Are we there yet?

There’s this thing I’ve been thinking about.  Well, not so much a thing, but more of a concept.  You see, there is this word.  A simple word, really.  It’s short.  It’s common.  Only one syllable, and it’s mastered easily by those still in diapers.  Yet, it is a complex, deep, emotional, and personal word.  It’s the word that so many out there are striving so desperately to be called.  You know the one.

It’s not a secret that I spend a great deal of time with my mom, and that she’s my best bud.  She’s mom.  She’s always been mom, and she always will be.  I’ve shouted, “Hey, Mom!” in department stores.  I’ve declared, “She’s my mom!” in a drunken stupor on vacation with her.  I’ve snapped, “Mom!” when I felt she wasn’t listening.  I’ve groaned, “But Moooooommmmm!” when I didn’t get my way.  This three letter word is her name…at least to me.  Now, I sit here, wondering how this name can also apply to me.  How can we have the same name?  Follow me? 

To me, it’s her name.  How strange it has felt to walk around being called by my mother’s name for the past three months!  All of a sudden people were calling me ”Mom.” Huh?  Me?  What?  Um, I am one now, but you can call me Becky.   I wasn’t ready for the “M” word.  Those are way too big of shoes to fill.  It has taken me three months to become comfortable with being referred to as mom.  I’m wondering if that sounds strange. 

To me, it was simply a role that I needed to grow into, just like becoming a wife.  I can remember the first time I signed Mrs. Winks.  It felt strange, and I had to figure out that whole new signature deal.  Given time, it became the new normal.  Perhaps that’s how it goes with the whole motherhood deal too.  Now, just now, I’ve began to break in these new shoes. 

Do you remember back when it was believed I had a bicornuate uterus?  The dark ages?  Well, during that time I had a CT scan and an MRI to help with the diagnosis and to check to make sure I had two kidneys (common to have one with the condition, but I have two.)  Do you also remember me saying that the MRI maxed out my annual health insurance benefit?  It turns out Dr. Local called to verify insurance coverage, and there was.  The insurance company apparently had not inputed all the data into their system to reflect what was accurately left.

The result was a bill being sent to my house to the tune of $2,300+.  I called the local hospital that performed the proceedures and explained. I also asked to be placed on a payment plan.  They flat our refused to allow us because they believe my husband makes too much money.  That’s a joke.  Anyway, the demanded payment in full.  I didn’t and don’t have that at my disposal.  So, not being able to pay in full or allowed to make payments, all I could do is wait.  Wait for it to go somewhere else so that I could make payments.  Off to collections it went.  However, the collections folks too denied me the opportunity to make payments.  Don’t these people want their money?  I am trying to make good on a debt that I feel should not have happened, and nobody will help me do so.

The collection company has now sent it to suit.  So, now I’m being sued for the hospital bill that I have repeatedly ask to pay, but nobody will let me.  In my humble opinion, this is a major problem with the health care system here in Alabama.  This is illegal in many states.  I checked the legitimacy of the company calling for the collection.  They are legitimate.  I then called to make sure that it is legal to sue for it in this state.  It is.  So, now on Tuesday I have to go to a lawyer to sort this out. 

I’m frustrated, upset, scared, and feel that this is just one more piece of crap that I have to wade through that infertility has thrown my way.  I know I can’t pin this all on IF, because there are so many things that lead to this situation.  However, I wouldn’t have had to have the proceedure if I wasn’t dealing with it.  So, I’m back to treading water, and clinging to keep it all together to fix this situation.  Just how?

Kellie Coffey

I Would Die For That

Felt the need to post it, just because.   Her infertility story here.

Mel over at Stirrup Queens had a thought provoking post yesterday.  So, I figured I could explore it more over here as it relates to me. 

“Infertility and loss have a way of feeling like torture. While it’s happening, it’s so painful and all you can think about is that future moment when you won’t be feeling this intense amount of pain. And I think we all believe that the key to happiness, the key to ending the torture, is to parent. I think the torture begins lessening when you get that positive test or you receive your match/referral. But I think we’re all focused on that day when the child is in our arms or in our house and we are parents. And part of that is true.”

I complety subscribed to this philosophy.  I believe that I have had one serious case of tunnel vision in the past four years.  My husband and I, hand in hand, running for the finish line where a bouncing baby would be placed in our arms.  We would then raise him up for all to see in a very L.ion K.ingish way, then return home where we would live happily ever after.  Yeah, I know.  HOWEVER, I don’t regret a second of my TVS (tunnel vision syndrome), because it is exactly what I needed to make it through the hell I was in.  I wasn’t emotionally capable of much more.  TVS was my coping mechanism.

“But then how do we explain the fact that infertile women are four times as likely to suffer from postpartum depression?

I think a lot of it is a lack of release valves–we seal them off ourselves because we’re too worried what turning them on means. Complaining and venting is a resource that non-infertile women use to get through the stress of pregnancy or the stress that comes with new parenthood. But we think we can’t complain because that means that we’re not grateful. We’re scared to complain to our support system–usually other infertile women–because we know they would trade anything to be in a between-ultrasounds panic rather than a two-week-wait. We’re scared to complain to our friends or parents for fear that they won’t understand and say, “but you wanted this.”

I’m seriously working on this front.  How do I find the balance in my communication to relay just how much I love Lucky, but also allow myself to convey just how exhausted and frustrated I am?  I am grateful, but I don’t feel as if I need to say that every post.  I don’t feel like I should preface each negative with a positive in front of it for fear that somebody will find me ungrateful for my huge blessing.  Yet, each time I do.  It always the same…”Last night, Lucky refused to sleep in his crib.  He screamed until midnight, fell asleep for two hours, and screamed some more.  It left me exhausted, and longing for the nights where sleep was a given not a gift.  (Then comes my disclosure that I always have to say.)  This is not to say that I am not grateful for each and every sleepless night that I will gladly take a million times over rather than not having him.”  I mean seriously.  I am so not grateful for sleepless nights.  Let’s get real here.  Who the hell wants to not sleep at night?  Ummm….nobody.  Loving Lucky and finding parenting to be trying at times are not mutually exclusive. 

Many of us who are parenting after infertility feel the need to add that disclosure.  I’m vowing to stop right now.  No more disclosures or prefacing the trials and tribulations.  I don’t do that to the positives.  Care to join me anybody?

“I think the other reality is that we make parenting the goal that will lead to happiness rather than making happiness the direct goal. Does that make any sense? I think we equate parenthood with happiness therefore, we drop happiness from the equation and aim for parenthood.”

I wouldn’t say that I didn’t have happiness in my life.  Nor would I say that I’m not happy now.  If happiness is a scale from one to ten, with one being life is hell and ten being life is bliss, during infertility three quarters of the month I was an eight, and for one I was a four.  Life still went on.  There was still love and laughter, new hobbies, trips, and a lot of fun.  However, beneath it all there was an ache, longing, and deep pain.  Now, life is more of a continual eight.  There’s still love, laughter, new hobbies, trips, and fun.  The coloring beneath it all is now something different.  I’m not sure even how to describe it.  It’s more of a fine cocktail of happiness, frustration, love, and that emotion that has me shrugging my shoulders and wrinkling my nose while trying to describe.  You know that one, right?  

I’ve never just plain outright strived for happy.  In fact, I would have no clue how to do that.  Does anybody have directions?  Never mind, I can’t follow directions anyway.  I’d get lost and end up somewhere else.  I guess I will have to wander my way and find my own route even if it takes using the back roads that aren’t clearly labeled.

“Children are sort of like money in that regard. Not having them brings a lot of stress. But having them brings stress too. And when you don’t have children, you think that the stress that comes from having children is more manageable. Just as you can’t really imagine the problems of the rich are that bad. But parenthood is stressful. While I wouldn’t trade it for anything and I’m obviously willing to do anything/everything to parent another child, I am also appreciative when someone is complaining to me about the sleeplessness or the lack of privacy or the infinite changes that take place with parenthood.”

The changes are infinite.  Whether you have children or not,  you can figure them out.  You don’t need me to tell you what they are.  I did believe stress would be more manageable with children.  I did not believe it would be more or less, just easier to deal with.  I thought I would have this giant load off my shoulders and be free to handle things more aptly.  I guess my conclusion is that the stress is just a different kind of stress.  I used to be frustrated with my temperature and ovulation patters, and now I lament over sleeping patterns.  Six to one, half dozen to another. 

I’m sure I will revisit this after I digest it a bit more.  She had a lot going on in that post. 

This post could literally be one word long…

teething.

I’m not sure I even need to elaborate on that front.  I’ll welcome advice on this.  What worked for your child, niece, nephew, neighbor, etc.?

Can I just say I feel like I’ve been hiding out under a rock lately?  What’s tv?  Current events?  Ummm, yeah.  I had no clue about this.  My brother filled me in about it yesterday.  Where the hell have I been?  Oh yeah, under that rock I previously mentioned.  Perhaps when I win the lottery, I’ll go and buy myself some luxury retreat over there.

Less than two weeks until we ship out (ha ha) for our cruise.  I’m still waiting for Lucky’s birth certificate, and I’ve sent an email to our worker (whom I really like) to see if she has it yet.  Fingers crossed!  I’m hoping to avoid any last minute panic.  I’m surprisingly not worried about bringing him with us.  Hope I didn’t just jinx myself! 

Seriously, can’t we get a break?

Forecast Conditions High/Low °F Precip. Chance   Tonight Aug 20 Partly Cloudy N/A/72° 20% High not valid after 2pm Tue Aug 21 Mostly Sunny 98°/70° 10% 98°F Wed Aug 22 Mostly Sunny 101°/72° 10% 101°F Thu Aug 23 Partly Cloudy 102°/73° 20% 102°F Protect Your Plants From the Heat Fri Aug 24 Partly Cloudy 100°/73° 10% 100°F Sat Aug 25 Partly Cloudy 98°/70° 20% 98°F Sun Aug 26 Isolated T-Storms 96°/70° 30% 96°F Protect Your Plants From the Heat Mon Aug 27 Isolated T-Storms 96°/70° 30% 96°F Tue Aug 28 Isolated T-Storms 93°/69° 30% 93°F Wed Aug 29 Mostly Sunny 94°/69° 10% 94°F Protect Your Plants From the Heat

In the past few months, my schedule has changed quite a bit.  Exercising which once held the status of the J.olie-P.itt clan has now tumbled to that of a D list celebrity.  That is until this past weekend.  I reclaimed my sore abs, butt, and arms.  I’m not sure what caused the resurgence of enthusiasm.  Perhaps the stars and planets all aligned.  More likely, I’ve realized I can make all the excuses I want, but the truth of the matter is that I need more creative time management.  If I truly want to exercise, I will find the time to do so.  This morning, I plan on testing my theory with myself. 

 My goal is to squeeze in 30 to 45 minutes of sweating.  Wish me luck!

When you have a blog, you find yourself writing a post and then conveniently clicking it into little categories that delineate what your post is about.  So, on a disjointed day, your post may fall into nine million categories.  Other days, your message is clear and hits to the heart of a single subject.  What if you don’t know what category to put your post in?  What happens when it is your life?

I’m “categoryless”.  While I still 100% identify with those who curse the fact that the word infertility even exists, it’s sting isn’t as painful as it once was.  I’m doubtful I could blend with the perky “momminess” that comes with those who’ve skipped the evil clutches of IF.  Do I fit into secondary infertility considering I’ve never given birth to a child?  I don’t think the category fits. 

Then it hits me.  I just can’t stand categories.  While it works in blog form, it doesn’t work in real life.  The two women that I do speak with regularly have children, didn’t experience infertility at all.  However, they are extremely sensitive to the subject and to that of adoption.  Perhaps it’s not about those who’ve walked in our shoes as much is as it is about those who can be sensitive to the journey we’ve experienced. 

So, today I quit trying to categorize my emotions and my spot in life.  This isn’t to say I wouldn’t describe myself as a coffee and chocolate loving wife of a snoring and doting husband who looks delicious while holding our handsome and stubborn soon to be adopted son.  I could see myself saying such a thing.  However, silently tacked on to the end of that sentence is a little extra something that most will miss….and who desperately would love to add another equally sweet little brother or sister to the family mix, but is clueless and scared on how and if she will ever get there.  So, while I don’t have a category, that’s where I stand.