tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58899585813678349322024-02-19T16:37:02.232-08:00This Journey Known As My LifeI am. I am mother, partner, daughter, sister, friend, teacher. I am teaching, reading, writing, travel, noisy family get togethers and peaceful solitude. I am anxiety and depression, a big mouth and a thoughtful mind. I am a hundred contradictions rolled into one body. I am imperfect and perfectly human. Welcome to the journey!emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-36287382544733961832023-04-14T03:20:00.002-07:002023-04-29T01:05:18.832-07:00Stop calling it suicide<div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkfkwRvd39Fxe0uZuBmITtMsoajSybE7N_53FxVM0hkW4cbY_HsGzukkaes2ZyEpDmrKJdkeUJU7kjqBTSHhL6bUTmy49xSonTG0aHsnKxO1FM5lU4x-9yz1RxPUIw0lWq9_7fHMWIVLTw_oy6ZxS-Xawxg2cc4aLdA8-NB0rD3SX6QhrDPvLrK2wWyA/s300/semi%20colon%20tattoo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkfkwRvd39Fxe0uZuBmITtMsoajSybE7N_53FxVM0hkW4cbY_HsGzukkaes2ZyEpDmrKJdkeUJU7kjqBTSHhL6bUTmy49xSonTG0aHsnKxO1FM5lU4x-9yz1RxPUIw0lWq9_7fHMWIVLTw_oy6ZxS-Xawxg2cc4aLdA8-NB0rD3SX6QhrDPvLrK2wWyA/s1600/semi%20colon%20tattoo.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">April 14, 2023 </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">She died just weeks ago</div><div style="text-align: center;">I didn't know her</div><div style="text-align: center;">but I knew her friends</div><div style="text-align: center;">her family</div><div style="text-align: center;">I knew she had depression</div><div style="text-align: center;">just like me</div><div style="text-align: center;">I knew it started when she gave birth</div><div style="text-align: center;">just like me</div><div style="text-align: center;">I knew she suffered greatly</div><div style="text-align: center;">that it never went away</div><div style="text-align: center;">I knew she tried to end the pain</div><div style="text-align: center;">more than once</div><div style="text-align: center;">But that was all I knew</div><div style="text-align: center;">And then I heard she died</div><div style="text-align: center;">and I knew</div><div style="text-align: center;">I knew how she had died</div><div style="text-align: center;">but nobody said it</div><div style="text-align: center;">nobody printed it in the obituary</div><div style="text-align: center;">nobody said it in her eulogy</div><div style="text-align: center;">nobody ever even whispered it</div><div style="text-align: center;">they left it out</div><div style="text-align: center;">like it was dirty</div><div style="text-align: center;">like it was bad</div><div style="text-align: center;">like nobody should know</div><div style="text-align: center;">like keeping quiet would make it less true</div><div style="text-align: center;">because you see,</div><div style="text-align: center;">they do not believe how she really died</div><div style="text-align: center;">they called it suicide </div><div style="text-align: center;">the coroner wrote it down</div><div style="text-align: center;">but nobody ever said the word</div><div style="text-align: center;">they left it out</div><div style="text-align: center;">like it was wrong</div><div style="text-align: center;">like it was dangerous-</div><div style="text-align: center;">they didn't see the truth</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">She didn't commit suicide</div><div style="text-align: center;">she didn't kill herself</div><div style="text-align: center;">not the way you say it</div><div style="text-align: center;">not the way you mean it</div><div style="text-align: center;">not the way you think of it</div><div style="text-align: center;">as failure</div><div style="text-align: center;">as weakness</div><div style="text-align: center;">as cowardice</div><div style="text-align: center;">as selfishness</div><div style="text-align: center;">as burning in hell for the rest of time</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">She didn't decide to go</div><div style="text-align: center;">She didn't want to go</div><div style="text-align: center;">She fought </div><div style="text-align: center;">day after day</div><div style="text-align: center;">week after week</div><div style="text-align: center;">year after year</div><div style="text-align: center;">do you know how long that is?</div><div style="text-align: center;">for ten years, it is 3,650 days.</div><div style="text-align: center;">For 16 years, it is 5,860 days. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Could you imagine fighting an illness that long?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Of being sick every day for more than 10 years?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Can you imagine?</div><div style="text-align: center;">And every time you think you're well, it comes back</div><div style="text-align: center;">No matter how hard you fight</div><div style="text-align: center;">no matter how many pills you take</div><div style="text-align: center;">no matter how hard you believe</div><div style="text-align: center;">no matter how many doctors you see</div><div style="text-align: center;">no matter how many prayers you pray</div><div style="text-align: center;">no matter how many people hold you up</div><div style="text-align: center;">it hurts</div><div style="text-align: center;">Every day</div><div style="text-align: center;">She didn't die by suicide</div><div style="text-align: center;">don't even say it</div><div style="text-align: center;">She died from depression</div><div style="text-align: center;">She fought so hard</div><div style="text-align: center;">She fought so long</div><div style="text-align: center;">She fought with all she had</div><div style="text-align: center;">She fought for her kids</div><div style="text-align: center;">She fought for her husband</div><div style="text-align: center;">She fought for her beautiful life</div><div style="text-align: center;">But in the end it didn't matter</div><div style="text-align: center;">because depression is an illness</div><div style="text-align: center;">and sometimes it wins</div><div style="text-align: center;">sometimes we die</div><div style="text-align: center;">when we get sick</div><div style="text-align: center;">and it doesn't matter</div><div style="text-align: center;">if it is physical sick</div><div style="text-align: center;">or mental sick</div><div style="text-align: center;">our bodies can handle only so much</div><div style="text-align: center;">trauma builds</div><div style="text-align: center;">endurance wanes</div><div style="text-align: center;">and eventually</div><div style="text-align: center;">the illness wins</div><div style="text-align: center;">let's honor this warrior</div><div style="text-align: center;">this woman who fought</div><div style="text-align: center;">with every prayer you prayed over her</div><div style="text-align: center;">with every day she survived</div><div style="text-align: center;">with every person she touched</div><div style="text-align: center;">with her love, with her kindness</div><div style="text-align: center;">with every memory </div><div style="text-align: center;">built during those years</div><div style="text-align: center;">where she fought with her all</div><div style="text-align: center;">to stay here with you</div><div style="text-align: center;">let's remember her strength</div><div style="text-align: center;">her bravery</div><div style="text-align: center;">her joy</div><div style="text-align: center;">let's honor those years and the light</div><div style="text-align: center;">that she gave us</div><div style="text-align: center;">and send her on with love in our hearts</div><div style="text-align: center;">with truth on our lips and</div><div style="text-align: center;">say what it was</div><div style="text-align: center;">she died from depression</div><div style="text-align: center;">She was brave for so long</div><div style="text-align: center;">Imagine the strength to fight for years</div><div style="text-align: center;">This warrior mother</div><div style="text-align: center;">respect her</div><div style="text-align: center;">love her</div><div style="text-align: center;">for her strength is an example to us all</div><div style="text-align: center;">her death a tragedy</div><div style="text-align: center;">a testament to the power of an illness</div><div style="text-align: center;">say its name</div><div style="text-align: center;">speak the truth</div><div style="text-align: center;">depression is an illness</div><div style="text-align: center;">and it killed her</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">em</div>emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-31837314561519926062022-11-26T03:18:00.002-08:002022-11-26T03:18:22.907-08:00Dear kids<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDp276JsIRV2qf5sbi5H0bOQH1ATQiJCnd3iKgm9qBxTlKKIrVVUAJT07fz_Hp2EITwEYLcitMvGFBngjdDGwNgicZ3YFuRohWYDTMPAbcc-YXEdOd5k5TwZSPQMtbqRsq8HOE-7xwMpcIrLo0KdM_1vnVxD0Qjj73L361rsxtcoCbkI5FvCERHn_ggg/s3088/2A95E7E4-2B9F-4987-BCBA-002F0870ABBA_1_201_a.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDp276JsIRV2qf5sbi5H0bOQH1ATQiJCnd3iKgm9qBxTlKKIrVVUAJT07fz_Hp2EITwEYLcitMvGFBngjdDGwNgicZ3YFuRohWYDTMPAbcc-YXEdOd5k5TwZSPQMtbqRsq8HOE-7xwMpcIrLo0KdM_1vnVxD0Qjj73L361rsxtcoCbkI5FvCERHn_ggg/s320/2A95E7E4-2B9F-4987-BCBA-002F0870ABBA_1_201_a.heic" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your sister and me at the park yesterday.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p>Dear kids,</p><p>I am writing to you from Japan. It is two days after Thanksgiving, and I haven't seen you in three months. Three months ago, I took your little sister, got on a plane, and flew away. I never dreamed I would do it. I never dreamed that after spending 25 years fighting to be with you and keep you with me above all else, I would walk away.</p><p>When this job was presented to me, I thought about the leaving and living without you, and I pushed it from my mind. Whenever I started to think about how much I would miss you, I just put those thoughts into a compartment in my brain. I try to think how I thought I would live for two years without you in my daily life and not lose my mind. I try to think how I thought I would be okay. And, again, I just put those thoughts and feelings into the little compartment inside my brain. I think growing up as a child of divorce and then as a parent of divorce, you have to have compartments because sometimes to feel all the things at once is too much for one heart to handle. But sometimes, those compartments cause us to make decisions without sitting with the full weight of their consequences on our minds.</p><p>So I accepted this job. And I packed up our house. And I quit my job. And I withdrew your sister from school. And then we kept waiting for the tickets and the date to be set, so we didn't have a deadline. It was so easy to keep moving along like our world wasn't about to be blown apart. We joked about me not even telling you, and just being gone one day- but we wouldn't really have ever done that. And then the tickets were bought and we were leaving in four days. And then I had it all planned in my head how we would say goodbye. We would have dinner at the ranch and everyone would be together, so I could just give you each a hug real quick and run out the door. And it worked- sort of. Because after I hugged and kissed everyone, and squeezed my babies close to my heart, I realized that Brady wasn't there. My hell, where was that kid? And he was back at the house. So I drove back, and you, my stubborn, hard-headed, kept-saying-that-you-didn't-even-care-that-I-was-leaving, walked out sobbing. And as I held on to you and told you it would be okay, I got this pain right in the center of my chest. This pain right inside of and behind my sternum. And it hurt all the way home. </p><p>And when I woke up the next morning to drive to the airport, I almost didn't go. I almost stayed in bed. I almost quit before I ever started. But I went, with the pain in my chest, I went. And that pain didn't leave for weeks. For the first three weeks we were here, that pain gnawed at my heart every day, and I walked around wondering what in the hell I had done. And when Clara cried for her daddy, or her house, or her sister, or her brothers, or Sky or Trent, or Mae and Benny, I wondered what in the hell I had done. But everyone here says that it gets better, so I kept pushing through and telling us that we would be okay.</p><p>And three weeks later when Jason got here, I thought the sight of him would break me, but it didn't. Because Clara climbed into his arms and all I felt was the peace of knowing her heart was full, and we would be okay because she would be okay and he would be with us. And then we went up to our hotel room, and Jason handed me a hoodie that had been at the ranch with him and I smelled my mother's house and I sobbed big ugly sobs. And all I wanted was to go home. And then we moved into our new house.</p><p>The first night in our new house, with the 17 pieces of borrowed government furniture and the contents of 6 suitcases and one box of loaner kitchen goods, I thought we were going to die. The wind was so strong and it all seemed so strange, and I thought we would be blown away. I woke up probably 15 times waiting to hear the sound of the big voice telling us to seek higher ground, or get in a closet or something because the world was ending. And all I wanted was to go home. But our household had been packed up and was on its way, and I had a contract for two years. So I had to suck it up and pray to all the gods that everyone here was right and the homesickness would abate with time.</p><p>Three months in and our household goods have arrived. I am sleeping in my own bed, with my own pillow and sitting in my own rocking chair at night. I check out books from the base library and we buy our groceries from the commissary. I love my job and Clara is settled in and has friends and a loving teacher and enjoys school. Jason is learning how to run our house and has figured out how to work the Japanese appliances and traverse the grocery shopping and bill paying and other challenges of being foreigners in a country that is not our own. I spend my free time planning trips and traveling, and I think that is what has finally helped the homesickness abate. It is still there, but it is tucked neatly in its little compartment in my brain where it shakes just enough to keep me calling you guys in a rotation each morning and each weekend when we are at home. </p><p>And in just 10 days I am coming home to watch you, T, graduate from college. I am so excited to see you all. I often imagine hugging each of you and feeling your weight, smelling your smell and seeing your eyes. It brings me great joy and great pain, so luckily I don''t do it as often as I did when I first arrived. But now, as I am preparing to come home for a short trip, the homesick is growing every day, and I don't know how I am going to leave you all again. Because, I just realized, it has only been three months since I have seen you. And this time, when I hug you goodbye, it will be six months and one grandbaby until I see you again. And my heart is already breaking.</p><p>I love you and I miss you more than anyone could think possible to miss their children after only three months, but I am missing you for two years all at once, every day. I cannot wait to hold you and hug you soon. My heart breaks already from leaving you again.</p><p>You are my heart, my world and all the stars. I love you across the sea and into tomorrow,</p><p>Mom</p><p><br /></p>emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-50481464773176682982022-04-10T11:38:00.000-07:002022-04-10T11:38:42.337-07:00The hardest part<p> The hardest part of depression is hard to pinpoint.</p><p>There is absolutely nothing good about it.</p><p>But the hardest part is not trusting my own mind.</p><p>I wake up and feel like the entire ocean is laying over me.</p><p>I force myself out of bed, and struggle to the shower.</p><p>I manage to get dressed and feed myself.</p><p>I fold a load of laundry, and I am so tired that I lay myself down on the couch I had been sitting on and fall asleep for two hours.</p><p>I wake up, and the ocean is still crushing me.</p><p>Am I sick? Is something wrong with me? Do I need to seek medical help?</p><p>Or is it <i>just</i> depression? Is it <i>just </i>in my head?</p><p>I don't know.</p><p>But I wash, fold and put away three loads of laundry.</p><p>And I feed myself.</p><p>And that is all.</p><p>I spend the day sleeping or laying down. So tired that I cannot function.</p><p>So tired that I don't have energy to care or move.</p><p>I just pray tomorrow is a better day. Maybe I will figure out if I am actually sick or if it is <i>just </i>depression coming back again.</p><p>Tomorrow is here.</p><p>And the goddamn ocean is sitting on my chest again.</p><p>My husband asks if I am going to get up today.</p><p>I am going to try.</p><p>And I force myself out of the bed.</p><p>Take a shower, put on clothes, brush my teeth.</p><p>Walk like a zombie through the house with pain in my chest. </p><p>It is hard to breathe.</p><p>When I speak, I have to hold in my diaphragm because it hurts to talk.</p><p>My husband says he can tell from my face we should have cancelled the breakfast.</p><p>And I want to shout that I am doing my best. I am up. I am moving. I am wiping down the table and picking up the house. But now I have to worry about my face. I am trying. But I don't say anything because I do not have the energy.</p><p>Because I cannot care. I cannot worry. I just have to keep moving. Keep slogging through the water that doesn't abate. </p><p>I make it through our breakfast. I snuggle my grands and we decorate eggs. I can do all the things. None of the kids see that anything is wrong. When they leave, I use the energy they brought and shared with me to replant the flowers that were wilting in their tiny plastic pots.</p><p>I will not lay down. If I do, I will not get back up. I am so tired. Living is heavy. Breathing is hard. So I am pretty sure after two days that nothing is wrong with me. It is <i>just </i>depression come back. It is <i>just </i>depression trying to kill me. To drown me. To bury me. </p><p>It is my body trying to give up.</p><p>It is my mind telling me that I don't care and I don't feel and it doesn't matter.</p><p>It is my heart beating painfully in my chest.</p><p>It is my lungs trying to breathe when it hurts so much.</p><p>It is my soul aching for rest.</p><p>It is <i>just </i>fucking depression.</p><p>And it wants me to die.</p><p>But somewhere deep inside of me lives something that knows I cannot trust my body. Or my mind. Or my heart. Or my soul. Somewhere deep inside is the part that my children feed with their love. The part that keeps me fighting when every other part of me is ready to give up.</p><p>I will never give up. </p><p>This little part of me that hides from the monsters will never let me. </p><p><br /></p><p>em 4/10/22</p>emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-30867077108573568822022-03-02T10:41:00.001-08:002022-03-02T10:41:52.552-08:00Pedestal<p>You say our children put me on a pedestal</p><p>that you can never reach me</p><p>that you can work forever</p><p>and they will never set you high</p><p><br /></p><p>If I am on a pedestal, it is a pedestal I built </p><p>with my blood and my tears </p><p>my sacrifice and my love</p><p>It is a pedestal to raise my children up; it was never meant for me</p><p> I built it piece by piece to give them everything</p><p>Everything I had and everything I never had</p><p>The dreams I wanted for myself and never reached</p><p>the dreams I hoped they would create themselves</p><p>The guilt of being a single parent, the fear of never being enough</p><p>The agony of trying to be two parents instead of one</p><p> </p><p>But mostly it was built of my love</p><p>A love unyielding and unbending</p><p>A love forged before they took their first breath</p><p>A love worth giving everything that I am to grow</p><p>I gave them all of me, every particle, every fiber</p><p>I showed up every time and I stayed by their side</p><p>And for that, they held on to me as I lifted them up</p><p>onto a pedestal made of my heart</p><p><br /></p><p>em</p><p>3/2/22</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-75775330053000632942021-09-04T12:14:00.001-07:002021-11-24T17:41:23.389-08:00Somewhere between despair and rage<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2AQaBWBnX3QXOAdzq5VelM-ZSzBQ52HapgEP-2hkS6rLFqVPj9fiuk3dw6w7pjsk39A_Vj1QqV_BpP9lxdS26cv4eV4RNH7Q60vqaE0V8xaKrgHza3l0fKR0bP5v7ywT3adErVvH_BoC3/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1011" data-original-width="840" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2AQaBWBnX3QXOAdzq5VelM-ZSzBQ52HapgEP-2hkS6rLFqVPj9fiuk3dw6w7pjsk39A_Vj1QqV_BpP9lxdS26cv4eV4RNH7Q60vqaE0V8xaKrgHza3l0fKR0bP5v7ywT3adErVvH_BoC3/w332-h400/image.png" width="332" /></a></div><p><br /></p><br />I find myself somewhere between despair and rage.<p></p><p>I despair that we teach our daughters that they are strong and brave,</p><p>that they are smart and equally intelligent to men</p><p>that they are capable of making decisions and running the world.</p><p>We tell them to be leaders, to break glass ceilings</p><p>to shatter the out-dated belief that women <i>can't</i></p><p>We tell these daughters that they <i>can</i></p><p>We tell these daughters nothing can stop them if only they believe</p><p>If only they work, and strive and persevere</p><p>If only they prove to the world that they <i>can</i> and they <i>are</i></p><p>They will be enough </p><p>They will be enough to change the world</p><p> For years, women have fought, bled, died to see them succeed</p><p>to see them run, to see them soar on wings denied to us-</p><p>And then I watch the patriarchy hand them a plate</p><p>with the past being served as the future</p><p>with the pain inflicted upon generations of women</p><p>served up as tomorrow's reality</p><p>Our leaders erase the progress we have made </p><p>They claim to love "life"</p><p>and I call them out on their lies</p><p>They claim the life of the unborn must be protected</p><p>They do not protect a woman's blood and body, heart and soul</p><p>They do not even see her-</p><p>I tell my daughters that they are precious and powerful humans</p><p>And perhaps that is the greatest lie</p><p>I despair.</p><p><br /></p><p>I rage.</p><p>I rage against the patriarchy</p><p>against our elected leaders</p><p>against the Supreme Court </p><p>against everyone who supports this abhorent law they have placed in our path</p><p>this "heartbeat" bill</p><p>that tells a woman the tiny heartbeat inside her is all that matters</p><p>not her own heartbeat</p><p>not her safety</p><p>not her mental health</p><p>not her body</p><p>not her future</p><p>not her will</p><p>not even her life.</p><p>I rage against these people who tell us that we cannot make our own medical decisions</p><p>who tell us we are nothing more than an incubator for life-</p><p>whether we consent or not</p><p>whether we want it or not</p><p>whether it will kill us or not</p><p>whether it will survive or not.</p><p>I rage against everyone who supports this choice</p><p>who does not have a utersus</p><p>who has never been pregnant</p><p>who has never known what it feels like to be pregnant and afraid</p><p>I rage against you</p><p>You should not have a voice at this table</p><p>You should sit down</p><p>You should, quite frankly, shut the hell up.</p><p>I rage for the young girl forced to carry her brother in her own body</p><p>I rage for the disabled young woman who had no ability to consent, who doesn't understand the pain of what is happening inside of her</p><p>I rage for the high school student who made one wrong choice and will now live her life with the proof of her shame as the center of her life</p><p>I rage for the girl carrying a child that will not live outside the womb that she must continue to feel living inside of her, knowing that it is a false hope, but not able to give up</p><p>I rage for the woman from a broken home who found out she was pregnant after her husband left her</p><p>I rage for the college student who was gang raped at a party and must carry the child of a man she can never name</p><p>I rage for the women who will live lives they cannot afford, raise children they do not want, and suffer psychological trauma because of this law</p><p>I rage for me</p><p>I rage for my daughters</p><p>I rage for the millions of women who will die because history does not lie.</p><p>Abortion will never stop</p><p>Abortion will become deadly, dangerous to the very women whose lives we should be protecting.</p><p>Women will bleed. And women will die.</p><p>We. Will. Die.</p><p>I rage with the blood of generations of women running through my veins.</p><p>The women who survived your abuse and your rape and your servitude, who lived and died in the hope the world would be kinder to their daughters. They rage.</p><p>I rage with the fury of the lies we have been told- </p><p>for with your vote and your law and your judgement</p><p>you bind me in shackles to assert your control and shape my future without my consent</p><p>(which I guess, in the end, is the point of your law). </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHYcSfGKmqEUTXx8aV3DSJlj_S9k2RHy8D1N1hD5lwIje18DM4QM6jhU_ijoX5mKI6wQC685urt2VTtsfVaxzZHvfBLO_A2pAIn51Bu15EfpXsgTUaDa9u8VLWhj3bL-fOFjeHioNnm9HU/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="496" data-original-width="916" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHYcSfGKmqEUTXx8aV3DSJlj_S9k2RHy8D1N1hD5lwIje18DM4QM6jhU_ijoX5mKI6wQC685urt2VTtsfVaxzZHvfBLO_A2pAIn51Bu15EfpXsgTUaDa9u8VLWhj3bL-fOFjeHioNnm9HU/w640-h346/image.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Images from: https://www.latimes.com/opinion/la-xpm-2014-mar-25-la-ol-the-coat-hanger-symbol-of-dangerous-preroe-abortions-is-back-20140324-story.html and https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/soloish/wp/2017/07/10/i-perform-abortions-the-men-i-date-often-see-me-as-a-political-symbol/ </span><p></p>emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-17180459169330761282021-08-28T14:11:00.008-07:002022-11-26T03:20:12.385-08:00I grieve <p> I grieve</p><p>I grieve for the loss of you</p><p>I ache with the pain of it</p><p>I grieve and I grieve</p><p>and I hate myself for it</p><p><br /></p><p>for you have broken me over and over again</p><p>and I have forgiven you every time</p><p>now you break my children</p><p>over and over again</p><p>and they forgive you every time</p><p>so why do I grieve?</p><p>why can't I hold on to the rage?</p><p><br /></p><p>I grieve</p><p>for the loss of our combined family</p><p>for the loss of our shared memory</p><p>for the loss of our future</p><p>the things we were meant to witness together</p><p>I watch them alone and I grieve </p><p><br /></p><p>A few weeks ago, I took M's last first day of school picture, </p><p>and I almost sent it to you</p><p>and then I remembered</p><p>you do not speak to me</p><p>you do not see me</p><p>you have turned me into a ghost</p><p>and instead of the rage and anger I should feel</p><p>I grieve</p><p>and I send the picture to our daughter</p><p>so she can send it to you and you will only feel joy</p><p>because even after all you did</p><p>even after all the hate and lies</p><p>I still wish you well</p><p>I still hope you happy</p><p><br /></p><p>I still grieve</p><p>And part of me wants you to know</p><p>Would you be satisfied to know?</p><p>Would you chuckle to hear you still wield power over me?</p><p>Would you be happy I hurt?</p><p><br /></p><p>But part of me wants to know</p><p>Do you forgive me?</p><p>Will you ever?</p><p>Do you grieve? </p><p>Because I do</p><p>I grieve</p><p>sometimes</p><p>until there is nothing but tears</p><p>and a well of anguish</p><p>and a sorrow that shakes my soul</p><p>I grieve</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpNzguQ7Kzp1_MwbxuiOOZyYd9iXpo9ypDZPU9ref7ZIM7dcbwy2aVDA5OWSCnkrAx5ijOjlB9GqaTW89rzVcYSxVdok4JOwSykICOpxZIVGyjmQwS5iuaGSeHNKC32asWrMocjQBhVMSv/s2048/i+grieve.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpNzguQ7Kzp1_MwbxuiOOZyYd9iXpo9ypDZPU9ref7ZIM7dcbwy2aVDA5OWSCnkrAx5ijOjlB9GqaTW89rzVcYSxVdok4JOwSykICOpxZIVGyjmQwS5iuaGSeHNKC32asWrMocjQBhVMSv/w640-h426/i+grieve.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>8/28/21</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-38805562778040172592020-08-19T17:34:00.001-07:002020-08-19T17:34:25.104-07:00Teaching during Covid<p style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Mid-term break - How covid-19 is interrupting children's education ..." height="225" src="https://www.economist.com/sites/default/files/20200321_IRD001.jpg" width="400" /></p><p>I spent the last few months reading social media and listening to people in real life talk about teachers. These people, none of them teachers, were saying things like,</p><p><i>"Breaks over teachers, time to get back to work!"</i></p><p><i>"You are an essential worker, get over yourself and embrace it!"</i></p><p><i>"You just had five months off, what are you complaining about?"</i></p><p><i>"Why are teachers so lazy that they don't want to work?"</i></p><p>And this is what I did- I listened to these words. I absorbed them. I internalized them. And I allowed these words to hurt me. I allowed these people to affect my perception of myself and allowed these people to make me angry. I allowed myself to respond to their comments. I allowed myself to spend my precious energy on this negativity. </p><p>And then I realized something that a dear friend has been saying to me for over a year. She says something to the affect of, "People don't understand what we do. We have to get our validation from each other, and if other people want to appreciate us, that is just a bonus."</p><p>I was reading "Teach Like a Pirate" by Dave Burgess, and he basically said the same thing. And after hearing it from two different sources, I had the great "Aha!" moment. </p><p>In teaching, as I'm sure in most professions, there is a reason you do it. There is a "why". Obviously, in teaching, the why is not for the money. My personal "why" is for the children. I believe that every single child deserves to have someone believe in them and encourage them to be their best. </p><p>I am a teacher</p><p>I would jump in front of a bus for one of my students</p><p>I would stand between them and a gun</p><p>I would run through fire to get them out of a burning building</p><p>(We practice these things and real teachers do them)</p><p>Every day, I check that they are clean, fed, and rested</p><p>Every day, I make sure their medical needs are met and check for signs of illness</p><p>Every day, I check for signs of neglect or abuse or trafficking</p><p>Every day, I protect their privacy</p><p>Every day, I teach them skills like shaking hands and looking in my eye</p><p>Every day, I make sure each child's individualized plan is followed</p><p>Every day, I engage them</p><p>Every day, I say their name</p><p>Every day, I make them feel safe</p><p>and loved</p><p>and wanted</p><p>and special</p><p>Every day, I teach them</p><p>I listen to them</p><p>I speak to them</p><p>Every day, I advocate for them</p><p>Every day.</p><p>And now I teach full-time in person learning</p><p>full-time virtual learning</p><p>and some hybrid version of these two</p><p>I am learning a gazillion new acronyms and how to use more technology</p><p>how to teach from 6 feet away</p><p>wearing a mask</p><p>unable to hug these children that I love</p><p>teaching them without even seeing them.</p><p>From now until it ends.</p><p>Every day.</p><p><br /></p><p>And after all of this, some people are going to complain. Judge. Hate.</p><p>But do you know what?</p><p>I don't have time for haters. </p><p>I don't have time to even read the comments.</p><p>I have students to teach</p><p>and a world to change.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvAYAHTkkqO-IqDo5sKa_GT3mi5uZ3AsbxX9hR3sGOHDe1Qb30-BWYG2-Xi9_K8OiATsrTFA_Lilu2gLeDAeUEXsrzSbPHHoIFLWPBF8B89RwpHYqndY_xVy8ShtNTu8QjdXhC9k_LBOFj/s2048/IMG_2764+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvAYAHTkkqO-IqDo5sKa_GT3mi5uZ3AsbxX9hR3sGOHDe1Qb30-BWYG2-Xi9_K8OiATsrTFA_Lilu2gLeDAeUEXsrzSbPHHoIFLWPBF8B89RwpHYqndY_xVy8ShtNTu8QjdXhC9k_LBOFj/w301-h400/IMG_2764+2.JPG" title="Ready to change the world!" width="301" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Image credits: </span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">1. <a href="https://www.economist.com/international/2020/03/19/how-covid-19-is-interrupting-childrens-education">https://www.economist.com/international/2020/03/19/how-covid-19-is-interrupting-childrens-education</a>. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">2. Me</span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-58491919180301927092020-06-05T09:13:00.000-07:002020-06-05T09:13:17.652-07:00Letting them go<img alt="Spokane Valley Fire Dept. urges alarms, sprinklers after weekend ..." height="225" src="https://wpcdn.us-east-1.vip.tn-cloud.net/www.kxly.com/content/uploads/2019/12/generic-fire_1562686082475-jpg_38950375_ver1-0.jpg" width="400" /><br />
<br />
Sometimes there are no words<br />
No actions<br />
No way to help<br />
Nothing but<br />
Watching<br />
Waiting<br />
<br />
Sometimes it hurts more than breathing<br />
When you have to let them go<br />
Let them decide<br />
Let them choose<br />
Let them lead<br />
<br />
Sometimes they walk into fire<br />
And you can't stop them<br />
And you can't go with them<br />
And you can't send anything except your love with them into the flames<br />
And pray to all the gods they won't be burned<br />
<br />
Sometimes there is nothing except pain<br />
An ache tearing through your soul<br />
A gasp escaping your lips<br />
A spinning in your gut<br />
A hollow in your heart<br />
<br />
Sometimes<br />
There are no words<br />
There is nothing<br />
Nothing<br />
But hurt<br />
<br />
5/26/20<br />
em<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image credit: <a href="https://www.kxly.com/spokane-valley-fire-dept-urges-alarms-sprinklers-after-weekend-of-fire-calls/">https://www.kxly.com/spokane-valley-fire-dept-urges-alarms-sprinklers-after-weekend-of-fire-calls/</a></span>emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-5984184711476881022020-05-11T14:17:00.002-07:002020-05-11T14:20:28.303-07:00Being a Mom<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Silhouette Design Store - View Design #59863: celtic symbol for ..." src="https://www.silhcdn.com/3/i/shapes/lg/3/6/d59863.jpg" /></div>
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Being a mom is the hardest thing I have ever done.</div>
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It is putting all of my energy and love and hope into someone else. </div>
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It is someone else's actions affecting my happiness.</div>
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I am only as strong as my weakest child.</div>
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I am brave even when I am afraid.</div>
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I feed them, even if I have to crawl.</div>
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I protect them, even when it puts me in danger.</div>
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I hold on to relationships I do not want and let go of relationships I want to keep.</div>
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I choose a career and a home that fits their needs.</div>
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I choose what is best for them instead of what is best for me.</div>
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I have lost years of sleep.</div>
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I have destroyed my body.</div>
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I have spent 69 months breastfeeding and 40 months pregnant.</div>
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I fail. Again. And again. And again.</div>
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To be honest, there are days that I want to run away. </div>
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It is that hard.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Being a mom is a contradiction.</div>
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My children have the power to break my heart, but they are also the reason my heart beats.</div>
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I want to get away from them, but then miss them terribly.</div>
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They make me crazy and they keep me sane.</div>
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They are the reason I breathe and the reason I want to scream.</div>
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They are my greatest joy and my greatest fear.</div>
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Watching them grow fills me with happiness and nostalgia.</div>
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I can't wait for them to get to the next stage, but then mourn the last.</div>
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I celebrate their successes and catch them when they fall.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But being a mom is the best thing I have ever done.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My children have made me strong.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They have taught me how to give.</div>
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For them, I learned how to never give up.</div>
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To care for them, I have done things I never would have done for myself.</div>
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To protect them, I have gained courage I never knew I had.</div>
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To provide for them, I have pushed myself to the limit and found success.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To love them, I have learned selflessness.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To set an example for them, I have become a more honest and responsible human.</div>
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For them, I have become the best version of myself.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Although I fail them so often, they continue to amaze me with their resilience, their kindness, their goodness and their love.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
When I see who they are becoming, I know I succeeded more than I failed.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And even on the hardest days, I love them more than breathing,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
more than sunshine.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Parents say they will do anything for their kids</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Burn down the world for them</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Kill for them</div>
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Die for them</div>
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I continue to do anything for my kids</div>
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Burn down bridges and build new ones</div>
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Fight for them</div>
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Live for them</div>
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They are worth it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-45940257989365217722019-09-10T18:34:00.002-07:002019-09-10T18:34:45.178-07:00Dreams Come True Ranch<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo9WmWY58RnQ4MznPoPcFL4hQfwIIWWAQCMJWs7QxAe1_9Gsyb3k4fR_Ugx5YXcYRVCZWm5O2tlaT_QT_794X1hsRxLnoxWdslThU2PNQnVlkVNeZHdP9mwmLmFV89d8lqL2EAHzbYAKK7/s1600/IMG_4194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo9WmWY58RnQ4MznPoPcFL4hQfwIIWWAQCMJWs7QxAe1_9Gsyb3k4fR_Ugx5YXcYRVCZWm5O2tlaT_QT_794X1hsRxLnoxWdslThU2PNQnVlkVNeZHdP9mwmLmFV89d8lqL2EAHzbYAKK7/s400/IMG_4194.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best sunset in Texas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Twenty years ago, when we threw my mother a surprise 40th birthday party, my stepdad held up a small, clear glass jar that held Texas soil. He said he appreciated this woman who believed in his dreams, and my parents used this event of family and friends gathered together to announce that they would be leaving Utah and moving to Texas, where they would buy a ranch and run the horse business they had been talking about and dreaming of for years.<br />
We all thought they were nuts. <br />
And they did it anyways.<br />
For the last eighteen years, my parents have lived in East Texas. For most of those years, they have lived at Dreams Come True Ranch in Nacogdoches. <br />
It is the place we have held Wednesday night dinner since my children were itty bitty. <br />
<br />
It is the place my children learned to fish, ride horses, shoot turtles, and hunt for frogs. <br />
And snipes. <br />
It is the place that each of my children worked their first job. <br />
It is the place my children have always run away to when they needed to feel safe and loved and mom and dad were just too mean. <br />
It is the place that my nieces and nephews took their first horse rides. <br />
The place my nieces run through the water hose and connect their big blow up slide. <br />
It is the place where kids swim in the pond, dump each other off of boats, and sling mud until they all look like creatures from the deep.<br />
It is the place children watch mares deliver their foals in the middle of the night. <br />
It is the place the chicks hatch and the ducks splash.<br />
It is a place with dogs, rabbits, chickens, ducks, deer, horses, cats, frogs, toads, snakes, fish, turtles, nutria... I can't even name all the critters we have seen there.<br />
It is the place the children help grandma plant a garden.<br />
It is the place that we used to play baseball on spring evenings after dinner. Grandpa was the umpire and a close call always went to the kids. <br />
It is the place my little sister had her wedding.<br />
The place my sister brought her first born child home to. And her second.<br />
It is the place we watch the sunset on the porch after a family meal.<br />
It is the place I watch the sunrise on my way to work; where I feel calm even in the midst of chaos.<br />
It is the place I have run to for comfort, peace, safety and love for eighteen years.<br />
It is the place of my parents' dreams.<br />
Their hopes.<br />
Their vision.<br />
Their livelihood.<br />
Their future.<br />
Or maybe not. Twenty years is a long time to live a dream, and, boy have they ever lived their dream. They bought the ranch. Left everything they had behind. Started a new life. Raised champion race horses. Bred champion race horses. Won awards and accolades. Had articles written about them in magazines. Horses on billboards. causing waves in the horse industry by cloning horses. Having a horse inducted into the AQHA Hall of Fame. <br />
And now, they talk about selling the ranch. And there are tears in both of their eyes when they say it. It is their dream. It is their home. And it is our home.<br />
I love the ranch. I cry when I think of it being gone. My siblings will cry. Our children will cry. Our home. Our beautiful, beautiful home. <br />
I imagine my youngest daughter growing up without knowing this place. It hurts my heart that she will not know this place.<br />
But then I think.<br />
This place is built on my parents' love. On dreams, on hope, on strength and sheer will. It is built by my parents. And I think of this place without them. And it loses its beauty. And I know that my daughter will be perfectly happy and whole without this ranch. <br />
But she won't be fine without her grandparents.<br />
And so I look forward with a joyful heart to a future where my parents are not tied to the land. Where they can sleep and care for their bodies that have been beaten and scarred from this life. Where they can travel and spend time with their grandchildren. For my oldest children have been blessed beyond belief to know their love, and there are grandbabies and great-grandbabies to snuggle and love and cherish.<br />
This morning, as I drove down the ranch road watching the sun rise, I realized how much I love this ranch. But I love my parents more. I need my parents more. Selling this ranch will give us more of them. Of their love.<br />
When my parents sell the ranch, I will remind them to take a small, clear glass jar and fill it with soil from this home. This time, it will not be soil for a dream they hope to find; it will be soil from the completed dream. It will be the soil of Dreams Came True Ranch.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLDQbALX2Fk1CTm2XThnd6syY2dCc-NW6VJAj13CFqWhJfKgpzK4DXwa3IlyJO3hFVwq1jQIsFfkyL1PBIC3GIw8d0EwvPjmLitrbfi99Zj6EAaJUiyIC3ibqzWzyb0QUC2yp7g69ESAa1/s1600/IMG_3672.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLDQbALX2Fk1CTm2XThnd6syY2dCc-NW6VJAj13CFqWhJfKgpzK4DXwa3IlyJO3hFVwq1jQIsFfkyL1PBIC3GIw8d0EwvPjmLitrbfi99Zj6EAaJUiyIC3ibqzWzyb0QUC2yp7g69ESAa1/s400/IMG_3672.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first 11 grandkids having shenanigans.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizq7-G9f8-1WE4N9q_94rMS2oiGOUIW58_uiGCMDVhDabrCvsFcUl0dMcv_OJxlNC7kT3-M0jpfpShKJamB2DcbFf1QEX11QbNXjSZammiEh697aIQDK96Jd_vAkZ7txIRLA3qv8JuyKkR/s1600/IMG_4193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizq7-G9f8-1WE4N9q_94rMS2oiGOUIW58_uiGCMDVhDabrCvsFcUl0dMcv_OJxlNC7kT3-M0jpfpShKJamB2DcbFf1QEX11QbNXjSZammiEh697aIQDK96Jd_vAkZ7txIRLA3qv8JuyKkR/s640/IMG_4193.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Morning on the ranch</div>
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emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-3268972727387390662019-08-01T22:14:00.000-07:002019-08-12T18:04:12.325-07:00Death is heavy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGv47K1bJCfY94NlGBnpsVldV6PSCNRrf3lcv7q0lHh5rYPi26crk986Xr2xSxUUMzfrxOFAiG_qyG_Yuuq82PcMx7l8n0n-nHEV2k9p2vxJf-vNGfdV-7C1YrEmBd-g4BPmLpl-eka9Ou/s1600/heavens.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="536" data-original-width="970" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGv47K1bJCfY94NlGBnpsVldV6PSCNRrf3lcv7q0lHh5rYPi26crk986Xr2xSxUUMzfrxOFAiG_qyG_Yuuq82PcMx7l8n0n-nHEV2k9p2vxJf-vNGfdV-7C1YrEmBd-g4BPmLpl-eka9Ou/s640/heavens.jpeg" width="640" /></a><br />
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On May 30, 2019, I witnessed my grandmother's death.<br />
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We knew it was coming. On Sunday, Grandma had been in the hospital and found out she was bleeding internally. She declined medical intervention and said she was ready to go home. In this case, home meant both my mother's house and heaven. My grandma was ready to go home. When I came up to the hospital that day, she told me all about her plans to go home on hospice and die. She was happy with her choice. She was grateful that her children were supportive of her choice even though they didn't like it. Let me repeat, she was full of joy that it was her time to go. She was ready. She knew. And so my mother took her home. And we waited. <br />
<br />
Every day during this week I came to the ranch after work to sit with my grandma, to give my mom and aunt and uncles the chance for a break. Today, when I arrived, I could feel ... something different in her room, something heavy, something new and uneasy, but I didn't know what it was.</div>
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I went into Grandma's room and sat in a chair at the foot of her bed. My Aunt Dolly was with me, as my mother and uncles were taking care of other things. We sat visiting and talking with Grandma. She made a noise, it sounded like a gurgle, so we both moved from the foot of the bed to the top. One of us on each side. We adjusted the bed so she was at an incline to help her breathing. I stroked her arm as Dolly caressed her cheek. We told her how much we loved her and we spoke all the words of love we knew. She made these strange sounds a few more times. She made a few grimaces. I asked Dolly if we should go get the others- I wanted them to be there if it was the end, but I didn't want my mama to see her mother making the pained expression. We waited a few minutes- patting, caressing, loving. And then her breathing slowed. I told Dolly I was going to go get mom- she said she would get Paul- and then I realized we were both leaving and I said I would stay and asked her to please get mom. She hurried out of the room calling my uncle''s name and sending someone else to wake my mother.</div>
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I was finally alone with my grandma for the first time in days. I sat beside her. I gently touched her brow, her cheek, her arm. I thanked her for teaching me how to live and die on my own terms as she was doing. I thanked her and I told her I loved her so many times, so many, many times. "I love you, Grandma, I love you." And as her breathing slowed, she made one gasp and, I don't know why, but I started counting... I made it to 45 before she took another breath. And then it was a minute. And I just kept telling her how much I loved her... that I was there... that her children had all come... that she was brave... that I loved her and she was not alone. And I found the pulse in her neck and watched it because there was no more breath to watch or feel. And then they got there. And I told them it had been over a minute since she breathed. And Dolly held Grandma and wailed, "Mom, no! Mom!" and it was one of the most beautiful and devastating cries I have heard in my life. The sound of love. The sound of a woman losing a mother she has known for 30 years. </div>
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I touched her cheek. Grandma was already growing cold... so quickly. And then my mama came and it had been two and her pulse was gone and I moved from the bed because Grandma's children were there now. And then I told my mama I would make the call... and she said we were supposed to wait five minutes... and I said I would wait however long she wanted, but that Grandma was gone.</div>
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Soon after I made the call. I made many calls. I walked through the back field and called everyone who needed to know. I watched the sun drop low in the late May sky as I told so many people that it was over; Grandma was at peace. </div>
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I stood beside my stepdad, our arms around each other, as we watched my aunt, uncles and mama say goodbye to their mama. I watched as the stress and energy and nerves from the last five days deflated down to grief. I watched as the hospice woman came to minister to my family. I watched as the funeral home so respectfully cared for all of us in their gentle handling of my grandmother and all of our feelings. We all left the room as they wheeled her out because ... it hurts. </div>
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And then I was so tired. The burden of witnessing death is heavy. I was not sad, I was not broken, but the weight was oh so very heavy. I never understood that there was a weight to death, a feeling in the air, but there is and I will never forget it. </div>
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I was not close to this grandma of mine. But she was my grandma, and my mother's mother. And she taught me, all the way at the end of her life, that people can always change. She taught me to live and die on my own terms. </div>
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Already my memory is fuzzy. Already I have forgotten and muddled the order of events of this day. These are just my memories and my version of the truth. Reality may be different, but this is my story. On May 30, 2019 Pearl May King died as I stroked her cheek, counted her pulse, and spoke words of love to her. I did not grieve her until six weeks later, when my tears finally fell and I let go of the weight I had been carrying. </div>
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Death is heavy, my friends, death is heavy. The burden must be shared. I told my Aunt Dolly that we are bonded forever now because we lived through the last moments together. </div>
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I don't know what I believe about an afterlife, but my grandma believed in Heaven, and I like to imagine her there. She is with her husband and her sister, and she is laughing at something she said that cracked everyone up. And her body is strong and whole again. And she feels our love traveling through time and space and making the Heavens feel a little more like home.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-5VlGosn0xgN4KZLvLRl_sXipkmiRLCv9shqGeELZJXBijUznMc1FiVScPuiRr_t5Vv7cH95xHozwcO4q3cc-k9Kf_vFaHDAACTSS-xnljdumnk5afFX421R-puy3JW3o_qoP1tpXZsb/s1600/7FPnKu%252BnToCnme1Px89TTg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-5VlGosn0xgN4KZLvLRl_sXipkmiRLCv9shqGeELZJXBijUznMc1FiVScPuiRr_t5Vv7cH95xHozwcO4q3cc-k9Kf_vFaHDAACTSS-xnljdumnk5afFX421R-puy3JW3o_qoP1tpXZsb/s640/7FPnKu%252BnToCnme1Px89TTg.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the last picture I took of my Grandma Pearl at her last outing. Three generations- I so wish I had gotten the fourth in with us!</td></tr>
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emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-3181288241556870532018-02-03T10:48:00.002-08:002018-02-03T10:49:38.043-08:00Anxiety Attack <div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is an ache in my chest</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">A heaviness that sits between my breasts</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Beneath my sternum bone</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Beneath my skin and muscle</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It weighs upon my lungs</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">So I cannot breathe</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It pushes against my heart</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">So I cannot feel</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I breathe</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Deeply in, slowly out</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I breathe</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Deeply in, slowly out</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I am losing</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Deeply in, slowly out</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The tears are pushing</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Deeply in, slowly out</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Against my eyes</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Deeply in, slowly out</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I breathe</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I want to scream</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And rage at the unmerciful gods</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">This is so unfair</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">So unfair</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">But I already learned it does no good</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The weight becomes a butterfly</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Trying to be born</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It struggles to break free</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Out of my chest</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I breathe</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Deeply in, slowly out</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I breathe</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Deeply in, slowly out</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Don’t be born</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Deeply in, slowly out</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Stay inside butterfly</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Deeply in, slowly out</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I breathe</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The butterfly does not burst out</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The blurriness fades</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The sting evaporates</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">My brain quits somersaulting</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The world seems upright again</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The floor no longer wavers</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The roaring subsides</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And the weight lessens</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I breathe</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And the panic attack is held at bay</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">But it’s not gone</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It waits in the shadows </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Until it thinks I’m weak enough</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">To try again</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">So I breathe</span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Deeply in, slowly out</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-77634537449238667492016-04-30T11:41:00.002-07:002016-04-30T11:46:55.936-07:00Right on Target<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<img src="http://www.b12patch.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/5802572844_45e8134b12.jpg" /></div>
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In the news and social media lately, I have seen so much emotion and drama about people going to the bathroom. Yes, we are vehemently arguing here in the U.S. about who is and is not allowed to pee. I think this is absurd. With this in mind, I am going to attempt a little tutorial on American culture and bathrooms from the perspective of a fairly well-educated, middle class, American woman. I am going to explain a few basic ideas, and then pull them together so that we can have a simple understanding of the situation.</div>
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<br /></div>
<b>Rape Culture</b><br />
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The simple definition I go by: As a culturally accepted, non-written rule, we blame the victim for the sexual crimes perpetrated against her. </div>
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Even though I never heard the term until I was an adult, I have belonged to this culture my entire life. When I was a little girl (growing up in my middle class, white neighborhood), my mother taught me to never go to anywhere alone. She taught me to take a buddy with me to the bathroom and to always tell someone where I was going. Bathrooms were an especially dangerous place- one that I could not enter without her or someone else along with me. Now, my mother never told me, "bathrooms are dangerous places full of men who want to molest or rape you," but that was what she said when she told me, "never go to the bathroom alone." </div>
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I taught my children the exact same thing. I went with my daughter to the bathroom until she was 12 years old. When my boys were old enough to be embarrassed by using they women's restroom, they went with each other to the bathroom until they were 10 or 11. Even when they went together, and even once I allowed them to go alone, I always asked if they were going "number one" or "number two" and let them know how many minutes they had until I came looking for them. It may be in a restaurant, a church, or a school, but I never let my children use restrooms unsupervised and without me knowing exactly how long they were gone. I also made sure to know that there were no exits between me and them. I never told them bathrooms were scary places, but I am pretty sure they figured it out just like I did. </div>
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To this day, when I am traveling alone and I stop at a rest stop or gas station to use the bathroom, I call or text my husband to tell him exactly where I am before I get out of the car, and I call or text him again when I am safely in my car and locked back in. When I am walking into the restroom, I look around to see who is there. I look in all the bathroom stalls if I think I am alone in the restroom. I go as quickly as I can while listening for footsteps. I am quick to wash my hands and I don't run the automatic hand dryer because I don't want to miss a sound.</div>
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This makes it sound like I live in fear. The thing is, I do not live in fear. This is simply how I was taught to travel in the world. I must always be on my guard to protect myself when I do not have a man there to protect me. This is rape culture.</div>
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I am infuriated that I have been taught to live in a way that no man is. My husband does not do these things. My father did not do these things. They are survival skills our mothers teach us to survive in a world where we are not protected against the men who may want to hurt us. </div>
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Does it seem that this is just one personal example? Here are some others:</div>
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Last week, a court in Oklahoma found that a teenage girl was not raped because she was nearly unconscious. This allowed a white male to force her to perform oral sex on him while she was unable to give consent. He will not be punished for this crime, even though he admits he committed it.</div>
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Over the last few weeks, it has come out that BYU, a prominent American university, has been disciplining the victims of sexual assault and rape because they broke the honor code. Yes, according to BYU, a rape victim broke the honor code because of what was done to her without her consent. </div>
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I just ran a search for "how to keep my daughter safe at college" and 13,300,000 results came up. I typed in "how to keep my son safe at college" and 11,000,000 results came up. I was about to be surprised, when I realized that those articles were being gender neutral. Not a single one used the word "son." On the "daughter" screen, every single one used the word "daughter." This is rape culture.</div>
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My daughter wants a keychain with mace in it for a going-away-to-college present. Just like her aunt got for hers. Just like I got when I got my first job. My brothers never got any such gift.</div>
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Clearly, 2016 America still holds on to its rape culture, even to the point that we don't even realize we are living it because it is a generational norm we have never stopped to notice.</div>
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<b>Transgendered People</b></div>
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Disclaimer: As far as I know, I do not know any trans people well. I am going on what I have read and seen in documentaries, the news, and social media. All ignorance in this section is mine.</div>
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</div>
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The simple definition I go by: A transgendered person is someone who was born with a body that belonged to one sex, but with a spirit, mind, and heart that belongs to the other. There are other people who do not identify as either male or female, and they fall in this category too. Basically, the person inside of the body does not match the gender assigned at birth.</div>
<div>
While looking up statistics to write this blog post, I found out things I don't want to know. </div>
<div>
75% of transgendered students don't feel safe at school. Many of these students are not only harassed and bullied by other students, but many are picked on by teachers and administrators (which makes my teacher heart ache). </div>
<div>
These same children hear anti-LGBT comments at about the same rate.</div>
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Approximately 41% of trans people have attempted suicide at least once.</div>
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Trans children are often abused by their own families.</div>
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1 in 2 trans people are sexually assaulted (this is not adding all the other assaults they face).</div>
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I did not see any statistics about trans people as the abuser or rapist. </div>
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What all of this tells me: Trans people are one of the most victimized, abused, and singled out groups of people in our country. These people- our coworkers, friends, brothers, and sisters- are hurting and the people around them often do not understand or blatantly say or do harmful things to them. </div>
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<b>Fear and Love</b></div>
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When I put together what I know about rape culture and trans people, this is what I get. We live in a society where women (and boys and girls and other humans who do not qualify as men) live in a constant state of awareness to protect ourselves from becoming victims. We must be ever vigilant in protecting ourselves because we know that men are liable to harm us, and in the American justice system and American culture, we will be blamed for it. We will be the ones who are scrutinized and held under a microscope to deem whether we are worthy to be a victim or if there was something we did that caused it to happen to us. Among us are trans people, one of the most abused groups in America. </div>
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Enter this fact: Trans people have to pee. Sometimes, they are out in public when this happens. They go to the bathroom just like the rest of us do. They pick the one with their gender on the door. They go in and they pee. Hopefully they wash their hands. They go back out and carry on with their day. Obviously, they do the same thing I do if they go into an empty bathroom- they check to make sure there is no rapist hiding on top of a toilet seat. </div>
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Now, enter the absurd side show that America has become: Some idiot on his legislative seat has determined that trans people should not be allowed to pee in the bathroom that fits their gender. They should use a bathroom based on an appendage or a lack of an appendage connected to their body. </div>
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What this legislator is saying is that instead of a little girl going pee with her mom, the mom should say: Hi daughter, I know that you are a girl, but you were born with a penis, so I am going to send you in your pretty pink dress into a bathroom with men. Don't bother checking the stalls for rapists or child molesters, they won't need to hide from you. After all, one out of every four rapes occurs in a public place. Don't worry honey, I'll be here when you come out. I know that one in two trans people are sexually assaulted, and we had better get you used to it now.</div>
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ARE YOU KIDDING ME? </div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>Why Don't We Take Out Our Fear and Rage Upon Those Who Cause and Perpetuate It?</b></div>
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Last week, a former Speaker of the House of the United States of America was indicted for sexually abusing several teenagers. I have seen many, many people take to social media to rage against trans children using the bathroom that belongs to their true gender. I have seen ZERO of these people say a single word about this sexual predator. Why, if our goal is to protect people from sexual predators, do we not fight for laws banning these rapists and molesters from bathrooms? Why don't we fight for them to have a little shack out back to use for the bathroom? Why are we taking one of our most abused populations and trying to force them into situations where they will no doubt be abused further? </div>
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When we have celebrities, religious leaders, politicians, and countless other men raping, molesting, assaulting, and damaging other humans, do we not try to enact laws to keep us safe from them? </div>
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When we have a population of abused and misunderstood people, why do we make laws to further push them out of our communities?</div>
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Why don't we rage against the evil of these criminals who cause our fear?</div>
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Why don't we love and embrace these individuals who have already been or are at the highest risk of becoming victimized?</div>
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I ask you, why do we choose fear instead of love?</div>
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The answer is simple my friends. Rape culture is so ingrained in us that we are willing to blame the victim for the crime we are afraid will happen to us. </div>
emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-16892651695956233352016-02-16T16:55:00.000-08:002016-03-17T14:20:33.717-07:00Carrying my own baby againI truly believed I was done having my own children when I became a surrogate. After the last surrogate pregnancy, I pretty much knew I was done. My body had been battered, my spirits had been crushed, and I knew that I could not emotionally handle another bad ending to a journey. <br />
The thing I didn't count on was my husband deciding- after five years of marriage and three surrogate pregnancies- that he wanted to have OUR child. And how could I say no? I couldn't. And the idea of us creating our own tiny miracle made me smile. <br />
So here we are, 23 weeks pregnant with our daughter. And I have realized that this pregnancy is so very different than the last three. <br />
My own babies- take 1:<br />
I was 18, 21, and 23 when I had my first three children. I was young and strong and busy. I took my own health and the health of my children for granted. I didn't pay much attention to what was going on inside of me, just that I would have a child at the end. I enjoyed my pregnancies and loved nothing more than feeling my child moving inside of me. And each time one of my babies were born, I was the first to hold them. I was able to look into their little face and see the person I had been getting to know for the last ten months. Pregnancy and motherhood were beautiful to me. They were my happiness and the one thing in my life I never doubted. I knew I was an awesome mom. I knew I had amazing kids. No matter how fast or far I was running, my kids were always who I was running for. Pregnancy was a means to an end, and an enjoyable means at that. <br />
Surrogate babies- take 2:<br />
I was 30, 31, and 34 when I carried my five surrogate babies. Starting with couples who had experienced losses or infertility, going through shots and hormones and IVF, and belonging to a surrogacy community where pregnancy and problems were shared freely brought a new perspective to pregnancy. I knew the odds, the risks, and the high stakes involved. I knew that these families were counting on me to get their child(ren) here safely. I took excellent care of myself, and treasured these babies as the most precious gift their parents had entrusted me with. My pregnancies themselves became the journey, and I documented every month with pictures, updated the parents<br />
with every change, and savored the beauty of growing a life for another family. Pregnancy was the journey, and I loved it (well, until that last one....). I relished the moment when I would deliver the baby and watch as her parents received her into their arms and fell in love. My favorite moment of each journey was seeing those parents look at their child and .... Change. <br />
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Here I am, 36 years old, a year after I had planned to shut down the uterus, 23 weeks pregnant with my own child again. I didn't know how this would play out in my mind or what it would do to my emotions. The first few months were terrible. I had morning sickness for the first time ever. I doubted my ability to carry a child safely to term after 6 successful and uneventful pregnancies. On the heels of my miscarriage, I doubted baby would settle in and feared I would lose this child before we really got started. Once we made it out of the first trimester, I started to believe the baby would be okay. We have made it through all of the tests and all looks good. We are days away from baby being able to stand a chance at survival if she were to come. And in the last few weeks, I have noticed that this pregnancy is unlike any I have ever had before. <br />
<br />
How is it different? I am not enjoying pregnancy at all. It is a means to an end once more, and the journey will not really begin until my daughter arrives. I find myself wishing away the weeks until we arrive at her due date. I still worry that something will go wrong because I still know all the bad things. I plan for her nursery, and I prepare the necessary things. <br />
I want desperately to see my husband's face when he looks at her for the first time. I want to see him when he sees her. I want to record the look on his face when he changes. I have always told him there is a magic in seeing your tiny, new child for the first time that changes something inside you. I have told him that once he sees her and holds her for the first time, he will never be the same again. I have always wished this for him, since it is the greatest joy I have ever known. I hope against all hope that I will be able to witness this moment.<br />
But in my mind, I always come back to the one moment. I come to the moment when my daughter is born and they put her in MY arms and it is ME feeling her skin, kissing her cheeks, and counting her toes. I am stuck on the moment when it is ME who gets to feel the delicious weight of her on my chest. <br />
I think somehow, after watching the last five babies I have delivered go directly into someone else's arms, I think that I will appreciate this miracle being laid into my arms even more than I ever did before. <br />
I am starting to believe, that with all the experience I have with childbirth and pregnancy and motherhood, with all I have learned of hope and giving and loss, I am starting to believe that I even I can, just maybe, still find the magic and... Change. emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-50265380073550108892015-06-19T11:45:00.001-07:002015-06-19T11:45:35.703-07:00The new normalI opened up blogger to write a poem today. Of course, what I found when I arrived was the post I wrote in January while I was healing and starting to finally feel like a "normal" Emily again. As you would suppose, I cried when I read it. Cried to remember the pain, the loss, and the journey back to me.<br />
I will never be who I was before. I have known what it means to "lose myself" and learned that it is the worst feeling. I have learned compassion, I have learned "it is what it is" and I have learned how to let go. Elsa, the most annoying Disney princess ever conceived, is of course the bearer of my theme song. I have learned to let go. Of my pain. Of my fear. Of other people's choices. Of judgment. Of my children (the most difficult of all). Of everything. <br />
I am happy to share that I am off meds and therapy now. I still go to my group meetings, but I made it off meds! It was a very challenging process; I didn't realize that going off the meds brought back the symptoms of depression and anxiety. It took me two months to get them out of my system. I am now fully functioning at my new normal.<br />
I sometimes wonder, "Would I go back and change this journey I have taken as a surrogate?" I would not. If the price of growing three families, carrying five children, and growing love is this journey I have walked, I accept the pain with the joy. <br />
I was taught as a little girl in church that I was sent to earth to choose for myself the path that I would walk through this life. I am most thankful that I have been able to choose for myself to walk the path that I walk. <br />
This last year, as I struggled through depression and back to myself, I taped a poem up on my computer at work. I think I will put up a new one this year, but this poem has become part of my soul:<br />
<h1 class="title">
Invictus</h1>
Out of the night that covers me, <br />Black as the Pit from pole to pole, <br />I thank whatever gods may be <br />For my unconquerable soul. <br /><br />In the fell clutch of circumstance <br />I have not winced nor cried aloud. <br />Under the bludgeonings of chance <br />My head is bloody, but unbowed. <br /><br />Beyond this place of wrath and tears <br />Looms but the Horror of the shade, <br />And yet the menace of the years <br />Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. <br /><br />It matters not how strait the gate, <br />How charged with punishments the scroll. <br />I am the master of my fate: <br /><strong><em>I am the captain of my soul.</em></strong> <br />
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<div class="poet">
William Ernest Henley </div>
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*Italics and bold on the last line added by me. And this poem, written to describe life, for me was about depression and finding the strength and support to make it out. My counselor said that depression was like a rut, and I was a car trapped in it. All I needed to do was to keep turning the wheel, trying different maneuvers to get out, and eventually- POP! I would be able to drive out. That is the picture I kept in my mind as I journeyed, and now I see the car is free. I am free!!!!!!!<br />
emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-91721583357208760202015-01-02T21:33:00.002-08:002015-06-19T11:26:25.368-07:00It is done<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few months ago, I received an email from the owner of the
surrogacy company I have worked with three times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had received an email from a French
journalist asking about me and the twins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
Sh</span>e had found my blog, and wanted to know what happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have let this information percolate in my
mind these last months, and have been amazed that a French woman found my blog,
and then with the thought that maybe there is someone out there wondering what
happened to me and the boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The short
version is- all is well, we are all well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>More or less.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The long version is
longer than anyone cares to read, but here is a mid-length version.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have been a surrogate mother three times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three times I have found a couple who, for
various reasons, could not have a child without reproductive assistance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three times I have carried another woman’s
child inside my womb, loved him/her/them, and delivered them safely into loving
arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I began my third journey, I had planned to keep my blog
up better than I had the previous two times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had planned to journal and keep track of so much more than I had in
the two journeys before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had planned
to be amazing this time, since I planned on this being my last journey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And, as usual, life happened in a way I never expected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the first months of the pregnancy
(twin boys this time), I felt a sorrow and a darkness I had never felt
before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could no longer write, and I
just wanted to sit in my house in the dark and stay away from the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was scary, but I figured it was the
hormones (IVF requires about three-four months of fertility hormones and such
to ensure a healthy pregnancy).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In great
news, within two weeks of going off the last of the hormones, I felt much
improved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I settled into the second
trimester feeling much closer to normal and hopeful for a healthy
pregnancy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t get going too much
with my blog because I kept waiting to have time to go back and pick up in the
beginning where I had left off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, that obviously didn’t happen during the summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I went back to work in August, and all
mental hell broke loose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I struggled
through the last trimester, hurting and aching and exhausted for the last
several months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in such pain, contracting
all the time (which I had never done before) and so worried that these boys
would come too early, I practically begged my doctor to let me stay home, but
to no avail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, about four weeks
before the boys were due and two weeks before my doctor planned to induce
labor, I started having enough contractions and he grew concerned enough that
he put me on modified bedrest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told
me that it “wasn’t just you” I need to worry about and I believe he put me on
the bedrest as an extra precaution for the family who had gone through so much
heartache to make it to this point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I spent the last few weeks of my pregnancy home, sitting on
the couch in the dark and watching TV to keep my mind off of my
discomfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Four days before the boys
were set to be induced, I went into labor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Jason and I went to the hospital, called their parents when we knew it
was true labor, and prepared for delivery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As my luck would have it with this pregnancy, when the doctor broke my
water, blood and blood and blood came out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We did not know where it was coming from, but neither baby was in
distress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was exhausted, afraid, and
knew that my run of beautiful vaginal deliveries had come to an end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had an emergency C-section while completely
unconscious, my mother and husband standing outside of the OR worrying while my
husband texted and sent pictures to the boys’ parents- who were driving at
lightning speed to get to their boys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I woke up drugged, cut in half, and miserable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the women I know who have had C-sections
make it look easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had each leg bound
in a squeezy thing (to keep circulation they said), I was drugged and
semi-conscious, and the boys’ parents came so they got to their children before
I was well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my drugged state, the
parents brought the boys to me and I was able to hold them both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember them being warm and perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then they were gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning, while I was still drugged,
I said goodbye to the boys while they were strapped into their car seats- I
never saw them once the drugs wore off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was fairly impressed that twins born just over two weeks early were
both over seven pounds and able to go home less than 24 hours after birth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I went home a day later and everything hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could not even sit up on my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband had to help me lay down, sit down,
stand up, and I could do nothing except sit and heal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few days later, the twins’ father sent me a
hate email ( have tried to find better wording for this message he sent, but
there is none).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He accused me of abusing
he and his wife and taking advantage of them because I asked for lost wages (as
per our contract) for the two weeks I had been on bedrest- you know, keeping
their children safe so they could be born strong and healthy and able to go
home the next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I responded, defending
myself and at the same time telling him and his wife that I love them, and I
always will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let them know that I
would never hurt them and I had done nothing wrong (except trusting them- which
I of course didn’t put in the email) and never heard from him again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I sat in my house for two weeks in the dark, watching
comedies to keep my mind off of the physical and emotional pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went back to work after two weeks- a bad
idea I later learned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time went by, and
I didn’t feel any better emotionally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
felt worse and worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hated everyone and
everything and all I wanted to do was sit in my house in the dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few weeks later, I received a text message
picture of the boys from their mom, and I broke into tears sobbing that all
contact had not been lost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few more months went by, and I was not okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I literally wanted to kill my dogs, hide in
my house in the dark, and I could not think clearly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was as if a fog of darkness was drifting
through my soul, keeping me from experiencing any joy in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My ob/gyn told me to see how I felt in a few
more weeks and let him know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
meantime, I had a check up with my family doctor and let him know I was on the
verge of darkness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He made me promise to
call if it got any worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One Saturday
night, I woke up with horrific nightmares that had me curling up to my husband
because the fear was so real and so terrifying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I planned to call my doctor on Monday morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Serendipitously, my family doctor called me Sunday
morning because he was worried about me, and I told him (through tears) that I
needed help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gave me some medication
for the depression, some medicine to take in case of another panic attack, and
encouraged me to see a counselor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I set
up an appointment with the counselor and began seeing him about every two
weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The twins were born the beginning of November.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started getting help for my post partum
depression in January.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt ashamed
and guilty, not so much because this terrible illness had taken over my mind,
body, and soul, but because I had done it to help another family, not my
own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like I was robbing my family
of me, and they received no benefit for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I didn’t talk to people about it because the shame was so high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the months went by and I shared with a few
people, I realized that so many women suffer from post partum depression, but
all are ashamed because our society doesn’ t accept depression as a true
medical disorder- which it is- society sees it as a mental weakness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In July, on a much needed trip with my friend in Portugal, I
felt true happiness for the first time in well over a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wept with joy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is January now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
received a picture of the boys on their first birthday and a Christmas card of
their beautiful family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am much
healthier now, but I still have days and weeks where I struggle daily to
overcome the depression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I attend a
support group with others who have depression and we find strength in one
another and can honestly share how we feel without fear of judgment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I find joy in my life, and happiness knowing I live the life
I want with three amazing children and a husband who stood by me like a rock
through this experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have learned
humility and patience. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have learned
that nobody- no matter how stubborn, strong-willed, brave, or smart- can fall
victim to depression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have learned
that doing good does not always end in a reward, but can sometimes leave scars
that will never heal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I believe that life is all about learning and growing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We use what we learn to become better and
help others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through this experience, I
have learned what it feels like to lose control of my mind, something I never
thought could befall somebody as strong as I believe I am. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have gained a deep understanding and empathy
for those who suffer from mental illness because I can testify that it is real
and it is completely debilitating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
have learned humility, which I have seriously lacked all my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am changed from this experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have spent the last six years growing other
people’s families and I never knew how I would stop because it is such an
incredible high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This last journey let
me know- both body and mind- that I am done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have given so much of myself for others, and I have been rewarded by
bringing five wanted and loved little people into the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know these children are loved, and no
matter how things have ended, that is enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I cherish my life, my health, my own children, and more than
I ever imagined possible, my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There are days I believe I have overcome the depression, and days I feel
I will never escape it, but I have learned how to live with it, and I have too
much to live for to let it control me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is the end of my surrogacy journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is beautiful and tragic to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No matter how things have gone, I know it has
been part of my path through this life, and I am forever grateful.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vpywW9cHnC9vbueC9d8fclZGrPO5jc3Izn7B6YIxdHynIL3iQ0d5cRMUBRATQZTqskPNH-JSa3QyTen2YhXBx0_MXhA4OIHu-KA9tWWGDDzoJ0xuPItbM7TLSE9cJfUxQ2CH1WTjrt1t/s1600/family+christmas+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vpywW9cHnC9vbueC9d8fclZGrPO5jc3Izn7B6YIxdHynIL3iQ0d5cRMUBRATQZTqskPNH-JSa3QyTen2YhXBx0_MXhA4OIHu-KA9tWWGDDzoJ0xuPItbM7TLSE9cJfUxQ2CH1WTjrt1t/s1600/family+christmas+2014.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
My family- Christmas 2014<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kGR8VXrYXbxFVoX9ShyphenhyphenRkDnx_SQTlkflJrFRRQ67NwJe07-LnE8o0W9uQgWkZjBKKZyMECw6YIEb2-3ovs2lq02HnQTxZOLl6BUfnKJuQBddyZNovz65Pa9FoUybBT9CsNnp7izzT3j6/s1600/emily's%2Biphone%2B12%2B2014%2B013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kGR8VXrYXbxFVoX9ShyphenhyphenRkDnx_SQTlkflJrFRRQ67NwJe07-LnE8o0W9uQgWkZjBKKZyMECw6YIEb2-3ovs2lq02HnQTxZOLl6BUfnKJuQBddyZNovz65Pa9FoUybBT9CsNnp7izzT3j6/s1600/emily's%2Biphone%2B12%2B2014%2B013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>Me in Douro Valley, Portugal- July 2014</o:p></span></div>
emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-30525111479454656882013-11-30T18:11:00.002-08:002013-11-30T18:12:08.963-08:00The First Trimester (March- May 2013)While completely overjoyed to be carrying these precious children for my IPs, the first trimester has not gone well for me at all. I am filled with a sorrow, a depression I have never felt during pregnancy before. I hesitate to write [and for months I couldn't actually write a thing] because I don't want to write about the sadness I am filled with, but I can't write without writing the entire truth. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIK594tWzHhdjtOz4E4KZTLqJ-Es9dUZtN0q4iXRGWE_kZmn-ktAodbtwsL8vg2iJmdm4nULhNktgYJ_2wIf_8YPMA7JSmWjqMxTh28He9PCE50kokAWQHxn1GrPDLAb-C6JY2MSv9d5pS/s1600/379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIK594tWzHhdjtOz4E4KZTLqJ-Es9dUZtN0q4iXRGWE_kZmn-ktAodbtwsL8vg2iJmdm4nULhNktgYJ_2wIf_8YPMA7JSmWjqMxTh28He9PCE50kokAWQHxn1GrPDLAb-C6JY2MSv9d5pS/s200/379.JPG" width="149" /></a>My body seems to understand that there are two little humans playing in here once more, and she is angry with me! I tell my body, "just one more time, just get these children here safely this one more time and I will listen to you." I am afraid my body will give out on me, will not get these babies here safely and on time, and I feel afraid that I will fail my IPs.<br />
I cannot write, play the piano, enjoy the sunshine. I sit in the darkness of my living room, staring out the window at the light and I am sad. It is a terrible feeling, but at least I know it is not real. I know these feelings are just hormones and they will pass.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJayRhOizQEHVmYm0K3YW1JwibhwUMbkFGvsceiE6tNLfdXhs6FQBL7JuKAwbX5WTX0gckUAMlqCCLcFLuIuNiSeXmrc9lOuv6kegb_mSGBC-ahuEw9JGceZZHhHdhiYXUV9ZYD4Q-6qJ/s1600/444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJayRhOizQEHVmYm0K3YW1JwibhwUMbkFGvsceiE6tNLfdXhs6FQBL7JuKAwbX5WTX0gckUAMlqCCLcFLuIuNiSeXmrc9lOuv6kegb_mSGBC-ahuEw9JGceZZHhHdhiYXUV9ZYD4Q-6qJ/s200/444.JPG" width="149" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Finally, I am able to go off of all the meds from the IVF cycle, and within days, I feel wonderful! I am so happy to know it was just the meds making me feel so awful, and I am able to enjoy the sunshine once more. <br />
The babies are growing well. I am already sporting a little belly and everyone at work has already noticed. I am excited to have a baby bump so early so that I can enjoy the last six months I will ever have a cute belly in my life (I realize that it will be stretched beyond recognition after this final journey). Summer is almost here, and I can't wait!emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-86184321835976212432013-07-09T12:32:00.000-07:002013-07-09T12:32:00.490-07:00Are we pregnant yet?Step One- POAS (pee on a stick):<br />
As we have learned from prior experience, I am not patient in the least! I started the process of POAS three days after transfer (all the hormones you take in IVF make you feel pregnant even if you aren't, so those feelings are unreliable). On day 4, we saw this: <br />
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<br />
And my fear of twins skyrocketed! That is an early BFP (big fat positive). I continued to test, of course, and this is what we saw:<br />
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<br />
<br />
Step Two- BETA (a quantitave count of the hcg level in your blood to determine pregnancy):<br />
And, just for comparison's sake, these are the BETAS from my last two pregnancies-<br />
Twins: Singleton:<br />
270@9dp5dt 101@11dp3dt<br />
550@11dp5dt 373@14dp5dt<br />
<br />
BETA #1- 324@9dp5dt (And yes, this is a higher number than my first set of twins. I am already convinced at this point that I am carrying twins again- despite the low odds the doctors gave us).<br />
BETA #2- 624@11dp5dt (even higher)<br />
<br />
Now, in both my other surrogacy experiences, the IVF doctor would schedule an ultrasound to see what all is going on inside the belly. Hence, the commonly used phrase "in the 2ww (two week wait)" to describe waiting to see if any and how many babies are growing. However, this IVF doctor decided that instead of scheduling an ultasound, we would continue with more BETAS.<br />
BETA #3- 8099@19dp5dt<br />
BETA #4- 20600@25dp5dt<br />
<br />
At this point, I am totally flabbergasted that I have not had an ultrasound, and I am ready to strangle the doctor for making us wait so long! <br />
In fact, I am already showing:<br />
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<br />
<br />
Finally, finally, after over a month of waiting, the IVF doctor decides we will have an ultrasound. I already know it is twins, and convince myself I will survive another twin pregnancy, and hope I am wrong. We have the ultrasoud and see:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexjOZX4VxC9yHeKzDli1E4ZmDFNxivsLa0_b_HvcloTSNvNeRVtP3UMwLZyu7ukCZ5d9flSzvTZb63DwyEa1DVzee4TzCRo4aOPXgT2AukuPPL_Wf2jFU3GqiqnsVabTeWGadhdgsYYqP/s1600/220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexjOZX4VxC9yHeKzDli1E4ZmDFNxivsLa0_b_HvcloTSNvNeRVtP3UMwLZyu7ukCZ5d9flSzvTZb63DwyEa1DVzee4TzCRo4aOPXgT2AukuPPL_Wf2jFU3GqiqnsVabTeWGadhdgsYYqP/s320/220.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Yep, twins it is! The twins' mother literally jumps up and down smiling and laughing for a few minutes. Dad is calmer, but has a huge smile across his face. (I would love nothing more than to insert the beautiful, glowing faced of the parents-to-be here, but I will have to check on that.) <br />
We have started another adventure, and we are off and running...<br />
emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-65257539434438581402013-03-19T14:58:00.001-07:002013-03-19T15:03:28.482-07:00Lucky Transfer<br />
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<br />
March 17 is a lucky day. It is St. Patrick's Day, and tradition dictates luck will come on this day. I woke up this beautiful Sunday morning, donned my knee-high four leaf clover socks and "I'm your lucky charm" green tshirt, and went with my IPs to transfer.<br />
Our first bit of luck came in our 5 day transfer. In most protocols I have seen, clinics opt for either a 3 day or 5 day transfer. If there aren't a lot of embryos, or the embryos aren't developing as nicely as the doctor would like, they do a 3 day transfer to try to get them into a natural environment and hope they thrive there. If there are plenty of embryos and they are developing well, a 5 day transfer is preferred because it gives time to watch the embryos develop so we can transfer the strongest ones.<br />
This is the first transfer I have had that didn't happen in the clinic itself. This one took place a few buildings away in an outpatient procedure type of place. It was Sunday morning, and only one other transfer was taking place, so it was very calm and peaceful. We walked into my pre-procedure room and found three sets of gowns and caps folded neatly on the exam table and the two chairs- one set for each of us. My IPs actually had masks they had to wear, but I got a pair of fuzzy red socks instead! I signed a bazillion papers, including one that said the "condition" I was being treated for was "procreational management" (which made me laugh). I was offered a valium, and I accepted! I drank my 1 1/3 bottles of water (the amount my bladder requires to reach full capacity), and tried to keep my bladder calm as we chatted and waited for our scheduled appointment time.<br />
<a href="http://i493.photobucket.com/albums/rr295/emilygmiller/embryos_zps2db27f9d.jpg?t=1363724590" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt=" photo embryos_zps2db27f9d.jpg" border="0" data-link="src{:fullsizeUrl} width{:rsWidth} height{:rsHeight}" height="320" id="fullsizeMedia" src="http://i493.photobucket.com/albums/rr295/emilygmiller/embryos_zps2db27f9d.jpg?t=1363724590" style="height: 239px; width: 320px;" title="" width="320" /></a>The IVF doctor came in and showed us the two beautiful embryos we would be transferring. One was already branching out, and one was about to. He said they were as perfect as could be, and gave my IPs the picture taken of them just that morning.<br />
We rolled on down the hall and into the<br />
"operating room", even though there would be no operating occuring. I went in to the special chair, and the doctor himself got me all wrapped and snuggled into position. My IM sat just to my left, and my IF sat just behind her (where he wouldn't have to endure the peek-a-boo show!) Once I was settled, we looked at the u/s screen to our right and watched as the IVF doctor opened the path up into my uterus. As soon as the way was prepared, we turned our attention to the huge TV screen on the left wall and watched the embryologist put the catheter into the dish with the two embryos and suck them up. They didn't really want to go into the straw, and kept jumping out of it. Finally, both embryos were loaded. The embryologist came in with the catheter, and we threaded it up the pathway to the very back of the uterus. Then, the IVF doctor pulled the trigger and we watched the embryos shoot into their new home, followed by an air bubble (which you will see as a white dot in the picture. The air bubble is loaded behind the embryos so there is a visual that the embryos left the catheter. Once the doctor sees the air bubble, they take the catheter and put it under a microscope to make sure the embryos are not still in it.) <br />
<a href="http://i493.photobucket.com/albums/rr295/emilygmiller/embryosinuteruscropped_zpsb7e1187c.jpg?t=1363725803" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt=" photo embryosinuteruscropped_zpsb7e1187c.jpg" border="0" data-link="src{:fullsizeUrl} width{:rsWidth} height{:rsHeight}" height="262" id="fullsizeMedia" src="http://i493.photobucket.com/albums/rr295/emilygmiller/embryosinuteruscropped_zpsb7e1187c.jpg?t=1363725803" style="height: 262px; width: 320px;" width="320" /></a>We were given the all clear, my bladder was drained for me (sweet relief), and we rolled back down the hall to our room to wait for 30 minutes.<br />
We left the clinic, hoping and praying the embryos were snuggling in to their new 10-month home.<br />
We went to my IPs home, where they fed me lunch and helped me get situated to rest. I kept waiting for the valium to kick in, but it didn't. Well, until I fell asleep...<br />
We had a great transfer day. I came home with my family from my IPs' house with a strong feeling of peace and calm. I am not superstitious in the least, but I do like to believe that we had a bit of the luck of the Irish with us on Sunday, and that it will follow us through to a healthy pregnancy. My wish is for my IPs to have a baby in their arms, a living, breathing piece of St. Patty's Day luck, by the time we roll back around to this festive holiday.<br />
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<br />emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-56429973214654757992013-02-10T19:10:00.001-08:002013-02-10T19:10:07.465-08:00Wait for it...wait for it- Go!Surrogacy is a game of hurry up and wait. First, you research the process. Then, you find IPs to work with. Then, you go through legal contracts. Then, you go through medical and psychological screenings. Then, you wait. And you wait. And then you wait some more. It is like a child waiting 364 days for Christmas to finally arrive. And then, when you are so used to waiting you forget to complain about waiting, you go to check your email and there is a message from the IVF nurse coordinator with the subject line: Calendar. And then your breath catches in your throat, your eyes open up wide, a smile spreads across your face, and you shout out, "YES!" The Calendar. It is a sacred word in the surrogacy world. The calendar. It tells you what meds to take, when to take them, when to go to appointments, and- most importantly- it gives you tentative transfer dates. Now, it is more common than not that these transfer dates will change, but it at least gives you a time frame and something to actively do. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGq0mgtRnEMyxtmiWhX0_pG5kT6efjU-qWkKxg5AsifbWJWzgXdaKn5C_pvlOLMsOgFOKgWF3yBPSGEbpFmzLmty33bccBqSWyz6vztdJCh55AVKhRi2TcMFSVTO38tZD6fVG9uWcaUF9o/s1600/calendar.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGq0mgtRnEMyxtmiWhX0_pG5kT6efjU-qWkKxg5AsifbWJWzgXdaKn5C_pvlOLMsOgFOKgWF3yBPSGEbpFmzLmty33bccBqSWyz6vztdJCh55AVKhRi2TcMFSVTO38tZD6fVG9uWcaUF9o/s320/calendar.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Then, when the joy of putting appointment dates into your calendar and talking with your IM to share the excitement of who takes what drugs when and who has to have the most injections (my IM wins this time with three injections a day for several weeks), you receive a big FedEx box in the mail filled up with goodies. Now, these aren't tasty, yummy goodies or new clothes, these are the pills, liquids, containers, alcohol wipes, and syringes you will use to medicate yourself with for the next several weeks (usually about 6).<br />
Finally, it is Go time. We are in our cycle. My IM is filling herself with all things necessary to grow as many healthy, viable eggs as she possibly can as fast as she can, and I am working on growing a nice, "fluffy" lining to make a safe and inviting home for the embryos that will soon be created.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEK9xwQdSht5LEYcAWw8yiBH63OnPvBHvUGTcZsb2_K8GzCyJV8UmlFTH_TOmg39LktguOVgcWhwbKWm2wrB741qMqZFHG1cFXZ_FEHfRo5488X6TznxGNOb1HxzVCAAcbDOBWMf6dEXE/s1600/meds.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEK9xwQdSht5LEYcAWw8yiBH63OnPvBHvUGTcZsb2_K8GzCyJV8UmlFTH_TOmg39LktguOVgcWhwbKWm2wrB741qMqZFHG1cFXZ_FEHfRo5488X6TznxGNOb1HxzVCAAcbDOBWMf6dEXE/s320/meds.JPG" width="320" /></a>It is a beautiful thing to be able to create babies the "old-fashioned" way, but don't discount the beauty of the IVF/surrogacy way. When I look at the love, the struggle, and the commitment it takes to make babies this, I am so hopeful for these babies who will be born into a family that is willing to move mountains to get them here. </div>
I couldn't belong to a more wonderful community.<br />
We have been waiting,<br />
and waiting,<br />
and it is time to<br />
GO!emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-8059795646668213302013-02-02T17:16:00.001-08:002013-03-19T15:04:24.884-07:00Life After SurrogacyI remember when I first started looking into surrogacy, there was a woman on a message board I belong to who had a line under her name that read, "Retired from pregnancy, not surrogacy." I didn't really understand it at the time, but I do now. <br />
One of the first questions people ask me about surrogacy is, "What happens after?" <br />
Well, the simple answer is that the baby(ies) go home with their parents and I go home to my family. <br />
For some women, their good-bye (or lack of good-bye) at the hospital will be their last contact with this family that they became a part of for a year. For some women, they may carry on and sometimes think, "Oh yeah, I carried a baby for someone." For some women, there may be a longing, an emptiness because they don't get to know what comes next for that child. For me, the "what happens after" is beautiful.<br />
This past November, I received an email from my first IM telling me that her children (I carried twins for her) were talking about how "Emily carried us in her belly." She wrote in her email that the children wanted to Skype with me, and how she would love for them to be able to talk to me while the topic was in their minds. She also told me that she didn't want me to feel obligated. I smiled. I smiled because these two three year old children already understand their beginning. I smiled because of the kindness thier showed in not wanting to put me out. And then I smiled because I was going to get to talk to these two fanatastic little people that I cared so much about!<br />
We Skyped one Saturday morning. The kids played with their cars and gave me all the attention a three year old can. I was able to talk to them for a few minutes, and spent the rest of the time talking to their mom. <br />
This family became part of my extended family during the year that we worked together. We learned about surrogacy together as we went. We shed tears of frustration, anticipation, and joy. We only see each other about once a year, and send occasional notes, pictures, and Christmas cards. We do not keep in touch regularly, but we are always there.<br />
<br />
Two days ago, I received an email from my second IM telling me about Isabella's Christmas, and what was going on in their lives right now. She sent me pictures of Christmas, and I couldn't help but smile at the dark, wavy hair of her little girl. <br />
Her family has become my family. We live only a few hours apart, and we see each other a few times a year. She has always sent me pictures, and I have recently started sending her pictures of my children too.<br />
<br />
When Jason and I got married, both of these families were in attendance. My first IM went with me and held my wedding dress up as I used the restroom. We laughed that it was so comfortable for her to be there with me (this was nothing compared to giving me a shot in the butt!). My second IM put her hand on my belly and nearly cried with the joy that her daughter was there with us on our special day.<br />
I did not become a surrogate to make a new best friend. I did not become a surrogate to have a baby and then go on my merry way. I became a surrogate to make families grow. I do not have a problem handing a child over to his/her parents because I love the family, not just the child.<br />
I always tell prospective IPs that I ask for two things "after" the surrogacy. The first is that my children are able to see the baby in the hospital so they know the baby made it out okay. The second is that I would like a picture of the family we helped to create. <br />
In both cases, my children not only were able to see the baby, but they were able to hold and kiss the babies. <br />
Not only did my children get to see the babies, but I was able to hold, and kiss, and love the babies.<br />
Not only that, but I was able to be in the room when all the IPs saw their children for the first time.<br />
Not only that, but they all invited me to be there when the baby first came out of the nursery.<br />
In both cases, they didn't just send me a picture of the family, they sent me many.<br />
Not only that, but I have seen and played with all of these children.<br />
Not only that, but we still keep in touch.<br />
<br />
After all that I have been through in the last four years, I have finally learned what it means to be "retired from pregnancy, not surrogacy." These living children are a legacy of surrogacy. As long as they live, as long as their parents tell them the story of their beginings, I will never be retired. As long as I live, I will be a surrogate. And it is far from an obligation, it is a blessing and a joy.<br />
<br />
I am a surrogate. I don't just grow babies, I grow families.emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-91168915962166959932013-01-15T09:12:00.001-08:002013-03-19T15:05:09.146-07:00What I should have told the kooky counselorWe went to the clinic a few weeks ago- my IM,my IF, and me. The IVF doctor had to make sure that my uterus hadn't mutated since my last delivery, and we were relieved to see that it was, in fact, exactly and perfectly as we had left it. We were ready for a calendar (I always love to have the dates and the plan of action laid out in front of me), but much to our dismay, the nurse coordinator said that I had to have a procedure done- an hsg- which is short for some big, long medical word that basically means "shoot nasty chemicals that will show up as contrast in an x-ray into your uterus and push them through your fallopian tubes to make sure there are no blockages". Of course, the procedure had to be planned in advance, and we had not planned it in advance since we did not know about it. We were pretty bummed. The silver lining to the clinic causing a delay in my testing was the absolutely amazing news that this clinic is going to allow me to use Crinone instead of PIO. Translated to human speak: I will simply take a suppository instead of stabbing myself with a 1 1/2 inch needle every night for approximately 6-8 weeks. I feel my hips doing a happy dance and my poor, abused blood vessels smiling with glee!<br />
We headed off to a yummy lunch at a local downtown Austin restaurant, and then went back to my IPs' house to relax, visit, and check out the miniature donkeys in the backyard. We had a relaxing afternoon, and then headed back to Austin for our appointment with the counselor. <br />
Counseling is an important step in the surrogacy process. The first time I was a surrogate, I had to take the MMPI (which I call the crazy test), meet with the counselor independently, and then meet with her with the IPs. The second time, I got to skip the crazy test, but still met with the counselor with my IM (and IF by phone), and then talk to her alone. The purpose of the counseling is to determine if the surrogate is in an emotionally and mentally balanced state to endure a pregnancy and the related challenges and trials that come with it, and then hand the baby back to his/her parents and still remain psychologically intact. The purpose of counseling for the IPs is to make sure they are ready to go through another trying procedure and that they are emotionally healthy enough to try something else that <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">could fail. I think the reasons for meeting all together are to establish our expectations for and during the pregnancy, the way we will treat each other and communicate throughout the process, and how we plan for things to end. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">At first, I thought the counseling was a complete and total waste of time. Seriously. The MMPI asked if I heard voices in my head telling me to hurt myself. This seemed silly at the time. However, I have come to appreciate the counseling, and yes, even the test. With my first couple, it was just another 't' to cross, but with my second couple, I truly felt concern about the emotional state of the mother since she had recently delivered a living child who died soon after birth. The counselor was able to show me how the mother was handling it in a healthy way and alleviate my fears for her well-being. I realized then that the reason I take the crazy test and speak with the counselor is so the parents know that I can make it through this process without going nuts and that I am capable of handling the emotional difficulty of this seemingly bizarre situation.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">This time, we visited with a new and somewhat eccentric counselor. I did not meet with her alone, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">only with my IPs. I expected the same type of questions as always. Why did you become a surrogate? Does your husband support you? How are your relationships with your previous couples? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">The conversation went easily. We had already agreed about everything and knew we would not have trouble with termination or selective reduction ( we both want a healthy, living child- a perfect one is just a bonus). We had already gone through trouble with the agency and the contracts, so we knew we could handle adversity well. At one point, I told my IM, " close your ears" because I did not want my words about the beauty of carrying a child and feeling them kick inside to hurt her. The counselor stopped us, and pointed out that I already cared about my IM - awesome! She told us that we already showed concern for each other's feelings, well-being, and protection. What a great thing to hear at the beginning of a friendship.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">There came a point toward the end of our visit where we were ready to leave, but the counselor just </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">kept firing away with the questions. There came a question that I simply didn't know how to answer. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">She asked, " Why do you love your previous IPs?". </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">I couldn't think of a a response. I tell her, " I carried their child(ren) for them."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">She asks again, "but what makes you love them?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">Again, I am stumped. I try again, " We keep in touch."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">"Yes, but why?" she </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">poses, and I am reaching for straws here. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"> I blurt out the only other thing that comes to mind. " Well, a few months</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"> after the twins </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">were born</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">their mother sent me a necklace with two doves on it. She told me they represent </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">the</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"> spirits that I carried here for them. The day after I delivered my last surrobaby, her mother </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">gave me a necklace </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">with my children's birthstones on it. These are symbols to me of our journeys together</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">, and I love </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">them for thinking of me with this reminder."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I look at the counselor to see if she approves (as I look at my IPs in horror </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">that I just blurted out </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">something so stupid and materialistic). I couldn't think of anything else to say, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">so I didn't. We just ended our meeting with the kind and kooky counselor and went our separate</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"> ways. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">On the way home, I started thinking about her question. I wanted to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">find the truth so that I wold know for myself what makes me care for these people so deeply, so quickly...</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I think about my love for these families that I helped to grow</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">. I didn't start to love them at the end</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"> of our journey when they gave me a tangible gift. I didn't start to love them when</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"> their child was born. I loved them way before then. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">So I go back to the beginning. I think of my first meeting </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">with each couple. I think of the words they speak and the expressions on their faces as they explain to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">me why they are on the road to surrogacy. I remember the sorrow in their eyes when they tell me of their </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">losses, and I still see the love in their eyes when they speak about falling in love with their spouses. I listen</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"> to the passion in their voices as they share their desire to become parents. I feel sincerity </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">in their tone, and I see the light of hope alive in them when they speak of the possibility that surrogacy will </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">bring them a child. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">In each case, I know right away that I want to work with each couple. Why?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">It is the human suffering they have endured. The grace with which they accept reality. The strength they have gained through their trials. The love they have for each other. The desire they have to become parents. The hope. I fall in love with these couples the very </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">first time I meet them. I see my brother and my sister in need, I see their humanity- the grief and the joy </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">and the hope (always the hope), and I want to walk with them awhile. I want to carry a child for my sister while she is unable, and I want to absorb some of their strength as we go. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Every moment after that first meeting is just our friendship and our love growing. Every phone call to check on their child, every intake of breath as I share the baby's heart rate, every smile when they can feel their baby kicking them through my belly, every tear that they shed when they watch their child dancing on the ultrasound screen makes me love them more. </span><br />
By the end, by the time this couple is holding their child, they are my family. We have walked through fire together and I love them. <br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">That is what I should have told the counselor. That is what I should have told my IPs.</span>emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-30404788862030227032012-12-13T16:23:00.003-08:002012-12-13T16:23:48.196-08:00Contract HellThis journey has started out with a whole lotta madness! We have spent the last several weeks in contract hell. My IPs and I were easily able to come to terms with our contract- however, they and the agency did not seem to see eye to eye on the agency contract. <br />
This was exceedingly frustrating to me because I love my agency (I have used the same one every time with great results) and I feel very strongly that I should work with this couple. I could not see a clear way to work this out- since I did not want to break my word to either party, and I had agreed to work with both. <br />
So, after weeks (maybe only one or two, but it feels like three or four) of trying to get them to all agree to terms, several conversations and emails with the attorneys, and frustrating conversations with everyone involved, we realized that it was not a good idea to force the agency and the IPs to work together. Since neither of the other parties wanted to work with each other, we agreed they shouldn't- which left Jason and me in a rather awkward position.<br />
It was a difficult decision, but Jason and I were able to accept and embrace the idea of working independently with this fabulous couple.<br />
It is amazing how weeks of crazy frustration sum up so neatly on the page (it is actually quite maddening!). However, one lesson I have learned through my adventures as a surrogate is that once we reach the end goal and there is a healthy child in the arms of my IPs, nobody will even care that we went through these bumps in the beginning. <br />
I love surrogacy. I love being part of a world in which I can help other people know the great happiness of parenthood. I am amazed every day that God has put this great blessing in my life.<br />
I move forward from this rocky beginning onto another unknown path. I pray that we will be blessed with smooth sailing and a gentle breeze, but I also pray for the strength and endurance to press on through stormy seas to bring a child safely into the loving arms waiting at our journey's end. emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-71077225049812109242012-11-10T19:59:00.001-08:002012-11-10T20:02:35.436-08:00No fear (and the beginning of journey 4)I have started writing this post five times. Let's hope the sixth time works out.<br />
I have brought six children into this world. Three of them are mine, and the other three belong to two beautiful and amazing families. <br />
After the failed sibling project this past summer, I thought that maybe I was done. I thought that maybe I was not meant to carry another child. I thought that maybe six was enough. I had given back to the world the life that had been graciously bestowed upon me, and it was time to find another path. But then, I knew, deep in that place without words, that I am meant to carry another child. I am meant to continue this journey that has brought such blessings to my family and those we have travelled with. <br />
I have met a new set of friends. I have met on this path a couple who is energetic, and happy, and full of joy. I have visited with them and the time has just flown by as we have talked about life- work, travel, childhood, sorrows, and dreams. We agree on the importance of family, of truthfulness, of the sanctity of each human life, and of living life with purpose. What more can I ask for?<br />
We have met on this path and have chosen to walk together for a spell. <br />
<br />
I am thankful to be on this road. I believe that people are put on this earth to love each other. There are so many ways that we can show that love, and this is my way. I know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.<br />
As we begin this journey, I am filled with joy and hope and a healthy dose of humility, but for the first time, I am not afraid.<br />
emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5889958581367834932.post-15008767742417752502012-10-26T17:36:00.005-07:002012-10-26T17:36:56.605-07:00Why?Why, when a woman carries her own grandchild, is it a miracle?<br />
Why, when a woman carries her sister's child, is it a blessing?<br />
Why, when a woman carries her best friend's child, is it beautiful?<br />
Why, when a woman carries a stranger's child, is it terrible?<br />
Why, when a woman carries for a couple with no womb of their own, is it a shame?<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15916718534119493011noreply@blogger.com6