Playing the odds

Statistically speaking.....

Only 70% of frozen embryos survive the thawing process. 

There is only a 20% success rate of implantation.

And only 43% of women who do get pregnant with FET will carry their pregnancy to term.

With odds like these why would we even bother?

Because its the only game in town where the prize is truly worth it.

No More Question Marks

It's hard to be part of the fertility treatment roulette. The very thing that sends you to seek treatment, now puts you in control of your own fertility schedule.

There was never any question about wanting to try again after Ines. Of course at the start, the mere thought of trying again would actually cause physical pain in my chest. But then as the months passed, it wasn't so hard to imagine being pregnant again.

John's been very supportive. At the same time, quite pesky about getting me preggers again (as if he would have to do anything with it this time around --- hahaha). His biggest concern is keeping Eeny, Meeny, Minny and Moe under cryostasis too long. They've been in the freezer for over 9 months at this point.

But I've been prevaricating. Its not an easy decision for me to make -- when to get pregnant again. In fact, I haven't been sleeping well the past couple of weeks just thinking about it.

So I prayed. I've been praying every night. For God to give me the strength and the courage to take the necessary steps in trying to get pregnant again. For Him to let me know, in some way, that this is the right decision --- for all of us. And that He will be there with me, to see me through whatever happens next.

This week, I at least got the guts to go to Greg and talk about what needs to get done, and get a prescription for the stuff that helps me get my period. I suffer from extreme amenorrhea and I only get my period twice a year (max). Lucky me eh?

I was supposed to drink the stuff yesterday. But I "forgot". I was supposed to take one this morning. But I "forgot" again. I figured, with our anniversary this Sunday I might as well just take the damned thing on Monday so there's no hindrance to our "sexy weekend" plans. :-)

I guess, God must be tired of all our long, late night conversations (and my irritating indecisiveness). Because today, despite the fact that I haven't taken my meds --- there is no question about whether I should spin the fertility roulette wheel again. 

I got my period.



God: "Any more questions? "

Tanya: (smiles sheepishly)

God: "I thought so. See you in 2 to 4 weeks."

Sciutto and Ines

After being born premature and weighing only 540 grams... and spending 5 months and 6 days in the hospital -- Scuitto is finally home.

I have never met Sciutto and his father Manu. Manu is a friend of my sister Wiway at Deutsche Bank where they worked together. 

When I gave birth to Ines prematurely last July, one of the first people to touch base with us (albeit indirectly) was Manu, through my sister. Sciutto had been born just that June, a little more than 3 weeks older than Ines (who was born at 22 weeks and 6 days).

Manu sent us words of encouragement and advice. He reached out to us by letting us know the specialists they had worked with, where they sourced their medicines, and whole slew of other information he felt we should be armed with given the challenge of having a micro-preemie. He asked people he knew to pray for her.

And we had never even met him.

When Ines passed away 3 days later, he sent us heartfelt regrets and more prayers.

I asked my sister to give me constant updates on Sciutto. I read these updates, looked at his pictures and videos even though it broke my heart to do so. He was a sight to behold. So tiny, yet so brave. So much like my Ines.

I prayed for him when I could. All the hopes that I had for Ines, I passed on to him.

I also prayed for Manu and his wife Dawn. What they went through, what they are still going through, and what they will be going through for some time to come cannot be easy. But Sciutto is very lucky with the parents that he has.

Manu, through his emails, was (is) an inspiration. That we could all strive to be a parent like him. Brave, strong, filled with faith and love. 

It made me cry when I found out he finally went home this weekend.

Tears of joy for Manu, Dawn, Danielino (their oldest son).

Tears of pride for little Sciutto (not so little now at 3 kgs.)

And tears of sadness for me. And Ines.

I just realized now that if I had been able to carry her to term, I would be giving birth to her this week.

So strange. One parent's gain, another's loss.

Still I find it comforting that I can be happy for the Sciutto and his family. Their tale gives me hope that life does go on, in different ways for each of us.

Perhaps its time for me to move on.

Housekeeping

John and I have spent the entire weekend cleaning our room to make way for his new TV. 

Would it be strange to say that this made me very happy?

Well, for one thing, I am happy that we finally got to give our room the "scrubbing" that it badly needs. It hasn't really been thoroughly cleaned since that time John went to the US and I "imported" my mom's maids to give it the scrub down of a lifetime. That was 4 years ago.

The accumulated dust activated my allergic rhinitis which has completely devolved into a mild asthma attack. But the room is clean and this makes me smile (behind the pieces of tissue that are stuffed up my nose to stop the copious amounts of snot that is dripping from it).

And while we were cleaning the room, John and I spent most of the time talking. We had previously tried cleaning while there was a movie playing the background but this tends to distract us and you'll find us 2 hours later lying on the bed, surrounded by dirt, engrossed in whatever was playing on the telly. We can't agree what music is good to listen to while cleaning (I say happy R&B, he says 80's new wave --- which is the only kind of music he knows) so we can't do that either. 

This is nothing new. We talk all the time. We talk in the car. We talk while walking around the mall. We talk in the shower. We talk while having dinner. We like talking to each other.

We talk about everything: Pilar, movies, books,  gossip, friends, family, current affairs, work, religion, the past, the future, our hopes and dreams. We love to argue. We like to talk about how we're so different. We love it when we realize how alike we really are.

So while we cleaned, we talked. We talked. We laughed. We argued. We agreed. We laughed again.

And while I was sitting on the bed, obsessively rubbing silver polish on an old jewelry case his mom had given, he came over and sat beside me. He watched me for a few minutes and then he said: "You're the best friend I've ever had".

I told him: "I'm the ONLY friend you've ever had."

And we laughed some more.

The Hardest Job in the World

I am pissed.

In the past 2 days I've been questioned why I put down "Mother" as my occupation. Once in the bank while opening a new account, the other in Pilar's Kumon trial class.

And why the hell can't I put "Mother" as my occupation? It is what I do for a living. It is the hardest job I've ever had.

You're on call 24x7.

You don't get paid.

No one ever gives you feedback on your performance.

And you have the most demanding boss in the world.

It's also the best job I've had in a really long time.

I love my boss.

It's fulfilling.

And the goal/target (though still far away and a constant work in progress), is the most significant thing I'll ever do in my life: create a human being that will hopefully make the world a better place.

Whether she becomes a doctor, a teacher, a rocket scientist, a ballerina, or the girl who plays Ariel in Disneyland (which is what she says she wants to be when she grows up: a Disney mermaid or princess) hopefully we'll raise her right so that she will want to be the BEST doctor/teacher/rocket scientist/ballerina/mermaid that she can possibly be. 

Do you know how hard it is (will be) to raise someone who will

- treat everyone kindly, fairly and with respect

- cherish and honor family

- be a good friend

- believe in God

- be a good person

Those are my KRAs (Key Result Areas).

And hopefully one day, preferably before I'm dead so I can hear it, Pilar will say: Good job, Mother.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

My Bookshelf

I love to read. I always have. I have a Shelfari account which has a listing of about 150+ books that I've read but that's a gross understatement. Kind of like saying alcoholics saying they like to drink "sometimes". Or Michael Phelps saying he's won a "few" medals. I'm just too lazy to populate the damn thing.

John was feeling like a handy man over the weekend and installed some new "floating" shelves in the room to give me more space for my books which have threatened to take over the place. Mind you, these are just the books that I am in the process of reading or are planning to read. The ones that I've read have already take over our 3rd floor loft.

The cleared up space on my existing bookshelf gave me a chance to exercise my dormant obsessive compulsive tendencies and gave me space to put away my "office supplies" bag, find a place for her majesty's reading materials, a place for our Wii paraphernalia, and a hiding place for books I've bought but have no intention of reading.

Here are my new shelves. Good job honey.

Friends are always asking me for book recommendations. I'm proud to say I very rarely recommend lemons. Except for Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell which I asked people to read because misery loves company. 

These are the ones I'm reading right now (yes, I read more than 1 book at the time --- it gets confusing with the plot lines sometimes but I manage):

1) The Curious Incident of the Dog in the NIght-TIme (I read Mark Haddon's A Spot of Bother and really liked it so I decided to try this one out). 

2) The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion (I've read this before but I enjoy revisiting the tragedy in light of Ines). 

3) For One More Day by Mitch Albom (feeling sappy).

4) Incubus Dreams by Laurell Hamilton (trying out the whole "sexy" vampire thingie). 

5) The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom (like I said.....sappy...). 

6) Confessions of a Sociopathic Social Climber by Adele Lang. 

7) The Tribes of Palos Verdes by Joy Nicholson (no its not what you think it is --- it's about a teenage girl growing up in California). 

8) Summerland by Michael Chabon (I really liked Kavalier and Clay). 

9) Getting Near to Baby (a children's book that deals with death in the family --- may be I'll let Pilar read it when she's older).

10) The Princess Bride (the abridged version by William Goldman.....my name is Inigo Montoya....you killed my father...prepare to die). 

11) Frost on My Moustache by Tim Moore (ever since I read Geography of Bliss and Eat, Pray, Love I've gotten hooked on these first-person adventure thingies..... they let me live through their adventures vicariously). 

12) The Reach of a Chef by Michael Ruhlman (still trying to relive the love affair I had with Anthony Bourdain's books, plus with me learning how to cook...).

Then there are the other things I'm also currently reading. Like magazines (Oprah, Martha, Macworld), graphic novels (Fables, Watchmen, Miss Finch), manuals (Office Mac, Brother MFC685w, cookbooks, and raising children stuff.

Where does she find the time to read (you might wonder)? Well, love always finds a way.

Lost and Found

I just lost my husband to the PS3. 

One shudders to think what happens when the new TV (which is what he used as an excuse to buy the PS3 - quote: What is the point of having a full HD TV if we don't have a blu ray player?) arrives.

Lost: John Howard D. Medina. Physical Age: 39. Mental Age: 6 1/2. Last seen carrying PS3 box towards home. Hasn't been seen since. If found please return to Tanya T. Medina. Reward offered.

A Conspiracy of Crankiness

To say that I have been cranky and unhappy these past few weeks is the understatement of the century.

I know that its partly hormonal, partly psychological and partly ---- God alone knows what else.

It reached a head last night when I got massively pissed at John for not helping put Pilar to bed and for trying to turn on the airconditioning when we all had a cold. 

The climax was me yelling at him that he was a self-centered asshole that culminated in a weird stuffing-hangers-inside-a-plastic-bin moment that reeked of mania.

I woke up this morning resolved that this blue funk would end and that I would no longer be in a constant state of crankiness. 

I choose to be happy. 

Then forces of the universe decided it was a good day to shit on me.

(Episode 1) It started off with a phone call from the DFA, saying that there were problems with the requirements I had sent for Pilar's passport. There was a problem with her NSO birth certificate and I needed to submit a Certified True Copy from the City Hall. Plus they needed my passport.

Okay -- no skin off my nose. I have that CTC thingie (oddly enough), and I had no issues surrendering my passport --- as soon as I scanned it and stored it in my computer (just in case).

(Episode 2) So I went downstairs to hook up my laptop to the new multi-function center that John bought me as a present (yes, some women get flowers --- I get electronic equipment).

I tried to scan it. Error.

I tried to (photo) copy it. Error.

I tried to print something. Error.

What the f#$%?!?!

It's brand new! I just printed something on it a few days ago!

What the hell works then? The fax?

Nope. Nix that.

The only thing that works on the damn thing is the phone handset.

Whoppity f@#$ing do.

These catastrophes are punctuated by small (but equally irritating) events --- running out of laundry soap just as you've loaded the washing machine. 

Being out of one ingredient out of 12 to cook a dish --- but its the most important one of all and you can't use a substitute.

Having a sleepy 3 year old request for hot dog for dinner ---- only for her to refuse to eat it after you've obsessively cut it into 5 million tiny pieces to make it easier for her to chew.

The universe is out to get me. But I won't let it.

As much as I would love to blow my top --- I choose not to.

I CAN choose to be happy. Or at least I can choose not to sweat the small (and big) things.

Sing it Duncan Sheik:

I'm on a high, I'm on a high
there's nothing more to it.
We are the sea and the sky
and the blue that runs through it, yeah.

and there are some who say there are so many things I need
so I run or I fight and I crawl or I scream and I bleed
I bleed, I bleed

well, it's a lie it's a lie - don't you believe it.
if you're fine then you're fine - it's all how you see it.
oh, there never will be no conspiracy of happiness.

I'm on a high I'm on a high
and there's nothing more to it
I have the sun, it's a star
why should I refuse it

and there are so many reasons I could give you why I should be down
there's not enough money or time and my love you're not around
around, around

but it's a lie it's a lie - don't you believe it.
if you're fine then you're fine - it's all how you see it.
oh, there never will be no conspiracy of happiness.

you're alive you're alive - how else could you hear me?
you are fine, you are fine - there's nothing worth fearing
'cause there never will be no conspiracy of happiness

I'm on a high, on a high
we are the sea and the sky
I'm on a high, on a high
I'm on a high

Poor little girl.

It's been a pretty bad day. 

Woke up cranky. Still cranky up to now.

I couldn't sleep last night. It's been like that for the past couple of nights. 

Will stay up late on the computer or watching TV hoping it will tire me out. But as soon as everything is quiet my mind starts wandering and bombarding me with random thoughts.

Mostly about Ines. 

I've gotten pretty good at blocking and filtering thoughts about her. About the bad parts of our journey together. Except in unguarded moments I have the worst thoughts.

The guilt. The pain. They always seem to keep rushing back when the night is darkest. 

May be the night reflects the parts of my heart that are still dark and empty.

Because of my crankiness today, I had a fight with Pilar. And she left our room crying. She's in her room now taking a nap.

After our fight (over the silliest thing -- she didn't want to take off the dress she wore to school, and I wouldn't let her sleep on our bed with dirty clothes on) I was still pretty annoyed at her. Annoyed at how bratty she can get when she really puts her mind to it. Then I opened my email and there was an update on Team Sciutto.

Background: My sister has a friend, Manu, who has a micro preemie just like Ines. Sciutto was born at 6 1/2 months gestation, weighing 600 grams (2 weeks older and 125 grams more than Ines). He has been in Makati Med for the last 3 months. He now weighs 1,500 grams and when he hits 1,800 grams -- he can go home. 

When Ines was born, Manu (even though he doesn't know John and myself) was so supportive --- offering advice, help in securing hard to find medicine, even the names and numbers of specialists that have helped them get Sciutto to where he is today.

Manu and Sciutto's journey is chronicled in these little "Team Sciutto" emails Manu sends on a regular basis to friends and family. 

I look forward to these Team Sciutto emails. They are painful to read at times because they remind me of what could have been. But they are truly inspiring. Manu is an inspiration. You can see how much he loves his son in the words he writes. 

His hopes and fears are out in the open for all to read. 

And he writes the funniest things. Like how seeing Sciutto (in his 3-pound glory) next to an 8 pound baby is like seeing a Kia Picanto next to a Ford Expedition.

To still find humor and grace in the face of what they're going through (threats of sepsis, hepatitis, issues with Sciutto's eyesight and liver.....).....not knowing if at the end of all this if Sciutto really will be able to go home.....the uncertainty of every day.....how can you not be inspired.

I even ask myself sometimes if I could have held up, the way he and his wife have, if Ines had made it. I would like to think I would have but I'm not really sure. 

I will never know.

After reading Manu's email I felt so bad for fighting with Pilar. No matter how tired I am, how depressed I feel --- it doesn't give me an excuse to push her away.

I realize now that I was being cranky towards her because I didn't want her to hang out in my room. I have the shades drawn, and every thing is quiet.... it's the perfect atmosphere for staring at walls (which is my favorite thing to do on days like this). And staring at walls is not exactly something you can do with 3 year old in the room. Especially not one who wants to talk all the time and is bugging you every 3 minutes for something new to do.

So we fought. And she left. And now am all alone -- free to wallow in my misery but too miserable to do so.

She is the one who is here. 

Why should I pine for the one who isn't?

My poor little girl.

One Month

When words fail me, I let the music speak in my place.

-----------------------

Picture of You

Mr. Hudson & The Library

It's always the sunny days that bring me down

When I'm reminded that you're not around

Friends try and fail to make me smile

But I had the answer with me all the while.

I've got a picture of you

Wherever I go

A sweet reminder from you to me

I'm never alone.

Sometimes at night I wonder watching all the faces

Knowing I won't see you

No there is no other face that could replace

The one that's gone

No one could be you

No

I've got a picture of you

A sweet reminder from you to me

I'm never alone.

Green Means Go

In my recent visit to the OB-Gyn he told me that we can begin preparing my body for implantation of our 4 remaining embryos as soon as I get my period.

That soon?

While we have discussed the possibility of having more children, specifically going back for the 4 embryos we still have, I hadn't really thought about it happening so soon after Ines passing away. In fact, yesterday marked the 1st month of her birth. Tomorrow will be a month since she passed away.

I don't know what to feel.

I have to admit that I'm scared. Scared that what happened with Ines will happen again. Scared that something else might go wrong.

I also want to go back for the embryos that are still there. For me they are already babies so there was never any question of going back for them, especially after Ines was gone. I'm just not sure if I'm ready to go back for them now. But I worry that if we wait too long to go back for them, they might not survive the thawing process.

And I don't know if I should take a break. For Pilar. For my body. For my mind.

John of course just wants us to get it over and done with. So that we can move on --- pregnant or otherwise.

Argh.......my mind is about to explode with all these thoughts. 

Random Musings

The saxophonist for the Dave Matthews Band died today. In remembering him, Dave Matthews said: "Its easier to leave than be left."

After the loss of my Dad and Ines, I'm beginning to see that there's a lot of truth in that statement.

It's always up to the living to pick up the pieces, try to put life back together and move on.

Life has moved on. Things have kind of gotten back to normal.

And it because of the return to normalcy that I find myself lying awake at night, wracked with guilt, wondering why it hurts less to think of her now than it did a few weeks ago.

Does it mean I did not love her so much? Or is it because I never got the chance to know her and therefore not have enough to miss that things seem to be getting better?

What's in a Name

I read this in one of the many child-loss articles that I've been reading, and I find it a very appropriate question:

A woman who loses a husband is a widow.

A man who loses a wife is a widower.

A child who loses his parents is an orphan.

What do you call a parent who loses a child?

The Unshaven Man

He sleeps. Snoring contentedly away. 

Well, he has to go to sleep early - he has to work tomorrow. I on the other hand am contemplating evading the mommies and other curious folk at the preschool and staying at home to sweep the room and put away 3 weeks worth of laundry (if I'm not sidetracked by Guitar Hero).

Tonight, while having dinner with friends, he constantly had his arm around me. He would rub my shoulder or hold me close. Without words he lets me know: I am here for you. Let me know when this gets to be too much. 

He is trying to protect me from the pain I might feel from awkwardly posed statements or too-probing questions.

And this is why he is the love of my life. This big bear of a man. Quiet, shy, and of few words --- no one could be more different from me. But no one could understand me more.

He has not shaved for almost 3 weeks. It freaks people out. Most of them think its a "new look" that he's trying to cultivate. But he stopped shaving when Ines passed away. This is how he expresses his grief. He doesn't cry. He doesn't write long blog posts. He doesn't search the internet for local support groups or contemplates putting up his own.

He wakes up at odd hours in the night. He searches for poetry on the net about grief and loss. He edits the handful of photos we have of her. And he doesn't shave. He said once that it feels so strange to have our lives change so much and have everything still the same.

So perhaps the beard is a mark. His quiet way of saying: Something happened to me. My life is no longer the same. So I don't look the same. See Ines, you are not forgotten.

As scratchy as it is, I gently kiss his bearded cheek.

A League of Our Own

It's not the sort of club I'd ask my friends to join. Sometimes its hard for me to understand how I got here. And yet, here I am.

A parent who has lost a child.

In the weeks following Ines' passing people have been opening up to me, sharing with me their stories of loss and love. 

Friends (and friends of friends) have shared similar experiences about losing a child, either to miscarriage or death following birth. 

Complete strangers have opened up to me, sharing their pain, their hopes, and encouragement. Yes, complete strangers. One was a tele-marketer for Dr. Edward's bottled water for kids. She called one day to follow up if I received my starter pack from the hospital. I tried to gently tell her that I didn't get anything (since we were in the Neonatal ICU the entire time Ines was there). But she kept pushing, asking since we were home already if my baby had tried the water already. So I bluntly told her: "Miss, I did not get to bring my baby home. She died in the hospital". She got quiet, then she started crying on the phone. Seriously. After a while she told me that she started crying because hearing about Ines' passing reminded her of her own baby's death last year. Due to hydrocephalus.  And then she spent the next hour sharing with me her own tragic story, and the eventual birth of her healthy baby who just turned one this June.

How I wish we we shared other things instead.

Their stories bring me comfort. While I would never want anyone to go through what we've been going through the past couple of weeks, it gives me hope to know that people do go on. Life goes on.

And yes, you can be brave enough to have more kids.

Although its a conversation I'm not ready to have yet, I no longer have the urge to give away the things I bought for Ines. I'm no longer afraid to open that special closet that I set aside for her --- the one that has her new clothes, her feeding bottles, her bibs, and the tiny mittens that John and I bought  a week before she was born, then passed away.

These things can stay in the closet. And hopefully one day, I can open that closet and dust off those things because a new baby has come into our lives. 

That is the story I would rather share with you all.

Letting Go

I am afraid to let go of the pain and the sorrow

The milk has dried up

My stomach has shrunk

I have lost the 10 pounds that I was supposed to gain

Even the calluses

From playing Guitar Hero to put her to sleep

Are starting to peel

All that is left

Are the new baby clothes

With the price tags still on

The new high chair

Still in its box

And the blood

The blood still flows

But even that 

Will soon be gone

What will I have left of her then?

So I hold sorrow and pain close

Wishing they were her instead.