Category: My Tribe

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Love & Coffee (sans Cigarettes)

The other day, Hubby & I hung out at one of the local coffee houses that we frequent. We’re there so much that the baristas definitely know us by now. In fact, the minute we walked into this particular cafe, the barista asked to see the scarf I had been crocheting (well over two months ago, by the way … before Dad was in the hospital) for Hubby. Wow. I guess we’re that recognizable.

While placing our drink orders, this particular barista asked me how long Hubby & I had been married. She chuckled as I turned to Hubby and said, “How long has it been?” (Yeah … I actually had to stop and think about it.) She was suprised to find out that it would be twelve years this coming August, especially because we looked so “young!” (Ah … the “curse” of being Asian American … hated it in college, but loving it now!)

She then went on to share with me that she had been married for 12 years and just recently got divorced just over a year ago. While some days she gets sad that she spent so much time of her life with him, she knows that it was for the best. But the thing that gets her down is that she seems to think that maybe marriage wasn’t in the cards for her.

Of course I disagreed. Because if there’s one thing that I am, I’m a hopeless romantic. I believe that there is definitely someone out there for everyone … it’s just a matter of when it happens. And sometimes it happens later rather than sooner.

I shared with her that Hubby was my first date ever! Of course, it was strictly “as friends” that we went to Homecoming together during my Junior year in high school. And it wasn’t until after high school that we finally started dating officially. What I told this barista, though, was that I knew even back then during Homecoming, that I was supposed to be with Hubby. I was just too freaked out at sixteen to think that this was supposed to be the guy I was going to spend the rest of my life with. And I fought tooth and nail to keep us as “just friends.” But thank goodness I came to my senses and, well … we know what happened in the end.

I feel so lucky and blessed that I was able to find the love of my life at such an early age. I know that if anything (God forbid) should happen where I would find myself single again, I would be absolutely devastated. That, and since I never knew how to work the “singles scene,” I’m sure I’d find myself very very lonely. So for those out there that have struggled or are even still struggling to find the love of their lives, I can honestly empathize with you. And I sincerely mean that.

Because to want something SO badly and not have it within your reach … well I can certainly understand that.

This is the reason why some days I feel like infertility is the “cross” I’ve been given to bear. Here I’ve been fortunate to be given my soul mate at such an early age; someone to spend the rest of my life with. In exchange, the struggle I’ve been given is the difficulty to produce my own biological child.

It’s not much, but that reasoning is something that I use to help me get through each day … each cycle … each year that Hubby & I remain childless

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A Taxing Kind of Day

Well, I have to admit, this year Hubby & I once again cut it close to the tax deadline. At least this year, we got done a whole day beforehand. Last year, we e-filed for the first time and were literally hitting the “send” button within half an hour before midnight. And while we kept getting “server error” on the other end, Hubby & I were literally freaking out that our taxes would be filed too late. But alas … things worked out. So this year … we aimed to complete our taxes a whole day before it was due. Oh yeaaah … we’re total overachievers! 😛

I do have to admit though, I hate doing our taxes. No. Really. I do. It’s not so much that it’s a pain in the rear to do (because it is). It’s more because it’s like a refresher of all the activities that had happened in the past year. We itemize every year, so we’re constantly referring back to everything we’ve done, purchased, sold etc over the year. “Ah … we flew to Portland for a wedding that month … that’s why there were so many purchases!” OR “Oohhh … that’s the month I received a bonus check from work!” It’s like re-living each purchase that you bought over the year. Or realizing how much was spent on gas and car repairs over the year. (Hubby commutes and hour and a half each way every day. Can you imagine that expense?!) And once again, Hubby & I realize that we spend A LOT of money at the local Border’s Bookstore. I’d say that we should try to break that habit … but it’s actually a habit that I quite enjoy.

Really, the major reason I hate doing taxes is because of the whole “no kids” thing. No person to claim as dependents. No children to get that little extra “tax break.” And because we’re “relatively” successful in our line of work but still are not that successful that we can buy another house or invest any “extra money” elsewhere, we always end up having to owe money rather than get a federal refund. Geesh … nothing like hitting us below the belt TWICE. Once for reminding us that we’re childless. And the other for making us PAY more taxes because we’re childless.

Yep. No tax breaks for us “DINKs.” (That’s yuppie-speak for “Dual Income, No Kids.”)

Remember Shrinky Dinks?

Oh sure there are tax breaks for adoption. But then this goes back to the whole being successful, but not that successful at our jobs. In other words we’re not CEO’s at our jobs. Nor are we any type of “upper management” type persons at our place of employment. And no … we don’t have any “spare cash” lying around to finance an adoption. Yeah … that aspect and the one where I’m still not emotionally strong enough to go through the adoption process is THE BIG reasons why we haven’t been rushing head-first into adoption.

And yes, I am very well aware about the tax break one gets for medical expenses if I should choose to back down the ART (Assistive Reproductive Technology; in vitro fertilization, for example) route. We did, in fact, utilize this tax break when filing for the year that we did our one IVF round. However, this goes back to the whole “reliving the last year of your life” thing.

Let me explain. Hubby & I did our IVF cycle in Feb/March of 2004. When that cycle failed, I was naturally devastated and extremely sad. As we worked on our taxes for 2003 later that March, we knew that we were going to owe federal taxes once again. So after spending all this money on a failed IVF endeavor AND still having to pay taxes … well it was a killer. I can clearly remember that day, because as we worked on our taxes … what should come in the mail? Yep, one of the last major bills we still had to pay for that IVF cycle. It was also the same day and at the same exact time that I finally broke down in hysterical sobs over the phone with my Mom. Because before then, the only person that bothered to know exactly how miserable I felt about the failed IVF cycle was Hubby.

So flash forward a year later in 2005, when once again we’re preparing our taxes. That year we knew we’re going to get a refund based on all the medical expenses for the IVF cycle we had in 2004. But each bill we found and each receipt for prescriptions we tallied, the more and more I started to feel sad. Not because of the amount we paid for everything … it’s more because each item brought back a specific memory of that one cycle. And ultimately when all was tallied … to know that we spent THAT much for a failed cycle, well … it just plainly SUCKED.

So there you go. The reason I hate taxes. Makes me want to throw some dough (no, not the money variety) on the wall and scream (a-la-Maggie Gyll.enhall in “Stranger Than Fiction”), “GET BENT, TAXMAN!”

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Okay, so I just reread my post, and I feel compelled to add one more thing (and then I’m done ranting … I swear!!): Although the outcome of the IVF wasn’t what we wanted … I still have no regrets for at least trying this medical route. I know I needed to try this step in making our family before I went on to the next. Ironically, I’ve since then become stuck between this step and the next.

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Two Steps Back

So recently there was this really honest post that Duck put out in the blogiverse. It had to do about wanting to want to adopt. It’s one that apparently remained stuck in my mind, despite it being posted over two weeks ago.

I’m at the point in my life where I’ve really got to start figuring out what to do about adoption. I know it’s my next step, but yet every day there seems to be something that pops in my mind that puts me back another step or two. Especially these last four months.

First there was my Hubby’s grandmother. Then there was the news about another pregnancy for my SIL. And, of course, my Dad’s hospitalization.

And in between all these events, my good friend, Endometriosis decides to come back and nestle into my nice warm body. Oh, and shortly afterwards, Aunt Flo comes for the visit from H*LL. Nothing like emphasizing that I can’t get pregnant. It’s like an exclamation point (in this case, a “period”) at the end of me shouting “I am infertile.”

So yeah, like a said, a few steps back.

Not that I’m blaming any of these particular events for my recent train of thoughts. It’s more what I’ve somehow managed to have each separate event represent. (I over-analyze things, if you haven’t caught on by now.) SIL’s pregnancy? That’s easy … and obvious. Dad’s hospitalization? How precious and fragile life can be; and how things can change in the blink of an eye. Hubby’s grandma? How one’s life affects so many others … especially their kids and their grandkids, and so on and so on.

And all of this relates back to adoption and back to Duck‘s original post, how? Well, I honestly think that those going through IF need to fully resolve their issues of not being able to biologically produce their own child before they look to adoption.

At first, I thought I was there. I thought I could simply give up the notion of not being able to produce a biological child of mine. And when I talk about biological child … I’m strictly talking about a child that looks like a mixture of Hubby & me. One that might have certain features or personality traits or even habits similar to us. One who would know his or her family tree and complete health history.

But then there’s the other aspect of not being able to produce my own child. It’s the feeling of being pregnant. Of watching my belly grow. Of craving strange things or claiming that I need more ice cream or chocolate for “the baby.” Of experiencing the joy of a positive pregnancy test and sharing that moment with Hubby. Of seeing my baby’s heartbeat on an ultrasound. Of being the guest of honor at my very own baby shower. Of people rubbing my belly. Of strangers coming up to me and asking when I was due. Of touring the hospital’s birthing center. Of going through lamaze. Of hearing the cries of my baby after he or she was just delivered. Of holding him or her in my arms for the first time. Of breastfeeding. Of coming home from the hospital with my precious cargo and my Hubby standing right next to me.

All that and much much MUCH more. Probably more than anyone who has never experienced infertility could ever understand. Empathize, yes. Completely understand, no. But then if we’re also talking about walking in someone else’s shoe, I also wouldn’t understand what it was like to lose a child. Or worse, the love of my life.

In any case, I find myself suddenly back to where I was before January; knowing that adoption is our next step … but once again scared to move forward.

After all, to want to want to adopt is a big thing. And to do that means I could possibly have utterly and completely given up on that dream to become pregnant. And that’s a pretty damn scary thing.

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Timing is Everything

One of our really good friends went on an interview recently for a job that he really REALLY wanted. And the thing is, both Hubby & I thought he’d be absolutely perfect at it. Plus, it would give him the opportunity to have an actual 9 to 5 job with no weekends or holidays. Which, of course, would make planning Red Coat Tavern or D&B outings a lot easier.

Unfortunately, he did not get that job and was understandably disappointed. And as he blogged about his disappointment, I couldn’t help but think of some words to console him.

What I wanted to say was that I was the type of person who believes that timing is everything. And in my infertility experience, that truly is the case. I mean, really. How many mornings did I wake up and roll over to grab my digital thermometer to take that basal temp? How many mornings did I have to run to the RE to get poked for blood to determine where my hormone levels were? And let’s not forget those early morning dates with the US technician and her magic wand. And when we’re talking serious science experiments here (aka, IVF), you’re literally dependent on perfect precise timing.

But that’s a different type of timing. That’s a “controlled” timing situation. Making sure that all the I’s are dotted and the T’s are crossed. That’s a much different type of timing when you compare it to “waiting for all the stars to line up” type of timing.

That type of timing is what I can best compare to as “fate” or “destiny.” When Path A intersects with Path B at a fixed point. When you just barely miss / catch those “Sliding Doors“ on the subway. And that’s the type of timing that I was thinking about when I contemplated on what my comment would be on our friend’s blog.

What I wanted to say to our friend was that I was the type of person that believed in that type of timing. That right now just wasn’t the “time” him to get the job. And that in the future, I believed that an even better opportunity would come along at the right time in his life. I truly do believe that for him, as he is such a wonderful person. Instead I simply stated that I hoped one day he would get that dream job that he so deserved.

I decided against using the whole “not the right time” statement, not because I didn’t believe it for him. Rather, I left it off because I’m feeling a little unsure about my own “fate” right now. Where exactly does my “destiny” lie? Am I ever supposed to be a mother? Am I really supposed to be achieving my “childhood dream“?

I’ve always been a firm believer in karma; the whole “what goes around, comes around” theory. I always sought to do the right things in life because I always thought that eventually good things would come back to me in spades.

I’m still waiting. And it’s waaay past even the standards for typical Filipino Time (which is alway late).

Okay, so I know that I’ve been given other good things in life … Good, stable job. Roof over my head. Food in my belly. Family and friends. Wonderful husband. But I’m still waiting for children, waiting to become a mother.

Maybe I haven’t done enough good things in my life at this point.

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On a completely unrelated note … check out the latest post on my other blog for a good laugh.

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Who's Your Daddy?

I’ve had people email me or post messages asking how my Dad’s been doing. Thank you ALL for your lovely thoughts and prayers.

Dad is doing much better. We’ve now had 3 of the 5 follow-up appointments with his doctors and they have all said they are pleased with his progress. Today, he has his appointment with the Cardiothoracic surgeon who will ultimately give him the “OK” to drive, if he’s up to it. I know, for a fact, that Dad is … as he’s been going stir crazy at home. And I’m pretty darn sure that in the next two weeks he’ll be starting outpatient Cardiac Rehab, so it will be good for him to get out of the house more.

Yesterday, my Mom had a meeting she needed to be at and my Dad wanted to go to his weekly Kiwanis meeting. This would be the first one he’s been to since having his surgery. Since I had to drop off some of his prescriptions that they filled at the hospital (which is literally blocks away from my house), my Dad asked me if I could drop him off at the local pizza place where the meetings were held. No problem, I said.

As I’m driving in my midsize SUV with my Dad sitting in the passenger seat, I was struck with this sudden feeling. Here I am driving my DAD to his “extracurricular activities.” Total opposite of what it used to be before I got my license.

So then I thought, “Hmm … perfect time for a lecture” and had this conversation with him:

ME: So, Dad. What are you going to say when someone offers you a cigarette?
DAD: (chuckling) No thanks.
ME: (role-playing) Come on, it’s just one cigarette!
DAD: No thanks. I can’t smoke.
ME: What if they ask you to just go outside and watch them as they smoke?
DAD: (looks at me questioningly) I go outside with them?
ME: No Dad … second hand smoke is bad for you, too!
DAD: (proudly) Ah …. and then I’d probably show them my scars and tell them that they don’t wanna go what I went through.
ME: (patting his hand as I continue to drive) That’s right!

Wow … so who’s the parent now?! Geesh, I crack myself up sometimes …

****************************** Update ******************************

Just got back from the surgeon’s office and Dad has officially “graduated.” That means he is now cleared to drive and do some light work. And because he specifically asked, he’s also allowed to swing some light clubs. Just in time for golf season, too!

He’s told me he’s sworn off the cigarettes and promises to exercise more. He still has some work to do on his diet, but overall Dad’s got a second lease in life.

And because he’s done so good, I may … just may … let him have a nice big fat juicy lean steak for his birthday later this month!

Sniff … Sniff … I’m so very proud of my Dad!