je ne vais pas bien.
je ne vais pas bien.
how is it that i am still here?
(written for Nick Drake)
i’m still here…somewhere.
i’m trying to find my words, or perhaps to liberate them, but it’s not an easy thing. silence has been my stony refuge these last two years, and i’m not sure how to chisel through these walls that i’ve constructed out of desperation and self-protection. but i will try…i must try.
a lot has happened, since i stopped posting on this blog. there have been new jobs. there have been too many trips to other countries….for embryo transfers and tests and surgical procedures. there have been more than a few negative pregnancy tests followed by excruciating (but required) blood draws to confirm what was already painfully clear. Continue reading
for everyone who is wondering about Sadie and her little Girl Wonder, i had an update today. Girl Wonder is doing better and at home with her parents. i don’t want to tell Sadie’s story (since she does such a brilliant job of it herself), but i did want to reassure everyone who may be out there worrying and wondering. so many people have been generous and donated to help them, and i just wanted to thank you all again. Continue reading
what was it i said before about a little hope being a dangerous thing?
today i began spotting. if i were nearing the end of a two-week wait, it might be a promising sign; however, i haven’t even gotten to the embryo transfer yet, so it’s anything but promising. i called the clinic and actually got my doctor on the line. he said to add extra estrogen orally and wait to see what the ultrasound on monday shows. he didn’t sound very hopeful, though. no more signs of “just be calm”. i wish i’d listened to my instincts and added some extra estrogen myself when i saw the abysmal 4mms. now i think it’s too late, and i’m fairly certain this cycle will be cancelled. i feel so stupid for thinking that this could work…
Friday i went to work feeling incredibly sad and discouraged and was greeted by my one friend there, M. the admin assistant. she excitedly told me that she’s pregnant again and shared her excellent beta numbers. it felt like a punch in the stomach. don’t get me wrong, i’m really happy for her…she’s one of the only people i’ve been able to talk to about about ttc (even before little sun existed), and she’s been very understanding and kind to me since little sun died. she’s got PCOS and has struggled with infertility both before and since having her first child, so i know this is a big deal for her. it’s especially hard, though, because this was the first month she took my advice on what to do and what to ask her RE for. in the past she just did whatever her doctor told her to without asking questions or doing her own research. and of course all of her RE visits and reproductive care are done locally and covered by the French social security system (and paid for by our taxes). i smiled and my congratulations were sincere, but after i left her office i had to force myself not to cry….i had students to teach, after all. during my short breaks between classes and during lunch, i hid in my classroom and wept pitifully instead of going to talk to her as i normally would have. when i ran into her in the kitchen at the end of my lunch break, she seemed disappointed that i had to go off and teach again right away, and she wanted to know when i’d be back at school. i’m sure she wants to tell me all about the ultrasound she was scheduled to have Friday afternoon. i don’t want to make her feel bad or take away from the joy i know she’s feeling, but i have no idea how to handle being around her now. she was the only person besides Froggy that i had to talk to.
i’m so fucking tired of losing and so tired of feeling all alone….. can’t we catch a break, too?
and little sun would have been 16 months old now. (i still miss you every single day, baby boy.)
there’s nothing left. just sadness and rage and grinding isolation. it’s been one year, one month and five days since i said goodbye to the little boy i’d only just said hello to. his loss and his absence are killing me. that eternally optimistic, hopelessly naive girl i once was is gone forever. she died in that same sci-fi hospital room where my son took his last breaths. i know the score. life owes me nothing…not a child who lives, not friends who stick around and weather the storm, not the even a tiny sliver of happiness. hope feels like a word i once heard but no longer understand the meaning of. once a week, i have to pay someone to talk to me in my own language. otherwise it’s just me, alone in my head fighting the despair, the anger, the desire to just give up. friends, family…nearly everyone has disappeared from my life or simply forgotten.
but this happened: Continue reading
going back to work was as i expected it would be….hard. i’d taken a melt-under-your-tongue anxiety pill before i left the house, but it did little to prepare me for the barrage of memories and awkwardness that was to follow. Continue reading