Behold the dragon

Dragons. Webster's dictionary defines them as "mythical animal usually represented as a monstrous winged and scaly serpent or saurian with a crested head and enormous claws." The Chinese view dragons as symbols of strength, power and good luck. Referring to someone as a "dragon" is the ultimate in compliments, indicating that this person is outstanding and excels. But Dragons are also viewed in a negative light. European cultures view dragons as villainous reptiles who reek havoc and destruction. To encounter a dragon is the ultimate test in strength and survival, as these creatures are also cunning. It is fitting that these creatures are seen as a symbol of change.


This past Friday, I met with Dee to begin a series of painful therapy sessions. I'll write more in the near future about what we've been doing and provide an update. Prior to the session, though, we talked more about adoption and I began hitting her with a number of naive questions regarding starting the process, finding agencies, etc. Smiling, she proceeded to hand me two books to provide some basic information. The first one is called "Adoption After Infertility," by Patricia Irwin Johnston. Though an older book, Dee thought it would be a good place to start.


Following my meltdown after the adoption information meeting on Saturday, I picked up the book and began to read. The first section called the "Challenge of Infertility" opened with the metaphor of the dragon. As I read, I found myself nodding along with many of the observations from the author. Starting with the idea that people who are quick to throw adoption out as a viable alternative are usually the same who would not even consider taking a similar route. The fact that most people view the road to parenthood as a pretty pleasant and defined path: have sex, get a positive pregnancy test and 9 months later you're congratulating one another on the ability to pass on your genes. That infertility is really an uncharted territory for most, an unspeakable fear that many would prefer to ignore.


What struck me most in the first chapter was the statement by the author that infertility is not simply one loss. It involves multiple losses: 
1) Loss of control over many aspects of life 
2) Loss of one's genetic continuity linking past and future
3) Loss of joint conception of a child with one's life partner
4) Loss of the physical sensation of pregnancy and birth
5) Loss of the emotional gratifications of pregnancy and birth
and finally
6) Loss of the opportunity to parent


Infertility robs us of all of this. With the help of modern medicine, those who undergo treatment have the opportunity to regain all of these. But what if treatment fails? What about those of us who come to the end of the road for this part of the journey, finding that our arms are still empty? Adoption is most certainly a road to recover the last opportunity, but it's far from an easy journey.


I've been struggling a lot with all these losses recently. Struggling with the fact that the future is still very unclear. This Mother's Day was particularly hard, as I spent it as a bereaved mother, painfully aware of what milestones I would be checking off for both of my pregnancies if they had stuck. So like any animal in pain, I've been lashing out. In my head, I reasoned that Grey would be better off without me, giving him the ability to find a life partner who could give him children and ultimately happiness. I was pushing him away. 


Something happened, though. Something that was completely unexpected. After a particularly painful lash, I picked up Ms. Johnston's book and read a story about a woman who survived infertility, who resolved through adoption. Yet despite her happiness, she spent years mourning her body, which had failed her. Like me, she felt guilty that her husband suck beside her, reasoning that she was holding him back from a more fulfilling life. One day, this woman attended a RESOLVE conference and hear a male therapist talk about how men grieve differently from women. Following the talk, she went home to talk to her husband, asking him to share his thoughts. The conversation startled her, leading to a message that could not have been more self esteem enhancing or important to their marriage. The husband told his wife how carefully he had thought through all those offers and threats of divorce from the years before and how frightening they had been for him. That what he wanted (telling her from the ten-thousandth time, but which she had failed to hear) was not fertility, but her. That the thought of losing his wife, their relationship, their life together was more terrifying than the thought of losing his ability to have biological children.


A moment later, Grey came and sat be me, repeating pretty much the same thing. For the first time, I actually heard what he was saying. And in my heart, I knew I felt the same. That if the chose was a life with Grey and infertility or a life without Grey and fertility, I would chose Grey. 


Mother's Day was spent in the mountains, reflecting on this conversation as well as what I had been reading. As Grey and I hiked into the wilderness, I thought about how the Chinese written expression of "crisis," which contains the characters of two different words: danger and opportunity. 

Image from http://www.chinese-symbols.com/

Infertility is most certainly a crisis, filled with the danger of loss on so many levels. But what I realized while passing the families with small children on the trail was that infertility is also an opportunity. Grey and I have developed communication skills for that enable us to move swiftly through dangerous situations. Time and again, I witness couples on the trail where those communication skill did not exist, leading to potentially dangerous situations. There are many other things that came to mind during the hike, hard-won gifts that we never would have discovered if not for this experience; gifts that we are still learning about. 


Tonight, I am preparing for our next confrontation with our dragons. The dragrons that are dangerous: those of fear, loss, grief and pain. But also the dragons of opportunity. From the time they were conceived, we've referred to our embryos as dragons, as they were meant to be our baby born during the Year of the Dragon. With only four (4) left, that wish may no longer be a reality, but they may instead be the key to the door leading to our children, children who we will be united in the future. A bittersweet thought, but one that I hold on tightly to. 

Mother's Day Survival Guide

The past few days, my commute has been a silent one. Every time I turn on the radio, I'm bombarded with advertisements for Mother's Day. Ads for jewelry, ads for brunches, ads to "remember the special woman in your life." I'm beginning to feel like Scrooge.

So like any slightly deranged woman, I decided to do a Google search using some combination of the words "infertility," "Mother's Day" and "survival." The resulting links talked a lot about how painful this upcoming holiday can be for those living with infertility, but the advice for managing was pretty lack luster.

After a couple of days of this, followed by a moment where I almost rear-ended the vehicle in front of me due to a radio ad induced eye-roll, I decided I would create my own survival guide, posting the first draft here. Here's what I've got so far.

Mother's Day Survival Guide:
Let it out. I'm going to start here, since most survival guides list this one dead last. Look, infertility is hard. Very hard. So instead of suppressing the anger, sadness, frustration, worry, etc., do the one thing that so many well-meaning people will tell you not to do: just let it out. Give yourself a good 30-40 minutes to get the pain caused by this disease out of your system. Shed those tears, voice your worries, curse the universe. Write, exercise, scream. You get the idea. Because once you get it out, you'll feel better. You'll no longer have to worry about being sad the rest of the day because you've given yourself some time.

Acknowledge what you have accomplished. Living with infertility and loss is not for the weak. Anyone who's been on this path for any length of time has changed and will continue to be changed. Most of the time, this has only been for the better. You may have learned how to stand up for yourself, advocating your needs. Your marriage/relationship with your spouse, significant other, family and friends may have strengthened and deepened in ways you didn't know possible. You may have overcome your fear of needles. Whatever it may be, celebrate it. Take a moment or two to give yourself the acknowledgement you and your loved ones deserved for battling this disease. You've earned it.

Get out of the house. This one I can't stress enough. As tempting as it will be to spend the day in your pajamas watching bad TV, plan instead to spend the day doing some sort of activity. If seeing families is a trigger, plan a non-family friendly event. If being with family is a comfort, plan on spending some time. What ever it may be, get out of the house!

Celebrate the "mother" in your life. For those of you who have been reading this blog long enough, you'll know that my biological mother and I are not on friendly terms. That said, I do believe that Mother's Day is a time to celebrate those who have been "mothers" to you in some way. I also believe that one does not earn the title of "mother" simply by being able to birth a human being. There have been many amazing women in my life who have helped me become the person I am today. And I'm sure I'm not alone on this. So spend the day thanking your "mothers", be it spending time with them, shooting off a short email, or simply doing something that they taught you.

Distractions, distractions, distractions. I once read that an emotion lasts for about 10 minutes. The reason why people experience any emotion for longer periods is because they are "refiring" that emotion, be it with mental images or play inner dialogue. So like getting out of the house, find some way to distract yourself. Again, it's okay to be sad, frustrated, etc. But give yourself a break from all the madness too.

Treat yourself.  When all is said and done, Mother's Day is like any other holiday: sometimes just getting through is an accomplishment. So, at the end of the day, do something special. Take a bath, schedule a little "me" time, hog the covers. You get the picture. Reward yourself for making it through this day.

Finally, to all of you wonderful women: those dreaming of their children, those celebrating the news of a BFP, those awaiting results from treatment/a recent cycle, those mourning a loss/losses and those holding their children, either in their arms or in their hearts. May there be a moment in your reflections/celebrations this weekend of peace and hope. And may you all be wrapped in love.

Heal

I remember the first time I really injured myself. I was 10 yrs old and riding my bike down a steep hill. Somehow, I managed to gain too much speed and was not skilled at being able to handle the incline. I ended up crashing, sliding along the asphalt. The pain was blinding. I managed to make it to my location, and as I began to clean myself up realized how much pain I was actually in. Panicked, I called my dad who came to calm me down and help clean my wounds.

In the years since, I've managed to injure myself in more interesting and memorable ways. There was the climbing accident that almost took my life, the large metal door that slammed down on my arm, the car accident that even the paramedics marveled about me walking away from and, finally, the skiing accident that left me with a black eye on Valentine's Day. You get the idea. One thing I've learned over time with injury is that there's a pattern: the initial shock from being wounded, followed by the pain setting in and me realizing how severe the situation is. Then comes the healing; the aches and pains of my body trying to regain normalcy. Sometime with healing it's just a matter of ice, a bath and some TLC. Other times more aggressive measures need to be taken.

Following the happy news last week that left me convinced the universe was out to get me, I realized that I needed aggressive measures to begin recovery from this recent miscarriage. What I had done up to this point as simply to bandage the wound and hope that healing wound come quickly. What I failed to do was remove the cause of this injury, causing the wound to deepen and begin to fester. So, with Grey's initiation, I agreed to meet up with one of his coworker Tina, her husband and 11 month old daughter E for brunch.

Grey has known Tina for many years and has always been on friendly terms with her. A few months ago, though, he learned that she too was infertile and had recently resolved. They began talking, Tina sharing her story and Grey filling her in on our treatments. The more I learned about E, the more I hoped that we could have a similar outcome of having such a happy ending. Then January happened. And then March. With this past news, Tina offered to meet up for coffee to talk. And until Sunday, I was reluctant.

You see, E is adopted. And though I've been open to adoption, it wasn't until Sunday that I was ready to hear her story.

Meeting E gave me hope. To see this little girl who came from a less-than-ideal situation be so happy, energetic and vibrant. And to see her parents completely in love and filled with joy. Tina looked at me at one point and with tears in her eyes said something that left me choking back tears. "There was a period where I had this hole in me. This child-shaped blackhole. Now I feel filled."

Following brunch, Grey and I began to talk about how we would do this. Meeting E made me realize that I want to go the open adoption route. I want to meet the birth mother of my child, forming some sort of relationship so that one day I can tell him/her about how they came into the world. But most importantly, I felt like we may have found our calling, our path.

Today I had my meeting with Dee. Like all of you, she sympathized about the news from last week, telling me "it must feel like the universe has shit on you." How true. Yet telling her about E and my feelings had her smiling softly. I think she sees how this fits too.

Our session was spend attacking the image of my broken body, helping me remove the IF/loss shaped knife from my heart and cleaning the wound. She helped stitch my broken heart back together, wrapping it lovingly with fresh bandages and helping me find my new mantra.

It will be okay. Some way, some how.

Tonight I feel the dull ache from this most recent wound, but for the first time in a long time I no longer feel despair. Mind you, I'm not brimming with optimism and hope that this next FET will work and we'll bring home a biological child. But I do have hope that there will be a child. My faith is restored in wrapping my arms around them and I find myself day-dreaming of that moment, that day.

CD4. Five more days till the SIS. Tami-scrambled at Submerged sent me the BEST socks to wear that that appointment. May they work their magic.

Thank you Tami!!!

Hearts a mess

First off, thank you for all the wonderful comments on the last post. I needed them more than I knew. I'm still hurting from all of this, but slowly healing with each passing day. And a big part of that has to do with this community. Ladies, you are awesome.

The past few days, I've become more and more aware of the hole that exists in me. The years of failure topped with loss has left me questioning the process and what I want out of it. Mainly this idea of continuing treatments vs trying another path. Grey and I talked at length about all of this the other night, both agreeing that the hardest thing about this journey is not knowing what the outcome will be.

Last Sunday Grey and I had a phone conference with Dr. Optimism. Following my meltdown in the WTF appointment, we all decided it would be best to have a couple of weeks off to allow me to reset. During that downtime, I had a chance to do some reading and some thinking. The hope was to find some information or formulate a hypothesis for what had happened in order to determine how best to proceed. The two weeks after this were spent looking for any new research indicating that we had missed something. The end result: nothing.

My REs are making the best decisions based on all the information they have. They are doing everything that is medically indicated, if not more. If I was losing these pregnancies later on, then APA panels and looking at clotting disorders would be indicated. But I'm losing everything around 5 weeks. There is nothing in the literature about this. And it's so frustrating because I think we're missing something, but the only way to get at it involves doing research, getting at the basic biology of implantation failure. It's amazing how little we know.

But another thing has emerged from all of this, which is that we are quickly approaching the end of this journey and coming to the crossroads for the next paths. Grey and I have both weighed our options, looking at living child-free, choosing surrogacy, or pursing adoption. We've talked about adoption extensively, but it's always been a "when we get there" kind of thing. On the radar, but distant. Since the events of this month, though, things have begun to change. Adoption is no longer distant. And with recent signs, it's almost like it's meant to be.

Two nights ago, I awoke crying from a dream. In the dream, both Grey and I were in a hospital, surrounded by cries of women giving birth. Initially I was panicked, wondering why we were in this place when it was clear I was not carrying a child. Grey silently hugged me and then whispered "turn around." When I did, I found a women in white holding a small bundle. She walked towards me, beaming the whole way, and placed the bundle in my arms. Though I couldn't make out the face, I knew that this was our child. And as I pressed this small creature close to my heart, I could feel the hole inside me begin to fill. That it didn't matter where this child came from, because I already was in love with him/her.

Waking up was torture.

As I sit here and write, I'm very aware of the hole that exists in me. How empty I feel. I'm also completely aware that I have zero faith that this next FET will work. But I also know that if we don't pursue this that we can never really close the door on this chapter and move forward. Because I no longer have this image of my children having Grey's eyes and my nose.

My hearts a mess. How I long for the day when this hole is a distant memory.

NIAW: Don't Ignore . . .

First off, happy National Infertility Awareness Week! For anyone who is living with infertility or know someone who is, this week is an important one for raising awareness, educating the public about infertility and sharing the concerns of the infertility community. For more information, visit RESOLVE or the following links:

• http://www.resolve.org/infertility101 (Basic understanding of the disease of infertility
• http://www/resolve.org/national-infertility-awareness-week/about.html (About NIAW)

The theme for this NIAW is "Don't Ignore Infertility," and like many of my fellow bloggers, I wanted to kick off this week by tackling this year's blog challenge, starting the post with "Don't Ignore . . "  and filling in the blank as it relates to infertility and the journey to resolve.

I've been thinking a lot about this theme this past month. On a lot of levels, I've been very lucky to not be suffering in silence while living both with infertility and healing from both my miscarriages. This has been largely due to Grey, family, good friends and this community. But even with that, I'm still very aware of how ignored infertility and pregnancy loss are by society. This post by Wannabeamom demonstrated this very well and Grey has talked about coworkers' silence and discomfort follow the news of our second loss. In their discomfort of not knowing what to do, most people will ignore infertility and miscarriage/infant loss, assuming that we'll recover on our know if given time.

Infertility and pregnancy loss are both forms of death: death of children, death of dreams. Death of an opportunity to love. Hence it's not okay to push those we love, care about or work with who are suffering from this to the wayside. To simply think that with time and maybe even another baby that everything will be okay.

Unfortunately, this means that the burden of change is on us. That those living with this disease and pain must find the courage and strength to speak out to change things for the better. Not an easy task, especially while dealing with treatments, loss, a new diagnosis or simply trying to find your way through the darkness. But, as Mahatma Gandhi once said " a small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history." And considering we may very well only get this one life, this one chance, well: why not rock the boat.

So here's my list of "Don't ignores, " adding on to posts from fellow bloggers. If you have some of your own, I encourage you to share yours either below or on your blogs.

Don't ignore the pain of infertility:
I spent a lot of time early in this journey trying to surpress the anger and pain I felt. Add in the fact I had a lot of help from those who were clueless about what I was living with and I was a pretty jumbled person for awhile. Let's face it, pain is hard to face. To really look it in the eye and dig for the cause can be draining, both physically and emotionally. But if you ignore the pain, be it your own or someone else's, it's not going to go away. If nothing else, it will grow and become tangled with other emotions and issues, making it that much more difficult to resolve.

Don't ignore loved ones living with this disease or grieving from loss
I can't begin to express how important this is. I've had many well-meaning family members and friends who have suggested that I "just needed to relax" or "to just adopt" or offered unsolicited advice on how they were able to get pregnant like "drinking 3L of water a day while taking B12." The end result was always the same: I felt belittled and misunderstood. Infertility is a disease, recognized by both the World Health Organization and the CDC. Though there has been a lot of work showing the connection between the mind and body for helping improve treatment outcomes, for 1 in 8 couples in this country expanding their families will require medical intervention. In short, stop offering advice and ignoring the signs of infertility and start offering support. Gives us the opportunity to talk without interruption. When we lose a pregnancy or a cycle fails, send your condolences. Tertia has a great post on how to be a friend to an infertile, which I highly recommend. Most importantly, though, be there for us and surround us with love. Following my second loss, it was the emails, the notes, the care packages that got me through. I can't begin to describe how grateful I am to be surrounded by love during a time I needed it most. I get it, people living with infertility and loss can be a bit prickly at times, but most people who are grieving are.


Don't ignore the lessons from this journey
For anyone on this journey, there will come a day when you resolve. Be it through being able to conceive, through adoption or by choosing to live child-free. When you do, please do not forget what it's like to live with infertility and loss. While struggling to expand my family, I've unfortunately encountered infertiles who developed amnesia regarding this process. One couple told Grey and I that we just needed to wait until we turned 40 and then to try IUIs again (then wondered aloud why I started crying), another began emailing the my infertility support group weekly ultrasound photos with pregnancy updates, ignoring requests to stop. Even recently, a blogger I was following posted words of advice about how just relaxing resulted in her becoming pregnant, suggesting this was really all that needed to happen. All of these examples hurt because they came from people who should have known better. This journey will be unique for each person, but there are common things that will touch each of us. I'm not saying that one needs to continue to live the same emotional state as when they were dealing with infertility, but don't forget these lessons you learned while on your journey.


Don't ignore what you've accomplished
Finally, living with infertility and loss is not for the weak. The reality is, you will be changed from this experience. Most of the time for the better. You may have learned your stronger than you thought you were. Your marriage/relationship with your spouse, significant other or even friends and family may have strengthened in ways you couldn't have imagined. You may a greater appreciation for yourself and your life. Going through all of this may have given you the courage to make changes in other aspects of your life. What ever it is, celebrate those accomplishments. I never wish infertility and miscarriage/loss on anyone, but have been continually inspired by the people I've meet during this journey who have risen out of the ashes and go on to change the world in their own way. Celebrate your accomplishments.

With the beginning of NIAW comes a sense of hope that I've been missing for the past month, feeling that despite the pain for the last 2.5 yrs, there will be a happy ending to this journey. A main part of that hope comes from knowing we are not alone. That with the recognition for infertility and pregnancy loss comes the hope that one day soon, we'll have a better understanding of this disease. And that no one will have to suffer silently and alone.

This helps

Welcome everyone from ICLW! For those of you who are visiting for the first time, brief history on me. My husband Grey and I have unexplained infertility and have been trying to expand our family for 2.5 yrs. This past December we proceeded with IVF and received the news the cycle was successful. 4 days later, on New Year's Day, we learned something was wrong and a week later were diagnosed with a blighted ovum. Following this news, we decided to immediately try again. On March 14, we did FET#1 and 9 days later received the news that my beta was 306 and climbing. 5 days later, the spotting and cramping started. Despite this, my HCG levels climbed and we were told that everything would be okay. On Friday March 30, I passed a very large clot and the next morning my cramps stopped. On April Fool's Day we learned my HCG levels dropped from 8225 to 1298. Diagnosis was completed miscarriage, possibly of twins. The past month has been spent with Grey and I trying to find our way to recover and rebuild. 

A few days ago, the aftermath of this past miscarriage began to hit Grey. I've learned from this journey that he tends to process emotions after the dust settles. A response that is very different from mine. Anyway, this past Thursday was a hard one for him. He woke up angry at the world and angry at life. I worried about him as he biked to work, hoping for some sunshine as well as bike-friendly drivers. In the middle of the day, he sent me an email title "This helps me." The words brought tears to my eyes, as they've taken on a new meaning.

Tonight I am sharing them with all of you. Cyndi Lauper is an incredibly wise woman.

You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged
Oh I realize
Its hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness inside you
Can make you feel so small

But I see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

Show me a smile then,
Don't be unhappy, can't remember
When I last saw you laughing
If this world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
You call me up
Because you know I'll be there

And I'll see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

(When I last saw you laughing)
If this world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
You call me up
Because you know I'll be there

And I'll see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show

Your true colors
True colors
True colors
Shining through

I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

Changed

First off, thank you for the responses on the last post. I've had a chance to calm down and reflect on this issue. The decision was to not go to the meeting last night (I'm voting with my feet) and instead try to get into contact with RESOLVE about my concerns. Thing is, I'm having trouble doing that! Tried finding an email address or a contact for the WA chapter with no luck. I did call the main office today and am hoping for a response, but I think I'm missing something. If someone has a suggestion, please let me know. 

A couple of nights ago, I was looking back on photos taken before Grey and I jumped on the TTC bandwagon. In a lot of ways, life was simpler: we both had an idea of what we wanted out of life and the paths to obtaining those goals were generally clear. We had our rough moments (most people do), but my motto was "with a little hard work" whenever attacking a task that seemed difficult.

The past 2.5 yrs. have changed all of that. Looking back, I now realize how naive I was with this "sunshine and roses" line of thinking. Though it is true that a happy-ending to this story is entirely possible, what's also undeniable how changed both of us already are and will forever be because of this journey.

On some ends, this change has been for the better. Grey and I were always close, but living with infertility has strengthened our marriage in ways I didn't know possible. He has journeyed to the pits of hell with me, standing beside me during moments where it would have been easier to simply walk away. Before this experience, I was simply happy to be married to someone I loved. Now there isn't a morning I don't wake up and thank the universe to bringing this man into my life. Many other things have changed too, like learning to put the needs of myself and Grey first, learning to be more patient, etc. All these life lessons that would not have come if we had not been on this path.

But not everything has been for the better. Since losing this second pregnancy, I've become hardened. The grief has caused me to be less sympathetic to the problems of others. Some of this is legit, as it amazes me how much unnecessary drama people allow into their lives. But some of it makes me wonder if the scar tissue has turned into a thicken hide, making it very hard to connect with others.

I realize what I'm talking about isn't a new concept. There are many posts from so many amazing women in this community that cover this from many different angles. They do a better job of dissecting this than I can hope for. But what I will add is how foreign it feels to be so detached from the world. Almost like something has been broken inside of me.

As women, we learn from an early age that our role is to be "the caregiver." We spend much of our lives learning to put ourselves second for our families and loved ones, making sacrifices to help promote other's well-being. My childhood conditioning is very much to that extreme, as I was taught that my problems had to wait because "so and so" had more pressing issues that needed to be dealt with. The rational is that we are supposed to be "strong." With any hurt or disappointment, the first words of encouragement are how strong and beautiful we are. These words are meant to encourage perseverance and pushing through. Helping us find the will to reload our burdens and move forward.

Since this miscarriage, I don't feel "strong" anymore. Frankly, I feel like I've crumbled. My trust in my body has been greatly shaken and I worry at times about my sanity. Hence the hardened feeling. Because I am like that animal who, having survived being beaten time and again, is now surrounded by humans who don't understand how frighten I am. And yes, I've already snapped at many hands.

This post has no point other than the fact that I'm trying. I'm trying daily to move forward and on. Because the only other choice is to stay in this current state and it's not a place I want to be. But with the trying comes the realization that I am forever changed and what that means. How deep and ugly these scars truly are.

We have our follow up appointment with Dr. Optimism on Friday. And both Grey and I have ideas for a plan. The end of this 2 week wait is in sight. 

Punched

I remember the first time I saw Gattaca. Being your average science geek, I was immediately engrossed by the story line, following the hero as he fought to achieve his dreams in a society that dictated class based on one's genetics. What made Gattaca particularly provocative was the idea that one could use preimplantation genetic diagnosis (PGD) to select embryos with desirable traits. The movie goes on to show class separation for these designer babies from those conceived through traditional means, painting PGD as a tool for discrimination and portraying reproductive technologies in less than desirable light.

It's no secret that reproductive technologies are still viewed in a negative light. I've written before about the bad rap IVF gets from those who have not been touched by infertility. PGD is an even hotter issue, thanks to movies like Gattaca. The idea that one can create "designer babies" sends your average individual off on a tirade about the evils of "playing God." Rarely do the look at the actually uses of PGD, such as screen for embryos that are chromosomally abnormal and helping eliminate detrimental diseases such as cystic fibrosis. Mainly because many are ill-informed.

This morning, I received the following email from the WA Chapter for the Association for Women in Science (AWIS):

Association for Women in Science (AWIS) Invites you to
Join us for a Discussion about Bioethics, this Wednesday, April 18th.
Bioethics Discussion on Human Genetic Engineering: Why I Love Designer Babies?
Featured Speaker:Kathyrn Hinsch - Founder and President of Women's Bioethics Project

I felt like I had been punched.

A quick Google search on Ms. Hinsch reveals a biography of someone who has what I consider a superficial view on the subject matter. Add in flyer attached to this email, where she uses Gautam Naik's Wall Street Journal article to launch into her dissection of the "designer babies" topic and I found myself growing angrier by the minute.

The more I read, the more it became clear that this women has no idea the horrors of infertility. I have no idea if Ms. Hinsch has children, but I suspect that her ability to conceive and bear them has never been called into question. Add in the fact that her flyer does nothing to talk about PGDs current uses and we now have a discussion that is ripe of misinterpretation.

I feel Ms. Hinsch is adding yet another layer of discrimination against the ALI community. That her discussion on Wednesday will result in a one-sided argument against not only PGD, but fertility treatments in general. That anyone who pursues IVF will be villainized and considered "selfish." All of this coming from a majority who will not be faced with traumas caused by infertility and loss. And I'm not happy about it.

Tonight, I'm trying to figure out what to do. Part of me wants to attend this discussion solely to punch as many holes in Ms. Hinsch argument against PGD. But the other part of me feels that this may be exactly what she's hoping for. After all, everyone remembers a heated discussion. In addition, I'm still in the process of healing. As wimpy as that sounds, I know I'm not at my best, meaning it's quite possible that I'll do more harm than good. In addition, it's entirely possible that I'm making a mountain out of a mole-hill.

In short, I'm asking for help. I need some advice on how to proceed. What would you do?

Getting back on the roller coaster

The main focus for the past couple of weeks have been healing and getting back into work. Work has been wonderful for the healing process, as I've been able to focus on my students and my lesson plans. Still, in the back of my mind, I've been thinking about the pending FET. Thinking about when this will happen, what it will take to prepare and trying not to worry about the outcome. Because of work I haven't had a lot of time to think about this.  Until today.

This morning, I received a phone call from the nurse that handles the IVF schedule for my clinic. I've said it before, but I'll say it again, I been very fortunate to find this clinic because of how outstanding the doctors, nurses and staff are. So, without surprise, the conversation with E went quickly, was to the point and very informative. Basically it comes down to this: I'm on the calendar for a FET in the middle of March. Seems so very far away, but in reality it isn't and there's a lot to do.

1) I need to go in for a blood draw on Friday to check my progesterone levels.  They want to see where I'm at in my cycle.
2) If I'm in the luteal phase, then I start Lupron on Sunday. You read that right, THIS SUNDAY!
3) Grey and I are being sent consent forms.  We need to sign both of these and have them notarized in order to proceed with the cycle.
4) At the end of Feb, I go in for another mock transfer as well as a SIS (saline infused sonogram). Basically, because of the D&C, they want to check that my uterus is healing properly and then they need to repeat the measurements for the transfer.  Considering all the posts I've read about transfers-gone-wrong, I'm more than happy to chug a couple gallons of water in order to go through the procedure again.
5) If everything checks out, my first ultrasound will be at the end of February.

The nice thing about all of this is that I won't have as many appointments nor are they worried about pushing my ovaries. Plus the drug regiment is lighter, resembling what I was on after retrieval through to the D&C. Simpler and calmer.

Yet, after getting off the phone with E, I immediately felt the familiar wave of anxiety begin to rise. And immediately all I could feel was a sense of dread knowing that I would once again be allowing my life to be dictated by injections and pills. The madness of it all.

I've spent most of the day in a cloud because of this. Yes, I want to be a mother more than anything, but I also don't want to go through this limbo again; it's hard and exhausting. So as I made my way through the day, I slowly came to the realization that if I was going to survive around round of this roller coaster ride, I needed a few things to change.

1) I will schedule some time for myself to meditate and relax each week. Getting back into meditation on a daily basis will be essential for staying sane on a daily basis, but I also think I've earned that weekly bubble bath.

2) I will start jogging again. I was actually pretty good at this last semester, but fell out of practice because I was so bloated from the stims. Not an issue this time, so no more excuses.

3) I will make a point to do non-fertility related activities.  This one I've already started doing with the help of colleagues.  I actually had a chance to hang out at the faculty club with other co-workers last week. I was a lot of fun and very needed. Clearly that needs to happen more often.

4) Dinner parties need to start happening again. I figure bribing friends with the promise of good food and wine is a good place to start.

5) I will make peace with this situation.  This one is by far the hardest because this is kinda it.  If this cycle fails, then things need to change.  As I've said in previous posts, I don't have it in me to keep doing treatment for many years. I'm too impatient.  So, while all of this is happening, I will take some of Grey's coworkers up on their offer of coffee to begin exploring adoption. This doesn't mean that I will forever close the door on treatment (hell, something may come up that suggests success from another round), and I reserve the right to back out of this previous statement that this is the end. But I'm also not strong enough to spend another Christmas doing the same thing over and over again.

So ladies, as of next Sunday, I'm officially back on the coaster, riding through those crazy loops and hoping that at the end there will be good news and joy. G_d help us all.

Reflections

Over the last couple of days, I've been reading post after post reflecting on 2011. Some have been filled with anger, others have been hopeful for the future and some have been somewhere in between, talking about happy times as well as frustrations with this journey.  But there is a common theme of wondering what 2012 will hold.

The last three years have been miserable for Grey and me. 2009 was when we both were diagnosed with mono, I had a close call with death while rock climbing, all my experiments failed and I wondered if I would actually make it out of graduate school. It was also the year that the baby bug hit and though I got to meet my niece and nephew and spend some wonderful days with BIL and his wife, I was filled with jealousy as I knew Grey wasn't ready.  All that changed at the end of our trip to Washington DC to help the new family, so though 2009 was rough, it ended with a note of hope.

2010 started off terribly. As we were toasting in the new year, I watch a golden retriever, who's owner's were stupid enough to leave him outside during the firework display, escape from his yard and ran down a major arterial. He was almost hit multiple times by on-coming traffic and though we tried to help, he was off into the night before we could get to street level. It was an omen for things to come. Months passed with more and more friends, coworkers and my 19 yrs old, unemployed cousin becoming pregnant while we were trying. We ended the year with me having a mental breakdown and beginning to look for support. 2010 was the year that I joined a forum of women who were trying to go through TTC calmly and since some of those women have become some my biggest sources of support and strength. It was also the year a prominent committee member announced that I had completed all the requirements for my PhD, but need to focus now on my paper and the next step. After 5 1/2 years, the end of graduate school was in sight.

2011 has been bittersweet. Grey and I were diagnosed formally with "unexplained infertility" at the beginning of February and treatment was immediately put on hold so that I could focus on finishing my degree.  That's still a decision I regret. In addition, my grandfather, who I was very close to, passed away. A day before I was to fly back to the midwest for the funeral, my sister called to announce that she was pregnant. I did find a support group that focused on teaching meditation and relaxation techniques in order to improve fertility and cope with the process (if you haven't read Ali Domar's "Conquering Infertility," I highly recommend it), but I found that the group wasn't a source of support when we were released for our group leader's guidance. 2011 is also the year we began treatment, with three back-to-back IUIs that failed. That was a turning point for Grey, as he really did believe that simple intervention was all it would take. Despite this pain, 2011 was the year I began to find my voice regarding infertility. We began telling people our story and seeking support from family and friends. Some failed miserable (my family in particular) and had to be excised from our life so that would could survive. Others surprised us and have become our rocks. Probably most surprising was finding support from unexpected places: from people in the blogger sphere (Jay, I'm thinking of you), from those in online forums (Keisha, Shelley, Gina, Libby, Jacqueline, Nicole, Leslie and Marisa) to those in real life who I never expected. With this new reality has come death, but there's also been birth.  Through all of this and quite a bit of encouragement, I finally bit the bullet and started this blog. Just in time for IVF. It's by far the best decision I've ever made as I've been blessed to find all of you.

I have no idea what 2012 holds for me. I'm scared to think that far ahead. My second beta was yesterday = 124. Not exactly double the first beta = 66; but Dr. Practical is happy with the number. Tomorrow is beta #3. The thing is, I'm no longer naive; I know all too well that all of this could be over tomorrow. And outside of being a bit more tried and hungry, I have no symptoms. But I also know that stressing about it isn't going to change things for the better. And I've learned that I really do need to give up this thought that I can, otherwise I will drive myself to madness.

So, 2012, bring it. I know there will be moments of sorrow (there always are), but I also know that I'm stronger because of this path I've been on. There is nothing you can throw at me that I can't handle because I won't be alone. And I'm determined that there will be moments of joy; moments that I can look back on and treasure for the years to come.

Doubts

I hate being a pessimist. Nothing is attractive about all the self-loathing and the second-guessing. When I was younger, I longed to be one of those girls who's so confident that "everything will work out for the best" or "though the rain falls, the sun will peak it's head out from behind the clouds soon." Yeah, I hated those girls.

My problem: to date, this cycle has been going really well. I'm currently at CD11 and have 22 follicles. That's right, 22. Any doubt I have about their existence is continually squashed by the lower back pain, the feeling of two cue balls pressing up against my kidneys and stomach and the constant feeling of nausea.  E2 level is 4728 as of this morning. We're triggering tonight for a retrieval on Wednesday morning. For all practical purposes, I should be very hopeful and optimistic. After all, the medical staff is elated. Yet instead, I'm finding myself waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Being on this path long enough results in hearing a number of IVF stories: there's the ones where everything was perfect from the beginning leading to a very happy ending. Everyone on this path wants one of those. Then there's the ones where things didn't look that great going in, but resulted in a healthy happy baby. I've done my share of cheering for those. And then there's the stories that people talk about in the third person or are not told till years later. The stories of the optimal cycle that failed.

Tonight, I'm finding myself on the edge of a cliff, getting ready to dive head-first into this next step.  Though I know that there is nothing I can do to change the future, I'm absolutely terrified. I'm terrified that in the next few days everything that I knew will be changed. There's a chance that all of this will work out wonderfully and the thought of that brings tears to my eyes. And yet the eternal pessimist looms, pointing a gnarly finger at the other possibility. I really wish that I had a bat to beat her up, knocking her out of commission, if just for one night. So that for once, that sense of caution and preparation for the worst was gone. That I could for the first time in two years embrace the unknown, excepting whatever the outcome would be.

Sometimes when you lose, you win

Many years ago, I took a literature class that assigned Dante's Divine Comedy.  This epic poem describes Dante's journey through Hell, Purgatory and Heaven, representing a soul's journey to find "God."  As a final assignment, we were asked to analyze and compare one part of the Divine Comedy with a modern and/or popular form of art.  "What Dreams May Come" had just opened and, being a rather smug college student, I decided to write my paper comparing the Inferno to this movie.

For those of you who aren't familiar with this film, it's based on the book by Richard Matheson and is billed as a supernatural drama.  The story focuses on the journey of two soulmates, Chris and Annie, following tragedy and sorrow, leading to hopeful new beginnings. The story starts with the pair meeting in Italy while on vacation, followed by a scene of their wedding.  We then get a flash of their idyllic life together with their two children.  This all ends, following a fatal car crash.  The wife, Annie, blames herself for the accident, believing that if she had been driving that day, their children would still be alive, lending her to a complete mental and emotional break-down.  The movie jumps between scenes in the past and present, where the couple has pulled through this tragedy.  It isn't long after, though, that Chris is killed and begins his journey through the afterlife and, ultimately, back to Annie.

There's one scene of that movie that I've been playing over and over in my head as I've been reflecting on our journey.  And I'm been thinking about it all the more as I see many posts from fellow bloggers talking about the despair they feel with having to be on this road.  How alienated they feel from those around them, especially their partners.  It wasn't that long ago that Grey and I were constantly fighting over infertility: him feeling that I was overreacting all the time; me feeling alone and pushing him away while hurting so badly, day in and day out.  In the movie, because of her despair of losing Chris and her children Annie commits suicide. Because suicide is a sin against nature, she is sent to Hell.  Angered over this, Chris journeys to Hell to rescue her, traveling through the different circles.  When Chris finds Annie, he finds her in a state of being unable to remember anything.  In his attempt to help her remember, he recalls a conversation that originally saved their marriage.

During this discussion, when Annie was originally institutionalized following the loss of their children, he reveals that he is part of the problem.  Because he couldn't join her in her grief.  It is only after that realization that they are able to move forward.  And it is because of that realization again in Hell, and his decision to stay with her in damnation, that ultimately saves them both.  

The last couple of days have been hard for Grey.  Infertility has taken such a toll on both of us, but it has only been within the last few months that we've both been on the same page.  Watching him as he grieves and deals with feelings of despair has been so difficult.  It hurts me so much to see him hurt like this. Partly because I can't do anything to alleviate the pain. Partly because I understand it so well. Yet, reflecting back on that scene, I also realize that his joining me in my grief is actually a good thing, as we are now in a place where we can actually comfort one another.  Just as Chris says to Annie, sometime when you lose, you win.

Today is a better day for both of us.  We've been feeling more hopeful following the news from yesterday morning.  But doubt still creeps in, along with daily reminders of the fact we have to struggle.  The hardest part of all of this has been remembering to hold fast to one another as we travel through our own revision of Hell.  

The great embryo debate

Okay, just to get this out of the way: I had my suppression check this morning and we are good to go!!  17 follicules and the RE on duty (I have three at this practice) decided to up my dosage of Gonal-F.  So I'm waiting patiently for the phone call for instructions for tomorrow.  

Before the ultrasound, I had a very tense discussion with the RE.  As I mentioned, there are three practicing REs at my clinic. Of the three, the youngest,  Dr. Practical, is my least favorite (The other two, Dr. Sage and Dr. Optimism are awesome!!).  It was expected that any serious discussion with Dr. Practical would be tense, as her bed-side manner is not very good.  The topic of discussion: Single-embryo transfers.

For those of you not familiar with this option, Elective single embryo transfers or eSETs, is a procedure where one embryo is transfered following fertilization or thawing.  Usually it is a high quality embryo that is selected from a large set of high quality embryos.  The whole push for this comes with the knowledge that a multiples pregnancy is dangerous, both to the mother and the fetuses.  And even after birth, there are long-term health consequences for the children.  

Grey and I are very well aware of this.  My BIL and his wife were able to conceive fraternal twins naturally and, though the pregnancy went as well as could be expected, there have been a lot of complications.  The delivery was very hard on my BIL's wife (she lost a lot of blood) and recovery took a lot longer than usual despite it being vaginal. Shortly after the twins were born, we flew out east for an emergency visit when we learned our two-month-old niece would be requiring surgery due to the fact that she wasn't able to keep anything down (luckily, the surgery was cancelled at the last minute).  And when we got there, we were immediately immersed into a world that had been turned upside down.  It took four adults to manage two less-than-healthy infants and though I loved every minute of it (feeding them, rocking them to sleep, holding them), it was obvious that this was a very stressful situation for the parents.  Even two years later, life revolves around what is best for the twins.  Though they are both healthy and happy, my BIL and his wife are still dealing with the aftermath of their birth and my niece still requires physical therapy.  

Knowing this, and also knowing the research, avoiding twins is something that is at the fore-front of our minds.

But I also know that single-embryo transfers have a lower rate of success.  For my own selfish reason, I don't  want to blow our chance of getting pregnant because we only transferred one. It's only slight (5%), but it's still there.  In addition, I have no idea how I will respond to the drugs, if we'll get eggs and if they will fertilize. And if we are so lucky to end up with embryos, we won't know the quality TILL they are being cultured.  

So even though Dr. Practical wanted to get a verbal agreement from me that if we have high quality 5-day-old embryos, that I would only do a single transfer.  She pushed, I stalled.  I stalled because I'm not willing to verbally agree on a hypothetical.  And it was obvious that this wasn't what she wanted to hear and the pressure to make a decision increased.  Thank G-d Grey was there.  He immediately started firing off questions and, between the two of us bombarding her, we made it clear that she wasn't going to be getting an answer today.

After the ultrasound, Grey and I talked.  I'm amazed at how well he is able to break down the situation, offering different hypotheticals for each outcome.  He agrees with me that no decision can truly be made until we have the data following the retrieval.  But he also told me that he'd really like to avoid twins.  And that, if everything is optimal, that eSET may be for us.  

I'm still processing all of this.  And as this cycle begins, I know that over the next few days I'll get more and more data to help us make this decision.  But right now I'm blocking it.  Partly because I don't like generating multiple hypotheses without any data to back it up but also because I'm scared that I'll jinx myself.  That after all this talk, I'll won't even end up with embryos and all of this will have been pointless.

Am I being selfish?

First off, thank you all for your feedback yesterday.  It helped guide me as in the decision making process. I decided after a lot of thought to simply send a card to the family, expressing our sympathy.  I don't know where the funeral is being held and contact the mother would equal a long conversation trying to pretend that everything is fine, which right now it's not.  So the card will do.

A fellow blogger, Gee, recently wrote a fantastic post that I wanted to expand on.  The second to last paragraph touched on a persistent thought that I've had since our diagnosis.

On sleepless nights I worry about this, that my overwhelming desire to be a parent is not because I think I would be a good one but because I'm looking to fill some inner deficiency. That pursuing extraordinary measures to conceive is the height of selfish, adolescent self-centeredness. That I'm just jealous and obsessed and petty and everything an adult shouldn't be.

Or, the way I think about it: Do I want to be a parent simply because everyone else is?  Is my desire to have a child selfish?

I'll be honest, there are many days, especially as the end of this month nears, that I have my doubts.  We're filled with this image of Mother from the time we are little.  This person gives of herself daily, putting herself second to meet the needs of her children.  Everything she does, every thought, every action is all meant to protect her children, allowing them to prosper.  In short, a Mother is a selfless person.  And as I struggle with infertility, I feel that my actions are more self-serving.  I've doubted that I really want children, that my pursuit of treatment is simply to fulfill a selfish desire.  And that through my actions, I am unworthy of having someone call me "Mom."

But in my calmer moments, I reflect on the fact that most fertile women probably never ask themselves these questions.  Or if they do, usually it's after their toddler has hit the terrible twos.  And when I actually watch most mothers, it becomes obvious that they are not entirely self-less; that their relationships with their children is fulfilling a need to love and be loved.  Sure, they make sacrifices, but their are also many rewards.  Despite what we are lead to believe, motherhood is not an altruistic act; it is both selfless and selfish.  And that's the way it should be.

The cruelty of infertility is that it robs us of the chance to love.  Suddenly, something that is so pure and simple is gone and we begin a journey filled with uncertainty.  Some of us will be lucky to resolve our infertility through pregnancy (either through treatment or not), others will come to a cross-roads where they will need to pursue adoption or decide to live child-free.  But one thing is certain, to make this journey, to make these decisions, requires that we be selfish and self-less.

A purely selfish person wouldn't spend thousands of dollars on fertility treatments.

A purely selfish person wouldn't subject themselves to cycle after cycle of drugs that alter your body physically and emotionally.

A purely selfish person wouldn't muster the courage to congratulate a friend/coworker/family member following a pregnancy announcement, and then cry quietly in private later.

A purely selfish person wouldn't spend hours filling out paper work for an adoption agency nor subject themselves to the months of waiting and uncertainty.

A purely selfish person wouldn't even consider parenthood.  It's not on their radar.
(BTW: I've met couples who made the decision early on that they did not want children.  I don't put them into the same category as a selfish person because children were on their radar.  There is a difference)

Everything is do in life has some element of self-interest.  We rely on our environment to produce the food eat, provide the water we drink.  We require shelter to protect us found the elements and clothing to protect our bodies.  And we also require love. Without love, life is hollow.

My main point of this rant is that I think anyone who has walked for a little while on this path has reflected on whether they are pursuing parenthood for selfish reasons.  Ultimately, in my opinion, it's that reflection will make/has made them better parents.  We have to work harder than most to build our families.

  

Mission: Optimism

The past few days I've been riding the emotional roller-coaster.  Some moments I'm incredibly optimistic for the future, seeing good signs and hearing stories of hope at every turn.  Other moments, not so much.  Part of the lows are being fueled by the drugs on currently on, another part is the weather, but the truth is the doubt and pessimism are coming from a part of my subconscious.

On October 31, results from a study were released concluding there is a link between mood and mortality.
Headlines on this research titled "Happy people live longer" began to circulate and many began to speculate why.  Many wanted to know how this data was collected, as there is really no standard to measuring "happiness." But where a lot of attention went was wondering what choses these individuals were making that was extending their lives. Did they take more vacations? Laugh more?  Did they turn down that career-forwarding job and opt for something that was less stressful?

It's no secret that there's a direct connection between mood and fertility.  Alice Domar, one of the leaders in the field of mind/body intervention just published a report showing a significant difference between IVF success rates between the control cohort and the cohort that participated in a mind/body program.  The connection is so striking, that RESOLVE has many links on its website promoting finding support following diagnosis and prominent bloggers, like Keiko Zoll, began talking about the importance of remaining optimistic during treatment.  Women in the trenches of infertility are encouraged to laugh more, focus on the positive and even quit overly stressful jobs, all in the hopes of boosting their fertility.  Some may scoff and announce "BS," but the data is hard to deny.

So, based on this, what's my issue?  I know all of this. I've participated in a mind/body program.  And I love doing yoga!  The problem?  Well, like most pessimists, I'm lazy.  It's been easier to feel sorry for myself and focus on what I don't have.  A big part of it is that I'm tired of defeat: I've charted, peed on more HPTs than I ever dreamed of, meditated, avoided alcohol and even say a psychic (not my proudest moment).

It wasn't until this morning, with help from Jay,  that I realized I've been pouting.  Sure, it's not fair that half of all pregnancies in this country are unplanned and that most of expectant mothers have never experienced (and never will) the heartache of longing for a child.  But that's not where my focus should be.  My focus needs to be on the fact that though I'm here, there's hope.  There's a good chance of all of this working, so I need to stop focusing on all the things that could go wrong and instead focus on where I'm currently at.

In the spirit of that, today is being spent rallying support, opening up to friends and busting out the knitting needles.  Grey and I are planning a ski trip and preparing for Thanksgiving.  And instead of focusing on what I don't have, I'm choosing to focus on what I do: an amazing husband, two awesome furbabies, a job I love and hope.

No baby on board

Throughout this journey, there are many things that, once not on the radar, immediately become a reminder one's inability to reproduce.  Baby bumps, Cadalac strollers at the park, open debates about breastfeeding during work hours, etc.  All of these, for the most part, I've been able to handle.  My main conclusion has been that none of these things are meant to actively broadcast one's ability to reproduce to the rest of the world.

There is one exception to this, though.  Baby on board stickers. Within the past 12 months, it seems like the stickers themselves are proliferating like rabbits, attaching themselves to vehicles from all walks of life; from Lexus SUVs, Toyotas & Hondas all the way to Ford F150s, they're everywhere. I'll admit, pre-infertility I really wouldn't have given it a second thought, but now I find myself filled with rage simply at the sight of them, feeling as if they are taunting me.

The past couple of months, these sightings have become more and more of a problem.  Only a few months ago, I was your typical pedestrian/bus commuter. I was happy to enjoy my 20 mins walks to and from the bus stop, then spend the next 20 minutes catching up on reading or enjoying the scenery during the ride to work. Most importantly, I was happy to have someone else do the driving.  With the fall, though, that all change when I started my new position.  Suddenly I've found myself driving over 2 hours a day to and from work, putting me in the midst of drivers from all walks of life.  And that was when I became aware of the plethora of these stickers.  Seems I can't even escape reminders of infertility while on the road.

I've been thinking about this more lately, as we start our IVF cycle.  What is it about these stickers that as me seeing red?  My best guess is that the whole purpose, from my point of view, is to advertise to the world why you're so special.  It a look-at-me-I-have-a-baby attitude that makes me think the parents are less concerned with the safety of their child and more interested in special treatment.  Kinda like the "my child is an honor student" stickers.

But because of infertility, it now goes deeper than that for me.  These stickers are a painful reminder that I don't have a baby on board.  That after 2 years of trying, we are no closer to bringing home a child.  And on that end, it sucks.  I can deal with the bumps, the strollers, the unexpected pregnancy announcements and even the questions.  None of it is meant to be malicious.  But to be reminded of that painful reality while in traffic is a bit too much.