Monday, January 26, 2015
Meet Princess
This is Princess. At roughly two years old, she is the newest addition to the casa de justonemore. She is crazy sweet and soft. We have one happy Niblet in our house.
Friday, January 16, 2015
Honesty and hope
While it's tough to live your life hoping for a miracle, it's even tougher, I think, to live eliminating hope.
Possibly I'm just not wired that way. So much of what I do every day (I'm talking about my career) hinges on having enormous buckets of hope.
I spent an hour in my therapist's office yesterday crying about how I needed to try to give up any hope that I would get the outcome I need. Because three years of actively trying to conceive and having nothing to show for it but heartbreak needed to end. Because I need to protect Niblet from getting her hopes raised. Because I am drained and scared of another horrible gutting outcome and isn't self-preservation smarter in the long-run?
But I sit here realizing that I am also being dishonest. The tears are real, but they don't feel like me. Debbie downer that I can be, I am generally one of the more hopeful people you'll come across. I have hopes and dreams for peace for humanity that many people view as pollyana-ish and trite.
Maybe I can take Niblet out of this equation. Maybe I can keep plugging away at my supplements and vitamins, and yoga videos and wellness and exercise and acupuncture. Maybe I can still ensure that my husband and I are timing everything just right. Maybe - just maybe - I can deliver a miracle. With a little hope.
Possibly I'm just not wired that way. So much of what I do every day (I'm talking about my career) hinges on having enormous buckets of hope.
I spent an hour in my therapist's office yesterday crying about how I needed to try to give up any hope that I would get the outcome I need. Because three years of actively trying to conceive and having nothing to show for it but heartbreak needed to end. Because I need to protect Niblet from getting her hopes raised. Because I am drained and scared of another horrible gutting outcome and isn't self-preservation smarter in the long-run?
But I sit here realizing that I am also being dishonest. The tears are real, but they don't feel like me. Debbie downer that I can be, I am generally one of the more hopeful people you'll come across. I have hopes and dreams for peace for humanity that many people view as pollyana-ish and trite.
Maybe I can take Niblet out of this equation. Maybe I can keep plugging away at my supplements and vitamins, and yoga videos and wellness and exercise and acupuncture. Maybe I can still ensure that my husband and I are timing everything just right. Maybe - just maybe - I can deliver a miracle. With a little hope.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Rewriting the ever after
Happily Ever After (HEA). The phrase that conjure fairy tales and romance novels (my personal brand of crack). My readers know that for many moons, my definition of the phrase would likely be a picture of me, holding a newborn baby in my arms. In my minds eye, the picture includes Niblet looking on in wonder.
Three years of losses and setbacks are forcing me to step back. "Happily Ever After" - an unhealthy trope to begin with - is downright toxic if I connect it to my fertility. I need to revisit what good ending to this story is.
What will the new picture look like? Fuck if I know. Niblet's happiness and health, along with my husband's were already a given in our HEA. As I have noted many times, we have much to be thankful for already. But for so many years I held on to great hope that with a little luck and medical intervention, I could beat the odds. That I would ultimately end up with a baby in my arms. Now that I am trying to let go, I feel a little lost. I mean, I can strive to improve upon my health so that I remain on this earth for my only daughter for as long as possible. But is that it? It feels odd seeking to just continue to exist. One of the traps of infertility, I think, is that it is all so bench-marked and goal-oriented, even more so for us complicated cases. Almost mathematical.
(Doctors) + (Surgeries) + (Take drugs) + (Hope for miracles) = (Baby).
It's a weird place to sit in, hoping for miracles without investing in the outcome of the equation.
Maybe it is something like: (take supplements) + (hope for miracles) = (healthier existence).
Three years of losses and setbacks are forcing me to step back. "Happily Ever After" - an unhealthy trope to begin with - is downright toxic if I connect it to my fertility. I need to revisit what good ending to this story is.
What will the new picture look like? Fuck if I know. Niblet's happiness and health, along with my husband's were already a given in our HEA. As I have noted many times, we have much to be thankful for already. But for so many years I held on to great hope that with a little luck and medical intervention, I could beat the odds. That I would ultimately end up with a baby in my arms. Now that I am trying to let go, I feel a little lost. I mean, I can strive to improve upon my health so that I remain on this earth for my only daughter for as long as possible. But is that it? It feels odd seeking to just continue to exist. One of the traps of infertility, I think, is that it is all so bench-marked and goal-oriented, even more so for us complicated cases. Almost mathematical.
(Doctors) + (Surgeries) + (Take drugs) + (Hope for miracles) = (Baby).
It's a weird place to sit in, hoping for miracles without investing in the outcome of the equation.
Maybe it is something like: (take supplements) + (hope for miracles) = (healthier existence).
Friday, January 9, 2015
more on social media
Her name is Céline. She is named after my favorite grandmother, who was french. Her name happens to translate to heaven. Sometimes, when I'm scrolling through facebook, I imagine what would happen if I shared it.... And then I realize that facebook can be a terrible place where subtleties and true empathy are often lost. Her name is not to be "shared," or a superficially "liked" - I will never receive any words of condolences.
And much as the activist in me struggles with this, the events leading to her loss aren't fodder for this particular forum of public consumption. They're certainly not fodder for my 600 closest "friends" to stamp their opinions on social media about women's health and abortion rights in our country. No, there will be no pointless "debate" on the heartbreaking situation we found ourselves in.
And much as the activist in me struggles with this, the events leading to her loss aren't fodder for this particular forum of public consumption. They're certainly not fodder for my 600 closest "friends" to stamp their opinions on social media about women's health and abortion rights in our country. No, there will be no pointless "debate" on the heartbreaking situation we found ourselves in.
Social media in the eyes of the greiving
#ferguson
my baby died.
#CharlieHebdo
my baby died.
"Guys, it's freezing out here (insert pictures of snow)"
my baby died.
Surprise pregnancy/birth announcement (insert ultrasound/baby pictures)
my baby died.
KITTENS
kittens are nice.....
my baby died.
#CharlieHebdo
my baby died.
"Guys, it's freezing out here (insert pictures of snow)"
my baby died.
Surprise pregnancy/birth announcement (insert ultrasound/baby pictures)
my baby died.
KITTENS
kittens are nice.....
Thursday, January 8, 2015
a new day
The last few weeks have been sort of stagnant. I haven't exercised enough, I have put on a couple of pounds, and I am developing these ridiculous sleep-interrupting hives in the middle of the night. My acupuncturist suggests a liver cleanse because she believes that the hives are my liver's sad sack attempts at detoxifying. Or they could be a reaction to all of the methyl vitamins I'm taking, but even so, I could use a little detox right now.
Generally I am more of a fan of cassoulets and stews during winter time (have I mentioned it is exactly 14 degrees out right now?) But maybe something like the Master Cleanse would be good for me on all fronts. You know, that concoction of lemon juice, cayenne pepper, maple syrup etc? I can't be a purist, there's no way I can sustain this diet for 10 days, but maybe there's a shorter variation of this I can work into my schedule.
On other fronts, Niblet turns 6 tomorrow. Whoa.
Generally I am more of a fan of cassoulets and stews during winter time (have I mentioned it is exactly 14 degrees out right now?) But maybe something like the Master Cleanse would be good for me on all fronts. You know, that concoction of lemon juice, cayenne pepper, maple syrup etc? I can't be a purist, there's no way I can sustain this diet for 10 days, but maybe there's a shorter variation of this I can work into my schedule.
On other fronts, Niblet turns 6 tomorrow. Whoa.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
holiday gifts
As the year winds down to a close, I have been finding it difficult to post. I've spent these last few months focused on trying to heal, to be a less broken soul. The holidays whizzed by in our house, and the silence concerning my last loss was deafening. I truly understand that it is not out of cruelty that so many of my loved ones can't utter any words when it concerns my lost baby (girl). For some reason we mere humans are not equipped with the vocabulary to discuss these things.
A quick trip to NYC with Niblet to see my parents a few days ago produced the opposite results in some respect. While they lack the words, it was clear that this most traumatizing loss was front and center in their interactions with me. And while they were being equally kind, they too sort of stumbled around the topic, treating me (unintentionally) like a soul to be pitied. I suppose I am. But that inadvertent acknowledgement of loss was nearly as painful as the deafening silence.
Don't even get me started on when Niblet handed me a book to read in front of my mother about a little boy anxiously awaiting his baby brother. Or when my dad played baby videos of her on his ipad, and it became so stark, the realization that these could be the only and last baby videos ever captured for our little family. Niblet is in kindergarten now, and my days of mothering an infant are over. That's a heavy weight.
I spent a grateful hour in therapy a few days before Christmas, voicing what no one around me will - or can - voice. Between these sessions (not covered by insurance unfortunately, so a gift to myself) and a gift of my husband (a certificate to my favorite consignment shop, where I can while away the hours looking for vintage cashmere, my weakness) I am shooting for some sanity.
I have diligently been trying to follow the instructions of Dr. K, imagining my life with only Niblet. While it's a bittersweet way to live, it is probably a healthier way to live. We are "NTNP" in the justonemore household - "Not trying not preventing" when it comes to procreation (though I am sort of mindful when I ovulate). Some mornings I wake up utterly petrified at the thought of pregnancy. Other mornings I wake up sad that this chapter of my life may come to such a brutal close.
But enough of my maudlin ramblings. To my readers who have had a similarly rough year, it is coming to an end. I offer no resolutions, no forced cheer. What I have learned is that the morning of January 1st will be a new dawn like any other, and in that respect, a gift. I offer only the most sincere wishes for Peace and the hopes for gentler days ahead.
A quick trip to NYC with Niblet to see my parents a few days ago produced the opposite results in some respect. While they lack the words, it was clear that this most traumatizing loss was front and center in their interactions with me. And while they were being equally kind, they too sort of stumbled around the topic, treating me (unintentionally) like a soul to be pitied. I suppose I am. But that inadvertent acknowledgement of loss was nearly as painful as the deafening silence.
Don't even get me started on when Niblet handed me a book to read in front of my mother about a little boy anxiously awaiting his baby brother. Or when my dad played baby videos of her on his ipad, and it became so stark, the realization that these could be the only and last baby videos ever captured for our little family. Niblet is in kindergarten now, and my days of mothering an infant are over. That's a heavy weight.
I spent a grateful hour in therapy a few days before Christmas, voicing what no one around me will - or can - voice. Between these sessions (not covered by insurance unfortunately, so a gift to myself) and a gift of my husband (a certificate to my favorite consignment shop, where I can while away the hours looking for vintage cashmere, my weakness) I am shooting for some sanity.
I have diligently been trying to follow the instructions of Dr. K, imagining my life with only Niblet. While it's a bittersweet way to live, it is probably a healthier way to live. We are "NTNP" in the justonemore household - "Not trying not preventing" when it comes to procreation (though I am sort of mindful when I ovulate). Some mornings I wake up utterly petrified at the thought of pregnancy. Other mornings I wake up sad that this chapter of my life may come to such a brutal close.
But enough of my maudlin ramblings. To my readers who have had a similarly rough year, it is coming to an end. I offer no resolutions, no forced cheer. What I have learned is that the morning of January 1st will be a new dawn like any other, and in that respect, a gift. I offer only the most sincere wishes for Peace and the hopes for gentler days ahead.
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