Our First Anniversary

So here I am, back in Victoria B.C. It's our first anniversary. The DH is fast asleep. No, not because of me, though I probably shouldn't admit it. It was most likely the one & 1/2 strawberry margaritas he downed at dinner at Los Taquitos. I had the other 1/2. As always, that's more than enough for this lightweight. Then again, I'm not the one snoring away in the bedroom.

Hard to belive it's been 1 year since we said our "I do's." What's happened since then? Quite a bit. Gareth and I have had all in all a very good first year of marriage. Mostly good, with one major bad. Within a few weeks of our wedding we found out we were pregnant. A wonderful surprise since I honestly didn't think I could get pregnant. Unfortunately, within two months of finding out, we suffered a miscarriage, one we're no longer reeling from, but still dancing around. We've been trying to get pregnant again, but to no success so far. I guess it may help if I followed doctor's orders.

My sister-in-law believes I'm next in line to carry on the family tradition of bringing life into the world, when one of our own passes on. My grandfather passed away 2 weeks ago, and in the past, the family always seemed to welcome a new baby shortly after there's been a death in the family. My cousin Grace had Nikka when Lola Mamang passed. My Aunt Nora & Uncle Noel had Aris Macx when Lolo Baning passed away. My sister-in-law, Yvonne, herself got pregnant after 5 years of trying shortly after her great-grandmother passed away.

I should be so blessed. Mentally, I believe I'm ready. I get the maternal pangs every time I hold my niece or see a baby, in a picture or on the street. Financially, I have my normal concerns since we exist on two incomes, and when we have a baby I want to take some time off, but everyone tells me that takes care of itself in time. Physically, I'm my worst enemy. I have poly-cystic ovarian disease, and I'm supposed to be taking Metformin. Supposed to be. Meaning, I'm not. Meaning, maybe I'm not ready. My biggest fear is the possibility of going through that ordeal of losing a baby again.

It was the worst experience I'd had to endure. I was in a foreign country, far from family. My husband was with me, but we were here in Burnaby Canada because he had a speaking engagement. He couldn't get a hold of anyone to cancel, so he had to drop me off at the ER believing he could come right back. By the time he did, I was done. I had the procedure to "remove the evidence of spontaneous abortion." I still cringe when ever I hear loud sounds of suction, even though I've only heard it in the dentist office since.

What's ironic is my 2nd worst experience was here in Canada as well. Here in beautiful Victoria B.C. I was in a scooter accident, where a tourist shuttle bus clipped me and gave me a 6 inch gash in my left calf that required 32 stitches. Slow healing & infection later required a skin graft. I have a 5x4 crater in my calf, and a matching scar on my thigh to remind me to stay off scooters. The scar and my montly cramps should remind me Canada hasn't been such a lucky place for me.

Yet here I am in Victoria B.C. Home of the best & worst times of my life. We came here for our pre-honeymoon honeymoon weekend, a week after our wedding. We stayed at the Executive Towers in a room with a beautiful view of the parliament. This time, we're at the Royal Scot, where we had stayed when I had my scooter accident. Excorcising bad memories, I guess. We'll be excorcising more in October, another anniversary when we return to Burnaby for another speaking engagement. Maybe once we've replaced bad memories with good, I'll be ready to start taking Metformin.

Maybe one year from today, we'll be back at the Royal Scot with baby in tow.

We should be so blessed.