on Loss

Mom passed away on Wednesday, the 4th of September in the year of our Lord 2019.

I was blessed with the opportunity to be with her as she transitioned from this life to the next. She had been at Tampa General Hospital since the preceding Thursday, was admitted after having a cardiac stent placed during what should have been an unremarkable cardiac catheterization. None of her prior tests indicated anything amiss, but the cath found a 75% blockage in one of her major coronary arteries, so of course they had to do something about it.

I stayed with her that Thursday night, and again Friday night. Saturday her husband drove down and spend the night in the hospital with her. He had to leave Sunday afternoon. Sunday night I slept in the recliner next to her, spent Monday with her. Monday night was rough. She kept losing oxygenation.  She would get coughing fits, and her oxygen rate would drop to 50 or 60%, and then it would take forever to get back up to 90%. They had her on heated forced oxygen, so the oxygen was being pumped into her nostrils and into her lungs so she didn't even really have to use any effort to get it. That still wasn't enough to keep her going.

Wednesday morning she called for the surgeon because she wanted comfort care. She was tired of fighting, tired of the interventions and feeding tubes and x-rays, and couldn't go on any further.  Her final moments on this earth were spent in a hospice suite.

I'm forever grateful to have been with her in those last days and moments.  I thank God, and our angels, and our ancestors, for giving us that time together.  As I lay in the hospital bed with her, I talked to her. I told her all my silly secrets. I confessed my ugly thoughts and resentments, and forgave her for her shortcomings. I'd like to believe that she heard me, that she felt me holding her hand, and kissing her forehead. That she appreciated the petty secrets I shared with her, and shook her head at my foolishness.

A year ago I imagined what losing her would be like, and I must say I was pretty spot on. The world kept turning. People continued on with their lives. They woke up in the morning, drove to work, ate lunch, went home. Nothing changed. Yet my entire universe is slightly tilted off center.  Like when you get a new pair of glasses but the prescription isn't quite right and everything looks just a bit distorted. Things appear larger, or closer, or further away than they really are. Like seeing the world through funhouse mirrors. It's all wrong.

As long as I'm preoccupied I don't notice. Life continues, task after task. Planning ahead, making lists, crossing them out, go to work, household chores, take the dog out.

But the silent moments are deafening. The space that she took up is empty, the quiet crushing. It sits like an elephant on my chest, weighing me down, making it difficult to breath, causing my feet to drag and my shoulders to slump.

I try to keep my memories of her alive. I think of combing and braiding her hair while she was in the hospital. Her chubby little fingers, nails clubbed from chronic lack of oxygen. Her eyebrows, the fleshy mole she had underneath one. Her cheeks and sideburns. Her nose. The beetle-shaped birthmark she had on her leg. How pale and yellow her skin had become from lack of sunlight. Her funky little feet, and how they had a permanent arch to them. Her propensity for ill-fitting bras. Her sharp little smile and vicious wit.

No one will ever love me like she did.

That's something to think about - knowing that your greatest champion, the one person who had your back no matter what, is no longer here.

So now I have this loss, which feels like a solid, real thing. There really isn't any way to describe it so that others can understand. It's like depression, but sticky and adheres to everything it touches. It will always be there. There isn't a pill I can take, or alternate coping mechanism that will get me through this. She's gone.

I'm at a loss. How does one move forward from this? I've always been Princi's daughter, from day 1 that's been my identity. What am I now?

Holiday Recap aka the worst Christmas of my life

This Christmas was another shitshow. I say this as if I've previously made any kind of mention of shitshow holidays. Just know that Christmas has always been hit or miss for me, and that did not change once I got married. If anything, it got worse. Christmas 2017 wasn't bad if I'm recalling correctly, but Christmas 2018?

It doesn't help that my marriage is already falling apart, okay? It starts every year, a few weeks before Thanksgiving. Every year we fight over where we are going to spend the holidays. He always wants to stay home, he never wants to travel anywhere.  Thanksgiving - the kid was off of school for the entire week.  I tried to convince him to drive up to Mississippi to see his folks. He'd be able to stay at his brother's house, and spend all day out in the country without having to worry about me getting bored. He probably sees his mom twice a year, and she's old. I firmly believe in appreciating people when you have them, because tomorrow is not guaranteed. Apparently Willie has a different philosophy, because he opted to stay here.  Did nothing all week long. IF he had gone, he'd have spent several days with his family members and with his mom. If he had spent thanksgiving with them, we could have a stress-free Christmas with my family.  But that's too much like right. 

My mom is big on being with family for Christmas. Now that she has a terminal progressive disease and doesn't know how many more Christmases she'll have, she's ever more determined to have us with her for the holidays. So determined that she paid for our plane tickets to fly in to see her.  Initially I told her to just buy tickets for the kid and myself, because Willie had a job interview coming up and if he got the job he'd probably have to work Christmas. Frankly, I was looking forward to getting away from him. He had become a toxic presence and I just didn't want him around me.  Then he got all pissy because he wasn't going to spend Christmas with his son, and he felt that I did it out of spite to hurt him. Which is not true at all, and quite ironic seeing that he chose to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning with his family and wasn't there anyway. 

So we got to my mom's house after 10 pm, spent Friday with her. Or, the kid and I spent the day with her. Willie spent part of the day closed up in the bedroom watching Narcos on his phone, and part of it out doing whatever (I don't know where or what, he just wasn't around). He wanted to drive down to his mom's Saturday morning, and then return to my mom's house Monday afternoon. So after accepting paid plane tickets, to dip out for the entire weekend and come back Christmas Eve? Where they do that at? Not only using my mom's husband's vehicle, but add to that the additional expenditure of gas (because that damned Jeep got 14 mpg) but also a hotel room because his mom lives in a nursing home. If it wasn't for my mom buying the tickets he wouldn't be there to see his mom. Well I wanted to spend time with my mom, so I told him that we could meet up Saturday afternoon. His folks live about 3 hours south of my mom, but we were planning on doing some shopping Saturday so that worked out fine. Naturally he gets pissy about that, I guess because I wasn't enthusiastic enough? I'm not sure.  We tell him to come get me around 2:30 - 3:00, I'd call and let him know where exactly. 2:00 rolls around, I call him and he says he's still an hour away. He claims that he didn't know what our plans were. 😑 (I see you Passive Aggressive/PA) He meets us at my mom's house close to 4, which I'm upset about because now my mom has to drive back to her house by herself in the dark - which is why I specifically wanted to be picked up earlier. But anywhoo...

We ride back down to the nursing home, with a stop by Dollar General and Lee's Chicken for his mom. Take her back to the home, and we go to the hotel room. The next day, Sunday, we only saw his mom for maybe 20 minutes because she had dialysis that morning and wasn't feeling well. We did eat at his aunt's house, and we dropped by his brother's house for a few hours before going back to the hotel.  He claims that he only really wants to see his mom, he doesn't really care too much about other folks and really doesn't like his brother (some interfamily mess) so really Sunday was a waste. Then Monday morning we were supposed to meet up with my mom at 0900 for her to take The Kid (TK) and myself back up to her house. Mr PA strikes again, we didn't get there until 10.  He stayed down with his folks until Christmas Day, he drove back up to my mom's and ended up going back down to see them again (with TK this time) on Wednesday for a full day (left in the morning and came back at midnight).

Of course my mom had questions, and what could I say? I'm over coming up with vague excuses and reasons for his stupid behavior. We've been together 14 years and still he hides out in the bedroom to avoid being around people? Really? Sir, you are damn near 50 years old. What is the issue? And then he wants to portray the good family guy around his own folks. Get outta here with that bull.

2019 is  the year of big changes in my life. Everything has a reason and a season. Some seasons last longer than others.  This is the last time I allow someone to ruin Christmas for me.

God has been showing me for some time that this is not fertile ground. Does that make sense? Nothing more can come of this marriage.  It's taken me so long to face this because I held so much hope despite the obvious signs being thrown my way.  One doesn't get married lightly right?  I guess I hoped that I could make it work.  It took the literal in-your-face diagnosis for me to get the message, and I have no one to blame but myself for that. I can't help but wonder, if I had listened to my gut the first time would I have 3 kids by now? What would my life look like? Who knows.
 

Never sent...

Copy/Pasted from my phone. I typed this out one day at work when I too much on my mind.  Initially I intended to send it via text message but eventually decided against it.  I'm to the point now where I don't have the patience.  We've done this so many times before: Things go wrong, I type out a long ass message only for him to tell me that he didn't read it.  So why bother.  I'm posting here for my own posterity. So that one day I can look back and read this, and remember what it's like to be lonely and to feel unloved.

****************************************************************************** 

This is long, and you don’t have to read it all - But I’m not going to tell you what I sent. So either read it, or not. It makes no difference to me.

It’s disturbing to me that, as much as the word “divorce” has been thrown around between us lately - your only reaction has been anger. You haven’t shown shock, or sadness, or grief.  Nothing to suggest to me that you’re sad about how our relationship has gone downhill. You’re mad at me, and you lash out and want to hurt me. But the thought of losing me doesn’t make you sad. You’ve made it clear that you’ll be fine starting over because you’ve started over twice before. When you say start over, what does that mean? I think it means financially. Finding a place to live, starting over. No concern at all about losing your Wife, the person you vowed to have and to hold for the rest of your life.

Do you remember when I used to ask for a hug? Or tell you to put your arms around me in the kitchen? I used to ask because if I didn’t ask, you’d brush me off and tell me that you’re busy doing this or that.  Once I started asking, you’d get offended and fuss about it because asking made it seem like you never did it and you didn’t like that. So I stopped asking. And so I’ve learned to stop looking for and expecting affection, outside of the rare times when you feel like showing it.  Do you have any idea how painful that is?

I try to ignore it, but it hurts. Especially when we’re around other couples and I see them sitting near each other, or the man with his arm around the woman, the casual affection indicative of love.  I remember back in 2012, at the one prenatal class we attended, Nick and Candace where there. Nick was constantly touching Candace. His hand on her shoulder. Rubbing her upper back. Hand on her belly. And I remember feeling so alone, even though you were there physically, I still felt alone. You didn’t think to touch me. I didn’t get my lower back rubbed, or my hand held.  I had to help myself up off of the ground. That was 6 years ago.

Since then, we’ve had bright patches and stretches of time when things were good but it always seems to go back to your normal.

Like in 2014 when William and I went to Italy for 2 weeks without you.  On phone calls you couldn't even say that you missed me, you'd always say "I miss y'all". There's a difference you know, words mean things. And even when I called that out, you still didn't correct yourself.  After the trip, I came back expecting maybe some demonstration of how you missed me, some indication that being without me was difficult. Instead you went on and on about how you painted that damned fence, and got mad at me when I pointed that out. I guess I wasn’t appreciative enough.

Even this past month, with the situation of the plane tickets. The only time I’ve seen you express hurt was at the idea of being away from William for Christmas. Not about being away from me. If I were to not come home, if I were to disappear from the earth, you wouldn’t miss me - Marisa.  At least as long as you have enough money to make sure the bills got paid.

I still can’t get over how, as I sat next to you on the bed crying my eyes out, sobbing uncontrollably- you couldn’t bring yourself to comfort me. That’s when I knew.

And I know what you’re thinking - I'm never satisfied, right? No matter what you do it's never enough.  You're right, it isn’t enough. The little bit of affection you provide (when you feel like it) is not enough. That is not what I’d call a Good Relationship. It is not enough for me.  I need more than what you have been giving me, and its not fair for either one of us. You have proven time and time again that you cannot give me what I need in order to be happy.  And it's evident to me that I am not the person you need to make you feel happy and satisfied as a man. THAT is what I mean when I say we aren’t good for each other. I want more than what you can give me.



AND I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT MONEY!  I would have been content working and being the financial foundation if this relationship were based on anything substantial, but it isn't. What is our relationship based on? What do we have?

Love and affection should be given freely, naturally and without second thought. I don’t want to live the rest of my life hungering to feel loved. I don’t want to be an afterthought, only to be considered until all other tasks have been completed.  People should take priority over things.  I ought to be more important to you than household chores/cutting the grass/cleaning the kitchen/watching tv.

You do the same to William. He talks to you, and you ignore him and talk over him as if he hadn't said a thing. He'll ask you to do something, and you ignore him until you feel like addressing it.  You keep him at aftercare until 6 pm so you can finish tasks and chores - nevermind the fact that he spends more time at school than he does at home.

I need to be cherished. I need to be loved. I want the kind of marriage where we can do fun things together - take walks in the evening, ride bikes together, go to the pool together.  Have fun family traditions that we do every year.  When I suggested taking family walks together you immediately shot me down, came up with all kinds of reasons for why it couldn't happen.  We've been married for 11 years and our only "tradition" is the annual argument about travel over the holidays.

 In a marriage, husband and wife are supposed to have their best interests in mind. Decisions should be made together, and should work toward the same goals. We don’t have that.  You don't have my back.

So no, this isn’t about 3-4 days of not talking to each other. This isn’t just about you being upset about moving on base. Our marriage isn’t just now sliding downhill. It’s at the bottom.

If this is married life, I’d rather be alone.

Okay I'll say it

It's the 7th day since my surgery, my third day back to work. Today was a little better than yesterday. I didn't cry at all. I told a male friend at work about what happened - I like to be transparent, mainly because I can't hide my feelings for anything. So rather than leaving people wondering why my behavior is weird I prefer to let them know what's going on. Obviously not everyone is privy to my personal life, but there are several people at work who know. So I told L, not that we're particularly close but we've known each other for several months and he's one of the first people I befriended here. He was sympathetic, and opened up about his own struggles with infertility. His child was conceived via IVF, so he is the second IVF success story that I'm aware of.

I've had a hard time concentrating at work. I'm not really interested in much, I don't even care to catch up on my reading despite knowing that it'll probably make me feel better. Lunch is spent in my office, with the lights off and the blinds drawn, lying on the ground trying to take a nap. I think I'm doing an alright job of maintaining at work. I do my job, I'm polite and smile and joke. It's exhausting but I manage.

All I want to do is curl up in a blanket by myself and sleep. I want to take a Tylenol 3 and drift off and dream and not have to worry about anything. I don't want to be bothered. There aren't any tears. Just numbness.

There are things I can do that may help make me feel better. I can get back to exercising and working out. Well, probably just running. The endorphins will make me feel good, and seeing the resulting weight loss will help. Achieving personal records and running distances will give me a sense of accomplishment. I don't anticipate getting to the gym for weight training anytime soon. Not that I don't want to but ever since hubs started his courier job I've been stuck with picking up the kid from school most evenings, and that just doesn't leave any time for the gym. Now that the time has changed it's already dark by the time I get to the school, so running outdoors isn't really an option at that point.

I can immerse myself in reading - hahahahhaah, yeah right. I barely have time to focus on my life and work responsibilities.

What's dangerous about this depression is that I don't really care about a lot right. Obviously I care about my career, and I care about my child, but....that's about it. And that's a dangerous place to be. No that I'm in danger of harming myself at all, but I'm more so concerned that my lack of giving a damn may irreparably harm relationships with those around me. I may not care right now but what if that's the depression affecting me?

Coping

Today was my first day back to work since having surgery and I very much regret not taking the day off. I couldn't concentrate worth a damn. The first hour or so of work was spent trying not to cry, but then I got into my workflow and was good for a while until lunch time. That's when I shut off the lights in my office, locked the door and hosted my very own pity party.

I've been torn between wanting to tell people about what's going on and not wanting to relive the story over and over again.  On the one hand I want to share my pain to release all of these feelings of frustration and impotence but on the other hand I can't help but think - these people don't care, why open up to them? Why do other people need to know? What can they offer me besides pity? 

I don't even want to talk to my Friends about it. I've told them the basics but I don't feel comfortable sharing my secret feelings: how I feel purpose-less, like everything I've worked toward is gone now, how I'm second-guessing my marriage, and how I wonder if maybe this is a sign telling me that this relationship is fruitless and should be pruned.

I've spent the past 4 years preparing for another child.  I've gotten healthier, lost weight, eaten better. Got a new job,  moved to another state, and found a better employer that provides paid maternity leave, I've held on to my son's nursery furniture and stroller with the intention of using it for the next one.  Those plans have been blown away by cruel reality.

I can't believe that I'm only going to get the one kid. I love him more than anything, but I had always planned for him to have siblings. Years ago, back in 2010 when I was pregnant, I wanted 3 or 4 kids. Can you believe that? I don't even like kids all that much, but I wanted a large family. I still do. I feel that having a solo kid is unfair, that people learn vital lessons by sharing their lives and growing old with brothers and sisters.  I have one sister, and growing up it was always a competition between the two of us. The adults around us pitted us against each other unfairly.  She's this way, therefore the other is this way - like we were a dichotomy or something. I feel like that unfairly molded us in ways that we wouldn't necessarily have grown on our own.  Having three or more kids would remove that tendency to polarize, it just isn't as easy to do when it's more than 2. Plus I was thinking ahead to my retirement. It's easier/cheaper to take care of an elderly parent when the cost is split between 3 people right? I'd imagine spending my elder years surrounded by my grandchildren,  sharing stories of how the world worked when I was their age.

This is so unfair.  At least it isn't an issue of having waited too long to conceive, that's a common concern for women in their 30s. I've had the testing done, I've got the ovarian reserve, my eggs are fine. It's my chewed up uterus that's the problem. Thanks a lot Dr. Welch!! (I know I shouldn't blame the Obstetrician, but she's the one who cut up my uterus and caused the scar tissue. Let me be childish in peace).

You know what, I haven't really talked to my husband about it. I asked him how he feels. We were in bed, had just turned off the lights. I find it easier to initiate deeper conversations when the lights are out. He told me that he was sad, and disappointed, but that's about as far as that conversation went. I wish he could communicate his thoughts better.  I didn't delve into the matter. Prior experience tells me that I'll only get annoyed and angry, and I don't have the energy for all of that. I could write an entire blog about the lack of communication in our relationship, but I won't go there.  I'm just going to say that it would be nice to share this with someone and to have my feelings validated. Maybe I'd like to know what his point of view is and how he feels every thing.

Well this is enough for tonight. Let's pray that tomorrow is better than today was. I wish I had an antidepressant on hand that I could take, but even if I did it would probably take a few weeks for it to take effect. Anyway, thanks for reading.

Secondary Infertility

Do you know what the term secondary infertility means? Everyone knows that infertility is when someone cannot achieve a pregnancy.  Secondary refers to the fact that it's a new onset condition . I have conceived before, back in 2012 but have not been able to conceive a pregnancy since then. Not even a false positive, no miscarriages, nothing. For the longest time I've chickened out of investigating why.  It took us 2 years of trying before being able to conceive the first time, so initially I wasn't too concerned about it.  I had some difficulties with the delivery; my water broke at 35 weeks, and I had to have a c-section. After I was discharged from the hospital I had to go back due to my blood pressure being too high.  My child was small-for-gestational age, and my placenta was really small. I blamed the doctor for not monitoring me closely enough.

At the time I was in a terrible work environment that just wasn't family friendly, so I told myself that once I was out of that situation I'd try again. Well. Here we are, after 4 years of trying unsuccessfully. I finally revisited the problem. Had my hormone levels checked which indicated that I'm ovulating like normal, so that's was reassuring.  My NP ordered an HSG (Hysterosalpingogram), which indicated that there was a blockage of some sort. That really threw me for a loop. As far as I knew at the time, blockages could be caused by scar tissue and I had never had any kind of infection that would cause scar tissue. I went to see a specialist and had a surgical procedure done. This procedure is called a Tubal Dye Study, where they basically inject dye up through the cervix into the uterus while at the same time watching to see if the dye exits the fallopian tubes.  I just had this done 3 days ago, and haven't yet spoken to the surgeon since that morning.

Apparently both of my fallopian tubes are occluded.  Excuse the lack of details, I received this information second-hand from my husband. The surgeon came out and talked to him, and I guess she'll talk to me directly when I see her for my post-op visit. He tried, but he doesn't have much of a medical background and a lot of it went over his head. She told hubs that I had a lot of scar tissue in the area; some from the c-section I had in 2012 and some from an appendicitis that had healed on it's own (and I wasn't even aware of, weird).  The occlusions are such that my only option for pregnancy is in-vitro (IVF).

In all of these years of trying to conceive, my line in the sand has always been at in-vitro.  I've tried Clomid, I've tried letrozole, I was willing to try intra-uterine insemination (IUI) which is when the sperm are collected and inserted into the uterus just in time for ovulation. I'm not interested in in-vitro at this time.  I've known several women who have gone through IVF, not all of them resulted in viable healthy pregnancies. There's so many medications and injections to take, ultrasounds on ultrasounds. The mood swings, the cystic acne, it just isn't worth it to me. I firmly believe that if it is God's will for me to get pregnant I will, without strong-arming my body into it.

This is so unfair. Apparently as much as 30% of women who have had a c-section are not able to conceive again due to scarring of the uterus. I've always held conflicted feelings about my first OBGYN, and my entire peri-natal experience but this really takes it over the top. I was not aware of that. Even as a health care provider I wasn't aware of that statistic. I don't think many people are aware of it either, if they were I'm sure that the c-section rate would be much lower than it is now in the U.S..

Is it not ironic? At work I see patients with fertility concerns and I order testing for them before referring them to a specialist. Now here I am, infertile.

I'm trying my best to not dwell on it too much, while at the same time giving myself room to grieve.  This is beyond difficult. I just want to stay in bed and mope and cry but of course I can't.  I don't want to talk about it. Some of my friends know, but not all of them.  I've said it out loud and via text messages several times already. I don't need any more sympathy or prayers. I don't want anyone's pity. That's all they can offer, sympathy and pity.

God, thank you for giving me my son, my favorite person in the world. As much as I've wished for another baby, as much as I've desired a baby girl that looks like me and my dreams of mommy-daughter outfits and hair styles and first birthday parties - I see now that this is not my path, not at this time or in this way, and I accept your will. Please let me be a good mother to my son, I pray for the wisdom and discernment to make the best decisions for him, so that he may grow up to be a good person and to live his life in a Christ-like way (Looking out for the poor, the disadvantaged, the widowed, etc).   Maybe I can have a bunch of grandkids some day. That would be nice.

It's all temporary

Talking to my mom today, when the topic of death came up. Specifically we were talking about Pixie, her 14 year old Yorkie. Poor Pixie can't see or hear much anymore. She has cataracts in both eyes, and I'm pretty sure that her vision is better than her hearing.  She's missing teeth and her breath smells like rot. Mom can't really do much about her oral hygiene because her mouth is so small. Pixie is only about 5 lbs. Mom was telling me how Pixie must have thought that the bedroom nightstand was Mom, because she was reaching up trying to be picked up by it. Pixie has been Mom's baby for ever. So we were talking about Pixie, and how she's slowly breaking down and is likely going to die soon. I started thinking about how Mom will cope when Pixie dies, and then started thinking about how Death impacts the lives of those it takes but for everyone else nothing changes. I'll be honest, I was thinking about how it'll be sad when Pixie dies but that it won't really be a loss for me even though Mom will be devastated. Then of course I started thinking about when Mom dies, how my life will be forever and irrevocably changed but the rest of the world will continue on as always has. Death is a normal and natural part of life. People die every day, every hour. Every second someone loses their mom, their child, their sibling, their friend. That's just the way life is.

I can't yet tease out how that makes me feel: is this coming to term with my own mortality? Is recognizing your parents' mortality a checkpoint in life? I'm to the point where I know my mother is going to die early, much earlier than I had ever thought she would. And I will be devastated.  I've spent most of my adulthood away from her but I've always known that she was there as a safety net in case things didn't work out.  Soon I won't have that anymore.

She was diagnosed in January 2017. I imagined myself as a kite without it's string, tossed around by strong winds and no way to get back home. What would I even consider "home" to be without my mom. She's always been home base. Without her, where do I go? Where do I belong?

And what of her? She has lived this life, she has had these experiences, she has sacrificed and worked so hard and yet has not been able to enjoy the fruits of her labor. Any dream of indulgent twilight years has been slowly smothered by an insidious persistent cough.

She's getting worse. I can tell. We talk every day, and I ask how she's feeling or how she's been and her response is always "I'm alright". She's not alright.

So, just as Mom is going to mourn Pixie's death one day and the world won't blink. I'm going to mourn my mother's death, and the world won't blink.