Forks on the river

 When one looks at the river on the map, you cannot help but observe that the rivers often have turns and forks. Rivers naturally do not go straight, and that is what we experience on our lives as well. 

The COVID-19 pandemic offered a new fork on the river I found myself on.  Nevertheless, there was a discovery that my introversion benefit greatly during the COVID-19 pandemic.  Staying home?  No biggie. Not having to socialize with people?  No problem! 

However, I found a hardship with not having family to rely on, with family living in other states.  The majority of friends live in other states as well.  So introversion had a buffed sense of social isolation, however not totally.  I found myself thinking of many ways to, let say, ease the severity of depression.  Often I found myself driving, with invasive thoughts, or I would be preparing a meal, with a thought, on how sharp the knife was.  

The only anchor was my Lola, the sweet pekingese dog.  Cuddling with her, taking her out for walks, and welcoming conversations outside with people who wanted to say hi to Lola.   

Lola had been there through my infertility journey, and again I found her steadfast during the pandemic. 

When the vet told me Lola had kidney disease in late 2022, with an estimate of up to a year to live, I started thinking how can I live without her?  How can I handle this new fork in my life?   

Loving Lola, tweaking her diet, and increasing dog socialization, Lola became  the center of my life. 

Unexpectedly, I was informed that a puppy had been born- I had asked for a puppy in 2019, but after several attempts, failed pregnancies and stillborn puppies, I forgot about being on the waiting list.  

An email showed up, with a photo of a puppy, eyes still closed, and so "here is your puppy!" from the breeder.   I started to feel guilty and angry, wondering how I could basically love this puppy when I am grieving for Lola, sitting next to me?  How could I deal with this budding fork?  The kayak is starting to wobble. 

I trusted my gut that told me to accept the puppy, and so I welcomed Remy into our  home in early 2023. Lola was already starting to lose weight, but with Remy's arrival, she somehow had gained weight.  They started to play, which was astonishing at that point, when Lola had been sleeping a lot back then, but now starting to act like a puppy herself.   

The vet said that kidney disease had stopped advancing, and stayed steady at stage 2. I started to feel hopeful that Lola could live longer.  The river became calm.  

Do you know that hope can be the most cruel invention ever?  

By April 2024, Lola had started showing symptoms of organ failure, I recognized it was time to let her go.  I brought Remy with us as I took Lola to the vet who had known her all her life, and so could respect the transition.  At that time, I looked back at the river of memories, and realized Lola had a full loving life, the best one could ever ask for.  And she was ready to let go, and I could not deny her.  

Lola was content to sleep on my lap, as she let go, and Remy rested his head on Lola's back as she passed away.   I realized Lola HAD stayed longer to make sure that Remy knows how to take care of me, as I take care of them.  Lola left her heart with me, and I will always miss her.  Remy will be there with me.  

Remy and I are exploring this new fork in our lives. Together.

Breathing

It has been two years since I last wrote in this blog. 

I have made peace with my infertility.  There is life beyond having children, and I have found it.  It's filling more than I could imagine.

Tears, rage and sorrow have strengthened me to see beyond the society expectations of seeing children as "fulfilling', 'motherhood as final answer' which is a lie.

Activism in reproductive justice and racial justice, in goal of improving the world for the next generations is fiercely fought with words, actions and conviction.   It can be scary in some situations, but the end results are worth the labor.  There is losses and wins, unfortunately losses outweighing the triumphs.  Each triumph keeps me going on, while losses remind me that there is a bigger world out there, compared to one individual. Small actions cause ripples.

    Infertility can be devastating, as we have experienced, but it is not the end of the world as I thought.   And that reminded me that I fought through so many storms , and this was a storm to go through, with beloved friends and family.  I am sorry that some people were hurt from my grief and anger, and that is something I am still working on. However I will not apologize, or ask for forgiveness.  Love is more than that, when one life goes into the washer and coming out a different life, to put on, noticing the wear of the piece, the tears, and the holes and tears mended.   That is life.

On that note, there is a likelihood that I will not continue writing after this.

Tho I cannot promise that it is the end for this blog.

Empty Bed

It has been 5 days since my furkid Hairy had passed away.   Swinging forth and back among the emotions, denial, shock, numbness, grief, and bargaining. Here I am sitting on the couch, seeing his empty bed from corner of my eye.   Now and then I find myself looking at his bed, expecting to see him snoozing among his creamy fur all  over him, and to see the bed empty, for a second, confusion, before realization he is gone. 

"It was only a dog."  Your dog may be just a dog to you, but Hairy was more to me.    He was one of my anchors.  After finding out that I was not meant to have biological children, my life was thrown into chaos, rage and grief.  And there he was, an anchor reminding me, that I do have children, just with fur and big hearts.  Lola and Hairy's presences held me to the world that I despairingly wanted to leave.  Cuddling with Hairy in my bed, feeling vibrations of his loud snoozing, his laid-back attitude, the comedy of him sitting there, analyzing me while I was trying to teach him to sit (would you believe it took me two years only to realize that he already knows how to sit, just with a different word taught to him before me, 'Down' instead of 'sit!'), being so polite that he would wait for me to catch up with him on walks.  Such a perfect gentleman, he was. 

I had an hunch something was wrong with him in October, and took him to the vet.  The vet wasn't sure, waffling between kidney or liver disease.  In Colorado, a specialist saw him, and the lab works were not clear either.  All they know was that he wasn't able to eat fully, and that he was not hungry.  What he would eat one day, chicken, he won't eat at next meal, then beef.   Even the raw diet did not help. 

He stayed with the vet for a week in December, in hope he would improve with their care.  He wasn't getting better, and  so then released into my care.  That night I found him sleeping right next to me, after sleeping in his bed for the last few months.  He was in pain, and so I knew it was time. It was time to let go of the anchor.  It was very hard.  My heart was breaking.

To  love him was to have it done in familiar environment, in his bed, among people that loved him.  The vet came to the house, honoring Hairy, as she administrated the shot stopping his heart.  Next time I see him, his ashes will be spread out in the sunflower field. 

The bed is still here, empty.   Lola looks at the bed from a distance.  She knows Hairy is not here.   She is staying close to me, reminding me "Mom, I'm here."  And with cuddling her, basking in her warmth and love, she is my furkid, my child.

I love you and miss you, Hairy.

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.

Perseverance

[This was written in 2015, a few weeks after the post that got that anonymous attack in comment to me.  Decided to publish it- don't see any reason on why I should not, anymore.]

Recently, I had noticed I had a comment waiting to be moderated.   

The hostile anonymous lurker had sent another comment, "test on"- apparently to see if the comment would go public right away.  Obviously not.  

What that tells me: 

1)  Testing to see if the comment would go through or not, still anonymous, that tells me she is a coward, seeing if she'd troll again.

2)  She is still lurking around.    To see if I am still writing.   

I had thought long and hard; there was two options:

  a)  writing less and watching what words I put down.  

  b) discontinuing the blog.

That made me brought to mind, one remarkable experience I had during graduate school.  I had written a post on another blog (on hiatus while I go through the CNBC experience), which opened a jar of worms among the Deaf community, even more on the campus.   I tossed out a challenge for Deaf folks to look inward to themselves: their being hypocrites about preaching Deafhood, yet discriminating against other Deaf folks.  A week later, a professor in my graduate program pulled me aside, asking to talk with me privately.    Before he opened his mouth, I knew what he was going to say- since many folks did not like what I said in the post.  The bottom line was that he asked me to desist writing; he was concerned about 'confidentiality' (never mind that I did not identify anyone in the general incident, and I got permission from the victim who experienced the discrimination before I wrote the post), and whether it is proper for me to be in graduate school.   Subtle threat, indeed.   

I stared at him in silence; I was shaking in my feet yet I told him, "I have the right to speech. I got permission from the victim, and this is a good time for healthy dialogue for us to discuss about Deafhood and what it means to us all, not just one group. I am sorry but I will not stop writing." 

He looked at me for a pause and then walked away.  

I knew I probably had blown my chance to stay in graduate school.  When they had evaluations later (in which they decide whether the student can stay for another year, or be asked to leave); I was told that I'll stay. 

Nevertheless, from that experience, I noticed I was very cautious writing posts in that blog.  I found myself double-checking and over-analyzing.  I experienced some anxiety attacks whenever I wrote a post.  It took a long while before I could write without feeling anyone is looking over my shoulder.

Now, with my blog struggling to live with CNBC blog-  guess what? 

You're not stopping me.    

I picked the third option- I am still writing.

 I owe myself, so many things, which includes experiencing my feelings, recognizing my thinking, and exploring my flaws.  I also have the right to grief, to anger, and to joy. I have the responsibility to accountability, to emotions, to empathy and to humanity to show that I hurt, and I laugh.  I have the duty to myself to write what feels right to me, and to put a spotlight on the less-understood topic of living after infertility/childlessness, even the part on reacting to news of pregnancy variable to individuals and unpredictability of emotional responses.  

I'd like to share a quote from the well-known and well-loved author,  Nicole Sparks:

"You can't live your life for other people. You've got to do what's right for you, even if it hurts some people you love."    (The Notebook)

In a way, the comment had sparked a recognition in me that I am not knocked down; and that I have strengths, both known and hidden, and I'm much  loved by friends and family.

So.... Thank you, lurker, for giving me that opportunity to find something I had overlooked about myself for a long while, forgotten but not anymore-

Perseverance.

And you're welcome.

Looks at all the fucks I give.

(October 2016)

I know that there has been a lot of gaps since the last post, but then again I figure there's not much readers left to read.

That's all right.

This laptop is about to roll and die anytime, in which I had brought back from death a few times. Went out to buy a new one, which is right next to this laptop- as I'm working on transferring information-  a lot of work, least to say.  Fun while going through blogs, websites, finding things I had forgotten about (like Twilight: When Darkness Begins, a favorite young adult book series I loved, and am still working on recollecting).

My dogs are still around; after years, I finally figured out what's the magic word for Hairy when it comes to the command "sit"....  'Sit" and sign "sit" isn't working-  it's "DOWN" that does the trick.    You could imagine the comical expression on my face when I gave up and exclaimed "Down!" and Hairy promptly sat!  All that months and years, only to find it's the word 'down' that works.  Well, better late than never!  :)

Had knee surgery, and so currently working on strengthening my knee with a lot of hiking.  Lola is lovin' all that- that is when we aren't getting poured on by rain- so much rain lately in the last two weeks!

I am an aunt again!   TWINS-  a nephew and niece who were born last November.  Was thrilled for my brother and sister-in-law at same time I knew I wasn't ready to meet the babies.   I thought I would feel a pang of guilt-  nope.    More an awareness that I am not really into babies, more and more I got to think about it.  More I stand aside to observe how there is this fanatic obsession about cute infant outfits, baby showers outcompeting others, showing off bumps and trading 'more-vomit-than-your-baby' stories, all that.

That drew me to realize that it was the society's drilling into us all that motherhood is prerequisite of us to be considered a significant citizen; that fertility is more important than intelligence and capability of individuals.

You know what?

Let's say I'm done with that.  

Spring into Summer

(Wrote this last May 2016.)

It has been raining for the last few days, colder than expected- one'd think we're starting into autumn, not summer.    Not wanting to get wet, one gotta think how to keep busy.  Lucky, as an introvert, there is a LOT of things one can do indoors, including books, hot tea, books, movies, books, cuddling with dogs, books, doing vlogs, and books.  Did I forget books?  Haha!   

I had stopped feeling obligated to follow Goodread goal of reading a certain number of books since I noticed that had put pressure on me, making it less enjoyable to read.  Now that I am reading, I find myself consuming more- go figure.  In the past I had enjoyed reading historical romances, science fiction, fantasy and graphic novels; the tastes have been shifting, I notice, to memoirs, feminism, reproductive justice and racial justice/cultural studies, and books on tiny houses.

In reading books or attending local workshops, I'm leaning toward intersectionality in goal of understanding my privileges, how I function in the system.  Would you imagine that as an infertile person, this is even so noticeable how the system values fertility and motherhood primarily over individualism and self-identity?   Baby showers.  Baby cards.  Maternal leaves. Number of children.  Getting away with having days off for children, compared to childfree folks being expected to give more time at work.  I mean, I could tell you how often I would come to work and end up working until 7pm or 8pm, while co-workers with kids get off at 3pm or 4pm.  They could leave earlier if the kid gets sick, but if I ask for a day off, I get the stink-eye.

Ironically enough, with them using up their vacation hours here and there, they could not get away for a week or two weeks, as I could.  As it is, by June, I'll have 80 vacation hours to use, so I just need to figure what I can do with the two weeks.  New York.  New Orleans.  Taos. Or even Greece.  Hmm! So, I guess there is a bright side to having plenty of vacation hours that are not wasted on children.

I had not thought of being childless for a long while, I confess.  It is because social justice issues demand attention here in local, including reproductive justice access and radical justice fights. Recently I had started working with police on how to interact with the Deaf community; the responses have been positive to the point that the workshop is becoming demanded by multiple branches of police here.  That and other social justice involvement have been my priorities lately.  And you know- that is where I feel needed, necessary in my role in the society, and one does not have to be a parent to get the feeling.

Even with that, I am still reminding myself that there are people who love me, and I like who I am nowadays.  If I fuck up, it's my problem.  If I accomplish something, it's my success.  And  to keep my expectations low- after all it was society that had taught us to have subconscious expectations of parenthood, and many of us had struggled with seeing ourselves as failures. We aren't failures. It's the society that is the failure, placing motherhood on the pedestal, punishing us if we don't achieve the SOCIETY's expectations.  Fuck that, pardon my language- fuck that.  

We do not have any obligations to anyone but ourselves.  Be who you are, and you're doing the best you can.