Dream Catchers

Afterr reading countless new blogs, I have delighted in the monikers given the players in each person's individual story.  They are creative and thoughtful, witty and insightful.  I knew I needed to name the players in my own story and so, I have begun to do just that.  These are my dream catchers.

The Story of the Dreamcatcher

I have always loved the concept of the Native American Dream Catcher.  Legend has it that these intricate woven webs would catch all dreams floating through the air.  But, mindful of the child below, only the good dreams were allowed to trickle down and land in the slumbering mind, while the bad dreams remained trapped in the tangled web above.  I have had a dream catcher above me bed since I first heard that story as a child.  Though it is no longer a dream catcher that I hang above my bed per se, I have made sure that the art over my own slumbering mind has similar woven elements.  For, though I am no longer a child, I still hold fast to those good dreams!  Don't we all?

So, here is the line up so far.  These are my real life Dream Catchers.  I know they can't catch all the bad for me, serving up only the positive.  But they will, no doubt, help me investigate the facts, filtering the good from the bad.  They will scrutinize my every inch and every move and work to purify me, readying my mind, body, and soul for motherhood.  They are my dream catchers who will help me catch my dream.

Of course, I am Lil' dreamer and our someday baby is Our Little Bean.  Oh, how hard I am dreaming for them to tumble on down from those clouds!

The Garnet Gyno
image via Google Images

This is The Garnet Gyno.  By the name, you may have guessed that yes, she is my OBGYN and yes, she is a red head.  Perhaps this illustration is a bit misleading as the real Garnet Gyno doesn't appear to be a style train wreck or a floozy.  In truth, I have only met her once, but I liked her immediately.  She is warm and comforting, with a bubbly personality that is friendly, not obnoxious.  She is an optimistic OB who relates to her patients with personal stories of her recent pregnancy and her own frustrations while trying to conceive.  Best of all, when she tells me with a genuine smile, "We'll get you pregnant, don't worry," I really believe her.  Indeed, I feel like we are a team.  I find that this cartoon image oddly sums up all I know and feel about her.  In times of celebration, I could imagine her in this exact pose.  Perhaps, I will even see it one day when I get pregnant!

Auntie Dumplings
image via Microsoft Office Images

This is my fertility nurse.  She is our guide through all of our fertility testing and possible future pregnancies.  I imagine her working on me tirelessly, making sure every ingredient is just right for a ripe little womb to conceive a little bean.  She is kind and straight forward, dedicated and pensive.  I knew when she left me a message from the clinic at 7:15 one night just to check if I had received her previous test result message, that I had found another caring professional.  I call her Auntie Dumplings for many reasons, but mainly because I think of her as my personal chef, readying my womb.  One could easily imagine her as the Aunt you enjoyed as a child who fixed up a steaming bowl of soup for you as you and the cousins came in from a long day of sledding.  Once she settled down from her kitchen escapades, she might even pick up her latest niece, calling her her sweet little dumpling.  This is my fertility nurse.

  

DH (My Designated Hitter) aka The Hubs
image via Google Images

And this is the hubs.  The image is so him--I always tease him that he is "little boy cute", especially when he wears one of his Charlie Brown shirts.  I love him so!  He is a little bit shy and laid back, incredibly thoughtful and supportive, analytical and intelligent.  He is my kind of boy and I feel so lucky that we have found each other and stuck!
If you have been in the land of fertility for long, you know that it has its own language, filled with mind-boggling acronyms.  One such acronym is DH, which I have now learned stands for Dear Husband.  I will not be using DH in this way.  It is far too schmoopy for me, but I may use it in the way I originally read the acronym--as Designated Hitter.  Yes, it is a little embarrassing to admit, I suppose, but for months I though DH stood for Designated Hitter.  I thought it was so clever and logical for all of these fertility friends to have decided on DH-- the husband would be these ladies' Designated Hitter, after all.  It was logical.  Apparently, I am too in tune with sports terminology!  But I'll keep it.  He is my designated hitter and hopefully, one of these days, he'll hit me a home run!

I realize that in my descriptions of my Dream Catchers, their lives are largely about . . . me.  Of course, I don't really believe that that is the case nor should it be the case.  But, I do like how they have all made me feel that way.  Now, to go out and catch some of those little bean dreams!  Wish me luck!

Inside the mind of a 5 year old

There are so many reasons I am ready for my own little one, but yesterday I was struck by the incredible, heart felt gestures of 5 year olds.   The image that melted my own heart, made me laugh heartily, and (of course) resulted in teary eyes.  All this because kids are just so damn cute!

Yesterday was my husband's birthday and, because I am a talker, I talked about this special day in our family with my Kindergartners.  Now, when it is someone's birthday, a little mind and little hands get busy!  Immediately, they wanted to scratch our math and reading lessons and devote the whole day to making him a card.  Cognisant of our curriculum map, I had to squash their requests at that moment, but I did put some paper and markers out for their free time.

Now these little ones know few real details about the man behind their "teach".  Here is their breadth of knowledge:  Mr. T is a scientist.  Mr. T stands with his hands in his pockets.  Mr. T loves cheese puffs.  Mr. T clicks his fingers and it annoys Mrs. T.  Mr. T likes snow leopards.  It is very hilarious to me how little comments I make during snack time and in passing make such an impression, obviously sticking with these little ones.  I would love crawl inside their minds for a moment to see their real perception of him!

At any rate, the students did put their meager knowledge of Mr. T together to make him a wonderful birthday card.  It was quite the popular lab station for the day.  I feel as though I cannot give justice to the result with my words, and thus am including the picture.  Behold, Kindergartners' card for a scientist:

Germs.  Yes, those are germs drawn on the card.  And mold.  Yes, that is mold.  Germs and mold drawn for the scientist, because that is what he loves, right?  They were so excited, literally jumping up and down.  "Won't he love my germs?"  "Look at that mold.  I know he likes mold because he is a scientist!"

So  . . .  freaking  . . . cute!    

Being there to support him . . . any advice???

Tomorrow is the big day for hubby--the Sperm Analysis.  At least, I hope it's the big day.  The "big day" has come and gone a few times now with no pleasure sessions ending in a sample being rushed to the lab.  It is just that every time the date approaches, he begins to melt.  He noticeably pulls away from me, sequestering himself in the bedroom.  He is on edge and very short, uncomfortably quiet.  Yet, the next minute, he is there wanting to be as close to me as humanly possible.  And within another few short minutes, the stress has overcome him again and he is gone from me--emotionally and physically.

I understand his apprehension, the dread for the appointment and the results, the tension that grabs hold of every inch of the body.  I understand this because I live it as well.  Still, this is all very surprising to see, as my husband has been the rock in our relationship, holding us strong throughout this time.  Not only is he an emotional stronghold, he is also a bio-medical scientist, and as such has a very unique way of looking at our fertility struggles (not to mention everything else in the world.)  Generally, it is refreshing, though at times maddening to have the science of our bodies brought into every fertility conversation.  Nevertheless, I was always under the impression that the tests did not phase him a bit.  Before a scheduled fertility appointment, a friend asked me if he was prepared to be asked to do an SA.  "We haven't talked about it," I answered, "but I'm sure he's fine.  He is always around the lab at work, ordering and performing different tests.  I don't think he would have the same qualms others might."  After that conversation, I did discuss it with my husband.  His lighthearted answer confirmed my suspicions as he warmly related that he would do anything I needed, he wasn't worried a bit.

So there we were, both shrugging it off like it was nothing.  Sweeping it under the carpet, stuffing it in the far back corner of the closet.  But it is something.  Obviously.  How irrational and heartless of me to think that it wouldn't be?  How could I not anticipate the worry, dread, fear, and stress that has consumed him when that is what I live everyday?  And now that it is there, the bigger question is why do I not know how comfort him and take it all away?  This dilemma has me feeling like an absolute failure as a wife.  How could I not know how to comfort my own husband?

The hubs is incredible with me--with every melt down and every failed test, his arms are always open, making me feel safe and secure.  His words always shed light on the crisis du jour and help to pull me out of frighteningly dark places.  But when he lays in bed worrying and says, "I'm sure there's something wrong with me,"  I snap.  Instantly, I am furious, hurt that he has decided our destiny, upset that he is luring me into the shadows, absolutely incensed that he is ignorantly assuming all the burden of our fertility complications on his own, enraged that he is not still embracing the role in our relationship of solid rock.  Generally, I have it in me to console for some time, but more often than not the pessimism has already overtaken him, and there seems to be no hope of pulling him out of the trenches.  It is then that I turn to tough love.  And with a raised voice and a snap-out-of-it sentiment, it is then that I begin to show my frustration and irritation, even resentment for this behavior.  I don't know why I do this.  I have no explanation for my rash actions and I am incredibly embarrassed by them every time.  Indeed, I am embarrassed to be sharing them here.  Still, my goal on this blog was to get the truth out, no matter how ugly.  And this is my ugly truth.

So, now I ask for advice.  I plead for advice, for suggestions, for help from anyone.  I am not sure I can endure another night of this or another passed up opportunity for us to finally receive some answers.  When my husband comes home tonight, what do I do if I begin to see the signs of melting?  Can I prevent these feelings from surfacing?  Can I redirect his emotions?  How can I support him?  What happens when he expresses his worries because he knows I am there to listen and I actually say the right things, but it makes no difference?  What if he remains pessimistic the whole night?  How do I show my husband the same support that he has shown me time and time again?  How do I let him know that everything will be alright?  How can I show my overwhelming love for him no matter how far he lets himself fall tonight?  I am anticipating the fall and what I wouldn't do to prevent it!  But, if it is inevitable, how can I catch him with my love?