Quiet

I realize it's been awhile since I updated. That's due to new kitty appearing this weekend, feeling icky and missing 2 days of work (still feel like crap), being completely absorbed in my little story (44 pages, nearly 27,000 words!), and then the fact that I am completely clueless as to what is occuring in my body.

To take these things in order:

1. Amber arrived disgruntled from her car trip and totally uncertain about this new arrangement. Barney immediately fell in love with her and followed her adoringly everywhere, trying to get close. Amber did not appreciate this, and hid. We've been separating them at night, but we let them loose today after Barney approached Amber and she allowed him to groom her. She's still not keen on sharing human attention, but she seems to be settling in. I'm not yet convinced Jonah is aware there is another cat in the house.

2. Actually, there isn't much to add. Virus? Severe allergies? All I know is fatigue, some achiness, headachey, sore throat, no fever. I did go in to work today and wish I'd stayed home.

3. I am embarrassed to be explicit about what this is, other than to generally say 'fanfiction' and duck to hide my shame. All the same, I am in love with my little story and it is so much fun to write, really. I am very pleased with the progress so far - and should it not suck, I may even let someone other than my husband read it. Which I know he would appreciate as this is about as interesting as technical manual to him.

4. I don't even know where to begin. Thought I'd ovulated early. Turned out to just be massive pain I have to assume now was a cyst. Thought I'd ovulated around cd 19 - made sense. Everything but the opk's lined up. And those can not go so well, so when my temp jumped up high, I thought ok! Then it dropped. Fertility signs returned. We had sex. Then more sex. OPK turned dark, then positive. Then stayed positive. We had some more sex. Temp went up. Then down a tenth of a degree. Then up a tenth of a degree. And for fun - my cervix is still high and fertile feeling. And today I had a bunch of ewcm. Could have been leftover semen, I suppose, but . . . I don't know. So . . . barring a dip, FF thinks I ovulated. I just wish my temps made things a bit more clear.

Really, I give. I have no control. I concede it. I would just like to be pregnant again.

Throw in the Spurs and playoffs on top of that and there you are. Not particularly interesting, but my life at the moment none the less.

Right. One letter off from eight.

Eight, as in eight months.

Yes, I still count in months.

No, I don't know how long that will continue.

But today's remembrance was not of the mournful, sad reflective kind. It was a note in the morning that it was so. And then we had sex, because we knew it would be our only chance, with my mother staying the night. Bed and floor are too creaky, and while she sleeps like the dead, it's just too uncomfortable to contemplate.

Then an opk was smilingly positive, and I had to shower, then off to Discount Tire to repair the tire that went flat in the span of 4 minutes while driving on the highway yesterday. Then to Target, cat litter and pregnancy tests on the list. Pick up lunch and home again and then some straigtening for my mom.

I spent the time in between writing. This new story is absorbing me, I dream it. It's frippery, mind - a fluffy fanfiction, not characters or even a story themed solely of my imagination (but then, neither was that the case for Shakespeare and my self-esteem is restored). But I'm writing again. And it's good. Nearly 15,000 words now, debating whether or not chapter 3 should be split into two chapters. Not yet though.

Mom brought Amber, who is to become ours if things go well. That meant preparing for her and watching her sniff around with Barney following, his fascination with her entertaining and clear. The dogs barking, Amber is unsure how she feels and seekd refuge in a closet or under the bed. Chatting, dinner ordered, a chat online with a friend arrived safely in the States afterall, only a week late. We watch a movie and the day is quickly drawing to a close.

I knew what it was. I remembered. And then. . . I went on with life. Because this weekend was not constructed to allow us to stop and mourn for more than a moment.

And that's good. Too much thinking and I wonder strange thoughts - whether ovulating on this day, of all the days possible is a sign. I still believe in signs, I see. The loss is not acute any longer, most of the time. It still has the power to sneak up and bring me to my knees. But not today.

Because today there is a disgruntled cat unsure of her surroundings, and time to spend with my beloved mother, and the Spurs play a big game tomorrow, and there are chocolate chip cookies, and snuggly dogs and kitten with catnip mice, and a story calling seductively to me to be crafted and written down.

And so only a moment or two to remember and say to presence at my side, 'Gabe, darling. I love you. I miss you still. You would have liked Amber, I think. And it was a beautiful day, darling. Love love love you.' then on to the next thing.

I wish you Peace

So, as happens in life, things change. Sometimes big things. Sometimes things that you never really thought of changing, though if you'd thought about it, you'd nod and realize that is inevitable.

What I'm talking about today is Kate Inglis (sweetsalty kate of sweetsalty.com), cofounder of Glow in the Woods is stepping down as a regular contributor to Glow. She posted on Monday that she would be going, and how it feels for her. Which is summarized as 'somewhat conflicted' - it seems to be that time for her, but reaching this point hasn't necessarily brought Completion, Closure, Peace or whatever other platitude you throw out (cough, journey, cough) to neatly label the progress (cough) someone makes in the aftermath of such a monumental loss.

In some ways, knowing Kate won't be posting regularly on the topics of babyloss, grief, afterlife leave me feeling a bit bereft. A bit like I'm flailing. As I said to her - her words were an absolute lifeline when I felt I was drowning in the grief at the beginning. I printed out this post and carried it in my wallet for awhile. I so badly needed someone to tell me it was ok to grieve, to allow myself the space necessary to breathe and heal. There are others, too numerous to mention, that just left me bouncing a little, nodding enthusiastically, saying "Yes, yes. YES. Oh yes, thank you God, someone gets it and can say it in an amazingly cogent way. I'm not insane."

In most ways though, I'm glad for Kate. She's done amazing things for us by creating Glow (I cannot express enough the gratitude I feel. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that Glow may have saved my sanity). And she's at a place where she needs to move on, where she can't be where I talked about being the other day, because it's not serving anyone well any longer. I know from her recent post on sweetsalty that she is not sure how to process these statements about her having moved on, and congratulations and wishes for peace. She makes a really valuable and excellent point that peace is not really an attainable end. That there is no real objective point that can be called peace, not in this real life.

Which made me think - I often wish for peace. For myself. For my family and friends. And especially for those grieving. She has made me ask what it is I mean when I say I hope for peace.

And I think what I intend to wish someone is not a happy state of tranquility and benevolent acceptance of the fates that have befallen them. Even Job was driven to questions in the end, right? It’s not a goal, or a feeling that can be achieved and maintained with equanimity. It’s not a convenient box which can checked off the grief list, it’s not a package tied prettily with a Resolution bow. I think it is a million things and different every moment and to every person.

What I intend to tell someone is really this:

I wish you a moment of calm in the midst of the storm.
I wish you a breath that fills your lungs and that you don’t choke on.
I wish you a meal where the food does not taste like ashes in your mouth.
I wish you an encounter where someone doesn’t step on your toes or inadvertently rip out your heart.
I wish you a cry with cleansing tears.
I wish you a night of dreamless sleep.
I wish you a moment to just be – a moment in which you do not have to be a wife mother daughter sister husband father son brother friend partner employee dead baby parent lost broken drowning dying in pain guilt-ridden. A moment in which you can simply be and exist apart from all of those things.
I wish you a moment of clarity.
I wish you a moment of friendship and support.
I wish you a time when you can laugh again.
I wish you a time when you can recall without overwhelmingly negative emotions.
I wish you a moment of time in which you can feel your lost one near you.
I wish you an encompassing love.
I wish you a timeout from crushing sadness and the work of grief.
I wish you a glimpse of gratitude.
I wish you good things without guilt.
I wish you more good moments than bad.
I wish you arms to hold you and a shoulder to cry on.
I wish you the rawness of grief when you need it close.
I wish you a scab, then a scar.
I wish you a stream of sunlight, and some warmth.
I wish you a moment of rest in the struggle.
I wish you an answer.
I wish you a break from the anxiety.
I wish you a moment of comfort or solace.

Most of all, I wish you the ability to be present in this moment, whatever this moment requires.

I wish all these things, in different measures in different times depending on what is most required. I often summarize that by saying I wish you peace. It’s easier. It means something different to everyone, and they hopefully can fill in their greatest need.

Perhaps what I ought to say is I wish you the fulfillment of your needs as they come. It’s not wholly attainable, but it’s my passionate desire for my fellow bereaved.

For me, I feel like I have found some peace. That peace changes by the day and exists in greater and lesser degrees. But I find it’s when I can be, when I have that moment . . . that is what I crave and what I seek and what I wish for everyone. I struggle with it. Life changes, life froths, life churns, life is calm, life is floating, life is ever present in highs and lows. I think peace is dealing with life in that moment.

Whatever brings you peace or comfort or solace or allows you to hold your grief, whatever gets you through your day and night, whatever it is you seek – I wish you to find it. Ephemeral and ethereal as it is, intangible as it may be, I wish you that peace.

And I thank Kate for helping me find it in a hundred moments and a hundred ways.

Let's just do this memo style:

- Apparently I way jinxed myself because my lovely temp jump that had me eating pineapple and ditching the tea? Yeah. I've no idea what caused it. Wasn't ovulation though!

- I am now back to being fertile again. Whee.

- At least we had a break, and are interested in sex again, which way better than dreading it.

- Work is very busy and very draining. And very stressful. I really would like for them to put out more details about the staff cuts because right now rumors are floating, everyone is on edge and no one really believes it when you tell them that we don't know anything. They fear that you do know something and just aren't telling them what you know. And while I think we're going to be ok, there is no guarantee.

- The dog and cat are getting along beautifully lately - we even had a full 15 minutes of both animals laying downstairs, in view of each other and it was peaceful. So naturally, we're adding a new cat to the mix. Can't let it get boring, right?

- I awesomely spilled a nearly full venti green tea latte all over my desk. Fortunately for me, it didn't get on anything irreplaceable. Still - very embarrassing.

- Ummmm, I am not sure what else. I'm stumped. I'm sure there is something. I guess I'll figure it out later?

- Oh, right. Yes. I started righting a new story. I've got about 12,000 words. I asked Dh to read it. He did. I asked how it was - how the pacing felt, if it felt natural, if the dialogue read well, if it was too dialogue heavy, etc.

His comments were that the pacing was fine, it didn't feel forced or rushed, the dialogue read naturally. I asked what he thought of it and he said that if I was going for a romantic comedy, he guessed it was all right, but it's not something he'd ever choose to read. Gee, thanks, honey!

I'm happy with it thus far though. Which is what I'm going to get back to now. Cheers!

ETA - Oh RIGHT. This is a big week in Texas Lottery. Fingers crossed the universe is finally nice to us and our terribly bad numbers come up winners in one of the games. Yes, yes, I do realize I have a better chance of conceiving natural triplets and carrying them to 32+ weeks without missing more than 3 days of work, but that is hardly the point now, is it? I like the little fantasy life we've built around winning the lottery. My house is awesome!

The Rawness of the Black Hole

Lately, I have seen, unfortunately, a new crop of dead baby mamas. Brand new losses, with all their confusion, ache, newness and despair. I grieve for those mamas and their lost children.

It is a difficult thing. I have found some peace nearly 8 months out. I am no longer new to this frightening world. I have found a place in it, and I feel a responsibility to reach out to those who have just emerged from the black hole and are blinking in confusion and fear at this strange new world.

I was reached out to. I was held. I was allowed to pour out my grief in all its rawness and harshness and wailing and blackness, and I was told I was welcome and I was told I was not alone and I was understood.

Those things were precious to me then, and now. Being supported by those who had been there was of incalculable aid to me. The support of my friends and family who have not been there as parents is still important - don't doubt that you were invaluable to me. But there is something special and necessary about knowing you are not alone, you will survive this. And you will be well again someday.

So I have to repay that. It can't be repaid to those who served me so well, it must be paid forward to those joining our ranks of the babylost.

So I try. I try to sit and listen, I try to abide with the grief of others, and I try to give them a taste of the peace I've reached, to assure them that they too can swim through the morass of grief and come out the other side. Unfortunately, that sometimes requires wading back into the morass to reach them and help hold them up.

There is no way to avoid coming face to face with your own grief again. Sometimes it is in the story itself, the similarities cut straight through your defenses and pierce your heart in the same place and you weep with them, for their loss and yours. Sometimes it is only in mirror, or a painting, viewing the grief as if you were studying it.

That has value too. I can see how far I've come, I can see the ways in which I've changed. I can see my own fragility and my own strength. Sometimes I wish I did not feel compelled to sit with this raw grief. It hurts. A wise friend told me not to take so much pain into myself, that it is ok to be selfish and protect myself. I wish I could listen. I wish I did not always feel selfish.

I hope it helps. I hope it does something for them, as it did for me. I hope they feel comforted, a little less alone. I hope they can find peace. I hope that it buoys me and does not drag me down. I hope it honors Gabriel, and the short life he lived. I hope it is his legacy writ large in life.

I watch these new bereaved parents struggle to take a breath, I tell them that is all the need do right now. Take one breath at a time, one step at a time. Someday, I will move on from this new place, further down the road. I'm already on my way, nearly eight months gone. These people will hopefully take my place, an ever changing cast of characters, an ever reaching line of support stretching out over the landscape. . .

O Brave New World, that has such people in it.

Well then.

So I definitely did not ovulate on cd16. Or cd17 (which was my personal pick). Boo!

And having gotten no positive opk's after yesterday (anyone notice that if you say it phonetically that it's sort of what it is? Oh-Peaks. Like ovulation peak. Like . . . oh, nevermind. I'm kind of a dork.), I was thinking that things were indeed lining up for an April 18 ovulation.

And I cannot tell you the myriad of ways in which that was making me totally nervous.

I've been having a good feeling about this cycle, despite waves upon waves of anxiety, but I really, really, really didn't want to ovulate on the same day. It would just be too weird for me.

But I noticed that the ovulatory pain increased yesterday - especially on the right side. And that by evening, my cervix seemed to be moving downwards and closing up. And that the cm that had started as fertile/ew was more creamy than anything.

And then this morning, my temp jumped a whopping .6 degrees, and well over my previous high temps for this cycle. So I'm feeling pretty good about the chances that ovulation has occurred. Good enough to stop drinking green tea and begin eating pineapple core, anyway.

I feel like we gave it our best shot, and I feel pretty good about our chances. . . so now the waiting begins. You know, if my temp doesn't plummet by .7 degrees tomorrow . . .

* * * * *

In other areas of life, I have been busy at work and things aren't great. Not for me personally, just the situation. Without getting too detailed and trying to stick my promise to myself to not lay out too much about work here, there are budget cuts happening. And there will be RIFs. A lot of RIFs - more than we initially expected. Everyone is on edge about this. No one feels particularly secure. I think I'm ok - well, for a lot of reasons. While there is a lot of my job that a part-timer could do, there is a big, important chunk that requires someone full-time and at my level (meaning my job is unlikely to be downgraded to an office coordinator or something), because I certify expenses. But . . . that is no guarantee. At all. And regardless of how safe I am, people are going to lose their jobs. I've been told it's highly likely that at least one person in my office will lose their job, and that people in our unit will lose their jobs. And that sucks. A lot. I hate it. I'm glad I don't have to make that decision and am unlikely to have to sit in on those meetings. But even knowing it . . . is awful.

And to make that all better? My prescription for my anti-depressent ran out this week.

Like a good patient, I called the doctor's office. I was referred to the pharmacy line, where I was told to leave my identifying information, the number for the pharmacy and the medication I was requesting and they would return my call within 24 hours. I did this.

I did not receive a call back. But as I called last Friday, I though ok. Weekend. No biggie. I've got some pills left. So I called the pharmacy Monday to see if they'd received the prescription, as the last time this happened, it was called in and no one informed me. Nope. So I call and leave another message.

That is not returned either. I'm a little concerned because I wasn't sure if I needed to see the doctor to discuss the dosage or anything else. And no one is returning my calls. And the pharmacy doesn't have the order. And I'm running out of pills, and not only do I not have enough to wean properly, I am nowhere near ready to wean. OMG.

I get more and more anxious as the week progresses. I cried at one point. I left another message, which is likewise not returned. I had a good friend offer to send me her leftover prescription so I wouldn't be stuck without. I cannot believe that that office has not returned my calls pleading for someone to call me.

So finally, I call and try the nurse's line - same thing. A message. So I call again, and wait on hold for 20 minutes to get to the secretary or whoever. When the phone is finally answered, I explain it all in a tearful voice: I've left messages, I'm nearly out, I can't stop it yet, I'm feeling desperate, I don't know what the hold up is, and please please please call in the script for me.

And she says she will. She goes on to say that she was just covering the phones for Dr. B's staff (she works for another Dr in the practice), and next time I should just have the pharmacy fax a request because it's quicker.

I was joyful and completely, utterly livid, all at once. Because, really? Good to know I can just have the pharmacist ask. Good to know that following their directions to request a continuation of the meds doesn't work at all. Good to know the doc doesn't need to speak with me at all regarding this.

Maybe I should ask the pharmacy to request some valium. After that mess, I feel like I could use it.

Deja vu

This is weird. Almost uncomfortably so.

So, for a variety of reasons I won't repeat yet again, I thought I might have ovulated overnight between Monday and Tuesday. As my temps don't really confirm that as yet, and I've had some twinges that would suggest otherwise, I'm not sure quite what is happening at this point.

What is eerie about that though is that the same damn thing happened a year ago. On cd 16/17. It's just crazy and weird. Ovulation is predicted to be the same day, the weird blip is the same. . .

I know it's likely coincidental. I know it probably doesn't mean anything. But it's hard not to watch this unfold and feel like it is familiar. To hope it's familiar. To let that secret voice leap forward in recognition and shout this must be it, it must, must, must. . .

(that one bit that forever longs for Gabriel returned to me, straining to be heard, looking for my son)

I've been here before. I'm tired of here, of waiting, of stasis, of gnashing teeth and hopeful wishes. I want to be beyond here, I want to get on with living life. And yet, I can't leave this behind, not while we might still have a chance of being parents.