"The Girl with a Thorn in Her Side"

Yup. There’s always something about “The Smiths” that I can always relate to whenever I’m in a sad or pissy or panicky mood. And right now, I’m pretty much feeling all of those things. So, it’s no wonder I’ve got one of my favorite albums of all time, “The Queen Is Dead” streaming from my ipod. And not in shuffle mode either … because there’s just something lyrical about the way the whole album plays out. Anyway …

As mentioned in my last post, my pregnant SIL is scheduled for her c-section later in the week. And I thought I was doing relatively well reeling back all of those waves of emotion. Really. I did. For a while there, I was actually excited for the end of the week to come. I mean, after all … I absolutely love everything about a newborn baby. And I’m always in such awe when seeing this little life eat and sleep and coo … So much that at times, it supercedes the feeling of sadness or jealousy.

I would have been absolutely content going on feeling excited about my niece’s impending birth, but then since when does anything ever stay the same? (Well, except for the fact that after ten-plus years I still can’t get pregnant).

“Behind the hatred there lies a plundering desire for love.”

Yesterday at work, a co-worker who is aware of all the trials and tribulations of my IF journey, randomly asked how my SIL was doing. This is the same co-worker who’s daughter at one time was also going through IF issues but with the magic of one f*cking round of Clomid managed to get knocked up. And now, four years and three kids later (the last two were completely “natural” as I’ve been told), this co-worker is just the proud little grandmother. But I digress …

Anyway, when this co-worker found out that my SIL was going to deliver in a matter of days, she was absolutely over-the-top excited about it. I mean really, she was literally jumping for joy.

Now, okay. I understand being excited and happy for someone you know. But being that animated over a pregnancy for someone that you’ve never met? I mean, really … don’t you think that’s a little too much? Alright … given the events that had happened with my SIL’s pregnancy with Liam, I’ll give my co-worker that much. However, all I wanted was just a little bit of sympathy for me. I mean seriously, people. A little loyalty concern for my well-being would be appreciated here.

“How can they see the love in our eyes, but still they don’t believe us?”

Ugh. As if that doesn’t make me feel sad and pissy and panicky (not to mention guilty) enough … today I had a follow-up doctor’s appointment after that first appointment back in June and the news wasn’t so good. Blood pressure is still high (but not as bad) and my cholesterol and triglycerides are not good. So my doc and I talked about diet and exercise again and what I can do to get those blood levels down. And naturally the topic led to decreasing the stress in my life. And when she asked me exactly whether or not any of my stressors would be ending any time soon … well yeah. I lost all composure. And that feeling emptiness … you know, the one where it feels like you don’t have a heart in your chest (or a uterus in my pelvis, in my case) overwhelmed me.

Because the reality is that this feeling of stress and anxiety is not going to be over any time soon. Okay, the work one hopefully should wrap up in a couple of weeks once we officially close out this work improvement group. But the fact that in a few days there will be yet another child in this world … in this family … that I did not give birth to? That one will sting for quite a while.

“And after all this time, they don’t want to believe us.”

I thought that maybe once the pregnancy was officially over, I might start to feel a little more happiness. That since my SIL will no longer be pregnant, I can start to mend my pain. And not to mention … mend the relationship I have with my SIL. Especially with this pregnancy, as it’s expected with relative certainty that my niece will be 100% healthy.

The truth is, I should know better. Sure I still felt lousy even after my SIL’s last pregnancy with Liam. I chalked it up to the fact that Liam was premature and was in the NICU. It would be only natural to feel upset and depressed over that. But today I realized that it wasn’t just the fact that Liam was experiencing so many health issues that had me so sad. Oh no … that sadness was just a branch stemming from my overall IF journey.

“And if they don’t believe us now, will they ever believe us?”

Because as I look back now… despite all the heartache and pain that came with my SIL’s pregnancy and Liam’s short life, I would do anything … go through anything just to be able to experience creating and sustaining a life that biologically belonged to my husband and me. Even if our child would only be physically with us for four months.

And now, knowing that my niece will be entering this world in a few short days, I will once again be witness to a biological life that won’t be mine.

“And when you want to live, how do you start? Where do you go?
W
ho do you need to know?”

“The Boy with a Thorn in His Side”
– The Smiths

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.

Heinz 57

Well, I admit it. I failed at NaComLeavMo. I was doing so well the first two weeks … oh, who am I kidding? I failed the minute I set foot in Orlando in the beginning of the month. But it’s not for lack of wanting to do so. Honestly. It’s just been a horrifically busy month, both personally and professionally.

Work has been work. My normal assignment has been abnormally insane. Normally, this time of year hospitalizations around our area tend to slow down. More people are on vacation and are therefore not around to be hospitalized; less people schedule elective surgeries around this time of year. But for some reason, we’ve seen an incredible rise in our caseloads.

Add that to the fact that the workgroup I’ve been on is now on super-rush mode … all in efforts to make sure that we have at least 90% of our projects done by mid-July. And at that time we get to present our work to not only the Executive staff for our department, but to the big wig Board Members in mid-August. Yikes.

And then there’s the personal life. Ack. Where to begin?! Well, since the beginning of this month, I have now traveled out of town for three of the five weekends in June. First Orlando. Then Chicago. And this weekend? Calgary, Alberta. More specifically Canmore, Alberta. That’s right, Mrs. Spit … I’m actually in your neck of the continent. And if I could … I’d be delivering Lord Stanley’s Cup to your doorstep. At least for a lookey-see.

Hubby & I have no particular reason to be out here for the week in the Canadian Rockies, other than to take in the absolutely beautiful scenery. My parents are part of a timeshare program and asked if we wanted to tag along. And of course we said yes. Free lodging and all we had to do is pitch in for groceries and buy airline tickets? How could we resist? That and the fact that I have a cousin that currently lives out this way and haven’t seen, like, in forever. Plus she and her Hubby just had a baby boy last September and this will be the first time I get to meet him. I am truly excited to meet her little one, as he just seems to be the most adorable baby. At least in all the pictures I’ve seen of him.

What more should I tell you about my personal life lately? Hmmm … I turn a big whopping thirty-six on the first Sunday in July. I’m still trying to put the feelers out on exactly how I feel about being yet another year older. Part of me is trying to be incredibly optimistic about it. You know, be happy that I’ve made it through another year. And can I actually believe how much I’ve changed for the better over the past year? Yeah … yada yada yada. And truly, I am grateful for all that I’ve done since July 6th of last year … all the friends I’ve made online and all the moments I’ve broken out of my infertility shell and stopped feeling so alone.

But the other part of me feels like I’m physically falling apart. Yes, I’m done with the Lupron (praise be all the fruitless goddesses!), which should help temper the fiery demon I call endometriosis. That’s the good part of my health. The bad part is that I have horrible blood pressure control (despite being on two different drugs to lower my blood pressure). And have, for over the past year, been finding myself incredibly exhausted and fatigued all the time. Of course none of this has anything to do with the fact that I’ve been, probably for the past ten years, incredibly stressed out.

These are the concerns that I brought up to my new primary doctor, whom I saw for the first time yesterday morning. I decided that I needed to “break up” with my old primary doc, who I’ve been seeing for years because, quite frankly … I just need a change. I needed another person’s opinion on all the issues I’ve had. And so far, I’m liking her. But of course, I think I would like anyone who can be empathetic towards a blubberring idiot who fell apart when she asked whether or not I had kids.

I’m sure I’m making too big of a deal over this birthday. And even though I’m trying very hard not to focus on the whole childless aspect of it all, certain things just seem to pop up. Like the adorable 3 month-old sitting across the aisle on the plane ride here. Or the parents at the airport with the child who was obviously adopted from China.

But the best one was the commercial I heard on the radio to work the other day. It was for the Ch.evy HH2. And it talked about how busy this 36 year old woman was. How she ran around every morning going to the gym for weight training. And then meetings across town. And to the yoga studio afterwards for some cardio. And all while taking care of her new baby.

Ouch. Nothing like emphasizing to me how different I am from the rest of the population.

But right now … while on vacation … I’m going to focus on enjoying life. And relaxing. Because at the rate I’m going with my hypertension … I may just have a stroke before I turn 40. Yikes.

I will try to post again later on and tell you just how HIGH my blood pressure went at the doctor’s office … and how incredibly stressed I was this morning before we flew out. And maybe this week I’ll be getting around to posting some comments on other people’s blogs that I’ve been wanting to do for the past few weeks. Like KC – I seriously wish I could give you a huge hug right now. And Sara – when can I come and keep you company for a day? Or Kara – who I’ve been meaning to contact about my trip to SD at the end of July. And many many more of you … that I wish I could pick up the phone or IM you to tell you that I’m thinking of you.

And now … since my body is still in Eastern Standard Time … I’m going to crash. Even though the clock here in Canmore says it’s only 11 pm. Good night, y’all.