Sunday, September 28, 2008
Life and times
The past two weeks, it's all been about the financial system's meltdown. Is the Administration going to use tax dollars to rescue these private companies. Story in the NYT today about the division of AIG that was placing all these bets the past ten years through credit-swap insurance. These guys have been making millions on millions in personal wealth all this time. If the whole thing collapses, you can bet they are heavily invested in gold-stocks or some such. They'll be fine. What about us? what about our kids? Screwed!
A fear
A current fear, that crops up several times a day. How long am I going to live? What if I get cancer, or get killed in an accident, or choke on a piece of steak? What is going to happen to the children? The prospect of bringing these three into the world, and then dropping out, really bothers me. When I look in the obits each day, I look to see stories about people who lasted into their 80s, not because I want so much to keep on having the daily experience of life - I'm thinking I need to stay around to take care of them, and to stay with Luciana who will be there for them.
My other big fear - dementia!
My other big fear - dementia!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Complicated families
The past couple of weeks I have been consumed with extended family reactions to TTN (the triplet news).
My 18 year old son, mild and suave as always, had the funniest reaction. "But dad, this means you're going to have to get a minivan." I hadn't thought of that until he brought it up.
Universal reaction to the necessity of mini-vans: bummer! L suggested we can look into a GMC Suburban or a Chevy Tahoe. My next door neighbor James, father of three, pointed out that his Honda Pilot seats 8.
But everywhere I go, I see pudgy guys with wire-rimmed glasses flogging down the road in their Honda Odessey or their Toyota Sienna and I think - Therrrrre I go!
My 12 year old daughter's reaction was more openly pathological. She cried, pouted, went into a sullen state off and off for the next couple of days, and was generally obnoxical. But with lots of tender love and some clear limit-setting, she pulled out of it.
I have launched an offensive of closeness with my two kids, which coincides both with the news of new familiation and with the autumnal onset of school (they both are opposed, on principal and in practice, to the idea of public education). I've been on the phone with them every evening asking about their classes, their teachers, their friends, their projects, their new locker, their homework.
Their mother has been good enough to stay off the phone when I call.
But I hear that she and my ex-in-laws all reacted to the news in the most affirmative way possible, by assuring my children that the news of triplets only confirms that I have given up on them, am abandoning them for a new family, and the future will only be a long slide into obscurity until I reach the point where I don't remember their names.
Thanks! That was super helpful.
My 18 year old son, mild and suave as always, had the funniest reaction. "But dad, this means you're going to have to get a minivan." I hadn't thought of that until he brought it up.
Universal reaction to the necessity of mini-vans: bummer! L suggested we can look into a GMC Suburban or a Chevy Tahoe. My next door neighbor James, father of three, pointed out that his Honda Pilot seats 8.
But everywhere I go, I see pudgy guys with wire-rimmed glasses flogging down the road in their Honda Odessey or their Toyota Sienna and I think - Therrrrre I go!
My 12 year old daughter's reaction was more openly pathological. She cried, pouted, went into a sullen state off and off for the next couple of days, and was generally obnoxical. But with lots of tender love and some clear limit-setting, she pulled out of it.
I have launched an offensive of closeness with my two kids, which coincides both with the news of new familiation and with the autumnal onset of school (they both are opposed, on principal and in practice, to the idea of public education). I've been on the phone with them every evening asking about their classes, their teachers, their friends, their projects, their new locker, their homework.
Their mother has been good enough to stay off the phone when I call.
But I hear that she and my ex-in-laws all reacted to the news in the most affirmative way possible, by assuring my children that the news of triplets only confirms that I have given up on them, am abandoning them for a new family, and the future will only be a long slide into obscurity until I reach the point where I don't remember their names.
Thanks! That was super helpful.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
New energy
Varlei was in a much better mood today. He managed to work on the house three days in a row, and today Luciana took him shopping for clothes for his children – it’s already time to put together the package to ship to Brazil for Christmas morning. She told me later that he stared so hard at the girls in the mall she was worried someone would ask for police to intervene. But in the evening our lonely friend was expansive and boiled two fat cow livers in an inch of spitting corn oil and ate them at the table with us (me: beans and rice; Luciana: macaroni and cheese). Chatting at table, Varlei told us how energetic and alive he had felt when his wife was pregnant the first time. He felt he could do anything. The story he told to put the nail in it involved a large open truck with a load of sand in the back. A storm was coming, a tropical storm that would wash away all the sand and result in loss of money, time, opportunity. So he stayed up all night, unloading the truck with a small bucket, all he had available, carrying by hand in bucketfuls the entire load of sand up into his house to keep it safe from the storm. In the morning, the storm broke full force on their town, and he walked down the streets ankle deep in storm-floods, exhausted to his core and feeling full of a magical power because he had striven all night against circumstances to protect his unborn child.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Happy
I just got back from my therapy session. Haven't seen the man since July, when I flew down to Rio to begin the IVF treatment, so this was my chance to tell him the big news.
"You seem very very happy," he said. "I am," I said. He grinned at me - complicity and comprehension.
That doesn't say it all, of course. There's so much to deal with: so much to comprehend, so many unknowns to face.
But for me the most salient memory I have of the past week is the few minutes the other morning when L and I danced together in the kitchen before breakfast. No music playing - just a sudden look of joy shared between us, and we fell into our little happy dance. This is the joy I've been missing my whole life, and now I've found it with her.
Her and me, the three embinhos, the three dogs, the dirty house and its endless renovation, her four children, my two children, her ex-husband and my ex-wife, her parents and my parents, her friends and my friends, our colleagues, my patients and her patients. The big vast expanding network of interacting lives.
And at the center, L and me dancing.
"You seem very very happy," he said. "I am," I said. He grinned at me - complicity and comprehension.
That doesn't say it all, of course. There's so much to deal with: so much to comprehend, so many unknowns to face.
But for me the most salient memory I have of the past week is the few minutes the other morning when L and I danced together in the kitchen before breakfast. No music playing - just a sudden look of joy shared between us, and we fell into our little happy dance. This is the joy I've been missing my whole life, and now I've found it with her.
Her and me, the three embinhos, the three dogs, the dirty house and its endless renovation, her four children, my two children, her ex-husband and my ex-wife, her parents and my parents, her friends and my friends, our colleagues, my patients and her patients. The big vast expanding network of interacting lives.
And at the center, L and me dancing.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Getting ready, every day
Funny how clean I've gotten.
When we came back from Rio, L. and I flew home on separate flights (a long story having to do with urgent confusions when we were planning our trip South toward IVF treatment a month and a half earlier). I got home three hours before L., and after an overnight flight and a long morning wait for my Miami to Boston connection, I got home to find the three dogs healthy and happy (good), our house-sitter healthy and happy (good), and the house completely overrun with dog-crap. Every room in the house. I dropped my bags, grabbed a mop and a bucket, and set to work washing floors.
Three hours later, when I drove up to Logan Express to pick up L., each floor had been washed down three times with high-test Lysol floor cleaner, the house smelled of lemons and alkyl dimethyl benzyl ammonium chlorides - a cheerful bouquet and a big improvement over the dog-run pallor that had hung in the air when I first entered the premises.
Since then - almost a month - I have been cleaning the house - sometimes furiously, sometimes thoughtfully, sometimes diligently, sometimes lovingly - every day. I've never been a slacker, but also never been a dedicated house cleaner before. But L. has been on modified bed-rest for a couple of weeks - she had frequent bouts of bleeding (or spotting, depending on who was doing the describing) and the OB-GYN nurse emphatically warned her off from sweeping, mopping, carrying cans or groceries.
This was the best-news-possible, since it has given me something to do. Carry groceries, sweep floors, empty the garbage. We don't do much chopping of wood nor carrying of water here in the suburbs (although now that I think of it, we have switched to bottled water, so I'm carrying six or seven gallons of that into the house each week). I can't do much regarding the gestation of triplets, but I can invest big-time in the creation of a warm, clean home context for the mother of The Three.
It was funny to notice this morning how I grabbed the spare fifteen minutes between walking the dogs and beginning my work-day to sweep the floors and put away all the dishes. Really a simple pleasure. And it clears the mind, which is preoccupied, all the time, with thoughts of The Three and "how am I going to do this?!"
When we came back from Rio, L. and I flew home on separate flights (a long story having to do with urgent confusions when we were planning our trip South toward IVF treatment a month and a half earlier). I got home three hours before L., and after an overnight flight and a long morning wait for my Miami to Boston connection, I got home to find the three dogs healthy and happy (good), our house-sitter healthy and happy (good), and the house completely overrun with dog-crap. Every room in the house. I dropped my bags, grabbed a mop and a bucket, and set to work washing floors.
Three hours later, when I drove up to Logan Express to pick up L., each floor had been washed down three times with high-test Lysol floor cleaner, the house smelled of lemons and alkyl dimethyl benzyl ammonium chlorides - a cheerful bouquet and a big improvement over the dog-run pallor that had hung in the air when I first entered the premises.
Since then - almost a month - I have been cleaning the house - sometimes furiously, sometimes thoughtfully, sometimes diligently, sometimes lovingly - every day. I've never been a slacker, but also never been a dedicated house cleaner before. But L. has been on modified bed-rest for a couple of weeks - she had frequent bouts of bleeding (or spotting, depending on who was doing the describing) and the OB-GYN nurse emphatically warned her off from sweeping, mopping, carrying cans or groceries.
This was the best-news-possible, since it has given me something to do. Carry groceries, sweep floors, empty the garbage. We don't do much chopping of wood nor carrying of water here in the suburbs (although now that I think of it, we have switched to bottled water, so I'm carrying six or seven gallons of that into the house each week). I can't do much regarding the gestation of triplets, but I can invest big-time in the creation of a warm, clean home context for the mother of The Three.
It was funny to notice this morning how I grabbed the spare fifteen minutes between walking the dogs and beginning my work-day to sweep the floors and put away all the dishes. Really a simple pleasure. And it clears the mind, which is preoccupied, all the time, with thoughts of The Three and "how am I going to do this?!"
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Very remote possibility
My wife was on the procedure table, her feet hoisted up in the stirrups, a paper apron preserving her privacy, and the doctor looked at her and then at me.
"So, how many are we putting in place?" he asked.
"Three," I said, very firmly.
My wife looked at me.
"If all three become viable, we will reduce to two," I told her.
"I don't think I can do it," she said, her voice trembling, suddenly scared in the face of my determination. "I can't do it."
"I'll do it," I said. "I'll make the decision."
"The chances are very very small," the doctor said. "If I put three, you have a better chance of getting one fetus. A small chance of having two. Very small chance of three. If there's three, we'll reduce. My colleague is very good, he has done thousands of the procedure."
"Three," I said. "It's our last chance. If we don't get pregnant this time, we'll never try again."
"Alright," she said, sounding strengthened.
So the doctor took the syringe from the lab tech, and using the ultrasound he guided the long tip up into my wife's uterus and placed the three fertilized eggs into her womb.
"So, how many are we putting in place?" he asked.
"Three," I said, very firmly.
My wife looked at me.
"If all three become viable, we will reduce to two," I told her.
"I don't think I can do it," she said, her voice trembling, suddenly scared in the face of my determination. "I can't do it."
"I'll do it," I said. "I'll make the decision."
"The chances are very very small," the doctor said. "If I put three, you have a better chance of getting one fetus. A small chance of having two. Very small chance of three. If there's three, we'll reduce. My colleague is very good, he has done thousands of the procedure."
"Three," I said. "It's our last chance. If we don't get pregnant this time, we'll never try again."
"Alright," she said, sounding strengthened.
So the doctor took the syringe from the lab tech, and using the ultrasound he guided the long tip up into my wife's uterus and placed the three fertilized eggs into her womb.
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