“The rampage of advertisements has already begun” Chamberlin calculates. (more…)
I was missing you on the day things crumbled. My cart seemed so bare two days before Christmas as I struggled to procure the few things your Dad and I needed, trying to make the best of our holiday for two we felt no urge to celebrate.
I didn’t know then why Fairway Market was spinning and going black or why my heart was flailing about or why the vision of the woman cuddling her toddler in the cheese line suddenly felt no less barbaric than the act of trying to exist.
All I knew then was that I missed you. What I know now is that the towering experience of missing you was layered with a malfunctioning nervous system and I think back on that space in time with sorrow. And with a pointed acknowledgement of human fallibility. That space in time when I sat in my car and in my body spinning out of control trying to fathom your absence. An impossible feat under normal circumstances, an utterly defeating experience in the presence of unregulated blood pressure and minimal blood flow to the brain.
I dialed 911 as my heart relentlessly beat out of my chest. (more…)
An infertility survivor’s early summer musings
I had gotten through Father’s Day without much flinching. These milestones, or non-milestones, depending upon how you look at it seem to, in me lately, provoke the question: Does it get easier, or am I getting stronger? (more…)
“Happy Mother’s Day!” my spin class instructor called out.
I lurched to attention, having been yanked from my “spinning zone”. This weeks’ class had given me time to think and engorge my lungs with prana after a week of little physical activity. Visions for my future, for this life I didn’t chose, had finally started to creep in and I used the class to focus on them. And I was feeling GOOD.
“Happy Mother’s Day to you all!” she called out again. It was only Wednesday. (more…)
Hi All –
Wanted to remind those of you in the IF community about Justine’s #MoreThan1in8 project over at Ever Upward. She’s asking for our photographs and stories of surviving and thriving that she’ll compile, in some surprise way I hear, for National Infertility Awareness Week. Which is next week already!
I submitted mine a little over a week ago. I wrote whatever came to mind (shocking, I know) and focused more on the survival aspect as I myself have barely entered the thriving part. I sense I’ve got a ways to go before that takes hold.
Like Justine I do believe we have power and voice in numbers, and that it is past time for us to be seen. So if you are in the place of being ready, have your submissions in by this Friday the 22nd.
My writing this week comes in a few parts, so buckle your belts and off we go……
Musings of an Easter Scrooge
“Cover your left nostril with your right hand ring finger. Inhale to the count of five through your right nostril. Pause for one. Cover your right nostril with your thumb, release your ring finger from your left. Exhale through your left side to the count of five. Pause for one. Inhale through your left side to the count of five……”
I’ll never forget the first time I was instructed to pause between the inhales and exhales of my alternate nostril breathing. The suspension, for me, was unquestionably luxurious. I thought I had been introduced to a utopia of sorts, where neutrality and all else that is coalesced, emerging as the perfect cocktail.
In my current life, I’ve been having a decent stretch lately. I have regained some of my ability to see into the future, at least a few months into it anyway. What an oddity to have my future vision yield something besides dull blobs of blankness. I’m slightly busy again, busy for the first time in six years with something other than baby making, surviving and grieving. And more importantly, it seems I’m actually ready to be. (more…)
This, and all posts this week are in loving acknowledgement of our children that never got to be and of the dream and life we had to start to let go of on January 31, 2014.
The flickering candle light bounced off the twilit room as sounds of festive chatter surfed through the air. Just as I sat down again at “my” table, my behavior voice beckoned. “Come on S, you’ve got to get to ALL of your guests.” I rose up and dragged myself through the warm, celebratory party space.
As is common with someone who has been traumatized, the gut instinctively pulls you to where you are safe and away from where you may not be. And as is common for someone with such prolonged visceral experiences, remembering to think at all is your version of an afterthought. (more…)
When you layer the holidays over grieving and healing from trauma, life can seem pretty absurd……
It was a Sunday. January 3rd, 2016, to be precise. Sarah Chamberin, 43, sat in her Long Island living room, gratefully absorbing the post – holiday shift. “Ahh, there, THAT’S better,” Chamberlin, an infertility survivor who had just gotten through her second holiday season without her children, said as she inhaled the open space now free from the holiday bombardment of forced splendor. With all Christmas paraphernalia removed, Chamberlin looks ahead. “You know what I like? Mondays. That’s what.” (more…)