Saturday, November 29, 2008

Yesterday was a bad day

So, in fact was the one before it.

Thank you for your responses to my last few posts. Just some things rolling around in my head. I wasn't going to do a thanksgiving type post, because, honestly, there's not a lot I feel thankful for. This is not the holiday it's supposed to be and (despite some assistance from meds and the doggie), I really am struggling to feel positive about anything. My "up", really is just not worrying about *something* or bitching at C.

So, when I was thinking to myself, "everything sucks," and "I don't have anything good," and the holidays are all consumerised and if I hear the word Christmas associated with the phrase "give them what they really want this year" I was about to lose it.

I tried to distract myself with grading the dreaded student papers, but couldn't get beyond the (very generous) APA style check because at least a half a dozen of them were so egregious (just follow the sample, people!), even C was kind of cowering at my ranting. So much for that.

So we took the dog for her evening walk, and she did a good job, and the air was not bitterly cold the way it has been, and we all came back feeling a little better. Until the dog tried to chase one of the cats and there was some drama, but everyone came out unscathed.

And the adrenaline or endorphins or whatever they were kicked in and it occurred to me that, okay, I don't have my sons, I do have a safe home a good relationship, and wild kingdom in my living room. Friends and family who love me.

A few years ago Jim Ca.rrey and Kate Win.slet starred in a small film in which, for a fee, one could have entire memories of a relationship completely erased from one's mind. Just gone. No pain, no muss, no fuss. Wake up, and the relationship is gone. In recent weeks, I've had the, well, almost the wish to just remove Septe.mber to Januar.y (maybe even today) from my mind. Just go in and scoop it out. All the nausea and puking, hospital stays, exhaustion, worries, pain, loss, grief... you get the idea. Just erase it. Take it out. I'm tired of feeling all this, it hurts too much, it doesn't seem to be getting me anywhere (I know my shrink would disagree), because honestly, I just want to feel okay again. I had been on my way to feeling okay, achieving some goals, coming into my own.

And then I got pregnant. Very pregnant. And I was sick, and lost them and all that pain and so much of it was just so terribly hard. How nice it would be to go on with my life as if nothing at all happened.

But I know. I know that in between the puking and the doctor visits and worry, and all of that, I was just so happy. After we saw the heartbeats, I knew we were in it for the long haul. Even though I had puked three times already that day and just wanted something to stop the nausea, I knew that we would be part of the 85% that made it. I loved them already. I didn't even know it yet.

And yes, I felt special because I was going through something difficult for something good, and I was making jokes, too. When I was losing weight and crying because I just wanted to eat something and enjoy it without throwing it up, I loved them already.

And when I felt something lurch in my belly, and put my hand there, and something, someone pushed back...I loved them already, at 17 weeks.

I was happy. I had no idea how happy. And it wasn't until that morning, Christmas morning at 10, when I leaked all over my pajama and the bathroom floor and knew something was horribly wrong... it wasn't until then that I knew how happy I was, and I knew how much I loved them.

So that whole, scooping out chunks of my memory, could I do that without losing those good parts? In the movie, it's all or nothing. I really don't want to lose that love, that joy. I fear, though that I've already lost it, it's so far away.

I can't have my boys, but I'm so very thankful that I got to love them.

Friday, November 28, 2008


Yes, I'm a day late. Whatever.

I am thankful...

-- that I have a loving, patient strong husband.
-- that I have a safe, strong roof over my head.
-- that I have a home that is warm.
-- that I have enough to eat.
-- that I have loving friends and family who show me their love all the time.
-- that I have the opportunity to be educated in a field that normally impassions me.
-- that I have health insurance that affords me medical and professional support.
-- that I have found loving, supportive community from wonderfully kind people I have never met.
-- that I got to feel my sons move inside me, react to my touch.
-- that I got to feel the joy of loving them, however briefly they were with me.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

What's the difference between...

God and a doctor?

God knows he's not a doctor. (ba/dum/bum)

In which I rant and over-explain...

Just to clarify a few things, I think of all the doctors I've seen in this apparently Sisyphean quest to have a child (and other issues as well), Dr. C exhibits the least amount of god-complex I've encountered in the medical profession.

If it weren't for a few chats about Saturday appointments and the church trips his wife has taken with his daughter, I wouldn't have a clue that he even has a belief in god. Generally I ignore the little slogan and assume that his wife had something to do with the cutesy picture. She is the one in charge of the "wellness" part of the practice. Yoga, nutrition, massage, etc.

They have had their own struggles with family-building.

He listens to my concerns, answers my questions respectfully, and talks to me like an equal. Shakes my hand every time we meet. He hugged me after we lost the boys. In fact, everyone in the office hugged me. Offered his condolences, wrote down the boys' names in my file. We talk like people.

So, Yeah, I'm pissed about the whole "gift from god thing," and I don't understand how that could be prominently displayed in an RE's office. Especially when all his behavior and language seems to contradict this really inappropriate sentiment. Since I've seen the human side of him, I'm tempted, whenever it is that I'm ready to go back, to ask him about it.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

So how does that work?

Now, I love my RE, but he has this saying on his website that says a child is a gift from God. I know this is some sort of religious thing, but I was just thinking about this.

If god gives people children as gifts, does it have to do with deserving? How does he decide? And what about infertiles? did they just pick the short straw? are they undeserving? Now what about dead babies? The baby part is a gift, but the dead thing, is pretty much a curse, or at least it sucks really bad. And is' it worse to have it and lose it than never to have it at all?

I know it's all bullshit, but it just occurred to me and pissed me off, too.

How do some people get gifts and other people get shit? Aside from all that "life isn't fair" stuff.


*P.S. I'm sorry if this was offensive. And my RE doesn't shove religion on anyone (at least not us). And as a doctor, how weird is it that there would be a religious-ish saying on his website?

It was even on the silver spoons he gave us when he released us to the OB. And yes, I have wondered if I should give them back. But that's just me being bitter. Or maybe it's the Kl.onopin talking.

Pissed off

This is nothing but bitching. Feel free to ignore.


Woke up this morning to a very contrite looking beagle and a small circle pee on the carpet of the rental. Maybe we should be some nature's miracle in the family size. Stella's been hard to walk lately, I think there are new cats in the neighborhood, possibly in heat distracting her to no end. I got one of those gentle harnesses, but even considering I'm almost ABD, I still can quite figure out how to get it on her right. C took her out a little early last night and only briefly, so that's all I can figure to explain the first accident, almost 2 weeks in. She's also started to chew at paper, and this morning I pulled one of my bras out of her mouth. Honeymoon's over, I guess.

I'm in a bad mood and I think she's feeding into it so that's probably not helping.

Otherwise, things are going relatively well with the dog considering we've only had her 10 days, though I do feel like she's entirely my responsibility and and I don't really know what I'm doing, so there's that stressor that I thought I was eliminating by dropping all my classes. I am loving her though, and despite the stress, she is such a love that it does fill just a little piece of a piece of my heart.


My cousin who announced her pregnancy before the pee stick was dry posted a gorgeous ultrasound on facebook with "It's a boy!" as a title. This is their third. Due late April, early May (right around all our missed anniversaries -- mom's death, A's loss, the boys' due date). Happy as can be. And why shouldn't she be.


My sister seems to continue to be pregnant, and despite my wishes to try to support her, she has dismissed me as too fucked up (my words, not hers) and she is clearly struggling herself. Freaking the fuck out. Should she get that far, she will have an abd in December and is due mid-July (right before my birthday), but will probably be sectioned early because of the


Was almost 10 minutes late for my appointment with Dr. Shrink yesterday and, despite my slightly improved state of mind, cried my way through it. He's doubling my dose.

He also wrote a letter to the local common pleas court excusing me from grand jury duty the first second and third week of the first second and third month of the year, as it would exacerbate my condition. Also starts the day after the anniversary of Joshua's delivery. Yes, I am all fucked up. A freak. Ill. Broken. Disabled.


After expressing my concern about next semester, Dr. Shrink said to take as light a teaching load as possible and to enroll in courses I could easily pull out of if I needed to.

My student's latest papers have been sitting on my shelf for over a week because I just can't seem to bear to look at them. Some of them will fine, some will be good, and a bunch will be pretty fucking bad.


Last week getting ready to go teach my way to class, I started to throw up, just the way I did the first time when I was pregnant. I only made it to the kitchen sink and proceeded to puke my guts out, which was saying something since all I had to eat was coffee and a cookie. I threw up so hard I couldn't breathe.


Told B about my blog and gave her links to posts that reference her and K. They still wait for a heart, which means waiting for someone to die in an accident this holiday season. She has only been supportive of me, but I do fear that I will freak her out with some of what's on here. She has told me not to worry, but that's what i do. I worry.

My other cousin's wife is in hospice now and has given the family permission to "know" about it. They are very private, but are willing to share this at least. They are in Texas. Her breast cancer has moved to her brain and she doesn't have much time left at all.


Anniversaries abound: Thanksgiving, more hospital visits, delayed test results, a month until Christmas. 10 days of trauma. And they are gone a year.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

And back again

(I've mentioned that I hate roller coasters, right?)

Chromoso.mally Normal XY x 2

That's what the peri said, after I made phone call after call to get the results of our amnio, done on 11/27, or a year ago this coming Tuesday. 15 weeks and 3 days according to my calendar (15 and 1 according to them).

Oh, they told you it was 2 chromos.omally normal boys, right? he said.

And then C walked around, the widest smile I have ever seen, saying "BOYS!" and really began to imagine our new life. We were careful, we knew that things could happen in utero, that anything could happen, but "chromosomally" normal -- our chance for our babies was good. Clerical errors delayed our receiving these results, so we had 10 or 12 days of "Boys!" and imagining our life. Before it all went bad.

I couldn't eat much on Thanksgiving. I spent it on the couch, trying to sip diet coke and not be queasy. C cooked a beautiful meal, and I ate as much as I could, but the next day I was at the local hosp for dehydration again.

Right now every other word on TV and out there in the world is "Christmas." I just don't know how I'm going to get through it.

Yes, things are marginally better. I leave the house. I focus on dear four-legged creatures who shower me with love. Sweet Stella snores on her pillow in the corner, giving me a reason to get up in the morning. There are glimpses of that with fe.athers.

Better, but not okay. I had some ideas about having a couple of dear Boston friends here for New Years, so C could go out of town to see his dear friends. But I can't seem to make the phone calls, emails. Not yet.

Dr. Shrink appointment on Tuesday. Maybe that will give me courage.

In the mean time, I don't know how I'm going to get through it.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

I'm doing okay.

Thank you so much for your loving and thoughtful comments. It means a lot to hear from you. You are an amazing group of people. My brain feels kind of disorganized, but I'll share some of what is going on.

-- B&K found the blog, and though they have not indicated their feelings about it, I'm trying to sort through my own.

-- C and I got a dog. Her name is Stella and she's a 3-year old beagle-beagle mix. Extremely sweet, overall very good with the cats (Hazel laid down and took a nap with her the other day) and pretty low maintenance. After both my shrink and Dr. Shrink independently said a low-key dog might be a good idea, a reason to get out of bed, I went to the shelter for a doggie-date. That went well, so we did an overnight, and that sealed the deal. (Boy, am I glad I'm not dating anymore.)

She gets kind of anxious when I leave and I'm sure I'm going to have a post full of questions, soon, but in the meantime, so far so good. Caring for this little creature is bringing up quite a bit of miscellaneous anxiety for me, along with the "new parent" sort of concerns. C is smitten with her, and we often go for evening walks together.

Sometimes I wonder what the hell I was thinking, but really? It feels good. We both get our walks and I jump right out of bed to take her out in the morning and, more than not, it feels good to have new love of this little creature. Something that's nice, is that she's too short to jump on the furniture (so far), so the cats still dominate anything that's 2 feet or higher.

I'm focused on something, even though I still feel a lot of anxiety, it's nice to have something like this to worry about, too, rather than just my dismal future. Sometimes distraction is good. And, oh, she is so sweet.

-- The week before we got her, I was having almost daily meltdowns and not getting out of bed except for school. Dr. Shrink adjusted my meds slightly again. I was joking about maybe a residential stay because I was wondering how I was going to get through the week, let alone the anniversaries. It wasn't that I wanted to die, I just didn't want to live this life. I am still depressed and anxious, but slightly more functional. C says I seem brighter, better. I have actually gone a couple of days without crying.

-- My shrink thinks this experience may potentially help me work through some of my "mother" issues (with losing the boys, both with becoming and being a mother, and missing my own mother). The week before Stella came home, I woke up saying "Mom!" a number of times. Hasn't happened since.

-- I'm still freaking about school, and getting used to the idea that right now I really am disabled. However, after my petition was approved (boy did that hurt more than I thought it would), my department chair sent me an email saying that she was glad that I was taking care of myself, and that they were not letting go of me, they would be there when I was feeling better.

-- So, yesterday, or the day before, I realized that, just for a moment, I had a glimpse of something in my mind's eye that looked kind of like hope. Just for a very brief moment. It was scary, but short. But the memory of the moment has stayed with me.


Friday, November 21, 2008

just the briefest, momentary glimpse this morning

**Photo by J. Kudron

hanging in

Day by day. C takes good care of me.

There's a lot I'd like to talk about, but I seem to be lacking words.

Thanks for hanging in there with me, checking in on me. It really means so much to me.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Radio Silence

For a few days, to sit with my thoughts. Doubled up on therapy, regular contact with Dr. Shrink, and just one foot after the other.

Your comments and emails have meant more to me during these dark times than I could ever tell you. Thank you for your love, and just for being there.

Monday, November 10, 2008

No title...

Why do I need to be here?

Really, I have nothing to give, nothing to share.

I can listen, but only for so long. I can read, but my mind wanders. Where? I don’t know. To the lump in my throat. To the panicky heart. Everything comes back to me. I am selfish.

I don’t want to die. But I don’t want to live. Not like this.

I am petulant. If I can’t have what I want, I don’t want anything. No, that’s not true. Maybe it’s fear that since it seems I can’t have this, I won’t be able to have anything.

When Mom died, I was there. It was just quiet, her rasp getting quieter, our silent weeping, our hands on her, our words, “it’s okay to go now.” I learned what it was to physically let go, to physically grieve. A huge hole in my chest, the longing to have her arms around me.

I wasn’t there when my boys died. I carried one, unaware. With no sacred thought. One day he was just gone, gone for days.

When I let go of the other, there was only pain. Sensations. Like a dream. I didn’t know what was his body, what the doctors or nurses said or did. Or how long his little heart beat outside my womb, briefly. With me, unaware.

There was no peace. No dignity. For any of us.

My chest empty and black. A huge hole. My uterus empty and sore.

Afterward, at the hospital they gave us stuffed teddy bears. One big, one small. We wondered if it was because our boys, one bigger and one smaller, or if it was supposed to be mother child.

I absently held the larger. Toyed with its ear, rubbed the ribbon between my fingers. It sits now, in C's office, in the bag we took home from the hospital, with their hats and blankets. I can’t bear to get it out. Though my arms long for my baby, my babies, to hold.

I can’t live like this. I eat, out of habit. I work, because I am paid to. After half an hour TV, DVD, I just don't connect.

I play games on the computer. Puzzle games. Sometimes I win. Sometimes I don’t. I don’t really care. I read blogs. They make me laugh, they make me smile. They make me remember. They give me hope that there is life after this. That the pain that courses through me, fades, just enough to keep going. To find another life after this.


I just spent the last 2 hours paying a bunch of bills, most of them medical, some of them (supposedly) overdue and come to find out that the Peri, the one who saw me ONCE during the month of November for my amnio, his associate saw me ONCE during the month of November for my NT screening has sent my bill over to collections (bills paid left and right for for every goddammmed service you could ask for (oh, and I love getting billed twice for ultrasounds because they were twins -- twice the jelly?), yes, so that bill has gone over to collections. How much is tht bill you ask? How much??


Yes, I yelled and ranted an cried and cocld not find one goddammed person who could give me any information because by the time I finally reached an office that might have any information it was past business hours.

I know most of this was overed by I am so angry by the bureaucracy and carelessness and the fact that my babies DIED under their care, but I still owe some rediculous amount, after insurance, I'm sure. Once I thnk I have one bill taken care of another shows in the mail.

There's some joke about being worth more dead than alive, but between this and financial aid for grad school I'm not sure it's true.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

And I'm just so tired

Of having nothing else to say.

I'm just so tired of feeling like this.

I know

I know I know I know I know I know.

There's no great plan in the universe out there, set up to slap me down every time I try to get up.

I know.

And I know that even thought it feels like every single thing sucks and is just telling me to give it up and let the car wander off the highway, I don't, because I know there are things that don't suck and there are lots of people who love me and who I love. And everything doesn't suck like students who share news with me and colleagues who try to get a smile from me when they see me down.

And every day is a fucking gift.

I just doesn't feel like it.

Last winter, when one thing after another after another just kept crapping all over me, I know it wasn't some message or punishment. The universe is not focused just on me.

I know that President-elect Obama will try to do good things for our country. I hope -- oh, god I hope -- that K comes home soon with a healthy heart.

I know that even though it feels like there is no fucking point to even trying to find pleasure because it will just end in pain -- or it will just end -- that that is just grief and depression talking.

I know that I have a lot to be grateful for. I have so many things I can look back to to find my "self" (chocolate, well, oreos) readings (though I can't concentrate) knitting (though I never finish anything, especially that gorgeous green blanket I started, imagining it for my child or for my sister's child). And the cats will walk all over the paints.

I know my sister's pregnancy is a very, very good thing. Not meant to make me feel even more isolated. Not meant to make me fear that I will never be pregnant again. Or be a mother, because I am so thoroughly emotionally wrung out right now. Not meant to make me fear for her safety, or the safety of her little one.

And I know she will do everything she can to keep this from becoming a wedge between us, but somehow, I fear it will. And I have never wanted anything more for her than this child she is carrying.

I know this doesn't mean I am the freak I always feared I was. I know this doesn't mean that and I will be the childless aunt and uncle at every event. I know that eventually Christmas will be a holiday I can participate in.

I know this depression doesn't mean that I am the permanently disabled. It doesn't mean my arms will forever be empty.

But it really feels like it.

I realized yesterday that part of what keeps me from volunteering at the animal shelter is my own selfishness. Last week, I sat on the floor with a sweet 25-lb. bundle of dog who lolled her eyes as I rubbed her jowls and leaned all over my lap so I could rub her belly. And I can't help but smile and doggie-coo.

That's why I haven't seen S's almost 3 month old baby: With her great big cheeks and arms and legs rolled with sweet squishy baby fat, looking me in the eye with a grin as I coo. And take in her baby smell as I kiss her head. And love every moment of it.

It's the giving her back. It's the knowing that this is not my family, not my baby. Two and a half years, 4 months of puking, endless doctors appointments. Hope upon fear upon hope.

And I say goodbye, have a nice evening, take care and I get into my empty car and I drive home with my empty arms. To the quiet house, and my loving chirpy cats and my husband who loves me so much he puts up with all my crap.

It is a cliche, but my arms are empty. They crave the weight of my own baby in my arms. Or the pull of the leash as I push the stroller at the fall festival.

I know I am selfish. I know I took for granted my whole life that I would get all that.

I know there is a good chance I will get none of it. I know I am feeling sorry for myself. I know I seem ungrateful for the wonderful things that I do have. I have so much.

So I Tried

Long talk with C, which didn't help.

Went out to go spend money I don't have on some toy or something. After a couple of stops I wound up in a sporting goods store of all places, and found wonderful thick squishy comfy socks. I bought 3 overpriced pairs, even intending to share with C. I LOVE think squishy sock. They're better than comfort food for me.

I was okay until I left the store and sobbed the entire 20 miles home. Thinking about how ruined I feel, not just grieving my boys, the life I left behind, but any hope I've felt, any enjoyment. How short-lived any pleasure seemed to be.

But I had those socks, and I could just go home and put them on and get into bed with cozy jammies. I even suggested ordering in pizza for dinner. We hung out and watched a movie and a half -- it was hard to focus, even though it was one I enjoy. My concentration is shit. Then C put on "Anch.orman' which always brings me a laugh. And did. It felt good.

The red light on my crack.berry blinked. It was from my sister. She'd been quiet lately. I knew she had an FET recently and I had dropped her a quick line yesterday to see how it went.

Positive. Doubling. Holding off any news until I ask for it.

Of course.

There are just no more words.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

What's the fucking point?

Because I have no idea.

Friday, November 7, 2008


How do you find you? How do you start from scratch and figure out what makes you happy and makes you tick and makes you function more or less well in this world?

What steps have you taken to find your way back to you? Not the old you, but the new normal you that you can live with? How is it going?

Bonus Question: How do you find happy again?

Thursday, November 6, 2008

How do you find you?

Well, today I met with my department chair (KR), the associate dean of the graduate school (BC), the associate director (AZ) of disability services, and someone else (VR) who was extremely helpful but whose title I've forgotten, and probably others I'm leaving out.

Monday I met with my mentor who suggested dropping my heaviest class and talking to someone at disability services to work out something with the graduate school so I could keep my assistantship. AZ gave me a form to give Dr. Shrink to complete during our follow-up appointment, the one set up to see how I was doing with the med change. Dr. Shrink wondered if dropping all my classes might be the best route, with just keeping the one course I teach, if I can. I thought I could, but how would the university deal? He completed the form, which I shared with AZ, who helped me set up a meeting with VR to help figure out what to do.

I totally forgot to include KR until the last minute, so I sent her an email filling her in and inviting her to the meeting. She didn't attend, but spoke with VR expressing her support of whatever needs to be done to, well, support me.

Meeting this morning: Surprise! Associate Dean will join us and I am so glad that remembered to take the Klo.nopin a half an hour earlier.

Everyone was very supportive and spoke very specifically about what was what, what implications were and setting up a plan so that I would still remain a student with the least hassle, even if it turns out that I decide I need another semester off. Extremely supportive and sensitive, too.

Forms and letters were initiated, forwarded, clarified. There will be a meeting of the graduate council (coincidentally) on Tuesday afternoon so I should hear something soon. No one anticipates any glitches or problems, as long as forms are filled out appropriately.

So why do I still want to cry? Oh, there are million answers.

One that comes up is "disability." This is why I'm being allowed to do this. I've developed a disability, which has hindered my ability to focus on, complete, continue my work.

There is nothing wrong with disability. Jesus C.hrist I was this close to completing certification and a masters' degree in the field. and yet.

I am disabled.

My whole young life I worried that I was weird, different, oversensitive. Spacey, "in my own world," said my mother, the special education teacher.

One of the greatest realizations for me as an adult was that everyone is fucked up in one way or another. Some hide it better, for some it just shows up in less detectable ways.

There is nothing wrong with being disabled. After the year I had, that letter I wrote back in April, the one before my sister's twins were lost, before B's father died. There is no wonder that I am affected.

I am severely depressed. I have the insurance code to prove it. I don't take care of myself. I don't take care of my house. My husband was sick this week (sinus and ear infections), sicker than I've seen in a long time. I took care of him. Sort of. I bought him liquids, and medicines and took him to the doctor. I made him tea, and made him eat, and got him salve for his irritated nose. I fed the cats and gave them their medicine. I took his crankiness. I slept in the other room.

It was odd to realize that I really do very little. Groceries. Occasional laundry. I pay all the bills.

I think the meds (cym.balt.a and K) are beginning to help. Maybe there are fewer hours that I am weepy, though I had a complete meltdown two days in a row, like panic attack, sobbing in the shower, wailing in the car at 65 mph. On the way to Dr. Shrink. Better, but not better.

Maybe the better is the seeing. The realizing how bad things are. How really sad I am. How I have no idea who I am anymore. How the hope is gone.


C recorded Obama's wonderful acceptance speech. Oh, it was wonderful. I teared up with the ideas and the hope and change and the humanity. I'm normally a political analysis junkie -- speeches like that are totally my thing.

But this was different. I couldn't feel it. I couldn't invest in the hope. I wouldn't, I mean, couldn't really engage with it. Like I was walled off from it. Bullet-proof glass. I could hear it, see it, but couldn't feel it. The maudlin in me says my "heart was walled off" from it. I had no trust in it.

For every good there is bad. Obama in the White House, K in the hospital. Support from school, but...what? Emptiness. I don't know.

Part of me wishes I could just drop teaching that, too, even though I've started to connect with my students. Something good. Something scheduled. A reason to get out of bed and focus my brain. Even if I don't think I want to.

I look around me and say, set up a schedule: laundry. writing. clean up the office. clean up the bedroom. and then I think, Yeah. Uh huh. Like that's going to happen.

I want something happy to engage in. I want to be hopeful. I want to play. And then I'll feel like, eh.

I have a wonderful husband who is tired of taking care of everything. He needs someone to take care of him. Or he needs to not take care of everything (not that he does, but he does what basic things need to be done).

Dr. Shrink said that I need to do *something* every day. Like go for a walk with C. Something.

I had nothing to suggest. And then I said, a dog. We've been sort of talking about maybe getting a dog. He said a dog, not a puppy, but a dog might provide something good to focus on. Force me to get out of the house for walks. Focus on someone not me. Take care of something, different from the cats.

I am still fantasizing about a dog. Even visited one a few times at the shelter -- how could I not, now, with virtual professional approval. A three-year old beagle, very sad looking at first, but the second time I saw her, she perked up, snuffled at my face, tail wagging, belly ripe for the rubbing. Great with cats. Good size.

C is worried that the next time I melt down, a dog will be another responsibility for him. I fantasize that this would give me a little creature to take care of, to focus on. A baby that's not a baby. Oh, yeah, that's healthy. But a (happy) little creature to take out to play when C just wants to sit on the couch and watch movies. "Playdates" with my friends with dogs. Or maybe I'm just looking for another club to belong to since I got kicked out of the Mommy club. And aside from the Dead Baby Club. Not that I don't love you all.

C says to wait to the meds are stable. Til we can get our house out of the state of squalor in which we've been living. I want to do this, I want to do this now. I want to believe that the reverse will happen, that being engaged with a dog will help me engage in life.

Honestly, I don't know who I am. What I want. What I even enjoy any more. I don't even know if I really know how to enjoy anything anymore. It's sort of like waiting for the other shoe to drop, but I don't even feel the first shoe. Yes, this is depression. Yes, this is grief.

How do I find my way back to me?

How do you?

Fixing Broken Hearts

If you've been reading here for a little while, you may remember hearing about my friend B, and the struggles her husband has been having with co.nges.tive fai.lure.

Well, K, the husband of one of my oldest and dearest friends, B, is back at Col.umbia Presb.yterian Hospital, at the top of the list for a heart transplant, after several years, and the highest of technology to keep him alive with conge.stive heart f.ailure. The technology is starting to reach its limit and K will be in the hospital until he receives a new heart.

Let me say it again: He will not leave the hospital until he has a new heart. Even though he is at the top of the list, K has a difficult blood type to match, which makes the process more difficult.

Seeing as this is not something you can just go donate, or get tested for, I'm asking that everyone who is an organ donor to let their loved ones, especially their health care proxy that they want their organs donated, even if it says so on their driver's license (as these can get separated in an accident). Make it clear to those who can make those kinds of decisions for you.

I know this is not something people want to think about, especially because donating a heart means that some family has lost a loved one. Should the worst happen for you or someone you love, this could be the one positive outcome of a horrific loss.

I love B & K, I feel helpless, and I would give them my own heart if I could. In the meantime, they wait, K in the hospital, and B caring for their two little boys.

All I can do is try to raise some awareness of the importance of organ donation. I'm going to try to post some links with information about organ donations here and in the sidebar.

Thanks for reading, and keeping B & K in your thoughts.

Sunday, November 2, 2008


I am just full of hate.

That about sums it up.

Just ignore my previous post

There is nothing I want nothing that i can ever really hope to happen, to receive to wish for.

Soon the "wish lists" requests from the inlaws are going to to be flowing in, looking for titles of DVD and books and CDs and all I can think is "really?" Are you seriously asking me what present I want to open on december 25 surrounded by in laws and nieces and nephews, all of whom love me very much, but will never ever in a hundred years give me what I wish for.


Faith that things will bd better. Without huge back of pills. Without the sorry looks of colleagues and friends weho excuse my poor friendship skills, still.\

The will to get out of bed so I can accomplish somehting I care about. So I can take care of my husband. My house. My relationships.

The desire to take care of myself. The desire to eat food. food that I can actually enjoy. The way i used to. Instead of stuffing my mouth with things that used to taste good, that used to comfort.

Stability so that my husband doesn't worry when I come home late.

Two days in a row where I feel okay, like maybe I will actually get through this with my head on straight. without ruining my career or my relationships.

The ability to engage in something I love to do. Jus tfor a few hours. And without feeling like it's lost when it's over.

I want a do-over.

I want to get to feel that hope. The anticipation.

Cautions joy.



Right now, hope is wishing that I can get stable enough so that I can get off the meds so i can take the lower power meds so I can think about trying to have a living chid.

Right now, hope is thinking that by the time I'm stable my eggs will be any good any more.

Right now, hope is that thing with feathers... I can't put my fingers on it, the hope that we can try to have a child, that all this pain and heartache will be worth it in the end.

Or that we will find some peace in never having a child.


And honestly, I'm tired of writing posts like this. I want to move foreard, iwant to be better. I just can't see it from here.

Don't worry, i'm not suicidal. I have meds, I have supports, friends, phone numbers, I have an appointment with the psychiatrist on Tuesday. Sometimes, though, though the hopelessness just overwhelms me.

Like today.