August 7, 2017

Dear Lover,

We’re in Spain, and I couldn’t be happier.  Since I was a teenager, it has been my absolute dream to go to Spain.  Your boss gave you airmiles as a thank you, and you decided you would take me to Spain.  You’re so selfless, and you love me so much.  It has been the trip of a lifetime for both of us.  I’m going to jot down a few things I never want us to forget:

Berlin:  Our first stop.  We were a bit overwhelmed by the flight and the language, but you found us a terrific hotel right around the corner from Checkpoint Charlie.  I ran along the Berlin Wall, and we had the most delicious seafood dinner where we got to choose our fish fresh from the counter.  Your favourite part was the Topography of Terror because it focused on Germany during WW2 (a part that you felt had been really overlooked generally on our bus tour).  Generally, the German people don’t want to focus on the war – this has been an interesting thing for us to learn about.  You bought a really neat book so we can take the information home with us.  Berlin seems like ages ago now.

Valencia (or close to it, sort of):  We stayed at Carol’s house.  We thought we would try out having just a private room.  It’s official – not for us.  Holy smackers was this place ever hot.  You moved the carpet outside so I could lie down out there while you listened to your podcast because I was too tired to sit up, but too hot to be inside (and I missed you too much).  We were up and out of there pretty early.  This was also our first experience of Spanish Nights – we couldn’t figure out why the heck she and her husband were up so late!   We bought a fan the next day, for fear everywhere else would be just as hot and with no AC (they weren’t, and they had).

Cervera del Maestra:  I’ll remember this place as the castle on the hill and the town all around.  It was like stepping back in time.  We stayed at Reuban’s place, and it was AMAZING.  The front door was divided in two, and you had to use the knocker to lift the latch.  The terrace was nothing short of breathtaking.  In this village we first tried Tapas and discovered our love of chiperones.  We also learned that English wasn’t going to get us far.

Peniscola:  I was really excited to see this place, and you had no idea what was in store.  You were pretty impressed when we arrived.  The castle jutting out from the shore was amazing, surrounded by walls in the ocean.  We swam here for a day, and then decided to book ourselves into a hotel for the next two nights so we could live here.  We bought a floatie and an umbrella.  You also bought me a beach blanket that I hope we’ll have forever.  I impressed you with my ability to negotiate and walk away – something I think you never thought I would do.  Truth be told, I’m a bit disappointed I didn’t get a blanket for Elizabeth, but I’m choosing to believe I’ll find something in Barcelona when we go there.  The ocean here was incredible.  The beach was amazing.  I think the best thing we ate were the garlic shrimpies.  We also shared a paella one night – you took one for the team because it had to be two people minimum.  We also locked ourselves out of our room on our balcony while engrossed in a magic show that you were convinced wasn’t live… we don’t always agree on everything 🙂

Mas de Barberans:  This is where we are now as I type.  We’re really into the swing of things now.  Our Spanish is improving, and we’ve joked about learning to speak it together at night at home.  You’re having a nap now, and I’m looking at the amazing adventures we’ll take tomorrow.  I cried twice on the way here because it was just too beautiful, and you didn’t mind one bit.  You found the cutest apartment for us (hosted by Ernesto), and I think we’ll be exceptionally happy here.  Next stop, Barcelona.

I think this trip has made us closer than ever.  You really are my best friend on top of everything else.  We need a new word for love.

xo

 

June 26, 2017

Dear Lover,

I’ve noticed lately we’ve become very good at speaking in “ifs”, to ourselves and to others. “If we have a family”, and “if we needed more living space”, and “if we had children of our own”.  And I love you to pieces for it.

Thank you for always showing me I am worth more than my ability to create a family, but for also participating in the dream and supporting me as we walk through this together.  Thank you for reminding me always in your words and actions that we have no expectations, of life or each other, except to always act in love.  Thank you for your patience and deep, compassionate understanding as I come to terms with my body and its role in our relationship.  And thank you, most of all, for doing all of this without being asked, and without ever looking for glory.  I honestly don’t even think you realize you’re doing these things, because that’s just how innately kind and loving you are.  Never have I believed more that we are just one soul.  I’ve seen how what hurts me hurts you.  I’ve seen the happiness you feel when I experience joy.  I’ve experienced the pride you feel when I succeed.  And I feel all of those things as I watch you walk through life.  You carry my heart in your heart.

When I was a little girl and first read Wuthering Heights, I remember thinking that’s what real love was.  Two people who just knew they needed to be together, because that’s just how it needed to be.  She says about him, “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are but the same”.  I’d say that pretty much sums us up.

xo

 

May 11, 2017

Dear Lover,

I had my surgery on June 6.  We sat together until the moment the nurse walked me into the operating room – I went right, and you went left.  I came back for one more kiss, and then went with the nurse.  I cried on the table – just quiet tears – and then it was over.

I woke up and heard the nurses directing my bed into Room 34.  I remember thinking, “Oh good – that will make my sweet husband feel so much better”.  And then I fell asleep again.

Your number is 34.  You were 34 in baseball.  The first time you came to my house you were stunned to learn I lived at 34 King Edward Avenue.  We thought your 34th year was surely going to be the best year ever (I don’t remember now if it was, but I hope it was great).

I remember hearing you in the hallway at the hospital, asking the nurses where I was.  They told you to go into Room 34.  I heard you say, “That’s a good sign!” – more to yourself than anyone else – and then there you were there beside me.

This surgery has been hard on both of us.  You’ve only started talking about it since I’ve returned to “normal” life.  You told me I was so fragile and frail.  You told me I looked so tired and weak.  You’ve reminded me that recovery is not a straight line, but an ebb and flow, and remind me again every time I forget or get frustrated or discouraged.  You’ve told me this is the biggest challenge we’ve faced together, and you proudly remind me we’ve made it through the worst of it.  You haven’t managed to look at my incision yet, but that will happen when you’re ready.

We endure life together, but that means we also both need time to heal.  I’m still healing, but so are you.  I couldn’t do it without you.  We’ll both take our time, and we’ll let each other take all the time we need.

xo

February 24, 2017

Dear Lover,

Yesterday was a hard day.  It was a long day.  I decided to put a cherry on top by picking up my iPad when I got home and quietly watching the video I secretly recorded of me telling you I was pregnant.  It was really interesting to re-watch you processing the news, and the anxiety taking over.  One of the good things that has come from our journey is that I know next time there will be no anxiety, just delight.

My favourite thing  you said in the video, “I’ve started to resent ugly people I see on the street with kids.  Why them?  Why not us?”.  We don’t feel that way anymore because we might now know the answer to “why not us”, and hopefully it’s temporary.

I cried watching that video.  I cried for the couple who were full of worries about when the baby arrived, not realizing that the baby would never get to actually be.  I cried for the couple who talked about how we’d be a family of three by the following Christmas.  I cried for the couple who hugged each other with delight, saying “we did it!”.  I cried for the couple who thought the hardest part of this journey was over, and we were finally on the other side.

And then I cried out of absolute gratitude for the love between us.  We’re closer, stronger, and so much gentler with each other and ourselves than the couple in that video needed to be.  And while it’s the bumpy and twisted road we’ve walked that’s gotten us there, I’m glad to have travelled it with you.

xo

PS.  Today was supposed to be Ski Day at school.  Last year on Ski Day I thought I was getting my period.  Turns out it was just the first indication of the pregnancy I didn’t yet know about.  You’re taking your trip to Florida next weekend, which is where you were when I found out.  I can’t believe it’s been almost a year.

February 21, 2017

Dear Lover,

Sometimes things happen that make me love you even more than I thought possible.  One of these things happened when we went to see the surgeon.

We were sitting there in front of the surgeon.  Him behind his desk, and us in two chairs in front of him.  His walls have pictures of his children on them, and a reassuring number of degrees and awards. He spoke mostly to me, which makes sense given I’m the patient; however, that’s not really how we work.  We’re one.  What hurts me hurts you… sometimes even more than it hurts me.

This surgery seems to be one of those cases.

After the surgeon had walked us through the procedure and recovery, he asked if we had any questions.  You started explaining that you wanted to know statistics and risks.  He looked a bit confused, and explained again that fertility could not be guaranteed.  You took a breath and clarified – you needed to know that I was going to be okay.  You explained that baby or no baby is one issue, but me being okay is something that needs to be certain.  You explained that nothing like this had ever happened to someone you love before, and that you were worried.  As you spoke your blue eyes filled with tears and you tightened your lips together as you tried not to cry.

The doctor stopped taking notes, shuffling papers, moving around.  He stopped.  And he looked at you and promised you, human to human, that I would be okay.  And then he said that when his daughter brings a boy home, he hopes that boy loves his daughter and cares for her wellbeing as much as you clearly care for me.

We need another word for love.  It doesn’t cut it for us.

xo

February 14, 2017

Dear Valentine,

We met with a surgeon last Monday.  He wants to operate as soon as possible, and did not like my idea of waiting until the summer.  I told the powers that be at school today, and won’t tell anyone else until I have a date.  I haven’t managed to tell my family yet.  Or anyone else.  I just can’t seem to get the words out.

There are so many unknowns:

  • How long will I actually be off work?  3 weeks or 4 weeks?
  • How long will it take for me to heal?  3 months or 6 months or 1 year?
  • Will this even end in a baby at the end?  No one knows.

You still seem so hopeful.

I’ve pitched the idea of being foster parents.  You don’t get it yet, but I have faith that in time you will.  It just feels like looking after children in need is what we’re supposed to do.  You just don’t know how good you would be at it yet.  I’m around kids all day.  I see the influence one person can have on them.  I see their constant need for love and stability and consistency.  I see their need for people like us.

My older sister, who still isn’t talking to me, told my mum that she’s tired of everyone’s pregnancy having a story.  She says this because her pregnancy went exactly as expected, and she wants that experience to be validated.  She just doesn’t seem to realize that everyone else would also love to have a pregnancy without a story.  Myself included.  I guess stories like that don’t make it easy to share what is about to happen.

In my dream of dreams the fibroids just disappear along with all of these problems that come with it.  My secret hope is that the doctor just says he can’t operate until summer, and I don’t have to tell any other teachers at school, or my students (or their parents).

This is our story.  As much as I wish it wasn’t.

Things to be grateful for:

  • The tumours are benign
  • We have access to great medical care
  • This is something that can be treated
  • Everything else looks “normal”
  • We have each other

xo

January 16, 2017

Dear Lover,

I went for the follow up appointment at the fertility clinic the other day.  It turns out I have  fibroids.  One in particular is so big it’s probably preventing us from conceiving.  It also likely caused our miscarriage.  They want to operate on me to remove them – essentially a cesarian section without the end result of a baby.  Just a scar.  And missed time at work which opens the door to questions I don’t want to answer.  And a three month waiting period while things heal.  And then a big question mark because they just don’t know if this will actually fix anything after all.

That’s where the miracle lies.

That’s what I keep believing.

This is not what I wanted our story to be.  I look at other women who conceived so quickly after beginning to try.  They experience a totally normal pregnancy filled with nothing but joy.  It hasn’t even crossed their minds that it could end in anything other than a baby.

We’ve been told we can keep trying, as long as our hearts can handle another loss.  Even if we did conceive, the chances of my body allowing that baby to stay long enough to survive are slim.  I now know that I will never get to be pregnant without expecting it to end.

I asked you if you wanted to leave and find someone who could give you children.

This thought was so ridiculous to you (yet so real to me) that you laughed – and then you realized I was serious.  And then you told me how much you love me and that we’re in this together, and that we’re going to be fine – no matter what.

xo

December 29, 2016

Dear Lover,

We’re fighting right now.  Apparently I wasn’t walking Bear properly.  You came in to apologize (sort of), and I wasn’t gracious enough to just accept what you were (hopefully) trying to say.  I’m not even really angry.  I just don’t want to be around anyone.

I also got my period today.  I’m so disappointed.  I so badly don’t want this to be our story.

I’ve also learned that if I don’t reach out to people, they just disappear.  No one called me on Christmas.  Mum and Aunt Susan came to your mum’s house, which was great; except my mum was drunk.  Awesome.

We decided not to go to the annual Christmas party for my mum’s extended family. We probably should have gone.  I’m feeling really badly that we didn’t.  And guilty.  Really guilty.

Bear’s surgery is tomorrow and I’m choosing to be up here being stubborn and refusing to interact with her because of what you said.

I’m a horrible person.

There’s still lots to be grateful for.

I’m tired.

 

December 15, 2016

Dear Lover,

It’s 7am and I’m sitting in the beautiful and very modern looking clinic waiting to have blood drawn again. My arms are starting to look like I’ve been engaging in bad habits. It feels good to see so many other women (and their husbands) in the same position, and having additional information about my body and what it’s doing has been more empowering and helpful than I had anticipated.

The car is getting fixed and the world has carried on at work – just like you said it would. I’m still so disappointed and discouraged, but you also remind me that’s to be expected, given what happened.

I think I’m more than ready for the winter break. And for the holidays to be over. And for 2016 to be GONE.

And you tell me that’s just fine.

xo