Ethel Smalls' suitcase

Riding home on the commuter train tonight, an article in today's Globe & Mail captured my attention. In the Review section, Simon Houpt's "New York Diary" focused on a new exhibit at the Science, Business and Industry Library in New York. Unfortunately, it is "premium content" & not available to the casual reader :( (and in any case, links on this site are generally only active for about a week) but there were a few passages in it that I found so riveting, I copied them here to share with you.

The article opens by saying:

"One morning in the summer of 1930, a 40-year-old woman by the name of Ethel Smalls took to her bed in the upstate New York village of Freeville and refused to get up. Her landlady, with whom she had been locked in a minor dispute, called the authorities."

The doctor found Ethel to be "generally run down but not psychologically impaired." Nevertheless, citing her use of vulgar language toward the landlady, a judge had Ethel committed to the nearby Willard State Hospital on Seneca Lake near Rochester. In a medical note in her file, someone observed that Ethel "is a manic of rather sarcastic type, who is inclined to pout and grumble and find fault" -- "(That is to say, a typical New Yorker)," writes Houpt.

"What was her illness?" writes Houpt.

"Today, we might call it common trauma: She had suffered through 22 years of an abusive marriage, two miscarriages and the premature deaths of two of her infants. She probably just needed a good long rest and time with a sensitive therapist."

Instead, she spent the next 40 years (40 years!!) at Willard, until her death in 1973 at age 83.

A few years after Willard closed in 1995, a New York State Museum cutator pried open the door to an abandoned attic and found 427 (!!) suitcases that once belonged to the hospital's residents -- including Ethel's. Ethel's belongings, along with those of several other residents, are now displayed in an exhibit derived from that discovery, called "The Lives They Left Behind." The suitcase that Ethel brought with her to the hospital

"held a half-dozen pieces of silver flatware, a Bible and some delicate examples of her work as a seamstress: a baby's white dress, a baby's cotton flannel nightgown, a knitted baby's cap trimmed with pink ribbon and a pair of booties."

Many of Willard's patients, of course, were truly ill, but some, like Ethel, were simply people that society didn't know how else to handle. Need I tell you how deeply I was affected by reading about Ethel -- with her many lost babies, abusive husband, and suitcase full of lovingly stitched baby clothes? It was all I could do not to cry then & there on the train. And I've been thinking about her ever since. There but for the grace of God and about 70 years difference in attitudes toward mental health go I.

I know that just about all of us, from time to time, feel misunderstood by the people around us, and yes, there are days when I feel like I'm going out of my mind. I've even consulted a therapist from time to time. But so far, nobody's tried to commit me to an insane asylum. At least, not yet...

Edited to add: I did a little Googling today & came up with a site about the exhibit -- including photos of Ethel & the contents of her suitcase. Also a Newsday article about it.

Happy birthday to me : )

Tomorrow is my birthday -- and Aunt Flo has decided to crash my party, argh. She is banging on the door & will be here by tomorrow morning. Oh well. On the bright side, a post I wrote earlier this week about how fertiles have managed to co-opt the term "childless" wound up on Mel's regular Friday Blog Roundup. Could an infertile blogger ask for a nicer present than that??

AF & the sheer numbers that are staring me in the face aside ; ) I can't help but get a little excited about my birthday -- it's that childhood feeling of anticipation and knowing that for this one special day a year, you're at the centre of the universe -- well, at least in the eyes of the people who love you. Not that dh & I usually do anything wildly special for our birthdays these days. We give each other cards & kisses in the morning, & the birthday boy or girl sets the agenda for the day, especially when the birthday falls on a weekend & we don't have to work. As I don't drive, dh has agreed to chauffeur me to do some shopping at my favourite scrapbooking stores tomorrow afternoon (he is not the world's most patient man, but he brings a book & sits in the car and reads while I shop -- how cool is that??), then whisk me away to one of our favourite restaurants for steaks, followed by a browse at our local megabookstore & coffee at Starbucks. And maybe a movie on Sunday afternoon (another favourite thing to do). Not too different from our usual weekend routine, but having a birthday gives me license to abandon the usual Saturday housecleaning, order dessert & maybe even have a drink (which we don't normally do) and give the credit card a workout. ; ) I view such indulgences as some of the perqs of growing older, not to mention being childless.

As I wrote in a post about getting older awhile back, I will be 47 (eek) tomorrow. Everyone says you're only as old as you feel. There are days I feel every second of those 47 years, & days when I really have to remind myself that I'm old enough to be the mother of many of the 20-somethings who work in my office, and not their peer. I don't think I look 47, and I'm usually told I look younger than my age. At our office Christmas party, one of the 20-somethings asked me how long I'd been with the company. I said, "21 years," and her eyes got huge & she said, "Oh my crap." She's probably only about 24 herself. I wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or amused by her reaction. (Someday, you too will be 47, dear.)

Anyway, birthdays only come once a year & I'm determined to make the most of mine! ; ) Even if I am one step further from my prime childbearing years, and one step closer to (eek) 50...!

One of THOSE calls...

FIL called tonight. First, some explanation -- my MIL passed away long before I ever met her, & FIL remarried almost 20 years ago. StepMIL has four children, three boys and a girl, who are all more or less the same age as dh & me. The relationships we have with them are not close -- we were all adults at the time of the wedding -- but are cordial. They have three marriages, two divorces and no children among them -- until now.

Tonight's call was to tell us that youngest stepBIL's wife is expecting in August. They are both 40, going on 41 -- married for a couple of years & together for about the last 10. They've known each other since they were in school, although both were married to other people in the interim. BIL's wife has a daughter from her first marriage, who is in her first year of university (!!).

Dh talked to stepMIL & congratulated her (he didn't call me over to the phone, thankfully!). Of course she is (understandably) absolutely over the moon, as this will be her first and likely only grandchild. I can't begrudge her that, but of course, this will be the primary topic of conversation whenever we go to visit there for the next seven months (& thereafter).

I don't know the exact due date, but wanna take bets that it will be right on or around Katie's 10th anniversary date? :(

Who knew??

Who knew it was so great to be childless?

Every now & then (like today, lol), in search of undiscovered new blog treasures, I will Google Blog terms such as "childfree infertility" and "childless." The latter term invariably turns up posts by parents who, giddily, gleefully, announce themselves as "childless." As in "MIL took the kids, so we're childless for the weekend, woohoo!" (I made that line up, but it's pretty close to some of the ones I've seen.)

Good grief -- we're already sharing the "childfree" label with the childfree (by choice) crowd (and being lumped together with them by fertiles who don't know there's a difference) -- now we have to share "childless" with people who actually do have kids, but think that not having them (once in awhile, anyway) is a peachy-keen thing.

OK, I can understand the desire to escape from the responsibilities of parenthood for a little while now & then. And yes, parents deserve a break now & then.

But think, people, THINK, before tossing out a term like "childless" as you're celebrating. Your so-called "childlessness" can only be considered a good thing because it is temporary. Your brief escape is my permanent reality. Would any/many of these parents willingly give up their children & trade places with my dh & me? (I don't think so.)

This reminds me of an incident that took place five or six years ago, after dh & I had made the decision not to continue treatment & pursue a childless/free future. I had joined several Internet boards, including one for women like me who found themselves childless, although not by original choice. Another, for scrapbookers, reflected my interest in scrapbooking (despite the hobby's close association with all things mommy-related).

One day, I stumbled on a post by a scrapbooker who, much like the example above, was celebrating the fact that she was "childless" for the weekend. This was the first time I had ever heard the term being used in this way, & to say it stung was an understatement. I fretted & fumed about it for a day or two, and then did something that I didn't realize at the time was a no-no. I vented about it -- not on the scrapbooking board, but on my childless living board. I figured I was safe among friends who would understand how I was feeling.

Maybe a little too well, as it turned out. One of the other women on the childless board was also a scrapbooker who frequented the same scrapbooking board. She took it upon herself to head over to the scrapbooking board & tell them I had read this post & was very hurt by it, and to please use some consideration in the future.

To say all hell broke loose would be an understatement. Both the other woman & myself were pilloried. Oh, they felt soooo sorry for us and our childlessness -- they took great pains to point that out -- but how dare we suggest they didn't have the right to talk about their children, etc. etc. etc. Some of their members even came over to our childless living board to leave nasty comments. I remember feeling almost literally sick to my stomach as I watched the "conversation" unfold, hour by hour. Basically, the two of us were treated like trolls and made to feel totally unwelcome (although there were one or two brave souls who had also experienced loss & infertility and spoke up in our defense, about how difficult it was to deal with infertility in an unthinking, child-obsessed world). I don't think either of us posted there again.

Then, of course, there are those women who have been ttc for, oh, maybe three months without success and declare themselves "infertile"... but perhaps that's fodder for another post!

"The Blank Space in Our Family Album"

There was a great first-person article in the Sunday New York Times about infertility, called "The Blank Space in Our Family Album." I could relate to soooo much the author had to say -- everything from the collection of pregnancy books and the names chosen long in advance to the photos nobody else wants to, or gets to see. These lines in particular resonated with me:

Most of our friends and family don’t know we have all of these books, photos, names and parenting philosophies. I doubt it occurs to people with real babies that we have prepared exactly as they have, if not more.

I doubt that most of our friends & family know there is a box full of pregnancy & infertility books that still sits in my closet. They don't know about the photos that were taken, or the beautifully crocheted baby outfit that is among my most prized possessions, because my daughter was wearing it the first & only time I got to see and hold her. Many of them probably don't even know that we named her, or what her name is, or that, nearly 10 years later, we still visit her niche at the cemetery just about every weekend. They have no idea how long we tried or what we went through before deciding we had to stop. They have no idea how much effort it takes sometimes for us to attend their baby showers & the birthday parties for their own children.

They think they know us. But there is so much they don't know.

P.S. I do object to the author's use of the term "people with real babies." I think a better term would have been "living babies" or something similar. My baby was as real to me as anyone's who ever drew breath. I can remember the founder of our pregnancy loss group telling us about how she inquired about attending a grief group after the stillbirth of her daughter some 20 years ago. The response she got was, "Oh, we only deal with the deaths of real babies." That was the impetus for the birth of our group!

Ten years ago: The one before

(Warning: possible TMI included)

I recently dug out my datebook for 1998. Looking at those first few days of January brought back so many memories of the time before loss & infertility took over our lives.

We'd been ttc for a little over two years by then, and despite my family doctor's assurances that "It will happen," I was getting nervous/sad. I had been so sure that I'd get pregnant, if not immediately, then surely within a few cycles after going off the birth control pill just before I turned 35. The first few cycles -- off the pill but using backup contraception while my body readjusted -- were almost textbook (although my cycles have never been 28 days, usually more like 32-35). And then, once we started ttc, my cycles went completely wonky. 44 days, 56 days at one point! I did hpts & even went in for a blood test at one point (after which my period promptly started). I was diagnosed hypothyroid & started taking eltroxin (the dr assured me it would help).

But during the first full week of January, the week before my 37th birthday, what was front & centre in my life was the Canadian national figure skating championships. I've never been athletic, but like many small town Canadian girls of my time, I took figure skating lessons, & I'd been a big figure skating fan for years (my first memories of watching the sport were of Karen Magnussen & Janet Lynn at the 1972 Olympics in Sapporo).

The 1998 nationals were at Copps Coliseum in Hamilton, Ontario, about 1.5 hours from where I live. I'd attended a Stars on Ice show there once with a former coworker, who was just as big a fan as me, if not bigger, and whose daughter (then about 12) skated. I'd been to nationals once before, in Brandon, Manitoba, in 1982, had a wonderful time then, and always wanted to go again. So after some discussion with my friend, we booked off work for a few days, bought all-event tickets & booked a hotel near the arena.

Figure skating tickets were & probably still are a huge bargain. Our all-events tickets cost the grand sum of $125. That's $125 for the entire event -- Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday & Sunday; novice, junior and senior competitions; men's, women's, pairs & dance events in each category; compulsories, short programs & long programs in each event, plus practices, and the Parade of Champions on Sunday afternoon. Dh could easily spend that much for just one good but not great seat at a Toronto Raptors game. We split the cost of the hotel room for Wednesday, Thursday, Friday & Saturday nights. All told, including food & souvenirs, the whole thing cost me about $500. Not bad at all!! Our seats were great -- just above the kiss & cry area, & several rows up from the CTV broadcast booth, where Barbara Underhill & Rod Black were doing commentary. If I used my binoculars, I could see the results flash onto their monitors up to half a minute before they were posted to the arena audience!

Anyway, the day we left was day 34 of my cycle, so I was expecting dear Aunt Flo to show up and (fortunately) came prepared with lots of pads -- and she didn't disappoint. Day 1 of that cycle was Thursday, Jan. 8. The first day, from what I can remember & from the notes in my datebook, was OK, but Friday, day 2, was extremely heavy & crampy.

We spent most of our days at the arena, living on Pizza Hut pizza, Mr. Sub sandwiches and hot dogs from the concession stands there. Friday's schedule of events began at 12:45 with the junior dance original program, followed by the junior ladies free program, junior pairs free, senior dance original program and senior ladies short program.

Mid-afternoon, my friend came to find me. She had run into her daughter's coach, who sid, "Did you bring her skates with you? [She had not.] They're having open partner tryouts on Sunday morning for anyone who wants to skate pairs or dance." Several high-level judges and scouts would also be there. My friend's daughter wanted to dance, & this seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. She told me she & her daughter were going to leave immediately and drive home to get her skates. They would return the next day, attend the tryouts on Sunday morning, meet me back at the arena for the final events, & then we'd head home. I did NOT want to leave with them -- the hotel room was paid for anyway -- so I said I would hold down the fort at the hotel & see them when they got back.

So they left, & I was on my own in a totally strange city. It felt a little strange, but I really didn't mind, because I wasn't THAT far from home -- I could have taken a bus or a train home, if I absolutely had to -- & I was having such a good time. I called dh to tell him what was going on. I wasn't prepared for his reaction. He was upset that my friend would leave me on my own like that, & we had a tense conversation (on a payphone, with a dozen other people lined up behind me waiting for their turn, no less!).

I'm not sure whether it was sitting all day long & then standing up, stress hormones from my conversation with dh, just a plain old heavy period, or a combination of factors -- but as we talked on the phone, I could feel all hell breaking loose in my nether regions -- gushing & gushing & gushing. My periods are normally on the heavy side the first few days, but this was ridiculous. I'd tried to take advantage of all the breaks I could to go to the bathroom & change pads (& you can just imagine the lineups for the women's washrooms at an event like this...!) & I headed there immediately after I got off the phone. My heavy-duty pad and my underwear were soaked & the blood had seeped through to the crotch of my pants.

The senior events (the big attractions) were about to get underway, & I did not want to trudge all the way to the hotel to change & back (it was already dark, for one thing). I blotted my underwear & pants with toilet paper as best I could, changed my pad, thanked God that I was wearing a long sweater that hid my butt (!) & returned to my seat. Later, I took a section of newspaper from my tote bag & sat on it (!). I decided to leave just before the last couple of skaters, in order to get out before the rest of the crowd & be able to hail a cab back to the hotel quickly. I stood up quickly, folded the paper & tossed it in a garbage can on my way out. I used another section of newspaper in the cab, so as not to ruin the seat.

When I got back to the hotel room, I immediately stripped down & surveyed the damage. Ugh. I was glad I was the only one there. I rinsed my pants out in the bathtub & hung them up on the shower curtain to dry. (Thankfully, I had brought more than one pair of pants with me...!) And then I collapsed, exhausted, in bed.

Why am I reliving all this? Well, this was the beginning of the last cycle before I got pregnant. The first day of my last menstrual period -- the all-important, oft-recited LMP date -- was February 8, 1998. Like many women who have struggled with loss & infertility, I have analyzed all the details of my pregnancy endlessly to try to figure out what I did (& didn't do) that might have contributed to me getting pregnant when I did. Contending with an overly heavy period & ruining my clothes in the company of 15,000 people in a strange city is not my idea of fun (although the skating was great & I'm glad I got to see it...!) --but if that was part of what it took to finally get me pregnant, then hey, bring it on. For years afterward, whenever I had a particularly heavy period, I would hope against hope that somehow, history was about to repeat itself. The things we latch onto...

The nightmare & the dream

Happy new year! Dh & I went to bed at 11 last night (!) & went to the movies today to see "National Treasure: Book of Secrets." Totally far-fetched to the point of eye rolling in some spots, but lots of fun just the same. 

Then we went to our favourite mega-bookstore for a browse & a Starbucks. We're usually there on a Saturday night or Sunday afternoon, & by comparison, it was practically deserted today -- blissfully uncrowded & peacefully quiet. 

Until the Toddler From Hell decided to throw the Mother of All Tantrums. You could hear him shrieking at the top of his lungs all over the store -- and it went on, and on, and on. Both dh & I, browsing in different sections, could hear him, loud & clear. Dh was close enough to hear his mother say calmly, "No, you can't have it. I'm going to wait until you're finished crying & then we're going home." 

Umm, hello, how about taking him OUTSIDE or to the car & waiting for him to finish his tantrum out there?? OK, I can hear all the parents out there thinking, "What does SHE know about toddlers & their tantrums?? Cut the woman some slack!" Yes, I have never been a mother of a toddler, and overall, I think her tone & approach was the right one (I hate hearing parents screaming at their kids, almost as much as I hate hearing the kids screaming) -- but I think common sense & good manners dictates that if they are making that much of a fuss & disrupting the whole store, TAKE THEM OUTSIDE!! 

(I can clearly remember throwing a tantrum at a local store when I was about 3, probably because of what happened next. My mother whisked me outside to the car, spanked me soundly & told me to never, ever do that in public again. And I never did. Of course, today, she would probably have to explain her actions to both the police & the Children's Aid Society...) 

(In a similar vein, I can remember a child fussing for far too long in church once, before one of the parents finally carried him down to the nursery. The bishop was visiting at the time & remarked, "Crying children, like new year's resolutions, should be quickly carried out." lol!) 

On the opposite end of the spectrum -- I then got to watch a daddy & his cute little girl, about 18 months old & dressed in pink, wandering around & exploring the store. Picking books off the shelves & examining them, picking up a shopping basket & flipping the handle back & forth. Dad was close enough to keep her from doing anything she really shouldn't, but letting her explore & set the pace & course. I found myself tearing up a little, just watching her in all her adorable innocence. The nightmare & the dream of parenthood, all in one visit.