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.

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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