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.