It’s been exactly a year since I unofficially graduated from college and lost myself in the insanity of adulthood. I have loved the freedom since, the rush of responsibility, the financial independence, the stamp of a degree, the corporate chaos. And also hated it.

Life has changed in many ways, and yet, in some fundamental sense, I am still the restless, fickle mind of a young student exploring the ways of the world, looking for adventure in the least likely of places, and forever moving by elimination. I have however, in this year, found a master key to survival – living a day at a time. Of all things that work, this one works wonders. It’s amazing what a day can be, with no future to look into and no past to brood over.

I am not aspiring to be a life coach just yet, so I’ll leave you with a Porcupine Tree song:

But after a while, You realize time flies, And the best thing that you can do
Is take whatever comes to you, ‘Cause time flies…

Another late night, another blog update.  I feel like I do my best blogging during the “witching hours”.  I don’t know why I just said witching hours.  Now, I’ve just gone and freaked myself out a little bit.

The months go by and the seasons change, but we never fully realize how fast time has passed until the holidays.  It’s easy to become so consumed by our weekly goings-on that we fail to stop for just a second, and soak it all in.  Thanksgiving break was just that.  A break from the habitual routines and a chance to just be grateful.  Thankful for family, friends, and the things that we sometimes take for granted.  Satisfied stomachs and satisfied souls.

Yet, even Thanksgiving break can fly right on by.  Three more weeks until the end of the semester, and for those like myself who are graduating this upcoming year; it’s going to be our last Fall semester, our last Christmas break, and our last winter on campus.  Exams, projects, and finals can make these next few weeks some of the most grueling, but if there’s one thing that you can never get back – it’s time.  If you’re feeling overwhelmed (because I know I will), just listen to some Christmas music, breathe in that fresh cold air, and feel that soft powder under your feet.  Soak it all in.

Because it’s that time of year.

-I

P.S.  This has GOT to be sexiest rendition of “Winter Wonderland” ever created.  I’ll definitely have this on repeat with a big grin on my face for the entire winter. =D

To face unafraid
The plans that we’ve made
Walking in a winter wonderland.

How did I go from here…

To here…

in the blink of an eye.

And witnessing this moment between father and son filled my heart with an unimaginable joy…

As your dad said…

Remember son that yesterday was not the finish line but the starting point. God has an amazing adventure planned for you and I want to encourage you to trust Him at every turn. Over and over again you’ll face situations where you’ll be tempted to give into fear but I pray you’ll choose faith. You’ll be temped to control but remember freedom comes in letting go. You’ll be drawn toward comfort but I pray you’ll choose sacrifice. You will feel all alone but remember God promises that He will never leave you nor forsake you.

I pray God captures your heart as only he can.  We love you dearly.

[this is a ps by way of preface:  (lest I forget, I have a poemish project in contention) inserted later in an even less appropriate place and stuck up here out of convenience and my accustomed lack of style and grace]

Good God Thanksgiving is NEXT WEEK!  All the Christmas ads that began the week before Halloween have got me royally messed up. We have company due in a week, and I have not begun to clean the house.  Not begun, and this will require a shovel and a box of big black bags or maybe two.  We have made a move or two toward looking into reservations (no, no, no I am not cooking).  I believe I may be freaking out.  Pause.  Deep breath.

Do not think about the novel.  NaNoWriMo’s just a game.  So it’s day 18 and you have slightly more than three day’s worth of words, so what?  You have FIVE THOUSAND (and many more-odd) WORDS.  Some of them are even good ones.  Yesterday you wrote:

long gliding steps parting the market crowd as smoothly as if a wind before her blew them gently from her path

which isn’t at all bad, and:

he caught from the folds of her robe or the deep dry crevasses of her skin the sharp smell of cracked green _____seed

I like that nineteenth Century effect the (blank) has.  Maybe I should use that more, and not only when I can’t come up with the appropriate word.

It’s becoming more than obvious that if I ever write a novel, it is not going to be a blitzkrieg joy of caffeine word binge.   However much fun that can be, it will not work for me again.  Damn that is hard to admit.  Like saying I don’t like being drunk any more, it does mean I have changed and might be growing up.  Hell of an admission for someone my age, and that’s a fact.

Truth to tell, I haven’t even had the kind of concentration and release of control it takes to READ a novel for some time.  It may be that in coming back to poetry I’m accepting myself or something equally sensible and life-altering.   I am not dreaming about novels and their characters, I am dreaming about poems.

.

Anyone who has a low tolerance for other people’s prosy dreams should stop here.  This, while chock full of irony, is bland and rather terrifyingly dull and straightforward, but I want to get it down and out and out of the way, because it needs to be done.

By way of preface, and every dream retelling needs a bit of that, I have not been sleeping well lately.  Blame it on what you will, (I choose too much caffeine and a sensitivity to strong dark chocolate; insufficient exercise is not to be considered) it has been over a week of short sleep or nothing nights.  And I was expecting the same thing again, sleepiness and a jolt of waking lasting through a nodding night.

Different this time, thankfully.  Just past midnight, having managed to transcribe the previous morning’s bit of novel, I was smashed up side the head with sleepiness.  And a trace of itchy throat.  I downed a Benadryl genera and crashed.

Not even Jim’s–irregular–snoring kept me awake entirely.  I drifted in and out, and only twice nudged him to roll over (he seldom makes noises lying on his right).  This is for me a good night’s sleep.  Only getting up once for the bathroom.  Major triumph of the Zee.

In there somewhere, there was as I remember now some sort of vaguely medico-sexual dream (which may carry through to later) involving draining a cyst or something on those lines, standing vaginal insertion notwithstanding, the theme was pain and lack of pain and the healing done by violence.  Some sort of meta-metaphor.

(at this point, my morning note says:  wrote a poem)

so:  wrote a poem.

Jim was gone from bed, and I assume from the house, since it was light, and he has been leaving in the dark as often as not, and on Wednesday when he has students at the hospital, almost certainly it would be dark.  So, I woke and felt like I’d been flattened by one of those road paving rollers always doing in the Wiley Coyote and other hapless cartoons..  I was mildly amused, thinking that sleep had been so hard on my joints, so strenuous.  Thought about having been frozen in one posture for hours by muscles too tired to move.

And a poem began forming about exhausted sleep.  It was short and dense,  ending with a long barreled needle drawing the words out of my belly, and I thought  “oh shit, here I go again writing in my mind and not on paper”.  Looked at the clock on Jim’s night table and saw that it was almost eight.

I considered all the things involved in getting up and writing.  I didn’t feel the need to pee, and thought that was a bit unusual.  Almost sidetracked by that thought, I began reconstructing the poem.  I was aware it wasn’t quite as good as the first, unwritten, version, but I reached the end/words/needle (such a long one to go through the bellyfat).  And woke up again.

Looked at the clock and saw that it was turned away, at an angle making it impossible to read, and even that had been a dream.

Of the poem that required a lancing to give it birth, I don’t remember more than that it was short, and dense with meaning and the needle was steel and long.

As the baby's delivery date approaches you might have to hurry to finish decorating the nursery. Don't worry you are not alone if you haven't started thinking about nursery decor. Don't procrastinate any longer, start your list of things you need.

First of all you need to make a complete inventory of the items you'll need, in what seems like an incredibly brief time frame. Baby boy sports bedding has to top any list of must have nursery items because the cute character sheets and blankets usually set the tone for the rest of the room and bring the style and theme together to create an impressive, stylish room.

Baby crib bedding can be bought as separate pieces but new decorators usually find it not only more convenient to purchase a package with all of the pieces included but it saves valuable time too. Shopping can be as simple as choosing one of many prepackaged crib bedding sets, which come in endless colors, patterns and designs.

When you reach this point, you can go for a particular bedding set to finish decorating your baby's nursery. If you at least have an idea of how you want to decorate the nursery it's time to move forward. When all else fails, an animal related theme is sure to be delightful as a choice for your baby's nursery.

Animal themed bedding is a great choice in a hurry because most kids love animals. Infants are positively stimulated by cheerful animal imagery, and the pictures themselves can be used as an educational tool, helping your child learn to recognize shapes, colors, and words.

Turtle crib bedding is popular for nurseries and creates an atmosphere of fun for a baby. For instance, you could take simple, happy turtle and fish objects and place them on a relaxing background of flowing river water and foliage for contrast. If you start off as slow as the turtle in getting the nursery decorating done you can finish it much as the hare won the race.

I was just going through tracks on the comp, and I came across this one… Did it a few weeks ago, but it isn’t making Suicide Mission so I figured I would let you have it! Feedback is imperative

http://www.zshare.net/audio/679921787a59b65c/

Have you found yourself in a situation where “time flies”.  Most of us have known this feeling .  What does it mean for you?  You may be thinking, “Time flies when I’m having fun.”  You are right.  And that loss of perception of time, coupled with an attachment and focus on what you are doing, in other words, meaningful involvement, resonates with a vibration of pleasure and satisfaction.  Can you imagine living most of your life in this state? How about just living more of your life in this state.  Notice next time what brings you here vibrationally.  That’s a clue on how to get here more often.

Thank you and goodbye!

Pete Philly & Perquisite, one of our favourite Dutch acts will no longer be…
Pete & Perq have decided to each go their own way. Last Thursday was their FINAL gig!
We want to look back and share some of their beautiful work and greatest moments.

Pete & Perq playing around!

We wish both guys all the best and will remain to support them when and where ever we can.

BB.

Occasionally, I get a chance to stand still and watch memories of myself flash by me. And it’s awing.

Moments like these make me feel as if the past is realistically tangible, as if years ago were simply days ago.
Has it really been two months since I boarded the airplane in Iowa, full of hope and energy to start my third year at Yale? Has it really been three months since I was just sitting in Saigon, jeans soaked in muddy water, eating chè? Has it really been that long since I, alone, landed in Vietnam?

And what? I’m nearing the end of my term as AASA Co-Moderator? It was almost two and a half years ago that I started college? These moments all seem like yesterdays to me.

That blizzard day when I received the call from my Admissions Officer, those hot and stuff summer nights where my family had no place to hide, the teenager’s irritable self-consciousness, my continuous silence in 3rd grade when I knew no English, the feeling of dirt under my toes as I explored the amazing world that was Vinh Phuoc Vietnam as a child…the pride in which I carried around the star-shaped lantern for Trung Thu.

How strange…our notion of time, and its ability to be so tangible. One minute, I’m counting every minute that I’m spending on each task…and yet, time also has this ability to be unreal, to seem like an imaginary notion that matters to no one, because notions of tomorrows, and yesterdays, years from now and months from now can all seem adjacent to each other.

Time isn’t precious, not at all.
It is the discoveries you make, the adventures you undertake, the challenges you rise above, the obstacles that make you obsolete, the people that lift you up, the people that hold you back, the dreams that make you smile, the fears that make your heart hurt…these are the precious things that change you.

Someone once told me that I had the mind of someone who was born in 1982, and the aura of a truly Vietnamese girl. I think these types of things define me, too.

How unreal, the changes that a person undergoes in 21 years…how many of those gradual changes occurred without me even noticing? How many of those split-second-moment of my decisions and other people’s decisions have transformed me, my perspective, my pursuit, my hopes, my dreams, my-childhood-version of me?

She seems like such a stranger, even if she’s tangible, that little girl who used to jump rope, pout and cry in public, play with rocks, catch dragonflies…and believed that a wise friend watched over her from the moon. Is time flying there, and taking bits and pieces of her with it?

I haven’t been to the moon, but I’ve stopped believing in the friends up there. Since when did I accept everything that people tell me, since when did I stop exploring for myself?

The little girl that I used to be was a lot braver than me now. I used to trust animals, trust people, trust in the harmlessness of nature, trust in imagined realities…

It’s time to sleep though, so you pick up some things, leave others behind …and you move on, hoping you will never regret the pieces of you that you can stand losing, những phần của chính mình mà mình chiệu bỏ, chiệu mất.

I had the fun experience of attending my wife’s 10 year high school reunion over the weekend. I had a blast hanging out with some of her old friends and sitting on the sidelines as many people reunited, rather awkwardly at times, after 10 years.

It got me thinking about what has transpired in my life over the past 10 years.  Heres a brief list of the highlights:

• God radically changed and wrecked my life when He showed up in a powerful way… I wasn’t looking for Him.
• Lost track of all but a couple key friends from high school… mainly my fault.
• God added men around me who I believe would die for me and my family… spiritual family changed my life.
• Much to my professor’s chagrin, I decided not to be a professional musician and obeyed God and went into ministry instead… that was a fight in my soul.
• I met the most beautiful woman on the planet at FSU and married her 9 months after we started dating…. I married over my head.
• I’ve moved more than 15 times… thats just stupid.
• God’s blessed us with 2 beautiful baby girls…. they must’ve taken all their good looks from me cause I don’t have any left.
• Every need has been met and bill paid… no matter how much I worried.
• Hundreds of students have been impacted by the Gospel… witnessed over 150 baptisms in 5 years of ministry.

It blows my mind how time flies. It also blows my mind how many of the major things that have happened were not intentional, but just a blessing from God. How awesome is He?

I can’t believe the week is already over.  How does that happen?  Lawrence and I were talking about how our parents used to say time goes by so fast and when you’re a kid it feels like forever.  I can actually remember being around 8 making a literal wish that I could be a grown up.  Come to think of it, I think it came true!  It does seem like it was just yesterday, hmm.

In 3  well 2 1/2 years Anthony will be leaving home to go to college.  WEIRD!    I honestly do no know how you even begin to prepare for something like that.  I should be more than ready, he has been threatening it for 13 years, lol.  He is actually going to Sadie’s this coming friday. (geesh) I am so excited for him.  The girl who asked him is a good friend of his, I am sure they will have a great time.  Man I remember those days! 

Football season is officially over.  Good and bad.  I love them games and it makes me so proud to see Anthony playing but it is so very time-consuming.  Even Anthony has complained about never being home.  I know, can you believe it?!  When you live where we do there is no such thing as a quick ride to drop your kids off.  You almost should pack a lunch. 

It was so fun to dress up Reagan and Carson for the school Halloween day.  Yeah, I know it’s a week early not sure why, but fun all the same.  It will be interesting to see what they actually be for Halloween.  Carson went from dressing up like a girl, to a limo driver, to a football player and ended up being what he called “a skateboarder struck by lightning”.   So we will see what this saturday brings.  Reagan will probably be the same.  He was a motorcycle rider that had the bike tire track across his face.  The thing with Reagan is that he will probably be the same thing for the next 5 years, lol.  Remember the bull rider?

If you are thinking, “Hmm I would love to see pictures of these boys” well your not alone!  So would I, but I somehow managed to break my camera.  A new one is on the Christmas list but I think I would have to go hi-jack Santa’s sleigh to actually get it.  Come to think of it I may have to do that for Christmas altogether

Wow.

Where did that week go?

I’m sitting here trying to figure this out. Is it that I did a lot this week or not enough this week? Perhaps I’ll sit down and make a chart of the activities I took part in this week in comparison to the weeks prior all in order to discover how this week managed to sneak by without my even noticing.

I had fun at camp this week. Started to plan out the Urban Promise Christmas party with the other second years. My dear friend Kristina Lush visited from Tennessee for a day… that was a whirlwind if I’ve ever been in one. Today we brought kids to the church we work out of and practiced their song for the Urban Promise Celebration that’s quickly approaching next week. AH, there it is.

I’ve been knocking on extra doors and talking to extra parents all week to try and arrange everything for the kids performance. That’s been making time fly. Right oh, time well spent. Whatever would I do without a blog to talk to?

Well, if you’re in the city on the 30th I sure hope to see you at Urban Promise Toronto’s annual Celebration event. It’s sounding amazing. And of course, some of my kids will be there. They’re pretty amazing.

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=175720970925&ref=ts

One problem with time flying is that you tend to miss some of the things you ought to be remembering to do. For example I just got a message from my mother telling me that she hasn’t heard from me in awhile! Oops. Looks like I have a phone call to make.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. -Ecclesiastes 3:11

You got a gift and you best start using it

Cause if you don’t you’re gonna wind up losing it

Just like the brother who buried it deep

The task was simple but the price was steep

We got a mission while we’re on this earth

We need to tell people ’bout our second birth

Get busy like a school boy makin’ an A

Cause time my brother is tickin’ away

Time Is – Dc Talk

Sure hope next week decides to slow down a bit.

6 months old today.  Half a year old.

*BLINK*

Yes, I cried.

Recently, I’ve noticed that time seems to be flying by at an outrageous rate. I wake up Monday, and all of a sudden it somehow gets to be Friday, and I haven’t gotten nearly as much done as I plannned. It’s the end of Summer, and now, suddenly I find Halloween just over a week away. Time is flying with exceptional speed. And I feel like I’m looking around, trying to figure out where I am and what I’m doing.

Part of the fleeting nature of time, at the moment, is the lack of ordered markers. There are days when the calendar is altogether empty (admittedly, there are also days when I run from meeting to meeting, but fewer of those). Somehow, when I’ve got more things on my calendar, I’m more productive.  The current light schedule is absolutely killing my productivity.

I’m looking to change this, to schedule more of my life. To schedule my time in the yard in the morning, to schedule specific work times, and to schedule play times. It is time for me to take control of time, rather than let it sift through my fingers like sand.

Ultimul album Porcupine Tree e superb, atat de linistitor, atat de… Pocupine Tree, e greu sa-l descrii (mai ales atunci cand nici nu esti talentat la “a descrie”), dar daca il asculti intelegi ce mormai eu aici, fie, eu nu va pot oferi decat o mica bucatica, si ea editata, din acest material, adica un videoclip al melodiei Time Flies (ma enerveaza ca au taiat melodia de la 11 minute si ceva pana la 5 minute si o tara… dar asta doar in videoclip… pe album e, desigur, intreaga; apropo… videoclipul e superb ca parte grafica)… just enjoy :

We are leaving for Denver in exactly four days!  As the big day approaches, I find myself battling waves of anxiety and fear. On the surface at least, everything is well under control. Our plane tickets are purchased, the rental car and hotel room are reserved, and the house/pet sitter is confirmed. We even have new friends in Denver waiting to welcome us! Jess and Dave are fortunate enough to live several minutes away from the clinic, and they have recently started their own cycle of IVF at CCRM. A few weeks ago Jess stumbled upon my blog, and we have been cyber buddies ever since. If there is a silver lining beneath all of this turmoil and despair, it has to be the new friendships that I have found, and my inspiration for finally writing the personal memoir that I have neglected for so long. My blog, in addition to connecting me with some wonderful women and unleashing my creative flow, is also the foundation for my memoir, and this reality fills me with so much joy and excitement. I am finally on my way to writing my very first book- a book where women like me can find the comfort, guidance and courage needed to embark on this journey . But I am diverging here, so I would like to shift the focus back to Jess and Dave.  

Through my new friendship with Jess, I can finally see how horribly isolated and lonely I have felt for so long, in my desire to become a mother. The majority of women in my age group, in addition to those ten and fifteen years younger than me, have long been blessed with the joys of marriage and motherhood. In addition to the glaring emptiness that comes from being childless, there is a profound sense of grief and alienation that comes from missing an entire phase of life. When my same aged peers were marrying and starting families, I was busy trying to figure out why relationships were such a struggle for me and why a settled, stable lifestyle seemed to elude me. When my high school and college friends were comparing notes on pregnancy symptoms, childbirth, potty training and pre-school, I was riding the emotional roller coaster of single life, floating in and out of short term, meaningless relationships and frantically searching for Mr. Right. When my friends were arranging play dates, carpools and birthday parties, I was recovering from a broken engagement and feeling more and more adrift. I could not relate to their lives any longer, and I found myself feeling embarrassed and ashamed.

Over time I learned to distance myself from those happily married mothers, instead gravitating towards the few remaining single and childless women who were available for spontaneous social calls and leisurely uninterrupted telephone chats. Over the years, the pool of available single friends diminished to a select few, and my loneliness deepened. I found myself resenting the constant intrusions and distractions of the young children who radically shifted the landscape of the friendships I once knew and cherished. I often felt ashamed and guilty for this, and over time I learned to distance myself even further, to avoid the pain and isolation I felt in the company of my married friends.

When I finally did marry and settle down shortly before my fortieth birthday, a brand new problem emerged, as the gap had widened even further between me and most other women in my age group. I felt as if I got lost in a black hole between two different generations. My friends all married years ago and their children were half grown.  I found no safe place to ground myself. I lacked a nurturing bond of common experience with other women my same age. On our honeymoon, Glenn and I met quite a few other newlyweds, but most were at least fifteen years younger than us, and entering an entirely different phase of life. Many had recently graduated from college and were not even close to thinking about starting their families as they gazed dreamily at each other through the thick haze of young, idealistic love. Others were in their early thirties and well within the average range for beginning married life. They spoke animatedly of all their friends who had also recently married, their busy social schedules and excitement over enjoying this brand new phase of life.  They spoke of their plans to postpone having children for the next few years to allow room for other adventures, like building careers, purchasing first homes, spending time with newly married friends and traveling.  I envied their ability to wait, to not have to rush, to take things slow and enjoy precious time alone together without the pressure of a ticking clock.

When I look deeply into the eyes of my own husband, who is eleven years older than me and long past the baby making phase with a grown son preparing to leave for college, I see a man who has already been there done that- the big wedding, the first house, the newly married friends, the planning for children and pregnancy and diapers and pre-school.  Sure, he agreed to do it all again- just this once- for my benefit, but it feels unlikely that his energy level, enthusiasm and passion for such endeavors can possibly match what it might have been so many years ago, the first time around.

When my wedding gown was safely tucked away and the honeymoon came to a close, I thought about my own contemporaries, celebrating ten and fifteen year wedding anniversaries and parenting school age children while their weddings and honeymoons are now a distant memory. I felt lost and alone, and desperate to connect with other women who share my same experience of a later in life marriage and a last minute attempt to start a family. I longed to share a common female bond, but everywhere I searched, I came up empty. In the neighborhoodwhere I live, young children are everywhere I turn, and the women seem to form social connections through their children. I see women walking together with baby strollers and women engaged in curbside chats as their children run and play. Just last weekend, my neighbors threw a large party in their backyard for their little girl’s birthday, and the adults stood around contentedly, drinking beer and grilling burgers as the children bounced around in an inflatable jump castle and ravaged a piñata hanging from the trees. As I stood in my own backyard, looking on furtively across the fence as I tossed a tennis ball for my dog, I felt the familiar sense of emptiness deep inside my soul. This is the pain of being childless at age forty. This is the sense of alienation and loneliness that comes from advanced age infertility, with no children to fill the empty space with all that life and laughter. Sure, I love my pets and my husband so much it hurts sometimes. Sure, I can take Charlie to the local park and meet other friendly dog lovers.  Even so, there is a special place in my heart and soul that only motherhood can fill. Who knows if I will even want to be one of those moms lost in a sea of baby strollers as they compare notes about teething and poopy diapers. Knowing me, I will run in the other direction, but it would sure feel nice to know I have the option.

And now there is Jess. Like me, Jess married her husband later in life and she is now embarking on a journey towards motherhood.  We share similar hopes and fears, and a powerful desire to have a child. We have endured similar struggles and disappointments, and we face many of the same challenges. Finally, I feel I can relate to a woman in my age group and connect with a common bond of experience. It helps so much to know Jess is out there, and in just a few days, we will be sharing dinner together with our husbands, exchanging ideas and comparing notes about the vast unknown that lies ahead of us. Most of all, it fills me with so much gratitude and joy to know that when I finally bring my baby home with me, Jess is just a phone call away- another woman my same age- a woman to share this beautiful new phase of life and celebrate the pleasures of finally become a mother. Thank you, Jess, for finding my blog and reaching out across the miles. Thank you for the gift of your friendship. I am so happy we found each other, and I cannot wait to meet you guys in Denver!!!

So I’m feeling a little nostalgic, with Small Fry hitting the 20-month mark yesterday. And when I feel this way, I always turn to one thing: old photos. Well, maybe two things, if you count the ice cream I’m eating.

I found this shot, taken a year ago today, of Small Fry and one of her best pals:

And I took this one last week:

Look at them!

When did my baby get so big? And grow all that hair? Don’t even get me started on the formerly chubby places that are thinning out.

Back when I was a teenager, invincible and all, I used to think the phrase “time flies” was so cliche. Something old people said. Well, now I’m getting mine.

Having a kid has revealed to me how freaking FAST time goes by. It’s startling.

That’s why I always keep my camera handy. Don’t want to get left in the dust.

October snuck up on me and jumped on me, no idea where it came from, or what happened to most of August and the whole of September!! On the plus side, its nearly Christmas!!! My favourite time of year! I love all the colour and noise of Christmas, all the people smiling and buying each other gifts, making meals for families, getting together. It really IS the most wonderful time of the year!!

Anyway, my absence is mainly due to the fact that I have been so busy with my son starting school, and my new charity work, I haven’t had time to breathe!! Will tell you all about it later!!

Hope you are all great, I’m good good good!

I’m going to be posting more things soon, just bear with me ok?!

tessybear xxxx

This past weekend, I asked my husband to join me for lunch at Poes- one of our favorite beachside hangouts at Sullivan’s Island- followed by a leisurely walk along the shore. One of the primary reasons I left Manhattan for South Carolina nine years ago, was to live near the ocean. For me, the ocean represents everything healthy and happy, honest and hopeful and pure in my life. I believe the ocean has its own special power to heal and rejuvenate the physical body, quiet the mind and soothe the soul. At times in my life when I have felt lonely, spiritually lost or longing for comfort and solitude, I always felt better after a day on the beach.

The ocean has provided the backdrop for so many important moments in my life; treasured memories of family gatherings and tropical vacations, peaceful times of solitude and spiritual healing. I visit the ocean to center myself, gain new perspective, re-group and solve problems. I visit the ocean to relax and unwind, escape life’s pressures and connect with my childish side. When I am barefoot and windblown and tossed about by the waves, covered in sand and stinging from the sun, it is hard to take life very seriously.

The ocean is a symbol of my love for my husband. In the darkest moments of our turbulent years, we reminded each other of our favorite quote, the tides may change but the ocean remains.  In the early stages of our relationship, we came to the ocean to celebrate good times, talk about difficult issues, work through problems, say goodbye and come back together. In the good old days before the pressures of marriage, fertility, and financial realities weighed heavily on our souls, we always made time for the ocean. We loved to start out early in the day with a picnic lunch and spend hours on the beach until our skin turned a deep shade of bronze and the wind, sun and surf made us lightheaded and giddy. The day always ended with margaritas and grilled cheese sandwiches at our favorite beachside dive bar, followed by a slow drive home with all the windows rolled down and the sea breeze caressing our sunburned skin.  

Our first engagement was a romantic, old fashioned proposal on Pacific Beach in Cozumel. Glenn knelt down on one knee and asked me to marry him as the setting sun painted the sky a deep shade of crimson. The second engagement (following our heart wrenching breakup) came nearly four years later. It was more whimsical and casual than the first time around, minus the ceremonial formalities of young idealistic love. We were in Costa Rica, in the midst of a quad riding excursion through the hills of Nosara, surrounded by a bunch of local tico friends, when Glenn handed me a zip lock bag filled with trail mix and said the four fateful words that changed the course of our lives forever- have some nuts, honey. You can imagine my shock when, sitting on top of a pile of nuts, I found my long lost, cherished engagement ring sparkling in the midday sun.  Perhaps he left out the classic romance but at least he had the decency to propose before a panoramic view of the glistening Pacific. We fell against each other in a tangled heap of laughter as the local ticos hooted and cheered congratulations in Spanish.

 Despite the pressures and demands of daily life, I try not to take the ocean for granted. Although these days I don’t visit nearly as often as I would like, I can sense the ocean’s close proximity and take comfort in knowing it is always here when I need it. This past weekend, when the early autumn sun’s golden rays enveloped my body like a warm winter blanket, I knew I needed to cast everything else aside and take a drive to the ocean. I wanted to forget about the intensity of the past year and my unfulfilled longing to become a mother. I wanted to celebrate the beauty of the day, kick off my shoes and dig my toes into the warm sand.  I wanted to throw the yellow tennis ball for my dog Charlie and watch him run happily along the shore. I wanted to restore my body and my mind, and prepare myself for the challenging road that lies ahead. But most of all, I wanted to re-connect with my husband and bring our foundation of friendship back into focus. I wanted to see the twinkle in his eyes that I miss so much and watch the stress lines around his mouth relax in contentment.

After Glenn finished purchasing our plane tickets to Denver and confirming our hotel room and rental car, we shut down the computer and called it a day. Then, we loaded ourselves and our 85 pound supersized puppy into the car and headed straight for the ocean. The next day was back to business as usual, but for one shining moment at least, I pushed all thoughts of Denver and babies and infertility aside to hold my husband’s hand and watch my dog run and play in the surf. For that fleeting moment of blissful enlightenment, I was able to soothe my worried mind, relax my body and enjoy the quiet beauty of the beach in early autumn.

When my youngest patients are struggling with difficult emotions, I use the analogy of rainbow sprinkles to help them understand the concept of mixed feelings. As humans, we are emotional creatures. We are hard wired to experience a vast array of emotions simultaneously, at any given point in time. Have you ever tried explaining to a very small child, that mommy is crying because she is happy? We cry when we feel intense joy, and we cry when we feel grief and despair. We cry when we are moved beyond words, at the beauty of a sunset or a television commercial that tugs at the heart strings. And often on this incredible journey called life, we feel rainbow sprinkles- a mixture of different emotions taking on so many colors and flavors that we can barely tease them apart.

Last night, after my telephone consultation with Dr. Schoolcraft, I had enough rainbow sprinkles to open my own ice cream parlor. I felt renewed joy and hope and faith, because I have finally landed in the right hands with this doctor. He is everything I was searching for, and everything I knew he would be- honest, matter of fact, precise and confident. He tells the truth, and he does not offer false hope. At the same time, he conveys warmth and compassion, and openness to my questions and ideas. He is patient and thoughtful, which can be rare for someone who is in such high demand, as a top expert in their field. I feel safe with this doctor, and I trust his judgment. In this crazy world of infertility, safety and trust are hard to come by, and they are worth their weight in gold.

I would like to return for a moment to the pivotal defining moment, when I decided to bring my search for a fertility specialist to the national level. I arrived at this decision because I am tired of living with regret. I let so many precious years pass me by, as I lived in denial about my passing window of fertility. I made my own life choices, and now I must live with the consequences of my decisions. I must accept the very real possibility that it might be too late for me to have a biological child. I can still become a mother, but the possibility of becoming pregnant with my own eggs this late in the game, is very remote. The term donor egg has been ringing in my ears every since that fateful afternoon on August 11, 2009, when the IVF coordinator from Southeastern Fertility called me to report that due to my elevated FSH level, I was no longer a candidate for in vitro with my own eggs.

When I took my search to the national level, my goal was to find a clinic with a specialty in poor responders- women of advanced maternal age with decreased ovarian reserve and poor egg quality. Because my infertility is the direct consequences of my own life decisions, I knew I needed to pull out all the stops and take a radical and highly aggressive approach to rescue any good eggs I might have left. I did not want to live with more regret. I did not want to look back and wonder, what could have been, what should have been, if only I had tried?  Now that I have found Dr. Schoolcraft at CCRM, and officially become his patient, now that I have a solid plan and a date on the calendar to meet with this doctor, I can finally relax and breathe again. 

There is nothing worse than feeling powerless, and stuck, and confused about how to proceed. For so long I felt like I was floating in a black hole, baffled by the polarized opinions and distracted, remote demeanor of the doctors I trusted with all my hopes and dreams. At one clinic, whose name I will refrain from mentioning, I was treated like a nameless and faceless member of the masses. They did everything except tell me to take a number and wait my turn. They reported confusing mixed messages about Glenn’s sperm quality, they refused to give certain test results over the phone despite the fact that we lived 2 hours away and waited on pins and needles for the information, and worst of all, after we drove all the way to the clinic for a consult that was scheduled several months in advance, the doctor arrived appearing rushed, distracted, and confused about why we were even there. She had not even reviewed our information, and she kept us waiting in the consultation room while she sent her assistant to locate our chart. The final straw, however, was the mass mailing they sent out to all the women who were planning to begin IVF the following month. The letter gave instructions for when to begin birth control- all the women were prescribed the exact same protocol despite their age, diagnosis or unique individual needs- and then went on to report that the clinic would be shut down for nearly 3 weeks over the holidays- at the exact same time when we were most likely to have tons of questions!

When we finally switched to our local clinic, Southeastern Fertility, we were thrilled at the prospect of driving only 10 minutes, rather than 2 hours, to receive treatment. We immediately loved Dr.Patton, and much to our relief, we believed we had finally landed in capable hands where we would be treated with warmth and respect. This is why, after we finally made the decision to start IVF with Southeastern Fertility, it was so devastating to feel the door slammed in our face by the IVF coordinator based on a single blood test- without even so much as a telephone call from our doctor. I would have preferred to hear the news directly from Dr. Patton. I would have preferred to be let down gently, to be given the opportunity in that awful moment, to speak with my doctor and ask questions. I would have appreciated immediate information about my different options, rather than being told I had to schedule a brand new appointment with the doctor, as if I were an unknown patient who had never seen him before. I would have benefitted enormoulsy, if I did not have to endure several sleepless nights and agonizing days, before receiving a return phone call from my doctor.

After recovering from the trauma at Southeastern Fertility, we waited for my next cycle to begin and drove 13 hours to New York City to consult with a third doctor who came highly recommended by my former Ob-Gyn in Manhattan. If Dr. Patton proved himself to be far too parochial and conservative for my taste, this doctor fell on the other extreme, with a relaxed attitude that made me feel quite ill at ease. In fact, he seemed to agree to try anything and everything I suggested, claiming something is better than nothing given my advanced age. When I grilled him on the success rates of the various interventions he so readily agreed to try, I was shocked to discover, they were not much better than trying naturally, on our own. These experiences, although painful and far too costly and time consuming, taught me a very important life lesson. They taught me that when it comes to medicine, I must act as my own best advocate. They taught me that information is power and informed research opens many new doors. Without these unfortunate experiences, I would never have found Dr. Schoolcraft, and for this I am so very grateful, and much wiser for having been through it.

Getting back to my analogy of rainbow sprinkles, after I hung up the phone with Dr. Schoolcraft, I felt so many different emotions, that I could barely tell them apart. Yes, there was renewed hope, and faith, and joy for landing in the best of hands. I was at peace. I was able to breathe easy again, knowing the search was finally over.  At the same time, there was fear, and sadness, and a deep sense of loneliness and isolation.

I am fearful because Dr. Schoolcraft- despite being one of the best- is not a miracle worker. The laboratory at CCRM is on the cutting edge; well known for its precision and painstaking attention to detail. Doctor Schoolcraft is world renowned, with expertise in treating poor responders with age related ovarian decline. Even so, he cannot turn back the hands of time. Yes, if there is anyone who can help me, it is Dr. Schoolcraft. I have no doubt he will do his absolute best, to save any good eggs I might have left. But there is always the possibility, even with the best doctor with the most advanced technology at his fingertips, that my advanced age will beat me in the end.  This is a battle against mother nature and a last minute race against time.

 In exactly 11 days, Glenn and I will fly to Denver to meet our new Dr. Schoolcraft and undergo a full day of highly detailed diagnostic testing. When the results trickle in during the weeks that follow, our doctor will deliver his final recommendation, and it might not be the one I am hoping for. If at any point during the diagnostic period, Dr. Schoolcraft determines that my eggs do not stand a reasonable chance of developing into a healthy embryo, or, if my body fails to respond to the fertility medication, he will recommend pulling the plug on the process. I must accept this likelihood, and prepare myself to grieve and let go of my dream for a biological child.  

This is my final chance to bring my own biological baby home with me. Financially and biologically, we are limited in terms of what else we can do. I am scared of losing the race against time, and never having a chance to experience my lifelong dream of creating a baby from my own DNA- a baby who is a combination of me and my husband.  I am scared I might never be able to say, my daughter has my dark eyes and my love for animals, or, my son inherited my preference for spicy food and my restless nature. I am scared I might always wonder, what would have been, if I had not waited so long? Maybe DNA really doesn’t matter in the end, when it comes to becoming a parent and loving a child, but is sure hurts to let go of the dream.

 I am sad that I waited so long, and deluded myself into thinking that despite my age; I would beat the odds and conceive on my own, simply because I wanted it so badly. I am sad because my husband and I struggled in our relationship for so many years and hurt each other, and ourselves, in the process. I am sad that I dishonored myself by wasting precious time when my body was still young and fertile and I ached to start a family.  And finally, I feel lonely and isolated, because right now today, there is nobody in my life who can relate to this very specific grief I am experiencing. Infertility is a hard enough journey to endure, but for childless women of advanced age- women who made certain life decisions during their fertile years that caused them to reach this point- it can be riddled with heavy layers of shame and guilt and regret.

Last week I purchased a book called “A Few Good Eggs” by Julie Vargo and Maureen Reagan. http://www.afewgoodeggs.com/chicks.htm I was so excited to start this book, because in my loneliness and despair, I feel desperate for the wisdom, comfort and encouragement of other advanced age women who, despite the heavy hands of time, were able to rescue those few good eggs and conceive a healthy biological baby. From the sound of the title, I assumed the book was about success stories of older women who beat the odds and managed to conceive a biological child. The other night as I lay in bed skimming through the first section of the book, I was disappointed to find that the authors seemed to be offering a call to action, by warning women of the dangers inherent in waiting to0 long. They wrote about issues pertaining to high FSH level, decreased ovarian reserve, and the many challenges and obstacles of advanced maternal age. They shared stories of women who, because of their age, were forced to live a child free life, or resort to adoption or donor eggs. Perhaps they share success the stories later, further into the book, but I must admit I am hesitant to pick it up again given my first impression. I already know I waited too long. I already know what should have been, what could have been, if only I had started the baby making process back in my early twenties, when youth was on my side. However where does that leave me now?  At a crucial time when I am trying so hard to be optimistic and positive, the last thing I need to hear is why I should have started sooner. I live with that regret every day of my life.

Where are the books about advanced age success stories, and the many benefits of becoming an older parent? Where are the books about how to let go, and begin grieving the loss of a dream as important as that of a biological child? Where are the books that guide older women through their grief and despair, by helping them to make the difficult transition emotionally, from that of trying to conceive naturally to things like a childless lifestyle, adoption and donor eggs? Where are the books that tell women like me, how to stop blaming ourselves for the mistakes we made, and how to celebrate the many different choices that still lie ahead?

In defense of Julie Vargo and Maureen Reagan, perhaps they cover all these important angles in their book. I would not know, because I did not continue reading for long enough to find out. Perhaps I am simply hypersensitive and therefore missing part of the picture. But I do know this much. The world of infertility literature seems to cater to younger women in their twenties and early thirties who still have years ahead of them to engage in problem solving and decision making. They have loads of time to continue the process. They have time to save money for various treatments, like IUI and IVF, that are highly successful with younger, stronger eggs. Some of these women have endometriosis, or hormonal imbalances, blocked fallopian tubes or husbands with low sperm counts. Their pain is no less real and their longing is no less intense, but they have the most valuable gifts working in their favor- the gifts of youth and plenty of time. Most books on infertility are dedicated to these women. They cover issues like organic diet and acupuncture and stress management and finding the right doctor. They talk about cervical mucus, and timed intercourse, body temperature and cutting down on caffeine and alcohol. However, most of the time, they devote one or two pages at best, to a discussion of advanced maternal age, high FSH and decreased ovarian reserve. And nine times out of ten, those skinny, lonely, impoverished sections of  the infertility books-the sections that cover advanced maternal age-mention women who already have children at home and are now trying for more. When all is said and done, the only thing that seems to be left for women like me- advanced age women with empty arms- are those five dreaded words- childless lifestyle, adoption, and donor eggs.

I know there are very few options out there for women like me, aside from a little bit of hope and faith, a sprinkle of positive attitude and a whole lot of luck. Perhaps I am starting to write the very book I am seeking- the book about how to forgive ourselves for wasting precious time, how to grieve and regroup, and move on after the loss of the dream of a biological child. Or, better yet, perhaps I am writing a book about research and persistence and refusing to accept the status quo- a book about racing against time and beating the odds with the help of one very brilliant doctor.

It is far too early to tell the outcome, and all that really matters is right now- the present moment- and the many blessings in my life. I am alive, I am healthy, and my body is still capable of carrying a child. On October 12^th my husband and I will board a plane to Denver, Colorado and take a leap into the vast realm of the unknown. The rest, for now at least, lies in the hands of god, and one very important doctor. Right now all I can do is think positive, breathe deep and celebrate the fact that in exactly eleven days, we are GOING TO DENVER!!!!!!!!