Playing chicken

The following post is a whiny one. If you are currently not in a good place, skip it. As always, there will be other posts. Take care of yourself first and foremost.

Today I had my weekly appointment with the MFMs. Following a rise in BP followed by a rise in levels of biomarkers for liver stress, they've been vigilant. In order to gather more data as to what is happening, I went in for an ultrasound yesterday to have my liver visually assessed and have been doing weekly blood draws so they can watch the levels of the markers. Lots and lots of poking and prodding.

Unfortunately, the answer to what's happening with me is still unclear. Though the labs indicate that my liver is functioning, the levels of the markers for liver stress still aren't dropping. Initially I asked if it was due to the fact that my liver is being physically compressed by She-Beat (she's currently been using it as a blanket), but that doesn't seem to be the case. Add in the fact that the ultrasound revealed I have a number of hemangiomas in my liver and it's suggestive that postpartum follow up via MRI is necessary.

The news of the mysterious liver I can handle, just as I've been handling the news that I've been officially diagnosed with prehypertension. But when I heard my MFM tell me that if things didn't improve on both these fronts I would have to be admitted to the hospital, a wave of sadness and frustration hit full force, leaving me feeling utterly defeated.

I'll be the first to admit, I've been very VERY lucky with this pregnancy. After years of living with infertility, suffering through multiple failed fertility treatments and two miscarriages, just being able to carry the Beats has been such a blessing. Add in the fact that I've really had zero medical problems despite having a tentative diagnosis of APA syndrome and having to deal with daily injections since last November, and I know how lucky I've been. Still, the thought of going into the hospital now and running the risk of the Beats having to arrive before 36 weeks scares me. And it makes me feel that my body is failing them; failing our family.

Grey has been trying his best to cheer me up since this morning's appointment. He was quick to remind me that the levels of the biomarkers did drop somewhat today. In addition, though I'm still very much at risk for preeclampsia, I currently have zero protein in my urine. Also we are doing what we need to do. I'm scheduled to be fitted tomorrow with for a maternity support belt to help with the aches and pains due to carrying two babies. In addition, the Beats are looking very good, still measuring ahead in growth and development. He also pointed out that we are in excellent hands with our care team. The fact is, due to the trust and communication that has been established over the last few months of working with them, they were able to find these issues and monitor them. Something that's different from what a lot of people go through as usually issues like this one aren't detected until it's too late.

Still, I know that we're currently having a standoff with my body; that I'm playing chicken with my funky liver. Whereas those around me have been asking about when we're going to start making preparations for the Beats arrival (something that we are sorely behind on) or whether there's even going to be a baby shower, I'm at is trying to figure out what one packs in a hospital bag for a long term stay (seriously, I'm clueless on this one).

How I wish I could just sleep the next 5 weeks away . . . .

Straddling worlds

Like many other life traumas, infertility and loss bring together a diverse group of people. My early memories of this journey are filled with initial feelings and thoughts of being an outsider and alone, so finding those first blogs about infertility were not only a source of comfort, but also amazed me that such a diverse group of people were sharing similar thoughts and feelings on such a taboo topic. Over the years, I’ve witnessed friendships bloom while dealing with this life crisis, meeting men and women who would become as dear as family and learning from those around me how to find courage and strength in seemingly hopeless circumstances.

But what happens when members of these tight-knit groups find their road to resolution while others are still firmly rooted in the trenches? How do bonds formed fighting for a common goal survive when some are successful while others are still living with the pain?

There is no one answer to this issue, with each situation depending on the individuals involved as well as the circumstances surrounding this potential conflict. Yet the issue remains of whether relationships can survive. In some cases, they most certainly do. But too often, they don’t.

This issue has been on my mind more recently, growing as the Beats grow inside of me. I recognize that as this pregnancy progresses, so does the assumption that I no longer qualify as an infertile and that I may very well be a source of pain to those still in the trenches. Frankly, I’m at a loss for how best to bridge the divide for those dealing with infertility vs. those who have or are resolving. So instead, I’ll tell you all a story of a friendship that grew out of infertility, written from the perspective of two fellow IFers.

Back in 2010, while only 6 months in to the whole TTC experience, I joined a message board with a group of women you were trying for their first child. The whole point of this group was to take some of the crazy-obsessive tendencies out of trying to get pregnant (obsessing over charts, temp fluctuations, cervical mucus and even two-week wait symptoms) and instead focusing on a more calm/relaxed approach. It didn’t take long before the ~25 women on the TTC thread dropped down to only a handful as the others found themselves pregnant. And though it hurt to be left behind, the bond that formed between those that remained grew strong.

Of this remaining handful, one woman named Maggie led the charge with seeking out a specialist and starting treatments.

Cristy has already given the background on how we met and became IF battle buddies. She was such a source of strength for me as I ended my first full year of TTC and neared the scary visit with the RE. In her I had someone who truly understood just how gut wrenching the whole process could be.

Like others in the group, I cheered for her when she went through the dreaded infertility workup, prayed for those first few IUIs, grieved with her when she lost her first pregnancy early and celebrated like crazy when she finally became pregnant following an injectable +IUI cycle. As I was just beginning my own treatment, her news gave me hope.

Even after I got pregnant, she scolded me for feeling guilt about my success while leaving others behind in the trenches. I didn’t know it at the time, but this is a common theme for people who have success after IF. She wished me nothing but the best. Still, even with her blessing, it became harder and harder to participate in the TTC thread in our group.

As Maggie progressed in her pregnancy, I encountered failure after failure with fertility treatments. The way the message board was set up, updates on pregnancy progress were on a separate thread and generally there was very little cross-talk between those two or the parenting thread. As time went on, what should have been a trivial divide became a real one.

I felt like even though my intentions were coming from a good place when I had something to offer, I was somehow rubbing my success in their faces. I hated the thought that my friends would somehow misinterpret what I said and be hurt by it.

Then came my first loss. Following the D&C I felt so empty and alone. Maggie tried to reach out to me during that time, offering comfort and support. On my end, as much as I appreciated it, I was having a hard time reciprocating. While my world was filled with pain, all I could see was the joy in her’s. As much as I loved my friend, it was hard not to be jealous.

Following our first FET, Maggie and I had an instant reconnection with the news that the cycle had worked. I was over the moon and so happy to finally be joining my friend in experiencing pregnancy together.

When I got the news that Cristy was also pregnant, I demanded she get involved in the pregnancy thread of our group. I was thrilled that we were finally going to get to experience some of our pregnancies together, even though I was nearing the end of mine. I felt like since we had been through so much of our TTC journey together, the universe owed us some pregnancy time together as well.

And then came the second round of pain: the day I miscarried for the second time Maggie delivered her daughter.

I can still recall the feeling I got in the pit of my stomach on the morning after my daughter was born. I had just opened up my laptop and was riding high on the congratulatory messages that were coming from all over. I logged into our group to find a message from one of our friends, letting us know that Cristy had miscarried. I was devastated. I really can remember it so vividly. I looked at my daughter, sleeping in her hospital bassinet, and I lost it. How fucking unfair can this life be? Doesn’t my friend deserve to hold her baby in her arms just as much as I do?

Anyone who’s lived through infertility/loss could easily write a novel about how the pain and despair changes a person. What’s rarely talked about is how relationships change for those who have walked this path together only to have one resolve. RESOLVE has a good article about pregnancybetween infertile friends that explores this, but rarely do we actually hear members of this community talk about it. The truth is, each experience is different. Just as each individual. For some, this is a non-issue as the pregnant infertile knows exactly how to navigate this tumultuous waters to offer support to the infertile still in the trenches. But too often, this stuff leads to deep fissures in the friendship if not resulting in its death.

Following my second miscarriage and failed second FET, I shut down emotionally. As more pregnancy announcements came in, I found it near impossible to be around anyone who was celebrating expanding their family. So I made a decision of self-preservation and shut out those that I didn’t think could understand. I assumed that they were in their own happy world and I didn’t have the ability to join them when it felt like my journey had come to a bitter, abrupt end.

I confess that the following days/weeks/months were a blur. I know I reached out to Cristy to express my sorrow to her. I don’t think I heard back from her, which isn’t important. The last thing on someone’s mind at a time like that is responding to emails in a timely manner. I continued to read her blog, leaving comments now and then when I had something to offer.

Maggie continued to reach out to me, though. Through comments on my blog, she let me know she was thinking of me and grieving with me. Despite this, I was too hurt and angry. I just couldn’t reciprocate.

I thought about her a lot. That summer was a tough one for me. I had a baby who refused to sleep and a nasty case of post-partum depression brought on by extreme exhaustion. I cried. I felt guilty. I felt like a crappy mother because I cried and felt so much guilt. Lather, rinse, repeat. I should be walking on sunshine because I have a baby and others don’t. They would spit on me if they could see me now, thinking how much better they would be at this than I am.

One day I wrote out a long letter to Cristy. I can’t remember now what it said, but I know I never sent it. I thought it sounded fake and insincere. I hated it and I hated myself for not being able to express to her what I really wanted to say. So I did the cowardly thing and threw it away.

This could have been the end of the story. But something happened in late fall. The group I had joined was going through its own transitions, with new members who were struggling with infertility/loss and surviving failed cycles or going on to healthy pregnancies. The concern voiced was how disconnected the group had become, with many of the more senior members no longer commenting or communicating with anyone in the group. So it was proposed that a joint thread me formed to build community. I was all for this, to the point that I sent an email to all members who I had grown close to in an effort to rally support around this decision.

With that first email, a direct line of communication was opened between me and Maggie. She wrote me back a few days later, once again offering me support and understanding. And for some reason, I decided to take that email as a chance to voice my own anger and hurt over feeling abandoned. Imagine my surprise when she wrote me back and told me that she felt abandoned by me too.

When the email came from Cristy regarding the status of our group, I saw a chance to reopen the lines of communication. I asked her flat out if she felt like I had abandoned her and our friendship. I was honestly surprised when she said yes. In my mind, I had tried as hard as I could. Looking back, I should have tried harder. I should have sent the stupid card. Cristy told me she wished I had been braver, and she was right to say that.

I still remember the response from Maggie. The shock and anger in her words and the revelation that she was trying in spite of dealing with post-partum depression. For the first time in many, many months I was able to open my eyes and see that everything wasn’t sunshine and roses on her end. That she was struggling too. And despite this, she was wrapping me in love that I was thoroughly rejecting. It was then that I realized that I needed to stop being selfish and start being brave myself.

Since then, I have tried to be braver. I try to say what I’m feeling without fretting too much about how it will be interpreted. I learned that it’s better to say anything, even if it’s not perfect, and let a person know that you care than to say nothing and let them feel forgotten.

Over the next few weeks, Maggie and I began to patch things up. A lot of this required some hard emails that certainly left me in tears. Yet she was brave enough not only to be honest with me, but also to also not allow me to simply walk away from our friendship. As Grey and I prepared for our final round of IVF, she was one of many who bombarded me with emails of encouragement and hope, allowing me to voice all my fears and doubts while holding fast to hope in moments I didn’t have the strength to. The main difference was that she didn’t have to do this. It would have been simpler and easier to lead infertility behind and instead focus solely on her family; her little girl.

I’m so glad that we have rekindled our friendship. It’s harder these days to communicate every week through email, now that I have a toddler who is walking and into everything. But I know that Cristy understands, and she knows that I understand when she doesn’t respond right away. We support each other the best way we can, and I’m not afraid to say what I feel. Everyone needs that, whether you are still TTC or are trying to navigate parenting after infertility. I’m glad I have my friend back.

Today I find myself in a similar boat as Maggie. After years of failure, I am 7 months pregnant with my miracle twins. And each time the Beats move, reminding me of how much they are growing and how soon they will be here, I’m reminded of my friends who are still trying to find their path to resolution.

The truth is I’m currently lost with where I fit in this community. As Maggie stated so eloquently above, it’s not that I don’t remember or identify as being infertile. Infertility will forever be a part of my identity. What I fear, though, is that my reaching out and supporting those in the trenches in counter-intuitive.

If you ask the average ALIer on how best to bridge the gap between living with infertility and living with resolution, you’ll get multiple answers. For some, they refuse to apologize for their journey, instead choosing to write about the next chapters of their life after infertility/loss. Others are more conscious of their readers/those around them, attempting to empathize with those still in the trenches and continuing to offer support. Still more chose to put the entire experience behind them; kind of like a bad nightmare that they really want to forget. Others refuse to forget, instead activelyadvocating for those who are still living with this trauma and helping wherethey can.

The problem with each of these options is how to manage the decision with the relationships that have been formed. And this is where things tend to get ugly. I’ve seen examples of people who try their best to not hurt anyone around them, thus failing to embrace they life that’s growing inside them in the process. I’ve also seen those still fighting in the trenches being bullied into “being happy” because their friend (who is now pregnant/parenting) knows what it means to be infertile/loss a much wanted pregnancy and, hence, they need to get over themselves. And I’ve seen everything in between.

So how does one straddle worlds? Support those that they’ve grown to love while being true to themselves and their families? Is this too complex of a problem or can we help ease this transition?

Frankly, I don't know the answer 

What I do know is that I’m grateful to still have Maggie in my life. To have her as a source of support and love. That I get to see her daughter grow and bloom. But also I hesitate to open this space to all that is happening with this pregnancy. It’s not that I’m not grateful for where I’m at (trust me, I really am) nor that I’m afraid of being true to myself or not embracing this transition. It’s more about the memory of the hurt and the pain I felt for so long; the happy-sad that at moments made me wonder if I was forever doomed to live in a pit of despair.

So, for now, I feel like I’m stuck between worlds, trying as best as I can to navigate this road to resolution. Trying to honor all that has happened while also preparing for what lies ahead.

Yellow flags

First off, to all of those who live in the US, Grey and I wish you all of happy and safe 4th of July! May your day be filled with sunshine of some sort and the only fireworks be the ones you get to "oh" and "ah" over.

For those from Canada, wishing you all a happy belated Canada Day! I hope it was amazing.

Grey and I are celebrating this Independence Day by sleeping in and staying close to home. The start of the week has been a bit too eventful for us and your's truly is now being strictly monitored by the MFMs. As I'm not much for being the center of attention, it's been an interesting few days.

Things started getting interesting on Monday night. Grey has noticed that my ankles have been swelling more than usual over the weekend and that my energy levels were near zero in the evenings. Add in the fact that I've been seeing stars for no particular reason and the end result is a suspicious husband. After a brief discussion, Grey decided it would be a good idea to monitor my blood pressure. Normally, my BP is around 105/60, but with the last couple of appointments we've both noticed it's been slowly creeping up. Still, we weren't expecting the first reading: 134/92. And when we told the triage nurses, it was immediately apparently where we would be spending the next 4 hours.

The long and the short of it, though everyone is fine, is that my liver function is questionable. The appointment I had on Wednesday (growth scan and normal OB check) has my care team on alert as the levels are still higher than normal. After ruling out Hepatitis (I've never had it and have been vaccinated) and seeing that my BP is still higher than normal (averaging around 118/66 with their devices), the concern is preeclampsia. Granted, I have zero protein in my urine and I'm still under the diagnostic range, but considering this isn't my normal they've decided to be prudent and bump me to weekly appointments.

Needless to say, though I'm not happy, I've accepted it.

A couple of weeks ago in our Multiples class, the instructor put up a slide about groups at risk for preeclampsia. Though carrying multiples is definitely a risk factor, both Grey and I quickly exchanged looks when we saw that APA syndrome was at the top of the list. I haven't done a lot of reading about this association, but there are a couple of articles that suggest a correlation with the syndrome and preeclampsia/HELLP.

So, we're being vigilant. Or as the head of my care team has pointed out, we have yellow flags. In addition to monitoring the usual symptoms weekly, I am now starting weekly blood draws to monitor liver function. Grey is also on me about monitoring BP, I officially qualify for disabled parking (which I am applying for on Friday) and that my time commuting to work is officially over.

On a good note, the Beats are doing very well. They both rocked the growth scan, measuring at ~3 lbs (putting them in the 58% for growth). Grey laughed when we got the news that they were doing well. That news helped all of us.

Now if we can just get my body to cooperate. . . .

28 weeks: preparing for the transition

*WARNING* this post is about pregnancy progress. If you are not in a good place, PLEASE skip this post. As always, there will be others. Take care of yourself first. In the meantime, you can help Grey and me answer a question that's been plaguing us for the last few of years: 

Do we praise him or scold him?

Yes, there's a piping hot pizza under there. And the delivery guy's vote is to praise him.

Today marks the beginning of the 3rd trimester; yet another milestone that has me in complete disbelief. This past week has been a busy one for myself and the Beats. Last Thursday we had another ultrasound to check my cervix for a final time and to talk about the next few appointments. Seeing as our MFMs are at the university, it was also the first time that I had a medical student in the room with us. As the resident who's been following me since 14 weeks asked me the usual questions, I could see the medical student nervously nodding along. It was as they brought in the ultrasound machine that we learned that I was the first twins case she was sitting in on and she was worried I wouldn't let her do the ultrasound. The look of relief on her face when I assured her that I was completely comfortable taking a look at the Beats brought a smile to my face, as I know all too well that many people are not comfortable with medical students yet how important it is that they gain exposure and practice prior to going off to residency.

Here's where the fun part happened: as the resident stepped out of the room to find the attending MFM, the medical student was scanning the twins, commenting on the boxing match that was happening. It was then that she turned to Grey and asked him if he wanted to try. Without missing a beat, he said "sure" and got his first lesson with the ultrasound machine.

Anyway, the Beats are doing well and seem to be on track. We'll find out more next week with our first growth scan as to how well they are progressing. In the meantime, my cervix is holding at 3.5 cm. Outside of a severe case of constipation which landed me in L&D over the weekend to rule out preterm labor (another story for another time) and a prescription of daily Miralax and Colace, all is looking good.

With all of this news comes the beginning of seriously preparing for the Beats' arrival. Last Wednesday we did our tour of L&D, learning about what to expect during birth and post partum. I was especially pleased to see a breast pump in each post partum room as well as know that we would have immediate access to lactation consultants because of the twins.

In addition to doing the tour, we also had a weekend long crash course about pregnancy, delivery and managing multiples. The instructor for this course is an OB nurse at the university who has been teaching this course for 16 yrs. Though she is not a mother of multiples, she saw a need for this course after she found herself modifying topics for couples expecting multiples during normal birthing classes. Needless to say, the course was jam-packed with lots of great information, starting with how to recognize the signs of preterm labor, diet/nutrition and how important it is to gain the recommended weight (i.e. 38 lbs by 28 weeks), birthing multiples and what to expect in the delivery room (and that an epideral is almost required for the experience), breastfeeding multiples and where to find help (and why not to beat yourself up if you need to supplement) and finally tips for surviving the 4th trimester. The two most important things I relearned over the weekend where 1) that we're going to need help, hence I need to put aside my stubbornness and really begin cultivating where this will come from and 2) the term "Braxton Hicks" is misleading, especially for preterm labor.  I won't spend much time with this, as there's a whole post one could easily draft on this topic, but I will say that a contraction is a contraction and the ones to be concerned about are those that happen regularly (6 or more an hour). In addition most preterm labor contractions are painless, meaning that many women who aren't aware of the signs and symptoms will easily miss this warning sign and assume all is okay until it's too late. We actually had one couple who are at 29 weeks and are currently on restricted has bedrest because of preterm labor 26 weeks. Initially they said it came on without warning, but as we learned about the signs and symptoms, she kept saying "OMG, I had that!!" and by the end of the class they made the decision to switch from their midwife to the MFM that was recommended.

Since the course, Grey and I have been planning. I had already planned on stopping work by the end of July, but now I'm reducing my hours so I'm only working 3 days a week. We also now know that there's a limited amount of time left where I'll actually be able to help with acquiring the materials we'll need for the Beats, so we've begun transitioning our bedroom and the office area into living quarters for 4 human beings (we've actually been advised to skip a nursery as it's likely we'll be moving within a year). In addition, we joined one of the many multiples groups located in the Seattle area and have already been connecting with the group. The theme of babies after fertility treatments is a common one and many are more than happy (if not relieved) to share their journeys when they learn about our journey.

The short and the long of it is that though I'm still nervous and worried about the worst happening, I'm also embracing that we have to prepare. To not do so will only lead to stressful consequences for all of us. Besides, I learned long ago from David that bracing one's self for the worst doesn't make that trauma any less and I owe it to the Beats to embrace the positives of this pregnancy.

So begins the countdown. We're hoping for at least 9 more weeks of gestation. 9 more weeks means these guys will be full-term and no NICU. Come on, little ones: grow!

9

9 years ago today, Grey and I stood up in front of family and friends and exchanged vows. Naive to what the future held, all we cared about in the moment was being together.

One year ago today, we hit our lowest point in this journey. Convinced our journey towards biological children was over, we found ourselves attempting to piece together all that had happened while trying to figure out how to move on. The pain from that day is still very real and will forever be etched on our hearts. The memories forever engrained in our minds.

This morning, before running off to work, I laid down next to this same man and studied his face while he slept. So much has happened in these last 9 yrs, especially since our diagnosis. And yet, though we are both profoundly changed, I know how lucky I am to have found my soulmate.

At the end of our wedding program, there was a story I first heard while taking an African Storytelling course as an undergraduate and both Grey and I immediately fell in love with its lesson. The moral of this story is simple, though not easy: A fruitful and blessed partnership will be one in which partners face life's struggles and impasses together; problems that are represent by the weight before the door. Never did I imagine we would encounter such traumas and the truth is that we're still learning daily how to work with one another to navigate our way through each and every single one of them. Yet I can't imagine any other person I would have wanted by my side through all of this.

Happy anniversary, Grey. Thank you for climbing over the boulders of infertility/loss with me, being my partner through these seemingly impossible climbs. I'm so lucky to have found you and look forward to the next chapter of our journey together.

The Weight Before the Door
(This story was collected in Morocoo in 1908 by Feridah Kirby Green, who was the daughter of a British Minister.) 

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 said 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 lift 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.

Mantras

Mantras. A word or group of words used for invocation or incantation. More famous examples of mantras are "Om," "I am that I am," "Ho’oponopono" and even "all you need is love." Mantras are embraced both in daily life, but especially during times of change or trauma. Mantras are known for their ability to inspire hope and resilience. In short, mantras are powerful things. But sometimes they can also be exclusionary.

Back in 2011, I joined a mindfulness-based meditation group for those living with infertility. Grey and I were recently diagnosed and I knew that if I was going to make it through this experience with my sanity somewhat intact I was going to need help. Our group leader, Carol Knoph, is a fellow ALIer who resolved through adoption. Following her son's birth, she decided to train with Ali Domar in mind/body medicine for fertility and then started teaching courses to couples living with infertility/RPL in the Seattle area. It was through Carol that I met Dee and many of the tools I learned from this course I still practice daily. Needless to say, I'm still grateful for all her help and support.

It was from Carol that I first heard "if you want to be a parent, you will be." As someone newly diagnosed with infertility, both Grey and I took great comfort from this mantra. It helped calm the panic that would arise after each BFN and it gave me the courage to dive head-first into fertility treatments. Later on, after our losses, this mantra supported me again as I began to explore adoption. In  short, it became a rallying cry of sorts. Something that I could use to support others who were also struggling on this journey.

But it wasn't until recently that I began to see the heartache this mantra could cause.

Yesterday, S.I.F. wrote a powerful post about the myth behind wanting something enough. If you haven't read this yet, I really encourage you to click over and read not only the post but also the comments section. For the most part, I found myself readily nodding along. And then I came to the quote she posted from the discussion on Facebook and I froze.

"I am empathetic to all of these concerns and difficulties. However, it is my belief that if you want to be a parent you will find a way. I am the momma of six one of whom is adopted." 

As S.I.F. dissected this comment and how it belittled those who made the decision to resolve by ending their journey towards parenthood, I found the tears readily flowing while I nodded along again. The whole time, I was chastising myself thinking "how could I have been so short-sighted?"

In July 2012, I was convinced Grey and my journey to parenthood was over for the time being. Following our third failed round of IVF, I knew my sanity could not survive another round of fertility treatments on the assumption of "bad luck." In addition, we had just learned that no adoption agency would work with us because we were considering relocating for our careers. "Get settled and we'll talk" was what we were told, usually followed by "You're still young! Don't worry you have time." It was during this period that I first picked up Sweet Grapes based on the recommendation by Lori Lavender Luz. After finishing the book in a couple of days, I turned to other resources, both blogs and Pamela Tsigdino's memoir Silent Sorority. What I quickly learned was that the decision to live "childfree" (which is actually a misnomer as people who chose this way to resolve have children in their lives in some way) were not simply giving up on their dreams of parenthood. Instead they were making a decision to live and to live well. But most importantly, their decision to get off the infertility rollercoaster was not because they didn't want children enough. Far from it: they loved their families so much that they refused to sacrifice them and themselves in an effort to chase a ghost. Needless to say, I still learn from these women who write about their experiences and insights. It was because of them that I knew one day I would resolve, but that I would resolve to live a full life, regardless of whether I succeeded in becoming a parent.

The truth is, as much as I wish each f you resolve by achieving parenthood, I also know that this isn't always the reality. Even for some who are open to adoption and expanding their family through this process, the reality is that simply going down this road will not guarantee success. Everyone's story is different and we all have obstacles that we will face differently in life. The any of us can hope for is to make decisions that will lead to outcomes that we can be at peace with.

Here's where I'm struggling. There is power in mantras, yet there doesn't seem to be one that applies universally for anyone on this journey. I know that early on in this journey I wasn't ready to hear "one day you will resolve and move forward from all of this." Similarly, I would never dream of telling someone who knows that adoption will not be their road to resolution that "if you want to be a parent, you will be." In short, the mantras that have helped me, calling me to rally I know will cause others so much pain. But I hesitate to cease using them altogether as I know that sometimes these simple phrases are the only source of light in the darkness.

Grey and I had a very long discussion about all of this yesterday. He was fast to point out that every mantra or rallying cry used for any trauma in life will inadvertently exclude a subset of the population (think anti-pink ribbons and the IV League, which is a support group for women living with stage 4 breast cancer). The thing is, though, the easy solution of stopping the mantras doesn't necessarily resolve this. By no means am I supporting the use of platitudes or simplified answers to the complexities of life, but I also know the power of mantras and how they've gotten me through these otherwise impossible moments.

Needless to say, my mind is still spinning from all of this. I wish the answer was clear, that there was one thing I knew I could always say or do to ease the pain caused by infertility/loss. Hell, I wish I had the cure for infertility and RPL; that I could ensure anyone who wanted to be a parent could be.

Lighter Grey: What infertility took from me... and what it gave

Hi All,

It's been awhile I know. I've been meaning to write to you, but have been overwhelmed with the ten-thousand details of my ordinary work and home life, with the blur of pre-Twinsanity (however, compared to infertility, I call this f*****g ice cream with butterscotch syrup).

Heads up: This post gets a little nasty. If you've been through a lot recently, just skip it. It will be here later. Check in with yourself, then read on. Otherwise, go kiss your partner in life and know that you will resolve one day.

Here we go with the me, me, me. Infertility came at a vulnerable time for me (not that it comes at any particularly convenient time for any of us). Family was scattered (not that this item has changed) and there were unending issues. My professional life was cracking. What seemed like limitless prospects a few years before became almost equal dead-ends and embarrassing failures (like a gold miner coming up with rocks and donkey s**t). From a guy's point of view (ok, I'm a bit of a fossil, gender roles aside, this guy's point of view), this was failing his family.

The neighborhood, our investment into the American Dream, went to crap. I could go into extensive detail, but it's ugly. One tale: while I had to go on a work trip to the other coast, there was an arsonist running loose in our neighborhood. They are finally, now 4 years later, rebuilding the shops this lunatic (yes, they got him, he is a lunatic) destroyed. Commence teeth grinding. Mmmm. Yeah, chip those molars, such a constructive habit (yes, I had one repaired recently).

Then my beloved wife lead the emotional charge into infertility, me waiting behind, not even with my shoes on (huh...what??? whaddya mean infertile???, nah...couldn't possibly be...we're from prolific low class breeder stock, infertility is a rich person's problem...yeah, I actually said stuff like that). I was angry at her that she had no sympathy for what was happening to me (oh, poor me) and it took too long to catch up and realize that more dear things were at stake. I had been worrying about failing a family that wasn't happening itself.

The grey hairs in my beard came to mark the passage of it not happening in any timely fashion. I wrote these off. But they kept coming. We're not above the medical time threshold, but still they marked the time. A man getting older, a wife angry, a professional fizzle, no children. Yuck. I'd turn my back on me. Back then. When my head was full of sh**. Before infertility's gift.

Infertility's gift came one profoundly painful day in the form of an envisioned granite stone. The day I finally mourned. After the losses. This couldn't happen. This couldn't possibly ever happen. THIS HAPPENS TO OTHER PEOPLE! But it did and to us. It was a material reality. And like has been said, sometimes life hits you with a f*****g brick. There is the macho interpretation of this. This is incorrect. Then there is the please-let-the-pain-stop interpretation of this. The second is what is really meant.

I had named them in my heart. I saw their tiny headstones. Like those I have seen in children's graveyards. Except cuter and far more painful to me at the same time. I know horror mixed with innocence on a first name basis.

I think I've written about this before. I don't want to go into it, but I've known chronic, physical pain that goes on for years. When it briefly visits to check in now it's "hello darkness my old friend" (macho style, our culture so values physical pain as a sign of masculinity). I've always hated you, but you remind me of when I was younger, and at the time I thought tougher, before infertility undermined what little I certainty I had in the world. The depression and grief of infertility was its match in magnitude away from normality in opposite directions. Seeing a white hot flare vs seeing blackness. But unlike the senseless physical pain I knew before (of unclear cause), this pain of infertility taught me some very clear things, things tied intimately with that which is good in life.

I will not forget the pain of the loss so dear. It is too clear. I will never forget who was lost. I still want to cry when I play their song. This is an old song that I cannot share with you, I'm sure you understand, it's for them.

I will never forget the grinding, to be followed by the yelling at, then the fear with and crying alongside my partner in life. We were destroyed.

This is infertility's gift of pain. It taught me clearly what was precious, what was missing. It grabbed me by the balls and said: "Understand yet? Good."

I will not burden the Beats with this. This is our burden. We may tell them of our story, but some details are for our interpretation.

Our twins are on the way. I'm working to prepare. We toured the hospital today. There are material concerns, emotional concerns, health concerns. Some very limited professional success since those past days met with greater uncertainty today. But I know what I work for now. I don't want to die anymore. I want to live, I want to work, I want to fight. More importantly, I want to cultivate for our babies. I can and will fall short sometimes. But I can't quit.

And for my beloved wife: I'm sorry I wasn't with you in those early days. I hope you agree I've caught up and I'm here now. We have since suffered together.

For those readers who still suffer, you will resolve one day. If you want to be a parent, you will be. I am not condescending you. I am not minimizing your pain. I did not see the Beats coming, as much as I hoped. As I love these two, I see my friends who have resolved in vastly different ways, equally full of love and life. The clouds will lift one day.