Coping

Today's post is going to be raw, emotional, and probably painful for some of you to read. In truth, I started not to publish it. But this has been sitting with me for awhile now, and so I wrote it out in hopes that it would bring me some comfort and closure. I didn't write it to seek out sympathy, or to evoke any particular emotion for my readers. I simply wrote it for me. Any of you who have ever suffered with infertility will understand that sometimes, crying it out and exhausting all emotion is the only way to pick yourself and move on, to give yourself enough courage to take the next pill, the next shot, or the next test. That is what this post is for me.

I'm sitting in the bathroom floor, legs tangled beneath me. The towel I'm crying into smells of Brian's body wash. A nervous cat who managed to get closed into the bathroom with me sits by the door, tail twitching, waiting for a chance to escape. The digital pregnancy test still sits on the counter where I left it, the words "NOT PREGNANT" in stark analog print, breaking my heart again.

It's 4:30 in the morning.

Last night, we sat at the kitchen table, holding hands, the truth of the situation like ashes in my mouth. "I'm 15 days late," I say.

"I know," he replies.

Like a sorrow-filled waltz, we dance around the topic of conversation. He asks me if there are any signs of impending doom. I show him my ovulation calendar. We talk about the "peak fertile days" we managed to hit in the last month. Hope blossoms like spring flowers where one would think the roots were dead.

"Should I take a test?" I ask him.

"Maybe. But let's wait until morning," he replies.

And so we walk through the rest of the day, preparing meals and cleaning dishes, hugging cats and laughing at sitcoms, until the time for bed arrives.

As I brush my teeth, I rummage through the cabinets until I find what I'm looking for: a box of pregnancy tests, one left, waiting for the chance to make our dreams come true. I set it out, unwrap it, and stare at the blank screen, wondering what judgement it will have for me. I spit in the sink, and a spot of toothpaste lands on the digital screen. I wipe it away with my finger.

An hour later, my husband sleeps deeply beside me. I slide the bookmark between the pages of my current novel and turn out the light. My cat snuggles up on my chest, and I pet him while I think about what the morning might bring. So many possibilities. 

I try to keep myself from thinking it, but as usual, the laundry list of those possibilities begin to rattle off in my brain. If it's positive, I could have the baby by Christmas. If it's positive, I'll want to schedule an appointment with my doctor as soon as possible. If it's positive, I want to tell my parents first. If it's positive, I'll have the chance to tell Jenna in person this weekend. If it's positive, we'll have to do something about that middle bedroom. (I've always loved the idea of a Dr. Seuss-themed nursery.)

If it's positive, will it be a boy or a girl?

If it's positive, I will cry and laugh and dance and celebrate.

If it's positive.

I fall asleep with visions of round cheeks and tiny feet dancing in my head.

When I wake up with a full bladder at 4 a.m., my whole body comes to attention. I slide out from beneath the covers, leaving husband and cats undisturbed. I take a deep breath and do my duty, waiting the unbearable 2 minutes before allowing myself to read the screen of the pregnancy test.

And the new, more familiar laundry list of possibilities take over. If it's negative, I will not beat myself up for days on end. If it's negative, I will not let it ruin my week. If it's negative, I won't tell anyone about it, because I don't want people to feel sorry for me. If it's negative, and of course it will be negative, I will mark it on my calendar and move on.

If it's negative, I will mention it to Brian over breakfast and we won't talk about it anymore.

If it's negative, I will let myself cry, but only for a few minutes.

If it's negative.

I give myself ten minutes to mourn the baby that never was, and then I wrap the test, that thing, in toilet paper and throw it away. I toss the box and instructions away, too. I wipe down the counters, the sink, and the mirror just for good measure. I splash my face with cold water, blow my nose, and brush my hair. I never look at my reflection because I know I'll only see misery and regret. I turn out the light and open the door, freeing the trapped cat from the confines of his prison cell. I tiptoe back into the bedroom and ever-so-gently lower myself back into bed.

His voice pierces the night.

"Negative?" he asks.

"Negative." I reply.

And we wrap ourselves in each other and cope.

The Visitor

Sometimes, I'll wake up in the mornings and realize that I'm no longer alone. I have a not-so-frequent visitor--one that is never welcome--and he knows just how to bring me down. Having him around makes it nearly impossible to get anything done: from blogging, to house work, to anything remotely fun. In fact, this not-so-frequent visitor really only makes me want to sit on my couch, buried beneath an afghan, wasting my day while dirty laundry and empty water bottles pile up around me like so much trash.

My visitor doesn't have a name, but if he had a face, I imagine he'd look something like this:

He makes me feel sad, worthless, and lethargic. Sometimes, he makes me so angry that I tremble. He brings with him all the bad feelings in the world and dumps them on my shoulders, clearly expecting me to carry his baggage throughout my day. 

Sometimes, my visitor shows up because of a repeating frustration in my life.

On most days, I can cope with these frustrations. I'll cry in the shower, or watch Firefly reruns on DVD, or vent to my husband, or join a cause that makes me feel like I'm making a difference. Exercise helps. Writing, too. Sometimes throwing paint on a canvas and pretending I'm an artist is all it takes to keep the visitor from latching on, dragging me down. 

On other days, I'm vulnerable. And I'm only one Huggies commercial, one Facebook rant, one angry customer away from succumbing completely to the visitor.

But sometimes, the visitor shows up, baggage in hand, for no real reason at all.

There I'll be, minding my own business, and suddenly---*knock knock.* And there's the visitor, ready to drag me down into the depths of despair over something as trivial as bad grammar.

Most of the time, I can kick the visitor out after a day or two of torment. Sometimes (like last week) it takes me a few days. Regardless, at some point he packs up and leaves, and I inevitably crawl back in to the sunlight. 

My life resumes as normal: writing blogs, cleaning my house, enjoying time with friends and family. Living, and loving, life. It will take me a few days till Abby gets her groove back. I can still feel the visitor's presence, vague as it may be. I think, maybe, he's always there, lingering in the background, waiting for a chance to pounce. I guess my job, now, is to keep myself busy enough, silly enough, happy enough, that there's nothing for him to pounce on. 

Not because there's anything wrong with being sad, or angry, once in awhile. But because I miss who I am, who I'm supposed to be, when the visitor is visiting.

My Relationship with Creativity

Creativity. On my list of "Abby's best traits," Creativity is Numero Uno. I've always considered myself to be a creative person. It's a major part of who I am: as a person, and especially as a writer. Without Creativity, Abby Gabs wouldn't be what it is today. Every single blog I've ever published came from a spark of Creativity...whether it was a silly blog, a serious blog, a video blog, or an illustrated blog. Every single one came from my pal, Creativity.

Creativity isn't just something you pick up along the way. It's not really something you can learn, or even something that can be taught. I truly believe that those who are creative are born that way. There's something in them begging to be released, and whether it's through music, or art, or poetry, or dance, or humorous blogs fueled by Photoshop, those creative people find their outlet and learn to shine.


Truth is, Creativity and I go WAAAAAY back.

As a child, Creativity was with me in just about every facet of my life. My imagination was so rich, you would have been hard-pressed to convince me that I wasn't Shera, Princess of Power. My ruffled blouse was really armor gleaming in the sunlight. My plastic yellow sword quivered with magical properties. And the back porch was a realm of possibilities and adventure.


It wasn't just a game to pass a rainy Tuesday afternoon. For me, it was as real as playing with a puppy in the floor of my living room, or learning to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from my Mom, or tossing water balloons with my brother. In those moments of Creativity, I experienced what it was to be a super hero. I was a dancer on Broadway, a detective on the hunt for the truth, an acrobat in the circus, and a backup singer for the New Kids on the Block.


I carried that predilection for imagination into my adult life. I've never been afraid to put myself out there, silly or not. And my Creativity has carried me each time I sat down in front of my computer to write a blog.

When something like Creativity is such an important part of your daily life, its absence can be somewhat unsettling. It's a rare occasion when my imagination is stunted, or blocked, or otherwise compromised. And when I'm unable to turn to my creative outlet for comfort, I feel incomplete. Ideas pile up in the corners of my brain and begin to collect dust. My light shines just a little less bright. And Creativity goes on the back burner.

There can be any number of reasons why Creativity and I go our separate ways: stress, anger, confusion, laziness, distraction. Life can get in the way. Sometimes I don't even see it happening to myself. It takes a pointed question from someone in my life to hold a mirror up for me to see what's happening in the land of Creativity.


And yesterday, my husband was the Holder of the Mirror.


When I said to him that I was thinking of taking a break from Abby Gabs, or maybe even quitting all together, his response was a loud and resounding, "WHY?" And in his infinite wisdom he said to me, "Abby, there's nothing so important that it should take you away from your own Creativity. It's part of who you are, and part of what I love about you. And NOTHING is so important that it should take creativity out of your life."


And so I sat down in front of my computer today, and I closed my eyes, and focused. I called out to Creativity and woke him from a deep slumber. And I channeled my inner child and drew a portrait depicting how Creativity and I have rekindled our relationship.

And it hit me. Baby...I'm back. 


**This post is dedicated to Brian: for being my solid-as-a-rock foundation, my soft place to land, my constant cheerleader, and above all else, my very best friend. Thanks for the encouragement, babe. You rock.