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.

Blowing out the Candles

Yes. So today’s the day. The day I turn a big whopping thirty-six. Woo-hoo. (Uhm, yeah … that was a sarcastic woo-hoo, if you didn’t catch on.)

It’s 9 am this Sunday morning and I’m back at home from vacation, after arriving from the airport at about 10 pm last night. Did I mention how much I missed sleeping in my own bed? As much as I love traveling and exploring new places, I do enjoy coming back home and climbing into my cool, soft, comfortable bed. Nothing says “I’m home” more than that … Okay, so I lie. No matter where we’re at, being with Hubby is always going to be home. Must be the Cancerian in me.

Anyway, I decided today that there is no way in H*LL that I’m going to catch up with reading over two weeks worth of G**gle Reader posts. SO … I’ve made the decision to just clear any new ones off my list for now. I promise to be much better at reading and commenting this year … but right now I just don’t want to be overwhelmed and stressed over something like that. At least I can control THAT stressor.

Speaking of stress, I mentioned in a previous post that I’d tell you exacty how high my blood pressure (BP) got at my Doc appt on the Friday before I left on vaca. It was as high as 180/100. Yep. You read that right. And the scary thing … that’s not the highest I’ve ever been. The first time I was diagnosed with hypertension (HTN) was after the last laparoscopy I had in October of 2002. I was feeling dizzy at work that following Monday after surgery and one of the many nurses at work decided to take my BP which was 180/110. So I drove my butt to my primary doc at the time (and got a d*mn speeding ticket along the way … grrr), and was promptly started on the lowest dose of hypertensive medications possible. They didn’t want to put me on anything stronger at the time, as I was still trying to get pregnant.

Flash forward five years. My HTN has been “controlled” through a variety of different BP meds. Because since I’m not actively trying to get pregnant at this time, we’ve decided to try a little stronger medication. My baseline BP has been running in the 140’s/80’s. But nope. Not that Friday before vacation. Of course, it could have been that I was affected by white coat syndrome. But the truth is, it’s probably because of all the weeks months of stress I’ve been experiencing in my life.

A-hem … let’s recap what has happened in the past 7 months, since the beginning of the year. Hubby’s grandmother passed away (bad stress). Found out good friend in Portland, OR is expecting (bad stress, but gotten over it over time). And within that same week, found out SIL was also expecting (bad stress … and the jury is out still on how I’m dealing with it). Dad had a heart attack and subsequently hospitalized for three weeks after complications from surgery (bad stress). And have been going with him to follow-up appointments (expected stress) to make sure he follows up on his health (bad stress). But since he’s “master of his own body,” I’ve all but told him it’s up to him how he wants to keep up his health (good stress). I’ve taken part in a work-improvement group (good stress) and initially have gotten negative criticism from my peers (bad stress) but have since improved as we continue to roll out changes (good stress) and work towards our end-of-July deadline (bad stress). I’ve seen pictures of my high school friend’s new baby … whose middle name is that of a Red Wings player, just like his older brother (actually … good stress. I’m happy for her!). And I’ve been to Chicago a couple times to visit with Dr. Bro, Dr. SIL and the cat-nieces and dog-nephews (good stress). And I’ve just recently been on vacation in Calgary and Canmore / Banff National Park (good stress) with my parents (mixed stress). Except on the morning we flew out, Hubby & I had to drive back and forth from the airport to pick up our passports that I thought we left from home (bad stress). And now I turn 36, knowing full well I’m on the downhill slope of my already screwed up reproductive years (bad stress).

So there you have it. I’m stressed. But then the question I always ask myself is … Is this any worse than anybody else’s level of stress? And why should I be sitting here b*tching about being stressed when there are probably so many more people out there with much more stress in their lives (uh … cancer or unemployment, for example)? Am I being such a frickin’ sorry a$$ for feeling so stressed and letting my health be affected by it?

Seriously people. I’m not just being rhetorical here. I really wanna know.

On a separate, but somewhat related note … while in Calgary, we visited with my younger cousin (M) and her hubby (D) who just recently had their first baby (J) last September. M & D have been married now for at least 5 years (I’m so forgetful with these things) and they are the absolute greatest couple together, so I can’t be anything but completely happy for the two of them that they have this incredibly beautiful son who … even at close to 10-months … has this incredible personality. And to watch M & D with their parenting style … I couldn’t be more proud of the two of them, knowing how much they’ve grown since last spending this much quality time with them.

But as I was already expecting (d*mn infertility!), the hour ride back to Canmore from Calgary and the day afterwards was tough. It’s that desire to have what M & D have; the wonderful baby, the teamwork and … most importantly, the happiness that they have with taking care of J.

Let me be clear here (for those non-IF readers), I don’t consider the desire to have what M & D have is jealousy. Because to be jealous infers that I’m envious of what the two of them have and that I wish that the two of them could experience even a fraction of what I’m feeling with my IF. No way would I EVER wish that on them; they are truly a couple that deserves to have this happiness in their life.

Okay, now back to the previously scheduled blog session …

As I was saying, it was quite a difficult couple days after that visit. My mind kept going back to all the disapoinments I have with myself and with my infertility. I kept kicking myself down for not moving any more forward with the adoption process which then made me feel like I am such a wimp for being so afraid to take the next step. Which then made me just so … sad.

Sad because during that visit, I also saw how much my parents love babies. How great my Dad is in getting babies (and any kid, really) to play with him. How my Mom tried to sit patiently until J came up her, but in the end went up to him because she couldn’t wait to hold him. And seeing the look in their faces. Seeing how happy they were to be holding a baby. No, they didn’t have to tell me what I already knew. I saw it in their faces how much they really wish they had a grandchild of their own. And. That. Just about. Killed. Me.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to feel these things. And sometimes I wish I wasn’t so attuned to other people’s feelings. I truly wish I could go back in time and change some events that may have affected my reproductive health (eat better, exercise more, see an IF specialist sooner, etc). And I absolutely wish I could give my Husband our biological child.

So on this birthday … you know what I’ll be wishing for. Better health. More emotional strength. And a grandchild to give my parents who gave ME life on this day.

Strength Pooh-Poohed

I love all things Disn.ey. Yes, I do admit it. Even though I know how the company mass-produces and over-commercializes everything … I do love Disn.ey.

So when Hubby, his cousins, and I all met at his uncle’s house near Orlando … there was no doubt in everyone’s mind that we’d be heading to Disn.eywo.rld. Specifically the Magic Kingdom … because I just HAD to go to the new Pirates of the Caribbean ride. After all, I also have a relatively healthy (?) obsession with Joh.nny De.pp. But as luck would have it, the ride had just closed for two weeks the day before we went. 🙁

Hubby & Me with Shayna
Notice all the red tshirts?

There’s something about the Magic Kingdom that just makes me feel like a little kid again. After all, the first time I had ever gone to Disn.eywo.rld was when I was six years old. And once we entered the park and looked up at Cinderella’s Castle, I was once again that six-year-old who just wanted to be a princess when she grew up.

This is a comment I made to Luna before Hubby & I left for Orlando. Luna and I both found out that we were going to be in Disn.eywo.rld for a short spell of time. And even though I really would have loved to meet her IRL, unfortunately that small window of opportunity proved to be too small. (One day, though I may just find a way to meet up with the fabulous Luna!)

That comment of just looking forward to being a kid again was in a response to Luna, who had mentioned that I was strong person to be excited to go to the kid-centric universe called Disn.ney. And I could see her point, as starting our own families and raising our own children has been, in part, a ginormous part our our lives. How was I going to survive being surrounded by hoards of families, with little ones in strollers and slightly larger ones (aka the 5-9 year-old range) holding on to the hands of their parents?

Well, for one thing … we found out rather quickly that the day we went was “Gay Day” at Disn.eywo.rld. Oh yes … a sea of red t-shirts with interesting sayings like “Slut Puppy” or “The Best Marine is a Submarine” surrounded us at every turn. My personal favorites were “Closets are for Clothes” and “Brokeback from Waaaay Back!” Let’s just say, it made the day twenty times more interesting! Not that they couldn’t have children of their own, but frankly we just didn’t see any young kids being pushed in strollers by them.

Honestly, I think I was doing pretty d*mn good. Hubby and I were having fun with our cousins, especially our one cousin’s 5-year old daughter, Shayna, who was just so excited to be there amongst all the Disn.ey characters. She had a special affinity to Belle … as did our other older, single male cousin which we teased him relentlessly about.

It wasn’t until I hit the “Many Adventures of Wi.nnie the Po.oh” ride that it hit me. And thank G*d that we didn’t get to that ride until later in the evening. Because quite honestly, the rest of the time I found myself struggling not to feel so unsettled.

This is me at 4 years old with my
Po.oh Bear and Classic Po.oh Dress

You see, along with all things Dis.ney … I especially love all things Po.oh, which started from the time I was very little. My favorite thing from childhood (which I still have) was my Po.oh Bear blanket. My bedroom, until the time I was 10, was decorated in Wi.nnie the Po.oh and his friends. My favorite storytime “record” (remember those?) was all about Po.oh. I loved Po.oh so much that back when Hubby & I were optimistic about having our own baby, we planned to decorate the nursery in all “Classic Pooh” items. And ten years ago, “Classic Po.oh” stuff was difficult to find. So any time we would find something that might fit in with our nursery theme we would try to pick it up.

Now we have all this “Classic Po.oh” stuff collected and yet, no nursery to decorate. Or fill. And in those ten years I’ve now seen at least three of my family members and friends have babies and provide them with all the “Classic Po.oh” stuff that I wish I could give my own child.

I managed to find ways to distract myself for the remaining time we were there, but there just seemed to be this miniature black cloud hanging over my head. And later on that night after getting back to our uncle’s house after 2 am … and after Hubby (who did all of the driving) crashed into bed, I stepped in the shower and silently mourned yet another wish unfulfilled.

And I realize now that I’m not strong as I thought I was.

Required Reading

Holy Schmoly! (Try spelling THAT, you Spelling Bee kids!) NaComLeavMo ROCKS!

I have read so many new blogs over the past 5 days that it’s frickin’ ridiculous. And I’ve gotten comments from so many new people that I feel like I’ve been voted in as Homecoming Queen! (Hey, what can I say … I’m a Midwesterner and Homecoming Queen was more important than Prom Queen …) Thanks to everyone that has stopped by to leave a comment … all of your words mean more than you could ever know. Because, if I haven’t outright mentioned it before … prior to starting this blog, I felt I had little to no support as I’ve fumbled through this IF world. And now … well, I’m ecstatic that I’ve found, not only an outlet for my frustrations, but a whole support system I never knew existed until just over a year ago. I truly wish I would have found out about you all ten years ago, when I first got on this d*mn roller coaster.

And as I’ve been going down the NaComLeavMo list of blogs, I’ve started to add more subscriptions to my google reader. And since I haven’t had a chance to read the blogs of those I’ve already subscribed to … well, let’s just say that I’ve got a lot of reading to do this weekend. I’ve tried to chip away at it night after night, but dangnabbit! That list still keeps growing. I swear, I spent the whole evening alternately watching the Pistons lose (grrr ….) and reading / commenting on blogs off of my google reader. And I’m not even halfway through all the posts …

Well … I guess between going to a Bridal Shower on Saturday (thank G*d it’s not the other variety of shower), watching the Red Wings game Saturday evening, and meeting up with fellow Metro-Detroit bloggers for lunch on Sunday … I will have to do more reading!

But right now I’m going to climb into bed and crash … YAWWWWNNNNN

Down for the Count …

But like the Bozo Punching bag, I still come up smiling.

Thanks for all the wonderful comments and words of encouragement that y’all have given me. I truly do feel the love out there. It literally made me shed a few tears … knowing that I’ve got some really good internet buddies and IRL buddies (soon to be bothcan’t wait!) that care as much as they do about my well-being.

Wednesday at work was extremely frustrating and … quite frankly … much too overwhelming to deal with. And after attending my weekly meeting for this work group, I decided to go home. Mentally, I could not even process what my tasks at hand were. What good am I if I can’t think?

So I wrapped up what I was currently working on prior to the meeting, shut down my computer and promptly told my supervisor that I wasn’t feeling so well and was heading home. And seriously, I wasn’t … I had this horrible headache (most likely Lupron-induced), my nose was stuffed (d*mn allergies) and I was actually feeling quite nauseated (most likely from just the negativity at work).

I slept away the rest of the afternoon. And boy, did I need that. Just the comfort of having my two kitties on either side of me as I lounged about was the best thing I could have done for myself. I totally needed to decompress.

So the next morning, I reinflated myself (but not necessarily my ego. I have self-esteem issues … can’t you tell?) and walked back into work with a smile on my face and my head held high.

Because seriously … whatever bad day / days I may have … however many times I get knocked down … I still have to somehow pick myself off the ground and come up smiling.

Thanks again for all your wonderfully warm wishes and sentiments. You. Guys. Rock.