Kickoff Time

This week we officially kicked off IVF#2.  It feels weird to call it that, even though it's technically accurate, because our FET was, in my mind anyway, our second REAL try at having a baby.  So I feel as if this should be considered our third cycle, although it's technically only our 2nd fresh transfer.

Anyway, we returned to Dal.las this weekend for our second appointment with Dr. Down-to-Earth.  We arrived on the 3rd, so that we could enjoy the 4th before our visit on the 5th.  We stayed near downtown, and ventured into the We.st En.d for dinner.  Yum!!!  For the actual holiday we went to Fai.r Par.k and enjoyed the free museums, aquariums, and fireworks show.

As we watched the brightly-colored explosions overhead that night, I couldn't help but become a bit reflective.  This was the 10th 4th of July that Mo and I have spent together, always in a different place, and yet always doing the same thing.  How I hoped/prayed/wished upon a shooting star that this was the LAST 4th of July that we will celebrate as a family of two.

The appointment on Tuesday went exceptionally well.  Mo thought it was interesting that we had to do a mock transfer, until I reminded him that our previous RE had seen my ute enough times (with all of our IUI's and monitoring appointments) that a mock really wasn't necessary.  Everything looked quiet, and we were cleared to move ahead.  We did some injection teaching, as this time we will be doing an intramuscular HCG shot (as opposed to Ovidrel) for trigger as well as progesterone in oil (POI) shots instead of the suppositories.  I am very much NOT looking forward to those!!!!  Mo also submitted to yet another SA -- but this time we were THRILLED with the results.  After all the lifestyle changes Mo has made during the past year, it was nice to see the results.  His counts more than TRIPLED from our last IVF attempt (post wash they increased even more)....and everything except morphology came back NORMAL.  This has never, ever, ever happened before.  Mo has had about 10 SA's over the years (when you include our IUI's and IVF), and we have never had such good results.  We both are feeling very confident that this bodes well for our success this time.

 So far, so good.  Let's just hope things continue to go our way!

Another Year Has Passed

A year ago today, I walked into a hospital with all shreds of hope for a happy ending, gone.  I walked in quietly, stoic and silent.  I don't know how I even managed to do it, except that I did.  Isn't it like that for all things you imagine you could not bear?  You simply cannot fathom how you will possibly do it, until you have to.  And then you do.

A year ago today, Mo held my hand and cried, his heart so definitively broken.    My mother flitted around me, wanting so very much to help, and unsure of how to do so.  My sister sent texts, and waited for me to be ready to talk.  My stepfather just sat there, supporting me with his simple presence.  Despite all the people surrounding me, loving me, caring for me -- I was alone.  So very, very alone.  

A year later, so much has changed.  Superficially, things seem eerily similar as they did 12 months ago.  We are living in the same house, with our pups, and no children to call our own.  We've spent the year hanging out with friends and family, working, living.  

Surviving.

And yet.

I cannot even put into words how very different things are today.  Not only in my marriage, but in ME.  I doubt most people who know me would even notice a difference -- and yet I do.  I am stronger.  I am softer.  I am more vocal, and yet more gentle, with my ideas and beliefs.  I judge less, and I comfort more.  

I am not the same.

I have survived.

WE have survived. 

And for that tiny miracle, today I am grateful.

Different Perspectives

It has struck me, on occasion, how differently some of us handle our IF than others.  All of us are facing the same uphill battle (no matter the diagnosis) to build our families.  And I'm not just talking about different choices of treatments, or adoption, but of completely different outlooks on why this is happening and how it will all play out.

On the one hand you have the perpetually-optimistic, "it will all work out in time" and "trusting in God's plan" women.  These are the blogs that I tend to avoid, as they differ so drastically from my own, personal outlook.  It's not that they are wrong -- in fact, I have much respect and admiration for women whose faith is not shaken by infertility.  I envy their confidence and assurance that everything will, eventually, work out for the best.

On the other end of the spectrum you have, well, me.  I (and others like me) have had our faith shaken to the very core.  We see no rhyme or reason to infertility, and have no confidence in any greater good that may come out of it.  I see procreation as a simple biological fact, and not a part of any plan for my life.

I say all this because just tonight I had dinner with a woman who falls on the far opposite of the spectrum from me.  She is a fellow IF-er, and our hostess for our trip to Dr. Down-to-Earth.  She and her husband have done multiple IUI's and two IVF's with no luck.  They are currently on a break, and she has been a fantastic sounding board for all things infertility: from meds to doctors to hormone upheavals, we've bitched and moaned together.  She is an amazing, strong, and brave woman and I have the utmost respect for her.  And while I know we differ on our own personal belief systems (she is religious, I am decidedly-not), I didn't realize how very opposite she and I fell on the IF spectrum until a conversation we had at dinner.  I mentioned that a friend of mine from high school had FB'd me and asked to meet for lunch while I was in town, and how I probably wouldn't because she had two young kids and I just wasn't up for it.  My hostess seemed very shocked by this, and told me not to be like that.  It's a choice, she said.  Don't be bitter.

The thing is, I AM bitter.  And I didn't tell her this, because she is a wonderful hostess and a good friend and the time wasn't right for me to just blast out with my feelings in the middle of the restaurant (after all, that's what blogs are for).  But IF has had a much different effect on me than it has on her.  She still believes in God, and his hand in reproduction.  She still believes that, in time, it will be her turn and that everything will work out for the best.

And I just -- don't.  While I am very hopeful for our upcoming cycle (I honestly think that we stand a great chance of success), I DON'T believe 100% that everything will work out eventually.  I don't see children as a foregone conclusion any more.  I have (quite clearly) begun to picture what my life would be like without children.  I want them desperately, and I think I will never be as happy without them as I would be with them.  But they are no longer a given for me, or for others like me.

And that got me wondering.  How can two women go through so many similar life experiences, and end up with such very different outlooks?  Am I a weaker person because my faith wasn't able to withstand the "tests" of infertility?  Is she a better person than me?  I tend to think I'm a pretty strong individual, as I've dealt with my fair share of trials the past ten years.  And yet I question whether its strength or just stubbornness that has kept me on this path.

I don't have any answers.  I don't know why she clings to her faith or why I have so decidedly discarded mine.  I don't know why this "great divide" exists, nor how to bridge it, nor if its even necessary to do so.  I don't know if I will always feel this way, or if, some day in the distant future, I will be able to somehow begin to make sense of all of this and find my way back to the person I was before.  

I do know this: twice I have found myself lying in bed, begging with every single fiber of my being for the life of my unborn child.  For whatever reason, those lives were taken from me.  And that experience changed me, fundamentally, and to the core.   I can't go back -- I will never, ever, ever be the same.  And I know hundreds of other women who feel the same.

Happy endings are not a guarantee, and I can't pretend that they are.  The fact of the matter is babies die, and it fucking sucks.  Does that make me bitter?  It sure as hell does.  Is that a choice that I make?  Maybe.    But it's also real -- and painful -- and worth acknowledging.

Two women.  Two very similar paths.  Two very different perspectives.

I wonder how each of our stories will end?

Still Here

And still infertile.  Nothing really new to report, hence the quiet lately. We are still waiting on our consult (next week!) and to make a plan to move forward.  Everything here is....quiet?  Good?  Dare I say it?  (Knock on wood!)  Other than the whole can't make a baby thing, I've really got nothing to complain about.  School is officially out for the kids, and I've got two more days of PD to endure before I am home free (until August anyway).  I've got a load of summer projects to work on, and am excited to start preparing for my room for next year.  I've got a great bunch of kids and am looking forward to much less stressful year.  I will miss a few of my gems from this year, though!  They are full of great little tidbits.  Consider this actual conversation that I had with a group of students on a field trip about a month ago:

Presenter: It is very important that a dairy cow has a calf every year so that she will continue to produce milk.

Student: Mrs. Jo, how does a cow have a calf every year?

Me: Well, that's a really great question for your parents.

Student: (rolling his eyes) I KNOW where human babies come from!

Me: Well, with cows, it's pretty much the same.

Student: But, what if there are no boy cows around?

Me: Well, nowadays, they have a lot more technology.  They can take what they need from a boy cow and give it to the girl cow and she will have a calf.

(The group of students who were listening ponder this for a few minutes.)

Different Student: Mrs. Jo, do you want to have kids?

Me: (clearly not thinking) Yes. (In my defense, it's my standard answer to this question!)

Student: Does that mean....I mean, you and Mr. Mo....uh....never mind!!!!!!

Me: (turning all shades of purple) Oh, look, Mrs. Other Teacher needs me! (make a speedy exit)

Yes, folks, that really happened.  I gave an impromptu lesson on animal inseminations AND basically admitted to my students that I have S-E-X with my husband.  Am I up for teacher of the year or what?!?

Advice? Opinions? Anyone?

We made an appointment today.

It's just a consult, another chance to sit down with a different doctor.  We aren't at ALL happy with the ONLY fertility clinic in our state, so we have decided to travel to a nearby state for our next cycle.  I don't really have any questions for him, as our last protocol worked fairly well and I assume we'll do something similar again.  Our diagnosis hasn't changed, but with Mo's major lifestyle changes over the past year, I am hoping we will have better results.

We will be traveling to Dallas for this appointment, which apparently is the infertility capital of the world.  Or, you would think anyway, given that there are no less than 6 IVF clinics in the Dallas area alone.  SIX!!!!  There might be something in the water there -- I counted no less than 30 IVF clinics in Texas altogether (according to the SART website).  And our state can only muster one?  Really?

Anyway, I'd like to hear if anyone out in blogland (helloooo?) has used this particular clinic in the past.  Their success rates are phenomenal, and they offer the Att.ain program, which we are hoping to qualify for.  I am very excited to go down there, see our fellow IF friends, and meet this guy.

So, what are your thoughts/opinions on Dallas IVF / Dr. Barnett?  Anyone?

Role Reversal

Mo has really gotten on the baby bandwagon as of late.  He is spending most of his afternoons and evenings researching clinics, IVF financing, procedures, success rates, you name it.

He even found us an insurance policy that will (eventually) cover at least two rounds of IVF.  It's part of a maternity rider that has a 12-month waiting period, so we will have to spend about $3000 on it before it kicks in.  Then there's a $1000 deductible.  But, all said, if we use it within 24 months of purchasing it, it will be like getting $15,000 worth of coverage for $6000.  WAY AWESOME.

Because of the waiting period, we are shelving it temporarily and plan on using it either as A) a back-up plan if this summer's attempts are unsuccessful or B) for a sibling if we get so lucky as to conceive and carry to term.

I hesitate to even write our "plans" as the universe often seems to laugh in my face when presented with such notions.

Still, it's nice to think about.

Which is about all I can do.  Mo is busy as a bee, making phone calls, emailing people, applying for Att.ain and A.R.C. and anyone else who offers IVF financing or refund programs.  I haven't done a thing.

Except, of course, bemoan my childless existence and the unfairness of the universe.

When did this happen?  When did Mo become the productive one and I became the one unable to put one foot in front of the other?  When did I become "too busy" to make a phone call or schedule an appointment?  When did TTC and IVF become persona non grata -- words I luuurve (in theory) and yet avoid with startling regularity?

While I have a lot of (contained) excitement for another attempt, I am also filled with trepidation.  With anxiety, and fear.  With....panic?

I told Mo that it was so much easier two years ago.  Two years ago, I had no idea how much it would hurt to be unsuccessful.  Or half-successful, if you will.  I had no idea how much it would hurt to learn that my baby -- our baby -- had died within my womb.  I mean, I thought I knew.  But I didn't know.

Now, I know.  I know exactly what we are risking.  And it scares me beyond words.

ART is, always, a gamble.  We risk our money, our hearts, on a 50-50 chance at happiness.  We blindly close our eyes and leap, hoping that we soar instead of sink.  Praying that there's some sort of pillow to cushion our fall.

Before, I had no idea how much it would hurt to go crashing into the cement sidewalk.  Now, a year after our second loss, I'm still bruised, still broken.  And still wanting -- desperately wanting -- to take that leap again.

It's just much, much harder than I ever thought it would be.

Hope

Last night, Mo found a comrade in arms.

He was so filled with awe to find an old friend who also is experiencing infertility.  Who understands the pain and frustration of IVF.  Whose wife also bursts into tears over apparently nothing and whose raging hormones often leave him feeling bewildered, powerless, and frustrated.

He was sharing a phone conversation he had with this friend when he said the WRONG THING.

"They know exactly what we're going through!"

Gently (or so I thought), I disagreed.

"No." I said.  "They do not."

An argument followed, in which Mo told me that I built up walls (true), that I lacked sincerity (not true), and that I was determined to feel alone in this journey (somewhat true).

I tried to explain it to him, but we're in such different places.  I read a quote somewhere that men are about three years behind us women on this whole IF emotional rollercoaster, and I find that to be true.  Two years ago, Mo was still thinking it might still happen naturally and was in no hurry to move forward.  Now, he is researching clinics and insurance plans and anxious to get the ball rolling as soon as possible.

I think his feelings were hurt, because he said at one point, "This thing hurts me, too, you know."  And I know it does.  He is just as childless as I am.  He has had to endure just as many annoying fertiles and pretend happiness at just as many (if not more) surprise pregnancy announcements.  When I say that no one gets it, I don't mean HIM.

I do mean that very, very few people do.  I know this is an unpopular belief in our circles, and I'm not trying for the pain Olympics here.  Some women who have been trying much less time have endured much more heartache.  I tried to explain to Mo last night that what it boiled down to was a matter of hope.

I know quite well how frustrating ANY length of infertility is.  I also know how it feels to be two years into the process.  While hope is greatly diminished at that point, there still remains a flicker that someday, somehow, you will cross to the other side.  By five years, your flicker is much less bright.  At five years TTC, often with failed interventions under your belt, your hope at conceiving and carrying a child to term seems much less of a reality.

And by ten years?  Its virtually non-existent.

That's not to say I don't have my moments.  I do.  I have moments where I think that maybe, just maybe, my miracle is waiting.

But most of the time, I'm quite skeptical.  I don't believe that God has been "withholding" my blessing until the "perfect moment."  I believe that, biologically, our chances at conception are small, and it will take great medical interventions to make it happen.

I don't believe that, after ten years, I will magically get pregnant all on my own.

At two years in, that's still a possibility for many.

At five, it's less so.

By ten?  It's just not realistic.

Now, I know everyone has an infertility urban legend that can prove me wrong.  I'm not looking for those, so please don't post them here.  I'm simply trying to explain (to Mo, to myself), my inability to feel like any other IF veteran TRULY gets my experience.  That's not to say they don't understand almost all of what I feel.  I know that you, especially, do understand the heartache, the frustration, the anger.  Anyone who has undergone IVF, had a miscarriage, or spent any length of time TTC gets all of that.

What someone who has only been trying for two years, or even five, doesn't completely get is where my head is, after ten years at this game.  Only someone who has spent just as much time on THIS side, waiting, can get that.

And, in all reality, that number of people is very small.  Most people will try interventions much sooner than we did.  Most people will not wait five years to see a specialist, nor another two to start treatments.  Most people don't take year-long breaks in the midst of treatments.  I know that our story is not the norm.  And, in all honesty, I'm as okay with that as I can be.

Just don't try to tell me that you know EXACTLY how I feel.  Because you don't, and your friends don't, and the fact is that they CAN'T.  They can understand most of it, they can be a support system, and someone to lean on and commiserate with.  They can sympathize (or is it empathize? I always get those confused).  

They can do and say all the right things, and they can be a wonderful source of comfort.

But they will never understand, until they've been there.

F*cking Perfect

So, once again, my picture-perfect plans have not turned out so picture-perfect after all.  We were slightly derailed by some bad storms in our neck of the woods (which hindered some posting), and, to be honest, I was a little offput by the reaction (or lack thereof) that I received when I posted on FB.  Now, I know that FB is a social utility, and a pretty surface-level one at that.  But, still.  I had hopes that I might “educate” a few fertiles by sharing my thoughts on NIAW.  Instead, I get the feeling that I am engendering a lot of eye-rolling and a not-so-subtle turning away in an if we ignore it it will go away sort of fashion.

Which, after all this time, shouldn’t hurt.  And yet it does.

Anyway, today is a particularly angsty day for me as it is, being the anniversary of our last transfer which (as we all know) resulted in my second pregnancy and, soon after, my second miscarriage.  That, on top of my BIG birthday being just 5 days away, and Mot.her’s Day right after that -- well, let’s just say I am feeling particularly useless and frustrated these days.  And, perhaps a little sensitive to the reactions (or non-reactions) of others.   So, in an effort to get my feelings on paper and make ME feel better, I’m continuing my NIAW post series with my second song selection: F*ing Perfect by Pink.

You know how sometimes it takes seeing yourself in a photograph to really SEE yourself?  That song is like that for me.  My sister, whom I love dearly, told me that this song made her think of me.  When I listened to the lyrics, I started bawling, for so many reasons.  Knowing that, deep down, my sister loves me.  Knowing that someone gets what I’m feeling, even when I don’t feel like I’m able to express it very clearly.  This song, like my previous post, reminds me that I am still a whole person, despite feeling like an utter failure in the reproductive department.

So many of us know that feeling.  So many of us are hit with it, over and over again, in our daily lives.  And so many of us need to be reminded that we are NOT defined by our “girlie” parts, or our ability to produce miniature versions of ourselves.  Our internal dialogues are “filled with hate” instead of appreciation for what we CAN do, for the strength that is imminent in every one of us.  We face critics every day -- not only internally, but externally in the forms of friends, family, and co-workers who think that they know the solution to our problems.

What we need to remember is that we are JUST FINE the way we are, thank you very much.  It’s so easy to hate our bodies for failing us, over and over again.  It’s so easy to believe that we are somehow LESS THAN because we cannot achieve a successful pregnancy.  It’s so much harder to accept that we are perfect, despite our bodies’ imperfections.

I am making a concerted effort to do things lately that make me feel GOOD about myself.  I am trying to focus on what my body CAN do, instead of what it can’t.  I am reminding myself (daily? hourly?) of the many accomplishments I have achieved and the myriad ways I am successful in life.  I am being kind to myself, in as many small ways as possible, in an effort to change the voices in my head.  It is my hope that, someday, all IF veterans can do the same.  

So, for all my IF friends, IRL and in blogland -- here’s to you.  YOU ARE PERFECT -- just the way you are.


F*ing Perfect by Pink

Made a wrong turn, once or twice 
Dug my way out, blood and fire 
Bad decisions, that's alright 
Welcome to my silly life 
Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood 
Miss 'No way, it's all good', it didn't slow me down 
Mistaken, always second guessing, underestimated 
Look, I'm still around 


Pretty pretty please, don't you ever ever feel 
Like you're less than f*ckin' perfect 
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel like you're nothing 
You're f*ckin' perfect to me! 


You're so mean, when you talk about yourself, you were wrong 
Change the voices in your head, make them like you instead 
So complicated, look happy, you'll make it! 
Filled with so much hatred... such a tired game 
It's enough! I've done all I can think of 
Chased down all my demons, I've seen you do the same 


Oh, pretty pretty please, don't you ever ever feel 
Like you're less than f*ckin' perfect 
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel like you're nothing 


You're f*ckin' perfect to me 


The whole world's scared so I swallow the fear 
The only thing I should be drinking is an ice cold beer 
So cool in line, and we try try try, but we try too hard and it's a waste of my time 
Done looking for the critics, cause they're everywhere 
They don't like my jeans, they don't get my hair 
Exchange ourselves, and we do it all the time 
Why do we do that? Why do I do that? 


Why do I do that... ? 


Yeah, oh, oh baby, pretty baby... ! 


Pretty pretty please, don't you ever ever feel 
Like you're less than f*ckin' perfect 
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel 
Like you're nothing, you're fucking perfect to me 
You're perfect, you're perfect! 
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel like you're nothing 
You're fuckin' perfect to me...

Birthday Ramblings

Today is my sister's daughter's 2nd birthday party.  I remember all too clearly her birthday two years ago, which I spent 600 miles away, crying on the couch, alone as I so often was.  Things looked so much more promising for her first birthday, early last spring, when Mo and I had just returned "home."  Today, like so many other days, is another day in limbo, another day spent wondering if this is really what I want, or if the grass really is greener on the other side.

Mo is, you guessed it, out of town.  He will miss this party, a fact that neither he nor my sister seem to care too much about.  I am the only one left wondering if things will always be like this, if I will live in a continual state of disappointment and wishing that things were different.

We had a good week, Mo and I, the first spring break I can recall where I knew exactly where he was and what he was doing.  We slept in, ate out, and drove around exploring the Big City near where we live.  I had fun, and I thought he did, too.  But, apparently, it's not the right kind of fun, because he felt the need to travel to another town and meet up with his friend, Mr. Bad Influence, for a boys' weekend of gambling and binge drinking.  Because, at age 40, Mo still believes that he is 21.  Or something like that.

I am so done fighting about this.  The man is 40 years old.  He is a master at manipulating my feelings and justifying his actions, to himself and to me.  If he wants to leave town, so be it.  I'm not going to ask him to stay.  I told him I was disappointed he would miss the birthday party, and then I watched him leave.  No tears, no evidence that this matters one bit.  But, oh, it does.

Beneath the surface I am filled with rage, with frustration and desperation.  Not all of it is directed at Mo -- there is a fair amount of fury for general circumstances and things beyond our control -- wonky insurance, crappy doctors, infertility, loss, financial barriers to building a family.  But, mixed into that, so intertwined I couldn't tell you where one began and the other ended, is a bitterness that rests squarely on his shoulders.

I don't want to mislead you -- things are better now, as a whole, than they ever were before the move.  Mo is 100 times the man he was.  It takes being out of a situation for some time for you to realize how bad it really was...and that's how I feel about my life until about a year ago.  There is no way that I would tolerate the behaviors I put up with for so long now.  Things ARE different, in many tangible, wonderful, ways.

And yet, as they tend to do, the more things change, the more they stay the same.  I am still left wondering whenever he leaves if this is really what I want.  Do I want a husband who feels the need to go out of town and gamble and drink every few months?  Does it matter as much as I make it matter?  Lots of women have husbands who go out hunting, or fishing, or what-have-you for many weekends out of the year.  Is what Mo is doing all that different?  He has made so many life-altering changes this past year -- should I focus on that, or on the aspects that I still wish were different?  No one is perfect, least of all me.  Mo tolerates my insecurities and my meltdowns and my foibles and accepts me as is.  Don't I owe him the same?

And then there's the biggest question, the one that keeps me from making any real decisions: would I really be any happier without him?

I know that may seem ridiculous to many of you.  You've seen the worst Mo has to offer, and I tend to keep quiet about the good.  But there IS good there.  I wouldn't still be here if there wasn't.  I was trying to explain it to my sister at lunch a few weeks ago: 90% of the time, Mo is great.  While she qualified it as maybe 80%, my point is still that the majority of the time things work.  But when they don't -- well, they don't in a major way.

Coloring all of this is, of course, my own impending birthday.  I will be 30 in just over a month.  While I know that many of you have already survived this milestone, I am having a really hard time with it.  I just never thought I would spend 10 years of my life -- my entire 20's -- chasing a dream and still come up empty-handed.  Walking out on my life now, and trying to start again, is so daunting to me.  I spent 10 years building this -- to give up now?  When the finish line is staring me in the face?  How could I possibly?

My sister (who is wiser than her years) tells me that Mo is simply dangling the carrot he knows I so desperately want in front of me, as he has for years.  I don't know if it is that simple, though at times I wonder.  We are, currently, on the same page for Plan Baby.  As in, we are both okay with waiting until August to start any treatments, and we will pursue another IVF with my eggs and his sperm.  Beyond that, we have no plan -- though I suspect that at that point, should it not work, our plans will diverge again.* But, yes, as terrible as it sounds, I keep thinking about August and how much I'm willing to endure to get there.   I'VE BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH WORSE.  This, this is nothing in the grand scheme of things.

I know that many of you read this, and while you try not to, you pity me.  Or judge me.  But its all so much more complicated than I am ever able to put into words.  That's one thing that my marriage has taught me -- things are so rarely what they seem.  And that in itself seems an argument to stay -- for who knows if marriage to anyone else would be any better?  Or if marriage would ever even be in the cards again?  How many seemingly happy couples have demons I never would guess at?

This post is jumpy, and rambling, and a bit incoherent because that's how my thoughts are these days.  I've avoided blogging because I can't make sense of my own head.  The truth of the matter is that I don't know what I want.  No, that's not true.  I know exactly what I want -- what I don't know is the best way to go about getting it.  One of the horrible side effects of infertility and codependency is that you lose all ability to trust yourself -- your body, your judgment, your decisions.

I am so afraid of making the wrong decision, that I just don't make any at all. And yet, in the back of my head, I'm formulating Plan B**.  And Plan C.

I just wonder what I will take for me to put those into action.  Because, really, I'm not all that sure that I can take much more.

When is enough, enough?




  


* I've started a savings account that can be utilized in a variety of ways -- including pursing SMBC if the need arose, or adoption if Mo ever came around to it.

**In an ideal world, no one would have kids in a less-than-stable relationship.  Everyone would be happily monogamous, and remain so for the life of their offspring.  This isn't an ideal world, and so many people make less-than-ideal situations work every day.  My stepbrother and his wife are just one example -- poor, living with their parents, about to have a baby while living on welfare.  I teach kids from every type of home you can imagine -- single mothers, two-parent homes, stepfamilies, grandparents, even aunts and uncles.  I refuse to put off my dream of being a mother until I find "Mr. Perfect."  No matter what happens with Mo and I, I will be a fantastic mother.  Period.    

The Gift

I have struggled with the right words to express how I am feeling today.  There are so many complex emotions at play: grief, relief, fear, joy, trepidation, sorrow, gratitude.   So many half-formed and subconscious thoughts swirling beneath the surface. So many questions still left unasked, unanswered.

I was talking to Mo tonight, and trying to put into words both the intense weight and the joyous freedom in my heart today. Yes, I am broken. My heart has not healed, nor do I believe it ever will.  I didn't simply lose a baby last year...I lost the remaining fragments of my innocence. I lost my sense of justice, of any sort of karmic fairness in the world.  I lost my faith in my body, my marriage, myself, and my God.

But I also received a great gift that day, born out of desperation and the complete absence of hope.  You see, our worlds literally fell apart when we lost that dream. Mo had, of course, begun crumbling long before. But I, I was the rock, the glue, the one who kept us sane...and I found myself no longer able to do that. I fell into the deepest, darkest hole I had ever experienced. I couldn't work, I couldn't function.  And I could certainly no longer hold my husband together, because I myself was no longer whole.

And so we fled.  Back home, back to the one person who could always kiss my boo-boos and make everything better.  It's something that Mo and I agree never would have happened if we hadn't experienced that loss. In one last, desperate attempt to save my husband, my marriage, and my life, I somehow found the courage to leave my old life behind. To start again, in a new state, far away from everything I had spent the last ten years building. And, for all intents and purposes, it worked.

With his or her brief stay, and too-soon exit from this world, my baby gave me the greatest gift he or she possibly could.  He gave me my family, and he gave me my husband back.

I realize that it may seem incongruent, for someone like me, someone who professes to no longer believe in the existence of God, to speak about the purpose, the reason for any other being's existence. I can't make sense of it myself.  I only know that it comforts me to think that my baby came to me for a reason, that his or her short life had meaning.

That any of this has some sort of meaning.

I am happier today than I expected. I was able to see my whole family tonight.  I hugged my momma and tickled my niece.  I baked brownies with my sister and licked the beaters.  I cried on my husband's shoulder, then curled up with him in bed, secure in the knowledge that he is here, solid, reassuring, and sober.

I didn't have any of that last year.

Everything I have today -- the comfort of my parents, the support of my sister, the love of my niece -- hell, even my marriage -- was a gift of the most remarkable proportions.  Had I not experienced the misery and pain of losing the one thing I wanted more than anything, I wouldn't have any of those things, at least not in my day-to-day life.

So thank you, little one.  Thank you for coming, although you could not stay.

Thank you for finding a way to bring me home.

Thank you for saving my life, and your father's.

Thank you for giving me hope.