by Band Back Together | Mar 23, 2016 | Abandonment, Anger, Loneliness, Parent Loss, Therapy |
This is my first post for Band Back Together. It’s been really interesting reading all of your stories. I feel the sense of community in these posts.
I was separated from my mother at the very early age of around three or four.
Recently, I have noticed it is affecting my relationships with a lot of people in my life, including my fiance. I’ve noticed when I am away from her, I rage and become angry. I always seem to look for connections with other people, so I am not alone. I try to either keep myself busy, or I surround myself with other people so that I don’t have to be alone.
I am currently seeking therapy for my abandonment issues.
I would really appreciate some feedback from other people who deal with similar issues.
by Band Back Together | Mar 22, 2016 | Abortion, Abortion Recovery, Adoption, Adult Adoptees, Anger, Anxiety, Family, Fear, Forgiveness, How To Help A Friend With Infertility, In Vitro Fertilization, Infertility, IUI, Medical Mystery Tour, Stress, Trauma |
When I was 15, I had terrible ovarian cysts so my doctor put me on birth control. Not that I needed it – I wasn’t sexually active. It was great. No cysts. When I was about 19, I decided to go off the pill. I was taking them but didn’t need them as I still wasn’t sexually active. I knew it couldn’t be great for me so I just stopped taking them.
And then, I never got another period.
After about a year, I went back to my gynecologist and asked about it, whether it was strange or not. He said it WAS very strange and that it did happen occasionally. I may never get another period and may, in fact, be infertile. He told me this very solemnly and with great empathy. He was a good man.
But me, well, uh, I was ECSTATIC! Infertile? Please. Thank you, god. I was never the kid who planned the wedding and the babies and the names. I had three younger siblings I didn’t really care anything about (now I do). I loved to party and this was before the HIV/AIDS epidemic. (YEAH..I know, I said it. This was mid to late 70′s. Figure out how old I am)
I was trying to be an actor and was living a very vagabondish life. I worked about 10 different jobs so I could live and enjoy my life and sexuality. And then one day I felt different. I went to the clinic and yes, I was pregnant. This was after not using birth control for 6 or 7 years. It was a very easy decision for me to make and I had an abortion. I have never regretted that decision.
I lived my life. I used birth control (not the pill, the sponge… remember the Seinfeld episode when Elaine hoards them?)
And then I met Tom. We were friends, fell in love and got married. I realized that, in fact, I did want to have a family with him and that it was going to be wonderful. My life and expectations were turned upside down by the love I felt for Tom and it was so exciting and fun. We were older and after a year of trying, we started dealing with infertility. I was fine. Tom’s motility was low. No boxers or hot tubs. My eggs were a little old. We did inseminations. (Did any of you ever ALMOST make love in the quiet room with your legs in stirrups? To make it more personal? I KNOW you did!)
About a year later, during an insemination break, I became pregnant. There were little lines on the test and it was so exciting! We told everyone. It was amazing. We went to check in and have an ultrasound and hear the heartbeat and well, you all know… there wasn’t one. It was ectopic. I sobbed as they took me in for my D&C because I wanted this baby that I never wanted. This was a little “me and Tom.” It was heartbreaking for both of us.
The next step was IVF. I became a science experiment. I’m not sure there are enough words to convey how much I hated the process. I was going crazy from the hormones, the daily shots of Lupron and the shots Tom gave me (though, I think he got a little pleasure from it). I had eggs harvested and there were a lot. Not many were viable though. There were enough for a transfer and enough to freeze for the next baby.
So we followed protocol and did everything right. There was no baby. It was heartbreaking. Because for the faintest minute, they thought there was a baby… but no, there wasn’t.
We did it once. That’s all we needed. I looked at Tom and said I didn’t want to be a science experiment anymore. I wanted to be a mom and I was already 38 years old. We moved on to adoption. We were together on this decision. He didn’t need a clone and neither did I.
I am so grateful I was with Tom because someone else may not have seen it that way. And that would have been OK but a problem for us. And with Tom it was not a problem. We moved together to the adoption process and that will be my next post.
Because that was a barrel of laughs, too!
by Band Back Together | Mar 22, 2016 | Happiness, How To Help A Friend Whose Child Is Seriously Ill |
She had done it a thousand times before.
When Emma was younger, she would carefully and slowly roll her body down the two steps of our sunken living room, from the foyer of our apartment. But as she got older, she evolved into scooting down on her bottom, with some semblance of graded control. It was a sight to see. Her four foot, seventy-five pound, lanky frame, propelled itself by pushing off the floor with the back of her hands while simultaneously pumping her legs, in what appeared to me as a painfully uncomfortable movement, much like a caterpillar.
She never did take to the hand splints that were custom-made for her when she was a little girl, to keep her wrists straight, and to prevent the contractures, that partly defined her life. Even as a small child, she was not going to be restrained and somehow always managed to remove the limiting splints–using her teeth to pull apart the velcro. A veritable Houdini.
I marveled at her determination to get to where she wanted to go, with all of her physical limitations, as she would lower her diapered tush, first one step and then the other, bouncing and closing her eyes in anticipation of the not so soft landing.
I would spot her from the corner of my eye, as she would rhythmically make her way to the couch where I would be sitting, attempting to go unnoticed as I would to try to sneak in yet another episode of the Housewives of NY, or Orange County, or Beverly Hills or Atlanta—my one guilty pleasure. Caught in the act, Emma would determinedly pause at my feet, reach for the remote control sitting next to me on the couch, place it, matter of factly, into my hand, and, without skipping a beat, turn her head to look at the television. And even though I always knew how this story ended, I would make an unenthusiastic effort at redirecting her from her goal, by placing the remote control behind my back.
There was no dissuading this persistent, then teenager. Survival was the name of the game for Emma—from the day she was born. With every obstacle that presented itself to her, she would somehow, with ingenuity, find a way of overcoming it, by resorting to the limited skills she had learned over the years.
Precisely the reason she learned to pull herself up on the couch by planting her forearms and elbows into the cushion of the couch and with nothing less than sheer superhuman strength, throw her body up, while pivoting it 180 degrees, so that she could land with aplomb, on her padded behind next to me. The next movement involved her reaching for the remote control behind my back, retrieving it, and triumphantly, and with a deliberate gesture, placing it in my hand once again, so that I could comply with her wordless command, to change the channel to Sesame Street.
It was an impressive battle of wills, and one that I invariably lost—secretly happy that I did.
by Band Back Together | Mar 21, 2016 | Coping With Losing A Partner, Grief, Love |
Hi everyone.
I feel strange saying what I’m about to be saying. I feel my late girlfriend’s body on top of me.
Yes, you read that right. I literally physically feel my girlfriend, even though she is no more.
Doctors haven’t been able to help me with this.
It started about six months ago. She was taken away from me in a car accident. Three days later, I was in no shape to do anything or move anywhere, and I suddenly felt her. I felt her head on my chest, her arms hugging me really tight, her feet on top of my feet.
She loved doing this. If there ever was such a thing, this was our thing. I know this was the same sensation because I could feel her hair poking my chin, like it always did. She didn’t like long hair, so she would cut it really short, and it would poke me irritatingly in my chin when she hugged me like this.
The funny thing is, I sometimes did not hug her back. Just. Just because I was irritated about something or the other. I know she didn’t like it when I didn’t, but she put up with me.
And now, I feel her arms, her feet, her prickly hair, just like before. But she’s not there.
I know she’s not there but I feel it so strongly! It comes and goes, but when it’s there, it’s like she’s back. I can see there is nothing but air in front of me, but she is the air around me. I hug the air back, and it all feels real.
I am left with so much conflict about this. On the one hand, I am glad to have her back in whatever way. But in another way, I am just grieving all the time. Because of this, I just break down and talk to her. I tell her I love her and how much I miss her. But I feel like her soul is attached to me, and I’d like to free her soul.
I miss Ragini. I just wish I knew what to do with her ghost.
by Band Back Together | Mar 18, 2016 | Asperger's Syndrome, Autism, Loneliness, Social Isolation |
I work in therapy and I can’t even spell Asperger’s. I had to google that in fact because I spell it so poorly spell check can’t even help it. Jenny McCarthy would be so pissed. But now that we are on just the “spectrum” crap, Blair is just flat out considered mildly autistic. I personally think they dumped Asperger’s because it’s so hard to spell. But enough about that.
I have a beautiful, loving, I can’t say enough great things about him 4 year old named Blair.
Truth is, I’ve always thought Blair was different. Well, not always. I guess around 18 months is when I started my “something is different” speech. Truth is, my speech was sometimes a rage because I couldn’t believe no one saw what I was seeing. There were meltdowns. Oh the Blair melt downs. And then the Blair moods, as I called them. You could tell what kind of day it was going to be within 5 minutes of him waking up. Of course now I go back and look at videos of him as a like 8 month old and can see differences between him and Jules, for example. Not just simple differences because they are different kids. But different because Blair is…different. Blair didn’t engage with you. Blair looked at you. He looked content, but wasn’t happy all the time. He didn’t copy you. He was quiet, he was…there.
Blair’s moods and outburst over the most asinine things have caused conflict between everyone involved in his care. My dad has become so frustrated he started blaming us having dogs for Blair’s stress. My mom flat out once said she was scared that we were “losing him mentally.”
I, of course, have cried more than anyone thought possible. I’ve yelled at Adam countless times for his “oh, he’s just shy” bullshit when Blair would walk away from kids trying to play at the park or when he’d blow me off about how awful taking him to preschool was because he’d scream and growl and hold onto things to avoid other kids or leaving his regular schedule.
I thought once there was a diagnosis I’d feel relief, but that’s not true.
I answer shopped; at least that’s what it felt like. I’ve found the good news locally is that no one wants to label a child autistic. The bad news is that no one wants to label a child autistic.
