Today is the 15th anniversary of the terrorist attacks of September 11th 2001. I think there are days in all of our lives that are so deeply etched in our memories that we can't possibly forget. 9/11 is one of those days for me.
I was 20. A junior in college. I got back to my apartment after class, flipped on the tv out of habit, and went to the kitchen and got a bowl of cereal. Cheerios. I walked back into the living just in time to see the second tower fall. Then the Pentagon. Then Shanksville, PA. I got my roommate out of bed. We sat on the couch and cried. A few months later that same friend saved up some money and we hopped on a bus and headed to New York City. We needed to see it for ourselves.
Classes were cancelled for the rest of the day. There was confusion. A friend was in panic mode because her dad worked at the Pentagon (thankfully, he was fine). I remember the line (and the price gouging) at the gas station. I was an adult. But I was a kid. And I wanted to hear my mom's voice and know for sure that my family was ok. I wouldn't get through on a cell or land line until the next day. In the days that followed friends who were in the National Guard or the Reserves were called up and deployed. It was surreal.
I grew up a lot that day and in the days that followed. In many ways, that day shaped who I am as an adult.
Fifteen years later so much time has passed, but yet it seems to stand still. On Friday I stood in front of my students, college Juniors. The same age that I was when it happened. It quickly became apparent that, while they were alive when 9/11 happened, they didn't live it. It took me a bit to wrap my brain around this.
In the days that followed 9/11 the United States was more united than it had ever been (in my lifetime at least). Political party didn't matter. Or religion. Or gender. Or income. Or where you lived. Or your education level. Or anything else. We were Americans. Terrorists attacked us on our soil. And we were going to go and kick their asses, even if it wasn't yet clear who "they" were.
I miss that unity.
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Saturday, September 3, 2016
Update
This is an update to my last post.
I went to the gynecologist on Thursday. I had low expectations. I mean really low. I took a page out of Sarah's book and wore a sexy bra and underwear set, wore full makeup and my favorite lipstick, and wore as cute of an outfit that I could get away with considering that I was headed to work afterwards (I can't find the exact post, but I'm 99% positive it was her). I figured that if I was going to an appointment with the potential to be really shitty, that I may as well look good.
When I walked into the office, my already low expectations were lowered. I checked in with the receptionist who generally lacked in personality and got my new patient packet and made my way to the waiting room. In the waiting room there was a rack full of Jesus books. I fought the urge to leave. I worked my way through the mountain of new patient paperwork and got to the last page, a consent to charge my credit card whenever I had a balance with the practice. I obviously declined and added a statement to the effect that they do not have permission to charge my card in any circumstances. I paid in cash for good measure. Two strikes against them.
They called me back fairly quickly, which was good, because I was really teetering on the edge of walking out.
I got back to the exam room, where I did some more intake stuff with a nurse, who also lacked in general personality. She asked how many pregnancies I'd had. I told her zero. She didn't win any points with me when she reminded me that "I'm young" and that "there's a lot of time left." I started to shut down at this point. I think that my demeanor encouraged her to make quick work of the remainder of her intake questions with minimal commentary. Three strikes.
You're probably starting to feel sorry for me right about now. Don't. It got much better.
The doctor walked in. There was something about her that started to put me at ease. She asked about me. Like she was interested in me as a person. I started to feel comfortable. She got more of my history and asked a bunch of questions. Not the questions that made me feel like she was reading off of a list, but questions that actually followed up on the answers that I gave her.
We got to the part about infertility. I told her everything, about all of the test results, about not pursuing treatment. She reached over, touched my hand, and said "I'm really sorry that you had to go through that. It must have been hard." I was honestly taken aback. I'm not used to this sort of empathy and compassion from normal people, let alone a medical professional.
She didn't discount any of the perimenopause symptoms and assured me that there are options for treatment. She agreed that my symptoms were likely due to low estrogen. She'll likely start me on a birth control with estrogen in it to see if that helps as opposed to jumping straight to HRT. She did briefly mention taking a low dose of Prozac to help with the mood swings and, oddly enough, the hot flashes. I absolutely hate the idea of taking an anti-depressant, but we'll see.
She ordered a bunch of blood tests (all hormone related) and a pelvic ultrasound to check things out. I go back on September 20th. On that day I think she'll do an endometrial biopsy and prescribe the birth control. She's willing to do the laparoscopy to formally diagnose endometriosis and clean it up, so I'm sure we'll talk more about that at my next appointment too.
So long story short, I can deal with the Jesus books, the receptionist without personality, and the nurse that was a jerk, because I really, really liked the doctor. I still can't believe that I was so lucky to find her. I was prepared to go in there and fight for myself, but I didn't need to at all. I'm exhausted from it all, still. But mainly I'm thankful that I was finally heard.
I went to the gynecologist on Thursday. I had low expectations. I mean really low. I took a page out of Sarah's book and wore a sexy bra and underwear set, wore full makeup and my favorite lipstick, and wore as cute of an outfit that I could get away with considering that I was headed to work afterwards (I can't find the exact post, but I'm 99% positive it was her). I figured that if I was going to an appointment with the potential to be really shitty, that I may as well look good.
When I walked into the office, my already low expectations were lowered. I checked in with the receptionist who generally lacked in personality and got my new patient packet and made my way to the waiting room. In the waiting room there was a rack full of Jesus books. I fought the urge to leave. I worked my way through the mountain of new patient paperwork and got to the last page, a consent to charge my credit card whenever I had a balance with the practice. I obviously declined and added a statement to the effect that they do not have permission to charge my card in any circumstances. I paid in cash for good measure. Two strikes against them.
They called me back fairly quickly, which was good, because I was really teetering on the edge of walking out.
I got back to the exam room, where I did some more intake stuff with a nurse, who also lacked in general personality. She asked how many pregnancies I'd had. I told her zero. She didn't win any points with me when she reminded me that "I'm young" and that "there's a lot of time left." I started to shut down at this point. I think that my demeanor encouraged her to make quick work of the remainder of her intake questions with minimal commentary. Three strikes.
You're probably starting to feel sorry for me right about now. Don't. It got much better.
The doctor walked in. There was something about her that started to put me at ease. She asked about me. Like she was interested in me as a person. I started to feel comfortable. She got more of my history and asked a bunch of questions. Not the questions that made me feel like she was reading off of a list, but questions that actually followed up on the answers that I gave her.
We got to the part about infertility. I told her everything, about all of the test results, about not pursuing treatment. She reached over, touched my hand, and said "I'm really sorry that you had to go through that. It must have been hard." I was honestly taken aback. I'm not used to this sort of empathy and compassion from normal people, let alone a medical professional.
She didn't discount any of the perimenopause symptoms and assured me that there are options for treatment. She agreed that my symptoms were likely due to low estrogen. She'll likely start me on a birth control with estrogen in it to see if that helps as opposed to jumping straight to HRT. She did briefly mention taking a low dose of Prozac to help with the mood swings and, oddly enough, the hot flashes. I absolutely hate the idea of taking an anti-depressant, but we'll see.
She ordered a bunch of blood tests (all hormone related) and a pelvic ultrasound to check things out. I go back on September 20th. On that day I think she'll do an endometrial biopsy and prescribe the birth control. She's willing to do the laparoscopy to formally diagnose endometriosis and clean it up, so I'm sure we'll talk more about that at my next appointment too.
So long story short, I can deal with the Jesus books, the receptionist without personality, and the nurse that was a jerk, because I really, really liked the doctor. I still can't believe that I was so lucky to find her. I was prepared to go in there and fight for myself, but I didn't need to at all. I'm exhausted from it all, still. But mainly I'm thankful that I was finally heard.
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
Outlier
I am an outlier. The average age for onset of perimenopausal symptoms is 45 (citation). I'm a full decade ahead of schedule.
I could make a joke that this is the first time I've ever been early for anything in my life. I've been known to handle difficult things with sarcasm and mildly inappropriate humor, but right now I don't feel like joking.
For the most part I've accepted that my cycles are probably going to lack predictability for whatever remaining time that I have one. I've learned what my triggers for hot flashes are and strategies that are mostly effective for dealing with them. I understand that I'm probably not going to be able to wear heavy sweaters anytime in the near future and that I probably won't need to wear a winter coat again this coming winter. With as much as I hate it and miss it, I know that cuddling with my husband isn't going to be as frequent, because the added body heat always triggers a hot flash, and cuddling with a hot, sweaty mess isn't any fun for anybody.
I'm convinced that the progesterone in the IUD has helped with some of the symptoms. While I'm not one of the lucky majority who stops having a period after they get an IUD, my periods are much more manageable and I haven't had a scary one in the almost 18 months that I've had it. I think that it's also helped with itchiness and skin dryness. For these reasons, it's worth keeping, even though there's not a whole lot else that I like about it.
I've always had PMS related mood swings, and these have intensified with perimenopause. For the most part I can keep these in check. But sometimes not so much.
I'm struggling with the fact that many in my peer group are still popping out babies, seemingly with ease, and I'm over here just hoping that I start my period soon. It feels like some kind of cruel joke.
I'm also having a hard time with what this all means for bedroom activities. The truth is that I don't really feel like having sex most of the time, and even when I do, my body is uncooperative. It makes me feel incredibly broken and unlovable. (I feel like I should mention here that hubs has been a saint and even though he's just as frustrated as I am, he's also been incredibly understanding.)
Based on the reading I've been doing, it seems that none of this is atypical for perimenopause.
I can't help but feel like I am too young for this though. And I can't help but feeling like no one (meaning medical professionals) takes me seriously when I talk about this stuff.
Right now I'm in the midst of a particularly brutal (and long) cycle. My mood swings are out of control. I don't want to be around me right now, and others shouldn't have to endure me either. Really, until I start my period, the most suitable place for me is probably an isolated cabin in the woods where I am not required to interact with my fellow humans. I literally feel like I'm teetering on the edge of going crazy. I don't even know how I'm managing to function in daily life. I don't like feeling like this. Everything is magnified and I don't really like myself right now.
And this isn't even mentioning all of the other stuff that I feel is likely related to endometriosis. Of course, this is a self-diagnosis, because even after 20+ years of trying to get doctors to listen to me, including a full infertility workup, I've been fobbed of and it's never been investigated beyond a pelvic ultrasound, which we all know is not the proper diagnostic tool for this condition. Eventually I gave up trying to talk to doctors about it.
I'm going to the gynecologist on Thursday for my (overdue) annual checkup. This doctor and practice are new to me. It's a gynecology only practice, so hopefully some of the triggers from the old practice (e.g., waiting rooms full of pregnant people) won't be present. I'm anxious. I'm wishing that the appointment fell during a more normal cycle where I felt more like myself (a logical, rational human being, for the most part) and not like the Wicked Witch of the West (who may commit homicide or start crying for no apparent reason). I hope that I like the doctor. I hope that she's compassionate and empathetic (or at least pretends well). And most of all I hope she listens and takes me seriously. While I'll consider the appointment a success if I manage to not loose my shit while I'm there, I'm really hoping to hold it together for long enough to talk about getting a laparoscopy to formally diagnose and remove endometriosis and weigh the pros and cons of hormone replacement therapy.
I needed to get this off of my chest. I'm having a hard time dealing with it right now.
I could make a joke that this is the first time I've ever been early for anything in my life. I've been known to handle difficult things with sarcasm and mildly inappropriate humor, but right now I don't feel like joking.
For the most part I've accepted that my cycles are probably going to lack predictability for whatever remaining time that I have one. I've learned what my triggers for hot flashes are and strategies that are mostly effective for dealing with them. I understand that I'm probably not going to be able to wear heavy sweaters anytime in the near future and that I probably won't need to wear a winter coat again this coming winter. With as much as I hate it and miss it, I know that cuddling with my husband isn't going to be as frequent, because the added body heat always triggers a hot flash, and cuddling with a hot, sweaty mess isn't any fun for anybody.
I'm convinced that the progesterone in the IUD has helped with some of the symptoms. While I'm not one of the lucky majority who stops having a period after they get an IUD, my periods are much more manageable and I haven't had a scary one in the almost 18 months that I've had it. I think that it's also helped with itchiness and skin dryness. For these reasons, it's worth keeping, even though there's not a whole lot else that I like about it.
I've always had PMS related mood swings, and these have intensified with perimenopause. For the most part I can keep these in check. But sometimes not so much.
I'm struggling with the fact that many in my peer group are still popping out babies, seemingly with ease, and I'm over here just hoping that I start my period soon. It feels like some kind of cruel joke.
I'm also having a hard time with what this all means for bedroom activities. The truth is that I don't really feel like having sex most of the time, and even when I do, my body is uncooperative. It makes me feel incredibly broken and unlovable. (I feel like I should mention here that hubs has been a saint and even though he's just as frustrated as I am, he's also been incredibly understanding.)
Based on the reading I've been doing, it seems that none of this is atypical for perimenopause.
I can't help but feel like I am too young for this though. And I can't help but feeling like no one (meaning medical professionals) takes me seriously when I talk about this stuff.
Right now I'm in the midst of a particularly brutal (and long) cycle. My mood swings are out of control. I don't want to be around me right now, and others shouldn't have to endure me either. Really, until I start my period, the most suitable place for me is probably an isolated cabin in the woods where I am not required to interact with my fellow humans. I literally feel like I'm teetering on the edge of going crazy. I don't even know how I'm managing to function in daily life. I don't like feeling like this. Everything is magnified and I don't really like myself right now.
And this isn't even mentioning all of the other stuff that I feel is likely related to endometriosis. Of course, this is a self-diagnosis, because even after 20+ years of trying to get doctors to listen to me, including a full infertility workup, I've been fobbed of and it's never been investigated beyond a pelvic ultrasound, which we all know is not the proper diagnostic tool for this condition. Eventually I gave up trying to talk to doctors about it.
I'm going to the gynecologist on Thursday for my (overdue) annual checkup. This doctor and practice are new to me. It's a gynecology only practice, so hopefully some of the triggers from the old practice (e.g., waiting rooms full of pregnant people) won't be present. I'm anxious. I'm wishing that the appointment fell during a more normal cycle where I felt more like myself (a logical, rational human being, for the most part) and not like the Wicked Witch of the West (who may commit homicide or start crying for no apparent reason). I hope that I like the doctor. I hope that she's compassionate and empathetic (or at least pretends well). And most of all I hope she listens and takes me seriously. While I'll consider the appointment a success if I manage to not loose my shit while I'm there, I'm really hoping to hold it together for long enough to talk about getting a laparoscopy to formally diagnose and remove endometriosis and weigh the pros and cons of hormone replacement therapy.
I needed to get this off of my chest. I'm having a hard time dealing with it right now.
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
On my second blogaversary
Two years. Two. That's how long I've been blogging.
41,137 page views
177 posts
1406 comments
The stats don't provide the full picture though.
Friendships
Empathy
Compassion
Growth
Knowing
Acceptance
Those things and their impact can't be measured.
I do not have adequate words to express my gratitude for everyone who has been here for all or even part of this journey. I owe a lot of the credit for where I am today to you. The readers of this blog have been simply amazing. I wouldn't be where I am if not for you.
I am not the person that I was two years ago when I clicked "publish" and took my first blog post live. I'm stronger. I'm more confident. I am resilient. I've learned the importance of embracing grief, sitting with it, and working through it. I've learned that my feelings are just as valid as anyone else's and that I don't have to apologize for how I feel. In the last couple of weeks I've had more than one person tell me "you seem different" or "you seem more alive." And the answer to both of those statements is that I am. I'm emerging from the black cloud of infertility. Dare I say it, I'm even happy most of the time.
There have been a lot of hard things in my second year of blogging. I skipped my sister's baby shower and caused a bit of family drama. My sister gave birth to my nephew and promptly forgot the struggle of infertility. Two of my nieces celebrated their first birthdays. I saw the conclusion of 22 consecutive months of at least one sister being pregnant. Plus all of the unexpected stuff that jumps out and smacks me in the face when I least expect it.
But there have also been a ton of great things about the past year. Hubs and I bought a house and spent time fixing it up (only one urgent care visit required-so far) before we moved at the end of May. Buying a house, I think, was a huge step in healing. It is a happy house. A house of hope and healing. I got to meet fellow bloggers Justine and Sarah and for the first time in a really long time I could just be. Conversation hasn't come that easy in everyday life! I celebrated my 35th birthday and finally understood the cause of my midlife crisis. I also took a huge step and outed hubs and I on Facebook for National Infertility Awareness Week, and the response was better than I ever could have imagined and I regained a lot of faith in my fellow humans.
I'm looking forward to year three of blogging and reading blogs. I hope I have enough to write about! In the coming weeks you get to hear about my (overdue) annual visit to the gynecologist, always a treat for us infertility survivors. My sister is also planning family pictures for October, so I'm sure this will provide plenty of good topics for writing too, since, to put it nicely, I am not looking forward to this.
I've been buried with work lately. I look forward to catching up on all of your blogs soon! But in the meantime, thanks for reading, and thanks for being there for me.
41,137 page views
177 posts
1406 comments
The stats don't provide the full picture though.
Friendships
Empathy
Compassion
Growth
Knowing
Acceptance
Those things and their impact can't be measured.
I do not have adequate words to express my gratitude for everyone who has been here for all or even part of this journey. I owe a lot of the credit for where I am today to you. The readers of this blog have been simply amazing. I wouldn't be where I am if not for you.
I am not the person that I was two years ago when I clicked "publish" and took my first blog post live. I'm stronger. I'm more confident. I am resilient. I've learned the importance of embracing grief, sitting with it, and working through it. I've learned that my feelings are just as valid as anyone else's and that I don't have to apologize for how I feel. In the last couple of weeks I've had more than one person tell me "you seem different" or "you seem more alive." And the answer to both of those statements is that I am. I'm emerging from the black cloud of infertility. Dare I say it, I'm even happy most of the time.
There have been a lot of hard things in my second year of blogging. I skipped my sister's baby shower and caused a bit of family drama. My sister gave birth to my nephew and promptly forgot the struggle of infertility. Two of my nieces celebrated their first birthdays. I saw the conclusion of 22 consecutive months of at least one sister being pregnant. Plus all of the unexpected stuff that jumps out and smacks me in the face when I least expect it.
But there have also been a ton of great things about the past year. Hubs and I bought a house and spent time fixing it up (only one urgent care visit required-so far) before we moved at the end of May. Buying a house, I think, was a huge step in healing. It is a happy house. A house of hope and healing. I got to meet fellow bloggers Justine and Sarah and for the first time in a really long time I could just be. Conversation hasn't come that easy in everyday life! I celebrated my 35th birthday and finally understood the cause of my midlife crisis. I also took a huge step and outed hubs and I on Facebook for National Infertility Awareness Week, and the response was better than I ever could have imagined and I regained a lot of faith in my fellow humans.
I'm looking forward to year three of blogging and reading blogs. I hope I have enough to write about! In the coming weeks you get to hear about my (overdue) annual visit to the gynecologist, always a treat for us infertility survivors. My sister is also planning family pictures for October, so I'm sure this will provide plenty of good topics for writing too, since, to put it nicely, I am not looking forward to this.
I've been buried with work lately. I look forward to catching up on all of your blogs soon! But in the meantime, thanks for reading, and thanks for being there for me.
Thursday, August 11, 2016
An unwelcome invitation
A little over a year ago I lost a friend as part of the fallout of stepping off of the infertility crazy train and moving forward with figuring out my new life without children. The sad truth is that she was incapable of supporting me in moving forward and I got to the point where I knew that if I was going to get through this that I needed to surround myself with people who didn't judge or question me at every step along the way. We've both moved forward with our lives and she seems to be doing quite well. I found out through a mutual acquaintance that she was pregnant a few months ago. While I had no desire to reach out to her or congratulate her, I'm genuinely happy for her and wish her the best.
She finally announced her pregnancy on Facebook with photos from a maternity shoot (two things she said she'd never do, but whatever) over the weekend. Even though I knew it was coming, it still stung a bit.
Yesterday I received a Facebook invitation to her baby shower. As soon as I saw the invite, I had one of those moments where the air was immediately sucked from my lungs. I sat there trying to catch my breath. I asked, out loud, why she would invite me. She knows I don't go to baby showers.
The logical, rational part of me knows that since it was a Facebook invite, she likely sent it to everyone on her friends list with one click of the mouse. Even though we aren't speaking anymore I don't think that she would have purposely sent me the invitation because she knows something like that would hurt me. All of the justification in the world doesn't help. In fact, in a way, justifying her behavior only sets the stage to undermine my feelings about it.
The truth is that receiving the invitation hurt me deeply. It made me angry. It made me jealous. These things aren't easy to admit. I know it probably sounds pretty horrible (at least to anyone outside of this community) that a baby shower invitation made me angry. But it's a brutally honest admission, and while I'm not necessarily proud of this admission, I'm not ashamed of it either. And I'm not a bad person for feeling this way.
Feelings are messy. They aren't always logical. You don't get to pick how something is going to make you feel, and sometimes you can't even anticipate it. If there's one thing I've learned over the past couple of years, it's that boxing the emotions up (even the ugly ones) and not dealing with them as they come is not a good strategy. On the other hand, working through the ugly stuff leads to healing. Maybe there will be a day when a baby shower doesn't lead to such an intense reaction. Maybe this day will never come. But either way, it's okay.
She finally announced her pregnancy on Facebook with photos from a maternity shoot (two things she said she'd never do, but whatever) over the weekend. Even though I knew it was coming, it still stung a bit.
Yesterday I received a Facebook invitation to her baby shower. As soon as I saw the invite, I had one of those moments where the air was immediately sucked from my lungs. I sat there trying to catch my breath. I asked, out loud, why she would invite me. She knows I don't go to baby showers.
The logical, rational part of me knows that since it was a Facebook invite, she likely sent it to everyone on her friends list with one click of the mouse. Even though we aren't speaking anymore I don't think that she would have purposely sent me the invitation because she knows something like that would hurt me. All of the justification in the world doesn't help. In fact, in a way, justifying her behavior only sets the stage to undermine my feelings about it.
The truth is that receiving the invitation hurt me deeply. It made me angry. It made me jealous. These things aren't easy to admit. I know it probably sounds pretty horrible (at least to anyone outside of this community) that a baby shower invitation made me angry. But it's a brutally honest admission, and while I'm not necessarily proud of this admission, I'm not ashamed of it either. And I'm not a bad person for feeling this way.
Feelings are messy. They aren't always logical. You don't get to pick how something is going to make you feel, and sometimes you can't even anticipate it. If there's one thing I've learned over the past couple of years, it's that boxing the emotions up (even the ugly ones) and not dealing with them as they come is not a good strategy. On the other hand, working through the ugly stuff leads to healing. Maybe there will be a day when a baby shower doesn't lead to such an intense reaction. Maybe this day will never come. But either way, it's okay.
Sunday, August 7, 2016
Exactly what my soul needed
A little over a week ago, I met Sarah. I've struggled to find the right words to write about meeting her. Why? Because I realized how important it is to be in the presence of others who get me and who understand what I've been through, and because I realized how many friendships have been lost or fundamentally changed because of infertility (or, probably more accurately, because of how infertility changed me).
I wasn't really nervous to meet Sarah. We know each other through our blogs and we seemed to get along in the emails and texts planning their visit. We decided to meet at a local lake to go kayaking. I figured that in the unlikely event that we didn't have anything to talk about, at least we could talk about nature. We didn't need to talk about nature.
I arrived at the lake a few minutes early, changed into my sandals, and applied sunscreen. As I was finishing up Sarah texted to let me know that they were there and she was standing outside the boathouse and wearing a pink shirt. I took a deep breath and headed over.
We recognized each other immediately and hugged like we've known each other for years. With that hug all of the walls that I've spent years building came crumbling down. I knew that I was with one of my people and that I could be myself with no fear of judgement.
I can only describe the next few hours as completely soul refreshing. I can't even remember the last time I was this unguarded in a face to face conversation with another human being. Empathy and understanding flowed from her veins, and I hope from mine too. Laughter, sarcasm, and cursing came out of both of our mouths. But so did deep and meaningful conversation.
Just going kayaking with Sarah (and Julio) would have been enough to make my summer. But the icing on the cake came the next day when hubs and I went out to dinner with them, got to show them our house, and seeing hubs open up in ways that he never has before.
As they prepared to leave our house, Sarah and I hugged again. But this time it was different. I knew that in a few short minutes they would be gone and that I would need to rebuild some of the walls that I didn't need with her. I managed to hold in the tears until they pulled away. '
I suspect that it will not be the last time that we spend time with Sarah and Julio. And I hope to get the opportunity to spend time with the rest of you too, because spending time with Sarah and Julio left me craving more time with my people.
I wasn't really nervous to meet Sarah. We know each other through our blogs and we seemed to get along in the emails and texts planning their visit. We decided to meet at a local lake to go kayaking. I figured that in the unlikely event that we didn't have anything to talk about, at least we could talk about nature. We didn't need to talk about nature.
I arrived at the lake a few minutes early, changed into my sandals, and applied sunscreen. As I was finishing up Sarah texted to let me know that they were there and she was standing outside the boathouse and wearing a pink shirt. I took a deep breath and headed over.
We recognized each other immediately and hugged like we've known each other for years. With that hug all of the walls that I've spent years building came crumbling down. I knew that I was with one of my people and that I could be myself with no fear of judgement.
I can only describe the next few hours as completely soul refreshing. I can't even remember the last time I was this unguarded in a face to face conversation with another human being. Empathy and understanding flowed from her veins, and I hope from mine too. Laughter, sarcasm, and cursing came out of both of our mouths. But so did deep and meaningful conversation.
Just going kayaking with Sarah (and Julio) would have been enough to make my summer. But the icing on the cake came the next day when hubs and I went out to dinner with them, got to show them our house, and seeing hubs open up in ways that he never has before.
As they prepared to leave our house, Sarah and I hugged again. But this time it was different. I knew that in a few short minutes they would be gone and that I would need to rebuild some of the walls that I didn't need with her. I managed to hold in the tears until they pulled away. '
I suspect that it will not be the last time that we spend time with Sarah and Julio. And I hope to get the opportunity to spend time with the rest of you too, because spending time with Sarah and Julio left me craving more time with my people.
Wednesday, August 3, 2016
Talking
When we were going through infertility my husband was very stoic. I knew it bothered him. I knew he was hurting. I knew it was angry. But he almost never showed emotion. I think he felt like he needed to be strong for me. And I'm so glad that he was. But at the same time I wanted, no needed, him to show some emotion. I didn't care if it was anger or tears or something in between. He rarely did. It made me resent him. Time passed. We both started to heal, both individually and as a couple. I let go of any resentment that I still held on to and accepted that we handled our emotions differently, and that it was okay, and that there was no "right" way to handle it.
I found a support system through blogging and through pen pals who don't blog but that I met through blogging. I found people I trusted and who I could share the good, the bad, and the ugly with. Hubs never found that, and based on Eric's recent post, it doesn't seem like it is uncommon for men to not have a support system. I'm becoming more open and starting to talk more publicly about infertility and how our journey didn't end with a baby. Hubs supports me in this, but he still really isn't able to talk about it beyond a simple acknowledgement.
That changed over the weekend.
I found a support system through blogging and through pen pals who don't blog but that I met through blogging. I found people I trusted and who I could share the good, the bad, and the ugly with. Hubs never found that, and based on Eric's recent post, it doesn't seem like it is uncommon for men to not have a support system. I'm becoming more open and starting to talk more publicly about infertility and how our journey didn't end with a baby. Hubs supports me in this, but he still really isn't able to talk about it beyond a simple acknowledgement.
That changed over the weekend.
Sarah and her husband Julio came to Pittsburgh over the weekend, and naturally we spent some time with them. I could go on and on about how amazing she is and they are, and I will eventually, but I'm still trying to process it all, and figure out the right words to capture it all and how much it meant to me (and hubs).
But I want to write about one small part of our time with them. Something so small that they probably didn't even pick up on.
Hubs talked. At dinner. At our house afterwards. Openly. Honestly. Comfortably. I've never seen him share like this before. He's a man of few words. To a casual onlooker it probably seemed like normal conversation. But to me it it was like a breech in a dam.
I don't know if it was that we were with another couple just like us. Or if it was because there was another guy who had been through many of the same things. Or because it was the first time he's been around another woman who, like me, is trying to claw her way out of the hellhole that is infertility. Or because he knew he could trust Sarah and Julio. Or because of something else. I don't know and he doesn't either (I asked). He just said that talking with them felt "normal."
I also think hubs really started to see that I'm doing pretty well. That I'm not as fragile as I used to be. Maybe this was what he needed to finally get it all out there. After Sarah and Julio left we laid in bed and he talked for what seemed like hours about all that we lost. I want to be there for him like he has always been there for me, and maybe the weekend was a start.
But I want to write about one small part of our time with them. Something so small that they probably didn't even pick up on.
Hubs talked. At dinner. At our house afterwards. Openly. Honestly. Comfortably. I've never seen him share like this before. He's a man of few words. To a casual onlooker it probably seemed like normal conversation. But to me it it was like a breech in a dam.
I don't know if it was that we were with another couple just like us. Or if it was because there was another guy who had been through many of the same things. Or because it was the first time he's been around another woman who, like me, is trying to claw her way out of the hellhole that is infertility. Or because he knew he could trust Sarah and Julio. Or because of something else. I don't know and he doesn't either (I asked). He just said that talking with them felt "normal."
I also think hubs really started to see that I'm doing pretty well. That I'm not as fragile as I used to be. Maybe this was what he needed to finally get it all out there. After Sarah and Julio left we laid in bed and he talked for what seemed like hours about all that we lost. I want to be there for him like he has always been there for me, and maybe the weekend was a start.
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