The truth ISN'T that you will feel "all better" in a couple of days, or weeks, or even months.
The truth IS that the days will be filled with an unending ache and the nights will feel one million sad years long for a while. Healing is attained only after the slow necessary progression through the stages of grief and mourning.
The truth isn't that a new pregnancy will help you forget.
The truth is that, while thoughts of a new pregnancy soon may provide hope, a lost infant deserves to be mourned just as you would have with anyone you loved. Grieving takes a lot of energy and can be both emotionally and physically draining. This could have an impact upon your health during another pregnancy. While the decision to try again is a very individualized one, being pregnant while still actively grieving is very difficult.
The truth isn't that pills or alcohol will dull the pain.
The truth is that they will merely postpone the reality you must eventually face in order to begin healing. However, if Your doctor feels that medication is necessary to help maintain your health, use it intelligently and according to his/her instructions.
The truth isn't that once this is over your life will be the same.
The truth is that your upside-down world will slowly settle down, hopefully leaving you a more sensitive, compassionate person, better prepared to handle the hard times that everyone must deal with sooner or later. When you consider that you have just experienced one of the worst things that can happen to a family, as you heal you will become aware of how strong you are.
The truth isn't that grieving is morbid, or a sign of weakness or mental instability.
The truth is that grieving is work that must be done. Now is the appropriate time. Allow yourself the time. Feel it, flow with it. Try not to fight it too often. It will get easier if you expect that it is variable, that some days are better than others. Be patient with yourself. There are no short cuts to healing. The active grieving will be over when all the work is done.
The truth isn't that grief is all-consuming.
The truth is that in the midst of the most agonizing time of your life, there will be laughter. Don't feel guilty. Laugh if you want to. Just as you must allow yourself the time to grieve, you must also allow yourself the time to laugh.Viewing laughter as part of the healing process, just as overwhelming sadness is now, will make the pain more bearable.
The truth isn't that one person can bear this alone.
The truth is that while only you can make the choices necessary to return to the mainstream of life a healed person, others in your life are also grieving and are feeling very helpless. As unfair as it may seem, the burden of remaining in contact with family and friends often falls on you. They are afraid to "butt in," or they may be fearful of saying or doing the wrong thing. This makes them feel even more helpless. They need to be told honestly what they can do to help. They don't need to be told, "I'm doing fine" when you're really NOT doing fine. By allowing others to share in your pain and assist you with your needs, you will be comforted and they will feel less helpless.
The truth isn't that God must be punishing you for something.
The truth is that sometimes these things just happen. They have happened to many people before you, and they will happen to many people after you. This was not an act of any God; it was an act of Nature. It isn't fair to blame God, or yourself, or anyone else. Try to understand that it is human nature to look for a place to put the blame, especially when there are so few answers to the question, "Why?" Sometimes there are answers. Most times there are not. Believing that you are being punished will only get in the way of your healing.
The truth isn't that you will be unable to make any choices or decisions during this time.
The truth is that while major decisions, such as moving or changing jobs, are better off being postponed for now, life goes on. It will be difficult, but decisions dealing with the death of your baby (seeing and naming the baby, arranging and/or attending a religious ritual, taking care of the nursery items you have acquired) are all choices you can make for yourself. Well-meaning people will try to shelter you from the pain of this. However, many of us who have suffered similar losses agree that these first decisions are very important. They help to make the loss real. Our brains filter out much of the pain early on as a way to protect us. Very soon after that, we find ourselves reliving the events over and over, trying to remember everything. This is another way that we acknowledge the loss. Until the loss is real, grieving cannot begin. Being involved at this early time will be a painful experience, but it will help you deal with your grief better as you progress by providing comforting memories of having performed loving, caring acts for your baby.
The truth isn't that you will be delighted to hear that a friend or other loved one has just given birth to a healthy baby.
The truth is that you may find it very difficult to be around mothers with young babies. You may be hurt, or angry, or jealous. You may wonder why you couldn't have had that joy. You may be resentful, or refuse to see friends with new babies. You may even secretly wish that the same thing would happen to someone else. You want someone to understand how it feels. You may also feel very ashamed that you could wish such things on people you love or care about, or think that you must be a dreadful person. You aren't. You're human, and even the most loving people can react this way when they are actively grieving. If the situations were reversed, your friends would be feeling and thinking the same things you are. Forgive yourself. It's OK. These feelings will eventually go away.
The truth isn't that all marriages survive this difficult time.
The truth is that sometimes you might blame one another, resent one another, or dislike being with one another. If you find this happening, get help. There are self-help groups available or grief counselors who can help. Don't ignore it or tuck it away assuming it will get better. It won't. Actively grieving people cannot help one another. It is unrealistic, like having two people who were blinded at the same time teach each other Braille. Talking it out with others may help. It might even save your marriage.
The truth isn't that eventually you will accept the loss of your baby and forget all about this awful time.
The truth is that acceptance is a word reserved for the understanding you come to when you've successfully grieved the loss of a parent, or a grandparent, or a beloved older relative. When you lose a child, your whole future has been affected, not your past. No one can really accept that. But there is resolution in the form of healing and learning how to cope. You will survive. Many of us who have gone through this type of grief are afraid we might forget about our babies once we begin to heal. This won't happen. You will always remember your precious baby because successful grieving carves a place in your heart where he or she will live forever.
~Author Unkown~
Reposted from Brittanie's blog Loving Cora Rai
Friday, January 7
Thursday, January 6
Astin Was Due Today
As best I can figure it, Astin would have been due today. I never got a doctor due date; I just did some math on my own. Sometime this week, anyway, I would have reached that magic 40 week mark, had my first pregnancy progressed normally. In some alternate reality, another me is stroking a hugely pregnant belly, wondering if these Braxton-Hicks will ever get regular, swearing through hard labor, holding a baby. But not here. Not now. Not on this Earth.
(The Mister is a Sci-Fi fan. Some of it rubs off. Recently he's been reading and watching stuff about parallel universes and alternate realities. That must be where I get these crazy ideas.)
I wasn't all that upset today. Yesterday was worse. I'm sure that is part of why I needed to talk about my miscarriages to someone yesterday. I did end up telling someone about my miscarriages today, too. I had a teeth cleaning and needed to give an update on my medical status and all the meds I'm taking and stuff. Turns out the hygienist had two miscarriages herself, years and years ago. She was very compassionate. It helped to hear her story, and know that she still remembers. It helped me affirm that I will never forget.
I miss you, Astin. I loved you before I knew you. I hope that somehow, someday, I can meet you again and hold you in my arms. Until then, I will carry you in my heart. Mama loves you, my little star.
(The Mister is a Sci-Fi fan. Some of it rubs off. Recently he's been reading and watching stuff about parallel universes and alternate realities. That must be where I get these crazy ideas.)
I wasn't all that upset today. Yesterday was worse. I'm sure that is part of why I needed to talk about my miscarriages to someone yesterday. I did end up telling someone about my miscarriages today, too. I had a teeth cleaning and needed to give an update on my medical status and all the meds I'm taking and stuff. Turns out the hygienist had two miscarriages herself, years and years ago. She was very compassionate. It helped to hear her story, and know that she still remembers. It helped me affirm that I will never forget.
I miss you, Astin. I loved you before I knew you. I hope that somehow, someday, I can meet you again and hold you in my arms. Until then, I will carry you in my heart. Mama loves you, my little star.
Wednesday, January 5
Letting People In (Edited)
(Edited because on second read-through, this came across too defensive/aggressive. My intent was not to attack or criticize, but more to express and explain my own point of view and motivation in my choices regarding sharing my story.)
I've been thinking a lot lately about letting more people in on what is going on in my life with regards to my miscarriages. I'm not sure when it started, but it the feeling has grown, gradually, over the past few weeks. There are a couple particular people I have in mind, that I want to share my experiences with, but I also have a general feeling of just wanting to be more public about my miscarriages.
Still, I am not quite ready to go completely public. I want to be cautious, since I have had a history of sharing too much and then regretting it later. You can't ever un-tell a person, once they know, and sometimes it turns out to be a problem, if it's a person you can't simply cut off contact with.
Once a Mother (who wrote the post I referenced here) left a comment I'd like to address:
I agree that the losses people in the ALI world experience aren't chosen--no one would chose this pain. However, everyone responds to pain differently. Some people feel caged, or inhibited, if they don't share their story. Others prefer to keep their pain close, because it is so personal, sharing it may feel to intimate for many situations. I think that going through IF/PAIL puts people into a closet, and we all have to choose if, when, and how to out ourselves. That is each person's choice to make. My choice is to out myself slowly and carefully over time. Someone else may never speak of her/his struggles. Another person may tell everyone she/he comes in contact with. Some people have less choice about outing themselves--a late-term loss, stillbirth, or infant death can't easily be hidden from the people who knew about the pregnancy/baby. But even these people may try to chose how and when to share their news.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that we need to respect each-other's choices when it comes to how much each person in the ALI community shares of her/his story, when and with whom. We need to support each individual to make her/his own decisions about what level of sharing is best for her/him. What I see as caution and self-preservation may look to another person like fear or inhibition. It's a matter of personal preference, and it is hard to really understand the motivation behind another person's choices looking in from the outside. I respect and understand that many people choose to share their losses much more openly than I have chosen to share mine. I only ask that in return I be given the respect, space, and freedom to share my story on my own timetable.
For example: today I decided to share my story with someone new. This is someone I see on a regular basis, but don't know extremely well. I consider her an acquaintance. I do, however, know that she has two children, and that her pregnancies were relatively uneventful. For that reason, I thought she would have difficulty understanding, and since she likes to teach and give advice, I thought there was a pretty high chance she would say something patronizing. So all these months, I have avoided telling her anything. She didn't need to know, and I didn't feel a need to tell. Until today. Today, I found myself wanting very much to tell her. To out myself. To give her a chance.
At first, it was just as I expected. Tired, clichéd, patronization. After a few minutes of this, back and forth, with me trying to explain why I didn't agree with the whole "It was for the best" sentiment she was expressing, I finally asked if she'd ever had a miscarriage. No, she hadn't, but her sister had gone through IF/loss, and she had watched that pain. She admitted that she couldn't understand my pain, but I also began to see that she had a good deal of compassion for it. Her heart was in the right place. In fact, within minutes of my asking that one question, she was telling me that she is going to be a surrogate mother. She is well into the process of selecting and being matched with a family, and has started preparing her body for pregnancy. The fact that she chose to become a surrogate out of a desire to help people who otherwise couldn't have children touched me deeply. When she shared that with me, I felt such appreciation for her, that it took most of the sting out of her previous well meant, but naive comments.
So, in the end, I'm glad I shared my story with her, and it did deepen our relationship, but it wore me out, emotionally. I think it will be at least a few weeks before I begin to feel the itch to share with someone new again. :-)
I've been thinking a lot lately about letting more people in on what is going on in my life with regards to my miscarriages. I'm not sure when it started, but it the feeling has grown, gradually, over the past few weeks. There are a couple particular people I have in mind, that I want to share my experiences with, but I also have a general feeling of just wanting to be more public about my miscarriages.
Still, I am not quite ready to go completely public. I want to be cautious, since I have had a history of sharing too much and then regretting it later. You can't ever un-tell a person, once they know, and sometimes it turns out to be a problem, if it's a person you can't simply cut off contact with.
Once a Mother (who wrote the post I referenced here) left a comment I'd like to address:
Thanks for your kind comment on my post, and for introducing me to your blog. I suffered a miscarriage before losing my daughter and then went on to suffer secondary infertility and needed IVF to achieve this pregnancy. The reason I am telling you this is that each of these are topics that can be considered taboo to talk about, or bring uncomfortable comments from others, and to that I say tough. If I inhibit what I share for the sake of others, or the fear of what they are going to say, it will eat me up inside. None of the losses we experience in this ALI world are by choice, and we shouldn't have to feel as if they are our burden to bear silently. I say share your story. You never know, the woman sitting next to you listening, may too really need that outlet, and a beautiful connection may be made. As far as people's rude comments, I always say if you can't stand with me in sorrow, i don't want you there with me in joy.I really appreciate you sharing your thoughts with me, Once a Mother and I agree that the more people in the ALI community share their stories, the more we will life the taboo on these subjects. When a bereaved mother wants to talk about her losses I think she should be able to talk about them. I applaud you for knowing that she would prefer to share her story, even if it makes other uncomfortable, and I appreciate your encouraging me to do the same. However, in general, I don't think I "inhibit" myself, or stop myself from sharing my story when I really want to, neither for the sake of others nor out of fear of being hurt. It is true that I am quite selective; I consciously choose with whom to share, and under what circumstances. I take my time, consider the relationship I have with the other person, and weigh the risks of offending/receiving painful comments against the benefits of potentially deepening our relationship, before I tell my story. Sometimes, people surprise me. Often, I have a good measure of the other person, and the response I get is in line with what I expected.
I agree that the losses people in the ALI world experience aren't chosen--no one would chose this pain. However, everyone responds to pain differently. Some people feel caged, or inhibited, if they don't share their story. Others prefer to keep their pain close, because it is so personal, sharing it may feel to intimate for many situations. I think that going through IF/PAIL puts people into a closet, and we all have to choose if, when, and how to out ourselves. That is each person's choice to make. My choice is to out myself slowly and carefully over time. Someone else may never speak of her/his struggles. Another person may tell everyone she/he comes in contact with. Some people have less choice about outing themselves--a late-term loss, stillbirth, or infant death can't easily be hidden from the people who knew about the pregnancy/baby. But even these people may try to chose how and when to share their news.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that we need to respect each-other's choices when it comes to how much each person in the ALI community shares of her/his story, when and with whom. We need to support each individual to make her/his own decisions about what level of sharing is best for her/him. What I see as caution and self-preservation may look to another person like fear or inhibition. It's a matter of personal preference, and it is hard to really understand the motivation behind another person's choices looking in from the outside. I respect and understand that many people choose to share their losses much more openly than I have chosen to share mine. I only ask that in return I be given the respect, space, and freedom to share my story on my own timetable.
For example: today I decided to share my story with someone new. This is someone I see on a regular basis, but don't know extremely well. I consider her an acquaintance. I do, however, know that she has two children, and that her pregnancies were relatively uneventful. For that reason, I thought she would have difficulty understanding, and since she likes to teach and give advice, I thought there was a pretty high chance she would say something patronizing. So all these months, I have avoided telling her anything. She didn't need to know, and I didn't feel a need to tell. Until today. Today, I found myself wanting very much to tell her. To out myself. To give her a chance.
At first, it was just as I expected. Tired, clichéd, patronization. After a few minutes of this, back and forth, with me trying to explain why I didn't agree with the whole "It was for the best" sentiment she was expressing, I finally asked if she'd ever had a miscarriage. No, she hadn't, but her sister had gone through IF/loss, and she had watched that pain. She admitted that she couldn't understand my pain, but I also began to see that she had a good deal of compassion for it. Her heart was in the right place. In fact, within minutes of my asking that one question, she was telling me that she is going to be a surrogate mother. She is well into the process of selecting and being matched with a family, and has started preparing her body for pregnancy. The fact that she chose to become a surrogate out of a desire to help people who otherwise couldn't have children touched me deeply. When she shared that with me, I felt such appreciation for her, that it took most of the sting out of her previous well meant, but naive comments.
So, in the end, I'm glad I shared my story with her, and it did deepen our relationship, but it wore me out, emotionally. I think it will be at least a few weeks before I begin to feel the itch to share with someone new again. :-)
Tuesday, January 4
What Does This Message Mean?
This morning, I clicked over a blog I've been following for months and got this message:
Now I wonder, what happened? Did she delete her entire blog? Did she go completely private (not just password protected, but completely private)? What happened?
The teaser of the post in my Reading List was sensitive, so I can imagine she might have gone private. I don't want to publish it here without her permission, but I do want to send her my love and support. I know I can send that without commenting on her blog, but I wish I could tell her--I want her to know I'm thinking of her.
BBH @ PartlyCloudyWithAChanceOfSunshine, if you're reading this, know that I'm sending you huge (((HUGS))). You are in my thoughts and prayers.
AFM, no real updates here. Still semi-anxious, still using Circle+Bloom to relax, mostly just finishing lining up all my ducks so that if we do get a BFP this cycle I can rest as much as possible in the early weeks.
I do want to thank all my readers for your insights and support on these two posts last week Wigging Out and Who's Life Is It?. I'm still trying to figure out this whole, blogging etiquette thing. When is it important to say, "Thanks for the support!" and when do you just assume that your commenters know you appreciate them?
TIA for any insights into my questions in this post. ;-)
Now I wonder, what happened? Did she delete her entire blog? Did she go completely private (not just password protected, but completely private)? What happened?
The teaser of the post in my Reading List was sensitive, so I can imagine she might have gone private. I don't want to publish it here without her permission, but I do want to send her my love and support. I know I can send that without commenting on her blog, but I wish I could tell her--I want her to know I'm thinking of her.
BBH @ PartlyCloudyWithAChanceOfSunshine, if you're reading this, know that I'm sending you huge (((HUGS))). You are in my thoughts and prayers.
~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~
AFM, no real updates here. Still semi-anxious, still using Circle+Bloom to relax, mostly just finishing lining up all my ducks so that if we do get a BFP this cycle I can rest as much as possible in the early weeks.
I do want to thank all my readers for your insights and support on these two posts last week Wigging Out and Who's Life Is It?. I'm still trying to figure out this whole, blogging etiquette thing. When is it important to say, "Thanks for the support!" and when do you just assume that your commenters know you appreciate them?
TIA for any insights into my questions in this post. ;-)
Sunday, January 2
The Creme and a Weird Dream
The Creme de la Creme for 2010 is up on Mel's wonderful blog. Go over and check it out. (Yes, I'm on it. Towards the middle. The post I wrote about going to the beach for sunset a month and a half ago.) There are some really thought provoking posts up. It is something to be savored. I think Ive read as far as post number 20. :-) (BTW, if you're not on the list, there is still time to submit your own favorite post from 2010!)
So far, the "Most Thought-Provoking Post Award" (IMHO) goes to Once a Mother for her post, Tending To Our Wounds. Go on over and read it.
I'll wait.
Really, I'll be right here.
Yes, it's a bit long, but worth reading.
And what I have to say next pertains to it and won't make much sense out of context.
So are you back?
Good, you've read it then?
Good. I'll tell you why I give it the "Most Thought-Provoking Post Award." I read it last night, and sometime during the night I had a really weird dream.
I was out in public, taking a commuter train to get somewhere. So far, so normal. Except I had my baby-doll (the one I've had since I was four) in a stroller. This doll is the size of a real baby. It fits in to 3 mo size baby cloths. It's cloth and soft and has been my stand-in baby for years (stand-in sibling originally). The stroller was a rugged, umbrella-type (think Maclaren or Jeep). I had a bunch of paraphernalia, including an Ergo baby carrier for later, as well, as if I was going out for a day with a real baby who would need changes of cloths and diapers and bottles and all that. The doll represented my baby--the one I "should" have by now (dream-logic, since in reality, if I hadn't miscarried I'd probably still be pregnant). In my dream-logic, the doll-baby was asleep in the stroller. I had a hard time getting the stroller up on the train--it was a high step--but I couldn't take the doll-baby out because he/she was asleep. Eventually, I got on the train, and found a seat beside another woman and settled in with all my paraphernalia.
At this point, The Mister joined me (I have no idea where he was before, dream-logic again). And then the woman next to me starts talking to a man in the row in front of us about her two miscarriages. Hearing her speak so openly of her miscarriages to someone who was a complete stranger to both of us (don't ask how I knew she didn't know him--dream-logic again) freed me to finally be able to say, "I had two miscarriages, too. That is why I have this doll with me." To my dream-self, the doll represented some kind of place-holder for my babies, both the lost ones and the one(s) yet to come.
I think this dream was an unconscious expression of my ever growing desire to make my miscarriages more publicly known. I have been very careful about who I tell IRL, because I don't want to be hurt by thoughtless comments. I'm not sure I know how to find balance between my desire for recognition (which is also a desire to raise awareness) and my need to protect my tender, grieving heart. My hope is that with time, as I heal, and once I (hopefully) become a mother, it will become easier to share my story and use it as a way to educate people and raise awareness about how common pregnancy loss is and the best ways to respond.
However, I know that if I undertake this crusade when I am not emotionally ready for it, my reactionary nature could cause me to do more harm than good. I need to have enough passion to be heard, but not so much that I am dismissed because my listeners think I am "over reacting" or "blowing things out of proportion". I think that, in the end, my best chance of reaching people will be to simply tell my story, and include in that story the responses that helped the most and felt the most comforting when I was deep in grief.
I think the day when I will begin telling my story more publicly is not to far in the future, but I also think that it is not quite here yet . . .
So far, the "Most Thought-Provoking Post Award" (IMHO) goes to Once a Mother for her post, Tending To Our Wounds. Go on over and read it.
I'll wait.
Really, I'll be right here.
Yes, it's a bit long, but worth reading.
And what I have to say next pertains to it and won't make much sense out of context.
So are you back?
Good, you've read it then?
Good. I'll tell you why I give it the "Most Thought-Provoking Post Award." I read it last night, and sometime during the night I had a really weird dream.
I was out in public, taking a commuter train to get somewhere. So far, so normal. Except I had my baby-doll (the one I've had since I was four) in a stroller. This doll is the size of a real baby. It fits in to 3 mo size baby cloths. It's cloth and soft and has been my stand-in baby for years (stand-in sibling originally). The stroller was a rugged, umbrella-type (think Maclaren or Jeep). I had a bunch of paraphernalia, including an Ergo baby carrier for later, as well, as if I was going out for a day with a real baby who would need changes of cloths and diapers and bottles and all that. The doll represented my baby--the one I "should" have by now (dream-logic, since in reality, if I hadn't miscarried I'd probably still be pregnant). In my dream-logic, the doll-baby was asleep in the stroller. I had a hard time getting the stroller up on the train--it was a high step--but I couldn't take the doll-baby out because he/she was asleep. Eventually, I got on the train, and found a seat beside another woman and settled in with all my paraphernalia.
At this point, The Mister joined me (I have no idea where he was before, dream-logic again). And then the woman next to me starts talking to a man in the row in front of us about her two miscarriages. Hearing her speak so openly of her miscarriages to someone who was a complete stranger to both of us (don't ask how I knew she didn't know him--dream-logic again) freed me to finally be able to say, "I had two miscarriages, too. That is why I have this doll with me." To my dream-self, the doll represented some kind of place-holder for my babies, both the lost ones and the one(s) yet to come.
I think this dream was an unconscious expression of my ever growing desire to make my miscarriages more publicly known. I have been very careful about who I tell IRL, because I don't want to be hurt by thoughtless comments. I'm not sure I know how to find balance between my desire for recognition (which is also a desire to raise awareness) and my need to protect my tender, grieving heart. My hope is that with time, as I heal, and once I (hopefully) become a mother, it will become easier to share my story and use it as a way to educate people and raise awareness about how common pregnancy loss is and the best ways to respond.
However, I know that if I undertake this crusade when I am not emotionally ready for it, my reactionary nature could cause me to do more harm than good. I need to have enough passion to be heard, but not so much that I am dismissed because my listeners think I am "over reacting" or "blowing things out of proportion". I think that, in the end, my best chance of reaching people will be to simply tell my story, and include in that story the responses that helped the most and felt the most comforting when I was deep in grief.
I think the day when I will begin telling my story more publicly is not to far in the future, but I also think that it is not quite here yet . . .
Saturday, January 1
New Year, New Cycle
CD 1 was yesterday. That probably explains my levels of anxiety the day before. I was a little disappointed; I had hoped that the Chinese herbs would lengthen my LP by a day or two. It's not technically short, but I'd still have like to see it get longer. It might, if I wait a couple more cycles, but then again it might not. There are some other signs that things are changing, however: less cramps, nausea nearly eliminated, appetite improving, etc . . . All things the herbs are supposed to help with. Things look good for beginning TTC again this cycle.
All in all, I'm glad to begin the new year with a new cycle, and plenty of optimism about what is to come. :-) Right now, I'm more excited than nervous. I'm sure the anxiety will return, but I'm glad for any break from it that I can get.
DH and I started the new year off by getting a good night's sleep. We didn't stay up until midnight. We went to bed in 2010 and woke up in 2011. Although there were some odd noises in the night. Apparently I slept through some of them, but I heard some of the others. We also both had very odd dreams. Today, I'm giving myself a day off and watching the BBC Pride and Prejudice mini-series. It's one of my all-time favorite stories and I particularly like this dramatization.
All in all, I'm glad to begin the new year with a new cycle, and plenty of optimism about what is to come. :-) Right now, I'm more excited than nervous. I'm sure the anxiety will return, but I'm glad for any break from it that I can get.
~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~
DH and I started the new year off by getting a good night's sleep. We didn't stay up until midnight. We went to bed in 2010 and woke up in 2011. Although there were some odd noises in the night. Apparently I slept through some of them, but I heard some of the others. We also both had very odd dreams. Today, I'm giving myself a day off and watching the BBC Pride and Prejudice mini-series. It's one of my all-time favorite stories and I particularly like this dramatization.
IF in Children's Lit.
I am a big fan of children's literature. I actually prefer books written for kids and teens to books written for adults. Probably because I find it so difficult to find books written for adults that don't have to much sex or violence (or both) for my tastes. And I love to read. Well that's not fully accurate--I love to listen to audio books. But it amounts to the same thing--I devour books.
I just finished a particularly moving book called Lock & Key by Sarah Dessen. The main plot was about a teenager getting a chance for a better life, but interwoven throughout that was a sub-plot of infertility. There were none of the details you'd find in an infertile's blog, but there were hints. A woman lying on her bed in the morning taking her temperature. The same woman becoming distant when babies are mentioned. The classic line we all hate: "Just relax." The author even had another character point out how inane that comment is. Mood swings due to fertility drugs. The awkward scene with the extended family who have been waiting for a pregnancy announcement since the wedding and think any news means pregnancy.
The couple going through IF were what I would call supporting characters in the book, and the only way you got any sense of what they were experiencing was through the main characters observations and conversations with them. It was subtle enough that it would probably only stand out to another IF as an important part of the book. Of course, because it's fiction, the book ended with a BFP, and there was no hint at the possibility that a miscarriage might bring it all crashing down. Overall, though, I thought it was a very sensitive treatment of the issue, and I was pleased to find it in a contemporary book written for young adults. Even if most kids who read it don't pay much attention to the IF subplot, maybe it will plant the seed that this can happen . . . one can dream . . .
I just finished a particularly moving book called Lock & Key by Sarah Dessen. The main plot was about a teenager getting a chance for a better life, but interwoven throughout that was a sub-plot of infertility. There were none of the details you'd find in an infertile's blog, but there were hints. A woman lying on her bed in the morning taking her temperature. The same woman becoming distant when babies are mentioned. The classic line we all hate: "Just relax." The author even had another character point out how inane that comment is. Mood swings due to fertility drugs. The awkward scene with the extended family who have been waiting for a pregnancy announcement since the wedding and think any news means pregnancy.
The couple going through IF were what I would call supporting characters in the book, and the only way you got any sense of what they were experiencing was through the main characters observations and conversations with them. It was subtle enough that it would probably only stand out to another IF as an important part of the book. Of course, because it's fiction, the book ended with a BFP, and there was no hint at the possibility that a miscarriage might bring it all crashing down. Overall, though, I thought it was a very sensitive treatment of the issue, and I was pleased to find it in a contemporary book written for young adults. Even if most kids who read it don't pay much attention to the IF subplot, maybe it will plant the seed that this can happen . . . one can dream . . .
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