Yes, I'm still here

I've just been trying to regain steam to post- I don't want to let this journal fall to the wayside (like I've basically let my personal LJ just kind of putter around for the last 3 years). Anywho... here's what's new in life:

2 weeks ago: Japan was amazing. 2 weeks, 7 cities, 1,300 pictures.

Yesterday: b/w for thyroid panel.

Saturday: RESOLVE Bay State Chapter Conference . Actually really looking forward to it.

Monday: Appt w/Dr. G. to go over b/w results. Here's hoping the 100mcg is doing it, but I'm not so sure with a week of jet lag and daylight savings time.

Tuesday: Appt w/Dr. S. to talk about all the crap that's been rattling around in my head since we got back from Japan. Also, a good chance to process some of the things Ari and I will have encountered this weekend at the conference. I'm finding that therapy has been quite helpful... it's nice to talk to a third party who understands, but isn't my husband or someone connected to me. I'm still working up the nerve to write that letter to the child of my genes that I won't have. I've got a good opener in my head, but not much else beyond that.

Ongoing: The unemployment checks have run out, but Ari just started his own business, so we're navigating the land of the small business owner right now. Much of my time has been spent working on his website. I've always had a good eye for design - it's just a challenge when I'm using 2 programs I've never worked with before and I'm basically teaching myself the platforms as I go along (iWeb and WordPress).

RESOLVing to move forward

So I just bought an annual household membership to RESOLVE's Bay State chapter. For $55, it's not a bad deal. Ari and I are planning to go to their Annual Conference on November 7. Since we're in a state where actively pursing any kind of family building is just not an option right now, this is probably the best way to direct my restless energies: gathering info about DE, adoption, coping, and the like. Meeting other people face to face who understand, who get it.

In joining however, it's bittersweet. I'm glad I've got organizational support, but I'm sad that I need to belong to this group at all. Mentally, I'm probably in the best place I've been so far in this whole journey. I recognize and acknowledge my continued grieving, I allow myself the fears of failure, but I give myself time to hope and get excited at possibilities for the future. I still keep a running list of names in my head. I still cringe at Facebook announcements.

But I'm ok with all of this. I've accepted it. And now it's a matter of how do I fit this into my life- do I let it define me, or do I place it into the greater context of how I live my life on a daily basis?

In other news - the new dose of Levoxyl seems to be working quite well. I'll have b/w in a few weeks to see how it's doing. Energy is up, and for the first autumn in probably close to 10 years, I don't seem to be succumbing to SAD (seasonal affective disorder). Usually, I get it bad right around Yom Kippur, and this year, not so much.

Also, I promise to post about our fantabulous trip to Japan later this week, for Mel's Show & Tell :)

I haven't disappeared...

I'm just overseas! Ari and I are wrapping up two incredible weeks in Japan, staying with relatives of mine. We've been to Nara, Osaka, Tokyo, Kobe, Hiroshima, and tomorrow we're heading to Kyoto for two days and Jidaimatsuri, a huge costumed festival.

This trip has provided the perspective of a lifetime when it comes to IF:

1) I'm feeling a lot better about things. Japan has given me the distance to really look at things from a renewed perspective. Is the overall situation shitty? Yes. My outlook however is greatly improved.

2) I'm not as adverse to adoption as I once was, after seeing literally dozens of adorable Japanese babies everywhere. Would I be picky and only adopt from Japan? Yes, yes I would, and apparently it's complicated like any adoption process, but apparently not that difficult.

3) Allowing myself to grieve, even while on vacation, is OK. Case in point: at the Kiyomizu Temple in Tokyo. Oft venerated by pregnant women and those trying to conceive, I was literally just overcome with hope and wanting. And you know what? That's totally OK.

I'm thinking of going to the RESOLVE Bay State Conference on November 7 - any fellow Massachusetteans out there want to join me and meet up?

You can't wave a magic wand

...and make it all okay overnight. Or in an hour, for that matter. I had a second session with my IF counselor (Dr. S) last night, and while I certainly feel better, I don't necessarily have all the answers. If anything, I'm left with more questions and pathways for dialogue with my husband.

I find myself in a position where only one of us can be truly happy right now. If we pursued donor IVF right now, we would do so at the sacrifice of Ari's readiness. If we wait and stick with our timeline (May of 2011), then we sacrifice some of my emotional stamina in the process. And unfortunately, there is no middle ground, no 50-50 compromise that satisfies both our needs and desires simultaneously. And seeing as how Ari is starting his own company in a matter of weeks, it would probably be pretty silly to blow our savings on IVF right now.

But the yearning - I like the way my counselor described it last night- the yearning is so constant. And she articulated a feeling I've had for months at this point: I see pregnancy and childbirth not so much as a necessity, or a measure of "keeping up with the Joneses." For me, these things are healing. I see them as rights to a fundamental wrong. I see a big round belly not as a competitive commodity, like another engagement ring or a wedding dress - rather, I see it as the bandage, the salve on a deep wound.

If I knew, for a fact, that in May of 2011 we'd go the IVF route and bam! it would work no problem, that 9 months from then I'd come home with a child to call our own, I think I'd be able to manage my feelings, this yearning a little bit better. I think my sense of urgency comes from the fact of NOT knowing this. Donor recruitment could take longer than expected. Blastocysts might not make it to Day 5. Emryos don't stick. I could miscarry because of my Hashi's. It is terrifying to think of all the ways this is simply not guaranteed. And when Ari gets so fixated on our timeline, it frustrates me b/c I see so many variables that could throw off the entire plan by not just a couple of months, but whole years.

For now, all I can do is manage my feelings as best as I can, and realize that yes, I am still grieving and that no it doesn't necessarily get any easier, but I have an amazing husband and a great support network of friends and family, and that perhaps, I should fill my time a little more. Dive into work a bit more. Get even more excited about our 2-week trip to Japan next week. Maybe finish that California scrapbook I started months ago. Dr. S even suggested that I should start looking around at donors or clinics. It's not like I'm setting something in stone, just researching. Getting a feel for the eventual process that we'll both engage in.

And part of me is like, hm good idea! And another part of me sees that as giving up hope, like I'm admitting defeat. Dr. S said the grieving doesn't even really kick in that hard until couples pick a donor, b/c the woman feels as though she's selecting her "replacement." I think of it like a Polaroid picture fading out - the image of a child that's half me, half Ari - fading away. And I'm just not at a place to let go of that image. All the books and advice out there says to write a letter to the child that will never be, and I'm just not at a place to do that yet. Like I said, I feel like it's giving up; I've been a fighter all my life and this is no different.

Dr. S pointed out something interesting, that kind of took me by surprise. If Ari called my bluff right now, and said, "Yes! Let's do it. Let's go ahead with everything, right now" ...would I do it? I was taken aback by this, and honestly I don't know. I think I might hem and haw for a little bit, wrestling all of the uncomfortable emotions that come with committing to a process like this, but I'd dive in. Well, that's what I tell myself. I really don't know how I'd react to that kind of calling out.

So for now, I get sad, and I let myself sit with the sadness. Pull up the iPod, put on a little Michael Giacchino LOST or UP soundtracks, maybe some Radiohead (True Love Waits and Videotape get me every time), or even a little classical. Sometimes I get very hopeful and think about the future 10 years from now, and I savor that optimism. Sometimes I get really scared, and I face those fears for as long as I can stand it at the moment: maybe a few minutes, maybe a few seconds.

I am so blessed to have a husband who gets my need for all of these emotions, and who will cry with me, smile and laugh with me, and hold me when I get scared.

I just take it all a day at a time, b/c really, I can't do any more than that right now.

"In Silence"

This is an incredibly moving piece from WNYC's Radiolab: In Silence. Rather than their normal focus on science, this podcast focuses on the idea of silence in the universe, and in that silence where we might find God, and ultimately, faith. Cohost Robert Krulwich offers a reflection and meditation on this concept via two stories: the binding of Isaac upon the mount and the departure of Noah during the flood.

I thought it particularly fitting for Erev Yom Kippur, and at this particular station in my life. Ari and I had listened to this a few months ago, on one of our many treks back and forth to NJ, and I made a mental note at the time to listen to it at the next Yom Kippur, so we listened to it last night again.

It was refreshing, comforting, restoring.

An easy fast this evening, and may you be inscribed for another year.

Looking at things in numbers

So my latest round of thyroid function tests have come back. And once again, my TSH has shot up, so now we're up to 100mcg. I was quite frustrated the other day when I actually went back through this blog and plotted my TSH levels over the last 6 months on a graph. And here they are:


What's particularly frustrating is how much this resembles my BBT chart that I started keeping almost a year ago: peaks, valleys, and no biphasic pattern. Not that my TSH should resemble a biphasic menstrual cycle, but it should appear stabilized.

*sigh*

This has been a rough week for some reason. Nothing in particular has triggered this emotional onslaught, but I am very frustrated with my thyroid, and I've just been very sad this week. What didn't help was calculating exactly how many days it's been since my last period: 281 days. 9 months, 1 week. 40 weeks rounded down. If I had conceived instead of getting a period on 12/20/08, I would be exactly full term today. But we weren't trying, we had no idea about my Dx... it just wasn't in the cards then.

But damn is it hard to realize it's been that long. I really do miss having my period, even the mood swings, the tampons, the cramps - all of it. It marked my sense of time. I'm lucky that I meet with a lovely group of women for a Red Tent Temple at each new moon, and that's helped immensely.

Like I said, it's been a hard week with regard to my IF headsphere. Tomorrow: Yom Kippur. The Days of Awe come to a close, and our fates are sealed for another year. I've sent up my prayers louder than ever this year, so we'll see. On Rosh HaShanah it is Written, and on Yom Kippur it is Sealed.

Good shabbos all.

L'shana tova, 5770

The summer of '69 (5769, that is) is now past, and we welcome in a new Jewish year. Ari and I are pretty relieved that this past year is over, as it was probably the most tumultuous one in our lives. We started the year with me in a new job, a new apartment, and my very odd stroke-esque episode that paved the way for the diagnosis I have now. There was our first anniversary, our first trans-national trip (5 days in California in January), and our first friends to have children. There was Ari's layoff. There were my diagnoses (POF and Hashi's). There were blood tests, and semen analysis, and too many hormones, too little hormones, and scrip after scrip after scrip. We lost our Nan. We hit bottom.

And as this new year begins, we are on the upswing. Ari is starting his own company (of which I will be owner, b/c not only will it then be a woman-owned business, but a minority-woman-owned business), I've essentially got a new job while remaining in the same department, my health has been stabilizing considerably in recent weeks (doc thinks we're *this* close to getting the right dosage for me), and we're heading to Japan for 2 weeks in the middle of October. Things- finally- are looking up for us.

This morning, Ari and I went to Rosh HaShanah services. It's been several years since we had each been to Rosh Hashanah services; we do Kol Nidrei for Yom Kippur every year, but we're almost always traveling for dinner with families and never make it to Rosh HaShanah services. So slap me stupid when the bulk of the Torah and Haftorah portions are the very portions for which the name of this blog derives: the stories of Sarah and Hannah, and they laugh and weep respectively, imploring to God to hear their deepest prayers for a child in their barrenness.

And their prayers are answered. It always seems to work out so neatly in the Torah.

I was not prepared for this at all this morning. The cantor spoke of how Rosh Hashanah is all about beginnings and births, and as he welcomed a Kohein for the first aaliyah, he remarked on how her aaliyah was doubly-blessed, as she was very visibly pregnant. I sat in services, my mind spinning, trying to maintain my composure. "Compartmentalize, Miri, c'mon, you can keep your shit together you can do it." My inner monologue was unrelenting. Did my eyes well up with tears? Did I zone out to my happy place for a few minutes? You bet your sweet bippy I did.

I had an appt with Dr. G yesterday. I explained that we're not financially ready to pursue ART at this point, but said we'd be happy if anything were to happen naturally, magically - miraculously, even. We're going to tweak my dosage one more time, but we think we've pretty much got it figured out. 1 more round of blood tests and I should know by early next week.

As I think of the Jewish new year, I always think of resolutions I make for myself. Every year, I promise to myself to be more Jewish, to be more engaged with my faith. Then I pledge to be a better girlfriend-fiance-wife (as the role has evolved over the years). I truly believe I'm going to get myself healthy- I say it, but I don't necessarily follow through. And this year, these resolutions are the same. But have I added one? Perhaps. Perhaps it's not a resolution, but it's an acknowledgment of that which dwells on my heart. To pray and hope for the next to impossible.

That the Book of Life may inscribe a new paragraph under our story, that like Sarah and Hannah, my supplications are heard and answered. As the year has begun on an upswing, let it continue to rise; that I may hold my head up in hope, in faith, in courage.

A sweet New Year to us all, and may we each be inscribed in the Book of Life for another year.

Remembering 8 Years Ago Today

(This blog is dangerously beginning to teeter on normal, non-themed journaling, but indulge me as I diverge from the IF realm for a bit...)

Over the course of the morning I've been engaging with colleagues and students about their memories of Sept. 11th, 2001. The most shocking revelation was when speaking with one of my student staff, she said she was in 6th grade 8 years ago! I was a college sophomore at the time... boy, do I feel old now!

Anyway, in doing so, I've found it therapeutic, and from a history buff standpoint, quite fascinating hearing stories of a shared, collective experience such as this.

I remember the day vividly, and I'd like to share my experience as I remember it:

I was a college sophomore, at a school in central NJ. I woke up early, put on this hippie-style top I had at the time, did my hair and makeup (a rarity before a 9am class in college). It was the ONE morning I deliberately chose not to turn on the TV to CNN that morning, as I did every other morning. I had a small breakfast and headed to class. I took a midterm at 9am; our prof was a few minutes late, and a couple of students mentioned about a plane crash in NYC. He thought it was a small aircraft, and said the midterm was continuing as planned. At 10:50am, I left my class and passed a friend of mine in the hall, hysterically sobbing. She had interned at Morgan Stanley that summer. She was the first one who told me the Towers had fallen. I still hadn't seen a TV yet, and headed to my 11am midterm.

My professor was sitting at his desk, sobbing. He waited to make sure all the students had shown up, and then canceled class. I was still pretty clueless as to what was going on. I didn't have a cell phone at that point, so I had to find a payphone to call my parents in southern NJ; I used my emergency calling card I kept on me. My mom explained everything, and was hysterical b/c my dad, a photojournalist for a major newspaper, pretty much left for NYC to cover it as soon as he saw it happen live on the morning news. I walked back to my dorm, sobbing to myself.

I congregated in the lounge, with its giant big-screen TV, watching replays of the footage that morning over and over and over, most of the res life staff sitting there, shell-shocked. I remember feeling weird about going up to my room on the 9th floor of my dorm, as I lived in buildings dubbed as the Twin Towers of our college - two adjacent 10 story high-rise freshmen buildings.

I remember TVs being on everywhere, and if there wasn't a TV somewhere, projectors and screens had CNN going on in the dining halls. I called Ari at some point, and we talked about all sorts of stuff, including what would happen if there was a draft. I remember feeling like a zombie for days.

I remember the ban on air travel, and how quiet it was outside, esp. since there was a small airport with regular traffic that practically buzzed our res halls on a daily basis. It was strange to walk outside and not hear air traffic. I still remember the first plane I heard outside after the ban was lifted, and the sinking feeling in my gut.

I still remember all of this with crystal clarity, and yet it was 8 years ago, today.

I think keeping the dialogue about what we remember is important, and quite honestly, fascinating. What do you remember about 8 years today? Feel free to leave comments about your memories.

Show & Tell 3: No Reservations about Anthony Bourdain

Sushi, anyone?

This is Anthony Bourdain. I have a little bit of a celebrity crush on him.

That purple door really brings out your cigarette.

He's written a totally awesome book, Kitchen Confidential, which I finished listening to on audiobook a couple of weeks ago. In fact, it was the audiobook I listened to for the several long drives back and forth from NJ to MA the week Ari's Nan passed away. I've been a skeptic about audiobooks, but having watched No Reservations regularly, I knew Tony (yeah, we're cool like that) had a great speaking voice, and it would be an easy listen. It's a fantastic no-holds-barred look at the dirty underbelly of the restaurant biz. You will think twice about ordering fish on Mondays or brunch on, well, ever, and you'll have a new found appreciation for butter, Ecuadorian kitchen staff, women chefs and line cooks, and patient spouses. It is a highly enjoyable "read" (can I say that since I didn't actually pick up a book?) and a must for foodies.

Ari and I tune in every Monday for No Reservations (or at least we Tivo it and catch up during the week). We're getting ridiculously excited about our forthcoming two-week trip to Japan in mid-October. And yes, we've rewatched all the No Reservations Japan/Tokyo eps already :) There's a razor sharp wit and practicality, as well as a genuine sense of humbleness to Tony Bourdain that we both really love and appreciate, and it makes us think twice, or rather think intentionally, about the food we eat and the places we visit. We've decided that we both want Tony Bourdain's job - traveling the world, eating, and writing. Next on my reading list is his book about the No Reservation experience, similarly titled.

For the record, I find it kind of hysterical that I've grown up to become a foodie, when I was pickiest eater as a child ever. I will try just about anything that's not moving. I am sucking up the courage to eat kobe beef tartar when we make a day trip to Kobe. We are PUMPED about arranging a traditional kaiseki dinner in Kyoto or Tokyo. But what it comes down to it is that I love good food, good flavors, new experiences. I relate closely to that opening scene in Ratatouille, where Remy goes on about how food is just awesome, how flavors combine and collide and the resulting sensation in your mouth and there's all the corresponding fireworks and swirls... o la la!

Rats can be foodies, too.

But back to the task at hand: Tony Bourdain. The point of my Show and Tell this time around is that, well, I've got it bad for the man. And Ari is totally aware, b/c I make some inappropriate comment every time the show is on. He's suave, quite good looking for an older dude, he's well-traveled, cooks a good meal.. what more could a girl ask for?

How can you resist that boyish charm?

. . .

Make sure you visit Mel's place and see what the other kids are showing off this week!

Accidentally, on TV.

Accidentally, during a lovely nibbly dinner (I'll define that later in this post) with my husband, I had a small IF breakdown.

We were watching a lil preseason football (Chargers/Falcons) on CBS, and an ad comes up for their new fall comedy, Accidentally on Purpose. From their website, the premise is this:

ACCIDENTALLY ON PURPOSE is a comedy starring Golden Globe Award winner Jenna Elfman as Billie, a single woman who finds herself "accidentally" pregnant after a one-night stand with a much younger guy, and decides to keep the baby. and the guy. A newspaper film critic, Billie is barely surviving a humiliating breakup with her charming boss, James (Grant Show), who's still trying to resume their relationship. Suddenly expecting a child with her "boy toy," Zack (Jon Foster), Billie and Zack make an arrangement: to live together platonically. Billie's party girl best friend Olivia (Ashley Jensen), and Abby (Lennon Parham), her conventional, younger married sister, eagerly look forward to the new addition and offer their own brands of advice and encouragement. But when Zack and his freeloading friends, including Davis (Nicolas Wright), start to turn her place into a frat house, Billie isn't sure if she's living with a boyfriend, a roommate, or if she just has another child to raise.

*facepalm*

The kicker? That she's 37 and happens to get knocked up. Now, I know I've got age on my side, but still - I can imagine this is harder for others who have age working against them.

I proceeded to stuff 3 asparagus spears into my mouth at once and chew angrily, sadly. Ari placed a reassuring hand on my leg - he knew it hit me hard, out of the blue.

A nibbly dinner is kind of like our version of poor man's tapas -an assortment of cheeses, cornichons, sausage/meat, salad. Tonight we had fresh tomato and asparagus salad with balsamic, asagio fresco and st. albray cheeses, cornichons, and choriso. All fresh, all delish.

As I'm writing this, we're flipping the channels and stopped on NBC to watch a lil Law & Order SVU... and it's the pregnancy pact episode. Olivia was lecturing some knocked up teen. The lil spitfire gets up in the detective's face and is like "What's your deal? Wait too long? Older women are so jealous of me. Tick tock, tick tock!"

C'mon TV, really? I so rarely watch you lately, and this is what you throw at me?

(And of course, now I'm caught up in the episode, so I'm going to watch the rest of it now.)