She was not supposed to be, for he and I
were completely one
She came into our lives, an unexpected spring breeze
in February's cold darkness
With a light like none I'd known before,
she filled our hearts with the pureness of new love
Through her eyes, we became more completely one
Though now with hearts opened to hers
We became more than we could have without her
She came to us, as spring turned to summer
But bleak October, with its barren trees
took her from us
In the wake of that loss, I find my love adrift
I cling to him for comfort, for solace
And find it, as always, unfailing and strong
I am not alone, despite my loss
Our love is more because of hers
Still, I ache for a future that glimmers like
that cold February day we met
Her kisses on my lips are bittersweet
Filled with promise, but also the past we cannot recover
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Day 51
His arms around my body
Pull me tightly to him
I nuzzle my face in the warmth of his neck
The fragrance that is uniquely his
Washes over me and I know peace
His touch... so soft, so sure
Still as thrilling as that first night
Emotions replace the newness
I soar beneath his fingertips
Fused with him, I know completion
His breath on my neck as we doze
Takes me to a sweet, safe place
Where all my dreams are realized
Pull me tightly to him
I nuzzle my face in the warmth of his neck
The fragrance that is uniquely his
Washes over me and I know peace
His touch... so soft, so sure
Still as thrilling as that first night
Emotions replace the newness
I soar beneath his fingertips
Fused with him, I know completion
His breath on my neck as we doze
Takes me to a sweet, safe place
Where all my dreams are realized
Monday, February 1, 2010
Day 50
I've been thinking lately of Pandora... and no, I do not mean the planet in Avatar (which I have not seen). I mean the first mortal woman according to Greek mythology. A brief history regarding Pandora. Her name means "all gifted" because after Zeus created her, each god gave her a gift. She was modeled on Aphrodite, so she was beautiful beyond words. She was given charm and grace to match her beauty. She was gifted in spinning and music and dance. She was told by the god of the sea she could never drown. Zeus created Pandora as part of a revenge plot, which, when you think about it, means she didn't have a lot of hope of things going according to plan. She was to marry the brother of Prometheus, whom had angered Zeus when he gave the earth the gift of fire. As a wedding gift, Hermes gave Pandora a beautiful, ornate jar... and promptly told her she must never open it, under any circumstances. Pandora assured him she would not, but then, just to make her life a bit more challenging, Hera, Zeus's wife, gave her curiosity (Hera was kind of a bitch).
Pandora fought the urge. She tried very hard to keep her word, but curiosity is a wicked temptress, and Pandora was taunted by the very sight of the jar. She hid it, hoping it would be easier out of sight, and then, finally, her resolve cracked. The urge to know what was in the jar, overwhelmed her.
She dug it out of hiding, and opened it... and a foul smell was released. Into the air were released every horror known to man. Greed, theft, pestilence, cruelty, jealousy, famine... and on and on.
Then, after a time, something... good... emerged. Hope.
I first read the Pandora myth as a freshman in high school. I was a lonely, awkward girl. I had plenty of friends, but few of them attended the same school... and some were verboten - deemed a "bad influence." When I read about Pandora, two things struck me. One was that the myth says "jar" and not "box." Two, was that on some level I identified with Pandora. Oh, I didn't have the beauty or the talent... but I knew what it was like to allow curiosity to make you do things that you later regretted. I also knew that "hope" was invaluable. In those days, hope was all I had.
When I attended the private high school that would radically change my life forever, I was pleasantly surprised and found it fitting that it was on Hope Street. This is something I have never forgotten, because it was at that school that I found hope again, after having lost it for a while.
I have a need to know. Like Pandora - and her Christian equivalent Eve - this thirst for knowledge has sometimes caused me a great amount of trouble. I am tempted by curiosity, by a burning thirst for more information. In many ways, this is a healthy quality. However, it can also lead to events that cause me pain, insecurity, jealousy, recrimination and sorrow.
Still, I somehow am usually able to find the hope in these situations. Usually, I can see that there is a chance for growth, an opportunity for me to become a more complete person and a better wife and girlfriend. I see the chance for learning, and I am unable to turn from that, even in my worst pain.
So, when life is full of the horrors the ancient Greeks told us Pandora is responsible for releasing, I remember that Pandora also was responsible for giving hope. I cannot fault her, this legendary first woman, for desperately needing to know. She was given all the gifts of the gods, after all... and when you look at the gods, they were deeply flawed. They were selfish and jealous and vengeful. They were beautiful and creative and passionate. Despite being the "perfect" woman, Pandora was really just as ordinary as any woman for whom curiosity has bested. She was just as extraordinary as the gods who created her.
I am not one to let go of hope easily. I suppose, when possessed with a great deal of curiosity, that is a good trait to have. I suppose, when living in a world as cruel and inexplicably unfair as ours, hope is the only thing to push us forward.
Life perfect would be boring, anyway... so as long as there is hope, bring on the challenges. I will take that hope and find a way to conquer them, or make them tools to use to my advantage. I will fight, and I will fail... but I will never give up.
Pandora fought the urge. She tried very hard to keep her word, but curiosity is a wicked temptress, and Pandora was taunted by the very sight of the jar. She hid it, hoping it would be easier out of sight, and then, finally, her resolve cracked. The urge to know what was in the jar, overwhelmed her.
She dug it out of hiding, and opened it... and a foul smell was released. Into the air were released every horror known to man. Greed, theft, pestilence, cruelty, jealousy, famine... and on and on.
Then, after a time, something... good... emerged. Hope.
I first read the Pandora myth as a freshman in high school. I was a lonely, awkward girl. I had plenty of friends, but few of them attended the same school... and some were verboten - deemed a "bad influence." When I read about Pandora, two things struck me. One was that the myth says "jar" and not "box." Two, was that on some level I identified with Pandora. Oh, I didn't have the beauty or the talent... but I knew what it was like to allow curiosity to make you do things that you later regretted. I also knew that "hope" was invaluable. In those days, hope was all I had.
When I attended the private high school that would radically change my life forever, I was pleasantly surprised and found it fitting that it was on Hope Street. This is something I have never forgotten, because it was at that school that I found hope again, after having lost it for a while.
I have a need to know. Like Pandora - and her Christian equivalent Eve - this thirst for knowledge has sometimes caused me a great amount of trouble. I am tempted by curiosity, by a burning thirst for more information. In many ways, this is a healthy quality. However, it can also lead to events that cause me pain, insecurity, jealousy, recrimination and sorrow.
Still, I somehow am usually able to find the hope in these situations. Usually, I can see that there is a chance for growth, an opportunity for me to become a more complete person and a better wife and girlfriend. I see the chance for learning, and I am unable to turn from that, even in my worst pain.
So, when life is full of the horrors the ancient Greeks told us Pandora is responsible for releasing, I remember that Pandora also was responsible for giving hope. I cannot fault her, this legendary first woman, for desperately needing to know. She was given all the gifts of the gods, after all... and when you look at the gods, they were deeply flawed. They were selfish and jealous and vengeful. They were beautiful and creative and passionate. Despite being the "perfect" woman, Pandora was really just as ordinary as any woman for whom curiosity has bested. She was just as extraordinary as the gods who created her.
I am not one to let go of hope easily. I suppose, when possessed with a great deal of curiosity, that is a good trait to have. I suppose, when living in a world as cruel and inexplicably unfair as ours, hope is the only thing to push us forward.
Life perfect would be boring, anyway... so as long as there is hope, bring on the challenges. I will take that hope and find a way to conquer them, or make them tools to use to my advantage. I will fight, and I will fail... but I will never give up.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Day 49 (sort of a cheat)
As I sit here about to take Day 3 of my new birth control pill, I am taunted by the irony that requires me to take them when I never could get pregnant. It reminded me of a poem I wrote last year.
Flash Of Red
I am ready to let go
To give up on the dream
Of holding our newborn son or daughter
I no longer imagine her face
Would his son have his eyes and my hair?
I don’t dream of these things…
Anymore
I want to move on
To different, if not better, dreams
But memories rush in
Painful splashes of red
And tell me I’m not really a woman,
Just a facsimile of one
My hell is this excruciating reminder
Of my failure to give him both of us
My soul as torn to shreds as my insides,
I’m barren like the trees of winter
My mind as twisted as their stark, black limbs
My heart repeatedly crushed,
Just as it beats again
The healing process endless
The pain a relentless rush of red
Flash Of Red
I am ready to let go
To give up on the dream
Of holding our newborn son or daughter
I no longer imagine her face
Would his son have his eyes and my hair?
I don’t dream of these things…
Anymore
I want to move on
To different, if not better, dreams
But memories rush in
Painful splashes of red
And tell me I’m not really a woman,
Just a facsimile of one
My hell is this excruciating reminder
Of my failure to give him both of us
My soul as torn to shreds as my insides,
I’m barren like the trees of winter
My mind as twisted as their stark, black limbs
My heart repeatedly crushed,
Just as it beats again
The healing process endless
The pain a relentless rush of red
Day 48
I am overwhelmed. I want to write, but words do not come easily.
I am job hunting... and it sucks. I have an interview for a job I've had and do not want to have again.
But I need the job. Life requires money, annoying though it is.
*sigh*
And so, my writing for today is simply this blurb about how I want to write but seem to not have the focus.
I am job hunting... and it sucks. I have an interview for a job I've had and do not want to have again.
But I need the job. Life requires money, annoying though it is.
*sigh*
And so, my writing for today is simply this blurb about how I want to write but seem to not have the focus.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Day 47
It's been a while. My head has been too full, and writing would've caused a meltdown I wasn't prepared to handle.
Until today.
My husband works from home. Today he napped during his lunch hour. When his nap was almost over, I went in to snuggle him. I do not know why my mind went where it did... but suddenly, I flashed back to February 2007.
It was Valentine's Day week... I was about to start a new pack of birth control pills. He and I were sitting at the table. I can't remember the words that were said. I think there were few. It was more about gestures. He took the pack of pills from me. He said something about maybe we should just throw those pills out.
I was a few weeks from 31. We'd been married almost three years, and together for eight... and I'd been hearing my biological clock ticking since I was 25 - when I didn't even actually want a kid. I was utterly ecstatic. He said, "Happy Valentine's Day."
I'd found out I had PCOS in 2004, just a few short months after we were married. I was crushed. All I ever dreamed of was having a family. I wanted to stay at home with my kids, and he was 100% supportive of that. It was what he wanted, too. I figured maybe someday I'd go to graduate school and get a teaching degree, but I wanted to be a hands on mom.
I shouldn't have been so hopeful. Not when I knew about the PCOS. Still, the reproductive endocrinologist in Manhattan had told me my best odds of getting pregnant would be in those first few cycles off the Pill. I did all things you're supposed to do. Bought the books. Bought the basal thermometer. Took my temp. Peed on ovulation sticks.
And I ovulated. I had a "perfect" 28 day cycle. I did not, however, get pregnant.
I remember sitting at my birthday dinner badly wanting a margarita, but being unwilling to drink even one because I *might* be pregnant. The weekend it became pretty clear I wasn't, my husband took to Black Hawk to distract me. We hadn't been yet, and we wanted to see what it was like. We gambled and I ordered a sloe gin fizz, which was exciting because no one ever knows how to make that drink.
I need the distraction desperately. A few days later, when my fears were confirmed with a bright splash of red, I was devastated. I moved on, though, thinking... next cycle. That was a bust, too. By May, I knew. I knew that it wasn't going to happen.
I tried to convince myself I was wrong. I'd met a lot of awesome women on a site called Soul Cysters. I read with excitement the stories of each of their cycles, and cried with them when they didn't get pregnant. I cried with them - and for me - when they did. I knew it happened.
I went on Clomid. I did four cycles. With each passing one, I had more and more pain. And still no BFP (big fat positive - as in pregnancy test). The pain wasn't just emotional. It was physical. It was excruciating.
After two years, I forced myself to realize that it wasn't going to happen. Unable to tolerate another crushing disappointment - and the brutal pain that would come with it - I went to my doctor and asked to go back on the Pill. It regulated my cycles again... but it did nothing for the pain. I knew what the pain was. At 25, my aunt had a complete hysterectomy because of severe endometriosis. At 50, the told my mother she should have one for the same reason. I'd been hit with a double whammy. Not only did I have PCOS... I had endometriosis. Which meant all that time and emotional energy on fertility treatments (not to mention money on books, devices, etc), was for naught. I was unlikely to ever have gotten pregnant anyway, even without the PCOS.
Ironically, one of the best "treatments" for endo is pregnancy. In my case, with the PCOS and the endometrial issues, I was not likely to ever have gotten there. I was unwilling to go through expensive IVF (and they may not have been willing to do it anyway) or IUI. It was pointless.
For the past six months, I've been getting a shot of Lupron monthly. It's a medication that induces medical menopause. It's used to help combat endometriosis. I had thought I'd be getting a Mirena IUD at the end, but now my gynocologist is saying he thinks birth control pills would be a better course of action. Which makes me laugh bitterly. I don't need birth control pills... and yet I do. My alternative is a painful, agonizing one - on many levels.
Maybe I thought of that day nearly three years ago because I am seeing the doctor next week to figure out where to go from here in treating the endometriosis. I don't know. All I know is, I was struck by an overwhelming pain. It was that kick in the stomach you hear people talking about. It just plain hurt.
Tonight one of my best friend's is about to become an aunt. She knows the pain I am feeling very well, as she has dealt with infertility for almost ten years. I will be an aunt in March or April, but given the relationship between my mother and I and my sister and I, it is unlikely that I will ever know my nephew. It makes me feel horrible to say that there's a part of me that is grateful I don't have to be there for his arrival. Of course, she's the most immature 18 year-old on the planet and has never held a job and will barely graduate from high school, so there are many, many reasons for mixed emotions where her pregnancy is concerned.
But I digress. I've been watching my friend's sister-in-law update her status from the hospital... and I am SO happy for her and her husband. It's weird to think that my best friend's "little" brother is about to be a daddy, but they are happy, settled and they deserve this joy. I know that when my friend holds her new little niece she will cry tears of bitter happiness... her heart will break for what isn't hers, but will be full of love and joy for her brother and his wife and for the new little girl in her life that she'll spoil as she would her own (and maybe a bit more!).
I started to cry reading the status updates, and was back in that moment this afternoon. I've let go of the dream. When does the pain go away? When do I stop being thrown back in time to that moment of hope, that minute when my dreams were right there, nearly tangible? I don't know how long this hurts. I suspect forever. I suspect it is a wound that will partially heal repeatedly, with a thicker scab every time, and yet one that can suddenly be torn off without warning.
I don't think I will ever be healed from the loss of this dream. I think that no matter how much time passes, it will haunt me always. I will never be free of the ghost of what could've been, and no matter how much they love me, only the friends who have been through this can know the anguish. Only they can know the gut-wrenching pain that strikes as suddenly as a viper.
When this pain washes over me, I feel alone in a way I cannot describe, and need, more than ever, the arms of those who love me.
I am adrift... and need an anchor only love can provide.
Until today.
My husband works from home. Today he napped during his lunch hour. When his nap was almost over, I went in to snuggle him. I do not know why my mind went where it did... but suddenly, I flashed back to February 2007.
It was Valentine's Day week... I was about to start a new pack of birth control pills. He and I were sitting at the table. I can't remember the words that were said. I think there were few. It was more about gestures. He took the pack of pills from me. He said something about maybe we should just throw those pills out.
I was a few weeks from 31. We'd been married almost three years, and together for eight... and I'd been hearing my biological clock ticking since I was 25 - when I didn't even actually want a kid. I was utterly ecstatic. He said, "Happy Valentine's Day."
I'd found out I had PCOS in 2004, just a few short months after we were married. I was crushed. All I ever dreamed of was having a family. I wanted to stay at home with my kids, and he was 100% supportive of that. It was what he wanted, too. I figured maybe someday I'd go to graduate school and get a teaching degree, but I wanted to be a hands on mom.
I shouldn't have been so hopeful. Not when I knew about the PCOS. Still, the reproductive endocrinologist in Manhattan had told me my best odds of getting pregnant would be in those first few cycles off the Pill. I did all things you're supposed to do. Bought the books. Bought the basal thermometer. Took my temp. Peed on ovulation sticks.
And I ovulated. I had a "perfect" 28 day cycle. I did not, however, get pregnant.
I remember sitting at my birthday dinner badly wanting a margarita, but being unwilling to drink even one because I *might* be pregnant. The weekend it became pretty clear I wasn't, my husband took to Black Hawk to distract me. We hadn't been yet, and we wanted to see what it was like. We gambled and I ordered a sloe gin fizz, which was exciting because no one ever knows how to make that drink.
I need the distraction desperately. A few days later, when my fears were confirmed with a bright splash of red, I was devastated. I moved on, though, thinking... next cycle. That was a bust, too. By May, I knew. I knew that it wasn't going to happen.
I tried to convince myself I was wrong. I'd met a lot of awesome women on a site called Soul Cysters. I read with excitement the stories of each of their cycles, and cried with them when they didn't get pregnant. I cried with them - and for me - when they did. I knew it happened.
I went on Clomid. I did four cycles. With each passing one, I had more and more pain. And still no BFP (big fat positive - as in pregnancy test). The pain wasn't just emotional. It was physical. It was excruciating.
After two years, I forced myself to realize that it wasn't going to happen. Unable to tolerate another crushing disappointment - and the brutal pain that would come with it - I went to my doctor and asked to go back on the Pill. It regulated my cycles again... but it did nothing for the pain. I knew what the pain was. At 25, my aunt had a complete hysterectomy because of severe endometriosis. At 50, the told my mother she should have one for the same reason. I'd been hit with a double whammy. Not only did I have PCOS... I had endometriosis. Which meant all that time and emotional energy on fertility treatments (not to mention money on books, devices, etc), was for naught. I was unlikely to ever have gotten pregnant anyway, even without the PCOS.
Ironically, one of the best "treatments" for endo is pregnancy. In my case, with the PCOS and the endometrial issues, I was not likely to ever have gotten there. I was unwilling to go through expensive IVF (and they may not have been willing to do it anyway) or IUI. It was pointless.
For the past six months, I've been getting a shot of Lupron monthly. It's a medication that induces medical menopause. It's used to help combat endometriosis. I had thought I'd be getting a Mirena IUD at the end, but now my gynocologist is saying he thinks birth control pills would be a better course of action. Which makes me laugh bitterly. I don't need birth control pills... and yet I do. My alternative is a painful, agonizing one - on many levels.
Maybe I thought of that day nearly three years ago because I am seeing the doctor next week to figure out where to go from here in treating the endometriosis. I don't know. All I know is, I was struck by an overwhelming pain. It was that kick in the stomach you hear people talking about. It just plain hurt.
Tonight one of my best friend's is about to become an aunt. She knows the pain I am feeling very well, as she has dealt with infertility for almost ten years. I will be an aunt in March or April, but given the relationship between my mother and I and my sister and I, it is unlikely that I will ever know my nephew. It makes me feel horrible to say that there's a part of me that is grateful I don't have to be there for his arrival. Of course, she's the most immature 18 year-old on the planet and has never held a job and will barely graduate from high school, so there are many, many reasons for mixed emotions where her pregnancy is concerned.
But I digress. I've been watching my friend's sister-in-law update her status from the hospital... and I am SO happy for her and her husband. It's weird to think that my best friend's "little" brother is about to be a daddy, but they are happy, settled and they deserve this joy. I know that when my friend holds her new little niece she will cry tears of bitter happiness... her heart will break for what isn't hers, but will be full of love and joy for her brother and his wife and for the new little girl in her life that she'll spoil as she would her own (and maybe a bit more!).
I started to cry reading the status updates, and was back in that moment this afternoon. I've let go of the dream. When does the pain go away? When do I stop being thrown back in time to that moment of hope, that minute when my dreams were right there, nearly tangible? I don't know how long this hurts. I suspect forever. I suspect it is a wound that will partially heal repeatedly, with a thicker scab every time, and yet one that can suddenly be torn off without warning.
I don't think I will ever be healed from the loss of this dream. I think that no matter how much time passes, it will haunt me always. I will never be free of the ghost of what could've been, and no matter how much they love me, only the friends who have been through this can know the anguish. Only they can know the gut-wrenching pain that strikes as suddenly as a viper.
When this pain washes over me, I feel alone in a way I cannot describe, and need, more than ever, the arms of those who love me.
I am adrift... and need an anchor only love can provide.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
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