A year ago, on April Fool's Day 2015, I had an appointment with an orthodontist to talk about getting braces to fix my teeth, which were getting more and more crooked each year. I had braces for 5 years as a kid, but my orthodontist was super old and basically admitted that he couldn't get my bite just right and was retiring and we were moving so he just took them off, gave me an upper retainer only and sent me on my merry way. At the appointment, after taking x-rays and examining my bite, the orthodontist explained that the only way to fix my teeth was to do old-school metal braces (I had been hoping for Invisalign) and surgery where my jaw would have to be broken and reset to correct my bite.
Then he showed me a simulation video of how and where the jaw would be broken and moved around. And I started bawling and freaking out. Then I went home and scheduled two more consultations with different orthodontists for a second and third opinion.
Long story short, they all said the same thing: I had a "severe skeletal Class II malocclusion with a transverse deficiency problem." Basically a terrible cross-bite and overbite that could be corrected only through surgical intervention, not just braces. Because of my bad bite, my left joint in my jaw is "severely worn down from the open bite trauma" (this is all from a letter from the orthodontist I went with to my oral surgeons discussing treatment).
I got my braces on in May, which I blogged about back then. It was all mostly funny ha-ha and the surgery was a far-off concept until a couple of months ago when we finally set a date for the procedure and started ramping things up with my treatment and meeting with the surgeons to prepare.
This Friday - April Fool's Day 2016, exactly 1 year from that first consultation about getting braces - I will be going in to have a 4-hour surgery where my jaw will be broken in 5 places, then plated with metal plates, screwed into a new position and wired shut for almost 2 weeks. It's not going to be fun.
While I am wired shut, I won't be able to eat anything other than liquids. And not even regular smoothies or milkshakes, which are supposedly too thick to get past my teeth. We are talking chicken broth and apple juice that can trickle between my teeth because even if I COULD suck from a straw (which I won't be able to), I couldn't get a straw, even a small one. At the class preparing me (and Paul) for the surgery, they said that we can try smoothies or shakes but first need to put them through a fine mesh strainer and I should be able to consume the resulting liquid. So, yeah, that's going to be fun. Also, no blowing my nose, sneezing through my nose, picking up anything more than 5 pounds or any kind of exercise for at least 6 weeks so I don't open up a wound or break sutures inside my nose or mouth. Oh, and the vomiting blood and nose-bleeds that are side effects of the surgery for the first week. It won't be pretty.
Once the wires come off, I will still have a splint in my mouth (sort of like a mouth guard that keeps my upper jaw in place but allows me to move the lower jaw) and at that point I should be able to move up to things like yogurt, applesauce, and anything soft enough to mush but not chew for another 4-6 weeks until the splint comes off and some bone has started forming between the broken sections of jaw.
The nurse explained that most people don't complain of pain after the surgery so much as feeling really uncomfortable. All the incisions are on the inside of my mouth and they remove the nerves in the upper and lower jaws and set them to the side while they operate, then tuck them back inside when they are done. Apparently doing that paralyzes or numbs them like when you get a cavity filled at the dentist. Except instead of the numbness wearing off after one afternoon, it takes anywhere from 2 weeks to 3 months (or longer) for the numbness (which will be my entire face below my eyes) to go away.
The other big part of the discomfort is from the swelling, which is pretty extreme for most people. I will have to wear an ice pack that surrounds my face non-stop for the first 72 hours, and then 30 minutes of every hour for the next week after that to keep the swelling to a minimum. And even at that, when they showed us pictures of patients who have been through the surgery before and documented their progress day-by-day, the swelling by day 5 is painful just to look out. After that it is supposed to start subsiding and by 9 months after the surgery (sometimes 12), I should look how I am going to look for the rest of my life because all of the swelling will be gone. I'm not exactly looking forward to looking like a chubby bunny for the next 9 months.
I hope it is worth it. A big motivating factor for doing this now is that our insurance covers the entire procedure and all I have to pay is a $20 co-pay, which is amazing. Each of the three orthodontists I consulted with said "please tell me you have Kaiser?" when they realized surgery would be necessary because of how good they are with the amount of coverage for this. Also, I knew my teeth were just going to keep getting worse and worse and this would eventually result in more pain (it already feels pretty terrible) and they say the older you are the harder it is to recover from surgery. But I'm worried about not being able to care for the girls, not being able to talk normally, what it will be like to throw up with my jaws wired shut (a major concern and one that we talked quite a bit about in the prep class), the recovery time, how I will look afterwards (both in the near and far terms) and so much more. Thankfully my parents are coming to stay with us and take care of me and the girls and Paul while I am out of commission.
Wish me luck.
Showing posts with label Trials and Tribulations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Trials and Tribulations. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Of Careers, Homes, and Adoptions
This is a post that I have been holding in for ages and ages and ages. We have had some major stressors on our plate for quite a while now. Here is the short version:
We had another adoption fall apart (not Rose's - nobody freak out). Paul accepted a new job. We are going to sell our house and move in the next month or two.
The Adoption Situation:
Not Rose's, so no need to worry there. But there was a big part of Rose's story - a possible quasi-twin brother due March 30th in Florida - that I haven't talked about on here before that we were waiting to see what happened and it just finalized itself. WAY back in August, we were contacted by an expectant mom who was only 10 weeks along. LONG story short, two weeks later she told us that she had chosen us to be the parents to the baby she was carrying. She started a blog and posted about us, using pictures we exchanged in emails and texts. Here is an excerpt from one of her posts:
Seeing the baby through ultrasound was an emotional crash I was not expecting, therefore, I was completely unprepared for the feelings that came rushing in. I decided on a whim to keep the baby. I just love him too much and could not imagine going any further with this adoption process. I decided to put my blog back on private because I didn't want to announce this news to the world without knowing for SURE.
I've spent the past couple weeks on my knees praying and praying. I have never received confirmation on keeping the baby which became very heartbreaking and frustrating for me. I even got in contact with the birth father to try and work things out for the sake of keeping the baby but I soon realized what a huge mistake it would be to bring him back into my life. Confirmation came soon after praying about adoption and practically begging Heavenly Father to let me know what was right. I want to keep this baby and I probably would if I loved him any less. I want him to have better than what I can provide. Please do not misunderstand what I'm saying, I'm not trying to imply that mothers who do decide to keep their babies don't love their children and I do not, in any way, think of myself as some selfless hero just because I am choosing adoption (I just wanted to make that clear because apparently I have been giving the wrong impression when it comes to expressing my thoughts and feelings. Please understand that whatever I share through my blog is based solely on my own experience).
I feel so incredibly blessed for the Nash family. Amy and Paul are just so amazing and I couldn't imagine any other couple adopting my baby. It just feels so natural, like all of this was meant to be.
I feel this need to validate that I am not crazy (believe me, when you go through failed adoption after failed adoption you start to feel really crazy and wonder what instincts/promptings/feelings you can trust about people and your own intuition and even the Spirit) and I feel like being able to see how she communicated not only with us but with others (she would post links to her blog on her Facebook account every time she posted) explains some of this.
Anyway, we texted, emailed, skyped, sent packages, etc. Things got really stressful for her when supposed birthfather issues cropped up (although I'm not entirely sure how much of everything was accurate there based on emails exchanged with the birthfather and his eventual cooperation with the adoption attorney we hired in Florida to facilitate the adoption). We cheered for her, ached for her, prayed for her.
When she chose us, our profile was pulled from the LDS Family Services website. But a week later I called our caseworker and told him I wanted it back up. The wait was too long. We had already been through multiple failed adoptions where we communicated and built a relationship for 4-5+ months before the expectant mom changed her mind and we were looking at 7 months before the baby was due with this one and I couldn't stomach the thought of missing out on potential opportunities when this one might not work out. He agreed and our profile was live again in mid-September. Thank goodness for that inspiration or Tabby (Rose's birthmom) wouldn't have found us.
The baby was scheduled for a c-section. We had bought our plane tickets to fly across the country already. Both this expectant mom and Tabby knew about each other and that the babies would be only 2 months apart and both were really excited about that and expressed how amazing it would be for them to having siblings so close together. This expectant mom joined a Facebook adoption support group that I am a part of and posted often, including this post that I screen grabbed on my phone the night the baby was born:
The weird thing is that when she posted the above sounding all excited and super gung-ho about the adoption (I mean, knowing it would be the hardest thing she would ever go through and all that but as gung-ho as any reasonable birthmom who has made an adoption plan might seem to be) she had already texted me telling me maybe it was best for us to wait and NOT come out (less than 8 hours before our flight was supposed to leave had we changed our tickets to get there the next day) and when she had already told the caseworker that she was thinking about not going through with the adoption. I mean, I get it. She changed her mind. It happened. That is totally understandable and her choice and everything. But it still hurts and it doesn't feel right. It feels awful.
It is so hard to know how to explain what I am feeling. Before I even throw out words, I have to say that what I am feeling is NOT about her. The anger I feel isn't directed at her. She had every right - EVERY right - to choose to parent the baby boy she created and I don't begrudge her that choice. But I do feel anger. Anger about the situation. About the futility and unfairness and lack of control or power or efficacy any of us (not just me and Paul but any couple dealing with infertility but particularly adoption) have. Anger about being chosen FIVE times in a row and spending literally hundreds of hours emailing and texting and supporting and praying and agonizing over the confused and conflicted young women who had told us using every word of surety and promise and conviction that they were going to be the ones to go through with it and place a baby with our family (again, not blaming them, not really. I'm so, so, so sorry if it sounds like it. In ways, I am grateful and even honored to have been able to have helped so many women going through the hardest times of their lives in such a unique way. I'm not even being sarcastic, although I may be gritting my teeth a little bit because it somehow feels like I am flagellating myself by saying that.)
Adoption really isn't so unlike pregnancy in a lot of ways because during these years there has been weight gain, sleepless nights, sickness, stress, etc. that all correlated with each adoption scenario we were dealing with. Not to mention thousands of dollars spent covering adoption expenses for the failed adoptions (thank goodness Paul found a tax exemption for failed adoptions that has allowed us to recoup at least some of those costs this year).
Ugh. Anyway, I feel like I have only written a quarter of what was in my head when I started out writing this and I feel like I have already written four times more than what I should have written. And maybe I shouldn't have written anything.
We are so unbelievably thankful and blessed to have our two girls. We don't mean to sound ungrateful for the adoption that DID just happen for us with Rose by complaining about this adoption that just DIDN'T happen for us with this baby boy. We had been asked prior to ever being in a situation where two birthmoms had chosen us at the same time what we would do if that happened and we never had an answer. A part of me (a HUGE part) felt extremely guilty about saying yes to both Tabby and the other expectant mom because I thought about all the couples still waiting for a baby and I felt like it was insanely selfish of us to try for two babies at once. In our defense, I will say that we always tried to be prayerful about the decisions we made with how to proceed. So we are a little sad right now. But we will be okay and having Baby Rose in our home fills us with so much joy (and keeps us so busy!) that we know the dark little cloud this most recent (and possibly last ever) adoption failure has brought.
As for future family planning - we just don't know what we will do. Maybe we will be done with our two girls. Maybe in a few years we will be healed from the past couple brutal years of failed adoptions and want to try again. In all honesty, we would love to have a boy - Paul especially. But we also feel very complete with Clara and Rose and are so grateful that they will have each other (how does anyone get through life without a sister?!). Maybe we will look into private adoption agencies (that isn't the same thing as a closed adoption - we love our open adoptions) or maybe we will look at international adoption (something that I have ALWAYS been interested in). Who knows.
The Job Situation:
So way back in October (on my birthday actually, over lunch at Gott's, the best burger place in the Bay Area) Paul and I had a conversation about his career. Like, how long he should stay at his current firm, what kind of experience he was getting versus what he wanted to get, and where did he ultimately want to end up. We have had this conversation every now and then over the past couple of years (doesn't everybody?) but this time felt different. Lots of lawyers make a move between their 3rd and 5th year and Paul was getting calls from recruiters multiple times a day. A couple days later he happened to take one of the calls (usually he would just brush them off because seriously, recruiters can be incessant) and connected with somebody who specialized in placing associates with commercial real estate practices (Paul's specialty). Long story short, he interviewed with a couple of firms in Palo Alto around November/December but the positions weren't what he was looking for. Then in late January a position opened up at a firm in San Francisco that is THE real estate firm in California. Like, the top firm in that practice for 10 years running. It isn't the hugest firm in the nation (fine by us) but they do just what Paul wants to do and are really well respected and basically it was too perfect. It was a firm Paul had always thought in the back of his mind that would like to end up at.
He applied and that very day got a call back that they liked his resume and were interested in interviewing him. He liked the people he met in his first round of interviews and felt like it went really well and the follow-up emails seemed promising. Not long after that they called to say that they were interested in doing a second round of interviews and set up a schedule for Paul to meet with 14 of their attorneys in the SF office. That's a lot of manpower to dedicate to a potential candidate so it really felt like Paul had a good shot at this job. Then just a couple of days before his second round interviews (on Valentine's Day to be precise), the HR person who had arranged everything called to let Paul know that there was an attorney already with the firm who was in another office who had filled the position so Paul's interviews had been cancelled. We were bummed. We had already started brainstorming and making plans since the new job would involve a longer commute and/or moving, among other factors. And we felt like Paul had been doing the job search process since October and it was so slow and a little discouraging. The news put a little damper on our Valentine's Day to tell the truth, even though they told Paul that he had been really highly thought of and they would keep him in mind for future positions if any opened up.
But not even a week later, Paul got a call from his recruiter to say that one of the associates at the firm had given her notice and they wanted to know if Paul could still go in for the full round of interviews. The interviews must have gone well because Paul got the offer a few days later. He is excited about the new opportunity and what it will mean for his career and he starts the new job at the beginning of April. Which means....
The Housing Situation:
We are going to be putting our house up for sale and moving. The commute into SF from where we currently live is less than ideal. It will be around 1 1/2 hours each way most days, maybe more if there is bad traffic. And that just isn't sustainable for us. So we are thinking that we will move to the East Bay - maybe around Walnut Creek where there is a BART station (Bay Area Rapid Transit) which would take him to work and drop him off right in front of his office and be a 35 minute commute where he never has to deal with traffic or driving himself (although he will have to deal with some of the crazies who ride BART and any possible strikes, which seem to happen too frequently). We might consider other areas too though like Dublin or Concord, which also have BART stations although the ride would be a little bit longer.
In the meantime, we have met with a realtor about getting our house ready to sell. It will be sad to leave behind this great place after all the work we put into it and all the memories we have here. It will be even harder to leave behind the friends we have made and the ward that we are a part of because they have been such a support and such a big part of our lives. It's not like we are moving forever away - Dublin is about 35-40 minutes away and Walnut Creek is about an hour and fifteen minutes or so - but still...
Soooooo, I think that pretty much brings everybody up to speed on all the craziness that we have been dealing with for a while now. It has been nuts. We feel like we have been spinning like tops and are probably going to keep spinning while Paul is transitioning jobs and we are figuring out our housing situation. We are thinking that we might just rent for a while since we don't know the area in the East Bay as well and we don't know that we want to commit to a house until we get a feel for where the best place will be for us. But we are excited for what the future holds!
We had another adoption fall apart (not Rose's - nobody freak out). Paul accepted a new job. We are going to sell our house and move in the next month or two.
The Adoption Situation:
Not Rose's, so no need to worry there. But there was a big part of Rose's story - a possible quasi-twin brother due March 30th in Florida - that I haven't talked about on here before that we were waiting to see what happened and it just finalized itself. WAY back in August, we were contacted by an expectant mom who was only 10 weeks along. LONG story short, two weeks later she told us that she had chosen us to be the parents to the baby she was carrying. She started a blog and posted about us, using pictures we exchanged in emails and texts. Here is an excerpt from one of her posts:
Seeing the baby through ultrasound was an emotional crash I was not expecting, therefore, I was completely unprepared for the feelings that came rushing in. I decided on a whim to keep the baby. I just love him too much and could not imagine going any further with this adoption process. I decided to put my blog back on private because I didn't want to announce this news to the world without knowing for SURE.
I feel this need to validate that I am not crazy (believe me, when you go through failed adoption after failed adoption you start to feel really crazy and wonder what instincts/promptings/feelings you can trust about people and your own intuition and even the Spirit) and I feel like being able to see how she communicated not only with us but with others (she would post links to her blog on her Facebook account every time she posted) explains some of this.
Anyway, we texted, emailed, skyped, sent packages, etc. Things got really stressful for her when supposed birthfather issues cropped up (although I'm not entirely sure how much of everything was accurate there based on emails exchanged with the birthfather and his eventual cooperation with the adoption attorney we hired in Florida to facilitate the adoption). We cheered for her, ached for her, prayed for her.
When she chose us, our profile was pulled from the LDS Family Services website. But a week later I called our caseworker and told him I wanted it back up. The wait was too long. We had already been through multiple failed adoptions where we communicated and built a relationship for 4-5+ months before the expectant mom changed her mind and we were looking at 7 months before the baby was due with this one and I couldn't stomach the thought of missing out on potential opportunities when this one might not work out. He agreed and our profile was live again in mid-September. Thank goodness for that inspiration or Tabby (Rose's birthmom) wouldn't have found us.
The baby was scheduled for a c-section. We had bought our plane tickets to fly across the country already. Both this expectant mom and Tabby knew about each other and that the babies would be only 2 months apart and both were really excited about that and expressed how amazing it would be for them to having siblings so close together. This expectant mom joined a Facebook adoption support group that I am a part of and posted often, including this post that I screen grabbed on my phone the night the baby was born:
The weird thing is that when she posted the above sounding all excited and super gung-ho about the adoption (I mean, knowing it would be the hardest thing she would ever go through and all that but as gung-ho as any reasonable birthmom who has made an adoption plan might seem to be) she had already texted me telling me maybe it was best for us to wait and NOT come out (less than 8 hours before our flight was supposed to leave had we changed our tickets to get there the next day) and when she had already told the caseworker that she was thinking about not going through with the adoption. I mean, I get it. She changed her mind. It happened. That is totally understandable and her choice and everything. But it still hurts and it doesn't feel right. It feels awful.
It is so hard to know how to explain what I am feeling. Before I even throw out words, I have to say that what I am feeling is NOT about her. The anger I feel isn't directed at her. She had every right - EVERY right - to choose to parent the baby boy she created and I don't begrudge her that choice. But I do feel anger. Anger about the situation. About the futility and unfairness and lack of control or power or efficacy any of us (not just me and Paul but any couple dealing with infertility but particularly adoption) have. Anger about being chosen FIVE times in a row and spending literally hundreds of hours emailing and texting and supporting and praying and agonizing over the confused and conflicted young women who had told us using every word of surety and promise and conviction that they were going to be the ones to go through with it and place a baby with our family (again, not blaming them, not really. I'm so, so, so sorry if it sounds like it. In ways, I am grateful and even honored to have been able to have helped so many women going through the hardest times of their lives in such a unique way. I'm not even being sarcastic, although I may be gritting my teeth a little bit because it somehow feels like I am flagellating myself by saying that.)
Adoption really isn't so unlike pregnancy in a lot of ways because during these years there has been weight gain, sleepless nights, sickness, stress, etc. that all correlated with each adoption scenario we were dealing with. Not to mention thousands of dollars spent covering adoption expenses for the failed adoptions (thank goodness Paul found a tax exemption for failed adoptions that has allowed us to recoup at least some of those costs this year).
Ugh. Anyway, I feel like I have only written a quarter of what was in my head when I started out writing this and I feel like I have already written four times more than what I should have written. And maybe I shouldn't have written anything.
We are so unbelievably thankful and blessed to have our two girls. We don't mean to sound ungrateful for the adoption that DID just happen for us with Rose by complaining about this adoption that just DIDN'T happen for us with this baby boy. We had been asked prior to ever being in a situation where two birthmoms had chosen us at the same time what we would do if that happened and we never had an answer. A part of me (a HUGE part) felt extremely guilty about saying yes to both Tabby and the other expectant mom because I thought about all the couples still waiting for a baby and I felt like it was insanely selfish of us to try for two babies at once. In our defense, I will say that we always tried to be prayerful about the decisions we made with how to proceed. So we are a little sad right now. But we will be okay and having Baby Rose in our home fills us with so much joy (and keeps us so busy!) that we know the dark little cloud this most recent (and possibly last ever) adoption failure has brought.
As for future family planning - we just don't know what we will do. Maybe we will be done with our two girls. Maybe in a few years we will be healed from the past couple brutal years of failed adoptions and want to try again. In all honesty, we would love to have a boy - Paul especially. But we also feel very complete with Clara and Rose and are so grateful that they will have each other (how does anyone get through life without a sister?!). Maybe we will look into private adoption agencies (that isn't the same thing as a closed adoption - we love our open adoptions) or maybe we will look at international adoption (something that I have ALWAYS been interested in). Who knows.
The Job Situation:
So way back in October (on my birthday actually, over lunch at Gott's, the best burger place in the Bay Area) Paul and I had a conversation about his career. Like, how long he should stay at his current firm, what kind of experience he was getting versus what he wanted to get, and where did he ultimately want to end up. We have had this conversation every now and then over the past couple of years (doesn't everybody?) but this time felt different. Lots of lawyers make a move between their 3rd and 5th year and Paul was getting calls from recruiters multiple times a day. A couple days later he happened to take one of the calls (usually he would just brush them off because seriously, recruiters can be incessant) and connected with somebody who specialized in placing associates with commercial real estate practices (Paul's specialty). Long story short, he interviewed with a couple of firms in Palo Alto around November/December but the positions weren't what he was looking for. Then in late January a position opened up at a firm in San Francisco that is THE real estate firm in California. Like, the top firm in that practice for 10 years running. It isn't the hugest firm in the nation (fine by us) but they do just what Paul wants to do and are really well respected and basically it was too perfect. It was a firm Paul had always thought in the back of his mind that would like to end up at.
He applied and that very day got a call back that they liked his resume and were interested in interviewing him. He liked the people he met in his first round of interviews and felt like it went really well and the follow-up emails seemed promising. Not long after that they called to say that they were interested in doing a second round of interviews and set up a schedule for Paul to meet with 14 of their attorneys in the SF office. That's a lot of manpower to dedicate to a potential candidate so it really felt like Paul had a good shot at this job. Then just a couple of days before his second round interviews (on Valentine's Day to be precise), the HR person who had arranged everything called to let Paul know that there was an attorney already with the firm who was in another office who had filled the position so Paul's interviews had been cancelled. We were bummed. We had already started brainstorming and making plans since the new job would involve a longer commute and/or moving, among other factors. And we felt like Paul had been doing the job search process since October and it was so slow and a little discouraging. The news put a little damper on our Valentine's Day to tell the truth, even though they told Paul that he had been really highly thought of and they would keep him in mind for future positions if any opened up.
But not even a week later, Paul got a call from his recruiter to say that one of the associates at the firm had given her notice and they wanted to know if Paul could still go in for the full round of interviews. The interviews must have gone well because Paul got the offer a few days later. He is excited about the new opportunity and what it will mean for his career and he starts the new job at the beginning of April. Which means....
The Housing Situation:
We are going to be putting our house up for sale and moving. The commute into SF from where we currently live is less than ideal. It will be around 1 1/2 hours each way most days, maybe more if there is bad traffic. And that just isn't sustainable for us. So we are thinking that we will move to the East Bay - maybe around Walnut Creek where there is a BART station (Bay Area Rapid Transit) which would take him to work and drop him off right in front of his office and be a 35 minute commute where he never has to deal with traffic or driving himself (although he will have to deal with some of the crazies who ride BART and any possible strikes, which seem to happen too frequently). We might consider other areas too though like Dublin or Concord, which also have BART stations although the ride would be a little bit longer.
In the meantime, we have met with a realtor about getting our house ready to sell. It will be sad to leave behind this great place after all the work we put into it and all the memories we have here. It will be even harder to leave behind the friends we have made and the ward that we are a part of because they have been such a support and such a big part of our lives. It's not like we are moving forever away - Dublin is about 35-40 minutes away and Walnut Creek is about an hour and fifteen minutes or so - but still...
Soooooo, I think that pretty much brings everybody up to speed on all the craziness that we have been dealing with for a while now. It has been nuts. We feel like we have been spinning like tops and are probably going to keep spinning while Paul is transitioning jobs and we are figuring out our housing situation. We are thinking that we might just rent for a while since we don't know the area in the East Bay as well and we don't know that we want to commit to a house until we get a feel for where the best place will be for us. But we are excited for what the future holds!
Friday, January 10, 2014
First Date Night of 2014
One of my New Year's Resolutions is for us to go on dates at least twice a month. I tried to schedule a date night swap with our friends for this past Tuesday/Wednesday but it didn't work out because they had other obligations. But I REALLY wanted a date night, so I guess I resorted to drastic measures.
As I was chopping cilantro for the chicken flautas that I was making for dinner, I accidentally sliced into my thumb. It all happened so fast that I didn't register the pain at first. I have knicked myself and even sliced a little bit here and there over the years, but this... well, I pretty much went about 3/4 of the way through my thumb a little less than an inch from the tip. It was gruesome.
Clara was watching "The Little Mermaid" and I didn't scream or cry out or anything. I just quickly doused it under cold water to rinse off the first welling of blood, then realized just the extent of what I had done and grabbed a clean white dish towel from the drawer and laid down on the kitchen floor trying to draw deep breaths and keep it together so I wouldn't pass out. Because I have totally passed out from blood, needles, and pain in the past. I don't swoon or anything - it isn't romantic by any stretch of the imagination. I am more of the eyes-roll-back-in-the-head-and-I-topple variety of fainter. It's kind of one of those embarrassing things about myself that I don't usually share.
Thank goodness for cell phones because I had mine on the kitchen floor there with me and I called Paul while I lay there feeling beads of sweat form and drip from my forehead and down my neck (part of the whole passing out thing for me) and clutching my cloth-covered hand like the little chunk of semi-detached thumb on the top was going to drop off, hoping he was already on his way home from work. When he answered I sort of stammered out what I had done but must not have been very coherent because he asked me to elaborate at which point I lost my temper and sort of bellowed at him to stop asking me questions and just come home. Then I called my friend Christine who lives around and the corner (and with whom we normally do our date night swap), praying she would answer. She did and she rushed over with her two kids in tow and loaded Clara into her car then gathered my wallet, purse, and shoes for me since I pretty much just stayed put on the kitchen floor pretending I was somewhere else and that I hadn't just done what I had just done.
Christine made me feel better by telling me on the drive to the hospital that she had gone to the emergency room just a month before because of a bad splinter. This was my first trip to an ER, ever, and I was pretty anxious, but I told her to just drop me off at the entrance and then take the kids home because nobody had had dinner and Clara had a bad cold and besides, I didn't want anybody there with me anyway. And I knew it wasn't the most convenient timing for her anyway since her husband had things going on that night with work and church responsibilities that had made it so date night was a no-go for the week.
Sure enough, as soon as I walked up to the intake desk and had to remove my dishtowel from my thumb to show them what I had done, I lost it and started wailing. It was SO embarrassing and I am so glad Clara didn't get to see it or she would have been traumatized for sure. I don't know if it really looked terrible (I couldn't bring myself to look at it) or if I was just freaking out the other people in the waiting room because they took me right back and checked me in without having me sign anything. Very impressive service with zero wait time. Way to go Kaiser Permanente Hospital. The guy who helped me (I don't know if he was a nurse or a doctor or what) tried to put the dishtowel back over my thumb for me and I snapped and sobbed at him "DON'T TOUCH IT!!!" like some sort of hideous swamp creature. He actually laughed.
I would like to point out that I am THE WORST patient in the entire world.
Anyway, after that I shut my eyes tight and didn't open them again until an hour later when everything was over. They told me that they were going to have to clean out the wound and I went ballistic when they sprayed a tiny bit of saline solution in it. So then somebody (not sure who was really involved at this point because eyes were closed - there was a girl and a guy and at least the girl was a doctor for sure, maybe the guy too) had the brilliant idea to go ahead and numb my thumb BEFORE cleaning it since they were going to have to numb it later anyway for stitches or whatever. I don't know why numbing or knocking somebody out isn't the first thing on ER protocol because it only makes sense to me.
I knew that numbing my thumb would require a painful shot and I was full-on hyperventilating and full-body shaking when they came in to do it. Fortunately, the shot went into the fleshy mound of my palm at the base of my thumb rather than into the thumb pad itself (which I had been worrying about). I was told it would take 15 minutes for my thumb to lose all sensation, which turned out to be pretty accurate because they went back to work on it around 7 1/2 minutes (they told me how long it had been) and I started sobbing uncontrollably all over again (versus the pathetic keening I had settled into) because I could still feel them lifting open the wound to squirt saline solution into it. They decided it would be better to wait the full 15 minutes before working on it any more.
Paul showed up after I had been there for about half an hour and came in and tried to stroke my hair. I kept my eyes closed but barked at him not to touch me (seriously, I mentioned I am the worst patient ever, right?). He chuckled and stood off to the side while everything was finished up and at one point I thought to mention that he should take some pictures on his camera. Because of course I would need photos. He laughed and said that he was already doing it and I just hadn't noticed because my eyes were screwed shut still.
The doctor(s) decided that the wound could be closed with superglue stitches or whatever that stuff is so that they didn't have to use traditional stitches which I would have to go back for to have removed. So once everything was irrigated they sealed it up and Paul and I had about 20 or 30 minutes to just sit there while the glue dried and chat. Paul texted Christine to let her know the update and she said that Clara was eating dinner and Johannes didn't end up having to go to the meeting that had originally made date night impossible so we should take our time and stop and get ice cream on the way home or something. So when everything was finished we stopped by In-N-Out for burgers and fries (I was craving salt like crazy - is that a symptom of shock or something?).
All in all, we had dinner, conversation, time alone with each other, and sort of an activity/entertainment. We laughed, we cried, we went home. So I guess the first date night of 2014 was a success.
As I was chopping cilantro for the chicken flautas that I was making for dinner, I accidentally sliced into my thumb. It all happened so fast that I didn't register the pain at first. I have knicked myself and even sliced a little bit here and there over the years, but this... well, I pretty much went about 3/4 of the way through my thumb a little less than an inch from the tip. It was gruesome.
Clara was watching "The Little Mermaid" and I didn't scream or cry out or anything. I just quickly doused it under cold water to rinse off the first welling of blood, then realized just the extent of what I had done and grabbed a clean white dish towel from the drawer and laid down on the kitchen floor trying to draw deep breaths and keep it together so I wouldn't pass out. Because I have totally passed out from blood, needles, and pain in the past. I don't swoon or anything - it isn't romantic by any stretch of the imagination. I am more of the eyes-roll-back-in-the-head-and-I-topple variety of fainter. It's kind of one of those embarrassing things about myself that I don't usually share.
Thank goodness for cell phones because I had mine on the kitchen floor there with me and I called Paul while I lay there feeling beads of sweat form and drip from my forehead and down my neck (part of the whole passing out thing for me) and clutching my cloth-covered hand like the little chunk of semi-detached thumb on the top was going to drop off, hoping he was already on his way home from work. When he answered I sort of stammered out what I had done but must not have been very coherent because he asked me to elaborate at which point I lost my temper and sort of bellowed at him to stop asking me questions and just come home. Then I called my friend Christine who lives around and the corner (and with whom we normally do our date night swap), praying she would answer. She did and she rushed over with her two kids in tow and loaded Clara into her car then gathered my wallet, purse, and shoes for me since I pretty much just stayed put on the kitchen floor pretending I was somewhere else and that I hadn't just done what I had just done.
Christine made me feel better by telling me on the drive to the hospital that she had gone to the emergency room just a month before because of a bad splinter. This was my first trip to an ER, ever, and I was pretty anxious, but I told her to just drop me off at the entrance and then take the kids home because nobody had had dinner and Clara had a bad cold and besides, I didn't want anybody there with me anyway. And I knew it wasn't the most convenient timing for her anyway since her husband had things going on that night with work and church responsibilities that had made it so date night was a no-go for the week.
Sure enough, as soon as I walked up to the intake desk and had to remove my dishtowel from my thumb to show them what I had done, I lost it and started wailing. It was SO embarrassing and I am so glad Clara didn't get to see it or she would have been traumatized for sure. I don't know if it really looked terrible (I couldn't bring myself to look at it) or if I was just freaking out the other people in the waiting room because they took me right back and checked me in without having me sign anything. Very impressive service with zero wait time. Way to go Kaiser Permanente Hospital. The guy who helped me (I don't know if he was a nurse or a doctor or what) tried to put the dishtowel back over my thumb for me and I snapped and sobbed at him "DON'T TOUCH IT!!!" like some sort of hideous swamp creature. He actually laughed.
I would like to point out that I am THE WORST patient in the entire world.
Anyway, after that I shut my eyes tight and didn't open them again until an hour later when everything was over. They told me that they were going to have to clean out the wound and I went ballistic when they sprayed a tiny bit of saline solution in it. So then somebody (not sure who was really involved at this point because eyes were closed - there was a girl and a guy and at least the girl was a doctor for sure, maybe the guy too) had the brilliant idea to go ahead and numb my thumb BEFORE cleaning it since they were going to have to numb it later anyway for stitches or whatever. I don't know why numbing or knocking somebody out isn't the first thing on ER protocol because it only makes sense to me.
I knew that numbing my thumb would require a painful shot and I was full-on hyperventilating and full-body shaking when they came in to do it. Fortunately, the shot went into the fleshy mound of my palm at the base of my thumb rather than into the thumb pad itself (which I had been worrying about). I was told it would take 15 minutes for my thumb to lose all sensation, which turned out to be pretty accurate because they went back to work on it around 7 1/2 minutes (they told me how long it had been) and I started sobbing uncontrollably all over again (versus the pathetic keening I had settled into) because I could still feel them lifting open the wound to squirt saline solution into it. They decided it would be better to wait the full 15 minutes before working on it any more.
Paul showed up after I had been there for about half an hour and came in and tried to stroke my hair. I kept my eyes closed but barked at him not to touch me (seriously, I mentioned I am the worst patient ever, right?). He chuckled and stood off to the side while everything was finished up and at one point I thought to mention that he should take some pictures on his camera. Because of course I would need photos. He laughed and said that he was already doing it and I just hadn't noticed because my eyes were screwed shut still.
The doctor(s) decided that the wound could be closed with superglue stitches or whatever that stuff is so that they didn't have to use traditional stitches which I would have to go back for to have removed. So once everything was irrigated they sealed it up and Paul and I had about 20 or 30 minutes to just sit there while the glue dried and chat. Paul texted Christine to let her know the update and she said that Clara was eating dinner and Johannes didn't end up having to go to the meeting that had originally made date night impossible so we should take our time and stop and get ice cream on the way home or something. So when everything was finished we stopped by In-N-Out for burgers and fries (I was craving salt like crazy - is that a symptom of shock or something?).
All in all, we had dinner, conversation, time alone with each other, and sort of an activity/entertainment. We laughed, we cried, we went home. So I guess the first date night of 2014 was a success.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Heavy Hearts
Where to begin...
A few canny friends called me out via email or FB message after my most recent post about our quick trip to D.C. and Virginia and wanted to know whether we were "secretly" meeting with a birthmom. This past August we received an email from an 18-year old girl in Virginia who I will refer to as "D", letting us know that she and her 17-year old boyfriend were trying to decide what to do because she was pregnant and due in January. She was LDS, he wasn't; they had been banned from seeing each other and were secretly meeting at McDonald's to go through couple profiles on itsaboutlove.org; they had each made lists of their top favorite couples and we were one of three that they had narrowed it down to.
To make a very, very long story short (since I don't have it in my to write it all out), we emailed for more than two months before she made her decision and told us that she had officially chosen us to be the parents of the little girl she was expecting. That was on October 24th.
During the months of waiting and worrying and wondering about every email and every delayed response from D leading up to that decision, Paul and I had struggled with our feelings having gone through such a difficult failed placement back at the end of June/early July. We were guarding our hearts with as much strength as we could muster while still trying hard to be open and loving and honest with D. But after she made her decision and told her caseworker she was excited for us to come visit and meet her in person, we couldn't help but find ourselves growing more and more invested and hopeful and excited each day about the idea of a new baby girl in our home and a sister for Clara in January.
Our visit went well. Not perfect since there were some ups and downs with the birthfather and D at our first meeting and D's mom decided she wasn't up to meeting us, but overall as good as we pretty much could have expected. We think that was thanks to a solid and trusting relationship that was in place between us and D from the months of emails and texts we had exchanged and we loved finally seeing her in person over a couple of days.
There had been some complications with the pregnancy so even though D isn't due for 5 more weeks, we have been anticipating getting a text that the baby was on its way any day for the last 2 weeks actually. We've fretted and worried over D's pregnancy and celebrated each day that D was able to carry the baby longer because we knew it would help her to stay put as long as possible and we knew that it would be so difficult to have a preemie. Then last night, instead of getting the text we had been expecting, we got an email from D saying that she had changed her mind and decided that she would let her parents raise her baby. We knew that her mother wasn't ever totally (if at all) on board with an adoption plan and early on in our communication D had told us that the idea presented to her by her parents was to let them raise the baby as their 9th child (D has 7 siblings) and they would keep her true parentage as a family secret until she was older. I am so sad for D and for the baby about what will likely be and what could have been instead. It is a heartbreaking end for us when we felt so near to being parents again.
We don't have bitter or angry feelings toward D. We truly love her and wish her the best despite our sadness and the ache and confusion that comes from this kind of loss for us. It is our second time this year going through such a miserable outcome and we are very much looking forward to putting 2012 behind us and moving forward.
If anyone has wondered why we haven't mentioned adoption basically at all during the second half of this year, this is why. We still very much would like to have another daughter or son and if anyone is visiting relatives this Christmas season and hears of a cousin or niece or family friend or anyone who is unwed and pregnant, will you please consider mentioning us and passing along our contact information? Our profile (which was actually pulled from the itsaboutlove website when D made her firm decision) should be live again by Monday and I hope to update it in the next week or two (depending on how hectic it is getting ready to head to Utah for Christmas). And thank you, thank you, thank you to everybody who has offered prayers on our behalf - it has meant so much to us and has given us strength during this difficult time.
A few canny friends called me out via email or FB message after my most recent post about our quick trip to D.C. and Virginia and wanted to know whether we were "secretly" meeting with a birthmom. This past August we received an email from an 18-year old girl in Virginia who I will refer to as "D", letting us know that she and her 17-year old boyfriend were trying to decide what to do because she was pregnant and due in January. She was LDS, he wasn't; they had been banned from seeing each other and were secretly meeting at McDonald's to go through couple profiles on itsaboutlove.org; they had each made lists of their top favorite couples and we were one of three that they had narrowed it down to.
To make a very, very long story short (since I don't have it in my to write it all out), we emailed for more than two months before she made her decision and told us that she had officially chosen us to be the parents of the little girl she was expecting. That was on October 24th.
During the months of waiting and worrying and wondering about every email and every delayed response from D leading up to that decision, Paul and I had struggled with our feelings having gone through such a difficult failed placement back at the end of June/early July. We were guarding our hearts with as much strength as we could muster while still trying hard to be open and loving and honest with D. But after she made her decision and told her caseworker she was excited for us to come visit and meet her in person, we couldn't help but find ourselves growing more and more invested and hopeful and excited each day about the idea of a new baby girl in our home and a sister for Clara in January.
Our visit went well. Not perfect since there were some ups and downs with the birthfather and D at our first meeting and D's mom decided she wasn't up to meeting us, but overall as good as we pretty much could have expected. We think that was thanks to a solid and trusting relationship that was in place between us and D from the months of emails and texts we had exchanged and we loved finally seeing her in person over a couple of days.
There had been some complications with the pregnancy so even though D isn't due for 5 more weeks, we have been anticipating getting a text that the baby was on its way any day for the last 2 weeks actually. We've fretted and worried over D's pregnancy and celebrated each day that D was able to carry the baby longer because we knew it would help her to stay put as long as possible and we knew that it would be so difficult to have a preemie. Then last night, instead of getting the text we had been expecting, we got an email from D saying that she had changed her mind and decided that she would let her parents raise her baby. We knew that her mother wasn't ever totally (if at all) on board with an adoption plan and early on in our communication D had told us that the idea presented to her by her parents was to let them raise the baby as their 9th child (D has 7 siblings) and they would keep her true parentage as a family secret until she was older. I am so sad for D and for the baby about what will likely be and what could have been instead. It is a heartbreaking end for us when we felt so near to being parents again.
We don't have bitter or angry feelings toward D. We truly love her and wish her the best despite our sadness and the ache and confusion that comes from this kind of loss for us. It is our second time this year going through such a miserable outcome and we are very much looking forward to putting 2012 behind us and moving forward.
If anyone has wondered why we haven't mentioned adoption basically at all during the second half of this year, this is why. We still very much would like to have another daughter or son and if anyone is visiting relatives this Christmas season and hears of a cousin or niece or family friend or anyone who is unwed and pregnant, will you please consider mentioning us and passing along our contact information? Our profile (which was actually pulled from the itsaboutlove website when D made her firm decision) should be live again by Monday and I hope to update it in the next week or two (depending on how hectic it is getting ready to head to Utah for Christmas). And thank you, thank you, thank you to everybody who has offered prayers on our behalf - it has meant so much to us and has given us strength during this difficult time.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Status Update
There have been so many concerned friends and family members and ward members and even blog readers who have asked us how we are doing since the adoption fell through, and many many more who likely have not asked because they know we are probably being asked that a lot. And I feel like after a couple of heavy-hitting emotional posts after everything went kersplat I have retreated to fluffy little happy posts about bike rides and hikes and goals. Everybody's okay with that, right?
But seriously, it is kind of a difficult question to answer without a lot of complicated analysis these days. The short answer is that we are doing okay.
The longer answer is that Paul and I feel like we are much stronger and closer to each other and to our Heavenly Father after having gone through what we went through. Evenings after Paul gets home from work somehow seem more purposeful, although I don't know why that should be or what that even really means. We are trying to grab hold of this summer and squeeze it for everything its worth - not just with bigger things like hikes or trips to Disneyland, but with the tiny important things like the way it feels to coast down a bumpy sidewalk in the evening while the daylight is long and warm and sprinklers are whirring in our neighbors' yards or by savoring freshly made guacamole with warm homemade tortilla chips.
One thing I have learned about myself is that I have a really hard time accepting condolences or even sympathy. I'm not a huge hugger to start out with, but I am more of a hugger when I am feeling strong and confident. If you hug me in a moment of weakness (or even when I am coming back from a difficult place) I will most likely either go ramrod straight (please don't be offended, it is just a weird reflex) or start to get all weepy on you and turn to mush. Either way, I will probably make an awkward attempt to change the conversation (which totally happened in church this Sunday and was super confusing for me because I know that I have honestly been doing so much better with all this). It's like, when I am hurting I don't want people to be too nice to me. But it doesn't mean I don't want to be hugged, it just means that I am bad at being the recipient of a hug. Which makes me feel a little messed up.
But that said, we are doing better. We have felt the many, many prayers offered on our behalfs and attribute much of the recovery and strength we have felt to that. Many of you have sent the most comforting emails or messages that have been a boon to our troubled hearts, and if I haven't responded please forgive me. I have been trying but sometimes I just don't know what to write back but that doesn't mean what you said didn't help immensely. Paul has been really busy at work and I have been busy at home. Clara is showing us all sorts of new things every day. Today it was saying "fall" and "grandma" and opening the dressing room door by reaching up to the handle and yanking down when I was in the middle of changing clothes. Yep, she totally did that - embarassment! Yesterday it was lugging a heavy new bottle of conditioner out of the bathroom and down the hallway while I was in the other room and then dropping it so that the lid popped off and conditioner belched out onto the hardwood floors.
We aren't just keeping busy. We are living. We are happy. We are still sad at times and we don't always like to talk about the little boy that was almost ours but we are strong. We have lots of support. We have prayer and a Heavenly Father who loves us and has comforted us. We have each other. And we still have hope. I didn't know if I would feel that again so soon, but the darkest clouds have cleared and peeking through are rays of hopefulness.
Anyway, to end on a little more lighthearted note, here are some pictures I took of Clara today after she let me french braid her hair while she ate her breakfast of peaches, buttered toast and yogurt.
But seriously, it is kind of a difficult question to answer without a lot of complicated analysis these days. The short answer is that we are doing okay.
The longer answer is that Paul and I feel like we are much stronger and closer to each other and to our Heavenly Father after having gone through what we went through. Evenings after Paul gets home from work somehow seem more purposeful, although I don't know why that should be or what that even really means. We are trying to grab hold of this summer and squeeze it for everything its worth - not just with bigger things like hikes or trips to Disneyland, but with the tiny important things like the way it feels to coast down a bumpy sidewalk in the evening while the daylight is long and warm and sprinklers are whirring in our neighbors' yards or by savoring freshly made guacamole with warm homemade tortilla chips.
One thing I have learned about myself is that I have a really hard time accepting condolences or even sympathy. I'm not a huge hugger to start out with, but I am more of a hugger when I am feeling strong and confident. If you hug me in a moment of weakness (or even when I am coming back from a difficult place) I will most likely either go ramrod straight (please don't be offended, it is just a weird reflex) or start to get all weepy on you and turn to mush. Either way, I will probably make an awkward attempt to change the conversation (which totally happened in church this Sunday and was super confusing for me because I know that I have honestly been doing so much better with all this). It's like, when I am hurting I don't want people to be too nice to me. But it doesn't mean I don't want to be hugged, it just means that I am bad at being the recipient of a hug. Which makes me feel a little messed up.
But that said, we are doing better. We have felt the many, many prayers offered on our behalfs and attribute much of the recovery and strength we have felt to that. Many of you have sent the most comforting emails or messages that have been a boon to our troubled hearts, and if I haven't responded please forgive me. I have been trying but sometimes I just don't know what to write back but that doesn't mean what you said didn't help immensely. Paul has been really busy at work and I have been busy at home. Clara is showing us all sorts of new things every day. Today it was saying "fall" and "grandma" and opening the dressing room door by reaching up to the handle and yanking down when I was in the middle of changing clothes. Yep, she totally did that - embarassment! Yesterday it was lugging a heavy new bottle of conditioner out of the bathroom and down the hallway while I was in the other room and then dropping it so that the lid popped off and conditioner belched out onto the hardwood floors.
We aren't just keeping busy. We are living. We are happy. We are still sad at times and we don't always like to talk about the little boy that was almost ours but we are strong. We have lots of support. We have prayer and a Heavenly Father who loves us and has comforted us. We have each other. And we still have hope. I didn't know if I would feel that again so soon, but the darkest clouds have cleared and peeking through are rays of hopefulness.
Anyway, to end on a little more lighthearted note, here are some pictures I took of Clara today after she let me french braid her hair while she ate her breakfast of peaches, buttered toast and yogurt.
Friday, July 6, 2012
What it's like to be Prometheus...
I once wrote a post on our adoption blog about what it is like to be waiting to adopt your first child. I woke up yesterday morning feeling desolate and thinking of my high school Greek mythology class and decided I should write a post about what it's like going through a failed adoption. As a disclaimer, there are many, many versions of how an adoption falls apart and so this post is very specific to our failed adoption which happened after the baby was born and we had held him, named him, introduced him to our daughter, taken family pictures and introduced him in person to almost our entire families as well as on Facebook, and loved him as our own for four days.
In Greek mythology, there was an immortal named Prometheus. He was a Titan and he is regarded for his intelligence and as a champion of mankind after he stole fire for them. In the western tradition, Prometheus represents human striving and the risk of overreaching or unintended consequences. During the Romantic Era, Prometheus was regarded as the "lone genius whose efforts to improve human existence could also result in tragedy." (Note: I am supplementing my recollection of my Greek mythology class by resorting to Wikipedia. Not very scholarly of me, I know, but I wanted to tell the story of Prometheus with at least some degree of detail that my brain just won't conjure up for me at the moment.)
Zeus punished Prometheus with an eternal torment for stealing fire and giving it to mankind: he chained Prometheus to a rock and sent an eagle every day to feed on his liver. Because Prometheus was immortal, his liver grew back every night and the next day he suffered the same fate of having his liver eaten again.
I feel like Prometheus. I feel like perhaps I overreached in thinking that this little boy could be my son. That the idea of an infertile woman like myself having a big family (as if my dream of four children is all that big) was too much to want or hope for. We felt like our efforts to adopt this baby boy would improve his life, our lives, and even his birthmom's life (even though we knew it would cost her so much to place him - we aren't insensitive to the sacrifice and pain it takes on a birthmom's part to go through placement).
In my mind, the eagle from the Prometheus myth is infertility and she swoops in to pluck out my liver (or my heart rather) more often than you would think possible for someone who has known since she was 15 that she would never be able to get pregnant. It happened at lunch at Cafe Rio when I literally felt trapped by pregnant women or women carrying carseats with infants all around me - it was a dizzying, sickening experience and I don't know how anyone lives in Utah and gets through a failed adoption with any degree of sanity because of the overwhelming abundance of fruitful wombs.
I thought I could handle a quick in-and-out at Gymboree to return the things I had bought for the baby so that I didn't have to pack them in my suitcase and unpack them again in California and go through the pain of returning them there. But when the salesclerk started asking the standard questions of "was the item too small? was there anything wrong with the item?" I found myself literally doubled over in the middle of the store bawling out the whole story of the failed adoption in an incomprehensible gush of nonsense words and snot while my mom tried to let the poor clerk know she hadn't said or done anything wrong.
The cursed infertility eagle visited me again at the splash park when I thanked my sister for being there for me this past weekend and being excited for us when we thought this baby boy was going to be our son. She said multiple times while things were looking so sure and solid that she was "jealous" of me and as I hugged her I started feeling bad for not worrying about her feelings and my mom's feelings and my in-laws and other family members and their struggles going through this too (and their other burdens such as the Utah wildfires that forced my in-laws to evacuate their home the day before the Fourth of July). I tried to stop the tears from coming there at the splash park, but they came just the same there in the blazing hot Utah sun while the mountains burned black as my heart.
He is a week old today and I can still feel the phantom of the wristband that I wore for three days that granted me access to him in the nursery and it kills me. I can't scrub off that feeling on my left wrist in the shower no matter how hard I try.
I loathe being this volatile.
One moment I am feeling strong and can go to a movie with my sister or play with my nieces, and the next moment I feel my throat clench and I am choking back a sob. I have been trying to keep it together around Clara because I don't want to traumatize her through all of this. Our sweet girl has just been so, so wonderful this past week. She just adores her Grandma Cece (probably because she gets anything she wants like walks in her stroller way past bedtime or having grandma pull her out of her crib and read her books until I got home from a movie at 10:45 p.m.).
And it is not just me either. Paul had to go back to California and he told me that on Tuesday night there was a knock on the door and our bishopric (local church leaders) had come by unexpectedly. They hadn't heard that the birthmom had changed her mind - they were just there to talk to Paul about a new calling. Paul said that he cried the entire time he told the whole story of what had happened. I am so thankful for our church and for leaders and friends who are prompted by the spirit.
I know that we will heal eventually. I feel comforted so much of the day - the majority of the time right now, actually, and I feel very close to my Heavenly Father. I even actually feel the healing occurring in some ways and getting home to California has been the biggest relief. Reading everyone's comments and feeling the indignation and even outrage on our behalf was a balm to my soul.
Paul and I worried about being self-pitying until we realized that what we are feeling is not self-pity - it is grief. And it is okay to feel grief - lots of people grieve and get on with everything else in life.
Paul and I have a recovery plan though. It involves temple attendance, a trip to Disneyland for Clara, family walks in the warm July evenings, and farmer's market apricots. It involves miles on the treadmill for me and maybe even a commitment to do a race in the not-too-distant future. It involves hikes in the mountains for Paul. Our recovery plan includes recognizing situations where we know we will hurt and preparing ourselves mentally and emotionally beforehand or avoiding them altogether if we have to (I am thinking friends' baby showers are off-limits for me for a little bit).
It also involves stepping back from our adoption plans and waiting for just a bit - maybe one month, maybe more - until we feel like we wouldn't totally lose it if a new birthmom contacted us. It involves editing the previous post (or creating a new version of it and unpublishing the original) and hopefully taking this blog public again.
Prometheus was eventually freed from his torment. I know that we will be too.
In Greek mythology, there was an immortal named Prometheus. He was a Titan and he is regarded for his intelligence and as a champion of mankind after he stole fire for them. In the western tradition, Prometheus represents human striving and the risk of overreaching or unintended consequences. During the Romantic Era, Prometheus was regarded as the "lone genius whose efforts to improve human existence could also result in tragedy." (Note: I am supplementing my recollection of my Greek mythology class by resorting to Wikipedia. Not very scholarly of me, I know, but I wanted to tell the story of Prometheus with at least some degree of detail that my brain just won't conjure up for me at the moment.)
Zeus punished Prometheus with an eternal torment for stealing fire and giving it to mankind: he chained Prometheus to a rock and sent an eagle every day to feed on his liver. Because Prometheus was immortal, his liver grew back every night and the next day he suffered the same fate of having his liver eaten again.
I feel like Prometheus. I feel like perhaps I overreached in thinking that this little boy could be my son. That the idea of an infertile woman like myself having a big family (as if my dream of four children is all that big) was too much to want or hope for. We felt like our efforts to adopt this baby boy would improve his life, our lives, and even his birthmom's life (even though we knew it would cost her so much to place him - we aren't insensitive to the sacrifice and pain it takes on a birthmom's part to go through placement).
In my mind, the eagle from the Prometheus myth is infertility and she swoops in to pluck out my liver (or my heart rather) more often than you would think possible for someone who has known since she was 15 that she would never be able to get pregnant. It happened at lunch at Cafe Rio when I literally felt trapped by pregnant women or women carrying carseats with infants all around me - it was a dizzying, sickening experience and I don't know how anyone lives in Utah and gets through a failed adoption with any degree of sanity because of the overwhelming abundance of fruitful wombs.
I thought I could handle a quick in-and-out at Gymboree to return the things I had bought for the baby so that I didn't have to pack them in my suitcase and unpack them again in California and go through the pain of returning them there. But when the salesclerk started asking the standard questions of "was the item too small? was there anything wrong with the item?" I found myself literally doubled over in the middle of the store bawling out the whole story of the failed adoption in an incomprehensible gush of nonsense words and snot while my mom tried to let the poor clerk know she hadn't said or done anything wrong.
The cursed infertility eagle visited me again at the splash park when I thanked my sister for being there for me this past weekend and being excited for us when we thought this baby boy was going to be our son. She said multiple times while things were looking so sure and solid that she was "jealous" of me and as I hugged her I started feeling bad for not worrying about her feelings and my mom's feelings and my in-laws and other family members and their struggles going through this too (and their other burdens such as the Utah wildfires that forced my in-laws to evacuate their home the day before the Fourth of July). I tried to stop the tears from coming there at the splash park, but they came just the same there in the blazing hot Utah sun while the mountains burned black as my heart.
He is a week old today and I can still feel the phantom of the wristband that I wore for three days that granted me access to him in the nursery and it kills me. I can't scrub off that feeling on my left wrist in the shower no matter how hard I try.
I loathe being this volatile.
One moment I am feeling strong and can go to a movie with my sister or play with my nieces, and the next moment I feel my throat clench and I am choking back a sob. I have been trying to keep it together around Clara because I don't want to traumatize her through all of this. Our sweet girl has just been so, so wonderful this past week. She just adores her Grandma Cece (probably because she gets anything she wants like walks in her stroller way past bedtime or having grandma pull her out of her crib and read her books until I got home from a movie at 10:45 p.m.).
And it is not just me either. Paul had to go back to California and he told me that on Tuesday night there was a knock on the door and our bishopric (local church leaders) had come by unexpectedly. They hadn't heard that the birthmom had changed her mind - they were just there to talk to Paul about a new calling. Paul said that he cried the entire time he told the whole story of what had happened. I am so thankful for our church and for leaders and friends who are prompted by the spirit.
I know that we will heal eventually. I feel comforted so much of the day - the majority of the time right now, actually, and I feel very close to my Heavenly Father. I even actually feel the healing occurring in some ways and getting home to California has been the biggest relief. Reading everyone's comments and feeling the indignation and even outrage on our behalf was a balm to my soul.
Paul and I worried about being self-pitying until we realized that what we are feeling is not self-pity - it is grief. And it is okay to feel grief - lots of people grieve and get on with everything else in life.
Paul and I have a recovery plan though. It involves temple attendance, a trip to Disneyland for Clara, family walks in the warm July evenings, and farmer's market apricots. It involves miles on the treadmill for me and maybe even a commitment to do a race in the not-too-distant future. It involves hikes in the mountains for Paul. Our recovery plan includes recognizing situations where we know we will hurt and preparing ourselves mentally and emotionally beforehand or avoiding them altogether if we have to (I am thinking friends' baby showers are off-limits for me for a little bit).
It also involves stepping back from our adoption plans and waiting for just a bit - maybe one month, maybe more - until we feel like we wouldn't totally lose it if a new birthmom contacted us. It involves editing the previous post (or creating a new version of it and unpublishing the original) and hopefully taking this blog public again.
Prometheus was eventually freed from his torment. I know that we will be too.
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