Poem: Starlings in Winter

This poem was on NPR Writer's Almanac today. I loved it and wanted to share it with you...
Wishing you joy...
Shell
Dec. 8, 2009 
Starlings in Winter
by Mary Oliver


Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers, 
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can't imagine
how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots 
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard, I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings. 
"Starlings in Winter" by Mary Oliver, from Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays. © Beacon Press, 2003


Starlings in Flight: Watch Video 







Nesting: For more information on these beautiful birds. Click here.

A Snowball's Chance

My obsession with Angelina Jolie’s eggs kept me up last night. OK, I admit, it could appear somewhat homo-erotic, but that’s not what I’m getting at. If we are not preggers the “old fashioned way” : ) this month, we will resume our IVF journey in the next few weeks. After several lost pregnancies through IVF and IUI, I am pretty anxious about this round. Our Doctor (who I LOVE) recommends we continue with ICSI and IVF and hold off on pursuing a donor egg. She gave the Bear and I a slew of genetic tests (12 blood tests for me!) and did an endometrial biopsy to rule out endometritis as the cause of our frequent losses. Everything came back A-OK and we exhumed a big sigh of relief after the many weeks of waiting.

Still, I feel a little like a deer in the headlights on this round. I’m standing in the middle of the road, hoping I’m not hit again…

I love my Dr. because she is one of the best in her industry. She directs the Center for Infertility at a prominent hospital in Boston, and she teaches at Harvard Medical School. She takes the time to talk to us, and actually asks us how we are doing. I’ve dealt with some of her colleagues at the center, and it’s rare to get more than a grunt from some of them. Nevertheless, I believe that she cares deeply for her patients and she’ll give you straight up advice. She’s the kind of woman I would have liked to be friends with, in another time and place.

My obsession with Angelina and the eggs she bares has very little to do with Angelina Jolie herself. It’s what she personifies to me. She’s a sexual goddess yet she’s a seemingly devoted (and quite fertile) mother figure. Being married to an Italian, who’s also a Catholic, I recognize that women are often archetypally personified as the vixen (sexual and available), or the virgin (mother figure). But Angelina is both, it seems (at least to the camera). Her eggs seem like Faberge’.

Where is this going?

I guess I’m scared. I get overly “heady” when I’m scared. I’m scared of losing another one or having a baby with birth defects because of the age of my old eggs. I’m pretty messed up in the head right now.

My probability rate of getting pregnant with my eggs and having a live birth is about 23%-26% as per my Doctor. I compared the figure to other events with a similar probability, just to see how I felt about it:

• In 2005, analysts predicted there would be a 1 in 4 chance of a recession in the next 12 months. (And look what happened!)
• There is a 45.12% probability that a building will blow down in its lifetime!
• There is a 23% probability that a “Great Flood” will occur every 25 years.
• There is a 23% chance of snow in Columbus, Ohio on any given Christmas.
• If you are a trucker, and are text messaging (or reading this!) you have a 22% greater chance of being involved in an accident in Portland, Oregon.

Wow. This stuff is pretty depressing, but I do know something without repute:

• I am 500% loved by a man I adore, and I couldn’t ask for a better partner on this journey. (The Bear confirms this!)
• I am happy for all I do have. All the people I have touched, who have touched me in return.
• I have so very much to be thankful for. I need to sit in my power.
• Even if my eggs are few, and not as fresh as they once were, they are beautiful, and treasured. And they are mine! : )

Runaway Heart

When I was little, I used to run away from home a lot. I’d pack a snack and hide behind our house. I’d sit with my back against my bedroom wall and stare out at the palm trees. Sometimes, I would plant watermelon seeds with my fingers; digging little holes between slips of grass. I stay hidden until I got bored, or hungry, or both. Eventually, as rosy dusk would fall on our subdivision, I would return home. My parents would put on a big show about how happy they were that I was back, and tell me how much they missed me.

Eventually, I figured out that my mother could actually see me from the house, and that she knew the whereabouts of my secret hiding spot. So, when I was big enough, about eight or nine, I would run away to my grandparents’ house. They lived about three blocks away, but a canal separated our neighborhood from theirs. The fervent walk seemed endless to me in my childhood rage.

My Grandmother would invite me in (she always seemed to know when I was coming???) and we’d sit at her kitchen table while I wailed about the horrors of the day. Eventually her phone would ring. “Yes, yes hello! Uh huh…Yes, She is….Ok!”

“Grandma, who was that????” I’d ask.        

“Wrong number” She’d reply.

 ***********************************************

I go in for a biopsy tomorrow.

They are trying to rule out endometriosis as the cause of our recurrent losses. Sadly, you have to have a series of miscarriages before the insurance will cover the cost of these tests! Think of how much money and heartache would be saved if they investigated these things BEFORE people began IVF? Could you imagine this happening in life outside the realm of medicine? It would be as if you’d have to get in a few car accidents before they check to see if you’d pass the driving test.

Nevertheless, I’m off track again. Insurance does that to me….

I hate biopsies. I’ve never seen a happy biopsy. They always come with some baggage and discomfort. The Bear will be going with me, which is nice. And my Doc gave me a prescription for a valium. Even nicer! Hopefully I will be dreaming of bunnies….

I bring all of this up because it makes me miss my grandmother more than ever. I wish I could just run away behind her house, or sit at her kitchen table and cry. I’m so exhausted by this process.

I just have to remember why I am doing this….for love.

Full circle.

M.

IVF and the Newlywed: The Possession!!!!

It's a gorgeous day out today and I am hoping to get outside and bask in some leftover sun. It will be nippy in New England in no time. The Bear is very sick today, so I'm playing nursemaid. Nothing much to report...we went to the Dr. this week and she gave both The Bear and me a battery of blood tests. She's trying to discover why we have had so many miscarriages. She also wants me to do a biopsy to see if there's anything going on in my womb. I negotiated for a valium. I'll tell you, I am sick of people hanging out between my legs. I am sick of this process and all the emotions tied to it.


I'm on a two month hiatus from IVF and it has been SO NICE to get my body back. My mind is clear and focussed, not overwritted by the excess of meds. I really don't want to think about a biopsy or anything having to do with my netherparts- except pleasure.


I am going to try to find time this weekend to find myself again. I don't know what that means yet, but there's this funny , quirky lass inside here somewhere, who's been in hiding for a wee bit. I've got to shake things up and bring her out again. I miss that silly bitch.


I couldn't help it, but when the Bear started vying for my sympathy vote with his cough,cough, sick, sick, I told him to imagine if his balls were the size of grapefruit and he got 3 shots every day! Then, come to me for sympathy.
So who's taken over my body, and when can the real M come back??

Lost and Found

Lost and Found

Sometimes things are too fresh, too green. You can’t talk about them until they settle. That’s how I was feeling this weekend. I just couldn’t bring myself to put my insides to “words”. Perhaps if I were to “paint it out” things would have gushed forth like butterflies, like blood. 

I spent the weekend vacillating between turbulence and limbo. That ether-state of decision-making. A band-aid to my soul.

Friday night. Starless sky. Lying in bed with my big Boston boy. “I’m so sad, “I said, “I thought I was over this, but I’m not.” He held me and said. “We’ll never get over this, sweetheart. We’ll get BEYOND IT, but not over it.”

I think of this Loss. My third Loss. I think of all that life-potential that could not hold on. I blame myself. The scars in my womb from fibroid surgery. My age. My weight. When does the blame stop? When can you look at yourself again and feel whole and beautiful?

I am usually a happy person. A conduit of good energy. I have friends I would do anything for. Friends who I won’t talk to right now because it’s just too hard.

Sunday morning. I woke my sleeping Bear and said, “Let’s think about adoption.” We can still keep trying with IVF, but we do want more than one child, so why not explore the options. Groggily, he agreed. We hugged and kissed and laughed with the languid ease of weekend morning love.

Sunday afternoon. I obsessed over cupcakes. I just found a lovely new book exclusively on CUPCAKES. The cover features a bit of vanilla heaven with a sugared violet on top. I’m not sure where this new obsession with cooking has come from but cupcakes are my secret passion. They remind me of childhood birthdays and modern weddings, and Martha Stewart perfection. Maybe if I start to practice now, by the time I am (fingers crossed) a mom, I can become the best cupcake maker on my block. 

So I mixed my eggs and milk, and frosted with the back of a spoon, and in the end I had 24 lumps of cake. Really uninspiring looking. But hey, it was my first attempt! And even through they were ugly they tasted DELICIOUS!

 

A cupcake story:

Spring 2008. My Boy and I went down to visit friends in New York City. I was getting out of the shower when he surprised me with my engagement ring “I wanted to do this on the top of the empire state building,” he said, “but we ran out of time.” My engagement ring is my grandmother’s. It’s the ring I have always wanted to wear. My grandparents had a very happy marriage and although I never met them, I know my grandmother is looking down on us and sending lots of Wisdom and Love our way.

So this was a splendid weekend with my sweetheart, celebrating his birthday and his first trip to the Big Apple. We walked through central park and met my best friend for drinks by the pond as swans glistened past.

That night I lost my wallet at a dive bar in Hell’s Kitchen. Lost????? Not sure, but it was GONE. We had $14 left and two Amtrak tickets after we checked out of the hotel. We used most of our remaining cash to buy subway tokens to visit  police stations and file reports. Uptown than downtown, and scurrying back again! We didn’t have enough for lunch or dinner, but walking down from Port Authority we passed the Cupcake Café. Although the location has changed, the Cupcake Café in NYC brings back the warmest memories for me. My time in grad school in the Big City. Working in Manhattan for some wonderful designers. Sitting with them for gazpacho and carrot cupcakes and musing over theatre, art and life.

We had a few bucks left, enough for a pair of cupcakes and two coffees. A welcome respite from the chaos of the city street. Sitting across from my Boy, gobbling a bit of lusciousness before we went back home. Basking in our newly engaged love. It was the perfect frosted dream to a weekend I will never forget.

These are the things I need to hold on to right now. Love, sweetness, the treasures in my life. No matter how complicated things get in our lives, it only takes a few simple things to bring us back to the heart of the matter. Back to the HEART.

 

Yum!

The Things You Give Away

We've MOVED.

Come visit me at http://romancingthestone.wordpress.com

The Things You Give Away….

August 20, 2009 by romancingthestone | Edit

I wanted to confess something….

 

You might be wondering why I called this blog “IVF and the Newlywed” when I haven’t really been spending a whole lotta’ time talking about my uterus or my sprightly egg count. It’s just that I can’t. I find the IVF process itself to be thoroughly exhausting and I have discovered it’s extremely helpful for me to focus my mind on more INSPIRING, EMPOWERING and TASTY topics. Right now, those ethereal things have been the juice that has kept me going. Perhaps it’s a smokescreen to the real “issues” of the fertility-challenged, but at least it keeps me laughing!

 

Now for today’s topic: The stuff you give up…..

When I got married, I traded in my sporty convertible for a lumbering black jeep. (This is not a metaphor!). My lease was up on my car and I was scared to drive it on slippery icy days. I also wondered how MILF-like I would look with a baby seat in the back and the ragtop down. How would you get a kid out of a 2-door sports car anyway?

So in the days between our wedding and reception, my husband and I picked up our new little SUV. We opted for a smaller, boxy kind that had a cleaner engine, 4-wheel drive, and really good gas mileage (relatively speaking). It was a stunning, aloof shade of black, with tinted windows and big sidewall tires. I knew I would feel safe in this car, and I liked the feeling of riding high in the saddle. In Boston, it’s all about being the top-man on the road, as you careen past bad drivers and shout nasty words from your car!!!!! (Often with your windows closed so as not to truly upset anyone!). I was a bad-@ss yuppie.

Lately I’ve been missing my convertible. I’ve also been missing the sofa we gave away to upgrade to “married furniture”. It’s been hard for my husband to understand. Sometimes, when I’m amped up on the baby-med hormone shots I’ll just sit across from the new sofa and glare at it. I even told it “I hate you!” once. (No response from the couch). 

What my husband may or may not understand is that these were my “single” things. A sexy blue sport scar with buff leather seats that screamed “I’m successful and fantastic, and I don’t NEED your money!” And that sofa bed–  one of the first big pieces of furniture that I purchased for myself, acknowledging at the time that I was a new homeowner and was going it alone. Through the years, this couch was my refuge for long nights of girl talk and even longer nights of crazy Fall  s ex. It was soft, and velvety, and it was MINE.

(Oh the things you can do on a rolled arm couch………But I digress!)

I think I miss those things because they represented my former-life to me. The carefree, sassy girl with money to spare. Successful, self-protected, smug. Sometimes I feel like I have traded in an old life for a new one, and gotten rid of my “stuff” but I don’t know what’s going to replace it yet. Will it be sweet baby furniture, or a suburban garden filled with ripe tomatoes and love? Will it be an empty nest? What are the things He and I are “building together”?

Oftentimes, it is that limbo between single lass and newly married lady that makes you feel like you are floating. It’s hard to know what you will land on. Will it be a soft, cushy new sofa, or the floor of an empty nursery?

I talked to my Advisor about this. It came out like gunpowder, “I’m giving up all this stuff, and I don’t know what’s replacing it yet!!!!!” She told me that with every new thing you bring into your life, you have to give up something else. It just happens.

I don’t know what will come into our lives to mark the passage of our first year of marriage. I only know that when I wash the Jeep it SHINES, and when I cuddle on that couch with my Sweetie, there’s no place I’d rather be….

 

Wishing you many happy moments…

I Dreamed that Angelina Jolie was My Egg Donor

I dreamed that Angelina Jolie was my egg donor.

No really!

It's a reoccurring dream I have been having lately. I am sitting on the couch eating pizza and Angie appears in a cloud of lemon meringue. At first I think she's an angel. "I have a gift for you" she says demurely with a flash of her pearly bonded teeth. I notice the little satin pillow she as in her hand. It's the cheezy kind you find on wedding websites for your ring-bearer. But there's no ring. Just two tiny little fireflies buzzing above it. 

"Here..." she says, placing the pillow into my greasy pepperoni fingers. "For a mere $7,000,000 co-pay these can be yours. We can drop them into your womb and you would have a 61 % success rate at conceiving.(another smile). Isn't that better than your measly 22% at your age and (ahem) size?"

I notice that her collarbone lifts gently from the bodice of her gown . Her arms are white and veiny. As she hands me the pillow I think. "Gee, she IS pretty! We would have beautiful children. But would I feel they are truly MINE? I mean, I would be nurturing them in my body, and I'd love them as much as if they came from my own DNA. We COULD mortgage the condo, maybe get a few more jobs. I think we could drum up some extra cash, but not the $7mm required for this transaction!

My husband comes in to the room holding a beer. He's speechless at the arrival of our new visitor. I can sense he is leaving some room for ME to make this decision. He loves me and would support my wishes and dreams (and who can refute the astounding cuteness of our future offspring, if this were to pass).

I look at Angelina in her stunning gown and baubles. I think of all the adventure and excitement I have had in my life. I HAVE been truly blessed in that way. But these experiences have prolonged my settling down, my time of finding the right  partner. Now I'm 41 and newlywed, and ANGELINA JOLIE is offering me her eggs!

"Limited time offer" she says. Head cocked to one side as she glances at me through those crazy lashes.

I look at the "fireflies" buzzing gently in my hands. So delicate and beautiful. I look at my husband. I know he will be the best father in the world. He's already the best husband. I consider the chemical pregnancies we have had and the misscarriage I seem to be having this weekend...."A 61% success rate" I think. That would end the hurt and the pain of these losses.

She glows like a cloud of frosting. I would eat her if I could. 

"No thank you, Angelina." I reply. (I dare not call her Angie.)" As kind and thoughtful as the offer is, we will have to decline." My husband utters a surprising sigh of relief. "We'll try naturally for a few months and then we'll do IVF again. There's still time..." I reply, a little teary eyed.

"OK." She whispers."But if you change your mind, or need me in the future, I'll be out on Long Island wrapping up my latest film. The offers good until your insurance runs out." 

She flashes another brilliant smile and turns to leave. "Ummm?" She stalls, with a guilty, beseeching look that almost makes me grin "Can I have a slice of that pizza?" She asks. "I haven't eaten in months."

Belly Dancing Helps

My husband says that if I “believe” then good things will happen for us. I do agree with the power of positive thinking, but every time I try to say “I AM pregnant” it sounds more like a question than a statement. I guess if you have been on this journey for so long, it’s hard to visualize something that seems so far away.

But sometimes, when I close my eyes and relax, I can see two little glowing pearls deep inside me. Two, beautiful lovely orbs of light. This is bigger than any word, any hope. Any question.

And belly dancing helps! I highly recommend this to all the gorgeous women reading this. Get up in the morning and make up your own belly dance. Celebrate the roundness of your hips and the shape of your body and play some music you love and DANCE. Dance for yourself. Dance for all your wisdom and great potential. Make up the moves as you go along. Just dance.

This I do for ME. I started it once I went on crinone (progesterone) to help prevent miscarriage, and my Doctor said it stays in place best if you are active. So I made up a little dance I do each morning to OWN this situation and celebrate it MY way. My dance is somewhere between a belly dance, a hula and something you might have seen at woodstock.

I did it for my husband this weekend. He calls it the Crinone Dance.

Whether it helps me keep this potential life moving inside me or it’d just another way to lift my spirits, it seems to be working.

Try it.

Wishing you joy, peace and love.

IVF and the Newlywed: 1

I started this blog because I realized that I was finding reassurance, humor and hope in the writings of other women. Maybe this is my small way to make a difference too.

I am- or was- the typical single girl living in a big city. Career minded. Maybe a little guarded. At first I mistook drama for passion, choosing dashing military men as long-distance lovers. I thought I would one day retire, still single, and live in the hills of Santa Fe while handsome pool boys would fan me with palm fronds. I imagined I would look something like Lanie Kazan at that stage. Wearing exotic caftans and head wraps. Taking quick drags of filtered cigarettes through long acrylic nails. 

This was not a pretty picture.

My job affords me the opportunity to travel the world. To work with great designers and be a leader and influencer of young talent. It is a career I treasure and a life I love. Still something was missing. Something loin-tingling I suppose.

At parties or on dates, I would be sure to let people know I was single by choice, and that I believed a relationship should be the coupling of two strong, unique individuals, not the suppression of individuality. This did not help me to make it to the second date! I realized soon that men like to know you need them, you treasure them, and that it’s okay to be vulnerable once in a while.

I met my husband on match.com. I’m a big fan of match. In Boston, we call it the expressway of dating. You can go for the scenic route, the fast lane, or the meaningful, long journey. Boston is known for it’s aggressive drivers, both on and off the highway.

I love my husband because he thinks strong, independent women are sexy. I also love that he’s a great Italian cook and he calls me on my shit. He brings love and humor to my life in ways I never anticipated.

So now we are approaching our first anniversary. Honeymooners in our early 40’s! We are also in the throws of IVF. This is our second try at IVF after a chemical pregnancy a few months ago. At the time, I never expected to feel such a loss.

My girlfriend (wise woman she is) said that there is no “sliding scale” for grieving. You don’t grieve less simply because you were only pregnant for a short time. You were still pregnant. There was life within you, and then it was gone.

Now I try to do things to keep me looking on the positive side of things. I get up each morning and do a little “belly dance” around the house in my underwear. I drink the Chinese herbs that my acupuncturist prescribed to me (they taste like dirt and cowhide) and envision the light within me. I know we have no control over the outcome of this process but I do feel like we can steer the course, to at least make the day FEEL better, with our humor and our hope. We can do what we can to romance the stone within us.

So this is a new chapter of our journey. I believe that it has brought my husband and I closer together. At nine months into our marriage we are truly being tested. If we can keep moving forward, imagine what a foundation we are building? I just wish I did not feel so alone at times. Where are all my sisters?