Whining, Waiting and Red Stilettos

WARNING! SEVERE WHINING AHEAD.

I went to a fundraiser show for a very accomplished and talented actress who has terminal cancer - and I'm watching her plays be read and people sing her praises and perform odes to her - and I'm thinking - if I died tomorrow, what precisely would I have accomplished? She has a great reel and she has a son. I know her professionally; when I first came to town, she took me to a play, but we never became friends. I was far more interested in partying and getting laid. She was married and had a son, and it was apparent that she adored her son and he was a miracle to her. She must have thought I was a ditz. I probably was and happily so.

This is what self-pity does. Part of me was in complete awe for her and her life and the other part of me was - you have 6 years of wasted time behind you and if you put on your night vision goggles, you'll see recurring "neurotic" depression sitting in the corner waiting patiently in the corner for you. Always nice to hear your point of view, Evil Twin. Thanks a lot. I completely missed the point that I have my health and my life and my future ahead of me. Nice job. Apparently, the dis-ease of IF still lingers like nerve damage.

Yep, I was doing fine with my keep busy plan and I was feeling so useful after my time in Banff and then I came back and saw a colleague with her new baby, then my best friend gets knocked up, and I spend an evening with my other good friends with their two adorable girls (with my hubby reading the 3 year old bedtime stories and me feeding the infant her dinner) and all of a sudden, my gut is twisted with the yearning to be a mother. AND THEN I get an email from our adoption agency for prospective adoptive parents to have a house and yard, have one stay at home parent and lead an active athletic lifestyle for the Asian biracial child. Well, 1 out of 3 ain't bad. AND THEN I get a call from our adoption agency about a birth mother in the States who wants Christians and yes I have answered this question before in person and in my profile, we are NOT! I did however calmly pass along the suggestion to that they encourage the US agency to share our profile with the birth mother first to see if we share similar values. I quietly rage inside.

No amount of shopping, drinking, whining is going to fill me up and take away the panic I feel and I know it. I bought a t-shirt the other day. It was cute, it was orange, I didn't need it at all, but you know, I had to have something. If hubby is getting an external hard drive, then surely I can get a lousy t-shirt at Winners. Cause that will make me feel better. Hahaha. Oooh, look those shoes are on sale. I'll get those too. Why not? And that chocolate bar? Why not? Since I've been saying yes to treats a bit too much, I thought I'd go to the gym, work off the nervous negativity. Work up a good sweat, take care of my health. I stepped on the elliptical and hey, there's a People and an US magazine. Ooh, great, stories about actresses losing their baby weight, oh, look more pictures of filthy rich yummy mummies and their adorable children. Never mind, I'll just go home and wait for my senile mum to come over. Pulling up her diapers and putting a bib on her always makes me feel better.

Could be PMS, that's why I'm a little sensitive? My boobs are full and achey, mocking me. Pre-menstrual, pre-menopausal, whatever. The patience that I often talk about, just hanging in there five minutes longer? The equanimity, the perseverance? The waiting? You know, the thing I've been doing for years? It's chafing. I've had it. I mailed off the necessary information to hire a US lawyer (phone conference to follow), and I made a phonecall to a US adoption agency but they don't work with Canadians. I tried not to sound desperate. Today, I will try Ontario agencies and see what can be done and get our internet profile going. Now it's all about writing cheques. I mentally write a prescription for myself. One hour daimoku, Rescue Remedy, vitamins, exercise, I have a phonecall scheduled with a counsellor (for next week cause I love waiting), I've got it all planned out. Maybe I should put on my red stilettos cause if someone is going to snap my last nerve, I might as well be dressed for it so I can shove my heel up their ass.

Thanks, I feel better. The Buddhist with an Edge is on a roll.

Cracked Open - Part 3

Having a couple days off in Banff. Have been reading blogs all morning - oh, my sisters, my heart is always with you!


Was reading WordGirl at Blood Signs and something occurred to me. She talks about making peace with the love that her stepson can offer her. Not the intensely personal mother/child bond, but another type of love. It inspired something in me. An echo.


When my sister and her family came to visit, her little boy woke up late one night and came down the hallway and snuggled with me and my husband while we watched TV. Eventually, I picked him and he wrapped his 4 year old self around me and I put him back to bed. I loved that feeling. That he was at ease with me, trusted me enough to wrap himself around me as I carried his heavy self back to bed. The hole in me seemed smaller for just a blink of an eye. So soothing to be the one who did that. But it expanded again because I yearned for that type of unconditional love for myself. The one that would silence the "you're not good enough, worthy enough, smart enough, pretty enough, skinny enough, accomplished enough" voice that haunted me. There's this saying we have - "Never seek the Gohonzon outside yourself". I'm sure you can find a similar quote of faith that resonates with you. That's what I was looking for. Something outside of myself.


What I had planned to happen had failed to materialize, depression and infertility had thrown me off kilter, my faith and marriage had taken a beating, and everything in the world seemed to be hellbent on reminding me of what I didn't have. It felt deeply personal and I took it personally. People kept telling me how exceptional I was, yet I was still looking for the rewards, the proof of this. If I was supposed to be happy, then why the hell wasn't I working on a wildly successful TV series and pushing my baby girl down the street with my adored Sampson by my side to meet my gorgeous husband for coffee? Expectations too high? Okay, how about just pushing my baby down the street (no series, no dog) to meet my gorgeous husband for coffee? Okay, at the moment, it's just me and my demented mother meeting my gorgeous husband for coffee.



It occurred to me that my hole that only demands unconditional love in the form of a child says more about the state of my ego than it does about an actual child itself. In a way. Do you know what I mean? I'm sure it's just a part of it, but one I'd like to touch on this. (Cause I have the luxury of time to do this.) I'll just speak for myself though, cause I don't know about anybody else. I hinted at it in my previous posts. The "winning" part of the equation. The "I win, I win!" feeling. It's called rapture in the world of Buddhism. It's short term gratification when one's desires have been achieved. It can still revert back to the world of hunger or hell. The ego craves this exhilaration. Negative pee stick. World of Hell. Positive pee stick. Rapture!



I have no practical experience of how a child would impact my own personal life. Though apparently, I'm on that path come hell or high water. I can imagine, I can intellectualize, I'm not an idiot, I've got eyes, I'm old enough to know that I will cease to be the centre of my demented world (which includes my demented mother). I want to do it because I believe we have a lot to offer a child of this world. I have to admit at one point, because I felt I had truly nothing else WORTHWHILE to accomplish in my life, I figured having a child would give me meaning. Hell, even my husband, at one point said that he wouldn't have brought up his dissatisfaction with me and our marriage HAD WE HAD A CHILD. Because that would have made me the MOTHER of his child. I would have had A JOB, a PURPOSE, a DIRECTION. That would have made me RESPECT WORTHY. These are my caps, not his. I felt rage and disappointment in myself and I hated his guts for a time. He was right. I didn't have any other true purpose, a direction, a passion in my life at that time. I just cruised along in automatic, waiting, waiting, waiting for my miracle to arrive. I certainly didn't have unconditional love for myself. My dog, maybe. I put all my eggs in one basket and my eggs, plenty though they were, didn't want to stick around to turn into a child. I had become a woman of a certain age, prone to depression and bloat. And while I ignored the stones hitting my back, I certainly felt the brick thrown at my head.



I knew that even had that miracle child sprung out of my loins, and he did leave me, I would still have my child. I would have had a noble purpose to cling to. Certainly more noble than taking care of myself. More important. The bond that would never be broken even if my kid grew up, rejected me and took up drugs. I'd still be a MOTHER. Like a universal "sir" or "duchess" or something. A title per se. Satisfying to the ego. And you know how well regarded that title is. Cause if you give up your job to raise your child, you sacrifice your own needs for your child cause it's the most IMPORTANT job in the world, don't ya know, then your life was worthwhile.

Unless you are the type of person voted most likely to find the cure for cancer.

You know, even if you fuck up with your kids, they still love you even if you're a piece of shit. Honestly. You know this is true.

And for those you didn't get that special title, the ego was all too quick to condemn you to the garbage dump. What would happen if I found a new way to define happiness? Would I be a better mother? A better person?

Cracked Open - Part 2

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men Couldn't put Humpty together again.

Now I know this is a nursery rhyme, though not a particulary nice one. But I have a couple of questions. Now I don't know what one expects from horses - why were they called in? What's a horse gonna do? Did the King's men bring in a bucket of water and wash all Humpty's bits away? Existential angst aside, I had felt like Humpty at one point. And like my pseudonym, I certainly felt like I had imploded like a dying star. Simultaneously dealing with my mum's stroke and dementia and trying to get knocked up at the ripe old age of 40 was a bit .... stressful. By failing to conceive and carry a child to term it felt like the universe had conspired to doom me. Now I know that's not true, I just didn't have a stellar womb and science couldn't defeat my biology. I'm certainly not unique in that experience of infertility. My pretty good life took a turn down What the Fuck? Lane. It went from heady excitement and smiles and cheer (had even picked out a name!) to grim determination in the face of infinitesimal odds of success. At a certain point during my IVF days (I'm pretty sure it was when I was in a supply closet recuperating from my first egg retrieval) that I went down the proverbial rabbit hole. I came out of it 3 years later when I used the last of my frozen embryos on the last vapours of my hope, faith and our Visa card. I got up from my knees and went about my business as best as I could, I didn't have a nervous breakdown or anything. Well ..... mmmm. Maybe I did.

I thought I was putting my dreams to rest and moving forward. I thought I would finally be free from the grip of the world of Hunger. You know that world. The one where you just NEED, NEED AND WANT more than you think is sane. I needed to let go because I was sinking. I decided that I was sick to death of being traumatized by blank pregnancy tests, blood labs, swollen ovaries, doctors, and fertility clinics. I was SUPREMELY PISSED. And I was not me anymore. The ascerbic but basically happy go lucky woman who believed that love conquered all, shopping cures all ills, and I know the answer to everything. I was a good person and so when, pray tell, was the good karma law going to come into effect for me? I had endured a generous amount of physical pain and discomfort, and always looked on the bright side. If I worked hard enough, endured enough, DIDN'T GIVE UP, I would be rewarded and I would get to tell my tale of how our child came into this world. Why should I care about the shitty odds? What's a number compared to my the sheer force of my will? People would applaud and wipe the tears from the eye and I would be a symbol of hope and sunshine and roses would come beaming out of my ass and oh, brother, what an EGO! I WAS A GOOD GIRL AND GOOD GIRLS GET THEIR CANDY IF THEY BEHAVE. Even DH told me once that once we started down that path, it was like HE HAD TO WIN, he had to ACHIEVE and BE NUMBER ONE! (insert waving foam finger here) GO TEAM GO, WIN, WIN, WIN!

I lost my faith. And when I stopped chanting, I lost hope. I lost joy. And for a long, long time I believed that somehow I had made a wrong decision somewhere along the line and mentally I kept going back to try and and figure it out. Which is ridiculous. I had to figure out just where I went wrong. Cause if I could figure out when, then everything would make sense, right? Ego, ego, ego was running the show. I resisted in seeing my reality in every sense of the world. Both my husband and I looked at each other and went - who the hell are you?!

Why I am still writing about all this? Cause I still feel the hole. It's been a year since our homestudy was signed, sealed and delivered and still there's a hole. I've tried to fill it. I've tried ignoring it. I definitely think it's become smaller. Like my pant size. The hole has even served me in ways I could never have imagined. It certainly has made me more compassionate. Even served with a slice of bitter betty pie, I've managed to keep my sense of humour. And the point of chanting came back to me. To have hope and joy is indeed possible. For what the hole has taught me, I am very grateful. GRATITUDE. I looked into the eyes of a dying woman and something cracked open inside of me. I'm still battling my ego, fear still whispers in my ear. I know what it is now though.

The old me is gone, may she rest in peace. I missed her, mourned her but there's no going back. Just forward. I like the hole, I've gotten used to it. Not sure I could live without it. Why would I want to be put together again, when there's such a great future ahead of me?

"... but my hope is that with deep prayer and practice, I can transform my karma, connect with the stuff of the universe and create as many stars as I can. Be a star again. And not just any old star. But a Sun. Brilliant and fierce."

Cracked Open

I posted this video because I was watching Dreamgirls the other night and it brought tears to my eyes. She sings it when she realizes it's time to step up and claim her own voice and her own life.

Here's the lyrics if you want to know. That song has been on my mind since I've decided that this is the year I start living large. I think I'm still feeling the ripples of D's death. It cracked me open. I didn't want to be just this childless housewife waiting for my life to begin when I was approaching the half century mark. At times, it's like treading water. I've got dense bones, people, I sink. Waiting for a child, waiting for a gig, waiting for a project to direct, waiting for the cheque in the mail, waiting to be skinnier. It's like going to medical school, learning all the theory of medicine, going out and buying all the gear and then doing surgery a couple times a year and being an orderly the rest of the year.

On the list of things to do better, was my relationship with DH. I've noticed that due to stress he's really been on my case about a lot of things and I've also noticed my lack of desire to put up with it. After Sampson died, there was this huge hole in our lives and grief was once again sitting in our living room. I think I was smothering the poor guy. So I was either going to have to repress my emotions and end up miserable or learn to communicate with love. So I sat down and chanted with my all of my heart. Then when he came home, I was ready to let him know how I felt about some things. And I was as bone tired of not being listened to as he was. We had one of those aha moments. At my request, he even read a chapter of Eckhard Tolle's A New Earth. The chapter on the pain body. He was also open to doing "homework". Not entirely sure what that's going to be, but we'll figure it out. I don't think we need counselling, we just need to truly hear and have compassion for one another. We've both had to readjust our identities and our expectations quite a bit over the past few years. He expressed his confidence in our marriage and our ability to overcome adversity. I felt like I had found my best friend again. And it even occurred to me that I had to become my own best friend.

Something is shifting inside of me and I can't not speak. I will be heard.

Infertile's guide to babysitting

I just read this article at LoriBeth's blog, the Road Less Travelled , you've got read it - called the Bubble of Silence - so powerful! If you want to read what it's like for an infertile living in the fertile world, you won't want to miss it. Please note, if you are said topic, it will cut straight to your heart.

As an artist, and not a "brave" one like the author, I want to explore the topic - but it certainly makes you a bit of pariah in polite circles. I know a few colleagues who have become pregnant and haven't personally told me the good news because they know I can't have my own. You don't call up your Orthodox Jewish friend and invite them over for ham sandwich party, right? Still, what do I do? Do I call up about to pop any day now person and ask how they are or should I wait for the birth announcement?

Seriously, people, I should start a babysitting service for actresses - because I will have no mother friends when I get my onedayinthenearfuture baby. I've avoided young kids and babies out of sheer necessity. And apparently no one uses babysitters anymore because I have yet to socialize with parents who are not always with their children. Recently, I was at a birthday celebration in a restaurant and one guest brought her 18 month old in a sling with her. Her husband was working and she had him with her all night. At one point, she went outside for about 30 minutes walking around in the cold until he fell asleep and then she came back in. I don't think she had a bite to eat. She doesn't own a stroller and doesn't mind walking around for hours at a time with him in the sling. I'm sure she has the back muscles of Michael Phelps (Olympic swimmer). She also doesn't allow him to socialize with other toddlers unless she's involve directly in the play. Mmm, apparently there is a school of mother thought that believes this is necessary. I don't know anything about it, but I can assure you that I will not follow suit on that matter. Wouldn't young mums like a break every now and then?

I can watch them from 8 - 10pm, so they can go out to a movie or dinner (not both) and I can entertain them with old dog toys or or sock puppets. If that doesn't work, I've got a big plasma TV and they can watch videos while I play online Scrabble with my headphones on. I draw the line at Telebubbies. I can change diapers, if I can do my mum's, I can do theirs. I have a strong stomach. And aromatherapy products. I better read a book on infant care, eh?

Clearing out the closet

I quickly gave my a closet a once over and decided I could get rid of a few things. I didn't do a complete overhaul as that would have required sifting through too much and then I'd have to refold and that seemed too big a task. These pants, neatly folded in a drawer, jumped into my mind. They are extra large drawstring cotton pants. I got them at the Roots warehouse. I'm no longer extra large, though I'm sure they would still fit if I pulled the drawstring tight, but I don't need them anymore. I bought them during my very first, shiny IVF cycle. I thought they would be perfect for pregnancy.

If you're anything like me, you associate clothes with different periods of your life or certain memories. The special occasion you bought something for or the day you were really sad and you needed some retail therapy. Now I've been known to shop for hours on my own or with a partner. During vacations, it's something I just gotta do. As I've gotten older and wiser, I'm much more selective. I tend to clutter, so I really have to think twice before I get something and one of my rules is that if it doesn't have a purpose (i.e. vase, bowl), then it's just a knickknack waiting to get dusty. I love shopping, generally speaking. I like shopping for other people as well. Even when I got FAT, and shopping for clothes become a fucking nightmare, I still liked to shop for shoes or purses or housewares. Sometimes, when I have extra money, I buy something and squirrel it away, waiting for the right occasion to bring it out.

These pants were something like that. They didn't scream maternity wear, though I did wander through that section of the store, quite surprised that a Roots warehouse would even have that section. It was more like a whisper. A secret. I waited in the long queue with my secret hope that I'd be wearing these pants in just a couple of months.

I might have eagerly worn one pair, I think, when I was quite swollen after an egg retrieval. I guess when we moved downtown 2 years ago, I thoughtlessly included them. Every now and again, when I had to go rooting for workout clothes, I would catch a glimpse of them, and I'd quickly push their purpose out of my mind. I have a few things left that remind me of that rollercoaster period of my life, I just love souvenirs, but when I'm feeling heavy, I just gotta wonder why I like to cling to reminders of the past. The "unproductive" past specifically.

So in an effort to let go of sadness and malaise, I'm going to start divesting myself of things, root out the crap, so I can see more clearly. I attended a young women's general meeting yesterday afternoon and they talked about the unlimited potential of your life. And then I went to an awesome study meeting later on, and I felt so much better. Everyone struggles. Everyone questions, but as long as one continues to seek with an open heart, there is hope. And wine. :)

Kiddie time! Drink time!

I now interrupt my perfectly blissful Buddhahood state to slide back into the world of Hell.

Things I dislike doing:

• getting my bikini area waxed


• doing my taxes


• going to one year old's birthday parties

And yet, what did I do yesterday? The last one. It was combined with a housewarming. Why did I go? Well, it's my husband's godchild. Remember, the one he took to for his circumcision because the dad was out of the country on business? They had done an extensive renovation on their new home as well. Well, the place was gorgeous, as was the little one. Did I mention they were oops pregnant again? And from what I hear she wasn't happy about it? I guess I could understand that - if I had given birth several months ago. But I haven't. So I don't.

We walked into a gathering, that is quite familiar in this city - what my husband and I have dubbed the Zebra Club. Most of the couples there were interracial, black men with white women in this particular venue (other times, it's Asian and Caucasian); we came in and reversed it. Seriously, we should have ID cards. Hence, there were a lot of beautiful mixed children running around. Add two baby bumps into the mix. I know for a fact that we could not have been there a year ago. My husband even asked me before we left how long we were going to stay. Lucky for me, I had ended up talking mainly with two women who were not mothers and the guys who never, ever talk about personal stuff.

We also reacquainted ourselves with one of the mothers-to-be again. Years ago, she was the girlfriend of one of my hubby's sports buddies. Now she was a wife and on her way to a 2nd child. And you guessed it, she said, "Do you have any kids?" "No." (Just a simple no. No need to tell her we're adopting and open up that can of worms for public consumption.) "Well, you two have been together for a long time". "Yes, we've been together since 1854." And then other people interject with other lines of conversation and she either picks up my subtle mind control or she remains puzzled as to how that could possibly happen. Either way, it's another trip to the curried meatballs and wine for me. And hubby wonders why I gained so much weight.

I did interact quite a lot with the children. I couldn't help but think that they all looked like what our (dearly departed) imagined child would. I also enjoyed the company of a young boy who was visiting his father for the summer. He had actually seen me on TV, and was young enough to be impressed by this. He had that innocence that pre-teens have before they get all snarly and know-it-all. I gave him a big hug before I left. I still have that maternal feeling.

This explains my sullen mood this morning. A little guilty about the meatballs, chocolate brownies and wine. We're also seeing some other friends (just had their 2nd) today. I keep thinking this is all good, this is all good. Because when we get our child, we'll appreciate their friendship. Let's get it all done this weekend. Bring it on!

Happy 4th to my American friends!

IRL at Last!

I had the absolute pleasure of having coffee with a fellow IF blogger! I'd been reading her posts for some time and I often thought about her. We corresponded privately for a bit and eventually she mustered up the courage to reach out to me, so we met for coffee. I had stopped to pick up a flower for her, it's been so gloomy here lately and I thought it might cheer her up and as I rushed towards the door of Starbucks, I noticed a woman out of the corner of my eye coming in behind me. I turned to really get a look at her and she smiled and recognized me. We hugged and smiled goofily at each other. You know what it's like, it's like I know all these personal details about the other person, but I really don't know them. Well, when we sat down we just chatted up a storm and told each other our stories again, in our own voices. It was great that the yellow gerbera daisy I gave her turned out to be her favourite flower. We often finished each other sentences and voiced each other's thoughts. It was incredible. I wanted to just listen to her and yet I couldn't help but tell my own thoughts, so hungry I was for someone that truly heard me. Time flew and before we knew it, the place was closing and so we went around the corner to get something to eat. Again we yakked and yakked and the hour got late. We hugged again as we said goodbye and hopefully we'll be able to go for a walk together real soon.


She's pretty shy, so I can't tell you who she is, but it was my honour to meet with her. There's nothing like just making a connection with someone. We are so different in so many ways, but underneath the skin, we have the same yearnings, the same desires for a good life, a happy life. Infertility has changed who we were, challenged our beliefs about what we thought life would hold for us. She's in mourning of who she used to be. I get that. She's grown weary of BFNs and unsupportive friends and the unrelenting grief. She wants out of her box. She yearns to open up and reach out. I'm so happy we met. I can't stop smiling.

Still not pregnant and still okay with that

I had my follow up visit with the radiologist after my lovely UFE, and he said my uterus was about 3 inches smaller than it used to be. From about 14 to 11 cm or so. Apparently, my uterus should get smaller though during the next several months. I told him I had a pain on my right side during strenuous exercise, he says not to worry about it. Thanks for the medical insight, doc. I have another follow up with my gyn in a couple of weeks, so we'll see if he has anything else to offer. I often wonder if fibroids was really the reason I couldn't get pregnant, I was told otherwise and that may be true, but I would think it would be hard to implant on a rocky surface and after repeated IVFs, and lots of estrogen, they would have multiplied and gotten bigger. Hindsight tells me I should have risked fibroid surgery years ago, but the specialist at the time didn't think it was imperative. Whatever.

I just found out through a friend that a mutual friend (in her 40s), who after many years, finally found Mr. Right and is now pregnant. I am very happy for her and will act surprised when I hear the news from her. This being the 2nd bit of new pregnancy news in my circle of friends, I have to admit, is a bit much, but hey, it's not all about me, is it? Aunt Flo, now a shadow of her former self thank you very much, has made her appearance, but her tradewind hormones have thrown me into a moody, grumpy carbohydrate seeker (see previous post) and reminded me once again that this Mother's Day will be about my mum and MIL and not me. BUT STILL, I'm feeling generous. I'm going to Toronto next week to visit friends (thank you DH and your blessed aeroplan miles) and I may have found a way out of hair purgatory.

Life is sweet.

Staying in the same room with one

Last week, I got an email from our friends that included pics of us with their child. I didn't open it up right away. I waited for a few days and then took a look. There we are holding the little one, it was at Christmas time, so you can see the tree on the side. Then pics of my inlaws with the baby. I couldn't help but think I wish we had been holding our own child. Sigh. Yes, I know, we will be, we will be. It's just weird. I still feel such strong longing. That couple is now ooops pregnant again.

On the weekend, we went for a dog walk and visit with another couple who recently celebrated the arrival of their 2nd baby girl. My friend gave me a cookies'n cream white chocolate bar that read HERSHEIS with the baby's name and on the back it listed her little girl's newborn stats. I have to admit, that's so cute and a way better idea than handing out cigars or whatever.


Mmm. I wonder if I could get me some of those when I get my child. The cookies n' cream would certainly be appropriate or perhaps a Coffee Crisp. I'm going to get me some of those. We've had numerous offers of strollers and baby gear which I am more than willing to take if for no other reason to avoid having to decide which monster SUV stroller I should get. Have you seen some of those space aged creations lately? What the hell - I had no idea there was so much STUFF one little baby required - and the prices!? I could buy a chi-chi pram (and apparently you need more than one; one jogger or a rugged one for forest paths, one collapsible and one for the bike) or I could start an education fund. Oh, yeah and baby slings (in front or in back), or backpacks. My head hurts. It took me weeks to find a cute leather collar for my dog.


As we walked around the lake, I pushed the stroller for a little while. Just trying it on for size. It felt a little weird, but okay. Wondered how I was going to train the dog to walk beside it. Wondered in fact how I was going to carry a newborn, walk the dog and drink my latte all at the same time. Hahaha. Which brings me to the parenting course we're doing in a few days. Yep, a parenting course. It's supposed to be about creative parenting so I hope I don't blurt out the my dog is more than capable of minding a baby while I work out for an hour.
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I'm just trying to get my head wrapped around the idea that I too can be a yummy mummy. It's all very, very weird.

Best Friends Forever

I've joined a little bootcamp group with a bloggy pal of mine (M of Thin Pink Line) who happens to work very close to where I live. I have to admit, meeting her for the first time, it was a little like meeting a rock star. I knew so much about her life, her feelings, her guts really, I felt like a fan. She was sweet and goofy and open-hearted. Unfortunately, we didn't get a chance to have a real conversation as we were both too busy sucking wind as we ran up and down stairs, did squats and basically prayed to make it through the hour. As I was walking the dog the other day, I heard a car frantically honking, I looked around expecting to see my girlfriend in her Mini Cooper or X-terra. Didn't see her so I walked on, but it was M who had been trying to get my attention. But given the noise and traffic in that area, and my poor eyesight, if I don't see a vehicle I recognize, it's not surprising I didn't see her. Sorry M, I'll wave to you next time!

It's kind of sad that as adults it's so hard to make new friends. It's not that we don't want to, it's that we don't actually have the time anymore. We've got long commutes home, husbands/partners to spend time with, our usual friends (whom we barely see that much anymore anyway unless we live next door to them), work all day or all evening, elders to take care of, and just the plain old sit down with the TV and not want to talk to anyone time. You have to choose between gym time and shopping time and dog time and tax time and (if you're black, hair time) and gotta get waxed time. In my case, there's also chanting time and meeting time and planning for the meeting time (Oh, yuck, just now I had to go out and clean up dog barf from my living room rug. Why don't you go out on the patio, dog?!!!!) And when I am acting or directing, there goes all free time.

There's people you meet at work and you can make friends. On rare occasion, you socialize with them, but once you stop working with them, that friendship wilts and dies due to lack of nurturing. When you couple up, you can lose friends and gain ones you don't care for that much. You have to start mixing friends and that doesn't always work. The squeaky clean friends vs. the stoner slacker friends. The work friends vs. the long time friends. East coast vs. west coast. You get the picture. In many cases, when you go through infertility treatments, you lose friends. Pregnant ones vs. yet-to-be vs. not-ever-will-be ones. Sometimes you make new friends. The ones forged out of shared ill circumstances. Which is tricky cause you may not have anything in common other than that one thing. Do you go to church? Nope. Do you like scrapbooking? Nope. Are you infertile? Yep. Hey, that's great, me too! Let's be friends.

I love meeting new people and I hope to continue to make new friends for my whole life. It's okay that I don't spend every spare second with new friends. I don't define friends as someone I know for a long time. Sometimes the connection is just pure and simple, good enough as it is. I can make time for a coffee even just for an hour. I want to try to give them all of my attention when I am with with them. I don't think I feel a need to make everyone a BFF (best friends forever). People come and go in your life, sometimes they are there the whole way, sometimes not.

My hubby and I met a man from Holland in Bali 9 years ago. We were in Ubud at a government tourist board looking for tickets to a cultural event and we struck a conversation and he was with us on this old rickety bus that took us freaked out tourists down a long, bumpy and dark middle of nowhere road to what turned out to be a terrific Monkey dance performance. We ended up going to a spa he recommended and then met up for lunch. We emailed periodically for years and finally we met up with him in Vancouver. He came just to see us. He died 2 years ago. We found out because his brother emailed everyone on his hotmail account. I never forgot him. He was such a pure spirit, he had friends all over the world, he was kind and open, but we barely knew him. We sent flowers to the funeral home. If I had been there, I would have liked to have said that I loved a man we barely knew. He lived his life with no regrets, experiencing people and places as if he'd never see them again. Which in hindsight, was true. I'll never forget him and every time I pass the B&B he stayed at or meet someone who is Dutch, I think of him. Michael.

That's the power of connection.

Peesticks for everyone!

Just to let those you are in the ttc game - they really should have a board version to play during a 2 ww (for the low, low cost of $1000 or free with your 2nd IVF) - http://www.early-pregnancy-tests.com/. I've been reading about you poor souls who have been spending a fortune on pee sticks or OPK's (gosh, aren't they so expensive!!! and you always use more than you think you will). The Canadians in particular. I did the same thing until I found out my old acupuncture clinic was branching out (ka-ching) with a fertility store that had really cheap pee sticks that they got from the above mentioned supplier. I couldn't bare to drive over there with my pennies in hand, so I reluctantly ordered on-line. I figured if they trusted them, I could as well. I know, I know, one tends to trust those slick TV ads when we are pursuing the elusive pink line or blue cross or whatever, we want accuracy. So I found a site that compared all the pregnancy tests and at how much Hcg it took to trigger a positive, etc. They're basically all the same, though. And seeing as how I never believed my lying eyes, I would always use a second one. Let's face it, we've all heard of the negative one day, positive the next! I finally decided on my last attempt to buy a bunch online, about 80 cents more for the Clearplan lookalikes. I think it cost me about $20 for 12 of them or something like that. It took about 2 weeks (another 2 week wait) to get them across the border (they must have looked like weapons of mass destruction in the x-ray), but I did get them and their customer service did reply to me right away. They come in a plain padded envelope, so your nosy postie or neighbours won't know what it is.

Alas, they didn't bring me any luck, but they were so inexpensive I just gave them to my friend and I hope they give her the pink line of her desires.

Obsessed? Who, me?

Ever had someone accuse you of being obsessed because you blogged about infertility, especially if you stopped trying to conceive or decided to adopt? How many IVFs do you have to do to be considered obsessed? How many months or years is it still acceptable to be sad about it?

I started blogging because I was encouraged by the likes of Pamela Jeanne and M at Thin Pink Line (which is password protected). I was astounded at their candor, their rawness, their audacity at putting it all out there on the line. I'm an actress and I could relate to that. You can't be a great actress and not risk opening up your guts to the world ... on cue. You are asked to remain an open vessel for directors and playwrights. You put a little bit of yourself into your work. And when you see a performance from an actor, one that really makes you stop and feel something, it's an incredible thing. That's why there are actors - they want to reach you, make you feel something. They want a connection to people they don't even know.

It's the same with writers I think. And whether you are a professional writer or a blogger, you want someone to get you. You want to share yourself. Is that an obsession? I guess if you neglect your husband, kids, work, real friends, don't answer your phone type of thing. I don't know if that's the right word. Some of us work, some of us don't, so we have time. Some of us even have meaningful work and kids and hobbies and still blog.

Is it the subject matter that counts? Infertility causes misery. And misery loves company. So are we just a support group with no time limit on our meetings? We all get to talk as long as want about ourselves without a facilitator. And women love to talk. And not just about the weather, but all the gory details. We don't have to get in a car and find parking and pay for coffee. We can blog in our pyjamas while the spouse is asleep or even at the office while we eat lunch at our desks. Heck we can even blog with each other while watching award shows. We talk about our husbands, our friends, the nosy neighbour, the grocery clerk who wants to know why you're buying a pregnancy test kit.


Would it be different if I blogged about politics? If I fretted more about Obama or Hilary? What was on the news that night? Those matters can certainly make you miserable and stay up all night wondering if this world is going to hell in handbasket. What if I decided to read political biographies, watch CNN all day long (which would make you paranoid) and then maybe decide to run for office? Would that make me obsessed?


What about those who blog about cancer? The chemo treatments, the radiation, the hair loss. Would that be okay to do even if one had survived it? Could one blog for years with other cancer survivors and egads, even meet them in person? Would one invite them home for tea? I know a woman who survived breast cancer, and she turned it into a one woman movement. She performs, she sells T-shirts, she's made it her mission and a career. I've seen her perform and she was wonderful, incredible, honest and funny and touching. I wonder if anyone has accused her of being obsessed. I know infertility is hardly the same thing. It's more like psoriasis. Annoying, painful, embarrassing but .... most people don't have it. Infertility is not a life threatening disease, is it? Well, not unless you undergo treatment and have some sort of violent reaction, right? Anybody?


I mean it's not like I mortgaged my home, sold my car, crafts or cookies, organized marathons, benefits, wrote a play/musical/book, organized a massive collection of blogs from all areas of the IF/adoption/miscarriage/stillbirth/pregnancy/donor IUI/donor egg/surrogacy world. That would be obsessed, right? Who would hire a fertility coach, change specialists, fertility clinics, pay thousands of dollars to be in the less than 10% club? I mean, honestly, who would then shell out thousands more for adoption, pay someone to come into your lives and pry into your business, get fingerprinted and fill out tons of forms, fly halfway around the world, risk heartbreak and disappointment just for the privilege of raising a child or two? That's just crazy, if you ask me. I mean it's not as if one gets paid for all this. Well, some people get paid and paid and paid. If I made money at this, would it still be an obsession? Would it be socially acceptable? Oh, I get it now. It's only an obsession UNTIL IT WORKS.


What if a few of us banded together, kind of like a super hero team? We could be like - The Fantastic inFertile Four or the Super Bitter Barren Bitches or Team Rotten Eggs. One of our team has gone through the fires of IVF and after her 25th effort, she became pregnant with ten babies(I'm sorry I don't know the name for that) and at times the other team members gripe at her when she complains how tired she is. ("We'd love to be as tired as you. We'd love to have 10 kids at once, so kwitcherbitchin'!) Make up your own team name! Hell, why not T-shirts, bumper stickers, antenna flags! Does that sound obsessed? Do you remember how weird it felt to wear the pomegranate bracelet that Marie of Bella Vida made? What if someone asked you what it meant? It's not like it was the yellow or pink or blue or white or red bracelet.


There are support meetings with Resolve or the IAAC. Why didn't I go to one of those? Too lazy (or crazy) to leave my house? I had a chance to join a support group while I was in treatment. It was held once a week early in the morning of a week already full of early am blood draws and ultrasounds. Oh, I know. I didn't want to wallow in someone else's complaining and misery because I was so certain I was going to get pregnant and I had plenty of support. I didn't want a hair of negativity to touch me. Later, I didn't want to share the shame of a BFN when my smug optimism failed me. I didn't want to encourage other people and ignore the fact that I was miserable myself. I feared watching a "stitch and bitch" buddy leave me behind when they finally became pregnant. Yeah, I probably should have gone. But I didn't. I kept it all inside and held it together. Well, not exactly. Now, it's time to join the world of waiting adoptive parents. I registered for parenting classes. I can solve the childlessness part of my life, just not the infertility. I'm moving on, or have I?


This blog will eventually turn into an adoptive mum blog and will I have the time to do it? Will I be less obsessed? Of course, being a mother is a good type of obsession, right? It will be okay then to talk about my blessed child non stop to anybody who will listen, 24 hours a day and google the colour of her poo to see if she's okay or not. That will solve everything. Quick, get her a child so she'll shut up and be happy. She'll be quiet, she'll be - WHOLE. Or maybe it's just time to live childfree and unfettered. I thought about it. Life would be way simpler. I could have more shoes. I mean, who likes to wake up really early, change diapers and be worried about sharp cornered furniture? Who wants to deal with lawyers, birth/first parents, social workers, nosy questions, mounting debt, tainted apple juice and car seats that are a mystery to buckle up? You'd have to be crazy, huh?


I know a woman that is still waiting for a miracle, she is one year older than me. She's still has the TTC bug after continued negative results. Is she obsessed? And it's happened, you know. Google it, there is still a 49 year old who conceived naturally. Oh, I forgot, you already googled it, haven't you, admit it. Forget the stats for Down's Syndrome, a child is a child is a child and one couple I know are so proud and happy to have their adored son.


So you can figure out now that it touched a nerve and perhaps there's a good reason for that. But I don't give a shit. That's another post. I know I'm okay. I just like to process til the cows come home.


The women in my Buddhist district got together to chant for an hour. One woman had her 1 year old baby with her. A year ago, I couldn't bring myself to attend her baby shower. Her little boy pulled himself up to me, he looked at me and smiled and it made me feel good. Not bitter. Not where is my baby? Or why not me? He was just a little baby looking around, checking out the faces in his world. His mum hovered nearby moving all inappropriate objects out of his way, cooing and tickling him, right by his side, her eyes only for him. Totally in love. There was a time when I could have barely tolerated this scene. I would have been angry or upset in some strange way that I would feel shame. Now I watch and learn, my chanting (daimoku) warming my heart. I guarantee you that with a child in my life, I will probably gripe because I haven't had a schedule since 1980 something. I moan when I have to walk the dog in the pouring rain. I'm old and spoiled now.


Life goes on, but I am forever changed. Forever fucking infertile until the day that I am not. Maybe I'll never "get over it". Maybe I will. And maybe it doesn't really matter. I am happy with my life, I've accepted the holes, I still struggle every now and then, and I know there will be many struggles ahead, but I am not defeated. I have my mission. And I am not ashamed.

Food for thought

DH is away this week on business, so I am left with blessed silence to contemplate why a grown woman can't play Scrabulous for hours on end. And also, I've been thinking about how to start my play. So I've been reading a few more blogs than usual, so memories and emotions have been washing over me. You can accuse me of staying stuck in the miseries of infertility, but those emotions remind me of how connected we are in this world. Despite maybe not having anything in common at all except infertility, if we cannot empathize with one another, how can we develop our compassion? Behind the safety of anonymity in the world wide web, we reach out across borders and lifestyles hoping that somebody out there in the Ethernet gives a shit. A public Dear Diary. There is so much material out there that I want to include as many aspects of it as I can.

I often wonder if once you become pregnant, you forget all your previous TTC troubles. Surely it's more about moving forward and attending to the incredible situation at hand. I mean, you've got a life (or several) growing in you, who cares about the past sadness when you're sitting in tentative joy. I say tentative because as we all know, it's not just a matter of getting pregnant. It's about staying pregnant and delivering safely. Beta levels, fetal sacs, cramps, the story of what's that on my pantiliner now? When innocence is lost, nothing is taken for granted anymore.


Some women have/had friends who did indeed seem to forget what it's like to be in the trenches. Friendships are lost, misunderstandings abound. Some stop blogging as they adjust to their future as non-moms. Sometimes healing takes years. Others who adopt, have other challenges they have to adapt to. There's the whole adoption triad thing, waiting for all the papers to be signed so you can breathe a sigh of relief, the guilt, the negotiations, the social worker visits, etc. All these transitions, require quite a mental shift. NOW WHAT DO I DO?

Someone wrote about being mad at infertility and asked others to write about what they were pissed about. I actually left a comment because as I was reading, all these emotions came flooding back and all of a sudden I genuinely felt angry and wanted to lash out. Wow. I didn't wake up angry, but there it was. And I'm not even in the game anymore. But there are residual effects, aren't there? It's like herpes. It's the gift that likes to keep on giving and giving and giving. I could have written even a longer list of things that make me mad, but I would still be writing. I can't do anything about the past anymore, it's over, I did my time in therapy and even did some EMDR to get over a particularly nasty and emotional event. I'll keep that anger in the back of my heart and drag it out to fuel my creativity but it won't cause me numbing grief again.

I once had a theme called Million Dollar Baby that my business coach gave me. Well my acting career went in to the toilet as well as my maternity plans. And I guess that's what really got to me. I'd built up my career to a point where I was doing quite well and making a living and then - well to make a long story short - nothing. I had no millions and I had no baby. I lost my confidence, my drive, and I had to develop my notetaking business in order to pay my Visa bill. Not that I was above working a "joe" job, but taking notes is not exactly what I had spent years sacrificing for. I had no degree, no fulfilling career to keep me occupied. I seriously debated going back to school but I couldn't figure out what I could do that would give me a decent income before I got to retirement age. You know those commercials on TV for so and so college where you can be a dental hygienist or medical office assistant in 6 months, I actually considered that. So what if I did some medical office assistant stuff 10 years ago and I thought working for doctors sucked?! Then I could be surrounded by pregnant women all the time! I felt old, broken and yes, bitter. I couldn't even chant anymore. It seemed disconnected somehow. I felt on the verge of my dreams, and then - poof! Whether I had manifested it or not, I struggled to keep my head above water.

This time, last year, I was nursing the effects of the last IVF procedure. I had transferred my last 2 eggs and waited for whatever was going to happen, which was nothing. I was actually surprisingly calm about it. And then I fell apart. And once I pulled it together in a reasonable fashion, I just focused on breathing. Victory, that was good enough for me! My prayers weren't going to be answered in the way I wanted them to be or perhaps it was going to take longer than I had realized. In any case, I knew a negative result was not going to kill me, it just felt like it had. I was breathing but not quite there if you know what I mean. Pretty much like my husband. Not quite there. He was in far, faraway land called Stoner Land. You might have heard of it. I loved him, but I wasn't liking him so much. And apparently he was waiting for the 1995 version of me to show up. Huh. I think this part is going into the play. The NOW WHAT DO I DO, WHO ARE YOU, YOU RED-EYED, STONED, JOYLESS, DECIDELY UNFUCKABLE IN DENIAL LUMP ON THE COUCH WITH PIZZA ON THE COFFEE TABLE AND A LAPTOP HEATING UP YOUR USELESS UTERUS OR PENIS part.

This could be like Angels in America and be done in 2 parts. Maybe 3.

There was a musical!

Okay, I had no idea but apparently there was a musical done on infertility in New York in 2004. Thanks for the info, LoriBeth.

http://www.infertilitymusical.com/

You can go to the Media tab and go to audio gallery for clips of the songs. Check it out.

Why the hell not?

I went to a play reading last night with a friend who's an actress and a playwright. Play readings help the playwright figure out what works and what doesn't when they hear actors trying to breathe life into it. You know, what stops people from creating is the constant fear that your work will not be as good as ... Van Gogh or Beethoven or Tennessee Williams. That's fair, it probably won't be. But whether or not you truly are talented, everyone has a voice to express. You may be brilliant, be just okay, or totally suck. You can even learn to be better as you go along, you may need some practise, some education, some guidance. And from what I saw last night, you can write beautifully, poetically, but not be able to understand just what a play is. I was a reader and though the play had some compelling imagery in it, it wasn't really a play. It was just scene after scene of great sentence structure and explanation.

Infertility is not a popular topic with people not dealing with it, but grief, loss, hope, bitterness and sarcasm are not exclusive to us. Lots of people have to redefine what is family. The world doesn't stop to address every individual's suffering (unless you're a celebrity), nor does any divine being in the sky have it out just for you. And in the depths of my despair, it had crossed my mind that if I could just reach out to Benny Hinn on the TV, become a born again Christian, that I might qualify for a miracle. Or I could have used donor eggs, hired a surrogate, or gone to a clinic in India to get some poverty stricken but fertile woman to carry a baby for me. I had these choices, however, they were not for me, for us. If I had more money, if I had married someone else who might have felt differently, if I was more desperate, more motivated ..... who knows?

The world of "what if" is full of all sorts of probable and improbable options. Then when I read the blogs of those who have chosen adoption, when I read about how they felt about their child, their choice, I felt hopeful, eager. Hopeful that I can learn to navigate a river that I'd never thought I go down.

Have you every white water rafted? I did once, years ago, down the Thompson River with a group. I don't swim, you see, so my athletic husband (boyfriend at the time) scoffed at me, he didn't think I'd be interested, that I'd be a scaredy cat. I love proving people wrong. The idea of it was exciting to me, I'd seen it on TV and everyone looked like they were having so much fun. The reality of not being able to swim, however, was a huge impediment. I sincerely did not want to die. So off we went with a group of friends. I stayed in the back of the raft with the guide and the other timid girl. He assured us we'd be fine and wouldn't fall out the raft. Well, everything was great until we hit the Class 5000 or whatever rapids (known as "the Frog") and the boat shot up in the sky, folded in half and everyone in the back fell out. Yes, we were wearing life jackets, but boy was I surprised to find out I was under the water, being sucked down. I didn't even have time to scream and close my eyes. I remember perfectly how badly I didn't want to die in that river that day and as I shot to the surface (I know, I know, I had a life jacket, that's what's supposed to happen, right?) I felt victorious that the river gods hadn't swallowed me. I didn't lose my glasses (had them tied to my windbreaker) or my paddle and I didn't swallow any water. A female friend dragged my ass back on the raft, my idiot boyfriend hadn't even realized I was gone (and for the next several years, I reminded him of how he had not rescued me), the other girl who had been thrown did actually swallow water and was quite shaken and ill, the guide was injured and had to be replaced. I had fought fear and uncertainty all day long. I can speak in front of thousands of people but put me in an environment where I have to rely upon my physical body? Not so good. For the rest of the day, I was hysterically happy to be alive. That's what usually happens when I avoid death, I don't get shaken, I get happy.

Okay, what the hell was my point? Oh, yeah, going down that scary river. It was scary and thrilling and I don't regret it. I learned something about myself, and nobody, but nobody is telling me what I can or cannot do.

So, yeah, I'm writing the play.

Life imitates art

Saw two plays this week. Tuesday night I saw Red Light Winter by Adam Rapp at the Havana. I really enjoyed the performances, they were outstanding and even better, I thought about it the next day. It was a disturbing portrayal of a twisted friendship between two men and the prostitute that is brought back to their room while they are on holiday. The characters aren't really likeable and yet the actors portrayed them with such sensitivity and pathos, it was hard not to be haunted by them.

The other play, Rabbit Hole by David Lindsay-Abaire at the Stanley Theatre, I saw last night. This play was about a couple who's 4 year old son who ran out into the street after his dog and was killed by a car and the aftermath of its grief. The script was somewhat superficial, but if you had ever suffered such a loss in your family, there would be moments that really have you crying your eyes out. Her whole family tiptoes around her emotions. What struck me was when the mother while packing up the little boy's bedroom asks her mother (who had also lost her son to a drug overdose) if the pain ever gets better. The mother tells her the hole never goes away but that's okay with her. I got that. The wife even snaps and slaps a woman in the supermarket who studiously ignores her son who gets upset when she won't buy him fruit roll-ups. She feels justified because how could she felt the woman didn't appreciate the fact that he was even there. And when her mother explains that her daughter is grieving the loss of her son, the irate stranger does not press charges. Question: would you expect infertile people to receive that kind of sympathy?

You see there are so many women suffering through infertility, miscarriage, infant loss and for those who never have a happy ending; there's a hole in them that never goes away. As was demonstrated in the play, grief can be isolating. The wife tried to keep herself busy baking some perfect creation in her spotless kitchen, always holding tightly wound self together, the husband watching videos of his son and not wanting his son's things to be put away; he starts to spend time with another woman from their grief support group because the wife pushes him away; her irresponsible younger sister becomes pregnant and she struggles to be okay with it; her friendship with another woman with kids slides away because the friend won't speak to her. The husband tries to explain that people can be awkward about those things. You see the similarities? At the end, she agrees to go to a BBQ of the friends they used to hang out with. The husband reminds her there will be kids there, but she's ready to go anyway. She asks him, "Now what will we do?" and goes they talk about what they'll do and how they'll handle it.

My husband once questioned how I was going to get through a shower of a former friend of ours. I told him I'd bring the present, help with the food, stay for an hour maybe an hour and a half, and then I'd leave. I had it all planned out. I did that 3 times before I called a halt on attending any more baby showers.

It occurred to me to write a play about infertility. I wonder how many people would come see it? Does it really matter? Instead of wondering about the end result, I should write it anyway. There are so many misconceptions about infertility, it would be great if I could contribute something that would bring some enlightenment on the subject.

A Perfect Day

It's a beautiful day today and I guess I should be out enjoying it. The park will be busy today, full of tourists and locals alike, walking, cycling, jogging. And of course, dogs pulling their owners around. I can look out my window and see parents with their children in strollers, or toddlers stopping to examine every little this and that.


I was talking to a friend the other day as she examined every little twinge, feeling, or temperature reading that was either taking her to or away from conceiving. It was great talking to her, keeping her company. I'm not on the TTC train with her of course. It's more like I'm texting her encouraging messages while I'm on another train, the ADOPTION train. Like her, I have no idea of where my stop is or when I will get off or what the town will look like when I get there. My journey and destination will be different. How so? I'm preparing our "press kit" of our lives, trying to find pictures that will attract a young woman to choose us, a compelling story of our urban lives, some letter to touch her heart. And I'll have an entourage waiting for me: a birth mum, lawyers, agencies, immigration officials, social workers and most importantly, a child who just wants to be loved and cared for.


I remembered my first embryo transfer; is it like remembering your first kiss? They put in two 3 day embryos (no blastocysts or eggs left over for freezing from that cycle but I didn't care; I only needed one), and I was enjoying a calm, slow walk in the woods with my dog. It was warm and sunny, I could smell the green of the trees, and feel pockets of warm air all around me. I had been chanting for hours every day, I'd been working out and felt fit and strong. I had done all the hard work, covered all the angles and to boot, I had plunked down my money for science to fix the problem. I was calm and assured that all was well. And my temperature was perfect that morning. I walked carefully so I wouldn't stumble over a tree root and fall down. I talked to my babies and I KNEW that they were there. It was a perfect day.


It's one of those memories you put in a box and bring out on a rainy day.... or a sunny day.


Here's to wishing for another perfect day when I bring my kosen rufu* baby home.



Kosen-rufu: Literally, to "widely declare and spread (Buddhism)." To secure lasting peace and happiness for all humankind through the propagation of true Buddhism; world peace

Biology 101

Had a bit of a rant on the weekend. One of my Buddha-zilla moments where I rant about the hypocrosies of life. The utter unfairness of it all.

The abandoned baby girl left to die in a freezing stairwell of a mall in Ontario. The children who froze to death because their dad passed out drunk while carrying them outside in a blizzard.

I saw the Oprah show regarding young adults whose biological fathers were sperm donors. Some were content to just find out who they were and a couple were adamant about having the right to know who their fathers were and ideally wanted to have a relationship with them or any other siblings. They felt "incompete" as to their own identity.

These young adults knew their biological fathers were just sperm donors whose motivation was not to father but to make easy money and yet they still felt compelled look for them. What had their lives been like growing up? Did they not have non-biological fathers who raised them? I wanted to hear from the mothers of these kids. How did they feel? What did the fathers who raised them from the minute they came into the world feel? Would they make the same choices again?

Then I read an article in the paper about a woman convicted of murdering her husband(her child's father) who will be permitted to keep her child while she is incarcerated. It mentioned in the paper that she had had a very difficult life, being abused and abandoned as a child, raped as a teen, her substance abuse, and that she has 3 other children that had been removed from her custody. During her sentence, she will be living in a separate unit with its own kitchen and a park nearby, all the while being surrounded by a fence and prison guards.

A baby being raised in prison? Okay, it's not something I would have thought of as being a "good" thing for a child, but what do I know? Is it the ultimate act of compassion for a federal institution to permit this? Will this inspire the mother to become a better mother and person? With any luck, she won't be in jail for more than 4 years. What kind of playpen do you have for your child? Oh.... FEDERAL....

I saw a 20/20 show about a young Chinese couple whose daughter had been "coerced" from them under shady circumstances and how the American couple who attained custody of the child fought to get them deported out the country and away from the child. Eventually, the biological parents prevailed and they were awarded full custody of their 8 year old child. Then ironically, the American couple were allowed to keep in contact with the child and now they want the Chinese couple to be alowed to stay in America. There were several things that bothered me about the people involved, notwithstanding their breathtaking hyprocisy, but never mind. Don't get me started.

Then there is the issue of adoption, with the attachment issues, "primal wounds" and all that. My point is this: the issue of biology is extremely compelling. When people say, oh, why can't you just give up the dream (hello, Oprah), if you really want children you can always just adopt, or whatever, I know they don't really know what the fuck they're talking about. They don't really know what it's like to really want to have your own children and pursue all sorts of options, specifically repeated IVF procedures. Not to mention the grief suffered from infant loss, repeated miscarriages or destroyed marriages. There are no "oops" factors, no forgot to use birth control that one time, no hey, why don't we just have a kid sounds like a great idea at the time kind of thing. And then there's the whole mental and emotional shift to either the wild world of adoption or a child-free life.

The biological connection of child and parent. It's why we consider open adoption to be the best circumstance for a child, so they you have acess to medical and/or genetic information as well as an emotional connection. For the sake of the child. But there are always strings attached, sacrifices made. It comes at a cost that people are willing to pay for apparently. To love and raise a child in this world. Will their care and nurturing be sufficient for that child or will they find their completion in the biological connection? Will my child ever look me straight in the eyes and say, "No, I want to know my real mother and father?" I guess what I'm saying is that will I have the wisdom to know what that means or will I feel that my parenting was just a substitution for the real thing?

Good news!

Just got back from my breast ultrasound. It's just a cyst. I can't believe they even told me, I was prepared to wait to hear back from the doctor, but they told me. I'm so relieved! Yeah, I was a bit worried. My life has been so full of major disappointments and setbacks, I was not prepared for another one. As I told the news to my husband as we left, tears flooded my eyes. Today is the day my dear friend is undergoing surgery to remove cancer from her lymph nodes. I'm fine, but she's not. Yet. 3 years later, she's still fighting for her life.

I've had more good news today. I got not one, but two phone calls from the adoption agency for a boy to be born in March and one in July. My head was spinning. I haven't even completed a final version of our adoption profile. The homestudy has yet to be signed off by the adoption agency. I haven't even done the birth mother letter yet. Yikes. But hubby is totally gung-ho about it. We still have a couple of marriage counselling sessions to go to though. I guess I'd be jumping for joy, but for the fact that the security I used to feel in my marriage has been shaken. And as much as I'm ready to make changes to address my husband's needs, I'm now ready to have my own needs addressed. My health issues have been quite minor compared to a lot of people's, but it has taught me to not take life for granted. If you want happiness in this world, you have to go out there and grab it!

At my Buddhist discussion group last night, someone shared this incredible experience and it gave me so much hope. It was about determining to get what you want, no matter how lofty the goal. That's what I will do.