Friday, June 29, 2012

A Self-Appointed Guest Post

The state of Utah is on fire, and has been for nearly two weeks.
Sometime early this morning I realized that my friend J, who most of you know as Mr. Thompson and Me, hasn't had time to blog...and it's because of the fires.
I emailed J and asked for permission to post for her.
Amazingly, she trusts me and gave me her login information.

If you were to Google 'fire' in Utah or Colorado, and now even in Idaho, you would see image after image of flames, and the men fighting those flames.
I have a love for firefighters.  Several years ago an arsonist set fire to my family's cabin and while it couldn't be saved, the firefighters worked hard to save the rest of our property from burning.
I have been incredibly emotional as I think about all of the men and women risking their lives to protect our neighbors and loved ones.

But there are others, behind the scenes, working just as hard.
Our friend J is one of those.
J doesn't make a big deal out of what she does...but what she does is huge.
J works for the American Red Cross as the disaster coordinator for the state of Utah.
(I wish I knew her exact title.)


Before Utah, J worked on the front lines in the aftermath of 9/11 and spent weeks and weeks helping with the aftermath of hurricane Katrina.


The fires that have burned across our state are more than a minor disaster.
In the last two weeks the Red Cross has had eight evacuation centers, five shelters, and three service centers, and if I understand it right, J has been in charge of facilitating all of those.

She hasn't slept.
She probably hasn't eaten well.
She is on call pretty much 24 hours a day.
Just this morning she was in a briefing at 6 am.

J lives her life to bless the lives of those around her, and in my book that makes her the best kind of hero.

I love you lady and I'm so proud to call you my friend!

-Noelle (blogging at Because Nice Matters)



Sunday, June 17, 2012

Sunny Side Up


Cycle Day 72...

So I waved my white flag a little higher into the air this morning and called my progesterone refill into the pharmacy. Oh well. I fought a good fight in holding out on a medical intervention this month.

I've been feeling all crampy for the last 43 days, thinking that things will take care on their own if I just wait it out, but that doesn't appear to be the case. So I'll go on 10 days of progesterone and wait for what I know will be the ultimate ovary rage.

Ugh.

But in happy news: Mr. Thompson and I had a heart-to-heart that deeply mattered to me.

You read in my previous post about our fun Father's Day Eve party which really was a blast. I wish that you could have heard Little A (step-daughter) begging her dad to sleep outside all day/night. He was very adamant with his no's which got progressively worse during our party. It's a common argument in our household, which is why I always laugh when I find after-morning parties like this...




However, I had a really hard time laughing last Sunday morning. Instead, I woke up with a huge weight on my chest. After I took this picture I went back up to bed and felt the weight get heavier.

Pretty soon the sun was up so my bed was invaded as they brought their camping adventure indoors...




With it, the weight on my chest got heavier and heavier.

Pretty soon they were up and Mr. Thompson was running Drill Sergeant on a sleepy Little A to get her in the shower and ready for church.

I however, just laid there. Quiet. With worry and dread because I knew that I was on the brink of something big and knew I couldn't make it through church. No way. No how. The disappointment I was feeling was just too deep and the sadness was just too raw. I didn't want to listen to talks about parenthood and fatherhood. I didn't want to watch the little children file to the front of the chapel to sing songs to their dads.

I knew that I would have sat in that pew thinking about what was...and what isn't...and last Sunday I knew that I just couldn't do it for one more rotten moment. So I laid there silently in bed while my family got ready for church, refusing to cry and thinking that my throat was going to close because of the elephant sitting on my chest.

Eventually Mr. Thompson noticed. Doing what he always does, he snuggled up next to me and thanked me for a great Father's Day.

Which, unbeknownst to him, just made it worse.

Now you should know, I'm a happy person. I know that I vent on this blog a lot about my the sensitive emotions of it all, but trust me when I say that in real life you wouldn't know about my battles. By nature I am a private person which makes a really interesting situation when people in my life read what I write and try to talk to me about it. I can write about my infant loss and infertility...but I have a really-really hard time talking about it. This is true even with Mr. Thompson. (which is actually why I have this blog as it's a good outlet for me on the emotional stuff).

So as Mr. Thompson was cuddling my stiff body and cooing in my ear all his gratitude for making Father's Day the best ever....I was holding my breath because I know that I was going to lose it in the most major way and I didn't want that to happen on his Father's Day.

It had been building for hours. No, strike that. It had been building for months and with some much needed gentle coaxing the great emotion finally spewed forth from the deepest place in my heart.

It came with a lot of broken words, hiccups, snot, stammers, and a volcano of tears unlike anything I have ever (and I mean ever) experienced. Mr. Thompson held me while I talked in incoherent sobs about something he doesn't understand quite like I understand. He doesn't understand what it feels like not to have moments like those pictured above.

We had an agreement with our last round of IVF. We agreed to be done after fighting a good fight. No more talk about IVF - no more thoughts about adoption

Last Sunday he realized what that means for me and how deeply it all runs. I can't survive without goals and I can't survive without hope. I've been drifting along since last July's negative FET (frozen embryo transfer) and I don't want to drift any more. It's felt really depressing and empty.

I want to live for something. Shoot for something. Aim for something. Have a goal for something and work a plan for something.

My dear friends, that something is motherhood. And I'm not talking about trips-to-the-cemetery kind of something.

So after a long, emotional talk (befitting Father's Day), I think that we are back on track. We have a goal. We are working a new plan.

For something...

Still Standing on Father's Day

I didn't cancel Father's Day.  I only wanted to....because y'all know that I broke down and took another test just to ensure a BFN on Cycle Day 64 was still standing. 

It was.

No Father's Day miracle for Mr. Thompson this year...but that's okay.  We partied anyway.  If you wonder why I put myself through the depression, you need to go read Part I of our story.  Despite multiple tests, we didn't get a positive stick with Colton until Week 6.  Crazy, but true.

So despite it all, I guess that I still hold out hope that lightening strikes in the same place twice.

And that was how I started the weekend.  As therapy I took the "bull by the horns" and finally planted my garden.  7 hours in the backyard and one sunburn later, Little A (step daughter) and I threw an outdoor Father's Day to remember.

Tiki Lights compliments of Little A.  Fire Pit compliments of me.

Afternoon nap and bedhead compliments of Mr. Thompson.



 
Good food.  Good times.


Lovin' it!

S'mores.

Mr. Thompson didn't want to sleep out....but fell asleep watching War Horse (outdoor movies with the projector on the fence is a favorite Thompson Tradition) so that is where I left him until this morning.  His poor back...(next time he may want to opt for the Father's Day 2011 hammock.)

Patio furniture up and plants in.

Flower beds planted.

Garden done.  (Tiki Lights will be an occasional bonus feature)

Yay for garden therapy!

Life is very good. 

Happy Father's Day to one of the two best dads that I know.  I love you Mr. Thompson!



Saturday, June 16, 2012

Inquiring Minds Like Mine Want To Know...

Cycle Day 63. At what point do I throw in the towel and call Dr. H for progesterone?

Oh bother.

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

Father's Day. I'm stuck. stalled. stumped.

Any ideas?

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

Step-daughter turns 11 on Tuesday. I'm stuck. stalled. stumped.

Any ideas?

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

June 16th and my garden isn't planted yet. Is it too late?

(or am I going to get tomatoes at Christmas?)

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

Going back to that Father's Day thing...

Am I a horrible person if I don't want to celebrate it this year? Not for my own father but for Mr. Thompson who I feel that I've really let down.

It's so depressing....



Wednesday, June 13, 2012

I AM...

Crazy.  Brave.




Who else would wear a Yankee's cap at Fenway "Pahk" and risk life, limb, and a happy marriage?!

Me that's who.



(If only I could could have an ounce of that courage in my war against infertility...)


- Posted from my iPad

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Waving The White Flag

Loves me not.



I really don't know why I get even a little surprised at these. With all of my self-talk in preparation, I guess I'm not because I've learned to take the approach of my best friend who once told me to always expect the worst so I'm pleasantly surprised instead of disappointed at life's results.

You see, she is a realist while I'm an idealist. Being an idealist means that you always expect the best...and then get dreadfully disappointed. And I've been dreadfully disappointed time, after time, after time, again.


But I put my big girl panties on with this one and figured that I better get on my way with a realist approach. So I said a prayer that I wouldn't feel, like I usually feel, in God's eyes (which truthfully isn't good)...and then broke open the box. 

2 seconds later I had a result. Didn't even have to wait 2 minutes as that - (negative) line came in quick and strong. Guess God heard at least a little of me.

Then I moved on.

No tears. No rants. No why's.


I just got in the shower and pushed through. Like I did on Sunday.


Maggie (one month old niece) was blessed in church and most of my family was there except my little sister....who was having her own baby. Coincidentally, it was my mom and sister's birthday so three generations on the same day was a very big deal. I kept it together all weekend until I left the hospital with my four little nephews who were ever so excited about their new little sister...


And at that point as I was driving away from the hospital, two silent tears slid down my cheeks and I said, "I surrender".


Arms up in the air. I surrender.


(Again.)



- Posted from my iPhone

Monday, June 4, 2012

Loves Me. Loves Me Not. Loves Me. Loves Me Not...

Cycle Day 52. Do I....or don't I?




One step.

Results in just 2 minutes.

Over 99% accurate.

Clear results.

Yada...Yada...Yada... You've seen and heard it all before. Too many times to count. So have I, which is exactly why I have zero desire to take this one test out of the box.

One. Because I refused to spend three more dollars for the bonus pack.

So now that I don't have the excuse of a vacation (or a wild notion that it would be ever so glorious to give Mr. Thompson a positive result during the 7th inning stretch of a Yankees game, thus endearing him to the Yankees instead of the Red Sox for life)...I've got nothing.

Nada.

And that goes for progesterone too. I have no desire and even less emotional energy to kick my whacked out system into gear with drugs. Even though I know that those darn ovaries would hibernate for good if I let them.

Sigh.

Gotta love PCOS. So do I open the box or wait until....like....Cycle Day 100 after I've let them have a really long nap?!

And if you say "open the box" would you like to place a wager on whether or not I'll cry at the results?


- Posted from my iPad
 
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