Posts Tagged ‘Sadness’

Out My Mind, Just in Time…

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The great Erykah Badu has a song called “Out My Mind, Just In Time”, where she laments, for close to eleven minutes about losing herself in a man she thought she loved, and how she gave more of herself to him, than she even gave to herself.  It’s a beautiful song, really, that drifts in and out of changes that reflect the growth and depth of this over-thought and overwrought relationship.

And while she is clearly talking about a man who wasn’t worth the stress, this is a feeling I had about my own damn self recently.  That I had been in a relationship with myself and my feelings about infertility for some time now, at the expense of my husband’s feelings.  A relationship that it was clearly time to move on from.

There are things that you get to be selfish about in this journey.

You get to be frustrated when the medicines don’t work.

You get to be annoyed when you have to have a painful procedure that no one else could possibly understand.

You get to be angry when you’ve spent six months losing weight to prepare for IVF, only for the hormones to put the weight back on.

You get that.

But,…

You don’t get to be so wrapped up in those feelings, that you forget to think about your actual wellbeing and progress, OR that you forget to think about any person who is on the journey with you.

It is very easy to assume, after going through so very much, that you are the only one who gets this. You and the other women who have had the pleasure of enduring shots, and invasive procedures, are the ONLY ones who can truly understand your particular pain.  Your loving, but clueless partner has no idea what you really feel like.

He is not hurting in the way that you are.  How could he be?  The most he had to do was get friendly with himself.

And can he rattle off the names, addresses, and phone numbers of the doctors, nurses, and phlebotomists?
I didn’t think so.
That means he doesn’t give a damn about it.

Can he quote you the appointment dates for the next three appointments?
I knew it.
He’s practically not even in the game.

But, as we start to think those thoughts, here’s the thing though…

Did we ASK?

Did we ASK him how he felt about everything?

Have you ever really thought about how it feels to him that he can’t make you know how sufficient you are to him, when you’re basing every piece of your worth on this?

Or how hard it must be for him to not know what to say when you’re gushing the details of how you feel, out of fear that you’ll only tell him he doesn’t understand, or that you won’t listen when he tells his own feelings?

Or how terribly, terribly embarrassing and uncomfortable it is to do something so private and intimate, and know that everyone in that clinic/office knows what you’re doing?

Granted, most of what we do as women in this area, is invasive and humiliating.  Just getting through the preliminary workups, our pocketbook, as my grandmother would call it, is known from here to West Leviticus, and has made happy times with many an ultrasound wand or speculum.  But to be honest, as women, we are somewhat familiar with the stirrups.  For a man, so much of this has to be new and fast, and terrifying.

The more I started to think about that, the worse I felt.

I had made this entire thing, about me. I want this so badly, and I am so very tired of waiting, that I have become incredibly sad but ridiculously headstrong.  I will not waiver, because I feel like I cannot, even if it is just to stop and acknowledge that he’s lost his footing.  I will drag us both over the finish line before I stop at this point.

And worse still, I’ve been so very tight-lipped about my feelings with everyone else, that he was catching ALL of it.  All the frustration, and the angst, and the polarizing aggression.  I was pouring everything onto him and leaving absolutely no room for him to feel anything of his own.

I was ashamed.

And as usual these days, that emotion led right back to anger.

I was angry that this stupid, stupid thing had once again made me a monster.  It had made me cold, and irrational, and impatient, and…

Wait.

I was doing it again.

I was back in my head, making everything about me.  Making every emotion I was feeling, the fault of something or someone else.  It was my pity party, and I wanted to just cry and cry.

I couldn’t let myself off that easy.  I was wrong.  Point blank and the period.

I was wrong for being in my head.  I was wrong for internalizing everything to the point of insanity.  I was wrong for stealing his voice and swallowing it into my own.

So I apologized.

So why am I telling you this?  You’re a perfectly respectable infertile, right?  You handle your stresses far better than I do, and would never dream of making your partner feel isolated and forgotten. Right?

I know.

But just in case you ever find yourself being the raging lunatic I discovered I was capable of being, remember these words I said to myself:

GET OUT OF YOUR HEAD

The worst battles we will ever fight, take place in our minds.  We play the hero and the villain.  We project words and actions and even thoughts onto those around us, based on our own insecurities and fears.  We lose sight of reality, and sometimes our partners pay the price.

This path is exhausting, and scary, and rough, and a whole heap of other adjectives I could throw in.  I am grateful that I don’t have to move down it by myself.  I have to remember to appreciate and acknowledge that, before I ostracize the person who is walking beside me.

Get out of your head.  Quickly.  See things for what they actually are.

If he honestly isn’t doing everything in his power to really be on the journey with you, then say so. Don’t yell it or accuse it.  Address it.

If you discover, however, that you just weren’t seeing the full picture, because you were too busy writing a new script in your head, then address that too.  Apologize, and move on.

I know, I know.

This is just me.  You are perfectly clear-headed, and in control of your thoughts and emotions these days, right?  You would absolutely, positively just never, ever, be this person.  I know.

Right?

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Featured image courtesy of David Castillo Dominici, / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Casting Pearls…(Or the Sacredness of Names)

We hold names sacred in the infertility community.

They are our little secret smirks at fate.

They symbolize the victory we’re hoping for.  They are precursors to rainbows.

A horizon we can barely see, but one we are trying desperately to get a view of. (more…)

Hiding in Plain Sight

Long time no blog.

I know. *slaps own hand*  “Bad Blogger!”  But come on in, have a seat…

If you hang with me on Facebook and Twitter, then you know I haven’t really left, but that I’ve just been extremely more quiet about what is going on inside my own journey.    There’s good reason, I promise.   (more…)

The Best of Times…The Worst of Times

I warn you, not to watch this.
And yet I have to share it.
A father breaks down while explaining one of the hardest points in his life. Attending to the very real pain of grief during the day, and wading through a career as a comedian at night.
It is a heart-wrenching story.
But I have to share it.
Because this is the EXACT feeling I have been trying to convey for months now.  This feeling that everything is going swell, and yet going horribly all at once.
The feeling of knowing that although something is dying in our lives, we still have to go to work.
Even as something is passing away in us, we still have to communicate.
All the while something is breaking us down,  we have to express joy in the “good” things that have come our way in the meantime.
And nobody knows what is really happening underneath.
When this video ended, I was in tears.
Not just for HIS pain.
But because he understood mine.

For the past 9 months, EVERY DAY has been an up and down roller-coaster of feelings.
I go into the doctor’s office in the morning and hear no good news, I get to work in the afternoon and get praised for something.
I excel in my social obligations on the weekends, I spend the weeknights curled in my bed.
I am kicking life’s ass personally and professionally, and it is kicking mine emotionally and physically.

And no one gets it!  You can write it out,  talk until you’re blue, draw a diagram, and people will still want you at work in the morning, at church on Sunday, and at their party/babyshower/ladies night on Saturday.  They placate you with soft “Oh, you poor thing”‘s and emoticon you with (((hugs))), but they don’t actually get it.

All they know is that you’re in a pissy mood.  All they see is that you didn’t show up to that thingamajig.  All they know is that you aren’t yourself.

There is an INCREDIBLE isolation felt.  A dynamic feeling that life is interfering with life.  That you can’t be YOU.  That life will NOT slow down and let you get your breath because you aren’t entitled to that.  You just keep riding downhill in this car, even-though you know the brakes are out, and you can only pray that there is a gentle tree to stop the incline.

I finally reached a break in my menorrhagia last week.  I had my body to myself for about four days and then promptly got food poisoning.  LOL  Because that’s how fly I am.   But overall, I’m in somewhat of a better place.  I’m a little less snarky this week.  I feel a tiny piece of joy returning to my workday.   I don’t want to retreat from human contact nearly as much.

And I’m grateful for that.

But I know that it’s only a matter of time before things start rolling down that hill again.  And I’m going to have to get up and come to work, and make teenagers happy (oh, the horror), and care about eating food during the day, and make myself respond to phone calls and text messages, and make myself smile at photos, and encourage myself to listen when people talk to me.

Only this time, this video will be in my head.  And I’ll be trying to make myself also remember that while I’m dying, so is the person in front of me.  The cashier at the grocery store.  The attendant at the gas station.  That friend of mine.  And yes, even the comedian on my television screen.

You NEVER know what someone is going through.

So treat EVERYONE with the same care and compassion that YOU need.

The King and I

I’m frustrated today.

But somehow at some form of peace.

Maybe it’s one of those levels of grief people are always talking about.

Maybe not.

My follow-up appointment for the hysteroscopy was yesterday morning.  I waited it out!  I behaved like a good girl and didn’t flip out and call the nurses anymore.  I just waited out those five days and bought that next two boxes of Always.

I knew that if had been something serious they’d found, they would had to have called me sooner, but somehow my mind just kept saying that they’d return with something god-awful, and that I should be terrified.   Around Tuesday, I was kind of freaked out, but for the most part, I kept it to myself.  By the time Thursday came around, I was financially, emotionally, and mentally broken, but I got up and went anyway.  There would be answers!  There would be direction!  There would be something drastic!

There was none of these things. LOL

In my gyne office, I am a medical anomaly.  This rebellious uterus of mine was cause for great head scratches and squinted “you’ve gotta be kidding me”, facial expressions.  From the results of my tests, there is once again “nothing gynecologically wrong” with me to be causing this newset bout of menorrhagia.  No cancer, no fibroids, no polyps, no infections, no nothing.  That being said, she did speak in great grotesque detail about the amount of lining she’d had to remove, and the size of the pieces removed (think small kiwi fruit.  right, I know, tmi).  But aside from learning that my body basically stockpiles lining like its waiting on Y2K, I left with the same information I’d had going in.

I’m just numb at this point.  And cold (can someone say “Anemia”).  I was flustered, but not really angry.  I just got in my car and went around the corner to work.

And that’s pretty much still where I am today.

Sigh.

Many times I’ve gotten private messages from those who wonder if I personally have a spiritual take on my own situation.   They ask me if I have a relationship with God.  I do.

I don’t post much spiritual word on this blog, or on the Facebook page for a few reasons.  First, I don’t want to ostracize anyone who believes differently than I do, who may still need the support this place provides.   Secondly, I would like to refrain from being anyone’s spiritual or religious spokesperson, because sometimes, when I’m really struggling, I may not say what a church girl should, and that freedom to feel, is a huge part of what this site is built on.

BUT, just to quell the curiosity, He(God) and I have wrestled with this things for a while.  Close to eight years with the irregular bleeding, and close to six with the infertility.  I’ve had seasons of silently trying to hear and follow His will, and others of being quite angry with Him.  Today, I’m just listening.

But because the question has been posed so often, I wonder if that conversation is one we should be having, Eggshells. How has your faith been tested? How have you overcome? HAVE you overcome?

Stop the Ride, I Wanna Get Off.

So…

This will be one of those TMI, tell-all posts.

Let me give a couple of you some time to clear the room if that’s not what you’re here for:
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There now,

So, I’m annoyed and confused today.

Purpose of D&C & hysteroscopy – To diagnose and stop irregular bleeding
Result of D&C – 9 days more of irregular bleeding.

Now, I know what you’re thinking:
Be patient, Regina! That’s completely normal!  These things take time… blah, blah, blah.

But let me hip you to something I’ve been keeping silent for a while out of embarrassment, frustration, and a self-destructive need to make sure no one sees the kinks in my armor:

Out of the past 90 days, I have bled in some form or fashion for a total of 67.

SIXTY-F@#%-SEVEN.
I have bled longer than Chad Johnson and Evelyn Lozada were married.
If I bleed another 6 days, I will have also outlasted the nuptials of Kim Kardashian and Chris Humphries.
In the time that I’ve bled, cats, armadillos, bobcats, mice, rabbits,  some dog breeds, and many other animal species have fully gestated.

Are you seeing why I’m pissed?  Just a bit?

I’ve taken Estrogen supplements, Glucophage, Birth Control Pills, Thyroid meds…and yet nothing.

I’ve purchased approximately EIGHT boxes of Always…each with 32  pads included.

See these special Always boxes that come with the free Modeez Sanitary packs?  Yeah, I got FOUR Modeez now.

 

I’m tired of being tough.
I’m tired of being resilient.
I’m tired of acting like I’m not feeling like I’m literally bleeding to death.
I’m tired of nurses saying, “Yes, but are you bleeding through more than one pad in an hour”, in condescending tones.
I’m tired of feeling eeks and squeaks whenever I sneeze, or stand up too fast, or at random times while sitting absolutely still.
I’m tired of EVERY television show, magazine, book, and conversation being about sex and babies….to point out that I can have neither.
I’m tired of looking at my husband and HATING that he deserves better that what I am capable of providing at the moment because I’m depressed, and infertile, and uncomfortable, and hormonal.
I’m tired of feeling like I’m wearing a diaper every day.
I’m tired of being angry.
I’m tired of being sad.
I’m tired of being told to pray.
I’m just tired.
And I felt it necessary to say that today.

Out loud for a change.

Because who am I helping with this website that I’m paying for, if I don’t tell it all?  Especially since that’s what I started the site for.  And how am I even helping ME, if I’m not using this website that I’m paying for, as my venting space. And what more damage will I do to myself if I don’t shout?

I called my doctor today.  Because once again I felt that I’d reached my breaking point.  I was told that this is normal.  This post-op “spotting” as they call it.  And I don’t know, maybe under different circumstances I’d be okay with that answer.  Maybe if I hadn’t already been experiencing it for the past 60+ days then I could not feel so defeated when the nurse once again tells me that “if it isn’t bleeding through one pad in an hour, I can just wait until my follow-up appointment next THURSDAY”.

Next Thursday.

Next Thursday is 5 days, 127 hours, 7628 minutes, 457706 seconds, and another 30 Always pads away.

At this point in my life, next Thursday is practically a year from now.

And I have lots of curse words floating around in my head to punctuate my feelings about that.

I just don’t understand any of this.

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