Reflections.

When I was angry.

Looking back through the journal, I was recalling emotions.

Confusion.
Denial.
Anxiety.
Fear.
Anger.
Bewilderment.
Dizziness.
Rejection.
Bargaining.
Praying.  (okay, that's not an emotion.)
Tumult.
Sorrow.
Anguish.
Indignation.
Depression.
Suicidal.
Sick.
Hurting.
Storm.
Grief.
Ire.
Distemper.
Heartbreak.
Tears.
Heartache.
Flooding.
Numb.
Wretchedness.
Irritability.
Indifference.
Stupor.
Misery.
Lethargy.
Millstone.
Infuriation.
Resignation.
Suffering.
Reluctance.
Emptiness.
Numbness was my best friend.
Emotion-less.
Cloudy.


The thing is that I couldn't put a finger on when I started thinking there is life after infertility.  I believe it was when I realized somewhere, somewhen, maybe with meeting my nephew Eli for the first time at age of 2, or when it was when I was headbutting against an anti who was eager to bully a grieving woman coming in for a D&C for her dead fetus (wanted pregnancy, by the way), or when I realized the Deaf community is behind in its access to full education and almost no voice in politics.

 Somewhere among those, the spark was re-lit within me. When? I don't know and I do not see any point in trying to nail that moment. That does not matter.  What matters is how I chose to live again on my terms. 

Even more when I look at my Pinterest account (don't everyone have  nowadays?), I do see how the collections change with me through the time- there are collections on Infertility blogs, Infertility posts, grief and anger memes, "what if" collections- and there are collections on Geek art, comic books, Tiny houses, racial justice, intersectionality.  The first collections were prominent in 2011 to 2014, while second group of collection started popping up around 2013. Swinging forth and back between the collections.  I see the last time I had posted something in first group (infertility) was in 2015 when I found out I would be an aunt again. "Congrats on being an aunt again. And you're still infertile" was the last post. And I recall looking at that post and was thinking to myself,

"Do I want to feel sorry for myself? Go back into the void, wrapping myself in the comfort of numbness and darkness?"

And my answer.  "Fuck that.  Life is too short."   And made a new collection about 'Womanhood' of how I interpret womanhood- not by the womb to create a baby, but by the capability to create life out of love, passion and perseverance.

And there's a collection in which is basically my 'picture-diary', with the earliest images being dark, stormy, anguish, like crying woman, thunderstorms, cliffs, abandoned buildings, screams, and quotes like ""Don't judge my path if you haven't walked my journey".

Now with recent additions to that collection, I see there is hope, life, passion, wilderness, depth, reading. Michfest. Labyrinths. Protesting.  Art. Self-love. 

And that tells me that I'm healing.

Cycle of apathy

I know I have been away for a long while.    Juggling with illnesses and almost non-existent energy, I find myself disinterested in saying anything nowadays.  

 The doctor is still working on trying to find what's wrong with me- so far some tests say good, some say iffy-  so...MORE tests, means more blood work and all that.  

Fun.  

I thought I have been over the annual depression by end of February or so, (after the anniversary of the surgery).  Not so.  This is much worse, than I expected.    At least back during December to February, I felt something- sorrow, regret, dealing with so many 'what ifs', and angry. There were clouds above my head.

Now, there are no clouds above my head. I don't feel sad, or regret.

What do I feel?  

Nothing.   I am empty.   

I poured myself into a painting class earlier last month- didn't help.   Went on a volunteer clean-up of the waterfront park.  Nada.  Helped out with three fundraisers.  I felt nothing.  I even became a Big Sister (and that was even big for me), and I do find myself enjoying the time with the girl- but after I get in the car to go home, the world is empty.  

I just have to kick myself in the ass and bite the leather.    This place is draining me, especially with folks having babies left and right, making it more and more lonely for me, reminding me of what I'm missing out.  

So I had worked on a plan of action, which I am already completing some steps successfully, and if things fall as I expect them, I'll be out of here and be somewhere else.  I'll be happy, among friends who do not look at me with pity, not inviting me just because they feel they have to.  I would be with people at two in the morning talking about Star Trek, or endsofdays movies, or Margaret Atwood, walking on the beach barefoot, or sipping my lattes with side of biegnets.  

Just you watch me.  

Quiescence

I'm back, and I am still around.

Second anniversary on this blog since Feb 2, 2012.

Second waypost since the surgery.

Second year since everything crashed around me.


Yes, in past, I have written posts in reminding myself that it's okay to walk my own path, taking time in grief, and not to rush myself.

Yet, here I find myself nowadays, disappointed that I hadn't gotten over my grief.  So there is this voice in my mind, saying...

 Hypocrite. 

I am still working on ignoring that nasty voice.  

I'll need to start reading y'all blogs again, and start reading that book 'Way of Forgiveness" by D. Patrick Miller- I have been pushing off reading that.    I need to reinforce reminding myself that it's OKAY to have setbacks, it's OKAY to stop and take deep breaths, it's OKAY to be on my own pace, and to stop pushing myself.  

I'm human, and that's what I keep forgetting that.  We all can't be superwomen everyday.  

P.S. will do Bucket list for checking off 2013, in a future post (something to look forward to.)  

Hiatus

After recognizing several signs from previous years, including heightened anxiety, withdrawal from socializing, cussing for no reason, and glaring knives at pregnant women nowadays, and feeling depressed even from reading fellow IF/CNBC bloggers' posts, and with the anniversary of the hysterectomy coming up, I am taking an hiatus from this blog, to stay in my 'cocoon' for the next 8 weeks.

(unknown artist, if you know who, let me know)

When I feel more myself, I'll be back.

Time out.

Nowadays, I find myself saying no.

Eat out?
No.

Hang out?
No.

Take a walk?
No.

Chat on phone or computer?
No.

Read blogs?
No.


Even thinking about going to the grocery to acquire food, that's too much for me.

Sitting here, thinking how I got like this- and I can only come to the conclusion, Christmas is coming up, and I don't want to see the kids.  What I'm missing out.  What I will not experience. More closer it comes to February anniversary, my mood is darkening.

The degree of sadness is different today compared to last year- last year, I was under a black cloud, numb, raging at the world, with a heap of self-hatred and guilt. Tissue box in each room.

 Now?

I'm melancholy.

With urges to bang my head on the wall, if I see a pregnant woman or a baby.  Not giving in, thro.  But... damn the urges!

(source)

You have to admit...this is an improvement compared to last year, in a sense.

It's funny- I got a note from an ex friend wanting to talk with me.  I did consider talking with her, but with the emotions I'm going through, especially now with the holidays nowadays.....?

Bad idea.     I'll have to hold off 'til the 'dark season' passes.  That'd be after February.

Tree

Before the surgery, I had always loved the tree- Christmas tree, Yuletide log, Holiday tree as long as I could remember from my childhood.   Looking up at the tree, I had thought the lights as fairies holding candles, stars sparking out of the night, a beacon for Santa Claus to come and drop off presents.    A family tradition to get a tree, decorate it, and bask in the tree lights, with the darkness around us.

Looking back, I realized the tree also was an example of family, everyone getting together front of the tree, to open presents, to enjoy each other, and be reminded of what family is supposed to be.


Supposed to be.

Sixteen years ago, I got a very BIG tree-  7'5 tree, so thick that you'd need two persons on each side, to help decorate the tree (woe be the person in back/corner, having to move by inch, hoping he wouldn't knock the tree down!).   Sixteen years ago, I thought I would have a family; a husband to love, and children to see the magic in their eyes.

(source)

I faithfully put up the tree every year, thinking "next year, I'll find someone and have a child."


I had relationships, however, I couldn't picture myself living with each of those guys permanently, and I was unfortunately right.    The last relationship had burned me badly, and I found that singlehood was much better for me.    I then looked into getting pregnant, and that didn't work out; two miscarriages were the result before I noticed the bump that led to the surgery.

The surgery wiped out my hope of having a family.  Children.


Last year, I found myself reluctantly putting up the tree. I found out that I had an hate-love relationship with the tree.

There would be the days I would look at the tree, with tears in my eyes.  

Some days, I'd glance at the tree, thinking there's still hope.

Other days, I wanted so badly to toss the tree out the window, chop it up and toss it into a bonfire.

After the holiday, I decided the tree had to go.  I donated the tree and ornaments to a shelter for domestic violence survivors, so the survivors and children can enjoy the tree in a safe place.

For the last six weeks, I found myself swinging between a desire for a tree and not wanting a tree.   A friend, who spent the road trip with me, encouraged me to get a tree. We didn't get one- and I found that I'm glad about that.  I love her, but I didn't like the pressure, not when I didn't feel ready.

I still searched for trees while surfing Internet, finding myself annoyed when catching myself doing that.

After talking with my therapist a few days ago, about the tree, I realized something.

The 7'5 tree-  it was for my family to be. My dream children.    Hope for family and children.   

Hence the tree never had belonged to ME. It had belonged to my family that was supposed to happen. 

After the catharsis, I then knew what to do.

I looked at trees, taking my time.    Tonight, I went to Target to get some package boxes so I'd mail stuff to family in Kansas, when I thought to myself "why not look at the trees here?"

I saw that the trees were on sale for 50% off. I went, "well, there's this tree I like, don't know if there'd be any left."

I went around the corner to find that the tree model that I liked, was still there, but no packages beneath the low raiser that the floor model was placed on.  I was thinking fatalistically, "that's that..." when a staff member stopped by and asked if he could help me. I shrugged and pointed at where the tree was, "no more packages. All out."

"We can pack this floor model tree for you, 75% off for you."

Serious? 
Serious?  
Is he serious?!  

I knew then that the tree was meant for ME.    Jules, the woman I am, on my own journey, exploring the world.

I took the tree home.    I put it up, decorating it with new ornaments, with some ornaments I kept from my trips to New Orleans and Britain.

This is MY tree.

Children of Elfquest

I am taking a page from Jody Day's Gateway Women blog, especially the tradition of identifying childless role models (such as Georgia O'Keefe, an artist, and Susan Anthony, a civil right activist), to give my own childless heroes a well-deserved recognition, and of their contribution to the world, the geek world, that is.


That would be Wendy and Richard Pini, the creators of Elfquest. What is Elfquest?  It's a comic book that came to life in 1978, of a story about elves (certainly not your Santa Claus elves or Tolkein's elves) trying to survive and find their place in a two-moon world, after their ancestors were stranded on the unwelcome world.  The main characters include Cutter, the 11th chief of the Wolfriders (yes, the tribe members literally ride upon wolves and live in the woods); Skywise, Cutter's best friend/blood-brother (and smart-ass, if you ask me), and Leetah, the healer for the Sun Folks (another group of elves who are peaceful and living in the desert.)

Skywise and Cutter

 (copyrighted by Wendy and Richard Pini)

The story wasn't limited to them, tho; there is a community of other characters, from the treeshaper Redlance to the glider Aroree, to trolls Pickaxe (yup, you read that right- *giggle*), and to preservers that could pass for winged fairies and humans aren't forgotten either. They range from enemies to an human daughter adopted by elves. War, love, death, life struggles and joy, laughter and tears, and philosophy could be found on pages, giving one awareness of worlds beyond what we see.

For me, Elfquest was a lifesaver.  

In 1984, I was a teenager, in a new house, in a new state, new school, away from everything familiar to me. Even more when you get to think about me being deaf, furthermore isolated and bullied.    I plummeted into depression.

It was one of those weekends I had to go with mom to her work on a Saturday.   There was a newspaper stand, that had a limited selection of books and a rack of comic books nearby.  So I was peering at the rack of comic books for something to keep myself busy while mom was working upstairs.  Used to see covers of Spider-man and Batman, I was surprised to see an unusual cover of  a group of pointed-eared humanoids, walking across a desert.  

( Elfquest copyrighted by Wendy and Richard Pini)

What struck me was their desperation.  Walking in an hostile environment that can bring death to them.  You would presume that one on the cover is already dead.    I opened the comic book, reading about the elves losing their home to a fire, and of choosing to walk the desert, not knowing if there would be cool dark woods on the end.  They took a gamble on an unfamiliar object that Skywise (turned out to be an lodestone) acquired in the caverns of the trolls. I was so mesmerized, drawn into the world. The colors, the words, the pictures, I was lost in the sphere and I welcomed the depth of the story that swallowed me.   

I was startled awake when a hand laid on my shoulder, shaking me, and I looked up, blinking in an attempt to adjust myself back to the harsh reality to see that it was mom. She was telling me it was time to go home and to put away the comic book.  I begged for her to buy the issue for me; she refused as usual.  Images flew through my mind while I was staring out the window in the car; Cutter worried about his injured tribe member; Skywise's confidence in his lodestone even that he only got it a few hours ago; and the doubt on whether the tribe would survive the walk through the desert, with two wolf deaths.  They may be a tribe, but they were also a family.

I wanted to be one of that family.  I forgot that I had a plan to kill myself that night.  

Instead, I was considering wildly on how to gain all that Elfquest issues, knowing that mom  wasn't keen on me reading comic books.  It was a week later when we went to WaldenBooks (anyone remember that book chain?), I found that Elfquest are available in graphic novels!  I was freaking out- "I MUST have those!"    After convincing mom that I'd do all my chores without complaining for 30 days, she is to get me all graphic novels she could find.  You can picture anyone a parent would think to herself, chuckling "that kid won't go through, it won't happen."   

I did do all my chores, even extra ones without complaining!    On the 30th night, I reminded mom of our agreement, showing her the calendar with checked days, that she had to get all the graphic novels. 

Mom knew she was beat.  

After floating through the school day, waiting impatiently at home, and peering outside to see if mom had arrived, my heart was pounding.  I was right there at the door when mom came in, and I exclaimed, "wherearemybooks?!"  She handed me a Waldenbook bag, in which I quickly drew two graphic novels, Elfquest Books 2 and 3.  After being told that the two others (1 and 4) weren't there (of course, I grumbled!), and rushing through dinner, I ran to my bedroom to devour the books.  

(Elfquest copyrighted by Wendy and Richard Pini)

It was basically in the wee hours of the morning (3 o'clock if you have to know) when I looked up, dazed, finished with the second book (Elfquest Book 3). 

A spark was lit in my soul. 

I wanted to live.

If the elves can survive the challenges, so can I.  If the elves could live through hardships and still live day by day with eyes of joy, so could I.   I drew hope from the illustrations, breathed in perseverance and courage from the characters, and welcomed life.   I wasn't alone anymore. 

When I found myself forgotten and bruised from bullying, I opened the book to remind myself, Winnowill (a villain) tried to control the Wolfriders because they were different. Humans tried to erase them from existence. The elves refused to be victims, and so I had the choice too, to refuse being a victim.  I refused to tolerate bullying; I spoke up.  Bullying stopped, (and hitting one back, certainly did help.)    

When I felt darkness of depression upon me, I buried myself under the blanket, with a flashlight and the ragged-corner books, welcoming me back to the two-moon world. 

It took two another years before I finally got the Book 4, and another year for the Book 1 (I know I should have started with Book 1, but damn, that was always out!)  My beloved Grandma managed to find a copy, Book 1, for my Christmas gift- the best present ever!  

I must make a confession. In a few years later, I was a college student, aspiring to meet Wendy and Richard one day. I was visiting an interpreter friend who lived in Poughkeepsie.  I was telling her about Elfquest, and of my dream, adding that the couple was living in the same town.  You know what she did?  She asked me for the address- I kept saying "No, no that'd be RUDE of me to show up at the door...! They would think me an insane stalker!"  

Next thing I knew, I was at the door, dragged out of the car by the friend, to the door.  I stood there, frozen in excitement and terror.  The friend prodded at me "go ahead, ring the doorbell." I was overcome with racing thoughts: "ohcrapohcraptheyaregoingtocallcopsonmeohcrapohcraptheyaregoingtothinkmecrazy!" 

So she pushed the doorbell.  

Then, Richard was there.  It had been over fifteen years ago, and I still remember vividly to this day, his curiosity about two strange women standing front of him, both signing with hands (although one was voicing for me).  The friend had to poke at me to say something, in which I rushed out my name, where I came from, how much I love Elfquest, rambling all in one breath. Bless her heart, the interpreter friend managed to get it all out for Richard to understand what I said.  Richard took it all graciously and smiled, asking me if I'd like to come in.  Would I ever!!??

He showed me around in the place, the room where he was editing pages for Elfquest: Kings of the Broken Wheel.  He showed me how to put a speech balloon in a panel. He printed out an Elfquest cover with Cutter and Rayek in front, with Cutter saying "Hello, Julie!" and handed it to me.  I was drowning in awe. When I thought we would have to leave, Richard asked if we would like to meet Wendy. 

I was FLOODED, oh yes oh yes!   So we walked down the street, to a cute house.   We all entered, and Wendy was coming out of a room, smiling. I felt like a guest, with the gates to Elfquest just swung open to me. She showed me art she had done, which took over the room from floor to ceiling, and items that fans had sent to her, including two cloth dolls, Cutter and Skywise and a real elf-sized sword, New Moon, Cutter's sword! She encouraged me to pick it up, and it was surprising heavy yet light, and I was so delighted when I realized the pommel could be taken out, revealing the hidden key!  I rattled off many names, even minor characters, in which Wendy admitted she couldn't remember every single character and their names (that ought tell you how much  of this obsession was back then!).  I asked her even if there'd be a deaf elf, in which Wendy said there was, a mother of a major character.  I was glad to hear that, since as you know, dear readers, I'm deaf.  The interpreter friend's fingers were flying fast as I talked about how Elfquest changed my life, and how happy I was to meet with them at last. Richard and Wendy were wonderful hosts! 

Standing outside, waiting for the friend to unlock her car door, I was in a blissful mystification. She laughed and said "Now, are you sorry that I dragged you here?"   

So it had been 28 years since Elfquest entered my life, shifting the path from despair to life. 

This year, Elfquest is celebrating 35 years, with so many books, with a variety of artists and writers all in the two-moon world, but always watched fondly by Wendy and Richard Pini.   Thanks to Wendy, underground comics were growing popular (not of the Marvel or DC universes).  Their having a company of their own with the Elfquest story, independent of the mainstream comics, contributed to people aspiring to create their own stories, such as A Distant Soil, for one. There were so many comics that I couldn't include 'em all here.  And to add, Wendy was the ARTIST and writer with her husband being co-writer and editor, which was unusual in the 1970's.  Comic artists had always been men, until Wendy Pini's entrance into the comic book world (as Red Sonja- cosplay- which is another story! LOL) 

Now what does childlessness have to do with the couple?  They chose not to have children.  They chose to give life to characters in their mind, to put word of whispered stories onto pages,  and to introduce the two-moon world and the pointed-eared ethos to a world used to caped superheroes. So Elfquest was created...and shall we say "And they're off!"  One'd think that the couple would feel absence of children as they get older.  You'd be wrong.  

So many readers have seen themselves in the stories; many explained how Elfquest had affected them personally- even saving some lives (and mine). So many stories mirroring our lives in ways you could not imagine.   From the elves' story, we rediscovered humanity in ourselves, and rekindled hope in seeing what life can offer us, with new eyes.  So many of us have been inspired, that even some of readers are introducing their own children to Elfquest, giving the stories a new generation to live on.  

And that's where Wendy and Richard find their joy in.    As Richard said in this article "Elfquest- 35 Years and Beyond", after being told over and over by fans describing how Elfquest influenced their lives, even saving some of them, Richard said, "Any time someone says 'you inspired me' or 'you helped me'-- you're our kids.  You are our spiritual and creative and artistic and wonderful kids.  And thank you all for being that... You are now our family, our tribe."  

His quote helped me realize something- we do not have to rely on parenthood, to find our place in the world.  There are other ways to leave a mark on the world, as Georgia O'Keeffe did with her painting, Susan Anthony with her activism, and Wendy and Richard with their Elfquest.  There are other ways to be a family, a tribe, to raise and/or teach children and individuals. 

So from my heart, I thank you, Wendy and Richard.   You saved me and many, and in turn, you can trust that Elfquest will be safe in our hands, our heads and our hearts.  

( Elfquest copyrighted by Wendy and Richard Pini)

It came, it passed and I survived for another year.

The week before 

The weekend

Monday after.  

'Nuff said.  

Blue sky photo: http://loadpaper.com/id6988/white-flower-and-blue-sky-94508-1600x1200-pixel.html
Rain photo: http://nowiknow.com/making-it-rain/

Pins and pining for something out of reach.

Two hours.


How much time was consumed while I was re-pinning and liking pins about infertility and childlessness on Pinterest?

Two hours!!


Staring at the pins on my infertility/childlessness board, questions popped up

Validation of my experience? 

Finding my happy space? 

Acknowledging that it did truly happen to me?

Seeking community to affirm that I'm not alone?


If so, why 369 pins?   Isn't that a 'tad' overmuch? 

I like to collect things, but thankfully, they are manageable. Definitely not a hoarder.

http://www.twirlit.com/2013/01/11/bizarre-craigslist-ad-allegedly-seeks-hoarder-roommate/

I have a strict list of rules that I follow, to reduce risk of saving everything.  One rule: if certain things don't fit on the shelves, or box, or  closet, I have to give one or two things up as a trade.

That's not so on Pinterest.   I find myself consumed, finding more and more.  Why?  I have other boards, such as horses, ice cream, cadbury eggs and Star Wars, yet I keep returning to infertility boards to see what pins had been posted, either for me to pin on my board or to click on 'like'.


That Infertility/Childlessness board used to have 502 pins, but to make me feel less obsessed, I broke it down into three infertility/childlessness boards: general, blogs and humor/sarcasm.

It has been a year and two months since the surgery, and it seems now these days I'm burying myself in  reading books on grief and living with childlessness, writing in my journal, painting, and staring outwards, feeling empty, and fanatically collecting pins for the infertility board on Pinterest, and all that.

What am I doing?

This little dark voice whispered, "If you had a child, you'd not be spending all this time online."  

Pesky voice.  However, there's the sense that is true.

Now that I found out that I couldn't  have children, I felt I had to give up a lot things that either I enjoyed or prepare myself to have children, such as going to zoos, (children), street fairs (children), art/craft classes and sewing/crocheting baby blankets, a lot that I did not realize until after the doctor told me I couldn't have children. And then children and babies were everywhere, and so I constantly bumped into 'em.  At malls.  At plays.  and big events like Derby festivals or music festivals.

So, I started to hide.  I stopped doing things I enjoyed especially when it would put me within distance of children.

I hid behind my laptop.  Books.  DVDS.  My porch garden.  Painting.  Hiking.  Pinterest was one of many reasons why it's easier to hide behind.  Same with reading blogs and ebooks.  Ditto for photography and writing in my blog.

It's easier for me to pin up things that I understand, to pin for something that is out of my reach, to verify that I have the reason to do so, to keep the pain to myself, yet telling the world in my way, I hurt.

It's easier to hide behind the curtain.

Now that I said it, I look outward at the outside, seeing the flowering trees, the darkening clouds and a couple walking their dog, and I find the world....  intimidating.

Small pond

I admit being Deaf has its own hazards... in this situation, even more being infertile/childless.  You see, it's nice to hang out with folks who can sign- don't get me wrong, I do have hearing friends- usually online (where we could type in instant messages or social networks), or writing forth and back in person.  The convenience of having a language where we can communicate, instead of writing (that would consume more time, looking for paper and/or pen, and waiting for turns to read and write forth and back.)  Trust me, after a certain time, it does become tiresome. 

So, it's nice to chat with folks in sign language- doesn't matter if the other person is deaf or hearing, as long as we share a common language. Anyway,  due to being in a Midwest town (they say small city, it's all same to me- certainly not a big city like New York City or Washington, D.C), there is a certain limitation of people who can sign, one could befriend-  even less for one who works in human services.  So that's a complication, furthermore- gotta be careful not to befriend one who might end needing services from the Deaf services one day. Or relative/friend of a client-  you get the idea.  

So to put it shortly, my pond was small when it comes to developing friendships. Nevertheless I did my best, befriending all I could which ended up with a certain number.    There was two who were already mothers to children- no problem.  At that time, I was hoping that I'd have a child.   All others hadn't children.  

Since late 2011, it seemed something was in the water then....  Someone was already pregnant by the time I found out I can't have children. No problem...  then...*boom* *boom* *boom*...by end of 2012, there was three babies in the circle.  Okay...  No problem..I had two local friends left- *boom*...one was pregnant- was due this month.  No problem...  I had one left.

Last month, the last local friend told me she was pregnant.   I am happy for her, but I swear the gods were laughing at me.  

I was thinking, "Okay- there's this new co-worker- she can sign.  There's hope."  I was going to see if we can go out for coffee- especially that I had found out that she lives nearby.   There was sunshine peeking through the dark clouds, finally!  

 Today, I was chatting with one other co-worker, when she asked me whether I know anything new about the new co-worker. I asked her, with dread growing in my stomach... "what?" 

"She is pregnant."     About the same due date as the other friend who told me last month.  

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for 'em.   Just that it sucks being the last kid picked for the game, (as in school.)  

http://coloradomagazine.blogspot.com/2012/03/i-molly-ringwald.html

Yup, what Molly Ringwald said.  

"A picture is worth a thousand words"

The image says it all,  since I don't feel like saying anything today, especially TODAY. 

(I don't know the author/artist name; I'd like to give credit- so if you know, please let me know)

Heartpause

"Anyone interested in adopting a four year old deaf boy from China. Inbox me if interested. Serious inquiries only."


This is what I saw when I signed on Facebook a few minutes ago, on the new feed from a friend sharing on her page.  


My heart stopped.  

She's very active and well-loved in the Deaf community, and so I know if there is a Deaf boy, she's looking for a future home for him. That's how big her heart is, and something I admire about her.  


But WHY NOW?  It's like I'm feeling sorry for myself, with the first anniversary coming up, the clouds getting darker and darker.  

Then... BOOM! 

There's a possibility of having  a child.  I could have a new family by Christmas?  A child to raise, to share laughter and sign language with me, to love, to educate and to introduce to new worlds?  Please pinch me!

Then, I get a slap from my logical side (Gemini, y'all know) pointing out  yet I'm in no emotional or financial shape to take in the boy. 

Then I find myself swinging back; my heart is screaming at me: 

When then? When will you have another opportunity? 

I had to struggle, arguing with myself.    There's a part of myself, pushing me to contact the friend to find out, what's the catch, having hope and yearning in my heart, while the other part of me is pointing out that it's not the right time- sure I have a full-time stable job, and even that I have a second bedroom (I had gotten that in hope of having a child when I moved four years ago). However, I'm not rich enough for repeated airfare, legal fees, adoption fees at this time, and what if... what if I'm not approved after all?  There'd be so many Deaf folks who'd love to adopt him, so a Deaf single woman in her 40's?  I'm pretty counted out. 


Of course, my mood plummeted.  


I hate being realistic.  

*******   A few minutes after I wrote this, I said to myself, "fuck this- I'm going to ask her anyway."   At least I want to say that I *tried*.   Yes that means I could experience worsening grief, but...  

You know..I have to try. 

Doomsdays

Hadn't much energy or motivation to write a post lately.  

Thanksgiving is coming less than a week.  Whee.....

Xmas is coming up in a month and so................   Whoo

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0360486/

It feels very much like the doomsday to me than the holidays.


Last November and December I had gone through tests (MRI, sonograms, ultrasounds, etc) with so thousand thoughts
 "Can I have children or not?"
 "They're so wrong." 
"What is it in my uterus that they don't know?"

So many questions, with fear of unknown what was on the horizon. So many answers with the knowledge that it was not going my way.

I tried to protect myself (and other folks) by telling folks that I was fine, and that if I can't have children, no big deal.

Now, the holidays, the doomsdays are coming, I had made a decision.

You see----

 Last year, I was empty on Christmas, just two days after the doctor told me there I cannot have children. I was a zombie sitting there on the couch, watching cousins laughing as their toddlers opening presents.  I slapped a joker smile on my face as I was told two days after I cannot have children, that I will be an aunt.
Just typing this, I have tears coming down my cheeks. It still hurts recalling the pain from the last holidays.  In the emptiness, I kept thinking "the doctor is wrong" while I stared at the little children cuddling in my cousin's arms, my heart breaking. They have to be wrong. Yet in the heart of the darkness, I knew it the truth.

I love my family, don't you get me wrong...  however, despite the many family relatives in the room, I felt....

alone.


All that emotions were nonexistent all because Christmas was only two days  since that I had seen the doctor.  I had no time to process all that during the holiday visit.  I was a puppet, all smiles, not wanting to spoil it for everyone else.

I chose to keep everyone else's illusions that everything is okay, while neglecting myself.


Now, this year, there is two babies, and one on the way.


I'll pass.  I'm going to protect myself.

At least, I have to work on the 26th, which gives me the excuse to stay away.



Perhaps, I'll be comfortably ready next year.

It's all lies

 Lately, I find myself in a bout of emotions, crashing and rolling like waves.     Lately, there have been times when I'd encounter so many photos of babies, baby announcements, even a photo of a dead baby in its coffin (who'd even think sharing THAT on Facebook?), and....

I throw in the towel.  

I see people share posts of loving their mothers, loving their children, being so grateful of being a mom, and I kept thinking, "is it me or are they doing that on purpose to rub it in?"  Several times I remind myself, they have the reason to be happy.

A part of me then snaps, "Then why can't I either be happy?"

 *sigh*  No way to go around that right now.  And I think what adds to the complication is that I'm not in a relationship, so I don't have someone, where I could let go and be told it's okay.  

I was getting to know someone.  He knew of my situation.  Yet I knew then he didn't 'get it' when he asked "what if I wanted children later on? What if I want to have kids? I don't want adoption but children of my blood."  and I looked at him and said, "that's something you have to think on."    

I knew it when later on when I heard nothing from him.  

It has been seven months since the hysterectomy.    The world has been moving on, while I find myself stuck.     I have said that I have been okay.    Things are good.    Things are going good.  I'm better.  

Guess what?  It's all lies.     I'm not okay.   I find myself hateful- angry- bitter- tearful- sad.  

I hate 'em.     I hate that they have babies and I don't.    I hate guys who think they can decide for us women.  I hate the cultural mentality that a woman is nothing without children.  I hate women who think everything can be fixed by having children.  "If I can't find a job,  might as well have a baby!"    "To save my marriage, I gotta be pregnant."  "Everyone else is pregnant, so if I am not pregnant, I'm a freak."    I hate 'em.  

I am angry that I didn't get a say in having children or not.  I am angry that everyone else around me is able to pop babies out, except me.   I am angry about the woman who had killed her unborn baby a week before its due date.  I am angry at the world for moving on.  I'm angry at idiots who feel women should keep their legs crossed, blaming the woman for rates of pregnancy when clinics providing birth control, one by one, are shut down in name of  "religion."   I am angry at people who want small government, yet is fine with the concept of having government in our bedrooms, even in our beds (or bathtub or car or on the beach.) I am angry that I am infertile.  

I am also bitter at ex friends who claimed they were friends, but when they found out I couldn't have children, they dropped me like a hot potato.  Such pals I had...  Bitter at folks who said they'll be there as they did a week after my surgery, and then they disappeared off the surface of the world, basically blocking me, not explaining- nothing.  At least I'm entitled to an explanation, wouldn't you think? Now I find them on another page under a different name (while a friend left a comment on my page), brown-nosing someone I knew.  They had fed on each other, being supportive of each other on the surface, yet being so hateful behind each other's back, being angry that one copied one other, "She got that idea from me, I'm sick of it!" and "Can't she be original, why does she copy me in everything?"  I could tell one other about what they had talked about each other behind each other's back, and me trying to stay neutral all through it, with ugly truths, but why should I open a can of worms?  I have enough on my own hands without dealing with their drama.  Beside if they could do that to someone (me) who trusted them during a vulnerable time, I wouldn't trust them again, as far as I could throw them.  Burned once, lesson learned.  

I am tearful here and there.   My eyes fill up with tears looking at a baby announcement I got in mail.  I wipe tears away as one new grandmother joyfully shares a photo of her holding her grandson. I reach for a tissue as I finish a movie 'Bride Wars' with such dismay, as two characters look at each other, "you're pregnant?" with excitement. I struggle not to cry as a co-worker talks with other about their babies.  Tears go down cheeks as I touch my hand on the monitor, aching to have my own baby, not even liking that photos of babies are found on Pinterest inadvertently. 

I am sorrow filled.  I grieve that so many things had happened horribly.  I am sad that some folks are dastard, that they would go low to hurt when someone is already low.  I am lying on bed, saddened that sometimes truth hurts, even leaving wounds behind.  

So..I'm better.     That has to be the biggest lie one has to live with in the world of infertility.  

The Yellow Brick Road

I'm taking a time out to spend time with family for the coming week(s) in the state where Dorothy Gale lived with her dog Toto.   

I love my family, thro sometimes it is a toss-up on when I'd find myself in favor by family here and there.   There is an ailing grandmother; she is in a nursing home, and is not doing great. In the past, Grandma and I could write forth and back, we had interesting conversations that way!  No longer, could that continue due to Grandma's becoming blind. I asked for an interpreter so we'd have a long good talk, me and Grandma, when I'm in town.   Well, one church interpreter said she'll do it.  I'm not too keen on church interpreters- it's not because of the church itself.  Church interpreters usually know signs according to the church preaching-  you'd not find them use general signs (such as airport, restaurant, politics, London, tea, etc). If the word is not in the Bible, then the interpreter wouldn't know the sign.  See the dilemma here?     When I stated that I'd prefer a certified interpreter, I was told that I should be grateful for what I got.   

........................    

I want to talk with my grandma, before she passes away, and if I could not really TALK with her because the interpreter is "rusty reading signs (American Sign Language)", I should be grateful?  

It is just like being grateful that I'm alive, that the fibroid along with the uterus removal was not cancerous. 

I should be grateful that I have friends that could "share" their children with me, so I could "vicariously" live through pregnancy or raising children.

I ought be grateful that I don't have to "worry" about hair-pulling drama of children, I'd not go red-eyed through the night like the friends who are biting their teeth over their kids learning to drive; seeing a school-aged kid riding a bike for the first time; or the pre-teen testing their independence. 

You know what?     I don't care anymore.  I'm tired of people presuming that I "should" be happy with this, or that, or the thing-  all because folks who saying all this, are attempting to make themselves feeling better.  Never mind, it only makes me feel worse.  

So I'll go.  I'll see grandma, and see the failure of communication between me and Grandma, due to the "church interpreter" that I should be grateful for.  I will come home with a bitter taste on my tongue, and with my heart breaking, knowing that I may not have another opportunity to converse  with Grandma.  

I know I am angry right now.    I had been passive, swallowing my pride, being grateful for whenever they'd find neighbor's cousin's boyfriend's sister who knows "a bit of sign language" for a relatives funeral, in the past.  I had groaned, rolling my eyes, and suggested two different interpreting services available in town, to be told "they are too expensive," NEVER MIND that I had offered to pay out of my pocket, at a family wedding.  

Reading the "Hearing privilege" article, I found one fitting for this: Hearing privilege is representing yourself.  Knowing your exact choice of words are used.  You do not have to wait for an interpreter.  You do not have to wonder if the interpreter will be skilled or qualified. (Exploring Hearing Privilege).   

And to add one other: Hearing privilege means that you can expect that all members of your family can and will communicate fluently in your first language. 

Not many folks understand- I have to fight for this almost everyday.  If not at work, then at the hospital.  If not at the hospital, then at the workshops at a convention.   

Sometimes I wonder if being childless also contributes, to the point when I'd try to find a connection, if not by deafness, then by children.    The Deaf community in town highly value children to the point, every Deaf women I had encountered, had children. Unspoken rule, but it's there- "No children, you're unseen."   Young Deaf women who hadn't yet have children, are poked at, "When will you get married? You're not getting any younger" and they are subtly regarded of  "as a freak" if not pregnant or not having children.  Once it is found that I don't have children, I'm not welcome in the deaf groups.  Very nice.   

I don't even WANT to know about what my family was thinking when they found that I had to have my hysterectomy, knowing there were many families out there that dread having their deaf adults becoming parents, in fear that their grandchildren could be deaf (never mind that deaf children born to deaf parents are at 5% compared to deaf children born to hearing parents (more than 90%.)  I truly don't want to know.  

You know, I'm tired.    

At least, somewhere on the yellow brick road, I hope not to find my heart broken.  The scarecrow can keep his brain- this is more a situation for emotional than intellectual.  The lion can retain his courage- I'm tired of being strong.  

And yes, I'm aware of the black cloud above my head lately, and that's why I'm going on a vacation- I hope to find labyrinths in town, to use my new camera to photograph vintage towns, and get together with friends that I hadn't seen since high school.  

Silence

I saw something on Facebook, which threw me off-balance.     I saw photos of my dead cousin.

You see, my cousin died a few days after his 27th birthday while I was in graduate school some years ago.   Due to a delicate timing (comprehensive examinations), I couldn't fly out there to attend the funeral, with family also encouraging me to stay in school.   Was easier for the family and easier for me as well for me not to go.

Since then, I had been wondering.   I know that my aunt had been aching badly after her son's death- to have a child die before the parent's time, that has to be the worst moment ever.  I know she have increased in keeping in touch with me since then....   

I admit, I wept but shortly when I was told the news. 

 It was only later on when there was a dance performance on campus, when they announced the performers would honor the soldiers afar, their mission, their willingness to fight, and to remember the ones who died-   watching the dance, I broke down.  I dashed to the bathroom, crying.  I wept talking with the professor who followed me.    I realized I hadn't processed the death.  

To this day,I hadn't yet visited his grave.  It has been four years since....   

I remember when he was a bald baby.  I remember when I held his hand when we walked through the family peach orchard when he was four.  I remember encouraging him as we tried to capture tadpoles in the flooded ditches on the family farm when he was eight.  

http://www.mexicanpictures.com/headingeast/snapshots/

Very chattering, he chased after other cousins, as I read my romances, me being in my twenties, annoyed at their attempts to distract me.  He and other cousins in their adolescences laughed as we lit the fireworks.  

We did not talk to each other once he hit his late adolescence- but for hugging or nodding at each other which had continued for a bit less than fifteen years.  It was not that we didn't like each other-  just that he didn't know what to say to me, and neither did I.  I knew sign language and he didn't, and I regret, that was an obstacle between us. 

I remember when he came back from his first tour from Afghanistan-  his laughing eyes no longer, but eyes black full of dark memories.    

I remember the last time I saw him,  he was very quiet.     He had been out of Marines for a long while, and I was relieved that he came out okay-   but he wasn't okay, after all.  

I remember when he came up to me during the holiday before, and asked if we could hang out-  I was surprised, yet not surprised.  I knew he was hurting.  My guts told me, he needed to be with someone who would not expect him to be strong.  What was surprising, was that he asked me.  What could I do to help him if we couldn't communicate?

So we went on a car ride.  On that road trip, a long drive-  he smoked-  now he knew I didn't like smoking, but I kept quiet- I knew he just needed company.     Just someone who'd be there yet not talking.

Silence deep, heartfelt.    The silence; it was fulfilling what he was searching within.   We returned back home, and he held me long. I could feel him sobbing in his chest, as I held him.   

He needed what was given, to be vulnerable, and to be loved for himself.  

When I found out how he died, I was not surprised.     I loved him and I forgave him.  

So, seeing photos on Facebook, that had not been shared at all until now, by a friend who hung out with the cousin, and now his brother, the older brother;  I found myself back on a remembrance flashback.  

I found myself smiling seeing the photo of him smiling and flipping the bird in one photo, yet my heart ached when seeing one other photo of him wearing an Marine service uniform, and one other photo, the face recognizable yet unrecognizable to me, of a stranger in his body.   

And I realize something.    I envy him.  He had no children, yet he will be always remembered.  He was just like James Dean or River Phoenix; their young lives cut short and abruptly.   Sudden, a child that died before the parent, which should not have happened.   Parents are supposed to go before the children, yet he died before his parents. His mom is still grieving;  so does his family.  I find myself hurting too.  Looking back to seeing him as a child, then teenager, and then an adult-  I cannot imagine losing a child after getting to know him.

We did not talk.  I did not get to know what he liked to do (except for fishing- that we had in common).  But I learned something on that day on the long road trip going nowhere-  He was tired of being strong.  

And so was I.     

And so am I now.   

I'm tired of being strong. I'm tired of "looking fine."  Not everything is fine, ladies.   By tomorrow, it would have been six months since the surgery, the execution of fertility; curtains down on my dreams for carrying a baby of mine.  

Unlike many of you readers,  I don't have a partner, spouse or someone to be my cheerleader, my booster, someone to keep my sanity, someone to help keep me going.  I don't have someone who'd poke his head in while I was showering, to ask, "you seen my keys?"  I don't have someone to remind me that there is other definitions of family, which does not have to include children.  I don't have someone to hold me in bed and whisper, "it's okay, I'm here."  I'm single, and being alone going through the thunderstorm-

you know what? 

It sucks.  And.  I'm.  Drained physically. Tired emotionally. Exhausted spiritually.  

This coming weekend and next week, I'm going down a thousand miles to see my family that I had not seen for more than a year.  

I will get to visit my cousin; his grave that I had never seen, way overdue for four years.  

I loved him.  Yet we didn't talk last time, and I don't expect us to talk during this visit. Mark will be there in spirit.

You know, in an odd way, I suspect he would have understood me, of all the family. And that's what I needed to know.  

Silence- where I could not be strong, to be one with my vulnerability.    

And to be there in the moment, to be mindful; body, mind and spirit.   

 To be me. 

The Unit

http://youngwidow26.wordpress.com/tag/quotes/

My mood just plummeted- *snap of fingers* just like that.    You see....

I was going downstairs to walk my dogs, as a neighbor and her husband was coming up.  The neighbor had a baby with her; I was confused since I hadn't seen her around with the baby before. So I politely went 'ahh' and 'ohh' over the baby, and asked her if she was babysitting. She went "oh no!" with a laugh. She wrote, We got her today, we adopted her!  Her name is Rachel.

I congratulated her and her husband, on their new baby.   I walked off, re-broken like Humpty Dumpty, but holding the shell all together until I could get in my safe place.  The dogs hurried doing their business and so we returned back home.

I couldn't cry. I couldn't throw things.  I couldn't even feel anything, but the numbness.

Gotta do something, so I returned to the book I had started this morning, "The Unit" by Ninni Holmqvist.
Easier for me to show you the video trailer for this book, than for me to give you the plot-

The bottom line is that childless women hitting their 50th birthday, (men their 60th birthday), with no family, no productive jobs are sent to a reserve bank for biological material; they have pleasant living, activities and hobbies that make them happy, but the bottom line, they are there to donate part of their bodies- and someday, they have to give their 'final donation.'

Reading it (actually for the second time, since I had originally read it when it first came out in 2008), I found the term "dispensable" over and over in the book- not having a family, not having a productive life/employment, and not needed in society, hence to pay off was to be dispensable (by biological material donations), I couldn't help but think, "To be childless, is to be dispensable."

I'm not going to finish this book.  I don't want to do anything but lay down on the loveseat and watch "the Beauty and the Beast", with a bag of chocolate kisses, and not think of anything for the rest of the day.

So I'm doing that.

One day in the year

Today is my birthday-  it's bittersweet for me here.  

  In Washington, D.C, I would have gone to the museum of Native American or American Art, going window shopping in Georgetown with some friends,then to go to a Vietnamese Miss Siagon restaurant, talking with the girls at Caribou Coffee 'til the closing time, and being out 'til the sunrise.

In New York City, I would be going  to the MET or the Cloisters to get our hit of generous art, and for lunch, to the Chinatown to eat at Royal Seafood (for Dim sum), and then walking the labyrinth barefoot in the Battery Park, at sunset, and finishing it at the Chocolate Room in Brooklyn at night.

From The Chocolate Room

In Denver, I could find myself at the Tattered Covers bookstore in the morning, go British by drinking tea and munching on cucumber sandwiches at Denver Tea Room, gather comic books/graphic novels from All in a Dream comic shop and walk down the street to the Chessman Park to read them in sunshine and discuss philosophy with friends in comics. Enjoying my favorite dish- homemade spaghetti and meatballs at Piccolo's.   Then we'd watch the sunset go down the mountains, at my favorite spot at the Cherry Creek Dam.  

There's a lot to do in many cities (like London, Chicago, San Diego, Houston, etc) that I know and loved.  I know what to do on my birthday for each location. There are friends that I'd find myself hanging out with. 

Not so here.  It's harder because close friends are away.  I'm terribly proud of one friend walking the Appalachian Trail- by end of July,she'd have finished the 2184 miles of the trail with her deaf-blind friend (who'd create a record of being the first deaf-blind individual walking the whole AT.)   Another friend is on her dream trip in Ireland.  A couple of friends are finishing up their thesis/dissections this summer (and defending their findings soon! Rah, Rah, you go girls!)   Ah, there's one other, but we had not been friends,(I think), beside she'd be busy with the baby coming soon next month, in which I didn't want to deal with any reminder of what I lost, on my birthday.

So I'm off to an all-day training today-the topic is on self-care (risk of burn-out and vicarious trauma). I can't help but find irony in it.  

Yup, I'm feeling sorry for myself today.