Maternal Damnation

Here We Are

2016-09-12T10:00:00.000-04:00

So, here we are.

I knew we would be here some day, but it's still a shock.

I'm fine sometimes. I'm a mess others.

Grief is not what I expected.

We lost my dad three weeks ago. Those words are still hard to write.

Right now, it's all I think about.

I've been more productive than I thought I would be. I have been more motivated than I expected. I don't spend hours crying. I miss him desperately. Sometimes I can't breathe because I feel his absence so heavily. We're getting through it though, and I almost feel guilty just for that.

We didn't know we were going to lose him when we did. He was sick and probably didn't have long, but we didn't know he was dying. I was there for his last seconds, even though we didn't know that's what they were. It was scary, but I'm so glad I was there.

The last thing I said to him was that I loved him. He told me he loved me too and went back to sleep. Less than an hour later, he crashed and was gone.

My best friend. My hero. My cheerleader. My idol.

The smartest person I have ever met.

I am struggling with the fact that there was so much knowledge packed into his brain that no one can access anymore. There are stories and facts and history and experiences. They're locked in a vault that's now in a wooden box under ground.

I love him and I miss him and I'm not sure how this is supposed to go.

We spend a lot of time laughing about things that he did or said. That's what he would want. We talk about him all the time, and we know his stories so well that I feel like he's here sometimes.

My dad was 48 when I was born. My dad was old enough to be my grandfather, and I was acutely aware of that throughout my childhood. I have a distinct memory of the moment that this occurred to me. I was five years old and sitting in our playroom. From that moment forward, I lived in near constant fear that he was going to die. Old people die, I thought. Those thoughts never left me, and I planned and considered and worried about it daily until he died in front of me.

You know when you plan for something for so long that it's hard to believe that it's done when the time comes?

That's where I am right now. I forget that he's gone and that I don't have to worry anymore. I still worry about him like we're going to lose him.

I talk to him every day. I pray for a response so that I know he's here.

We're getting through this, even though it's difficult. We're finding ways to cope. It's not all sad. He got to meet the baby. He held her and fed her. He sang her a song and rocked her. She was so calm while in his arms. I would have been too.

I miss him desperately, but he wouldn't want me to sit still. He would want me to move on and find my next happy.

He was my best friend, and I told him that shortly after he was diagnosed with cancer. He said that I was his, too. Then, a few weeks later, when I went to go home from a day with him, he looked at me and said, "You're my best friend, too. You should know that."

I did know that. I will always know that.

I miss him so much.

It's hip to be square, kids.

The Twinge

2016-03-16T10:00:00.000-04:00

When you deal with infertility, every conversation has the potential to be difficult. You don't think about the ways that it affects you globally. Or maybe that's just me. It affected me in everything. When friends announced their easy-to-attain pregnancies, it stung. When they assumed we weren't trying because it had been so long, it hurt. When I hopped on Facebook and saw someone's happy family, it was tough. When family members made new family members, I wasn't the excited cousin, aunt, sister, whatever. It was raw.

And that should have gone away now that we're on our way, right?

So why, then, when I found out that a friend-of-a-friend was pregnant after a few months of marriage, did I get that familiar and dreaded stomach drop? It wasn't as bad, and it went away quickly, but the jealously is still there. I'm still carrying the burden of a process that, for the time being, is on hold. It's not the center of my universe. We've moved on to better things. We don't have to focus on that anymore. To be honest, we never did.

But I guess the jealously of knowing that this will never happen by accident isn't ready to go away. And even though I go to sleep every night and wish our daughter a sweet sleep from just beneath my belly button, the grieving process isn't over yet. I'm not grieving a lost person. I guess I'm grieving time. I'm grieving stress. I unwinding from trauma.

So, we still get a twinge. It's getting better. It's going away. It happens less. I feel less attacked and overwhelmed. It's all getting better. But it still sucks sometimes. I know how grief and trauma work within the brain, and how it's not a linear process. I guess it just makes more sense when I'm talking about everyone else than to think that I could be subject to the same process.

I'm not exempt. I never was.

As always, it's hip to be square [and getting better!], kids.

I Thought Wrong

2016-03-03T10:00:00.000-05:00

The last couple of years have been really hard. That's a given, and I've probably said it a million times.

I thought that once we got where we were going, all of the tough parts would be over. I think I expected smooth sailing. And while I intellectually knew that that probably wasn't reasonable, I never really considered that it wouldn't be all sunshine and roses.

Yes, we got pregnant. That's a blessing that I would never give back.

But the sun didn't just start shining again. And that has been hard to, well, not adjust to.

When the pee stick was positive, we were elated. Then, just as soon as that happened, we went to a constantly worried place. There was terrifying spotting, which turned out to be nothing but didn't go away for the entirety of the first trimester. There were concerns about eating and drinking enough because I felt so bad. There the worries that everyone has about losing the baby or telling people too soon. I was scared of doing so many things, and constantly googling what was safe. (The answer is basically nothing.)

Almost 5 weeks ago, my sweet husband gave me a cold that hasn't gone away yet. Our genetic tests were not as stellar as we had hoped, and there are a ton more tests to follow. We have no idea how those will turn out.

I feel weird in my own skin, and I'm so self-conscious. I don't have clothes that fit, but I'm scared to buy new ones because they're just going to have to be so big. Fertility treatments wrecked my body, and I don't even know what shape to call myself now. There is a tiny bump there but so much everywhere else. I'm not comfortable in this body. I knew I would gain weight, but I didn't know I would do it twice. I'm terrified to figure out how I will lose all of this some day.

My husband has to have another jaw surgery, and that means two to three days in the hospital. I'm terrified of going to the hospital considering how sick a cold made me. I still can't figure out how to make that work, and I feel like a jerk for even thinking that I won't be able to be there. Oh, and then there's the actual surgery part, which is scary enough as it is.

I was told that a baby shower was being planned, and I can't really even fathom attending a party. I've gotten shy and even more introverted than before. While I really appreciate the thought, it's kind of the last thing I want to do ever.

And I know all of it will be worth it. These anxieties and stresses will fall by the wayside when the screaming booger eater gets here. And they'll be replaced by new ones at that time. I just have to figure out how to survive them in the mean time. I just expected a happy pregnancy because the traumatic part was over. Some days I feel just as stressed and overwhelmed. It's just different now.

It's hip to be square (and overwhelmed!), kids.

I Stopped Writing

2016-02-25T10:00:00.000-05:00

Well, hello again.

It's been a long time since I've spent time in this space.

I didn't even check to see how long, but it's been more than a year.

I needed a break.

At first, I just ran out of time. I was working 2 full-time jobs, and making money was more important than my own meanderings.

At least, that's what I told myself.

In actuality, I was tired of myself. I was tired of having an excuse to talk about my feelings because I was feeling the same the all the time. It wasn't helping to talk about it or share about it because I just wanted to be out of it. Trying to start a family wasn't fun or interesting anymore. It was heartache after heartache. It became an actual traumatic experience, and I was barely holding it together. We took some time off, and I took some time off from thinking about myself. I was thankful for work that kept me incredibly busy.

In the past eighteen months we...

...sold our house.

...moved in with my parents.

...said goodbye to the puppy that my husband and I picked out three months after we met.

...closed one office and opened a new one.

...welcomed a new nephew. (More on this later.)

...accepted infertility as the reality.

...started fertility treatments.

...started the two year process to repair my husband's jaw. (More on this later, also).

...walked away from one house that we were building.

...built a second house that we love.

...kind of/sort of moved in to the new house with a bed and a couch.

Oh, and finally got pregnant after four years, fertility treatments, more tears than I care to rethink, and a lot of personal growth that I don't think I asked for.

Our lives look a lot different now then the did even a few months ago. I don't think I've stopped spinning yet.

I promise there is much more to come.

It's still hip to be square, kids.

Hit Hard And Often

2014-11-17T08:30:00.000-05:00

We all know that I'm a bad person. That's a given. I mean, I'm a nice bad person, but I'm basically a bad person. Anyway, a long time ago, I decided that I couldn't handle so many happy families and families-to-be on my Facebook, so after canning it all together for a while, I went through and hid basically every single person who has babies or wants babies or has ovaries or whatever. I still love them, but I'm not a good enough person to be happy for their working ovaries.

Anyway, I got one of those requests to "like" a page from a person that I hid, and I ignored it for a while. She is one of the happy-with-a-child people who make my heart hurt, so I didn't want to pay attention to it. Curiosity got the best of me, and eventually I clicked on the link and realized it was a page to support some disease research. "Aw, man. I hope she isn't sick," I thought to myself.

So I clicked over to her page.

She isn't sick. Her baby, who was under a year old, was sick. Her sweet baby, who I was totally and uncontrollably jealous of, died a few days ago of an incurable disease. It came quickly, and she left quickly.

I could not handle it. I could not, by any stretch of the imagination, handle it. I went into instant hysterics, and I hurt for her, and I missed a child I had never met.

The world is mean, and when you're in a crazy, self-pity spiral, it's easy to forget that it's mean to everyone at some point. I can't figure out how to deal with the abundance of emotions that have sprung up from a weekend of having this on my brain. I'd happily (sort of?) keep it on my mind for a while if it could relieve some of their hurt, but I know it doesn't work like that. I haven't lost a child that I've fallen instantly in love with, but I do know what it feels like to have your life feel different in an instant. I know the feeling of heartbreak when you feel like your future will never be what you pictured. I know what it feels like to have parenthood snatched out from under you. And I know that I don't want anyone to have to feel this way because I would do anything to never feel this way.

A sweet baby is gone, her parents are struggling, and I'm the innocent bystander who may be taking it all way too much to heart. I don't know how to feel all of this correctly. I don't know how to organize this in to a way that makes sense. I don't have these skills.

I had been banking on never needing these skills.

I'm out of skills.

Today, I'm not sure that it's hip to be square.

Not All Bad Days

2014-10-14T12:29:00.002-04:00

I feel like I only ever think to write when the days are crappy, and I've decided that that is no bueno. Not every day sucks, and, in fact, a lot of them are great. Things are so much different now than they were a few months ago, and that's pretty strange to get used to.

Our house has walls. WALLS. The concrete blocks are up, and there is plumbing laid but not connected to anything. I can see where my garage is going to be, and how big the backyard is. While just in concrete, it looks really small, but it's not. The optical illusion is pretty crazy though.

That house will be ours in February. Then, it's just a matter of moving in and getting settled. Right now, we're pretty well settled (though still trying to find our way) into the mostly unused upstairs of my mother's house. It's a pretty good place up here. The rooms aren't huge, but we're surviving. We have all three dogs with us, and my brother's dog makes an appearance.

For now, we're all getting along and trying to be helpful. Hopefully, that stays the same. It should. We've been here a month without any major problem. That's a pretty good sign, right?

So, yeah, that's a good check in because I feel like this space needed it. Not everything is bad or unfortunate. It just feels like it sometimes.

As always, it's hip to be square [and surviving!], kids.

Turning Inward

2014-10-07T15:30:00.004-04:00

I got invited to your child's birthday party, but I declined.

I am beckoned to congratulate you on baby number three, but I'm staying away.

I got asked when we're having children, and husband jumped in and weaseled our way out of it.

I'm turning inward because that's the only place that feels right.

And I'm done feeling like a bad person for it.

I feel bad enough about all of this that I won't feel bad for doing what I need to do to get my life back in order after these years that have ripped me apart and shaken everything that I thought was a given in life.

There are things that good people do, and I'm not doing them.

I'm refusing to believe that makes me a bad person.

I'm also done caring about how my reactions to your news affect my status in The Universe.

I'm done wanting to be a better person who handles this better than I have.

You know what? I haven't cried in public. I haven't told anyone to fuck off when they shared more good news that made me hurt inside. I haven't hurt anyone's feelings. I haven't made my burden anyone else's. I haven't cried myself to sleep every night. I haven't tried to change anyone else.

I think that's handling the damn thing.

I've turned inward because it's comfortable here, and I'm so fucking tired of being uncomfortable. I'm so tired of trying to figure out what life is going to be like without all of the things that we have dreamed out. None of that is comfortable, and none of it ever ends.

And I'm sorry that I still don't want to hear your good news.

Wait. I'm not.

I'm not sorry. I feel like I should be sorry, but I'm not.

I'm just not there yet.

Sorry, I'm not sorry.

If you need me, I'll be inside.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

Who Do I Talk To?

2014-09-13T13:14:00.001-04:00

When you're a writer, and you have a place to put your words, sometimes you have to put them there right away because you know otherwise they'll be forever gone.

I'm in the throws of moving, but I had an inspiration, and it will disappear if I don't get to it soon.

Meanwhile, there are boxes EVERYWHERE.

Anyway.

I'm that person who calls in for customer service and, when not getting anywhere says, "I want to talk to your supervisor." I don't ask for anything that I'm not entitled to, but I will go up the chain until the situation is fixed.

Maybe the fact that I'm not scared to fight for what I want is what makes this so difficult.

I was just putting a box together and looking at the announcement for yet another person's baby. It was going in the garbage. Not in an "I don't want to look at this way," but in a "my life is going in storage and I'm not paying to store a picture of someone else's kid," way.

And I wondered:

Where is whoever is in charge of this process's supervisor? Who do I talk to? Because I want someone on the phone now who will explain to me why it's been three years, and I'm still waiting. Why sometimes it's fine and other times it's just not. Why sometimes I'm thankful for a child free existence, and then it hits me like a ton of bricks and hurts everywhere like the punches just don't stop coming. Why I know someone who is bragging about waiting to get knocked up with baby number three while I'm coming to terms with never having one. While I may have to spend thousands and thousands of dollars for the CHANCE at having one of my own, and others get to have way too many for free.

Today, all of a sudden and out of nowhere, I'm struggling.

My semi-religious upbringing would tell me that there is someone to talk to who is always listening.

Yeah, well, I'm not so sure of that right now.

I mean, I am. I'm not overly religious, but I cling to my spirituality as the last shred of decency I am capable of as the last few years continue to be hard. But, let me tell you, I've been talking and asking and begging and pleading and thanking for all of the perfect things in my life, and that's not getting me any closer to actually having the one thing that I would do just about anything for.

No one is listening.

Can someone go back and listen to the recording of these calls? I just wanted on record that I asked to speak to a supervisor, but I was ignored. Are these calls recorded for quality assurance?

It feels silly to keep asking. It is silly to keep asking. Someone had to have heard me by now, and they would have already done it if they were going to do anything about it.

Who is your boss's boss?

Sigh.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

Dear Mother and Father of Another Little Elsa: YOU SUCK.

2014-09-08T10:00:00.000-04:00

To the parents who allowed their young and unknowing child to wave her "Frozen" wand, which is basically a multi-colored strobe light, around a dimly lit restaurant this afternoon:

I sentence you to one month of non-stop awkward commentary to friends and strangers from your kindergarten-aged child regarding things you do at home. Additionally, I sentence you to one month of non-stop profanity from your toddler that will only be uttered in the presence of adults who will think it's hilarious and laugh every time as to unintentionally encourage the behavior.

Good luck to you because this miserable migraine aura and now painful headache that I've had all day will make that all seem like a cake walk.

Best,

Maternal Damnation

P.S.- You suck.

P.P.S.- Yes. Light up toys can cause migraines for those who suffer from these awful beasts. If you aren't sure who you could be unintentionally injuring, please leave the damn thing at home. She could have even left it in the car. I seriously thought they were police lights before realizing that I was just being punched in the brain by a dumb toy.

P.P.S.S. Yes. It feels like being punched in the brain. Repeatedly.

Good Morning Sunshine

2014-09-04T13:28:00.000-04:00

Yeah. It's afternoon.

I never seem to know what time it is anymore.

I'm not complaining. I have something to keep busy with all the time.

Husband might be complaining, but I think he'll manage.

Being busy has kept my mind off of the amount of upheaval and back-and-forth that have been going on in our lives. It's all good things, and we have made it through in tact, but it has been stressful. We managed to get a contract on our house, and it won't be our house anymore in about 11 days. I haven't had time to think about how bizarre that is, and that's probably good. We'll be moving in with family for a few months while our beautiful new house is finished. Saving up will be very, very nice. Living with other people might be difficult. I think we'll survive it.

We're settling in to new ideas of life and things we might need to focus on instead of the ideal that we had our hearts set on for most of our lives. This might not work out the way we want. Since other things seem to chugging along, that doesn't seem soul crushing anymore.

Most of the time.

We got the sister-in-law married off in a mostly uneventful weekend of wedding shenanigans. By uneventful, I mean everyone returned alive with all limbs intact. I dodged relentless grilling by the bride-to-be about when we're going to make babies, and I handled it way better than I ever thought I would.

I survived the wedding that was put on in three months because she wants to start making babies yesterday. The idea of it was difficult for me to begin with, but it was never about me. Sometimes, my feelings really don't matter. That's totally ok. She'll have babies because life is good to her like that, and I'll sit and hurt for a while. It these last few months have taught me anything, though, it's that I'll get over it.

And we continue on because that is what we do. We're busier than ever and, right now, that's a good thing.

It's a great thing.

And, as always, its hip to be square, kids.

#ImNotGoingAnywhere and What It's Like to Work In Mental Health On This Day

2014-08-13T08:04:00.002-04:00

Today is my first day back at work.

It's the first day back since someone who I admire with an intensity that goes beyond affection and branches into the realm of awe took his own life.

It's the first day that I will sit across from people and gather information about how they're feeling and how many other times they've tried to get help.

It's the first time that someone will describe something that sounds like major depression or bipolar disease, and I'll know what needs to be done for them.

It's the first time that I won't be able to do anything because I'm not a doctor, but I'll be able to get them with the person who can.

It's the first time that I'll tell them that we're available 24/7 and they can call at any time if there's a problem.

It's the first time that I'll tell someone that this is a disease and not their fault.

It's the first time I'll tell someone that they can't get better from a depression until they're clean and sober.

It's the first time I'll do a lot of things today that I've done almost every day for years and years.

But today, I'll be thinking about him.

Today, I'll be saying it and desperately wishing that I could have been there for this total stranger who needed help.

Today, I'll be asking the universe why we couldn't get to someone when there are SO MANY people like me in the world.

Today, I'll be a little bit angry about it because we need to do better.

We have to do better.

I'll blame myself not because I had any control but because someone has to fix this. We have to do better. As a nation and a profession and a medical community, we have to do better.

If I was heartbroken two days ago, I'm even more so now. I'm never ready to say goodbye to anyone that I could have helped. Never. No matter how near or far or out-of-my-reach they are, I still could have helped in some divine intervention threw us together on the street.

I'm no more talented or intelligent than the thousands of other people who do what I do in this very big and supposedly very accepting country. We're all hurting today. Not because we could really have done anything, but because even with our lack of impact on the situation we still didn't do enough.

Depression and bipolar disease are not moral issues. They're diseases. They're words that are stigmatized to mean "crazy" or "too lazy to stop crying and get things done."

And you know what? That's bullshit.

We have to do better. We have to stop treating mental illness as an unfixable problem. We have to stop encouraging people to keep to themselves about their hurt because hurt that can't be seen doesn't exist.

I want to shout this from the rooftops.

It does exist. It's very real. There's nothing wrong with you. You're suffering from a disease that lies to you and tell you that you're the problem.

You're suffering.

Don't do it alone because your shit head cousin or neighbor or best friend thinks they know what they're talking about and tells you that depressions don't exist. Depression makes you listen to negative people because depression wants you to believe bad things about yourself.

DEPRESSION LIES. DEPRESSION LIES. DEPRESSION LIES. DEPRESSION LIES.

People you love you will stand by you and support you through the help you need. They'll help you find a doctor. They'll go with you to appointments.

And if you read that and think no one loves you, remember this:

I LOVE YOU.

And I'm never more than a click away.

Today is going to be tough. I'll get through it because there are people like him in the world who deserve more out of life. No matter how much money or good fortune they have, they deserve more out of life.

And I'll be here because I'm not going anywhere.

Are you going anywhere? If not, post it on the comments. Post it on Twitter. On Facebook. On Instagram. On your forehead.

We're standing by people with mental illness.

#ImNotGoingAnywhere

It's Not Your Fault.

2014-08-12T01:01:00.003-04:00

It's late. I'm up working on freelance projects and trying to get myself organized for tomorrow. Pretty standard. Well, I'm trying to pretend it's standard.

It's not.

My heart hurts, and I've been in and out of pools of tears since earlier this evening.

I've talked before about how I get attached to people who I don't know.

This is different. This is beyond that. I did feel like I knew him. I grew up watching him. I wanted him to be part of my family. I wanted him to come make me laugh. I remember knowing who he was when I was a toddler. I remember knowing that he was funny, and I remember laughing at things that I was still too young to understand.

But I did understand.

Anyway, I'm not ready to really write all of this out because it's late and I'm tired and it's all really raw. I feel like it shouldn't be because, again, total stranger, but it is still so raw.

So, I'm just going to leave this and probably watch it 1,000 more times over the next week or month or year. I want to scream it so loud that I know he hears it. I want to believe that he can hear everything and he understands now. I want him to know that he is worth all of our love even though he's gone.

You were always deserving. You will always be deserving. You are and will always be enough.

It's not your fault.

I'm not sure that it's hip to be square, kids. Today, it doesn't feel like it.

Glutton For The Best Kinds of Punishment

2014-07-30T21:33:00.000-04:00

Ok. I've been absent a lot lately. I haven't spent anytime with you silly people, and that is no bueno. I need to make more time to fill this space up with my inane and ridiculous thoughts. And I will.

I mean, I'll try to.

I mean, I will.

I totally will.

Just, don't get mad if it's, like, 2 weeks before you see me again.

I have a really good reason, I swear!

You're right. It's not a good enough reason to ignore you, but it's still a pretty damn good reason.

Anyway, remember how I'm a crazy person? And remember how I have a job that fills up, like, 80 hours per week and we're building a house and trying to sell this house and there is just a hella lotta things going on and yeah? And remember, remember how life has been so stressful lately and I probably should be vegging out and not looking for more to keep myself busy with?

Go back to the part where we all agreed I'm crazy.

Anyway, I have opened a freelance ghost writing business called Nearly Headless Writer.

[Side note: If you don't get the joke, we probably can't be friends.]

Anywho, I have been working through some freelance sites and getting work by just being willing to try things. I never have enough confidence in my skills, and I'm never sure that my work is good enough. The feedback has been positive, though, and I'm really enjoying it. Like REALLY enjoying it.

Oh, and I'm getting paaaaiiiiidddddd. [Added bonus achievement unlocked.]

Even though it's more to balance, is has actually taken a huge amount of stress off of me for almost 10,000 reasons. That's a really good things.

Regardless, I probably won't be talking about it much on here because this is my word vomit place and that is my word prose place, but I wanted to share something happy with you kids for once.

So if you're missing me, I'm probably not far away from this space on another similar space typing my little fingers off.

Typee typee type.

Oh, and thanks for being the most supportive group a girl who has been through a huge amount could ask for. You're always there when I need to yell, and you're never missed a beat when it's time to celebrate. Whether you're next door or across the world, I really appreciate your being so close.

And as always, it's hip to be square, kids.

My Safe Place Isn't Safe Anymore

2014-07-21T10:00:00.000-04:00

I'm not good about facing what's bothering me. I never have been. I try to get away from it for as long as I can. The good news to that is that I have a short attention span so that by the time I get back to it, it's usually not bugging me anymore. The bad news is that it doesn't always work. I'm working on the fact that it doesn't work and trying to manage things a little more up front, but it's hard to tell a person who tries to survive on logic that voluntarily going the emotional way is the best way-- especially when it seems to work out the same a lot of times.

Anyway, in my attempt to escape a word of never-ending baby pictures and reminders of where I'm not going in life, I have set up a system that involves a few close friends who I consider safe. These are friends who aren't going to show up pregnant any day soon or bring over a bouncing bundle of snot. Friends who don't ask me when we're having kids and who aren't on a page to do it themselves. I have enveloped myself in this tiny safe world. I'm comfortable here. There isn't an emotional roller coaster. At best, it's an emotional boat ride.

…but the boat ride is like "A Small World." It's slow and isn't likely to make anyone upset, but FUCK does it get boring and WAY annoying at times.

But I digress.

Anyway, the tranquility of my safe world has been shattered a little. A friend mentioned in passing that another friend (also one of my safe people) was trying to get pregnant. In my safe little world, it never occurred to me that this would come up. I set this thing up so well! These were the people who have ovaries that are closed for business! Some have never even been open!

How dare people let their plans change? It's really cramping my naive style.

My safe place just doesn't feel safe anymore. It's cracking. Soon, it will be flooded with a deluge of things for which I am not prepared. And I won't be unprepared because I didn't have enough time. I will feel abandoned and exposed because instead of facing the fact that it was getting harder to be around people and address the ever growing crack in my heart, I went farther back in.

I have a few people in my life aside from family. A few. I had more, but they were all happy people and couldn't understand what this felt like.

Now that I'm so far inside, I don't know how I get out without being my least favorite thing in the world: vulnerable.

My safe place isn't safe anymore.

And I'm not ready.

Maybe I should have been a Doomsday prepper. They're ready for anything.

As always, it's hip to be square (and unprepared!), kids.

The Date Is Set

2014-06-27T10:00:00.000-04:00

The date is set.

My sister-in-law-- my husband's twin--is not only engaged as of April but getting married on August 31.

This means I have just over 2 months to get over myself enough to get through the whole thing with a smile and without any tears.

It means I have, like, three months until the phone call where we find out they're pregnant.

Because the Universe is both great and cruel like that. It just depends on what side you're on. Currently? I'm on both. I'm not flexible, so it makes my thighs hurt.

My 35-year-old sister-in-law is going to waste zero time in the baby making department.

And, mother fucker, that is going to be all kinds of a roller coaster.

So, I guess the self-indulgence stops now.

...or in a few minutes.

Days?

Ok. Minutes.

I promise.

I think.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

CONSIDER YOUR AUDIENCE

2014-06-25T10:00:00.001-04:00

I had a little bit of a hissy last night.

Ok, a lot of a hissy.

Cause, just... WHAT THE FUCK?

I use an app, PinkPad, for tracking fertility. I downloaded it and starting charting more than a year ago. I didn't start using it until I got an inkling from The Universe that I needed some more information to figure out why the baby making wasn't working. If we had accidentally or quickly gotten pregnant, I wouldn't have needed the app. Furthermore, if we already were pregnant, I wouldn't be logging in to the dumb thing anymore.

Imagine my surprise when I touched the icon for the app to be faced with an invitation to buy their new baby naming app!

ARE YOU JOKING?! CONSIDER YOUR AUDIENCE.

There is a fairly good chance that people who are using your app aren't at the baby naming stage yet. There's also a very good chance that your notification that there is a baby naming app that your users DON'T NEED is pouring salt on a very open wound.

Yes, people who are charting fertility might eventually need baby names, but if they're actively using your app, they don't. BECAUSE SCIENCE.

I was fuming. I think I'm still fuming. I think I'm going to find another app.

Clearly, the minds behind Pink Pad have never actually dealt with infertility or the twisted way that every little thing affects people who are dealing with it. Instead, they go with the SEX MEANS BABIES MEANS PEOPLE WILL SPEND MONEY ON STUPID THINGS FOR BABIES AND NO ONE EVER SAD FACES.

Yeah, right.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

Does it get easier?

2014-06-22T19:10:00.002-04:00

So this is for all the lovely ladies who have been through where we are right now.

And men, I guess. I don't think there are a lot of Y chromosomes who hang out here.

Does this shit ever get easier?

I have to say, when I was so busy that I didn't have a moment to think for myself and I was sleeping on borrowed time because there was just so much to do, it was easier. It really was, but you can't work on infertility if you're dead, so it doesn't sound like a good way to do things. I am the world's best sleeper, and I was getting 4 hours of sleep at most per night. It wasn't because I couldn't sleep but because there just weren't enough hours to get enough sleep. I was running on fumes and caffeine. Wonderful, wonderful caffeine.

And I just can't do that.

I feel like a spool of thread. When you first get it, it's well put together and looks solid. It's wrapped up tight and self-contained. As you use it or unravel more than you need, it becomes less orderly and starts to look disheveled. You roll it back up again as neatly as possible the first time, but it doesn't look the same. As you use it, or as it falls out of the sewing basket and rolls across the floor, you take less and less time to wrap it up well because it's just freaking thread. You can just get more thread. It's still perfectly good thread that is useful for the same purposes as before, but it's not orderly. It's not self-contained. It's a cotton hot mess. Finally, you stop rolling it up at all because it's just so tangled in itself that it doesn't even matter anymore. You've cut the slack off of it so many times that there is much less of it, but not because the other pieces have been used. They've just been wasted.

Eventually, it can't even serve the one purpose for which it exists-- to hold stuff together. It goes at the bottom of the sewing basket to be replaced by less messy spools that still have their shit on lock. And it will remain there until you get tired of the strings being tangled in everything and having to rip your useful tools out of it's grasp.

I'm a spool of thread who is full of knots and just as useful but so well disguised as something so very broken. I've gotten so used to feeling broken that it's almost like the status quo. It's just part of what this is. It's part of who I am. I can't even prove that I'm one piece anymore. But I am. I'm tangled and knotted and disorganized, but I'm one piece.

I am.

So, back to the original question: does this ever get easier?

Today is Father's Day

2014-06-15T22:55:00.004-04:00

Life has been crazy and hectic. As much as it has been overwhelming, it's also probably been a good thing on about eleventy thousand levels.

...Especially the level where we're too busy to think about how our hearts hurt.

For whatever reason, today was the day that neither of us could ignore the hurting heart anymore. Unfortunately, I get really consumed with my own sadness and forget that my husband has some of his own. Ok, a lot of his own.

We're struggling.

Mother's Day came and went and didn't really bother us. Maybe it's because we have two mothers to worry about and it's sandwiched between three birthdays, but it came and went with little to no emotional pomp and circumstance. I didn't spend a lot of time wondering when it would be my day, and it never came up with husband.

My husband barely talks to his father and certainly would not make an effort to see him on Father's Day, so it's just my dad. My parents just moved, and we have been helping them nonstop. We're already exhausted and edgy from the sheer amount of stuff to do professionally and personally. This weekend was already raw, but we were getting through it. Then a friend who planned her wedding the same time we planned ours announced her pregnancy and everything just unraveled.

I couldn't keep it together anymore for about a thousand selfish reasons. I went back to thinking about how unfair it is, and I let all of those thoughts into my head about what she has done in her life that makes her less deserving than me. You know, like any of that matters in the genetic lottery. Husband had already declared that he hated Father's Day, and we had argued because I felt he was punishing my dad because his dad can be a jerk. I didn't consider the fact that he was also struggling because it represented our continued failure. We were supposed to be celebrating our own reproductive success by now, but we're not. More frighteningly, I have genuinely resigned myself to the fact that we may never have anything to celebrate.

So on Father's Day 2014, it felt like everything came apart at the seams, and we couldn't get it back together despite the apologies to each other and celebrations with my family. Even though the emotional roller coaster had stopped for a while, we took another unexpected drop and we're still trying to catch our breath.

I'll be here gasping for air for a little while as we try to sort this out and smooth out these very raw edges. Send sandpaper.

As always, it's hip to be square (and a little jagged), kids.

My Brain Hurts- Help Me Sort This Out?

2014-05-26T10:00:00.000-04:00

Being an adult is hard, yo.

Aside from having to do ALL THE THINGS and now being the proud owner of a second practice, we're trying to sell our house and build another one.

This raises SO MANY QUESTIONS.

And, you know, why have a blog and not make the Internetz answer these questions for you?

So we're building this house, right? And it's coming in about 50K more than I would like it to, which is manageable even though it's extra money per month. Anyway to not spend that money, however, would be stellar.

This leaves me with a conundrum. The community we're building in allows garage apartments. If we have a garage apartment, we can rent it out for about 1/2 of the mortgage payment. It adds about 60K to the price of the house and about $400 to the mortgage each month but we would get nearly three times that in rent if we were to successfully rent it out each month.

There is always the question of whether we would be able to rent it out or not, but with a medical school walking distance away as well as three hospitals, I can't image there will be a paucity of renters.

Do I want someone in my space? I mean, the apartment would have an outside entrance, so he or she should not have access to the yard or my house, but it is a fairly close proximity to a relative stranger.

I think we should just go for it and take the risk, but it's a big risk to take, and it's a lot of money to borrow over and above to 20% down.

What would you do?

Can You Find Me?

2014-05-13T09:39:00.004-04:00

INTERNETZ.

I AM SORRY.

I am have busy doing things. We bought another practice. We're trying to buy a house. My parents are moving. We're trying to sell this house.

I am the HBIC of all of it.

I am le tired.

I'll be back soon, kay?

Love,

--MD

It's hip to be square, kids.

Can You Do Me a Favor?

2014-04-30T08:00:00.003-04:00

Have yourself a great day.

But for reals, kids.

I just wanted to leave the words that have gotten me through a tough year right here where you could get them if you needed them.

You have survived 100% of what life has thrown at you thus far.

You are a survivor whether you realize it or not.

Keep doing that.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

Kidneys and Viruses and Concussions, OH MY!

2014-04-29T21:43:00.001-04:00

It's just been a day.

Such a day.

A lot of a day.

It started with a missed phone call because I assumed it was my alarm. And then two more phone calls all from my dad.

I naturally assumed the worst and called back quickly. He didn't answer, so I called my mom. When she picked up, all she could say was, "I'mmmmm siiiiicccckkkk."

As terrible as it sounds, a sigh of relief followed. Mom being sick is usually manageable. Doc being sick can be catastrophic.

So, my in-office-get-shit-done day quickly turned in to a go-take-care-of-mom day. You would think I would be off the hook for this because my father is a doctor, but no dice. He still isn't 100% after his surgery, so he shouldn't be physically moving anyone around or taking care of them.

So, you know, off I went.

Mom had severe vertigo, which she had never had before, and was unable to stand or sit up. She was uncomfortable and scared. We didn't know if it was viral, part of her kidney disease, or the aftermath of a really good knock on the head that she took a few days ago. Either way, FUCK.

Her general practitioner phoned her in some medicine and we waited to see if it would work. It didn't. I force fed her Pedialyte and she did perk up some, but not enough for her doctor's liking. He wanted her to go for a stat CT, and he was not fucking around. We piled her in to the car and took her to the ER where we sat for a very, very long time. Luckily, we are friends with most of the ER docs, and let them know in advance what was going on. They got her in quickly, but the process still took forever.

Luckily, it seems like it was just an episode of vertigo. There was nothing on the CT to be concerned about, and her blood work came back normal. The good news was that her kidneys were actually better then than they have been in recent months. They sent her home with the diagnosis of "dizziness". GEE, THANKS, FUCK STICKS. If that's why they get paid for, someone put me on the payroll. ME CAN BE A DOCTOR 2.

It looks like she'll be fine. Fingers crossed. I'll keep you posted, anyway.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

Autoerotic AsphyWHAAAA????

2014-04-21T21:05:00.001-04:00

As my readers (all 2 of you) know, my dad and I are very close and talk about really weird things. I assumed that I knew basically everything about him at this point in my life. There isn't much that is off limits. I know that he almost shot a guard when he was in Vietnam, so he stopped carrying his sidearm because he figured he was more dangerous to people he knew with it. I know that he dated a woman for 5 years when he was young, and she is still angry at him 50 years later for not marrying her. I know that his actual goal in life was to be a physicist and he had to give up on it when he couldn't pass Optics in 1957. I know that his family has a lot of bizarre and probably crazy people in it, and that he is one of them. I know that when he couldn't handle Optics, he decided to "settle" for being a doctor and then a psychiatrist.

I did not know the following.

We were talking about random things at lunch today, and somehow Danny Trejo came up. I said that I always get him confused with "Kung Foo Fighting" because I can never remember that actor's name. My brother pointed out that I was talking about David Carradine, and that reminded me that David Carradine died during autoerotic asphyxiation.

When I said that, I imagined my 76-year-old father would say something along the lines of, "NOOOOO SHIT!" or "Ew. That's not a fun way to die."

Instead, he said, "Really? People don't often die that way."

I paused.

"Uh. How do you know?" I asked while entirely terrified of the answer.

"Oh," he said. "I presented a paper at a national forensic sciences conference about a guy who died while attempting autoerotic strangulation. He was watching a video while he did it, so I got ahold of the video and edited it down to be presented with the paper," he said matter-of-factly. "The paper was published in some national journals, and we did a whole presentation on it during the sexual perversions part of the conference."

…WHAT THE FUCK?!

I started laughing, but I think I wanted to cry. I mean, I know I wanted to cry. In fact, I may have been crying.

"So let me get this straight," I said to him knowing that I would regret it. "You were, at one point, an expert on autoerotic asphyxiation?"

AND MY 76 YEAR OLD FATHER SAID:

"Well, I guess I would still be considered one."

He paused.

"I mean, I never tried it."

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! LIKE HOW IS THIS A THING?

My father, my best friend, the person who I am most like in the whole entire fucking world is an expert on WHAT?!

I JUST CANNOT EVEN.

You learn something new every day. AND THEN YOU STAB OUT YOUR MINDS EYE UNTIL YOU CAN'T EVEN THINK ANYMORE EVER.

What number do I dial to get a lobotomy?

It's hip to be square, kids… I think.

Someone Tell Him

2014-04-18T16:51:00.002-04:00

Can someone tell my husband that I'm not crazy?

Or, better yet, tell him that I am, and that he just has to deal?

We had a really nice lunch. We were talking about options and next steps and how we handle things from here on out. We were being productive.

Then he says, "Well, how are you going to react if my sister gets pregnant before we do?"

And it just shook the foundation of everything that I have been working so hard on. It rattled me to my core and now I just can't keep it together.

How am I going to react?

How am I going to fucking react?

I'm going to be furious. Not at her, but at the universe. I'm going to be angry in that always-a-bridesmaid-never-a-bride-and-fuck-you-for-not-dealing-with-infertility way. I'm going to want to smash things and scream at the Universe that I get to live through daily torture and she gets to get married and get knocked up right away. I'm going to hate the world more than I do now.

I'm going to hate the world more than I do now.

And that's awful. And I know it's awful and I feel like the worst person for even having thoughts about being mistreated or not having enough in life. I have everything I could want.

Except, you know, the one thing that I actually want.

She's older than I am. Substantially. She has had a rocky, on-and-off relationship with her not-quite-fiancé who will probably soon be her fiancé. She deserves to be happy just as much as everyone else does.

And knowing all of that, and knowing that life isn't fair, and knowing that things are hard and that I'm not special, I am still a sobbing mess because it just never occurred to me that that would happen. And now it almost seems like a certainty.

And I just can't.

Husband doesn't get it and keeps reminding me to find the positive and be thankful for what we have because he's going through it to and he's not getting enough support in it. And he's completely and totally right. I'm being totally selfish and self-serving and I can't hate everyone who gets good news while we continue to wait.

I mean, I shouldn't.

It's not stopping me though.

It's just where I am right now. And nothing seems to be getting me through it any faster. I'm sorry for that, and I'm sorry that it's not who you want me to be, but it's where I am right now. If I could be anywhere else, mentally or physically, I would be.

But this is where I am right now.

So, I guess I'll see you there.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.

A Little Bit Liberating

2014-04-16T10:00:00.000-04:00

This is the week that I would normally obsessively be peeing on sticks and praying to whoever would listen for two freaking lines.

Two.

Not one.

Two.

And squinting hoping that the smaller my eyes get, the more that white space will start to have some kind of shadow on it that could be mistaken for a second time.

And giving myself a headache by squinting.

But I'm not because we didn't try to do anything this month. The bad news came and went and we decided that we can't add extra variable and stress to it. For a bit, we just have to let it be what it is. For a little while, we can't do anything other than just let it exist.

So we existed and took the month off.

And while I thought I would feel like a failure, I really just feel fine. I'm not back to expecting the normal rather than begging for miracles. The normal is okay because it isn't a failure of any kind. You miss 100 percent of the shots that you don't take, right? So we missed this one. That's cool. Same number of points on the scoreboard as when we started.

Alright.

It's the typically dreaded time of the cycle and I'm not dreading it. I'm not dreading anything.

I didn't fail because we didn't try.

And that's a way better feeling than trying to explain what it's like to have your own vital organs working against everything you want.

So, yeah.

This is a good thing.

As always, it's hip to be square, kids.