5 years as Mijnssen or Parenthood is never Painless

Tomorrow marks 5 years since Ivo and I said "Ja, ich will" in Zürich's Civil Registry and began planning our actual vows for our July wedding. 5 years ago, Ivo had just returned from Kiev and I had just been discharged from the Waidspital, my body having rejected a porcine plug that was meant to aid my chron's ravaged body.

3 years ago tomorrow, Ivo and I began our path to parenthood. Tearful conversations and beautiful trust-building sessions with a family psychologist readied us for the adoption process.

5 years ago at City hall, I used my German to say that I agreed to legally bind myself to Ivo Mijnssen for life. But it was in July that he and I used one another's native languages to promise one another our best intentions, our trust, fidelity and support.
Tomorrow we are eligible for adoption in Switzerland. I've come far enough that I could conduct that process in Swiss-German, filling out forms in high German and translate what is necessary for any American adoption agency. But I don't think we will do that. No, this week, instead of using my Swiss German to re-start the process to adopt a child, I am learning the vocabulary of loss. Last week it was confirmed that Ivo and my miraculous pregnancy (Schwangerschaft) has ended in miscarriage or "Fehlgeburt". Fehlen means "lack" or "abscence", but it also means "want." I choose the latter of these definitions, because our future child is so wanted. A beloved friend told me this week, that we are not having a Fehlgeburt but a Nachricht, or a message. My body has rung a bell and told us (along with all of my doctors) that we are able to get pregnant, that my body did a great job during the pregnancy and that we may naturally become parents.
We are so blessed, because the weight of this Nachricht is so great, that the weight of loss is more manageable. Chrohn's had no effect on this loss, it is blessedly typical. In fact, it happens often to many healthy women.
While preparing to celebrate that civil stage of our partnership, Ivo and I are preparing for our loss. In the meantime, I learn words like "Fruchtwasser" (amnionic fluid) which I produced well and "auskratzen" (the cruel German word that turns "dialation and curetting" into "scratching out", should it come to that.)
Throughout this new experience in our relationship, Ivo and I use our bilingual stock of vocabulary to hold to our vows and love and support one another. This path to parenthood just keeps getting more and more interesting and our partnership continues to prove strong, no matter how it's tested.

Ariel Parallel

When I was 8 years old, I was in love with the Little Mermaid. My two best friends had VCRs (we did not) and we watched it nearly every day.
After age 9, however, the first time I saw the film again was in San Francisco last summer. It was on the big screen, in the Castro, round the corner from a bunch of naked men protesting new nudity laws and other tourists in town for Leather fest. We were in the company of young girls in costumes. Everyone had a swag, replete with anything a mermaid fan could want: a clicker to make Sebastian sounds, a dinglehopper for a fun hair-doo, a necklace, a crown, bubbles.....
While watching the film I was transported to all of those feelings I'd had as a child while watching it. When the film concluded, I remembered my confusion at Tritan's sadness. He's worried about "how much I'm going to miss her." As a girl I thought, "but she can always come visit!" Sure, they'd need to hang around near the surface, or she'd need an air tank, but she can still swim around to see her family. As a 30 year old who was living and continues to live 3,000 miles from my family, I experienced the film differently.
Returning to Switzerland left Ivo as wobbly as the newly-legged Ariel. Now that we've settled in we're enjoying all of the beauty of being part of this world. Ivo's been getting career cousnseling of sorts and exploring his options and getting the encouragement that he needs to weather the doctoral storm. We've both been jumping into every work opportunity and have become expert at accepting every social invitation and generally maximizing our here-ness. I'm taking the advice of not giving in to the instinct to tread water and prepare my parenting self and living life childless, knowing that parenthood will come when it comes, but we need to be us until then. That said, we're also shutting out the notion that we may relocate in the next few years, if only temporarily, if Academic oppotunity knocks.
So we dived in and the water's fine, walking around on those - what's that word again - streeeets of Zürich

unreasonable concerns

For my second operation, I was to get a bumper of anesthesia through an epidural. The surgery was meant to take 6 hours or more and the spinal entry would keep everything calm. My anesthesiologist was a terribly sweet and friendly man, which is good for a pediatric anesthesiologist.
He told me to give his nurse a big hug, which I did. He'd already given me something to make me relaxed (and loopy) and I said that his nurse was very fun to hug because she was big and squishy. I'd never have said this had I not been given drugs. I also would not have likely told the doc that he had a large nose if I were sober.

10 hours later, I woke very suddenly, in a lot of pain and with a wet back. My epidural had slid out in recovery. A resident put it back in, but it slid out again and I was given a morphine pump. I understand that the epidural sliding out likely has nothing to do with having offended my caretakers. Nevertheless, I'm reminded of this incident in anticipation of my treatment on Tuesday.
When I met the doctor who will be applying my treatment, I was introduced as an American who speaks "Mundart." The fact that I speak swiss-german was cheerily delivered to this German doctor by his cheery assistant Dr.
"She's only lived here 4 years!" He said, grinning. "Perhaps we should all speak in dialect." He added.
The German Dr. groaned and said "keine Chance."
I'm now thinking about this second-hand chiding and hoping that it doesn't effect my care on Tuesday. I'm hoping alot, in fact. I find myself stupidly or sweetly imagining that something might come of our plan this week and that my health may be taking a new, super cool turn.
Who knows. All I know is that I will be as sweet and polite to everybody at the University Hospital . . . just in case.

"It has cancer in it"

This year's celebration of "Sinter Klaas" was different at the massive Mijnssen house in Zug. It was not catered, but a pot-luck affair. We all learned how to use the foot-pedal operated player piano (still don't know why this was neccessary). We did Secret-Santa. Instead of the same story I've heard for the last 7 years from Ivo's uncle Nick, I heard insensitive laughingly-delivered questions about why we were there with a puppy and not a baby. And there were cousin's girlfriends!
I was in charge of secret santa, so it was no secret to me. Not because I saw who got who, but because after the website emailed everyone about whom they would gift, I got emails asking "why the hell did I get _______". At the party I realized that they all thought the idea was my fault. They didn't realize that I took it on two months after my father-in-law had had the idea.
I got the aforementioned Nick's new wife. She works in cinema and is German. That's about all that I know about her. I got her the film "Beginners" I love this film and I'm proud of the contribution that my brother made to it, so I thought that it would be a heart-felt effort that she may appreciate it. She opened it and seemed intrigued and I said "It has cancer in it!"
When I saw Beginners and the (*spoiler alert*) mother died of cancer, I started bawling. It was a matter of timing. Now, when there's a cancer death in a film, I warn people, in case they have the same kooky reaction that I've recently acquired.
Last year, when mom was deeply in chemo, she and I were talking about favorite cheesy holiday movies. We talked about how Love Actually and Elf still choke me up every year. We talked about the sweet comfort of Home for the Holidays and the cheer that It's a Wonderful Life brings. Then we talked about a movie that we both love and feel differently about but will likely never watch again: The Family Stone. I have loved this movie since I first saw it and rent it every year. There's Deafness, adoption, in-law trouble, over-bearing family with no boundaries, a great cast with great banter. It's a treat; a treat that I will likely never watch again. The subtle and under-lying plot point that Diane Keaton (the cast's mother) is dying of cancer has now spoilt this movie for mom and I. It's all about carrying on traditions when someone dies; at least it is now. It used to be about the awkwardness of trying to incorperate onesself in old family traditions. Now it's about moms having cancer.
Marion liked Beginners and I got a subscription to the New Yorker. All the cousins (and said girlfriends) left on a train to Zürich for drinks. The idea had been mine. The cousins had only ever seen one another at big family functions and had never had any contact beyond the watchful eyes of their parents. I thought that they might enjoy shooting the shit in a more comfortable atmosphere. I wasn't feeling well so I stayed behind to get a ride home from my in-laws. There was talk of the next year's Sinter Klaas party and what people liked and disliked about the new aspects of this years. Ivo's grandmother implied that we needed to start thinking about how we will plan it and celebrate when she's no longer there. I guess that's true of all family traditions. Nothing is ever exactly the same and the cast changes.

tunnel angst

I likely chose the wrong country to live in, given the fact that I dislike driving through tunnels. Here in Switzerland, tunnels go through mountains at crazy long stretches. Old and new caverns are born through massive amounts of rocks. (The drill is crazy impressive.)
When driving through tunnels, I like to keep the radio on. When the static gets lets staticy, I know that I'm nearly through. The fear is that I'll get stuck in traffic and the tunnel will collapse, or that in the traffic I'll asphyxiate on fumes. Truly unreasonable fears, I recognize, but they're there and I listen to the fuzzy radio and look for the light at the end.
There've been a bit of silly stresses recently. In the time when Ivo and I would have been basking in our newly set up apartment, we've been dealing with mine and our new puppy's health issues. The lil' fuzzball needs an inordinate amount of attention at a time when I'm less than %100. It's all a bit much and poor Ivo is a victim in his healthy ability.
Penny's stitches come out Friday, I'm getting care like crazy and the fuzzy radio is coming clear. We're nearly through the tunnel. In the meantime, I'm so grateful for Ivo's and my loved-ones patience. 

RIP Cimzia

We've had a great run. Cimzia has given me great health for over a year now. After Humira stopped working, which had replaced the Remicaid that I became allergic too, Cimzia swooped in and saved the day. My doctor was SO disappointed last week, that I almost didn't want to see him today. Today he seemed a bit more cheerful. He reminded me of my luck that Cimzia saw me through my time in the States and is grateful that he and I can navigate the transition to the next step together.
When I first began Cimzia, Ivo had asked the dreaded question that I would never have asked a doctor, "what if that stops working too? What's the next step?"
Dr. Schultess' answer was that nerds were hard at work so that we could hopefully have an answer to that question. Today, after nonchalantly inviting me in the back for an unexpected scope, he seemed encouraged that a med that is in the later stages of testing at the Uni Zürich might be an opportunity for me. He doesn't want to cancel my next injection until he sees the results of today's MRI. Time will tell, but I remain disappointed that my body is done with Cimzia. It's been a remarkable and helpful medication.
C'est la vie.

good cop - bad cop - silly pup

In Öhningen on an early walk, an older jogger made his way toward us at an admirable pace. Penny's reaction? She looked right, looked left, hid behind my legs, and ran backwards, right out of her collar. It's scared me that she could be so scared. We didn't know each other well, but she seemed to trust me enough to stay with me in this moment. Then, when the jogger had stopped, she wanted to love him forever.
Last night, Ivo seemed to think that I was over-reacting while he led her around our neigborhood. I kept urging him to be careful and he thought I was being over-bearing. So we walked on, met his friend, walked on, when suddenly, out of nowhere, a couple was s-t-r-o-l-l-i-n-g towards us with gorcery bags. Penny flipped out, backed out of her collar and started running away. Thankfully, the couple stopped and Ivo was able to nab our confused and fearful pup.
Today we got a harness that fits (the other one was too small for her floppy body) and all is different. She can still hide behind my legs when she enounters something she's afraid of but she can no longer back her teeny head out of her collar. Phew
Things my pup is afraid of:
Skateboards
Construction machines
Parents with children on their shoulders
Loud cars
Motorcycles
Old dogs (not so much young dogs)
Teenagers (she will not head in any direction where teenagers are hanging)
Joggers.
Luckily, she sleeps happily on her bed so soundly, that she is all groggy and snorey when it's time for our morning walk. That's a plus.