People will tell you
Don't try so hard.
When you least expect it.
I'm still out there
For the unattainable
Miles and miles from home.
Leave me be.
A scratchy mantle
Like a shield
Covering my damaged surface ~
Cracked outer shell.
My dome appearance
To crusty cool.
Million bits bursting
Engulfed in flames
Spitting searing sparks.
Massive internal swelling,
Through that cursed gaping hole.
Escaping from caverns below.
Unstoppable river force
Stress intensity ~
Towards consistent eruption occurrence.
Causing great damage
Along its violent pathway
Vaporizing fragile landscape.
All life lost.
Copyright ©2008 Sarah B. Paquette
I sat there with my mouth gaping open. In February when my ectopic was diagnosed and needed immediate response, I tried everything in my power to avoid lap surgery to remove my tube. Now, after (2) rounds of the demon methotrexate and my hCG level back to -0-…I’m still under the radar for an invasive procedure that may or may not find anything wrong with my body. An u/s revealed fluid movement around my uterus, so RE is quite sure he will find something awry with my innards.
Needless to say, I’m pretty upset. So upset in fact, I called my mother last night because I really needed someone else’s opinion of what is happening to me. My mother had (4) children of her own so I’m sure it is not easy for her to help me; however, I just wanted to bend someone’s ear and she came to mind. I could barely mouth a full sentence and I broke down in tears on the phone.
I do not like my mother to see/hear me vulnerable for many reasons. However, I really feel desperate. I feel as though the rug has been pulled out from under me and there’s really nothing I can do to change it. I’m faced with the ultimate decision – be happy with life as it is…childless…avoid invasive medical procedures, as I originally intended, and move on. OR, try every experimental gynecological procedure under the sun to help conceive my child while I’m still young-ish.
I’m just not eager to be sliced open like a grapefruit. I’m not prepared to put my body through even more medication distress; I’m not satisfied with living a completely childless life. I’m not ready to compromise. I’m starting to crack under the pressure.
Name Field: Blank.
Current Status: Blank.
I lay on my back with my naked skin touching the crisp paper wrapper. It crinkles and sticks as I shift side-to-side for a more comfortable position. Looking up, I notice the abstract mobile floating aimlessly above my head. Twisting wire is attached to assorted geometric shapes in primary colors of red, blue, and yellow. My eyes focus on the powdery dust that speckles their tops like heather-gray woolen caps.
The white lab coats walk through the heavy wood door and as if by involuntary reflex, my legs automatically spring forth. I slide my ass to the front of the table, rest my navy blue stripe stocking feet into the stirrups, and take a deep breath. Their voices are calm. Their smooth latex hands are cold. A rough cotton sheet covers my knees and thighs. I refuse to look straight ahead. My mind goes completely blank.
My eyes are closed while my other senses amplify. A chilly metal cone-shape gadget is inserted carefully in my open vagina. The mechanism pokes and stretches wide like the skeletal veins of a shoddy umbrella. I clench my fists feeling every slight peck and scrape of the razor tool. Seconds seem like hours. A salty tear slides down my weary face and delicately touches my dry cracked lips.
A maternal voice speaks softly. I nod. It gradually comes out of me, rests on a metal tray, and is traded for another foreign medical object. I can feel the muscles in my abdomen clench as the lubricated condom-covered dildo-like device is inserted deep inside. I squirm. The device swirls within, moving back and forth scanning my innards with high frequency sound so as to detect abnormal growths, rips, blockages, and worse: cancer. I can't see the small screen that projects an image of my womb, but I hear a slight mumbling under faint breath in a language I can't seem to comprehend. I agonize.
My heart beats wildly within the walls of my chest cavity as if it were about to feverishly burst. I wish my husband was holding my hand. I sink well-absorbed into the table's padding as if it were a rectangular pool of water. I am not there in the examination room. My mortal body is.
The tapping of leather soles on expensive footwear resounds throughout the space as if the procedure was occurring in an underground cave. It startles me to awareness. I'm empty and wet. Someone hands me a scratchy square napkin. I use it to blot my face.
It takes all of my strength to lift myself up. The ghostly figures move away and my gaze settles on my husband seated patiently in the corner. I yearn to sit on his lap and curl up into a little fetal ball. My internal clock resumes its instinctive ticking. I reach for the rumpled denim skirt hiding my blood-stained underwear and dress myself in anticipation of my next reproductive assignment. It hits me. Profoundly, we are already dutiful parents in a process of rebirth in our relationship where the initial creator key is due acceptance. What is done now is only the beginning.
"Sarah? This way, please."
Copyright ©2008 Sarah B. Paquette
There they sat. A few were slightly slumped over while more of the same leaned against one another for gentle support. All aligned in pretty rows closely resembling 'Little Debbie' snack cakes haphazardly arranged on a party serving tray. Completely decorated from head to toe in attractive frill and flounce attire, evidently pristine from mushy food and playground romp deficiencies. Bodies full of pure fluff…their immaculate characteristics to match. Tiny dimpled hands grasped plastic teat decanters that delicately touched their pouty-lipped cherubic faces. Pairs of stubby chubby legs dangled freely from side to side. Bleached-white toothy smiles were fastened to artificial skin tones subtly colored in tan, brown, peach, and yellow blended hues. Blue and brown orbs reflected vacant stares seemingly resolute yet beseeching. Synthetic locks perfectly styled in braids, ringlets, or a straight-cut bob. Several had little silky strands scattered here and there on their roundish porcelain tops. A small number were as bald as the loss they dutifully personified...
Wide-eyed and hopeful, a desperate pair longingly gazed at each sugary delight, one by one. Their heavy thoughts pounded inside tight brain confines. Their hearts, suspended helplessly within frail bony frames, beat wildly like a dark cavity packed with rampant fluttering bat wings. Which one would they desire to hold close and dear? Expectant mother fingers reached out to make safe contact with the dainty display. And with that impulsive, well-meaning motion ~ a flash...
Copyright ©2008 Sarah B. Paquette
As a self-proclaimed writer, it is not easy to admit the following information. I am all out of words these days. Nothing a thesaurus or incessant contemplation can fix, I'm afraid.
Mother's day came and went. I spent it with DH at the flea market and picked up a few trinkets. There were small children and mothers EVERYWHERE.
With that being my current state, there still is this...this feeling inside that I'm dying to express. I found a short poem that seems to fit the circumstance. It helped to read it. a little. But the pain is still there and hopefully tomorrow will be fresh...with more captivating vocabulary.
The journey from infertility to family,
someone once said,
is like taking a train ride;
Never knowing whether
you'll reach your desired destination.
There are plenty of stops along the ride.
And each of the passengers
makes it's own decision
when its time to get off.
Some never need to take the train.
Others ride it for a lifetime.
But whether you reach your destination or not,
pay attention to the journey.
If you will,
as painful as it is,
it may reward you in unexpected ways.
New York, December 2000
(c) 2000 Ronen Divon, All Rights Reserved.
Hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive my lax posting.
Kind of unnerving, isn't it? That particular question ~ someone asking to see your tongue. All of these thoughts sprint through your head like 'Did I remember to brush my teeth?' or 'Should I close my eyes or keep them open' or 'What does she see in there?' and the ever-popular 'Do I now say Ahhhhhhh?' Unsealing your mouth, protruding that pinkish slimy muscle forward, is like blatantly opening a window to the core of your soul. It's completely personal and usually you'll refrain from doing so. It is certainly not uncommon for parents to reprimand silly rascals from sticking their tongue out at each other or at irksome unsuspecting adults. So, what gives here?
Apparently, you can tell a lot about a person by the condition of their tongue. The one time that it's actually encouraged to stick your tongue out at somebody is in the acupuncturist's office. You see, according to ancient Chinese medicine, the tongue unveils a pattern of disharmony inside the body, revealing where your current state of ill health hails from and therefore, the acupuncturist can determine potential cures for those ailments with the appropriate care ~ perhaps using acupuncture, acupressure, herbal supplements, etc. The acupuncturist examines the tongue's shape and color ~ a normal tongue is pale red with a thin, white coating and a smooth shape whereas tongues showing disharmony may be pale, red or purple. Also, their coating may be thick, patchy, non-existent or yellow. Kind of gross, eh? Sure it can be…however, tongue diagnosis determines the method and length of individual holistic treatment. Who am I to balk at such an age-old practice?
I'm not sure if the mental suffering outweighs the physical. While I squeeze my eyes tight and appear to lick the air, I begin to wonder if she really can see what troubles me. Can she perceive my tension? Comprehend my utter anxiety? Visualize my inner pain? Is it possible to distinguish dilemma caused by life circumstance simply by tongue appearance alone? Can she tell that neither of my parents called on my birthday or that I found yet another rigid gray hair sticking straight up on my youngish 32 year old head? Can she enlighten me to the reason as to why my Western medical procedures never seem to work like they're supposed to? Does she witness what I live through and how I cope on a daily basis? Will I ever conceive and carry the baby to term?
I stick out my tongue each moment she asks me and with every extension, I sincerely hope she can foresee and potentially heal my internal wounds…and I'm not talking about the 3rd degree burn on the roof of my mouth from over zealously ingesting a steaming cup of cream of broccoli soup too soon. Ow! I open my mouth and bulge my illness gauging device far and wide. Please unearth what's wrong. Please help. Please be right.
The Ultimate Revolution!
Out of my mind.
Shooby Do Wop Wop Shooby Do.
Plumb Tuckered Out,
I am the Walrus Goo Goo G'Joob.
Back To Bed.
Copyright ©2007 Sarah B. Paquette
B/w was scheduled for early morning yesterday to determine whether I was to get surgery today. Lucky for me, the hCG went back down to 218. No surgery! Hoorah!...or is it?!
I'll be the first to admit, I'm sick and tired of all of the travel as well as suspense involved with my reproductive system these days. I was totally resigned to losing my tube after everything I've been through, drove back and forth, back and forth, back and forth from the RE's office (an hour away from work), was told I may lose the tube even after 2 doses of the demon methotrexate, was then told that it wasn't necessary ~ the injections worked, then was told I may be losing it anyway because my hCG levels were back up again, now am told I'm not going to need lap surgery afterall. Egads!~
I really need to step away from all of this IF stuff for a while. I'll feel much better about starting over after a much needed break. My body is starting to feel back to normal ~ I can actually fit into my jeans! My intestines are still all screwed up, but overall, I feel pretty good. I'd like to start taking vitamins again...it's getting warmer outside and that means my routine 4 mile walk with Skoola Fazoola, my sweet 4-legged, will be well underway soon.
I attended my first wire jewelry techniques class last night and I absolutely loved it! My thumb only bled a little while twisting 16 gauge copper wire. :) Bought myself some trusty pliers and sparkly glass beads on sale today and am anxious to start making beautiful wearable art. I think it's a lovely way to take my mind off my uterus. I'm so happy it's spring...the season of colored eggs is upon us ~ oh wait...let's change the subject, please.
EAST MEETS WEST: THE INFERTILITY CURE?
CHINESE PREPARED HERBS - TO NOURISH BI & YIN
TAO HONG SI WU TANG WAN (24 PILLS 2X DAY) UNTIL DAY 11
ESSENTIAL YANG (3 PILLS 2X DAY) - DAYS 12-17
FREE & EASY WANDERER PLUS (3 PILLS 2X DAY) - DAY 18 TO PERIOD OR POSITIVE PREGNANCY
MULTI VITAMIN WITH IRON AND CALCIUM (1 PILL 1X DAY) - ONE TABLET DAILY WITH A MEAL
FOLIC ACID 800 MCG - (1 PILL 1X DAY) - ONE TABLET DAILY WITH FOOD
SELECTIVE ESTROGEN RECEPTOR MODULATORS
CLOMIPHENE CITRATE (2 PILLS 1X DAY) - TAKE 2 TABLETS BY MOUTH ON DAYS 5-9 OF CYCLE
NOVAREL INJECTION - MUST BE ADMINISTERED BY PHYSICIAN - INJECT SOLUTION (DO NOT SHAKE) IN UPPER THIGH/BUTTOCKS ON DAY 12 OF CYCLE
The photograph illustrated above (of my typical daily IF prescription amount) was taken shortly after I swallowed my 2nd dose of Chinese Herbs suggested by my acupuncturist. At that time, I had been seeking medicated fertility treatment for 6 months ~ going to acupuncture 1x week for 3 of those months. My herbal concoction changed twice... each prescribed amount involved more herbs and less hope.
Before I decided to take the photograph, I stood in the kitchen, hovered over the counter, meticulously counting 24 tiny round black beads that were strangely attracted to each other due to the static electricity produced by my fleshy finger on the crisp paper towel, and an obscure gauzy veil lifted from sight. It all became quite clear...
HOW MUCH I cherish my baby even before he/she is born.
The doctor says that you are a delicious size comparable to a grape. What wonderful news to hear! I've been doing everything expected of me, you know. Steering away from my dark java morning addiction, practicing yoga at least once a week, meditating often, swallowing hormone pills on time, taking my temperature when I first awake from a sound sleep, resisting alcoholic beverages when I want them most, remembering to take Chinese herbal supplements twice per day, spending quality time with couples who have small children, eating wholesome foods and drinking room temperature water, as well as progressively reading the natural fertility guide books I was recommended by an expert.
I don't know, Egg. I'm not feeling so great today. The cramping becomes unbearable; the persistent anxiety gets to be too much. I blame myself. Perhaps I should have sought treatment a long time ago. Maybe it's too late - things can't be remedied. Times like these, I feel like a empty vessel becoming chilled to the core when determined attempts to house and nourish something as warm and tender as you go unnoticed and ignored. Who would want to snuggle inside an icy igloo when the alternative is affectionate bliss? Life's hands can be so cold. Mine are no exception. My attitude turns frosty while my heart radiates motherly warmth.
I know you're there, Egg. You are forever in my thoughts and silent prayers. I'm making changes, keeping positive, although some days are better than others. Can you sense when I stretch my tired limbs in quiet isolation? Are you satisfied that I am going to great efforts to ensure your protected survival?
Can you hear me, Egg? I want you to feel cherished. I am grateful for your existence. Are you thankful for mine? This ovulation process has been so grueling, Egg. There are days I don't think I'm strong enough to endure. I tense up at the slightest pang of discomfort. I cry alone. Do you experience my inner pain as well?
Why are some selected to bear ripe human fruit without their knowledge or consent whilst others contemplate and manipulate their delicate production and still remain solitary? Why does something seemingly so easy have to be so difficult? You appear to be a figment of my vivid imagination only to disappear when your presence is revealed to others. Everyone I know goes away in the end. Why should you be any different?
Dear Egg. I will continue to do what I'm supposed to do. Set my troubled mind at ease as the internal anguish is intolerable. Release. Find what you seek. Endure.
Please don't grieve for me, Egg. This too shall pass.
Copyright ©2008 Sarah B. Paquette
I wrote this piece feeling utter despair when month after month, my medicated treatments were not working. I'm not sure if I expected some sort of a miracle to take place once I ingested a tiny pill that joggled my brain and made me feel plum crazy all of the time. Clomid was a beast.
I remember posting this poem on a myspace blog and getting a response from someone that said something like "They always say when you let go of the control and realize it's out of your hands is the moment it happens....Relax...." I also remember feeling very angry and wanting to punch something after reading that. Of course, I did not learn my lesson and posted similar entries only to get similar remarks and want to punch things again.
I just heard from Dr. B's nurse. My hCG levels are steadily decreasing...from 659 to 544. I'm to go for repeat b/w next Wednesday. I suppose that I should feel relief that my life is getting back on track, but I'm still very sad about this experience and even now just want to sleep right through it.