vegas, baby

Well no baby, actually, just Vegas. 

We had a great weekend celebrating our anniversary in Viva Las Vegas. Though the first thing you should know is that Vegas is SO not our usual type of getaway. Our weekend getaways normally involve a road trip to the mountains or the beach or woods, staying at cozy rustic inns (though we used to camp far more often), or finding a small hip hotel and exploring a new city. We haven’t been to Vegas in 10 years, and much has changed. But hey, everyone needs a little anonymity, neon and flashy cocktails once in a while, right?

We planned this little escape after my failed FET, along with my birthday weekend in Big Sur (which sadly has been burning for nearly two weeks, with the town evacuated and firefighters still battling the blaze that has engulfed the surrounding wilderness)…

We wanted an escape, and that’s what we got. 

This was the view from our styley room at the ginormous Bell.agio. We had a super cool view of the famous fountain show every 15-30 minutes. Endless amounts of entertainment right there. Oh, and our hotel had a real chocolate fountain, flowing from ceiling to floor…

I always think it is so bizarre to see this insane development in the middle of the desert — everything so opulent, excessive, and well, fake. I mean there are lakes and waterfalls in the middle of the fucking desert! Even chocolate fountains! But it is a great place to hideaway and people watch. Travelers from all around the world come to see it, as if it were the Grand Canyon or some natural wonder. It’s like Dis.ney for adults, without the fairytales and cool rides.

It was 106 degrees during the day (like being assaulted by a sauna the instant you step outside), and about 85 at night (like a blowdryer full blast when the door opens). So we spent a lot of time inside soaking up the a/c, cruising through opulent lobbies, neon casinos and fun arcades, staying as cool as possible with lots of gelato. It was hot. One day we spent over $20 just on water. 

We’re not big gamblers (if you don’t count IVF), although M did win a few bucks playing blackjack. I’m too cheap to risk much, so I took my $5 and stuck to the nickel and quarter slots. But guess what? I actually hit the jackpot! Lucky 7s across — I should’ve taken a picture. Since I only bet a quarter I won just $20, but that goes a long way in coins. Funny thing is, they don’t even give you coins anymore. You get a coupon to cash in, like it’s not even real money. Anything they can do to separate you from your cash…  

Where we did not skimp was food. We ate really well, from Paris to Venice. One cheap find was a nutella and chocolate crepe we shared at Paris (thanks, Lynn!)… heavenly. For our anniversary dinner, we treated ourselves to a fancy meal with a special tasting menu — 5 courses paired with 5 different wines. The portions were a good size (not too big or small) and the tastes were perfectly matched — light refreshing whites with seafood and luscious french reds with heartier courses. We sat in a dim cozy corner and enjoyed every bite, not realizing how buzzed we were until we stood up.

Oh, and for the first time in I can’t even tell you how long, I had the most incredible coffee with dessert. Real espresso with real steamed milk. At night even! Living large, I know. 

After dinner, we checked out a dark hip lounge with groovy ambient music, and we each enjoyed a $15 cocktail (wtf?). I sipped a mojito with some fresh watermelon puree and M had some cucumber vodka lime concoction. Now normally I’m a traditionalist when it comes to mojitos, but this place was known for its mixology, so I gave it a go and it was really good, very refreshing. 

When we were done gambling, we entertained ourselves at the arcade playing pinball, air hockey, and skeeball. (I am a pinball wizard, by the way.) Then we made the mistake of going on the roller coaster at New York, New York. Now I love me a good roller coaster, but this one just isn’t that good. M looked a little nervous when we got the front car. On the way up I joked how it would be like our life the past few years — a little scary, lots of ups and downs with surprising twists and turns. So I guess it was fitting that we both felt beat up and a little sick afterwards (too much headbanging for this old couple)…

A highlight was the Cirque du Soleil show “Love.” This is a special Cirque show that celebrates the music of the Beatles, with a young international acrobatic cast and incredible music and dance. The soundtrack is from original Abbey Road recordings that were remastered by Beatles producer George Martin and son. We absolutely loved the show. It was a full sensory experience — inspired, creative, and psychedelic (peace, love and music man!). We are definitely buying the soundtrack (on audio DVD). 

No getaway would be complete without some external reminders though. I have to say I was surprised at how many pregnant women go to Vegas, and families with strollers. Aside from not being able to bring kids into casinos and bars, the indoor smoking is awful. We are spoiled here in California. Hell, even Paris and Amsterdam have banned smoking indoors!

But there was one more thing…

Hmm. Think I should demand a refund? Maybe sue for false advertising? Because I checked, and nada. I was hoping to cash in my voucher for a baby!  And yeah, I’m sure the women in that bathroom thought I was some kind of freak breaking out the camera…

swirling…

So many thoughts swirling around in my head, I’m not sure where to begin…

Should I tell you first about the open adoption support meeting we attended last Saturday, which left us both feeling entirely overwhelmed?

Should I tell you instead about our incredibly fun escapist anniversary weekend getaway to Vegas, which left us both exhausted and hungover?

Should I tell you how happy I am to have a two-day week?

Or should I offer my sincere gratitude for your so sweet and happy anniversary wishes? Yes, I think I’ll start with that.

Thank you all so much for sharing and honoring the memory of our beautiful wedding 12 years ago. We were both so touched by your comments, and I love that some people read the post simply because I was showing-and-telling.  I love re-telling our story, remembering the day and those feelings. I love the thought of re-capturing those blissful moments in any way we can…   

And, I love that some of us were actually married that same special month (Julia, Kymberli, I know there were others), and even the same day (Journeywoman)! Cool.

So, I’m still processing everything else, but promise I’ll be back with more to tell soon… 

[Editing to add: I'm so swirly I forgot to ask if you wanted to hear about the family of deer that jumped our fence while we were gone, chomped all of our jasmine flowers, grazed our strawberries and raided our pepper plants (but not the tomatoes or cucumbers), before leaving several big piles of poop in the yard. You wanted to hear about that too, right?!]

once in a blue moon…

Do rare and magical things really happen “once in a blue moon”?

There are varying origins of the term “blue moon.” The most rare term comes from the lunar calendar. Once nearly every three years, an “extra” lunar cycle results in an “extra” full moon known as a “blue moon.” These celestial events are rare since there are normally 12 lunar cycles each year of about 29.5 days, which leaves 11 extra days per year, which is why it takes almost three years to form a full “extra” cycle.

Another definition traces its origins to an old farmer’s almanac and refers to an “extra” lunar cycle in one of the four seasons (which normally have just three full moons). Other popular lore says that when a single month includes two full moons (which while uncommon is not rare), the second one is referred to as a “blue moon.” (By the way, anyone else interested in skywatching? I don’t call myself “luna sea” for nothing…)

Indeed, rare magical things can happen once in a blue moon. Twelve years ago, in June 1996, there was a full moon on the first and last days of the month. The Amazing M and I were married under the blue moon on June 30, 1996, in an ancient redwood grove not far from the Pacific Ocean. 

We originally thought we’d get married over summer solstice, but then fell in love with The Spot and selected a new date, which coincided with the “blue moon.” We thought it was “in the stars,” a sign. The site was tucked into several acres of majestic redwoods and backed up to a state park. There were two main guest houses for our families and close friends, and a cozy rustic cabin for us. We all spent the weekend together in the woods, bonding, laughing, and sharing meals, wine and honey mead made by a friend. 

That morning, M and I awoke early and parted ways, and we each took a meditative walk through the forest ferns and wildflowers. The morning sun filtered through the towering trees, preparing to rise high above. The air was clean and fresh with the scent of the woods. It was just so beautiful. In this peaceful setting, we could remove ourselves from the frenzy of The Event. We had worked so hard to plan a special day, and we were determined to enjoy it. 

It was HOT — record highs, even in the shade — very unusual for the time and place. A long path (marked with satin ribbons by friends and family) led to a small majestic redwood grove which formed a natural cathedral. The trees towered above a wooden platform stage, which was surrounded by half-circle seating (like a little ampitheatre at a summer camp). Flowers were everywhere, musicians played softly, sage was burned, and rose petals graced the platform thanks to a little cousin (my first niece was still in utero). 

I was led down the path by my two older brothers, who held me on either side and told naughty jokes to make me laugh while we waited in the heat. Ahead of us, my cousins escorted my grandmother, and ahead of them walked my mom with her husband, M’s parents, and M. I felt a little nauseous (someone gave me some mint water). I was floating. M actually looked high, and he was beginning to sweat. Did I mention it was HOT? 

Our ceremony began with a flute invocation and included poetry by ee cummings, Pablo Neruda and Khalil Gibran, with “Here Comes the Sun” on acoustic guitar. We wrote our own vows and created rituals involving family members. I felt like I was outside my body, but with my feet rooted so firmly to the ground that I was ever-present. The whole experience was surreal. 

By the time we got to our vows, my heart was swelling and about to burst. M went first. He poured his heart out in words, his eyes radiating love, tears streaming down his face, and I started crying. My turn. Deep breath. I had written something but just could not read it. I remembered the beginning and end and muddled through the rest. And then our guests started… at first it was just some random sniffles, but it spread and grew louder, more uncontrollable. By that point, I was weeping. Heart in hand, just take it! I had a perfect view of my grandmother, who was beaming as she too wiped tears from her eyes. Tears of joy all around. We were a mess — a beautiful blissful mess. 

That joyful day, under those magnificent majestic redwoods in that sacred grove, my moon and sea joined his sun and earth and we created a new wonderful world together as we celebrated our union.

Happy 12th anniversary, honey — we’ve been through hell and back and we still find new ways to keep on growing together. You are my greatest gift. I love you more than ever, always. 

“Where love reigns, the impossible may be attained.”

Just one more, I can’t resist, from last year (also a “blue moon”!) — bread pudding made from pain au chocolat, I kid you not, chocolate croissants! Ridiculous. Seriously.

This has been an extra special edition of Show and Tell with Mel. Check out this week’s circle time fun, or visit the archives.

bye bye OB

[warning: long vent] I’d been dreading this day for a long time. I have avoided returning to my ob/gyn’s office since, well you can imagine when.

Two months after our son died in 2006, my ob/gyn did a follow-up surgery to remove the fibroid that had grown during pregnancy, the one I believe was related to my P-PROM. Believing we were all clear, we tried on our own for six months before finally returning to my RE. I never went back to my ob/gyn again. 

When I think of that office, I think of the day I got the worst news of my life (months after the best) — the day our world collided with fate and doomed me to life as a babylost mama. It doesn’t matter that I adored my doc for over 17 years (with family connections even further back), or that I’d referred loads of friends to her. It doesn’t matter that her eyes welled with genuine tears as she looked at that last ultrasound before telling us “I am so so sorry” and we believed her, before she referred me to the specialists who would confirm the worst; or that she hugged me from her heart when I was speechless and couldn’t breathe, when M had to hold me up to get us out of there through the fog and tears.

My ob/gyn has always been a rare and wonderful empathetic provider. But none of that mattered. I couldn’t to go back there. 

But, considering I haven’t had an annual exam or pap in more than two years, it was time. Plus I thought I had a UTI or something. So I called and asked to come in, knowing I wouldn’t see my doc anyway. They squeezed me in with a nurse this morning, while I was on my way to a meeting. 

While I’ve always loved my doc, dealing with her office is awful. Aside from the joyful (carefree) pregnant women and uber-fertile teens seeking birth control, they accept way too many patients, overbook appointments, always run late, never apologize, and make it difficult to talk to anyone. Today topped it all though.

First I had to wait 45 minutes after being told the nurse was “pretty much on time.” I had considered bringing my new adoption book, but decided against it, and I avoided the magazines. I had to negotiate around several ready-to-drop bellies, and of course faced constant reminders of my routine ob appointments during pregnancy.

Then I got “the” room. Not the ultrasound room, but the one we had to wait in while she confirmed the worst, that the leaking fluid was in fact amniotic, where she told me how sorry she was. Deep breaths, luna, deep breaths. 

Then I had to wait some more before the nurse came in after not having read my chart. She went through the usual routine, e.g., LMP, cycle length/quality, etc. I tell her about my shorter, lighter periods, and explain my symptoms. “Are you having unprotected sex?” Are you fucking kidding me? She didn’t just ask that, right? Before I find my words, I take another deep breath. 

I calmly explain that for years (since 2002) my doc had treated me for fibroids and (later) infertility, including after our baby died at 21 weeks over two years ago, and that since then I’d been through multiple surgeries and treatments, to no avail.

“Oh, so you were able to get pregnant?” Is she serious? Read the fucking chart. Bitch. Did you miss that part? “Naturally? Or did you have some help?” What does it matter? On our own, after being told it wouldn’t happen, but not since. “Have they ever found a reason for your infertility?” she asks, out of curiosity I guess, because she’s not taking notes. Partly to amuse myself (and vent) and partly to shut her the fuck up, I run through a whole list of reasons: uterine scar tissue, pelvic adhesions, blocked tube, recurring fibroids, luteal defect, thin lining, poor morphology, oh and now 39 year old eggs… reason enough for you?

I realize this whole discussion is pointless. So I tell her we’ve given up and are now pursuing adoption. She writes down “adoption.” Then I direct her to the matter at hand: my pap and possible infection. But it seems the lovely front desk made a scheduling mistake, allowing no time for an annual exam. They squeezed me in only for the urgent stuff. 

Now my cervix has received a LOT of attention these past few years, poked and prodded with dildocams, IUIs and transfers, dilated for surgeries. But I haven’t had a pap since December 2005. I know, I’m bad. But it’s not like she was being ignored. In fact, my RE said she looked “beautiful.” But still. 

So the nurse is down there, checking for signs of infection. And I ask her again, can’t you just do a pap real quick? You’re right there! Can’t you just swab the thing?! I mean jeez, who’s a girl got to spread ‘em for to get a fucking pap smear around here? Turns out no, she couldn’t, because the gel would interfere. Great, thanks for telling me that now. 

Believe it or not, it got worse. Noting my super short light last period, she actually said that if I don’t get my period in a couple of weeks, I should poas! Because you know, so many patients fall “spontaneously pregnant” after failed fertility treatments! I am not making this shit up. 

Finally, she hypothesized that my possible infection was some other condition that I could look up on the internet. I kid you not. She sent me to the lab for a urine sample, and I’ll get the results tomorrow, but questioned why I’d want other bloodwork (cholesterol, glucose, etc.), since those fertility experts must have looked at all that already. 

To top it off, she said to come back in six weeks if (it’s not an infection and) my symptoms haven’t cleared up (on their own), and I can do the annual then. I mean what’s another six weeks after 2.5 years, right? Fuck that. I’m never going back there. 

When I got to my office, I emailed my RE’s “wonder” nurse and asked for a recommendation at their respectable academic institution. She replied right away and offered to put in a word if scheduling was tough. It’s high time for change of all kinds. 

where there’s smoke…

The sky is hazy with smoke, even from many miles away, thanks to winds that have spread hundreds of wildfires around the state (and here).  Anyone with breathing difficulties should be taking special care outdoors, as should children and the elderly. My heart goes out to anyone in harm’s way.

We’re used to all kinds of natural disasters here — earthquakes, floods and fires. But it’s a little early in the year for fire danger to be so high, thanks to the unseasonably warm weather we’ve had and highly unusual lightning storms that sparked these fires.

Working at home with the windows open today, my throat is sore from the smoky air, which forms a thick burnt orange haze in the sky and clouds. But I have to say, the sunset should be spectacular. 

Thanks to NASA and AP for the satellite image above, which shows smoke over Northern California on Monday. 

one down, so many to go…

Today we paid to verify that we are not in fact criminals, which we hope should go along way towards determining that we are “fit” to parent. (If only it were that simple, right?) We submitted forms for background checks and left extensive fingerprints all over some high-tech scanner linked up direct to Washington, D.C. 

So, we have officially completed the first step of this process! Tomorrow I will mail the final home study application to our agency, and our home study should be complete by the end of September.

Recognizing this first milestone as worthy of celebration, we stopped for some yummy cozy comfort food on the way home, and I treated myself to some organic gelato in the most delicious cone ever. Vanilla bean and wild strawberry, which are not even my flavors, but they just looked so scrumptious (so much for my dairy-free week, ah well). But I digress.

Next, we will meet with a facilitator for the first time this weekend. We decided a while back that if we tried to adopt, we would use a facilitator to help with outreach and placement, since we did not want to be just another of about 200 couples waiting with the agency. I had consulted with a facilitator and a lawyer to find out more about their services.

On Saturday afternoon, we will attend a group support meeting/potluck barbecue at the facilitator’s home, where we will hear from other waiting and adoptive parents and a birthmother, with a chance to meet them and their kids and ask questions. This will be very different from the introductory workshop we attended last fall. And we’ll be the newbies. 

If we think we’d like to work together, we will begin the facilitator’s separate application process. She requires extensive reading and mandatory support meetings for waiting parents, and urges counseling for birthmothers. Her goal is deep education of the open adoption process for all parties, which should ideally result in a better “match” and situation for everyone. 

On another note, it’s been interesting hearing people’s reactions now that we’re sharing this news (in “real” life). For me it didn’t seem “real” until we started moving forward, so I wasn’t ready to talk about it. M began to tell people before I did, which I thought was sweet.

Most people are overjoyed for us. Some have been more quiet, while others, well, let’s just say some have not been as supportive as I might have expected. Being an instinctively defensive and protective person, I imagine that if anyone in our lives gives any indication that they fail to embrace our decision as anything but wonderful for us, well, then they are not likely to remain in our lives for very long… I’m just saying. 

I may have more to say about this at some point, but let’s just save something for another day, shall we?

first steps

It’s interesting moving in this new direction. We’re moving from hopeless to hopeful, from powerless to becoming empowered. It is very much a new light. 

As I’ve heard from so many others, it feels different. For now, there is forward motion. There are things within our control that must be done — forms to be completed, tough questions to be considered, books to read, support groups to attend. 

While we may not be truly prepared for the wait and other uncertainties, it feels in a real sense that we are taking the first true steps towards building our family, when before we were merely spinning in circles or at a standstill. This is positive movement. 

I don’t think we could have come to this point any other way. Unless the best experts had told me years ago that I had no chance whatsoever of conceiving or carrying a child, I would have done all I could to try. I have no regrets or anger over trying. I believed in the chance. I’m just done failing. I’m ready to reclaim my body and life.  

I’ve already done so much grief work, dealing with infertility and losing our son. I was guided by a professional grief counselor, I did a lot of reading and writing, I leaned into the strong support of a small online community. I continue to reflect on and write about my ongoing process here.

Yet I must keep moving forward. I am ready to let go. 

I have complete confidence in my capacity to parent — to selflessly love and care for a child that has been entrusted to us, to ensure that his/her interests and well-being are paramount. It is this faith that enables me to see so clearly how ready we are to embrace adoption as the means to build our family. 

A long journey still lies ahead. I can not say the hardest part is the first step. Dealing with the things beyond our control will no doubt be much more difficult.

“We don’t receive wisdom. We must discover it for ourselves after a journey that no one can take for us or spare us.”  Marcel Proust

a new light

I was thinking about the summer solstice yesterday and about the meaning of the word “solstice” — sun stands still — when I saw Lori’s post on the same subject.

Summer solstice occurs when the earth is tilted at its greatest point towards the sun, and the sun, hovering above earth for longer than any other day, shines its maximum rays before journeying back towards the equator. 

Solstice has long been a time for celebration, being the longest day of the year and first day of summer for many. Pagans believe it marks the marriage or union between sun (god) and earth (goddess). The month of June has long been popular for weddings, as a time to celebrate love and fertility. The “honey” moon in June was the best time to harvest honey from bees, and honey was fed to the new bride and groom to encourage fertility. The name lives on in the traditional celebration after the ceremony (”honeymoon” for you slow folks). (For more solstice fun, check this out.)

Like Lori, I also appreciate the deeper profound meaning of this astronomical event, as it relates to the natural “ebb and flow” of life. This year, it takes on even greater significance in my own life. And no, it is not a time for fertility in the traditional sense. 

For more than four years, the demon of infertility has hovered over me, blinding and burning. I’ve stood in its path — while time seemed to stop — waiting, wishing, willing, with a focus on it above almost all else. I cursed its power and prayed for its mercy.

While there is no denying infertility will always be a force in my life, I am trying to loosen the grip of its strength, to escape its scorching heat and wrath, to diminish its power. I am finally trying to allow my life to revolve around something other than my infertility. 

And yet. M and I still have this burning desire to parent. An urgency. Our lives, full as they are, seem wholly incomplete without a child with which to share our love.

So after much reflection and searching our hearts, we have decided to pursue domestic open adoption. 

We are now completing the initial paperwork we set aside last fall, and hope to complete our home study application within the week. Next week, the day before we go away to celebrate our 12th anniversary, we will meet with a highly-recommended facilitator, who has a separate application process.

We know this is just the beginning of another long journey. But it’s a new path. We have been encouraged to trust in the process, and we plan to learn as much as we can to prepare ourselves. Once again, we are finding reason for hope. In the meantime, we are trying to reclaim our lives. 

worth a thousand words

It looks like Portugal is the first in the world to recognize and raise awareness about the struggle of infertility in its postage currency. I found this through the national Resolve website. I was so struck by the image, and searching for the right word to describe it. “It’s so…” — when words failed me, and M said simply, “powerful.”  Indeed.

You can purchase this beautiful series through the Portuguese postal service (for English click at the top of the page).

 

facing the demon

I’ve been trying to identify the many emotions that have been swelling up these past few weeks. It’s been a process, to say the least. It’s hard to articulate where I am and where I’ve been, but I must to get to where I’m going…

It’s been almost 6 months since our failed IVF, nearly 3 since our FET. A while back I wrote how I’ve felt lost without living in two week increments, how I’ve struggled to let go of the hope that we could ever conceive on our own. Those first few cycles months were disorienting, because really I haven’t known any other way to live for more than four years. This has has been my life, fucked up as it is for so many reasons. 

I’ve since come to the realization that in all likelihood we have zero chance of conceiving outside a petri dish or of me carrying a healthy baby to term. Even when we had everything going for us with IVF/ICSI, it didn’t work. Since we’ve decided we cannot continue to toss what’s left of our precious resources (financial or other) down the black hole of treatment, we’ve had to accept that we will never have a biological child. Ever.  

This harsh reality is made clear every day. There is no escaping it. We will never have the family we envisioned, with children borne of our love, children through which we might see glimpses of our ancestors and siblings, nieces and nephews, children who might reflect the most beloved qualities we see in each other. 

There will be no fantasy baby, no miracle baby, no oops baby. Those days are long gone. 

It fucking sucks, to be sure. Yet it’s true. It’s odd to say it, still, because for so long I tried so hard to believe otherwise. I convinced myself to have faith in the chance. I allowed myself to feel hope. I envisioned and tried to will a different outcome. Now, I’ve had to accept that it just isn’t going to happen. To delude myself into thinking, wishing or hoping otherwise is simply to prolong the inevitable. And it would be torture. 

This thought saddens me, beyond words. It also frustrates and angers me, that nothing has been easier. Every step has been a struggle. I know it (the anger) will pass, I will work through it. It’s only natural to feel this way. I am still accepting, so I can keep moving forward.

Of course this is a loss that must be grieved. It’s the five stages of grief and more, all over again. I’ve been through it before. But it’s not that simple. We know grief is not linear. I won’t simply move through the stages and viola! acceptance!

I even anticipated this, grieving my fertility, much like you might anticipate grieving a dying loved one. But nothing can really prepare you for such a loss, or me anyway. Just because I know something to be true doesn’t make my heart embrace it any easier. 

Of course I grieve the children we will never have. Am I supposed to get over that?  I think I just have to move past it. I’d really like to hear your views on this… 

The truth is, I’m so tired of feeling this way. I’m tired of feeling like a failure as a woman, defeated by my body. I’m tired of feeling powerless and hopeless. I’m tired of feeling sad and resentful. I’m tired of being misunderstood, of feeling guilty about my feelings. I’m tired of being pitied, and feeling pitiful in return. I’m tired of people tiptoeing around our infertility. I’m tired of missing my angel boy, and I can’t stand that the air gets sucked right out of the room if I so much as mention him to anyone other than M. I’m tired of feeling so often like I’m just a breath away from tears. I’m tired of sounding like a broken fucking record.

I’m so tired of the wrath of this demon infertility. I just want to get on with my life. And I want it to be different. Now I must be the change I wish to see in the world, as a wise man once said.