Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Got nothing

That's what I feel like most of the time. I've got nothing to say. I realize that this conflicts with the regular updating of a blog. Accept my apologies. It is a dark, wordless land where I live.

As you can tell from the tone of my last post, I've been struggling in the wake of our miscarriage. And then Misfit Mrs. had miscarriage #7. That somehow just finished me. This game has never been about what's fair, but somehow that was just too insulting. I think if anyone had spoken a word about the effing Universe and its ways, I would have bitten their head off completely. Yes, the normally caring and good-natured Augusta has grown into an angry and bitter woman.

I get it. It's part of the package deal - and we've apparently signed up for the all-inclusive dream cruise. Infertiles have to put up with a lot of shit; hope, anxiety, crushing disappointments, grief, loss of social connections, feelings of personal failure, etc. I am getting to experience a lot of what the dream cruise has to offer at the moment.

The only time I feel ok is when I am working. At work, I play a child psychologist. I'm a pleasant, well-liked member of a clinical team, who smiles a lot and gives the impression of deep personal satisfaction. I think I might get nominated for a Genie award this year (for my International readers, this is the Canadian equivalent to the Oscars).

On weekends, I stop acting. Weekends are hard. 

One good thing that happened since I last posted is that I met Pumpkin during the Canada day long weekend. I went to visit my family in Montreal and there she was, having herself a little holiday with Mr. Pumpkin, so we decided to meet. And wow!  is she ever wonderful! You already know that from reading her blog, but I got to experience it firsthand. For both Mr. August and I, our time with the Pumpkins was the highlight of our trip. 

14 comments:

  1. Augusta, it's good to hear from you, you have been on my mind. I have been where you are and it took me a long time to crawl out of that deep hole, BUT eventually I did. If i can help in any way p,ease let me know. Take care.

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  2. Nothing helps more than knowing you are not alone and that someone else in the world knows exactly how much and the very flavor of the pain you are feeling. So glad that you got to meet Pumpkin in person, she can help you bear this burden, and vice versa.

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  3. Ah, hell, dark is the mood and I know all too well how your news felt for me. This is unfair on many levels and I want nothing more than that ray of sunshine hope to hit us soon. This all inclusive option is for the birds.

    Pumpkin in person is a delightful thing. I am glad for you to get a face to connect in this random universe. There isn't much more for me to pass along for wisdom, darling, other than the words will come back and once you start moving forward, you will thank jeebus for the power of inertia. My brightest thoughts are with you, too.

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  4. Augusta, hugs. However you feel: it's okay. Your situation is not okay. It's sucky. But whatever emotion you feel in the face of that...you're entitled. You won't always be in this place. But surviving it is hard.

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  5. Ah, the acting. I've been there so many times. Life isn't fair, is it? I can't tell how many times I've come to that realization and been hurt by it. And then surprised by my hurt. Thinking of you my dear. This is a very hard path to walk.

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  6. I hear you on the life isn't freaking fair a lot of the time! We had a really rough night last night with Ian in the NICU and my husband and I both turned to each other and said can't we catch a fucking break? Haven't we been through enough already? Apparently not. Sorry you're feeling the frustration as well. Sending love and thoughts your way ((hugs))

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  7. Augusta... you are in my heart and thoughts.

    I hate this cruise- I'd like to get off and get a refund. Then let's all find an island to live on that has only happiness and rainbows, and unicorns. :)

    I'm frustrated with the loss and pain that so many of us are having to endure. I hate that all of these amazing wonderful women (and men) and stuck in this land of infertility crap.

    Enough rambling on my part... you've always been a source of kindness to me in the past. Know that you are in my thoughts my dear friend and I wish that I could take just a little bit of your pain right now for you.

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  8. It is hard to find yourself without words. I felt like the hits kept coming for a while. One after the next. It must feel amplified 1000 times in your shoes, if it can even be measured.

    Try to see the downtime on the weekend as rest. It must be exhausting to ramp up and down with each wk. I wish this pain could somehow pass more quickly.

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  9. But tonight, in the main ballroom, an infertility trivia contest! And tomorrow, a day on shore featuring hiding in the corner at a child's birthday party! Surely you will come out of your cabin for these fabulous activities! Seriously though, I've got nothing, too. There sort of IS nothing, except to say that I think of you often, and that I hope today's charade of cheerfulness and this weekend's surviving are easier than last week's.

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  10. I have been thinking about you quite a bit. Infertility is so cruel. I can imagine how difficult things are for you and that makes me sad as well.

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  11. I'm so sorry you are struggling right now. And knowing this is a "normal" part of the greiving process is cold comfort right now. Many virtual hugs to you my dear.

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  12. I'm so sorry Augusta and am thinking about you. Sending you hugs.

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  13. I love you so much. I so wish there were something I could do to make your hurt evaporate. You and Mr. A are wonderfulness itself and wonderfulness should have all the babies it wants. I hate that you are suffering and that the only way out of it is through. So fucking unfair. I'm glad you have work. Even if it is acting, it gives your hurting parts time to rest and heal unattended, I imagine. May the pain recede a little--even if imperceptibly from where you stand--each and every day, leaving you before too long with the self you remember and cherish.

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  14. I've been thinking of you even more than usual since I read this post, trying to figure out what to say. But this much hurting -- for reasons that I wish to hell weren't so damn real, valid, and sad -- just calls for sitting down side by side at the campfire, arms around each other, while the fire burns down. Know I am sending you all the love and comfort I can muster every day ... and that its origins are in the love and comfort you've given me since those campfire evenings so long ago. XOXOXO, H.

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