Life "After" infertility. Being, becoming, midlife-ing, parenting... But no whistling.
30 December 2009
29 December 2009
how to climb a mountain
by Maya Stein
Make no mistake. This will be an exercise in staying vertical.
Yes, there will be a view, later, a wide swath of open sky,
but in the meantime: tree and stone. If you’re lucky, a hawk will coast overhead, scanning the forest floor. If you’re lucky, a set of wildflowers will keep you cheerful. Mostly, though, a steady sweat, your heart fluttering indelicately, a solid ache perforating your calves. This is called work, what you will come to know, eventually and simply, as movement, as all the evidence you need to make your way. Forget where you were. That story is no longer true. Level your gaze to the trail you’re on, and even the dark won’t stop you.
28 December 2009
Gratitude and love
27 December 2009
2009? Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out.
24 December 2009
22 December 2009
21 December 2009
14 December 2009
12 December 2009
10 December 2009
sad for Phoebe's negative
sad for K's lost little one
and now also deeply sad after a conversation with my clinic.
We meet with the doc monday after next, but the conversation today was a preview-- we spoke about diminished returns and how they may not be able to suggest another cycle in good conscience since they do not believe it would work. This is an ethical issue of course, and I appreciate that. But futility was not what I expected to talk about this morning when I called. I was hoping for a simple confirmation that we could do an IUI this month (the answer was a yes if the LH surge comes when we can actually do something about it). I was not expecting the donor egg, donor embryo talk.
Even if they say yes, I know it is our last assisted try. And schedule-wise we may not be able to cycle in January anyway, or at least not until the end of the month, so even if all goes well and they say yes to one more try, we'd be off another cycle. and yes I turn 43 in february. I asked about medicated IUIs and she said the same thing, they cannot in good conscience agree if they think there is no real chance of it working. (BUT IT WORKED! I want to yell, at least it almost did! I was pregnant! Please!)
My heart feels like absolute shit. This is another horrible heart/head schism where of course I know things (know she is probably right, know the stats are single digits at best, know I am probably wasting time, money and effort just to appease my future self), but gosh I feel other things so strongly (I WANT THIS SO BADLY, this THIS which= me plus him) that it is hard to breathe.
My darlin is right, the suckiest kind of suck.
09 December 2009
You tie your shoes too tight, you know
cause it feels better that way.
And when you don't, all night you are dreaming
you walk, laces streaming down the street behind you.
A river of tangled string
you are unraveling
and no one else seems to mind.
You keep it to yourself, stay numb and act fine.
You wear the truth under your sole, like a pebble
it makes you limp and sway
but it will out someday.
Take it from me it is no use
washing your hands so often they are clean and cracked.
You never get your old skin back
once you have loved like that
you're a river of tangled string...
He is inside you, he loved your marrow.
You think you could cut him out with a knife
if you went deep enough
I don't think so.
Maybe sing him back to living
'cause he might rise like a snake in a basket
or he may close his eyes
and wait till his life is a full-fledged casket, floating on
a river of tangled string...
05 December 2009
04 December 2009
I was late to work but it was completely worth it. Before it faded, a second arch showed for a few minutes, a ghost.
So many folks are out there struggling with identity issues, wondering who are we after all of this? So many new IF moms or IF pregnant ladies feeling like their lives are lived with a foot in each boat, like each one is somehow not quite true. Oh my heart aches and I know nothing I say can make a damned bit of difference since we cannot undo our experiences. This is what we have come to know, this is the shit we have slogged through or are in the midst of.
And for all of us, I hate that we say to ourselves that we ARE infertile, instead of "having" infertility. It is as if this has become us, we have become it.
Of course "having" it means there is a chance in hell to "lose" it. (dang, where did I put that infertility? must be around here somewhere---- OH to be so friggin lucky...).
And so I ask myself:
Is that truly who I am? Infertilekate?
What about kate who laughs and runs through sprinkers? what about kate who feels her heart swell when the cat deigns to sit upon her lap? what about hot shower bliss kate? flannel sheet kate? slow kiss kate? crying at npr kate? what about kate who writes? or paints? or catches snowflakes on her tongue?
WHY CAN'T THESE COUNT MORE RIGHT NOW?
In some ways the honest answer is that I feel so darned broken, it is impossible to forget the fucking struggle, and it is a struggle almost each and every moment. And this process, fueled by running out of time, just is consuming.
But me and the rainbow? for those moments, I was not even kate, I was not infertile, I was not broken. I was just wonder and awe.
02 December 2009
10 seconds of soft
It is as if I am really good at moving from acute hell to a skinned over place that feels more superficially whole, and I think SEE? THERE! I'M OK! When really? I am still a bag-o-shards. It does not take much to puncture the veneer. And the worst part? I'm so good at faking myself out that I'm surprised when it happens, when the punctures occur, which is crazylunacy.
I realized yesterday that a good word for my current state is brittle, which sounds bitter and isn't, or angry and isn't, but it does speak to a certain lack of resilience and elasticity. Right now, it takes nothing to set me off, make me teary, make my heart feel like it is sinking. I've talked a lot here about coping, and being FINE, and yeah, I am coping, I am fine. But I am also not fine and it is really hard to admit that, even to me.
Last night my darlin' surprised me with a disco ball, music, and slow dancing in the living room. It was lovely even though my mood made me feel more tender than anything and I felt more like crying than laughing (WHICH SUCKS).
(I should title this post: In Which Kate Uses Random Capitalization to Make a Point or Two)
The truth is, I am bad at feeling bad. I have no patience for it. Reject it as OTHER. It is not me, I am buoyant, so what the fuck? I wonder if for a moment, I could do what my sweet sister suggested and say, I have a right to feel bad. This sucks ass.
and so I say to myself. see? you? feeling bad? (baby typing with question marks)
THAT MAKES SENSE. But I hate it.
But, what if I simply allowed it.
BUT! (I say) I HATE IT!
Yeah yeah, katekate I know you do, I hear you. you hate it. I get that. but allow does not mean embrace or embody. and it may mean not fighting myself in every moment.
So in this land that is full of what ifs,
what if, for the next 10 seconds, I just allowed myself to feel what I feel, even if I wish it were different.
I feel softer. like for those 10 seconds i was not battling myself.
hmm. isn't that something.
01 December 2009
I am finding it hard not to be aware that the 9th, looming, my would have been due date. It feels impossible. I read about Onwardsandsideways fabulous 38th week. We got pregnant at the same time, and where she is feels like a foreign land. I ache for that possibility that truly wasn't, and for my easy projection then into this upcoming holiday time with big belly and then baby and a new year beginning with our bigger family. And it feels like a dream I had once. Not like a real thing that truly could have been. And yet, dream or not, it cuts pretty deeply, you know?
Speaking of dreams, I dreamed of babies last night, one could type and had written this whole short story in tiny question mark delimited fragments like this: One could type? and? the whole story? was in fragments?
And it was weird to read it, since I kept thinking: MY BABY WROTE THIS. I also dreamed of my last high school, of visiting for some sort of movie watching reunion thingy, having one very foamy beer (I do not drink at all in real life), getting woozy drunk, and kissing some random guy named Eric who does not actually exist, and needing to leave before in-dorms but realizing I was too drunk to drive and not entirely sure where I parked anyway. The stars were amazing as I wandered about looking for my car, that I do remember. So my point? My dreams are not all portentous. Most are just brain barf.
And now, speaking of brain barf, I feel like babbling here for a while- I guess this means I am surfacing. So this? This portends well.