I am SUCH a Girl

I’ve never really been one to question myself a ton when it comes to men.

I’m a pretty perceptive girl, and I know when a guy is into me.

I also typically know when one isn’t into me.

And all the stuff in between (all the petty relationship crap that can threaten to tear apart even the best of couples) is usually stuff I can pick up on as its happening.

Like the guy I was head over heels for in San Diego, who then got a job traveling the world for 7 years on a sailboat.

Dealbreaker.

Even with all the back and forth with the ex – I for the most part knew what he was thinking all along. I wanted to change what he was thinking, but I still knew where his head was at.

He loved me, but he couldn’t let the past go.

He would never let the past go.

Dealbreaker.

Lately though, I’ve been questioning myself a lot when it comes to a certain boy.

Like, a lot a lot.

More than I probably ever have. In my entire life.

And I’m not even sure it’s his fault. In fact, I think it may be a direct result of my own self consciousness right now.

My own frustration with my body and this twist my life has taken, projecting itself upon this boy who surely must be as disinterested in me as I am in myself right now.

Suddenly self conscious in ways I’ve never been before.

It’s funny, because if there was going to be one good thing coming out of my failed cycle, I really thought it would be Mr. Fix-It jumping in with both feet. I had just kind of assumed that if the cycle did work, I would need to work harder to maintain things with him (given his aversion to the idea of children). But if it didn’t work, I really thought he would have almost taken that as a green light to plow on ahead.

After all, I wouldn’t have been pregnant. I kind of figured that in a guys mind at least, that would have been a good thing. He would have lost any inhibitions about all my “stuff” and moved forward as though none of it had ever happened at all.

In truth, I was kind of looking forward to that part.

Now, before anyone goes overanalyzing my statement there I want to be clear – if my choice had been between being pregnant and this boy, I would have chosen being pregnant in a heartbeat. No questions asked. I am still devastated with how this all turned out.

But in the back of my head, I really did think that the consolation prize at least would be smooth sailing from here on out for me and Mr. Fix-It.

Only, that’s not what happened.

That’s not what happened at all.

In fact, there is this part of me that almost felt like he pulled away after everything went south.

Which I wasn’t expecting.

On the day I found out my cycle had failed, I sent out a mass text to anyone who knew I had been trying.

“Not pregnant.”

It was condensed and impersonal.

It was also the only thing I could muster at that point.

Mr. Fix-It was the recipient of one of those texts, and he did respond pretty quickly. Something light hearted and witty. Similar to the responses I got from most of my male friends.

You could take the names out of the text messages from that day, and I still believe that most people would be able to easily pick out which responses came from my male friends and which came from my female friends.

It's funny how differently the two sexes react to tragedy.

I on the other hand, more or less avoided responding to those responses. I went home, cried for about 15 minutes (seriously – that was it) and then passed out. Slept like I hadn’t slept in years.

I was out like that for about 4 hours before coming to.

And in a haze (at what was now only 7 at night) I couldn’t figure out what I should be feeling. What I should be doing.

It was as if I had woken up blind, grasping at the air around me for anything to hold on to.

At that point, I started responding to Mr. Fix-It’s texts.

I was trying to be equally light hearted and witty, but I’m fairly sure I failed.

I’m fairly sure I failed miserably.

Finally, I sent the boy a text telling him that I thought he should bring a bottle of wine over.

He declined. Citing a camping trip that was set to begin early the next morning, and a bed that was calling his name.

And I was stung. Feeling completely and totally rejected.

On top of everything else.

Now, obviously this isn’t fair. My guess is that the boy had no idea what to say to me, and wasn’t really looking forward to buying a ticket to sob-fest 2010. He probably didn’t know what to expect, and so instead he opted out. I get that.

Except it also made me question myself.

It made me question whether or not he really was all that into me.

(Courtesy of Google Images)

He got home from that camping trip a few days later, and we exchanged some more text messages. I was straining to maintain that light and airy persona. I didn’t want him to think anything was wrong at all.

I realize this was silly. The boy knows what I went through, and was probably expecting me to be a little more broken hearted.

But I was broken hearted.

I just didn’t want him to know that. I wanted him to see a fun and easy going girl still, not one who had just lost the only thing she ever really wanted.

I left for Arizona the next day, and while a few more texts were exchanged as I went through airport hell, we didn’t talk again the rest of my trip.

And I questioned myself up the whazoo.

Why didn’t he call me?

Was he thinking of me?

How is it that he didn’t wish me a Happy Thanksgiving?

Should I have wished him a Happy Thanksgiving?

My mind ran the gamut of possibilities, but I was determined not to contact him again before he called me.

I have, after all, seen “He’s Just Not That Into You”. I know how these things work. If a guy really likes you, he will find a way to see and talk to you. No matter what.

But as the days passed and I returned home, I lost my resolve.

I never have been a very patient person.

I wanted to see where things stood between us, so yesterday (after a solid 3 hours spent trying to talk myself out of this) I texted him:

“So I was just sitting here thinking that I really could use a good looking, preferably bearded, contractor to help me figure out what the heck to do about the hideous cabinets in my kitchen. Anyone you can recommend? ;)”

There. There’s the door. It’s WIDE open.

If that boy doesn’t walk into it, he's just not that into me.

“I only know one bearded contractor.” He replied. “He doesn’t know much about cabinets but he can try.”

From there, we launched into catching up on what had happened over the Holiday. At one point I volunteered to make extra drinking money at the local strip clubs amateur night, and he bragged about his ability to pee standing up.

It’s a long story.

But the entire time, he didn’t make a single mention of seeing me again.

Why? Why why why? Why didn’t he want to see me again as desperately as I wanted to see him?

He’s just not that into you.

And I am such a girl for attempting to overanalyze this situation.

Finally, we began talking about a business trip I was supposed to go on today that wound up being canceled (the truth is that with my pain levels up the way they have been – there was just no way I was going to get on another plane right now. But I didn’t tell him that). He then remarked that I was a lucky girl, and asked what I was going to do with all my extra time.

Now, the trip itself was only supposed to be a day trip. To think I would have extra time from that being canceled is just kind of silly.

But I jumped on it anyway.

“I could probably be convinced to hang out with that good looking bearded contractor I mentioned earlier, if he wasn’t too busy scaling mountains or cross country skiing! ;)”

It’s true. The boy may be the most active man I have ever met. I feel like he is always doing something athletic.

Meanwhile, I have my laptop attached to my hip.

I hadn’t been wanting to initiate us getting together again. I hadn’t wanted that to be my move to make, especially after he had turned me down last time.

And “he’s just not that into you” kept playing through my head as I realized that if he wanted to see me, he would have initiated that.

But it was too late, and again… my lack of patience had gotten the best of me.

He took the bait though. And we made plans for Thursday night.

Plans to go to the same concert venue we went to on our first date. A month ago now.

I keep telling myself that I need to stop questioning every move here. That if he wasn’t into me, he wouldn’t be responding to my texts at all. He wouldn’t have agreed to get together.

But I can’t help it. I’m self conscious right now, and wondering if we even stand a chance.

I am being such a girl!

I have a feeling that if we can go out Thursday night and have a good time though, things will get back on track. That if I can show him that I’m still me, and I haven’t been totally broken down by this experience; everything will go back to the way it was. He will go back to being the guy who was undeniably into me.

But in the meantime, I’m unsure.

And self-conscious.

Acting like such a girl.

Wondering if he likes me as much as I like him.

For All The Endo Girls

I received an e-mail last week about the need for participants for a study looking at a new endometriosis drug. This is what I was sent (from the Reproductive Endocrine Unit at Massachusetts General Hospital), with a request for me to post the information here for all of you:

I am searching to find ways to notify women with endometriosis that MGH will be conducting an investigational research study for female subjects between 18 and 40 that have moderate to severe endometriosis and who are eligible under the study criteria. The study involves an investigational medication and up to 43 study visits over approximately 10 months. All study related procedures will be at no cost. Study eligible participants may receive up to $2,150 for reimbursement of their time and travel. For Additional Information or to schedule an appointment call: 617-643-2807.

Just for the record, I responded to the e-mail requesting more information and still haven't heard anything back. I also called the number myself yesterday, hoping to find out what the criteria was and a little more about what the study will actually consist of. I still haven't heard back from that either, although to be fair - I did call at what was probably past business hours in Massachusetts.

I just want to be clear though that I know no more than what I've posted here, and I am not in any way encouraging anyone to sign up. If you are interested in participating, call the number and see what you can find out. But do some research. I am all about finding a cure for endometriosis, but I would hate to be responsible for anyone signing up for anything that could actually harm them.

So again, I am not endorsing this!

I am however, trying to find out more information for myself as well. I highly doubt they would want me (seeing as I'm about as far away as I could possibly be) but if it turns out that they have something that may sound promising - well, let's just say that I'm not totally opposed to being a guinea pig.

After all, sometimes these studies are on to something years before the FDA approves the new drugs.

Sometimes they do actually end up being a miracle for the people who participate in them.

And in the war against endometriosis, sometimes a few risks have to be taken.

Mostly though, I am just beyond pleased to hear of any new research going on at all. I love to think that there are people out there tirelessly searching for a cure for this disease. And I truly am willing to do just about anything I can to help.

Plus, I was kind of honored that they would think to ask me to help spread the news!

So if you are an endometriosis sufferer who is even the slightest bit interested, please do make that call and see what they're all about. If you wind up learning anything new that you wanted to pass along to me, I would love to know more.

We're all in this together ladies, and it's nice to know that there are some scientists out there on our side as well.

Keep up the good fight.

One day, there WILL be a way to beat this disease.

I promise you that.

Hello Brick Wall, Nice To See You Again

They say that nothing worth having comes easy.

But I don’t think that was ever meant to apply to a pain free lifestyle.

Certain things that come easy for most people really are still worth having.

Children for instance. They come so easy to the vast majority of the population, and they are still totally worth having.

Relief should be on that list too. It should come easy. Being pain free and comfortable should come easy. It would still be valued, even if it was just a given.

After all, most people achieve that without even trying. I’m sure they don’t think it’s not worth having though. Despite how little effort they have to put into their own physical comfort, I’m sure they still value it.

Especially when that comfort is lost.

A broken bone. A bad flu. A bloody mistake while cutting an avocado.

We’ve all been there. One minute feeling good, and the next in agony. Just wishing to remember what it feels like to not be ill or in pain again. Longing to go back to a time of relief. Relief that seemed to come so easily only moments before.

When my doctor got me in first thing this morning, I think I got a little ahead of myself. I was so thankful they had found a way to squeeze me into their scheduled, that I determined this one visit would be all I would need. I think I convinced myself that we would come up with a plan of action and I would have relief by this afternoon.

I would win, and endo would lose. End of story.

I had forgotten that this disease doesn’t exactly work like that.

Dr. Lady Parts was concerned about that ribcage/shoulder pain I had told you guys about last week. She said it would be really rare for endo to travel that high. It happens, but it's rare.

She then acknowledged that I am good at being rare, and that she wouldn't be surprised if this was an endo issue for me (and a clear sign that things have spread to the point of needing to be addressed), but she first wants rule out anything more serious.

One thing she was pointing out as a possibility was an ulcer. And I'll admit it; after the last 6 months (and the fact that I have been grinding bad enough to break my own teeth) an ulcer doesn't sound totally crazy.

But I know that's not it.

The onset of this pain right when my period started just makes it very clear to me that this is endo related. I may not know much about why my body is behaving this way, but I would bet a bazillion dollars that this is endo.

Nothing more, and nothing less.

Still, I'm going to humor Dr. Lady Parts. If she needs to rule out other possibilities first, that's fine. Just so long as we can get back to the real business at hand soon.

Labs were done and orders were written for me to head on over to the hospital. To the radiology center.

Where the doctor taking the x-rays of my insides looked suspiciously like Edward Cullen.

Just for the record – this wasn't all that exciting in my mind. R. Pattz does nothing for me. I’ve never really been a fan of “pretty” men. But this doctor – thoroughly pretty. Pale skin. Big eyes. Tall. Lanky (OK, I’ll say it – skinny). Seriously, the spitting image of Edward Cullen.

And I spent the entire rest of my time there thinking about vampires working as doctors in hospitals.

Yes, this is what was on my mind when I should have been focused on beating endometriosis.

For the record, both my blood work and this x-ray came back perfect.

Just as I knew they would. Endometriosis wouldn't show up on those tests. They are simply being done to rule out anything else.

But Doctor Lady Parts still wants to run a few more tests. She’s sending me to a GI specialist.

For a colonoscopy.

Not. Excited. At. All.

If that comes back normal though, we'll acknowledge that this new pain is endometriosis and move forward from there.

Finally putting together a plan of attack.

I’ve been doing some research on alternative endometriosis treatments. After a conversation that started over at the community, I'm starting to lean towards trying Mirena. In doing my research, I have come across stories of women who have had amazing results from it, as well as horrific results.

Like every other endo treatment out there.

Because nothing can ever come easy and there is no shiny magic pill to cure endometriosis. What works for one woman may not work for the next 30. It truly is about trial and error.

I spoke to Dr. Lady Parts about it this morning, and she said it would be something she would be willing to try with me. Maybe even in conjunction with the pill, to keep any hint of a period at all at bay. She said for women who have never been pregnant before, putting it in is typically painful for a few days. But she said that after what I’ve been through; it wouldn’t be that big a deal.

And at this point, I really do want to try something new. I explained to her today that I just don’t think I could do Lupron again right now, and the beauty of Mirena is that the side effects involved are nothing compared to the Lupron side effects. I’ve even read about some women who haven’t had relief with anything at all, and then all of a sudden they’ve switched to Mirena and that’s been the magic bullet that takes the pain away.

There are no guarantees, and it's possible that it may not work for me. It's even possible it could make things worse.

But, at least this would be something new. Something I haven’t tried before. Something that could possibly hold some hope for relief.

And my doctor is willing to try it.

As soon as she cancels out the possibility of anything else destructive going on inside my stomach first that is.

Once we come to terms with the fact that the only thing wrong with me (the only thing that has ever been wrong with me) is an extreme case of endometriosis though, we’ll go from there. Possibly another surgery to clear everything out. Or possibly a little more waiting and seeing.

In the meantime, she wrote me a prescription for pain killers. And another for antacids and anti-nausea medication once I explained how sick anything pain-pill related was making me last week.

I had to laugh when she then gave me the addiction lecture. At this point, I have enough pain killers in my house to run my own small pharmacy. If I was going to become addicted, it would have happened a long time ago. In reality though, I never take anything for more than a day or two before deciding that I hate feeling so loopy.

I’m kind of straight laced like that.

But it’s a tide-me-over plan until we can decide what to do next.

Until we can find a way to get me some real relief.

Not exactly the hard and fast battle plan I had been hoping for this morning though.

Especially since I won’t even be finished with all this testing for at least 2 weeks.

Hello brick wall, nice to see you again.

(Courtesy of Google Images)

I have a bone to pick with endometriosis.

And I’m planning on getting in the ring fists a swinging.

But I have to get past this waiting part first.

Past this brick wall I’ve come to know so well.

And then?

Game on.

Here We Go...

I just got a hold of my lady doctor, and they are getting me in right now.

Hopefully to come up with a plan of action sooner than later.

Because seriously - it's been almost a week and I am still in pain.

Far more pain than I should be in.

First day home, and already getting into action.

Plan of the day?

Kick endo's butt.

You know what though? This is a fight I'm actually feeling ready to take on right now.

I think I'm pissed off enough at this disease to start fighting back.

Time to do what needs to be done.

This is one battle I plan on winning.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jog

I am here.

Nestled up in the safety of my own bed.

In my own home.

In my own cold (cold) town.

With its fresh new layer of snow.

My bag (which admittedly somehow grew during my time in Arizona) is sitting on the floor. Waiting to be unpacked and laundry to be done.

My budget (which in the last few weeks has somehow expanded out of control) is beckoning me. Begging to be balanced and screaming for me to keep it in mind with any further purchases this month and in the months to come.

That empty room (where the door has been closed since before I left) is mocking me. Screaming out that it’s time for me to get a roommate for real. That without a baby to go in there, I really have no excuse for turning down the extra income that room can bring in. Especially when I owe so much to so many people after my baby making endeavors.

My phone is ringing and my e-mails are begging to be answered, but the truth is – I am being lazy.

I am cuddled up in my bed, catching up with my DVR.

Convincing myself that if I fall asleep right here and now and don’t wake up until it’s time to go to work in the morning, it won’t be the end of the world.

The laundry will still get done, and the bag unpacked. My budget will return to its typical place of importance in my life, and I will find a purpose for that empty room to serve.

As for the phone and e-mails – everyone will still love me just as much if I don’t get back to them until tomorrow.

But for now, I am home.

(Courtesy of Google Images)

A place that isn’t as scary as I thought it would be when I left Arizona this morning.

A place of comfort.

And warmth.

A place that is mine.

A goal that I set my mind to almost 2 years ago, and accomplished. A home that I bought in need of a large amount of remodeling; most of which I have since done on my own. A place where I taught myself how to change out lighting, and painstakingly painted every wall. A small condo which has slowly transformed into a space I am proud of over this last year.

My home. My reminder that when I set my mind to something; I can accomplish great things.

And tonight, I think I am going to revel in that.

As I drift in and out of sleep and embark upon nothing more than watching TV on my ridiculously comfortable bed, I am going to rejoice in this sanctuary I have managed to carve out for myself.

Tomorrow it’s back to the real world and real responsibilities.

But tonight, it’s just me and my bed.

In my beautiful condo.

In this quaint little town.

Where one way or another; I will figure everything else out.

Eventually.

They Say You Can't Go Home Again...

I haven’t felt comfortable in Arizona in well over a decade.

Even when I lived here, I felt as if this place stifled me.

The constant reminders that it wasn’t where I belonged. That it wasn’t where I was wanted.

When I moved to San Diego a little over 5 years ago, it was honestly the best decision I had ever made for myself. I blossomed in San Diego. Away from the oppressive heat and even more oppressive bad memories; I became a better version of myself.

I healed.

And ever since, coming back here has felt like a punishment. Like a torture that must be endured for the greater good of my family, but one which I always wanted to get through as quickly as possible.

I feared that’s what this trip would become. Even without the menacing threat of my stepmother waiting in the wings, I worried that the painful memories of the past would make this the last place I should be while nurturing a broken heart. I was scared that I would be uncomfortable and wounded the entire trip, simply longing to return home to the safety of my own bed.

Only… that isn’t what happened.

In fact, that isn’t what happened at all.

And now, as it’s time for me to get on a plane and leave; I don’t want to.

I even contemplated extending my stay. Finding some way to duck out of work for a few more days and continuing to allow my dad to take care of me.

Because the truth is – I’m not ready to return to the real world. I’m not ready to face the big decisions and scary choices. I’m not ready to go back to my life.

But here? Here I have suddenly felt safe. Protected. Provided for. With no responsibilities and no car to take myself anywhere, I haven’t felt any pressure to be anything to anyone. And surrounded by those who love me, I’ve felt at least mildly insulated from the blow that fell last week.

I know that at home it won’t be the same. That home will mean returning to my job and not allowing my emotions to effect my work. It will mean doctor’s appointments and negotiations; trying to find solutions for this new bout of endo that will provide relief without making me feel like I’m losing pieces of myself.

Going home is going to mean facing reality again.

And I’m just not sure I’m ready for that.

But the truth is – I know I won’t be ready in three days either. Or three weeks. Or three months.

If I had my way, I would hide out here in my dad’s house for the rest of my life. I would allow him to make all the decisions for me and take care of me and expect nothing else of me in return.

Because suddenly; that sounds like the ideal life to live.

But I know that isn’t true. I know it isn’t me. I know that no matter how comforting it feels now, it would be giving up.

And I am not a quitter.

So, I am going to get on that plane.

And tomorrow I am going to go to work.

I am going to call my doctor and get in as soon as possible for an ultrasound and consultation about what to do next.

I am going to see about spending some time with Mr. Fix-It.

I am going to work on finding my smile again.

I am going to hang out with friends, and go to church.

I am going to buy my groceries and do my laundry and clean my house.

I am going to move forward, one step at a time. Even if it is at a snail’s pace.

All the while knowing that if it becomes more than I can handle, this room in my dad’s is still here for me.

This space where I belong. Where I am wanted. Where I am loved.

This one place in the world where I can hide. Where someone else will take care of me, until I’m ready to take care of myself.

They say you can’t go home again.

But this week – I learned that isn’t true.

This week I learned that whenever the real world gets to be too much;

Home is exactly where I need to be.

You Knew It Was Coming...

The night started out innocently enough.

As soon as I walked through the door, I was greeted by faces I hadn’t seen in years. Faces I had been longing to see forever.

Old friends who I adore, and couldn’t wait to catch up with.

I had intentionally donned loose attire to accommodate my baby making pudge, but even more importantly – my less than happy gut.

I had convinced myself that 3 days of pain pills were only making the situation down there worse at this point, and so I had powered through the hurt.

No pills. No anything. Just pure toughness.

And it was fine… at first.

One drink in, I was still doing pretty OK. We played some ridiculous game I had never heard of before that involved $3 and rolling dice until you were out.

I got third.

Which would have been cool, except third is really just 2 away from winning all the money.

Still, it was a good time.

Then we all headed outside to play flip cup.

Something I literally haven’t played since my going away party in San Diego 2 ½ years ago.

Apparently flip cup came back to Arizona from that party with a vengeance, and my old friends have been taking it seriously ever since.

I love to pass a good tradition along.

As soon as I played that first round though, I knew I was in trouble.

My stomach was revolting. Cramping up and sending shooting pains through my chest and shoulder. Yes, my shoulder. I realize this is ridiculous, and I can’t explain it. But for the past few days I have had shooting pains in my shoulder very similar to the gas pains you get in the same place after laparoscopic surgery. Pain pills can’t help them, and in fact – they’ve only seemed to make them worse. Having never had these pains outside of surgery though, I can only assume that endo has caused something in my diaphragm to be inflamed. Something that is extra irritated by pain pills and booze right now.

Yes, I realize that I sound out of my mind. I understand that I am coming off as a whiny little drama queen who is just looking for reasons to complain.

But I swear to you – my insides hurt right now. For the past 4 days, they have hurt. And it would appear that the hurt is only spreading.

Still, it really is my own fault. I was doing fine. I was feeling better.

I should have known that drinking anything at all was a bad idea.

And so, it was in that moment that I secretly texted my dad. He had dropped me off (making me feel like I was about 15 years old, but loving him for being my chauffer all the same) and even though I had only been there a few hours, I let him know.

“I’m ready to go whenever you’re ready to come get me.”

I just knew my stomach couldn’t handle anymore. I knew I needed to get home in bed and wrap up with my heating pad.

Because this is what my life has become.

The girl who used to do keg stands and shoot tequila like it was water.

I can no longer handle 1 ½ drinks without feeling like my stomach is on the attack.

Fifteen minutes later, my dad was there. I said my goodbyes, blaming my early exit on the old man. Not wanting to own up to how much pain I was already in. Hoping I would be able to walk out of there up right. That no one would notice the newly pained look on my face.

The ride home was rather quiet. Dad was tired, and I was hurting. At one point though, we started talking about my grandparents on my mom’s side of the family, who I only just recently found out have moved into assisted living.

I was telling my dad that I wouldn’t want to live a life where I had to be taken care of all the time. That I would just prefer not get old at all.

And then I realized – my dad has 25 years on me. The man is 6’6”, meaning his body has to work that much harder to keep him up and running. At least, that was where my logic was going.

“I take that back” I said. “You’re not allowed to die. Ever.”

Because the truth is, the one thing I really don’t think I could take or handle right now would be losing my dad. I’m pretty sure that would be the thing that would push me over the edge.

He didn’t respond the way I thought he would though. Instead he said “Well, it has to happen eventually…”

Wait. Stop. Don’t even go there!

“I’ve lived a good life” He said. “I’ve raised two good kids and done what I’ve needed to do. If I die tomorrow, it will still have been a good life.”

I can’t think about this right now. Stop talking like this!

“Not before you’re a grandpa” I said. “You still have to be a grandpa.”

I think he thought he was comforting me with what he said next. I think he thought he was saying the right thing.

“No. I don’t need to be a grandpa. It will be OK if I’m not.”

No it will not be OK. You not being a grandpa will not be OK. Why aren’t you angry about this?!? Why aren’t you pissed? This isn’t fair!! Be angry! Be angry for me! Be angry for you! Just be angry!

But don’t say that it will be OK if you aren’t ever a grandpa.

Because it won’t be. It just won’t be.

I had to fight back tears the rest of the ride home. Not wanting to break down at that moment.

Not wanting to break down at all.

When we got home, I went to take my new boots off.

The brown Dansko boots I bought this week.

(Courtesy of the official Dansko website)

The ones I have been coveting for the last year at least.

Beautiful boots. Leather boots. Sexy boots.

$250 boots.

“I love my boots.” I was saying as my dad passed my bedroom. “They are super cute.”

“Not as cute as the crib I would have bought instead of them if I had been pregnant” I finished. “But still cute.”

The tears were already falling as I heard my dad say “Stop doing that to yourself!” on the way to his room.

He didn’t know I was crying. I’ve said a million flippant things along those lines in the last few days. My snarky side trying to make as much sense as possible out of the mess that this has all become.

“I didn’t get a baby, but I do get to go spend ridiculous amounts of money at Express.”

“I’m not pregnant, but at least I can have a glass of wine.”

“If I can’t have babies, I’m going to spend the rest of my life traveling. Just quit my job and get on a plane and write about it. My own version of Eat, Pray, Love.”

I haven’t cried when I’ve said any of those things, so there was no reason for him to think I would be crying when I said this.

Except that I was. And it didn’t stop.

As I washed my face, and brushed my teeth, the tears fell.

When I crawled into bed, the pillow was shortly soaked.

I stifled my sobs. Kept them as quiet as I could. But I cried.

I cried over my empty womb.

I cried over the idea of my dad dying before he becomes a grandfather.

Over the idea of him dying at all.

I cried over old friends who have all moved on to the next stage of their lives. Who have all gotten married and at least started talking about babies.

While I am still stagnant. Doing the same things and maintaining the same less than substantial relationships. Already facing the fact that I will probably never carry a child.

I cried over my empty womb.

And the money that has been lost on this endeavor.

I cried over the choices I've had to face. The ones it seems no one else in my life has ever had to come up against.

I cried because of the pain I have been in for the last several days.

And because I feel like a weak person every time I complain about that pain.

I cried because I don’t want to feel like this. With my heart ripping out of my chest.

And I cried because in just one more day I have to go home.

To my real life.

To my job, and house, and responsibilities.

I have to go home and face the fact that I have no idea what comes next. I have no idea what my life becomes now.

And I can’t even begin to imagine how I will recover from this.

I cried because while I have been able to hide out here for a few days and pretend my life is something other than what it is, I won’t be able to do that much longer.

And then what?

What do I do now?

Now that there is no upcoming cycle.

Now that it has become clear that endometriosis is staking its claim on my body again.

Now that the hopes of carrying a child on my own are having to be tucked away into a closet somewhere in the very back of my mind.

I cried because I honestly do not know.

And in that not knowing, I feel incredibly lost.

Lost because despite all the love and support and warmth I have surrounding me right now; I’m not sure I have ever felt so alone. So devoid of anyone who understands or feels this hurt as deeply as I do.

And I realize this makes me a hypocrite, because on the one hand I claim that I don't want anyone else hurting over this while in the same breath acknowledging that I don't want to feel it alone. I recognize my own lunacy in these statements. But I can't help it. I want it all. I don't want anyone else to hurt, but I also don't want to be hurting alone. I don't want to bring anyone down with me, but I don't want to be the only one feeling this ache.

I want someone else to acknowledge how unfair this is. I want someone else to be angry with me.

I want to not feel so alone in this pain.

I want someone else to give me all the answers that will make this better.

I don’t know what comes next. And I don't know how I'm going to figure it out.

And so, I cried.

Because at this point, I'm just not sure what else to do.

Blast From The Past

Tonight, I am going out.

As in out-out.

Nice boots, a sexy little top, and hair and makeup done.

Really out.

Something I’m pretty sure I would not have been ready for had I stayed home instead of coming back to Arizona for Thanksgiving.

But I’ve got some old friends getting together tonight, and I couldn’t resist the opportunity to see everyone. Friends I've known forever it seems. Friends who I have memories with that no one else can even begin to match. Friends who have seen me at my very worst, and at my very best.

Several of these friends came to visit me a time or two when I lived in San Diego, so I’ve seen some of them as recently as 3 years ago.

But there will be a few tonight who I haven’t seen since I left Arizona at 22.

And I am excited. Excited to see some old and familiar faces and excited to catch up on what everyone’s got going on.

Excited to have a night out that is too focused on catching up and remembering the past to revolve around the state of my insides.

I don’t think I’ll be drinking much tonight, as my stomach is still less than pleased with me right now. But I’m walking upright, and I haven’t needed to take anything for pain today. So overall – things are looking up.

And I am ready.

To see some old friends.

Laugh about old times.

And remember who I was, before endometriosis and infertility took over.

Because you know what? I used to be a pretty cool chick.

And I’m hoping that somewhere deep down inside, that version of me still exists.

It may just take a night out with some old friends to dig her back up.

And then bring her home to Alaska with me.

I Don’t Believe In Black Friday…

Which is why I am still here, in my bed. Quiet and content and happy to not have anything at all to do with any kind of crowd.

(Courtesy of Google Images)

For those of you who are willing to get up at all hours of the night to brave the chaos, all power to you.

But I am a much bigger fan of sleeping in!

My Thanksgiving followed the same pattern. Quiet, calm, and drama-free. In truth, probably one of the best Thanksgivings I have ever had. My dad had gone out of his way to plan a simple Thanksgiving dinner at his house with just immediate family. Typically Thanksgiving has always included lots of cousins and aunts and uncles. Within the last few years, that list has expanded to new babies. And this year - to at least one pregnant belly.

The truth is, I just wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t have it in me. I know that someday I will have to get over that ache, but now, less than a week after finding out my cycle failed – I wasn’t there.

And so, dad changed a long standing family tradition; for me. We had a quiet and simple dinner with just 7 of us sitting around the table.

It was heavenly. Exactly what I needed. No drama, no trying to explain what’s going on with me to people who don’t understand, and no slapping a fake smile on my face as my cousins gush over their pregnancies and children.

Like I said – I know eventually I will need to get over this. But I’m not there yet. And I am beyond grateful to my dad for recognizing this and not trying to force me into anything.

As a result – this was a breakdown free Thanksgiving.

Something that may not have been promised otherwise.

I truly hope that all of you had as peaceful a Thanksgiving as I did. I think we all know how chaotic large family gatherings can be, and for those out there suffering from infertility – I know it is even harder. My heart goes out to you, and I hope you were able to find a way to enjoy the holiday as well.

I have a new post up at Fertility Authority for those of you who like to follow along there. I wrote it last week, before I knew the results of my IVF cycle. It’s about the desire to test at home, even though deep down inside we all know we should be Waiting for Beta. It’s mildly ironic now, since it's no secret how testing from home turned out for me.

The truth is though, I’m still glad I tested. If nothing else, I think it helped to at least mildly soften the blow for me. Those negatives were whispering in my ear even as my hope started to rise again. Had I not tested at all, or ever seen those negatives – I’m not sure I would have been prepared at all for the bad news that was still to come.

Not that you can ever be fully prepared for that, but I do feel like those negative home tests helped me at least a little. They aided me in being as realistic as possible.

I’m struggling now though, trying to figure out what I’m going to write for Fertility Authority next week. The truth is – I don’t know where I am in this infertility journey anymore. I don’t know where I stand. I don’t know what comes next.

And the not knowing has me feeling a bit lost.

But I’ll figure it out soon (hopefully sooner than later) and let you all know when I do what comes next.

Because there will always be something that comes next. Even if it is simply waving the white flag and giving up.

I do want to give everyone a heads up that the Live Infertility Chat will not be happening this week. I will be flying back to Anchorage Sunday, and between spending as much time with my family as possible until I leave, and unpacking and getting ready for the week to come once I get home – rescheduling just isn’t really an option.

But we will be back on next week. Same time, same place. If you want to catch up on past chats between now and then, feel free to do so here:

Live Infertility Chat: Week 12

Live Infertility Chat: Week 11

In the meantime though, I do have a possibly endo related question over at the community right now. I've never heard of this happening before, so there may not be anyone out there who has any idea at all what I'm talking about, but if you do have any insight - I would really appreciate it!

I hope everyone is doing well and surviving the holidays as best they can. I know they can be rough, and I pray that all of you have the same level of incredible support I have right now.

I honestly couldn’t ask for more.

To Be Thankful

It’s hard to be thankful right now.

With my empty womb and endo threatening to bring me to my knees for the past 3 days now; it’s hard to see a bright side.

But I am a big believer that there is always something to be thankful for.

That there are always silver linings.

And right now, I m thankful for finally feeling like I have a place back in Arizona. After 10 years of just hating being here, I am thankful for what is shaping up to be a good trip.

A comfortable trip.

A happy trip.

And I am thankful for good friends. Amazing friends. Friends who have always been there for me.

I am thankful for a job that allows me to provide for and support myself. One that was even incredibly flexible with me during my quest to get pregnant.

And today, I am also thankful for drawstring sweat pants. Because seriously – jeans on my pissed off belly are so not an option this Thanksgiving morning!

I’m thankful for sleeping in until 12:30, and for waking up to find my baby brother here.

And I’m thankful for good food, good times, and good company.

My heart is still aching. I still don’t know what I’m going to do or how I’m going to feel when it’s time for me to return to the real world and face what my life is going to look like now; and that empty room of mine that no longer has a purpose to serve.

I know the next year is going to be a mountain climb in terms of finding my way to a point of being happy with whatever it is God has determined I need.

But I will do it. I will climb that mountain and find my happy again.

Because that’s what I do.

It’s who I am.

And today, I am thankful for that as much as anything.

For being a woman of strength.

A woman of perseverance.

And for knowing that no matter what;

I will always survive.

And no matter how many battles I lose.

I will always win the war.

It All Works Out… In The End

I am still in pain.

Still hemorrhaging.

Still just completely and totally over endometriosis.

Which has stripped me of my ability to be strong. My ability to have children. My ability to be the woman I truly want to be.

But today – I won.

Because, despite the pain (and bloat, and nausea, and discomfort - and lack of babies in my belly) I managed to follow through on my big plans.

Kind of.

Shopping was definitely kept short; as in, less than an hour and limited to two stores.

Time with the grandparents was spent with a heating pad attached to my back.

And dinner with The Devirginator and his new girlfriend ended with the two of them and several friends from high school all coming back to my house.

Or rather, my dad’s house.

Where I am now welcome.

Where I now belong.

It’s funny how it all works out… In the end.

Big Plans

I had big plans for today.

Shopping with my sister in law (a little retail therapy at the stores which unfortunately still haven’t found their way to Alaska yet).

(Courtesy of Google Images)

Time with my grandparents (because my poor grandmother is probably going to have a meltdown if I am here for 24 hours without seeing her).

And dinner with The Devirginator and his new girlfriend (yes new girlfriend – new girlfriend who I must give myself a pat on the back for, because I was totally his love guru when he thought he had blown it with her!) and some old friends from high school.

Instead, I’m having a hard time getting out of bed right now.

Still in a very real amount of pain, and having basically hemorrhaged throughout the night.

Yes, my first morning in my dad's house - I had to do a load of bloody laundry.

Lovely.

It’s days like today when I lose my resolve. Days when I really just want to call up the doctor and say “Take it all out! I’m done! It isn’t worth the fight anymore – endometriosis wins.”

Because this isn’t normal.

And I am not good at being weak.

But then I remember that the only thing that would hurt more than another failed cycle would be knowing. Knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is no hope. That everything is gone, and I will absolutely never carry a child.

Because it’s one thing to say I’ve come to terms with that reality, and another thing entirely to be faced with the sheer impossibility of such a miracle.

And so, I’ll keep fighting endometriosis. Because I don’t really know what else to do right now.

Because I don’t really feel like I have any other choice.

But I’ll tell you what – the timing of this disease is about to piss me off.

Didn’t my endo know I had big plans for today? Didn’t it know that I was on vacation? That there were people to see and things to do?

Right now I am draped across my heating pad and popping prescription strength ibuprofen – hoping that will at least get me to a place of functionality without needing to go on to anything stronger.

Because as much as I prefer the good drugs – they certainly don’t do much in the way of making me more sociable. So I’m trying to reserve those for the evenings right now – when it would be reasonable enough to assume I had simply downed a few glasses of wine, rather than a few pain killers (which make me equally as loopy as wine any day).

I had big plans for today.

But I may end up spending it on the couch with my family instead.

And the heating pad.

And the good drugs.

Big plans I tell ya.

Big plans.

A Sigh of Relief...

I am here.

In Arizona.

Finally breathing again.

By the time the plane landed, I was far past the point of misery. Almost 10 hours after I should have gotten here, my pain had reached a point where even the Dexter DVDs I had brought with me were not providing the distraction I needed.

In fact, death at Dexter's hands was almost sounding merciful.

I walked towards baggage claim gingerly counting my steps. Thinking my dad was waiting for me on the curb, and wondering if it was possible for me to bleed out before I ever even got there.

And then, I spied him. My daddy waiting for me in the sea of people.

The man is 6'6" - he's kind of hard to miss.

And, I stopped in my tracks and started crying. Right there, in the middle of a crowded airport. Letting loose the tears I had been holding back since this debacle began. Tears which flowed until he was by my side with his arms around me.

And I could breathe again.

A sigh of relief.

Because my dad was there with me. Ready to take care of me.

We got my bag and went straight to Sonic, where I devoured 2 grill cheese sandwiches and the Percocet I had been desperately needing.

The dinner of champions.

And now, I am blogging while soaking in scalding hot water in my dad's giant tub.

I feel like I'm sweating the last 24 hours out, and finally breathing again.

Because I am here.

I am exactly where I belong in this moment.

And my dad is going to take care of me now.

Which it turns out, isn't as awful a prospect as I thought it would be...

In fact, it actually sounds kind of nice.

The Good Drugs

I knew that the pain was inevitable.

When I stopped my progesterone shots, and tore off the estrogen patches, I knew that a hefty period was on its way.

Even now, when I still haven’t been able to throw the remainder of those baby making drugs out, I knew that the pain would be hitting soon.

Because I didn't get pregnant, so a period was inevitable.

And a bad one at that. Because we all knew those baby making drugs were going to cause my endometriosis to flare.

My favorite catch 22 of all - that my endo prevents me from getting pregnant naturally, but the drugs required to get pregnant also work to exasperate that same condition that is preventing me from getting pregnant in the first place.

It's a vicious cycle.

I assumed this period would appear at some point while I was in Arizona though. And so, I packed the good drugs.

(Courtesy of Google Images)

The drugs which I specifically have a prescription for to help me get through periods like this.

And my heating pad. Which is almost just as crucial.

Both are in my luggage now.

My luggage which is who knows where at this point.

Because here I sit – in Portland. Again delayed.

And on the verge of what is shaping up to be a horrific period.

I have endometriosis. Stage IV endometriosis. My periods are brutal.

And the last place I want to be while suffering through one is stuck in an airport.

By myself.

With no good drugs. No hot bath. And no heating pad.

Do you ever get the feeling you’re being tested? Because that’s how I’m feeling right now. Like someone, somewhere, is pushing me to the edge and waiting for me to break.

Anticipating my explosion.

And even feeding into it.

Waiting around for me to truly lose it and put on a good show.

At this point, I’m supposed to be landing in Phoenix a little after 7. Assuming there are no more delays between now and then.

That means a little more than 5 hours until I can get my hands on the good drugs. Until I can eat something that won’t make me feel worse, and submerse myself in water hot enough to dull the pain.

Likely causing some scalding in the process, but hey – that’s sometimes the price you have to pay when you’re an endo girl.

I’m telling myself this a test though. Preparation for when I’m on Big Brother (because yes, I have come to realize now that it is totally inevitable – I’m expecting the producers to call any day now!) They have endurance challenges all the time on that show, and that’s what this is. A test of my endurance. Of my ability to keep from breaking under the pressure, pain, and sadness.

I can endure better than anyone.

But I can’t help questioning the timing of this. Why I would possibly start this period at the most inopportune time. When there is absolutely zero I can do to ease the hurt.

I feel like this is the lesson of the week right now.

My timing sucks.

I need to be patient.

My timing sucks.

I was talking to Mr. Fix-it last night from the airport, and he just texted me to see if I had made it yet.

I texted him back that he should shoot me if I ever try to travel on the holidays again.

And I meant it too.

From now on, if people want to see me during heavy travel times? Well they can just come to me.

Because right now, I can't even think about spending time with my family.

Or my friends.

All I can think about is the good drugs.

And how soon it will be before I can get my hands on them.

Delayed

My flight was supposed to leave at 12:55 in the morning.

I hate all-nighter flights, but unfortunately up here – they’re usually the best option if you want to go anywhere beyond Seattle.

Not wanting anyone to have to take me to the airport that late on a work night though, I had Loo drop me off at 9:15, thinking it was no big deal. I would just bring a good book and my laptop.

At 11:00, my flight status was changed to delayed.

(Courtesy of Google Images)

Until 1:30 am. I had originally only given myself an hour layover in Portland, but I figured I would still  be OK. I figured I would still make it. I figured I would still be able to get myself to Phoenix by 10am.

At midnight however, the flight was delayed again.

Until 5:30 in the morning.

The next available connecting flight from Portland isn’t until 1:50pm.

Which means I’ll be landing in Phoenix around 5:30pm.

Having spent 20 hours on airplanes and in airports.

Eating crap for food instead of the deliciousness that was on my diva grocery list.

Getting no sleep at all, because I am one of those difficult people who can’t sleep anywhere but in a bed.

Preferably, my own bed.

I am officially the cranky girl sitting in the airport (hormonal and feeling as though Aunt Flo is about to make her vengeful and untimely appearance) as I type this and set it to post when I will hopefully finally be in the air.

I’m fighting back tears though, and wondering if I shouldn’t just grab my bag and go home. To my bed. To the sanctity of my covers. Where I wouldn’t have to worry about schedules and making time for everyone and watching my own feelings so as not to hurt anyone else’s.

I’m wondering if I should take this all as a sign that trying to go anywhere less than a week after a failed IVF cycle was a horrendously stupid idea.

I am tired. I am frustrated. I am hormonal. I am in pain.

And I am not pregnant.

It's quite possible that my sanity has also been delayed.

As well as my patience. My flexibility. And my desire to go with the flow.

All of it delayed.

Darn you Alaska and your hazardous weather conditions.

Why must you make it so difficult to simply leave!

Stay tuned… this may be the perfect setup for a breakdown.

And if nothing else; breakdowns are always at least amusing after the fact.

When you can point at yourself and laugh over what a ridiculous crazy person you are.

And I have a feeling, I’m about to hit a crazy person low.

The kind that should probably be well documented and saved for eternity. So that one day I can look back and think to myself “Remember that time I had a complete meltdown in an airport?”

And hopefully by then, I’ll be able to laugh about it.

But right now; I kind of just want to throw something.

Because It Turns Out, I’m a Diva

Freezing rain.

That’s what I woke up to this morning.

Or rather, that’s what I woke up to the radio reporting this morning.

Which is why it’s almost humorous that just a few steps out of my front door, I managed to slip and fly.

Yes fly.

You would think I would have been more careful. You would think I would have watched my step.

After all, I had been warned.

But no. I couldn’t be bothered. Couldn’t be forced to focus on the world outside me. I was having a diva moment, and it landed me square on my butt.

And now, here I am, lying in bed. Sent home from work early because the roads are so hazardous (and that is no small feat in Alaska - we don’t just shut things down for any reason!)

I should be packing. I’m leaving for Arizona tonight (assuming the weather doesn’t end up getting worse), but all I want to do is nap.

Because it turns out, I’m a diva.

A diva who has determined she needs middle of the day naps to survive.

(Courtesy of Google Images)

For weeks now, my dad has been asking me to tell him what I want grocery-wise for this trip. Not wanting to put him out, I have continuously told him that I didn’t care. That I wasn’t picky.

Well, the other night in a less than sober moment, I may have sent him a grocery list.

A perfectly diva grocery list, complete with brown, cage free, organic eggs and thinly sliced Boars head provolone cheese.

I got up and looked at this list the next morning and just about died.

Because seriously – when did I become such a diva?

I’ve determined that the last few days have hurtled me into a world all my own. I have very little patience for people right now. Very little interest in doing anything for anyone but myself.

And the truth is – it does make me feel crappy. I’m not the kind of person who behaves this way. Who thinks this way. Who feels this way.

I am usually the giver in each and every one of my relationships. But right now, I don’t want to give.

Right now, I don’t even have anything left to give.

I clearly can’t even be bothered to pay attention to how slippery the ground beneath me is. Preferring to fly into the air and land on my butt over exerting one ounce of awareness for the outside world.

Being a diva does not suit me. I am hoping it passes soon. Hoping for the day when I stop requiring so much of myself that I have no energy left for the needs of anyone else.

But for now, I am a diva.

A diva about to take a nap.

And then a diva who needs to pack for a flight out this evening (which still doesn’t seem like the best idea.)

Because the truth is, no one should really be subjected to me for long periods of time right now.

Least of all, my kind hearted father who has probably already run out and purchased everything on that diva shopping list of mine.

I asked a friend today when I would stop feeling like this. When I would stop feeling so cold to the rest of the world. So incapable of caring what anyone else needs or feels.

When it is that I will finally get over this. Because it feels like I've been grieving for years, even though I suppose it’s only been days.

It feels like it should be over by now though.

She quoted Sleepless in Seattle to me.

Well, I'm gonna get out of bed every morning... breathe in and out all day long. Then, after a while I won't have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out...

So that’s what this diva’s going to do. I’m going to get out of bed every morning, and breathe in and out, until the day comes when I don’t have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out.

And when that day comes, I’m going to formulate a plan. A new plan. A different plan.

A plan fit for someone a little less diva-esque.

Because I am a girl in need of a plan. For this month. For this year. For this life.

But right now, I just don’t feel like working on a plan. Right now, I just don’t feel like I have enough to give.

To a plan, or to anyone around me.

Because it turns out, I’m a diva.

But I won’t always be.

This won’t last forever.

And one day (hopefully one day soon) I won’t need the reminder to breathe.

Or the reminder to pay attention when I’m walking on ice.

A Little Extra Grace

I sat down in church today, still seething.

The comment I had received this morning on my personal Facebook page basically said that I should never give up, because plenty of people adopt and then go on to conceive naturally.

(Courtesy of Google Images)

This was from a family member. Someone who has conceived her own children with ease. Someone who really has no idea how painful infertility can be. And someone who (clearly) has no concept at all how severe my specific condition is.

I wanted to rage. Wanted to draw out diagrams. Wanted to send the pictures that I actually have of my insides which show both of my ovaries completely scared down to the point that an egg couldn't possibly be released on its own. I wanted to explain that I only have one tube left after my surgeries, and that it is so covered in scar tissue that even if an embryo managed to find its way there – the end result would be an ectopic pregnancy.

Because it is all just too big a mess.

Because the last 2 years have taken away any hope of natural conception.

And the last 2 days have pretty thoroughly slashed to pieces any hope of conception at all.

I wanted to explain until this person understood beyond a shadow of a doubt that adoption was most certainly not going to lead to me procreating naturally.

That almost $25,000 and the best modern medicine had to offer couldn’t give me the end result I so coveted either.

I wanted to point out the stupidity. The insensitivity. The shear ignorance.

And then I wanted to delete the relationship and move forward never interacting with this person ever again.

Canceling my ticket home for the holidays while I was at it, because clearly that was a bad idea.

But instead, I went to church.

This isn’t the first time someone who should have known better said something so painful to me. When I was approaching my first surgery with fear last year, I sat crying to my best friend at the time. I was hurting, she was pregnant. With number 2.

Her words to me then were “I really think you’re taking this too hard. If I were you, I would just adopt.”

She said this as she rubbed her pregnant belly (conceived with ease – in fact, both children were conceived without intention), and watched her perfect 2 year old run around the house.

The epitome of someone who couldn't possibly conceptualize what they would do in my shoes, because they would never be in my shoes.

I never thought someone who cared about me could cut me so wide open without even trying.

But those kinds of comments… they come out even still. Even now. Just days after this blow. Not from her anymore, but from others like her. Others who have conceived with ease and obviously don’t get it, but who seem to think they have the solutions for me.

And this morning, I was raging at all of them. Hurt and upset and angry that they just didn’t understand. That they would never understand.

Because their children had come to them without any effort at all. No $20,000-$40,000 adoption fees, or cycle after cycle of failure.

Their children had come to them because a condom had simply been forgotten, or a pill skipped.

Yet, so many of them seem to know exactly what it is I should do now. Exactly how it is that I should move forward.

Privy to some knowledge that they clearly think I missed out on.

I sat down in church, still shaking. Conversing with Ashley, and trying to maintain my cool, but… just angry.

And then the sermon began, and as always – the words that were spoken were exactly the words I needed to hear.

The pastor spoke about redemption, and redeemers. He was telling the congregation that in order to be redeemers, we need to sometimes have a little extra grace.

And then he said something that completely rocked me to my core.

“Why is it” he asked “that we judge others by their actions, but we judge ourselves by our intent?”

I kid you not when I say he knocked the wind out of me.

He knocked the bitterness out of me.

And I was reminded that none of these people have ill intent. That as I’ve gotten e-mail after e-mail reminding me that I don’t have to give birth to be a mother, no one has meant to hurt me. They have all wanted to help, in whatever way they could.

They’ve just done it in the wrong way.

And then I came back this afternoon to comments and e-mails from this morning’s post – all from people who I know care. All from people apologizing if they have ever said anything to hurt me.

I realized then; people don’t know what to say.

They just don’t know what to say.

And I felt awful, because in my own hurt - I had hurt them back. I had made them feel guilty for their efforts, when really those efforts only stemmed from caring about me.

I had basically admonished people for caring about me.

It’s not a matter of trying to hurt me or digging the knife deeper. It’s not even a matter of indifference.

Because the intent is good. People want to help. They may not know how to do it, but they want to.

And so maybe this is an opportunity. An opportunity to educate. To open up. And to explain what it is that I do need.

Instead of raging against those who give me anything else.

The truth is, the last thing I need right now is solutions. I think this goes for anyone suffering through any kind of heartbreak though. You have to remember that if someone is going through something painful, they have likely already run through all the possible solutions in their heads. I guarantee you, they have already thought of everything. They don’t need you (or anyone else) throwing out suggestions. Because it would be impossible for you to think of anything they haven’t already thought of themselves.

Nothing you could add would be something they haven't already considered.

You have to remember, I have now been dealing with infertility and endometriosis for 2 years. I have considered adoption, and surrogacy. Egg donation and foster care. These are not novel concepts to me. There is nothing you could suggest at this point that I haven’t thought of myself. Nothing that I haven’t considered.

Unless you happen to know of some rare, reversal cure for endometriosis, in which case: SPILL!

I know that when people see someone hurting, they want to offer up a way to fix it. We all want to solve the problems of others. But the issue with that is – my problems can’t just be easily solved right now. And suggesting adoption or surrogacy or anything else at this point not only feels like it’s discounting my intelligence (because again – I promise you that I have thought of it), but it also feels like it’s discounting my right to feel what I need to feel in this moment.

It feels like the suggestion made to me way back when that I shouldn’t take this so hard – because I can always adopt.

We all know I will be a mother some day. I’ve already said it’s a non-negotiable. But… I need the time to feel this too. To mourn the loss of this. To ache for the fact that I will never carry a child.

And upon hearing that sentence, I don’t need to be told to “never say never”. I don’t need to be reminded of all the people who have had miracles happen. I know that miracles can happen, and you had better believe that there is a tiny piece of my soul still holding out hope and praying for my own.

But I need to be realistic too. I need to recognize that the only way to end the reign that endo has held over my life may be to submit to the big H. And then what? A miracle most certainly will not occur when it has all been taken out.

And people need to understand that. They need to understand that I have more knowledge of my case and the state of my insides than anyone else. And that if I am saying it is never going to happen, in all likelihood – it is never going to happen.

At some point, I need to come to terms with that. And I can’t do that if everyone around me is trying to fill me up with false hope.

I can’t spend the rest of my life banking on my miracle, because inevitably – that will only lead to a lifetime of disappointment.

I know that everyone has the best of intentions, but I have to be honest – those I cherish most in my life right now are the ones who are simply there. Not trying to solve this for me. Not attempting to rebuild my hope. Just there. Loving me. Holding me when I cry. Laughing with me when I can’t handle the sadness anymore. And listening to me when I need to talk.

You can’t solve this for me. None of you can offer a solution that will fix this.

And that’s OK, because you know what? I don’t expect you to. I don’t expect you to have the magic words of wisdom that will take away all the hurt.

Because those words don’t exist.

I hope that the next time someone close to me goes through something traumatic, I can remember this lesson I’ve been taught over the last few days. I can remember to keep my mouth shut in terms of solutions and rebuilding hope, and instead just be there. Just listen. Just be a shoulder to cry on.

I hope I can remember, because sometimes even the best of intentions can cut like a knife.

And I hope all of you will bear with me as I try to struggle through this. As I slowly regain my patience and get control of my anger.

Because the truth is, I’m not angry at anyone but myself. My body. Unfortunately, there’s only so much anger you can direct at your own uterus, and from there – other people just get caught in the cross-fire.

I’m trying to remember to judge peoples intentions instead of their actions.

And right now, I am surrounded by people with good intentions.

But you can’t fix this.

None of you can fix this.

And that’s OK. I don’t need anyone to fix anything.

I just need time.

And patience.

And understanding.

And maybe – a little extra grace.

What I Needed Today

It’s Sunday.

I go to church on Sundays.

But this Sunday, I have a beef with God.

I reached out. I went beyond my comfort zone. I asked for prayers. I begged for support.

And people all around prayed alongside me as I pleaded to be pregnant.

God did not answer my prayer. And I’m still not sure why.

Nor am I sure of when I’ll get that answer.

So today, I am struggling. Struggling not with my faith, but with this feeling that God ignored me.

Even though I know it isn’t true. Even though I know that’s not how He works.

I can’t help it. I can’t help but feel abandoned.

And so, as I wake up this Sunday morning, I know that the temptation of skipping church is palpable. I know how easy it would be to turn my back on God for a little while. How simple it would be to ignore Him as I feel He has ignored me.

The truth is, I probably would have done just that this morning. If it hadn’t been for the kindness of someone else, I probably would have set my alarm pretending to myself that I was planning on going to church. And then when it went off, I probably would have made what I tried to pass off as a last minute decision to stay home.

To avoid God.

To nurse my wounds without Him.

That won’t be happening though. Because someone reached out. A friend offered to go to church with me. To support me as I walk through those doors for the first time after this loss.

I have incredible friends. Friends who get me and are careful with their words right now. Friends who had me laughing and talking last night as though none of this had ever happened. Watching Gossip Girl and drinking wine and just being there.

Friends who go out of their way to understand, even as there are others in my life who seem to thrive off of making stupid and insensitive comments.

Because let me tell you what - if one more person tells me that giving birth is not the only way to be a mother (as if I didn't already know that) - I am going to flip out.

Especially if the people telling me this continue to be the same people who have procreated with ease all on their own. People who clearly don't even kind of get it.

But my friends? Those I hold near and dear to my heart and know I can trust with this pain of mine? They don't do that. They don't say the wrong things. They're just there. To listen to me if that's what I ask for, but to distract me otherwise.

Which really, is what I prefer most of the time anyway.

Most of my friends don't really do the church thing though. They would all be there for me in a heartbeat if I asked, but I guess I just never would have thought to ask. Never would have thought to reach out and request that hand to hold.

Like I said, I probably would have just avoided until I was ready to go alone again.

But today, I won’t be able to do that. Today, someone else has made an offer I can’t refuse, and because of that I feel strong enough to walk back through those doors.

Even today, days after finding out that my hopes for the future will not be coming true.

Even today, as I wake up to a Facebook post from someone who really should know better, telling me all about the people she knows of who adopt and go on to conceive naturally.

Even today, as I fight the urge to rage and knock the stupidity out of people who clearly understand nothing about my case and really shouldn’t be offering advice as they care for their own children who were conceived without any issues at all.

Even today, as the anger is starting to sink it, and I don’t even know who to turn it on.

Today, as my instincts are to turn away from God, I’m going to try to turn towards him.

Because someone else knew what I needed today.

Someone else understood that sometimes the best thing you can do is be there, and not say anything at all.

And so, I am going to church.

And praying that at the very least, God can take away my anger.

Because it really isn’t the best emotion on me at all.

I don't do anger well.