Blogolimbo land and other odds and ends

Thanks for all the sweet comments last post..it is a refreshing perspective to think of infertility as a love story, so thanks to Tabi for that. I do firmly believe that couples who are challenged significantly and come out on the other side emerge as a stronger unit, but I must say you gotta go into it strong in the first place.

So what's this about blogolimbo land? I'm a pretty avid blog reader-duh. Once I discovered blogging way back when (old blog, remember?) I was like a kid in a candy store, clicking link after link after link, bookmarking tons of blogs, etc. etc. Of course the majority were infertility blogs. I also read a few of my friends' other blogs too--mommy blogs (I know! I know!), just daily life kind of blogs.

So now I'm in this weird middle place--I still find myself drawn, like a freakin' bug to a light, to infertility blogs. But I'm not in treatment and I don't have any plans. Yet I still read, more connected to these strangers' lives than to many people in my real life. But sometimes reading them, reading about people still with cycles stretched out before them, or people in the midst of cycles, gets me down. Old jealousy rears its ugly head.

But yet I can't seem to look away.

Maybe because I feel like the old IVF veteran who can give support and maybe advice--although who in their right mind would want advice from a five time failure??--so I keep reading them. I don't know. Maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment.

So as far as one of my commenters who keeps leaving lotto numbers--I must know--do you have an inside scoop on those lotteries? Because if you do, I'll get myself to the ticket line pronto pronto! It's funny--I often daydream about winning the lottery (I guess everyone does) and I think about how it would solve my problem. Because deep down, I do believe I have a few good eggs left, I just need megabucks to find them. So yeah, let me know if where those numbers are coming from.... :)

Lately we've been doing all kinds of house projects, projects we'd been putting off for too long. I don't know what to call it, some kind of unnecessary but hopeful nesting? Who knows, but I do like crossing things off my list.

So here goes our recent conquests/upcoming conquests:
Paint garage walls (OK Mr. LC did this one)
Install new garage cabinets
Paint garage floor
New artwork in the study
Get rid of bookshelves in study
Put together new bookshelves in study
Sell sleeper chairs in study
Purchase new modern sleeper for study
Solve our infertility issues and stop this neverending PAIN
New artwork in the living room
New wall arrangement in the bedroom (birds, Penny, birds!)
Clean out guestroom closet

Whew. I'm tired.

Oh yeah--layer cake picture is a practice run for a birthday cake I was asked to do in a few weeks, I wouldn't just be randomly making a super tall quadruple layered cake in rainbow brite colors...!

And did you catch the sneaky one in the list?
I will sing from the rooftops the day I can strike through that one, but let's face it, I don't have many options.

I cannot think of anything to write.

That is what my fourth grade creative writing teacher used to make us write, over and over in our journals, if we were having writer's block.

I still have those spiral bound journals from my fourth-grade year.

Mine don't have many pages filled with that sentence. Surprised?

But I have written two whole posts and just sent them to 'drafts' because I feel like I am just writing the same stuff over and over again.

I'm so sick of myself.

I said to myself: "Self, today you will write something positive." And then I stared at the cursor, blinking, and was loathe to come up with anything of any substance.

Which is, frankly, pathetic. There are plenty of positives in my life to which I alluded in my last post.

But do I really want to write about how cute my dogs are? Or how exciting it was to paint our garage and install new cabinets this weekend after I returned from my visit with my Dad?

Bleh, none of those are really worth writing about.

Instead, I'll tell you a story.

Nineteen years ago a girl walked into her after school job and started filing. It was 'hippy-soul' day at her high school so she was dressed in crazy velour paisley bell bottoms and a vest with fringe. She had drawn a tiny flower next to her eye. Her hair was short back then. There was a boy--a very skinny boy, with a couple of earrings and crazy hair, and an striped t-shirt that looked like Ernie from Sesame Street, wearing Vans shoes and baggy shorts--he was in the next room, slicing away at boxes with a box cutter. He suddenly looked up from what he was doing and asked to no one in particular "Do swimmers sweat?"

The girl was intrigued by this boy.

A few days later they were working together, and he was making her laugh. Endless laughing will his silly antics and stories.

A few days later they went out on a date...but not really a real date, because he was older and she was younger and, well, you know....

He told his roommate that he was going to marry her, that girl.

The girl went to his see his band play and well, you know what they say about guys with guitars.

Fast forward a year and a half and he proposed with an original song, down on one knee with a little guitar and a million candles spelling "marry me."

She said yes.


It's a love story, you see. And I was thinking earlier about love stories after reading this part of this post:


It's cliché, but it's true, all you need is love. In the robotic and sterile nature of doing IVF, it's easy to forget the emotion motivating this all. You and your partner love each other and want to create a family out of that love. Though this experience could easily tear couples apart, I do think that my husband and I have grown stronger in our love through this craziness. There is nothing that tests a relationship more than surviving an insanely difficult life experience together. I find it incredibly frustrating when there is criticism of fertility treatments claiming selfishness or vanity as a driving factor. The media and general public seem to always forget that infertility stories are in fact love stories.

I love that last line: infertility stories are love stories.

It makes me cry just typing that--but it's a mix of sad tears and happy tears.

He's still that boy and I'm still that girl--we just have a few more candles on our birthday cakes.

And our love story continues.

When?

Thanks for all the comforting words from my last post. I am trying to process, continually. I am now investing nearly as much time as I do on infertility thoughts on researching and reading about ways to help my Dad. It's an exhausting job. I just never thought that the only diapers I would change would be my father's. It's a mad, mad world.

And for the record, I hope I didn't sound like I was saying I had it worse than anyone else. I do look around me and from my vantage point is sure seems like a lot of folks have it easier than me, but then again, you never know what others might be dealing with, so who really knows. And accepting that life is just unfair--yes, I know this intellectually. I think we all do. But for me, it doesn't really take away the sting.

So now I'm sitting here just wondering when?

When will a pregnancy announcement not take me to my knees? I returned home from a fairly good day (although how is it that I forgot that fertiles would be a Mr. LC's show this morning? ha ha, I'm kidding here) and had an email from an old high school friend. The one who, three years ago emailed me to ask me to tell her "everything I knew" about fertility because she just knew she'd have trouble. Yeah, well, her 'trouble' amounted to an uneventful pregnancy three months after trying. So we don't talk often, and she just wrote to check in and casually slipped in that baby girl number two is due in March.

So when does that not hurt? When does it not set me back two or three (or one thousand) paces in this process of healing and trying to move forward? When? WHEN WHEN WHEN?? Why does it bother me that of every.single.friend I had in high school I am the only one with any fertility issues at all? I don't know why that bugs me so much but it does. Misery loves company I guess. If I hadn't found the blogosphere and online support groups I would have never known another soul with infertility. I would have been more alienated than I already feel.

When will a casual email about an upcoming baby shower for the 'oops baby' of a member of our Sunday School class NOT make my heart hurt?

When?

It's not that I didn't know about this pregnancy. I've been watching that belly get bigger and bigger every single week.

But see, I was supposed to be the one to get the next shower. Who didn't get the damned memo?

When will that not hurt?

When will having a job, a husband with a good job, nice friends, a nice home, meaningful volunteer work--when will that be enough?

When will I not have a gaping hole in my heart?

It's a rhetorical question, by the way. I don't want to hear someone tell me that when I open my heart to other ideas all this pain will go away because frankly, I am not so sure I believe that anymore.

Oh well, what are you gonna do?

What I want to say...

I am here, at home, visiting my parents.

Yes, my Dad is still home.

And I want to tell you that it is all great. But that wouldn't be true.

I also want to sit here and cry (via the blog) to you about how awful it is to change your father's diaper, to find him soaked in urine at 5:30 in the morning, to ask him if he likes being at home versus being in the nursing home and have him tell you that he just doesn't care, to see that he can barely carry on a conversation anymore...I want to cry and cry and cry about that and the fact that stupid cramps started last night too (yes, stupidly as it sounds I still get my battered little hopes up every.single.month) but then I think: "Come on, everyone has their problems and no one ever guaranteed things would be easy in life."

All of this is true. It's awful and sad and breaks my heart. It's also true that no one guaranteed things would be easy in this life.

See...my life was relatively easy growing up. I was spoiled. I was sheltered. I was loved and indulged and loved and indulged.

I was protected.

I was taught that if you worked hard you were rewarded. That if you did good in the world good would come back to you. I was also taught (and teach it every day of my life in clinic) that if you take good care of yourself you can remain healthy.

And up until a few years ago, my world remained fairly intact. I operated within the rules I had been taught and life was good.

Then little by little, piece by piece, my world started getting rocked. Sometimes with giant, shattering earthquakes that took me to floor (literally) and sometimes with small sequential disappointments that piled on top of each other until they were a giant snowball of sadness. I've been knocked down a few more times very recently and frankly I am sick of it.

But isn't everyone? Isn't this part of growing up? Of realizing that this is just the way life works...a series of compromises, and lowered expectations and realizing that who are you to get what you want in life?

I know I sound bitter. I know I sound like I'm whining. I'm not trying to, I'm just trying to make sense of things.

Those of you who are parents--you are likely doing exactly what my parents did. Working hard to love your children and surround and insulate them in a bubble of happiness and light. You'll teach them to work hard and do good things in life and that life will reward you for it--because who's going to tell a five year old that life is hard, that life isn't fair, that life sucks sometimes?

But it's 5:45 in the morning and I'm rambling. But if I don't talk here, I fear I will just slowly, silently implode.

Time.

My Dad turned 72 on Thursday.

Two years ago we raced home for his surprise 70th birthday party. We drove 7 hours in one day to go there and back and still be able to make our monitoring appointments for IVF #3. I'll never forget the look on my Dad's face when we showed up--we arrived after the big "SURPRISE!" and my Mom had told him we couldn't come because of the IVF. So he said many times that we were the best part of the day, our making it there.

I am so glad, so grateful beyond words, for that day. For the beautiful presentation Mr. LC and I put together compiling photos from my Dad's life, for the video we shot, for the memory of my Dad, so strong and able-bodied that day, as he talked with his old high school and college buddies. I am glad for the days we got to see my Dad riding his tractor all over his acreage--he always said "a happy man is a man on a tractor." I am so glad for the days we got to go on endless bike rides together, my Dad leaving Mr. LC and I gasping for breath and far behind as he wanted to take us 'just a few more miles.' I am so glad for the work we did together cleaning up after Hurricane Ike destroyed a lot of their trees--my Dad and I trying to figure out how to free a still living tree from the mangledness of a toppled one--him using the chain saw while wearing a J collar while recovering from his broken neck. So grateful for the times we went walking together on their property, the very property my Dad grew up on, where he rode his horse as a boy.

Yesterday, at the age of 72 and one day, my Dad returned home to that place. To his homestead.

No, he won't be riding on his tractor.
No, he won't be wrestling with his dog in the grass.
No, he won't be getting on his mountain bike for a quick ride.

But he is home.

Two years ago Saturday we went to see my good friend Megan's tiny newborn twins in the hospital. My ovaries were aching--full of follicles for IVF #3. We were full of hope seeing those tiny babies. We walked out of that hospital that day thinking that surely, surely that would be us. Finally people would be visiting us in the hospital to see our baby LC. Surely.

The twins turned two on Friday.

How is it that in two years, my Dad can no longer walk and is only a shadow of his former self, we've had three more failed IVFs under our belt and we're still childless. Still hurting. Still no closer to our goal than ever before, maybe even further from it.

How is that a stupid Facebook notice of a pregnancy (Mr. LC has an account, I saw the update) can bring us both down into such a dark place after having a beautiful, wonderful day? When I told Mr. LC what I had read this evening he said that, aside from those pathetic folks on Intervention, we're the biggest losers he knows. He is so sad. I am sad.

The passage of time scares me. I want it to stop, or better yet, reverse.

But time keeps on passing. I try so hard to be mindful, to live in the present, to stop the thoughts about "when we finally..." but most of the time it's nearly impossible. Because infertility waits for no one and it fucks with nearly all of your plans.

I will try to focus on the beauty of this day: church, a beautiful trail run with Mr. LC, a fun lunch out, a great yoga class with Mr. LC taught by our wonderful friend S. A chocolate decadent dessert waiting in the fridge for me right now.

But damn, it all still hurts.

Things I like...

In the spirit of trying to blog a few lighter posts so here's one about a few things I really like (but still sprinkled with IF--can't help it!).

Those of you who know me/have read for a while/followed my old blog know that I heart baking. Sometimes I bake when I'm stressed...but really that could almost be any time because as anyone battling infertility will tell you, background stress is a constant. It's just sort of always there, lurking. Some days it stays down deep and others it rumbles just below the surface.

But baking...baking almost always makes me feel better. Of course, it, too, can be bittersweet because I imagine baking with my own children (in particular, a daughter!).

For now, I bake with Mr. LC. OK, I take that back..Mr. LC is an awesome sous chef in addition to taste-tester extraordinaire. He will often clean up my messes as I'm making them, and folks there is not much better than baking and not having to clean. I am so lucky in this regard.

Speaking of things I like: I heart monkeys. In particular, Curious George, sock monkeys, and Julius by Paul Frank. Again, those who know my old blog know Mr. LC and I have hoards of Curious George stuff 'in waiting' for a nursery (the old retro stuff, not the ugly newer stuff). When I started seeing Paul Frank Small Paul clothes I had to restrain myself from buying...and eventually did take the plunge and buy some tiny pink Small Paul booties. That was two months prior to IVF #5...whoops. At any rate, in my pursuit of trying on 'normal' I have had fun (honestly!) buying the Paul Frank stuff for my friends kids--hey, I gotta buy it and I feel stupid buying it for some imaginary child of my own, so there you go.

That was a rambler--but imagine my delight when I saw this in Target:



See! I knew it--Julius loves Mr. LC's alter ego :)

So back to the baking: I had some fun trying to mimic Bakerella and here's what I came up with, tiny cake ball cupcake bites! They are divine, if I do say so myself.



And today I bought the latest OKGO CD. Again, those who know me from way back/old blog know I heart Damian Kulash and nearly all things OKGO. I'm a true fangirl, and I can admit it. In fact, here's something that will make you laugh (and something I really probably shouldn't admit). Back in 2005 Mr. LC and I were at one of their concerts (we've been to quite a few) and were talking with Mr. Kulash. Mr. LC had made me a birthday card that year and it had a picture of Damian with a word bubble making fun of the fact that some 30 year old lady would be swooning over Damian at a concert (very funny, Mr. LC). Damian got a kick out of it since he was nearly 30 himself and he wrote on my card "oldies stick together--you and me in 2010!" OK so I still have that signed card (duh) and I got all excited the other day realizing it was 2010 so you know, I could go and make good on that signed promise...only to realize he wrote 2020! Argh. Only ten more years :) But, check out the new CD, it's awesome. And here's a photo from 2006 when I saw him at a show...tell me he's not gorgeous (albeit a little sweaty) and now he's not shaggy-haired anymore--that was so 2006.



OK so very soon I'll be back to my regularly scheduled programming about infertility angst, the unfairness of it all, my continued feelings of disconnectedness with almost everyone around me that has kids...ummmmm yeah.

Can't wait, can you?

Posty posty

First of all, it seems wrong to even be consumed with my own infertility when there is such devastation in the world. The images from Haiti are simply horrifying.

That being said...I have a lot on my mind lately. Well, always. It seems like I cannot write stuff down quick enough, trying to process, process, process. My list of 'draft posts' is endless.

As far as the lady in the elevator--I really wasn't upset with her for not saying anything. I know I caught her off-guard. I didn't want to steal any of her joy about her own twin miracles--well, not consciously anyway. I just sputtered out what I said before I even had time to think...I wasn't trying to be ballsy or prove anything really. It was just what was on my heart and mind in that very nanosecond and out it came! Scary that we can do that sometimes, eh?

As far as not becoming a basket case in front of friends--that seems to have caused soome heartache for one of my most supportive friends through all of this: Bea over at This Wonderful Crazy Life. It wasn't meant to. She feels bad that I haven't been able to break down and cry with her over our infertility, but really, that's more about me and less about anyone else. I haven't cried with anyone in person...not my Mom, not my sister...no one. Bea's been a huge cheerleader through the past four years and if anything, I'm the douche for not being able to hold and cuddle my goddaughter, baby E, Bea's second daughter. Damn infertility for complicating things so much! After reading her comment it turns out that she was on to me all along--catching those little moments of nearly losing it and crying and then covering up. I guess I'm not that Oscar-award worthy of an actress after all :)

I forgot to tell you guys something about that ELO song used in our video. It was our theme song for all our IVFs. Meaning: I played it in my car driving to and from nearly every monitoring appointment or blood draw. Mr. LC got sick of it but I never, ever did. It just spoke to me (except the French part. Does anyone translate French? Maybe the French part is saying "Hold on tight to you dream--except you and Mr. LC and your dream of kids now quit doing this IVF thing because it isn't going to work. Ya think?) When we were at CC.R.M. I didn't take the CD, but while in the transfer room Mr. LC downloaded it on his laptop and played it just as they were transferring those four beautiful embryos into my uterus. It was almost too much to hear it, to hear the words, at that pinnacle moment. See lyrics below if you're interested, French included.

Hold on tight to your dream
Yeah...hold on tight to your dream
When you see your ship go sailing
When you feel your heart is breaking
Hold on tight..ooh..to your dream

Hmm....it's a long time to be gone
Oh....time just rolls on and on
When you need a shoulder to cry on
When you get so sick of trying
Hold on tight to your dream

When you get so down that you can't get up
And you want so much but you're all out of luck
When you're so downhearted and misunderstood
Just over and over and over you could

Accroches-toi a ton reve
Accroches-toi a ton reve
Quand tu vois ton bateau partir
Quand tu sents ton coeur se briser
Accroches-toi a ton reve.

When you get so down that you can't get up
And you want so much but you're all out of luck
When you're so downhearted and misunderstood
Just over and over and over you could

Yeah....hold on tight to your dream
Yeah....hold on tight to your dream
When you see the shadows falling
When you hear that cold wind calling
Hold on tight to your dream

Ooh yeah
Hold on tight to your dream
Yeah...hold on tight...
To your dream


I will end this blog on a positive/funny note. Mr. LC and I went on one of our patented long trail runs on Sunday. It was 33 degrees and we decided to run the length of the Barton Creek Greenbelt, about 7.5-8 miles. What we failed to remember (and I don't know how, as we know this greenbelt like the back of our hands) is that the creek is currently full, and there are two creek crossings if you run the whole thing.

Whoops.

So um...yeah. That was US, wading across knee deep rushing FREEZING water and then running in soaked shoes and on frozen calves. But all we could do was laugh, and it felt good.

(The laughing, not the frozen water)

On being normal.

I'm glad you enjoyed the video.

I was talking to one of my closest friends, S, about why the video might have struck some folks in our real lives more than just reading the blog/talking to us. She said that although I sometimes pour my heart out here, in real life I remain fairly well composed and on the video, even though we were goofing around, we seemed much more vulnerable.

It's true.

There have been many times I want to just bawl and bawl and bawl and hug tight to my friends but I fight that urge. I feel like I need to make them feel ok, to reassure them that I'm going to be ok. I guess in some ways I'm a people-pleaser. I can only think of a few times where I've actually cried on the phone to someone, and I really can't remember crying in front of anyone, ever.

Except Mr. LC of course. Poor Mr. LC, he really bears the brunt.

So I guess all of this is to say I try so hard to be normal, even if inside I'm a quivering, sobbing mess.

Now here's a place where I am not normal and I don't try to pretend: when I see babies. It's true--if one of my patients brings her tiny baby in to a visit with me I usually don't even look at the baby. I don't volunteer to hold other people's babies either. I don't make funny faces at babies that are in line behind me at the grocery store.

I just don't. It's self-preservation, of course, but it's also very very abnormal (in a non-IF world). Moms look at me strangely as if to say: "Why the bleep aren't you cooing at my adorable cute baby! Why don't you want to hold them!"

So the other day I decided to pretend to be normal. I got into the elevator at work and heard someone yell "Hold the door!"

It was a woman wrangling a giant double twin stroller. It took several attempts just to get it into the elevator. I felt my pulse quicken ever so slightly.

I peered in, cautiously.

Two tiny babies lay sleeping, their little heads in those adorable little baby hats. I took a deep breath, thinking, just be normal.

"How old are they?"

"Ten weeks!"

"Did they come early?"

"38 weeks, which is full term for twins."

I nodded. I attempted a smile. I couldn't quite bring myself to gush over their immense cuteness.

Then she decided to add: "And let me tell you, they are truly miracles! Created right here in XYZ Fertility Lab!" (said as the elevator opened onto that floor--you know the one, for IVFs 1, 2, 3).

My heart stopped. And before I knew it, these words just tumbled out:
"Yes they are miracles. We did IVF five times and it never worked for us."

Her eyes widened; her jaw dropped. And then she hustled out of the elevator as fast as she could, without saying a word.

I felt like I'd been sucker punched with a reminder that miracles are created every single day right below me, while I work away. That IVF works--all the time--just not for us.

So much for trying to be normal.

EDITED TO ADD: Mr. LC sent me an email that he read my post and wanted to comment. I told him to go right ahead. I just now read it and it broke my heart all over again. He's always loving to hold babies and coo at them and make faces at them and he's just so damned natural at it...and he's right...what if these are our only chances? To coo at a stranger's baby?

When you feel your heart is breaking...hold on tight to your dream.

First up: thanks for delurking and also just saying hi. It's a strange world, this online community. Not that YOU'RE strange, but I feel strange sometimes thinking about just how much comfort I have received from folks I don't even know. But yet you know so much about me, and you see a lot of my worst parts, and you still read. And support. So thanks.

Which means you get some type of payback, right? Ok, don't get too excited. It's not that great of a video.

Some things to point out:
Does anyone look good in those stupid surgical hats they make us wear? Sheesh.

When I watch those early clips, boy do I think we look stupid and naive. Oh yeah: we were stupid and naive.

Mr. LC loves to take footage of me coming out of the anesthesia, where usually I'm crying or still high, or both. So yeah, that's is in there a few times. Thanks Mr. LC! You rock.

There is only one BFN-receiving phone call recorded (IVF #2). And that one, we really really thought we had succeeded (no HPTs taken beforehand to clue us in). I mean--we had our camera rolling for God's sake! We edited out the part where the ugly crying really started.

When I'm being wheeled out in the wheelchair...that's the building I work in. As in: I go in THAT BUILDING of my first three IVFs every day I am at work, usually riding up in the elevator with the embryologists or retrieval/transfer nurses. Sheesh again.

My fellow CC.R.M. peeps--that dildo cam shot is for you! Just seeing it makes me shudder.

The music: I've been planning on using the ELO song forever, of course planning it for our BFP video. The words are simply too appropriate--we've been holding on tight to our dream for nearly five years. And you know what? We're still holding on tight.

At any rate, enjoy it.

Hellloooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

So I heard from another blog that it's International Delurking Month in the blogosphere.

OK. I get it--people read blogs and don't comment. It's really no big deal.

However.

Sometimes it is nice to know who's reading. I can watch my little Live Feed and see that the blog gets hits all the time from all over the world, which is strangely reassuring. I mean, I'd write regardless of who was reading but there's clearly a reason I'm doing it here, and not in some little diary with a lock and key. I'm doing it here because I 1) hope my story means something to someone else out there struggling, although damn, what a letdown it would be if someone came for some hope and 2) I like to see what other people have to say (most of the time, I'm only human ya'll) and 3) sometimes I really really need advice and I've found blog support is really quite amazing.

So...you know a ton about me and I'm not asking for you to tell me anything about you unless you feel compelled to do so...just say hello.

It's not hard. Really.

De-lurk already!

PS If I get a ton of de-lurkers I promise my next post will be the video I've been mentionining...you know, that one that chronicles ALL OF OUR IVFs? Ummm, yeah. You don't want to miss that. Or maybe you do, but still.... (edited to add: the video is a funny montage in true Mr. and Mrs. LC style, set to music, natch. I realize those of you who didn't follow my old blog don't know about our wicked-awesome videos. OK, now I'm really just being silly.)

A new day

Today is a new day.

We are back home.

When we left, my Dad's tardive dyskinesia symptoms were almost gone.

Yes, you heard me right: almost gone.

He was back to being bitchy and gritchy and demanding...which was actually fine.

Life is about a series of compromises, what you will accept. Sometimes you just continually lower your standards.

When my Dad first had his stroke, I refused to believe he wouldn't be the one to pull through and recover.

Now I'm grateful that he's not jerking and twitching, that he's back to 'status quo' almost--paralyzed and depressed and cognitively not really himself--but we were adjusting to that. My mom said she has not seen any twitches/movement disorders today, though he is still really tired and sometimes a little confused.

My mom is willing to re-try him at home. We even identified one caregiver who currently works with him at the nursing home but would like to do private duty. The best part is she is young and strong--she can transfer him by herself and she knows his personality. She is not scared of a seizure.

I am exhaling and enjoying a coast on the ailing parent front.

I have shoved infertility and alternate plans back to the recesses of my brain because I am simply too tired to go there right now.

Thank you for your words of wisdom and love and support. In this regard, I feel lucky lucky lucky.

Lather.Rinse.Repeat.

2009 was supposed to be different.

2008 was supposed to be different.

2007 was supposed to be different.

You get the drift.

Mr. LC came with me to be with my Dad because he is, hands down, the best mate I could want right now. On the drive over, on New Year's Eve, naturally there was some reflection.

We remember thinking 2005 and 2006 sucked as we watched everyone we know conceive effortlessly, as I hosted shower after shower and all that jazz. We didn't even know--a couple of surgeries, some IUIs--child's play.

2007 sucked hard core...three failed IVFs. Shattered hopes and pain we didn't know existed.

2008--I was so ready to kick that year to the curb. My Dad nearly died in a horrific auto accident that left him with a broken neck. We failed at CC.R.M. for the first time. We sat at the end of 2008 mouths agape going "Huh? What the heck just happened here?"

We embarked on 2009 without any major plans. The idea for IVF #5 came around somewhere in the spring...and then...June 10th. My Dad's massive, massive stroke. Being told he would not survive. Struggling through IVF #5 on the 'down low', getting our hopes up...blah blah blah you know the rest.

Every year we hope that the next cannot be anything but better. And yet every year it has gotten worse.

Are we there yet? Have we hit rock bottom?

Last night when we got here I was sure we had. My Dad was suffering from massive tardive dyskinesia--a rare side effect of a drug they put him on two weeks ago. He was having massive involuntary muscle spasms, twitches, contractions, and movement in his arms, neck, legs, and face. He could not rest. Medication could not relieve it. He was miserable. Imagine Tourette's continually, or Parkinsonian movements that never abate.

I shook my fist at the universe and wailed "How could he be asked to suffer any more?" The doctor said it could be permanent.

Today there was some improvement. We are all holding our breath.

I spent the first day of 2010 with a twelve hour vigil by my Dad's bedside. There was no black eyed peas and greens for good luck, no brunch with friends...nothing. Nothing but the dankness of a nursing home with its eternal sadness.

You do not have to say anything. If I were reading this blog I'd have given up by now, it's too damn depressing.

Driving home in the dark, my back aching from moving and lifting and holding my Dad, I turned up Bob Marley to full volume.

Don't worry. About a thing. 'Cause every little thing, is gonna be alright.

I'm counting on it Bob.