Begging Nonie to post

Nonie,
Oh Nonie!!!!!
Please for the love of our dear readers!
The poor sap in Brazil, the one lone reader in Mexico and the 2, (count them 2!!!!) readers in Belgium, not to mention, the 10 big fat hairy (I mean just the number not the readers) Americans who have visited this blog-- please please tell them what is happening so they know and can rest easier in the knowledge of our plight.

So what is up with the sperm?

Seriously, Nonie, dear sister of mine, What is UP with the SPERM?????
For full affect please chant the following as if you are a cheerleader:
"Yes, Yes,
Yes, you do,
you have eggs.
Now what to do?"

Dear reader,
I am posting this without prior sisterly approval. Nonie could be peeved about my question. But I have always had a knack for asking the Big-Hairy-Elephant-in-the-room-question that few are willing to ask out loud but EVERYONE is thinking.
Warmly,
Sissie

P.S. If any of you have any experience acquiring sperm from a known or unknown donor please feel free to leave advice.

An even BIGGER Weight

I am completely overwhelmed.
I don't know what to say.
Don't be silly---I'll think of SOMETHING!!!!!


There is an enormous weight on my shoulders

• to reply,
• to say thank you,
• to write Nonie's life story in a nutshell (impossible for many reasons, not the least of which is that I wasn't even there for a good portion of it),
  
• to apologize to you, the reader, since I feel the previous story may have been a bit of a downer,
  

• and to assure you, the reader, that life is really, really GOOD now.
  

I can't rave about it enough! :) In fact, Life is SO Good that even with the feeling of weight on my shoulders I am strangely at peace with it. It's a good weight. A light and fluffy weight. Perhaps a heated, lavender scented neck and shoulder massage pad thingy.

I do, however, feel compelled to set the record straight on a few things:
I had 6 shots of tequila the night I met my spouse. And I am actually selfish, self-centered and self obsessed....truly, in every instance I was thinking of only my own gain from the situation. Even now I am giving my eggs because:

1. I want more babies in our family
   
2. I am tired of hearing Nonie complain about not having children
   
3. I can't wait to see her experience the torturous JOY of parenting
   
4. I am hedging my bets-- maybe this will get me into heaven (just in case I am wrong and there is a nice place after all of this)

AND there are many more reasons but these are a few of the more selfish ones used now to selfishly defend my point! HA!

Finally, part 4 of 4. my sissie.

eventually, sissie decided to travel north to Oregon to visit with my brother and his family. My brother is married to a wonderful woman. They have 4 beautiful children. At the time, they ranged from 2 to 14 years old. It was here that Sissie started a new phase of her life. She loved being with the kids and found that it pulled her out of her depression. She lived with them for a time before setting out on her own, this time in Portland Oregon. She made this choice so she could be near her nieces and nephiew. She took a job as a flight attendant and was the valedictorian of her class. It was very strange to see her in the role of flight attendant when she had to demonstrate the use of an oxygen mask and how to buckle and unbuckle the seat-belt. I had never seen her behave in such a serious and professional manner. It was here that she met her husband. Of all places, they met at a gay bar, although neither one of them was gay, and neither one of them were drinkers. I don’t know much about their courtship except that they enjoyed talking for hours and had similar senses of humor. Sissie was taking birth control pills to prevent pregnancy ( I say that because I take them to control raging periods or menorrhagea) but it must have been “meant to be” because she got pregnant anyway. Not only pregnant, she was pregnant with twins. Her boyfriend was living in a basement and she was becoming unable to work due to high blood-pressure. They would have to team up. She moved in to the basement and gestated their two beautiful kids. They found an apartment and moved out of the basement just before the births.

I flew up from California to care for my sister while she was required to be on bed rest. I made boxed macaroni and cheese for lunch and sat with her on her bed, which was surrounded by books about having babies and the like. Hours after I arrived I drove her to her OB/GYN appointment. This appointment was a follow-up for her blood pressure, which was why she was required to be on bed-rest. Within 1 hour she delivered her babies, cesarean section—emergently. Apparently, her blood pressure was dangerously high and required an emergency cesarean to preserve sissies’ life as well as the lives of the babies. We had just enough time to call her boyfriend. He arrived in the cutest fluster. He was so nervous and excited that he actually put on my sister’s jacket in an absent minded act…(just like a TV sit-com). Because we had not anticipated the delivery we were not equipped with a camera, although a video cam rested neatly in a small suitcase with sissies personal effects for the occasion. Thank goodness for random acts of kindness. Fortunately some kind person gave us an unused disposable camera. Those are the only pictures of the births. (Thank you, kind person. We have returned your kindness to others…)

During my sisters pregnancy and afterwards, I witnessed a very big change in her. Before the pregnancy she seemed angry, always fighting for justice and fairness. I suppose this is understandable looking at the events of her life. During her pregnancy, however, there was softness about her. She was so kind and loving, as if she was filled with the holy spirit itself. After the babies were born, Sissie and her boyfriend got married on the beach in a private ceremony. Everything was beautiful. It was raining and the babies were dressed in cream colored fleece bunting outfits. Sissie wore a beautiful raw silk dress that seemed to expand with each raindrop. (I think the raindrops made the raw silk stretch.) Her husband wore a handsome batik shirt. It looked like the most perfect Caribbean wedding…except it was coastal Oregon. We stood under umbrellas in the rain as the couple exchange their wedding vows. It was amazing to see the transformation of a woman so close to me.
I don’t mean to make it sound like my sister is without faults and I don’t mean to gloss over any events in our beginnings. It’s more that it is difficult to condense a lifetime of living into a few pages of text. What ends up happening is that you take the life ingredients, mix them up and boil them down…much like the recipe for a cooking project. What you have left is a good tasting recipe or a bad tasting recipe. Or, what you have left is a good feeling life story or a bad feeling life story. I would have to say that my sissies’ life recipe is a good feeling life story. She was born out of the darkness into the light of her own choices. I respect her enormously; especially knowing from whence she came. I think it is certainly true that you should never judge another unless you have walked a mile in their shoes. No one would ever meet my sissie and think “wow, she certainly came from a screwed up childhood”. Instead, they might think, “wow, she is such a loving and fun-loving person—so open and exuberant about life”. I undoubtedly think this a good way to approach life; loving and fun-loving. More and more, I look to my younger sister as someone that I can look up to. Her ideology and approach to life is unique, loving and joyful. She is full of light energy and she is amazing. If I am lucky and blessed, I will get to share the joys of parenthood with the millions of people that are lucky enough to be one. Further, if I am lucky and blessed, it will get to be with my sisters egg…if I am lucky and blessed.

Blah, blah, blah. I am done with this section. I hope I have not freaked anyone out. Blah!

Sissie. Part 3 0f 4.....................................

A miraculous thing happened for my mom. My sister had flown with our mom from their home in Michigan to my home in California. Picking mom up at the airport I noticed that her skin was hot and flushed. We drove by the apartment so she could see her new digs but then went straight to the emergency room for medical care. Mom was very sick and had an open sore on her foot that hadn’t healed in over a year. We were told that the circulation in her leg was so poor that the surgeon would probably have to amputate it. We were also told that mom’s health was so fragile that she probably wouldn’t survive the surgery. Apparently the aorta that ran through her abdominal cavity and down both of her legs was blocked. The aorta is a huge artery coming from the heart that carries all the blood that eventually branches out to supply the entire body. If she had the surgery she might die, but, if she didn’t have the surgery, she would surely die. Sissie was bereft. It was a tense period with long days sitting vigil in the ICU waiting room. Mom had the surgery, and apparently during surgery had a “near-death” experience. When she woke up and was removed from life support she talked of seeing her deceased family members. She said they were youthful and radiant, although in life they were ravaged by smoking, drinking, and lots of sun from farming. She said they spoke to her and showed her events in her future that she had yet to experience. She said they told her that it wasn’t her “time” yet and that she had to return.
Now, say what you want about “near-death” experiences being caused by hypoxia (lack of oxygen to the brain) or hallucinations from drugs--but the odd thing about this near death experience was that mom had a tremendous physical, emotional, and spiritual healing afterwards. This was a woman that at 5 foot 9 inches weighed 70 pounds, was wheel chair bound, and oxygen dependent. She was beaten down by life and admitted to thoughts of self harm. Following this event, however, she was filled with joy and enthusiasm for life. Everyone wanted to be near her. She was infectious. I even began to feel frustrated with the hospital staff because when I would come to visit; her room was always full of nurses or respiratory therapist who wanted to spend time with her. They would take their breaks and come see her simply to talk and hang out. She was fun and filled with light. In no time she gained weight, got rid of the oxygen and graduated from the wheel chair to walk independently without any assistive devices. She even had enough faith in love to develop a crush on her doctor…”old-blue-eyes” she called him.

Mom joined a group of artist to reclaim her painting talents. The groups focus was to express though different media their journeys through illness and healing. It was called the Persephone art project, created by a breast cancer survivor. Mom blossomed in this group. She painted and carved, and sculpted, and molded. Her work was very spiritual. At their exhibit she was “best of show”, although all of the pieces were amazing. She was exuberant. She was enjoying life. She had a purpose.
Sissie eventually returned to her life in Hamtramck Michigan. She continued her political activism and the other political activist leaned heavily upon her for leadership. However, with all that had transpired in her life, she began to spiral into depression. As her depression worsened, my brother, mother and I decided that something needed to be done to help her. We didn’t have much but we offered what we could. We offered airfare and safe haven until she felt stronger. Soon after, Sissie did something really brave. She took us up on it. She put her belongings in storage, left her political group, job, and friends. She came to California with her cat, who happened to be named “sorrow”, although he was actually a very sweet and funny cat…hardly sorrowful at all.
The three of us (Mom, Sissie, and I) had a wonderful time together. Mom was like a young girl in many ways. She was funny and playful and had an infectious wonderful laugh. Every day was a party, it seemed. We shopped, and nested, and ate, and talked. It was a fabulous time together. I don’t remember sissie being significantly depressed. She was fragile, however, and we worried after her. It was good to be with family…for all of us--and it was healing to be with family...for all of us.

(FACTOID:A near-death experience (NDE) refers to a broad range of personal experiences associated with impending death, encompassing multiple possible sensations ranging from detachment from the body, feelings of levitation, extreme fear, total serenity, security, or warmth, the experience of absolute dissolution, and the presence of a light, which some people interpret as a deity
1. A very unpleasant sound/noise is the first sensory impression to be noticed (R. Moody: Life after Life);
2. A sense of being dead;
3. Pleasant emotions; calmness and serenity;
4. An out-of-body experience; a sensation of floating above one's own body and seeing the surrounding area;
5. A sensation of moving upwards through a bright tunnel of light or narrow passageway;
6. Meeting deceased relatives or spiritual figures;
7. Encountering a being of light, or a light (often interpreted as being the deity or deities they personally believe in);
8. Being given a life review;
9. Reaching a border or boundary;
10. A feeling of being returned to the body, often accompanied by a reluctance.
11. Feeling of warmth even though naked.
Some people have also experienced extremely distressing NDEs, which can manifest in forewarning of emptiness or a sense of dread towards the cessation of their life in its current state.

Near-death experiences can have tremendous effects on the people who have them, their families, and medical workers. Changes in values and beliefs often occur in the experience after a near-death experience, including changes in personality and outlook on life, such as a greater appreciation for life, higher self-esteem, greater compassion for others, a heightened sense of purpose and self-understanding, and a desire to learn. The changes may also include an increased physical sensitivity to and diminished tolerance of light, alcohol and drugs. Wikipedia)


To Be Continued………………………..............(Part 3 of 4).....................................................................

Part 2 of 4. (sissie)

.....................................................................(Part 2 0f 4).......................................................................

I think my brother is a magnificent human being. Having survived such darkness in childhood, he seemed to resolve to be the opposite of his father. He married a wonderful woman, and together they had four children. They have a strong Christian faith that unites their marriage and creates a home that always seems to be the Mecca for our family gatherings. Anyway, my brother told his wife that he remembers our father raping our mother. His wife then asked me if it was true that my sister’s conception was a product of spousal rape. Only my mother knows for sure. Mom has acknowledged that it is true, but this is still such a painful issue that she is unable to speak much about it without tearing up. She suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) to this day. I don’t remember this event. But, I do recall my mom taking me to my first day of school in a new school system. I was in the fourth grade. My mom was 9 months pregnant with my sister. Unfortunately, the beauty of her swollen belly was darkened by two very large--very black eyes and a broken nose, all compliments of my dad. She made up some story about falling down some stairs but it was apparent that wasn’t the truth. It sickens me to remember these events and worse to reveal them, but it is important to understand the makings of such a wonderful and loving human being; my sister.

(FACTOID:Posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is an anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to one or more terrifying events in which grave physical harm occurred or was threatened. It is a severe and ongoing emotional reaction to an extreme psychological trauma WIKIPEDIA)

Mom and dad divorced after 20 years of marriage when my dad was incarcerated for a crime involving an illegal hand gun. (Thank goodness—I mean for the incarceration, not the hand gun—it was as if a storm cloud had left the home which enabled the sun to shine) My sister was about 6 years old. Mom re-married and while that marriage was much better, it only lasted 7 years. He was a black-out alcoholic…but at least he could put food on the table and he didn’t physically abuse her. Even though this relationship had many issues, I think it was very healing for our mother.

By this time, mom had attained her real-estate license. She was driving a nice car and wearing nice clothing. This was very different to the way she had previously lived. She was winning awards at work and taking some college classes. She was feeling better about herself. Unfortunately, I think her past continued to haunt her and she started drinking. At first it was just to drink with her new husband, but not long after she was drinking out of control. Sissie was around 11 years old during the worst years. Mom’s second marriage ended suddenly and violently when her husband became enraged and while in a black-out drunk literally destroyed the home and everything in the home that belonged to her. Sissie was around 13 years old. Mom was in horrible emotional pain and became somewhat dysfunctional. While she continued to work and was able to earn a living she did very little else. Sissie took over as the adult.

My sister is extremely bright. When she was 16 years old she went to college. This was no ordinary college. It was a sister school of a prestigious institution of higher learning designed especially for the very young and very bright. I drove her to her initial college interview. It was a strange & cold world of academia. The library was filled with master’s and doctoral work completed by these young minds. Our host was an adolescent boy that was obviously very bright but very pretentious. He made such an impression that for years my sister and I would imitate him. The mention of his pretentiousness gave us first-rate comic relief. My sister was not pretentious, however. She was the real deal. I recall visiting her and walking through her dorm room. There wasn’t a single place to step without stepping on some books or papers. It was literally a disaster. But her time and energy went into academics, not cleaning. Her education was very different than the one I received at the local community college. I was taught information and facts. She was taught how to think for herself. And, think she did…and still does.

During college, several life events transpired that affected my sister deeply. First, she became involved with politics and many issues involving injustice. She would rally and protest for the rights of the underdog. She wanted equal healthcare, equal pay, and equal rights for all—especially women. Looking back, it’s easy to understand how this transpired in her young life. She was an aggressive activist on many fronts for around 7 years, and then later continued to be an activist in more subtle ways as a loving parent…Secondly, she was exposed to a horrible violent and senseless crime involving one of the first school shooting incidents in the country. One of those exceptionally bright adolescent kids ordered a semi-automatic weapon and proceeded to unload it on the college campus. One of sissies loves was shot square in the chest and died instantly. He was attempting to stop the shooting and stepped in front of a speeding bullet…And lastly, during her last year of college our mom was diagnosed with lung cancer with a predicted 6 months to live. The tuition payment could not be made and Sissie had to withdraw from school before she could graduate. Furthermore, because she had an outstanding tuition debt, the school refused to release her transcripts so she could complete her degree.
Sissie moved to be near friends and to an area where she could continue her political activism; Hamtramck Michigan. Mom, through surgical intervention (partial lung removal), survived the lung cancer. Although living in Ohio, a series of events ultimately brought mom to move in with sissie. They were the dynamic duo. They lived in an old, large, drafty house in an ethnic neighborhood filled with polish people. The neighborhood eventually came to accept them and even seemed to love them. They would bring food and gifts often. My sister worked as a telemetry technician (heart rhythm specialist) in the largest health care organization in the United States. She worked 2 jobs to make ends meet. Mom was very frail. She was oxygen dependent and wheel-chair bound. At some point my brother, sister, and I decided that mom’s health was seriously failing and, since I was a nurse, we decided that I would take care of her. I lived in a small 1 bedroom cottage on the Pacific Coast, in Northern California, so I set mom up in a cute little wheelchair accessible apartment near the center of our coastal town. It was a heeling time for mom and me. We resolved a lot of issues left over from childhood. We shared forgiveness, understanding, love, and best of all, friendship.

To Be Continued.............................................(Part 2 of 4)........................................................................

My sister

My sister thinks I’m kind-hearted like Mother Teresa. The truth is-- her spirit is like a gigantic mirror reflecting her kindness back at herself. She is someone that would give more than the shirt off her back. Indeed, she is offering to donate her eggs to me. I’m not talking chicken eggs, or goose eggs, like the ones in her photo. This is more serious and not something to be taken lightly. This donation process requires that she be poked and prodded in the vagina and uterus with vaginal probes and gadgets on a fairly regular basis. It also requires her to take hormones that can be mood altering and injections that can be quite painful. She will be required to have frequent lab work to assess various conditions of her egg production and life cycle. Her life will be controlled by her menstrual cycle which is controlled by my fertility doctor (who lives roughly 3000 miles away from her). When she is deemed “ripe-for-the-picking” she will leave her loving and supportive family to fly the 3000 miles, from Oregon to Maryland, to be with me. After arriving she will have the ultimate vaginal probing with a long metal device that will pierce her delicate reproductive tissues plucking artificially ripened eggs from her ovaries. At this point she is done. (Except for the recovery process) But not really. If her eggs don’t result in a pregnancy she will have feelings of inadequacy, or worse, failure. If her eggs do result in pregnancy she will feel victorious. But, she will spend the rest of her life watching the development of a child, knowing it is part of her but not for her. It is for me. She is offering all with knowing and with love…to me, her sister.

There’s a song I recall from probably around 20 years ago. Its melody and lyrics have stuck in my head probably because it resonates so clearly with the way I feel about Sissie. It goes something like this…Shining sister, second self, a miracle to recognize. Spirits merging points of view, then peering out with brand new eyes. Here is one who understands, here is one who sees…one who shares the song of life then sings in harmony…

Let me tell you a little bit about this amazing human being…of course she is my sister--I could be a bit biased. Sissie was born into a poor and troubled family. She had a 10 year old sister (me, nonie) and an 11 year old brother (John-boy). I’m sure she was an unplanned pregnancy but I could not have been happier about her coming. For years I had asked my mom to have another baby. She would tell me that it wasn’t that simple. I think she knew there just wasn’t enough money to feed another mouth...I think she knew more than that...

Sissie was conceived in Georgia just prior to the family move to Ohio. This move was necessary as our dad was unable to provide financially for us. He seemed to be spiraling deeper and deeper into depression and mental illness. We moved in with our dads parents. I loved living with our grandparents. Our dad was a nicer person--and this made our mom happier.

Our mom was a battered woman…let me make that “severely” battered woman. She married our dad when she was 18 years old because she thought she was pregnant. It was her first sexual encounter and in those days, “good girls” just didn’t do that “sort of thing” without marriage vows. Additionally, in those days, they didn’t have home pregnancy test...soooo, if you thought you were pregnant...you got married. As it turned out she wasn’t pregnant, but that soon changed. She had my brother when she was 19 years old. Then twenty months later she had me. Strapped with no education and 2 young babies she depended on my dad.

Our dad was a very handsome and intelligent man. Our grandmother told me that his IQ (intelligence quotient) was somewhere between 150 and 160. (The average IQ is somewhere between 85 and 115--if you believe in that sort of thing) That would make him a genius---but that’s about where his smarts ended. Throughout his youth he was a Juvenile delinquent. I think he spent time in Juvenile Hall for letting air out of police tires--amoungst other equally stupid pranks. He served as a United States Marine for three proud (by my standards) months until he got kicked out for punching an officer in the face. I was told that he was evaluated by a psychiatrist who diagnosed him as a paranoid schizophrenic. While I don’t know if this is an accurate diagnosis, there was definitely something wrong with him. Somewhere around this time he married our beautiful and talented mother. And, I mean...BEAUTIFUL & TALENTED!

Our dad made his living selling encyclopedias. In those days there was no internet so every family wanted to have a set if they could afford it. He was very disrespectful to people who bought them. He called them “mooches”. I guessed that I was a mooch too, because I loved our set of encyclopedias. My brother and I would pour over them to enjoy receiving information about the world, entire. Anyway, the young married couple moved from Ohio to Georgia to sell encyclopedias. I was born in Georgia and have always been proud to be a “Southern Bell/Georgia Peach” (Spoken with a southern drawel). There is just something so deleicate and refined, and yet intelligent and sophisticated about that phrase.

Somewhere around this time the domestic violence started. I distinctly recall our father hitting our mother. I recall being 3 years old looking up at two adults locked in battle. I remember my mom’s voice speaking my father’s name to try to reason with him. I remember this like it was yesterday. As the years passed…brace yourself for this one…my father took to raping my mother. It is difficult to even say these words, but it was the truth. It’s hard to fathom that anyone would tolerate this kind of treatment but it is not uncommon. 30-65% of all homicides of women are related to Domestic Violence by their male partners. Can you believe this statistic? Roughly 50% of murdered women are murdered by their spouses. This is a staggering figure. Especially when you consider how little government funding is spent to reduce this statistic. Why, you ask? Why do women stay??? I will tell you why. Women stay because they have no better choice. That is the bottom line. Women stay because they are afraid. Sometimes they are dependent. Sometimes it is for the integrity of the family. Sometimes it is for the children. Sometimes they believe the abusers threats of death if they leave. Sometimes abusers threaten the children’s lives, or the pets. But, oftentimes women actually love the abuser. This is where the battered women syndrome begins.

(FACTOID: Domestic violence (also known as domestic abuse or spousal abuse) occurs when a family member, partner or ex-partner attempts to physically or psychologically dominate another. Domestic violence often refers to violence between spouses, or spousal abuse but can also include cohabitants and non-married intimate partners. Domestic violence occurs in all cultures; people of all races, ethnicities, religions, sexes and classes can be perpetrators of domestic violence. Domestic violence is perpetrated by both men and women.

Domestic violence has many forms, including physical violence, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, intimidation, economic deprivation or threats of violence. Violence can be criminal and includes physical assault (hitting, pushing, shoving, etc.), sexual abuse (unwanted or forced sexual activity), and stalking. Although emotional, psychological and financial abuse are not criminal behaviors, they are forms of abuse and can lead to criminal violence. There are a number of dimensions including mode - physical, psychological, sexual and/or social; frequency - on/off, occasional, chronic; and severity – in terms of both psychological or physical harm and the need for treatment – transitory or permanent injury – mild, moderate, severe up to homicide.

Recent attention to domestic violence began in the women's movement in the 1970s, as concern about wives being beaten by their husbands gained attention. Estimates are that only about a third of cases of domestic violence are actually reported in the United States and the United Kingdom. According to the Centers for Disease Control, domestic violence is a serious, preventable public health problem affecting more than 32 million Americans, or more than 10% of the U.S. population. Domestic violence can take the form of physical violence, including direct physical violence ranging from unwanted physical contact to rape and murder. Indirect physical violence may include destruction of objects, striking or throwing objects near the victim, or harm to pets. In addition to physical violence, spousal abuse often includes mental or emotional abuse, including verbal threats of physical violence to the victim, the self, or others including children, ranging from explicit, detailed and impending to implicit and vague as to both content and time frame, and verbal violence, including threats, insults, put-downs, and attacks. Nonverbal threats may include gestures, facial expressions, and body postures. Psychological abuse may also involve economic and/or social control, such as controlling victim's money and other economic resources, preventing victim from seeing friends and relatives, actively sabotaging victim's social relationships and isolating victim from social contacts. Spiritual abuse is another form of abuse that may occur. Battered Women’s Syndrome is a reference to any person who, because of constant and severe domestic violence usually involving physical abuse by a partner, becomes depressed and unable to take any independent action that would allow him or her to escape the abuse. The condition explains why abused people often do not seek assistance from others, fight their abuser, or leave the abusive situation. Sufferers have low self-esteem, and often believe that the abuse is their fault. Such persons usually refuse to press criminal charges against their abuser, and refuse all offers of help, often becoming aggressive or abusive to others who attempt to offer assistance. Often sufferers will even seek out their very abuser for comfort shortly after an incident of abuse. WIKIPEDIA)

To Be Continued……….....................................(Part 1 of 4).................................................................................

The Big Wait

Oh, how to enjoy waiting?
My list of waits:
1. Waiting to hear the results of my blood work up
2. Waiting to hear the Doc say something, anything about my stinkin' ovaries and their woefully inefficient egg production
3. Waiting to hear from Nonie (who is working her buns off, 12 hour shifts)
4. Waiting to plan, to know, to take the next step

So much of life is waiting. I tell my kids, you really ought to learn to enjoy waiting. Well, I really ought to take my own smarmy advice.
Enjoy the waiting, enjoy the anticipation. Right now, without the expert opinions, all things are possible. Eight is enough eggs, and the timing will be perfect and by some miracle one attempt at harvest, fertilization and implantation will "take" and Nonie will be pregnant. And then the real miracle can unfold. Is it too much to hope for these things?
Perhaps I shouldn't read so many fertility blogs. There are so many stories of multiple attempts and failures. Also amazing stories of success and beautiful babies being born. Still, the waiting.

Eggs, Eggs, Eggs

"Eight is not great"








But it's not impossible.

(I know the photo only has 7 eggs in it-- but that was all I had in my fridge this morning:)



Sissie here: I went into my first appointment joyful, excited, even expectant. I left fighting a growing sense of disappointment. The PA who did the trans vaginal ultrasound could not hide her discouraging tone.
"I 'only' see 5 follicles on this ovary, and 'only' 3 on the other"
Only---only?!!?!?
How many eggs do we need?
Apparently the more the better, although the kind woman would not even venture to tell me what the 'norm' was, or how many eggs they 'like' to see on an ovary!
I was, within moments of leaving the office, able to shake all that practical, rational and somewhat realistic negativity and come back to my normal baseline mood. Which is to say I came back into my mania. I have nothing but confidence in my eggs. I have no doubts-- I am full of faith in this process I cannot see and shockingly, know very little about.

Saving the ant

Saving the ant.
OK, my sister makes me sound like a "nut-ball" with the "Mother Theresa--saving the ant" stuff. It's true that I saved the ant...but seriously, have you ever watched an ant colony in one of those little clear plastic boxes made for watching ants? I dare you to do it. You will never think the same way about ants again. They are amazing! It is definitely impressive (to say the least) to watch the organization and intelligence of these amazing minuscule insects. It makes you believe that there is something very BIG and GREAT about our lives...that is not apparent to us...unless we are open to looking...and seeing.



I suppose many of my philosophies about the meaning of life (and the treatment of minuscule creatures) came from my long circuitous route to find a spiritual practice that felt right for me. I had a deep inner question: does life have a purpose or is it governed by chance? If life was like a college degree, my Major in life would be--to have many life experiences. My minor would be--to find the meaning of life. (...Not that I ascribe to astrology...not exactly...more that it is curious that my personality type is very much the depiction of a Sagittarius--the "Archer"--shooting her arrows everywhere as an exploration of life, yet able to hit the bulls-eye with ease..When desired)...moving right along...

As a nurse of 20 plus years, I made it a point to ask two questions to the older population that I had the privilege of caring for. I would ask them: "what is the secret of a long happy marriage?" and, "what is the meaning of life?" You would think that after all these years of asking that question, I could write a book about the answers. The truth is, seems very few people think about these things. I found this puzzling, since it was such a driving force in my own explorations of life. The answers I did receive were few and simple: the meaning of life is making cookies and sending your children off to school...being there when they get home...things like that. The meaning of life to those who had thought about it was simple. It was the day-to-day, moment-to-moment experiences of living.

For those who answered the question: "what is the secret to a long happy marriage", the answers, again, were few and simple. The secret of a long happy marriage is, to never go to bed angry and always do things together. Isn't that interesting?

I recall a period of my life (age 28 through 31) when I was in deep internal pain...a subject I will write about later...I kept asking God or the universe about the meaning of life and my purpose in it. “Existential depression”, I’ve heard it called. I could not understand why a God would put me into a life that was so painful and confusing. I had just completed a 3000 mile trans-continental bicycle trip and had relocated my life from Connecticut to California. It was night time in redwood country in northern California. I was sitting in a hot tub looking up through the towering redwood trees to the stars. It was a clear night but my heart felt heavy.

I had relocated to California as I had heard that nurses were getting paid 75 dollars an hour. I needed to earn money as I had emptied my savings on my trans-continental trip. My plan was to earn lots of money so I could fund a round-the-world bicycle trip. This was part of my exploration of life. It never happened. Back to the hot-tub...

I was sitting in the hot tub, in the middle of a redwood forest, so filled with internal pain that I was barely able to enjoy the wonderful sensation of soaking, and seeing such pristine beauty surrounding me. "God, why am I here---what is my purpose in life--what is life about, anyway?" I leaned my head back and stared up to a night sky filled with glowing stars. The warm waters of the bath seemed to hug me. It was my one comfort during those days. I was pondering this question when a most unusual thing happened. MOST UNUSUAL! It seemed as if one of the stars opened up and a beam of light shot down from the heavens and hit me square in the chest. It seemed to speak the words (although, not audibly) that the meaning of life was...wait...get this...TO HAVE FUN.

Now, I know this story along with my sister's Mother Teresa-ant story may confirm my nuttiness to you. Or worse, it might make me sound like a hedonist. But I swear that this event was a turning point for me and I tell it to you exactly as it happened. Up to this point in my life, I had zero interest in bringing children into a world that was filled with pain and starvation, on the brink of a nuclear destruction. Filled with evil, greed and war. Generally, in such bad shape that it could be time for the second coming of Christ. (Of note: did you know that many religions are also waiting for a second coming of sorts?)

At any rate, It might seem a bit ridiculous that the meaning of life which was revealed to me in such a dramatic way would be "to have fun". But the truth was; having fun was one of the hardest things for me to do. Having fun was the antithesis of the way I lived my life, and it all seemed a bit absurd to me. In my mind, life was serious, life was hard, as much of my life experiences seemed to be this way. I was not brought up in a home that practiced religion of any kind. Our home was a frightening and painful environment. I think this was the birth of my search for something greater in life. Back to why I saved the ant...In my explorations of life and my search for a spiritual practice that seemed suitable for me, I explored, Christianity (and many of its sects), Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Sufism, New-Age Spiritualism, Vedantaism, and probably a few others that I can't recall right now. When I say "I explored", I mean, I immersed myself in the literature, worship services, prayers, communities, and spiritual practices of each religion. I sang in the choirs, I went to prayer group, I attended Bible study, I taught Sunday school, I sat at the feet of the Guru, I read the book of Mormon, I sat Shiva, I read the Koran, I prayed the rosary, I practiced vegetarianism, I meditated, I spoke in tongues, I received Baptism, I practiced Pranyamma, I practiced the yamas and niamas, I received Shakti, I studied yoga, I danced in circles, I read...I prayed..I practiced...I think you get it. I attempted to experientially understand the heart and soul of each spiritual belief and practice.

(FACTOIDS: Sufism is a science whose objective is the reparation of the heart and turning it away from all else but God. Sufism is generally understood by scholars to be the inner or mystical dimension of Islam. Christianity is a religion centered on the life and teachings of Jesus of Nazareth as presented in the New Testament. Its followers, known as Christians, believe that Jesus is the Son of God and the Messiah (or Christ) prophesied in the Old Testament, the part of their scriptures they have in common with Judaism. To Christians, Jesus Christ is a teacher, the model of a pious life, the revealer of God, the mediator of salvation and the saviour who suffered, died and was resurrected in order to bring about salvation from sin for all. Judaism is among the oldest religious traditions still in practice today. Jewish history and doctrines have influenced other religions such as Christianity, Islam and the Bahá'í Faith. Judaism differs from many religions in that in modern times, central authority is not vested in any single person or group, but in sacred texts, traditions, and learned Rabbis who interpret those texts and laws. Judaism is the religion of the Jewish people, based on principles and ethics embodied in the Hebrew Bible, as further explored and explained in the Talmud. Hindus advocate the practice of ahiṃsā (non-violence) and respect for all life because divinity is believed to permeate all beings, including plants and non-human animals. The term ahiṃsā appears in the Upanishads,and Ahiṃsā is the first of the five Yamas (vows of self-restraint) in Patanjali's Yoga Sutras.In accordance with ahiṃsā, many Hindus embrace vegetarianism to respect higher forms of life. Hinduism is an extremely diverse religion. Although some tenets of the faith are accepted by most Hindus, scholars have found it difficult to identify any doctrines with universal acceptance among all denominations. Prominent themes in Hindu beliefs include Dharma (ethics/duties), Samsāra (The continuing cycle of birth, life, death and rebirth), Karma (action and subsequent reaction in whatever way a Hindu defines the goal of life, there are several methods (yogas) that sages have taught for reaching that goal. A practitioner of yoga is called a yogi. Texts dedicated to Yoga include the Bhagavad Gita, the Yoga Sutras, the Hatha Yoga Pradipika and, as their philosophical and historical basis, the Upanishads. Paths one can follow to achieve the spiritual goal of life (moksha, samadhi, or nirvana) include:
Bhakti Yoga (the path of love and devotion), Karma Yoga (the path of right action), Rāja Yoga (the path of meditation) and Jñāna Yoga (the path of wisdom)

This was not an easy undertaking. It took about 15 years. In the end, I traveled full circle, returning to my starting point…Christianity. It seemed to resonate with my cells. It’s not that I think other practices are wrong, in-fact; I still practice many of them. It just that it was the one practice that I felt a “conversion”…where I literally experienced a "conversion" and my spiritual quest felt answered. For me, the search had ended. Christianity answered many of my existential questioning and I found peace in it.

Back to the ant…one of the spiritual practices that I studied was to treat all life as if it mattered. As if God Himself (Herself) existed in it. It will give one great pause when simply squashing an ant, snuffing out its life. One might actually take a little lost ant and try to help it find its way home. (There is nothing wrong with anthropomorphizing when it gives one greater respect for life)

What does any of this have to do with why I find myself childless at the age of 46, you ask? Well, I think it explains, at least in part, why I am such a late bloomer, delayed in my development. Searching, questioning, and exploring many of life’s issues which others seemed to intuitively understand at much younger ages. Perhaps they had better parenting or home lives. Maybe they were all just smarter or more at peace with life and themselves. In any case, my long search for spirituality and the meaning of life is part of why I find myself in this dilemma; childless, with lots of life experiences and with old eggs.

In the meantime, I’ll make the best of my situation. Does life have a purpose or is it governed by chance...for now it doesn’t matter. As Forrest Gump learns from his “mama”, maybe it’s both. I’m satisfied with that idea. And I’m going to do like the old classic song says…I did it my way. I’m going to have a child (or, at least I’m going to try) and I’m going to have fun while I’m doing it.
My sister says, “”90% of life is simply showing up”. I believe that. I’m showing up to have a child, to start my family…even if I’m told by many that it’s too late because I’m too old…and chances are slim, etc. I’m going to do it my way, and I’m going to do it while having fun.
Well, I've babbled-on long enough. Babble-on-sister.

Make the call

"90% of Life is Showing Up"

This saying is most often attributed to Woody Allen.
I find it to be true. Sissie here, reporting on the initial phone call.

To get this egg donation started---we had to take the first step. We have talked about it for years----seriously, I think we first contemplated the egg donation 10 years ago? right?


Well here I am ready to donate, I've called the fertility clinic --I picked up the phone and said,
"Um....I want to give my eggs..I mean like my ovum...you know my eggs, to my sister.....she lives far away, what do I need to do?"

The very nice receptionist, who talks to people everyday who are in the throws of this strange world of making babies, asked me,
"Who is in charge of your cycle?"

um....WHAT?????
Did she mean the moon or God or maybe me? But I don't feel 'in charge' of my cycle---more at the whim of it actually.

I stuttered and she said the Dr. who will do the implantation will be in charge of my cycle.
Nice. I don't even know this man. He'll have control over my hormones.....creepy. But ultimately necessary.

Well, 90% done, good, I can cross that off my list.

Something tells me, in this case the last 10% is the really important part.

In The Beginning

Today I'm having cramps. It's the second day of my period after stopping the birth control pill which I take for "menorrhagia".

(FACTOID: Menorrhagia is an abnormally heavy and prolonged menstrual period at regular intervals. Causes may be due to abnormal blood clotting, disruption of normal hormonal regulation of periods or disorders of the endometrial lining of the uterus. Depending upon the cause, it may be associated with abnormally painful periods [Wikipedia]).

Since this is my first period following discontinuing the pill, I cannot be tested to see if my ovaries are functioning. I am told I have to wait until my second "pill-free" cycle to see if I'm actually producing eggs. I can tell you that it sure feels like my ovaries are working because right now they are hurting like a bastard--(pronounced with an English accent). I hate the thought of two months worth of periods which are uncontrolled by the pill. I hate the bloody mess of it all. All I can say about that is..."bloody painful is--as bloody painful does"...STUPID!

The only reason that I have not given in to the temptation to have a hysterectomy or some other surgical/medical intervention is the thought that it would permanently remove my ability to have children. Even though I have tried to make peace with being childless, the thought of permanently removing my ability to bear children would cause me to sprout tears in the most unlikely places. These tears would even come when i was near or around children. (I recall bursting into tears over a decade ago, while in a Target store watching children look at Halloween costumes--and more recently when one of my male class mates spoke about swatting a bee off his daughter only to be attacked and stung by the bee "like any good daddy" he said. [spoken with a southern drawl])

I was told when I was 23 years old that i would probably never have children due to hormone imbalances. This was after being treated for 3 continuous years of nearly non-stop bleeding. While I had NO desire to bear children at the time, I recall feeling like I had been hit in the face with a brick. I actually recoiled physically and felt detached from my body for sometime afterword. I don't think the doctor was thinking about how I would be impacted by that news. I don't think I understood it myself. As the years passed I had plenty of unprotected sex with my boyfriend and husband...(I mean boyfriends--and there were a few of them) but, i never became pregnant.

Oh...I read all the books on being childless and what it means to be childless in America. I tried to fill my life with activities, work, and friends. I had several foster to adopt situations that failed to give me a child, and I tried Clomid a few times...but still no children.

(FACTOID: Clomifene (INN) or clomiphene (USAN and former BAN) or Clomid or Clomifert is a selective estrogen receptor modulator (SERM), used mainly in female infertility due to anovulation (e.g. due to polycystic ovary syndrome). [Wikipedia])

When I was younger (35), I gave myself the projected cut-off age of 45 to produce babies. It never happened... I almost gave up hope and was planning to have an endometrial ablation when I met 2 woman at a critical care nursing conference who greatly inspired me. It is so strange how this event transpired, as I think I was actually sitting in the conference thinking about when would be the most convenient time for me to have the procedure that would end my menorrhagia , as well as my child bearing abilities, once and for all. I was not at peace with getting the procedure, but I felt it was time for me to accept being childless and move on with my life. I consoled myself with the idea that there were always foster babies to care for, love, or adopt.

(FACTOID: Endometrial ablation is a medical procedure that is used to remove (ablate) or destroy the endometrial lining of a woman's uterus. This technique is most often employed for women who suffer from excessive or prolonged bleeding during their menstrual cycle but can not or do not wish to undergo a hysterectomy. The procedure is most commonly done on an outpatient basis. Uterine ablation is contraindicated in patients who may want to get pregnant.[Wikipedia])

As I said, I was at a critical care nursing conference when I met 2 woman that changed the course of my thinking. One of the women, a civilian guest speaker, had children at the age of 54. (no, that is not a typo--or 45 upside down) She had 2 children utilizing a carrier. I was very inspired by her vigor and spirit for life. I was equally impressed that she was willing to take on the demands of parenthood at her tender age of 54. As we were chatting, another woman entered into the conversation. She was a high ranking military officer. She had fertility treatments by a local civilian doctor, as she was older than the age of 42, which is the cut off for military fertility treatments. I mentioned that I, too, had missed the military cut-off for fertility treatment and did not think a civilian doctor would treat me now that I was 46. Next thing I knew, the military officer was leading me to her office where she presented me with a brochure from her fertility doctor's clinic.


Although, I was shy about calling the doctor, fearing rejection for my "advanced" age, I forced myself to do it. I stammered through the call. I recall the only complete sentence I spoke was "I want to have a baby". The doctor and his staff treated me with dignity and respect. Wow! "It might really be a possibility", I thought as I left my first appointment...I felt very happy, and peaceful at the same time. I might actually get to realize my dream of bearing a child and being a mommy. It was the most unique and satisfying feeling I had ever felt...at that point in my life.

Well, there you have it...or, at least the turning point when I decided to give pregnancy one last try. It's not that I wouldn't still attempt being a parent through fostering or adoption...I was even very open to "special needs" children. (In fact, my 2 prior foster to adopt situations were with "special needs" babies). More, I simply wanted the experience of bearing a child from my body...Is that so strange?

Shake It!!!!

Sung to the tune of
the Steeley Dan song that inspired our blog name (different spelling):
http://www.songmeanings.net/lyric.php?lid=140477

Perhaps I'll figure out how to have the song play while you read the blog----but that could take a bit as I am on a huge learning curve here!

Oh, by the way--this is Sissie here, the "donator".
And this the first post of our blog so I feel compelled to give a bit of background:
I am the younger sister, 10 years younger. I can really only speak to my side of the story-- you'll have to get Nonie's side from her. For more then 10 years Nonie has wanted to have a baby---and from the get-go I have offered my eggs. Now, this year, we are going to do the ...um ... what do you call "it"?
The transfer?
The donation?
The harvest and implantation?
All of that sounds so cold and clinical.
What we are doing, (what I am doing) is more personal.
You know that saying, "Shake what your mama gave you!" ?
Well ----that is what I am doing----Mama gave me good eggs and I am going to "shake 'em".
Nonie has the heart of Mother Theresa.
No kidding, one time she went to write a check at the store and a sugar ant crawled out of her check book. She caught the ant and carefully brought it home to be with all the other ants that had chosen her home as theirs.
So with Nonie's heart and my eggs we are going to shake it up ----the old switcharoo.
We are going to call this The Shake!
Babble-On Sisters, Shake IT!!!!!!!