Or Not.

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Friday
9:15 am: Positive home pregnancy test. It's a faint second line, but it's really there. I stare and stare. A sweat breaks across my lower back. I leave a message on J~'s cell:

I want to talk to you... about... something.


9:30 - 10:30 am: I post a photo of the test on this blog. I have some happiness, some trepidation about the demands of parenthood. Though I know it may very well happen, I'm surprised to note that I'm not worried about miscarriage.

So why this nervous shaking in my thighs?


10:30 am: J~ returns my call and I tell him the news. Our conversation is guarded – upbeat, but not ecstatic.


11 am: It's decided - I will ride with my bike club on Saturday, despite the cold I'm fighting, despite the pregnancy. I find myself having an imaginary conversation with an imaginary Devil's Advocate:

D.A.: With your history, I'm surprised you don't just crawl into bed and stay there for the next nine months.

ME: No way. I don't want it that bad.

My response catches me off guard. I don't?


4 pm: I have not veered from my original plans for the day – work (client design stuff, plus I'm preparing for an art show, only two weeks away and still lots to do), a walk, and a drive to the bike shop to pay for my new bicycle.

This is no small purchase. I've resisted for a year, unsure of my commitment to the sport, reasoning that if I were to get pregnant again, I would not be riding much. Last year, a fancy new bicycle seemed like a leap of faith in the wrong direction. But a year later I'm still riding, still loving it. And another pregnancy has not emerged.

Until today, of course.

Isn't this the way it always goes in the movies?

Okay, now I'm getting a little excited.


4:30 pm: I plunk my credit card down on the counter along with a patch kit, a spare inner tube, a few tools and accessories. The shopkeeper is chatting with her friend, commiserating about how, with young children, they no longer find the time to ride like they once did.

I resist the urge to blurt that I am pregnant, resist the pull to think about what they are saying. Resist also the desire to add an expensive form-fitting windbreaker to my purchases.


5:30 pm: Home again, I do another HPT, anxious to see a darker line. But it's just the opposite, fainter than the first test, almost nonexistent.

I feel completely deflated.


Saturday
7 am: another HPT: Negative this time, no doubt about it. Damn.


9:30 am: Bleeding. And to think - my period wasn't even due until Sunday! If I hadn't done the test, I never would've known an egg had been fertilized. Bum egg, bum sperm, bum uterus. Who knows.

10:30 am: pick up the co-op order. I look at all the other co-op members. It feels strange, and sad, that no one knows.


1 pm: 40-mile bike ride with my club. Feeling happy.

Happy? It makes me nervous that I'm happy.


Sunday
Another 30 miles with the club followed by a two-hour nap on the couch. Still feeling happy. I can't make heads or tails of it.


Monday
I'm troubled that I don't seem to have any lingering feelings about this miscarriage. I admit to K~, my friend and counselor, I may be more excited about my work and riding my bike at this point then I am about getting pregnant.

And then it hits me, and I start to cry.

It's been a long, hard road. It didn't lead where I had hoped it would lead. This was not the goal. I did not want to find myself here. But it's happened, and there's nothing to be done.

I've moved on.

HO. LY. C. R. A. P.

It's faint. But it's there:

Recap and Reprise

Past and Future Ghosts, 11 x 17" gouache and ink on paper.
This piece will appear in an art show upcoming at Windham Arts Collaborative, in Willimatic, CT. If you're in the area, come to the opening reception on Friday, April 3rd. I'd love to see you! (Details here)

I began this blog shortly after my second miscarriage, which took place on a Wednesday night in November, 2005. I was at work when I knew for certain.

I worked as an abortion counselor.

I left the clinic early that evening, heading home to my hot water bottle and an empty apartment. (My husband, A~, was away on business.) Luckily, this loss was easier than the first - quicker, less painful. I could handle it on my own. The grief that followed was a hard but familiar terrain.

Shortly thereafter, my marriage shattered. After more than a decade together, it was a sudden and devastating break. I felt like I'd been run over by a truck: nauseous and heartsick and unable to breathe properly for months. At the same time, I felt freed of a great weight. A life I thought I could never endure (without A~) became a life full of promise. I wrote all about it on these virtual pages.

During this time, I was introduced to J~, who was struggling with a very similar life crisis. Three years (and, sadly, two more miscarriages) have come and gone. J~ and I are married - happily, to say the least. B~, my stepson, now in high school, is thriving.

Babies or not? It's still an open question, though it burns less urgently than it did when I began discussing it here.

Babies or not, life is good.

The Fence, the Grass, and the Color Green

Remembering my summer garden...

It's been five years, four miscarriages, two partners, and now a full year without a pregnancy since I began this pursuit of motherhood in earnest. It seems to me that the window for children to come into the world through my body is beginning to close. If it hasn't closed already.

Okay, I'll admit it. I've been crying my eyes out over this lately.

An old friend, younger than I, wrote to update me on her own infertility journey, which includes acupuncture, over a year of drugs, surgery (for endometriosis), IUIs (five of them), and now IVF. Not to mention the 3-hour commute to her RE's office.

I have nothing but respect and admiration and the highest hopes that her dedication will pay off.

But I ask myself: why am I not driven to follow a similar path?

This is not a new question. I revisit it all the time.

Is it because I am so easily overwhelmed by the medical world? Or is it because, in spite of my very sincere sadness, the desire to be a mother just isn't as strong in me as it is for some?

Though Number One on my wish list is an effortless pregnancy followed by a healthy child, Number Two is not a hard-won pregnancy, even if it came with a healthy-child guarantee.

No.

Next on my list is simply to let it go. Even if that means crying my eyes out on occasion.

Because when I'm not crying, there is time to make more art, read more good books, take more long walks, to take advantage of the time remaining in this very short life to love the people who are already around me.

Then again, I'm sure if I had that hard-won child, I would say every expense, every struggle was worth it. I'm sure the grass on that side of the fence would be very green.

I guess I'm gambling that if I keep watering the lawn of right here and now, I'll be okay with the grass under my feet.

Magical Thinking

(I've been obsessed with designing patterns lately. See more here.)

I'm no longer sick. Thanks goodness.

My naturopath said I don't have PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome), just PCO (polycystic ovaries). What is the significance of this distinction? I can't say that I know. I arrived at her office on January 9th with J~ in tow, ready to get the lowdown, but the appointment was railroaded by a misunderstanding.

In a nutshell: Over the phone, while I was sick, she told me to eat only vegetables and broth. I did not understand that she meant this recommendation only until I felt better. She had also mentioned seeing my ultrasound report, and that I had PCOS, which hit me hard. I thought the food guidelines related to this diagnosis. I wanted to ask questions. She assured me we would talk about it at my appointment.

But we never got that far. Instead, after I confessed that I was unsure about what to eat, and feeling hungry and lightheaded, she gave me a brief lecture on how I need to "take responsibility" for my diet, eat every two hours, and have protein at every meal. She then proceeded to write out a food chart for me, right down to the breakast-snack-lunch-snack-dinner-snack detail. Just give me the guidelines, I tried to argue, I don't need a meal plan, but she was convinced this was necessary. In the end, there wasn't time to discuss the ultrasound.

I left that appointment feeling distressed and angry. I've been following a strictly limited diet for half a year now, and it has not been exactly easy. I've been proud of how well I've done. The last thing I want or need is a prescription for every morsel I put into my mouth. Or a doctor-patient relationship that feels like being sent to the principal's office.

I've been in a bit of a tailspin ever since.

It doesn't help that the freezer broke down at my local food co-op and they gave away all the ice cream - just as I arrived at the store.

In her moving memoir, The Year of Magical Thinking Joan Didion tells of how, after her husband's sudden death, she found refuge in the belief that he would one day return — if only she kept the way open for him. She held onto a single pair of his shoes, for instance, not for sentimental reasons, as she allowed others to think, but because he'd need them when he came back.

I can relate.

I've been thinking that if I am a very good girl and do exactly what the doctor tells me to do, if I eat exactly the right foods and get exactly the right amount of rest and exercise, if I do meaningful work and cross a few big projects off my lifetime To Do list, and then, finally, if I am so happy and fulfilled that I stopped trying altogether, I will get to have a baby after all.

I've been thinking this way for five years.

I always assumed, however, that if I still hadn't had a child by age 38, I would throw in the towel. I figured that by then I'd feel sick of all the disappointment, and ready to move on. What a relief it would be to quit wondering half of every month if I might be knocked up. Like right now, for instance - my breasts are uncommonly tender. I keep thinking I might be pregnant, but I need to wait another week before I can know for sure.

I hate the question mark lurking in the back of my mind, and yet I cling to it.

I turn 39 in six weeks.

New Year's Eve

Last year at this time I was pregnant. I found out on Christmas night and I was thrilled, of course — and scared, of course. But on New Year's Day I miscarried. And decided, as I lay on the couch with a hot water bottle and my laptop, that I would take my life in a new direction, releasing my grip on the safe and trodden career path - off to grad school - and allowing myself more time to pursue the course that felt more enlivening than grueling. I would still try for a baby, but I wouldn't keep all my creative eggs confined to that one ovarian basket. (Forgive the metaphor, please!)

I've had an incredible year, professionally speaking (more about that soon on my other blog). Health-wise, it's been a more difficult journey: a few myserious illnesses resolved, a few new ones not yet solved, and a new naturopath who believes I have both PCOS and endometriosis. I'll be seeing her January 9th for the lowdown.

As I write tonight, I'm laid up on the couch with a hot water bottle and my laptop again. Not a miscarriage this time, but a collection of minor maladies. Actually, maybe I'm minimizing a bit - I did have a fever of over 103F last night. With a long sweaty difficult night behind me, I do believe I've turned the corner.

Feeling optimistic.

What better way to anticipate 2009?

Wishing you all the best!

All Five

In the previous post, I talked about five things on my mind more than I'd like. Here's an update:

1. My Health
Saw my doctor Tuesday, told her the story of my "attack". She thinks it was an ovarian cyst rupturing - nothing to worry about. Not a kidney stone. Not an infected appendix. Not... who knows what else. It makes sense, since the pain hit around ovulation time.

So, around the same time next cycle I'm going for an ultrasound, see what's going on in there. Oh, and she also thinks I have endometriosis. And she tells me, looking over my blood results, that I'm borderline anemic. Even closer than the border than I was two years ago, when my previous doc said the same thing and put me on iron supplements.

In the meantime, more dietary adjustments, and a bit more optimism, a bit more trust in my gut intuition about my health. Suddenly I understand why I keep saying I crave foods that are "grounding." What do I mean by that? I had no idea until I realized that the foods that come to mind (red meat, spinach, nuts, raisins) are all iron-rich. Iron is heavy. Grounding. My body, I get it now, needs that iron.

2. Babies or Not?
I'm still hopeful, especially at this point in the cycle. But I still don't want it badly enough to turn my life over to drugs and procedures and a parade of doctors. If it doesn't ever happen, I'll be sad, of course, very sad, but I will also feel like I've dodged a bullet. I am under no illusions. Even in the best of circumstances, children are a major project. There will be a lot more leisure in my life without them. A child would be wonderful, but I can't deny it. Leisure is pretty nice.

3. My work
I think I might be finding my rhythm. Feels good. More on this on my other blog, LifeCraft.

4. My stepson
Out of sight, Out of mind. B~'s home situation has been in agonizing flux for months while his mother sorted out some personal demons. It's been a challenging time. B~ likes living with us, but he loves the school he attends when he's with her. He's back with her now and I am enjoying a break from thinking about it. Personally, I just want the ground to stay put under his feet. Hopefully the earthquakes are over, though I brace myself out of habit.

5. My ex-husband
Yes, the tide churns up thoughts of him on occasion, and yes, there is a melancholy feeling when that happens. He probably still reads this blog. Can't say that doesn't effect me. I feel his voyeuristic attention, and I wonder what he feels toward me, wonder what he tells himself as the story of our breakup. Funny how the mind can twist these things. Did you ever see the movie, High Fidelity? It nicely illustrates the point. Plus, it's funny. Rent it sometime.