Monday, June 29, 2009


Just a quick post to send you over to Allison at Our Own Creation (can't get the link to work on my crack.berry). She got some bad news and, tho comments are off, could perhaps know that the internets have her back. No kind thoughts, tho, at her request.

F*cking universe.

So close

Have you seen the first "Lor.d of the Ri.ngs" movie, the one where the fellowship is traveling through some mines or something, and they make it all the way to the last platform and they think, exhale, they are just about safe, just about out of the mines?

Gand.alf, the Wizard, it appears, has fought off this dragon-like creature (forgive me I don't know the name), who appears to fall to his death, but at the last moment, the creature's tail swoops up and catches Gand.alf's leg and drags him down. G holds on for just a moment, long enough to admonish his fellowship to "run, you fools!" before he is swept silently into an infinite (and possibly fiery) abyss.

That about sums it up.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Unsung Fathers

Even though it may be considered "just" a Hall.mark holiday, one created by card companies, and other money-making ventures, Father's Day, like Mother's Day, still seems to rankle, at least for me. Even in the present-day "cult of Mommy," reminders are everywhere that we should recognize our fathers, grandfathers and those who take the responsibility of fatherhood seriously.

I'd like to take this moment to recognize the fathers in this alternate universe, DBL. Fathers whose sons and daughters live only in their hearts, in a deep private place men are not often "allowed" by society to discuss. Men who suffer along with their partners, wives, girlfriends at the loss of their children. Men who made agonizing decisions, along with their partners, wives, girlfriends. Men who still ache for their missing child.

I'd like to recognize the fathers who have no living children, but who love them just the same. Men who will not get lovingly drawn pictures and cards, carefully lettered in crayon, or phone calls or emails, men who will not receive funny or sappy greeting cards in the mail. Men who stay in today, stay away from parks and lakes and maybe restaurants, in an effort to avoid reminders of happy family moments, moments that perhaps they imagined long ago. Moments they fear they may never get to experience.


This is a bit sappy, sentimental, perhaps. Well, that's how I'm feeling today, thinking of my husband, C, sleeping in today. There's an iced coffee and a donut waiting for him in the fridge, the NY.Times Book Review on the coffee table. It's not much, but hopefully it's a little bit of comfort.

We will hide away today, eating sweets and perhaps watching movies in which things explode. Once again, this day has hit him a bit harder than he anticipated it would. He wrote about this stupid holiday last year at Glow in the Woods; this year hurts, too. Perhaps with more bitterness.

Elm City Dad just wrote a heartwrenching piece on GITW about grieving, how his pain and loss, though certainly as deep as his wife's, are experienced and expressed in ways different from the ways she experiences and expresses them. I cried as I read it, hearing so much that my husband has expressed to me about how he's been feeling and dealing with our loss.

So, here's to the unsung fathers. The ones who don't get to take their kids to the park or to little league or to the first day of school or for a walk so they can have "the talk." Here's to the fathers who have buried their daughters and sons, who have held their wives, wrenched with pain and tears, trying to stay strong.

Here's to the fathers who love their children by holding them in their hearts, instead of in their arms.

Sunday, June 14, 2009


(I've taken a full dose of ambien, so this may not make a whole lot of sense. I figured the combo of the ambien plus the stomach settling effect of the diet coke would balance out and i'd be able to go to sleep. Hm. We'll see.)

I'm just... all over the place.

I called my sister yesterday to let her know that I was tentatively planning to come see her when she has the baby. She was practically speechless (really saying something for my sister the scriptwriter), but very pleased and as I described the things I figured I could help out with, most of which included getting my dad out of her hair for periods of time, she seemed very happy with the idea.

I told her it wasn't a definite, and of course, I would need to be taking my own breaks now and then, and that there would crying. There would definitely be crying, but not just about my own sadness and loss, but how so very thrilled I am for her.

It was a great conversation. I told her I went to and spent 1/2 an hour in the baby section, and she said she still hasn't gotten that far yet.

I find myself feeling really good and excited about the prospect of the trip, but a bit trepidatious, too. I don't know how my BIL is going to be, and part of my reason for going would be to alleviate the need for my sister to manage both my BIL and my dad. I would take care of dad, and run errands and get some air, and go have lunch with C's best man and his wife, and one of his other best buddies.

It's scary, odd that it feels so good and exciting to be considering what I could do to help out my sister, what she might need from the store, miscellaneous things, like I don't even know what. I had a couple of flashbacks from my own ventures on Amazon, and that was scary. I want to know that I"m doing this for her. All this stuff, it's not for me. Not for my baby.

Not My Turn.

I don't want to get so caught up in in that I forget that. fortunately, I will have my medications. I will have a rented car I can escape in. I will have my own room in this enormous new house they've built.

What I hate.... what I hate is that a lot of the motions are so familiar. Thinking about, what will she need? I mean, she's due in 3 weeks, she has no diapers, no onesies... all stuff that we can pick up while she's in the hosp or recovering. But putting my mind in that place. My stomach, this evening was feeling unsettled, so I got out some potato chips and diet coke (with my ambien, which I did NOT take when pg) which is what I used sometimes to try to settle my stomach when I was pregnant. TWO YEARS ago. Just smack me now.

What makes me happy, though, is that I have an opportunity to take part, to celebrate this amazing time in my sister's life, this moment she has been working towards for years, literally blood, sweat and tears. I can help. I can be a sister to her. Finally.

I hope. Family dynamics have a way of, well, getting in the way. My own sadness comes after. After online browsing. After mentally making plans. The lump in the throat arrives. I don't want it to get in the way.

I want to deal with it later, on my own. But I don't want it to destroy me. And to be honest, I'm afraid of how long it will take to recover from a week of this. If they have a boy, there will be a bris, 8 days later, if they follow the rules.

I have a therapist. I have a couples counselor. I have a pharmacologist. I have C. I have dear friends. Strong community here on the internets.

But I also have some work to do for school this summer (yes, I hope to get most of it done before the probable trip), and I have to re-prep for my class this fall, as it is changing somewhat, and I'll be on a 2-day instead of 3-day per week schedule. And then contemplating trying again in October or November.

Okay, I guess it's late enough, my eyes are getting heavy, as are my fingers. Dear Stella will be rising in 4 or 5 hours for her walk. Maybe 5 or 6. Please let it be 5 or 6.

Abby cat is settled under my knees, holding my weight, looking perfectly content. Stella is curled on the floor, still tuckered (I hope) from an hour or so at the park, silky ear flopped over a hind paw. C is upstairs snoring softly (I hope). Hazel is no where to be seen.

Thanks for listening. Good night.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Processing, and P.S.

I've been sleeping a lot.

I can't seem to get enough of bed, lately; dozing on the couch. Enjoying the feel of the cool pillow against my cheek, sheets against my bare feet.

The last couple of days or so, I've been dreaming about home -- the home I grew up in. Every so often I dream about it, and/or the street where I grew up. Some alterations to the house. Or the neighborhood. One dream in the last few days had the kitchen very small. Like we had to turn sideways to go in. It was my house, but not my house.

And family. Well, actually, my mom and my sister. Hm. And my grandparents. Well all of them, but the parts with my mom, grandmother and sister stand out. But mostly in the kitchen, living room, dining room. Growing up, the kitchen was the most used room in the house.

Part of my dream was in the living room, and my grandmother had all this yarn for a sweater for me, I think, and she wanted me to choose a color. When I was a kid, at least half of my sweaters were grandma-made. She even sewed a tag in: Made with love, by Grandma. I didn't really like most of the colors, but settled on a deep green that was mixed with an off-white/neutral/brownish vein.

There was cooking or baking. The house and kitchen were busy, like there was a party or preparations for something was going on. Except the oven was in the wrong place. When I was in high school or college or something, my parents re-did the kitchen and moved things around. In my dream, the oven was the old one, in the old place. Did something get spilled? Or not put away?

There was my sister. And we were getting along great. I think we were packed in the back seat of the was so big my sister and her friends called it the living room, with its huge, comfortable bench seats. So I was asking A questions about her pregnancy and the baby...I don't know if it was in the house or the car... Some questions I hesitated to ask though. What were they...?

And suddenly, she became moody and bitchy, which she used to do all the time, and I've seen her do on occasion as an adult, and I was silenced. I bit my tongue and felt...

Like I did when I was a kid. Unimportant. Silenced. Stupid. What was I thinking asking questions.


Well, it's not hard to figure out what's going on here, at least in part of it. All the women in my immediate family, and me. Questions, conversations I have no place in.


Infantalized. Back in my house, in the car, kind of the way they were when I was a kid.



I think I've been feeling the difference since I've been off the W. Even though I am more myself, feeling better, there's something missing that I think maybe was there a few weeks ago. Some spark or energy. I don't know.

I've also has a few more really sad... moments. A few more tears around babies and dead babies and stupid, complacent parents and their glorification.

I'm reconsidering seeing my sister when she has the baby. Most of the time, I'm ready to go, to be there to celebrate and support. I spent $60 on stuff for the baby at T.arget yesterday after therapy. I spent probably half an hour in the baby section and mostly enjoyed myself.

((Except, at one point, a young mother, maybe 19 years old, was talking to her 2-year old daughter, talking about getting a potty for her. She, the mother, looked at me and asked me what I thought, is 2-years old okay enough to start with the potty training? I said, probably, at least to keep in the bathroom, get her used to it, get her interested in. The baby could sit on her potty when Mom went. She said she thought shed go pick one up, and she thanked me for the help, this is her first child and she really wasn't sure what she was doing.

Her first child. Why talk to me? Because I'm probably close to twice her age, and I could talk with authority since I had worked with little ones. That's the only reason I could discuss it. Thank god she didn't ask me how many I had. I swallowed the lump in my throat and proceeded to agonize over which blanket to get, which size onesies.))

But then I get a wave of sadness and I think -- what the hell am I doing? I'll cry, that's expected, but what else is it going to do to me? I have to have it together this summer, and especially this fall. I'm afraid it's going to shake something loose and, well, I'm going to fall apart. Again.


My energy is low. I'm finding it almost impossible to get motivated to do the little work I've been responsible for. Occasional laundry or emptying the dishwasher, washing a few dishes. Mixing together C's favorite tuna macaroni salad (my mom's) felt like such an effort. I'm cranky.

I'd read somewhere recently that ECT causes seizures like the one I had. There was a small, a teeny, tiny part of me that hoped that it would actually have helped with all this. You know, since ECT is and was used for depression. Oh, god, I can't believe I admitted that.


Well. I've got nothing else. Not right now, anyway. That's enough rambling. I've used enough of C's laptop battery. Maybe I'll try to do some work.

Thanks for listening.

P.S. Just to clarify: this is my older sister who has been struggling with IF 2 years longer than I have. She was unbelievably supportive when I lost the boys. She became pg with twins of her own three weeks after my loss, but lost them due to IC at about 18 weeks. She got a cerclage and got pg last fall and has been very sensitive to my struggle. Initially, I told her that I likely wouldn't be able to visit right away, and she was totally understanding. It's only been the last few months that I've considered making the trip across the country to visit and help out. Because I was feeling better. Not so sure now. I know she'd be sensitive to my needing a break, as would my dad, who will be there. Not sure about my BIL, but he's not that much of an issue.

I haven't talked to her about this yet. I'd like to be more sure one way or the other. Wishful thinking, I guess.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Time Passes

I just realize I haven't posted a substantial post in a while. Part of that is because I am still without my own computer (using the b.berry for reading and commenting when possible), but part of that is because, well, there is not that much going on. Not externally, anyway.

C read and appreciated your good wishes for his birthday. It really was a nice day: lunch and a movie, gorgeous summer afternoon with blue skies and good spirits. As a couple, we don't really do gifts much. I apologized to him for not buying anything, but he just smiled and said it was a huge gift just to be with me and see me smiling, laughing, enjoying myself. A good man, I tell you.

I am doing better. I'm not doing much, but I'm thinking about the future. Worrying about it, too. I'm worried that when fall comes, I'll fall apart again. That all the sensory reminders of my pregnancy, and then my depression, will still be there. I'd like to believe, as C and friends have told me, that I'm strong. I'd like to believe it. But I don't trust it.

And I do have some difficult moments. Those are the times that make me fear the slippery slope. They make me reconsider my tentative plans to be with my sister when she has her baby.

It's the bitterness. The anger and sadness that pops up sometimes when out in public when every woman is pregnant. Or with a small child. Or two. Stupid shows all over tv about pregnancy and birth and multiples and careless women, women who take their fertility for granted, take their children's lives for granted. Put their children at risk by gestating like some ridiculous number of embryos/fetuses. TV commercials that glorify pregnancy and motherhood.

Normally, I just curse and turn the channel, or mute it and look away. I've been watching too much tv. And staying up way too late.

Last night there was an episode of Law and Order: Crazy Vin.cent D'on.ofrio flavor. Late last night. The upshot of the episode is that some unstable mother accidentally killed her less than year old child by leaving her alone in a hot car. And that she and her husband pretend that the baby was still alive so they could get some kind of inheritance from his great aunt. The mother, though, was so unstable, that she believed the baby was still alive. Even though they had buried the child on the aunt's estate. They made some reference to the mother being hospitalized briefly after the loss. And during the episode, they show her sitting on the floor and rocking, watching some's TV infomercial, saying, "children don't die, children don't die..." At which point the husband gives her some drugs and sends her off to bed.

At the end of the episode, the medical examiner shows C-V-D the blanket the baby was buried in, a poem left with the dead baby. All while some assistant wheels in this cart with a small body bag, which he puts in one of the morgue drawers.

I was shaking. It's some stupid show. But the portrayal of the crazy dead baby mama. That little body bag.

I don't know. It freaked me the fuck out. I actually wound up taking a Klon.opin for the first time in a while.

It's just moments like those that make me think, well, maybe I shouldn't go to CA to see my sister. Maybe I'm not doing as well as it seems. Maybe we won't be ready to try again this fall.

C is really feeling his anger now. Though it does seem to have waned somewhat, it's definitely still there. Definitely still there.

I just don't want to go try to help my sister and wind up losing it. I don't want to be even more of a wreck than I would otherwise when/if we try again. The chances of yet another chemical pregnancy are good. I got pregnant in 4 out of 9 cycles, but 3 of those 4 were chemicals. It's such a mindfuck. I do wonder, though, if it would be different since losing the boys. Not less bad, just different.


I just read Charmed Girl's most recent post. Among other things, she talks about Janis's post about how life is really a process of letting go. Both posts really touched me. In a lot of ways, I do feel like I've let go of the boys. A few weeks ago, it hit me that it really has been almost a year and a half since we lost them. A year and a half. It's been like a dream or a nightmare -- like my life has been on hold for the last 18 months while I've tried to deal with losing them. The loss of the pregnancy. How responsible I feel and have felt. The horrid delivery and what followed. One lousy thing after another. We're about 2 and a half months shy of 2 years since getting pregnant. It feels like it just happened. But it feels like ages ago. And I am just barely starting to move forward.

And not even really forward. Maybe just upward. I don't know. I don't do much. My motivation is still low. I take care of the barest of household responsibilities. I resent and resist. I am afraid.

I am behind my cohort at school. They are all taking comps in August, and publishing and presenting. I still have classes. Comps won't come till next spring, I think. I know, life happens and we do what we need to do, plans almost never come through. I don't even know what I want to do my research on anymore. Maybe I'm just afraid to invest in anything. I have been struggling with feelings of futility, like, it doesn't really matter what we do, the system is the system. What I have to say isn't going to change anything. Whether I stay with the work I left off with last year, or shift to something more transdisciplinary.


Despite all this, I am feeling better over all, believe it or not. I am more myself. Maybe I'm just feeling this frustration, these questions with a clearer head. Or maybe I'm just wasting more time. Like this long, rambling post.

I just don't know.

Friday, June 5, 2009

My Old Man

Today is C's birthday. It's a gorgeous day, and we are off to take a drive, have a nice lunch and see a movie. I'm so glad I get to spend this day with him. And I'm so glad I get to spend my life with him.

If you get a chance, stop by Once in a Lifetime ( and say hello.