Things to count on: death, taxes, and solid plans that change

To make a long story short, my surgery date has moved up from April 1 to March 25. My pre-op appointment is happening first thing this Tuesday.

This stuff is getting real.

It's sinking in

My surgery date has been confirmed for April Fools' Day, and that means March 2014 is the last month I will ever spend, ever, in the constant company of my own uterus.

Weird.

Just yesterday I had a proper meltdown about all of it — and I do mean ALLLLLLLLLL of it.

Of course on the one hand, I want the organ gone. But its shenanigans have been integral to my very identity for such a long time. A lifetime, really. So it will be interesting to learn what all comes up (and out?) along with it.

The substitute doctor asked whether I'm sure I'm OK closing the door on ever trying to get pregnant again

Huh?

Also: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Checking in with uterine news

Where else can you write something like that post title and get away with it?

Lots of places, actually. But I wouldn't think of doing it anywhere but here.

The news: It looks like my body has decided to help move along my quest for attaining my purest possible state of IF Experience Closure. (Let's see, do I want to shorten that to IFEC, pronounced EYE-feck . . .  or maybe IEC, which sounds a lot like "eek"? No time to dither about that right now, so I'll leave that for another day.)

The news, clarified: I'm having a hysterectomy. Soon.

Funny thing is, as I left the doctor's office with that plan of attack literally in hand, I felt considerably lighter than when I'd arrived. I even smiled one of those wholly spontaneous and unmanufactured smiles that only deep-down truth can instigate.

No, on this step, I'm not devoid of emotion from the opposite end of the spectrum. In fact, I've already felt all the emotions about the whole thing, and no doubt I'll continue to as I try to digest whatever the coming weeks of pre-op prep and post-op recovery will force me to eat.

Naturally, I'm going to have to blog my way through it all.

P.S. I know I said I was going to "debrief" and such QUITE some time ago. I've been doing that, and doing fine. But it's mostly been going on in my head or in handwritten notebook pages that nobody really ever needs to see. I've been in a good place, and I think a healthy one. I cannot, though, pass up the opportunity to bookend the whole experience I blogged about so faithfully with new blogs about this chapter. Said chapter has already started cracking open some much-welcomed doors to the rest of my big-picture happy life, and there's no way I can't share this part of my process — wherever it might lead me — in this space.

Tupac had a point

"You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months over-analyzing a situation, trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could've, would've happened . . . or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on." 
—Tupac Shakur

For me, this applies to infertility and all of its effects on a person's life. Especially on a couple's life together. Those pieces on the floor run the gamut. Big shards you can safely pick up and discard; smaller slivers that slice open a vein before you feel the blood flowing; tiny particles that fly off in all directions and  show up later to abrade you — maybe you notice the grit when you roll over in your bed, place your bare foot in a shoe, or rub your eye with your fingers.

Let the debriefing begin

I am, quite frankly, surprised to be writing in this space. But it (this space) has been calling to me in recent months — occasionally even poking me with a dull "Feel like posting?" stick, reminding me that I left the blog hanging. Just waiting for me to come back, catch it, and call it Done.

Some things in life just take a little time to get to, you know?

And now: It's time.

This was never going to turn into a life-without-children blog. That just doesn't fit me. And I can't possibly still discuss myself in terms of being infertile. I mean, I was infertile. That happened. But I don't call myself infertile now, more than three years after my last TTC hurrah. Infertility is not a theme that rules my everyday todays. How could it? As my brother once said when asked, years after a painful end to one chapter in his life (the short story is he did not get what he wanted), whether he harbored negative feelings about the different life's path he was forced to take: "That would be weird."

Do I wish things had gone another way for me? Please. Yes. Of course. Can I still connect with the pain of losing my chance at parenthood? I don't have to connect, really, because it's right there, part of my soul. But, to my brother's point, I've reached the time at which I can't hold that pain against the Rest of My Life.

So here I am, blogosphere! Ready to start writing the posts that will help me articulate the journey from there to here. From my infertile end to my new days in which it makes sense to bring closure to this blog.

I have no idea how long my debriefing process will take. Not too terribly long, I trust. But the only thing I need to know right now is that I'm doing it.

And that, I am.

Rest in peace, sweet Louise

The beautiful Louise, blogger at Evil Stepmonster, lost her fight with breast cancer in August of this year. She passed away just 9 days after celebrating her gorgeous daughter's first birthday.

My heart goes out to her devastated husband and whole family.

Louise was a wonderful blogging friend, and I was lucky to know her, even just a little. I never heard her speaking voice, but I'm sure I'd recognize it anywhere.

If you are so inclined, please offer a good thought to Louise's loved ones by leaving a comment on the most recent post at her blog, written by her grieving husband. (The post has an August date, but I'm sure it just went live in the last 24 hours or so. I check my feed for her updates every day.)

There you can also see a couple of photos of the divine little creature named Kayla she and her husband worked so long, and valiantly, to bring into this world. And — if you don't already know Louise's story — her husband's moving words about her last days, along with her stepdaughter's poetic tribute, show that its theme was the only one that matters, and that's L-O-V-E love.

I do not have time to blog right now

So I think I will.

I'm contending with a ridiculous set of project deadlines over the next few weeks, and at 4:45 pm today I realized that — not only will I need to work ALL weekend (came to terms with that a couple days ago) — I must work tonight.

I'd already canceled my golfing plans, thinking I'd use this evening to rest up for the long (but, again, way too short) haul. But the joke's on me: I made precious little progress today. Hahahahahahahaha! At least, though, I came by my poor showing honestly. No goofing off, just couldn't produce.

Naturally, once I succumbed to feeling all the pressure, I thought, "Hey, I should blog at Infertile Ground! After all, I'm feeling inadequate. Like I won't be able to finish what I started. Just like old IF times!" (I should mention that I do know I'll meet my project deadlines. Pulling out all the stops works for that.)

Don't mind me. This compulsion to blog here is just a delayed reaction to seeing an ad for my old clinic a few weeks ago. The baby in it looked just like me.

I noticed the ad, thought my flash-crazy thoughts, and slammed shut the magazine. Then I instantly suppressed forgot it.

Well, wouldn't you know? A fresh issue of that periodical showed up in the mail this week. Last night while sitting down with it for a minute, I wondered why I didn't remember any of the articles talked about in the "Letters to the Editor" section. I recognized the cover image. Hmmm.

And then it hit me. Didn't even need to see the ad again. I knew that I'd cast aside the last issue for one simple reason:

That baby should have been mine.

Funny how these chance circumstances throw a sucker punch just when you think you've made it to the other side.

To be fair, I must stress that I have made it. I am okay. It's just that some bruises take a hella long time to properly heal.

New template

Well. The whole new-Blogger-templates thing forced me to visit this space. I'm really happy that new options are available after all these years. Pretty ones, too. Not sure I'll keep this particular background . . . or layout . . . or anything. But it's kind of cheery, I think.

Cheery, yet it features something going to seed, or weed — all with a view of the blue, blue sky. Which sort of fits the blog's main theme. (Or is that mine?)

Hey blog, you still here? Yeah, I am too.

I haven't completely settled into this new post-TTC life, you know. That's not to say that I'm not productive and busy, or that I'm without happiness or purpose or song. It's just that, gee whiz, moving on from the TTC life — which to me now also includes my pre-TTC life, which in turn includes the vision of life-with-family I somehow always had, even before I opened my eyes to it — is a more arduous task than I expected.

As for the grieving process, I did that up right, let me tell you. I felt it. Or more to the point, I let myself feel it. (Something I haven't always done when I should.)

True, there's no distinct end to grieving deep-down loss of any kind. It will always be there. It will always be not there. But despite having come a long, LONG way since last year at this time, I'm still wondering when. WHEN do I truly cross over into the light? No, not into the big white light. (Not ready!) Just into a rough approximation of the light I always lived in before, even during the darkest of times.

I know the light is there, waiting for me to reconnect to it. I feel it glancing my face sometimes, maybe even every day now. But I'm still living with a heaviness that keeps me in check. I walk around with that hint of a lump in my throat, that vague ache in my gut. Tiny afflictions that others can't really see. Well, that's not true. I'm sure others see those things in me. They just don't know it.

Oh, I smile easily, and I mean it when I do it. I just need to keep looking forward to looking forward to the day when my smile gets back to the business of being "my smile."

Thoughts on thoughts about TTC over 40

A while back, a totally well-intentioned soul directed me to a noninteractive blog touting the joys of TTC over 40. (I don't wish to link to it.) Said sweet soul thought perhaps I'd given up TTC too soon.

The blog-in-question's author sells a treatise on how she overcame infertility in her 40s. She maintains that "almost everyone" over 40 can succeed. Humph. A couple of quick clicks around the site reminded me that I'd come across this blog author's stuff YEARS ago (the info used to be inclusive of the 30s AND 40s), at which time I'd deemed it incompatible with my own personal criteria for resources I needed and/or trusted.

As you might infer, I have not read the blog-in-question's author's advertised book (self-published, in case that matters to you). Of course I'd be surprised if it didn't contain solid information about sensible diet, sex, fitness, and mind-body-connection practices. And I see not one thing wrong with individuals (like the blogger) sharing personal success stories in any form, blog/book/whatever.

What bothers me is when a blog's sole purpose is promotional — and when the information it presents just isn't up to snuff. Maybe it's just me, but I am put off by things like a lighthearted (and we're talking downright bubbly here) post in which the author finds herself unexpectedly pregnant at 49 (!), assumes the pregnancy won't make it, holds this up as evidence that you can't go buying into any type of infertility at this age, and wraps up by saying a version of "Nope, it didn't stick, but I'm not that sad. It proves my body works — and you should buy my book!"

For a moment after getting the recommendation to visit that blog, I thought maybe I should immediately explain, at length, why I'm not presently TTC. But cripes, that would take lots of time — no thanks, too lazy! Why, I've not even explicitly detailed the big Why in this, my own blog. I also thought about quickly replying to mention how any credible RE or medical resource will flat-out tell you that "44" really is a different ballgame than "over 40." (A real thing, that.) But again — didn't feel like it then.

Now, before I continue, I want to stress that I appreciated the helpful, hopeful spirit in which that blog link was gifted to me. Seriously. Yet, because the information was presented to me as a "counter" to my opinion on fertility at age 44 (MY fertility, to be precise), I simply felt that I needed to respond to that in post form. At some point down the road. And now seems like an okay point in time to do so.

Also: As my regular blog readers know, TTC is off the table for me. Did, dad, dud. That phase of my life is over, and the decision to end it wasn't blithely made. So receiving advice to check out other resources before I make a decision I've actually already made with great care could have felt . . . a bit . . . slappy. But what I knew then and now is that the person reaching out to me needed hope for herself.

Let me clearly state that I do not knock — or mock — the presence of hope for anyone TTC at or around (and preferably younger than) my age. I don't. I held on to hope the whole damn time I was trying, as should anyone. And I of course know a STUNNING collection of wonderful women who've conceived and birthed at 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, and maybe even at 44+. Success can/does happen, and I do not presume to know which plan of attack suits anyone else. But if I'm going to speak to "over 40" in the general fertility realm or just right here on my blog, I feel a responsibility to start by urging AMA women to pursue a credible and definitive medical diagnosis as EARLY as possible. My urging is to do this before you try, for example, a 6-month course of herbs that you've prescribed for yourself . . . or a 3-year wait-and-see-what sex-gets-you plan . . . or an approach that includes floating on the promise, by some blogger-for-profit, that you will succeed because "almost everyone" can.

To make safe, realistic choices, I believe you need to know what the medical experts think about your individual situation (remember: your partner's fertility profile is equally important). Only then can you make decisions about whether to go with medical assistance (if you can get/afford it; I know about the very real obstacles to this), your own self-directed plan, or a combination of both.

And if you're serious about this, you do need a plan that you will EXECUTE. What I'm saying is that you've got to murder that sucker. If you drive a stake through the vampire's heart — say, by following the SMEP or using C.lomid with timed intercourse to name 2 options — and that vampire gets back up again (translation: AF arrives), you need to drive that stake again, and again, until she ain't gettin' up no more.

I know it's tough to hear, but time is a-wastin' over 40. Hope is only enough for you if it turns out to be enough for you. And you will never get back ANY of the time you might spend coasting on hope alone.

Creme de la Creme of 2009

Today Mel, our mighty Stirrup Queen, unveiled the 2009 Creme de la Creme, aka the year's best blog posts from the Adoption/Loss/Infertility community. Each entry is self-selected by its author, by the way, so the list is a sort of all-inclusive celebration of each blogger's favorite post. I chose this entry because I felt that it told more of my current story than all my other fly-by-night after-thought-type writings from the past year put together.

Show Mel — and the whole lot of us — some love by clicking on over to peruse a bunch of beautiful bloggers' unique-yet-universal thoughts on the whole damn ALI experience. You won't regret it!

(I didn't submit till after Mel's deadline, so it might be several days before my entry pops up on her list.)

Looks can be deceiving

I've spent a good amount of kitchen time today letting my mind wander . . . and search . . . as I try to remember, "What the heck was I feeling last year on Thanksgiving?"

I clearly remember both Halloween (transfer day for IVF #3) and Christmas (not long after my D&C). But Thanksgiving? Not so much.

I know I was thankful to be pregnant. So, so thankful. And, as evidenced here, pretty thankful to still be married. Skimming old blog entries helped me zero in on Thanksgiving Day 2008 and recall a few details:

We were alone for it, just like this year; an exhausted DH had flown back from a business trip the night before, just like this year; I started the turkey later than planned and forgot to thaw the dinner rolls, just like this year; and, despite worries about early pregnancy biz that was testing "normal" but didn't feel that way to me, I was filled with hope that we would, finally, add a child to our family before the next holiday season rolled around. Just like every prior Thanksgiving since 2003. But absolutely nothing like this year.

Funny that I spent most of today thinking I needed to put my finger on what I felt then, when what I really needed was to put my finger on what I feel now.

This probably doesn't look like a musing on thankfulness.

The head is the thing

I mentioned a while back that I've been battling migraines, yes?

Well. Those buggars are winning at present. Despite acupuncture, herbs, vitamins, increased exercise/sleep, and decreased sugar/alcohol. The acupuncture-and-herbs combo, on which I'd really hung my hopes, has succeeded in extending my cycles. But it has also given me several other PMS symptoms I don't normally have and increased the number of sick-headachey flare-ups I get. INCREASED. By a lot. And that's really ticking me off. These head games take time away from my life, number one annoyance. Number two annoyance, the accompanying hormonal dips or lows or whatever-the-hay really hit me and make me sad and tired and scattered. I do bounce back rather well, but I'm just not ready to accept defeat in the form of "Now I am a chronic migraine sufferer." Unwarranted, if you ask me, and unfair.

I'm not sure I've done the right thing in reaction — I've taken an abrupt break from the treatment (2 weeks so far, and I might extend that to 3–4) — but longer cycles don't hold much currency with me if they don't also come with NO FREAKIN' MIGRAINES.

Seeing my gynecologist later this week and hoping hard that some Western medicine mumbo-jumbo will be indicated.

Feeling good right now — and, if the pattern is still somewhat predictable, I should feel fine for another couple of weeks, knock-knock-knock on wood for luck, until my stupid head decides to mess with me some more.

I worry about people

I saw an ad for an upcoming Dr. Phil show mentioning a 48-year-old woman's desperate desire to rush into marriage because her "biological clock is ticking." I don't know the person's real details, and I don't expect to watch the show. Still, I felt compelled to touch on a couple of general topics the show teaser raised. Call it a public service announcement for I-don't-know-who-might-stumble-on-it.

What I'm about to say is coming from a place of understanding, compassion, and concern for my fellow woman.

About the marriage thing:

Marrying out of desperation of any kind will not give you what you are seeking. Applying severe pressure may actually work to get some men to the altar (lord knows it has before). But don't count on a happy ending with this prince. In fact, remind yourself, PLEASE, that he is not a prince. You can take care of yourself. And you can find the kind of love that requires no begging, brow-beating, or berating (of yourself OR the other party). It just might not show up on a schedule. That sucks, I know, but this is one thing you don't want to force.

About the biological clock thing:

I know what that ticking sounds like. But I hope to god you understand (and that the show clearly mentions) that — at 48 — chances are SO slim that you will achieve pregnancy naturally. I'm going to go ahead and assume that you intend to pursue either DE-IVF or adoption and wish you all the luck and speed (you will need both) in the world. Cash and strength and more luck might help too.

And now, back to my regularly scheduled work time.

Posting for the heck of it

I'm up late. Actually, I was out late (for a school night, that is), so although this is not really all that late for me to be up, I am feeling wired . . . not ready for bed.

So what's up with me? I'm keeping busy with work. Worrying about my DH. Planning an early 2010 vacation. Working on eradicating my migraines with acupuncture, exercise, whatever might do the trick. Processing certain aspects of the family visit that happened last week.

Also . . . dreading, just a little, my fast-approaching annual gyno exam. I haven't seen that doctor since just before starting our third IVF in September 2008. I saw her for an 8-week pregnancy check-up in June before that but not again during the next pregnancy.

I'm expecting the topic of birth control to come up.

Not-so-deep thoughts

I still have my moments of dearly wishing I could bear a healthy baby that would turn into a child and then an adult that I'd live to see all grown up.* But. I don't believe that scenario is "in the cards," as they say. I know it's not, in fact.

Just so you know: This wistful wish is NOT on my mind at all times. I'm focused on other goals, on life at hand, and I definitely operate now according to our joint decision to cease and desist. I'm living for the present again and making all kinds of concrete, executable future plans based on our childless life.

I think — that as my newly imagined future continues to unfold — at some point I'll reach a stage of feeling fine that I never did have a child. That I might even think the whole situation is "okay."

What do you think? Don't we adjust our heartfelt perspectives to align with our rational, cold-hard-facts-based decisions?






*Please, no comments about how that could be accomplished.

Well, why not!

Why did I chuckle (and leave it at that) when my hairstylist playfully smacked me on the shoulder and said "You're so lucky you don't have kids. You really are!"?

Why did I decide to pursue a professional writing project on the topic of IVF?

Why has Celine Dion already announced a pregnancy not due to culminate until next May?*






*And, btw, is her p-stick even dry yet?

What do people do with extra rooms?

I recently mentioned that we have this empty room I'm wanting to fill.

I don't craft. Not even a little bit. Don't want to, not gonna. So any kind of craft room/project room/gift-wrapping room would make much less sense than even an empty room.

It's too small to be a TV room. And besides, we already watch TV/movies in the family room.

The room is also too small to house the exercise equipment we own but almost never use (recumbent bicycle, ski machine). Never mind that we'd have to carry the equipment up the stairs from the basement. Funny how we used it in our last, smaller house, but the family room setup there made it possible to work out in front of the TV. Can't really do that here, and for some reason working out at home without the option of watching some show you don't need to see hasn't caught on.

I'm thinking that the only real choice is to make it a reading room. Or a sitting room. Or a reading-sitting-music room. It's not big, but we could fit maybe 2 chairs and a table in there . . . or a small sleeper couch and a chair. Always room for a bookshelf or two. This seems most practical, but at the same time I feel like "WHY?" when it's just the two of us and we have multiple rooms already equipped to handle readers/sitters/music players.

If we REALLY wanted to stay in this house long-, long-term, we could knock out some walls and create a ginormous master suite. But. We don't need that. And. If we're going to start messing with walls, we'd probably do something with the kitchen instead.

Seems like the choice is clear, doesn't it? Still, I'm willing to entertain ideas if anyone else has any.

Saying it with a song

I almost hate to file the complaint prompting this post.

Truly, I've been the recipient of so very few pieces of unsolicited TTC advice since saddling up for the rodeo 6 years ago. And for that I feel . . . unique.

But I'll be hanged if I didn't just recently get some. TTC "at your age" advice, I mean. It made no sense to me AT ALL that I was getting it. My adviser, you see, knows that TTC is off the table at my house. That that life phase is over. (Did, dad, dud.)

As you know, my dear readers, the decision to end said phase was not made blithely. So I'm sure you can imagine that hearing out-of-the-blue advice about how I might just get knocked up "at home" after all (seriously?) — and with the clear implication that I should be thankful to hear it, not to mention impressed that the adviser held her tongue while I was actually trying to start a family — felt a bit slappy.

I'm not going to offer particulars about the specific words of wisdom or who threw them in my face as though I might easily expect to pass a fully gestated baby into the toilet the next time I relieved myself. I will, however, say that I think I handled it casually. Politely. Yet definitively.

What I didn't do was point out how my advice-giver has absolutely no flipping clue. Where I am and where I've been on this path — at full-on 44, with intimate knowledge of my own, actual fertility profile and reproductive history, years of both so-called natural methods and medical interventions under my belt, having ALREADY researched the hell out of relevant-to-me topics all along the way, past tense — IS where I've been and where I am. I don't need no stinking Monday-morning quarterbacking.

In a fun moment of happenstance, I watched Postcards from the Edge last night and thought this number perfectly captured my experience and sentiments on a number of butt-kicking levels.



My favorite lyrics snippet, in case you'd rather not sit through the video:

"I've run the gamut, A to Z. Three cheers, and dammit, c'est la vie. I got through all of last year, and I'm here. Lord knows, at least I was there . . . and I'm here."