Our Journey

2002 Uterine Fibroid Surgery #1

2003 1st consult with an RE, you know, just in case

2003 Got Married (at 37 (me) & 34 (DH) years old)

2003/2004 Naturally conceived pregnancies BFPs #1, #2, & #3 and miscarriages #1, #2, #3

2005 Uterine Fibroid Surgery #2

2005 IVF #1, BFN #1

2005 IUIs #1 and #2, just because, BFN #2 & #3

2005 FET from IVF #1, BFN #4

2006 Exploratory surgery to remove scar tissue from fibroid sugery #2

2006 IVF #2 (w PGD), BFP #4

2006 Emergency cerclage for IC @ 16w6d (5 months + 1 week of complete bed rest at home ensues)

2007 Our son is born @ 38w by scheduled c-section

2007 IVF #3 for baby #2, BFN #5

2007 IVF #4, BFP #5, miscarriage #4

2008 IVF #5, BFP #6, miscarriage #5

2008 IVF #6, BFP #7, miscarriage #6

2008 DE IVF #7, BFN #6

2009 DEFET #8, cancelled, embryos don't thaw

2010 Decide to adopt domestically

12.17.10 Profile is live with our agency

November 2011 Consult with RE re: donated embryo cycle

Early January 2012 Cleared to proceed with deFET

January 2012 Freeze our profile

1.20.12 deFET begins
2.12.12 eSET of one compacted morula
2.22.12 BFN

3.23.12 deFET #2 begins
4.14.12 transfer 3 embryos (1-8 cell, 1-5 cell, 1-4 cell)
4.22.12 + HPT
4.24.12 Beta #1 = 48.4
4.26.12 Beta #2 = 125.7
4.30.12 Beta #3 = 777.8
5.11.12 1st U/S - Singleton!
7.12.12 It's a Boy!
12.26.12 C-section: Baby G is born, 9#5oz, 20.5"



Dead is Dead

I realize that this is a somewhat dramatic title for a post and maybe just getting this out to the universe will bring me solace. My brother died when I was eleven in a solo car accident that we were in together. I will save the details of the accident for another post except to say that in that instant I learned that dead is dead. No amount of waking up in the hospital, my little broken body in a cast, day after day, week after week, month after month was going to shake me out of the nightmare that he was never ever coming back. Ever.

That was a defining moment in my life. And I learned from it the precarious nature of this one life we’ve been given. And even though I don’t always live my life as virtuously as I would hope, I do live with intention and gratitude and I have deep compassion for those suffering through or living with loss.

All this to say that perhaps because of the impression that my brother’s death left on me at such an early age, or perhaps because of all the deaths I would experience subsequently, or perhaps even from the many early term pregnancy losses I’ve experienced, or perhaps even because of the precarious and threatened nature of my pregnancy with my son I am acutely aware that one of my jobs as a mother, I dare say the quintessential role, is to keep my son alive.

It is somewhat ironic then that I don’t consider myself (nor would others who have observed me as a mother over time) a neurotic or overprotective mother. Did I immediately exchange the audio baby monitor I borrowed from a friend for a color video monitor with night vision? You betcha. Did I often watch, in the early days, weeks, and months of his life the gentle rise and fall of his chest while he slept? Guilty. Did I wake up in the middle of the night just this week, and, because he had such a terrible cough and horrible congestion creep into his room and rub his legs until he moved? Absolutely. And, he’s 3!

But, beyond all of this, there is an artery of fearful blood that courses through my veins. I worry about cross traffic at intersections, that someone might run a red light and t-bone us, or, worse yet, careen out of control and hit us head on. I worry that when he is at my mother’s for a visit that she will answer the phone forgetting that he is in the back yard and he’ll wander into traffic on her busy street. I think of him falling from the platform of his fort, some 8 feet off the ground and breaking his neck. I think of him, ever curious, pulling on his daddy’s motorcycle and it tipping on top of him. And, just tonight, my husband took him to the airport to pick up my mother in law who is visiting from the other coast for a week and I thought of my husband losing track of my son as the throngs of people poured out of the terminal and into baggage claim and someone snatching him.

I don’t so much worry about cuts or burns or bumps or bruises, the kind that come as children grow and get their footing with their ever changing bodies. When the school sends him home with a note that Noah bit him or that Jessica crashed into him while on a bike on the playground or that he closed a drawer on his finger, I kiss and soothe and hug and love the ouchy better, but it is par for the course with an active toddler boy. I don’t sweat the small stuff.

But, the more sinister dangers lurking that take many children far too early are what haunt me. It is part of my consciousness. It’s hard to explain that this is just part of who I am; it doesn’t stress me out the way it might someone who hasn’t lived with this kind of awareness for 30+ years. I’m vigilant without be hyper vigilant but I am ever acutely aware that dead is dead and there is no going back.

2 comments to Dead is Dead

  • […] was that I felt something similar when my son was her son’s age and, in fact, posted about it here. I went on to say that the fear diminishes as a child gets older but that the worry will always be […]

  • Yes. Kids getting hurt because that’s what kids do doesn’t freak me out at all – I’m usually the voice of sanity when a kid I know starts to cry from a bumped knee or a cut or even a broken bone. But the thought of out-of-control cars or coughs or crazy people coming near my kid? I practically go ballistic. I have a feeling it’s going to be one of the hardest battles for me as a parent – learning to walk the line between vigilance and craziness.

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