There are 5 stages of grieving, or so say those bastards with shiny degrees from places I have never heard of. Since, you know, everyone's grief has a pattern, a form, it's all the same. Grief is generic, we can just fill out the form in the DMV. Name? Helen. Age? 31. Stage of grief? Denial.

5 Stages of Grieving:

1. Denial, shock and Isolation
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance

I am clearly in Generic Grieving Category Stage 1: Denial, shock and isolation. That said, I do sample from the party tray of the other 4, with the exception of acceptance, 'cause one thing I am not good at is just accepting and moving on. But I have the bases covered on the generic 5 stages of grieving, which must mean that I am abnormal, because surely someone grieving can't feel them all in one go, right?

I don't really know what it is I am thinking and feeling right now. I can pass through the house, I light a few candles, I watch a bit of TV. I make dinner for us, I attend conference calls, and I walk down the Waterloo Bridge, I watch the twinkly blue fairy lights on the banks and wonder how it is they knew to use the color blue today, it should be blue, it must be blue. I don't feel a thing, nothing gets in or out save for the waterworks of tears and the continued Period Fairy flow. All I know is I don't want to talk about anything with anyone, I want to take long baths and play Sims and make my Nintendog Casper kick ass in the disc throwing competition.

My life goes on, even if my One Person's stomach is beginning to harden and protrude. At least my stomach is beginning to harden as well, but that's a form of exercise and eating right, there's nothing under the skin but muscle and blood cells. There's nothing in there. There's nothing in me at all.

It hits me about a hundred times a day, and I think I have cried about one hundred thousand tears. I stopped counting them right about number 23,498. I've cried a lot since then, so since I can't do calculus and the counting exhausts me I'm guessing it's right about the six figure mark.

I'm working from home today and have a load of conference calls, all of which I would like to bunk off of. I've been thinking of going to the movies today since I am sick of watching myself in my own movie, the disassociation blues have me so clearly outside myself I can't remember what my own toes feel like. I think I want to go see Brokeback Mountain, because what isn't cheerier than a gay unrequited love cowboy story? Nothing says "cheer my ass up" like some cowboy hats, baked beans, and KY loving, right?

And I've started to get angry. It's intermittent, but then I've always had problems with commitment.

I laid in bed last night and thought of the words my family member shouted at me on the phone over a year ago. "Oh yeah? Well your One Person still loves you and would give you a kidney if you needed one!"

And like a typical dumbass, I lay there last night thinking of all the comebacks I have to that one. You know, comebacks I thought of one year out. I punched the air repeatedly, thinking Yeah! THAT'S what I should have said!

Family member: Well your One Person still loves you and would give you a kidney if you needed one!

Me: Oh yeah? Giving me a kidney would imply that she had to care about me, and that's excercising a muscle she never uses!

Family member: Well your One Person still loves you and would give you a kidney if you needed one!

Me: Here's a hot tip-I'd give a stranger a kidney if it would help them, m'kay? So it's no heroic effort about the kidney, giving one up isn't a hallmark for caring. I don't have to care about someone to give them a kidney, they just have to be on a goddamn register!

Family member: Well your One Person still loves you and would give you a kidney if you needed one!

Me: I don't want her kidney! If she gave me her kidney it would just lay around on the couch and make my kidney do all the fucking work!

It's not really very helpful to think of comebacks one year on, but there you have it. I'm guess I'm less "Stage 2: Anger" and more "Stage 2: Raving Bitter Sarcastic Bitch".

I also leapfrogged Stages 1-3 and really headed into Stage 4: Depression. As in: I may need to be medicated. As in: Here are my favorite pajamas and there is my favorite bed now will the whole world please fuck off and let me alone? I have a date with a box of Man-Sized Kleenex (and why the hell are they called Man-Sized Kleenex anyway? What, only men get big kleenex? Women have to have wimpy pussy Kleenex that fall apart after two nose blows as we're allegedly so dainty? Listen up, Kleenex-when I sob I can blow holes in bedspreads. Snot comes out at 100 mph and my tears supply the Dead Sea. Don't waste my time and call them Man-Sized Kleenex and offend my feminist sensitivities. No go talk to that environment killer Kimberly Clark and come up with truly absorbant tampons and Kleenex that the Lost survivors can use as sails, ok?)

I'm not hungry. I don't want to wash my hair (but I do, so don't panic. I am freshly showered, thanks). I don't want to get out of bed, but I will. After all, I have to have a Chlamydia smear at the hospital next week, as that's the one STD test they forgot to do and nothing says "recover from depression" like a cold shiny speculum inserted between your thighs.

So I take from all the stages of grief. All of them.

Except acceptance.

I can't accept it.

I don't think I ever will.

And I still can't stop crying.

And I am worrying that it may involve a screaming poster and a house full of empty guest rooms.

Because I am already in Stage 3: Bargaining. Please God let me have a baby please God let me have a baby please God let me have a baby...

I am working on setting up the infertility blog.

-H.

PS-To all of you that left comments and sent emails-thank you. I read each and every one of them (as I always do), your own stories of pain, your own experiences, your own hurts. I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that I am not the only one with a One Person. We all have One Person. Here's to someday recovering from our Own Person, as maybe in the next life we get to kick their ass at arm wrestling or table tennis. It continues to be de-lurking week, so de-lurk if you want. If anyone needs me, I am in my pajamas wondering how I can pass the rest of my week, my month, my year, my life.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 11:14 AM | Comments (27) | Add Comment
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