Bill 64: The Public School Modernization Act is Racist

There are so many posts/reflections/musings/rantings/cryings rattling around in my head these days it is hard to keep them straight. It seems that writing is becoming a 'save it up' activity for me; I have to think and think and think and think and read and read and read and think and think and think before I'm ready to put something down in words. The problem is that then things get forgotten or morph, but maybe that's ok. I dunno. Who cares. The nice thing about a blog is it doesn't have to be polished or perfect; it's a snapshot in time no matter what, so maybe I just go for it, right? Ok, I will. Here goes. I do not promise coherence in anyway: tone, tense, or subject. That's how my brain/heart/soul/feelings are these days, so maybe that's an accurate snapshot.

I feel ... I don't know if there is a word for it.

I'm all over the map.

My mood and level of 'ok-ness' can switch by the minute, hour, day, second. Sometimes I am ready to move on and then the next second I can be a sobbing mess on the floor. It is frustrating for me and Jake. I have never been unstable like this before and I am finding it very disorienting. More on that later.

My mom asked me, on a dark day, 'What does your gut say?'

Maybe that is the thing I am struggling with the most. I have always been able to trust my gut. It has gotten me through some hella hard times and I have worked hard to respect and follow it.

But now I don't trust it. My gut lies about fertility.

For the first 4 transfers, I did not let myself get ahead of the game. I played a lot of defense. I didn't think of myself as pregnant, and I didn't anticipate a positive result. I tried to stay neutral (although in the fertility world I think 'neutral' is just another word for 'skewing negative'). Sometimes Jake and I would talk about this hella strong defensive shield I built. He would encourage me to be a little more positive - maybe it could affect the outcome! But truthfully, I think we were both scared of what the crash would look like if I went for it. My crashes, even after predicting it wouldn't work, were not pretty. Especially considering they kept happening and kept getting worse each time.

For the last one, though, it was different. I don't know if I can even write about how hard I worked and all the 'signs' I got that it was going to work - it makes me so sad. I prayed so hard. I listened so hard. I meditated. I thought positive thoughts. I watched 2 eagles circle overhead. I welcomed the energy of Creation and visualized the water of life flowing through me. A new voice moved in and it drowned out my defense. It said, over and over, 'It'll be ok. You were built by the Creator to be a life-giver'. This voice would not shut up and eventually, I started to believe it. I stopped even looking for my defensive voice. When other people announced their pregnancy I whispered to myself 'It's ok, you're going to have twins!'. I really and honestly thought that the message left on my voicemail was going to say 'It's positive!'

I don't know how to process this part of things. I don't know how to get back to listening to my self inside. When I don't feel sad, I feel numb. Losing my inner compass, which I've always trusted and followed is disorienting, to say the least. I've always thought of it, especially the positive, self-care one, as a representative of God. And now I feel like I've been lied to by that voice. I don't know who to listen to or how to tune in.

I think, writing this, this is the crux of it. I feel betrayed by my own hard work and inner self. I don't know how to turn to God when it turns out I heard the wrong message (but I heard it so clearly and so loudly!). I don't know how to move on with myself. 

I try to remind myself all the time of all the ways my life is perfect (because it really is).

I like my job. My colleagues and administrators are supportive, like-minded people who I enjoy working with. I find it fulfilling and rewarding and challenging in all the right amounts. I am well compensated for it, both in salary, holidays, and benefits. (related: I have never been so thankful to have steady, predictable income)

I love my families. They are supportive and kind and have been nothing but awesome throughout this experience.

I love my friends. Same as above: even when I haven't been able to be there for them, so far, they've all been ready to take me back when I am ready (ie, when they are no longer pregnant or have an infant attached to their boob).

I love my house. My home, that Jake and I built/are building together, is a place of sanctuary for me. I feel safe and loved and secure here.

I love Jake. I know this is mushy and the Elisabeth of 10 years ago would barf at this/be super angry because it was all obviously a lie that people loved each other like that, but man. It is amazing and unfathomable and incredible to live life with your best friend. I don't know what I'd do without him. And I didn't even believe that a relationship like this could EXIST, let alone that I'd get to be in one. Maybe there is a metaphor here about my current situation (but don't you dare say 'I have a friend who got pregnant after they were done with IVF!'. It's not going to happen for me. That is not my slice of the pie (which is a whole other post, or may end up being part of this one - who knows?!)). I am grateful beyond words for the experience of loving and being loved in this way and I know without a doubt that I will not trade him in for a baby. No way, no how. I know also that I would not/will not trade my happy relationship with no kids for an unhappy relationship with kids.

Slices of pie: remember, I did not promise coherence.

One of the things I do now, in addition to crying in public (so far: massage, yoga, school x many, restaurants, while cycling, out and about in the neighbourhood), is I go on blind dates with fellow infertile women. I never did the blind dating thing, but I believe it is strikingly similar. We tell each other how to recognize each other, we arrange a place and time and then we discover whether we get along with a few tentative questions :) 2 for 2 have been great successes (complete with the 'we should do this again!' statement at the end of the date :)). These women are kind, compassionate souls who are much more generous and kind than I but who also understand things like the extra bedroom that mocks you, or the decision to buy a new car: do you get a bigger one for including kids who seem to never materialize?

They also understand being on the wrong side of the statistics. When you embark on the journey of having kids, no one really thinks about the other side of the stats that go something like this: 80% of hetero couples having regular sex without protection will get pregnant in the first year. An additional 5-7% will get pregnant in the second year, perhaps with some minor (non-surgical) intervention. So of the original 100%, we're down to 13%. Of that 13%, let's say that 30% of them (so 4% of the original total) will get pregnant through IVF on their first try. And maybe an additional few will get pregnant on subsequent tries. But what about those of us who do lots of tries and it still doesn't work? We are in that tiny piece of pie that NO ONE thinks they are going to be in. When I would get upset that someone else was pregnant, Jake would say 'just because they're having a baby doesn't mean there is any fewer babies for us', but at a certain point, you begin to realize that's exactly what it means. Every announced pregnancy confirmed which piece of the pie I am in. It's not the big one.

People are always surprised by this: I am not an extrovert. I can sometimes act like one, but when push comes to shove, or things get real, my inner introvert kicks the extroverted part of me to the curb. I need a lot of time to think, be alone, not talk, and just 'be' with myself. My brain and heart and all the voices need to figure out how to work together again - something that is proving especially hard right now.

I have been surprised how even trying to interact with 2 adults at once can be overwhelming. It's getting better, but I went a little bit too hard on this too soon and have taken some steps back. I'm trying to aim to be more able to handle crowds in a few weeks, but for now I am not pushing myself in to situations I know may be uncomfortable for me. The time for that will come.

The exception to the 'more than 2 people' rule, thankfully, is that I have no problem being with my students at school. I am still able to joke around with them and have a good time with them. I am so grateful for that.


Triggers are still everywhere. Some have been added, and some have changed.

There is a certain measure of peace in knowing that my body will never be pregnant. I can stop hoping for it (not to mention taking all those pills and going to the dr all the time!); it's just not going to be a thing I do. Like tree planting. Or walking on the moon. Or hiking Mt Everest. Or riding my bike in the rain on purpose. Or eating veggies for a snack if there are chips around. I just don't do those things, and my body and my soul are so relieved (even when they/we are also sad) that they don't have to try to get pregnant any more.

It's still really hard to be around kids who are super-attached to their parents. Sometimes it's hard to play with kids in the park behind the house.

It is impossible and also necessary to answer the question 'how are you?'. I am a basket case. I am not fine. I am so deeply sad, it's sometimes scary because I don't know where the bottom of the sadness is. The question makes me feel REALLY not fine, and yet, that is how we greet each other in this society. I'm getting better at lying.

I'm also getting better at telling the truth, thus the crying in public all over the place.

I've been reading the writing of a dear friend. She wrote about her journey to finding her joyful self after years of struggling with anxiety and depression. In her chapters on faith, she talks about learning and remembering that God is holding her (and all of us) in the palm of God's hand. I knew this as a child, as a teen, even as a 20-something. But I've forgotten that lesson. I am going to have to re-learn what that means for me now, after this experience. I so desperately simultaneously want someone else to take over this situation we're in and 'solve' it as well as let me have some control back. These things do not go together.

Tomorrow I'm going back to where the voice that told me 'it was all going to be ok' found me. I'm going to sit and listen with my heart, again. I'm kind of annoyed at this place and that voice, but it was so profound, so sure! that maybe I need to sit there again and listen some more.

To be honest, I have no idea what I'm doing, or how I'm going to feel tomorrow or the next day. I know that when people coo over a newborn, I have a real hard time not losing my shit. But I also know that my life is pretty near picture perfect and I need to remember that always.

If you made it to the end of this one, congrats. It's a mess. I thought about organizing it with headings and explaining some things a little more, but I'm not going to. First of all - that is too much work. Second of all, this is what my brain is like these days. A stinkin' hot mess.

Writing is so helpful; pinning the words swirling in my head down on (virtual) paper so I can re-read them and think about them gives me great comfort.

Thanks for reading :)