Trouble sticking a fork in it

Every once in a while I look at my little "About the Blog" blurb and think I should update it to clarify in that space that I am no longer TTC. True, I say so at the end of the insufferably long "About the Blogger" list. Longtime readers know it. But, well, targeted communication is my real-life business, and it bothers that side of me to see a blog description of mine that doesn't quite capture what's going on in the blog's present.

I do know what's really eating me: The thought of adding promises of child-free-living talk to my blog's theme makes me ill.

For one thing, I am childless, no thank you very much. "Child free" — to me — still carries the connotation of choice, a happy circumstance. I mean, come on, free is "because I decided so, on purpose, to suit my own needs and desires." Or. It's just plain GOOD. Without restrictions. At no cost.

Carefree, debt free, error free, cancer free, drug free, allergen free, worry free, wrinkle free, cling free; free admission, free food, free beer, free samples, free estimate, free concert, free puppies; free country, free speech, free time, free will, free spirit, free love; free on bail, buy one get one free, don't tread on free, free-for-all, free and clear, home free, set me free, free to be you and me, free at last, free at last . . . free, free, free, free, free, YIPPEE!

For another thing, I don't think I'll spend a lot of time blogging specifically about life without children. I am still processing/blogging about IF, loss, and stepping off the family-building path. "No kids" is part of that. But I feel like adding any sort of "life without" thingy to the blog description invites the assumption that someone might come here to read about day-to-day observations on life as a childless person. Granted, that's the situation. But it's not the accurate bent, if you will, of the blog.

Also, although I'm moving along and trying to evolve, I'm not all the way ready to COMPLETELY evolve the blog so that it no longer does what I created it to do for me: provide a safe haven for semiprivately discussing private hopes and fears on the way to whatever conclusion our TTC journey reached. One can and should argue that said conclusion made its appearance a while back. It's just that I'm still working on accepting it. Oh, I've committed to it. But the associated feelings are still raw sometimes, and my head can still spin when I realize not just how things turned out but that they did, in fact, turn out. Past tense.

As labels go, I think "infertile" still fits until I hit menopause. "Childless" is how I feel at present, but I doubt I'll ever use that as an official descriptor ("Area Childless Woman Wins the Lottery"). And "child free" just doesn't apply to me.

None of this is to say, you understand, that I go around throwing any of the terms into my everyday conversations.

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Me: Hi, I'm Lisa.

Other Person: And what do you do, Lisa?

Me: I'm an Infertile. Have been for years. I love it!!

Me (alternate answer): I'm a childless writer. You?
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Sorry for that digression. Anyone still with me?

I wasn't at all sure that I ended up making the point I had in mind when I logged on. Then I caught sight of the post's title, which pretty much says it all.

19 Things

It's June 14, an anniversary for DH and me: 19 years ago today, we had our first official date. (Saw Eraserhead at the art-house theater. Debated its meaning over drinks, tortilla chips, and fiery-hot salsa that really was too hot to take. And so on. For those familiar with the flick, I ask you: Should I make anything out of the fact that the movie we credit with starting our relationship begins with a creepy sperm-like creature and features a mutant baby?)

That date was on a Thursday. By Saturday — after we'd both spent Friday scrambling to tie up any loose ends that might interfere with us spending every spare second together for the rest of "who knew?" — we were ON with no looking back.

To honor our shared journey, I thought I'd do one of those sweet tribute posts listing good stuff about my DH. I'll keep the items topical to the blog's theme.

19 Things I Love About My Husband That Led to My Wanting to Start a Family with Him, Helped Me Cope with IF, and/or Served as the "Positives" I Focused On This Past Year to Keep Me from Killing Him (or Worse)

1. He has never said an unkind thing to me or tried to humiliate or "stick it to me." Not in public and not in private. Not ever.
2. I can still see the total devotion on his face as he held a newborn niece for the first time and cured her hiccups by draping her over his arm (tummy first, her head supported with his hand and chest) and tapping out a simulated heartbeat on her back to help slow her breathing. He just made that up on the fly. The baby's mother, grandmother, and aunt-to-be (me) all swooned, and we still talk about it behind his back 15 years later.
3. His smarts and dry wit make me happy.
   
4. At family gatherings, he'll patiently play/talk with the nieces and nephews for hours on end.
   
5. He was my "nurse" through two lengthy recovery periods after major surgery, and each time — despite knowing him as well as I do — I was blown away by the amazing level of care he provided.
   
6. He makes great waffles, pancakes, French toast, biscuits, and pizza dough.
   
7. I never have to wonder whether he's telling me the truth.
   
8. When it was time to do his fertility testing, he acted like a grownup — not a baby.
9. He was often pretty quiet at the clinic but came alive during strategy/statistic/scientific discussions with the REs.
10. He's able to laugh about such things as bad sperm and bad clinic porn.
11. Once while he unpacked from a business trip, my heart soared upon seeing a baggie full of Mu.cinex and a few pairs of brand-new, moisture-wicking, "crucial area"–cooling underwear. He'd done all that on his own.
    
12. Although thoroughly skeptical about potential benefits, he completely backed and encouraged my use of acupuncture, supplementation, diet changes, and meditation during treatment cycles.
13. For 2 years prior to starting IVF, he traveled a lot — but he always made it his business to make it home for the ol' fertile window. (Such that it was.)
    
14. He would have been content to not pursue fertility treatments at all. But he supported every last minute of my need to push on. He made my need, his need.
15. Each time I was pregnant, he immediately jumped into "What can I do for you?" mode.
16. The dog has a giant, obvious crush on him (and vice versa). It's very cute.
    
17. He gamely takes on the list of items to fix and problems to solve that my parents/his parents present to him each time we visit.
18. He lives to try to make me do a spit take.
    
19. A longer anecdote from the day I knew that I would always choose being with DH over the alternative: One Saturday about a year and a half into our relationship, I felt crazy-desperate for some alone time. I decided to go bra shopping. Solo. Then-boyfriend DH thought he'd tag along, but I said no for the first time in our history. This was fine with him, of course, and he set out walking to his downtown office to occupy himself till I was done. About 19 minutes later, I passed him in the car and gave him a beep. He waved, looking cheerful; I felt good that he felt good instead of left out. Soon I was parked, in the store, and standing blissfully alone in Lingerie, thinking beyond bras to perhaps socks, makeup, and even calling a friend for coffee. As I zeroed in to touch — and I do not exaggerate — my very FIRST bra of interest, I felt a familiar hand on my back. My heart actually sank for a split second. Guess who???!!!??? Why, it was my beloved. The one I'd tried to ditch. The man I would joyfully marry down the road. He grinned, hit me with his full-of-adoration brown eyes and said, "Surprise! I saw you drive by and figured I'd pop in for a quick hi. Are you enjoying your time alone?" With that I realized just how glad I was to see him . . . even when I didn't want to see him. Being with him felt right, as it always had and always would.

A funny thing happened on the way to wherever I'm going

The pooch and I strolled past a neighborhood playground today, and a woman with a distinctive look caught my eye. Once I focused and processed, I quickly picked out her husband and son from the sunny-afternoon crowd.

I don't personally know this family — not once in 5 years have I seen them around the 'hood — but they'd made a lasting impression when I encountered them last March in the clinic's lobby. For 40 minutes one day (I was there to discuss starting IVF #2) I listened to the cute rocker-chick woman dissect her stims progress for her hat-and-shades-indoors-wearing, Black.berry-fixated hubby, who sat next to their adorable hat-indoors-wearing, Game.boy-fixated son. She had just 3 follicles developing, 1 way ahead of the others, and they were there to discuss canceling the cycle.

I kept on walking at first, thinking just "Huh. Small world." But then something compelled me to stop and turn around for another peek. (This was an excellent time to have a happy-to-sniff-every-inch-of-the-ground dog along.)

Can you guess what I wanted to know?

In that first moment of reconnaissance, the woman's hands were stuffed into her hoodie's kangaroo pockets, making it difficult to immediately tell whether she was pregnant. The next moment she was applauding her son's jungle-gym prowess, and the answer appeared to be "Not visibly so." I felt disappointed for her and sent a couple of stranger vibes — "Good luck with any future cycles! Or whatever you've got going on!" — across the park.

Well, then I saw the woman's ears perk up. She swiftly marched to the sidelines of the playground . . . toward what the slo-mo scene maker in my head eventually identified as a double stroller. For some reason the real-live babies option hadn't even occurred to me! I spied just long enough to see the mommy scoop up one fussy baby and stroke the second as her men rushed over to help with the cooing.

I was startled, and yes, it gave me quite the where's-mine pang. (This was an excellent time to be wearing sunglasses.) But as I turned away and steered us toward the wide-open beach — my furry kid's playground — I took a deep, cleansing breath and broke a slightly teary, but deep-down genuine, smile.

It felt good to see that "The Big It" had worked for somebody who's using my neighborhood park, walking my neighborhood streets, driving my routes to wherever she needs to go, standing in my check-out lines, living her life where I live mine. And in my world, that . . . has got to be that.

Remembering and rejoicing

Today is one of the May milestone dates I've been wanting to get through. One year ago today was transfer time for IVF #2, and let me tell you: That day was magical for me. Everything felt right. I was, truly, in the moment — in sync with DH, my body, the process, my medical team, and the world. I felt love for (and loved by) everybody I encountered. I remember what I wore, what I ate, who I talked to, and what I did all day long. And that magical feeling (aka profound gratitude) carried me through another several days. (You know, until it was time to get scared again!) During that time, I frequently eyed the picture of "the kids" and talked to all 4 of them in utero, sending my love and coaching any that felt strong enough to stick with mama.

Even knowing how it all turned out down the road . . . and knowing what came next, and then next, and then next . . . I wouldn't trade that day for anything. The experience opened me up in ways I can't quite describe but know will stay with me forever. And for that I rejoice.

*****

P.S. Today — this year's May 5 — brings a fresh reason to rejoice. Sweet Polly over at In2MeSee got to see her perfect-looking little bean's strong heartbeat for the first time. You GO, Polly!!

Sporting

There's no better way to sail through a stretch of time, I've decided, than to take up a new sport. I've been interested in playing golf for a while — in fact, DH and I took lessons together about 10–11 years ago. We both really enjoyed it. But life somehow pushed our grand golfing plans way out of the picture.

Golf became one of those things we meant to do more of, then meant to do some of, then meant to try again soon . . . next spring . . . and then couldn't remember exactly when we'd ever done it in the first place. Of course once we started leading a life of ART, golf (along with just about everything else) left the activity radar entirely.

Well, it's back on now, (no) baby! During my trip in March, I played several times with my dad (it was just an 18-hole putting course, but still), and I came home determined to not let another summer go by without just doing it. As much as I would LOVE to get back in the swing with DH, his summer travel schedule is both atrociously unpredictable and predictably atrocious. So he's out. (I mean, it's not like this is IVF and I only need him for a single 30-minute window.)

Enter my single girlfriend. We're a perfect pair for this: me with the oft-absent husband, she with the nonexistent boyfriend, and both of us tired of putting things on hold and ready to do something new, fun, social, and active. And if we can cap off our weekly Ladies' Night golf rounds with an ice-cold adult beverage at the 19th Hole, so much the better.

Golf on its own is not the key to bringing a life without children into focus, or into practice. But it feels good to be thinking about something else. Researching, plotting, experiencing, accomplishing. All that helps bring this version of life (— sorry —) to the FORE!

And so May begins!

It's going to be a beautiful May Day in my neck of the woods (swine flu outbreak notwithstanding). The forecast says sunny and 71. Everyone say, "Ahhhhhhh."

I already stood on my deck for a bit during the 6:15 dog put-out, enjoying the fresh air and surveying my kingdom. That reverie abruptly ended, though, when I locked eyes with the next-door neighbor standing outside in his track pants. He bolted at the sight of me. Weirdo.

I'm fixing to stay "up" for this month I dread. To prep for a proper kickoff day, last night I completed the big winter-to-spring/summer wardrobe switchover: Out with the muted olives and rusty reds! In with the pistachio greens and bright corals! It's the little things, so often.

All this month, I will concentrate on infusing my heart, mind, body, soul, home, family, work, and world with positivity. I've been hustling that plan already, but I think this May calls for a little extra oomph. Daily. On purpose.

Will track my doings here.




Image note: May Day by Andrew Wyeth

May might be a little rough

Or maybe my niggling fear that I won't gracefully handle it means things will go just fine.

Mother's Day isn't the issue.

Rather, it's that last year's May, which began so full of promise (holy moly, IVF "worked" after almost 5 years of constant failure!), ended so very badly. Without that May in the picture, I can imagine a life in which the devastation and isolation that marked the whole damned rest of the year — a late-June miscarriage; a suddenly in-crisis relationship; a November pregnancy that was shaky from the get-go; a Christmastime miscarriage; and the clear end to our family-building efforts — DID NOT HAPPEN.

I know, I know, May is not a person or a force, but that doesn't stop me from resenting it. In my mind it betrayed me, and I'm holding it responsible. All I'm asking of it, though, is to beat a path out of my sight this year. I want May 2009 over and done with so I can mutter into the 12:01-a.m., starry-night sky of June 1 . . .

"Screw you, Universe, I'm still here!"

"We interrupt this silence to bring you a new post!"

It's been a while!

I took a break on purpose. Partially to give myself a break, and partially to mull over whether to keep writing in this space. I didn't do anything special to help myself come to a decision. Just decided to decide sometime.

Before I started this blog, I thought I might like to do a completely different sort of semi-anonymous personal blog. Something fun. Books, music, cooking, movies, dogs, and/or wine&beer&cocktails all seemed like topics I could enjoy blathering on about. Not infertility. And certainly not the version of it I'd lived up to that point, where IF meant you do not . . . you cannot . . . you will not conceive a take-home baby. I had nothing to say about that except that it sucked and I hated it. I just didn't know where I could go with that theme. Plus, I felt then that DH and I were just about done with TTC and it didn't make sense to blog in retrospect.

But then we committed to surgery and pursuing IVF with a new RE. Something shifted. I had hope again and something to look toward. A brand-new set of experiences to see through to whatever end was in store. A story. And onto Blogger I jumped.

Funny thing is, despite the TTC thing having fallen off my to-do list — and maybe, in a strange way, precisely because I have no intention of spending the rest of my days living in infertility (and, for you close readers out there, the "in" was a conscious language choice in lieu of, say, "with" or "after") — I know that this story is still unfolding. The rest of my life will not be an epilogue. And I need a way to facilitate putting the IF ride in its proper perspective within the much larger framework of that life.

So. More blogging for me. Unless or until I decide to decide otherwise.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

Randomness from the new life (because Spring is here):

I have not one clue what Cycle Day I am on.

I had a difficult time locating my thermometer a few days ago (the BBT type). Oh, and I needed it to check the doggie's temp, not mine.

Instead of trotting out my stock "Nope, just a dog" in response to an old friend asking me on Facebook whether I have kids, I gave the more authentic reply that went, essentially, "No — wanted them, didn't happen." Telling the whole brief truth didn't even hurt.

I invited PEOPLE over to dinner . . . at MY HOUSE . . . much like I used to do before spending too much time rolled up in a figurative ball of helpless angst, trying to predict what might happen/not happen next in my own Lifetime-friendly slasher movie Nightmare on I(V)F Street. (Note: I call total Dibs! on capitalizing on that idea.)

I had an unexpected little crying jag last night and made it to the bathroom before DH noticed. The significance? This was the first outburst in 6 days. I've now doubled the earlier hard-won record!

And, I've made a pile of things I need to purge from the house. Strangely, they all came in 3s (3 being the number of major surgeries I underwent for the cause; years of TTC effectively wasted before getting the "right" RE; pregnancies I experienced; IVFs we did; and pretty embryos put back during the final hurrah): pregnancy books; pregnancy exercise DVDs; deeply discounted body-transitions-friendly shirts I bought after seeing IVF #2 Baby's heartbeat; collectible teddy bears I've saved since my youth for the vague notion of a future child; my old dance recital costumes that were sent to me "to pass on"; and bottles of fertility-enhancing supplements (which, btw, proved harmful in my case . . . those will be trashed). These things must go.

Tripping

I'm visiting my parents this week. Yesterday my mom said how proud she and my dad are of me "after all this."

I found it trippy to think that anyone's pride might be attached to me for such a reason. I know they are just glad to see for themselves that I'm living and breathing and working on kicking myself down the road. But. It felt weird to hear it expressed in that way.