Archive | January, 2012

Just pretend.

30 Jan

Sometimes, I just need to give myself permission to step out of this world for a little while.  After two years of it, it can be quite overwhelming.  When I step away, I try to pretend it never existed.  For a few days – a week – I pretend like my life is normal.  That I’ve never experienced a gut-wrenching loss, never mind four.  I try to pretend that the negatives on the pregnancy tests don’t bother me, that they’re what I want.  That I’m a thousand times joyful for everyone else who has a baby, and don’t care that I haven’t had one yet.  That the last two years have been spent blissfully with my incredible husband, that not a sad tear has been shed.  That come February 11th, the only anniversary it will be is the day after I met my husband, not one where my heart was ripped out of my body with the passing of my baby.

That I’ve never buried a tiny little being, in it’s once-hopeful sac, under an old oak tree in a field nestled between hills.

Sometimes, I want to pretend that my life went as planned.  That it didn’t take a detour down the dark and twisty road of pregnancy loss, that I’ve been on the sun-filled road all along.

And the thing is, sometimes it works.  It works for a few days – a week – and I wake up happy for once.  But the reality always creeps back.  That relentless longing for a child never seems to disappear, no matter how much I pretend it was never there.  I start to miss the people in this little virtual world of mine, the people that I am invested whole-heartedly in their lives and their cycles and their collective uteri.  I can’t turn my back on it now.  I can’t pretend it away.  It’s who I am, it’s who I’ll always be.

But I’d be lying if I didn’t say: I can’t wait to be the fuck out of it.

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Trying to believe

18 Jan


I’m sorry if I owe you an email, or haven’t been commenting, or seem to be MIA…I’m okay, I think I just need some “me” time.  Or something.  xoxo

Image credit: patrick costilow via oh, hello friend who found it via Sacred Lotus

Whew.

13 Jan

It’s been a long week.  Both good and bad things happened…but here I am, still standing, and it’s finally Friday.  As a bonus, just today I found out I have the holiday off on Monday, when all week I’ve assumed I’d have to come in.  That was quite a pleasant – and much needed – surprise.

I’d give anything to spend a day this weekend doing nothing but reading and snuggling with this guy:

snuggly took

Let’s hope I can make it happen.

Happy Friday, everyone. Thanks again for your incredible support and wonderful-as-always comments on last week’s post. I wish I could thank each and everyone one of you by hand-delivering (arm-delivering?) a hug and some baked goodies.

Have a wonderful weekend, dear friends.

Courtney

An unintentional gift.

4 Jan

If you haven’t already, please head over to Jjiraffe’s post to read “The Devastation of Pregnancy: A Profile of Courtney…,” where she describes my history with pregnancy loss in order to profile what it really means to live with infertility.  If you’re not familiar with Jjiraffe and her fantastic and inspirational blog, for months she has been tackling the New York Times’ inaccurate coverage of what it means to be infertile.  She is a brilliant writer.  I’ve been trying to figure out why they’re not busting down her virtual door and begging her to write these profiles for them.  Oh wait…that’s because she’s not interested in highlighting the 1% of infertiles who can afford unlimited IVF treatments just because they thought it would be cute to have another baby well into their forties.  Right.  So please, if you haven’t yet read her piece, please do so now.

I was lucky enough to get a chance to read this before she posted it, and as I read each beautifully crafted word, tears fell in a steady stream down my cheeks.  For the first time in two years, I was getting to view my story from the outside looking in. As I read about this woman and her devastating pain from each of her four losses, I was profoundly sad for her.  I cried for her and what she had gone through.  I was awed by her resilience.   I wanted to reach out to her and wrap my arms around her, to tell her how very sorry I am for her losses.   Not once did I get angry at her for “allowing” those babies to die.

Ever since that fateful day in February of 2010 when I lost my second pregnancy, I have blamed my body for being inadequate, for not doing what it’s supposed to do.  That blame, of course, was heightened when I went on to lose a third and a fourth.  I refused to be kind to the body that stopped my babies’ hearts.  Through what feels like hundreds of sessions, my therapist has been urging me to be kind to myself, to nurture my body and support it like I do for so many other women going through this.  But despite our work, I’ve been unable to find the compassion for myself and for what I’ve experienced. I can’t get past the fact I feel like I’m to blame, that my body failed me.

When I read Jjiraffe’s post, the compassion I’ve been seeking for myself and my unimaginable loss, came flooding in.  Although the post was meant to highlight the inadequacies in the NYTimes’ coverage, it did so much more for me.  It was a gift.  After reading her words, I want to take care of that woman and her grief.  I want to nurture her and love her, not berate her and blame her.  The woman in her story doesn’t deserve that.

Jjiraffe, I will never be able to properly thank you for the gift you gave to me with this post.  The woman inside of me that has had to deal with my lack of compassion for two years straight, thanks you.  I’m wrapping my arms around you, too.

Now, if you still haven’t read it, what are you waiting for?  Go now.

Oh, is it a new year? I hadn’t noticed.

3 Jan

redwoods

(At least the photo looks hopeful.)

I woke up on January 1st feeling very, well…blah.  I wasn’t looking forward to 2012 like I had been 2011; the hope I had for last year was squashed by my fourth pregnancy loss and didn’t leave much room for everlasting hope spilling over into 2012.  I’m guessing that’s the reason why I’m having a very hard time finding motivation to face the days so far in this new year.  I mean, is it really any different than 3 days ago?  I just feel like what’s the point in hoping for the best, only to be proved wrong?  I realize that has to be the most pathetic pessimistic statement ever made, but seriously…maybe if I head into 2012 without any expectations, it can only go up from here.  A year of no expectations.  See, it’s not as bad as I made it sound at first, right?  Right.  Yeah, it’s still pretty bad, I know.

I just can’t find the energy to think positively for the coming year.  I’m seeing so many wonderful posts people are writing about their goals and desires, and I can’t find it in me to come up with a damn thing.  Maybe it’s because I finally realize I have no idea any more what’s in store for me, so I need to just go forth despite the unknown, and tackle it as it comes.  Wait, is that something positive-ish?

If I really think about it, though, I do know one hope for 2012: find some freaking happiness.  And not in the form of a baby.  In the form of I’m-going-to-sleep-now-because-I-can’t-wait-to-wake-up-to-my-life kind of way….not the I-don’t-want-to-go-to-sleep-because-that-means-I-have-to-wake-up-again way of the past.  Because that way is getting old.  That way is so 2011.

I just wish I knew what form that happiness was going to come in.  Maybe then I could come up with some goals in order to achieve it.  Because right now, there’s very little pulling me from my bed in the morning…and that feels like no way to start a new year.