Excuses, Excuses

Since I began this blog two years ago, I think this is the longest I've gone without posting.

Why is that, I wonder? The answer is multifaceted.

1. To be or not to be pregnant (and to stay or not to stay pregnant) are no longer the questions taking center stage in my life. (These days, it's more like: to go or not to go to graduate school). This is not to suggest that these questions have left the stage entirely. Don't get me wrong. As much as I wish it were otherwise, I don't think I'll ever be entirely free of them. They have become a part of me. And so has this blog.

2. Speaking of graduate school, my first big application deadline is looming, just two weeks away. And there is So Much To Do. Hence, Reason Number Two: frantic, out of control distraction.

3. Plus, clients are coming out of the woodwork, suddenly wanting to Christmas-up their websites. In other words, Reason Number Two all over again.

4. I don't keep this blog the deep dark secret that it should be. My family knows about it. My friends know about it. Hell, even my ex-husband knows about it! (Not that I've heard a peep from him since the divorce, but I'll save that rant for another post.) Probably the grad schools I apply to will come across it, and how seriously will they take me if they read that I'm disappointed to be getting my period today?

My life has always been an open book. I can't keep a secret (about myself, that is) and wouldn't want to begin. But sometimes I think I should. And occasionally, that thought does slow me down a bit.

5. Speaking of can't keep a secret, I wasn't going to tell you yet, dear readers, because it's really not ready, but I've been two-timing you. I've started another blog. Just barely! I'd invite you in but the furniture is still in boxes all over the floor, and I haven't even unfurled the wallpaper.

Never fear: I won't stop writing here. The Babies or Not story is not over yet. But there are other aspects to who I am besides infertile, other things I think about besides babies and reproductive decision-making---like art, writing, and living a creative life---and I want to give myself some space to explore those too.

I'll post the link, I promise, I promise. Very soon. Just let me unpack a little first, tack up a few links. Some of you Blogger-savvy types have probably found it already. Some of you might sneak over there on your own. If you have, or if you do now, excuse the mess. And tune in here to be invited to the grand opening, coming soon(ish).

Timing

To those of you who comment on this blog, I wanted to put in yet another note of thanks for your words of wisdom and encouragement. It is great to hear from you all.

Someone asked what I meant by "Guess what time it is" in the previous post, assuming I was talking about time of the month. I meant time of day. It was midafternoon when I last wrote, and the afternoon blues were upon me as I complained that the prospect of work and school left me flat.

I am grateful to report that this is shifting: Lately, I am happily, albeit frantically, engaged in my work, my writing, my art-making, and in applying to graduate school. Morning, evening, and (knock wood) in the afternoon. All day long, actually. I forgot to eat lunch yesterday, in fact, I was so engrossed.

Speaking of time of the month, however, yesterday, I hit what, for me these days is the most poignant and fleeting time of the month. I'm talking EWCM here, people. For those of you not versed and deeply immersed in the TTC (trying to conceive) lexicon, I mean egg white cervical mucus, that clear, gooey stuff that lubes the passage of sperm through the mighty maw of the cervix just in time for conception. It's the telltale clue, the biological egg-timer, as it were, dinging up another ripe egg.

When I was a teenager, I had copious amounts of the stuff for a day or two every month. (No wonder, I read recently that we're most fertile between the ages of seventeen and twenty-four.) Nowadays, I'm lucky to see any at all. In fact, last time I noticed EWCM, J~ took the morning off and we conceived my latest ill-fated pregnancy.

But yesterday, mid-morning, I discovered my body had produced a great gob of the stuff. I checked my chart: it was the eleventh day of my cycle. Right on target. But J~ was already long gone and I was so deep into my work I didn't think about it long. By the time he came home and I had torn myself from the computer screen, the day was over. I was starving and stiff and in dire need of a workout. (Didn't I mention I forgot to eat lunch? I forgot to take any breaks at all yesterday.)

We talked about it. We noted the passing moment, the shift in my focus away from parenthood and toward a broader definition of my life's work and purpose. I asked him if he felt sad. He admitted that he did, but just a little. "Not a deep pit-of-the-stomach sadness," he said.

I nodded, agreeing, understanding. It is sad to think I may never be a mother. But also, when I can embrace it (usually after my requisite afternoon grieving period, which can be very intense) the thought is also tremendously freeing: I may never be a mother.

My fantasy these days is that I'll get pregnant by some miracle of health and timing. It'll happen at just the right moment, if there ever is such a thing, when J~ is more available to help, when I am more established and satisfied in my work. Perhaps that moment is a month away. Perhaps it doesn't exist. But in the meantime, life goes on.

Afternoon Blues

I've been feeling sad lately. I haven't wanted to say anything about it. I thought it would pass. Maybe it will pass.

For a month or so now, I've been overtaken most days, mid afternoon, by a sinking, swamping sadness. My heart literally aches. I feel pressure behind my eyes, a rising tide of tears without an obvious source. When this becomes unbearable, I slip my sneakers on, take myself out for a walk, a run.

It works, this infusion of oxygen to my blood. The tide recedes.

But come the next afternoon, I'm back where I started.

Sometimes, it isn't sadness, but panic that hits me. I feel as if I've been riding a lawnmower all day, drinking coffee by the gallon. Even my skin seems to be vibrating. I've had headaches most nights this week. I never have headaches! And for the record, I haven't mowed the lawn in six weeks and I don't drink coffee at all.

I toured the MFA program at the local college the other day, walked away (in the pouring rain) feeling discouraged and overwhelmed. Academia, I am reminding, is not to be entered into lightly. "I'm not sure it's the answer," I told my new, and very wise friend, C~.

"What's the question?" she replied.

I told you she was wise.

It took me two days to realize, the question is this: If not motherhood, then what?

There are a million perfectly good answers, some of which excite me, at the right time of day. But at this moment, they all sound like "get a job" or "go to school." And frankly (can you guess what time it is?) my heart isn't in it.

Nothing

Yes: Nothing.

I have done nothing, beyond discuss with J~ what something might entail, in regard to further medical intervention in our fertility journey.

We did decide to ask some questions of the doc, do a little research of our own, and possibly, probably, get all the blood tests - genetic for us both, immunologic, clotting, the works, for me. But taking action? Doing the actual research, making the actual calls, getting our arms stuck with actual needles? No. None of that has happened.

I can't say why, exactly.

I think of the downstairs bathroom overdue for a thorough cleaning and the kitchen floor we've been meaning to replace and the reservations to be made for our very first anniversary dinner. Yes, I know, this issue is a little heavier than mundane household chores, a little more daunting than "dinner for two," but still, the hold-up is, at least in part, related to how busy we are.

Okay, I know busy-ness is an excuse, but to be fair, J~'s weekends, ever since his son moved to Vermont, have revolved very heavily around the boy. B~'s been home every weekend, and J~ has done an awful lot of driving. As for me, I must admit, there's relief in focusing on grad school and my freelance graphic design business and the book proposals I've been chipping away at forever. I'm making real progress on all these fronts, which feels great.

Then again, I do worry about getting pregnant without being any better equipped to stay pregnant. As for the primal, primary, necessary act, the prerequisite to finding ourselves in just that situation, we haven't slowed down one bit. In fact, I would go so far as to say we've been more inclined toward that one, what with so many weekday evenings with no child in the house. Which also helps explain why we're finding so little spare energy to move on the difficult issues, like cleaning that bathroom.

In conclusion? Believe me, I see the contradictions riddling this entry. I see room for improvement, to say the least. But I keep coming back to the bottom line, which is this: I'm happy.

Don't get me wrong, I'd love to be a mother. I'd love to avoid another miscarriage. So why don't I do something about it? What's my excuse for all this passivity? What do I have to say for myself, young lady?

Nothing.

First Things First

Thank you!

If there was a rule number four, perhaps it would be this: Orient yourself to thankfulness. Stretch your awareness to notice (in other words, to receive) more and more blessings every day. Express your appreciation.

And so, I begin today's post with thanks to you, dear readers, for sharing all your insights and perspectives and information and good wishes. Thank you! I am taking everything you say to heart. J~ is too. We sat down and read your most recent comments together. We do that often, actually. But this time, we're taking notes. We're having discussions. We're making plans. I'll give you more detail eventually, but for now, suffice it to say this: Babies or Not—in three forms—is alive and kicking:

1. as a question in our lives. Will we or won't we? We'd like to. There may be more we could do to coax that possibility into reality. But we also know it may not happen.

2. as a mantra. Babies or not, life goes on for us. At least for another few decades. We hope.

3. as a blog. As long as the preceding points are applicable to me, and as long as people are interested in reading what I have to say on the subject, this blog will also go on. At least until I write the book.

Another thing I am thankful for right now: Elizabeth Gilbert's book Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia. And my friend in Tennessee, who loved the book so much, he bought seven copies to give away. I was one of the lucky seven! I am thankful for this inspiring, touching, funny, wonderful memoir. It is rare that I finish a book and within a week, begin reading it a second time, but this is just one of those reads. Too delicious to put away just because I've reached the last page.

I love books! I am thankful for books!

And for the internet, and telephones, and all the networks of communication we have in this world. They are blessings that sometimes feel like curses, but right now, I appreciate them all.

Isn't it amazing, how black lines and curves inked on a white page (or a polka-dot page) can convey meaning, and emotion and story, the pure thread of our souls? Okay, I know, I'm getting sappy and overly romantic here, but think about it—there is no sap on this page, just colored pixels arranged in patterns.

If you, like me, are inclined to get excited over such mundane wonders, and don't mind a little math and science along the way, here's another book I recommend: I Am a Strange Loop by Douglas Hofstadter. I'm working my way through it, bit by bit, and it is blowing my mind.

Aside from the big things (our loved ones, food and shelter) what are you thankful for?

Rule Number Three

J~ and I flew to Tennessee for four days, Sunday through yesterday, so that I might introduce him to a place I once lived and loved, at the end of a dirt road at the end of another dirt road at the end of yet another dirt road, and to the dear friends I made there a decade ago.

We stayed in a lovely guest cabin belonging to some of these friends, under a quilt I sewed for its owners nine years ago, under a roof beam I helped raise a year before that.

Alone together, J~ and I hiked and talked and lounged. We made love in a field. We slept late, read books, took a good long run, and scratched behind the ears of many sweet dogs. With friends, we laughed and ate and shared stories. We also visited loved ones in the hospital, and cooked and shopped for groceries for their return.

Which brings me to the subject of this post.

Some of you, with your comments this week about my choices (or lack thereof) regarding reproductive testing, have your finger on my third of three rules to live by. I'll say more about those choices in a minute, but for now, without further ado, here's Rule Number Three: Ask for help.

What could be easier, right? But for some of us (namely me) this can, sometimes, seem near impossible. I put limits on how much help I imagine I am allotted. J~, like so many men, trained that they are supposed to appear all-knowing and all-competent, does this too. Which leads to the recursive: When uncomfortable asking for help, ask for help asking for help.

Which is why I've asked J~ to help me think about what comes next. I am shy about calling the doctor to ask the one question I forgot to ask in our appointment: what about the sudden, heavy bleeding I had with the demise of my most recent pregnancy? Is that to be expected in pregnancies that fail for the typical, genetic-combination reasons? Could this indicate a clotting disorder?

Maybe I will test for that, after all... but I'm not sure I'd take blood thinners (aspirin included) as, I am told, clotting disorders rarely lead to miscarriages, and when they do, it usually doesn't happen until at at least 14 weeks -- none of my pregnancies ever got beyond twelve.

I probably won't take progesterone, or even have my levels checked, as my research (and the doctors I've spoken to) suggest that low progesterone has never been proven to cause pregnancy failure. Progesterone might test low because a pregnancy is not viable in the first place.

As for karyotyping (genetic testing of myself and J~) I don't see the point. It would have been nice to have information about the past pregnancies. It would be nice to rule out, definitively, all other problems. But now, at worst, we'll learn that the odds of a good genetic combination aren't in our favor. In that case, short of IVF (which helps by selecting genetically viable fetuses from the outset, and involves a level of invasiveness and expense that is beyond what feels right for me), nothing can be done to improve our odds except to keep rolling the dice.

In the spirit of Rule Number Three, I welcome your thoughts, comments, stories, experiences, insights, prayers, jokes, etcetera! Let the comments section be a beacon to me and to all who light upon this blog post!

Two and Two

Two updates, coming right up. But first, Rule Number Two:

Visualize Success.

Some people believe there is real, magical power in extreme positive thinking, in living "as if", or at least repeating, mantra-style: I have the body of a supermodel, the bank account of Oprah Winfrey, and a healthy baby on the way. Life is fabulous. I don't mean to demean this practice (or supermodels, or Oprah, or babies, or fabulousness). I also don't mean to suggest that I believe there is no such magical power. Frankly, I don't know, and truthfully, it doesn't matter, because, magic or not, in many circumstances, I am convinced that visualizing success works.

One thing I do know: doing so forces a change of perspective. It is good to ask yourself, when feeling fat and poor and sad, whether your intention is to take your mind off of the pain (by consuming a pint of ice cream, a lottery ticket, and a good movie, for instance) or to make peace (with your flab, your childlessness, and your second-hand everything), or is your intention to make change? There is no correct answer. The important thing is simply to ask!

I like David Allen's line (I've quoted this before): "Whatever has your attention needs your intention engaged." In other words, in order to visualize success, you need to address the question: In this particular circumstance, for me, what DOES success look like?

It's a good question for me right now. So much is changing.

I'll give more details soon, but in a nutshell, two things:

1. Tomorrow, my stepson will move three hours north to complete the academic year, possibly all five remaining academic years before college, at a better school, living with his mother. My mixed feelings contain a double-shot of relief, and smaller jolts of worry, guilt, and sadness. For J~, of course, it is much more intense. He is alternately excited for his son, worried for him, and completely devastated. J~'s entire existence, for the past thirteen years, has been defined by and revolved around his role as parent. Through tears, sitting in his car in the office's parking lot at lunch hour today, he told me he feels the loss so deeply, it seems to exist at the cellular level.

2. We met with a reproductive endocrinologist this week. A good meeting, a thoughtful, down-to-earth, and knowledgeable doc with lots of good information. The upshot: lab orders for tests that we mostly don't expect to take, since they are invasive and seek out long shots, and frankly, we're just not desperate enough to go there. Since IVF has never felt like an option for me, it boils down to this: nothing to do but try again. Chances of another pregnancy being successful? Fifty-five to sixty percent. That's better odds than I imagined. But I don't much fantasize about having a child like I used to. Perhaps it's self-protective. Perhaps it's denial, but "visualize success" for me lately is more about a writing and art career than it is about babies.

However, if I've learned anything over the past few years, and the past few weeks, it's this: life is nothing if it isn't constant change.

Who knows what I'll be saying a month from now.