Breaks

Spring is coming, which means that my commute to the far-away clinic will soon be safe again. In fact, it may be safe now. The worst of the snowy weather should be over, so I thought about going back this month. But there were some financial ... uh, to put it mildly, issues. Anyway, between the snow, finances, and family crisis, I will have missed three months by the time I get started again.

This winter hibernation is one of several breaks I've had since starting TTC. They've been both required (after the miscarriage) and semi-optional (after the breakup with my ex). I've missed a few months for abnormal cycles. There were also months that passed by when I was moving, researching protocols and clinics, doing the paperwork and tests required to change docs…

I know that lots of women find it refreshing and healing to take breaks. For me, what they've mainly been is distracting. And distraction can be either good or bad. It's a short-term relief when I'm feeling overwhelmed, and there's nothing wrong with that. But distraction is no substitute for doing something meaningful, even if—like TTC—it becomes very hard.

When things aren't working out, I have to guard against letting discouragement turn into doubt (Do I even want to be a parent, if thinking about it just fills me with pain now?), apathy (Why bother, when this will just fail, too?), and short-sighted indulgences (So why not take another month off from the clinic?). I've even had to stage an intervention or two to make myself face reality, to get out of that comfy but unproductive habit of distraction and denial.

Being stuck in limbo isn't really comfortable, not deep down. There's the sense of unease, vague but always present. There's the hesitation to make any plans, and the frustration of waiting. There's tension and guilt when short-term pleasures (eating junk food today while promising to make the tough decisions tomorrow, or maybe the day after that...) threaten deeply held long-term goals.

What I'm avoiding, even more than the daily work of TTC, is the ending. The ending is what scares me.

In an online forum this week, another woman put my thoughts about it into words. She wrote that leaving IVF in her arsenal, unused, gave her emotional protection. I feel the same way about my upcoming final cycle(s) and PGS. It's comforting to have these final options, but now that the time has come to USE them, use them NOW when every month counts ... there's a part of me that still hesitates. And there's another part that has to (lovingly) stand behind her and push.

What's your attitude toward breaks from TTC? How have you managed to make them refreshing, or at least not too disruptive?

Calling Tech Support

If anyone stopped by earlier and saw some heinous-looking, non-functioning menus on this page ... uh, yeah, that was me showing off my mad CSS skillz.

I just wanted to add drop-down menus. Blogger doesn't support them, unless you make your own, which I've finally managed to do ... I think?

What do you see? Do the links in the submenus work? (In what browsers?)

I don't really have a clue. What I do have is Google, tutorials like this one (Thanks!), and the patience for tweaking lots of things until they *seem* to work. There will be more tweaking, but for now I'd better go get some other things done.

Pain

Don’t let the title turn you off. This won't be an angsty, weepy post, just some quotes I love from a book that I read a while back and tracked down again yesterday, mainly for one short chapter. The author is Nevada Barr, who mostly writes mysteries, but she’s also written this non-fiction book called Seeking Enlightenment Hat by Hat: A Skeptic’s Path to Religion.

Don’t let religion turn you off either, if it normally does. Barr's thoughts about pain, I think, have a pretty universal relevance.

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She starts with this:

"Somewhere along the line I got the impression pain was currency… I came into adulthood thinking that if I suffered enough, I could somehow get my own way; that pain could be exchanged for forgiveness, acceptance, success, or strength."

Or at least some knowledge and growth, right? (As if these things can't be achieved in other ways.) How do these beliefs affect our behavior? We hold onto resentments as if they can punish the person who hurt us. Also:

"A lot of us have allowed ourselves to become addicted to emotional, if not physical, pain. I remember an unfortunate woman I knew in Minnesota. In unkind moments, her friends would joke that when she introduced herself, she’d say: 'Hi, my name is Alison and I’m in pain.' There was some truth to the joke. She had come to hold pain as an important aspect of her personality; suffering as a replacement for real relationship to others or self.

Another woman of my acquaintance converted her pain into anger and used it to indicate she was not one of the common folk willing to turn a blind eye to the evils of the world, that, unlike us tawdry happy people, she was too good to settle for less."

Oh, I relate to both of those women, more than I want to admit!

Barr's beliefs about the value of pain started to shift when she quit taking the antidepressant medicine that had helped her. She'd felt ashamed to take it. Without it, though, she spiraled "down into the dark places," until she found herself desperately praying one night, "Dear God, what shall I do? Help me? What can I do?" The answer: "Take the damn medicine."

"I came to the conclusion that pain is nothing but pain, a cry from the body or the soul to be healed. Pain itself is merely an alarm bell set off to indicate all is not well, but, in and of itself, it has no value."

I've also heard it described as simply a sign that either something we need is missing or something we can't tolerate exists. In any case:

"When I am in pain it’s hard to be kind, generous, understanding, productive, giving. It’s all I can do just to keep my own head above water. Pain does not make me a better person; it makes me petty and crabby and selfish. And it makes me a liability to others."

She writes about how first responders like EMTs are taught that, before they can be most useful to others at an accident site, they need to ensure their own safety. The same is true on airplanes, where parents are told that, if the cabin loses air pressure, they should put on their own oxygen masks before helping their children. She concludes:

"I have come to believe that it is a duty to relieve our own pain."

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That's a very strong word, "duty." It's not a luxury but a DUTY to relieve our own pain, to the extent that we can, to best serve not only ourselves but also the rest of the world.

Of course, it's easier said than done. Our particular pain doesn't always have a medicine that's specially designed to treat it. And medicines—like all treatments—don't always work. No treatment can guarantee a life that's totally pain-free.

I'm sure that's not Barr's goal. She's just advocating a shift in our beliefs about pain. Yes, it can result in growth, but it can also grind us down, and growth can result from joy too. Pain has no inherent value. It's "nothing but pain": a part of life, not to be pushed away in horror, but also not to be embraced as something that defines who we are.

Happy Birthday, Blog

It was a year ago yesterday that I took a deep breath and—with very few expectations—hit "Publish" on my first post here, which was written in the middle of the night, in the middle of a sleepless week. Looking back, I'm surprised that it was coherent. It still does a good job of explaining why I came here.

And what is it about blogging that's made me stick around?

• Fluidity:  Mainly, as mentioned in that first post, facing the reality of difficult emotions helps me to keep them fluid. It keeps anger and sadness from congealing into bitterness and despair.
• Release:  This is hard to explain to those who haven't felt it, but it feels like there are just things I have to say. In daily life, I'm not a big talker. I especially try to avoid overloading friends with TMI about TTC. No-one wants to be a bummer. That's not to say that I let it all hang out here … just that no-one has to come here, you know? So I don't feel guilty about focusing on the same basic topics, which take up a huge and important space in my life right now.
• Clarity:  Writing makes me more mindful of emotions, thoughts, beliefs, and patterns that are normally just below the surface of awareness. The more precisely I can describe them here, the better I can see and respond to them "in the wild."
• Guidance:  Without really setting out to make it happen, I now have a record of what's helped and what hasn't during this very hard year, which can serve as a guide the next time I'm feeling lost.
• Connection:  When I see how many people struggle with similar feelings (if not the exact same circumstances), it helps my heart expand rather than shrivel up in self-pity. I don't have to take it personally. It's not "my pain" or "my joy," just pain and joy, things I share with absolutely everyone.
• Support:  Other people's posts have given me such good food for thought. They've led to new perspectives, posts of my own, practical tips, books and articles to read, questions to ask my doctors… Thank you all!
• Warmth:  Reading a person's blog is a little like visiting a room in her home. Personality comes through not just in words, but also in the layout of the place, the pictures on the wall, how often she's there, who else drops by… I get to know someone better in her own space than when she's one username of hundreds or thousands on a forum.
• Acceptance:  I tend to publish posts when I feel about 95% done and ready to move on. Completing that last 5% would take longer than all the rest and turn something fun into a self-absorbed chore. I can always go back later and make a sentence more precise (hey, it's not journalism) or write some kind of follow-up. My writing, like everything in my life, will always be imperfect and unfinished, and that’s OK. 

A No-Progress Report

Here's the latest TTC report: there's been no progress to report.

The snowy weather has made my usual three-hour commute to the clinic just too risky. I could do it if I were willing to scramble (and pay a lot extra) to set up local monitoring on snowy days, and if I were willing to stay in hotels and miss even more time at work. Instead, I'm just sitting out the winter months.

That's not snow piled up in my parking space; it's ice!

On another note, my mother is finally going home after a long recovery from multiple medical problems. Such a relief! In recent weeks, she's gone from barely being able to hold up her head, to walking, talking, and even getting excited again about her "grand-cells" (my two frozen embryos).

So, even though it's not happening in my ovaries, there is some important progress going on after all.

Memorials (Part 3)

Now that this time of year has rolled around again, I'm not sure what date to identify as the anniversary of my pregnancy loss. Today, Feb. 6, the day the doctor broke the bad news? Feb. 12, when the bleeding finally started? Feb. 27, when it finally stopped?

This whole month is an anniversary, I guess. But today's date seems to carry the most weight.

Like my due date, it's been surprisingly ... OK. (The lead-up to it was worse.) And despite what I wrote yesterday about triggers, the "gentle, wistful sadness" is the main mood that's been here today, and especially tonight.

I won't write much about it. I doubt that words can capture the mood as well as this one image can. It's from a locket, which says "I Love You to the Moon & Back" inside. I printed the image and pinned it to the side of the prayer box (not quite sure what to call it) that my best friend made. It's like a little altar where I've gathered a few important things and where I light candles sometimes.

There are candles burning there tonight, as I look out at the winter moon.

by EverAndAnon

Triggers

Pregnant women and babies don't hurt me. I'm used to them, prepared for them, and usually not too unsettled.

Most of the time, what I feel is not much at all. Defended numbness. Sometimes a passing joy. Sometimes a gentle, wistful sadness for what might have been and obviously is not, so there's no point in brooding about it. No point in focusing much on the future, for that matter, since who knows what might end up happening then. Best to conserve my energy.

Then something blindsides me and flattens the careful defenses, as this beautiful post about the difference between grief and trauma describes:

"I've learned to walk and talk and laugh around the grief and while I never let it go, it's become easier to carry, to shift to one side when necessary. I wear it like the bracelet on my arm that has Eliza's name. It no longer feels like my defining characteristic, even though I carry it every day and it's become part of who I am.

The trauma lurks, sharp and scary and real, and when it surfaces, it takes me out."

It's true: the smallest things can hurt the worst, because they're so unexpected and so visceral. They're sensory things. A certain song that was popular when I was pregnant. The smell of hand sanitizer, which I used a lot that winter in my quest for perfect pregnant health. There are visual things, too, the worst of which hit me again this past week:

They're baaaack!
(source)

February 6—a year ago—was the date of that awful, silent ultrasound. After the OB's Doppler picked up no fetal heartbeat, there were actually two ultrasounds, an abdominal (just to make sure that everything was alright), followed by a vaginal (to confirm the worst).

A weird, stoic numbness started enfolding me right away. The OB looked worried, as if he'd rather see me cry or rage, but I didn't even have the energy for a bitter "oh SURE" when he asked if I was going to be OK. Was there a choice?

I just wanted to go home. But it was afternoon, and on the 40-minute drive I got stuck behind what seemed to be every school bus in the county. Numb, numb. I could feel my heart closing and shrinking more with each passing mile. Then I stopped at the grocery store to pick up the diapers ultra super-size menstrual pads I'd need for going home to have a miscarriage.

And there was that wall of cheerful balloons. They were shaped like giant glossy hearts and kissy lips. I stopped in my tracks, struck twice, first by all the imagery of hearts ("I'm sorry, but your baby's heart has stopped.") and then by the whole concept of Valentine's Day. Oh yeah, I thought. Almost forgot that part. I'm going home to have a miscarriage ... alone, on what would have been our anniversary.

Time does soften the rough edges, and it will probably continue to do so, but as long as I live I'll never see Valentine's Day in the same way again.

Resolution

New Year's Eve was always one of my favorite holidays. As a child, I thought it was awesome to stay up late, of course. But it wasn't just party time. As I sat on the couch watching the Times Square events on TV, I'd earnestly write out all my goals for the coming year. What serious business was on my 12-year-old mind? It's long forgotten now.

That routine didn't change much in the next decades. As a teenager and young adult, I still saw New Year's Eve more as a chance to reflect than as a chance to party. (Fourth of July was the time for partying, duh.)

Then there were years, the last few years, when I didn't make any resolutions at all. My goal was to endure. However I managed to do that, pretty much, would be OK.

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This year I'm aiming for the middle ground: no perfectionistic lists, and also no giving up. My single resolution is to have resolution. As in:

Resolution (n.): tenacity, firmness, determination, steadfastness, perseverance, purpose, resolve.

So I got a book from the library called This Year I Will…, which has been helpful. Author M.J. Ryan says:

"Because it takes work, often a lot of work and sacrifice, you have to really want to bring something into being. Deeply, truly, honestly ... Joan Borysenko, Ph.D., encourages us to go beneath the surface to find what she calls our soul resolutions, which are 'based on saying yes to your deepest longings ... Goals rooted in what really matters are far easier to keep.'"

Ryan also recommends making the goals "SMART"—specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, and time-bound—then gives many tips for sustaining motivation.

My specific goal is to get up an hour earlier each morning and walk on my elliptical machine, at least through January (and then I can recommit). Officially, I'll do it for a minimum of just 10 minutes a day. But getting out of bed is the worst part.

Once I get up, get prepared, and get on the machine, the hardest part is over and 10 minutes easily turn into 20, 30, or more. Sometimes I plod along at a steady pace with my nose in a book. Sometimes I bust out the silly dance moves. Often I turn up the music and run flat-out, like something awful is right on my heels.

Even 30 minutes a day is not a big goal. It feels big to me, though, and sometimes a grand (even foolishly so) gesture is just what I need to shake things up.

I know that I need—on the soul level that Ryan talks about—the power that will come from doing this one thing every day, not just in spite of but because of the fact that my energy has been so catastrophically low.

Yes, I really want this goal. I really need the life energy and the will.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I've felt increasingly beaten down by the TTC waiting and now—worst of all—the relentless bad news about people I dearly love and can't seem to help. It feels awful. Clinging to anything I can control and "fix," I've wondered which parts of the awfulness might be within my control, a product of clouded perceptions or mental story lines...

So much to analyze. Really, though, how much does it matter? In her book, Ryan says this:

"Over the past forty years, I have gathered dozens of theories of why I am the way I am ... But to change something in myself, to bring something new into being, I need to engage a different part of my brain—my right brain, where innovative thinking happens. The right brain is future oriented. It's where our aspirations, our dreams, our longings reside...

In preparing for the change you're about to make, allow your right brain to help you. All it takes is switching from 'why' thinking to 'what could be possible' thinking. Ask 'what' questions rather than 'why' questions: 'What can I do to have more balance in my life today?' rather than 'Why am I a workaholic?' ... Do you notice the difference in the two choices? One leads to rumination and stuckness; the other to creative possibilities and forward momentum."

Frankly, talk about innovation, aspiration, and longing makes me tired. I'm concerned most with today. But even in that small context, I do get what Ryan is saying about staying stuck in analysis vs. building some kind of forward momentum. My exercise resolution is all about the latter. I'll try to articulate why:

• Over time, it may lift my mood and energy.
• It trains me to face whatever is here (circumstances and my reactions to them) with mindfulness.
• It renews my commitment to live consciously in this world, despite its messiness and my own deep reluctance some days.
• It transforms my default state of defended numbness into anger and sorrow, which at least feel alive.
• It makes me breathe, sweat, and let energy flow in and out. When I let things happen, resistance melts away.
• It reminds me that weak muscles (literally and metaphorically) are strengthened by practice, not by rest.
• It builds my courage to do other difficult things.
• Doing it first thing in the morning puts priority on my mental and physical health. First responders like EMTs are taught that, before they can be most useful to others at an accident site, they need to ensure their own safety. I owe the same thing to myself and those I love.
• Doing it every single day builds consistency and discipline. If I make exceptions for a poor night's sleep or a busy day ahead, etc., every single day will end up as an exception. Instead:

Nominees

OK, here's where I cheat a bit. Because it's hard to keep track of who has received which award in the past (and I've already dragged this out much too long), I'd like to keep things simple and nominate the following bloggers for whichever one of these awards they haven't yet received / would prefer: Liebster, Stork, or Sunshine. Any of them would apply to anyone below. Just click the links to see the rules and icons.

I hope I haven't just broken some awful taboo. But I think the main rule is to have fun, not guilt, right? We all have some intense things going on, so I'll understand if you don't have time right now, or if you pick just a few favorite questions to answer. If you do participate in any way, please post a comment here that links to your answers and nominees, so that others can go check them out. It's been a fun way to get to know each other outside of the usual focus.

Here are my nominees:

• Lauren at On Fecund Thought
• Michaela at A Single Journey
• Mrs. E at TTCBabyE3
• Stasy at Dancing My Way Through Life, Loss, and Books
• Janet at Just A Little Off Kilter
• Lentil at Lamenting the Lentil
• The Unexpected Trip
• Schrodinger's Catbox
• Ask An Infertile
• Hope is something you pee on

Here are my questions for you:

1. What was your best moment of 2013?
2. Are you making any New Year's resolutions? What?
3. What's something about yourself that you hope will never change?
4. What's one of your favorite things to do in wintertime?
5. Aisle or window seat?
6. What quote / piece of writing is especially close to your heart?
7. How do you get your news?
8. What qualities draw you to someone new (friend or significant other)?
9. What do you look for in a place to live?
10. Do you have any nicknames? (Come on, we all have at least one!)

Sunshine Award

A big thank you goes out to Lauren at On Fecund Thought, who nominated me for a Sunshine Award!

A Sunshine Award is given to bloggers whose posts brighten your day. Here's how it works:

1. Include the Sunshine Award icon in your post.
2. Link to the person who nominated you.
3. Answer 10 questions about yourself.
4. Nominate 10 bloggers to receive the award.
5. Link your nominees and let them know they've been nominated.

Here are my answers to Lauren's questions:

1. What is your super power? Not a fake one, but something you are good at and can consistently rely on?
   Sifting through a bunch of details to find the bottom line. I guess you'd call that analysis? I can distill two pages of scribbled notes from a doctor's appointment down to a few pro/con tables and bullet points … for whatever good it does. There are literally boxes full of those notes in my closet right now.
2. What gift (apart from effortlessly making a human) do you wish you had?
   More energy. I know people who come home from a full day of physical work and immediately start cleaning something, before even pausing to sit down. I just stare at them and wonder, What species ARE you? 
3. Have you read a book more than three times?
   Yes, absolutely. I tend to skim books the first time, then go back and read the good ones more thoroughly—sometimes over and over, noticing new things each time.
4. What is your mantra?
   Make me a channel of your peace (from the St. Francis prayer). It's a tall order. I just focus on that first image: self-discipline is the structure of the channel, and mindfulness clears a space in the center. The peace isn't something I create; it flows through me in rare moments when I can get myself out of the way.
5. What's the best piece of advice you ever received?
   It was a question: Do you want to live a life based on fear or a life based on love? Whenever I'm in doubt about what to do, I try to choose the latter.
6. What made you decide to start blogging?
   This post explains. Basically, it seemed like a way to keep my heart open during difficult times, while connecting with others who are going through similar things, without wearing out my welcome with those who are NOT going through similar things.
7. What's in your handbag (UK) / purse (US) / "bag you carry around all day" (elsewhere)?
   Not much: cash, cards, keys, phone, mints, and a pen. I'm sort of a minimalist.
8. What's in your fridge?
   Not much: bean soup from the crockpot, vegetables for juicing, some half-used bottles of salad dressing, and a few leftover IVF meds way in the back.
9. Do you remember how you discovered my blog? Why do you read it?
   You commented on one of my posts, and it sounded like our situations had a lot in common. More than that, your words hit me in an almost physical way. I sit back and go, "Whoa. Yes, that's it exactly. I just never quite realized it before." Few people can face such difficult emotions head-on—let alone explain them so well, with both honesty and dignity, while right in the middle of it all. I learn from you. I'm encouraged and less alone. Last but not least, I want to be there to cheer when well-deserved good news comes your way!
10. What makes you feel fabulous?
    Sunrise, a mug of coffee in my lap, an empty road leading somewhere I've never been before.

Next up are my nominees and questions...