Closing Up Shop

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

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)

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...

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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...

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

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

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?

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?

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

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

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.