I'm Still Standing....

I've got you singing now...admit it!

Hi folks...anybody out there?

Have you given up on me?

Hope not, though I wouldn't blame you.  

I have a feeling that I will be posting a little more often in the next while.  There are many thoughts and feelings churning - stuff I figured I'd dealt with but which is rearing it's head again.

I did something really risky recently.  I signed up for a course that will culminate in me writing and performing a one-woman show!  This opportunity threw itself into my path - an amazing course offered for free through my synagogue.  

Look at the title of my blog.  Telling a Different Story.  How could I pass up this opportunity?  I have struggled with various mediums to tell this story.  And now I'm trying another.  And I'm LOVING it!!!

One of the things we have been doing for 'home play' (not home 'work'...get it?  Don't you love it?) is 10 minute stream of consciousness writings on various topics.

Here's one I've tinkered with a little...let me know what you think.  And I promise to keep you posted on what's going on around here!

peace,

shlomit

Here it is:

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When I find out that I am going to be a parent I’m in a state of disbelief.  After months of trying, to hear that I’m pregnant puts me in a state of euphoria!!!  I feel relieved too.  I’ve been worrying that, despite my breeder genes, I am too old, my eggs are too old and/or maybe I have some fatal flaw that prevents me from getting pregnant.

It’s the first time that I’m pregnant and it doesn’t occur to me that I could lose this pregnancy.  I figure we just need a little extra help in getting pregnant and, now that we are, it’s going to be clear sailing.

We are both super excited and even though it’s fairly early in the pregnancy we start talking about our baby.  We talk about names:  boy?  girl?  both?

We think about how we’ll raise this child – what kind of parents we’ll be.  Who are role models are…and who they are NOT!  We talk about how old we’ll be when our baby is bar or bat mitzvah, in high school, in university. 

We talk about how we’ll tell Sariel's daughter.  How we’ll make sure we keep the door open for her and involve her as much as possible.  We try to prepare ourselves for her potential reaction and figure out how we’ll try to help her.

It’s always complicated when you are living with a child from a previous marriage and your partner’s ex-spouse.  It’s always an extra layer of complication. 

Will Sariel's daughter want to live with us and her new sibling?  Will she want to be closer, physically, to her dad?  To her sibling?

There is so much to say but I’m not sure where to go really. 

Pregnant at least 7 times I could tell this story 7 different ways.  All with the same ending.

I do not become a parent at the end.   

I am a statistic.   

A label.  

 I am infertile.  

 I am of advanced maternal age.   

I am a poor responder.   

A person with Multiple Pregnancy Loss.  

 A person with depression and anxiety.   

A mess really.  

And I want to run away.

Sucking up the blogosphere!

Wow....last post was 1 January!?!?!

What can I say?  You know how it goes....you write these brilliant posts in your head and never get around to sharing them. 

Ever since the cajillion (or so) miscarriages it seems that my immune system is kind of kacking out on me.  I've been catching one thing after another (bronchitis, strep throat, sinus infection).  Then I developed a pinched nerve in my back that had me bed-bound for almost a month!  As that finally healed enough that I could move around again - boom - I came down with shingles!?!?!?

I know.  I know.  In the grand scheme of things, none of these is a really big deal.  But to me they are.  The 'one-thing-after-another-ness' of it is wearing me down.  And when I'm worn down, I feel down.

And I seem to be surrounded by a baby-boom again.  My brother is expecting 4 grandchildren in June and July!?  Friends and friends children are having babies left, right and centre.

I am fully and completely out of the game.  I am scared to get pregnant for what it might do to my mental health should I have another miscarriage.  We bought a 2 bedroom condo, for pete's sake - no kids are on our agenda.

But still sometimes I'm just so sad.

Lately it's little boys.

I see little boys walking to school or on the bus or in the 'hood and I get this strange feeling that I am 'missing' my little boy.  It's an almost physical sensation that hits hard, takes me aback and makes me winded.  As in, it knocks the wind out of me.  I realize this may sound kind of nutty - but there you have it.  The sadness and depression of infertility and multiple pregnancy loss (aka multiple child loss) has made me a little nutty.

The good news is that I don't panic as much about this as I used to.  I don't worry that I'm falling towards the endless abyss of depression - the dark, dark place where I existed after we miscarriages 6 and 7.  I have worked hard, dammit.  I have the tools and supports I need to keep from going back there. 

Now I'm learning, trying to balance feeling those sad, sad feelings, honouring them...and moving on.  Moving on not too quickly but not too slowly either.

I can only presume that with all of the practice I'm having, I'll get better at this too.

peace
shlomit

Childless? Who's childless?

Looking back on the last few posts I realize I haven't written much about the kids we do have in our lives.  Reading back made me realize how child-full we are!  Not in a 'consolation prize' kind of way...in it's own unique way.  In it's own particular way.

I thought I'd share a bunch of pictures of our 'kids'...certainly not an exhaustive rundown, but it'll give you a flavour. 

Enjoy!

Reinvention Convention Update

Well, have you been sitting there with baited breath waiting for my update?

Nah, didn't think so.

But do not dismay, despite radio silence the wheels of life have been turning.  

Most significantly we put our house on the market and sold it - whooo hoooo!!!!

A big deal on many levels....all the obvious ones like purging, staging, keeping your house in perfect order to that a viewing can happen at any time.  Offers that fell through, offers that felt like insults and finally the perfect (almost!) match.  A decent offer and a chance to start the next chapter of our lives.

The perhaps less obvious levels include yet another step in the 'letting go of the parenthood dream'.   No more extra rooms for kids and their stuff and their friends.  No more dreams of steps cluttered with books and socks and other kid related paraphernalia.  No more back yard for running around and digging in the garden.  No more 'kid friendly' street to learn to walk and bike and stroll.  No need for these things.  More than that, the need to move away from them.  

It's not like every day in our child-less house is torture -- far from it!  But as we imagine and create a beautiful, full life without children who live with us, a house does not seem necessary.  Let someone else raise a family here - use this space, inside and out, for plenty of kids and maybe some pets.  We don't need to take up all this space and in fact, in some ways, it's holding us back from the life we dream of living.

So we are moving into a condo...in 18 days!!!  

There, in a smaller space, with no outside maintenance and all the adult amenities at our fingertips, we carve out the next phase of Sariel and Shlomit's good life.  More time for cooking, playing music together, travel, walks, ice skating, backgammon and whatever else we feel like.

We leave behind the physical space that is our house, but take with us all the memories.   The many happy, peaceful, fun, amazing memories.  The many painful, gut wrenching, devastating ones too.  They are all part of us.

During this process, we've made a few concrete steps towards honouring and memorializing the seven little lost lives we carry around with us.

I had a beautiful bracelet designed that arrived just the other day.  On the outside of the bracelet the inscription reads:  

You never know how strong you are until 

being strong is the only choice you have.*

  

On the inside, the artist inscribed seven small hearts, 

one for each little life that never got to be.

It's not much maybe but it's a big step for me...to try to somehow give words and images to all that I carry inside me.

We've also decided to observe the yarzheit for babies 6 and 7.  These were the two pregnancies which got the farthest and hurt the most.  We plan to place two special rocks beside Sariel's father's (z"l) stone, light a yarzheit candle out at the field and say kaddish.

In Judaism there are no traditional rituals for miscarriage - only once a baby has been 'born' - even still born.  But not before.  So we are reclaiming those rituals that make sense to us and honour the lives we loved and hoped for and dreamed about.

Well, I thought I'd write a whole lot more...there is certainly much swirling around inside.  I'll stop here...for now...and promise to visit again sooner!

For those who celebrate this New Year:  All the best to you and those you love!  May you be blessed with health, happiness and peace!

Shlomit

*I'm not certain who to credit for this, so if you know, please let me know!

Reinvention Convention

I may have been 'silent' but wheels have been turning, thoughts have been churning and ideas brewing.

After 6+ years of having 'parenthood' as a goal, Sariel and I find ourselves in a vacuum of sorts.  It's one thing to begin to come to terms with childlessness.  One BIG thing.

But then what?  What now?  Who are we?  What are we doing?  Where are we going?  Do we need to go somewhere?  What is family now?  Do we need this house we bought to have kids in?  What's it all gonna look like?

It's both anxiety provoking and exciting...this 'reinvention convention'* 
This exploration is so individual and yet so entwined in our 'couplehood'. 

Our family. 


There, I said it. 

We are. 

A family. 

Me and Sariel and sometimes his daughter.

A real, true family.

And we are are taking better care of our bodies - eating better, hiking, playing sports, getting active.

I am getting reacquainted with my body.  Going through the process of embracing who I am, all that I am, inside and out.  Trying to re-vision this body.  This body that, for the last several years has been a disappointment, an enemy amost. 

This empty receptacle. 

This barren womb. 

This poor responder.

This producer of lousy eggs. 

This miscarrier of 7 babies.

This ridiculously slow healing foot fracture.

I am learning to nurture, to cherish, to embrace, coddle and care for myself.  To love myself and accept myself.  Oddly,  in some ways, to parent my self in a way I wanted to parent.  In a way I wasn't parented.

And it's a long journey but one I do revel in from time to time.  I am learning to listen when I need to stop.  Or go.  Or run.  Or jump.  Or lay down.  I'm learning to integrate mind, body and soul -- those elements that were at great odds with each other for many, too many, years.

Other stuff is happening too, but that's for another post.

Hope y'all are well and living life fully!

peace
shlomit












*full credit to a good friend of mine, going through her own turmoil and transition, who came up with this term!

Being Blog - Alec Soth's Photographs Capture Our Desire to Run Away

Hey all,
Just popping in to share this.
It interests me because of my desire to sometimes run away.
Let me know what you think.
peace
shlomit


Being Blog - Alec Soth's Photographs Capture Our Desire to Run Away

Why was last night different?

One of the questions we ask at our Passover Seder every year is:  

Why is this night different from other nights?

Why indeed!

Last night Sariel and I hosted our first Seder together.  Surrounded by family, friends: new and old, some who've been celebrating Passover their whole lives, some who are discovering their Jewish souls and, I believe, some who are re-discovering their Jewish souls.

Okay, that's not so different.  

Jews around the world gathered last night to tell the story of when we were slaves in Egypt and how we became free.  We eat bitter herbs and matzoh and then have a big feast.  Those who haven't snuck out early, share the symbolic dessert - the afikomen - drink at least two more glasses of wine and end the night with our wishes to be together in Jerusalem next year.  And we musn't forget the singing - sending our guests home with containers full of food, on a wave of song.

But here's the 'different' part.

This is the first Passover since Sariel and I have been together that we haven't been in our own 'mitzrayim'  (literally 'a narrow place'; Egypt, land of our slavery).  

The mitzrayim of infertility and pregnancy loss.  

At least one year, I'm sure, I was surreptitiously drinking grape juice, trying to hide the early stages of yet another pregnancy.  

One year, plans well underway for us to host the seder, we had to change the venue because of where we landed in our IVF cycle.  

Ugh.  That was not a pretty seder.  We found out the morning before the first seder that, despite daily injections of $1000 worth of medication, for days on end, I was, in fact, a 'poor responder'.  There would be no retrieval, no icsi, no transfer...probably no baby.

We have been graciously hosted by friends and family over the years - and experienced the whole gamut of Seders - from the sublime to the ridiculous.  

Yet, no matter how sublime (or, for that matter, how ridiculous!) there was an underlying thread of pain, yearning, envy.  Passover, like so many Jewish holidays, is a family holiday.  We are commanded to 'tell our children' the Passover story.  For those who are single, childless or otherwise not involved in a 'traditional' family, these holidays can be very painful. 

During a holiday celebrating our liberation, some of us find ourselves still in personal bondage.

So last night was a big deal.  Not just the cooking for 15 (thank you, my hero, Sariel!!) and preparing everything and finding a Haggadah that would have at least a little something for everyone -- Oh, don't get me wrong, that was a big deal too.  

But the really big deal was the joy in our hearts as we welcomed people into our home.  We made a place for them.  We invited them into the family that we are - Sariel and I.  

I looked around the room as the Seder began, everyone waiting expectantly for me to begin, to lead them - and I felt a sense of completion that I haven't felt for a long, long time.  

I do not have children to teach, to lead and to share my love of Judaism and all it entails.  I will never have my own children.  That is sad and I honour that grief and live with it.  I am coming to accept that I will always live with it.

I still have a passion and a love to share and the gift of having created a welcoming, inclusive home where people from diverse backgrounds, can share and learn and laugh and break matzoh together.

That is something.  That's not just a consolation prize.  That is something substantial.  Something that Sariel and I have constructed intentionally, something we have 'birthed'.

At the end of the Seder as people were chatting and patting their full, satisfied bellies, one of the guests asked if she could share a few words.  This was a woman, originally from Canada, who had spent many years in the States, married, had kids, divorced and is now back in Canada to make a life here again.  She very graciously thanked us for including her in our Passover Seder.  Then she went on to tell us that, at the age of 61, this was her first Passover Seder.  She discovered 6 years ago that her mother was Jewish and, since then, many things clicked into place for her.  As she shared her story, I was proud of our guests, who accepted and celebrated her and enveloped her with love.  A few of us around the room shared knowing smiles, having walked similar paths and felt that amazing sense of homecoming.  

Her story, her courage to share it with a room full of people who just hours before had been strangers - what an amazing gift she brought to our home.  My heart overflows with gratitude not only to her, but also to G-d, the Universe who has taken me on this strange journey of peaks and valleys and brought me to the place I am now.  I can think of no other word but beshert.  That this year, of all the years, we got our selves together enough and found ourselves in a place of strength and healing to be able to share our Passover Seder with so many and include this wonderful woman.

I could go on and on, and maybe some of this will come out in another post, but I'll stop here. 

Sit back with a cup of tea, continue tidying and allow this smile and abounding gratitude to flow out of me and through me.

Chag Sameach.

peace

shlomit