The Book of I Regret Nothing: A Quarantine Love Story.

photo: Joshua Franzos

I started a short-lived journal in 2018. Bought at Kards Unlimited, it was trompe l'oeiled to look like a beat-up ledger. The cover is confidently titled, I Regret Nothing. I was embarking on a hormonal journey of assisted fertility and reproduction at the time. The journal was mostly medical in nature with the occasional glimpse into my head. It documented exact times I took certain pills and hormone shots and assessed how real the ghost-like the ovulation line looked on my daily urine strip test.Then the medical notes and mental check-ins became less frequent, then, stopped all together when the medical procedures and first course of expensive treatments didn't work. The book was only filled 25% of the way through.

At that point, we were on the verge of doing IVF because of "momentum," but then we didn't. Already stinging with failure, I didn't believe in myself enough to beat the 30% IVF success rate. If we spent $100K on IVF and didn't have fat baby in our arms at the end, I didn't see myself bouncing back from that, and I'm not talking financially. I saw nothing, just game over black. And that was a huge red flag to me. Here Be Dragons, And Death.

Photo: Joshua Franzos

I spent a year + recreating, rebuilding, reinvesting in that hollowed out shell of my former self. I busied myself with New Meryl. Who was she, who she wasn't, what did she wear? I started posting my daily outfits on instagram and that simple act of getting dressed but never wearing the same thing gave me a routine, re-ignited the creativity pilot, and gave me hope for the future. I began to plan.What would she do? Where would she travel? New Meryl got accepted into a writing workshop in Boston. She also booked a February trip to Mexico, and a European vacation in April. Edinburgh, London, and Paris. It was all going to happen. If we can't have kids, we'll travel the world, we said, and looked forward to trying the jet-set lifestyle on for size.

photo: Joshua Franzos

At the end of February, we had a little trouble coming home from Mexico. Airport officials were cross questioning us. "Have you been to China?" No. "When was the last time you were in China?" Never. "Let me see your passport." *hands passport over.* "Okay, you're fine." Trust no one. "Excuse me?" Yes, I'm fine.

photo: Joshua Franzos

On March 3, 2020, the administrator of my writing conference cancelled it. I could not believe it. I thought they were being weak babies. Around this time, I pulled the I Regret Nothing journal off my bedroom shelf and read the last entry.

"May 30, 2018 - A lot of time has transpired since the IUI. Call me a hypochondriac, but I haven't felt normal since the IUI. I've felt crampy everyday, not painful, just weird, like something is tugging on my insides. And of course I'm micromanaging all my "early pregnancy symptoms" into my usual hopefulness. I am actually terrified to take this pregnancy test on Sunday. I wish I hadn't told anyone because I don't wan't to be watched and questioned like the office science experiment. I'm terrified that the test will be negative and all this will be fore nothing. Money, time, health, weight gained, emotional stress, months of juggling our schedules around my cycle, HERE pay thousands of dollars for this supreme stress package! Part of me is excited that this could be it, but part of me wants to squash that optimism so I don't get my hopes so high that they crash down and shatter into a five million unrepairable pieces. I need a break from this awful headspace I've been occupying."

On the page opposite this, I decided to write my first Covid entry.

"March 8, 2020 - The Work Conference was cancelled. A lot of stuff going down this week. Daylight savings starts today. Full moon. Friday the 13th. The ides of March on Sunday. The corona virus is coming for us all."

"March 9, 2020 - My foot and ankle have been hurting. I got an inconclusive X-ray. The doctor says that is consistent with most stress fractures. I'm now the not very proud owner of a storm trooper boot. Work is preparing us to start working from home at some point, wtf. Also, my boss quit."

Then Friday the thirteenth happened. We had our last, in-person, all staff meeting. By 2p.m. I was packing my desk into a wine box to begin WFH on the following Monday. COVID-19 was in the US and spreading like, well, an un-contained virus. 

"March 14, 2020 - I went to the gym. Josh didn't want me to. He got a lot of food supplies from Costco including a prime rib. He thought we'd be able to have dinner parties. Our friends all say no. We learn we're all on our own, and isolation really means isolating. We put the slab o beef in the freezer."

"March 18, 2020 - Gyms are closed. I haven't worked (cardio) out since March 14th. I do yoga, but with the stress fracture I can't do much, not even walk the dogs. I'm getting stir crazy so I ordered a "cheap" spin bike $330 off Amazon. Got take-out from Spice Island. Did a facetime happy hour with Amy. It was nice."

"March 21, 2020 - Josh was getting melancholy so I put his brain to work with a short film. It occupied us from afternoon to dinner. We edited into the night. Last of the whiskey consumed. 1st corona virus death in Allegheny County."

"March 24, 2020 - Got first workout in on the new spin bike. I don't like it as much as walking or HIIT, but it's something. It feels great to be tired from it. Maybe I'll sleep tonight. Called Delta and canceled flight to Boston. 851 cases of Corona in PA as of 12:10pm."

"March 30, 2020 - our CEO said we'll probably be doing this work from home thing at least another month. But probably two."

photo: Joshua Franzos

I documented the daily death tolls, the climbing number of cases. I note our cooking menus, I note work gripes. I note how silent Shadyside has become with all the bars closed that we can sleep with our windows open. I noted that I hope an estranged family member is doing alright, but I don't ask, and neither do they. Sometime between April 9 and April 18, I start having weird dreams about owls and cuckoo clocks.

"One owl in one hand and a bat in the other. The bat bites me and I wake up thinking, 'How do I get a rabies shot during Covid-19?'"

"I'm standing in my driveway and hundreds of owls, all sizes and colors are swarming into my driveway. I can see sunlight illuminating the tips of feathers on their extended wingspans as they swoop down over my head. I'm a little scared, but I also can't stop looking at them staring back at me. They're so beautiful and curious."

April 26, 2020 - Josh, my friend Dana (whom I haven't seen in years), and I walk into a cuckoo clock and the wall is filled with more cuckoo cubbies. The cubbies are filled with money, treasure, old jewlery. There was also a big cupboard filled with fabulous fur-trimmed caftans and floral girdles – apparently weird dreams are a thing during COVID, for everyone – our brains are unstimulated by our lacking daily routine, or we're anxious so our brains dig deep into our subconscious and past to provide fodder for REM sleep to repair us, or something like that."

Uh oh, I thought. I'm typically a: working my routine, routine-ing my work, block out everything, keep my head down, and definitely, absolutely, a keeper of emotions on a distant island (like Alcatraz,) where you can see, not touch, not make out specifics... but hopefully it's just always foggy and you never even know they're there. What am I in for? I haven't processed shit. 

photo: Joshua Franzos

By the end of April I'd tiled the fireplaces, made and installed my curtain pelmets, painted the  north wall and closet doors, cleaned the basement, given away the toys I hoped to give to my kids, perfected macarons, and ultimately run out of house projects to occupy the moments where I couldn't sit in a chair a second longer. Now I was alone with my thoughts. Who would've ever guessed that our thoughts would make such horrible companions? The effects of social isolation, a cancelled trip to Europe that I'd spent months planning our daily itineraries for, plus watching the joyful chaos other peoples' children wreaked on zoom meetings was starting to intensify the feelings of everything we were missing out on.

"April 29, 2020 - 30 min of yoga. Very challenging day. I decided to add an element of a friend announcing her pregnancy to my main character in my book. Which was emotional for me because of all the times I've had to pretend i'm overjoyed when all I see is what I can't have, then work was super intense and challenging with cloud issues plus demands from ALL the people I'm supporting [Post note: I was doing the work of three support staff at the time.] Then I get a group text where redacted announces she is pregnant with her fourth child and how old she feels at 40 and how it will be her last 'planned pregnancy.' My phone was exploding with this and the congrats while I'm on a zoom meeting and I JUST LOSE IT. I actually left the text conversation like a big ole drama queen, and I walked off screen of the work zoom to go muffle my sobs in the powder room. I didn't want Josh to see/hear this mental breakdown. I feel bad now. I've been apologized to, which was nice to hear, but honestly, I should be the one apologizing. But I couldn't do that, or even respond." [Post note: Redacted, if you're reading this, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm going through some stuff and I hate that my pain diminished your joy for even a millisecond.]

As the months wore on and death tolls mounted, I began to obsessively revisit the topic of family and IVF and my own one day demise. Once again, the guilt about not being able to give Josh something that he is so suited for surfaced. Maybe it wasn't too late for IVF? Maybe we still had a shot? Maybe there was a clinic with a better track record than the one in town? For three weeks I drug my husband through the awfulness all over again. I googled IVF statistics, and was dismayed to learn by taking a year off to screw my head on right, I effectively cut my chances of ever getting pregnant down from 30% at age 38 to about 5% at age 40. I ordered the Modern Fertility hormone test that further spelled out the unlikelihood of me conceiving a child of our own flesh and blood. It seems a literal miracle is my last option.

photo: Joshua Franzos

All the well meaning people came to mind, the ones that say "God has a plan, or, life tends to work out the way it's supposed to, in the time its supposed to." Meaning what? I don't know, but I obsessed. why oh why oh why did I wait until thirty-six to get serious about kids. And why oh why did I pick this journal, this Domesday Book accounting of some of the lowest points of my life? The only thing I knew was that I'd fucked up, and contrary to the book's braggadocios title, I REGRET SO SO MUCH.

photo: Joshua Franzos

At the end of May I was extremely tired and nauseous for several days in a row. Stress will do that to you.The outer layers of my hell heart started to get excited that maybe, I was pregnant. There has been an awful lot of cohab nooky. And, those people. The people that say the things about timing and life. What if something amazing came out of this awfulness? Wouldn't that be the most amazing idea for a romantic covid comedy? The section of my brain that recognizes a good story idea started blaring an air horn.The Book of I Regret Nothing: A Quarantine Love Story.

photo: Joshua Franzos

photo: Joshua Franzos

Despite all the fluttering hope and beautiful literary parallels, the faithless knowledge that I wasn't pregnant sat frozen in a lake of ice at the center of my hell heart. Judas and Jack Torrance are frozen there too. A few days later, my period came and once again proved myself right. The journal contributions grew fewer and fewer, and on May 27, I put in my final entry, our dinner menu.

"May 27 - Seared tuna with wasabi sesame crust. Watermelon and arugula I planted by seed in the early spring, tossed in a blood orange vinaigrette. Green onion and Korean pepper salad. Al Fresco dining. Fresh and amazing dinner, best in awhile. My husband has the most beautiful green eyes at sunset, like jadeite at 7pm, like celadon at 8pm."

Now that my short-lived journal is only 1/3 blank, I wonder what, if anything will convince me to put a pen to it again? If only life could be so kind as to conveniently tie all the loose ends up or frame the suffering with a golden lining. I guess that's why fiction is so compelling. Three acts, the heroine gets her hearts desire after a bit of trouble... Despite all my rage, I'm still getting dressed in the morning. I'm just tromping down two flights of stairs to go sit at our dining room table, but it's part of my mental health routine. I'm especially loving cotton dresses with roomy skirts that allow me to sit cross legged or lay on the floor while I type. White and cheery colored dresses are my favorite. Pre-covid, I would never describe myself as feminine or as a "dress lover." I didn't know what was happening until I read a vogue article. Michelle Ruiz wrote, "But it doesn’t take much self-psychoanalysis to realize I’m dressing the way I want to feel—happy and colorful—in throwback pieces that remind me of simpler, more innocent times."

photo: Joshua Franzos

I'll say. It doesn't get more simple than a dress and slip on shoes. While it has been impossible to escape this time unscathed, I know you've had your dark moments too. I hope my sharing of this makes you feel less alone. In some ways, this time was a curse, in others, the forced self-reflection was a gift. We sorted, confronted, and hopefully made peace with our demons and acknowledged that our thoughts, pains, traumas, and our regrets are valid. It helps us recognize it and empathize with others. But we must never forget the joy and to actively seek it out if necessary. It's more important than ever to preserve, and celebrate life, and cling to those "just because" moments. Oh, and one last thing. Go, drink that special bottle of something you've been saving. You're special now.

photo: Joshua Franzos

Your bosom friend in Pittsburgh,

Details on what I wore:

Lipstick: Urban Decay Vice lipstick in comfort matte. Color: Menace.

Sunglasses: Elton in black/sherbert at Black owned business 3rd Eye View

Dress: ASOS Design tiered broderie maxi, out of stock, unfortunately.

This dress is so comfortable and perfect for sitting cross-legged while I WFH. Wish you could experience the comfort of this stylish dress that feels like the softest t-shirt. This dress is likely the same feel, but in white...I kind of want to buy it.

Sandals: Adidas, here.

Earrings: resin hoops from Banana Republic, here.

Scarf: 70's polyester skinny scarf I inherited from my mother:)

Bottle jacket: Veuve Clicquot, I bought this in New York, but it's hard to find in the wild. You can buy the jacket used on Ebay, Etsy, and Mercari.

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