MLO Knitting

Sometimes you find yourself working with people who are just about the perfect fit. Your personalities mesh in such a way to make going to work a joy and production rises. Too often, these situations are very short lived. I was lucky to have that situation for 5 years where I met some wonderful people I had stopped communing with through no fault of anyone but mine.

Infertility made me want to hide. And I did. I hid from all of the people I could. Luckily, I also had friends close enough geographically to pull me out from time to time – but I lost touch with so many others.

There is something so raw and primal about the pain of infertility that many – like me – don’t want to share it with anyone we don’t have to. So much control is lost about our private affairs – sex, reproduction, even scheduling a non-fertility related appointment – that many hold on to a semblance of control by not telling anyone anything we don’t want to. The control is illusory, but, since most will never fully understand it, we keep it to ourselves. We isolate ourselves from others so we don’t have to share.

Infertility cuts ties.

The other night I reconnected with a friend and co-worker from that time when my career was a joy. I found myself revealing the ovarian cancer and pouring out everything that has happened for the last few years. Even the miscarriage and its anniversary’s eerie closeness to when I will start chemotherapy. I didn’t want to spring the ovarian cancer diagnosis on her – or anyone – via instant messenger, but it happened. Of course, I found out she has moved across the country, so, meeting someplace to talk and reconnect would be hard.

She listened. And, from her comments, she did not judge. Not about what had been pursued. She acknowledged that what DH and I have gone through is, well, awful. She even said she wished she could give me a hug. All, in all, it was good to reconnect, even if it was just via instant messenger!

She was the first of those I am planning to reconnect with. It has been too long. Many have moved on and will be difficult to contact, but I plan on trying.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I, in no way, consider myself to have one foot in the grave. That is not my motivation. One relative of my husband’s got me pissed off by acting like I did. I was just about to start channeling Granny from The Beverly Hillbillies and tell him, “I have a discount coffin all lined up with a dollar preacher for the funeral. So, yep, we are all set!” just to see him blanche. DH saw me getting bristly and steered me away before I got a chance.

What the ovarian cancer diagnosis did remind me of was that I can’t do everything on my own. It was lying in that hospital bed unable to even get up without a nurse or nurse’s aide that reminded me how much we need each other. I sometimes have to be hit over the head. I come from a long line of very stubborn folks who hate being helpless. And, the helplessness of infertility just made me more stubborn. The physical helplessness and weakness after the staging surgery made me realize that I had isolated myself too much.

Cancer has made me want to see my friends more – even as my energy has waned. Stupid painkillers make me drowsy while screwing up my internal clock. Infertility just made me want to curl up in a ball and not have to talk to anybody. Getting ovarian cancer that led to a hysterectomy has just made me mad, sad, and needing to reach out. I’m still not going to join Facebook, MySpace, or Classmates dot com!

I will, however, start searching for former colleagues and friends with whom I have lost touch. I know I will find some, and not others. I know that some will want to connect and others will not even when found. I just think its time to start that journey. It will be slow going – as those waiting for email answers from me already know. But, no matter how slow, it will happen. And, I have already been building a wonderful network of bloggy friends I am meaning to meet up with in real life.

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