Don't Count Your Eggs

A Happy Ending

As part of the documentary Noah and I have been working on, we've interviewed several couples who have struggled with infertility and have found their happy ending. It has made me realize that there really are many ways a family can be made, and that there is a way off IF Island. It's a non-refundable ticket to Parenthood Park. But just because a person may enter this much more exciting and joy filled place, doesn't mean all the past hurt immediately goes away. I've heard it gets a lot better, but most of us who will go on to parent after years of infertility may still have some scars. 

But there are happy endings. Lots of them. One of the couples we have been following is Candace and Tomasso. After four plus years of surgeries and procedures and tests and IVF and IVF with donor eggs and multiple miscarriages, Candace and Tomasso finally have their baby boy Max through open adoption. 

Noah and I met the couple several months ago the day before they were flying out to meet their birth-mother for the first time. After only 12 days in the "matching process," they were matched with a young woman who was several months pregnant. On the day we met, Candace was excited. Nervous, but excited. There was a light in her eyes that can only be defined as the glimmer of hope and anticipation. Tomasso was quietly confident. Tomasso is her rock. Her number one cheerleader. He always reminded her that they would one day be parents. There is something to be said about the role of the husband/partner in all of this. Tomasso's unwavering strength and solid optimism seemed to ground Candace similarly to how I feel Noah grounds me. 

I was nervous when I first met them. Knowing all that they had gone through and hearing stories of adoptions not working out, I wanted so badly for this to all work out for them. And last month it did. Their son, Max, was born around the same Candace would have given birth had she not miscarried her last pregnancy.

You can watch a clip of the interview with the couple here:

The light in Candace's eyes was different this weekend. It was pure joy with perhaps a few tiny remnants of past hurt. She's in love, and Max is an incredible little man. He cooed and fussed and smiled at his daddy who simply said, "See. I told you we'd be parents. And now we are."

Free tickets to Fertility Planit next week!

Happy Sunday!

Just a quick post to invite anyone in the LA area to join me at Fertility Planit LA 2014 (at UCLA) with complimentary tickets!   Use promo code FPGUEST and link to: http://bit.ly/FPGUEST to take advantage of this great offer!

Fertility Planit is a two day event about all things fertility. On Friday, I'm going to be on a panel with some fabulous women from Baby Quest and Abundant Beginnings Surrogacy talking about adapting to missed conceptions on your journey to parenthood. 

Hope to see some of you there! 

 

 

YOU just relax!

So I never fully believed in the correlation between stress and infertility, though I do understand that being stressed out isn't going to help anything. People in war zones get pregnant, people on crack get pregnant--people in all kinds of life situations get pregnant (well, some people). There hasn't been much evidence based research to convince me that stress is directly related to fertility issues. But I read this little article in the NY Times the other day, and wanted to scream, "AHHHHHHH!!!!"

The article states that after testing the saliva of about 400 women who were trying to get pregnant, they found, "There was no association of cortisol with fertility. But those whose alpha-amylase levels were in the highest third, a sign of longstanding stress, had more than double the risk of infertility."

That's not exactly proof, but it does make some of us on the higher strung side get REALLY STRESSED OUT! 

Deep breath.

It's really hard to help feeling stressed out. It's really hard to have a civilized response to a person who tells us to "just relax." It's hard to even know how to relax. "Longstanding stress" can be part of some people's genetic make-up, or past experiences, or current living/work environment.  It also comes with years of living with infertility. But what also comes with years of living with infertility is an opportunity to change habits of how we think about stressful things, and how we respond. It's a work in process. It takes effort to consciously make lifestyle and dietary changes, and to alter the way we think about stressful situations and the way we can learn to be less reactive. 

With each cycle, each month, each procedure there is, no doubt, a lot on the line. Always. A lot of money. A lot of physical and emotional investment. A lot of hope. After all, it's a human life we are all trying to create, and that's huge. But we also have to pay attention to the human life that we are most responsible for. Our own. We have to take the time to do whatever we can to honor ourselves and take care of ourselves and treat ourselves!  

That's about all I can do right now, as I wait to begin my next process. Gearing up for another cycle is  stressful. There's so much anticipation anxiety and fear and curiosity and hope. It's the perfect time for me to really work on my stress-management tools. Ugh. I hope I'm not being too redundant here, talking about trying to stay grounded and calm. It's a good reminder I suppose. Have a good weekend everyone! If you can rent a kayak and get off the Island for a few hours or even a few days do so! Maybe it will help you JUST RELAX! ;)

Remember the bigger picture

My yoga teacher posted this Winston Churchill quote on her blog the other day, "If you're going through hell, keep going."  It seems relevant to all of us on IF Island. I imagine this posted on a little roadside sign right next to a ditch filled with empty syringes and appointment calendars and negative pregnancy tests. 

It's a reminder to just keep going. And I don't mean that as in just keep doing treatments. Sometimes being able to move forward requires taking a step back to process and accept and figure out what the best next step is. Sometimes a "time out" is in order. But keep going to me means remembering the bigger picture. Remembering that our baby is out there. Somewhere. It may be frozen in a bank in another state, it may be growing in someone else's body, it may be forming in a petri-dish in a sterile lab, it may still be a giant question mark. Those of us who are determined to create a family will. Sometimes, for no good reason, we are forced to go through absolute hell to do so. 

But the hell won't last forever. It won't. There are tiny little socks and onesies on the other side of the madness. Sometimes it's important to use a wide angle lens to get some perspective on the bigger picture. 

Sending a big hug to anyone who is slowly digging themselves out of that ditch. Follow the signs! Hopefully there's something beautiful around the corner. 

Is this really my new normal?

When you've lived on IF Island for so long, you start to notice some of the things that once seemed like a big deal are kind of normal now. Having to get daily injections, talking about donor eggs at the dinner table, and having to plan life around medical appointments and procedures are all par for the course now. Another thing I've noticed is that I have a new, fairly high, baseline of anxiety, that is becoming almost normal.

I started this madness as a fairly anxious person, so add YEARS of infertility treatments, zero success, and lots of questions and "what-ifs" looming on the horizon and it's no wonder I wake up on Monday mornings feeling like I'm choking. I woke up today and asked myself, "Is this really my new normal?" Then I forced an audible exhale. And another. Then one more.

When you have no real answers as to why you're in the situation you're in and you have no guarantees about where you're going, it's hard to help feeling...uneasy. Few people are comfortable with uncertainty.  Few people have the emotional, physical, and financial resources to say, "I'm just going to do IVF until I get a baby." And even for those people, there still is no guarantee. IF Island is an anxiety provoking place, so it is somewhat "normal" to be feeling anxious. But it isn't fun, and it doesn't help improve any outcomes, so what can we do to calm a racing mind and a jittery tummy?

I wish I had a magic answer. I wish I could just sprinkle fairy dust over all of us who lay awake at night wondering if we are doing the right thing and making the right choice. I wish I could wave a wand over all of us who feel sick to our stomachs thinking about whether or not the next ART procedure is going to work. I really wish I could. But I can't. 

What I can share are the few things that sometimes help me calm an anxious mind and a terrified heart. 

1) Breathe. My anxiety gets physical, so the first thing I do is drop into child's pose and take deep inhales into my back. Being in a forward-fold is supposed to be calming, and with my forehead on the floor I just breathe and imagine all my worries dumping out of my forehead and onto the floor. Worrying about it isn't going to change the situation, I know that. But my body doesn't always. My body reacts as if I'm being chased by a lion. So I have to get into my body and try to convince it that I'm safe. I also have to convince my brain that I'm safe, which brings me to the next thing. 

2) Change my thoughts. Sure, easier said than done. But when I start freaking out that this embryo might not work, I remind myself that whatever is going to happen is going to happen, and I'll deal with with, just like I've dealt with everything else. It may not work, that's true. But telling myself I will eventually have a baby is much better than thinking about all the reasons why the next procedure might not work. Repeating to myself that this will not last forever, and reminding myself that babies exist and I can get one one day helps me remember the bigger picture. 

3) Don't overwhelm myself.  I have to remember not to write out a list of insane to-dos and not to get caught in a cyber sink-hole trying to find the perfect donor or researching side effects of specific meds. I've done both of those things. Multiple times. They don't make the situation better. If you can't help it, then try to allot a specific amount of time to these activities and then quickly move on.

I have to acknowledge that I'm more anxious than usual, because what goes on in the world of infertility is extremely anxiety provoking. With the recognition of increased anxiety comes the promise to take care of myself. To sit in a hot bath, to drink calming teas, to meditate and read funny books, to get more sleep and to rub lavender oil on my wrists and take ten deep inhales whenever I'm feeling stressed out. We all have to take care of ourselves more. We have to remember that while an increased state of anxiety is normal, it doesn't have to completely be our new normal.

How can we NOT be obsessed?

I know it's never a good thing to be obsessed or totally preoccupied with something. I know that. My brain knows that. But...I can admit that solving the puzzle of how we are going to create our family has become a complete obsession. It's on my mind all the time. The first thing I do when I wake up is think about our embryo popsicle. Or I think about an email I've just gotten from someone who has just had their third unsuccessful IVF cycle. Or I think about my new friend who just got a fibroid the size of a grapefruit removed from her uterus and is slowly recovering. Sometimes I'm not even sure what the actual thought is, but I know it has something to do with infertility. It is the backdrop of my mind, the screen-saver of my brain. It's the number one question and the number one goal--where, when and how to get our baby. 

Being conscious of this obsession is important because it helps me know I need to actively do things to calm my mind. I have to take moments to count the things I'm grateful for, and to try and let go of thinking about all the "what-ifs" and all the past hurt and unfairness. I have to find ways to get outside myself--to listen to others or do something that actively engages my body and brain.

I have yet to conquer the obsession, but I'm working on it. Sometimes Noah and I make a date night or watch a movie or agree not to talk about anything IF related, but it doesn't always work. It's not for lack of effort, it just...I don't know, it's just hard. When you want something so bad and there are so few tangible answers and even fewer guarantees, it's difficult to know have a constant barrage of thoughts circling your mind. 

Today I hung out with a friend I haven't seen in a while. She recently went back to graduate school and always has some interesting dating story to tell. For about two hours I felt completely engrossed in her life, her worries, her feelings, her excitements. It was great! For both of us. It proved to me that I can put the infertility obsession on hold--if even for a few hours. Though it's not always easy, it is very freeing. It reminds me of who I was before I landed here on IF Island. 

So this weekend, for anyone who has a similar obsession right now, I highly recommend trying to put the IF thoughts, worries, wonders, hopes--all of it aside. Mentally pick them up, put them in a box, seal the box, and set a timer for at least two hours. And enjoy whatever it is you choose to do 150%!

Good luck and lots of love!

 

 

Getting the Head and the Heart on the Same Page

It seems like I hit on a hot topic with my last post when describing how dumbfounded I get when I realize people are literally on their third baby when I'm gearing up for yet another miserable ART procedure. I wish there was a word to describe this...feeling of being stuck on IF Island when it seems like everyone around you is moving forward with their family. I'm certainly not alone with the frustration of being constantly reminded of my own struggles by the apparent ease of pregnancy from all those around me. My logical mind knows that someone else's pregnancy success has nothing to do with me. My rational brain is happy and excited for those I love when they get pregnant. But my emotional self feels the past trauma of unsuccessful cycles reemerge. My body feels the rage and anger at the years spent, the tears shed, the money lost, and the way IF has become a complete obsession and time suck. The core of my being feels the unfairness of all many of us have had to endure.

Sometimes the head and the heart aren't on the same page.

I've been trying to work on integrating my past experiences with my current desires to be supportive and happy for others. I remind myself that I actually love babies and kids, all of them, and that my time will come. I try to convince myself that this experience--this never ending friggin' experience-- will eventually come to an end, and it will continue to change Noah and I for the better. It will make us better parents and more appreciative people. 

The big problem is the bitter cycle we often get into. Someone gets pregnant--it becomes weird because no one knows what to say. My very existence makes the happy couple feel a little uncomfortable, so there's a mutual avoidance that happens. That avoidance creates distance and disconnection and more isolation. The frustration starts to swell and I'm again reminded of how lonely and dark it is here on IF Island. 

So how do I break the cycle? 

Sometimes I have to just sit with the feelings, whatever they are, for a while. Because that's being honest to myself. When I'm ready, I try to think of ways to build a bridge from my head to my heart. I acknowledge and understand why another pregnancy is another reminder of our long, difficulty journey, and then I remember what I am actually angry at. I'm not angry at other people for moving forward with their lives. I'm not even angry that they got pregnant, even if it was "on the first try." (Who am I kidding, that does hit a nerve, I mean...really?) What I'm angry at is the hand we've been dealt and all that it has entailed. So I sit in the anger and accept it for what it is. I validate my own feelings and then try to soften them. I think of all the beautiful things I have in my life and I start to let that anger go--I imagine it jumping onto a cloud and floating away. I hear my acupuncturist's voice telling me my baby doesn't want to come to an angry mama, and I take a deep breath into the most broken and jagged spaces of my heart, and exhale all the negativity I can.

I've been more open to hanging out with friends and their new, and not so new babies. When I'm in the moment it's totally fine and actually fun (until they start complaining about getting no sleep or something I would kill to be able to complain about. Then our visit it done. I know my limits). 

The more love and fun we can let into our lives the better we are going to feel. That's a fact. I know it can be really hard sometimes and that it does take some effort but I also know how important is it to let the bad feelings go. It's always a work in progress, and I wish everyone out there struggling with this so much peace.

 

IF--The Never Ending Story

Yesterday I ran into a friend and her new baby. Noah and I had been trying for two years before she got pregnant and now her baby is seven months old. SEVEN MONTHS OLD! I felt fine seeing them--he's super cute and she's really happy. That's all good and well. But it was such a reminder of how LONG Noah and I have been in this. She went through a whole pregnancy and has a seven month old while we're digging through the couch cushions looking for spare change to add to our next ART procedure fund. It made me start thinking about all the friends and co-workers and family members who have gone on to have families while we are chugging away. As I started calculating and doing the math I forced myself to stop. Just STOP! What's the point? How does thinking about any of this serve me?

It doesn't. 

It makes me feel...flabbergasted that our story feels sooooo never ending. It makes me want to scream, "Enough already!" 

I have no control over everyone else's baby making luck, but I do have some control over my thoughts about it. (Some control, I don't want to give myself too much credit here). I just forced my brain to dump all the comparison and jealousy and...bafflement (is that a word?) out of my brain so that I could feel the sunshine and taste the deliciousness of a fresh green juice I just made. I reminded myself that this story, all of our stories, will find an end. It will. One day we will all be able to close the chapter on the dark infertility years, and begin writing a beautiful new story. 

Fighting the Stigma of IF

I don't like to vent too much on this blog because I truly try my hardest to stay focused and stay positive, but this morning I had a...reminder of how misunderstood and stigmatized infertility can be and I wanted to share my experience. I'll try to be brief.

Since 2013 I have had some infertility coverage through my health insurance that I receive through my employer. I work for a non-profit organization that is associated with a Catholic hospital.  Because of this coverage, I was able to have various tests, x-rays, and even medication/insemination covered. It was a HUGE help financially. The coverage is really just for "testing and diagnosing" and gave me access to doctors who have helped me figure out what is going on with my body.

After my sonohysterogram earlier this year, I got a whopping bill and was told I no longer had infertility coverage. I didn't understand it, but was told that my coverage mysteriously stopped mid- June 2013. There was no real explanation and I had no warning or notice that there had been any changes. Fast forward a few months of dealing with Kaiser and my HR department and lo and behold, I was told by my HR department that I lost coverage because, according to my HR rep, my employer is a Catholic institution and I, "never should have had any infertility coverage because they [meaning my employer] don't t want you to mess with God's plan." She literally said that to me. When they realized they were providing this coverage, they dropped it immediately claiming it was essentially a mistake. 

I felt totally degraded. She was nice about it, she said it wasn't her call or her decision, but I was so angry at how misunderstood just the word infertility can be. I was covered for getting information and getting diagnostic tests for a medical condition. That was all. IVF and everything else I've done we have paid for completely out of pocket.

I don't want to get into any religious, moral or ethical issues. Everyone has a right to their opinion and their values. But when other people's values take away my right to get information and help, it hurts. It makes me angry and sad that infertility is seen by many as not a legitimate condition and that people who undergo treatments can be looked down upon.

We all have a right to get answers and to get help. None of us made the choice to be on IF Island, and we all have to advocate for ourselves and each other as we continue to fight to create or complete our families. We all have to remember what we know in our hearts. That we have the right to parent, the right to have a child, and the right utilize modern medicine and technologies in whatever way feel is right to each of us individually. 

Sorry that I'm a little fired up this Friday. This was my first encounter feeling...discriminated against. I think that word is ok to use here. I know that many other people struggle with this kind of stuff daily--feeling shamed or feeling judged, and I want to send so much love and strength to everyone out there still in this fight. 

 

How Can You Possibly be Prepared?

I've become a guest blogger on fertilityauthority.com, and my most recent post was about The Shock Factor. That feeling of complete shock after something unexpected or unfathomable happens somewhere during the ever complicated journey to parenthood.  There has been more than one occasion where I've felt my stomach drop to my feet and my heart pump so hard I could hear the thuds in my temples. There have been several bumps along the way where I just could not believe a result or outcome. There have been days when I felt so emotionally sick, I actually threw up. That's the Shock Factor. 

It's really hard to prepare for the unexpected (or even the expected) on IF Island. It's really hard to tell yourself to prepare for the worst but to also be hopeful. It seems almost impossible not to be excited when you get a batch of good looking eggs or when you finally get that BFP, and feels unfair to have to tell yourself not to be too excited because bad news could be creeping just around the corner.

Bad news does lurk around every corner on IF Island. Sometimes it feels like zombies and monsters are ready to jump out at you just when you think you are in the clear. And they often do. Sometimes they don't. So how can you possibly prepare for the zombies and monsters? How can you live on IF Island without always having to be on the defensive? How can you put one foot in front of the other, casually glance around without extreme paranoia, and keep moving forward with optimism? 

I don't know if I really know the answer. I just take really...long...slow...steps, and force myself to smile when I casually glance around. Maybe my mouth can tell my nervous system that everything is okay. It is a very delicate emotional balance that comes with being cautiously optimistic. I know there are few certainties in life. I know that I more than deserve to have something work in my favor to help us create a family. And I know that trying not to look back or look ahead is all I can really do.

In each moment I have an opportunity to breathe. I help myself to feel grounded in my feet and in my core and I try and take a split second to feel centered when I get bashed in the face with something disappointing and terrible. If I can remember to, I'll eat a piece of toast and have a cup of tea, just to soothe my body for a moment. Maybe I will take a hot shower or close my eyes in the sunshine, just to give my senses a little calm. When the emotional upheaval feels like a total tsunami, getting into my physical body and creating some comforts around me sometimes helps.

There is no way to really prepare for the emotional impact of bad news on IF Island. And it really sucks to feel totally blindsided. If we know the risks and realities, that might help. But I think it is absolutely legitimate and necessary to feel happy when we get good news. We just have to remember to appreciate and experience each moment for what it is. 

Sending a lot of strength to anyone out there who has just gotten punched in the face with bad news. The heartache won't feel as intense forever.

Creating Family History

My Mother-in-Law is really into genealogy. She's been researching her ancestry for a while and is planning a trip to the East Coast with one of her sisters to retrace some family roots. After speaking to her on the phone last night, I hung up and wondered, if our upcoming embryo donation works, would our child be part of this genealogy? How might our child feel having no genetic roots to anyone? Would he (I'll stick with he only because he/she becomes too confusing) feel different or excluded if he has cousins who do? Coming from an anonymous egg and anonymous sperm means tracing his own genealogy might never be possible, does a genetic link even matter? 

I'm not sure what the answers are, but these are the kinds of questions that often come up for couples dealing with third party reproduction. Perhaps there are some similar discussions to be had when considering adoption, though with open adoption, the child will often have more answers about where they came from. It's not really about coming up with answers, it's about being willing to engage in conversation about all the possibilities, and to prepare for ways to respond that fits for your child and your family.  I recently learned the term "birth other," coined by psychologist Diane Ehrensaft, to refer to an anonymous person who donates a part of themselves to help a child come to be. I'm not sure how I feel about this term. I think I prefer donor, than birth anything, but right now Noah and I are just learning the language and exploring what it all may mean. 

In my heart I feel that whatever child we end up with will be ours. 100%. We will love that child and help him navigate through any questions that arise, especially during the identity formation phase of development--those awesome teen years. We will make sure our child knows the story about how badly his mom and dad wanted him and how so many other kind people were willing to help us all come together. We aren't sure yet how our infertility saga is going to end. But it is already taking a village for us to find our child, and that will be a beautiful part of his family history. Our family history. Our child will be part of my Mother-in-Law's genealogy. If not by blood than by love. In the end that's all that matters. 

Keep moving forward

Okay. Moving on. I had my day to cry it out, then yesterday I ate a bucket of frozen yogurt and went for a beach walk with a girlfriend. Noah and I had dinner with another friend who was visiting and we went to see the new Wes Anderson movie. Deliciousness, nature, good company, and distraction. That's my usual prescription for disappointment. 

I think I'm doubly disappointed because Noah is going to be out of town for the few days I'll be ovulating this month. A missed month, a missed opportunity, almost seems unbearable. Then we will have one more shot (maybe two) before I start meds for the donated embryo. I keep reminding myself we have a plan and we will just stick to it.

Having a game plan helps keep me sane. Though I have learned some serious life lessons in being present and not being attached to anything in the future, having a game plan is a little different. Though plans often change, I think for us it helps to just stay the course. We know there are things we will just have to do. We can get completely lost in the doubt and statistics and chances of things, sometimes we just have to make a decision knowing this is the best choice we have at a given moment, and that we have to see it through before moving on. That helps us not regret anything.

We don't look back. We try not to dwell in our past narrative. We try not to let the fear and the 'what-ifs' rule our household. It's hard. I'm not going to lie, I feel the fear every day, but my fear is only that this embryo may not work. I'm not afraid of carrying a child or raising a child that isn't genetically either of ours. I'm just afraid that we go through all of this and it doesn't work. But that's the chance we take. That's the risk. That might happen. And when I can truly accept the uncertainties of life, maybe I can be a little less afraid. Maybe. 

Happy Friday to my fellow IF Island residents. Sending strength and bravery for the journey ahead. 

 

The Cycle of Disappointment Continues

My Aunt Flow came to town last night, making us zero for four in months trying naturally since our last frozen transfer. I know we have a plan and I feel good about the embryo donation this coming summer, but it's the process I dread. The seven weeks on Lupron, the progesterone shots, the travel, the 2ww, the possibility of yet another heartbreak. I know the anticipation of it all is worse than being in the actual process, but the process is pretty rough. A big part of me has just been hoping some miracle would happen that would spare us having to go through this.

Somehow, deep in my soul, I believe Noah and I can make a baby on our own. I want to believe it. I want so badly to just have this process end. To finally have a family. It's not about genetics of the baby at all--it's about being totally exhausted by the process. It's about my intense biological urge to procreate and my physical need to carry our child. Gathering up the strength to go through another ART cycle makes me so...sad. 

I can't believe people can just get pregnant. I just can't fathom what that must be like--the ease and excitement. Just as those people can't possibly fathom what it's like for us on IF Island to go month after month, year after year, with no luck. The desperation and devastation is unexplainable.

Acceptance of our situation almost feels like the easy part. It's the sad--sadness in its absolute purest form that sometimes feels intolerable. Like honey that runs thin and almost clear, transparent. There are no bits and pieces of anger or fuzzy spots of resentment (well, maybe there are some), but mainly it's uncontaminated sadness. I just don't want to feel sad anymore. I just don't want to have this brick of disappointment fall on us month after month. It's enough already.

So last night I cried, for the first time in a while. I cried and cried and watched an episode of House of Cards and cried some more. And Noah breathed heavier, slower, the way he does when he's sad and thinking about frustrating things he's thought about a thousand times in the past, and we fell asleep holding hands to the sound of my sobs and his breath.

And today I'll wipe my eye, which are already welling with water, and I'll put on a pair of pants, one leg at a time. I'll text my acupuncturist a sad face emoticon and will continue to take my herbs and vitamins. Then I'll go to work and do my job, because that's what we on IF Island do, right? We cry it out and keep on going. Day after day, month after month, year after year. And I remind myself that it won't be like this forever.  

Wishing anyone else out there stuck in the cycle of disappointment so much love.

Getting Lucky

Yesterday, Noah and I interviewed a lovely couple about their journey to parenthood. After being diagnosed with high FSH and low ovarian reserve at 35, the couple did 4-5 IUI's, one IVF cycle that got cancelled before aspiration, and then on their second IVF they ended up with two beautiful embryos that resulted in two beautiful babies. They are one of the few couples we have talked to who have been successful with IVF in a fairly short amount of time and who had some insurance coverage to help with the financial piece. They kept saying how lucky they felt that it all worked out the way it did. But it got me thinking about being lucky and what that means here on IF Island.

This couple went through A LOT before getting their twins. They went through the heartbreak of the diagnosis and the panic about how they were going to build their family. They went through the invasive IUI process and the hope-wait-disappointment cycle that comes along with the procedure. They went through the injections and the utter despairing shock and sadness of a cancelled cycle due to low response and having only one egg.  Then they did get lucky. Round two worked. The pregnancy stuck. The babies are 8 months old and amazing. Getting lucky on IF Island is very different than getting lucky in general.

I started wondering if I too am lucky. Am I lucky that I've never had a miscarriage? Infertility is not only about not being able to get pregnant, it's about not being able to stay pregnant. I've never had that experience, so am I lucky? I don't know the answer, it's just something I've been thinking about. Perhaps it's all relative.

The fact that any of us are on IF Island seems like an unlucky place to land, and don't get me wrong, it is. Very much so. But it seems way more productive to count our blessings rather than focus on the negative. I'm lucky that I have access to some of these medical procedures, both financially and legally. I'm lucky that I have an open minded family who has done nothing but support us. I'm lucky to have a husband who loves me and keeps me positive. I'm lucky that we still have some of the pieces needed to make a baby (yay to my uterus!). There are many more things to feel lucky for. Sometimes I feel lucky that I'm able to keep my sense of self and sometimes even my sense of humor through all this madness. 

No matter how dire our situation feels, there are probably some ways to shift the focus onto the haves rather than the have-nots. Maybe we can shine our lights onto what we do have for a few extra minutes each day, to really highlight some of the positives. Maybe that will give us a little more strength to deal with the harder things we have up ahead. 

Wishing everyone out there a LOT of luck!!!