Auld Lang Syne: What Does That Mean Again?

So my brother is a man so educated, so literate, so knowledgeable that it is virtually impossible to have a conversation with him. He has a concentration in English literature, and spent far too much time studying ancient poets. And a few years back he "translated" Auld Lang Syne for me.

"Auld Land Syne" is an ancient song of Scottish origin, attributed to Robert Burns. "Auld Lang Syne" translates, roughly, as things that past. Old friends. Old times. Back in the day.

The song says, in my opinion (and helped by the brother's translation), there are moments that happen. Moments to remember. Good and bad. People that matter, that touch your lives and then go away. And change is going to happen, life is going to go on, no matter what. But for this moment, I remember the old acquaintance. I bring you to mind. And I remember what it was to love you. I promise to remember you. But I also promise to continue, to celebrate you more than mourn you, and to go on.

For me, when I sing this song, I remember my grandmother, who died too long ago to know my husband. And I remember my husband's uncle, who was like a father to him when my father-in-law ran out. But this year, after reading all your blogs, I also think of the angels who never quite made it to earth, both from miscarriage and a "failure to implant." Mine included.

I promise to remember you, and to honor you, and to drink a cup of kindness here. For auld lang syne.

Send in the Clowns...

My friend Steve sent me this bit of news a while ago.

"Sending in the clowns can significantly increase the chances that fertility treatment will be a success, Israeli researchers have found."

Which is both ridiculous and completely logical. Being scared and strained and stressed can't help anything. Saying (and praying) "please please please" makes my tummy hurt and my shoulders aches. But when I declare "I am going to have a child, I am going to be a mother," it feels good. Great even. Like laughing. (Laughing always feels good. It's why we do it...)

Steve, I should mention, is one of my few real-life friends that I tell my IF horror stories to. He's HIV positive, so he's got his share of horror stories. And, like me, they involve the added HELL that is being sick in this country without insurance.

But Steve is my inspiration: he knows a guy who is a professional clown, he says, and is
sending Chuckles over when I have my next IVF treatment.

there ought to be clowns...

Infertility Shower

So Teamwinks put a post a few days ago, To Shower or Not To Shower. And as I read it, (and added my comment), I was struck by one sentence.

You see, a “normal” woman has a baby shower.

And I thought, I want an infertility shower.

I have been to more than my share of baby showers. (My traditional gifts are D.ref.t and B.oppie.s, which you cannot have too much of). I have been to baby showers of friends, co-workers, relatives and neighbors.

My turn. I want an infertility shower.

I want friends and acquaintances to gather around me and tell me, as they tell the new mother at the traditional baby shower, that it's okay. At the traditional baby shower, the guests tell the new mommy that she is going to be okay. That she has the love and support of all who are assembled.

I want that. Screw the quietness around the topic and no one asking for updates. I want a celebration of where I am (bleak as it is) and where I want to be. Where I am going. Where I am going to get to.

And, of course, I want cake. Hope, cake and presents.

and it's bumming me out...

..that I appear to be the only one surfing and posting on Christmas...

Merry Christmas!

Ask the Question

H (my husband) is a big fan of affirmations. Perhaps I've mentioned. But he's not a big fan of the statement affirmations. You know the kind. The "every day, in every way, I am getting better and better" flavor.


He thinks they're hooey, and I agree with him. Almost immediately, after I say it, my mind will provide me with a thousand reasons why it's not true, and a million things that are wrong with me and my life. Maybe it's just me.


H is a big fan of affirmations in the form of questions. Positive questions. And, at the risk of sounding like a dutiful wife, I agree again. Because nothing is more powerful, more insistent, more compelling than the unanswered question.


Now, if I ask myself, "what the hell is wrong with me?" I can always come up with an answer. But if I ask my self "what the hell is RIGHT with me?" it's suprising and NICE what pops into my head.


My affirming question, right now, is "what can I do to make my body more fertile and responsive to the drugs?"


Even though we don't have a hope in hell of affording an IVF until next year (if then), I'm doing things NOW that are answering the question. Goofy, loopy things—cutting down on sugar and caffeine, eating way too many vegetables, and (H's favorite) wearing a sleep mask.

So when I ask myself the question... even though we are on a "break," even though I am powerless against IF, even though I've got no reason to hope... I feel hopeful.

Any questions?

Entitlement

So we're so broke we're hitting the bill collectors up for cash. So what do we do this weekend? Go on vacation!

Okay, see, we're a member of a timeshare thing. And it was paid for, and we can't afford to anything for Christmas, so we packed up the Mama and the car and away to C.olonia.l W.illiamsbur.g! (seriously -- we're so flat we shook my purse for change to pay the tolls.)

Now, the park has a shuttle bus, and the shuttle bus is handicapped accessible. This is GREAT, because Mama needs her wheelchair to go further than a block. She has trouble walking on her own.

We approach our stop and begin to try to extricate Mama from her safety harness. A safety belt for her, a hook for each wheel and an extra restraint that I could not figure out. Most people give us space. Most people are patient (as we struggle) and give us room. Most people.

But who has the problem? The witch with the baby carriage.

She comes barrelling onto the bus, with her toddler on her shoulder and her stroller overloaded with gear. She's got a second bag on her other shoulder and is sniping at the man who trails them CARRYING NOTHING. She sets down her baby, her stroller and her bag is such a way that I CANNOT GET MY MOTHER IN LAW'S WHEELCHAIR OFF THE BUS. Has she got other places that she could have settled in? SURE, but that would have meant going a half of foot farther and WHY DO THAT.

The driver quietly and politely asks her to move her stuff. I don't know if she didn't hear him or was just too busy witching at her husband to pay attention. But she doesn't move. Finally, I'm so fed up I just say "HEY!" and gesture at my stranded and befuddled Mother In Law. 80 years old, mismatched, and crazy.

"Well, I have a child," she huffs.

I almost popped her. I freaking almost popped her. No court in the land would have convicted me.

How was your weekend?

And if you notice that I don't post pictures anymore....

...it's because they don't work so well in Blogger Beta...

Blech

Christmas is next week. WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN? Lord, I am not ready.

Went to the RE's today to have some sort of smear that I don't really understand. Not the PAP, but a c.hlamydi.a. I guess that they want to rule it out as a cause of IF. Which I just think is FUNNY because this is my third RE and the first to think of it.

I'm a little cranky today.

I've mentioned before that we don't have insurance. Because of that, we've been paying everything out of pocket. I cashed in my 401(k)s and we had an IVF cycle. And now we are broke. BROKE. Checking account overdrawn BROKE.

And Christmas is when?

Insert platitude here. We'll get by. Things will get better.

And a Merry Christmas everyone...

The thing that is extra frustrating is that I can't talk to many about it. Not in real life. Mentioning that you're penury makes people a wee bit uncomfortable. And it's a little embarrassing for us, as well. And knowing that we have no safety net... well, that just adds to the fun.

My father said that he would mail us some money. It's like I'm 19 again, living on my own for the first time. Sheesh.

Okay, I'll admit it

H and I needed time. We needed time to settle into each other, adn to settle in to the idea of being parents.

Even though we are both in our late 30s (H's 40, and I am not too far behind) we only got together a few years ago. And we had to figure out who we were as a couple. And that took time.

And then, almost on cue, Mama got sick. Way sick. Can't live on her own sick. And we had to adjust to being full-time caregivers. And that took time.

And then the concept of children. BABIES. Neither H or I had a good childhood. We had some good moments, but my mother abused me, and his father abandoned him. So... yeah. Not something that we wanted to do as a matter of course. And to truly get out heads around becoming parents. Yeah. That took time.

Now, of course, I think we're good. I think we're stable. I THINK WE'RE READY. So anytime you're ready, God, well, so are we.

Today

Today was a busy day. I took Mama to the doctors, beciuase her M11Q had expired. Her doctor had filled one out previously, but V.isitin.g N.urs.e S.ervic.e of N.e.w Y.or.k took over 30 days to process her request, and then realized they couldn't help us. (Mind you: they advertise that they will have a Home Health Aide out the next business day. Not over a damn month).

Now, if I haven't mentioned, Mama goes to Alzheimer's daycare everyday. And today also was the day of their Christmas party. And so after the doctor, I had to drive to this restaurant in the middle of nowhere, and wait with Mama for her daycare people to get there.

Now, let me mentione, I hate to drive. HATE to. It scares me. I live in New York City, darnit, I do *not* drive everyday. So a big day of driving to the 'burbs (where Mama's doctor is -- we go to a specialist) and then to some large party restaurant -- terrifying.

I set out with three sets of directions and two numbers of people who could help guide me. AND I DIDN'T GET LOST. Okay, I didn't get a lot lost. Yay me!

So I drop her off at the restaurant, help the aides get everyine settled and then Mama turns on me. She's been begging for weeks for H and I to come to this party. And she was sooo excited when I said that I would go with her. But when I was there, she was NASTY. I don't know if she was somehow embarrassed of me, or if putting me down make her look cool in front of her friends, but she was mean.

Then, I drive back home, park the car, and arrive to work by subway 4 hours late.

How was your morning?

I have to say -- my almost employers (after three years, I am still a "temp") have been very supportive and flexible with me regarding my odd schedule needs. But I am still looking for a job WITH BENEFITS come the first of the year.

So now, I AM STILL AT WORK since someone called out sick and I was late.

And I am so tired.

GREAT!

H called and got the results of the MIS test today. Borderline is 0.4; I am a 0.76 which (in the words of the clinic's nurse) makes me a good candidate.

I am a good candidate. Vote for me!

This means that I'll be trying again. At least once; from then on, I just don't know.

BUT THE HELL WITH IT. It is so RARE that we in the IF get good news that I am going to focus on the positive FOR AS LONG AS I CAN.

By the way, if you heard a woman whooping and hollering about 11:00AM this morning... you may work in my office.

:)

And the results are...

STILL UNKNOWN.

H says he got busy and couldn't call. Probably true but STILL. This means that I have to wait until Monday. OH JOY.

So I had a meltdown. And H... can't handle when I melt down. So the melting caused a fight, and the fight grew and then came to a close. It wasn't pretty, but we got through it, and I think we came out the stronger for it. Which sounds really trite but is true.

So. I'll find out what my ovarian reserves and all such funness that is the results of the MIS test. And then we'll cope.

And we'll get through it.

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

Anti-Mullerian hormone and its role in ovarian function.

Anti-Müllerian Hormone — New Marker for Determination of Ovarian Reserve.

Müllerian inhibiting substance levels at the time of HCG administration in IVF cycles predict both ovarian reserve and embryo morphology.