It's a quiet night. I sit here, alone, among a pile of boxes and laundry and half packed things pulled from the backs of closets and cabinets that haven't seen the light of day in years. It is a mess. It is quiet not only because it is in the middle of the night, but because Jeff has taken Asa, Addison and Ivey to his parents' mountain cabin for the weekend. After dinner, I helped him pack up the van with the kids' bags, a pack-n-play, and paintings and pictures to store at his parents' house and sent them on their way. After they had been on the road for about twenty minutes, Jeff realized that Addison had no shoes. No shoes. He had to go for an impromptu shoe shopping trip at 8:30pm with three kids, one of which is barefooted. After helping his dad for a couple days at the cabin, he will head down to my parents' house to start fencing off an area for the goats, which must be completed and ready to go by the time we move.
Olive and I spent the evening with music cranked high, dancing, laughing and packing. Now, it is just me... deep into cabinets that I should have cleaned out years ago. I am not a hoarder. I know that some people have a hard time throwing things away... and although I do hold on to sentimental things, and sometimes I just don't have time to go through the medicine cabinet and pull out all of the meds that expired 5 years ago, I don't find it difficult to get rid of things. I actually enjoy it. But, I do have a quirky pack-rat side of me. I am an information hoarder. Photos, newspaper articles, school papers, year books... I even have every calendar/planner since high school. With a little digging, I could tell you when I had a haircut in 1998. No lie. I journal, I blog, I photograph, I video tape. I can't help it... that is what I hoard. Hey, at least most of it isn't heavy.
As I was knee deep in the process of packing up the bathroom cabinets, I realized that they were full of reminders of just how hard it was to make our family grow. I pulled out these items from various hiding places and laid them out on the counter-top. From high tech to out of my mind crazy, I had it all. Bottles of leftover pills with wacky names like Qing Yin Bai Du Pian, Tang-kuei, and Ba Zhen Wan. Two clear packages of Han-Yak, a substance that deserves an entire post of its own.
In a desperately infertile state, I was told by a Korean acupuncturist that I had to drink a warmed packet of this stuff each morning. To say that it was the most vile thing I have ever and will ever smell or taste is a gross understatement. At one point, I did some research to try to figure out what might be included in this concoction. Among other things, dried seahorses and ground up deer antlers. No joke. It was so completely undrinkable that I developed an elaborate routine to get it to stay down. Of course, I had to hold my nose. I actually had to hold my nose BEFORE the packet was opened. If I smelled it at all, it wouldn't stay down. So, with breath held, I would open the packet and pour it into a cup. After placing it in the microwave, I would run out of the room to take a breath, as the smell still lingered in the air. After warming it, I held my nose and placed it on the counter next to a toothbrush. Then, while holding my nose, I would gulp down the liquid hell and instantly brush my teeth.
I thought this would work, however, I quickly learned that teeth brushing was not enough to get the taste out of my mouth. As soon as I let go of my nose, the taste would overcome me and up it would come. I had to chase it with something, first. I tried orange juice, grape juice, coke... nothing was strong enough to overpower the han yak. Finally, I found the correct method for which to ingest this concoction. After warming the liquid, I would place it beside a half shot of Jack Daniels and a toothbrush. With nose held, I would chase the stuff with JD and then brush my teeth and tongue while still holding on to my nose. Spit in the sink, rinse with water, and leave the room before letting go of my nose. Success. I mean, it was successful in helping me keep that stuff down, not in magically whipping me up some top notch eggs.
Back to my cabinet. There were tons of unopened hypodermic needles, alcohol pads, empty vials which held progesterone or saline or Lupron or some other $100+ per day drug, basal body thermometers, empty LH surge kit and pregnancy test strip wrappers bought in bulk from online medical supply stores, and leftover metformin pills. The amount of money and effort and time and heartache and desperation was all laid out across my counter. To think, I now have so many babies that we have filled this house, the van, and my sanity to their top capacities. A true miracle, for sure. And, as I rake the entire smorgasbord of both eastern and western medical supplies into the big black trash bag, I think of the wild ride of infertility and how God carried us through. I heard Tom Petty singing "You belong among the wildflowers" from the computer speakers and I couldn't help but smile thinking of God's sense of humor and the little wildflower I have sleeping peacefully in the next room.
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