Synchronicity

The signs and synchronicities are mounting. I smile and nod. Okay. I hear you. Thank you and wow.

First of all, I was monitored on Saturday, and I still have two big follicles growing this month. “You’re not on any stimulating drugs, right?” the nurse asked. I just shook my head and laughed. Having spent two months making paintings and doing visualizations and meditations about two eggs/embryos/babies, and now about to enter my double-embryo transfer cycle, I say: communication received. 

Also: something crazy happened the eve of my 40th birthday. You won’t believe this.

First of all, I had thought, not too long ago, that I would surely spend my 40th birthday sobbing under a blanket. In fact, I had given myself permission to do just that. But as my birthday approached, the idea of doing that seemed absurd, a silly waste. I woke up, and I wasn’t unhappy!

IMG_0004I woke up also to find a painting on the wall that knocked me breathless. About a week ago, DH and I were at an antique store, and I saw this painting and shouted with amazement. It was the same image that used to hang in my Ma-Maw’s condo, and that I used to gaze at and make up stories about as a little girl. Of course he remembered and snuck back there and bought it, surprised me with it on the morning of my 40th.

My aunt texted me, and I texted her back this story of the painting. She was moved. At one point, she texted: “I still can’t believe it was forty years ago that our little Pebbles was born.”

I drew in my breath. Pebbles! I had totally forgotten that they used to call me that when I was a baby and toddler. I had a ton of hair as a baby, and my mom would pull it up into a hair-band, into a “Pebbles” ponytail sticking straight up from the center of my head.

On to the evening.

We walk into the secret restaurant where DH had made a reservation, a place we’d never been, quite a bit east from where we live. What is the first thing I see when we walk through the parted curtains of the doorway? A baby with a Pebbles ponytail sticking straight up from the center of her head.

I realize that many, many babies have Pebbles’s style, but I was taken aback a little. My first reaction was wonder. My second reaction—my hardwired automatic reaction, at this point—was: I hope I don’t have to look at that baby during all of dinner. I’ve gotten a lot better about feeling triggered, but the triggering is not entirely gone.

Then I remembered that I had the day before read a very thoughtful comment on someone’s blog in which she said that before she’d had a successful pregnancy, she used to feel isolated in her neighborhood. She said it was hard to go for a walk, there were so many babies and kids. But after her successful pregnancy she found out that every woman on her block had had some level of IF treatment.

So I looked at the mama of Pebbles in the restaurant and thought: Who knows? She could have gone through IF hell to get to that baby.

We sat down and I ordered the last glass of wine I will, I hope, have in a very long time. (I’ve had a glass of wine only once since NYE, hurrah for me.) It was superb wine and made me wonderfully tipsy and giggly. On top of this, DH was in rare form with his comedic timing. I was flush-faced and giddy, eating my divine  tuna carpaccio appetizer, when I happened to glance over at the couple who had just been seated directly beside us, only a few feet away.

It was Dr. San Roman and his wife.

!

My mouth unhinged.

“Oh, hi!” he said.

Pause. “Oh my—hi!”

Because this blog is anonymous, I’m going to give myself a pseudonym for the sake of this story: Tessa.

“Tessa,” Dr. San Roman said to me, “meet my wife—Tessa.”

“Oh!” The same name. Of course.

We all laughed nervously. I didn’t know what to do because they were so close to our table we could have been on a double-date.

“It’s my birthday, ” I blurted. Happy birthdays all around. “What are the chances of this!” I exclaimed. “I mean, really! I have an appointment with you tomorrow morning!”

Dr. San Roman didn’t seem as surprised. He proceeded to tell us a funny story about other patients he has run into, in the most unlikely places.

We somehow managed to, somewhat awkwardly, end the conversation and return to our “intimate” dinners. I was astonished by his presence, especially since I have recently begun to feel very in synch with him. If you want to read more about the in-synch-ness, see this post here. In the comments section, I write: “Dr. SR calls himself ‘Gabie Baby,’ and says, ‘Let’s see if I can lend some of my Gabie Baby magic to this transfer.’ Maybe he really is magic. Who knows, right? In any case, his positivity is something I definitely like having on my team.”

I continued to drink my wine, resisting the urge to lean over to Dr. SR and tipsily slur: “I seriously don’t usually mix alcohol with Zoloft and I won’t be having any more wine, ever. No vino on the Zolo,” etcetera. I’m glad I did not.

And THEN.

The woman with the Pebbles baby? She comes up to Dr. San Roman with Pebbles on her hip.

Of course. Of course she did.

“She’s one of yours!” the woman said gleefully to Dr. SR, and Dr. SR smiled and reached out to tug on the little girl’s bootied foot. Tessa commented to me afterward: “I don’t exactly know how I feel about these women who come up to my husband and tell him that they are holding his baby.” It was hilarious.

And that was our night. Ahem.

I no longer believe in coincidence. I believe in synchronicity. I love Jung (surprise, surprise) and lately I have been looking at The Red Book, which DH got me our first Christmas together. Actually, wikipedia’s page on synchronicity is a pretty good starting place, if you’re interested in learning more about it.

I just don’t think all of those occurrences—the two follicles and the two embryos, the painting and the painting, the Pebbles and the Pebbles, the comment on that blog about “you never know who has gone through IF hell” and my assumption about Pebbles’s mama and the reality that she’d gone through ART (with MY RE), my RE, with his Gabie-Baby magic, sitting down next to us in tiny restaurant on my 40th birthday (which I’d planned on avoiding under a blanket), sitting down next to us with his wife who just so happens to have my name—I don’t think any of this can or should be chalked up to mere chance.

Enough said.

I will leave you with the art of DH, who showered me with his whimsical, heartfelt collages on the day of my birth, like the guardian angel that he is.

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22 Comments

  1. Wow! That is quite a day! I am so glad you were able to enjoy it!

    Reply
  2. Atta girl…this is gonna be a great year, for sure! Happy birthday, lady!

    Reply
  3. AndiePants

     /  February 3, 2014

    Lovely.

    Reply
  4. That is honestly insane. Such a crazy batch of situations! I’m so glad you had a wonderful birthday, as you deserve that and much more. Happy birthday!

    Reply
  5. Clare

     /  February 4, 2014

    I love it! Sounds like the perfect birthday. The universe is trying to tell you something and you’re in just the right spot to receive the message. Happy birthday!!
    I’m pretty sure I couldn’t handle sitting so close to my fertility doc at a restaurant. I would totally obsess. Especially since she got me pregnant I’m in total awe of her. Like she has to be some kind of a god to have done that lol!
    Ps I love that painting.

    Reply
    • Yeah! That’s what it felt like to me for usre. And it WAS really strange sitting next to my RE and trying to pretend like he was not going to see my freaking vagina in the morning. Life is so funny.

      Reply
  6. Happy birthday–what an amazing day of synchronicity! I love it! I hope this is all the Universe winking and nodding at you. I hope this is the start of an amazing new year for you. I’m so glad it was a happy birthday, not a sad birthday! :)

    Reply
  7. Wow!!!!! I love this post!

    Reply
  8. Freakin’ LOVE IT! That’s as good as it gets without the universe actually spelling it out for you in block letters. Tres cool :)

    Reply
  9. So glad to “hear” you so upbeat and even-keeled (in the face of all kinds of challenges and just plain social weirdness)! Also glad you had a great birthday. That fella you’ve got sure is in love with you. Pure awesome.

    Reply
  10. WOW!!!
    “So I looked at the mama of Pebbles in the restaurant and thought: Who knows? She could have gone through IF hell to get to that baby.” I copied this to comment on as soon as I read it, about how positive of an attitude that was and how I really was going to try and adopt that mentality. My jaw literally dropped when you said she came over to the Dr. What an amazing, amazing story!!
    Wishing you the best of luck! :)

    Reply
    • I know, it’s nutso. I mean seriously, what are the chances? It just makes me want to rid myself of assumptions forever. So glad you got something out of it too!

      Reply
  11. First of all, happy belated birthday, my friend. Second of all, HOW ON EARTH DID THIS ACTUALLY HAPPEN?!?

    I try to think (yes think and not thought, because surprisingly the jealous does not go away even when you are 8 months pregnant) of this often when I see pregnant women and women with young babes. Some of them (many of them) may have fought tooth and nail to get their Pebbles.

    I’m so glad to see your optimism and light coming through about this next cycle. The visualization is wooooorking!

    Reply
    • Oh man, lentil, is it ever working! I just got out of a visualization session with my therapist that BLEW MY HEAD OFF. I mean it was intense times a million. I felt, afterward, like I was on hallucinogens, and was even so unsteady I decided not to drive for about twenty minutes afterward. I think I’ve found my way. My artwork is getting crazy-looking. Woooorking (: Thanks for the belated birthday wishes. And I swear all of that actually happened, right here on earth. One of these days I’ll have to tell the synchronicity story on this blog that happened years ago, and that involves Miranda July—something that floored her so much that she tried to do a project with me (it never happened because I went back to school for social work and got very busy). When I tap in, I don’t half-ass it, apparently. XO!

      Reply

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