Run-on Sentence

This is not a post about grammar. Certainly not from a former business major.

I hate ambiguity. I hate 700 page books (although I read them anyway) because I want to rush to the end. I micro-manage my life to receive the biggest “bang for the buck”, in the least amount of time of course.  My usual mode is get from point A to point B.  It works for me.

My infertility journey, not so linear. Pretty much a never ending book.

My story is different than many that walked the path before me and alongside me.

There was no success, no “graduation”, no closing of a book in a defined timeline.  My journey ended with a big question mark followed by a …  as in, to be continued…  but for how long?

Some days I almost forget how I got here, and other days it hits me square in the face.  On the worst days I encounter a random event that feels much like a bandage being ripped off from a fresh wound.

A friend of mine is having a very complicated and extended ending to a miscarriage of sorts, similar to one of my losses years ago. It brings me back to a place I hate to go. Uncertainty, irony, sadness, anger, and impatience at the world. Oh, how I feel her pain.

Today is one of those days I am rolling in the muckity-muck. My heart feels raw for all of us that don’t get the happy endings and neatly wrapped gift… rather those of us who get the loosely wrapped present… paper ripped, tape falling off, bow askew. What the hell does one do with that mess?

For a long time I felt mad, and over the years I just could not shove it into the dark or bend the hurt and anger into something worthwhile. Sometimes when my guard was down, the feeling faded into the background, but it never really left. Just lurked out there, waiting. Unresolved.

I mean, my path is highly unusual. I get it. I have a son from some miracle of miracles and then the train went off the rails. Trust me, I know how fortunate I was.  Once.

But let’s get real- secondary infertility often drives odd judgement from others. I try to fly under the radar and brush the naysayers to the side.  I run into them often (and they are always fertile beings, ironically).

No, I am not always happy with what I have.  Does that make me a terrible human being?  No.  It means I am being truthful and allowing myself to feel the disappointment- and, without disappointment, the joys in life just don’t shine as brightly.

It’s okay really. But what stings the most is never knowing when “to be continued” turns into “The End.”

That sentence can be short, or painfully run on.

No ending in sight.

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Avoidance Theory

I have had a recurring dream over many years. In my dream I am in my childhood home and feeling a sense of dread. I never really understand the “why” of the situation, I just seem to land mid-stream into this nightmare of sorts. Whatever is spooking me sends me into utter panic, running from room to room, locking each exterior door and running to the next.

And then, standing still.

So still I can hear my own breath and it sounds so loud in my head that I am sure whomever is on the other side of the door can hear me as plain as day.

I spent some time recently on one of those “dream” websites. You know, the ones that define objects and common dream themes. Apparently, my locked door dream is a symbol of avoidance and much of the interpretation has a lot to do with whether you are on the locked side of the door. Locked side = shutting ones self off from someone/something.

It dawned on me that I have developed an avoidance of many things over the last few years. Whether my mood is up or down I still practice the art of avoidance.

I guess I’ve always been a little withdrawn. Even in earlier years I was always comfortable with people and experiences- having anxiety initially, but once I warmed up I was outgoing and gregarious. I always had that shy girl inside me, but I was 60/40. Sixty percent outgoing, forty percent reserved.

Infertility was the fuel on the fire that turned that ratio upside down. Now I am more 40/60, maybe even 30/70. I find it really hard, even with therapy, to be that person I was. I have great days where I see the light, and dark days (like today) where all I feel is grief and loneliness.  The only place I feel grounded is here, at home, in the company of S. and David.  The outside world is a constant source of stress and unfamiliarity.

I still am trying to appreciate myself as a new and improved person (with some extra wisdom and compassion) but I’ve developed some bad habits that are slowly changing me and not always for the better.

I know my triggers, and spend far too much time avoiding them:

  • Arriving on-time exactly to David’s school events- it reduces the amount of time I have to mingle with the happy moms.
  • Buying baby wipes at my local warehouse store- to avoid trolling down a baby aisle in a regular store.
  • Unopened magazines that I just chuck in the trash- (backstory) I had subscribed to a popular parenting magazine for school-aged kids but won’t read it after I browsed a few only to realize 70% of the content was baby-related.
  • I’ve gone from that person…  a person who doesn’t hide a thing about the ups and downs of life to a person that finds it easier to small talk through an entire conversation and engage the fake smile just to avoid and move on.
  • Even my Google Reader doesn’t go unscathed. I have many friends I’ve met online over the years, and although I follow and read all their posts, often I feel like I can’t comment (or don’t want to because I feel like I don’t belong). 

It has been so very, very hard.

As many times that I give myself a pat on the back for meeting a situation head-on, there are a million more instances where I tend to fade into the background and avoid feeling… well…

…feeling anything.

The old adage, “You reap what you sow…” has never been more true that where I am today.

I am to blame for the state I am in.  Just me.

And that truth is becoming very hard to avoid.

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It’s hard to take in a day like today being where I am in my life right now. This is the first time I’ve posted on this day as a woman that failed infertility treatment.

Past tense.

I am a face of recurrent pregnancy loss. I lost five opportunities to have more joy around our dinner table. Five dreams that will never come true. Each taking a little part of me with them.

Please keep those you love close to you today, and imagine your life if they weren’t here.

And hold them closer…

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Call me Suzy

Back in the day, when I was blissfully unaware that bad things can happen to good people, I wandered throughout life with rose-colored glasses.
Yep, long ago I really was Miss Suzy Sunshine.
The nice thing about living that way is that life (generally) seems to be just full of excitement and wonder, and pressure? almost minimal or non-existent. Failures were just momentary bumps in the road. The idea “there’s always a next time” really seemed plausible and in fact, there always was a “next time” right around the corner.
And, with just the right amount of drive and stick-to-it-tiveness, anything was achievable.
And then I grew up.
Scratch that.
I got old.
There’s something about entering your 40’s that slams the brakes on all of that sunshine. And it has nothing to do with life changing or even the people around us… it has everything to do with the change in ourselves.
Infertility gave me a reason to be bitter, and well, I just took it and ran. Instead of looking at the goodness in my life, all I could see was…
Those damn rose-colored glasses turned to grey, and a shitty shade of grey at that. At times, it dimmed e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.  I was damn-near blind.
Suddenly, in my blindness, I became the self-appointed purveyor of fairness. I was insulted that life dealt me a bad hand, and there was (is?) no remedy for that. If you are a family of 4+ you were a target of my jealousy. If you were a family of 4+ and had the nerve to complain about ANYTHING going on in your life you were a target of my anger. If you took pity on my story and made an ass-backwards remark to me in public to belittle what I experienced or felt? well…
let’s just say I prayed the karma police would catch you before I did.
And then I decided one day that I just couldn’t carry the anger around anymore. I grew tired of putting myself in a box and labeling it “BREAKABLE: Please Don’t Touch.” Every day I get a little better. Let’s face it, I’ll never go back to the person I once was, but I will develop into a different and better version of me.  Eventually.
It’s been more than a year since my failed donor egg cycle. When I think back to the feelings of failure then, it saddens me. It DID feel like the world was tipping over. It DID feel like I was never, ever going to heal. I DID feel like a desperate junkie, and when the treatments ended… hell, I felt like I would end too.
But I didn’t.
And I am still here.
And I’ve given up my karma police badge. I’ve come to terms that good and bad happens every day to everyone. It’s not about me being singled out.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again… this journey gave me a gift I would never ever return…


And here I thought I got nothing… 
guess I need to get a new pair of glasses.

Miss Suzy Partly Cloudy Sunny

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