Category: My Tribe

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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!

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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.

*
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.
*

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?!