Fragile. By Design

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...

She will be present. and I don't want to deal. I have to. and plaster a smile. When all I feel is anger and hurt. and I'm supposed to be celebratory. with infant insanity all over the fucking place. people rubbing the spherical bulging tummy. telling the tired warm vessel how eager they are. Can't wait to meet the precious cargo. Can't help but mind. I was supposed to be first in line. and here I am. distraught.and jealous.and guilty. and last. there will be classic attempts to speak with me. in private. about matters which should not be any concern. Having been absent through the entire grueling fruitless process. one becomes bitter. yet there is still a certain affinity to talk.to a little girl with crushed hopes and dreams. Kindreds do not do what she does. especially to people they regard. I am alone.removed.detached. continually empty. Tomorrow is supposed to be fresh. Yet there is always the same grave misconception. buried deep. depths of despair. regularly arising. like a blazing phoenix. from grimy ashes of doubt.

A single alabaster figurine suddenly fell from the rigid dusty shelf and shattered. The ground collision, as ephemeral as a longing dream, shaped the illusive irreparable damage. Pieces of ceramic humanoid components, broken beyond recognition, scattered across the checkered linoleum floor leaving a permanent cracked expression on her disfigured face. She vanished. He calmly pulled a straw broom from the shadowy closet and silently wept, sweeping her fragmented bits into a waste pile destined for an empty bin.

Copyright ©2008 Sarah B. Paquette

Baby Train

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.

May I see your tongue?

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?

Like clockwork, I am asked this very same question: 'May I see your tongue?' and each and every time, I feel completely awkward. Identical thoughts, as were illustrated above, race inside my head while she is copiously jotting notes about my wet mouth piece. I full well understand the procedure, but it definitely doesn't make the situation any easier. Maybe if Mom didn't always roar when my tongue blatantly exuded from its rightful toothy domain, I'd be more relaxed about it. OK. So maybe it just plain feels weird and I find myself producing exactly what I'm trying to alleviate ~ stress.

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 3^rd 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.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The Egg Dance

Left foot in, right foot out, 1, 2,3. 1, 2, 3. Round and round. Now twwwwiiiirrrrllllllll. Skip and hop. Skip and hop. Now twwwwiiiirrrrllllllll. Chins up, girls! 1, 2,3. 1,2,3. Right, left, right.

I have been diligently performing an egg dance for a few years now. It seems utterly ridiculous and complicated. It is. I hop, and skip, and jump. Twirling around and around. Always with a smile on my face despite inner turmoil that swirls within. I never wanted to be a subserviant chorus girl, yet I am one of sorts.

OK. So why the hell am I going on a dissertation about egg dancing? I can't really answer that. An ovum epiphany popped into my head late last night (after a few congratulatory/mourning drinks) and it stuck there ~ lodged somewhere between brain matter and a matter of fact. Ugh. Lucid clarity at the bottom of the crystal glass. Hate that.

I had my "final" b/w appointment yesterday. RE's nurse let out an obnoxious whoop for my -0- results. She told me I should feel quite relieved and in fact, have DH and I considered our IVF option while pondering what my hCG count was to be each looming week? I stammered. I could practically hear her ballpoint pen clicking against her desk while she waited for me to spit out my decision. I twirled. Should I be expected to jump at the chance of IVF? Instant baby, right? I should just skip right over to RE's office, plunk my naked ass down on the scratchy paper covered table, and be ready and willing to conceive my dream child ~ from warm petri dish to cold uterus. Voila! While I scrambled for words, she then suggested that perhaps I should have a consultation with RE. YES! Why I didn't suggest that idea first leaves me completely dumbfounded. I knew that I wanted a consult. I wanted to ask if I could now ingest prenatal vitamins? I prefer to have another HSG to determine whether my right tube is clogged or not ~ can I make that appointment now? Work is switching insurance companies so is it possible that I'm covered for another (3) IUI treatments?

Oh balls. All of my questions, prepared and unprepared, simply dissipated into thin air. Not only am I a dancer, but also a friggin' magician. Fantastic.

RE's nurse briskly brushed me off. I was transferred to the receptionist who pleasantly assisted me in scheduling another appointment with RE to discuss our options. Apparently, I should be able to move forward with IF treatments as soon as next month. Perfect. I practically started menstruating after I hung up the phone. No, really. AF reared her ugly head the same day I was told -0-. Coincidence? I think not. At least I feel skinnier today! It's a good day when I can comfortably fit into my favorite pair of jeans. I struggle with the extra weight from the IF meds. I hesitate to start over again. 1,2,3. 1,2,3. Hop and twwwwiiiirrrrllllllll.

*******

I graduated from my wire jewelry techniques class on Monday night. Although her next class was deemed full, my teacher fit me into her wire sculpted cabochon class starting next week. I'm absolutely thrilled! I have pics of my latest wire pieces ~ a spiral link necklace and bracelet set with red Chinese cinnabar beads. I made the design up myself. It took me about 3 hours from start to completion....we had dinner plans and I was rushed towards the end, but I think it turned out OK. :)

My teacher asked if she could post photos of them on the student gallery section of her website. Of course, while blushing, I exclaimed YES!

'Ere 'Tis:

Egg-Cellent!

My husband and I made a bet last night. We were trying to guess how low my hCG would be after today's b/w...and decided to make a game out of it. DH predicted 47. I dared to say 58. DH won the bet. My results were 45. I cannot tell you how relieved I am that he was right! Going by the track record, I was convinced that I'd be damn lucky if it reached 58 or below compared to last week's results of 105. Well, although I am sad that I don't get my choice of something from Etsy.com, it's fine by me that DH can pick an album from DustyGroove.com. As it happens, we're both vinyl-o-philes. LOL!

In case you're wondering, it's mortgage week and we curb any frivolous spending during that time. Today, we make an exception!

So, now I can rest assured that the hCG will completely dissipate in a timely fashion. I'm not required to go for more b/w until 4/28. By then, it should be down to 0, and Que Sera, Sarah can relax and enjoy the summer without having to worry about her empty womb.

*deep sigh of relief*

Eggs: To Dye For

Well, the season of colored eggs is upon us. I plan to make wire jewelry with the new beads and supplies I plan to purchase today... Here is an example of my very 1st jewelry-making attempt ~ Solderless Copper Flower Chain Bracelet with Scroll clasp:

As of Tuesday, my hCG level is still in the friggin' 100s ~ 105 to be exact. I'm so frustrated and upset that this horrid diagnosis has been lingering as long as it has...as if to say, "HEY YOU, REMEMBER ME??!!" Oh yes, I remember. Clear as colorless crystal. In my estimation, it will be at least another 2 weeks before it reaches 0. Then, I may start taking prenatal vitamins again and get my life back on track. DH and I decided to wait at least 3 months before TTC again. I need the time away from my hollow uterus. Beading is taking precedence right now...and I couldn't be more enthused!

Happy Easter, everyone!

1-8-9 ... was my number...whats my number now?

Stick it up, mister!

Hear what I say, sir, yeah...

Get your hands in the air, sir!

And you will get no hurt, mister, no no no

I said yeah

What did I say?

Don't you hear? I said yeah (yeah yeah)

Listen to what I say (what I say)

Do you believe I would take something with me

And give it to the police man?

I wouldn't do that, now listen to me one more time

I wouldn't do that

And if I do that, I would say "sir, put the charge on me"

I wouldn't do that

No, I wouldn't do that

I'm not a fool to hurt myself

So I was innocent of what they done to me

They was wrong

Listen to me, they were wrong

Give it to me one time

Give it to me two time

Give it to me three time

Give it to me four time

54 46 was my number

Right now, someone else has that number

Sorry. Had Toots and the Maytals in my head for some weird reason.

So. That's the current digits as of Tuesday. 1-8-9. RE's nurse told me my hCG levels are still going down, then she let out a little 'Yayyyyyy'. I chuckled. sorta. Then proceeded to make another hCG appt for the following Tuesday. At this rate, this b/w routine feels like it will never end.

I went to a healing/prayer circle last Sunday night. A good friend of mine suggested I accompany her for a bit of "re-charging" and I'll admit, I was quite curious. There were (7) women and (1) man in attendance...when the niceities finally died down and we got right down to business or shall I say, silent prayer, my mind began to wander once more to that far-off distant place...I envisioned running water, lush plantlife, and blue sky. Blue, Blue, Blue. Green, Green, Green. What does it mean? We bowed our heads and lifted our spirits to the high heavens ~ praying for ourselves, our loved ones, and for peace. Peace of mind. OK, I really don't know what the other folks prayed for ~ but I know that I felt settled in that moment of silent communion.

I really should be writing more often; however, I've been under the weather and drained. My body is tired and I suppose my mind is too. Random thoughts shooting and shifting this way and that way. I suppress the baby ideas way down deep as if they never existed. Probably not the best way to cope...but at this point in time, it's all about self-preservation.

I forgot to mention... when the healing circle came to a close and I was stuffing my arms into my coat, a kindly woman walked up to me, gave me a hug and told me that she felt a little girl in my presence. Apparently, this woman "feels" things about certain people. I smiled, turned, and closed the door behind me.