Eight Years, Four Years, One Year

Oh July, bringer of hot, lazy days and summer adventures, but with heat comes the danger of being scalded,, seared, or simply consumed in the fire so that nothing is left.

Eight years ago this week, I waited awkwardly in a shopping mall entrance to meet a man for dinner. Shortly after this, I spent a weekend with my mother at our family cottage, and during a canoe outing told her, "I might have met someone. I think I like him."

Four years later, the man from the shopping mall meeting, now my dear husband Gil, said to me, yes, let's have a child. Four years ago today, full of hope, I wrote down that it was finally Cycle Day 1, our first month trying for a child. Filled with hope, I envisioned a winter pregnancy, a spring baby. My imagined spring due date pushed forward to summer, then, autumn, then winter, then spring again.

One year ago tomorrow, I got the call from the clinic. Our cycle had failed. Our last hope. The dream was dead.

I thought that one day it would get easier, that one day I would start waking out without grief or pain. It hasn't. The sharp knife point of grief has dulled slightly, but infertility is still the air that I breath, day in and day out. It envelopes me and consumes me. It is my constant companion. I am infertility and infertility is me. I cannot imagine a life when I will not be aware in every moment that I wanted to be a mother, and I never could.

How do I keep going to face another July, and another? I don't know. I live by putting one foot in front of the other. I enjoy the good moments when they come, and I let myself grieve. I am kind to myself and try to be kind to others. I pray and worship and try to find my way in this dark valley of my faith. I look forward to months that are not July.

2016: A New Hope or The Darkness Strikes Back?

This year. I can't sum it up in words, more like guttural utterances and tears, with a few profanities strewn in. On top of our personal crises, which included the death of my beloved Sadie and several rounds of failed fertility treatments, we had a number of celebrity deaths, Brexit, the Trump campaign, hurricanes, terrorist attacks, the growing crisis in Syria, and probably a lot more than I'm forgetting. The world feels darker now. My anxiety has been ramped up considerably. My coping has been shaky at best. Despite a couple of high points such as my graduation (which was somewhat marred by my cat's death the day before) his year will go down as a bad one in my life.

On Friday, I went to do something I had really been looking forward to: a friend date to see the film Rogue One. You see, I have been a Star Wars junkie since I was quite small. I grew up enjoying the exploits of Han, Leia, and Luke. Just before meeting my friend, I learned that Carrie Fisher had suffered a heart attack, and on Tuesday her death was announced, followed by her mother's death the following day. I grieve. I was then reminded of this post from one year ago today, when I was feeling low about the year that was, and found a sliver of hope in watching Star Wars, Episode 4: A New Hope. I wrote these words, which feel ridiculously optimistic after the year that we just experienced: "So maybe it's there, somewhere, that hope. Maybe I can find it and grasp it, if even for a little while."

Looking back on 2016, it feels less like A New Hope than The Empire Strikes Back. It feels like this year was spent fighting the darkness within and without. I did a year-long study of Revelation and then an autumn study on spiritual warfare, yet I feel more helpless than ever against the darkness. I feel like I'm losing and being closed in on all sides. I have prayed and sought and prayed and sought some more, but it's hard to find God in the darkness. As we close off the year, it feels like the Emperor is in charge, Darth Vader has the upper hand, and Han Solo is frozen in carbonite. All I can do is hold on to a tiny hope that this isn't the end and that this darkness will not define the rest of my life.

However, in a dark time such as this one, I am reminded that Carrie Fisher, too, struggled with dark demons, that many people consider her a powerful spokesperson for those dealing with mental illness. So in honour of Carrie, I will raise a glass to toast the end of the year that was, and go forward hoping and praying that this year will be the one when the tide turns, when the darkness ebbs, and when I find hope again. Perhaps 2017 will be the year when I learn how to fight like Princess Leia. May it be so, and may the Force be with you.

2016: A New Hope?

2015. I don't have words to describe this year, or rather I do, but I'll spare you because they are mostly curse words.

On January 1, 2015, I wrote the following in my journal: "The word that comes to my mind for this year [2014] is loss. Loss of Bruce [my oldest friend's father who passed away in December of 2014]. Loss of my dignity. Loss (sometimes) of the confidence I had that my friends and family would be there in my hours of deepest need. Loss of hope. Loss of faith in medical science. Loss of a dream and of subsequent dreams, the idea that I could ever be a mother of more than one child, of the idea that giving up my career was the most logical thing to do. Loss of unity with my husband. Loss of control over my body and emotions. Loss of the ideal that if I tried hard enough, my dreams would come true."

When I read those words, I just want to go back to my January 2015 self and give her a hug, and say, "Oh honey, the losses will just keep on coming." The hits have been one after the other this year. I lost a dear friend in February, leaving a wound in my soul that continues to ache. We had a massive family illness in the winter, which led to a terrible misunderstanding with my father. We made up and are on good terms again, but words were said that cannot be unsaid, and it still smarts. School was hard, several friends lost their parents, friendships were tested and found wanting. Close family members came to the brink of divorce, reconciled, and I've only just learned today that they are splitting up for sure. We are still infertile, and I have lost hope that we will ever be parents. My heart hurts. It has kept hurting, this whole long year. Then as I tried to embrace the holidays and find the joy in it all, I found a dead raccoon in my yard and spent Christmas Eve shoveling it into a garbage bag to haul to the curb. It seemed somehow symbolic of the year that was. Needless to say, 2015 has been nothing like I expected.

Were there joys? Of course. I met new friends. I did well in school. I attended a close friend's wedding. There was a new Star Wars movie. We adopted Neville. We laughed and loved and lived. But it still hurts.

So, now it's almost 2016, and I am afraid. I went into the last two years thinking that things would get better, and instead they just got worse and worse and worse. To be brutally honest, I am sad every day, and I know that even the best circumstances and a fantastic career will not heal the child-shaped hole in me, but at least I would like a reprieve from really awful stuff happening. I go into this new year with trepidation, wondering "How long, o Lord?", wondering if I will make it to see 2017 without losing myself, the loving and wondering and rejoicing parts that I know are still in there somewhere.

However, after getting even more bad family news today, I decided to give myself a pass from getting anything useful accomplished, and just sit in bed this afternoon watching the original Star Wars. I realized, thinking it over, that Episode 4 is titled "A New Hope". So maybe it's there, somewhere, that hope. Maybe I can find it and grasp it, if even for a little while.

Happy New Year, friends. May joy find you wherever you are.

Top Ten Tuesday: My Life in 10 Books

This Tuesday is a freebie over at the Broke and the Bookish, so I'm using it to do a topic that I've seen a lot in the vlogging community. Since making videos of myself isn't really my thing, I'll do it on the blog instead. The topic is "My Life in 10 Books". Rather than doing your ten favourite books, it's about ten books that have changed you, that made a significant impact, that were a milestone for you, etc. Note: I've left off the Bible, which I do read every day (or almost every day), because it's in a different category for me than all these books that I read at some point in my life. Here is my list:

1. Matilda by Roald Dahl: I adore this book. I read voraciously as a child, and I was shy and awkward. It meant the world for me to have a heroine who was like me.

2. Kristy's Great Idea by Ann M. Martin: Okay, yeah, I know, but this series was my favourite forever. I devoured the BSC books and I think they had a role in making me into a real reader.

3. Letters to Judy: What Your Kids Wish They Could Tell You by Judy Blume: My true confession is that I found this book in my basement. It must have belonged to my step-mother. It contains a whole bunch of letters that teenagers had written to author Judy Blume. I used to read letters at night before going to bed. I'm not sure why this stayed with me for so long, but maybe it was reading that other kids were going through the awkwardness and stresses of adolescence, that it wasn't just me who didn't fit in, and that it was okay to feel different.

4. The Shining by Stephen King: This was the first adult book that I read, and marked a transition for me. I was twelve, so probably way too young, but I still remember the thrill of getting through it.

5. Emma by Jane Austen: Emma will always be near and dear to my heart because it was the first Jane Austen book that I read, and it set me on to a lifelong love of the classics.

6. Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell: I read this book in Grade 10, so in and around age 15. I remember it for a few reasons. Firstly, it was one of the books that I remember having a really emotional reaction to. I was literally weeping at the end, to the point where my mom asked what in the world was wrong with me! Secondly, it was one of the first books I had read where I was unsure about the main character. Sometimes I liked Scarlett, and sometimes I couldn't stand her, and it forced me to think. Thirdly (SPOILER ALERT), it's one of the first books that I remember reading with an open-ended ending. I actually couldn't sleep afterwards because I was trying to mentally conclude that Rhett and Scarlett would have a happy ending. I guess you could say the book introduced me to a lot of facets of more adult reading material.

7. The Book of Laughter and Forgetting by Milan Kundera: I credit this with pretty much the course of my life to come. Before it, I had very little concept of the East/West divide. This book drew me into a fascination with Eastern Europe, which led me to eventually study Russian and do a degree in East European and Russian Studies. The funny thing is, I read it on the recommendation of someone who said, "This book will change your life." It really did!

8. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling: The book that started it all. I truly feel like the Harry Potter series are books that will be with me forever, like the characters are old friends. They have impacted me in a million different ways, and if I ever have children, I will relish seeing them experience the stories in a new way.

9. Rilla of Ingleside by L.M. Montgomery: You may know that I took my blog title from the later books in the Anne series. They are all fantastic, but Rilla is very close to me. For those who have not read it, the book tells the story of Anne and Gilbert's youngest daughter Marilla, and what she experiences during the First World WAr. I re-read it shortly before I got married, and I feel like I experienced it in a new way. The idea of going through a really hard time, and being thankful for the hardship because it changed you is something that I cling through during my infertility struggle.

10. The Meaning of Marriage by Timothy Keller: This book is hands-down the best marriage book I have read. I am not a huge fan of marriage books that are really practical, mostly because what works for one person may not work for another. Keller's book looked at the heart of what marriage is, and I think about it all the time.

How Infertilty Has Changed Me

I actually wrote this piece in July, anticipating our one-year anniversary of trying, but have been back and forth on whether I wanted to post it or had more to say.  After an emotional day (for no real reason, just because), I've decided it should go up.  Please excuse the length.

When I was 14, I wrote a short story in which a teenage boy witnessed his female friend slowly lose her personality, while her body became weaker, only to realize that her boyfriend was an alien who was slowly sucking out her soul. (Spoiler alert: She died in the end.) I'm not sure why my Grade 9 self was so morbid, but in retrospect, it seems my story from half a lifetime ago mirrored my life to come. Truly, sometimes it feels like I've lost my personality to infertility.

Not to romanticize my former life, which had its fair share of sad and frustrated moments, but I really was a vibrant, interesting person at one time. I mean, I got to brief generals and the chief of staff to a cabinet minister at my job. One year, I traveled to Hawaii AND South Africa. I learned languages, led youth groups, and had fun and crazy girls nights with friends that involved photo scavenger hunts and corn mazes. I think it's safe to say that I was fun once. Now it feels like my whole life is ultrasounds, blood tests, and waiting for ovulation. My mood is dictated by whatever hormones are being pumped into my body this week (either naturally or through supplements), and the simplest things like seeing a cute baby in a store can set me into a day-long slump. I cry at everything. I hate this person that I have become.

Probably the worst part of the emotional fall-out is that it is so hard to share joy with others. I want so badly to rejoice at pregnancy announcements and new babies, but it is hard. I have pulled so many brave faces that sometimes I am not sure what I actually look like any more. I know, logically, that it isn't like there are only so many babies to go around, but sometimes when I see another pregnancy announcement online, it is like a physical punch to the gut of “Once again, it's not me.” As a friend once said: “You are happy for them, but sad for you.” Sometimes, though, I am so sad for me that whatever happiness is underneath, it just can't get to the surface. As much as I know this is normal, and I have heard it from infertile women of all stripes, there is no way not to feel like the world's most selfish person.

On top of the inner guilt for not rejoicing with those who rejoice, you have the imposed guilt from everyone who tries to convince you to “buck up” and “be positive” and “stop saying those negative things about yourself”. So now you feel badly for being a downer, and for making everyone else sad. If infertility is one thing, it is a series of masks that you wear to pretend you aren't a mess just so you can get through that baby shower, that work day, or even just that trip to the store, without causing an incident.

In the worst moments of infertility, you feel yourself pull away. I go through days when the thought of visiting my friends back in Ottawa is unbearable, not because I don't like them, but because I know there will be subtle glances at my stomach and hints around when we will be trying. I contemplated going to the summer women's Bible study, but wondered if I could bear being around all those women, with all those potential questions. I don't call or email friends for weeks because I don't want to be a drag, and I have nothing happy to share. All I want to do is sit on my bed watching Harry Potter movies and pretend that magic is real, that one day someone will whisk me away to a special place where I will be so much more than what I am now.

On the other hand, infertility has stretched me as a person, and taught me a lot about myself. I feel like layers have been stripped off, the veneer of “successful” and “satisfied” that I felt was over my life, and I have been forced to look at what is underneath and analyze where I came from. In the first place, I've realized how much I have taken my health for granted. It's true that I've resented my body over the past year more than ever before, but I've also realized how lucky I am that this is the first time I've had to really engage with the medical system. I have never really been sick. Sure, I had pneumonia as a toddler (which was far more traumatic for my parents than for me), and mono as an adult, but aside from flus and for few minor and stupid accidents, I have only seen doctors for an annual check-up. For 32 years I took it as a given that my body would do what it was supposed to. This is a privilege that many people don't have.

In the broader scheme of things, I have come to realize how much of my life has been easy. I was born into privilege, maybe not into riches, but into a loving, middle class home where I had everything I needed and more. I might have been shy, but was also smart and articulate. I have always lived a life in which you work hard and reap the rewards. As a Christian, I do believe in my head that we cannot expect God to gives us only good and not hardship, or that I can have all my desires granted in a sinful world, but I am only just realizing that my theology and my life expectations don't match up. There have certainly been difficult times and soul searching in the past, particularly in times of family drama, but when I look back, I realize how much I have always naively believed that things will turn out in the end. Getting pregnant is the first thing that I have really “failed” at, and the first time that I have had to confront the idea that God can be good even if our longing for a baby is never granted. It is hard, but it is a lesson I will surely need to learn at some point.

I have learned again and again that I need to take care of myself. My default has always been to keep busy, so that when troubles come, I can put them aside until tomorrow. A dozen or so infertility-related breakdowns later, I am realizing that it's okay to pull back. It's okay to quit Mandarin classes for a while because medical appointments are taking over my schedule, and something's gotta give. It's okay to show up for an hour at that baby shower, and duck out early because you are hurting. I've also learned that while sometimes the resentment against my body is high, I still need to take care of my health, to exercise and rest, because it will ultimately make me feel better.

To some extent, going through infertility has shown me how much I dislike the veneer of pleasantness that we paint over ourselves in polite conversation and social media. I am still figuring out how to navigate honesty and privacy, but I hate knowing of the many Facebook pregnancy announcements I've seen, some of them must have been following difficulties like ours, but when they go out online, it makes it look like everything has always been rosy. I hate the idealized photos and snippets of family life that make everyone who is barely getting by feel like they are failing. I want to live a life – online and in person – that is more honest, where people can feel encouraged by my story instead of feeling like they have to aspire to a lifestyle that I don't even have. I want to be more real, and to find people with whom I can be real.

I'd like to be able to say that I learned how strong I really am.... but I'm not sure that's the case. I guess I have learned that whenever I think I can't make it any longer, as TobyMac says, I “get back up again.” I know that even though I loathe to think we will still be in this game a year from now, five years from now, after getting through the past thirteen months, I know that even if it takes that long, we will still keep getting up and finding joy where we can.

2012 in Retrospect

Can you believe 2012 is nearly over, or actually is over in much of the world as I type this. Craziness...

I tried to think of the highlights of the year, but when I look back, it seems like so much has happened that it's difficult to pin down the best parts. Since we got married close to the end of last year, and then did all the honeymooning, moving, etc. that comes with being newlyweds, 2012 was when we really settled into being married. Some major things happened this past year, including:

--Church: I went from feeling isolated at our church to working and serving there. I also started attending a Bible study at another church and am gradually making some friends there as well.

--Travel: Last spring, I visited NYC and Washington in a fun road trip; Gil and I went to Poland and Mexico, as well as some shorter road trips.

Gdansk city centre

Malbork Castle

Brooklyn Bridge

White House

--Weddings: We started the year out with a mid-January wedding in Ottawa . Two of my cousins got married this year (but we missed one of them), as did my brother. This year didn't top my record high of 8 weddings (2008), but was still a good one for nuptial celebrations.

My cousin M's wedding, Letchworth Park, NY

--Babies: At one point, I think there were at least 10 of my friends and acquaintances who were pregnant. Although I haven't had a chance to see many of them in person, I celebrated as friends welcomed little Evan, Ainsley, Ophelia, Mathai, Zara, Kenzo, and Silas.* (Guess it's true that there aren't many baby Johns and Jennifers these days!) I also saw both of my wonderful nephews turn one, and watched many little ones grow up via Facebook. I'm excited for another little one due at the end of January, and of course wondering who will be the next to get pregnant. (And no, that's not me hinting at something.)

--Housing: We moved into our first house in May. It's still half-empty as we haven't felt the need to furnish rooms we are not yet using, but we are enjoying it just as it is.... even though moving from an apartment to a house meant that I had to shovel snow for the first time in years last week. I'm gonna have buff arms by the spring, that's for sure!  We never did get the roofing work done in 2012, so hopefully that will get started next spring.

Our snow-covered lawn, December 27

These are all events, but in my mind, the year is really about the things you cannot measure: what happened day by day, how we lived and grew. I think over the past year, I've grown in my relationships with my family, especially my mom.  I've definitely pondered a lot of things as a Christian, woman, and wife, and have realized how much I still need to grow.  Gil and I made steps in understanding each other and ourselves better. We've supported each other and prayed together, and ultimately, we've been happy. That's what's really important, right?

Happy New Year, Friends!!

PS:  Don't forget to vote in my sidebar poll!  I've extended the deadline by one day.  So far there is only one vote.

PPS:  If I missed anyone's baby above, please let me know.  2011 and 2012 are all jumbled up in my memory....

...And We're Off!

I'm excited to announce that Mrs. Doctor Dear will be on hiatus for the next two weeks or so, because in just over 24 hours, Gil and I will be boarding a plan to Europe!  We'll be spending 8 days in Poland, checking out a couple of Euro 2012 matches and otherwise touring around the country.

Today,  while I was watching Germany beat Portugal 1-0 (whew, that was a nail-biter!), I began to reflect on my love of soccer.  I first got into soccer during the World Cup 1998, when I was working part-time and would watch games with my brother on off days.  It was while studying abroad in 2002, however, when I fell in love with the "Beautiful Game".  Watching games in pubs in Germany, surrounded by fans in full gear, I couldn't help but get drawn in.  10 years later, watching soccer still takes me back to when I was young and able to just throw myself into loving life, even though some areas of my life were stressful and hard.  My friends and I would coordinate our shirts so that we covered the three colours of the German flag, and then ride our bikes in formation on our way to the pub to watch a match.  (Yes, we were that crazy cool.)  This afternoon as I checked into facebook and read my friends' updates, it felt a little like we were watching the game together, even though we were scattered in all corners of North America.

Gil and I had the amazing opportunity to travel to South Africa during the 2010 World Cup, and so watching soccer also reminds me of that first time away with Gil, and how it was really the first time I knew for sure that we were going to get married one day.  (It only took him another year to finally ask!)  All that to say, soccer brings back many happy memories to me, and I'm looking forward to making some more with my husband in the next two weeks.

With my girlfriends in Germany, wearing matching Michael Ballack jerseys

Germany fans in Durban, South Africa, 2010

Anyway, I'll check back in two weeks time, and until then:  Los geht's, Deutschland!!!

Those Were the Best Days of My Life?

New Year's Day chez nous

Welcome to 2012! Gil and I spent a quiet New Year's Eve watching hockey by ourselves. My husband has been struggling with a flare up of tendonitis in his ankle, so on New Year's Day we just went to church and spent the afternoon at home, him reading and me tackling the Globe and Mail's massive holiday crossword puzzle. At some point, a song came on the radio that brought back a ton of memories and made me think about how many changes I've gone through in the last ten years or so, and that was the inspiration for this post.

It was August, 2001, and I was at a friend's cottage for a last few days together before I was to leave for a study-abroad year in Germany. We decided to break out her family's 8-track tape player and had a mini dance party to the Bryan Adams song “Summer of '69”. I was having a great time until I was suddenly struck by a sudden sense of gravity. I turned to my friends and said, “Wait a minute. What if these ARE the best days of my life, and it's all downhill from here?”

It seems a bit silly in hindsight, but in those days, I was often concerned about missing opportunities. Popular culture screamed that life is only fun when you're young, so you ought to be partying hard to enjoy every minute of it. When I was in my last year of high school, a slightly older acquaintance warned me that everything was downhill after EIGHTEEN. (Seriously? I think even my worst times as an adult have been better than the awkwardness and self-doubt of the early teenage years.) In university, I felt almost a sense of obligation to be having a wild time, even while I was also stressed about good grades, finances, and the other issues you juggle as an emerging adult. In addition to all the other pressures, how was I to ensure that I made the most of the “best days of my life”?

Those words would come back to me again and again while I was abroad, in part due to the immense popularity that Bryan Adams enjoyed in Germany at that time. “Summer of '69” was frequently played when we would go out dancing. At the end of the year, when my friends and I made up our own yearbook to commemorate our time together, I listed it as my “song to sum up the year,” noting that 2001-02 had really been the “best days of my life”. Of course, the unanswered question still remained: If these are the best days, is the best that the future can hold still second rate?

The change from singleness from married life has in some ways been part of a bigger transition that has been going on in my life since my mid-twenties. I don't know whether to call it a move to adulthood or domesticity, or something else, but basically I have been less and less tempted to go OUT to seek fun (not just partying, but whirlwind trips, concerts, frequent dinner outings, etc.), and more satisfied with the simpler pleasures of home, or the homes of good friends. Part of that came with permanent employment, as well as the realization that going out in Ottawa costs a whole lot more than the student scene in Kingston. Another part of this transition was being more satisfied with who I am: When I was 19 and 20, a lot of going out revolved around having the stories to tell afterward. (“Crazy time last night! I can't believe what Y was doing!”) You just had to be there... otherwise you were missing out, and I was never sure that I would fit in if I wasn't there for all those experiences.* Today, I worry less about these things because I am more confident in myself and my friendships.

All the same, I was still very busy in my pre-married life. Maybe I wasn't going out to parties all the time, but there was Bible study, youth group, soccer, coffee with so-and-so, etc., etc. Marriage has slowed me down a lot, partly because I'm in a new city without all the church commitments, but also because my husband is more of a homebody and we find joy in just being together. And yet, what my 20-year-old self didn't understand was that this life is not really better or worse, but just good in a different way. Part of maturing in life (and in faith) is understanding that great truth that there is a time for every season. Even when I look back at the hardest times, the ones that would never be counted among “the best”, I can be thankful for what God taught me and how I grew. Even though I know that this stage quiet of domesticity that we are now in will not last, I trust that the next stage, and the ones after that, will also bring their own joys. My hope is that when I look back at my life, I will never be able to choose the “best” because I will have enjoyed them all for what they gave.

* I don't mean to imply that my friends somehow made me feel this way. My own issues were to blame.