Decluttering a Life

We were in the garage, my friend and I, thinking it really was not to lofty a goal to drive an actual car into my actual garage.

“I thought you didn’t have a dog,” she said, as she pulled out a large clear bag (the zipped kind that once held a blanket) from the row of boxes and boxes on the garage shelves. “That’s my dead dog bag,” I replied. When you look at it objectively, perhaps it is a bit nutso to have stuff from your dog (and cat) so long after they are gone. I looked at the contents: nylabone, collar, dog dish, kitty dish, cat collar, dog bed cover, the last chewed Frisbee, the last chewed tennis ball.

Then I saw the small manilla envelope. Labelled 1/95, it had 3 bulleted items listed on the front:

• A bit of Tux’s fur
• Tissues with my tears
• (I forget the 3^rd thing because I was too busy crying after reading the 2^nd  thing)

Why the holding?

Why can’t I see it the way the Buddhists do – life as a river, constantly changing and evolving? It’s like I want to stop the river because it was fun there, and sunny, and just a plain old nice spot. But it runs through my fingers anyway, and really even a dusty bag of stuff doesn’t really resurrect those times. And here’s the thing. This bag held DEAD dog stuff. It’s a memory of his death, not his life.

What’s on the other side of the dead dog bag? Well, the baby rug, of course. And up above, on the other shelf? The box labeled “pregnancy and sequins.” The few pregnancy clothes I didn’t give away, plus some fancy clothes I never wear.

The rug goes on craiglist today.

And I think the decision’s been made.

I just needed to hear him say it. And it didn’t come after an hour long conversation, colored by red wine or deep discussions. It came much more humbly, on a cloudy Saturday, as he got out of the shower, and I was still in, as we talked about to-do lists and doctor appointments.

My ob/gyn wants me off the hormones. I’ve been on them a long time, in a holding pattern, keeping my uterus at the ready should we choose to jump on the bandwagon again and use those last 2 embryos.

“It’s reality,” he said. “Just like today is Saturday the 14^th. This just wasn’t our path. We wanted it to be different, but we can’t change that.”

I felt relieved, I think.

But now I’m kind of sad. 

It's been a while!

It’s true. I’ve been avoiding you. My head in the sand, my heart covered up, busy with work, busy with photography, busy with home improvements and the daily stuff of sorting whites from colors, hiring a tree guy, making chimichurri sauce to go with the steak, taking a walk at the reservoir to eye the white pelicans (the feathers on top so cutely tossled by the breeze), eating falafel, getting a pedicure, painting a bedroom. Brown.

So really, I’ve been avoiding the embryo question. Very well, I might add. It’s strange, you know, to not be waiting for something. The world of infertiles is filled with waiting … for the next test, the next shot, for the doctors opinion about the lining, for the embryos to become blastocysts, for the pregnancy test, then the wondering....Will it last? Will they survive? Am I doing everything I possibly can to nurture these little morsels of life?

I did everything, at least everything in my power.

Recently I thought about what advice I might give other infertiles. It lead to what advice I may want to give myself.

Corey Whelan, in an article about infertility, reminded me of a very important thing (I’m paraphrasing)…“Ask yourself this: how much time do you want to spend in the doctors office, versus time on the playground with your kids?”

For 10 years now, I’ve been caught up in the process. Hard to imagine I could have a 10-yr old daughter by now. But I don’t. Here’s the thing: I’m smart, I’m dedicated, but I may not be lighting fast about things. Why? I’m a believer. I believe things will work out, if I give it enough effort, if I give it enough time, if I do the right things.

But the end result is that I often stay too long.

One thing I can say about my life: for all the big things/questions, things that scare me and perhaps excite me  – I always feel grateful to have done them. And I only wish I would have done them sooner.

Today, if I was to give advice to me, it might be this: Honey, you have tried, so hard and for so long. You are tired. It’s OK. Really, it is. It’s ok to grieve about this. It’s ok to talk about it, or not. There’s no reason why this didn’t work, and sometimes we just never know. But what you do know is that the next phase of your life cannot and will not begin until you let go. I know it’s hard to dive off that cliff, but you’ve jumped off cliffs before with great success. Don’t be afraid. The people you love will be there to catch you.

And here it comes, the voice. “But what if you gave it one more try? What if?"

What's next????

a message

Why? She asked me.
The words that came out of us (over a champagne lunch) were: love, awesome mom, obsessed, let go, sorry, and yes - another glass of wine, please.

My best friend was trying so hard to understand my choices and my drive to have a baby, to have a family. Maybe to people outside of the IF circle it does seem a bit crazy and obsessed. It still stung a little to hear the word. Obsessed. Really? Me? The person who didn't even know she wanted a family until too late?

When you choose what you want to create, must you answer "why?" Can it simply be something you know, like you know you like chocolate, or you know you like the beach better than the mountain. I can't say I dreamt of it all my life, nor that I always knew it would happen. For me, the child question was either a bit of a blank space or at times, a no. Until the day I closed my eyes, and really asked myself, deep inside, and saw in my mind's eye a little arm reaching out.

I still haven't gone deep with myself to check in, as if I'm afraid of the answer. I don't know that the little arm will still be there. But just maybe it will be something else, something that will point me in the right direction.

I'm sorry ya'll! I still have not let go of motherhood, but also haven't moved forward to make anything happen. Still in limbo. So that's why I haven't written. But I'm back, and writing helps me clear my head. Thanks for allowing me this space to ask, and answer, some important questions.

Choosing

When I asked Mom, “what would you like, toast or yogurt for breakfast?” she said, “anything, dear.” When I asked if she’d like to go to the art museum or a walk along the beach? You guessed it. “Whatever you’d like, I’m easy.”  

I learned something about myself. I suck at decision-making too (though perhaps I'm not THAT bad). And it’s hard for me to let go of things. I can’t even let go of magazines easily (my husband once did an intervention, and gathered magazines from around the house, and placed them at my feet on the kitchen floor. Yes, they covered the kitchen floor.) Is it a wonder I can’t seem to let go of the last 2 embryos? It’s all about dreams, what’ if’s.

Yesterday I think I took my last pre-natal vitamin (after 9 years).

Here’s what I’m learning:

-         I’m making this all about THE BIG CHOICE. Not just the one about tossing or using the embryos, but motherhood yes or no, adoption or child-free living. Then the choice gets too scary, and I don’t choose.   

-         I’ve been holding it in, not talking to my man. It’s time to talk. In fact, it’s time to get away for the weekend! We leave Saturday morning for a favorite spot in the wine country.  

-         I recognize there will be opportunities as a result of my choice. Yes, this IS final, and yes, it will be the end of something, but then there are beginnings, other ways to have children, other ways to live life.

-         There’s no right or wrong decision. I just need (we just need) to make a no-regrets choice. If I can let go of the embryos without regret, I will. If not, do we’ll do another cycle, and know we’ve done it all. Then check-in with myself, and make another decision. That’s what keeps it moving forward. Incremental change.

-         Also, the answer to the question “do I want to have kids” changes depending in where I’m at in my life. I’ve been on the infertility train for a long time, and I’m drawn to wanting to be a success. I now grant myself the freedom to take a new look inside, and see what’s changed, what hasn’t, so I can make a decision based on what’s real for me and us today.

Letting go and Digging in, all at the same time.

In the movie “Eat, Pray, Love,” Elizabeth walks away from the center of a party (and her husband) to go watch her best friend change her baby’s diaper. “How did you know you wanted to be a mom,” she asks. The friend pulls out a hope chest from under the bed, filled with adorable baby clothes. Elizabeth doesn’t pine for the baby clothes, and says how her box was filled with issues of National Geographic and dreams of travel.

What do you do if you are a mix of these two people? I know it’s not “either – or”, but yet… I feel continually torn. It’s funny to me that I went as far as I did with infertility – 9 years, 3-4  surgeries, endless rounds of tests and cycles of IUI, IVF with an egg donor, and finally embryo transplants (3 cycles) with donated embryos, and 4 miscarriages.

It’s true, I still have not closed this chapter of my life. I have a counseling session this week, we’ll see if I can come to some conclusion – but my prediction is that I’ll spend 50 minutes inside her office sobbing like a crazy woman.

It’s a new year.

But it feels a bit too much like the old one.

The struggle of infertility actually brought my man and I closer together, in spite of the stress and broken dreams. Now, our marriage is… well….edgy, for lack of a better word. Here are some more words: volatile, loving, fun, stressful, warmly intimate and real, routine, exciting, grounded, healthy, angry.

What’s the good news? I skied moguls this weekend. It was SO great to feel the strength of my body, to be outdoors with him and just PLAY god darn it. We needed it. Being in my body really helps my focus and helps my whole demeanor, and I’m so grateful to have the health and means to do it. Friends built a snow saucer/toboggan track, and the 10 year old girls enabled me to flip upside down, laugh, go fast, fall in the snow and just let go….

Christmas Story #1

Twenty five fantastic friends (and mom) helped us break in the new house for the holidays. Anyone who knows us knows we can be late for even our own parties. At 7 pm, when the doorbell rang (30 minutes early) I yelled “still naked! Be right out!” After our wonderful Christmas eve party, we were utterly exhausted Christmas day. We slept in, and made salmon toast appetizers for our Christmas Day dinner at a H and R’s house, where we happily gorged on crab. Yum.

By that evening, 8 pm felt like 3 in the morning. My husband, mom and I barely made it in the door before we stripped and put on our jammies RIGHT when the phone rang. Our new next door neighbors called to say they’d been watching for our car so they could come by and wish us a happy holiday. SOOO nice, really. I missed them the day before so was glad to see them in spite of feeling like a tired blubbermouth.

They brought a gift, some wine (white). “We don’t drink, so I hope this is OK,” she said. “It’s perfect!”. After being in a gift exchange the night before with some fine gifts as well as an old used book, I was leary of the wine, understandably. We enjoyed some time together, and the next day, while making chicken cacciatore (which called for white wine) I thought why not use the wine from last night? A 1997 chardonnay (who keeps chardonnay for a decade?? Or more???). Clearly that wine was something somebody gave them that’s been stashed in a closet for years. We tasted it – almost a bit thick, deep honey color, bit sweet, little acidic, with a bad cork. “Is it going to ruin the cacciatore?” I asked.

Today, we looked it up on line.

Apparently, I don’t know what really expensive wine tastes like.  The magnum is worth $300, and this – only $115. Ouch! 

Today, I am thankful for:

• being surprised
• my husband at my side christmas morning
• croissants from williams sonoma, also on christmas morning
• artificial christmas trees (that's another story)
• little girls singing in front of the tree
• friends, and all their loud chatting and laughing filling up my house
• my new neighbors
• you -- who read this blog! thanks for your support, and I'll be writing more in the New Year! Wishing you love.

Brown or Green?

Like two tween best friends, my husband and I stand in front of the mirror and the light. “Do these pants go better with my shirt?” he asks. I immediately notice two things: first, we’re actually dressed kind of the same, as same as men’s and women’s clothes get. He: brown and black nice knit sweater, brown pants, black shoes. Me: brown knit top, black skirt, brown/black leggings. The next thing I see: his pair of brown pants? “These are green pants,” he says. He argues with me. He tries to convince. I say sometimes people see things differently, and actually, that’s ok. Please don’t try to make me believe they are green. Because they are brown.

This is a microcosm of our marriage. Seemingly the same/similar, in sync and spooning, then we open our eyes and realize just how differently we see things. And honestly, there’s NO convincing him that the world may not be the way he sees it.

Like one of the core arguments couples have over and over during the course of their lives, this is one we keep dealing with. We're getting better at seeing each other's point of view. But it's our desire to control that gets our goat, even when it’s something as simple as deciding about green onions or shallots in the clams linguini tonight.

Really, I’m just trying to help, aren’t I? If your husband announced he wanted to make clams tomorrow, wouldn’t you happily jump on the shellfish bandwagon, resurrect that great Giada recipe, and offer to get the pasta, parsley and accoutrements while he goes to Aliotos for (too many pounds of) clams? Then it happens, the argument over shallots vs. green onions. Really I don’t care, and the grocery list says so, in plain English: GREEN ONIONS. He slams the door, leaving a stormy kitchen behind.  I ask myself the big question: will we ever grow up (and stay that way?)

So here’s what’s going on, and sorry I haven’t written in so long. 

I’m still trying to let go of the last embryos. The doc basically, quietly, gently, hinted that we should look at other options: adoption or child-free living. But I haven’t said the words yet, and checked the box on the paper that says “we ask that these embryos be destroyed”. It’s that word: destroyed. As if there hasn’t been enough destruction around all this!  I’ll let you know.