You asked, I answer

By the time you read this post, I should be in Miami on my way to Grand Cayman. (I love being able to schedule posts on blogger.) Some quick updates on the two reunions I went to this weekend…

I ended up going to Larry’s high school reunion Friday night, which was… interesting. The open bar was a welcome and much needed amenity. We only really actively keep in touch with about three people from his high school class, so we all went as a group. I only vaguely remember some other people (Larry and I went to different high schools) so I had a blast just eating the food and boozing up for free. It was a lovely affair: balloons, food, music from the 90’s, and a free Class of 2000 water bottle as end of the night swag. On the Awkward-O-Meter, Larry gave it about a 6.

And then there was Invasive Question Lady.

Some girl (well, I guess since we’re 10 years out from high school I should say woman, but whatever) comes up to Larry, does the high-pitched “Heyyyyyyyy!” and gives him a big hug. I’m introduced, I think she’s kind of skanky looking, and she’s like, full steam ahead with the invasive questions:

IQL: “So you two are married?”

Us: “Yup!”

IQL: “How long?”

Us: “Three years next January!”

IQL: “Do you have any kids?”

Us: “Not yet!”

IQL: “Do you want kids?”

Larry: “Yeah, just not yet!”
Me: (silently, in my mind) You have no idea, lady. *large swig of my cocktail*

IQL: “So when are you planning on having kids?”

Larry: “Not for a couple of years!”
Me: *angrily chewing ice to avoid saying something rude in response*

IQL: “Me too, we just got married so we don’t want to rush into it. But you never know- accidents happen”

Us: *louder than necessary laughter*
Me: *downs the rest of my cocktail in one swallow*

. . .

Last night was my Anti-Reunion at the diner around the corner from my high school. Word on the street is that after we were repeatedly told there would be no tickets at the door to the Official Reunion… there were in fact, tix at the door, because their weren’t enough pre-sales. Meh.

I caught up with folks and wouldn’t you know: one at the table is 3 months pg with an IVF baby, one is currently cycling with retrieval scheduled for the end of this week (if y’all can put out some good vibes for my friend J.L.C. I would love you for it), and another is planning their first IUI relatively soon. It was great to catch up with folks, relax, have a cheap dinner and a cheap beer and just shoot the shit. It was a lot of fun. In the middle of the evening, I got a text about another friend: a holiday pg announcement.

As usual, it stung.

. . .

When I was getting diagnosed and going through tx, I wanted to know everything and do everything right away. I always admire your patience and how you go about obtaining all the knowledge you can about everything. So my question is: Have you always been this patient? How do you do it? Can you write a book please?

I shared these two stories about reunions this week to illustrate just a little of this saintly “patience.” When it comes down to it, I put on really good airs, but there’s a very small circle of people who actually get to see the Very Private Keiko, who is openly tortured by this experience.

Let me back up: I am not a patient woman. 

Photo by Pamla J. Eisenberg via Flickr.

I never have been, in fact. In the age of instant communications, my demand for instantaneous response is high. But like these two moments this weekend, I somehow have learned to let it all roll off my back in the last year. I am (contrary to what you may read on this blog) a very polite person, however. There’s a lot of forced smiles and polite small talk and vague responses.

Sometimes there are very blunt, but still very polite responses as well. And then there’s the random crying, the days where I just feel blue and want to be left alone or be jealous or be resentful and hurt and self-pitying. There are substantially fewer of those days, but they happen. Despite the fact that I am super excited for my cruise, the knowledge of yet another pg person in my life still gets me down. I am of course thrilled for them, but I’m jealous, bitter, and frustrated too. And after spending a half-hour yesterday with our friends’ incredibly adorable, bright, and talkative 2-year-old, the pang runs a little deeper: I want that too. It’s not fair. Why can’t we just have babies like everyone else?And yet still I wait and wait and wait. With patience, somehow. In these very public moments of grace, there are the private moments of pain. I share some of those glimpses by writing here, but there’s a lot folks don’t read or see.

As for writing a book, I had an idea come to me this weekend, at Thanksgiving as a matter of fact. I wrote yesterday that I was blindsided by a whirlwind of emotion randomly at the holiday season. I did what I normally do in these types of situations: I head to the kitchen and start cooking. I think I’d like to write an Infertile’s Cookbook: part memoir, part comfort food recipes, part historical reflection- the ideas of our mothers’ cooking. It’s a very raw idea, but I like it.

Ultimately, when it comes to patience:

I’m reminded of one of the questions I asked in my video: What if I lived in the moment rather than living in an uncertain future?

I just have to take it one day at a time. That’s all we really can do.