In a little less than five months, I will be 30. The big 3-0. Honestly, I'm not too upset about it. While the first few years of the decade were wonderful, my 20's have been wrought with struggle and heartache. Thankfully, I still look younger than my age, and I'm doing well heart-health wise, but the one significant thing that brings about little bouts of panic if I stop to really think about it is the fact that I'll be 30 and still not a mom. I'll be 30 with crappy ovaries. I'll be 30 with IVF looming in my future and as more time goes by, I'm not sure if that's the route we're willing (or even able) to take.
I'll be 30 and no closer to having a child than I was at 24.
As many of you know, we decided to take a baby-making break after our final failed IUI last May. It wasn't all that hard to arrive at that conclusion. In addition to being completely wiped out emotionally and struggling with an immense sense of hopelessness, we were getting ready to move across the country and were financially strapped, to say the least. We just didn't have "it" in us anymore. For the time being, the uphill battle had won. Although it hurt, taking a step back felt like the right thing to do. And now that I can look back and reflect on the past year, I can say with absolute certainty that it truly WAS the right path to take. We have taken the year to heal, to refocus and reconnect. It has been so therapeutic and so necessary. But, we are still financially in the same place we were last year. Jason is still in school and I'm the only one working. Additionally, we are not certain we are done healing, and that's okay. The one surprise: we've now discovered that we're quite ambivalent about our next step, when the time comes.
When we were told last May, for the second time by a second doctor, that we would most likely need to bury our hopes of an IUI yielding successful results and move on to IVF, we kind of accepted it the best way we knew how. We were so tired, nearly shell shocked by the whole thing, and I think we just kind of mentally conceded and thought, "Okay, that's next...but not yet. Not now." But now we wonder if it's the best thing. The idea of taking that much medication, especially with my heart health concerns being ever at the forefront of our minds, just to attempt to get pregnant, is quite frightening to both of us. I am incredibly sensitive to hormones. I have heart palpitations when I have my period. I have been told that it is likely that should I achieve pregnancy, I would battle arrhythmias the entire time, perhaps even need to be on medication to combat them. Since we lost our one and only pregnancy at 6wks, it was really too soon to tell how my heart would handle the stress of a full term experience. And of course there is the cost. We won't be able to afford even one IVF attempt for years. Meanwhile, my ovaries aren't any younger or less cyst-covered and our want for an addition to our family will not have changed. If anything, since so much time will have passed since beginning this journey, it will have reached full throttle...my biological clock ticking very loudly indeed.
The bottom line? We're just plain scared. We don't want to go through what we went through before, we don't want to get sucked up in the throes of trying, and don't want to risk losing ourselves again to the war of infertility. Therefore, we find ourselves between a rock and a hard place: on one hand, we want children and can't imagine a life without them. On the other hand, we are afraid of walking that path again.
Some people may read this and think, "Why don't you just adopt if you can't have biological children?" Because, dear friends, adoption comes with its own set of ups and downs. It is a long and arduous road, just like trying to have a biological child if you are infertile. There are disappointments, there are frustrations, and there are requirements, some of which we do not yet meet, namely a home of our own and acceptable income. And even once you have "passed inspection" there is the wait to be placed with a child, which can sometimes take years. So the adoption option is still a good ways off, just like the IVF option.
And I'm turning 30 in less than five months.
More and more, I am finding that I am not so much angry at our situation as flummoxed. "How did we get here?" has largely replaced "I am so angry we are here," which in truth is quite the improvement. I remember being 24 and having so much hope. I could clearly see the face of our child and the lives we would lead together as a family. Now, that face has faded until it's nearly gone. But happily, instead of feeling mostly despair, I feel a sense of impatience and uncertainty, which is certainly a step up from all-encompassing hopelessness, anger and resentment.
I don't think about all of this every day. Actually, on the whole, I don't really give it much thought in comparison to how much it used to dominate my brain, which is such a change from where I was last year at this time. It feels good to have a mind mainly free of infertility woes. I sleep better at night and I'm working on letting go of things and thoughts I cannot control and which serve no other purpose but to upset, infuriate and worry me.
We have to believe that one day we will be blessed with a child. Someday, our little family of two will grow by two baby feet and it will be the answer to so many prayers. Whether biological or adopted, it will be ours and it will be so very loved. Until then, we have a lot to consider and a lot of money to save. Thank you for supporting us along our journey, even in this 'tweener phase. It means so much!
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
We Are Who We Are -- Musings On Growth and Change
I originally posted this on my other blog, the one that is open to the public to read. Because of the audience, I left out all allusions to our infertility journey/struggles. I did, however, say this: "It
took a long time and it was a difficult journey (filled with a lot of
unforeseen challenges both related and unrelated to my heart surgery),
but I realized that I had to rebuild." In the context of this space, you all know what those "unforeseen challenges" included. I am who I am today in large part because of what I've been through, but I don't want to BECOME those struggles. I don't want them to define me. Not anymore. I've come to realize that I am also who I've begun rebuilding myself into. I know all of you can, in some way, relate and empathize with my words. This journey changes us, for better or for worse, and who we are at the end of this road may not be who we intended to become, or who we thought we'd be. We may not recognize ourselves. But that doesn't mean we're lost - we just have to find ourselves again, rebuild ourselves brick by brick, until we're strong again, until we can look in the mirror and say, "Oh yes, there you are."
*******************************************
"Don't let your struggle become your identity."
I saw the above quote on Pinterest today and it really stuck with me. So much so that I decided to explore it with a blog post. I've struggled with this very thing for years and although it's oftentimes much easier said than done, I would love to get to that point. The point of "I am what I choose to become, not what has happened to me." (Thank you, Carl Jung). How does one go about riding that fine line of not forgetting what's happened but rather actively choosing to allow your hardships to make you stronger while not becoming all that you are?
I know so many people who have endured and survived some very hard things: medical setbacks, the loss of loved ones, financial ruin, etc. As one can imagine, these events are life altering and sometimes, you find that you're not quite the same on the other side. How do you go about rectifying the "new you" with the "old you?" How do you remain true to yourself and the changes you've undergone while somehow managing to hold on to portions of who you used to be, the attributes you don't want to lose? How do you accept who you are now, and what happens if who you are now isn't who some people in your life want you to be?
I talk about my heart a lot. I talk about it because my heart surgery was a defining moment in my life. I talk about it because I want to spread heart disease awareness. I talk about it because my talking about it serves as a way for me to process what I've been through -- because who I am now isn't who I was before October 29, 2009. I am fundamentally different. While I am strong because I survived something I never thought I'd have to go through, I'm also filled with a fear that is hard to name. I'm afraid of what the future holds for me medically because while I'm doing well now, my good health can change on a dime. I know that now. The veil of denial that so many young people are blessed with has been quite unceremoniously removed from over my eyes.
In 2009, I was forced to face a medical nightmare as an otherwise healthy 25 year old. It happens. Healthy people get sick, often out of the blue. And guess what? You have no other choice but to face it, deal with it, hope to God you get through it and then...you're expected to carry on. Like nothing happened - pick up right where you left off - as if your life is unchanged except for that nasty little blip of time when everything about it was different. It doesn't work that way. And the thing is, I fervently wish, with everything I am, that I could find the Melissa from early 2009. I wish I could magically conjure her back from wherever it is that she disappeared to, because I really miss her. But I can't. Because that girl doesn't exist anymore. That girl all but disappeared the moment she was told she needed to have open heart surgery. She receded further back into the shadows when she was in so much physical pain post surgery that she could scarcely breathe; further still when she was so anxiety ridden and fearful that she would die that she had to be put on anxiety medication for a full year because she couldn't handle the stress on her own and neither could her healing heart. That Melissa, the young woman I had been slowing growing into from birth, was truly merely a glimmer by the time she had her pacemaker implanted in June of 2010. It was a sad realization, and in many ways, I felt completely lost. I didn't recognize myself. Can you imagine a time in your life when you honestly didn't know who you were anymore because what had happened to you changed you so much? If you can, I am so very sorry. If you can't, I sincerely hope you never have to.
It took a long time and it was a difficult journey (filled with a lot of unforeseen challenges both related and unrelated to my heart surgery), but I realized that I had to rebuild. I couldn't and I wouldn't allow this hollowed out person to be who I was for the rest of my life. I owed it to myself, to Jason and to my family and friends, to figure out who I was again and embrace her, scars and all.
The Melissa I am now is quite different from the Melissa I once was. It's probably not something that the average acquaintance would even notice, and the people who have just met me think this is the original because it's who they know. But those closest to me have most likely noticed a change. I'm happy to say that the Melissa I am today is more stable than the Melissa who emerged from the operating room in '09 and continued to stick around through the summer of 2012. She was a mess and in all honesty, I wasn't very fond of her. To her credit, that particular Melissa went through a hard time and although I wish she would have handled some things differently, I'm starting to accept that she did the best she could. I have to forgive her for her mistakes, because I can't go back and fix them. All I can do is move forward with what I've salvaged and what I've rebuilt. Indeed, I've fought hard to dig deep and find the aspects of the old Melissa that I loved and were most "me" but not all the change has been negative. On the contrary, I'm less "glass is half empty" than I was, and I'm learning to appreciate the moment, find joy in the mundane. Because this life is beautiful and I cannot take it for granted.
So, what if the Melissa I've become is disappointing to some people? What if I've changed too much for some people to handle? {To be clear, this isn't an issue I'm aware of, at least not to my knowledge, but I'm sure there are some people in my life who wish the "old Melissa" would come back. Maybe she was more fun, less serious, etc. I'm simply pondering a question I often find myself worrying about...big surprise} I just advised someone else earlier today that all they have to do is be true to themselves and own who they are, and the rest will fall in to place. I think it's time I started taking my own advice. All I can do is be me and be the very best me possible. I'm sorry if I'm not who I used to be and like I said, I wish I could find her again as it would make things so much easier but that's not possible and I have to learn to accept who I am now and who I've become as a result of what I've been handed in this life. I can choose to fully embrace this person I've become and work towards building a happy future with her, or I can continue to search aimlessly for the girl I used to be, wishing I could find her, spending my life pining for someone who is lost. I'd much rather do the former: remember the old Melissa with fondness but appreciate the Melissa I've become and accept her into my heart with open arms. Because the truth of the matter is, everyone evolves. Everyone changes throughout their lives. Some people are thrust in to change by happenstance while some people gradually change over time. But truth be told, we are all made up of our past selves. They are part of who we are and who we will become down the road.
I suppose this all means I'm a work in progress. I suppose I need to choose, every day, to not let my struggles define me. They are part of me, sure, but I'm so much more than that. I am worth more than that and I intend to keep repairing the damage that was wrought in 2009. I'll get there, I'm sure of it. I like this new Melissa. She has her moments of doubt but overall, she's strong and I'm proud of that.
*******************************************
"Don't let your struggle become your identity."
I saw the above quote on Pinterest today and it really stuck with me. So much so that I decided to explore it with a blog post. I've struggled with this very thing for years and although it's oftentimes much easier said than done, I would love to get to that point. The point of "I am what I choose to become, not what has happened to me." (Thank you, Carl Jung). How does one go about riding that fine line of not forgetting what's happened but rather actively choosing to allow your hardships to make you stronger while not becoming all that you are?
I know so many people who have endured and survived some very hard things: medical setbacks, the loss of loved ones, financial ruin, etc. As one can imagine, these events are life altering and sometimes, you find that you're not quite the same on the other side. How do you go about rectifying the "new you" with the "old you?" How do you remain true to yourself and the changes you've undergone while somehow managing to hold on to portions of who you used to be, the attributes you don't want to lose? How do you accept who you are now, and what happens if who you are now isn't who some people in your life want you to be?
I talk about my heart a lot. I talk about it because my heart surgery was a defining moment in my life. I talk about it because I want to spread heart disease awareness. I talk about it because my talking about it serves as a way for me to process what I've been through -- because who I am now isn't who I was before October 29, 2009. I am fundamentally different. While I am strong because I survived something I never thought I'd have to go through, I'm also filled with a fear that is hard to name. I'm afraid of what the future holds for me medically because while I'm doing well now, my good health can change on a dime. I know that now. The veil of denial that so many young people are blessed with has been quite unceremoniously removed from over my eyes.
In 2009, I was forced to face a medical nightmare as an otherwise healthy 25 year old. It happens. Healthy people get sick, often out of the blue. And guess what? You have no other choice but to face it, deal with it, hope to God you get through it and then...you're expected to carry on. Like nothing happened - pick up right where you left off - as if your life is unchanged except for that nasty little blip of time when everything about it was different. It doesn't work that way. And the thing is, I fervently wish, with everything I am, that I could find the Melissa from early 2009. I wish I could magically conjure her back from wherever it is that she disappeared to, because I really miss her. But I can't. Because that girl doesn't exist anymore. That girl all but disappeared the moment she was told she needed to have open heart surgery. She receded further back into the shadows when she was in so much physical pain post surgery that she could scarcely breathe; further still when she was so anxiety ridden and fearful that she would die that she had to be put on anxiety medication for a full year because she couldn't handle the stress on her own and neither could her healing heart. That Melissa, the young woman I had been slowing growing into from birth, was truly merely a glimmer by the time she had her pacemaker implanted in June of 2010. It was a sad realization, and in many ways, I felt completely lost. I didn't recognize myself. Can you imagine a time in your life when you honestly didn't know who you were anymore because what had happened to you changed you so much? If you can, I am so very sorry. If you can't, I sincerely hope you never have to.
It took a long time and it was a difficult journey (filled with a lot of unforeseen challenges both related and unrelated to my heart surgery), but I realized that I had to rebuild. I couldn't and I wouldn't allow this hollowed out person to be who I was for the rest of my life. I owed it to myself, to Jason and to my family and friends, to figure out who I was again and embrace her, scars and all.
The Melissa I am now is quite different from the Melissa I once was. It's probably not something that the average acquaintance would even notice, and the people who have just met me think this is the original because it's who they know. But those closest to me have most likely noticed a change. I'm happy to say that the Melissa I am today is more stable than the Melissa who emerged from the operating room in '09 and continued to stick around through the summer of 2012. She was a mess and in all honesty, I wasn't very fond of her. To her credit, that particular Melissa went through a hard time and although I wish she would have handled some things differently, I'm starting to accept that she did the best she could. I have to forgive her for her mistakes, because I can't go back and fix them. All I can do is move forward with what I've salvaged and what I've rebuilt. Indeed, I've fought hard to dig deep and find the aspects of the old Melissa that I loved and were most "me" but not all the change has been negative. On the contrary, I'm less "glass is half empty" than I was, and I'm learning to appreciate the moment, find joy in the mundane. Because this life is beautiful and I cannot take it for granted.
So, what if the Melissa I've become is disappointing to some people? What if I've changed too much for some people to handle? {To be clear, this isn't an issue I'm aware of, at least not to my knowledge, but I'm sure there are some people in my life who wish the "old Melissa" would come back. Maybe she was more fun, less serious, etc. I'm simply pondering a question I often find myself worrying about...big surprise} I just advised someone else earlier today that all they have to do is be true to themselves and own who they are, and the rest will fall in to place. I think it's time I started taking my own advice. All I can do is be me and be the very best me possible. I'm sorry if I'm not who I used to be and like I said, I wish I could find her again as it would make things so much easier but that's not possible and I have to learn to accept who I am now and who I've become as a result of what I've been handed in this life. I can choose to fully embrace this person I've become and work towards building a happy future with her, or I can continue to search aimlessly for the girl I used to be, wishing I could find her, spending my life pining for someone who is lost. I'd much rather do the former: remember the old Melissa with fondness but appreciate the Melissa I've become and accept her into my heart with open arms. Because the truth of the matter is, everyone evolves. Everyone changes throughout their lives. Some people are thrust in to change by happenstance while some people gradually change over time. But truth be told, we are all made up of our past selves. They are part of who we are and who we will become down the road.
I suppose this all means I'm a work in progress. I suppose I need to choose, every day, to not let my struggles define me. They are part of me, sure, but I'm so much more than that. I am worth more than that and I intend to keep repairing the damage that was wrought in 2009. I'll get there, I'm sure of it. I like this new Melissa. She has her moments of doubt but overall, she's strong and I'm proud of that.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
The post in which I use another's words to describe my own fear
The post linked below is perfect in its rawness. It so adequately describes the deep-set fear that I still carry around with me in the darkest recesses of my heart; the fear that I have such trouble putting a name to and which brings me such pause because I don't quite know how to explain it aloud. Some emotions can only be felt, you know? I understand we have not yet reached this point in our own journey, we still have more time to try - and try we will when the time is right - but after so much loss, so much disappointment, so much pain and so many years, the fear is real. This post is perfectly real and perfectly terrifying and just plain perfectly sad.
http://www.mommyish.com/2013/03/29/after-infertility/
http://www.mommyish.com/2013/03/29/after-infertility/
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
"When I'm a parent, I'll..."
"When I'm a parent, I'll [fill in the blank]"
Every infertile has heard it before. In fact, we all probably used to say similar things ourselves, way back when. Before the harsh reality of where we are now jaded our lives and thinking. Before we could ever fathom an alternative.
This post was inspired by a friend of mine who does not have children, is unmarried, and isn't {to my knowledge} in any sort of serious relationship. She just posted a video of some parents doing something she thought was cool, with the tagline, "When I'm a parent, I'm totally doing this." Oh to have those kind of fleeting, optimistic thoughts about a future which includes children. *sigh* Sometimes I toy with the idea of taking a hiatus from Facebook. And Pinterest, for that matter. But I couldn't, I love staying in contact with everyone too much to let my {thankfully these days} infrequent bouts of sadness about being childless affect my social media connectivity. But the fact remains: many of my friends are parents. Currently, many of my female friends are pregnant. Some for the first time, others for subsequent times. And honestly, truthfully, I have gotten to the point where I am happy for them. Does my heart still ache? Yes. But I am happy for THEM. I still long to be a parent, and am saddened to now be haunted by an alternate reality: maybe, just maybe, I won't be. Or at the very least, the road that lies ahead will be a long and twisted one.
I yearn to have that naivete back - when I would see a cute baby outfit and think, "When I'm a mom, I'll dress my child like that," or if I saw a couple walking together, pushing a baby stroller, an image would flash through my mind of us doing that someday. And even when it got harder, after we realized we'd need treatments to even have a hope of getting pregnant, I'd still find myself thinking, "When I'm a mom, I'll..." But these days, I just don't know.
I'm 29. I know that's not old, especially by today's standards, but when you have PCOS, it's not exactly young either. And when you factor in how long it took to get pregnant the one and only time...and to know how it ended... We have chosen to take a break from the "journey to baby" while Jason is pursuing his doctorate, so by the time he graduates, we'll be 31. Will we be in a financial situation to pursue treatments again? I was told that I'd need IVF - not just by 1 doctor, but by 2 - and I can tell you that right now, we could not afford it. Not by a long shot. Will these next 2.5 yrs make a difference? Probably not, as Jason cannot work while he is a full-time doctoral candidate - his responsibilities are too time consuming and his schedule is all over the map time-wise.
And more importantly, will we be ready to board the emotional roller coaster that is baby-making (or the futile attempt of) when infertile 2.5 yrs down the pike? Again, right now, we are nowhere near there. The emotions and the memories of what we went through - the miscarriage, the years of disappointment, the loss of self, the challenges to our relationship- are just too raw.
I know what I hope for, and I know what I still dream about. I dream of our family, however it comes to be. I just wish I still had a bit of that innocence about me. But, maybe I shouldn't dwell on the past but rather, turn my sights on the future and not predetermine its outcome by allowing fear of the unknown to take over and cloud my vision, stifle my hope.
So for now, I choose to clutch on to the hope that is the future and see what it has in store for us as our story continues to unfold. I'll choose to think, "When I'm a mom, I'll be so very blessed."
Every infertile has heard it before. In fact, we all probably used to say similar things ourselves, way back when. Before the harsh reality of where we are now jaded our lives and thinking. Before we could ever fathom an alternative.
This post was inspired by a friend of mine who does not have children, is unmarried, and isn't {to my knowledge} in any sort of serious relationship. She just posted a video of some parents doing something she thought was cool, with the tagline, "When I'm a parent, I'm totally doing this." Oh to have those kind of fleeting, optimistic thoughts about a future which includes children. *sigh* Sometimes I toy with the idea of taking a hiatus from Facebook. And Pinterest, for that matter. But I couldn't, I love staying in contact with everyone too much to let my {thankfully these days} infrequent bouts of sadness about being childless affect my social media connectivity. But the fact remains: many of my friends are parents. Currently, many of my female friends are pregnant. Some for the first time, others for subsequent times. And honestly, truthfully, I have gotten to the point where I am happy for them. Does my heart still ache? Yes. But I am happy for THEM. I still long to be a parent, and am saddened to now be haunted by an alternate reality: maybe, just maybe, I won't be. Or at the very least, the road that lies ahead will be a long and twisted one.
I yearn to have that naivete back - when I would see a cute baby outfit and think, "When I'm a mom, I'll dress my child like that," or if I saw a couple walking together, pushing a baby stroller, an image would flash through my mind of us doing that someday. And even when it got harder, after we realized we'd need treatments to even have a hope of getting pregnant, I'd still find myself thinking, "When I'm a mom, I'll..." But these days, I just don't know.
I'm 29. I know that's not old, especially by today's standards, but when you have PCOS, it's not exactly young either. And when you factor in how long it took to get pregnant the one and only time...and to know how it ended... We have chosen to take a break from the "journey to baby" while Jason is pursuing his doctorate, so by the time he graduates, we'll be 31. Will we be in a financial situation to pursue treatments again? I was told that I'd need IVF - not just by 1 doctor, but by 2 - and I can tell you that right now, we could not afford it. Not by a long shot. Will these next 2.5 yrs make a difference? Probably not, as Jason cannot work while he is a full-time doctoral candidate - his responsibilities are too time consuming and his schedule is all over the map time-wise.
And more importantly, will we be ready to board the emotional roller coaster that is baby-making (or the futile attempt of) when infertile 2.5 yrs down the pike? Again, right now, we are nowhere near there. The emotions and the memories of what we went through - the miscarriage, the years of disappointment, the loss of self, the challenges to our relationship- are just too raw.
I know what I hope for, and I know what I still dream about. I dream of our family, however it comes to be. I just wish I still had a bit of that innocence about me. But, maybe I shouldn't dwell on the past but rather, turn my sights on the future and not predetermine its outcome by allowing fear of the unknown to take over and cloud my vision, stifle my hope.
So for now, I choose to clutch on to the hope that is the future and see what it has in store for us as our story continues to unfold. I'll choose to think, "When I'm a mom, I'll be so very blessed."
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Just when you think...
That moment when you're just cruisin' along through your Facebook newsfeed, minding your own business, enjoying your afternoon and WHAM! You realize another friend is pregnant.
That moment when you're reminded that you're not as okay with still being childless as you thought you were.
Just when you think you're finally doing better and the reality that you're still not a parent doesn't seem to ache as much as it used to, Facebook. Always Facebook. I make myself 'like' the picture. Because if I don't, I'm letting the sadness win. And I don't want to be that sad, bitter person. Not anymore.
Honestly, I'm much better now emotionally. We need to heal and focus on other things for awhile because we're quite simply worn out from it all. And, the longing isn't as debilitating as it once was. But it's still there - it always will be, how could it not? And when it creeps back up, it always hurts more than I expect it to.
So I close the screen, take a few deep breaths, and tell myself, "Someday. Someday."
That moment when you're reminded that you're not as okay with still being childless as you thought you were.
Just when you think you're finally doing better and the reality that you're still not a parent doesn't seem to ache as much as it used to, Facebook. Always Facebook. I make myself 'like' the picture. Because if I don't, I'm letting the sadness win. And I don't want to be that sad, bitter person. Not anymore.
Honestly, I'm much better now emotionally. We need to heal and focus on other things for awhile because we're quite simply worn out from it all. And, the longing isn't as debilitating as it once was. But it's still there - it always will be, how could it not? And when it creeps back up, it always hurts more than I expect it to.
So I close the screen, take a few deep breaths, and tell myself, "Someday. Someday."
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
There comes a time...
Just over three years ago, my life changed forever. And no, it wasn't because of a pregnancy. That event wouldn't happen for another two years. I know this blog is primarily reserved for everything infertility but we are still on our break and, in all likelihood due to severe financial constraints while Jason is in school coupled with where we are emotionally, we won't be venturing down that path again while Jason pursues his doctorate (so thru 2015). But I have other things to say and since this is my "safe space," I plan to say them, infertility related or not.
As I was saying, just over three years ago, my life changed forever. Our life changed forever. Open heart surgery is no joke, and it was the most life altering, profound experience thus far in my 28 years. Lately, I've been feeling more and more that I need to talk about it, but in a way that is both cathartic as well as helpful to others, not just me rehashing the experience for the sake of reliving it. I have been through something most young people don't go through and I want to be there for someone else in a way that wasn't available to me. When I learned I would need heart surgery, I was filled with a fear that it truly hard to explain unless you have felt similar fear under similar circumstances. I had an amazing support group of family, friends and doctors but at the time, I didn't know anyone else with congenital heart disease, didn't know anyone else my age who had undergone open heart surgery, and felt so different, alone, and alienated. People tried but they couldn't truly understand, couldn't truly empathize. I yearned for a connection with another young survivor, even if just through a book. But no such book existed. At least not that I could find.
I graduated with a BA in Creative Writing. I have the skillset to embark on such a venture. I could write a book about my personal experience with heart surgery and life after. I could tell them what I felt, what I discovered, and how I arrived at feeling like myself again. I could write the book I wish I had been able to read during the darkest time in my life.
And I'm going to do it. I AM doing it.
It's been a long time coming, but it's time. I began working on the prologue on Monday night and wrote 4 pages, single spaced. I am so excited, so invigorated. I haven't felt like this in years. My writing has fallen by the wayside since I graduated 6 yrs ago. Some people write more when they're going through emotionally difficult life challenges, but it seems I am not one of those people. My creative juices dry up. For years, first with the infertility, then with the heart surgery and recovery, and eventually both, I could not find motivation or inspiration anywhere. I would write a poem every now and again, but they were far and few between. I am currently working on a children's book but the passion isn't quite there yet as it is with this project. With this book, I find myself looking forward to working on it. I daydream and brainstorm about topics to discuss and how to approach them. I write down chapter title ideas when they pop into my head and I feel a surge of excitement simmering below the surface just anticipating my next opportunity to write, to put it all down. It is overwhelming in some ways, too, because there is just so much. But I know that if I can just get it down on paper, and rework it bit by bit, that it'll get to where I want it to be. That it will become the ray of light for someone else that I so fervently wish it to be.
I want to reassure someone else out there that it will get better. That in time and with hard work, both emotionally as well as phyiscally, it gets better. I want them to know that what they feel is normal and real and important. That if they can just get through the surgery itself, through those first weeks of recovery, and focus on the bigger picture {LIFE} that one day, it will be okay again. I cannot guarantee that they will be the same, because I can't. Because they won't. An experience such as this leaves you forever changed. Everyone's situation is different and eveyone will experience it differently and "come out on the other side" in different ways. I needed a pacemaker. Others won't. I needed an ablation. Other's won't. But they may need things I didn't need. Maybe another surgery, maybe they'll struggle with chronic depression, maybe they'll need intense therapy, or maybe the surgery won't turn out as they had hoped and their prognosis will continue to be dire. But I want to try to be that hug they need, whatever their situation. Because I've been there, I've lived it, and I understand.
I am finally writing a book. And it fills me with an emotion I'm unaccustomed to feeling. I think it just may be Purpose. For a long time, especially when floundering through the hell of infertility, I felt as though I lacked purpose. My body wouldn't do what it was "meant" to do. I felt cheated. I felt angry and bitter. I lost a bit of myself. But I feel it coming back. Maybe this is another thing I'm "meant" to do. I haven't given up on having a family, but for now, I have found purpose, have found something that excites me, and makes me feel alive. And my goodness, I am so very grateful.
As I was saying, just over three years ago, my life changed forever. Our life changed forever. Open heart surgery is no joke, and it was the most life altering, profound experience thus far in my 28 years. Lately, I've been feeling more and more that I need to talk about it, but in a way that is both cathartic as well as helpful to others, not just me rehashing the experience for the sake of reliving it. I have been through something most young people don't go through and I want to be there for someone else in a way that wasn't available to me. When I learned I would need heart surgery, I was filled with a fear that it truly hard to explain unless you have felt similar fear under similar circumstances. I had an amazing support group of family, friends and doctors but at the time, I didn't know anyone else with congenital heart disease, didn't know anyone else my age who had undergone open heart surgery, and felt so different, alone, and alienated. People tried but they couldn't truly understand, couldn't truly empathize. I yearned for a connection with another young survivor, even if just through a book. But no such book existed. At least not that I could find.
I graduated with a BA in Creative Writing. I have the skillset to embark on such a venture. I could write a book about my personal experience with heart surgery and life after. I could tell them what I felt, what I discovered, and how I arrived at feeling like myself again. I could write the book I wish I had been able to read during the darkest time in my life.
And I'm going to do it. I AM doing it.
It's been a long time coming, but it's time. I began working on the prologue on Monday night and wrote 4 pages, single spaced. I am so excited, so invigorated. I haven't felt like this in years. My writing has fallen by the wayside since I graduated 6 yrs ago. Some people write more when they're going through emotionally difficult life challenges, but it seems I am not one of those people. My creative juices dry up. For years, first with the infertility, then with the heart surgery and recovery, and eventually both, I could not find motivation or inspiration anywhere. I would write a poem every now and again, but they were far and few between. I am currently working on a children's book but the passion isn't quite there yet as it is with this project. With this book, I find myself looking forward to working on it. I daydream and brainstorm about topics to discuss and how to approach them. I write down chapter title ideas when they pop into my head and I feel a surge of excitement simmering below the surface just anticipating my next opportunity to write, to put it all down. It is overwhelming in some ways, too, because there is just so much. But I know that if I can just get it down on paper, and rework it bit by bit, that it'll get to where I want it to be. That it will become the ray of light for someone else that I so fervently wish it to be.
I want to reassure someone else out there that it will get better. That in time and with hard work, both emotionally as well as phyiscally, it gets better. I want them to know that what they feel is normal and real and important. That if they can just get through the surgery itself, through those first weeks of recovery, and focus on the bigger picture {LIFE} that one day, it will be okay again. I cannot guarantee that they will be the same, because I can't. Because they won't. An experience such as this leaves you forever changed. Everyone's situation is different and eveyone will experience it differently and "come out on the other side" in different ways. I needed a pacemaker. Others won't. I needed an ablation. Other's won't. But they may need things I didn't need. Maybe another surgery, maybe they'll struggle with chronic depression, maybe they'll need intense therapy, or maybe the surgery won't turn out as they had hoped and their prognosis will continue to be dire. But I want to try to be that hug they need, whatever their situation. Because I've been there, I've lived it, and I understand.
I am finally writing a book. And it fills me with an emotion I'm unaccustomed to feeling. I think it just may be Purpose. For a long time, especially when floundering through the hell of infertility, I felt as though I lacked purpose. My body wouldn't do what it was "meant" to do. I felt cheated. I felt angry and bitter. I lost a bit of myself. But I feel it coming back. Maybe this is another thing I'm "meant" to do. I haven't given up on having a family, but for now, I have found purpose, have found something that excites me, and makes me feel alive. And my goodness, I am so very grateful.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Grateful Life
Many friends are posting a different thing they are grateful for each day on Facebook, which is inspiring and fun, but since I tend to be wordy, I think I'll use this space to put my thoughts on the subject all in one place. Truly, I am thankful for this life.
I know that's quite all-encompassing and vague, but how fortunate am I to wake up each morning and experience another day? 3 yrs ago, I feared I wouldn't be so lucky. How blessed am I to have loving family and friends, to be supported and encouraged in all of my endeavors and dreams, to have shoulders to lean on during the trying times? I have a roof over my head, food in my cupboards, books on my shelves, music in my life, and I live in a country and in an era where I'm free to be ME. Sometimes (and truthfully, it tends to be more than just sometimes), I get bogged down by the things I wish I had, and I know that's normal because we all have dreams but I'd like to try and be more thankful year-round, find the good in the every day and though it's challenging, focus on what I do have instead of what I don't.
I could go on, but you get the idea. It's this life, this one, beautiful life, that I'm thankful for. All of it's up's and down's, it's triumphs and disappointments, the big and the little, they're special and unique to me and I'm so very grateful for it all. Thank you for being a part of it :)
I know that's quite all-encompassing and vague, but how fortunate am I to wake up each morning and experience another day? 3 yrs ago, I feared I wouldn't be so lucky. How blessed am I to have loving family and friends, to be supported and encouraged in all of my endeavors and dreams, to have shoulders to lean on during the trying times? I have a roof over my head, food in my cupboards, books on my shelves, music in my life, and I live in a country and in an era where I'm free to be ME. Sometimes (and truthfully, it tends to be more than just sometimes), I get bogged down by the things I wish I had, and I know that's normal because we all have dreams but I'd like to try and be more thankful year-round, find the good in the every day and though it's challenging, focus on what I do have instead of what I don't.
I am grateful for my husband, for my parents and family, for my friends, for my furry babies who make me smile, and for the chance to be a better me every day. I'm thankful for the joy I get from cooking and baking, for the anticipation of snow this winter, for my pacemaker which keeps me tickin', and even for my curly hair that looks "fancy" when all I've done is wash it. I'm thankful for poetry, for my love of writing, for children's books, for beautiful abandoned barns, for Christmas music and Christmas trees, and for hot showers after being out in the cold. I'm thankful for my memories, for the hope of a bright future, for the opportunities that await me if I just get off my butt and chase after them. I'm thankful for all that my parents sacrificed for me growing up, for my education, for gardening, for crafts, for the beauty of the ocean, for my favorite spot in the Wilcox property back home, for my emotions and my ability and willingness to feel them. I'm thankful for the good times I've experienced, and I'm thankful for the hard times because they, too, molded me into who I am. I'm thankful I have goals, I'm grateful for the wisdom others have shared with me, and I'm thankful for the relationships in my life. My health, my job, my car, the library. Cookies, the smell of coffee brewing, going out, movies, laughter, photographs, warm fuzzy blankets, mascara, pumpkins, autumn, earrings, various shades of red, flowers, the sound of a wind-chime, that surge of confidence when you look in the mirror and like what you see staring back.
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