Category: Infertility

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Me, Bartleby and Ta.rzan

Hubby & I spent the night on the west side of the state Saturday night. We were out that way specifically to catch the theater debut of one of our friends. (I’d tell you more about the play, but “I’d prefer not to.” But I do have to say, I do think our friend did a wonderful job.)

We’ve been to this town before (the most recent to see the Cowboy Junkies about five years ago), but never got a chance to really check the place out. But since our friend lives out there, we managed to get the “grand tour” of the area which included a trip to a local brewery that produces the only beer my alcohol-allergic / beer-loathing Hubby will drink. Seriously didn’t know that this brew was locally-produced.

Anyway, we ended up staying the night because the play didn’t even start until 11:00 pm. And then afterwards, well … of course we ended up going out and grabbing a drink afterwards. So we booked a room at one of the local hotels just to rest our heads for the night. After all, it’s a decent 3-hour ride back to Detroit and we weren’t about to make that drive after being out until 2 am. (Okay, maybe we would … if we were still college-age!)

The next morning, I turned on the TV in the room (while Hubby started to get ready) and started flipping through the channels. As I flipped, I stumbled onto the Dis.ney channel that happened to be showing the animated film, “Ta.rzan.” I don’t know what possessed me to keep the TV on that channel, but I suddenly found myself sucked into the movie.

There’s something about Dis.ney animated movies that I really enjoy. Especially the ones that were produced from “The Little Mermaid” onward. OK, so there were a few that I could care less about (hmmm … “Emperor’s New Groove”?), but overall I’ve liked their films.

In fact when planning our wedding, Hubby & I created a “Three Wishes” theme, including designing our own invitations (which, back in 1996, was definitely not a common thing to do) based on the movie “Aladdin.” It started with a porcelain figure of Jasmine & Aladdin that Hubby gave me when we were still dating which we thought would make a great cake topper. Then we chose “A Whole New World” from “Aladdin” as our first dance and then gave little ceramic genie lamps as our favors. Yes, I guess you can say we had our own version of our “Dis.ney Fairy Tale” wedding.

But I digress … What struck me about watching “Ta.rzan” was the whole “Boy being raised by a gorilla” thing. Specifically the part where Ta.rzan found out how he came to live with and grow up with a pack of gorillas. Now, I’m assuming that most people have seen this movie or are familiar with the story. However, if you haven’t and you have the urge to read the book / watch the movie … then I suggest you skip the next two paragraphs.

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If you recall that in the movie (because the movie actually does vary a bit from the book by Edward Burroughs), Ta.rzan was brought up by a pack of gorillas and was always regarded by the other gorillas as different. This, however, didn’t matter to his “Mom,” Kala, who brought him up as her own, after losing her own baby gorilla by the same leopard who killed Ta.rzan’s parents. When Ta.rzan stumbles upon Jane and is surprised that there is a person who looks similar to him, he tries to learn from Jane (and her father) as much as he can about his “kind.” Ultimately, Jane is supposed to be leaving back for “merry olde England.” As Ta.rzan had ultimately fallen in love with her, he has to make the decision to either remain behind or go with Jane.

Before Ta.rzan’s decision is made, Kala tells him the truth about his parents and how, after her own son died, she raised him as if he was her own child. After he makes his decision to follow Jane, he turns to Kala and tells her that she will always be his mom.
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Uh, yeah … and that’s where the tears started flowing. (Thank God Hubby was in the shower at that point!) I kept thinking that if I was Kala, I would would be absolutely heartbroken. Proud of him, but utterly heartbroken for myself.

First of all, it’s the whole “mother who loses her own biological child” thing. How can that not relate to how I’m feeling? Okay, so I never was able to get pregnant on my own and have never physically lost a pregnancy. Or worse, a baby. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have the right to grieve about not being able to have my own biological baby. And how about those that have experienced failed IVF’s alongside with me? Or those that have experienced ectopic pregnancies or miscarriages? Those are all losses.

And then there’s the whole “being raised by someone that didn’t give birth to you” issue. Uh … that would totally relate to adoption. I know that my journey through infertility has taken me down the adoption path. And I know that every day I am one step closer to becoming just as strong as Kala wanting to raise a child that isn’t biologically part of me.

I know that adoption is my fate and once I have my child, I will be so totally, utterly and unconditionally in love with him/her. BUT … I can’t help but think that somehow, somewhere down the adoption path I will truly start to freak out about the possibility that this child might not love me or feel that the love he/she has for me is not as strong as it would be if I were his/her biological mother.

Huhm … I just realized that perhaps my child would probably think the same of the love that I would have for him/her. He/She could be thinking … “Does she love me as if I were born from her womb?” Well, the answer to that is yes. As I’ve never been able to experience pregnancy, I guess I wouldn’t know the difference between loving a child that is biologically mine or loving one that was brought into our family through adoption. So my future son or daughter … I want to let you know this right now: I will love you, because … to me, you are my own child.

Damn Dis.ney … why must you always produce movies about orphaned heroes or heroines that overcome adversity. Do you purposely peer into my heart and see which one of those heart-strings (or better yet, my apron strings) to pull?!

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Childhood Dreams

Work has been incredibly grueling this past week, leaving me mentally drained each day. It’s not that I’ve been swamped with an extraordinarily large caseload. Actually, that’s more my team’s issue as they are currently covering my caseload right now. You see, the powers-that-be in my position have selected me to be part of a group of RN’s to establish a redesign for the current work flow. Uh … yeah. Like I said, grueling.

Not that I’m excited to be part of this group … it has certainly been an eye-opening experience, and the upper-level executives have thus far been very supportive of the ideas we’ve come up with … it just has left me very, very exhausted.

Today at work, a fellow RN Case Manager shared a video clip of Dr. Ran.dy Pa.usch on the Oprah show. Now apparently this clip (along with the original lecture he gave at Carnegie Mellon University) has been downloaded over a million times on you.tube. So, if you’ve already seen this clip or you’ve heard about Dr. Pausch’s “Last Lecture,” you’ll know exactly the emotions that this lecture evokes.

Let me set the scene. Ran.dy Pa.usch is a 47 year-old father of three and Professor of Computer Science at Carnegie Mellon University. He was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer which has since metastasized, which currently gives him no further course of treatment other than palliative care. He delivered his famous “Last Lecture” during an ongoing series of lectures where Professors at the University are given the opportunity to give a hypothetical last lecture in which to impart to their students. Obviously, this lecture, titled “Really Achieving Your Childhood Dream,” would be a little more realistic to him. So after watching this shortened version of this lecture on Oprah (the original is about 1+ hours long and visible on you.tube), it’s no wonder that all eleven of us in the room were just about in tears.

Watching this video had certainly got me pondering what my childhood dream was. The earliest memory I have about trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grow up is two-fold. One is of going to the library as early as 5-years old and picking out simple children’s books, particularly a series of books about a young girl deciding what she wanted to be when she grew up. One book was about becoming a teacher, while another was learning to be a “stewardess,” and yet another one about being … da da dadum … a nurse. (Hey, it was the late 70’s and these books were probably written in the late 60’s!) The other memory is of lining up all my stuffed animals (I was more of a plush toy kid than a doll kid) in front of our chalk board and pretending to “teach” them … all to the delight of my Grandmother (who, by the way is 97 this year) who was a primary school teacher in the Philippines.

Unfortunately, I never actually owned one ...
Unfortunately, I never actually owned one ...

But by the time I got to high school, I fancied myself wanting to go into journalism or writing of some kind. I kept journals back then and wrote constantly to my cousin in London, Ontario, whom I considered my “living diary” during that time period. I even had a book of “poems” (more like silly rants, now that I look back at it) that I thought I could turn into song lyrics of some sort. Because back then, I also fancied myself being part of a really cool alternative band. Never mind that I was only a mediocre piano player … I still wanted to be able to tour the world (probably playing my “ke.ytar” a-la Howard Jones).

Alas, those dreams faded once it came time to choose which college I wanted to go to after graduation. Because then it became a matter of “How am I going to make a living?” rather than “What do I wanna do to make my life worthwhile?” The reason it turned eventually to “making money” rather than “dreaming big” is due to the typical Asian-American way of thinking. And that’s having job security and stability.

Eventually I succumbed to pressure and chose a profession that many Filipinos choose … Nursing. That’s because it’s a career that can, not only yield a decent yearly income, but it could provide you with the ability to choose different paths within the profession (-ie- hospital setting vs. doctor’s office vs. university teaching). Looking back now, I think Nursing appealed to me mostly because of the diversity in settings and also the ability to flex my schedule when I eventually had kids.

So getting back to Ran.dy Pa.usch’s video. One of the key things he mentions is having parents that supported him with the dreams he wanted. They, in fact, were the key to allowing him to dream big and to be what he really wanted to be. And while my parents provided me with the desire to always keep learning and the discipline to work and study hard, I can’t say that I was encouraged to dream big … or to even dream “outside the box” of the typical Filipino/Asian American professions.

I’m not writing this to place any “blame” on my parents or to find an excuse for not pursue my “big dreams.” I know that my parents encouraged me to be smart, strong and independent. And they did so because their experience in starting all over in a new country taught them that security and stability in life was important.

I want to be clear here (because Mom, I know you’re reading this) … This “choosing stability over dreams” isn’t the reason for this post. Nope, really it’s going back to that video. And Randy’s parents. And his relationship with them. It’s those things that made it crystal clear to me what my childhood dream was … and that dream wasn’t necessarily to have a career that I was successful AND happy with. Rather, that dream was to grow up to be a warm, caring person who was sensitive to others’ needs … yet still be strong and independent-minded to nurture, not only herself, but others.

I think I managed to take care of the warm, caring person (at least I hope so) through my profession in Nursing. I also think I managed to remain strong and independent. The thing I’m missing is that nurturing part … particularly the nurturing as it pertains to children.

And that’s the dream that I’m still missing … to be that parent, that mother, who, not only nurtures and cares for her child, but also encourages her child to dream … and to dream big.

Okay, so that’s nothing all too revealing. Especially given what the basis of my blog is about. But watching this video … and particularly the real reason Ran.dy Pa.usch wrote this lecture, really really REALLY affected me. It was certainly something that once again pulled on my imaginary apron strings.

I encourage you all to watch the ten-minute video below and tell me what you think. What are were your childhood dreams? And are you living them now?

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If you’d like to read a follow up on this post, click here!

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Peeped Out

So this is just a little late here, but Happy Easter to you all. I didn’t get a chance to post on Easter as it’s been a pretty busy week. But of course, that didn’t stop me from stuffing myself with too many Peeps that I am officially done with that marshmallow treat for the year.

Easter Sunday was spent with family. First up was the traditional Easter Sunday Mass with the parents at the church that I went to grade school. (Unfortunately, the grade school has since then closed.) As I’ve mentioned in the past, I’m not exactly a “practicing Catholic,” meaning I’m not one to go to mass every weekend. Not that I don’t have a strong belief in my faith, I just don’t think that having to go to mass every week best demonstrates how I practice the teachings of God and Jesus that I was taught growing up. I guess you could really call me a “Lazy Catholic” in that sense. But ask me if I believe in and practice the principle of “Treat others as you would like to be treated,” you bet I do. That’s the part of my faith that I strongly believe in.

But imagine Hubby & I walking into the church just as the mass was about to start. We’re looking around for my parents, as we agreed to meet there. Finally, we find them about 5 rows from the front, and sit in an area that’s in direct eye sight of the parish priest. So as a cell phone goes off just before the first reading, I happen to see the priest do an almost imperceptible roll of the eyes as the reader at the lectern makes the brief announcement to make sure that all cell phone volumes are turned down.

And that’s when I make a grab for my purse to make sure I turn my phone volume down. Imagine, if you will, my cell phone going off in the middle of mass. The sound that would be coming from my purse, coincidently located under my chair, would be singing “Devil Inside / Devil Inside / Every single one of us / The Devil Inside.”

Yeah, a song from one of my favorite bands, INXS. Good thing I was with my parents and my Aunts & Uncles from my side of the family were attending mass at another church at the same time, because that’s the ringtone I assigned to them. 😛 I’m sure that the parish priest would have luuurved me … and my poor Mom probably would have died of embarrassment.

After mass, we headed over to my Uncle’s house (my Dad’s brother) for lunch. My two other Aunts (Dad’s sisters) and their daughters were going to be their too (one of which drove NINE hours from Chicago this past Friday in the midst of a snow storm). I specifically mention that this was my Dad’s side of the family because out of the five siblings (his other brother was in the Philippines), three of them have had either a heart attack or open heart surgery (both, in my Dad’s case). And because heart disease is known to be hereditary, the two other siblings are now terrified that they will also be susceptible to these same issues. As my Hubby & I sat at the “kids'” table with my two younger cousins, we all couldn’t help but laugh at the conversation going on in the next room. “How high is your cholesterol?” “How much exercise are you doing?” “When’s the last time you went to the doctors for a routine check-up?”

And don’t think us “kids” didn’t notice that instead of a nice, big, juicy, fatty Easter ham as our main dish … we had a healthy broiled fish. Yes, that’s right … fish. And it’s not like we didn’t (as “good Catholics”) just finish 6 consecutive Fridays, plus Ash Wednesday, eating fish.. But yes, us cousins couldn’t help but laugh.

After lunch, Hubby & I set up our Wii console on my Uncle’s large screen TV, and the games began. The cousins played a bit of Wii Sports and eventually got the “elders” involved as well. The youngest of my cousins actually “boxed” against my Uncle … and WON. This same cousin also beat this same Uncle, along with my Mom and our Aunt in bowling. And my other cousin? Well, she helped us FINALLY get past Slash in the medium level of Guitar Heroes III (and for that, Hubby & I are incredibly grateful!).

Overall, it was a pretty fun day. Probably one of the best Easters we’ve had in a while. And quite honestly, one where I didn’t find myself obsessively thinking about how unfair it was that I wasn’t able to participate in all the child-related events (-ie- Easter Bunny pictures, Easter Egg hunts, dressing up the young’ins in the traditional Easter Sunday best) surrounding this holiday.

Wow. That’s a pretty amazing feat!

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Googly-Eyed

Lately I’ve been (what my husband has said “obsessively”) reading many other IF blogs. I completely blame Google Reader for it. And as Mel and Io have pointed out, it’s So. Damn. Addicting.

I find myself attracted to the fellow bloggers who, like me, are still childless. Specifically, those that have had “years” of experience in TTC and have either (recently) been successful in becoming pregnant, or have decided to forego any further IF treatment and chose to adopt or remain childless. I’m sure it’s because these are the fellow IF’ers that I can relate to the most, given my own experiences. But truly, I think it’s because these are the people that have seem to write about the same fears and hopes that I am feeling at this exact moment.

Not that any of the other IF blogs I’ve read don’t express the same fears and hopes as well. I guess it’s more because of where a person is at in their IF journey. For those that are “newer” to the IF roller coaster, there is still fear expressed in their writings … but, maybe it’s just me, but these posts seem to have more of a positive or hopeful outlook. I guess I’m just way too jaded and disappointed after all these years.

And for those IF’ers that have been successful in conceiving AND delivering a live healthy (or even not so healthy) baby … well, for lack of other words, they were able to do something that I haven’t been able to do. Ever. Not that a fellow IF’er can’t relate to or empathize with exactly what I’ve been through, it’s just that their posts will inevitably (and justifiably) become more about their child. And I should add here that yes, I am happy for them and I will continue to read their updates. However, I hope they might understand that it does become more difficult to relate to the change in their “no longer child-free” lifestyle.

I realize I’m beginning to sound horribly petty here. Especially since less than a year ago, I was complaining about how I couldn’t find anyone that might be going through something similar to what I was going through. I didn’t think that anyone could feel as “stuck” as I was in my IF journey, like I couldn’t take a step forward towards making my “Mommy Dreams” come true (whether through more ART procedures or through adoption). I’ve learned since then that, while they might not be going through the same exact thing that I was going through, there are other IF bloggers out there that share many of the same hopes and fears and habits (read: hiding underwear) as I do.

Really though … it doesn’t matter whether others are at the same point in their IF journey as I am … I just truly do enjoy reading about others’ experiences, hopes and fears. And I absolutely LOVE reading about other IF’ers thoughts and quirks about every day things. It honestly just makes me feel less of a truly crazed infertile “freak.”

So what’s the purpose of this post? Well … really, I guess there is none. Other than to wish that I might have found this type of support (and outlet for my IF frustrations) years ago … because maybe then I wouldn’t have felt so lonely for so long.

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Open-Faced Sandwich

I’m back at the same hospital where my Dad had his surgery. Except this time, it’s to take my Mom to her previously scheduled routine outpatient procedure. As my Dad still cannot drive and my Mom’s procedure requires that she has a companion to take her to and from her appointment, I volunteered to take her.

And as I’m sitting in the waiting room (just picture my hair in piggy-tails, by the way … hah!), I’m looking around to see other folk waiting for their loved ones to come out. Most of those are men and women who look like they’re in their late-40’s or early 50’s, and I was expecting that they would be waiting for their spouses. So imagine my surprise when I’m seeing most of the patients being discharged are older … and most likely my fellow waiting room companions’ parents.

And then I realized … that with this appointment, I’ve been officially “inducted” into the sandwich generation.

Except my parents aren’t, what I consider, “elderly.” (Hey, other than my Dad’s lengthy hospitalization and now subsequent follow-up appointments, both of my parents are otherwise pretty active.) Plus, I’m not exactly in my late 40’s or even my early 50’s.

And I’m not exactly “sandwiched” either. Because technically, being “sandwiched” means being placed in the middle of something. And the term “Sandwich Generation” implies that a person who fits this category is caring for both their parents AND their children.

As I am currently childless, I guess this really means I’m part of the “Open-Faced Sandwich Generation.” And to be completely honest … being childless and growing old has always been a concern for me.

Hubby & I have this longstanding joke about Senior Apartments or Assisted Livings that started when I first graduated from college and was looking at moving out of my parents’ house. (I must add that we were just newly engaged at that time.) He pointed to this one set of apartments and suggested that we check them out … not knowing that they were actually Senior Apartments.

From then, any senior apartment and assisted living we’d drive by we would always say, “What about those ones?” And the response would always be, “Nah, it’s not close enough to a movie theater or a library.” That’s because we always say that when we retire, all we want to do is watch movies and read. But the truth is, moving into those type of places could certainly be in our future.

Not that I expect to remain childless (I will adopt, damnit!), but if Hubby & I chose to remain childless … who would be that person to take care of us if we were too frail to take care of one another? Who would drive us to our appointments if we weren’t able to do it ourselves? Who would be No. 1 on our speed dial? Who would be that “Emergency Contact” person on our medical records? I couldn’t very well expect our nephew (or any of our future nieces and nephews) to do that … they’d have their own set of parents to worry about.

I must add here that even if … or rather when … we have children, I would never expect them to take complete care and responsibility of us. We’re waaay too much of an independent-minded and problem-solving couple by nature. And hell … as a Nurse Case Manager, these are the things I’m trained and certified to help problem-solve with the population I serve.

Regardless, this is a concern. And a valid one at that. And it’s yet another thing (along with possibly not ever being a “Mother of the Bride/Groom“) that the other 80% of women not experiencing infertility wouldn’t necessarily have to think about. At least not yet.