Trust

I found a new blog this past week. New to me, though not new to many of you, Which Box's story was compelling to me. I read back into her archives (2 years worth!), discovering a very real person whose story -- though nothing like mine -- was exactly like mine.

I have nothing but immense respect for her, and all she's been through. I don't want to imply that I can understand AT ALL what she has been through, at least not as far as the specifics are concerned. My husband hasn't cheated -- at least, I don't think he has.

But he has, through some very deliberate actions on his part, destroyed my trust.

I find myself wavering, much as she did, back and forth, do I try to rebuild? Do I walk away? How do I deal with the hurt and the anger and the frustrations that are building inside of me? Why is time NOT healing all wounds?

Speaking of trust, I'm trying to find it within myself to trust YOU, my bloggy friends, with the truth. After all, I started this blog for myself, to help me sort out my feelings and make sense of the crapload of shit that I am dealing with. How can I do that if I'm not honest with myself? Cryptic metaphors can only help so much. And I am anonymous, after all. I've been careful not to reveal identifying information so as to protect (what? my husband? myself? our marriage?) the innocent.

But I am still afraid. I am afraid to speak the truth, afraid of what others will think, of how they will respond. Afraid that my decisions (which change daily) will be questioned, afraid of how I will be judged. Given the immense level of support I have received, I have absolutely no logical basis for this fear.

And yet part of me just KNOWS.

I KNOW that I am making decisions that most people won't, can't accept.

The thing is, how do you make certain life-altering decisions when the person that you trust least of all is yourself?

My Sty(e)

I have a stye. I am not speaking of my house, although it does need vacuuming and the dishes to be done. I am talking of the tiny little bump on the inside corner of my eyelid, the "pimple" in the most awkward and painful of spots.

My stye is small, hardly noticeable to anyone but me. And yet it is impossible to ignore. The pain from it is sharp, though not unbearable. It is frequent, and uncomfortable, but manageable. It will go away in time. There really is nothing that I can do to clear it up, it's something that just happens over time. I can take steps to speed the healing process, but, really, ultimately, it's out of my hands.

Should it get worse, a doctor can try to excise it for me. Most of the time, they heal on their own, however.

(Yes, my friends, we're talking about more than my eye now).

The one bit of advice I've found? NEVER POP A STYE. Apparently, not leaving well enough alone can actually cause more problems to develop.


Wish I had read that earlier.

And Time Stood Still

I have no less than 8 clocks in my house, not including phones/televisions/unprogrammed VCR's which can also be used in a pinch.

Of these 8 clocks, none of them share the same time.

Right now, half of them don't even work.

The symbolism has not been lost on me. The fact that time is literally standing still at my house seems to reflect quite accurately my feeling that I am stuck, not moving forward, simply standing still.

This was fine while I was just catching my breath. But now I am beginning to feel mired in the mud, like I'm in that bad dream where your legs are heavier than sand and every movement takes an eternity of effort. I am frozen, terrified of making the wrong choice, of being unable to undo what might be a mammoth mistake.

And so I do nothing.

While my mind makes giant leaps in every direction, changing almost daily, my feet remain rooted to the spot. And yet that in itself is a decision, isn't it? Doing nothing is never just doing nothing. It's acceptance, a choice that will affect later choices, that limits future options as much as doing something.

I tell myself that it doesn't really matter, what is six months one way or another? What difference does a year really make?

And yet I know, all to well, that lives can change in a single instant, that time is precious, that nothing ever, ever stays the same.

Tomorrow, I'm going to buy some batteries -- and perhaps, in getting my clocks moving again, I can somehow find a way to get myself unstuck.

As A Matter of Faith: Girl, Interrupted

(I wrote this piece last week, and while it doesn't fit exactly the way it did then, it still kind of sums up where I am -- in that in-between place. And so I'm going to go ahead and post it, as written, in spite of the fact that it's a little tight in places and a tad loose in others. Okay, metaphor a bit overdone, but you get the point, right?)


I was doing so well.

Getting up early each morning, studying The Word, church twice a week.

I was praying, daily, for the first time in a very long time.

I was growing in my faith, and it felt good.

And then.

I prefer to think of my current state of withdrawal as temporary, an interruption of sorts. I am hoping that my (anger? disappointment? frustration?) feelings will not lead me to another five-year separation from God.

But lately, there doesn't seem to be much to say. I doubt very much that He really wants to hear "You suck," although that is pretty much how I feel. And I've told Him so; I just don't feel the need to keep repeating myself.

And so I've pulled back a little, and I'm spending some time in limbo. I'm sleeping in, and skipping the mid-week service. I feel like a bit of a fraud, actually. I am having a very hard time praising Him during this particular storm. A test of faith? Perhaps. If so, I'm failing miserably. Again.

But, I hope, not forever. Surely, surely I will find my footing soon -- maybe not as fervent as before -- but steadier, more consistent. I found my way back there once. I know I can -- I will -- again.

In time.

The Waiting Game

You'd think by now, I would have gone pro.

I'm so good at it I can do it blindfolded, both hands tied behind my back.

Waiting.

Waiting to have sex.

Waiting to get married.

Waiting to start a family.

Waiting to see the RE.

Waiting for test results.

Waiting for a diagnosis.

Waiting to begin treatments.

Waiting for surgery.

Waiting for meds to arrive.

Waiting for procedures.

Waiting for tests.

Waiting for results.



After seven years, we are still waiting. Waiting for more tests, waiting for finances and cycles and life to be in synch again. Waiting for the ultimate result: our own precious child.


I am waiting to be a mother.


I hate waiting.

Rejected

Being turned down is never fun.

It's even less fun when fertility is on the line.

We just got word from our clinic that my donor application was "unable to be accepted", due to a genetic thingie that I have. (And no, you're not missing a crucial post -- I didn't tell any of you because there wasn't anything to tell, at least not yet.)

The thing is, I went 27 years not knowing I had this, and it was only discovered during my laproscopy last fall. The disorder really only manifests itself if 1) I am given a specific anesthesia during surgery or 2) I am snorting vast amounts of cocaine. Since I've only attempted #1 under a doctor's supervision and never dreamed of attempting #2, I have never been in any danger from it, nor will my children, provided we are aware of it. It's detected by a simple blood test and requires no medication or special interventions. I (and my children, if they inherit it) just have to avoid a specific chemical which, as stated above, is fairly easy to steer clear of.

But, apparently, that's the kind of thing that potential parents aren't exactly shopping for in their donor eggs.

I'm okay with this, although once we had decided to go this route, I was excited by the idea of helping someone else achieve their goals. Now I am once again faced with having to make a decision: where do we go from here? For those of you not keeping a detailed list of Jo's Options (and why wouldn't you be? It's not like you have your own lives to overanalyze and vast amounts of time in which to do it), here they are:

1. Do nothing. Wait for potential Issues to arise and/or resolve themselves. Become bitter and resentful and unbearable to be around.

2. Pay for IVF #1 out of pocket. Our RE has agreed to discount our fees, but hasn't given specific numbers. If we choose this route, we can begin within the next week on BCP and plan for a mid-June retrieval and transfer.

3. Apply for Shared Risk Program. Undergo more cycle testing, requiring us to wait until at least July to begin. This one costs more upfront, but 70% is refunded if there is no baby within 3 attempts fresh / 3 frozen.

I know that Mo is going to say "I'll do whatever you want." Which is great in theory and quite unbearably annoying in helping me to come to any useful conclusions.

And so, my bloggy friends, I'll ask you for some limited assvice. (All Issues aside, I can't stomach the idea of doing nothing, no matter how damn practical it might be.) Have any of you gone the Shared Risk route? If you did, what helped you to decide? Any regrets? If not, why not?

I guess I'd also like to hear some IVF success stories. How many attempts did it take for you to get preggers? I know that if it takes 2+, then Shared Risk is really the best option. How likely is it that #1 will take? And if it does, won't I just be so thrilled that I won't care that it cost me double?

I'm rambling now, so I'll stop writing. I'll be reading your responses, though, so please weigh in below!

My Pensieve

For those of you who are not HP fans (shame on you, btw), you may be asking, what in the hell is a Pensieve?

I'm so glad you asked.

In the wonderful wizarding world, a Pensieve is a magical device in which you can place all of your thoughts, swirl them around, and examine and analyze them. When your brain is simply too full -- or if you are in danger of having your mind invaded by some Dark Wizard -- the Pensieve is the place you can store your memories safely. If something is confusing or you just cannot wrap your mind around it, the Pensieve can give you the time, and space, to view things a bit more objectively.

This blog is my Pensieve.

I thank you, all my bloggy friends, for giving me the opportunity to place all my bad feelings as of late here, out of my head, where I can stop the festering. Thank you for refraining from judgement, and for keeping the a**vice to a minimum. I thought of all of you during the Bea Arthur tribute on GMA the other day, and would like to hum (very off-key, mind you) the bars from the Golden Girls theme song.

"Thank you for being a friend."

Pissed Off

Me, being me, could not let things go for long. After another Silent Sunday, I decided to broach things with Mo. It went -- well, extremely shitty at first (we both yelled, defenses were high), but eventually I, at least, was able to express how I felt.

Which is to say to make clear how very confused and conflicted I am, how irresolute. How fuzzy everything looks right now. How it seems as if even God has stopped listening.

As if IF wasn't enough for one couple to have to handle. We've been smacked with a double-whammy and, frankly, the unfairness of it all just PISSES ME OFF.

The Issue At Hand

Quietly put to bed (although never far from my thoughts) the Issue wasn't discussed this week. And yet I feel myself distancing from him. I am pulling away while at the same time desperately pushing forward.

We're talking again, which is an improvement. At least, we were talking. And we had decided to try to move past this.

In all honesty, though, I am not sure I can. All week long I've felt myself burying my anger, my frustration. I feel stuck -- trapped by all those things I fought so hard to achieve. I'm unable to let go, to give up my Plan, to contemplate a future so very different from the one I've always pictured.

And yet, if I am truly, TRULY honest with myself, this isn't what I pictured at all.

As A Matter of Faith: What If I'm Wrong?

I've always believed in God. It's a ridiculously silly story, the beginning of this belief, that goes back to when I was about seven years old and, in trouble, made some hasty promises that for some reason have stuck with me for over twenty years. I've been furious with Him, ambivalent, at times even joyous -- but I've always felt that He was there. Even when we stopped communicating, it was more of an "I'm mad at you, so I'm not speaking to you" kind of thing.

Lately, the chorus in my head is simple. What if I'm wrong?

What if there is no master plan? What if all this crap is entirely of my own making? What if "the hand of God" is nowhere present? What if the end result that I'm so desperately seeking is not promised?

What if I am wrong?

* * * *

I've been talking to my pastor these past few months about the Issue that recently reared it's ugly head again. (And for those of you just tuning in, it's not an abusive or demeaning situation, so you can relax -- I am fine, really!). Actually, I've been talking to my pastor's son (who is a pastor,too, but barely older than me, so sometimes it's, well, just different). Anyway, he told me this past weekend that he believes that it is the hand of God that has prevented Mo and I from conceiving up until now. Perhaps he is right; perhaps that is the last thing on earth that we need right now. But there's a tiny part of me that wants to believe otherwise. There's a part of me (however misguided or self-serving it may be) that believes that a child can bring healing, not to a marriage, but to an individual. And I think that would be the case where Mo is concerned. Parenthood changes people: even the commerical media will attest to that. I honestly believe that the opportunity to be a father will be life-changing (in all the very best ways) for my husband.

But. . . what if I'm wrong?

* * * *

There are several people IRL who know exactly what is going on. My pastor and his family, my mother. There are other friends and family who know the Issue exists, but not to what extent or that it is currently a factor in our lives. Most of them would probably agree -- postponing IVF is probably a smart decision right now. Waiting until the Issue is resolved would be best for all of us. And I can see the logic, the reasoning behind this.

But I am so very sick of waiting. We've put off treatments before. We've taken more "breaks" in this process than many of you have taken treatment cycles. We've gotten on and off the ART train multiple times in the last seven years. And in the back of my head, the clock is ticking. I don't know why -- I know LOGICALLY that I am just 28 (or will be in a few short days), that time is on my side fertility-wise. I've even been assured by several people that I have all the time in the world.

And yet I can't help but wonder. . .what if they're wrong?