Don't Count Your Eggs

The Story of Momotaro

Momotaro is a popular hero from Japanese folklore, and the story about him goes something like this: Once upon a time there was an old woman and an old man who longed for a child but were never able to have one. One day, the old woman went down to the river to wash clothes, when she noticed a giant peach floating down the river. She took the peach and brought it home, so she and her husband could eat it for dessert. Just as the husband was about to cut open the peach, a naked baby boy burst out of it. They named him Momotaro (Peach Boy), and loved him and raised him as their own, knowing he had been sent from heaven. Momotaro went on to be a great hero, gaining animal friends through his generosity, and fighting off ogres and demons to save his town. 

I loved this story as a child and have been thinking about it a lot lately. Yesterday, Noah and I officially closed the chapter on "trying naturally for six more months" before starting to prepare for the embryo adoption transfer. I'm never shocked when my cycle starts, but I did think that maybe this would be the month that a miracle happened, just before we were about to adopt. You hear those stories all the time, but it's not our story. 

Our story continues. Our miracle is still up ahead. I started birth control last night and had a frantic day yeasterday of trying to figure out my schedule with the nurse and looking up best prices for meds...blah blah blah. I had a nice six month break away from all the hormone induced madness and now I'm suiting up and heading right back in.

When I saw I had in fact gotten my period, the usual feelings of sad and disappointment flooded the space around my heart. It just gets tight in my chest and taking a breath feels...harder. I looked at Noah and felt so sad that I can't make a baby with him, but then I shifted my focus. We have a little Momotaro sitting in a freezer, in the dark, in another state, who needs us to come and save him. I don't want the energy that goes into this next step of our process to be overshadowded by sadness and dread and fear. I want to have an open heart and an open mind to be able to embrace our next process fully so that our embryo--our potential baby-- can be received with open arms. 

I have to separate the frustration and exhaustion that surrounds the process of preparing for the embryo from the embryo itself. The process is a nightmare. Going back on Lupron in a few weeks is the worst. Injecting progesterone oil into my butt? No thanks. All with no guarantee?? Ugh. But these are the steps I have to take. So I'll take them. And I'll complain about them. And I'll get through them, one at a time. Remembering all the way that our baby, our Momotaro, is waiting for us.

We Have Something To Share! (No, not that)

I’ve alluded to the documentary Noah and I have been making about our journey to parenthood, but wanted to share the extended trailer. Noah says no one will watch more than 2 minutes of anything on-line unless it features cute animals or boobs, but I’m posting the extended trailer anyway (be aware, it’s 8 minutes long!). We’ve shot more than 100 hours of footage and hope to start fund-raising soon so we can complete a full length film.

As National Infertility Awareness Week comes to a close, the importance of continuing the dialogue about infertility is ever more vital. Those in the infertility community need to know about all the information and support out there, and they need to know that there is no shame in having difficulties conceiving. Those not in the infertility world need to know about what family building is really like for those who struggle, so that a new understanding and sensitivity can be created. Insurance companies, politicians, and others in power need to change how infertility is viewed in the medical field. Having a child is a medical necessity for many of us. It’s a quality of life issue that deserves to be taken seriously and deserves to be covered.

 Noah and I really hope that our story can help to normalize infertility and alternative family building. We had the privilege of interviewing several other couples who’ve survived their stint on IF Island and shared their stories to parenthood with us. Through these amazing “survivors,” we learned about determination, strength, compromise, love, and what it really means to become a family.

We hope that one day, our film will decrease some of the isolation people on IF Island feel, and we hope that everyone on the Mainland can become more educated and aware. We also hope that y’all will watch more than 2 minutes, and stay tuned for the final film. Hopefully we will find our ending soon.

 

Resolve to Know More About a Husband's Role in Infertility

My wife tells me this is a very important week in the world of infertility. We’re supposed to talk about what we need to learn or maybe what we’ve learned that other people can learn from. I don’t know. I’m easily confused and distracted. My wife asked me to write a guest post in honor of this infertility awareness. I’m painfully aware of infertility, unfortunately, as I know you are. I guess one thing I can help others to be aware of is one of the roles a husband plays in this unfortunate process. Feel free to substitute “husband” for “partner” or “wife” in this scenario. Basically, you’re the co-pilot on this long flight to parenthood.

The emotional toll infertility would take on my wife and I individually, and as a couple, was something I was not prepared for. I’m a pretty rock-solid dude that doesn’t get rattled by much, but it’s been the emotional wounds collected on this long process that have hurt worse than shots or medical bills. One of my jobs is to be a cheerleader for my wife as she goes through this arduous battle with her own body. I listen to her worries and frustrations, I wipe her tears, and I do what I can to inject some normalcy into a ridiculous situation. I’m not saying I always do it correctly, that’s just one of my main responsibilities in this situation.

The hard part - and something new co-pilots need to remember - is that not paying attention to how this is having an effect on myself eventually rears up and kicks me. Hard. I often push aside processing my own feelings and anger and frustrations for the sake of dealing with my wife’s, and when I finally do get to that place it can feel overwhelming. So, as a husband, you need to process this, too. In any way. At any time. For me it’s being in nature or playing sports or going to the gym and sweating it out. But you need to do something with that emotion and weight you keep collecting. She’s counting on you to help her. She’s counting on you to listen and be there and be really gentle with those shots. She’s also counting on you to be present and to process this. It may be different from how she processes this horrible situation, but she needs you to go through it, too. Pushing everything aside and not dealing with your own co-pilot fears and sadness may seem like the heroic thing to do but it really doesn’t help either of you in the long run.

I had no idea that I’d have to process much more than frustration, mostly because I had no idea we’d be several years into infertility with no resolution. So if you’re new to this world or you’re several IUIs and IVFs into the process like we are, dig in. Deal with your anger. Allow yourself to yell or cry or whatever you have to do. However you have to do it. And then get right back into helping her.

Resolve to Know More About Your Body

When Noah and I started trying to conceive, I can honestly say we knew nothing about how our bodies work. Well, that’s not totally true. But we knew much more about how to NOT make a baby than we did about actually making a baby. I didn’t know which hormones were the key players or what a follicle was. See this past video post for a glimpse at how little I knew on the day of our egg retrieval. Cut to four years later, I feel like I could teach a sex ed class for grown ups. If there is one thing I feel I’ve gained from my years on IF Island, it’s an understanding of my body

I think it’s a really important thing to know your own body and all its quirks. It’s important to fuel your body with good things, and to understand the hormonal changes it goes through every month. It’s important to educate yourself on the different blood tests you should have in order to give you more information about how your body is functioning. For example, I’ve been reading a lot about thyroid issues and how they are often undiagnosed and can lead to problems with fertility and miscarriage. A friend sent me this site about hypothyroidism, and it prompted me to go get my thyroid retested. The more we know, the more we can advocate for ourselves. In this world, we can’t rely solely on doctors. There is too much at stake. We have to take charge of our own reproductive health.

Knowing our bodies also helps us know what we need. It keeps us in touch with when we feel strong and ready to try another cycle, or when we need a break. IVF and other ART procedures are so harsh on the body, it’s important to remember to give our gut a little time to heal so it can help us make important decisions.

It’s also important to always remember that our bodies are amazing (even if they don’t feel amazing right now). I’ve written about trying to find a little love and compassion for our bodies in this post, but I can’t say it enough.  Know your body. Advocate for your body. Honor your body. Appreciate your body. Love your body. It's the only one you've got.

Sending everyone on IF Island a little Wednesday morning love! I hope NIAW has shared some good information and support.

Resolve to Know more about your family building options

    Noah and I picked up a camera and started to document our journey to parenthood exactly two years ago today. April 20, 2012. We had already spent over a year trying to conceive and were about to have our first appointment with a reproductive endocrinologist (RE). We started filming as a way to process what was going on and because somehow I knew that parts of our story would be important to share, in order to increase awareness of what living on IF Island is really like. As you can see from this clip from the very first interview we did with each other, I didn’t know whether we were at the beginning of our journey, or about to cross the finish line. Looking back at it now, two years, multiple ART cycles, and over $40,000 later, I’m not exactly sure how to feel about what these last two years have been like.

 

 

          

      I’m shocked, to say the least. I had NO IDEA so much could happen and the mystery of how we are going to create our family is still unsolved. I’m sad and angry, for all the obvious reasons. But I’m also amazed. I’m amazed that I’ve learned so much about how families are built, about the strength of the human spirit, about the determination of the biological urge to procreate, about the love of my husband and family, and the generosity of a community of people who struggle so much to have a child. I’m also amazed that I’m still standing, jeez.

            Today, April 20, also marks the beginning of National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW). It’s a week dedicated to spreading the word and educating people about the various aspects of infertility. I’ll be writing throughout the week on various topics under the headline Resolve to Know More, and I encourage anyone out there seeking more information about infertility to check out RESOLVE.

            Starting our journey to parenthood close to four years ago, there was only one way I could fathom making a family. The old fashioned way. I was armed with ovulation test strips, a digital thermometer, and that gigantic pink book by Toni Weschler, Taking Charge of Your Fertility. I was ready to take charge! After 15 months of that insanity and being told by various doctors that I was young (30) and that I should “just relax,” we finally went to the RE. Suddenly, we entered the very confusing and elite world of assisted reproductive technologies. That’s when I discovered that there are actually several ways to make a baby, and even more ways to construct a family. Over the years we’ve tried many of them.

            We tried the rounds of clomid and IUI’s, then moved to IVF. When IVF left us empty handed, we thought all was lost. With diminished ovarian reserve, (and diminished cash reserve) we knew we simply couldn’t afford to do multiple rounds of IVF until it worked. Then we began to explore the possibility of donated eggs. At first I was terrified and upset that at age 32 I was being told I had to outsource my eggs. But when my younger sister offered to donate, hope was restored. Another option to building a family arose like a ray of sunshine through a dark cloud, and something I could never have fathomed when we began our initial quest for a child, suddenly became a beautiful gift. When my last beta HCG from that round came back negative, Noah and I were crushed. We knew adoption was always an option, but we didn’t feel totally there yet. We couldn’t afford an anonymous egg donor and I really wanted to experience pregnancy. Thus we discovered embryo donation/adoption, which we are planning to pursue in a few months.

            It’s incredible that we in this country do actually have some choices in how we are going to construct a family. Egg, sperm, embryo donation, surrogacy, adoption—none of these are many of our first choices, but after trying one way and not succeeding, we all have to hit the reset button. We have to assess what we have left, what we’re willing to sacrifice, and what our end goal is. For Noah and me, that goal has become finding the best chance of a healthy child that I can carry, that is within our budget. It sounds insane, but it’s not. It the place you get after you’ve tried almost everything you can. It’s the hope you have when you find a new possibility, while your heart is still healing from your last disappointment. It’s the unyielding belief that one day, some how, some way, you will be a parent.

            Some how, some way, Noah and I will be parents. Two years ago when we picked up a camera, we had no idea where we were going with it. We had no idea how our story was going to evolve. We still don’t know how our story is going to unfold, but we are more open and accepting of the process and the various ways we’ve learned that families are made.

    We have resolved to know more about our family building options, and the ones that are the best fit for us. An unintended consequence is that we've also learned more about ourselves, each other, and the kind of parents we wish to be.

 

For more info on infertility, check out:

http://www.resolve.org/infertility101

http://www.resolve.org/national-infertility-awareness-week/about.html

 

Projecting fears and fantasies with third party reproduction

Lately, I've been catching myself projecting my fears and fantasies onto our donated embryo. I think a lot about the possible child-to-be. I wonder about him or her, as most hopeful or expecting parents do. The difference in my case, and for others who are using a donor egg or sperm, (or both) is that there is no frame of reference. I have very little information about the anonymously donated embryo. I know the basics: age of the genetic parents, hair and eye color, weight and height. The egg donor is tall and has no allergies. The sperm contributor likes to cook and enjoys sports. I have one baby picture of the egg donor as  four-year-old, and well, she looks like a four-year-old.  When Noah first saw the picture of her he said, "she has really little teeth." Again, she's a four year old. 

When you have very little information to ground you, sometimes you start making stuff up. Does anyone else do this? I know do. A lot.  When I'm feeling excited and confident about our donated embryo, I imagine him or her to be tall and beautiful. Athletic and bright, with strong math and science abilities, (not sure why) and a kind and gentle temperament. I see blond-ish hair and smooth skin and honey colored almond shaped eyes. When I'm more anxious about the embryo, I envision a kid that looks like Herman Munster meets a sumo wrestler. I see a big, square head, a heavy jaw (with tiny teeth), and little beady eyes. I fear that because the sperm provider was over 45, that the kid could be more at risk for things like autism, and I get totally worked up and fearful. This kind of projection can drive a person nuts!

The truth is each of us is a unique individual. Some of us look or act exactly like one or both of our genetic parents, and some of us wonder if we were even born into the right family. Noah and I could make a Herman Munster sumo wrestler who is somewhere on the autism spectrum. We don't think we would, but it's possible.

There is such a strong craving to know more about the anonymous people who donated parts of their DNA. There is an insatiable need to know if they were good looking or smart or at least somewhat normal. But there is also the need to let that go. Because we've chosen an anonymous situation, all we have are two sheets of paper with a few facts. We know that a child was made from the batch of embryos we are getting, and that child is reportedly healthy. That's all I've got to go on.

So Noah and I have to embrace the unknown, and remind ourselves that all of this is unknown. While we may have a better sense of what our child might be like if it were genetically ours, that might lead to just more assumptions and projections. Every person comes into this world as a very unique being, and the more I think about it in these terms, the more accepting and open I can feel about whoever our little embryo turns out to be. 

Wondering if anyone else has thoughts about this? And wishing everyone a very beautiful weekend. 

 

 

Different stages of the process

I have a few friends on IF Island who are in very different stages of the process. One friend is healing from a D & C after her 9th IVF (this round with donor eggs) ended with a blighted ovum. One friend has just started taking estrogen to plump up her lining in preparation for an FET. Another friend is all jacked up on Lupron, waiting to see how many follicles her donor (her second donor, mind you) has. She's doing a shared cycle so if the donor doesn't make more than 8 eggs, she's SOL. All the eggs go to the first couple who signed on for the donor, and she will have to go back onto a wait-list. 

It got me thinking about all the drastically different emotional spaces there are on IF Island. No emotional stone goes unturned. From despair and heartbreak to indifference and frustration to hope to excitement and back around again. It's like one of those little spinners in a children's board game. You never know where you might land. 

There are few other experiences like this, where your emotional being is completely tormented on a daily basis. The highs and lows can be so dramatic and intense, it's so hard to stay grounded. The underlying feeling is often fear. So much is in the air. So much is riding on certain things falling neatly into place. So much can possibly go wrong. It's terrifying and exhausting. It's all the more reason why it is so important to take care of yourself. 

I'm constantly amazed and impressed by my friends on the Island. All of you warriors who go to battle every day, fighting to create your family. Those healing from wounds some how, some way, find it within themselves to get back up. Those preparing for another transfer do so with grace and an understanding that maybe a miracle is about to happen, but maybe not. At the junction where hope meets statistical reality, all we can do is take a deep breath.

Having visited all the varying emotional landscapes over the past few years, I'm reminded yet again that things change all the time. Situations change, perspectives change, feelings change, and eventually luck will change. New possibilities arise when you can't fathom another option. An inner strength comes to the forefront when we think there is nothing left. A painful present slowly fades into a past memory, as a new opportunity begins to appear out on the horizon.

Wishing everyone out there so much love and strength, wherever you are on your journey.

I Just Want a Family!

I found myself repeating this phrase this weekend as I started to look at the calendar and create a to-do list for the embryo donation. We have to get the legal contract notarized, I have to look into which pharmacy is the cheapest for the meds, figure out plane tickets and work our cycle schedule around my best friend's wedding. I want to get my thyroid and vitamin D checked because I've read that problems with these things can lead to miscarriage. I have to figure out how much it's going to cost to have part of the cycle monitored here...exhale. It's actually not that much to do considering how much we've had to do during other cycles, but by A.R.T. round...six, I'm exhausted just thinking about gearing up. On Saturday, I put down my notebook and looked at Noah and said, "I just want a family!"

He looked back at me and smiled and agreed. He's tired too. But then he reminded me that we are our own little family and we're going to be okay. 

I started trying to shift my focus on the family I do have, and I realized I have many families. Noah, our house plant, and I are a little family. I have my incredibly supportive family of origin who loves me and does everything they can to help us every day. I have my yoga family who keeps me sane and grounded, and my family of beautiful gals at work, who cheer me on and lend an ear when I need help processing something. I have my family of friends and neighbors, and my family here on-line, on IF Island, who understand the struggle and help to normalize my experiences. By focusing on what I do have, rather than what I'm missing, I'm able to remember I'm loved and supported, and have much love and support to give. 

Those of us on IF Island have to work so hard to create our nuclear family. We have to plan and compromise and research and let go of things we don't want to let go of. We have to try, and try again. We have to have multiple people involved in this usually intimate process of making a baby. We have to ride the emotional roller coaster time and time again, and we have to believe that one day our life and our family will feel complete.

One day my family with Noah will include our baby, and it will feel complete. Well, we do want two kids but I'm going one step at a time here. OMG, the thought of having to figure all this out after we already have a kid just made me break out into a cold sweat. What if I'm 50 by the time this works out? I'm not going to think about it. AHHHH! What I am going to think about is the love I have in my life, and the sense of community and belonging I am so grateful for. 

Happy Monday to my IF Island family. I appreciate you all so much and send so much love to everyone out there!

Getting on the same page

I've written before about how to know when to move on to a new plan, but one thing I haven't really explored is how to deal with not being on the same page as your significant other. Luckily, Noah and I have mostly been on the same page. We wrote out a decision tree (in 2011, ugh) that gave us a basic guide as to what we thought we would do "if...then..." My body and our bank account had special veto power over that decision tree, and we were always open to adjustments. We didn't know embryo donation existed way back in the naive good ole days when we thought we were just stopping off on IF Island on our way to somewhere better, so that decision was an add on.

While we've agreed to what we were going to do next, we haven't always agreed on the when. The speed at which we move is quite different. He's a turtle, I'm a rabbit. I am  always ready to jump right into the next thing and keep the train moving forward. Noah, on the other hand, likes to step back and process the situation, re-collect himself, and proceed one step at a time. Neither one of us is right or wrong, it's just a different approach. So we've had to do this dance of negotiating and compromise so that we both feel okay.

When we found our embryo match last November, I was ready to go in January but Noah wasn't. He needed more time to feel okay with letting go of his genetics, and I understood that. My eggs seem to be the problem for us, so I have had ample time to mourn the loss of my genetic contribution to the creation of our child. I try and focus on the genetic bullets my kid will get to dodge and remember that nurture is as much a part of what makes a person as nature is. And I will nurture the crap out of my kid! But Noah's sperm has always been the one good thing we had, so letting go of it was harder for both of us. This is where our bank account weighed in with the realization that donor eggs were out of budget. We had to think about what was most important, being a parent, and Noah needed more time to sit with that. 

Part of what he also needed was to try naturally for several more months. Before moving on to the next step, people often need closure. I knew to move on to my sister's donated eggs after our unsuccessful IVF and several IUI's (and the years of trying with ovulation test strips). I probably wouldn't have been totally ready to move on had we not done those last few IUI's. Even though they didn't work and ended up being kind of a waste of time, they were an important part of our story that helped propel us to the next decision. No regrets.

So last November, when we found our frozen embryo, Noah suggested we give ourselves six months to heal, to save up, to try naturally. My first instinct was to scream, "SIX MORE MONTHS? ARE YOU INSANE! I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS FOR SIX MORE MONTHS!!" but I stopped myself. I knew that was what he needed for closure. I convinced myself I'm not going to be 50 by the time I have kids, and that closure is important. Six more months on the Island wouldn't kill me. I committed myself to my acupuncturist and various herbs and supplements, and agreed to trying for our miracle the old fashioned way for six months. 

This month is the last shot. I'm trying not to put pressure on it. It is just another attempt at becoming parents. So is the embryo we have waiting for us. Either something is going to work, or it isn't, right? 

The most important thing is to be able to hear and listen to yourself and your partner. It's being able to compromise and figure out what each of you need in order to move on. It's never regretting or being angry at the other person for needing to take more time, or try another procedure. There are no guarantees on IF Island. There is no script, no clear road map, and definitely no solid itinerary. We are all just winging it, best we can. Anything can possibly work along the way, or nothing might work until the very last stop on the decision tree. Being able to come together and hold hands through this journey becomes one of the most important things. 

DO count your eggs!

I just finished reading a book that recently came out called It Starts With The Egg by Rebecca Fett. It's all about egg quality and the various things, from environmental toxins to vitamins/supplements to diet, that can impact egg quality. The book draws from 500 scientific studies and gives the reader an understanding of the science of a developing egg, as well as an analysis of what the current research shows. The author has a background in molecular biology and biochemistry, and when she was diagnosed with diminished ovarian reserve (DOR), she set out to research what she could do to increase her chances of success.  The end result was that after making changes to her diet and lifestyle and adding specific supplements, she went from having just a few follicles in her ovaries to having about 20. On the day of her retrieval, the doctor harvested 22 eggs, out of which 19 became good-quality blastocysts. This hardly sounds like the outcome of someone with DOR.

Reading this book both freaked me out and made me feel more informed. I was freaked out by how many toxins we are all exposed to, and how unregulated a lot of it seems. Yes. Keep away from BPA and plastic tupperware, but scented lotions and nail polish and receipts? AHHH! Though we can't avoid all things toxic, becoming more aware can help us make the better choices. We are all looking for more ways to feel like we have some control over our situation, right? Perhaps making specific changes and taking certain supplements (CoQ10 anyone?) can help. It certainly can't hurt.

Though I don't believe there is a prescription for getting pregnant or having a successful IVF cycle, I do believe being healthy and cautious about what we put in, on, and around our bodies is important. I also believe that different bodies require different levels of intensity when it comes to this stuff. I do my best to stay away from empty carbs, processed foods, caffeine and alcohol, and I eat lots of veggies and take herbs and vitamins. I've done a lot of this stuff (much of what is outlined in this book) for over two years now and haven't seen much improvement in my ovarian reserve. But other people, like the author of the book, do have significant improvement! And there is evidence that supports it. This book gives a lot of great information and specific action steps for anyone interested in improving egg quality. 

Every body is different, and what works for one person may not work for another. Sixteen-year-olds get pregnant on a steady diet of hot cheetos and diet Coke! We can't make ourselves too nuts about everything, but we can do whatever is within our power to give ourselves the best chance. Then we can at least know we did everything we could. 

Sending Love

I have a new friend who I met through the blog who has really been through the wringer. She's been on IF Island since...she basically came over on the IF Island Mayflower. After 9 IVF's, multiple losses, auto-immune testing/issues/medication, and donor eggs, she finally sent me an email a few weeks ago that she had a positive pregnancy test, and her beta HCG was increasing as expected. I felt so relieved for her. She's an incredibly nice woman and it just felt like she deserved for this to finally work. She was nervous last week on the day before she was supposed to go in and hear her baby's heartbeat for the first time. So was I. And when I didn't hear from her at all the day of her appointment, I was really nervous. What else could happen to this poor gal?

A blighted ovum, that's what.

WTF is a blighted ovum? And HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN TO HER AFTER ALL SHE'S BEEN THROUGH!!!???

A blighted ovum is when a pregnancy sac develops but there is no embryo in it. Your body thinks it's pregnant but there's no baby. A blighted ovum after years of infertility treatment is a big slap in the face. It feels like proof that the universe is somehow against you. A blighted ovum means your doctor insists you continue to take medications for another week (just to be sure) and come back to the office, to finally pull the plug. A blighted ovum breaks your already broken heart into a thousand more microscopic pieces, until it feels like shattered glass pulsing in your chest every time you inhale. And that's how I felt just thinking about her. I can't imagine how she felt. 

What could I say to her? How can anyone make this better? How can someone make sense of this? 

I felt so sad for her. The excitement and hope of a positive beta made the crash even harder. And there are no answers. All I could do was share in her sorrow. Validate her feelings that the universe does seem to be against her, and remind her that it won't always hurt this bad.

The shock/pain/anger/disappointment/sadness that comes after an unsuccessful IVF attempt or after not hearing an anticipated heartbeat is so specific in its devastation. Those of us who have experienced it know exactly how it feels--the hollow stomach, the tight chest, the extreme emotional and physical exhaustion, and the salty, swollen eyelids. It's intense, but then gets better. The immediate experience slowly fades into a memory, a part of the past, and with that it atarts to hurt a little less. Mourning this kind of a loss can be a slow process, but eventually it does get better. Taking a moment to appreciate what we do have, finding comfort in our loved ones, and allowing ourselves the space to feel whatever it is we feel is all we can do.

One day at a time, I know my new friend will be okay. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but hopefully she'll be able to piece together her broken heart and figure out how to move forward.

Sending so much love to my sweet friend and to anyone else out there going through a tough time on IF Island. 

Adapting to Missed conceptions on your journey to Parenthood

This was the topic of the panel I was on yesterday at Fertility Planit LA. We talked about a lot of things (if I can get a link to the video I will post it, eventually), and I thought a lot about it after getting home yesterday. 

When I turned 30, I had no concept that becoming a mother could become a "journey." A wild night? hopefully. A few attempts? Sure. Several month? Ok, fine. But four years and a continued question mark about what will finally work for us? UNFATHOMABLE! I could never have imagined this, or planned for this. If someone told me I'd be 34 and gearing up to shoot hormones into my body, yet again, to shut down my reproductive system so that a donated embryo can be placed in my uterus, I wouldn't have even been able to wrap my head around the thought to respond. 

This "journey" has been far from linear. There is no road map, no step-by-step directions on what to do, where to go, or how to survive. Noah and I, and all of us stranded here on IF Island, have to wander around, figuring it out. And all of us have to adapt to the fact that our baby isn't going to come the old fashioned way. Then we have to adapt to any unsuccessful procedure or attempt. We have to adapt to diagnoses that tell us we can't use certain parts of our own body. We have to adapt to our statistical chances of something working and make the best decisions we can. Then we have to adapt to the choice we eventually make, and fully come to terms with whatever that is. We have to adapt to the lifestyle (or lack there of) of an infertile person, and the isolation that may come with that. We have to adapt to this consuming our thoughts and worries, and to a new emotional baseline of anxiety. We have to adapt to how our bodies may change due to hormones and medication, and how we become more limited financially. Yet all the while we have to remember that a miracle can happen, the body is always changing, and doctors aren't always right.

As kids we were told to stay still when we are lost and someone will find us. I guess it doesn't work like that on IF Island. You can't stay still, but continuously taking different roads may make us feel even more lost and confused. Maybe we should try jumping up and down.

So how do we adapt? How do we know which road to go down and which way to turn when we've hit a dead end? How do we have the strength and the courage to go down another unknown road when everywhere thus far has led us astray? 

We just do our best. We cycle through the stages of grief at rapid speed and we find a way to accept our reality. We have the unwavering belief that we will be parents, some how, some way, so we keep on fighting. Some of us will come to terms with not being able to give birth, or having to let go of our genetics. Some of us will eventually adopt, and others may decide to stop fighting and begin to mourn letting go of having a child. All of us have to hold on to hope and appreciate our lives and all we have, and to do what is best for us and our relationships. It's not easy.

If told this is where I would be at 34 I would have said no way. NO CHANCE. No thank you. I would never have thought I (or my marriage)  could survive this madness. But I have. We have. And we are stronger and better for it. We know how to be flexible and to have realistic expectations. We have been forced to learn how to heal from the deepest pain and how to continue to fight this battle. Adapting can be hard, but it also can be necessary. I keep reminding myself that one day I'll be adapting to the schedule of a newborn. One day.

Blowing out another candle

Today is my birthday. It's hard to see the day as anything more than getting one step closer to that significant plunge that happens at 35 on a fertility decline chart. I'm one dot away from a sharp line into the abyss. Birthdays on IF Island can feel like a reminder of how long you've been here. Needless to say I don't feel much like celebrating.

Last night was a little rough. Thinking about ditching my birth control exactly four years ago when I turned 30. Being convinced that by some time in 2011, Noah and I would be parents. We never imagined we'd still be struggling to make a family. We could never imagine all the confusion and frustration and heartbreak. Who can imagine this? Who can plan for this? You just can't. Four years on IF Island doesn't seem real.

I was feeling sad last night, thinking about all this. Feeling the fear of inching closer to the cliff of 35 and worrying about the next steps ahead. I was tossing and turning as I do most nights, when all of a sudden, at exactly midnight it started to rain. Not just rain but pour. Out here in LA LA Land, California, it almost never rains, so I wasn't sure what the sound was a first. I got up and went to the window and watched the water come down from the clouds, making the trees outside a deeper shade of green and the concrete floor glossy. I imagined the rain washing away the sad memories of the last four years. I know it's not that simple, but it was cleansing to think about letting a lot of it go.

I'm not one year closer to 35, I'm one day closer. And who cares. Nothing is really changing. It's just a day. A day where I can think about everything I do have--my loving husband, my supportive family and friends, my home, my job, good food, the best pillows on earth, and an upcoming opportunity to create a family in a pretty interesting alternative way. It's easy to count the things we don't have, but if we shift our perspective, it can be just as easy to think of what we do have. Turning 34 in the fertility world isn't the most lucrative age, but on the time-line of my life 34 is still at the front end. There is a lot of good things yet to come, and one of those things is becoming a mother. It's important to adjust the lens or just swap out the close-up lens for a wide angle. 

So on my birthday, I don't have to feel super celebratory, but I don't have to sulk. It's another day for me to feel loved and share love and appreciate my life and all that I have that makes it full. But when it comes time to blow out a candle later, there will only be one wish. The same wish I've been making for the last few years. Maybe this will be the year that wish comes true. 

Looking for a little April Fools' day laughter

I remember one April Fools' day in high school when I told my then boyfriend that I was pregnant. He was HORRIFIED! He was my high school sweetheart and it was the cruelest thing I could have done. I played it out for a short while before bursting out, "April Fools'!" He did NOT think it was funny, but he was relieved. Back then I thought you could actually get pregnant by having sex. How dumb was I?

That was well over fifteen years ago.

This morning I was feeling a little nostalgic for a simpler time. A time when I truly did believe sex = baby. It made me realize how much of an education in how babies are made I have gotten over the past few years, and how ridiculous and ineffective sex ed in high school is. It's a shame women aren't taught to understand their bodies and their cycles better. Had I known... let's not go there.

This morning I texted Noah that I got my period. (Yes, he loves and appreciates the updates in the middle of a work meeting). I wish I could have followed that text with one that said, "April Fools!" but I couldn't. It was the truth. At the beginning of my next cycle (unless some MIRACLE happens) I'm set to start medication to prepare for the donated embryo. It's a lot to wrap my head around, but I'm thankful we have a plan. It's one that feels like the best fit for us at this stage. But it all feels so...heavy. There's a lot of preparation, a lot of hope, a lot of anxiety--a lot riding on this. That's how many of us feel when we are gearing up to start a cycle, all over again.  Heavy. 

So it's up to us to find a little light, a little laughter. This April Fool's Day I'm going to count on my Hubs and Louie C.K. to make me smile.What do the rest of you do to lighten the mood? Sending love and laughter to everyone out there on IF Island.