It IS beautiful...I think???

On my "private" Facebook group one of the girls posted a link to this:

A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN MAY | THE BIRTH OF MATILDA

Her comment: "Just wanted to share...it's beautiful"

My comment...or should I say reaction was:

"I don't know...that completely freaks me out and makes me incredibly sad at the same time"

My friend felt bad.  She posted an apology...she didn't have to. I know she didn't post it thinking this would be something that could be hurtful to me or to anyone else.

She posted it because she thought it was beautiful...

And it is...I think??

And it's the: "I think" that's making me incredibly sad...

The thing is many people will make references to pregnancy and childbirth and it will be something I know nothing about.

The private Facebook page is a Single Mom by Choice page. I am the only mom that has adopted. There is another mother that used a surrogate. I am not sure how she feels about pregnancy and childbirth, she has never mentioned it.

But all the other mothers gave birth to their children.

I am sure that they all (well at least no one's admitted to the contrary) think it's beautiful.

They've experienced it....I can't say the same.

I never got past 8 weeks...so I never REALLY got to experience pregnancy aside from some sore boobs and a little nausea...I never felt a kick or hiccup (Ladybug gets the hiccups all the time! It wonder if she did while in her birthmommy's belly?)...and I never felt a contraction or pushed or gave birth...and I'll tell you what...

Those pictures terrified me and made me incredible sad not because...well not only because of the obvious...but because seeing a little head coming out of her...FREAKS ME OUT!!

All I can think of when I look at that picture is "Oh God NO!!"

It doesn't seem natural and it's not beautiful...well at least not to me...

And that makes me incredibly sad...

Because it makes me think to myself...

Could that be it?

Could my inner reactions be why?

Why I never got past 8 weeks? Why I never gave birth? Because I don't find it beautiful?

I've felt this way as long as I can remember.  And I'm going to be honest here, I have the same visceral reaction to breastfeeding! (Please note - I am PRO breastfeeding...it just freaks me out!)

Even though I wanted it so desperately...

Could that be why?

The day I met my daughter the social workers brought me to this tiny, little room at the agency. In the corner of the room, turned so it could fit in the space, sat a rocking chair. A child's blanket laid across the back of the rocking chair.

They told me to sit in the chair.

I did.

I looked around the room. The social workers had set up children's blocks on the desk next to the rocking chair that said "Congratulations Michaela and Ladybug (well her real name) April 17, 2014.

My mother dressed in a bright orange shirt...bright orange because she read somewhere it is comforting to children...she stood behind the door that the social workers were about to carry my daughter through with her video camera posed and ready...

I sat there in this strange rocking chair, in this strange, little room with my name strangely spelled out in blocks and my mother wearing a strange, overly bright orange shirt...and I looked at my mother...no not to condemn her for her color choices...

I looked at  my mother and as a matter fact I said: "Could this be why?"

"I think so honey" my mom said with a smile..."I think so!"

I go into her room at night and I watch her. I can't stop watching her... and I know it doesn't matter.

I know it doesn't matter.

Just like pregnancy and childbirth...

It doesn't matter...

Just like the fairy tale of the guy and the dream of 2 kids...

It doesn't matter...

Your family...no matter what it looks like and no matter how it came to be...

That's what matters...that's what's beautiful...

That moment in that strange, little room at my adoption agency, with my mom in her brightly colored shirt poised with a video camera in hand as the social workers walked in carrying my daughter...it was beautiful...

But that doesn't stop me from wishing that I held her close to my chest the second she was born.

That doesn't stop me from wishing that her little head came out of my...well nope...nope...still freaking me out....

That doesn't stop me from wishing that I could see the beauty in that...first hand...

Never

nev·er

adv.

1. Not ever; on no occasion; at no time:

2. Not at all; in no way; absolutely not:

Sometimes I find myself just staring off into space with the word NEVER ringing in my head.

It's a cacophony of finality.

And all I can feel, see, hear, think...is that I am the woman that will NEVER have kids. I am no longer this woman full of dreams...this go getter that NEVER gives up...I am now the old spinster that NEVER had kids. The one that people whisper about...I am a pity stare.

Will I EVER be anything else?

I have done everything one can think of, spent every dime I have, and I can't have a baby. That hurts more than any words I could EVER type onto a computer screen.

I will NEVER have a baby.

Never...

I will NEVER have another positive pregnancy test.

Never...

I will NEVER have that perfect ultrasound and hear my baby's heartbeat.

Never...

I will NEVER feel my babies kick inside of me.

It's finality is deafening!

Never...

I will NEVER give birth.

Never...

With each failed cycle, each pregnancy and each loss a piece of me died. A piece that I will NEVER get back.

  

Never...

I will NEVER have a baby.

Never...

I will always carry this loss. It will NEVER go away.

Never...

I will NEVER be okay.

Never...

I just wish it wasn't so fucking final.

For what it's worth...

Adoption isn't something I decided to do because of my infertility issues.

I have always wanted to adopt.

From a very young age...I dreamt of adopting.

It was actually having children that I wasn't so sure I wanted to do.

In my idealistic teenage years and even throughout my early twenties, I was known to say things like:

"Having biological children is selfish when there are so many children out there that need a loving home."

"Why bring more children into this world..."

For what it's worth I was a fucking idiot!

Those sentiments were declared by someone who thought they had a choice...

Ahhh what power there is in choice...

And even though I declared those things perched on top of my high horse I always pictured myself pregnant and having children.

I dreamed of one big melded family of love...

I still dream of that but just like the other part of the dream that I had to let go of...you know that part that included the man of my dreams in this big, melded, crazy family of love...I must now release the part about having a baby...

It is not going to happen...

Because after 3 1/2 years, 13 cycles and over $50,000 trying to have a baby...I have come out empty handed or should I say empty "wombed"!

So what was it worth?

What have the last 3 1/2 years of my life been worth?

For what it's worth thinking about my adoption fills my soul with light. But it will always do that...

And I do not think of it as 2nd best...I know I will love my child more than life itself...I know that I will love them as ferociously as any mother could...because I already do...

But in the same breath thinking about never having a successful pregnancy, about never carrying a baby, never giving birth takes away a part of me that can never be replaced.  I will never be the same. I will always carry this sadness...

Why? Why can't I be the type of person who doesn't care one way or the other.

Why is this loss trumping everything else?

Because it is not my choice...

So what has all this been worth...

After every failed cycle I would take the picture of my embryos, you know the one they give you on transfer day and I would write something on it...something to my potential babies that didn't make it.

I would write something like:

"I love you more than you will ever know. I wish you could have stayed with me...Love Mom"

And I would put those pictures in my dragonfly keepsake box that I keep hidden away in my closet.

The dragonfly keepsake box I bought  as a little memorial after my first miscarriage.

The box that I put my pregnancy tests and a pregnancy journal in...

A journal whose purpose was to capture all the amazing milestones of my pregnancy but instead captured my despair as I lost my baby.

When I got pregnant the second time I was so certain that this was it...I took a pregnancy test every day until my beta watching with pure joy as that beautiful line grew darker and darker.

Those too now rest in my dragonfly keepsake box.

This time last year I was devastated over my 2nd miscarriage...

I have spent the last year doing cycle after cycle trying to get pregnant again...and I can't...and I don't know why...

It would only take a couple of days after one of my numerous transfers before I would know that it didn't work...I would know I wasn't pregnant...and I would write my little note to my precious embryos and tuck them away in that little box in my closet.

Except after this last (my final) cycle...I wasn't sure after a couple of days...and then a couple more days past and I knew...I knew I was pregnant.

I took a test...there was a line...faint but definitely a line...the next day I took another test...expecting the line to be darker...it wasn't...and my beta came back too low...too low to be a viable pregnancy...it's a chemical pregnancy...another lost baby...

I was pregnant for a day...for one day I was beyond happy...it's not enough...

I took the pictures of my beautiful embryos, wrote a little note telling them how much I wish that we could be together and put them along with my pregnancy test with that faint little line on it into my dragonfly box and tucked it away in my closet...

It's over...

My last cycle...

3 1/2 years...13 cycles...2 1/2 pregnancies...no baby...

So what has it all been worth?

The $50,000 I've spent?

The 35 extra pounds I've gained?

The endless nights of crying?

The over 500 shots I have given myself?

Or the keepsake box in my closet filled with pictures of embryos and positive pregnancy tests that never resulted in a baby...

A Letter to my Friends and Sunny Days...

Your support brings me to tears.

Your jubilant "Congratulations!"

Your heartfelt "I'm sorry!"

You cheer me on.

You support me when I fall.

You restore my confidence.

But I am not going to lie.

This is hard for me.

It is hard for me to return that support.

It is so hard for me to jubilantly say "Congratulations."

It's so hard to know that I wasted too much time and now I will never have a biological child.

It's so hard for me to face the fact that I may never experience a successful pregnancy.

I may never see or hear my baby's heartbeat.

I may never have that ultrasound telling me the gender of my baby.

I may never feel a flutter or a kick.

I may never experience childbirth.

To know that I may never have those things burns a hole in my soul.

And it makes it hard, so hard for me to be supportive back.

There are days, even several days in a row, where I don't care. I really don't care at all if I ever get pregnant. Days where I never want to cycle again. Where my desire to be a mom overrides the desire to be pregnant. And I am content. I say to myself: "As long as I am a mom I don't care how." and my heart rests for a moment and relishes in the knowing. Knowing that I am going to be a mom.

So why isn't that enough?

Because there are these other moments. The ones that take me by storm. By an emotional storm.

I recently went on a little vacation with V and her hubby. The first day V went off to get a manicure and so hubby and I decided to sit out by the pool.

It wasn't very busy out by the pool. As a matter of fact we were surprised by how few people were around.

There were maybe 10 people walking around or laying out. Not many swimming.

And of course among those 10 lousy people, plopping themselves down right next to me was a pregnant woman.

Well at first I was trying to figure out if she was pregnant or just fat. She had a cover up on and it was hard to tell.

But I kept studying her. I couldn't help it. And I determined that by the way she was walking with the start of a waddle (which still could have meant she was just fat) and how she kept resting her hand on top of her belly that she was indeed pregnant.

And then of course as I was completing my examination and drawing my conclusions on her, another very obviously pregnant woman walked up from the beach with her hand precariously placed on top of her beautiful, full belly.

As I swam laps in the pool I couldn't help staring at them as my emotions began to surface. I tried to look away. I tried to focus on swimming but the storm was already rolling in.

And with each lap I began feeling the loss, feeling the pain, feeling the jealousy until all I could think was: " I hate her!"

And I did. Hate her. In that moment in time, in the middle of the storm, I hated a perfect stranger because of my own short comings.

And then I hated myself for feeling that way but couldn't figure out how to make it stop.

How do you make the rain stop?

How do you make the anger and the jealousy stop?

Make these feelings of inadequacy and loss stop?

How do you make the hate stop?

How do I make my heart stop hurting?

It's like trying to control the wind.

Now imagine how I feel when these emotions, like the perfect storm, all come together into one, when I am looking at the pregnant belly of a friend or family member.

I hate them.

And I hate that I can't help hating them.

But this is where I am now.

Caught somewhere between sunny skies and nasty weather.

Not where I hope to be in the future.

In the future I want to be basking in the sun with my baby.

In the future I want to be able to support you the way you support me.

I want to.

I really do.

But I'm not there yet.

And for that I truly apologize.

And I don't know if I will ever fully be able to embrace, celebrate and support you the way you do for me.

There will always probably be a pang.

A pang of jealously.

A pang of bitterness.

A pang of sorrow.

A pang of loathing?

This pang brewing beneath the surface like thunder on a clear day.

But hopefully someday it will just be a little manageable pang instead of a gaping open wound.

Maybe someday it will just be a tiny bit of turbulence instead flying into the eye of the storm.

You leave comments about how amazing I am and all I can think about is how amazing all of you are and how broken I am.

Although I am over the moon at the prospect of my adoption. The mere thought of the day I meet my baby fills my heart and soul with light and love.

My heart and soul are still fragile.

Even sometimes "well wishes" on my adoption from someone pregnant or someone with biological children brews up an uncontrollable "Fuck you!" in my head when my lips are saying "Thanks!"

And if you are reading this and wondering: "Was she thinking Fuck You when I told her Congratulation?" most likely not but I am not making any promises.

It comes and goes just like a storm.

But know I don't mean it.

Just like the skies don't mean any of the damage it might cause when it rains. I don't mean to feel the way I do when it's raining inside my heart.

So on those days when the storm rolls in, please forgive me my friends.

Know that your support helps me weather the storm.

It helps me embrace my sunny days.

Jinxed? Fate? Cursed? Bad Luck? Karma?

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…

There’s still time to change the road you’re on…

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….

What is and what should never be…

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…

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…

*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.

Put on a Happy Face!

*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…

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.

Praying for Someday…

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

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?

On the edge of cynicism:

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.

Where I should be now…

Quick note: I added an Acronym List at the bottom on the left hand side to help you with all those abbreviations that us TTC (look it up) gals like to use!

One of the girls on my fertility board wrote how she is having a hard time looking forward because she can’t help but focus on where she “should be” now. That comment really made me think of where I am now and where I “should be" now. Not only in terms of my TTC (because I always think about that) but also in other aspects of my life: where I “should be” now in regards to my career, a home and of course a family. Where I “should be” now as opposed to where I am now. Wow if someone had told me 20 years ago that at 41 I would be single, starting my own software company (first of all 20 years ago I would have been like WTF is software!), working in a bar, no children, no husband and TTC using donor sperm…if someone had told me that is where I would be now… I would have told them they were out of their mind and then politely (I say that sarcastically) tell them where I would be in my life and then tell them exactly where they could go. Ahhh, but times have changed. I don’t tell as many people off as I used to! Maybe I’ve softened, maybe I don’t care as much as I used to or maybe my life is nowhere near where I thought it “should be” that my focus is on trying to accept where I am.

My career

The where I “should be” in my career. My career now or the career I thought I would have? Well, I thought I “should be” an actress. I went to a 3 year acting conservatory in Manhattan, I was good and I spent many discouraging years in the city with very limited success. So, I decided to change my idea of where I “should be” in regards to my career and went back to school to become a computer programmer which leads me to where I am now, running my own software company and supplementing my income by bartending…hmm… I’m not unhappy about where I am today but can honestly say I never saw that one coming!

My home

This is the one area that the where I am now and where I “should be” now don’t really bother me that much. I “should be” living in a house with a beautiful backyard, possibly a pool, with a swing set and a fort (yes, a fort and it’s for me not my children). Where I am today is living in a beautiful condo (even though it’s a one bedroom I will convert the dining room into the baby’s room), with maintenance (meaning they shovel the snow) and a swimming pool. I like it!

My family

Now this is where it really starts to go off course. Where I “should be” now is married to a wonderful, witty, man who adores me and we have two beautiful, well-behaved children. Or at the very least I “should be” divorced from the idiot I married against my better judgment, raising our 2 kids alone, bitching about how he’s late with the child support and doesn’t see the kid’s as often as he could…wait a minute…hold the phone…that is one of the reasons I am single because I actually used my better judgment and didn’t get married so let’s just keep it to: I “should be” married to a wonderful, witty, man who adores me and we have two beautiful, well behaved children. The End.

My journey

Well if the above was true there really wouldn’t be a “should be” in regards of TTC but since I am not married to a wonderful, witty, man who adores me and we have two beautiful, well-behaved children, the where I “should be” now, the “should be” my friend expressed on the fertility board, is simple, I “should be” 27 weeks pregnant. That “should be” I try so hard not to focus on, I try so hard to put it out of my mind but it is always there. And everyday there’s something that brings it right back to the front of my mind: the girls on my fertility board getting their BFPs, or their tickers stating “I’m 12 weeks along”, “I’m 20 weeks along”, “My EDD is mm/dd/yyyy”. Mine was 10/31/2010. And yes, I am truly happy for them, this isn’t about negating their journey or their happiness but it’s just like the old saying goes: “I am happy for them but sad for me” and it’s not only on my fertility board it’s everywhere. When I talk on the phone to my BFF and her newborn is crying in the background and she’s exhausted from chasing around her 1 year old and all I keep thinking is I “should be” getting ready to welcome my little bundle of exhaustion into my life or what I wouldn’t give to be that exhausted. And I know it’s all relevant; if the shoe were on the other foot (ahhhh, but what if my shoe was on someone else’s foot. Now, that would be a relief). And it’s on Facebook “Did you see so and so is on Facebook now? Yeah, he’s married and his wife is pregnant.” There are baby pictures and family pictures everywhere on Facebook. It’s just a constant reminder of the where I “should be” now. Even when a friend tells me “I’m 7 days late but it’s okay b/c I’ve been late before. I just wish I wasn’t so tired and I think I have the flu”. Well that’s funny b/c it sounds like you’re pregnant to me. Something I’m not and something I definitely “should be” now. I “should be” 27 weeks pregnant and that is where I want to be now. Is it hard looking forward without focusing on the where I “should be” now? Yes, but the funny thing is the more I think about it the more I know that is where I will be soon. It’s actually, finally gotten me excited about trying again. Excited about starting my cycle, my shots and eventually my 2ww (I’m a glutton for punishment) because I know that the where I “should be” now and the where I am now will one day become one in the same.

Arabian Nights

My dear friend V had a party yesterday in celebration of her 1 year anniversary. Now what you don’t know about V is that she doesn’t just have a party, picnic or bbq. No, not V, she goes all out. Her parties have a theme, games, events, costumes and acts. So, yesterday’s party was no different. It was an event. The theme was Arabian Nights and there were harem girls, a henna artist, a fortune teller, a hookah and belly dancing! I told you it was an event!

So as I was deciding what to wear, digging through my closet, pretty much vetoing everything b/c of the extra weight I’ve gained courtesy of fertility treatments, I saw, neatly tucked away in the back of my closet, the blue handkerchief dress my sister had given me for my birthday last year. Beautiful dress, appropriate for the party, definitely fits the theme…but should I wear it? Could I wear it? I thought no, no I can’t, I can’t wear that dress and once again, I neatly tucked it into the back of my closet and continued my vetoing session. No, no, no, no, no! UGGHHHH!! There has to be something in here that I can wear that would be perfect for an Arabian Nights party. Why, yes, yes there is something perfect to wear to an Arabian Nights party and that something is the blue handkerchief dress. I reached into the back of the closet and pulled out the dress again. I held it up, gently pressing it against my body and imagined what I would have looked like in that dress if I had actually been able to wear that dress to the one party that I had planned on wearing to: My Baby Shower.

As soon as I found out I was pregnant (that was in February), me and my sister started planned everything; including my baby shower. Since my due date was in October we decided the baby shower would be in August. I immediately decided that I would be wearing the blue handkerchief dress with my dragonfly necklace and matching earrings. I couldn’t wait! I would picture myself in that dress with a big belly and even bigger boobs walking (or should I say waddling) into my baby shower. It was the most perfect picture in my mind. I couldn’t imagine being any happier or wearing anything else. But that baby shower would never happen. I miscarried in March. I thought about wearing that dress to my cousin’s wedding in April but it was too soon so, I tucked the dress neatly into the back of my closet and that’s where it has taken up residency until yesterday. As I stood there holding that dress in front on my body imagining my beautiful belly and of course giant boobs, I started molding the dress against my real body, my normal belly and somewhat smallish boobs and realized that yes, I can wear this dress. I pulled the dress over my head, tied the halter top behind my neck, went to my jewelry box and pulled out my dragonfly necklace and matching earrings and put them on. I slowly walked over to the mirror and much to my surprise I saw me, not the pregnant me I imagined but just me and I felt good. I felt pretty. And somewhere in the back of my mind I saw the pregnant me, with my beautiful, big belly and even bigger boobs waddling into my baby shower wearing the perfect dress and I smiled because I can’t wait for that day. And b/c I know my good friend V is going to throw one hell of a baby shower.