getting real

Well, I didn’t mean to wait a whole week before posting again, but I guess that’s become my habit of late. First off, thank you to everyone who commented on my last post. Your comments have helped me find a bit of balance this last week and touched my heart so much. If I said nothing but “thank you” for the rest of my life, it would be insufficient. You are amazing and have so much wisdom – I’m so grateful that you take the time to share it with me.

I had acupuncture on Tuesday and again on Saturday, and she worked on some emotional points which really helped a huge amount. When she did it on Tuesday, I was still very much in turmoil, and when those needles went into my wrists and between my eyes, it really hurt. But I let some more tears come while I was lying there, and when it was done, I felt so much better. I started to see that some space is a good thing right now, like Shinejil said, and that it is good to be able to work on accepting this path even more before I go any further. Every time there’s a bump in the road, my anger comes back – my anger about why I have to do this, why I can’t be like everyone else. I don’t feel like I need to resolve that anger forever before I get pregnant, but it’s good (she says, with a sigh) to have another go ’round with it. Maybe find a new level of peace with all this.

I have other news, about my support group, and how I have made a lot of progress on it, but have been advised by a very wise woman to slow it down a bit and wait until I sort out what I’m really doing, what my intentions are, and what kind of group I want to create for me.  I’m still working this through – I’m set to have the first meeting September 9, but if I keep going the way I’m going, it will be less than what I haven’t yet allowed myself to dream it could be. And as my friend pointed out, that might prove to be exhausting for me. I kind of think she’s right, and yet I kind of feel called to do something for the community that is more accessible than what she and I briefly discussed. I think there’s a way to do both, either by doing the group as it’s currently conceived and working more slowly to come up with another group, a true women’s circle, which would be more spiritual, more intimate, or by just taking my time and trying to make the group open to everyone, but with a very clear mission, purpose, and boundaries. I think both are possible, although the latter is probably the better option. I can get really caught up in trying to make things right for others that I lose sight of what feels right for me (co-dependent much?) and I think I’ve already started doing that with this group, as it exists in my brain. Just watering things down too much to try not to alienate anyone.

But what my friend is proposing is nothing short of revolutionary. Not to say it hasn’t been done before – it has, by lots of women – but it’s never really been done before by me. I’ve never set out with a clear vision, guided by my heart, and stayed true to that while trying to build something that includes other people. I tend to muddle my way through and adapt, or I tend to do things completely on my own. Taking on the kind of group building she talked about means not only will I need to get right with myself, but I’ll need to be willing to share leadership and ideas and true vulnerability. I’ll need to be honest, truly honest, with myself and with others.

I realized that I have a lot of fear about doing this – what she described as “calling out for my clan” – because you can’t fake it with you clan. They can see through the bullshit anyway, so what’s the point? And as much as I like to think deep thoughts and question the universe and try to grow and evolve spiritually and emotionally, I’m also pretty fond of denial, laziness, and avoidance. And the prospect of being real all the time is pretty daunting right now.

But as my best friend pointed out last night, this is who I am. My spirit has been asking for this, begging, pleading – for years. Even though my ego might be telling me I have a choice, that I can just go back to where things are bland and comfortable, I really don’t. I have to go forward and go through this. And I’m grateful, if a bit begrudgingly.

*WordPress seems to be acting up today, so if this post appears twice, sorry.

cheering for the home team

As my dear friend Moonbeam points out, “If I don’t root for the home team, who else is gonna do it?” This weekend was a really good opportunity for me to practice this, with regard to myself and my own emotional needs. It was the annual folk festival, and we always spend pretty much the whole weekend there, listening to amazing music and visiting with everyone we’ve ever known. It’s often a rough weekend for me, even though it’s fun and I enjoy it. Now that I’m no longer in denial about my infertility, I understand that part of the reason it’s been a rough weekend for me is that it’s the time of year I see old friends and acquaintances who I never otherwise see, and every year, there are new babies and new bellies. And of course the whole place is just crawling with kids, and crunchy granola mamas with big bellies and nursing babies in slings and double chariots and little girls with pipe cleaner and twig wreaths in their hair and wands made out of glitter and twigs. So it’s really not the kindest place to spend a weekend if you’re feeling, as I was on Friday, like someone ripped a giant band-aid off my soul.

But you know what I figured out, as I was settling in for the first evening of bands on Friday night, staring longingly and enviously at every tow-headed child in the park, and everyone I ever knew from high school and university carrying their newest family member, and every stranger’s 8 month pregnant belly? I figured out that I can look at something else. I do not have to look at them. And when I find myself looking at them, I can deliberately look away and find something else to look at. (By Saturday, I had refined this to actually looking at hot men, although that can kind of backfire cause then I get into thinking about their sperm, but it works for a while.)

I don’t know why it took me so long to figure this out. But it feels good. It feels like progress. Even though I felt completely spiritually and emotionally raw on Friday and Saturday morning, by the afternoon, I was actually having fun. And once I realized that I was having fun, I understood that I was able to do it because I had let my feelings come without pushing them away at all, and then I had taken action to protect myself and not wallow in my sadness. I pretty much refused to go near the children’s stage, and the one time I found myself in that corner of the park, talking to a very dear friend, I quickly excused myself from the situation on the grounds that it was just not a good place for me to be at that time. I cheered for the home team, no apologies, no guilt.

It’s good that I learned to do this, and I hope I remember to continue to do this, cause Thursday night and Friday morning were just shitty days. During flamenco on Thursday, one of the women’s husbands showed up near the end of class with their 2 girls. The little one, who is about 3, walked through the door, and I felt like someone had kicked me in the heart. She just looks exactly like her mother, who dances with me, and who I really like, even though I don’t know her at all. And just seeing a little girl who looks so much like her mom – it just overwhelmed me, how much I want that. It actually physically hurt to see her, and made me almost burst into tears right there. (Instead, I threw back my shoulders, and danced for myself, defying everything that’s making it hard for me to have my own little girl who looks just like me.) But it was hard, a really hard moment.

Friday morning was no better. I had a scan at 8, the first scan of the day, but of course I still had to wait for half an hour in the fucking shithole of a waiting room. The place was weirdly full of middle aged women with terrible haircuts and ugly handbags. I don’t know why they were there, and they probably didn’t know why I was crying on and off. Well, I suppose I was only weepy until the entertainment arrived in the form of a couple who I’m still not sure, after several days’ reflection, whether they were a couple or not. He was a classic nerd, with a very dated goatee, hideous sneakers and black sport socks paired with a button down shirt and cargo shorts. He kept going on and on about his karaoke collection, saying at one point that his collection “eclipsed” some other guy’s. He laughed like Beavis, or maybe Butthead, I forget which one. He talked too loud for a waiting room. She, on the other hand, seemed nervous and distant from him, like they were on a first date and she didn’t like him very much. She kept picking her lip and bobbing her crossed leg, and glancing at him out of the corner of her eye like she was kind of embarassed to be there with him. She didn’t talk much and just basically said “uh-hunh” to everything he was saying. At one point he mentioned that he was going to perform Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” and Mr. Big’s “To Be With You” that night at karaoke. She just said, “uh-hunh” and kept picking her lip.

I, on the other hand, was furiously jotting details in my daytimer, and thinking to myself, having long since stopped weeping, “Sometimes the idiots really do make things better in this life.” As annoying as they were, they made the last 5 minutes of my wait a whole lot easier to bear.

I had a scan this morning and have another one on Wednesday, likely followed up by a trigger and then our fourth IUI on Thursday. I have my first accupuncture appointment tomorrow night, too, which I’m very excited about. And then I guess we’ll just have to endure the wait and see how it goes. We’re on the last vial of this donor and I’m waiting to see what happens this cycle to see whether we will order more or switch donors or what. If it’s another negative, it will be a hard decision – I really liked this donor. But I will find it hard to justify spending another few thousand dollars on his spunk if i’m not pregnant in a couple weeks.

I am really sorry for not posting more lately, but the support group thing is taking up a lot of mental space and time, and there’s only so much IF stuff I can do in a day. I’m always thinking about how to balance it all out better, but until I figure it all out, you’ll have to survive on my rare mega posts as seems to be my habit lately. And I promise to update on the support group stuff soon, too – I’m having so many good ideas, and things are coming together quite well, but time is also flying by and I want to have a meeting in September, so I need to stay on top of my list of things to accomplish before then.

Thank you all, lovely internets, for your sweet comments and your support and kindness. As I was crying and feeling sorry for myself in the waiting room last week, I did remember at one point that although I felt really alone right then, I am not alone. And I felt your presence with me, your sweet words and your thoughts and your prayers, your encouragement and your hope. It was the first time I’d ever really felt that way at a time when I really needed it and I wasn’t anywhere near my computer. So your powers are legendary, dear ones – they extend far beyond this machine and into my heart, so you’re with me wherever I go. Thank you ever so much for that – for cheering for my home team. I hope you all know that I cheer for each of yours fervently and regularly, too.

these precious things

I’m trying to gather my thoughts to do a proper post but it’s not going very quickly. Mostly, I think I’m scared shitless about my looming LH surge and subsequent first attempt at DI. I’ve never really done the two week wait. I don’t know if I can handle it. I don’t know if I can handle the disappointment. I’m scared it won’t work and scared it will work. It’s so weird to be so freaked out. And then I alternate between fear and moments of total peace and feeling right with everything. Gaah!

I was reminded recently someone’s post, possibly Kate’s, although I can’t find it right now, about a dream I had a while ago. It was a total grief dream, one of those ones where you wake up and your whole body is tense because of how hard you were crying in the dream.

I dreamed I was sitting in a sort of cafe with a bunch of women, except we were all sitting at our own tables. Some tables had 2 people at them, but mostly, everyone was spread out. And I knew that all these women were my fellow IF bloggers. We didn’t talk about it – I just knew that. I was feeling shy and kind of vulnerable being with everyone in real life, even though I wasn’t talking to anyone. And then a group of people came in, and proceeded to conduct an armed robbery. A guy held a gun on everyone in the room, and a woman and a few other guys went around to each person collecting whatever they had. And I sat there, frozen and terrified, waiting for them to come to me, praying that they wouldn’t take my rings. I wear 3 rings – one was given to me by my parents when I graduated from high school, one is the plain silver band Manny gave me when he proposed, and one is my wedding band. (The one from my folks and my wedding band were made by the same goldsmith – she is amazing and the rings are even more precious to me because they are handmade and I know the person who made them.) So I was hoping they would just take my wallet and anything else except my rings, and as I sat there, I felt more and more desperate to hang onto my rings. Eventually, the woman came up to me and took my purse and maybe a few other things, but she didn’t take my rings. And I started to relax, and then she noticed the rings and asked for them, too. It felt so painful. I handed them to her and as I did that, I looked her right in the eye. Without saying anything to her, my look communicated how much she was hurting me by taking these things from me. And without her saying anything to me, she communicated that she knew how much she was hurting me but also that she didn’t care. Tough luck. Too bad. Those are just the cards you’ve been dealt, honey. And with that, I began to cry. To sob, to keen, to weep – for my own loss I had just suffered, and for the loss of everyone else in that room. But they were all quiet, and I was just crying for everyone. And that made me cry even harder, because I felt so alone in my sadness and grief, even though I knew they were all suffering, too.

Then I woke up. I felt pretty haunted all day after that – just really fragile and isolated. It was a terrible feeling, not only because it was a harrowing dream, but because I really don’t feel like that’s my experience here in the blogosphere. I’ve really felt so much a part of a community here and in many ways feel like finding you all has been a real turning point in my whole journey with IF. The main thing that I have felt alone about is my situation – there aren’t any other bloggers that I’ve found yet who are dealing with failed vasectomy reversal, and most people out there dealing with male factor where sperm retrieval is a possibility tend to do that before going on to DI. Sometimes I wish our issues and choices were more common so that I could feel like part of the gang – or maybe I just sometimes wish I had made more common choices for the same reason. But really, I feel like my choices have been the right ones for me, and for Manny, and I’m at peace with where I am. Most of the time, anyway.

I don’t think the dream was about this, though. I think it was just about how much we have to let go of in this journey. The things that are so precious to us and the things we are so attached to. But those things being precious to us doesn’t mean they are within our control. Doesn’t mean we’ll get them. And I guess that’s where I find peace in all of this – there are things that are precious to me, but I can’t control whether I’ll ever have them or not. I don’t have to let go of my feelings toward having children – I will always want to birth my own babies, and raise them and love them – but I know it’s not up to me. The dream was maybe just a reminder of how much I want this, and also a reminder of how it can be taken away.