when life catches up to you

I've been at  home sick, and as I slowly get better,  I've realized two things.  My life needs a change, and I still desperately miss Luka.  Life has caught up to me, and in the last month,  my body and my mind, has finally said "enough".  Going back to work two months after Luka died was what felt right at the time.  I needed to keep busy, and I had some great things happen for me professionally last year.  But this year it feels like I am dragging my feet.  It seems like time is trudging along, and nothing ever seems to give.  It's like one obstacle after another, and I wonder if we will reach the other side.  Joy.  It seems so far off and yes, a million people will tell me to find the joy in the small stuff.  And I do.  I laugh and have fun at improv on Friday nights.  My friend Marie, is always a phone call away when I need a good dose of comedy mixed with cynicism.  I went to the Muppets, and remembered the simpleness of Sunday evening, when there was nothing in the world expect Kermit the frog singing the Rainbow Connection.  But I want that joy of anticipation, the joy of waiting for something amazing to happen, the excitement of what lies ahead.  This afternoon, I spent some time looking through the pictures we took of Luka when she was born, her little life and when she died.  I haven't looked at them closely in a long time.  My whole body just wants to hold her again.  I'm still in disbelief that Michael and I created a tiny human being. And I am still in disbelief that I had to let her go. My heart longs for her. There are days when it feels like yesterday and the pain is still as strong. On a positive note, we have an appointment with our first fertility counselor in two weeks, thanks to the amazing genetic doctors at Children's hospital. They referred us and got us an appointment.  I realize some couples wait months to see a fertility expert, so I am ever so grateful for this opportunity.  They reassured us that the problem is not that we are infertile, we just need to find a way to stay pregnant, and carry a healthy baby to term. I'm hoping that this path leads us to what we desire, but in the meantime,  Michael and I have made the commitment to make change in our own lives, whatever that may be.  I also need to start taking care of myself.  I threw myself into my job last year, because it's what got me through.  Now, it's time to start focusing on my mental and physical health. Michael and I talk about our future, and how we will look back at these two years of our lives, and say to ourselves, "Wow, we survived that.. can you believe it!"  I hope that conversation happens.  Maybe it's selfish to think that my life is so hard, when there are so many people going through so many awful things.  But I write this blog, because this is how I feel, in the moment, and it is part of my continual healing process.  I am grateful to all those who read it, and send their loving thoughts.  Thank you for listening to our journey.

disappointment

Another month gone and not pregnant.  The roller coaster of waiting, anticipating, hoping and then pure disappointment. I can't do this anymore.  It has become an obsession and my life is all about conceiving a child.  Yesterday,  Michael and I decided it is time for some investigating about why we're having trouble getting pregnant and staying pregnant.  I'm not sure why we we've been avoiding it, but it's time to meet Dr. Fertility, whomever and whatever that may be.  I'm nervous, because I never wanted to be "that" couple, but we are.  The anxiety every month as we wait for my cycle to reveal a positive pregnancy test, is enough to send us both into a deep depression when it instead comes up negative.  Really, these tests are to torture women who are very aware of their cycles.  We have way too much information these days,  and in a must-know-now society,  early pregnancy tests just perpetuate the instantaneous need to know the moment you are pregnant.  Whoever invented the home pregnancy test must be very wealthy.  So, now we wait for a referral to a fertility specialist, which could take months.  My question, is do we keep trying during that time?  Am I willing to risk the disappointment?   In all of this searching and longing, we also have come to the conclusion that we are in desperate need of some change.  We have never been people to stick around one place for a long period of time.  I'm itching for an adventure.  If it's not going to be a baby adventure, then maybe we need to take a big risk and do something completely out of the ordinary.  Overall, life in the past few months has been disappointment after disappointment.  I am grateful for all my friends, my wonderful home overlooking the valley, and a job that pays the bills.  But something is missing.  Something that makes my heart sing when I wake up in the morning.  I think I deserve that feeling.   Right now I feel like I'm living in the no-thingness, which I know I need to embrace, and allow the energy to flow the way it needs to flow. This too shall pass.  We can't give up hope.  The universe might be providing a challenge, but what it doesn't know is that Michael and I aren't ones to give up.  I will hold my baby in my arms before I am forty.  All I ask is for the universe to keep letting in the glimmer of light, and the strength to believe that it will happen.

we won't forget

Today is International Remembering our Babies day and women and men around the world are thinking and remembering their children they lost, never held, or only held for a short time.  It was a beautiful sunny day, and in tribute to Luka and in her memory, Michael and I went for a walk with Sassy.  The light was golden with a touch of indigo, and to make use of Michael's new iphone, we made a little movie of our adventure with Sassy.  This is how I spent my last few months of pregnancy, walking with a yellow bundle of energy.  Walks with Sassy have been integral in our healing process, and so here is a little taste of the joy she brings us, while surrounded by the natural beauty of our mountain home. 

giving

It's a wet Thanksgiving morning.  The rain has moved in and by the looks of it, it is going to be around for the rest of the week.  Time to start taking my Vitamin D.  I'm about to peel potatoes, and prep the turkey for the oven; getting ready for the big feast we will have tonight.  It's been a busy week, and I am thankful for this extra day off, to do laundry, go to the gym, and relax with my husband.  Michael and I have been getting back on our feet after the miscarriage and leaving it behind us.  Time to move forward.  This week we had a lovely visit with my friend Katie and her husband Jeff.  It had been two years since I saw Katie last, and when Luka died, it was so difficult to not be able to hug her, and spend time with her.  On Thursday evening, over good food and beer for the boys, we shared laughter, memories of old times, and photos of Luka.  It was amazing how raw the emotion was from both Michael and I.   It was wonderful to share the story of our daughter, and the joy and memories she continues to bring us.  Katie is pregnant with her second child, and I was able to feel her belly and feel the baby kick.  It was such a beautiful feeling, and it brought me back to being pregnant with Luka, and the joy I felt as she moved around inside me.  I so want that feeling again.  Lately my conversations with Michael are centered around two things.  The possibility of conceiving again and carrying to term, or beginning the adoption process.  We always end up going back to the strong belief that I will be able to carry a healthy child to term.  During the miscarriage,  I was convinced I wouldn't try again.  It's amazing how you forget, because now my desire to conceive again has deepened.  How much of my body am I willing to give?  Getting pregnant is truly about giving your body to a process that is never guaranteed.  And so many women do it over and over again.  In the last few weeks I have read and heard about women, who have miscarried again and again, and still go on to have healthy children.  I don't know how long I will be able to continue to give, but I have a profound need to succeed, and to fulfill my soul's desire.  Tuesday night is Glee night on television, and last week as the show ended with one of my favourite Coldplay songs, I was moved to tears. A wave of longing came over me.  Longing for Luka, longing to hold her, be with her, and kiss her soft skin.  The whole experience of losing her is still so surreal, and it's completely overwhelming when you don't expect the memories to flood in.  But they do, and then they pass.  Life continues.  And on Thanksgiving day,  I think of all the women who give their body to carry a child.  I think of those who have lost, those that want to give and are not able,  and those who have watched their children grow and become adults. Without women, none of us would be here. I am honoured to have a body that can give and grow life.  I am thankful that I gave my body to grow Luka.  Without her presence in my life,  I would not be the woman I am today.  And I am willing to do it all again, and again.  Because, somewhere in the deepest part of my soul, I believe it will all work out and I will hold a healthy baby in my arms.  I am now going to prepare Thanksgiving dinner, to give thanks for all the wonderfulness life brings, and to thank all the people in my life who give me friendship and bring me joy and laughter.  Happy Thanksgiving!

stormy weather #2

I'm sitting at the computer watching a wind storm blow in across the valley.  The leaves are whirling through the air, and the rain is coming down in buckets.  I miss a good storm.  It rarely happens here, and I always feel so lucky that I get to watch a storm brew from the top of the mountain.  I have had my own storm brewing for the past week.  My emotional state has been completely up and down, and it's been a bit of a tumultuous week.  Now that the miscarriage is over, I've been trying to get back to my normal life, but it hasn't been as easy as I thought it would.  School has been challenging.  I have great students, but teaching a split has provided me with some interesting experiences, and I am trying to sort it all out.  There were many days this week where I left school feeling incompetent, and not sure if I could make it through the week.  My thirty-seventh birthday was on Wednesday, and I was glad to welcome a new year, but am really beginning to feel the ticking of the clock.  I know I'm not old, but in the world of fertility, I am the dreaded over thirty-five, approaching forty.  There are pregnancy books specifically written for getting pregnant and being pregnant if you are over the thirty-five mark.  It's so degrading and discouraging.  There are so many women my age having babies, but it seems like we are looked upon by the medical world as "risk-takers," because of our age.  This week, Michael and I have started opening our hearts and conversations to the next step in this crazy journey.  I want to believe that I still can become pregnant and carry a baby to term.  But, there is the underlying fear that it won't ever happen.  And so I fluctuate between exploring adoption, versus trying again. It is constantly cycling through my thoughts.  And then today, as I stood in the checkout counter as Superstore, a young baby began to cry. I don't know where it was coming from, but it continued, and it was almost as if the whole world went into silent movie mode, because all I could focus on was the crying of the baby.  It was the tiniest cry, but it filled the room, and I was taken right back to hearing Luka cry in the hospital.  I watched as a woman rounded the corner of the canned vegetable aisle, and the crying grew louder.  I just wanted to pick up the baby, and comfort it.  I remember holding Luka, as she cried, knowing that she was hungry and I couldn't feed her, because she was too weak to suck, and my milk wasn't producing.  As I tried not to sob in my line up, I watched the woman pick up her child, and the crying immediately stopped.  Suddenly, I was brought back into the world of Superstore, the beeping of the checkout counter, the buzz of activity, and I began to place my items on the conveyor belt.  Life goes on.  However, in that moment, I understood how deep my desire is to be a mother.  I'm not sure when or how it will happen, but as I drove up the mountain, I made the decision to persevere, and I won't let my age stop me.  I will hold a child in my arms before I am forty.  I will.  The wind has calmed down outside and the sun shone for a moment and created a beautiful rainbow in the valley.  Storms never last, and I know that next week is a new week.  Like the storm, this too shall pass, and somewhere in this journey there will be a rainbow, with a pot of gold, just for me.

blighted

It's a cool Saturday evening, and the rain has finally settled in after having battle with the sun all day.  The smell of homemade chicken soup is wafting through the apartment, and I just woke up from an afternoon nap.  And now I write a blog that I didn't expect to write on this journey.  Michael and I have experienced a miscarriage.  A blighted ovum, according to the medical world.  I was almost nine weeks pregnant, when due to some spotting, I went in for an emergency ultrasound.  They found a gestational sac, but no baby. My levels were tested, and they were falling. Apparently the baby never developed but my body believed it was still pregnant, and continued growing an empty sac.  We were just starting to get excited, and the promise of new life was giving Michael and I a rejuvenation in our own lives.  Every day that I woke up still pregnant, the layers of cautious optimism were peeling away to allow for hopeful excitement.  I was starting to look forward to showing my round belly, to take out the maternity clothes I had packed away, and was imagining the birth of a baby in April.   But those hopes have been blighted.  And the trusting process, of believing that I will ever have a healthy child of my own, has once again been taken away.  Yet strangely, although this was a huge disappointment,  I am not devastated.  I feel like I am stuck between totally giving up, and persevering until we succeed.  Maybe I take comfort in the fact there was never really a baby.  What I do know, is I need to take some time to heal my body, and move forward with my life.  I need some time to get back to the gym, and get my body back in shape.  I need some time, to really figure out if I want to take the risk of being disappointed again.  There are many questions that need to be answered.  Do we see a fertility specialist?  Do we think about adoption?  Two different paths, and I'm not ready to dive into either of them. Yet.  I'm going to take the next few months for me.  Last night we had our first improv rehearsal.  I wasn't going to go, because I was so tired from a rough week, and a stressful day at school.  But I am so glad I did.  It was so much fun to play, be silly and take creative risks. And I laughed.  A great way to end this week.  I woke up this morning, thinking how much has changed since last September.  Michael is making furniture and is happy being a teacher on call.  We have great friends and I still wake up and marvel at the gorgeous mountain view from my bedroom window.   The word blighted is defined as something that impedes growth,  or impedes progress and prosperity.  Something prevented this pregnancy from developing, and I will never know why.  What I do know, is that I am still growing and progressing as a person, and at this moment, that is what is most important.  Will I ever get pregnant and carry a healthy baby to term?  I hope so.  But life is a mystery, and for now, I choose to get back to my life.  Michael is cutting vegetables, and the soup is almost ready.  We will break bread, eat hot soup, while I drink and savor a big glass of red wine.  A toast to what may or may not come, but still filled with hope and possibility.

September

September.  A time of reflection, hope and new beginnings.  It's strange, how when the leaves are falling and everything is going dormant for the winter, everything in our lives is beginning anew.  School, new classes, new seasons of television shows, and trying new things.  I love this time of year.  Always have. The sun setting a little bit earlier, crisp fall apples from the Okanagan, new clothes, and yes, I was one of those children who loved going back to school.  As least from what I can remember.  August was a good month, and one of the first month's since Luka died, where I haven't cried every day.  In fact,  I've been pretty happy.  Enjoying the hot summer, meeting new people, spending time with my husband, and just focusing on the now.  In the last few days, as we've rolled into September,  the memories of Luka have begun to surface again.  She's never far from my mind, but it was nice to feel free from the thoughts and the pain for a while.  Putting that in writing, makes me feel guilty.  I don't want to forget, but the lightness I have felt has been so refreshing.  And as I go back to school, and feel the fall evening air, I wish she was here.  Last year, we were so freshly mourning, that I wasn't even aware of the arrival of fall.  Now that I am so much more present, I wish I could share my favourite time of year with her.  I'm nervous about school this year.  My first year teaching a split class, lots of changes at the school, and Michael being a teacher on call.  It's going to be very different.  But I know it will be a good different.  It's just going to take some adjusting.  My goal is to just enjoy the students I have in my class, focus on them and their wonderfulness, and try new things outside of school.   I'm going to try my hand at improv, and will continue to go to yoga.  And of course, continue to hope for new life.  In all this newness,  I hope that a seed will grow.  I just have to continue to believe that it will happen.  In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy evening walks with Michael and Sassy, cool weather, macintosh apples, Sunday morning pancakes and bacon,  and the gentleness of Luka in the fall wind and the changing colour of the trees.

I found this on my pillow one evening before I went to sleep.  It is now posted above my pillow, to remind me that anything is possible.  I love my husband.