Category: Asian-American

Posted on

Penance Purls

In the years since my failed IVF attempt and the end of pursuing further infertility treatment, I learned to knit. A good friend of mine, who also happens to be a co-worker, taught me the basics of knitting during our lunch hours. And as I learned to knit, I found that it was a great way to distract me from the emptiness of infertility. Knitting gave me a purpose; it gave me something to work towards. Each knit and purl stitch I made got me closer to completing a project. And once finished, I felt as if I’ve put every effort I could into crafting something unique. I felt as if I’ve given birth, so to speak, to the sweater or hat or purse that I’ve made.

In the knit / crochet world, there is such a thing called a prayer shawl. The idea behind crafting this type of shawl is to give it to someone in need of prayer. Someone perhaps, who is going through a difficult time in life in which prayers are needed. That is because with every stitch that is knitted or purled (or crocheted), the person creating this artwork is literally saying a prayer for the receiver of such a gift.

The best way I can describe it (in my Catholic-school upbringing) is that it’s much like saying the rosary, but at the end of the prayers, you actually have something to show for all that you’ve done. And the best part of it is that you have the opportunity to give such a gift to the person you’ve made it for, knowing that you’ve sent good vibes / well-wishes (or whatever word you’d like to replace “prayer” with) to a person who is in most need of such sentiments.

I, myself, have never made such a shawl. Instead, I’ve made other thing like chemo caps for kids or premie hats for the babies in the NICU. What started out as a hobby for many of us at work, soon turned into a project last Christmas to make as many knitted or crocheted caps and hats for the children at a local hospital. For me, it was a way of honoring my nephew, Liam, who spent his whole 4 months of life in that particular hospital’s NICU.

When my SIL announced she was pregnant with Liam, the bottom dropped out beneath me. By then, I had spent ten years trying to get pregnant and had one (and only one) failed IVF attempt behind me. It had been two and a half years, at that time, since Hubby & I stopped actively trying. And as a first (or second, I can never get it right) generation Catholic Filipino-American girl, I worked very hard at stifling the sadness, hurt and anger so that I could save face. But the thought that my SIL (who, by the way, is the same age as I am) was able to get pregnant within five months of getting married completely and utterly devastated me. And when my SIL found out at 24 weeks that Liam would most likely be born with some congenital imperfections, well … I guess you could say that I felt guilty (darn Catholic in me!), as if my jealousy and thoughts of ill-will were the reason behind such a difficult pregnancy.

So what does all this have to do with knitting and the “prayer shawl” (besides the obvious reason for making caps and hats for the babies and kids in the hospital)? Well, during my SIL’s 2nd trimester with Liam, I knew that I had to come to terms with this pregnancy. While I knew my feelings of longing for my own pregnancy would never be fully resolved before Liam’s birth, I still felt as if I needed to do something to make sure that Liam (and subsequently, my SIL) knew that I would love him with every fiber of my being … despite the sadness I felt for myself.

And thus, the “Therapeutic Baby Blanket” project began. Much like the prayer shawl concept, I crafted this blanket with an image of Liam in my mind. With every knit stitch I made, I wished love and happiness for every single day of his life. And with every purl stitch I made, I wished for forgiveness from both Liam and his mom for any ill-will I ever thought. I put my heart and soul into this blanket and its matching hat and booties. And because Liam came much earlier (by 9 weeks) than expected, I can remember rushing to finish this massive blanket in time for the baby shower (the sucker measured 4 ft x 4 ft!) , which subsequently turned into a “Welcome Liam” party instead. What makes me a little heartbroken is that Liam was never able to come home from the hospital and actually use the blanket. Regardless though … I have to say that doing that blanket was simultaneously the hardest and simplest knit project I have ever done.

Now … in a little more than one week’s time, my SIL is scheduled to deliver (by c-section) a baby girl. For reasons that are hers and her husband’s alone, the two of them decided to start trying immediately after Liam passed away last September. By end of December, she was once again pregnant. And while their new still devastated me (I mean, really … how can she get to be pregnant twice in one year and I can’t even get a frackin’ positive pregnancy test?!), this time my feet managed to stay firmly planted on solid ground.

I can’t say that I handled this pregnancy any better or worse that I did with my SIL’s pregnancy with Liam. There are days where I still feel incredibly weary and downtrodden. And yes, there are days where I frankly don’t think things are fair. However, I do know that I’m not as heartbroken and devastated as I was the first time around. I’d like to think that knitting Liam’s baby blanket had a part in reeling back some of those emotions.

It was only natural for me to want to knit something for this pregnancy as well. Because yes, the good (?!) Catholic girl in me still felt horrible about feeling sorry for myself. And, at times, succumbing to jealousy. So with yarn purchased from both here in Ann Arbor and in San Diego, I started to knit my next project while on vacation in California.

I’ve poured my heart and soul into this project, officially known as the “Therapeutic Baby Sweater.” And just like the blanket, I’ve projected my love and happiness with each knit stitch. And with every purl stitch … well, it’s as if I’m trying to make amends for every bit of sorrow and jealousy I’ve felt in these past 9 months. A penance, if you will, for the sins I’ve committed.

My only hope is that whenever my SIL dresses her baby girl in this sweater that she knows, despite my actions (or lack thereof), that I love her baby girl with all my heart. That I am truly and honestly happy for her. And that despite the hardships endured over the past 18 months, she truly deserves this happiness.

Posted on

Sun-soaked*

I am home. Or at least where I feel like Hubby & I should be if we ever could afford to move out of Michigan.

Hubby & I, along with our good friend J are here in San Diego, Cali. We arrived around 11:00 Tuesday night and spent the following day at the beach. Well, at least some of the day.

We started the day out driving up to La Jolla where we had a late breakfast. The minute I stepped out of the rental car, I suddenly felt giddy. I turned to J and said, “I can already smell the ocean.” The complete happiness around being close to the ocean must have been really evident, because this led to quite a discussion around my apparent need to constantly be around a body of water.

“It’s the Cancerian in me,” I explained to J. “I just have this longing to be around water.” Which is so true; the desire to constantly be close to a river, a lake or an ocean. “That, and the fact that I’m such an Island Girl at heart,” making reference to the fact that I’m 100% Filipino.

“Which is rather funny,” said J, “seeing that you were born here in the US and have never lived in the Philippines.” I could hear my Hubby chucking. After all, he was actually born in the Philippine Islands and moved to the US when he was 5 years old.

“Yes,” I said to J. “I know. It is rather odd.” I explained to J that somehow being around water makes me feel so content. And happy. And less anxious or highly stress. Like I do when I’m back in my regular environment. “It’s like I let go of my Type-A personality when I’m in places like this.”

“I had no idea you were Type-A,” J deadpanned. And we all knew that was furthest from the truth.

But there’s really something about being around the water that calms my anxiety. As we all sat on our towels later that afternoon on Pacific Beach, I felt peaceful. After playing in the waves, Hubby & I plopped down next to J, who was reading a book. We laid down on our towels, pulled out our books and proceeded to do the same thing.

As I lay in the sun-soaked beach, I took in all the action around me. The chatter of the families around us … the toddler next to us who was shoveling sand to make a castle … the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore and then retreating back into the ocean.

Wow, I thought to myself. Reading a good book and being at the beach?!  Next to Hubby, these are the other two loves of my life.

That’s when I turned to Hubby and said to him softly, “I’m home.

* Unfortunately, I forgot to bring the appropriate cables to download any of the pics I’ve taken thus far … so check back next week when I get back to MI to see some amazing beach photos I’ve taken. Ack! How un-Type A was that?!

Posted on

Birth. School. Work. Death.

Kudos to anyone that can remember the name of the 80’s band that recorded the title of this post.

My last post had me pulling this song out of thin air. It was the whole rinse and repeat life cycle that I’ve been living in for so long that had me chanting the chorus (and subsequent title) of this song.

I remember singing this song in high school thinking, “Oh G*d. Is this all I have to look forward to after college?” The thought of just working day in and day out for the rest of my life just seemed pretty, well … boring.

Now realistically I know that life is not broken down into just those four stages. There are many more milestones to pass before we can get from one stage to the next. Going through school alone takes, at the very least, 12 years of our lives.

Personally, I can remember a lot of “firsts” during those years. The first day at school. The first time I got a bad grade. My first crush. My first boy/girl dance. My first kiss. My first job; which was also my first time being discriminated upon simply because of my ethnicity. My first road trip; which was followed shortly by my first speeding ticket. And I certainly remember the sense of accomplishment I felt after surviving all those “firsts.”

And then there was my graduation from college, which would symbolize the end of my formal education. I distinctly remember how wide open the world seemed after that moment; so many opportunities available within my reach. I could have traveled the world at that time. I could have continued on to get my masters in Nursing (which I still could, I suppose). But the truth is, I chose the path of which I thought was of least resistance.

The Asian-American in me did what every good Filipina does. I lined up a job right away and started my orientation before even attending my official graduation ceremony … before even taking the NCLEX (RN licensing board exam). Hubby & I got engaged shortly after that and then the focus was on saving money for the wedding and for a house.

I don’t regret the choice I made, because quite frankly, I had a lot of fun those first few years after college. I had an awesome job with awesome co-workers. I moved out my parents’ home (against their wishes, mind you) and into my own apartment. And of course, had the joys of being newly engaged and planning a wedding.

And then the fairy tale wedding. A gathering of family (trust me, there was a lot of extended family) and friends from both parents’ side as well as our own. Great music, good food, and just pure joy and happiness. It was, and I can honestly say this without prejudice, the best day of my life thus far.

We found our house within months of our wedding and moved in the day after Thanksgiving that year. We didn’t have much to fill the home at the time, but it was our own abode. Our first home.

Ten years later, we have filled that house, and have pretty much outgrown it. Too much junk for two pack rats that tend to keep everything. Too much clutter to constantly be picking up after. Two cats and a dog inhabit the home and shed all over our furniture and our clothes. We have shelves among shelves (not to mention random stacks) of books. We have a lawn that we can barely take care of, because quite frankly, we just hate yard work.

And that’s because we’re work-aholics. While I’m not in love with my job, I’m good at it and I constantly have ideas to make processes flow better … which tends to get me in trouble sometimes. But I’m appreciated at work … and that makes the world of difference, knowing that I am making a difference.

And Hubby? While he tends to downplay his talent, I consider him very innovative and groundbreaking with his design. He has this love of typography (that I have since picked up) that, in my mind, makes for smart and witty design. I respect him immensely because, as a Filipino-American … going into an industry that isn’t related to health care or engineering or accounting (at least here in the Midwest), is a sacrilege. Unfortunately, since moving to a smaller ad agency with more conservative clients, he has not had that much opportunity to do the innovative design work that he loves to do. And that simultaneously frustrates him and pushes him to work harder. And longer.

So what am I getting at with my rantings about the life cycles … and particularly work? Well, it goes back to the song. And where I’m at. Or rather, where I’m stuck at. It’s that part of life that comes after love and marriage. Yup, that baby carriage. Or in my case, the lack of one.

And here Hubby & I lay. Stuck in the “work” cycle of our lives. Our lives revolve around what we do best in life … which is work. Many family members and friends claim that we devote too much of our lives to work. That there is more to life than working. And for them, there probably is. They have family to tend to. They have children to care for, to raise … to be responsible for. They have other priorities in life.

While being childless certainly makes a big difference in the priorities of our daily life. And while it’s also the largest disappointment in my life that I can’t produce a biological child of my own … that’s not the only reason I feel stuck.

It’s that feeling of being alone. Because, in my humble opinion, being childless (and not by choice) tends to lead to a somewhat isolated life. Yes, I realize that this is no different than most people with a life-threatening disease or condition may feel. And I know it’s no different than, let’s say the loss of a child. While I, in no way, mean to belittle these circumstances … it’s just that it goes back to the “physical-ness” of these events. These are things that people can actually see. Or touch. Or understand why someone would feel so hurt or heartbroken. These are things that people can actually “put a finger on” when it comes to expressing sympathy for someone.

With being infertile (and therefore childless, in my case), most people cannot comprehend the pain that comes with being left childless. Most people that I have encountered that see we are without kids automatically assume that it’s by choice. And since we spend so much time at work, that we’re just not “settled down enough” to start a family. Thus the conversation always turns to why we don’t want kids … which of course, is furthest from the truth. And the subsequent nodding and vacant stares from these same people, as we vaguely explain that we’re “still waiting for our miracle.”

And so that’s how the isolation begins. We’ve either became isolated because a) we’ve refused to fully divulge our infertility issues, or b) we have told them too much and have thus eliminated about 90% of conversation with those who do have children. Because really … how can life with children not encompass every aspect of a person’s life? How can one with children not be able to bring up what their sons or daughters are up to? Or how their children are taken into consideration when deciding on simple things … like what they’re going to do for dinner. Or even more complex things … like deciding on which presidential candidate will best help their children’s future.

Depending on the person or persons, I can handle conversations like that. And I can have great conversations with certain people and relay to them that not everyone can identify with how it’s like to live a life with kids. But for the majority of people … I find that I’m too nice of a person to push the subject. And besides, I hate confrontation.

In addition to being stuck, to remain childless, especially after this past birthday, has also created the feeling of being “left behind.” Over the past ten or so years, Hubby & I have encountered many couples who have since gotten married and subsequently started their family right away. Some of those couples have also had issues trying to get pregnant, but had ultimately been successful. We’ve watched other family members and friends move forward toward the next milestones in their lives … their first pregnancy, their first child followed by many “firsts” for that child (first smile, first word, first step, etc). While Hubby & I are simply left in the shadows.

Ironically, Hubby & I were one of the first couple among our friends and family to get engaged. The first ones to plan a wedding. The first ones to get married. I can say, hopefully without sounding arrogant, that we were a couple that many of our friends and family looked up to. We were not the usual older Asian couples that most of us grew up around. They were more afraid to show any type of affection amongst the conservative Filipino peers. And they, at many times, communicated with double-edged passive-aggressive tones with each other. We, on the other hand, were a couple that weren’t afraid to show some PDA. We were a couple that geniunely listened to each other and communicated openly. And to the parents of our Filipino friends and family, we were used as “good Filipino-American examples”: Happily married after finishing college and establishing our careers.

And now … we’re the ones left behind. We’re the ones looking up to those family and friends who have now gone through all the milestones in life that we have … and now have surpassed us. We’re the one’s on the outside looking in. We’re the ones that long for the children that aren’t coming. We’re waiting for the next milestone to surpass, to knock my wedding day off its pedestal as the best day of my life. The next stage in the cycle of life …

And if we keep going in the childless direction we are at … perhaps the next stage in life will be that very last one.

Yes … realistically I know life is not all about milestones and stages. Life is exactly what we make of it. And how we want to fill those times in between these moments is much more important the milestones that we pass.

I’m just trying to feel my way around the filler time. And trying to find a way to feel less isolated and less like a fifth grader who just failed sex ed.

Posted on

Family Bubble

Well … it’s been a week or so since I last posted or responded intelligently to the few blogs I had a chance to read over the past week. Trust me … it’s not for lack of wanting. Rather, I appear to be “paying” for that mini-vacation I took to Orlando. Like I mentioned in this previous post, the theory of having more work to do prior to and after returning from vacation is a definite.

Not only has work been a killer, but life after work has been pretty hectic too. Which, of course leaves little time to read, let alone comment on blogs or even write a post for me-self. But that ends today. On my scheduled day off from work. Well, at least for a couple hours anyway … just got done running around town and doing yardwork. And now I’ve got a couple hours before Hubby gets home from work.

How was our mini-vaca? In a word … FUN! Our goal was to create time to spend with our cousins outside of the usual weddings and funerals. We wanted to make it a bigger group of cousins, but timing allowed for the majority of the cousins to do it on that particular weekend this year. We’re hoping to start planning next year’s “reunion” by the end of this summer. Hopefully that will give the rest of the cousins … not to mention our parents … the time to set aside the date. Next year, we’re thinking lakefront cottages on the west coast of Michigan. If you’ve never been there, you’re missing out!

Did I mention we stayed at Hubby’s uncle’s house in the Orlando area? I say uncle, but really he’s only a couple years older than Hubby. And although there’s a bit of a “cultural difference” (a-hem … meaning he was born and raised in the Philippines while Hubby & I have been strongly influenced by the American cultures, as I’ve mentioned before in passing), Hubby & I get along great with him and his wife as we have some similar interests.

Hubby’s uncle and aunt (we’ll call them E and ML) met and married about two years after Hubby & I got married. Two years after that (in 2000), their son ME was born. And another two years after, their daughter, J joined their family. But because they lived in Florida, we did not get to see too much of them over the first half of this decade. It wasn’t until about late 2005 that we finally got to spend a little more time with their family, when they came up to Michigan for the kids’ first experience with a “White Christmas.” Hubby & promptly fell in love with ME and J. The two of them were so smart and so affectionate to us. While ME was quiet and shy, J was “Little Miss Personality.” Six months later, the family flew back up for SIL’s wedding. J was the flower girl and was loving every minute of it, while ME enjoyed his time with the other younger male cousin’s and with our nephew.

Prior to the Orlando trip, the last time we saw ME and J was for Hubby’s grandmother’s funeral in Virginia Beach. And while it was overall a somber occasion, we did get to spend some fun time with them as well as the rest of the cousins. (In fact, this is what spurred the cousins to try to get together in the first place!)

While playing a board game at this Virginia Beach gathering, I was amazed to see how incredibly smart and logical that ME and J were. Not that our other cousins and our nephew weren’t also being smart and strategic … it’s just that with these two cousins, they had this reasoning behind their actions that reminded me so much of how Hubby & I think. I was floored by that observation.

Also, during one of the more somber moments of that trip, I stumbled upon E and ML with their kids while they spent some private “family time” together. J was sitting on E’s lap while ML and ME sat on either side of them. They happened to be reading a story book together and I could sense the intense love and closeness that they all had for one another. It was as if they were in their own, impenetrable family “bubble” that no one could ever take away from them.

It was that image and the previously mentioned observation above that it suddenly hit me square in the chest. That ME and J were the living incarnate of what I always thought our children would be, if we ever were able to produce our own biological children.

I can’t remember if I told Hubby that comment back during that Virginia Beach trip or not … but I certainly did this time, after our Orlando trip. On the car ride home after arriving from the airport, I turned to Hubby and told him how I thought ME & J were who I always imagined that our kids would be like.

Hubby said nothing for a small spell and then said, “I know.” Those two words simutaneously filled my heart with absolute pure love and broke it into a million pieces.

That’s because we won’t be able to have a son like ME, who is shy and reserved just like Hubby. Who, as his parents claim, is such a big bookwork like Hubby & I both are. And who likes to draw comic books as much as Hubby loves to read and collect them.

Nor will we ever have a daughter who has such an infectious laugh with enough sass to light up all of Disn.eywo.rld, just like (according to my Mom, anyway) I was when I was around her age. Who, in her parents’ opinion, feels the need to include everyone in anything she does, much like Hubby & I do. And who loves to be out in the sun and at the beach as much (if not more) as I do.

Because, while I know there are different ways that Hubby & I can have that dream … have our own image of that “impenetrable family bubble” … the reality is … we are not going to be able to pass on those unique biological and genetic traits to our future children.

And that’s one H*LL of a big bubble to have had burst.

*******************

And now, for your viewing pleasure … some pictures from our Orlando Vacation

[rockyou id=115466203&w=426&h=319]

Posted on

Na Com Leav … wha?!

Okay, for those of you that aren’t aware … Sunday the 25th was the start of “National Comment Leaving Month” or NaComLeavMo … and yes, that’s what that little graphic with the party hat to the right of this post is for.

For those of you who haven’t read Mel’s post, NaComLeavMo is the month where we are encouraged to step out of our “lurker” mode and actually comment on other people’s blogs. And in return, leave a comment on the blog of someone that commented on yours. The idea is to open up discussion amongst all of us in IF / MC blogland and beyond.

Today being day three of this month, I’m finding it hard to just “stumble” onto a fellow blogger on Mel’s list without having to do a lot of back-reading before I feel I can … a-hem … “intelligently” respond. (Oh, who am I kidding … right?!) And then I stumbled on Rachel‘s latest blog post, who thought it might be a great idea to do a quick recap of ourselves and our story so that other’s might not have to be “clicking around” so much.

So Rachel … I’m taking your lead and doing the same thing. (By the way, my favorite ice cream flavor is Jamocha Almond Fudge from BR … or Coffee Coffee Buzz Buzz from B & J!!)
Told you I was an Island Girl at Heart

Hmm … where to begin …

Three things are a big part of who I am in life. I’m Asian, I’m Catholic (although of questionable degree), and I’m Infertile. Yep … that’s right Infertile with a capital “I”. But let’s start off with the Asian bit first.

I’m a second-generation Filipino American; meaning my parents were born in the Philippines while my brother (aka “Dr. Bro”) and I were born here. While I know many other people can relate to having parents that were born in another country … being of Asian descent, it’s a little harder to “blend” in, if you catch my drift. I’m always going to look different than most people in a room. Or I’m always going to be lumped in or mistaken for another “nationality” (whether it be any pick of Asian countries or Native American or even Guatemalan … Not. Kidding. You.) But the biggest part of being Filipino American is that you are literally torn between a very traditional culture where authority is never questioned and the American culture where everything and anything can be challenged and questioned … and it’s encouraged. How does a strong-willed, stubborn female learn to live with these clashes in culture and belief? Well … peruse through my older entries and you might find a few.

As for the Catholic part of me … I don’t want you to think that I’m super-spiritual or anything. Because, in reality … I’m not. But, having been through 12 years of Catholic School … how can religion not play a part in my every day life? Even though it’s mostly about feeling guilty. You know … the “I’m not a Mom yet because I must have not prayed enough” or “I must have done something horribly wrong for God to punish me by not gracing me with child.” That kind of guilt. And no … I’m not (as) angry at God for where I am in life. Truth be told … I know that I’ve been “given” certain gifts from up above (my Hubby being the biggest gift of all); I just honestly have to have faith … not only in God, but in myself as to know when I am strong enough to do the right things in my life. And that’s the part of my Catholicism and spirituality that I can most relate to. Trust me … it’s taken me being 18 years of being out of high school to figure that one out.

I’m Infertile. Oh yeah … this is the main reason I started this blog. There had to be a way for this Catholic Filipino-American to let out all the repressed emotions I’ve let build up over the past ten years. Yep. That’s right. Ten. Long. Years. In brief, I married my high school/college sweetheart two years after graduating from college. We started TTC just over a year after that with (obviously) no success. After another year of “giving it more time,” I finally approached my OB-Gyn who put me on almost a year of Clomid. Yeah … the nurse in me should have questioned that … but the Filipino in me respected authority (see what I mean?). After that didn’t work, it was on to a laparotomy to clear out some nasty endometriosis followed by six months of evil pharmaceutical devil incarnate Lupron therapy. Then followed about 7 months of medicated cycles and the first episode of deep depression along with a 4 month “break” from treatment. And then the big guns … IVF. A one-time cycle that failed and brought about another episode of deep depression, followed closely by repression. Until one fateful day in November 2006 when my SIL (who just remarried 5 months prior and already has a middle-school age child from her first marriage) announced she was pregnant. As if that didn’t devastate me enough, Liam was born prematurely and with some “imperfections” which just made me feel like my feelings of jealousy and anger caused ill-will to this innocent child. And so … in the midst of my SIL’s pregnancy with Liam and his unfortunate passing 4 months later, I started this blog. And it has helped me deal with these emotions in ways that I didn’t think possible. And the fact that I’ve found such wonderful support out here in blogland … it just means the world to me. I just wish I would have found it sooner!

So those are the biggest things I can share with you in this one lengthy post. Hope you decide to stick around and read on. And then you can follow along with what happens in the next stage of my Mommyhood dream. I’m hoping to gather that source of faith and strength to fumble through the adoption process … as one failed IVF was enough for me emotionally and financially. Oh and you can see what other evil and emotionally ridden things I do as I finish up another six months of Lupron therapy for that bitch of a friend I call endometriosis. Oh … and did I mention my SIL is pregnant again … and due in early September?

Goodness … if you’ve stuck around reading this entry to the end … you might as well just add me to your Google Reader! 🙂

(Oh and hey … while you’re at it, check out my other blog!)