Packing through panic

Posted in After treatment, Canada, Fertility, Finding Home, Life by

Packing update (still no time for pictures):

The boxes are slowly filling. One after another, I’m stuffing them with clothing, books, computer games and cooking hardware. Attempts to sell the mattress have failed. Such is life. We’ll be shipping it to Canada. Time is running out since the movers arrive tomorrow to collect our goods, which means tonight will likely involve last minute quick-fixes – tape and cardboard flying. Went shopping yesterday in attempted retail therapy. Bought amazing dress (Sales Lady said it looked, ‘striking’ then commented how she remembered me from the last time I’d tried it on. That essentially sold the dress. Not sure why – but the word striking suited me perfectly. I’d like to be striking, particularly after this past year of being a Vaseline smear of myself in the mirror).  Soon to leave for Hungary with a European road trip in the works. Not planning this trip, instead leaving everything up to my husband and his family. I’ll just be the tired girl in the backseat, typing away on her laptop.  Article writing is coming along, but I’m suffering from ‘cheese’ symdrom. It’s like when attractive people suddenly appear ugly in front of the camera. As soon as a spot light is turned on my writing it freezes up – fills with formality and tension – thus resulting in a lost voice. But life is a learning process, problem has been identified – now must rise above. Shake off those nerves.

And that is my situation in the form of facebook status lingo, or twitter tweeting. Many nouns are lost in the process, but too bad so sad. I’m too busy for nouns today.  Essentially things are ticking along, but I’m finding it overwhelming. Also, throughout the madness of moving, there is this lurking sadness that keeps swooping down and resting heavily on my mind. It’s funny – when I found out gluten was a bad thing, that really pissed me off. Finding out that my eggs are so low . . . I’m not at the point where I can be pissed off, instead I’m just well-deep sad.

Chances are I should be writing more. It’s such a relief for these feelings, but because of the move there’s no time. So! I’ve snuck in a pinch of typing this morning for Bumpyboobs, thankfully, but now should be off to eat some breakfast. Early morning writing is good for the soul. Helps to lighten my mood (because I shove all my worries on this electronic page, ‘worry distribution’  so that they’re free from my head).

Okay, now it’s really time to go. Zsolt is awake and getting dressed.

Soon this madness will be over and I’ll be floating in spa waters. Almost there, Catherine, you’re almost there.

The procrastination continues

Posted in Bumpboobs, Canada, Fertility, Finding Home, Life, moving to canada by

Ok – packing has STILL not started, and it’s Monday. Movers are due Thursday, so yeah, time’s getting pinched. It’s just hard to get focused. Between a great party last Saturday, selling the car and furniture, planning a road trip across Europe, dressing for that photoshoot, and visiting the theatre in London. . . those boxes arn’t likely to fill anytime soon.

Even writing this post is munching on time. But what the heck, I’ll skip the picture scribbling today.

Right. Last Thursday I was given the crappy news. Fine. Since then I’ve been struck by waves of sadness – but otherwise I’m just moving forward. Things are so busy I don’t even have time to google ‘egg donation’ and that’s probably for the best at this moment.

Zsolt said that while an AMH measures the level of hormones produced by eggs (thus measuring the amount of eggs –ish) it doesn’t measure the quality. So that could be either good or bad, though honestly at the moment I cannot be asked to investigate further. And my acupuncturist said she knew a lady who had similar AMH results, and then several years after the test was pregnant.

Anyhow – this is clearly a situation of “he said this” and “she said that” and “I once heard about a women who”.  . . a lot of speculation and encouragement to hope.

But honestly, at this moment (and I’m sure this will change) I’m just tired. I feel tired. Not chemo-tired, just emotionally exhausted and ready for a break.

Cue the summer. I keep telling people about lake Balaton and the spas of Hungary. I keep dreaming of floating through hot water and tanning in the sun. And then there’s this new world over in Canada that I’m trying to imagine – but it’s all water colours – I’ve got a sense, but no shape of what will unfold. This is one of those ‘trust the gut’ situations where everything hopefully works out.

Anyhow. Just checking in to say hello. At this very moment the Zsoltster is going through our filing cabinet trying to empty contents for shipping/binning. Considering he stops at every-single-item for a lovely trip down memory lane, I think it’s going to take a while.

Time to stop typing and help un-file that cabinet.

Later Gator.

Fertility AMH results

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Fertility, Life, Love by

Today I received a phone call. The phone call. I’d been expected the used car salesman to ring me up and name his offer on our car. This morning we stopped by the lot, and having checked it over he said, “yes we’re interested in your car, but I need to talk with the boss about pricing. Leave your mobile number with me.” Which we happily did, meaning that today I carried my mobile on my person, whereas normally it’s left in my purse in the back office as I work in the library.

But today it was on me. And when it rang, I nipped into the back to answer it away from the students. Good thing for that because twenty seconds later I was in tears.

Results are in. They’re not great. My eggs are quite depleted with .7 pmol/L (or something like that, I’ve only heard the results, not seen the paper detailing the anti mullerian hormone (AMH) test results). The nurse said she was so sorry to deliver bad news, but the consultant thinks my best option for the future would be egg donation. Meaning, not my eggs.

Good on the .7 for hanging in there, even if that basically classifies me as ‘barren’ – it’s better than zero. “You just need one,” said both my husband and mother.

Anyhow – cue the tears, hang up the phone, start the profanity (a kind of medicine not recommended by professionals, but definitely recommended by me). Quiet utterances of ‘fuck’ interspersed with sobs of disappointment. My poor boss opened the door during the phone conversation and saw that look on my face (the ‘ugly cry’ look of uncontrolled emotion), but he handled things very well. After I sucked up my outburst just long enough to fill him in, again rose the tears and he was a great comfort. Poor fellow! It was my last day working with him, and the Avenue has been such a wonderful experience – leaving on a tearful note really does not represent my time within the library. It’s been all laughs and conversation (plus diligent work habits), even during the chemo months the library has been a place of refuge.

But he responded quite well. Didn’t try to fix anything, just let me go home for a private cry.

And then there was my husband. I called him up thinking ‘can’t share this news over the phone, must relate in person’ so just said: “I don’t feel well and need you to pick me up. Like right now, please.” So he came – but not before running around the flat to change his stained t-shirt and throw on some jeans instead of sweat pants. He thought we were going to the hospital! And when he arrived (I had decided to sit on the ground while waiting, which probably increased his worries), he jumped out of the car, and again I broke into a fit of tears –

“I got the results and they say I can’t have children.”

You should have seen his relief! Relief. I wasn’t sick, we didn’t need to go to the hospital. Considering the panic situations that’d been running through his mind, things were okay.

“That’s fine, we’ll be fine.” And he let me cry a little more.

And we will be fine. Today I’m grieving the loss of those eggs. Ever since flipping through Zsolt’s baby album I imagined having my own little big-headed baby, and now – well, we’ll see. Unlike a cancer diagnosis, I am not filled with fear. Sadness, yes, because there has been a loss. This is a loss. But no fear – instead there’s hope. There are options, there are possibilities, there are opportunities. And when we’re ready, we’ll see what can be done.

For now, I’m grieving. For today. Maybe again a little later. But Zsolt and I both feel that things will be okay. We want a family, so we’ll get a family (Hello! We already are a family, but children would be a wonderful gift).

And until then, there will be adventures. Moving to Canada, trips around the world, chasing careers, getting involved, making a difference, enjoying life. With every year – every bloom of the roses – I’m reminded that things are always beginning, always full of opportunity.

In time we’ll grow our family. For now, we’ll grow ourselves.