Potential

Captivating word, isn't it? I mean, isn't it just chock-full of ...of..... potential? Doesn't it just scream myriad possibilities and an endless array of promise?A person can have potential, be a potential, exude potential, not live-up-to his/her potential. A person can see potential in someone else, fulfill his/her own potential, recognize their potential, get excited by potential. Like I said, it's a very captivating word with seemingly endless uses and chock full to the brim with possibilities.

The other evening, D & I were returning from an Easter visit to his sister's place and we stopped enroute at a truck stop to use the restrooms. I walked into a stall and there I saw one single word, scrawled in blue felt tip. All of the walls, in all of the stalls were clean save for this one single word written in lower case print. Potential. Now I've seen some pretty whacky stuff in restrooms. I've seen everything from "here I sit, broken-hearted" to "for a good time call..." I've seen every manner of profanity and I've even seen evidence of squatters before me attempting to wax either poetic, philosophic or prophetic. As I said, I've seen it all. I grew-up in Toronto for heaven's sake so, I'm sure you get the drift. But here, in this truck stop, somewhere east of Kingston, Ontario, just off the 401 highway; here at this truck stop, in this all but for one word graffiti-less bathroom, was one simple word. Potential. I hadn't seen that before.

Apart from wondering how many people before me had witnessed the same word (i.e. was it written this a.m.? or had it been there much longer?)and wondering what those people may or may not have thought about it(did it spark similar deep ponderings? or did they simply notice there were some blue letters on the wall?) I couldn't help but muse what the writer was thinking when they wrote that word. Were they simply trying to recall how to accurately spell the word? Had someone just told them that they had potential? Were they considering the potential outcome of a situation or a choice they had made? Of all of the words in the English language, this is the one that they chose to print in lower-case blue felt-tip lettering inside a woman's bathroom stall, in a truck stop on Hwy 401 (just east of Kingston.) It staggers the mind. The possible choices are endless yet they decided on "potential."

Narcissist that I am, the next logical step in my mental process was the question did I have any potential? Oh, I'd been told myriad times when I was young that I had plenty of it (all of it seemingly dormant and unused because the only comments I can recall contained phrases such as "you're not living up to your potential by making this choice", etc.) Nonetheless, it seemed I had had some at some point. The question was though, did I still have it or had I somehow wasted it?

I thought about all of the things that I'd ever wanted to put my hand to. I thought about the things that I would still like to put my hand to. I thought of the things that I know I do well. I thought of my personality and the things I enjoy doing. I thought about what my particular learned talents are and in what way they too could best be utilized. I thought about what makes me happy and if there was a way in which I could marry all of these considerations as best as possible, say in a particular career. Needless to say, there was much introspection taking place in that there stall over the duration of the average pee.


The instrospection then continued on the remaining car ride home. Chewing my Nibs and watching the lights pass by, I kept wondering how these considerations could best be met; in what particular career choice would I best be suited (age old question really because I've been asking myself this since my early 20s.) If I truly believed that one choice was the best, that one choice would best fulfill all of the considerations I mentioned AND make me the most happy, I would pursue it relentlessly until my dying day. There is no mountain, either literal or figurative, that could stop my progress. Problem is, I've never been "sure" that anything was the best choice. I always second guess myself. I'm always asking myself if I'm sure whether or not I've made a mistake in making a particular choice. Sigh. It's a vicious cycle.

We arrived home and I wrote one simple word in my journal, in blue felt-tip pen.

Potential.

Then I went to bed.

The Mysterious Disappearance/Reappearance of Hope

Where does hope go when it goes away?

Hope is like a tonic. Imagine you're run-down and you basically feel like crap. (In my case, my imagination can take a rest here because I am run-down and feel like crap!) Along comes Dr. Herbal Health and recommends this tonic. You take it and lo' and behold, you feel great again! Instantly! Amazing.

Hope is like that. You feel like crap. The sun, as you perceive it, is never going to come-out again from behind those steely grey clouds. It's dismal, virtually hopeless.

Then WHAM! Along comes Hope! Just the faintest glimmer of it beams like the Sun in an endless blue sky. Gone are the grey clouds. Gone is the dismal rain. Hope beats down with a warmth and brightness to lighten even the darkest day.

But then, you start feeling like crap again. The clouds start gathering. The rain begins to fall. There's nothing to look forward to again. Everything seems futile. The sunbeams of Hope have disappeared again but where exactly did Hope go?

Is it that Hope is like the sun? Is it still there behind the dark clouds and we just can't see it? Or is it more like Hope just escapes like a frightened rabbit, only to poke its cute little head out of the ground when things grow calmer. 'Tis a puzzlement.

My Tom Robbinsesque imagination likes to think of it as the latter; a little scared bunny that high-tails it out of here at the first sign of trouble, peeking out only once the danger has cleared. Tsk. Silly rabbit.

I think most of us would like to think of Hope as the sun 'cause that way we can figure it's always there, it's just us that can't see it sometimes. Umm, yeh but I know I didn't put those damned clouds back so, who in the hell did? Like I said, I think it's better to think of Hope as a bunny. With patience and a little ingenuity, you can coax a bunny out of a hole. Coax as you like however, you can't coax the sun out from behind the clouds. It'll only come out when it's good and ready.

Be careful around that flippin' bunny though! One false move and it's back down the rabbit hole for Hope.

Timid little puke, ain't it?

The Fool on the Starbucks Hill

Well, it's noon on April Fool's Day. No stroke of a bell. No magic fairy appeared. Noon struck, and here I am, still a fool.

I was kinda hoping that this year, at the stroke of noon on April Fool's Day, POOF ! I would magically become a wise and enlightened sage and end my years as Cinderfoola. Someone with all of the answers and to whom everybody clamours for advice. No such luck. I'm still here trying to make heads or tails of things. I'm still floundering. I'm still in the cinders.

When I was a kid, I thought all of the answers lay just inside the unseen but magical door to adulthood. Again, no such luck. What awaited me instead was a vast and seemingly bottomless pit of more questions into which I stumbled headlong and have been flailing lo' many a dark moon.

I can't be the only person who's made this discovery though. It's not possible that I could be that profound. So, if there are others (assumedly many, I mean we're how many billion on this planet?) where in the hell are they? All I see are people who have it together. They have their tidy little careers, their tidy little 2.5 children families, their tidy little acquisitions. For all intents and purposes they've got it "together." They write treatises, they publish books (mainly found in the self-help section of Chapters, et. al.) They take tidy little vacations and plan their tidy little financial futures. They even plan and pay in advance for their tidy little deaths and funerals, so as to spare their families cost and/or decision-making. Nice. Tidy even.

That's all I see. I don't see the others like me. Maybe they're hiding. Maybe, unlike me, they're unwilling to flaunt their foolishness. Maybe they're not quite so ready to tell the world how stupid they really feel. And maybe, exhibiting some cleverness, they disguise themselves as just everyday ordinary people, going about the business of living. Yeh. They look just like you and me and so, how could I tell?

(Revelation approaches.)

Hey! Maybe all of those "together" people are just fools in clever disguises. Maybe they're just too frightened to let people know stupid they feel, how stupid they really are, especially when they're the ones with the alleged answers I seek.

So, that it is it? We're all fools? If that's the case, where do we go for the real answers? Who knows stuff? Maybe it really is those fellas/gals that sit virtually naked in caves or on hillsides. They have no disguise. They're not hiding behind any superficial trappings like Gucci or Armani. They don't own a sailboat or even a fork. They don't have a house in Hawaii and one in Colorado. Still, they seem quite content. Happy even. Most importantly, they're not claiming to have all of the answers but they're willing to share with those who question. They don't have any tidy little books that you can shell-out 20-40 bucks a pop for though. You have to journey to ask them the questions. Smart.

Maybe those are the answers worth having. I'm not a Jesus-freak but he said something that needs repeating to all of those self-help gurus out there making money hand over fist off of fools like me. "Freely ye have received; freely give."

'Nuff said, don't ya' think?

Everyday Trauma in the Everyday of Life

I am not the first to be on the Great Fertility Ride, a term I've borrowed from Ovagirl. I am certain I will not be the last. I've found so many fertility sisters on the roller coaster, here on the Internet. Who knew there were these thousands of women riding the same ride? Maybe I didn't see them because I had my eyes closed.

It started 15 years ago when my then husband and I began trying to get pg. Of course, I had my suspicions then that it my be a difficult goal 'cause I hadn't had normal periods in years. I went to doctors and a variety of them. None of them discussed how becoming pg could be made more obtainable. Every one of them wanted to put me on the pill. "But doesn't that inhibit ovulation?" I asked. Yes, they said, it did but I had to normalize my cycle. Well, as all of this made no sense to me and life started happening in a big way, things just went by the by. We figured it would just happen in time. Simple right?

We returned to my parents' neck of the woods after about a year going to university out of province. We came back to help out my mother with the business. My father had died of cancer and now she had shingles + pneumonia. So, we promised to stay for 2 years and help her run the business while we tried to sell the store. 4 years of 17-hour days, no holidays, no time-off, 2 surgeries later, and after finding out my Mum had multiple-myeloma, we finally walked. Of course, I had finished my degree but having no real training, my husband and I were forced to work 2 and 3 part-time jobs (we lived in a smaller city where full-time px's were only obtained through a tight web of nepotism to which we, being "outsiders," did not belong) to sustain ourselves plus balance looking after my Mum while she was poorly.

During all of this, I had no menses, I had heavy menses, I had polyps, cysts. Things never seemed to rectify themselves after surgery or by taking any of the prescriptions (i.e. mainly Provera) that the Doc prescribed. I went to see a specialist in Ottawa who told me, after performing a hysterosalpingogram that I would never be able to get pregnant naturally because my fimbrae didn't work. After much crying and soul-searching I came to terms with that diagnosis. This pretty much meant that I came to terms with never having children because there's no coverage in this province for IVF unless you have a blockage. Well, inactive fimbrae did not equal blockage and bordering on the poverty-line, this was obviously not going to be an option. Sigh.

Well, during this latter time during which we also lost my Mum, I had begun seeing another gynie. After about 2 years of seeing him about my bleeding probs, etc. he asked if why I didn't consider an ablasion if I didn't want to get pg. Didn't want to get pg????!! "No," I said, "you don't understand. I CAN'T get pg. At least, that's what the other specialist said." After another surgery, he stated he couldn't understand why the other specialist had said I couldn't get pg. "Nonsense!" he said. "Take clomiphene. You'll ovulate on day 14, have sex during that period and by day 28, if you don't have a period, you'll be pg!" Hope glimmered and I asked "really?" "Sure," he said. "I don't see anything wrong with your fimbrae. All was flowing freely the last I was in there."

Could it be? Was it possible that I could really get pg? The glimmering grew to a full shine.

I had begun a new career in the interim and had to undergo, in total, 3 years of training, all of it away from home. I had chosen the career because, well, I'd been told I couldn't have children and someone had to earn money to keep the family going. My ex was unemployed at the time, working only part-time jobs. Of course, the training didn't happen all at once but suffice to say, between being away and continued bouts of my body not performing correctly, more surgery, etc. I found myself at the age of 40, separated, but beginning a new relationship with a wonderful guy. I continued to see the specialist who was still insisting that if I took clomiphene, I would "ovulate on day 14.... etc."

After searching the internet, I discovered that the administration of clomiphene is to be accompanied by several other medical procedures i.e. bloodtests to ensure ovulation, transvaginal ultrasounds to monitor ovarian stimulation, and most importantly, referral to a fertility clinic after a specific number of tries on clomiphene. Suffice it to say, I finally bugged my GP enough that I managed to obtain a referral to a fertility specialist. Stress the word "bugged."

So, I've just finished my first cycle on Puregon with a clinic in Kingston, ON. The clinic is renowned. It is renowned even in parts of the U.S. and many American women seek treatment at this clinic. I followed the protocol on Puregon. I made the hour drive there to Kingston and then the hour back at least twice (and sometimes 3 times) a week for ultrasounds and bloodwork over nearly 3 weeks. Saturday last, after another such trips for u/s and bw, I was contacted and told to "trigger," meaning to self-administer a shot of HCG at 10p.m., then return to Kingston Monday a.m. for Intrauterine Insemination. Of course, the morning of IUI, couples are asked to provide a "sample" (read here that your poor husband/boyfriend has to jack-off into a jar. You can help him of course but really, it ends with him jacking-off into a jar.) Well, we showed up bright and early (0730a.m.) and after checking-in with the clinic nurse, adjourned to a bathroom to obtain our "sample." We brought the sample to the clinic. We were told to return at 0900 for insemination. We returned at 0900. That's when night fell on Kingston at 0900a.m. on the 26th of March.

The nurse told me she had some very bad news.

I think it would be fair to say that approximately 1 million thoughts raced through my head.

Was the sperm no good?
Had they discovered something they had missed before in my u/s? My bloodwork?
Had they decided to terminate my treatments because I'm too old?
What in the hell could it possibly be?

They couldn't locate the technician to do the sample preparation (read here sperm wash.)
The doctor hadn't notified her that her services would be necessary on Monday a.m. and now, noone could locate her.

I don't think devastated is an adequate enough term to describe how we felt.
How could this have happened? How can a clinic, whose sole purpose is to administer fertility treatments, have access to only one technician? And how could she not be available on a Monday morning during full-swing operation of the clinic? How could the doctor not have phoned her to ascertain her availability for Monday morning? How could the nurse have not known that the technician was not available until AFTER we provided her the "sample"? How could the doctor try and defend herself with statements such as "I've never had to call before" and "in my 10 years at the clinic, this is only the second time this has happened to my knowledge?" How could this have happened?

My boyfriend D simply blasted the doctor on the phone. Through my sobbing in the adjacent office, I heard him say things such as "this is totally unacceptable practice" and "I can barely contain my anger right now." I sobbed some more, begging for strength from an unseen source, and then they hit me with the next suggestion.

They recommended putting the "sample" in and around my cervix. I asked if she was kidding. In my hurt and frustration, I said "we may as well have stayed at home and screwed in the comfort of our own bed." In a fog of total bewilderment and disappointment, I agreed. 20 mins after the nurse "placed" the sample, the technician called. Of course.

The next suggestion was for us to return later in the day and provide another "sample."
What? Another sample less than 8 hours after the earlier one which we waited 3 days to provide? How was this acceptable?

Wanting to prolong the time period as much as possible, we asked the possibility of the clinic remaining open later than its usual 1:30p.m. closing. After waiting for the nurse to confirm this with the doctor, this was agreed and we had to return at 2:45p.m. to provide another "sample" which would be ready for insertion at 4p.m. I asked if we could have preliminary counts to ensure the insertion was worth it. The nurse said of course.

The next few hours were spent at the Mall where we kept our bodies but not our hearts out of the rain. Perhaps we're too intense about this. Perhaps we weren't putting it into perspective. There is afterall a war going on. People are still hungry and homeless. Rape is still a growing crime and children are still targetted for the perverse pleasure of the demented. The world still continues along a downward spiral. But our hearts, our world, our right now, is focussed on having a family of our own. Our hope is a world where D & I can be the parents we've longed to be all of our lives. Our focus to be the best parents we can possibly be to a child that we have born together. Is that really so much to ask of the universe? It seems so.

The "human error" factor has been stressed by both the medical staff and well-meaning family and friends. People, even trained professionals, do make mistakes. Yes they do. As do I. As does D. The thing is, when I make a mistake at my job and it potentially endangers the others with whom I work, I get a dressing down, a reprimand. If it literally causes injury to another, I would find myself before a board and depending the outcome, I would be either punished or dismissed. That's the way my job works.

And because of the seriousness of my job, in which capacity I work as part of a team, we have checklists. We work together to ensure that everyone of us is at the same stage, in the same checklist throughout the execution of our jobs. Apparently there was a checklist for doctors providing Saturday orders but no back-up mechanism i.e. another checklist for the clinician opening Monday a.m. to ensure the doctor did indeed follow that checklist. Hence, the discovery that the technician was nowhere to be found was not made until our sample arrived and the nurse phoned to have it picked-up. Wow.

You would think that running a fertility program that is based on exact dosages and exact times of administration would be a little more concerned about the exactness of the whereabouts of the only technician available to perform a necessary function to the operation of that program. Phew. That was a long sentence but it makes a point. Perhaps my life wasn't physically endangered by the omission but what of my emotional and psychological life? We charge parents and spouses with mental cruelty don't we? Does endangerment only have a physical aspect?

After a nasty food court lunch and much more crying, we returned to the hospital. D checked that the technician was confirmed present before we provided another sample. Jeez. Two times in a hospital bathroom the same day. I guess it would be some guys' fantasy. Again we waited.

This time, the nurse had good news. D's counts were excellent. The procedure went ahead.

Does this diminish the trauma that we both experienced in the a.m.? No. I felt as drained as I did on any day of my life where I had heard devastating news. We were as knackered as if we'd spent the day working in a ditch. Did it all happen for a reason? More than likely. I've found everything in life pretty much happens for a reason. You have to wait a while to gain the perspective though. There's the rub. It could be 10 fucking years before I understand better why this happened.

Now, we wait. All of my heartbreak that day could of course be for naught. The follicle that they saw on the u/s may not have matured and released after the HCG shot. My luck, it didn't. All the washed sperm in world aren't going to help a non-existent egg. Who knows. Whatever the case may be, the universe dealt us another blow yesterday. Again, it could be for a reason. Again, we'll have to wait and see.

I fear I won't be able to get another cycle with the IUI clinic in Kingston before September. They close-up at the end of April and I will have had to begun menstruating before the 7th. I never menstruate on my own. This being the case, they'll have to induce my lining to shed by giving me Provera. This means, I won't have menstruated in time. This means, the next stop is the IVF clinic in Ottawa. That's going to be interesting over the summer, travelling to Ottawa twice a week for u/s & bw, because noone locally will perform these functions. Nice. Sigh.

Well, I will try to focus on the bright side. I will try to remain in the light. I felt myself slipping down the dark hole again yesterday but something has pulled me back-up a bit. Perhaps it's coming-off the hormones. Perhaps I've just simply had a chance to digest it all and begin the task of refocussing. Perhaps I'm just too damned tired to care anymore for now.

But I guess I'm still on the ride. My boss said it best. "If you don't continue, you'll never forgive yourself." This is true. I have to see it to the end. If the worst is waiting at the end, then at least I'll know that I did my best. If the universe says it's not going to happen, I will have to live with that. It'll be painful, but I'd be able to deal with it knowing it was out of our control. I can forgive the universe for not allowing this wonderful experience in my life. The question is, can I forgive the humans if they fuck it up for us?

That was the question that came to mind yesterday for which I still don't have an answer.

Being Grateful for Peculiarities

It's been a while since my last post. In my defense, there's been quite a lot going on. Suffice it to say, I've changed specialists, undergone another in a long line of surgeries, hit rock bottom emotionally/psychologically/spiritually, only to read a fantastic book that opened my eyes, once more, to the hope that exists out there, if only we keep looking.

I'm also rereading another book right now with my mate. I enjoyed it so much the first time around, I encouraged him to read it. So, we're reading it together, out loud, mainly in bed but sometimes during lazy days (gotta love those!) I'm posting herein a section of the book that should probably be every person's motto for life. Of course, that's just one person's opinion but it's my blog so, I can post what I like!

Here it goes...

"I am appalled by the fear and ignorance that motivates such behavior. I am concerned about violence. The difference, dear one, is that I am Arab and Spike is a Jew. Oh yes! To say that Arab and Jew are brothers and sisters is not to say that we are the same. There are racial differences among people, yes? There are cultural differences, sexual differences...In my opinion, thos differences can be good. What a dull world this would be were we all alike. What an evoluntionary dead end! To be brothers, to live in peace, we do not have to be overly similar. We do not have to admire or even like one another's peculliarities. We need only respect those peculiarities - and to be grateful for them. Our similiarities provide us with a common ground, but our differences allow us to be fascinated by one another. Differences give human encounters their snap and their fizz and their brew." - excerpt from Skinny Legs and All, by Tom Robbins.


Maybe we should make this required reading for all of our political leaders.

Out With the Old Year and In With the New

It’s a New Year. Well, by the Gregorian calender of events, it’s a New Year. For me however the New Year doesn’t start until Feb 18 that is, the Chinese New Year.

No, I’m not of Chinese ethnic origin however I do subscribe to their calender because for me, it’s always made more sense. Any version of a lunar calender makes more sense to me but hey, I’ve always been a little different from most of my other western civilization Caucasian friends and family. I never really felt a shift in energies until at least a month into the new Gregorian year. Coincidentally, though it varies a week or two from year to year, that is approximately when the Chinese New Year occurs.

This year, the Chinese New Year doesn’t begin until 18 February which really, really sucks. You see, I’m a Dragon and the year of the Dog is not a particularly beneficial year for Dragons. The Dog was particularly yippy and nippy this past year and I regret to say I will NOT be sorry to see its “tail”-end. It’s been like one of those pampered and pesky little mutts you see accompanying bouffant sporting old biddies who still wear far too much make-up and bad jewellry... and large animal prints. I’m never sorry to see the tail-end of them either.

The 18th of February begins the Year of the Boar, or Pig for those who would rather. Those born in the Year of the Sheep are headed for a very good year, at least, according to the charts. Dragons too should feel a reprieve after the tiresome naus of the Dog. Horses and Monkeys also should benefit from the Banquet of the Pig. The Snake however isn’t event invited to the table and does not stand to fair well this coming year. The Snake would do best to “lie low” and watch his pennies and his tongue throughout the coming year. According to all reports, that’s the only way he will avoid being stepped-on. One time I’m glad I’m a Dragon.

I’m supposed to celebrate at any given opportunity this year but keep my confidences to avoid back-stabbers. No problem. There’s only one person I want to tell my secrets to and he can be trusted, at least for now. Yes, I’m a bit of a cynic but it doesn’t stop me from enjoying life whole-heartedly. It’s just a little necessary edge to ward-off opportunists and evil-doers. Little do they know however my roar is worse than my bite. In fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever bitten anyone.

Suffice it to say, I’m looking forward to this coming year. I’m anxious to feel the energy change. I can feel it beginning even now but I know it’s got a little ways to go. I’m in the saddle though, heels down and leaning forward. Soooo-weeeeee Piggy Piggy. Here I come!