"Later on in Brittany, I realized that they had only been seagulls."

For me, they will always be glorious birds.

[and if you know what movie that's from without looking it up, I heart you.]
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I am precariously balancing on the ledge of uncertainty. It's not exciting per se, it just is what it is. Today is CD 28, and I know that in the next few days, decisions will have to be made.

I woke early this morning, and while the rest of the house slumbered in our lofty bed, I crept downstairs in the dark, my socked feet skating on the cold hardwood floors

{note to self - when you're tired from working late hours, and suddenly have the urge to clean the hardwood floors upstairs - do not use the pledge spray wood polish to mop the floors with, because you're just too lazy to go downstairs to fetch the real wood floor cleaner. You will spend the next four months gliding across the floors hoping to save yourself from falling flat on your ass. Michelle Kwan you are not, and that trip dowstairs to fetch the real cleaner would have been a lot better idea in hindsight.}

- my fingers trailing along the railing of the stairs. I turned the tree lights on, pulled up the blinds, and watched dawn break over a world that was quickly becoming cloaked in white finality of winter.

When I lived by the beach, I often would walk down to the shore in the middle of the night and just sit and work out my problems as the water ebbed to and fro. The continuous motion of the waves was a constant reminder of the perpetual nature of life. Curled up with my knees at my chin, I would sit barefoot in the sand, letting the waves lap up against my toes. Never in my life have I felt so tiny, so insignificant as when faced with the vast expanse of ocean - the moonlight glimmering against the waves infinitely into the distance.

Others perhaps would have found such thoughts depressing, and admittedly - they were at times. But to me, the harsh reality of knowing that my problems were small in the grand scheme of the universe actually helped me face them. To parse them apart, to find solutions. I've never been one to discuss issues with another person - but it was in moments like these that I learned to let go, to forgive (myself, and others), and to move on. It helped me grapple with the ideas of lost dreams, of hope, of love, and the question of "what are you going to do with your life" (although, I must admit - I still have no bloody clue exactly how that one's going to pan out yet).

The beach may have been shared by thousands of others, but in the solitude of the night, with the wind rustling through the palm fronds - it felt as if it was a secret haven known only to me. It was my refuge.

After last cycle failed, I was desperate to get back to treatment, immediately. I didn't want to pause to mourn what might have been, I didn't even want to contemplate the possibility of the fact that it may never work. Instead - I just wanted to push... faster... faster... faster... until the goal had been reached, or I had expended my soul in trying. I was afraid to take a break, afraid that if I took the time to actually face the enormity of the physical and psychological hell that faced me with month after month of injections and heartbreak that I would be simply too tired- or worse - too afraid to go forward.

In some ways I think that I've gotten so wrapped up in finding a "cure" for our infertility that I've stopped thinking of myself as anything more than a patient... a cycle day on a chart... a diagnosis. I have let this become such a part of my life for so long that it's difficult to remember what else was there before.

I want to be the woman with the laugh that sounds like a bee when she giggles, I want to be the woman who loves to read (not medical studies - but books with dogeared pages), who dances, and sings (admittedly off-key), who paints, and bakes enormous chocolate cakes and concocts the best lasagna you'll ever have in your life. I want to be the woman who entertains, who laughs, who loves and lives.

I am tired of living solely for one thing that may never happen.

I want to live a life that brings joy and beauty to other's lives. I want to be a good wife, daughter, friend. I want to remember the faint happiness of life as more than just seagulls.

I want to hold those everyday moments in my heart as memories of glorious birds soaring against a brilliant sky.

I want to be me again.