heavy sigh

Dudes. So much has been going on here and I’ve had neither the energy nor the time to write about it. It’s been a rough week with some good parts – so let’s recap, shall we?

As background info, Manny is quite a bit older than I am, so his folks are in their 70s. His mom has some unnamed form of dementia – she still remembers who we all are and functions in daily life to some extent, but is unable to do things on her own like shop, cook meals every day, etc. She has also, in the 9 years that I’ve known her, undergone some personality changes – she can get quite anxious and is just a bit more abrasive and short tempered. Not abusive or out of control, but she can be unpleasant, especially when she is under stress. Her short term memory is basically shot, although sometimes she surprises me – she seems to remember things with an emotional component the best, so she remembers stuff like that I am knocked up. My father in law is still fairly sharp mentally, but physically is a bit frail and has slowed down significantly since he had a T.IA a couple years ago. Since my MIL is not really able to do things on her own, he has taken over a lot of the day to day stuff, like preparing meals, feeding the cat, etc. All of that combined with living with a person with dementia equals some serious stress, which I think has contributed to the state of affairs we now find ourselves in, or at the very least is something we have to work on alleviating in the future.

Last week Manny had been keeping in touch with his folks who move out to their cabin at the lake for the summer, and learned that his dad had come down with a nasty sounding stomach bug. He was keeping in touch and making sure that things were going along ok – our brother in law was headed out there for his vacation, so we knew that they would have someone around to check on them and help if need be. On Friday, Manny was speaking to them again and decided to head out to the lake immediately, because his dad had had a minor fall when he was feeding the cat – nothing broken or seriously injured, but he was very weak and not walking very well at all. Both FIL and MIL sounded extremely stressed and both wanted to move home (over a two hour drive from the lake to the city where they live) which was a big sign that all was not well – usually, we have to tear my MIL away as she really likes it out there. So off Manny went. I figured he’d be out there for the weekend and that all would be figured out shortly. Um, no.

They got moved home ok, but it quickly became clear that they couldn’t manage on their own. Manny had booked two weeks off work for his summer vacation, so at least he had the time off, but he has been staying with his folks ever since last Friday. I saw him on Sunday when we drove out to the lake to pick up the IL’s vehicle which had been left behind in the hasty move, and we had a chance to talk about how things were going. Basically, this incident has shown us how much more support they really need, and how if my FIL is unable to get around or keep on top of things in the house, that they are unable to live on their own. Right now, we think that a combination of having meals brought in, possibly some home care, and family support will let them stay in their house for a while, provided my FIL keeps getting his strength back, which seems to be happening, although very slowly. I’ve had a sense that this was coming for a while, and actually tried to push everyone to have this discussion a few years back when FIL had the TI.A. But they didn’t, really, and it gives me no satisfaction to be right. Now my MIL is going to be much less able to cope with change, and they have a lot fewer choices than they did back then. We are just starting to investigate what is available in terms of support and in terms of alternative living arrangements for them, but it is scaring the living shit out of me and, I suspect Manny, his sister and her husband. Whatever change is coming is most definitely not going to be easy on any of us.

Some of you may know that Manny had just returned from being away on a work trip for 2 weeks, and now he is gone for another two weeks helping care for his folks. I know that sometimes I come across all calm and zen and generous, because, you know, I try to come across that way. The reality is that I spent last weekend and the earlier part of this week having a complete fucking wallow in my misfortune, because I’m pregnant, damn it, and want to be the center of attention, and have my husband around to talk baby stuff with, and have people fuss over me, and be all princess-y and shit. Instead, I’m stuck in charge of a messy house, a dog that needs walking, and a hungry and extremely fucking weepy beast that needs feeding at 3 hour intervals. Oh, right, I am that beast.  A self-pitying, anxious, teary, and fatter-assed-by-the-day beast.

It took me a few days, but I’ve mostly snapped out of it. The self-pity and anxiety at least. I realized on one of my and Lucky’s morning walks (although they are scarcely walks anymore – I’ve taken them to calling them “our morning toddles”) that I don’t have to carry around the whole enormity of the situation with Manny’s folks – all the what ifs were making me crazy and miserable. Right now, I have to cope with the fact that I’m living on my own, and I need to be as supportive to Manny as I can. I can handle that, even if I’m finding it hard sometimes. All the rest of it – what comes next? what are we going to do? – I can just put down for now. One thing at a time and all that.

Manny and I had tickets to the folk festival that weekend, but he ended up skipping the whole thing. I went with friends to the evening shows – Iron & Wine was great, although marred by the idiots who kept talking all the way through. I went up to the front for my favourite song, and there was a clueless girl behind me who would not shut up and was sadly ignorant of how ridiculous she was being. The whole time, she was going on and on about how much she respected musicians, how she was, like, in awe of them, and how, if she ever had the good fortune of dating a musician, she would just worship him, because, like they are so amazing, how they can play instruments and stuff. Meanwhile, not 30 feet away is a particularly brilliant musician, singing a particularly powerful and moving song, and she can’t find it in her to shut her fucking yap. It was all I could do not to just turn around and stare at her – she was like one of those hilariously oblivious people out of a Jane Austen novel. It makes a good story, but it sort of ruined the magic of the moment.

There is more, of course – I have been having deep, deep thoughts that I would like to write about some day when life returns to some semblance of normal. I am nearly 29 weeks, I’ve hired a doula, I’m feeling good most of the time, although today when I was getting my hair cut I was subjected to the unpleasant sight of my thighs in gaucho pants sitting down. You know how usually when you get your hair cut you need to put on extra makeup and make sure your face isn’t too hard to look at? Yeah, today, I could not have cared less about my pale and exhausted-looking face. Once I caught a glimpse of those thighs…unflattering.

I’m making progress on the baby’s room and am finding myself unexpectedly wanting to do more to decorate it. I am essentially anti-nursery (for myself, not others) because we plan to co-sleep and because, well, babies don’t care what their rooms look like. But I’m finding myself wanting to make it a nice space for myself – likely, this will be limited to sewing a different cushion cover for the rocking chair I got a while ago and perhaps some snazzy wall decals. Maybe a nice little table for a glass of water and snacks for nursing time. Basically, a sitting room for me that happens to contain a dresser for baby clothes and somewhere to put diapers.

I promise more fun stuff soon – photo of my glasses will be possible now that my cold sore is gone, with the added bonus of my fresh haircut. I know, I know – you can’t wait.

swamped

Oy! I have been meaning to write more, and there is plenty to write about. Time, however, has been in short supply ’round these parts. I am resorting to bullets to catch you up on the happenings of the past few weeks, and hopefully soon I will get around to writing a few of the deep posts that have been swirling around my head lately. 

• My dad was in the hospital for 8 days because he had one of these. He’s ok, they caught it in time, and they’ve finally sorted out the medication enough that they let him out.  Scary as hell, though, especially since it was his second episode.
• During the time my dad was in the hospital, my mom was struck by a terrible stomach bug, so not only could she not even visit my dad, but she couldn’t even leave the house.  She’s sort of on the mend, but it’s been ugly. 
• My parents live a 3 hour plane trip from me, and I can’t afford to just fly out on short notice. Even though I wanted to, really badly. 
• Between talking to both my parents separately, my sisters and my grandparents who are here in town, I spent a lot of time on the phone over the past week and a half. 
• During that time, I was also putting the finishing touches on the article I was writing and getting it submitted to the editor, working on revamping how our support group works (more on this in a future post), carrying on my yoga and flamenco classes, working, living, AND dealing with the thrice-or-more weekly rehearsals of Manny’s first punk band that is reuniting for a one-time only gig opening for a band they used to play with many, many years ago.  Fortunately, said gig is happening tonight and therefore I will soon get my house and my evenings back. 
• Now, my youngest  sister, who lives at least in the same province but a 2.5 hour drive away, is facing her father in law’s health crisis and the very real possibility of his death within the next few weeks. And I am upset for her and for my brother in law and also, especially, for my sweet 5 year old nephew who has just been starting to have his existential crisis about death and what it means. I am sensitive about this kind of stuff at the best of times, but it’s really hitting me hard at the moment – just feeling helpless and shaken by the closeness of death and wanting to do something to help ease this process for my nephew in particular. But also feeling, because of the events of the past couple weeks, completely drained and exhausted and depleted. 

I think that about covers it. Other things have been going well – we had our 19 week u/s this week and all looks good. The wee bit has turned breech and has been kicking me in the bladder and cervix and other down low things. It feels really, really weird, but every single thump is about the best moment of my life. Physically, I’ve been feeling quite good, and I’m sure if I can just get some good rest and time to really re-connect with myself, I’ll feel better all around. 

Tonight, however, punk rock beckons.

quiet, love, and photos

Quiet. Things are quiet. Despite the raging hot flashes and debilitating constipation I seem to get from the Clomid, things are quiet. I seem to have hit the off switch on my brain, and I don’t know how to turn it back on. I was wondering today whether I have become completely numb or whether I’ve just reached a perfect state of calm. Probably the former, but I guess I’ll take that over angst. I could use a break from angst. 

I head out of town tomorrow to see my nephew. He’s turning 5 tomorrow and I am the proudest Tantie ever. It seems like just yesterday I was watching him be born. And now he is a beautiful boy who loves me so much and sends me emails that he types himself (copying what his mom has written down, but still it’s pretty damn clever if you ask me.) Even though it sometimes hurts to realize how much time has passed and I still don’t have my own child, the love I have for him and for my other nephews does heal that longing to some extent. Truthfully, it heals and makes the longing even harder to bear, all at the same time. That love still heals, though. 

Had my scan today and will be doing our 6th IUI on Sunday. I’m glad they’re giving me an extra day – my follicle today was 19.2mm and my lining was 5.7mm, almost exactly the same as last month, but for whatever reason they told me to hold off on the trigger until tomorrow. My acupuncturist seems to think this is a good idea, too, and I was prepared to go in, guns blazing, today to advocate for this, and I did speak up for myself to suggest it, but I let them think it was all their idea. Ha. 

Think warm and fertile thoughts for me, dear internets. Hopefully I’ll find my brain’s switch this weekend and have something to write for you soon.  Here are some pictures to occupy you in the meantime – the first is of my backyard after a bunch of snow a few weeks ago, and the second is my new haircut. Which haircut I can honestly say that I LUUUUUUUUUUURRRRVE.  

back among the blogging

Yes, I’m still here. Coming off the Christmas madness with my whole family (well, one sister and her family couldn’t make it due to the crazy weather and all the airline delays) and trying to soak up the precious moments of solitude. We always say, my family and I, that when we are all together we are going to take it easy and not do too much, and we can take time on our own and just relax. But we never do it, and it always turns into this whole togetherstravaganza that I both love and find completely exhausting.

Where to begin on everything else that’s been rattling around my brain these last weeks is a whole nother thing. Many deep thoughts on the solstice/advent as they relate to IF, insights into family dynamics with which I will not trouble you, a complete abandonment of all my food restrictions over the holidays which surprisingly didn’t leave me feeling too shithouse and not surprisingly at all was extremely pleasant (I think the high point was the 1/4 lb. of asiago I made sweet love to at our party on the 28th), a fiendishly difficult jigsaw puzzle of Machu Pichu that has, once and for all, exposed my poor choices of jigsaw puzzles (better a hideous watercolour of an English country garden than a panoramic view of a world wonder that is mostly sky, I have learned), the mad emotions of doing a Christmas with children who are not one’s own, but close enough to stir up the hormones in a way that is both marvelous and hideously uncomfortable.

I may expand on some of the above at some point, but for now will leave you with wishes for a joyful, peaceful 2009. May it be the year that brings you the healing you most need, the desires your heart holds most dear, and happiness beyond measure.

Oh, and if you haven’t checked out the Creme de la Creme 2008, I urge you to do so. I spent most of yesterday reading, weeping, laughing and thinking to myself that the Creme is simply the BEST. THING. EVER. Thank you, Lolly, for this most amazing gift.

Grandmama and Grandpapa

I’ve been stirred up all day by this beautiful post of Mel’s. I tend to read blogs first thing in the morning after I get up, and I’ve just been sitting with all the feelings her post brought up for me. The idea that what we create here can be a lasting imprint of a person’s life and presence – it just went straight to my heart this morning. If you haven’t read Mel’s post, I really encourage you to click over and immerse yourself in her wisdom and her gorgeous words. You know how nice it feels when you can read a post and think, “She said this better than anybody ever could” and feel only resonance and admiration and comfort, and no envy? That’s how I felt reading that post.

The people I want to create an impression of here are my maternal grandparents – my Grandmama and Grandpapa. And I want to create an impression of them as much for myself as for them or for anyone else. Both of them were alcoholics. My mom had a somewhat difficult relationship with them, and we lived in a different city, so I didn’t know them very well. My Grandmama died when I was 2, and my Grandpapa when I was 8.

My mom’s whole side of the family is like a black hole for me – it’s mysterious and seems kind of dangerous. I think pretty much everyone – all her grandparents and aunts and uncles - was alcoholic, and how my mom managed to avoid becoming alcoholic herself is something I can only attribute to her own strength and to grace. Part of the way she dealt with it was distance, both physical and emotional, and to this day, she rarely talks about her family at all.

In contrast is my dad’s family, who pretty much all lived in the same neighbourhood where they grew up, and when I was a kid, we spent a fair bit of time with them, seeing them often and spending all major holidays with them. My grandparents only moved out of their house a few years ago, but until then had lived about 10 blocks from where my grandma grew up. My aunt still lives about halfway between those two spots. And I’m somewhat horrified to report that I find myself not too far away, either. My dad’s family is about as “normal” as it gets – if by normal you mean pretty repressed and WASP-y. My mom says when she first met my dad’s parents it was like she had landed in some kind of Cleaver-ish paradise, where nobody ever got mad, or drunk, or mean. For her, it was wonderful, at least at the start.

For me, growing up and still to this day, it wasn’t so wonderful. I struggle with my grandparents – I have always longed for a true closeness with them. I’ve tried and tried in the past few years to cultivate this, and as far as my grandma goes, I’m working on accepting that it just won’t happen, partly because she herself is just too wounded and can’t open up, and partly because dementia is encroaching on her mind and changing her personality. My grandad has had an amazing blossoming and he and I have become closer than I ever could have imagined would be possible. But my whole relationship with them both will likely always be coloured by my childhood longing for intimacy.

I raise this because this contrast between the two families is a huge part of the sense I have of my Grandmama and Grandpapa. I have few memories of my Grandpapa, and fewer still of my Grandmama. But my mom has said that they would have been different from my other grandparents, if they had lived. That they would have been proud of me, that they would have loved me with enthusiasm and joy, that they would have taken pleasure in me and my sisters. I believe that they would have told me secrets, told jokes, told stories about their own lives in quiet, unguarded moments. I believe they would have been able to be themselves with me, and that I could have been myself with them. I believe we would have been close.

I don’t think they would have been perfect, and in some ways, I’m grateful for having been spared the confusion and sadness of negotiating a relationship with two active alcoholics. Part of the pain of the black hole is just having everything so open. I don’t know what it would have been like to know them now, as an adult with my own sadness and failures and triumphs and joys. I just really have no idea. 

Here’s what I do know: I remember my Grandmama as having a sense of drama, of flamboyance, of fabulousness. In pictures, she’s often wearing dresses with enormous, bright paisleys and flowers on them, smiling gorgeously and holding a drink and a cigarette. I have only faint memories of her, but I have a sense of her voice. A musical voice. In my mind, she’s the kind of grandmother who might have taught me to shave my legs (which my strangely hairless, hippie mother never did) or told me the story of her first love, with all the sexy bits left in.

I remember my Grandpapa, quiet and wry, with a glass of scotch. I remember some sadness about him, that the sadness was closer to the surface for him. I remember him mostly when he was dying of cirrhosis of the liver, the desperation and regret seeping out of him like tears. I remember his brush cut, which always fascinated me. In my mind, he might have been the kind of grandfather who was tough on my boyfriends, the kind of grandfather who slipped me five bucks when my parents weren’t looking and told me to go have fun. (He probably would have been the kind of grandfather who made me go buy smokes for him when I was just barely old enough to walk to the store by myself, but even that kind of makes me happy.) He might have taught me to drive.

All I really know in all this is that I love them, and I miss them. I’m angry that I never got the chance to find out who they were and that they never got the same chance with me. The loss of them is somehow unreal, and I hope, now that IF has taught me how to grieve for lost possibilities, I will find a way to make it real. This post feels like a good start.

Thanks for listening, friends.