Picking up the pieces

I’ve been a hot mess lately.  Going through the motions and giving myself mini pep talks throughout the day.  Most of the time, it feels like my heart is somewhere outside of my body.   I alternate between denial, acknowledgement and feeling numb.

I know deep in my core that it will be ok.  It’s not ok right now, but it will be.

In the midst of all this sadness, I am profoundly thankful.  Such a strange dynamic.  Grief and blessings all rolled into one.  I am so grateful to never walk this path alone.  The love and kindness from the people in my life envelops me and is a balm for my broken heart.  So many people walk through trying times alone.  I feel lucky not to be one of them.

I am also extraordinarily thankful for my husband.  This man is hands down one of the most compassionate and loving humans I have ever had the chance to meet.  How he does it is a mystery to me.   His spirit, the joie de vivre of his soul inspires me.  I will forever be a better person from the time spent with him.  He gives me the courage to be exactly who I am and the acceptance to do it without apology.

 I cannot imagine a greater gift.

This is How a Heart Breaks

Here's the thing- I'm a researcher by nature.  It's at the core of my being. While my husband's core seeks calm, I crave data.  To me, knowledge is powerful.  Once you have the facts, you can make choices.   The trick is to remove the emotion and focus on the facts. 

Get your information.  Make choices. Move forward.

This was my internal dialogue as I sat in the waiting room of the Reproductive Endocrinologist's office.  While my unflappable  husband skimmed magazines and commented on his findings, I clasped my hands in my lap and focused on my mantra.

The bizarre humor of the situation was not completely lost on me.  Here I sat, childless, surrounded by pictures of beaming babies and copies of Parenting magazine.  The longer I sat there, the funnier this was.  Were they all sold out of cityscapes the day this doc opened shop?  Were the larger than life framed baby posters meant to inspire me?

So we waited and waited and then waited some more.  An hour later, we were called back for our consult.  For me, nothing good ever comes from stewing in a waiting room for an hour. 

My mantra was long gone.  It was slowly being replaced by a seething anger  mingled with an overwhelming desire to run out the door.

In hindsight, I should have listened to myself right there.  It was a powerful foreshadowing of what was in store for us.  We spent an hour 'consulting' with the doctor.  Another hour or so being shuttled around to various rooms and talking to a myriad of staff members.  About three hours total.  It will take me so much longer to move past this experience. 

As the one who pushed and pushed for additional tests and set up this meeting, the irony of the experience is not lost on me.

As we settled into our chairs, the first thing the doctor said to us was "Is there anything I can do for you, besides give you a baby?"  He threw back his head and howled with laughter.  My terse response was, "No, I think that should be about all".

After his next question, I began staring longingly and unabashedly at the door. ..

"So, why aren't you pregnant?"  Followed by more jolly laughter.

I may have actually gasped a bit here.  His lack of sensitivity was stunning.  My unflappable husband was sitting up straighter in his chair with widening eyes.  I managed to stammer out something along the lines of  "I have no idea, you tell me."

And this is what he told us. ..

My husband is the perfect specimen of health.  Great test results.  No problems.  I believe the phrase "strong man" was used.  Frankly, it's a bit of a blur.  So, that brings us back to me...


Dr. Wonderful was quick to point out that I am "the problem".    Apparently my ovary age is more advanced than my actual age.  A 'normal' number on this test for me would be a 5 or a 6.  My result was a  1.    Add in Endometriosis and my age and this number is a big problem.

Not good.  To make matters worse, his delivery left a lot to be desired. And that's putting it mildly. 

At this point, I'm frantically taking notes and trying to keep up with what he is saying.  He has completely stopped acknowledging me and is explaining the treatment options only to my husband.  I insert questions where I can and he talks right over me. 

At one point, Dr. Wonderful cracks a joke about me to my husband.  The same husband who has his hand glued to my back and his jaw clenched.

Really, I should have run for the door when I had the chance.

It felt like someone sucked the breath right out of me.  One of those really bad dreams you can't seem to wake up from...
And then, finally, his sales pitch/consultation is over.  And I look at him and mutter "I'm not sure about all of this."  His eyebrows raise in disbelief and he actually clucks at me as he asks about my reservations.

I sit there and feel mute.  Speechless.  Defeated.  Stare at the door for a few seconds and then splutter out something about the risks and side effects and taking the meds...wrap up by saying "It's a lot and I'm overwhelmed."

His response is twofold- first he laughs.

He laughs.  I gasp for air and struggle to control the tears that threaten to take over.

He then asks me if I would seek treatment if my husband was having a heart attack.  Of course I say.  He smiles and says that this is the same thing and I need to seek treatment.  Dr.  Wonderful continues on to say that when I have a headache I take Tylenol.  He shrugs his shoulders and tells me that the hormones, the injections and the medicines required for treatment are no different than taking Tylenol.   That even Tylenol comes with risks. 

He shrugs his shoulders and tells me that if being afraid of medicine is more important than a baby, then he cannot help me.

At that point, I stand up and start moving towards the door.  I am too shaken up to fully process everything that just happened.  All I know is I want out. NOW.

The next hour is a blur as we shuttle around to meet with various other staff members. 

When it is finally over, I am mute. 

I sit in the car, hiding behind giant sunglasses.  Unable to even make eye contact with my husband. 

He drives. I cry. He keeps driving, intuitively understanding what to do.  He gives me the space I need to find my voice.

And then in a sign of springing back to life, I do what any good Italian does in a time of crisis, I demand food...  We eat the meats and cheeses of my childhood.  Sample simple pizzas and pasta.  Drink red wine out of chipped glasses that remind me of my grandmother.  I feed my soul and my broken heart.  My husband holds my hand.  We are one.  We will survive this sadness.

At home, I fall into a deep and restless sleep.  I wake with tears on my pillow and the knowledge that we will be ok. 

Taking a Leap of Faith

I have been keeping a low profile lately.  More so than normal.  I've been focused on my work and on exercise and living a very small life as I cope with a whole slew of challenges. 

This fall, I was diagnosed with Premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD) and endometriosis.    At first the diagnosis was a big, fat relief.  Hooray!  I'm not a hypochondriac!!  There is actually something going on here, so let's get busy treating the hell out of it.  Cure me.  I'm ready!  I was almost giddy with relief.

As time went on, that began to change.  There is no cure...

 Both conditions can only be managed and managing them is akin to threading a needle with your eyes closed. Sometimes it works,  mostly it doesn't.   

I've tried meds, diet, exercise.- you name it.  My doctor has now referred me to another one because he is simply out of options.

In the meantime, I spend about three weeks a month battling symptoms that range from mildly annoying (body aches and lack of concentration) to completely debilitating (pain and vomiting).  I've thrown everything I have at this for the past six months.   To say I'm frustrated is the understatement of the century!

The PMDD symptoms were just the tip of the iceberg...

·         Disinterest in daily activities and relationships

·         Fatigue or low energy

·         Feeling of sadness or hopelessness

·         Feelings of tension or anxiety

·         Feeling out of control

·         Food cravings or binge eating

·         Mood swings marked by periods of teariness

·         Panic attack

·         Persistent irritability or anger that affects other people

·         Physical symptoms, such as bloating, headaches, and joint or muscle pain

·         Problems sleeping

·         Trouble concentrating

When the PMDD was kept at bay, it was time for the endometriosis to kick in...

·         chronic fatigue

·         pelvic pain

·         vomiting

·         fibroids

·         abdominal adhesions

·         infertility

I began to hate my body.  Why couldn't it just work like it was supposed to?

This week I had a minor breakthrough, which I hope will snowball in the days, weeks and months ahead....

Determined to continue working out and battle these conditions without drugs, I signed on for six more months with my trainer.  I'm stubborn like that.  He said we needed a goal.  I found a 30 day challenge on the internet and printed it out.  His reaction was not what I expected.  I thought he would be thrilled that I had done my homework.  Instead he pulled a face and said, "this looks pretty hard."  My confidence faltered.  I considered changing my mind.

Then, I took a leap of faith...

I trusted my body to do what it could.  I insisted on doing the workout.  And I was successful!  I'm not sure who was more surprised- me or my trainer.  It was truly a light bulb moment.

 I'm stronger than I realize.  I have the ability to endure.  I can push through to get to the end.

It was just the realization I needed as I dig deep and try to manage the PMDD and the endo and the infertility - all without losing my mind.

Somewhere, buried deep inside of me, there was a little voice that knew what I could do.    All I had to do was listen to it and take a leap of faith.  The road ahead doesn't look particularly easy to me,  but I have big plans to leap and jump and soar my way down it!

Whatever your obstacle may be , can you find a way to leap?  There is so much power and pure magic in not giving up on yourself.

What's your wallet?

The past week has been challenging.  That’s actually putting it mildly.  The past week has been a chaotic, ridiculous frenzied circus.  A home organization project spiraled out of control; work demanded every millisecond of my attention.   My apartment looked like an audition for Hoarders; the dirty dishes were stacked on the stove because the sink was full and I wasn’t sure where I could locate any more clean clothes to get to the end of the work week.    For someone who thrives on order, it wasn’t pretty.

By the time Thursday evening rolled around, I was a red wine swilling hot mess.

At 7pm, I was in sweats and plunked firmly on the couch watching the Home Shopping Network.  (For anyone who knows me well, this is the equivalent of total meltdown mode)   

By 8 pm, I had abandoned the couch for bed.  It’s important to note here that I literally crawled from the couch into bed.  Makeup intact, clothes on, wine glass askew- you get the picture.

I normally have an end of the evening routine.  Pack a lunch for the next day, compile a quick to do list, walk the dog, charge my phone, lay out clothes for the gym and office.  Basic prep for the day ahead.

Not last night.  Nope.  Last night it was a long 500’ crawl straight to bed where I was dozing blissfully until an early morning text message catapulted me from bed.

“I have your wallet”

Now before your mind goes wandering down a very dark and dramatic road, let me clarify…

The text message was from my husband, who was at work.  At work with my wallet.   The wallet I left in the car last night before the wine swilling, virtual shopping meltdown.

This leaves me at home without my wallet.  Which is all fine and dandy until a quick inventory of the apartment reveals that my CTA card and emergency cash are both in said wallet.  

At this point, I have:

·         No money

·         No access to money

·         No car

·         No way to get to work, where I am expected to be in just over an hour

·         A husband who cannot leave work to bring me the damn thing

Immediately, I am obsessed with getting my wallet back.  I am completely focused on that wallet and the contents of it.  In my mind, the day  can not start until I have my wallet back.

I frantically brush my teeth and scour the rubble for shoes.  Reserve a Zipcar online.  Run to the car.  Attempt to open the car with my phone.  Get messages telling me I must use my card to access the car for the first time.  That’s fine, but we all know where that card is, right? 

Yes, yes it is.  It’s …in the wallet.

After stomping my feet and letting loose a few choice words, I call customer service and pray that my dwindling cell phone battery makes it though the call.


I manage to stumble through all of my secret passwords and security questions and I am on the road with 30 minutes to spare.  30 minutes that I will spend sitting in rush hour traffic on Lake Shore Drive.  Wall to wall traffic.  The kind of traffic where you completely question your existence and pound the steering wheel in frustration.  The kind of traffic that lets your mind wander to other places…..

My wandering mind thought about the two rolls of quarters in the laundry room that could be CTA fare or even cab money.  The good friend who lives a block away and has access to both a car and cash.   My retired father who lives 10 minutes away and also has access to a car and cash (and probably a snack)

Instead, I was sitting on Lake Shore Drive watching the clock tick closer and closer to the start of my meeting.  I was hungry and not sure that I remembered to lock the door on my way out.

Later in the day, when my wallet and I were safely at work, I was finally able to catch my breath chuckle about my morning.  At this moment, it struck me that my wallet could easily symbolize any obstacle we create for ourselves.

Here's the thing-I was so focused on the wallet that I failed to see all of the options in front of me.


There were at least three other ways (calmer and more effective ways) to resolve this.  By only zooming in on the wallet, I missed all of the other choices and probably spiked my blood pressure a few points along the way!

Is there something that you are so focused on that you’ve lost your way?  Is it clouding your vision and preventing new ideas from sinking in?  What are you fixated on and what are you missing with this fixation?


What’s your wallet?

Free to be me?

I’m a firm believer in the idea that there are many roads to happiness. No matter how much I love someone or how close we are, their path will never match mine. To be truly happy, we must choose our own way. If we’re very lucky, we have people along our path cheering us on and picking us up as we fall.


I like to think that those who love us the best give us the most room to be ourselves.


Over the years, I’ve tried to walk (and stay) on my own path. I like listening to my inner beat and slowly feeling my way around to what is right for me. In fact, the older I get, the more I feel like myself.


Unfortunately, it also seems that the older I get, the more people expect me to be like them. To emulate their dreams and their experiences. Anything else is uncomfortable. Maybe other choices make them question their own?


I’m completely content with my little universe and the world around me. That’s why I’m so shocked at all of the opinions that have been swirling around.


Some of my favorites include comments about “my alternative lifestyle” and “You need to grow up and stop living this way”. I’ve also been told that “you can’t be young forever” and “it’s time to quit playing around and make a decision”.


With a husband and a dog, and a full time job and a fledgling writing career and volunteer work and time at the gym, I’m not sure how my life looks much different than most people I know.


Apparently, my mistake was not having children.


Not only do I not have any children, I’m not miserable about it.


This is foreign territory- even to those who love me the most. By not having a family (and not being miserable about it), I have somehow become a stranger to them. A stranger with an alternative lifestyle!


Let me be clear. I adore children. In fact, my husband and I have been trying to have one for a very, very long time. Many failed attempts later, I’ve decided to return to my roots. To do what I know. To listen to my inner beat and slowly feel my way around to what is right.


What feels right is to be happy. To accept my life where it is. To embrace and dance and play and discover and explore….. To relish joyful moments and be grateful for my blessings.

To let things be.


Apparently, this is not an acceptable response to my childless situation.


According to society and Hallmark cards and just about everyone I know, I’m supposed to be miserable. Heartbroken. Putting on a brave face. Emotional. Unable to come to terms with my bad luck. People speak to me about it in hushed tones or pull me aside to ask how I am ‘holding up’.


They are incredibly sympathetic until they find out that we are not in a rush to do anything about it. No fertility treatments. No tests. No profiles for prospective birth mothers. No immediate plans, of any kind- other than to focus on being happy.


That’s when the opinions come spilling out. I usually nod and smile, eager to end the conversation.


Here’s what I’d like to say…


If you really love someone, let them walk their own path. Even when it looks different than yours. Honor where they are and not where you think they should be. My journey doesn’t have to mirror yours. Yours is still perfectly ok. My reaction doesn’t have to match yours. That doesn’t mean yours is wrong. As I honor your way, please let me choose mine.

Be careful with me. I'm sensitive.

Last year, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. Only very recently have I been able to open up to my loved ones about that fact. I spent a long time feeling ashamed and embarrassed about my diagnosis. Worried what people would say or think, I kept it to myself.


You see, for a (reforming) perfectionist like me, being diagnosed with anything can feel like a failure.


I spent a lot of the past year parked on the couch, alone with my misery. Putting on a super woman act for the rest of the world, I crumbled when left by myself. My work, my marriage, my friendships and my spirit all floundered.


I have yet to find a way to accurately describe what it feels like to experience depression and anxiety. It's exhausting. Scary. Alienating. And most of all, it's not who I am. Sometimes, I felt like a stranger watching my own life unfold before me.


Nothing has ever challenged my spirit and my very soul in the way that these two illnesses have.


Over the winter, I began to recover and to gain some perspective about the journey. Slowly, I am reclaiming my life and putting my rose colored glasses back on. For the first time in a long time, I'm beginning to feel like myself again.


Often, I find myself torn about the experience. I wish I could go back in time and have a conversation with that sad girl on the couch. I'd like to reassure her that everything will be ok. Mostly, I want her to know that she is not alone. Unfortunately, she is in some very good company. Per the National Mental Health Association,


• 1 in 8 women will experience depression in their lifetime
• women are more likely than men to struggle with depression and anxiety
• being a perfectionist is a high risk factor for both diseases


Be careful with us. We're sensitive.


As women, we spend so much time taking care of everyone and everything else. For some of us, the flip side of feminism is feeling like you have to do it all and do it all well. Sometimes, it's good to remember that we are not invincible. Sometimes, it's good to ask for help.


Sometimes, it's good to be careful with yourself and to be sensitive.

keep your eyes on your own paper

I fell in love with my life today. Just like that. As if someone flipped a switch or turned on a spotlight to showcase all the wonderful that surrounds me.


An actual blizzard forced me to forgo work and the normal daily grind for three days of fun. I spent the past 72 hours wandering around and doing whatever the hell I felt like doing. This included napping and baking and cooking and lots of walking and laughing and playing with the dog and yoga and cocktails and bubble baths and wandering around outside taking pictures and reading a novel slowly to savor every last, beautifully placed word on the page. There were snow angels and giggle fits. Dancing and clapping. Story swapping and favorite movies.


It was almost like being a kid again. And it was absolutely magical.


Often, I find myself caught up in the managing and the planning and the details of life. I struggle against this grind. It's a valiant effort, but more often than not the planning and managing win. Lately, there has been a lot of "what next" plans ,discussions and debates on the home front. Somewhere along the way, I picked up the memo that I should be doing something. "Moving forward" That awful cliché, 'the next step' has been tossed around more than a few times.


Ironically, I have found myself unable (unwilling?) to truly commit to anything. In some inexplicable way, my soul was pulling the emergency brake. The more I tried to truck along, the more that brake was calling my name. Even as I write this, I am unable to fully articulate the sensation or the internal conflict it caused.


Then it snowed and snowed and snowed some more. And the debate got put on hold.


Instead of worrying about 'the next step', I was wondering if the fudge recipe on the marshmallow bag was any good. For the first time in a long time, my mind wandered. For three consecutive days, I did not make a to do list. (For those who know me, that alone is nothing short of a miracle!)


And, you know what? It did me a world of good. As I said at the beginning, I literally fell in love with my life. In love with my cozy apartment and my good natured and indulgent husband and the warm and lovely people in my life who accept my inherent quirkiness. In love with my happy little dog and my interesting job and the city I live in. In love with the path I've chosen.


In love with my right now.


It truly hit me like a ton of bricks.


While meditating today, I was finally able to articulate the problem-the reason my soul was screaming for that emergency brake. I can't commit to any of the plans, because they are not mine. It seems about the time I absorbed the message that I should be doing something, I also took on the notion that it should be what everyone else was doing. Or what would make everyone else happy or comfortable or secure in the fact that I was just like them. That's just not me. Never has been.


I need to keep my eyes on my own paper.


Remember that school age phrase? Tossed around a classroom when there were tests or quizzes to fret over? The teacher would walk up and down the aisles and admonish everyone, "keep your eyes on your own paper."


Who knew how true and profound those words could be?