Category: Family

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THAT Day

Uh huh. Tomorrow is THAT day. The day that celebrates the love a person has for his or her mother. Where we can show our love and gratitude for the women who gave birth to us and raised us. A chance for kids to nationally recognize all that their mothers have done for them.

And it’s a day that makes any woman suffering through infertility want to run and hide under the covers for the next 24 hours. Because it’s yet another reminder that what we want most in life, we just can’t have.

You would think that after ten years of childless Mother’s Days the pain would lessen after a while. In many aspects, the hurt isn’t as bad as it was … say, the first Mother’s Day after my failed IVF. Or last year, when my SIL’s pregnancy with Liam ripped those IF wounds (which I managed to stifle for years) wide open.

Of course there are those other days where the pain rears its head once again. The grand announcement of a family member’s or friend’s pregnancy. The random baby shower invitation in the mail for one of your mother’s friend’s daughter. The conversations with FWC (Friends with children) that inevitably turn towards what their kids are doing these days.

What I have learned over the past ten years is to anticipate this pain to surface on days like tomorrow, where the whole continent recognizes the woman that brought them into the world. And the woman who raised them and provided them with love and protection. And I expect to feel this kind of pain for days, sometime weeks, after learning the news of any new pregnancy. Because yet again, it’s another pregnancy that I’ll never have.

I sense this pain will never ever go away. However, over the past year I have learned to temper it. I know now when to say “No” to baby showers. Or to simply walk away when pregnancy talk gets to be too much. I know where to hide (a bathroom, the spare guest room, my car) when I need to steal a moment to cry.

So tomorrow, after celebrating the love and appreciation Hubby & I have for our mothers, I will want to climb back into bed and not get out from under the covers until Monday morning. But I won’t. Because I want to be able to say that I got through this tough day with my head held high and my renewed spirit towards adoption intact.

But if for some reason, Hubby notices I’m “missing” for a short period of thim … I may have to tell him to check the restaurant restroom. In the private stall. Where I just might be crying.

I may be stronger than I was last year at this time. But I’m not THAT strong.

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My infertility resides in my heart as an old friend. I do not hear from it for weeks at a time, and then, a moment, a thought, a baby announcement or some such thing, and I will feel the tug — maybe even be sad or shed a few tears. And I think, “There’s my old friend.” It will always be a part of me ….

— Barbara Eck Menning, founder of Resolve

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Red Thumb Diary

Remember that show on Sh.owtime “Red Shoe Diaries“? It starred David Du.chovny pre-“X-Files” and was pretty risque. Now, I’m not going to be writing anything quite like what that show is about. Really, the only reason I brought it up was because I thought it would be quite a lame reference to the title of this post.

Okay, yeah. Making no sense here. But let me explain first of all by showing you this picture.

Yes, it’s a picture of my left thumb as I hold it up to the picture I posted in one of my recent entries. And why, may you ask, am I doing something as silly as that? Well, it’s because that same day that I wrote and posted that entry, I got an email from none other than “Living Journal” Cousin (herein known as LJC). Talk about major co-inky-dink!

LJC’s email told me that she (along with her fiance and fiance’s brother & girlfriend) would be coming for some shopping on Saturday and was wondering if we could at least get together and catch up for a bit. So I quickly responded that I would love to spend some time together in which ever way we could. Of course, I told her that I was just thinking about her. And then, in my typical “blog-whore” fashion (you know, where you try to “pimp your blog” out to other people … 😛 ), referred her to that latest post.

By the time LJC called this past Saturday, it was late afternoon and they were just pulling into the area. And because the main purpose for this trip was to go shopping, we figured we’d be able to maximize our time together by shopping and catching up. So, we met up at the area mall and shopped. Well, they did anyway.

Me? Well, as you can probably surmise by this picture … I tried on some nail polish at one of the stores. And silly me … thought that this particular store might have some nail polish remover handy to quickly take off the color so I didn’t have to go around with one single red thumb. Yeah … like I said … silly me.

Yep, these are ALL of LJC’s letters to me

So that solves the riddle of the “Red Thumb” part of this blog title. What, say you, about the “Diary” part?

As I stated briefly in the previously mentioned post … LJC was someone that I wrote to about everything during the most tumultuous times of my adolescent / teen life. So much that our letters would get to be 20 to 30 pages long at times. (I’m not kidding you … I swear!) She was … literally and figuratively … my real life diary (hence the name “Living Journal” Cousin). I can honestly say that my high school years and the earlier part of my college years had been written greatly in detail. As was hers.

The best part of having this kind of method of journaling was that I wasn’t just writing what I felt in a notebook or diary of some sorts … I was actually writing to a real live person. A person … my cousin … who I trusted (and still do) with my innermost feelings. And someone, who’s insight and opinions about my thoughts and actions, I deeply respected. So by sending and receiving each one of our letters … well, it’s much like getting feedback or comments on any of the blog entries I write. Except rather than it be out there in cyberspace … it’s signed, sealed, and delivered by the good old postal system. And better still, it’s given with that unconditional love and trust that’s very rare to find.

Looking back now, I think that I placed such strong emphasis on my relationship with my cousin (and subsequently her two younger sisters) because, growing up, I never had that sisterly bond with anyone else. Being with these three girls would be (and still is) the closest that I would ever come to having a sister. And in some respect, I wonder if this is the reason why I’m not as close or comfortable around other women today. Meaning that I’ve been witness to the bonding experience that most women with sisters have with each other and their subsequent relationships with other women. But that’s it. I’ve never been as close to any other females in my life as I am with my cousins. And even now, the three of them have a relationship with each other that I can honestly say that I envy.

But getting back to the letters …

The running joke during the height of our letter-writing years was that we would eventually give each other our letters back once we got married. Then we could do with it what we wanted … either read them or burn them … especially because there may have been some really bad things written in those letters that we wouldn’t want anyone … not even our future husbands … to read.

My So-Called Life

I completely forgot about our promise until the day after my wedding when Hubby & I (in typical Filipino tradition) were opening our wedding gifts among many of our out-of-town family & friends. There, in the absolute last box we opened were three books. Yup … all my letters, neatly photo-copied (colored copies, nonetheless … imagine the price of doing that in 1996) and binded chronologically into three volumes. I can clearly remember looking up at LJC (as well as her two sisters) with such amazement as tears ran down my face. I couldn’t believe what I was looking at … and I couldn’t believe that she’d remembered. The four of us stood hugging each other tightly and crying like babies as my cousin told me that she had to make copies because she just couldn’t part with the original letters.

So now … with LJC’s wedding literally around the corner … I’ve gotta start getting my act together. It looks as if I’ll be spending a lot of time in front of my printer/scanner or the local office supply place making copies of LJC’s letters. Because just like her … I can’t bear to part with the originals. But at least now … we’ll both have a set of all our letters and all of our responses.

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The Brown Paper Bag

Beneath my bathroom sink, there lives a brown paper bag. The contents of which were too large to fit in my mirrored medicine cabinet. It’s been residing there for the past four-plus years, maybe seeing the light of day once. Okay … twice, when I organized everything in that bathroom sink cabinet.

The only other time I took it out, was about two years ago. At that time I was debating what to do with all the syringes, needles and vials of medication that inhabited that brown paper bag. The first thought that came to mind was to donate its contents to the physician’s office of whom originally prescribed such medication to me. But then I thought of the last time I had been to his office, and memories came flooding back; quite like a tsunami hitting the coast of an otherwise tropically calm shore.

I thought of how many months I stuck myself in the thigh with those needles to deliver those extra doses of hormones. And I thought of those times I made sure I gave myself the injection at around the same time each night. I even thought about the small bag that contained my “supplies” that I carried on those nights when we knew we would be spending much time with family; for young cousin’s birthday party, or another relative’s baby shower, or a baptism where Hubby & I would be named as Godparents.

I thought of the multiple trips I took during a given week in my cycles to get poked for blood. And thought of how many times I had “dates” with the Ultrasound Technician and her “magical wand.”

And finally, I thought about the multiple trips I took to three separate specialists office at different times in my life. The first of which fed me month after month of Clomid for a year; which now I wish I would have questioned earlier. The second that thought by doing a laparotomy followed by six months of Lupron would jump-start my system. And then put me on more than 8 months of medicated cycles; and after each cycle told me that this month, with the changes of medications or dosages in these injectable meds, that “this would be the month.” And whenever I brought up the idea of doing an IUI or an IVF cycle, pooh-poohed my thoughts. And finally, the last specialist who actually listened to me. And ran just a few more tests on me to diagnose me as “insulin resistant;” not quite PCOS, as I was still cycling every month, but enough that I was finally put on metformin.

Things started to feel better after being with this third specialist. The metformin miraculously made me “feel” better, if that makes sense, and the low-carb diet did wonders for my weight. It was then, that Hubby & I decided to go for In Vitro Fertilization; or IVF. Or the big guns; as I call it. And we were told that our best bet was to have it done with ICSI; meaning that IUI (intra uterine insemination) wouldn’t work for us. So Hubby & I found creative ways to finance that IVF cycle, and well … we all know the end result.

Because, quite frankly … I wouldn’t be writing this kind of blog if the results were any different.

About two years ago when I initially took out that brown paper bag and briefly thought about donating it back to my RE’s office … well, I got angry. And then I thought about how much money Hubby & I actually spent for those supplies and still didn’t end up with the results we wanted. And I ceremoniously shoved the bag right back under the bathroom sink.

Today I stumbled back on that bag, which had found its way to the very back corner of the bathroom sink cabinet. Without thinking twice, I opened it up once again and looked at its contents. And in the two years since I’ve seen it, I realize that it looks the same. Again I thought about donating it back to my RE’s office; whom now I haven’t seen in over four years. But as I glanced at the two boxes full of vials, I realize that the medication had officially expired over the past year.

So what did I do this time? Well, I took out the vials of expired medication and threw them away. And I closed the brown paper bag once again, this time with just the needles and syringes, and stuffed it back underneath the sink.

Well … at least I made a little progress in moving past my one (and only) failed IVF attempt. At least I think I did.

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Can't. Hide. Forever.

Couldn't I take her to work instead?

For those of you that didn’t know, today happened to be “Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work” Day. Yet again, nothing says “Hey! Look at me!! I’m Childless!!!” whenever someone asked me why I didn’t bring my child with me today.

Uh. Perhaps because the ones I do have are the four-legged variety? And somehow, I can’t see them allowing me to bring my fur-babies in.

Lucky (or unlucky, depends how you look at it) for me, I’ve been extremely swamped at work. I’ve been doing 10-hr days / 4 days a week for well over 3 years now … and I must say that this is the first time I’ve ever wanted to work five 10-hr days in a row. That’s how much crap I have to do.

But don’t you worry (as if!), because I’m not that stupid dumb dimwitted brain dead to realize that I could work an extra day … but since I wouldn’t get paid (or otherwise compensated) for working above and beyond what I am paid to do … I say, “The hell with that! I’m gonna enjoy my three-day weekend!”

So really, the whole “kids at work” thingy didn’t bother me so much today. Seeing as I was either: a) attending my ba-zillionth meeting this week, b) chained to my corner of the world that my company designates as “my desk,” or c) hiding in my manager’s office (or under my desk) trying to sneak a few moments of blissful ignorance as to what was piling up on top of my desk.

In any case, I know that I can’t just hide forever. After all, even though infertility and being childless is currently a big part of my life … for the rest of the world (or at least the other 92% of the population), having children and raising them is always going to be a big part of their lives.

And as Monty Python would say … “And now for something completely different …”

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Happy Birthday to you, Dad!!

I am so very grateful for having you as my father.
Not a day goes by that I don’t thank my lucky stars that you’re still with us today.
It’s been a rough few months, but I have every faith in you
that you will continue to get stronger.

Love and Forever,
Your L’il Punkin

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Nieces and Nephews

Hubby & I are back from Chicago and from visiting with my brother and SIL. Dr. Brother is finishing his last year of residency at one of the major hospitals in the Chi-town area while Dr. SIL works in the ER at another area hospital. But despite their hectic schedules, they took the time out to spend Saturday afternoon and most of Sunday entertaining us.

 
And it’s Slytherin Green to boot!

Not that they honestly had to do too much to entertain Hubby & me. Really, all we wanted to do was spend time and hang out with them. We spent some of our time walking around the Bucktown / Wicker Park area, thinking that perhaps we could afford things from some of their upscale resale shops … uh, yeah. Guess I’m a little to used to finding great deals at the local Sal.vatio.n A.rmy. But I did manage to find this really cool shirt. Okay, so I didn’t so much “find” it … rather I copy off my SIL’s idea, as I just loved the whole “snarkiness” of it all.

The other part of our time was spent doing our favorite pastime when we’re together … and that’s eat. If there’s one thing that I wish we had around where Hubby & I live is rows and rows of restaurants and bars with varying tastes. There’s only so many times you can eat at a chain restaurant. Don’t get me wrong, I love my A.bee’s Triple Choco Meltdown, but perhaps I’d like to try something … I don’t know … a little less manufactured? So yes. We ate … and we stuffed ourselves with some great food. Tummy was definitely satisfied!

But the real reason for our visit? Yes … it was to see my “nieces” and “nephews.” The four-legged variety, that is. Oh boy, did we ever have fun with the boys. They are way too loveable! But rather than tell you about them … here’s some pics of them along with their “sisters,” Mocha & Sophia, who have ruled (and continue to rule) the household.

The sad thing? Come this summer, my brother and SIL are moving to the Pacific Northwest. Dr. Brother managed to secure a one-year fellowship out there and Dr. SIL has also managed to obtain a few job offers. This means that in order to visit them and the “nieces” and “nephews,” we’d either have fly out to the coast OR take an extremely loooong road trip.