Last year, Stand Up to Cancer asked me if i remembered what i was doing on september 11th, 2001. I did. I still do. This is what i wrote:
su2c asked on twitter if we remembered what we were doing eight years ago on September 11th, 2001. we were living in manhattan. i was on my way to work. the streets were filled with frantic police officers. it was horribly loud, as manhattan so reliably is, but you could feel an eerie silence beginning to settle over the city.
there was a mass exodus on foot. people fled the city via every bridge possible. the subways and trains weren’t in service. grand central was locked down because of the bomb threat. our building was locked down, too. a cell phone signal near impossible to come by.
nuggetdaddy was working in new jersey then and i was finally able to get a hold of him. we decided i would take the first train out of the city and he would pick me up wherever we could both get to. i made it on the first train out of grand central. it was sweltering. the train filled with an acrid stench. most passengers were covered in a heavy white dust; most in more than their fair share of blood.
it didn’t matter where the train was going, people just got on in hopes of making it out of the city. the train stopped at every single station en route. it took forever.
nuggetdaddy picked me up at the fleetwood stop and we decided to try to drive back into the city. we had pets and friends to check on. family and friends desperate to hear our voices. we were finally able to make it back in over some tiny bridge in the bronx.
by now the city was silent. there were no planes in the air, no people on the streets. when we woke up the next morning the wind had changed direction. the stench was unbearable. we stayed in the apartment all weekend, happy to be alive and at home with the pets and dr. roommate.
so, stand up to cancer, there’s your answer.
and speaking of stand up to cancer, did you watch the telecast last night? did you donate? did you help find a cure? did you save lives? did you stand up to cancer?
July 19, 2009 will always be an important date in our families personal history book. To most this day passes without a second glance, but to us, today will always be the day God saved our son.
The emotional roller coaster of this day has not even come full-circle, the accident happened at 7PM. And yet, before 9AM I have felt joy, peace, fear, sadness, anxiety, hope, reassurance and love.
And, I’ve told Satan to go to Hell.
Because today, friends, is about celebrating life & all that it has to offer.
The fear and anxiety that Satan is calling me to feel will not overpower the joy and celebration of this day. There are many forts to build and pools to swim, trees to climb, and playgrounds to discover. We do not have time to waste on worry.
There is too much life to be lived.
Last night, as Bubs slept, I crept into his room and I knelt down beside his bed. There, I gently stroked his chest and legs & I prayed and cried and thanked the Lord.
I thanked Him for:
his strong frame that held the heavy weight of that 800 pound golf cart
his wherewithal to hold that beautiful head up as the cart drug him along the concrete earth
his tiny bones that may have bent and broke but held it all together, somehow
for the neighbors who rushed to help my family in those moments before the paramedics arrived
for the paramedics who worked swiftly and kindly with my little fragile son
for the pilot that drove the helicopter carefully and without haste
the doctor’s that worked through the night to repair his tattered, broken body
for the nurses that healed my family as much as they healed Bubs during his time in Children’s Hospital
for the gift of medicine, that allowed our sleepless son to rest, and be relieved of pain, long enough to heal his bones and build up his energy to fight again the next day.
And then I thanked him for our gift of friendship. My, how we’ve been blessed. The old saying is true, you really don’t know who your friends are, until you need them. And Lord, when we needed friends, you showed us in overwhelming numbers. You gave us an emergency room full of love and prayer. You filled the waiting room for countless hours while we waited for the doctors to tell us the surgery was complete. You sent visitors and toys and prayers and hugs.
You sent tiny angels Lord, and we have seen Your face.
I will never forget the faces as I entered that emergency room. Their concern and worry wrinkled over their knitted brows. Most of them looked like they had been praying for hours, deep in communication with their Lord. Some of their eyes fell as they saw me wheeled through the room – they didn’t want me to see them crying. They are a force to be reckoned with – those prayer warriors.
I will never forget looking around as they rushed me back to my son. I have relived those moments 365 times since then… The faces of friends who came from far and away – I saw you all. The faces of people who love my little family & the little boy behind the wounds.
I am forever indebted to them.
And I am fine with that.
In my hour of need, Lord, you gave me friendship. I am honored to say that I learned to give from the best. I am honored to call them friends.
There were times when my heavy heart and tired pregnant body didn’t think it had any more fight in it – and in those times I remember the people I love carrying me. I remember friends calling and emailing & praying. I remember physically feeling those prayers working.
I have seen the face of God.
I call them friends.
And, I believe in prayer. And, I am blessed because of it.
Today, I will celebrate. I will go to a pizzeria and order a movie. I will buy “grey ice cream” (Oreo) and I will top it with chocolate sauce. I will watch him blow out candles and I will play with his hair until he falls asleep.
Anyone who has been through IVF or any type of infertility treatments can vouch for how isolating it is. The time period where I spent all of my energy and focus on trying to conceive were the most lonely times of my life. Sure, yes, you’re with a partner, but as only woman knows, creating life is entirely a maternal thing.
I could sit here and tell you my story, which would take all day. And believe me, I LOVE to talk. But to spare you, I’ll give you the short version.:
I went through approximately 6 1/2 years of infertility, on and off. It killed my first marriage, and with my second marriage, it definitely took its toll, but we had our limits. Our last attempt was a Frozen Embryo Transfer (or FET for you newbs or n00bs if you prefer leet speak). We both decided, for our mental health and our marriage, that this was it. If it didn’t work, we were going to become the crazy animal people in our neighborhood. There probably would have been weird things like ferrets and tegus.
But it worked. And we were…shocked. That’s the thing about fertility treatments, when they actually work, you feel like you pulled off a bank heist.
Cut to four years later, and we now have two healthy children, one, who was a big old natural surprise. We call her the Matlock baby. Because we joke that we had ten minutes before Matlock started, and well, you get the rest.
But my point to this is, that going through it, I felt…depression doesn’t even begin to cover it. The first time around, I felt as if I had this blanket of sadness wrapped around me, that I couldn’t take off. Ever. The second time around, I found solace in the internet. It wasn’t so taboo! I had people I could talk to. Blogs I could read. But it taught me two things:
One, you are not alone. Not by a long shot.
Approximately 7.5 [million] women are affected by infertility.
Two, use your voice. Educate.
I feel no embarrassment or shame in telling people that we had a hard time conceiving, or that my son was conceived via In-Vitro Fertilization. Was I ashamed that my body failed me? Yes, for a while, but it wasn’t my fault. So I tell people. I talk about it, and 70-80% of the time, someone will chime in, “ME TOO!” It opens doors. It helps us to find others like us. And it also helps to educate people that don’t understand what its like. When we were going through treatment, a good friend of mine was so interested in the process. She would watch me inject medication. She would ask questions. Some people will always be ignorant, but by and large, people are just uneducated about the topic.
This is a contribution to the I Am Me Project. I’m a ten year old girl with a soft heart and a million possibilities. Born into a wealthy family, we don’t have trouble with money, but my parents aren’t going to let that turn me into a snotty, spoiled child.
One of my ears doesn’t work, or at least the horrible muffled up sounds that do make it through, aren’t noticeable. I have a short temper and an easy-to-break heart. Sensitive physically and emotionally, I am treated like a rag doll.
I try my best to help others, not knowing if they are thankful or not. I’m soft and always happy to socialize and talk. I care about others and absorb their feelings.
I’m proud of my character that cares about others maybe more than myself. I expect others to do the same as I do for them, making most of my bad situations worse when no one cares.
I love to write and act. I love to sing in musicals, and say my lines, and write my words. I’m proud of my creative capabilities to make amazing stories and facial expressions.
I have a therapist who helped me with my temper, but I’m proud I got help. I’m proud I don’t scream any more, unless it is necessary. I’m known for swinging between optimism and pessimism. But it’s good that I can see two sides of one world. I can have both high and low self esteem.
That’s Me, and Me is who I am.
And Me is always proud of who I am, and I’m proud of Me.
But I’m not the best version of me. I want to take the oath I’m afraid to take, the path that would make me better. No one’s perfect, and everyone should except that. No one should be left out, everyone should feel important.
I believe the purpose of life is to Survive, Love, Hate, Feel, Die. To survive, and be a survivor of your own war. To love, have friends and family there for you. To hate, to know the difference between someone you should be with and someone you shouldn’t be with. To feel, to feel happiness, fear, heartbreak, anger. To feel the emotions of life. And to die, end it, and give space for someone to go on their own path of life.
I had my meeting today with the university, to go through with the complaint. I went in thinking, “Yeah, I’m not going to believed. He works here, of course I’m not going to be. ”
I didn’t think this would become a reality. I sat down at the table with my best friend on my right and some strange old woman who is apparently “unbiased” and high up within the university.
She just went straight into saying how the university cannot do anything, saying there is no proof. Oh I’m sorry. Did you even give me a chance, or did you even try and find evidence? I am still suffering with bleeding after it, is that not proof enough for you? I’ve had to see the counselor for the past five months for my anxiety …No. It’s still not enough for you. Why? Oh yeah because, as you begin to tell me, he is a close friend and you’ve worked with him for years! …unbiased ..what bull shit.
She told me, plainly and simply, “get over it.” Come back next year and have a fresh start. Does the bitch not think that I have been trying to put it past me? I’ve barely slept! Because of the fear of this meeting coming up and having to explain what happened, I probably only got, at most five hours of sleep, for the past eight days.
But this is the end of it, apparently. I can’t do anything else because he works there. I knew this would give him an advantage, but didn’t think it would get to the point where I was being questioned if I truly think it even happened…
It is very difficult to watch someone you love go through the pain of a divorce. There really isn’t much you can do to help them, especially when they are in denial and are making poor choices.
He’s my best friend in the world. I love him dearly. His marriage was never anything extra special, in fact, it was almost always rocky. A few years ago, he was pretty sure his wife was cheating on him. They talked it out, and were working on their marriage. The only resolution I could see as an outside observer was that suddenly, all of HIS phone calls were being monitored. Including with me, his best friend. But since I’m a girl, I was under suspicion. Which I found quite ironic since SHE was the one suspected of cheating, not him.
So it really wasn’t a surprise to me when everything came crashing down this winter. She had been planning ahead: getting her own bank account and transferring her direct deposit into that account, packing up little things here and there. He was knocked completely sideways when she announced she was moving out. Not surprising, he tried very hard to get her to stay.
For a while.
Until he found out she was, indeed, cheating on him.
He isn’t an alcoholic, but he has always been a heavy drinker when he was in the right mood. Her leaving pushed him to the point of drinking all the time. He called me one night, more drunk than I’d ever heard him, and told me he was puking up blood and was suicidal. It scared me to death. I seriously considered driving the hundreds of miles between us to check on him.
Instead, I made him check in with me all the time. He was angry with her and took it out on me, saying I was smothering him. I know now that I probably did push too hard, but it was out of love and concern for him. He became angry enough that he quit talking to me altogether.
Months passed.
I needed to deal with some things in our hometown, so I went to see him. As I already knew, he was – mostly – ready to forgive me. Our friendship is still a little unstable, so for now, I need to be very gentle on him and give him some space.
In talking to him, I did discover that he is still very damaged. It’s not the loss of the marriage that has hurt him so much as it is the loss of the dream of what he thought their marriage was going to be. Even though he has “moved on” and has a new girlfriend, he couldn’t stop talking about his ex and everything she did. His pain is still very raw, although he’s too stubborn to admit it. I know a new relationship is probably not the best thing for him right now, but I know that, like the alcohol, he is using the new girlfriend as a crutch. She’s not his type at all, and from what I can tell is a walking train wreck. I hope she’s not going to end up making everything worse.
So I’m going to love him and pray for him from a distance. I’m hoping that once he heals more, he will cut back on the drinking, and hopefully see this other girl for who she really is.
This really hurts me to watch, but I’m glad he’s at least allowing me to do that much again.
su2c asked on twitter if we remembered what we were doing eight years ago on September 11th, 2001. we were living in manhattan. i was on my way to work. the streets were filled with frantic police officers. it was horribly loud, as manhattan so reliably is, but you could feel an eerie silence beginning to settle over the city.
