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.

Still Alive.

I had forgotten the password for this blogspot, and I wasn't in any hurry to restore that.

Have been very busy lately, with classes, volunteering, local activities and moderating three Facebook groups, on top of providing workshops here and there.

So yes, I'm still alive.

Will catch up with the bucket list for 2014, and some updates soon.

And yes, I survived the third anniversary two weeks ago-  on that day, it was finally snowing after months of no snow.  Instead of feeling the drowning grief of the first anniversary or emotional numbness of the second anniversary, I felt passive resignation.

Well, that's a step toward healing.

(artist unknown, if you know who, please let me know so I can credit) 

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.  

Life goes on.

This month had thrown a lot of cold water in my face repeatedly.

 A new medical condition.  Finance struggles.  A dying friend. 

The medical condition- I'm currently working on it.  I'll live.

Finance struggles- I'm currently working on it.  I'll survive.  

The dying friend?  Not so.  

I knew she was suffering in great pain, yet I was telling myself she'll recover.  She will be okay- just give it a bit more time.  

I was at work when I got the call to come to the hospital.  It took me three hours, and I was not familiar with the area of hospitals (why do some hospitals have to cluster together in one area?!). So I decided to park somewhere in an underground garage parking, thinking I'll find out where the right building is once I get to the first floor and ask.   I got on the elevator, and pressed the button for the first floor.  

The doors opened to a scene that I'd rather go without.

Labor & Delivery- registration.   

Pregnant women waiting to check in.

Definitely cold-water shock!    

I quickly left the floor as I could, but I was already reeling in shock.  I was outside, focusing on not railing at the world publicly.   I managed to find the right building (three buildings away).   Walking down the hallway, I found myself overwhelmed with rerunning the visual of the labor ward/floor over and over in my mind, while trying to remind myself "you're here for your friend. You're here for your friend."  

I couldn't think of my friend.  I got to the room, and opened the door- to see her lying in bed, looking really bad.  

It's like something *switched* in my mind, now fully attending to her, forgetting my own emotions.  

Standing next to her bed, seeing her unresponsive, struggling for the next breath, I knew then she was not going to recover.  

Talking with family relatives there, sharing stories and soft chuckles, hugs and tears, I knew then we are there for her, and for ourselves, to remind us death is nearby, a friend, and that life goes on. 

After hours, I leaned to kiss her cheek, not knowing if I would see her again before she passes away.  I returned to the first building, realizing I'll have to go to the lobby where the elevator would take me to the underground parking- the Labor & Delivery.    

I came in the lobby, standing still.   And I realized something.  

Life is everywhere, even being the other side of the coin, Death.   

I took a shaken breath, and went to the elevator, which opened before I could hit the button- to show a very pregnant woman and her husband. The woman smiled at me before passing me.  I went in the elevator, and went down, to my car all in silence.   Got behind the wheel and started driving the way home.  

Stayed up overnight to create a labyrinth painting, in which I named "The Fade."  Looking at it, I was reminded of something I had forgotten-  of the Hopi seeing the labyrinth as new life and reincarnation.  The Labyrinth being the womb itself, in which one comes in and out as new life, reborn.   So the seeing the pregnant women echoing something I yearn for, yet the dying friend reflecting something I had forgotten, in which she will still live in my memories, ever meeting me on my circular path  with remembrance.  

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.

Wrong thing to say.

I got together with someone that I hadn't seen for a long while over breakfast recently.  Dancing around the elephant in the room, I had to ask her something.  

"I noticed that you stopped talking with me after a few months after surgery- that was two years ago- and now you asked me to add you again on Facebook last summer.  What changed your mind?"

Yup, that's me,  straightforward.  To the point.  

She looked down and then said she didn't want to explain.

I said, "okay."  I was ready to drop it, and was munching on a piece of my omelet.  

She bursted out, "I can't handle your grief, you had been so sad so long time, you won't get better- I decided to give you six months before I gave up on you.  That's why I defriended you."  

Six...  months?    You can't handle it?  

Really, where is the directions that grief has to be limited to six months?  Where is it in instructions that my grief don't have to be about me, but about you?  

That comes to an article that I had read two months ago, and I feel the article is a must for everyone involved, not the nonmoms only, but their families and furthermore, their friends.  Here is the link-  How not to say the wrong thing

This would have lessened pain for everyone.    Less pain.  Less anger.  Less resentment. 

As it is, I know who to talk with, you dear friends and fellow IFers/CNBC bloggers.  It's pretty much safer to talk in this circle, if you think about it.  

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.

Sunshine Award

I was flabbergasted, pleasantly when I checked my email neglected for a few weeks- for a good reason if you had checked my last post.  Hope of  A Crack In Everything  had just nominated me for a Sunshine Award-   I hadn't anything like that before- it's always awesome having some folks sharing their appreciation with you, especially on this lonesome path which could easily knock folks down (when you think about it.)  This is a way to remind us readers (and writer) that we're NOT alone!   Thank you, Hope, for that!  :)

*A Sunshine Award is given to bloggers whose posts brighten your day.  The rules are:

1. Include the Sunshine Award icon in your post.
2. Link to the person who nominated you.
3. Answer 10 questions about yourself.
4. Nominate 10 bloggers to receive the award.
5. Link your nominees and let them know they've been nominated.

I am quite intrigued by Hope's questions!

1. Where do you feel the most at home (other than, you know, in your actual home)? 
  New Orleans.   No matter where I am, as long as it's New Orleans, I feel at home- in the French Quarters, looking through old books at a forgotten bookstore; sitting under the shadow of Spanish moss of an huge oak tree at the Audubon Zoo; or laughing among family at a local eats. And in two weeks, I'll be there!

2.  What song brings back good memories? Despite being deaf, I listened to music when I was a teenager, and so I just loved 'Thriller' by Michael Jackson.   (Yes, I know of his history, but damn, his songs are great!).  I dressed up as a zombie, and led a pack of kids through the dance at the Lake Drive school for Deaf one time- and even now I'd listen to that song and do some of the moves!

3. When did you know that you were ready to have children?    That would be 2009, when I realized I was about to become 40 in a year.  I started to do research, especially with the fact that I wasn't with anyone.

4. What's your next big (non-child-related) goal?  Do a 2-month road trip, hitting U.S. Route 66 and back roads.

5. What's one of your pet peeves?  Saying one thing, and then saying one other differently later on, which is hypocrisy.    Be honest, even if when you know it'd hurt me-  better NOW than later.

6.  What's one of your favorite keepsakes? Wooden spinning toy!  The paternal grandpa had it when he was a kid in late 1910's, and then he passed it to Dad- who then gave it to me.   I guess when my nephew is old enough, I'll pass it on to him.

7. Cats or dogs?  Dogs, hand down!   Dogs come greet you at the door, and insist sleeping with you, and you can even go to places with dogs!

8. If you could live in any other place or time, what would it be?  New Orleans in 1920's!  The history, the music, the passion, the food, Joie de vivre!  

9. If you had money to give away, who would receive it?  Schools in New Orleans.   They had lost so much during the Hurricane Katrina and the flooding.   Books, supplies, and after-school activities.

10. When was the last time you laughed really hard?  Last night!  Among awesome friends, over a possible road trip in the future to Chicago, including what to see, including  Hunkomania!  *giggle*

Answering those questions were pretty awesome. Thanks for the opportunity, Hope!

Now here are my nominees:

1. Amel at Serenity in Chaos
2. Nicole at Real Life & Thereafter
3. Michaela at A Single Journey
4. 1nonmom at Childless does NOT mean less
5. Mali at Not Kidding in NZ
6. Roni at AT Deaf-Blind Dream
7. Klara at The Next 15000 Days
8. Loribeth at The Road Less Travelled
9 (blank)
10 (blank)

(note:   Others that I love to read, are private blogs, so I'm leaving them alone.)

Here are my questions for you.

1.  Chocolate or Vanilla?
2.  What is one thing you would rid of,  from the world?
3. What is in your bucket list for the next year?
4. Where do you feel the most comfortable (outside of your home)?
5.  Movies, originated from books (i.e. The Help), or books, originated from movies (i.e. Cowboys and Aliens)?
6. If you could live anywhere (no limits), where would that be?
7.  If you win the lottery ($64 millions), what would be the three first items you would acquire, (or get done)?
8. What is one of your rants, that put you on the soapbox?
9. If you had one chance to a time machine that can only go ten years ago (2003), what would you do?
10. Done any jokes lately? Spill!

*Of course, it's all optional.  The main rule is no guilt!  We all have some intense things going on, so I'll understand if you don't have time right now, or if you pick just a few favorite questions to answer.  If you do participate, please post a comment that links to your answers and nominees, so that others can go check them out.

Stay mum or not.

I wrote this post six months ago- overlooked it it'til now.  Sorry about the delay.  

There was someone I have felt close to. She too dealt with infertility- the bottom line is that she said she had made peace with her infertility, not being able to be a mother; now she's in her early 60's. I have known her for more than fifteen years. I had looked up to her for many things, seeing her as a mentor for the religious path I have been on for over 20 years. Now on my childless path, I had looked up to her through the months going in and out of the hospitals, and when it struck me that I wouldn't be able to be a biological mother. I I still vividly remember when I was crying on phone, she said, "Go ahead and cry, cry it all out of your heart. Listen to me, don't obsess about it too long. Don't waste all your time on this. I got over it soon enough, and so will you." 

When I found myself still down 3 months after the hysterectomy, I started to think something was wrong. After 8 months, I was thinking "am I obsessing over it? Am I not letting it go?", drowning in self-guilt and self-doubt. It took reading blogs like Life Without Baby, The Road Less Travelled, Real Life & Thereafter, Serenity in Chaos, and books like "Silent Sorority" by Pamela Tsigdinos, "I'm Taking My Eggs and Going Home: How One Woman Dared to say No to Motherhood" by Lisa Manterfield, and "Unsung Lullabies: Understanding and Coping with Infertility" by Janet Jaff, Martha Diamond and David Diamond. There are more blogs and books that I could read, but to me, those blogs/books I listed are more significant- helping me realize that:

"Grief is not a straight path, it's a continual cycle, very much like a labyrinth with its countless turns and stripes short and long. Uphill, downhill, it's all that."

"Not everyone experiences infertility alike. No one walk the same path. Each person goes it her way, with individual coping, access to support, and courage on their own time."


That was the catharsis for me; I had to let go of my expectations and society's expectations on how I:

"should complete my grief,"
"should move on,"'
"should shut up, be quiet."

I have been an advocate for women power, Deaf community, HIV/AIDS education, awareness of child abuse, domestic violence, more, for long as I could remember. So, returning to advocacy, as a tool to help myself heal, while noticing how infertility, childlessness and childfree life are still overlooked and/or judged in society's eyes, I was thinking, Why not? This is something I can do. Empowering people and empowering me. I walk the walk, and I can say "have been there, done that- and I got this stinkin' T-shirt."

So in time, I would share a post or meme about infertility here and there on Facebook, occasionally...testing the waters.

Mostly, I'd get a few likes, two or three comments affirming or at least, asking how this happened to me and/or how they could help someone infertile in their family or among friends.  

I felt emboldened, to share some more posts, although I drew a line at 'oversharing' because even I don't want to focus on infertility alllll the time in my life. I keep a balance as possible, mostly advocating and supporting causes, (including fighting against domestic violence and oppressing women). I like to share positive memes, introvert memes and geek memes- What can I say? 

Anyway, there would be some dry weeks without a post about infertility, then 2-3 posts a week. I did notice when I would experience depression (trigger of pregnancy announcement, or a glimpse of a baby), I'd start looking at infertility and/or grief posts/articles to validate and comfort me, normalizing what I'm going through. From there I'd find a good article to share in goal of making the word infertility public; to share that infertility exists for someone in your life- if it's your sister, your cousin, your best friend, or your teacher. Or at least you know that you're not alone in this.

A day before Infertility awareness week, I was already 'down' due to a friend who had recently have her baby. I congratulated her about her son's birth and sent her a baby gift earlier that week. That's the best I could do, while hiding her (which I tend to do with friends/relatives- when they announce being pregnant, or going through pregnancy, I hide them. I say nothing. It's for my self preservation.) Anyway, looking forward to advocating awareness about infertility, I had already shared a article about how to be supportive to infertile friends earlier that week. That day, I noticed I had a private message from the dear friend. I was quite aghast of the horrid tone in the message, chewing me out for being open about my grief,, posting "8-10 posts about infertility DAILY", "taking up all her new feed with all negative posts", "it being a friggin' year of this." And right after that, she de-friended me.  

I was quite flabbergasted. I even had a friend check my page to see if I truly post infertile stuff "8-10 daily" as I said in one recent post; turned out that accusation wasn't true. I had to talk with a good friend who is also an IFer. More we talked about my response to the email, it drew upon me.

It wasn't about me. It was about the friend's own pain of her infertility.  

I tried to put myself in her shoes- back then there'd be not much support in 1980's. No support groups on Internet, or at least forums to talk it out. It would have been lonesome for her and other women back then. It might be presuming of me to say this, but it might be easier to sweep it under the rug, to pretend that it didn't hurt anymore. I could be wrong, although.

Me, I chose not to pretend that it was 'all fine'. After struggling thinking I should put a deadline on my grief, and learning I didn't have to. The journey is mine, not anyone else's.

I chose to face my grief, and I chose to be public about my childlessness/infertility- in goal of removing the sting of taboo, normalizing and shrinking sense of stigma from the word 'Infertility. More I speak up in advocating, more women (and men) have contacted me privately, thanking me for putting the spotlight on this issue. They are not ready to open their hurt to the world, yet they appreciate that they are not alone anymore.

So that led me to realize that the friend possibly experienced re-opening wounds of her infertility; maybe that she hadn't proceeded through her own grief. Hence, it's pretty easier for her to lash out at me outward, instead of looking inward of her own pain.

That furthermore led me to realize three things-

I had hid certain people who go through pregnancy, for self preservation.. Why couldn't she have hid me for her own preservation?

I moved some people to close friends or favorites, where I could see their posts while NOT seeing others' posts. Why couldn't she selected close friends in new feeds where she'd see their posts, not mine?

She could have de-friended me; well she did. After sending me that horrible email, that was. However, she could have done this all along before now then- why waiting a year and some to do so, doing it as a dramatic exit?

I don't know the reasoning behind this. I just wish she could have talked with me about her reactions, her perceptive about me sharing posts about the topic she is not comfortable with. The email's message was absolutely unnecessary. I feel sympathy for her, and what she had gone through; I also understand how she chose to face this devastating trauma. However, I am not definitely happy how she projected herself upon me, putting a deadline of grief/healing on me, and when I didn't, she chose to think that something was wrong with me. She forgot, I'm NOT who she is.

How I address my grief, how I choose to draw strength from advocacy and helping people, refusing to 'sweep under the rug', that is certainly not wrong for me.

That's the difference between her and me.

http://cdn.ebaumsworld.com/thumbs/video/1990574/82280914.jpg

Love relatives, but they can be hazardous.

Back from the family visit.   The celebration of Grandma H's 95th birthday was awesome, especially with reuniting with some relatives that I hadn't seen in more than a decade (or two).  It's always comforting to be with family...a joy to reunite with brothers and dad, yet it's bittersweet, seeing cousins bending over to talk with their little girls, or throwing balls with their boys.   My emotions were plummeting, then going up- pretty much an emotional roller coaster.

http://pandawhale.com/post/11983/roller-coaster-pov-gifs

It was also significant that I met my toddler nephew for the first time.  I was anxious, staring at him wondering when I could touch him without me shattering.   My SIL was sweet yet aware, so she didn't push him toward me. We did it in small steps, such as me sitting next to him, then me touching his hands- you get the idea.  Gradually, it was pretty much as walking into the cool water, getting body adjusted to the temperature, you know?  In time, I was able to hold him but not long.  He isn't the type to cuddle, and at this time, I'm all right with that.  It was humble to find that I already love him at sight, and I do look forward to see him again.  SIL and I are talking about doing that again in a few months.


I was pleasantly surprised about numerous relatives being supportive, not pushing for me to socialize with children until I was ready. After a few hours, I was able to talk with some cousins' children, especially one pretty much a clone of me-  a book-lover, geek, liking math and science.  Imagine a 11 years old girl and a woman in her 40's chatting about graphic novels and pre-teen books (such as Harry Potter- we both found we absolutely LOVE Hermione Granger!)  One relative even brought up adoption fundraising- I was touched that she has some awareness how this option can be challenging in terms of finances.    I admitted to her that I have been thinking about that.

In all, the family visit was much better than I expected when it came to my emotions. I didn't break down. I didn't cry.  I didn't hide in the bathroom (well, I did hide in public in a way.) I didn't avoid the pregnant relatives.

That's a good step, in my opinion.


It was two days later, when it was time for me to fly home.  The flight was in the afternoon, so  I stopped by to see my other grandma (with dementia) in the morning. I wanted to grab some more time with her, she was becoming very fragile. It was when I was about to hug her, when she patted my stomach and said "you're pregnant?"

A crack in the shield.  That moment, I knew I was going to lose it.  I tightened up my shields and smiled, while telling her no I wasn't, that I was plump.    Then the aunt wanted to stop by a store to get something, on way to the airport, so I went along with her. 

When I realized where she was going, I was thinking, "you're kidding me or what?"   Nope, she was going to the baby section, the least place I needed to go, especially now.  I called out I was going to the restroom, instead. I waited for her outside.  

So, when the layover was in Chicago, there was two hours before the flight back into town.  I gave myself something I deserved for not losing it all, like crying on the floor.  

Got an Upside-down pineapple drink, finding a corner to myself, and started reading my new book, "Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that can't stop talking." 

Why I blog?

I had been thinking about the context of Lessons I learned from Seven Years of blogging, of how to make the blog my own, to define it- for some folks that's short quotes. Some other folks like writing focusing on their families or the infertility journey. It depends on each person's purpose behind blogging,  what she's okay with sharing and what not to share- it's all her own journey-  think it pretty much- walking on a path, with a journal open and a pen.

Some folks had asked me why there are visual cues in my blog- many of my posts include memes, gifs (brief videos at 2-3 seconds), and describing of background information.  There would be a lot of analogues and metaphors- pretty much my "special effects" tools.  

The simple answer is:  I'm Deaf. 


Being Deaf, that means I identify myself as culturally Deaf.  What does that mean?  That means we see deafness as a difference in human experience, not a disability.    After all, think this way- you fly to Malaysia, do you truly expect everyone to speak English?  Their language is Malaysian.  Hence you speaking English in the country of Malaysia- is that a disability?  No, it's just a different language. That's what it is for us, culturally Deaf.  We have a language, culture, norms, traditions and history- (and more)...  The key word here is  Visual, vision, perception, using our sense of seeing. Okay that's more than one key words!  We use our own eyes and hands for communication, although not limited to sign language only.  English is pretty much our second language, through texting, emailing, writing, reading. Some of us can speak. I could speak, but not much.  Often, folks would ask whether we can read and write. Seriously, yes, I had been complimented on how well I write for a deaf person; I had been praised for the ability to read. All that, and encountering questions/comments, such as "I didn't know you're deaf. You type so well" or "You're kidding, right? I never knew you were deaf! You write so good!" (when I disclosed I was deaf, in chat rooms, online forums, groups, after weeks or months).  There's a good article addressing that, as presented in this link: Ridiculist/Deaf people can't read or write. .

Due to us being visual, there's a love for visual sensations and stimulation.  We can write a story in air, just with hands.  We can dance and sing, with our bodies, facial expressions and hands as shared in this youtube video- created by Sean Forbes, a deaf hip-hop artist. 

Let's Mambo by Sean Forbes, with Marlee Martin

A number of Deaf bloggers use vlogs (video-blogs) instead of writing in a blog.  Why?  Their natural language is American Sign Language, not English. With permission from Michelle, I got to share one of her vlogs to show what a vlog by a deaf blogger would look like, to share information as we, writers, do in our own blogs.   There's no captions here, but that's what it is-  in her natural language.  In this one, she was addressing women's right to reproductive health. 

With permission from Michelle P. 

 To be clear, not everyone are limited to vlogs. I'd say fairly that there's an even number of vloggers and bloggers in the Deaf community.  Personally, I prefer blogging over vlogging, for many reasons- I'll share two reasons.  I grew up reading and writing in English, speaking English before learning SEE (a system of manual language to teach English with exact representative in sign), and I did not get to learn American Sign Language until in my 20's.  Despite exposure to ASL for more than fifteen years, I still struggle with certain words.  Don't get me wrong- I can converse just fine with an individual; it is when there's an audience/watchers, I 'trip over' words, switching between SEE, ASL and gestures.  The introvert in me, I guess- not liking to know folks are watching me on vlogs. 

WHY do I write?  I am deaf and infertile.  Mostly you'll see deaf bloggers/vloggers, and you'll see infertile bloggers (are there infertile vloggers?  Just checked, Yup!).  But are there deaf and infertile writers?  Due to the Deaf community being a small community, privacy is out the window.  I like to use this example which perfectly describes how small yet close community can be.  I disclosed to a friend that I love hunting ghosts.  Just in 24 hours, from that person, many folks know I like ghost hunting.   Kewl....  I even had some clients say "I hear you like ghosts..." Yup, that's the deaf infamous grapevine.  My point here is, due to infertility being viewed as 'something not to talk about- TABOO', it's hard enough to be singled out in the Deaf community, without including physical or mental disabilities.   Many had fought to show that they are not failures as society projected them to be, so adding a diagnosis, that's pretty much a scarlet letter 'A' for affliction.  

So that lead many of us to 'hide' additional disabilities/illness.   So I decided to speak up, to put a public face upon a deaf individual, to show that you (Deaf/hard of hearing) are not alone on the infertility journey (be it through experiencing IVF treatments, struggling with adoption, or adjusting to childless life). There's limited access to resources, due to the community's different language/accomdations, but hey, that's another post (my list of posts-to-be-written is getting longer).  And so that is the same with many websites/ resource blogs out there, but hey, we have to put out the first step.  I hope with me speaking up, I had started the step reducing sense of stigma of infertility in this community, whose hands draw stories in the air. 

After all, if not me, who will?  

(photo taken at Underground railroad Freedom Center, 2013)

Once upon a time.

I am not much a television watcher, did you know that?     At most, I'd have one or two TV shows to watch (i.e Ghost hunters and Walking Dead), and if I miss an episode or two, that's not a big deal for me.   So when some friends found that I love 'Fables', a comic book series about fairy tale characters who found themselves stuck in the real world (Earth) among us, I was told that I should watch "Once (upon a time)" TV series. The TV series is similar to Fables in characters, but the difference is Fables were chased to this world from the dictator who took over many worlds, destroying all magic but his own, while in Once upon a time, it was a curse upon the characters by the evil queen, who wanted her happiness above everyone else. There was only one who escaped that curse, Emma Swan, a daughter born to Snow White and her prince Charming, now an adult. She was placed in the real world, as a baby before the curse took over. However, she does not believe in magic, yet she's the heroine expected to rescue the characters out of the 'real life' back to their story-tale world.  Anyway.... I started to watch the series.

And I got hooked.   

I love the plot, the characters, Snow White (Mary Margaret), Red Riding Hood (Red), Prince Charming (David), Jiminy (Archie), etc,  the real world echoing the story tale in many ways like Archie/Jiminy being a psychologist (if one gets to think about it, Jiminy was certainly a counselor to Pinocchio in the story!) and who knew Rumplestiltskin can be both ugly and hot at same time?!  

Rumplestiltskin (Once upon a time)

And I think I'm in love with the main character, Emma Swan. Her ten years old son, whom she had given up as a baby, had found her in Boston and asked her to save him and the people in Storybrooke (can anyone see the pun there?!). Turns out his adoptive mother is the evil queen, now the mayor of the town.  Emma decided to stay in town, to get to know her son and figure what is going on in the 'strange' town.   Why I like her?   She's very strong-   she was shaken to find out her son found her, yet she decided to stay among strangers.  Some folks try to change her, manipulate her, try to destroy her, just because she's 'different.'  And in one episode I saw (and managed to find a gif of it), it just nails it all for me.     

Emma Swan (Once upon a time)

On the infertility journey, I found that people have expected me to stay who I was, to stay 'exactly the same' as one remembered, as if the journey never happened.     It does not mean for the worse. It means there are lessons on the journey that will change one, and that's something we can't lie about.  One can choose to come out stronger, as Emma did, to stick out and say "Hey, I decide for myself, not you."  

Igor and Igor

From "Young Frankenstein" (1974), there is this scene, one of my favorites in which I'd like to share with you- the first meeting between Igor and Dr. Frankenstein. 

Igor: Dr Frankenstein....

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: "Fronkensteen."

Igor: You're putting me on. 

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: No, it's pronounced "Fronkensteen."

Igor: Do you also say "Froaderick"?

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: "No... "Frederick." 

Igor: Well, why isn't it "Froaderick Fronkensteen"?

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: It isn't; it's "Frederick Fronkensteen." 

Igor: I see.

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: You must be Igor. (pronouncing it 'ee-gor')

Igor: No, it's pronounced "eye-gor."

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: But they told me it was "ee-gor."

Igor: Well, they were wrong, aren't they?

Going in and out of the doctors' offices in late 2011, to determine what was going on in my uterus, with the noticeable bump that could pass for a 4-month pregnancy, there were many ways I could cope with this, in trying to get some control of something that was wildly getting out of control.  

I have a morbid sense of humor, I admit, and that's what I did.  

Remembering the movie, especially this scene- "What hump?", I started to call the bump "Igor."

Don't get me wrong, I knew it wasn't a baby.  I needed desperately to add humor to an already bleak situation.   

While talking with friends, I'd refer the bump as "Igor."  I didn't want to think about the bump as a tumor, a cyst, or even cancer, but of an annoying pest, yet right there when you think he's not there. 

"You know how in that movie, Igor said his name is pronounced "eye-gor?"

"Yeah I remember that." 

"Well, THIS Igor, it is pronounced "Ee-gore.  They are gonna be twins, kinda.  Ugly, pesky but a relief when out of sight."  

Silent with a stare   

Yup, how sicky my humor could go!  

                        ************************************************

Before going under on the day of the hysterectomy, I stared at the doctor, telling her-  "I want pictures of Igor."  She looked perplexed. Before, I sunk into the darkness, the interpreter (who is also a friend) explained what Igor was.  

So, when I saw the doctor the day after the surgery, she reassured me that there were photographs taken of the fibroid. She then described the size of the fibroid,  that was removed along with the uterus. She explained  about many blood vessels she found attached to the tumor.  The size and numbers of blood vessels surprised the doctor, especially with it complicating the surgery, on top of finding out that one ovary was wrapped up by a fibroid, which was not noticed on either ultrasounds or MRI. It was removed, too. I recalled nodding in numbness at the information sinking into me, one ovary less, which led me to forget about Igor.   

It was a week and so after surgery, when I got a email from an address that was not familiar to me.  I was hesitant but I went ahead when I noticed the company in the end- name of the hospital where I had the surgery. After downloading two photos, I then opened the first one- not sure about what to expect.  At first, I wasn't sure what I was looking at- it was all red, pink and bumps- kinda like a brain. It was then I realized the photo was zoomed up over 100%, so I was looking at one part of the picture.  So I zoomed down, so I'd see the whole photo.

I stared fixed at what I was seeing, and then I realized...this was Igor.  

I was mesmerized with what I was seeing.  "So that's you, that f**ker."  

Ravager of my uterus. Baby dream-destroyer.  Cause of all the fear and the anxiety.   Childless not by choice, end of being a biological mother.  

And not even one hint of cancer, as they tested in the labs.  (and that's a post in the future.) 

For the next few weeks, in the dark of night, I'd creep to the laptop and open the photos, feeling if I should be busted like the husband in the Farm State commercial, where his wife grabbed the phone and said "who is this?" 

I decided to deal with that by creating a meme, only to me, putting totogether the Igor from Young Frankstein and the fibroid- and from there, I found I didn't need to look at the photos/meme anymore.  So it was a validation that it all happened, and you know..I'm okay with that. 

Oh for the meme?  I'm keeping it for myself, to remind myself sometimes humor is needed for survival.   

My house.

You came in the house.   You looked around, noticing the placement of furniture.  The decorations.   The curtains.  The lights.  The texture of the walls, and the floor.  you went, "Hmm."

You immediately imagined how you'd change this chair from the window to a corner- "it would look better that way."

You gave in and moved a little statue from a side table to the mantle.   Emboldened, you relocated a plant from the corner of mantle to a corner where the window is.

You got yourself hooked- you moved the stuff to another room, to paint the walls in a color you like, "that's who I am."  You replaced the carpet, for something that is more to your taste.

You then found yourself moving around the furniture-  the sofa, now upholestered in a fabric you prefer, is now in the center, not against a wall anymore, "to make it two rooms."  The armchair that was resting in one corner is now at one side of the sofa.   You replaced the shades of the lamps for something you like, "the shades looked so old, time to bring in new!"

You went through the books, tossing out books that made you go "eww" "nasty", and then re-organized the books you determined worthy to keep, alphabetically.

You replaced the art on the wall, that defines you.


Can you see the problem here?

You just changed MY house, into something that YOU like, to define YOU, never mind that it's MY house.
The house, who is an echo of who I am, my personality- and you attempted to change all that to match YOU, to make you feel comfortable, to match your expectations.


That's the problem- 
You tell me how to get better; you're just moving MY sofa to one other side of the room. 
You proclaim to me on what to do with my health; you're re-organizing MY books. 
You give unasked advice about how I "should" handle my grief; you're upholestering MY favorite armchair.
You, uninvited, try to fix the issue that I live with; you're putting artwork on MY walls, pretty much a band-aid.
You get frustrated or angry about how I deal with my own mental/emotional health, on my own time; you're replacing MY carpet for a rug you prefer.
And you declare your displeasure about my journey; you're painting MY walls in your favorite color.

You're trying to change me into someone you think I should be, when it's NOT who I am.   At first I was going to say "I'm sorry for disappointing you, not meeting your expectations," when I realized no... it's YOU who should apologize for trying to change me into someone I am not. 

Would anyone wonder why I'd toss you out the door if you tried to change my house?


******* This post is for us who go through the infertility journey, dealing with good-intended yet hurtful advice, and judgmental comments.  Can also apply for individuals living with chronic illness, grief, trauma, mental illness, domestic violence, recovery, etc.*******

Little boy, big giant.

Almost a year ago, I wrote a post "Small step, big step?" which was about a friend who had a baby, had reassured me to take my time, before I'd feel ready to hold her baby.  I felt both excited and apprehensive at that time.

It's almost a year now.

I hadn't held her baby yet, who is now a 1 year old cheeky toddler.

Now I could look at photos of him.   I find myself smiling when the friend share a story or two of her children, here and there.


But the idea of meeting him....

I'm afraid.


What exactly am I afraid of?


That I'd break down and cry, front of her and her family;

That I'd have to look the friend in the eye the next day, and resent her for being a mother;

That once I hold the child, I'd feel nothing.  Or everything;

Or that I'd find myself back in the cycle of doubting myself, re-examining my life, and trying again in acquiring  a child, knowing I'd go through the frustration and confusion, not knowing what would be the outcome, but likely the familiar taste of grief all over again.

Just a friggin' 1 years old toddler, yet to me, he's Galactus.

http://www.fightersgeneration.com/characters4/galactus.html

P.S. My geekiness  sneaks up here and there.

Try to lead a herd of cats? Try 11 teenagers!

Attempting to discuss on helicopter vs. authoritative parenting, I was challenged about having the ability to parent or not;

"You mean, since I don't have children, I don't know what it's to be a parent?"

"Well, that's not what I mean... you don't have children, you know?"

"I took care of many children, including my cousins, that meant  babies to adolescents. I have three godchildren.  Have you EVER taken care of 11 teenagers under your roof for 6 weeks? Especially them being all girls...  have you?"

"Eleven girls- how did you do that?"

"With a sense of humor; a routine for chores; clear rules with enforcing responsibility for actions; listening and empathy; not taking B.S; and also to know that I'm not perfect, but I did my best. Even the kids knew that and appreciated that."

A pause, then "I guess you do know how to parent."  

Nice to know I get approval to parent... (sarcasm) 

(Note: I was a summer counselor. Two other counselors, who were teamed with me, were too busy with their summer flings and gossip, leaving me alone with the teenagers in a range of age 13 to 16. Including two kids that had a history of being kicked out in past years- but they managed to complete the stay with me. All sharing a cabin with two toilets, even so. Gotta love Camp Endeavor in FL!) 

Facebook landmines

A dear friend had shared this article: When Facebook suck! on my page- and I'm touched that she had thought of my situation, since she knows I had repeatedly hid some people on Facebook.  

After reading the article, I'm telling you- if I was that good in writing, that's exactly what I would have written sometime ago! Although, I admit I do hide certain people who is pregnant or over-sharing of their children on their posts (or restricting number on new feed). I know how much some parents love their children, but must they talk about their kids every 10 minutes on Facebook?! Or over-share 20-50 photos daily of what their kids do?
"His first accident-heeheh"
"see how she's so cute sleeping with her Barbie!"
"His first car!" (with 11 photos, taking all angles of the car, no less.)  

You get the idea... I had to hide or de-friend one or two last year before/after the hysterectomy surgery for my own self-preservation (fortunately, one understood, the other didn't, unfortunately). I do understand that some parents find joy in sharing info of their children, although a hundred-thousand photos in a month? Don't you think that's a tad too much? I admit occasionally I feel a concern about one's intentions (even good ones) for sharing photos with friends, friends of friends, or even to public. After all, have anyone truly considered that one might use your photos of children for their own profit/purposes that may not be...nice? Last fall, a friend came crying to me, being very upset, that one of her Facebook photos of her child daughter had been "stolen," and it had gone viral as a meme.

I do share info about infertility now and then- but not often..since I don't want folks to feel like they're 'walking on eggs' if you get my meaning. I was flabbergasted when someone, I thought, as a good friend, claimed that I share posts about infertility "8-10 times daily, woe is me." I had to check my feed to see if that's true biz, of me over-sharing. I even asked a friend who is quite objective, without explaining why I wanted her to do so, to check numbers and what I share in a week, in the last three weeks. Love her, but she reported, literally "17 Star Wars memes, 8 Johnny Depp memes, 6 tiny house posts, 21 positive/feel good quotes, 3 infertility posts, one infertility meme, countless geek crap (hmmmm, I take that she doesn't like geek stuff, huh?) and...." I told her that's enough. Well, even *I* would get sick of myself if I do that much as that person claimed! The purpose behind my sharing is to help increase awareness for infertility. After all, according to the U.S. census 2008, there's a finding: slightly less than 50% of women (18 years old to 44 years old) are child-less (by choice, or circumstance). One in five encounters infertility (and I know I'm preaching to the choir here..) 

Back to the point, The friend shared the article to show support, and that's significant. What's wrong with wanting to share information, or to be an ally? It's all the same, as in the idea for cancer awareness or MS support or education to watch out for symptoms of depression.

And in long run, advocacy for awareness of infertility helps me heal as well. Face to face, being public and being supportive of each other (my tribe), instead of sweeping it all under the rug, hence leaving it to fester and increasing risk for relapsing to bitterness, avoiding emotions, pretending it all didn't happen- that's not healthy for me.

I chose this path, of being a public face for infertility, childlessness not by choice, and for deaf women who may or are already on the path that put them without children to raise. To give hope, and to reassure that they are not alone. By sharing my story, and by posting articles and quotes now and then on Facebook, I'm saying, "I may be down sometimes, but I'm not out."


That's all I can do.... I refuse to stay in bed forever, I refuse to pretend that it didn't happen. I refuse to put a deadline on the grief as some folks think it should be within 1 month to six months- grief is NOT a straight path.....there's good and bad days, there's some moments it's okay to cry, and there's times it's okay to laugh. There's times to step on the soapbox and speak up, and there's times to sit with friends, debating Star Trek vs. Star Wars. And that's why it's important to acknowledge that sometimes Facebook has its plus and cons, when one is infertile. One has to practice self preservation, and that's on you. To walk away, or to take a hiatus from Facebook, or to hide people. Don't chew people out if you're hurting- they have as much right as you to share what they want to post. Just hide them if you're not comfortable. I could go on and on about this since this just happened to me, but that's a post for another day. 

And oh yeah, referring to that article I read today, it's okay to be THAT woman sometimes.