I'm a person who charges through things, head on, to get to the other side. I don't wallow. But this is my blog and so today, I'm going to wallow...
My baby just turned 3 and I nursed her until she was almost 16 months. That means my body has had less than 2 years to re-adjust from years of infertility treatments, pregnancy or nursing back to it's normal hormonal state. It took a little while after Laura was weaned (because of the auto-immune issue I developed) but when she was just shy of 2 years, my period regulated itself again and was just as it had been prior to my family building journey. I have just had the rude awakening that the "ride" is over. My body is springing forward into peri-menopause.
Huh? At 41? Yup. And I don't like it.
My lovely sister (who is 2 1/2 years my senior) thinks I should be thrilled.Her theory? No more birth control (um, we have male factor infertility-we don't NEED birth control). No more menstrual cycles to worry about; which, in theory, sounds great. Except she hasn't experienced 2 a.m. night sweats, a full month of spotting-or perhaps the worst: the unexpected and unannounced menstrual "surprise" that caught me in white shorts, completely off my guard. What she's not thinking about is, well, uncontrollable night sweats, mood swings, weight gain and crankiness.
So okay, the mood swings and crankiness haven't happened yet and the weight gain is probable due to overeating and under moving but remember, this is my blog and my wallow...
Seriously, though? 41? Peri-Menopause? It seems unfair.
And then I think-maybe it's NOT menopause and maybe it's something else. Something I should see my GYN about. Some rare and weird side effect from years of infertility treatments (I am NOT a hypochondriac-really, I'm not). But I just don't want to see my GYN right now. It's summer, the kids are home, we are having fun. The GYN is not fun. Not to mention my favorite (female) GYN is no longer working and I don't really want to see a nurse practitioner, midwife or one of the male doctors. I want to see someone I trust completely and feel comfortable with because let's face it, menopause at 41 isn't something I want to share with just anyone (except the entire world wide web, via this blog).
I want some hand-holding. I want to be told I'm not going to get cranky or lose my sex drive or gain a ton of weight, just because I'm going through menopause.
What I really want is another 5-8 years of baby-making abilities, even though know I won't be having any more babies. 41 is early. I don't want to be early. I want to be in the norm.
So that's my big boo-hoo.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
Time...
My kids are growing up. The safety bumpers have long since been removed from our coffee table and the safety locks on the cabinets are gone. Legos and other small toys decorate our floors on a daily basis and it's suffice to say that our house is no longer baby-proof. As difficult as it is to admit, Laura is a full fledged child. At nearly 3, she hasn't napped in months, prefers riding her bike to watching Baby Einsteins and has enough attitude to rival any tween.
This stage is so much fun. Both kids are playing (non-competitive) wiffle ball. Rod and I take them to the driving range and tennis courts, they love the beach and enjoy boogie boarding and this year, they helped wash and wax the boat (they spent most of the time taking turns playing "Captain" and "First Mate" but they were out there with us). They are creative and able to do "things" yet they are still totally innocent. It's such a great time of life.
Every once in a while, my arms ache to hold a baby in my arms, to feel the suckle of their thirst, to inhale the newborn smell through my nostrils. I used to think this longing stemmed from losing Hannah, Ryan and Abby and I'm sure part of it is. But I think part of it is also because I realize that life is accelerating at a rate that's unfathomable. Sometimes when I'm shopping, I walk right past the Size 5 pants because when I glance at them, I assume they are way to big to fit my son and yet that is the size he wears.
As a teen, I would to get annoyed when my folks would tell me that they can't believe how fast life happens. I couldn't wait to drive, or graduate high school or turn 21. And while I would never go back to these days, it's a bit shocking to realize that at 41, I'm now closer to being 60 than I was to being 20. And it's almost impossible to believe that 5 years ago tomorrow was the day that my son safely entered my world. While I was pregnant, it went so slowly. Now that they are here, it's going too fast...
This stage is so much fun. Both kids are playing (non-competitive) wiffle ball. Rod and I take them to the driving range and tennis courts, they love the beach and enjoy boogie boarding and this year, they helped wash and wax the boat (they spent most of the time taking turns playing "Captain" and "First Mate" but they were out there with us). They are creative and able to do "things" yet they are still totally innocent. It's such a great time of life.
Every once in a while, my arms ache to hold a baby in my arms, to feel the suckle of their thirst, to inhale the newborn smell through my nostrils. I used to think this longing stemmed from losing Hannah, Ryan and Abby and I'm sure part of it is. But I think part of it is also because I realize that life is accelerating at a rate that's unfathomable. Sometimes when I'm shopping, I walk right past the Size 5 pants because when I glance at them, I assume they are way to big to fit my son and yet that is the size he wears.
As a teen, I would to get annoyed when my folks would tell me that they can't believe how fast life happens. I couldn't wait to drive, or graduate high school or turn 21. And while I would never go back to these days, it's a bit shocking to realize that at 41, I'm now closer to being 60 than I was to being 20. And it's almost impossible to believe that 5 years ago tomorrow was the day that my son safely entered my world. While I was pregnant, it went so slowly. Now that they are here, it's going too fast...
Monday, February 8, 2010
Redshirting...
"Redshirting" was once used to describe college athletes who are kept from play for a year, so that they can still put in 4 years, but at an older, more refined and developed age. Now the term is often being used to describe kids who enter kindergarten a year late with the hopes that being the oldest will give them the academic and athletic advantage.
It's a hot topic.
And it's one I'm currently considering.Joey is a May baby and our kindergarten cut-off date is October first. He would probably be one of, if not the oldest, child in his class growing up. The thought of that scares me and yet I am still thinking of holding him from kindergarten next year.
But it's not to give him an academic or athletic advantage as he grows. See, for me, I am 100% sure that holding my son now is the right thing to do for him, now. The T-K program we are looking at will have between 10 and 12 children, all who will be 5 years old when they start and 6 years old when they finish. The program focuses on many of the skills that he would be learning in Kindergarten, but extra emphasis is given to social and emotional confidence and growth. Academically and athletically (if there is such a thing for a 4 1/2 year old) he's ready. It's the "social" and "emotional" where he needs a little more time. He's come a long way but he's just not there yet. This T-K program is the perfect stepping stone for my son and I know it would do wonders for him.
His pediatrician believes that he's a child that could go either way. His exact words were, "Knowing Joey as I do, if he were born in July, I would tell you to hold him. But May is on the far end" But that only makes me wonder more if T-K is the place for him. His preschool teachers have said, "He would benefit from an extra year but he would probably be okay if you sent him" Do I want to gamble with "probably" when I know he would benefit from one more year?
Sounds like a no-brainer, right? Except it's not. It's not the now that I worry about, it's the later. What happens when he is turning 8 in first grade, 12 in 5th grade? 17 (the age in which NJ children are eligible to test for their driver's license) at the end of his sophomore year? Will he feel differently because he is older? Will he feel like an outcast? Will he be bored academically?
So, do I hold him because I believe it's best for my son "now" but then worry about the "later" potential long term consequences? Or do I send him now so he's not the oldest child in the class and worry about the consequences of this decision on his current social confidence?
In life, there is no crystal ball. And so, I'll continue to weigh the pros and cons of both options, then make my decision. Hopefully, in 20 years from now, I will look back on this angst with a smile, knowing I made the right decision.
It's a hot topic.
And it's one I'm currently considering.Joey is a May baby and our kindergarten cut-off date is October first. He would probably be one of, if not the oldest, child in his class growing up. The thought of that scares me and yet I am still thinking of holding him from kindergarten next year.
But it's not to give him an academic or athletic advantage as he grows. See, for me, I am 100% sure that holding my son now is the right thing to do for him, now. The T-K program we are looking at will have between 10 and 12 children, all who will be 5 years old when they start and 6 years old when they finish. The program focuses on many of the skills that he would be learning in Kindergarten, but extra emphasis is given to social and emotional confidence and growth. Academically and athletically (if there is such a thing for a 4 1/2 year old) he's ready. It's the "social" and "emotional" where he needs a little more time. He's come a long way but he's just not there yet. This T-K program is the perfect stepping stone for my son and I know it would do wonders for him.
His pediatrician believes that he's a child that could go either way. His exact words were, "Knowing Joey as I do, if he were born in July, I would tell you to hold him. But May is on the far end" But that only makes me wonder more if T-K is the place for him. His preschool teachers have said, "He would benefit from an extra year but he would probably be okay if you sent him" Do I want to gamble with "probably" when I know he would benefit from one more year?
Sounds like a no-brainer, right? Except it's not. It's not the now that I worry about, it's the later. What happens when he is turning 8 in first grade, 12 in 5th grade? 17 (the age in which NJ children are eligible to test for their driver's license) at the end of his sophomore year? Will he feel differently because he is older? Will he feel like an outcast? Will he be bored academically?
So, do I hold him because I believe it's best for my son "now" but then worry about the "later" potential long term consequences? Or do I send him now so he's not the oldest child in the class and worry about the consequences of this decision on his current social confidence?
In life, there is no crystal ball. And so, I'll continue to weigh the pros and cons of both options, then make my decision. Hopefully, in 20 years from now, I will look back on this angst with a smile, knowing I made the right decision.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Hot Chocolate and Some Love
This past weekend, I was part of a wonderful thing-something that made me cry and made me proud to live in my community. Recently, a friend's son was diagnosed with Stage IV Neuroblastoma (see post "I just don't understand"). Our community has rallied to support this family in ways that are simply amazing~meals are scheduled for the next few months, carpooling for the other kids has been coordinated, notes and cards of encouragement and support are dropped off daily and many events are being planned in an effort to raise money to help with medical costs associated with his care and treatment.
The first fundraising event, "HOT CHOCOLATE FOR CHARLIE" occurred this past Saturday. It was an outdoor fundraiser where people could come, have coffee and hot chocolate, socialize and enjoy the crisp winter day. We had a clown there who made balloon figures for kids and a brownie troop sold brown ribbons with a purple heart to raise money. We sold homemade goodies that included cookies, cupcakes and rice krispie treats. People milled around and socialized while kids ran around playing.
"Team Charlie" hoped for a good turnout but nobody expected what we got: hundreds of families coming out, many who don't know the family but want to support them. At the end of the day, we had leftover goodies that were pack up to be sent to CHOP (The Childrens Hospital of PA) for kids who are staying there. The Brownie Troupe counted their money and handed over $500.00, just from selling their pins. The unofficial accountants for the "Team Charlie" bake sale took the cash raised over to the bank and tallied it up. It's amazing what a simple idea, a little hard work and a lot of love can accomplish. HOT CHOCOLATE FOR CHARLIE, a small community fundraiser, earned over $5,000.00 to help this family. It was inspiring.
The first fundraising event, "HOT CHOCOLATE FOR CHARLIE" occurred this past Saturday. It was an outdoor fundraiser where people could come, have coffee and hot chocolate, socialize and enjoy the crisp winter day. We had a clown there who made balloon figures for kids and a brownie troop sold brown ribbons with a purple heart to raise money. We sold homemade goodies that included cookies, cupcakes and rice krispie treats. People milled around and socialized while kids ran around playing.
"Team Charlie" hoped for a good turnout but nobody expected what we got: hundreds of families coming out, many who don't know the family but want to support them. At the end of the day, we had leftover goodies that were pack up to be sent to CHOP (The Childrens Hospital of PA) for kids who are staying there. The Brownie Troupe counted their money and handed over $500.00, just from selling their pins. The unofficial accountants for the "Team Charlie" bake sale took the cash raised over to the bank and tallied it up. It's amazing what a simple idea, a little hard work and a lot of love can accomplish. HOT CHOCOLATE FOR CHARLIE, a small community fundraiser, earned over $5,000.00 to help this family. It was inspiring.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Lumps
About 3 1/2 weeks ago, during a self breast exam, I felt some things that just weren't right.I made an appointment with my GYN and today she confirmed that they are indeed, lumps. Monday I'm going for a diagnostic mammogram.
I know there are a million things that this could be (or not be). I'm not in panic mode about what it may (or may not) be, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. I am.
Please send some good vibes my way. Thanks.
==
UPDATE: And after a very stressful mammogram and ultrasound, I do not have cancer. I also don't have time to write everything I want to write about this experience but I did want to update. My heart goes out to any man or woman who experiences this but received a cancer diagnosis. Wishing you all peace.
I know there are a million things that this could be (or not be). I'm not in panic mode about what it may (or may not) be, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. I am.
Please send some good vibes my way. Thanks.
==
UPDATE: And after a very stressful mammogram and ultrasound, I do not have cancer. I also don't have time to write everything I want to write about this experience but I did want to update. My heart goes out to any man or woman who experiences this but received a cancer diagnosis. Wishing you all peace.
Monday, January 4, 2010
I Just Don't Understand...
Less than 3 weeks ago, I went Cross-Country Skiing with a friend. We spent a lot of time talking about her son, Charlie, who has been having some strange health problems. Charlie is her "baby" and turned 3 on December 26. But instead of celebrating his birthday that day, he was admitted to Childrens Hospital Of PA (CHOP) and his parents were given his diagnosis: Cancer. Neuroblastoma. Stage 4.
When I think about Charlie and his prognosis, I feel physically ill. And I want to wrap my arms around both of them and hug them and make them feel safe and make all the cancer go away. I hope with all my heart that Charlie beats the odds and his treatments cure him. Statistically, due to his age and the status of his cancer, the odds are against him. However, there are kids who make up the small statistic of those who survive and remain cancer free. There's no reason why Charlie can't be one of those kids. But my mind can't help but going to that dark place some times.
A long time ago, I gave up my belief in an all powerful all mighty God who controls all of the awful things that happen in this world. But I haven't given up on the Almighty God and the power of prayer for strength. For anyone who reads this, I ask you to keep Charlie and his Mom, Julie, in your prayers. Ask that Charlie has the physical stamina to thrive through the harsh treatments he'll undergo, and ask that Julie will continue to have the unbelievable strength that she has as she watches her son struggle with this awful disease while at the same time, finding the balance between caring for Charlie and caring for her 2 girls at home.
When I think about Charlie and his prognosis, I feel physically ill. And I want to wrap my arms around both of them and hug them and make them feel safe and make all the cancer go away. I hope with all my heart that Charlie beats the odds and his treatments cure him. Statistically, due to his age and the status of his cancer, the odds are against him. However, there are kids who make up the small statistic of those who survive and remain cancer free. There's no reason why Charlie can't be one of those kids. But my mind can't help but going to that dark place some times.
A long time ago, I gave up my belief in an all powerful all mighty God who controls all of the awful things that happen in this world. But I haven't given up on the Almighty God and the power of prayer for strength. For anyone who reads this, I ask you to keep Charlie and his Mom, Julie, in your prayers. Ask that Charlie has the physical stamina to thrive through the harsh treatments he'll undergo, and ask that Julie will continue to have the unbelievable strength that she has as she watches her son struggle with this awful disease while at the same time, finding the balance between caring for Charlie and caring for her 2 girls at home.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Untitled
Today, I got blindsided by grief and sadness. I can't really say why. Nothing extraordinary happened. I didn't hear any good or bad news regarding pregnancies or babies. Joey and Laura are doing well and life is, generally, really good.
Except that for whatever reason, my heart aches tonight and I am sad. Tears flooded my eyes as I realized that this heavy feeling is from missing Hannah, Ryan and Abby and what could have been...
I am not a person who can close her eyes and imagine life with three 6 year old triplets running around. I don't know if I can't do it because I won't do it or if I won't do it because I can't do it, but either way, I don't imagine life with Hannah, Ryan and Abby. What I do wonder is who they would have been and what they would look like.
If I could take a short journey back in time, there is no doubt that I would travel back to the week they were born. It would be unbelievably painful to relive that week, but I can no longer remember what it felt like to hold them. Right now, I long to hold them, smell them and feel that overwhelming sense of love that comes right after your child is placed in your arms. And even though it would be unbelievably painful to relive that week, it would be worth the pain to remember.
Hannah, Ryan and Abby~I love you and I miss you so very much.
Except that for whatever reason, my heart aches tonight and I am sad. Tears flooded my eyes as I realized that this heavy feeling is from missing Hannah, Ryan and Abby and what could have been...
I am not a person who can close her eyes and imagine life with three 6 year old triplets running around. I don't know if I can't do it because I won't do it or if I won't do it because I can't do it, but either way, I don't imagine life with Hannah, Ryan and Abby. What I do wonder is who they would have been and what they would look like.
If I could take a short journey back in time, there is no doubt that I would travel back to the week they were born. It would be unbelievably painful to relive that week, but I can no longer remember what it felt like to hold them. Right now, I long to hold them, smell them and feel that overwhelming sense of love that comes right after your child is placed in your arms. And even though it would be unbelievably painful to relive that week, it would be worth the pain to remember.
Hannah, Ryan and Abby~I love you and I miss you so very much.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
TC
Tonight, for some strange reason, I sat at my computer and googled, "The Triplet Connection" and when it loaded, I learned that I'm still signed in as a member.
I didn't really do anything on the site. I entered the general forum and browsed some topic titles but didn't open any of them. Then I went to the bereaved parents section and did the same thing. And then I logged out. I spent about 2 minutes there, at the most.
I'm not negating that I gave birth to triplets whom I continue to love and cherish, but I'm certainly not part of the moms of multiples community and I found that I wasn't really interested in reading any of the posts. There was a time, while I was pregnant and even after Hannah, Ryan and Abby were born, when I spent a lot of time pouring over posts, first feeling very connected to the world of multiples, then desperately trying to hold on to my right to belong in that world. I spent a lot of time working through this with my grief shrink and she helped me realize how toxic the site had become for me. I knew I needed to stop going there, but it took a long time before I was able to do so.
I'm not sure why I went there tonight or what I hoped it would accomplish. Now I'm not sure why I'm even writing about it because honestly, what I felt during that 2 minutes was completely indifferent and detached.
Even now, thinking about it, it seems very bizarre.
I didn't really do anything on the site. I entered the general forum and browsed some topic titles but didn't open any of them. Then I went to the bereaved parents section and did the same thing. And then I logged out. I spent about 2 minutes there, at the most.
I'm not negating that I gave birth to triplets whom I continue to love and cherish, but I'm certainly not part of the moms of multiples community and I found that I wasn't really interested in reading any of the posts. There was a time, while I was pregnant and even after Hannah, Ryan and Abby were born, when I spent a lot of time pouring over posts, first feeling very connected to the world of multiples, then desperately trying to hold on to my right to belong in that world. I spent a lot of time working through this with my grief shrink and she helped me realize how toxic the site had become for me. I knew I needed to stop going there, but it took a long time before I was able to do so.
I'm not sure why I went there tonight or what I hoped it would accomplish. Now I'm not sure why I'm even writing about it because honestly, what I felt during that 2 minutes was completely indifferent and detached.
Even now, thinking about it, it seems very bizarre.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
10/29/09 The Present
This morning, I woke up and knew my week was over. I didn't jump out of bed with pure joy and energy, but that's because I never do that. However, I did feel different. The best way I can explain it is that even though I was up late watching baseball, I awoke today feeling less tired than I have the past few days.
Although I did have my moments, all in all, it was probably my easiest anniversary week so far. It was the first year that I didn't go through their memory boxes, look at their pictures and spend private time with each of them. During the day, I didn't have the time. I could have done it at night, after the kids were in bed but for whatever reasons, I didn't. And I'm okay with that.
Yesterday was Abby's birthday. I didn't sit and write anything in her memory because, again, I didn't have time. Although a larger than normal part of my heart was with my eternal babies this week, my focus was on my children who are here with me. I know Hannah, Ryan and Abby understand that they are quietly with me always, even when Joey and Laura are loudly demanding my attention.
Yes, this year was easier, by far. Perhaps in a few weeks or months I will want to sit and spend some time going through their tangible things and maybe then I will really cry, but right now, I'm warm inside knowing that they are with me, always and that my life is full. I am living in the present and it's a good place to be.
Although I did have my moments, all in all, it was probably my easiest anniversary week so far. It was the first year that I didn't go through their memory boxes, look at their pictures and spend private time with each of them. During the day, I didn't have the time. I could have done it at night, after the kids were in bed but for whatever reasons, I didn't. And I'm okay with that.
Yesterday was Abby's birthday. I didn't sit and write anything in her memory because, again, I didn't have time. Although a larger than normal part of my heart was with my eternal babies this week, my focus was on my children who are here with me. I know Hannah, Ryan and Abby understand that they are quietly with me always, even when Joey and Laura are loudly demanding my attention.
Yes, this year was easier, by far. Perhaps in a few weeks or months I will want to sit and spend some time going through their tangible things and maybe then I will really cry, but right now, I'm warm inside knowing that they are with me, always and that my life is full. I am living in the present and it's a good place to be.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
~~Ryan~~
My first thought today was of the son I will never know~the son who, of all my children, had the most peaceful entrance into the world. My son Ryan. He was so small and looked so gentle; perfect. And yet, I didn't have time for tears this morning because Joey woke early so I had to get up and start the day. Today was a crazy, hectic day. I took Joey to karate then piled 2 more kids into my car and brought all of them home to my house for the day. I'm helping a friend who needs help and the only way I can actually do anything is to take her kids for her, so I spent the entire day with (3) 4 year olds and a 2 year old. Needless to say, my brain was busy today and now I'm tired.
Somewhere inside me, there is a longing to sit with a little boy who never will grow up. I want to look at his picture and go through his things and try to remember the smell of him, through his blanket-even though it has long since faded. But today is not the day that it will happen. I can hear the music of Tigger and Pooh so I know I have less than 2 minutes until Joey and Laura start wandering, looking for me. And, at 5:15, I need to start dinner and the night time routine. No, this is not the day to go through Ryan's box, or write him a note, or spend a lot of quiet time "with" him. But even though it was a happy and busy day, when I did have a quick moment, my thoughts went to my son on his 6th birthday.
I love you Ryan and I miss you, my sweet boy.
Somewhere inside me, there is a longing to sit with a little boy who never will grow up. I want to look at his picture and go through his things and try to remember the smell of him, through his blanket-even though it has long since faded. But today is not the day that it will happen. I can hear the music of Tigger and Pooh so I know I have less than 2 minutes until Joey and Laura start wandering, looking for me. And, at 5:15, I need to start dinner and the night time routine. No, this is not the day to go through Ryan's box, or write him a note, or spend a lot of quiet time "with" him. But even though it was a happy and busy day, when I did have a quick moment, my thoughts went to my son on his 6th birthday.
I love you Ryan and I miss you, my sweet boy.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Gift
Yesterday, I received the most unexpected gift.
Since Hannah, Ryan and Abby's births and deaths, my in-laws have never handled things well. For years, I have suspected that my mother in law would have done things differently but that my father in law was always "in control" of what they do or say. Rod called them as soon as we knew we would lose Hannah and they didn't come because they had a dinner party that evening. I learned this months later when I asked them why they didn't come to see Hannah. My father in law responded, "We didn't want to offend our friends". I was devastated that they would choose a dinner party with friends over supporting their son during the most devastating time of his life.
Throughout the years, they have never mentioned Hannah, Ryan or Abby, unless it's to allude to the "miscarriage" or "loss". None of their friends were told about the memorial service and several family members were told "it will be a small service for immediate family only" so they didn't need to attend. I am grateful for those family members who felt strongly enough to attend and support Rod anyway, as it was totally appropriate for them to be there. The service was anything but a small~my entire family (including aunts and uncles from far away) attended, friends of my parents, our friends and many of their parents attended. The support was overwhelming, but I know that it was hurtful for Rod that there wasn't a stronger presence from his family.
In the past few years, my mother in law has made an effort. Although she never remembers the dates, she has recently started sending a note in October letting me know that she is thinking of us and of Hannah, Ryan and Abby. She has told me more than once that she regrets not coming when Hannah was born. She regrets not seeing her, not holding her and not supporting Rod and me. She is a woman controlled by her husband and in the past few years, I have learned to forgive her for the things she didn't do; things she couldn't do.
Last night was the memorial service for Rod's grandmother. My mother in law started the evening off with a few words about her Mom. But before she started, she thanked everyone for coming and then she said the most uncharacteristic thing: "I would like to pause for a moment to remember Rod and April's first three children, Hannah, Ryan and Abby, who died 6 years ago around this time"
Both Rod and I started crying and this unexpected acknowledgment of our babies. The remainder of the service was, appropriately, about his grandmother. However, for me the recognition and remembrance of my sweet angels was the nicest gift my mother in law has ever given me.
Since Hannah, Ryan and Abby's births and deaths, my in-laws have never handled things well. For years, I have suspected that my mother in law would have done things differently but that my father in law was always "in control" of what they do or say. Rod called them as soon as we knew we would lose Hannah and they didn't come because they had a dinner party that evening. I learned this months later when I asked them why they didn't come to see Hannah. My father in law responded, "We didn't want to offend our friends". I was devastated that they would choose a dinner party with friends over supporting their son during the most devastating time of his life.
Throughout the years, they have never mentioned Hannah, Ryan or Abby, unless it's to allude to the "miscarriage" or "loss". None of their friends were told about the memorial service and several family members were told "it will be a small service for immediate family only" so they didn't need to attend. I am grateful for those family members who felt strongly enough to attend and support Rod anyway, as it was totally appropriate for them to be there. The service was anything but a small~my entire family (including aunts and uncles from far away) attended, friends of my parents, our friends and many of their parents attended. The support was overwhelming, but I know that it was hurtful for Rod that there wasn't a stronger presence from his family.
In the past few years, my mother in law has made an effort. Although she never remembers the dates, she has recently started sending a note in October letting me know that she is thinking of us and of Hannah, Ryan and Abby. She has told me more than once that she regrets not coming when Hannah was born. She regrets not seeing her, not holding her and not supporting Rod and me. She is a woman controlled by her husband and in the past few years, I have learned to forgive her for the things she didn't do; things she couldn't do.
Last night was the memorial service for Rod's grandmother. My mother in law started the evening off with a few words about her Mom. But before she started, she thanked everyone for coming and then she said the most uncharacteristic thing: "I would like to pause for a moment to remember Rod and April's first three children, Hannah, Ryan and Abby, who died 6 years ago around this time"
Both Rod and I started crying and this unexpected acknowledgment of our babies. The remainder of the service was, appropriately, about his grandmother. However, for me the recognition and remembrance of my sweet angels was the nicest gift my mother in law has ever given me.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Hannah Rose born 10/24 and died 10/25
This is the first year I haven't been home for Hannah's birthday. Instead, we are on Cape Cod for Rod's grandmother's memorial service. My brother and law and his finance are here and so are my in-laws. The distraction has been nice, as we arrived on Thursday and I sailed through Thrusday and Friday without emotion.
However, last night, no sooner was I in bed then the tears started rolling down my cheeks. They were most unexpected, as I didnt' think I was thinking about Hannah, but I was. I gently and silently cried myself to sleep but I never fell into a deep slumber. My dreams were twisted~babies were born who looked like Hannah but were left nameless for years, a child born to me whom I did not know I had delivered and who was somehow found in a school locker. Dreams can be odd like that, making no sense but having touches of real like anxiety, stress or sadness peppered into their weirdness.
And now today, with the exception of Rod, nobody around me remembers what today means for me. Nobody remembers that today, my first born daughter made an extremely difficult entrance into this world and then a few hours later, she quietly passed into an afterworld. I am expected to smile, make small talk and be my normal self and all I really want to do is crawl into a ball, close my eyes and cry for my sweet little baby who never had the chance to grow into a toddler, a little girl, a teen or a woman.
While today will be a blur of activity and when I log off this computer, I will push my tears aside and dig deep to put on a happy face, my heart will be heavy and tears will puddle just under the surface for the pain and sadness I feel today.
Hannah~sweet Hannah. I love you and I miss you so much.
However, last night, no sooner was I in bed then the tears started rolling down my cheeks. They were most unexpected, as I didnt' think I was thinking about Hannah, but I was. I gently and silently cried myself to sleep but I never fell into a deep slumber. My dreams were twisted~babies were born who looked like Hannah but were left nameless for years, a child born to me whom I did not know I had delivered and who was somehow found in a school locker. Dreams can be odd like that, making no sense but having touches of real like anxiety, stress or sadness peppered into their weirdness.
And now today, with the exception of Rod, nobody around me remembers what today means for me. Nobody remembers that today, my first born daughter made an extremely difficult entrance into this world and then a few hours later, she quietly passed into an afterworld. I am expected to smile, make small talk and be my normal self and all I really want to do is crawl into a ball, close my eyes and cry for my sweet little baby who never had the chance to grow into a toddler, a little girl, a teen or a woman.
While today will be a blur of activity and when I log off this computer, I will push my tears aside and dig deep to put on a happy face, my heart will be heavy and tears will puddle just under the surface for the pain and sadness I feel today.
Hannah~sweet Hannah. I love you and I miss you so much.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Why I'm going to hate homework
Joey is in preschool and his class is learning about dinosaurs. Together, they made a paper-mache egg and later a stuffed animal dinosaur "hatched" from it. Each student gets to take "Platey" (the stegosaurus) home with him/her after their "snack day" and they are supposed to take care of it. Monday was our day to bring Platey home.
Mind you-I had no idea any of this was going on. When I ask Joey what he did in school, his answer is usually the same: "I played". I never hear about what's actually going on in class unless I happen to eavesdrop on the little girls chatting with their moms after school. In the last 2 months, I have concluded that girls tell all and boys tell nothing.
Anyway, between Monday afternoon and this morning (Wed) we somehow lost Platey. Joey could have cared less that the dinosaur was missing so he hemmed and hawed and lifted one pillow on the couch, poorly acting like he was looking for it. I was already slightly panicked that we wouldn't find the creature in time, but his lackadaisical attitude only added to my frustration. I have learned that if Joey thinks something is interesting, he'll give it 110%. If he doesn't like it, he will barely squeak out a 1% effort. He thinks the whole Platey idea is lame. When I asked him why he never mentioned it to me before his snack day, his response was: "It's kind of stupid, Mom. I mean, we built the egg, the teacher put Platey in it and now she wants us to believe it hatched and we have to take care of it?!"
When put this way, I do see his point.
The 2 days the thing was home with him, Laura showed more interest in it then Joey did. I never saw him play with it once. So where did it go???
In the end, we headed out to school without Platey. Joey had to tell the teacher that he couldn't find Platey while I stood there feeling like an inferior mom because we lost it. I then rushed home to search the house again so the next child in line wouldn't be disappointing that they weren't able to take Platey home with them.
Laura and I entered the house and I sighed and said, "Oh Laura. Where is Platey?" to which she replied, "I know Mommy" and she walked over to her training potty, lifted the lid and low and behold, there he was.
All I can say is: how fitting.
Mind you-I had no idea any of this was going on. When I ask Joey what he did in school, his answer is usually the same: "I played". I never hear about what's actually going on in class unless I happen to eavesdrop on the little girls chatting with their moms after school. In the last 2 months, I have concluded that girls tell all and boys tell nothing.
Anyway, between Monday afternoon and this morning (Wed) we somehow lost Platey. Joey could have cared less that the dinosaur was missing so he hemmed and hawed and lifted one pillow on the couch, poorly acting like he was looking for it. I was already slightly panicked that we wouldn't find the creature in time, but his lackadaisical attitude only added to my frustration. I have learned that if Joey thinks something is interesting, he'll give it 110%. If he doesn't like it, he will barely squeak out a 1% effort. He thinks the whole Platey idea is lame. When I asked him why he never mentioned it to me before his snack day, his response was: "It's kind of stupid, Mom. I mean, we built the egg, the teacher put Platey in it and now she wants us to believe it hatched and we have to take care of it?!"
When put this way, I do see his point.
The 2 days the thing was home with him, Laura showed more interest in it then Joey did. I never saw him play with it once. So where did it go???
In the end, we headed out to school without Platey. Joey had to tell the teacher that he couldn't find Platey while I stood there feeling like an inferior mom because we lost it. I then rushed home to search the house again so the next child in line wouldn't be disappointing that they weren't able to take Platey home with them.
Laura and I entered the house and I sighed and said, "Oh Laura. Where is Platey?" to which she replied, "I know Mommy" and she walked over to her training potty, lifted the lid and low and behold, there he was.
All I can say is: how fitting.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Pumpkin Season...
Remembering a child or children who died is such a person experience and there really is no right or wrong thing to do, as long as it works for the person and their family. My celebrations and remembrances tend to be private in nature. I have a special painting of three tiny birds hanging in my family room, a Swavorski crystal bouquet of 3 "forget-me-not" flower blooms, those types of things. I don't hang stockings or make birthday cakes or do balloon releases.
But I do think of Fall as "their time" and every year since they were born and died, Rod and I have ventured to the pumpkin patch and picked out one pumpkin for each member of our family. We get 2 larger ones for Rod and me, Joey and Laura pick theirs out and then we get three smaller ones for Hannah, Ryan and Abby.
This October has been very crazy for our family. Rod and I took a much needed "grown up only" vacation together and spent a blissful week on our boat exploring the creeks and rivers of the Chesapeake. We returned home and are now heading out to the Outer Banks, NC for a family vacation and when we get back from that, we turn around and head north to Cape Cod for a "Celebration of Life" service for Rod's Grandmother who passed away recently. We will be gone every weekend but Halloween this year.
Although my brain has known about our schedule for months now, it has only recently registered that it means that as a family, we wouldn't get to pick out our pumpkins this year.
And while it may seem like a silly thing to cry over, I know that the tears I shed today carried so much more meaning than just a missed trip to the pumpkin patch.
But I do think of Fall as "their time" and every year since they were born and died, Rod and I have ventured to the pumpkin patch and picked out one pumpkin for each member of our family. We get 2 larger ones for Rod and me, Joey and Laura pick theirs out and then we get three smaller ones for Hannah, Ryan and Abby.
This October has been very crazy for our family. Rod and I took a much needed "grown up only" vacation together and spent a blissful week on our boat exploring the creeks and rivers of the Chesapeake. We returned home and are now heading out to the Outer Banks, NC for a family vacation and when we get back from that, we turn around and head north to Cape Cod for a "Celebration of Life" service for Rod's Grandmother who passed away recently. We will be gone every weekend but Halloween this year.
Although my brain has known about our schedule for months now, it has only recently registered that it means that as a family, we wouldn't get to pick out our pumpkins this year.
And while it may seem like a silly thing to cry over, I know that the tears I shed today carried so much more meaning than just a missed trip to the pumpkin patch.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Good Enough
Let me start by stressing that I'm not extremely overweight. I'm just slightly, shall I say, "softened". If I were 10 pounds heavier, I'd be miserable. If I were 10 pounds lighter, I would feel more confident. My confidence wouldn't come from being thin-it would come from ACHIEVING the goal. It would come from the knowledge that I set my mind to it and I did it.
But for some reason, I can't do it.
Before starting my infertility journey-I was very active and I worked out on a regular basis. I was thin, fit, athletic and confident. For the first 6 months of infertility treatments, I did everything I could, when I could, to maintain an active lifestyle and eat healthy meals (most of the time). As time went on and the stress, grief, hormone treatments, and pregnancies happened, my active lifestyle and healthy living were pushed by the wayside and replaced with bedrest, sleep deprivation, ice cream and snack foods. I no longer deal with bedrest or sleep deprivation, but I somehow haven't gotten out of the ice cream and snack food mode.
For years now, I've been saying that "after such and such happens, I'll lose the rest of the weight and get back into shape" Such and Such could be anything: my foot feels better, my kids get older, my dog is calms down...but each time the "such and such" of the day happens, a new "such and such" replaces it.
I know what to do to change things: I certainly don't need to eat Laura's left over mozzarella sticks (Yes, this happened today-she ate 1 and I ate 7) and I don't need to have a sweet at night or the extra serving of rice with dinner. With a little self discipline, things would change drastically. I've tried it before and I drop weight and do really well until I hit about one-hundred-and-good-enough lbs on the scale.And then, for some unknown reason, I stop trying and start gaining again. It's rather frustrating.
And I can't believe that I, April, just dedicated an entire blog entry to this topic. And yet I did. Because the reality is, while I'm only slightly unhappy with my current weight and fitness level, I'm really unhappy with my inability to change it.
But for some reason, I can't do it.
Before starting my infertility journey-I was very active and I worked out on a regular basis. I was thin, fit, athletic and confident. For the first 6 months of infertility treatments, I did everything I could, when I could, to maintain an active lifestyle and eat healthy meals (most of the time). As time went on and the stress, grief, hormone treatments, and pregnancies happened, my active lifestyle and healthy living were pushed by the wayside and replaced with bedrest, sleep deprivation, ice cream and snack foods. I no longer deal with bedrest or sleep deprivation, but I somehow haven't gotten out of the ice cream and snack food mode.
For years now, I've been saying that "after such and such happens, I'll lose the rest of the weight and get back into shape" Such and Such could be anything: my foot feels better, my kids get older, my dog is calms down...but each time the "such and such" of the day happens, a new "such and such" replaces it.
I know what to do to change things: I certainly don't need to eat Laura's left over mozzarella sticks (Yes, this happened today-she ate 1 and I ate 7) and I don't need to have a sweet at night or the extra serving of rice with dinner. With a little self discipline, things would change drastically. I've tried it before and I drop weight and do really well until I hit about one-hundred-and-good-enough lbs on the scale.And then, for some unknown reason, I stop trying and start gaining again. It's rather frustrating.
And I can't believe that I, April, just dedicated an entire blog entry to this topic. And yet I did. Because the reality is, while I'm only slightly unhappy with my current weight and fitness level, I'm really unhappy with my inability to change it.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Mood Swing
I was cranky today. There really wasn't any reason for it other than I was irresponsible last night and didn't go to bed early enough so I was short on sleep. I was a bit snappy with the kids, especially when I was trying to have a brief but light conversation with a girlfriend via telephone, while I had 2 large entities called Joey and Laura attached to my person.
After I hung up, I sat Joey down and told him, basically, that it's not nice or appropriate to become an overly large chunk of Velcro while I'm on the phone (of course, these weren't my exact words). He surprised me by responding, "were you talking to a friend, Mom?"
His question was surprising because Joey's a friendly child but tends to be somewhat aloof (ironically, this makes most other kids really want to be his friend). He loves being with kids he knows well, but he's usually just as content playing with me, Laura or by himself. He almost never talks about or mentions friends unless prompted, and even then, he rattles off only one or two names-usually of kids we have just seen.
So, out of curiosity I decided to drop the Velcro conversation (I think I had made my point, anyway) and see where this new conversation led us.
I told him that yes, I was talking to his Aunt Erin, who he knows is a special friend. To which he said, "You know Mom, I have a best friend" and before I could say anything, he spread his arms wide, hugged me and said "Mom, YOU are my best friend"
As you can imagine, my mood changed drastically and my heart melted.
After I hung up, I sat Joey down and told him, basically, that it's not nice or appropriate to become an overly large chunk of Velcro while I'm on the phone (of course, these weren't my exact words). He surprised me by responding, "were you talking to a friend, Mom?"
His question was surprising because Joey's a friendly child but tends to be somewhat aloof (ironically, this makes most other kids really want to be his friend). He loves being with kids he knows well, but he's usually just as content playing with me, Laura or by himself. He almost never talks about or mentions friends unless prompted, and even then, he rattles off only one or two names-usually of kids we have just seen.
So, out of curiosity I decided to drop the Velcro conversation (I think I had made my point, anyway) and see where this new conversation led us.
I told him that yes, I was talking to his Aunt Erin, who he knows is a special friend. To which he said, "You know Mom, I have a best friend" and before I could say anything, he spread his arms wide, hugged me and said "Mom, YOU are my best friend"
As you can imagine, my mood changed drastically and my heart melted.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
3 Little Birds
I know Hannah, Ryan and Abby are shining down on us. I can feel them sometimes, all around me. While I was pregnant with them, I often sang this song to them. It's a cute, peppy song by Bab Marley and at the time, I honestly believed it. I was wrong.
It's taken me many years to be able to say that while it's never going to be "all right" for me, now, every little thing is "alright" and, most times, even better...
"Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"
Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', ("This is my message to you:")
Singin': "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
Singin': "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"
Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', "This is my message to you:"
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing, worry about a thing, oh!
Every little thing gonna be all right. Don't worry!"
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing" - I won't worry!
"'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
It's taken me many years to be able to say that while it's never going to be "all right" for me, now, every little thing is "alright" and, most times, even better...
"Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"
Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', ("This is my message to you:")
Singin': "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
Singin': "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"
Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', "This is my message to you:"
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing, worry about a thing, oh!
Every little thing gonna be all right. Don't worry!"
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing" - I won't worry!
"'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Map. I'm All Over It.
The last few weeks have been interesting for me (for lack of a better word). So many feelings have surfaced for so many different reasons and I am having difficulty processing everything.
Several weeks ago, a woman I used to work with lost her son. He was a young adult and died suddenly from an aenurism. Although she and I didn't know each other well, she did know about Hannah, Ryan and Abby and she has since reached out to me-looking for hope, for support, for anything that will ease her pain. We have emailed back and forth a few times.
Shortly thereafter, a woman I do not know at all called me. Her BBG triplets were born in April at 23+ weeks and all three of them died shortly after their births. She is devastated and after months of struggling on her own, she finally pulled out the support list of phone numbers given to her by our local hospital and called me. We have been emailing on and off for a few weeks now.
Then, just last week, a childhood friend contacted me because her cousin (a girl I saw periodically growing up but didn't know well) lost a child at 24 weeks. She wanted to know if I would reach out to her because she is struggling so. And I did. And I'm glad I did because I know she felt isolated, lost, hurt, sad and confused and knowing that her feelings are normal has helped her tremendously.
Emailing with these women has been difficult for me in an odd way. I would have expected that all this sorrow would throw me back into the depths of my own grief, but it hasn't.When responding to some of the emails, I have had to go back into my own (written) journals to re-read how I felt so that I can respond with appropriate words for their individual stages of grief. While reading my own words, I have been curiously detached from the woman who wrote them. That woman is a stranger to me in so many ways and reading her words has made me much more aware of how far I have come in the past (almost) 6 years.
However, just today my sister-in-law gave birth to her third child, a healthy baby boy. I took my children over to the hospital to meet him and I was completely unprepared for the emotions that invaded my mind and heart. I had expected to walk into the room and feel nothing but overwhelming love for this beautiful child and joy for my brother and sister-in-law. I did not expect to also feel jealous, sad or lonely. I did not expect for my heart to ache so deeply for my babies who died or for any future babies that I will never have. I did not expect to feel such a strong maternal pull to wrap my arms around my two children, hold them close and cherish whatever baby-ness is left in their 4 and 2 year old minds and bodies.
But I did.
Why is it that near strangers can share their grief, pain and loss with me and I can empathize, understand and support them without having their grief become my grief but I can't simply cherish the birth of my brother and sister-in-laws' son without it bringing some pain?
I will be so happy when those people closest to me have moved beyond the pregnancy and baby stage. It makes me so sad that I couldn't walk into that hospital room and feel nothing but complete joy. Is this a long term effect of grief? Is it a flaw in my own personality? I really don't know...
Several weeks ago, a woman I used to work with lost her son. He was a young adult and died suddenly from an aenurism. Although she and I didn't know each other well, she did know about Hannah, Ryan and Abby and she has since reached out to me-looking for hope, for support, for anything that will ease her pain. We have emailed back and forth a few times.
Shortly thereafter, a woman I do not know at all called me. Her BBG triplets were born in April at 23+ weeks and all three of them died shortly after their births. She is devastated and after months of struggling on her own, she finally pulled out the support list of phone numbers given to her by our local hospital and called me. We have been emailing on and off for a few weeks now.
Then, just last week, a childhood friend contacted me because her cousin (a girl I saw periodically growing up but didn't know well) lost a child at 24 weeks. She wanted to know if I would reach out to her because she is struggling so. And I did. And I'm glad I did because I know she felt isolated, lost, hurt, sad and confused and knowing that her feelings are normal has helped her tremendously.
Emailing with these women has been difficult for me in an odd way. I would have expected that all this sorrow would throw me back into the depths of my own grief, but it hasn't.When responding to some of the emails, I have had to go back into my own (written) journals to re-read how I felt so that I can respond with appropriate words for their individual stages of grief. While reading my own words, I have been curiously detached from the woman who wrote them. That woman is a stranger to me in so many ways and reading her words has made me much more aware of how far I have come in the past (almost) 6 years.
However, just today my sister-in-law gave birth to her third child, a healthy baby boy. I took my children over to the hospital to meet him and I was completely unprepared for the emotions that invaded my mind and heart. I had expected to walk into the room and feel nothing but overwhelming love for this beautiful child and joy for my brother and sister-in-law. I did not expect to also feel jealous, sad or lonely. I did not expect for my heart to ache so deeply for my babies who died or for any future babies that I will never have. I did not expect to feel such a strong maternal pull to wrap my arms around my two children, hold them close and cherish whatever baby-ness is left in their 4 and 2 year old minds and bodies.
But I did.
Why is it that near strangers can share their grief, pain and loss with me and I can empathize, understand and support them without having their grief become my grief but I can't simply cherish the birth of my brother and sister-in-laws' son without it bringing some pain?
I will be so happy when those people closest to me have moved beyond the pregnancy and baby stage. It makes me so sad that I couldn't walk into that hospital room and feel nothing but complete joy. Is this a long term effect of grief? Is it a flaw in my own personality? I really don't know...
Monday, August 17, 2009
Choices
(if you haven't a clue what this post is about, please read the post preceding it!)
What a week! All the fears and trepidation I had regarding my conference were completely unfounded. I was overwhelmed instead by how the community embraced and supported me and how readily they accepted me for who I am and where I am at. There were one or two special friends from long ago with whom I shared the reasons for my sudden departure from the field, my 8 year absence from the bi-annual conferences and my diminished skills but the other 2,000+ interpreters and Deaf people simply saw me as a woman who was taking a hiatus from work to raise my children and they supported that role.
I spent an entire week completely immersed in American Sign Language. Yes, I was rusty at first but it didn't take long for me to have full comprehension and participation of and in my surroundings. By the end of the week, I was understanding even the subtlest nuances of the language, laughing at jokes and I felt like I belonged to this wonderful community again. And I liked it. And I realized how much I have missed it.
After a week long conference, I realized that I will go back to work again some day. For now, I am not ready to go back on a regular, full time basis. I'm not even sure I'm ready to go back on a part-time regular basis. I enjoy my steady, one night a week assignment but I also recognize that to hone my skills again and to stay connected to an important part of who I am, I need to add an occasional all day job here and there. My goal now is to find a nice balance that works for me, R and the kids.
Because for now, although I love being an interpreter, I love being a stay-at-home mom more. And on so many levels, I'm grateful that I have this choice.
What a week! All the fears and trepidation I had regarding my conference were completely unfounded. I was overwhelmed instead by how the community embraced and supported me and how readily they accepted me for who I am and where I am at. There were one or two special friends from long ago with whom I shared the reasons for my sudden departure from the field, my 8 year absence from the bi-annual conferences and my diminished skills but the other 2,000+ interpreters and Deaf people simply saw me as a woman who was taking a hiatus from work to raise my children and they supported that role.
I spent an entire week completely immersed in American Sign Language. Yes, I was rusty at first but it didn't take long for me to have full comprehension and participation of and in my surroundings. By the end of the week, I was understanding even the subtlest nuances of the language, laughing at jokes and I felt like I belonged to this wonderful community again. And I liked it. And I realized how much I have missed it.
After a week long conference, I realized that I will go back to work again some day. For now, I am not ready to go back on a regular, full time basis. I'm not even sure I'm ready to go back on a part-time regular basis. I enjoy my steady, one night a week assignment but I also recognize that to hone my skills again and to stay connected to an important part of who I am, I need to add an occasional all day job here and there. My goal now is to find a nice balance that works for me, R and the kids.
Because for now, although I love being an interpreter, I love being a stay-at-home mom more. And on so many levels, I'm grateful that I have this choice.
Friday, July 31, 2009
A Bad Case of the Jitters
Languages grow, develop and change and the only way to stay current is to use the language regularly. I haven't used American Sign Language (ASL) regularly since Hannah, Ryan and Abby were born. As a matter of fact, other than the few signs I used with my children, I haven't really used it at all.
Recently, I started working again one night a week. It's an intimate assignment in an arena that I'm comfortable with and although I was rusty at first, I believe that I am doing a good job and providing a valuable service to the consumers of that job. For me, the intimacy of the assignment makes it safe.
When I worked full time, my work was very important to me. I was a skilled professional and a highly ethical interpreter. I was confident with my role in the profession and was involved and committed. My reputation was excellent on a local and state-wide level.
Then life fell apart and I took a hiatus from the world for a while. I slowly stepped back into life as I climbed out of the pits of grief, infertility and pregnancy. However, my desire to regain a place in the professional world has been half-hearted, at best. I love what I do, but I love staying home and being a Mom more. So, I have been happy with my one assignment a week because it allows me a chance to keep the doors open but it barely interferes with my family life. I know my skills are not even close to where they were 7 or 8 years ago, but I also know the reasons why.
However, in less than 24 hours I will step into a convention hall for a week long national conference for interpreters. I will see thousands of interpreters and Deaf people-many whom I know but haven't seen in years and most do not know where my life journey has taken me. All they will know is that my skills are not where they used to be but they won't know why.
To say that I am nervous is an understatement. My head is filled with questions of "what if" (what if I don't understand what's happening? What if I look stupid? What if I'm judged?) and I can't help but wonder how the week will pan out. I am hoping it will fly by and be full of opportunities for learning, growing and socializing but, again, there are those "what if's"-what if it drags by and I feel lost and insecure?
This is the last big hurdle I've yet to face in my post-Hannah, Ryan and Abby life. I've skipped the previous conferences because it wasn't time yet and I know it's time now. But I'm still petrified.
Recently, I started working again one night a week. It's an intimate assignment in an arena that I'm comfortable with and although I was rusty at first, I believe that I am doing a good job and providing a valuable service to the consumers of that job. For me, the intimacy of the assignment makes it safe.
When I worked full time, my work was very important to me. I was a skilled professional and a highly ethical interpreter. I was confident with my role in the profession and was involved and committed. My reputation was excellent on a local and state-wide level.
Then life fell apart and I took a hiatus from the world for a while. I slowly stepped back into life as I climbed out of the pits of grief, infertility and pregnancy. However, my desire to regain a place in the professional world has been half-hearted, at best. I love what I do, but I love staying home and being a Mom more. So, I have been happy with my one assignment a week because it allows me a chance to keep the doors open but it barely interferes with my family life. I know my skills are not even close to where they were 7 or 8 years ago, but I also know the reasons why.
However, in less than 24 hours I will step into a convention hall for a week long national conference for interpreters. I will see thousands of interpreters and Deaf people-many whom I know but haven't seen in years and most do not know where my life journey has taken me. All they will know is that my skills are not where they used to be but they won't know why.
To say that I am nervous is an understatement. My head is filled with questions of "what if" (what if I don't understand what's happening? What if I look stupid? What if I'm judged?) and I can't help but wonder how the week will pan out. I am hoping it will fly by and be full of opportunities for learning, growing and socializing but, again, there are those "what if's"-what if it drags by and I feel lost and insecure?
This is the last big hurdle I've yet to face in my post-Hannah, Ryan and Abby life. I've skipped the previous conferences because it wasn't time yet and I know it's time now. But I'm still petrified.
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