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

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…

**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…

(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?

“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…

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

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…

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…

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

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!

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!!

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...

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...

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...

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…

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…

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

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

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...