It's an odd energy, this. It's worn out from months of fruitless hoping and raging, etc, and yet still finds it within itself to twitch impotently when poked.
It's funny, because in my head I realize that we've never really had a popsicle's chance in hell all this time, but I feel like we just lost our last chance at doing all this the "real" way. Of course, that's not even technically true, as we have one more month before all the needles and scans start. I have a friend who's been unhelpfully prophecying that I will get pregnant when I go off the Clomid. We'll see if she stands up there with Nostradamus or not.
In any case, I've been channelling all this impotent energy into bag-making. No kidding. I have a pile of cool fabric that I bought on a whim last summer that I've never quite figured out how to use. Well, I found two cool patterns and have been sewing up a storm. Now, I have a pile of cool bags I have no idea what to do with... Anyone want a bag? Mother's Day is coming up - that'll knock two out of the way (one for each of our moms)... Hmmm.
Also, (has anyone else noticed this?) it's easier to be nice when all the fury (not using the word as a synonym of anger, but as an illustration - like trees being whipped around in a "fury" of a wind) is spent. My stepkids and I are getting along, for the most part, beautifully. I like it. I wish I'd been stomped on a long time ago, for their sakes at least.
On a different topic entirely, it's lovely here today. Finally. Makes me think of guns. Haha. No, really. Maybe J and I will go shooting later this week. Target, not creature. We've got a way-fun black powder that makes a phenomenal "kaBOOM" and kicks the hell out of your arm. And a small handgun. I've been lusting after a revolver for years. Maybe when we're rich I'll get a sexy little silver thing with a wooden handle. Mmmmmm. But in any case, there's something quite lovely about staring down a barrel at the target. It makes everything else just go away.
"This is what it is to be loved,
and to know
that the promise was when everything fell
we'd be held."
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Tiny tiny mercies
It didn't toy with me this time, dragging things out, sending false symptoms, or any such thing. CD34 turned into CD1 very straightforwardly. That was nice of it.
I pretty much cried myself out on Monday and Tuesday, and after an emotional hemmorage like that, there's just not much to devote to a few tablespoons of blood. So that's nice. At least I'm not a wreck today. Just very, very quiet.
It's also a good thing that I don't think there's any big expansive reason for any of this. Otherwise, I'd start asking things like, "why?" As it stands, all I know is that it's just not supposed to be like this. But there's no one to shake a fist at.
Oh well.
I pretty much cried myself out on Monday and Tuesday, and after an emotional hemmorage like that, there's just not much to devote to a few tablespoons of blood. So that's nice. At least I'm not a wreck today. Just very, very quiet.
It's also a good thing that I don't think there's any big expansive reason for any of this. Otherwise, I'd start asking things like, "why?" As it stands, all I know is that it's just not supposed to be like this. But there's no one to shake a fist at.
Oh well.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
If, objectively
If I'm not pregnant this time, I will be on my first unmedicated cycle in a year.
If I ovulate, great and awesome. Let's hope that the problem of a year ago doesn't rear its ugly head again.
If not, and we'll know from the OPKs and possibly a progesterone test, then we will do a progesterone dump to bring on the next.
Jeff's numbers are low enough that IUIs might not be worth the money. We will find out on May 4 if this is the case.
If the numbers are good enough, we will do some variety of "super ovulation" injections, a trigger shot, and an IUI. The odds are, apparently, 20% each time.
If the numbers are not good enough, it may be due to a problem that can be fixed. That would be awesome.
If there's not a solution, our only real chance will be IVFs.
IVF has never really been an option. So many moral conundrums. We'd have to find a way through that mire. If there's no way through, then we're not going in.
This is very hard to swallow.
"This is what it means to be held
How it feels
When the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved
And to know
That the promise was
When everything fell, we'd be held."
If I ovulate, great and awesome. Let's hope that the problem of a year ago doesn't rear its ugly head again.
If not, and we'll know from the OPKs and possibly a progesterone test, then we will do a progesterone dump to bring on the next.
Jeff's numbers are low enough that IUIs might not be worth the money. We will find out on May 4 if this is the case.
If the numbers are good enough, we will do some variety of "super ovulation" injections, a trigger shot, and an IUI. The odds are, apparently, 20% each time.
If the numbers are not good enough, it may be due to a problem that can be fixed. That would be awesome.
If there's not a solution, our only real chance will be IVFs.
IVF has never really been an option. So many moral conundrums. We'd have to find a way through that mire. If there's no way through, then we're not going in.
This is very hard to swallow.
"This is what it means to be held
How it feels
When the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved
And to know
That the promise was
When everything fell, we'd be held."
Monday, April 20, 2009
Resurrection and needles **warning: emotional rollercoaster**
Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and on those in the tombs bestowing life!
Христос воскресе из мертвых, смертию смерть поправ, и сущим во гробех живот даровав!
Xristos anesti ek nekron, thanato thanaton patisas, ke tis en tis mnimasin, zoin xarisamenos!
Pascha is here and He is risen! Woo!
Pascha was awesome. J and I went up to Cleveland to celebrate with some very dear friends at a wonderful church and it was stellar. It's the sort of thing I want to bring everyone I know to.
You walk into the church. It is totally dark except for a few candles around the "tomb." We each do our prostrations, venerate the icon of the crucified Christ, and sit down to wait. At 11:30, we stand and the first prayers start. Still dark, still subdued. The candles are blown out. It's early in the morning, and Christ has risen, but we don't "know" it yet. We in the church wait. At midnight you see a light behind the iconostasis, and the priest in the most spectacular vestments you can imagine appears with three candles in one, all lit, and begins to sing: "O come, all ye faithful, and receive the light..." I wish I could find the text. We all have candles and light them from the Candle, and then slowly file out of the church, singing softly:
"Christ is risen from the dead! By death trampling down death, and to those in the tomb, bestowing life."
And the procession starts. Around the church we go, singing. Incense is heavy in clouds over and around us. There are torches and candles blazing, golden crosses, banners, a choir. You get a taste of what the Church really is, and for the first time, I really got it - why millions of people over the millenia have died for this. Not because we owe God, but because there is nothing more real than this. And I understand why it's still alive. It hasn't faded because it can't. Because it participates in something that is both at the root and at the end of all things.
One of the coolest moments for me came as we were rounding a corner of the church. I start hearing this "pop pop pop" sound. Gunshots? It sounds like fireworks but it's midnight. But then, off in the distance, there are fireworks. The Greeks down the road were shooting off fireworks! "Christos anesti!"
My absolute favorite part, though, is all the times throughout the service when the priest, censing the absolute dickens out of us and the church, clouds of incense billowing, the choir sstill singing, shouts over and above the chanted liturgy, "Christ is risen!" And we all shout back before he even finishes, "Indeed He is risen!" And he shouts back at us, "Christos Anesti!" (Greek) And we shout back, "Alethos anesti!" And then he shouts, "Christos Voskrese!" (Slavonic) And we shout back, "Voistinu Voskrese!" Again and again, in more languages than I could identify, he shouted and we, or some, or a few, shouted back. The celebration is timeless, ageless, disregards distance and difference, and our only common ground, this victory, this feast, is enough.
It's funny, because at the time, I know I got a little grumpy. My legs, hips and back just ached from all the standing, and standing for 3 hours from 11:30PM - 2:30AM having fasted for 6 weeks, and moreso for the last few days, was not making me happy. But you look back and you'd do it all again. You start counting the days til you can. 365-7-2=356 more days til Palm Sunday and Holy Week.
For now, the glow stays on us.
My friend said, "You know, I have friends who work in other churches, and every year they have to figure out new ways to make Easter exciting."
Not a slam against other churches, not at all. They are our brothers and sisters, and we are all one body. But the riches they miss. By forfeiting the fast they forfeit the feast too. It is just massive and I'm only at the foot of the mountain.
I am in no way doing justice to the mystery and majesty that unfolds. Please bear with me for the next few days as I continue to gush.
----------------
Having said all that, and keeping that in mind (it helps), I had my appointment with another doctor today where I learned all about superovulation, IUIs, IVF, etc etc. "Should" this cycle fail, we will take one off. There is apparently no way I'm staying on the Clomid and should, apparently, have been taken off it a long time ago. Apparently Clomid effects the brain, telling the brain to tell the ovaries to make and release an egg. But that explains why you can get neurological side effects. Apparently the kind and severity (apparently they were considered "severe" months ago) of my side effects basically meant that OK, the Clomid is working but the body is hating it.
The reason for not just going ahead and starting the next round of new meds is that J's numbers are low enough (they're "on the bubble") that the docs might recommend not even doing an IUI. They're apparently on the border of IVF territory.
We had not wanted to do IVF. There seem to be too many moral conundrums.
But we'll see what the doc says. J has his appt on May 4, so we'll know then how to proceed in June. June.
Had myself a good cry about it on the way home. Still sort of on the verge. I don't want any of this. I hate this. I feel like something has just officially been torn from my hands. All this time, we could still say that any child we had was a direct result of our love for each other. Somehow, what with all the appointments and shots and scans and doctors and shit, it feels like we're treating a problem, not creating something new. I'm not excited about this new step into "greater probability of success"; I'm frustrated and crying again and I just want anyone who can hear me to know that this is NOT FAIR. Of course, anyone reading this already knows that, but it's just bubbling out of me.
Of course, on CD30, one could always step back in say, "In 5 days I might be looking back laughing at myself." But I'm just not buying that today. I feel like I'm watching the tide come in. There is no dam to build. No amount of kicking the waves will make them go away. You can cry and rail and shake your fist, and there's just no fixing it. There's no hiding. There's only bearing. Only scraping together more courage, more patience, and more insistance to still love, love, love, my spouse and my stepkids and my family and my friends, and the Crucified and Risen God.
And I'm, honestly, so tired. I don't want to talk this over with anyone. I don't want to say another nauseating word on the subject. I'm so sick of it. I just want two little pink lines on a stupid little stick.
Here's a song I've listened to about 30 times in the last hour. Don't watch the video. I think it's distracting. I just am liking the song.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOufqWodFNo
Христос воскресе из мертвых, смертию смерть поправ, и сущим во гробех живот даровав!
Xristos anesti ek nekron, thanato thanaton patisas, ke tis en tis mnimasin, zoin xarisamenos!
Pascha is here and He is risen! Woo!
Pascha was awesome. J and I went up to Cleveland to celebrate with some very dear friends at a wonderful church and it was stellar. It's the sort of thing I want to bring everyone I know to.
You walk into the church. It is totally dark except for a few candles around the "tomb." We each do our prostrations, venerate the icon of the crucified Christ, and sit down to wait. At 11:30, we stand and the first prayers start. Still dark, still subdued. The candles are blown out. It's early in the morning, and Christ has risen, but we don't "know" it yet. We in the church wait. At midnight you see a light behind the iconostasis, and the priest in the most spectacular vestments you can imagine appears with three candles in one, all lit, and begins to sing: "O come, all ye faithful, and receive the light..." I wish I could find the text. We all have candles and light them from the Candle, and then slowly file out of the church, singing softly:
"Christ is risen from the dead! By death trampling down death, and to those in the tomb, bestowing life."
And the procession starts. Around the church we go, singing. Incense is heavy in clouds over and around us. There are torches and candles blazing, golden crosses, banners, a choir. You get a taste of what the Church really is, and for the first time, I really got it - why millions of people over the millenia have died for this. Not because we owe God, but because there is nothing more real than this. And I understand why it's still alive. It hasn't faded because it can't. Because it participates in something that is both at the root and at the end of all things.
One of the coolest moments for me came as we were rounding a corner of the church. I start hearing this "pop pop pop" sound. Gunshots? It sounds like fireworks but it's midnight. But then, off in the distance, there are fireworks. The Greeks down the road were shooting off fireworks! "Christos anesti!"
My absolute favorite part, though, is all the times throughout the service when the priest, censing the absolute dickens out of us and the church, clouds of incense billowing, the choir sstill singing, shouts over and above the chanted liturgy, "Christ is risen!" And we all shout back before he even finishes, "Indeed He is risen!" And he shouts back at us, "Christos Anesti!" (Greek) And we shout back, "Alethos anesti!" And then he shouts, "Christos Voskrese!" (Slavonic) And we shout back, "Voistinu Voskrese!" Again and again, in more languages than I could identify, he shouted and we, or some, or a few, shouted back. The celebration is timeless, ageless, disregards distance and difference, and our only common ground, this victory, this feast, is enough.
It's funny, because at the time, I know I got a little grumpy. My legs, hips and back just ached from all the standing, and standing for 3 hours from 11:30PM - 2:30AM having fasted for 6 weeks, and moreso for the last few days, was not making me happy. But you look back and you'd do it all again. You start counting the days til you can. 365-7-2=356 more days til Palm Sunday and Holy Week.
For now, the glow stays on us.
My friend said, "You know, I have friends who work in other churches, and every year they have to figure out new ways to make Easter exciting."
Not a slam against other churches, not at all. They are our brothers and sisters, and we are all one body. But the riches they miss. By forfeiting the fast they forfeit the feast too. It is just massive and I'm only at the foot of the mountain.
I am in no way doing justice to the mystery and majesty that unfolds. Please bear with me for the next few days as I continue to gush.
----------------
Having said all that, and keeping that in mind (it helps), I had my appointment with another doctor today where I learned all about superovulation, IUIs, IVF, etc etc. "Should" this cycle fail, we will take one off. There is apparently no way I'm staying on the Clomid and should, apparently, have been taken off it a long time ago. Apparently Clomid effects the brain, telling the brain to tell the ovaries to make and release an egg. But that explains why you can get neurological side effects. Apparently the kind and severity (apparently they were considered "severe" months ago) of my side effects basically meant that OK, the Clomid is working but the body is hating it.
The reason for not just going ahead and starting the next round of new meds is that J's numbers are low enough (they're "on the bubble") that the docs might recommend not even doing an IUI. They're apparently on the border of IVF territory.
We had not wanted to do IVF. There seem to be too many moral conundrums.
But we'll see what the doc says. J has his appt on May 4, so we'll know then how to proceed in June. June.
Had myself a good cry about it on the way home. Still sort of on the verge. I don't want any of this. I hate this. I feel like something has just officially been torn from my hands. All this time, we could still say that any child we had was a direct result of our love for each other. Somehow, what with all the appointments and shots and scans and doctors and shit, it feels like we're treating a problem, not creating something new. I'm not excited about this new step into "greater probability of success"; I'm frustrated and crying again and I just want anyone who can hear me to know that this is NOT FAIR. Of course, anyone reading this already knows that, but it's just bubbling out of me.
Of course, on CD30, one could always step back in say, "In 5 days I might be looking back laughing at myself." But I'm just not buying that today. I feel like I'm watching the tide come in. There is no dam to build. No amount of kicking the waves will make them go away. You can cry and rail and shake your fist, and there's just no fixing it. There's no hiding. There's only bearing. Only scraping together more courage, more patience, and more insistance to still love, love, love, my spouse and my stepkids and my family and my friends, and the Crucified and Risen God.
And I'm, honestly, so tired. I don't want to talk this over with anyone. I don't want to say another nauseating word on the subject. I'm so sick of it. I just want two little pink lines on a stupid little stick.
Here's a song I've listened to about 30 times in the last hour. Don't watch the video. I think it's distracting. I just am liking the song.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOufqWodFNo
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Home
There is nothing quite like coming home.
I spent Thursday evening at church with a good friend of mine. And Friday afternoon at the same church, remembering the death. Remembering the darkness. Remembering that last breath. Remembering the burial.
I did my first prostrations. Ever. I learned again, or rather, had it underlined, what it means to worship. In a world without kings or queens, it's hard for us to understand what allegiance or worship or even bowing means. But to cross yourself and bow your forehead to the ground makes it darn hard to forget that the shroud and icon you are about to kiss more than stand for the Very Shroud, the Very Icon of the Most High. They are part of the original.
It's amazing to consider that this tradition is unbroken. Not centuries nor persecutions nor anything else have managed to stop this memorial. We keep it. And because we keep the memorial, we also get to keep the Miracle.
But back to coming home. I curled up in my own bed last night, safe next to my snoring husband, cozy between my own sheets, and thought about coming home.
There's nothing quite like it, is there?
And I'm understanding better the Fast. It is all sorts of things. It is complex. But right now I'm seeing clearly that for the last 6 weeks, we have been living a stunted human life. We have not eaten meat. We have not eaten dairy. The very strong have not eaten oil, or wine, or even anything cooked. We have not had sex. And truly, sex is essential in a marriage relationship. J and I have felt the lack, and not just physically.
But I'm starting to get it. We have fasted to draw into sharp contrast the withered from the full, the robust from the gaunt, the feast from the fast. We have given up part of the fullness and the freedom of our lives so that we can understand, really and fully, what exactly is given to us in the Passion of our Lord. We are given ourselves back. We were made to take joy in the good that is all things He has made. Our sin has bent us and made it hard if not impossible to fully participate in that joy and goodness. By death, He has defeated death. When we die with Him, we rise also with Him. It's not just so much imagery and myth. It's real.
We volunteered to wander in the wilderness so that when we are called Home, we might come, truly.
We taste tonight a part of the coming Feast when all things that look upon His face and love Him are freed to be what they were made to be.
We taste tonight the present Feast. Even now, we live fully. Even now, the Kingdom is come. Even now. Even here. Even in this. Even in all the trouble. The Kingdom is here.
I have goosebumps already.
Soon, I will type, and sing, the Great Hymn.
For now, I wait in the hush, in the garden, and I watch. The Dawn is coming!
I spent Thursday evening at church with a good friend of mine. And Friday afternoon at the same church, remembering the death. Remembering the darkness. Remembering that last breath. Remembering the burial.
I did my first prostrations. Ever. I learned again, or rather, had it underlined, what it means to worship. In a world without kings or queens, it's hard for us to understand what allegiance or worship or even bowing means. But to cross yourself and bow your forehead to the ground makes it darn hard to forget that the shroud and icon you are about to kiss more than stand for the Very Shroud, the Very Icon of the Most High. They are part of the original.
It's amazing to consider that this tradition is unbroken. Not centuries nor persecutions nor anything else have managed to stop this memorial. We keep it. And because we keep the memorial, we also get to keep the Miracle.
But back to coming home. I curled up in my own bed last night, safe next to my snoring husband, cozy between my own sheets, and thought about coming home.
There's nothing quite like it, is there?
And I'm understanding better the Fast. It is all sorts of things. It is complex. But right now I'm seeing clearly that for the last 6 weeks, we have been living a stunted human life. We have not eaten meat. We have not eaten dairy. The very strong have not eaten oil, or wine, or even anything cooked. We have not had sex. And truly, sex is essential in a marriage relationship. J and I have felt the lack, and not just physically.
But I'm starting to get it. We have fasted to draw into sharp contrast the withered from the full, the robust from the gaunt, the feast from the fast. We have given up part of the fullness and the freedom of our lives so that we can understand, really and fully, what exactly is given to us in the Passion of our Lord. We are given ourselves back. We were made to take joy in the good that is all things He has made. Our sin has bent us and made it hard if not impossible to fully participate in that joy and goodness. By death, He has defeated death. When we die with Him, we rise also with Him. It's not just so much imagery and myth. It's real.
We volunteered to wander in the wilderness so that when we are called Home, we might come, truly.
We taste tonight a part of the coming Feast when all things that look upon His face and love Him are freed to be what they were made to be.
We taste tonight the present Feast. Even now, we live fully. Even now, the Kingdom is come. Even now. Even here. Even in this. Even in all the trouble. The Kingdom is here.
I have goosebumps already.
Soon, I will type, and sing, the Great Hymn.
For now, I wait in the hush, in the garden, and I watch. The Dawn is coming!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Heaven comes so near
I love the Orthodox Church. I really really do.
Tonight, I drove up to Cleveland to go to church with a good friend of mine. We walked in, and the first thought in my head, OK second after, "whoa clouds of incense," was, "Wow I love Orthodox vestments." Those folk just don't miss anything. Even the vestments are spectacular. There is no mistaking that man there, who you might enjoy a hamburger with on any other day of the week (except in Lent, then it would be a bean burger or something), is a PRIEST and an icon and ordained, really, and used, truly. It's very very cool.
For me, there is no time of year when heaven comes so near as these last days of Lent. We are tired. We stand for hours and we get sore. We're hungry. We're sex-deprived. And suddenly, you start to find the end of the rainbow. And there's really gold there.
Much of the beginning of the service focused on Judas. I puzzled over this until I started noticing that the focus was being honed in on his faults, his transgressions, his underlying vices that laid the foundation for his final betrayal. The Orthodox have a very interesting way of grinding lessons into you. They don't come out and say, "this is the way it is." They paint picture after picture after picture after picture. And you start to see. Sound like Anyone else we know?
The first thing that tipped me off to the Judas theme was a part of the service where a series of verses (Antiphon) were chanted. Each calls to mind something Jesus said or did. He raised Lazarus, he predicted his betrayal, he washed the feet of the disciples (even Judas's)... and in all of these things, Judas was unwilling to understand.
He chose.
Over and over again, throughout Holy Week, we are given contrasting examples. Be like the virgins who waited for the bridegroom with the lamps lit. Don't be like the ones who missed him. Be like Peter, who, though fallen, repented and loved and lived again. Don't be this; be this.
And it started to become painfully clear. Judas was unwilling to understand. He was avaricious. He was envious. He was impatient. He was unfaithful. His feet were washed and he was ungrateful. He had all the evidence directly in front of him and he refused to understand. He sold the Man who made him.
And how different are any of we?
Now, it must be noted that at no time did I feel that any sense of guilt was being contrived and shoved down my throat. In fact, I didn't sense any guilt at all. It was just the massive realization that I, too, can refuse to understand, can refuse patience, can refuse generosity, can refuse gratitude. I can do all of these things. It's not an emotional response that's necessarily generated, though it does follow. It's the knowledge that all this is not just about a few random men 2000 years ago. It's alive and present and still being played out here, now, today.
But again, we are drawn to another set of contrasts. There are two thieves crucified with our Risen One. One repents. One mocks. Be this, not that.
Judas and Peter both find shame, guilt, and remorse. Judas's last act of faithlessness was failing to wait to see what the third day brought.
----
There was a great deal of painful irony present in the service. The first I saw was at the end of the second Gospel reading. John 18:28. "They (the Jews) led Jesus from Caiaphas to the praetorium. Now it was early morning, and they themselves did not enter the praetorium so that they might not be defiled , and might eat the passover."
Oh my. They didn't know. But they should have.
And later: "Today the Jews nailed to the Cross the Lord Who had divided the sea with a rod, and who had led them into the wilderness. Today they pierced His side with a spear, who for their sakes smote Egypt with plagues; and gave Him gall to drink, Who had rained manna upon them for food."
And again: "Today is hung upon the Tree, He Who suspended the land in the midst of the waters. A crown of thorns crowns Him, Who is the King of Angels. He is wrapped about with the purple of mockery, Who wrapped the Heavens with clouds. He received buffetings, Who freed Adam in the Jordan. He was transfixed with nails, Who is the Son of the Virgin."
---
Matthew 27:24-25. Now Pilate, seeing that he was doing no good, but rather that a riot was breaking out, took water and washed his hands in sight of the crowd, saying, "I am innocent of the blood of this just man; see to it yourselves." And all the people answered and said, "His blood be on us and on our children."
What a horror to say. What a glory it turned out to be.
---
Insult after injury was poured out on the head of Christ. Absurdities. Appalling ironies. And yet, He sees fit to give us back an irony of our own. Through all of this, heaven bends so near to us. It's funny, but really shouldn't be (given all we know), how in the middle of the greatest horror we find the greatest glory.
I find, somehow, on what the West calls Maundy Thursday, a desire to pray for Christ. It seems sacrelige, somehow, to think that I, the creature, should take pity on and pray for the Son of God Son of Man. But on this night, I remember God Almighty prayed in the Garden, tasted fear, and was utterly alone. And I wonder, is it pride to long to comfort Him? Through the eternality of God, might I somehow reach back and offer the Comforter comfort?
I've always wondered what the angel brought when it came and ministered to Him. I have no way of knowing, but sometimes I wonder if it brought to Him visions of us. Maybe it showed Him my face, among millions of others, and said, "This is why. And these, your Saints yet unborn, asked me to tell You, here and now, that they love you, and they thank you, and they will wait with you in the Garden this night, and they will kiss Your feet on the cross tomorrow, and they will each try, with all of their frailty, to ease and lessen Your pain."
Son of God, Son of Man. Remember me in your Kingdom.
Tonight, I drove up to Cleveland to go to church with a good friend of mine. We walked in, and the first thought in my head, OK second after, "whoa clouds of incense," was, "Wow I love Orthodox vestments." Those folk just don't miss anything. Even the vestments are spectacular. There is no mistaking that man there, who you might enjoy a hamburger with on any other day of the week (except in Lent, then it would be a bean burger or something), is a PRIEST and an icon and ordained, really, and used, truly. It's very very cool.
For me, there is no time of year when heaven comes so near as these last days of Lent. We are tired. We stand for hours and we get sore. We're hungry. We're sex-deprived. And suddenly, you start to find the end of the rainbow. And there's really gold there.
Much of the beginning of the service focused on Judas. I puzzled over this until I started noticing that the focus was being honed in on his faults, his transgressions, his underlying vices that laid the foundation for his final betrayal. The Orthodox have a very interesting way of grinding lessons into you. They don't come out and say, "this is the way it is." They paint picture after picture after picture after picture. And you start to see. Sound like Anyone else we know?
The first thing that tipped me off to the Judas theme was a part of the service where a series of verses (Antiphon) were chanted. Each calls to mind something Jesus said or did. He raised Lazarus, he predicted his betrayal, he washed the feet of the disciples (even Judas's)... and in all of these things, Judas was unwilling to understand.
He chose.
Over and over again, throughout Holy Week, we are given contrasting examples. Be like the virgins who waited for the bridegroom with the lamps lit. Don't be like the ones who missed him. Be like Peter, who, though fallen, repented and loved and lived again. Don't be this; be this.
And it started to become painfully clear. Judas was unwilling to understand. He was avaricious. He was envious. He was impatient. He was unfaithful. His feet were washed and he was ungrateful. He had all the evidence directly in front of him and he refused to understand. He sold the Man who made him.
And how different are any of we?
Now, it must be noted that at no time did I feel that any sense of guilt was being contrived and shoved down my throat. In fact, I didn't sense any guilt at all. It was just the massive realization that I, too, can refuse to understand, can refuse patience, can refuse generosity, can refuse gratitude. I can do all of these things. It's not an emotional response that's necessarily generated, though it does follow. It's the knowledge that all this is not just about a few random men 2000 years ago. It's alive and present and still being played out here, now, today.
But again, we are drawn to another set of contrasts. There are two thieves crucified with our Risen One. One repents. One mocks. Be this, not that.
Judas and Peter both find shame, guilt, and remorse. Judas's last act of faithlessness was failing to wait to see what the third day brought.
----
There was a great deal of painful irony present in the service. The first I saw was at the end of the second Gospel reading. John 18:28. "They (the Jews) led Jesus from Caiaphas to the praetorium. Now it was early morning, and they themselves did not enter the praetorium so that they might not be defiled , and might eat the passover."
Oh my. They didn't know. But they should have.
And later: "Today the Jews nailed to the Cross the Lord Who had divided the sea with a rod, and who had led them into the wilderness. Today they pierced His side with a spear, who for their sakes smote Egypt with plagues; and gave Him gall to drink, Who had rained manna upon them for food."
And again: "Today is hung upon the Tree, He Who suspended the land in the midst of the waters. A crown of thorns crowns Him, Who is the King of Angels. He is wrapped about with the purple of mockery, Who wrapped the Heavens with clouds. He received buffetings, Who freed Adam in the Jordan. He was transfixed with nails, Who is the Son of the Virgin."
---
Matthew 27:24-25. Now Pilate, seeing that he was doing no good, but rather that a riot was breaking out, took water and washed his hands in sight of the crowd, saying, "I am innocent of the blood of this just man; see to it yourselves." And all the people answered and said, "His blood be on us and on our children."
What a horror to say. What a glory it turned out to be.
---
Insult after injury was poured out on the head of Christ. Absurdities. Appalling ironies. And yet, He sees fit to give us back an irony of our own. Through all of this, heaven bends so near to us. It's funny, but really shouldn't be (given all we know), how in the middle of the greatest horror we find the greatest glory.
I find, somehow, on what the West calls Maundy Thursday, a desire to pray for Christ. It seems sacrelige, somehow, to think that I, the creature, should take pity on and pray for the Son of God Son of Man. But on this night, I remember God Almighty prayed in the Garden, tasted fear, and was utterly alone. And I wonder, is it pride to long to comfort Him? Through the eternality of God, might I somehow reach back and offer the Comforter comfort?
I've always wondered what the angel brought when it came and ministered to Him. I have no way of knowing, but sometimes I wonder if it brought to Him visions of us. Maybe it showed Him my face, among millions of others, and said, "This is why. And these, your Saints yet unborn, asked me to tell You, here and now, that they love you, and they thank you, and they will wait with you in the Garden this night, and they will kiss Your feet on the cross tomorrow, and they will each try, with all of their frailty, to ease and lessen Your pain."
Son of God, Son of Man. Remember me in your Kingdom.
oh no
I was a lunatic in a dream last night.
I felt my first cramp this morning.
I'm choking up about everything. And nothing.
Methinks doc maybe not so dumb. Dangit.
...Or maybe doc is as adorably naive as she seemed. We have been known to enjoy week-long PMS. Either way, someone say a prayer for my husband.
I felt my first cramp this morning.
I'm choking up about everything. And nothing.
Methinks doc maybe not so dumb. Dangit.
...Or maybe doc is as adorably naive as she seemed. We have been known to enjoy week-long PMS. Either way, someone say a prayer for my husband.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
A hodge podge of human and divine
Visited the vampires yesterday for a progesterone test. Lovely levels, "excellent" they say. 54.7. Woot. Go me and my progesterone production! (They want a minimum of 3 and are happy if the levels are at 9). So yay. The body is well prepared for baby growing.
snicker-snort. We all know better by now. But at least we know I'm still "functioning", even if with some help.
My doc is so cute. We were talking about how if ovulation was somewhere around CD17, she'd expect my period to come, oh, say, probably this weekend. Right around CD28 or 29. Hee hee. For a medical professional, the level of naivete is endearing. We all know the Red Menace will not be rearing it's ugly head til the middle or end of next week.
But anyhow, I now have an appointment on Monday to learn how to give myself shots. Yay! ? That's the next step. So, Monday I learn how to jab myself with needles and simultaneously stay conscious. Then, when RM appears, I need to lickety-split get my butt BACK up to the doc (have I mentioned they're 90 minutes away?) to get an ultrasound done between CD1 and 3 to see "where I am". I forgot to ask what that means. Then, shots starting CD3. I've always wanted to be punctured daily. I wonder, if I perforate myself in the right pattern, might I be able to get the last extra pound or two on each thigh/hip to easily peel off? It's well worth wondering. I might have to content myself with one hip per cycle. Lopsided for a month, but hey. A pound lighter nonetheless. Better than laying down on a treadmill.
For right now, I'm only going to flirt a little bit with the pissiness of all this. Flirt flirt. Feeling robbed. Flirt flirt. It's unfair. Flirt flirt. I hate this. Flirt flirt. Can't I just get f-ing knocked up already. Flirt flirt. What does that abdominal twitch mean? Flirt flirt. F.
On a different note, here we are up to our ears in Holy Week. Hooray. Today is "Great and Holy Wednesday." Those Orthodox sure don't mess around when they name things, do they? I'm rather excited that it's Wednesday, and not still Tuesday. With the way our church has services scheduled this week, there was only church on Sunday. We missed Monday and Tuesday, so the whole preparing for Pascha thing has seemed a little distant and surreal. The fast has gotten rather hard lately. I'm tired. I want meat. I want more than one serving of dairy per day. I want sex with my husband (gosh stinking darnit). But I remember that it's supposed to be hard, and we're supposed to be tired, and we're supposed to be anticipating the feast. And the fruits of all of this are coming, are in fact already here, even if we can't see them yet.
So, my next 5 days will look like this: church tonight, playing taxi all day tomorrow, driving up to Cleveland (I think) to attend Great and Holy Thursday's Matins of Great and Holy Friday with some friends, perhaps some 9 AM Royal Hours and 2 PM Great Vespers of Holy Friday on Friday also up in Cleveland, then home for 7 PM Matins of Great and Holy Saturday (Procession with Holy Shroud) (don't be confused - the matins of Saturday are celebrated Friday night). Saturday will involve me very busily being a collapsed heap on the couch for most of the morning and into the afternoon, working in the evening, then PASCHA (yayayayay) services and feast from 11:00 til something like 3 AM. Sunday, I will sleep, eat 3 or 4 varieties of meat, tackle my husband in the sack, then go to work again. Monday, fun with needles followed by some sort of feast at home Monday night. And maybe more tackling in the sack. Woo!
It sounds lunatic. All those piles of services. But really, it's amazing. I'm not a nerd. OK, I am a nerd, but it's still amazing. I'm looking forward to my next few posts as the focus tightens, darkens, and then explodes into light.
snicker-snort. We all know better by now. But at least we know I'm still "functioning", even if with some help.
My doc is so cute. We were talking about how if ovulation was somewhere around CD17, she'd expect my period to come, oh, say, probably this weekend. Right around CD28 or 29. Hee hee. For a medical professional, the level of naivete is endearing. We all know the Red Menace will not be rearing it's ugly head til the middle or end of next week.
But anyhow, I now have an appointment on Monday to learn how to give myself shots. Yay! ? That's the next step. So, Monday I learn how to jab myself with needles and simultaneously stay conscious. Then, when RM appears, I need to lickety-split get my butt BACK up to the doc (have I mentioned they're 90 minutes away?) to get an ultrasound done between CD1 and 3 to see "where I am". I forgot to ask what that means. Then, shots starting CD3. I've always wanted to be punctured daily. I wonder, if I perforate myself in the right pattern, might I be able to get the last extra pound or two on each thigh/hip to easily peel off? It's well worth wondering. I might have to content myself with one hip per cycle. Lopsided for a month, but hey. A pound lighter nonetheless. Better than laying down on a treadmill.
For right now, I'm only going to flirt a little bit with the pissiness of all this. Flirt flirt. Feeling robbed. Flirt flirt. It's unfair. Flirt flirt. I hate this. Flirt flirt. Can't I just get f-ing knocked up already. Flirt flirt. What does that abdominal twitch mean? Flirt flirt. F.
On a different note, here we are up to our ears in Holy Week. Hooray. Today is "Great and Holy Wednesday." Those Orthodox sure don't mess around when they name things, do they? I'm rather excited that it's Wednesday, and not still Tuesday. With the way our church has services scheduled this week, there was only church on Sunday. We missed Monday and Tuesday, so the whole preparing for Pascha thing has seemed a little distant and surreal. The fast has gotten rather hard lately. I'm tired. I want meat. I want more than one serving of dairy per day. I want sex with my husband (gosh stinking darnit). But I remember that it's supposed to be hard, and we're supposed to be tired, and we're supposed to be anticipating the feast. And the fruits of all of this are coming, are in fact already here, even if we can't see them yet.
So, my next 5 days will look like this: church tonight, playing taxi all day tomorrow, driving up to Cleveland (I think) to attend Great and Holy Thursday's Matins of Great and Holy Friday with some friends, perhaps some 9 AM Royal Hours and 2 PM Great Vespers of Holy Friday on Friday also up in Cleveland, then home for 7 PM Matins of Great and Holy Saturday (Procession with Holy Shroud) (don't be confused - the matins of Saturday are celebrated Friday night). Saturday will involve me very busily being a collapsed heap on the couch for most of the morning and into the afternoon, working in the evening, then PASCHA (yayayayay) services and feast from 11:00 til something like 3 AM. Sunday, I will sleep, eat 3 or 4 varieties of meat, tackle my husband in the sack, then go to work again. Monday, fun with needles followed by some sort of feast at home Monday night. And maybe more tackling in the sack. Woo!
It sounds lunatic. All those piles of services. But really, it's amazing. I'm not a nerd. OK, I am a nerd, but it's still amazing. I'm looking forward to my next few posts as the focus tightens, darkens, and then explodes into light.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Life is fair
I believe, truly, that the universe is just. At the end, nobody will be left empty handed unless they choose to be. I believe in a God who is just. I don't often, really, see justice around me though. Or even fairness. Life seems to just take and take and take and sometimes I find myself wondering when it's ever going to give anything back. There's something about this clip, though, that seems put a pound on the other side of the scale, and so set things a little more right again. Read this lady's story, hear the song, and tell me that you're not smiling now. :)
http://talent.itv.com/videos/video/item_200081.htm
Beauty is entirely, entirely transforming.
http://talent.itv.com/videos/video/item_200081.htm
Beauty is entirely, entirely transforming.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Good Friday
Often, at this point in the cycle, I imagine what might be happening "down there". Maybe Hansel and Gretel (thanks Beth) met up. Maybe Hansel said, "Hey cutie" and Gretel giggled, and just like when J and I exchanged rings, the two maybe became one. It could have happened. Maybe it's happening.
But it made me think how often enormous change starts in the stillness, in the secret, without anyone knowing. A brand new person (it may as well be a brand new world) is knit together from two little cells. So quietly. So enormous. So small.
It made me think that so often, this is how God works in us. I think when we ask for good things, whether they be patience, kindness, goodness, justice, or "just" the ability to love, the answer is always "yes", but sometimes the work He starts in us is so far back and so deep in us that we can't see them right away. But they're there. I look back and think of the things I prayed for, say, 7 years ago. Today, I see them starting to come to fruition. I am a whole person. Happy. Secure. Scarred, but so very very alive. The process started so deep, I almost could have missed it. I could have despaired and given up. Maybe, at times I did. But, faithfully, He didn't. (Have you ever noticed that sometimes, the ability to ask for something - the ability to want something so hard to want - is part of the answer to the very asking? Grace breathes there too, and that, I think, is the divine chicken and egg joke.)
And here it is Good Friday, the day we remember the utter horror that faced the universe so many years ago when all hope was lost, when all faith was limp, and when God Himself was dead. Tomorrow is Holy Saturday, the gray day of stillness. The day that looked like a closet, but became a hallway. The day that looked like the end, but was really the Beginning. The day when all seemed lost, and yet those lost to death were seen walking the cities. We didn't know it at the time, but Saturday was the day death died, not God. In the stillness, in the darkness, He worked our rebirth, our release, our redemption.
But then, it makes sense. Because in the beginning, he sang all this out of nothing. It seems to be His joy to weave, out of desolation, life.
But it made me think how often enormous change starts in the stillness, in the secret, without anyone knowing. A brand new person (it may as well be a brand new world) is knit together from two little cells. So quietly. So enormous. So small.
It made me think that so often, this is how God works in us. I think when we ask for good things, whether they be patience, kindness, goodness, justice, or "just" the ability to love, the answer is always "yes", but sometimes the work He starts in us is so far back and so deep in us that we can't see them right away. But they're there. I look back and think of the things I prayed for, say, 7 years ago. Today, I see them starting to come to fruition. I am a whole person. Happy. Secure. Scarred, but so very very alive. The process started so deep, I almost could have missed it. I could have despaired and given up. Maybe, at times I did. But, faithfully, He didn't. (Have you ever noticed that sometimes, the ability to ask for something - the ability to want something so hard to want - is part of the answer to the very asking? Grace breathes there too, and that, I think, is the divine chicken and egg joke.)
And here it is Good Friday, the day we remember the utter horror that faced the universe so many years ago when all hope was lost, when all faith was limp, and when God Himself was dead. Tomorrow is Holy Saturday, the gray day of stillness. The day that looked like a closet, but became a hallway. The day that looked like the end, but was really the Beginning. The day when all seemed lost, and yet those lost to death were seen walking the cities. We didn't know it at the time, but Saturday was the day death died, not God. In the stillness, in the darkness, He worked our rebirth, our release, our redemption.
But then, it makes sense. Because in the beginning, he sang all this out of nothing. It seems to be His joy to weave, out of desolation, life.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Rainy Day
It's gray and rainy. Perfect weather for Good Friday for all you westerners. Straddling East and West is odd, especially with the two celebrations only a week apart. For the Orthodox, Sunday is Palm Sunday and starts the Great Holy Week. For the west, Sunday is Easter. Odd. So, we'll start out Holy Week with Easter and end it with Pascha. Hiccup. Stinking halves should quit messing around and reunite. This 1500 year Schism is inconveniencing me.
Since there's no lightning striking for my bravado, I'll assume God agrees.
Still no lightning. There are only two interpretations.
I'm feeling a bit flippant today. Forgiveness is asked.
OK. I'm going to get back to what I was supposed to be doing before I decided to take a break to make this:
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Taking votes
I'm now taking votes on names. J's lazy little guppies need a name and my lonely little eggs need a name. Something you can wave on a banner, you know? Let's hear the ideas.
Because they're off, and they sure as shat had better be making beelines towards each other. I got a definite, absolute, no question LH spike yesterday. Add that to a conglomeration of physical and *ahem* other symptoms, and I believe we're seeing ovulation here folks. Real, live. Friday's little foray into double-lines-on-the-stick-hood seems to have just been an exploratory move. This is the real thing. Yay. So, mark me down for one LH surge on CD16.
Yes, we broke the fast. Briefly. And without any *ahem* real perks to speak of for certain people *points at self*. Gotta keep the monks happy, ya know. (Maintaining the spirit if not the letter. It's gotta count for something.) But enough to get those guppies where they need to be. I've had a serious talk with my uterus about how it had better stop screwing around and take this seriously if she wants to avoid having cameras and turkey basters and heaven knows what else coming to call. I didn't have the same chat with J's guppies - there's just no way to talk to "it" without "it" getting other ideas. Ha.
So bring on the 2ww, the inevitable optimism, and yes, the sudden stop at the bottom. But maybe it won't come this time. Who knows?
Monday, April 6, 2009
Hooked
I've been having a time of it lately. Keeping my... emotions... in check. I'm not going to dwell on it, and I'm not really going to expound. I'm just... sad. A lot. I think it's definitely linked to this IF thing, and probably just another phase to pass through. It's not rational, so I'm not really engaging it much. I talked it over with J, and he very gently suggested finding some distractions. So, I've been burying myself in books. And mosaics. Flickr's Big Huge Labs Mosaic Maker is so fun. Huzzah. So here are the three latest.
I love the moon. J sometimes calls me "Luna" (not adding "tic" to the end, though I'm sure he thinks it at times), and even wrote a poem about me once that he entitled "Luna." As it turns out, one of my dearest friends loves the moon too. So I had that mosaic printed and gave it to her.
The other two I'll let speak for themselves.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Here are some more
I have a really bad head cold. So, I've been spending a good amount of time in a chair with tea... fiddling with Flickr's Mosaic Maker. I also found a really cool site where you can transfer designs to fabric - you upload the design, they print it and send it to you. I sent this first one to be printed on a "fat quarter" (18" x 20"), so we'll see how it turns out in a couple weeks. The design is the alphabet - one word per letter (4 letters got two words), then I flickr searched the words and chose a picture for each. Way fun.
No stories for the rest. Colors, flowers. Ya know. May transfer the flower one to fabric, depending on how the first order comes out.
Sorry, time
I'm afraid I must issue an apology to time. I've been killing it. I made these. :) I have a couple more, but it's only letting me upload 5. Boo.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Stop Everything
An alternative title for this post could, with perhaps more accuracy, be "Biological Clusterf***".
You see, I started my OPKs today and apparently am up to my knees in LH. Yes, Little Miss 35 day cycle appears to be preparing to ovulate today. W. T. F. CD12? This surge showed up a mere 3 hours after talking to the doc and estimating ovulation last cycle at being somewhere around CD21. *glares at abdomen*
Needless to say, none of us know what the bleepity bleep my body is doing. All we can tell for sure is that it's figuratively stumbling and staggering around producing whatever the heck hormones it wants at whatever the heck time it wants. I asked the doctor about it, in the second phone call of the day, and she was as nonplussed as me. I said, "I don't think my body knows what it's doing." To which she said, "Well I certainly don't know what it's doing."
There's a good chance the whole abstinence-til-Pascha thing will be put on the shelf for a short time tomorrow. We'll pick it back up again, but I'm not going to have put myself through this last hellish cycle of Clomid for nothing. Darn. Sex. :)
And I get to go in for some blood work on Monday to confirm ovulation. But I'm supposed to continue the OPKs til then, just in case it dips and then rises again. The doc has heard of an LH spike (not to be confused with a positive surge) that dipped again before the official surge started. So maybe.
Yeah. I'm going to become very good friends with needles in these upcoming months. Enthusiasm.
There comes a point when all you can do, really, is laugh a little and go to sleep.
You see, I started my OPKs today and apparently am up to my knees in LH. Yes, Little Miss 35 day cycle appears to be preparing to ovulate today. W. T. F. CD12? This surge showed up a mere 3 hours after talking to the doc and estimating ovulation last cycle at being somewhere around CD21. *glares at abdomen*
Needless to say, none of us know what the bleepity bleep my body is doing. All we can tell for sure is that it's figuratively stumbling and staggering around producing whatever the heck hormones it wants at whatever the heck time it wants. I asked the doctor about it, in the second phone call of the day, and she was as nonplussed as me. I said, "I don't think my body knows what it's doing." To which she said, "Well I certainly don't know what it's doing."
There's a good chance the whole abstinence-til-Pascha thing will be put on the shelf for a short time tomorrow. We'll pick it back up again, but I'm not going to have put myself through this last hellish cycle of Clomid for nothing. Darn. Sex. :)
And I get to go in for some blood work on Monday to confirm ovulation. But I'm supposed to continue the OPKs til then, just in case it dips and then rises again. The doc has heard of an LH spike (not to be confused with a positive surge) that dipped again before the official surge started. So maybe.
Yeah. I'm going to become very good friends with needles in these upcoming months. Enthusiasm.
There comes a point when all you can do, really, is laugh a little and go to sleep.
Results
I've always wanted a family. The word "big" never really played into it, but until I met J, I always thought I wanted 4. But he's already got 2, so I dropped my number of ideal hatchlings to 3. It's funny, you know, the plans we make.
We got J's results. The numbers are low. Not as obscenely low as before, but definitely low. Too low. Plus, there were infection-fighting cells present, which they didn't want to see at all. We're mildly freaked out about that because she wouldn't say what that meant aside from a possible prostate infection, but we're supposed to make an appt to see a specialist, so we'll find out then, I suppose.
I told her about the side effects I've been experiencing and I didn't even get through half of them before she said, "Whoa. OK. This is definitely your last cycle on Clomid. Visual disturbances are not good." So next on the list is injections with bloodwork and ultrasound monitoring and probably IUIs. Yes, I am a major needle-phobe. Yes, I feel woozy and nauseous thinking about it. Yes, I am going to do it.
Pfffffft.
We got J's results. The numbers are low. Not as obscenely low as before, but definitely low. Too low. Plus, there were infection-fighting cells present, which they didn't want to see at all. We're mildly freaked out about that because she wouldn't say what that meant aside from a possible prostate infection, but we're supposed to make an appt to see a specialist, so we'll find out then, I suppose.
I told her about the side effects I've been experiencing and I didn't even get through half of them before she said, "Whoa. OK. This is definitely your last cycle on Clomid. Visual disturbances are not good." So next on the list is injections with bloodwork and ultrasound monitoring and probably IUIs. Yes, I am a major needle-phobe. Yes, I feel woozy and nauseous thinking about it. Yes, I am going to do it.
Pfffffft.
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