The good, the bad and the ugly

Change. The very nature of the process is scary. With change comes uncertainty, risk and vulnerability. Because of this change is stressful. Though there's always the promise of a good outcome, there's also the threat of messiness and loss along the way. These past couple of weeks have been one filled with lots of change. Grey and I have been busy making plans for the future, focusing on healing and transitioning for the next steps. With all of this has come an emotional piece that neither of us were truly prepared for.

There's been the good. Therapy with David and Dee has been helpful at identifying key issues and allowing us to work together as a couple. What we're learning is how strong our bond is and how both of us have not only the same fears and worries, but also the same dreams and goals. With the help of David, we are learning how to communicate all of this better and to find ways to overcome the damage caused by external stressors and toxic individuals. In addition to this, Grey and I started working on the paper work to begin the adoption process. We've been sorting through forms and triaging importance and attention. Some of the forms have been fairly straight forward, requiring only basic information or needing us to make appointments with others to help us complete them. Others have required more thought, answering questions about lifestyle, parenting plans, hopes for the future. In a lot of ways, these exercises have been beneficial as they've allowed us to work together and verify how many values and life-views we share. Granted, there's also an underlying sense of invasion and the realization that most parents don't give any of this much thought when they decide to expand their family. Still, we have both been trying to embrace the knowledge that there are many benefits to these exercises.


But with the good, there's also been the bad; the moments of frustration and grief. Grey and I are working daily on coming to terms with our new reality. Since making the decision to stop treatments, there's been an even more present feeling of isolation and exclusion. Friends we know in real life who had struggled with infertility have become absent, being silent since our last miscarriage. It's like their pregnancies cleansed them from infertility, so they are now quick to cut off any reminder of that time. Equally frustrating has been online support, where group members who are now pregnant or parenting after easily becoming pregnant complain about their current lot, wondering aloud about the "could-have-beens" when they have what Grey and I are breaking ourselves for. Yes, I know that life is difficult, but some if this feels superficial and makes us both feel even more isolated then we previously were.


And then there's the ugly: the things so few want or are willing to talk about. The past year has been spent putting our faith in modern medicine while putting everything else on hold for treatment. With the realization that modern medicine would not be the answer to finding our children, we began to start making plans to live again, pursing our dreams and goals. Yesterday we learned that by moving forward on that end, we may have to put the adoption process on hold. The agency we are looking into currently has an extended wait for matching birth parents with adoptive parents, with an average time now being 16 months instead of the 10-12 months. On top of this comes the knowledge that if we relocate outside of the state, we will have to complete a second homestudy because of this. Our initial path on this part of the journey is now blocked and we are at a loss for how to proceed. 


Last night while trying to calm myself, I came to the first of many ugly truths on this: I'm no longer willing to sacrifice everything for this process. I've been beaten up and ripped apart for the past year as we underwent treatment, all for 2 losses and a lot of heartache. I can't continue to do that and hope to be a fit parent. So I'm committing the ultimate infertile sin: I'm making a choice for me by pursuing career options that could result in putting adoption on hold. I'm keeping my interview and we will assess what needs to happen based on this information. Is it a good plan, hardly, but I think it's the right decision given what information we have. G_d knows this hurts, though, and with the hurt comes the envy towards those who will never have to make these choices. 

All in all, we're alive and we're trying to move forward. But the reality is, unlike before, our path is a much more rugged one, filled with many more obstacles and pitfalls. I'm sure there will be a day when we both can look back on this time and laugh, marveling at how naive we were and how we shouldn't have stressed about this or that, but being in the thick of it makes me wish we had some sort of a guide or even a more defined roadmap.

What's in a loss

Welcome to those from ICLW. First time visitors can find information on our journey under the TTC timeline. And for those interested in Fertility Socks, yes I'm planning another exchange for the very near future. Stay tuned. Brief background on me: 2.5 yrs on the TTC wagon with a diagnosis of unexplained infertility in January 2011. 3 failed IUIs, one IVF, two FETs and 2 miscarriages. I'm currently in the tail-end of our final FET prior to moving on to adoption. 


First off, we're back from our mini-vacation!! I've been drafting a post and will update you all very soon about our adventure (and for those who are wondering, yes there are photos of orcas). Thanks to everyone for the virtual swift kick in the bum to book the trip. It was very much needed.

Today, Grey and I had our first appointment with the marriage counselor. This past week, both of Grey and I have been reflecting on everything that has happened during the last couple of years. Infertility and the miscarriages, though a big part, hasn't been the only stressor. There's been work stress, home stress and stress caused by family. On certain days, I really wonder if I've been blowing all of this out of proportion, creating my own drama. That maybe I just needed suck it up and all would be okay.

Within the first few minutes of meeting David, both Grey and I were reassured that we were not drama queens. That indeed, we were dealing with a lot of external stress. That miscarriage isn't something one just "gets over." In short, he gave us hope by reassuring us that what we were feeling was completely normal considering the circumstances and he believes that we already have the foundation to emerge from this stronger, not only as individuals but as a couple. Our work is just beginning, but both Grey and I walked out of David's office feeling lighter and hopeful. We haven't fucked up our marriage beyond repair.

Some of David's observations made me reflect on loss. Not just whether something qualifies as a loss, but also how we as society respond to loss. Many people in my day-to-day life look at me in horror when Grey or I tell them everything we've been through. Mo recently wrote a very raw post talking about the train-wreak everyone wants to pity and how debasing pity is. I can relate a lot to what she wrote, as my losses are not simply restricted to my inability to conceive/ stay pregnant. I lost my entire family last year, with my mother making it very clear how worthless I am to her. I lost the safety of a home, being surrounded by neighbors with questionable character. I somehow managed to graduate only to be put into a holding pattern about my career due the economy and fertility treatments. And then I lost my embies due to not one, but two miscarriages. And, even now, I grief for my babies that I will never hold.


The problem with living as the train-wreak is two-fold: first is the pity. I'm completely with Mo on this one; I would much rather people actively hate me than pity me. Being the center of a pity party is such a debasing thing for anyone, but the added pain comes when people use you as a barometer for their own lives. It's the opposite of the pain olympics knowing that people are using you to lift their spirits. 


There's another level, though. People usually fail to see the beauty outside of the train-wreak. In May, I learned of another blogger, CGD. Over the past couple of months, I've followed her journey as she is navigating a divorce on top of infertility and an uncertain future. Her journey is a hard one, but the thing that continually shines through is her grace and strength. When I read her posts, I don't walk away thinking "wow, I'm so lucky," I walk away thinking "Cristy, you can do better." 


Today as I was commuting to work, I muled over the thought that maybe, just maybe, something good could come out of all of this. I've talked before about the creation of villians, wondering if all of this would break me leaving behind a haggard witch. And then I was broken, shattered into a million pieces. But, in place of the villain, I find that I'm slowly emerging just like the mythical Phoenix from the ashes. Somehow, I'm finding strength daily to move forward and a lot of that has come from finding others who understand, who write openly and honestly about their journeys. Not because I can feel better about myself, but because I learn from them that I can do this; I can do better.

On Friday I meet with Dee. We will continue to tackle my demons, but following the events from this past week, with new purpose. At 33 yrs of age, I have experienced more loss than I wish on any human being, yet I'm still standing. Still, this is not enough. I need to find joy again in life, despite the fear and the pain. If not for myself, then for Grey and our children, both the ones we lost and the ones we will find.

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. 

Choices

In the spring of 2007, I took my general exam. For those of you not familiar with the PhD process, most programs have a comprehensive assessment for their students to determine whether they have the knowledge base in order to proceed with their thesis and ultimately obtain their doctorate. Each institution and program is different in format and how/when this is administered, but the feeling of anxiety from the students is the same. I spent 2 months preparing for this exam, meeting with committee members and spending multiple hours in the library. On the day of the exam, though, I froze. My mind went completely blank and I found I had difficulty answering some of the most basic questions.

Somehow I passed. But the trauma from that experience, coupled with a poor sense of self, resulted in 1 1/2 yr slump where I was convinced that I would be asked to leave. Add in the fact that my project wasn't working, and I was one depressed and anxious graduate student.

In the middle of my fourth year, something changed. I decided to stop wallowing in a place of self-doubt and start taking what I wanted. I figured they now knew the impostor in their midst, might as well make the most of it. With the help of my advisor,  I switched projects and began working on a question that would ultimately lead to a publication and lay the groundwork for post-doctoral interests. I made choices to no longer isolate myself and began attending journal clubs, signed up for Toastmasters to improve on my public speaking skills and made a conscious choice to spend Saturdays with friends. What I realized was that though graduate school was a trying time, my outlook was making it worse. That I was the one holding myself back and, though there were still moments that were painful, I had to chose to move forward and demand what I wanted if I was to triumph.

The events of the past week have been the stuff of nightmares. Surrounded by beauty and signs of spring, Grey and I received the news that my body had failed our embies on Sunday. Grey and I have done our share of crying over this loss, wondering aloud why this is happening; what we did to deserve this type of pain. Honestly, we're no closer to those answers.

But something changed yesterday. Unlike January, where we were both defeated, the news of this loss has only deepen our resolve to be parents. We've decided that we both want this so much that no matter what, it's going to happen. We made the decision that, like it or not, the universe will give us our children.

In other words, we're done wallowing in the despair caused by infertility. Now we're fighting back.

Yesterday, after sleeping for a few hours, we talked about a plan. Adoption is still something we both want to pursue. But Grey wants to try one more time. He's not ready to give up on the 4 snowbabies we have left. And I'm willing to try given that our REs agree to investigating the cause for both of these miscarriages. I'm no longer willing to fly blind on the basis of "bad luck" and I've begun pulling literature from PubMed to discuss with Grey and hopefully with our REs.  In addition, we started pulling out the literature we have on adoption and made note of the different meetings from the agencies in our area.

We meet with Dr. Optimism on Friday in hopes of formulating a plan. IVF is diagnostic, and we now know where we are failing. Because of this, I want to know what we can do to investigate these causes, as now we have a pattern. Some of you have asked if I'm considering getting a second opinion. Honestly, I don't know at the moment. Both Grey and I have grown to trust this clinic, this team of care providers, and we want to speak with them about all of this prior to making any decisions. In addition, we've heard less-than-stellar stories about other clinics in this area, so seeking a second opinion may involve looking nationally. We'll know more following the meeting.

What would be helpful, though, is suggestions on testing to ask about. I'm unfamiliar with RPL panels or types of immune testing. We will be talking about karyotyping for both Grey and me.

I'm not going to lie, all of this is hard. And the temptation to curl up into a small ball is very high. But I know that's not going to change things, to help us bring home our children. I will grieve for my lost children, forever associating them with the cherry blossoms. But I'm no longer willing to be a victim to infertility. Instead, I chose to face this tragedy and fight. Fight for my family, fight for those I love who are also living this nightmare. I'm determined that this journey will not have been in vain, that something good will come out of it.

Thank you all for your comments and love yesterday. They have been and continue to be a source of strength during this time. There are no words to express our gratitude.

I'll end today with a scene from the musical "Across the Universe" that is now our battle anthem.

Ramblings of a bored mind

Probably one of the worst things about playing the waiting game is being in the middle of it. When you start, it's new with the promise of things to come. As you get near the end, the excitement returns, as something is about to change. Being in the middle, though, is rough. You hit a plateau, knowing that you're neither here or there.

I'm officially 3 days away for finishing up Lupron and (hopefully) starting progesterone. With any luck, the ultrasound on Wednesday will reveal a thick lining and zero follicles. In short, I'm officially in the middle of this FET cycle. And I'm bored. Not with life in general (thank goodness it's the weekend . . . finally get a chance to sleep in), but bored with the shots, bored with the pills, bored with the idea that this may or may not work. Bored with infertility.

The past couple of days I've been trying to focus my attention elsewhere to combat this boredom, hoping that a few moments of distraction will be sufficient. I started by making an appointment at a local nail salon, thinking that the fumes would be enough to deter expectant mothers or those with small children (learned my lesson), then Grey and I traveled to a more urban-focused section of the city in hopes of spending some time at a local park enjoying the sun (that was over-run too). The moment I gave up was when I witnessed a couple push a stroller into a local sex shop. Granted it's one of the better ones, but still.

Reflecting on all of this, I came to realize that though some of this stuff isn't new, there's definitely a new twist on where one can and can not take children. Part of it has to do with destigmatizing parenthood, but the reality is that it's also something a bit deeper. Despite my generation claiming that they're ready to move on to this next chapter, they do so with one foot in the past. They aren't willing to give up old haunts and habits to be parents.

On some levels I respect this. The idea that one should lose their identity when taking on the role of mother is one that I will continue to scoff at. I do believe it's healthy for children to see that mommy and daddy are a part of the world, pursing their hopes and dreams. After all, happy parents in a loving and stable relationship do equal happy, healthy children.

But with parenthood also comes change and sacrifice. So when a couple plops Jr, carrier and all, on a stool in a smoky bar, I have an issue. Most of it comes from my time tending bar, where I saw generations of human erosion and I cringe at the idea that it's starting during infancy. But another end comes down to the fact that these parents aren't putting the needs of their baby ahead of their own wants.

Infertility has taught me a number of things over the last few years. It's honed my pregdar, thickened my skin and added a whole new level of fear and frustration regarding pregnancy. But it's also helped me move beyond the stage where one foot is still in singleton land, it's strengthen my marriage and it's made me less afraid of waiting for the "right" time. But most importantly, I've learned what sacrifice truly is. To forgo luxuries like exotic vacations, bottles of wine and even daily cups of coffee. Because my family is more important and if giving all of that up to walk down this path means that one day I get to hold my children in my arms, then it was worth every step. By all means, not a fair process, but one that I'm more than willing to make for that hope. Despite the fact I'm so bored with it all.

Reality check

It's been one of those weeks. You know, the ones you wish you never got out of bed.

Between advising, meetings with students about grades (translation: me calling them into my office and discussing a plan for helping them not fail my course), recommendation letter writing and editing proposals, I'm ready for a long nap. Sadly, it's only 4 pm on a Wednesday.

The last few days I've been grappling with the Lupron monster. For the most part it's been an interesting battle: there are moments where I've managed to kick the monster's ass fairly thoroughly, all while demanding "who's your daddy," while hog-tying the asshole.  Other moments, it's got me pinned, crying out "you are, YOU ARE" in hopes it will loosen its grip so I can jump it again. Grey has been watching all of this go down, resorting to finally naming the monster "Lulu." Now we just need to find a muzzle.

Last night, though, we decided to make peace. And all of this was due to two very incredible posts by two bloggers, both of whom are named contains people contained Mo.

The first post is by this Mo. I've only recently started following her blog (thank you ICLW!!!) and have already learned so much from her posts. The one last night hit me like a ton of brick: in honor of Dr. Seuss's birthday she wrote about her favorite book from his work, "Oh! The Places You'll Go." I'd never read this one, somehow missing it probably due to the fact I was a teenage when it was released. But reading Mo's post immediately opened the flood-gates. All starting from the image of the prickle-ey perch.

Grey found me midway through Mo's post and immediately wanted to know if I needed a shock-collar for Looloo. It was then that he sat down and helped me finish Mo's post, helping me read aloud Seuss's words.

The post sparked a conversation we've been meaning to have for awhile, a conversation about change. The last few years have been hard ones, with us being in a holding pattern not only with trying to expand our family but also with our work and our dreams. The excuse for a long time was that we couldn't move on because one of us was in the middle of completing our education. We're finally at a point where we are planning for the next transition, but in the meantime we're both feeling catch in a holding pattern, waiting for the outcome of this cycle, of the next year. Both of us are hurting from being stuck on the IF rollercoaster, but neither of us have been able to put words into the awfulness of the situation. Seuss did that for us.  And Mo summarizes all of this better than I ever will.

The second post came from this Mo. Only a week after the loss of her son, she is already writing about what Nadav has taught her. Her strength inspires and awes me, so it wasn't a surprise that this post would do the same.

Like many women, I'm awful at asking for help. I feel the need to sacrifice myself so others don't suffer or are inconvenienced in any way. Many times, this is unconscious, driven mainly by guilt and a mentality that I'm somehow weak. Mo's post made an outstanding case for why we need to stop hurting ourselves this way, and called on us to stop feeling guilty for asking for help.

But her post also touched on a mechanism for why we may do this, especially during periods of loss. Her observation about her parents having a difficult time seeing her grieve really hit home. No one likes to see someone they love hurting so badly. But it never dawned on me that this needs to happen. It needs to happen in order for healing to happen.

After reading both these posts, my mind was a whirl, sensing a connection from this wisdom. The answer finally hit me like a ton of bricks at 4 am: I'd been waiting quietly in the "Waiting Place." And not just while dealing with infertility; I'd been doing it for most of my life. Some how, I got it into my head that all my drama would be dealt with if I just waited my "turn." I would have my baby when it was my turn. Thing is, my "turn" never came. And despite everything I'd been told, my most memorial moments in life were when I stop waiting and took action. When, good or bad, I could own the outcome.

And I'm currently doing that. Good or bad, Grey and I are moving forward with this FET. There are no guarantees that this will work and even if I am lucky enough to end up pregnant, this doesn't mean I will end up with a baby. But that's not the point. The point is that I'm finally doing something.

T minus 8 days till I'm off the Lupron and get to say good-bye to Lulu. Till then, I'm holding out hope for a muzzle.
 

Redefining family

Many years ago, a piece was circulating via email about Urban Tribes and their role in a person's development during their single years. I really liked this piece for a few different reasons, because I was never much of a dater yet I had a good support system through my friends.

What stuck with me through all of these years, though, was this idea of family. Traditionally, we've defined family as being composed of individuals who are genetically related: you have a mother, a father, grandparents, aunts and uncles and siblings. The phrases "blood is thicker than water" and telling someone "we're the same blood" have been ways to emphasize the strong tie family has and how important it is to us and our society.

So what happens when blood relatives let you down? In the case of infertility, this will happen more times than not and to varying degrees. Whether it's parents prying too much about when you're going to have children, a relative's remark about how you just need to get a surrogate, a cousin talking for hours upon hours about how difficult is it to be pregnant, or learning your younger sister is pregnant. In an ideal world, we cry, but the love and support for one another would help us through those difficult times, building strength within the family.

But sometimes this doesn't happen. Sometimes, in all the excitement of a grandchild, your mother tells you to get over yourself because your sister is going through something really hard. Sometimes you're told you're being selfish, that you brought this on yourself. Sometimes "family" causes more harm than good.

About 5 months ago, I made the difficult decision to cut off contact with my family. Infertility was not the reason for this, but it certainly was the straw that broke the camel's back. For years I've had a difficult relationship with my mother, filled with multiple incidents of abuse, mainly verbal but also some physical. Still, I hung onto the relationship because I craved family. I craved it so much that shortly before my official diagnosis, I tried confiding in both my parents about my pain and sorrow of not being able to conceive.

My sister's announcement that she was pregnant was a blow, but I was determined to be there for her and support her. What drove a wedge was not her being pregnant, but her using her pregnancy as a weapon to attack when an argument ensued. What continued to make things difficult was the gossiping that was happening on both sides of the family, with Grey and I being judged continually and told to "just relax." But the final straw was an email in August, where I was told that Grey and I should adopts my cousin's son because the state was pulling him from the home. It was only following a heated phone conversation, where I indicated that Grey and I were not ready for that path, that I was told "no child you adopt will ever be yours."

Since then, I've found that I've been in a process of redefining "family." During this journey, both Grey and I have met many people on the same path, forging new relationships. In addition, our relationships with  some friends and family in the Pacific NW has strengthen, with them being huge sources of support during this period in our lives. But probably the biggest change has been finding this community; finding others who are on this journey to share stories. Initially it was a place to gain information and read about others people's experiences, resulting in my feeling a lot less lonely when everyone around me was able to get pregnant so easily. What I never expected was to form friendships with a number of bloggers nor that in my darkest hours, it would be getting those emails that would help me through those moments of grief.

In a non-traditional sense, while living on the island of IF, we come together as a tribe; we redefine our family. My family is no longer restricted to a blood relatives, it includes kindred spirits, women and men I've met during this journey who understand my grief, my excitement and even my dreams. In during moments of crisis and joy, we come together to support one another, despite different points of view and being at different points in our journey.

Ethan Watters said it best:

 Tribal behavior does not prove a loss of ''family values.'' It is a fresh expression of them.

Trying my patience

Okay, I'm the first to admit it: I'm not a patient person.

You know Daniel Goldstein's marshmallow test that demonstrated that those who were able to practice deferred gratification were happier in life? Well, I was the kid who would have failed it. Hell, I would have stolen the other kid's marshmallow too.

Why so huffy? Well, I'm waiting for AF to show up. And in this first time in 20 yrs of menstruating, I'm late. And not in a "honey, I could be pregnant!!!" way.

Yes, I've ovulated (check) and I'm going through normal PMS symptoms (double check) and even had the little bit of spotting after sex one night (triple check). Still no AF and without AF, I can't call the clinic and get CD1 instructions on moving forward with this cycle.

Yes, I'm whining. I know I shouldn't be, but I am.  Someone smack me.

Reflections on "the truth about IVF"

A few days ago, SIF wrote this post that has been causing somewhat of a stir. Before I go further, I feel it's necessary to state that I admire her bravery and strength in expressing her point of view. For a lot of people in this community, it's not a popular one. But blogging has never been about being popular and I hope that though there is disagreement, there will continue to be support for expressing different points of view.

Back in December, while in the middle of our IVF cycle, Grey started digging into the history. His interest was not only sparked by the fact that we were in the thick of things, but also from the announcement of Robert G. Edwards receiving the 2010 Nobel Prize. Briefly, for those of you who don't know the history, Edwards and his colleague Patrick Steptoe developed in vitro fertilization. Their work lead to the birth of the first "test-tube" baby Louise Brown. What lead to Edwards receiving the Nobel Prize was not simply the fact that the procedure lead to Louise's birth, introducing a new way to help infertie couples who formerly had no possibility of having a baby, it was the fact that Louise was ultimately able to go on and reproduce without additional medical intervention. The reason Steptoe wasn't awarded this honor was because he passed away in 1988 and the Nobel Prize is not awarded postmortem.

All of this is fascinating, but equally fascinating is the history of fertility treatments, which is long and staggering. For those of you who want an abbreviated version, here's a timeline. To see that some of the first attempts at fertility treatments began in 1855 is mind-boggling. But what is really a piece of fascination that I was previously unaware of is the Del-Zio's lawsuit. I won't talk about this case today, as I believe it desires its own post, but I will say that the idea one would interrupt someone's attempt to expand their family, even though it happened almost 40 years ago, caused a very strong emotional respond.

As of today, tens of thousands of children are born each year in the US because of fertility treatments and IVF, though only a small percentage of these treatments, still has the highest success rates. Because of this procedure, many women like myself are able to become pregnant.

Despite what we know today about fertility treatments, there's still this onslaught against those who pursue treatments. Because we are willing to inject our bodies with hormones, take medications to sustain a pregnancy and even go through extra measures to bring home healthy children, we are viewed as pushing something that is "unnatural." Not too long ago, I listened to someone who was clearly ignorant on the subject talk about how she would rather live childless than expose potential children to any of "those drugs."

But here's the thing: we live in a contaminated world. Our food, our water, even our air. There's no escaping it. Worse yet, we accumulate these harmful chemicals in our bodies over time, ultimately passing them on to our children. Sure, we can try to live an organic lifestyle, but the reality is that the fertility drugs we use to promote ovulation and pregnancy are far safer than the fumes we are exposed to from motor vehicles. They're far safer than some of the water we drink. And they are far safer than most of the chemicals we expose ourselves, our world to on a daily basis.

In addition, biology is a wonderfully robust system. It's amazing under what conditions life will thrive! If given just enough to be able to do so. For some, it requires a little bit of progesterone because their bodies aren't making enough, for others it's a matter of identifying what is not functioning properly and correcting it. Again, there's nothing wrong with this, because it is proper medical care. And for a lot of women, addressing these issues not only allows them to have children, it also allows them to lead healthier lives.

Despite the fact that I don't agree with SIF on the point of supplementation and fertility drugs, there is one thing she talks about that I do agree with, which is the dark-side to ART treatments: with the technology comes the continual possibility of hope. And it's all to easy for couples to become lost in the loop of trying again and again.

So when is enough, enough? The reality is, that decisions is a personal one. I've met a couple who have gone through many years for treatment, pursuing multiple rounds of IUIs but will never venture into IVF or adoption because of religious/cultural beliefs. I've met a couple who have moved straight to IVF after being diagnosed with endometriosis. And I've met a couple who decided after 2 yrs of this madness that adoption was their path to parenthood. Their son and daughter will turn 2 yrs and 4 yrs this year. I think what we each need to ask ourselves is how long we will continue on this journey before we are willing to explore other options. Because I've also seen women who have ruined themselves and their families through continually pushing for fertility treatments, refusing to ever look to another road. Though it's wholly unfair, their refusal to resolve leads to madness. And to allow infertility to take your sanity means that it wins.

The truth about IVF is that it's an amazing medical treatment. One that will hopefully be more accepted in our society one day soon. But the other truth is that it's not a silver bullet, as some will not be able to bear children after going through this procedure.  And though it has given so many a reason to hope, ultimately it is our responsibility to those we love as well as to ourselves to make potentially painful decisions.

Smoke and mirrors

Most people in real life have no idea I'm living with infertility.

There is no brand, no scarlet letter.  I do things most fertiles do: grocery shop, exercise, go to work, etc. There is no obvious way to identify me out of a crowd.

But for those who are living with infertility, I'm easy to spot. I am the one who gets quiet when someone announces that are pregnant "after only a month of trying." I'm the person who avoids the play area at the mall. I look longingly into strollers as new mothers push their children pass. Not only am I easy to spot, but I have no problem spotting fellow IFers. I've become tuned in to the signs.

When people learn that Grey and I are living with infertility, they usually act surprised. I had one person tell me "but you look so healthy!" when she learned the news. Granted, there's always that moment where advice is offered (and gently rejected), but usually silence follows. Because the idea that a happy couple like Grey and I living with something so terrible is something most people don't want to try to comprehend. The idea that 1 in 8 couples is struggling with this disease makes it all too real that someone they know and love is quietly battling.

Because of this mindset, I've also learned techniques to deflect questions about plans for children from people who really don't know better. I don't have the emotional energy to defend myself from the onslaught of questions that comes with this news every waking hour. And, frankly, there are moments where it's just not worth the announcement.  In a way, I've become an illusionist: oohing and awing my audience with the image of a carefree and full life.

As all of you know, though, it's all smoke and mirrors.

So, how does this work? Well, there are a few universal truths.

First: the imagination always makes for a better story than the truth.  The last event Grey and I attended was for his work. I spent a good amount of time dressing, doing my hair and even applying some make-up. The goal was that even though I felt awful inside, I was determined to show a happy, healthy me. In addition to this, while we were at the event, I made certain to keep talk about myself to a minimum. I answered basic questions, smiled loving at my husband when people talked about his accomplishments, and then quickly made sure to change the subject. Basically, I keep things vague and present an image of prosperity. This is the smoke.

Which brings me to my next truth:  everyone loves to share their story. Whether it be about the vacation they just took, their woes with their teenage children or even telling you about a life-changing event, most can spend quite a bit of time filling in the details of their life. So I use this and have found that it's very easy to keep conversation going without having to touch on my life outside of some superficial details. And when the conversation starts to die, I stoke the flames with another question. This is the mirror.

The problem with being an illusionist is that one becomes paranoid about who knows your secrets. Though many at Grey's work know now about our infertility, I'm cautious about letting them know about the details from the last month. Those memories are painful and a source of weakness. So when asked how I'm doing, I smile and say I'm fine while actively looking for an exit in case I need to break down.

But now I wonder if keeping that facade is hurting everyone involved: me for feeling the need to hide and them from not learning the truth about infertility. I'm not suggesting that I sit each person down and explain the horrors of the D&C, but answering "you know, I'm really not doing well, but today is okay" may not necessarily be a bad thing. After all, the truth is suppose to set you free.

Update on FET: Saline sonogram and mock transfer has been moved to Feb 14th. Honestly, I can't think of a more comical way to spend Valentine's Day.  In the meantime, I'm "patiently" waiting for AF to show up. 

Lovely

Warning: This post contains references to rape and loss. If this is a trigger for you, PLEASE do not read any further. 

Over the weekend, I finally had the opportunity to watch "The Lovely Bones." I read Alice Sebold's novel in 2002 when it was circulating on the New York Time's Bestseller list and managed to devour the book within a week. The story is not an easy one, nor does it have a classic happy ending, but I found following the aftermath of the main character's death to be an interesting insight into how a family copes and grows.

The film is definitely not as good as the novel, but I found watching it brought back thoughts from when I was first reading the book, particularly what I was thinking about each of the characters. In general, I had no issues empathizing with all of them (minus the killer): I could connect with Susie while she remembered her life on Earth, her father Jack as he sought out him daughter's killer, her sister Lindsey and her little-brother Buckley as they dealt with growing up in the aftermath of this tragedy and even Susie's eccentric grandmother Lynn. But, no matter how hard I tried, I had trouble connecting with one of the characters: Susie's mother, Abby. From her initial criticism of her husband following Susie's disappearance, to the affair and finally her abandoning her children, I remember reading about Abby's actions with disgust. How could a mother be so selfish? How could she abandon here children, her family, in its time of need? I didn't understand her, her motivations or why she would be so destructive following the loss of her daughter.

10 years later, while watching the film, something clicked. I picked up the novel again, rereading the different portions that detailed Abby's actions and disgraces.  And for the first time, I understood.

Before I share with you my thoughts, I need to start by talking about how our culture deals with death and loss. Normally, we honor the dead publicly, holding a funeral where all who knew the person can pay their respects and say good-bye. But there are rules with this: loved ones are expected to grieve in a certain manner and only for a certain period of time. In general, these rules are not challenged, as most people have a way of finding closure with the loss and are able to move on.

But what happens when the loss is mingled with something horrifying? In Abby's case, her 14-yr-old daughter is raped, murdered and her body never found. Instead of being allowed to grieve this loss, she is dealing with another level wrapped in shame and guilt. Though she is in no way responsible for her daughter's death, she is wrapped in guilt. For the rest of her life, she must deal with the shoulda-coulda-wouldas.

In a way, Abby's loss is similar to the loss caused by infertility. With infertility, one day you decide to start a family assuming all while be well, while with Abby, one day she is simply making dinner and wondering why her teenage daughter is running late. Then something changes and our world is turned upside down. Like Abby, we are immediately thrown into a state of grief, shock and fear. We turn looking for help and answers, but we find that our support system is not as robust as we originally thought. Some are able to be our rocks, but many are lost as what to do and begin to pull away. As time goes on, people begin to hint that we need to move on because life is too short. But the thing is, how does one move on when the answers are not so simple? For Abby, having a memorial will not give her the closure she needs because of the nature of this loss. For IFers, resolving is not a simple decision, but usually a process that requires time, money and even counseling before we can move forward. In the end, it's not as easy as everyone would like us to believe.

Recent events from the last month have really pushed me to my limits emotionally and physically. And there were points where I literally wanted to pack a bag and walk away from it all. What's stopped me is the relationship I have with Grey and the love from good friends who have been an unending source of support. While rereading the passages about Abby, I realized that she didn't have any of this. Despite being surrounded by family, she was alone. And because of her grief, she lashed out by having an affair and then tried to escape from all of it. Don't get me wrong, her actions were selfish. But to villainize her because of these mistakes is wrong. It's wrong because her family failed her too.

The last month has been one that, if I could, I would want to forget for the most part. The bright spots have been the realization that my support network is strong and amazing. Without it, I'm sure I would have thrown in the towel long ago. Instead, I'm trudging along, holding onto hope. This network has been something I cherish and know first hand how hard it is to build. But in a way, I'm lucky. Because now I know who to turn to when my world comes crashing down. I know beter how to communicate with Grey so that instead of being a burden, I can also be a source of support when we get unhappy news.

In a weird way, I'm lucky.

Brief update: bloodwork revealed that I have not ovulated, so we are officially on hold until AF shows up. I'm thinking it will be in the next couple of weeks as my eye has a nice patch of eczema around it at the moment. But I don't have a crystal ball and, frankly, it's out of my hands.

Did she really exist?

The bills have started to arrive from late December/early January. Marked "laboratory" and "surgery," we've begun fielding the costs for the betas and the D&C. For the most part, the only emotion that I've been feeling when I see these is frustration: frustration that we are being billed for things we've already paid for and frustration with insurance for giving me the run around (hopefully all of this will be solved soon). But one bit of information threw me yesterday, giving me pause. We received a letter from Dr. Optimism with the cytogenetics results.

During our appointment a couple of weeks ago, Dr. Optimism walked us through the meaning for the potential results of the cytogenetics from the D&C. Armed with the pathology report, which concluded I was pregnant, she noted that the amount of fetal tissue was very small. So there were 3 possibilities: one was that the karyotype would show aneuploidy, indicating why everything stopped growing, another was that the karyotype would be normal 46XY, indicating the embryo was male. The final was that the karyotype would be 46XX. This would be very hard to interrupt, as they wouldn't be able to tell whether it was the embryo's karyotype or mine. All they could definitely say is that there was no translocations.

Guess what the results were.

Reading the letter brought on a wave of emotions that I thought I had resolved. It's caused me to question whether this pregnancy even existed. In addition, there came sorrow over the possibility, though slight, that this embryo was indeed a girl. A little girl. And I failed her.

I hate yo-yoing between being okay and not. I hate that the reminders that time as so negative and sterile. I want to be able to move on, to move forward with love. And I want to stop questioning whether I actually was pregnant every single day. Because being in a state wondering if she did exist doesn't help.

I get by with a little help from my friends

First off, for anyone who follows Jay's blog (The Two Week Wait), please stop by and send her some love.

As mentioned in my previous post, I've decided that to make the most of this down-time prior to FET and made a list of things to do. So far, the jogging hasn't happened due to a very busy week with my students, nor have I started meditating. What I have been good at though is relaxing. Last night was spent sitting on the couch with Grey and flipping through cookbooks for recipes to try over the weekend. Tonight was an impromptu stop at a local restaurant for good food and some wine. Tomorrow I have a date with the tub and I nice bottle of Claret.

What really started all of this was a phone call from a good friend, K. Though not living with infertility, K has been a constant source of support on this TTC journey. Following being diagnosed, while others pulled away, she made a point of contacting me, listening when I needed a shoulder to cry on and cheering us on through many rounds of treatment. So when I told her about my "change" list of FET, she immediately offered to help: this Saturday we are hitting the spa for some girl time. Her reasoning behind this decision is based on two things: 1) we've both earned it and 2) some things are best left to professionals.

I've been reflecting on friendships lost and made since our diagnosis with infertility. I'd be lying if I said that every relationship has remained intact while I've been on this path. But I'd also be lying if I didn't admit the role infertility has played in strengthening many of my relationships. As much of a curse being on this road has been (physically, emotionally and psychological), there has been the blessing that all fair-weather friends, toxic friends, friends with ulterior motives and "frenemies" have vanished from my life. I no longer have time or energy to be supportive of those who view me as someone to compete with, emotionally drain or simply hang around when everything is okay. What's been replaced in those voids have been women and men who have offered unlimited kindness, unfaltering support and love. Some of these people have been part of our lives for years and our bond has only strengthen because of this journey. Others have come from unexpected sources: work, online and even through random chance. This has been the most unexpected and wonderful part of this journey.

This past month tested some of these relationships to their very core. And though it was quiet for a few days following the D&C, I knew in my heart it was not because no one cared but because they were respecting my space and giving me time to grieve. As I've been coming out of that dark period, I've begun to get back into contact with people, letting them know that though wounded, I'm still not broken. The response has been amazing, with messages of support and love when it would be all too easy to say "hey, that's great, but you know you're kinda bringing me down." Sure, there have been moments that haven't been perfect, but the fact so many have reached out to me in my time of need leaves me in awe.

So, to each and every single one of you who have followed me these past couple of months, cheering me on during the good moments and offering words of support and love during the bad ones, I want to say thank you. This journey isn't over, but I know I have the strength to move on because of all of you.

******
Quick update on the FET cycle: blood draw tomorrow morning to determine whether or not I've ovulated. I've already been warned that due to the D&C, there's a good chance that this cycle is anovulatory, meaning that I wouldn't be able to start meds till have AF arrives. So tomorrow I'll either have the green light or we'll be back on hold.

Snow days

Well, as I'm sure most of you know, Seattle is in the middle of a snow storm. The drop in temperatures and the accumulation in precipitation has resulted in the city being shut-down, except for essential services. We're currently lucky to have power (no overly large trees in my neighborhood to interfere with power lines), but not everyone is. It's all suppose to start melting by tomorrow.

Probably the thing about this storm that has gotten the biggest amount of attention is Seattle drivers. I've seen my share of videos, with cars sliding around and into one another. Looking out my window, I can see the result of some of those encounters. Don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of head shaking, but I do need to point out one thing that is generally overlooked when people are watching all of this: Seattle has some steep hills.  Steep enough to sled down when you get a few inches of snow. It's bad enough that even a seasoned winter driver as myself knows to stay away from the hills and to walk vs. drive. Where I start shaking my head is after watching people who attempt these hills and, without fail, lose.

Anyway, I digress.

Because of the weather, the past two days I've been home. This normally wouldn't be something that I would be frustrated by, but considering I was out sick on Monday and barely functioning on Tuesday, I'm really to be back in the world. Or at the very least, not stuck inside.  The reason I was out sick? Well, Sunday night the cramps started to intensify. By Monday morning I had full-blown menstrual cramps, ones that I haven't had since before I went on birth control at age 20. And with the cramps came bleeding.

Monday was spent trying to figure out how to manage the pain and bleeding. The bleeding wasn't overly heavy, but it wasn't spotting either, which initially had me a little bit worried. After all, I thought they had removed everything during the D&C, so I wasn't expecting anything like a normal menstruation. The cramps were a new challenge: Advil helped, but the heat pad actually made them worse. It took me a couple of hours to finally figure that one out, during which time they came in intense waves. I broke down after hour two and called the REs for advice. Despite the weather, Dr. Practical called me back immediately and calmed me down. Based on what I was experiencing, she wasn't too worried, but she recommended no heat pad, more Advil and to call her back if things didn't change so they could start pain management. This left the heat pad for Jaxson, who spent the next couple of hours after that laying completely prone on it. At least someone was happy.

By Wednesday, all the cramps were gone. And outside of some spotting, I'm back to my pre-IVF state. It's almost like November-early January was a dream. A long dream filled with so many emotions and a sad ending. Usually with those, I'm happy to wake up and tell myself that I'll never have to live through something like that. But in this case, me feeling better has had me beginning to worry about the FET that is looming. What that experience will hold.

To be honest, I'm a bit terrified of this next step. Not because of the physical discomfort from the medications and the procedures, but because I don't want to have another failure. I know logically that we do need to proceed, as staying in a state of doing nothing is ultimately worse. But losing another pregnancy is not something I want to go through and I'm terrified of the thought of doing a FET only to be back in the stirrups for another D&C.

Because of all of this, I've been doing more reading into reproductive immunology. This is a topic that is still quite controversial, with people falling into two camps: it's relevant or it's not. Because of this, finding articles from reputable journals has been hard. I'm not going to lie, there's some junk out there. There are people who write things that make little to no sense to me, covering up their hogwash with jargon in hopes of convincing everyone that the reason they don't understand is because they're not as smart. If I've learned one thing during my time in science, it's that these people are liminal and not to be trusted. But, there are some good articles: doctors and scientists who are interested in educating the public about this area and are trying to help.

Where I'm going with all of this is that I'm thinking about talking with my REs next Monday about the possibility of autoimmune disease. My family now has a history of type I diabetes and for the past year, right before I start menstruating, I've developed eczema on my eyes. That and the fact that we now know that Grey and I can make embryos, but there seems to be a problem with implantation suggests that it's worthwhile asking. And, to date, my REs have been very good about talking with me candidly. Yes, there's a risk of them blowing me off, but considering they haven't done so to date, I find it unlikely.

Today, though, all I intend on focusing on getting Grey outside, making some snow angels and finding some hot chocolate. I'm leaving you with a photo of two very happy kitties and a song that makes me want to dance.

Nice and warm in their condo

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.

The Weight Before the Door

First off, welcome all from ICLW. Brief background on me: after 2 years of TTC, we took the plunge and proceeded with IVF. From this cycle, we ended up with 8 embryos. 6 were frozen, 2 were transferred. I'm currently in the two week wait.

In an effort to distraction myself from analyzing every twinge and pang during this wait, I've been reflecting on my own journey so far and how it has changed Grey and me. Yesterday, as I was going through some old boxes, I came upon our wedding programs. The trip down memory lane was quite a bit of fun (we had a small wedding on a lovely summer day in June 2004. Overall, it was a wonderful day).  While flipping through the program, I came upon a story that we put at the end of it.  This story was collected in Morocoo in 1908 by Feridah Kirby Green, who was the daughter of a British Minister. I first heard the story while taking an African Storytelling course as an undergraduate and I fell in love with it's lesson immediately.

The Weight Before the Door

There lived once a man so rich that he measured his money by the bushel, as we poverty-stricken ones measure barley or bran. One day, he fell very ill, and, feeling that his last hour had come, he called his son and gave over to him all his wealth and property. He said to him, "My son, I leave your welfare in the hands of the Almighty, and to the care of such-and-such a one, who is my friend. Listen to his words, as if they were mine. I have instructed him to find a bride for you when you are ready to marry."


Having blessed his son, the man died.


After a time, the young man desired to marry, so, according to his father's last word, he went to the his father's friend, his guardian and informed him. The Guardian said, "It is well," and he set out and found a young woman. He made all necessary preparations, and caused a suitable feast to be prepared. The morning before the carrying of the bride to the groom, the Guardian called the young man and siad to him, "Son of my friend, I have found you a bride. But before we may know that she is the one destined for you by Allah, it is necessary that you should do this. Tonight, after the bride has been brought to your house and she is seated in your room awaiting you, and before you go to her, I shall cause a heavy weight to be placed before the door of the room. You are to attempt to remove the weight. If she is the fitting wife for you, you will succeed; if you do not succeed, you will know that she is not for you and you should divorce her tomorrow without so much as seeing her face." 


The young man wondered about this, but said, "It is well."


That night, the bride was brought with much pomp and rejoicing, and the bride was taken to the man's apartment and seated there in a rich robe to await him. Her eyes were closed and a veil covered her face.


The bridegroom, after tarrying a while in the mosque with young men of his acquaintance, came up to the door of the room. The door was agar, so that he could see the shrouded figure. Before the door lay the weight, of which the Guardian had spoken. The weight was round like a ball and not large.


The youth though, "I shall life it with ease and won't wait to go in to my wife." But when he tired to lift the weight, he could not move it---no, not the breadth of a finger nail. He tried with all his strength to move it by lifting and pushing and rolling it, but in vain.


He did not enter the room.


The next morning, he went to the Guardian and told him what had happened. The Guardian said, "You must divorce this woman, my son, and I shall seek another for you." This was done.


The Guardian, after he had found a second woman, caused a yet finer feast to be prepared. The bride was brought, as had happened the first time, and the bride was seated in the young man's room. When he came to enter, the weight again lay before the slightly open door. Though he saw the veiled woman, and though he tried with all his strength to remove the obstacle and go to her, he could not---no, though he struggled until dawn.


When the Guardian heard that the young man had failed once more, he signed and said, "Nor is this wife destined for you by the All-wise. Let us send her back to her father and I shall seek again."All was done as he said.


When the young man came for the third time to try to enter the bridal chamber, for the third time he saw that the way was blocked. He said, "This time, I shall remove the weight or, if I cannot do it, I shall try no more.  If I do not succeed this time, I shall know that it is decreed that I should die unmarried." He bent his back and seized the ball with his two hands, and he pulled at it until he groaned with weariness, but in vain.


The young woman within heard his groans and she said to herself, "Shall I let this man who is my husband kill himself without striving to help him?" She arose, put aside her veil and her outer robe of gold and pushed herself through the half-open door. She approached the young man who was wrestling with the heavy weight and said, "Let me help, my lord."


The two placed their hands together on the ball, and pushed with all their force. The weight rolled on one side of the door, so that the entrance was free.


The young man looked on the fair face of the woman who had come to his aid and saw that she was in truth the bride destined for him. He embraced her and the two entered the room together.


The past couple of nights, Grey and I have been reflecting on the journey we've been on. The road hasn't been easy: there's been a lot of loss, a lot of pain.  In truth, there were many times where it would have been a lot easier if we had simply given up.  Yet I couldn't. He couldn't. Because giving up would have meant giving up on our family.

7 1/2 years ago, I stood with this man before friends and family, promising to move any stone in our path.  I never dreamed that some of those stones would be the size of boulders and that there would be moments where we would be working together to climb over them as we were unable to move them. Yet I can't imagine any other person I would have wanted by my side during this.

The moral of this story is simple, though not easy: A fruitful and blessed marriage will be one in which the husband and wife (or husband and husband or wife and wife) struggle with life's problems, problems that are represent by the weight before the door.

In 7 days, we will receive results from this cycle. I pray that weight is nonexistent.

A Christmas Carol: Destigmatizing Scrooge

 This last Friday, Grey and I went to see a radio-show performance of "A Christmas Carol."  I'm sure the story of Ebenezer Scrooge and his emotional/ethical transformation following his supernatural visits is familiar to all of you, so I won't bore you with retelling it.  What I will say is that seeing the ghost of Jacob Marley as an adult isn't any less frightening than it was as a child.

While watching the performance, I found myself reflecting on Scrooge in a way I wouldn't have considered prior to infertility.  Scrooge is villainized early on for being a miser and curmudgeon, leaving many to wonder why he is so cold.  As Scrooge begins his journey with the spirits, we learn that he had a difficult childhood and the foundation is laid for why he is the person he is today. But this vision is brief and before long the audience is shown that Scrooge made choices too, leading him to his current state. Ultimately, Scrooge is able to make a choice to change his nature, embracing the Christmas spirit.  The audience applauded this happy ending and the auditorium was filled with a sense of knowing that good can prevail as long as you chose to have it be so.  


I didn't walk out of that auditorium with that sense of peace, though.  Frankly, I was a bit sad.  Because for the first time, I could really identify with Scrooge and it angered me that all the blame for who he was was put squarely on him while Dicken's glossed over one very important fact: hardship can break a person and someone neglected of kindness and love will become the only thing they know.

I thought about Scrooge a lot today as I walked around town.  As I watched mothers pushing scrollers with their children, ooing and ahhing at window displays, I felt like an outsider.  Though I'm so grateful for the gift that I currently have in my womb, the knowledge that all of it could be gone in 9 days isn't lost on me.  Because of this and because of this journey, I will forever be an outsider. And as much as society would like me to go hid in the corner, I find it hard not to acknowledge that society is a major part of the problem.

Yes, Scrooge makes some very cold decisions: he threatens to dock Bob Cratchin's pay for taking Christmas off and only allows him that one day to spend with his family.  He treats his only nephew poorly when invited to Christmas dinner.  He stomps around and pouted when Christmas carolers come to his door.  But what Dickens neglects to focus on is how society reinforces Scrooge: he's isolated during his childhood, considered an outsider by his peers.  Though there are happy moments, leading us to believe that not all of his life was filled with hardship, there are moments where we are reminded that the world is a hard place.  In that, Dickens fails to touch on a critical point: villains don't magically arise, they are created.

As the holidays rapidly approach, I find I work daily to confront feelings of bitterness and isolationism.  This year is less hard, as I have an amazing circle of support, both online as well as off.  But I've learned first hand that the world is scared of infertility: there are no easy answers/solutions to our plight and ignorance runs rambit regarding medical intervention.  In short, society would prefer to villainize, casting us in the same light as Scrooge.  And that's just wrong.

Tonight, I'm destigmatizing Scrooge.  Instead of focusing on his miserly ways, I chose to focus on how he became the symbol of kindness and love. Because Scrooge isn't the villain of the story; he's the hero. Just as every single one of you have become my heroes. Your stories, your rants, your humour; they all inspire me to have hope.  Without it, without this community I would be lost.

A happy day

Sorry for the delay, but all the excitement from this morning left me pretty exhausted.

We transferred two beautiful embryos: one 5AA, that was just starting to hatch; one 4AA that wasn't far behind.  I cried when I saw them.  I've seen textbook images of blastocysts, but never ones quite as clear.  They are beautiful.

We ended up freezing down four embryos today and they are culturing the other three for one more day to see how they develop.  It looks like we may have one more.

The only hitch of today was me not having drank enough water ahead of time.  I really thought that after 4 liters I would be okay; learned that isn't the case.  My RE and I had a nice chat about horses and riding while we waited for my bladder to fill.

Tonight I'm meditating, relaxing and indulging in bad TV.  And praying that in 9 days I get the best birthday present of my life.  I'm also incredibly grateful for all your words of support.  I'm so lucky to have all of your support.

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.  

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.