My Dirty Little Secret

The other day I had an awkward interaction with a colleague. She announced that she and her husband would be trying for a second child and I stared at her like a deer in the headlights. 

I realized immediately that it was awkward, but not why it was awkward until later. Later it dawned on me that I didn’t respond the way that I was supposed to. If she had told me that her and her husband were looking into getting a dog or looking into buying a house, I would have responded positively and with some excitement in my voice. I think this is how most people must respond when someone tells them they’re trying to have a baby, but I just stared blankly at her and waited for her to change the topic. I would like to think that the situation would have been less awkward if she knew my dirty little secret. 

Very few people know about our troubles with conceiving. I used to like it that way. I liked leading a double-life; being the put-together and accomplished worker bee during the day and the emotional-infertile at night. I liked not getting pity looks or answering dumb questions or having to explain myself. But now this rouse is getting harder to keep up and I’m beginning to think the cost-benefit analysis is tipping in the other direction. 

This is who currently know about our struggles: my parents, C’s parents, my sisters, 1 of 3 of C’s sisters, two colleagues of perhaps 50 or so people I interact with at work, and two friends (of which neither live in the same town and we only communicate via phone). 

These are the people who don’t know: any extended family (that I’m aware of), my other 48 or so colleagues, all of my other friends that are in town and I see regularly, my boss, all of C’s friends but one, all of our mutual couple-friends, and anyone at my church. 

 I should add the most of my mom’s co-workers know, because she talks to them about it. Also, family friends that have watched me grow up know because my mom told them, but no one has brought it up to me so I don’t care much about this and they don’t really count on either list. 

 Why is so easy for my mom to tell people but not me? How do you work that sort of thing into conversation? I had lunch today with a few of the girls from work and never once did it seem appropriate to say, “And by the way, I’m infertile, please pass the ketchup.” 

 We have a big work meeting next Friday and it is a definite possibility that I will have to have a monitoring appointment that morning, which would make me a little late for the meeting. I’m secretly hoping this is the case because then I will have an “excuse” to tell my boss, “I want to let you know in advance that I will be late to the meeting because I have an appointment that morning for infertility treatment….” I’ve got it all planned out. What will hopefully be implied is “…and this is why I’ve been less productive and flakier than usual the past several months.”

 As for the rest of the world, maybe there will come a time when it just seems natural and obvious of when to divulge this information. Maybe I just need to bite the bullet and allow for some immediate awkwardness for the sake of future clarity. 

Cleveland Sports: A Metaphor

As a Cleveland native, I have had a lot of experience with disappointment. Our sports teams are known across the country for countless mishaps and “almosts”, raising our hopes and then crushing our dreams. It’s been this way for most of the last century, although my experience has been a limited to the mid-90's when I became more aware of our sporting triumphs and tragedies:

•  In the ‘95, the Indians made it the World Series with over 100 wins of the season and some of the best players at the time (Albert Belle, Manny Ramierez,  Kenny Lofton), then lost in six games, although managed to make all but one of these a “one run game” so as to keep us on our feet.

• Also in ’95, Art Modell stole the Browns and took them to Baltimore. We fought and won to keep the name and colors for when we would eventually get a team back, and this episode was even made into a Snicker’s commercial. Remember the “not going anywhere for a while” campaign? Remember the sad image of two decked-out Brown’s fans sitting in an empty stadium? I do.

• In ’97, we made it back to the World Series, with Sandy Alomar Jr., Jim Thome and Omar Visquel and made it to the seventh game against Miami. In this final game, we were 2-2 in the bottom of the 9^th after a great showing, with one out and all that was needed was to stay the course. Two more outs. Not possible for this city.

• We finally got the Browns back in ’99, although different players and different owner, and couldn’t have been more excited. That was, until we played our rival Pittsburgh Steelers as the first game back and were crushed in 43-0 loss. Welcome back to football, Cleveland.

• Then there was LeBron. He gave our city so much hope, promising us a championship and even making it to the play-offs year after year, ’06, ’07, ’08, ’09, ’10. And then choking every time. His star performances in the regular season were never matched and it felt like he was personally letting us down.

• Then he let us down for real. In what will be forever known as the Decision, he broke up with us on national tv, giving the highly televised “I’m taking my talents to South Beach” bullshit. Basically after promising to do one thing and then doing exactly the opposite we were left jaded and reeling from the break-up. So much in fact that we went on break our previous NBA record of having the longest losing streak in the NBA in 2010-11 season.

• This year the Indians are back in action, doing well all season, securing a spot in the Wild Card playoff game and then… you guessed it, choking. The very next day, our newly rising star quarterback leading the Browns in a .500 record thus far got injured early in the game and was declared to be out the rest of the season. ::Sigh::

And that is only what’s happened since I’ve been active in the sports world. The full shameful history would be much longer and more miserable. So why do I go into all this on a blog about my sub-fertility? Well, I like all Cleveland sport fans, have had a long history of hope swallowed up by disappointment and of managing this grief. As one writer put it, “At this point Cleveland fans are familiar enough with the stages of grief that I think they just skip right to acceptance." (see the full article here) One might say that my years spent watching and rooting for various sports teams in this town has well-prepared me for the current challenges I’m now facing. Or maybe it’s just made me more guarded from the start. Hope is a dangerous thing. I’ve learned that it’s the high that will enviably result in a crash and burn. And yet hope is what drive us, keeps up from despair, and helps us to keep moving forward.

So here’s to hoping that C and I are able to have a healthy baby before the Indians win their next World Championship, Browns make it to the Super bowl, or the Cavaliers finally get their championship ring! Cross your fingers, pray on your talismans, and pull-out your lucky underwear that my luck is better than the entire city of Cleveland sports. Otherwise, I really am going to believe that it’s the water (our river did catch on fire from pollution back in the day, after all). J

Power Outage

Today we were without power. The electric company reported it was due to down trees, a byproduct of an early and heavy snow with all the beautiful leaves still being firmly attached to the trees. We also lost power on Thursday, but I was at work so I didn't care about this much. Today was a weekend. A day home.

I should also mention that we live in the country so without power we also have no water. Lovely well water.

And I should confess that I forgot to plug my cell phone in to charge last night, so it was dead as well.

I have a very predictable weekend morning routine. Get up without an alarm when my body is ready. Eat breakfast and make coffee. Drink coffee while watching home show (typically HGTV, but I sometimes mix it up). After about an hour of this, I am then ready to start my day.

This is in stark contrast to my weekday routine of getting up with 20-30 minutes to get out the door work, making a smoothie and coffee in to-go containers and drinking them both on my way in as I continue to wake up and mentally prepare for the day. I relish in the contrast.

I digress. Today, I got up as normal and, luckily, went to the bathroom (no water = no flushing toilets). Then the lights flickered and went out. Initially panic set it in. I need breakfast and coffee. I am an angry person without these things. I went back to bed, unable to think of a plan without fuel. Luckily my parents helped me out with this one and suggested we all go to Bob Evans for breakfast. Yes! After my 1/2 omelet and 2 small cups of coffee, I felt human again, like the Snickers commercials.

The hope was that by the time we got home, the power would be restored. We weren't this lucky. Appreciating my full belly more than usual, I decided to embrace the situation.

I finished a book.

I crocheted for a while. Then I spent another 2 hours working to unknot some atrocious mess I made of one of the skeins.

My dog spent the time curled up next to me, keeping us both warm. I also put on my thick socks and snuggled under a blanket.

It was nice. The quiet felt peaceful. I could hear the nature sounds out of window that are usually drowned out by the background of TV noise. I could focus on one thing at time without interruptions of texts, emails, and news blurbs. I didn't feel guilty for not getting caught up on work and documentation. I allowed myself to be mindful and fully present in the moment, enjoying the one activity I had chosen to put my attention towards in that moment. I slowed down. I allowed myself to be calm and relaxed.

The power returned late in the afternoon, just before it began to get dark. Perfect timing really. I am now behind on the household chores and the work I promised myself I'd do this weekend, but I'm not letting this bother me. Some things can't be controlled. We can either let it ruin our day (lives) or embrace it and make-do.