Last Chance IVF

Closing Up Shop

2011-01-23T05:10:00.001-08:00

I think most people have figured this out, but this blog has gone down. At least I won't be posting here anymore...why would I? We're certainly not doing any LastChanceIVFs anymore.

Thank God for that.

IVF can be a soul-sucking money-sucking sanity-sucking procedure. It can also be a hope-laden miracle worker, but it wasn't for us. Some days I still can't believe I did five but oh well.

Yes, I wrote that: oh well.

It's fully in the past now. Someone recently wrote a sweet post about how our IVF video was inspiring to them, to which I had to wonder: how could anyone feel inspired by that? We failed. Over, and over, and over, and over, and one more time: over. But I guess it didn't kill us, right? We're certainly still here, alive and kicking and smiling.

So yeah, I'm so over IVF, snark. Which means I'm done posting here on the LastChanceIVF. But the posting itself--well, you guys know it saved me.

Thanks for reading, and supporting, and commenting, and holding me up over here. I really mean that. And I know international adoption isn't everyone's thing, but I hope you'll keep following the story and update your readers, etc. etc. at MyTwoLines. I'll be commenting as MyTwoLines, too, duh, as I continue to follow your stories.

So long, from the LCs.

Double Scoop

2011-01-07T18:11:00.000-08:00

Ok I'm posting the full story on the new place.

It's up.

THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE here.

Start Spreading the News.....(edited/updated)

2011-01-06T18:11:00.000-08:00

YUP. Hold on tight.

It's happening.

Follow along to learn how we finally got our unconventional two lines.... (edited to add: this is NOT a pregnancy announcement, but it is very much an announcement about my babies (plural) )!!

My Two Lines....

I promise to give you the full scoop soon over there, but for now, miles of smiles over here!

I've been quiet...

2010-12-26T21:07:00.000-08:00

But I'm still around.

Suffice it to say that our trip was amazing. Perfect in every way. Our tenth trip to the city in ten years--the best one yet!

Christmas with my parents was better than anticipated. It's amazing how your perspective and expectations change...I was thrilled beyond words that my Dad managed to stay in the living room while we opened gifts, and even exchanged two or three sentences with us. He actually asked us to show us what we were opening up which was remarkable. And he chose to eat at the table with us, rather than eating in his bed. It was a Christmas miracle indeed. If you'd asked me if I ever would have been ecstatic to have my Dad just say three sentences during a family celebration I would never have predicted it, but alas, it was true.

Changes are coming to the blog..this much I know. I just haven't decided in which direction to turn. I turned off anonymous comments which feels ok, but still doesn't feel like enough. Maybe I'm getting to the place where I don't need to be out there so much...I cycle through this emotion every now and again but this time it seems to be sticking around.

I hope everyone reading had the best possible holiday they could. I know it's an awfully hard time to be dealing with infertility, to have empty arms, less stockings to hang than you want, to ache for the babies that should be with you, to see blissful families bustling around you who will never know the pain of yearning for what they have so easily.... There are myriad ways to feel pain at the holidays, but also myriad ways to feel joy.

I hope all my IF buds felt some joy this holiday season, because you deserve it all in abundance.

This was unexpected.

2010-12-07T10:52:00.001-08:00

Why can't I feel like this all the time?

Instead, I'm in my office, door closed, trying to stem the flow of tears so I can see patients all afternoon without looking red and puffy. Because a coworker brought her tiny newborn in today at lunch and she's a precious little five pound peanut all 100% perfection and marvel and wonder and someone said "You do it so well you should just keep making more!" and I had to sit and smile and swallow hard, so hard, and I thought I could keep it together but behind my closed door I just couldn't keep it together. And the three other pregnant coworkers who are due within the next month came in to oooh and aaah and I was trapped in the corner and couldn't even squeeze past the pregnant bellies to get away, to breathe.

I am not a warrior right now.

On Being a Warrior and Running Races

2010-12-05T07:32:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago I ran the Warrior Dash. It's a silly short run that has 11 obstacles throughout, commencing with a crawl through a mud pit. I ran it with some good girlfriends (E and B) with whom I'm also lucky to work...I'd post a picture but they'd probably shoot me. Especially since one of them tackled me in the mud pit at the end and so we.were.covered. Also--the other literally backstroked her way through that same pit, hilarious.

Here's the thing: I've been running a lot lately. I'm enjoying long runs and so 3.2 miles was easy peasy. When we started E and I were keeping pace but B was falling behind. She wanted to walk. She told us to just go on, no reason to wait for her.

So we did.

After we ran the first mile and slogged through about 3 feet of muddy water on a different obstacle midway, we looked at each other and said: why are we not waiting for B? Hello? We're a team. (note: we weren't an official team, it's all individual but we agreed to race together).

So we waited. And waited. And waited.
When we saw B's tie-dyed shirt coming we screamed and screamed for her and her face just lit up to see we had waited. So we climbed over hay bales together, traversed cargo nets together, slid down muddy slopes together, at one point I offered to piggy back her for a while but she wouldn't let me.

I have this awesome picture of the three of us jumping through the fire obstacle and then crossing the finish line, together.

Our time was crap but it didn't matter.

Boy do I wish the 'race' to have children was the same. How I wish I had any control at all. How I wish that those of you who have sprinted past me (fertile and infertile) could just wait for me and maybe even piggyback me across the finish line.

But you can't. It doesn't work that way.

I know this intellectually but my heart can't seem to learn this, to accept this great disparity that exists between not only me and fertiles, but me and many infertiles as well.

A wise friend told me once that everyone runs their own race. These words comforted me through graduate school. They comforted me early on when I watched most of my girlfriends get pregnant easily--rinse, lather, repeat!--and they provided me some comfort when I started to realize easy fertility treatments and surgeries weren't going to fix me.

But those words don't comfort me as much anymore. Because while it's true that we all run our own race, the simple truth is not everyone crosses the finish line. I get it loud and clear that fertility treatments don't work for everyone, though they have for many of the people I know who have pursued them multiple times. But I'm starting to get how adoption doesn't work for everyone either. And that sometimes you just can't find another way to cross that finish line.

People on the outside easily think there are so many options that of course everyone can--but if they were really honest and knew the facts they'd have to see that it just isn't the case. It would be like me telling my Dad he could have run the Warrior Dash with me if he just wanted it enough. That somehow he could manuever his wheelchair over a cargo net.

The holidays are coming. A mixture of pure pleasure and pain.

The sixth one where we've been actively trying to create a family.

The sixth one where we'll hang two stockings.

We have three pets and two grownups and a lot of love and desire, but nothing tangible yet....

So I've been baking. And running. And shopping. And planning our trip. And running some more. All sanity savers because I need every shred of sanity I can hold onto most days.

For your pleasure (sugar cookie 'tree' and cake ball presents...)

PS I really want to respond to some individual comments (hellooooo??? former IF now ET adopter...hellllooooooooo, we must talk....) but I have just felt so overwhelmed (note the lack of posting lately). But I'm not ignoring anyone, I promise....

Happy Tears

2010-11-20T19:32:00.000-08:00

Oh guys.

This past week or so has been so rough. I found myself in that dark dark place I have fought so hard against.

I have about six blog posts in draft, and none of them have made it here to the finished page. I re-read them and they're too...

Angry
Bitter
Upset
Sad
Depressed
Bereft
Hopeless

The list goes on and on.

I woke up this morning and thought: today is the day I will end the blog. I don't even know what to say here some days, it seems like I'm just on repeat, I am so tired of the journey, so exhausted from the pain of the pursuit of parenthood, so tired of feeling like it will not happen, so tired of picturing two stockings yet a-freakin-gain this holiday, just so tired. Why write about it anymore?

And then.

I got an email from the lovely Sarang. And she told me to check out her blog, a blog I have followed for a while now after receiving an invitation to view it, long after she had been a super supporter here for me.

What commenced when I read her post was happy tears, happy tears--buckets of em!--ugly crying but in a happy way--you guys know the kind, right?

Her post was a virtual surprise party for me, complete with delicious MEGA desserts and loving messages of support and just...

I don't even know what to say. (and that says a lot! :) )

Thank you seems inadequate but it's all I have.

Thank you from down deep, in the darkest part of my heart that only you guys understand, but also the part that feels hopeful and renewed just knowing you are out there, that I really don't know where I would be without you all and just...

thank you.

(off to cry some more happy tears--it is so nice to have some happy ones every now and again eh?)

A Year Ago, and an "Encounter" With a Deer

2010-11-12T11:08:00.000-08:00

A deer ran out in front of my car today, and I couldn't swerve/stop in time. I burst into tears--I could see his eyes as the flank of his body made impact with the front of my car. I love animals, I have an extreme soft spot for animals, I don't eat meat, I can't stand the idea of hunting...and I live in an area where deer are in our front yard or back yard every single day. They are beautiful, gentle creatures. And I feel terrible. I know he didn't make it but he kept going into the woods.

I'm lucky, I guess. My car is pretty smashed but I'm OK. A few years ago my neighbor swerved to avoid hitting a deer, wound up knocked unconcious in a ditch until a stranger rescued her from her burning car. She needed skin grafts and surgery and thank God for that stranger. So yes, it could have been worse.

I found myself thinking "If only I hadn't run that tenth mile, I would have left sooner and I would not have hit that deer." Yes, I went on a longish run this morning and it felt great. It was split in two--five miles on the trail and five miles on the treadmill because of a rainstorm....and those wet slick streets made it harder to avoid the deer, too.

It's useless to think like that, the if onlys and what ifs. It leads down dangerous paths populated with thoughts like like "if I had just started trying earlier I wouldn't be here now' or 'what if we had done a sixth cycle--would that have been our magic one?'

We found out that Ethiopia has slowed down its adoptions/court dates tremendously. It figures. So far there have been nothing but negative changes since we joined up. Let me qualify that statement: the changes are ultimately good ones for the children which is obviously the most important thing, but tell that to my waiting heart. Five+ years of trying to become parents makes for an impatient heart indeed.

Mr. LC and I discussed that if the bottom falls out of the Ethiopian program (like it did with the Guatemalan program a few years ago, when it shut down completely) we will be done.

Childless. Childfree. Whatever the term. Just the two LCs and our pets.

We don't have anything left in the tank, we're on fumes. I can't even imagine starting over again.

One year ago we were back in Colorado, transferring the fab four. George, Jerry, Kramer and Elaine. And one of those guys at least made a bonafide effort to stick around in my twice-punctured uterus.

But yet here we are, a year later and we're just more tired. Excited and hopeful--naturally. But we're steeling ourselves for something major to happen with this program. Maybe it's all just rumors but really...I'd rather not even try to research because there is.nothing.I.can.do.about.it.

Tonight we'll work at the homeless shelter--always good for perspective. And then go out for some delish Indian food. That feels wrong--go out to eat after working at a homeless shelter? Thoughts?

And I'll be driving like a granny everywhere I go today....

Teen Mom

2010-11-08T05:28:00.001-08:00

So yeah, my last post was a glimpse into my world as a homeschool teacher to pregnant and parenting teens. Katherine was my very first student and she was a doozy to say the least. I will say that in the end, I over-bonded, got way too close, bought the baby gifts, and was taking home phone calls (this was pre-cell phone days) from her mother, Lois, that always ended with "I love you teacher." Needless to say they made room for me on the couch and I didn't know how to set boundaries. I think about that family, I wonder how many children Katherine has now, and I can calculate how old her first baby would be but it just makes me depressed about my own age. Katherine might well be a grandmother by now if the pattern repeated itself.

Oh my students. They did run the gamut. And I did care about them--deeply.

I saw students who were poor--literally with dirt floors--I saw students who were rich--with two Lexuses in the driveway. I saw a student in an arranged marriage with her first cousin who was 40 years old and it still makes my skin crawl just typing that sentence. I saw two students who planned their pregnancies together and delivered within two weeks of each other. I saw one student who was twenty years old and still in the 10th grade, on her third baby.

Of course the beautiful thing at the time was I had no idea of my own precarious fertility. It was slipping away with every visit I made to each teen mom. It was sliding through my fingers as I consoled their crying newborns while they tried to take a test. It was declining while I scrambled to find them a carseat so they could take their baby home from the hospital, while I filled in as a Lamaze coach, while I stood knocking in the freezing cold only to learn the house I was visiting, where my student and her newborn lived, had been raided by the police the night before, nearly everyone arrested on drug charges. But I had no idea--the world 'infertile' wasn't in my vocabulary. I was there to teach, to listen, to hold, to help--to make a damned difference!-- and when I cried for their sad and seemingly impossible situations I am grateful now that I had no idea what loomed ahead for me, for my sad and seemingly impossible situation, or I would surely have come apart at the seams.

Life is full of irony, no?

A glimpse into the past.

2010-11-01T05:00:00.000-07:00

I was nervous but I felt like I shouldn't be.
I mean, who was I kidding? I was the grown up. Supposedly anyway.
She was just a kid. A teenager. A pregnant teenager.

She was fourteen years old. Fourteen?

What the hell? What was I doing when I was fourteen? I think I was still playing with Barbies. OK maybe not, but probably I still wanted to be playing with them. I was just starting the ninth grade. I was one of the younger kids in my class, scared and anxious and uncertain about starting high school.

I hadn't even been kissed.

I'd been on a couple of dates but they were ridiculous--to homecoming, to the Valentine's Dance--things were awkward and gawky and maybe there was hand-holding but not much else.

And now this girl--this fourteen year old--was pregnant? As in, she'd had sex? I could hardly get my mind around that, and it was a good thing I didn't know a whole lot more before going to the apartment for that first visit.

My boss has told me Katherine was special.

Mmmm, okay, special? What exactly did that mean?

Special meant special. As in, Forrest Gumpish. A little slow.
But sweet, most definitely sweet. That much I'd been assured.

It was my first official day on the job. Officially. I was a teacher but my job wasn't in any classroom. Unless you counted my trunk as my office and my kids' living rooms as the classroom. It sounded a lot better/cooler than teaching in any traditional classroom--during student teaching (OK let's be honest: during pre-student teaching) I knew teaching wasn't going to be for me. But I was young, married, finishing up college and didn't want to start all over. I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. Did anyone? So I finished the degree, got the certificate, enrolled in graduate school in a different field but still needed a job and voila! this one fell into my lap.

Alternative school homebound teacher for pregnant and parenting students. Officially.

I imagined the stories I'd have! The rapt attention I'd get at parties as I talked about my students, the poor pregnant darlings I'd be entrusted with...I envisioned myself befriending them, saving them, opening up worlds for them, making their lives better.

Excuse me? Who was I kidding? I was barely older than they were with zilch in the way of life experience. I had nothing to offer other than a way to fill an official requirement to stay in school.
So Katherine was my first. And she was special.

I knocked on the door and despite my best intentions, I was most definitely nervous. My heart was beating hard, my armpits were damp with sweat. JoAnn, my boss, was already there, we'd arranged it that way. We were going to share the first visit--I was going to observe and see how things were done. JoAnn would transition out and then the next visit I'd be on my own.

At least that's how it was supposed to go down.

Katherine's mom answered the door. Lois, as I'd later learn her name to be--she certainly didn't introduce herself-- did not look delighted to see me, to say the least. She looked me up and down as I smiled nervously and thrust my hand forward.

"Hi!" I squeaked. "I'm Ashley!"

"Oh there she is!" JoAnn yelled out from across the room. She was sitting on the couch, all teachery. I felt such relief seeing her there, hearing her familiar sing-songy voice.

Lois moved aside with a grunt and I took that as my invitation to enter the apartment.

My eyes could scarcely take it all in. Sensory overload indeed.

Filth. Trash. Crap.
Everywhere.
No surface was spared, it was equal opportunity disgustingness. The kitchen table was piled high with food and food items, empty fast food bags, half-eaten sandwiches, bags of chips--open. Dirty dishes, dirty utensils.

It was a dimly lit apartment and I saw two sagging couches in an L-shape formation with a long rectantgular battered coffeetable in front of one of them. A large older woman--later introduced to me as Katherine's grandmother (soon to be a great grandmother y'all!)--was sprawled out across one of the ratty sofas. JoAnn sat smiling on the other, and I was introduced to Katherine, who sat next to her.

My first official student, Katherine.

Her belly was enormous. Her t-shirt was stretched beyond it's limits and I'm sure I was staring. Katherine did not look at me but I took her in. She had long stringy hair and greasy skin. She wasn't pretty.

I couldn't help but think about her and some boy--the soon to be father--doing it. I swallowed.

"Hi Katherine!" I sounded like such an overenthusiastic idiot. A Pollyanna.

Katherine looked at me and gave a half-hearted smile. Lois had lumbered into the living room and squeezed herself onto the couch next to Katherine.

I stood there awkwardly, my bookbag on my arm.

JoAnn suddenly jumped up and started talking about how she was leaving.

Excuse me? Had I heard right? She was leaving? Me? There? Alone?

It seemed so. She had 'accidentally' made another appointment that was starting in, oh, five minutes so she had to head out. Accident my ass. She was ready to drop this student on me like a hot potato. But she'd left us with a video and an assignment to work on together so no big deal--her words. She kept nodding her head up and down, up and down, looking from Katherine to me and back again. I wasn't listening. I just kept thinking 'don't leave me here, please.'

But leave she did.
And I did stay.
After all, I was the teacher. This was my classroom.

And no one made room for me--the interloper--on the couch. Katherine had somehow filled up the space JoAnn had left when she got up and there was simply no room.

After standing there for what seemed like an eternity I sank down to my knees and placed my bookbag on the coffee table.

OK. I was the teacher. I could do this. The pregnant fourteen year old, her mother and her grandmother were not in charge of me. I was in charge. All twenty-one years of me.

I mumbled something to JoAnn and waved her away, annoyed once again at the fakeness of my own voice. Why couldn't I just sound like a normal human being?

And then I noticed them.

Small brown roaches, a few here, a few there, just skittering here and there across the floor, across the television, across the table.

It took every ounce of restraint I had in my every cell in my body not to scream, not to run out the door. To not have a major freakout. No one else noticed them, or if they did, they weren't bothered by them.

I was sickened. I fumbled through the lesson--which consisted of watching a newborn babycare video and answering some questions about it--a nice easy break-in first visit type lesson. More on that little activity later.

I just wanted to get out of there.
I just wanted to take a shower.
Officially.

I'm here.

2010-10-25T05:00:00.000-07:00

I'm here, I'm around. I'm trying to read and keep up and comment...I'm sorry if I've missed people. And I'm sorry I haven't responded to questions in comments--hi Angela! Hi new readers--Homesteaders, Aecusack--I always intend to go and respond to comments and then never do. Please don't give up on me.

We've been busy. Updating paperwork for the adoption--it seems our agency fired our Ethiopian attorney so whoops, we needed to do some updating in that regards. More authenticating of documents which means another trip to the Secretary of State's office. Today I will be dealing with USCIS because of our impending expiration of our federal fingerprints, oh dear. It's always something but that's ok. We just keep moving forward.

I dreamed the other night about my Dad.

In the dream he was smiling, wide and bright and even. Even. Not the one-sided smile that we rarely see anymore--he just doesn't show emotions.

And then suddenly he was standing there, in his running clothes. His old-school running shorts and one of his threadbare marathon running t-shirts.

He looked at me and said "Let's go! Who wants to go running?"

And he took off running.

And in my dream mind I was so proud of him, thinking, 'wow, my Dad is still running at age 72.'

I think--I hope-- that will be my Dad's heaven.

It has to be.

Endless even wide smiles and long runs with strong legs that carry and carry and carry him as far and long as he wants to run.

I try to imagine a world where there aren't disabling strokes and other devastating illnesses, where there is no infertility, where babies aren't taken too soon, and where there aren't beautiful innocent children in Ethiopia--millions of them--wondering why no one is choosing to be their family. Where there aren't children hurting and longing and aching for parents anywhere.

I can't stop strokes--though every day in my work I try. I can't cure infertility. I can't stop the unfairness of it all. But hopefully--God willing, the Ethiopian government willing, our Secretary of State willing, our federal fingerprints willing--hopefully....hopefully....

On a much lighter and sweeter note, another thing I can do while I wait, is make cakeballs. Wedding cake cakeballs to be precise (stolen, naturally, from Bakerella!).

We're All In This Together

2010-10-09T06:02:00.000-07:00

And by "this" I don't mean IF. I mean life.

This weekend is the enormous Austin City Limits Music Festival. Mr. LC and I lucked out in a major way and scored free three-day passes (they've been sold out for months and cost an arm and a leg) that also have all kinds of special access--backstage access, artist village access, free food and drink, and getting ferried around on golf carts rather than trudging around through the 'masses.' It's awesome I must say. Last night we saw Beach House and Spoon from the stage, and then Vampire Weekend. Super duper fun. We can go back today and tomorrow, rinse, lather, repeat.

(Spoon from balcony onstage)

But this morning we will not be going. Instead, we will head out to walk in a fundraiser for autism, called "Autism Speaks" and walking with Team WonderBoy! (look towards the bottom right, where teams are ranked in terms of funds raised--his team is fifth!)

I'm sure you remember me posting and linking to my good friend's blog, Little Wonderboy. He's two and a half and was recently diagnosed with autism. Today we will all don super hero attire and walk in his honor.

I should have posted the link to help raise money--but that's a funny thing to do in this space. I know many of you are struggling to pay enormous sums of money for the chance at a child, asking you to donate to another cause can be hard.

But when Megan's son was first diagnosed I felt at a loss--how to help? What to say? I don't have kids (you heard, right?) and so I simply cannot comprehend the enormity of the love a parent feels for a child. I think I have glimpses of it, but yet I know I just cannot know. And then to know your child will face challenges...well, that has to cut you to the quick and leave you breathless when you think of the future.

But we're not so different, are we?

I remember writing these words to her: "I may not know the specific pain you're feeling, but I do know what it's like to have your life go in an entirely different direction than you ever imagined. I know the feeling of being out of control, of life feeling profoundly unfair, I know pain."

We all know pain, unfortunately. And that bonds us together, unites us in our various fights and challenges.

Today we walk for autism.

Go Team WonderBoy!

PS If you're inclined, motivated, inspired to donate, they're still taking them!

I Feel Better

2010-10-03T17:31:00.000-07:00

If you would have told me four years ago and that I could come to a place and write down my feelings and receive support from people all over--most of whom I have never laid actual eyes on--I would have laughed. I wasn't one of 'those people.' But writing is therapeutic for me, reading your comments is therapeutic for me. If I had kept everything that I have poured out here, and on my old blog, in my head...well, I can't even imagine what might have happened. I might have ended up in a nice soft padded room somewhere post meltdown.

The other thing that saves me? Exercise. It saves my sanity and (sort of) my waistline because I do love to eat. Today I went for another long trail run--I used my handy dandy Iphone app to GPS track my 6+ miles-- all by my lonesome as the Mr. is at a work conference. But a trail run in weather like we've been having...I sometimes don't see how I can ever run on the road again. This is what I was looking at today, just me and the trail, the trees, the sky, the hills...

This is the creek we saw yesterday, where I saw the Dads playing with their babies.

What saves you, besides blogging?

Well I hate to do it, but...

2010-10-02T14:18:00.000-07:00

I hate to waste my 200th post responding to someone's cowardly anonymous comment. But if I must, I must.

First of all, anonymous, you must live a really charmed life to have never had moments of self-doubt.

Second of all, if you knew me at all, if you'd read my blog, or my previous blog, you'd know we always said we'd "have one adopt one" long long before we knew we had fertility issues. In fact, our reasoning for 'having one' first was so that no adopted child would ever feel they weren't enough. So no, this isn't a resort of the desperate. It just took a long twisting and turning road for us to realize we were going to end up skipping over the 'having one' part. But sometimes I still hurt, and I get scared, and I have doubts. Hmmmm, I guess I'm a human.

Thirdly, the fact that you used the verbage "You want your own" makes me wonder about you and your thoughts on adopted children. I don't think of my future adopted child as anything but my own. So yes, I do want my own, and she will be it.

Oh anonymous. You bring tears to my eyes. You don't understand stream of consciousness. Just because I said I am tired of reading doesn't mean I won't read. It doesn't mean I haven't already read. Do you think for a second we just woke up one day and decided to adopt? If so, you don't know much about it or the process. Duh. My words in the previous post don't mean I won't fight the hardest fight I can to make sure I do the very best I can for my child. And I can't fault you for knowing this because no one here does--but we have already made a pretty significant decision after doing much reading on transracial adoptions that impacts our adoption in a huge way. In a way that will be wonderful and hard, but is in the very best interest (as best as we can tell with our research and reading!) for that child. So please, quit being hateful.

I have tears in my eyes because if you intent was to hurt me, consider yourself successful and give yourself a pat on the back. Feel better about yourself? In my estimation, intent is the most important thing related to our actions. My intent is to become a mother. A good mother. My intent in yesterday's post was to share my fears because I think they're normal. I won't apologize for them. I can't. Denying feelings is far worse than acknowledging them and dealing with them.

I know I can handle tough situations. Try mentoring a kid with all kinds of problems for seven years. Try changing your own father's diapers. Try going through fertility treatments. Maybe you did all these things and more, how do I know? You hid behind the comfort of anonymous judgement.

And for the rest of you who offered gentle support, encouragement, and no judgement, thanks. I recently read the following and it resonated with me: I've been blessed with love both human and divine and I believe that there is no essential difference between them. Any person who acts out of love is acting for God. Thank you for allowing me to be human. Thank you for allowing me to have a moment or two of self-doubt. Thank you for knowing that writing any of that won't make me any less of a mother; that acknowledging some of my fears should in fact make me a better mother.

Your intent is obvious.

PS I did go for that run. 8.1 miles. Another 5 today. And today--if I wrote my stream of consciousness--it would be completely different. Because today I teared up when we were trail running, the mister and I, and we stopped by the creek, running beautiful and clear, and saw four Dad's dipping their little babies into the water. And my heart leapt--leapt!--when I visualized Mr. LC dipping our little one into that same creek some day. It was a beautiful vision, one I can only hope will come true.

Stream of Consciousness

2010-10-01T04:38:00.001-07:00

Stream of consciousness writing.

I am scared. I know it's normal. I've read enough to know that.
What are we doing? This isn't like 'normal' parenting--anyone who says it is is deluding themselves. Anyone who says that love can conquer all is actually being silly and naive and it's frankly insulting. Do they realize? No, they don't realize. They just want to help. But I don't want it, thankyouverymuch. I know we chose this, right? There's the rub. We chose it. It chose us? I don't know. A few months ago I was more sure. When did this happen--the older I get the less sure I get? Seems a bit unfair...I was supposed to get more self-assured with every candle added to the birthday cake but um, no that isn't happening in this realm. What if we're making a big mistake? White parents/black baby/conservative suburbs? We should move. We have a five year plan. But then we have to get new jobs, new careers...I've worked hard for my career. Is it such a big deal? When I'm there it is, I feel like my job matters. When I'm away from it, maybe notsomuch in the grand scheme of things? Who knows anymore. Does anyone feel like they ever do enough, give enough, say enough, don't say enough, care enough, engage enough, disengage enough? Does anyone? We're all just hurtling through space on this great amazing planet that we're all destroying, bit by bit, some of us faster, some of us slower but we're all still destroying it. And yet did I just let the water run the full two minutes while I was brushing my damn teeth? I did indeed--add another layer of guilt. We tell ourselves by adopting we're doing the right thing, ecologically speaking, not making any more humans to destroy the planet but when did we get so eco-friendly? We chose not to do donor anything because we didn't want to have 'those' talks but come on, didn't we all fear when we were growing up that we were secretly adopted? Did we fear it? Or sometimes wish it was true? Those days we simply could not stand our families, those days that everything they did, said, stood for, looked like, ate, breathed--it was all wrong wrong wrong. I had those days, many of them. I didn't want to be connected to those people in any way shape or form. But no, I never really hoped to find out I was adopted. I have no idea what that would feel like, how can I? So my kid--yeah, she'll know. She can't not know. She'll look too different from us. So there won't be any big moment of announcement, but there will be a moment of realization. Realization, when she's old enough and wise enough and smart enough to know what it all means--and she'll probably hate me for it just a little bit, if not a whole, whole lot. That's going to be a fun time, eh? Yes we chose this. We did in the strictest sense....we didn't choose to have fucked up gametes and to waste four precious years of our lives pursuing mad science-esque treatments and spending all our money and losing our religion and coming apart at the seams only to stitch ourselves back together and come apart yet again but in the stricted sense yes we chose that too. Sometimes I'm ashamed of it, sometimes I'm amazed by it, and sometimes I'm just raw over it. Maybe now I'm just numb to it. We didn't choose donor because I couldn't imagine those moments of realization either. Do people without fertility problems realize realize realize for even a nanosecond how lucky they are that they don't have to contemplate these moments of realization and understanding? I'm told to read--read read read--to prepare but can I just say that I'm tired? Exhausted even? That I am not inclined to read read read anymore. I spent four years read read reading about drug therapy and experimental protocols and egg quality and supplements and gonadatropins (speaking of gonadatropins I keep learning of more people who did multiple IVFs and now have breast cancer and frankly I'm doubting every doctor who told me these drugs were safe and that's one more thing to think about and worry about and what the fuck did I do to myself anyway??) and I'm sick of reading. Except for pleasure that is. But then I feel guilty. Like my child will be harmed because I haven't read enough because God knows I'm smart enough to know love isn't enough. Oh but I'm sick of reading and I'm sick of feeling guilty and really right now all we want to do is enjoy the two of us and not think about the adoption because it's really just too abstract. But I'm anal retentive and don't want to be unprepared or behind. And we're having such a great time right now--that oppressive boulder of endless treatments is lifted off my chest and by God! I can breathe again--and maybe we are making a mistake? Ruining this perfectly good life? If it was just the two of us we could do more for the planet, more for society--we could volunteer more. Selfishly we could travel. We could see things, do things, live an amazing life. Sometimes all I want to do is bake and cook and watch Project Runway and read for pleasure. Would we feel guilty? Would we feel empty the older we got? How do you live a life hedging your bets against future regrets? Seems impossible doesn't it? But yet that's what we're doing in some small way. I think I think too much, but when your life starts running away from you you tend to overthink things.

Man oh man oh man oh man oh man.

I'm going to stop now. It's time to go for a run. I'm going to Glide up, and go for A Very Long Run.

Weekend Update

2010-09-28T06:38:00.001-07:00

Thank you for your support and comments regarding my last post.

I survived the weekend.

Actually, there were some good times. I find that I actually enjoy riding the tractor pulling the finish mower mowing acre after acre. It's therapeutic. My parent's property is beautiful. The weather was spectacular. I also had the occasion to use an old fashioned cross-cut saw. If anyone is looking for a good workout, then I'd suggest cutting down a few trees using one of these tools...Mr. LC and I make quite a good cross-cut team. I know I need to enjoy these times out there as my Mom can't keep this property forever. It's simply too much to handle.

My Mom...ahhhh...we did OK. Of course, I was on a tractor for many hours, then she went to a birthday party and a wedding on the afternoon/evening I was there...so our face to face time was limited. I didn't mention the adoption once and she didn't ask. So yesterday I sent her an email articulating why, at least to the best of my ability. Interestingly enough, she hasn't mentioned the email nor replied to it. Who knows.

My Dad....I will tell you that there were some good moments--a few minutes doing the crossword puzzle together, about an hour of watching the UT football game (well, he can't really see but he sat with me with his eyes closed, listening) but most of the weekend he slept. Did I ever tell you just how badly his brain was injured in the stroke? His entire right brain--and I am not exaggerating as I saw the MRI--is gone. Starved of its blood supply that critical morning when a massive clot decided to lodge in a mission critical portion of his mid-cerebral artery...it has simply died. And while the brain has a pretty fantastic ability to recover and rewire, you cannot overcome a deficit like that. Emotions are flat, at best, short term memory is awful. My Dad didn't ask one question about me, my life, the adoption...he simply cannot think like that anymore. He needs a lot of sleep. I'm glad he can escape into sleep.

It's ok.

He's still my Dad.

Did I mention that I had some bloodwork done and I carry a pretty awful genetic mutation that puts me in line for a potentially similar vascular fate? Ummmm, yeah. Not a good thing indeed. Sometimes being in the field I'm in is scary scary. Having access to some of the genetic tests is also scary. I'm going tonight to hear a leading expert on this topic...to help my patients better, to help me. So while I do mourn the loss of my genetic connection to my child, at least I know I won't be passing this on.

It's something I guess.

I have so many posts in my head about this adoption...about my fears, about breastmilk--yes, you read that right, about transracial stuff, so so many things. I'm scared to write it down sometime. Strange, coming from me, huh?

Right now the wait times are just extending. We're not counting on anything anymore. We thought for sure we'd be traveling before the holidays but there's no way that is going to happen. I know where we are on a wait list and it would take a miracle to move us along that quickly. So instead we bought some airline tickets to our favorite destination and that gives us a trip--not THE trip-to focus on. We need some levity!

Our just some more cross-cut sawing :)

Is it wrong?

2010-09-23T11:56:00.000-07:00

This weekend I'm going home to visit my parents. I haven't seen my Dad in nearly two months, the longest I've gone since he had his massive stroke. I talk to my Mom on the phone nearly every day and my Dad any chance I can--he doesn't communicate well on the phone and our conversations are brief and limited, at best.

I miss my Dad. I need to see him.

So why am I dreading this visit so much?

And why haven't I learned my lesson? That family is precious. That they can be snatched away from you in a millisecond and that you can never, ever go back.

I try to remind myself about that and cherish my Mother.

But instead, she drives me crazy many days. She doesn't understand why I don't talk about the adoption. She thinks I'm over my infertility. She doesn't think it could be hurtful to tell me about my 40 year old cousin's oops baby. I get irritated with her.

The other day I dreamed I was yelling at her--full on screaming--as we went through forms that were related to our adoption. She was crying and I just kept on yelling. I woke up feeling like a horrible, horrible daughter.

I want to keep such a positive enlightened perspective. That time spent at home helping my Mom out, sitting with my Dad, doing whatever with them is a precious and lucky thing.

But instead all week I've been dreading going. Dreading the drive. Dreading giving up my weekend. And then I feel guilty.

I know in some ways I'm just scared. Scared to see my Dad again. It's amazing how shocked I can feel each and every time I walk into his bedroom and see his shrunken, frail body in the hospital bed. You'd think I'd be used to it now.

I'm not.

You'd think I wouldn't get teary starting up his tractor mowing his grass playing with his dog watching his television driving his Gator...all without him.

But I do.

You'd think I could cut my Mom more slack. But sometimes I think she forgets that that is my father wasting away in the back bedroom of their home. She probably thinks I forget that it is her husband. I think she forgets that I'm still sad--devastatingly sad some days--over the loss of that wacky little kid I know Mr. LC and I would have created together. That I'm sad that my child will not know my Dad in a very meaningful way, if at all. Infertility is a forbidden topic now. Been there, done that.

Families are so complicated. Mother/daughter relationships are so complicated. I laugh--bitterly--when I think about how hard I am fighting to have a child of my own have such a fiercely complicated relationship with me one day.

To resent me and love me and be annoyed by me all in the same breath.

But I guess it's what we're all fighting for, huh?

I, Beetle?

2010-09-15T17:41:00.000-07:00

I never thought I would be the type of blogger who got down to weekly posts only, but there just isn't much going on. Believe me, I'd tell you if there were anything to tell.

But I have been having fun lately.

Running, lots of running. 9 miles here, 7.5 miles there, 10 miles there. I lost another toenail but hey, it's what lotsa running does to me.

On Friday night, the mister and I went and marched and danced with a crazy marching band that was performing in the streets at 10:30 at night, marching from moonlight tower to moonlight tower in Austin. OK, so we only made it to two towers (the mister is still in a boot cast for his ankle) but it was pure happiness. I wasn't in pursuit, I was in it. It was so much fun watching people come out of their houses to see the impromptu parade in the darkness! Only in Austin, right?

The other day I was in my garage and I spotted a beetle. A giant one. He was on his back. I felt guilty because I didn't help him flip over but my hands were full and I was late for an event, yadda.

When I got home, that beetle was still there.

I walked over to him and flipped him over.

He immediately rolled back onto his back, legs clawing at the air.

I flipped him over again.

And again.

And again.

He would not stay righted.

I immediately had the following thought: how many times was I like that beetle, helplessly and hopelessly flailing my arms and legs, unable to right myself?

How many times did someone--God? the universe? --try to flip me over, help me back onto my feet? And how many times did I immediately flip back over?

Oh little beetle--are you and I so alike? In the throes of my treatment I didn't know much else besides flailing and feeling hopelessly out of control, clawing at the air.

I finally decided that this particular beetle must have been injured--beyond repair--so that he simply couldn't stay upright. He'd been on his back far too long.

I sometimes think how dangerously close I came to not being able to be righted again.

But here I am, upright, dancing and marching under the magical moonlight towers.

HeartClench

2010-09-10T06:17:00.001-07:00

In the past, Mr. LC has described his most painful IF moments as a heart clench. Literally, he feels a squeeze around his heart that causes physical pain. It can be brought on by seeing a father with a baby that is a complete stranger, or at our friends' kids' birthday party, or anything 'family' really. The pain of IF can be sudden and acute, and it can be dull and relentless. Ahhh, so many ways to feel the IF pain.

I recently added a link to our IVF video to this blog. Obviously I had posted it in the past but never could quite get around to having it as a link on my main blog page. But I think it's important. It tells a story in three minutes and twelve seconds that is hard to express in words. Of course, it really only scratches the surface, set to the sounds of the upbeat ELO "Hold on Tight To Your Dreams," and mostly shows us being goofy through the grueling IVF procedures--minus the one BFN call. We either didn't record or edited out the most painful parts, because really? Who wants to see me comatose on the couch with a t-shirt soaked with tears and snot? Or how about sobbing hysterically on my kitchen floor, after collapsing, defeated by a fertilization report? Oh yeah--we can't forget the near hyperventilization-level sobbing in the restaraunt at CC.R.M. IVF#1 (overall IVF #4) w hen we got that fertilization report. Um, those wouldn't have exactly gone with the music, no?

I rewatched that video for the first time in a long time recently.

Oh the heart clench moment...when Mr. LC donned his surgical green scrubs the first time and was smoothing them down with a smile. Do you see the hope on his face? Do you see the excitement? It is palpable to me when I watch that moment. God that section of the video grabs around my heart and squeezes so hard I nearly have to close my eyes.

There isn't much worse than knowing the one person you love more than anyone else in the world is hurting. Oh wait--there is something worse--and that's knowing you did all you could and still couldn't do a damn thing about it.

But no, I can't close my eyes at that part. Because that is the face that took me through this journey--he never wavered, just supported, loved, gave shots, went to appointments, held my hand, showed up, wrote checks, laughed and joked and danced around in surgical booties to keep me from losing it--that's the face. That is the face that gets it. Deep down in his soul--he gets it.

That is the face that will continue to get it through the craptastic parts of the journey we're on now.

I'm glad we made that video. I'm glad I have a visual documentation of this part of my life...because otherwise, I might not have believed it, or remembered it accurately. I don't watch it often--maybe once every few months--and some might wonder why watch it at all? I guess it's part of trying to heal. I'm sure if I poked around on YouTube I'd find many more documented journeys of IF...but I have a feeling most of them have a happier ending and that's not going to do me much good. Our story is what it is...we did not beat infertility in the strictest sense. But it's our story, and that face--that face--heart clench or not, I love that face.

Wins and Losses and Epic Fails

2010-09-05T15:24:00.000-07:00

So as completely and utterly selfish as this sounds, we tend to stretch our birthday celebrations into weeklong celebrations...and mine has encompassed this nice long holiday weekend. Lucky me!

Wins:

As embarrassed as I am to admit this, I have never had an MP3 player. Until now! Yee haw I have joined the twenty-first century. This morning the Mister helped me download some songs and build up a workout mix. He was mortified by some of my picks but what can I say--I was born in 1974 so I have a few late 80s and early to mid 90s loves. So there. And you know what else? Debbie Gibson shares my birthday and sometimes when I clean my house I turn on her greatest hits CD. Ha.

I am also joining the twenty-first century and getting a smart phone. I have mixed emotions about this--I resisted a basic cell phone for years and now sorta can't think about living without one....and people keep texting me and I can't text back and it's really pitiful. I'm waiting another few weeks until my plan expires so at least I can get a semi-good deal.

I have been mega-running lately. Friday I ran 10 miles. Saturday 6.5. Today 7 (whilst listening to my new MP3 player--yippee!). Right.this.very.second my right foot is submerged in a bucket of ice water because of the damage said runs inflicted on my right ankle and one of my toenails. Back to the MP3 player--I had to seriously stop myself from busting out into dancing mid-run a few times. That would have been pretty.

Thanks to Larisa, I no longer get mega blisters when I do those mega runs. Thank you a million times over for turning me on to Glide. Also--no more sports bra marks, which are always such a beautiful thing in the summer.

A gift certificate to Gordoughs from Stacey as part of my birthday treats! Gordoughs are gourmet donuts and they are--generally--heaven. See why I run?

A nice long chat with Gail, my NJ sister.

The acquisition of a free Arco mid-century modern lamp (Castiglioni style). I have not stopped talking about this lamp since we got it (did I mention it was free?), the mister re-wired it, we cleaned it up, and now it sits in our living room. It's huge and beautiful and has a 150+ pound solid marble base that was a joy to move. We saw many reproductions of these lamps when we were in NYC last time and started lusting after them but even the reproductions cost $500 and up and then boom! this one lands in our laps for free. Maybe there is something to the Secret after all!

Just kidding. But I do love that lamp.

Losses:

On my actual birthday, the Mister brought me one of those Gordoughs but it was just a not-so-great flavor (that I picked). I ate three bites before deciding it was simply not worth it. I plan on making a revisit very soon and am salivating just thinking about those damned gourmet donuts.

Watching MadMen (not a loss at all, only this part) and seeing Trudy and Pete finally get pregnant after being infertile for a few years/seasons. They reacted every bit the way I always would have pictured the mister and I had we finally succeeded. OK, jealous of fictional TV characters? New low for the LC.

Potential Loss?

I really can't call this a loss yet. But-- I received a text from the wife of our former little brother, whom I have talked about here previously. I'm semi-sorta scared to contact her back...the text was fairly neutral...but what if she's contacting us to tell us they're on to their third? Ack. Only time will tell.

Epic Fails

I hate to admit this seeing as how you internets are under the impression that I'm a master baker (you guys know I only post the photos of the pretty work, right?) but I had one helluva an epic fail in the bread baking department. I had six perfect loaves rising in the oven while we were out running errands, and I was all ready to bake them and share them with friends. So imagine my horror when I opened the oven prior to turning it on to find the following:

I don't know what happened. All I know is that it sucked and there was yeasty running dough everywhere. It was a pleasure to run the self-cleaning oven when it was 90+ degrees outside. Yowza.

If I could save time in a bottle...

2010-09-02T04:00:00.000-07:00

Well, I'd make birthdays go in reverse? Or not happen at all?

I've developed a special relationship with birthdays over the past few years. Not just because I've cruised through my early 30s and now am well established in my mid 30s (Tuesday was the charming and alarming numero 36) but because we've been trying to build a family for over five years now. So every birthday is met with complicated emotions, much more complicated than just "oh crap I'm getting older." You know the drill--that familiar ache of "oh crap another year older and still no family." I remember turning 31--my friend Bea called it my "Golden Birthday" because I was turning 31 on the 31st. A group of us went out to dinner to celebrate and I can look at the pictures and actually see the angst in my face--I was turning 31 dammit and I wasn't pregnant yet!

If I could go back and talk to that young lass I would tell her to buckle her seatbelt because it was going to be one helluva ride for the next five years. If I was feeling particularly cruel I would whisper in her ear that when she turned 36 she really wouldn't be a whole lot closer to having that family she had dreamed of for so long.

You could say I'm closer but I'm a realist. Until I have a child in my arms I'm simply not close--not close enough anyway. At all. Wait times are extending longer and longer for Ethiopian adoptions...I see it all around me. Families that have been waiting far longer than we have are still waiting...families who have received referrals are waiting much much longer for court dates. They've added a second trip requirement which extends everything and of course makes things much more expensive. (and did you see where airlines are probably going to start requiring tickets for kids under 2. Oh, thankyouvermuch, add another 3,000 to our cost).

It's a good thing there isn't such a thing as time travel because if I had met my 36 year old self when I was a fresh-faced naive 31 year old and I told her about the next five years surely I would have punched her (me?) square in the jaw. More than likely I would have laughed and simply not believed her (me). Because really--who can believe some of the shit we put ourselves through? And who could believe anyone would willingly keep going back for more?

I received a lovely email from a fellow IFer who said the following:

"I sincerely hope, wish, dream that this is the year of your life you create your family."

Oh me too. So, so much. I hope this is the year for the rest of of you still in this Godforsaken limbo too. All of us, it's time to cross over.

Updating and Clarifying

2010-08-26T07:05:00.000-07:00

Hey you guuuuuuuuuuuuuyss! (what was that from??)

I think most of you got what I was trying to articulate in my previous post, but just in case...the finer points:
1) I did not say that all multiple pregnancies are super high risk, but there is no doubt in the medical literature that they are riskier than singleton pregnancies. From the March of Dimes: "More than half of twins and nearly all triplets are born prematurely, associated with an increased risk of death and disability."
2) While CC.R.M. will obviously say that multiples are not their goal, and their literature will say as much, they do push beyond the recommended guidelines...and they're not unique in this. I'd say many (most?) REs do. And they can, because who's going to call them out on it? The patients who are desperate to succeed? The insurance companies that don't cover this stuff for the most part anyway? It's largely unregulated.
3) I totally understand transferring more than the recommended number of embryos--which is why I mentioned I did it myself. For so many reasons--emotional, financial, physical--we try to limit the number of times we go through IVF. IVF sucks. If you haven't been through it--even once--you really have no idea. No way around that.
4) No one knew those twins were conceived by IVF, so my other coworker's "it's not fair" comment was not reacting to anything A.R.T. related, but other things, which I just cannot mention here.
5) I simply think that if IVF were covered, it would be much easier to elect to transfer a single embryo at a time when that is appropriate. The current recommendations are as follows:
One embryo woman under 35 with good prognosis, max embryos two. With less favorable prognosis--max three. So see? Right there I went against guidelines two times.
6) I also don't think IVF should just be covered for everyone carte blanche...there would have to be guidlines there as well.

But none of this matters to me anymore.

I'm out of the A.R.T. game. I like to say I'm in recovery. But I still sat in my office and cried on Wednesday when the lunchroom talk yet again went to the fact that we have eight pregnant women in our smallish office...and that it's "most definitely in the water". Which then elicited all kinds of responses from women who couldn't--apparently--imagine anything worse than another pregnancy. Someone found a pregnancy test in the bathroom and everyone was trying to guess to whom it belonged. At one point they were going around the room.

I panicked.

What would I say when they got to me?

Be the spoiled sport and say "I'm infertile. As much as I'd love it to be mine it's not and it never will be?"

Just smile and shake my head?

Burst into tears?

Luckily it died out before it got to me. My one blessed coworker who has held my hand through the worst of the past few years leaned over next to me and asked if I was ok. I nodded. And then went back to my office and sobbed.

I sat at my desk and felt so completely out of control. I have no control in the adoption. All I can do is just sit here and hope for the best. I cried for a woman on the other side of the world who is pregnant now, with a child I hope to raise, which feels wrong on so many levels, and I cried because she may be hungry, or may be sick, or stressed, and no one is rubbing her belly and asking her about names and no one is asking to see her ultrasound photos and I have no part in any of it. I can't help her. I can't control anything. All I can do is be left out of the goddamned lunchroom talk yet again. Most everyone knows about my adoption but I'm never "counted" in the expecting woman count. There's the eight pregnant women and there's me, LastChance, on the outs again. I guess I always will be huh?

Biting my tongue.

2010-08-24T18:48:00.001-07:00

I did it.

Yesterday I bit my tongue so hard I nearly bit it off, but I did it. And with a smile.

A patient of mine, who is an executive in health care, was in for a cardiac screening test. After I went over her results, we started talking about insurance and coverage of preventive health testing. Blah blah blah.

Then she said IT.

She said, and I quote: "Now what is really ridiculous is coverage of...what do you call it? People having babies? No, not people having babies, that's ok, but people who can't have babies and do to that...what do you call it? Insemin....artificial...in vitro....?"

I interrupted and said "In vitro fertilization?"

"Yes! That's it! They pay for that...ummmm, excuse me? I think that's insane. I refuse to pay for that!"

I could feel my face freeze in a ridiculous smile. I thought there must be a hidden camera somewhere in my office.

I managed to stammer: "Well I don't think many pay for it, actually."

Her reply: "Oh yes they do! And it's ridiculous."

I didn't say anything else. After all, she was my patient and if the conversation had continued, I likely would have decked her, called her out on her bad dye job and stupid 80's hairdo, and then been fired. How about a little compassion for those of us who aren't naturally fertile? Sheesh.

Which brings me to something else...and I am warning you, I am NOT judging anyone for selecting to transfer certain numbers of embryos...I'm just talking here.

Someone with whom I work had their first IVF recently. They are young and otherwise unexplained. They chose to transfer two very good quality blasts. They got pregnant with twins. Their twins were born way too early and have spent considerable time in the NICU. One has had multiple surgeries.

I heard another coworker talking about how we (my employer) will be dropped by our insurance company because this person's twins have bankrupted us. It's true, they probably have. I cannot imagine the cost of two babies in the NICU for several months. The coworker was saying that it's not fair.

But.

Let's take a step backwards here.

Our insurance doesn't cover IVF. If they had, I can guaran-damn-tee you that couple would not have transferred two blasts. The doctors who recommended it was going against recommended guidelines. In medicine, guidelines are gold. They are the standard. I practice to guidelines every.single.day because they are based in science and research and outcomes studies.

But when you have zippo coverage for IVF, you take bigger risks and doctors allow it, encourage it even. You transfer more than might be the recommendation because you cannot afford--literally--to fail. It's understandable. We transferred four embryos on our last IVF and I was 34 years old. Granted, we were not a typical couple--we'd have four failures prior with nary a chemical, and our embryos weren't stellar. But even still, guidelines would say transfer no more than three. So I completely understand the need to transfer 'more than enough' just to be sure. Just to up the odds. Because I did it myself.

CC.R.M. has an unacceptable multiples rate. Multiples should never, ever be the goal. I am not saying all multiple pregnancies are doomed to be costly and risky and all of that, but the goal should always be healthy singleton pregnancies. But who's going to call them out? They want the success rates, too, and I don't think they can force women do to single embryo transfers. I do know they limit the number of CGH normal embryos they will transfer, thank God for that.

So back to my stupid stupid patient and my coworker: do they ever really think? Think that if IVF were covered we might not be faced with desperate couples making decisions that stray from established guidelines, and that health care costs would actually be lower in the end?

Of course not.

Because they're stupid. And annoying. And I'm really ashamed I couldn't have spoken my mind with my patient, but alas, I couldn't.

But maybe if they could watch my video (I reposted my link to our IVF music video) they would see that we're just two human beings, in love, wanting a family, and having to go to measures no one ever should to have one.

And it didn't cost anyone else a blessed cent, we fronted it all ourselves. So there.

One year ago.

2010-08-22T15:39:00.000-07:00

August 2009.

We were finishing up our last fresh cycle at CC.R.M. It had gone well, for us...but when I look back on it with hindsight my estrogen was out of control and we still had poor fertilization and all of that.... But oh we had some 8-celled day three embryos and I poured my entire hope and love right towards them. They were lovely and beautuiful and perfect in our eyes and yes, we loved them right from the start.

For nearly three months they remained frozen in a storage tank, while I dreamed dreams of nurturing them into full beings.

Of course, we know how that turned out.

I will never ever forget those moments of seeing the second line, of calling a few close friends and my sister and hearing the excitement in their voices. I don't regret for a second sharing when things were so tenuous, because how often in our lives to we get to feel such unabashed joy and share it with the ones who mean the most to us?

This August looks very different. We wait, our hope is still frozen, in a different sense, halfway around the world. Nothing is guaranteed. Anything can happen. The world of international adoption is fraught with ups and downs. When I get a letter from the Dept. of Homeland Security, or Immigration, my heart lurches as I prepare for bad news. So far, so good. All we can do is wait.

My Mom came to visit a few weeks ago. After she left she called my sister and told her she was worried about me. Because I don't talk about the adoption.

Well.

I've had my heart shattered one too many times to be giddy at this point. We're happy--most definitely--and excited, and yes, hopeful too--but nothing is real. This is all very abstract. I'm in unchartered waters here--how am I supposed to act? We have papers--nothing more, nothing less--sitting in a third world government building somewhere and our names are on a list. I wish it was more than that, but it just simply isn't.

In the meantime, we fill our days with things like this, and pray for a day when that frozen hope thaws into a beautiful song, one that he can sing for his very own children....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rclmIof6auw

Getting it out.

2010-08-12T06:42:00.001-07:00

OK. I have gone back and forth and back and forth about posting this but because it's still rattling around in my brain I figured, why.not.get.it.out.

When I read a blog I tend to read the other comments. Sometimes with great interest, as you can learn a lot about other people with their comments to other blogger's predicaments, etc. And of course there is a whole cohort of bloggers out there who tend to read the same blogs and so you get to know people this way and that.

A few weeks ago I read a comment on someone else's blog that really really hurt. It wasn't directed at me but it had something to do with me.

It was a comment that pointed out ways that 'other reproductive choices' (I'll keep it vague here) were better than adoption. Specifically, there was a point made about a partial genetic connection vs. NO genetic connection, and an adopted child having an 'other mother' vs. this blogger's child having only them as a mother. The commenter went on to say that the blogger's choice made them 'closer' than an adopted mother would be to the adopted child.

WTF?

It hurt so badly to read that. Why does there have to be a comparison? My gut wanted to immediately post all the reasons I feel differently, that maybe I feel adoption is better than other options (it obviously is for me, or I wouldn't be making the choice). How dare they suppose that I will not be as close to my adopted child as anyone else is to their child?

We walk through this inferno of IF and hope beyond hope to somehow emerge on the other side semi-intact, scarred but not destroyed, and whatever choice we need to make to get us to that other side is so intensely personal that everyone else should support. Not compare. Not judge.

Hmmm, LastChance, why don't you tell us how you really feel?

I read and re-read that comment and tried to make it OK in my heart but it wasn't. It wasn't something I would have expected from that commenter and that probably made it hurt worse--it wasn't anonymous, it was someone I blogknew. Or thought I did.

I realize when you comment on someone's blog you can't comment for other readers, too...but as I stated above, I think of the IF blogging community as one that should support all choices because God knows we've all laid on our floors, sobbing, wondering why the world has to be so hard, wondering how the f' we're going to live through the pain, and it is those ties that bind us regardless of individual choices we make to cope, survive, and become mothers.

OK.

Got that off my chest.

In other news, the hard drive still hasn't gone to the data place..partially because I'm too scared they won't be able to salvage anything. Partially because all our money heads towards Ethiopia these days (in theory) and so spending $1,000 to recover data that should have been backed up pains me to no end.

The good news is that tomorrow we celebrate our 16th wedding anniversary. As cheesy as it sounds I love Mr. LC more intensely than I ever have and I honestly cannot imagine my life without him. I am lucky. This I know. He took tomorrow off so we'll pal around all day, have our regular gig at the shelter, and then (though it feels weird to go from shelter meal-serving to eating out) go have a nice dinner together. We don't do gifts but we do make homemade cards and it's always a contest to see who can outdo the other...he always wins :)

PS T asked for my email: lastchanceivf@gmail.com

Excuses, and a request.

2010-08-04T19:45:00.000-07:00

I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. Work has been insane, and I've been working a lot from home in the off hours. Sux.

My hard drive died on my laptop last week. It was.not.backed.up. Please, no lectures. All our pictures are on it...all of them. All of my writing was on it. All of our taxes were on it (well, we have hard copies and bulky files full of medical receipts, but...) I have not yet had time to take it to a data recovery place, but I'm anticipating very little recovery for very many dollars. Sigh.

And oh yeah--I lost all my bookmarks. Yes, that was the way I followed blogs. I'm so hopelessly behind, trying to find people again. Yeah, I've heard of google reader. I know.

I have been posting in my head quite a bit but it never quite gets back here. What?? You can't read my mind?

In the past I've sent you to a friend's blog when she was having a tough time. She's a real life fertile friend who has supported me in countless ways along my journey. Her amazing son was officially diagnosed with autism recently, and she started a new blog to document his journey. She's an incredible Mom but this is a tough time, full of mixed emotions. If you have a second, drop by and give her support.

http://www.littlewonderboy.blogspot.com/

I promise to find you all again, and I promise to get my butt in gear and start writing again--funny as it seems, I still have a lot to say. The latter part of that last sentence is sarcastic, just in case you didn't catch it.

Are you sure?

2010-07-26T05:48:00.001-07:00

Why won't blogger allow me to use italics in my title?
If it would, it would read: are you sure?

And that word 'sure' would be triple italicized, if that were possible, and quadruply bolded if that were possible.

I know I have sucked as a commenter and as a poster lately. I'm still working on coming up with a new blog but that, alas, has taken a back seat to, well, life, lately. But I have so many posts swirling in my head and I know they'll all have to come tumbling out eventually, in some space, somewhere. But for now, I just wanted to share this little gem of an interaction with you.

We all know that to be politically correct in the IF journey there can be no pain olympics. And I've said and read this before that being a true IF veteran might be more of a state of mind than anything. However.

There are most definitely subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle differences between those who have gone through multiple cycles and those who have not. Those who have flawless cycles and those whose cycles fall apart piece by piece, bit by bit. Those who have one single diagnosis that is mostly 'fixable' with IVF and those who have multiple diagnoses that might be sorta kinda amenable to IVF but really who the heck knows. I say all of that because of the interaction I had with a woman last week that has still left me laughing (mostly) and shaking my head.

I was in my work lunch room talking with a pharmaceutical rep. Something was said about fertility or infertility, the lead-in to the conversation isn't important to the meat of the story. She said "Well we did IVF to have our first child and then after that, bam! we were pregnant on the first try with our daughter without any intervention. And we had 19 frozen blasts left from that first cycle."

Wow.

She went on to say that they had male-factor only and so they had done IVF, and it worked. She gave me a look like "You have no idea how hard IVF is." (True, I have no idea if this is really what she was thinking. I am only guessing based on her expression.)

I casually said "We did IVF five times so I know what you mean."

She looked at me with her mouth agape.

And then she said it.

"Are you sure? Are you sure you did IVF five times and not five IUIs?"

Oh. My. God.

Am I sure?

Am I sure?

Let me count the ways I am sure.
I am quite sure that was me who underwent 40+ vaginal ultrasounds.
I am quite sure that was me who took countless injections.
I am quite sure that was me who went under anesthesia five times and had my ovaries punctured with a long needle through my lady-parts.
I am quite sure that was me who took those nail-biting phone calls with fertilization reports and embryo growth reports.
I am quite sure that was me who laid down on my couch countless nights while the mister stuck a two inch needle into my keister to shoot me up with progesterone.
I am quite sure that was me who submitted to 40+ checks of my estradiol levels.
I am quite sure that was me on an airplane flying to Colorado four separate times.
I am quite sure that was me who signed checks to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars to pay for those cycles.
I am quite sure that was me who sat through five WTF conversations with two different REs.

Hmmmm, am I sure?

Lady are you crazy?

Or am I?

Am I so crazy to have done so much--so much--that someone else would question whether I could possibly have done that much? (and really--while it's a lot, yes, I know several people who have done many more than five fresh IVF cycles).

Here's something else I'm pretty sure of (but again, I'm just guessing): that this woman coasted through her IVF cycle where everything went swimmingly and it worked (ok I know that for sure) and she had 19 leftover chances (I know that for sure, too) in case it didn't and then look! she didn't even need them (I know that for sure, too).

Did I really do five IVF cycles?

Yeah, I'm sure.

Salty and Sweet

2010-07-19T05:52:00.000-07:00

I didn't mean to leave you in a lurch and not post in a while. We spent this past weekend back at my parents house. I wish I could say that my Dad is doing so well but I can't. Slowly...ever so slowly...he is slipping. It's heartbreaking to say the least. I hate seeing my Mom this way--alone basically. But not alone. My Dad is still there but he's not--not really. They're not partners anymore. I ache for them both.

Life is salty and sweet.

There were times during my IF battle that I cried enough tears to salt the entire planet and drown it too. Salty, salty tears. I was drowning in them myself.

There have also been times--many times--in this battle that life has felt abundantly sweet.

Because sometimes it takes the salty to recognize the sweet.

I don't expect the next part of the journey to be nothing but sweetness. I'm too wise (ha!) to expect that anymore.

But I want to keep writing about it. About all the tastes that life has to offer because my senses are not frying anymore--they're alive again.

I'll be setting up a new blog soon and I'll let you know. I guess my moniker will change, too. Like I said in the last post, I'm not LastChanceIVF anymore. That chance has come and gone.

Salty and sweet--and you guys have been there for it all. Offering sweetness when all there was was salt. Thank you for that. It's so inadequate but I mean it. And thank you for encouraging me to keep telling the story. I want to keep telling it. I think I need to.

In keeping with the theme, I leave you with a picture of my kitchen-happenings yesterday. Caramel devil's food cakeballs, topped with sugar crystals and just a tiny pinch of sea salt....

Change in the air

2010-07-10T13:21:00.000-07:00

OK.

So I think it might be getting time to wind down the blog.

I'm not an infertile woman pursuing fertility treatment anymore. I don't hear from people as often as I used to and I understand--it's not the same journey anymore. I miss people though, and then I obsess that I've said the wrong thing or not been supportive enough and really I need to realize that the story is different now. Maybe not as compelling. Maybe I don't speak in a language that others want to hear.

That's ok.

This place has been such a great source of strength but I just wonder sometimes if I need a break. So I'll be thinking hard about what I want to do next--keep blogging about the adoption or just fade off into the sunset. I'm not LastChanceIVF anymore after all.

Although I will always be her in part.

At any rate, before I decide I had to write this next post.

Claudia--a successful Ethiopian adopter of the most gorgeous twins by the way--left the following comment on my last post regarding why it is probably a good idea to avoid s-e-x near times of ovulation: Adoption can seem so much like 'failure' to the IF world - and this makes your baby the success baby, not the failure baby. It makes that baby the focus of what you're looking forward to, rather than the 'plan B' baby!
It's an interesting concept, I'll admit. Because the mister and I always said we'd 'have one adopt one' long before realizing we were infertile so I never thought of adoption as a second choice. Of course, back then I also thought babies and pregnancy were easy to come by and life would go according to the way I planned. I really had very little knowledge of international adoption--I have two cousins who were adopted from China and while I watched my aunt struggle through that process I really had no idea of the struggle.

At any rate, when you're immersed fully and wholeheartedly in ART and some clueless outsider mentions adoption well, you tend to cringe. You do feel like it is a second choice. And at that point, I guess that's true. If it weren't you'd already be pursuing adoption versus ART, right? So on the basis of the definition of first choice vs. second choice, for years we kept the biological baby as our first choice. We had discussed that having a biological child first, and then adopting, made the most sense--that way the adopted child would never feel they 'weren't enough' and that's why a biological baby followed. See? We were always thinking, the mister and I.

So yes, biological baby was the first choice. But it was never our only choice.

I saw the movie "Temple Grandlin" recently and her mother described her autistic but brilliant daughter as "different, but not less."

When she said those words I felt my heart and soul swell with emotion, and tears started to fall. They were not sad tears but they were tears of understanding.

Our option to parenthood is different--certainly--but it is not less.

As we traveled deeper and deeper down the road of ART for family building, as we met with more and more obstacles, more and more frustrations, more and more heartbreaks, we naturally started thinking more about adoption. In a very real sense, more as the first choice. More as the only choice.

And slowly all of the beautiful parts of adoption started to rise to the forefront of our brains and hearts.

Different, but not less.

Dare I say, different, and maybe even more?

I still struggle with feeling like a broken woman as I'm left out of countless conversations and do not have a shared identity with the fertile women who surround me.

But I am also slowly starting to see the beautiful parts of the way I will be a mother, and realize that I, too, am different.

Different, but not less.

A glimpse into the mind of the formerly obsessed...

2010-07-08T19:42:00.000-07:00

As you all know, when you're TTC your entire life is divided into two week segments. Two weeks waiting to ovulate, two weeks waiting to see if whatever you did worked--be it treatment or plain old fashioned s-e-x.

It sucks.

I remember my sister telling me about this strange new way to count time when we first started trying--of course she endured that for all of three months with each of her pregnancies.

The other day I knew I was ovulating. It's pretty obvious. And I had an 'interest' in the mister (trying to stay polite here). 'Cuz that's biology for you--must keep on the path to procreate--the species must survive!

But no, no, and no.

I told him "Gee I'd really like to have sex with you but no. I'm ovulating and no matter what I refuse to live my life in two week segments anymore. Despite our stopping of treatment, despite our moving on to other options, I know me. My stupid little feeble brain will start playing the 'what if' game, and I don't want to live the next two weeks with that thought rattling around in the background, and then wind up disappointed even though I know our chances of natural conception are somewhere on the order of 0.000001%."

Enough said?

I'm not ready for a hysterectomy yet, but really? IF is still has the power to muck up my s-e-x life.

And why, then, am I surprised when I overhear a pregnant coworker making an announcement which was then followed by four women around the lunch table comparing pregnancy stories, comparing how fertile they were (apparently one merely had to wash her underwear with her husband's and BOOM, pregnant!), and talking about their cravings and what it meant for their now school-age children and their food preferences--why am I surprised that I felt tears well up in my eyes for a brief minute?

I just sat there and stared into my salad. I think I cut my lettuce somewhat angrily.

When the topic turned to how fertile their own mothers were--the implication being that it is somewhat genetic--I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying "My mother was incredibly fertile, as was my sister, and I am 100% barren."

But I kept it inside. I didn't want to spoil my coworker's happy moment.

But I realized--when you adopt you don't get those bonding moments. It's rare I meet anyone who is adopting or has adopted. OK--less than rare. I don't know anyone in real life. It just isn't a shared experience for most women.

So I just sat there, cutting my lettuce, willing the conversation to hurry up and END already. And so, so happy I wasn't in the middle of some damned two-week wait.

For everyone utilizing third party reproduction....

2010-07-06T08:11:00.001-07:00

OK so really for anyone doing A.R.T.--has anyone seen the HBO documentary "Google Baby"?

The mister and I watched it last night.

We were both left with our heads spinning.

It primarily followed a partnered businessman who utilized an egg donor and a gestational surrogate in the U.S. to have a daughter, to the tune of 140K. He started thinking there has to be a cheaper way...and because in his business much work has been outsourced to India he wondered about outsourcing surrogacy. He found it is much, much cheaper to do surrogacy there (I think $5,200 or somewhere thereabouts, which is enough money to life the surrogate out of poverty) and so he started a business coordinating this effort.

At any rate, the show profiles an egg donor in the U.S., an Indian surrogacy/IVF clinic where surrogates live the entire pregnancy at the clinic, and this businessman trying to coordinate the whole thing (because most of his clients want Caucasian egg donors he coordinates that in the U.S. and then ships embryos to India). In one phone call you hear him take the request for help from a single 57 year old woman who needs egg, sperm, and surrogate and she states she has "plenty of money to raise multiple children."

I don't even think I have wrapped my brain around everything I saw on there yet so I'm not going to say anything else, I'm just wondering if anyone else has seen it....and their thoughts?

Wow.

Just wow.

It isn't LastChance Theology...

2010-07-05T14:31:00.000-07:00

Like I said in my previous post, really any one--and I mean preachers, teachers, missionaries, scholars, PhDs and those with a third grade education--who say they have everything figured out in the realm of God/spirituality/religion makes me wary. I'm not calling anyone out here, I promise. I just mean people have to recognize that what any of us have is faith, a belief system, an idea of what we feel that comes from a place very deep inside of us and is the result of a million different things--exposure to life, exposure to different cultures, exposure to tragedy, exposure to no tragedy. Yes, there are written words and guides but they were all written by humans, translated by humans, repackaged by humans and every one of them were humans--with different goals and motives and all of that too.

I'm no different. I'm just one little human being with one little human brain and heart, navigating through life trying to do my level best to love other people, respect the life I've been given, and leave the earth just a little bit better than I found it.

The mister and I most definitely feel that when we finally meet our baby we will say "Yes, she is ours. She was meant for us and we were meant for her." But quite honestly, we feel like we would probably have said this if we had chosen adoption three years back, or five years back, or if we didn't choose it for ten more years (but really by then we'd be geriatric so maybe not!). Just like my friend Gail will never say that losing her twins brought her her living daughter Katie, I will shy away from saying that all my failed cycles "brought" me my adopted daughter. We say that in the end, it won't matter how we got there, or why that particular child comes up on the list when it's our turn to be matched--what will matter is everything from that moment forward when we come together as a family.

As far as God's will on earth--well, if we really truly imagine what that would be like then I think we have to rewind things a few thousand steps. There would not be 6 million children in Ethiopia in need of a loving home and someone to help parent them. They would be able to stay in their own culture, raised by their families. There would not be poverty--the wealthy countries would not waste food, we would not be gluttonous with our enormous super-sized portions and restaurant meals while children starve to death. We would not build bigger houses while others have no shelter at all from the elements. We would not be spending money on frivolous cosmetic procedures while life-saving medications are not delivered to people who need them. God's will is there--stupid humans muck it up repeatedly and then we all have to figure out how to deal with the consequences. And maybe that's our part with our adoption--to give a life, albeit a compromised one, to a child who would not otherwise have had an easy life--our teeny tiny part that helps to right a million wrongs that have already happened that brought that child to a place of need in the first place.

I think prayer (and meditation--the quiet 'listening' phase that is often overlooked, mostly by me) is invaluable. I think it helps us sort out the issues on our hearts and keeps us feeling connected to God, the universe, and other human beings....if used the right way. And there I go again writing as if I know the 'right' way. But I think you know what I mean.

This stuff is too heavy--far too heavy for my blog--and I really wish I could just leave you with a picture of all my Curious George dolls, patiently waiting in the closet of my guest room, finally freed from their trash bags and plastic tubs. But I'm too tired from the running, swimming, yard working, cleaning, baking, checkbook-balancing, grocery shopping day we've had today to go get the camera and snap a picture. One day soon, I'm sure, that picture will be here. And it will be a much lighter post.

Sneaky Google Reader and an Award

2010-07-03T06:19:00.000-07:00

OK so how lame am I that I do not have/use Google reader? Seriously...I know.

Which is why I didn't know that Google reader caches posts, even if they don't end up being published--or are published and then taken down. Which is what happened to a post I wrote titled "Prayer." Some of you saw it--pretty sneaky sis.

The gist of it was that all too often lately I have seen/heard people proclaim that good things happened to them (IUIs were successful, health was restored, surgeries were successful) because "prayers were answered!" And it hurt my feelings. I do not think God is a baby (or anything else) vending machine--you ask enough or put in enough coins you will get what you ask for. I don't claim to really know any answers on a spiritual religious front--someone who does makes me wary indeed. But I don't think it works that way, and so hearing someone proclaim that it does got under my skin, and thus the post. That's all I'll say about that I guess.

Last night I dreamed I stumbled upon some psuedo-high school reunion and went up to every.single.person and learned they all had biological kids. And I started sobbing and then one of them said "But we had infertility, we understand." To which I snapped: "But you have two kids! You are NOT the same as me, so don't say you are!" (by the way in the dream her 'infertility' meant she had been told she had a 15% lower chance of natural conception, whatever that heck that means). There's much more to this dream but it doesn't take a PhD to see I still have 'feelings' related to my infertility. And it is true...every.single.person I was friends with in high school has biological kids. The 'one in six' rule did not apply to my circle, not amongst old friends, not amongst new friends--which is why it has felt so damned lonely and isolating so much of the time.

OK so now on to the award.For this award, here’s what to do:

1. Thank whoever gave you the award.
2. Tell 7 things about yourself that readers may not know.
3. Pay it forward by nominating 10 bloggers you’ve recently discovered.

Thanks to Mel, at Broken Eggs, Broken Dreams for the award!

Seven things you might not know--well, some of you have been 'knowing' me for a damn long time (from old blog to this one) so this might be hard, and forgive me if you already know these things...

1) I love mid-century modern style. It's the way we've decorated our house...so anything 60s and mod we heart.

2) I wrote my first master's thesis on cord blood banking. It was 1995 (see how old I am?) and that was a relatively new procedure. Isn't it ironic that I won't be able to take advantage of something I do think has value (at the very least we should be banking cord blood in public banks) and spent many months researching in the tombs of medical school libraries (pre-easy internet research--remember when we had to look up journal articles in little green books that indexed them by subject??).

3) I grew up playing the piano. I took lessons for years. I was decent enough, but never played recitals after one where I completely blanked and sat on the bench, hunched over, sobbing until someone came and literally picked me up and carried me off the stage. Today if I sit down at a piano all I can do is crank a few bars of "In the Mood" and then I forget everything.

4) I took the Mister to my high school prom. He was in graduate school (yikes--that sounds so bad doesn't it??). He actually built some of the decorations, since I was on the decorations committee. I wore a prom dress that cost almost half as much as my wedding dress and to this day I cannot understand why my parents allowed us to spend that much. Totally not like them.

5) I let my car run out of gas one time in my life. It was my first car (A Jeep Wrangler Laredo hardtop at age 16--so I guess I was definitely spoiled--see #4). Luckily it ran out of gas at the end of my street. My Dad pushed it back to our house and then said two things: 1) That was an excellent work out! and 2) Only an idiot lets their car run out of gas. Two statements that definitely shaped my future.

6) One time my friend and I were driving back from a baby shower that was three hours away. She let her car run out of gas, despite it beeping and flashing at her (I will claim innocence that I didn't know what those sounds were on her car). We were gabbing away and then all of sudden her car just stopped on the highway. We had to trek a ways to find someone to charge us $10 for one gallon of gas. He said he gets 'at least one idiot per day' running out of gas on the highway so he always has his one gallon ready for sale.

7) I really aim to never, ever eat meat again. For the rest of my life. It's been 2+ years now and I can honestly say I do not miss it. I do consume soy products designed to taste like meat so it's not the taste, it's the idea of eating animal flesh. Are you grossed out now?

Oh sheesh, here's where I fall apart on awards. I'm usually so late to doing them that the award has been passed around to most of my bloggie peeps so I'm just going to chicken out and say if you feel like doing it--consider yourself awarded!

Are you curious?

2010-06-27T16:25:00.000-07:00

I know I said I stay kind of quiet about the adoption...that's true most of the time out in the real world. However, around here we do quite a bit of talking about it. Although I will say it does not consume as much talk/thought as infertility.

OK I guess that's a little lie. When we were in the thick of it (paperwork) it was all we talked about. It was so, so much we had to talk about it every.single.minute to keep sane and get it all done.

You've also heard me talk about our love of Curious George. How we had planned and planned and planned on a Curious George themed nursery from the get-go. How we have collected Curious George items for years and how they are all neatly stored and labeled in giant rubber totes in our garage closets.

We got them out today.

No, not because we have a referral. We're still probably months and months and months away from that.

But because there is nothing for us to do right now. We're just waiting. So I decided it would be fun to take a look at all of our CG stuff.

A brief rewind in the timeline:

Before we were infertile (I mean before we knew we were infertile) we always said we'd "have one adopt one." Life is funny that way, huh?

In 1996 or so someone suggested we do a Curious George themed nursery one day because we both loved him and had fond memories of him from our childhood. Because there is a seven year age difference between the two of us we don't always share the same childhood loves but there we were, bonded over a little curious monkey named George. When we were going through our CG loot today we found a calendar from 1997 which we purchased because the prints were beautiful and we thought we might frame one or two for the walls. 1997 folks. No, we weren't trying then, but we were blissfully naive and innocent enough to think it was fine and dandy to purchase such items so far in advance. Hardy har har har.

In 2005 (May to be exact, so we just hit five years though we're no longer TTC) we started officially trying. I'd already been off the pill for nearly a year and we were avoiding crucial times, what a complete joke. Yes, I know this is a joke many of us have come to realize the universe was playing on us.

2007-2009: a laparascopy, three hysteroscopies, one polypectomy, two uterine biopsies, four IUIs, and four IVFs leads to nothing but heartache and ridiculous amounts of money spent. Have one, adopt one? Seemed to be quite hung up on 'having one.'

2010: Between IVF #4 and #5 we decide to seriously think about adoption. We go so far as to fill out a ton of paperwork and pay ridiculous amounts of money to an agency, considering this our Plan A, and our final FET at CCRM our Plan B.

November 2010: stupid stupid stupid chemical pregnancy. We saw the second line and our worlds turned upside down. Brief though it was, we had tasted success (not really, in the grand scheme of things, but to us, it meant the WORLD and it was the closest moment we'd ever had of thinking we might just have one after all) and it threw us for a major loop. We put the adoption on hold, we freaked out, we cried, we talked, we screamed, we kicked, we screamed some more, we talked, we begged, we felt stupid, we ran around in circles like chickens with our heads cut off.

WHAT TO DO?
Did that second line mean anything? Anything at all?

What is it with lyrics anyways?

I love Regina Spektor. And early on in our IF journey I would listen to this one part of her song "On the Radio" and use it to reinforce my idea to keep trying.

This is how it works

You're young until you're not

You love until you don't

You try until you can't

You laugh until you cry

You cry until you laugh

And everyone must breathe

Until their dying breath

I was going to 'try until I can't.' Thanks, Regina, for giving me permission.

And then, one day, singing those familiar lyrics, eureka.

I had.

I had tried until I couldn't.

This life, it's not a dressed rehearsal.

This is it.

I will say it again: I had tried until I couldn't. I had laughed until I cried, I had cried until I laughed, and I knew that one day I will breathe until my dying breath.

But hopefully not until I've lived a long full life with someone calling me Mom.

Calling me, Mom.

For all my buds who have succeeded....

2010-06-25T16:23:00.000-07:00

Just make sure this isn't what your hubs turn into!

Not really, I just think this is hilarious!

Click here (I can't get it to embed).

All over the place

2010-06-23T05:00:00.000-07:00

Warning: I have a little hunch this post is going to be all over the place.

First, boy do I only wish I were kidding or lying about my poll in my other post. I won't say anything more about it, but indeed it is a very true situation, with other layers that are even yuckier. PPD might be an issue--money issues should most definitely not. I'll keep that in my brain and see how I can help.

I'm reading Elizabeth Gilbert's "Committed" right now. I'm only near the beginning but already there is so much--so much!--that stands out and I wish I had it with me to directly quote what she wrote. She talks about how in our society it is just drilled into us that we have the absolute right to being happy. Well duh, right? Of course we are entitled to happiness. Happiness on a grand scale, happiness in everything we do--our love lives, our work lives, our family lives, our social lives.

It got me reflecting on my childhood, my upbringing. As I've worked to transition from pursuit of a biological family to pursuit of an adoptive family I see so many ways I was horrible ill-prepared for what I've been through. It's not my parents fault, per se (imagine that, NOT blaming my parents!) but rather it was their over-abundant love and devotion that sort of set me up for a massive, massive fall without any sort of a net to catch me.

In this society at large, and most definitely in my little tiny society that is my family, we don't spend a lot of time emphasizing that you might not achieve a dream. Quite the opposite--we're told to dream big, to go for it, to just do it, to work hard, to set big goals, to push push push and climb climb climb. So it's not surprising I adopted the same attitude when, five long years ago, we decided to get started with the family-building process.

The irony in this situation is that the physical act of having a baby isn't really a lofty goal (note: I'm not saying it isn't hard work or extremely important work to raise a healthy, happy, well-adjusted family--but the act of getting pregnant is accomplished regularly by all types of people usually with little er, effort--we all know that). Getting pregnant and having a few kids isn't really special or unique in say the same way as becoming highly specialized neuro-radiologist at one of the top medical facilities in the country (hi Anna!) or overcoming a shitty childhood and adolescence and writing a best selling memoir and then going on to lead efforts to end the sexual exploitation of girls (hi JE!). Now those are some unique accomplishments that took diligence, hard work, and major effort.

So as I've mentioned before, I wasn't prepared to fail or lose, most especially at something that shouldn't be hard in the first place.

But I did.

And it threw me for a loop of unparalleled proportions.

Suddenly, there was nothing as important as achieving a pregnancy, as delivering a baby that was a genetic hybrid of myself and Mr. LC...nothing else could possibly do. You tell me that it's going to be difficult and that just made me that much more determined to do it, to just work harder.

Hence spending nearly five years of my life in pursuit of such a decidedly un-lofty goal. I expended more energy towards this than anything else in my life and I am quite certain if I could have contained all of that energy and directed it towards any one thing I could have won the Tour de France or run for President. I'm just sayin'.

When we started talking about adoption I was so all over the place. I remember telling Mr. LC that if indeed we adopted then I would absolutely refuse any stupid baby showers. Baby showers are, after all, for women sitting high up on a make believe throne with huge baby bumps, swollen ankles, and a certain glow about their smug faces (I know that sounds rude, but I was bitter folks--majorly bitter--when the mister and I had this conversation). I wouldn't be one so I wouldn't have--couldn't have--a baby shower. I hadn't earned the right. I hadn't worked hard enough?

I'm still very, very quiet about our adoption. It makes me uncomfortable to talk about it. Not because I am not thrilled and excited about it. But it's because I've been burned. I'm now much better prepared to see the world for what it is. I am much better prepared to realize that we have already worked very hard to make this adoption happen, we have already spent multiple thousands of dollars to make this adoption happen, but yet it doesn't guarantee us anything. Working hard does not = a baby to raise and love. Not for everyone. Really, not for anyone, because most people do not work hard to get a baby. They just get one.

Of course when I imagine my life in a few years I am prone to picturing it with a little girl, with big brown eyes and beautiful brown skin wearing some adorable Small Paul duds...and I wonder if I will do what my parents did to me to her? That is, love her so fiercely and be so protective that she grows up with the sense that the world truly is at her feet, with boundless opportunity, and anything she wants she can get--if she just works hard enough...

Dear Mr. LC:

2010-06-20T12:10:00.000-07:00

Dear Mr. LC,

I'm sorry today isn't a special day for you.

I'm sorry that for five years you have had to watch this day pass you by despite doing everything known to man to make it your day too.

I'm sorry you've fought this battle largely without much support from your male compadres--I wish men could be more vocal and reach out to one another.

I'm sorry we cannot celebrate your impending fatherhood-via-adoption today but I know we're both 'hanging back' hoping for the best but not counting our chickens. Like you said, there are no children in this house yet....

I'm sorry I will never give you that moment of cutting the cord, of seeing your child take his first breath and release his first cry, of holding a newborn, of having a tiny baby curl up on your chest and take a nap with you. I tried really, really hard. I know you did, too.

I'm sorry you will not get to pass along--in a genetic sense--your wonderful creative talents.

We've heard people say they 'fell in love all over again' when they saw their child come into the world.

Well I'm proud we've stayed in love through the past five years. As Megan alluded to in her post, isn't it easy to fall in love all over again in the good times, at those magical moments? What's tough is falling in love all over again through the shitty times.

I've fallen in love with you all over again every time we took a BFN call together. Every time we clung together in the pitch of night in our bed, tears falling, in the aftermath of every IVF cycle. Every time you donned scrubs and surgical booties and danced around the pre-op room to make me laugh to calm my nerves. Every time you held my hand while we took those dreadful phone calls with fertilization reports and embryo updates. Every time you drove with me to the lab at ungodly hours, or came with me to the ultrasounds, or sat with me during the WTF meetings. When you literally held me up in the stairwell coming out of WTF #3 when I got the donor egg speech. When you let me play ELO's 'Hold On Tight to Your Dreams' exactly 156 times during IVFs #4 and #5 because it was sometimes the only thing that could keep me going.

I hope this is the last Father's Day that no one calls you Dad.

Love,
Mrs. LC

Stop the presses!

2010-06-15T10:45:00.000-07:00

Gaining a little weight can cure your infertility!

At least, that's what I heard at our healthcare provider meeting this morning.

OK.

I work with a lot of intelligent people. Six top notch endocrinologists and eleven mid-level providers. We have a provider meeting every Tuesday morning at 7:30 a.m. to discuss late-breaking trials, medication updates, etc. etc. On a bad day I have to make a presentation about some random lipoprotein condition, thankfully, I wasn't on today. Today's official topic was hypo.gonadism. Good times all around.

But before the meeting started I was privy to this conversation:

Provider A: "Remember Sally (not her real name, duh!)? The one who did infertility treatments forever and they never worked? And then got pregnant last year on her own? She's pregnant again! At age 40!"

Provider B: Sounds like she just needed a reset.

Provider A: (said with confidence!) I think she just needed to gain weight. That's my take on the whole thing. She gained a little weight and now look--two pregnancies!

Side note: Sally was not anorexic. Not in the least. She was on the thin side of average, at best.

Provider B: Wow--two babies under age two at age 40--be careful what you wish for.

At this point my I could feel heat in my face, and then my face melted right off.

Ha.

Thanks, healthcare providers, fellow coworkers, for being so stooopid. And yes, most of my coworkers know about my infertility and repeated rounds of treatment.

Yeowza.

And just a quick poll: if you had to go through IF treatment and got lucky and it worked and you were expecting multiples and you were traveling out of state and surprise--your babies came really early--would you go back to your home state for three weeks and leave those babies behind in the NICU...you know, so you could finish the nursery and get the house ready? Just curious.

The one with all the metaphors...

2010-06-12T11:12:00.000-07:00

I know I've alluded to the fact that we didn't just decide to adopt overnight or on a whim. I know you already knew that. But I guess I feel that writing about the process might be a teeny tiny bit helpful to someone else who--poor darlings--are in similar circumstances. But then that sounds so pompous--why would my journey or thought processes be useful as a guide to anyone else? So I'm not meaning that, necessarily. After all, this journey is about the most intensely personal I can imagine--which is why I blog about it for all the world to see. OK, not all the world, but the handful of readers I've got :)

Soon I will post an old draft post called "Waving the White Flag" which I am promising myself I will.not.edit.one.bit. I wrote it very soon after we made our final, final decision...even after we were entertaining the idea of more treatment (shudder). But for now, I'll just let you into my head a little more.

A few posts back I included the lyrics to a song...and funny enough that song is by the Mister from back in his grown-up band days. I hadn't thought about the song in a long time but one day I started singing it and when I got to that part of the lyrics they grabbed me.

I can hear the engines die, stallin'.

When you fail repeatedly at treatment, especially twice at one of the big-gun clinics, you feel as if you're in a plane, listening to the engines cut out. Panic sets in. You know there is nothing, nothing you can do. You claw at the air, desperate, but you're completely out of control.

I can see the clouds go by, fallin'.

You're in a free fall, life racing by you at a breakneck speed, so fast you can scarcely take it in. The world keeps on living but all you can see are the clouds--falling-- and perhaps the ground racing upwards towards you.

I can feel my senses fry, dissolvin'.

This line always makes me shiver. My senses were frying. I was trying so hard to live my life but I was so, so sick of the undercurrent of infertility robbing me of my natural born happiness. I am lucky. I am lucky. I have my health, I have my friends, I have a job, I have a home, I have a full belly. But I was dissolving, becoming a shadow of myself whose senses were tuned only into infertility. What smells, sights, sounds, tastes, touches was I missing as life kept happening and I was still free-falling through infertility treatments?

But I still know my way home.

My way home is parenthood. To be a parent. To help shape a little tiny human being. To nurture them through this world into an independent free-thinking person who respects humans and nature, who loves and laughs and contributes. Who makes a difference. That's my way home. Not seeing my genes passed on, not looking into my own eyes, not having a big pregnant belly. Will I miss those things? Sure. But in the end, they just had to take a backseat to finding my way home.

I do still know my way home. My way home is going to be fulfilled with a little tiny baby in Ethiopia, half a world away, who does not need rescuing--no no no!--but yet we desperately need each other. I am her way home and she is mine.

June 10th

2010-06-10T20:14:00.000-07:00

Today is June 10th, 2010.

June 10th, 2009 I woke up, got ready for work and was about to walk out the door when my cell phone rang. At 6:30 a.m. which is never a good sign. I saw that it was my sister.

"Dad had a stroke."

I could scarcely believe it. The man had just recovered from a near deadly car accident in which he broke his neck. In fact, he had ridden his bike 15 miles the day before and worked outside on their acreage. A stroke seemed damn near impossible.

But he had slipped from us before we could do anything to stop it.

June 10th, 2008. I can hardly type these words without crying. My sweet friend Gail lost her beautiful twin girls, Samantha and Caroline, born too soon. I can feel it like it was yesterday, so late into the night, sitting on my couch, where I sit right now. Gail and I talking to each other on the phone through our tears and anguish and disbelief as she laid in a hospital bed so far away and I remember going and crawling into my own bed with Mr. LC and clinging onto him and telling him she had lost those precious girls and we just held onto each other, not knowing what to do.

There was nothing we could do.

God it takes my breath away thinking of it tonight and I can only fathom what it feels like for her, the one who lived it.

We were 1700+ miles apart that night but my heart was in the room with her.

Today is June 10, 2010.

My Dad is in the hospital again--another bout with a post-stroke illness that will be typical of his days. His life is compromised severely and he has suffered more than he should. Yes, I am grateful for moments with him, for some good talks that we otherwise would have never had, but that is from my perspective. He didn't get a say in what happened to him.

Today Gail has a beautiful one year old daughter. But her first two daughters are not here and there is nothing that is right about that. Nothing.

I know everyone has pain in their lives. Everyone has grief.

And June 10th is a day, 24 hours long--no more, no less-- that will pass like any other day.

But it's important to remember.
So important to remember.

Lowe's and annoyances and questions answered

2010-06-09T13:53:00.000-07:00

I don't know why I'm having some trouble blogging lately.
As in, I sit down to type/post and I just sit here.

I mean, I have tons to say, and clearly I've never been too shy to share before. I have no idea what's going on.

I had written a rant post about some stupid new Lowe's commercial and a fertile couple's blathering about wanting to have a bigger family purely because of the super-fancy fridge the salesman was showing them (huh?). I was ranting not because they were fertile (ok maybe just a little bit) but because the mister and I are big believers in zero population growth and naturally we think everyone should feel the same way :) My mom taught me that concept as a young kid--I can remember her patiently explaining to me that I would not be getting a baby brother or sister because they had already 'replaced' themselves with my sister and I and that was the environmentally sound thing to do.

Paul Simon sang it best: "The planet groans every time it registers another birth."

Fertile or infertile, I do not believe in large biological families. I'm sure that offends some people but it's just my opinion. And true, the Lowe's couple could've been talking about adoption....

At any rate, now it seems I've just regurgitated that draft post and there it is.

On another note, there was a question in my comments section about pursuing adoption versus donor eggs.

It's complicated and then it's not.

Certainly we thought about donor eggs. I had several incredibly generous offers to have a known donor (though my request to my sister was met with a less than enthusiastic response, something that hurt nearly as much as the damned infertility in the first place, but it's water under the bridge now...), and then we considered anonymous donor as well. But not for very long. It just wasn't a good fit for me--I didn't like the idea of my husband's genetics combined with some other woman's genetics. It's an amazing gift, to donate an egg. I was too worried about how some woman might feel years later, maybe after she'd had a child of her own, about the egg she gave away when she was younger. And yes, I get that birth mothers likely experience similar emotions. Plus I wanted it to be out in the open right from the get-go...as in physically obvious...that I wasn't genetically related to my child. Which is one of the reasons why we went international. But that's just me.

Then there's the whole non-guarantee of donor eggs. I've seen too many times where donor eggs didn't work. And that, folks, was something my heart just could not take. It's been trampled on too many times and it is screaming to be happy. Not that international adoption is without heartache in and of itself (see last post), but there is a fairly good chance we'll wind up with a child when all is said and done.

I completely understand that my logic is flawed and maybe even slightly crazy, so please no need to correct or persuade or try to make me see things differently.

Our decision has been made.

P.S. Do we get credit for negative population growth?

P.P.S. I'll end this right now because I just baked cinnamon rolls from scratch and while they don't look too purty, they sure smell divine and they're calling my name....

An untitled post. Oh wait...I just titled it.

2010-06-04T18:17:00.000-07:00

I can hear the engines die, stalling,

I can see the clouds go by, falling,

I can feel my senses fry, dissolving,

But I still know my way home.

Gawd there is so much to say, but I really don't know where to begin.

I'm sitting here staring at the keyboard, my right ovary aching and aching, like it always does, right on time, as it nears ovulation.

We're adopting--it's true. But my body keeps on doing what it was designed to do--release an egg each month. A pretty useless egg, but an egg nonetheless.

I wish I could tell you that when you cross over into adoption the pain of infertility dissolves away, but you're smart enough to know that's not true. Adoption helps you cope with one loss and one loss only regarding infertility--and that's the loss of the ability to parent. And for that, I know I will be eternally grateful.

But my body still thinks it can procreate. Stupid, stupid body. And I still hurt over that stupid, stupid body.

Our dreams have shifted--we no longer talk about the genetic baby we would have created together. Instead, we talk about the diverse family we will create together.

It's going to be intense. It's going to be crazy. I'm sure we'll make one million mistakes.

But we just couldn't wait any longer.

Our hearts were aching to be parents.

We still feel alone--no one in our circles have adopted. We don't know any other infertiles in real life for whom treatment never worked. We must branch out and get to know some new friends in real life that have chosen this path.

Or did this path choose them/us?

As far as details, for now, I'll keep it brief.

We're adopting internationally. Our dossier has been officially registered for over two months now.

And so now we wait.

And try not to think about it. About the fact that a baby we might be lucky enough to parent is probably in utero now. Probably without the benefit of prenatal care. Probably under less than ideal circumstances. Probably without anyone pampering the mother, like I would have been.

Oh guys--I would have been such a pampered pregnant woman because I have the best husband in the world. Damn I'm going to miss that, something else that you miss without ever having had it in the first place.

I try not to think about a mother halfway around the globe who touches her belly and probably already knows she will not be able to parent her baby. And her heart is breaking.

Mine breaks for her, too.

I can hear the engines die, stalling,

I can see the clouds go by, falling,

I can feel my senses fry, dissolving,

But I still know my way home.

I've been away...

2010-05-31T13:12:00.000-07:00

I know, and it's weird for me not to post/yak/blog in over week.

Especially since my last post was sort of (?) a bombshell. Or at the very least a pretty major announcement. Thanks for all your wonderful comments--they are treasures and I mean that.

I promise there will be much, much more to come on that. It's not like we woke up one day and said "OK, we're done with the infertility roller coaster, let's adopt." It's been a year-plus process actually....and of course we've been talking about adoption much much longer than that. And it's not that I think adoption is a cake walk (ha!) nor necessarily a guarantee. But we'll get to that. All of that--and more!--I promise. Just not today.

For now I'll just leave you with a pictorial of how the last few days/week has gone. It's been busy, it's been fun, it's involved a lot of water.

We hit the lake for wakeboarding and also my brother-in-law tried to kill both me and my sister on the inner tube. Seriously--I was sore for days after holding on for dear life while he accelerated and did donuts in the water trying to throw us off. But we had a blast with them and my nephews. And can I say how much more I am adoring my nephews (my sister's boys) as I realize they are the nearest to genetic children I will ever have? It just makes my connection to them even more special.

The mister and I went trail running (for real, no crazy analogies here!) and finished up with a swim in our favorite local creek. The water was rushing y'all--that's why I'm laughing. It's really a cover for fear. As in, I truly feared I was going to be washed away while the mister took photos :) Stacey, when will I learn?

We went to see my parents for part of Memorial Weekend. My Dad isn't great. He's slipped back to being very quiet with a lot of staring. I'm sad, but then again I'm ever more grateful for the last visit where we talked, watched baseball, and just sat together and it felt the closest to normal than ever before in the past year. It will be a year since his stroke in about a week and a half. However, I must add: we wheeled my Dad into the kitchen while I was baking. He didn't seem to be paying any attention, mostly he just looked like he was staring off into space and barely responded when spoken to...until. Until I plunged my bowl with batter into the sink and turned on the water. My Dad said: "Mrs. LC, please don't run water in that bowl. I'd like to lick the batter." Ha! Can you see where I get it from? So even when we think he isn't, boy is he paying attention!

While there, the mister and I mowed/tractored about 15 acres. I also weed-eated and trenched all the beds and together with my Mom we trimmed all the hedges. It was about 95 degrees the whole time. Yikes.

The mister in his coolie hat might have sent some old country war vet into a flashback! I was covered in dirt (see picture) but mowing and yardwork is still strangely satisfying and peaceful.

Sexy, no?

Today we went on a long hot run--I swear it was already 90 degrees by 9 a.m. followed by a fabulous swim in Lake Travis. Gorgeous, relaxing, and boy did we feel lucky to have leisure time and healthy bodies that can run and swim. No pictures, just happiness in our hearts and heads.

Other highlights of the last week:

M&M Blizzard. A rare treat but one that never ever disappoints.

Baking--thanks to Bakerella I've tried some new delish recipes. I didn't take photos--just ate them. Congo bars/Brookies? Oh my.

Working on a video for one of the Mister's songs--always fun.

Shopping with my Mom and sister. OK, so it was just Target (my parents live in a small town so getting the Target was actually a huge deal) but I adore Target and shopping there is fun. And looking at baby things is actually, maybe, sorta, kinda, an itty-bitty teeny tiny bit fun, but I won't allow anything to be bought. Yet.

So that's the highlights. I was without reliable internet while at my parents'--and honestly was too busy sweating and mowing--so I'm slowly catching up and hope I haven't missed anyone!

The longest race!

2010-05-23T13:02:00.000-07:00

The mister and I just completed an incredibly intense adventure trail running race.

Whew.

It was one of those races that was sort of secretive in that you really didn't know the course ahead of time. We were excited but also a wee bit wary. I mean, how do you train for what you don't know?

True to form it was hard. Really really hard.

There were climbs that made my heart feel like it was going to explode right out of my chest. Then there were downhills where they posted a black double arrow down sign on a tree (that you may or may not see) to signal rough terrain ahead.

Rough? Ahem.

We were slip sliding and skidding and falling and catching ourselves and did I mention tripping? And it hurt, because we both fell hard a few times. Really hard. I gashed myself a few times on rocks--major bleeding-- and so did the Mister. Those are gonna leave scars.

Then there were more hills. Did I mention the hills? No amount of training could have prepared our lungs for the hills! I felt like I couldn't breathe, like I needed an oxygen mask. So much for thinking I was in shape!

There were water crossing! Sheesh. The water was rushing and we had to figure out how the hell to get across without going in. We were a soggy, defeated mess.

I wanted to walk. The mister pushed me on. Then he wanted to walk, and I pushed him on. On the tough climbs he pulled me along and if he could've carried me on his back believe me, I would've let him!

Part of the mystery was not knowing the distance. That's scary stuff for a race. I'm ok with short-ish runs but I am no marathoner. I usually max out at 7-8 miles. I guess that's why we had to sign our lives away on consent forms...in case one of us actually died during the race well, it would be nobody's fault but our own. What kind of fools are we?

We didn't win the so-called prize. We didn't even come close.

When we got to the finish line there wasn't anyone actually cheering us across. Sucked big time, because I was visualizing that finish line with all the crowds lining the path, cheering us and slapping us on our backs, propelling me forward those last few steps and then celebrating the victory with us.

When we went through what we THOUGHT was the finish line, we saw our time (dismal) and looked around.

And that's when we saw it.

The sign.

"Second half of race THIS WAY."

STFU.

There is more?

And it turned out to be a mountain biking race, for which we had not really trained....

So we looked at each other and smiled, shaking our heads. After chowing down on some mega-reinforcements, giving each other a "we're in this together" pep talk, we donned our helmets and got on the bikes.

We're still on the bikes....

We're adopting!

Much much more to come on this--a whole backwards posting probably of how we came to this decision and the mega process that has taken place--but for now, we'll just leave it with 'the news.'

*And thanks to Brenda, who a long time ago made a similar analogy about going from IF treatment into adoption, and it just stuck in my brain and came out here :)

OKGo and Damian Kulash...and sleep deprivation.

2010-05-21T05:24:00.000-07:00

So where were you Wednesday/Thursday at 2:00 am?

Because I was somewhere I am probably too old to be...out on the main club strip in our beautiful city, waiting outside of a tour bus so I could talk with my favorite singer.

Yes, you know the one....plus I kinda gave it away in the post title, no?

Damian Kulash of OKGo.

I think that was my 9th time to see them. And I have met/talked with him after every show except one (the first one, where I was too smitten and dorky to form a complete sentence). As I posed for the picture with him I said "I have to get my yearly pic with you...but each one I just look older and cragglier and you just look the same, but with different hair." He laughed and said he was getting older and cragglier too, but really? I don't think so.

The show was great. They're great. He's great. And yes, Mr. LC knows about the crush. He took the picture and also brought along a nifty little gadget known as a Pico Paso (crazy little electronica noise making musical thingamagig) to show Damian. So he's ok with said crush. We ended up giving the Pico Paso to him (that's what he's holding in the photo). Like a true musical nerd/genius he was more thrilled with that little gadget than the praise we were giving him for his performance.

Am I a fangirl? Absolutely. I claim it. I own it. I don't deny it. Maybe it keeps me young (er)?

BUT, all that being said I felt old. Old old old standing around by a tour bus amongst a bunch of teeny-agers, some of whom were with their parents. Gah. If I had been fertile and started youngish, I could have been their Mom. Gulp.

And I felt especially old yesterday morning when my alarm went off at 5:45 am after only 3.5 hours of sleep. And when I had a full day of patients--who seemed particularly challenging and not because of lack of sleep (I promise, I kept on my game).

But sleep deprivation--isn't that what all of us IFers crave? Interrupted, non-solid, no good REM sleep?

So I'm just going to chalk this up to practice. Training....for what is surely to come, some way, some how, no?

I'll leave you with the pic. And let it be said that HE was hugging ME that tightly...I did not in any way shape or form force myself on him....and really, it was the excitement over the PicoPaso....

Are chocolate dipped strawberries healthy? And a thanks.

2010-05-16T06:23:00.000-07:00

First of all, thank you.

There really isn't much more I can say other than that, without becoming a soggy, emotional mess. But your comments, emails....left me in happy tears. Honestly, I would've thought my dorky video would have elicited more reaction than the last post, but I am now seeing that my dorkiness is part of it all...the fact that we're still alive and smiling and acting like fools despite IF. So for you ladies, my foolishness will go on :)

Thank you.

I have other posts that must be posted, soon....I have so much to tell you, but today I'm just going to leave it with a lighter baking post.

I don't eat fruit. I know, it's a weirdness about me. The texture of fruit is all wrong to me. So while chocolate dipped strawberries are lovely, they can be all yours.

But strawberry cakeballs made to look like chocolate dipped strawberries?

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm....

I couldn't get a good shot of one with a bite out of it, but please believe me when I tell you that inside those layers of dipping chocolate lies the moistest and most delicious strawberry cakeball....

A light in the dark.

2010-05-13T05:24:00.001-07:00

I remember a long time ago when I found one of my first IF blogs.

It was a light in a very very dark and ugly world.

I had the pleasure of happening upon a blog of someone who had been through the wringer but was in the midst of a hard-fought pregnancy. Not to minimize anyone else's struggle but as we all know there are some there are shorter than others. This was not one of them. It was long and it was hard. I had only just failed my first IVF so I was at the beginning of my journey, though I didn't know it then.

I read it backwards and forwards, through tears and laughter, and since have formed a friendship with the author (a local gal!).

I remember seeing a card one day, that said something about 'seeing a light at the end of the tunnel and then becoming that light for others.' Bam! It described her and that blog perfectly and what it represented for me so I bought it and mailed it to her, thanking her for being that light.

It hit me yesterday that I will never be that light for anyone.

People who have supported me, people who have followed my journey, my fellow IF sisters...I am the person they fear the most, the person who goes the distance with treatment, the person who tries everything and pours her heart and soul into the battle and still comes up on the losing side.

I just think about some newbie, clicking onto this blog, and then feeling their fears mount when they see that no, IVF doesn't fix it for everyone. Because it can certainly seem that way early on in the journey...that IVF works, or that eventually, if you just keep going, it will work.

I found out that I passed my test (yay me!) and one of my friends said "well of course you did. You worked hard--damn hard. If you work hard enough at anything you should expect success." Hmmm.

Maybe instead I'm the reality check?

So to the newbies who find this space, I'm sorry. I tried my hardest to be your light in the midst of a very very dark place. I really did.

The video you knew was coming...

2010-05-10T19:49:00.000-07:00

or maybe you didn't, but by now, if you followed my old blog and this one, you know a vacation isn't complete until we've made fools of ourselves in a video set to music and then posted it for the world to see. I'm just bummed I forgot to video or take any pics of J.E. and our fabulous night out--boo.

So here you go!

Mother's Day

2010-05-09T13:09:00.000-07:00

It's the obligatory Mother's Day post.

And yes, I feel a little sad that no one made me breakfast or took me out for a special meal, I didn't get any adorable homemade card and no one whispered a well-rehearsed "Happy Mother's Day" into my ear.

But I'm an adult. I can understand why I'm in the place I'm in.

So I cannot feel too sad for me.

Instead, my heart is breaking for the millions of children who long to do those very things to a mother of their own, but they cannot.

For they are motherless.

Due to poverty, disease, abuse--whatever the reason they are motherless.

And they are children.

And they are innocent.

And they cannot understand why the world is so cruel to them.

And they cannot understand why we--fertile or infertile, it makes no difference--do not scoop them up into our arms and give them the love they so very much deserve.

It is not a happy Mother's Day for them.

And I think we should not--we cannot--forget them.

Sinead O'Connor is one of my favorite singers of all times. The first time I heard this song I cried. I had no idea the road before me at the time, but maybe it was prophetic.

This is to mother you
To comfort you and get you through
Through when your nights are lonely
Through when your dreams are only blue
This is to mother you
This is to be with you
To hold you and to kiss you too
For when you need me I will do
What your own mother didn't do
Which is to mother you
All the pain that you have known
All the violence in your soul
All the 'wrong' things you have done
I will take from you when I am come
All mistakes made in distress
All your unhappiness
I will take away with my kiss, yes
I will give you tenderness
For child I am so glad I've found you
Although my arms have always been around you
Sweet bird although you did not see me
I saw you
And I'm here to mother you
To comfort you and get you through
Through when your nights are lonely
Through when your dreams are only blue
This is to mother you

I will not dwell on my own circumstances today. For I have a mother. A wonderful mother who raised me and loved me and hugged me and told me how much I was loved.

And I knew it, without a doubt. With 100% certainty I knew was loved.

So for me, it is a Happy Mother's Day indeed.

Celebrity-pallooza

2010-05-05T15:48:00.000-07:00

We're having an absolute blast in the city. I think it's our ninth trip together and so far, probably the best (although it's always tough to beat a NYC Christmastime trip...).

So thanks to the amazing J.E. (my celebrity friend) we got to attend a really cool event where celebrities read poetry. OK. I was completely starstruck by James Gandolfini laughing through his poetry readings (he walked right next to Mr. LC and we were only 15 feet or so from the podium in this little performance space), impressed with Amber Tamblyn, and also got to see Claire Danes, Sapphire (author of "Push") and Patricia Clarkson. On our way between the cocktail pre-party and the actual event we passed Hayden Christensen, looking ridiculously un-inconspicuous in a long trench coat. It was 80 degrees.

At any rate, the next day we saw Jeremy Sisto in midtown and then Peter Frechette in Chelsea. I know you may not know who he is, but he was in thirtysomething so alas, I am a fan.

It's been nonstop fun!

From biking through Central Park, to walking the new HighLine Park, to taking the Staten Island Ferry (dorky, yes, but a great way to see lower Manhattan from the water)...to walking about 8 miles today (seriously, I used google pedometer to see how far we walked when we got back to the room) while shopping in SoHo, NoHo, the West Village, and then hitting a great little Indian spot in Curry Row in the East Village....we're just having a blast.

I'd live here in a heartbeat if there was a way.

Anyone have a spare couple of million?

So here we are, loving life and then gnoshing some very hot Indian food...

And then there was this, which really? If anyone gets these tattoos of utensils on someone's calves, can you please clue me in?

Vacation

2010-04-28T20:39:00.000-07:00

Thanks for the comments yesterday...I can only say how sorry I am to have two commenters who have actually experienced both cancer and infertility. That is too much misfortune for any one human being to bear, and yet they have/do with grace. Amazing.

I guess I thought it was obvious my intent in the post--to say that in the midst of my darkest days I never woke up fearing I might not live. I never worried that I wouldn't grow old. I certainly worried about the quality of my life, and whether there would be grandchildren around when I grew old, and things like that...but to see the fear in my patient's eyes yesterday...the fear of imminent death when she's in the prime of her life...that touched my heart.

And made me profoundly grateful.

She doesn't know whether she will be alive next year.

True, I guess no one does. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. I could get diagnosed with cancer myself next week. But I won't die from infertility, that much I can hang my hat on.

At any rate, we leave on Friday for our major getaway! Hooray! The mister has two shows in the NYC metro over the weekend and then we'll be there for the whole week after. And I'm seeing my boys, OKGo on Friday night in Brooklyn. And my NJ sister Gail.

I have needed this trip for a long time. My dreadful exam is over. My Dad's health is stable. Mr. LC and I are making plans.

There is so much life to live...and I just can't miss a minute of it.

I hurt.

2010-04-27T12:53:00.000-07:00

I hurt for the young woman I just saw as a patient.
Her wisps of blonde hair so baby fine and short trying to grow back in after the ravages of chemotherapy, a pink, nubbly scar from her port-a-cath peeking out from her shirt. Status post double masectomy after a diagnosis of breast cancer. A rare complication of deep vein thrombosis in her internal jugular vein that nearly killed her during treatment. Just finishing her radiation treatment--exhausted beyond my comprehension--and gearing up for a total hysterectomy.

And my job was to tell her that "Oh yeah, your arteries are pretty horrible, too."

She has four young children.

So it's Infertility Awareness Week.

And I'm aware of my infertility, but it is not cancer.

It may break my heart into a million pieces but it will not kill me.

It may have taken me into dark places that I never wish to go to again but it will not kill me.

It may have robbed me of hopes, of dreams, of idealized visions of how I thought my life would be but it will not kill me.

It has not killed me.

I'm aware of it. I hope others are aware of the ravages of infertility as well.

But I wanted to scoop that woman into my arms and hug her tight and tell her everything was going to be ok, that she would be a mother to her four children long enough to see them grow big and strong and to an age where they don't need her so desperately but I couldn't.

Infertility sucks, but I have to say that cancer sucks worse.

Happpiness, baking, and tiny dogs

2010-04-25T15:58:00.000-07:00

Thank you for your kind words on my last post.

I know grief is a process and it's certainly not always linear no matter how hard we wish it were. I often find myself telling others to just let feelings happen and go with them because they need to happen but sometimes it's hard to follow that advice.

However.

I am doing much better. So much better, than instead of stress baking I did a little 'just for fun baking.' Not a new recipe, but a new, arrangement, for lack of a better word.

Today we also participated in World Malaria Day on our state Capitol lawn as part of a launch for the broader Imagine.No.Malaria Campaign from the United Methodist Church (imaginenomalaria.org if you're so inclined). DH performed his song "One of These Tomorrows" with a youth band as part of the celebration. I teared up just listening.

One Of These Tomorrows...

We'll be ok.

Click here if you want to listen to it again :)

There's very little space to feel sorry for your infertility woes when you're thinking about the fact that in Africa, a child dies from malaria every thirty seconds. It's preventable and treatable and it shouldn't be this way.

On a happier note I'll leave you with two things:
A pic of Penelope, our tiny little rescue dog, who came to us in such bad shape they had named her "Hope" because they just hoped she'd live a few more months. We were told she was 12.

Ha.

That was five years ago and ain't no way Penelope was any 12 years old when we got her.

And thank God for that, because when I got her, I needed something small to distract me from my fertility woes (you know, we'd been trying three months and it hadn't happened so I was experiencing woes). She is small, that's for sure (see pic below). But she's also a great comfort, in a way only a dog can be (I feel like Mickey Rourke here, egads). And I do love her and I still need her.

Isn't she tiny but also adorable?

And now, for my baking adventure. I give you: cake ball banana split. The 'container' is white chocolate, and yes that's a tiny banana slice in there. It's hard to see the 'vanilla ice cream ball' but it's there behind the banana... and a red M&M makes the 'cherry' (to give you perspective). It was fun to make, but I didn't eat it....

Also--we're on the countdown to NYC so I'm getting in my uber happy place!

One step forward, two steps back.

2010-04-22T11:15:00.001-07:00

I'm doing ok.

Most of the time.

Sometimes I'm living the phrase "fake it til you make it" to keep a good perspective on life and infertility. And what it has done to me.

Believe me, it has done a number on me.

And I don' t always have to fake it. Most of the time I am genuinely happy. And genuinely happy for others as they attain what I cannot. That's a switch, as I must confess there was a time, when I was deep in the trenches of IVF, that seeing someone else succeed grabbed me around the heart and squeezed hard as I would have that desperate sense that "there's another BFP gone and it wasn't mine." I know you understand.

Recently I was on an IF blog and saw a link to a whole lotta CCRM blogs, all grouped together. And you know they were nearly all successes.

Maybe I should stop reading IF blogs? I try to keep supporting those who are in the trenches, sometimes I get support back, but sometimes not. I know there's not as much to say when someone's not actively in the process.

Seeing that dedicated CCRM blog roll just reminded me that I'm in such an isolated club. Yes, I know there are other members and man am I glad to have found them, though sorry they're in it with me. And I know there are so many 'clubs' of IF that are horrible and awful and dreadful but why do there have to be any at all? Why did this have to happen this way?

I love to read Lis's blog because she is so raw and honest. I hate with all my heart what has happened to her but I'm honored to know her and to support her on her journey. She wrote a post recently entitled "Still." She wrote this: "it still hits me about three minutes after i wake up" and she is referring to the loss of her beautiful twin girls.

While I have not suffered a physical loss such as she has, it still sometimes hits me that I'm infertile. That we're at the end of the road. We're done with massive amounts of treatment and it did.not.work.

Huh?

It didn't work? How's that again?

How is it that we poured every ounce of our being into making a baby and couldn't? How is it that the top clinic in the country couldn't help us, not once, but twice? How is it that we went through five in vitro cycles and still are only attending birthday parties and baby showers as outside guests and never holding our own?

Huh?

So yeah, I know I wrote my last post about not being paralyzed.

I'm not.

But I still hurt.

Somedays more than others. Somedays not much at all. Somedays so much I think all the healing has been for nothing because I'll never be healed.

Damn.

I've been away...

2010-04-18T13:51:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry I've been away from commenting. I was out of town for a couple of days visiting my parents where the internet connection is slow, on a good day. It just makes blogging/reading/writing/commenting painful. So forgive me as I try to catch up!

I feel like I have so much to tell you but it just seems like I am on repeat sometimes. But here goes:

If your parents, or anyone you love but don't tell often enough, are alive and well please go--don't delay--and spend some time with them. I never, ever thought I could be so grateful to sit next to my father and watch a baseball game with him for two hours but I did and I am--so grateful, that is. He was watching and I was in the kitchen baking and he kept calling for me to join him so he could "teach me a few things about baseball!" and so I went, sat down next to him, and watched.

We talked. He commented. We laughed (as much as he can physically, but the emotion was there and real). It felt as much like 'old times' as it possibly could, my Dad watching sports and me, the daughter always wanting him to adore me, sitting next to him, except this time, I wasn't feigning interest. If he had wanted to watch C-SPAN I would have because you see, to just sit and be with him, and spend time with him, and not have him in pain, and not have me in pain because of his pain, was a glorious, glorious thing. It felt so normal, and so nice especially since my last visit home my Dad just laid in the bed the whole time, buried under a fog of depression so heavy threatened to steal him completely from us.

Who would ever have imagined that watching a baseball game could feel so meaningful?

It's so cliche and I recognize that, but I'm going to say it anyway: it's the simple stuff that matters. One year ago I would have never in a million years thought I would have yearned for two hours of simple TV watching and conversation with my Dad, but here I am.

And there we were.

And yes, I watched him walk with his physical therapist. It is painful for him and hard in a way that I cannot even being to imagine.

Or maybe I can.

My body betrayed me, too Dad. Despite years of treating it well.

And he could lay in the bed, paralyzed both literally and figuratively. He could lay in the bed and stare up and the ceiling and waste away while the world keeps on turning.

But he's not.

And neither will I.

I am moving on.

When my Dad walks it is beyond difficult. It takes two people and a walker to help him--one person to get him to standing and then to stay close by in case he falters and another person to help propel the paralyzed leg forward...but he's trying. By God he's trying.

And I am too.

It may take a lot of support and work and effort to help us but I will not remain paralyzed by infertility.

The Mister and I went on a couple of amazing trail runs while home. My parents live on acreage surrounded by the National Forest, where the trees tower over you at 100-150 feet. It was just us and the sounds of our shoes hitting the dirt trail and our labored breathing. Complete and amazing peacefulness. No talks of infertility dominated like the old days where we couldn't get a mile in and the topic would come up as we went round and round about our fate.

This time is was quiet.

As I was getting ready to go on said run I was helping my Dad do leg exercises.

I stood at the foot of my Dad's recliner as he tirelessly worked his right leg. Then it was time to do the left, the paralyzed one.

"But that one's so weak, Pumpkin. So weak."

"I know Dad, but I'm going to help you."

I started to help him bend his leg toward his body and then push it back out against the weight of my body. I was doing the work but it was the action that was important, to stretch his muscles that can so easily become contorted and tight and drawn up and resistant to movement.

I decided to stop helping, just to see.

"Am I doing it Pumpkin?" he asked.

And my God, he was. It was small but it was movement. We all cheered and counted out his repetitions.

"I'm going to go run now Dad." I paused. I didn't want to hurt him. He was the runner in the family, after all. "And I'm going to run a mile for you Dad. Because you taught me how to be a runner."

I will not be paralyzed by this body that on some levels has betrayed me, and on so many others serves me perfectly well. I am taking steps--small, painful, but powerfully significant steps.

Am I doing it?

I think I am.

Encounters of the work kind...

2010-04-13T19:43:00.000-07:00

I guess like all of you who blog, there are always posts swirling around in my mind. Then I come here and nothing comes out (surprised?). But I'm going to make an attempt to write about a few things that I have learned on the job that have nothing to do with lipids and heart disease.

In the type of work I do I come into contact with a variety of people all day long. And maybe because we're talking about their health, and I'm their health care provider, they feel like they can open up to me...sometimes divulging things I don't want/need to know, sometimes just sharing, sometimes crying. Sometimes the moments are intense.

Some of my patients I have been seeing for nearly four years. I help manage the complex dyslipidemias at my practice, which means I see the folks who had their first heart attack as a supposedly healthy 35 year old, or the person who has an LDL cholesterol level of 300+ despite being on six different medications. You get to know these people over time, over the years. But patients always seem to want to know a little bit about me and, well, I'm guilty of oversharing (I know--shocker.)

So you know where this is going.

As unprofessional as it may have been in the past, I've told some of my patients that we were trying to start a family.

Usually it would just be in casual way--they would see my pictures of my dogs and ask if we had any children. Four and three and two and hell--even one year ago I might have responded with "Not yet, but we're working on it!"

Obviously they've seen me every six months for four years they're going to notice I've never been pregnant. Some of them gently ask "How is that going?"

I no longer say "we're working on it." I'm getting comfortable with the truth. With hearing the words "We cannot have children" come out of my mouth, spoken by my voice, spoken about me.

I say it, I don't tear up, the words are out there, and saying it every time makes it more real, more concrete, more fact.

Because 81 eggs retrieved, eleven embryos transferred, five IVFs and still no baby had not quite made it real enough as just saying those words out loud.

"We cannot have children."

My patients--God love them--they pat me on the arm and give me a sympathetic look. Some of them hug me and say "I'm sorry." Some of them say stupid things but that's ok too. I'm learning to be more forgiving, to just roll with it.

"We cannot have children." It's a hard thing for people to hear. But it's getting easier to say.

On a different but related note, I also gingerly ask people about their family histories, which has led to me to hear some delightful, some sad, and some just plain heartbreaking accounts of adoption.

"I do not know my family history. And I have hurt my whole life for not knowing anyone who was genetically connected to me--I have felt so alone in this world"--this a response I got early on that left me tearing up as my patient--a middle aged man--teared up, too, the pain in his eyes so deep and raw I could barely keep it together.

Or this:

"I finally connected with my twelve brothers and sisters. I was the baby, the one they couldn't afford to raise." I remained quiet to see if he would continue. "But it was nice to finally meet someone who looked like me, to get a sense of where I came from, to get a small sense of who I am."

Or this:

"My parents are absolutely the people who raised and loved me, no ifs ands or buts. I adore them and they are wonderful people." And then laughing, continuing "But they both have heart disease so I'm glad they didn't give me any genes!"

Of course I also come across cases of infertility. From the patients who tell me that "they had to do infertility to get pregnant" which I then find out means they took one round of Clomid (!) to reading in someone's history of about the loss of triplets at 21 weeks I realize there are a lot of us out there and there are myriad painful ways to experience infertility.

But yet I haven't met myself yet. I haven't had a mid-30s vegetarian with high cholesterol, a thyroid disorder, a wicked family history of heart disease come in, sit down in my office and tell me she can go on medication without also having to take birth control because, come on, she's NOT going to get pregnant. She did, after all, fail five in vitro cycles with nary more than a chemical pregnancy.

If I did meet myself, I guess I'd be gentle with me. I'd probably want to hug me.

Thanks for hanging in for the mindless ramble.

A picture is worth a thousand words...

2010-04-10T17:52:00.001-07:00

So that is a photo of the most bestest awesomest card EVER received from an equally awesome friend, S, as a good luck for my lipid board exam, which was yesterday. We covered up my last name but it basically depicts ME as the Robot kicking the other Robot's behind.

Except.

Now that I've taken the exam it seems the labels need to be reversed.

Because that test kicked my behind. And hard.

I'm still sore and probably will be for a while.

It was four hours of grueling blech. Well, I take that back, the first 44 questions were a cinch and I had the cocky thought of "Well I've got this in the bag. Not only will I pass, but I will make an A."

Famous last words.

You guys--I went into that test as prepared as I have ever been for anything ever. I have studied for months, literally. Mr. LC has quizzed me on my stack of 200 index cards countless times--I could recall the facts in my sleep. I took prep tests of 800+ questions and then studied them endlessly.

But yet still, STILL, there were items on that test that I had never even heard of. WTF? There is no way to memorize everything but apparently, that's what was expected.

If I fail, I will have to retake the test, which will consist of another random assortment of details and minutiae that actually don't influence how I practice at all. That's the rub. All day long I see patients and I make treatment decisions and hey--people live!--and I am not recalling facts from my index cards.

OK, enough griping.

It's done. I don't have to study anymore until I get the results (6 weeks and thank GOD not before our NYC trip because nothing nothing nothing can ruin that trip for me!). I am rejoining the living again as fully as possible and have cleverly hidden away my stack of books and notes and practice tests and all that crap.

Today we ran under a beautiful blue sky next to a beautiful blue lake with beautiful blue bluebonnets everywhere. And I did not feel blue.

But I did have a sore behind.

Some moments.

2010-04-05T05:54:00.000-07:00

Easter is usually a hard time for me. The church services are all about new life and new beginnings and frankly, over the past five years of failed infertility treatments it has been hard to embrace the excitement over new life--I mean, the entire plant and animal kingdom bursts forth in a frenzy of procreation and then there was Mr. LC and I.

Devoid of spring.

I have to say yesterday I did not feel this way about myself specifically. Maybe I'm getting over myself, I don't know.

I did cry, though, during the service. When I looked at the bulletin and saw that our choir was singing a song called "Arise" with a male soloist I grabbed Mr. LC's hand and said "Can you go get me some tissues? I'll never make it through that song."

You see, a long time ago I had a spectacular cousin named Jim. He was my only cousin on my Dad's side of the family. He was a teenager when I was born and I idolized him. He was hip and smart and knew all about fashion and took my sister and I shopping and played with us and taught us cool things and when we were little he spent Christmas morning with us just so he could experience seeing the magic of Santa Claus through our eyes.

He was perfect.

He was also a beautiful singer, with a voice that was damned near angelic.

I dreamed of the day he would sing at my wedding.

His life was cut tragically short at the age of 31. I will never forget waking up one morning as an awkward, hopelessly uncool 13 year old to find my mother standing at the foot of my bed.

"Jim died."

Her words left me stunned and reeling and confused and hurt and I felt like the wind had been knocked right out of me for months.

My sweet cousin--one of the only people who had the ability to make me feel beautiful and special and cherished--gone. Gone too soon.

The last song I ever heard him sing "Arise."

On Sunday I closed my eyes and listened as an angelic male voice sang that song and it nearly took my breath away.

The tears, they just fell.

It's been over twenty years, but when you lose someone tragically and early and they mean so much to you, time is sometimes meaningless.

"You were supposed to grow old

You were supposed to grow old

Reckless, unfrightened, and old

You were supposed to grow old"

And yet, emotions are complicated things.

Despite this immense sadness I felt for the loss of my cousin, after church I laid my head on the mister's chest, while we stretched out on the grass in the park as a family of two, while much larger, louder families all around us celebrated Easter with picnics and pinatas and barbecues and I said "I am happy."

I am happy because I have known love that is deep and wide, and I have felt cherished, and I am lucky to have known my cousin for the thirteen years that I did.

I am happy because I can, in an instant, recall his beautiful voice and hear him sing to me.

Happy Easter

2010-04-03T19:06:00.000-07:00

I'm unoriginal in my post title, sorry about that.

In the midst of mad studying, and trail running, mountain biking, and church service attending, there had to be baking.

I give you: Easter egg cake balls.

Up tomorrow: more church service attending (sunrise service--a true favorite), more traill running, more studying (but at the park in the glorious spring weather with Mr. LC right by my side) and some yoga-ing.

Life is good.

I hope yours is too.

Four steps

2010-04-01T05:44:00.000-07:00

Four steps.

Four steps may not seem like much.

True, they will not get me very far.

In my office, four steps will not get me from my chair to my office door.

Four steps during a run do not count for much.

But four steps taken by my Dad, now that's something.

Yes, he had help.

Yes, he was using a hemi-walker.

Yes, yes, yes.

But four steps.

Taken by a man who survived a devastating non-surviveable stroke.

Taken by a man who had been so depressed lately he would barely speak.

Taken by a man who was told he would never walk again.

Four giant significant monumental steps.

Finally.

2010-03-27T17:28:00.001-07:00

OK, this is IT. The last of the "answers" posts. I'm supposed to be studying (when am I not?) but instead I wanted to get these answers out there because they're hanging over my head (I'm a nerd like that). And then I will get back to my regularly scheduled blogging activities. NOT that I haven't enjoyed this--I have, immensely--I just tend to get so wordy with my answers that these posts are marathon ones.

But first--the last post I wrote about my beef with the term "blessed." It's because of this Webster definition:

divinely or supremely favored;

It's that 'favored' part that gets me. So that's probably why I don't like the term, but I understand others' comments about their beliefs/use of the term. Just a difference of opinions, no big whoop.

QUESTION 1: I accidentally skipped Melissa's question about writing a book. Yes, I do want to write a book. I enjoy writing. I always wanted to be a writer first...when I was little. Incredibly, my parents always pushed and encouraged me regarding creative writing (I mean, what parents dream their children will be in a field fraught with rejection?) Somehow I wound up in healthcare, which I also enjoy. But I do hope to one day get it all out there, maybe juxtaposing my IF journey with my previous life as a teacher of teenage mothers (because there are stories there that just couldn't be made up). So ummmm, yeah. When I finish prepping for the boards my next thing is to start writing. And keep on doing it until I get somewhere.

QUESTION 2: Meg asks about using a gestational carrier. Well, as I mentioned in the last post, I was never super concerned about my uterus until the last couple of cycles, when I started wondering why everyone who ever looked at it made a comment about it's 'fluffy' appearance (don't you love the medical terms?). Fluffy sounds so nice and hospitable, but alas, not so much. At any rate, I think my eggs are the bigger problem and so no, we never really thought much beyond just trying to make some nice looking embryos. And we all know how that story went.

And Meg--yes, I want to know when we will meet too!

QUESTION 3:
Rebecca, a fellow baker, wants to know what is the best thing I've ever baked. I'd have to say homemade bread. I love it, I could eat an entire loaf in one sitting, and the smell of homemade bread baking is just divine. The recipe I use has a starter, that you feed, and then you make the dough, let it rise, punch it down, let it rise again--all in all a 2-3 day process. But it is so worth it. I'll have to post the recipe another day, it's long and wordy.

QUESTION 4:
Comes from the lovely Ellie, whom I've had the pleasure of meeting in person just by chance (so lucky!). I think I answered the book question above, as far as my own book.

She also asks what books I love: far too many to list here. I love to read and a good book is a pleasure that is hard to beat. I definitely love memoirs, probably the best. There is something about knowing what you're reading is true, and that the author persevered to get to a place to write about it and have their story heard...it just resonates with me.

Ellie also asks why did I never drink alcohol? It's true. I'm a non-drinker and have been all my life. I think I've finished 2-3 alcoholic drinks TOTAL in my entire life. Initially it was a control thing--everyone I saw that drank was out of control (teenage years) and there was no.way.I.was.going.to.act.that.stupid. Then when I tasted it I didn't like it...my tongue gets numb... My parents never drank either, so maybe growing in a family that didn't drink made it more 'normal' for me not to either? Mr. LC doesn't drink any alcohol at all anymore either so I guess we're oddballs together.

Ellie's last question: do you feel betrayed when women who have been in the IF trenches and then find success blog like they've never been there at all? Well, yes and no. Usually, if someone crossed over and becomes a standard "Mommy blogger" I'm not going to keep reading. So I guess I just no longer pay attention as much. I'm sure it's impossible not to want to just gush and gush about your new life on the other side, but aside from knowing that you made it there (and probably digging into details of HOW) I probably won't check in quite as often anymore.

QUESTION 5:
Claudia: Email me and I'll tell you how to get the mister's CD. It's available nationwide, at a major online retailer, but since I'm still trying to keep this sort of anonymous I won't get more detailed than that.

QUESTION 6:
Anonymous asks about my lipid/medical expertise and how that plays into this--specifically, inflammatory markers. OK guys--I have a confession. I haven't had my own labs done in years. Well, aside from all the ridiculous ones required by CCRM, and a very thorough adrenal work up that I ordered on myself (perk) I have elected not to know my current lipid/inflammatory marker status. Clearly I don't think that's my issue. I know I have high cholesterol (thanks Mom and Dad!)--it's been crazy high in the past. Since I couldn't treat it with meds due to TTC I just worked on diet (vegetarian) and exercise and try to stay as healthy as possible. I know. I need to get some labwork done. Clinicians make the worst patients.

QUESTION 7:
Anonymous 2 asks
Does it bother you when people who have adopted tell you they couldn't love the child more if it was biologically related to them?
I don't think it really bothers me. I have bristled for years at the suggestion of adoption because you really have to be in the right frame of mind and process a lot of grief related to IF before those suggestions don't bother you. I guess I'm glad to hear someone say they love their child, but I wish there wasn't a comparison ever.

2. Do you and your DH ever consider living child free?
All.the.time. Because, aside from IF, our lives are pretty good. We have jobs we both enjoy, we have hobbies we both enjoy, we have volunteer experiences that we both enjoy, we love the city in which we live, we love our lifestyle. We are very lucky in all of these areas. But at the end of the day, we always fast forward 10-15 years and can't really imagine ourselves without children.

3. What are your next steps re: getting a child? I don't think you've said yet on here.
I haven't said on here yet because I'm just not there yet.

QUESTION 8:
SmittenKitten asks ideally how many kids we'd have, if we had a choice.
Two most definitely. I had one sibling, Mr. LC had one sibling, two kids just seems natural and right for us. As far as thinking about the second before having the first...not really...except when we were really naive with our first IVF and thought if we had some frozens (which of course we knew we'd get!) then wham, bam, there would be our siblings and we'd never have to do IVF again. Are you laughing? It's ok, go ahead and laugh.

QUESTION 9:
Penny..I put my sad meal plan up on last post. This week we're having homemade empanadas, those naan pizzas again, polenta with black beans, spaghetti squash with fresh tomatoes and homemade bread, and a vegetable plate: sweet potatoes, broccoli, and green beans. Yes, I have already planned the week. We went grocery shopping today, so what can I say?

QUESTION 10:
Rambler asks a few:
1. Would you be willing to share any more cool videos with us? Yes indeedio. Stay tuned.
2. If you could have any career in the world, regardless of degree or salary, what would it be? Some type of performer--most likely a dancer on Broadway.
3. What made you finally go to CCRM? I think I've answered this--but in a word, desperation.
4. Do you have anyone else in either family that has had to deal with IF at this level? Do you have anyone you can share with IRL, besides DH? No one in my family has IF. My sister had two easy conceptions/pregnancies. All my cousins (and there are a LOT of them) had easy conceptions--one was 41 when she conceived her daughter and I have one cousin with a chronic, fatal illness who was told NOT to get pregnant and yup--two children (who both have a milder form of the same disease, but that's a whole other post). I do have some good friends who I share with, but I have definitely shared the most right here on the web.
5. If you could join any reality TV show, would you? And which one? No thanks.

QUESTION 9:
Brenda asks when we will meet.
You see, folks, Brenda is my IF twin. We really are two IF peas in a pod. And I would love to meet her. So as soon as we can, we need to make it happen.

QUESTION 10:
Tishi asks about our next steps and where do you see yourself in 5 years?
I don't have any firm answers for next steps, but in five years I definitely see myself as a mother. Some way, some how, it will happen.

Whew.

I am exhausted.

Thank you for all your lovely questions and also for hanging in as I blabbed on and on about me, so selfishly.

The Answers...Part II

2010-03-20T06:44:00.000-07:00

Doesn't the post title sound ominous? Or else so final? Ha. I wish I had the real 'answers.'

So I skipped Transplant's question about donor eggs when I went out of order, so that's where I'll start today.
Question #1: Why not donor eggs?

Ahhh, so tricky to answer this. DEs is something we certainly considered. Mr. LC didn't have a problem with donor gametes of either kind, as donor sperm has been suggested as well as donor eggs. I could never get my mind around it. I think it's a great choice for a lot of people, and obviously--this being my blog--these are just my opinions on this, silly as they may be, uninformed as they may be, etc. etc.

Some of it boils down to some very simple (and again, probably somewhat misguided) thoughts about: if we can't both be related to the child, then neither of us will be. I have this idea about the future and people making comments about a child of donor origin resembling one of us--and me cringing because I know they're wrong. I know that sounds shallow. And I know you get used to those comments, and learn how to deal with them, etc. But this is probably why the adoption we're most open to is international--I have this idea that if it's just 'out there' from the beginning it will be easier. Easier on who? I guess me. But this is a very complicated and emotional process, the whole giving up a genetic connection. I could never imagine the talks I would have with a child conceived from donor gametes, so I probably explored the idea only very superficially, got scared, and then moved on from those ideas.

And the other big 'if' with donor--it doesn't always work. Initially I was lured in by the seemingly magic cure-all of donor eggs. But I have seen too many failures--sometimes multiple--with donor eggs to know that it is not a magic bullet. Honestly I just couldn't put myself out there for that possibility of failure, not to mention the massive expense.

QUESTION #2:
Lis...you're too funny. I recently started using Finesse shampoo. I don't know why, it was probably on sale.
Chocolate or vanilla? Most definitely chocolate. I'm not opposed to vanilla, but usually only if it has chocolate incorporated in it too.
What song makes me cry? Many songs make me cry. Too many songs make me cry. The other day at work someone was listening to the radio and "Unforgettable" with Nat King Cole and Natalie Cole came on and I immediately teared up because that was the song we danced to at our wedding. Old school gospel songs being sung with my Dad...really old church hymns where I can totally 'hear' my Mamaw's off-key tenor voice singing along... Mr. LC's song "Chalice" (not a kids song) when the lyrics say: "Bare feet burn, and empty bellies churn. It's hand to mouth, not enough to go 'round." I don't think there's enough room in this post to list all the songs that make me cry.

What do I want to be when I grow up? Still growing up I guess, so who knows!

QUESTION #3:
Mrs. Hope asks for a meal plan for a week.
I'll just give you last week's for simplicity sake:
Monday: 'fake chicken' enchilada casserole, black beans, and Basmati rice with avocado slices on the side. Don't knock the fake chicken products until you try them.
Tuesday: egg white omelets with red and green bell peppers, red onions, organic cheese, salsa, avocado slices (must have been on sale!), with soy sausage on the side (again, don't knock it until you try it). We love breakfast for dinner.
Wednesday: little individual pizzas made on garlic naan, with red peppers, green peppers, pesto, red onions, fresh tomatoes and a small amount of organic cheese.
Thursday: leftovers from Monday
Friday: sweet potatoes with black beans, salsa, and MORE avocado slices.

Honestly, that was a pretty basic week. We eat a lot of black beans, a lot of bell peppers, and not enough other vegetables. We also make a lot of paninis, polenta, vegetarian chili and soups, veggie burgers, edamamme salad, spaghetti squash spaghetti (delish!), butternut squash enchiladas (delish!)...

QUESTION #4:
Jezzafuji, so many thoughtful questions. Here goes...

Overall, I'd say my Mom is holding up fairly well given all she's been through. She buried her father two weeks before my Dad--her husband of 43 years--had his massive stroke. She is adjusting to her new life and sometimes I get so caught up in my Dad's health I forget about my Mom's. I need to work on that.

As far as our treatments--she knew about them all except our last chance IVF. I did that cycle two months after my Dad's stroke and kept it a secret. Some days I am not sure how I managed that... My mom's heart broke in ways that I obviously cannot imagine every time our hearts broke through infertility. I had not even told her we were TTC for the whole first year, the theory being that it would be such a great surprise when we finally got to tell her good news. When I decided to have a laparoscopy I felt it was only fair to let her in. I will never forget her response when I told her we'd been trying and failing for over a year: "But all those months I could have been consoling you!" She cried a lot of tears.

I was strangely disconnected from her during our actual IVF treatments...it was too hard for me to hear about her pain when I was in so much myself. I'm glad I kept the last cycle a secret--if she had heard the joy in my voice the morning I had the positive HPT and then had it ripped away the next day she might have well suffered a stroke herself. But then there were days when I felt like I was literally coming apart myself trying to deal with our lastchance failure plus my Dad's stroke and all I really wanted was my mother, but I couldn't share everything nor make emotional demands on someone who was emotionally drained. It's so hard trying to balance it all. That's when I leaned so heavily on you guys, and you didn't let me down.

How does DH cope with the failures? The first IVF failure blew him apart in ways he never could have anticipated--we're talking a serious crisis of many things--faith in God, faith in science, etc. After that, he says he just never had any more expectations. Sure, he got somewhat excited about future cycles but never expected anything. Sad, isn't it?

He does not blog.

I think he's grateful I share things online because it encourages me to write and it has afforded me support that has been invaluable.

As far as having friends of his own for support--not really, not of the male variety. Our mutual female friends have said they're sorry, and he's been included in cards expressing such sentiment, but no one has ever put their hand on his shoulder and told them they're sorry for all he's been through. His own brother went through IVF (once, flawless cycle ending with success) and has yet to even say two words to him about our struggles (however, they're not really close). He chalks it up to males being males--ie not really sharing things of this sort, but I know he's felt isolated and alone. I'm sure he would have welcomed a mention, an acknowledgment of the suckitude--even a hug--at any time through this.

I think I put myself through this for the both of us. Never just for him, and maybe more for me. Although he was always supportive of cycling, he probably would have stopped two cycles back if he hadn't still seen his wife still in a place of quiet desperation and needing to continue to try treatments.

Favorite memory of my Dad that still makes me cry: My wedding day. I was standing at the back of the church and suddenly, it was just my Dad and I. All my bridesmaids had gone down the aisle before us, my Mom was already seated. There was no one left, just Dad and I, in the narthex of my childhood church. Time seemed to be standing still. I was literally shaking with nerves--my enormous bouquet (again, it was 1994 people) was quivering. My Dad grabbed on to my hand and squeezed it. He said "If you don't want to do this, you don't have to, even right now--it's not too late." Now--before you think that sounds strange, it wasn't. My Dad loved Mr. LC. He had no doubt Mr. LC loved me. But my Dad was just making sure, and making sure I knew that even though we were there, the money had all been spent, the church was full of people literally on their feet waiting for my arrival, that if I wasn't sure I didn't have to do it. He just wanted me to be happy. Obviously, we know how it turned out. I made my way down that aisle, to Mr. LC nearly sixteen years ago and said "I do."

The other day I called home and my Mom put my Dad on the phone. He immediately said "Hi Pumpkin!" in his regular Dad voice. It caught me so off-guard (he has been slipping so much lately and not really talking or sounding like himself) that I had to control my tears to be able to talk. Oh to be called Pumpkin by your Dad when you're a 35 year old woman....

Signing off now. Thanks for hanging in.

The answers....part I

2010-03-18T06:10:00.000-07:00

Wow--thanks for all your thoughtful questions and some funny ones, too. At first I thought I'd just make my next post all the answers but I think it would get too wordy and then you'd fall asleep reading and so I'll just take them one by one, in the order in which they were received, and see how far I get.

And um, yeah, I'm supposed to be studying right now. And seeing patients. So in between the two, I'm answering you.

QUESTION 1:
Dawn: How I got to CCRM? I'm assuming you don't literally mean how--but just in case, we flew and stayed in a hotel for a long two weeks :) As far as what you really mean...there's a small backstory. When we first started down the road of IVF, we naturally and stupidly and blissfully amateurishly thought it would be the answer to our problems. After the first failure, I remember my mother telling me about a friend of a friend who saw our local RE and after five failures, he sent them to CCRM and it worked! At the time I nearly fell apart thinking "Who in hell does five IVFs and still puts themselves through more?" Ha ha. I also thought: how could one clinic do something that much better than another? So we had heard of the infamous CCRM early on.

After our third failure with the local guy I will never forget sitting in his office, for the big WTF appointment. My body was so tense, I knew he was going to say it was over for us. I was 33 years old. He basically gave us crappy break-up line in reverse: "it's not us it's YOU." We asked about a second opinion and he said we were welcome to it. He didn't specifically recommend CCRM but we mentioned it and he said they were certainly good. I cried the whole way home.

After much discussion and review of our finances we reverted to blissful fools again and thought CCRM would be the answer to our problems. It didn't hurt that they gave us good odds on our phone consult and seemed confident they could help us. I started following threads on a support site that was just for CCRM and lo and behold, it sure seemed like everyone who went there wound up successful.

It is almost impossible to answer the second part of your CCRM question: knowing what we know now would we go back? Obviously no, because we sunk 40K into two more futile attempts. However, it's not even that simple, because I watched women all around me with similar histories go there and succeed. So who the heck knows. I do know this: they're not miracle workers. They're good, but you have to stay on top of them--I advocated more for myself there than locally (but some of that was just sheer desperation and reaching the end of my rope and needing to feel like I was controlling something--anything). They're very busy and they have increased their number of cycles without increasing their number of REs so I think there can be things that fall through the cracks. But they do help lots of people, there's no disputing that.

Just not us.

And no, I've never read "Sweet Grapes." I'm so behind on all reading right now, but I'll add it to my list.

QUESTION 2:
StrongWoman asks about CCRM (answered above) and also how I cope with other IVF bloggers' successes.

Hmmmmm, very delicately. I will not lie and say that it's easy. I usually cry. Sometimes many times. I think "why them and not me" every single time. They've been through a lot, I've been through a lot. If it was about deserving most of the women I've met in the blogworld would have succeeded long ago. I guess I just want to keep showing support through their happy times because they've shown support for me through my crappy times. I think the one of the things that annoys me the most in the blogworld is when successful folks just fade away and stop blogging or stop supporting. I get it that you might not know what to say to those of still stuck in the trenches but to be forgotten...that sucks worse than anything.

QUESTION 3:
Me asks if we had an infinite amount of money would we keep going until it worked.

Oh boy.

This one is so complicated so I'm just going to speak from the heart.

Initially I always said I that if money were no object I would just do IVF until it worked, no ifs ands or buts. That I could handle the physical and the emotional stuff, just give me the monetary resources to go go go.

Some days I still think I could.

But then I think about all those phone calls. You know the ones. The ones where your world comes crashing around you when you hear about the crappy fertilization report, or the poorly developing embryos. No one really gets what IVF is unless they've done it, and multiple times. I tried to capture it in my video but even there, we chose to portray the mostly lighthearted and silly parts. But remember that BFN phone call we captured on video?

That was us--the mister and I-- getting our hearts shattered once again, in live action full color.

We turned the camera off before the true sobbing began, before I became comatose on the couch and felt like I was dying.

Throughout IVF there are so many opportunities to have your heart shatter.

So I don't know if I have the emotional reserve to keep doing that to myself. It hurts. It hurts so much sometimes, when I think back on the totality of the failures and the number of those phone calls I've been subjected to, I am surprised I kept going back for more.

Not to mention I am scared of the long-term effects of all the artificial hormones despite what the studies say. I work in medicine, I read studies, I know how one year one study says something positive and the next year the data is conflicting. I know women who did 5 IVFs and are getting prophylactic hysterectomies and oopherectomies so they don't have the cancer fear looming.

And the money. Even if I had unlimited funds, I have to say there has been a lot of guilt suffered in our household over the money spent on this extremely selfish pursuit. *I am calling myself selfish here, I am not judging anyone else*. Why did we need to see our own DNA passed on so desperately that we could spend so much money? I don't know and it makes me uncomfortable with myself to this very day. Maybe that's why I try to volunteer a lot, to give back, to try to balance the scales. If I had unlimited funds and wanted to keep trying until it worked maybe I'd have to donate twice as much as I spent to charities...three times as much? Four times as much?

Me also asks: What scares us the most about adopting?

I can say honestly that being a party to a process that ends in empty arms for one mother scares me. Regardless of the reason the birth parents cannot parent there is sadness. I am scared of being resented by my child one day. I ache for the pain that goes with adoption for all parties, and anyone who thinks its painless is fooling themselves. I think the only way I wouldn't be scared is if I truly had an orphan--a child literally with no parents or other family to speak of, but that doesn't happen often. In international adoption, poverty is often the driving force for birth parents not being able to parent their children. The 25K it costs to adopt internationally could lift 25 families out of that poverty so they could parent their own children. But that would still leave me with empty arms.

That's what scares me. There are many other things that delight and thrill me regarding the idea of adoption. But that's not what you asked so I'll stop typing now.

Anonymous 1 said thank you. Thank you back. It's good to hear.

I'm going to skip the donor eggs question for this post, but will get to it in the next one. This post is already getting very lengthy and that one might be a lengthy answer....

QUESTION 4:
Kris: As I said above, there's always a poor-me moment and some sadness watching others succeed while I don't. But I like to hear updates on my blog friends, I like to see pictures, I like to see that others made it through the inferno. Sometimes I'm quieter than other times, but it usually doesn't mean anything.

QUESTION 5:
Anonymous: I have to be honest here. I have not yet bought a lottery ticket. Don't hate me. I have plans to start soon, I promise. As far as what else to do for me, I don't think there is anything. I think we're fairly un-fixable.

QUESTION 6:
MistyDawn:
I am not a doctor and I do not have a PhD. I do have two Master's degrees and one of those is an MSN (nursing) and I'm a clinical nurse specialist in endocrinology and see my own patients.

I did five total IVFs. I've been told to do donor eggs, donor sperm, try again, or stop...all from different REs.

I've been lucky that my DH and I have basically been on the same page for most of this journey. And yes, we're open to adoption despite the fears I expressed above.

I was married in 1994 in Texas. I had big hair and an even bigger train. Oh the humanity. I graduated high school in 1992, so yes, I was a child bride. College: BS: 1995, first MS: 1997, second MS: 2005. I like school. I don't like lipid board exams.

How can I run that long? I don't. That was a projected cumulative minutes over the weekend. I usually max out at 75 minutes of trail running at a time and that's pushing it. I really only enjoy running on trails--pretty much hate it on the street.

Our NY trip will involve a music conference for DH, two performances by him, and of course vacationing. Plus a meet up with one of my favorite authors and greatest encouragers of all time :) I'm also planning on spending some time with Gail, one of my first online IF friends. Her baby girl is almost one! And most definitely: there will be pictures.

And now before you die from boredom, I'll stop and resume this tomorrow or the next day.

Is a Q&A pompous?

2010-03-16T08:13:00.001-07:00

So I have a few topics swirling around in my little lipid factoid addled brain but none are bubbling to the surface and writing themselves into lucid posts.

I wondered if it would be fun (?) to have readers, or lurkers, or whoever, ask questions. I mean, not that anyone is sitting around just dying to know things about me, but every now and again someone does pose a question in a comment and I realize I never go back and revisit those...so maybe here's your chance? Your chance to question LastChance?

I imagine the questions will be about infertility, child-free stuff, adoption, etc. etc. but I guess I'm open to other stuff too...

And if this is an epic fail of a post, well, I'm used to dealing with failure so no biggie.

Stealing a post about numbers...

2010-03-13T05:11:00.001-08:00

Saw this on Penney's blog and couldn't resist stealing.

1,213-number of random facts I have memorized about lipid metabolism.

2,567- number still to learn.

200-estimated number of said facts that are actually useful to me in my practice.

3.5-number of weeks until the test.

180-estimated number of planned minutes of trail running to do this weekend (the weather is divine).

75-minutes of yoga to do on Sunday.

0-number of abs exercises I have done lately...and boy is it showing.

2-number of homeless men who flirted with me last night at the shelter. Hey, when you've got it, you've got it....

1-number of rabbits offered to me randomly at a gas station yesterday. Very weird indeed.

4-number of pounds of chihuahua that can absolutely crowd you out of your own bed. Seriously.

1-upcoming mission trip to Mexico to possibly plan/coordinate, although I fear I am crazy to take on yet another responsibility like this...

48-number of days until we fly to NYC.

7-number of days we will be there.

2-number of OKGo shows for which I have purchased tickets.

8-number of pounds I would like to lose.

17-number of pages I have read in my current book club book, "The Help." (anyone read it?)

449-total number of pages in said book. I need to get busy.

1,440-total number of minutes in a day.

60-number of minutes we will lose tonight to Daylight Savings. Sniff sniff.

2-number of deer I can see right this minute in my yard nibbling the grass.

1-beautiful blue lake I can see from my front yard if I crane my neck just so....

76-number of degrees Fahrenheit it will be today. Aaaaah, springtime in Central Texas.

17-number of minutes I have spent dwaddling while writing this post, despite all the things listed above that I need to do.

2-number of babies I will have in a perfect world.

A vent.

2010-03-09T08:38:00.001-08:00

You know, I've been trying to be cheerful in my last posts. And it's not fake, I have been more cheerful in my real life, not just in the blogworld.

So why, why, why, why did my last patient annoy me so much?

Oh wait. I'll tell you why.

Because she's 40. And just had her third baby. And she has complicated type 1 diabetes which makes pregnancy dangerous and difficult. And she brought one of her little hellions with her to the appointment, and he rocketed all around my office the whole time being disrespectful.

He grabbed on to my tiny Curious George doll--given to me during the middle of IVF #2 by a dear coworker who was one of the only ones who ever asked how things were going so it is special to me--and drooled on it. And this kid is around 4-5 so he shouldn't be chewing on my stuffed animals (I deliberately move it if there is a toddler around as they can't help but want my Curious George doll, he's so adorable!).

And I remained patient and focused on the patient, trying to make small talk with the little boy to keep him occupied as well.

I needed to start on her statin therapy and so I had to utter the words: "But you cannot conceive while on this medication."

Her response: "Oh puleeze. I have three. I am so done it's not even funny!"

Of course you are.

On the way out, her: "Do you have kids?"

"No," I said boldly. "I had five failed in vitro cycles though."

To her credit she said "My God, I'm so sorry" and looked appropriately sad for me.

And then...wait for it...

"Maybe if you adopt you'll get pregnant."

And she's a nurse practitioner for God's sake.

Then her little boy slammed my office door so hard my diploma nearly fell off the wall.

Good. I wanted to slam it myself.

PS To those of you reading this who have children....please do not take them to your doctor appointments. I realize this is a huge inconvenience for you but it is really one of the things we all (all of us doctors and other providers) consistently complain about...people dragging their kids in for important medical visits and then they're half-focused on things and the kids are bored and irritable and so if you do it, just know we're going to talk about you in the lunchroom. Unless your kids are well behaved angels.

PPS You guys are really making too much about our sad little volunteer work. It just helps me keep perspective.

PPSS And speaking of perspective, I went sky diving ten years ago and am DYING to go again. Only Mr. LC doesn't want to go again. I think my friends with kids would say no to that because of the risk, but I don't want to go alone. Anyone coming my way want to go with me?

I need a weekend from my weekend

2010-03-08T06:24:00.001-08:00

Do you ever feel that way? Like you just go go go all weekend with very little rest periods and now how the heck is it Monday again and work again and all I really want to do is take a nice long nap.

And watch movies, because I did manage to watch some of the Oscars last night and it actually served to make me want to see some of the movies mentioned/honored. Any recommendations? I'm very picky about movies in general.

I am trying to keep a grateful heart. Here I am complaining about being so busy but here are two of the things that kept me busy: on Saturday night we worked at our church, which becomes a temporary homeless shelter for families working very hard to secure transitional housing. So yeah, they sleep at different churches every.single.week.for.months. On cots or other temporary bedding. And pack up all their wordly belongings every Sunday and move on to the next church, children in tow. And I got to go home Saturday night and lay my head on my very own pillow in my very own bed in my very own bedroom inside my very own home.

Yesterday afternoon we participated in CROP Walk to end world hunger. The walk itself wasn't anything grueling, we kind of sucked at raising money (it is so hard for me to ask people to support those things, which is lame, I know) and honestly we were complaining about the stops along the walk to learn about the world hunger issues. We wanted to just turn in our money and walk and be done! Horrible, I know. And then we went home, fixed a delicious meal, ate until we were very full, and certainly know where our next 1,000 meals are coming from.... and yet so much of the world goes hungry every single day. I can barely wrap my brain around that since we are a nation of abundance.

In between some of these projects I was studying. Studying studying studying. I have a gazillion index cards with notes on them and the Mister is awesome at quizzing and helping me come up with little ways to keep the details all straight. And it is so much on the details. My head feels like it is going to explode. So I'm trying to be grateful that I have educational opportunities... I am approved to sit for the board exam in about one month. ONE MONTH. Sheesh.

Anyway, I guess I am just craving a completely do-nothing kind of a weekend but I don't see one coming for a very long time.

How about you? How was your weekend?

Things that make me smile.

2010-03-06T07:56:00.000-08:00

Eek I re-read that last post part about other awesome news and realized that most definitely sounded baby-related.

Sorry to disappoint. I didn't magically come up pregnant. We haven't fixed our problems, we didn't win some "cycle until you succeed contest" (oh my, can you imagine if such a contest/program existed?). But, I think when there are major things in your life that are in disarray sometimes when other, less significant things fall into place you get overly excited about them, and that's probably what I did.

The mister booked a couple of very big shows in a very good location that make our upcoming trip much, much easier to afford/do. So yes, we are very excited!

And isn't is kismet that OKGo is playing in Brooklyn the night we arrive? And that I got tickets? And that now it's a sold out show (sold out in a few hours). And that they are also coming to our town here and yeah, I got tickets to that show too. I know I'm a shameless fangirl, I will make no apologies. If you haven't seen their latest video, please do take a look (4.7 million already have, so if you haven't you're a little behind). And I don't know why this matters but I loved them long before they were YouTube phenoms with their amazing videos. They had me at the first live show I saw, when they were relatively unknown but just amazing performers. Anyway, I digress.

So yes, things are falling into place that are small in the grand scheme of things, but they do indeed make me happy. And if elevating some of those things to an out of scale status helps keep me sane, then so be it.

Gratitude

2010-03-04T06:54:00.000-08:00

So we bought a used car. It's a Subaru wagon, and it's silver, and I'd like to name it The Silver Bullet but since we have always called each other Scoobie or Scoob we are betting it'll end up being called Scoob's Sube. Or the SCUBARU. Or something like that. At any rate, the mister is driving it now because, come on, he has been driving around the old overheating mess for forever now and he deserves a smooth commute.

Yesterday when we were driving home with the car, following each other, making plans to go to dinner to celebrate (some other things happened yesterday that were pretty awesome too but we're not quite talking about them yet) I just felt so overcome with luck.

We are wealthy beyond measure.

I was reading a book yesterday on living a more disciplined life. The author pointed out that just the fact that I could buy the book and have the luxury of time to read it meant I'm wealthy by the world's standard.

And there we were yesterday--driving off in a new used car, going out to dinner, then home to exercise, then probably to watch some television and then maybe to study (me) or play music (him) with our leisure time.

We have no idea of our wealth.

Just owning a car and a home places us as wealthier than 95% of the world's population. It's enough to make me cry.

All around me people struggle to make ends meet, who never get a relaxing evening out as they work themselves to the bone with one low paying job and then move on to the next. Did anyone read "Nickeled and Dimed?" Powerful, powerful stuff.

There is no such thing as ownership. Everything--the Silver Bullet, our house, even our children--do not belong to us. They come to us and they pass through us, but we do not own them.

And the most beautiful things in life are still very much free. Free free free. And they cannot be owned either.

I have griped endlessly on here about money. About spending $80K for a chance at a pregnancy. I know I am lucky to have even had the chance. Do I wish it had worked out differently? Of course. I'm human and I'm not stupid and I know that money in the bank is a luxurious thing and honestly I wish that $80K was in the bank. But it was never mine to begin with, right? It passed through me, it fueled my quest, my hope. It served its purpose I suppose.

Oh guys, I have been so lucky.

Blogger WTF?

2010-03-01T18:47:00.000-08:00

I'll admit it, and it's probably no surprise.

I heart comments.

Sometimes when things aren't great I'll re-read old comments and they warm me right up, like my electric blanket throw but much more cheaply. Seriously, I love my electric blanket throw but it is a serious electricity hog and that makes me feel guilty.

Anyway, today I was just looking back at my 'edit posts' section and noticed that for a considerable section of my posts there are no comments. They're all gone.

I know they were there before. Where for art thou comments?

Is anyone else having these issues? They'd better come back....

On another note, can I say that I loathe car shopping?

It is neither fun nor exciting. I hate talking to car salespeople, I hate feeling like I'm automatically getting the screwgie, I hate thinking about car payments, and I hate thinking that as soon as we buy one something better will come along. I barely even wanted to test drive one today because I was convinced I'd have a wreck and having the salesman in the back seat made me all nervousy and I was driving like a granny.

And also, we're getting a wagon of some type.

I'll let you read into that whatever you will.

But seriously, are we cool or what?

Words

2010-02-28T20:00:00.000-08:00

Words are so powerful.

Or sometimes it's the lack of words that have meaning.

My Dad doesn't talk much anymore. He stares into space a lot. A lot.

So much of the weekend I talked to him, looking right in his deep brown eyes, and he didn't respond at all.

Sometimes he would, but mostly to just ask me to do something like reposition his leg or arm.

So I just kept on talking, just in case.

"Mrs. LC!" he called out, so many times. And every time I would rush to his side, and then....silence.

Late yesterday evening, weary from being met with silence so many times I rushed to his side once again. I leaned down and said "Dad, I got my hopes up that you were going to tell me something!"

And slowly, slowly, he said "I was going to tell you that I love you."

Oh Dad.

I know how much pain you and Mom have felt over the years watching Mr. LC and I suffer through the heartbreak of infertility because I feel it so deeply for you right now. You have wanted to fix it and you can't. I want to fix you and I can't. All I can do is love you, deeply deeply deeply.

Did you guys know that two weeks before my Dad's stroke I was angry at him. So, so angry. Things were not good with my parents. My Dad pulled a stunt at my mother's father's funeral and I was so angry at him. So angry I didn't want to talk to him--no more words.

I can honestly say that whatever happened in the past is meaningless now. It all dissolved on June 10th, 2009. There is only room for love.

Oh Dad, thank you for saying those sweet sweet words to me. It was worth one million silent responses.

(that's me as a baby on his shoulder)

*On a completely different note, the two words "It's over" in the infertility world should never be written. Please go give Mrs. Hope some love. She has been a tireless supporter for Mr. LC and I, for countless others struggling through this battle, and she has just received devastating news.

My heart breaks for you Mrs. Hope.

RIP Saucer

2010-02-25T06:42:00.000-08:00

Well, we knew it was going to happen at some point.

We had been so thrifty over the years...patching Mr. LC's little white Honda Civic (1995 edition) which we called the Saucer, with cheap repairs and such...begging it to just keep on driving so we could pour our resources into medical treatment. Every two days Mr. LC dutifully filled certain fluids that just kept leaking out all over the place. He didn't complain when the cassette tape player stopped working, although he has an impressive collection of cassettes and that was the only place he could listen to them. He started listening to the radio exclusively. When the antenna broke and the radio stations really didn't come in well he didn't complain. When it barely made it up hills in our hilly environment he didn't complain. When the AC went out he just rolled down the windows.

Yesterday it finally bit the dust.

Almost while we were driving downtown, no less. It lurched along for miles, shaking and shimmying and trying to hang on, and now, it's resting in peace in his workplace parking lot.

Oh the fun of car shopping! (sarcasm). This was not.in.the.budget...it is stretched so tightly right now.

Do we get a 'family car' and hope for the best?
Do we get a sports car with two seats only?
Do we abandon all our objections and buy a giant SUV so we can fit in with the masses?

OK, you know we aren't going to do number 3. No way no how.
And number two, well, that doesn't really fit with us either. We're not really sporty-car types.

So yeah, we'll probably look for some type of small wagon with good gas mileage. Neither of us are into cars for the looks. They need to be dependable, inexpensive, and get good gas mileage. Honda Civics have done the trick for years. Mine doesn't even have automatic windows or door locks--I still get looks when I go through a drive through and have to crank down the window! But a wagon...with a teeny bit more room...well, it's tempting.....

We're also going to see my Dad after work today and through the weekend. He's no better, no worse. I just need to see him. To sit by his bedside and talk. To wrap my arms around his frail little body and hug tightly. To give him a backscratch or massage his neck. To sing with him. To read him the sports page or a devotional, if he'll allow me to.

To ask for advice on what kind of car to get. Because even at age 35, I still need him. And he's here. By God, he's here.

Uh-oh, and an award.

2010-02-22T18:59:00.000-08:00

I think my last post came off in a weird way.

I guess I was just playing around with dictionary definitions, and plus what the mister had said...and while technically we might not meet any formal definition of family, I will never ever forget coming home from IVF #4 (our supposed to be CC.R.M. miracle where we had a catastrophic fertilization report that led to a transfer of the only two embryos we had and we just felt like the whole world had been ripped out from under our feet and we could barely breathe) and climbing into bed that night after being away from home for so very long and the sweet Mr. LC grabbing my hand and saying "Today we are a family of seven. Two adults, two embryos, and three furbabies."

So thank you to Meg (and others) for reminding me that our embryos--microscopic as they may have been--have been our children and thus for a few moments in time we have met, in a crazy way, the formal definition of 'family.' But who needs formal definitions anymore, right?

Anyway, onward to the award.

Sometimes I think about stopping writing the blog. I mean, I started it to document IVF #5--the secret IVF--in a safe, anonymous place where I could get support. It started slow and has grown. As you all well know, IVF #5 has come and gone and so now where are we? What is there to write about? Obviously I'm a talker--er, writer--and always have something to say. But I often wonder if this place has outlived its utility. And then I get two of the sweetest emails this week telling me to keep writing. Thank you.

Today Mommy's Midlife Crisis awarded me a blog award, the "Beautiful Blogger" award that many of you have seen. Here is what she said: Last Chance IVF (where I've learned a lot about how honesty, a sense of humor and pain can co-mingle into some beautiful writing. Her blog also reminds me to be grateful for where I am today, as I was in a very similar state of mind 5 years ago... when I think I was roughly the same age that she is now, in fact. Which is also why I have great hopes for her!)

So yes, I think I will keep on writing. I clearly have a lot to process, and who would I better process it with than you lovelies.

Oh yes, the award says to write/tell seven random things about you:

1) I do not get curling as an Olympic sport. I am waiting (hopeful?) that there will be an SNL spoof of it. That's all I'm saying.
2) I am a fairly snooty vegetarian sometimes (need to work on that). It particularly comes out when I see someone else's cart at the grocery store and it's loaded with bloody meat. It grosses me out. Of course, only a couple of years ago I was eating said bloody meat so there you go.
3) I still have my Ginkie. Yup. It's the blanket I was wrapped in coming home from the hospital some 35.5 years ago. Yup. It's sitting right next to me right this very second (dying a million deaths of embarrassment now).
4) I am not much of a traveler as in I have not been very many places. We tend to just go to NYC over and over again because we love it so much and it's so comfortable/familiar. I need to broaden my horizons in a major way, and come into some extra money for traveling! Currently planning NYC trip number (I've lost count) because the mister has a show in Brooklyn coming up. Can I just say: springtime in the city? Tulips in Central Park? I cannot.wait.
5) Sometimes, when I'm having a particular awesome 'couple day' I freak out and think "Why are we pushing so hard to have kids? This life is great! Why would we want to mess it up?" It's usually short lived when I see an 'aaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwww' family moment right after that...
6) Anyone who knows me in real life know this: I don't eat fruit. It's a texture thing. I will eat bananas occasionally. Other than that and my penchant for sweets, I'm pretty healthy :)
7) I have long hair now, but it was once 1/2 inch all over, as in an uber pixie. Man was it easy to take care of!

I think this award has been passed around quite a bit, so if anyone feels moved to write seven things about themselves, consider yourself nominated!

Edited to add: I am at work, and it's 'snowing' which where I live is a big deal, which means all the patients are late, or no-showing, or calling and canceling so while I should be studying, instead I'm checking comments on my blog. And now addressing one. So anon. asked if it helps or hurts to know if a lot of parents would be jealous of the lifestyle we have. I have a pretty good idea that a lot of parents would be jealous of the lifestyle we have--because they tell us. As in, we hear all the time how nice it must be to be able to just do whatever we want whenever we want, etc. We realize we're lucky in this regard, but as far as helping...I don't know. It's a nice life, which is why I mentioned my regular freakouts over it changing drastically if we ever get lucky enough to have a child, but I will say that it's a nice life tempered with some sadness. Yes, we can go trail running at the drop of a hat. But on that trail we will always pass Dad's with kiddos in back packs, or Mom's pushing jog strollers, or families picnicking by the creek. And their life looks pretty good too. I think what everyone, everywhere, fertile, infertile, married, single, etc. etc. is always struggling just to be in the moment with what they have, to recognize that it is enough, and to find the joy in the life that they have. I know I am.

Semantics

2010-02-22T05:52:00.000-08:00

When you're infertile, you throw around the phrase "family of two" quite often. I know I have defiantly stated that we are a family of two, with some furbabies to boot.

But how many times have I heard people tell me that it wasn't until they had children that they truly became a family?

True, the other week Mr. LC said, quite matter of factly, "No, we're not a family. We're a couple."

It stung even though he wasn't trying to sting. Mr. LC likes to deal with reality, the present, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized he's 100% absolutely correct...we--the mister and I--do not constitute a family.

For further proof I consulted the dictionary, good old Merriam Webster. Here is what I found:

The first listed definition said this: a group of individuals living under one roof and usually under one head. Well, um, ok. We are a very small group of individuals living under one roof but I can tell you there isn't a 'head.' So no, that doesn't really fit.

Second definition said "a group of persons of common ancestry"--nope, we're not related. Next was "a group of peoples regarded as deriving from a common stock, race, etc. etc."--again, not what I was looking for. There was discussion of the scientific version of 'family' and then finally, finally, the definition of what most people think of when they use/say/hear the word.

"The basic unit in society traditionally consisting of two parents rearing their children; also: any of various social units differing from but regarded as equivalent to the traditional family; spouse and children."

And come on: the 'various social units' they are referring to are not 'two adults without kids'--they are referring to single parents, same sex parents, etc. You can't get away from children being an essential component of family.

So yeah, I guess we aren't a family, despite my repeated attempts at making us fit into that definition.

We are a couple.

A damn good one, if I do say so myself (did I mention that when I flew in late late late from SF the entire house was spotless--oh my wonderful Mr. LC!) and we certainly enjoy our couple-hood (long trail run this weekend, walk around Town Lake, yoga together, out to eat with good grown-up conversation sans any interruptions, a long nap on Saturday afternoon...etc. etc.) but it ain't family and it ain't family life (did you catch the nap, the run, the out to eat without any interruptions?)

Thoughts? I'm not trying to be a downer, I'm just trying to be practical and it's something that's been on my mind. In living through infertility, I have spent a lot of time trying to tell myself that it isn't as bad as it is, that it could be worse (most definitely could be!), and maybe sometimes sugar-coating things...all reliable coping mechanisms.

But if it doesn't quack like a duck, walk like a duck, or have feathers like a duck...let's face it, it isn't a duck.

Edited to Add: I hope I am not offending anyone. I'm speaking in terms of me, and Mr. LC, and our situation only. Obviously if anyone wants to call themselves a family of two that's fine by me, whatever works, I'm just kind of working through some of my previous coping mechanisms...so bear with me...

The only place in the world...

2010-02-18T18:49:00.001-08:00

Where infertility is not on my brain.

Because frankly folks, there is no room for anything other than lipoprotein biochemistry right now.

Yup, I'm in SF at my board review course. 16 hours with 50 uber nerds nerding it up together whilst being overwhelmed with alphabet soup. If you thought lipids were all about LDL, HDL, and TC.. wait! What about those ABC1 transporters and don't forget those SRB1 receptors and the LXR receptors and who doesn't love some CETP and ApoA1 and ApoB100 and...you get the point.

I guess there's some relief in being so completely brain drained that I cannot think about infertility or next steps or much else. All I really want to do is sleep right now and will someone please wake me up when I have taken and passed this damned board exam?

Plus, of all the people I've met today NOT ONE has been interested in my fertility (or lackthereof). Seriously, no one has asked me how many kids I have! No one cares. No one cares! Instead everyone is going nerd to nerd with the scientific stuff, trying to impress each other with their nerdliness. Gawd, you gotta love doctors, especially the cardiologists.

Fine by me. Here, I am just Mrs. LC, nerdy little lipid lady.

PS A commenter asked for my email address: lastchanceivf@gmail.com Send me those numbers!! :)

When a friend hurts...

2010-02-16T19:16:00.001-08:00

There isn't much you can do.

I have a very good fertile friend, who is hurting right now.

It may seem silly, but you guys know what support can mean, even if it comes from people you don't even know. Sometimes the kindness of strangers touches us the most deeply.

I guess I'm just asking you to lift her up, show her some support and love. She doesn't comment on my blog much, so you might not have ever seen her link around here, but believe you me, she has supported me wholeheartedly through the last five years of IF hell.

It's the least I can do now...

Her blog:
http://ihatericecakes.blogspot.com/

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh it's HERE!

2010-02-14T06:12:00.000-08:00

Yes! Yes! Yes!

The one holiday that--made up as it is--does NOT involve children. There will be no adorable kids in costumes at my door begging for candy, there will be no cuties on Santa's knee, or folks with hands joined around the table counting family blessings, there will be no toddler's toddling through fields of spring flowers looking for Easter Eggs, there will be no days devoted entirely to Mothers and Fathers....today there will be me and DH and our love.

Nothing more and nothing less.

And since infertility stories are really the deepest and bestest love stories of them all (I know I'm biased) today is a celebration of something big. Something special. It's commitment that goes deep, love that survives repeated batterings. It's two people that are running an ultra marathon together, pulling each other up the steep hills when necessary, huffing and puffing next to each other, sharing cool drinks of water and sometimes amazing vistas along the mostly painful path, but never stopping running...

Today, we will celebrate us.

And I hope you will, too.

(OK, not celebrate US as in Mr. LC and I--but celebrate your own love story!)

Enjoy!

Be Mine. Or just Be.

2010-02-11T20:50:00.000-08:00

So many of the infertile ladies I 'follow' online are becoming pregnant lately and I see a recurrent theme.

Not over the top scream from the top of your lungs jump up and down and run around in circles like a nutter happiness, but rather...trepidation. Fear. Happiness tempered with rampant 'what ifs.'

It makes me so sad for them. So sad.

They have been through so much that even finally hearing the words "I have good news! Congratulations!" is not enough. It simply cannot be.

And I wonder for them, if they can just 'be?'

Just be...pregnant.

The practice and idea of mindfulness is ancient. In overly simplistic terms it means being fully focused on the present...or maybe not even really focused on it, but moreso in that strange other-wordly place of bliss before the mind can start processing and sorting and assigning and labeling and thinking....and worrying and ruining everything.

It probably only lasts a millisecond for an infertile woman when she sees that second line, before she wonders if her beta will be high enough, then if it will double, then if she will see a heartbeat, then if she will pass the nuchal fold test, then if she will make it to...well, you get the point.

I think about the morning Mr. LC and I got the second line. It was blissful...for more than just a few seconds. I honestly didn't start really worrying about the number until the next morning. I guess I felt so surely that it was our time that the second line was all I needed to see. And honestly, I wanted so desperately to just be happy.

To just be....pregnant.

When I got the fake two lines a year before IVF #1 I ran around our house like a chicken with my head cut off whooping it up to my dogs, laughing and crying, laughing and crying, falling on my knees thanking God and man was I present in that moment only--there was simply no room for anything else.

I wish, to my fellow ladies that are in the process of crossing over, that your pregnancies are full of joy only. No room for fear. It's the way it is supposed to be, and I hate that IF robs you of that full experience.

No day but today--the theme of my favorite play. I promise I am not going all Zen on you--gag me with a spoon, man! but boy do I love that song. I love to sing it from the top of my lungs (badly!) and pretend like I am on the set. You can stop laughing now.

Happy Valentine's Day Weekend! I hope that whatever you are doing, however you are celebrating, whoever you are loving, whatever you are eating, that you do it fully and wholly and enjoy it one hundred percent without room for anything else and just....be.

Hearts

2010-02-07T05:17:00.000-08:00

Boy I hate that I have to put a disclaimer here--after all, my blog, my words, my opinions, should be A-OK--but we all know that isn't always the case. Sigh. So after what B went through earlier this week I'll put this disclaimer: I know that my troubles aren't necessarily any worse than anyone else's or that many people have it much worse. That is nearly always the case if you get right down to it..sure, there is one person out there who has it the absolute worst in the entire planet but...I doubt they're blogging about it :) So there you go. I do not need any drive-by STFUs.

This has been a tough week. Tough. On so many fronts, on so many levels.

My Dad is not good. At all. I call and he gets on the phone (unwillingly) and I might get two words from him. Two words. Either he's cognitively slipping that fast or he is so depressed that he cannot even respond to his own daughter. I cry every day over this, either in my office with the door shut after my lunch-break phone call or in the evening with Mr. LC after my drive-home phone call or all by myself in the shower when it just gets to be too much. He could live like this for years. Trapped in a body that has ultimately betrayed him, trapped in a brain that has suffered a traumatic and devastating injury. There is nothing about this that is fair or just or right and every day--sometimes every hour--I think about this, think about how I can help, reaching out to other health professionals for their opinions, reading articles about stroke, researching and researching and nothing helps. I just feel more helpless, more lost.

I guess I finally know how my parents have felt all these years watching Mr. LC and I hurting so much. Watching what we had planned for our lives slip away, bit by bit, as it was taken from us. Watching us get hopeful about a treatment and thinking we'd finally break free of our nightmare and then watching us get crushed all over again. Watching us navigate amongst friends and families who blissfully move through life having babies and babies and babies while we sit on the sidelines clinging to each other, hoping for a simple chance at what they have. My parents could only watch and want to help so desperately but had nothing--nothing at all to offer other than love.

I have always said that IF causes a heartache that you didn't even know can exist until you go through it. This is the same. I can't fix my broken father just like my parents can't fix the broken LCs.

On the IF front things are no better. I can't fix us. I have read and researched and read and researched and poured so much of my life into this and I am exhausted.

This week has been very hard. We have big decisions to make. Time looms. No one can make these for us and it is just hard. That's all.

Mr. LC's car is teetering on the edge. It's a 1995 model. When I think about the 20K check I wrote last month to pay for our twelve hours of two-line bliss I think about his car. His need for something else. Only we don't have a choice, do we? Those of us stuck in the trenches. We can't just choose to have car payments or vacations or building large retirement funds over building our families--we don't have that option. Some how, we have to figure out how to pay for chances that cost more than most people could save in a year but we do it, don't we? Choiceless, we do it.

We are choiceless in so many things.

My heart is heavy this week. So heavy. I can't even get into it all here, my safe place.

Instead, I will be grateful for certain things. Grateful for going to the movies with two of our favorite people and then going out for a late night meal to pick apart said movie (Avatar ya'll--once someone said "Dances With Wolves" only with aliens, well....). Grateful for my pets and my husband who never judge me, only listen and snuggle with me and catch my tears when they fall. Grateful for hobbies, and exercise, and two legs that work--that automatically run when I tell them to run and do yoga poses when I tell them to do yoga poses--my body may not work the way it is supposed reproductively, but I am at least grateful that it moves because in those moments of running hard, of breathing hard, of sinking deeper into a yoga pose, of feeling lactic acid searing through my calves I know that I am alive, that this is not a dressed rehearsal, and that somehow, I have got to get out of this place.

With that, I'll leave you with a distraction, pure and simple. Dark chocolate brownies with a raspberry ganache and a cream cheese frosting piping. Cut into the shape of hearts, because even when your heart is broken, it is good to bake.

Out of the mouth of babes...

2010-02-04T12:17:00.001-08:00

One of my Mom-blog friends wrote a post with the same title and it made me think about my own 'mouth' when it was a 'babe.' Not as in a hawt babe but as in an IF babe. OK, not in that way (what? stirrups and wands and follicles aren't sexy? who knew!) but meaning when I was just starting out on the journey. Before I blogged I had to write it all out somewhere and I did on an online support group's journal feature. Thankfully, I have all of those journals because frankly, I wouldn't believe they were mine if I didn't have proof I ever thought that way! Sheesh indeed.

So for your amusement, check out the journal I wrote after the first fertilization report I ever received. I will highlight in a different color the ironies of that post....

Well, out of the eleven only six were mature. This makes me very sad. Five fertilized. I know that's not bad, but I guess I was hoping for a nice big number so we could make a day 5 transfer and also maybe have some to cryopreserve. I really want to have two children (I can't imagine my child not having a sibling since I'm so incredibly close to my own) but at this point in time, I cannot imagine doing this again. I think every few days all these emotions just catch up to me and I get really upset. When my RE called personally to tell me the news and said he was disappointed in the lower number of mature ones, it really got me down. I know it only takes one.... I just feel like my body continues to perform at less than stellar performance. And I was having such a good day...

Are you laughing yet? Well you should be. I was an idiot at that point. Why was I using the word "cryopreserve" instead of just "freeze?" Oh well. That girl back then couldn't imagine doing IVF again, because really, if someone had told me I'd do five and end up with nothing I would have probably shot them, or myself. And IVF babe, you didn't know anything about being 'really upset' or what feeling down feels like.

A couple of points: our first two IVFs had good fertilization rates. Granted, low numbers of mature eggs but I think that was a stim/protocol problem. I do not understand why my fertilization rates tanked on IVFs 3 and 4 and somewhat on 5. I have my theory, but it just makes me sound like a nut who can't give up.

Oh wait, I am a nut who can't give up.

I had another point but it escapes me.

I feel some major Valentine's Day baking coming on...

If you could go back and meet yourself pre-IF treatments, what advice would you give your babe-self?

It's nobody's fault.

2010-02-02T14:24:00.001-08:00

Disclaimer:
This is a post meant for infertile eyes only. Otherwise, if you're not infertile, you will not get it, you will not understand and you will think I'm a bitch or a baby or completely and totally selfish. And if you were infertile and have crossed over, well, this post might not make as much sense to you, either...I'm not sure. Because even though I believe you never forget the pain of IF, once you have succeeded with ART it does take you into a different realm than those of us still clawing our way through this hellhole of a reality.

But I need a place where I can write it all down without censoring. Unfortunately, this post involves a friend who reads this blog and writes a blog. A good friend, a dear friend, who was honest in one of her posts and so I know it's ok for me to be honest here, too. We emailed, she understands, it's all good.

As most of you know, as most of you infertiles have also dealt with, I've been surrounded by fertile friends. It's been hard. Hard doesn't describe it, but there really aren't words adequate to describe the myriad feelings one experiences watching their friends get pregnant and birth beautiful babies so easily. I hosted more baby showers than I ever care to recall during our infertility...and even though they were hard, because we were still in treatment I was always stringing myself along with the notion that I would be next. I went to brunch after brunch with my friends and either their ever expanding bellies or their ever expanding broods thinking, surely I will join the fray and belly up the table with my own bump one day. It was no fault of their own--hello, I wanted to BE THEM SO BADLY--but it certainly hurt nonetheless. Because that's the biyatch that infertility is--causing hurt and pain when nobody is really at fault.

A few months ago a friend with two beautiful girls wrote a post about wanting a third so desperately but her husband did not. In fact, he was going to get a vasectomy. And while I do hate it when people don't get what they want and ultimately want my friends to be happy (duh) my most overwhelming emotion at the time was...relief.

Relief.

As in, I could mark them off the list.

You guys know what list I'm talking about, that neverending list in your head of 'who is going to be next'. Who's pregnancy announcement will knock you to the floor, reduce you to a heap of tears.

She had her two kids, there would be no more. And so I could cross them off.

I'm sure it was a similar relief that she or my other fertile friends felt the morning I got two lines on an HPT and excitedly called to tell them. I'm sure they felt happy--another duh--but I'm sure they also felt relief. Relief that finally--FINALLY--we could move forward in a friendship not complicated by the shackles of the infertile friend always dragging everything down. I felt relief, too.

This past Sunday I was prepared to have a good day. Studying (bleh, but necessary), a trail run, yoga class with Mr. LC, good food, etc. etc. etc. I innocently clicked on my friend's blog.

Oh how I wish the disclaimer had been at the top, not the bottom. Although let's face it, I would have read the post anyway.

Needless to say, the post revisited the issue of having more kids, and it turns out the issue is back on the table...they're debating on the third baby.

I read the post and immediately felt gutted. Sucker punched. Kicked in the ribs while I was already down.

No, not by anything she did. Let me be clear here.

I cannot even fathom having the choice, two or three, two or three.

I have none.

I cannot have babies. I desperately want babies.

I have no choices in the matter.

I cannot have sex with my husband and have a baby.

I cannot look into the eyes of a daughter and see myself.

I cannot have babies. I desperately want babies.

I cannot sit around and think about the pros and cons of a third versus having only two. Only having two.

Instead I sit around and think about a life without children versus spending more money on a snowballs' chance in hell versus exploring other options when I'm already at the end of my emotional rope and just want a fucking break in life.

These are my choices.

I cannot have babies. I desperately want babies.

She says she knows she might not be so lucky to just have a third easily but as irrationally as this sounds I know--because she knows me--she doesn't have to worry about having secondary infertility. I've soaked up all the infertility for my friends.

My perfect Sunday was thrown for a loop. It's nobody's fault. It's not my friend's fault for wanting more more more and having that choice. It's not my fault for having a fucked up body that can't accomplish the most basic and human of tasks nor is it my fault for having emotions that are raw on a good day, but are bloody pulp on most days.

It's nobody fault.

It's just infertility.

Blogolimbo land and other odds and ends

2010-01-31T05:39:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-01-26T10:36:00.000-08:00

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?

2010-01-24T16:28:00.001-08:00

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...

2010-01-22T05:01:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-01-17T18:17:00.000-08:00

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...

2010-01-15T18:22:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-13T06:37:00.001-08:00

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.

2010-01-12T06:21:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-01-09T15:39:00.000-08:00

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!

2010-01-05T05:17:00.001-08:00

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

2010-01-03T10:44:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-01-01T20:13:00.000-08:00

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.

Thank you. And an update.

2009-12-31T09:04:00.000-08:00

First of all, thank you for bearing with me, for holding me up, for offering insight, for reading and listening and hoping and helping.

If I thought infertility was a roller coaster...well, let me just say that having a parent with poor health is..The Texas Cyclone.

The neurologist confirmed my suspicions--my Dad had just fallen victim to a bad reaction to a new medication added two weeks ago. Fairly easy fix was to increase his anti-seizure medication and then discontinue the offending med. That med had been given for depression and honestly I think just being home will do more for his depression than anything else. As it is, he's already on another anti-depressant.

So I woke up with hope in my heart again...Dad was going to be better...we'd get him back home....

Until my phone rang this morning. His two caregivers quit. Freaked out when they saw him have a seizure, and just quit.

Leaving my mom with no choice but to readmit him to the nursing home. And now he'll have a roommate because his bed was already filled.

It just keeps getting worse.

My sister thinks he needs to be at the nursing home for good. We disagree. She thinks it's too hard on my Mom to try to have him at home. I think we need to give it a fair shake. After all, he only got six precious hours back at home before the shit hit the fan two nights ago. My mom is worn out from going back and forth to the nursing home, so everyone's simple solution to that is: don't go so much.

Excuse me? They've been married 42 years. You just don't turn that off, even when everything changes.

And maybe I'm being selfish here: but the thought of my Dad languishing in a nursing home all by himself for hours on end every day makes me sick to my stomach. Sick to my stomach.

The thing is: there are no easy solutions. I feel as though I am choosing between my two parents. My sister is there today--she arrived yesterday afternoon. I just got off the phone with my mom who told me my sister is leaving at noon today...not even twenty-four hours later. WTF? Oh right--apparently because her husband only has so many days off a year to take with his family my sister doesn't want to miss any more of those. She told that to my mom, who sobbed that to me. (Gawd I hope my sister doesn't read this blog).

Yeah, I know I don't have kids so I can't fully comprehend this. But you know what? Her husband is a freaking workaholic and he chooses to live that way. So if he only gets so much time with his family, well, that's his choice ultimately. And life isn't always convenient, so I'm sorry that you miss a few days of vacation with your family.

Needless to say, if my sister is leaving at noon, I'm heading out as soon as I get off of work.

Did Mr. LC and I have plans? Of course we did. Do I need some time to recover from all the other crap in my life? Of course I do.

But as I said, life doesn't wait on stuff like that.

I'm exhaling and trying to think rationally. In a perfect world (ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha) this nursing home readmission will be temporary. He will continue to improve as the medication works its way out of his system. We will find new caregivers that are not afraid of a potential seizure, even though I don't think that is going to be a lingering issue.

And my Dad can be home. With his dog. In his own living room. Watching his own TV. Trying to reclaim some part of a life that has been decimated by stroke. My mom can be home with him, doing her own thing, not driving back and forth back and forth all day long. She will not be back in that place.

When we left the nursing home this past Christmas, Mr. LC looked at me and said "Whew, we won't be going back there anymore."

My other option? Quit my job and move home and take care of my Dad. I am a nurse after all. I did dream that I was carrying him around in an infant carrier.

Will someone please wake me up?

The thing with depression

2009-12-30T11:08:00.000-08:00

Is that it waits for no one or no situation.

I would like to be able to just curl up in a ball and lie under my new heated throw blanket (perfect Christmas present!) and watch thirtysomething dvds and read good memoirs and NOT study for my lipid boards and not deal with patients and read blogs and be sad about our infertility and not try to figure out next steps and just be sad for a while and come out when I feel like it.

But I can't.

My Dad is in the ICU with seizures again. He cannot catch a break. My mother is sobbing into the phone with me and I can barely understand her. My sister is en route and I will likely go tomorrow after work unless things take a turn for the worse. Right now we wait on the neurologist to tell us what is going on. I suspect it is a new medication they tried and it has backfired horribly, but what do I know anymore?

I am learning and learning that the precious time in our lives when things are good--when we can coast--are sometimes very very short. Twenty four hours of bliss with a positive HPT...several hours yesterday when my Dad actually was moved home and things were going really really well until they turned horribly, horribly bad.

Do you ever feel like you are literally going to break into two?

This is my therapy

2009-12-28T10:24:00.001-08:00

First up: a comment I received from anonymous 1. I know I am not alone, never said in the post that I was the only one feeling pain from infertility. But thanks, from a fellow IFer, for telling me not to feel so sorry for myself. I'm cured! I know that a lot of people have gone through what I have, and worse. And although you couched your comment with "I am not trying to be harsh" it felt a little harsh. We've been through a lot. Five failed cycles, 80K in medical expenses, and I've dealt with a lot of other issues lately that made this holiday particularly difficult. So yeah, I'm going to write about what hurts.

As for anonymous 2: Undue hostilityand hatred towards our little brother? You're misreading that. Seven years of love love love is what we gave through some pretty crappy stuff, and we still care about him. I don't know many others who have mentored a kid/stayed that committed that long. We poured our hearts and souls into him and unfortunately it wasn't enough to keep him from making some very poor life choices. When we ended the relationship it was for many reasons, but mostly because he had kind of outgrown the relationship and we couldn't support the choices he was making. And yes, he knows about our situation (not specifics of IVF because that wouldn't have been appropriate and obviously not the last two because of the timing, but he knows that we've tried very hard and long to have children) because we've always been open and honest with him. Does he have the capacity to know that his text would be hurtful? Probably not, as he's just a teenager. But guess what? It still hurt and I'm going to write that it did. But please, do not criticize my seven years of volunteering to help this kid. It's a personal failure that really hurts--the fact that everything we did (the very aim of the program) couldn't help him avoid teenage parenthood twice. The criticism-- that really stings.
EDITED TO ADD: Teenage parenthood isn't the worst thing--but right now it's the thing that hurts the most. R went on to be involved in drugs, crime, etc. etc. Things are better now, but you can bet that hurt us a lot too. And we're not even his parents!

And now on to what I originally wanted to post about (which will probably draw some criticism in some way from someone as well...sigh).

I post a lot when I am in emotional pain.

My blog is dark right now and I would do anything in my power to make it light again.

This post is dedicated to my father.

While we were home this weekend, we brought my Dad home to the house for the day. It was nice, but there's no getting around the profound changes that have occurred. My mother is mourning the loss of her spouse, I am mourning the loss of my father. He is alive, yes. He is alive. I am grateful. But it is horrific to see him the way he is. He is slipping cognitively. His response time is so long we wonder if he hears us at all. I cannot even believe that it was just a couple of months ago that he sang gospel songs while Mr. LC played on the guitar. I read the words he had my mom transcribe into my birthday card in August and cannot fathom him coming up with those words today. I do not know what lies ahead.

While at the nursing home, carolers came by. My Dad looked so small and helpless in his bed. He is down to 140 pounds or so. As the carolers came in and sang "Silent Night" in harmony, I started to cry. It was just a few years ago that my Dad sang in those groups, singing in that very nursing home. He had probably sung in that very room before.

We stayed in my parents' bedroom at my mother's insistence. I don't think she really likes to sleep in there alone.

It was dark outside and our last night at home. Mr. LC was outside packing the car. My mom was up at the nursing home with my Dad. My job was to check and make sure we hadn't left anything behind.

I walked up to the doorway of their bedroom, which was dark. Light from the living room cast light on the carpet.

Exactly the way it would have looked just over six months ago when my Mom found him there in the early morning darkness.

I immediately had the urge to lay on the carpet, and I did.

I positioned myself as my mom described finding my dad, crumpled on the floor.

I sobbed into the carpet. I wondered how long he had laid there, if he had been frightened, if he tried to call out and could not find his voice, if he had tried to move, if he knew what was happening to him.

I felt connected to him in some strange way in that moment.

I sobbed into that carpet for all that he has lost, for the unfairness of it all.

AND PS: IF YOU'RE GOING TO COMMENT, PLEASE REFRAIN FROM USING IDENTIFYING NAMES. THIS IS SOMETHING I ASKED FOR POLITELY WHEN I STARTED THE BLOG.

You wanted it?

2009-12-27T06:32:00.000-08:00

Here it is. That post to which I've been referring...

We went home the weekend before Christmas to celebrate with my family, since my Dad can no longer travel (they usually all come here, and then together we trek to my sister's house) and my sister doesn't travel away from home on the actual holiday because of her kids. Understandable.

Of course, recalling that my parents know nothing about our last failure...so there's always that little secret that serves to make everything a little bit more interesting. And also, in case you yourself haven't experienced it, let me let you in on another little secret: an IVF failure is a devastating, horrific, life-shattering event to the person experiencing it, but to most other people it is fairly forgettable after a month or so, especially amidst the hustle and bustle of the holidays. And I'll admit that Mr. LC and I did a pretty good job of 'moving on' on the outside, so I guess that creates the illusion that we aren't still completely shattered. But many days, we're just tip-toeing along, our facade of being 'ok' held together by a thread.

Saturday morning I woke up and got ready, determined to have a good day. We were going to bring Dad home for the day. We were going to have our big family meal, we were going to open presents, we were going to play outside with my nephews, we were going to have fun, dammit! It was Christmas, after all.

(side note: I'm not phone technology savvy. I don't text. I can read texts but I can't text back easily. I didn't even know you could get pictures in a text. Foreshadowing.)

As we were about to head out to go get my Dad, I picked up my purse and looked down at my phone. My parents live in the country on acreage and cell reception is fairly pitiful there. But I could see a little icon in the corner of my phone that I thought meant I had received a message. I innocently clicked it.

A perfectly clear beautiful ultrasound picture popped up with the text words "It's a girl!" written on it.

I literally dropped my phone on the table like it was infected.

I shook my head...surely I had not just seen what I had seen.

I picked it up again, my heart pounding.

Yup, a beautiful ultrasound photo. The words "It's a girl!" mocking me.

My hands were trembling at this point. Alone, in the kitchen, I felt dizzy. My thoughts started racing.

"Who is sending me this?"
"Who would do this to me?"
"Is it a cruel joke?"
"Who do I know that is pregnant that would be finding out gender right now?"

and again: "Who would do this to me?"

Mr. LC walked into the room. So did my Mom.

I pulled him aside. Hands still shaking, I showed him the phone.

The color drained from his face. "Who sent it?"

"I don't know," I said, tears welling up in my eyes, my throat tightening. I felt like I was having a mild panic attack.

"Well look at the number!"

It wasn't a familiar number, but it had a familiar area code. Maybe it was a mistake? A mis-call, and I had just been the unfortunate recipient of someone's errant number punching.

Except it wasn't.

Mr. LC soon recognized the number, as coming from R.

Those of you who know our full story, know that R was our 'Little Brother' through Big Brothers/Big Sisters.

Our little brother that we loved and mentored for seven years.

Seven years.

Through the cancer death of his real big brother.
Through elementary school and then junior high.
Through his trouble with the authorities.
Through this trouble with teachers.
Through trouble with his mother.
Countless hours of homework.
Countless hours of trips, movies, dinners out, art projects, music projects...just hanging out.
Then through his brief incarceration.
Through his first pregnancy scare with his girlfriend.

We had practically ended the relationship when he turned seventeen, dropped out of high school, and his girlfriend was really pregnant. We made that painful trip to the hospital to visit his new perfect baby girl during the midst of one of our IVF cycle failures.

And now.

Now they are expecting again and I guess he wanted to share their little miracle with us.

Another girl.

Born to a teenage couple, neither of whom has graduated from high school. I'm sorry--I'm just going to say it: they're not ready. They cannot have the capacity to be great parents. They're struggling financially. But yet.

Two baby girls. The life of my dreams.

See?

Not only did we ourselves fail biologically at having children, we apparently failed as mentors.

And then having to fight back sobs--all day long--when that picture popped into my mind's eye. Having to keep up appearances, a happy face, because after all, it had been a whole month (to those present who knew about the cycle). And having to hold it together completely for my poor Mom, trying her best to make as normal a holiday as possible when everything in her world is not at all normal. Thanks, R, for fucking up my Christmas more than it was already fucked up.

The gut punches...they just keep on coming don't they?

Do you believe in ghosts or Christmas miracles?

2009-12-25T11:32:00.001-08:00

Before I get into the post--anonymous in Europe--send me an email if you ever want to talk more. It seems we DO have a lot in common--and I'm really sorry about your fifth IVF failure. It's a select group we've found ourselves in, isn't it? (lastchanceivf at gmaildotcom)

And now onto the post:

You've heard me speak of my invisible children. You've also seen (on my old blog) pics of our house with our enormous floor to ceiling windows. When I posted those pictures I got many a comment about seeing invisible hand prints that would one day turn into real hand prints when our children became visible.

A few days ago, in preparation for some family visiting, I was cleaning those floor to ceiling windows with Mr. LC. It isn't an easy job but the reward is worth it. I was outside and suddenly I saw it--a teeny tiny handprint.

Made from the inside.

From a baby.

Only, there haven't been any babies in our house in over a year (that I can remember). And I've certainly cleaned the windows many times in the past year.

At first I thought it was some type of critter (a raccoon perhaps?) and that the print was on the outside. I showed Mr. LC.

"Well how would a raccoon get that far up the window?" True, the print was about six feet up. Also, it was quickly obvious that it was on the inside. We spent a few minutes trying to figure out how it could have possible gotten there, and we were stumped.

I went inside and studied it.

It gave me chills. It was there.

And made me think it was a sign (and no, I don't really believe in signs, not anymore anyway). Our Christmas miracle was coming for sure...I mean, last month we had the faintest of positives. Maybe my body would now famously "know what to do"...maybe the effects of the biopsies was still lingering. I ovulated like clockwork on day 14. I won't get into details about any other stuff but suffice it to say things timed out very, very well. I had distinct uterine cramping 8 days past ovulation. Of course, it had to be implantation cramping. I used my progesterone supplements as instructed. We were due for a miracle. I wouldn't have even minded being one of those "see you stopped trying so hard and look what happened!"

And today my period started. Sigh.

So I don't know what to make of that handprint. And no, I don't believe in Christmas miracles. Today, while most everyone I know (but certainly not all) either watched their kiddos delight in presents under the tree, or are busily making plans for upcoming transfers of perfect embryos, or are rubbing their growing bellies--Mr. LC and I put together shelving from IKEA and ate homemade biscuits and soy sausage. I called my parents and my Dad didn't even remember we were just there a few days ago, celebrating. Yesterday we ate our tofurkey and went to twirl under the famous Zilker Christmas tree but were the only ones without little ones. The only place we felt somewhat normal was at our 11:00 pm Christmas service because the only people out that late were the ones not at home struggling to put together Santa gifts.

Sigh. I know I will receive comments about the handprint--that our child is out there and we just haven't found him/her yet. I know because I've made those comments myself to others. But let's face it: we don't have anything in the freezer, we don't have any plans for more cycles, we don't have any plans period. When people have been asking lately if I have kids I have been trying this answer on for size: "No, we can't have children." It hurts me to say it each and every time but it is my reality and I have to learn how to live with it.

This is one bummer of a Christmas day post, eh?

OK, we're heading out to the homeless shelter. I know if I waited until we returned to post this I wouldn't do it, because I'd realize that my problems are minor compared to so many.

OK, I already realize that, and I'm sorry to be such a whiner.

I wish a had a river I could sail away on.

Holiday Meme, a few days late...

2009-12-23T11:54:00.000-08:00

I've been seeing this little diddy floating around and although blogland is kind of quiet this time of year, I figured, why not?

I promise, those other posts will make it out. There's no way I can keep them in. But seeing as it's Christmas Eve Eve, I'll stick to this holiday thingy.

OH YEAH: Penny--my recipe is the oreo truffle balls! (one package of oreos processed in food processor, mixed with one package of cream cheese, shaped into whatever, then dipped! Pretty easy overall).

And now on with the show:

1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate?
Hot chocolate all the way. Right now my favorite is the Peppermint Hot Chocolate from Star.bucks. I don't drink coffee, but this is worth a visit to Starbucks. And this is where working in medicine is nice...the reps bring me all the Star.bucks I want. Nice, eh?

2. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
Wrapping all the way. I love to embellish with little add ons, and I always do festive tulle for bows.

3. Real tree or artificial?
Growing up with horrid allergies, it was always artificial trees. I don't mind them. In fact, this year we purchased a second one, a silver tinsel mega-artificial tree.

4. Colored lights on tree/house or white?
White lights, and tons and tons of them!

5. How do you decorate your Christmas tree?
See pic below.

6. Do you hang mistletoe?
No...although we used to.

7. Do you have a nativity scene?
Of course. I love my nativity. Every year Mr. LC sneaks Yoda into it, because even Yoda has to worship the Baby Jesus and he's wearing a robe and is just the right size.

8. Mail or email Christmas cards?
I don't do Christmas cards. Remember that post I wrote a few posts back about what I'd love to say? Ha.

9. What is your favorite holiday dish?
We're all about the sides since we don't do meat--and I adore sweet potatoes. Tomorrow we'll be trying a tofurkey, so I'll let you know how it goes.

10. Favorite Holiday memory as a child?
Driving around looking at lights on Christmas Eve.

11. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?
I was only six when a big mouthed neighbor ruined things for me. Of course, I still tried very hard to believe for a few more years.

12. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?
We open all wrapped gifts on Christmas Eve and Santa left gifts on Christmas morning.

13. Snow! Love it or Dread it?
I love the idea of snow, but we don't really get it here.

14. Have you ever recycled a gift?
Most definitely!

15. What’s the most important thing about the Holidays for you?
That suspended reality that usually happens...everyone seems to be nicer around the holidays. And of course, hanging out with my family and also my friends who are just like family to me.

16. What is your favorite Holiday Dessert?
Yesterday I made a wicked pumpkin gingerbread cheesecake that is pretty high up. However, I have this tradition of always eating thin mints on Christmas morning....

17. What is your favorite holiday tradition?
It used to be listening to my Dad read the Christmas story from Luke. I'm so sad he can't do that anymore.

18. What tops your tree?
A crazy retro star.

19. Favorite Christmas Show?
How the Grinch Stole Christmas, bar none. The original, NOT that crappy Jim Carrey remake.

20. Saddest Christmas Song?
Joni Mitchell "River"

21. What is your favorite Christmas Holiday Song?
I love almost all Christmas songs. We bust out the holiday CDs in late November and play them constantly (we have at least 30-40) through December. Brave Combo's "Must Be Santa" is fabulous.

So, here is the pic of our tree--it's kind of eclectic, and I do the non-traditional colors on it to match our mod green couches I guess.

Last Chance IVF

Closing Up Shop

Double Scoop

Start Spreading the News.....(edited/updated)

I've been quiet...

This was unexpected.

On Being a Warrior and Running Races

Happy Tears

A Year Ago, and an "Encounter" With a Deer

Teen Mom

A glimpse into the past.

I'm here.

We're All In This Together

I Feel Better

Well I hate to do it, but...

Stream of Consciousness

Weekend Update

Is it wrong?

I, Beetle?

HeartClench

Wins and Losses and Epic Fails

If I could save time in a bottle...

Updating and Clarifying

Biting my tongue.

One year ago.

Getting it out.

Excuses, and a request.

Are you sure?

Salty and Sweet

Change in the air

A glimpse into the mind of the formerly obsessed...

For everyone utilizing third party reproduction....

It isn't LastChance Theology...

Sneaky Google Reader and an Award

Are you curious?

For all my buds who have succeeded....

All over the place

Dear Mr. LC:

Stop the presses!

The one with all the metaphors...

June 10th

Lowe's and annoyances and questions answered

An untitled post. Oh wait...I just titled it.

I've been away...

The longest race!

OKGo and Damian Kulash...and sleep deprivation.

Are chocolate dipped strawberries healthy? And a thanks.

A light in the dark.

The video you knew was coming...

Mother's Day

Celebrity-pallooza

Vacation

I hurt.

Happpiness, baking, and tiny dogs

One step forward, two steps back.

I've been away...

Encounters of the work kind...

A picture is worth a thousand words...

Some moments.

Happy Easter

Four steps

Finally.

More answers? I know...I know.

The Answers...Part II

The answers....part I

Is a Q&A pompous?

Stealing a post about numbers...

A vent.

I need a weekend from my weekend

Things that make me smile.

Gratitude

Blogger WTF?

Words

RIP Saucer

Uh-oh, and an award.

Semantics

The only place in the world...

When a friend hurts...

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh it's HERE!

Be Mine. Or just Be.