foot, playing with your hands: PINCH! It got to the point where if Grandma H just slightly moved you automatically became erect and still in your seat.

And my respect for the church was evident this Sunday when I returned to church for the 1st time after my miscarriage. Now mind you, I am not a regular "church goer", but I didn’t go into church rolling my eyes. Although I do find the whole shaking of everyone’s hands and saying “The Peace of something or other be with you” a little corny, I am not checking out the backs of my eyelids when Pastor Don reads the scripture. I listen intently. I sit up straight with my ankles crossed and my hands folded on my lap. But then again Pastor Don doesn’t just drone on and on reading passage after passage from the Bible. He reads one or two small passages and then goes into how they pertain to life with amusing stories, funny anecdotes etc. all relating back to the lesson of that scripture. I don’t know if all Pastors/Reverends/Priests do this. I don’t recall if Reverend L did this when I was little but then again I was too busy focusing on sitting up straight, crossing my ankles, folding my hands on my lap and not fidgeting. Doing all of that and in my mind trying to finding a way to do it while sleeping! So at church today when I would feel myself slouch I would sit up straight, cross my ankles and fold my hands on my lap. When I would start to fidget I would sit up straight, cross my ankles and fold my hands on my lap. I was not rolling my eyes. So, if anything church makes me sit up straighter!

I will admit that I am not “up to date” on the proper rituals of the church. This was evident when I went to a Catholic Church for the first time with my ex Sio for his Aunt’s funeral and thought that the kneeler was a footrest. Yup I asked him, in the middle of the funeral, if he would like me to put the footrest down. And with a look of confusion and then amusement he goes: “What?” and I said: “The footrest…would you like me to put the footrest down?” and through his laughter he says: “It’s a kneeler. You kneel on it to pray!” So, of course now as I look around the church I notice several women kneeling and praying. We laughed. We laughed out loud in church but continued to pray! And I never felt like rolling my eyes once that day. But then again the whole sermon was in Spanish so I had no idea what the priest was saying.

Even 2 years ago when my beloved Grandma H passed away and my sisters, cousins, aunt, mom and myself were sitting in church, the same church Grandma H brought me to when I was little, I didn’t feel jaded by God’s words. I felt at home. Right at home considering that my sisters, my cousins and I burst out laughing in the middle of the church. The Reverend was preparing to start the service and he went to move the collection plates out of the way. As a joke he passed the collection plate to my sister M. The looks, and I say looks because her face went through a couple of emotions in about a minute, were hysterical. First she was like “Oh” and she starts looking in her purse for money and then her face was kind of pleading like “someone give me some money” and then it went to anger like “How dare you ask for a collection at my Grandma’s funeral” and then the Reverend let her off the hook and said with a smile “I’m just kidding” and we lost it. Burst out laughing until my Aunt N yells “Girls! We are in a church!” I felt at home. So, why do I have this unstoppable reaction to roll my eyes …

And church isn’t the only place I do it. I roll my eyes at sappy songs. I find Rascal Flats way too whiney for my tastes. You’re a bunch of guys. Quit whining and act like a man! And I truly want to throw Celine Dion overboard every time I hear that song from the Titanic.

Don’t get me wrong I’m not without feelings. I bawled my eyes out several times during Homeward Bound when the dogs and kitty cat get lost and are trying to find their way home. I cried like a baby when ET’s heart light started glowing beneath the clear plastic, alien body bag.

So what is it? What constitutes my eye roll?

Do I direct my cynicism to certain aspects of my life because it reflects areas in my life where I’ve been burned? That is a justifiable assumption. I’ve been burned more than once in love and God and I are still working on some serious burns.

Maybe being cynical is really a protection reflect? If I keep everything at arms distance in the “seeing is believing” mode I won’t get crushed when it doesn’t come into my view.

And if I get burned on my last IVF cycle will I then become cynical about A.R.T or older woman trying to have babies? Will I roll my eyes at their stories instead of providing my insightful (and witty) advice?

If I do not get pregnant, if I never carry a child will I forever be jaded and cynical about pregnancy and birth? Will I completely lose myself in anger and resentment?

I like who I am. I like that I can find humor in trying situations. I like that I can celebrate and rejoice. There is actually a part of me that doesn’t want to move forward. That doesn’t want to do this last IVF cycle because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of falling over the edge. Over the edge of cynicism.

Will I be able to laugh, celebrate and rejoice or will I be rolling my eyes?

*Note the church in the picture is the First Presbyterian Church of Stanhope NJ. The church that Grandma H would bring me to when I was little.

A fear like no other: The return of Whiffer!

2010-11-11T00:30:00.008-05:00

When I was little I used to play softball. I played on the Little League team and then played well into my teens. Anyone who plays softball knows that feeling of striking out. When strike three either whizzes past you or you swing and miss, its defeat. It’s even a greater sense of defeat when the game is on the line. Runners are in scoring position, the pitcher winds up and…bam…strike 1. Now your heart starts to race. You tell yourself its okay, you have 2 more chances. You wait for the perfect pitch and there it is. You swing. You miss. Strike 2 and it’s all on the line. One more strike and you are out. Game over. It’s pressure. It’s a lot of pressure and you are out of chances. How will it end? Will you watch the perfect pitch whiz past you? Will you swing the bat and miss or will you hit it out of the park? When I used to play softball at one time or another, I did all three. And although sometimes I struck out, I also knew that I could get a hit. My fear of the strike out didn’t overwhelm me. But there was one place that it did.

My overwhelming fear of the strike out didn’t come to me on the softball field. My fear of striking out showed up in my own backyard. My childhood friends and I used to play Whiffle ball in my backyard and there was one friend who when he pitched I could NEVER hit off of him! And that pitcher was cousin Bb. Yup cousin Bb struck me out every time. He wasn’t really my cousin. He was my childhood best friend LL’s cousin but I called him cousin anyway. I did that with all her cousins. I don’t know why initially I couldn’t hit off cousin Bb, maybe it was a childhood crush or the fear of embarrassment was too strong but there I was: strike 1, strike 2, strike 3 YOU’RE OUT!! Each and every time. And always at the hands of cousin Bb. Cousin Bb even gave me a nickname. Yup, I was called Whiffer! And the longer this went on the more terrified I became of batting against cousin Bb. There were games that if cousin Bb wasn’t pitching, when I got up to bat he would run to the mound (with the chant of Whiffer rising up through my yard) and 1, 2, 3 strikes I’m out and then trot back to the position he was playing. Just like that boom. The more this went one, the greater the fear became.

I’m down to my last IVF cycle. I was sure when I bought the 3 cycle package that I would hit it out of the park by my 2nd try. After my 1st failed IVF I was okay. I had 2 more chances. But now, now I have 2 strikes and the pressure is on. The fear is rising. I have 1 more chance and I can either hit it out of the park or swing and miss. I am terrified. It’s pressure. It’s fear. Which could be followed by the ultimate defeat and it’s in my own back yard. Am I destined to become Whiffer again? I am praying hard that cousin Bb isn’t pitching. I’m praying hard that Whiffer doesn't return.

All the signs pointed too…, Never text while crying, Hey Jealousy and A Date that was Due…

2010-10-29T14:22:00.022-04:00

It has to be a sign:

Everything leading up to this cycle, everything about this cycle all pointed to success. Although I am struggling with the “Everything Happening for a Reason” and the “Meant to Be”, I truly believed that this cycle would be a success. I truly believed all the signs that pointed to success. With every sign: my baseline showing no cyst = sign, the fortune teller saying I will get pregnant once my left ovary starting working again and my left ovary finally producing eggs this cycle = sign, the fortune teller saying I would find out I am pregnant (3 months prior) on October 18th = sign, Leroy being 9 days late making me have to skip the August cycle and do the September cycle making my pregnancy test fall exactly on October 18th = sign, the Math FINALLY falling in my favor = sign, my mom coming with me to my ER = sign (really good sign in my book!) and so many other signs, all of it, I believed it more and more. I believed it was God trying to show me that this was going to happen and that I just need to trust in God and it would all work out. And I trusted. I trusted that God would not send me all of these signs only to let me fall. And I focused. I focused on a positive outcome knowing in my heart that this was it. And I let go. I let go of all negative thoughts. I wouldn’t let myself even for one second entertain the thought that this wasn’t going to work. And I believed. I 100% completely believed. I believed so strongly that I knew I was pregnant. I knew I was pregnant until about 5 days past my ET when all the signs in my body pointed to no. But I tried to ignore those signs b/c God gave my so many signs up until then so I made myself believe that this was just a test and I had to trust, focus, let go and believe even stronger than before. And I did and it turned out that I’m not pregnant. And now I am having a very hard time trusting, focusing, letting go and most of all believing.

Thank you for thinking of me. I’m not pregnant. I am very sad:

Yes, that is the text I sent out to some close girlfriends on Monday October 18th when I found out that I wasn’t pregnant. I cried when I typed it into my phone and I cried when I hit send. I cried for hours on end that day but one text in response to that text actually had me laughing!

“I am so sorry to hear that. I lost my phone last week and don’t have everyone’s number yet so, who is this?”

What? Huh? A return text from who? From TM? I thought I sent the text to TT…oh no…I thought I sent out the text to some of my girlfriends from work and instead of sending it to TT I sent it to TM who is a guy I used to work with about a year ago! I just sent this guy, a guy I hardly know, a text saying “I’m not pregnant”! I quickly tried to move past it by texting “Sorry I meant to send this to TT” His text back: “Who is this?” The jig is up…I respond: “It’s Michaela”. And now the text messages continue: “Hey sorry to hear that. I didn’t know you were trying to have a baby. At least you get to keep trying. That’s the fun part!” Yes, TM I do get to keep trying and NO it is not fun! But I didn’t want to text him that. This guy already (now!) knows more of my business than he needs to so, in trying to put an end to my embarrassing text moment and I text back “Thank you and I guess you didn’t really need to know any of this. LOL!” A little LOL thrown in there to lighten things up and we should be done…nope…his text back: “I guess not! I didn’t know you were romantically involved to the extent babies were involved. They shit and cry a lot anyway!” Why do people with children always have to say something negative about children or babies to people trying to have a baby? Is it an involuntary reflex?

Oh the text I wanted to send back. The one about my struggles and being single. The one that tells TM in no uncertain terms to cherish his little baby and every little poop he produces b/c not everyone gets that chance. But I didn’t. My text back was: “At least accidentally texting you made me laugh today”. And it did.

If I hadn’t blown the whole thing years ago I might not be alone:

I’ve been many things in my life. I’ve been jealous, jaded, shallow, bitter, petty and angry. Yes, I will admit that I have at one time or another been all those things but I have never been all those things all at once until now. And I can’t seem to help it or stop it.

A lot of the women on my Fertility Boards who’ve gotten pregnant after I did are having their babies. I am jealous.

When they announce their betas, if it is low I automatically think the worst. I am jaded.

They talk about names they’ve picked out, decorating their nurseries and their baby showers. I automatically negate their choices. I am shallow, bitter and petty.

I think about the time I’ve wasted over the years. I think that if I had only tried to have a baby years ago, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I think about my miscarriage. I think "That should be me!" I am angry!

I do not like this person I’ve become. I don’t like feeling or thinking this way.

My due date:

Maybe a failed IVF cycle right before my due date has exaggerated all these feelings and I am really not that bad of person? One can only hope. But Sunday October 31, 2010 was the day I should have had my baby. My Angel. On a day where everyone will be wearing a costume, pretending to be someone else, I too will be pretending. I will be pretending to move on. I will be pretending to move forward. I will wear a mask. A mask with a smile on it when in reality I am sad.

Last Stop!!! Lostville!!

2010-10-19T12:41:00.009-04:00

This is actually a post I didn't want to make. I wanted to find some humorous way of expressing how I am truly feeling right now because I've always been one who tries to find the funny side of life...Instead I have to rely on my other side. The side that just tells it like it is...my truthful side so, for those of you wondering where the Crazy Train left me off...well, it wasn't Disney! It feels like it stopped in the middle of a very long, dark tunnel and I am walking around trying to find the light at the end of the tunnel. And it is not there. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. I am lost in the dark. I’m trying so hard to see but I have no idea where I am suppose to go and what I am supposed to do. You see, the Crazy Train, when it stops, even though your IVF cycle has ended unsuccessfully, you still feel lost, left off in the middle, you don’t feel like this is your final destination but you don’t know what direction you are supposed to go in either. The sadness is overwhelming and self pity becomes prevalent. I have never been one to wallow in self pity but when you are stumbling around in the dark unable to see you tend to get a case of the “Why me’s”. “Why is this happening to me?” Which then makes me wonder if I am paying off some karmic debt? You are lost in a maze of questions, worry, fear and self doubt and you just can’t see a way past it. A way past the sadness, a way past the pain. You can’t see the road you are meant to travel and you can’t see the future you so desperately want…you are stumbling around in Lostville.

And although I only found out yesterday that I’m not pregnant it feels so long ago. I find myself staring off into space, drifting and remembering my last cycle like was in another lifetime. I am mourning. And I know I need to pick up the pieces and move on but I don't know which direction I'm suppose to go in. I am trying so desperately to find the light. To find the ray of light to illuminate my way but I’m grappling in the dark, reaching out, straining to find that glimmer of hope. The problem is...it is so hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel when your eyes are full of tears.