Start Asking

I was honored to be a part of the Start Asking campaign as part of infertility awareness week with Bobbie Thomas of the Today show!  This campaign was sponsored by Ferring Pharmaceuticals with support from Resolve and ASRM.

Check it out and share the site with friends who need to Start Asking, either for themselves or others.

Little Moments

"They" say to cherish every moment.

"They" probably have no idea what it's like to raise a child that was longed for, prayed for, and struggled for.  "They" probably planned to raise multiple children.  "They" weren't constantly reminded that this was it.  That this would be the only chance to feel belly kicks, gaze into trusting infant eyes, watch a bald spot fill in, wrangle a first set of pigtails, nuzzle a clean little noggin, or dry a fresh set of tears.

Every day she needs me a little bit differently.  What was once a need for life and sustenance is now a need for security, validation, and love.  She rolled away, then crawled away, then walked, and now she runs.  She's always looking back over her shoulder.  Double checking.  Is mama still there?  She will run back for a hug.  A tight squeeze and a sloppy kiss with a big "Mwah!" at the end.

Cherishing every moment is easy.  The hard part is letting go of that hug and remembering that your arms are still open for whatever comes next.

Why I Can't Make Mom Friends

Being an introvert makes it hard enough to make friends.  Be an infertile introvert makes it nearly impossible to make mom friends.  There's a part of me that doesn't want to make mom friends. The infertile in me screams, "Why should your status as a mother define the kinds of friends you make?"  She's not off the mark, but the fact of the matter is, Chipmunk needs me to have mom friends.  She needs me to make friends with moms who have kids her age.  I need to be able to talk to another woman who is going through the same stuff I am right now with her toddler.  Since it took me so damned long to have kids, most of my friends have kids in elementary school.  I need to diversify my village.

Yet, the infertile makes diversification a continued challenge.  J and I took the day off work today to have family time.  The place was full of stay at home moms in their best Lululemon, with pods of strollers that looked like a convention of high school mean girls turned 20-somethings.  J was the only dude in the place and we were the only set of parents.  We are so dang thankful for our family time and we can't get enough of it, so we do crazy things like take time off of work to take our kid to a children's museum.  Anywho, Chipmunk was having a hard time warming up what with all the kids running around trying to take things out of her hands while their moms played on their phones.  So we found this little room that was just for toddlers and settled in there for a bit.  There were two Lululemon Ladies and their kids already in there playing, but it was much quieter than in the general play area. While we were trying to field the oldest of their broods taking things from Chipmunk's hands, we overheard the following gems:

LL1:  "So do you have a birth spacing plan?"
LL2: "Well my sister and I were 2 years and 10 months apart.  So when he is 2 I will get pregnant again because I think that's an optimal spacing."
------
LL1: "I just feel like no one respected my birth plan.  I had to wait 10 minutes see her and just didn't feel like we got enough bonding time at that optimal period, ya know?"
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LL2: "And my next one will be a sweet little girl that I can cuddle with."
------
LL2: "It's just too much to be a mom full time.  I mean, I can't even paint anymore."

I was trying not to be judgey, really I was.  I know every woman's experience is her own, but there was no way I could have had any sort of a conversation with these women.  Everything I heard was so contrary to my experience of motherhood that I couldn't see myself commiserating with them, which was obviously what they were doing with each other.  They used the term "birth spacing plan" like it was an actual thing.  A thing that I evidently have no concept of.  Birth plan?  Hilarious.  I still can't tell Chipmunk's birth story without crying.  I hallucinated through parts of her delivery, vomited multiple times, feared for her life, and didn't hold her for a couple of hours. I wouldn't even be able to tell this woman my experience because I would be thinking about all the women I know who had babies in the NICU or didn't get to take babies home ever.  Hoping for a girl?  Don't get me started.  And I would gladly give up my hobbies to stay at home and be a mom full time.  Hell, I gave up my hobbies to work full time and be a mom.  Fuck painting!  And I STILL think my life is awesome!

I took solace in the moment when Chipmunk gave them one of her world famous, soul searching stares.  She has this way of looking right into the center of your being.  It's a little unsettling and I love it.  She was staring them down, pulled her pacifier out and held it in her little hand for effect, and they told me how "wise" she looked.  I'd like to think she was trying to wise them up telepathically.

I didn't say anything to J in the moment, but I knew I wasn't off the mark when we walked out of the room and J muttered to me, "I don't think we'll ever be able to be friends with normal people."  I said, "Let's not say 'normal people.'  How about 'Fertiles?'"

We settled on Birthers. Liberal backhanding at its finest.

Trickle Down Negativity

We had our first negative comment.

A good friend has been sharing the posts in our facebook group.  She herself has PCOS and her daughter is hard won.  She was actually the first peer I had who dealt with infertility and her story started before I even met J. She was the one who got the comment on one of our posts that she shared on her page.  Something along the lines of infertility treatment being selfish and people should adopt because of all the babies in America that need parents.

She deleted it.  She's awesome.

Before we entered the video contest, we had a long talk about what we would do if we actually became finalists.  We knew we'd have to go public if we wanted to win.  We were okay with that.  What we didn't think about were the awesome friends who would start ti feel comfortable sharing their stories.  They have been amazing to watch.  Or the friends like this one who have been supporting us by voting and sharing, but haven't gone public, and have to have insensitive people post crap that hurts them.

Of course I reached out to her and of course she was awesome... and shared another post on her page today.  Friends like this one are rare.  I just hope no one else has to deal with any bologna.  Why do so many people think they get to make public statements giving their uneducated opinions on how people choose to live their lives?

We're going to be on the local news tonight, telling our story.  The piece will go on their web page, where they have a comment section.  I'm going to have to not read that.

I know I'm annoying with the vote begging, but please remember to vote for us every day.  We're the ones with the Asian dude, white chick, and adorable baby.  This kind of money can be life changing for our little one.  We realize we've been so blessed already, but we have to make the most of an opportunity like this!

Little Boxes

Parenting has opened my eyes to this strange desire that grown ups have to fit their lives and their children's lives into tiny little boxes.  Are you an attachment parent or not?  Do you co-sleep or not?  Breast or bottle?  Soccer or ballet?  SUV or mini-van?  I find myself wanting to jump up and down on all of the little boxes and smoosh them to smithereens.  Infertility totally taught me not to sweat the small stuff and let me tell you, the mommy war crap is way small stuff.

People like to judge us on our sleep choices.  Oh sleep.  You dastardly tempting haven.  Do I think Chipmunk needs to wake up three times a night to nurse?  No.  Once or twice, yes, but I think part of it is because we don't get to spend a lot of time together and she just wants comfort.  I'm not going to deny her food or comfort at this stage of the game.  If I were 7 months old and only had an hour or two with my mom every day, I'd probably wake up for a hug too.  She's only 7 months old.  I repeat, 7 months old.  I have conversations like this every day.

Someone I haven't seen since the baby was born:  "Hey!  How's the baby!"
Me: "She's great!  Growing so fast!"
SIHSSTBWB:   "Is she a good baby?"
Me: (In my head, 'No she's kind of an asshole.  What kind of question is that?') "She's really happy and a lot of fun."
SIHSSTBWB:  "I mean does she sleep?"
Me: "She's not a great sleeper yet."
SIHSSTBWB: "Oh, you have to let her cry."

WHAT THE EVER LOVING HELL?  As soon as I tell them we'd rather not let her cry, I get the "I Know Everything And You Are A Shitty Parent" look.

Ya know what, my kid cannot self soothe while crying.  She starts pulling her hair out.  She can fall asleep on her own just fine in everyday life, but when she's upset, she needs my help or else she will just start escalating.  Crying it out is not for her and it isn't the right thing for our family.  It might be the right thing for you, and that's fine.  I'm certainly not going to make a snap judgement about a family that does let their kid cry it out .  So please don't judge me when I say I'm choosing not to do the whole "cry it out" thing.  I know my family, I know my child.  Don't presume to know for me.  It doesn't mean I molly-coddle her.  It doesn't mean I'm overly permissive.  It just means I want her to keep the little hair she has.

While this crap riles me up, I had a little heart break this weekend watching a friend wade into these waters. They are expecting their first, and this little one wasn't easy to come by.  They were grilling J and me on what baby gear they needed, what baby gear we wish we never bought, what books they need to read, and so one.  I think they were shocked and dismayed by how much time she spends in daycare and the fact that she still doesn't sleep (after all - ALL THE BOOKS and ALL THE FRIENDS say their kids sleep).  I finally just told her what I really think.  No one fits into tiny little boxes, the least of all children.  You don't have to make your kid conform to what some random Ph.D. thinks (and most of the time doesn't really back up with actual research).  Put down the books and follow your gut.  Your instincts will be quite loud.  Do what they say and you'll be just fine.

Something tells me she's still going to read the books and expect everything to fall into its respective tiny box.

Here is a gratuitous Chipmunk photo.  I'm not a fan of putting too many photos of her on here, but you guys were so instrumental in her arrival that I just have to show her to you.  While this one doesn't show her pretty smile or darling eyes, it's still one of my favorites.

She was so mad I took those beads out of her mouth.

An Open Letter

To All The Parents Who've Spotted My Belly,

It's the first question you ask when you recognize my bump as a something more than just too many cookies.  "Is this your first?"  Such a loaded question.

Yes, it's my first pregnancy.  I'm so blessed.  So many women having babies after loss must have a much harder time with this question than I do.  Still, it's a tough question to answer.

My first child?  Well yes, kind of.  She's my only, she's a culmination of years of struggle and pain, she's a gift, she's my everything.

How do I make you understand that without letting you into my private world?  I'm pregnant, but I'm infertile.  I know this may be an oxymoron to you.  Just by virtue of having a disease, I feel like I need to educate you and show you how hurtful your off-handed comments can be.  I know you mean well, and I'm not offended by your question, but it still stings.  Asking if she's my first is expecting that there will be more and my baby collection is just starting.  I know I can't make you understand that this is it for us.  If I tell you she's our only, you'll ask why.  If I tell you how lucky we were to get this one, you'll tell me about your cousin's best friend's sister's hairdresser who got pregnant naturally after IVF.  It's great that you have hope for a miracle, but my husband and I have accepted this life we've been given.  When you insist that other children will come, you're suggesting that what we have isn't good enough.  It's more than good enough for us.  It's wonderful.

I don't want to tell you that my eggs can't be fertilized without having a doctor inject them with a chosen sperm.  I don't want to tell you that my embryos need help to hatch.  I don't want to tell you that my body has to go through three months of menopause before my lining is receptive to implantation.  I don't want to tell you that I have to be on birth control despite my infertility just to avoid constant pain.  I don't want to tell you because I'm tired of telling you.  I've been sticking up for my limping womb for years and I need a break.  I just want to look forward to being a mom.  A mom to one amazing little gift.

So just smile and say that she's our first while I listen to your war stories on birth and parenting, but I wish you really knew.  She's so much more than a first.

Still Carrying My Card

***I've added a tab for Chipmunk.  If you're up for ultrasound photos, they will be posted there.***

Every Friday we have a meeting where more people that just my immediate team are in attendance.  Only my immediate coworkers know about Chipmunk.  I had told them that they were the only ones who knew and I wanted to keep it that way.  I sent them a text after my last RE visit because I figured that way they would know about the good news and I could avoid any looks or questions when I came to the meeting late.  Apparently my boss decided to whoop and holler in excitement when she got the text during the meeting and announce what her (group) text said.  So now people who I didn't want to yet know know. Another one of my coworkers reminded her that I didn't want people to know yet, but it was too late.  I appreciate her excitement, but two of the people at this meeting were infertile women who I wanted to tell one-on-one, in my own time.  I hadn't found alone time with them yet.

My boss whooped more when I came in and I shushed her.  My two coworkers (who have since adopted) just looked at me and smiled kindly.  I could see the pain in their eyes, though and I was crushed for them.  I know the rest of the world thinks adoption is a cure for infertility, but I know better.  I'm sure my boss thought there was no need for special sensitivity, but I know better.  And I'm sure that more than anything they were hurt that I didn't tell them in person.

My boss upset me more later in the day.  She shared that another former coworker who was struggling to get pregnant is also expecting.  I said, "Oh good.  I know she was struggling too.  I swear it's like you start working here at your uterus breaks."  She said, "Oh that's not true.  Look at you!"  I felt very defensive.  I said, "It's still good and broken."  She answered with, "You just needed a little help."  I got quiet and said, "I needed about as much help as you can get before moving on to donor gametes.  I will never need birth control and there will not be another pregnancy" and left the room.  She didn't say anything about it.  I'm sure she chalked it up to hormones.

I spent the rest of the day pondering why I was so defensive about her comments.  I think it was a myriad of things.  I'm not in denial about my infertility anymore.  It's become part of my story, and part of who I am.  I'm okay with that.  I'm okay with that because it's made me a stronger person.  I can recognize that I am still a woman with worth and value even if sperm has to be forcefully injected into my eggs for just a shot at fertilization.  Even though eight embryos have failed to implant in my womb, I am just as much of a woman as  the most fertile among us.  I know that.  I went through hell and back to know that.  Achieving a pregnancy doesn't erase all that I have been through.  It takes me on another leg of this journey, but it doesn't discount my pain.  I'm not actively grieving anymore, but there will always be an ache.

I'm keeping my infertile card. I'm pretty sure no one is going to revoke it.

Pressure

There have been a lot of thoughts swirling in my head lately.  Maybe it’s the upcoming visit home, maybe it’s the Lupron, or maybe it’s just reality sinking in.

In about 6 weeks or so we will start stimming again. I can’t stop thinking about how this is our last chance at making a biological child.  We will do this fresh cycle and use any frosties it produces, but if this bunch of embryos doesn’t make a baby, we will start looking at a child-free life.  So if this is it, am I doing absolutely everything I should be?  I’ve been running and eating well, but is it enough?  Should I put down the Diet Coke?  What about the cookies that patient brought in, can I have just one?  Am I doing everything I possibly can to give us the best chance at a pregnancy?  Will I feel guilty if I don’t get my weight down to the magic number and it doesn’t work?  I'm making myself crazy with this crap.

*********

The other day a coworker asked me what our next steps are.  This isn’t someone I typically share details on our journey with simply because we aren’t close, but I’m a loudmouth and frequently babble on about my reproductive status, so I figured I'd answer her.  I told her that we were doing our last IVF cycle and she said, “So if it doesn’t work, you start adoption?”  “No,” I answered.  “We aren’t looking at adoption right now.”  She said, “But there are so many children out there that need homes.”  “Not exactly,” I answered.  “Well, in other countries there are.”

I tried explaining how we feel right now.  J and I have fought for absolutely everything in our lives.  We are both the first generation of Americans in our families to go to college (well, on one side for me at least).  We both paid/are still paying our own way through school.  We were both thrust into independent adult lives well before we were ready and learned the ropes ourselves.  We both spent many years searching unsuccessfully for someone to share our lives with.  As soon as we found each other, we started fighting to create a family.  We’re done fighting.  We have so much.  We have our educations, our careers, and most importantly, we have each other.  I told this coworker that we weren’t ready to jump on another emotional rollercoaster and we wanted to spend time enjoying what we had instead of fighting for what we don’t.  Her response?  “Well, that’s a shame.”  I really think she meant that our failing to “save an orphan” was what was shameful.  It was not meant to soothe.

This really stung and stuck with me.  It’s not like this woman doesn’t know what adoption entails.  I work with several women who have adopted both domestically and internationally (and there are only about 20 people in my whole office).  The women who had international adoptions had expenses out the wazoo and emotional worries about visas and all the time those babies had to spend in orphanages without them.  She saw the failed adoptions that the women who chose domestic adoption had to go though before they brought their babies home (both of them had either a baby in their arms for days or were about to board a plane when the adoption fell through).  She knows it isn’t a walk in the park, but I should still jump right in?

Should we be adopting because that’s what the world expects us to do?  Of course not.  That’s ridiculous.  As much as I hate to admit it, I’m the kind of person who worries about what other people think.  I don’t want people thinking that we are selfish unkind people because we choose not to adopt.  I am underpaid because I work at a non-profit with children who have disabilities, many of whom are on public assistance.  I stay in my underpaid job because I love being able to directly help these families, and yet I still feel like I have to prove my niceness.  Messed up, yes?

How do I get people to leave me the heck alone and take their judgments elsewhere? 

Selfishness

It's a topic that's been on my mind lately.  Does my fervent perusal of fertility treatment make me selfish?  It's an argument that the fertile crew tends to make.  They say that trying to use technology to have a baby when you've been diagnosed with infertility is selfish.  You'll find reference to this train of thought in the comments section of any public article on infertility. I'm sure you've all seen it.

But how is it really selfish?  Being selfish means that you are putting your wants and needs ahead of others.  How is my perusal of pregnancy hurting anyone else?  My husband isn't being drug behind me by his hair.  He wants this as badly as I do.  I'm not putting anyone ahead of me.  I work just as hard as I always have.  I don't ask for special favors.  I may have asked for more compassion from my friends than I typically do, but doesn't anyone who is going through a major life event?  True - by seeking treatment the grieving process has been extended and we've asked for support for quite some time.  If we had just accepted our fate and not moved forward with treatment, we wouldn't have had constant months of ups and downs.  I've only asked for support from friends, though.  Two of those friends high-tailed it out of dodge and left us in the dust, but others stuck around and continue to love us just as they always have. 

Is it because I have a hard time celebrating other people's pregnancies and births?  That's always going to be a struggle by virtue of the disease.  It isn't treatment that makes me feel grief over my lack of children, it's infertility.

Is it the overpopulation argument?  Because that's a bunch of crap.  We'll just leave that there.

Is it because people think that by not fulfilling the moral obligation to adopt that infertility has apparently inflicted on me that I'm sending a child off to face a lifetime of foster care and group homes?  If this were even an argument worth entertaining, the question remains, isn't it selfish of anyone to have a biological child rather than adopt?  And by that same vein, what does it mean when my husband and I are planning to remain childless if we aren't able to have a biological child?  Are we doubly selfish?

Or maybe it's because of the popular adage, "children are a gift."  You can't try to force a gift upon yourself, right?  By the same token, people say that life is a gift, but you don't see anyone saying, "You know what?  I'm not going to try to keep that leg.  Let the gangrene take me.  It's selfish of me to try to force the gift of life upon myself." I can see that life isn't tangible though, while a child is in essence. 

Is it the money?  Do people see those of us pursuing treatment as being flush with cash that they think could be better used elsewhere?  After all, the high cost of IVF is widely discussed.  Some of us are lucky enough to have insurance coverage, but most aren't.  Instead we make many sacrifices to be able to afford treatment.  The biological predilection is that strong.  The general public doesn't see that or get that, but money can't be the whole basis for the accusations of selfishness, can it?

So where does this selfishness notion come from?  More importantly, how can I be sure that I'm not acting from a self-centered urge.

A Tale of Two Emails

On the day of our Beta, I got some interesting emails.  The first was from my mother.  It said the following:

"I know you are at work and you are trying to hold on.  I am so sorry. 

Have you and [J] considered a surrogate?  I know I’m an old woman, but older women than me have done this for their daughters.   I’ll be your oven if you want me to be.  I’ll even give up Diet Coke!"

I seriously have the best mother ever.  When I called her to tell her that I didn't feel comfortable having my 58 year old mother (who will easily be at least 59 by the time any baby is born) risk her health by carrying our child, she was crushed.  "But I've done it three times!"  she cried.  I explained that we don't even know if surrogacy would be an answer and reminded her that a) her son is planning a wedding and b) she has osteoporosis and c) she lives over 800 miles away.  She sobbed on the phone with me.  She feels so much pain.  My sister keeps her children away from my mother.  She has three grandchildren that she has met one time each.  She isn't allowed to talk to them, see them, or send them gifts.  When I think about the fact that I may not be able to give that hole a little patch for her, it makes my bones ache.  The kicker is that she doesn't even think about that.  Her pain is only a reflection of our pain.

Then I got another message.  This was from a friend who didn't know about our negative yet.  It was from someone who has been a darned good friend, actually, and she was emailing to check in on us.  Here is a highlight:

"Just throwing this out there, but have you thought about maybe ... just enjoy each other for a while.  You never know what can happen when you just relax and maybe let it happen?"   

Thankfully she ended it with:

"...you can tell me to jump off a bridge if you want!!"  

!*@#&

I called my mother back pissed as hell.  I totally knew my mom was going to say "She's coming from a good place and she means well."  I know that's the truth, but STILL!  Instead my mom was totally with me in the ridiculousness   It was J who called me down to earth.

"She's been a really good friend to you," he reminded me.  He's right.  I'm sure this is information coming from her mother.  I could almost hear her voice when I was reading it, actually.  This sort of "relax" information is what's out there in the world.  It's what our parents believed and what their parents believed and the media likes to perpetuate it.  She really is trying to be helpful, no matter how misguided it is.  And J pointed out that I have had some supposedly good friends who have completely disappeared.  He asked me which I would rather... the friends who check in and support us, but make occasionally stupid comments, or the friends who have left us in the dust?

I'd really rather they were all like my mom, offering up their wombs in recognition of our pain.  That's a tad bit unrealistic though, so I guess I'll take the misguided but well meaning comments.  I'll write her back and gently remind her that infertility is a disease and that relaxing doesn't cure endometriosis any more than it cures diabetes... and so it goes...

They Really Are All Crazy

On Friday I spent most of the day doing some testing with our post-doc.  She's an MD, PhD.  You know, a super intelligent, science minded woman.  Like everyone else in my office, she knows what we've been up to in the department of uterine invasions.

I was giving her a ride back to my office, somehow the topic of having babies came up and I said something along the lines of, "I honestly can't fathom how anyone gets pregnant naturally at this point."  You guys, I can't believe the crap that came next.

"My husband just has to touch me and I get pregnant."
"You guys just need more time."
"It will happen, you just need to relax."
"My friend went through IVF and it didn't work, then she adopted and poof!  She got pregnant."

I'm not even sure she took a breath between the above statements.  I said, "Ming, I'm on my 3rd transfer.  This is not about relaxing or being patient."  That didn't satisfy her either.

At that moment, I was so sick and tired of our trials being trivialized.  We're coming up on two years, here.  Two years of trying is nothing to shake a stick at.  Our year of treatment contains plenty of "proof" that we have suffered.  So I laid it out there.

"They have to physically inject J's sperm into my eggs because it doesn't happen on its own."

She giggled.

"No really.  On our first round, we let nature take its course in the dish and it didn't work."
"Really?"
"Really."
"So you really can't get pregnant on your own?"
"I wouldn't go through all of this if I could."

That shut her up.

It gave me a new perspective.  A very smart woman with multiple medical degrees was somehow going through her life thinking that IVF was less than necessary.  Even she believed that fertility is a function of relaxation level rather than a biologic mechanism.  The cultural views on baby making must be insanely deep if that can happen.  How can we ever dig out from under the stereotypes and misinformation if female scientists are out there believing that IVF is for people who are too impatient to just relax?

Anyways, peace out people.  The hubmeister and I are off for our waiting game peace out up in the mountains.  See you on Beta day!

Really, Dental Hygienist? REALLY?

There was a dental visit this week.  You'd think that sitting in the dentist's chair with dental tools all up in your grill would be a safe place to avoid baby talk, especially when the hygienist is a dude, but nooooo!  Not when you're one of the lucky infertile!

Minor back-story: My dentist's office is right next door to my actual office.  We are the only two offices still standing in our complex, hence, the staff there knows a little bit more about me than your average dental office might.  Plus, when they have a bunch of cancellations their receptionist comes over and offers up cleanings to fill their schedule.  I have very clean teeth.

DH (Dental Hygienist): Oof!  I bumped my head on the light.
Me:  Oh!  Be careful.
DH: Ah, it's okay.  My daughter bumped her head the other day.
Me: Oh no!  Is she okay?
DH:  Oh yeah, got a little knot, but it'll be fine.
Enter long story about child jumping on the bed and many pointless details about exactly what he said to her at each and every moment of the jumping on the bed fiasco and head bumping aftermath.  I won't bore you. Besides, my eyes glazed over and I'm pretty sure I don't remember any of it.
Me: I'm glad she's okay.
DH: Yeah.  So you guys have been married for a while now. When are you going to have some kids?

Aaaaaand SCENE!

Pain and Decisions

Right now I'm full of anger, hinged with a tint of sadness. What the hell happened? We had so much hope. Everything went so much better this cycle, we didn't think it was possible to have another failure. It seemed like the lap "fixed" the root of the problem, but I suppose we were wrong on that. There's more to the story it seems. How can there be more? For shit's sake!

How did we get here? I always knew in the back of my mind that we wouldn't get pregnant right away. I thought it may take us awhile or we may need a pill, but I didn't think it would come to this! Three failed IUIs, surgery, and two failed IVFs. They had to force my husband's sperm in my eggs because it couldn't happen on its own. Our gametes couldn't play nicely together. The love of my life and my best friend. I feel like we've been robbed. Worst of all, I feel like I've stolen a chance at fatherhood from him. That eats at me like nothing else.

I told him before we even got engaged that I might have a hard time having children, but like I said, I didn't think it would be this difficult. He's meant to be a father. I know that we would be good at it, dammit! Not perfect by any means, but good. Whenever I see the pain in his eyes after another failed cycle, I feel a part of my heart fall out of my chest. He deserves so much more than what I can give him, and yet he still loves me. It's hard to feel deserving of that when my body keeps failing him.

I feel like I'm one of "those" people. The woman who can't get pregnant. What everyone fears and yet feels free to judge at the same time. "Give up and 'just' adopt." "Why do you keep doing that to your body?" "Maybe it just isn't meant to be." "I'm sure you can give all of your love to the children you work with." That last one came to my brother. I know he meant well, he's young, and he doesn't know what else to say, but if you could bitch slap someone through a text, I would have done that last night.

Yes, the snothead who leaves broken toys strewn all over my office, launches a block at me when I tell him "no," and somehow gives me ringworm in the 60 minute visit we have every 6 months is definitely benefiting from my childlessness.

We've decided to go to a different clinic. I know I can find a clinic that doesn't require me to leave a message for a nurse every time I call. I can see from reading everyone else's posts that there are clinics with accessible staff. The turnover is eating at me. I'm tired of being half naked on an examining table only for someone new to walk in and have a look at my lady parts. I'm sick of fellows and residents making decisions about my care all of the time. I hate that they only do three day transfers. I feel like we could get a lot of information by trying to culture a couple more days. The new clinic director used to run his own clinic - it bore his name. The stats at that place were abominable. 29% for women under 35. I wouldn't have stepped foot in that clinic and that dude isn't coming near my embryos again. Our transfer was full of tension because the old guy couldn't find where everything was. I can't shake the feeling that something went wrong that day. And you know what else? He put the speculum in and TWICE he let go of it when he was searching for buttons on the ultrasound machine. That effing hurts! The nurse actually made a little gasp and looked up at me the first time he let go.

Yes it's right across the street from my office, yes they had great stats in the past, yes I've bonded with some of the staff, and yes they are a big name, but my gut is telling me to run. J and I agreed in the beginning of this journey to go by the rule of threes. We did the three inseminations and we've now completed two fresh cycles. We intend to do a frozen, but if we need to do another fresh and it doesn't work out, we don't want to look back and wonder if we should have gotten another opinion. It's time for fresh eyes.

Which brings me to my questions. Have any of you ever had to move frozen embryos to another clinic in the area? How did that work? We're likely going to end up in a clinic 30 minutes from our current one. J is really anxious about this part. So is my mother for that matter. I'm pretty sure there is a solution. People must do this all of the time. We're pretty set on a clinic, but if you have any recommendations in the Triangle area I'd love to hear them. My final question is how to tell your clinic you're transferring care and how best to make sure all of your records get transferred. I'm one of those idiots who doesn't like to hurt feelings. I know - get over it. I don't mind when my patients get a second opinion, but they are usually passive aggressive about it and just end up disappearing. I'm going to have to say something and I don't know what to say!

Fortnight of Fun

I'm back from a much needed respite and visit with my mom.  I had some real BBQ (not the vinegar soaked crap they try to pass off here), wonderful conversations, a baseball game, and lots of wine.  My heart is full.  It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, though.

As I've mentioned before, I'm a Cradle Catholic.  I spent 13 years in Catholic school, including University.  I was a catechist for kids preparing for confirmation.  I served on the liturgical committee at my church and I've been a cantor for the better part of 25 years (Jeezle Pete I'm old).  My faith has always been a central part of my life, but it's hard to be a Catholic and a scientist.  Let's face it, Catholics have a pretty shitty track record when it comes to recognizing science as... well... a thing.

When we were faced with fertility treatments, I had a hard time reconciling religion and faith.  I read the Church's doctrine on treatment and I was astounded, horrified even, by the misconceptions and inaccuracies that brought the leaders of my church to condemn the choices I was making to treat a medical condition.  You can read my original posts on the subject here, here, and here.  Since then, I have learned to recognize that the laws of the Catholic church were written by men, not God, that humans are fallible, and we have the free will to make our own choices and decisions.  I was feeling pretty good with that.  I haven't been going to mass much, but mostly it's been because of the babies that are all over the place.  I go to a Franciscan parish, so we're a bit more liberal than your typical diocesan church.

Fast forward to this past Sunday when I was with my mom.  She wanted me to go to her new church with her.  It was just built near her house and she was talking about how beautiful it was.  Now, I went to this church when mass was in a warehouse while the new building was being built and I wasn't thrilled with it.  It's really conservative.  Many women wear chapel veils there and it was the first time I'd EVER seen a woman wearing one in the US.  I figured it wouldn't kill me.  I did make it out alive, but that's about all I can say about it!

When we walked in, the whole congregation was kneeling and chanting.  It was a prayer I had never heard before.  I asked my mom what it was and she said it was a pro-life prayer, from when she was a little girl.  I looked at the really young people who knew and were reciting this and thought, "Oh Lord, here we go."  We saddled into our pew and were joined shortly by the youngest sibling of a girl I went to grade school with.  She's one of 9.  My former classmate is already up to 5 of her own.  So now I'm trapped in a pew between St. Mom and captain fertility, in the most conservative Catholic church I've ever set foot in, during the "Fortnight for Religious Freedom" crap (sorry - it's crap.  Maybe our Bishops forgot what real religious persecution is), while I'm on BCPs before my second IVF cycle.  See where this is going?

The homily was about the insurance mandate, but this dude went even further.  In the same breath as talking about how the government's mandate on paying for birth control violated the Church's religious rights, he went on to describe how the Church's doctrine should be governing.  Like, really governing.  He actually said something alluding to things being all fine and dandy when the Catholic church was in political power back in the day.  Ummm, k.  Then he called on his parishioners to vote for politicians who would oppose gay marriage (he went into detail on that one), cloning, and stem cell research.  He said that, "stem cell research hasn't produced any cures" so we should be abandoning it anyway.  I wanted to jump up and yell, "Treatments, asswipe!  Loads of treatments!  You can't wipe a whole research platform off the map like that."  He did not mention IVF directly, but stem cell research and cloning are two of the reasons that the church's doctrine gives for condemning IVF.  Swear.  Cloning.  I was waiting for him to mention ART specifically, but his "protecting life from the moment of conception until death" diatribe said it all.  So there I sat, feeling like a leper in the one place that I should feel the most loved and supported. 

I managed to keep the tears to a manageable 2 streamers.

One of my mom's biggest fears in all of this is that I will turn my back on my faith.  Being the avoider she is, when we got in the car she kept talking about the music and the stained glass.  I just said, "Can we go to your old church when I come to visit please?"  She gave a cheery, "Okay.  The homily was a bit much."  I answered, "A bit?"  She said, "Okay, a lot.  Let's go get some lunch."

I'm still so lost when it comes to religion and faith.  Just when I think I've got it figured out, I plop my butt in a pew and it all goes out the window.  A beautiful stained glass window at that.

Prometheus

If you didn't see this movie yet and you actually want to for some ungodly reason, you probably don't want to read this post.  Or maybe you do so that you can get a heads up.  Not only did the storyline defy logical human behavior on several occasions... we're on to the spoiler now... you've been warned...

...but what the hell was up with the infertility line thrown in there?  Did she really have to be infertile? The story could have worked without that crap.  Unless the screenwriters were a group of THOSE people.  You know the ones.  The people who think that infertile people are infertile for a reason and shouldn't try to procreate. 

After all, if the situation presents itself, an infertile woman could, in all probability, become impregnated with an alien baby.

Tie A Yellow Ribbon...

A mom conversation:

Me: I've been reading up on Endometriosis and it's really frustrating.
Mom: Why's that?
Me:  Well, nobody knows anything!  They don't really know what causes it so the evidence behind the treatments is kind of random.
Mom:  Yeah, I read that Lupron thing is really for prostate cancer.  You guys need your own drugs.  There just isn't enough money to go around for all the causes anymore.  Especially resarch.  You know this.
Me:  Yeah, but it's still frustrating.  I feel like I need to get involved somehow and I don't know how.
Mom:  You need a thing.
Me:  A thing?
Mom:  Yeah.  To raise awareness.  Like the breast cancer people.  But no one wants to talk about menstruation.
Me:  There are groups, mom.  There's even a ribbon.
Mom:  A ribbon?
Me:  Yeah.  It's yellow.
Mom:  Isn't something else a yellow ribbon?
Me:  Yup.  Missing people, soldiers who have been deployed...
Mom:  Oh yeah.  "Tie a yellow ribbon" and all that.  That's dumb.  You need a different color.  It shouldn't even be a ribbon.
Me: Why not?  Missing people and autism have ribbons.
Mom:  Yeah, but you guys should be more like the red dress people.  You know how women's heart disease has the red dress campaign?
Me:  So we should have a yellow dress?
Mom:  Or a yellow tampon.
Me:  MOM!
Mom: You could even tie the string into a bow.

Gotta love the momma person.

Crab-a-honas

Photo Credit

I'm a crab-a-honas.

I just feel... annoyed!  By EVERYTHING!  I don't know if it's because this is my first cycle med free in 6 months or if I've just hit the emotional wall, but I've HAD IT.  With everyone and everything. 

I'm tired of hearing about people's kids.  Seriously.  It's on my nerves.  I know that we infertiles get a lot of smack about this subject, but here's the thing - IT'S WEIRD!  I wouldn't sit with a bunch of people who are not audiologists and talk at them about psychoacoustics.  It's rude.  They can't join in the conversation.  Not to mention the fact that it's boring drivel and who the hell wants to talk about psychoacoustics?  So why are we, as people who do not have children, expected to sit and listen to people drone on constantly about every little thing their darling does? 

I'm tired of smiling and pretending that I give a crap.  I don't give a crap.  I can't join in on the conversation.  You just made me feel like a social pariah... again... because I can't try to top the dumb thing your kid said with the brilliant thing my kid said.  All I can do is paste on a smile when I'm really doing is dying inside just a little more.  Because this is 900th time that I've smiled and tried to be polite.  This is the 736th time that I thought about saying something and having a conversation about kids and felt like a total poser.  This is the millionth time I was reminded of what I need so deeply and can't have. I feel guilty for not wanting to talk about your kid, but why should I?  You don't want to hear about how well my dog ate her dinner, do you?  I didn't think so.  Do you feel bad about that?  I didn't think so.

I'm crabby and I'm not apologizing.

Oh yeah - I got ZERO phone calls yesterday.  I called the RE today and he didn't call back.  He called me first, for the love!  Christ on a cracker.

"Just Give Up and Adopt"

I was filling my mom in on all the recent RE drama.  She was, of course, quite distraught at the whole invasiveness of the next steps.  She kept talking about how proud she was of us and how strong we are.  I'm beginning to learn that.

Then she said, "You know, people keep asking me why you guys don't just give up and adopt, but I just think you have to exhaust all of your options."

By "people" she means my Midwestern, Tea Party leaning, old as dirt aunts and uncles I'm sure.  And probably a cousin or two.  It really bothers me to know that people are out there talking about us behind our backs.  They are judging the choices we are making without having one iota of what we are going through.  They sit among their swarms of grandchildren and judge.  We're Catholic.  The swarms are large.

I filled my mom in on my thoughts, which are by no means new to her, nor are they anything she disagrees with.  She's used to me spewing out my thoughts argumentatively even though she totally agrees with everything I'm saying.  I repeated that adoption is a choice and is by no means "giving up."  That there is no "just" about any of this.  That adoption isn't the responsibility of the infertile.  That we have insurance coverage for IF, but not money to adopt.  And then I told her what I've been afraid to tell her for months:

"If this doesn't work out.  We're leaning towards just not having any kids."
"That's okay, Lisa."
"We want a biological baby, just like everybody else wants."
"Of course you do.  Just be open to changing your mind."
"We are, but right now... I just couldn't forgive myself if I wasn't sure I did everything I could."
"I know."
"Mom, we don't want to raise someone else's baby.  We want to raise our baby."
"That's okay, Lisa."
"Sometimes I feel really guilty about that, because I know the whole world thinks adoption is what you're supposed to do when you can't have a baby on your own."
"There is no reason to feel guilty.  Even if it doesn't work out, look at your life!  Look at your husband!  You will be fulfilled.  Everything will be okay, no matter what, and you will still be a wonderful person.  Even without children you ARE a wonderful person."

I cannot tell you how badly I needed to hear that.

Every mother of every woman who cannot get pregnant on their own needs to tell her that they are wonderful.  IF makes you feel like a failure as a woman, as a wife, as a member of the world.  When your mother tells you that despite your inability to make babies you are still wonderful to her, everything feels better for a moment at least.  And when she is accepting of your "child free plan B"... well hot damn.

Shout Out to the Universe

I don't like to throw negative thoughts out to the universe.  I'm not one of those "The Secret" followers and I'm not all into the power of positive thinking, I just don't want to mess with it.  When someone in a meeting sarcastically says, "Now watch, we're all gunna get fired," I'm the one who's going to yell out, "Nuh uh, sister.  You can't put that shit out into the universe.  Take that back!"  Just not willing to tempt fate.  It's become kind of a joke at work.  "Lisa says you can't put that shit in the universe!"

So today my coworker tells me that she has a hard time picturing me pregnant.  After my shocked and possibly offended looks, she explained, "No!  It's just because you're so tiny!"  So she went on to tell me that she's been making an effort to picture me pregnant every day, just to put it out into the universe.  I thought that was nice.  And it probably gives her a good laugh every day.  Have you ever seen someone under 5' all knocked up?  It's giggle worthy.

So today is day 4 of stims. My first ultrasound is tomorrow.  I'm starting to feel the bloat already, despite the insane amounts of water I'm drinking.  My pee is still yellow, too!  How the hell?!?!

Which brings me to my silver-lining IVF thought of the post.  I had to give myself a shot at rehearsal last night.  I sing with about 60 women and our director is a dude.  I've had to trigger at rehearsal before, but this pen thing is a bit more involved, what with the needle putting on and the clicking and crap.  I didn't want to lay everything out on the back of a toilet and I didn't want to be walked in on either.  So I snuck out and did it in the men's bathroom while the only dude around was busy... directing.  So my silver-lining is that IVF has allowed me to see a urinal for the first time.  They really need to replace the floors in front of those things more often.

Artwork

I have quite a collection of artwork from little munchkins.  Some of them are hilarious and might be used for blackmail one day.  This week, I got a new one, and it is the greatest picture a kid has ever drawn for me.

It's J, Scout, and me (Notice the height.  What a riot.).  It's lovey and sunshiney.

There are pictures of kids on my desk.  My nephews, some patients, friends kids... She asked who they are and I told her.  Not ONCE did she ask if I had kids.  Not ONCE did she say, "where is your baby."  I'm pretty sure this is the first time a kid went through the photos on my desk and didn't give me the inquisition.  I was so thrilled by the acceptance of my little family, that I took this picture home and put it on our fridge.  We might even frame it.  This kid is my new favorite.

This IS my family.  This is what I have right now.  And it's lovely.